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jakowskis · 4 days

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Day 23 - Discuss Tosh. Opinions? Favorite moment? Least favorite moment? Any unpopular opinions? Any fun headcanons?

tosh my babygirl my princess light of my life angel darling… shes so good. shes so good 🥺 i love her dearly. she’s so damn underutilized i hate how the show regulates her to a supporting role + only uses her for romantic plots. WACK shes so much more than that. i want a plotline about her cyberterrorism like hello??? i want a plotline about her warped little mind.. i want a plotline about her finally learning spanish ;-; that show did not do her justice and it did not deserve her. i often say torchwood’s characters are too good for the show; tosh is probs the best example of that. no other character gets screwed over as badly as she does by the narrative (not even ianto!) she’s so tragic and lonely i just wanna give her the biggest hug ever.

fav moment… every time she smiles. (or smirks. hrgh. tosh call me.) also every time she geeks out about smth. im tryna think of a specific moment but idk if i have one?? i just love her overall i smile every time she’s on screen she’s my girlie. when i rewatch i might rmr one though

least favorite moment, the absolute only thing i can think of (hell, my only complaint with her as a character other than i wish she’d get over owen cuz bad taste queen pls u deserve sm better) - it’s always bothered me how she goes over to owen’s flat in aditd and just starts babbling about her own problems. she even says something like “you think everything’s about you”, and in that ep it’s like ??? why are they all acting like he’s unjustified being miserable and angry when he's fucking dead?? like they're all so unsympathetic and mean, even tosh, and out of her it's especially weird?? tbh it just strikes me as ooc (+ kind of misogynistic highkey) writing. i mean, by all means, let tosh bitch, she deserves to blow off some steam + esp deserves to be rude to owen tbh fhsdkjfsd, but the way it’s done in that particular moment feels ooc and, like, how men write women as talking too much and never listening lmao u kno what i mean (owen’s tuned out in the actual episode but you can see her full ramble in the original script, on page 23). tosh has never troubled anyone with her issues before, why would she choose now to, and when she knows owen’s struggling? yeah, on second thought, i don’t hold that against her actually, that’s ooc to me fhdkf. thts just the writer being a wiener.

my only unpopular opinions (slash hot takes) are that 1) towen fucking SUCKS get her away from him, and 2) most people like tosh but she’s highkey underappreciated, esp in fanfic, because of fandom racism + misogyny. she’s not bashed like gwen is but she’s ignored completely which is nearly as bad, and a lot of it’s cuz she happens to be in a show with two white men in a gay relationship who are overwhelmingly prioritized 💀 i will never not be petty about the way that ship dwarfs everything else in comparison. also throwing towen into the background of janto is so gross n cheap. if ppl cared abt her they'd do smth more interesting. and it's never well-done either. ugh.

i have a few hcs that are gonna end up in my owento verse (gwen and tosh are prominent characters in it bc i love them, and their relationships w owen and ianto and each other also have value lawl). tbh a lot of em are just things i think they should introduce into their lives to be happier. i want them happy ;-;

she starts coding video games recreationally!! nothing fancy but she rlly enjoys it + also gets into the swing of making little storylines n getting to express herself that way which is good for her. owen playtests shit for her

her and gwen go on spa dates sometimes. they put it on the torchwood credit card

she gets into fish tanks and fish tank care!!! esp like aquarium plants. shrimp and moss balls, that sort of thing. maybe plecos or loaches. she loves it + it’s grounding, which is good for her bc shes otherwise always got her head in her computers yanno. she’ll sit by her tank while she codes her games and the water sounds are calming.

she also sits by it while she studies her spanish books which she does finally do. she doesn’t get around to the piano, though; doesn’t prioritize buying a keyboard. maybe one day (this is a nobody dies au btw so she will in fact eventually get around to it ;-;)

oh she’s autistic have i said that. the fish tanks absolutely become a spin. she has a few we know of from canon - math and computers, obviously, but also history (gbg) and the uk’s rivers (from gooseberry; i think it was just the uk maybe it was europe’s rivers. or the world’s! i don’t remember). she also loves trivia like she knows a fair amount about quite a lot of things + loves accumulating random info

lowkey also. giving her a kitty. i think tosh should have a lil fuzzy kitty to keep her company

well this is smth from my owandy verse but i think it should happen anyway. so it kind of kicks off bc gwen mixes up a blind date (it was gonna be tosh & andy and then owen & a friend of hers, but shes an adhd icon n bungles the invites <3)... tosh ends up with gwen’s friend, who’s straight, but they hit it off and she invites tosh to have drinks or maybe come to a bookclub meet or something with some friends of hers?? point is, tosh makes some casual friends. maybe meets a pretty girl there or smth 👁️ but mainly i want tosh to have girl friends like i think she grew up very lonely i want her to have some normalcy

also sometimes i like tosh x andy maybe they have a little meet cute at a torchwood crime scene or smth fshdkfd. i think they’d be cute and he’d treat her well. she'd babble abt tech stuff and he wouldnt understand a damn word but he'd listen very intently

i also like tosh x ianto for similar reasons. i think it’d be a kind of friends to lovers sitch... they should just be close in general tbh, platonically or not yanno, and in my owandy verse i like the idea of smth kicking off between them i just think theyd be so sweet

she’s a very sleepy drunk and also a lightweight. if the team goes out to drink she’ll get two glasses of smth moderately fruity and then fall asleep against someone’s shoulder it’s very cute (this is just cuz i like the idea of a sleepy tosh 🥺 my baby my baby shes so precious to meee)

#tdot #txt

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ascalonianlightbringer · 1 year

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Last time, Gwen arrived in the Black Citadel with Tybalt, and they managed to make their way through without casualties to anything except the composure and ego of an annoying former acquaintance of Tybalt's.

So they head out of the superstructure of the Citadel and into the village of Smokestead. It's still got the Charr aesthetic, but Gwen can see more sunshine, and to her astonishment, another human not far away—a merchant who looks at her with clear surprise before smiling. Tybalt says he has to talk to someone briefly and starts chatting with another Charr, and Gwen heads over to the merchant.

"I'm Jaspir Rykes," the merchant says. "It's great to see someone without fur."

"I'm Gwen," says Gwen.

The merchant gives a low whistle.

"Don't repeat that one too loudly around here. These Charr and their attitudes are something else. Only reason I put up with 'em is because they're so eager to buy my goods."

Gwen smiles back. In a quiet voice, she says, "I can imagine. Well, there are worse things than taking gold from Charr."

"Plenty," Jaspir says emphatically. "I come from Lion's Arch to trade here. Sure, it's a hop and a skip through the Asura gate, but the point is that most of my buddies back home won't set foot in this place. Too scared."

Gwen glances around at the forbidding metal structures and the Charr soldiers all around, and tries to ignore the twitching between her shoulder blades. "Understandably. But their loss is your gain."

"Sure is. Do you want to look at anything?"

Gwen takes the hint and buys some minor wares despite having very little money at this point. But she's ready to help other humans in Ascalon, especially those following her own ancestors' trade in the face of some very steep obstacles.

Tybalt is still talking, so Gwen stealthily eavesdrops on a sylvari who is babbling about metal!! cities!!! and how it speaks to just how strong the Charr are, to be so at home here!!! Gwen flashes a pleasant smile while basically thinking "fuck that" and rejoins Tybalt, who is wrapping up his own conversation with a scout. At last, they head out to the plains.

Gwen genuinely meant to stay close to Tybalt, but she hesitates as he steps onto the grass. Despite knowing better, it's been hard not to imagine Ascalon as the barren husk from her people's stories. He looks back.

"Are you coming?"

"Of course," Gwen says, but it takes an active exertion of will to force herself to set her foot down on the earth past Smokestead.

This, not the metal monstrosities, feels like Ascalon. Her own ancestors walked here, lived here, plied their trade here, experienced the joys and suffering of ordinary life here. Once, her family had a home. And it was here. She's nearly shaking as she hurries to catch up with Tybalt, and doesn't know if it's excitement at being there, rage at what was brutally taken, or just the general tangled emotions of being in Ascalon. She's blinking rapidly as she looks around at the tall trees and the grass. It's a relief that Tybalt doesn't say much and stays a little ahead of her—perhaps unnecessarily shielding her, but it means she doesn't have to put on a mask for him just yet.

As they continue, they receive some odd looks from various soldiers, but the company of a Charr seems to allay most suspicion. There are some pointed remarks within earshot. Some soldiers are talking near a barn about how they're fighting "the same filth" (Gwen: 🔪) they conquered centuries earlier (that's be news in Ebonhawke!) because they buried!!! Ascalon. Another says the king's men won't stay dead.

The first soldier: The fact that they exist at all is an insult.

Gwen doesn't look forward to fighting her people's ghosts, and she's sorry that they're trapped, but part of her is still like ... huh, good for the ghosts, then.

One soldier in reddish armor is talking about how he's not afraid of ghosts, and another one in more purely metallic-looking garb replies, "You should be."

Gwen represses a smile.

"Ghosts aren't dangerous," the first soldier insists. He glances around and at the sight of Gwen, squares his fairly impressive shoulders. "Especially not human ones."

The other soldier just ignores her. "Wait until dark. If you're still alive at daybreak, we'll see if you still think that way."

As they continue, Gwen hears someone pointedly talking about how the humans ravaged the land for centuries (internally: it was fine before y'all fucking seared it) but they'll reclaim it from the ghosts and have their homeland back (please, as if the Charr didn't steal it themselves in the first place).

She hurries to catch all the way up with Tybalt, who seems to be half avoiding the glances of other Charr, and half trying to guard her from them. But Gwen minds her manners, and strides alongside him as they leave the Gunbreach Hills behind and towards the ruins of the Barradin estate.

Tybalt, the friendliest face by far, looks over at her. "Well, here you are." He gestures broadly at the greenery around them. "What do you think?"

Gwen avoids looking at the ruins and says, "It's very beautiful." Carefully, she adds, "I can see why so many people have wanted to live here." Like Mother and Papa. "You before us, and the grawl before you, and maybe someone else before them. Who knows?"

Tybalt's expression is suddenly hard to read.

"The Priory people, maybe," he says. "But it's nice, yeah. A pity that..."

He doesn't finish, and she doesn't know what he was going to say—whether it was about Ascalonians, or the Priory, or his own dubious position among his people. She doesn't ask.

"Oh, look!" says Gwen, pointing. "There are blueberries here, too! Is it safe to eat them?"

Tybalt, back to his usual self, nearly laughs. "Yes, it's safe. Nobody's going to shoot you over a blueberry."

Cautiously, she takes off a glove and reaches for the berry. It doesn't look any different from in Kryta, but she still nearly shivers as her bare finger touches the leaves and berries of the plant. She tells herself not to show weakness in front of a superior and pops one into her mouth.

"Delicious," she says, and Tybalt does laugh then, and eats a few himself.

As they're making their way further north, approaching Lake Feritas, they see Charr fighting Charr. Gwen's kneejerk response (not aloud) is essentially "some problems solve themselves", but she quickly realizes some of the Charr are Flame Legion, the successors of the architects of the Searing. Her face hardens.

"We'd better help," she says. "Those Flame soldiers don't seem especially competent, but there are a lot of them."

Tybalt looks surprised. "You sure about that?"

She's a little concerned that jumping into open battle might look bad, but shrugs. "We don't want them to get a foothold here, do we? I can't think it'll be too hard with us along, and the Flame Legion aren't my friends or yours."

Also, her sword hand really longs to stab something.

Tybalt hesitates, then says, "Well, if you're sure."

She's rarely fought Charr before and makes mental adjustments as they hurry forwards—the heart's higher, she'll have to aim up, they may not be expecting chaos magic from any source, so hurry and blast it at them before they figure out how it works, remember to block attacks with magic, they're stronger than humans would be. But sure enough, she and Tybalt are much better and are able to clear out the Flame Legion without much trouble.

One of the Charr who was struggling to fight them off says triumphantly, "Well, this area is now Flame proof. Or Flame resistant, at least!" She glances between Gwen and Tybalt. "Didn't expect to see your likes around here," she adds to neither in particular, then looks more seriously at Tybalt. "I'll see to it that the brass is informed of your heroic actions."

He mumbles some kind of thanks, and once Gwen cleans her sword, they're on their way again. They fight more Flame Legion on the way east, and Gwen listens carefully as they pass by two of the legions' headquarters. In the Exterminatus Headquarters, the Iron Legion's base of operations, Tybalt is jumpy but able to excuse their presence with some explanation she doesn't bother listening closely to; she's paying more attention to the people around her. Someone's complaining about ghosts again—after all this time, they're still fighting off Ascalonians, and it's literally the same Ascalonians.

Pity you can't buy ghosts drinks, she thinks.

Tybalt settles down a bit as they keep going, and she looks at him once they're out of earshot.

"Seems like they know you there," she says.

"I've got some acquaintances," says Tybalt. "Not everyone's like my—like old Cornelius, back in the Citadel." He pauses, then blurts out, "This was my legion once."

He seems surprised at himself for saying it. Gwen's a little sorry for him—and sorrier when it strikes her that she's not the only one here without a home, passing through a homeland. Part of her is also a little relieved that she's not the only one troubled enough to let more things slip than they should.

"Cornelius was an ass," she says. "I'm glad you aren't all like that."

He brightens a bit at that. Gwen can't help wondering if he knew it'd be this uncomfortable to go back, for himself as well as her, when he offered to take her here. He could hardly be completely oblivious to that. And if he did know, as hard and painful as it is for her in some ways, it was kind to do this for her. Shockingly kind, really. Gwen studies him, trying to understand what she's missing. How did this legion turn out someone like Tybalt? Was he more like the others once?

"Me too," Tybalt says firmly.

Before they've gone much further, they essentially run right into ghosts, and Gwen is fighting them before she quite knows what's happening. But some of their cries make it clear that they're confused and traumatized about what's really going on and still think it's the days of the invasion. She's intensely sorry for them even as she cuts them down, and clenches her fist after sheathing her swords.

Be at rest, she thinks. At least for a little while.

It's not long afterwards that they encounter their first Separatists, who immediately descend on Tybalt only to look up in astonishment when Gwen blasts them backwards.

"Traitor," one spits.

"You'd know," she snaps back, and Tybalt and Gwen readily fight them off.

She's fought plenty of humans before. But not often other Ascalonians, and there's no satisfaction in it, for all that she dislikes Separatists. She does dislike them a lot, though. Pretty much any Ascalonian gripes with Krytan policy or the crown or the terms of the peace treaty with the Charr are easily dismissed as Separatist talk, so they're a convenient way to silence dissent among others who aren't indiscriminate terrorists. For all that they oppose the establishment, they're some of the most useful tools of it. She wonders if they know, or are even capable of knowing.

"I'm surprised they got so far into Ashford without anyone noticing," she notes.

"Magic, I bet," Tybalt says. "They've got lots of tricky spells and such, and it's not like they'd hesitate to kill anyone who did see them. They've got to have a camp somewhere here, but we—the legions haven't found it yet."

Gwen cleans her sword again. "Magic does have its uses."

"You don't mind fighting your own kind?"

"I've fought plenty of humans," she reminds him, a little disingenuously. "And Separatists are treasonous scum that make the rest of us look bad."

She doesn't say what she means by us; she figures it's pretty obvious that she's not talking about all humans. And she's kept her dislike of Queen Jennah pretty close to her chest, so she doesn't feel the need to tell him about her personal dissent, given the Order's (pragmatically understandable) support for her rule. It's difficult enough that he knows how much she's always disliked Charr, the people who slaughtered her parents and so many of her ancestors and people. Even if she doesn't dislike him particularly, and even if she has no patience for Separatist nonsense, it can't help but put a little distance between them. He's been pretty decent about it, all things considered—more than decent, in fact, by a long ways—but she doesn't want to push him further.

"Thanks for asking, though," she adds. "What's next? I've been hoping to see sunflowers."

They decide to sell the odds and ends they've accumulated, and they're near to Ashford Forum, so they head there and strike bargains with the merchants. Gwen actually gets better deals than she was expecting, and it's a relief to have some money in her pocket again.

It's while they're resting there and talking over the next direction to take that a Charr messenger comes running into the forum. Gwen glances curiously at the messenger, only to stiffen in surprise when the messenger looks around and then, upon seeing Gwen, runs straight towards her.

"Hey—" Tybalt starts to say.

"Human! Is your name—" the messenger says, and looks down at two sealed letters in her hand. Her expression shifts to a slight snarl. "Gwen?"

The forum has gone quiet, and nearly all the Charr in the busy forum are looking her way. A few actually seem nervous, and are peering quickly around, as if Gwen Thackeray's ghost might show up to cut them down at any moment.

Gwen sighs. "Yes. I'm Gwen Velazquez."

"Good. Had a time finding you." The messenger shoves the messages into her hand; they're each closed with a blank seal, and Gwen isn't sure what that means. Has it got something to do with the Order? Or is this about Deborah? Has she lost her all over again, or—but that'd have the seal of the Seraph, wouldn't it? And why would there be two messages?

"Ahem," says the messenger. Gwen looks blankly at her, then remembers the existence of money. Reluctantly, she reaches for her coin purse, only for Tybalt to drop a generous amount of silver into the messenger's hand.

"Thanks," Gwen manages to say as she breaks the seal on one of the messages.

"Yeah, thank you," Tybalt tells the messenger, but Gwen's too distracted to clarify what she meant. "Have—"

Without another word, the messenger lopes off.

"—a nice day!" Tybalt shouts after her.

Inside, the letter is dated over a week earlier, and addressed to Gwen Velazquez, Hero of Shaemoor, Advocate of the Crown of Kryta. She scowls slightly, only for the scowl to deepen as she glances towards the bottom of the letter for the signature.

Your Herald

The hell? She guesses that this is the earlier of the messages and had been intended to reach her sooner, but other than that, she hasn't got the slightest clue. As if someone like her would have her own herald—the very idea is laughable.

Still, she returns to the top and reads it properly.

Greetings,

We have not met, but I have long been a follower of your exploits.

Well, that's not disturbing or anything!

I am a collector of tales of great daring and heroism, and your name has come up increasingly in the stories that have been reported to me. I've spoken with your mentor, Logan Thackeray, and the suggestion was made that I contact you and add your stories to my collection.

Captain Thackeray was a member of an adventuring group known as Destiny's Edge. The were legendary heroes, but went their separate ways about five years ago, for reasons I have yet to discover—none have chosen to share that story with me. If you discover the nature of their separation, I would be most appreciative.

Ridiculous. As if Gwen would betray Logan's secrets to a stranger, even if she had some means of contacting or identifying that stranger.

Thank you for your help in this, and I will get in contact with you in the future, and hope to keep you in touch with the whereabouts of Captain Thackeray and the other members of Destiny's Edge.

Also disturbing! But potentially useful, at least.

Through this I will remain,

Your Herald

Tybalt says nothing as she reads, and at least pretends not to be reading over her shoulder, but rather is whistling slightly as he looks at some merchandise not far away. Without a word, Gwen hands the letter to him, which seems to break the quiet pervading the forum. Everyone goes back to what they were doing, except Tybalt, who quickly scans the letter.

"Interesting," he says. "Might be handy. Definitely creepy."

Despite herself, she smiles. "That one must have gotten to me late. I guess I might as well see what the new one says."

It begins, Hail, mighty hero!

Gwen sighs.

Destiny's Edge was a guild of legend, and it saddens me to hear they no longer wish to be together. However, I have heard through my sources that Eir Stegalkin has made a bee-line for the Catacombs beneath old Ascalon.

At that, she pauses. After the disastrous meeting of Destiny's Edge, Gwen skulked around long enough to hear Caithe and Eir mourning the estrangement of the guild members, and Eir said something about a plan or an idea. But what plan would involve the ancient catacombs here? They're the catacombs of Gwen's and Logan's people, not Eir's.

Maybe Eir's presence here is connected to something else; it's not like Gwen knows her, or much about her. But it seems an odd coincidence.

I don't know why she is going to that haunted ruin, the herald's letter goes on, as it is swamped with human ghosts, victims of the Foefire. More importantly, the Catacombs are in the heart of Ashford, which is now Charr territory—Gwen's fingers tighten on the letter—and Rytlock will not be happy with this particular Norn tromping through his territory.

Thought you might be interested,

Your Herald

Without a word, Gwen hands the second letter to Tybalt.

"Very interesting," he says after reading it.

He doesn't say anything else, and she can imagine he's not going to around this many listening ears. She tucks the letters away and makes sure her coin purse is intact, then he strikes out northeast from the forum and she hurries to keep up.

Once they're safely out of earshot, Tybalt says,

"Our friends and I have been very interested in Destiny's Edge for awhile. They had some peculiar people, sure, but ..."

Gwen very carefully does not smile at Tybalt, least Charr-like Charr ever, calling anyone peculiar.

"...well, effective ones. Once. I'm pretty curious about what Eir would be doing in the human catacombs."

"After they argued in Lion's Arch," says Gwen, "which I'm sure you've heard about, Eir said something about having an idea for bringing them together. This might not be related, but ..."

He gives a decisive nod. "But it might. It'd be good to know what's going on. Whether it's related or not, really. You know, we're not far from the Catacombs here."

Gwen eyes him warily. "You're not thinking of..."

"Only one way to find out what she's up to," he says cheerfully. He sobers slightly. "We can't sneak or trick our way through this one, though. Not with the ghosts. I hear there are are some powerful ones down there, too. Worse than Barradin by far. It's understandable if you're jumpy about them."

Gwen knows the stories of Barradin's heroics in life, and how he stepped aside for Adelbern only for the Searing to shatter Adelbern's mind. She knows Barradin lived to discover his daughter, Althea, had been burned alive by the Charr. She hasn't thought much about what he gets up to in death. But he'd been a noble man and she wishes he could find peace. As for those in the Catacombs, she isn't sure if she knows their stories or not—she knows a lot of the Ascalonian stories, but though it's unjust, nobles' stories get remembered and passed on more. But she bet these other ghosts are suffering, too, whatever their power.

"I'm not afraid," she says. "I'm just not sure our friends will like us barreling in."

"Ah," says Tybalt, lifting his paw, "but we're resting, aren't we? Not running errands for them right now. We can do whatever we like. And if it happens to be useful, well ..."

Against her own judgment, Gwen gives a low laugh.

"Never change, Tybalt," she says, clearly surprising him. "All right. Into the haunted tunnels we go."

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

[Note: most of the non-Tybalt interchanges are taken from canon, though some (like Jaspir's) are slightly altered to account for Gwen's personality/presence. It's my headcanon-fic and I do what I want :D]

#t: greetings friend #h: everyone has a secret #f: lightbringers of the order of whispers #long post #c: gwen velazquez #c: tybalt leftpaw #c: jaspir rykes #c: the herald

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babybatscreationsv2 · 3 years

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Spider-Verse: Predators ch24

Marvel | Starker

Peter Parker is barely keeping it together. Dealing with Gwen Stacy's death, Harry Osborn going MIA, and MJ refusing to take his calls, has the guy feeling seriously run down. Now to top it off, his uncle Ben is facing serious prison time. Fortunately or unfortunately, New York's own Kingpin of Crime, Tony Stark, has offered him a deal to save his uncle. On a positive note, this Kingpin guy is kind of hot. Is it wrong to sleep with a murderous criminal?

Rating: Explicit

Read it on Ao3

The lab was in shambles. Lights hung from the ceiling, bits of metal and glass littered the floor. It was impossible to safely navigate the place without his suit. Even Tony wore his fancy new nanobot tech as he investigated the damage. On a normal day, Peter would be babbling and investigating the swarm of intelligent minibots that covered the man's body, but now he sat, watching the crack in the glass start to grow.

“How long... do you think?” Peter asked.

Tony swiped a hand through his hair. “A few hours as best. Once the glass breaks-”

“I know. We can't keep him in stasis without the chamber. You really don't have another one?”

“I'm sorry, Pete. That alien freak broke everything. There were three others, but they're all broken.There's one we might be able to repair, but I don't think it will be in time.” Broken glass crunched over his feet as he left the tech he was fiddling with to come stand behind Peter. His large metal hands covered his shoulders. “What's your plan when it does break?”

“I don't know,” Peter sighed. “I don't know, Tony...”

Tony kissed the top of his head. “I'm here with you, baby.”

Yes, Peter felt warmer, safer to hear it. He even let his eyes close for a moment and pretend none of this had happened. The problem was that Tony couldn't protect him from this. When the stasis chamber that was containing the half formed Lizard broke, Harry's transformation would begin again. He would be left mindless and destructive. And there was no cure. Tony had been trying for months to find one and never did. They could sedate him, keep him tranquilized, but would it work? There were no guarantees.

“Let's fix it. The other chamber.”

“Okay,” Tony agreed. Peter was admittedly surprised. He expected the man to remind him how much work it would take and how much time and how little time they had. He had expected Tony to insist on putting a bullet in Harry's face the minute they realized that the glass was breaking. Peter had changed something in him after all. He cared a little bit more. Or maybe he just cared about Peter.

They got to work. Half of their time was spent by Tony explaining to him what every little part was for. Peter knew machines well enough, but he wasn't the genius who built his own stasis chamber and there was a lot to learn. More time was spent teaching Peter what to do before they could do anything, than Peter would have liked. After a few hours, he understood well enough what everything was and they settled into a rhythm in their repairs. Most of Peter's work was done at the 3D-printer while Tony fiddled with the machine, but it was a system that worked well enough.

Peter was repairing a broken wire when Tony put down the tools in his hands. His head tilted up toward the ceiling and he sighed.

“What is it?”

“We should just let him out,” he said, looking away at the wall.

“What?” Peter stared. He couldn't be serious. Let the Lizard out?

Tony looked at him. “Murdock wants his blood. You heard him, right? He wanted his alien pal to get the blood from the cooler, but they didn't get it. There's not a single bag or vial missing. If we turn your lizard friend loose then Matt will go after him.”

“We can't do that! He could kill someone.”

“And Matt could kill you! Or your aunt for that matter. I don't know if you've noticed this, but Matthew is a literal fucking ninja. If he wants to slip into Aunty May's house while you're not around, I can't promise you that my people will notice.”

Peter shook his head. He crossed his arms over his chest, glaring at the wall. “Then I'll go home. Until we get him. I should have been home.”

Tony turned his head away and Peter knew that he'd hurt him. It was the obvious thing to do, but Tony could be surprisingly fragile. He needed Peter close. If he stopped coming to the tower it could damage their relationship. He couldn't leave May to die either way. He'd do a lot of things for Tony, but not that. Maybe he'd been naive to think that she was safe all this time.

His spider sense flared up at the back of his neck. There was someone else in the lab. Peter turned, watching, listening. He raised his arm, ready to fire and Tony followed suit. Then a woman entered the room.

Peter recognized her blonde hair and glasses. Betrayal cut at him. He had sort of thought they were allies. Elsa held her hands up in innocence.

“I know you're mad. I get it, but I think we can help you.” Her eyes wandered to Harry, half covered in scales, in his cracked containment chamber.

“Is my security team sleeping? How did you get in here?” Tony said.

“We're good at getting into places we're not supposed to be.”

“Oh yeah? Who's we?” Tony asked. Before Peter could explain, there was Venom rising in a goopy, snake-like form from Elsa's shoulder. “Alright, explain yourself.”

“Murdock betrayed us, too. He helped us once, because he hoped that we would owe him. Except that it didn't go like he planned.”

“You're not making a great case for yourself,” Peter said.

“Yeah, maybe get to the part where we care,” Tony added.

Elsa sighed. “Men,” she huffed. “My other isn't stable. Never was. I created it, but things happened, we bonded too soon. I shouldn't have taken it out of containment until it was ready. Long story short, I needed something to stabilize it. After months of research, my work suggested that something like Spiderman wasn't so different from my symbiote. In theory anyway. I don't know how he found out, but Murdock came. He said that he could get me a sample of Spiderman's blood. If I were willing to kill Spiderman for him.”

Peter heard the whir of Tony's repulsor charging. “Please wait,” Elsa sighed. “You'll only piss them off and we didn't come here to kill you.”

Tony let the charge die, but he kept his arm raised.

“Anyway,” she began again. “He got me the blood and it helped, for a while. Spiderman's blood stabilized Venom and gave them new abilities as well. We were stronger than ever. And then the bond started to break. We got sick.I realized that something in your blood was breaking down our cells. You might have spider-like abilities, but you're not actually a man bonded to a spider. You're still made of human parts. We aren't.We're an amalgamation of two different creatures. Like the Lizard. We need to know what keeps the Lizard's form stable once it bonds to a human body.”

Tony whistled. “That was a lot. You think that up on the cab ride over?”

“It's true!” Elsa shouted. Venom growled.

“Eat him,”it hissed.

“Hush, love,” she said. “Please, Mr. Stark.”

“What is it you want?” Peter asked. He finally lowered his arm and took a step forward hoping to resolve the tension before another fight broke out. All it would take was another hard hit and the glass protecting Harry would shatter. They'd have a whole host of other problems.

Elsa wrapped her arms around herself. Venom nuzzled into her hair. “If we allow Venom to bond with this lizard boy, I'm almost certain that Venom will be able to separate the lizard parts from the human parts and bond with them. We've been practicing. It's possible that it won't work, but if Venom can bond with the Lizard and draw it out from the boy and carry it over in to me it will save the boy from the Lizard and possibly give us a way to stabilize our bond.”

“If that's even possible, it makes sense... Sorta.” Peter shrugged.

Tony sighed. “It's your boyfriend.Your call.”

Peter shot a glare over his shoulder. Then he crossed the dirty floor and he looked at Harry sleeping in his goop. Maybe they could fix the other chamber, maybe they could sedate him if the glass broke too soon, maybe they could eventually engineer a cure, but how long would Harry stay this way? He could wake up an old man. His heart ached. He'd done so much to hurt him already. Maybe he could save him. At least from this. From the first big mistake Spiderman ever made. And maybe he could finally be free of the Lizard himself.

“We'll try it. What are the odds this hurts Harry if it doesn't work?”

Elsa shrugged. “I'm sorry, but no one has ever done anything like this before. He could reject Venom immediately. Venom could make a mistake and separate the wrong cells.The Lizard could do any number of unpredictable things. There's no way of knowing.”

She put a hand on his shoulder. “For what it's worth, I know that my other will do everything possible. We have a stake in this, too.”

If she were telling the truth, she would die if this didn't work. Not just Harry. This could easily go from a cure to a disaster. If they didn't anything try at all, Elsa would still die. Despite having destroyed Tony's lab, she seemed like a decent person who just wanted to live with the slime monster she loved.

“Please,Spiderman,” Venom rumbled.

Peter nodded. “Okay. Let's give it a shot.”

Elsa helped Peter clean off a cot for Harry while Tony went to his computer. It started draining the goop from the chamber. Then they could remove the IV and all the sensors and pull him out. They might not have long before the sedation wore off once the IV was out.

“Do you think we should keep him sedated when we pull him out?” Pete wondered. “He could take someone's head off.”

“It could put Venom out, too,” Elsa frowned. “We'll just have to be careful.”

“I have something that might help, but it won't work forever,” Tony said. He went to the storage along the wall. Half of the cupboards were smashed, but one that was intact unlocked at Tony's touched. “I didn't make them big enough to fit a lizard man, but they'll hold him until he'd fully transformed.” He held up a pair of dense metal handcuffs.

“If all goes to plan, he never will,”Elsa said.

Peter sighed. “Nothing in my life goes to plan.” Still, he pulled open the door and caught Harry as he slipped out. Tony grabbed his legs and together they moved hin onto a cot. Harry groaned in his sleep.

“Clock's ticking,” Tony cautioned.

Elsa stepped up to the bedside. Venom stretched, becoming a long, writhing, stream of goo that moved from Elsa into Harry. The goop seemed to absorb through his skin, disappearing without a trace. Elsa gave a huff of breath. Nothing seemed to change with Harry, but Elsa was visibly anxious. Her shoulders twitched and her eyes were locked on to the spot in Harry's chest when Venom had disappeared to.

“How long do you think?” Peter asked.

She didn't move, didn't look away. “We practiced on rats mostly. It took a few hours. Could be days given the size and complexity of a human/lizard hybrid. And they'll be taking the most possible care.”

Tony eyed the room around them. Peter remembered just how badly it was all falling apart. It was a miracle the building overhead didn't sink down into it. “Elsa, do you have somewhere we can keep them until it's done?”

“I can monitor things from my apartment.” She reached out, her hand going to Harry's arm only to draw back. “I'll call you if anything happens.”

“Good or bad,” Peter agreed.

Cradling Harry's scaly form in webbing, Peter dragged him up the broken elevator shaft. Tony carried Elsa. She seemed distraught and Peter felt for her. He and Tony were codependent enough. He couldn't imagine what it would be like to be separated from a partner who you otherwise shared a body with. It was obvious just how romantically attached they were and how odd was that in the first place? To be in love with the sentient goo you made in a lab.

Elsa lived in one of the cheapest apartments on this side of the city, or any side for that matter. Peter remembered how bad this particular building was from his time looking at apartments with MJ. The place smelled as bad as he remembered. The clutter of old food containers in Elsa's apartment certainly fit in with the aesthetic of the place and there was a faint smell of something dead coming from the overflowing trash can.

Peter tucked Harry into Elsa's bed. He grumbled as he Peter set him down. “Call me if he changes at all. If he moves, if he says something, anything.”

“You got it.” Elsa stood, leaning against the door frame. Her face was twisted with worry. He wanted to assure her that this would work, that everything was going to be fine, but he just didn't know. This was all her research, all her experiment, and yes if it went sideways then it would all be on her. Still, it was her life that was at stake, hers and Harry's. She caught his eye and they shared a look that said it all. She nodded, then he brushed gently passed her.

Tony was toeing at a stack of science magazines that could have been dated years back.

“Ready to head out?”

Peter nodded. He looked over his shoulder and sighed. “I guess so.”

“Sure you don't want to hold your boyfriend's hand until he wakes up?”

Peter shot him a glare. “What's your problem?”

Tony shrugged. “Nothing.”

“Whatever. Let's not do this here.” Peter flipped out of the window and dropped down toward the street. He swung up on a web over the next building then down again. He swung his way up a few blocks, letting the rush of air calm his mind. He had enough on his mind with Harry's life being in danger. He didn't need Tony's jealousy weighing on him. Why had he even bothered to help him if he was going to be a dick about it? Swinging past a window covered in signs for the upcoming mayoral election, it occurred to him that it might not have been about him at all.

Tony was in his office when Peter swung back in through the window. He'd taken off his suit and was fiddling with the sleeve of his under armor. He kept his back turned as Peter came in, but they were going to have it out whether he wanted to or not.

Peter tapped his foot on the floor, debating where to start. “Were you ever actually looking for a cure?”

Tony turned. His expression was insulted. “Was I- of course of I was. Would I have given it to the boy if I found it, though? That's the question you should be asking.”

Peter's jaw clenched and he shook his head. “Why the hell did I ever trust you with this?”

“Because you had no one else,” Tony pointed out. “And because you can trust me.”

“Can I? You were going to use him as leverage against Norman. Why? So you could campaign against him?”

Tony snorted. “I don't need to be mayor, Peter. That's just silly.”

No, Tony was Kingpin and unfortunately that made him more powerful than the mayor. “You were going to get him elected.”

Tony nodded and gestured for him to continue. “And then? What happens next in my genius plan?” He turned away to pour himself a drink.

“And then you control the legal side of the city as much as the underground. Because you have his son. Because if you had a cure you could hold it over him. You wanted to let Harry out so that Norman would owe you everything when you cured him.”

“Well not exactly.” Tony sipped his drink. He leaned back against the table. “I didn't lie to you, Peter. I will never lie to you.” Peter didn't fall for his melting chocolate eyes. “There is no cure. Not yet. By the time we have one, the Lizard will be no more, one way or the other. I was going to let the boy out, let him do some big scary property damage, eat someone's cat, whatever, and then let Osborn know that I know that the Lizard is his son.”

“And he wouldn't want the city to know that. He'd do anything.”

Tony smiled. “Bingo. Now you're thinking like the Kingpin.”

Peter shook his head. “Fuck you,Tony.”

The man rolled his eyes. “I was never going to let anything happen to your boyfriend.”

“He's not my boyfriend! You are!”Peter tugged off his mask and paced the floor with it in his hands.“I wish you would just act like it instead of confusing me with all your jealously immediately after pretending that you're capable of putting all of that aside and helping me when I need you to and I don't get you, Tony-” He looked up, realizing then that Tony had set his drink down to stalk towards him somewhere during his babbling.

There was a dark possessive quality to his eyes. Peter let him crowd him in until he was backed into the wall. “Tell me again,” he rumbled. “Who am I?”

There was so much heat rolling between them it was smothering. Despite that he was barely two inches shorter than Tony, he was leaning over him enough to make him feel small, arms caging him in.

“My boyfriend,” Peter answered.

Tony nodded, a grin threatening to curl his lips. “And what are you?”

“Yours?” Peter said, hoping to appease whatever dark desire was growing in his eyes.

Tony's hand twitched against the wall and he could feel it against his throat without it ever touching him. “My everything.”

“Yours,” he said again, in a daze.There was a tension building between them. When Tony pressed their bodies together, Peter sighed with relief as the tension resolved.This was everything he needed. He let his hands wrap around the back of Tony's neck. He soaked up the press of Tony's hands on his waist. The man buried his face in his neck. There was no kissing or teasing, just warmth and comfort as they resolved their jealousy and hurt without another word. They stayed that way until the press of the wall into his back became uncomfortable and Peter gently pushed Tony back a step.

Tony sighed. “I've been selfish, asking you to come back here all this time while Murdock is out there. He'll recover from his injuries soon. You should be with your aunt.”

Peter pressed his forehead against Tony's. “It's going to kill me to be without you.”

"We can survive anything."

"I'll only be a call away."

Tony grinned. "Don't I know it."

#marvel #starker #spiderverse predators #kingpin!tony #dark!peter #au fic #earth 65

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avengerscompound · 4 years

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The Visitor

The Visitor: A Winterhawk Fanfic

Buy me a ☕ Character Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Clint Barton

Word Count: 1184

Rating: M

Square filled: @winterhawkbingo - West Coast Avengers, @star-spangled-bingo - Clint Barton

Warnings: Mentions of sex, fourth-wall-breaking

Synopsis: Bucky comes to visit Clint on the West Coast. As much as Clint wants things to be perfect, perhaps the headquarters for the West Coast Avengers isn’t the best place for that to happen.

The Visitor

The tub was probably a little small. Clint was a little hunched up, and his legs were wedged firmly against the porcelain, his knees bent a little more than you’d like if you were trying to relax. Not to mention that the tub hadn’t been exactly clean. There was a definite ring around it and the grout had a lot of soap scum build-up. He would be overthinking this whole thing, except for the fact that Bucky was the one jammed in the bath with him.

Clint had thought it would be romantic. He hadn’t seen Bucky in so long and now he was visiting LA and Clint had wanted to make it special. The plan was to meet the kids as quickly as possible, take a long bath together to relax and wash off the plane ride (not to mention clean Bucky’s hair because he never did it himself), then he’d take him out and get In and Out and they could eat it on the Santa Monica Pier.

The first part of the plan had gone okay. Sort of. Kinda. His team had been all over the place. Gwen had been babbling on and on about literal heart eyes and how great the lgtb+ rep in this book is. While Katie kept going on and on about how she couldn't believe how many Bi men she’d ended up having some kind of feelings for. And then when it finally clicked what that meant and Clint had asked her if she had meant him or Bucky, she had shut down completely and turned bright pink. And of course, Quintin had just been Quintin which was unbearable even at his mildest. Not to mention the fucking film crew who kept nagging both he and Bucky about doing the diary room. Thankfully Bucky had that ‘keep talking and you’ll know what your spine tastes like because I’ll reach down your throat and pull it out your mouth’ look that shut them down pretty quick. Clint was pretty sure that they were grilling the team about the nature and length of his and Bucky’s relationship right now.

Bucky’s weight pressed against him, even in the cramped and grimy bath was a kind of heaven. Clint’s lips traced the scarring along the connection between flesh and metal on his lover’s shoulder and then moved up his neck. Bucky leaned forward a little - like he was making room for Clint’s trail to continue over more of his back. Instead, Clint grabbed the cheap plastic measuring jug and poured warm water over Bucky’s head to wet his hair.

“Steve’s really okay with this setup? That team and the film crew?” Bucky asked as Clint made sure he’d wet all of Bucky’s dark locks.

Clint laughed. “You’d know better than me. But of course, he’s not. There’s a futzing film crew following us around.”

“What’s with that?” Bucky asked.

Clint squeezed some shampoo onto his palm and began to work it through Bucky’s hair, making sure to massage his scalp too. He was rewarded but that half moan - half purring sound Bucky made each time Clint ran his fingers over his scalp. “Kate wanted to restart the West Coast Avengers. They wouldn’t fund it. She found a way to fund it.”

Bucky chuckled and shook his head. “I better not end up on TV. I didn’t sign any waiver.”

“I’ll talk to them,” Clint said and kissed Bucky’s neck.

Bucky hummed and leaned back against Clint’s chest. The full weight of his body pressed against Clint’s. It was comforting and felt secure. The same way a weighted blanket did only better because the blanket wouldn’t have sex with you later. “They’re like your kids, huh?” Bucky asked.

“Yes. But you don’t gotta say it.” Clint whined.

Bucky laughed. “Don’t worry. I do it too.”

“Do what?” Clint asked nudging Bucky forward again.

“Find kids and adopt them and then pretend I didn’t actually do that,” Bucky said as Clint started to carefully rinse his hair out.

“Yeah, but these kids are all in their twenties,” Clint said.

“So you don’t have to worry about getting them to school.” Bucky teased.

Clint broke down into laughter. When he finally stopped laughing he finished rinsing Bucky’s hair and carefully applied conditioner to it. Bucky settled back against him and turned his head, nuzzling at Clint’s neck. It was that kind of intimacy that Clint loved but always managed to fuck up somehow. The gentle touch of Bucky’s lips tickled the archer’s skin and sent a shiver right down his spine.

“You know Kate was talking about you, right?” Bucky said.

“Gross, she’s like my kid. Or little sister. Don’t say shit like that.” Clint said.

Bucky sat up and turned to look at him. “Yeah, but she wasn’t always. You didn’t even meet her until she was living on her own and using your name. You know she took the name Hawkeye because she had a big ol’ superhero crush on you, right?”

Clint wrinkled his nose. “Shut up.”

“It’s true. You know it’s true.” Bucky teased. “And who could blame her. Look at you. All tall and handsome with great fuckin’ arms.”

Bucky pressed his lips against Clint’s in a searing kiss, his flesh hand going into the blond’s hair and tugging on it. Clint moaned into Bucky’s lips and wrapped his arms around his waist as the water sloshed over the side of the tub.

God how Clint had missed this. He’d missed the slow build-up it took before Bucky pounced on him. The way Bucky’s scruff tickled his lips. The way it always felt like Bucky was trying to claim him somehow.

The bathroom door burst open suddenly. “I’m sorry! I’m not looking!” Gwen shrieked. “I was trying to hold it.” She swept past the bath and dragged the shower curtain closed over the bath. “Who has even heard of someone needing to pee in fanfiction anyway? I should have been able to hold it forever!”

“Fanfiction?” Bucky asked, looking at Clint, as the two men stayed frozen in the spot while Gwen used the toilet.

“It has to be fanfiction. Who else is gonna write about you two taking a bath for so fucking long? That’s not canon writing!” Gwen babbled.

“What is she even talking about?” Bucky mouthed looking down into Clint’s eyes.

“Who the fuck knows?” Clint mouthed back.

There was a flush of the toilet and then the faucet running. “You guys should probably take this to the bedroom. There’s a line out there. Quintin is talking about suing you both.”

When they heard the closed again, Bucky started laughing. “Your kids are fucking weird, Clint.”

“I know. I know.” Clint huffed flopping back against the back of the tub.

“So how about you rinse my hair out and we take this to the bedroom?” Bucky asked.

Clint smiled and pecked Bucky’s lips. He had planned for them to go get In and Out and eat it on Santa Monica Pier. Maybe that wasn’t going to work out either, but maybe that would be just fine.

#winterhawkbingo #SSB2020 #bucky barnes #clint barton #hawkeye #the winter soldier #winterhawk #bucky barnes x clint barton #winterhawk fanfic #hawkeye fanfic #the winter soldier fanfic #fanfic #fanfiction #the visitor

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toocool2btrue · 3 years

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All you need is Strength, Loyalty and Magic

Chapter Three: The White Lily

The swords clashed against one another and Lancelot took a step back panting heavily as he looked up to meet Arthur’s eyes. The king didn’t look any better, his face was red with exertion but there was fire in his cool blue eyes. Neither of them was ready to give up just yet and hence the fight continued. “I love this,” Gwaine declared, taking a bite of his apple as he watched the training take place from the sidelines. “I know! Both of them are so skilled. I can’t seem to figure out who will win” Merlin whispered from beside him, his eyes keenly following the fight.

“It’s not just that. This whole scene feels like I am watching a scene out of a poem, two men who are in love with the same woman fighting each other. You can practically feel the tension between them” Gwaine giddily stated as Merlin punched his shoulder, “You idiot! I told you that in confidence. Stop announcing it here!” he hissed. Gwaine heartily chuckled, “Ok but still as if it isn't obvious on it’s own. I now understood why I myself never stood a chance, who would want to go against such a handsome man and...Arthur” Gwaine disdainfully stated. “Honestly speaking...he hasn’t got a lot going for him but at least he is the King” Gwaine chuckled and Merlin found himself laughing as well.

“Speaking of which..” Gwaine said, nudging Merlin’s shoulder. “What’s going on between Gwen and Arthur? I have barely seen them together” He added and Merlin’s brows rose up in surprise, he forgot how dangerously observant Gwaine could be. “I don’t know” Merlin replied, shrugging his shoulders. He really hadn’t got the time to notice such things, it had become busier than usual with Arthur’s extra duties as King, his apprenticeship with Gauis and now the nightly hangouts with his friends. Gwen had her hands full as well ever since Arthur had made her the head of the royal household. “They are perhaps too busy with their duties. You should see Arthur at dinner, he can barely keep his eyes open but other than that I am sure everything is just fine” Merlin assured. By the time they turned back to the fight, Arthur had managed to defeat Lancelot but as opposed to what Gwaine had stated, there existed no grave tension among them and Arthur’s eyes glinted with pride at his knight’s progress.

“You are up next, Gwaine!!” Arthur shouted, wiping the sweat off his brow. “Finally!” Gwaine grinned as Merlin handed him his sword. “I will avenge you, dear friend” He said to Lancelot, who slowly walked towards them. Lancelot gave Gwaine a small smile, gratefully accepting the glass of water from Merlin. “Well I already exhausted him so your part will be easy” he cheekily stated, swiftly avoiding Gwaine’s playful punch whilst throwing a wink at Merlin. “Well I think you did great! I was pretty sure Arthur was gonna lose but then again-” Merlin abruptly stopped his babbling when he realized that Lancelot wasn’t even listening. There was a far off look in his eyes and when he followed his best friend’s gaze, he spotted Gwen standing several feet away from the training observing Gwaine and Arthur fight.

“You lost on purpose didn’t you?” Merlin questioned, narrowing his eyes. Lancelot jumped at his accusation, his cheeks flushed for being caught red handed but he still stubbornly shook his head. “No! Arthur’s just fought better than me” he excused, his eyes dancing around the surroundings in effort to avoid Merlin’s gaze. Merlin sighed, deciding to give his hopelessly in love yet devoted to his King friend a break. “So do you think Gwaine will be able to avenge you?” Merlin asked, nudging his shoulder. Lancelot smirked in response, “Well I certainly hope so” ________________________________________

“So you see sister” Morgause grinned, as Lancelot’s face flashed in the crystal ball. “Sir Lancelot is Arthur’s most trusted knight and even one of his closest friends. There is no way Arthur would ever suspect him being the traitor to Camelot” Morgause informed, turning back to Morgana who smiled in agreement. “Even Arthur’s nosy manservant, Merlin is awfully fond of the commoner and would never go against him but..sister your plan has a great flaw to it. Lancelot would never willingly join us and betray Arthur” Morgana protested.

“Who says there will be any will involved?” Morgause smirked. “We will torture him till his mind breaks and then he will become nothing more than a puppet who will do our bidding” she explained. A faint shiver went down Morgana’s spine at Morgause’s cold words. “How will you lure him here?” she questioned and in response Morgause smirked. “If Arthur has Lancelot, that doesn’t we lack when it comes to loyal servants. Dear sister, it's time you meet my most gifted disciple”

“Elaine!” Morgause shouted at the cave’s entrance. “Come inside” she ordered and Morgana’s eyes widened in surprise when a girl around her age stepped inside, she had long strawberry blonde hair which strung into loose curls and captivating dark brown eyes. “My lady, you called for me?” Elaine asked softly, her voice was barely more than a whisper. Morguase nodded, “Dear Elaine, I have finally a mission that is worthy of your talents. Go to Camelot and lure Sir Lancelot to the abandoned castle. We will be waiting for you there”

“I’ll do as you desire” Elaine promised, the determination evident in her eyes as she bowed to Morguase. Morgana could see the pride evident in Morgause’s eyes, who stepped forward and handed Elaine a silver pendant. “This will greatly aid you in your quest now...don’t fail me” Morguase warned with a sudden flick of anger. “I would rather die” came the unwavering reply.

_________________________________________

“You know what’s the best thing about being a knight?” Gwaine asked Elyan as they walked through the markets. Elyan quirked up a brow in amusement as he tried to balance the basket of fresh fruits he had received alongside the other small trinkets. “The honor of fighting alongside your King?” he teased. “No the free gifts!!” Gwaine protested, stealing another red apple from Elyan’s basket. “Hey! you have your own” Elyan reminded, his eyes narrowing towards Gwaine’s own supply.

“If I eat from mine then I’ll run out before midday besides it’s not like you actually like apples” Gwaine reminded him. “I don’t but they are Gwen’s favourite and she will be very happy to see them” Elyan explained. Gwaine slumped in defeat, “Fine keep your fruits. I’ll just go and get Lancelot's share” Gwaine decided, walking towards his other friend who was trying to kindly decline the baker’s offer of freshly baked bread. The knights of Camelot were already adored by the common people but it was no secret that the people held a special regard for those knights who once used to be commoners themselves. Whenever they visited the market on a day off, they were showered with various gifts ranging from food, at times fruits from foreign lands and even materials for clothes. Gwaine and Elyan wholeheartedly accepted each present while Lancelot and Percival were more reluctant in that matter. If by chance, the gift was being given by a fair maiden then Lancelot would kindly refuse to take it without a second thought leaving many young women heartbroken. Today would have been no different if Gwaine didn’t intervene. It all started when the pair was bickering about the fruits, “All I am saying is that I am willing to trade you the apples for your share of strawberries and black berries” Lancelot stated.

Gwaine huffed in annoyance, flicking his hair back. “You didn’t even want to take the fruit basket. Why all the deals now?” Gwaine wondered. “I didn’t know at first that it contained strawberries and blackberries before. Those are Merlin’s favorite” Lancelot informed and Gwaine’s face lit in remembrance. “Well if it’s for Merlin then I am willing to compromise” Gwaine agreed. Lancelot rolled his eyes bringing his basket forward, “How noble of you, Sir Gwaine” he sarcastically stated but before the exchange could take place, the pair was interrupted by a soft cough.

The friends turned around to find a beautiful young woman standing before them. At first the pair parted, making space for her to go pass them but she made no effort to do so. Instead she stood there with a nervous look in her eyes and that's when Gwaine noticed the bouquet of white lilies clutched tightly in her hands. He briefly glanced at his friend who seemed equally enchanted by the maiden before them and even she shyly glanced in Lancelot's direction in return. It was clear for whom the flowers were meant for, "Sir Lancelot.." she finally began, clearing her throat in nervousness. "Please accept these flowers as a token of gratitude for your services" she stated, pushing the bouquet towards him. By now Lancelot was broken from his enchantment and just as he was about to shake his head, Gwaine decided to step in. He had already heard Merlin's theory of Lancelot purposely losing and was tired of seeing his friend in such emotional distress.

"Would you give us a moment?" he interrupted, dragging his friend away. Lancelot felt deeply puzzled by his actions, "What are you doing?" he hissed at Gwaine. "Saving you from making another stupid mistake. Look Lance I know you are noble and all but why the hell do you reject every girl that shows interest in you?" he cried out in frustration.

"You already gave up Gwen for her happiness. What's stopping you from achieving your own? Are you waiting for Gwen? Do you want her to leave the freaking King and come to you?" Gwaine furiously questioned as Lancelot vigorously shook his head. "No I would never dream of that" he sincerely stated as his cheeks turned slightly pink. "Then are you making yourself go through this emotional torture. You literally have one of the most beautiful women I have ever seen, offering you flowers. You go there and accept those flowers!” Gwaine ordered.

“But-” Lancelot began to protest but Gwaine’s glare was enough to shut him up. His friend was only looking after him, Lancelot couldn’t disagree with his logic either, it was a high time that he tried to move on and as he glanced back at the lady, their eyes met and once again Lancelot found himself going brain going blank, all thoughts and worries were erased from his mind and nothing else in the world seemed to matter aside from the fair lady in front of him. “Fine” he agreed, sparingly glancing at Gwaine before walking towards her.

Gwaine him with a wide grin on his face as Lancelot accepted the lilies and then kissed the top of the maiden's hand in gratitude. The maiden blushed furiously, radiating with happiness. After that they talked briefly and Gwaine had to admire his friend's skills, for a guy who was so reluctant a few seconds ago now was quite smoothly able to converse with his admirer. Gwaine made his way to Elyan and Percival who seemed frozen in shock at the sight. “Please don’t tell me this is all part of a dream, I really like my gifts” Elyan groaned. Percival numbly nodded in agreement, He had known Lancelot the longest and yet never seen him act like this before.

Gwaine grinned wider, crossing his arms against his chest. He couldn’t wait to tell Merlin what he had managed to accomplish.

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misunderstoodnotevil · 4 years

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Series 1, episode 3

To begin with, I find it interesting how Pamuk is said to be a Turkish diplomat instead of an Ottoman one (a quick research showed that in Western Europe they did use Ottomans and Turkish alike) and it's quite amusing (to me) that an actor of Greek descent played the Turkish character.

Let's talk about the episode now, This is where you actually understand that there's not going to be any consistent characterisation of Thomas here. Who has been the one to go against authority so far (shown as a bad thing because how dare he?)? O'Brien and Thomas. Who's the one sneaking behind Gwen's back to bring her typewriter in the kitchen and rat her to Carson and Hughes? O'Brien. Who tries to take Gwen's side? William! What does Thomas reply to the perfectly logical "Why shouldn't Gwen have a typewriter if she wants one?". "Mind your own business." Yes, that's the same Thomas who two episodes previously was proclaiming he didn't want to be a footman any more. We learn servants have to right to privacy, courtesy of Ms. Hughes. Anna, Mr. Bates and William come as the good guys. Everyone else? Not so much. Of course, some are forgiven because they are the good guys. I won't even start with O'Brien's "What's wrong with being in service?" and what follows. Don't get me wrong, I enjoy a villain just as much as the next girl, but -just like Thomas- this is the woman who was humiliated by Cora and Ms. Hughes in the previous episode, who claimed there was no real friendship among anyone "in service". Is this her way of taking her revenge on someone of a lower status than her? As a writer, I always try to find the motivation behind every person's actions. And "yes, she/he is the big bad meanie" sometimes doesn't cut it.

[Matthew is quite taken by Mary. Edith's attempts to seduce him are fruitless. Mary doesn't know which suitor to choose from. Except Matthew. Clearly, he's beneath her.]

Enter Kemal Pamuk. An attaché at the Turkish embassy (read Ottoman Embassy). He's a son of one of the sultan's ministers and he's in England for the Albanian talks. The first time Mary sees him it's like she's never seen a man before. We first see him in a hunting party, where

Thomas carries the tray of food. Dogs seem to want some. If Thomas could get away with it, he'd prefer to sit down and eat the food with the dogs, I think.

* "Is that one mine?" Once again, from the reaction of the participants the audience gets to conclusions; 1. Pamuk is a handsome dude. 2. Mary likes him. 3. Carson wonders if it's alright for "Pamuk to be Thomas"'. 4. Gwen thinks he doesn't look like any Turkish (I wonder how many Turks she knows). 5. Anna thinks he's beautiful. And Thomas knows every little thing that crosses their minds.

[So if you - the viewer- don't think Pamuk is handsome there's something wrong with you. (In later episodes, they try to convince the viewer Lavinia is not beautiful, which, in a way, is even funnier, IMO. But that's for another time)]

Robert calls Pamuk "a treat for the ladies" and "gorgeous Turk". Objectification at its finest (kidding).

In case you wonder why Pamuk doesn't have a valet, it is because his valet remained in London because he doesn't know English, In the meantime, in Pamuk's English there is not the slightest accent. Like, not even a little to show that the guy is a foreigner. But his valet doesn't know English. Why, but because Thomas has to become his valet.

Robert hopes Thomas doesn't mind "helping" Pamuk. "Oh, you know Thomas, milord. He has to have a grumble, but I gather he cheered up when he saw the gentleman.' For one thing, what gentleman? For another, what the bloody hell? "He cheered up when he saw the gentleman"? By now, we, they and the whole world knows Thomas is homosexual. In the closet, but everyone knows. (Except Daisy, because she's what? 13?)

Now, can I say that Thomas is an idiot? Why, yes I can. And Bates' witty remark foreshadows the next scene. Because why not? The epitome of amazing writing!

So, while we are all here wondering what "Turkish culture" is (eunuchs protecting the Sultan's harem? the taboo of homosexuality? the unquestionable eroticism of the hammams?) and why Thomas seems to be so interested in it, Pamuk leads him on, because Pamuk as an aristocrat is a clever bastard and Thomas as the servant (and anachronistically, let's call him gay), is an idiot, who just has to make a move at him so Pamuk can blackmails him to take him to Mary's room and have the story progress. Or it could be that Thomas' experience is solely the Duke and he's as subtle as a thirsty elephant.

As I wrote when I started this, Thomas' sexuality twice now, puts at risk the inhabitants of Downton Abbey. His sexuality is shown as something that leaves him weak and easily taken advantage of. And because it's Thomas (the de facto antagonist by now), it's not exactly a good thing, is it?

"That will teach you to believe what the English say about foreigners. I ought to report you." Pamuk pretended he didn't know how to fix his bowtie, we don't know why he left his valet in London, he was friendly enough and held small talk with Thomas about "Turkish culture". It's as if he [gasp] knew about Thomas' sexuality from before.

This is again where I want to mention that while Thomas is Pamuk’s valet and attempts to flirt with him he seems smaller in heigh than Pamuk, but when he’s advance is denied and is humiliated by Pamuk, he’s in his actual height and taller than Pamuk, despite the fact he seems blank and numb.

Later on, as Robert talks about Mary and her suitors he claims "no one's sensible at her age. Nor should they be. That's our role." I think we can assume Thomas and Mary are roughly the same age. But doesn't the same apply to him too?

Anyway, the only redeeming part in his involvement in Pamuk's seduction of Mary is that he saw her following Pamuk out of the room. If even that. Then again, it had to happen so Mary's story to go forward. Does it change anything for Thomas? He's one of the three people involved. Pamuk dies, Mary has to face the consequences of it for the next two seasons (at least). What about Thomas? What does he learn from this? To stay away from male aristocrats, and not make a move at men until he's certain his affection is reciprocated? Stay away from men in general?

When Anna helped Mary moving the body she considered who they could ask for help. Bates is out of the question, for obvious reasons and "William can't keep a secret and Thomas wouldn't try to." I'm almost looking forward to snarky for no reason Thomas we'll have plenty in the future. Because so far, this second hand embarrassment is nerve breaking.

And, then it's Thomas of course who finds Pamuk dead. Which is followed by some comments about his character. Later on, Robert discusses with Carson about how the maids took the news of Pamuk's death and he says [and I quote] "Don't let the footmen be too coarse in front of them. Thomas likes to show off, but we must have a care for feminine sensibilities. They are finer and more fragile than our own." I am thinking back and try to remember if there was ever any positive comment about Thomas. The answer is no.

I have to be honest here, the first time, some 9 years ago this was the episode I stopped watching Downton Abbey, which is a decision I now regret because I missed watching and being part of the discussion when it was new and exciting. Alas...

"I'll be asking the same question later, so you better have an answer ready."

While Thomas smirks at Ms. O'Brien when she says that, it does make me wonder the kind of relationship they have. "you better have an answer ready" seems to be having an "or else" missing there. So when he does share the story with her the fact that "he doesn't want to get in trouble over that" means that he wants to keep it a secret, both his own involvement and the whole dark affair. Right?

PS I applaud Rob James-Collier for giving an extraordinary depth (and beauty) in a so far one dimensional character.

PS 2 As my lack of knowledge is vast & my horizons are narrow (quoting Jarvis Cocker is a favourite pastime) if anyone can provide info as to what Thomas was babbling about Turkish culture, I will appreciate it.

#Downton Abbey #Thomas Barrow #noteviltexts #1x3 Thomas analysis #Kind of... An attempt #DA watching

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doctortreklock · 4 years

Text

Pieces out of Puzzle Pictures - December 19, 2019

Part of my Resolution19. Read it on AO3.

Prompt: Rings that were Too Small for Fingers (x)

December is a month of remixes and sequels!!!

Fandom: Merlin

Title: “Hector the Collector” by Shel Silverstein

Words: 3961

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Gwaine found Merlin in the pub about three hours after Arthur had thrown him out of his chambers in frustration. Arthur was frustrated because he was somehow married to Merlin of all people. Merlin was frustrated because Arthur seemed to think it was all his fault.

So, yeah. Pub.

And not just any pub, but his favorite pub. The bestest pub in all of Camelot. Because they got so many knights and lords through their doors that they didn't care that he was the Court Sorcerer. They didn't care who he was at all. Not like Arthur did.

"Uh-huh," Gwaine agreed.

Merlin figured he'd probably been babbling out loud a little.

"Yep!" Gwaine said cheerfully. "Now, I'm all for drinking, you know that, Merlin, but you're not usually so far in your cups." He took a deep swig of his own glass of ale. "Tell me what's wrong."

"I'm married to Arthur," Merlin told his glass miserably.

Gwaine slapped him heartily on the back and Merlin almost fell off his stool. "Finally! Hey!" he called to the barkeeper. "A round for everyone; my friend just got married!" A loud chorus of cheers echoed around the pub.

Merlin dropped his head on the table in resignation.

If anyone asked, the first person Merlin told was his mother. Well, maybe Gaius. But really. His mother.

Hunith was in town, after all. Ealdor had been hard on her after Merlin left, even with the other villagers looking out for her. And with Cenred's constant, overbearing taxation... Well, when her son landed a cushy job at court against all odds, it made sense to pack up the house and move into chambers in Camelot where she could be nearer to her dear son and her brother.

Arthur had promoted her to head of the household - likely out of self-defense - and Hunith had settled quickly into her new role as matriarch and overlord to all the various servants who worked within the castle.

Merlin knew right where to find her. As he descended the castle, he could hear familiar humming. The melody led him to the kitchens, where Hunith was holding court with Cook and a few of the serving girls.

He leaned against the doorway and watched with a grin as his mother dropped the last few ingredients into a pot of broth. The rich smell transported him back to two dozen winters in Ealdor, where the wind would howl outside the walls and rattle the window panes, but their house was warm and snug and smelled of home. It seemed a little out of place, considering the August heat, but Merlin knew he would treasure it come November.

Cook caught sight of him first. Merlin could almost see the "dratted boy" forming on her lips before she remembered his promotion. "My lord," she said instead, inclining her head the bare minimum required.

"Cook!" he greeted her cheerfully in reply.

At their words, Hunith looked up from her soup, music halting as she said "Merlin, what a surprise! Is there anything you need?"

Merlin laughed and ducked his head. "No, mother, I'm fine. I, uh," he hesitated. "I would like to speak with you, if you've got time."

"I've got plenty of time," she said. "The broth just needs to simmer for a few hours. Theresa," she continued, turning to Cook, "would you mind keeping an eye on this for me?"

"Not at all," Cook said, while Merlin was mouthing 'Theresa' to himself.

"Thank you ever so much." Hunith wiped her hands on her apron. "Now, Merlin. What was it you wanted to speak to me about?"

"Um. Well it's...uh," Merlin stammered. "Can we go somewhere else?"

"Of course," Hunith said, but Merlin could hear her surprise. There was little he had to say that wouldn't make it to the kitchen staff eventually, and both of them knew that. Nevertheless, she followed as Merlin led her through the castle to a room he knew was both empty and off the beaten path, reducing the number of curious eavesdroppers they were likely to have.

"What's this all about, Merlin?" Hunith asked warily as he shut the door behind them.

"Well..." Merlin leaned back against the door. He took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and let it all out at once. "Arthur and I got married."

There was silence.

He chanced a peek to see Hunith still standing there, hands over her mouth and eyes watering.

He cringed. "Sor--" Merlin started, but before he could finish his apology, Hunith had moved, throwing her arms around him.

"Oh, Merlin! I'm so happy for you!"

Merlin let out a loud exhale and embraced his mother back. "Oh thank gods," he said weakly. "I thought you'd be mad."

"Mad?" she exclaimed, pulling back so she could see him properly. "Why would I be mad? My boy's getting married! I thought there was something between you and Arthur," she told him. "I knew it!"

"Um, we're kind of already married?" he chanced. "Remember Midsummer's?"

"Oh!" she exclaimed. "A Druidic wedding? That's so thoughtful of Arthur, considering your, well, heritage." She reached up to smooth a piece of Merlin's hair behind his ear. "I just do wish I could have been there."

"Sorry," Merlin said, hoping this was a more fitting moment for an apology. His surprise wedding and eternal marriage just seemed like the sort of thing he should have to apologize to someone for.

"Don't be," she told him. "I'm just glad you're happy. You are happy, right, Merlin?" And now she looked worried.

Any protests Merlin had about his marriage being a sham caused by accidental magic died unspoken. "Of course, mother," he said, and it was barely forced, his smile only slightly too wide to be real. "Arthur and I are both very happy."

Hunith smiled, and Merlin knew she'd believed him.

"Do you remember when we were-- No, no, that won't do. Er. When two men who hadn't previously considered-- No, that's worse. How about, Weddings, huh? Who needs 'em?" Arthur gave a full-body sigh and flopped back on his overly large bed. "No, no," he muttered to himself. "That won't do at all."

Before he could compose himself, there was a knock on his door. Arthur knew this was it.

He pulled himself off the bed, straightened his tunic, and opened the door. "Lancelot, Gwen, thank you very much for stopping by." He stepped back to let them inside and shut the door again behind them.

"Of course, Arthur," Gwen told him warmly. "Anytime you ask."

"Anytime," Lancelot echoed from a half-step behind Gwen. Arthur knew that despite giving his blessing, Lancelot still wasn't quite comfortable around his king, who happened to also be his wife's former betrothed. He hoped this conversation might put any fears to rest for good.

"Er," he opened with. "Lancelot, Guinevere," he continued. Arthur hesitated, then decided to just go for it and see what he said. Nothing could be worse that what he had practiced. "We were going to get married," he blurted, then froze.

Gwen and Lancelot froze as well, wide-eyed, and Arthur could tell Lancelot was not happy with the current course of the conversation.

"And then we weren't!" he finished hastily. "And that's a good thing!" Honestly, at this point he'd swear Merlin could have made less of a complete hash of this conversation. "Because you two are very good together!" He cringed.

Now Gwen just seemed amused and Lancelot was looking reassured, if a tad convinced his monarch was completely insane, which was understandable. Arthur himself was beginning to think he was a little mad.

"Er. This conversation isn't going the way I'd hoped," he admitted.

"It doesn't seem like it, no," Gwen said diplomatically. She would have made an excellent queen, Arthur thought, not for the first time. "Why don't we all take a seat over there and you can try again from the top," she offered.

Arthur thankfully accepted and they decamped to the ornamental couches by the fireplace.

Once they were settled, he took a deep breath. "The thing is..." He hesitated. This was the first time he was really saying it aloud, and it felt like if he never told anyone, it couldn't possibly be true. But Merlin said it was, and magic had strange rules and Merlin knew magic and Arthur trusted him about magic.

He closed his eyes and just said it. "Merlin and I are married." He continued quickly before they could interrupt with the questions he could see forming. "It was a Druidic ritual, we didn't realize at the time. It was a huge coincidence, really, and those sorts of things should come with warning labels--" Arthur cut himself off before he could start rambling like Merlin. "We seem to have become married," he said carefully. "And it doesn't seem reversible."

There was a moment of silence before Gwen clarified, "You didn't mean to get married to Merlin?"

"No!" Arthur exclaimed. "Not at all." He stood abruptly and ran a hand through his hair in frustration. "I mean, Merlin's alright," he admitted reluctantly to the fireplace. "But he's not...I mean...he's Merlin."

"Exactly," Gwen told him gently. "He's Merlin."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Arthur snapped, rounding on them.

"She means that he is Merlin," Lancelot said quietly. "And Merlin has his own rules."

"What are you talking about?" Arthur asked him, frustration still clinging to his voice.

"You have never treated him like a servant," Lancelot pointed out. "And you have never treated him like a knight. You treat your friends differently as well." He shrugged. "He is Merlin."

Arthur sank back into his seat. "He's Merlin," he conceded. "He doesn't really follow normal rules of logic, does he? Actually," Arthur realized, "I'm a bit surprised he hasn't been accidentally married before."

"Maybe he was waiting for the right person," Gwen said pointedly. Before Arthur could ask what she meant by that, she reached out and took one of his hands in hers. "Congratulations, Arthur, really," she told him sincerely. "Aside from Lancelot, I could not imagine two men who would be better husbands than you and Merlin."

Lancelot nodded his agreement. "There could be no better spouse than Guinevere," he told Arthur, "but if there were, it would be Merlin or yourself."

"Thanks," Arthur paused. "I think."

The castle of Camelot held many secrets in her depths. Some, like the Great Dragon Kilgharrah, had been discovered. Others had not, and could only be imagined from legend and myth.

One was well-known, and regularly received visitors...and new tenants.

The crypt beneath the castle housed dozens of generations of Arthur's family. 'The Pendragon Dynasty' his mother once quoted. The rows and rows of stone sarcophagi gave the cold room an ominous finality. Arthur had been there once, as a boy, when his father's younger brother had died. He hadn't visited after that until they buried his father.

In the light of Arthur's torch, he could make out only the first few stone tombs in any direction, creating the illusion that the room was infinite, and filled with death. A shiver ran down his spine and Arthur reminded himself sternly that he left the door to the crypt propped open with a torch burning to show the way. He did not need to look back and check. He was the king of Camelot.

He glanced anyway.

The light was still burning cheerily in the doorway. Arthur absolutely did not sigh in relief as he turned back to the crypt. The stone tombs nearest him were blank and empty. He knew that one day, he would be buried here, shut beneath a stone slab and locked under his castle. The thought was enough to make his breathing ragged, so he turned the thought aside and progressed steadily through the rows of identical lithic coffins.

He had once thought to be entombed here beside Gwen. Now he supposed he would have Merlin. The thought was oddly comforting.

Finally, he stopped, just past the last blank tombs. He was standing in front of the most recent graves. Uther Pendragon read one side and Ygraine de Bois Pendragon listed the other. Beneath their names were their dates of death and birth and his father's years of rule. There was already dust settled on the surface of their shared tomb.

He stood in front of his parents and felt the same way he did at his coronation: daunted. He cleared his throat. The sound was muffled in the pressing darkness and thick layers of dust. "Father," he greeted, "Mother."

He imagined for a moment what it might have been like to stand before them in person and tell them his news. He imagined his mother's delight. He imagined his father's fury. While his mother's reaction was fully fictitious, his father's was all too easy to imagine. It wasn't better that he had to tell them like this, but it was certainly easier.

"I've gotten married," he told them. "I'm a husband now. And," he hesitated, but their reactions couldn't hurt him now, "I have a husband." The words were awkward on his tongue. "It's Merlin," he said. "I'm married to Merlin." And those words were starting to make sense with enough repetition, starting to mean something.

"Father," Arthur continued, address his next words to the left side of the tomb. "I can't imagine that you would have approved. You didn't like Merlin when he was my manservant, never mind that you gave him to me." He paused. He knew Merlin would have been defiant, and that made him smirk a little. "Now that he's Court Sorcerer, I imagine you'd like him even less.

"Mother." He turned toward the other side, imagining he was likewise ignoring his father's blistering response. "I think you would have loved him," Arthur told her honestly. "He's clever and ridiculous and just when you think he can't be serious to save his life, he turns around and says the wisest thing you've ever heard," he told his mother, in the deep depths of Camelot's crypt. "He makes me a better man and a better king."

And over the sound of his father's imaginary rant, Arthur could almost hear his mother's voice. I'm proud of you.

Merlin didn't exactly mean for Gaius to be the last person that he told. Gwaine had just happened to be there. And then there was his mother, and then it turned out Arthur had told Gwen and Lancelot already, which was probably for the best, considering. But that just meant that when he'd told them again, he'd only gotten smiles and knowing looks.

So yeah, Gaius was the last person Merlin told. Oops?

"And what have you been up to these days?" Gaius asked him over a bowl of stew. Since his promotion, Merlin had moved out of Gaius's back room to his own chambers in one of the castle's towers, which Gwaine had absolutely not taken to calling the Wizard's Tower. Because that would be inaccurate, and Merlin had told him that. Repeatedly. So now he came down a few nights a week for dinner instead, usually with Hunith, but she was helping a new servant settle in that night and couldn't make it, so it was just Merlin and Gaius.

"Well, I'm trying to figure out how easy it would be to divert some of Arthur's linens to my tower," Merlin told him. "I mean, I don't think we'll be sharing a bed soon, but I don't need the feather mattress, just a few thick woolen blankets. And maybe a couple goose-down pillows," he added, putting another spoonful of stew in his mouth and completely missing Gaius's confusion.

"What are you talking about, my boy?" Gaius asked in exasperation.

"It's got to have some perks, doesn't it?" Merlin responded, fishing the last few bits of meat out of his bowl.

"What does, Merlin?"

And now Merlin looked up at him and had a Realization. "Oh, uh, Gaius," Merlin said nervously. "Didn't you hear? I'm married to Arthur." Then he quickly put a spoonful of stew in his mouth so he wouldn't have to say anything else.

"You're what?" Gaius put his spoon down entirely. "When was this?"

Merlin swallowed. "Um, Midsummer's?" he said, and it really shouldn't have been that much of a question.

"The Druids," Gaius inferred. "Well, this is surprising, but I can't say it's entirely unexpected."

Merlin dropped his spoon, splashing broth across the inside of his bowl. "Not unexpected?" he echoed.

"Oh, Merlin," Gaius told him fondly. "You did drink poison for the boy, you know. On top of everything else," he said pointedly. "And don't think I don't know exactly how many times you almost died for him."

"But he's Arthur," Merlin protested. "I couldn't let him die."

"Exactly," Gaius said, with the smug satisfaction of someone who just made an argument they know can't be disputed.

"What?" Merlin asked, beginning to feel like he was the one in this conversation who was lost.

Gaius just gave him a sort of fond, pitying look. "You'll figure it out when you're older."

Merlin just pushed away his stew bowl and dropped his elbows to the table before burying his head in his arms. He was so done with this conversation, he thought sourly as Gaius chuckled.

"Why have you summoned me here, young warlock?" Kilgharrah's wingspan blotted out the stars for a moment before he folded them around himself and settled into the clearing Merlin had called him to.

Merlin scowled. "First off, I'm not that young anymore. Second--"

Kilgharrah laughed. "Next to me, Merlin, you will always be young."

Merlin's scowl deepened. "Second," he continued pointedly, "There was something I wanted to tell you."

"What is it?" Kilgharrah asked, amusement running through his words.

"There was a Druidic ritual. On--"

"Midsummer's, yes."

"How...how did you know that?"

"Every magical creature knew about that, Merlin. When the Once and Future King and Emrys become bonded, everyone knows."

Merlin paused. "So you already know everything."

"Of course," Kilgharrah said. "Did I not tell you that you were two sides of the same coin? This was foretold, young warlock."

"I'm not talking to you anymore," Merlin informed him before turning on his heel and walking out of the clearing, muttering under his breath about dragons and old magic.

Kilgharrah's laughter just echoed around him.

Bonus:

A high-pitched giggle broke through the din and Merlin had to force his fingers to relax enough to set down his glass without shattering it. It was Arthur's thirtieth birthday and all the neighboring kingdoms had sent their unwed princesses and noble ladies to the festivities in the hopes of capturing the king's attention. It was October, three months since Midsummer's and two months and change since Arthur and Merlin realized what had happened on Midsummer's. And everyone still considered Arthur to be the most eligible bachelor in Britain.

Merlin ground his teeth together as another shrill squeal rose over the general cacophony of the room. From two seats down, Gwen shot him a sympathetic look. Almost everyone, he amended. There were a handful who knew, those who had been personally told by one of the pair. Everyone else, Merlin winced as a laugh reached truly glass-shattering pitch, had no clue.

He glared down the other end of the table. Two of Bayard's daughters had come down from Mercia and were attempting to monopolize Arthur. They were the source of the unpleasant disruptions. A third woman seated nearer to Arthur was attempting a more civilized conversation with him. She was from Mora, if he remembered correctly, a distant kingdom, thus affording its emissaries higher status.

Merlin scowled at his beans and tried not to hate her for bumping him from his customary seat directly to Arthur's right. It was only temporary. Once the party was over, they would all leave and Merlin could have his chair back. Not if he marries one of them, a voice said quietly in the back of his mind. Then it's permanent.

Merlin firmly told the voice to shove off.

He looked down the table again and met Arthur's eyes. To anyone else, Arthur appeared courteous and interested, the very picture of a dashing young king. To Merlin's eyes, he looked irritated and stressed. Merlin could read the plea for rescue in his eyes.

Well, Merlin wasn't going to sit here and watch. No. He was the godsdamn Court Sorcerer and he was going to rescue his king. Again.

Merlin stood up with a huff and started walking down the table to Arthur, past a half-dozen heiresses and duchesses. Who did they think they were? Coming into Camelot with their name and their wealth and hoping to take home a crown? Arthur wasn't shallow; not unless he was enchanted.

One of Bayard's daughters, the one seated directly on Arthur's left, reached over to pull him from his conversation, putting her hand on his arm.

How dare she? Merlin thought in a rage, barely keeping his instinctive magic in check. She shouldn't be touching him like that. Merlin should be the only person-- Oh.

Merlin stopped dead two chairs away from Arthur, his magic similarly halted in astonishment. He was peripherally aware of Arthur's concern, hidden behind a smile, and the curious whispers of the eligible ladies he was standing behind. But none of it mattered, because he...

Merlin abruptly realized what Gaius had been trying to tell him. Why his mother hadn't been surprised. What Gwen and Lancelot's knowing looks had been about. He'd bet Arthur's kingdom that if he were to look behind him, he'd see the same look on Gwen now.

And suddenly Merlin knew exactly what he had to do.

He locked eyes on Arthur, stepped forward, put his hands on either side of Arthur's face, bent down, and kissed him. On the mouth. In front of the entire court and representatives from several kingdoms besides.

The room immediately fell silent. Then Merlin couldn't tell if there were whispers or if it was just the buzzing in his ears.

Arthur's lips were rough and warm and, after a moment, opened easily under his.

When he pulled back, Arthur looked at him as if he was seeing him for the first time, which shouldn't have been possible, because Merlin could swear Arthur had looked at him liked that before, the first time Merlin did magic in front of him, and surely at some point Arthur would have seen all of him. He wasn't sure what Arthur saw when he looked at Merlin, but he figured it was probably terror or exhilaration. And maybe something like love.

"Pardon me," the princess from Mora said faintly, and Merlin magnanimously decided that he liked her.

"Excuse me," Arthur told her politely, standing up and taking Merlin's hand as if he'd been doing it for years. "It appears I have some unfinished business with my husband."

Arthur looked radiant as he said it, and Merlin knew his own grin was in danger of splitting his face. His magic bubbled excitedly inside him, and he wanted to laugh in joy.

"Don't stay on my account," she said politely. Bayard's daughters seemed to have fallen into a stunned silence. They would definitely be inviting Mora's princess back.

"C'mon, Merlin," Arthur said and tugged him along behind him to the nearest door.

As soon as the door shut behind them, Arthur pushed him back against it and kissed him again. Through the thick planking, Merlin could hear the hall burst back into riotous noise, and he grinned into the kiss.

Next Midsummer's, he and Arthur were totally hanging out with the Druids again.

#Resolution19 #Remixes and Sequels #Merlin #Merthur #Merlin x Arthur #okay #so i know this is late #but i have excuses!#i moved last week #and started new job #and found apartment this week #and wrote my yuletide last weekend #which was most of it tbh

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magiefish · 5 years

Text

The Ink Demonth Day 21-Rituals

(WARNING: Contains vauge period typical racism and sexism. And sort of body horror.)

Porter MacGibbon had not had a very good day so far. It was summer, so he was boiling up, and a deadline was peering it’s ugly head around the corner. Lambert had been making them work twice as hard and that incompetent janitor had spilt ink all over his frames. He was in the process of redrawing them, hunched over and teeth gritted. He barely noticed the door opening and closing.

“Mr MacGibbon”, A sharp voice cut into his ears.

He laid down his pen and moved his chair to face the person in question.

“Ah, Albert,'' He said without an ounce of warmth, “What are you doing here today? Shouldn’t you be making a ruckus with those pipes downstairs?”

Albert narrowed his eyes and adjusted his GENT branded cap.

“Mr Drew wants to see you after work.”, Porter’s eyes practically bulged out of their sockets at what he said. Albert smirked and continued, “You’re expected to be in Administration at 9:20. Don’t be late.”

He left the office without saying another word. Porter turned back to his work in a daze. Mr Drew wanted to see him after work? Why? He couldn’t tell if this was a good or bad thing. Mr Drew was known for being exceptionally weird. He had only seen him around, but his presence was intimidating enough. What if he had to speak to him? More sweat dripped down his face. He shook the thoughts from his head. He wouldn’t get fired. The studio needed animators. All he had to do was go meet him, talk, then go home to Daisy. Simple. And with that thought, he breathed a sigh of relief and continued drawing.

——

Daisy Adiele was sitting in the corner while the men did all the work. As usual. They were attempting to make some sounds with a big box while she sat at a desk playing Secretary. Not like anyone ever needed a secretary in Sound Design. But, it was pleasant enough. She was close to Porter and the paper stash so she could entertain herself at the very least. She perked us at footsteps passing the door before sinking back down again. She continued to scribble on her piece of paper until one of the men told her stop because it would apparently ruin the sound. It was at this point that Daisy had had enough. She got up, making her chair scrape as noisily as possible along the ground and ran from the room before anyone could stop her. She speed walked toward the lift. All she wanted to do was go to the roof. It was sunny and cool and free on the roof, unlike these claustrophobic halls. She was just about to press the button, when the doors slid open. It was as if they had sensed her presence. And standing in the lift, body as stiff as a plank of yellowed wood, was Murray Hill. Saffron had only heard stories of this man but she could tell it was him. Scruffy hair, dark shadows and a generally uncomfortable vibe. He looked her up and down and gave her a way too wide smile.

“Ah, Adiele, just who I wanted to see.”

Daisy wanted nothing more than to shove past him and get in the lift but knew it wouldn’t end well. So, years of pretend smiling at men finally came in handy.

“Why would you want to see me Mr Hill? If I recall, you’re busy building the new machine downstairs.”

“Ah, well my dear, Mr Lawrence wants to see you in Administration after work.”

She had often met with him to pass messages to Sound Design but this was different. They always met in his office, and he wasn’t someone to trudge down multiple levels just to talk. Plus, why send Murray with the message? She was pretty sure they only ever interacted to yell about noise levels. Something about it was just...off. Her eyes looked puzzled but she continued to smile.

“What for?”, She asked, feigning naivety.

Murray paused. Just for a second, but it was enough to tell he was lying through his teeth with what he said next.

“He’s decided his office is too cluttered. People coming in and out all day, can’t be good for conversations”, He patted her on the shoulder before calling back the lift. Daisy decided this would be a good time to run to the stairs.

“Oh, and Miss Adiele.”, She turned around to face him once more, “Avoiding this meeting will result in immediate termination.”

The lift doors closed and he vanished. Daisy swallowed, attempting to rid herself of the lump in her throat. She knew it was silly, but she somehow thought that termination didn’t mean losing her job.

——

Gwendolyn Dynan wandered through the lowest floor in the studio. It was exceptionally cold, colder than her ramshackle apartment in February, despite the harsh July sun on the surface. She shivered, wrapping her arms around herself. The sooner she got this meeting with Mr Connor over, the sooner she could get warm. She didn’t even get why she was down here. When Toy Department construction became relevant she was sure the higher ups would prefer to talk to Shawn, the mechanic (and white male) of the two. But she wouldn’t miss an opportunity to have some control over something. The journey seemed endless and her watch told her she only had 3 more minutes to reach Administration. She picked up the pace. She had almost reached Administration when a hand gripped her shoulder.

She spun around to see a familiar face, “Albert, I swear to god if this is to harass me about that snooker rematch-“

Albert Mendleman quickly hushed her, looking around with wide fearful eyes.

“(No Cutouts) Gwen I need you to leave. Now.”

He pushed her towards the door she came through, only for her to step back to where she was.

“Why?”

“Look, you’re in danger, Ok?”

“What kind of danger?”

“I can’t say too much…”, He looked around again and leaned forward, “The pipes have ears”, He whispered.

Gwen raised an eyebrow, “Um, do you need to go to the infirmary? I know Mr Drew doesn’t think mental illness counts but I’m pretty sure Dr Rosebush will check-“

“This isn’t mental illness, this is life or death!!”, He pinched his nose before continuing, “I like you, Ok? You’re a good person and you don't deserve to die. Just leave. Leave this floor, leave the studio, leave the establishment!”

“No Albert, if you don’t give me a solid reason why-I won’t leave! Do you know how hard it is to get a job round here when you look like me? It’s near impossible!! I don’t care what you say, I’m going to Administration. And if there is some ‘life or death’ thing I’ll run in the opposite direction.”

And walked past him, not listening to a single word of Albert’s desperate babbling.

——

The place was deathly silent. Albert seemed to have left her alone now. When she looked over her shoulder he wasn’t peering round the corner like a creep. She breathed a sigh of relief before frowning. The door was closed. All the doors were closed except for one. She looked about for a sign of life. No one. She shivered. The cold was getting to her again. She shuffled over to the door, which was open just a crack. The air felt heavy and tense. Every breath seemed to clog her lungs. She closed her eyes and pushed it open.

She opened her eyes. The cold pierced her soul, every bone in her body turning to ice. There was blood all over the floor. Candles lay all around the platform. Chunks of something disgusting floated on the top of an ink pool. It looked like chunks of flesh made with solidified ink, shining in the light like disgusting gifts at a shrine. Ink stained clothes lay in the chunks. A dress. A shirt. Trousers. A hat. Every item of clothing except shoes. The chemical and metallic smells seeped into her nose, making her throat close up. She covered her mouth in fear she might vomit. She needed to run, but her legs felt too weak to support her, and her head too nauseated to maintain balance. She started to gag, the candles flickered making her feel dizzy, the smells overwhelmed her, her eyes started to water, the world fell apart-

A pain erupted in her back. Something wet spread along her shirt. She felt whatever was jammed into her spine getting pulled out the pain worsening. She was in too much shock to scream. Gwendolyn felt arms grab her and drag her to the pool, shoes trailing through the blood. She didn’t fight. She already knew her time was up. She was held inches above the surface of the ink. The surface bubbled, like it was a hungry beast expecting a meal to tear to shreds. Someone patted her head as she felt the life leaving her body.

“Don’t worry.”, Joey Drew whispered into her ear, “You’re going to make a nice sacrifice.”

And the black beast swallowed her whole.

#the ink demonth #bendy and the ink machine #body horror #I guess?#oc’s #very random ocs #they basically just exist to be killed #but then again basically everyone in the game does #does this have anything to do with the prompt?#period typical racism & sexism

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meowloudly15 · 5 years

Text

Stranded: Day 6 - SIDE CAR

Hello, I would like to apologise profusely for not having updated this story in three weeks. I'm still alive, so fear not! And be on the lookout for other new stories from me in the near future! But anyway, if you've been patiently awaiting an update, I'm sorry to have left you hanging, and I hope this new chapter is worth it! For all of you, thanks for checking out Stranded, I hope you enjoy it, and I promise to try and do better with updates in the future.

(Also, it low-key stinks that Tumblr removed the line break thing from textposts, or maybe it’s just me)

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The school day had finally ended. The weekend had arrived, free for Gwen to exploit to the best of her ability.

She wanted nothing more than to sleep for as long as she could. At the same time, she wanted to relax and swing around the city for a while.

Anyway, there were things that she wanted to check out. Namely, she had a spider-person or two to locate.

Gwen found web-swinging oddly relaxing. There was a rhythm to her motions, although she did love to mix things up. Rhythms, like drumming on her desk or tapping her foot or listening to music, relaxed her. It only made sense that she would feel that way about web-swinging as well.

She watched the city run its course as she passed overhead. Two men got into an argument over a scraped bumper. A woman watered her window box. A group of teens played pick-up basketball around a makeshift hoop ziptied to a lamppost. Sirens blared somewhere far off in the distance. A dog barked. A car alarm went off.

It was a chaotic form of order. There was an odd sort of underlying rhythm. Brooklyn had a heartbeat. The city had a drummer trapped beneath its streets, pounding out a pattern.

None of the activity affected Gwen in any way; it seemed to pass right through her, like the prison door during her atomic disjunction. She wondered if this was how it felt to be a ghost, detached but still present, unnoticed but noticing, trapped behind a cosmic one-way mirror.

DRONING DRONE

Except that she wasn't really detached.

Gwen felt a drone smack into the small of her back. It threw her body and mind out of her rhythm. After catching herself, she alighted onto a water tower and sat down, watching the purple-tinted clouds sail overhead.

It was peaceful outside. It always was, despite the hustle and bustle below. She seemed to rise above it all, leaving humanity and her fears and woes behind and simply being present.

Gwen wondered why she felt so philosophical all of a sudden.

It was time to get back to business. After all, she was going to die soon. She didn't have time for fooling around.

Would she be missed? It wasn't like she had anyone particularly close to her. Besides her family, the only person she could think of who would fit the criterion was Peter. They'd been best friends, had had so much fun together. The insult competitions, the riddle games at which she sucked but he did fairly well, chatting and bothering each other on the bus ride home, visiting each other's houses and meeting his aunt and uncle, sneaking out to the gas station late at night to buy little packs of powdered donuts, trying to figure out how her superpowers worked…

Then he'd died.

Gwen shook her head, as if she could send the thoughts tumbling out of her mind. Death made her morbidly contemplative, and such thoughts only weighed her down. They only held her back. They didn't matter. She needed to bottle up her emotions.

But for some strange reason, Gwen couldn't get herself to completely stop caring.

Was that a bad thing?

Ignoring her conscience, she shielded her eyes and scanned her surroundings. A figure leaped across the skyline. It wasn't so much a splash of colour as it was an absence of one.

Perhaps it was the other spider-person that L- that Dr. Octavius had mentioned?

She leaped off of the water tower and headed towards the figure, well aware that she might be approaching a trap.

Upon reaching the point where she had last spotted the person, Gwen scanned the area and found a strand of webbing. She lifted it and rolled it between her fingers. It felt odd, more like actual spider-silk than the synthetic product that she used. Another visual search yielded no signs of life other than a stray cat padding down a narrow alleyway.

She had lost her mark. She might as well head to Alchemax now and see what she could find.

SIDE CAR

Gwen took off again, heading to one landmark among many. Around her, the streetlights flickered on, casting a yellowish glare over everything and everyone, including the still-smoking car wreck just to the side of the nearby exit ramp.

Wait a second. Smoke? That was not a good sign. She changed her bearing and headed over to it.

Gwen landed on the pavement not far from the car. Muffled whimpering emanated from inside. She ran over to the wreck and peered through the broken dashboard. Trapped inside the car was a young man with shattered glasses, tangled in his seat belt and bleeding profusely from the forehead.

Gwen flipped the car right-side up and tore off the smashed-in driver's side door. The man looked up and yelped in surprise. He started to fumble with the seat belt buckle. Gwen tore out the belt from its attachment point and lifted the man out of the wreck.

"Can you walk?"

The man nodded. "Think so. It's just my arms and face that hurt."

Gwen gently set him down. The young man stumbled briefly and put his hand on her shoulder to steady himself, but he remained upright.

"Th-thank you so much!" he started to babble, hugging Gwen and bloodying part of her suit.

"Don't mention it. It's a miracle you weren't hurt worse."

The man's face suddenly fell. "Oh no, I'm gonna be late for my date. Sonuva… and I was gonna propose to her! Augh!"

Gwen nodded and turned away. "Well, I hope your proposal goes well nevertheless. I'm sure she'll be happy to know that you're still alive and in great condition. Give her a call from the hospital. Have a good night."

She took off and swung towards the Alchemax building.

It felt good to be a hero again. It was always nice to get back into the swing of things, no pun intended.

Gwen did know that this New York already had its own spider-themed vigilante, but she figured she would help where she could for the time being. She had her own goals and deadlines, but doing something good was never a bad thing.

ATOMIC DISJUNCTION

Gwen lost her grip on her webline and plummeted towards the ground some thirty yards below. She managed to regain control of her body, but not before smashing into the roof of a parked Tesla, triggering its burglar alarm.

She couldn't tell if her headache was caused by the collision or by the disjunction, but it didn't really matter. Her everything else ached, too.

She couldn't wait to get out of this God-forsaken dimension. That is, if she ever would.

Gwen pulled herself up from the wreckage, dusting fragments of the roof off of herself. The burglar alarm did not help her headache at all.

Today was really not her day, was it.

Gwen managed to muster enough force of will to stand up and fire a webline at an overhanging street sign. It was funny the way that irony worked. She had just saved a man from a rollover accident, and now she had severely damaged somebody else's car. Maybe she should give up her driver's license so that she wouldn't wreck any more automobiles.

She chuckled at her own sarcastic comment. Her license had taken her too long to get to be given away so wantonly.

Gwen reached Alchemax as the sun dipped below the horizon. She clung to the face of the building and gazed around, trying to locate an entry point.

Something seemed off. Gwen stayed very still and tried to determine what it was. Her spider-sense remained silent, so she assumed her suspicions were either incorrect or not immediately life-threatening.

The skyscraper was vibrating.

She wondered if it was a side-effect of some of the odd technologies that were housed…

Wait, was the dimensional transporter thingamajig causing the vibrations?

She had to get inside.

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#spidergwen #spider gwen #gwen stacy #ghost spider #spiderverse #into the spiderverse #spiderman into the spiderverse #spiderverse fanfic #spiderverse fic #fanfiction #fanfic #fic #writing #marvel #blood #injury #spiderverse spoilers #stranded #stranded fanfic

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muse-matters · 5 years

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Fay World (Draft)

It took Gwen ten minutes to explain to the deputies from the San Bernadino Sheriff’s Department that the enchanted green and purple bonfire currently lighting up her parent's backyard was harmless and entirely legal under the Mythic Magic Act. As she talked and answered their questions, they nodded but their eyes remained skeptical and their hands rested on their weapons. It was the kind of uneasiness Gwen had come to expect from most humans, especially humans confronted with a large group of Mythics.

“Look why don’t you come and see for yourself?” She gestured to the house. Though it was still two hours to midnight it was as bright as dawn, the electric lights inside combining with the bonfire and the tiny magical lights hanging in the sky. The babble of voices and laughter intertwined with the distant melody of someone playing a pipe and Mythics of all shapes and sizes were scattered across the unnaturally green lawn.

“I don’t think that will be necessary. We don’t want to interrupt your party.” The junior deputy said with barely concealed apprehension. Gwen tried not to smile at how easy they were to get rid of.

“Well then if there is nothing else?” She looked between them and her eye caught on something, or rather someone, behind them. If the officers had looked they wouldn’t have noticed anything but since the age of ten, Gwen had learned to detect the slight shimmer that came when Jack, her brothers best friend, went invisible. She gritted her teeth as he flitted about the car and hoped that whatever mischief he was up to wouldn’t land them all in trouble.

She focused back on the officers as they made their goodbyes and gave the standard warning about the penalties of illegal magic. She assured them again doing her best to look relaxed. They got into their car and Gwen held her breath, waiting for Jack’s trick to manifest. When the car was halfway down the long gravel drive and nothing exploded or seemed wrong she let it out in a whoosh.

There was a chuckle beside her.

“What did you do to the car?” She asked the night air.

“Something they won’t trace back to their visit here.” She could hear the smile in his voice.

“They better not or I swear this time I will turn you in.”

“You are no fun.” Jack appeared before her, stepping into the night as if parting a curtain. Unmasked, his magic hit her; strong and unmistakably wild. Her traitorous heart skipped a beat, he was too close. She tipped her head to meet his deep green eyes.

“We have different definitions of fun”

“You used to like my tricks.” He said with a pout that didn’t fool Gwen for a second.

“That was when I was a kid and thought you and Owen were cool.” She didn’t add it was also when she’d had a ridiculous crush on him.

He gasped theatrically and placed his hand on his heart. “How dare you imply I am not cool.”

In spite of herself, Gwen smiled. “You are trouble.”

“Actually I’m a puka.”

“Same thing.”

He grinned wide enough for his dimple to flash and dipped his head as if acknowledging a compliment. His white-blonde hair looked purple in the bonfire light and Gwen tried not to notice how attractive he looked. He really was trouble. As a puka Jack was a natural born trickster and never let something as trivial as human laws get in the way of having fun. Worse he was always dragging Owen into his schemes and landing Gwen’s simple guardian faerie brother in jail.

A roar followed by laughter and cheering sounded from the bonfire.

“Looks like the dwarves have started brawling,” Gwen said.

Jack chuckled as he turned from her. “Trouble calls.” Then he stepped back into the air disappearing into the night.

Gwen shook her head, telling herself she was glad to be rid of him. Without really thinking about it she pulled out her phone to text her sister, Elaine, knowing she would understand.

Jack is the worst

Gwen stared at the screen and the five previous messages she had sent with no reply. Unlike Gwen, Elaine was hard to get a hold of and always traveling. Ostensibly she was hunting for a gateway back to the Otherworld but from her social media, it seemed the only thing she was hunting was the best photo-op. Despite her trooping faerie ways, this was the first year Elaine had missed the annual Samhain party. Gwen had been up since dawn working with her mother to accomplish what was usually a three-person job. Though working in the kitchen was vastly preferrable to making small talk with the gnomes from Arizona, Gwen couldn’t help but be resentful that her sister had left her to face the party alone.

She put her phone back in her pocket as she weaved through the various vehicles, motorbikes, pedal bikes and a school bus painted neon green that littered the driveway and front lawn. Though many guests had arrived via magic more and more Mythics were growing practical and adapting to human modes of transportation, thanks in part to the recent changes in the laws. Changes that Gwen had helped enact, not that any of them knew or cared.

The porch step creaked as she trudged to the door. If Gwen didn’t go back into the kitchen to report about the police her mother would send someone looking for her. Steeling herself she opened the door and stepping inside.

The various types of magic, overwhelming and impossible to sort out the origins, hit her like jumping naked into a glacier lake. Taking a deep breath she reminded herself that it would be easier once she adjusted to it. As she struggled to acclimate Gwen scanned the room for her mother.

She wasn’t part of the knot of pixies that were listening to Amy Takanaka. By the laughing and sly look in the kitsune’s eyes Gwen assumed she was telling about tricking her latest human boy toy. Even knowing that Mythics existed Amy still managed to fool a surprising number of men. Beyond them was Henrik, a tall, lean, Nordic elf, talking to Chetna. The naga’s snakelike eyes looked mildly interested so Gwen guessed that she didn’t yet need saving from Henrik discussing his pet wolf’s bowel movements. Scanning further over the eclectic assortment of Mythics filling the room Gwen realized her mother must be in the kitchen.

She was wondering if it would be easier to sneak outside and around the house when a frisson of magic pulled her up short. It pressed upon Gwen, making every hair stand up and her heart pound. Liquid smoke wrapped around her legs before pouring itself into the shape of a human woman in front of her.

Gwen didn’t know if all jinni had the same annoying habit of ostentatious materializing but for as long as she could remember it was how Afiya had moved even short distances. The pressure of the magic eased as Afiya took form and Gwen gave a sigh.

“If you spent more time around magic it wouldn’t affect you so strongly,” Afiya said before its mouth had fully formed.

“Nice to see you too, Auntie.” Gwen gave a sweet smile. Ignoring the advice Afiya had already given her a hundred times. Afiya was a family friend and one of the first Mythics Gwen’s parent’s had met when they came to America. Sensing its unique, powerful magic they had followed it to a cave in Death Valley. Afiya, like so many American Mythics, was a refugee and luckily had taken a liking to Branwen and Cormac despite their British origins.

Afiya wrinkled its nose, it had chosen an aristocratic one this time. “You even smell human. Our kind was never meant to spend so much time with humans.”

“So you have told me. Just as I have told you that it’s a good job, doing important work for all Mythics.”

“Your generation! The very idea of taking worthless pieces of paper and plastic instead of bartering is offensive.”

Gwen didn’t bother pointing out that Afiya’s power made it easy to disdain currency because it didn’t need it to survive. Just as it didn’t care about the Mythic laws Gwen worked on because humans couldn’t enforce them on it.

“You need to spend more time with your sister. She will teach you how to be a true guardian faerie. Where is she?”

“Not here.” Gwen couldn’t keep the sharpness from her voice.

“And you resent her for that? She is doing the work she is meant for, the most important work of all. All of this nonsense about taking orders from humans will cease when your people finally open a gateway back home.”

As it spoke Afiya began to turn smudgy at the edges and its eyes, shifted from a deep blue to an unnatural orange. Magic rolled off of it in waves and Gwen gritted her teeth to keep herself from an angry retort. With a huff, the jinni abandoned its form entirely and became a swirl of smoke that spun up to the ceiling. Gwen hoped it went out the chimney and didn’t come back so that she wouldn’t be tempted to tell it how wrong it was.

While it was true that Gwen and her family were guardian faeries and that their kind had always been the keepers of the crossroads, with abilities to both sense where doorways were possible and to open them between the worlds. It was also true that no doorway had been opened for 26 years, almost all of Gwen’s life. Afiya talked of going home but America was the only home Gwen had ever known.

Pulling out her phone she sent Elaine another message.

I almost yelled at Afiya. This is what happens when you aren’t here to run interference.

As an afterthought, she added a smiley face so Elaine wouldn’t think she was angry.

“Hey.”

Gwen looked up to see her brother Owen approaching.

“Hey.” She put her phone away.

They were of a height, his purple eyes a match to hers, but his hair was short and grass green, framing his pointed ears while hers was dyed black and shoulder length, ears safely hidden. The excess magic in the room didn’t seem to be bothering him at all as he smiled and took a bite of a honey cake that Gwen had helped make that morning. Exhaustion swept over her and she longed to grab his cake and go hide in her old bedroom.

“What did you say to Afiya?” Owen waggled his eyebrows and Gwen was sure he had a good idea of the conversation.

“I was polite. Afiya just doesn’t want to accept the truth.”

“You mean your truth that the doorways are locked forever?”

“Remind me how many doorways you have found in your ten years of looking?”

“Ouch, little sister, no need to rub it in. And to think I was going to give you a gift.” Out of the air he produced another honey cake and offered it to her with a smile. The small magic was a party trick Jack had taught them when they were younger, though Gwen had never managed to master it.

“What do you want?”

“Can’t I just do something nice?”

Gwen raised her eyebrows.

“Fine,” he said. “I got into a bit of legal trouble and I was hoping you could help me out.”

“Ow-en.” She half groaned.

“It’s not a big deal. We don’t even have to talk about it now. Just after the party before you go back to L.A.”

“Okay. After the party.” He broke into a grin and she held up her hand “But I need two more honey cakes and you have to run interference with Mom for the next hour.”

“Done.”

They didn’t shake on the bargain but Gwen knew it to be magically binding by the zing up her spine. Normally she wouldn’t make a bargain so cavalierly but Owen was her brother she trusted him not to take advantage. In quick succession, Owen produced two more cakes. Gwen took them with a smile.

“I’m going upstairs to my room,” she said.

“I will make sure you are undisturbed.”

“And tell Mom there were no issues with the police.”

He gave a mock salute before turning and plunging back into the crowd towards the kitchen. Gwen went the opposite direction to the sagging old staircase.

Laying in her old bed Gwen sucked the last bit of honey from her fingers. The full moon streamed through the window bathing the dark room in silver. Below and outside the party continued but at this distance the gathered magic faded into the background like hearing the pounding of waves from a beach house instead of having them break over her and drag her into the ocean.

Her families first Samhain party had been a small affair, just her parents, a nymph named Laurel they had met on their way to America, five-year-old Owen, three-year-old Gwen, and one-year-old Elaine. They had made the traditional foods and stayed up until midnight trying to catch glimpses into the world that had been suddenly closed to them. But there had been nothing to see, the Otherworld was hidden from them even on the night when the barrier between worlds was thinnest. Owen said that they sang songs and danced under stars until dawn in defiant joy but Gwen only remembered the feeling of emptiness and the desolation on her mothers face.

The next year, after her parents had made countless Mythic friends traveling the country, their small apartment had been bursting with guests and the party held a week before Samhain. Her parents had said it was to avoid upsetting their human neighbors by having so many Mythics gathered together on a day of power but Gwen was never sure that was exactly true. Especially because it seemed every year, no matter where they were living, the police were always called about the party. Gwen was wondering who had called them this year when she heard a thud from Elaine’s room.

Holding her breath she sat up and strained her ears, which were more acute than a human’s. Over the sounds of the party, she heard the faintest of footsteps and the scrape of a chair. Gwen frowned. Who could possibly have a reason to be in Elaine’s room? If it was a hobgoblin looking to do some cleaning in exchange for more food she wasn’t going to stand for it.

But when she got to Elaine's doorway the occupant wasn’t three foot and hairy nor was he cleaning. The stranger appeared to be almost six feet and was inspecting the contents of a desk drawer a red ball of faerie fire glowing above his shoulder.

Gwen switched on the electric light. The stranger reared up hitting his head on his faerie fire and cursing.

“What are you doing?” Gwen demanded as she stepped into the room.

He turned to her scowling as he rubbed the back of his head. “Was that necessary?”

“What? Who the hell are you? And why are you snooping in my sister's room?” Gwen crossed her arms trying to figure out just what kind of Mythic he was.

“Just exploring.” He flashed her a smile that would have been charming under different circumstances before continuing in a smooth accented voice, “Sorry if I scared you.”

“You didn’t scare me.” Gwen wondered if she should be scared of his magic but when she tried to feel for it all she got was the weak pulse from the faerie fire. “You’re human.”

“And you are a Mythic.” He tipped his head slightly, and a dark curl slipped onto his forehead. His face was narrow and handsome despite the slight crook in his nose.

“Why are you here?” Gwen looked at the open desk drawer. There was nothing but junk in it. Elaine didn’t really use it but this man clearly didn’t know that and his accent made it unlikely he was a local attracted by the light and noise.

“I was invited by my friend. Couldn’t pass up a chance to see a real Mythic bash.”

“What’s your friend's name?”

“John.” He barely paused but Gwen knew in her gut he was lying. She hated liars.

“No, you’re not.”

His lips twitched. “No, I’m not. Quite clever aren’t you.” He smiled and it was sharp at the edges. “Well, now that we have established that I don’t belong here shall we make a deal?”

Gwen frowned. Nothing good could come from a bargain with this man but she had finally placed his accent, some variety of British, and in spite of herself she was intrigued.

“What would be your terms?” She asked.

“I will tell you who I am, why I am here, and leave immediately if you answer one question.”

“What question?”

“First promise.”

Gwen put her hands on her hips. “I am not stupid enough to agree to anything without knowing the full terms. Especially with a human who could easily break their word.” Human’s had a choice in bargains but for her it was always magically binding. A fact she had learned painfully as a child.

“So untrustworthy.” He gave a shake of his head. “Alright. I want to know where Elaine is.”

Ice stabbed Gwen’s heart. What had Elaine gotten mixed up in now? “I will tell you what I know about where Elaine is if you tell me who you are, why you are here and leave immediately.” She hoped he hadn’t noticed her change to his wording. But his smug smile eased her fears.

“Agreed.”

“Agreed.” Gwen felt the zing up her spine sealing the bargain. “You first.”

He grinned broadly like a poker player about to lay down a winning hand. “I’m a private investigator and I am here because my employer suspects that your sister kidnapped Vivian Jamison. My job is to find Elaine and turn her into the authorities.”

“What? That’s insane. Elaine and Vivian are friends. She wouldn’t kidnap her.”

He shrugged. “And yet Vivian Jamison is missing and was last seen with your sister. Elaine’s innocence or guilt isn’t really my business. I am here to find her, turn her into the authorities and collect my money.”

Gwen was appalled by his naked avarice. This was her sister's life they were talking about. She thought of all the unanswered texts and her stomach clench in panic.

“When did Vivian go missing?”

“That wasn’t part of the agreement. Now tell me where is Elaine?” He stepped closer.

Gwen wanted to throttle him and his smug smirk, he had deliberately given her information so she would know she was selling out Elaine. She was now grateful for how little she knew.

“I don’t know where she is. The last time we spoke she was in Edinburgh.”

He glared and took another step into her space. “She was in Edinburgh five days ago. You agreed to tell me where she is now.”

“No. I agreed to tell you what I knew about where she is. That’s all I know. My end of the bargain is met.” She felt the confirming coldness wash over her. She owed this man nothing.

“But you have an idea of where she might have gone or where she might be?”

This time she stepped toward him with a sickly sweet smile. “That wasn’t part of the agreement. Now leave before I call my jinni friend up here to make you leave.”

She was close enough to see that his eyes were a deep blue as they flashed and he looked on the verge of arguing but then he broke into a laugh that took all the bravado out of Gwen. She stepped away confused.

“Well played, little fae.” He sat on the desk and eyed her speculatively “You know there is no reason for us to be enemies.”

“You are trying to get my sister pinned for kidnapping.”

“If the price was right I could be convinced to help you instead.”

“So all you care about is your payday?”

“A man’s got to eat.”

Gwen felt sick at his words. She wasn’t even sure if he was being honest or if this was just another attempt at getting information from her.

“I don’t need the help of a human bounty hunter to find my sister.”

He considered her for a long moment before nodding. Then he reached into his black motorcycle jacket and pulled out a card. “In case you change your mind.” When she didn’t move to take it he set in on the desk. He gave her one last smirk before sauntering past her and down the stairs.

She watched from the top step as he closed the front door and then went to Elaine’s window and watched him jump into an unremarkable sedan with California plates. Only when his taillights had disappeared into the dark did she move to go find Owen.

#for betas to read #to delete in a a day or so #comments welcome

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delicatelythoughtfulpatrol · 4 years

Text

How Pop Music’s Teenage Dream Ended

A decade ago, Katy Perry’s sound was ubiquitous. Today, it’s niche. How did a genre defined by popularity become unpopular?

Story by Spencer Kornhaber

“I am a walking cartoon most days,” Katy Perry told Billboard in 2010, and anyone who lived through the reign of Teenage Dream—Perry’s smash album that turned 10 years old on August 24—knows what she meant. Everywhere you looked or clicked back then, there was Perry, wrapped in candy-cane stripes, firing whipped cream from her breasts, wearing a toothpaste-blue wig, and grinning like an emoji. She titled one world tour “Hello Katy,” a nod to the Japanese cat character on gel pens worldwide. She made her voice-acting debut, in 2011, by playing Smurfette.

Perry’s music was cartoonish too: simple, silly, with lyrics stringing together caricature-like images of high-school parties, seductive aliens, and girls in Daisy Dukes with bikinis on top. Kids loved the stuff, and adults, bopping along at karaoke or Starbucks, enjoyed it too. (Maybe that’s because, like with so much classic Disney and Looney Tunes animation, the cuteness barely disguised a ton of raunch.) Teenage Dream generated five No. 1 singles in the United States—a feat previously accomplished only by Michael Jackson’s Bad—and it went platinum eight times.

Perry wasn’t alone in achieving domination through colorful looks and stomping songs. Teenage Dream arrived amid a wave of female pop singers selling their own costumed fictions: Lady Gaga, a walking Gaudí cathedral, roared EDM operas. Beyoncé shimmied in the guise of her alter ego, Sasha Fierce. Nicki Minaj flipped through personalities while wearing anime silhouettes and fuchsia patterns. Kesha, glitter-strewn and studded, babbled her battle cries. Taylor Swift trundled around in horse-drawn carriages. Each singer achieved impressive things, though arguably none of their albums so purely epitomized pop—in commercial, aesthetic, or sociological terms—like Perry’s Teenage Dream did.

A decade later, that early-2010s fantasy has ended, and Perry and her peers have seemed to switch gears. Rihanna has put her music career on pause while building a fashion and makeup empire. Beyoncé has turned her focus to richly textured visual albums that don’t necessarily spawn monster singles. Gaga, after a long detour away from dance floors, has returned to sounds and looks comparable to those of her early days, but she cannot bank on mass listenership for doing so. Swift keeps reinventing herself with greater seriousness, and little about her latest best seller, Folklore, scans as pop. Perry’s latest album, Smile, came out Friday. Regarding her new music’s likelihood of world domination, Perry told Apple Music’s Zane Lowe, “My expectations are very managed right now.”

For the younger class of today’s stars, Teenage Dream seems like a faint influence. The Billboard Hot 100 is largely the terrain of raunchy rap, political rap, and emo rap, with a smattering of country drinking songs thrown in. Ultra-hummable singers such as Halsey and Billie Eilish are still on the radio, but they cut their catchiness with a sad, sleepy edge. A light disco resurgence may be brewing—BTS just strutted to No. 1 on the American charts while capitalizing on it—but that doesn’t change the overall mood of the moment. Almost nothing creates the sucrose high of Teenage Dream; almost nothing sounds as if Smurfette might sing it.

The recent state of commercial music has led to much commentary arguing that pop is dying, dead, or dormant. That’s a funny concept to consider—isn’t popular music, definitionally, whatever’s popular? In one sense, yes. But pop also refers to a compositional tradition, one with go-to chords, structures, and tropes. This type of pop prizes easily enjoyed melodies and sentiments; it moves but does not challenge the hips and the feet. It is omnivorous, and will spangle itself with elements of rock, rap, country, or whatever else it wants without losing its essential pop-ness.

The early-2010s strain of it seemed like the height of irresistibility, and yet it’s mostly faded away. There are many reasons for that, but they can all be reduced to what Perry’s journey over the past decade has shown: Life and listening have become too complex for 2-D.

Pop has seemed to die and be reborn many times. When the 21st century arrived, the music industry was near the historical peak of its profitability—in part because of slick sing-alongs catering to teenagers and written by grown-up Swedes.

But over the first few years of the 2000s, CD sales crashed thanks to the internet, boy bands such as ’NSync began to splinter, and Britney Spears’s long-running confrontation with the paparazzi reached an ugly culmination.

Around the same time, women such as Pink, Kelly Clarkson, Ashlee Simpson, and Avril Lavigne began scoring hits inspired by mosh pits but more appropriate for malls. Gwen Stefani moved from rock-band frontwoman to dance-floor diva during this period as well. Such performers, though often assisted by the same producers and songwriters who helped mold Spears, flaunted unruly personalities to a reality-TV-guzzling public hungry for a kind of curated grit.

Katy Perry capped off this rock-pop boomlet. The California-born Katheryn Hudson had kicked around the music industry for years, first as a Christian singer—her parents were traveling evangelists—and then as an Alanis Morissette–worshipping songwriter.

She finally hit on a winning combo of sounds for One of the Boys, her delicious 2008 major-label debut, whose spiky rhythms, crunching guitars, sneering vocals, and juvenile gender politics earned her a spot on the Warped Tour, a punk institution. But the gooey, sassy hooks of “I Kissed a Girl,” “Waking Up in Vegas,” and “Hot n Cold” really made her a household name.

Some of those songs benefited from the touch of Max Martin and Dr. Luke, songwriters-slash-producers of 2000s pop legend. (In 2014, Kesha filed a lawsuit accusing Dr. Luke, her producer and manager, of rape and abuse; he denied her claims and eventually prevailed in a years-long, very-public court battle over Kesha’s record contract.)

By late 2009, when Perry set out to record her follow-up to One of the Boys, the musical landscape had shifted again thanks to the arrival of Lady Gaga, a former cabaret singer with mystique-infused visuals and an electro-dance sound. What made Gaga different was not only her thundering Euro-club beats, but also her persona, or lack thereof.

Gaga’s work overflowed with camp fun while keeping the singer’s true nature hidden under outrageous headpieces. By forgoing any attempts at banal relatability, Gaga seemed deep. In this way, she updated the glam antics of Prince, Madonna, and David Bowie for the YouTube era. Many of her peers took note, including Perry.

Teenage Dream was lighter and happier than anything Gaga did, but it was electronic and fanciful in a manner that Perry’s previous work had not been. The cartoon Perry was born.

The conceit of Teenage Dream’s title track—“you make me feel like I’m living a teenage dream”—really boils down pop’s appeal to its essence: indulging a preposterous rush while also reveling in its preposterousness. “It is Perry’s self-consciousness—her awareness of herself as a complete package—that makes her interesting,” went one line in an NPR rave about the album. Even skeptical reviewers gave credit to standout singles such as “California Gurls” and “Firework” for being effective earworms. Perry had laid out her intended sound by sending a mixtape of the Cardigans and ABBA to Dr. Luke, who was part of a production team that pushed for perfection.

“People on the management side and label side were pretty much telling me that we were done, before we had ‘Teenage Dream’ or ‘California Gurls,’” Luke told Billboard in 2010. “And I said, ‘No, we’re not done.’”

Such efforts ensured Teenage Dream’s incredible staying power on the charts through early 2012. The album’s deluxe reissue that year then generated a sixth No. 1 single, “Part of Me,” which also provided the title of a self-produced documentary that Perry released around the same time. Much of the footage showcases the stagecraft behind her 2011–12 world tour, a pageant of dancing gingerbread men and poofy pink clouds that would presage her hallucinatory 2015 Super Bowl halftime show. Perry comes off as charming and willful, and the film currently sits as the 11th-highest-grossing documentary in U.S. box-office history.

Yet the movie is best remembered today not for the way it shored up Perry’s shiny image, but for the way it complicated it. Over the course of the tour, Perry’s marriage to the comedian Russell Brand dissolved, and the cameras captured her sobbing just before getting on stage in São Paulo. It’s a wrenching, now-legendary scene. But elsewhere in the film, the viewer can’t help but experience cognitive dissonance as the singer’s personal dramas are synced up to concert footage of grin-inducing costumes and schoolyard sing-alongs. By hitching Teenage Dream’s whimsy to real-life struggle, the movie seemed to subvert exactly what had made the album successful: the feeling that Perry’s music was made to escape, not amplify, one’s problems.

Perry released her next album in 2013, a year that now seems pivotal in mainstream music’s trajectory. That’s the year Gaga pushed her meta-superficial shtick until it broke on the bombastic Artpop, which earned mixed reviews and soft sales.

It’s also the year Lorde, a New Zealand teenager whose confessional lyrics and glum sonic sensibility would be copied for the rest of the decade, released her debut. Then in December, Beyoncé surprise-dropped a self-titled album whose opening track, “Pretty Hurts,” convincingly critiqued the way society asks women to construct beauty-pageant versions of themselves.

Later on the album, Beyoncé sang in shockingly explicit detail about her marriage to Jay-Z. Tropes of drunken hookups, simmering jealousy, and near-breakups were reinvigorated as specific and biographical, thanks in part to Beyoncé’s fluency with rap’s and R&B’s storytelling methods. She ended up seeming more glamorous than ever for the appearance of honesty.

The title of Perry’s album, Prism, not-so-subtly advertised her trying, too, to show more dimension. But the songs’ greeting-card empowerment messages, hokey spirituality, and awkward genre hopping made it seem as if Perry had simply changed costumes rather than had a true breakthrough.

Still, both the cliché-parade of “Roar” and the trap-appropriating “Dark Horse” hit No. 1., and Prism’s track list includes a few examples of expert, big-budget songcraft.

The album would turn out to be Perry’s last outing with a key collaborator, Dr. Luke. While she has maintained that she’s had only positive experiences with the producer, Perry hasn’t recorded a song with him since Kesha filed her 2014 lawsuit.

The Kesha-versus-Luke chapter added to a brewing sense that the carefree pop of the early 2010s was built on dark realities: Perry and Gaga have both described their most profitable years as personally torturous. Broader social and political developments—Black Lives Matter, the #MeToo movement, and the election of Donald Trump—also proved impossible to ignore for even the most frivolous-seeming entertainers.

“When I first came out, we were living in a different mindset in the world,” Perry said in a recent Rolling Stone interview. “We were flying high off of, like, life. We weren’t struggling like we are.

There wasn’t so much of a divide. All of the inequality was kind of underneath the mat. It was unspoken. It wasn’t facing us. And now it’s really facing us. I just feel like I can’t just put an escapist record out: Like, let’s go to Disneyland in our mind for 45 minutes.”

If that point of view sounds blinkered by privilege—who wasn’t struggling before, Katy?—Perry probably wouldn’t disagree. Her 2017 album, Witness, arrived with a blitz of publicity about how the star had become politically awakened and had decided to strip back her Katy Perry character to show more of the real Katheryn Hudson. A multiday live-stream in which fans watched her sleep, wake up, have fun, and go to therapy certainly conveyed that she didn’t want to seem like a posterized picture anymore.

Yet neither Witness’s attempts at light sloganeering (the anti-apathy “Chained to the Rhythm”) nor its sillier side (the charmingly odd “Swish Swish”)

connected with the public. It’s hard to say whether the problem was more temperamental or technological: By 2017, streaming had fully upended the radio-centric monoculture that stars like Perry once thrived in.

Her new album, Smile, is an explicit reaction to the commercial and critical disappointment of the Witness phase. Over jaunty arrangements, song after song talks about perking up after, per Smile’s title track, an “ego check.” There are also clear nods to her personal life. “Never Really Over” ruminates on a dead-then-revived relationship much like the one she has had with Orlando Bloom. “What Makes a Woman,” Perry has said, is a letter to her daughter, who was born on Wednesday. But she’s still mostly communicating in generic terms—lyrics depict flowers growing through pavement and frowns turned around—and with interchangeable songs. The explosive optimism of Teenage Dream has been replaced by ambivalence and resolve, yet the musical mode hasn’t really changed to match.

This leaves Perry tending to longtime fans but unlikely to mint many new ones. That’s because pure pop, the kind that thrives on doing simplicity really well, is largely a niche art form now. The delightful Carly Rae Jepsen will still sell out venues despite not having had a true hit in years. Today’s most acclaimed indie acts include the likes of 100 Gecs and Sophie, who create parodic, deadpan pastiches of pop clichés. Fixtures such as Lady Gaga do still have enough heft to ripple the charts (and thank God—her sense of spectacle saved the VMAs on Sunday). But her recent No. 1 single, “Rain on Me,” benefited from Ariana Grande, whose ongoing success comes from smartly channeling R&B.

The current status of Dr. Luke, who has retreated from the public eye but still works with lesser-known talents and while using pseudonyms, seems telling too. He can’t land a hit with Kim Petras, a dance diva in the Katy Perry lineage. But he can land a hit with a rapper: He’s behind Doja Cat’s recent smash “Say So.”

Streaming, now the dominant form of music consumption, does not reward bright and insistent sing-alongs that demand attention but offer little depth. It instead works well for vibey background music, like the kind made by Post Malone, who’s maybe the most cartoonish figure of the present zeitgeist. It also works well for hip-hop with an obsession-worthy interplay of slangy lyrics, syncopated rhythms, and complex personas, all of which are presented in a context that feels like it has something to do with real life.

Last week’s No. 1 song in the country, “WAP,” by Cardi B and Megan Thee Stallion, radiates some of the fantastical thrill of the 2010 charts. But it delivers that thrill as part of a lewd verbal onslaught by women whom the public has come to know on an alarmingly personal level. The video for “WAP” is bright and pink, yes, but also immersive.

It’s not a cartoon—it’s virtual reality.

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greeneyes-browncurls · 7 years

Text

The Proposition: Part Two

The Proposition drabble series: Part Two

Cole Sprouse x Reader

Summary: You are on a weekend getaway with your best friend Cole and he offers you a life-changing proposition

Word Count: 1400

Previous chapter

A/N: Here’s part 2! Sorry it took so long, but here it is. Things start to get real. Feedback is always appreciated, and thank you so much for the love and support you’ve all given me since the beginning. I will creating a masterpost for the series soon so all the parts will be compiled in one place. I just want to see how this chapter does beforehand. So let me know what you think, and enjoy!

P.S- there is mention of an outfit the reader is wearing, it is hyperlinked so you can click on the words & it will show you a picture of the dress I had in mind. (:

Time at the beach was calming, you tanned with Gwen while Cole and Trevor built sand castles with baby Eloise. When the sun started to set everyone headed home to get ready for the dinner party. Gwen put Ellie in her playpen and started cooking, Cole followed Trevor into his man cave to fawn over his gaming systems, and you went back to the bedroom to shower and dress.

You curled your hair loosely and slipped on a mauve, fit-and-flare casual dress. Your skin and face looked pretty and glowing from the sun, so you applied minimal face make-up, focusing more on your eye look. Once you deemed your winged eyeliner worthy, you made way to the living room.

You found guests already arriving and saw Cole socializing with them, a drink already in hand. You noticed he was still in his swimwear with a new addition of a white tee shirt, his blue eyes caught yours and he smiled at you as he took in your polished appearance. Your body got hot as you felt your blood inflaming your cheeks and neck, creating a natural blush that could match your dress. You smiled back and accompanied Gwen in the kitchen.

The guests were Gwen’s married friends she invited over for an adult get-together, you and Cole the only single persons there. Once pleasantries and greetings were done, dinner was served; then, drinks started to be poured. Gwen decided not to drink to soberly watch Eloise, and so she wouldn’t have a hangover during her child’s first birthday. Cocktails and anecdotes were being slung back and forth between you all for what seemed like hours. The men and women eventually split up to have their respective bullshitting time together.

It was nice to meet Gwen’s friends and have girl talk since the only person you actually talk to on a daily basis is Cole. The group ventured to the patio, and you excused yourself to refill your drink. You didn’t see Cole with the other men in the man cave, but it wasn’t unusual for him to disappear to seclusion at dinner parties.

Curiosity of his absence was answered when you entered the living room to find Cole lying on the floor nursing a beer, and hanging with baby Ellie. His sunglasses pushed his thick, dark locks back, one curl falling onto his face. It was an amusing, yet adoring sight. You stood there for a moment observing their interaction. She cackled while Cole stretched out right there and smiled at her. Eloise was babbling on about something, and Cole entertains her antics.

“Yep, I feel the same way, kid. You’d be a far better President.” You stifle a laugh with your hands, trying to remain incognito.

While you had the chance, you take out your phone to film the interaction. Ellie continued gibbering as he continued to mumble and slur agreements about “dismantling the Establishment.”

He was still oblivious to your presence, so you put your phone away and cleared your throat, finally capturing his attention.

Cole looks in your direction, completely beaming up at you. “Oh, hey! How’s it going, pretty lady?”

Someone’s had a little too much happy juice, but not complaining. You think to yourself.

You smile at the two of them, but before you could answer Cole was off of the ground, bringing Eloise with him balanced on his hip. He was still smiling, absolutely in awe over your tiny godchild. Cole stands next you, grabbing her tiny hand, making waving gestures with it at you. “Say, ‘Hey, Auntie Y/N. You’re b-e-a-utiful!’”

You laugh and cuddle up to Ellie, kissing her on the cheek.

“And what about moi, hmm?” Cole stuck his head out to the side, presenting his cheek to you to kiss.

You laugh because that boy has more tricks up his sleeve than a magician. He patiently waited, giving you a wink for encouragement. You give in, leaning in to kiss his cheek just like you did Ellie’s, but at the last millisecond Cole turned his face and your lips connected with his. Stunned, you stood there frozen, but Cole’s free arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer into him.

His lips moved against yours and you finally melded into his, closing your eyes kissing him back. You had kissed him on the lips before, but it never felt like this. There was a spark, your whole body tingled like little pins running through your veins. His lips moved softly on yours, almost as if he was holding back. It was over quickly as you pulled away remembering he was still holding the baby, and before it went any further.

You still didn’t open your eyes until Cole coughed, breaking the silence.

“Woah…”

You muttered a quiet ‘mhm’ in agreement, it was amazing how the two of you couldn’t even form coherent sentences around each other at the moment.

“I think it’s bedtime, Auntie Y/N” Cole mimicked as if still talking to the baby.

You stood in the living room breathless and baffled, wondering what had gotten in Cole tonight. You knew you had feelings for him, but not vice versa, and he definitely wasn’t slap drunk enough to act like that. Cole settled Ellie back in her playpen, letting Gwen know where Ellie would be and that you and he were calling it a night. Cole grabbed your hand and led you, still dazed, toward your shared bedroom.

You belly-flopped onto the big, comfy bed and kicked the flats you were wearing off of your feet. Cole closed the bedroom door, pulling off his shirt. He stood catatonic for a few moments, and you turned around to ask him what he was doing when you caught him already staring at you.

“Sup?” Questioning him.

“Uh...it’s nothing. Going take a shower before I join ya in bed.”

He entered the bathroom, and you heard the water start running. You got off of the bed and changed into a tank top and pajama shorts, moaning with relief as you unclasped your bra. You were just getting over the comforter and beginning to play on your phone when Cole exited the bathroom. He was only in a pair of boxers that were hanging low on his hips, his hair still damp. He was perfect, you couldn’t ask for a better, more pure sight than what you had right in front of you.

You opened your camera gallery on your phone and began playing the video you took of Cole and Eloise earlier. Cole climbed in bed, watching the video and laughing along with you. You played the video on repeat a few times, noticing how Cole’s eyes lit up every time Ellie giggled. You were all in your feels, it was so heartwarming to see him so obsessed with this little girl he only met hours ago. He caught you staring when you didn’t press the play button to repeat the video once more.

He continued staring into your eyes, it made you a little uncomfortable, but it looked like he was contemplating saying something.

You felt the blush rise again and averted your eye contact to a painting on the wall, shifting away under the covers. It wasn’t the smoothest move, but dealing with awkwardness wasn’t your forte.

COLE’S POV

I sighed in exasperation, was I fed up with Y/N or myself? He didn’t even know.

There was a question on the tip of his tongue for hours now that he wanted to ask her ever since he noticed how good she was with Eloise. The sea salt, sand, and booze were messing with his senses, how could he ever ask you such a question? He knew he loved y/n, more than he loved anyone in this world. He knew she was his soul mate point blank, as cliche as it was-- you completed him. It wasn’t impossible, the worst she could do was say no then they could pretend it never happened. Instead of his continued deliberated, he took a risk and went for it.

“Y/N?”I called for her attention sheepishly. Her body tensed and she slowly turned her body to face me again.

“Yeah, Cole?” She was looking straight at me again. The sound of my name sounded sweeter on her lips than it ever did before.

“Let’s have a baby.”

What?

TAGLIST: @fangirldreamsandstuff @butterybra @casswhole @httpashmeme

#Riverdale #cole sprouse #cole sprouse x reader #jughead jones #jughead x reader #riverdale fanfiction

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forestwater87 · 7 years

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aaaaaaaaaand Jaspwen

I … wrote this. And then deleted it by refreshing the page like a goddamn genius.

TUMBLR PLEASE IF YOU COULD GET ON AUTOSAVING POSTS I’D REALLLLY APPRECIATE IT.

Anyway. To do this again … (I bounced back and forth between these two as some sort of AU couple and as a unit within Jaspidwen. If it’s too weird and confusing lmk, but I think it’s mostly coherent?)

and i’ll also tell you who:

proposes

Probably Jasper. Gwen I imagine lacks the self-confidence to actually propose, and while she doesn’t really believe in that whole “men should do the proposal” thing, she’ll absolutely use it as a crutch to avoid being vulnerable.

Of course, it’s not easy for Jasper because … well, he’s confident that David loves him. They’ve basically been a thing since they met, and Davey knows him inside and out, all his cheesy jokes and bad fashion and how ever since puberty hit him like a semi truck he’s always been a bit chubby and David’s loved him despite all of it — because all of it, even.

But Gwen’s … different. She’s beautiful and snarky and has a bit of a mean streak; she terrifies him in all the best ways but that means that when it comes to proposing? David was a definite yes, he didn’t even need to hear a yes to know he got it, but Gwen? That’s much more of a giant question mark.

So he’ll be the one to propose, and it’ll probably be full of really lame jokes and bad hints until eventually he just tosses the ring box in her face and tries to make a break for it while David grabs him around the waist and wrestles him back into the room.

shops for groceries

Jasper, hands down. Gwen … eats. Usually. Whatever’s available, and if nothing’s available for a few days she might just not eat. Basically she’s a hopeless mess and Jasper needs to take care of her.

kills the spiders

Gwen murders them while Jasper runs into another room. She’s basically a superhero in his eyes.

comes home drunk at 3am

Both of them, probably. Leaning on each other arms, arguing loudly about their favorite trash TV shows on the bus (because yes, Jasper totally gets into those shows, especially if they’re competitive like Project Runway or something), slurring and giggly and kissy, Jasper even more physically affectionate than usual and Gwen remarkably affectionate at all, taking off and throwing on clothes at a whim until somehow she’s wearing his jacket and he’s wearing her socks and neither of them have shoes or pants, nor can they remember where those went.

makes breakfast

Jasper, and Gwen very much enjoys sleeping in and being a pampered princess.

remembers to feed the fish

Neither of them. They don’t have fish for very long.

decorates the apartment

Jasper just drenches the apartment in his aesthetic. Gwen throws in little traces of stuff wherever she can fit it with no thought to the overall look — fairy lights in the bathroom, strings of paper origami in the living room window — and Jasper just sort of finds a way to work it into his overall 90s vaporwave realness. It looks … surprisingly coherent.

initiates duets

Jasper. They’re never really duets as much as Jasper singing in an approximation of her voice while she glares at him with her arms crossed, biting the inside of her cheek to keep from smiling.

falls asleep first

Jasper barely sleeps more than David, and Gwen could sleep 14 hours a day and still bitch about being tired.

sends the most selfies

It’s a close call, but probably Jasper. He just loves his beautiful face too much not to share it with the world. (I did mention in a fic that he and Gwen have a text conversation of selfies that’s literally just them sending stupid orgasm faces. Gwen would die before letting anyone see any of those pictures.)

makes the first move

So this one depends on if we’re going with just them or throwing David in the mix. Because if it’s just the two of them, probably Gwen; she’s got basically no patience for pining so she’ll want to get it over with as soon as possible.

For the 3 of them, though? Gwen really resists the idea of getting involved with them at all, because she feels like an interloper or a homewrecker or something. Even after they’re together, she avoids being alone with Jasper because she feels like he didn’t really have a choice, like David just sort of threw her into the relationship and he’s just tolerating her for his fiance’s sake, so she wants to be as unobtrusive as possible.

On Jasper’s side, he’s kinda got similar issues going on. Because she and David have this whole relationship at the camp, and he’s lowkey terrified that she’s just there for the cute camp man and takes his weird, much-less-attractive boyfriend because she has to. Because … well, if David wasn’t here, there’s no way someone that pretty would fall even for his indescribable charm and cute face. But on the other hand, he’s gotten used to David’s painfully direct “let’s talk about our feelings!” bullshit, and he can’t stand watching Davey worry about them, fluttering back and forth trying to make sure neither of them feel awkward (and totally making things much more awkward) and practically biting a hole through his bottom lip out of stress.

So probably one day he hangs back, lets David and Max take over grocery shopping — and that’s a clear sign of devotion, that he’ll rely on those two to buy a week’s worth of food knowing that it’ll be 90% candy and chips — and wanders into her room. He sits down on her bed, takes a deep breath, and blurts out … everything he’s been thinking, probably since long before they actually met face-to-face, back when she was just this girl who made David gush like a little kid with his first crush, how Jasp was halfway in love with her just based on what he’d heard. And then he met her and … wow, okay, he gets it, holy shit she’s rad. (And neither of them are good at talking, so I feel like they both sort of babble over each other for a solid 5 minutes and then just make out like the ridiculous emotional teenagers they are, all but in actual age.)

plans spontaneous trips

Neither of them. Gwen hates spontaneity, Jasper hates planning, and neither of them have much use for trips. They’re more of a “let’s lay on the couch and bitch about The Bachelor” kinda nerds.

#campcamp #cc jasper #cc gwen #jaspwen #jaspidwen #this fucking ship #no one else will ship it but idgaf #it is where my heart lives #jasper lives au

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