#and am instead bringing up the pettier ones

[theminecraftbee]

so a thing this fandom does that remains FASCINATING to me, as a function of the fact a lot of this fandom is people's first fandom or only current fandom, is just... assume a lot of things it does is a scourge that this fandom has invented or doesn't exist outside of it? or like, is uniquely bad here? and i won't deny that sometimes mcyt fandom is a bit more intense by virtue of numbers, but like...

duo names: confusing fandom-injokes to describe duos and groups tend to be an anime fandom thing specifically for many historical reasons, but they're not uncommon. hey quick--if you haven't been in KHR fandom, can you guess what 1827 is? no? i'll give you a hint: that's actually a ship name. or, ygo fans, tell me the difference between puppyshipping, prideshipping, violetshipping, and rivalshipping. my hint is that they're all kaiba ships and two of them are actually the same ship. good luck!

reducing characters to a specific trait: have you read fic in another fandom before? i would recommend you go do so and come back to me. my example here is "sasuke likes tomatoes", for the record.

common au fanon that's confusing to outsiders: my deep cut here is "when i got into certain tv fandoms i was baffled by the existence of sentinel/guide fics", which is a slightly older tv fandom thing so many of you probably don't know what i'm on about. but trust me: in certain fandoms it's ubiquitous and unless you've watched a completely different tv show you're gonna have to entirely pick it up from reading fic. oh hey, hybrid aus and watcher!grian, nice to see your relative here,

fanon being treated as canon: did you know there's this whole bnha character, naomasa, who is treated as canonically having a lie detector quirk? did you know that, best i can tell, that's not in canon anywhere, it just got echoed through fanon enough that everyone treated it as canon? 'fanon trait becomes so ubiquitous everyone assumes it has to be there' is not a new thing. also, batfamily fans, i have been lead to understand the tim and coffee thing is also this.

characters being treated badly to make a different dynamic look better: the fact we have the term 'character bashing' tells you all you need to know, here. if anything my one complaint on this front isn't even that it's happening--it's that i wish bashing and/or "not [character] friendly" was tagged a little more frequently, haha.

characters being reduced to their family dynamics: tale as old as time. "even the family dynamic thing" yes even that. just because this fandom tended to be particularly ship-adverse in the past didn't mean it didn't do basically the same behaviors as any fandom with shipping did with those dynamics, just gen. and other gen fandoms also do that. yes, down to the "and shipping reduces them to a ship, unlike my gen dynamic, which is very in-character; why can't people just be friends?" thing. some of you have to have been marvel fans right.

characters being reduced to their ships: some of you have to have been marvel fans right.

The Discourse: yeah this is an "actively running show" fandom thing, but also a hiatus fandom thing. ask a homestuck about vriskourse sometime. as much as i hate to say it, it probably made doomsday discourse look cute.

and those are just like... some things i've seen people complain about on my dash recently. idk it just hit me there are probably fans in mcyt fandoms who are assuming that some things (like hybrid aus or duo names) are the kind of things that only happen here, so i thought i'd offer some examples of other places they happen! i also have even more examples if you'd like.

to be clear: this isn't shaming anyone for complaining about any of these things. lord knows i go complain to my friends about it all the time, just the other day i was complaining in the category of 'they keep bashing my guy'. it's more of just... a gentle reminder that maybe we're big, maybe we're loud, maybe we have problems... but these problems aren't always unique.

so uh. we're all suffering together i guess...?

[e-the-village-cryptid]

i am very interested in your rant about Wednesday

hoo boy. ok so I'm way too tired right now to get into the more serious, real-world-affecting issues with the show so I'm going to leave that to tirrrb's excellent video on the matter and just go with the pettier, in-world issues.

spoilers ahead

[preface. I didn't completely hate the show. I actually found most of it enjoyable to watch. that's the reason I'm so passionate about all the problems with it]

ok so first off. this show would not have been a huge hit if it weren't for the nostalgia factor. the show was, to be honest, mediocre. the plot made no goddamn sense, the love triangle was forced and both love interests were boring and the same exact person, the "school for monsters" thing made no sense at all. the only reason it was halfway decent was 1. most of the acting was very good (most.) and 2. it looked good aesthetically. and the only reason it took off is because people already knew the addams family.

but here's the thing. here's the thing. I've heard people say the show hates its source material. I disagree. the show doesn't even know its source material. it's apathetic. and that's even worse. the show is based on the addams family as someone who once heard someone reference it in conversation would understand the addams family. they were like "what's our source material? ok so weird morbid family with goth vibes, the parents are continuously overcome with lust for each other, the daughter is even more morbid than most of them. got it." but like? what about everything else? where is the heart of the addams family? where is the camp, the flair, the hilarity, the delight, the obliviousness to their strangeness and their revelry in mischief? which brings me to something else:

the genre of this show is 100% incompatible with the addams family. full stop. you cannot maintain the concept of the addams family in a genre that takes it seriously. the addams family genuinely enjoy murder, torture, and death. this works in a sitcom! it does not work in a drama! in the 90s movies wednesday (kills? buries alive? if the latter, they were dead eventually) two people. it's played for laughs, because, you know, sitcom. wednesday would never in a million years be trying to PREVENT people from being murdered. but of course that doesn't work in a serious show; they'd be horrible people! but then you get this incongruence between wednesday talking about how awesome murder is and then being mad at her dad because she believes he murdered someone once. the result is that in Wednesday, they just seem like an edgy but ultimately harmless goth family, when the source material is they are all genuinely fucking unhinged in the best way. you can't take the addams family seriously, it just doesn't work.

and don't even get me started on the "school for magical kids" nonsense. what?? ok, completely making stuff up for a remake isn't ALWAYS bad, but.... in this case it really was. in a world full of vampires and werewolves and sirens, the addams family are STILL the weird ones because they're, what, goth? wednesday gets into the school before they even know she HAS magical powers, which also makes no goddamn sense. everyone treats her as special and makes exceptions for her because.... why, exactly? i agree with tirrrb that what netflix really wanted to make was some sort of monster high remake but they didn't have the rights to that so they just... co-opted the addams family instead. and it just doesn't make sense to do that with the addams family. the addams family is funny because of their contrast to the completely ordinary world they live in. you take away their charm by making their weirdness just some product of a larger magical world.

and the fucking love triangle. first of all. wednesday wasn't into either of them. there was zero chemistry there. and why did there even have to be a love triangle in the first place?? wednesday's rude to everyone so naturally everyone wants her and is convinced she's in love with them (?????). and good god. it took me four episodes to even tell those two apart. two identical white boys with identical attitudes and identical inabilities to understand the word "no". "you're sending me mixed signals" my dude if you think "no" is a mixed signal I think that's a you problem. love triangles are supposed to force some choice between something more than just the two boys, and they kind of tried to do that by making Tyler a "normie" (side note: calling them "normies" like it's an insult? what are y'all, emo 12-year-olds? get over yourselves), but then that... never really came into play? also Jenna Ortega's "emotionless" Wednesday face still managed to convey more emotion than either of those two boys ever did combined. like the most Tyler's expression ever changes is when he's literally being tortured, when he like, knits his eyebrows a bit (ok I'm exaggerating but not by much).

and what were they even trying to do with enid's werewolf thing? like it was very clearly a metaphor for queerness (they even had that godawful "conversion therapy for werewolves" line) but the metaphor was so confused. they had no goddamn idea what they were trying to say. "ok so interesting twist on the werewolf thing— it's actually NOT being a werewolf that's the metaphor for queerness here!" ok cool. then what. "ok so Enid feels left out of her family and like her parents are disappointed because she hasn't wolfed out yet." got it, got it, sounds a lot like parents being disappointed you haven't "stopped with the silly tomboy stuff and settled down with a nice man". keep going. "ok so even Enid is super upset about this even though she knows she should take it on her own time." yeah, internalized homophobia, got it. and then? "but then she wolfs out and realizes she was able to be a normal werewolf the whole time after all!! she's so happy and relieved and her parents are finally proud!" wait, what??

now it's time for the big one!! I saved the worst for last! the PLOT. THE FUCKING PLOT. THAT MONSTROSITY YOU CALL A PLOT. wednesday writers. listen. listen to me. twists are fine. red herrings are fine. but listen. here is the important part. when the twist is revealed, the viewer must feel like they should have gotten it before. they must understand why the twist is what it is. and they definitely, definitely cannot be left feeling that the red herring still makes more sense than the actual twist! there has to be an explanation for why the red herring appeared to be guilty even though they weren't! you can't just abandon that thread!! there are two big ones here that upset me.

the fricken "xavier is the monster" mislead. ok so he isn't the monster. why then, does he constantly see the monster in his dreams? why is it basically all he draws? why is it in his head so much? "oh that's easy! because he has this drawing stuff power!" yeah I know that but why the monster specifically? "because it's most relevant because it's gonna take down the school!" ok.... but why just the monster? why does he never see joseph crackstone? thornhill? aren't they an imminent danger to the school too? "uhhh next question"

Dr. Kimball. listen. she was a TERRIBLE therapist. she was so bad she literally couldn't have been a therapist. she was massively violating HIPPA all over the place, invasively entering her clients' lives during important moments outside of the therapeutic space, etc. it was SO BAD she couldn't possibly have been a real therapist but no it just turns out she was fine? red herring guys! listen listen listen you NEED an explanation for why your red herrings are Like That

also the entire Crackstone thing made no sense. "I hate people who do magic, magic is an abomination, therefore you must seal my crypt with magic and then use magic to raise me from the dead so I can use my magic staff to kill all these evil magic-doers" .......uh huh

ok I'm gonna stop here but let me say I didn't hate everything about the show! the Wednesday acting was excellent and Jenna Ortega really did capture the essence of the character. Bianca is fantastic, Eugene is fabulous. Enid and Wednesday's relationship was very genuine. Thing and Uncle Fester were great. the aesthetics looked great and the show continued being enjoyable to watch thanks to the good actors even when the plot was a train wreck. I enjoyed watching it most of the time! but good god were there some massive problems. in my opinion

[zagorodnik]

Lol even if I was a petty teen I don’t think I would’ve written a song shit talking anyone I knew online or irl bc I wouldn’t think they’d be worth it, tho I would’ve prolly said something like “exes am I right” If it seemed like a song about someone

Tho I’m surprised there aren’t more “diss tracks” out there lol (paranoia aside id think someone would have to be full of themselves to think some song is about them lol)

Yeah, I get you—I've written a couple, but I don't think I'd ever write one and publicly release it again. I'm kinda at a point where I have enough of a support system that if I need to process my feelings about something, I have someone to talk to. I don't actually remember much of 2020, so I'm not sure what headspace I was in when I wrote Adam. I just knew I wanted to improve on Eve's composition, and that January was particularly tough on me, so I ended up writing about what was going in my head.

I do think that Eve was a pettier move—I'm obviously not gonna get into details because it should remain a (mostly) private thing and it was fucking retarded of me to bring it half-public, but there was miscommunication and I guess I partially wrote it to share my side of the story to the other person (considering that we had stopped talking at that point). I remember being egged on to make it a little bit, but I think that might not actually be true and I might be thinking of something else, instead.

Then if you've been around since I was 14, you probably remember Pity Party, which. Lol. I'll give myself a pass on that one 'cuz I was 14 years old and petty 14 year old drama is just like that. I do think it was a really dumb decision on my part, but I think a lot of areas in the vocaloid community really are like that (or at least were in 2018). Of course, I am sorry for making that decision and think Zion didn't deserve whatever harassment that got him, but hindsight is 20/20, I guess. I'm not in contact with him anymore anyway and have no desire to be.

I do have all the files for all three of these songs still (I recently discovered Pity Party's files in a few disorganized places) and I do mess around with their compositions, but anything I do with them probably won't be released publicly. I'd give you a reason if I had one, but I think the biggest one is that I just don't give enough of a fuck nor do I want to have to deal with drama in the vocaloid community to that scale. Or ever, really, but I guess you can't help it when you've been in the circles I have.

[think-thonkin]

Different kind of grief

Have you ever experienced a friendship or relationship breaking apart so terribly and irreparably that you grieve it like you'd grieve for a recently deceased loved one?

Like you don't even grieve the person, but the companionship, the late night talks that exposed questions about existence and deeply hidden feelings coming into star-brightened darkness, the occasional laughing fits, the warm smiles, the content silences...

She was the last one I had. In person I mean. I cherish and appreciate my online friends with a soul-crushing passion, but the in-person companionship I crave is a kind of void that they just cannot fulfill, not anytime soon at least.

We were unhappy even before our relationship changed labels, I think. We didn't have much in common anymore, after (then) 15 years of having been friends, our interests and expectations in life and romance had drifted apart instead of closer together and it should have been the first sign that turning our relationship into a romantic one was a terrible idea.

I was unhappy, I ended up being the initiator of practically everything, be it touch or conversation or addressing problems. It was always me that stepped forward, and the lines between platonic and romantic felt like a blurry and dangerous path to tread on without her telling me what is too far and what isn't, so sticking to small displays of affection like occasionally holding hands and a few gentle kisses to the cheek or forehead were the most bravery I could muster and the most I received in turn. I was touchstarved and desperately craving physical proximity, in part to battle my internalized self hatred that told me I was undesirable and only her last resort choice after 3 failed relationships of her own.

One time she exploded on me, her years worth of bottled up frustration and anger at the world bubbling up over a relatively small situation via text, intentionally twisting my words to be angry with me and vent more of her tension. She apologized later, but the panic attack I had that day would stick with me for far longer still.

I would start noticing when she lied about her feelings.

The way I recognized her typing style shift, her voice grow meek, the sudden increase of time required to form responses. Seeing the signs was easy, but discerning the cause was always about as clear to me as milk.

I was taught that honesty and communication were key in maintaining healthy relationships, so I would ask her if I did something wrong or if we needed to talk something out in any way, because I had noticed her tone change mid-conversation.

She would always insist that everything was fine, maintaining her facade of the perfectly composed adult.

I believed her and reinforced the chains that bound me to her.

We would start writing less, seeing each other less, despite only living two blocks apart. It was more and more difficult to get any mutually beneficial conversation going and we'd get frustrated being around each other in person after as little as 3 hours too. She at some point insulted my interests and got angry at me for struggling to share hers. I've tried to bring our lack of intimacy and unclear boundaries to attention too one day, only to have her shake her head and tell me that she's fine with whatever, that she doesn't need much to be happy. What we had didn't cut it for me and it had hurt, having my feelings ignored like this, so I refrained from trying again.

I thought it better to not poke the sleeping bear anyways.

Then, someone new tumbled into my life, someone with a passion as sparkling and intense as my own, a lonely soul masked in a charmingly awkward, ironic bravado and bluntly thrown quips. It didn't take long for us to click and converse on the daily. The more we learned of each other, the more similarities we found.

He lives several hundred kilometers away, but it still took only two months of daily texting and several hours of voice and videochat for me to fall head over heels.

I felt so unbelievably guilty.

I couldn't sever the chains that tied me to her out of fear of playing into her insecurities, but by the time I met him I had already been feeling like a bird stuck in a cage - solely there for her comfort, putting her feelings before my own, always. I was unhappy, we weren't working. But I cared more about her than myself, so I told myself I wouldn't break up with her.

And yet she’d deserved to know the truth, so as soon as I realized my feelings I confessed about it to her.

Things got messy from there, too much back and forth with me desperately clawing for any bit of selfish compromise I could get my hands on.

She eventually had enough of it and broke up with me, but we promised we'd stay friends.

She put on her porcelain mask of careful indifference and things went smoothly for a while.

It didn't take long for the mask to crack though. It was too frail to withstand her jealousy, her heartache, and eventually it fell apart.

She came to me with misinterpreted situations and long ago wrongdoings I've comitted, in her mind to intentionally cross her, talking over me when I attempted to correct her or defend myself, accusing me of being a lying, backstabbing bitch who was not an ounce better than the grovelling, attention-starved crybabies that play the victim card at and every opportinity. Then she insulted me and my loved ones up and down.

Then she left.

And I wailed as my shaking fingers blocked her on every site I could think of, terrified of her wrath and scared of more to come.

And then I hated her, for her hypocrisy and the hurt she's inflicted on me, as the realization of her small manipulative tactics to keep me bound to her slowly sunk in (for the sake of maintaining her anonymity I will not go into detail about how specifically she manipulated me, but know that there was what I now understand to have been some gaslighting involved).

Now, over a year after she confronted me, all I have left are the glowing embers of grief replacing my rage, and the understanding that I too have made more mistakes than I can count and had originally realized.

Now it doesn't matter who had ultimately been at fault, or whether or not her behavior was hypocritical or just.

All I know is that now I am lonely and tired.

Tired of being angry and hurt.

Tired of remembering her in all those little, painful ways that have shaped my life over the 16 years I've known her.

I still have him and my online friends and feel more balanced and supported than I've ever been, but in losing her I have also lost my only remaining real life friend and along with it, the kind of companionship my online friends cannot give.

She's written me a letter together with some old art of mine since that last fateful conflict, actually.

It made all of my emotions flare up again.

On the first read it had felt sincere, she was apologizing for not letting me defend myself in our last conversation all those months ago, that she's doing better now, especially in handling her emotions more openly and hasn't had any outbursts since. She also said she'd send me the art pieces and gifts I've given her over the years back if she found more of them.

On the second read it felt like salt in an open wound, an attempt to rub in that she is over me, better off without me while I was still stuck in my grief and hurt. I've written countless drafts of response letters, ranging from long and infuriated, to brief and sorrowful, to sarcastically apologetic until eventually I gave up trying altogether. Too stricken with negative emotions to think clearly.

I'm still unsure which outcome would be pettier of me, trying to get the last word in, or deciding she doesn't deserve an answer? Would sending her a response incite an attempt to mend our lost friendship and rekindle it, or would not answering imply my agreement to have her send back more items in the future?

It made me realize that I don't actually want her back in my life.

That it's not her that I miss, but rather the easy in-person companionship I've had with her, the happiness and comfort that comes with it.

By writing this post I was kind of hoping to find a different kind of closure, by getting my thoughts and feelings out about it all without actually writing her back.

I'm still hurting and lonely, but it's gotten better, continues to get better.

If you've read this far - and really, I don't think there's much of a reason you would, you don't know me after all, so why should you care - thank you for lending a patient ear to a grieving stranger.

If you think that you are who this whole post is centered around:

I genuinely do hope you are doing well. That you will find happiness, comfort, genuine companionship and a warm meal and bed to return to every day.

I just wish for it to be far away from my own.

[margridarnauds]

Wtf is with the Tudor fandom?? Those are the same people who have “cancelled” Isabel and Fernando lmao for their colonization of America. Why are they so mad when we talk about Elizabeth I + colonization then? who tf do they think they are by saying “social justice warriors”?

I feel, personally, like the weaponization of serious issues for the purposes of ships and stanning various figures has kind of brought us to this point, ngl. Anne Boleyn supporters bring up the Inquisition, bring up slavery, bring up the colonization of America, while KOA supporters toss Ireland and the treatment of black and Jewish people around like a ping pong ball, on and on, back and forth, pettier and pettier with each exchange. There’s no real room to discuss anything, because it’s inherently polarized, and the only ones who really lose are the ones in the fandom who wanted to discuss it from the beginning because it reflects some part of their lived experience, only to find themselves used as pawns and then discarded when they’re no longer of use. And, in that area, as a white American Celticist, I got off fairly clean. I haven’t had to deal with the constant harassment that others have had to deal with. I’ve just been lied about and ignored, which, in many, many ways, is better. Annoying, but better. 

  I’m personally at an odd place with Ferdinand and Isabella given that I do live at Ground Zero of the Spanish colonization of America - The people of Florida have, for the most part (though not uncontroversially), begun to seriously question the narratives that we were always fed about Ponce de Léon and the “Discovery” of Florida, taking into account more re: his treatment of the Táino people, who were exploited, enslaved, and butchered by Spanish forces who were paid with Ferdinand of Aragon’s gold, working under Ferdinand of Aragon’s authority. We are starting to question what, exactly, it means when we talk about having the oldest continuously occupied city in the nation, along with the question of where the legendary emeralds of the lost Plate Fleet (that, let’s be real, we ALL want to find) came from, which hands mined them before they were put into crucifixes, whose blood stains them. I’m not going to pretend I have any personal love of them, though I recognize their overall historical importance. I think that, like any other historical figures, we can talk about the good and the bad, along with the lasting effects, both good and bad, of them and their reign. 

  That being said, the blatant hypocrisy of the Tudors fandom to criticize one fandom when, the second the spotlight is turned on them, they suddenly demur and claim that, actually, that doesn’t MATTER anymore, it was centuries ago, is galling. Either we critically analyze history like adults for both sides of the Catholic VS Protestant debate, acknowledging that both sides committed atrocities that echo down to the present, or we don’t. We keep brushing things under the rug, keep trying to argue why our faves were the most pure, keep trying to enter into a dick measuring contest with a thin veneer of academism. (And, at the risk of putting too fine a point on it, in my field, I have just as much standing as they do. I’m not asking for people to bow down or even to take what I say uncritically, since I hate elitism in the field, but I AM asking, if they’re claiming to be academics and using that to swing their weight around, to give me the same respect as another academic. You can’t have the respect that comes with the position without acknowledging the responsibility.) 

  All I ever REALLY wanted was for people to talk about the darker side, not to permanently #Cancel anyone (the past is a fucked up place—If I didn’t feel like I had to constantly defend my field’s existence constantly from people wanting to paint the Irish as barbarians, I could tell you some REALLY fucked up things from Irish history/literature. Especially the literature), but to TALK about the nuances involved, only to find that, on both sides, people only really cared about boosting their own pet faves. I’m not saying “You can only post a gifset of Elizabeth/Isabella if you include a dissertation tacked on at the end of how they weren't  #GirlBosses", rather that the general perception of them needed to become more nuanced, and yet, somehow, that led to me becoming one of the black sheep of the Tudor fandom. (That and, admittedly, mentioning the very true fact that one British Dynasty has received more media attention in 20 years than the entirety of Irish history’s received in cinematic history…..which I stand by, not the least because I didn’t mention WHICH dynasty, since it applies, in fact, to multiple, including the present ruling dynasty.) (Okay, and calling an ugly fraud of a portrait an ugly fraud of a portrait. Which I also stand by.)

One thing that I appreciate with the saner parts of, for example, the French Revolution fandom is that, while it can still be quite polarized, there is, essentially, at least the IDEA that both sides fucked up and did fucked up things. The idea that, even though you can appreciate that certain figures, like Robespierre, like Marie Antoinette, like Philippe Égalité (though I’m still working on that one) were slandered in their time, they ALSO were complicit in some terrible, terrible things. I haven’t really seen any Robespierre fans defending, say, the September Massacres, the Vendée, or the suppression of the Brezhoneg language. (I’ve gotten more mixed reviews from the pro-Royalist side, but at least the understanding that the Ancien Régime and the people in it weren’t ideal, which is more than I’m getting on this side.) Is the Frev fandom ideal? No. It isn’t. It suffers from many of the same shortcomings as any other historical fandom, and there are quite a few people I utterly refuse to engage with because I find them to be too extreme on one side or the other (being the one Orléanist Stan™ does help things along), but, that being said, at least they’re having SOME historical perspective.

I made the unfortunate mistake of thinking that, when people said “Oh, yes, we can appreciate these things in the context of their time, with critical thinking!” They actually meant it, as opposed to just wanting an excuse to shut us up until we’re useful again. Instead, I quickly realized that people only cared so long as it bolstered them and their side, not about the people who were actually harmed, and if we bring THEM up, we’re SJWs. No need to argue with what we’re actually SAYING if you can just lie about us repeatedly. And, frankly? I’m utterly disgusted at the number of blogs that I thought would know better, who I respected for their nuanced approach to history and the study of it, humoring them. I’m utterly disgusted at how their narrative of “Evil SJW”s has actually gained currency from people who have based their entire reputation, sometimes their careers, on critical thinking and analyzing biases. 

[thetriggeredhappy]

hello! do you take sniperspy requests? if it's okay with you can i ask for something soft between them? not romantic or sexual but i mean Soft™ and intimate moment maybe some kind of inside joke they only understand idk. thank you!

me, speaking into the mic, my mouth exactly zero millimeters away from it: what if spy and sniper..... were best friends

my girlfriend from the back of the auditorium: (absolutely apeshit bananas applause)

-

Spy sauntered out the door and into the shade of the base, pointedly moving to stand more comfortably even as he kept an amount of distance between himself and the wall for the sake of his far-too-expensive suit. He took a cigarette from his case without needing to look, lit it in one smooth motion, took a puff, and exhaled. Then, and only then, did he turn his head to acknowledge Sniper, lounging against the wall a few feet away.

“Your fifth smoke break of the day, mon ami,” he observed neutrally. “I can’t help but wonder if something might be bothering you.”

Sniper didn’t reply verbally, but there was a muscle in his shoulders that went lax when Spy finally spoke. He took a drag of his own cigarette.

It was something that the team had commented on, once or twice. The fact that Sniper’s greatest enemy on the battlefield was the other team’s Spy, and Spy’s the other team’s Sniper, and yet with the counterpart on their own team, there was no great tension or rivalry to speak of. Instead, their relationship was entirely professional, even somewhat warm. And they took care to have the team think they were merely professional, as strictly speaking, friendship was looked down upon in their line of work, but also because with the aforementioned rivalry, their being good and well-trusted friends was something that would surely be questioned and prodded at and neither of them cared for such theatrics.

Well, Spy did ever-so-slightly, but he knew that Sniper loathed such attention, and so took care to be discreet.

“Am I being that obvious?” Sniper asked after a brief silence between them, voice a deliberate kind of calm and easygoing and level.

“Non, I’m simply being observant,” Spy replied easily, and took another drag before he elaborated. “Usually you only smoke this much when your scores are down or we’re on a losing streak, but you’ve been performing in an entirely standard and average way all week. You seem to be coping with a stress that simply doesn’t seem to be there. And so, something is bothering you.”

“Social mathematician, you are,” Sniper huffed, rolling his eyes.

“I might not have noticed, if not for the fact that you forgot your cigarettes at work and had to ask me for one three separate times and didn’t seem to remember it,” Spy admitted.

Sniper nodded at that, eyes drifting to look back out at the landscape stretching before them again.

“So?” Spy prompted, voice a bit quieter. “What is bothering you?”

Sniper reached up to knead at the bridge of his own nose, eyes falling shut, needing to push his glasses up out of the way to do so. “Not sure I’d like to talk about it, t’be honest,” he said, tone falling in parallel.

Spy shifted on his feet, looking into the distance as well for a moment. After a second or two, he spoke again, changing tactics. “Perhaps some long-lost love, or the glory days of youth?” Spy asked, intentionally melodramatic. “Pondering what all was, or perhaps what once could have been? Have you been assigned a quest by some supernatural or religious force that will surely involve mortal perils?”

“Bugger off, Spook,” Sniper deadpanned, but there was an undeniable twitch at the corner of his mouth as he fought the urge to smile at the theatrics.

“I’m only this curious because more often than not, I’m the one being dramatic and glaring at the horizon line, mon ami. Melancholy is a new look on you,” Spy admitted, dropping the joke.

“It’s... hard to explain,” Sniper finally said, and the hint of a laugh was gone.

“You’ll find I’m patient,” Spy replied easily.

Sniper was quiet for another few moments. He looked at the stub of a cigarette he had left and gave up on it, crushing it out against the wall and then grinding it into the sand beneath his heel. “It’s not... it’s not your joke about the ‘long lost love’ buggery,” he said, doing halfhearted air quotes. “It’s more... in general, the idea of...”

Spy didn’t interrupt or make any jokes, simply waiting patiently for Sniper to decide on a sentence to finish.

“...I’m just, I’ve never done any of this right,” Sniper finally said, sighing hard at himself. “Grew up too scrawny, too clever and cared too much about books when I was young and then wasn’t clever enough when I started getting older, learnt to shoot rather than fistfight, ended up a mercenary rather than a... a scientist or a rancher or any other respectable thing. And I never... never went out, never got along with anyone, and, after a while you can’t help but wonder if you’re just not meant for people. If maybe it means something that dating never once appealed to you beyond being some big strange idea of a thing that eventually you’re meant to get around to, or...” He hung his head, dragging a hand down over his face. “...I don’t know. It’s... I had it for a moment.”

Spy hesitated for a few moments, looking at him. Considered his words. Stepped over to clap a gentle hand to Sniper’s shoulder, exhaled when that made Sniper relax in some small way. “If it’s any consolation, I can assure you that you are not the only person in the world who feels that way, and perhaps even not the only man on this base who feels that way,” Spy said finally. “It takes a particular kind of person to willingly go live in a cramped, terrible experimental military base in the deserts of New Mexico being killed practically on the daily. I’m sure that is a sentiment you will find in great supply among the other men here, should you ask. And for what it’s worth, even if you are not meant for regular people, you are well liked and very much respected by your coworkers and by me.”

Sniper nodded in a way that meant he heard and understood what Spy was saying, even if he couldn’t quite formulate a verbal response to it, which was such a specific thing to read into a nod that for a minute it caught Spy by surprise and he lost track of what he’d been planning on saying next. He took a moment to try and remember it.

“What I think might help, more than expediting your inevitable lung cancer and getting a replacement set from the Docteur,” he said, gesturing pointedly with his own cigarette, “is taking one of those... what do you call them, hunting trips?”

“Just camping, usually, more than hunting,” Sniper corrected lightly.

“Oui, that. You haven’t taken a break in quite some time, and it’s terrible for morale. You were talking about the, the Rocky Mountains being the place you were hoping to see next, since last time you went to the Appilachia?”

“Appalachian Mountains, yeah,” Sniper nodded. “You’d know that if you, er, ever bloody well agreed to go with one of these times.”

“I simply do not see the appeal of camping,” Spy said airily. “It is not to my tastes. There is value in quiet cabins and inns in countryside or less populated places, but camping itself simply does not appeal to me.”

“What, never been?” Sniper asked lightly, mouth quirking up on one side.

Spy scoffed, well and truly offended. “I take back absolutely everything I said about you being respected,” he said firmly.

Sniper started to snicker outright. “Oh, go on, why’s that?” he prodded.

“You do not get to use ‘never been’ for camping. That is not allowed,” Spy said firmly.

“You’ve used ‘never been’ for bloody wine tastings, you absolute cheat!” Sniper pointed out.

“Less so the wine tasting and more the region itself,” Spy huffed, posture straight, head held high. “But you do not get to use ‘never been’ for camping.”

‘Never been’ was one of their pettier jokes, to be fair. It had started when Sniper had challenged Spy’s claim to being the most well-travelled individual on the team, and when Spy had asked where exactly Sniper had travelled to, he’d begun bringing up locations outside of largely English- and French-speaking regions, and ended off his list with a rather cocky “What’s the matter, have you never been?” It had kicked off them each naming place after place in stories when around the team, saying the place in passing then lightheartedly saying “never been?” in an entirely and increasingly ridiculous and elaborate manner for more and more specific locations.

As they ran out of stories and places, they began to argue semantics more and it became clear that the joke wasn’t even truly them trying to make fun of each other so much as them bonding over the concept of traveling in their own way, and they found it coming up more in conversation in the wake of the joke.

“Fine, can I at least use it for the mountains?” Sniper laughed.

“No, because I have been, thank you very much,” Spy huffed, turning up his nose at the very thought.

“You’re ridiculous.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“No, you’re just ridiculous.”

“Are you going to go camping or not?” Spy challenged.

Sniper rolled his eyes, even if his mood had visibly improved, his posture straightening out, less tension in his brow. “Not scheduled to have a break for a long while.”

“We do have vacation days, however,” Spy pointed out.

“I don’t do that,” Sniper said without hesitation. “I’m not leaving you blokes alone to deal with the other Sniper so I can go build a bonfire near some trees, awright?”

“Would it not be convenient, though, if something were to mysteriously happen to him and he just so happened to miss work for the exact number of days that you were gone?” Spy asked lightly, examining his cigarette case with too much interest.

“Do you want him to hate you more, Spook?” Sniper asked dryly. “You can’t just sabotage the man so I can go see slightly more bloody birds than usual.”

“I’m not saying I would sabotage the man! I’m just saying it would be a funny coincidence that would be entirely unrelated to me and nobody would ever be able to prove otherwise,” Spy said, just as lightly as before.

A pause. “...What kind of mysterious something would happen to him, just out of curiosity?” Sniper asked, tone flat.

“Oh, how on earth would I know such a thing, mon ami? I have no idea. But if I were to venture a guess I would simply say that he would be hired on a contract to protect some random citizen in a faraway city who is in absolutely no danger in the first place by some mysterious but concerned source,” Spy shrugged airily.

“...And you’re sure you don’t want to go camping too?” Sniper asked, tone back to normal and vaguely conversational. “Really, it’s not all that bad. You might enjoy it.”

“I am more than fine,” Spy assured, dropping the joke for a moment and shaking his head. “But thank you for the offer.”

Sniper nodded vaguely, considering it. “...Might just take off next Thursday and Friday, make a four-day weekend, two days to camp and a day’s travel and packing on either end,” he mused aloud. Paused. “...Thanks. For... you know.”

“I do,” Spy agreed easily. “And it is of no issue, mon ami, I can assure you.”

“Right.” Sniper stood there for a moment, lost in his own thoughts again. Paused. “Well, bugger off now, Spook. Go... drink wine, or, or whatever the hell else you do.”

“But of course,” Spy laughed, and crushed his own cigarette into the sand. “Bonne nuit, Bushman.”

“See ya, Spook,” Sniper said easily, even as Spy cloaked and walked away, his eyes still locked on the horizon line.

[queenpersephonesgarden]

from my song to yours

Wangxian Week Day 2: Music

“Perhaps we should save the rest of our speculations for the morning.”

Lan Wangji blinked gritty eyes and looked up from where he’d once again been studying the malevolent disembodied arm currently floating just above the qiankun bag it was normally kept in, meeting Wei Ying’s eyes across the table.

“Already?” he asked, mildly surprised; more than one memory of cheerful laughter and quicksilver smiles shining in the light of the moon served to remind him just how late into the night Wei Ying preferred to work and play in equal measure, and one quick glance out the window confirmed the moon hadn’t even fully risen into the sky yet. “You’re tired?”

Wei Ying snorted a laugh, a lovely, light-hearted sound that seemed appropriate coming from a face as young as the one he now wore.

“No, no, I’ll be fine for another four hours at least.”

A finger rose to point accusingly right at Lan Wangji’s face, who blinked placidly.

“The investigation can wait for tomorrow because of you! I know all about you Lans and your ridiculous nine o’clock sleeping schedule!”

Can also be read on AO3

He was worried… about the Lan sleep schedule?

Lan Wangji raised a placating hand. “I am fine.”

“Are you?” the rising of Wei Ying’s right eyebrow was entirely skeptical.

Confusion made Lan Wangji’s own eyebrows furrow the slightest bit. “Night hunts often run far past midnight on serious cases-”

“But this isn’t a serious case,” Wei Ying interrupted, then quickly amended “Well, it is serious, but it’s not the kind of case we can solve in a single night of staring intensely at the problem, so instead of doing that, we should focus more on things we can achieve in a single night. Like sleep!”

Without waiting for Lan Wangji to attempt a response Wei Ying swept the resentful arm back into its pouch, tying the bag firmly shut before setting it back down on the table where they could easily keep an eye on it.

When Wei Ying stood, Lan Wangji haltingly tried to slow him down from heading back to sleep in his own room next door. “We. Don’t have to-”

“Hanguang-jun.” One eyebrow rose imperiously as Wei Ying scrutinized him with too-dark gray eyes. “If we go any longer, you’ll sleep in past noon and bring some calamitous dishonor upon your ancestors. How would the Cloud Recesses ever recover?”

Such a bizarre statement said with such gravity almost made Lan Wangji reach across and press fingers to Wei Ying’s forehead, thinking perhaps he had somehow contracted an unnoticed fever, before the slightest shine of amusement in Wei Ying’s eyes gave it away.

Ah.

Still playing the madman he’d been reincarnated into.

While he wished fiercely Wei Ying didn’t feel the need to keep up the act around him, Lan Wangji couldn’t deny that it was… nice, to be the focus of this strange farce, because as elaborate as it is it still feels intensely familiar.

It was such a nonsensical, roundabout way of showing concern.

It was unnecessary.

It was bizarre.

It was- it was exactly the kind of ridiculous game he would have tried to play in their youth, reaching across a sun-dappled table in the Library Pavilion to tug at Lan Wangji’s sleeve, crying dramatically, “But who in their right mind is ever tired at nine o’clock, hah?”

The tidal wave of nostalgia makes it hard to keep steady when he stands from the table.

Wei Ying, eyes sharp as ever even in a new body, caught the infinitesimal slip in posture and grinned triumphantly. “See? I was right all along!”

“Of course.”

Two slim hands laced their fingers together and rose up above Wei Ying’s head in a languid stretch. “Well, I suppose I better leave you to sleep,” he sighed contentedly.

Stay.

The thought comes unbidden, but not unexpected; letting Wei Ying leave his sight for any length of time since his return has been difficult.

The reluctance in his silence must be truly palpable, because Wei Ying pauses and looks back at Lan Wangji despite not allowing even a single muscle in his face to so much as twitch in protest.

Dark gray eyes light up with some unspeakable mischief. Lan Wangji does not glare as he once would have as a teenager, another stark difference from his memories.

“Aiya,” Wei Ying bat his eyelashes in an outrageously flirtatious manner. “Would the great and noble Hanguang-jun like this one to sing him to sleep?”

Despite the sour pang in the pit of his stomach at the tease, the clash of foreign-familiarity of the new face and old mannerisms had Lan Wangji responding without thinking especially hard about it. “Mn. If you wish.”

Wei Ying stared, frozen in an exaggerated coquettish pout.

Lan Wangji stared back, resolutely keeping his expression as blank as ever even as his ears grew hot. He refused to regret the slip.

“….. huh.” Wei Ying said intelligently, looking genuinely poleaxed, and if Lan Wangji were a pettier person he might have felt the slightest bit smug for their positions during many an afternoon in their youth to be reversed. But he didn’t, of course, because the Second Jade of Lan was not petty.

“Haha, um, I don’t know very many songs suited for a lullaby.” Desperate verbal backtracking was something Lan Wangji had never expected to see the most shameless person he’d ever known do, but there it was.

Lan Wangji turned and padded over to the bed, fingers trailing up to pull the pins that held his hair in place out with a confidence he didn’t really feel. “You are clever. I am sure you can think of something appropriate.”

A strangled sound came from behind him, and for the first time in a very long time, Lan Wangji resisted the urge to smile the slightest bit.

Yes, being the one to initiate the teasing was far more enjoyable than getting teased himself, he decided.

For a moment he balked the slightest bit at the thought of slipping into bed with Wei Ying still in the room, the far more recent memory of his warm weight laying across him making his breath catch, but Lan Wangji could admit to himself that he was always stubborn to a fault; if either of them was going to back out of this, it wouldn’t be him.

So, he slipped into bed, and did a rather remarkable job of keeping an expectant look off his face when he glanced over at where Wei Ying was still standing rather awkwardly next to the table with the qiankun pouch.

Wei Ying stared back, still clearly flummoxed, but rallying to the challenge.

A softer grin painted his new face in a different way under the moonlight, and Lan Wangji felt his heart stutter.

“Oh, don’t worry, er-gege~,” Wei Ying said cheerfully in that way that always made an aborted shiver run down Lan Wangji’s spine. “I think I know just the right song for someone as lovely as you to drift off to!”

And because time was cruel and heartbreak was his oldest friend, he began to hum the song Lan Wangji had written himself in the throes of frustrated, sun-drenched love as a teenager, and his blood froze solid.

This was-

This was a mistake.

This was a mistake, and Lan Wangji was a fool, but if he asked Wei Ying to stop, to sing something else, he would ask why, and Lan Wangji-

He couldn’t.

His eyes fell shut, but only because looking at Wei Ying as he was now, happy and lovely in the muted candlelight and singing the song Lan Wangji wrote for him, felt too raw.

The only solace, Wei Ying knew the melody, but that was it. He’d never heard the lyrics before, the words Lan Wangji had slowly dared to thread through the harmony during thirteen years of waiting. Thirteen years of yearning. Thirteen years of missing Wei Ying with every breath of air in his lungs.

But that was alright, because those painful words were still locked behind Lan Wangji’s heart, and the melody was still all that was needed for an impromptu lullaby.

It seemed a much kinder reversal of the first time Lan Wangji had sang it to Wei Ying, trapped deep within a cave with no guaranteed escape, the both of them injured and wracked with fever for days on end.

Yet it was also strangely crueler, because despite the gentler setting they were still so very far apart. In the cave, at least Lan Wangji had been able to touch Wei Ying, to try and soothe him between intermittent bouts of shivering on the cold stone floor.

Here, now, Wei Ying hummed the song that had taken root in Lan Wangji’s heart on the night they had first met, and Lan Wangji desperately tried not to drown.

Do you know?

Do you know what that song means to me?

Did it ever mean the same to you?

In the wide empty space of the bed, fingers clench almost painfully hard around a handful of fabric.

Did it ever mean anything to you?

Only decades of discipline kept his face as smooth as unfeeling jade when the song tapered off slowly, Wei Ying’s voice – so different from before, slightly higher in a not unpleasant contrast to Lan Wangji’s even tones – growing quieter and quieter with each repetition until he ended it with a deep, quiet sigh that tugged incessantly at Lan Wangji’s heart; the voice was different, but the cadence was exactly the same.

I know you, some wild thing shrieked in Lan Wangji’s head. I know you, how could I not? How could you ever think I would forget how you are when you’re happy?

A rustle of fabric, a squeak of a floorboard as Wei Ying stepped away with a small sound of satisfaction, a soft breath of air as the candle was blown out.

“Good night Lan Zhan.”

He must have turned away, must be focusing on something else, because if he were still looking at the bed there is no way he could have possibly missed the way Lan Wangji’s hands spasmed reflexively at the sound of his name.

For several heartbeats it’s all he can do just to keep breathing through it, the terrible heaviness clamped hard around his chest in an agonizingly familiar way.

He breathes in deeply, twice, three times, long years of meditation serving him well in getting his breathing back under control.

Once he is certain his voice will remain steady, his heart will not shake apart under another onslaught of emotion, he forces his eyes open to try to say- something, no matter how breathlessly quiet his voice is-

“Wei Ying-!”

But the door has already shut softly behind the man, leaving the room aching and cavernous in the silence.

--

A/N:  Yeah you know how there's a scene in the audio drama where Wei Wuxian just absent-minded started humming Wangxian.mp3 while he was cutting out a paperman?? Yeah my heart may never recover. ~Persephone

[statementends]

For your fic prompts, can I get uhhh "I know you're somewhere in there, fight" for a Jon/Martin? Also idk if we're allowed to request multiple story prompts or not, but a Denied Food as Punishment for Jon/Elias would be fun too (food being statements tho)

So since I’ve got another request for Jon/Martin “I know you’re somewhere in there fight” This one is going to be the Jon/Elias denied food as punishment prompt.

@moonfireshadow, @badthingshappenbingo

Pairings: Jon/Elias (one-sided) Characters: Elias, JonRating: TWarnings: Manhandling, Denying ‘food’ as punishment, emotional abuse, Elias being controllingSummary: Elias is not put in prison. Jon wakes up from his coma and demands answers. Elias has a punishment for him instead.AO3: Link

“A vacation will be good for you.” Elias smiled at Jon, his expression impenetrable. “After everything you’ve been through I would think rest is exactly what you need.”

Jon clenched his fists. “Tim is dead. Daisy is–”

“Yes,” Elias said not even bothering to adopt a sad countenance. There was no point in pretending. Tim had served his purpose.

“Where’s Martin? Melanie? Basira wouldn’t–”

“She thought it would be better that I told you. Melanie is fine, she’s a bit… angry at her current circumstances. I’m sure you could find her, but I wouldn’t recommend it.”

“And Martin?” Jon pushed. Elias felt that pleasant electric tingle crackle down his spine. He was getting so much stronger now that he had accepted his place as their Master’s gaze.

“Not here.” Elias said before he could pull it back. It would be tricky now, keeping Jon in check. He hadn’t meant to give him anything. Another reason why this… lesson was needed.

Jon’s face paled. “What does that mean?”

“Martin tried to expose me,” Elias said pleasantly enough. “And I know you’re well aware of that, Jon. Did you not expect there to be consequences?”

“Where is he?” Jon demanded. Elias kept his mouth firmly closed. It took effort though. It had always been hard to keep things from Jon. Elias wanted to give him everything he wanted to know… more than everything. Elias wanted to whisper every single secret, ever single scrap of knowledge he had ever come across to the other man.

But he loved the Archivist. If he wanted him to survive and grow he had to… be withholding.

Part of him hoped Jon would be able to find Martin with his own power… the pettier part hoped that Peter was too formidable and the two would never see each other again.

Martin would suffer though. The lonely seas would not be kind to him.

Elias’ lips quirked.

Jon glowered.

Ah, he was always so angry at him. Elias missed Jon’s softer expressions. Tiny smiles when the day was going well, gentle grumbles towards annoying patrons, his mask of pompous skepticism. It was only rage for Elias now. He would make do. His Archivist still had aways to go. Didn’t understand all of the things Elias did for him out of affection. Jon was irreplaceable, and not only because the Watcher’s Crown was on the horizon. There were a few times Elias might have discarded or destroyed Jon as he had done with Gertrude and started again, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. Knowing both Archivists Gertrude cunning and intelligent as she was, was a cheaper imitation of what an Archivist should be. Jon belonged to their Master in every way and exuded all the qualities brightly. A star of knowledge in inky black ignorance.

Elias took him in. He was beautiful.

Finally Jon’s compulsion pushed through, but Elias was able to shade the truth of it.

“I don’t know where he is.”

“But you know–”

“Jon.” Elias interrupted. “As much as I appreciate you improving you have a vacation to get to. The others got two weeks paid. I think we’ll bump yours up to a month. I’m sure you have a lot of things to sort out.”

“Things to–”

“Go on. We can have a proper chat after you’ve rested.”

Jon stared at him. “I’ve been in a coma.”

Elias looked at him knowingly. “You’ve been directly in our Master’s gaze. I doubt it was a restful experience.”

“What about–” Jon started and then stopped.

Elias tilted his head. He had told Basira not to bring a statement explicitly. He was glad to see that, although she didn’t trust him, she had done as asked.

Jon looked ragged. His body might be healed, but he had practically limped in, only rage keeping him moving.

“What about what?” Elias asked knowingly.

“I need to…” Jon’s voice was soft, just a hair’s breadth from vulnerable.

“I’ve decided to send you to bed without supper, Jon.” Elias’ mouth twisted with amusement. “Your little coup d'etat could have ended very badly for us, and although I am proud of you I had expected a bit more during the Unknowning.” Elias stood, approach Jon.

“I’m tired of your denial. Your loyalties should be mine.” He cupped Jon’s cheek, but his Archivist turned his head away and stepped back from him, scared. Out of his element.

“You’re mad if you think anything up until this moment has made me feel … loyal.”

“You’re going to learn.” Elias said firmly. “These are dangerous times, Jon. Even with the Stranger’s defeat. I’m not going to take anymore of your uncertainty. You made your choices. With every action you took your path took you directly to us. You woke up. We both know what that means. Now go Jon. I won’t ask you again. One month. You will not have access to the archives while on leave.”

Jon’s eyes moved frantically trying to process what Elias was saying.

“I need to work though.”

“No Jon, you don’t. That’s what you’ve been trying to tell me all along, isn’t it? That this isn’t you?” Elias pushed in again. Jon backed up frantically until he was pinned against the door.

“I’m not turning you into something Jon,” Elias murmured. He felt all that he knew pushing against his lips wanting to escape. “I’m releasing you. I’m letting you be yourself.”

Jon shoved him away and scrambled through the door.

Elias breathed heavily. Adjusted his tie.

He would let Jon suffer, but only so that he’d come to know himself. Accept his place. Jon would see to the coronation and he would do so with no hesitation or regret.

Beside Elias.

Elias went back to his desk. His gaze followed Jon as he tried to argue for access down to the archives.

Elias sighed to himself. He was far too lenient, it would probably be a week before he found himself handing Jon a statement. There was work to be done after all, but hopefully he would have learned his lesson by then, and not bite the hand that feeds him.