#every so often I think about going back to listen to the clips from judgement but I think I will most certainly die

[mewkwota]

"And after that... I will proceed to break your knees...."

Is this a prelude to battle? Or a very personal session of ASMR?

Listening to Simon's voice speaking into my ears will surely kill me, so I think this will work on Dracula too. Slowly. Yet ever so effectively.

Yes this was what all those specific head tilt shots in the past were for :)

[commentaryvorg]

Digimon Savers Commentary Episode 5 - Break into the Digital World! Drimogemon’s Trap!

In this episode, both Tohma and Masaru separately enter the Digital World to resolve unfinished business with the Digimon they failed to stop last episode. While there, they meet up in a perilous situation and end up bonding, learning to respect each other and work together at last.

Since this episode follows on directly from the events of the last one, we start with a recap of last episode. This is a rare thing for now as most of these early episodes are self-contained events, but it’ll soon become very regular once we get into the series’ overarching plot.

There’s nothing particularly interesting about the recaps; the narration is done by a non-character narrator, and they sometimes tend to show far more clips than necessary to remind people of the relevant things that happened. I often just skip them, though since for the purposes of this commentary I’ll be obligated to watch every single part of an episode to comment on the full experience, I will probably end up moaning about how unnecessarily long they eventually shift into being.

Narrator:  “To fulfil his duty, Tohma went to the Digital World to chase down Drimogemon.”

It’s interesting that the narration frames it this way, since disobeying very strict orders isn’t exactly what one would usually consider fulfilling a duty to the organisation that gave him those orders. And yet, this also is to do with Tohma’s very strong sense of duty and need to complete every job perfectly.

Anyway, as we get back into events happening in the present, please appreciate this Very Done Yoshino Face as she realises that Tohma’s gone and endangered himself by going to the Digital World alone and she’s going to get in trouble for it.

As it happens, Masaru and Agumon have got the exact same idea into their heads of disobeying orders and sneaking into the Digital World to finish things with Drimogemon. While Tohma was legitimately very good at the stealth aspect of this plan, Masaru and Agumon’s idea of stealth is, uh… not so great.

Masaru:  “Successful infiltration!”

Agumon:  “We’re so smooth, Aniki!”

Yep. The smoothest.

Yoshino:  “What are you doing.”

Naturally, Yoshino has very much noticed them. The subs put a question mark here, but I’m using my judgement to not include it, because her voice is so deadpan and I love her.

Masaru:  “Tohma did a Digital Dive? Damn it, he got away before us!”

Yoshino:  “Before?”

Agumon:  “Nothing, he’s just talking to himself.”

Yoshino does seem to be genuinely rather wrapped up in trying to deal with the Tohma situation and bring him back, because she doesn’t appear to pick up on the obvious implication of Masaru’s slip-up here (and the obvious only reason they’d be sneaking in in the middle of the night like this in the first place).

Yoshino:  “Doing a Dive when the equipment hasn’t even been tested on humans…”

Huh, interesting. I guess this particular version of the Digital Gate equipment that DATS has is newer, then, which tracks.

Yoshino manages to detect the signal from Tohma’s Digivice, but before she can use that to bring him back, the signal is lost.

Masaru:  “Really. Well isn’t that a pity.”

Masaru sounds so incredibly (not) concerned here. Though I’m sure this isn’t him genuinely not even caring if Tohma dies; he just assumes Tohma can handle himself and doesn’t see this as his problem at all.

Yoshino:  “Listen to me! It’s dangerous!”

Masaru:  “That doesn’t matter! I’m just going there to settle my fight!”

Yoshino:  “Who cares about your fight? You’re just going to make things worse!”

I mean, it seems like Tohma cares about this fight just as much as Masaru does, actually, if in a somewhat different way. We have two stubborn idiots refusing to let this go here, not just one.

Masaru wanders into the Dive chamber, and, naturally, doesn’t have a clue how to start it up. Yoshino seems quite willing to leave and not help him with this, until he and Agumon start the appropriately Masaru approach of hitting the machine to try and get it to work. (We saw how successful that approach was last episode.)

Masaru:  “You think I’ll just sit back while that guy gets all the action?”

Obviously, Masaru is not exactly thinking this through here; he just wants to somehow get to finish his fight before Tohma can do it for him, damn it!

Since Masaru and Agumon are clearly not about to be sensible and stop trying to break the equipment, Yoshino has no choice but to give in.

Lalamon:  “Yoshino, are you sure about this?”

Yoshino:  “Letting him have his way is better than a broken machine and Tohma stuck over there…”

It really is only because Tohma went first that Masaru is able to get his way here. A broken machine that can be fixed later would be better than Masaru throwing himself into the unknown, but a broken machine while Tohma is stuck over there is not okay at all.

Yoshino:  “Listen! I’m sending you the co-ordinates where we lost Tohma. Make sure to bring him back, okay?”

Masaru:  “Whatever, just do it!”

Yoshino is making the best of this she can and at least using Masaru as a way to try and ensure Tohma is safe. Masaru acts like he doesn’t care – but note he also isn’t explicitly saying he definitely won’t try to help Tohma and will leave him to fend for himself no matter what.

Yoshino:  “I can’t help you when you get to the other side.”

Masaru:  “Like I even need it.”

Yoshino:  “Oh, really.”

Obviously. Masaru is a tough independent fighter who can definitely throw himself into a completely different world without a clue what he’s doing and manage just fine. Being a liiittle cocky there, Masaru. (Exactly as much as Tohma was when he sent himself over knowing he’d have no backup.) And I love how Yoshino isn’t buying it for a second.

Yoshino:  “Return to where you first entered by 0500. That’s where I’ll bring you both back.”

Apparently they need to be in a specific location in order for the Dive equipment to work in reverse (since there isn’t a big handy machine with a chamber in it on the Digital World side). Yoshino was briefly attempting to pull Tohma back earlier before she lost his signal, so I guess that was when he was still within the range of the reverse-transport?

Masaru:  “Bah, it’s like having a curfew.”

Haha. Something Masaru is probably quite used to, since he is only fourteen and his mother must worry about what he gets up to a lot. He did mention having to sneak out of the house to come to DATS last episode, which I surmised was not because DATS was a secret to Sayuri but rather just because it was late.

Masaru looks at his Digivice, which has a clock feature telling us it’s 0:33 right now. Yoshino apparently expects him to navigate a completely unfamiliar world, find Tohma (and also defeat the Drimogemon because she knows he’s going to want to do that even if she’d rather he didn’t bother), and get back to where he arrived, within four and a half hours. That seems a little bit tight – why couldn’t she just let him have as long as he needs and just wait to pull him and Tohma back whenever they appear back in range?

The reason, I imagine, is that she’s really hoping she can get this all wrapped up before the morning shift at DATS starts and Satsuma finds out what’s been going on here. I don’t blame her.

Agumon:  “Aniki, I’m kinda nervous…”

Masaru:  “Don’t get scared now, idiot.”

I like how Masaru is admonishing Agumon for getting scared not as if he’s being a coward or anything like that, but just as if he’s being an idiot. Obviously if they let themselves get scared and hesitate, that might get in the way of them winning their fight! It’s like Masaru is thinking of “getting scared” less in terms of the initial emotion that you can’t help feeling, but in terms of whether you choose to let it control you, or you just push it aside and press on anyway. Anyone who wouldn’t want to do the latter is an idiot, right?

Agumon:  “You sure this is okay?”

Masaru:  “You think I know?”

As the countdown to transfer gets close to zero and the energy starts swirling around them, I love the tiny little hint that Masaru is actually just as nervous about this as Agumon is – he has no idea if this is gonna be okay or not either! – and is just very stubbornly refusing to show it.

As we briefly see here, moving from one world to another involves travelling through a trippy computery in-between void. Future trips to and from the Digital World in the series will (usually, with one notable exception) skip over this part, but we can assume that it’s a thing that happens every time.

The opening also contains a shot of the characters going through this void between worlds. Yoshino doesn’t head to the Digital World herself in this episode, of course, but she will in time.

Masaru:  “This is the Digital World? Cool… The sky and the ground are upside-down!”

I like how Masaru is totally willing to buy that the Digital World really is this weird.

Agumon:  “Aniki… You’re the one who’s upside-down.”

Masaru:  “I knew that.”

…Rather than the much more likely option that he’s just a huge ridiculous dork.

(The subs say “I knew that” like Masaru’s trying to save face, but the word he says in Japanese could also translate as “Oh, I see,” as if he isn’t even trying to hide how he genuinely thought the Digital World was upside-down for a second. That doofus.)

Agumon:  “It’s my first time seeing it, too.”

Masaru:  “But you’re a Digimon, aren’t you?”

Agumon:  “Yeah, but I’ve been in DATS all my life.”

Yep, just like he said in the first episode about not remembering anything but being in DATS. Seems like, unlike the rampaging Digimon they deal with, Agumon came to the human world while he was not exactly “alive”, as such.

They wander through the Digital World for a while, marvelling at some of its weirdness. Circuit board patterns in the sky! Pixelated rivers! All sorts of Digimon walking and bouncing and flying around!

Masaru:  “We’re looking for that mole thing. If we keep walking, we should come across a clue or something.”

Man, Masaru, you sure thought this through and planned things out real good.

Agumon:  “What about Tohma?”

[cut to the DATS control room]

Yoshino:  “‘Leave him, he’ll figure something out on his own.’ …If he said that, what’ll we do?”

Lalamon:  “You’re overthinking it.”

[cut back to the Digital World]

Masaru:  “Leave him, he’ll figure something out on his own.”

Oh dear. Yoshino has already got Masaru pretty figured out and knew full well he wasn’t likely to take looking for Tohma that seriously. Though, to be fair, it is pretty reasonable to assume that Tohma can figure something out on his own. Masaru wouldn’t admit this just yet, but this is him having faith in Tohma’s capabilities! If Masaru had reason to believe that Tohma was definitely in life-threatening danger he couldn’t get out of by himself, I’m sure he wouldn’t be so nonchalant about this.

As Masaru and Agumon explore more Digital World weirdness – more stuff in the sky! Digital plants! A crystalline colosseum-looking thing that’s actually a Chekhov’s Gun for this episode! – a particular piece of BGM is playing that evokes a sense of grand exploration and discovery, as you’d expect for this moment. This piece happens to be called Savers’ “Main Theme”, which was a little surprising to me when I saw its name on the soundtrack. You’d expect this series’ main theme to be something more actiony, in fitting with all the focus on fighting and the way Masaru is. But maybe a more discovery-like piece is actually quite appropriate for what the overall themes of this story are.

Agumon:  “But it feels kinda nostalgic.”

An interesting comment from Agumon here. Though he doesn’t consciously remember anything about the Digital World because he was born in DATS, it seems like he has a subconscious sense of familiarity with it. As we’ve seen every time DATS defeats a Digimon, they don’t die and are simply turned into eggs and “reborn” – so maybe this is a sign of Agumon’s previous life, in which he did live in the Digital World, still vaguely there with him even though the conscious memories of it are lost.

As fun as showing off Digital World weirdness is, we soon get to the point as Drimogemon happens to pop out of a cliff face nearby. Which, yes, is kind of arbitrarily convenient. But I will take this any day over them wandering aimlessly having unnecessary filler adventures for episodes on end before getting to the actual point that the story is here for.

It also may make some reasonable amount of sense, actually. Masaru was sent to where Tohma was last seen, and it’s likely that Tohma deliberately sent himself somewhere near where he could detect Drimogemon. Tohma sending himself over here with absolutely no idea where to find a single Digimon among an entire world would have been incredibly stupid, after all, and I don’t think he could have justified that to himself even with his determination to fix his mistake. Given that, it’s not so unreasonable that Masaru would have run into Drimogemon at some point, since it was going to be somewhere near to where he arrived.

Also, while the other Digimon they’ve seen were just kind of wandering around naturally, the Drimogemon straight up crashed out of a cliffside. It’s still rampaging, exactly as they were worried about last episode, and therefore it’s even more likely that Masaru would have noticed it sooner or later with all the commotion it’s making.

Drimogemon tunnels into the ground, so naturally Masaru heads straight after it – and back at DATS, Yoshino loses his Digivice signal just like she lost Tohma’s. So apparently these signals can be picked up through the boundary between worlds, but not if someone is in another world and also underground. Uhhh, okay then.

This also means that presumably the reason she lost Tohma’s signal is because he went underground while trying to track Drimogemon, not because he was necessarily in any severe danger.

Lalamon:  “This may be the worst…”

I’m amused by Lalamon borrowing Yoshino’s catchphrase, but hedging her bets on it a little bit. Maybe it’s not actually the worst! Maybe.

Satsuma:  “What are you doing?”

Yoshino:  “Searching for an idiot! Geez, why me?”

Yoshino is so focused on frustratedly searching for Masaru’s signal that she doesn’t even register that Satsuma and Kudamon have shown up at first, which is probably the exact thing she was really hoping wasn’t going to happen until Masaru and Tohma were back. Nope, turns out this definitely is the worst.

Back in the Digital World, Masaru’s tried-and-true strategy of tracking Drimogemon down by simply following it through its own tunnel has led them into a huge underground cavern.

Masaru:  “Doesn’t matter where this is! Let’s go, Agumon!”

As before, Masaru doesn’t care about the location so long as he gets to fight! Or, perhaps, he’s trying to tell himself the location doesn’t matter, because on some level he’s realising that Drimogemon is very much in its element and has the advantage here. Which it does, as Masaru and Agumon quickly learn they’re not very good at Whack-a-giant-Digimole.

Bear in mind that Drimogemon is not saying a word, just like it hasn’t since it grew bigger last episode. It’s still in that mindless rampaging state, and so it seems to have no issue with straight-up collapsing the ground underneath Masaru and Agumon. That would be going a bit far if this were a Digimon that was still properly in control of itself.

Agumon:  “Aniki!”

Masaru:  “Idiot, don’t get scared over something like this!”

Masaru is still trying to set an example for his follower and insist that there’s no point in getting scared, even though being in an underground cave-in is in fact a pretty legitimate reason to be scared right now.

They both fall into a pretty deep-looking chasm but manage to somehow land reasonably unhurt, because shounen anime. Agumon’s awkward legs-in-the-air pose he landed in is pretty cute.

It turns out that Tohma and Gaomon are down here too. Seems like Drimogemon took the same approach when it was faced with them.

Masaru:  “What’s this? Does that mean the same thing happened to you?” [he and Agumon burst out laughing] “I see, you’re just like us!”

I really like Masaru’s reaction here. He’s not trying to be mean-spirited; if you listen to the tone of his laughter, there’s nothing malicious or mocking about it. It’s just such a huge relief for him to finally be seeing proof that Tohma’s human. He can fail sometimes and mess up in ways as equally ridiculous and undignified as Masaru. He’s not actually some kind of infuriatingly perfect walking supercomputer who can never do wrong like Masaru’s kind of been resentfully seeing him as. He’s just a person.

The relief of that realisation comes out as laughter not because Masaru’s really trying to mock Tohma for failing, but just because of the elation of finally being able to see Tohma as an equal. “You’re just like us”, indeed.

Tohma’s response is also great. He’s not getting frustrated and snapping back at Masaru like he often would in the previous episode, because he must be able to tell that Masaru isn’t actually trying to insult him here. He’s just embarrassed to be unable to deny the fact that he really is more of a fallible human person than he would have ideally liked Masaru to see him as.

Gaomon, meanwhile, the good dog that he is, has been carefully excavating rocks and found a potential way out. As Tohma heads towards it, he stumbles, because his leg was injured from the fall.

Masaru:  “Hey, you’re hurt!”

Tohma:  [grimacing] “This barely counts as an injury.”

Tohma clearly doesn’t want to give Masaru even more reason to think he’s human and fallible and might need help or something. But Masaru doesn’t care about Tohma’s stubbornness and immediately moves to put himself under Tohma’s arm to support him.

Masaru:  “Here.”

Tohma:  “Stop that. I don’t need you to help—”

Masaru:  “When you’re a man… When you’re a man, there are some things you just have to *do* despite yourself.”

I love Masaru so much. This is the first time we’re getting to see that his manliness thing is about a whole lot more than just fighting. It’s about honour, and integrity, and simply being a good person. The “despite yourself” is because he still doesn’t really like Tohma just yet and there’s a part of him that stubbornly wants to continue to be irritable and contrary towards him for the hell of it – but since Tohma’s injured and needs help, Masaru’s principles about doing the right thing in this kind of situation are more important to him than anything, so he can put that petty stubbornness aside. And these principles of Masaru’s come from exactly the same place as the reason he always gives it his all in fights!

(All those parts earlier in the episode where I confidently asserted that there’s no way Masaru actually wouldn’t have cared if Tohma had got himself killed, and that if he’d believed Tohma was in genuine danger then he wouldn’t have just left him to his own devices? Yeah, this is why. Masaru is Good.)

Masaru’s manly speech was mostly about himself, but it also works as advice to Tohma in this situation. He could continue to try and be stubborn and prideful and insist he doesn’t need help from anyone, but when there’s someone right here offering to help him – someone who was until recently at his throat, no less – what kind of a dick move would it be to reject that offer? Accepting Masaru’s help is the right thing for Tohma to do as well, despite his own pride. And he does.

Agumon:  “You’re making me cry, Aniki!”

Agumon also approves of his aniki’s manly principles, like a good follower should. Aniki is teaching him so much.

Masaru:  “Let’s get outta here first. Then we can think about other things.”

Implicit in Masaru’s statement here is “then we can get back to arguing with each other if we want” – but I like how he isn’t even mentioning that here, because right now it isn’t about that. Their lives are in danger, they need to help each other and work together to get out, and so nothing else matters for the time being.

This turns into a brief cute montage of the four of them helping each other make their way through the tunnels, which turn out to be quite the underground labyrinth. A lot of time implicitly passes here, and while I doubt Masaru and Tohma are saying very much to each other, this is no doubt making them bond a bit. They’re finally spending some time seeing each other as a person and an equal, rather than as some kind of infuriating representation of everything opposite to their own approach that brings out all their insecurities.

Meanwhile at DATS, Yoshino is indeed getting fiercely chewed out by Satsuma.

Yoshino:  “But that was all I could do…”

It really was, or Masaru would have broken the equipment and left Tohma stranded there! She did the absolute best thing she could under the circumstances! Alas, Yoshino doesn’t seem to quite have it in her to stand up for herself and more clearly express this.

Kudamon:  “Instead of berating them, we should find out where they are quickly!”

At least Kudamon has the right idea. And I imagine Satsuma understands this, too – he’s probably only so furious at Yoshino because he’s worried about Tohma and Masaru. He likely would have chewed them out if he could, since this is absolutely far more their fault than Yoshino’s. But they aren’t available for him to yell at, so poor Yoshino got the brunt of it instead.

Masaru:  “Hey, why didn’t you evolve Gaomon and break out?”

Back in the Digital World, Masaru asking this suggests he’s been thinking himself about, naturally, the most straightforward way to get out of here – he’d just evolve Agumon to GeoGreymon and smash their way out, if only he could!

But it says a lot that Masaru is then also applying his mindset to Tohma and assuming that he’s probably thought of the same thing, hence asking why he hasn’t done so, since Tohma can evolve his partner more easily. Masaru’s starting to empathise with Tohma and see him as a person!

(I guess technically Masaru might be able to get his Digisoul by turning around and punching Gaomon in the face? But it’s entirely possible that it wouldn’t work against a Digimon that’s not actively trying to fight him. Or, even if it did, that’d be a dick move to suddenly punch someone who’s not ready to fight and defend themselves, so I doubt Masaru would want to do that.)

Tohma demonstrates why he didn’t just evolve Gaomon by asking Gaomon to punch the wall, showing how dangerously unstable these tunnels are. Which is, uh, something he really could have just explained with words rather than taking a risk like that. But then again, Masaru is definitely someone who learns things better through actions rather than words, so maybe this is Tohma beginning to appreciate that!

They reach another fork in the tunnel and disagree on which path they should take. Tohma explains that the path he’s choosing isn’t random; he’s been dropping coins on the ground as they’ve been moving, and the path Masaru picked has a coin in it, indicating that they’ve been that way before.

(This is a 100 yen coin, by the way, which is roughly equal to one US dollar, and Tohma’s apparently been dropping loads of them. Could he not have used, I dunno, just 1 yen coins? Someone has more money than he knows what to do with.)

Masaru:  “Hey, you’re pretty smart!”

I like how Masaru remarks on this like it’s the first time he’s noticing this, as if he wasn’t already infuriatingly aware that Tohma’s a straight-up genius. This is Tohma displaying his smarts in a low-key, down-to-earth way that a regular person like Masaru can understand and appreciate is a useful way to go about things, rather than a way that makes him just come across as incomprehensibly, unreachably perfect.

Tohma:  “As I said, I’m not like you.”

Tohma’s still taking a little longer to warm up to Masaru and acknowledge that they might actually be similar to each other in a lot of ways, since he insists on stressing this point. Come on, Tohma! Masaru’s already started to admit that maybe you’re more like him than he would have liked you to be a day ago; you should start closing that gap, too!

Masaru makes a face in response to this comment. Apparently he’s agreeing with my sentiment about Tohma being a little too unnecessarily uptight here.

Agumon:  “Aniki… When are we gonna get outta here?!”

Masaru:  “Don’t worry! Keep up your spirits and we’ll use it to work this out somehow!”

Tohma:  “Spirit has nothing to do with it, but we *are* heading up.”

I love the contrast between Masaru’s baseless emotion-driven optimism, and Tohma preferring to base his optimism in actual facts. Both are good ways to be optimistic!

Masaru:  “You’re really unbearable.”

Tohma:  “You too.”

They say this, but they both sound a lot less vitriolic about it than they did in the previous episodes. They still have huge differences in their approach to things that inherently frustrate each other, but that doesn’t mean they can’t be beginning to respect each other anyway!

Masaru and Tohma reach an opening into a wider cavern, but they’re too high up for it to be safe to drop down into it. They’re about to turn back when Drimogemon shows up in the lower cavern.

Masaru:  “He’s out of luck to meet us here! Let’s go, Agumon!”

Yes, out of luck, this is definitely the least advantageous possible position that Drimogemon could be meeting them in. Masaru is still being Masaru and paying no heed to the environment; he sees Drimogemon as being out of luck to meet him at all, because hey, this means they don’t have to go searching for it later!

Tohma points out the incredible disadvantage they’re at, including reminding Masaru that it’s not safe for their partners to evolve in here, and insists they should keep heading for the surface and leave it be for now. But Masaru is having none of it.

Masaru:  “Not gonna!”

I absolutely adore his ridiculous grumpy walk towards Tohma. It’s so perfect for getting across his stubborn attitude here. No. Masaru is gonna fight the thing and no amount of logic or safety is gonna stop him.

Masaru:  “I’m not gonna run or hide! A man takes his fights head-on!”

Also, running away at a time like this isn’t what a man does, according to him, and it’s already become pretty clear just how important sticking to that principle is to Masaru.

So he pulls Tohma with him to the edge of the tunnel and straight-up leaps down onto Drimogemon’s back, with Agumon and Gaomon frantically jumping after them.

(Tohma grimaces in pain as he lands on its back. Yeah, considering his leg injury, ouch.)

Masaru:  “Yo.”

Masaru climbs forward onto Drimogemon’s head and has this delightfully audacious moment.

Then, realising they’re there, Drimogemon goes mad trying to shake them off. When they keep clinging on, it rushes towards the nearest wall trying to tunnel away. Masaru tugs on its fur like reins to redirect it to tunnel where he wants it to – in a more upwards direction, since they soon emerge out on the surface.

(It’s a little questionable how Masaru and co. aren’t just utterly crushed between Drimogemon’s back and the earth as it digs its tunnel, but then again it’s questionable how Drimogemon’s drill even manages to drill out a tunnel big enough for its entire body through what seems like not earth but solid rock in the first place. Shush, it’s anime physics; it’s fine.)

Tohma:  (He… Did he plan all of this from the start? But wait…)

And here’s Tohma applying his mindset to Masaru, imagining that Masaru might have planned this! He’s, uh… not precisely correct on that one, but it says a lot that he’s even considering it at all.

Rather than jump off its back and fight it here, Masaru keeps pulling on Drimogemon’s fur to direct its panicked running.

Masaru:  “Yahoo! This is just like a rodeo!”

(And he’s having a whale of a time while doing it, too, the huge dork.)

Tohma:  “Where are you taking us?”

Masaru:  “You’re the one who said to think of a good battleground!”

Look at Masaru actually thinking about this and applying a decent amount of strategy! He’s really not that bad at doing so when someone prompts him to actually consider it; he’s just usually so raring to jump straight in that it doesn’t occur to him to do so.

The “good battleground” in question is the crystalline colosseum Masaru noticed earlier – just the kind of place where Drimogemon won’t be able to dig. Inside the crystal arena, Masaru gives it a nice big punch before leaping off its back, and its evolution time.

…Except, it turns out, it’s also about to be evolution time for Drimogemon. For some reason. It starts twitching and shaking like it’s having some kind of adverse reaction to something, but I cannot come up with any possible reason why it would be doing so. The robbers who may or may not have been (read: they definitely were) responsible for it growing bigger and rampaging in the first place back in the human world are long gone and out of the picture. This does not make any sense to me. Maybe this is just something that happens if a Digimon that’s grown bigger but not evolved is left to rampage unchecked for long enough? I don’t think we see any other instances in the series that would contradict this, but this is definitely me reaching here.

Meanwhile at DATS, Miki and Megumi have also been called in to help search for the two reckless idiots, and they finally manage to relocate their signals – probably because they’re above ground again now. But they also detect Drimogemon evolving, which, for some reason, activates DATS’s alarm. You know, the one that’s supposed to be for Digimon appearing in the human world, because it’s hardly like a Digimon evolving back in the Digital World is usually anything they need to worry about.

Drimogemon finishes evolving, and it’s now… a Digmon. (Dig, without the second “I”; yes, this is very easy to awkwardly misread as just Digimon, I know.) And, uh, Digimon evolution level facts: this shouldn’t be a stronger Digimon.

If Drimogemon, an Adult-level like Gaogamon and GeoGreymon, had evolved upwards like you’d expect into the next proper evolution level, it’d have reached Perfect level. And, as I’ve mentioned with regards to evolution levels, they are each ridiculously exponentially stronger than the last, to the point that even GeoGreymon and Gaogamon working together would not have stood a chance against even a single Perfect-level.

So, well, obviously that couldn’t actually happen here, because Masaru and Tohma need to win this fight. Instead, Drimogemon just evolved sideways into a bonus gimmicky evolution level called Armour level, which, from its appearances in other series, seems to be roughly just as strong as Adult. This is not actually any significantly more of a threat at all.

Tohma:  “It’s Digmon. He’s far more powerful and has a higher mobility than Drimogemon.”

I guess we’re meant to assume that Armour levels work somewhat differently in this Digimon universe and are in fact just a little bit stronger than Adult, while not nearly as much so as Perfect? Sure, I guess; the general mechanics of Digimon don’t always work exactly the same in different universes.

(Still, Tohma conspicuously does not mention Digmon’s evolution level and explain the fact that it just evolved more sideways than upwards, because the writers don’t want you to notice how awkward this is.)

This whole thing, nonsensical DATS alarm and all, is a hilariously transparent attempt by the writers to inject more artificial tension into this situation, and, I dunno, to maybe showcase a different Monster of the Week since we’ve been dealing with Drimogemon for two episodes now. It’s very silly. Drimogemon should have just stayed as a Drimogemon and everything would have been fine.

At least this does mean, thanks to Digmon’s apparent higher defences and mobility, we get GeoGreymon not winning the fight in a single attack. (Though my brain looks at Digmon and sees something that’s clearly a Bug/Steel-type and is very bothered by how an obviously Fire-type attack like Mega Flame doesn’t harm it at all. Shush, I was raised on Pokémon; I can’t help but see things this way.) It puts up a decent fight for a while, dodging or withstanding their attacks and hitting back, which at least is a refreshing change from the one-attack victories we’ve seen before – because there’s a narrative point to be made in this fight that wouldn’t work if they won straight away.

…I still think this could have been made to work just fine with Drimogemon turning out to be tougher and have more mobility above ground than they’d been expecting, though. It shouldn’t have needed to evolve sideways for this fight to be a challenge.

So anyway, after a little bit of them not getting anywhere in defeating it, Tohma reminds Masaru of the part last episode where GeoGreymon and Gaogamon’s attacks collided from opposing directions and cancelled each other out.

Tohma:  “But what if the opposite happened?”

Masaru:  “What’d happen?”

Tohma:  “Let’s find out!”

Look at Tohma getting into the Masaru spirit of things! He has an idea, but unlike his usual carefully-calculated strategies, he doesn’t know exactly how this one’s going to play out. And yet he’s going for it anyway!

Tohma:  “Isn’t that your style?”

Masaru:  “Now you’re getting it!”

Not only that, but Tohma knows this is him pulling something Masaru would pull, and he’s okay with it! And of course Masaru enthusiastically approves.

Believer kicks in here, by the way, not earlier when they were evolving. We’re still hearing it every episode for now, but even then, the music directors know better than to just blindly throw it in the moment an evolution animation happens, regardless of context. They’re deliberately saving it for the actually triumphant moments, like all “evolution” songs should be.

Masaru:  “The timing has to be perfect.”

Meanwhile, Masaru is taking a leaf out of Tohma’s book and caring about little strategic details like timing! Look at them both go.

On their command, GeoGreymon and Gaogamon fire their Mega Flame and Spiral Blow attacks together in the same direction at the same time, which turns them into a huge flaming tornado that engulfs Digmon and overwhelms it.

Tohma:  “The opposing attacks didn’t clash… they fused! Their combined powers enhanced each other and became amplified to more than before!”

Which, though I don’t know if Tohma himself quite realises this or not, is also a very fitting metaphor for his and Masaru’s methods, just like what happened last episode. If they oppose each other, all they do is get in each other’s way and achieve nothing at all, but if they work together, they can each complement the other’s skills to become something greater than either of them could be on his own!

Masaru:  “Who cares about that? All that matters now is… he dies!”

Meanwhile, of course Masaru doesn’t care about figuring out the sciencey logistics of how this is working (and he certainly cares even less about possibly making some kind of metaphor). He just knows that it’s awesome and it means they win.

(The “he dies!” is, uh, rather dark, especially considering it’s only being turned into an egg, but I’m pretty sure that’s a subs thing and that Masaru doesn’t actually directly reference death here. The subbers were probably just going for something that sounds a bit snappier than “he’s defeated”, which I imagine is closer to what Masaru actually literally said.)

As Masaru starts celebrating their win like the adorable excited dork he is, GeoGreymon and Gaogamon give a small smile to each other, and it’s cute.

Tohma, meanwhile, isn’t quite the type to join in with Masaru’s loud celebrations, but he has a smile to himself and is obviously happy about this outcome as well, in his much more subdued way.

We cut to sun…set? Huh, now that I think about it, I guess this part of the Digital World runs on a different timezone to Japan in the human world, because it was daytime the whole time over here while it was night in Japan. Maybe this world even has an entirely different day length.

Masaru, Tohma and their devolved partners are heading back to the recall point – with Masaru still supporting Tohma’s walking, because he is still good and Tohma probably still needs it.

Tohma:  “When you jumped down towards Drimogemon… Did you plan right from the start to use him so we could get to the surface?”

Tohma only asks this now even though they’ve been implicitly walking back from the fight for a while. It seems he tried to tell himself that it probably was all planned, but the thought kept nagging at him – was it really, though? This is Masaru, after all – that he eventually just had to ask and confirm it.

Masaru:  “Nah, that was just spirit! But the result was great, wasn’t it?!”

Aaaand of course it wasn’t all planned from the start. Of course not. But, hey, there was still deliberate intent and strategy involved as it was happening. It seems Masaru can be pretty good at the whole seat-of-your-pants, make-it-up-as-you-go type of strategising when he needs to be!

Tohma:  (I hate to admit it, but I can’t analyse his ability with my intellect.)

And that’s okay, Tohma! This is Tohma acknowledging that Masaru’s approach is nothing like his, but that it still works just as well and is just as valid a way of going about things. He’s opening his mind to more than just his very rigid way of thinking!

Tohma stops in their walking and… offers Masaru a fist-bump. I really like how he’s the one to offer here, after Masaru was the first to offer support to Tohma earlier and Tohma was still being kind of hesitant about fully accepting Masaru as being similar to him. He’s making up for that now and closing the rest of the gap himself, just like he began to do in the battle when he suggested a Masaru-like risky strategy!

Masaru accepts it without question, of course. He probably already felt like they’d grown enough of an unspoken bond from their experiences that it didn’t need to be said, otherwise I imagine he’d have already made this gesture himself sooner. But I like that it didn’t occur to him, so that we could see Tohma be the one to choose to initiate this.

They are friends now and it is good!

Agumon:  “Aniki’s got himself another follower!”

That’s, uh, not quite what this is, Agumon. But it’s adorable that Agumon jumps to seeing things that way, because to him his aniki is just The Coolest and he can’t imagine anyone else ever being his equal. So if Aniki’s gained the respect of someone new, that must mean he’s also become an aniki to them, right?

Gaomon:  “Master is no follower!”

Meanwhile, maybe Gaomon feels pretty similarly about his master, too. He is, after all, a very good dog.

Safely back at DATS, Masaru and Tohma and their partners have the grace to look appropriately sheepish about this whole thing as Satsuma yells at them. Yoshino is also there and also looks like she’s getting yelled at along with them, which seems unfair to me – she already bore her share of the blame earlier, and it was far less her fault than theirs!

Kudamon:  “You were able to make it back this time, but did you think about what would’ve happen if you’d failed? You still know nothing of the Digital World!”

It’s pretty interesting that Kudamon says this to them, considering that he knows far more about the Digital World than anyone else in this room and yet hasn’t ever thought to inform his agents about it in case something like this ever happened.

Satsuma drops his anger and turns his back to them before finally complimenting them on managing to return. Despite his sternness, he does care about his subordinates! I really do think he was only so angry because he was worried about them never making it back. Going there in the first place was monumentally reckless on both their parts, but Masaru and Tohma did at least handle things quite impressively while they were there, and that deserves to be acknowledged.

(Speaking of worried, I imagine Masaru is very much not planning on telling his mother about how he nearly went and got himself stranded in another world, which is definitely for the best. Poor Sayuri would be terrified just thinking about how close that came to happening.)

Overall thoughts

When I first watched Savers, I think there was a part of me that expected the Masaru-Tohma rivalry to drag on unnecessarily long, like for ten episodes or more, and probably become kind of stale and tiresome before it finally got resolved. But no! Savers doesn’t waste any time with this mini-arc. We’ve seen Masaru’s insecurities brought out by Tohma; we’ve seen Tohma’s insecurities brought out by Masaru; now it’s time to shove them into a situation where they can learn to get along, so that the story can move on with them actually working together.

And, really, it was never going to take Masaru and Tohma that long to reach this point. They always had so much in common along with their differences, and they’re both fundamentally decent people despite their tendency to be very stubbornly insistent about their own way of doing things. All it took was putting them in a situation where they can come to see the other as a person and not have their own issues brought out by the other’s very presence, and each one was always going to see that there’s plenty about the other that he can respect.

So I like this episode a lot, because I think it pulls this off really well. There’s a lot more to it than just the basic premise of “put them in danger so they’re forced to work together” – there’s all sorts of little moments I’ve talked about here that show each of them is slowly beginning to see the other as human and come to understand and respect his different way of thinking. The writers really thought about this, and about these characters. Savers’ character writing is great.

And yeah, the Drimogemon evolving into Digmon is pretty silly, but that’s only a small thing. The conclusion of the metaphor started last episode with GeoGreymon and Gaogamon’s attacks is a narratively appropriate way to end the fight, at least.

---

[Dub comparison]

[aprxl-showers]

sneak peek from my klance frozen fic on ao3

(( after they meet in Coran’s store and Keith begrudgingly agrees to take Lance to the North Mountain ))

***

“Okay... Lance... hang on, Kosmo likes to go fast.” ‘Keith the ice guy’ adjusted his grip on the reins as Kosmo transported them up the snowy slope. Lance had immediately shut down the whole ‘your highness’ thing, insisting it was weird because it was. It was dark, Keith’s lantern the only source of light apart from the moon.

“That’s cool, I like fast,” Lance laughed, putting his feet up on the front of the sledge. Keith swatted them down immediately muttering something about it taking ages to polish. Lance pouted as he inspected it. Once Keith seemed satisfied that Lance hadn’t ruined his valuable polishing work he turned back to face him.

“So,” he began, “Care to explain what made your sister set all this off?”

“I honestly don’t know how it happened,” Lance began, “It was my fault really.”

“Oh?” Keith seemed to take joy in that fact. Lance scowled at him,

“See, I met this guy and we got engaged and it was honestly so romantic but then she ruined the mood because she wouldn’t bless the marriage. She was lamenting on and on about how it was weird since we’d only met that day-”

“Wait, hold up,” Keith looked from him to the track ahead, “You’re telling me that you got engaged to a man you just met that day?”

“Yeah, anyway, so I got really annoyed because this guy’s really cute and we seem to really go together? So I said that I didn’t get her deal so of course she also got mad. Then, she tried to storm out of the party, a party thrown for her by the way, so I grabbed her glove-”

“Hang on,” Keith interrupted him, again, “You got engaged to someone you just met that day?”

“Yes, pay attention,” Lance rolled his eyes. Was that really the thing he was taking away from this? “Anyway, she wore these gloves all the time so I thought maybe she just had mysophobia or something, y’know, fear of dirt?”

“I know what mysophobia is,” Keith muttered. “But seriously, back to the engagement thing, how do you know you want to spend the rest of your life with this guy? Didn’t anyone ever warn you about strangers?”

Lance paused, looking Keith up and down.

“Uh-huh,” he replied, edging away from Keith who rolled his eyes, “But Lotor is not a stranger!”

“Oh yeah?” Keith’s tone was challenging, “What’s his last name?”

“Of-Northern-Daibazaal,” Lance replied confidently. Honestly, who knew any royalties' real last names nowadays? Keith didn’t look convinced,

“That’s not a last name. How about… his favourite food?”

“Dark Chocolate.”

“Really? I’m guessing half the stuff at that party was chocolatey and he took a liking to it? That doesn’t prove anything.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Lance spat out because that was exactly what happened however that didn’t give Keith the right to make assumptions.

“Sure. What’s his best friend’s name?”

“Probably a wonderfully respectable name, unlike Keith,” he jeered. Keith fixed with an exasperated look.

“Eye colour?”

“Silver. Super dreamy,” Lance chuckled, fake swooning, leaning into Keith’s personal space. Keith continued, undeterred, his eyes on the road.

“How about shoe size?”

“Shoe size doesn’t- Holy crow, Keith! That is inappropriate!” Lance hit him on the forearm.

“You haven’t had a meal with him, right?” Lance nodded. Keith faced him again, “What if you hate the way he eats? What if he’s super picky or is really rude to the servers? What if he has absolutely awful table manners?”

“Keith, buddy, my man, he is a prince,” Lance scoffed, as if that was enough of an explanation.

“Princes can be rude. I happen to know a very annoying one. Maybe you know him?”

“Excuse me. Anyway, I’m sure he eats very gracefully. And besides, does it matter? It’s true love.”

“It doesn’t sound like true love. You’ve known this man for less than twenty four hours and as soon as you get engaged your sister freaks out and freezes everything? Sorry to burst your lovely little love bubble but I think the universe might be trying to tell you something.” Keith shrugged. Lance’s defensiveness flared.

“I don’t see why you think you can butt into my affairs. What are you, some sort of love expert?”

“Well, no,” Keith seemed to deflate a little. Lance took this as a victory. Keith carried on, “But I have friends who are. They’re constantly talking about how ‘love is tough’ and marriage is ‘a whole lot of hard work but is worth it in the end’.”

Lance laughed, loud and unabashed. A confused expression crossed over Keith’s face.

“You? Friends? And what’s more, friends who are ‘love experts’? I don’t believe you.” Lance taunted, not realising they’d stopped until he heard the silence. “Wait, what-”

“Stop talking.”

“No, no, no, listen, I’d like to meet these love ex-urmph,” Lance’s sentence was cut off as he felt a gloved hand slap over his mouth.

“Shut up,” Keith whispered, tone more serious. Lance pushed his hand away from his face, about to complain when Keith shushed him, taking his lantern from the hanger and peering into the woods around them. Kosmo’s ears were up and they twitched every so often.

“What is it?” He whispered. Keith ignored him.

Lance observed as Keith leant further out the sledge. Suddenly, he retracted back with speed, tugging at Kosmo’s reins. Kosmo began to run, even faster than he had been going before.

“Shit! Shit, shit, shit,” Keith repeated over and over like a mantra. Lance tutted at him.

“Language, Keith, you are in the presence of royalty!”

“Lance, please,” Keith was fully serious now. Lance picked up on his genuine expression and quietened his voice. It was then he heard noises from behind the sledge. They were being chased!

“What are they?” He scanned the area behind them. He couldn’t see anything.

“Yuppers.” Keith’s voice was clipped, “C’mon Kosmo.”

And sure enough, Lance could hear the noises more clearly now.

“Yup, yup, yup, yup.”

“Yuppers? What are-”

Out from the shadows, a large beast with glowing yellow eyes and short horns leapt up at the side of the truck. Lance shrieked embarrassingly high (he would deny this later) and kicked it in the chest.

“That was a yupper,” Keith confirmed.

“Oh.”

Lance looked over to Keith who was hunched over the back of the seat, sorting through his cargo. Lance started to do the same. Keith glared at him,

“What do you think you’re doing?” He pushed Lance back. Lance sprung up,

“Helping! What does it look like? There are weird glowy-eyed creatures trying to eat us.”

“No!” Keith shoved him back once again, “Don’t fall off. Stay.”

“I’m not a dog, man, and why not?” Keith had managed to make a torch using the fire from the lantern and a piece of old material. He held it out to keep the creatures down.

“I just don’t trust your judgement.” Keith’s words were distracted and hurtful. Lance’s cheeks burned.

“Excuse me?”

“Who gets engaged to someone they just met?”

“I can’t believe you keep bringing that up, it is none of your business!” He grabbed the nearest thing from the pile of objects in the back and raised it in the air. Ice tongs. Of course. “And plus, it’s true love! Duck!”

With that he swung the tongs forward. Keith ducked, luckily, and Lance smacked an attacking yupper square in the face. Keith straightened up.

“What the hell, Lance? You could have knocked me out!” He yelled, taking the tongs from Lance with his free hand, inspecting them for damage. Lance shrugged. However, with Keith’s attention elsewhere and the fire away from the side of the sledge, a yupper took the opportunity and got a hold of Keith’s coat, pulling him from the sledge. Lance reached out to grab the torch in mid air before it fell, watching in horror as Keith was dragged down. He heaved a huge sigh of relief when he saw Keith grab onto a rope trailing behind the sledge. Kosmo kept running, despite it all, but it was clear he was distressed at Keith’s endangerment.

Thinking on his feet, something he was rather good at, Lance reached down to a pile of blankets, setting them alight. He then tossed the extinguished torch into the trees at their sides.

“Help is on the way. Look out!” With relatively accurate aim, the burning bunch of material soared right to where the yuppers were beginning to pull at Keith’s clothing, the man in question crying out in pain at a particularly hard bite. He saw the flaming mass just in time, having the instincts to lower his head and the yuppers immediately broke away from him. Lance let out a whoop of victory, reaching down to help Keith up the rope. His hat had fallen onto his seat during the fall, its absence revealing dark hair and…was that a mullet?

“I can’t believe you almost set me on fire.” Keith let out a puff of air when he was safely back in his seat.

“But I didn’t! You’re not even going to thank me?”

“You just got lucky, I bet that throw was just a fluke.”

“Screw you, mullet!” Lance growled, angry at Keith for not acknowledging the fact he basically saved his life! Bad judgement indeed. His aim was impeccable thank you very much.

“What? My name is Keith and I do not have a mullet or whatever!” Keith fumed, hand instinctively rising to his hair, reaching for his hat. Lance felt a little better for getting a rise out of him.

“That’s debatable but alright,” he smirked, turning back to the road, smile fading immediately. Now, Lance rarely swore but he agreed that this situation called for a very well deserved- “Fuck.”

“What was all that about language earlier?” Keith joked, chuckling until he followed Lance’s line of sight. “Oh. Fuck indeed.”

Ahead of them was a steep drop and a large canyon. They were going too fast to slow and stop without falling off the edge. Lance leant forward.

“Ready to jump Kosmo?”

Keith was next to him.

“You don’t get to tell him what to do,” he shouted.

Before Lance could register what was happening, Keith had thrust a bag into his hand and was wrapping an arm around his waist. Without a word of warning, Keith threw Lance - chucked him as if he were cargo - onto Kosmo’s back with surprising strength.

“Woah!” Lance squawked in shock as he flailed in the air for a moment before landing roughly on Kosmo’s back. The wolf kept running as if it were nothing. Keith called out behind him,

“Jump Kosmo!”

And they were flying.

READ THE ENTIRE THING - ‘The First Time In Forever’ - ON MY AO3!! LINK IN PINNED POST AT THE TOP OF MY BLOG

[mirrorballls]

* jessica vu, female + she/her  | you know keely shaw, right? they’re twenty-one, and they’ve lived in irving for, like, their whole life? well, their spotify wrapped says they listened to dreaming by blondie like, a million times this year, which makes sense ‘cause they’ve got that whole curly, messy up-do held together with a scattering of rainbow colored clips, constantly and unrelentingly looking for any possible kind of silver lining, and too many flavors of ice cream in one bowl, marbling together into one sickeningly sweet treat thing going on. i just checked and their birthday is march 3, so they’re a pisces, which is unsurprising, all things considered.

hi again.

still liz (she/they, 23, est), still cheesed to meet you, still very badly wanting to plot (hmu at auld liz syne#2288). i still have to finish the intro for Some Guy but after that.... it’s on. anyways here’s the one the only miss keely fantabulous

basics.

full name:  keely rianne shaw. birthday:  march 3, 1999. big three:  pisces sun, cancer moon, aquarius rising. sexuality:  pansexual. occupation:  student (education + psychology). neighborhood: grew up in the dorado road area, now lives in the port apartments.

bio.

keely was adopted when she was two and doesn’t really remember life before it, but her life after it was nothing short of idyllic. she grew up with her parents, high school sweethearts who loved her more than anything, doting grandparents she spent her afternoons with, a younger brother that looked up to her, and a wide web of family friends that her parents insisted were as good as uncles and aunts. keely will testify that it took a village to raise her and she knows and loves her village very much.

and that unbounding support from those around her was formative. she was encouraged to be the bubbly, eccentric little kid she was and became a staunch individualist from a young age. she was a bright eyed, dreamy kid who’s family made sure she believed that she had the power to do whatever she put her mind to and even the littlest things she was capable of doing could make the world a better place. for better or for worse, she always spoke her mind and chased what made her happy, even if it wasn’t always what made her popular.

bullying tw.  she was a vocal kid marching to the beat of her own drum, and when she was in middle school, that became a problem for some of the other girls in her grade. she was passionate about whatever caught her heart, and often times, that made her an outlier. she was someone who unyieldingly look for the best in the world and do the things that make her happy, regardless of if other’s find them weird. middle school was hard to get through, as it typically is, but having never been met with the kind of harsh criticism her more vocal bullies sent her way, she was hit extra hard by girls being catty and feeling like she would never really fit in with any of her peers. but she remained unwilling to change to please them, and eventually, they got bored and moved on. she remained a weird girl, but in a way where she could get through the day without a target on her back, and that was enough.

the biggest long-term effect though was that it made her deeply insecure and clingy. she’s tried to spin it, ever the optimist, by trying to make others feel loved and supported in all their pursuits, and surrounding herself only with people who validate her. but god knows she can get a little out of hand trying to create a picture perfect, idealized world for herself, because she can’t stand slipping back into that insecure place again.

but she bounced back. with the help of her over-involved parents + company and some hours in therapy, she crawled out, stronger and most optimistic than ever.  she’s built a reputation on being something of a big-hearted, empty-headed, endlessly romantic and always. she road that through high school and well into college, where she now studies education and psychology with hopes of becoming a middle school teacher or school psychologist. she took way too long to settle into this major, because she did want to find something more romantic, but she’s positive now it’s what’s right for her. not only is it in her blood (her dad was a middle school teacher in irving her whole life, that many of your muses may know as a similarly kind and quirky guy) but it’s the perfect career, she thinks, to spread her platform of radical kindness and make sure no kid ever feels as isolated and wrong as she did.

she’s currently pregnant, not too far along in the pregnancy though or into the relationship with the father. she wants so badly for things to work out, she’s forced herself to believe they will. she’s so excited to have a little family of her own and only hopes her partner feels the same, but the verdict is still out on all of that.

plotting ideas.

keely needs to be everyone in town’s fucking friend or she will d word so. that makes thinking of other plots hard she’s clouding my judgement.

obvs there are people who dont like her. maybe she annoys them. she literally doesn’t know when to give up when someone makes it abundantly clear that they don’t like her.

on that same note she’s really clingy and needy so maybe there’s people she’s been friends with/dated in the past and that was a problem for them so they backed down. but now keely is like eye emojis why would you do that.

ex that she’s way too close to because again. she won’t accept anything else.

unless you were mean to shayna. if you were mean to shayna she will muster every ounce of evil in her body to try and put a hex on you no one fucks with her clique....

these are bad i promise i’m not just stupid.

[pixiegrl]

and one more because I'm an emo Lashton lady "please don't leave me alone" 💜💜

Well, I couldn’t get bar fight out of my head, and you also asked for “I would love for you to write a pre-barfight piece with either the original fight or the time where Luke was alone without Ashton.” So...here it is. The angst of the breakup.

on ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29267046

It all comes crashing down on a Tuesday. Tuesday is date night. It’s been a long standing tradition for Luke and Ashton since they started dating about a year ago. It’s not that they don’t spend time together the other days of the week, since they’re always over at each other’s houses for band reasons or boyfriend reasons, but they always make it a point to go out on Tuesday. They get dressed up and they go out to dinner and they have a good time. 

Well, Luke has a good time. He likes going out with Ashton, holding his hand, stealing kisses in between bites of food. Luke’s favorite thing is telling their waiter that “this is my boyfriend, we’re on a date,” and smiling when the waiter says something sweet back. Ashton however, seems to tense up as soon as they’re in public. He’s fine when they’re at home, stealing kisses from Luke, and he’s fine in the car, holding Luke’s hand over the center console. He’s even fine in the restaurants they go to, makes a point of going to the smaller ones where they’re less likely to be recognized. Luke gets it. He doesn’t want random fans interrupting their dates, doesn’t want to be harassed during private times. However, as soon as Luke says we’re on a date, Ashton clams up. His smile looks fake and he looks stiff. He thaws out eventually, holding Luke’s hand under the table and sharing bites of his food, but there’s always that initial hesitation. Luke was hoping after 12 months, Ashton would get better, but clearly, he hasn’t.

Tonight is worse. They’re going to a slightly more popular restaurant, something that they keep getting rave reviews about. Michael had gushed about the place when he took Crystal on a date last month and Calum had said something similar last week after a date with his girlfriend. Even though Luke and Ashton typically avoid those kinds of places, for fear of being recognized, the reviews had swayed them. Besides, Luke has reasoned, it’s a Tuesday night. What could happen on a Tuesday night?

When they get to the restaurant, it’s crowded. Not in the way it would be if it was a weekend, but enough that Ashton drops Luke’s hand and puts space between them. Luke’s heart drops at that. They’ve been holding hands since Ashton picked Luke up from his house, greeted him at the door with a kiss. Now, Ashton barely looks in Luke’s direction as he talks to the hostess, like he’s worried that if they so much as acknowledge each other, a neon sign proclaiming that they’re together will go off.

The hostess leads them back to the table and they sit across from each other. Luke thinks it’s silly when people on dates sit next to each other and he’s said so many times. Luke reaches across the table, reaching out a hand for Ashton. Ashton takes it, interlocking their fingers and squeezing. The waiter comes up, asks what they want to order, eyebrows raised when she seems to recognize them. Ashton drops Luke’s hand, straightening up, and placing his order. Luke’s heart drops. It’s fucking date night and it’s been weird since they walked in and he was hoping sitting down would make it better, but it didn’t and now he’s not even going to get anything from his boyfriend because Ashton’s worried about being in public.

It’s been an ongoing argument since the first month they dated. Anything Luke tries to broach the topic, hesitantly brings up the idea about coming out, telling the world outside of their family and the band that they’re dating, Ashton shuts him down. It’s an old, played out explanation that Ashton’s worried about their image, about what people will think, about the insults and the names and what the industry will think of them. Luke’s tired of it. He’s tired of feeling like a secret, like Ashton’s ashamed of him, of them, of his own sexuality. Usually Luke can brush it off during a date but for some reason, he can’t shake it tonight, watching how stiff Ashton is during their meal, half listening to Luke’s jokes. It’s only once they’re out of the restaurant that Ashton eases up, taking Luke’s hand again, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek. Luke relaxes, eases into the touch, fond.

Then, they run into some fans on the street. It takes them both by surprise, the girls coming up to them, gushing about the band, asking for a photo. Luke doesn’t mind, always happy to interact with people who love their music. Ashton agrees, smile stiff and body language hesitant, like he’s worried they saw the kiss, them holding hands, like they’re going to run and tell the world that Luke Hemmings and Ashton Irwin were making out in the middle of the street. It leaves a sour taste in Luke’s mouth, puts a cloud on the rest of their date, that follows them all the way to the car and back to Luke’s house. The drive is filled with stiff silence, awkward tension. They’re walking on a tightrope, neither of them wanting to be the first to break it, snap the rope and bring it all up.

They’ve barely made it through the door to Luke’s place, shut it behind them before Luke finally opens his mouth and breaks the silence.

“Ashton, do you not want to keep dating?”

“What gave you that idea?” Ashton says, pausing in his movement to hang up his coat, looking over at Luke. Luke twists his ring around his finger, shrugging as Ashton finishes, turning fully to face Luke.

“It’s just...it’s been a year. We’ve been together for a year and you still don’t want to come out. Which, I respect and I understand that it’s your decision, but I’m tired. I’m tired of feeling like a dirty secret, like a skeleton in your closet.”

“That’s not what I think of this relationship.”

“It doesn’t feel like that. Tonight was date night and you spent the whole time putting as much space between the two of us as you could.”

“I like my privacy Luke, you know that.”

“And I like my privacy too, but there’s a fine line between privacy and literally hiding the fact that you’re bisexual and that we’re dating,” Luke says. He’s trying to keep his voice level, hoping that Ashton will understand what it is that Luke’s saying, what it is that he’s asking of Ashton.

“What are you trying to say?”

“I’m trying to say that it’s been a year. It’s been a year and we’re happy and I want to be able to tell the world that. We don’t have to post every little thing about our personal lives, but fuck Ash, I want to be able to hold your hand in public and not have you flinch away.”

“I love you Luke, but I don’t know that I want to come out,” Ashton says, hesitant and slow. Luke’s heart stops.

“What?”

“I don’t want to come out. I don’t want the whole world to suddenly start judging us based on that. I don’t want people to look at our music and the only thing they can talk about is how we’re dating. I don’t want that to influence how often our music is played on the radio, or who listens to our music. I want to keep the two things separate.”

“What the fuck?” Luke asks, shock and anger bleeding into this tone.

“We’ve talked about this before.”

“No we haven’t. You’ve mentioned wanting to be private, but you’ve never hinted at the fact you just don’t want to come out. That you’d rather keep us a secret forever than let our relationship taint the music.”

“You’re twisting my words,” Ashton says, voice rising, hands clenched at his sides.

“If you don’t want to be out, why don’t we just break up then?”

“Luke, that’s not what I want, you know that’s not what I want.”

“How can I know? You won’t even talk to me. You just keep saying how you don’t want to come out, don’t want anyone to know about us. Like you’re ashamed of us. I want to plan a future with you and you won’t even hold my hand in public,” Luke’s shaking now, can barely hold on. If Ashton won’t talk to him, he just wants him to go.

“Luke, please. It’s not about being ashamed of you at all. I just...I don’t want to have our sexuality or our relationship cloud people’s judgement of our music. I don’t want it to be the only thing people think about when they see us.” 

“Ashton, I want to talk about a future with you without you constantly second guessing us.” 

Ashton pauses, glancing away from Luke. Luke feels cold, ice in his veins. Ashton’s silence is deafening, Luke’s heart sinking.

“Ashton, you do think about a future for us?” 

“I just...we’re so young Luke. I don’t want to give you promises and words that might not be true in the future. I don’t want to hang everything on where we are at 25.” 

“But you’ll hang everything on starting a band at 16. You’ll hang everything on that. You’ll tell me to my face that you don’t think we can last when we’ve known each other for 10 years.” 

“We’ve only been dating for a year. I don’t want to lock you into something so soon.” 

“You mean, you don’t wanna fuck up the band by coming out and dumping me later,” Luke says, tone clipped.

“That’s not what I’m saying and you know it,” Ashton snaps back, brows furrowed and anger bleeding into his tone. 

“No I don’t Ashton! You’re suddenly telling me all this shit about how you don’t think we’re going to last or have a future together. What’s the fucking point of us dating if you know you’re going to break up with me in the future?” Luke snaps. He can’t believe he’s thought about a future with Ashton only to hear that Ashton doesn’t think they’re long-term enough.  

“I’m not having this fucking conversation with you right now. You’re being unreasonable.” 

“I don’t think I’m being unreasonable by asking you to be open about your sexuality and us. I don’t think I’m being unreasonable by asking if you want a future. I don’t think I’m being unreasonable by asking my boyfriend to stop acting like he’s ashamed of me.” 

“Well, you’re being pretty fucking rude and I’m not talking with you right now.”

“Then go! If you don’t give a shit, if you don’t want to try, then just fucking go!” Luke screams. He’s blinded by rage, flare in his chest at the idea that Ashton doesn’t even want to listen to him, doesn’t even want to try. 

Luke’s words hang in the air, the implication in them clear. Luke’s just about declared a break-up without saying the words. There’s a beat, where Luke and Ashton stare at each other, surprise mirrored on their faces. 

“Is that what you really want?” Ashton asks, hard edge in his voice, face stony.

No. “Yes. If you won’t listen to me, to anything I have to say, then I don’t see how this relationship can keep going,” Luke says. He’s shaking, begging for Ashton to prove him wrong, for Ashton to stop for a moment and just talk to him. The words hang in the air, the finality of the statement. 

There’s a moment where Luke thinks maybe Ashton will be the reasonable one, that he’ll call Luke out on his attitude and how he’s acting and say they’ll talk about it later, that he’ll come over and kiss Luke because you can’t go to bed angry, and everything will be fine. Instead, Ashton nods, face unreadable. Luke’s heart drops. 

“Right then. Guess I’ll just...head home,” Ashton says. Ashton turns around, heading towards the door. Luke stays rooted to his spot, hands shaking. He’s scared that if he moves, his legs will give out and he’ll fall to the floor. The idea that a year of dating, a lifetime of friendship, is ending right here as Ashton grabs his jacket off the hook, gets his hand on the doorknob.

“Please don’t leave me alone,” Luke whispers, sorrow opening up in his chest, empty broken feeling. Hoping that maybe if Ashton will hear him this one last time, he’ll stay. Ashton stills, hand on the doorknob and Luke thinks for a moment that maybe, maybe Ashton will turn around, apologize, that it was all a misunderstanding and they can be together, that Ashton won’t leave Luke. Instead Ashton turns the knob. 

“I’ll be back to get my things,” he mumbles, words distant and broken as he walks out the door, shuts it behind him. Luke collapses, shaking with tears and the overwhelming idea of what’s just happened. He wraps his arms around himself, sobbing, begging for Ashton to come back through the door and say he’s sorry and pull Luke into a hug, for Luke to get up the courage to call him, apologize, beg him to come back. 

Neither of those happen. Luke’s left alone, on the floor of his living room, crying salty wet tears until his body is wrung dry and he can’t do much more than sniffle, broken and alone, trapped in misery of his own making. 

***

Luke wakes up, jolted awake by yet another nightmare. He reaches out, chest tight, breath shallow, trying to grasp for Ashton. 

The bed is empty next to him. Luke groans, rolling over, mouth wrapped around the syllables of Ashton’s name before his head catches up with the rest of him, heart stopping when he realizes that Ashton isn’t there. Ashton’s not there and he won’t be ever again because they’ve broken up. It’s been four days and they’re not together anymore. 

Luke collapses onto his back, staring up at the ceiling. The room is basking in the light glow from the moonlight. Luke doesn’t dare touch his phone or look at his clock, knows that if he does it will relieve that it’s far too early for him to be awake. 

It keeps happening. Luke can’t sleep anymore. The bed is too empty, vast and barren without Ashton. Luke can’t fall asleep without Ashton pressed behind him it seems. Luke hates that he’s grown so accustomed to Ashton’s presence that it’s interrupted his ability to do something as basic as sleeping. He just can’t fucking sleep. He keeps closing his eyes or laying on his back, exhausted, but unable to actually shut his body off. Everything is too big, too loud. Things he never noticed before, like the sound of the air kicking on or how bright the nightlight in the bathroom is, keep him up. The shittiest thing is that even once he falls asleep, he’s jolted awake by some form of a nightmare. It slips through his fingers as soon as he wakes up, unable to place the panic in his veins and the pounding of his heart. All it’s doing is cutting down on his already short sleep cycle. He barely sleeps through the night and what little he can nap during the day is usually interrupted by the simple fact that he’s awakened by something else. 

So Luke’s barely sleeping and he’s barely doing anything else. He hasn’t left his house in four days, probably hasn’t showered in at least two, and he can’t place when he last ate. Luke hates how apparent it’s become that he needs Ashton to do basic human things. Without Ashton to remind him of time passing or routines or meal times, Luke finds that he’s losing track of what he needs to do. Dinner is less appealing when there’s no one to make it with, to share it with. Showers don’t matter when you have no one to see. Sleep apparently is pointless without another body there with him. Luke hasn’t had nightmares like this since he was 16. Now they’ve overwhelmed even his most basic body function. It’s the first time in a long time Luke’s been truly alone. 

Luke rolls over again onto his side, curling up into a ball and squeezing his eyes shut. Whether he’s trying to will himself to sleep or stop the tears from coming, Luke’s not sure. Luke can’t believe how much he’s cried in the last few days. He certainly isn’t drinking enough water for how many tears his body seems to be making. Everytime Luke thinks he’s finally done crying, a new wave of tears overtakes him. Luke’s miserable, missing Ashton, and made even more miserable by the fact that it’s his own fault. If he hadn’t started the stupid fight, told Ashton to leave, he wouldn’t be having this problem right now. If Luke could just work up the courage to call Ashton, to apologize for what he said, beg Ashton to come back, he wouldn’t be having this problem. But Luke is stupid and stubborn and he doesn’t want to admit to anyone that he’s having this problem. Not Michael or Calum or his mum or god forbid, have Ashton find out. Luke doesn’t want anyone to know that he’s a stupid 24 year old who can’t survive without his fucking boyfriend. Ex-boyfriend his brain supplies, sending Luke into a fresh spiral of tears, burying his face into the pillow as he sobs.

Luke hears noise at his bedroom door, looking up to see Petunia wandering, snuffling her way around the room. Luke holds a hand out to her, cooing until she makes me way over. Luke knows she misses Ashton, confused by the missing body that’s usually in their space, complaining about getting in his way, while also feeding her snacks. Sometimes, Luke thinks Petunia likes Ashton more than him. 

Petunia comes to the edge of the bed, putting her paws up on the bed and sticking her nose in Luke’s face, sniffing. Luke sits up, picking her up and getting her onto the bed with him. She pats at the bed, trying to smooth down the covers into a position that she likes before settling in. Luke curls himself around her, burning his face into her fur, trying to muffle his own tears.

“Please don’t leave me alone,” he whispers into Petunia’s fur. She snuffles, unaware of what’s going on around her, how much her owner’s life has been altered. Luke knows it’s silly, asking his dog to not leave him, but he’s hoping maybe if he says it enough, that maybe he’ll stop missing him. That maybe the hole in his heart will repair itself and he can stop being so broken. Maybe everything will be alright (Or maybe, the voice in his head says, that maybe if he says it enough, Ashton will come back. Maybe Ashton will come back and he won’t be so alone). Either way, Luke thinks as his body gives up and he drifts to sleep, it’s late night, empty promises to himself that everything will be different in the morning.

[therewillbnoexplanation]

Day 17: Blanket Fort

Welcome to Fluffytown

Summary: Simon and Baz are spending the holidays at Pitch Manor. Simon just wanted to take a nap, but Mordelia has other plans...

Word Count: 1545

This was heavily inspired by the blanket fort episode of the tv show Community. If you want to see their epic blanket fort in all its glory, watch this clip.

Read on AO3

I take a deep breath, appreciating the fresh forest air. I love going on runs when I’m at home for the holidays. The scenery is gorgeous, and it reminds me of playing football, which I dearly miss. 

As I approach the manor, I can’t help but smile when I remember who’s inside. My family is, sure. It’s been great to see them, even though Mordelia can be a pain in my arse, and Fiona makes suggestive faces whenever Simon and I walk into a room. 

Simon. It’s him I’m more excited about. He said he was taking a nap when I left for my run. I think he ate too much at lunch and needed to sleep it off. Typical. Disgustingly, my heart swells just thinking about him. This is our first real Christmas here together, and it’s been wonderful. Simon fits in with my family surprisingly well, and I love watching him play with my siblings.

Taking a huge swig of my water bottle, I let myself in the house. It’s strangely quiet, so the kids might be down for naps. “The kids” includes my boyfriend, apparently. 

I walk up the steps to my room, panting. My hair is slick with sweat and has somehow fallen in my face in spite of my headband. I recognize that I probably reek, but I want to kiss Simon before I shower.

Smiling, I open the door to my room, prepared to creep over to the bed and softly wake him up. Instead, I’m greeted by an angry Mordelia.

“Baz! You are not allowed in here!” She guards a pile of blankets with folded arms.

“What have you done with Simon?” I grumble.

I hold back a laugh as Simon pops his head out beneath the blankets. I need to maintain my anger for Mordelia’s sake. If she knew I found this even slightly funny, she’d hijack Simon more often.

“How did she wake you up for this?” I ask.

“Never had the chance to sleep,” Simon shrugs.

“I think we’ve answered enough of your questions,” Mordelia says, turning to Simon. She points down, and he immediately sinks back into the fort.

“I’m showering, and then you’re cleaning this up,” I say, turning away from the door.

“Did you hear something, Simon?” I hear Mordelia ask.

“Nope!” Comes a voice muffled by blankets.

I roll my eyes, but a smile creeps its way onto my lips. I love that the two of them get on so well. I take a long shower, trying to warm my bones from the chilly December air, and then head downstairs for some tea. Might as well indulge them a little longer.

In actuality, I end up indulging them for a few hours. I take my book to the study and get so warm and content by the fire that I have no intention of moving. If Simon needed me, he would come find me. He knows I end up here, reading by the fire, at least once a day. 

We’re three days into our stay at the manor, and Simon and I have gotten into a nice routine. It always involves me reading for a bit while he goes and plays with my siblings or watches a movie. It’s nice, almost domestic.

Finally, I snap out of my reading trance as Mordelia marches into the study.

“Basilton. You’ve been summoned to your quarters. The builders have finished the renovations,” she says, then promptly walks away.

How much have they done? I don’t have much time to think, because I realize I’m meant to be following her. As Mordelia opens the door to my room, I can’t help but gasp. They’ve basically turned my entire room into a blanket fort. 

The blankets are strewn together so that it almost looks like one big quilt. Upon closer inspection, I realize the fort is a quilted mess of sheets, blankets, and shower curtains. I’m sure Daphne will be happy about that. From here I can see that they’ve strung Christmas lights through the whole thing, which sort of gives it a nice atmosphere. The pillows they’ve added to cushion the floor and serve as seating make it feel cosy. Crowley, I can’t believe I’m saying all this about a blanket fort.

Simon emerges from the entrance, and I have no idea how he fit in there with his wings. “Welcome to Fluffytown!” He exclaims, looking proud of himself.

“This is amazing,” I say, a hint of sarcasm in my voice.

“Shut up, Baz. I know you love it,” Mordelia rolls her eyes. She’s gotten quite good at doing that since we last visited. 

“Can I give you the tour?” Simon waves his arm to the entrance ceremoniously.

I follow behind him reluctantly, both of us crawling on our hands and knees. I have to be careful not to trip over Simon’s tail, but it seems like they’ve made the sides extra wide and tall for him. It’s sweet, really. The fort is mostly one long tunnel, but occasionally another tunnel intersects it. Simon keeps saying ridiculous things like down that hall is the teddy bear room, and over there is the Turkish district.

“Over here,” Simon points to a small alcove to our left, “is the Belgian chocolate tasting room.”

“I’m not engaging in this make believe, Simon,” I mumble.

He turns around to face me, incredulous. “It’s not make believe, Baz. It’s literally the Belgian chocolate room.” Apparently my face still shows my disbelief, because he drags me in.

Somehow, it really is a Belgian chocolate room. They’ve taken our stash from the kitchen and put it on the makeshift table.

“Care to try our dark chocolate with nuts?” Simon wriggles his eyebrows at me.

I settle on the cushions next to him, resting my head on his shoulder. “Fine,” I say. “You win. I believe in the magic of the blanket fort.”

“I knew you would!” Simon smiles. “You’re a romantic at heart, Basilton.”

I roll my eyes at him, but press a kiss to his cheek. “What chocolate were you trying to woo me with earlier?”

“Oh nevermind that,” Simon says. “We’re saving the rest for Mordelia.”

“The rest?” I raise my eyebrows.

Simon’s cheeks flush. 

“He ate a lot,” a voice in the doorway answers.

We both jump. Mordelia snuck up on us like the little spy she is. 

Her eyes look from me to Simon, then back to me. “You two are gross. I’m going to the teddy bear room.”

“She’s a great kid,” Simon says, his voice low.

“Only for you. She’s fascinated by you.” I’m surprised at how soft my voice has gotten.

Simon nods. “I’m quite special.”

“Mm.” I kiss the triangle of moles on his neck.

Simon smiles, bending down to kiss me. I hate to admit it, but this whole thing is perfect. The blankets make this place really comfortable, and I’m sitting next to my favorite heater. I smile into the kiss, which just makes Simon lean in deeper. 

“I love this pillow fort thing, but where are we going to sleep tonight?” I ask when we pull apart.

“Don’t worry, there’s a tunnel that leads to the bed,” Simon says absentmindedly, his hands running through my hair. “Also, it’s a blanket fort, dear.”

“Is Mordelia sleeping in here tonight?”

Simon laughs, moving to see me better. “Oh, yeah. She built herself a little room and is planning on sleeping on cushions.”

“Little devil,” I mutter. 

“I heard that!” Mordelia shouts from the teddy bear room.

“We didn’t have the budget for sound-proofing the place,” Simon says sheepishly.

I scoff. “She just proved my point.”

“I think what I have to show you will make you forget about Mordelia,” he smiles. 

I follow him further into the maze of blankets. We pass the entrance to the bed (hallelujah!) and a library, Simon narrating all the way.

“Here we are!” Simon announces, “The music wing!”

My record player is set carefully atop a table, tiny fairy lights wrapped around it. This room has more cushions than any of the others so far. It feels like laying on a cloud. I settle in as Simon puts on music.

A wave of calm washes over me, and I close my eyes to soak it in.

It's that time of year When the world falls in love Every song you hear seems to say Merry Christmas

I love “The Christmas Waltz,” which is a secret I keep locked deep in my heart. I realize that I may have mentioned it to Simon once, against my better judgement.

“Who’s singing this?” I ask as Simon lays down next to me. He flops down on his stomach, propping himself up with his arms.

“She & Him,” he explains. “It’s one of Mordelia’s records.”

“Of course,” I laugh. 

Apparently already tired of holding himself up, Simon moves over to rest his head on my chest, wrapping his arms around me. Even his tail curls around my ankle. I sigh, content.

We stay like that for what feels like forever, just listening. I’m surprised at how much I enjoy this version. I’m warm and happy, and my heart is full of love. 

“I’m happy you came this year,” I breathe.

“Me too.”

[antique-teacups]

Look beyond the lens

     There is a learning curve that comes with moving to LA. Between the culture shock and constant sun, you were still working on adjusting.  There were places that offered you an oasis among the hustle and bustle. The tiny coffee shop on your block, Sip and Stir, could transport you back home with one cup. It also served as your pseudo home office. Working at Unnamed Press was a dream come true. A passion for English coming to full flourish in your year there. There was hope for many more years, teetering on the cusp of a promotion.

     There were other things in LA that offered solace and happiness. You first met Matt, bumping into one another at Sip and Stir.  You had sat and chatted about all thing literary, Matt quite the bookworm himself. It was refreshing and light so when he asked to have your number there was no hesitation. The two of you talked for a while before he introduced to the entire group, who he referred to as the “vlog squad”. They embraced you with open arms, each gregarious and extroverted. The dynamic of the group surprised you. All supportive of each’s personal endeavors, willing to help out at every turn if they could, yet they were an united front.

     When you first started hanging out with everyone, there was a barrage of questions about your job. All of these people had backgrounds in some domestic job, instead turning to social media to make a living. Your face slowly became more of staple in their vlogs and pictures, especially those of Matt’s. At first, it wasn’t that concerning. You flew under the radar for the most part at work.

     Matt and you were growing closer, until it did turn into something. All your spare time was spent with him and the squad. They filled that hole that remained from leaving home. Most of the time, you sat out of certain bits. Although you knew most of it was harmless, you couldn’t risk losing your job. Zane was the first one to ask you if you considered every joining them on the wave that is living on social media.

     “Honestly, no. I mean, you all have the personality for it, but I don’t think I could survive those shark infested waters. It’s hard enough to get my writing rejected, but that’s survivable. But to have my entire life out there and letting people make their own judgement on that, I don’t think I could survive that. Plus, you’ve seen just how active I am on social media, do you think I could do it?”

     “I guess I see it. You would have to post more than once every couple of months. I think you’re one of the few remaining twenty year old’s who doesn’t share everything on Instagram.” Zane joked, turning to Matt with raised brows. “Someone else also needs to get social media more popping.”

     Matt retorts, “I survive off you, David, and y/n. I do not need to share everything.” Crossing his arms, he turns to share a knowing look with me.

      “Zane, I am happy that you find purpose in sharing from screen to screen, but that’s why I write. I guess I worry sometimes that places won’t work with me or even think about publishing me if they see me plastered on the internet. And that would crush me.” You explain.

      “Share some of your wisdom with me before you let me get a stupid tattoo and drunk on David’s vlog next time.” Zane kids.

      As the weeks turned to months, things at work got crazier. More responsibilities and less time off, often times working right through the weekend. You mulled Zane’s question around in your mind. Never once did you fully consider it but you had to admit you thought about it. The promotion was right around the corner. You hoped they saw just how hard you were working for, just how dedicated you were. The director told you take the weekend off, deliberation was Monday, so that must mean something good, right?

      You were floating on clouds, even surrounded by plastered squad members at David’s that night. Matt and you were off to the side, chatting and sharing a drink. You weren’t intent on getting drunk, not even buzzed. The two of you content to remain in just one another’s company.

              It all happened in quick succession, over in a blink of an eye. Neither you or Matt could quite figure out what happened. Punches were thrown, cuss words spat, and light fixture broken. Heath stomps to the front door, swaying and slurring. Zane sat on the couch, split eyebrow and screaming. The situation needed to be diffused quickly.

              Rushing over, you grab Heath by the arm, hoping to stop him from leaving.

              “God, y/n would you stop acting like the mother? Get off me.” Heath spits out, lightly shoving you away.

              “Heath, you’re way to drunk to drive, let alone leave by yourself. Come sit with Matt and I.” Attempting to coax him back inside.

              “Why would I want to sit with you? You act like your better than us all because “you write for living”.” He says with air quotes. That one stung.

              “Matt, a little help here.” Turning to catch Matt’s eye, you practically beg. Then you see David with his camera trained on you two. “Can you not do that right now?” That was the first and the last time you every asked him to not record something.

              “Oh come on y/n, you know he’s saying that just because he’s drunk.” David replied, rolling his eyes, but not turning the camera away.

              “Matt, please. David, I won’t ask again.” I cautioned. Heath pushes fully away from me, making a break for the door. Anger boils in you for the whole situation. David not respecting your one request, Heath’s drunken confession, the unfairness of dealing with this situation.

              “Heath, I swear to God, you had better get in here and sit down. I am not fucking around anymore. This is no longer funny. You have ruined tonight. You two Zane. Now, Dave, put down the camera and help me.” You sneer.

              Turning around, the entire squad is silent, watching you with surprise. Heath slinks past you, plopping himself down on the couch. Scotty walks over to Zane and Heath, handling the situation on his own. Both anger and hurt were billowing inside you. If Heath made that admission drunk, did he believe that sober? Suddenly you felt like an outcast.

              Turning, you look at David standing there, camera still rolling. “None of this can go in the vlog.” You put simply.

              “I don’t think you get to make that call.” He rebuked.

              Pinching the bridge of your nose, you take a deep breath. “David, this is my first request. I let all that other stuff slip through the cracks. This though,” you wave your hands around,” is a reflection of my personal life. My bosses can see this. This might not seem like a big deal to you. A drunken blow up, but it paints me as irresponsible and unprofessional. So, no this won’t go in the vlog.” You threatened, assuming the argument had been dropped.

              You knew it wasn’t when you got called into the director’s office at work Monday. The director sat with disdain in her eyes and an unsettling cold demeanor.

              “Here at Unnamed Press, we strive for professionalism and integrity. We push all of our employees to explore their creative and continue to strive for their personal goals and endeavors. However, you have chosen some outside of our preferred set.” She declared.

              Your heart was in your throat, blood draining from your face, disbelief settling in your bones. He wouldn’t, he couldn’t. But he did. She turned her laptop to face you and plastered on the screen was David’s vlog, paused but with me in full frame.

              “I can explain, really. You have to understand that it was a misunderstanding. I’ll have him take this down right away. I am devoted to this job, please.” You pleaded, knowing right where she was going with this.

              “I am sorry, but it has already caused quite the influx of people bashing the business. I let a lot of the other stuff go because it was mostly harmless, but this, is focused on you. I really wish things were different.” She relented.

              “I’ll pull back, I’ll remove my face from everything associated with them. Please, I need this job. I love this job.”

              “We can’t have people who are associated with something like this representing us. The backlash is simply to great. You of all people should know this kind of attention isn’t going to die down anytime soon.”

              The tears were pricking your eyes. You knew there was no arguing it. “I am sorry.” You whispered before slipping out. Walking right past your desk and out the door, anger was overtaking the hurt. Striding to your car, climbing in, and closing the door. You screamed, hands bashing against the steering wheel. One request, that wasn’t too much to ask. You contemplated calling Matt, but he was already at David’s. You would set this straight.

              A million things crossed your mind on the way to David’s. Some malicious, some trying to see his side, some an acceptance of what happened. Mostly, you felt betrayed. You lost your dream job, a dent in your career. A blow that would last forever. You couldn’t talk your way out of it. You were a joke to the director now, all because you were in some video on the internet. You know that they say the thing so the internet will haunt you forever.

              Pulling in his drive, there were a couple of cars here. Matt’s, Heath’s, and Zane’s. I guess they all played a bit of roll.

              You walked to the front door, not even bothering to knock. Walking past the entry way, they all sat on the couches. Matt was the first one to notice you. “Y/n, what are you doing here? Short day at work?” he asked, smiling. David looked up at the mention of your name, guilt already on his face.

              “Why don’t we ask David? Wait, that does nothing. He’ll ignore it anyway.” You spit.

              “Y/n, let me explain.” He pleaded.

              “No David, let me explain. I lost my job because of you. Did you ever think of that consequence? I asked you not to include it for that exact reason. But you did it anyway.” You hissed.

              “It was a 30 second clip, I cut out the worst parts.” David insisted.

              “Are you even listening to yourself? Dave, I asked, I begged you. I lost my job. Did you even hear that? It doesn’t matter that you cut out the worst parts! They still deemed me unprofessional. The director even brought up all the other shit you’ve posted. Not all of us live on social media David. At least not like you do.” You huffed, chest heaving.

              “You can get another job. It’s not like you can’t go write anywhere. Plus, you could have removed yourself from the situation.” David cheeked, rolling his eyes.

              “Could you for once look beyond that fucking camera lens. You cost me my job. You put a stain on my career. I tried to explain to her it was a joke, but I was the joke. She had mind made up before I even walked in there. Do you not understand that? You aren’t even listening to me.” Heath and Zane both stood, clearly ready to try and make amends. “You two had better sit back down. You are just at fault. I think I am so high and mighty, right? You ruined that for me. You took that away in some drunken night that I didn’t even want to be a part of. Dave, I wish I never met you. It was one request. And now I’ve lost everything. Why are you acting like this isn’t a big deal? Does this mean nothing to you?”

              “Honestly, no. I have to make a living just like you. I am sorry that you lost your job, sure. But that wasn’t my fault. Excuse yourself. You knew what you were getting into.”

              The tears rain down your cheeks at his admission. “OK. This is me removing myself from the situation.” You mumbled before walking out his house.

[spideesenses]

For I Have Sinned [1] → Peter Parker

pairing: fratboy!peter x reader

warnings: there’s no smut (yet) but the fic is 18+. uhhh, peter has a thing for innocence.

prompt: peter came home for the holidays and much to his dismay, you were the new girl next door.

Winter break was quite a long time from when the school year started, at least that’s how it felt for Aunt May. She missed the brunette boy so much, the house was so quiet without him. He called now and then, keeping her company when she missed him. She didn’t expect to not see him as often, despite living on campus. Peter was at an Ivy League college, she knew he’d be a busy bee. Columbia University was twenty minutes away from Midtown, she just wanted to see him more.

“Oh, Peter, I’m so glad to see you!” May squeezed him in her arms. A chuckle came from the brunette as he hugged her back.

“Hey Aunt May, I’ve missed you too.”

“Come on, settle in!” she exclaimed, tugging him through the door.

His room was exactly how he left it, except maybe it felt a little more fresh and by the looks of it, May had lit a candle a few times, maybe to fill a void? The Star Wars posters that lined his walls made him smile. He hadn’t grown out of it, but it made him laugh to see how much he’d matured. May knocked on his door before poking her head in.

“The neighbors are joining us for dinner tonight. I’m making Pad Thai.” she smiled.

“Ms. Dabney’s coming over?” Peter questioned. He and May hated her. She was a mean old lady who always judged stuck her nose in their business. “And since when did you cook?”

“No, no, Ms. Dabney moved out around the time college started. We’ve new neighbors, there’s a girl probably your age. She’s cute too.” May wagged her eyebrows at the boy, who rolled his eyes. “I started taking cooking classes with my free time.”

“That’s good,” he commented. “How do you like the cooking classes?” He listened as May chatted to him about her daily routine now that he was gone and he talked about his, all while she helped him hang up his clothes. If figured if he was gonna be home for a week and a half, he might as well use the closet.

“So about the girl next door...” May rose her eyebrows.

“May, please do not try to set me up with girls,” Peter frowned. In Aunt May’s mind, Peter hasn’t dated since Liz Allen, who left Peter heartbroken. Which was almost the truth. What she didn’t know was that, Peter was flirting with almost every girl on campus. Being in a fraternity changed you, it gave him power and attention. He was a chick magnet and he kind of liked it, not being tied down to anyone.

“She’s a sweet girl, I think you’d get along with her!” May defended her statement. “Okay fine. But have an open mind about the family next door. Leslie, that’s the mother, was actually the one who got me into yoga. She lives with her daughter, Y/N who is an absolute sweetie.”

May invited Peter out to help her prepare supper. Peter was not as experienced as May was, but she stuck him with simple tasks, like peeling apart the noodles and whisking the eggs. It wasn’t long before a knock on the door symbolized the arrival of tonight’s company. May handed Peter the spatula before running off to the door. From the kitchen, voices of two ladies could be heard: May and Leslie. Peter kept his back to the entrance of the kitchen, focusing on not burning the noodles.

“This is my nephew Peter, the one I’ve been telling you about.” May introduced. Peter turned and saw a middle-aged woman, looking as young as ever.

“Peter, it’s so nice to finally meet you! Your auntie has told me so much.“ Leslie patted the young boy on the back. Before Peter could return the greeting, Leslie looked behind her and frowned. “Y/N! Come and meet Peter!”

And in you came. You wore a blush pink skirt and a white blouse. He couldn’t help but notice your ruffled lace socks. He eyed the hair clips that were in your hair, which framed your face beautifully. You were cute. Hell, you were gorgeous.

“Sorry, I was leaving my shoes at the door,” your voice came out, a light blush painting your cheeks. Your voice was as soft as you looked. Peter noticed the cross necklace that decorated your chest and when you brought your hand out to Peter, he took note of the purity ring. “I’m Y/N.”

It was like Peter had forgotten how to breathe. You were this angel sent from above. You looked it and judging by the jewelry, you probably acted like one too. He cleared his throat, apologizing quickly as he shook your hand and repeated his name.

Peter was stunned. The girls on campus were beautiful, sure they had a different, less-modest style of clothing — not that there was anything wrong with showing skin. But you were this cute little catholic girl, who probably would frown upon showing skin, who also was just as stunning. Maybe he shouldn’t be so judgemental and assuming things of you, but those were his initial thoughts.

“Peter, go show Y/N around.” May jutted her chin out as she took the spatula and turned off the stove. Quickly, the older ladies delved into a conversation, their laughs filling the kitchen. You led the way from the kitchen and Peter watched as your hips swayed lightly, your skirt rising in just the slightest. Peter followed, his bottom lip caught between his teeth. You stopped once you’d reached the outskirts of the kitchen, peeking over your shoulder.

“Okay, this is our living room. We’ve got lots of movies, but we don’t watch nearly as much as that shelf makes it look.” he joked lightly. Your giggle filled the air and fuck- even your laugh sounded like it’d be from the heavens.

“Don’t worry, May actually tells me you two are really big on reading. I didn’t even notice the shelf until you pointed it out anyway.” your voice was velvety. With every word, you buttered him up, batting your eyelashes. He was convinced you were doing it on purpose, but the aura you emitted said otherwise. You weren’t interested in getting inside Peter’s pants, or anyone’s for that matter. You were just naturally sweet as honeydew.

“That’s good to know,” he chuckled, running his fingers through his hair. “How close are you and Aunt May?”

“Um, we have dinner with her every now and then. She says she enjoys our company, and I couldn’t agree more. She’s very lovely.” you gushed about the lady. “Her and my mom take cooking classes together and do yoga. It’s... endearing, to see my mom have a best friend.”

“I’m happy May has a best friend too. I was worried she would get lonely without me around.” Peter commented as he reached the closed door to his bedroom. “This is my room.” he extended his arm out to open the door.

“W-wait, you want me to go inside?” you blinked a few times, looking down.

“Yeah?” Peter tilted his head to the side. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“Nothing, sorry, I’ve just... never been in a boy’s room before.” you blushed. You were truly embarrassed. You were out of high school and had never been in the presence of a boy, not like this at least.

“You haven’t? Why not? We don’t have to, if that makes you uncomfortable.” Peter quickly said, wanting you to feel as welcome as possible. You thought it’d make him upset; a boy who looks like that would have laughed in your face. But maybe you shouldn’t judge, it wasn’t normally in your nature.

“Uh, I grew up going to an all-girls-school, I’ve never really interacted with boys much.” you were so cute, it almost hurt Peter. You were cute, but in a desirable sort of way. All he could think about was how you were untouched and pure; he truly needed to get his mind out of the gutter, he could not let his frat boy mind take over.

“That kind of sucks. Cause now you’re just thrown out to the world, not knowing what it’s like to interact with everyone, you know?” Peter tried to make you feel better.

“Yeah, you’re right, I agree.“ you nodded your head. “My mom said boys in adolescences get rowdy. But that’s not the only reason why she put me in an all girls school,” you shrugged, not wanting to go on. You wanted to encourage him to show his room, but before he could open the door, supper was ready.

Peter watched again as you skirt swayed from left to right, the natural curve of your body causing the material to lift up again. He cursed to himself, unsure as to why he was thinking such impure things about a pure girl.

You stopped again in your tracks, noticing the absence of his presence. “You coming?” you questioned, looking over your shoulder. He wasn’t yet, but he knew he sure was going to tonight. He snickered to himself, covering it up with a cough before following in suit.

“So Peter, you live on campus?” Leslie asked, before sipping her sparkling water.

“Yeah, I do. I initially thought it’d be easier, with how many classes I’m taking.” the brunette answered.

“And now?”

“Well, I was thinking about it for a while, and I don’t think it’s necessary for me to live on campus. Um, sometimes I just wanna stay at home and make sure I can protect Aunt May.” he looked down at his noodles, shoving some in his mouth. Aunt May looked up from her plate, this was the first she had heard about this. Her heart swelled at the thought of Peter coming back home to her. “I’ll still be taking my classes and courses though, I just have to wait until the end of semester before I can apply for a refund on housing.” he explained. From the corner of his eye, he could see you smiling.

“That’s very sweet Peter. I can tell you love your aunt very much,” your mother beamed. “Well, I’m excited to see you more. You seem like such a bright kid.”

It was undeniable, Peter Parker was irresistible and you had an indescribable, insane attraction to him, but you knew that was all it would ever be.

[cordonia-continued]

Forever Be My Always.

Book: The Royal Romance, Book 2 chapter 1 - After the Coronation

Pairings: Liam x MC (Riley Taylor)

Warnings: slight swearing, angst

A/N: This is the first Fanfic I’ve ever written, any similarities to anything else out there is unintentional and is purely coincidental. I fell in love with the TRR series late and have only just got into it. I felt that some of the chapters just needed a bit more - so here it is. Hope you like it.

All characters belong to Pixelberry.

Apologies in advance for any typos, grammar or spelling errors.

Chapter 1

‘... I choose Lady Madeleine’ as the words from Liams mouth rang out around the ballroom it was all Riley could do not to be sick. His declaration had knocked the wind out of her, she couldn’t speak, she felt dizzy, so when the palace guards seized her and marched her out of the room she was powerless to resist, her legs were weak and shaking beneath her. ‘DRAKE!’ She eventually screamed, he knew what had happened that night, surely he can help her. Straining against the firm grip of the guards she turned her head to see Drake grappling with two more, trying to get to her. She could see his face was red and his lips were moving, he was shouting at them she could tell but all she could hear was the pounding of her heart reverberating around her head. She protested to the guards who led her to a security office in the palace ‘speak to Drake, please! Why are you not listening to him! I was set up! Liam can’t think that I would do that to him! He told me he was choosing me! Seriously go get Liam, you can’t do this!’

She’s now sitting alone in the departure lounge at Cordonia International Airport. It’s been an hour since her removal from the palace. Her hastily packed bags lay around her feet. Thankfully, after she was unceremoniously extracted from the ballroom by an apologetic Bastien the guards escorting her allowed her to grab her belongings from her room. To save her from further humiliation they also let her change from her lavish ballgown into a pair of skinny jeans and her favourite oversized Yankees hoodie, before bustling her into a waiting unmarked police car and speeding her through the night to the airport. The last hour has been such an adrenaline rush that she’s had no time to stop and give much thought to anything.

Finally Riley gives in and sobs out loud, previously she’s always been so self-conscious when she’s cried but now she just gives in to the enormity of her grief. She sobs into her hands feeling the warm salty tears drip between her fingers. Her sobs echo around the expansive airport lounge, people stare as they pass by, their excited chatter about holidays and travel plans muting as they awkwardly glance in her direction. She knows she must look a state but she’s given up caring what anyone thinks right now, it no longer matters to her. In her head she replays the events of this fateful night, thinking about it over and over again, how could he do that, how could he choose her, he said he loved me, we made love for the first time tonight for fucks sake! The beautiful words Liam spoke to her in the maze are running on a loop, every time she replays it, it becomes more painful than the last, tears stream down her previously perfectly made up face, mascara etching out dark rivers of sorrow on her cheeks. In the last hour she has been unable to see or speak to any of her friends, no one would tell her what’s going on. Bertrand and Maxwell were dragged away in the opposite direction. The guards seized her documents from which travel arrangements were hastily made.

Riley clutches her phone in her hand, willing it to ring or at least buzz with a text. She’s called Drake’s and Hana’s numbers at least ten times already and neither are answering, she knows there’s no point even trying Liams, it’ll no doubt be intercepted. She desperately needs to find out what the hell has happened. Why are they not calling me, surely Drake has told them it was all a big misunderstanding? Do they actually believe I would cheat with Tariq? The humiliation stings her heart and she can feel her cheeks flushing crimson. Thinking about the photos of her in her underwear that the press have printed makes her cringe inside, maybe it’s for the best, she thinks, I don’t know if I can face speaking to anyone right now anyway.

She’s lost in thought as the airport tannoy loudly announces flight PB205 to New York City that she’s scheduled to be on, it startles her back into consciousness. She takes a deep shuddering breath, picks up her hold-all from the floor and stands on still weak and shaking legs ready to go to the gate.

Suddenly a commotion down the corridor catches her attention, the guards that were standing there, watching her from a distance to ensure that she leaves, are grappling with someone.

‘Wait! Riley!’

‘Maxwell!’ She exclaims, her hopes rise at the familiar sound of her friends voice.

Suddenly a deep upperclass accent commands ‘you will keep your hands to yourself, I am the Duke of Ramsford!’

Ahh and Bertrand she thinks, she’s slightly nervous as to what he might say about the scandal and the shame she’s bought on House Beaumont. Oh God how are they going to survive with all this bad publicity adding to their worries. Guilt is now eating away at her alongside the humiliation, the last thing she wanted to do was sully their reputation and cause them more troubles.

She catches a glimpse of them as they bundle through the guards, the image of them both dressed in their formal dress suits jarring against the harsh bright fluorescent strip lights of the airport lounge. They both come running towards her.

‘You came to help me?’ Riley asks Maxwell with hope in her voice.

‘Well, kind of’ Maxwell responds pulling her into a bear hug, his grip tight, she sags into his embrace. A fresh wave of tears takes over her, helpless to keep them at bay she hiccups her words out.

‘What...the...Hell...happened...Maxwell? What have I done...to deserve this? Why...didn’t Liam...stop it? Why does he...believe it? Who would...do this to...me?’

She cries into Maxwells shoulder. He soothes her, patting her gently on her back, ‘Wow, wow Little Blossom, I don’t have any answers -yet, but we believe in you’. He lets her cry on him for a few moments, holding her tightly against him. Eventually he releases his grip and she turns to Bertrand, her voice small and raw with emotion.

’Both of you?’

Bertrand looks at her with one of his customary stern gazes, but his eyes are softer than she’s ever seen them, betraying his outwardly cool exterior. In a clipped tone he asks ‘just tell me the truth, are you having a romantic relationship with Tariq?’

Outrage swarms through Riley’s veins

‘Of course it’s not true!’ She cries out nearly yelling.

‘Then you were set up, of course I believe you I just had to ask’ Bertrand states matter of factly.

‘We’re here to take you back’ Maxwell chirps, with far more cheer than the situation calls for. Ahh Maxwell Riley thinks, ever the optimist, he seems to be handling this way better than she ever imagined he would, his soft yielding personality often borders on childlike, she expected to have to comfort him - not the other way round. It’s not often Riley crumbles under the weight of her emotions, but then again she’s never felt this way about anyone before. Liam has a hold of her heart unlike any before him ever has, he’s the perfect mix of sweet, gentle, passionate and kind- well he was before he slept with her then dumped her for Madeline, she thinks. She knows she can’t go back there, she can’t show her face in the royal court again, not after tonight.

‘Oh Maxwell, I’m not sure I want to go back’ she sighs sadly. ‘I’m sick of the games, of the pomp and circumstance, of the bitching and backstabbing...I’ve made my decision, well it’s been made for me really hasn’t it- I’m going back to New York, and I’m pretty sure those guards aren’t taking no for an answer’ she nods towards the two men dressed in dark green Royal Cordonian Guard uniforms still lurking nearby, watching with a disapproving eye over the three of them.

‘Noooo’ Maxwell squeals ‘please stay, I don’t want you to go! We can solve this together, team Beaumont!’

At the use of the slogan they crafted together throughout the last few weeks she offers him a weak watery smile.

‘We need you - I mean house Beaumont needs you Lady Riley. Don’t worry about the guards, I can sort it with the Crown’ Bertrand offers solemnly, the emotion in his eyes not quite pulling through to his voice.

‘And it’s not much fun if it ends here is it?’ Maxwell is shifting from foot to foot, his nervous energy making it impossible for him to stay still. Riley sadly shakes her head at her loveable puppy like friend, her hands nervously toying with the strap of her carry-on bag.

‘I’m sorry Max, I have to go... it’s about time I went back to my friends and my old life where I can be me again; where I don’t have to compete to prove myself to the man I love...Liam chose Madeleine, it’s over’

Fresh tears threaten at her eyes again and Riley sniffs them back.

The final boarding call for her flight echoes across the polished marble floor of the departure lounge.

‘I can’t compete with her, we both know that, she was born for this life, I wasn’t. I’m tired Maxwell I can’t deal with this shit anymore’

Bertrand clears his throat loudly

‘Heh, sorry Bertrand, I know it’s not lady like to swear, but that’s just it, I’m not a lady - I’m a New Yorker, I don’t belong here, it’s not who I am. I’m sorry I can’t stay and help you guys anymore, I really am. You’ve been so kind to me, you’ve done so much for me, but I have to go, it’s the best thing I can do for Liam right now, he doesn’t need me staying here causing more press speculation for him, testing his people’s faith in their King’s judgement.’

Giving Maxwell one last emotional hug goodbye, Riley makes her way to the desk handing over her passport and boarding card to the stewardess. Each step she takes towards the plane becomes heavier than the last until she eventually walks across the jetway to the plane doors. Taking a deep shuddering breath she enters the cabin not looking back. She’s unsure if her trembling legs will even carry her to her seat. But they do and she sits down heavily into it, grateful to have been allocated one by the window. Tightening the buckle on her seat belt she pulls the hood of her oversized sweatshirt up over her head obscuring her face from the other passengers, and there she stays huddled up against the window, silently sobbing for the entire flight.

[your-worst-knightmare]

Red: Pt 8

Dog sleeps on my bed that night. She has a perfectly good bed of her own, but company’s company. Who am I, of all people, to complain? If only she’d get off my foot. I swear, there’s got to be absolutely no circulation in there. 

I make a mental list of the things I need to do for tomorrow. My guns are already cleaned and my knives are polished and sharpened. My helmet’s in my bag, in decent shape. Ammo may be a problem, but we’ll have to be resourceful with it later. There’s only one thing unaccounted for: Louis.

I don’t want him following me. Whether it’s a trap or not, I doubt his interference will help the matter. The Outlaws, especially Artemis, have tough shells to crack. 

Artemis. I could be seeing her tomorrow. And I honestly don’t care if she plans on hitting me or hugging me, Probably both. In what order, I have yet to find out. Come on Jason, I chide myself. Don’t get your hopes up, you idiot. You have to be ready for the worst.  If there’s one thing you’ve learned: High hopes fall hard.

Instead of even attempting sleep, I finish making my mental to-do list. I couldn’t sleep if I tried; I’m wired enough to stay awake for a week. The fact that I pulled a Tim yesterday and had at least five shots of caffeine does not help. But it does buy me time to think. So yay.

I leave well before the sun even rises. Louis won’t be getting up for at least another few hours. I take Dog with me to avoid suspicion. I’ll drop her off at one of my safehouses before going to the park. I should have some more supplies there if I need it. 

Dog’s not a particularly loud animal, but every little creak in the hardwood gives me a mini-heart attack. I scribble down a note for Louis before grabbing his keys. ‘Dog was getting restless. Took her outside. Be back soon. -Hoodie.’

Technically, I’m not even supposed to be leaving the house without Louis,  but the board can’t really enforce that anyway. This is Gotham, and I’m the Red Hood. The board’s got other people to worry about if they’re thinking straight. 

The weight of my weapons is both comforting and familiar, giving me some peace as I follow Dog out the door. I slip on my helmet when I get into the car, partly for appearance's sake and partly to save myself from a smashed-in skull. Despite how often it gets shattered itself, It does do its job better than the new mask. And since I’m a little rusty at the whole vigilante-thing, I don’t want to risk anything. 

My closest safe house is one I don’t use much and isn’t stocked up with as many supplies as I’d like. Going to another one would take too long and I’d rather not go to the park in broad daylight. People still know who I am and some like me less than others. 

I decide to leave the car at the safehouse too, opting to switch it out for my motorcycle. It makes me a little more recognizable, but I don’t want to wreck Louis’s car. He has enough to worry about as it is. I give Dog some food before I leave and pray that she doesn’t get herself into any trouble. 

The park’s quiet. Too quiet. Even with senses enhanced by the Lazarus, I don’t hear anyone. Trouble does find me easily, though, so I sit down on a bench. The sky’s dark, even for this time in the morning. There’s probably a storm on the way. I’m not surprised when big fat raindrops start to pelt down onto the concrete. 

I’m pretty sure that whoever invited me here was waiting for the right Mood™ because as soon as I’m thoroughly soaked, does a boom tube-looking-thing open in the sky, too far up for it to be calculated properly. Two figures, tied up and masked tumble gracelessly to the ground, pursued by what looks like some C-lister’s goons. I ready my gun and wait in the branches of a tree.

The figures hit the ground with a painful thud. I wince. If they were normal humans they would be dead by now. The goons surround them, and one yanks off the masks. My heart almost stops. It’s them. Bizarro looks almost unconscious, and Artemis, even bloody and bruised, looks ready to explode with rage. How did they get caught? Artemis and Bizarro don’t go down easily. This C-lister may be better than I’d thought.

Focus, Jason. It’s an in and out job. Simple. 

“Listen up, Red Hood! We know you’re here. You are outgunned and outmanned. So here’s what’s going to happen. You will come with us and we let your friends go. The longer you wait, the more they suffer.” To prove a point, they rip off Artemis’ gag and shove her to the ground with a baton, arcing with electricity. She screams in pain.

I set my jaw. I’m going to kill them.

“ Don’t- Agh!” Artemis is cut off my another jab. 

“Shut it, princess.”

I don’t have any backup. Being in custody for several months tends to get you out of the loop, especially to people like me. I don’t have many options. Sniping them off one by one would be ideal, but I’m not exactly in the best position. There’s also too many of them, and shooting at them would only get me or my friends killed. The only thing left is direct confrontation and a trick. Here’s hoping it works.

I jump out of my hiding spot in the tree. “Okay, I’m here. Now, any of you idiots mind telling me who you work for?”

Half a dozen red dots appear on my chest. I’ve got their attention all right. “Weapons on the ground, now!”

I lower my gun to the ground slowly, careful not to make any sudden moves. “Who’s your boss?” I walk towards them, mentally preparing myself for the strain of the All-Blades. 

“We are not obligated to tell you our employer’s name, Red Hood.”

“Fine. Let my friends go first and you can take me.”

“Boots and jacket off.”

I oblige, discarding at least three more concealed weapons. “Let them go.” They surround me and cut Artemis and Bizarro’s bonds before shoving them to the side. Artemis meets my eyes, and I can almost hear her unspoken question. What are you doing?

Not yet, Red. I hold my hands out to let the goons handcuff me. They seem to take forever to approach me. I bounce on the balls of my feet impatiently. At the last second, I call up the All-Blades and all hell breaks loose. 

My first strike slices clean through two lackeys, taking all of them by surprise. I honestly don’t know what they were expecting. Why would I, of all people, come obediently to the enemy? It was merely a lack of judgement on their part. Gunfire breaks out, and I quickly disperse the All-Blades to snatch up a pistol. I fire a few shots, not checking whether I’d hit anyone or not before ducking behind a pedestal holding a statue of the big bad bat. 

It only takes a few moments for Artemis to follow me, dragging Bizarro with her. I give her a nod. “Hey Red. Nice hair.”

She looks ready to stab me with the knife in her hand, but she shakes her head and gives me a quick hug instead. “And to think I missed your idiocy,” she mutters to herself. “Got a plan?”

“You take left. I ‘ll take right. We plow through ‘em.” She flips her knife, thinking. “Where’s Mistress?”

“They have her.”

“Here?”

She nods. 

Beside her, Bizarro groans, almost falling over. I help Artemis prop him up before he veers out of the cover of the pedestal. “Biz okay?”

“Some sort of tranquillizer. He’ll be out for a while.”

The gunfire nears, reminding us both of the ticking clock. “Together?”

“Together.”

We charge, Artemis effectively breaking the law of ‘don’t bring a  knife to a gun-fight.’ I cover her as she makes her way towards Mistress. But the All-Blades have taken their toll, and even the Lazarus can only hold off exhaustion for so long. 

Oddly, I hear the bullet before I feel it. Its near-silent race through the air before it finds a home in my shoulder. I stumble, nearly dropping my own weapon. I fire back, managing to fell two more lackeys. Each shot invites yellow spots to dance in my vision, but I can’t just leave Artemis. 

I push forward, trying to ignore my shoulder. Unfortunately, one of the goons seem to notice and slam into my bad side. I manage to recover just in time for them to smash my helmet in, exposing half my face. I raise my gun to fire, but the clip is empty. Great. 

I’m about to bring the gun down on their head when I feel something cold in my gut. I stagger backwards, holding my side. My hands come away slick with blood. 

The goon looks smug beneath their mask. That is, until their body jerks forward and they land on their face. Artemis stands behind them, a gun in her hand. 

“Nice shot Red.” The ground sways beneath my feet and I steady myself against her.

“Never pegged you as the swooning damsel in distress, Todd.”

“Yeah,” I breathe before collapsing onto her. “Me neither.” 

[fiddlesolo]

“au where carlisle and esme met again in the hospital after she gave birth to her son” A story based on this post?

Esme sighed softly, laying back against the pillows at her back as the young nurse carried her baby from her hospital room.

“When can I have him back?” She asked, turning her head on the pillow to look at the nurse at her side. She was an older woman, maybe her mother’s age- she had grey hair and a kind smile.

Carrie patted her arm carefully as she checked Esme’s vitals. “You need to rest a bit, dear. Giving birth takes a lot out of you.”

“I was asleep the whole time.” Esme huffed, thoroughly fed up with the practice of twilight sleep. She hadn’t cared about being in pain- she wanted to see her baby the second her made his way into the world.

“Trust me. You need your rest.”

Esme shifted slightly, wincing as her stitches pulled.

“Pain?”

“It’s not too bad.” Esme breathed, watching as Carrie continued to look her over. Her touch was gentle, caring as she took care of the unwed mother that the entire staff pitied.

“Rest for a little while and then I’ll have them bring him back to you. Can you do that?”

She nodded against the pillow. “Deal.”

Carrie chuckled softly, brushing Esme’s unruly curls back out or her eyes affectionately. “I’ll be back to check on you later, dear.”

Carlisle smiled to himself as he passed through the maternity ward. One of his emergency room patients had recently given birth so he had decided to pop in and say hello. The proud parents had thanked him and allowed him to cradle their daughter.

After leaving the couple, he walked by the nursery. When one of the older nurses that he’d known since he first started at Ashland General saw him through the window, she waved him into the room.

Carlisle pulled the heavy door open easily. The sound of soft heartbeats and gurgling infants made him smile as he walked through the nursery.

“I haven’t seen you up here in a while, Doctor Cullen.” Carrie said with a grin, setting her chart aside. “I was beginning to think you were ignoring me.”

“Ignore you? I would never.” Carlisle played along, watching as the older woman shook her head at him. He followed her gaze over to the infant closest to them- the little guy gurgled and blinked his big, bright eyes.

Something about the baby pulled him in, the doctor stepping closer to study the familiar eyes and nose of the little boy. There was something about his scent too that he couldn’t quite place.

“Cutie, isn’t he?” Carrie asked as she stepped up beside him.

Carlisle nodded and reached out to rest his hand on the baby’s belly over the soft blanket.

“His mama is an absolute sweetheart. They had to practically pry him from her arms so that she could rest.”

Carlisle smiled at that. “She sounds like a wonderful mother already.”

Carrie nodded. “Poor thing has to be. Her husband died in an automobile accident.”

“Oh, how horrible.”

Before either of them could say anything else on the topic, Carlisle heard the sound of the door opening and another, quicker heartbeat entering the room followed by the scent of a girl he’d known a decade ago.

He turned to look at her, mentally cursing himself as he did. He should have tried to hide his face or something. He only hoped she wouldn’t remember-

“Doctor Cullen?” She breathed, surprise on her face as she looked between him, Carrie, and her baby. “Is something wrong with him?”

“He’s just fine.” Carrie told her, the exasperation evident in her tone. “What are you doing out of bed? I thought we had a deal.”

Esme smiled sheepishly, taking slow steps as she approached the bassinet. “I couldn’t sleep.”

Esme did her best not to wince as she leaned down and lifted the tiny bundle into her arms.

Carlisle watched her, a bit fascinated by the sight of her murmuring soft words of love to the infant.

She ran her finger carefully over the soft skin of the baby’s chubby cheek before lifting her eyes to Carlisle. “I can’t believe you work here...”

The doctor was unable to stop the smile smile from forming on his lips. He’d been fond of her way back when. She’d been so full of life, so kind. She’d been full of dreams for adventure out West. “You made it out of Ohio.” Carlisle said rather ungracefully.

Something he couldn’t quite decipher crossed her face before she smiled at him. “So did you.”

He nodded. “What are the odds we’d end up in the very same town.”

Carrie was watching the two of them, grinning at their exchange. “Now, just how do the two of you know each other?”

“Miss Platt was a patient of mine once.”

The nurse’s brow furrowed just slightly as she looked at Esme. “Platt? I thought your last name was Smith.”

“Platt was my maiden name.”

“It isn’t in your chart.” Carrie said, grabbing the papers clipped to the front of the bassinet and flipping through the pages.

“I left it out.” Esme told her, her voice a bit quieter as she looked down at the baby in her arms.

Carrie and Carlisle exchanged a glance but let it go.

“Doctor Cullen, can you help my very frustrating patient back to her room?” Carrie teased, watching the corner of Esme’s lips quirk just slightly in a smile. “I need to go check on a few more patients.”

“Of course.” Carlisle agreed despite knowing he shouldn’t have. He really didn’t need her asking him questions.

Carrie left the two of them standing beside the baby’s bassinet.

Esme pressed a kiss to the baby’s forehead and then met Carlisle’s gaze again. “You haven’t aged a day.” She murmured. “Whatever is your secret?”

Carlisle chuckled softly. “Wonderful genetics, I suppose.”

She eyed in him amusement, her eyes tired but curious.

“May I help you back to your room?” He asked her. “You should be resting.”

“As long as you don’t try to make me leave Joseph here.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.” Her told her, his voice soft as he began to wheel the bassinet toward the door with her at his side.

They walked back to her room together, silent except for the words Esme was whispering to her son.

He settled the bassinet beside her bed and held his arms out for the baby. “Just until you’re settled in bed.”

She eyed him for a moment before laying him ever so gently in his arms. “Careful of his neck...”

Carlisle smiled. “I’ve got him.”

Esme watched them for a second, fixing the baby’s blanket before climbing onto the bed. She hissed softly in pain as she settled.

“Are you in pain? I can get you some medication.” Carlisle told her, concern lacing his voice as he laid her son in her awaiting arms.

“It makes me sleepy.” She told him, running her index finger down the baby’s nose.

Carlisle could have sworn his still heart skipped an imaginary beat as he watched the two of them. Her gentle touch was endearing to watch, the love she felt for the baby in her arms practically radiating off of her. “He looks like you.”

Esme looked up at him, her dark brown eyes sparkling with joy. “You think so?”

Carlisle smiled, stepping closer to tap at the baby’s nose with his finger. “That’s your nose, Miss Platt.”

“Esme.” She murmured as she watched him. “I’m- please call me Esme, Doctor Cullen.”

“Only if you call me Carlisle.”

Esme blushed slightly as she nodded, a soft pink that made him want to reach out and cradle her cheek.

He shook the thought quickly, frustrated with himself. What was coming over him? What was he doing? He needed to go, maybe even relocate. He needed to tell Edward...

“I cannot believe I’m seeing you again.” Esme said. “After my leg was all healed, I’d gone to the hospital to thank you but you’d left.”

“Oh, yes, I had a family matter to attend to.”

She nodded in understanding. “I was beside myself with sadness.” Her voice was almost teasing, looking back on her teenaged dramatics over a doctor that she’d spent 25 minutes with as he placed a cast on her leg. “You were by far my favorite doctor ever.”

“Oh? That’s quite a compliment.”

“Well, you were very kind. Your encouragement about teaching and my art- it meant a great deal to me.”

“Did you become a teacher?” His couldn’t help but ask. He often wondered what happened to his patients after he moved on but there had been something about her big dreams and obvious talent that had him praying for her success.

“I teach at the local school in town.”

“That’s wonderful, Mi- Esme. Absolutely wonderful.”

She bit her lip, blushing again as she nodded. “I love it so very much. The children are just...incredible.”

“I bet they love you.”

Esme looked at him. “You should see the number of drawings I have hanging behind my desk. I’m afraid I’ll run out of wall space.”

Against his better judgement, he pulled a chair close and took a seat. Every rational part of himself was telling him to run but she kept drawing him in with her soft voice and sparkling eyes. He listened to her classroom stories as her baby slept against her chest and watched as her eyes grew heavy.

“Sleep, Esme.” He murmured, watching as she nodded against the pillow and allowed her eyes to slip closed.

send me fic prompts

[wetwellie]

Back to the Future AU (Ye be warned this is a pretty long one):

The Samwell Hockey team has become used to finding their eccentric alumnus, Dr. Justin Oluransi, hiding out in their attic quite often. He is an 84 year old man, you can’t really scold him for busting out of the nearby retirement home to tinker with experiments and inventions that never work. He never bothered anyone, and no one bothered him. Then Shitty moved in and was freakin stoked for their guest.

“Hey pops, what did they call you on the team?” “…Ransom” “Awesome. Hey. You’re super good at science right? Could you help me brew up something in the tub?”

Dr Ransom was then initiated as the grandpa of the team. He helped with the recipe for tub juice, and they dragged out a bed for him to sleep on when he’s running from the Home. 

Dr Ransom also helped with homework from time to time in exchange for said person becoming Ransom’s personal assistant for half an hour or so. 

(“Bro why do you have 17 hickeys all over your back?” “Doc put a lot of suction cup things on me last night in exchange for his graphing calculator.”)

Of course, there was a man who never indulged in speaking with the man who even thought about spending time with their Attic friend, and that was Jack Zimmermann. They were sort of pushed into each other’s acquaintance during an epikegster in Jack’s second year. Jack had locked himself upstairs for the night. He hadn’t had the best game performance and kept thinking about everything he could have done better--should have done better. It was overwhelming him and every noise, every movement, every thought had been pretty daunting. He had been curled up on his bed when he noticed that the tapping he’d heard wasn’t from the party. It was from an elderly old man in a labcoat knocking on his window. 

It was nearly 10 below (Celsius), so he couldn’t just let him out. Jack unlocked his window and helped Ransom in. 

“Sorry about that, pal.” Ransom had said as he plopped himself onto Jack’s bed “Two cats were already...pretty ocupado in the attic when I went to work for tonight. Remind me to wash those sheets thoroughly.” “Is there anything I can do to help you out?” 

“Unless you’re comfortable with kicking those people out of my attic. I’m afraid I can only ask for company.”

“I don’t think I would be very good company” Jack said, trying his best to politely refuse. 

“I’m sure you’ll do just fine, once you’re comfortable. What’s your name again?” “Jack” “Nice to meet you man! I’ve seen you around, but you always seemed to be focused on one thing or another. I haven’t made it out to any of your games, but I’ve heard from the others that you are very dedicated to hockey” “Well...isn’t everyone on the team?” “I suppose you’re right. But everyone on the team isn’t a hardass captain.” “They called me a hardass?” 

“Only during the preseason” Ransom chirped. Jack didn’t laugh. 

“I suppose I could’ve been more of a hardass when I was captain of the team.” “You were captain?” Jack asked, trying his hardest to sound like he was interested.

“Co-captain, actually.” Ransom said, with an expression that was unreadable. 

“Wait!” Jack threw up his hand and pulled open his laptop. In the google search bar he googled “Google” and THEN started typing a phrase he knew familiar, clicked on a purple link to a bare bones site with barely any bells and whistles. There were only links to years.  “What year did you graduate?” “Undergrad?” “Of course.” “1955″

Jack scrolled down to that number and hit click. The page that loaded was filled with scanned articles, and paragraphs of stats and commentary. Ransom only looked at him. 

“The coaches wanted someone to go through all of the old stuff and digitize it. The manager who had been working on it before graduated last year, and I volunteered in their place” He then made a noise and clicked at the screen a couple more times. He turned it to face Ransom and pointed at an old photograph from the newspaper. The clipping had removed all of the article below it. In the photo was two young men in their hockey uniforms on the ice. They were holding each other close and raising a large jug in the air that had the words “SIN BIN” written in big red letters. 

Jack pointed to one of them “Is this you?” 

Ransom didn’t answer. His attention was fully on the photograph being projected on that blue-white screen. If Jack had been paying more attention, he might have seen Ransom’s throat hitch as he gulped, or tears starting to form and just barely being held back. But sadly, his attention wasn’t so focused. He did, however, notice when the doctor let out a howling laugh and pointed at the jug. 

“The sin bin! God that takes me back. Do you still have one of those?” “No” “Get one! Every captain needs one.” Ransom explained. “We used that money to buy cheap booze and pricey butter.” “Butter?” “It’s a long story.” Ransom said “But that’s not the point. You put money in the sin bin, and the whole team benefits from it. Your hardassery will have some sort of benefit.”

The two then melt into a conversation about hockey, captaining,the past, and even science for a bit. Albeit, Jack only wanted to know how legit “Breaking Bad” was.  “I’ve never made any drugs, believe it or not. But I’m sure the science checks out”

Every once in a while, when talking about the past, Ransom would quickly change the subject. Jack would do the same. They danced around the things they didn’t want to speak of, and usually fell back on chirping each other about their technological ineptness. 

It was 4am when Jack heard the party start to die down. Jack was discussing the merits of having the Internet as a research tool as a student. Ransom shook his head.  “I know from this side that it is helpful, but it would have been awful during my studies. There would have been so many outlets and so many distractions. I had enough panic attacks as it is, that would have surely worsened it.” 

There was a rather pregnant pause before Jack tentatively said “Panic Attacks?” “Yeah. There was a lot of stuff to panic about back then.” he said. He looked at Jack, fiddlling with the loose strings on his shirt, and added “I guess there’s a lot to panic about right now, too. Life can be a bitch.” Jack let out a hollow laugh. The silence never really ended, however. Instead, Ransom took that as his cue. “I should check to see if the lovebirds are post-coital by now. But remembering college, I doubt it.” Jack stared at Ransom dubiously. “And I shouldn’t have said that. Don’t want to scar you with any mental images! Anyways. I should get going”

He ended up walking to the door before being compelled to add “And if you ever need to talk, you can always see me when I’m in the attic. I’ve got a lot of life experience and surprisingly good ears for my age.”

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

Jack should have been more surprised at how often he found himself with Ransom for the rest of the semester. Whenever he wasn’t practicing or studying or keeping up with Shitty, he was in the attic. Mostly he helped lift heavy things that Ransom needed to tinker with, while the Doctor chattered on and on about “Important Shit!” that he’s learned in his life that will help Jack.

“Is there anything that has stayed more or less consistent over the past 60 years?” Jack asked one day.

“Hockey Butts are still as toned as ever.” He replied without missing a beat. “And they take years to erode. They are truly God’s gift”

Jack actually laughed at that and said “Amen”. 

In the months that came to pass, Jack would grow to call Ransom a friend as well as mentor. However, he couldn’t help the feeling that he never truly knew him. Jack had confessed many things to him: about his pressure to always be better, about the overdose, about Parse. And while Ransom didn’t have the magical words to make those hurts all better, he listened without judgement. That was all he needed. 

Winter turned to Spring without much of a struggle that year. Ransom spent most of his time searching online for the best places to purchase rare ores that he simply has to have, while he mumbles something about a gigawatt. Jack usually spent his time talking about Hockey or the new thing he had seen on this documentary a couple nights before, or Shitty being Shitty. He found himself a lot more empty-handed in the attic in the months before. Jack heard a lot less  “fill this cylinder up with exactly 5.74 ml of hydrochloric acid” and a lot more “carry this new clock and hang it up in the attic. Mamrie Cartwright is having an estate sale and this was 2 dollars”. 

Soon he found himself packing up his room for the summer, and popping up to check on Ransom before seeing him off. A few days before, the graduating members of the team had given him a “World’s best Grandpa” T-Shirt, with a “dr” scribbled in between the lines in sloppy marker. Ransom had given them all a bottle of Tub Juice to remember the Haus by.

Jack was surprised to open the door to the attic to see Ransom packing a suitcase.

“Headed somewhere?” “You think I don’t deserve a vacation too?” “I never said you didn’t. Where are you headed?” “I’ve met an old friend up at Niagra falls every summer for 60 years, so I’m gonna do that. And then I have to visit a science convention or two” “Sounds like a busy summer. You take care of yourself.” “I should say the same! If I come back and any of you cats have flat asses, I swear I’ll die on you. So eat some protein for my sake.”

“Will do”

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

It’s July 4th when Jack recieved a call from an unknown number. “Allo?” he answered.

“Jack! You brilliant bastard! It’s me.” “Ransom?” “The one and only. Listen. I don’t have a lot of time. Do you know where the mall called “Le Boulevard” is?”

“I don’t know, it sounds kind of familiar?”

“That’s good enough. Would you be kind enough to meet up with me on the 7th at precisely 3:15am?”

“What? Why?” “I can’t tell you right now, but it’s a matter of great importance. And I know that you will understand when I explain, but I can’t explain now.” “I don’t know how I’ll get there” “Please, Jack! I can’t lone this one.” Jack paused for a long while before saying “I’ll think about it” and hanging up the phone. 

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

Jack’s mother came into the room the moment that the call ended. She asked who it was, and Jack answered. Explaining the whole deal about the man who had been hiding in their attic for the better part of two years. She seemed very worried until he mentioned how he was the captain back in the fifties.

“In the fifties? Do you think he knows about the fire?” “Fire?”

“Yeah. When I was going there, one of my English professors mentioned it. The old hockey house, before yours and that sorority. It burned to the ground. 2 people died.”

“Ransom never mentioned a fire”  “It might have been after his time then” said Alicia. “It still seems like such a shame”

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

It’s 2:45am and Jack has gotten no sleep whatsoever. His group text is blowing up with pictures and videos of ongoing celebrations in the states. It’s times like these that he truly wished he knew how to turn off notifications. He scrolled through the chat and stopped at canadian teammates responses. It’s a picture of him wearing the flag as a cape and eating what seemed to be really old timbits. It’s captioned “Happy 3 days after Canada day”. Jack laughed, so he responded “haha”.  Immideately after the response, Jack’s phone starts vibrating like crazy. Ransom is calling him. 

“Jackie my man! Are you ready???” “Ready for what?”

[mysticmikalla]

37 for vandy?? id die for him

me too anon me too

OK SOOOOOO this is actually a lil preview of a series I’m writing for Vanderwood, so it might be a *bit* confusing because a lot of things already have happened in the series, this is like the middle of it but I hope u like it!!

***

“I would honestly die before I let anything happen to you.”

***

Vanderwood was a man of few regrets.

Although he never took himself for a religious person, he did believe that everythingin his life happened for a reason, and all the paths he chose led him to where he was supposed to be. So despite not always loving his treacherousagent life and often wondering what it could be if he chose differently, this path did lead him to countless good things, including you- although he would never admit it.

There were, however, some things he’d give anything to have a second shot at. Trying to save those he loved was one of them, and getting you involved in his businesswas another, and perhaps the choice one he regretted the most. 

Looking at your eyes now, heknew how badly he fucked up. Fear and worry clouded those deep irises of yours, and no matter how much he tried to hide it,  thoseemotions were reflected in his, as well. The darkness and eerie mood ofthe place didn’t help the dread coursing through your body, making every singlehair rise on the back of your neck.

He squeezed your hand tighter,sensing your uneasiness.

“They won’t find us.” Hewhispered, trying to reassure both you and his own doubts. He replayed all theevents that led to that moment, wondering where he could have done thingsdifferently. But from the moment you introduced yourself as his partner agent, he knew there was nothing but misfortune in your path. And no matter how many times you insisted that he played no part in your choice to be there, he could tell otherwise.

“But what if they do?”

“They won’t,” he repeated, unable to tell if he was lying to you or himself, “But if they do…”

Vanderwood untangled his fingersfrom yours and cupped your cheek instead. His eyes bore into yours with aserious intensity, “If they do, I want you to run.”

Frowning, you said, “Run? Butwhere would we run to? You said it yourself, we’re nearly surrounded. They’d see us if we tried.”

“Not if you go alone,” heshook his head, “You’re small and agile, Tiny, you could get past them withoutgetting caught.”

“What are you saying?” 

Sucking in a deep breath, Vanderwoodspoke, “I’m saying that when the time comes, I want you to go. Alone.”

Puzzled, you blinked at him, trying to process the words being spoken by your partner. Alone?

“If they come in here and find  place empty and both of us gone, they’ll go look for us in the wood. I have to stay here. I have to stay so they won’t look for you.”

“N-no,” you shook your head, neglecting his words, “I won’t do it. I won’t go without you.”

“We have no choice.” Hehuffed, trying to mask his own anxieties and fears, knowing full well that if you caught evena glimpse of it, you’d never let him do what he had to. You’d relentlessly stay by him, just as you had done many times in the past. But this time was different. 

This time he couldn’t afford for you to be stubborn.

“Forget it, I won’t gothrough with it-“

Grabbing your wrist in one swift motion, Vanderwood pulled you to him, crashing you into his chest. You gasped, taken aback by thesuddenness of his action. It was the first time he had ever hugged you. He waswarm, much warmer than you expected someone you initially wrote off ascold-hearted to ever be. With your ears pressed against his erratically-beatingheart, you thought back to all the times it must have been broken, and how strong hehad to be in order to carry on as if nothing had happened.

“You have to,” he murmured,snaking his arm around you, to feel at least some sense of security, no matter how hopeless it was, “I got youinto this, it’s my job to get you out.”

“Vanderwood-“

“Don’t be stubborn right now.Please.”

“No,” you pushed him away, freeing your body from his embrace and taking a few steps back so you could look at him, “You didn’t get me into anything, I came because I wanted to. I’m your partner, it’s what I do, it’s whatwe’ve always done. Don’t try to begallant right now, we both not you’re not. We’renot. We’re agents, not fucking heroes. We play dirty and low, we cheat and then we fucking hide, but we don’t leave a fellow agent behind.Forget it.”

“MC-“

“And don’t hug me like it’sthe last time I’m going to see you! Don’tdo that.”

“I’m not just trying to be gallant, MC,” he huffed with a familiar annoyance in his tone, “Can’t you seeI’m trying to protect you?”

“Like-” You tempted, “Like you tried to protecther?”

He was silent. His lack of reaction was somewhat foreign to you. Vanderwood always had something to say or a snide comment to make, but now he just stared at you wordlessly. Having known him all this time, you could always tell what he was thinking, what he was thinking, but his silence was something you had not yet assessed. Perhaps bringing her up was a bit too harsh, even if you hadn’t intended it to be.

But it was something you needed to insist on, and no matter how painful these memories were to him, you knew he needed to get past it, he needed to let go. His smile would never quite reach his eyes if he never did.

Your eyes softened once he let the hurt slip a glimpse in his eyes, “I’m not her, and it’s not going to turn out like that. If you evertrusted me before, trust me now.”

“I trust you.” he admitted, breaking his silence. And while you were supposed to be happy hearing those words, the circumstanceand how final they sounded made you shiver with dread, “It’s me I don’t trust.I can’t let what happened to her happen to you, I-“ he tore his gaze away fromyou, afraid to meet you eye as he spoke, “I would rather die before I let anything happento you.”

“It won’t come to that-!”

“Shh,” he held up a finger, heart aggressively pumping out adrenaline at the sound of harsh voices he was hoping not tohear, “They’re here.”

They found us.

You were gripped with a type of fear, life-threatening fear you hadn’t felt before,momentarily forgetting all your training and even the ability to speak. Subconsciously you moved closer to him, trying to find familiar comfort in his presence, but even that was hopeless right now.

Helistened intently to the new entities present, trying to make out the words being spoken, but his earsfailed him. Vanderwood’s mind raced through all the backup plans he had thoughtof before, finding fatal flaws in all of them. The only one that might workwas-

“You need to go. Now.”

“No! I’m not leaving you!” You persisted, avoiding his gaze so he would know to drop it.

“MC.” He croaked, vulnerability seeped in his quivering voice. The way he gripped your hand now, tight but still with so much care, make your heart drop and your stomach to churn.

And at thatmoment you knew. You knew that despite everything, his harsh words and fouljokes, his uncaring and cold persona, Vanderwood was afraid. His brows pulledtogether in a desperate frown, and if your eyes didn’t fail you, you swore you saw the forming of a tear. “Please. Go.”

The voices grew louder, andyou could hear them ransacking your hide out, violent whispers growingsickeningly more clear.

“But you-!”

“Now!” He whispered, pushing awaytowards the back exit, where you were to make your escape into the thickness ofthe wood where hopes to escape were still within grasp. You stumbled backwards,tears threatening to spill as you stared at him in disbelief. He wasn’t going to bulge, andany second now an unknown number of men would burst through that door, not giving a second thought as to sparing your lives. Youglanced at the exit, and then back at him, and like a deer in the headlight ofa dozen buses, you didn’t know what to do. The shriek of a gunshot made you bothjump, and the adrenaline barely allowed you to think clearly.

You rushed to him once more,grabbing his hand and squeezing it tightly in yours.

“I don’t want you to die forme,” you stammered, “I want you to live for me. Live for me, Vanderwood, do you hear me?! Live for her! Promise me you will!”

Without waiting for hisreply, you rushed through the back door into the cool night, crouching so youwouldn’t be spotted. He was right, it was unlikely that your small frame wouldbe sighted, and the towering of trees and looming darkness would protect you until dawn. But leavinghim behind without so much as a second glance back was almost physicallypainful.

You couldn’t afford think aboutthat now. If not for yourself, you needed to escape and get backup for him, tomake sure all of this wasn’t in vain. You could make it, you needed to. For him.

The brunette needed to letout a chuckle once you were out of sight. If he didn’t smile, he feared hemight actually shed a few tears. And if not tears, his worry would take overhim and cloud his judgement, and he couldn’t let that jeopardize the mission,not again.

“I can’t believe you got mecrying for you, Tiny.” He muttered to himself, incredulously shaking his head.Detaching his gun from his belt and loading in a clip, he tried focusing onhow many footsteps he heard. Ten. Ten guys would soon charge in there, not hesitant to take his life, and forthe first time, Vanderwood wasn’t sure he could wing this one and count on luckto get him out alive.

He sucked in a breath,holding it as the footsteps came to a stop behind the closed door.

He counted, one.

Two.

Thre-

The door was harshly kicked open, andfor a brief moment when his eyes and that of his attacker’s made contact, therewas silence. But not an instant went by before the echo of bullets pierced thenight. He had always prided himself in his aim, and tonight it was nodifferent. Vanderwood could easily tell that the men he encountered wereamateurs, probably hired gun paid to do dirty work. Their gunmanship was sloppy atbest and insulting at worst, and it didn’t take long until four of them were met with the led ofbullets, collapsing on the ground and clutching their wounds.

But he was still heavily outnumbered.Four seconds had passed since they started firing, and the exploding pain inhis stomach meant that for the first time, Vanderwood had failed. The shooting stopped once he groaned in pain, falling to his knees. He managed to take one moreshot, surprised he was still able to hit his target, which warranted another shot landing on his shoulder. The force of the bullet sent him falling backwards, landing with a thud on the ground.

The rapid oozing of his blood was almost grossly relaxing, and having the life pour out of him in the form of warm liquid was bad at all. There were worst ways to die, he decided.

His body was hot, too hot, and his vision grewincreasingly blurry. Metallic tastes filled his mouth, and the agent knew all too well that the coughing of blood was not a good sign.

His consciousness was rapidly fading with each drop of blood emptied from the two holes in his body.This is it.

He stared up at the ceiling,his breathing getting shallower and harder to catch. Expecting it to be more painful, Vanderwood could barely feel a thing in his haze. And amidst his foggy state, he wondered if therewas something like Heaven or Hell he could go to after this. He speculated whether she would be there waiting for him, and the idea of seeing heragain made him almost smile with anticipation. She’d be wearing that blue dress shealways loved, hair in two piggy tails and he dearly hoped her favorite toy would haveaccompanied her when she died. 

He was ready. He could almost see her, he was so-

“I’m sorry it had to be this way.” The voice of a man pulled him from the fog. The face of hisattacker hovered over him, and God was it an ugly face. His thoughts switchedover to how you often criticized movies for being so Goddamn cliche, using the same tropes of heroes and villains all the times, only the occasional changes in backstory and love interest.

But here he was, the last boss, wearing an eye-patch and carrying a deep Russian accent in his voice, a prominent scar running across his face. If only you could see this guy, he mused, you would laugh that high pitched laughed he hated while he rolled his eyes, thinking of how he couldn’t wait to get home and have a cold glass of Whiskey and just proving your claims that he was, in fact, an alcoholic in the making.

And while he always thought he wouldn’t be afraid of death, he suddenly was overcome with overwhelming desperation at the thought of not being able to experience that anymore.

MC.

“I want you to live for me!”

He remembered his silentpromise to you just a minute prior, and despite it being a completely fucked situation with not a single light of hope to guide him through it, Vanderwood sure wasn’t one to break his promises.   

[thehiddenlawyer]

Stranger Than Kindness Chapter 19 (The Lying Detective I)

Enjoy on Ao3!

I’m planning on regularly updating from now on since the whole thing is written out-- new chapter every other day mostly because we’re in TLD and fast approaching TFP, and I don’t want to torture y’all....too much. xx

The deal was that he wouldn’t come to her flat, that she wouldn’t go to Baker street, that they wouldn’t see each other until he vanquished the monster he needed John’s help with. She didn’t want to see him as he pumped his veins full of heroin and cocaine and God knew what else, and he was too ashamed of the state he would be in to let her be near him, to let her see him in that condition. She spent so much of her time in a constant state of worry over him, expecting a phone call any minute that he had overdosed, that he had lost himself in the drugs and let them carry him away from her.

My soul.

He sent her texts every now and again, in his more lucid moments to check on her, to touch her in a small way, to simply make sure she knew he was alive. Mycroft called and texted her several times, asking if she had visited him, or heard from him but she told him the truth for the most part—that she hadn’t seen Sherlock in weeks. She would crawl into bed every night with tears in her eyes, her mattress so cold and endless without his warmth, staring at the darkened ceiling as sleep eluded her, smelling him on her pillow. So very cold without him…She counted the hours until sunrise, knew morning would force her to dash for the bathroom, making her heave and empty her stomach of all its contents.

In a way she was grateful for the forced separation, giving her time to figure what she was going to do, how she was going to do it…but her heart dropped with every call, with every text, with every headline that appeared on the news. She waited for him to catch the monster he was looking for her and prayed that he didn’t find the creature. Oh, she trusted him to keep his word, trusted him to come back to her when it was all over, to come out of it alive, but God, she didn’t trust the people he had around him now.

She was sitting on the bathroom floor one morning, a wet washcloth pressed against the back of her neck as she caught her breath when she got a series of disjointed texts from him:

Culverton Smith.

Cereal killer.

Serial*

Big bad wolf.

Bring your coat.

My coat @ ur flatt.

My coat at your flat.

Need ambulance.

2 January.

1.

Followed by a London address she didn’t recognize, then the name of a hospital. She frowned at the texts, wondering was happening as she googled Culverton Smith on her phone. She looked at Smith’s pictures, watched clips of him interacting with people, reading every bit of news she could find on him and wondered how he’d been brought him into Sherlock’s crosshairs.

A serial killer.

She responded quickly, giving him the name of a nurse that worked at that particular hospital. She had known the nurse, Shelby Cornish, for quite a number of years, from their days together as interns at Bart’s before Shelby had moved on to bigger and better things.

Oooh! She’ll come in handy

Doubt thou the stars are fire;

Doubt that the sun doth move;

Doubt truth to be a liar;

She smiled at the lines, chuckling as he left it unfinished, murmuring in the quiet of her bathroom, “but never doubt I love.” He was definitely high, because in his sobriety, Sherlock would refuse to acknowledge his extensive knowledge of Shakespeare and his line by line memorization of Hamlet and Henry IV and Richard III, let alone speaking so freely of love or loving her. Her hand moved to her lower belly as she closed her eyes, praying that it would all be over soon, and she would be back in his arms.

My soul.

The weeks the led to January 2nd felt like they would never end, filled with insomnia and worry, Molly itching to go to him, to see him with her own eyes but knowing he wouldn’t allow it, and she didn’t think she could stomach the sight of him high either. She remembered the last time she had, when John had brought him to the lab for the urine test after the wedding…God. That was a lifetime ago.

Christmas and New Years passed her by and she spent them both curled on the couch, her hand pressed against her belly as she dreamt of home and hoped for home. Her Sherlock texted her on Christmas Eve, a simple “merry Christmas Molly Hooper”. His text on New Years was a bit more elaborate, making tears well in her eyes as she read his words

Wish I could kiss you into the new year

I miss your breath in my lungs

And she didn’t hear from him after that.

Worry was her constant companion now, anxiety her new best friend, the two as close to her as her own shadow as she moved towards January 2nd, as she moved to the day of reckoning. She lost count of how many times during her day she had to stop and take deep steadying breaths, reminding her body to calm itself, that she wasn’t living or existing for herself anymore. Her interns looked at her like she was losing her mind but didn’t say anything as she closed her eyes in the middle of a lecture or an autopsy, trying not to think about him, trying not to worry.

It was an uphill battle that she often lost, but she tried to fight it anyway.

Whatever excuse she gave her supervisors worked and she was assigned an ambulance and a driver for the morning of January 2 without much fuss. She didn’t know whether to be flattered by the hospital’s trust in her judgement or slightly concerned that they had just given up on her actions making any sense, simply letting her do whatever she wanted. After giving the driver the address, she sat in the back of the ambulance with his Belstaff in her arms, her face pressed against it as she inhaled his familiar scent.

God, it smelled like home.

My soul.

Excitement and bone-crunching dread filled her as they neared their destination. She felt starved, deprived, broken, empty without him, her eyes feeling like they had been robbed of their light, her skin tingling with the need for his touch, her senses withering without Sherlock. Feeling slightly overdramatic, she smiled against his coat, thinking her lips even tingled from the lack of his kisses. There was a logic to it of course, he was her heart and soul, and she had been without it for so long…

But Heaven help her she didn’t want to see him in his current state, couldn’t imagine what he would look like, sound like…feel like. He’d been making such great strides, becoming a better man but now…

My soul.

My soul.

But he needed her to be a good little actress now, to convince John Watson that she had no idea what was happening, that she had no idea that he’d been deliberately planning everything for weeks and weeks, that this was mostly an act.

Unfortunately for her, it was mostly an act…

Taking a deep steadying breath when the ambulance came to a halt, she set the coat down on the bench, pressing her palm to her stomach before climbing out. Hands in her coat pockets, letting all her worry show on her face she rang the doorbell, frowning at the Aston Martin parked askew in the drive, the bins upturned, the look of shock on John Watson’s face upon seeing her satisfying.

But oh…oh…oh when she saw him approach from behind John, when she saw the love of her life wearing his blue housecoat, his beautiful jaw covered with stubble, his eyes flat, bloodshot…She clenched her jaw over the tears, barely listening to what he was saying, vaguely hearing his crack about coughing on her command as he breezed past her. Swallowing, she looked back at John, asking him what was going on as the fine hairs on her arms, the back of her neck stood up.

“Check him out will you?” John murmured, pursing his lips in disapproval, his navy-blue eyes following Sherlock’s movements behind her.

She didn’t respond, just nodded, walking to the ambulance, rubbing the center of her chest as she watched him sitting on the bench, gripping the edge as he looked down.

[dispensemiracles]

💕💝💘

💕- A memory about their significant other

Her fingers threaded nimbly through Eli’s hair and wove it into linking plaits. She hummed softly into her work. It seemed to bind a tad much better, shine a smidgen more. Eli’s eyes were closed as she leaned back her head. Her body sunk backward sitting between Nozomi’s legs. She smiled at feeling her lean closer. 

“You know I can’t do it well if you move too much Elicchi.” Nozomi scolded half halfheartedly.

“прости меня, Дорогой, мой мед. It tickles a bit.”

Eli’s face fell when she felt Nozomi’s hands stop. Quickly she looked up, her body stiffened. A reflexive concern that stirred from a tucked folder of her mind colored her easily. Nozomi stared down with a pout concealed behind a frown at first glance. She cradled Eli’s head between her palms.

“мед?”

“If you wanted to weasel closer you can just say so.” She said with a grin. 

Their eyes closed together as they kissed. Eli sunk completely.

💝- A memory that made them feel loved

“Alright listen up, the great Niko is going to show you this from step one. You better pay attention Nozomi! There’s no screwing around in a kitchen.”

Her eyes widened as Niko thrust out a ladle toward her. Without thinking she laughed as if to take the last word. It washed over her with familiarity, sheltered her under it’s umbrella in the wake of Niko’s infectious enthusiasm. When she finished she found Niko with her arms crossed; the words on her pink apron were obscured until they’d rearranged themselves from ‘Kiss the Master Chef’ to ‘Kiss As’. She coughed into her fist, smothering a giggle. Niko’s face pinched and she frowned.

“I’m being serious, watch this, then copy me. You’ve gotta learn to make it on your own!”

Her hands burned and flushed red as she diced onions into crude shapes. Niko stared patiently, her eyes flit from the disaster to her experienced work. Onion after onion minced apart under Nozomi’s childlike cuts. Every so often Nozomi lifted her head, probing for a judgement. Niko’s head shook firmly, then began to waver, before stopping altogether. Orange light blaring through the kitchen window announced dusk as though the sun were tapping its watch. 

Nozomi wiped the sweat off her brow with a rag Niko passed her. She stood aside. Anxiety rode her heart like a racehorse, fear clouded her face honestly. She folded her hands as Niko inspected the soup holding her chin. Her eyes had gained the edge of a hawk. Nozomi swallowed down her nerve; she wrung her hands until pain made her flinch. Niko dipped the ladle and sampled from a white saucer. Their eyes met.

“Good.”

They nearly topped over when she pulled Niko into her arms and tangled her fingers in her hair. Niko stared blankly for a pause, then smiled.

💘- A memory that gets their heart pounding

The plastic handhold didn’t wiggle under her firm grip. Her feet were a foot apart against the lower ledges. She closed her eyes as she breathed, hugging the wall. Her brain tingled and roared like an army band announcing parade march on snare drums. The harness dug into her nagging its presence yet again. Below, the background noise of shouting rose blaring into her ears. Sweat slid down her face and the world stood still as she listened. An eerie calm settled over her heart. She could pick out their cheers as easily as breathing. It made her smile resting her forehead against her arms. 

Her eyes snapped open with a forceful resolve. Gritting her teeth, she raced from one outcropping to the next. Her footing was sure, the only thing she saw was up. The heat radiating from the studio lights set her sticky skin alight. The pounding of her heart pulsated in her throat and she felt her temples throb. A blur of motion clipped the moments from future to present, to present again. Without thinking or recollection of reaching the silver top bar, she outstretched a  hand. The metal was cold. 

She grinned as her friends cried out a chorus of proud screams.

[franthetutor]

Laurel, Yanni and McGurk: Why your life is a lie

Update: I’m not dead! I know I haven’t been posting regularly. I’m sorry. It’s down to two things really: a) I’ve been very busy with the new job and b) I’ve frankly really struggled to find any kind of inspiration lately - I suppose that’s what happens when your life is taken over by your job. And you’re an auditor.

But this week this whole Yanni/Laurel brought about a bit of a brainwave - not least because it’s done nothing but do my nut in. Literally every one of my social media feeds is infected with these words. Apart from Twitter - but only because it contains an option to mute words - but even then I’m still swamped by the overhyped, equally annoying sequel: green needle/brainstorm. 

However, as with most things I hate, I’m going to put my back into this.

A few things are going to happen in the next few minutes: we’re going to unpack the explanations behind these phenomena, and then I’m going to try to shatter your perception of the world.

The Yanni/Laurel thing has now been confirmed as an aural phenomenon: if you were to plot the frequencies present in the recording against time, much like something you’d get on Audacity or any other kind of audio-editing software, you would see that this clip is made up of a mixture of high and low frequency tones. Yanni is formed from the higher frequencies. Laurel is characterised by lower frequencies. It’s like listening to what are essentially two different tracks of music that have been overlaid. If your ear is more attuned to higher frequencies (perhaps the younger among you), or you’re the kind of animal that turns down the bass on your speakers, you’re going to hear Yanni. The vast majority of people however hear Laurel, because, well, we’re older.

Now we come to Laurel’s little sister: green-needle/brainstorm. She’s a little smarter, a tad more interesting and she was allowed to wear makeup from a younger age. What you can hear in this recording can be changed depending on simply the word you’re looking at when you hear it, which is much more than a physical phenomenon - it’s a psychological one. We know something to be true - that we’re hearing the same sound each time, but our perception of it changes. This is interesting for two reasons: firstly, on a psychological level it helps us to dissect how our brains work, and secondly, more importantly, it proves to us that objective truth is a fallacy.

Green needle/brainstorm is a slightly more evolved example of the McGurk effect, which is a widely known and studied phenomenon where your brain can interpret the same audio/visual recording as two different sounds depending on the context it’s given. This context often comes in the form of a visual cue, which is much better explained by the folks at Horizon: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=G-lN8vWm3m0. Ultimately it comes about because of the top-down processing in our brains. What does this mean? Well, effectively our brains process a whole load of information all at once, and uses its analysis of this to work out the most probable explanation of our current circumstances to make sense of the world. For example, imagine you’re on safari. There’s not a cloud in the sky, you’ve got the sunroof down and you’re driving through a woody looking area. You hear a dense flock of startled birds swiftly fly out of the branches above you as your jeep slams through the undergrowth. They’re so close you can feel the beat of their wings in the air around you, and suddenly you feel something cold drip onto your hair and down your neck.

You’ve surely been shat on.

You look up and see a monkey peering down at you from the sunroof, drooling.

But for a second, you believed you’d been shat on, well, because you hadn’t noticed the monkey. Hey, we’re not perfect.

Additionally your analysis often relies on the outcomes of events that it’s seen before and it projects these probabilities on the current situation in order to work out what’s going on. For example, if you’ve had a horrid cough before and went to the GP, who told you it was pneumonia, the next time you get a cough you’re more likely to think it’s pneumonia again, even though that’s actually quite unlikely. The McGurk effect combines these two analytical phenomena. Most of the time you hear a hard “k” sound and seen a particular mouth shape, it’s turned out to be a word starting with that letter. But if that same exact sound is accompanied by a “g” mouth shape, your brain goes “Well, based on past experience, that word must begin with a G”.

TLDR: we can easily trick ourselves, and others based on the subset and quality of information we allow ourselves to see.

As well as being a fun illusion, like all other illusions it highlights something more insidious: we’re all primed for bias - it’s inherently how our brain deals with the mound of information it receives every single millisecond of every day. If we didn’t skip straight to conclusions we’d end up overthinking everything and ultimately not taking any action. Evolutionarily speaking, our ancestors would have died if they didn’t spring into action on hearing twigs breaking, assuming it was indicative of an imminent attack. The benefit of catching our predators pre-arrack vastly outweighed the excess energy expended on false alarms. Out of our ancestors, those who were the quickest to leap into action on hearing the quietest of sounds lived the longest. However, in modern day terms this kind of cranial processing doesn’t work as well. Sure, based on he gait of the person in front of you at Kings Cross, you might predict they’re going to take a hard swerve left to the Victoria line and you can use that information to prevent an embarrassing collision. I’m not saying this fundamental system of processing doesn’t have its merits - I’m just saying it has fewer: we don’t spend every waking moment fending off predators any more, because we’ve built infrastructure, terraformed land, driven predators out of their natural habitats and evolved societies that provide you with security against dangerous individuals in return for a cut of your income.

So we find ourselves in conflict. We have brains that are used to using whatever information is conveniently available and pre-existing knowledge to judge, but vastly reduced the need for that judgement. We’ve also reduced the benefits of this judgement - if anything it’s often frowned upon. We’ve developed a new term for unnecessary judgement: prejudice. And we often think we’re well aware of our own prejudices and can therefore escape them - but I’m here to tell you that the vast majority of us can’t. Take this for example:

Try to memorise these words: Adventure, curious, sun, brave, clean, friendly, ocean, white, fruit, learn, free, wholesome, holiday, talented.

Now read this: Alan is making plans for his gap year. He wants to visit the South America but is struggling to fit that in with his plans to take part in a motorcross rally. He missed it the year before because he broke his leg in the practice round. He needs to find his passport, which he lost on his last trip back from Bali and hopes his friend accidentally picked up. He also wants to visit India and needs to find time to move into his flat in Camden before he starts at his London uni.

What do you think of Alan?

What would you have thought had you memorised these words instead: Jealous, green, selfish, cocaine, petty, reckless, red, corrupt, idiot, lad, careless, clown, rude.

Go back and read the paragraph again - see what you think.

He might have seemed a bit of a gap yah wanker that time, methinks.

This is something called priming, which is an extension of the broken thinking we discussed earlier. It’s exactly how advertising works - we can’t help but associate things together when they’re close together, either spatially or temporally. You judged Alan because those lists of words made you linger on different sets of details in the narrative each time. If you start to form an opinion, you’re more likely to see details that reinforce them.

So what’s my point? I’ve just shown you that this kind of thinking is inescapable: you knew where this article was going and yet you likely painted a picture of two different Alans. I’ve told you that our brains are hard-wired for bias. That our perception of the world is inherently, inescapably warped. That we all have our blind spots. That we can convince ourselves of anything depending on what details we choose to notice. And that our choices of details are rooted in past experience. The logical conclusion of this is that as we get older, we get more biased. Something happens, we learn from it, maybe even form a slight opinion, we stumble across varied details in the subsequent hours, days, weeks of our lives, and out of these details our brains are primed to pick out those that are familiar, opinions and beliefs are justified and strengthened, our filter for details gets narrower, our opinion gets stronger, our blinkers come down even more, so on and so forth. Incidentally it’s eerily similar to how evolution works.

We’re built from bias.

This means that in order to even be able to grasp at objective truth, you have to work. Really work. Hard. And I think this is something that is totally overlooked in our current political climate. We all think that facts are facts - they’re not, simply by virtue of being beheld by us. We, these flawed, inherently biased networks of synapses in cages of bone and bags of skin. But we need to guard against this. No man is an island, and as a society we need to believe in the concept of objective truth, even if we accept we’ll never achieve it. If we don’t, we lose our baseline for discussion, leading to a society which is unable to sort opinion from fact: one in which radical, absurd and harmful ideas could propagate at the same speed as those more closely aligned with common sense, driven by whimsy. Truth is the tare weight for any battle of wits - without it, there could be no consensus.

So if we must believe in an objective truth, but can only ever see it through a glass, darkly, so to speak, how can we polish the lens?

This brings us full circle to audit, my bread and butter, and perhaps why the question of truth is at the front of my mind. Audit is fully preoccupied with objectivity and truth - firms drop clients and lose money because of it all the time. This is because our job is to take the draft financial statements a company prepares before they’re published and ensure that the figures in them haven’t just been made up, or tweaked. We need to assess whether the numbers show an adequately “true and fair” view of what’s happened to that company during the year. As with everything, we can never be 100% certain of the truth, or fairness of accounts, so we test the numbers to a reasonable level of assurance.

Believe it or not, there are a couple of aspects that are quite interesting about it:

Firstly, sampling. Much like biologists attempting to study animals in a large habitat, the feat of fully auditing every single transaction a company makes during the year is nigh on impossible. Instead we choose a representative sample of transactions and look at those in more detail to work out if they were recorded correctly. We’re always terrified of choosing the wrong number of transactions - if we audit too few, we might miss one large one which was fraudulent or recorded wrongly - one typo could change an overall profit to a loss. If I wasn’t thorough enough, I could lose my job over that.

Secondly, we rely heavily on the people running the audited company to tell us what happened during the year. If for example they failed to tell us that they underwent a huge merger, we might audit them against the wrong set of financial standards. We might think it’s all fine by those standards - but that’s a false positive. We used the wrong measure of truth, because we didn’t have all of the facts.

So why did I bother to tell you all this?

Because auditors measure truth for a living, and you might learn something from the highly discussed and regulated procedures we use day in, day out. The next time you find yourself judging something - anything, for that matter, however small - ask yourself these questions:

How much detail can I subtract from the situation before I change my view of it?

Is there a detail or perspective I’m missing because I’m being primed by my prior beliefs, assumptions or experiences?

If you find the threshold for Q1 and an example for Q2, you’ll be much closer to the truth than you were before.

You never know, you might end up finding truth in the most unlikely of places, and applying measured skepticism can lead to some of the most - sometimes surprising - eye-opening revelations. Those “MY LIFE HAS BEEN A LIE” moments. Never be afraid of disagreeing with your past opinions - it’s a sign of learning.

Some great resources:

On the illusion of pain, and how the perception of context guides belief: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-3NmTE-fJSo

On humans as slightly wonky bipedal brain machines: Kluge - The haphazard evolution of the human mind, Gary Marcus