#But yeah even in spite of an awful finale the show itself is still good. Better than what most people give it credit for.

[kaythefloppa]

What issues did you have with Lion Guard’s Final season?

I disclosed them in a separate post but to recap those points; it basically goes against everything the show has established itself upon in the first and second season, retconning word-building, characters, development, morals, lessons, and other elements of the show's DNA, all for the sake of its central story, rather than progressing with the overall story. It feels more like a softcore revamp than a final season (hence why I've often compared it to Bunk'd in terms of quality, or lackthereof) Which is why for me personally, a lot of Season 1-2 episodes that I enjoy (pilot included) are retroactively spoiled because of Season 3's writing (i.e. Janja's poorly paced redemption arc, or Bunga's character assassination, or the final episode proving the villains of one of the earlier episodes in the right). It's frankly a mess. Whether this was done out of last minute rewrites, or as an attempt to be fanservice, or if this weird writing was the plan since day 1, I'll never know, but it doesn't earn much kindness from me.

If I were to bring anything new to the table, I'd say that another ounce of beef I have with Season 3 is with its release. Someone at Disney Jr. apparently thought that it was a smart idea to release every episode of the final season online within a full month, before any of the episodes (sans Battle for the Pride Lands) released on television. The show's advertising directed viewers (both in and out of the show's target demographic) to DisneyNow or watchtlg.netify to see the new episodes. Because of this, I (and I assume many others) watched the new episodes online and called it a day with the show. Barely anyone saw the final episodes when they aired, and because of that, the already stunted viewership of the show had taken a final devastating crash-drive. The show did poorly with reruns and eventually was pulled out of its timeslot almost two months later.

So yeah, Season 3 is just bad in almost every regard. lmao.

[sareinadale]

please tell us more about this helsa series you are writing 👀💕

nonnieeee!! but it wouldn't be a surprise now, don't you think so?

okay honestly, i wasn't planning on working on a long helsa series, though i did have a similar plan with the 'marriage of convenience' trope as the core of the series.

what started out was really just a series of twitter banters with my friend that expanded into fully fleshed plots, with some spanning over a month or three depending on how far the plot develops.

truthfully, i've been yearning to find a writing partner who could match my writing style and be excited to write SO MUCH about a ship. while helsa initially wasn't my OTP ( yes, i started out as jelsa ), somewhere in 2022, i turned into an ardent helsa shipper thanks to my other friend.

ANYWAY, back to the series ( me and my big mouth can't hold it back anymore ):

the entire premise of the story takes place after the events of Frozen 1, but not until Frozen 2. her magic is still there, just not at the forefront as it did in the first movie. and oh, yeah, it's in the mid-1800s! there's also inspiration drawn from ( majorly ) the frozen musical, a frozen heart and a little bit of dangerous secrets.

others may have written something similar like mine, but this is really an extensive series of ‘what-ifs’ that mainly focuses on the aftermath of her coronation, her struggles of trying to be a good queen for arendelle and all the times she shouldn’t hang out with hans, who showed up on arendelle after serving his prison sentence for two years ( roughly ) – which led to her falling for his pretense like anna.

of course, there's a few original characters that we made for this series! besides that, i personally have a pinterest board dedicated to hans and elsa, alongside a spotify playlist that follows their entire journey :D

there’s also an element of hans’s morally grey side, which, as santino fontana said, hans isn't what he seems to be ( meaning he has personal motivations like any other people ) and my lovely friend who writes as hans has the most detailed lore on him and everything, and i honestly couldn't be luckier and so SO grateful to know them and write together ❤️

obviously, when we started plotting, we realized that their story's going to be LONG, and we've decided to break it down into three major acts. the second act is arguably going to be the longest and where we are currently.

so, the theme of the story is the title of the series itself: 'in hindsight'.

in hindsight is basically a sequel to a prequel titled 'shattering ice'. in this one, the story explicitly deals with her first visit to the isles and meeting the star-studded cast of the westergaards whom, again, my friend here has built – completely tragic, awful, and all things negative that shows who they are as a family.

also the prequel will serve as the starting point of their relationship because we don't want to jump on that chemistry building with haste.

right now, we're mostly focusing on in hindsight and pretty much pausing shattering ice. also, because the former became a full blown series, i had to upgrade my g-drive storage hahaha so all of their past plots and current ones are safely stored in there.

all in all, this series is arguably the most special endeavor i've ever done. it's got a TON of emotional realism in there, soft moments in the form of jane austen-esque longing touches kinda way, gut-wrenching angst and a bittersweet ending ( i'm not ready for the last part, but we've planned on how the series will end ).

even in spite of our busy schedules, we found time to keep writing out the replies, info-dumping personal headcanons of our characters and hyping each other whenever the ship had their fluff / angst moment. i seriously could not thank my friend enough, and i really appreciate her for all the helsa brainrots ❤️

and finally, the reason i've not put it up on AO3 is because i didn't want that invisible pressure of needing to update it. i mean, yes, it's still ongoing, but imagine if i just upload the complete series and voila? basically giving a delight to potential readers that the series is done hahaha.

i don't foresee we'll finish it by end of this year, even though we started out since june last year. but who knows, it could end well until the following year?

okay nonnie, there you go 🤓

[animebw]

Short Reflection: Summer 2022 Anime

Is it just me, or does summer tend to be the worst season for anime? Ever since I’ve started watching seasonally, summer has consistently been the weakest season every year, with the most high-profile disappointments and the least genuine successes. And that felt especially true this year, with show after how either failing to rise to its full potential or just never showing any potential in the first place. This has been a barren three months, and even after deciding to drop all the shows I really wasn’t feeling, I was left with far more bad than good. If not for a couple spectacular late-minute arrivals, I’d be confident calling this the worst ever season of anime in the modern era. It may well still be that! Either way, fall’s already looking exponentially better, so let’s give this cursed season the post-mortem it deserves and take a look at what gems are worth salvaging. I’ve already given my thoughts on the miserable second season of Devil is a Part-Timer (3/10), the ambitious but amateurish RWBY spinoff Ice Queendom (5/10), and the problematic delight that was Call of the Night (7.5/10). As for everything else... read on.

Shine Post: Unfinished/10

So, I guess the folks at Cygames finally dispense with all the stupid, ill-fitting gimmicks and just make a straightforward idol anime, huh? Forget the unholy amalgamation of horse-racing pop stars that was Uma Musume, Shine Post is pure idol through and through, a story about a bunch of ordinary high school girls chasing their dreams and make the world hear their songs. On the one hand, I appreciate them for finally cutting out the middleman; watching Uma Musume break its own back to shoe-horn all those competing genres into the same space was painful, so deciding to just focus on the idol stuff that was always Cygames’ clearest inspiration was a sound decision. Unfortunately, once you strip away all that genre-blending weirdness that made Uma Musume so compelling in spite of itself, all you’re left with is, well, a basic-ass idol show with no real selling points beyond some admittedly stellar character animation and a unique-but-poorly-utilized gimmick of the manager being able to magically tell when someone’s lying. And then you’re forced to contend with the fact that Cygames writing is pretty uniformly terrible, overwrought melodrama (the second season of Uma Musume nonwithstanding), and all their female characters speak in the most ear-grating attempts at forced, quirky cuteness imaginable, and then you start hyperfocusing on the weirdly sexualized character designs with perfectly see-through t-shirts and prominent thigh gaps and... yeah, suffice to say, my interest in this one is pretty much dead. The last three episodes had to be delayed thanks to an untimely Covid outbreak at the studio, so we’ll see if the finale somehow manages to turn this thing around. But I’m not holding my breath.

Yurei Deco: 2.5/10

Is there such a thing as Oscar-bait anime? I don’t know, but if there is, it probably looks an awful lot like Yurei Deco. It’s an anime original by the critically beloved studio Science Saru! It’s got a unique art style and a eclectic musical score! It’s telling a topical, relevant story about the modern-day surveillance state and how our lives are run by algorithms! It’s a very loose adaptation of a piece of classic Western literature filtered through insane anime goggles (Huckleberry Finn, in this case). It’s a show that practically screams its desire to be taken seriously, to have thinkpieces written about how Deep and Meaningful it is. But all that surface-level posturing can’t hide the fact that this is one of the stupidest goddamn anime I’ve watched all year. The story is limp and fails to connect, the animation isn’t appreciably better than other more generic but better produced shows, the literary references don’t amount to anything and honestly kind of make things worse with their incongruity, and whatever message it was trying to convey ends up so mangled by the end that it feels like you’re being made fun of for even trying to care in the first place. Bad anime are a dime a dozen, but few things are as aggravating to sit through as a bad anime that’s convinced of its own brilliance despite having all the intelligence of a lobotomized monkey.

Shine on! Bakamatsu Bad Boys: 3/10

The easiest way to describe Bakamatsu Bad Boys would be “Akudama Drive in the Sengoku era of Japan.” The premise is similar, at least; seven colorful and color-coded criminals are brought together by an outside force to help change the world that forced them into criminality in the first place. Sadly, the second easiest way to describe Bakamatsu Bad Boys would be “Akudama Drive but infinitely worse.” There’s some good chemistry among the cast, but they’re almost always split off into designated pairs and never allowed to shine as a group dynamic. Plus the animation is weaker, the themes are sloppier, the character arcs are so much more pedestrian, and there’s a real lack of spark to the whole affair. This is a story about criminals taking over the wreckage of the Shinsengumi to help rebuild it into a better force for good, but very little of the juicy potential in that concept makes it on screen beyond some decent moralizing against outright torture. But what really kills this thing is the only female character being subjected to the absolute worst kind of predatory “romance” and gender essentialism. That’s where this show crosses the line from inoffensively boring to outright disgusting.

A Couple of Cuckoos (2nd Half): 3.5/10

Is it just a rule that all harem anime must be cursed to go completely to shit by the end? I remember actually liking A Couple of Cuckoos back when it started out, but by the second half rolled around, it was just completely out of gas. Whatever story it had to begin with round to a halt and stayed there for twelve episodes of mind-numbing, meaningless faffing about, occasionally threatening to sputter back to life before promptly fizzling out all over again, finally belching up one last fart cloud of a non-ending before going completely silent. And I might not even be that upset about it; plenty of great anime have been forged off the backs of watching fun characters just hang out forever, and if there’s one thing I can say in Cuckoos’ favor, it does have some very entertaining character banter. But when you keep threatening to actually do something interesting? With cliffhanger after cliffhanger that are resolved near instantly and accomplish nothing except tricking you into thinking that finally, something, anything is about to happen? That, folks, is where my patience officially runs out. This show is a waste of my time, your time, and the time of every artist who worked on it. Skip it.

Phantom of the Idol: 6/10

Some things don’t need a deep reason for why you like them. Sometimes, just being a good time is good enough. And this heartfelt screwball comedy about a lazy, cynical male idol teaming up with the ghost of a former idol sensation to help advance his career without putting in the work himself is fun aplenty. Sure, it’s no Ya Boi Kongming, and the lackluster CG during the actual idol performances isn’t gonna blow anyone away. But it’s got good jokes, lovably eccentric characters, a sharp sense of comedic timing, and just enough sincerity to balance out the high-tempo wackiness. This is popcorn entertainment at its most easily digestible; it won’t blow you away, but it’s a good time guaranteed if you’re just looking for something to kick back and enjoy without thinking about it too much.

Shadows House Season 2: 6/10

Shadows House was one of last years’ most pleasant surprises, a slow-burn gothic shonen mystery that slipped neatly into the Promised Neverland-shaped hole left by that show’s misbegotten second season. Few anime settings in recent years have been as memorable as the titular house, and the first season left me eager to see Kate and Emilico continue their slowly blossoming revolution. Unfortunately, while season 2 keeps the twists coming hot and heavy with even more fascinating revelations about the systems governing this nightmare mansion, the narrative machinery feels on much less solid footing this time around. Answers come from awkward places and drawn-out exposition dumps, some reveals feel shortchanged, and there’s a frustrating sense that too many of these answers are coming not from the characters putting the pieces together of their own accord, but the narrative just dropping the answers in their laps. If Cloverworks decides to come back for a third season, I hope they’re able to tighten up the story’s structure and make its progression feel more natural. Because there are some damn exciting developments brought about by this season’s end, and I’d hate to see their potential squandered with writing that doesn’t earn their fallout.

Drifting Home: 7/10

Well, this was a pleasant surprise! Studio Colorido has been making this exact kind of whimsical-yet-poignant kids’ adventure flick forever, but this is the first one I’d call an unqualified success (at least from what I’ve seen; I hear Penguin Highway is supposedly pretty great). A bunch of kids break in to explore the worn-out, set-for-demolition apartment building one of them used to live, only for that building to somehow become stranded out at sea with no clear way home. What follows is a far more thematically complex odyssey than one might expect from this movie’s lighthearted exterior. Drifting Home is a story about, well, drifting away from home, about the pain of leaving a home behind and the fear of never being able to replace the sense of love and security that home gave you. But it’s also about those abandoned homes themselves and the emotions tangled up within them, how they reflect the lives lived within them and carry those memories even after they’re left behind. It’s a shockingly heady film, and even at two hours it feels like it could’ve used a little more time just to give it all space to breathe. But it mostly all comes together thanks to the gorgeous animation (seriously, Colorido is really starting to give Ghibli a run for its hyper-romaticized naturalism money), creative high concepts, and instantly lovable cast of child protagonists. Check it out if you’ve got a couple hours to kill; this is one adventure you won’t regret getting swept up in.

The Girl from the Other Side: 7/10

I remember a couple years back when Studio Wit put out a ten-minute short based on this bewitching fantasy manga. Even in such a bite-sized format, it was one of the most evocative pieces of animation I’d ever seen, and I knew I would never know peace until it got a full-length treatment. Well, that day has come at last, and surprising nobody, this movie adaptation of The Girl from the Other Side is absolutely mesmerizing. In a dreary fantasy world beset by curse and corruption, a lost human girl finds solace in the company of a cursed being still trying to hold onto his humanity. The exact details of the world and its greater context are left deliberately hazy; if you’re looking for meticulous fantasy worldbuilding, this isn’t the place to turn. What you get instead, though, is a gorgeous fantasia that makes you feel like you’re wandering the very woods where all those Grimm’s fairy tales took place in. The thick, ink-textured textured animation is like nothing I’ve ever seen before, equal parts terrifyingly supernatural, serenely archaic, and achingly human. And while the story may be as perfectly predictable as any other “jaded old dude takes care of a precocious little girl” plot, the vibes are so immaculate that it doesn’t really matter. If you’ve got an hour to kill, then you absolutely owe it to yourself to give this movie a watch. It’s a dream- or a nightmare- you won’t want to wake up from anytime soon.

Ao Ashi (2nd Half): 7.5/10

I said in my quick thoughts on Ao Ashi’s first half that this show is exactly what I needed to fill the Haikyuu-shaped hole in my heart. While that remains true, the second half has revealed one significant caveat: Ao Ashi has significantly weaker antagonists than Haikyuu. The strength of Haikyuu’s cast was that every player felt like the protagonist of their own story, with understandable goals and dreams, so you couldn’t help but root for them even when they went up against Karasuno. Ao Ashi’s antagonists are aiming for that same kind of energy, but they’re much more one-note and cartoonishly mean. I’m sorry, I can’t take this Akatsu guy seriously as a bully when by all rights he should’ve been kicked off the team for his shitty behavior by now. It’s far from enough to kill the show, thankfully, and the arrival of a shockingly great romantic subplot is more than enough to keep Ao Ashi as one of this year’s biggest delights. And now that the end of Haikyuu’s anime has been announced, I hope Production IG sticks with this one for the long haul as well. With a little stronger production, this could easily become the next sports anime juggernaut.

Made in Abyss Season 2: 8.5/10

You know, it’s funny. I spend most of the first half of Made in Abyss’ second season complaining about how it wasn’t as good as the rest of the series. The Golden City is visually boring and we spend way too much time in it! It’s overly reliant on shock value for the sake of shock value that doesn’t add anything to the overall message! The animation is so much more limited and reliant on ugly CGI (gee I wonder if making this in between seasons of a certain garbage isekai adaptation took a toll on the production)! But then the turning point hit halfway through the season, and it was like nothing had changed at all. The back half of Golden City of the Scorching Sun is as heartbreaking, horrifying, and unspeakably beautiful as Made in Abyss has ever been, finally tying the sixth layer’s meandering threads together into a single awe-inspiring tapestry of loss, vengeance, and what it means to find value in a world that doesn’t offer it easily. By the time it was all over, I barely remembered the awkward, subpar footing it had all started on. Made in Abyss is not an easy show to process, and it’s probably only going to get more and more difficult to stomach as we plunge into the Abyss’ deepest recesses. But while season 2 may be the weakest outing overall, it’s yet further proof why this twisted nightmare of a journey is one of the greatest fantasy anime of all time.

Lycoris Recoil: 8.5/10

You know what I love? When an anime comes out of nowhere and absolutely takes the world by storm. Lycoris Recoil wasn’t really on my radar before the season started, and what few trailers I watched didn’t do much to sell me on its weird mishmash of cute girls doing hardcore assassin work. Well, just slap a big fat egg on my face, because this bonkers original project is one of the most exciting things you or I or anyone else is likely to watch all year. Yes, it’s a little iffy that our protagonists are essentially government-sanctioned child sleeper agents tasked with keeping the peace by murdering anyone who even threatens to disturb it. And while the show does its best to wring some interesting thematic ideas from that concept- authoritarian security vs anarchic freedom, the ethics of killing for government- it’s far from a perfect treatise on the subject. You know what it does do perfectly, though? Basically everything else. Top-tier action, inspired direction and cinematography, consistently spectacular animation for fight scenes and comedy bits alike, a roller-coaster plot that perfectly balances hilarious slice-of-life shenanigans with the intensity of shootouts and car chases, actual canon gay representation (though not in the way you might expect), and two of the most pitch-perfect protagonists to ever share a screen. Seriously, Chisato and Takina own my entire soul and I apologize for nothing. Lycoris Recoil may not be a philosophical masterpiece, but it’s popcorn entertainment at its absolute finest, and I cannot recommend it highly enough.

Cyberpunk Edgerunners: 9/10

Sound the alarm, folks: Trigger’s back on track to save anime again! I knew Cyberpunk Edgerunners was gonna be a great time from the moment its first trailer dropped: marrying Hiroyuki Imaishi’s iconic directing style with the neon-soaked atmosphere of the cyberpunk genre was a match so perfect you gotta wonder how we’re only just now getting around to it. What I didn’t expect, though, was just how goddamn great the story ended up being. Imaishi’s always relied on the back of his high-octane visual style, and the thematic ideas that style alone conveys, to cover for the actual writing being kind of a hot mess. But Edgerunners gives him a genuinely great script to work with for the first time, and the results are magical. This tale of an impoverished teenager lashing out against the hypercapitalist system he lives under and finding companionship among fellow societal rejects may not break much new ground for the cyberpunk genre, but it delivers the single most exhilarating, heartbreaking, and breathtaking version of that story I’ve ever seen. And Imaishi’s style doesn’t just make that story pop, it infuses even the most played-out plot points with astonishing new life. This may well be his best work as a director, and I do not say that lightly. Cyberpunk Edgerunners is easily Netflix’s best anime since Devilman Crybaby, and I consider it a must-watch for anyone who can handle the intensity of its bloody action. Never before has something so perfectly embodied its genre while simultaneously feeling like nothing else that genre has ever produced.

[testudoaubrei-blog]

Well, it’s not quite a master’s thesis, but this is (the first of) a series of posts on why Catra and Adora are the best love story in the history of kids TV animation and maybe the greatest love story in the history of TV. This may in some ways be faint praise - romance on TV is generally not very good compared with books or movies. Often it’s just some will they/won’t they sexual tension that is defused by getting characters together and re-heightened by breaking them up. TV is full of nearly shark jumping pointless dramas like Sam and Diane (Cheers, holy fuck am I dating myself, though that was technically before my time), Ross and Rachel (Friends, which was no Cheers) etc, but also some less annoying couples like Ben and Leslie (Parks and Rec) or Amy and Jake (Bk99) who are mostly just kind of cute and fun. Other shows, like the X-Files, teased viewers for years with unresolved sexual tension. In kids shows most romances are, appropriate for their target viewers, mild, sweet relationships based more on self-conscious flirting and blushing than on complex and conflicted feelings or deep passions - which is pretty realistic when the characters are young teens or even mid-teens. Some of these relationships are really well done - Finn and Flame Princess, Dipper and Pacifica (yeah I ship them), the early stages of Katara and Aang (before the showrunners imbued this childhood crush with cosmic significance), Steven and Connie, etc. Catra and Adora, though, are different. Their love story is not a side plot or a sub plot, it’s the heart of the show. It isn’t a childhood crush, it’s a very messy and passionate relationship between two young adults. She-Ra is an emotionally complex lesbian romance just as much as it is a thrilling action/adventure show. Everything about their relationship is baked into the show’s plot, its themes, hell even its musical score. The dramatic tension between Catra and Adora is not the result of stretching out a flirtation for ratings, but a coherent dramatic arc that runs through the entire show. As Noelle said, he made Catradora so central that execs couldn’t take it out without ruining the show. And the show is better for it. In this series of posts I’m going to try to show why, as well as showing why She-Ra is such a fantastic love story.

First off, let’s talk about how Catra and Adora’s character arcs are foils for each other, and how they come together and apart through the series. This is actually a post that I’ve been working on for a while but I keep summarizing the show rather than cutting to the chase, so I’m not going to recite many plot points so much as sketch out what’s going on with the dramatic structure at the time. But also, let’s talk about what each character’s arc is saying, and how they are commenting on each other. Spoiler alert: Catra’s arc is a subversion and critique of stories of empowerment through ruthless self-assertion and revenge, while Adora’s arc is a subversion and critique of chosen one narratives and stories of self-denial and self-transcendence.

When the show starts, Adora and Catra are shown as rivals and friends - their first scene starts the recurring motif of them reaching out for each other as one of them dangles above an abyss, as well as establishing their flirtatious banter and easy camaraderie. We quickly learn that these two young women plan to conquer the world together. These scenes and later flashbacks show Catra and Adora as deeply enmeshed in each others lives, to the point where neither of them (but especially Catra) have clear identities outside of one another. There is so much genuine love on both sides before Adora leaves, but also resentment, envy and fear, especially on Catra’s side, as well as a protectiveness on Adora’s side that deprives Catra of her autonomy. They are both being abused by Shadow Weaver - Catra physically  and emotionally, Adora emotionally. It wouldn’t be too much to say that Shadow Weaver holds Catra hostage to control Adora (this is why critiques that Adora abandoned Catra to be abused are actually kind of messed up, since they accept Shadow Weaver’s premise that Adora is responsible for what Shadow Weaver does to Catra). In addition, Catra and Adora actually see the world incredibly differently. Adora already sees the world in terms of right, wrong and her destiny to right wrongs - this is why it’s important for her  to accept the Horde’s obvious lies - she couldn’t keep living if she didn’t. Catra, on the other hand, sees the world solely in terms of survival and personal loyalty - everything for her is about preserving herself and the person she cares about - Adora.

Then, when Adora finds the sword, she leaves because it’s the right thing to do. Catra doesn’t even have a concept of ‘the right thing to do’ being something she should care about, or perhaps, something she can care about as an irredeemably evil, awful fuck-up. So at Thaymor neither one understands where the other is coming from, and Catra and Adora begin to part. This is the first turning point in their relationship. Adora chooses duty over what she desires, Catra chooses to protect herself (such as she sees it) and nurse her sense of betrayal and abandonment.

Their relationship until Promise is a kind of weird Frenemy thing that is fascinating to watch and sold me on the show. Neither one wants to fully admit to themselves that the other is now their enemy, neither one has given up on changing the other’s mind. Each is furious at the other, and desperate to see her again at the same time. There’s a lot of heartache and just as much sexual tension, especially at Princess Prom. Both of them come alive when they fight each other (more about that in a later post). But they’re already growing apart - Adora embracing her destiny as She-Ra, Catra rising in the ranks for the Horde. Adora now has the purpose she always wanted, plus other friends and a sense of being chosen to do something great, while Catra now has power - the means to protect herself from people like Shadow Weaver as well as the vindication she had always been denied, and even the opportunity to beat Shadow Weaver at her own game.

The next turning point is Promise. Holy fuck, this episode. It’s an episode that is even more heartbreaking after you’ve watched the show because you know just how much worse things are going to get, and yet, it’s a necessary part of both of their character arcs. Even through season 1 Catra and Adora had remained very much enmeshed in each others lives in an increasingly fucked up way as they grew apart but refused to turn away from each other. Even though they aren’t -exactly- a romantic couple (Adora doesn’t recognize and acknowledge her feelings until the last episode of Season 5), Season 1 of She-Ra is one of the worst breakups I have seen on TV. As I said in a couple of previous posts, this is the kind of shit that the Mountain Goats write songs about. Everything that was poisoning their love for each other even before episode 1 bubbles to the surface and combines with them fighting on opposite sides of the war to make a truly fucked up situation. In the end, it’s Catra that makes the choice to turn away from Adora. This isn’t a -good- decision. It’s spiteful, and destructive, and based on an outright deluded understanding of their relationship (inspired by Light Hope’s manipulations and her own issues), but it’s in some ways a necessary decision. Catra has been so wrapped up in Adora for so long that she isn’t going to be able to figure out who -she- is without cutting Adora out of her life. And the same is true of Adora.

But each of them do this in about the worst way possible. Catra embraces destruction, ambition, manipulation and outright cruelty, turning the tactics of her abusers against them and against everyone around her. She first triumphs over Shadow Weaver and manipulates Entrapta into trying to corrupt Etheria itself. Meanwhile Adora ‘lets go’ and commits herself to the self-denying mantle of She-Ra. Over the next several seasons, their respective paths will nearly lead both Catra and Adora to their deaths (in the Season 4 finale).

For the next season (counting season 2 and 3 as one) Catra and Adora are still closely linked, but as enemies. Still, there’s more than enough flirtation between them (that ‘Hey Catra’ in the first episode of Season 2 is something else), and especially on Adora’s side we see her hold back with Catra, and often take responsibility for the harm Catra inflicts, just like she had when they were kids. Yet they still drift apart - after facing off every other episode in Season 1, they spend less and less time on screen together through season 2 and 3. Catra continues her ascent to power and descent into villainy while Adora becomes more of a stressed out mess as she takes the fate of the world and the wellbeing of everyone she cares about on her admittedly broad shoulders. Catra’s one moment of vulnerability is rewarded by Shadow Weaver’s betrayal and her exile, then Catra triumphs in ruthless badass fashion through sheer desperation and aggression. In the Crimson Wastes, we see Catra at her most independent, and she almost seems happy. But once Adora shows up and Catra hears about Shadow Weaver, she’s sucked back into the worst of her resentments, and she makes very clear that being happy is less important to her than making sure Adora is miserable.

This changes everything. Catra completely breaks with reality and tries to kill Adora, herself and the world rather than lose to Adora and Shadow Weaver (I do think it’s important to remember that she does that after Shadow Weaver nearly kills her). Catra betrays everyone around her when she exiles Entrapta, threatens Scopria and lies to Hordak. Then she flips the switch. When Adora tries to fix things, Catra fights to her own death to make sure that the world disintegrates with her. For her part, Adora fights first to understand what is wrong with the world and then to fix it. Finally she tells Catra that destroying the world is her choice and she has to live with it, decks her, and then sees her off with a death glare once the portal is closed. With this, Adora writes Catra off even if, as she says later, she never never hated her. By doing that, Adora casts off the guilt that had dogged her and takes responsibility for her own life rather than someone else’s - this is actually a huge step for her, and one that will become more important in Season 4.

Season 4 is in many ways the nadir of their relationship. They only see each other once during the entire season, in Fluterrina, when Adora tries to blast Catra, much to the latter’s shock. There’s a sense in that scene that Catra is trying to have the same flirtatious enmity she used to have with Adora, and Adora is having none of it. Catra almost seems hurt by this, which is an early hint at how isolated Catra is beginning to feel. Catra spends the rest of the season at her highest and lowest. On the one hand she spends most of 12 episodes winning by every standard she has ever claimed to care about, besting Hordak himself in single combat and making herself co-ruler of the Horde and coming within a day’s march of ending the Rebellion. In many ways it is the ultimate empowerment fantasy - the abused young woman has defeated her abusers, showed up everyone who doubted her and forced everyone to respect her. But I think it’s striking that the show starts with her and Adora dreaming of conquering the world together and in Season 4 Catra nearly succeeds in conquering it alone, almost like she was trying to live out her old shared fantasy while proving she didn’t need her former best friend. 

At the same time, Catra is clearly miserable. She’s always been unhappy, but in Season 4 we see her completely isolated and lying to herself and everyone who will listen in a desperate attempt to justify her actions. Turning the tactics of Hordak and Shadow Weaver against them to gain power and then against Scorpia and Entrapta to maintain it haven’t vindicated Catra, they’ve made her more and more alone as Entrapta is exiled and Scorpia drifts away. Meanwhile Catra reaches out to Double Trouble, and her interactions with them reek of a kind of desperate desire to have someone in her life (the feeling of their interaction is of an unhealthy casual relationship where one partner becomes emotionally invested and the other takes advantage of that while denying the other the closeness they desire). As people leave her, one after the other, it becomes clearer and clearer that Catra doesn’t want power at all - she wants connection, friendship, love, and power is a very poor replacement. As I said in my long Catra rant, Season 4 is both her ‘Walter White as a Catgirl’ season and the beginning of her redemption. Everything comes to head when Sparkles destroys everything Catra has tried to achieve, Double Trouble delivers those harsh truths and Horde Prime shows up and makes it all irrelevant, just highlighting how futile all her struggles and sacrifices and crimes have been.

Meanwhile Adora spends Season 4 becoming her own her and her own woman. After telling off Catra, she grows more and more disillusioned with Light Hope and critical of Glimmer (though the latter has more than a shade of her old habit of taking responsibility for others - Adora’s development is not linear). She’s gained the courage and confidence to strike out her own path, not just follow a destiny. At the season’s end she once again breaks with her best friend to do what is right, and discards the destiny that she was being prepared for. But in this case she isn’t chasing one packaged destiny for another, instead she’s making her own choice and literally shattering the thing that she thought gave her life purpose. It’s badass, and heartbreaking, and along with decking Catra and jumping after Catra into the abyss (see below) it’s the perfect Adora moment.

In many ways Season 5 starts with Catra and Adora farther apart than they have ever been. They aren’t even enemies anymore, they’re completely out of each other’s lives. And both Catra and Adora are lost at the beginning of Season 5 - Catra is useless and alone on Prime’s ship, completely defeated despite ostensibly being on the winning side, and she goes through the motions of her normal plotting without any particular conviction and none of her normal flair. Meanwhile Adora is even more miserable and self-destructive than usual, throwing herself at Horde Bots and working herself until she drops of exhaustion. In a very real way they both stay lost until they have a chance to help the other. Catra takes responsibility for what she’s done and what she can do, saves Glimmer (at least partly for Adora’s sake), apologizes to Adora, and sacrifices herself. Adora only seems to come alive when she decides to turn around, face Prime, and save the cat. And when she does, Catra and Adora’s arcs, which had separated so completely in season 4, come crashing back together to end the series.

Adora during Save the Cat is such a contrast with the uncertain, hesitant and self-destructive wreck we’ve seen so far in Season 5. This is possibly her craziest plan in 3 years of mostly cazy plans, but she never wavers or questions herself. Even when Chipped Catra appears and we see Adora’s heart break while we watch, Adora doesn’t back down or relent. She keeps at it even as the tears stream down her face. She fights better trying to save Catra without She-Ra’s powers than she fought at the Battle of Bright Moon with them. Catra’s just about as desperate - we see her cry and plead, and now is probably as good a time to any to point out how amazing a job both VAs did throughout the show, but especially in this episode, and how good a job the board artists did. 

Seeing each other for the first time in a year, and only the second time since Catra blew everything up, Catra and Adora are probably the rawest and least restrained we’ve ever seen them. There’s barely any banter, no bravado, and no pretense that they are anything other than two women who desperately need each other (Prime doesn’t help with ‘You broke my heart’.) Then Catra is flung to her death, Adora jumps after her, breaks both her legs in the fall (we see her crawl to Catra, as though she couldn’t walk) and becomes the real She-Ra. It’s such a triumphant and deeply queer moment seeing a woman transformed into a warrior goddess to protect the woman she loves, and it’s the reason that, as dark as it is, Save the Cat is my Comfort Food episode.

Let’s not sleep on Taking Control, though. This episode is like a microcosm of what this show does best, especially the A plot with Catra and Adora. Catra’s reversion to lashing out at everyone and her refusal to be open to Adora shows just how much of a struggle this whole ‘being good and trying to connect to people’ thing is. Catra’s outburst gives Adora a chance to stand up for herself and refuse to be Catra’s punching bag, while also not trying to control her. Adora’s ultimatum gives Catra a chance to reach out to Adora (quite literally), and allow herself to be vulnerable. In this episode, we see just how far Catra and Adora have come since the messed up stew of their relationship in Season 1. Adora lets Catra be responsible for her own actions; Catra lets herself be vulnerable to Adora and takes responsibility for her actions. They’re both better people and better friends and better partners than they were, and the show has shown this in a strikingly nuanced and realistic way. 

The important thing to note in the next few episodes of Season 5 isn’t just how much closer Catra and Adora get to each other and how much they flirt (So much. So much, y’all) but just how -happy- they are. We see both of them transformed in the other’s presence. Basically, since they’ve parted, both Catra and Adora have been defined in no small part by how miserable they often are. They have both had their triumphs and their lighter moments, but there’s been a sense of melancholy dogging both Catra and Adora since episode 1. And now that they’re together again, that lifts, somewhat. Catra’s verbal barbs have lost their venom, and she can openly show how much she cares for Adora and even Bow and Glimmer. She’s still herself - snarky, cynical, somewhat devious - but she’s not engaged in a self-destructive zero-sum struggle with everyone around her. Meanwhile Adora has spent 4 seasons being a neurotic and sometimes nearly joyless mess who takes responsibility for everything and often doesn’t let herself enjoy anything other than the odd BFS group hug (exceptions include trying to uh...impress Huntara and reveling with the butterfly ladies of Elberron in Flutterina).  Around Catra, though, she’s a cocky, swaggering jock who gives as good as she gets. It’s a side of Adora we’ve only seen hints of before, and one that’s so much more confident and joyful even as the world is ending around her. Apart, Catra had tried to protect and vindicate herself with power and conquest, while Adora had tried to forget herself in duty and sacrifice. Together, they can be themselves again. This dynamic is crucial to the show’s portrayal of Catra and Adora’s romance because it doesn’t just show how much they love each other, but how they’re -good- for each other now that they’ve grown as people, and that they are so much better than they were when they were apart.

Until Shadow Weaver shows up. Their old abuser reintroduces tensions but even then things are different than they were. Now Catra isn’t just resentful of how Shadow Weaver prefers Adora - she’s  protective of Adora, which is clearest in Failsafe when she calls Shadow Weaver out for being willing to sacrifice Adora. And while Adora takes the Failsafe, it isn’t to follow her destiny or because she has a death wish - it’s because she loves her friends, and she is the only one who has any hope of doing this and living (though Catra’s suggestion that Shadow Weaver take it is a good one). And finally, when Catra leaves Adora, it isn’t because she hates Adora, nor, despite what she says, is it because she really thinks that Adora chose Shadow Weaver. At least, not exactly. It’s because Catra loves Adora, and can admit that to herself, and can’t stay around and watch the woman she loves sacrifice herself rather than choosing Catra. Before Catra leaves, she asks Adora ‘What do you want?” It’s a question that echoes Shadow Weaver’s speech in Episode 1: ‘isn’t this what you always wanted since you could want anything?’ As much as Adora has grown as a person, and defined herself and stood up for what she thinks is right, she still has never answered that question - it’s never been ‘what do I want’ but ‘what do I have to do?’ and that’s how Adora answers Catra’s question. This is Adora’s last gasp as a self-transcending hero, letting go of what she wants (not that she ever dared articulate what that was) in order to do what must be done. And it nearly kills her and dooms the universe, because Adora can’t be the hero that she needs to be by being anyone less than herself.

But it’s losing Catra that inspires Adora to tell off Shadow Weaver for good (not that she’d ever really warmed to her after season 1). And it’s love for Adora that inspires Catra to stand up to Shadow Weaver and demand that she do the right thing. In both cases, Catra and Adora aren’t just standing up to their abuser, but holding her to account for the harm she’s caused, and it’s the love that they have for each other that inspires them to do this. In Catra’s case in particular her refusal to let Shadow Weaver weasel out of finding Adora is a much greater triumph over Shadow Weaver than beating her up and breaking her mask in Season 1 - it’s proof not so much to Shadow Weaver but to Catra herself that Catra really is better than this and that she deserves better than this. It’s not turning her abuser’s tactics against her, but truly holding her to a moral standard and demanding that she do the right thing.

And then there’s Catra and Adora together at the heart. Catra has already come back for Adora and stayed to the end, choosing to die with her even if she can’t share a life together (not out of some death wish, but because Adora needs her). And Adora, who’s been avoiding answering the question for three fucking years, finally let’s herself want Catra when Catra finally confesses her love (breaking the last of her self-protective shields) and asks Adora to stay -for her-. And by admitting what she wants, Adora can truly be at peace with herself and be the hero she needs to be, lesbianism saves the universe, The End.

So anyway, that’s how Catra and Adora’s stories are woven together and how they compliment and comment on each other. Narrativiely, Adora and Catra start together, come apart, find something of themselves, and truly find themselves and each other when they are reunited. Thematically, they are critiquing seemingly opposing narrative tropes - empowerment narratives and narratives of self sacrifice. But by showing the flaws in both types of story and showing how neither self-seeking empowerment nor self-negating self sacrifice can actually make us happy, She-Ra asks and answers more profound questions than most prestige dramas for adults do. I’ll get into how the show sells the idea that the power of love can bring us happiness (and save the world) in a future post. But next up, I’m going to celebrate just how much Catra and Adora’s relationship revels in ambiguity, complexity and contradiction and so tells a grown up love story in a kid’s show.

[mypoisonedvine]

can you please write some daddy! stucky x little! reader with some cockwarming and spanking and just being a cum slut for daddy’s special milk

okay so I took this amazing suggestion and REALLY ran with it... this is so nasty im putting the whole thing under a cut wowww... very nsfw, very heavy ddlg, very aggressive punishments with mean!daddy stucky, lots of cnc and pain kink and degradation plus dp and painal... it's wild

"dada pwease... I'll be good, I pwomise..."

bucky sighed, crossing his arms in disappointnent as he looked down at you. "you had your chance to be good, pumpkin, but you were naughty instead. now papa and I have to teach you a lesson."

you turned to your papa, steve, and your heart broke to see him looking at you with stoic sternness, his hands resting on his hips judgmentally. "pweeease papa, don't spank me... s'gonna hurt..."

"sorry baby but you more than earned it," steve sighed as he took a seat on one of the dining chairs nearby. "your dada's gonna help you take off your pull-up, and then you need to come over here and bend over my knee before I add five more spanks onto your punishment."

"yes, papa..." you mumbled as you felt bucky's hands relieve you of your diaper before you stepped out of it and crossed the room to where steve waited patiently, patting his knee for you to lay on. you squirmed a little in anticipation of the punishment but overall managed to avoid more of his anger.

"I'm gonna give you fifteen, and if you lose count we have to start over."

"but papa I can't count that high!"

"yes you can, stop acting stupid and count them for me, loud so we can both hear you."

loud wasn't a problem at all. he hit you hard enough that just the first one made tears sting your eyes instantly. "o-one!"

you looked up at bucky as you kept counting, little whines and whimpers turning quickly into real cries, each slap making you choke and sob louder. you were hoping he would take pity on you, but instead you saw his cock getting hard inside his jeans.

"I think you need a paci to keep you quiet," bucky decided after you could barely managed to say 'nine' due to the force of your crying. but he didn't go get your favorite pink glittery one, no, he was reaching for his belt to get his cock out and rub it on your lips. "go ahead and suck on it, pumpkin," he encouraged gruffly as he shoved it into your mouth, and you forced yourself to hold back the tears so you could focus on sucking him properly. suckling at his leaking head did help with the crying, to be honest, but it did little for the pain itself.

"looks like dada's trying to make you lose count..." your papa taunted. thankfully they were merciful enough to give you breaks from choking on dada bucky's cock so you could count for papa steve, and you breathed a sigh of relief when you reached fifteen and bucky knelt down to wipe your tears away.

"good job pumpkin, you took it well," bucky soothed you, stroking your hair gently as you let out weak little sobs. "you're almost done."

"a-almost?"

"you need a bigger punishment than just spanks, babydoll. you need to learn about patience."

and that you did: specifically, you learned that patience is awful.

"p-please let me move dada!" you begged, squirming on his lap as best you could while he held you down, his cock buried in you but not giving enough friction to provide any pleasure.

"I told you pumpkin, you can't move til I say so."

he held you still for what felt like forever, while papa kissed your neck and played with your tits and your button, whispering about how you were a good girl but you needed to l learn your lesson. you were right on the edge but you couldn't get there without your dada's cock moving in you.

"go ahead and move, pumpkin."

"thank you dada, thank you soooo much," you sobbed with relief, sighing and moaning when you got a chance to lift yourself on top of him. you didn't get much of a chance to do it yourself though, he was already lifting you effortlessly and moving you up and down himself, before quickly moving you to your hands and knees so he could fuck you more aggressively.

you looked up at your papa as you came, tears welling in your eyes from the intensity of the pleasure bucky was giving you.

"papa... I'm hungry..." you whimpered.

but this wasn't the way you said it when you wanted a snack. this was something else, and you knew he knew it. he grinned as he looked down at you. "what are you hungry for, babydoll?"

"wan' daddy's special milk..."

"yeah, I bet you do... if you do a good job and make papa feel good, you'll get lots of milk... is that what you want, sweetheart?"

you nodded and licked your lips, already salivating at the thought. you loved your daddies' milk so much, you craved it almost all the time. the only thing better than tasting and swallowing it was having it put as deep inside you as they could reach, and plugged up so it stayed. thankfully, with two daddies to take care of you, you never had to choose.

steve stuffed your mouth with his cock, holding you by your neck and fucking your throat.

being used at both ends made you feel incredible, you loved being your daddies' special little girl and making them feel good. you moaned happily when papa came all over your tongue, groaning and praising you as you swallowed every drop and sucked diligently to make sure you got all you could.

when he pulled out and you thanked him like always, you addressed bucky immediately. "please come in me dada, wan it in me..."

"yeah? are you daddy's little cumslut?"

"yes!! love it so so much, dada, please put it so deep in me..."

"I'm gonna fuck you really really hard, okay? but only because you asked me to come. no crying if it hurts."

"okie dada..."

you didn't cry, but you nearly screamed when he began to pound into you senselessly, slamming into your cervix with each thrust.

"it's too deep isn't it?"

you nodded, making him laugh. "oh baby, is dada ruining your tiny little pussy?"

you nodded again, biting down on your lip to keep from crying out.

bucky growled as he came, pumping into your abused hole and painting it with his release. you winced when he pulled out, feeling his come mix with yours as it leaked down your thighs

"poor thing, are you sore and achy?" steve cooed, grinning when you nodded. "it's not time for a break yet, I wanna get inside you too, baby."

"can't, papa, too tired."

"that's okay, then we'll just play a game instead. do you remember how to play horsey?"

"I like horsey!"

"good! you get to ride papa like a horsey, isn't that fun?"

well, it wasn't as fun as it sounded, because when you straddled steve on the bed and sink down on his cock, soreness burned between your legs. "hurts, papa... too big..."

"yeah, I know it hurts, but papa wants to play horsey so you need to be a big girl okay?"

you started to pout and cry a little as he pushed all the way into you, shifting to try to relieve your discomfort but only making it worse.

"now just rock back and forth, sweetheart... did you forget how to play like a dumb little baby?"

"n-no..."

just as you were trying to adjust to moving on top of steve, bucky's finger poked at your other hole, a stinging pain shooting up your back when he pushed it in.

"ow, dada!"

"why are you whining, pumpkin?"

"you hurted me!"

"sorry baby, but this is gonna hurt a lot less later if you let me hurt you a little now..."

you tried to be good and take his fingers, but every time it went from hurting to almost feeling good, he would put in more. finally he took them all out and you hoped he was done, but then you felt him pushing his cock against your hole.

"won't fit..." you sighed.

"'m gonna make it fit pumpkin, now hold still..."

you shivered and hissed and scrunched up your face as he pushed into you, trying to squirm away but failing. "dadaaaaa!" you sobbed loudly. "hurts, dada, please stop!!"

"it's supposed to hurt, princess, that's how you know it's working. it means this big cock is stretching out this itty bitty hole for dada. you do know all your holes belong to dada, right?"

"b-but I don't like it..."

"I don't care if you like it. let me use your dirty fucking hole and shut your mouth, you hear me?"

you bit on your lip and nodded weakly, your chest burning with shame from the cruel way bucky was treating you (even though it made your insides tingle with arousal as well).

steve took pity on you though, leaning up to wipe one tear with his thumb before kissing away the other. "is it too much to have both your daddies' cocks in you at once?"

you nodded again, sniffling quietly.

"but you like it anyways, don't you? you like being an obedient cocksleeve for us?"

"yes, papa..."

"and I know you love being full of our special milk... you can get more if you just ask nicely."

"please papa, please dada, wan more of your milk in me..."

"I bet you wanna have your own cummies, isn't that right babydoll?"

you nodded and gasped when steve played with your swollen button again, and you felt your insides tighten around both of them. you couldn't believe you might actually be able to come in spite (or because?) of all this pain.

"dirty little slut. look at you riding two cocks like the filthy whore you are. like the needy little cumdumpster we turned you into. remember when you were all innocent and stupid, baby? when you didn't even know if we would fit? now you're begging for more, drooling and moaning and coming all over your daddies' cocks... taking me up your ass and fucking loving it... desperate bitch."

"bucky," you gasped quietly, taken aback by his words.

"too much?" he whispered back right against your ear.

"no... just right. keep going," you encouraged.

"god, if only you could see how wide your little holes are being stretched right now," he continued, his voice lower than before. "if only you could see us tearing up your princess parts."

"close, dada... gonna have my cummies..."

"go ahead and come, baby, show us how tight you can get, go on, clench real hard for us."

"fuck just like that, gonna fill you up baby"

"you'll be full for days just from this, so full of our milk you won't even be able to think."

when you came you went limp, melting into their arms and losing your ability to do much of anything including say more than a few words at a time. you were totally cockdrunk and exhausted and braindead. bucky said sometimes that you didn't need a brain anyways...

they kept using your exhausted and overstimulated body until they were done with you, putting their come deep in you and finally plugging you up this time (in both holes, of course-- even your mouth too if you count the paci they gave you to nurse while you drifted to sleep on your papa's chest)

"such a good little baby, such a sweet girl for us..."

"get some rest pumpkin, we're so very proud of you"

"you're papa's favorite girl, okay? dada's little angel."

[alygatorwrites]

can I request a lil something? during the end of the manga or after the timeskip if you haven't read it yet, reiner still has feelings for historia and reader has one-sided feelings for him.

pieck gives reiner a small hint, saying he's wasting time while there's someone close to him that cares for him and points to you. he doesn't understand at first and maybe is conflicted about his feelings for you because of historia. reader is cool about it as she doesn't expect him to reciprocate her feelings.

a rollercoaster of emotions later, maybe there is a happy ending tho? i am curious to see what you can come up with 😭😭 i have dreaming of this scenario before bed and i can't help but get jealous of his crush on historia abjdsndks maybe you can help reiner reciprocate reader-chan's feelings or not

thank u so much aly ��🥺

reciprocation

pairing: reiner braun x reader

a/n: OMG yesss! honestly, i was kinda annoyed at how reiner still had a crush on historia. i know that isayama wanted to show how everything went back to normal, but i was hoping that reiner would have a bigger role in the allied nations instead of being "dumbed down" to having an obsession with her. MAYBE THATS JUST THE JEALOUSY SPEAKING LMAO 😭 i was hoping this would be longer, although school has been killing me so im really sorry!! i hope its okay 💗💕 thank you honey!

↳ to be added to my taglist, please fill out this ♡form♡

as reiner is handed historia’s letter, you fold your hands on the table and watch him without a word. when he reads the lines and smells the parchment - jean saying something snarky afterward - you say nothing.

you want reiner to be happy: you want to see him at ease like this more, face soft as the leaf of the page flits from his pinched fingers.

and so you let the man speak about historia like she’s a damn goddess, gushing over her handwriting, and keep your goddamn mouth shut. ignore your jealousy. your feelings.

the truth is, you’re in love with reiner.

you can’t even remember how it happened, but you can remember the first time you looked into those hazel eyes, and how you knew that they were going to stick with you for eternity.

you’ve come to accept his crush on the queen, though. reciprocation was never an option in your mind.

when jean begins to chew reiner out for lusting after a married woman, and reiner says something about jean being a horse, pieck’s gaze lands on you. “you’re rather quiet,” she says softly, resting her head on her palm.

you shrug, turning away from her. “i’m just tired.”

pieck catches your chin between her lithe fingers, and turns you to face her with a tiny smile. the young woman is very perceptive, and you’ve known her long enough. 

that’s when you notice the twinkle in her eye. she’s planning something.

pieck releases your jaw then, sitting up in her chair. “you’re wasting your time, reiner,” she says suddenly. “there’s already someone you know who cares for you.”

you pretend to not hear pieck - and definitely pretend you don’t see her faintly point at you through your peripheral. the movement of her fingers is barely there, but you catch it.

damn you, pieck.

the way you’re now pinned underneath armin, jean, connie, and reiner’s stares makes your stomach tie itself into knots with bubbling reluctance. shit, this is awkward. you want to run away.

still, you peer over to study reiner’s reaction. he looks confused at first, the contours of his face unreadable. you swear you see connie facepalm at the man’s cluelessness.

then reiner’s expression slowly changes: his eyes widen in awe, lips parting slightly, and brows knitting together. he seems genuinely surprised - and conflicted.

conflicted? why?

there’s no time to explain yourself though, because the door creaks open and annie steps in. her words fall on your deaf ears, and when everyone stands up to leave, you’re the first one out of the room. work beckons you as always.

two days pass.

you’ve been busy filling out tons of paperwork pertaining to the allied nations, so when you’re finally given a day off, you take it with open arms. 

freedom at last.

you lean against a bench outside of headquarters, enjoying the salty breeze that flutters along your skin. it’s dusk, the sky covered in a gradient of neon colors as the sun dips below the horizon.

you haven’t seen reiner since that day in the conference room. you wonder how he’s doing, what he’s thinking, how he’s holding up -

“hey.”

speak of the devil. you glance over your shoulder toward the voice, low and familiar.

reiner approaches you, clad in his uniform: the suit hugs his large frame perfectly, showing every flex of his muscles, and his blonde hair is neatly parted. the black tie looped around his neck just pulls it all together. it has you weak at the knees every. single. time.

“hey,” you answer, giving reiner a smile as he stops beside you.

and that’s when your heart lurches at the sight of him.

the sunset highlights reiner’s profile in gold, a heavenly shine that settles upon his blonde lashes and the flawless slope of his nose. the flecks in his irises sparkle – a beautiful mixture of soft browns and muted greens. the only thing you can do right now is admire the man. 

his words are what breaks you out of your daydream.

“work has been crazy lately, huh?” reiner says, focused on the candy-floss clouds and their fluffy shapes.

“well - yeah, pretty much. i don’t want to look at a pen or a piece of paper ever again.”

“that bad?”

“you have no idea. i almost regret marley and paradis reconciling.”

reiner chuckles gently at the joke, but it’s strained. his forehead remains creased, and he’s not really smiling. the emotion there is more … doubtful. it’s like he’s having some sort of inner conflict.

hopefully reiner’s not acting cautious because of the other day. you know he doesn’t return your feelings, and that’s totally okay. you’re happy enough being with him like this. “i’m not mad or anything, y’know.”

reiner stiffens at that. there’s a white flash of teeth when he chews on his lower lip. “i know.”

“good,” you hum, breathing out a sigh of relief. your core twists with envy when you force a grin. bite it back. tease him like always. “so about historia … ”

reiner’s eyes go wide almost comically, and you hear the breath in his lungs leave his firm chest in one exhale. there’s a light blush staining his cheeks now. it’s funny; he’s so goddamn big, yet he’s such a teddy bear.

“y-yeah,” reiner mutters. you observe the way his brows pinch together as he awkwardly shifts in place. it takes a while before the man composes himself again, which is strange.

is he scared or something? what the hell?

“pieck,” reiner hesitates for a moment. the golden strands of his hair ruffle in the wind and he appears ... well, lost. “was she being serious?”

the question is a shocker - jeez, he could have at least let you prepare yourself. a firm ‘no’ almost slips out, but you’ve never been much of a liar. not to reiner, anyway. crossing your arms against your chest, you inhale sharply and nod. avoid staring at him face-to-face. “yep.”

“ … why me?”

reiner says the words with a mixture of spite and anguish, a casual and rumbling voice. you immediately turn your head, frowning. “what?”

“i’ve done so many horrible things.” reiner exhales heavily and stares down at his hands; perhaps he’s imagining all the blood they’ve been stained with. “i betrayed everyone. i killed innocent people - all because i was selfish.”

it’s no surprise that reiner is broken after everything he’s been through, but it pains you to know that he continues to suffer in silence. whatever war is raging inside his ribcage tears him apart piece by piece, and you wish you could carry the burden. 

there’s probably nothing you can say to convince reiner that he was just a kid, a victim of circumstance. there’s nothing that can persuade him to see himself the way you do.

so you decide to tell reiner why you love him. 

you explain the amount of admiration you hold for him. tell him that you love the way he just wants to be someone his comrades can lean on, like a big brother. tell him that you think he’s the most gorgeous person you’ve ever seen and how you think he deserves the world.

the way you spill your guts out snaps every nerve in your body. you don’t say everything you want to – but you tell him enough. a dark flush spreading across your face, you find the courage to look at him.

the world seems to stop on its axis when you find reiner staring right on back. the intensity of his eyes is stunning; they’re lit up with astonishment and affection.

god, the affection. you see it clear as day. maybe one of the greatest regrets in his life is how he forced himself to see you only as a friend.

that’s when he reaches out to you.

reiner retracts his hand twice, unsure, before slowly brushing his fingertips against yours. the touch is so feather-light that you almost can’t feel it. it’s a test - he’s waiting to see if you pull away. you can’t even move if you wanted to, because his fond gaze keeps you rooted to the spot before him. 

when you don’t recoil, reiner finally moves to gently hold your hand; his palm is so much bigger than yours, and your fingers slot together perfectly, like a jigsaw puzzle’s final piece. 

heart thrumming like a hummingbird has been stuffed into your chest, you’re almost at a loss for words and come to a realization.

this utterly amazing man likes you. always has. 

but reiner shoved away the feelings for one simple reason; you deserved ‘better.’ focusing on the old crush he had on historia was a distraction - an attempt to convince himself to stop thinking about you.

because looking at you everyday and not being able to act upon his feelings was too painful.

“is this okay?” reiner asks lowly. there’s a slight pinkness to his cheeks, the color of a selfless love.

by some miracle, you manage to nod dumbly. “yeah, of course. it’s fine.” it’s amazing is what you actually want to say.  

reiner squeezes your hand at the reassurance, a sigh escaping from his throat. “i really—”

you wait for him to finish, but he doesn’t. reiner just searches your profile for signs of discomfort, and then untwines your hands to bravely swipe a thumb along the length of your cheekbone. 

there’s no time to speak because he’s already leaning down.  

the sensation of reiner’s lips pressing against yours lights your skin ablaze; you can feel the curling flames of passion sear your soul, made even more intense by the warmth of the sunlight on your back.

it’s natural, it’s tender, it’s warm.

reiner’s breath rattles into your mouth when you rest both palms against his solid chest and deepen the kiss. the musky smell of his aftershave and cologne envelops you completely, and fuck, it’s so good. your arms wrap around him, fingers passing over the sharp slopes of his shoulder blades.

as much as you wish the kiss could go on endlessly, there are people gathering outside. avoiding any unwanted attention from nosy strangers is very much appreciated.

you pull away to nuzzle your nose into reiner, and he rests his chin on your shoulder, protective arms moving to loop around your waist. it’s such an intimate caress that it sparks your brain into overdrive.

as the rushing sound of the breeze comes back to your ears through the quiet, you tuck the kiss away to be remembered forever. that’s all there is to it. being close to reiner like this - swaying together like wildflowers in the wind - is more important than anything else.

“i like you,” reiner murmurs.

the suddenness of it makes you laugh, and you can feel the upward quirk of reiner’s lips - a whisper of a peaceful smile and a sweet, sweet promise.

[lazywonderlvnd]

Imagine Harry learning to play the guitar after the war and Draco finds out when they start dating and is obv a slut for it. Anyway what I'm here to beg for is sexy-guitar-player-Harry smut please and thank

first of all nonners I’m so sorry this took me lit rally 59 years to answer!!!! when I saw it in my inbox last week I was abt to answer n be like yes. this. And then realized it needed to be written and got sidetracked w the first himbo harry installment but here it is now and let me just SAY this trope is my new FAVORITE thing in the world oh my goddddd when I tell u the way I’ve been yelling to glows and cielia abt it 👁👄👁

highly recommend listening to wonderwall when it comes up to Complete the Experience. hope u enjoy ❤️

“I’m sorry, he what?”

“Yeah, he’s really good,” said Weasley. He nodded towards the acoustic guitar hanging on the wall; Draco had taken notice of it the first time he’d seen Harry’s flat but never paid it much mind after that, taking it for decoration, or perhaps an unused gift. “He’ll play if you ask him. He doesn’t like showing off.”

“Which is silly,” Granger said, rolling her eyes. “I’ve told him, just because he’s good at it doesn’t make it showing off. I wish he’d play for people more often.”

“He has literally never mentioned this to me.” He felt utterly stunned and completely cheated. He tried to picture it and couldn’t. “How long’s he been playing?”

“Picked it up after the war. It was kind of funny, actually  --” Weasley started saying, but Harry came back into the room -- still pulling his shirt on -- and he broke off, giving Draco a significant look that told him to bring it up.

“Harry,” said Draco imperiously, to which he received two raised eyebrows as Harry fell into his favourite armchair and pushed a hand through his still-damp curls. Draco matched his expression and glanced at the guitar. Harry followed his gaze, looking genuinely confused.

“What, what is it?”

“When were you going to tell me you play?”

“What, guitar?”

“Yes, guitar.”

He shrugged and grabbed for one of the beers on the table, wandlessly magicking the cap off. “I dunno. When it came up, I guess.”

“The way your friends tell it you’re quite good.”

Harry gave Weasley and then Granger a sour look; both of them gave it right back to him, which was, admittedly, amusing.

“I can play all right,” he said vaguely, and took a swig of his drink. It did make some sort of sense, now Draco thought about it -- the tips of Harry’s fingers were far, far too calloused to have been just from casual Quidditch and Auror training. 

“You know, Harry, it actually comes off as more pretentious when you act like this,” said Granger. Weasley snorted. Harry glared at her. “Just play for him, won’t you? And us too -- it’s been ages.”

“Yeah, what’s that Muggle song you play sometimes that I like?” said Weasley.

“I dunno, I’ve played a lot of Muggle songs.”

“He means Wonderwall, Harry,” said Granger, grinning. Harry finally smiled too, and although their little Muggle joke was lost on Weasley and himself he was glad to see that it had apparently been the prodding Harry needed to give in. He set his beer back down and went to get the guitar; something about the way he threw the thin and fraying strap over his head, the way his hands went effortlessly to their places, was unexpectedly attractive. The left one curled easily around the neck of the instrument, heavily-roughened fingers finding their odd positions on the strings, something Draco had always thought looked very painful.

He plucked a few chords and then began fiddling with the knobs at the head of the guitar, tuning it in what was clearly the Muggle fashion, which against his will left Draco completely fascinated. Having no musical inclination himself, he could make nothing of the process except that Harry apparently heard the discordant notes in there well enough to be able to fix them, and finally when he brought his thumb down across all six strings it sounded as sweet and clear as if it had been done by magic.

“Course he likes Wonderwall,” Harry said to Granger even as he began playing, fingers shifting and moving and contorting to create the notes while he strummed softly, effortlessly, and the music crawled over Draco’s skin and inside of him. “I remember Dudley listening to it, like, what … summer before sixth year? On the radio constantly.”

“Sounds about right,” said Granger. 

 Draco had stopped paying attention to what they were saying, though. Either because the music itself had something haunting about its melody or because it was Harry playing it, or perhaps a combination of both, Draco felt a pit of emotion form in his chest to round off the edges of his growing arousal.

And then he started singing, and Draco swallowed very hard. Granger dropped a head onto Weasley’s shoulder and watched with a tender expression, Weasley similarly enamored. Harry had his eyes on his hands for the most part, closing them a few times throughout, looking as comfortable now as he did on a broomstick.

Only three months of official dating had not prepared Draco for the flood of emotions he now felt, yet the most pressing matter had become the semi trapped uncomfortably in his trousers. He wanted those talented fingers in his mouth, to feel the callouses on his tongue and taste Harry on them; he wanted to feel them on the sensitive skin of his inner thighs and hip bones, to have them buried so deeply in his arse that he forgot where he ended and Harry began. 

Of course, he had to keep this to himself for the next hour, until he was able to get Granger and Weasley out of the flat. And once he did, he didn’t bother dragging Harry to his bedroom -- Draco pushed him up against the front door that had just closed behind his friends and hauled him into a kiss that he felt Harry grinning into.

“I thought you seemed tetchy,” he muttered, hands dropping to Draco’s hips. “Oasis really does it for you, huh?”

“What the hell is oasis?”

“The band who does the song.”

“Yeah, I don’t think it’s the band who does it for me.” He kissed Harry again, maybe a little too hungrily, and dug a fist into his side when he started laughing. “Shut up, why the hell didn’t you ever tell me you played?”

Harry pulled his head back, looking at Draco with an arched brow and an infuriating smirk. 

“What do you mean, ever? We’ve only been together three months, it didn’t come up.”

“God,” Draco muttered, and now he reached down and pressed his palm against Harry’s cock, pleased to feel how hard he was in spite of his ruthless teasing. “You’re so annoying.”

“Well if I’d known how randy it would make you I might’ve played for you a long time ago.”

Having had quite enough of Harry’s particularly sarcastic brand of wit, he ignored this last and reached for one of his hands, removing it from his own hip and bringing it to his lips. It was extremely satisfying to watch the smirk disappear from Harry’s face when he sucked one of his fingers into his mouth. 

“Bit fetish-y, isn’t this?” Harry said breathily, eyes wide as he watched, looking half amused and half awed. In retaliation, Draco took another finger into his mouth and slid his tongue between them, tasting soap and salt, feeling the callouses on the tips of his fingers and letting that sensation grip his insides like an iron fist. “Jesus Christ,” Harry groaned; his free hand went to Draco’s jaw, holding him steady, and with a truly outstanding audacity began fucking Draco’s mouth with his fingers.

They dipped bluntly past his uvula, scraping the back of his throat so he gagged around their intrusion. Saliva built with an excessive speed that had it drooling out of the corners of his lips and coating Harry’s knuckles. Draco closed his eyes and let it happen, opening his throat against the relentless assault and curling his hands in Harry’s shirt just to steady himself. 

They were gone too soon and Harry’s mouth replaced them, much gentler but still with a tangible sense of urgency about it.

When he broke away, he said against Draco’s lips, “Like my fingers, do you?”

Draco merely nodded, feeling their wetness against his cheek. 

“Then turn around,” said Harry, “and I’ll fuck you with them.”

Draco let out a soft, embarrassing whimper and let Harry spin them around and press him against the door, cheek-first. He undid his flies himself and Harry tugged them down his legs and off his feet, allowing Draco to spread them slightly. Harry’s fingers were there immediately, sliding slick between his cheeks and over his hole. The memory of Harry’s hands on the guitar was still so fresh, his fingers changing chords effortlessly, sacrificing them to blisters and callouses and roughened skin for the music they created, and Draco closed his eyes against a fresh wave of arousal and another pang of emotion.

“You really are incredible,” said Draco, biting back a moan as two of those dexterous fingers slipped inside of him. Harry fucked him with them slowly, carefully, seeking out his prostate and angling for it each time once he’d found it. Draco turned his face to press his forehead against the door, eyes still closed, nails scraping wood. “And I like that song.”

“It’s a good one,” Harry agreed. His hot breath caressed the back of Draco’s neck, fingers pumping, his other hand back at Draco’s waist. “I have a million more I’d love to show you.”

Draco didn’t bother trying to find his voice again: instead he pushed back against Harry’s driving fingers, everything that wasn’t the relentless stabbing against his prostate driven from his mind. His neglected cock slapped against the door with every thrust, the red and irritated head dripping pre-come against the wood. Only half conscious of the decision to do so, he wrapped his hand around it and pulled and squeezed and zeroed in on the bursts of pleasure radiating outwards from inside his body until it all spilled over and he came in great pulses, gasping for breath while Harry kept at it. 

The fingers slowed as he reached his peak and began coming down but they didn’t stop, nor was his prostate given much of a break. Harry reinforced his grip on Draco’s waist and kept pumping, a steadier rhythm that nevertheless rubbed and prodded at that little bundle, making his nerves tingle and fizzle and scream out their overstimulation.

“Harry,” he said weakly, knees buckling. “Please …”

It could have been comical the way Harry followed his movement as he slid down the door to the ground, except it wasn’t. It was infuriating, actually, and felt at once like more than he could possibly handle and exactly what he needed. His forehead and his hands went back to the wood, bracing himself as Harry, kneeling behind him, continued fucking his beautiful, merciless fingers and stimulating Draco’s overworked prostate. 

He pushed a third one in alongside the other two and Draco was shocked to feel a hot tear leak out of the corner of his eye. Harry crooked them expertly, with all the confidence and surety of someone who had done this a million times, could do it in their sleep, as if it was not the guitar strings but Draco’s body he was strumming now, an instrument fine-tuned to his own particular cadence and rhythm, which he and no one else could play quite right.

Lips parted, hot breath echoing off the door and back into his face, Draco allowed himself to be taken apart with the same ferocious intensity he’d seen Harry use on the guitar. Each stroke brought him back to full hardness, each stab against his prostate made his nerves sing a tormented chorus, drowning out the pain of the wooden floor against his bare knees. 

“Shit,” Draco choked out, “I’m gonna come again …”

“Well that’s the idea,” said Harry. His voice was full of that same witty and well-meaning sarcasm Draco liked so much, even when it made him feel like punching him. Snatches of the song came back to him, Harry’s voice when he sang it, the expert shifting of his fingers where they pressed and plucked at the strings like he was making love to them. It was all so very much. 

He came a second time without even bothering to touch his cock, because he just didn’t fucking need it. His body thrummed and vibrated like a snapped rubber band while Harry coaxed him along his high and back down again. When he finally pulled his fingers out he leant forward over Draco’s back and kissed the side of his neck, then the corner of his jaw. 

“You know you make much lovelier sounds than the guitar, just so we’re clear,” he said, and Draco, with what strength he had left, shoved Harry and watched him fall sideways laughing. 

[remsmoonlight]

— title : west side polaroids

— word count : 2.4k words

— pairing : john wich x reader

— summary : the first day unbound by the table is marked by you both.

— warnings : none except minimal mentions of death and descriptions of blood

note: please please please go easy on me i have not written any john content in months but omg i adore the song west side by ariana .. issa dreamy vibe , but yeah i couldn’t decide the title so i merged them ..... anyways :)

                     ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*   requests are open !   *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Life that does not revolve around the endless cycle of death and immorality is still new to John, the colour of crimson may have well been his favourite colour with how much he’d found it coating nearly every inch of his skin on a frequent basis. Some nights he’d awake and was sure he could see the stains of blood dried into his nails, though the flood of a bedside lamp would soon flush that worry away. Never had he been the one to imagine a life outside of what he knows, though as he stares at his image in the lengthy mirror before him, that’s what he observes in this moment. A free man.

A whole thirty days had passed since that fateful night when he secured his freedom from his .. job, wanting to allow a sufficient recovery time. Any longer and he knew you well enough to know you’d be breaking his front door down. Luckily, many of the cuts and furious bruises had almost completely healed, while some more stubborn than others were covered with a little more difficulty than he’d prefer. Still, he hopes that your reaction isn’t too explosive. With great reluctance he’d shared enough details with you to understand him and why he is the way he is, and should he not make it back you wouldn’t be left in limbo waiting for him to return. Knowing how often you found yourself worrying over him. Since when did I deserve something so good? he asks himself now and every day that greets him.

He never wants you to be left with a ghost. Especially when you had dug so deeply to prevent him from being consumed by the repetition to death and destruction by his ability to maximise results from his body when required.

Contact had been scarce between you both, and you accepted it. Knowing just what was transpiring as you went through your daily activities, wondering what John could be up to. Staying honest to yourself, your mind had conjured up the most ghastly images, a mental sketchbook where the next page would only be worse than the previous. Though, the moment you heard his voice through your mobile, you felt all the tight tension that wracked your limbs alleviate to nothing more than a dull ache that you have since forgotten.

John is a good liar however when he shared the intricate details of the life he had led, his eyes shone a truth and a pain of growing tired of all the slaughter he’d had a hand dipped into many a time. You believed him and you still do. In spite of this it’s still a difficult task for your mind to wrap itself around but for John? You would.

“ there you are, stranger! “ you greet warmly as you open your arms to finally embrace him after so long.

Your eyes shut while you relish the physical contact that you have sorely missed, you release a heavy breath of air as the moment you have been counting down to is here and you can grasp it with your fingertips. Sensations unreliant on your eyes hone in on the comfort you now feel, the smooth material you can feel to the smell of the cologne worn by John ⏤ a gentle smile drifts softly onto your features in response to the warm shield of solace envelopes you whole.

“ it took longer than I thought. “ he says as he shakes his head, you feel the action from your position

“ I'd say.. I thought I’d never see you again. “

“ I wouldn’t let that happen. “ a low whisper travels from his lips, you can feel his warm breath on you as he leans down, the action causing you to shiver at the faintly sinister tone that had been so close to overwhelming them.

In your heart you feel the strength in his words, it’s not a statement but a promise with all the faith and trust poured into them. Never had you met someone as dedicated and resolute as the man, you’d have called him a psychic because whenever he says something it often comes true, born into existence from his drive.

“ that is something I believe. “ you reply, your voice dulling ever so slightly in octaves.

A mighty stone wall had once been John, any attempt to get to know him proved a punishing task. Though, when a crack had become apparent it became obvious that a gentle touch had been a foreign concept for him but when he’d accepted it as real? The taste of what life could transform into made him want more, to open the door he’d never once entertained of unlocking. John is incredibly grateful you’d never become frustrated and left as soon as you’d arrived in his life, refusing to want another life without your touch.

“ so, are we going to stand here all day or are we going to get in that car you adore so, so much? “

With the barest of groans escaping his throat, he reluctantly disentangles himself from your form, already missing the contact with you. Turning, you move with an energetic vigour buzzing in your toes ⏤ from your position you fail to realise John has himself glued to your form with an affectionate warmth pooling in his eyes. The corner of his eyes fondly crinkle ever so slightly at the view.

A forceful wind erupts in the car as it picks up, you can feel the pleasant freshness dance carelessly on your skin, tickling the strands of hair left loose. It feels like a dream you muse as you shift your gaze to John, really beginning to understand the butterflies that all these television shows and movies talk about as you take in the concentration forging itself into his features as his eyes never leave the road. You don’t believe in the idea of destiny, but you can’t help but note how it feels how the stars modified and aligned themselves for you.

Recently, the purchase of a polaroid camera had arrived on your doorstep and today would be the best opportunity to try it out!

“ they’ll leave me alone ⏤ “ he stops suddenly as he assures the unspoken question between you both. Can we live in peace? “ ⏤ us alone now. “

“ you’re sure? It sounds like a shady business, what if someone doesn’t take note? “ worry bleeds into your expression as your foot begins to tap nervously, with only a peek into another society it has left you concerned when John is involved.

“ one thing my world thrives on is rules. Codes. “ he assures you gently, aware of how the other side of the world lives out its gruesome fantasies in real life shocks you.

A heavy hand lays dormant on your leg, coarse fingertips only moving every so often to draw trails on your clothed skin, as if to discover a depth that lays hidden from view. Of course, you both know that John knows every inch of you as you know yourself, many nights spent burning the entirety of the other into your minds with only the moonlight acting as your guiding light.

“ well, I can say that’s good to hear. “ is said by you with a short bout of nervous laughter. “ you can be sure? “

“ you have nothing to worry about. “ he remarks with confidence, attempting to soothe any and all of your fears you have in regards to your situation you both now share.

“ okay, “ you say with a nod, trying to affirm yourself of there being no phantoms pursuing the man behind you from the shadows. “ I trust you, John. I’m just being silly. “

“ you’re not being silly, I understand. “

Silence overwhelms the confined space you share, you take in just the lack of pretence in this moment. Nothing felt between you is forced, an affection woven with a glistening thread so naturally that the bond had been shaped into your reality before either of you had even realised. All John knew was that the curious feeling would be strengthened would he follow his emotions, and that is exactly what he did. Gratitude leaves his heart feeling full at the choice, finally realising that he can settle into a life of normality. An adventure he has never once had but a glow radiates within him at being able to share it with you.

A salty fragrance slowly seeps into your sense of smell, the sounds of seagulls erupting in the distance as you realise just where John is driving you. The chance, living in a city, to go to the beach is scarce thanks to the distance, so you can feel a childish elation swell deep inside of you. Running on this emotion, you pull out the camera held safely in the confines of your bag. Turning it around and shifting your body so suddenly you poke your tongue out and a brief, blinding flash of light erupts before disappearing from existence as soon as it came.

“ oh, now this is a good one! “ you cheer as your lips curve so smoothly into a satisfied grin as you gaze upon the small print held between your fingers.

John says nothing, only knowing of his amusement through the abrupt laughter and warmth blazing so intensely in his eyes.

“ you’ll have to put those into an album or something. “

“ that’s actually a good idea, or a scrapbook? “ you ask with the idea brightening your entire expression. “ documenting this notable day! “

“ yeah, exactly. “ he agrees, a short laugh is shared with you in response. In awe at your naivety, once he’d been envious of the trait ⏤ because you’d never have seen the things he has, but he understands it now. Neither of you can help what you were born into, but he can have control over the person he becomes and that does not include harbouring resentment over something so trivial. The idea seems so foolish now, as it has become something he has grown to adore.

The two of you exit the vehicle, effortlessly your hands find each other through the lengthy space to the other's warmth in yours. John is unable to stop himself from admiring facile peace that clouds your features as you stare upon the limitless majesty of which the deep richness of the blue of the ocean expands way beyond what the eye can distinguish. There’s no worry nor emotional strain colouring itself into burdening your relaxed features.

Your fingers get to work photographing the scene before you, wanting not to document the beauty before you itself but rather the sentiment that dominates the moment with a heavy hand that you’d dare not maneuver away.

From behind you can feel arms encapsulate you against his chest as he parts his lips, as if to say something, mutter some romantic words but he stops immediately. His being wanting to fully submerge himself in a feeling of being enveloped by the serenity. Right now, it’s just you in each other’s company with nothing of the outside world being able to scratch and claw at your attention. He can finally allow himself to be lost in something good, someone who does not see him as a monster, no matter how many atrocities have occurred by his hands. God forbid any ghastly spirits should try to end the dream of this life, he would go to the ends of the Earth to shroud you from any harm from the shadiness he once delved into.

He leaves a flutter of sweet kisses on the crown of your head, you allow a nonchalant smile to illuminate your lips, a soft giggle at the action hovers between you both. John moves his grip to release your waist from his hold, a slow movement towards the bulky camera that lays safe in your grasp. He steps back with a gentleness that he’d never imagined could be contained within his form, and lifts the lens up to his awaiting gaze. You turn just as he lays pressure onto the button, a flash greeting you as you do ⏤ you’re caught off guard, his favourite version of you.

“ come on, John! “ you complain, fingers move to fuss with the loose ends of your hair played with by the tempestuous winds.

“ I couldn’t resist, I’m sorry. “ he apologises with an accompanying smirk, fondly eyeing the photograph of you being caught unaware.

“ it better look good. “ a warning falls from your lips, of course, it’s an empty one ⏤ you wouldn’t spit any venom his way over something so inconsequential.

“ you always look perfect to me. “

With a flood of tenderness and devotion filling your vision, hands inch higher and higher as they snake up the chest of John ⏤ he knows the movement well, a permanent muscle memory that brings him closer to your lips. The touch is so faint, almost feather like, this kiss lacking the pleading need and instinctive desire from his direction ⏤ instead, this one he takes comfort in your presence. He knows you both now have all the time to get lost in one another.

“ you think you can get around me easily? “ you question him swiftly, a good natured air of audacity sparkles in your gaze as you stare up to the tall man.

“ I know I can. “ John promises, already missing the lingering touch you leave behind like a tattoo on his mouth.

“ you sound so sure.. “ you remark, an amused tone coats your words heavily in its substance as your fingertips trace nonexistent patterns in the back of his neck.

John fights himself to prevent a groan of pleasure at the action from clawing its way free from him, already feeling himself melting into your form. He’s surprised you’re not one person.

“ Because I am. “ he states, a lone nod accompanies the action before he descends once more, itching to feel the silk of your lips on his once more on his.

Lifting the camera up at a slant, the crashing of the waves drowns out the click of the camera, he takes out the physical memory of this period of tranquility and adoration. You take it from him, your sight examining the image before you. If you’d had doubts before, you would no longer ⏤ a permanent reminder in picture form of the intimacy and care you share equally.

This is a day to remember.

“ I guess you’re correct. “

[randomfandomimagine]

Here With You (Barry Allen x Reader)

Character: Barry Allen

Fandom: Justice League (Snyder) / DC

Tags: Hurt / comfort, cuddling, fluff

Warnings: Tooth rotting fluff

Word Count: 2,2k words

Summary: Y/N is having a bad day, but still doesn’t want to reach out. When Barry still appears at Y/N’s place, worried, they will realize it’s not so bad to need cheering up.

A/N: Apparently I’m not done fangirling about this cutie, so here’s another Barry Allen ficlet for you! Hope you like it! Remember to please reblog it and leave feedback if you like it, it would mean the world to me! 🙏💕

Barry Allen x Gender Neutral Reader

You were so tired and so on edge that everything bothered you. Even the background noise of the city outside your window seemed to hurt your sensitive ears and fuzzy mind.

Sneaking a quick glance to your phone, you considered making a call. You knew Barry would be there with you in a second, and that he would magically solve everything. Still, something kept you from calling him. You could deal with that day on your own.

If only you had the energies, you would get up and do something. There you were, feebly lying down on your bed and staring at the ceiling. No music, no TV, no phone, no nothing. All you wanted to do was lie there and dwell on your misery.

It had been a bad day. First your alarm didn’t work and you were late, then you ran out of hot water and couldn’t shower. And not only was your work day awful, but you also had tiny little things that only worsened your mood. You spilled your coffee, you had to stay late, you dropped your suitcase with all your paperwork that scattered on the ground, and on top of all people kept bumping into you as you walked home. It was a multitude of small things that became all too big.

A demanding knock on your door startled you in your loud silence. What now? Cautious as to who it could be, you apathetically sat up and waited. They knocked again.

“Y/N?” Came Barry’s familiar voice. “Are you in there?” 

A part of you wanted to ignore him, to pretend like you weren’t home so he would leave. You didn’t have the strength to face even him, everything overwhelmed you. But he sounded worried, and he was your best friend after all.

Tired and resigned, you stood up and dragged your feet as you walked to the front door. Barry kept on restlessly knocking.

“C’mon, Y/N, open the-” When you swung the door open, he showed you a smile. “There you are!”

“Hi, Barry…” You mumbled, letting the door open and idly moving to the  couch. You plopped down there, assuming he would follow in tow.

“Are you okay? You haven’t answered my calls”

“My phone’s on silent”

“O-kay…” Barry slowly sat by you, intently staring. “What’s wrong?” 

You sighed, hating that you were so transparent. Or that he knew you so damn well. Or both.

“I had a really bad day” You pouted, feeling like crying just at the thought of it. Why was it bothering you that much? Nothing catastrophic had happened.

“Wanna talk about it?” He kindly offered, but you shook your head.

“No…” You had to tightly press your lips together when a sudden urge to cry overwhelmed you. A sob was already reaching your throat.

“Oh, gosh, please don’t cry” Barry stared at you with wide eyes, fidgeting on his seat. “I-I mean, cry if you need to, but uh… it’s okay”

His hand fell on your shoulder, then gently lowering to your arm so he could comfortingly rub it up and down. You nodded your head, trying to tell yourself that he was right. It was okay, nothing you couldn’t handle.

“It’s okay, Y/N” He whispered. “You want a hug?”

A single rogue tear rolled down your cheek, but you grit your teeth. You refused to cry, especially not in front of Barry. His heartbroken look as he stared at you was enough to make you want to hold it in. Frustrated, you only wiped your face with your hand.  

“I’m…” You sighed, trying to control yourself. “I’m okay”

Not believing you, he kept staring. In an attempt to reassure him, you forced out a smile. Barry still didn’t seem convinced, but he knew you better than to try to insist.

“Great!” Barry said in the end, kindly patting your arm. “But you know what we gotta do now, right?” 

“What?” 

“Emergency movie night!”

“Barry…” You began to say, but he was already on his way. 

Now that he knew you were upset, nothing would stop him from doing everything in his power to cheer you up. Barry wouldn’t rest until he saw you smile. 

“Here you go” Your best friend sped through again, suddenly appearing next to you and dropping a bunch of DVDs on the table before disappearing again.

“Stop that!” You jumped to your feet and scolded him, barely managing to follow him with your gaze. “Don’t tire yourself, it’s not worth it!”

“Of course it’s worth it!” Barry appeared next to you again, bearing a playfully serious expression as he handed you something. “It’s my mission as your best friend to cheer you up” 

You rolled your eyes a little, fondly watching him as he went off again. Looking down to your arms, you saw that what he had given you were many bags of snacks. You absently put them on the table.

“Besides” Barry nudged you, standing next to you so suddenly that you wobbled a little. He was ready to hold you up.  “I can always raid your fridge after” 

You were suddenly fighting a smile. He had only been there for maybe a few minutes and he was already making things better. How could you not adore him?

“Okay” He returned, followed by the sweet smell of popcorn. “Now we have everything” 

In such a flamboyant way that you almost laughed, Barry tugged at your hand until you were sitting on the couch again. Then he put a blanket over your legs and placed the bowl of popcorn between the two of you as he joined you in the seat.

“But don’t hog the blanket” He made a funny face as he also covered his own legs with it so you were sharing it.

You heaved a sigh, resigned to letting him look after you. It wasn’t so bad after all, even if you weren’t as used to his blatant cares as he would like to. 

He pulled the first smile out of you when he picked up the remote and turned the movie on. Just with the music and the starting credits, you recognized it was your favorite movie. He knew you well.

“Oh, and the best part” Barry seriously peered at you, opening his arms. “Cuddles!”

You chuckled in spite of yourself, and his sudden grin in return was so bright that it could have light up the room by itself. Barry wiggled his arms still, suggestively raising his eyebrows too.

“Fine” You snuggled closer to him, getting comfortable against his chest. “You win, Allen” 

Barry smiled still, clearly satisfied with the result. He laid back, grabbed such a big handful of popcorn that many of them fell right out of his hand, and shoved the rest into his mouth. You shook your head at him, fondly watching. It was incredible how easily he made everything better.

“This movie’s really good!” He suddenly exclaimed, pointing at the screen. His voice was muffled by the enormous amount of popcorn still in his mouth.

“You’re a lost cause” You giggled, wondering if he realized how happy he made you.

Even as he chewed on the popcorn, he was smiling. Once he finally swallowed, he glanced at you and dedicated you an innocent grin.

“But you love me”

“How can’t I?”

“You’re smiling…”

“And whose fault is that?”

He didn’t say anything, only looked ahead to the screen. However, his satisfied smirk was telling enough. It warmed your heart to see he was so happy over seeing you smile. 

The silence suddenly felt comfortable as you both returned your glances to the movie. In reality, you weren’t even that interested in it. You knew the movie by heart, and taking in consideration that Barry was with you, you preferred to focus your attention on him.

Resting over him, feeling his arms fondly squeeze you, the stress started to melt away. The exhilarating feeling of coziness enveloped you, and you dearly treasured it. You absently reached out to grab one of the snacks that you had put on the table. Coincidentally, Barry was reaching out for the very same on. When your hands grazed, you both chuckled and looked at each other, stuttering apologies.

“S-Sorry, Y/N, go ahead”

“No, it’s fine… you can have it” 

You both paused for a moment, forgetting about the movie and the snacks and everything. The world itself seemed insignificant compared to the sudden beauty in his loving eyes, in his gentle expression. You gawked at him, wondering if he had been always this adorable. None of you said anything at first, only lingering in that position and staring at each other still.

Barry didn’t look away from you either as he picked up the wrapper and softly put it on your hand. His fingers lingered, gently brushing against yours. They were soft and warm.

“You… you don’t want it, Barry?”

“No, I know you like them…”

“Thank you”

“No problem, Y/N”

He gave you butterflies. The tender way in which he spoke, in which he looked at you, in which he said your name, how determined he had been to improve your day. Just… him. Barry Allen. You realized it was now hard to breathe, but in a surprisingly wonderful way.

“Uh… is that better?” He piped up in the end. “Are you comfortable?” 

“Y-Yeah” You blushed when you realized your head was leaning on his shoulder still as you looked up at him. “Thanks…. thanks for everything” 

Barry nodded and smiled, staring at you. He didn’t say anything about your head on his shoulder. You didn’t move, afraid that if he noticed he might say something. The last thing you wanted to do was move from that position.

His fingers brushed against yours some more, moving to be slowly placed in the spaces between yours. It was a nonchalant movement at first, mindless and familiar. Then it changed. Hesitant, asking a silent question. You brushed your fingertips against his in return.

Just then, something appeared in his eyes as they widened, a realization just like yours. This certainly wasn’t like your usual movie nights. You could nearly hear the missing beat of his heart before it continued racing.

Barry opened his mouth, ready to say something. The only thing he managed was awkward stutters. You smiled, knowing you would accomplish just as little if you tried to speak.

“I, um… oh!” He finally said, picking up the remote. “This is your favorite part” 

Your friend increased the volume of the movie. It came to your attention that it was quite advanced now, and it made you feel silly. Nonetheless, you wouldn’t change a thing. Everything was absolutely perfect.

As you two pretended to watch the movie, you started getting sleepy. The sudden exhaustion that washed over you was shadowed by immense comfort.

“So… do you, uh…” Barry uttered. “Do you wanna talk about it?” 

“About what?” 

“Your bad day”

“Oh, that…” Your eyes closed, and your free hand moved to rest against his chest. The other was still grazing against his. “It isn’t such a bad day anymore”

Maybe that was why you hadn’t called Barry before. You didn’t want to admit to yourself that you needed him. Yet there you were. Now that you were with him, needing him didn’t feel like such a bad thing. In fact, it felt right.

Barry’s chest moved under your palm as he took a deep breath. For a moment, you feared your touch was making him uncomfortable. Just when you were about to retrieve your hand, however, his free hand pressed against yours as well in a delicate gesture. 

You smiled and moved your hand up until it held on to his shoulder, allowing you to snuggle even closer against him. Barry chuckled, pressing your palm further into his chest.

“I’m glad I could make your day better, Y/N” Barry paused for several seconds, but you didn’t answer. “Y/N?”

When you still didn’t reply, he didn’t insist. Instead of it, Barry heaved a dreamy sigh. The sweet embrace of slumber was starting to take over you, and you couldn’t remember being so happy as you were in that moment. So much for a bad day.

Threatening to end your perfect tranquil, you felt Barry try to pick you up without stirring you. His hand gingerly snuck under your legs as he tried to gather your form in his arms.

“Mm... what are you doing?” You uttered, rubbing your cheek against his shoulder.

“I thought you fell asleep” He whispered, causing his voice to be barely audible over the background noise of the TV. “I was taking you to bed, it’ll be more comfortable”

You shook your head, nuzzling his chest and pressing further into him.

“No, it’s perfect” You groggily said, holding on to him. “It’s perfect, here with you”

“Aw” Barry let out a flustered chuckle. “Y-You’re gonna make me blush, Y/N”

Although sleepy, you made an effort to peer up at him. You felt slightly delirious both from the exhaustion and from how stupidly happy you were at that moment, but you still didn’t care when you started giggling. Barry was blushing, and smiling so wide that his cheeks had to hurt.

“Will you stay with me, Barry?”

“Of course, Y/N”

Tag list: @call-me-harley-quinn / @wonderlandfandomkingdom / @locke-writes / @emmacata / @galactic-magick​ // If you want to be added or taken off the tag list for these fandoms or characters, send me an ask!! 

[squeeneyart]

Breathe in the Salt - Chapter 23

AO3

Beta reader as always is @thesnadger!

It's harder to say it out loud.

Jon and Martin catch up.

As the seconds ticked by and Martin failed to respond, Jon adjusted a small bag slung across his shoulder. “It’s um- I understand this might come as a shock. I hadn’t meant for my entrance to be so dramatic, but this place seems to insist on a particular atmosphere.”

Martin heard the words as they slipped past on the wind, the skin drawing his full attention. It wasn’t like his mother’s, dusty and worn and so very old. No, this seemed to shine in the rain and seawater, but his chest constricted at the sight of it.

Despite Jon’s efforts to conceal it, a shiver ran through his shoulders. 

“Right, sorry,” Martin croaked out, then coughed until his throat behaved itself. He found his hand still gripping the door knob and gave it a twist. “Sorry. Yeah, come on in.”

Jon’s stiff shoulders dropped, and with some eagerness he walked up the stairs to escape the rain. “Sor- Thank you. It’s not the best night to be out dressed like this.”

He wasn’t wrong. Warm light poured out from the doorway onto the front porch, illuminating Jon in his soaked-through fleece jumper and jeans, a far cry from the waterproof seal coat in his arms. It was no wonder that Jon was quick to enter the house and leave the damp, cold night behind. With one last look outward, Martin dipped inside and shut the door behind him. 

Jon seemed uncertain where to go next and stood next to the coat hooks, leaning from one foot to the other. 

“Do you want to...um, put it down? You can hang it up in the shower if it’s still wet,” Martin said, placing his own coat on a hook as casually as he could manage. “I don’t know if hooks would be, um, good for it?”

With a nervous glance downwards, Jon nodded and slipped his shoes off. “Right. That makes sense. I guess it is dripping everywhere.” Yet he continued to stand on the front rug.

Ah, right. “If you don’t want to lose sight of it, that’s-”

“It’s not- I’ll go hang it up now. Is it down the-”

“Second door on the right.”

“Right.” And Jon stalked down the hall into the toilet and closed the door, leaving Martin by the front entrance.

Martin wasn’t going to scream and freak Jon out right off the bat. Not that Jon worked too hard to give him the same courtesy.

Jon was a-

Shit. Martin pressed a shoulder against the wall and forced himself to breathe. It was fine. It made sense, right? Jon’s interest in selkies was bound to come from somewhere. He was knowledgeable in a way that would’ve required access to a selkie directly, and finding one couldn’t have been easy. 

There was a twisting in his upper chest, but he heard the door down the hall open and straightened himself out. Jon came out in a plain t-shirt and different trousers, evidently leaving his other clothes to dry. 

He rubbed his upper arms. “An explanation is probably necessary.”

Martin took a good look at him, all skinny limbs and uncertain glances. Bags much deeper than before dragged down under his eyes and without the extra layers hiding him away it was even harder for Jon to hide how much he was shivering.

“You-” Martin pushed up his glasses and rubbed his eyes. There was no helping it. He walked to the living room and motioned for Jon to follow. “I’ll make some tea.”

In spite of himself, Martin found it in him to fuss. He ushered Jon onto the couch and pulled the old blanket down from where it lay over the top just so it fell behind Jon, resisting the urge to pull it snug. At first Jon lifted a hand to wave him off, but as he sank further into the seat he let out a weary sigh and leaned forward onto his knees.

“Thanks.”

“Mhm. Be right back.”

Martin strode toward the kitchen in a way that he hoped didn’t look like bolting and escaped Jon’s line of sight.

A kettle. There was a kettle on the countertop. It was… technically not washed, not for a few days. Good. That gave him some time. He got to work, scrubbing at it much longer than necessary to settle his thoughts. As if there would ever be enough time for that.

So. Jon was on his couch after revealing himself to be one of the sea folk, looking cold and tired and very uncomfortable with the circumstances. That was all he had to work with, that and the cheap tea bags he tossed onto the countertop. 

He’d gotten groceries for two. That would be the polite thing, to offer food. 

If Jon intended to stay for more than an evening. This might be one rest stop on the path to elsewhere, land or sea. He certainly wasn’t packed for an overnight stay with that tiny bag he’d apparently managed to fit with him inside his coat, a train of thought Martin had no desire to follow. Maybe he’d even eaten… on the way? Hm, no, that wasn’t a great place, either. Whatever, he might not be looking for much more than a place to sit a while.

And then the tea was ready and poured out into two mugs, one with a pastoral scene of some sheep and the other a faded logo of a long-gone tackle shop. He’d run out of time.

The two mugs lent warmth to his hands as he walked back to the living room, catching himself before he tripped on his own feet. On the other side of the room, Jon had chosen to bundle himself up at one end of the couch, legs and all tucked into the blanket. It was all Martin could do to offer him the sheep mug without making eye contact and pray that the lamp light was too dim to reveal the red across his face.

Thankfully Jon didn’t seem to notice Martin’s awkward demeanor as he slipped his hands from under the blanket to curl his fingers around the mug. “Thank you, again. I’m sure you have questions.”

He would, wouldn’t he? He had several a moment ago, but unfortunately with all the heat emanating from his ears it seemed every question had risen right out of his head. Instead Martin sat on the other end of the couch. “You’d know better about where to start.”

From under the blanket Jon squared his shoulders. “Right. I don’t think there’s much to explain on this first point. I’m a selkie, or sea folk as you once said. I hope it explains the intensity of my… concern, regarding your mother.”

Martin squirmed a little. Jon's anger at the possibility of Martin holding one hostage took on a much more personal bent in hindsight. It must’ve been like a horror movie to find the skin there. “Yeah, I got that part.”

“As for my showing up here today, I…” Struggling somewhat with words, Jon took a sip of tea and gave a small noise of approval. “Okay, from the beginning. The day I’d finally finished with all of the extra work piled onto me, I’d settled on digging further into Elias’ connection with the Lukases. Possible overlap in goals, reasons for why the three of us were sent to this town, etcetera.”

He continued. “There wasn’t much. If I had to guess, it’s all largely in financial records that I have no access to, but I’d hoped that other strange happenings connected to the Lukases would explain something.”

“But they didn’t,” Martin said.

Sighing, Jon said, “No. So I changed direction and focused on Elias’ goals. If it wasn’t the lighthouse he wanted us to look at, then there were two options: either he just sent us out there to look at nothing, or he thought we would find something else of interest. Or that I might find something I’d been looking for.”

Martin’s heart could’ve stopped. “You don’t think-”

“He of course knew of my research into selkies. It’s the main reason I was eager for this position, all the resources he offered. I kept my more… personal motivation quiet, of course, stuck to how it was ‘underrepresented in our field’, which is entirely true and I could- anyway, I thought I was careful.” Quickly, he turned toward Martin as if he’d realized something. “And I was, with regards to you and your mother. I promise I never said anything about what I found. That secret isn’t going anywhere.” He rested the mug in his lap, tapping his fingertips on the white ceramic.

“But?”

“It appears I wasn’t doing a good enough job hiding myself. He always knew.” His mouth set into a grim line. “When we first got back I thought something was off about my flat, but the workload had gotten so high and there was so much to think about that I brushed it off.”

He gripped his knee through the blanket as it bounced with agitation. “I know someone came into my flat while I was gone. I know this because the day after your incident with Simon Fairchild it happened again, and this time he was sloppy.” 

A tremor had crept into Jon’s voice, just enough to be heard, though it wasn’t for the cold or for fear exactly. Anger? Irritation? 

“I was sent to check on something outside the city, not far but enough that I was able to get reimbursement for a night’s stay. It wasn’t the first time I’d been sent off without warning, obviously-” Jon motioned in the general direction of the town. “-but something was wrong. I could feel it, just like I could feel that someone had been in my flat.” At this point Jon stopped and leaned over to rub at his forehead, his shoulders rising and falling with long, deep breaths.

“Jon?” Martin said. He lifted his hand and then placed it on the back of the couch.

The tired man shook his head, “I’m fine. Just let me finish.”

“So I went back late that night. Didn’t tell anyone, didn’t cancel my hotel. And when I entered my flat, what did I see but a figure in the dark rifling through my things. A familiar one at that.” A sardonic edge snuck into his voice. “Never expected Elias to be the type to get his hands dirty in a work sense, let alone an illegal one.”

“There was a struggle. I rushed at him without thinking, and when pressed he eventually admitted to knowing what I was. I knew what he was looking for then, didn’t really need to ask, and so I… ran.”

Martin’s hand twitched, but he kept it in place. “That sounds… awful. I’m sorry.”

With a shaky inhale, Jon said, “I-I ended up staying with an old friend of mine for a few days, outside of town. When I initially got the job she’d agreed to keep my, um… my skin, while I was in the city. So Elias was never going to find it by looting around my things, on either attempt.” He smiled, eyes empty and humorless. “Paranoia pays off sometimes.”

“Sounds like you have a good friend, then,” Martin said, looking down at his barely-touched tea. “Why’d you leave?”

“Because three people and a cat take up a lot of space in a one-bedroom?” Jon replied with a small but genuine laugh. “My friend, Georgie, she lives with her girlfriend. Her girlfriend and I don’t get on at the best of times, and cohabitation while I’m a terrified mess is not the best of times. The cat didn’t seem to mind, though.”

“I figured the next safest place would be in the water, while traveling at least. I couldn’t take much with me, but I wouldn’t need much either. My main goal was to just stay hidden as best as I could.” He looked back at Martin sheepishly. “Which I hope is a good enough reason for my number being unavailable.”

Martin nearly dropped his tea. “What?”

“What?” Jon frowned, brows knit together in confusion. “Oh. Um, yes, I deactivated my account. Maybe a bit more precaution than necessary, but at that point I was too nervous to take any risks. Tossed my mobile as well.” 

A horrid wave of guilt hit Martin right in the stomach. The number wasn’t reachable, which he’d have known if he’d just called. Stupid, of course Jon had a reason for not calling. How much more of an ass could he be, assuming things when Jon had his own worries to deal with? Not everything had to be about himself and his problems.

“Makes sense,” he said, hiding his own unhappy mouth behind the mug. 

“Anyway, I left the land for… an amount of time. It was hard to keep track. And it’s still the wilderness, so it wasn’t safe. Eventually I decided being stuck surrounded by wild animals wasn’t going to help me and figured this was the best place to go next.” He leaned back. “I couldn’t exactly see Tim or Sasha for updates, though they know to pretend to trust Elias for now, thanks to Georgie. Once I see them in-person, it’ll be safer to explain why I’d disappeared on them.”

And in the meantime pretend that Jon was off to the side, too busy to bother with a group text. He might as well have been asleep the whole time with how obvious it all was. And there he’d been writing Jon off without evidence instead of feeling concern. Horrid.

Jon took a deep breath. Some of the tension slipped away from his forehead, smoothing the creases into faint lines. 

“Had a harder time than expected finding this place considering the lighthouse looming over everything. I think I got turned around after losing sight of the coast and the fog certainly didn’t help. But things cleared up enough, and now I’m here.”

Martin withdrew his arm from atop the couch and leaned away into the arm rest. “And now you’re here.”

There in the present, they sat on their respective sides of the couch. Jon settled further back into the cushion, pressing both hands to his mug of tea and enjoying the warmth it brought to his skinny fingers. 

The man needed to sleep. It was clear in his struggling eyes, his voice, his shoulders obscured by the blanket’s folds. How long had he been at it, swimming mile after mile until he found his way here? How much further was he planning to go?

“Are you okay?” 

Martin started, ripping his eyes from Jon’s face. “Fine, yeah. Just, just taking it all in I guess.”

Jon rubbed the back of his neck. “I know it’s a lot. If you wouldn’t mind, though, I wanted to ask if anything else happened here since I left.”

Martin replied, “Not much. I delivered the letter for Simon a few weeks ago. Peter has been spotty ever since and has been on a boating trip for a few days.”

“The only way to avoid Fairchild, maybe. Until he goes out on his own yacht. Or flies there.”

Martin snorted and took another sip of tea. 

“And nothing else has changed?”

In the grand scheme of things? “No. Not really.”

“Good. I’d worried about getting here- well-”

“Too late?” Martin said with a rougher edge than he’d intended, and he saw Jon flich. Quickly, he continued, “I’m fine. If anything you didn’t have to deal with weeks full of nothing like Tim and Sasha.”

It was Jon’s turn to snort. “That would’ve been preferable, I think. Being so out of the loop, not knowing what to expect when I managed to get back. It wasn’t pleasant.”

“So, what now?”

Jon chewed on the inside of his cheek. “I’m not entirely sure. There isn’t anywhere else for me to go now. But since you asked, there was something I’d been considering.”

Twisting in place, he faced Martin directly with a nervous expression. “Truth be told, I don’t know anyone else like me, not personally. The sea might as well be the woods or the mountains for all I know on how to navigate them. If anyone was going to be able to help me with my particular situation, I figured it would be-”

“My mum.” The words came out throttled. 

The room shifted, the sides of his vision blurred until all he could see was the dead television. If he stared at that point long enough, he could almost see the burnt-in images of something he’d left on pause for too long.

From beside him, he heard the rustling of the blanket.

“I- yes, th-though if that’s too much trouble I understand. I would never want to make you or your mother’s lives harder by getting her involved with me. I know I’m a liability to her safety just coming here, but I’d at least wish to speak with her, ask if there’s anywhere or anyone she knows that could help if she herself is unwilling. She’s already asleep I assume, so I could wait until tomorrow-”

“She’s gone.”

His words cut through the air with a swiftness, the quiet settling in so deeply that he could almost hear tv static as his mind tried to fill the gap. With nothing to be heard and his vision so caught by the television, Jon might as well have vanished into thin air.

But he hadn’t. With something between wariness and disbelief, Jon muttered, “...Gone.” 

“Four days ago.” Martin blinked away the tunnel, looking down at his own hands. “Took her skin and nothing else.”

“That’s… Did she say when she might come back?” 

Without answering, Martin stood up and walked to the kitchen. When faced with Jon’s protestations he placed a hand up, signalling for the man to wait, and from the kitchen table plucked the unmoved note. Then, wordlessly, he handed it over to Jon and sat on his own end of the couch. 

The note was short enough. “...That’s it?”

“Yeah. Sorry I can’t be of more help.”

“That’s- you don’t need to apologize to me. I imagine it’s been difficult.” A pause as Jon set the note on the side table, and then, “You did the right thing.”

Something pushed upwards in Martin’s throat, something bitter and harsh and awful, but he clenched his teeth and kept his tone even. “It’s for the best.”

“If there’s any… If you have any questions, I’ll do what I can to answer them.” As Jon spoke he was plainly starting to regret it. “But I suppose you would know her better.”

Martin frowned and said nothing.

“Right… right. Family business.” Jon drained the rest of his mug and then dragged his fingers down one cheek. “If you’re all right with it, I’d like to spend the night here and figure things out tomorrow, when I’m feeling more myself. I’ve sorely missed sleeping somewhere dry and horizontal.”

“You really slept that way with your face sticking out?” The image of a little seal head popping up out of the water fast asleep came to mind, a welcome distraction. He let himself smile a little and leaned a cheek into his knuckles. “You seem a bit drift-y, yeah.”

“I hope that’s not meant to be a pun. And sleeping in the water is difficult,” Jon replied, deadpan. “So I have permission to co-opt your couch?”

“Knock yourself out. I need to get to bed, anyway.” He pushed himself back up off the couch and grabbed both mugs. As he walked back to the kitchen, he looked back at Jon. “... She left her medication here. Does that mean anything?”

Jon shook his head. “She’ll be fine. She won’t need them unless she returns to a human form, according to my own, er, experimentation.” 

Martin nodded and waved goodnight with one of his full hands, making his way back into the kitchen one final time to place the mugs in the sink. Every motion reminded him that he too was tired, so tired, so they would be washed another time along with the plate of whatever it was he’d made for himself. Had he offered Jon something to eat? No, but the man was capable of asking for things.

One thing had been helpful. He looked at the half-empty pill bottles that sat undisturbed on the counter and with one swift motion tossed them into the bin.

[arlingtonpark]

SNK 139 Review Part I: On Eren Jeager and Genocide

Why?

Why is this happening?

Folks, I’m going to be honest here: there are no words for this. The main thrust of this chapter is completely inexplicable. It’s stupid. It’s ill conceived. FML.

Just…just the term itself is laughable.

Eren redemption arc.

Sksksksksksksksksksksk

After everything he’s done, everyone he’s killed, you’re going to try redeeming Eren in the final chapter?

Eren didn’t need to be redeemed. He was a bullheaded kid who didn’t let anyone stop him from doing what he thought needed to be done. He sees the titans outside the walls as enemies to be exterminated. When he learns that his real enemies are other humans, who have a right to freedom as much as he does, he can’t accept it and decides to just exterminate them too. That mindset led him down a tragic path of genocide.

That’s not a bad character arc!

In fact, I’d say it’s very compelling. Nonconformity and obstinance are often presented as virtues; flipping that paradigm on its head and showing the vices of those virtues was legitimately smart and provocative.

Making people rethink what traits are virtues and vices is a great moral to the story, and it paired well with the other moral of cooperation and loving your fellow people.

Then this chapter came out, and they threw all that away.

Eren’s arc once made me think of Aristotle, who argued that true virtue lied between extremes: neither too submissive nor too rebellious.

Now Eren’s arc makes me think of pseudointellectual 4chan philosophy, and dumb teenagers: “He’s not a bad guy, he’s just human!!!”

Eren’s motivations are a mess now. He had no free will, but he also had a plan, but deep down he wanted to do the rumbling no matter what, but actually he really wanted to be with Mikasa.

Oh, and B T dubs, he killed his mom too.

You can tell Isayama is desperate to make Eren as sympathetic as possible to justify making him the anti-hero because he’s throwing everything he can pull out of his ass at Eren.

Really, though, all he ended up doing was smearing shit on the character.

Eren’s plan was to kill a significant part of the human population so the world wouldn’t be as overwhelming a threat as before. Simultaneously, he planned (“planned”) for the alliance to become vaunted heroes to the world when they killed him, thus paving the way to peace.

This…makes no sense?

There is no reason Eren should have believed this would work. During the battle of Trost, Pixis asked him if humanity could unite if threatened by a common enemy. Eren said no.

Eren is a pessimist about people. He sees how much the walldians fought with each other and concluded that people would always be at odds.

And the Tybur family helped defeat the Eldian Empire, but only the Tyburs were seen as heroes by the Marleyans. That good will was not imputed from the Tyburs to the other Eldians on the continent. There’s no reason to think that would happen here when it didn’t back then.

I’m assuming, anyway, that the alliance becoming heroes is supposed to lead to a world where Paradis is safe since that’s supposed to be Eren’s goal.

I’m willing to grant that maybe this part of Eren’s plan was more of a hope on his part. Peace would come only after his death, so he can’t truly “plan” for anything afterwards.

I think it’s safe to say that killing the world’s population was the main part of his plan, since that’s the part he had the most control over.

To the extent he had any control over his actions, which brings me to the next point.

So, turns out Eren had no free will.

Can you not feel Isayama’s desperation?

After all the awful things Eren’s done, Isayama’s brilliant idea to make him sympathetic is to strip him of all agency.

This is done by two routes throughout the chapter.

The first is by building him up as a victim. Eren’s mind is fucked; he can’t really control himself. Any decent person would feel pity for him, which is reinforced by the sorrow Armin visibly feels for him.

Then, like a shotgun blast to the face, we are told that Eren killed his mother in a moment that is clearly supposed to endear us to him.

This is such a transparent appeal for our sympathy. Isayama’s desperation leaps off the page and mugs us of it.

The only thing that this revelation adds to the story is that it gives Armin a reason to take up Eren’s hand, and show him support. You can see Armin’s heart breaking for Eren in that moment.

That’s mostly why this is here: to give the mass murderer a hard luck story so our hearts melt for him.

The second route is that depriving Eren of agency absolves him of blame for what he did.

Eren beat Armin bloody, but you can’t really blame him for it. He was drugged out on the Founding Titan and didn’t want to do it. He was acting on impulse, just going with the flow, so he deserves, at the very least, some leniency.

Eren both having a plan and not having much in the way of free will is contradictory. Everyone still talks about Eren as if he’s someone who is doing stuff even though we’re told he’s not really capable of rational decision making.

I’m going to be nice and assume Isayama’s intent is that when you parse this all out, you end up in a place where Eren is not truly responsible for what he did, and in any event this all ended with the titan curse broken and the world at peace, sooooo break out the champagne everyone, we achieved world peace!

…

Yeah, bub, I’m not partying right now.

Isayama’s ploy to absolve Eren of blame didn’t work. Eren is still responsible for the people he killed and his Founding Titan lobotomy counts for shit. Turns out it helps to know how free will works when you’re writing about free will.

Free will is the quality of being in control of your actions, at least to the extent necessary to be held responsible for them.

Eren was just going with the flow (wonder what Annie thought of that…), acting on impulse, and getting dragged along by fate, but that’s not actually important.

It’s been known for centuries that current events are caused by previous events and that the current events will bring about future events in a never ending chain of cause and effect. One domino causes another to fall causes another to fall and on and on. This is called determinism.

And that’s ok because we free will exists. It exists even if we can’t do anything other than what we are going to do. It exists in spite of, or even arises out of, determinism.

This premise, that free will and determinism are not mutually exclusive, is the foundation for a family of theories about free will called compatibilism.

Compatibilist free will is the most popular theory of free will. There are a couple of variations on the basic idea, but the gist is that free will exists when your actions can be linked to an aspect of yourself that you identify with.

For example, if you had no choice but to do something, but you’re ok with that because it’s what you wanted anyway, then you have free will.

Even if I didn’t know you’d stop me in the end, I think I still would have flattened this world. 

-Eren Jeager

That’s all I needed to hear.

EREN, FUCK YOU!!!!

Eren had free will, at least as much as necessary to blame him for his genocide.

Isayama threw this curveball at us and all it did was ruin Eren as a character while leaving him just as repugnant as before. Incredible. It’s the worst of both worlds.

Before this chapter Eren was a guy who believed in something and followed that belief no matter who got in his way. That was great! It was tragic and sad, but great storytelling.

Where does this chapter leave us?

What we learn in this chapter is that Eren didn’t really believe in anything. He may have free will enough to be a shithead for what he did, but that doesn’t mean he has free will enough to be an interesting character.

Eren coming to grips with him not being free, in an absolute sense, would have been so much more interesting than what we got. Eren started the series comparing humanity to cattle in a pen. He ends the series being literally sheparded by fate to his death like cattle to a slaughterhouse.

And yet we get no exploration of that at all.

It’s lame. Everything about this is lame. From a storytelling perspective, Eren was just along for the ride. Who would want to reread this series now? A story about a boy who’s quest for freedom neither ends tragically nor happily, but is just forgotten about by the end. What’s the point?

There is none.

Eren’s journey ends up lost in the author’s own ignorance of the very thing this is supposed to be about.

Unfortunately, SNK isn’t interested in 80% of the world being dead. If it were, Eren wouldn’t have gotten such a warm send off.

I was honestly shocked when I read this chapter.

I thought it had been made clear. SNK had come firmly down against genocide. I never imagined Isayama would try a 180 in the final chapter.

And, well, he did, and here we are.

SNK is pro-genocide.

To wit:

Once Eren’s abominable plan is explained to everyone, he is lavished with love and comfort by his friends.

Armin did punch Eren for being callous about Mikasa, but overall all Armin had nothing but sympathy and understanding for Eren. They held hands and hugged and gave Eren a tender farewell.

All they talk about is how great a sacrifice Eren is making.

Not the sacrifice of 80% of all people, but the sacrifice that Eren personally is making of himself.

I don’t know what deranged mindset Isayama has that made him think this was sensible, but no, Eren is not sacrificing anything. He was always going to die. We’ve known this for several dozen chapters. It’s not a sacrifice to befall the fate you were always going to suffer.

He lost nothing. If anything, he gained from this ending.

Eren died knowing he was loved and appreciated by his friends. What more could a dying man ask for?

Eren is rewarded by the story for killing 80% of humanity.

His ultimate fate was no worse than was expected even before he committed the genocide, and he went out in the knowledge that his friends loved him for it.

It doesn’t even make logical sense that his friends would be so receptive to what he did.

There is no difference between Eren’s plan and what we thought Eren’s plan was before this chapter came out.

Armin thought Eren’s plan was to murder humanity to ensure his safety, and Armin was appalled. Armin was willing to sacrifice his life to ensure Eren failed. He was truly acting for the greater good of humanity.

In this chapter, Armin learns that Eren’s plan is actually to murder most of humanity to ensure his safety, and Armin loves him.

Again, hand holding, hugging, “thank you.” No mention of the unfathomable harm caused. The 80% killed are not even a footnote in this chapter.

Even after the fact, Eren’s friends showed no qualms with Eren essentially winning and procuring their safety through genocide.

When previously the mere thought of that was what motivated them to lay down their lives to stop him.

I don’t think Isayama believes this genocide is supposed to bear on how we think of Eren. I say, having just read the chapter that’s all about Eren, in which his genocide doesn’t bear on how his friends think of him. At all.

Was that too great a leap in logic? I apologize if my rationality offends you.

Eren may have died, but he won in the end.

His friends are safe and the world looks set to conclude a peace treaty with Paradis.

I don’t buy for a second that the world is a threat to Paradis anymore, and I don’t buy for a second that there won’t be a peace shortly after the end of the story.

It’s very telling, to me, that it’s the world that’s come to grovel at Paradis’ feet, begging for peace, when previously it was the other way around.

The contours of this “peace,” if you can call it that, were made pretty clear in the epilogue. The world is in ruins while Paradis is stronger than ever, so the world sues for peace for fear of Paradis attacking further. 

This is the moral of the story. Frankly, it’s been staring at us in the face the whole time.

How do you end the cycle of violence?

The answer is to win. To be stronger. More determined.

The only peace is enforced peace through domination.

Peace through the barrel of a gun.

To be continued in part II (and possibly part III)

[aesahamyr]

The brightest star of them all

Read it on AO3.

Hello everyone! I felt inspired to write some softness today (it has angst, but it's all very soft in the end). I apologize in advance for any mistakes, English is not my first language. Enjoy^^.

Summary: Gavin Reed reflects on his life on a Sunday morning and realises he is allowed to love.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Gavin Reed is an unlovable man.

That much he knows. He has heard it from his father, while trying to avoid another punch.

“You’re pathetic.”

He has heard it from his mother, when she was crying on the floor.

“It’s your fault your father left. It’s all your fault!”

But that’s okay. That’s fine. Gavin is a grown-up now, and he can find other people to love him. Except that life itself has declared that Gavin Reed is indeed a piece of trash who doesn’t deserve anything good. At least that’s the lesson he got from his first three boyfriends. They were very clear, all of them, that dating Gavin had been a waste of their time, an awful experience, something that they were ashamed of retrospectively.

As Gavin puts some ice on his cheek and hopes the bruises won’t be too obvious tomorrow, the irony of the situation is not lost on him: he has chosen a career in which he can protect victims from abuse, but can’t even defend himself.

In the night of his life, the only star he can see is Tina, who, bless her, will never fully understand how much she saved him when she brought a kitten to his flat one day and suggested he take care of it. With Princess in his life, Gavin finally decides that he has enough of this “feelings” crap, and settles for one-night stands in seedy bars. But the empty beds immediately after business is done are a constant reminder that, in spite of all his efforts to give his partners a good time, he is still, to his core, unlovable.

The other stars he has found in his life slowly fade away.

Anderson is not the same man anymore after the accident, and who could blame him? But it hurts so damn much to see Hank, his model, his mentor, his… friend (?) rant about how much of a scumbag he is when he tries to take his bottle away. A few years later, it’s his job, his last reason to live, that threatens to slip through his fingers.

Gavin thinks that this is the end. That there is no point, no point in trying, no point in hoping. One day, Connor, recently deviated, brings from the depth of Cyberlife to the DPD a being somehow even more lost than Gavin. And the detective may not know it yet, but it is not a star, but the entire sun that has just entered his life.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Good morning Gavin.”

Gavin could smell the bacon and fried eggs before even opening his eyes. He could also picture in his mind the face that just said those words, and he smiled in return.

“ ‘Morning, Nines,” he said, sitting up and rubbing his eyes before actually paying attention to what was in front of him. Standing next to the bed, wearing nothing but his pajama shirt, Nines had just brought him a tray full of toasts, jam, bacon, egg, and a glass of orange juice to top it all off.

“Well, tincan, spoiling me much?”

“I am the spoiled one and you know it,” Nines answered with a small smile, climbing on the bed and putting the tray on front of Gavin.

“You didn’t have to do all that.”

“I know, but I wanted to. It’s Sunday, I don’t sleep in and I wanted this morning to be…” Nines hesitated and sat on his knees.

“Perfect?” Gavin suggested. They both knew how loaded this word could be, with Nines’ insecurities, but they had chosen to deal with the problem rather than avoid it, aware that it would not simply disappear. “All right, but this breakfast cannot be legally qualified as perfect until a hot piece of android is with me to eat it,” he added, gesturing Nines to come closer.

The android obeyed and lied down next to Gavin, while he sat in tailor, the tray on his knees. He let out a sigh of contentment when he took the first bite from his toast. Delicious.

“They’re great, as always,” Gavin said, and his heart missed a beat when Nines’ face lit up at the compliment. He had gotten much better at deciphering the android’s subtle expressions.

“Here, open,” he said, dipping the tip of two fingers in the jam, before gently putting them in Nines’ mouth. The android let out a small moan and couldn’t help but twitch at the wonderful mix of fruit, sugar and his human on his delicate sensors. Gavin looked down at the military grade, state of the art android whose little blue tongue was happily cleaning his fingers, his eyelids fluttering with pleasure, his LED a calming blue that let Gavin know he was doing a good job.

“How do you want to spend the day?” Gavin asked, pulling out his fingers and taking a sip of orange juice.

Nines gave him a half-coy, half-embarrassed look, and Gavin chuckled.

“Again?” he said, bending down to kiss Nines’ hair.

Nines nodded, and stretched himself even though he has no need to, just to showcase his long legs and give Gavin a teasing glimpse of his backside, checking out of the corner of his eye that Gavin was not missing the show. Not being fooled by what was going on, Gavin took its time savoring his breakfast, pretending he couldn’t see Nines not-so-discreetly displaying himself, rubbing his legs against his through the cover, playing with the hem of his pajamas.

Nines was about to leave the bed when Gavin put the tray aside, firmly but gently grabbed his wrist and pulled him down so that he fell back on the bed, on his stomach.

“You naughty, naughty tin can…” Gavin said, and gave him a good smack on the butt.

Nines let out a little yelp and laughed.

“What have we learned yesterday, Nines? Pain…” (another smack on his butt) “… is always followed by pleasure,” Gavin said, peppering kisses on his lower back.

Nines started squirming, his loins heating up.

“Gavin… Please…?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll take care of you, you insatiable little-“

He was silenced when Nines turned his head to look at him with his soft, soft blue eyes that always reminded Gavin of a clear summer sky. There was arousal in those eyes, of course, and playfulness, but also, indubitably, certainly and irrevocably, love. Gavin’s heart soared and he leaned down to kiss Nines, not wanting to do something embarrassing. And as the android called his name with this voice, and looked at him with those eyes, Gavin was faced with the truth that he was finally not alone anymore.

[ihatetaxes99]

A Brief Retrospective Look At MVA (In The Anime)

Well. Here we are. Every end of the time is another begun. After what has felt like years of anticipation (mostly because it actually has been years), My Villain Academia has been fully animated. Well, "fully" may be the wrong word here, but that's something I'll get into later.

To honour the end of the arc, I decided to do two things: One, I re-read the entirety of the arc in the manga all in one sitting; Two, I rewatched all five episodes of the anime's adaptation back to back once again. My life is pain and I know not of sleep. Anyway, the reason I did this is because of a little project I proposed to myself back just before the first episode aired; Once MVA was done and dusted, I would go back and give my own retrospective on the whole thing. Because why the hell not, sounds like fun. This will also hopefully be less emotional than my thoughts I shared as the episodes were still airing, but who knows?

So, let's begin. And I wish to start by stating that My Villain Academia is my absolute favourite arc in the manga. It did a lot of things right. It focused entirely on my favourite faction, the villains. It offers a glimpse into their lives and goes a long way in humanising them, particularly Spinner and Shigaraki. It sets up key points for others too, such as Mr. Compress' habit of thinking more about the bigger picture than the others, which would factor into his major reveal during the Paranormal Liberation War and of course the formation of the Front itself. It introduced us to Rikiya Yotsubashi, one of my favourite characters in the manga, even if he honestly peaked in this arc and was never as good again. And it gave us a large-scale, grueling fight for supremacy in which I found myself actively rooting for the League. It is, in my mind, the very best of BNHA, the only arc I would want them to do well in the anime. They could screw up literally everything else and I would be happy if MVA was even just as good as the manga, it didn't even need to be better. I would have been delighted to have an excuse to experience the arc all over again, seeing my favourite moments with the sublime soundtrack and voice acting.

Yeah… 

But before I get to that, let us take a little trip of sorts down memory lane to see the road to MVA, what led to it. So, 2021 rolls around. What a fun year. It's just 2020 without the excitement of everything being so uncertain, and frankly it's been really fucking boring as a year. However, BNHA Season Five was announced. In February, we get the first trailer for the upcoming season. It's... It's fine. Obviously, it focuses heavily on the Joint Training Arc (in fact, that is all it shows) and although I despise that arc with a passion, it's not too bad. I had not watched the anime since Overhaul ended, so my plan was I just wouldn't watch JTA and would wait until the big attraction, MVA. And so, Joint Training starts. And it goes on. And on. And on. I checked back almost two months later to discover it still wasn't over yet. Now I found this odd. Joint Training Arc was horrible for many reasons, but the big one was that it dragged on for so long as a result of Horikoshi's health complications, which is by no means his fault. But, surely the anime, which would consistently release on a weekly basis, wouldn't have the issues associated with this. Episodes of BNHA have always encompassed around three to five chapters, and Joint Training's were shorter than usual, so why was it taking more than ten episodes to adapt it? 

Very strange, but I didn't question it much. Then, the key visuals released, confirming that MVA was at the very least happening. Great, wonderful. I love it. We've got the whole gang there, seeming like they're in Deika, looks pretty good.

Wait, did I say whole gang? Yeah, my bad, there was someone missing. Spinner. Now, I am not the biggest Spinner fan so I wasn't prepared to riot over his exclusion like I would have been if Compress wasn't in it. But this was starting to get strange. Spinner was the main narrator of MVA. Even if his importance was not on the level of Shigaraki, Twice and Toga, it was certainly more than Dabi and Compress, who did both appear in the art. Why was he excluded? Obviously, I bet you're all having a good old chuckle to yourselves right now because in retrospect, this makes perfect sense now.

Alright, then. I heard from a friend around June time that Joint Training was finally over. Awesome, great, time for the good stuff- why is there a Christmas episode here?

Yes, this was probably what really started to get the alarm bells in my mind going. The Christmas episode- in June. Very, very strange. Also, absolutely no mention of Rikiya, which even if they were reshuffling things, I would have expected him to appear in the episode of Bakugo and Todoroki getting their licenses, since it directly ties in. Concern levels rising, I shrugged it off and waited for next week.

Bam. Major reshuffling. Now, Endeavour Agency comes first, fuck you if you want context for who the hell the PLF are or the significance of Destro's memoirs. This was really starting to worry me now. I told myself that the key visual meant that MVA had to be happening, but it was starting to seem like the villains were being shafted. A fact not helped by the new OP.

Look, I'm sorry. I don't mean to complain or whine, but season five's second OP is just bad. The music is fine, I have no problem there. But the visuals are just awful. Not only is there an extended focus on that stupid bloody trio of Midoriya, Bakugo and Todoroki, not only is there more screentime given to characters who don't appear in MVA or EA than the main cast of the former, but the animation itself is just so stiff and lacking. It had potential, but the visuals are the worst out of any recent anime opening I've seen in a good few years and this was what got me really panicking.

Boom, a beach episode smack in the middle of Endeavour Agency to promote the upcoming movie. Boom, adapting two chapters per episode during EA. Boom, the Shirakumo episode, which I always thought was part of the War Arc and not EA. But finally, mercifully, the title leaks came and it was revealed that episode 20 of season five would be the start of MVA.

20. Out of 25. And it was pretty obvious that they weren't going to end the season with MVA, so really, up to 24. Ohhh no…

But hey, I'm an optimist sometimes. I was excited to just finally be clear of all this nonsense and get to the real good stuff. Hell, in preparation, I watched the entirety of the season up to that point. I finally realised why JTA took so long and it's one of the most depressing things I've ever learned, in a bad way. Were all those flashbacks really necessary? EA was okay, as someone who as a manga reader, already had the necessary context for the PLF stuff. The beach episode, I watched half of, got too bored and skipped the rest of. And you know what, I liked the Shirakumo chapters. They weren't as good in the anime, but it was nice to see.

And then, finally, in comes episode one of My Villain Academia, on a cold, dark August morning. I even bought Crunchyroll Premium to watch it as soon as possible, I was excited. All the messing around, all the crap, it was finally over and the time had come to enjoy what this season was really all about.

I can now safely say why Bones kept pushing back MVA, because if I was them, I would be embarrassed to show this.

No, that's not fair. I promised I wouldn't get too snarky, so let's reek things back in. As a whole, MVA has been… fine. Just fine. Not good enough to justify the bullshit, but not horrendous (mostly.) In fact, right now, I'll give a ranking of the episodes, my worst to best:

5) Episode One 

4) Episode Two

3) Episode Three

2) Episode Five

1) Episode Four

Yeah. So, there's a clear pattern here, that things more or less got better as time went on. From just straight up bad, to still not great, to alright, to the final two episodes being what I would comfortably call good. This is not a good look. I'm sorry, but Episode One, an episode that I just called bad, is still one of the season's best in spite of that. That spells out awful things for this season as a whole. But what exactly made this such a disaster?

Well, cut content is the big thing. MVA in the anime cuts out:

The League's battle with the CRC

Their struggle with poverty

The sushi joke setup

All of Spinner's character

All of Rikiya's character, including most mentions of Detnerat and Miyashita

Fairly integral pieces of Skeptic's character

Most of Giran's integrity and bravery

This doesn't look too bad at first. It could be far worse. We got basically everything else from the arc, so what? Well, I would already be annoyed about all of these cuts, but the issue is that they cause a knock on effect. Without the establishment of the League's poverty, the payoff of Toga's duffle coat now makes no sense. Without the setup of Spinner's characterisation, his battle with Hanabata now feels hollow. Rikiya's surrender to the League now makes even less sense, as his love of human life and desire to cause no more death is completely non-existent. The first time Rikiya being a CEO is mentioned is in the closing minutes of the arc. The sushi scene is hamfisted into a two second flashback just so that the payoff makes some sort of sense, but again, it is hollow without it being at the start (this is also the first mention of the League's poverty and it literally happens just as they are freed from it.) Can you see how these little seemingly unimportant cuts spiral into bigger problems? I would have been pissed even if they hadn't caused some tremendous cascades, but the fact that they did just makes this from a subjective issue to an objective one.

Yes. They did some things well. Toga's backstory is mostly intact, SMP is just as satisfying as the manga, Tenko's backstory is one of the best things the anime has ever done, the awakening is very well done, I adore the PLF formation as much as I did in the manga. Everything important is intact, but as I keep saying, you cannot just keep the bare minimum and expect it to work. How about in the next arc, they decide to cut everything involving Bakugo out, and only keep him jumping in front of Midoriya because it's the only absolutely necessary thing he does in the arc? People would be pissed, and it's the same thing that's happening here. It's a problem, it's not just a bad adaptation, it leads to bad storytelling in general.

The animation. Now, I do not believe this is a be all, end all. BNHA's anime is never going to look as gorgeous as Horikoshi's art, that is a fact and I do not begrudge them for that. They have a week to draw hundreds upon hundreds of frames, it's not a process that lends itself well to good looks and the animators and artists do their best with what they have. This does not change the fact that it is extremely hit or miss. Some things, Tenko's backstory in particular, look fantastic. Other things, mostly every action scene, make me laugh at how bad they can look and some things, particularly Twice and Re-Destro's hideous designs in the anime, make me cringe. The lighting is also an issue. Garaki's lab looked fantastic, but every other scene is just boring mid-afternoon with dull, basic lighting. I don't expect huge detail, but sometimes, it fails to achieve competency and as an extremely popular show, I don't think that's okay. I don't blame the animators, I blame the higher ups. And while I wouldn't mind the poor animation and art in an MVA that at least has all the story content, this does not have that and so I am even harsher than I would have been.

MVA was rushed. That's not up for debate. It took forever to get to it and once it came, things moved so quickly that they gave me whiplash, with no time to think or lament. Now, this could be attributed to the story structure of the arc, which is essentially a series of big fights, and it just isn't as bad in the manga because I can stop at any time to catch my breath. But I think it's worth noting that the anime at least highlights these issues. Curious dies in the same episode where she first appears, really driving home how pointless she was in the end. Episode Two alone tries to cover everything from the journey to Deika up until Jin finding Toga's body. That's a lot of content to fit in one twenty minute period and it was bound to feel messy in the end. I will say that, much like everything aside from the animation, this did get better as time went on, with episodes three, four and five adapting more reasonable amounts of content, compared to one giving us almost nothing and two giving us too much.

At the end of the day, that was it. The show's over. MVA has been closed in the anime. It will never be given a chance to improve, to go from just fine to anything even close to the manga. Why did this happen? I don't think we'll ever truly know. Some blame the new movie, others the studio's lack of faith in the villains, and there are those who say that it's just how fate turned out. I personally think it's a combination of all of these things. Without the movie, that beach episode wouldn't exist, giving more time to MVA, without the studio's hesitation, we'd perhaps get stuff like an actual good OP and perhaps some more general hype for it (I mean, MVA didn't even get a trailer.) Whatever the reason is, we got what we got. My verdict is something that's very overplayed as of late, but seriously, just read the manga with the fantastic soundtrack playing in the background. The anime's adaptation of MVA is not worth the time investment, when you could read the manga in roughly the same length of time and get more content, a more coherent plot and beautiful artwork.

So, what may come next for Season Six? I don't know. Season Five has definitely been one of the most unpopular seasons in the anime, with a lot of people speaking out against it, but this mostly seems to come from the Western fanbase, so it's up in the air if Bones will learn from their mistakes. Since they'll have a full season to do presumably the War and Rouge Deku arcs, then I feel like they'll put on a better show. But we just don't know. Spinner had his spotlight stolen this time around, will Compress suffer the same fate in Season Six? Dabi and Toga will probably be handled well, since they have inexplicably high amounts of popularity, but with his own lack of recognition rivalling Spinner's, I can see Sako ending up much the same way. Time will tell, I suppose.

[rpd-rookie]

hi ! I wanna request an angsty oneshot (with a happy ending,,) of carlos x reader. something where maybe reader suspects carlos is cheating and confronts him and it results in huge agruments or something along the lines of a fight (nothing physical ofc) but it ends up getting resolved in the end?

Author’s note: Before reading, I just want to make thing clear by saying that I have nothing against Valeveira shippers or the ship in itself. If anything, I respect it (as I respect all ships in the RE fandom) and perfectly understand why people ship Carlos and Jill so much (I’m not blind I felt the sexual tension in RE3remake). I have nothing against Jill either. To me Jill Valentine is the Goddess of Resident Evil along with Claire. It is very important for me to say all this because the last I wrote a jealousy-themed one shot that included a RE ship (that was Aeon) I incurred the wrath (and the hate) of a Aeon shipper. So, now that it has been said, enjoy the story.

Green-Eyed Monster - Carlos Oliveira x Reader

           You could feel it eyes upon you. That green-eyed monster staring at you with a mocking smile, slowly poking you towards an overwhelming anger that you know would soon lash out at your boyfriend who couldn’t seem to notice your gritted teeth and clenched jaw as he was talking about the ‘fabulous’ ‘supercop,’ Jill Valentine, for the umpteenth time.         That little monster had been your companion for days, ever since Carlos had renewed contact with his ‘old friend’. And truth to be told, it was not the kind of company that you liked most. It was permanently clenching your stomach with his claws, filling it with a disgusting nausea you didn’t know how to get rid off, and whispering terrible ideas and thoughts in your ear.   But that’s Jealousy right? That sickening fear that someone will take whom you love most away from you. That foul worry that you might not be good enough in the eyes of your loved one. That panic that someone might take your place.       But what if your place had already been taken? What if you had already been replaced?  What if Jill had already stolen Carlos from you? What if … what if all your fears had already happened?

“Is something going on between you and Jill?” You realised what you had just said a couple of seconds after saying them, as if your words had been quicker that your thoughts, as if the little green-eyed monster had taken possession of you and turned you into the mere spectator of the incoming argument. That’s not what you wanted to say. Or was it?   Carlos lost his smile as he seemed to gauge your feelings through his astonished brown eyes, wondering at the same time if he had really heard your silly question. “What did you say?” You did not reply and simply stared at him with cold blankness in your eyes, waiting for him to say something. “Are you asking me if I’m cheating on you?”           He was vexed, almost angry. You could tell it by the way his sudden gravitas was making his voice sound deeper than usual. But he was also hurt, deeply hurt. You only had to listen to the almost-unnoticeable shakiness and slowness of his words.       “Are you?” Two words. One accusation. But enough to make everything blow to smithereens.

“You can’t be serious.” His eyes widened as he put his cutlery on the table, perfectly aware that he would not finish his meal tonight.      Your accusations were enough to digest. “Honestly Carlos, I wish I was joking.” Your composure contrasted sharply with Carlos’ astonishment. He scoffed, refusing to believe you were bluntly accusing him of promiscuity. “Do you really believe I could do that to you? And with Jill?” That name made you slightly shiver and clench your fists on the table. Carlos noticed and he took great offence at your reaction. “Oh come on! We just took a couple of beers together, Y/N!”     “Yeah. Yeah, a couple of beers.” You repeated with a sarcastic smile as you stood up to clear your plate, which was a mere way to end the discussion as soon as possible. “You don’t believe me.” No indeed, you did not believe him. You believed the little monster on your shoulder laughing at you.       “How uncharacteristically perceptive of you.” As much as Carlos loved you wit and sarcasm, he hated when you were acting that way. It had a knack for getting on his nerves in spite of his incredible sweetness and patience. “Jill is a friend. We survived Raccoon City together.”       “That must forge links, I guess.” You declared as you threw your meal in the trash.           “Nothing happened and nothing’s happening.” He harrumphed, raising his tone slowly while he gestured you to stop with your nonsense already.           “But you wished it did.” That was not a question. That was a direct affirmation that was as sharp a knife and that Carlos couldn’t deny. And it stabbed all the trust you and he had placed in your couple.   “It was a long time ago.” He tried to justify himself but you wouldn’t hear what was to you pathetic excuses. “She never wanted me. Everything remained strictly platonic. And then we went on separate ways.” You nodded though you were not convinced, too focused on the little monster whispering ‘lies, lies, lies’ in your ear.         “And now she’s back and everything you can talk about is her. Jill is amazing. That supercop, you should see how she beat the shit of that Nemesis.”

Carlos sighed, getting tired of your jealousy as his legs were fidgeting under the table. He had no reason to blame himself. He was faithful. Always had been. But he sure as hell had also no reason to silently accept your false accusations. “You’re ridiculous.” He mocked. “I’m ridiculous?” You harrumphed with a forced laugh. “You should see yourself and your heart eyes every time you say her name… God, it’s making me sick.” You turned your back on him, unable to look at him in the eyes, and furiously grabbed the sponge to wash the dishes. “Okay, now you’re acting crazy.” Carlos spat and you dropped your plate in the sink, offended by his words. You were not crazy. You knew what you had seen. Your boyfriend’s smile every time he would mention Jill, that spark shining in his eyes every time he would talk about her and her heroism, and more especially him leaving in the evening to have a drink with her, all dolled up and excited, only to come back in the middle of the night, reeking of sweat and alcohol. Sweat, really?   You know they had sex, don’t you? The green-eyed monster murmured.

“Why don’t you just admit that you’re fucking her? So we can properly fight about what’s really going on.” You demanded.           “Because that’s not true!” He half-shouted. “I’m not fucking Jill. How else can I say it so that you can finally understand?” His gestures were wild and frantic and punctuating his words, showing how pissed he was. The Hispanic blood taking over certainly.           “Oh so now I’m stupid? Fantastic.” You humoured and Carlos bumped his fist against the wooden table as he stood up to assert himself.             “What is it that you don’t understand?! Goodness! You’re insufferable.” He growled but you didn’t lose your spunk and chose to stand by your opinions despite how impressive Carlos was when he was angry.       “Then maybe you should go find Jill. I’m sure her presence must be more pleasant than mine.” “You know what? Maybe I will.”

Exhausted by your childishness, Carlos exited the kitchen to go and grab his jacket by the main door of your cosy little apartment, definitely decided to leave the place and put an end to this stupid argument.   “Fine.” You screamed as you followed him. No way you would let him have the last word. “And maybe I will fuck her too so that you’ll finally blame me for something I did.” He pointed a finger at you, looking at you straight in the eye. He didn’t mean that but he was so furious right now he just wanted to hurt you as much as you were hurting him with your lack of trust and your awful accusations.       “Go ahead! Enjoy!” You waved towards the door, welcoming him to pack up and leave though you secretly wanted him to stay.     “Oh I certainly will. Cause I’m sick of sharing my bed with a insecure paranoid like you!” The rebuke hurt. You couldn’t hide it and you resisted the urge to push Carlos out of your apartment. “You know what the insecure paranoid has to say?” You shouted and Carlos slammed the door behind him. “Fuck you!” You yelled, hoping he would here that from the corridor.

You roared, fingers tangled in your hair, furious and more especially pained. But it took you quite an instant to allow your suffering to truly settle as you were still somewhat holding up to the hope that you boyfriend would change his mind and come back to you. It took you the humming of Carlos’ bike in the street slowly fading away as he probably was riding right towards Jill’s arms.

           You cried yourself to sleep that night. Curled up on the sofa with your little green-eyed monster and his new blue friend he introduced as Guilt. And Guilt was as bad as Jealousy, perhaps even more painful. Guilt was the one murmuring all the regrets and remorse he could imagine. Guilt was the one that could tear your heart off your chest and tell you that it was your fault. Guilt was an ugly son of a bitch.

Carlos only came back early in the morning, around 5 or 6 am, with dark circles under his brown eyes, dishevelled hair and an exhausted slow gait. You watched him sit in silence on the couch next to you and take a deep breath. He wanted to say something. He just didn’t know how to say it. You chose not to pressure him and remained still by his side, legs bent against your chest, puffy eyes staring at him. “I was with Jill.”       The confession twisted your stomach in a painful knot and you felt yourself unable to breathe anymore as if your lungs didn’t know how to function anymore. But this time it was not the little green-eyed monster that was causing you this suffering. That was Guilt. “ We talked a lot… about you mostly.” You listened carefully, aware there was nothing you could do, nothing you could say that would make things better now. “She’s the one who convinced me to come back. She helped try seeing things from your point of view. I understand why you got jealous. I guess if I had heard you talking about a guy the same way I was talking about Jill, I would have got jealous as well. But what I don’t get is how you could actually believe I would be able to cheat on you.” The pressure in your body slowly relaxed when you realised that Carlos did not want another argument but merely a calm explanation, something you should have had from the very beginning instead of bawling at each other.   “I don’t know. I guess I was really an insecure paranoid after all.” Carlos briefly chuckled when he spotted your faint smile.           “I shouldn’t have talked to you like that. I was a jerk and …” You placed a hand on his thigh to cut him short. “No. You were right. And you don’t need to apologize for anything. If anything, I’m the one who should apologize. I was the unreasonable one in this story. I let jealousy get the better of me when I should have listened to you and trusted you. I’m sorry. That won’t happen again.” You promised as you looked him in the eye and Carlos smiled so softly it made your heart melt. How much you had feared not to be able to see that smile again after what happened. “Good. I hate when we fight.” Carlos said as grabbed your hand in his and pressed his forehead against yours.         “I hate when we fight too.” You pressed your lips against his, desiring that healing kiss more than anything right now. And it did heal you. And it made the monsters go away. All was fine now.

[janeofcakes]

It Could Be Us

I'M BACK! Jane is back again!!

Christ, when I said I 'd have my one shot up in no time at all I had no fucking clue what I was talking about. Seriously, none whatsoever. I feel like this has taken longer than posting all of KYFC. Hopefully I got all the formatting right in the end and nothing is confusing.

In any case, here it is at last! It's my Christmas present to you. I hope you all like it. Without further ado or sass, let's get right into it.

-----

The dance floor was already packed as John walked into the club. He had expected nothing less for a Friday night, and a late one at that. It was just after eleven o’clock and the club was in full swing. The lights were low and the bass thumped a steady rhythm he could feel in the floor beneath his feet. It had been a long day at St. Bartholomew’s Hospital, packed with patients and an emergency surgery right at the end that kept him late again. He had dashed out of the hospital as soon as he was finished and grabbed a cab to a chip shop around the corner from the club for a quick bite. He came straight to the club after that one detour. He had meant to arrive earlier, like nine o’clock earlier. He could only hope the man he was to meet was still here, or had been here at all. Now the pounding music and vibrating floor rippled electric sparks through his body, making him want nothing more than to join the pulsing throng of people on the floor. He had the burning desire to be free and forget everything, but he had to find someone first. The man of the hour.

John had come at his request because they had not had much time to themselves lately. Both of their jobs had ramped up and meeting together had become difficult. John bit the inside of his cheek in irritation as he scanned the floor. A night in the club, much as he enjoyed their usual haunt, did not mesh with his vision of ‘quality time’.

John puffed out a breath of annoyance as his eyes ran the length of the floor like laser beams tracking prey. Though his focus was razor sharp, it was still a challenge to find any one person amid the countless bodies crammed together in the space, but the man he was looking for was very hard to miss. He was very distinctive in his look and manner. He always put on a show for John’s benefit or was getting into a fight that he never started, as he often declared in a, frankly, obnoxious tone to everyone within five feet. John huffed again. The man he was looking for was decidedly not there and never had been, in spite of his promise.

John grumbled darkly to himself, heading for the bar and the club’s sole proprietor, Greg Lestrade. He and Greg had met some ten years ago and the club was a hotspot even then. Now it was one of the most well-known on this side of London, but still retained its own rustic-city style with brick walls and an antique, solid oak bar. So many others had strayed toward trendy and pretentious, which only made John love this place more.

“Evening,” John said as he approached the end of the bar.

“John,” Greg’s face brightened as he placed a glass in front of a woman who winked at him as she picked it up. He gave her a sort of lop-sided smile he had perfected over the years and then turned his attention to John. “Rather late for you, isn’t it? No work tomorrow?”

“My day off,” John replied with a slight laugh, leaning against the bar and resting his arm on its surface. “I need it. Ten days on and just as many late nights. I feel like the Duracell bunny, but on half full batteries from a Poundland Christmas sale.”

“And many more lives saved,” Greg reached over the bar to pat John’s shoulder. “You’re a credit to the profession.”

“Ta,” John mumbled, feeling his cheeks flush and ducking his head at the unexpected praise. He recovered quickly and gestured haphazardly behind his back. “You’re doing well yourself. Another busy night I see.”

“With me on the floor, no less,” Greg remarked looking out over the dance floor. “I forgot how hot it gets in here. Usual?”

“Ta,” John watched as Greg stepped away to grab a short glass and a bottle of Talisker.

“Sally called in sick,” Greg handed him the drink as John’s brows shot up and his jaw dropped. “Can you believe it?”

“No,” John shook his head, still holding the amber and ice-filled glass out over the bar where Greg had handed it to him. “Not Sally. No way. You’re having me on.”

“Apparently, even The Machine gets the flu,” Greg said by way of explanation. He continued with a shrug. “Who knew? To be honest, I hope it doesn’t spread around. She sounded terrible.”

Greg leaned in and rested his own elbow on the bar’s top as John took a quick sip from his drink. The burn as it slipped down his throat punctuated his mood. He had been in this situation many times before, waiting at the bar with Greg while his boyfriend remained absent, but John would damned if he let it ruin his evening this time. When Greg continued speaking, John made a concerted effort to improve his own disposition.

“Anyway, no one on the short list could make it, so here I am,” Greg grinned and gave a slight bow, “at your service, m’lud.”

“Good for you,” John laughed, placing his drink on the bar. “Keeps you humble.”

“It does at that,” Greg chortled. He watched as John’s eyes scanned the dance floor and the club’s entrance again. The smile slowly faded from Greg’s face as he headed down the bar to sort out some drinks for a few people before returning to his friend.

“You looking for him?” he finally asked, passing John a bowl of bite-sized pretzels. John nodded his thanks and tossed one back, grateful that Greg always remembered he was not a fan of crisps, at all. Greg still jibed John about it. How can you possibly like pretzels and not crisps, John? They are, more or less, the same. Just a munchie to take your mind off things. John’s rebuttal always outlined every last way in which they were, in fact, not at all the same.

“Yeah,” he replied in an even tone, not wanting to fully broadcast his irritation. Greg was perceptive though and John knew it. Damn that man learned too much about people’s tells in all his years of bar tending. “He called me at work and wanted to meet here. We’ve not seen much of each other lately.”

“Right,” Greg drew out the word just enough to convey his disbelief without being an ass about it.

“You seen him?” John asked, already knowing the answer.

“I have not,” Greg said flatly. John pursued his lips and looked away, giving a slight nod as his only confirmation.

“Have you seen…”

“No,” Greg cut him off. The two men looked at each other, brows furrowed in mutual understanding. The muscles in John’s jaw flexed as he gnashed his teeth. Greg sighed next to him and John broke eye contact only to look over the floor again in another unsuccessful attempt to find the man he sought while trying with all his might to ignore everything unsaid between them.

“Far be it for me to…” Greg began, but John raised a hand to stop him. There was no need for him to hear it all again. It made no difference. John would wait. Always.

“Then don’t,” he said sharply, meeting Greg’s eyes again. “All right. Just leave it.”

John knew it was defensive and unnecessary. Greg would never in a million years judge him, but to have this happen time and time again hurt. Greg’s words always stung, even though he meant them in the most supportive way possible. John knew he should take them to heart and he did, just not enough to do anything about it. It was true his relationship was far from perfect, but in all honesty, he really did not give a toss. It was what it was and it was easy to ignore what he did not like.

“Sure,” Greg answered after a pause with a look that told John he wanted to say more. He knew John and the whole situation far too well.

“Hey, Bossman,” a man named Roland called from down the bar. Greg and John looked his way immediately to see a bottle in each of his hands and people crowding the opposite side of the bar. “Give us a hand, mate.”

“‘Course, Rol, of course,” Greg straightened and gave John another look before walking away. You deserve better than that piece of shit. We both know and yet, look at yourself. “Be back in a few,” was what he said instead.

John waved him off and took another drink. He watched Greg and Roland mix drinks for a bit, chuckling whenever his friend fended off the flirtations of both men and women alike. The man was an enigma, never showing interest in any gender or persuasion, the ideal businessman. It was really no different from him at Bart’s, John supposed. Still, it suddenly seemed odd that in all the years he had known Greg he never mentioned a partner and John had never asked.

John frowned into his empty glass as if it held all the answers of the universe. Forty-two, as they say. He let out a short chuckle with a slight shake of his head and then a sigh as he turned his stool to look back out at the sea of dancers. Deep in thought, he was not really looking at anything at all until his eyes came into focus on a pair of ethereal blue ones staring back at him. John blinked in surprise and jerked his head back as if burnt. The stare belonged to a tall, impossibly sexy brunette who demanded space in the massive throng of heaving, shifting bodies. He danced like his body was possessed by the music itself. His limbs and movements appeared graceful, elegant and effortless in spite of the speed and vulgarity of the hip hop track that filled the air. His white shirt glowed in the blacklight above him, drawing more attention to the V of his neckline that was nothing less than a delicious, scandalous temptation where two buttons left undone exposed his pale throat. His black jeans hugged every sharp edge as well as the curve of an ass that had no right to be as plush as it was for a thin frame such as his.

John snapped his mouth closed quickly, unsure of how long his lips had been parted in wonder and awe. Too long judging by the smirk the man gave him with that sidelong glance as he continued to sway his hips. God, he did it with such skill it was obscene and John could not stop himself staring. He swallowed hard, his mouth suddenly dry, and took a sip of scotch. John had seen this man here before quite a few times and he had seen him go into the back offices with Greg almost every time. He had even seen them leave together and yet, John had never asked Greg about it and Greg had not volunteered. John had simply not thought it any of his business. Now John wondered why he had never stopped to consider this one exception to Greg’s rule.

When John’s eyes came to rest on him again, he blinked and blinked again in shock. That man, that gorgeous man with legs a mile long and cheekbones sharp enough to cut yourself with was absolutely not dancing his way toward John. He was decidedly not staring at John with his mesmerizing and other worldly eyes. John’s mouth went dry again and he blinked once more for good measure, his brain seizing utterly. He watched, unable to look at anyone else as the man left the floor and swept up to the bar next to him. The man gave John a knowing smile and studied him with a sultry, but intensely intelligent gaze. Dumbfounded, John could only look back at him with wide eyes and will his own brain to work again before he truly proved himself a complete idiot.

“Hello, John,” a deep baritone, all dark chocolate and velvet rumbled from the man’s chest. John’s lips parted and he nearly gasped, but swallowed it down along with his surprise. How the hell did this man, with perfect cupid’s bow lips, know his name? “I’ve seen you here before. We have a friend in common.”

John stared at him, eyes shining with unanswered questions. The smirk he got and the tilt of the man’s head, curls bouncing in the direction down the bar. Greg. Of course, Greg. He must have told this mysterious man John’s name. The doctor tilted his head as well, unable to look away from that angular face now framed by soft, dark curls as their owner tilted his head upright again. Suddenly John’s heart skipped a beat as his mind caught up with the conversation. Did that mean this dazzling beauty had asked Greg about him?

“My name is Sherlock,” that voice continued and John fought with himself not to melt on the spot.

“Hi,” John forced his voice to croak out. “John.”

“Yes, I know,” Sherlock’s lips curled upward as his eyes studied, no read John’s face. John felt like this clever man could read his entire life with a simple glance, much less the current scrutiny. John stared like a moron as his mind caught up with the situation at hand and he closed his eyes in regret. He had just spluttered the most idiotic introduction to a man who already knew his name. God, he was so stupid.

“Sorry, sorry,” John blurted, opening his eyes to see that Sherlock had perched himself on the bar stool next to him. He seemed to have finished sizing John up and also appeared to have no intention of leaving. “I was… It’s nice to meet you.”

“You come here often,” Sherlock stated, his eyes sharp. Goddamn if he did not have the longest lashes John had ever seen.

“Greg’s a good friend,” John answered. Finally his brain seemed to be back online and able to communicate. “And I like the club.”

“And you like to dance,” the corners of Sherlock’s mouth crooked up slyly.

“You’ve seen me dance?” John asked, a little startled. This lithe specter of the dance floor had noticed him? Sherlock just replied with a satisfied and very amused expression.

“I’ve seen you too,” John continued, finding his usual confidence again. “You’re very good.”

“As are you,” Sherlock stated. He rested both elbows on the bar and laced his fingers in between, a calculating edge to his gaze. “You’re here alone.”

John’s body grew tense in an instant. His mouth pressed into a thin and serious line.

“You’re usually here with that detestable little man who drinks too much and yells at the other dancers,” Sherlock ignored the sudden change in John’s demeanor.

Instead of being angry at the slight, John eased up and huffed a laugh in spite of himself. He could feel the muscles in his body relaxing just as quickly as they had tightened and marveled for a moment at his reaction. He began to study Sherlock more intentionally.

“Yeah, that’s Jim all right,” John laughed again. “My other half.”

“Oh, yes,” Sherlock nearly choked on his words. He clearly had not deduced the full extent of their relationship. Maybe Sherlock had not asked Greg about him after all. John’s heart sank a little. Then he saw Sherlock’s eyes fall to his left hand, looking for a ring then. John’s heartbeat sped up just a bit for that gesture alone.

“Sorry,” Sherlock mumbled awkwardly.

“Think nothing of it. Jim can be a real dick when he wants to be,” John reassured him with a friendly smile. “Takes a while to warm up to him.”

The skin beneath Sherlock’s eyes contracted slightly as he looked at John thoughtfully. The doctor could tell there were a myriad of questions turning circles in his mind and he was trying to pick one to start with. Rather than wait for it, John decided to counter with one of his own. One that was much on his mind at the moment.

“You usually leave with Greg,” it was not a question, but John’s voice rose with it as though it was. His Machiavellian expression made sure Sherlock understood his meaning, the underlying question in John’s uttered statement. The man was completely unphased by John’s directness, smiling and huffing a quiet laugh as he threw a handful of pretzels in his mouth.

“We’re flatmates,” he clarified with an easy shrug and then added after taking in the change in John’s features: “Yes, just flatmates. We keep each other honest.”

“Oh?” John tilted his head, interest peaked by that casual statement. “What does that mean?”

“I make sure he leaves this place once in a while and he makes sure I sleep on occasion,” Sherlock smirked, holding a pretzel between his index and middle fingers.

“Alone?” John asked mischievously and Sherlock snorted, obviously quite amused.

“Yes, alone,” he confirmed with a good-natured nod. “I don’t do romantic liaisons or spend meaningful moments with people.”

Sherlock’s face pulled itself together as if John had told him to bathe in the Thames for the foreseeable future. A smile instantly appeared on John’s face and he huffed a quick laugh as he watched the man before him.

“My time is far too valuable to spend it with such frivolities and imbeciles,” the brunette continued with his nose wrinkled as though the steak and kidney pie had gone decidedly off.

“And why is that?” John leaned further onto the bar, extremely interested now. He was not sure if it was because this man was a friend of Greg’s or just that he was so damn interesting, but John thoroughly enjoyed teasing him and was not about to stop. Maybe being in the club on his own tonight was not so bad after all. “What is it that keeps the great Sherlock…”

“Holmes,” the man supplied when John paused, the dramatic effect it created not lost on either of them.

“...Holmes so busy?” John extended his hand to wave with a flourish between the two of them. Sherlock watched him with smiling eyes and a dazzling grin on his face.

“I assist the police when they are out of their depth, which is always,” Sherlock answered, growing quite serious. “I am a Consulting Detective.”

John could see the cautious pride shining through the haughty answer.

“Yeah? And they pay you for sticking your nose in?” was the first thing that popped out of John’s mouth. God only knows why. He was not usually such a tease, nor such an idiot. He watched the flicker of hurt slither over the brunette’s expressive face and bit the inside of his cheek to keep himself from repeatedly hitting his head against the bar counter. Nothing like opening his mouth and inserting his foot all the way down his own throat, he mused of his actions, especially considering he was in a somewhat relationship with Jim and all, but there was something about this man. It was something so powerful and too complicated for John to understand just yet.

“Yes, as well as private clients,” Sherlock remarked sharply. His brow wrinkled in confusion, creating a ridge across the bridge of his nose that had John holding back a smile. “Why wouldn’t they pay me?”

“Uh, no reason. I just.. I’ve never heard of it before,” John replied slowly, trying to gather his thoughts.

“I should think not. I invented it,” Sherlock said haughtily, the pleasure obvious in his whole body. A sudden laugh burst from John’s lips, taking both men by surprise. Sherlock’s features were just beginning to harden when John caught his breath to speak.

“That’s brilliant!” he exclaimed, clapping the taller man on the shoulder and beaming at him with bright eyes, their depths growing even more blue with his merriment. “It sounds amazing.”

He pulled a now stunned Sherlock in so their heads were close together. Their faces only inches apart, John eyed the man with an almost childlike excitement.

“How do you do it?” John asked in a tone that bubbled with enthusiasm. “Are you a psychologist or a profiler or some mad genius who uses his power for the greater good? You know, all tall, dark, handsome and broody, but really on the side of the angels?”

John chuckled at his own quirkiness and somehow knew Sherlock would understand his sense of humor perfectly. Sure enough, the man’s mouth curled into a knowing smile and he cocked a brow. The expression made John think of Loki, God of Mischief himself. His chest gave into a tingling squeeze and he delighted in the pleasurable shivers rushing over his head and back.

“All of the above,” Sherlock said simply and John laughed heartily, his head ducking in even closer to Sherlock’s.

“I don’t doubt it,” John chuckled. He met Sherlock’s eyes. “I’d love to hear about it. Somewhere else,” he took a steadying breath. What the hell was he doing? “Quieter so we don’t have to yell.”

John’s eyes bounced to Sherlock’s lips for a brief moment and his gut clenched. Before he could beat himself up for blatantly flirting, their eyes locked and he saw the answer in Sherlock’s before he heard the confirmation in his words.

“I know a restaurant not far from here,” Sherlock replied quickly and decisively. “It’s open late and I know the owner.”

“Did you help him with a case?” John blurted with ardor.

“I got him off a murder charge,” Sherlock answered in amusement, his rumbling baritone honeyed with satisfaction. John gulped, so caught up in the sheer brilliance of this man. There were a thousand questions in John’s mind and he wanted to ask every single one as soon as they could get out of the club with its loud beat, blaring music and tons of people.

“Absolutely! I’d love to...oh,” he stopped himself mid-sentence and his face fell, coming to his senses before getting far in his reply. Releasing Sherlock’s shoulder and straightening up, John remembered why he was here tonight. Jim was the whole reason for even being in the club. He could not just leave.

“I’m sorry. I can’t,” John muttered, barely loud enough to hear over the din. Disappointment shown thick on his face and in his tone. “I’m meeting someone.”

Sherlock made no reply and simply watched as John lowered his eyes to the floor. Damn it, John wanted to go with this man. He needs to go with this man, but it would not be right. Oh, fuck it all. Fuck Jim and whatever he may think. He was always sneaking around with Moran anyway. Let him think John was sneaking around for a change.

No. John dismissed that as soon as he thought it. That was not why he wanted to leave the club with Sherlock. John had no interest in making Jim jealous. He just wanted to spend more time with the fascinating consulting detective. My god, John wanted to learn all he could: his work, how he had conceived of it, how he met Greg, everything. John had never been so drawn to a person in his life and was more than a little pissed off to have met him tonight when he was here waiting for fucking Jim Moriarty to show up.

“Dance with me,” Sherlock said suddenly when the tempo of the music changed and echoed around them. John blinked at him, the words bringing him back from his thoughts. Sherlock was serious. He knew why John was at the club, who he was waiting for, and he was serious.

“I can’t,” John’s voice was dull, but his face was full of surprise. “I have a boyfriend.”

“I know,” Sherlock replied steadily, not backing down.

“But I’m waiting for him,” John told him dumbly with an exasperated sigh. Nothing like abandoning any attempt at being articulate.

“No one should ever keep you waiting, John,” Sherlock said with conviction. John tucked his chin, turning his head slightly, but kept his eyes on Sherlock. A crease formed on his forehead and his brow furrowed as he tried to wrap his head around this man. He clearly knew far more about John than John did of him, either from Greg or his own deductions. It was also clear that he was very keen on spending more time with John. The doctor was both dumbfounded and thrilled by this knowledge.

John opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. There were so many things John wanted to say and could give voice to none. The words just hung there in his mind and refused to become the sentences he needed.

“I could be your boyfriend,” Sherlock’s deep voice halted John’s mind completely.

“What?” John struggled to understand. “But I have…”

“He isn’t here,” Sherlock cut him off in a soft but firm tone. John looked at him with unabashed confusion and disbelief. Sherlock swallowed and placed a hand on John’s. The doctor stared at it with wide eyes that shifted back to Sherlock’s. “Just for this song… I could be your boyfriend.”

“I shouldn’t. I…” John looked into his eyes and everything stopped. John did not even hear the music anymore. Sherlock’s eyes were... mysterious. John had thought they were blue, but now they appeared silver, green, blue. They seemed to shift with every thought that passed through that brilliant mind. How had John never noticed before? Simple, really. He had never been this close to Sherlock before and certainly never thought he would be. John was always here with Jim, and Moran and the whole entourage. Naturally, he danced with Jim, but his eyes had always found Sherlock.

Sherlock on the dance floor with his long, elegant limbs and swaying hips. Such amazing hips. He could move like no one John had seen in real life and it was captivating. Lithe and smooth, every step and swoop and shift in perfect alignment with the music. Sherlock effortlessly danced to any song or genre and Greg’s DJs liked to mix it up too. From hip hop to techno via pop or the 80s. They were even known to throw in slow songs so patrons could relive their high school prom nights. Jim always wrapped his arms around John and snuffled into his neck during those songs. John had tried to do the same, but his heart was never in it, especially during the last few months.

John and Jim had started growing apart a long time ago. They were happy once and for quite a while, in fact. They met when John was still in med school during the A&E rotation. Jim was working in construction and had sliced a substantial gash in his forearm. They hit it off while John stitched him up and Jim asked him out before he left for home that night. The rest, as they say, was history.

A few months in, they began staying the night in one another’s flats, but did not even think about moving in together. John could not explain why, and Jim had asked regularly, but he was not ready for such a big step. It was something that would truly bind them together and John was not certain he wanted that. Two years later, John was out of school and already a skilled surgeon. Jim had climbed the ranks quickly and now owned his own construction company. Then Sebastian Moran came into the picture. Jim had hired him as an assistant. It was a typical occurrence for John to put in late nights or be called in for emergencies, but then Jim started working late too. John thought nothing of it at first, but it did not take long to figure it out. In spite of his somewhat jealous nature, John said nothing. It was easier to let it go and just make excuses to Jim about why he could not stay nights at John’s flat.

John first noticed Sherlock at Greg’s club a year ago. John was there with Jim and a slow song had just started as Jim began to pick a fight with a rather large and nasty-looking man. John pulled him onto the dance floor and tucked his chin to his own shoulder to calm him down. A few bars into the song and John’s eyes had found Sherlock. He was wrapped around another tall man, both equal in height, all the parts of their bodies lined up perfectly for the dirtiest dancing John had witnessed in a long time. He had tried not to watch them, but could not stop himself. Sherlock, still nameless to him at that time, was simply captivating.

John noticed him on the dance floor a few more times after that night and Sherlock was always dancing with a different man. This new knowledge had befuddled John. He had assumed Sherlock and the tall man were together, but that was clearly not the case. He started paying more attention and his hunch was confirmed every time he saw Sherlock at the club. That was when John started to keep track of who Sherlock left the club with and it was Greg. Only ever Greg. He had wanted to ask Greg about it so badly, but never did. He respected his friend’s privacy and part of him did not want to know whether or not Sherlock was attached to anyone in general, or to Greg in particular.

Whatever their relationship, John could not stop noticing Sherlock when he was on the dance floor and he carried the guilt of it wherever he went. He should not, should never lust after a friend’s boyfriend the way he did after Sherlock, but there were Sherlock’s arms lifting and swaying, lowering slowly and gracefully. Then his undulating hips and his ass, that gorgeous, plush ass in perfectly fitted jeans, swishing and thrusting to the beat. God, it was like watching pornography and now Sherlock was here, right in front of John and not at all with Greg and asking John to dance with him. It was unbelievable, and John was about to say no. Why the fuck would he say no? Why when part of him had secretly hoped for this exact scenario to occur one day?

“Okay,” John said suddenly in a voice that did not sound like his own.

Sherlock’s eyes lit up, making them sparkle a decidedly silver sheen and a brilliant smile spread across his full lips. He offered a hand and John took it, allowing himself to be led onto the floor. As they found a place within the other bodies around them, piano chords rang out through the club and a pure tone began to sing lyrics so ironic that John could not help but smile.

         In the faded light you touch my body

         I can feel your hands on my skin

         Think you got me right where you want me

         But you’re just in my way.

John and Sherlock both swayed skillfully, waiting for the tempo to pick up and for the playful chorus to kick in. Sherlock rolled his shoulders to the music, snapping his head back with the flare of a flamenco dancer at just the right moment. His curls floated through the air for just a moment as though defying gravity’s bonds and then fell artfully around his face as he gave John a cheeky smirk. John could not help and laughed as the song broke open and they both began moving to the faster beat. The music and lyrics wrapped around them as they pulsed their way through the two men’s bodies and minds.

         I came to party on my oh-oh-oh-oh-oh-wn

         Don’t need nobody in my so-oh-oh-oh-ng

         I get down to the beat, I lose contro-oh-oh-oh-l

         Hey, oh, I go so-oh-oh so-oh-oh-lo

Both men reached their stride as the chorus and the fun continued. John popped his chest to the beat, moving his bent arms in counterpoint and shifting his weight with what the rhythm provided. Sherlock’s hips swayed with his dancing feet and he lifted his hands above his head.

         Boy, you can cool it dow-ow-ow-ow-ow-own

         Not here to fool arou-ow-ow-ow-ound

         Just wanna dance, dance, dance

         Dance, dance, dance

They started the song a respectable, casual distance apart, as any two new acquaintances would. Clearly still dancing together and that space was maintained throughout the duration. Honestly, John could not care less because dancing like this, to have fun and be free was exactly what he needed. It felt so liberating to just move without feeling the urge to prove something to himself or to Jim, and dancing Sherlock just felt right. Really, really right. Even though they had only just met, John had already begun to feel as though their actual introduction had taken place a long time ago.

Another song began that was one of John’s favorites and he let out a hoot as the faster beat took hold of his body. He switched his weight from one foot to the other, turning his body to match, sometimes twice in the same direction before changing.

        Got a figure like a pin-up, got a figure like a doll

        Don’t care if you think I’m dumb, I don’t care at all

        Candy bear, sweetie pie, wanna be adored

         I’m the girl you’d die for

John’s moves intensified as the verse came to an end and he began to mouth the words in anticipation of the chorus, giving Sherlock a cheeky grin as he did it. The man matched his expression and movements beat for beat.

         I’m Miss Sugar Pink, liquor, liquor lips

         Hit me with your sweet love, steal me with a kiss

         I’m Miss Sugar Pink, liquor, liquor lips

         I’m gonna be your bubblegum bitch

         I’m gonna be your bubblegum bitch

John was enjoying himself so thoroughly, he almost did not notice Sherlock slowly closing the gap between them. It was not a huge shift of the space between them. Sherlock was not suddenly up in his business, grinding against his leg, but he was closer nonetheless. The tips of John’s ears prickled with heat and not just from the dancing. His whole body was hot with it. A burning deep inside of him, just like the feeling low in his stomach was not so much from nervousness as it was from anticipation of what was yet to come. Would Sherlock inch even closer? Did John want him to? Goddamn right he did.

There was no fade out. One song moved seamless and fluidly into the next. This one took them into a heavier beat and a more forceful step. The drums and velveteen rough voice brought the floor into a darker place and the lights went down to match it. As if reading John’s mind, Sherlock stepped closer to him almost as soon as the song began. He lip-synced the words and drifted around John where he danced. The mysterious and sultry look on Sherlock’s face pulled John’s eyes in as he moved. As the first verse neared its end, Sherlock’s fingers scraped across John’s chest and lingered as they slid around to his back. The doctor’s skin tingled along the trail of Sherlock’s hands, the touch powerful in spite of the fabric between them. John’s mind jumped in his skull to thoughts he never would have anticipated when he walked into the club: God, to feel Sherlock’s skin on his. Nothing between them, no clothes, no air, no space. It would be electric. John swallowed back a groan as he continued to watch those silver-green eyes take in his every movement. Shit, the man could probably read his mind.

          Since I thought you and me

          Well, I am imagining a dark lit place

          Or your place or my place

          Well, I’m not paralyzed, but I seem to be struck by you

          I wanna make you move because you’re standing still

When the chorus began, both John and Sherlock leaned forward toward each other. John’s lips parted and new droplets of sweat bloomed at his hairline. Not just from the dancing, but from the desire pooling in his belly and the thoughts taking root in his mind. John quickly lifted a hand and wiped his forehead in an almost unconscious gesture. He had never eye-fucked someone so hard in his life and every bit of the effort was reciprocated.

         If your body matches what your eyes can do

         You’ll probably move right through me on my way to you

Their faces were dangerously close again. John could feel Sherlock’s breath ghosting over his face and he found himself wishing, hoping for the other man to do something. They pulled away to stand side by side, staring into one another’s eyes before moving in different directions to curl their bodies in identical fluid motions. They met again a moment later, back to back and angled in the same direction, their cheeks pressed together. John pushed against the taller man and he leaned into John as they slowly dropped low and raised up again, snapped their heads back and broke apart to dance in their own idioms again.

Sherlock rolled his hips and head, fingers sinking in his hair. John was dancing just as enthusiastically, but also completely mesmerized. He had not felt anything like it in some time and he did not even try to stop it. It was the feeling of attraction and one so strong he gravitated toward it like a moth to a flame. His life was suddenly full of possibility and so intoxicating John could never turn away. He and Sherlock fit together like the pieces of a puzzle. There was no denying it, but did Sherlock feel it too or was John just another person on the dance floor?

Suddenly the lights went up and a new song filled the club. Sherlock turned his head toward John and he felt the puff of Sherlock’s hot breath on his neck. A shiver traveled down the length of his spine and he hoped Sherlock had not noticed, but was quite certain he had. To John’s great delight, Sherlock seemed genuinely pleased with what he saw.

“I believe I misjudged you, John,” Sherlock called over the noise around them, his face every bit the smug bureaucrat who is too posh for his own good. John raised his brows in response, an unspoken question on his lips. He wanted to take whatever Sherlock was about to say seriously, but how could he possibly do it when he had that look on his face? Sherlock continued in a very superior tone, barely keeping the corners of his mouth from quirking upwards. “You’re a much better dancer than I expected.”

A wide grin spread across John’s face as Sherlock began to chuckle. He shook his head a little and laughed with the snarky detective. Without a thought, he reached up and cupped the back of Sherlock’s neck, tugging his face down until it was close to his own. John looked into his eyes, wide with surprise, and moved in closer. Their cheeks brushed as John pressed his lips to the taller man’s ear and the sensation weakened his knees.

“You’re amazing,” John uttered with nothing less than awe. That was not quite what he had meant to say. Then again, what had he intended upon saying? John pulled back, biting his bottom lip in embarrassment, unsure of how to explain that one away. Sherlock’s cool eyes looked back at him without a hint of reproach as a deep, melodic voice boomed over the floor.

         Wise men say only fools rush in

         But I can’t help falling in love with you

Sherlock’s hands found John’s waist and they began to dance in a slow shift. They moved their bodies so one shoulder was forward and then the other. By the third line, they had separated so they could better move to the solid beat and bright trumpet sound, but remained connected by holding one hand or even both.

         Shall I stay?

         Would it be a sin?

         I can’t help falling in love with you

         As the river flows gently to the sea

         Darling, so it goes

Sherlock lifted John’s hand high to draw him in and used his other hand to guide John into a quick turn so his back ended up flush against the front of Sherlock’s body. John pulled Sherlock’s hand down and caught hold of the other one too. As the music swelled, John rested their hands on his hips and they ground together, bending their knees a bit and inching down lower. John tilted his head back to rest on Sherlock’s shoulder, closed his eyes and nearly moaned.

         Some things were meant to be

         Take my hand

         Take my whole life too

         ‘Cause I can’t help falling in love with you

As the song continued, the other dancers and the club with its lights and noise fell away. Suddenly, John and Sherlock were the only two people for miles around. It was just them and the music. They danced and danced and the song seemed to go on forever. John turned to face Sherlock, their bodies still close together and hips moving as one. John looked into those grey eyes, sparkling and bright, and completely lost himself in them. They were not the eyes of a stranger he had just met or someone he had seen from across the club, but those of a friend. A friend he had known for years and who knew John as well as he knew himself. Those eyes filled John with comfort and a longing to go to that restaurant Sherlock had suggested, leaving Jim behind for good. Of all the time John had spent with Jim, he could not think of a single one when he saw this much in his eyes.

John blinked when he felt Sherlock’s hands rest heavily on his shoulders. The man was still swaying in perfect time with John, who must have been on auto-pilot, but wore a look of mild concern on his face. Sherlock tilted his head as if to ask “You okay?”. John grinned sheepishly and nodded as the music swelled one last time. Both men, as well as everyone on the floor, threw their hands up and sang.

        I can’t help falling in love with you

        No, I can’t help falling in love with you

The close of the song bled right into the next one. Without missing a beat or pausing for awkwardness, Sherlock held one of John’s hands to his chest and slid the other around the shorter man’s waist, taking the lead. John put his hand on Sherlock’s hip, flashing a sly smile and effectively stealing the lead. Sherlock laughed and followed John as he set the pace for their steps. Around them, the whole dance floor began to relax after the long stint of nothing but fast and furious. Many headed for the bar to make Greg’s night incredibly harried once again.

John’s throat was dry and his body covered with a sheen of sweat, but he was not about to move an inch from where they stood together. He was truly glad and even excited for the time to touch and study this man. The music swells and ebbs away with them swaying to it. A soft fade set the stage for the signature voice of Spandau Ballet to begin.

        So true, funny how it seems always in time, but never in line for dreams

        Head over heels and toe to toe

John’s chest opened and it felt like all the force of Sherlock’s feelings rushed in, like when an anime character is enveloped with light and energy.

        This is the sound of my soul

        This is the sound

There was no question in John’s mind that what was happening to him was the same for Sherlock.

“So what do you do for the police?” John asked. It was a question of many, not all pertaining to what “consulting detective” meant, but it was as good a place as any to start. “What does a ‘consulting detective’ do?”

“I see the evidence no one else can,” Sherlock answered after a pause. “I make the connections immediately and tell the police what to do next, where to go. I read people.”

“Read people?” John’s brow rose to his hairline. “What? You mean you can tell what a person is thinking?”

“More like who they are,” Sherlock replied. “What they do and where they live. What their motivations are. That sort of thing.”

“You can tell all that by just looking at someone?” John’s lips parted in a smile of disbelief.

“Yes. Let me show you,” Sherlock turned his chin and looked out at the people around them. “Look at that woman at the bar.”

“Can you be more specific?” John laughed, but looked anyway in the direction Sherlock pointed with his head. “There are quite a few.”

“The one in pink with the dark hair and flashy belt,” Sherlock directed John’s eyes until his gaze settled on a middle-aged woman holding a martini. She was laughing at something the man with her, clad in a trendy-cut white suit, had said. He tapped his G & T against her glass in a toast.

“The one with the husband in the tacky suit?” John inquired and cringed. “He must glow in the dark when the blacklights are on.”

“Not her husband,” Sherlock corrected, his tone flat. John’s brows shot up again as he met the detective’s sharp eyes.

“I’m listening,” John said cooly, but with extreme interest.

“She lives outside of London and travels in more often than necessary for business, which she does actually do while here so she doesn’t feel as guilty, but she mostly comes to see him,” Sherlock explained in a confident tone. He sounded as if he was reading a book. It could not possibly be something he just made up on the fly and John was captivated. He watched Sherlock’s face as it flowed from one expression to another. “They favor this club because no one who knows them typically patronizes dance clubs. Not to mention the atmosphere lends itself well to a certain anonymity for all its patrons.”

Sherlock stopped a moment to insert a turn in their dance, in spite of the fact that he was not leading. John followed along with a quiet chuckle. Sherlock added a series of steps that ended with them closer to the edge of the dance floor, but still far enough away from the bar and the couple they were watching. Dozens of people talking and laughing at tables separated them. Even if the woman or her lover looked out to the dance floor and saw Sherlock and John, neither would think anything of it.

“Her daughter died recently,” Sherlock said. “In the last four years and she has taken up with this man to start a new life, but can’t let go of the old one. She doesn’t love her husband anymore, but feels she would lose what little of her daughter she has left. She clearly shared physical characteristics with her father, likely the eyes and nose. Seeing them in her husband’s face brings the woman comfort.”

John’s forehead crinkled with doubt, his lips curling into a skeptical smirk.

“How could you possibly know all that?” he cocked a brow and tucked his chin, pulling away from Sherlock slightly for a better look at him. “You’re having me on. You just made that up.”

“On the contrary, John,” Sherlock leaned his head in and gazed directly into John’s eyes with his pair of intense, calculating ones. “I not only see, but observe. I use this place not only for the pleasure of dancing and the delight of Greg’s company, but also to hone my skills. I observe the patterns, the evidence, and draw conclusions. I am never wrong.”

“Okay,” John stumbled over his own thoughts, trying to comprehend, “but how can you know all that from just…”

“Tonight?” Sherlock interrupted. A sly grin spread across his features and he shook his head slowly. “You forget that I’m here nearly every time you are and more. This place is a hotbed of experiments for me, an opportunity to sharpen my skills and occasionally solve a case.”

John’s eyes widened slightly, intrigued with both the mystery and the man himself. John’s tongue darted over his bottom lip and he noticed Sherlock’s eyes flick to them momentarily before explaining his deductions.

“They never arrive together and one waits for the other in a different, inconspicuous place each time,” Sherlock continued. “She gives him a hotel key card each time so she doesn’t have to bring a handbag. They leave together and always in the same direction, presumably to said hotel. There is a pale ring around the third finger of her left hand where the rest of her skin is tanned. She never takes off the bracelet she wears and it has a single charm that is actually the heart-shaped pendant from a child’s necklace.”

John glanced at the woman laughing again with her partner as he considered Sherlock’s words.

“Their pattern of frequency and the days on which their meetings occur suggest visits to the city for business and he is clearly not a colleague,” Sherlock added.

They watched as the man leaned in for a gentle kiss that she reciprocated. The couple appeared to be very taken with one another, very much in love, not desperate to get out of the club and into bed like new lovers. As if reading his mind, Sherlock leaned in to whisper in John’s ear.

“They have been involved for quite some time. You can see it,” he muttered. The soft wisp of his breath made John shiver and he turned to face him, their faces dangerously close.

“I could explain further, but do you really need me to?” Sherlock asked, his eyes flicking to John’s lips again.

“No,” John breathed. He shook his head slightly, staring at Sherlock agog. His mouth hung open a moment longer before stretching into a smile. “That was...amazing.”

Sherlock’s breath hitched and he pulled back to steady his gaze on John. The doctor’s grip tightened slightly in response as if determined to keep the man right where he stood.

        This much is true.

        This much is true-oo-oo

“You really think so?” Sherlock’s brow creased with confusion as John studied his reaction. It was positively endearing, perhaps because it was so unexpected. Sherlock had obviously made his deductions to impress, but still seemed genuinely surprised by John’s response. He was not used to being praised for his abilities, which told John all he needed to know about some of the assholes at New Scotland Yard.

“Yes,” John grinned up at him, pulling back a bit as the song came to an end, “of course. That was extraordinary.”

“That’s not what people usually say,” Sherlock mumbled after watching John for a moment. The next song increased in volume as the last one faded away. The prom-themed dance continued as John’s cheeks tinted at the thought that he and Sherlock were a couple. He hoped the detective had not noticed as he asked the next question curiously.

“What do people usually say?” John wondered, trying to divert attention from his pink cheeks. Too quickly, but Sherlock made no sign that he had noticed.

“Piss off,” he replied and John could not help but burst into laughter. Fortunately, a smile bloomed on Sherlock’s face as well, a glint of mischief and genuine amusement flickering through his eyes.

“Well, believe me, it isn’t. It’s bloody brilliant, that’s what it is,” John remarked as he changed their step slightly to fit with the new song. John took both of Sherlock’s hands in his and stepped back, putting more space between the two of them. Their arms outstretched, fingers laced together, they mirrored one another’s movements and smiles as a cheerful voice filled the club.

         When people keep repeating that you’ll never fall in love

         When everybody keeps retreating, but you can’t seem to get enough

         Let my love open the door

         Let my love open the door

         Let my love open the door to your heart

“Do someone else,” John urged, his voice full of excitement. He looked around quickly to find someone with a tale to tell. His eyes fell on a tall, thin man with disheveled brown hair that fell to his shoulders in layers. His chin and cheeks were covered by a full beard and mustache that betrayed his age with shades of grey, as did the lines around his eyes. He was dancing in a group with four other people, but more or less on his own. There was something about his appearance, his jumper and corduroy pants that made him look like someone who wore an aluminum foil hat at home.

“Do him!” John exclaimed, jerking his head to his left. Sherlock’s amused gaze followed and picked out the man instantly. He looked back at John with narrowed eyes and a knowing smirk.

“Accountant. Recently subscribed to a conspiracy theory that the company he works for is secretly financing an investigation into the death of John Lennon, who he believes is still alive and hiding somewhere in Yorkshire,” Sherlock stated as his feet took a step forward and back to the rhythm. He pulled John in a bit so they were closer when John gave him a stunned look. “There is no investigation, of course, and Lennon is most certainly dead. Not so in the mind of our friend with the beard, which he grew for his lover.”

John’s eyes widened.

“Affair with a colleague,” Sherlock said by way of explanation. “Her husband won’t grow facial hair and she likes the way it feels on her nether regions.”

A burst of laughter popped from John’s mouth before he could stop himself. It was so loud that he quickly pressed his lips together again and glanced toward the man for fear of drawing too much attention and giving them away. He need not have worried. The club was far too noisy for anyone to notice. Sherlock smirked, his eyes bright with amusement.

“He is concerned she will discover his suspicions about the company and Lennon and dump him,” he finished triumphantly. “There’s more, of course, but those are the highlights.”

“That’s…” John began as every part of his face brightened with delight, “unbelievable.”

He jerked their hands down to their sides, pulling Sherlock into his personal space and fixed him with a smoldering gaze.

“You have to explain how you know all that,” John nearly growled, “but later. Do someone else now.”

Sherlock’s criminally full lips quirked and his eyes warmed at the challenge, revealing shining flecks of green. For the next few minutes, Sherlock selected the most interesting subjects from the people around them and revealed the various secrets of their lives. Most were fairly normal with a few stranger outliers. It was all fantastic as far as John was concerned. From the boring Tesco clerk who snuck crisps and biscuits while stocking the shelves to the florist who taught her parrot to say ‘fuck you’ to troublesome costumers, John soaked in every word like a sponge.

By the time Sherlock finished, they were well into another song. It was the third in a string of songs that couples could use to their advantage, which meant there would be one more and then faster songs would rule again. John and Sherlock would have to part and dance further apart again. It was the last thing John wanted.

They had moved in closer again, seemingly unable to be apart for any length of time. They were not pressed together like the other people around them, but John’s hands rested comfortably around Sherlock’s waist and Sherlock’s fingers were wrapped around John’s biceps in a tender embrace. Their steps had turned into something more like a mere shuffling of feet as the great detective spoke quietly and John laughed or did double-takes. Everything about it was delicious and there was not a thought in John’s head that was not about this man.

John leaned forward to rest his forehead against Sherlock’s chest. He felt Sherlock’s breath falter and straightened again in a shot. He stared at Sherlock while internally berating himself for spoiling the moment. He swallowed hard, his mind searching for words and coming up empty. To his relief, their stilted movements grew more easy and relaxed as they listened to the lyrics drifting around them.

I never thought I’d lay me heart on the line, but everything about you is tellin’ me this time

It’s forever, this time I know and there’s no doubt in my mind

Forever, until my life is through

“You really are brilliant,” John said sincerely. He bit his lip as he watched Sherlock’s face slip from one expression to another. It was not the best thing to say and John had meant to say Sherlock’s deductions were brilliant, but he could not take it back and part of him did not want to.

A very big part.

“Do someone else,” John suggested lightly. Sherlock looked relieved and he let his eyes wander all around, looking for the next subject. John pressed his lips together and licked them with trepidation, never taking his own eyes off the taller man. “Do me?”

Sherlock’s expression changed in a heartbeat and his relaxed posture tightened into stiff muscles. His smile vanished, becoming a clenched jaw with muscles working beneath the skin. John felt the open door between them slam shut. Sherlock released his hold on John’s arms and began to step away. Shit, John was not entirely sure what he did wrong, but he had to make it right.

“John…”

“Hey, no, no,” John grabbed Sherlock’s wrists so he could not disappear in the mass of people on the floor. John knew that Sherlock would make sure John never saw him again unless he wanted him to. Panic creeped into his voice as he continued. “It’s okay. I didn’t mean to… I just… Don’t go. Please.”

He studied John with more than a little hesitation, but did not try to pull away again.

“I can’t,” Sherlock said in a shaky voice. He pressed his lips together, curling them in on one another. “People don’t like hearing my deductions. They don’t like that I know their secrets.”

“But they’re blindsided, Sherlock,” John ventured. “I’m asking and I think it’s fantastic. I do. It’s amazing.”

“John, I…” Sherlock ducked his head and then met John’s eyes. “I don’t want to drive you away.”

“You won’t,” John answered, face open but decisive. He gave Sherlock’s wrists a squeeze. “Please.”

They looked at one another in silence for a long moment, both gauging the other. Standing still in a sea of moving bodies.

           I see my future when I look in your eyes

           It took your love to make my heart come alive

           ‘Cause I lived my life believin’ all love is blind

           But everything about you is tellin’ me this time

           It’s forever

“You’re a doctor,” Sherlock began to say. His words were slow and careful. John gave him a warm smile and started swaying again. He let go of Sherlock’s wrist to slide a light hand to his waist and Sherlock obliged by moving closer and resting his own hand on John’s shoulder. John nodded in encouragement for him to continue. Sherlock eyed him with apprehension as he opened his mouth to speak.

“A surgeon, in fact and a skilled one at that. You consult with patients, who appreciate your bedside manner, but are also the first they call for emergencies,” Sherlock paused, looking more comfortable and resolute. He pressed on. “As a result, you spend a great deal of time at the hospital. St. Bart’s.”

John’s eyes widened and he wondered how Sherlock could know which hospital. He did not ask, unwilling to interrupt the brilliant man before him.

“You keep a rather modest flat, despite being able to afford more because you don’t see the point in having something extravagant. You spend little wakeful time at home,” Sherlock was on a roll now. The impressive line of his shoulders was relaxed and his jaw loosened. “You could change your hours, of course. You haven’t been at Bart’s long, but have the clout to do it already.”

Sherlock hesitated, studying John carefully. John knew immediately that Sherlock was not looking for more information. He had all of that already. Sherlock was assessing the damage his words might do to their budding friendship, or romance?

“Go on,” John prompted casually, trying only a little to hide his excitement at what Sherlock might say next. His words seemed to settle something inside of Sherlock and he continued.

“You don’t want to change anything about it though,” he stopped and studied John with great interest, the skin beneath his eyes contracting in thought and recognition. “You have a boyfriend and for some time, in fact, but you don’t live together by design. You were close once. Now you can count the number of times he’s been to your flat in the last six months on both hands. You have been to his more, though still not often and you never to stay the night. You have not been intimate for at least a year, but still enjoy spending time together as friends and you’ve wondered if that might not be the better route,” Sherlock sounded as though he could not stop himself if he tried now and John felt a little hot under the collar. The mad genius was definitely going to explain how he knew all of this.

“You even suspect he is seeing someone else. He has increased the time he spends with a certain friend, especially in the last four months, but you have done nothing to alter your relationship,” Sherlock gazed at John for a long moment, obviously seeing his growing irritation. His lips parted in what might have been an apology, but instead Sherlock spoke firmly. “He is not cheating.”

John’s body jerked back a touch at that, his eyes wide with surprise.

“Not physically anyway,” Sherlock clarified and actually looked a bit sad, “but an emotional connection really is more of a betrayal.”

With that, both men were silent. John’s eyes were still wide with shock, his lips parted. He searched for something to say, but did not think he could speak if he tried. There was no way Sherlock could know all that, especially about Jim. He could not possibly...and yet, John believed him. He let it wash over him as he and Sherlock continued to shuffle their feet. They moved slowly, nothing like their energetic dancing earlier in the night. John considered Jim, thinking about things he had avoided for months. Staying in the relationship, such as it was, made no sense and was not fair to either of them. It was not what John wanted and yet, whenever John thought about the time Jim spent with Moran it angered him, but why? Jim deserved to be happy as much as John did and if that was with Moran, then so be it.

“But now…” Sherlock’s voice pulled John back to himself and the dance floor where he had been moving by rote. His eyes focused back into the here and now, and he blinked at Sherlock’s thoughtful gaze. “You may have found someone else who’s worthwhile. A reason to change.”

Sherlock’s words stopped abruptly, as did their movements. Couples holding each other close swayed around them, but did not bump into them somehow. Sherlock’s body was rigid to match John’s, his face startled and filled with dread. He knew he had said too much. All of it was true, of course, right down to the notion that John was toying with the idea of asking Sherlock out on a proper date, but to say it aloud with so much presumption, because there could be no doubt as to who “someone else” referred to. Sherlock had inserted himself right into John’s life with the ease of that one comment and was clearly petrified John would be angry, insulted even. They had only just met, after all.

“It could be us,” Sherlock blurted suddenly. John half wondered if the man knew he had said it out loud, but his wide eyes and scarlet cheeks told John he did. “I could be yours, if you would be mine.”

Sherlock fell silent again, his lips clamping shut as though they had acted of their own accord and he had finally managed to regain control of them. John stared into his horrified face and blinked. The initial surge of anger John had felt began to drain from his body, not even replaced with shock like Sherlock. To his surprise, John felt completely at ease and something he had not experienced in months sparked at the back of his mind: the warm glow of happiness. It bloomed through his mind and filled his body with light energy that John readily embraced.

He looked at the man in front of him with wonder. He felt as though he had known Sherlock all his life, despite knowing virtually nothing about him. It was a feeling, a touch. John’s hand found Sherlock’s where it hung at his side and opened his mouth to speak.

            Yeah!

The voice rang out sharply over the mass of people eliciting a loud cheer from the crowd. Prom time was over and everyone sprang into action, including Sherlock. Wanting to erase his words and the awkwardness from John’s mind, he raised his arms straight up and moved his lithe body in an obscene wave timed perfectly with the rhythm. He threw his head back at the next “Yeah” and when his gaze fell on John again, it was searing. John stood watching in shock. He could not comprehend the sudden change in Sherlock’s demeanor. As John struggled through the confusion and lingering awkwardness, he opened his mouth to speak, but was rendered speechless when Sherlock took a step closer. He lowered his arms, fingers skimming along his body as they went and resting on his own undulating hips. He turned his back to John, looking over his shoulder with those smoldering eyes, swinging and rocking his lush ass. He was just close enough to barely bump into John’s groin, filling him with a teasing pleasure.

His mouth watering and cock twitching with interest, John leapt into the perfect accompaniment to Sherlock’s sultry moves as another voice began to sound.

           Up in the club with my homies, trying to get a lil’ V-I

           Keep it down on the low key

           You should know how it feels

Sherlock popped his body to the beat, looking every bit the king of the dance floor. He was like a six foot tall snake slithering both elegantly and suggestively into John’s space and out again. It was the hottest goddamn thing John had seen in all his life.

            She’s saying, come get me

            So I got up and followed her to the floor

            She said, baby let’s go

            When I told her (let’s go) I said

            Yeah!

The cry set John’s body alight with an unexpected energy. He stepped right into Sherlock’s personal space and they popped together, their bodies skirting the line of what was appropriate in public. They turned and leaned and undulated in unison, turning up the heat as they did so. Sherlock dropped in front of John with his back to the doctor and rose again thrusting his perfect ass against John’s groin. John moaned out loud. The sound disappeared into the noise of the club and the music, but Sherlock heard. His head was cocked to the side so he could watch John with a saucy smirk as he continued to grind against him. John placed his hands on Sherlock’s hips and pulled him tight. They swayed in tandem as they worked their way across the floor. Sherlock’s back was hot against John’s chest, his hands aflame where they rested on John’s.

God, it was amazing. Caught up in the excitement, John’s mind flew forward to more nights with this man dancing and talking about his cases. So distracted by his own thoughts and simultaneously focused on their movements was John that he did not notice how close they had come to the edge of the dance floor until the crowd surged and pushed them against the wall.

Sherlock had just turned to face John when two rather rambunctious couples collided with the doctor’s back, shoving him into Sherlock. The detective hit the brick wall with a thud and it knocked the breath from his lungs. John was pressed tightly against him, the other couples still right behind his back. Sherlock gasped when John’s hand cupped his face.

“God, that was hard,” John said breathlessly. “Are you okay?”

Sherlock’s eyes widened and he blew out a quiet breath that drifted over John’s lips. He was so close. His face was almost touching Sherlock’s. His lips were so close. John could tip his head forward mere millimeters and his mouth would be on Sherlock’s soft cupid’s bow. God, it would be life-altering. Lips so soft, so perfect, and they would move with John’s. He knew they would.

John swallowed hard and bit his bottom lip. He slowly moved his hand from Sherlock’s cheek to his shoulder to ease the clenching of his own heart. As if on cue, the couple behind him pushed at his back once again and John lurched into Sherlock. His lips brushed over the detective’s and his eyes fluttered closed, seeing stars. He felt Sherlock’s fingers tighten around his biceps and  a soft answering pressure on his lips. A surge of lust and joy rolled over him for just a moment before reality set in again. John’s eyes snapped open in an instant as a touch of panic filled his body from head to toe. Sensing his distress, Sherlock leaned back and allowed John to pull away as far as the space would allow. They locked eyes and stopped. Just stopped.

John felt Sherlock’s hands slide off his arms to his waist and then fall away. He stared in shocked disbelief into Sherlock’s face. He may have shared John’s surprise, but the heat in his eyes had sparked to life again. He panted onto John’s lips. John ventured a quick glance at them and a surge of adrenaline shot through his chest to his stomach and limbs. It was a combination of lust and honest affection. John was almost lightheaded with it. He looked back at Sherlock and his brow furrowed at what he saw. Disappointment shadowed Sherlock’s eyes and creased his forehead. The corners of his mouth angled downward.

“Your boyfriend,” Sherlock rasped, nodding his head toward the bar. His mouth was still so close to John that the sigh he let out drifted over John’s lips and the doctor was loath to look away. What he saw drained that wonderful, tingling, incredible adrenaline rush from his body.

Jim Moriarty was standing at the bar with Moran and talking to Greg. John stepped away from Sherlock as though he had been caught at something and turned to face the bar fully. He watched for a moment as Jim laughed at something Greg said and then once more when Moran added a word or two. It clicked in John’s mind: a decision. His life would be forever changed.

With his focus on what he needed to do, John made his way across the dance floor. His stride was steady and determined as he went and people seemed to just move out of his way like he was parting the Red Sea. John was at Jim’s side in seconds. Moran noticed him first and stepped closer in challenge, but backed up again in a swift movement. There was a look of being caught out passing over Moran’s features for just a second before his expression turned cool and indifferent, but John saw and it heated his temper. John also saw Greg’s smile fading and his eyes flicking out to the dance floor.

“John, you’re here,” Jim said in a pleased tone that would have fooled anyone else, but not John. Jim leaned in for a kiss, but John turned his head and angled away. Jim frowned and then shook it off, resuming his typical swagger. “Greg wasn’t sure he’d seen you.”

John glanced at Greg, who gave him a pointed look. The corner of John’s mouth turned up. He would never reveal his friend’s lie. His eyes slid smoothly back to Jim and his smile tightened.

“Got here when you said we’d meet,” John said sharply. His tone was more harsh than he had planned, but he had truly grown tired of repeating the same scenario over and over.

“Yeah,” Jim put on an apologetic face, “I’m sorry I was late.”

“Are you?” John replied with barely concealed annoyance.

“Steady,” Moran warned, taking a step closer and puffing up his chest.

“Piss off, Moran,” John barked, standing to his full height and entering the man’s personal space. Moran had a good six inches on him, but John did not give a shit. He never liked Moran. Part of John had always wanted to punch the sneer of a smile off his face, but he had avoided the temptation. John might just make an exception tonight.

“John, no,” Jim’s hand was on John’s chest and he pressed in as close to in between them as he could. “It’s fine.”

“It really isn’t,” John scowled, directing his glare to his boyfriend. No, not boyfriend. That was not what he wanted.

John moved away from them and turned to look across the dance floor. Sherlock was gone. John turned his body to face the mass of people fully, a pang of alarm shuddering through his body. His eyes darted around the club, but found nothing. Finally, his focus settled on the door just in time to see a long, swooshing coat topped with a head of gorgeous curls swoop out into the night air. Sherlock must have stashed the coat somewhere before introducing himself to John. John’s heart clenched painful in his chest like a piece of it had been wrenched out. Sherlock had left and John would never see him again if he did not hunt the man down right now.

“You’re right,” John said suddenly, his mouth curving up. He looked back at Jim and clapped a hand on his shoulder. “It is fine.”

Jim stared at him inquisitively. He tilted his head curiously and cocked a brow, seemingly about to speak. John cracked a mirthless smile and squeezed Jim’s shoulder.

“It’s been over a long time, yeah,” John said definitively. Jim’s expression changed instantly. He pressed his thin lips together and inhaled deeply, a long centering breath. He glanced down for a moment and gave a slight nod of resignation.

“Yes,” Jim met John’s eyes. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” John answered, removing his hand from the man’s shoulder. “We’ve already moved on and it’s better this way.”

Jim glanced at Moran as he nodded in agreement. John stared straight ahead, not even seeing them anymore. His own words ringing in his ears. ‘Already moved on’. John had to keep a certain consulting detective from moving on and that meant he needed to get the fuck out of here now.

“Great. See you around,” John muttered, turning his back on them. He set off in an instant, a spring in his step and a grin on his face.

                Well, I will call you darlin' and everything will be okay

                'Cause I know that I am yours and you are mine

                Doesn't matter anyway

                In the night, we'll take a walk, it's nothing funny

                Just to talk

The words rang out in the air around John and he increased his pace until he was running for the door. He burst through it and stopped in the middle of the pavement, looking right and left almost frantically. He was not there. Sherlock was nowhere to be found. It was dark even with the streetlamps, but the tall man should have been visible. John looked both ways again. There was not a single figure on the abandoned streets. There were plenty of cars passing by though. John’s shoulders began to sag as it became clear that Sherlock must have caught a cab. John chewed on his lip in disappointment and stared out into the street. It was too late. He had missed his chance.

John did not have much time to feel sorry for himself. As he stood there staring at a sizable puddle at the edge of the street, a fast-moving cab splashed through it and sent a wave of dirty water over the front of his body. His eyes flew shut in the onslaught and he gasped out an “Oi” that the buildings around him swallowed whole.

“Fucking hell!” John shouted, looking after the cab. He lifted his arms and shook them slowly as he looked down his own body. He was soaked and filthy. A cab would never take him in this condition. He sighed and muttered angry curses as he touched his dripping shirt. His trousers were just as wet, and cold. Jesus, it was cold. It was going to be a long walk home.

“John?” a silky baritone called from somewhere close.

John’s head snapped up, his wide eyes immediately finding a lone figure standing across the street. The corners of John’s mouth quirked up, his foul mood instantly lifted. The tall man in the swooshy coat was unmistakable. John felt light and his heart soared, even as his throat closed. He could not seem to get a word out, so he just stood there grinning like an idiot. He watched as Sherlock made a few quick deductions and scowled.

“Don’t be an idiot, John,” he shouted, feet set and shoulders squared. “Get over here.”

John glanced up and down the street, letting a car pass and then jogging across the traffic lanes. He splashed through a puddle or two on the way. Droplets sprayed through the air and caught the light of the streetlamps like sparkling diamonds in the night sky. In mere seconds, he stood in front of Sherlock with a grin still on his face as the detective scanned his soaked form with an air of disapproval. John knew he would not ask how it happened, knowing he had deduced it all already.

“You left,” John remarked pleasantly, the joke plain in his voice. Sherlock had none of it, remaining stone faced and cocking a brow.

“You left to be with your boyfriend,” he said petulantly. Sherlock managed to mostly conceal his sneer as he said the last word. John could not stop his quiet chuckle at the man’s jealousy.

“I don’t have a boyfriend,” John shrugged as he casually took a step closer. Sherlock’s eyes widened and his brows furrowed in confusion.

“But you…” Sherlock stopped himself, rapid deductions visible on his face. His whole expression changed: eyebrows shooting up with hope, silver eyes gleaming, and his lips beginning to curve upward. “Oh.”

“Oh,” John repeated playfully with a quick raise of his brows. “Is that restaurant still open? I’d love to hear about your cases.”

“Not a chance,” Sherlock gave a single shake of his head and huffed a laugh. “Angelo’s well on his way home by now.”

“Oh,” John’s shoulders sank and his face fell as disappointment filled him. He scolded himself silently for just abandoning Sherlock on the dance floor without a word. My god, he was so stupid. John was certain by now that it looked like he was stalking off in a jealous rage. No doubt watching from afar only confirmed it when John got angry and snapped at Jim. Honestly, what the fuck had John been thinking? He had every intention of kicking Jim to the curb when he started across the dance floor and then with Moran there being all possessive and Jim doing his typical song and dance, John’s anger had gotten the better of him until he finally snapped out of it. ‘Be right back’. That was all he would have needed to clue in Sherlock, but John had just stomped off. Jesus Christ, he was an idiot.

“Angelo would have been hesitant to let you in in that condition anyway,” Sherlock’s words pulled John back from his own thoughts. The detective still had a hint of a smile on his face as his beautiful eyes ran the length of John’s body. “You’ll never get a cab and will catch your death walking for an hour.”

“How do you know it’d take me an hour?” John asked, feeling his mood lighten.

Sherlock just cocked a brow, his expression screaming ‘Come now, John, don’t be dull’. A smile broke over John’s lips and he tucked his chin down with a quiet self-deprecating laugh. When he looked up again, Sherlock’s amusement was easily apparent and he had taken a step closer.

“We’ll go to my flat,” the detective announced with equal measure authority and cheek. “We can wash your things over tea. My clothes won’t fit you, but I have something that will work. Provided I can sneak you past Mrs. Hudson, which I can.”

“What is she? Your school marm?” John snorted.

“My landlady,” Sherlock corrected. “She fancies herself an adoptive mother, but not my housekeeper.”

John laughed again at that and rested his hands on his hips. He looked at Sherlock with fond eyes, dancing inside that he had not bollocksed up the whole thing, and trying not to let his imagination run wild at where this might go.

“And what about Greg?” John teased. “Think he’ll mind having a guest in the flat?”

“Not if it’s you,” Sherlock replied with a glance towards the club. “He might not even know without me to pull him away from this place.”

John laughed and gave a nod at that.

“So,” John began slowly, a thoughtful expression on his face as if he was giving Sherlock’s proposal serious consideration and not bouncing off the walls with excitement, “tea and cases at yours then?”

“That is what I’m suggesting, yes,” Sherlock confirmed, all seriousness and formality as though it was a business transaction. John felt a sudden tingling wave of anticipation envelope his body and he nearly shivered from the unexpected pleasure of it. He tried to keep the smile from being so wide as to give away his every thought, but knew he failed completely. To his delight, Sherlock mirrored his emotions as soon as he saw them on John’s face.

“Oh god, yes. I’d love to,” John blurted, lifting his hands from his hips and holding them out slightly, not sure how to contain the ecstatic energy within his body. John watched as Sherlock did the impossible: His smile grew and warmed into true fondness. John’s heart gave a squeeze as they began to walk down the pavement together, the sound of music fading away as they went.

           Put your hand in mine

           You know that I want to be with you all the time

           You know that I won't stop until I make you mine

“So, what was your latest case?” John asked eagerly, ignoring the chill creeping under his skin.

“I hope you know, John, that this is not going to be one-sided,” Sherlock told him sternly, ignoring the question. “I want to know everything about your cases as well.”

“My cases?” John questioned. He had not expected that. His profession did not seem nearly as interesting as the detective’s.

“Yes, of course,” Sherlock confirmed quickly. “Naturally nothing that would compromise patient confidentiality, but the work and advice of a skilled surgeon would come in very handy. Maybe even at crime scenes, if you’re willing.”

“You can do that?” John stopped walking in shock. Sherlock stopped a pace ahead and turned to look at the doctor.

“Whatever I need to solve a case,” he answered simply.

“They really give you a wide berth, don’t they?” John’s smile snuck back over his lips.

“They do, yes,” the corners of Sherlock’s mouth quirked up.

“So, like a consultant,” John stated experimentally.

“A partner,” Sherlock replied just as tentatively and brushed his fingers delicately over John’s in an unmistakable gesture.

“Yeah,” the word was out of John’s mouth before he could even think. “Yes, please. I’d love it.”

John nearly face palmed. So much for not slamming all of his cards down on the table without even bluffing. Fortunately, Sherlock was not bothered by his enthusiasm in the slightest. He flashed a brilliant smile and gestured ahead. The two men began walking and talking, occasionally brushing hands as they went. By the time Sherlock opened the door to 221B on Baker Street, John knew this would be the relationship to end them all and he would forever be at the side of Sherlock Holmes.

-----

And there you have it. MERRY CHRISTMAS!!

I want to thank my wonderful beta, MyBreadAndButter, and wish her well. Hang in there. The year's almost over and I can only believe 2021 will be a damn site better. I also want to thank my fabulous friend, superwholocklmt, for stepping in when I needed to pick yet another brain on this one. You are the Sherlock to my John, without a doubt. Last but not least, I want to thank my my ever so knowledgeable friend, underestimatemethatwillbefun, for two of The Best song ideas. I'd never heard either of them before, but knew they HAD to be in this story once I listened to them. You are awesome.

Dang, I'm not sure what to say because there can't be any questions for the next chapter. Ha! I'm totally out of my element. I'll just throw a little update your way then, shall I? I'm just starting work on another story that I'm hoping to post early next year. It is another 'What comes after season 4' piece. Like in 'Finding John Watson', I'll be changing some of what happened in S4. Just a little something to whet your appetite: Mary is still alive. She and John moved away, possibly to Sussex, before she gave birth to Rosie. They cut off all contact with Sherlock and haven't bee in touch with anyone else either, but now John is moving back to London. Will he run into Sherlock or seek him out? What's that meeting going to be like? Rushing into each other's arms or a fistfight similar to when Sherlock returned from the dead? We shall see....

I hope you all enjoyed your present and can enjoy zooming with relatives for the holidays. I know it's not the same, but it's still one of the most joyous times of the year. I'll be thinking of all of you and sending all the love I can. Thank you for being such great readers and fans. It's always so heartwarming and humbling to read your comments and share your joys. I don't know what I'd do without sometimes.

Happy Holidays from Cakey Jane and, as I sit looking at where Deadpool hangs next to my daughter's unicorn on the Christmas tree, let me say again: Keep your pants dry and your dreams wet, and remember, hugs not drugs.

Love, Jane

[johannstutt413]

(requested by calligomiles)

“Hey, General, can you try something for me?” Gummy came home one day with a box from the kitchen. “My friend made a cake, and it’s really good, so I brought you a piece.”

“Huh. Thanks, Rada.” Zima took the box and the fork the chef provided and popped it open. Inside was a rather...strange-looking slice of cake. The form itself was essentially perfect - two layers of cake with some strawberry jam or something like it gluing them together and evenly frosted along the outside - but the deep shade of purple on everything was rather disorienting. What flavors were the components supposed to be? Were the black flecks in the cake itself fruit or chocolate? Nothing in Ursus, or even Rhodes Island, looked like this…

Still, she knew better than to take appearances at face value, and if her gourmand friend thought it was good, who was she to refuse trying it? Sonya stabbed into it, pulled off the front corner, and took the bi- WHOA. “Your friend made this?” She asked, coping with the rapturous delight with her usual composure.

“Yeah! Do you like it?” Gummy came back from putting away her vaul- shield and fighting pan, but as soon as she did, she knew the answer. “I’ve watched her cook, and I don’t know how she does it. It’s like nothing else, right?”

“...I want to meet her. Who is she?”

Rada smiled, but it was rather strained. “Um, well, I think you’ve probably heard of her...Blue Poison, the Sniper?”

“The toxicologist?” Zima looked at the fork in her hand and swallowed. Hard. “She bakes?”

“Yeah, and she’s really sweet as a person, too. I don’t get why people are so scared of her...well, I guess there’s rumors that go around, but they aren’t true.”

The general thought about what she’d heard, for the first time from a critical perspective - that her saliva was a critical component in her darts’ poison, that she coated anything she touched in toxins that could kill a person in moments, that she asked people to touch her so she could eliminate her competition and finally be with the Doctor...and realized just how much bullshit she’d accidentally swallowed without thinking about it. “They couldn’t be, and even if they were, I’m sure the baking takes care of any lingering toxins. I want you to introduce us - invite her over for dinner or something before the end of the week.”

“Yes, General!” Rada’s smile brightened; she loved when she got orders she was going to act on anyway. “If she’s free tomorrow, would that be too soon?”

“No, if she’s free, that should be fine. Thank you, Rada.”

The chef saluted her. “Конечно, товарищ генерал!”

“...Is this whole slice for me?” Zima looked at the rest of it, wondering if Anna or Rosalind might want some. “There’s enough to split.”

“As you wish, General! I’ll go ask them.” With that, Gummy went off, leaving Sonya to her thoughts...and another bite of the cake. It was given to her first, after all.

--------------

Blue Poison sighed, watching the dessert table with the normal degree of disappointment. Usually, only two or three portions were taken from her contributions - those being the Doctor’s, Gummy’s, and Glaucus’ - which meant she often had leftovers, and it always made her dream of the days her cakes barely lasted half an hour after she made them. One of a few things she missed from home, if she was honest, but there was no point in thinking of going back there…

There was a tap on her shoulder, and she jumped. “Oh, Gummy. Sorry, I was just...thinking. Do you need something?”

“I took a piece of your cake to my friends like I said, and they all loved it! Leto and Istina had to go on a mission, but the General and I were wondering if you’d like to eat dinner with us tonight. I’m making waffles!”

“Waffles for dinner?” The Anura smiled; Gummy had a way of making that happen. “That sounds delightful. What time are you expecting me?”

She shrugged. “I’ll start cooking 1800ish? But really any time after work is fine; if you come earlier, it’s just more time for us to hang out!”

“I think I’ll head over after I change out of this...Have I met ‘the General’ before?”

“I don’t think so.” The Ursus replied. “I’m pretty sure she’d remember meeting you.”

Blue raised an eyebrow. “You think so?”

“You remind me of her favorite UFC fighter, so I think you’d stick in her mind pretty easily. Oh, actually, I also came back here for some scones. Gotta run, talk to you tonight!” And there she went.

“Hmm...Dinner with Gummy and her friend.” The Anura looked at her muffin tin before nodding to herself. “I know just what to bring.”

A few hours later, after helping with dinner and heading to her room for a change of clothes, Blue Poison found the USSGG’s suite and knocked. A bright Ursan voice called from beyond it, “I’ll be right there!” Sure enough, Rada was less than a minute later. “Hi, Blue! I’m glad you showed up sooner rather than later~”

“It’s been awhile since someone’s invited me somewhere, so I got kind of excited. Is your General-”

“Hey, Rada, is she-” Zima emerged from the back room, already in her pajamas, and standing in the doorway across from her was one of the most beautiful women she’d ever seen. “...Evening.”

Blue waved with her fingers, as there was a tray of cupcakes in her arms. “Good evening. I hope I’m not overdressed.”

“Oh, it’s fine! The General doesn’t really have anything else that’s really casual-”

“Rada, could you take the cupcakes to the table for her?” Sonya, in spite of herself, was blushing from the combination of awe and embarrassment. “Do you want something to drink, Miss Blue?”

She nodded. “Water will be fine, General.”

“You can call me Sonya; I’ve told Rada she doesn’t have to call me that anymore, but she insists.”

“You’ll always be my General, General!” Gummy sing-songed. “I’ll get the drinks; feel free to sit anywhere, Blue!”

After standing awkwardly for a moment, the Anura sat on the couch. “Thank you. My friends called me Azure back home, if we’re using first names here.”

“Azure, huh? That’s a pretty...cool name.” For some reason, Zima found herself leaning into the tough girl persona she’d perfected in her school days. Maybe once dinner started, she could let it drop.

“Thank you.” Now they were both blushing. “Sonya is, too. Gum- Rada said you liked my cake?”

Thank God, something to talk about. “I’ve never had something so sweet that tasted so natural. Most of the desserts we had back home were just fruit, but chocolate and strawberry together was something I’ve never tried. I’m glad you brought more with you.”

“Guests usually made dessert for the evening where I’m from. It’s how I learned to bake as well as I did.”

“I imagine so,” she agreed. “You seem like someone who’d have a lot of friends.”

Azure sighed. “I did, but...some things happened.”

“Ah...” Shit, she’d made it awkward.

“I have water!” Gummy emerged from the kitchen with glasses for each of them. “Oh, and something a bit stronger, too, just in case!”

The general blinked. “Rada, isn’t that the vodka Natalya got you for your birthday?”

“Yep! I thought tonight was as good a night as any to try it, don’t you think?”

“Vodka?” The Anura looked from one Ursus to the other. “That’s a popular Ursan alcohol, yes? I’ve never tried it before.”

The chef set the tray she was holding down, opened the bottle, and poured each of them a shot. “Yep! It doesn’t do a lot for us, but apparently other people think it’s really strong!”

“Interesting...Cheers.” They clinked shot glasses, and Blue drank it like a normal drink - which meant she very quickly started coughing.

“Are you okay, Azure?” The name really did roll off her tongue...hmm. Come to think of it, didn’t Anura have- No, brain, not the time to think about that. “The idea is to get it as far back into your throat as possible so it burns less.”

She nodded, downing half a cup of water soon after. “Guh~ I’ll know for the next one.”

“You want another?” Gummy cocked her head, already filling another round.

“I do.” Azure lightly slapped her face on both sides. “But only one more.”

Clink! Round 2 went down much better, although she immediately felt it as Rada went back to the kitchen to start cooking. Zima noticed when she picked up her water and was visibly shaking. “Feeling okay?”

“Mmhmm. Just a little woozy...”

“Alright. Let me know if that changes.” The general stretched her arms above her head and yawned. “So uh...” Damn, what to talk about?

Blue was already two steps ahead, apparently. “Gummy told me that I look like your favorite fighter. ‘Zat true?”

“She said that? I don’t think so; your hair’s similar, but outside of that, not seeing a resemblance.”

“Aww.” The Anura pouted. “That’s a shame. I thought you’d think I was cute.”

...Sonya only had one response to that. “I never said you weren’t; you just don’t look like Jolanta.”

“So you think I’m cute?” Azure leaned towards her, holding herself up with her arms and tilting her head to one side. It definitely looked like a frog poised to jump.

“Yeah?” Sticking to her guns. “I like your pigtails.”

She giggled. “Thanks~ You’re pretty cute, too.”

“Well, that’s a first.”

“Whaaaat?” As it turned out, Blue held alcohol about as well as a sponge as it’s being squeezed. “Your girlfriend hasn’t told you that before?”

Sonya shook her head. “She’s not my girlfriend.”

“Oh...Does that mean you’re single~”

“I’m not dating anyone.” The Anura hopped towards her. “Azure, what are you doing?”

More giggling. “Your voice cracked.”

“Hey, do you guys want your waffles thick and fluffy or flat and crispy?”

“Flat!” Both called back in unison. Blue hopped forward again, now only a cushion away. “Just like us~”

Zima sighed. “Look, Azure, you seem nice and all, but I’ve known you like five minutes, so slow your roll.”

“You don’t like me?”

“What? No, I do, I just think this isn’t the way to start.” The Anura retreated, hopping backwards. “Azure...Come back.”

She did. “I just want a hug~ Is that too much?”

“No, a hug is fine.” The Ursus stood up, and Blue leaped to her feet and into her arms.

“Yay.” Azure rested her head against Sonya’s shoulder. “You didn’t ask if I was gonna poison you~”

Zima smirked. “I know that’s a bunch of bullshit.”

“You do?” Her arms settled a little lower along the general’s back.

“It’s obvious you wouldn’t.” One of the Ursus’ hands found its way to Blue’s hair. “You’re not the type to endanger your friends like that.”

Azure nodded. “I’m not...You’re so sweet, Sonya~”

“I’m just being honest with you.”

“Yeah, but...” A tear found its way to Zima’s shoulder. “I miss having friends to hug.”

The general patted the back of her head. “Well, you know where to find us. Rada’s a hugger, too.”

“Mmm. You’re willing to share?”

“I-” The approval caught in her throat. “I...hmm.”

Blue’s eyes, still a bit watery, lit up at the hesitation. “Is that a no?”

“...Maybe. You don’t mind, do you?” She smelled the way a candle called ‘birthday cake’ would, somehow.

“One’s enough for me.” The Anura pulled back to look her in the eye. “Sonya...”

The Ursus smiled back at her. “Yes, Azure?”

“Waffles are ready!” Gummy called from the kitchen.

“...I’ll tell you after dinner.” She poked her nose with a finger. “Shall we?”

Zima let go of the embrace, but immediately after doing so she took her hand and led her to the dining room, both smiling more brightly than they had since arriving at Rhodes Island.