#nice redirect Greg

[childoftheriver]

Oh, Greg’s birthday party was great, right Greg?

Greg, deflecting:

So how does the audience like you?

[zahri-melitor]

Ric Grayson, or Tim 'Nightwing' Drake: a story of how Tom King's Nightwing pitch would have functioned.

You can often see the remains of discarded or overruled pitches in comics, if you look at structural decisions and compare them to pitches that you know were made.

One obvious one people might be familiar with is that Helena Bertinelli, back in 2003, was being set up to be removed from the Bat books and transferred over to what eventually became Greg Rucka's Checkmate 2006. There's a whole establishing storyline done in Gotham Knights by Scott Beatty. However, Gail Simone's pitch for Birds of Prey, which was published a mere two months after the Beatty story wrapped up, took Helena and used her to expand the Birds of Prey roster. It's a move that likely redirected Helena's character arc permanently (though the ghosts can still be seen in the choice to use Helena B as Matron in Grayson).

Equally: I hypothesise the reason we got Ric Grayson is because we got Young Justice 2019.

If you look at the storytelling, in terms of cover dates:

Dick was shot in Batman #55, in November 2018

Tynion's 'Tec run finished July 2018

Young Justice 2019 started March 2019

City of Bane started September 2019

King's pitch for Tim to take over the Nightwing mantle would probably have been a 12 issue run, to my eye; with the schedule that Nightwing had at the time, it would have been 6 issues (twice monthly) and then 6 issues (once monthly), ending the run and placing Dick back as a restored Nightwing...in issue #61, August 2019.

City of Bane kicked off the next month, being King's big 'all family-in' storytelling climax arc. It would have been the perfect place to put Nightwing, once again himself, reuniting with people. (I cannot tell how this placement would have gone should King have got his full 100 issue run; but I don't think City of Bane was significantly shifted forwards?)

Now I can't tell if the twice monthly issues dropped to monthly because Ric Grayson went down like a lead balloon with the fandom, but that would have been a very fast turn around in solicits for DC to withdraw support on a new direction (about a month). If it was expected to remain twice monthly, then I still think it would have been a 12 issue story, but might have stretched to 18 to meet plot needs over in Batman (King doesn't seem to have an issue about padding stories to get timing to line up in ways he wants them to)

King's pitch was also made at the time when Tim was still Red Robin, but clearly there was internal interest in transitioning him away from the name and into some other identity as part of the shift away from n52. Putting Tim into the Nightwing suit for 6 months to a year would have been a nice intervening step to use as the prompt to give Tim a new identity.

It's a pitch from King that just...fits in really really well. I can see how he'd have had it interact with things. Especially as King really hadn't had an opportunity to use Tim in his run yet due to the Mr Oz storyline, and he'd been pulling so many other faces through his story.

(I will also note that the 'Drake' identity and costume for Tim appears in January 2010 in Young Justice; Bendis' initial concept was clearly taking Tim back to Robin before he also tried a 'new costume' growth arc).

But instead Bendis wanted to use Young Justice to anchor the whole Wonder Comics initiative, and he wanted Tim as Robin for it because the concept was to pull in all the nostalgia for everyone for Young Justice 1998, thus having everyone in their original identities. And that whole decision probably had more lead time than your average comic, so it took priority over suggestions of moving Tim to Nightwing (because they already had plans brewing).

(And then Young Justice got fucked over with SO MUCH editorial meddling, to the point that I cannot wait until enough people have left DC that we actually get stories about exactly how bad it was, rather than just inferring it from what can be seen in the text itself)

Come back next time for when I instead explain what I think happened with the accepted pitch for Ric Grayson (and how I cannot BELIEVE this was actually an accepted pitch, given the way it was treated as a hot potato; it feels more like an editorial dictate of a concept that was passed off until Dan Jurgens came up with an idea of how to make it into an actual plot)

[adhdbisexualramblings]

✨How are they different when they regress?

and

❤️Who knows about their regression?

for Chase or House (or both)

(yeah it's me again i just really loved your other answer 😅)

Double-whammy! It’s both!

(Plus MORE general headcanons! I’ve only known regressor!House for a few hours but I love him)

House (caregiver: Wilson):

✨ Greg is…quiet. Practically nonverbal. If he wants Wilson’s attention, he’ll often just walk to wherever he is and stare at him until he notices (and likely freaks out because Greg can be very silent). That or he’ll gesture to what he wants. When he’s older (around 10), he’ll speak up more, but mainly for casual conversation. He’s detached from his usual grumpiness and quick wit. (In fact, him playing with his monster truck is when the house is loudest.)

(Impure regression mentioned!!) He’s, for lack of a more encompassing word, a crybaby. He didn’t used to be by any means, especially since he was usually hit with the very negative, terrified parts of regression and was scared of being bad. But Wilson convinced him he wouldn’t get mad or reprimand for something like basic human emotions. Since then, Greg has cried a lot. He has a lot of trouble understanding why his leg always hurts, which has caused a few tantrums. They’re still quiet sobs, but he allows Wilson to help him through it now.

He’s also interested in space, and is content watching a TV documentary about the universe silently with wide curious eyes for hours until it’s time to eat or bedtime.

Praise isn’t needed, but some every once in a while wouldn’t be so bad. He’s not allowed to use the stove or cook much when little, but will still help Wilson any way he can by passing ingredients to him or setting the table to be helpful. It’s like what he did with his mother - it’s nice. (Wilson makes very simple dishes, because he can not cook, but Greg still eats what he makes happily.) Wilson once, very tenderly, called him “sweet boy” and Greg was elated. He’s never been called that. He fell asleep on Jimmy’s lap that night.

He’ll only call Wilson “Jimmy” when little (in fact, it’s the only thing he calls him). Any other time, he mocks the use of the nickname (Wilson naturally retaliates that it can’t be that bad if House calls him that all the time). Alternatively, Wilson will only call him “honey” when he’s regressed.

Chase (caregiver: House):

✨ He requires praise for anything, or he’ll get it into his head that he’s as loved as a wet rag. In fact, he’ll sit down and intently watch House cook, prepared for if his “dada” needs any ingredients. He took out the entire spice rack once in preparation, which exasperated House (but he still thanked him).

He’s very bouncy and energetic. He’ll bounce across the walls no matter what House does, but bribery for candy or even, like, a dollar can keep him still for an hour, tops. (“I’ll give you the dollar after you watch that cartoon dog show for thirty minutes.” “But that’s not fair!” “Capitalism isn’t fair, kid.”)

Cameron is his babysitter. She is a little awkward with him, but she does good nonetheless.

He will hold House’s hand at any given opportunity. He’ll also hug him for five minutes minimum until he’s satisfied.

His thumb is always wrinkly and his sleeves are always wet because he chews on them daily for no particular reason. His arms also have bite marks, which House has tried to redirect with pacifier clips and chewelry.

He’s not too different from his grown-up self. He’s filled with a lot more childlike wonder, but that’s as far as it gets.

❤️ Wilson knows House regresses, obviously. Cuddy also has her well-founded suspicions from multiple situations.

❤️ House and Cameron know (Wilson might, but no one’s asked him). Thirteen also knows, but no one knows that she knows, you know? She doesn’t really do much either way, but has treated Chase a little more gently when he seems younger.

(I am so sorry It’s so looong! I had a lot of thoughts! I hope you understand all of this because I wrote it out in chunks, sort of 😅) (also I know more about our titular character than Chase so he’s the focus, sorry)

[billhader-fromtulsa]

these quotes really resonated with me from a piece from The New Yorker. This article has everything.

“My dad’s very nice, my grandfather. I’m nice. Everyone’s very pleasant. But the thing about being human is, you buy this wonderful house, and there’s a machine gun in it. And you ask the realtors, ‘Does that go off, ever? That big strafing gun?’ And they shrug and go, ‘We don’t know.’ I’m fascinated by that—why did I come with that rage?” He looked down. “There’s a fear of what you’re capable of if somebody pushed you to that place.”

Greg Motolla commented on how he could see an anger inside Bill but Bill would push it down and go back to being a nice Midwestern guy.

“And I do feel like there’s a huge balance thing going on in the universe. My happiness level has gone up, ‘Barry’ is a giant success, and I finally get to direct. But I get divorced.” He began to laugh. “I try to remember that all this ends, so just be happy. Del Close”—the father of modern improv—“would tell the story of the skydiver whose parachute didn’t open after he jumped out of the plane, and he just kept dancing and doing flips and acrobatics and entertaining people as he fell to the earth. I was incredibly moved by that.” His eyes shone. “Because we’re all falling to the earth, so what else are you going to do?”

I’d really love to have a conversation like this with Bill. He’s able to express these things so clearly in a way I’ve never been able to. Just a great read all around, highly suggest.

[blueberrysets]

EXPLORING SONGS: HOW THE SUN TEMPTED ME

pairing: timeskip!tsukishima x f!reader

genre: fluff and angst, hurt/comfort

warnings: swearing, mentions of death, mentions of alcohol use, depression, grief, angst

word count:  3,343

summary: after the death of his best friend, tsukishima swore to never speak a word about that night and to not even mutter his name again. he would rather stay angry at himself for the rest of his life than to think about that incident. yet, it haunts him in his dreams and in his every day to day life. until the lovable roommate of his seems to show more care towards him than anyone else in his life.   

song to play: fine line by harry styles

an: yay!! this is my first installment in my writing collection of exploring songs! I’m super excited to keep writing for this and diving deep into the lyrics of the music. I hope you enjoy and let me know if you would like to be in the tag list for future installments!

masterlist!

taglist: @emiyummy @nyelsy​

In the five stages of grief, tsukishima seems to be stuck on the second stage; anger. He’s been that way for the past four years since he lost his best friend. it’s a relentless anger that is directed to anyone who happens to irritate him just slightly. he finds himself having to hold his tongue while an annoying little kid asks him a dumb question while he’s explaining fossils. he used to love their curiosity and would lend a hand to teach them. his anger starts at the bottom of his feet, flowing all the way up to the middle of his throat. having him choke slightly at the ball of frustration blocking his airways.

yet the one thing he can’t get rid of, is his annoying lovable roommate.

“tsukki!” her voice rings out, bouncing off the walls of the bustling museum. her arms stretched way above her head as she waves him down, a bright smile lighting up her face as her cheeks and the tip of her nose are rosy from the winter air outside.

tsukishima finds the corners of his mouth raising slightly at the sight. it’s not a new one, she’s always there for his lunch break so they can eat together. always making food and coming to his work with a bento that has his name on it. the slight smile stays for a second, but is soon replaced with his familiar scowl. he makes his way over to her, hands shoved in his khaki pants. his worker ID hanging around his neck on a lanyard, irritating the back of his neck and bumping against his dark brown sweater. 

her office attire is covered by a long, black peacoat and a thick, tan scarf paired with it. her hands lower as he gets closer to her, but her smile doesn’t falter. the familiar big purse filled with the contents of their lunch is hanging off her shoulder, the same color as her scarf. she calls it her “mom purse,” stating how she can literally carry anything in there. if only he could take his grief and place it in there as well. 

“look at you,” tsukishima snickers, “finally dressing appropriately for the weather.”

a look of annoyance replaces her smile, he feels himself missing it already. her hand winds back to land a slap right onto his bicep. he couldn’t help but laugh even more at her reaction. it’s fun to tease her, especially when she gets pouty. 

“keep saying stuff like that and i’ll stop making you lunches,” she grumbles as she sticks her tongue out at him.

“you and i both know you won’t,” he shrugs. 

“shut up, i hate when you’re right,” she mumbles again, pushing the straps of her purse higher up on her shoulder as she walks to where his break room is. 

a hearty laugh leaves his lips as his head is thrown back. his shoulders rising up and down as the laugh takes over his body. it stops y/n in her place to look back and take in the sight. seeing the pure joy covering his face as he laughs, it's a sight she doesn’t want to miss. so, she halts in her tracks and admires him. but before he could notice, she turns back around and continues her way to the break room. but how odd was it, to know that he only laughs that genuinely around her. 

the clicking sound of her heels now echo off the walls, and he follows the noise all the way to the familiar staff break room. she clunks her purse down on the dull, wooden table that sits in the middle of the room. to the left of it is a kitchenette area with counters, a refrigerator, microwave, coffee maker, and sink. to the right are various vending machines and printers. she places the two bentos and two pairs of chopsticks onto the table before dropping her bulky bag next to her chair. she unravels her scarf and shrugs off her coat before hanging them on the back of her chair.

it’s annoying how frustratingly beautiful she is, without even trying. her black skirt fits her curves nicely and goes great with her favorite maroon turtleneck sweater. the black tights that cover her skin from the cold air transition nicely into her black high heel boots. her hair in its natural state as her face is adorned with work-suited make up. yet, his favorite look on her would have to be the casual clothes she lounges in at home. 

he takes his usual seat across from her, sitting down and grabbing the chopsticks that were set nicely next to his bento box. he breaks them apart before unwrapping and opening his meal. but stops his movements to see her loosely putting her hair into a bun before she eats. stating that it keeps it from annoyingly falling in her face as she eats, another habit that he can’t seem to stop gushing over. they sit in silence as they start to eat, it’s a comfortable silence. one that is usually filled with the humming from the printer.

“how’s work been today?” she asks with her mouth slightly full, her gaze on her food as she continues to shovel it into her mouth.

“the usual, how about you?” he softly asks as he picks at his food, “is that greg guy still bothering you? you know i can sort that out for you.”

she lets out a snort, setting her chopsticks down as she wipes her hands on her skirt. chewing her food completely and swallowing before she replies. 

“i’m a big girl, I can handle it,” she states in a sassy manner, her gaze meeting him from across the table, “but no, he’s not.”

“good,” he answers shortly, briefly meeting her gaze before it’s redirected back down to his food. 

she clears her throat as she picks up her chopsticks again, returning to quickly eating. their lunch time together is short as she has to catch another train back to her office in a different part of the city. he’s told her multiple times that she doesn’t have to do this, that he’s perfectly capable of having lunch by himself. but she insists, and he’s glad that she still does. perhaps, he doesn’t like being alone. 

“i can’t believe it’s already december 12th,” she mumbles, mostly to herself, “it’s getting close to christmas, i’m not even done shopping yet.”

while the statement of the date is an innocent remark, it stills has tsukishima freezing his movements as the breath gets caught in his throat. he slowly places his hands back down on the table and slightly pushes the bento box away from him, no longer hungry. 

well, it’s official. 

today marks five years since his best friend's death.

“tsukki,” her voice breaks through to his ears as his eyes snap open and his body being shaken by her, “tsukki!”

his breathing is rigid as his hands grip onto her arms, the covers thrown off of him as he feels the hot tears streaming down his face. his eyes scan his surroundings in his semi dark room, the only source of light being his bedside lamp. his glasses are placed on the bedside table and his clock shows that it’s currently 1:23 am. then his eyes finally land on her. 

her hair messy from her bed head and her eyes holding a look of concern. her hands slide from his chest up to his face, wiping away the tears that continue to fall from his eyes. he’s confused, throat dry and raw.

“you were screaming,” she whispers softly, one hand leaving his face as she runs it through his hair, “i think you were having a nightmare.”

it hits him. he was. memories of that fateful night replaying in his mind, over and over again. always the same outcome, always him being too late. he squeezes his closed, more tears leaving his eyes as does. yet the gentle touches from her hands wipe them away.

“do you want to talk about it?” she asks gently, causing him to slowly open his eyes to connect with hers. 

he shakes his head no.

“that’s okay,” she nods, “whenever you want to, just know that i’m here. let me get you some water.”

she stands up, turning to leave to walk to the kitchen. his hand latches onto hers, stopping her from leaving. she turns around, her gaze soft as she looks down at their hands then back to his face. he swallows, this is very out of character for him. but he doesn’t want to be alone. 

“will you stay with me?” he gasps out, shyly lowering his gaze, “just for the night.”

her thumb caresses his hand before she gives it a gentle squeeze.

“of course, i’ll stay for as long as you need,” she coos, “let me get you water, then i’ll come to bed.”

he nods his head, releasing his grip on her hand. she turns and walks out of the room, her bare feet padding on the hardwood floor. the sound fades out as he is left with his own thoughts again. he lays back down on the bed, running a hand through his hair. his eyes dry from the tears and his head throbbing for some sleep. yet he can’t go to sleep, he doesn’t want to see it again. he can’t keep seeing that night again. it’ll tear him apart more than it already is. 

before his thoughts could get even more jumbled together, she finally returned with a glass of fresh water. she sets it on his nightstand before crawling into bed next to him, pulling the covers up with her. he turns over to grab the cup, taking a few sips to soothe his throat. he sets it back down and turns off the lamp. he flops back down onto his back. a hand laying underneath his head as he stares at the moonlight leaking in through his window. then he feels her, her arm thrown over his waist as her head lays on his chest and her legs tangle with his.

his heart swells at the contact. it was at this moment, that he knew he could trust her with anything. despite his snarky remarks, silent grief, and witty attitude; she decided to stay with him. how lucky can one get?

“i’m not sure if i’m ready to fully tell you everything yet,” he explains softly, one of his hands drawing circles on her arm, “but just know that things would’ve been different if i was there before…”

“nonsense,” she cuts him off, her face still buried in his chest, “fate works in mysterious ways, kei. sometimes it does shit that seems so unfair, so heartbreaking. we can’t help but blame ourselves sometimes. yet, it’s not your fault. things happen for a reason whether we like it or not. you could’ve prevented it then, but who's to say it wouldn’t just happen later on? stop being so hard on yourself, instead take time to heal from whatever hurt you.”

another tear falls at her words, but god how relieving it was to be on stage three; bargaining.

he was so tired of being angry.

“i’m going out!” he remembers her saying as she struggles to pull her high heel onto her foot, “don’t wait up for me, i’ll text you when i’m on my way home!”

yet it’s morning, and there was no text. no call, no text from her friends; there's just nothing. he paces the living room, frantically calling her number over and over. his hair a mess with how many times his hands had run through it. his pajamas fitting loosely on his skinny body, he has lost some weight hasn’t he? 

“pick up, pick up,” he whispers to himself as his bottom lip is being nervously gnawed at, “y/n pick up, damnit.”

voicemail, again. he aggressively pushes the red button to hang up, harshly throwing his phone onto the couch. he grips the edge of the sofa, his foot tapping anxiously as he tries to wrack his brain around what is happening. where was she? if she got hurt wouldn't he get a call from the hospital? or if it was something else, wouldn’t her friends or the police station call him? he is her emergency contact, he should be hearing something! what if she got kidnapped? maybe that’s why no one has told him anything. what if-

the sound of the front door being unlocked and opening interrupts his thoughts. he whips his head in the direction of the noise to see her walk in. she wears clothes that seem to be her friends as she holds her heels in her hand. she sets them on the ground gently, not wanting to make much noise so she doesn’t wake him. 

“where the hell were you?” he asks loudly, causing her to jump from the surprise.

“oh!” she exclaims, “i spent the night at a friends place, but my phone died. sorry i didn’t text you.”

“you didn’t think of maybe having a friend text me?” he asks in a snarky tone, angrily walking over to her, “i was worried sick, y/n!”

“i’m sorry,” she laughs, “i didn’t think it would’ve been that big of a deal.”

“not a big deal?” he sneers, his hands gripping her biceps in a tight hold, “what if something happened to you, huh?”

“kei, let go,” she warns, “your grip hurts.”

“i can’t lose another important person, y/n!” he yells, taking in a sharp breath at what he just said. 

“another?” she questions, her gaze more confused than angry now. 

“forget it,” he mumbles as reaches behind her to grab his coat. shoving his feet into his shoes before walking out the front door, slamming it right in her face. 

onto stage four: depression.

the last person he expected to see waiting for him at the end of his shift, would be her. her black peacoat contrasting with the red scarf wrapped around her neck. the scarf looking bulky against her frame, but comfortable. they haven’t had a conversation in two weeks, an awkward environment surrounds them since that morning. they kept to their assigned rooms in the apartment, yet she showed more compassion for him than he thought she would. she still set food outside his door, still packed him lunches, still did his laundry, or cleaned his room since he lacked motivation to do anything. opening his eyes felt like a chore lately, yet she still supported him silently. 

“come with me,” she said softly, reaching a hand out to him, “i’m taking you somewhere.”

his eyes are wide, filled with curiosity and confusion at the current situation. yet he still reached his hand towards her mitten-covered one and held onto it. he let her pull him along with her. following her to the train station, sitting patiently for their stop, then following her off the train. their hands never once letting go. he was afraid that if he did, she would disappear in thin air. truly, leaving him completely alone. 

she pulled him all the way to the beach, the waves slightly frozen as they crash into the rocky shores. she pulls him up onto a big rock ledge, sitting down once they reach the top. her legs dangling off the edge and the golden rays of the setting sun hitting her face. tsukishima was still standing, looking out at the perfect view of the sunset. but then averting his eyes to his own person sun sitting on the rock. he follows along and sits next to her, the harsh wind from the ocean hitting both of their faces. 

“i asked your brother about what happened,” she states over the sounds of the waves, “about yamaguchi.”

he lets out a shaky breath at the mention of that name, one he promised himself he wouldn’t say. for his own sanity, he wouldn’t mention that name again. 

“you did?” he asked quietly. 

“i did,” she states confidently, “and i want to apologize.”

he rips his eyes from the view to look at her, meeting her gaze that was already on him. confusion written all over his face. 

“i should’ve texted you that night, given you some indication of where i was. something to at least ease your mind,” she explains, her voice sounding like she was pleading for him to forgive her. all of this time, they both blamed themselves for the situation, “but i had no idea what you have gone through, but now that i do i completely regret my actions.”

tsukishima swallows hard as he looks down at his hands that rest in his lap. so she knows, and now she probably knows that he’s a huge fuck up. he took a few deep breaths, preparing himself for the conversation. 

“how long have you known,” he starts, “about him.”

“about a week,” she whispers, “i didn’t have the heart to bring it up to you, i wasn’t sure how you would react. but then, i’ve seen the grief and guilt eating at you slowly. i can't stand to see you like that anymore, kei.” 

“he called me,” he whispers, lifting his gaze up to her eyes. tears welling up in his eyes, “he called me that night asking for a ride, drunk. i remember that i was so annoyed by that call, that i didn’t leave right away. deciding that five more minutes of sleep was more important than my friend getting home safely. when i finally left and went to pick him up, the other guests said he left with someone else. then i get the call the next morning, the call that he was… well, you know.”

she scoots closer to him, placing her hands on his face. meeting his eyes with such intensity and care, he didn’t deserve her. the tears ran down his face, seeing who would get to the finish line the quickest. his body shakes from the sobs as he finally talks about that night after five years of avoiding it. 

“this isn’t your fault, kei,” she says slowly, meaning every word.

“but if I just left right away-“

“he would’ve still had time to accept that ride,” she states, her eyes full of certainty, “he knew the risk, everyone does when it comes to alcohol. yet, he still said yes. he could’ve said no, you already told him that you would come pick him up. he left you, you didn’t abandon him.”

“i don’t deserve you,” he sobs out, “i really don’t. you’re like the sun, tempting me to be happy with what i did.”

“i’m not trying to make you feel happy about what you did,” she explains as she uses her mittened hand to wipe his tears, “i want you to accept that what happened, happened. there were mistakes made, yes, but you can't change it now. what you can do, is live in his memory. live life for him, and dedicate every waking day to him.”

“i love you,” he gasps out, “i really do, you sunshine. you temptress. so please, if i’m gonna do this i want you to be there with me.”

a smile breaks out on her face, laughing slightly. for once, his eyes weren’t full with the hardening gaze of sadness and guilt. but bright and full of love, and how she longed for that gaze to be shown her way. 

“i’m not going anywhere, kei,” she smiles, “and i love you too.”

his arms wrap around her waist and pull her closer to him, lowering his head to capture her in a kiss. the sun is almost gone behind the horizon now, yet the glow from his own sunshine blinds him with love. tempting him to deepen the kiss as their grips on each other tighten.

he was right, he doesn’t like being alone.

it seems that he’s not anymore. 

[witcherdoaks]

Spring Day: Brief Reunion

Word Count: 4,879

Warnings: blood, violence, some gore and the after math of that.

Previous Post in the series: Prologue

Masterlist: Spring Day

“When was the last time you bathed, you heathen?” Yennefer scrunched up her face and brought her sleeve to her nose in disgust. The herbal scent that clung to her clothing served to chase the stench away. Even so, death and despair were hard to get rid of. 

“Nice to see you too, Yen.” Geralt greeted her, unperturbed and rather used to the way he started to reek in recent days. He didn’t bother moving from where he was laying on his back, head on a log, looking up at the clouds. It would downpour heavily after this blasted heat was through. 

“Does it mean anything to you that your trusted stead isn’t willing to come near you?”

“Hmm.” The man glanced at her then in the direction that Roach wandered off after he had dismounted. Maybe he should have found a river earlier. 

The sorceress rolled her eyes, lightly kicking his side to have his gaze back on her. “The next town is only a couple of hours walk. Let’s go.”

Geralt sighed. He was heading there anyway, so he had no reason to object. It was best to get up before Yen started to seriously kick him, he decided. He whistled for Roach, and the mare dutifully trotted in his direction but neighed when he moved closer to her. Yennefer hid her laugh as she walked ahead of them, but otherwise didn’t strike up conversation as they walked. A companionable silence surrounded them. 

The three of them reached a tavern at the heart of the town at which point Geralt told Yennefer he didn’t have the coin to even afford a bath at such a place and was about to turn around to go to one of the smaller establishments in the outskirts of town when Yen snatched the reins from his hands. She continued to ignore him as she took Roach to the horse stable and promptly walked into the building. Those unfortunate enough to be sitting close to their path gagged and scurried away. Witch and Witcher reached the bar counter where the tavern owner was. Like the other humans, he was revolted by the odor rolling off the man, but he worried more about the loss of revenue from having rumors of letting foul smelling people like them into his tavern. 

“Do you have coin?” The man skeptically asked, stopping from cleaning the countertop. 

“No.” Geralt ground out, glaring at the woman beside him. 

“Then I really must ask you two to leave now.”

“My, it seems you don’t recognize my companion despite the many songs composed in his honor.” Yennefer leaned against the counter, looking at the man with predatory amusement dancing in her expression. She was clearly enjoying the exchange. 

The older man frowned and stared at Geralt until he put the pieces together. He gasped and hurriedly shook his head, negating her statement. “By gods, I didn’t realize.”

“Evidently,” The woman flicked an imaginary lint ball from the counter surface.

“Is there anything I could do for you?” The tavern owner nervously wrung the cloth in his hands. 

“Well,” Yennefer drawled, “we were looking for lodging—

“The white wolf can stay here free of charge,” the tavern owner readily agreed. He glanced at Geralt once again, looking him up and down before adding, “We’ll draw up a bath for you immediately!” 

Geralt warily looked at Yennefer’s triumphant gaze. Despite his bettered reputation, not many were keen on giving away handouts, especially not tavern owners that normally charged ridiculous lodging prices. They were offered drinks and food while they waited for his bath to be drawn. Yennefer was all too happy to accept the free service. 

It wasn’t long before they were shown to their room and Yennefer was ordering him to strip and get in the water immediately. The grime which served as second skin reluctantly washed off eventually. In the meantime, Geralt asked the mage why she was doing any of this. Something was happening, and he wanted to know what. 

“This town is plagued by a rampaging bruxa, the poor souls.” She responded, her voice dripping with too much sympathy to be sincere. “Seems like they want you to get rid of them.”

He looked up at her unimpressed, “And you couldn’t deal with it?”

“Of course I could, silly Witcher,” Yen said, dumping another pitcher of water onto his head unceremoniously, “I just didn’t want to. Besides, your bard is in town, sniffing for a new adventure surely.”

Geralt groaned and tried sinking further into the bath. An impossible action given his size. 

“Oh stop that,” she admonished, batting him with a washcloth, “Jaskier is looking forward to it just as much as you.” 

The Witcher raised an eyebrow in question while reaching over for his drink. 

At this she grinned, “We traveled here together.”

“You set this up,” he accused, narrowing his eyes at her as he took a swig of the burning liquid. 

“For free room and board at a decent establishment, how could I not?” The sorceress laughed while she redirected the water Geralt had thrown her way. “I suggest you find Jaskier before going to talk to the town lord. You’ll be interested to know he made a new friend. I believe he’s called Greg.”

Geralt hummed noncomittingly, but wondered who this new person was. Yennefer rolled her eyes at him and dropped the washcloth on his head, standing up and walking toward the door. She grinned at him just before she left the room and said, “Do let me know how it goes.” 

The door closed quietly behind her, leaving Geralt in tepid water. He tipped his head back to chig the rest of his drink. The cloth fell to the ground, soaking up the spilled water around the tub. Deciding he didn't want to prune any further, the witcher stood up out of the bath, water sloshed and dripped everywhere as he reached for a nearby bath towel. Outside of the washroom he found that Yennefer had rummaged through his travel bags and set aside a change of clothes, draping them over the chair near the bed. It was his Manticore ensemble sans the armor. He rifled through the bags and around the room, but the woman had taken his armor and any other alternative, leaving him only the bare essentials when it came to his weaponry. Geralt supposed he didn’t need the other gear until he confirmed the contract and hunted the vampire, yet he would make sure to get Yennefer back for this. 

Once he was dressed and putting on his boots, he thought about whether or not to fetch Jaskier like the sorceress suggested.  If it was a bruxa, Jaskier would either be in the way or in danger. Both were equally likely that they may as well be the same. Knowing the bard, he would be too easily swayed by the charms of the bruxa to even put up a decent fight. That train of thought solidified his decision not to seek Jaskier out until he fulfilled this particular contract; he could always give the man the details, as few as Jaskier complained he was given, later. Geralt doubted he would see him along the way anyway considering the bard would more than likely be in the busiest place in town, drawing up a crowd with his new pal Greg. That or the nearest monastery library, doing extensive reading on anything and everything under the sun for the sake of his music. Geral fastened his weapon scabbards and made his way out of the tavern after asking someone in what direction the lord’s house was located. 

Walking through the town’s cobblestone streets drew whispers and the eyes of the townsfolk. Those that recognized him quickly alerted the others. Children were peeking at him from behind the skirts of their mothers, staring at him with wide saucer eyes, able to tell he was different but not able to pinpoint why. It was their innocent curiosity that was unsettling to Geralt, yet they reminded him of a younger Ciri so he tried not to come off as menacing. He was about to reach the long path leading to the lord’s house when he heard his name being called in the distance. 

Fuck. He had wanted to avoid Jaskier until the contract was over. How the hell did he get discovered so fast? Then again, news travels fast by word of mouth, especially news of a Witcher staying in town. Geralt stopped and turned around to see Jaskier jogging toward him, arm extended above his head to wave. He was wearing a forest green attire with white and gold details, doublet unlaced and revealing his white chemise. 

“Geralt!” The bard smiled once he stood in front, looking over him appreciatively. “Moving away from the all black, I see.” 

Warmth spread up Geralt’s neck, and he did his best to avoid it going on his face, remembering how Lambert used to tease him about the facility with which one could notice his embarrassment given how pale he was. 

“Well, enough of that,” Jaskier motioned, “we have a plump little man to see.”

The walk to the lord’s house was filled with idle chatter, what with Jaskier talking enough for the two of them. Geralt didn’t mind, at some point he went from wanting his companion to shut up for longer than five seconds to considering him a comforting constant during his travels. Geralt only realized this change occurred when Jaskier stopped traveling with him after he yelled at the bard unnecessarily on the mountain that time. He still regretted his words, and Jaskier did eventually forgive him, citing that he needed new material for composing all the while delightfully stroking Roach’s mane. Geralt wouldn’t admit how relieved he had been when Jaskier had agreed to travel with him again. 

“Hmm, a lot bigger than I thought it would be,” Jaskier observed as they neared the gates. 

Armed guards were posted on the outside, though they seemed to be recent hires as they were idly lounging about the entrance with their weapons strewn carelessly on the ground before them. Still, Geralt stopped Jaskier from walking into their striking range should they foolishly decide to attack. 

 “Evening, gentlemen!”

“Whatta ya want, you overgrown shrub?” The man cackled at his own joke while his companion looked to be done with life. 

Jaskier made a discontented sound in his throat, glancing at Geralt before returning his attention to the two men. “We are here to speak with your good lord.”

“Oh, ya mean tha’ fat bas’ard hidin’ in his house while the res’ of us are slaugh’ered,” the man interrupted. 

“Yes?”

Geralt rolled his eyes and stepped forward. “Either you let us through or we’ll let ourselves through.”

“Don’ get your pan’ies in a twist, Witcher. We know who ya are,” The same man responded. “Tom, show ‘em in will ya?” 

Tom, a rather lanky man dressed in threadbare clothes, lost some of his despondent expression and stood up. Dusting himself off, he motioned for the two men to follow him. He led them through the gardens to the front entrance, where he called for the bailiff. An adequately dressed man came to the door and greeted them. He was average height and build but did not have that ruggedness of someone that plowed the fields or worked arduously. The new man gave them both a once over, seemingly skeptical of their ability. 

“Welcome,” he finally said, giving Tom instructions not to allow anyone else inside the gates before turning around to walk into the manor. 

Both men took this as their cue to follow through the marble hall and into the drawing room where the bailiff announced their presence. Among the opulence sat he who was the lord of the manor if the gaudy dress was any indication. 

“Ah, Witcher, welcome!” The rotund man spoke, beefy arms opening wide. “I was just about to send word to you.” 

Geralt grunted while Jaskier proceeded to bolster the man’s ego in an attempt to get the best rate out of him. The  gluttonous lord was basking in the compliments with the same gusto he reserved for the feasts he regularly held for himself. When Geralt couldn’t take more of it, he brusquely interrupted, “And the bruxa?”

“Oh, is that what that thing is called?” The lord was clearly put out at the change of subject, face contorting with disdain making him look even more unflattering than he was. “It’s been terrorizing the village peasants for a while now. It’s bad for business when your workers just die, you see.”

Jaskier tensed at the derogatory tone used for both monster and townsfolk while Geralt kept his face impassive, only the clench of his jaw revealed his mounting annoyance. Dealing with Lords and noblemen was infinitely worse than dealing with town folks; they thought they could throw their weight in gold around and everything would be fine. 

“I’ll pay you handsomely if you are able to kill it.”

There was no if about it, Geralt thought. The bruxa was going about killing innocents, not keeping any balance whatsoever if even this pompous lord was concerned enough to pay him to get rid of it. But he would determine that on his own later when he faced the bruxa. 

“That’s what we’re here for!” Jaskier chimed in, throwing his hands in the air in a grand gesture, “Worry not, your vampire infestation will be gone by sunrise. If you’ll excuse us.” 

“Oh, how about you stay here, bard?” The lord quickly suggested, “I doubt you’d be able to do anything against that vile monster anyway.”

“Well, you see —

“He’ll gladly stay,” Gerald interjected, fully expecting the bard to look over at him incredulously. 

“Geralt! —

“Splendid! I’ll throw in a few extra coins if you sing at dinner.” The lord clapped his hands and motioned them out, “You may leave now. The bailiff will show you to the guest rooms.”

Jaskier inclined his head and walked out with Geralt. The bailiff was waiting just outside the drawing room. “What the hell, Geralt? I would much rather have stayed at the town if you were going to ditch me.”

“I’m sure you’ll be able to survive the night without your adoring fans’ attention,” Geralt replied, rolling his eyes. 

“We’ll see,” Jaskier tsked and proceeded to walk ahead to start a conversation with their guide. 

The three reached the guest quarters, and the bailiff gave Jaskier a rundown of the Manor’s meal schedule and areas where he could explore in the meantime unless he was summoned by the lord. The witcher only half listened; he wouldn’t need to know any of this information anyway. His plans were to return to the tavern and collect his armor from Yennefer in order to start the hunt. He tuned back into the conversation as the bailiff was excusing himself. 

“What’s the real reason I have to stay here?” Jaskier demanded as soon as the bailiff was out of earshot, “And don’t give me that bygone excuse of me getting in the way.”

“It’s dangerous, Jaskier.”

“Pish posh.” The brunette crossed his arms in front of himself, “Life’s dangerous.”

“Well, I would rather you stay alive,” Geralt countered back honestly. “And not die”

This threw Jaskier off his groove, rendering him unable to reply as Geralt continued. “So if you could just stay put for once. I’ll answer all your questions when you get back.”

At that, Jaskier looked at him disbelieving. “You mean answers that are one word or  clipped sentences?”

Geralt sighed, “No Jaskier, you can pester me all you want as soon as I get back.”

Jaskier looked at him suspiciously but nodded regardless. “If you don't, you’ll let me ride on Roach for an entire month.”

“Deal.”

***

A couple of hours later found Jaskier pacing about the chamber room he was to sleep in. Geralt had left shortly after they made their pact and he was going to hunt the bruxa and come back in one piece hopefully. Dinner had been the hassle he thought it would be. Despite the delicious spread before him, he was hardly able to enjoy it as the Lord would request song after song, essentially demanding to be entertained constantly. The bard very nearly tossed the platter of boiled potatoes at the lord. He would have rather been fighting that bruxa himself with how done with the whole evening he was. Damn Geralt for having him stay here; he should've just stayed at the tavern with Yennefer. At least he had a coin purse filled to the brim for his troubles. Still, it was time to get ready for bed and await the witcher’s return in more comfortable clothing.

“Bard!”

Jaskier blearily opened his eyes, making a face at whoever was shaking him awake. He glanced out the room’s window. It was still dark out. “What’s going on?”

“The witcher is waiting for you outside the gates,” the man pushed his belongings at him, hovering over him. “This is terribly rude, but the lord wants you out immediately. I think the witcher insulted him when collecting his bounty.”

“Sounds like him.” Jaskier hurriedly put on his clothing and collected his lute and other items. He bade the bailiff well and quickly walked out of the room to the front entrance, hoping he wouldn't have to interact with the lord any further. The cold night made itself known, biting at him as he stepped out of the manor. Jaskier shivered and held his doublet closed, longing for the warmth of the bedchamber.

The gates squealed open reluctantly when he pushed at them. When he was on the other side of the gates, he couldn’t see Geralt anywhere.

“That arsehole,” Jaskier cursed, thinking the witcher had started walking to town without him, already planning on unleashing his wrath on him. “He deserves what’s coming to him.” 

The more he walked, the more confused he was. The path was fairly straight and unobstructed by trees, so he should have been able to see someone walking in front of him. His vision was top notch too, despite however many times Yennefer teased him about his humanness. 

Jaskier glanced back, no longer able to see the Manor having made a turn. The silence was broken by the sounds of twigs snapping in the forest further in front. The bard turned around, cursing that in his rush he had put his dagger in his lute bag. All the muscles in his body tensed when the rustling of the underbrush grew louder and he could make out a figure in the darkness. Part of him was convinced Geralt was just messing with him. Still he waited as the figure emerged from the forest. 

“Well, well, well, it's the witcher’s bard,” the man that stood guard at the gate from earlier said derisively. His disheveled appearance and that glint in his eye were unsettling in the darkness with only the moon’s glow lighting the path. He had his halberd with him.  

Jaskier tried smiling confidently, but here’s sure it came out more of a grimace. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up when he heard footsteps behind him. Taking a peak he saw the second guard and two other individuals moving to surround him.

“Look, gentlemen,” he nervously displayed his hands, “I really don’t mean to interrupt your late night plans.”

“Oh, what a shame,” the man shared a conspiratory look with his friends before smiling wickedly at Jaskier, “we were planning on offing the bumbling idiot ourselves and selling off his possessions, but we thought up of a different business adventure, so why don’t you help us out?”

“I really must be going.” 

“ ‘fraid you don’t have a choice anymore, bard,” the man motioned the others closer. “We need you for ransom.”

“Fuck if I don’t,” Jaskier replied, calculating his chances of slipping past the man unscather. The men behind him were also armed with swords. Jaskier’s heart hammered and the feeling that made his insides twist in discomfort intensified as he realized he was clearly outnumbered. He wouldn't go down without a fight. 

It was a tense moment before anyone moved. Jaskier determined none of them actually knew how to use their weapons given the pathetic way in which they were holding them. If he could just slip past them and into the woods, he would be free. 

“Enough waiting! Get him!” 

The men walked toward him, carefully even though he was clearly unarmed. At least they have some sense, Jaskier thought. The next moment occurred so suddenly as Jaskier made a split second decision. There was no time to dig out his dagger from the bag, so he brandished his lute as his only weapon and swung at the closest unsuspecting mad. He winced as his precious lute made contact, thankfully staying intact as it knocked the man to the ground. The other man yelled in anger and swung at him in a blind rage. Jaskier was able to dodge his uncontrolled swing and push him back, but he miscalculated in thinking the first man was knocked out for when he turned to the side to flee the man was already up and slashing. Jaskier had foolishly walked straight into the swinging path of the blade.

Searing pain erupted in his midsection, flesh was no match for sharpened metal. His lute clattered to the ground as he clutched at the wound with his arms. Someone from behind him kicked his back and he went tumbling forward, trying not to make the injury open further.  He screwed his eyes shut as his headband shoulder collided with the dirt path. The same person then kicked him onto his back, revealing the long gash at his abdomen from which blood poured out of, staining his clothes.

“You idiot!” their leader growled, stomping over to knock the man who slashed Jakier to the ground, “Now we can’t use him.”

“Gods, now the witcher will be after us,” Tom’s voice quivered in fear. The man on the ground paled at his words. “We’ve got to get out of here.”

“Help me,” Jaskier pleaded as another wave of nausea hit him, seeing so much of his own blood gush out. He was practically holding his innards inside himself. 

Tom looked at him in horror and turned around and fled, quickly followed by the man on the ground. 

Their leader cursed and kicked Jaskier, making him yell out in pain, “Bloody useless all of you.”’ He started to walk off after Tom. 

“Shouldn’t we kill him? Prevent the Witcher from knowing we did it?” The last of the group lingered near Jaskier called out, drawing his sword anew. 

“Leave him, the animals will get to him or the bloodloss. Whatever comes first.”

Jaskier didn’t try to get their attention again, determined to stay alive until Geralt or help arrived. His vision was swimming, so he shut his eyes and made sure the men were far enough away before he inched his way  to the underbrush to stay somewhat hidden. To his horror there was a trail of blood leading up to him. Now that he was situated under some cover, the effects of his injuries compounded. The adrenaline was wearing off, and he was getting cold. There was so much blood. 

***

The witcher let out a string of curses just as the bruxa’s head hit the ground. He glanced down at his body where his wounds were. Five gashes made their way from his lower ribs to his hips and more littereed his legs where the bruxa tried to disable him. When he wiped his brow, his hand came back with blood and sweat; his eyes stinging as a result. He cursed some more as he put away his weapons and retrieved the head, needing proof of his kill. All that was left was to head back to the manor and collect both the bard and his money. 

The road back to the manor was as desolate as it had been on the way to the hunt. There was still something unsettling about the night, which he had pushed aside earlier as his imagination and knowing there was a bruxa in the area. He noted the night was oddly silent, no screech owls preying on unsuspecting rodents and no wolves howling at the wind. The path before him seemed to stretch incredibly long. Maybe he should have brought Roach to have been able to get back to the Manor faster, but it really was unfair to not allow her to rest. 

His ears picked up a commotion, but he thought nothing of it, probably just some wild animals moving through the forest. Soon he was near the manor, and the gnawing feeling that something was wrong intensified. It was then that Geralt smelled the metallic scent of blood and drew his steel sword, not willing to take chances with his injury, and continued his trek more cautiously. Eventually he could discern a blood trail in the direction of the forest line, which he followed. 

“Geralt,” a weak voice flitted through the air, “that you?”

 And then much more softly as if unintended,  “Gods, I hope it isn’t some wild animal.”

Geralt lowered his weapon, and moved closer to the dense underbrush on the side of the path. The sword he had been carrying clattered to the ground when he dropped it and rushed to the bard. Jaskier was lying face up, leaning his head on a shrub and clutching at his abdomen. The bloodied scent was strongest where he was, and the dark stains on his clothes were telling; he had been there long enough for it to seep through his clothes and onto the ground. Immediately Geralt leaned down and gathered the bard into his arms. He was freezing to the touch.

“Everything is spinning, Geralt,” Jaskier murmured, burying his head further into the crook of his neck. The jostling movement unsettled him further as Geralt ran as fast as he was able to. “so hazy, and ‘m cold.”

“We’re almost to the town,” he lied, trying to comfort the man in his arms. The witcher suppressed a wince from the pain shooting through his own injuries with every step he took. He’d had much worse, but the bard was turning a worryingly pale shade making his lips seem blue and had started to break out in cold sweat a while ago. His breaths came in shorter intakes now. Geralt didn't remember the path to town being this long. Silence between them stretched an unsettling amount of time.  

“Jaskier!” the bard made unintelligible sounds. “Stay awake, talk to me.”

“The kugh.”

“What?”

“Coast.” Jaskier tiredely enunciated. “ ‘never did go to the coast.”

The end of his statement came out in one short breath, without his enhanced hearing Geralt was sure he wouldn’t have heard it. Then the bard went fully limp in his arms and panic bubbled up inside of Geralt. He tried to get a response out of Jaskier to no avail. He cursed when he could faintly make the town’s outline in the distance. At least they were close by now. 

If there were people out on the streets they would see him carrying the bard's dying body in his arms, unbridled panic and despair defining his usually stoic face. He didn’t care. He sprinted to get to the tavern, kicking the door open and frightening the few people who were up at this hour. People screamed when they saw the bloodied Witcher.

“Yennefer!” Geralt yelled, making his way further into the room. The tavern owner dashed up the stairs to fetch the woman while Geralt carefully placed Jaskier on a nearby table. It felt like an eternity before the sorceress appeared beside him, pushing him away to assess the damage. There was a long gash through the bard's stomach. His intestines were visible at the deepest portion. 

“You have to help him.” Geralt pleaded, not taking his eyes away from Jaskier’s face. 

“Jaskier!” She yelled at the man below her, checking for a pulse. No response; his pulse was weak and waning. “You stupid bard, you can’t die now.”

Yennefer did her best to heal him, mending the wound together and covering his organs once again, yet his breaths were shallower every second and he was still unresponsive. They were too late. “He’s lost too much blood already.”

“No.” Geralt refused to listen. “You’re wrong.”

“There’s nothing I can do.” Yennefer’s voice broke, staring at her bloodied hands and refusing to watch as life left the bard’s body. “Geralt, I’m sorry.”

******************************************************************************************

Next post in the series: Ghost

[weeping-petals]

Some Time to Be

 Word Count - 2,063

 Garnet is busy but Spinel is lonely and bored. Takes place before the Falling Out

Deep within the Crystal Temple, dozens upon dozens of bubbles hovered among the winding tubes branching throughout and curving within the rock walls of the inner chamber. Below, lava sizzled in a cast within the floor, the molten matter illuminated everything and projected light against the bubbled gems. Patrolling this and that way, Garnet roved redirecting and guiding multicolored spheres.

 An expansion of human metropolitan stirred corrupted gems into a sudden migration, and such activity pushed the feral gems into more frequent confrontations with humans. While a lull came underway of gem-human encounters, it was best to undertake the task of organizing new occupants. Take stock of the growing numbers, certify that bubbles were not overcrowding and coming under risk of popping. That would be all that they needed now.

 The task of bubble wrangler was best left to Garnet, who made the accurate and nice predictions of where it was best to leave which bubbles. Though it didn’t really matter, the bubbles would go nowhere, and absolutely no event would incur to disturb the slumbering denizens within the Burning Room. As such, no other gem was permitted access, unless for a prespecified reason.

 A thin line oozed from the ceiling and dropped, forming a zigzagging shape on the ground. The flattened figure reformed into a three-dimensional silhouette, and crept up on Garnet, rising taller and gaining more distinction the closer it neared the stoic gem. Meanwhile, the aforementioned gem examined two bubbles set very close together.

 Sensing a presence, Garnet rotated. Nothing and no one was there. Quickly, she performed a tight rotation, scanning the area, scrutinizing nooks and crannies, and shadows adjoining her vicinity. Aside from her and the bubbled gems, nothing stood out. She spun back—

 “Surprise!” Spinel bounced onto her hands, boots clapping. “Admit it! You were surprised. C’mon, say it!”

 Garnet was unmoved. “No.” She stepped by Spinel and resumed the task, shapeshifting her arm to claim another sphere up high.

 “Objection. You can’t deny, I caught you fair and square.” Spinel righted herself. And, sprang up among the cords curving through the ceiling.

 “I don’t deny my feelings,” Garnet responded. “I merely conceal them very well. Nonetheless, you did not surprise me. It’s become an expectation.”

 “Had to think on your own, didja? ‘Who could possibly intrude while I’m very busy? Who would dare.’” Spinel hung from her legs, boots wrapped about the tube she descended from. “I still got it in me.” She used her knuckles to polish the surface of her gem, like the way she saw done in the movies.

 “I am very busy,” Garnet replied. “And I need concentration. I thought you and Rose were going to explore the east coast of the green continent.”

 Spinel lounged across a bent tube. “Shirked duties for Greg. Probably doing more of that … eugh, kissy thing.” She puckered her lips and did smooching sounds.

 “And taking the Gem Sleuth to the inverted whirlpools with Amethyst?”

 Spinel lay on her stomach, arms uncoiled. “Off with Vidalia and the Sour One.”

 “Pearl?” Garnet set a Rose Quartz bubble aloft, among other similarly shaped stones.

 “Still hasn’t reformed.” Spinel slipped off a large tube and landed beside the fire pit. Arms outstretched, she balanced and walked around the edge. “Also, couldn’t get the permanent marker off.”

 “Spinel….”

 “It’s her own fault for taking so long!”

 “It takes you time to reform, as well.” Garnet examined the contents of a bubble, not looking the way the other gem paced.

 “Yeh… but that’s a condition.” She gestured her hands. “She’s indecisive, ‘should I do this dress. Or a new ribbon? Does this lace make me look know-it-all enough?’” She snickered.

 “Have you asked a human what works best to remove permanent marker?”

 “I think it’s an improvement.”

 The Saphire in her was curious to how long it would take before Pearl noticed. That is, if everyone could keep a straight face.

 “Oh-oh! Almost forgot.” Spinel bounced over to Garnet. “I have the best joke. You wanna hear it?”

 “Not now.” Garnet didn’t try to hide the sigh in her voice. She worked to tenderly pry bubbles down from among the ceiling’s winding cords, and make sense of the different colors through the tinted surface. “Some other time.”

 “It’s not long. Promise.” Spinel bounced in place, swinging her fists. “I start with rock-rock, and you go ‘who’s there’. Ready? Rock-rock.”

 Garnet redirected her cool focus to Spinel, disregarding the task at hand for the barest spell. Spinel made a shooing motion with her hands.

 “C’mon, rock-rock! Now say who…?”

 “Who is there?”

 “Garnet!”

 This does not compute. “I’m Garnet.”

 Spinel facepalmed. “Yeh. But when you say ‘who’s there?’ and I say ‘Garnet,’ you have to say ‘Garnet who?’ That’s the way the joke works. Lemme start again.” She cleared her throat. “Rock-rock.”

 “Who is there?”

 “Garnet!”

 Still not getting it, she inquired anyway, “Garnet… who?”

 Spinel posed, arms outstretched in her show gal stance. “G’Arenet you glad to see me?”

 The Garnet is unmoved. “…No.”

 Spinel unraveled. “Lika ya said, good at hiding the feels. That was hilarious.”

 “So share it with Amethyst. I’m very busy, as you’ve made a point.” Garnet resumed sifting through the suspended bubbles, dispersing the clusters and preparing to relocate the accumulated spheres brought low. For a while it was tranquil, and Spinel was placid in watching her work.

 Until the spindly gem sprang up among the pipes and snared one of the bubbles. She perched, holding the lilac sphere between her palms and turned it, concentration palpable.

 “Spinel,” Garnet warned, in her no-nonsense tone. “I have those organized already.”

 “You think they dream?”

 “I don’t think she or any of them are aware of anything. It’s stasis. For them, time stands still.” She continued sifting through the bubbles, disregarding Spinel’s interest.

 “But maybe they dream,” Spinel insisted. “About Home. About their friends. About… not ever coming here. Maybe they dream, life has resumed where they wanted it. They’re someplace they want to be, and nothing is broken. They’re not broken.”

 “The gems are whole and undamaged,” she reminded. “Perhaps someday, they will be recovered. And they will have that true life, wherever it may take them. If that means serving Home World, or, the freedom to go and be who they wish to be.” Garnet extended a hand, and set a gem among a collection of similar stones. “You’ve been sent off before.”

 “Yeah. But never bubbled this long. Some have been here.” She rolled backwards, flopping to recline on the curve of the pipe. The sphere she kept above, while she continued to turn it over. “Ages. Sometimes, I wonder how long they’ll have to stay.”

 “Not all the gems corrupted must be contained. You know this. There are gems that exist out there, that need no care or attention. But for those that become hostile and roam, endanger the humans or other passive gems, this is the safest solution. We don’t want others to pay for our failings.”

 “Yeh,” Spinel mumbled. “Keep everyone separate and protected. Heh. S’nice not being able to tell friend from enemy. Frenemy.” The term amused her into giggles.

 “As the way it should be,” Garnet supplied. “We didn’t want the war. We simply wanted to exist as we are, and to be left alone. We did everything we could.” She let a bubble alit among a collection of similar stones. A family, all together.

 “Do you ever dream?” Spinel left the bubble suspended and bounded among the bent piping across the ceiling.

 “Gems don’t sleep.” Came the matter-o-fact response.

 “When you’re unfused.” Spinel hung by her arms, legs crossed in front of her middle. “Do you dream, when Ruby and Saphire separate?”

 Garnet did halt her work and inclined her head enough to peer at the Spinel, eyes fixed with curiosity, but likewise concerned. “When Ruby and Saphire do separate,” though nonexistent in these days, “I cease to be.” She plucked a bubble from above and relocated it to the far side of the room. Spinel followed, loping through the winding architect above. “I know of nothing in that time, during that time. It can be defined as a form of stasis, I suppose, though I am neither here nor anywhere. I am not the one or the other, and I can’t describe it as being divided.’

 “But,” Garnet went on. She accepted a bubble, which Spinel handed down. “When they reunite, I have the collected experiences that Ruby and Saphire undertook, and share in that knowledge. It’s not the same as sharing in the events, I guess, it is like learning a story from someone you trust. I was not there to take from the proceedings, yet I am aware that these events took place.”

 “Oh,” was all Spinel said. Garnet directed a finger, and Spinel scaled up a few feet to collect bubbles – two or three at a time – and delivered them down. It was evident by Spinel’s eyes – not so much the silence that followed – that she gave this direction a great deal of thought. Such topics made Spinel contemplative, if not wary, and Garnet could always measure the cagey strategist that gave guidance during the war.

 After some work, Garnet broke the meditative hush, “The offer is still open. But, don’t feel forced to try something you’re not ready for.” Spinel tugged a bubble close to her chest and crouched, staring down on her. “I understand your sentiments, and respect your reluctance. But I am always open to sharing insight with you. Never forget that.”

 “No. Uh… thank you. I remember.” She descended and handed off the bubble, much to Garnet’s relief. For a moment, the fusion thought she might accidentally pop it.

 “Sometimes, I miss them,” Spinel admitted. She plopped to the floor, and assisted in collecting a few of the spheres hovering low. “But when they splint, I find myself missing Garnet too. When you exist, they cease to be. It’s hard to be without someone you appreciate, y’know? Pfft, I know they’re not really gone, but you are not them. And they, them, she and she, are not you. If that makes sense.” She rocked back on her heels, balanced perfectly.

 Garnet nodded. She led the way, to the exact point where she wanted these bubbles. Spinel handed a few to her, and she placed them securely among the coiled cords above, safe and shielded. “This paradox of not existing. This fixation has bothered you, since the song.”

 “Am I that transparent?”

 “Not at all.” Garnet moved to the other side of the wall. “I trust each of you to come forward at your own pace, when you’re ready to talk. Your privacy is important to me, as it is to you. That said, I would appreciate if you knocked first.”

 Spinel let her arms hang and rolled her eyes. “But then you’d be expecting. And the whole surprise would get ruined.”

 Garnet set a hand on Spinel’s head and ruffled her pigtails. “I would still act surprised. More so, than when you invade this room. Try it some time.”

 “Kay.” Spinel sauntered aside, arms coiling over into springs. “I guess I’ll… catch ya later. I might head up North, or somethin’. If anyone asks….”

 “When I’m done here,” Garnet began, halting the gem. “I was going to check on the Winding Glacial Plains. Would you mind accompanying me?”

 “Would I?” Spinel gushed. “No. Yes. I’ll go with. Er, no gem monsters? Right?”

 “Pure scouting,” Garnet assured. She already resumed adjusting spheres, diffusing a few rowdy clusters. “A bit dull, but the auroras are stunning.”

 “Then it’s a date,” Spinel hummed, through a crooked grin. “Come by my place, where you’re up to it.” She bounded out of the chamber, leaving Garnet to conclude the finer details of her work.

 She was never alone, and lacked the understanding for that nature which the other gems held. In that sense, Garnet was unlike the others, though no less a Crystal Gem, or gem herself. The Ruby in her knew that, and was experienced as a fusion. To Garnet, Spinel seemed to long for something she couldn’t grasp, or something she couldn’t directly inquire about, or risk invading that tentative line of privacy. It was up to her friends to come forward in their own time, to initiate conversation.

[portlypuppy]

Chapter 4 now posted for my 3 readers 😄

Rebecca can’t sleep. She lies, propped up on one elbow and stares at Greg who is soundly asleep on his back next to her, one arm stretched towards her and the other clutching the sheet over his chest.

His cheeks are flushed, his lips parted and his hair a mess of dark curls against the pillow.

She smiles over at him and has the sudden urge to try and capture this moment. Partly to try and capture the feeling of a billion butterflies racing around her stomach, and partly because he looks angelic and sweet and he’d hate that. She grins, thinking of showing it to him at a later point, and the ensuing look on his face.

[stevenuniversallyreviews]

Episode 116: Gem Heist

“We won’t stand out if we play the roles we were made for.”

There’s nothing like a good heist. You’d think a plot with such a consistent formula (build a team, go over a plan, execute the plan and adapt to its inevitable failures) would get stale, but consider for a moment that Inception and Fast Five premiered within a year of each other, and are both heists following the same general beats, but they’re fully different experiences. I’m not gonna say which one is better, but only one of them has a car chase where a car is chained to a giant safe and uses it like a wrecking ball, so.

In some ways, Gem Heist drops the ball on what I want from a heist: there’s barely a planning stage, and the team is already together, so it’s all about the execution and the wrenches thrown at our heroes. But while it’s hardly the caper I hoped for from the title, I can’t help but admire how it takes the tropes associated with heists and uses them to comment on Gem society.

A heist is all about specialists with clear jobs. Safecrackers, getaway drivers, demolitions experts, con artists, the whole point is getting a bunch of talented people who are each essential to the group. This element is only briefly touched upon in the traditional sense in Gem Heist, with Steven referring to Pearl as “our hacker,” but in its place, our heroes must succeed by putting themselves into the very roles they escaped by becoming Crystal Gems. Sapphire is a wise advisor and Ruby a disposable bodyguard, and the two must be separated. Amethyst must be huge. Pearl must be lowly servant. And Steven, who can’t exactly take the leadership position of his Gem parent, must play the dumb human.

This conceit drives the episode and makes it unexpectedly solid in terms of characterization, given how bland its plot ends up being. This is basically an episode about walking through a hallway, and instead of a third act we just get two minutes transitioning Steven to the Zoo that could’ve been spent in our next episode (or heavily cut). Even Adventures in Light Distortion feels more meaningful from a sheer plotting standpoint, and that was literally just getting the Crystal Gems from Point A to B. But because of how fascinating the characters are to watch when forced into the positions they’d be stuck in had they not rebelled, I’m able to enjoy what would otherwise be a slog of an episode.

The surprise lead of Gem Heist is Sapphire, who takes charge of the situation right away and finally shines on her own. Ruby got a head start in Jailbreak in terms of screentime, and takes up more room when the two are together thanks to her louder personality, and has a whole squad of counterparts to define herself against, so I love seeing a focus on Garnet’s quiet half. 

Sapphire’s serene baseline is portrayed so well by Erica Luttrell that she’s often played comically straight (her casually agreeing to call Steven “Esteban” is a great example here), but we already know from Keystone Motel that she’s more than just her calmness. It’s great to see her lose her cool so early in the episode, putting up a confident front while planning but getting frazzled with its inevitable failure before the team even disembarks. I wouldn’t quite call her a ham in the way Ruby and Peridot can be, but her overacting while narrating her activities to warn her friends of danger is wonderful. And of course, she gifts us with the universe’s cutest wink.

Charlyne Yi always brings a lot to the table as Ruby, and while she’s had more to do than Luttrell after Hit the Diamond, this is the first time since then that she’s voiced our Ruby. The line of the night is her furious declaration that Blue Diamond “hates fusion and love?”—it’s such a horrible thought that Ruby treats it like a question rather than a statement, because how hating something as good as love even possible? Still, Ruby’s bigger highlight is all in the animation as she runs up a locked door, claws at it while screaming, and admits defeat when this doesn’t immediately work.

Pearl also benefits from the visuals, which portray her humiliations in ways Deedee Magno Hall can’t in the moment due to her needing to be quiet. Which isn’t to say Magno Hall doesn’t do a lot with what she’s given, going from embarrassed and deferential around Holly Blue Agate to pissed off while alone with the Crystal Gems. And while Amethyst is the first Crystal Gem to go, Michaela Dietz picks up the baton from Yi and Magno Hall to play other amethysts; it’s neat to hear her turn down the playfulness for gruffness without completely removing the prankster edge from her voice. And what we do see from Amethyst is a reasonable amount of nervousness around a first encounter with her peers, which pays off wonderfully in That Will Be All (as does the actual sentence “That will be all” that Pearl will soon get the chance to redirect).

Steven is surprisingly low-key here, all things considered, but I suppose with all the focus he gets in the first two episodes of this arc, as well as our next one, it makes sense to look more deeply at the Gems; after all, they’re the ones who were born into an oppressive class structure that they must temporarily return to (give or take an Amethyst, but she still has plenty of issues stemming from societal expectations). He’s got some decent jokes, and dominates the last part of the episode when separated from the Gems, but the last part of the episode is so boring that I don’t really care. 

Still, none of these characters would have the chance to shine without Holly Blue Agate, who comes in hot and seems physically incapable of chilling the hell out. Christine Pedi voices Holly in just two episodes of the original series, but boy does she know how to leave a mark. After seeing Homeworld loyalists from the bottom of the totem pole in Peridot and the rubies, a Homeworld loyalist who’s a known hero in Jasper, and two leaders of Homeworld in Yellow and Blue Diamond, we encounter perhaps the worst kind of zealot: middle management.

Holly Blue Agate is the Dolores Umbridge of Steven Universe. She’s not given the stage to become main villain material, but she sure knows how to be the most detestable kind of miniboss we could hope for. She’s a shameless sycophant whose worship of Gems she considers superior is matched only by her disdain for those she sees as beneath her, but because she actually has some authority, she’s able to be far more tyrannical than the likes of Peridot. She’s hardcore lawful evil on the classic alignment chart, but if we allow for variation to the classics, I’d consider her more petty evil than anything.

With one character, we personify the entire toxic class structure that the Crystal Gems were born to defy. And with every word, Holly Blue proves that our heroes were correct to abandon this caste system. She’s flippant in her physical abuse, and wears her bigotry as a point of pride, taking glee in enforcing the inferiority of every Gem around her but Sapphire, who earns the same kind of swooning she applies to Blue Diamond. This is all performed under the thin disguise of politeness, because again, this is Umbridge we’re dealing with. She yells that there’s no yelling allowed, then gets mad when an amethyst corrects herself by being too quiet. She either pretends to not understand human speech or genuinely doesn’t get that Steven is talking (I could get into a whole thing about the necessity of an unrealistic translator for the Gems, but first off they’re magic so unrealistic things are fine, and second off what’s clearly more important here is Holly’s attitude).

It’s almost a shame we don’t get more of Holly Blue, because she may be loathsome, but she’s the compelling kind of loathsome that makes an excellent villain. Aquamarine is similar in feigned sweetness and cruelty, but Holly lacks that Cartman-inspired awareness of how miserable she is, which makes her less extreme and more relatable to real-life monsters in our daily lives who are blind to their own awfulness. At least she gets one more episode to be horrible and receive some decent comeuppance for her behavior in Gem Heist.

As I’ve said, the actual story here is pretty dull. We get some hints at lore, as it’s now pretty clear that the Era 2 referred to by Peridot was separated from Era 1 by the death of Pink Diamond. We get further indirect characterization of Blue Diamond with Holly Blue Agate’s praise and Ruby and Sapphire’s scorn. And the final sequence, while feeling tacked on, at least gets some neat usage out of what looks like the same tech as Peridot’s gone-but-not-forgotten robofingers. But if not for the stark reminder of why the Crystal Gems’ ability to decide their lives is important, this would be one of the least consequential episodes of the series. Plenty of episodes have great characterization, this is Steven Universe after all, but most of those also bring more to the table.

I’ve never been to this…how do you say…school?

Second episode since Gem Harvest to feature the Floridoverse as the main promo, and while it’s a little unclear whether this is another Floridoverse promo where a new adult character is portrayed as a teacher (Holly’s uniform vaguely resembles Greg’s and Ruby’s) I’m gonna go ahead and hope the intent is for her to be a student because man, that vibe on a peer is in some ways even worse than on a superior.

We’re the one, we’re the ONE! TWO! THREE! FOUR!

Lousy plotting really knocks this one down, considering how great an actual heist could’ve been, but the character work barely scrapes this from an episode I don’t care about to one I enjoy. It straddles the line between Like ‘em and Enh, but I’ll be nice this time.

Top Twenty

Steven and the Stevens

Hit the Diamond

Mirror Gem

Lion 3: Straight to Video

Alone Together

Last One Out of Beach City

The Return

Jailbreak

The Answer

Mindful Education

Sworn to the Sword

Rose’s Scabbard

Earthlings

Mr. Greg

Coach Steven

Giant Woman

Beach City Drift

Winter Forecast

Bismuth

Steven’s Dream

Love ‘em

Laser Light Cannon

Bubble Buddies

Tiger Millionaire

Lion 2: The Movie

Rose’s Room

An Indirect Kiss

Ocean Gem

Space Race

Garnet’s Universe

Warp Tour

The Test

Future Vision

On the Run

Maximum Capacity

Marble Madness

Political Power

Full Disclosure

Joy Ride

Keeping It Together

We Need to Talk

Chille Tid

Cry for Help

Keystone Motel

Catch and Release

When It Rains

Back to the Barn

Steven’s Birthday

It Could’ve Been Great

Message Received

Log Date 7 15 2

Same Old World

The New Lars

Monster Reunion

Alone at Sea

Crack the Whip

Beta

Back to the Moon

Kindergarten Kid

Buddy’s Book

Gem Harvest

Three Gems and a Baby

Like ‘em

Gem Glow

Frybo

Arcade Mania

So Many Birthdays

Lars and the Cool Kids

Onion Trade

Steven the Sword Fighter

Beach Party

Monster Buddies

Keep Beach City Weird

Watermelon Steven

The Message

Open Book

Story for Steven

Shirt Club

Love Letters

Reformed

Rising Tides, Crashing Tides

Onion Friend

Historical Friction

Friend Ship

Nightmare Hospital

Too Far

Barn Mates

Steven Floats

Drop Beat Dad

Too Short to Ride

Restaurant Wars

Kiki’s Pizza Delivery Service

Greg the Babysitter

Gem Hunt

Steven vs. Amethyst

Bubbled

Adventures in Light Distortion

Gem Heist (barely!)

Enh

Cheeseburger Backpack

Together Breakfast

Cat Fingers

Serious Steven

Steven’s Lion

Joking Victim

Secret Team

Say Uncle

Super Watermelon Island

Gem Drill

Know Your Fusion

Future Boy Zoltron

No Thanks!

     6. Horror Club      5. Fusion Cuisine      4. House Guest     ��3. Onion Gang      2. Sadie’s Song      1. Island Adventure

[piccolina-mina]

If you're a multishiper what all do you ship? You have to think something is going to be endgame so what's your endgame?

Hmm. I'm going out on a limb and guess this is about Roswell New Mexico? Timely and curious, but I'll bite.

This sounds like, "oh really, what's their greatest hits?" 😂

It's weird. Multishipping isn't usually my thing. I don't know, this show is very character driven, which makes it very relationship driven. So I can be easily enticed by so many different dynamics. And shipping for me on this show is so casual and can range from platonic to romance and anything in between. Sometimes I just see certain interactions and 👀 I see the potential.

Echo - they're the main love story. It took me a bit to get over the thing with Rosa, and I don't like how that was handled, but I just surrendered to it so I could continue enjoying the show. And Nathan and Jeanine have really great chemistry. They're nerdy babies, and I actually enjoy this version of them more than in the OG. And they're both so pretty, and I just feel the love there.

Miluca - the survival kids. Barter and banter. I also love this rendition of Candy. I like their banter and flirting. I love how supportive and protective Michael is of Maria. I love how Michael is relaxed around her. They're kindred spirits.

Malex: they're so deliciously ANGSTY. I love angst. They have this really dramatic type of romance that feels like it's ripped from the pages of classic literature, and I just really love that, especially with a same-sex couple because of how rare that is.

Kylex: Full disclosure my two favorite characters are Kyle and Maria and I kinda ship them with almost everyone. I love everything about their adult relationship. Kyle is such a good, supportive, intuitive guy, but also Alex let's his guards down around Kyle, and he shows him parts of himself he can't quite bring himself to show to anyone else and it's because they just have this connection that the others don't. I love it. I like that Alex gets Kyle too and I think they communicate well with each other.

Kyliz: they have great chemistry all around. They also get each other. They're so similar to me now. They're like the moral compasses of the group. They're very moral driven and ethical and just pure. And I love that they have that same energy. And their friendship gets me in the feels but so does their sexytimes.

Alright, now we get fun. 😜

Max and Maria (DeLevans)- Maria can get Max to do things he wouldn't normally do. I think she's so open and lively and he's such a big dopey nerd, and I love them balancing each other out a bit. He's compassionate and kind and tries to do right by people, and she's nice and supportive. And I just think they are two givers.

Max, Maria, and Liz - Oh yes. I'd ot3 the heck out of them. 😳

Maria and Kyle (Kyluca) - They are my favorite characters so obviously I'm game for this. Once I got my interaction it was 😍. No, but they're so cute. Max and Maria have karaoke, my karoake cuties, but Maria and Kyle have movie nights. I think they are both really open supportive caring people and I would love that shared energy redirected to each other. The surgeon and the mystic. Like dharma and Greg or something. Gimme.

Kyle and Max- two hot cowboys. The begrudging respect/hate sex would be awesome.

Max and Alex - they were totally on the same wave length back in high school. The airman and the cop? The hacker and the cop? Sullen pining babies? All I'm saying is it would be awesome. Don't @ me.

HS Rosa and Maria - if Rosa and Maria were back to being the same age. Just, yes. I LOVE them both. Besties to friends. Fk me up.

Maria and Liz - just look at them. Look at how precious they are and tell me they wouldn't be a cute af ship!

Michael and Liz - now Michael is still an asshole and all around shitty person to Liz and never apologized. He didn't deserve her forgiveness without it. But I do understand the appeal of the science bros. And michael sometimes gives her those bedroom eyes (which is apparently just vlamis default face sometimes bless his heart). And the only way I envision this ship is like really good hate sex that kinda leaves him wanting more and Liz like "Nope"

I also think Kyle and Cam would have been cute. And Cam and Maria would have been cute. And Isobel thirsting after Kyle but him not being interested is my jam. And Kyle, Michael, and Alex getting their hardy boy on ...

And I'll be remiss if I didn't mention Kyle and Mama Evans. 😂 Truly crackedt. Kyle be flexing on them.

Ahem.

I don't have a set endgame. I don't really care enough about who ends up with who to pick an endgame. I'm just here for the drama and the ride, tbh. It really isn't that serious to me. So whatever makes the story good and as long as it makes sense in the end, I can't say I'm invested enough to care. I suppose that's the extent of me being a shipper.

Anyway. Does that answer your question? 😊

[notbang]

on pretence, palm trees, perceived happiness and the promise of change

So I’ve been meaning to write this meta for awhile, but I was holding out because I had an inkling we were headed for another interior design shift this season, either in the form of Heather or Rebecca herself moving out and, lo and behold, here we are! It’s Rebecca’s mural meta time!

When Dr Phil appears in 1x07 “because [Rebecca’s] depressed mind invited [him] in”, one of the first things he comments on is the state of her apartment, asking her if she’s ever considered “hanging a little art”. Later in the episode, buzzed on the pill she took off Dr Akopian’s bathroom floor, she does exactly that, and we get our first glimpse of mural number one—the sunset. In its initial iteration, Rebecca’s in the midst of a manic phase and it’s only partway put up, still peeling down the wall. But we get the picture; it’s a nice choice for her otherwise currently spartan apartment—it’s bright, it’s colourful, it’s tropical, it’s fun—and after all, she moved to West Covina to be two hours from near the beach. What’s always interested me in particular, though, is the way in which it sort of harkens back to this:

It’s no great revelation that when it comes to Rebecca’s obsession with Josh Chan, all roads lead back to summer camp. Our very first introduction to Rebecca Bunch as audience members is, as we soon come to learn, apparently the last time she was truly happy (thanks, weirdly specific butter commercial!)—up on stage, singing chorus in an amateur production of Rodgers and Hammerstein’s South Pacific, the set for which is comprised simply of some painted backdrops featuring palm trees dotted along a beach. So it makes a strange kind of sense that Rebecca—whom in the midst of a nervous breakdown fixates on a childhood infatuation as a link back to this moment of true happiness—upon being confronted with an apartment about as empty as how she’s feeling inside and being called upon to fill it, would subconsciously seek inspiration from the exact same source. The shift to sunset, though, gives it a distinctly romantic skew—in much the same way Rebecca is so often desperate to use romance to fill her void.

Rebecca’s romantic aspirations with Greg and Josh crash and burn quite literally in 2x04 when she inadvertently sets her house on fire disposing of their things, and it is from the ashes of her failed relationships that our first change in scenery arises. Rebecca’s got a new house, a new housemate, and she’s accessorising them with a brand new mural!

Mural number two isn’t hugely different from its predecessor—it’s mostly just a change in lighting. It’s bright, it’s sunny, it’s summer, it’s the light of a new day. It’s also a lot more visually similar to that scenic art from South Pacific. 

Summer comes with the connotations of heat, repression, stagnation, and youth, and season 2-3 Rebecca’s got all of ‘em in spades.

Though distinctly more slanted towards sexual fantasy than romantic in the case of We Should Definitely Not Have Sex Right Now and its callback in 3x10, with the help of a little mood lighting both murals provide a fitting backdrop to Rebecca’s musical state of mind. And the contrast between the two works here, too:

In 2x01, Rebecca’s scrambling to get a lockdown on her romantic standing with Josh. Despite being intent on pursuing her feelings for Greg in the season one finale, crushed expectations and a newly single Josh quickly have her redirecting her eyes back to her original prize. Josh is being somewhat understandably withholding after the revelation that she did, indeed, move to West Covina for him, but Rebecca is quick to reframe and refocus that particular roadblock to their relationship—what’s keeping them apart is what’s left unresolved with Greg, and it’s a test of their self control, it’s sexy, and it deserves a sultry, saxophone-fuelled number. The closing shot of the song is Rebecca’s similarly palm-tree emblazoned beach towel, beckoning Welcome to West Covina, framed above her bedhead, leading into her romantic victory for the episode—finally succeeding in having Josh sleep beside her for the night.

3x10 Rebecca, on the other hand, isn’t interested in romance, but revenge. Equally hung-up and hotheaded, she and Nathaniel are channeling their passion into loathing, which inevitably manifests itself as sexual heat. Just as the mural is different, though, so too is Rebecca’s response; pumped full of hormones as she prepares to donate an egg, she and Nathaniel definitely should not have sex right now and, almost impressively, they don’t. When they do eventually give in weeks later, it’s after an open, honest conversation, free of facade—but with that same Welcome to West Covina beach towel hanging in the background. She’s still navigating her narrative, and now that Rebecca’s romantic misadventures have relocated to the workplace, it’s only fitting that in some way, the palm trees have followed her there, too.

If the mural is just another way in which Rebecca is inadvertently clinging to her ever-elusive illusion of happiness, how appropriate that in organising her wedding to the metaphorical man of her dreams, it’s quite literally the surface on which she hinges the plans for all these dreams supposedly come true. So enmeshed in her vision of happily ever after is the palm-lined beach, it seems, that it’s even the location she chooses for Josh and her to exchange their vows.

There’s also arguably a distinct vacation vibe here, and it’s an undeniable precedent within the show that when Rebecca wants to run away from her problems, she has a tendency to take to travel. Cross country move to West Covina aside, she flees to New York on not one but two occasions, is ready to ride off into the sunset with Nathaniel to Rome and is offered a similar escape route by him in 4x01. Whilst holidaying in Hawaii after recently being released from jail isn’t as immediately problematic as the previous examples, it only gives more weight to the progress Rebecca has made when this time, she turns him down.

Season four has been thematically framed as being about renewal and rebirth, but if we’re talking about the weather, it’s not spring that follows summer. And if summer is representative of youth, it’s time to do some growing up—which brings us to our most recent reinvention of Rebecca’s humble abode.

The progression here is a dramatic one, and it’s incredibly apropos; what’s shifted isn’t merely the light, this time, but both season and setting, and much like Rebecca, we’ve ended up in a completely different place to where we started out. Rebecca remarks at the start of 4x07 that’s she’s “ready to see some fall foliage”, and autumn is indeed the season of change. It represents balance, maturity and letting go (as well as a prelude to an end, which is also depressingly befitting, but we’ll ignore that part for now!).

While on a personal level I couldn’t help but cringe at the idea of making such a drastic change to someone’s decor without consulting them first, from a narrative standpoint, I appreciate the direct involvement of Josh Chan in this transformation. It kind of makes sense that the personification of Rebecca’s fantasy, now removed from ideal, plays a part in clearing out its remnants. There’s also something nice to be said for the fact that unlike mural number one, half-plastered in a panic by Rebecca, manic and alone, mural number three comes to her in the form of a thoughtful gift from a friend (she has friends, she definitely has friends!).

It’s poetic that this new sense of maturity extends to the person responsible for the mural, too—Josh, arguably one of the characters most obviously trapped in a state of arrested development, made significant strides in 4x07 when he finally put an end to his cohabitation with Hector’s mom (who is, as we know, coincidentally, an autumn). 

Just as nicely as it applies to the broader sweep of Rebecca’s life right now, it’s also the perfect backdrop to the shift in the dynamic we start to see between Rebecca and Josh. Rebecca has changed, and as a result, similarly have her perceptions. It’s not about Josh, and it never was, but season four Rebecca is in now in a place where Josh can comfortably exist as an entity outside of an escape mechanism (Ahab can’t you see, Josh is no longer a metaphor!).

Josh Chan is irrelevant to Rebecca’s sense of self and her happiness, but that’s not the same as being irrelevant to her life. And now that she knows more about who she is and what she wants, there’s something so exciting and delightfully hopeful in that she gets to delve into the messiness of what that really means, and for her other relationships, too. Whether that’s through friendship, romance, or otherwise doesn’t really matter—it’s the promise that she’s secure enough in herself now that we can feel confident in her capacity to try.

[jackhealybct]

Catch-up

Controversy in Catan The Eurogame genre is what happens when the idea of having fun while wanting to avoid violence comes to fruition. Designed to be fun and friendly and nice to play it makes sense that they came out of a Europe that had been ravaged by war, and especially a Germany that had lost said war and was paying for it. Wanting to then avoid shooting, stabbing, or hitting one another for entertainment only made sense. However they also have a tremendous amount of complexity to master, despite their family friendly accessibility, and tend to lack a strong narrative in their gameplay. Not wanting to display too direct a narrative goes along with this non-violence, after all no-one tells a story about the farmer farming, they tell the story about the farmer that picked up his pitchfork, fought off the demons assaulting his farm and rode to New York on his hover-bike to rescue his daughter. Despite this, most of these Eurogames have some influence from history, and Settlers of Catan is no different. While Klaus Teuber didn’t seem to intend for a game about hostile takeover, on the blank slate of a story-less landscape it can be understood how Greg Loring-Albright saw the bloody history of the treatment of America’s native inhabitants. Loring-Albright’s view of Settlers of Catan is a clear example of Intention vs. Interpretation. Clearly the idea that you play as pioneers reaping and pillaging wasn’t in line with the Eurogame, but that didn’t stop Loring-Albright from being able to interpret what he saw. I think Loring-Albright also set aside, nearly entirely, the Eurogame ideal of just being a fun and economy based bit of competition, for a game that embodied the narrative he saw as being criminally ignored.

Staring into the Abyss Games can be a great way to take a look at who you are, and being the “heterotopia” as we discover, it can be great by mirroring and by contrast. When you play an open RPG like Skyrim you can discover who you are by making choices that you would when dealing with people, and by contrast when you play a story driven game like God of War (2018), when you have no option but to play a character who you can teach you about your values by frustration at a lack of choices when the character does something counter to what you would. I think the best example of my own values being reflected in games was my first run through of Kingdom Come: Deliverance. While you can make choices to play in all sorts of manners my first instinct was to play as a noble knight, however I was faced with lots of options that were made harder by the moral compass I was going with, and I found my own personal view of wanting to improvise and take sneaky routes to make some options easier come through. There was also a mission where I discovered I was too quick to trust someone based off what they were saying which had very dire consequences.

Connected Worlds The part that really intrigued me about the Connected Worlds installation was the water streams and rivers coming off the waterfall that the participants could change and play with using the logs. I thought that this was a great example of how you can give something very simple and objectiveless but that can result in all sorts of different play. Seeing the different ways people wanted to redirect and displace the river was interesting and is somewhat related to my studio project as we want to make a similar arena in which this kind of play very much might have a place. Where without giving the player a story or something to accomplish, seeing how they find play in interrupting the given flow of things.

e is for evil or exceptional? The first thing that leapt out to me was the huge discrepancy between South Korea’s gaming culture and that of New Zealand. While gaming is by no means rare here, it doesn’t appear to come even close to the scene in Korea and how all encompassing it can be for some. It is no wonder that South Korea leads the competitive gaming scene with the sheer time so many spend inside these PC bangs. Also interesting however, was that the host saw gaming as a whole as a non-social activity. While it’s true that it can be, it seemed that multiplayer and coop games weren’t being considered especially since they are likely to make up the majority of games people are playing especially when they go out with their friends to these internet cafes. Of course there very much was concern raised about the gaming culture in South Korea, especially with just how serious this gaming was being taken. While it is most often that games are defined by being something fun to do, this takes it beyond fun into serious competition. Hence where the e-Sports element comes in, especially with the story being featured. With anything where people can make money, people will abuse the system or people to do so, and especially dangerous is the young age at which these people playing games can get drawn in. However this isn’t isolated to e-Sports, traditional sports have had their fair share of scandals and I think that similarly, players of a young age are going to be manipulated, as professional players are seen to being groomed from incredibly young ages. I think that e-Sports however has another element that places it in a very strange place as far as professional competition goes, and that is that e-Sports takes place under a specific, active Intellectual Property. Soccer, Basketball, Chess, anyone can host a game of these under any terms but you have to meet very specific criteria to be playing a game of League of Legends or Counter-Strike. While the implications for the future aren’t clear, it very much begs a new question of who is liable for regulating these incidents, and does it mean that these games are likely to have a sustainable competitive scene. A game of Soccer can be played 1000 years from now as long as you have a ball. If the DOTA servers go down and the game is no longer supported, how will someone play a competitive game of it?

[versary]

so i switched gyms from a crunch fitness to an anytime fitness this week (wow crazy news) so i'm paying twice as much BUT the walk is incredibly short so i've already gone a bunch of times this week, which means my membership is already worth it and the guys who work there are so nice and like know my name and stuff which is wild - it's like crossfit vibes at a commercial gym ANYWAY what i wanted to say is holy moly my body dysmorphia is so bad at the moment like i haven't really seen myself in a full length mirror in over six months (which, and this is definitely body checking, just keeps me calm, you feel. just knowing that i look exactly the same as i did last time i saw myself) plus when i'm stressed i avoid thinking about what's stressing me out and redirect all my attention to what i can control: my body and my food. all of this is to say that i have been panicking the entire time i've been in melbourne because i was absolutely overwhelmingly positively sure that i have lost so much muscle mass which a) visual inspection would suggest otherwise (but i can't trust what i see), b) i've objectively gotten stronger, and c) my weight has not changed one bit so no weight change + objectively stronger =/= WEAK right??? it's 100% a response to being in a totally new city in a new state and having to make new friends at a new job and new uni and do my phd research in a new lab and like get myself sorted as a melbourne resident and all that ANYWAY when i was in canberra in november greg said that i was looking, quote, 'particularly stacked', and when niall was down last he told me i was looking 'thick' but i was just like oh, they haven't seen me for a little while, but then today i was deadlifting in front of a mirror, and please bear in mind that i haven't really seen what my body looks like recently, and i was shocked at how muscular i actually did look, like i've been panicking that my quads and hamstrings have gotten smaller but it's the opposite (and i have objective numbers from lifting to back that up) PLUS my upper body looked so beefy as well and like, i just think it's so strange how i can change the shape of my body and the focus of my exercise (from needing to be ultra skinny to actively trying to get bigger) but i canNOT stop focussing on my body to the point where it's detrimental to other areas of my life. i can reason myself out of a compulsive exercise spiral, but i can't stop those automatic thoughts. i am plagued by them every single day, and i don't act on them (mostly), but it's exhausting having to filter them out, and like, they're not actually causing much material damage but i'm exerting so much energy RIGHT NOW being like, you don't have to run on the spot to make 10 000 steps, you don't have to go back to the gym to do those lateral raises you missed on friday, you don't have to quickly do some abs - you did abs earlier. it's insane to me how i can be so happy with my athletic performance and my appearance and yet simultaneously i feel completely unhinged

[theemptyquarto]

💬

Let’s combine tasks and put in a good bit from the final chapter of “Destiny and the Detective,” just now posted on AO3 and fanfiction.net

“Sherlock,” Molly asked gently, looking up into his wild eyes, “Have you been trying to get John and me together?”

“I thought that was a weird prize for a classic rock station to give out. The guy who won the morning before got ZZ Top tickets. Was I supposed to get ZZ Top tickets? I would have enjoyed some ZZ Top tickets,” John grumbled.

“And you were talking John up to me in the lab-” she murmured.

“Oh, oh, very nice, you didn’t talk Molly up to me,” John bristled, stepping up to Sherlock, “I got a forty-minute sermon on the sanctity of the monogamous relationship while your tailor felt me up.”

“I didn’t need to talk Molly up,” Sherlock said softly. He hadn’t let go of Molly’s arms, and he was staring straight into her eyes, “She’s perfect and complete, exactly as she is. Anyone can see it.”

“Did you arrange a triple homicide in Mayfair so Greg wouldn’t be able to come?”

“What?” Sherlock said, blinking and finally tearing his eyes away from Molly, “No, of course not. The citizens of Mayfair arranged that. I had his car stolen.”

“Oh, Sherlock,” Molly said, tucking her keys back into her handbag and reaching her hand up to stroke his chin, “Why would you, of all people, do something like that?”

“Because, it’s logical. You’re alone, John is alone… and Rosie said-”

“Wait, hold on,” John growled, “You got my daughter involved in this, Sherlock?”

“It was her idea.”

“I don’t care if it was her idea, she’s five, you dick. Remember all those little chats we’ve had about redirecting her rather than acting as her henchman?”

[ao3porcelainstorm]

poison ivy & stinging nettles 19

On Ao3

Pairing: Sherlock/OFC

Rated: M

Warnings: eventual violence, torture, swears, adult themes (no explicit smut)

Chapter 18 - Chapter 20

Chapter 19- Willow

~~~

I used to love playing pretend when I was a boy. My sister and I would spend hours dreaming up impossible scenes to play in; dinosaurs, spacemen, anything you could imagine, we would come up with.

That’s what this has felt like- playing pretend. I don’t mind it, personally. Given all that has happened, it’s a bit nice to see my two dearest friends get on and enjoy a short break from solving crimes and dealing with Moriarty.

It’s just, unfortunately, the problem with playing pretend is that eventually your mum has to call you in for dinner and you’re thrown back into reality.

~~~

And if it was an open-shut case, I never would have known from the look on your face. Lost in your current like a priceless wine. - Willow (Taylor Swift)

~~~

“And what?” Amelia challenged a laugh on her lips, teacup in her lap and watching John in amusement. “You’re opening the present or so help me John Watson, I’ll tell Mrs. Hudson.”

The doctor lifted the bundle of perfectly wrapped boxes tentatively, giving the smallest one a shake.

“It doesn’t feel right,” he continued, and Amelia sent him a pointed look.

“I opened mine,” Sherlock commented, arms crossed, leaning back in his chair.

“You did?” John gaped at his friend in disbelief. “When?”

“A few nights ago,” Amelia waved her hand, not wanting to go into detail about her complete meltdown that first night. “And Mrs. Hudson opened hers yesterday. Just open it!”

Mrs. Hudson was gifted an all-expense paid spa trip to Bath with the three ladies she played cards with each week. The housekeeper had practically screamed with excitement, pulling Amelia into a tight hug, thanking her profusely before making phone calls to set up a date.

It was nice to have a bit of normal.

“Fine,” John grumbled, opening the first box.

All in all, he loved his gifts.

Two cashmere sweaters in navy and merlot, and an original 1st edition of Grey’s Anatomy.

He set the book aside and pulled Amelia into a hug, and even though he tried to blink away the tears in his eyes, she definitely saw them glisten.

No one mentioned the lapse in time often. Only when Sherlock was working on the case did he pepper he with questions. John talked about it even less, which was sweet, but no matter how much Amelia tried to pretend things were ok, she was still reeling from it all.

The Christmas decorations had come down after the New Year, leaving the apartment sparse when she returned, having left with it covered in lights and tinsel. The days were easing into February, while she was still waiting for January.

She’d started therapy the day before, at John’s insistence. Twice a week for the foreseeable future. The hope was that the sessions would unlock whatever secrets were hidden in her subconscious.

More than anything, though, she was tired of everyone looking at her like she was this fragile thing, waiting to shatter at the lightest touch.

She’d been home a little over a week now, and it was getting old. Amelia wasn’t one who did well with coddling.

Even her mother had become almost unbearable. Constantly calling and texting.

The only person she had the energy to deal with was Sherlock. He was careful not to overstep his boundaries, but also read her like a book when she was uncomfortable.

He’d insisted on accompanying her anywhere she wanted to go, including the shops when she decided to pick out a new winter coat.

It was nice.

Amelia had always enjoyed spending time with both John and Sherlock alone, but while John felt like an older brother, Sherlock gave her butterflies whenever he spoke.

Greg had been sweet enough to avoid calling him in unless absolutely necessary. And on the one occasion he did, Sherlock made sure Amelia was left with Molly at the hospital. Safe and secure while he and John went to the crime scene.

Otherwise, Sherlock was always at her side. But it wasn’t as smothering as anyone else. He didn’t nitpick and ask her how she was feeling or fetch her things because he pitied her. It was a natural presence, a little protective, but safe and warm.

Amelia had no problem falling back into old routines, sketching by the fire while Sherlock read and John worked through a crossword. It was what she needed.

Nighttime was the only thing that had changed drastically.

Ever since that first night in her room, Amelia and Sherlock had spent every night together, alternating between beds.

The first night in his room, Amelia had burrowed her face into his pillow, much to his amusement, trying to guess the elements of his cologne.

“I’ll never tell,” he teased when she listed a few common scents.

“I will figure it out,” she vowed.

And she did. He didn’t bother hiding the bottle and a quick google search revealed a blend of pine and light jasmine.

It certainly didn’t account for the smell of firewood, old books, and wool that seemed to be all his.

Neither of them had tried to name whatever this had turned into. There wasn’t “I love you’s” or kisses in the morning. They never had sex.

It felt like an entirely natural progression of things, granted, with the underlying context of kidnapping and memory loss. But Amelia didn’t mind. She was happy. Sherlock seemed happy. That was good enough for her.

She wasn’t so naive to assume that this would last forever, either.

They’d discussed it extensively, lying awake next to one another and dissecting potential plans that Moriarty had for the future and a grand reveal was the first idea they’d agreed upon.

It was coming. She didn’t know when or how, but it was.

Amelia just wanted to enjoy this little slice of joy that they had as long as she could. They could name things and have serious talks about the future, later on. For now, she was content in this vacation-like bliss.

~~~

“10... 9... 8...”

It was a small get together, Ruthie, Greg, Molly, and the residents of Baker Street, but it meant the world to Amelia.

John had pulled up a video of the New Year’s Eve celebrations, Mrs. Hudson had pulled out hats and noisemakers, and the plan was to count down until midnight.

“..2...1! Happy New Year!”

Laughing, kisses were peppered onto everyone’s cheeks. When Amelia passed Sherlock, he linked his finger with hers, giving her a small smile when she glanced curiously in his direction.  

Turning around, she pecked a kiss on his cheek, tapping the tip of his nose with a finger, before returning to the others.

More than anything, Amelia wanted to grab him by the shoulders and kiss him like she meant it. But they hadn’t even discussed their unspoken thing or shared the first kiss at all.

So, she held her composure and sent him smiles whenever he looked in her direction.

Greg and Molly left after Mrs. Hudson announced that she needed sleep. Ruthie was offered Amelia’s bed, but the women stayed up in the flat with John, splitting a bottle of gin and laughing next to the fire.

“Christ, I needed this,” Ruthie leaned her head back, resting up against Amelia's legs hanging from the sofa.

“No kidding,” Amelia murmured, taking the bottle from John and taking a large swallow. Making a face and handed it to Ruthie. “Gin. Awful.”

“Gets better the longer you drink it,” John voiced, sprawled over his chair.

“Tastes like a liquid pine tree,” Amelia grumbled.

“I bet you like rum or whiskey,” Ruthie held up the bottle to John.

“Bloody Americans,” John rolled his eyes. “Terrible taste in everything.”

“I don’t want to hear it,” Amelia fell back, throwing a pillow over her head for effect. “Deep-fried Oreos are the shit.”

“Deep-fried... Oreos?” Ruthie poked her in the leg, the gin bottle making a return. “I love Oreos.”

“They’re like, deep-fried in pancake batter,” Amelia explained, popping back up. “It makes them all gooey and amazing.”

“Holy shit,” Ruthie paused. “We need to make some.”

“Not in my kitchen,” Sherlock threw blankets around the room, snagging the gin from Ruthie and taking a sip for himself.

“Sher...lock,” Amelia slurred, putting emphasis on the final “k”. “There are eyeballs and a human tongue in the freezer.”

“We can make Oreos,” John held up a hand.

“Deep-fried Oreos,” Amelia clarified with a wavering finger. “A very important distinction.”

“You’ll burn the flat down, no,” Sherlock countered.

“Not right now,” Amelia laughed. “Silly Sherlock. We don’t have Oreos.”

“Which is a tragedy,” Ruthie complained, stealing back the gin and finishing what was left. She grabbed a blanket and wrapped it around her shoulders like a cocoon, tackling Amelia onto the sofa. “I’m glad you’re not dead.”

“Me too,” Amelia snickered, pressing a sloppy kiss on her cousin's cheek.

“Ugh, gross, you slobbered on me,” Ruthie dropped back, wiping at her cheek in disgust.

“You got emotional, consequences,” Amelia gestured above her, hand swaying while she examined it in the air.

What Sherlock first noticed was the way Ruthie stiffened at the sight of the vicious scarring and scabbing on her cousin's wrist. The second thing he noticed was the way Amelia went quiet when her drunken focus fell on the injury.

John let out a snore and Sherlock jumped up.

“Bed,” he announced, earning a chorus of complaints from Amelia and Ruthie. “You’ve both had plenty to drink. Happy New Year, bedtime.”

“I’m not moving,” Ruthie announced, curling up on the sofa, making it as difficult as possible for Amelia to crawl over her.

“Enjoy John and his snoring,” Amelia stumbled over the edge of the rug and caught herself in the doorway between the living area and kitchen. “Mmmm goodnight!”

“Don’t be loud!” Ruthie called once Amelia and Sherlock rounded the corner to his bedroom.

Sherlock had to redirect Amelia a couple of times, helping her navigate the hallway without smashing her head or breaking anything. She dropped onto his bed with a long sigh.

“What?” he stood over her, brow quirked.

“I think you’re right,” she answered, eyes opening to look at him. “Your bed is the best.”

“I’m never wrong,” he answered, dropping next to her with a soft thud.

“So very humble,” she rolled toward him, amusement in her eyes. “You’re the humblest guy I know, Sherlock Holmes.”

He turned his head to better see her, his chest hammering once he realized how close her face was to his.

Was this the right time? They’d both had a bit to drink and he didn’t want to escalate things to an inappropriate level until they were sober and-

Amelia pressed her lips against his, her fingers threading their way through his curls.

He pulled her closer, hand cupping her cheek while he reciprocated in turn. It felt like everything the movies and books he’d read about said a kiss was supposed to be.

His brain felt like it’s erupted in fireworks, and the rest of his body-

“Oh,” he pulled away, clearing his throat. She leaned on her elbow, watching him try to adjust his pants.

“I didn’t mean to get you all fired up,” she smirked up at him. “I feel a little powerful right now.”

He turned to her, scowling at her words. Cruel. She was being mean and enjoying it.

If he half a mind- nope. Gentleman. He was a gentleman and he was going to change into his sleeping pants and go to sleep. He announced as much, stood up, and locked himself in the bathroom with a change of clothes until he pulled himself together.

He stared at his reflection, hands gripping the sides of the sink. Gentleman.

If things came to that, he’d make sure it was right.

Groaning, he threw his night clothes on and returned to the room.

Amelia was on her back, snoring loudly, having only managed to change into an oversized shirt.

Running a hand down his face, Sherlock pushed her aside and threw himself onto his side of the bed.

Amelia rolled onto him, arms snaking around his waist and her hips against his.  

Gentleman.

~~~

“Mrs. Peacock, in the library with...” Amelia shuffled through her notes. “The rope!”

Sherlock lowered his hand and smirked.

“Nope,” he replied, popping the “p” and earning a fresh scowl from her.

“What do you mean, ‘nope’? You didn’t even open the packet,” she protested.

“I told you not to play him,” John mumbled, turning the page to his paper. “It never ends well.”

“It was Mrs. Peacock, and it was in the library,” he contended before flipping a card with his fingers. “But it wasn’t the rope.”

“But- you-,” Amelia scrambled through her notes and cards. “Impossible. Because then if you have the rope it had to have been the pistol.”

Sherlock handed her the envelope and with a litany of curses, sure enough, Mrs. Peacock, in the library, with the pistol.

“How did you...?” she stammered. “I didn’t... my cards...?”

“You touch the pieces you have at the beginning of the game,” he pointed out, lifting the tiny candlestick. “Unconsciously, of course, but you do. It’s an endearing tick, but sufficient to win.”

Amelia threw her cards into the game board, gaping at him in shock.

“I told you,” John sang, folding his newspaper. “You would have been better at Monopoly or Life.”

“I just...” Amelia shook her head, lifting the three cards from the envelope again. “I’ve never lost at this game before.”

“It is easier when it’s only two people,” Sherlock tried to offer but she shook her head.

“No. This is-,” she sat back into the sofa with a sigh. “I’m going to have to think about this. Restrategize.”

“It isn’t chess,” John chuckled.

“No, this is far more serious John,” she looked up at him firmly. “I’m going to beat him.”

“Good luck,” Sherlock mumbled and she whipped her head in his direction.

“I’m going to. And you’re going to eat humble pie, accepting that I, Amelia Ophelia Brenner, am better than you at something,” she announced, hopping to her feet.

“You’re better at painting than I am,” he suggested. “This is a game based on observation and deduction. You can’t win.”

“That’s why my victory will be all the sweeter,” she poked him in the chest with a grin. “Just you wait.”

“When shall I send out the wedding invitations?” John asked the pair. “I picked a lovely periwinkle card stock you’ll love.”

“I think a summer wedding would be nice,” Amelia paused. “Find a little church in the countryside. Wildflowers everywhere.”

“Allergies could be risky,” John replied. “Wouldn’t want to be sneezing on your wedding day.”

“Ah, but I assume you’ll be best man, so I would hope you’d be on hand wut Jaime antihistamines?”

“Of course,” John nodded solemnly. “Assuming Sherlock hasn’t taken them all first.”

“I would have accounted for allergies,” Sherlock piped up. “The insects would be my primary concern.”

“Bees,” Amelia pointed out in agreement. “I’m actually very allergic.”

“So we’re back to allergies,” John said.

“I know you’re allergic,” Sherlock looked at Amelia. “Which is why I renewed your epi-pen after it expired two months ago. I’ll make sure both John and myself have a backup.”

Amelia’s hand went to her chest, eyes wide, with a small “aww”.

“Clearly we’re going to have to bump the date up,” John snickered. “A nice spring wedding?”

“Rain,” both Amelia and Sherlock replied in unison.

“Also periwinkle is nice, but what about a yellow?” Amelia hummed in thought. “Or a tasteful navy with pastel pinks?”

“You just want to cover the tables in peonies,” Sherlock snorted, fishing for his phone after it chirped with a new message.

“Is that so wrong? They’re incredibly good luck for marriages,” she sighed dreamily.

Sherlock ignored the comment, reading over the short message from Mycroft a few times, just to be sure he understood it correctly.

Moriarty turned himself in.

MH

And just like that, the fun was over.

He looked toward Amelia, who was giggling with John over fictional seating arrangements, wrapped-up in Sherlock’s robe.

This was the part he’d been dreading. The game was on, and Amelia was back on the board. This last week being so peaceful for them all. The last tease before things became messy.

Sherlock had no doubt that by the end of this Amelia would know full well what had happened, and that terrified him the most.

~~~

Now this is an open-shut case, guess I should have known from the look on your face. Every bait and switch was a work of art.

Chapter 20

[portlypuppy]

It’s the smell that convinces Greg he has to leave. Sure, Home Base may have had a hip new paint-job since he was last here, and feature a new grazing menu tastefully curated by Heather, but it still smells the same. All the ceviche in the world can’t cover up the familiar smell of stale beer, cheap wine, and soccer-mom perfume, mingled with the scent of fried foods and hard pretzel dust.

He feels a tightness in his chest.

So, it's this, combined with Josh beginning what is clearly going to be a terrible speech that's instantly lapped up by the usual adoring crowd, whic triggers his flight instinct.

It doesn’t not help, also, that he knows Rebecca is still casting him fleeting looks over her shoulder and is not giving Josh and his King’s Speech any of her attention. Something about this dynamic has clearly changed and she said she wanted to catch up with him, so why the hell not now? He walks over to her and begins again.