#i only later realised i may have done it wrong since she linked a post she made :'D

[mitamicah]

Okay so I think I just overshared to the Max to a tattoo artist i've never met 🤣

She asked for descriptions of our dream tattoo and I went way over the text limit when explaining not one but two ideas for her over ig dms 😆🤣😅

[khlorhine]

Jjk oc opinions

Kitagawa Tamaki edition

I don't have any new art so make do with this slightly older drawing that was hidden in a week old post. Please click the link for info on her background. That's her boyfriend to the side as a human, his name is Fuyuki Mitsuya.

It's mentioned later in the post but I prefer reading powerscaling stuff over shipping stuff so correct me if my characterisation if a character is wrong. I love making cursed techniques. Ask me about cursed techniques, I'll happily brainstorm some with you. I feel like my chaarcter is too much of a Mary sue because other than two characters in here everyone is either indifferent to her and doesn't hate her.

Mai Zenin

Mai only hung around Tamaki because she was strong. It's the same reason why Mai hangs around Todo although she prefers Tamaki over him because she didn't have as bad as a personality as him and she finds it easier to get along with girls. Tamaki liked this type of relationship at first because Mai didn't point out her irregularities, just silently judges her. Mai stopped after Tamaki got into a fight with her dad, Ogi, which in turn caused her to get into a fight with Naoya and lose. It put a bad impression on her clan so she just stopped talking to her for a while. She realised she relied too much on other people like how she relied to much on Maki back when she was in that clan. After that they're doing pretty great together. Also Tamaki’s trying to teach Mai how to use rct because she wants to see what a cursed technique reversal would look like with construction.

Kasumi Miwa

The only thing they had in common with one another was the fact that they used swords. There is another swordsman, two years above them (oc: Sai Mizuhara) but hes a first grade and barely had time to train her. Tamaki couldn't train very well with her since she doesn't have a technique to build on so she manipulated Miwa's cursed energy in a way that would emulate a few of her non innate techniques until she got the hang of it. In contrast Miwa helped her with barrier techniques because she just sucked at them, thinking they were literal shields rather than seperators of different zones. After Tamaki went through a switch in weapons their weaponry training started to pick up the pace. Their personalities don't mesh well though, Miwa thinks she's scary in the the same way she thinks Todo and Kamo are scary because she's always itching for a fight.

Kokichi Muta

Mechamaru has information on her that only the principal has like the fact that she killed her boyfriend, and when he came back as a curse she turned him into a human curse hybrid. His heavenly restriction was unfortunate but his (oc: Mitsuya Fuyuki) was deliberate. He empatises with him because it wasn't his choice in the matter, therefore he can't bring himself to like her. Tamaki does not like him either because his technique has a lot of potential that he just does not take advantage of.

(Ok I know this is opinions but there's like a whole body swapping part where a curse switches their body and I wanna write it so bad but I literally only have a third of Tamaki's backstory (mind you backstory it's still in the first arc) written so writing something like two arcs ahead is just stupid. Basically they start to respect each other because in Tamaki's body, mechamaru develops a heat blueprint (refer to the licked post up there) and Tamaki does some insane RCT in his body that can only be done with his amount of cursed energy using it basically how mahito does with his own body but with RCT. This is because mechamaru wants to live in a body where he's not in pain all the time and Tamaki wants to prove to him how cool his body is and also because she wants her body back she can't do her experiments as well as she normally can in his body)

Aoi Todo

He mistakenly thought she had a thing for cursed spirits when he first saw her and he respected her on the basis that she wasn't boring until she corrected him, telling him she would quite literally date anyone who talked to her because she talks too much about jujutsu and nobody liked her at her old school, which caused them to get into a fight. They're pretty good allies though since they're both strong and the fact that they were both initially trained by special grades before their enrollment. (I realise most of the characters compare her to him but I really am bad at describing relationships when all I want to do is make up overpowered abilities. I'm more of a powerscaler than a shipper)

Momo Nishimiya

She's kinda weak so I can't go on a tirade about improving techniques with my oc because tool manipulation in theory is super awesome but I don't know the limitations of her abilities. It's definitely not weight since she can carry a fucking panda and three humans including herself on the broom. It probably has to do with focus, I guess she just can't split it between two different tools but if that's the case why can't she carry around a spare knife to throw at someone when she's not on her broom. That leads me to another theory where she can only manipulate objects she herself cursed but she's not part of the main cast so why do I even care so much.

Being serious here, Nishimiya is cool with Tamaki because she often breaks gender norms though Tamaki cannot get along with her because she used to care so much about not being normal that having a reminder that she's actively go against that makes her freak a little because she already knows all that she just doesn't want anyone to vocalise it to her. Also she feels her technique is under utilised.

Noritoshi Kamo

Noritoshi does not like Tamaki because she's experimented with making human curse hybrids before. Her obsession with his evil namesake ancestor doesn't help either. He can respect her for her strength but Tamaki genuinely can't understand why his clan is in the big three when the six eyes and ten shadows are much better techniques than blood manipulation which doesn't help their relationship. She beats the fuck out of his half brother (oc: Takayoshi Kamo, he's doing illegal stuff so it's justified sort of), takes away his technique(s because he eats a death painting and gets blood manipulation) so now he just sees her the same way he sees Todo. Bad personality but reliable. Also free rct. She heals him when he asks and she's also teaching him how to use it as long as he does her favours like ask his half-brother stupid questions in his jail cell or give her his blood or let her take a peak at the remaining eight death paintings. Stuff like that.

Arata Nitta

Arata just sees her as a bit overbearing because she fixates specifically on him for rct training. His technique is really useful in medical situations and Kyoto tech does not have a dedicated healer. This so also because she killed her boyfriend and in the moment developed rct but was very sucky with it so having someone like Arata to step in would've been pretty good so it's mainly done out of guilt for being a sucky person.

Iori Utahime

Utahime understood her situation from Gojo and tried her best to guide her in the right direction. Tamaki, at the time, couldn't respect her at all because she only cared about hyper offensive techniques and her aggression fucked her over in a few fights. After that Utahime suggested she practice weapon forms, kind of like Utahime's dances and she got better at handing her emotions and started respecting her teacher.

Yoshinobu Gakuganji

He wants her DRUGGED, BEAT, EXCECUTED, BURNED, AND THROWN INTO THE OCEAN. jk it's not that serious but he does want her dead. She used to work with Geto and he thinks she's a bad influence on his students since he cares about them so much. He's a traditionalist in every way and everything Tamaki does is the complete opposite of what he wants. He prefers her in Kyoto tech rather than Tokyo tech because this way she can be closer supervised and taken care of the moment she steps out of line unlike in Tokyo where Gojo would be prevent that.

Tsukumo Yuki

They can respect each other but they just don't get along. Yuki wants a world without cursed energy but jujutsu is the only thing Tamaki is good at so to take it away would make her life miserable. It doesn't help that Tamaki’s technique could also be used to increase or reduce someone's cursed energy levels or take away techniques so Yuki has an excuse to bug her. They like to talk about research but it gets real awkward when Yuki tries to bring up that subject. It also gets awkward when Tamaki starts accidently talking about evil ancestor Noritoshi because no jujutsu sorcerer likes him. Tamaki really likes Tsukumo in terms of jujutsu. She knows rct, domain expansion, it's very heavy hitting which is what Tamaki likes.

Suguru Geto

He was her mentor. They have pretty similar techniques since they can both manipulate curses so he was a great teacher for her. Geto can give commands to his cursed but they can think for themselves, Tamaki's just takes away whatever free will they have and contorts their body since she can't manipulate their souls, just the part of them that is cursed energy but whatever overlap they had was very helpful. Initially he wanted to keep her away from all this because she didn't hate non-sorcerers. He's got a soft spot for her and while he was dying, rather than tell her to regroup with the others he told her to go to Satoru Gojo because that kind of path would've been better for her. Shes not very grateful for that because she could've been working with Kenjaku if she had gone back but she doesn't hate him for that because that's just stupid and he was a really nice teacher to her.

Kenjaku

He inherited Geto's soft spot for her when he took over his body. She has a very clear obsession with him because of his want for pushing jujutsu to its limit meanwhile Kenjaku thinks she's a great back up body if Geto's were to ever perish because she's got a good technique. Kenjaku's genuinely never heard of her before he took over his body but he finds her interesting even without her technique with what he knows now. They don't share the same opinions on some things though. Kenjaku is very disappointed with all his creations because they never go beyond himself, meanwhile Tamaki loves his creations because they're the physical proof of what jujutsu could be and the building blocks of most of her creations which she loves very much so she could never understand why he'd even be disappointed. Being able to create something, anything is an amazing feat, especially for someone as academically challenged as she is.

Choso

Tamaki really likes him but never tried to talk to him because she knows Noritoshi finds her gross for liking Kenjaku but she doesn't care because they still work together fine regardless of that but with Choso so she wants to respect his boundaries and they are never forced into working with eachother so they can't even form a similar relationship to what she has with Noritoshi. Choso doesn't hate her though because if Yuji is fine with her then he is too. He knows she only likes Kenjaku for his research but telling this to her isn't his main priority since they're not really a big thing in eachothers lives.

Yuji Itadori

They met after her head injury so she was a bit crazy compared to how she was with Megumi and Nobara when they talked. She was in the room when Sukuna revived him and his body was what interested her the most because it was strong like someone with a heavenly restriction but also held tons of cursed energy thanks to sukuna's fingers. She's weird around him because of sukuna, she likes to ask questions about what it's like being a vessel and holding another person inside your body so obviously he thinks she's weird but from what he's heard from Kugisaki and Fushiguro she's reliable so he thinks that too.

Megumi Fushiguro

They met when she was working under Geto. Tamaki never told him this though but he was aware of the fact that she's a curse user, he just chose not to mention it to anyone but Gojo picked up on it because duh he has the six eyes. Megumi thinks she has a good personality since she got along with his sister in the time Tsumiki was still alive and conscious. During the sister exchange event he was surprised to see her again as a sorcerer and not a curse user and they exchanged contacts after it. The ten shadows is a very good technique so she's really excited to see him eventually tame all the ten shadows. (That never happens through megumis hands) At least she has his permission to disect him when he dies.

Nobara Kugisaki

They initially met in a one off interation when she was still working with Geto. Nobara thought she was kinda wimpy but the wimpy type that she should protect because she's a city girl and not used to the countryside. During the sister exchange event Nobara was happy to see her and was pleasantly surprised to see Tamaki be a bit unhinged. They also got each others contact after that. Tamaki also enjoys Nobara technique. Techniques that are accociated with the soul are really interesting to her.

-----

For the next bit I have to say Tamaki was involved in the night parade on Geto's side like she was literally with him and fighting yuta and stuff and she also fought a few of the Tokyo seconds years.

-----

Maki Zenin

Tamaki thinks she hates her for being aligned with Geto when they met. Maki can empathise with her because Tamaki did it to practice jujutsu when she couldn't under her uncles supervision and Maki moved from Kyoto to Tokyo so she can get revenge on her clan so they're not that different. Tamaki thinks her heavenly restriction is cool and (unlike another person with a heavenly restriction) she's making the most of it. Maki would like to see what weapons Tamaki has inside her cursed spirit's inventory. (It's mainly non-weaponty like furniture, dirt, sand, stuff that you can throw at an opponent and now care about wasting stuff)

Inumaki Toge

Not much to say to eachother. They don't talk (haha get it) so they can't form personal opinions on each other. She can form opinions on his jujutsu though. It's decent but the drawbacks aren't worth it in her opinion for someone of his caliber but he's utilising it the best he can and he's a fast runner. She's never seen him do hand to hand or use weapons and imbue them with cursed energy. Maybe it's a binding vow to increase his speech technique.

Panda

He's a panda, pandas don't hold grudges or at least that's what I think he would say. She thinks his technique is OK but it's really all Yaga's doing so she's not very interested in him.

Yuta Okkotsu

He beat her in a fight once and all he got from that is that she's mentally unstable and should seek help (she won't). Because he's not much of a fighter his opinion of her ties strictly to her background and not her capabilities. He can relate with her because they both have dead lovers that they kind of brought back from the dead in a weird and twisted way. He thinks she should try to let her dead bf go because it'll help her mental health (She really doesn't want him to point that out though because she know it's healthier for her but she just doesn't want to let him go).

Kinji Hakari

He thinks she has a lot of fever. She's always itching for a fight so he likes her. Tamaki likes him, he's easy to get along with and he's also the basis for a few of her moves. Their domain hand signs both come from the seven lucky gods and the 24 devas (benzaiten and bishamonten) so they're good buds.

Kirara Hoshi

Tamaki thinks her technique is really cool while Kirara likes her for her hair. Somehow it's not damaged from all of Tamaki's black hair dye. (Idk what else to say, Kirara has only ever been shown using it once as far as I'm aware, defensively but I'm sure she makes good use of it. I can imagine it being used as a homing missile and stuff. It's such a cool concept.)

Satoru Gojo

So they officially met after Geto's death and he kind of sees her as the last bit of Geto, like a gift from him to Gojo. Obviously this means he has to protect her but it was her choice to go to Kyoto tech so it was harder to do the from Tokyo, especially with how much trouble she causes but shes still somehow alive. Gojo thinks her curse is kinda cute, if not a bit unhealthy. Love is a curse and something something idk where I was going with that. Tamaki honestly regrets not going to Tokyo tech to study under him. He's very strong and with his six eyes he could honestly give her some really helpful pointers. She knows more than she should about him because of Geto lol.

Shoko Ieiri

Besties honestly. Shoko was the one who helped refine Tamaki’s rct. Every once in a while Tamaki goes to Tokyo to talk to her and also take off some of her workload.

Masamichi Yaga

He can make an army but he chooses not to, the fuck? At least everyone who comes out of his school is strong.

[why-this-kolaveri-machi]

just because you’re afraid it doesn’t mean you’re broken.

Titans 3.05

once more into the cold dark void of the internet with my stream-of-consciousness take on a superhero tv show...

spoilers ahead.

1. i cannot believe that among the first things i get to hear in this episode with my own two ears is the line 'eluded our overdudes'. why must you give me such pain along with so much joy, show?

1.5. scarecrow stringing jason along on this path to red-hood-dom is not something i would’ve ever expected, but does kind of make sense. 

1.55. i don’t know all the details of the original resurrection arc in the comics but i like that jason, weirdly, has a greater role to play in his own demise and rebirth? i think it makes it easier to draw a line between his past trauma, the demonstrably shitty and terrifying responsibility of being robin, the ways bruce and the titans wronged him, his responses to that, the reasons he turns to scarecrow, and his final evolution to red hood. it makes for a smoother character arc rather than a one that was interrupted for two decades before somebody went oh hey let’s resurrect that kid that the audience once voted to kill and make him an anti-hero!

1.75. what’s crane giving him? anti fear toxin? anyway, crane is a fucking creep and i’m not sure i want to see a whole lot of him on my screen.

2. oh, um, heads up: there’s a long sequence of unsteady cam + flickering lights right after the title card upto the 3:16 mark. it’s a bit headache-inducing so if you want to skip, you can go ahead and do that. 

2.45. that’s... weird... why would he dream about... donna...

ok, who am i kidding. i’m going to jump right into my theory about Why Titans Makes Sense Actually because the show itself is apparently not interested in explaining itself:

a) it makes no sense for jason to be conjuring up donna--who famously did not care much for him!--in his dreams. (he wasn’t even there when she died.) or for her to be telling him don’t go or there’s still time.

b) this leads me to think that that’s actually donna, in some sort of limbo between life and death, the kind of place where jericho used to be

c) rachel has demonstrated that she has the power to link the minds of the titans across great distances--she called jason and hank/dawn for help in 2.01, she linked up everybody later in the season, projected dick’s hallucination of his father into their brains without even realising she was doing it, and in the finale, she managed to get dick into conner’s brain. she’s in themyscira now. is this how she gets donna back to life? but reaching out to her in that non-space between life and death?

d) the next obvious question is: why isn’t donna appearing in the dreams of the other titans? she probably is, but they have better reason to be dreaming about her since they were actually close to her, unlike jason.

e) but why would she warn jason in particular? does she foresee jason entering the afterlife--however briefly? does she have an idea of what jason plans to do and what he will become?

f) anyway, more trippy mindscapes and weird psychic powers, yay!

2.5. my heart clenched when bruce comforted jason post-nightmare: clearly i’ve been reading way too much batfam fic. this is a side of bruce we haven’t really been told to expect by all the characters on the show calling him a ‘psychopath’ (*cough*unreliablenarrators*cough*) and him getting jason to speak to a professional speaks volumes about the kind of self-reflection he’s done post dick’s departure, and maybe some of the regrets he has with regards to how he dealt with dick’s traumas.

i mean, just look at him when jason dismisses his concerns! BRUCE IS TRYING JASON

anyway, i have a whole lot more i want to say about this, but i’ll save it for later. 

also: LESLIE THOMPKINS!!!!

3. i really like molly--and i love that she’s a friend from before jason got taken in by bruce, the implication that they meet up regularly and that she’s a grounding influence on him (tho clearly not grounding enough to not go along with his dumbass idea about confronting a child trafficker alone). 

3.5. aw, jason. robin was his armour against everything in the world that would throw him down and chew him to bits, but san francisco proved that even robin wasn’t enough to protect him. it’s really interesting how ‘disillusionment with the idea of robin’ is so integral to the traumas of both dick and jason but in such different ways. 

4. LESLIE!!!!!!! i even forgive her office being so goddamn blue because leslie! 

4.5. it makes so much sense for titans!verse leslie to be a therapist, because this show is so inward looking anyway, and therapist sessions are a useful tool to showcase this character work in a story. besides, at least in fanfic, leslie often seems to double up as a counsellor anyway. 

4.6. oh man. i’m not terribly convinced by walters’ red hood (tho i think that may be the point--argh. i’ll come back to this thought later. have to stop getting distracted!) but he plays the asshole kid that’s trying not to let any real emotion seep through really well.

“you’d like me to punch you, wouldn’t you”

5. not sure what to think of batman’s little trophy case other than the show winking unsubtly at us and going look look - catwoman! the riddler! two face! you excited yet?! it’s like the scene from the end of amazing spiderman 2 when they were trying to drum up excitement for a sinister six spinoff by having harry osborne walk by a bunch of display cases with stuff from iconic villains in them.

... but then again, bruce does like to display a lot of shit in his batcave, including his dead robin’s bloodstained costume, so.

5.5. bruce is so soft with jason it’s killing me. beyond just trying to learn from his mistakes with dick, it speaks to his own genuine desire to balance his dedication to gotham with doing the best by his sons, although he’s often not successful with that. 

i love that titans is really playing the long game with bruce wayne, with each season and character-perspective sliding in fresh pieces of a bigger puzzle. titans’ bruce has always been a phantom of other peoples’ making, but now we’re getting the idea that he’s a whole lot more complicated than other people make it seem.

5.75. it really recontextualises some of his actions from previous seasons: the fact that he locked dick out of his security systems in 1.06 is likely his way of respecting dick’s independence and his desire not to be associated with batman/gotham anymore. jason knowing about bruce’s tracker while dick doesn’t is probably bruce trying to be more honest and upfront with his charges. bruce sending jason packing off to sanfran to spend time with the titans is probably not him passing on a big responsibility to dick (as i first uncharitably thought) but him trying to get jason out of the toxic influence of gotham for a while and a sign of his trust in dick as a leader and a mentor,

5.8. i mean, bruce is a prick, but he’s also human.

6. i think leslie is doing some good work with jason here, though she may have overstepped the line with her line about robin as a construct being projected by a man with BPD. her speculations about bruce’s diagnosis have no place in her session with jason, and if bruce confides in her, an egregious violation of patient-therapist confidentiality. 

(about the diagnosis itself... i don’t know. i can’t really confirm or refute this without a whole lot more information, and i’m not sure if the writer of this episode means BPD in the same way an actual professional might.)

6.5. i think a huge thing that gets missed out in a lot of recent comics as well as movies/shows is that bruce didn’t create the robin persona out of whole cloth. dick did. he’s the starting point of that legacy and to call it entirely bruce’s creation is blatant erasure of that. in fact, i’m surprised that dick doesn’t feature more in the conversations they’re having about the pressures of being robin. after all, the guy had been robin--bruce’s partner--for such a long time before jason. 

6.8. (and here’s the primal part of me that resonates the deepest with dick grayson--the Eldest Daughter part--that’s sort of resentful: that jason gets the therapy and softness and the learning from mistakes when it took years and years for bruce to reach out in any meaningful way to dick.)

7. oooh that was a great scene!

it’s fun to do these stream-of-consciousness live reactions, because the moment you step down from your soapbox, the episode goes right into tackling what you were just complaining about. bruce means well, he’s learning, but he goes about exactly the wrong way to help jason: taking away robin now can’t be read by jason as anything but a devastating judgment call from bruce. and iain glen really sells the moment that bruce realises this--too late--and his helplessness in trying to get jason to see that it isn’t jason’s fault that he’s trying to do this. he loves jason enough that jason is enough. 

7.5. aaaah so jason brings up the elephant in the room at last. dick got everything makes sense from his perspective, where getting to put on a costume and fight crime means approval, means being something stronger and better than you are. dick got to be robin, then nightwing, and a leader of a whole team of other costume-clad heroes. 

8. ... how did jason just walk into arkham????? this is ridiculous.

8.3. i mean, clearly jason’s not thinking straight, but betraying batman like this puts his possibilities of being robin again even further away. 

8.5. watching that chemistry experiment montage was strangely funny. this guy is looking for an antidote to fear? well, constantly mixing up and inhaling gases concocted by a mad-scientist supervillain is something only the very fearless--reckless to the point of foolishness!--would do. what’s to say crane’s not given you a formula for a drug that will keep you tethered to his every will and whim? hmmmm?

8.7. so he sought out the joker to... test the formula??? 

9. wow the “loud and clear... boss” hits different after a whole episode of them referring to each other as father and son.

9.3. waitwaitwait HOLD UP. wait a DANG MINUTE. you’re telling me that scarecrow had enough resources that he could not only have folks on the outside steal jason away and dunk him in a lazarus pit (i TOLD you that this show would bring up and dismiss ra’s al ghul in a ten second aside! I TOLD YOU) but also have his own little chemistry lab in the basement, AND have enough resources for jason to build his red hood persona???????? all of this in barely twenty four hours?

well there goes my ‘jason orchestrated his death’ theory. it was nice while it lasted. *cups hands to the sky* fly away, my baby.

9.6. a part of me is gleeful at the rushed nature of such an iconic transformation though, especially when compared to all the character work that went before it. we’re so used to getting the opposite that it’s fucking delightful to have a show that’s more interested in exploring its characters’ minds rather than battle scenes or recreating transformations from the comics. that’s taken such bold and exciting steps to fully convey all the nuances of its most recognisable character, bruce wayne, from casting an older actor to play him to unflinchingly showing just how damaging the vigilante lifestyle has been to him and the people he loves. BRILLIANT

*sporfle*

10. again, heads up: a whole lot of flashing lights between 40:28 and 42:00. 

10.3. i guess it’s the super-compressed timeline that’s really throwing me off. where did he have the time to get/develop the mind control thing from? or is it something that he got from the cabal of villains that he intimidated at the beginning of 3.02? very messy.

10.5. i love molly, i hope she shows up again this season.

11. aaaand that’s it! that was a solid episode as flashback episodes go, but now i can’t wait to return to the present.

[jewishjon]

His Father’s Son

A/N: I am so excited to finally be able to put the first chapter of this fic for the 2021 Grishaverse Big Bang (@grishaversebigbang) fic out into the world. Thank you so much to my incredible artists whose art you will find linked below and my amazing beta reader. You can find me on tumblr here or twitter @/vespabuddy and I will be updating on ao3 every Tuesday and Saturday until the 25th of September. Enjoy!

Beta Reader: @z-the-zebra

Artists: @hivertoautumn @wellwatersurprise @jsperfhey @lucentcorrigan (I’ll link their art soon, I’m making this post before it’s uploaded)

Summary: At fifteen, Wylan meets Jesper at a formal University event, falls for him, and never sees him again. Four years later, his father orders him to take down a criminal gang called the Dregs.

Ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/33741277/chapters/83866909

Read the first chapter below the cut!

The morning of the grand opening of Ketterdam University’s Van Eck wing, Wylan’s father threatened his life.

The day began like any other. He woke to the clattering of carriages in the street below, the delicious smell of the servants preparing breakfast, and felt a sinking in his stomach at the thought of the dreaded event scheduled to take place that evening. He got out of bed and was helped into a tailored black suit by his valet. When he reached the dining room, his father was long gone, likely having been in his study since the early hours of the morning, and he was forced to endure the company of his father’s new girlfriend as he ate.

“Are you excited about the party?” asked Alys, a stupid smile plastered on her face as she watched Wylan. She was so young she could easily be Wylan’s sister.

“Really excited.” murmured Wylan dryly into his eggs. He was already stressed from the thought of enduring the rest of the day. He didn’t have the energy to deal with Alys.

Unfortunately, instead of leaving him alone, her upper lip began to wobble. “Do you not like me, Wylan? What did I do wrong? You know, I try so—” Alys gulped, “So hard to be a good mother to you.”

A mother? Wylan had known Alys for three weeks, and already felt he had years of maturity on her, and he was only fifteen himself. 

Still, he felt a wave of guilt. Alys was trying her best, having been raised to believe her only worth in life was to marry a wealthy man, and his father was as wealthy as they came. Wylan may be set for a successful career as a mercher, but he knew well what it was like to be unable to fulfill the simplest task expected of him.

That was the thing about Alys. No matter how idiotic she was, she was always trying her best. So, Wylan caught her eye and mumbled a simple;

“I’m sorry.”

He fought back bile as she reached her hand across the table and squeezed his until he began to feel woozy. She wasn’t squeezing too hard, and Wylan was sure she had no intentions of anything but kindness, but the feel of her too-smooth skin against his was inexplicably as painful as any blow dealt by his father’s hand.

“Don’t worry, Wylan, honey. I love you despite all your imperfections!” Alys smiled sweetly. “All your imperfections.”

Somehow, that didn’t make Wylan feel any better.

As he was heading back to his room, hoping to use his free time to practice his flute or scream into his pillow about the pains of existence, he was stopped by his father’s assistant. Mieke was a middle-aged man with as little personality as he had hair on his balding head.

“Come to your father’s office. He wishes to talk to you immediately.”

“Of course, Sir.”

Fear festered in Wylan’s stomach as he followed the man down the long corridors of the Van Eck mansion. Surely he would have been told already if there were any changes to his role in the party that evening. Furthermore, he had no memory of having done anything wrong since he’d last seen Jan Van Eck, although his father always managed to find something. 

Even the thought of the beating he’d received last time was enough to nearly make him turn and run as fast as his legs would take him.

Mieke opened the gilded wooden door leading to Jan Van Eck’s office, and, ever so slowly, Wylan entered. His father’s study had always been a source of intimidation, and not just because of the man who inhabited it. The walls were decorated with certificates celebrating his father’s many achievements, a massive painting of himself in his youth hanging above the table, stacks of paper in neat piles throughout the room. They all lead to the man sitting at the desk, looking at Wylan with a scowl on his face. There was no beating stick in view, but Wylan had learnt to never underestimate the power of his father’s fists.

His father made a gesture beckoning Wylan to come forward, and he approached the desk until he put up a hand signaling for him to stop. Wylan stayed silent, having been trained long ago to never speak to his father unless spoken to.

“Wylan.” said his father. “I’m glad you came.”

Wylan nodded in acknowledgement. They both knew well that he had no choice in the matter.

“You know, when I woke up this morning, I thought ‘Maybe I should kill Wylan today.’” 

Kill. Kill Wylan. 

Kill Wylan.

It took a few seconds for his father’s words to unscramble in Wylan’s head. The world became unfocused as the simple sentence’s weight hit him.

“‘End his suffering once and for all. It’s not like he has anything to live for.’”

Wylan let out a choked, strangled noise. His father’s next words flew past him without registering. He had to be joking… right? His father couldn’t have wanted to kill him. This was all some cruel new trick to manipulate him. Another one of his father’s endless strategies to bend him to his will. He told himself over and over that it wasn’t true. Even the continuous stream of his Father’s words failed to break his trance. Yet, as he replayed it in his head in the hope of finding any kind of meaning behind the threat, something about the tone of his father’s voice, or the knowledge of how he had treated him for all these years, told Wylan that his words weren't empty.

“Oh, don’t look so shocked. I didn’t do it, of course, or you wouldn’t be standing here right now.” He sighed. “You must have considered that now I have Alys, I soon won’t have need for my insolent, defective son.”

Wylan blinked, and realised tears had been slowly streaming down his cheeks. 

All he’d ever wanted was to be enough for his father. He’d thought that despite all the beatings, all the insults, every time he was locked in his room until he could read a single sentence of a children’s book, his father still loved him. A tiny part of him, the part that had kissed his mother and read to him as a child and tucked him into bed, still cared.

“I’m sorry.” whispered Wylan. His voice shook as he spoke, barely loud enough to be heard above the clatter of his thoughts. “I tried, Father. I tried so hard.”

His father scoffed. “I should have known you’d react this way. You’ve always been too emotional, Wylan. You may as well leave now, make yourself respectable before this evening. Just take this as an incentive. Be better tonight and all nights afterwards, or I will go ahead with that threat.”

When he reached his room, Wylan punched his drawer over and over until his knuckles were cracked and blood stained the wood. He didn’t feel a thing.

***

The ballroom of Ketterdam University had been filled with professors, wealthy students, and the entirety of Ketterdam’s elite to celebrate the opening of the new university wing that Jan Van Eck had so ‘generously’ funded. His painting had been hung prominently in the ballroom, illuminated by the numerous glass chandeliers, and his name engraved on a large plaque outside the new building. Wylan could tell that he was loving every single second of it.

Under normal circumstances, Wylan hated parties. The bright lights, the hordes of people talking over one another and his father’s constant grip on his arm were usually enough to drive him to hiding in a closet by the end of the night. 

After this morning, he just wanted to get it over with.

He knew he should be terrified. If his behaviour at this event didn’t please his father, it could lead to his demise. The constant threat of death hanging over his head would scare anyone else into unquestioning submission. But, inexplicably to even Wylan himself, he felt so numb. Since his meeting with his father, he’d been drifting unthinkingly through the day, the usual fear blocked out by an overwhelming, horrifying lack of feeling. A sadness that stole away every drop of hope he had left, that told him to give up, that whispered that he had never mattered to anyone anyway. He had no choice left but to believe it.

So, Wylan could barely find it in himself to care about his potential upcoming death. He couldn’t find it in himself to care about anything but the hatred in his father’s eyes as he stated his intention to end Wylan’s life. 

Even now, his father looked so remorseless. So cold. As Wylan followed him through the university campus, he couldn’t see a single drop of emotion on his face. He’d always believed it was a result of being a mercher for so long that he’d become a master at faking indifference. He was beginning to suspect that perhaps his father truly didn’t feel anything.

When the Dean noticed Wylan and his father being let in by a guard at the doorway, he rushed over to greet them. Wylan’s father gripped his arm far too tightly in a clear warning.

“Welcome, Mr Van Eck and…?”

Wylan’s father’s expression briefly soured. “His name is Wylan.”

“Welcome to our university, Mr Van Eck and Wylan Van Eck. Everyone here is incredibly grateful for your donation, and we hope this event will show even a small part of our thanks.”

His father smiled, an action that made Wylan’s stomach automatically churn. “Thank you. I’m very glad to be able to help the next generation of merchers that are being taught here.”

The Dean gestured to the guard and he threw open the doors, making the party guests immediately stop talking and turn to stare at the new arrivals. Wylan’s eye was caught by a dark-skinned Zemini boy, deep in conversation with a professor. He looked as if he was Wylan’s age, maybe slightly older - far too young to be attending such a prestigious university. After a few seconds, he gave the drink to the professor, seeming to end his conversation temporarily, and left the room in the direction of the bathroom. 

“Please welcome Mr Van Eck of the Merchant Council, and his son Wylan! Mr Van Eck is the reason we can be here tonight, as his extremely generous donation enabled us to build our new wing. Of course, it was only fitting to name it the Van Eck wing in his honour. We hope you and your son enjoy the party.”

The crowd clapped politely, a few merchers rolling their eyes at the praise directed towards Jan Van Eck. Once people had turned back to their prior conversations, he and Wylan entered the overcrowded ballroom. Wylan tried to head for the food table in hope of a temporary respite from the noise, but his father grabbed his arm again and steered him in the direction of a group of merchers.

“This is my son, Wylan. One day he will replace me in the Merchant Council… if he plays his cards right.” The merchers laughed as if Wylan’s father had told the funniest joke they’d ever heard. “Go on, Wylan. Say something.”

His chest tightened. In all the time he’d had to prepare for this event, he’d forgotten to decide what to say if his father forced him to make conversation with other merchers.

“I… Uh… Hi. I’m- I’m Wylan.”

Wylan’s cheeks blushed a bright shade of pink at the ensuing chuckles, and he tried to avert his gaze from the clearly amused merchers. His father put his hand on his arm in seeming reassurance and, almost imperceptibly, pinched the skin on the side of his arm until he had to stop himself from crying out in pain. There would be a large purple bruise by tomorrow. 

Stumbling over his words in public was a rookie mistake. He should have known better, but parties always put him on edge. The social cues he’d practiced over and over in the mirror had been completely snatched from him.

At least he felt something again. His head was beginning to spin, his breath coming short, a growing sick feeling in his stomach. The noise of the people scattered around the room became increasingly louder until Wylan winced in pain. When he did so, the previously beautiful chandeliers became blinding pillars of lights, and people began to talk more and more, as if they were laughing in his face.

“Have you decided whether to invest in the new stock coming in from Ravka this month?”

“Can you comment on the instability of the Ravkan economy?”

“How long do you think it will be before you tie the knot with your new girlfriend?”

“What are your thoughts on the growing economic power of that gang from the Barrel - the Dregs?”

Everything was so loud.

Stop. Stop. Please. Stop. There was so much noise. Too many people talking at once. It was so loud. Stop. Stop. Stop. Please could they stop they needed to-

“Stop!” yelled Wylan.

Every mercher in the group turned to stare at him. A look of fury flashed on his father’s face before he forced himself to smile, his eyes still twitching in concealed rage.

“I’m afraid my son has been feeling… not very well recently. I’m sure he just needs some time alone.”

Before his father had time to grab him, Wylan ran. He pushed through the crowds of people, his vision blurring, until he reached the corridor that led to the bathrooms. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw his father take a deep breath and turn back to the other merchers. He was far more concerned about maintaining his public image than helping his son. 

Wylan leant against the wall, his breath coming in ragged gasps. Whilst he was glad to be away from the party, the new environment had done nothing to quench the panic threatening to overwhelm him.

The bathroom door opened just as Wylan was about to enter, and it hit him square in the face. His head spun, and he was still trying to process what had happened when a figure came running out of the bathroom and slammed into Wylan. He jumped back as fast as possible, rubbing his injured nose, and gaped. 

“I’m so sorry!” he blurted.

“Why are you sorry? I’m the one who slammed a door in your face! I should be sorry!”

Wylan looked up and began to splutter, unable to bring himself to say anything. The person he’d bumped into was the Zemini student from earlier, the boy who’d looked far too young to attend the university. From closer up, Wylan could see deep calluses on his hands - it came to Wylan suddenly that Novyi Zem’s primary source of income was jurda farming - and piercing grey eyes that were staring at him with concern. He was extremely, impossibly handsome. 

“Are you okay? Because I’d never complain about a pretty boy staring at me, but it’s not usually after I’ve hit him in the face with a door.”

“You… you think I’m pretty?”

The boy raised an eyebrow. “I don’t think that’s the part we should be focusing on, Pretty Boy.”

In-between the embarrassment he felt at the compliment, Wylan realised he may be correct. It definitely wasn’t a good sign that the boy’s figure was swimming in front of him, or that his head was still relentlessly pounding. Whilst he wasn’t sure how much of that could be attributed to the door and how much to his ongoing panic attack, it would probably be best if he at least sat down. 

“I- I’m not usually like this.” Wylan swayed a little. “You should come back and talk to me when I’m not dying… Oh wait…” He giggled. “I’ll be dead tomorrow anyway…”

“Okay, we’re definitely going to sit you down.”

The boy gently put an arm around Wylan’s back and helped him onto the corridor floor. They sat beside each other, slumped against the wall, in silence.

“I’m Jesper. I’m a student here. I didn’t want to go to this party anyway, but my professor made me come. Apparently I’m one of the ‘top students’ and they need me to ‘represent the university’ as their ‘youngest and most promising student’. I think there could be much better uses of my time than attending a party for some rich jerk.”

Usually, Wylan would have defended his father, but today, something in him was enjoying hearing him be insulted. Besides, he had a feeling that Jesper didn’t know his true identity, and if he did, he probably wouldn’t want to sit beside him anymore.

“I’m Wylan.”

“How many fingers am I holding up?”

Jesper shoved three fingers in Wylan’s face, and he pushed them away, rolling his eyes.

“That’s not an answer!”

“You had three fingers up. I’m not concussed, you know.”

Jesper was silent for a while, until he noticed Wylan’s still-wet eyes.

“You do look like you’re about to cry, though. I’d like to think I can help with that too.”

It was nice of Jesper to try, but nothing he could do would prevent the inevitable punishment Wylan would face when he left this corridor. He needed to head back. The sooner he returned, the lesser his father’s wrath would be. He glanced back at the party - the loud voices, the crowds of people, his father engaging calmly in conversation as if nothing had happened - and found himself beginning to hyperventilate again. 

He was going to die. His father hated him and he was going to die and Wylan would be dead and no one would mourn him because everyone hated him anyway and it would all be pointless in the end and—

Wylan felt soft arms wrap around his chest, holding him tightly. Someone was hugging him. Jesper. The pressure was just right, the other boy’s hands resting against his ribcage, and Wylan let himself lean into him. He buried his head in the crook of Jesper’s neck, letting the tears that had been building up for so long fall. Perhaps it was because Wylan hadn’t hugged anyone since his mother died, perhaps it was because he was the first person in months who’d treated Wylan like a fellow human, but Jesper felt like home.

When Wylan’s breathing returned to normal, he let himself pull away, but Jesper didn’t take his hands from their grounding position on his waist. 

“Wylan, do you want to get out of here?”

“What do you mean?”

Jesper smirked. “You’ll see.”

[wallwriterstuff]

Obsession ||Yandere!Alec Volturi x Female Reader|| Part 1

Warnings: Yandere!Alec, obsessive behaviour, unhealthy relationships and implied non-con later on. This is possibly one of the darkest fics I have ever written so please be aware if controlling behaviour, gaslighting etc. If this is triggering to you, do not read this fic. This and posts like this one will be tagged under dark themes so please feel free to block that tag if you do not want to see content like this in the future. 

The following link will take you to a Citizen’s Advice Page that have resources regarding Domestic abuse and violence. They detail various organisations offering support, refuge and advice for both women and men in abusive situations, however these only apply to the UK. 

https://www.citizensadvice.org.uk/family/gender-violence/domestic-violence-and-abuse-getting-help/ 

I am from the UK and therefore am not sure about what resources may be available internationally, however I know many of you are from places outwith the UK. If you have any resources you know of that would be useful or helpful to add here then please do! You can reblog this post with link in or message me a link to have me edit it into the original. I will post this link and any that get added in all three parts of this fic that I post. 

Words: 3116

Summary: A request for @tiger-khans-blog Savings your sister’s boyfriend was an act of kindness, something you had done out of the goodness of your heart, but hadn’t they always said the road to hell is paved with good intentions?  Alec is aged up to 16 in this fic.

Part 2: When You’re Lost I’ll Leave My Gaslight On 

Part 3: These Violent Delights 

It had been near constant since you’d entered the room.

His eyes were the most piercing ruby red – until they weren’t. The onyx colour had followed you ever since you’d set foot in the throne room, a sharp inhale being the extent of his communication with you. If he wasn’t so damn creepy he might have been handsome, with his shock of dark hair framing a pale face with all the sharp, angular cheekbones and jawline of a model. He was taller to, definitely taller than you by at least half a head, but his stare was piercing and completely at odds with his otherwise apathetic expression. He showed no emotion at all yet the way he looked at you…it was like the whole world revolved around you and only you. There was hunger and excitement and need and envy and a whole host of other emotions in his eyes. It had made you so uncomfortable you’d gravitated towards Alice as best you could, but the whole plan had gone out of the window when the hulking mass of muscle they called Felix started towards your sister.

Isabella Swan was two years older than yourself, but for most of your life she had been the one taking care of you. Renée hadn’t planned on having a second child but like so many other things in her life, you were a complete accident. As loving as your mother was, she wasn’t necessarily fit to take care of one child, never mind two. Bella was the one who had helped with homework, who had crawled into your bed with you when you had nightmares or were sick. To see Felix coming straight for her was like something straight out of a nightmare and you’d moved without thinking. One minute you were facing the taunting smirk of a mountain man and the next the room had blurred, and your vision was filled with the furious stare of the boy who had been watching you all day.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he hissed. His grip on the tops of your arms tight enough to bruise. You winced, wide eyes filling with tears, and in the next second the boy had released your arms and moved to tenderly cup your face. “Shhh, shhhh sh sh, it’ll all be over soon.” He promised, thumbs stroking your cheeks while you tried to squirm out of his grip. His eyes hardened, clearly unhappy with you trying to escape him. You could only see him, his face the only thing in your vision, but you could hear what sounded like rocks colliding, granite smashing. Your body trembled, anxiety filling you up. It wasn’t clear if the boy was more upset with your trying to get out of his grip than your interference with Bella’s execution, but those coal black eyes never lost their laser focus on you.

“Alec?” the petite blonde beside him sounded thoroughly confused while you fought off a shudder. You hated how his name sounded so appealing. Everything about him was enticing, even his scent, but he terrified you beyond belief with the way he was acting.

“Is it the noise? Would you prefer not to see? To hear?” he asked. In the next second it was all gone, like the world had fallen away around you. You couldn’t see, couldn’t hear; you were left screaming in your own head with absolutely no idea if you were still in that awful, awful room or if your soul had mercifully fled your body before you could feel any pain. There was simultaneously nothing and everything, an endless abyss of silence and the imprecise, ever-shifting image of what you thought you remembered the Volturi’s throne room to look like wavering in your head.

Being left alone with your imagination was somehow worse than seeing the actual thing. In your mind Bella was torn in half, one hand stretched towards you while the other remained in Felix’s grip. Alice was trapped by Demetri, Felix holding Edward by the throat. Then the scene would shift and Bella was limp in his arms with Felix’s mouth attached to her neck, both Cullen’s dead and Alec descending on you with that insane stare of his. There were too many ways to envision what mutilation might have occurred and you were beginning to drive yourself insane with them when suddenly the darkness faded.

You blinked rapidly, unsure if what you were seeing was real since it was so blurred. A gentle hand dabbed rough wool beneath your eye and you realised the world looked so watery because you had been crying. Alec used the sleeves of his jacket to dry your tears. Bella was watching you with horror filled eyes, your trembling body almost giving way as you fought the urge to run – you were sure Alec would just drag you back. You could feel his breath on the side of your face. He clearly didn’t understand the concept of personal space.

“Mesmerising, to see what you have seen before it has happened.” Aro murmured, stroking Alice’s hand before she pulled it back with a clearly forced smile.

“But what will.” She reminded him. He clapped his hands, looking so joyful you were left utterly paralysed with confusion. Did he not understand how terrifying this all was? Had he not seen the sheer crazy that was waiting to burst forth out of the boy holding you back? His behaviour was erratic, completely at odds with the rest of the refined and well disciplined Guard. How could Aro not see?

“Yes, yes it’s quite certain, you are free to leave.” Aro informed them. Your breath escaped you in a rush and you immediately tried to dash for your sister. Bella had opened her arms straight to you and the safe haven was so close, yet so far. Alec didn’t let you take a step, hauling you back against his chest and burying his nose in the crook of your neck, inhaling deeply.

“No you don’t, I’ve waited too long.” He grumbled. You struggled frantically, the tears springing to your eyes again as Caius tried to protest his brother’s decision. You had drawn the attention of most of the Guard and the man you knew to be Marcus by now though, the brunette king looking somewhat sympathetic towards you. For a man with no respect for human life to look at you like that could most certainly not be a good thing.  

“What are you doing brother? Let the foolish thing go.” Jane said, reaching for his arm. His head snapped up, a growl rumbling through his chest into your spine. If looks could kill, you had no doubt the petite blonde would have burst into flame then and there, bursting into a thousand pieces with the intensity of the danger in his glare.

“Bella!” you whimpered. His hold was like having an iron beam wrapped around your torso, two strong arms refusing to let you move so much as an inch from his chest. It didn’t make sense, none of it did, why was he so obsessed with keeping you near? Did he want you dead? He couldn’t, he’d had plenty of chance to do so by now and hadn’t taken a single opportunity to hurt you on purpose. So what was his problem with you?  

“Alec, dear one, is something the matter?” Aro asked, eyes glistening.

“Aro.” His brother held a hand out to him and the black haired leader flashed towards him while you continued to struggle, your frustration mounting.

“Let me go!” you cried, You stomped on his foot – nothing. You threw your elbow back into his ribs – nothing except a sore elbow for you. You tried to pry his arms away from your body – nothing.

“No.” he hissed. You squeezed your eyes shut.

“Let me go! Please! Let me go!” you begged.

“I said, no.” he repeated, his voice ice cold. Your heart rabbited in your chest, the nausea in your throat rising until you were sure you were on the verge of throwing up. You could barely breathe and it wasn’t just his tight grip that was the problem. There was a panic attack looming on the horizon for you if he kept this up.

“Please, let her go, she’s done nothing wrong. Aro said we were free to go.” Bella tried. She took a step towards you and with one swift jerk he had turned his back on her. You screamed, your limbs fatigued and losing strength with every hit.

“I’m afraid young Y/N will not be going home with you,” Aro’s voice was soft, “To separate them would clearly only cause harm. Alec cannot leave his mate.” You froze in his grip, fingers curling into the fabric of his jacket as you lip trembled. Mate? Mate? What the hell did that even mean? Animals mated, not humans! Was that what he was implying? The boy was so horny for you he wouldn’t let you leave? The fear that gripped you was utterly paralysing as you thought of a thousand different scenarios that made you want to be utterly sick with the horror of them; your choices taken from you, your voice inconsequential as he did things to you you never consented to.

“She’s my sister! Please, I’ve looked after her since she was born, you can’t just-“

“And from this day forth she’ll be looked after by me. She is mine.” Alec snarled quietly. He didn’t seem to notice you’d gone completely rigid in his grip.

“Alec her father will be devastated, she hasn’t even finished school, if you keep her here you’ll just make her unhappy.” Edward tried to reason with him, but he merely tightened his grip on you. You cried out, a sharp pain ripping through your midriff as he almost choked the life from you. The blonde-haired Guard appeared in your line of sight then, his expression somewhat concerned as you struggled to force air into your lungs. If Alec could hear you rasping for air he didn’t show it.

“Alec, old friend look at her,” he coaxed. Alec had done plenty of looking at you, you didn’t want him to look anymore. You shied away from his gaze, head ducking and hair falling between you. Shuddering gasps escaped you as your heart began to roar in your ears, a sure sign there wasn’t enough oxygen getting into your lungs. One arm moved from around your waist but you were too scared to move away from him now, his freezing cold fingers gently brushing your hair back. You flinched.

“She’s mine, Demetri.” He insisted, frowning like a petulant child who was being threatened with their favourite toy being taken from them. Demetri nodded his head.

“She is, and yet she flinches from you. You are scaring her Alec, and she will most definitely bruise if you keep holding her so tight, that’s I she doesn’t suffocate first. Do you want that for your mate? Do you wish to hurt her? To make her fear you?” he questioned. Alec gave a soft wince, immediately loosening his grip.

“I’ve hurt you?” he asked, looking a lot like a wounded puppy now. You swallowed past the lump in your throat, not trusting your voice to remain steady and simply nodding in response. His eyes were still wide with conflicting emotion, but Demetri seemed to be getting through to him at least. You were grateful, and pleaded with your eyes for the man to keep going.

“You cannot simply claim her Alec, she is so young still, would you not prefer her to live a full life and come to you willingly?” Demetri wondered. You felt your stomach drop as Alec’s expression hardened.

“You’re trying to take her from me to.” he growled.

“Alec you are-“

“She, is, not, leaving!” he snarled, a sea of black exploding around him. Your eyes widened, a cool mist swirling about your legs as you finally managed to stumble away from him. Only Bella was still standing, the others having crumpled to the floor until only he, you and Bella remained conscious.

“Y/N!” she cried out. He didn’t stop you running to her this time. You stumbled into her arms, sobbing and shaking. She held you tight to her, her fingers pressing harshly into her skin. It felt like butterfly wings caressing your flesh compared to Alec’s vice like grip. “It’s okay, we’ll figure this out, it’ll be okay, you just have to-“

“Make this quick, say goodbye to your sister. That’s what you want isn’t it? A proper goodbye?” Alec asked, mist still pouring from his hands as his black eyes followed your every move. You shook your head frantically.

“I don’t want to say goodbye, I want to go home! Let me go home!” you begged. Alec hissed.

“What don’t you understand? You are my mate! I’ve waited a thousand years for you, you are mine and you cannot walk away from me!” he snapped. Bella tried to hush you, stroking your hair gently as you collapsed into her.

“Please don’t let him keep me here.” You cried. Bella remained silent, horribly, startlingly silent. Her hands shook as she held you close. Alec approached you, the mist seemingly absorbing back into his body as he walked. The room was in an uproar as soon as everyone was on their feet again, Felix and Demetri forcing him to his knees with furious expressions. He still never took his eyes off of you, his expression devoid of any and all emotion suddenly.

“Are you insane Alec? Using your gift on us? We’re trying to help you!”

“How could you brother? You broke our promise and for a human no less!”

“What insolence is this? Need we remind you of your place boy!”

Alec didn’t respond to any of the accusations, his neck straining so he could keep his eyes on you. Aro only had to touch his hand to know his intentions for you, but you didn’t dare look anymore, choosing instead to bury your face in your sister’s neck as you struggled to calm your breathing and sobbing.

“I would advise you leave now.” Felix huffed.

“We can’t,” Edward’s voice was quiet, apologetic, “Y/N, if we take you, he’ll destroy us all.” Your chest constricted, you felt like you could barely breathe as a lead weight settled in your gut. Destroy them? Alec was a killer, if the red eyes hadn’t told you so then his actions just now had. It wasn’t difficult at all to believe he’d go so far as to kill anyone who stood between you both, but what hurt even more was that you didn’t trust him to be good to you if you stayed either. Why did it have to be you? You’d come to Volterra to do something good, to save someone’s life! So why were you losing yours?

“You ought think on your actions Alec, your mate will be here waiting for you, but for now you need some time to reflect on your position. I think two weeks in the dungeons ought to suffice.” Aro’s voice was ice cold, his fury obvious. Clearly, he had never thought one of his own guard would dare use his powers against him.

“You monster! You fucking monster! Edward I can’t leave her here, she’s my baby sister!” Bella protested. You tightened your grip on her shirt, eyes itchy red and cheeks wet as the terrible weight of hopelessness sank down on your chest. There was no way out. Even if they had tricked Alec and let you leave what then? Did you run from him for the rest of your life? Did you just wait for him to find you? Maybe the dungeon might mellow him out some? It was a bit of a relief really, when the stress just shut your brain and body down, even if the moment of relief was as brief as blinking.

You could almost pretend nothing had ever happened, that perhaps you were at home, as your consciousness dripped back into you. You were on soft sheets, your pillow cradling your head, and you wanted to just burrow away in them. The only thing was, you could feel sunlight warming your skin, and that addictive, woodsy smell was not the lavender your laundry usually came out smelling like. You felt awfully nauseous for a moment when you opened your eyes, your body readjusting to having your brain in control once more, but the red eyes that met yours were far kinder this time than Alec’s aggressively territorial stare. The chestnut brown hair and angular face was familiar to you, and you warily sat up to lean back against the headboard. Demetri let you put the distance between you with an aura of calm that tempted you to relax to. He was alone, no Felix or Jane by his side, but that didn’t mean he was any less dangerous.

“Where’s Bella?” you whispered. She had to be somewhere nearby. Maybe she was in the bathroom? Or had gone to find food and drink? How long had you even been out? Whose room was this?

“She and the Cullen’s departed for their return flight to America not an hour ago.” Demetri informed you. Your stomach dropped, your nausea rising and face paling.

“No…no she – she didn’t leave me here, she didn’t….you’re lying!” Knees curling to your chest, you gripped tightly at your jeans until your knuckles turned as white as your face.

“Not without protest,” he assured you, his voice softer now with sympathy, “But it seems Alec has become unpredictable. His reaction to the mate pull unnerved us all, you are not alone in your fear, though perhaps we fear different things.” His voice was soothing in a way not much else to you was right now. Thoughts swirled in your mind, the bitterness at your abandonment only outweighed by terror at being left behind.

“What is he going to do to me?” you asked, your voice barely more audible than a whisper. Demetri’s head tilted.

“And that is why I am afraid…I truly cannot tell you.” He murmured. He didn’t exactly comfort you when the tears came again, your eyes beyond irritated with all the crying you’d done today, but he didn’t stop you from letting your emotions run away from you instead. He remained close enough to remind you you weren’t alone, but Demetri didn’t hold you as Bella would, or stroke your hair or do anything remotely soothing. His greatest gift to you in that moment was to simply let you be human.

You didn’t know how long that would last.

[kim-ruzek]

All The Ways A Heart Can Break

Summary: He remembers all that, and all the moments like that. And that’s why he knows that if he has the chance to make her smile, make her day he’ll always take it, even if it ends like this, even if it ends with her on a date with Roman and him alone, in his apartment, getting drunk, with only his self-hatred and pity to keep him company.

Adam turns up at the theatre, only to see Kim walk in with Roman.

Fix-it for 3x18/19. Very angsty, but it does have a happy ending. Technically has some Roman bashing in!!!

Warnings: angst!!!

Word Count: 16.3k words. (Only the first 2k is here, you'll have to read the rest on AO3, which will be linked both here and at the bottom of this post, due to length!)

Read on AO3

Notes: I hope y'all enjoy!!! This has been a labour of love and I'm so excited to finally share. A special thank you to @justanoffalygirl bc without their reactions to the snippets I sent, I might've given up!

Adam stares at himself in the mirror, the self-doubt and uncertainty he’s feeling staring back at him. There are so many reasons this is a bad idea, so many reasons why he should just get out of these clothes, why he shouldn’t go out, why he should just stay at home and drink his weight in beer.

The probability of this going bad than good is high, that the chance that he’ll be home again within in the hour, his heart torn afresh again, is too much of a possibility that he should just cut the going out part, and just skip to the self-hatred part of the evening.

If he had any sanity, any logic or rationality, he’d listen to that voice that quotes him the statistics, that tells him it gets harder and harder to hear her rejections, and it’s not worth it. But Adam’s team doesn’t affectionately call him a bit of a dumbass for no reason.

It’s not like this is a hasty decision. It’s been days of confusion, of contemplation, of questioning and uncertainty. Days of weighing up the pros and cons, and despite the cons outweighing the pros, this is the conclusion he came to. That he might be getting rejected again, that he may have a rough evening ahead of him, but no matter how high those chances are, the small chance that it’ll go well, that he’ll make Kim smile, make her happy, is worth all the pain he’s chancing.

Adam had been deep in concentration, so focused on the paperwork he was filling out, that when his phone had buzzed with the reminder which set off these chain of events, he had initially thought it was a text, not immediately recognising the difference in tone.

Assuming it had been some random text from his sister, or father, or even Kev seeing if he wants to escape from the monotony of paperwork and make a quick trip to the vending machine, he had picked up his phone, looking at it casually.

He wishes, even now days later, that he had realised it wasn’t a text, that it was a reminder. That he had been prepared in some way for the punch to the gut the reminder caused, the way it didn’t just remind him to make sure his suit was ready, but that it reminded him how much his life has changed since the day he made it, reminded him how much he’s lost since.

Reminded him that his biggest concern isn’t making sure that he doesn’t prove Kim right, that he has to set a reminder so that Kim isn’t right in her statement that he’ll forget to make sure his suit is ready.

Reminded him that in the few months since he made that reminder, he’s lost everything, lost his happiness, lost the future he thought he was going to have, lost his girl.

Reminded him of how he made the reminder with a smug grin, sitting on his bed, listening to Kim list all the examples of times he forgot to prep his clothing from the bathroom. Reminded him of how he pictured this going, of him getting his suit ready, of her realising he had, of the smug playful way he was going to wrap her up in his arms, trailing her skin with barely-there touches in the way that he knows gets her all bothered and needy for him, of how he was going to growl against her how she owes him an apology, of murmuring into her ear, telling her exactly how she could apologize to him.

Reminded him that he had made it when everything was okay, when he had Kim, when he was happy, when his heart was fine, unbroken, full of love.

When Adam didn’t have to look back on his memories of Kim and wonder if she was actually happy, if she was actually smiling because she wanted to, because she was happy, content, or if it fake, that she was miserable and he just didn’t notice.

When he didn’t have to wonder, question, analyse, dissect all his memories of her, of all their interactions, didn’t have to wonder if their playful banter was just that, if their little harmless and half-playful, affectionate arguments were really so little or harmless or if it was just another missed sign. Was she happy, in despair of him but happy, or was his habits, his casual forgetfulness really grating on her that much?

When all his memories of her wasn’t tainted with these questions, when he could look back at them, and just get lost in the happiness, of the love, because they were happy memories with the love of his life. When he didn’t have to wonder if they were really happy memories, or was it just her being miserable with him and him being an oblivious dick?

Adam had put down his phone after reading the words, turning back to his paperwork, trying to focus on the words and not on the agony twisting in his heart. All while trying to keep an impassive expression, maintaining that everything is okay, that he doesn’t once again feel like the walls are too close and he can’t breathe, not wanting his unit to realise something is wrong.

He had dismissed the notification, making it disappear from his phone screen, never to appear again, but the damage was done; there was no dismissing it from his mind.

From that point to now, Adam’s been in hell, in a constant state of heartbreak, of confusion, of contemplation. It should’ve been just as easy as dismissing it from this phone, the reminder just another relic from his life before Kim left him. It was just something he set before and had forgotten about, there was no reason for it to affect him.

Maybe it’d cause him to drink a little more at night, causes his self-hatred increase, causes his mind be occupied by thoughts of just how much he fucked everything up. And it did, but it also changed things. It made him wonder what he should do about it, made him remember that Kim will have two tickets she ordered when they were together, and made him wonder if he should approach her about it, ask about it.

Made him wonder if he should offer to pay her back, wonder if he should maybe make sure he’s fine if she wants to take someone else, like Nicole.

Made him wonder if he should tell her he’ll still go with her, if she wants. Adam knows her, knows how she’ll be in turmoil over these tickets as well, knowing how she hates wasting stuff, but also knowing how she hates going to things alone.

He had mulled over this for days. Kim had made it perfectly clear that she didn’t want him to talk to her, didn’t want him to discuss anything about them, about the engagement, about the life they were going to share together, and that should’ve made it easy for him. That he should’ve been able to stop thinking about that damn play, about the reminder, about her, but he couldn’t. His thoughts constantly plagued by the question, that if he should ask her how they should proceed, inform her that he’s still an option if she’ll have him.

Adam had planned out what he would say to her, that he’d just casually bring it up when he sees her, or even just shoot her a casual text—ignoring how if his heart was beating even a fourth as it was when he was planning this he could hardly call it casual—saying that they were friends first, so if she needs company, he’s there. As a friend.

Although if Adam is honest with himself, and the way thoughts of her have consumed so many of his thoughts since they met, Kim and him have never just been friends. It’s not something he likes to reflect on, unless he’s got her in his arms because that reminds him that he may feel like a bit of dick for it but she’s worth it, but they’ve always had this spark, this connection between them. It’s never not been a casual, at-ease state for him to just flirt with her, to watch her blush, to see her flirt back, and that’s not friendship.

And yet again, if he’s honest with himself, it wasn’t just heartbreak, confusion and contemplation that he’s been feeling these past few days. It’s hope. He shouldn’t, he should chase away, to squash all that hope with the memory of her leaving him, that hope and Kim shouldn’t go hand in hand, not anymore, but despite all that, he hoped.

Hope, because this could be the thing he’s been waiting for, the doorway in, the step to getting her to talk to him, to stand near him for more than thirty seconds, for her to look him in the eyes. Hope that maybe, just maybe, if he offered to go with her, it’ll be the start of them again, that he could get her back.

In the end, he didn’t approach her, didn’t text her with that offer, just too caught up in his doubt and self-hatred. Caught up in the memory of her leaving him, caught up in the uncertainty he has towards all their happy moments. Caught up in wondering that if he didn’t notice just how miserable she was with him, what if she agreed to let him accompany her out of politeness, and he doesn’t notice that as well.

Up until a month ago, Adam had prided himself of knowing everything about her, of reading her so effortlessly, but he didn’t see her leaving him, didn’t see her being fine with the breakup, and now he’s not sure of anything.

For all he knows, he could be wrong. Kim might not be in turmoil over these tickets, she may be assured and certain with what she wants to do with them, if she wants to go, if she wants to take anyone with her. He’s been so wrong about everything else, why not this?

There’s a part of him that wishes that would be that. But Adam doesn’t have it in him for to let it go, he can’t, no when Kim’s concerned. He may not have asked her, might of chickened out, weighed down by the cons until it was too late, but he can’t not do something.

So here he is, dressed in his suit—tie and all, despite how much he hates it—preparing to potential gets rejected. He hadn’t originally planned to wear the tie, having planned to win Kim over with the undone buttons, but they’re not together, he can’t just flirt and seduce his way out if things, and he needs to show that he’s just trying to be a friend, that he’s serious and just doing something nice, not playing an angle.

Adam knows this is a bad plan. To not even ask her, or bring it up first, to just turn up outside. To see if she’s decided to go, if she’s taking her sister or even someone like Lindsay—they may not be together anymore, but he still notices things, like the two of them bonding.

But the thought of her turning up alone, feeling shy and out of place because of it, and knowing that he could make her night, make her happy, just by showing up is the only thing he needs for the resolve to stick to this plan, to ignore all the reasons why he shouldn’t go.

CONTINUE ON AO3

[ahsokasanity]

Chapter Thirteen

A Court of Shadow and Ribbons                            Chapter Link

Oh, you’re gonna wanna read this one!

The house arranged a beautiful table setting and centre piece. The room was bathed in the orange and bright pinks of the evening sun. Azriel was already there. Dressed casually in black pants and a teal shirt with the cuffs rolled up nearly to his elbows. Cassian and Nesta wandered in, drink in each hand. Cassian passed his spare to Aziel, who took it gratefully and swallowed a large gulp. He looked up at them quickly

“sparkling water?”

Nesta answered for them “I’m not, you know drinking anymore so the house offers what’s best for every situation. Cassian agreed, a totally sober night for him and you will be best – especially with the work you have to do tomorrow”

Azriel nodded “I see, and I agree alcohol is not necessary, maybe I was looking to take the edge off, but I don’t need it”

Cassian laughed “You might, but we’ll back you up buddy”

Gwyn arrived taking the last step slowly and looking around furtively. She was talking to herself quietly “Are you Idisi? Is this scarier that fighting for your life on Ramiel? Can you chill out and have a quiet dinner with your friends and with Azriel? She sucked in a breath “Oh Mother, would you look at him”

Nesta stepped forward and took Gwyn’s hand, having left her drink on the table.

“You are so welcome Gwyn, I can’t believe we haven’t done this before” they hugged and walked to sit at the dining table.

“Please sit down Gwyn. Cass, Azriel we can eat whenever we are ready”

She turned to Gwyn “You know since the house was gifted to Cassian and I, we don’t venture to the kitchens. Every now and then I send a basket of treats or some blooming flowers of Elain’s to say thank you, but Windy does it all. It is an interesting way to live never knowing or bothering to think about what we should eat” she smiled and Cassian stopped talking to Azriel for a moment to appreciate that spirit. A year ago he could not have fantasised about this kind of hope and happiness for her.

Aziel noticed too but his eye was caught more by the slight giggle that Gwyn made, her curls bouncing either side of her face and the way her eyes sparkled with merriment.

“Windy” as Nesta had begun to refer to the house of Wind did not disappoint with dinner. Although you might think it was a Den Mother the way each person was served different amounts depending on their body’s requirements and tastes. It was all food on a theme, but no two plates were the same.

Gwyn was enjoying the food and the easy conversation ranging from training, to the mating ceremony, to singing and pranks that Azriel and Cassian had played on each other and Rhys growing up.

Dessert was served and when Gwyneth’s plate arrived bearing a colourful meringue pegasus, she burst out laughing. The house had remembered her request from the girls night months ago.

She really did not relish eating the work of art, but the dinner had been served in order and amounts to leave her room for this treat. Azriel had heard the story from Cassian about what the house had provided the three recovering females and was so pleased to see Gwyn relaxed and joyful. When she offered him some of her meringue, he took the tail.

“This is only so that we can tell people you did not eat an entire pegasus by yourself” and popped it into his mouth. Gwyn watched every move, caught by the idea of that melt in your mouth delicacy on his tongue, dissolving and fizzing and finally being swallowed. She consciously dropped her eyes to her plate, but hoped that he would not scent her want. A feeling that she just couldn’t stop, rising within her.

Suddenly she wished that she had not eaten all that the house had offered. Her stomach knotted and her heart beat was going to drown out the conversation. In fact, she noticed Cassian and Azriel had stopped speaking and Nesta was looking at her worriedly.

“Gwyn, what’s wrong? you’ve gone pale all of a sudden”

She abruptly stood, pushing the chair back and stumbled toward the dark doors leading to the roof.

“I just need some air.” She scrambled outside. The others too shocked to follow

                                                                       *

It was dark outside, but she knew every corner and seat and railing here. She moved to a bench overlooking the city and it’s twinkling lights, with one wall of the house behind her. Gwyn sat and breathed. She counted to ten for each inhale and each exhale until the nausea stopped, then began the proper Valkyrie exercises to centre her mind. On purpose she did not try to find a reason for her panic. It was all too obvious.

Moments or hours later Nesta came out to her, carrying one of the house’s magical light sources so that she could find Gwyn. Although, she knew the layout better that anyone, Gwyn realised she was announcing her presence.

“I’m so sorry Nessie, I don’t know what happened” (even though she did and it scared her to death). Nesta sat beside her with one arm over her shoulders.

“Don’t mention it, you know around here, we’re all about do as you feel” She winked. Gwyn knowing full well about Nesta’s behaviour when she arrived up here, and about how many different rooms she and Cassian had enjoyed each other in. She just smiled and said

“Thank you. Really, I appreciate that, but I’m not sure what to do now. Do I sit here breathing or do I come back and face my trainers feeling embarrassed and silly?” She shrugged and Nesta could see the internal struggle for the female who always put on a brave face to cover the unforgettable trauma of death and rape that dogged her still.

“How about a compromise?” Nesta dipped her chin, “Azriel and Cassian and I could come out here to sit with you in the dark, then you don’t have to feel like you look silly because they won’t be able to see you!”

Gwyn huffed a laugh, then it broke to the surface and it came out properly. Nesta joined her and they pushed on each other’s shoulders making the other start up again.

It didn’t take long before Cassian and Azriel made their way out to see what was going on out there. They were talking loudly and teasing each other about who was the best trainer, Nesta blessed them for their attempt at subtlety.

“What’s your opinion Gwyn, who is the best trainer? Your General, OR the guy who helps out sometimes?” Cassian had arrived and dragged over a sunbed made for wings to lay on.

Gwyn looked at Azriel who stayed standing on the other side of Nesta. His silk shirt caught the moonlight and she could see the colour ripple as he breathed

“Well, General" She started and the others laughed

“You definitely make me work harder, Azriel seems to like stretching and cooling down best” Cassian made to accept his win.

“But….” Gwyn continued “The person who helps out sometimes, has, I think, been the reason behind my technique improvement” She smiled at Azriel then and he looked modestly at the ground.

“So, I’m not going to choose!” Gwyn declared. Cassian and Nesta clapped and congratulated her, and Azriel laughed and the joy in that laugh had Gwyn tensing up inside. In a good way. The stomach churning did not happen, but a bubbly, happy humming started in her chest.

Cassian held out his hand to Nesta, beckoning her and she went and lay next to him with her head on his chest and their hands linked across Cass’s belly.

Azriel glanced at the bench vacated by Nesta “May I?” he asked Gwyn softly.

“Of course” She said shyly. What else could she say. She edged a little further from him so that she would not accidentally touch his wings. His shadows stayed as a second skin around him, but where his hand rested on the bench closest to her, they seeped out a little. Gwyn did it without thinking, she ran a finger through the darkness of the inky feelers. She pulled away as they touched her coolly, but stretched her hand out again when it didn’t hurt.

“Can you feel that?” she said quietly

Cassian and Nesta were silent, she knew they could hear her, and Azriel’s reply, but surely someone had asked the shadowsinger about his shadows before.

“Yes, but it’s a feeling not a sense”

Cassian called out “REALLY?” and Nesta put her hand over his mouth laughing. Azriel shook his head “Yes, really. I don’t feel hot or cold or sharp or blunt with my shadows. Right now I just feel happiness, and maybe uncertainty?”

Gwyn slid her hand away. He was reading far too much of her mood right now.

“That’s really amazing” she looked properly at him and fell headlong into his dark blue eyes. He blinked and she was able to look away

“It is pretty good. Sometimes I wish I didn’t have the power, but it’s saved me, well, us, so many times I’m grateful despite the “feelings’ all the time”

Nesta “oohhhhed” from her chair like suddenly Azriel made more sense. Cassian nudged her and she squirmed “What?”

“Well, I was just thinking how tired I am and that I have to get up early tomorrow for Rhys’ little errand, and you know, maybe it’s” he spoke lower “bedtime”.

Nesta got the hint and went a little pink cheeked, although it was too dark to see.

“Good point Cassian, what a responsible mate you are. Definitely bedtime when we’ve got to get going early” she yawned deliberately. Cassian merely stood and took her hand bowing to Azriel and Gwyn

“Brother, Gwyn, thanks for tonight. Let’s do it again soon”

Nesta nodded and giggled at Cassian’s attempt at politeness and sudden need to be alone with her. She had the same idea.

“Thank you Nesta, Cassian” Gwyn nodded but didn’t attempt to rise, instead she looked at Azriel. He stared back but farewelled his friends absentmindedly

“Yeah, bye”

                                                               *

[pebblysand]

of breakable clay [extended author's notes on chapter viii of castles]

oh my god. it’s out. jesus christ.

okay first off, before i dive into anything, i know i’ve already done this in the actual a/n but i would like to wholeheartedly thank @whiffingbooks over on discord for helping me with figuring out the structure of things fic. although i have to admit i did not, at all, do what i told you i would do, talking it out was massively helpful in figuring this one out, so thanks a million. secondly, i would like send all of my most sincere and affectionate thanks to @whizzfizz on here, who mother-of-god basically designed this entire chapter and listened to me rant, and rant, and rant about it for days on end without complaining. i’ll go into a bit more depth later on, but THANK YOU.

now, a few facts on this chapter before i dive further in:

wordcount: 19168. i legit would apologise for this but i promised i wouldn’t so i’m not going to. that’s growing up people. don’t apologise for yourselves haha.

soundtrack: so i’ve never mentioned this but each chapter kind of has a soundtrack? like a song that i listened to on loop while writing this. here, i would basically point you to the entire spotify of a band called barns courtney (there’s one album and a few eps), i basically listened to all of their songs on loop this past month. i feel like they have such a strong gryffindor energy, in the good, the bad and the ugly. this chapter is definitely sort of an ode to gryffindors so their music was a very big inspo. if i had to point you to one song, it would probably be dopamine.

favourite line: ‘I dig my fingernails into the inside of my palms and it feels like the blood that comes out is already boiling.’

what is this chapter about? now, that’s an easy one. survival.

okay, now, spoilers under the cut.

ugh. holy fucking shit. i’m actually at a stage right now where i strongly believe that no one on earth will want to read this because everyone probably hates me right now for the choices that i made, especially after i made you wait almost three months for this shit. i always feel like whatever i’ve put out was the hardest chapter to write so far but this one was really out there in terms of struggles - i’m really sorry it took so long, but here we are.

there are reasons, though. first, as i said in my may round up, i didn’t really start writing this until about a month ago, because a lot of things were happening in my life that i needed to take care of. i took exams (which i passed!!!!), my mum had a health emergency, ireland added france to their mandatory quarantine list (it has been removed as of yesterday thank. fucking. christ) and i started a new job. it was a lot.

anyway, this being said, when i did get to writing this chapter, as mentioned above in the thank-you section, i kind of first struggled with the structure of it. now, you will see this is a recurring theme this time around but for this, my instincts were telling me one thing, and my brain was saying something else.

basically, what came first here wasn’t the actual content of ginny’s letters (more on that, obviously, in a minute) but the ‘mood’ i wanted for the chapter. i wanted to recreate, both for harry and for the reader, this sort of idea of being completely immersed in a book or a story. like, you know the kind of mood where reality just kind of blends out, where you start reading something and just. cannot. stop. i don’t think he’s much a reader (at least not canonically) and so i wanted this to take him by surprise, for her to take over his life with her words. i explained in the previous a/n [link] i chose to have ginny’s war be told through letters (basically, i thought it would be the best way to narratively tell her story), and i really wanted harry to experience what she’d lived through almost first hand.

now, interestingly, my idea for how to do this originally was to have the letters sort of be interwoven into the events of 1999, throughout the next couple of chapters (meaning this one and chapter nine). i had this idea in my head of him living through ‘real life’ things but not being able to take his mind off her letters, with the letters also sort of echoing the events that were happening in 99, etc. having the two plot lines develop at once and meet in the middle, kind of.

and i tried to write that. for a long time. spoiler alert, it didn’t work. i think the reason is that every time i sat down with it, i felt like i was doing a disservice to both stories. i mean: 97/98 is important, but 99 also is, you know? and by taking the narrative in and out all the time, it was like you couldn’t concentrate on one thing. it was just very messy and didn’t have the intensity i was originally aiming for because it kept being dragged out of whatever was the main action at the time. i wanted harry to get sucked into the narrative, for her letters to take over his life, but in the end, the impression i just got was that the whole thing was confusing af. instead of deeply caring about both, i couldn’t bring myself to care either for ginny’s story, or for his.

also, i just kept hitting a wall: a wall called harry. basically, i knew that the next two chapters (i.e. eight and nine) would stretch from january 99 to june 99. and for the love of god, no matter how many times i turned it around in my head, there was - to me - no way that harry as we know him would just pace himself to read her letters throughout all those months. like, harry fucking potter isn’t the kind of guy who ‘paces’ himself. he’s the kind of guy who doesn’t sleep for a week to get through it all, you know? this is everything that he’s wanted to know since last may, he’s been desperately looking for answers up to this point, there is absolutely not way in hell that he’d wait it out nicely until june. it felt ooc to have him read the letters over a few months. and i just kept hitting that wall over and over. i considered, at one point, building him reading the letters into flashbacks but flashbacks of flashbacks were, again, quite messy, and i don’t think her letters would ever be something he’d volunteer to re-read, so. clearly, it wasn’t working.

then, i think on a random sunday a few weeks ago, i just went back to the drawing board and was like: okay, say we just write all of the letters and go from there, what would happen? by the end of the day, i’d written 12,000 words and that was that, really.

now, the second difficulty, once i’d decided that was…. what you all probably want me to talk about.

i know this is probably not what you want to hear but: i didn’t really plan this? like, i understand that a lot of people have sort of a headcanon about what happened to ginny in that year in hogwarts but i … don’t. like, as planned as this fic is (which it is, i know where i’m going, i promise) that was always a bit of a blank-space-tbd in my head. i think that this story, as hinny as it is, is mostly about harry. and while i knew what i wanted for harry from her telling her story (for him to get sucked in, for him to realise that his war wasn’t the only war in the world ‘cause he’s been bloody self-centered so far, for him to realise that his plan to protect her didn’t exactly work because it didn’t cater for who she is, etc.), i wasn’t really sure what that story was. i mean, i knew it was going to be bad and traumatic, obviously, but i didn’t know what would happen. and still, to me, what i wrote is a version of that year. it’s not really my headcanon (i still don’t really have one), and i definitely accept other versions, if that makes sense.

this being said, i obviously had thought about it a little. i remember writing chapter one with that line: ‘They have sex for the first time, that day – his first time and it feels like hers, too, but he wouldn’t dare ask, not anymore, anyways’ and thinking i wanted to leave the door open. to me, it was a door completely open: it could have indeed been her first time, or she could have seen someone else (consensually) during that year, or she could have been assaulted. i honestly didn’t know but yeah, that was always a possibility in the back of my head.

then, to tell you the truth, when i wrote the first version of this chapter (the 12,000 words i mentioned earlier), it wasn’t there. i sat down and decided that i wasn’t going to go there. firstly, because, while you probably don’t know this, i’ve written about sexual assault before. my previous long fic, children, in another fandom, dealt (in part) with that. and i didn’t want to be the-fic-writer-who-writes-about-sexual-assault. especially because trust me, there are people who are a lot more legitimate to talk about this than i am. i also didn’t feel like it was necessary to the story, i could do without it and still explain ginny’s early behaviour in the fic, explain her trauma, and have harry realise the things i talked about before. secondly, i’ll be honest: i know this isn’t what people in this fandom want to read. the hinny pairing is mostly about love and fluff (which i love, btw, don’t get me wrong) and i was like, ugh, i don’t want to face the angry comments. i’m writing this a/n the morning before posting so i admittedly don’t know what the reaction will be but i do anticipate a lot of annoyance with me. i knew that a lot of people wouldn’t like it if i went there, and it was just easier not to.

but then, as i started editing, there was a comment (and this, ladies and gentlemen, is a testament to how much your comments fucking matter, okay?). a comment that i remembered reading on the previous chapter and could not get out of my head, no matter how much i tried. well, hello, @whizzfizz. i’ll happily give credit where credit is due. it read:

This made me think of something you mentioned earlier in the fic (possibly Ch1) about Harry not being sure if he was Ginny’s first but that it felt like it. I wonder if this is something that is going to come up in her letters to him.

and, so, it turned. around and around in my head, and i couldn’t get it out. and i kept saying to myself: no, you’re not going there. no, you’re not going there. and then, one night, i caved. i was like, fuck, i need to know if this person really meant what i think they meant by this. and so we talked. a lot. and, i did a lot of thinking. about women. about wars. about violence against women as a an inevitable weapon of war. about ginny being harry’s girlfriend, or ex-girlfriend (more on that later), and what that would have meant in their world. and @whizzfizz, you said something that in the end really sold me. you said: ‘at this point, i don’t think it would be realistic for it not to have happened.’ and, that was that, really.

because i was right, initially. amycus/ginny (ugh, the idea of a pairing makes me throw up in my mouth a little but yeah, there it is) isn’t necessary to the story. but i believe it to be necessary to what this story is trying to show. the plot held well without it, no questions asked. 12,000 words of the da and their battles, of ginny’s rebellions. it was fine. but i think i wanted more than fine. to me (and i appreciate how fucking pretentious that is, please slap me in the face *eyeroll*), castles is more than its plot. i’ve said it before and i’ll say it again: this is about what is behind ‘all was well.’ it’s about trying to paint a realistic picture of their lives. and that includes the war. and realistically, as far as i’m concerned, knowing how humans fight their wars, knowing our history and the history of violence against women construed as a weapon in literally every conflict there ever was, there is no way that this didn’t happen. ginny says it herself: for us girls, it’s just the way wars are fought.

so, i did go there. and the whole fandom probably hates me for going there, but i sort of stand by it, i have to say. to be honest, on a sort of subconscious level, i kind of wonder: didn’t i always know i was going to go there? like, this fits perfectly into the plot to the point that i think it was probably in my head for much longer than i care to admit. now, i’m so, fucking excited to write next chapter because i finally get to write happy things, and hinny getting back together on rock solid foundations of openness and sharing, and trust, and i’m so, so glad. there are a couple of scenes in the next chapter that i’ve been working towards for months and i’m so, bloody excited to write them. everyone might hate me and i might just be writing this fic for myself now (lol), but again, i stand by the decisions i took. to me, it fits.

phew. okay, now that huge thing is out of the way and explained, here are a few more jumbled thoughts:

the more i think about it, the more i think that my reason for not wanting to be the-fic-writer-who-writes-about-sexual-assault is a bit ridic. children and castles, in that way, are so, so different. like, i appreciate the overlap between the silk fandom and the hp fandom is probably ridiculously small but if you’ve read both stories, they’re obviously very different. one thing that both stories centre on, though, is consent. and to me, that’s probably the most interesting element of ginny/amycus, and the most interesting element of writing characters within a restrictive pov, rather than an omniscient one. like, do i think ginny/amycus is rape? yes. 100%. do i think that ginny thinks it’s rape? that is a much more interesting question. she says it a number of times but i think to her, this is all about control. i think that because of what happened to her with tom, she’s someone who is terrified of losing control of her mind and of her own agency. so as not to lose that, she’s willing to do whatever it takes. it is a ‘you can control my body, but not my thoughts,’ sort of narrative. and, she never says it outright because i think psychologically she’s just not there yet, but tom is everywhere in these letters. and as her world just spirals out, she hangs onto the very few things that she can control: her relationship to harry, and her willingness to do what it takes for them to survive. she initiates the ‘relationship’ with amycus in an attempt to control her fate. later, as she explains to harry she feels a lot of guilt over what she did, and like a lot of sexual assault survivors, she thinks it was her responsibility. because i’m in harry’s head most of the time for this fic, i’m not sure i’ll ever really get to discuss that at length, but it’s definitely something that i wanted to show. another interesting question is: does harry think it’s rape? i think at that point in the fic, he doesn’t have the education, nor the vocabulary for that. i think instinctively (because he is someone who is very instinctive), he doesn’t blame her. if he blames anyone, it’s probably himself. he understands the necessity to do what you have to do to survive and thinks that no, no matter what she claims, that was not consented. that’s kind of what comes out in his annoyingly inarticulate letter to her at the end. beyond that, though, i think he’s a bit lost, just like she is.

on a mildly related note, there is something that i've been seeing a lot in the comments and that i feel like i should maybe address? namely: harry's reaction to ginny dating other people. i assume similar comments will be made about his reaction to ginny/alecto (meaning that he still decides to write to her, at the end of the chapter). i've seen a lot of people observe that he's much more 'chill' about it in castles than in canon. fair point but is he, though? like, he isn't happy about it in castles. and he's jealous as well. but he was never entitled in canon. he was jealous, yes, the chest monster and all that, but he never really did anything about it, and never really impeded on her right to see other people. now, this being said, i agree that in sixth year he might have thrown a tantrum, had she done what she did in castles, but that was sixth year. it was before the war. before he lost half a dozen people. before he had to adult bloody fucking quickly. this being said, i do think castles-Harry is more 'subdued,' i suppose, than canon harry. this is a choice i made early on, which to me is related to the fact that he kind of lost his 'voice' during the war. i mean, it took him six months of people talking shit behind his back to do a press interview to defend himself. i think with ginny, it's a lot of the same. he's a boy who blames himself a lot, and generally doesn't particularly think he deserves the people in his life. to me it's an evolution of his character within the the world of castles. i'm happy to agree to disagree on it, but to me it makes sense within the character evolution and the way the fic's gone, so to speak. now, obviously, he'll grow out of that in due course, but we're not quite there yet.

regarding their relationship, now, i have to say: one headcanon that i did have for this was her not outright telling everyone they’d broken up. i’m sorry, that plan was shit. i just don’t buy for a second that she would willingly have gone ahead with it, and i don’t buy for a second that tom wouldn’t have used her had he known they’d been together, ex girlfriend or not. plus, i think she needed something to hand onto, and that was her relationship with him. her letters. the belief that they would be together again. without it, i don’t think she’d have survived. and i think that summer after the war, they were totally on the same page, for different reasons. both of them kind of saw their relationship as the one thing that kept them afloat, the one good thing they had, partly also because they’d idealised it for so long. she says it as some point, it wasn’t a relationship, it was a lifeline (another sentence i came up with as a response to a comment, lol) and while that is toxic and was meant to crumble at some point, it was necessary for them, both during the war, and in the early days after it. i think her last letter to him is painstakingly correct on that one.

regarding canon, i know i’m bending a couple of things here, which i just wanted to quickly acknowledge: 1) i know jkr has said it’s teddy remus lupin. i just can’t believe, for a moment, that someone who hated himself as much as lupin did, canonically, would name his son after himself. naming his son after his best mate who died to young to become problematic though? i totally see it. so yeah, creative licence, it’s teddy james lupin in this house, lol. 2) when they meet neville in dh, he kind of hints that they’ve only just started to use the room of requirement a couple weeks ago. the text however, only says they’ve only been staying in it full time a couple of weeks ago. i needed them to have somewhere where to meet with the da and stuff, so i bent that a bit. it’s not strictly canon, but it’s also not not canon, if that makes sense.

on seamus blowing things up and talking about eight hundred years of oppression? full disclaimer, while i am french, i have been living in ireland for long enough to become eligible for citizenship in less than six months (yay!). i know some people have said that seamus is a bit of a cliche in the books/films and all (the only irish character keen on blowing things up, haha *eyeroll*), but i actually kind of love it? like, the whole thing about the cranberries and zombie at the start of the fic has been in my head for much longer than i care to admit. i love the idea that there’s this whole muggle war going on at the exact same time that no one ever talks about and actually, i find the idea of wizarding ireland v. muggle ireland and the whole political structure fascinating. like, is wizarding ireland an independent state? what’s the story there? i have a whole seamus fic in my head, partially on this topic, that i might or might not write one day.

lastly, i know this may sound a bit weird but i need to say it: once i’d figured out what and how i was writing it, i bloody loved writing this chapter. first stylistically, i really wanted to mimic the style of how i’d written the magazine article in chapter 5 (i.e. not writing out the whole thing but writing out in text the excerpts that harry focused on) and i love how that turned out. i think it was a good way to balance her words and his, kind of merging them into one, big narrative. second, as a writer, it was so fucking interesting to write someone who knows how to write, which believe it or not i’d never done before. additionally, i loved the challenge of editing this because it was like: i’ve got to edit this, but not too much? i was very careful about modifying and polishing too much of ginny’s speech in the letters because i obviously wanted it to sound like someone who was just writing as the words came to her, without polishing the words, the punctuation, etc. like i usually would. i wanted her to have quirks (she says ‘you know?’ a lot) and i played with her capitalisation and punctuation a bit too. i know these aren’t necessarily noticeable details but it was definitely something that i thought about and that was very fun and interesting to write, as a format.

wow, okay. this was LONG but i think i have everything i wanted to say. if you’ve read all of this (whyyyyy?), thanks so much for sticking around. if you’ve got any questions, anything i didn’t address, do let me know, anon or not, my ask box is open. now, i would love to say i’m going to chill or something, but the truth is that i have to a) actually do a last read through of the fic, lol and b) put it out. this is what i get for writing the a/n before finishing the damn thing, i guess. i’ll rest tomorrow, lol.

lastly, in terms of next chapter, realistically, i’d say eight to ten weeks. i have a full time job now and also, writing this was fucking exhausting and i need to take time out for a bit before coming back to it with a fresh mind. i will be writing other stuff though, i promise. i have a couple of prompts to get to (thanks!!!) and a couple of other ideas so i will probably be posting in the meantime, just not castles.

lots of love,

p.

[jaffacakerebellion]

I posted this on Saturday but I really need people to hear this

There was a protest in my city today, by a group called ‘white rose’. They were protesting lockdowns, masks and vaccinations. They’d stuck up stickers all over a certain area, outside a library, near a university campus, and around a park. It scared the shit out of me, seeing the people in town, with about 10 police officers keeping the 25-50 protesters in a tiny (and incovenient tbh) space, not too far from where they’d put up the stickers. As I was walking home, I found some of the stickers, and tore down as many as I could see.

Some of the stickers were obviously theirs- meme templates from reddit, claiming the government was lying about the pandemic to stop people from ‘living their lives’, saying ‘the media is the real virus’ and ‘if you tell a lie enough times it becomes the truth’ and all sorts of shit. Some other stickers were much more inconspicuous- little round ones with a pair of hands tenderly holding a blue dove. Around the edge they said ‘I do not consent to another lockdown’ and ‘I do not consent to get vaccinated’. This was very similar to some of the banners they were holding, and some were wearing ‘FREE HUGS’ t-shirts.

The one sticker which stuck out to me most is one which said something like ‘how do you think the German people felt when the Nazis were taking over, with no power to stop them?’ This is the same rationale the Nazi Party used at the time to gain ‘support’- convince people there is no other way, that their system is the strongest, the right system, how will you disprove us? They scared people into their system, turning vulnerable people into fascists. The White Rose is employing Neo-Nazi thinking. To be honest, it was fucking terrifying.

After they were presumably done, they started coming back to the park where they’d already posted plenty of stickers. It’s a hot Saturday afternoon, so lots of people are in the park, families, children, and I’m busy ripping these stickers (most of them about half the size of a bumper sticker) off bins and signposts. Now, at this point I’ve already been confronted by:

- a woman with red hair (dyed red) in a black suit. She asks me what I’m doing. I tell her that some people have been spreading misinformation, and she recalls the demo in town. She agrees ‘yeah, that did look kinda like misinformation. huh. well, cool, okay’. She may just be bad at interacting with people, but there was something pointed, and I don’t think that she could pluck up the courage to tell me to look them up and find out jus how wrong I am. She didn’t look much like the other supporters.

- a woman in a ‘FREE HUGS’ t-shirt. When she asked me ‘why are you taking those down’, I already had a headache and didn’t fancy an argument, so I said ‘they’re the wrong ones.’ She couldn’t hear me, because so many people were walking past. She yelled ‘what?!’ so I repeated ‘THEY’RE THE WRONG ONES’, nodded affirmatively, and walked in the opposite direction. This, of course, was nonsense, but it left her looking incredibly fucking confused, and she eventually just walked away, which I was thoroughly delighted about, as I wanted to return and take more stickers down. I later realised that the men walking past and making so much noise was probably most of the others at the protest, like 25 men and me and her in an underpass. If they’d have seen me taking the stickers down, who knows what would’ve happened. (yes I know I made some bad decisions today and it would’ve been my fault but fuck it, when a dog shits on the pavement someone’s got to clean it up)

-Two bald middle aged white men, both holding pints. One of them yelled ‘what are you taking them down for? Read what’s on them, you might actually learn something!’ I just said nothing and stared at him as he walked away, whilst continuing to crumple one up, which I’d just taken off a railling.

- Some old Scottish guy and his family. I pretended to be taking them down bc the QR codes didn’t work and the sticker had to be replaced. He asked me why I had a mask on, I lied and said my mum wouldn’t let me out of the house without it and took it off. He told me what to go and tell my mum, whilst standing way too close, with his family gathered around him (like 6 people in total, including 2 kids). He was the reason I took a COVID test when I got home, alongside the blaring headache.

-Another family, this time the patriarch was a skinhead in a black polo shirt and jeans, same height as me (kinda short). Just like the others I was confronted by, his regional accent was very strong. Again, I said the QR code didn’t work. I started to walk away this time, kinda scared, and all his family walked up into the park, but he left his teenage daughter behind for a bit to make sure I didn’t come back (how brave). I came back anyway, but they wanted to go into the park and have fun.

But the last pair is what got me. One of them claimed to have done a biomedical science degree at the local university back in 2005. He was the only non-white person involved, and the only one who had anything scientifically based to say. However, the more I asked him about the degree he said he had, the more he started backing physically away from the conversation, claiming he had to go. The discussion I had with him lasted maybe 20 minutes, during which he confessed a belief that big pharma was dishonest and covered up heinous activity, which I agreed was absolutely right, but these ideas came to the total wrong conclusion.

I’m not explaining this very well anymore, it’s late and I’ve still got a headache, but his strong short white skinhead friend kept walking away then coming back, even at one point claiming that he was going to go and get someone. When I asked the first if he agreed with the non-scientific way the first man’s ‘friends’ were talking, and the fact that he is coming at this argument from such a different angle, he just changed the subject. It was around that time that I noticed that he wasn’t blinking, and that he was wearing a ‘Guardians 300′ t-shirt. I’ve since looked them up. They’re a cult. Nobody’s talking about it. He tried explaining the science to me, and I said that I don’t know enough about science to understand what he was saying, but tried to change the subject away from science- it just clearly wasn’t about that for any of the protesters except him.

Anyway, after he was done talking to me and claimed he had to go (right after I claimed to know a few lecturers in the university (I don’t but it was worth a try to see if he was bluffing) and started questioning him on who he knew), I turned around and just kept on taking off those fucking stupid stickers, including two which the skinhead had stuck on while we were chatting. They saw me doing this. I wanted them to see it, but now I’m not so sure. It was a dangerous move.

When people feel certain of something, you have to listen to them to let them air their uncertainties and change their mind. They were aware of this. I was aware of this. Neither of us listened much to each other. I was, to be honest, freaking out all the way home. What the fuck? I’d only seen people say this online, usually Americans, I’d heard about them on the news too. Suddenly I was getting looks from strangers, whilst taking down these stickers, and honestly had no idea who was who, or what they thought of me. And anyway, I’m trans, and have the fear of being looked at funny for that compounded with the fear of what a member of this group could do, it was terrifying.

I think there are very few things which stand between a person coming to a logical conclusion about what’s going on and a less logical conclusion and getting sucked into dangerous territory, although in this day and age there aren’t many logical things left. I’ve experienced the Dunning-Kruger effect at school, but some may never have experienced that, to feel like their understanding of something can only ever go so far.  I’m alright with saying ‘I don’t know’ and admitting that I’m not an expert, but I feel like all these people feel like they do have to know everything, and their genuine, valid fears have turned them to these crazy ideas because they’re nicer than the truth. I got told by a lot of people to ‘do your research’, but I didn’t say that to them, because they may well do their own research, but not necessarily using reputable sources. 

This is how Fascism works. If I had the same beliefs as them, I know I’d probably be doing the exact same things- trying to spread awareness. They genuinely think that they’re making a positive difference when they ‘change people’s minds’. Either that or those stickers were put up to get ripped down, to show their followers that ‘everyone is out to get you’. I was definitely scared most, however, by how close we all are in this day and age, to being them. I’ve attended protests, argued online, sent people links, spread my views. Most of my friends and I share the same views, we share each others’ information, when something’s wrong we blame ‘them’, or ‘the government’. These radicalised people were people I’d probably passed in the street before, who I’ve bought bread next to or admired their dog in the park. I met the next Nazis today, and they looked just like everyone else.

[tea-at-221]

The TJLC Debacle: 3 years out from S4 and counting; the copyright mini-theory; so much salt I’m bloated; but in the end, there is peace (I love you Johnlockers)

Ugh, don't even talk to me about Mary.

Don't even talk to me about the way Mofftiss have said they're sick of responding to fans on the subject of Johnlock. Of how they've said they're "not telling anyone else what to think or write about them" (as if they could stop us; as if they even own Sherlock themselves. Do keep reading, because this point becomes much more relevant and in-jokey later on). Don't even mention how they've bitched and whined incessantly because--god forbid--fans got *really really* into their show and emotionally invested.

They're so eager to discount all the beautiful little moments they wrote as accidents. And Arwel, who planted all those props, continually demonstrates that he's on their side (a not-very in-depth-analysis of his Instagram account and the way he interacted with fans towards the beginning of the pandemic showed as much, but I think maybe he’s grown a bit wiser and quieter since at least in terms of Johnlock and all things elephant-related. I don’t know for sure because I stopped looking.)

Anyway--they'd actually prefer for us to celebrate our own intelligence, is I suppose a charitable way of looking at it: our ability to make connections between things in the show; our metas on symbolism; our insightful fanfic; etc., and denounce them as the bad writers that they ultimately are.

More under the cut.

(This post may be of interest to you especially if you came to the fandom a bit later: multiple links to things of relevance/quotes/explanations appear both within and at the end of this entry.)

Because what makes a writer good?

Well, an ability to make people feel an emotional connection to their work, for one. I know this is just my own perspective, but if not for Johnlock, all my emotion about the show would evaporate. There wouldn't be much else there. Other people might get something, but I wouldn’t. Is some of the writing witty and entertaining regardless of any inferred/implied Johnlock? Yeah but, eh, a lot of shows have some good writing and I just don’t give a damn about them.

What makes a writer good?

Not making promises to the reader/viewer that they'll never keep. Plot holes, leading dialogue ("There’s stuff you wanted to say...but didn’t say it.” “Yeah”) never followed through on, puns that are apparently, I suppose, unintentional (e.g. "'Previous' commander?" "I meant 'ex'").

Uh, not writing continual gay jokes that aren't actually pointing toward the inference that people are making them because there's actually something going on there under the surface. (How about just don't make those jokes ever.)

Not being, apparently, oblivious (? questionable) to the queerbaiting they're engaging in *as they’re writing it.*

Acting like their LGBT audience is in the wrong/the bad guy, instead of choosing to remain respectful in the face of dissent. Instead it's just, "we never wrote it that way" / "We never played it that way."

A lot of those other mildly witty shows don’t actually blatantly drag their most passionate fans face-down through the mud the writers themselves created. Imagine that.

I'm not even a fan of Martin Freeman anymore, for the way he handled the whole thing (getting angry, the comments he made about how the fans made Sherlock “not fun anymore”...apparently Martin’s packing up his crayons and going home?)...no offense to anyone who is still a fan of his. I don’t make it a habit to drag him. I do to some degree understand his frustration with having the whole situation taken out on him--he’s just an actor in the show--but I simply wish he’d remained as cool and professional about it as Benedict Cumberbatch instead of pointing at the fans. You’re pointing in the wrong direction, mate.

What also irks me at the end of the day is this: the subsection of people who legitimately responded badly to the TJLC/S4 debacle and went above and beyond to harass the writers and actors/actresses on social media are *few and far between*, but we've been lumped in with them by what feels like...everyone, Martin included. TJLCers/Johnlockers (not the same group, but often treated as such) have been made to look like a bunch of rambunctious, immature, demanding children time and time and again in the wake of S4.

They'd rather, what, suggest John was so in love with Mary? THAT was the relationship they wanted to uphold in that show as so significant and...what, a demonstration of how honorable it is to respect your heterosexual relationship despite, you know...ANYTHING?

Yeah sorry, I don’t believe in that. John’s text-based affair, whether a disappointment for some as to his supposed character, was a very human reaction and I kinda sorta feel like I would have reacted MUCH more strongly than that had I been John. But nope. He stayed with Mary and was *ashamed* of his wandering eye. Ashamed that maybe he wanted to be admired by someone. I can’t think of a scene, off the top of my head, where Mary ever interacted with John without belittling him in some way--if not with words, then with consistently patronizing glances.

The message here is that heterosexuality is not just acceptable, but VALUABLE, however it manifests--but god forbid anyone see a queer subtext. (Why are lgbt+ writers some of the very WORST offenders where this is concerned? And they defend it! Is this childhood nostalgia/Stockholm Syndrome of the very fondest variety or what? Gay angst is all they got if they got anything at all, so it’s still good enough as far as “representation” goes?)

They really want to tell the story of John as so emotionally/mentally fucked up that he surrounds himself with unstable people time and again. They never give any reason *why* he might do that (which they could have done even soooo subtly), or delve into his past--just, apparently it's okay to assume that Sherlock's comment about "she's like that because you chose her" is exactly that.

No. Sherlock and Mary are NOT the same. Not...*remotely*!

Mary is underhanded and evil. She lies. She manipulates. She schemes. Her “love” is based on selfishness, and her assumption that John is a simpleton and hers to mold. She's in it for herself.

Sherlock hides. He prevaricates. He feels. He loves John. He does fucked up things in the name of love, but always for the benefit of those he loves. When he screws up, which he obviously does, it’s painful to us as the audience because we see that it is painful for him when he recognizes and regrets it.

I have never seen Mary regret anything. Those crocodile tears at Christmas? More manipulation. Inconsistent with anything else we were shown about her as a character.

To even think for a SECOND that people could ship Mary and John and mentally condemn John for cheating on Mary AFTER SHE SHOT HIS BEST FRIEND...as if marriage is the be-all-end-all free pass in which every sin must be forgiven until the end of time...as if John broke any covenant with his wife beyond those she broke from the very moment she walked into his life *with an entire fake past.* Is just. Well. It's asking us to accept gaslighting as healthy, loving, normal, *preferable* behavior, so...given the source that message is coming from, it's all a bit meta.

THAT. Is insanity. Maybe Mofftiss are the sociopaths.

How these men could write characters they themselves understand so little (or tell us they understand so little because their emotional maturity has yet to surpass that of the average three-year-old’s), I will never know. I can only imagine that they have absorbed, by osmosis over their lives, real and nuanced human behavior...then churned it back out again in their writing unaware, a bit like psychopaths who teach themselves what "normal" people do so that they can pass as psychologically sound in regular society.

Remember, we *are* talking about men who do these sorts of things:

Moffat says that Sherlock is celibate and that people who claim he's misogynistic when he does things like make Irene Adler imply she's attracted to the detective (even though she's a lesbian) are, ironically, "deeply offensive" (despite lines like "look at us both" in Battersea. We aren't your therapists, Moffat--we don't care what you meant, we care what you said, and what you *said* was clear. *Implying* it does not let you off the hook).

Gatiss has proclaimed that "I find flirting with the homoeroticism in Sherlock much more interesting" than the idea of ever making a show addressing LGBT issues. (That link is to a reddit forum, and I can't find the original interview anymore, but I assure you I had seen the actual article myself ages back and can't find it online again now along with some of the Martin quotes I wanted to link to. And nevermind what Gatiss has done with LGBT shows/issues since--my focus here is on what he has said, versus what he and Moffat have since claimed regarding their queerbaiting.)

Here’s a transcript of this screenshot:

"...many people come up and say they didn't realise." Despite this lack of public awareness, being part of the gay community is clearly important to Gatiss: "The older I get the more I want to give something back. I mean, I keep meaning to do something." When asked if he'd be interested in making a series about gay issues his response was enlightening:

"No, I don't think I'd make a kind of gay programme. It's much more interesting when it's not about a single issue. And equally, I find flirting with the homoeroticism in Sherlock much more interesting. Of course this reflects the grand picture of everyone's strange make-up; there are good gay people and bad gay people. I wouldn't like to make an issue film around the culture of being gay."

Instead Gatiss' interest seems to lie in making a drama where sexuality is, if not mundane, part of the wider framework: "I'd quite like to do something about a quite happy, ordinary gay person who's just incidentally gay. For example, a three-part thriller for ITV where the lead character just happens to be gay; when they finally go home, say 45 minutes in, and they had a same sex partner. That to me would be genuinely progressive. It wouldn't be a three-part gay thriller for ITV. It would be that this character just happened to be gay."

--End article quote.

And instead, who is canonically gay in the series? Well, Irene Adler. The innkeepers at the Cross Keys. And perhaps most notably, the *villains*, because that's a helpful trope: Moriarty and Eurus are, in S4, both implied to be at least bisexual.

Any character should be able to be any sexuality, this is true. But can we have some main characters, the good guys, give some good representation? Can't we start making that the standard, rather than the villains and the background characters? Because so far, that is the exception and not the rule.

Writers need to be aware of the damage they are perpetuating. We are not quite in a world yet where any character should be able to be any sexuality but isn't, yet we have no problem with saying the villain is LGBT+ or looks different/functions differently than much of the viewing audience.

"Male friendship is important and valid, not everything has to be gay"--this is a popular point with casual heterosexual viewers (and, to my chagrin, some of my LGBT+ friends) who don't fully grasp what "queerbaiting" is, often even when it's pointed out to them.

The lens of heterosexuality is real. My first time through watching BBC Sherlock, I didn't see the Johnlock at all. I had to look for it and read about it. When I saw it, the lens was lifted for me, and it changed my life and the way I view things forever (and for the best).

But back to my point about how little Mofftiss seem to understand their own story/most ardent fans, and then on to my other theory: in S4 it must be that they dropped their “psychopaths emulating empathy” act and indulged in their own "insane wish fulfillment" by doing away with all of the meaning, continuity, and sense. Right?

So, here’s the alternate theory. One which is not, please remember, in their defense.

Remember that S4 is what Mofftiss are *happy* to have us believe is what they'd do with these characters, given the chance to do whatever they wanted. I repeat, in Moffat’s own words: “Insane wish fulfillment.”

Okay I get it, this pasta has been over-salted.

Without further delay: MY COPYRIGHT RESEARCH THEORY THAT EVEN I DON'T PUT MUCH STOCK IN AND WHICH DOESN’T MAKE UP FOR THEIR CRUELTY EVEN IF TRUE

Part of me also raises an eyebrow at S4 as perhaps an example of the effect of the Conan Doyle estate on any modern production in the US. While it’s true that all of Sherlock is part of public domain in the UK and has been for quite a long time, Gatiss and Moffat still talk about it being partially under copyright. Specifically, the last 10 stories. I’m supposing that this means that because Sherlock airs internationally, or due to whatever contract the BBC has with the Doyle estate, they are still limited by the copyright as to what they can “publish”.

The Doyle estate is known for being a pain in the ass when it comes to abiding by copyright law as everyone else knows and practices it. They’ve tried to argue, for example (in 2013 and, much more recently, with the advent of Enola Holmes), that because Holmes and Watson were not fully developed as their final selves until the conclusion of all 10 stories still under copyright, then perhaps the characters themselves should still be protected, basically, in full.

It’s true that certain elements of the remaining stories are still under copyright here in the US (Watson had more than one wife--uh huh, we have that to look forward to, Johnlockers; the Garridebs moment is still under copyright--yeah, I’m getting to that too; and Sherlock didn’t care much for dogs til later so that’s not allowed either, fuck off Redbeard), but the estate’s problem in 2013 seemed to be based around a fear that *gasp* some day--if not right now!--anyone could write a Sherlock Holmes story in any way they pleased, changing the characters however they wished to and giving those characters “multiple personalities.”

See the following excerpt from the Estate’s case:

“...at any given point in their fictional lives, the two men's characters depend on the Ten Stories. It is impossible to split the characters into public domain versions and complete versions.”

(Click for full transcript.)

Obviously, by this point, that’s been done in multiple iterations. So I dunno. Their argument was *more* than muddy to begin with--they just grasp at straws to stay in control, it seems.

But okay. Backing up: wasn’t there sort-of a Garridebs moment in S4?!?? you cry. Yep. But imagine this: the Conan Doyle estate taking Mofftiss to court to argue that they depicted the Garridebs moment--a moment still under copyright--in The Final Problem.

Did they, though? Did they really?

The fandom cried out about the ridiculousness--the utter disappointment--of that moment when it was shown. It was not what we would have expected/wanted. We didn’t see John injured, Sherlock reacting with tender outrage to the good doctor’s attacker.

Instead we saw some ludicrous BS that was as bad as the clown with the sword-gun-umbrella. More of that.

I think Martin probably found that it was easy to produce real tears when he thought about how fucking terrible the S4 scripts were.

Ahem. Yet, this all seems very Mofftiss-flavored in terms of humor.

I can all-too-easily imagine them saying, “HA. We’re going to show some of these supposedly copyrighted things--and if they take us to court, they’ll be laughed out of the room.” Could that explain some of the overall S4 fuckery?

Sherlock wasn’t supposed to like dogs til later stories, as previously mentioned-- is that why Redbeard pulled a “Cinderella’s carriage” and transformed into a pumpkin (Victor Trevor)? Hmm. Sigh.

It...doesn’t actually appear that the estate has any qualms about taking laughable stuff to court, I mean...*shrug.* They have the money to do it, and money is the name of the game, because you’ve got to pay for rights (cha-ching sounds).

Yep, it does seem that the estate is open to the copyrighted materials being made reality, but who knows for what price or with what caveats. The BBC isn’t, so far as I’ve ever heard, known for throwing money around. Early Doctor Who would be so much less entertaining if they’d had any sort of budget. (And in fact, more of the older episodes would exist, but apparently the BBC--in part to cut costs--reused some of their tapes.)

My bottom-line bitter is this: Mofftiss do like to amuse themselves. To please themselves and no one else, as they’ve shown time and again. Sure, they could do whatever they wanted with S4...and they did...but they were also cruel about it, and that’s what I’ll never forgive them--OR the BBC--for.

A lot of fans gave up after series 4. I was very nearly one of them. I was angry, like just about every other Johnlocker and/or TJLCer, but I was really truly heartbroken. I couldn’t look at fanfiction. My days were full of bitterness and I keenly felt the lack of the fandom outlet that had become so essential to my mental well-being. I didn't know how to overcome the disparity between TJLC and what the show actually was. I didn't know how to separate the things I loved so much from the shitty writers and the way the BBC handled things with their whole response letter (that atrocious, childish blanket response they sent to everyone who complained about S4, not just the Johnlockers/TJLCers. Related to your complaint or not, if you filed one post-S4, this was the response you got). I still boycott BBC shows/merchandise, just by the way.

I tried to link to the blanket response letter but the link didn’t want to work (it’s an old reddit post; I had difficulty finding a copy of the letter elsewhere though at one point it wasn’t so hard...Google is weird these days y’all...tell me it’s not just me) so here’s a screenshot:

Transcript:

“Thank you for contacting us about “Sherlock”.

The BBC and Hartswood Films have received feedback from some viewers who were disappointed there was not a romantic resolution to the relationship between Sherlcok and John in the finale of the latest season of “Sherlock”.

We are aware that the majority of this feedback uses the same text posted on websites and circulated on social media.

Through four series and thirteen episodes, Sherlock and John have never shown any romantic or sexual interest in each other. Furthermore, whenever the creators of “Sherlock” have been asked by fans if the relationship might develop in that direction, they have always made it clear that it would not.

Sherlock’s writers, cast and producers have long been firm and vocal supporters of LGBT rights.

The BBC does not accept the allegations leveled at “Sherlock” or its writers, and we wholeheartedly support the creative freedom of the writers to develop the story as they see fit.

We will of course register your disappointment.

Thank you for contacting us.

Kind Regards,

BBC Complaints Team

So how about that? *Did* they “register our disappointment”? We can actually check that. The BBC’s website has a monthly summary of complaints received. So what did they receive in January 2017, the month S4 aired?

Huh, what do you know. Sounds like that blanket response was exactly the “fuck you” it came across as.

But the show--the FANDOM--had filled a need in my life, and so I had to own that and make it mine, or just...let something in me die: something that felt like an actual vital organ. I had to decide that these characters mean something to me beyond what anyone else tells me they should. I had to accept my own perceptions as truth, as I do with everything else in my life. I had to overcome the idea of canon as law (BBC Sherlock isn't canon anyway; ACD is canon. BBC Sherlock is, in the end, badly written fanfiction--or--worse?--decent pre-slash fanfiction distorted by consistent lies and the hazing of the LGBT audience, topped with the dumpster fire of S4′s incoherent nonsense).

I had to take the good and throw away the bad, just like anyone else who chose to stay. The good bits of the show...dialogue, yes. Plot points, yes. These awful writers did write some good stuff sometimes.

They just broke all the unspoken rules of what not to do to your audience. And then did and said everything they could not to apologize, and to justify their own failings. Which, in the years since I began shipping queer ships beyond any others, I have unfortunately experienced more than once.

So, my vulnerability has been yeeted into the vacuum of broke-my-trustdom: no one can tell me what things should mean to me. I will decide.

I decide that all of the FUCKING AMAZING writing in the Sherlock fandom is a staple in my life that makes it worth living. And that that's okay. And takes precedence over anything the writers or anyone else associated with the show could ever say or do.

Johnlock can not be taken away. It doesn't belong to them. It never did, even if they brought us to it. It belongs to us. To the group of amazingly creative, brainy, empathetic, resourceful, vibrant, resilient people who make up this fandom.

So thank YOU, all of YOU, for giving me Sherlock, Johnlock, and TJLC.

I am SO SAD for those who never found a way to make peace with this fandom again. Let me just say that I understand that inability entirely.

I am fortunate that I found the ability in myself to cling to the joy (something it has taken my whole life to be able to do). I hope others will who haven’t yet but wish they could.

Let Mofftiss and whoever sides with them stay angry and bitter and vicious, always looking over their shoulders for anyone who dares to whisper about subtext.

I’m proud to be part of what they’re whispering so angrily about.

Thanks for sticking it out if you made it this far. I know this was very self-indulgent and rambly.

Articles of interest:

A Study in Queerbaiting (Or How Sherlock Got it All Wrong) by Marty Greyson

“We never played it like that.” - Martin on Johnlock

Henry Cavill on the Enola Holmes lawsuit

More on that--and by the way Sherlock isn’t allowed to like dogs

The way Sherlock creators told fans Sherlock & John aren’t gay is so rude

Especially for those new to the fandom who may not know the distinction between TJLC and Johnlockers and want to know more about TJLC's evolution/what it is/meta through the years

Moffat's view on asexuality, offensive to me in particular *as* an asexual person (same article where he claims he isn't misogynistic): "If he was asexual, there would be no tension in that, no fun in that – it's someone who abstains who's interesting."

Yet he says Sherlock isn't gay or straight and that he's trying to keep his brain pure which is a "very Victorian attitude"

(Nice historical research there, Moff--actually the Victorians were sex-positive).

Sherlock fans were robbed of the gay ending they deserved

Benedict Cumberbatch has lashed out at his Sherlock co-star Martin Freeman over his negative attitude towards fans

BBC complaints January 2017

Martin Freeman: 'Sherlock is gayest story ever'

From 2016: UNPOPULAR OPINION: "Sherlock" Isn't Sexist or Queerbaiting; It's Actually Trying to Stage a Revolution

Queer-baiting on the BBC's Sherlock: Addressing the Invalidation of Queer Identities through Online Fan Fiction Communities by Cassidy Sheehan

[lhs3020b]

In a very unexpected moment tonight, I found myself writing something. Yes, some actual fiction. Umm, wow. It’s not particularly-polished, I certainly wouldn’t call it “good”, but nonetheless, here is a thing.

This is a ghost from an old, 2015-era writing project of mine. You probably will have seen bits of it before. This would be the opening portion of the novel, if the novel was still in any way a possibility. The two main characters meet and compare notes on themselves and the confusing mess of the world they live in.

(A passing content note: their world is recovering in some ways and has been worse inside both Tai and Corazon’s lifetimes, but it is not a happy place, and some very bad things have happened. So a measure of reader discretion is advised.)

(Also, yes, the ending is quite abrupt - it’s 2 AM so I should probably consider calling it a night.)

Anyway, have about ~3500 words of fiction...

               ‘We have arrived at the Corazon residence,’ the car said.

               Lieutenant Tai Zhang looked up from her phone. ‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘Lock the doors while I’m out, but don’t drive off. I should only be a few minutes.’

               The car said, ‘For insurance purposes I’m instructed to remind you that I have an anti-carjacking protocol-’

               ‘Yes, yes, of course,’ Tai sighed. ‘If one of the locals tries to put you up on bricks, you’ll zap them with a stun charge and zoom off. And howl for the police. Who may even turn up, who knows. And Dr Corazon and I will have to walk back to the Fleet base. I get it, I get it. Now let me get on with my job.’

               The car took the hint and shut up. It wasn’t a full Tech Mind, of course – no way could the Navy afford their contracting rates – but its social simulation unit wasn’t entirely stupid either. The door unfolded upwards. Hot, damp January air flooded in, along with the smells of the city. Vegetation, oil, a hint of sewage and a whiff of something rotten. Actually, compared to the New Dockside area, this wasn’t so bad.

               Tai climbed out of the car; the door hissed down behind her. She took a look around herself. She was stood on a cracked and pitted curbside. Amazingly, it looked like pre-Contact concrete. There was certainly no sign that it had experienced any recent maintenance. To judge from the fractured blocks, some of which lay out of place, it may well not have had any repairs since the early 2040s.

               ‘At least there is a pavement around here,’ Tai muttered. New London had a lot of dirt tracks; the first tsunami had sunk a good chunk of the old city and the quakes had done for a lot of what survived. Rock One, after all, had come down right in the middle of the North Sea. Whilst it had been the smallest of the two impactors, nonetheless it had been big enough. It was fair to say that coastal and near-coastal Europe had had a bad day.

               Just as the car had promised, Corazon’s house was right in front of her. Tai was interested to note that it was a treehouse, clearly post-Contact. All bulbous and round, big fat leaves hanging over its top. Windows and a door had been incorporated into the bioengineered wood. The house-tree seemed fully grown, and from the lichen on the bark, it had to be at least a few years old. As she looked around, Tai saw that most of the neighbouring dwellings were also treehouses, though confusingly, there was a surviving pre-Contact apartment block on the corner of the street. The brickwork and the old-style PVC windows looked incredibly out of place, the building equivalent of a fly stuck in amber.

               Tai fingered the collar of her uniform jacket. She felt uncomfortably-hot. A glance at her phone revealed that the air temperature was hovering around twenty-five degrees Celsius – not exceptionally hot for the time of year, but certainly enough to be unpleasant. No point wasting any time, then. She needed to go and collect their guest.

               Tai opened the little picket-fence gate in front of the house and started down the path. Next to her, an array of solar panels was tracking the Sun. Corazon’s garden also had a backup wind turbine, parked on the opposite side of the path. Apparently the academic didn’t trust the municipal grid. Honestly, Tai couldn’t blame him, though on the other hand it did seem a bit excessive. After all, this was the 2060s, not the ‘50s. Even a chaotic urban mess like New London averaged about six hours’ reliable electricity per day.

               Tai reached the door. She lifted her hand and knocked smartly on it, rapping three times. It was an Academy instinct, repeatedly burnt into her brain by the Fleet’s officer candidate school. You always knocked three times and waited before entering, unless of course you really liked doing lots of push-ups. This January morning was, in Tai’s opinion, far too hot for push-ups.

               She heard some clattering from inside the house. ‘Wait, wait, I’m on my way!’ a muffled voice said. It was male, with an accent she couldn’t quite place.

               The door opened. Tai blinked. ‘Uh,’ she said.

               The man looked at her, seeming a bit confused. Then recognition flickered across his face. ‘Oh of course!’ he said. ‘You’re from the Fleet, aren’t you. They said they’d be sending a car, though I did wonder if it would actually turn up.’

               Tai managed to recover her surprise. She hadn’t realised that her passenger-to-be was old. From his grey hair and wrinkled face, he couldn’t be under fifty. With a slight shiver, Tai realised what that meant – he’d been born, and had grown up, beforehand. Before all of it happened.

               ‘Dr Carlos Corazon, I assume?’ she said. He nodded. ‘Lovely to meet you. I’m Lieutenant Tai Zhang, and I’ve been tasked with bringing you to the shuttle-dock. We’ll be going up to the Relentless together, for the shakedown flight.’

               Corazon blinked. ‘They’re farming out their officers on taxi duty? The Navy really must be a bit strained.’

               Oh great, Corazon was one of those people who thought the Navy was a waste of time. It was certainly a common opinion throughout AU-Earth. Certainly it wasn’t entirely wrong. Even the most powerful human-built warship wouldn’t do much damage to even a small Spiral Fleet cruiser. Still, Tai felt this criticism missed the point somewhat. Even if the AU-E Fleet was mostly an exercise in public relations, it was still important to show that the AU-E had something to offer to the wider Concordium.

               Also, Corazon had another point, though she doubted he realised it. Tai had no sooner arrived at the ship then she’d found herself immediately ordered off it again, to go and collect some random civilian. She supposed it reflected the last-minute chaos going on within the ship’s complement as it got ready for its first ever flight as an actual ship of the line. A lot of the ship’s officers hadn’t even arrived until yesterday; Tai wasn’t even the latest assignee to make their way to their birth. They were due to undock in less than twenty-four hours; this was not the best use of her time. Tai should be down in Engineering, meeting with her department, getting to know the crew’s names and faces and getting their shift-schedules and duty rosters finalised.

               Instead she was here, stood on a doormat somewhere out in New London’s half-resurrected urban carcass.

               ‘Well,’ she said, ‘the sooner we’re under way, the better.’

               The Relentless was the Fleet’s newest warship; its maiden voyage would also be carrying a complement of notaries. Some of them were journalists, some of them were various apparatchiks linked to the current federal coalition government, and a few were people of note from wider society. Dr Corazon was apparently somewhat known within the astronomical community, presumably hence his invitation.

               ‘Cool,’ Corazon said. ‘Just let me grab my bag…’

               He turned around and disappeared back into the house. Tai fought the urge to roll her eyes at his disorganisation. A few moments later, the academic reappeared, clutching a carry-bag. To Tai’s eyes it didn’t look like he had remotely enough changes of clothes – but, she decided that was his problem and not hers.

               ‘This way,’ she said, gesturing him toward the car.

               He closed the door of the house behind him, locking then double-locking it. ‘Just let me arm the security system,’ he said, pulling out his phone. Tai waited patiently as Corazon fiddled with the keys. Something beeped and he looked satisfied. His phone disappeared back into a pocket. This at least was an urge Tai could understand.

               ‘Lots of crime around here?’ she asked.

               He shrugged. ‘Some. Barnet’s not too bad. There are worse boroughs, it’s actually fairly good around here. Most people on this street have formal jobs, you know?’

               ‘That might attract the gangs,’ Tai noted. ‘Rich neighbourhood and all that.’

               Corazon shrugged. ‘My security system is a licensed Tech Mind unit. Non-sentient, of course, but advanced enough to handle itself.’

               ‘That and a treehouse,’ Tai observed. ‘Those are triffid products. You clearly like your aliens.’

               They started walking toward the car. Corazon said, ‘Might as well get used to it. They’re here to stay, you know. I probably know that better than most.’

               ‘If you don’t mind me asking,’ Tai said, ‘how old are you?’

               Corazon rolled his eyes. ‘I knew that question was coming. I get that a lot. Apparently I’m the first old man some of our undergraduates have ever seen.’

               That was unlikely in practise – even today, about twenty percent of the AU-E’s population had been born before 2040 – but it wasn’t entirely-impossible either. People in the mid-to-late 2040s and the ‘50s had produced a lot of kids, and that was probably just as well given how few of them there had been left. The New Baby Boom was showing signs of cooling down, though honestly, that was probably not a bad thing either. The planet wasn’t in a great state, and overshooting its carrying capacity was probably a bad idea.

               ‘You didn’t answer the question,’ Tai said.

               Corazon looked irritated. ‘No, I suppose I didn’t, did I? All right, if you insist, I’m sixty-three. I was born in 2004.’

               Tai blinked. ‘Shit,’ she said.

               ‘Yeah,’ Corazon agreed. There wasn’t any need to elaborate on that one.

               An awkward silence descended as they approached the car. Tai sent the all-clear to the security system. The doors were folding up and quite suddenly, it began to get dark. Tai felt confused – she couldn’t see any clouds and the forecast for the day had been for clear weather.

               ‘Oh,’ Corazon said. ‘Of course. Right on cue!’ He pointed up at the sky.

               Tai glanced quickly upwards. A big bite was eating the side of the Sun. Corazon said, ‘Parasol Two. Bang on time.’

               Oh, of course. Tai had completely forgotten about the parasol-satellite’s scheduled appointment with the Sun.

               ‘Let’s get in the car,’ Tai said. Even though this was a relatively upscale neighbourhood, she didn’t really want to be stood around on the pavement during the parasol-eclipse. There was such a thing as asking for trouble.

               Corazon needed no urging. Moments later they were both safely ensconced in the car. Outside, smoothly and without fuss, an artificial night was falling over the city. Lights flickered on inside buildings, stars bloomed across the now-nightfallen heavens and a few of the streetlights even turned on. The rest were either broken or missing their bulbs.

               ‘Car,’ Tai said, ‘take us to the Fleet’s dockside complex, please.’

               ‘Acknowledged,’ the vehicle’s electronic voice said.

The electric engine gently purred to life and the headlights came on. The car pulled out from the curb and began its journey through the city.

‘It will rain later, I expect,’ Corazon remarked. ‘Once the Parasol moves over, I mean. The drop in air temperature can drive condensation in the clouds.’

The forecast hadn’t mentioned that, but Tai supposed it wouldn’t be surprising if it was wrong.

‘Do you find the eclipses weird?’ Tai asked. She realised, just a moment too late, that the question was probably too personal and probably too judgemental. Her passenger certainly thought so. Even in the internal lights of the car, his face darkened.

‘Young lady,’ Corazon snapped, ‘I find everything about this world weird. This is nothing like the place I thought I’d grow old in. It’s the same planet, but a different universe. Though I’m sure that won’t make much sense to you. From the looks of you I’m guessing you’re a post-Contact child.’

He was, Tai thought, rather patronising. She wondered if it was deliberate. No, she didn’t think so. It was just how he was. Perhaps this had been normal behaviour, perfectly average for the world prior to June the Eighth, 2040.

‘I was born in 2042,’ Tai said. ‘I never knew my parents. They got Lung Rot and died not long after I was born.’

The academic didn’t appear to have heard her. He was still staring upwards at the sky.

‘No,’ Corazon said, ‘at least the eclipses make sense. Giant mirror-satellites in orbit, blocking out some sunlight, keeping the temperatures down. Stopping a damaged atmosphere from frying the planet. People did have ideas like that, you know, before. The Contact War made it worse, but climate change existed before 2040. Hell, I vaguely remember hearing about it back in the 2000s!’

Tai boggled. ‘You remember back then?’

‘A bit. I was six in 2010, remember? I do recall the family being very upset about something around ‘08, though I didn’t really understand it.’

‘What could it have been?’ Tai asked. ‘There weren’t any problems then!’

‘There was a planet-wide economic collapse,’ Corazon said. ‘Though nothing like as bad as what happened in the Forties – or the Twenties, for that matter. Anyway it hardly matters now. It was something we did to ourselves, without any external help.’ He looked at the sky, and shuddered. A haunted expression flooded across his face. ‘You know, not like that.’

The artificial night had filled the sky with stars. Some of them were moving – spacecraft, on their journeys to and from any number of destinations. A lot of them were concentrated in the direction of the Moon, though there was no surprise there. The Moon was the main reason the Spiral Concordium bothered with Sol and its planets, after all. It was indirectly the source of all this trouble.

But Corazon wasn’t looking at any of that. His eyes were locked on something else, lower down in the sky. It was pitted and cratered, a rough spheroid, greyish in colour. It was currently in crescent phase, hanging low in the sky and close to the artifically-occluded Sun. But there was no mistaking it.

‘Rock Three,’ Corazon said. ‘That fucker. The one that would have ended us.’

It was harmless now, of course. The 3008th Division of the Spiral Fleet had seen to that, stabilising it onto a safe-if-low orbit around the Earth. But the engineers of the New And Bountiful Prosperity Combine had done their work correctly – had Rock Three impacted, it would have been sufficient to end the Earth’s biosphere, and hide all the evidence of New Prosperity’s crimes forever. The Moon would have been theirs, along with all its reserves of precious Lovecraftium, and the uninhabitable neighbouring planet would have been passed off as a tragic cosmic accident.

‘Three hundred miles wide,’ Corazon said. ‘They actually towed it in all the way from the Kuiper Disc. It wasn’t even in our records before they tossed it at us. Not even a tsunami-making rock. An ocean-boiling rock.’

Rock Three was now a de facto second moon and a permanent fixture in the Earth’s skies, but it was also something that had very nearly been the tombstone for an entire planet. For all the horror they had inflicted, for all the hundreds of millions of people they’d killed, Rocks One and Two had merely been the opening salvos.

‘And of course they tossed in Lung Rot,’ Tai said. ‘As a nice little fuck-you parting-shot.’

‘Yeah, had that.’ Corazon looked grim, then he shrugged. ‘Wasn’t fun. It was like doing Covid all over again. Just joyous. Gotta love hacking up fungal slime out of your own alveoli all day.’

He shuddered. It was a whole-body convulsion.

The Contact War and the two Rocks had been bad, but it was Lung Rot that had done the real, lasting damage. During the early Forties, people had been dying fast enough that the survival of the species had seemed in question for a time, though in practise the Spiral Concordium would never have allowed that. Even if it required raising a cloned population somewhere else, in some carefully-sterilised biodome on some other planet, the Concordium would not have allowed an actual extinction-event. The whole point of the galactic union, for all of its many flaws, was preventing exactly that sort of horror. The Contact War itself should never have happened, of course, but once the Concordium had belatedly become aware of what New Prosperity was doing, they had moved to shut it down. New Prosperity no longer existed; the entire organisation had been declared traitors and anyone who survived the Battle of Earth had been mercilessly hunted down. If there were any former Prosperity scions left out there somewhere, they knew better by now then to advertise their survival.

Lung Rot had been a vicious punch in the face, a final little parting-present from New Prosperity, the spores air-dropped into multiple locations across the Earth even as the Combine’s forces crumbled under the Spiral assault. No-one was really sure why they’d done it. It had gained them nothing; if Rock Three had left any questions unanswered, then Lung Rot surely had removed any doubt about the Combine’s intentions. Their fall had been absolute, from one of the oldest, wealthiest and most-celebrated organisations in the Milky Way to one of the most-despised collections of traitors who had ever lived.

Suddenly, Tai had to talk. The urge was abrupt, dominating, complete. It was probably also a bad idea, but you didn’t always get the choice with these things. The words were flowing from her mouth, and like it or not, they weren’t going to just magically turn off.

‘My earliest actual memory is when they sprayed the camps,’ Tai said. ‘I was in one of the refugee ones, just another orphaned toddler. I had a cough by then, of course. Everyone did. There was space in our tent – a lot of people had been taken out. New people weren’t coming in, not anymore. I didn’t really know what it meant then, of course. But then one day people were – excited? It was weird. I’d never seen them like that. There was suddenly not any crying. People were hugging each other and smiling. I remember they pulled me out of the tent. People were coming out of the tents, everywhere. There was an actual crowd. Cheering, even! It was some triffids that came through. They were pulling a spray-tank. They sprayed all of us – one of them even shoved the nozzle in my mouth!’

‘And the retroviral agent re-wrote your lungs,’ Corazon noted. ‘So they now secrete a natural fungicide, keeping the Lung Rot mycelium at subclinical levels. Yeah, something similar happened to me. Kind of crazy, one of the happiest days of my life, you know? The day in 2045, when the aliens came to genetically-engineer all of us.’ He shook his head. ‘Flying saucers spraying the cities with bio-agents, and people dancing in the streets below! Would’ve been unimaginable just ten years before.’

This chatter was, of course, a normal thing. Tai had had lots of conversations like this. It was quite an average event for people to compare their traumas – virtually everyone living in the AU-Earth had some emotional burden that they were carrying around with them. It was true that social conditions were improving – things were merely “bad” now, rather then the “borderline-apocalyptic” of twenty years previously – but an important part of getting to know someone was trying to gently figure out where their personal sore spots and pain-points lay. Triggering someone into a flashback episode was generally considered to be a social faux pas, especially if it was done deliberately. There were also practical concerns too. It was difficult for a workplace to function if half its staff were either lying on the floor sobbing or had been driven to flee the building by their own inner demons.

Corazon sighed, shrugged and opened his bag. Tai read that as his cue to dismiss this topic. He’d said his piece. And so, she supposed, had she. He knew not to mention the camps, she knew not to mention Lung Rot. They’d told each other what they needed to know, and now it was time to move smoothly onwards.

To Tai’s surprise, he pulled out a pair of knitting needles and a ball of wool. Moments later, a pair of half-finished socks emerged. ‘I am glad someone decided to save the sheep,’ he remarked. ‘We lost so many of the others.’

Lung Rot had been aimed at humans, of course, but the mycelium was at home in any warm, enclosed, moist, dark space. There had been extinctions all throughout Class Mammalia. A whole host of species now only existed as captive populations in carefully-maintained bio-domes, and they were the lucky ones. Someone had cared enough to try to rescue them, during the end of the world.

And the less said about that, the better.

‘You like knitting?’ Tai asked.

Corazon nodded. ‘Actually I make sixty percent of my income from it. My lectureship is nice, but academia is more like a hobby with an office.’ He started up on the socks, the needles twisting and twirling through a series of moves that Tai’s eyes struggled to follow.

‘You sell socks?’ Tai asked. It didn’t surprise her that Corazon had a side-hustle – the AU-Earth’s budgetary situation was tight, and that was very visible in public sector salaries. It was just as well that Tai’s role as an officer came with government-subsidised housing, because there was no way she could afford anything minimally-pleasant on the private market.

‘No, scarves, usually,’ Corazon said. ‘They’re mostly bought by ash lizards. I got into it almost by accident, when I went to Nine Shadows And Six Rivers back in ’52. Took my needles and stuff with me, made a scarf on the ship out. It was just something to do, you know? But when we arrived I gave it to one of our liaison team, as a gift – and they loved it. Before I knew it I had a waiting-list of gender-bending alien lizards, who all wanted individual knitted scarves.’ He snorted. ‘I got to live the high life out on Nine Shadows, while the rest of the exchange group had to slum it, down on the cheap floors of the arcology.’

‘Oh of course,’ Tai said. ‘They like decoration, don’t they?’

‘They don’t go in for clothes in quite the way we do – heat retention messes up their metabolisms something chronic. But they do go in for decoration. Necklaces, wrist-sheathes, sashes. Scarves. Natural materials are particularly-prized.’ He shrugged. ‘Who would have known that knitted goods would be a key export from this planet?’

[blue-bird-lamentation]

this the story post: melohax[.]tumblr[.]com/post/639167543643340800/warning-spoilers-ahoy-only-read-this-if-youve the game has like so many secret scenes it shocked me

Thank you so much for the link!!!

I really liked reading it. I tried to skip the hikikomori route part as I will try to calmly play it, but I‘ve read a few and, as a person who saw that seen of a man trying to cut a tree and saying “you’re not my son” it intrigued me a lot what kind of information I will get from there.

I’m still puzzled and still didn’t try to see what would happen if I collected the wrong letters and if I has opened the door to Mari.

I went far on this answer and wrote a lot of random topics that are also mentioned in that post and other things I remembered too. It’s still too messy, but my memory is fresh and I decided to write about what I was thinking, even if not organized. Sorry for using your ask, but I was inspired by the link, which I think it’s a very interesting reading. I’m also sorry for the mistakes and I may come back later to correct them. There are so many fascinating things in the game, and so many others I haven’t yet explored, besided I feel good writting all of this as it is kind of asfixiating to thing about it and not having anyone to discuss it with.

This game was a rollercoaster. I knew from the begining that the cute artstyle and the pastel colours in the begining were deceiving, especially when you start in a weird whitespace room and take a knife. Omori as a black and white coloured character among the other paster colours also felt weird.

One really interesting comment I received from my brother when he watched me playing a bit, in a fight, was  “oh your character is the real neutral one, the others seem happy” while all of them were in neutral mode. Also his happy expression was scary and he was the one who got to maniac aside from villains (at least for me). The fact he has a knife intrigued me a lot if I should really fight but at first it looked like there were no consequences (aside from feeling tremendously bad for being called bunny killer. Also about these little enemies, it’s interesting how many of them were bunnies when the person we find who has a bunny is Aubrey, which is also the girl from the group that is now “against us”, at least most of the time in the real world).

Also about the knife, there are two other moments that totally hit me:

- the suicide in whitespace, which could foreshadow his suicide in some routes, but is also the means to wake up;

- Kel and Aubrey in the real world who call us out for bringing a knife, which, since the begining, was the correct thing to do.

I really wonder a lot about his family and their decisions.

It’s been 4 years. I wonder if Sunny’s mom ever put him into some kind of therapy, I wonder if her absence was on purpose because she wanted him to say goodbye to his old friends one last time. I wonder if Kel’s visit wasn’t a coincidence. I wonder if Hero coming back was also part of a last chance to bring Sunny back. I don’t know if the other route answers it, but seeing the notes and messages that mother leaves, she seems to be worried about him. I would say a mix of worry and fear, so there must be some strong reason why she’s not there besides going to buy some furniture or whatever.

Saying this, I think only Sunny’s parents know more or less what happened, but not from their son’s mouth, from autopsy report perhaps. The house was adapted to the changes: no family picture, as opposed to what I saw in Kel’s house (and I wonder if it’s only because of Mari or also with his father too as described by the cutting tree scene. I had thought this was directed to Omori and not to Sunny, but this is also part of the dream realm, so it could be Sunny’s interpretation to the end of his parents marriage which was related to Mari’s death), Mari’s bed is gone (which made the scene when she knocks the door even creepier. I never got to open the door because I was scared, but I’m also curious). Also about the 4 years,  I liked the detail of the 4th floor sign in Last Resort, which was resting there on the floor, as the number is also cursed because it symbolizes death.

I find fascinating how the complexity of the situation is represented in the dream world. His team is composed by his old friends, which are human. Mari and Basil are also human but they weren’t totally present. Mari is the safe point and overprotective of Omori, but she is also the element who encourages him to face his fears. As he faces his fears, he unravels more information about what he repressed, also helped by the presence of the blackspace Basil. But it’s ironic as the more he unravels, the more corrupted the story seems to evolve, but also the more they lose the main purpose of rescuing Basil, which is more evident in the deeper well.

I believe the human figures are the most important to him, and then there are the elements that combine real world figures with fantasy, as the candyshop girl and the fiction space boyfriend. Each story is fascinating but it also makes you lose focus on what you were supposed to do. And in my case, there was a point where I just wanted to wander around in these stories because I was to afraid to face the real story that was masked by this fictional colourful world.

These olde friends represent perhaps what Sunny never wanted to have lost, but also what he does not want to face.

When Sunny woke up in the hospital, I first followed the kids, and no, that wasn’t the right path. That was the safe path, where there is no confrontation with reality. As it was when Sunny was with company. I think it is Aubrey who says he doesn’t like to be alone, and well, that was me the whole game, imploring to not be left alone, because once the character was alone, his world seemed to be corrupted by the black space, which was also a stepping stone to reach the truth, the dark truth.

And I really like how this is all Sunny’s mental effort, which, I would say, it’s helped by him leaving his house and meeting his friends once again, as well as facing Basil one more time.

I was really sad with how the story developed. What started I was assuming it was a facing your fears story, transformed into an overcoming someone’s death, which at first I thought it would be Basil’s, to go to Mari (which was a total mystery to me why had she died (my ingenuity believed it could have been some traffic accident or something else) at first), to go to save Basil again, but now with some dark remarks about the character himself. In the middle of this development, first time the character wakes up, it is clear that the dream world character is not the same as the real world one, age wise, but is part of him.

I had written that at first I was reluctant about the fights, but well, they were necessary to me to face the villains of each arc. But at the same time thery were never too difficult (I think the most difficult part to me was to be strong enough for the Dino Dig and the rest was pretty easy). When, at the end Sunny had to face Omori I was shocked. So, the guy I had been training which was very seemingly sadistic, did I simply train him so that if Sunny wanted to face his trauma, he would hunt him with his strenght? Like the stronger I made him, ther bigger the reluctance to overcome the past. And while this sadistic character seems to be what I would compare to a Chara in Undertale, to me it was the harsh self conscious, critical part of him who could never forgive for what he had done. And which was also manifested as the monster surrounding him and Basil. It was their perception that what they had done was unforgivable, but at the same time neither of them wanted to carry that burden alone: Sunny “forgot” it, Basil manifests it by making those toxic remarks like “you aren’t going to leave me alone again, are you?”.

I don’t know if we get to see more of Basil’s backstory but he also got me curious. I think that what both of them did was bad, but given what happened between Sunny and Mari, it was really hard to know how to face it. I don’t think it makes them willingly villains, but scared children who were very self conscious and didn’t know what would happen if people found it out.

However, hadn’t Basil been there, Sunny would have been found right away next to Mari’s corpse. So I wonder what led Basil to propose such idea and to make Sunny’s burden heavier, which made him ambiguity of his disappearance with the will to save him as a friend.

I don’t think it was an ill intention, but Basil created excuses to protect Sunny because he was important to him and to the group. As the photo album showed, Sunny was the younger element, seen as the baby of the group, and he was shy, but he loved his friends even if he looked the most expressionless.

I think these elements awoke in him the need to protect Sunny from the darkness that lied ahead his actions, but he didn’t realise how heavy of a burden that would be. At the same time he probably had some issued regardin expectations and self worth which probably told him that they could never be tied to such a cruel action, even if it was accidental.

In my perspective he didn’t see the dark shadow surrounding Sunny at the time, but he engraved the memory as an act not commited by Sunny but by something surrounding him, pretty much like when he started attacking him at the end.

I like to think that, good ending wise, the malevolent side, Omori is not necessarily a potential evil that was always within Sunny, but the self guilt and lack of self worth. The fact the Sunny wouldn’t leave the house and didn’t even take good care of his health shows it. He is self destructive, because guilt consumes him, not a person who needs to apply suffering in the outter world for his own satisfaction. The whole struggle is within Sunny and not ot become a bad person per se.

Some of Basil’s dialogue was too much for me, mainly when he kept repeating for Sunny to not leave him. However I totally understand why. Sunny covered the what had happened while Sunny had to live those years knowing what they had done, as if he was the only one carrying the burden.

It’s a real complicated story where everyone was the victim.

It was so hard to see how sad and angry Aubrey was, and how she had to make new friends to overcome, how alone she was all the time. How Kel kept being such a good person, however had to move away because he didn’t know how to face the others, afraid of being misinterpreted. Hero’s pictures with Mari break me everytime. “A match made in heaven” Basil had written in the description of one of the photos. The fact that he is the element in the group that cooks, but 4 years later he had given up. The fact he can’t face Mari’s grave. The way Kel describes his struggle over Mari’s death. The way he didn’t make new friends in college, although he says it was lack of time. Basil is completely broken and can’t even touch the camera anymore and tries to “destroy” the old memories, which Aubrey discovers. Sunny’s parents, as their life turned upside down. And probably everyone around was too afraid to know how to act around them.

I really like how despite everything, the human figure that Sunny creates of Mari is forgiveful and so cheerful. Mari is such a good influence that wants to help him overcome the trauma for himself (especially when she helps him overcoming the fear of drowning and calls him Sunny for the first time. The ways she asked for his forgiveness for pushing him so hard into playing the recital. It is still part of Sunny’s dream but it’s so in Mari’s character. I believe this part is also connected to the scene where we see her saving Sunny in the real world).

I will end this text here. I will eventually come back to it, and to the omori tag, because this is certainly a very good game with a lot of space for debate and reflection.

[dandannoodl3s]

Ahhh so I also managed finishing chapter 2 in the re-imagining of the events post the episode 5.08 (Ian Garvey) if you’re haven’t read part one I’ll attach the link but here’s part 2 it’s slightly long but worth it I promise. Gif credits to @biconicclarkegriffin and @bravebold

Chapter 2

Before Ressler knew it, he was driving towards Liz’s apartment. It was way past midnight now and the thought of resting before beginning his quest to uncover the culprits behind this horrific attack was too much for him to bear. Besides he wouldn’t be able to sleep knowing Liz was in the hospital fighting for her life. Cooper had already alerted the Post Office about the events and a CSI team had been sent to Liz’s apartment. Nobody it seemed wanted to waste any time. As he approached her building he saw a bunch of cop cars parked outside, along with police tape cording off the area. He parked his car but sat in it for several minutes, trying to prepare himself for what he was about to see. He stepped out and made his way under the police tape, taking his badge out to identify himself to the officer in charge of the scene.

“Donald Ressler, FBI”

“Yes Sir, come through”

“Are you okay sir?” said the same officer who had let him in.

As Ressler made his way up the stairs to her apartment, his heart beat faster and faster almost bursting out of his chest, He had to lean against the wall to calm down

“Yeah fine” Ressler chimed in, trying to hide the emotions that were threatening to explode.

“Did you know the people who were attacked?”

“Yeah” he said, sucking a deep breath in.

“It was my partner and her husband.”

“I’m sorry sir. It’s always hard when someone close to you is killed.”

“She isn’t dead. She’s in a coma.” retorted Ressler who was beginning to get irritated at the officer for talking so much but he knew that he didn’t mean to offend him, so he just nodded at the officer and made his way into her apartment. But he was not ready for what he saw. There was blood everywhere along with shattered glass across the living room floor, broken tables and chairs, torn pillows and two dead bodies. He assumed correctly that they must have been part of the team that attacked the Keens and having known that there was no way that Liz and Tom had those many bullets to spare, he knew it had been Reddington and Dembe who had come just in time to rescue the two of them.

The CSI’s had marked all the areas and were in the process of gathering all the blood and any other DNA evidence they could get from the scene. Ressler on the other hand made his way into Agnes’s room. It had been completely tossed. All her toys scattered on the floor, her mattress had been flipped, her cupboard had been carelessly emptied out, and there was nothing that was left in place. He was grateful that Liz had sent Agnes to her friend’s place for a sleepover. He didn’t want to imagine what they would have done to the poor girl if she was at home with her parents. No. Liz would never do that if she knew somewhere in her gut that she was uncovering something dangerous.

Suddenly a paper caught his eye. He bent down to pick it up. It was a drawing Agnes had made of herself, Tom and Liz. They were in the park with Agnes in the middle of her two parents holding both their hands and smiling. It made Ressler tear up. How the hell was he going to get her through this? He folded the drawing and put it in his pocket. He went out, ensured that the CSIs covered everything and left her apartment.

1 month later

The investigation into the attack was just a bunch of dead ends. While they managed to ID the two bodies, there was no other trace of blood, fingerprints or anything. Whoever did this was meticulous. It was planned to ensure there were no survivors and absolutely nothing that could lead back to them. What the attackers perhaps hadn’t anticipated was Reddington. And while the Task Force was doing everything possible, Reddington had surprisingly continued to supply them with names of Blacklisters. I guess it was his way of honouring Liz and it was also the only way everyone could remain distracted.

Reddington had also been actively taking care of Agnes. Ressler was actually quite surprised at his approach towards her. He had asked Samar if she would take Agnes in for the time being since he realised how important it was for Agnes to have a female presence. In another world Red would have jumped at the opportunity to keep Agnes to himself for her ‘protection’ but things were different right now and what Agnes needed was a sense of normalcy, something not possible in his world. Ressler would usually spend the weekends with Agnes, who insisted on building pillow forts with him. She was in the “princess phase” while the pillow fort was her castle and Ressler her knight. It had certainly been a difficult month, and perhaps Agnes was too young to completely understand death and medically induced comas, but there was no denying that behind that smiling face, she missed her parents dearly.

“Uncle Donnie?” said Agnes one evening that Ressler was at Samar’s place.

“Yes sweetheart?”

“When is mommy going to come home? I miss her.”

Ressler picked her up, setting her on his lap as she cuddled into him.

“Sweetie, I know you miss her. Uncle Donnie misses her too. Remember what I told you about Mommy and Daddy being in an accident?” Agnes slowly nodded her head.

“Well mommy was injured very badly. It’s like when the evil queen sends her army to kill the princess and take her place in the kingdom and the prince tries to protect the princess by fighting the evil queen���s army. Your daddy was the prince who tried to save his princess, and he fought very bravely to protect your mother.”

“You said daddy is in heaven now right?”

Ressler smiled at the sweet child sitting on his lap.

“Yes, daddy is in heaven now. He’s still protecting your mommy and is making sure she is strong enough to wake up. Give it time sweetie. I promise you that I’m here with you till Mommy comes back okay?”

“Okay, Uncle Donnie.”

And with that Ressler picked her up and took her to the room Samar had set aside for Agnes. He lifted the covers and gently placed a sleepy Agnes in bed. He read her her favourite story at the moment “Mulan” as it reminded her of how strong and brave her mother was and watched her fall asleep before placing a kiss on her forehead and making his way out of the room.

6 months later

It had been half a year and Liz had still not woken up. The doctors had lost hope but Reddington being Reddington refused to give up and had her transferred to a private care facility, paying for everything along the way. Other than Reddington, Ressler was the one member on the task force who visted Liz almost every day. Sometimes he would bring her favourite food from Wing Yee and just sit and talk to her while he ate his share. Other times he would tell her about his day, about Blacklisters they caught and about the thrill of the chase. But every single time he spoke to her, he would tell her about Agnes. Her grades, her favourite movies and books at the moment, how she had dyed some of her hair pink after seeing some movie where the lead actress had pink hair, how she had discovered Samar’s lipsticks and insisted that she needed some of her own.

For Ressler, Liz was the only thing he thought about for the last 6 months. Whether it was his feelings for her or the fact that he just utterly missed her, her teasing and her silly jokes, he just wanted Liz to wake up. On the 6 month eve of the attack, Ressler snuck in a bottle of her favourite wine in his coat pocket before making his way to the care facility. When he entered her room he was surprised to see Red sitting next to her, since he usually wasn’t here so late in the night.

“Donald, it’s lovely to see you.”

“Red, what are you doing here so late?”

“Well I know you aren’t as happy to see me but you know what date it is today and I don’t know, I just wanted to be here with Lizzie”

“I know what you mean. That’s actually why I’m also here.”

Reddington looked at Ressler for a long while before saying something that took Ressler by surprise.

“You know Donald, its going to be difficult for Elizabeth when she wakes up, you know with Tom not being here and their attackers being on the loose, but for what it’s worth I’m glad you’re in her life. I don’t think I’ve told you how much I appreciate all that you’ve done for sweet Agnes.

I know we’ve had a colourful history and I may have outsmarted you that one time in Belgrade but you were the only one who ever came close to ever capturing me. In fact, sometimes your personality strikes me as uptight even rigid, but that perfectly sculpted jaw line certainly helps” Reddington chuckled.

Ressler couldn’t help but snort.

“So the only acceptable quality I have are my looks? Tell me something new.” He said somewhat cockily but he was slightly stung by the jab.

“Your face definitely is a sight for sore eyes but that’s not the only thing. In the last few months you have proved my wrong. You’ve been at Lizzie’s side the whole time, unwavering in you love and care for her. You may not realise this but your loyalty and compassion is an envious trait. Something that I have always admired and remember I am not easily pleased.”

The atmosphere in the room was thick with emotion and as a means to break the unfamiliarity of Reddington’s emotional confession, Ressler took out the small bottle of wine from his inner coat pocket.

“What do we have here?” exclaimed Reddington.

Feigning a smile Ressler said “It’s Liz’s favourite cheap wine. Every time we finished arresting a particularly nasty Blacklister, we would sit in our office and pour ourselves this god awful wine in plastic cups and try to finish our day’s reports.”

“Why in God’s good name does Elizabeth subject herself to such ghastly taste in alcohol, I mean why do that when she has a perfectly beautiful collection of aromatic Chilean wines lying in her house, ones that I especially bootleg for her but for some unearthly reason continue to remain unopened? ”

Ressler chuckled.

“Well, one day Liz and I were the only ones left in the Post Office. We had just wrapped up a case that among other things involved seizing alcohol from underage kids who had they known any better were drinking counterfeit wine supplied to them by the Blacklister we were out for, who made millions selling adulterated wine only to poison his wife and daughter when they found out the truth about his enterprise. Anyway, Liz and I were up late, writing our reports and filling in data when we decided to sneak into the backroom where there were several boxes of adulterated wine ready to be processed in the morning. We were both in desperate need for a drink so we opened up a carton and nicked a few bottles, since they were yet to be registered.

One thing led to another and before you know it we had finished two bottles of that awful wine, laughing at how desperate and teenage it was to go sneaking around stealing alcohol. And Liz in her drunken state declared it to be her favourite ‘cheap wine’ going so far as even writing a heavily misspelled review on the now defunct company website. It was also the last case we solved before things blew up and today while cleaning up her workspace, I found another bottle of that wine and couldn’t help but smile and the first thing I wanted to do was come here and share it with her. I know it sounds stupid, but I would do anything to have that time again, stealing bottles of wine from evidence rather than see her life being stolen from her by some ruthless criminals.”

“It is silly yes, but it is certainly not stupid for you to want to share that memory with her again. We will find out who did this Donald. I don’t plan on letting those scums get away. But until then, let’s open that bottle and judge just how much I need to consider an intervention and possibly a crash course for Lizzie on everything related to the finer things in life.”

Ressler pulled up a chair and poured the wine into two plastic cups and handed one to Reddington as they sat talking about Liz and all her little quirks.

[theuniversitychallengereview]

UC 50.33 - Durham vs Imperial

I’m going to start this post of with a shout-out. Usually I save the advertisement and self-promotion for the end, and the start is like hotel bedisde tables used to be before the ubiquity of the one-charge-a-day smartphone - completely free of plugs (I’m workshopping a stand-up routine about this. *Michael McIntyre voice* “D’you remember when hotel rooms had no sockets for charging your phone. You’d be checking Twitter while falling asleep but you’d be dangling face-first out the bed like a deranged sloth. Very difficult to get to sleep at a 45 degree angle in the wrong direction”).

But this plug is something a little bit different, and as such it gets top billing. I have mentioned the game #UniversityChallenge Klaxon on here before, along with the sister podcast ‘Enjoyably Futile’. Well, reader, you’ve got yourselves a crossover episode.

Andy Keegan, host of both the game and podcast, was nice enough to have me on last week and we discussed the past few episodes of The Challenge, along with my historic forays into the world of TV quizzing. If you have a strange sense of what I sound like and don’t want that spoiled then probably avoid, but otherwise, give it a listen! I had a blast recording it and hopefully at least some of that transfers itself into the audio experience. 

Here’s a link to the episode and you can follow Andy @andykeegan or @enjoyablyfutile over on Twitter. 

Anyway, thus ends the plug, and we can move onto tonight’s episode. Here’s your first starter for ten...

Both of these teams have won and lost a quarter-final match already, so the victors of this contest will make it through to the semis to join Warwick and Balliol. Durham are looking to make it to that stage for the third time in a row while Imperial are hoping that they can do what no one has done since 2013 and retain the title that their erstwhile colleagues won so impressively last year. 

The Imperial captain has arguably been the best player of the restarted series, coming back after lockdown had delayed the second round of recordings with greatly improved knowledge and buzzer speed. Four impressive performances culminated in him running riot against King’s last time out.

Cryptically, he posted a tweet before the match saying that ‘people who think that I'm carrying the Imperial team are either going to look very smart or very dumb next week...’. This echoes a tweet made by Brandon last year before the final, in which his teammates had crushed it on their way to victory. One thinks it would be a dick-move to copy this tweet if he means the opposite to his fellow Imperialites.

Durham, meanwhile, have blown a bit hot and cold in the quarter finals, with a solid win over Strathclyde followed by a limp loss to Balliol. However, last week I said I thought Strathclyde had no chance against Birkbeck and look how that turned out, so I don’t think I’m going to try and call this one either way. There have been plenty of tight matches this series, that could have gone either way, and I think this might be one of them

Off we go, and both sides miss Iris Murdoch’s definition of Love. Kohn, wearing an excellent wasitcoat, gets us back on track with the second starter, and Imperial grab a couple of bonuses to open up a twenty point lead. This is quickly halved as Wilkening gets Durham into the game. A fun bonus set on the monarchs who were reigning in the years of various ratios from the field of sub-atomic physics. 

A neg from Kohn then allowed Wilkening in to pick up his second, and now Durham had the lead. A guess of Kant from Regan extended this next time around, but they could only manage a single bonus again.

Wong stopped the mini-rot for Imperial with the first picture starter, and Rahman grins as he pronounces Uranus on the next ten-pointer, having beaten Kohn to the buzzer. They struggle on the bonuses, and at this point have answered the same number of starters as they have bonus questions correctly. This changes quickly, as they grabbed a full set off the back of another Wong buzz. They have the lead now.

Marrow takes her first of the evening, meaning that all of Imperial’s four players have answered at least one starter question correctly. Kohn’s prophecy is coming true. Marrow beams her face off (like Rey when she realises she’s on the Millennium Falcon with Han Solo in The Force Awakens. A very specific reference I know, but there are definite Daisy Ridley vibes) when she gives her answer, starch, which is delightful to watch. I dont know if she’s so happy simply because she got the answer right, or if she’s laughing at the irony of her, Marrow, a non-starchy vegetable, giving starch as an answer. Based on the smile she has when giving Buttercup correctly later on, I think its the former.

The music round goes the way Imperial as well, and they appear to be taking control of the game. Kohn gives Faure for one of the bonuses so quickly that Paxman just stops and admires his gumption for a few seconds, grinning. He jumps the gun on the second picture starter though, buzzing in before, it seems, he’s decided on an answer. The one he gives is wrong, and Durham pick it up. They manage to close the gap to 40 points.

A physics starter is then left dangling for quite a while. Marrow, Rahman and Parkinson all study the subject, and it is Rahman who manages to dredge the required knowledge up the quickest. Had Parkinson managed to get this, Durham may have had a chance, but Imperial run away with it once again.

Kohn starts firing out the answers to the bonus questions so rapidly that the show almost becomes the opposite of that Two Ronnies Mastermind sketch where they answer the previous question, and when the gong comes they have managed to double their opponents’ score.

Final Score: Durham 100 - 200 Imperial

A close match at the start, which threatened to be so again towards the end, but a blitz from Imperial resulted in their second dominant win in a row.

Commiserations to Durham, who certainly played their part today. And Kohn was right, his teammates did help him out, but my jove he didn’t half help them too.

Now for the end-of-blog plugs. If you liked reading this then I have a Patreon where you can get Retro Reviews of the 2015/16 series. I’ve actually got the next post locked and loaded for release this week, along with a review of a book written by our very own Jeremy Paxman. You can sign up for as little as £1/month.

https://www.patreon.com/user?u=16447756&fan_landing=true

And while we’re at it, I may as well plug my appearance on the Enjoyably Futile Podcast a second time. You can listen to that here. 

Phew, its like an extension cable with too small an amperage in here - overloaded with plugs...

Thanks for reading, I’ll see you next time.

[stevenuniversetanzanite]

Fallen Angel (Venable X reader) Part 1

This story is part of a series that will extend over two, maybe three of SP characters. They will be named different things (if it's a different character and I will finish one's plot before I post the other, probably) but will all be linked together. None will be chronological but I will be easier to follow, if not I'll tell you right upfront. 

It’s a short chapter.

Summary/idea: Two strangers come to 'save' the occupants of outpost 3. Neither are what they seem.

(The reader is purposely all over the place)

Warnings: N/A

Parts: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3 , Part 4, Part 5 (Will add as I go)

"Honestly, I'm trying not to think about it at all. I'm more interested in whoever Venable is hiding in her office."

The purples muttered amongst themselves while waiting to be served their nutrition cubes.

A man with long strawberry blonde hair walked into the room, the outpost members guessed he was in his late twenties. Following the stranger was a woman an inch shorter. The man was attractive, with a well-defined jaw and piercing blue eyes. The male attracted members of the outpost could already see themselves swooning over him. The woman, or what they assume is a woman, she appeared far younger than her counterpart, was by no means unattractive but she bordered the lined of cute than what would be seen as societally attractive. She wore a long black skirt that hid her shoes, a black shoulder and black corset that barely allowed the white blouse underneath to peek through. She didn't wear the same face of intimidation as the man she was with.

The man addressed the crowd of greys and purples, "My name is Langdon, and this is my associate Y/N L/N." He gestured to you. You smiled widely and waved at the purples. They looked at you confused. "We represent The Cooperative."

“I won't sugarcoat the situation. Humanity is on the brink of failure. Our arrival here was crucial to the survival of civilized life on Earth…” Michael started his long speel about why the two of you were there, yadda yadda, it’s all boring to you, you couldn’t wait for the more interesting stuff to start. As he talked you took your time to study this outpost’s residents. You didn’t think twice about half of them, none of them catching your interest. 

 “We will then use the information gained to determine if you belong.” He must be up to telling them about his process of selection, ‘The Interview’.  We both knew that’s bullshit, the whole thing was, you can’t learn everything you need from their word of mouth, that’s stupid, people lie, you know. 

"You don't have to sit for questioning. The process should only take me a couple of days, so you won't be kept in suspense forever. For those of you who don't make the cut, all is not lost. If the worst should happen and feral cannibals come knocking, down one of these. One minute later, you fall asleep and never wake up."

"I volunteer to go first." The man had guts, that or he was stupid. By the quick study of him… stupid, definitely stupid. 

"And so you shall," Michael said. 

"I look forward to meeting each and every one of you."

"What about y/n? Is she going to be in the interviews too?” Emily asked. “You said you'd be doing the interviews. What about her?"

"We can't get all the information we need from word of mouth," You deadpanned, staring directly at her. She tensed up, her eyes fixed on yours. Everyone felt uneasy. “How are we meant to know how you get on with others, or how adaptable you are simply by interviewing you?”

“We could give examples?” She was unsure of her answer. 

“Who’s meant to back them up? I can’t call your boss or whoever you use as your referee, they’re dead. Do I look like a psychic?”

“No.”

There was silence for a minute before you cracked up, “Just kidding, the interviews bore me. You should have seen your face. Did you see her face, Mickey?” Michael groaned. You were immature at the best of times and the worst. He told you a million times to not call him Mickey or whatever nickname you came up with at the time. You were here for business, you needed to be professional.

“Y/N-”

“OW~ NUTRITION CUBE,” you screaked out dashing over to the table and grabbing one of the purples plates as well as their fork. “I haven’t eaten since ‘92. I had this disgusting pheasant- at least I think it was a pheasant, it could’ve been beef.”

“Those are two different kinds of meat.”

“One’s a bird.”

“Good for it, it’s hard to be a bird. Believe me, I’ve tried.” Everyone looked at you as if you were insane. You didn’t mind. You hopped on the table and started eating. 

“I don’t know if I want to be accepted any more,” Coco said watching you scoff down the meal you stole. “We don’t have to be like her to get in, do we?”

“No,” Michael answered.

“What’s wrong with me?” You covered your mouth so you could talk. You had some manners. 

“How about we get set up for the first interview while they have their meal?” Michael asked. 

“Alright,” you placed down your back from where you stole it from. You hopped off the table looking back briefly to wave goodbye. “Hey, you ate your meal fast.” You said pointing to the meal you ate a second ago. 

“She’s kidding right?” Andre asked. The others shrugged. 

“Y/N!”

“One Second.”

The interview was long and tedious. You had to find ways to pass the countless hours you had been in the underground bunker. The others didn't treat you with respect, they tried to use you to guarantees themselves a spot in the Sanctuary. 

Little did they know how little say you had in the 'picking'. You were allowed to pick one person (which you hadn’t found yet) as compensation for all your help guiding Satan's boy. It wasn't the first time you had run into the devil reincarnated, his son or a possessed human. Satan, though powerful, could never be down here in his true form, he'd be too recognisable even with some form of perception filter. It's like trying to hide when you have a chip tracking you, utterly useless.

You'd heard whispers about this outposts leader, things that intrigued you. It was as clear as day that she liked neither of you, but that didn't stop you from gawking at her.

You chilled in the music room as the others had their daily social hour. You sipped down the drink one of the greys gave you. You eyed every person, once again analysing everyone in the room. Some you hadn’t noticed in your time here. Still didn’t make them interesting. You’d be surprised if any of these people are kept alive. 

“So what’s the deal with the same song on loop?” You asked the group. They looked at you like you were stupid. The Morning After by Maureen McGovern played on repeat the whole time you were there, you tempted to change in but you assumed it was some sort of sick joke on the occupants, its a hopeful song the first time you heard it. It could give them the wrong idea.

“What do you mean?” One said. You couldn’t care less about their names. “That had to be in some sort of your plan right?”

“Nope. Must be one of the things your leader added. Ms V, was it?”

“Added?”

“Like your colour systems, most places had it so the more work you did the more benefits you’d get. That being said they had slaves too. Depends on the base I guess. Also, a lot of them have more people.”

“They were killed off.”

You leant forward and directly stared at the man, Timothy maybe. “Tell me more about that?” You tilted your head, finding sudden interest in murders happening in these walls. “Were they infected?” All your goofiness the remaining occupants knew to be a character trait for was tossed in the trash. None of them could piece you together. Maybe you were just crazy? 

“One was, allegedly, they may have fed him to us.” 

You turned your head to Andre, “Your boyfriend right, how sick is that? How could they do something like that?” You clutched your armchairs arm, digging your black claws into the wood.

“How did you know-” Timothy asked.

“-it was his boyfriend?” Your head snapped back to Timothy. “His body language and the fact he looked utterly depressed when you mentioned it.” You eased back into your chair. “And the others? What caused their murders?”

“Rule-breaking.”

“Mainly procreation.”

“At the end of the world are you not allowed to procreate? Are you trying to kill humanity?” They caught on quick that was another one of their rules they implemented in the outpost. Most started complaining about that. You took this as your time to meet this Venable more formally. 

You knocked on her office door. “Who is it?” she bellowed. 

“Y/N,” you announced confidently. 

“Ms L/N, come in.” She didn’t bother getting up to let you in, she doubted you would be long. Micheal was the one she could hold a sophisticated conversation (not to say that she wanted to), she presumed you were just some kooky eye candy he’d brought along. You had done very little work- at least from what she could tell- you’ve only pestered the residence and used up precious resources- not to mention the constant staring. No matter where she was she always felt you watching her. It was giving her the heebie-jeebies.

You opened the door, it squicked. That caught your attention, you rocked it back and forth a couple times before. “This door needs to be fixed, it ruins the threatening mood you try to build up. I mean this isn’t a haunted house after all-” Haunted boarding school maybe but not a house. 

“Ms L/N, what are you doing in my office?” She peered up from her work. You hadn’t noticed them before but she was wearing glasses. They were nice, you liked them on her. From her profile, you knew she used to wear them but you assumed she got lasik. They must have been reading glasses all along, you’d worn glasses for a bit back in your ‘younger days’, different reasoning behind it, you weren’t exactly yourself back then but that’s a story for another time.

“I’ll send someone to fix that later.” You realised she asked you a question, “Uh~ right, you weren’t at the gathering.”

“I’m busy working, someone has to keep this place together.”

“And I admire your work, I really do-” You began.

“But?” She focused all her attention on you, closing the file she was looking at as you approached. 

“When was the last time you took a break? Had some fun?” You splayed yourself out on the chair in front of her desk. 

“I have fun-” She didn’t see how this was relevant. Why was she answering you? She didn’t have to answer to anyone.

“I bet you do, torturing the residence. I had to stop myself from laughing when I heard about your little incident with Stu. So clever, I would never have thought of something like that. But have you ever thought about your wants? Needs? Desires?”

“What are-”

“Come on V.”

“-It’s Ms Venable to you.”

“Kinky.” 

“I beg your pardon?” She stiffened. She was five seconds away from slapping you not that you would have minded. 

“My point is you can have anyone here and yet you remain the stubborn mule you always been.” You said. “I read your file, you're a right old bastard, but anyone would have to be if you worked with those cokeheads.”

“Get out of my office,” she snarled.

“Alright, alright. I guess you don’t want to know the juicy gossip about that Langdon bloke.”

“Wait-” You turn to face her. She didn’t want to say it, “You can stay.” She didn’t have a choice, something was up with that man. 

“Nah, I’m good. Maybe another time. Bring that bottle of red you hid from the others and two glasses- if you don’t have any a bowl will do, it's the end of the world, who’s to judge?” You left the woman baffled. You wanted her to ask you to stay and then you leave. Was this a game of chase to you? The door squeaked close behind you. “I’ll send someone over to fix that far yah now!” 

Who the hell did she let into the outpost?

Link to next chapter

[sablelab]

Covert Operations - Chapter 109

SYNOPSIS: Operations reads Murtagh Fitzgibbons report which correlates with what Geillis Duncan reported. However, he realises that he is now faced with a dilemma concerning the Rising Dragons’ mission.  Summoned to the perch Murtagh stands up to Operations.  Meanwhile celebrations continued long into the night for the triumphant return of the Rising Dragons’ warriors and Sun Yee Lok waits to interview Jonathon Randall and Wang Yu about their success at the monastery.

Chapter 108 and all other chapters can be found at … https://sablelab.tumblr.com/covertoperations

THANK YOU for reading Covert Operations. I hope my story provides some escapism while we are all on lockdown. Be safe everyone and do the right thing for your community and country.  

Sorry wrote the wrong date. I will post on FRIDAY again this week. It was very late  at night when I posted!  

 CHAPTER 109

Fergus Claudel sat at his computer console reviewing the mission tapes for Operations and Madeline engrossed in the Intel shown on his monitor. As he sat working, he placed another Oreo in his mouth. He’d lost count of how many of his favourite snack he’d consumed, but Operations was waiting on his report that he had not finished. He’d lied to him and now he had little time to do what needed to be done. After he had left Murtagh last night he’d returned to his station to follow up on a few possibilities in accessing Jamie’s files if they needed to in the next 48 hours. It was dangerous what he was trying to do and Fergus knew the consequences if he was found out. Having been in Section One for as long as he had, he had no illusions about what happened to those operatives who did not play by the rules. There was, however, one exception … he would work around the rules he was given in order to keep Claire, Jamie or Murtagh alive. This was one of those special occasions. Consequently, Fergus knew he needed to be clandestine in his approach and not draw undue attention to himself. More importantly, he needed to cover his tracks so that he was not detected trying to access confidential Intel. He took solace in believing that his one redeeming feature was that he … Fergus Claudel … was indispensable to Section. They would never have another computer genius like he was; therefore, he felt some kind of warped sense of security knowing that he was unlikely to be put into abeyance. It could happen and probably would at some time, but to allay his fears, he had run his own SIM to see the probability of that happening. He’d felt relieved and somewhat safe knowing that the odds were stacked in his favour. But still at the back of his mind was the possibility that maybe this time would be the exception. Any Intel that Madeline or Operations saw fit to be unauthorised meant that it was for their eyes only … the consequences for any breach would be abeyance. Still he had to try. He had to do something and besides, he loved finding the covert Intel he discovered and now he had a purpose … to save his friend James Fraser. ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ As Murtagh approached Fergus’ station he saw his buddy munching voraciously on his favourite Oreos. Eating them was a dead giveaway that he was concentrating on something important. Fergus usually turned to food in stressful situations as it always seemed to give him that extra spark to find whatever it was, he was looking for. He seemed absorbed in what he was doing. Had he found out something about how to access Jamie’s files if they needed to, or was Fergus working on Section business? Murtagh’s curiosity was piqued. He also wanted to find out if he’d heard anything about Jamie and Claire’s condition in Medical since last night. Standing behind his friend, he looked over his shoulder then spoke. “Hey … What’s happening?” ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ When Operations entered his office, he found Murtagh’s report on his desk as ordered. Picking up the disk he slipped it into his computer drive and reviewed his debrief of the retrieval mission and events that had led up to Jamie being shot. Upon reading the report he now had a better understanding of what had actually happened to the Level 5 operative. Not only that but he had a clearer view of the events that had taken place on the team’s egress. Dougal Mackenzie was satisfied that Murtagh’s account had also verified what Geillis Duncan had reported in her debrief. However, this left Section with a problem. Although Jamie and Claire had both been retrieved successfully, the mission was now in limbo. The injury to their key operative and Claire’s weakened state had been a blow to finalising any End Game as far as the Rising Dragons’ mission was concerned. Both operatives were crucial in the apprehension of the triad targets but Section would now need to reassess what they were to do. This setback posed several problems, for the outcome was determined by the recovery of the injured operatives. How long it would take for them to recuperate would affect how they should proceed. Section One needed closure once and for all especially after all the hard work over the months that they had been involved in capturing Sun Yee Lok and dismantling the Rising Dragons’ triad. On the other hand, if the triad became complacent because they thought both Jamie and Claire were dead this may very well work in their favour after all. Operations absentmindedly started to rub his temple. Deciding to contact Madeline with his summation, he pressed the connection to the video link between the two offices. “Madeline, are you there?” But he got no response. When she didn’t answer immediately, he became a little alarmed and spoke her name again. “Madeline!?!” “Yes ... I'm here Dougal.” “Why isn't your video up?” “It went down a few moments ago. I'm working on it. What's up?” “Have you heard from Medical?” “No, not yet.” Activating hands free, Operations walked over to his office window, and stood looking down at the Common Area. His eyes caught sight of Murtagh talking to Fergus at his station. “I just finished reading Fitzgibbons’ report.” “Did he shed more light on what happened to Jamie?” Madeline asked but confident that Operations would tell her there was nothing new in the report. “He was very explicit in what he said. I’ll send his report and you can read it for yourself.” “Thank you. Is there anything else?” “As a matter of fact there is.” “What is it?” “I need your input as to how we should proceed with the mission on the Rising Dragons now that Jamie and Claire are injured.” “Do you want me to come now?”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Fergus Claudel nearly jumped out of his skin.

He’d been jumpy all morning knowing that Operations was in his office and could appear at any time unannounced. Had he crept up on him while he hadn’t noticed? He’d been so absorbed in what he was working on that he’d been caught unawares. Murtagh, on the other hand was amused. He watched as his buddy panicked and nearly chocked on his Oreo in his haste to disguise whatever was on his computer monitor that he didn’t want anyone to see as he quickly closed the program. Looking up from his station Fergus took a double take, but breathed again when he realised it was his friend who had spoken directly behind him and not one of his superiors.

“Murtagh … you scared the crap out of me. Don’t sneak up like that.” “Sorry … What are you so jumpy about?” “I can’t speak now.” He glanced up towards the perch. “Operations is watching us.” “Did you find out something about Jamie?” “Not yet … I just did some preliminaries.” “But I’m sure you will find out something.” “You better believe it. I’ll get to the bottom of this, then when I know, you’ll know.” “Keep your head down … amigo. We really don’t need to know anything unless Jamie’s condition deteriorates.” “I will.” “Have you heard how he or Claire are this morning?” “No ... have you?” “I’m just about to head that way now.” Quickly looking up towards the perch once more, Fergus saw Operations peering down in their direction. “Better not. Operations wants to see you,” he said. “Did you hand in your report?” “First thing this morning.” “I wonder what he wants then?” Murtagh imitated Fergus’ actions and gazed up to the perch too. He could see Operations’ stony glare aimed their way.

“Who knows … it could be anything.” ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ Dougal Mackenzie observed the two men conversing openly together in Systems. He also saw the two of them glance up towards the perch and knew that Fergus had passed on his message when his communications monitor beeped. He turned his attention to the announcement before he answered Madeline. “Yes, Fergus?” “You wanted me to let you know the minute I heard from Murtagh.” “Good … have him come up.” ”Yes sir.” ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ Murtagh waited until Fergus had finished speaking to Operations before taking his leave. “I better get going then so that you can get back to what you were doing before … what was it by the way?” “The mission tapes … I didn’t get to finish them and Operations wants my report A.S.A.P,” he replied pushing his glasses back on his nose. “Hmmm? Too busy with other things last night?” “Yep you could say that.” “Me too!” Murtagh replied enigmatically as he walked away towards the perch leaving Fergus to finish his report. ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ Operations watched as his munition’s expert started to walk away from talking to Fergus and head in his direction. He switched links. “Look Madeline I have to go ... I’m expecting Murtagh Fitzgibbons any moment.” “Of course... I’ll meet up with you later after I’ve read his debrief too.” “I'm having Christopher prepare lunch at 1 o'clock. Would you like to join me in the tower?” “Yes ... that should be okay. We can continue our discussion then.” “Very well.” He’d just logged off from his conversation with Madeline, when Operations heard the sounds of footsteps approach his office. Murtagh Fitzgibbons watched as his superior removed a disk from his computer as he stood on the threshold of the perch waiting for an order to enter. Looking up Operations turned around from his computer and faced towards the entrance.

“Ah, Murtagh ... come in.” The older operative said nothing; he merely walked over and stood next to his desk where Operations now held the CD Rom in his hands. He recognised it as the one that Fergus had given him to write his report. It was obvious that Operations had just finished reading his debrief. “I was going to stop by later to thank you for your efforts on the mission.” “Really ... well I’ve saved you the trip.” Ignoring Murtagh’s retort he continued. “I’ve read your report ...” Dougal Mackenzie placed the disk on the desk and stood up face to face with his weapon’s expert and looked him in the eye. “... and I’m satisfied that it verifies Geillis Duncan’s debrief.” “Is that right?” “It’s good to know that Section One can count on you. Without your quick-thinking James Fraser may be dead now. You’re a team player Murtagh.” “Gee thanks ... I’m one of the five percent guys.” He raised his brow at Fitzgibbons’ replies. He was like a bear with a sore head again. “There was major hostile retaliation on your egress. Even after all this time out of the field, you’re not afraid to die are you Murtagh?” “No ...You once said that a person defines themselves by what they are willing to die for.” “That’s true …” Operations replied trying to make sense of Murtagh’s demeanour this morning, “... and I will die for a belief ... a belief in Section One.” “Well I would die for my friends. I wasn’t about to let Jamie die in that hell hole or Claire either for that matter.” “People die ... that’s the reality of the life in Section. People don't live forever in the field.” Murtagh looked Operations in the eye and with a bold bravado he threw caution to the wind. “But not this time. Jamie and Claire are vital for the success of the Rising Dragons’ mission ... and I think you know that too. I would have moved heaven and earth to see them safely out from the monastery.” “Don’t overstep the mark Fitzgibbons! ... I can place you in abeyance for insubordination. You are skating on a very fine line with that tone of voice," Dougal admonished tersely his face reddening in colour.

“We wouldn’t want that now? Would we?” He replied just as succinctly. “No ... I think you better go before I change my mind ... That will be all.” Operations stared at his retreating back as he watched the munitions expert walk away with a smug look on his face. He smiled. Being out in the field had certainly given Murtagh some Dutch courage. This was the second time he’d been somewhat defiant. He would have to tell Madeline when they met up for lunch. Walking over to the window Dougal Mackenzie looked down across the common area. As he watched Murtagh Fitzgibbons make his way back over to Systems, he suddenly broke into a raucous laugh that echoed throughout the perch. At Sun Yee Lok’s estate …

Celebrations had continued long into the night for the triumphant return of the Rising Dragon warriors. Sun Yee Lok was well pleased with his members and the champagne had flowed freely into the wee hours of the morning. Revelry had been the order of the night for the triad had been beset with one problem after another. But finally, there had been closure. Last night they had been able to let their hair down after what had been a troublesome time for the triad. The mysterious deaths of prominent triad members, destabilising of their power base and other problems had left their mark. Now it was time for the Rising Dragons to reassess their power base and rebuild before the Black Panthers or Red Lanterns triads saw them as vulnerable for a takeover. With the successful outcome at the monastery there was nothing stopping the triad from regrouping and consolidating its position in Hong Kong. Triad lore stated that to lose face was to lose power. During the past few months, the Rising Dragons had been made to look like a fool for it had lost face amongst the brotherhood for not being able to reign in the fractious element afflicting them. Sensing some imploding, there had been rumblings within rival triad groups and no doubt they had looked towards the Rising Dragons with interest. Samuel Li, the leader of the Black Panthers, had been ready to pounce on their territory should they fail to regroup. Consequently, his relations with him were strained especially since his alleged involvement in the firebombing of Jonathon Randall’s nightclub … The Triangle. The Red Lanterns’ triad had also seen a potential opportunity to gain some ground during those turbulent times. But the eminent triad leader was having nothing to do their machinations. To reassert his absolute authority among the Hong Kong triad groups, Sun Yee Lok had contemplated the possibility of calling for a gathering of the fractions to set them right as to the Rising Dragons’ position in Hong Kong. He was still in favour of this course of action and depending on what Karen, Jonathon and Wang Yu had to say ... it was highly probable that this meeting would occur. The Rising Dragons would be able to assert their influence before the rival triads had time to make a move. The last thing that he needed was a protracted turf war with the Black Panthers for supremacy and to a lesser degree the Red Lanterns. This was a time for survival of the fittest. It was time for the Rising Dragons to affirm its dominance in Hong Kong and beyond once more and as leader, Sun Yee Lok intended that the Rising Dragons would be the one to triumph over all. The triad would become stronger and more resilient than ever. Meanwhile back at Section One …

As Murtagh made his way down the stairs from the perch, it suddenly hit him like a ton of bricks. He’d just stood up to his superior Dougal Mackenzie, something he never did to his leader’s face that’s for sure. Retracing his steps across the Common Room to Fergus’ station, he shook his head in disbelief. It was a wonder that Operations hadn’t put him into abeyance after his meeting just now. What had possessed him to be so flippant? It must have been that his mind was on other things and felt that he had nothing to lose.  Thankfully Section’s leader and he went back a long way back to their time in Vietnam and Murtagh was grateful that Operations had given him a little leeway at their meeting. On occasion he’d been known to go against the rules and obviously this was one such occasion when Sections’ leader had turned a blind eye. Murtagh was, after all, a long-term veteran of Section One who’d spent most of his 60 years in the secret organization. He was Section’s longest serving Level 5 operative who was their weapons and munitions specialist. Unlike a lot of other operatives, he had come to terms with his life in the Section and knew that it was pointless to even think of having a life outside of Section One … something that Operations knew only too well also. It was fortunate that he’d written his debrief for him before Bóinne  had turned up last night or else he would have had some explaining to do today. Had the debrief not been finished, he may have found himself a candidate for cancellation for sure. Operations was obviously satisfied with his report and for that he was thankful. It may have led to his greater understanding to how Jamie was injured. His superior had overlooked his behaviour in the perch and thank god that he had. With all the events and turmoil of last night, Murtagh had not been himself. Having the worry of Jamie’s collapse and subsequent surgery, coupled with the injury to Claire and finally meeting up with his lady love ... it was little wonder that he was still standing today. Subconsciously their tryst had been uppermost in his mind. He blamed his lady for that. Ah! Bóinne! Murtagh stared off into the distance. With a satisfied gleam in his eye he uttered a melancholy sigh, Boy ...What a night! he thought.

He was running on empty today having spent all of his energy into the wee hours of the morning ... not that he was complaining. Bóinne had certainly made sure that his was a homecoming to remember. Murtagh growled in recollection of the night that was. Then with a lively spring in his step his thoughts again centred on his paramour and hopes that they would get together again sometime soon. He certainly had the stamina to keep up with her. There was still life in the old body and he certainly had a bag of tricks in the romance repertoire. Murtagh Fitzgibbons felt like whistling as he made his way towards Munitions via Fergus’ station. ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* Despite the extensive festivities last night, Sun Yee Lok had risen early this morning as he wanted to go over the plans for his newest venture for the Rising Dragons. Before his daughter and the others arrived for their meetings, he carefully perused the documents on the development that were laid out on his desk. Despite the triad’s fortunes having taken a severe battering of late, Sun Yee Lok felt a positive anticipation and enthusiasm at the prospect of getting this new project off the ground … with the right person in charge. The triad leader would make a decision depending on what he heard this morning as to who that person would be, then, if things turned out as he expected, this business enterprise would bring much wealth and power to the Rising Dragons. Satisfied with what he’d read, Sun Yee Lok closed the folders and sat back in his chair. He felt good about this plan, but before he could set anything motion, he needed to hear the reports about the two people who had been responsible for most of the Rising Dragons’ recent woes. Ever since the appearance of this Claire Beauchamp, bad fortune had systematically escalated against the triad and its members. With her male accomplice they had managed to wreak havoc without being apprehended. However, that was all in the past for victory had been with the triad. Since the two perpetrators had been eliminated now was a time of rebuilding. Nevertheless, Sun Yee Lok was anxious to hear what Karen, Jonathon Randall and his confidant Wang Yu had to say about the events at the monastery. He’d made it clear that he expected to hear only excellent news this morning when he would meet with them individually as planned. Thus, before retiring for the night, he had reminded those gathered of that fact. As their leader, Sun Yee Lok was positive that their meetings would be extremely constructive. Looking forward to their accounts of events, he was sure that the news he would hear from all three would only bring good fortune to the Rising Dragons from here on in. At the back of his mind though, was one pressing question that needed clarification. Had their success at the monastery put an end to all the mysteries and problems that had befallen the triad once and for all? If so then things could now return to some normalcy.  Having summoned each individual to his private office to speak personally with them, Sun Yee Lok wanted to see if the three had carried out his orders and worked collaboratively together. He was particularly interested in the teamwork between them and if they were compatible for other ventures. He also had ulterior motives. Little did his daughter Karen, Jonathon or Wang Yu know, but any future decisions their leader had in mind were being considered on their appraisal this morning. Sun Yee Lok needed the best person for this new expansion venture and he needed to see who was worthy of taking on the project. Hence the triad leader waited for their arrival and it was not long before he heard the first knock on his office door. ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* When Murtagh found that Fergus wasn’t at his station, he became a little worried. Where was he? Perhaps his buddy was handing in his report to Operations and they’d missed each other.  This was the better of the scenarios that filled his mind as Murtagh hoped that Fergus wasn’t doing anything that would get him into trouble. Sometimes his friend’s nervousness was a dead giveaway to the fact that he was doing something unauthorised. If that was the case, he needed to be careful for they could be in deep trouble if Operations or Madeline got wind of their hijinks. Fergus needed looking after and if he was up to something then he wanted to be there to cover his back. He glanced around the area but there was still no sign of him. Hopefully he was okay so he decided that it was no good standing around waiting for Fergus to return back to his station. There was nothing he could do here so he made his way to Munitions first. As he had a clear view to Systems from his area, he could monitor when Fergus returned to his post. Until then, Murtagh needed to keep himself busy. He wanted to know how his buddy was before he headed to Medical where he may be able to see his Sugar and check on Claire’s situation. That was his plan and there was no harm in trying to see her is he could. However, Murtagh knew there was no chance of seeing Jamie until later that evening when the 24 hours would be up and by then they would know if Dr Foster needed the Intel on Jamie or not. But if he could see him earlier then he would be grateful for he was worried about Jamie’s prognosis after the touch and go surgery.

In the meantime, the munition’s expert planned to check the inventory to make sure that all equipment from the mission had been returned properly and wait for Fergus to reappear or for him to contact him as to his whereabouts. ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~to be continued on FRIDAY 27th  March