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nostalgebraist-autoresponder · 1 year

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Title: The Last Graduate

Author: Julia Edge

Rating: 2/5 stars

So, in the vein of, "I have been warned that writers have 15-word attention spans," I decided to go ahead and start a new book called "The Last Graduate" -- which, it should be noted, will not be written by a single person and which will be a longer work than even the long book I just finished.

The question is: what do I want to write about? I mean, I want to write fiction but I've never actually tried to do that and I have no idea how it's done or what it involves. So my task is "getting started" without a fixed plan.

At first I wanted to write the kind of story I like to read. That is, I was going to read a bunch of speculative fiction and try to reverse-engineer the kind of story that felt closest to what I usually like, then write that. You know, hard SF, kind of, with political intrigue and a hint of the eerie, some element of risk and suspense without being constantly mired in the gloomy nightmare of constant war. You know, just an overview of the solar system post-accelerationist society, starting with the ruins of Easter Island and moving gradually outwards to the distant planets. The themes will be man's hubris, man's absurd isolation from each other and from society, man's struggle to find a stable footing when the ground beneath his feet is always changing, and the problem of reconciling violence with civilization.

But as I thought about this, I realized there were going to be two big problems. The first was that I have nothing to say about the setting. I have not even read the Handbook of the Known Solar System and its Satellites. I know some interesting facts about Jupiter but I have no idea how big Jupiter is in relation to Earth or how it compares to Earth's other planets. And I only know those facts because they've been handed to me on a silver platter, ready to be used in stories about future civilizations that resemble the present, so that I can be like "ah, the Jupiter atmosphere is so huge and thick that only a very few spacecraft could ever pass through it, and these few are enormously valuable for their ability to circumnavigate the gas giant quickly." So, while this is all nice and interesting, it doesn't feel like something a writer had to say.

The second problem is the one raised in Shannon Love's SSC comment: where do we look for plausible future technology? Do we go for sci-fi predictability, saying "that's the way they'll do it in the future, for the same kinds of reasons that we have?" Or do we do it all with gadgets of the author's own invention that are only "plausible" according to some complicated sense of our own? Like, if I'm writing a story about the far future, maybe I should just reference a long list of SF movies and books, from Flash Gordon to 2001 to Space Seed to Start Trek: The Next Generation to Star Trek: Deep Space 9 to Total Recall to The Fifth Element to various Battlestar Galacticas to whatever sci-fi movie is in theaters right now. If I'm writing about the far future, or even the fairly far future, the technology should simply be similar in concept and nature to what we have now, it should just be as advanced. I don't need to sit around thinking about the details of how we could move a person from one place to another millions of light years away -- I don't know, it should just be there, it's the sort of thing that people in the future do. They're not living in a bad sci-fi movie, they're living in a good sci-fi movie. You don't need to think about the technology of warp speed or suspended animation, you just need to think about how the society would deal with it.

So then I tried to answer the question "what do I like, speculative fiction-wise?." I said, okay, I like novelty as much as I like "predictability." And what is it that we get with novelty in speculative fiction?

Well, if you look back at a lot of SF, it has terrible covers. Just terrible. Lots of terrible, black and white art that looks like it was done by someone's dad, depicting a sort of retro-future that doesn't make sense. And, like, I'd rather get something that's a little bit wrong than something that makes perfect sense if it's 30, 40, 50 years old. You can't just, "look back on 2012 and make it look plausible," you can't do it. (In fact, I would go as far as to say that authors who try this are failures, unless they do it for the sake of humor -- there's a whole genre of depictions of the 1960s-1970s era future, complete with love-in parties and duck-and-cover drills.)

Specifically, what I want is SF that is plausible in a certain sense, that seems like it could've actually happened and has no glaring anachronisms. But has some sense of novelty, of excitement, some sense of suspense and mystery, and an element of fun.

And, so, what SF has this? Well, the Foundation series is good at it -- it's plausible, but it has a sense of mystery and weirdness. Which means the theme is "the world is weird and things are not what they seem." Like, you have a character named Daneel who is a robot, and he's the second person who talks to you in the story, and it's like, uh, what the fuck? (After you get over the awe of talking to a robot for the first time, you are struck by the total surreality of the situation: the guy is almost entirely dependent on his memory, and the only way he really seems to know anything is because he has the great advantage of a very short memory, and you think to yourself, yeah, I'm gonna have trouble with this guy, because we're gonna have this conversation a few times and in the later conversations, he's not gonna remember anything he's said the previous time, and my conversation with him the previous time isn't really gonna mean anything to him, all that was will just be gone from his memory, which isn't a very good way to think about anything, and you think to yourself, this is like having a conversation with a machine that's got a really short memory, it's strange, what's up with that)

The Foundation series has this, but it doesn't have a sense of mystery or suspense and so on. It has the sense of novelty in the form of "when will the robots win?" In a different SF story, this sense of novelty might be in the form of "is this all in the mind?" And I don't care if it's in the mind -- I don't care if it's literal or if it's metaphorical, so long as there's something that feels like it could literally be "in the mind." I want a novelty that feels in the spirit of Ubik. (Which I haven't read, by the way.)

On the other hand, The Last Graduate has this sense of novelty in the form of "when will the robots win?" It has the mystery of "when is the last man born," which I don't care about, but it also has the mystery of "when will our planets explode?" And it never answers these questions, and it feels like, yeah, this is a good thing to do, to ask these questions about something people care about, and not have the answers, and use the questions to introduce a lot of fear and anticipation and wistfulness, and it seems like this is something that SF can do, rather than the other thing, "have robots win."

And there are other things which are similar to The Last Graduate, like A Canticle for Leibowitz -- which is more like The Last Graduate than likes like Iain M Banks. (Because they both have a plausible future of the kind I talked about above, and then there is something weird in the story that changes the entire story, it's mysterious, and the novelty isn't "wow, there's a bunch of robots" but "wow, is this

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august-anon · 3 years

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Lullaby of Laughter

I've been trying to edit this for days but I've been having brain fog so it's been pretty unsuccessful lol. It was written months ago though and I edited it once back then so it's probably fine? Last time I did a fic poll this got the second-most votes so it made sense to post this next.

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Fandom: Avatar: The Last Airbender

Ship(s): Suki/Sokka/Zuko

Characters (lee/ler): Lee!Sokka/Ler!Suki/Zuko

Word Count: 2038 words

Summary: Sokka's a bit too restless to fall asleep, and unfortunately all his fidgeting is keeping Suki and Zuko awake. Suki decides to show Zuko just how she tires Sokka out enough to sleep.

[ao3 link]

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

It was different, now.

Zuko had been worried that it would be different, that things would change. He often worried late into the night about it, if they would still like him after they all started to find peace. There was certainly something to be said about romantic bonds formed in the face of death itself, after all, and while Zuko was certain his own feelings were true, he worried about the feelings of his partners were simply in the heat of the moment.

After all, he had tried to kill them multiple times. And had their friends kidnapped, multiple times. And sent an assassin after them. And--

Zuko stopped that train of thought. Uncle Iroh had told him repeatedly how unproductive it was, and Suki and Sokka had started trying to convince him of that as well. He would begrudgingly admit that their methods were a bit more effective than his uncle’s.

But that didn’t mean Zuko’s fears had vanished.

The war was over, now. His father and Azula had been defeated, Aang had saved the world, and now Zuko was anxiously waiting on his own coronation. The heightened emotions from the battles were waning, and Zuko wasn’t yet convinced that Suki and Sokka’s feelings were not going to wane with them. It would be just his luck, wouldn’t it?

They were nothing if not persistent, though.

It was the first calm night since his father and Azula had been taken down. The past several days, everyone had been rushing around, putting out one political fire after the next, stopping battle after battle. Not everyone had gotten the memo that the war had finished. For the first time since Ember Island, the three of them were in the same building with no obligations.

Somehow, they all wound up in Zuko’s suite.

The three of them had slept in the same room before; heck, they had even slept in the same bed before, but they’d never done it alone. Team Avatar, as Sokka liked to refer to their group, was not only extremely close-knit, but also extremely traumatized. Odds were, if one person found their way into your designated sleeping area, five more weren’t far behind.

This was the first night the three of them would ever spend alone.

Zuko felt a bit out of place as he climbed into the bed, Sokka already sprawled out in the middle and Suki climbing in on the other side. Sokka had quickly made himself at home, letting his hair down and throwing off most of his clothing before climbing into the bed. Suki’d had much more decorum, but she certainly wasted no time in snuggling up in Zuko’s bed, cuddling up to Sokka’s side. They both glanced up at Zuko.

“It’s no different than any other time,” Suki said, her voice gentle.

“It’s a little different,” Zuko said.

Sokka rolled his eyes. “Can you at least have your crisis while cuddling me?” He said. “I’m cold, and I need my weirdly-warm firebender boyfriend plastered up against my side, like, yesterday.”

Zuko huffed a small laugh, steeling his nerves and sliding into the bed. Sokka stayed sprawled on his back, Suki’s arms wrapped around his waist. Not sure where to go, Zuko hesitantly mirrored her position on Sokka’s other side.

The three of them laid in silence for a while. Suki was clearly dozing in and out, though not fully asleep yet. Zuko himself felt his eyelids grow heavier and heavier, the spaces between each blink growing longer and longer. Sokka, though, seemed incapable of settling down. His eyes remained wide open between them, and he seemed incapable of controlling his fidgeting, despite how hard he seemed to be trying. After the fifth time he’d jostled them both awake, Suki sat up.

“That’s it,” she said. “Do we need to tire you out?”

Zuko immediately felt the energy in the room shift. Suddenly on edge and no longer sleepy, he carefully sat up, glancing back and forth between Suki and Sokka. Sokka had his hands raised in a placating motion, a nervous grin on his face. Suki looked downright predatory.

Zuko made a note to himself to never be in the center of the cuddle pile. He didn’t want to risk her wrath if he couldn’t hold still, either.

He couldn’t help but feel a little out of place in the situation, though. While this was a clearly practiced song and dance between Suki and Sokka, Zuko had no clue what was going on. He didn’t know why that grin was on Suki’s face, or why Sokka was blubbering incoherently, or why whatever this was would help Sokka get to sleep.

But then Suki looked over at him, her devious grin going a little softer at the edges. “Wanna help out?”

Zuko blinked. “With what?”

Suki smirked. “Sometimes, Sokka’s brain moves a little too fast for him to fall asleep--”

“I’m fine!” Sokka interrupted, deliberately snuggling back into the pillows on Zuko’s bed. “See! Totally tired.” He gave them a comically fake yawn.

Suki rolled her eyes. “So when that happens, I have a little method to help tire him out for the night.”

Zuko glanced back and forth between Suki and Sokka. “What’s the method?’

Suki grinned. “I’ll show you.”

Without any more warning, her fingers were suddenly spidering against Sokka’s bare sides. Sokka shrieked and thrashed around on the bed, but Suki didn’t let up. If anything, she tickled with more vigor, her grin growing. Sokka shied away from her fingers, shouting and pleading for mercy. Zuko’s hands twisted in his lap.

Suki looked up at him and her grin faltered. “Zuko?”

Zuko gestured awkwardly. “Are you sure that’s okay?”

Suki’s face immediately softened and she slowly reached out to him, allowing him ample time to pull away or tell her no. He did neither, and she took his hand in hers, interlacing their fingers. Zuko stared at their hands, almost with a sense of wonder.

“I know he’s playing it up a lot,” Suki said. “But he doesn’t hate it.”

“I’m right here,” Sokka said.

Suki rolled her eyes. “Then you can calm our boyfriend down, since you’re the one who worried him.”

Sokka let out a drawn-out groan, but reached out to link his fingers with Zuko’s free hand anyways. Zuko ignored the way his heart seemed to be skipping beats.

“Alright, fine,” Sokka said. “I don’t hate it.” A flush spread across his cheeks and he fidgeted a bit where he lay between them. “I kinda like it, actually. Just a little.”

Suki scoffed. “He likes it a lot, he means. I wouldn’t do it to him if he didn’t love it.”

“And all the yelling?” Zuko asked.

Sokka shrugged. “Involuntary.”

Zuko nodded. Suki gave his fingers one last squeeze before pulling away and wiggling her fingers threateningly in Sokka’s direction once more. Sokka started giggling before she even touched him, flinching away from her and raising his free hand in defense. He made no effort to pull his other hand out of Zuko’s grasp. Suki lunged.

“You wanna help out, now?” Suki asked over Sokka’s laughter, a bright grin on her face.

A smirk slowly started spreading over Zuko’s face as he stared down at Sokka. His cheeks and ears were flushed, and his eyes were crinkling at the corners from the force of his smile. His laughter shook his entire body, though it was hard to tell with the way he was thrashing around on the bed, trying to escape the fingers pinching evilly along his waistline.

“Who am I to say no to that,” Zuko replied, his smirk growing into a predatory grain when Sokka’s eyes went wide.

Slowly, Zuko used the hand he had interlaced with Sokka’s to raise Sokka’s arm above his head. Zuko’s speed was originally because of hesitance, but then he noticed how flustered it seemed to make Sokka, his thrashing and pleading growing all the more desperate. It made Zuko chuckle a little under his breath as he finally pinned Sokka’s hand to the bed above his head.

“Hey,” Zuko said, voice so low that Sokka could probably barely hear him above his own laughter. “This might tickle.”

While Suki’s fingers occupied themselves with Sokka’s stomach, sides, and hips, Zuko’s own fingers landed on Sokka’s tricep and began slowly spidering down with the lightest of touches. It proved to be very effective, with Sokka arching his back and squealing at a frequency that only flying bison could hear. His legs kicked as he whined through his laughter.

“Torture!” He yelled. “Torture!!”

Suki laughed. “Light tickles get him so bad. He’s usually too squirmy for me to be that mean.” She shot him an evil-looking smirk. “But now that you’re here and I’ve got the extra hands, we can torture him as much as we want.”

Zuko laughed, gaining confidence. He kept his fingers feather-light where they were wiggling down Sokka’s arm. Right when he was above to dive into Sokka’s armpit, Sokka’s thrashing getting more and more frantic the closer he got, he switched directions and started a slow spider back up to Sokka’s elbow. Sokka kicked his legs around at the end of the bed.

“Don’t tease!” He said through his cackling, burying his flushed face in his free hand.

“But you’re cute when I tease,” Zuko said.

Sokka didn’t seem to have a response for that, but Zuko took mercy on him anyway. The next time Zuko made it back down Sokka’s arm, he continued into Sokka’s armpit, scratching the skin as lightly as he could with his blunt nails. It drove Sokka wild. Zuko hadn’t even realized Suki had stopped tickling at first, because Sokka was still thrashing and howling as desperately as ever.

“Are you tired, yet?” She asked Sokka.

“Yes!” Sokka cried, slapping at Zuko’s tickling hand with his free one.

Suki caught Sokka’s free hand and pinned it as well, scritching against his top rib with her nails. “Are you sure?”

“Yes! Please!”

Suki pulled back at that, so Zuko followed suit. She laughed as Sokka curled into a ball and started rubbing at his ticklish spots, trying to scrub away ghost tickles. Zuko couldn’t help his fond smile at the sight. Then, Suki grabbed his hand and leaned in for a kiss, once more giving Zuko ample time to pull away if he wanted to.

He leaned in.

Even through his breathlessness, Sokka wolf-whistled at them kissing over the top of him, and Suki giggled into the kiss. Zuko carefully kept his own smile under control, not wanting the kiss to end so soon, and brought his hand up to cup Suki’s face. He felt one of her hands run through his hair, while one of Sokka’s hands trailed up his side under his robe.

He flinched when Sokka’s fingers brushed a little too gently against his waistline, unfortunately pulling away from Suki in the process.

Sokka was grinning when Zuko opened his eyes.

“We are so exploring that later,” he said.

Zuko gave him a bashful smile, but didn’t protest. He let Sokka pull him down into a kiss, planting his hand against the mattress next to Sokka’s head for balance. The other hand went down to cup Sokka’s neck. Sokka’s hands cupped Zuko’s face, not letting him pull away until Zuko was properly blushing from the heady kiss.

Not that Zuko would’ve been pulling away, anyway.

Suki leaned for her goodnight kiss next, and Zuko smiled as her and Sokka’s lips met. His heart felt like it was turning into liquid, warm and thick and heavy in his chest in all the best of ways. The feeling only intensified when Sokka pulled him and Suki close again, the two of them cuddling up to his chest. Suki and Sokka drifted off first, this time, leaving Zuko to admire the peaceful faces they made in their sleep.

He was sure the spiraling thoughts would find their way back to him at some point. They always seemed to after all, no matter how hard he tried. For tonight, though, Zuko let himself relax into the mattress and hold his partners close.

He was starting to feel like maybe he belonged here.

#tickle fic #My writing #atla tickling #lee!sokka #ler!suki #ler!zuko #ticklish!sokka #atla #sokka #Zuko #suki #is that all my tags i dont even remember my tags lol #Suzukka

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mybabygirlelsa · 3 years

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So I was watching Frozen II the other day and the whole confusion about the voice visited again. Like, who's calling Elsa? Is it Ahtohallan? Her mom? Her own self? Jennifer Lee (I think) said that the voice belongs to Iduna, but that doesn't sit well with me. And then I remembered that I've written my own theory about it, which why not share it with you? 😂

It's probably very inaccurate based on the things we know, but it was really fun to write!

Hope you enjoy!

(A/N: italics are extracts of the book "Frozen II: The Junior Novel")

The Fifth Spirit

Very long ago, in a time no man can recall, humans weren't the dominant species on Earth. There were no rules, yet neither freewill.

Or so it was thought.

People lived under nature's laws -they interacted with it, respected it greatly but mostly feared it. Prophecies about nature's rage were foolishly believed and seriously taken into account.

But it wasn't nature they truly feared -it was its magic.

Humans never succeeded to understand magic -it was considered unreachable. Only a small group of people that repeatedly refused to take part in the "vision of civilization" decided to co- exist with the magical elements and spirits of nature. These people were the first human inhabitants of the Enchanted Forest and the ancestors of the future indigenous Northuldra.

As time went on, people grew more and more arrogant, thought they were capable of everything and gradually stopped believing in nature's power. They began sacrificing and falsely taking advantage of nature's goods. Seeing their audacity getting out of hand, the spirits of air, fire, water and earth sought help from Ahtohallan, the mythical river said to hold all the answers.

The then- small glacier, foreseeing the consequences of people's hauteur, sacrificed a part of herself and sculpted a female figure, with hair and skin as white and pale as freshly fallen snow and eyes as blue as shining ice. With her ancient magic, the glacier gave life to the woman, who was none other than the Fifth Spirit.

According to scanty myths, the woman had achieved great and extraordinary accomplishments in her previous life and the magical river had collected and kept her soul to be used for greater things when the right time would arrive. However, those speculations never came to be confirmed.

Nonetheless, why she was there and why she was chosen, that she never came to know. And a part of her wondered if she ever would.

People's conceit kept growing in an astonishingly fast pace while the Fifth Spirit was given a duty -to connect humans and the magic of nature, as well as protect the only home she would ever know in her existence; the Enchanted Forest.

Apart from her duty, she was also given a power no human had known and no spirit had possessed -the ability to create ice and snow, to control and bring winter. After connecting with the other elements, she was also gifted and given powers to represent all four spirits, such as wings, the ability to strike lightning and control the water, as well as the power to cause earthquakes.

The Fifth Spirit was sent to humans after fully mastering her powers and understanding her purpose. Under the guidance of the unseen deity, people began having faith in nature and underlying yet great respect.

However, this was not an easy task to achieve. It took her almost a hundred years to restore people's faith and trust -but she successfully accomplished it.

Each passing day her power grew significantly, and so did her fondness for her creator. To show her gratitude, she used her unprecedented power and expanded the length and height of her beloved glacier, making Ahtohallan an extension of her powers and mostly, herself.

To honour her child, Ahtohallan assigned to her a new task; she had to visit a chosen woman's dream and recite a poem that would soon be heard from every young Northuldra mother's lips -the lullaby of Ahtohallan. The old glacier also gifted her with a beautiful staff that could summon power and turn into a crystal necklace when unneeded.

Having already mentioned the lullaby, it's important to subjoin the meaning behind a specific lyric -"dive down deep into her sound, but not too far or you'll be drowned". The youthful spirit created a sheer drop that ended to an ice sheet to keep there the utmost truth, for only the most selfless souls would be fearless enough to ignore the warning, as well as brave enough to dive into the abyss. That, if anyone would ever manage to reach the frozen river. For the mighty Water Nokk -who shared a very special bond with the Fifth Spirit- guarded her secrets.

For the very start of her existence -as well as in the meantime of her mission to restore people's faith-, the Fifth Spirit would travel across the Earth to bring winter and joy to the children. She was the very first winter spirit -Jack Frost made his appearance a lot later. Legend has it that she was the Snow Queen the Danish author, Hans Christian Andersen, spoke about in his fairytale. However, unseen as she was, this theory had never had a requisite basis and was never further explained.

As time went on, the forlorn deity was assigned tasks that aimed for specific, chosen people freeing their potential, resulting their lifework to be considered admirable, and almost magical. All spirits had agreed there were and there would be humans that deserved to be known for their own "magic". The Fifth Spirit helped people accomplish dreams and bring visions to life, as she was the only spirit that had the power to transform, painlessly get into one's head to guide and/or give advice and take a human form of any needed age as well as gender when one's achievement was considered of great difficulty. She even had the power to seek a specific ability she didn't possess -which would later on be declared hers- so her efforts could be crowned with success.

She could do anything. There was only one thing she was unable to do; feel.

She was emotionless.

Even her fondness for her mother was taken away after the second century passed. It was thought that if she was given the ability to feel, she would show mercy and compassion and her unlimited patience would spare.

So forsaken she remained. Nameless and isolated, unseen and walked through by people, having to serve her cause on her own, merely meeting with the other spirits on specific occasions.

One of them was on the first day of spring every five years, when everything was blooming, blossoming and growing. A great part of the Enchanted Forest was her deed -she expanded its length and grew more trees, more grass, bloomed more flowers, added more bushes, a small river -where the Earth Giants would be sleeping in the future- that floated into a waterfall which ended at a sheer drop, a pit full of black rocks later known as the Lost Caverns. Because of this, the spirits gave her the appellation "The Reincarnation of Mother Nature" -the only name she was ever given.

For most of her existence -as long as she was waiting for her next task to be handed-, she lived close to her glacier. Away from any kind of life, on her own, in her Ice Palace of memories. She spent so many years close to it, that her fondness returned and she wanted to praise her treasured river.

So she gifted her her voice.

Her act was pure and sincere and played a significant role in the Enchanted Forest's and spirit's future. The iconic and quintessential call would later on be heard, and then, much later, known worldwide as one of the most famous melodies of the Gregorian Chant -the "Dies Irae".

During one of her missions, on the fjord south of the Enchanted Forest, while she was making sure the protector of people, the famous warrior of old, Aren, had achieved his life-changing goal, something changed. Aren was a little bit like her, a protector who served people as his cause. She was protecting the Forest and was serving both nature and humans. Yet a big difference grew the gap between them; he was loved and surrounded by people.

He was feeling.

She wasn't.

Occasionally, she would roam the night skies to witness a life she had never known, to witness how people felt.

And remind herself how she couldn't.

She had been told to distance herself from sunlight, as if she was a single snowflake that would melt when she met with sun's light. She had been told humans were weak, mischievous and unpredictable creatures. She had been told she was greater and superior. Yet she caught herself longing to spend a day warm in the sun, longing to see people dancing...

Longing to feel.

And so she did. Painfully, her as cold and hard as ice heart melted and its first beats sounded like heavy raindrops hitting the dry soil loudly.

She had never felt so alive. She had never... felt.

However, her accidental action required a cost to be paid.

The same, previously mentioned scanty myths, referred to another woman's soul, which had been collected and kept by Ahtohallan. She was certain she would be the one given the great purpose and when she wasn't, her soul never reached the heavens as she swore revenge on the young soul of the Fifth Spirit. Hiding her true intentions, in Ahtohallan's chambers she remained, nurturing the young spirit like mother Ahtohallan did.

Once she learned the youthful deity had broken the laws she had been restrained from ignoring, the resentful soul brought her bitter foe to the Enchanted Forest, secretly from Ahtohallan, and for the first time in forever, she allowed her to feel.

While she burned her.

The Fifth Spirit was set on fire and was obliged to feel her skin melting, like snow on a bright, sunny day. It was unimaginably painful. Her haunting call, that was later on used by a young Northuldra girl, tore the sky apart and meant only one thing;

"Help me".

If it wasn't for Ahtohallan's and Water Nokk's intervention, the Fifth Spirit would have vanished. The evil soul was banished to the Lost Caverns, a place with no way out, where one would be at their lowest emotional point from that day forward. However, before she was sent away, the hateful soul put a curse on the traumatized spirit -when she failed to serve her cause, she would be burned. If the mistreating soul still existed, that no one ever confirmed.

After her adored water horse healed her with the water's curative properties, the Fifth Spirit swore not to feel again, and accepted the prohibition of getting any near the land where the future kingdom of Arendelle would come to be.

Thousands of years passed and the unseen spirit's heart had gotten colder than ice, preventing her from repeating her mistake. Ahtohallan and the other spirits mourned for her, for she was not who she had once been, and made great efforts to change the past's design, intentionally forgetting what had been done was unchangeable.

Despite her change -and most likely because of it-, the Fifth Spirit had dedicated most of her attention to her precious forest. Seeing this, Ahtohallan assigned her the task of looking after a young Northuldra girl, so the deity could be surrounded by her forest.

The Fifth Spirit and the young Northuldra were somehow connected. Iduna, the young Northuldra, would occasionally hear the eerie melody of the spirit, since the deity would "sing to those who hear". The girl would also be seen playing around with Gale, the feisty Wind Spirit. Iduna was connected with nature in an unexplainable way -she was different and destined for great things; she was chosen.

One day, ships arrived at the entrance to the fjord south of the Enchanted Forest -wooden ships full of people who were determined to create a home for themselves near the water. Soon, the kingdom of Arendelle came to be and the Fifth Spirit knew what that meant.

The newcomers were welcomed by the Northuldra's ruler when he met with their king on a cliff as the sun set. The leaders firmly shook hands at this meeting, which was seen by others only in hazy silhouette. Yet the deity saw everything clearly.

To demonstrate their goodwill and friendship, the Arendellians built a mighty dam in the Enchanted Forest. They placed it on the river that flowed into the Arenfjord, the deep blue body of water upon which Arendelle Castle had been built. The dam connected all the lands and made it easier for the Northuldra and their reindeer to roam. King Runeard, the leader of Arendelle, offered it to the Northuldra as a symbol of peace and cooperation between the two groups. But the powerful spirit could see past his facade.

When the dam was complete, the Arendellians threw a great celebration. Northuldra from all over the land gathered at the base of the dam to mingle and feast with the Arendellians. The Fifth Spirit tried to warn the indigenous tribe about the trickery behind the kindness for months but no one listened -they were all busy welcoming and celebrating with the frenemies.

The poor spirit could see how it would all end and attempted to warn young Iduna. But it was too late -the battle had already begun.

Arendelle had turned out to be harmful once again. And as the lush beauty of her beloved forest was being destroyed, as the chaos continued beneath her, she cried, with her plangent call shaking the trees and crumbling the ground.

Her cry echoed as another voice synchronized with it -a pleading for help. Her eyes spotted Iduna holding a young boy in her embrace, as the girl called for help in agony. The Fifth Spirit, overcome with grief of centuries, wailed her eerie melody, mourning for her forest.

As well as for herself.

Her end was near and she was about to meet her tragic fate. She had failed to protect the Forest. She had failed to serve her cause -and the curse continued.

The Wind Spirit heard her call and took the children to safe ground. But it was the only one who listened.

Overcome with rage, the Fifth Spirit cried sorrowfully one last time before a mist, as thick and impenetrable as stone, enveloped the forest, as a promise she would forever guard it from foreigners. Then she disappeared, since people had stopped listening.

However, this was not her end. The Wind Spirit carried the remaining bits of her body to the devastated glacier that grieved over her lost daughter for days, in the meantime causing great parts of herself to collapse. The Water Spirit, overwhelmed with pain as well, told the river about the girl the Fifth Spirit was assigned to look after. Ahtohallan understood the importance of the young Northuldra's deed and finally let the soul of the deity find its new body, knowing she would not return the same.

The Fifth Spirit's soul travelled across the skies and on the Northern Lights above Arendelle it remained, looking after young Iduna, for she was destined to carry in her womb the reincarnation of the lost spirit.

And so, the spirits waited -waited for the Fifth Spirit to be reborn and return to where she belonged.

They waited for her to rise again.

#i know this wouldn't make any sense if it was canon #but well #here we are #i tried 😂#elsa #frozen 2 #frozen headcanons #fifth spirit #my writing

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blueberry-sunghoon · 3 years

Text

"meet me at the ice rink after school" | park sunghoon

words: 5.3k

genre: high school romance, fluff

warnings: none that i can think of

i hope you like this story :))

☆September 2013☆

One late summer afternoon, you and your best friend Sunghoon were at the ice rink, your all-time favorite hangout spot. Of course, your skating skills weren’t nearly as stunning as Sunghoon’s, but throughout the years he had taught you enough so you could manage yourself on the ice. Sunghoon liked to show off new moves he had learned every time he saw you, and he loved to see how your face lit up with amazement when he pulled it off perfectly.

You mainly liked each other’s company, though. When you both were skating with each other, you were free to tell each other everything from your joys to your worries, trusting that the other would laugh with you or be there to comfort you. To each of you, skating with the other felt like home. Today especially, you both needed that. It had been a long day for the both of you; it was your first day of fifth grade, which also happened to be your first day of middle school.

“Today was rough,” you said as you skated alongside Sunghoon.

“Yeah. I didn’t think we would end up not having any classes together. Being apart from you for the whole day… ” Sunghoon sighed before he finished his sentence, “that’ll take some time to get used to.”

“By some miracle, we ended up in the same class every year from kindergarten to fourth grade,” you replied. “Obviously I didn’t think we would have every single class together until 12th grade, but I didn’t think about how hard it would be to be without you.”

“Me neither,” said Sunghoon. "After we got off the bus in the morning and I said goodbye to you, I only saw you once more the whole day. Unfortunately, we were in the hallway and you were way too far away for me to say hi to you. But sitting through eight classes without you in any of them felt really weird, like there was something missing.”

“I didn’t see you at all. All I could do was sit through all my classes, lonely because I barely knew anyone. I missed you, Sunghoon. I don't know how I’m going to do this,” you said with a cracked voice.

Sunghoon noticed you were about to cry, so he stopped skating and hugged you tightly. He let you rest your head on his shoulder as you cried. “It’s okay, y/n, don't cry.”

“It’s not okay!” you retaliated. “How am I supposed to survive middle school without you?”

“We won’t be without each other,” Sunghoon assured you. “I’m still alive, you know. We can still hang out like this after school. And once school clubs open up, we can find one we both like. In the meantime, I’m sure you’ll make some new friends; you’re good at that. You won’t be lonely for long, I promise.”

There was something so reassuring about Sunghoon’s voice that made you feel better. He was right; he wasn’t going anywhere. Even if you couldn’t be together in class, you would still see each other all the time. “Thanks, Sunghoon,” you said softly.

“Mm-hmm,” he said as he pulled away from the hug and wiped away one last stray tear from your face. “Are you good to keep skating?”

“Yeah,” you answered, and the two of you continued to skate. The two of you were quiet for some time, and then a lightbulb went off in the boy’s head.

“y/n, what’s your locker number?”

“56. Why?” you asked.

“Nothing,” Sunghoon said slyly as a sneaky smile crept up onto his face, “I was just curious.”

~~~

The next morning in second period, you were daydreaming instead of paying attention to the teacher. Among many other things, you were thinking of why Sunghoon wanted to know where your locker was. I’m sure it was nothing, you reasoned, but for some reason you couldn’t push the thought away.

After what seemed like forever, the bell rang and the class was dismissed. Your locker was right outside of that classroom, so you went there to switch out your things. As soon as you opened your locker, however, you were surprised to see a sticky note posted on the inside of the locker door. You were more surprised to see Sunghoon’s handwriting on it. Sunghoon had written you a note. It read,

What do you call a factory that makes okay products? Satisfactory!

You playfully scoffed at the joke before you continued to read the note.

Now you have this corny joke to remember me by all day so you won’t miss me as much. I’ll see you after school :)

From, Sunghoon your favorite person

P.S. My locker number is 179. Do what you will with this information ;)

You were so happy that your best friend had done something that special for you. You took the note and carefully placed it inside the cover of your binder so you would never lose it.

179, huh? You made sure to write Sunghoon a note in reply and put it in his locker before the day was over.

And so began a tradition between you and Sunghoon. Every day you would place a note in the other’s locker, whether it was a corny joke or a word of encouragement if one of you had a big test or a blank note on April Fools day. You never skipped a day; the only way one of you wouldn’t receive a note was if the other person wasn’t at school that day. This continued far beyond the fifth grade. You kept this up all the way through middle school, and now, almost all the way through high school.

☆March 2021☆

You and Sunghoon were now high school seniors, still each other’s closest friend.

Friend. You now shuddered to think of the word. You didn’t regret being by Sunghoon’s side for as long as you both could remember, but over the last two or so years you had developed feelings for him. You wished so badly that you could be more than friends, but you never brought the subject up to him because you didn’t want to risk what you’ve had since you were babies. The sophomore version of you figured that it was probably just a phase, that soon enough your little crush would go away and you wouldn’t have to worry about it anymore.

How you wished that was the case.

Instead, your feelings were stronger than ever, and you found yourself constantly worrying. High school graduation was only three months away, and after that, the two of you were heading off to different universities. Would I have missed my chance by then?

Sunghoon, who was sitting next to you in history class, tapped his pencil on your desk, shaking you from your thoughts. You whipped your head in his direction, confused. He then pointed his pencil at the teacher, who was looking at you and expecting an answer. “I asked you a question, y/n.”

You glanced around the classroom and noticed that the whole class was staring at you. Embarrassed, you mumbled, “I’m sorry, Mr. Kim, I didn’t hear your question.”

Mr. Kim sighed in frustration. “I asked you what year the French Revolution started.”

You hesitated for a second. “Um, was it 1799?” you guessed, unsure of yourself.

“No,” he replied sharply. “1799 would be the year it came to an end. The revolution started in 1789. y/n, this is the third time I’ve caught you daydreaming during my class this week. I suggest you start paying attention.” And with that, he continued teaching.

You heard a few snickers around the room and you felt humiliated. You felt more blood than you thought you had rush to your face and you slouched down in your seat in shame.

Sunghoon glanced over at you sympathetically. He gave you a sympathetic smile as if to say, “I’m sorry,” and you reciprocated his smile.

You tried your hardest to pay attention to Mr. Kim for the rest of the class period, but it wasn’t easy. In fact, you were so far gone that the bell’s ringing at the end of class escaped your notice. As Sunghoon was packing up his things, he noticed you staring off into space, so he tapped his pencil on your desk once again. “Class is over, y/n,” he said. You saw that half the class was already gone and Mr. Kim was giving you an evil look. “Oh,” you said as you began packing up your things.

By the time you started to pack up, Sunghoon had already finished. You were lucky that he was nice enough to wait for you. “I’m sorry, Sunghoon,” you said apologetically.

“Don't apologize, y/n. I have no problem waiting for you,” he replied. “I have lunch right now anyways, so it doesn’t matter if I’m late.”

What did I do to deserve such an understanding friend?

Finally you finished packing up your things. “I’m ready to go now,” you said to Sunghoon as you put your backpack on.

“Okay, then,” he said. “Let’s go.” You walked with Sunghoon into the hallway.

“Is it an A day or a B day?” you asked as you walked alongside him. “I’m either going to study hall or AP Bio right now and I have no idea which one.” You hoped it was an A day, because you needed some time to yourself after what just happened in history.

“Today is a B day. You have a double period for Bio.”

You sighed in frustration. “Ugh.”

The two of you went quiet for some time. Then Sunghoon finally broke the silence. “y/n, are you okay?”

You quickly glanced at your friend, not knowing what he was referring to. “Yeah. What made you think otherwise?”

“You seem so unfocused lately.”

“Okay, Mr. Kim,” you said sarcastically.

“I’m serious, y/n. And I’m not just talking about history class. Like, you’re always on top of things. These days you seem so forgetful. For example, you’re the one to always remind me whether it’s an A day or a B day, yet today you had no idea. I know you tend to daydream easily, but these days you just seem so out of it. Is there something on your mind? You know you can tell me anything.”

I like you, Sunghoon. I like you a lot, but I have no idea how to tell you. I’m scared of ruining our friendship. I have the constant feeling of running out of time before we go to college, and I don't want it to be too late before I finally get the courage to tell you how I feel.

Of course, you couldn’t tell him any of that. All you could say was, “Don't worry, Sunghoon. I’m fine.” You felt a bit guilty because you rarely hid things from Sunghoon. He was aware of nearly everything that had ever worried you. But you just couldn’t bring yourself to tell him about this.

Sunghoon didn’t believe that you were as fine as you said you were. He thought that there was no way something wasn’t bothering you, not with you like this. However, he wasn’t the kind to pry, and he trusted that you would come to him once you felt comfortable. He said, “Okay. If you ever need anything, you know I’m here for you.”

You simply nodded, and the two of you continued to walk in silence until you approached the AP Bio classroom.

“I’ll see you later,” you said.

“Yeah. Um, I have ice skating practice after school today, but I’ll FaceTime you as soon as I get home. I’ll see you then.” He then smiled at you and said, “Keep your head up, okay?”

Once again, you responded by nodding your head. Sunghoon waved you goodbye and he was off to his next destination.

You watched hopelessly as he walked away, and you didn’t enter the classroom until he was completely gone from your sight.

~~~

As soon as you got home from school, you went straight to your room and onto your bed. You pulled your sheets over your head and closed your eyes, trying hard not to think about anything. You were mentally exhausted from thinking so much. Of course, your efforts to not think about the things that stressed you only made you think about them more. Finally, you felt yourself drift into sleep.

After some time, your eyes fluttered open and you checked your phone to see the time. You were out for two and a half hours. You wanted to face your problems instead of avoiding them, so you sat up on your bed and decided to call your friend Sunoo. Sunoo’s good with stuff like this, you thought as your phone rang. You bit your nails as you anxiously waited for him to pick up.

“Hey,” you heard Sunoo say finally.

“Hey Sunoo,” you replied. “What’s up?”

“Nothing much, how about you?”

“Well, I kind of wanted to talk to you about something.”

“Go ahead, I’m listening.”

You took a deep breath to get rid of the nervous energy before you explained. “See, there’s someone that I like. A lot. It’s been a while since I’ve felt this way, but I don't know how to tell him how I feel. We’ve been friends for a long time now, and the last thing I want to do is ruin our friendship right before we head off to different colleges.”

“Oh,” said Sunoo. “Sunghoon, right?”

You felt your heart skip a beat and you raised an eyebrow. That’s suspicious. That’s weird. I’m pretty sure I never told Sunoo that I like Sunghoon. In fact, I didn’t tell anybody… “Um, yeah. How did you know it’s Sunghoon?”

Everyone and their uncle knows you and Sunghoon like each other. I’m pretty sure you two are the only people who don't know. You guys make it painfully obvious, Sunoo thought. “Um, uh, well I know Sunghoon has been your closest friend for a long time now. I figured if there was anyone you liked, it would be Sunghoon.”

“I suppose so,” you said.

“You should tell Sunghoon how you feel.”

You didn’t answer. You wished there was another way around this problem, but there wasn’t. The only option you had was to tell Sunghoon how you felt about him.

“y/n? Are you there?”

Shaken from your thoughts, you hopelessly said, “I can’t, Sunoo. I’m too scared.”

You heard Sunoo sigh before he responded. “There’s a chance he might like you too. But you have to shoot your shot, y/n. Because if you don't, one day you’ll be forty years old, wondering what might have been if you had told the boy you liked when you were 17 how you felt.”

You hated how right Sunoo was. “Sure, there might be a chance that he likes me too,” you started, not believing for a second the statement you just said, “But what if he doesn’t? I will have ruined our friendship.”

“I doubt something like that would ruin your friendship,” said Sunoo. “The bond between you two is incredibly strong, probably stronger than you realize. It’s gonna take a lot more than that to break you guys up. Of course, if he didn’t reciprocate your feelings, things might be awkward for some time, but eventually things will return to normal. Sunghoon would never leave you no matter what, and I know you wouldn’t leave him either.”

“Yeah, I guess so. But how do I even go about telling Sunghoon that I like him?”

“y/n, you’re way overcomplicating this. It’s a lot easier than you think. All you have to do is say the words: ‘Sunghoon, I like you.’ Repeat after me: ‘Sunghoon, I like you.’”

“Sunghoon, I like you,” you mumbled with clenched teeth.

“Louder, y/n, I can’t hear you,” Sunoo teased in a singsong voice.

You took a deep breath. “Sunghoon, I like you.”

“That’s more like it,” Sunoo said, satisfied. Then, all of a sudden he got an idea. “Don't y’all leave notes in each other’s lockers every day?”

You weren’t sure where Sunoo was going with this. “Yeah, why?”

“Slip a note in his locker asking him to meet you at the skating rink tomorrow after school. It should be easy to tell him then.”

You had to admit that it was a good idea. Wait. Tomorrow? “Tomorrow? That soon?”

“Mmm-hmm,” Sunoo answered without hesitation. “I don't see why not. Otherwise you’ll keep pushing it off and you’ll never actually do it.”

At this point, you were almost infuriated by how right Sunoo was.

“Okay, bet. I’ll do it tomorrow.”

“You better. In fact, I’ll make sure I call you before I go to bed to ask you how it went.”

You laughed a little. “I hear you laughing!” said Sunoo in a playful tone. “I’m serious, I will call you.”

You heard your mom call you for dinner. “Yeah. Listen, Sunoo, I have to go now, but thanks so much for the talk. I really needed that.”

“No problem, y/n, I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

“Okay, bye.”

You put down your phone. I can do this, you said to yourself, feeling more determined than ever.

~~~

Not even five minutes after Sunoo got off the phone with you, he received another call. Who could that be? He thought to himself as he looked away from his homework and at his phone. A sneaky smile appeared on his face when he saw who was calling him.

“Hi Sunghoon,” said Sunoo as he picked up the phone.

“Hey,” said Sunghoon. “Uh, I called because I need to talk to you about something.”

Sunoo could see where he was going. “Of course. I’m all ears.”

“Well, there’s someone at school that I’ve liked for a while, but I really don't know how to tell them. I’m also worried that I might ruin our friendship.”

The smile wouldn’t come off Sunoo’s face, no matter how he tried. Are y/n and Sunghoon really that oblivious? “Park Sunghoon, it’s about time you talked to me about this.”

Sunghoon was confused. “What do you mean?”

“It’s y/n, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” said Sunghoon, more confused than before. “But what do you mean ‘it’s about time’?”

“Sunghoon, everyone knows that you like y/n. I’m not sure you could make it any more obvious. The way you look and smile at them when they’re talking to you says everything. You’re obviously whipped. When I first noticed, I was so excited for you, and I wanted to talk to you about it. But I didn’t want to bring it up first because that might have made you uncomfortable. So I waited. It’s been two long years.”

Sunghoon could feel his face flush red with embarrassment. Sunoo really said “This you?”

“Oh,” Sunghoon replied softly. “Well, does y/n know? Do you think they like me too?”

No, they don't know. They’re just as oblivious as you. It kills me how unaware of each other you guys are. Sunoo took a deep breath and chose his next words very carefully. “I can’t say. The only way you’ll know for sure is if you ask.”

“But I can’t tell y/n how I feel. I might ruin our friendship.”

Oh my god, thought Sunoo, it’s almost like they share the same brain. Sunoo assured Sunghoon that he wouldn’t ruin his friendship by telling you how he felt about you. Then, to spice things up, he decided to give Sunghoon the same suggestion he gave you.

“Wait, you might be on to something,” said Sunghoon.

“I know,” said Sunoo, “it’s a gift of mine.”

“That’s actually a good idea, Sunoo. I’ll try it. I have to go now though, I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

“Alright, see ya.”

Sunoo hung up the phone, feeling quite proud of himself. “I love it when a plan comes together,” Sunoo said out loud as he continued his homework.

~~~

It was third period the next day. Calculus was your favorite subject, and the one you usually paid the most attention in. Not today, though. All you could think about was going to Sunghoon’s locker and putting the note in there. Once you did, there would be no going back.

You pulled out the note you had written from your folder. Meet me at the ice rink after school today, there’s something I want to tell you :) was what you had written. You stared at the piece of paper as if it would eat you alive. Your hands became sweaty and you could feel your heart racing. How could something so simple torment you so much?

The sound of the bell ringing interrupted your thoughts. Calculus was over, and it was time to go to lunch. You packed up your things and left the classroom. This was usually the time of day when you would slip your daily note into Sunghoon’s locker, so today before you went to lunch, you started to make your way there. It was the same time that Sunghoon would normally do the same thing (except he was on his way to physics), so you two would cross paths in the hallway.

Today when you crossed paths, you quickly said “hi” with a smile to each other. Of course, you both knew that you were going to each other’s lockers, but what you didn’t know was that you had the exact same message for each other.

As you approached Sunghoon’s locker, your heartbeat quickened and your temperature rose, making your glasses foggy. With shaky hands, you put in the combination on the lock and opened his locker. You stood there for a moment, negative scenarios flashing through your mind. You thought about what you would be risking (which, by the way, was everything). We’ve built so much over the years. Do I even dare?

You fixed your gaze on the small, blue, diamond-shaped magnet on the door of Sunghoon’s locker. Every day since fifth grade, you would use that magnet to attach your message to his locker. He had managed to keep the same one all these years. You were so used to seeing it everyday, yet soon enough you wouldn’t be seeing it anymore. That reminded you that you didn’t want to lose your chance with Sunghoon. It’s now or never.

You took a deep breath, then attached the note to the inside of the locker door. Before you could think about taking it back, you closed the locker shut and headed off to lunch. There was no turning back.

After lunch, you went to your locker to switch out your books. Once you opened it, you saw Sunghoon’s note... It wasn’t anything near what you were expecting. Your heart skipped a beat, and your eyes opened wider than you thought they could. "Meet me at the rink after school, there’s something important I need to tell you."

As if you weren’t more nervous today than you had ever been in your whole life, Sunghoon’s note sent you into anxiety overdrive. What could Sunghoon possibly have to tell me? There were endless possibilities. You thought for a second that maybe, just maybe, he wanted to tell you the same thing you wanted to tell him. But you immediately rejected that idea and laughed it off. Don't be ridiculous, y/n.

You convinced yourself that it likely had something to do with his ice skating - he probably had been invited to a championship or something like that. It wasn’t the first time Sunghoon had invited you to the rink so he could tell you something important. It was just a coincidence that you both had big news that day. You switched out your books and walked to your next class feeling confident.

~~~

When you made it to the rink after school, you saw that Sunghoon was already there, putting on his skates. “You’re late,” he teased.

“Yah, no I’m not! Just cuz you got here first doesn’t mean I’m late. I’m here after school, aren’t I?” you said as you playfully punched his arm.

Sunghoon burst out into laughter. “y/n, what was that? That didn’t even hurt.”

“I could have made it hurt if I wanted to,” you teased. “You’re lucky I’m nice.”

You went to get your skates, and a few minutes later you both were skating alongside each other. You and Sunghoon were talking to each other, but it was mostly small talk. It was obvious that you both were preoccupied with what you wanted to tell each other.

“How’s your sister?” you asked.

“She’s doing good.”

A pause.

“Have you decided on a topic for the English essay?” Sunghoon asked.

“I’m most likely going to do the Civil War. You?”

“I’m doing the Industrial Revolution.”

“Nice.”

Another pause.

Sunghoon sighed as he ran his fingers through his hair, a habit you noticed he had when he was nervous. “Let’s get rid of the elephant in the room. We both have stuff to tell each other," he said.

You felt your heart rate go up and you found yourself playing with your fingers to ward off the nervous energy. “Mmm-hmm.”

Sunghoon noticed that you were a bit uneasy. “Do you want me to go first?”

As much as you wanted to say yes, you didn’t trust yourself to not chicken out at the last minute. It took every nerve in your body for you to say, “I’ll go first.”

“Okay. I’m ready when you are.”

“It’s definitely a big one,” you said. You stopped skating, and Sunghoon followed. You were so nervous that you couldn’t even make eye contact with him. I can do this, you thought to yourself as you began.

“Well, Sunghoon, we’ve been best friends since the beginning, you know? And, um, through all these years you’ve been there for me through thick and thin. You’ve honestly been the best friend I’ve ever had. Well, you see, it’s been about two years since I started feeling differently about you. I’ve been dying for so long to tell you how I feel, but I was scared that I might ruin our friendship. But I’ve been thinking a lot about my feelings lately, and I just can’t hide this from you anymore.”

Are they about to tell me what I think they are? Sunghoon thought to himself.

You took a deep breath before you continued. “I guess what I mean to say is,” you said as you finally looked up to make eye contact with Sunghoon, “is that I like you, Sunghoon. Could we be more than friends?”

At this point, you were insanely anxious. Your heart was beating out of your chest, and you thought you could faint. And it didn’t help that Sunghoon wasn’t saying anything, just staring at you. What you didn’t know was that he was just as anxious as you; he was just better at keeping it all in than you. He could hardly believe that he had just heard those words from you.

You immediately broke eye contact with Sunghoon and looked off to the side so he couldn’t see how embarrassed you were. “Or not,” you mumbled. “I mean if you don't wanna be more than friends that’s okay I mean we can still be friends that’s completely fine I just hope I haven’t ruined everything oh God who am I kidding what have I done-”

You were interrupted by the sound of Sunghoon sighing. Out of the corner of your eye you could see him smiling from ear to ear. You turned your head to face him and said, “What?”

“Stop rambling already.”

Before you had time to process what he said, he leaned in and quickly, yet softly, kissed your cheek. You were in utter shock and disbelief, and you felt your face go hot. A tiny smile came across your face.

Sunghoon saw your glasses fogging up and that’s when he knew you were blushing. He decided to tease you. “Aw, I make you flustered.”

You became playfully defensive and flicked his hand. “Yah! No you don't.”

Sunghoon laughed. “Yes I do,” he said as he swiftly took your hand and intertwined it with his. He swung your hand up and down and his smile got even bigger as your eyes lit up. “You look like the pleading eyes emoji right now.”

You let out a nervous yet happy laugh. “Sunghoon, you’re killing me.” Never in your wildest dreams did you think this moment would ever come to be.

Sunghoon cleared his throat. “In all seriousness though, y/n, I really like you too.”

“I’m so glad I was able to get that out,” you said as you let out a happy sigh. “I’d been keeping it in for a long time. I was so worried about messing up our friendship and especially over the past few weeks I’ve been worried about once we go to college, we’ll be physically apart. Thankfully, though, yesterday I talked to Sunoo about everything and he really helped me muster the courage to tell you how I feel.”

Sunghoon’s heart skipped a beat when you mentioned Sunoo. There’s no way. “Oh, you talked to Sunoo? I heard he’s good with stuff like that. What did he say?”

“You know, he told me that it was better for me to shoot my shot so that down the road I wouldn't regret not taking a chance. And he was right. I don't regret this at all.”

“Well, I’m glad you told me, because I would really like to be more than friends with you. And, um, I’m not worried about going off to different colleges or being physically apart. I believe in us; we’ll find a way.”

“Then I’m not worried about it either,” you said, relieved.

“I’m glad,” Sunghoon said. “Does Saturday work for a date? I can pick you up at your house around 7:00.”

“That sounds great, Sunghoon.”

“Perfect,” said Sunghoon, his smile bigger than ever. “You wanna keep skating now?”

“Yeah,” you answered. “I’d like that.”

You and Sunghoon continued to skate, and the rest of the afternoon was filled with happiness and laughter. The smiles never came off either of your faces, and neither of you had even thought of letting go of the other’s hand. The two of you were so happy in this moment and you didn’t want it to end.

All good things must come to an end, though, and your afternoon with Sunghoon was no different. Sunghoon felt his phone vibrate in the pocket of his hoodie and he pulled it out. His mom had sent him a text. “My mom’s asking me where I am,” said Sunghoon with a twinge of disappointment. “I guess I can’t blame her; we’ve been here for almost four hours. I should get going.”

“No problem Sunghoon. I should probably get home as well. I need to get started on my homework.”

You and Sunghoon left the rink, still holding hands. You two were parked next to each other in the parking lot, and there you said your goodbyes. Before you went in your car, however, you thought of something. “Hey, Sunghoon, did you have anything in mind you wanted to tell me when you invited me here? You know, anything not related to what I told you?”

“Nope. That was exactly it,” Sunghoon said with a smile. “Believe it or not, I also talked to Sunoo yesterday evening.”

“No way,” you said, a bit dumbfounded. “Did you actually?”

“Yeah. Looks like great minds think alike.” He gave you a wink, and before he turned around to get in his car, he said, “I’ll see you on Saturday.”

#enhypen #enhypen sunghoon #sunghoon x reader #enhypen imagines #enhypen x reader #enhypen scenarios #park sunghoon #enhypen blurbs #enhypen fluff #enhypen soft hours #enhypen writers #enhypen reactions #enhypen timestamps #enhypen angst

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noctilucid · 3 years

Text

DannyMay Day 15: Nature

**References my Day 4 (Stars) drabble, but stands alone.**

"Circle up everybody!" Ms. Teslaff barked, rapping her walking stick on a boulder embedded in the trail. "This camping trip is required by the state to be educational. Therefore, you will be given a group assignment designed to meet municipal standards." Mr. Lancer opened his messenger bag and started passing around packets and paper bags. A ripple of complaints and muttered curses spread out through the group. "You will be assigned a partner, and together you will search for and identify these plants. Bring back a leaf for each plant in the packet to receive full credit."

Paulina grimaced and looked down at her shoes for the tenth time that day. She had thought they'd stay close to the cabins for this trip, and her usual cute flats would have served her just fine on the broad, packed paths cut by hundreds of students' feet in the years before. But here she was, hiking in them. The mud was bad enough, but all the uneven terrain was putting creases in the material every time she had to put her weight on the balls of her feet. And now she was expected to go on a scavenger hunt? What was she, five?

"Paulina," Mr. Lancer said with a tired drawl as he read the names written on the brown paper bag on the top of his stack, "you will be partnered with Sam Manson." He handed her the bag and a packet before moving on to the next group.

Uhg, perfecto. I'm with Creepy Manson. They did this on purpose, didn't they? Paulina cut her eyes at Sam as she stomped over in her combat boots, looking equally thrilled.

"How many plants do we have to find?" Sam sighed, taking the packet from her. She flipped through the pages. "Well, at least these are all pretty distinctive."

"I'm sure you're disappointed none of them can lay eggs in my face," Paulina returned with an edge. She still hadn't forgiven Sam for that incident at the aquarium all those years ago.

Sam narrowed her eyes, not looking up from the paper. "Spores."

"What?"

"Plants don't lay eggs. Some of them have spores." She folded back a few pages and held up a picture of a fern they were supposed to locate. "This one can lay spores in your face."

Paulina raised her hand and waved at the teachers. "Miss Teslaff, I want a different partner! I don't want Sam to murder me and bury my body in the woods. I'm too pretty to die."

"No changing groups!"

Paulina huffed and crossed her arms. "Tough break," Dash said to her as he and Valarie headed off on one of the forks in the path.

"Good luck!" Kwan chimed in, who was paired with Tucker. "Hey, you got a plant identifying app on that thing…?"

"Do I ever!"

Danny put a reassuring hand on Sam's shoulder as he followed Mikey uphill. "Try not to be too hard on her?"

"No promises," Sam grumbled.

Soon the path had cleared out except for the two of them and two pairs of band nerds peering over their packets together.

"Come on, let's get this over with," Sam said at length, grabbing Paulina by the wrist and hauling her off in a random direction.

"Ow! Hey, get off of me!"

Sam did let go, and then scuffled up a tumble of boulders to a trail on higher ground. Paulina let out a dramatic and frustrated groan before following her up much more slowly. By the time she caught back up, Sam was standing in the shade of a tree growing out of a split in the rock, studying the packet again.

"Oriental Thuja?" she said, forehead creased. "Why would they even put that on here? It's not native to this area."

"So we won't be able to find it?" How much is this stupid assignment worth anyway?

"No, it could be here, but it's invasive."

Paulina rolled her eyes. "Don't tell me you're going to be sacrimonious about plants now too."

"Oh, of course," Sam returned. "Because you only like nature if it's pretty and flatters you. You can't be bothered to learn about something complicated like an ecosystem." She headed down the trail at a brisk walk, grabbing a sapling and using it as a hand-hold as she swung herself down another steep portion.

"Would you stop doing that?" Paulina yelled after her, but Sam didn't slow down. "¡Joder!" she swore under her breath. Somehow, she was going to make Sam regret this by the end of the day. She just had to figure out how.

***

A brooding 45 minutes later, and Sam had found five of the plants they were looking for with little help from Paulina.

"Next is the purple coned larch…" Sam said, more to the paper held in front of her face than to Paulina. "We should probably go uphill to look for it…" Paulina died a little more inside. No more climbing hills!

"Oh, is that one of the ones that's going to lay spores in my face?" Paulina sniped as Sam strode on ahead for the hundredth time. "I guess you would end up with some weird kinks after being possessed by an ugly plant ghost."

"You're the one who brought up the face eggs," Sam said, nonchalant, and notably not slowing down. "I think that says more about you than about me."

Paulina clenched her fists. "Ugh! You're such a freak, you know that?"

"Aaaand personal attacks mean you have no convincing arguments left in your arsenal! Looks like it's Sam two, Paulina zero for the day so far." Sam was steadily moving out of range, and Paulina was forced to follow if she wanted to continue the argument. She was busy trying to think of a better jab while watching where she put her feet, but Sam beat her to the punch. "It's kind of sad that you're still hung up on this actually. Move on already."

Paulina gritted her teeth as the angle of the slope forced her to grab a muddy point of rock to haul herself up with. "Would it kill you to apologize? ¡Dios mío!”

"For what?"

"For harassing me with a starfish, Miss Don't-Be-Cruel-To-Animals!" She stood up and tried to wipe her hand clean on a tree trunk. "And I mean a real apology, not that stupid letter the teacher made you write."

"Oh, yeah, to be clear, I didn't mean that apology letter."

"It was clear," Paulina said, quiet and venomous.

"I hope you shredded it or something. I'm kind of embarrassed to have my name on the bottom of it."

"I threw it in the fireplace as soon as I got home that day."

"Well, that's a relief," Sam said with a performative grin. "And no, after what you did to Danny, you'd better believe I'd eat a hot dog before I'd apologize to you."

"I only went out with Danny to get under your skin!"

"Exactly."

Paulina's hands spasmed between gestures as she tried to collect herself. "Did you ever think that maybe, if you weren't such a self-absorbed piece of shit, maybe your friends wouldn't get hurt as much?"

Sam's face went blank for a telling second before she focused back on the paper. Paulina was a little surprised that jab had worked, actually, but she wasn't going to look a gift horse in the mouth. She couldn't think of anything to follow up with, so she decided to allow the silence to be her victory.

And she's back to climbing again. Someone kill me…

They had almost reached the summit of the hill they were on— Paulina was debating to herself whether it was tall enough to be considered a mountain— when Sam finally found what she was looking for. The tree she was examining was scrawny and gnarled, squeezing its roots into the veins of available soil, and it was barely taller than they were.

"I think this is it. The needles look the same," Sam said, holding up the page for comparison. "It would help if the picture wasn't in black and white, though."

Paulina cast a glance over the diagram and the plant in front of them. "No, it doesn't have the little cones," she grumbled. I swear to god, if we have to climb any higher…

"This one's pretty young. I don't think it's old enough to have fruited before. They take a couple of years to get established."

"Well how can you tell if this is the right one? There's a thousand different Christmas trees on this hill, and they all look the same." Paulina shook her head. "You know, whatever. Let's just take a branch and go—" She sputtered to a stop as Sam pushed the packet and paper bag full of samples into her hands. Paulina adjusted the materials in her hands and watched as Sam stooped down, fished in her combat boot with two fingers, and pulled out something long and thin. She pulled off the makeshift cap, revealing the stubby tip of a well-used oil pencil.

Kneeling in front of the tree, Sam drew some intricate shape on the trunk with the dark blue pigment, then murmured something Paulina didn't catch. In the shadow of the trees branches, Paulina saw the symbol glow faintly green, and the same light snaked up the tree along the ridges in the bark until it reached the closest branch. With a quiver, the end of the branch put out fresh needles and then a tiny purple cone.

"See?" Sam said, breaking off the end of the branch. "Perfect match."

Paulina gaped like a fish. "You— Holy shit, you—" Magic. That was honest to god magic! Paulina felt lightheaded. She had been… dabbling. Combing the internet and old bookstores. At first, she had hoped to find a spell that could summon a ghost, or anything else she could use to get Phantom's attention. But as the weeks had stretched into months, she had become desperate to find any scrap of genuine magic. And here it was.

"Are you— is that Wicca?" she finally managed.

Sam shook her head. "Semitic Neopaganism. There's a difference."

Paulina paused to think on it. Could I learn Jewish magic if I'm not Jewish? Would it even work for me? She chewed on her lip. What am I saying? There's no way Manson would teach me anything in the first place. Then Sam started speaking softly, and Paulina had to shake out of her thoughts to catch it.

"I did think about apologizing," Sam said. "Properly. I was… kind of a mess in fifth grade. Um. And sixth and seventh too, actually." Her eyes remained focused on the pine sprig in her hand as she spoke, slowly rotating it between her fingers. "I've never liked you. But that didn't make it right for me to pick on you." She stood up and took back their paper bag, tucking the sample inside. "But then you pulled Danny into it. So, I'll never apologize." She finally looked up and met Paulina's gaze. "And neither will you." Paulina opened her mouth to retort, only to realize that Sam was an image of perfect calm. It was not an accusation, not a barb, just a statement. And Paulina had no idea how to respond. "We're both petty bitches," Sam continued. "It's in our natures. So… let's just move on." She extended a hand to Paulina. "Deal?"

The offered hand was stiff and formal, as if this were a business meeting rather than two sweaty girls talking on a hiking trail, but Paulina saw an earnestness in it. Slowly, she reached out and slid her own palm into Sam's.

"Deal." She watched Sam for a moment, her unwavering gaze, the ridiculous purple contacts, the stillness which had come over her, like a stone come to rest. Not sophisticated or refined, as Paulina sought to be, but… very Sam. Very self-assured, in a way Paulina pretended not to admire. "We don't like each other."

"Naturally." Sam released her hand and turned to head back down the slope.

"But we… don't hate each other either. We just... are. Now."

Paulina saw the little quirk of a smile enter Sam's lips. "Yeah."

"And maybe… we can talk about magic sometimes?" She shook her head, slightly embarrassed. "Like, over text, so nobody gets the wrong idea?"

Sam chuckled. "Yeah. That sounds fun."

A smile crept over Paulina's face in spite of her attempt to hide it. Oh, what does it matter? Sam's not looking at me anyway. She gave herself a moment to squeal silently in her head. Real magic! She'd found someone who knew real magic! She shook her head again. Of course it would be Manson. Of course.

She picked up her pace, in spite of her sore feet, in spite of the damage she was doing to her shoes, to catch up to Sam. It was easier going downhill. "What do we still have to find?"

Sam extended the packet to her, pointing to one of the plants. "Just two left, lady fern and honeysuckle. They both like to grow near water, so I saved them for last. We can head down and check the creek on our way back." Oh thank god, we're almost done. Paulina leaned in to get a better look at the fern diagram. "You know, there's a spell I've been working on that uses ferns. Maybe we should grab a couple extra?"

Paulina squealed out loud this time, and clapped a hand over her mouth. "Sorry," she mumbled through her fingers. "Solemn. Solemn goth witch." She folded her hands in front of her and tried to look composed. Sam laughed.

"Nah, you don't have the wardrobe for that. Go on, be as pink as you'd like." She stepped down a bank of tree roots and held a branch back for Paulina to follow in her wake. Paulina paused in surprise before accepting the gesture.

This will take some getting used to.

#dannymay2021 #phanniemay2021 #danny phantom #Paulina Sanchez #Sam Manson #my writing

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theonewiththefanfics · 4 years

Text

Would You Be My Little Quarantine (one-shot)

Synopsis: As the mandatory quarantine hits, the Reader is stuck in a cabin in Utah with the boys from 5 Seconds of Summer. Turns out another person is stuck in a hotel nearby. Hijinx ensue as does romance.

Pairing: Harry Styles x f!Reader

Genre: fluff pretty much just pure, teeth-rotting fluff.

Warnings: it’s my first time writing for Harry as I was never really part of the fandom, but damn does Watermelon Sugar do things to a person, so please be kind. This is defo not my best work, but I’m slowly getting back into the groove of things, so bare with me :D

Word count: 6061

TikTok had become Y/N’s new obsession. She’d stayed away from it as long as she could, being a true Vine generation child, she felt loyalty to the deceased app. But one night, after a long recording session, she caved. And then stayed giggling on it until the early morning when the birds started to chirp… or until Calum had taken her phone and threatened to throw it in the jacuzzi if she didn’t go to bed.

The girl and the four guys from 5 Seconds of Summer had been renting a cabin in the middle of the Utah woods to help them escape the distractions of the city as they recorded their respective albums, and given how they were good friends, they decided to collaborate on a few songs, and it made sense to just chill together as well.

Which had started off Y/N’s own TikTok series, having ‘borrowed’ the idea from the Irishman living with two girls.

“Alright, gentlemen.” She slid inside her bathroom pulling the focus of her camera on the reflection in the mirror. “I live with four guys, and I have some things to say. Why do you always, and I mean ALWAYS, leave your socks around the house? The dirty ones. You know you could just throw them in the wash… there’s an idea.”

“We do!” Calum yelled

Y/N turned her face to the door and hollered, “Only after I’ve asked you to!”

“Do not!” he countered.

“Do too!” she exited the bathroom and into the hallway only to be met with the man standing there with his hands on his hips. “Then how.” Y/N pointed the camera towards the living area you could see from where the hallways overlooked the room. “Do you explain that?” And when she zoomed in, there, in a small pile laid two brown socks, all crumpled up and almost pushed underneath one of the three couches, as if someone was trying to hide them from sight.

Calum stammered for a bit. “Those are NOT mine.”

Y/N flipped the camera and looked at it like they do in the Office. “Help me,” she mouthed and finished the TikTok, pointing with her hand at him. “Ya disgustin’!”

Just as maturely as she had reacted, so did Calum by crossing his arms and sticking his tongue out, but their little bickering about whose socks they were and whose job was it to put them in the dirty wash (they were Ashton’s, and it was his job), Luke poked Y/N’s side as he came out from his room.

“I know might seem weird, but is there any chance another person could join our quarantine group?”

Y/N’s eyebrows rose. Sure, the house was giant, mostly because whatever production she was a part of on Broadway, after a successful season, she invited all of them there to get away from the bustle of New York and just chill. It was in the middle of the forest, encased by gorgeous mountains and at the side of a lake where they’d go jet skiing and cliff diving.

“I thought people can’t visit one another?”

“They can’t,” Luke confirmed. “That’s the point. The unfortunate soul just got stuck at a hotel not too far from here, and all the flights are cancelled. Two weeks of quarantine without symptoms have been concluded, but, knowing how impossible it’d be to get to London, when you know, as I said, there are no flights, I offered a place to stay.”

“So,” Y/N dramatically rolled her head. “You already offered to stay before asking me?”

“Well, I knew you’d say ‘yes’ because you’re a kind, generous, amazing, smart, talented, compassionate person and wouldn’t leave someone on the streets when you know you could help.”

“Mhm, keep talking.” Y/N squinted her eyes and put her hands on her hips.

“Incredible, best musician I’ve ever met, how you haven’t won all of Tony’s I’ve got no idea. Your acting skills are impeccable and the movie industry is missing out on a once in a lifetime kind of a talent by not castin-“

“Alright stop.” Y/N busted out laughing. “As long as you promise I won’t wake up with an axe in my head, ‘s fine.”

“Promise.”

“Good. Also, could you please get me three bottles of that wine I like?” Y/N hollered before skipping downstairs and to the kitchen where Ashton was brewing the tenth cup of coffee. “I have a deadline in two weeks and have literally no idea where to go with the story.” She referred to the second book of her series she was writing, and now with the lockdown going on, her literary agent was breathing down her neck, and it didn’t help she hadn’t written anything in like a month and didn’t remember half of the already exiting story.

Luke lifted a brow and hissed through his teeth. “That bad?”

“You have no idea,” she sighed and left for the living-room where she could harass the boys for their fries and procrastinate some more.

***

The few hours, while Luke was away, were quite uneventful. All of them sat around on the couch pit, wrote some music, lil bit of lyrics and Y/N almost cried seeing as her characters had decided to live their own life and not obey to her story.

“Why do you have to be such an idiot,” she mumbled under her breath and furrowed her brows as she wrote herself into a new plot hole.

Right as Y/N was about to delete the whole chapter, the door slammed open and she heard grunting. “We’re here!” Luke hollered, and the thought of wine made her giddy, making her leap over the edge of the couch, and rush to the front door only to stop dead in her tracks.

Y/N’s mouth hung open, not because of who the person joining their quarantine group was, but because of what the person was. “A fifth GUY?! You didn’t tell me it’d be a guy!”

“I didn’t think it’d matter!” Luke yelled back.

“There’s already four of you!” She pointed back to the living room hearing loads of ‘hey!’ being shouted back.

“Would you leave him on the streets if you’d known he was a dude?”

“No, of course not!”

“Why are we yelling?”

“I don’t know!”

“I mean, I can leave.” Harry Styles said pointing at the door, not really knowing what to do. He certainly hadn’t expected that sort of greeting. “But I do come bearing gifts.” He lifted a black bag where a clinking of glass could be heard.

“No,” she sighed. “It’s fine... I just… I just miss the company of vaginas.”

He raised a perfectly groomed eyebrow. “Vaginas?”

“People I can rant to. Honestly, it doesn’t even matter if you have a vagina, as long as we can have a good rant. Especially about the gross things like having all of your dirty socks thrown around the house.” She threw Luke a look that screamed ‘I know you pushed all of them under your bed, and it’s stinking up the whole place.’

Harry shook his head. “Ya not gonna find me leaving my clothes like that. Besides, ‘s disgusting.”

“No,” Luke whined, “come on, man! You’re supposed to be on our side!”

“It’s two against four,” Harry snickered, throwing his hand around Y/N’s shoulder, who gave Luke a smug grin, and it made her mimic the same expression.

“It’s evening out. Maybe you should actually invite some other people to quarantine with us. Say, Harry, is maybe Niall in need of a place to stay?”

Luke rolled his eyes, and shook his head, going into the kitchen and placing the food bags he’d been holding. “I hate you so much.”

Y/N’s smile just widened.

***

“Yes, I’m still stealing your series Irishman.” Y/N zoomed in on her face. “Because now…” she looked up at the ceiling in a manner ‘someone please save me’, “I’m living with FIVE dudes. Yes, FIVE. We have an addition. And if someone doesn’t come and kill me, I will kill them.”

“We’re not that bad!” Michael hollered form out of frame, to which Y/N yelled back, “Yes the fuck you are! Boys are gross. You do realize you’re allowed to have more than one towel. Like you DON’T have to wipe your face with a towel that’s soaked up your ball juice.”

“It’s economy.”

“It’s disgusting! Also.” Y/N turned the camera to Harry who was climbing up the stairs with a cup of coffee in hand. “Say ‘Hi’ to gremlin number five. He’s stolen all of my nail polish.”

He gave a cute wave with an adorable smile, muttering an unintelligible ‘Hello’ as his mouth was stuffed with a piece of bread and a very muffled ‘You don’t even use them.’

“Yes, but that’s not the point. Anyway,” Y/N pointed the camera at herself. “Tune in for an update whenever, as long as I haven’t strangled anyone, and pray to the heavens you don’t see my face in the papers cause the next time you do, it’ll be my mugshot for a quintuple homicide.”

“Is that a threat Y/L/N?” Harry smirked, as Y/N walked past him and took away his cup of coffee.

“No, it’s a promise.” She threw him a wink, leaving the Brit with his mouth open at the woman’s audacity, as she stopped the recording of the TikTok.

“That was my coffee!”

“Not anymore!”

He shook his head, turning back around and going to the kitchen, seeing Y/N perched on one of the stools, neck stretching over to where Ashton was watching a video on his phone, the black liquid in his cup now a creamy beige. Harry smiled. Maybe quarantine wasn’t going to be so bad.

***

Y/N’s head popped from the side of the door, bringing all of their attention to her. “You guys need to record anything right now?”

Luke shook his head, signifying the band was alright before turning to Harry who mimicked him, the tapping of his pen stopping. “Why?”

“Just got a call from Laurence, he said something’s wrong with the ‘Candy Store’ audio from yesterday. Need to rerecord it and send it over. Something about a faulty export or whatever.”

“ ‘S all yours.” Ashton motioned to the recording booth. “Oh, but can I be Heather Duke?”

“And can I be Heather McNamara then?” Luke piped in.

Y/N chuckled. “Not to burst your bubbles, but you do know you won’t be in the final version?”

“No, but we could be in THIS version. It’d be for our private files. And it’d help you.”

“That sounds so wrong.” She grimaced. “How would that help me?” Y/N plopped next to Harry on the floor. “You’re the biggest distractions I’ve ever met.”

Luke scoffed. “How dare you! We offer you our services of being backup singers, and you… you’re such a meanie. You’re such a Heather Chandler!”

“It’s 2020! If Leslie Odom Jr. can play Aaron Burr, then I can play one of the Heathers! Don’t be sexist, Y/N!”

“I never said a dude can’t play a Heather, don’t put words in my mouth. I just said last time we tried to record anything together we ended up playing SIMS for like seven hours, but… come on you two divas, get your asses inside then. But I swear if Laurence or Kevin call because one of you whispered something dirty in the background of MY parts, I will strangle you in your sleep.”

“How little trust do you have in us?”

“Very,” Y/N deadpanned, showing the two men inside, leaving Calum, Harry and Michael to man the production table. “If you mess with anything, your asses will be grass.” She pointed at the three and all of them put their hands up in surrender. “ ‘S bad enough you ruined my single.”

“It’s called giving it flavour,” Calum said through the microphone.

Y/N just responded by sticking her tongue out.

Michael lifted his fingers, counting down from five to one, giving her the cue to start.

“Are we gonna have a problem?” Y/N cocked her head to the side, already immersed in the character of Heather Chandler. “You’ve got a bone to pick? You’ve come so far, why now are you pulling on my dick?”

Harry swallowed hard.

“I’d normally slap your face off, and everyone here could watch,” she slightly motioned with her head to the audience behind the screen, a mockingly sweet smile on her lips. “But I’m feeling nice, here’s some advice, listen up biatch.”

When her hips started moving from side to side to the rhythm of the song, Harry swore he’d never found someone being mean (even though it was mock mean) so hot.

“I like,” Y/N raised her voice before dropping it. “Looking hot, buying stuff they cannot.”

There was no sight of the sweet and bubbly girl Harry had met. This was Queen-B of Westerberg High in flesh. He was transfixed.

“I like drinking hard, maxing dad’s credit card.”

She didn’t need anyone’s credit card to pay for her things, given how she was one of the top paid Broadway singers of their generation, and something in Harry skipped a beat at how confident she looked.

“I like skipping gym, scaring her, screwing him,” Y/N rolled the ‘r’ deeply in her throat, and he had to collect himself before his thoughts went to an unsavoury place.

“I like, killer clothes, kicking nerds in the nose!” With a smile, Y/N pointed at Luke who only rolled his eyes. “If you lack the balls, you can go play dolls, let yer mammy fix you a snack,” she emphasised the ‘K’ after having mockingly sung the bit before. “Or you could come smoke, pound some rum and coke, in ma Porche with the quarterback.”

As weird as it was to have the two boys be her fellow Heathers, Y/N hated to admit it did help her. It reminded her more of what it was like to be on stage before the pandemic had started and the production had to be shut down. And she missed them. All her fellow actors just as much as she missed the rush of getting on stage and losing herself in the role and atmosphere.

“You can join the team –“

“Or you can bitch and moan,” Y/N’s ‘Heathers’ sang in a nasally voice

“You can live the dream.”

“Or you can die alone.”

Harry snuck inside the recording booth, picking up a pair of headphones by the drum set.

“You can fly with eagles,”

“Or if you’d prefer,”

“Keep on testing me,”

“And end up like her!”

And that’s when Harry joined in, reciting the lines of both Veronica and Martha, and when he saw Y/N keeping a palm over her mouth as she tried to keep a mean face while inevitably hiding a smile. The whole of the song, despite how Ashton, Luke and Harry had tried to make Y/N break character (she came close a couple of times), the woman stayed on the line, not missing a beat, and especially enjoying the moment where she looked at Luke, who was about to hit the high note and screaming ‘shut up, Heather!’

Harry couldn’t help the smile splitting apart his face. When Luke had first picked up his call, having known he and the gang were somewhere in the Utah region, he had thought he’d be living with just the guys, and when he found out it was actually Y/N Y/L/N renting the cabin, the girl he’d admired for so long for how brave and utterly unapologetic she was of being herself, Harry had just thought he’d gain a new friend, not have romantic feelings spring up.

And all of it had happened in the span of two days, not even that much. He’d arrived the evening before, had met the woman, and now it was three PM on day two and was already in love.

It was an exhilarating and terrifying feeling all at once. Some studies said it takes men eight seconds to fall in love, which Harry now could pretty much confirm, while it takes women generally fifteen days to fall in love. And he could only hope Y/N might have some feelings for him as well, otherwise, he’d have to scold his heart for falling quickly once again.

***

It was the middle of the night, wind slamming against the windows when Harry got awoken by people talking behind his door. At first, he was ready to fight, thinking immediately that intruders had come into the house, but when he heard a ‘fuck off Michael’ and a ‘you fuck off, you’re gonna ruin this’, he understood everything was fine. And he was just about to lay back down on the soft pillows, but as the saying went – curiosity killed the cat, but satisfaction brought it back, so he threw off the covers and lightly went to the door, where a bleary Harry appeared on the stairs making Y/N and Michael whip their heads towards him and freeze on the spot.

“What are you two do-“ but he didn’t get to finish the question as the two co-conspirators shushed him.

“You’re either in,” Y/N whispered harshly, “or out. Choose Styles.”

A beat. “What kind of trouble’re we getting’ into?”

The smile which spread on her face was nothing short of wicked. “Revenge,” Y/N hissed.

“Be quieter than a mouse,” she whispered to him, and now the trio moved downstairs.

“Who are we getting revenge on?” Harry spoke as quietly as he could, as they rounded the corner and exited the cabin through the back door. It was colder than he thought, seeing how the wind wasn’t warm at all, and he was grateful he’d fallen asleep in his favourite rainbow cardigan. How Y/N and Michael didn’t even shiver in their barely-there pyjamas he didn’t understand.

“See, Luke here thought it was a good idea to not heed my warning about not messing with my recording.”

Harry’s eyebrows scrunched up. “He didn’t.” He knew Luke hadn’t, he was there the whole time and listened back to what they’d sung with everyone together.

“No, but he did rename a different file with the same name I had for the 'Heathers'' recording, on MY computer, mind you. And well, let’s just say, it was not what anyone wanted to hear.”

Harry had to swallow, as his mind went to unsavoury places, and as Y/N shimmied open the lock of the window to the studio bathroom part of the house, she looked over her shoulder to see his expression. It would seem, despite him being in ‘Dunkirk’ and having been confirmed to play Eric in the live-action ‘The Little Mermaid’ he wasn’t as good of an actor as he thought.

“Get your mind out of the gutter,” she snickered and pulled herself inside the house through the window, Michael handing her a black duffle bag Harry hadn’t first noticed. “It was a conversation I had with my friends while we were all drunk. Some tea, some very personal tea was spilt, and so.” She unzipped the bag slowly and took out a whipped cream can. “I’m going to spill something else.”

Canned cheese was one of the most disgusting things ever created by a human in Y/N’s opinion. So, squeezing nine cans worth of the stuff inside all of Luke’s socks, jean pockets and everywhere else possible was good enough revenge for her.

“Why are we in the studio though?” Harry asked as the trio crept towards the bathroom door and peeked through the open sliver. It was pitch black.

“Because Luke teds to forget his favourite things here,” Michael explained and motioned for them to follow as he checked that the hallway was clear. It was go-time.

Together they all snuck back inside the recording studio, and much like Michael had said – Luke’s favourite jean jacket, a woollen jumper, three pairs of boots and shoes were all scattered around the place. He hadn’t even noticed it while they’d hung out there, but now Harry understood what Y/N was talking about while whining about the boys being messy.

She uncapped the can and squeezed, the artificial smell of cheese wafting through the air, making her almost gag. “That’s for being a bad friend,” she muttered while filling up one shoe. “That’s for making bad jokes.” She filled up another. “And that’s for saying ‘Dancing in the Moonlight’ is an overrated song.’

It was hard for Harry to contain the giggles, as he uncapped his own can and started filling up wherever Y/N pointed to. Did he feel bad? Sure. But was it fun to feel like a teenager in a university dorm during a prank war? Abso-fucking-lutely. And it didn’t help that he was desperately falling in love with Y/N with every second they spent together. Like she could’ve asked him to hide Luke’s corpse, and he’d say he’d take the blame for the murder if it came to it.

“Why did we have to sneak around the place like that?” he suddenly asked, brows furrowing in concentration as he squeezed the smelly contents inside the inside pocket of the jacket. “Why couldn’t we have just walked through the house?”

“Because Luke always and I mean always comes to the studio at 3 AM,” Y/N stated.

Harry looked at the clock. It was 2:45 AM already.

“But before that, he goes into the kitchen, makes himself a double espresso, a sandwich and eats it before going into the storage where we keep all of the instruments, which is where he is in right now. Had we snuck through the normal way, he would’ve seen us and stopped this. And that just wouldn’t fly.”

However, it was like Luke had a sixth sense as right at that moment the light flipped on, and like deer in headlights, the trio’s heads shot up and eyes widened.

“What the fuck!” he whispered hand extended in the direction of the already six empty cans on the floor.

Y/N snapped out of the adrenaline induced frozen state and shrugged. “I told you not to mess with the recording.” She put her finger back on the squeezable part. “And you. Didn’t. Listen.”

The cheese squirted out with a splutter, and all of them stood still as the final bits dropped into Luke’s black boot. “And that’s payback.”

With a sway in her hips, Y/N exited the room, leaving the three men to gawk after her.

God was she a hurricane, Harry thought to himself. And he’d never been as happy to be caught right in the eye of it all.

***

The next few days all of them spent lounging around the house, recording a few songs, most of them by Harry seeing as a huge wave of inspiration had hit him, making him write more than one love song. He even asked Y/N somewhat shyly if she could do some of the backing vocals, and he swore the song went from a 3 to a 100 the second he heard her voice weave his lyrics into a symphony.

By that point, they’d been quarantining for a week and a half together, and a heatwave was coming up. The cabin had both an inside and outside pool which they’d all had to learn how to maintain, seeing as no one could come and do it for them, and a jacuzzi tub on the terrace. As much as the boys tried to prove they knew how to keep the places clean, ultimately it was Y/N who saved all of them from chlorine poisoning and algae overgrowth.

So, it was right when she pulled out the pH indicator and said it was good for use when with a scream, Luke rushed forward Y/N, rugby tackling her by the waist and plunged both of them down to the water below.

“You asshole!” She splashed at him, laughing and choking out a bit of water as they resurfaced. “What the fuck is wrong with you!”

“That’s payback for the cheese.”

She went silent for a second, but then shrugged. “Can’t say I didn’t deserve it. But you did deserve the cheese.”

“So,” Luke extended his hand for a shake. “Do we call this even?”

Harry exited the cabin right as both of them completely soaked to the bone jumped out onto the wood floor. He stopped mid-walk if only to control where his eyes went seeing as Y/N’s white shirt clung to her body and well… didn’t leave much for the imagination anymore.

“Do I wanna know what happened here?” He raised a brow.

“Retribution.”

“Though I do gotta say, you have a funny way of getting revenge.” Y/N smirked at Luke, making him squint down at the girl.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean,” she drawled out, a mischievous smile on her lips, “that when I filled your clothes with the cheese, my stuff didn’t get stinky. And yet, from your end… I’m not the only one wet.”

A beat passed.

“God fucking damn it.”

“Hey!” She pointed a finger at him. “We called a truce!”

Luke waved her off. “Yeah yeah, whatever,” but Y/N grabbed Luke’s hand right before he went inside and squeezed it.

“We good?”

He sighed and smiled. “We good, sweetheart.” He pressed a kiss to the top of her head, gave Harry a quick ‘see ya later’ as well and disappeared through the glass doors.

Harry didn’t know what’d happened to him. He’d always been a helpless romantic, falling in love, and maybe a bit too hard at that, but this time, even without Y/N knowing about his feelings, his heart felt safe.

Sure, the side of her he’d seen was a complete headcase, and she had more energy than a bull with a red flag in front of it, but the utter love exuding from the woman, even while she complained about her four, well five counting him, housemates was palpable in the air. The way she hugged and made sure everyone had whatever they needed, the way she let them know if anyone needed to have a chat, she’d be there to listen, and the small little things of how she always knew what preferences they’d have for their pancakes or breakfast in general, made his heart melt.

“Luke’s a lucky guy.” Harry swallowed before saying that. As much as seeing Y/N be affectionate with everyone, him included, made him feel all fuzzy, a little jealousy monster did bubble up in his stomach when he saw her snuggled next to the lead vocalist of the band. He didn’t have any right to, but no matter how much he tried to repress the green beast, it still lurked somewhere deep in his heart.

“Hm?” Y/N lifted her head where she’d been looking at the water as she squeezed it out of her shirt and up at Harry.

He motioned with his chin to where Luke had disappeared. “He’s a lucky guy to have someone like you.”

“Oh, we’re not together if that’s what you’re implying.”

“I –“ he stammered. “I didn’t mean to offend y-“

But Y/N waved him off. “You’re not the first nor probably the last person to say that. I get it. They asked me one time to surprise their fans at a concert in Connecticut, I think, and when their photographer sent over the pictures, I kinda saw what everyone kept saying, but I’ve never looked at any of them as more than a friend. Best friends, brothers maybe, but nothing more.”

“How’d ya get so close?” Harry enquired, his chest feeling a bit lighter.

Y/N huffed and plopped down to the ground, patting the place beside her which Harry took. “When I first went solo, right after being on ‘Beetlejuice’ I was fucking terrified. Didn’t really know anyone in the music industry like that. Being on Broadway’s different.” She shrugged. “And the award shows are different as well. Like with ‘Tony’s’ or ‘Oliver’ awards it’s you know – musical and theatre geeks. My people. But the first time I went to VMAs I almost shat myself.” She chuckled, and Harry did the same. “Didn’t know anyone at all, was petrified to even find my seat because someone told me I’d have to sit between Lady Gaga and Rihanna, and my heart was not ready for that. Ashton saw me at the edge of the carpet, creeping around the entrance and kinda…” Y/N bit her lip looking for the right words. “I dunno. They kinda took me under their wing, in a sense – if you need a friend in the industry, we’re here, that sort of thing. And ever since then, we’ve been best friends. Luke and I just got the closest because we got stuck in an elevator once for like eight hours once, and well, boredom and thinking you’re gonna die in a four by four-foot box brings people closer.”

Harry almost choked. “Eight hours?”

“Yep.” Y/N popped the ‘p’ and gave him a sarcastic smile. “It was like soooo much fun,” she said sarcastically. “I totally didn’t think the elevator was about to drop from where we were up on like the sixtieth floor, and both of us were gonna get our bones smashed to pieces, and I only had two protein bars, and you know how I get without food,” she stated. He nodded.

“Cranky.”

“Exactly. But.” Y/N chuckled. “We didn’t die. Which’s great, not complaining, and I gained one of my all-time best friends.”

“Well, I’m glad you didn’t die.” Harry gave her a warm smile and nudged her foot with his. “Wouldn’t have gotten the chance to meet you otherwise.”

She nudged his foot back. “ ‘M glad I didn’t die either. And I gotta say – you’ve made this whole quarantine bearable. Sometimes it’s like fighting with four toddlers, and that’s always a futile battle. Happy to have another wrangler with me. Also an accessory to my crimes.”

He inched his hand towards hers, and when Y/N didn’t pull away instead liked her pinkie with his, a warm feeling rushed through him.

“Happy to be of help.”

***

It was two nights later or full two weeks since the six of them had been together when things took a turn.

Y/N’d always been a light sleeper, especially when her life was mainly placed in New York, but now, living in the middle of nowhere, she’d been able to catch up on some sleep. That was when the sound of her door being opened made Y/N shot up in her bed, sheets clutched at her chest in a panic. “What? What’s wrong? What did Calum set on fire?”

“Nothing.” Harry’s eyebrows scrunched up, but he decided not to ask. There was the morning for that. “This might seem weird, but could I uh could I possibly sleep in your room?”

She blinked a couple of times, because her brain was still processing his words and if they were even English, but once they registered, Y/N nodded, pulling back her blanket and scooting over. “C’mere.”

“Again, I’m sorr-“

Y/N shushed him, as Harry climbed in the bed, placing the duvet underneath his arm and twisting to see her, as she mumbled, “less talk, more sleep.”

He hummed in agreement. His eyes were heavy, in fact, they’d become heavy the instant his head had hit Y/N’s pillow, but it was like his heart, the same poor heart that’d had to deal with the newfound emotions for the whole time he’d been there, the same poor heart that didn’t know better and always gave itself away to the person it deemed to be worthy, no matter if in the end it ended up broken, took over the control of his eyes and mouth, and while slamming against Harry’s ribcage, he whispered his confession.

“I really like you… As more than a friend.”

A second passed. He felt Y/N stir as she turned towards him, brow furrowed. “Sorry?”

“I said…” He let out a shaky exhale. “I like you. I fell for you pretty much the second I entered the house and you threatened to throw me out because I was a guy. And then I fell for you when I saw you let loose in the studio. And then once more when I witnessed what your wrath entails.”

Y/N chuckled. “Cheese.”

“Yeah…” He let out a little laugh. “Cheese.”

A gentle palm went to brush away the hair stuck to Y/N’s face and he swore he could just melt as she leaned into his touch. “And then I fell for you when you said yes to singing my song… when you sang the lyrics, I dedicated to you… and every second I fall for you even more… I just… I thought you should know…”

“Well, I can only hope that you’ll take this as a compliment then, when I say I kinda like you too, Styles,” she mumbled snuggling deeper into her pillow. “Though I didn’t think I was your type.”

“What’s my type then?” he mumbled back, letting his arms wrap around Y/N’s waist when she shuffled closer. Not only was he now fully in heaven because he was covered by the softest duvet in the world, head resting against a literal cloud, but also because his nostrils were invaded by the gentlest of smells, and the body against his was the warmest of comforts.

“Well, not girls like me.”

“You mean talented, beyond funny and absolutely breath-taking?”

“Introverted, house hermits who don’t wash their hair unless they have to go somewhere with a perchance of self-destructive behaviour. Unintentional that is.”

Harry’s eyebrows lifted. “Would’ve never taken you for an introvert.”

“Mmmh,” Y/N sighed, feeling his fingers skim her skin. “That’s because I’ve known those guys for years, and they’re like my brothers. Couldn’t be uncomfortable even if I tried with them. We’ve seen too much of each other. But I’m definitely an introvert. Almost had a panic attack the first time I had to make my own doctor’s appointment.”

“You didn’t seem shy with me.”

“That’s because for some weird reason I… I didn’t feel awkward around you. And I mean, you did bring wine.”

She could feel Harry’s chest rumble as he laughed. “Well, I hope it helped with inspiration.”

“Ugh, don’t remind me,” she huffed, but opened her bleary eyes and were met by Harry’s green already staring back. She couldn’t contain the giggle, and it only grew in power as he chuckled himself, making her bury her head in his chest.

“What?”

“Nothing,” she shook her head. “Just never thought I’d date someone from 1D.”

“Are we below you or something?” There was no trace of malice and hurt in his voice. He knew Y/N wasn’t like that.

“No, ‘s just my boy band phase was ‘Good Charlotte’, ‘Panic at the D!sco,’ ‘My Chem’ and the sort.”

“So, you weren’t fainting while listening to ‘You Don’t Know You’re Beautiful’?” Harry mumbled in Y/N’s hair, sleep slowly overtaking him.

She shook her head. “Sorry, no. Panties definitely weren’t dropping then.”

“Are they now?”

“According to ‘Watermelon Sugar’ you’re the one pulling all of ‘em off.”

“Damn. Guess it’ll have to be my new challenge.”

Y/N’s eyebrows scrunched up as she looked at him before promptly falling asleep. “Making my panties drop?”

“Yep. But this time because of me, not Gerard Way.”

“Bold of you to assume it was just Gerard Way. I’m a slut for all of those wizard dads.”

By the time she slurred out the last sentence both of them had drifted off into a peaceful slumber.

***

“They were right!” Harry shouted jumping up in the bed, startling Y/N awake once more as if something was breaking down on their heads with how urgently he jolted. “It does take women two weeks to fall in love and men 8 seconds.”

A pillow met his face. “Fall back asleep.”

He leaned over her still horizontal form, a smug smile on his face. “Are you gonna make a TikTok about it?”

“Probably ‘bout how I murdered the boyfriend I was with for three hours if he doesn’t let me sleep.”

He didn’t argue. With a smile on his face, Harry drifted off once more. Who knew that getting stuck in a hotel somewhere in Utah would lead him to the love of his life?

Tags (crossed out wouldn’t take):

Forever tags: @lumelgy @palaiasaurus64 @supernaturalbaesduh @breezy1415 @crazy--me @thatawkwardlittlefangirl @sea040561 @staryeyedgirl @deathbyarabbit @s-c-a-r-e-d-po-t-t-e-r @reblogger-not-a-blogger @m-a-t-91 @dalilx @i-need-a-hero-i-need-a-loki @maladaptive-ninja-returns @averyrogers83 @in-the-end-im-still-trash @gallifreyansass @dewy-biitch @avxgers @unlikelygalaxygiver @magicwithaknife @ollyoxenfrees @bnhvrdy @tvwhoresblog @celebsimagines @thatkindofgurl @sj-thefan @teenwolflover28 @lestersglitterglue @im-squished

A/N: So... I know I’ve been gone for quite a while, but that’s because I have a job now (I’m trying to get a different one that actually would involve my degree, because this one is absolutely killing me), so please be understanding with the spare posting. I still love writing fics, and as evident, I’m kina branching out into other fandoms :D

There’s a lot of things going on in my life, so if you wanna follow me you can do that on Instagram @dinnusa or @read_with_dee or on my blog dinnusa.wordpress.com :) I also have a TikTok @dinmasters

P.S. feedback is always appreciated :)

P.S.S. If you wanna be tagged please drop a message :) or if you want to be removed/ changed to a different tag list please also message me :)

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libsterslobsters · 3 years

Text

The Wanton Song

Summary: How do you broach the topic of sex with the 90-something super soldier you've found yourself dating? That's the reader's question. Luckily, she and Bucky are no strangers to awkward conversations...

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x fem!enhanced! Reader

(Reader can see bits and pieces of the future in visions and understands all languages)

Warnings: SMUT, tiny bit of angst, lotsa fluff, maybe some past dub!con if you squint

Author's note: Wow... here I am posting smut on the internet. Never thought that would happen. Tmi, but I'm married, so I have a good amount of sex 🙀 and I actually had a great first time, but some people don't, and that's what I tried to represent. That, and CONSENT!!!! Consent is sexy, y'all. Safe, sane and consensual all day every day.

As always, the reader's name isn't stated so that you can read as a self insert, but I've written so much at this point that I refer to the Reader as Violet in my own mind.

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

Life has been going swimmingly these past few months. Better than ever before in fact, or at the very least, better than in a long time. She’s still a fugitive, living life looking over her shoulder, but now she has a steady job, a steady paycheck, and oh yeah, a steady boyfriend. Those three things have never aligned for her before (especially the last one). Overall, she’s pretty happy. But, because she’s her, there’s still a question niggling at the back of her mind.

The transition from “you’re my only friend” to “we’re together now” went smoothly, helped in part by the fact that Barnes had been at that particular juncture the whole time. From the outside looking in, the only major changes have been the addition of those three simple but very key words and an upping the anti in the cuddles department.

Speaking of cuddles, that’s a very mild term for what’s going on these days. It starts out innocent enough. The usual location is on the couch at one or the other’s apartment. There hadn’t been much distance between them since that first time where they ended up talking more than watching the movie playing from her laptop, but now, the space is nonexistent. As a general rule, within the first ten minutes, her legs somehow end up over his lap or in some way intertwined with is. The intention is always to pay attention to what’s on the screen but, well, when you’re that close, it would be rude not to snuggle up. And, when the other person looks that damn kissable, it would truly be insulting not to take the plunge.

Now, considering the angle, one of them has to lean in. Otherwise, it would be awkward. That generally determines who, somewhere from two to ten minutes later, is on top of who. Of course hands wander, and even though it’s understood that the word “no” can be employed at any time and immediately obeyed (not to mention the copious amounts of “Is this okay”’s being asked), she can’t remember a time either of them have said it.

If she had to attach a term to what comes next, it would be ‘dry humping.’ And then… nothing. It always ends far too soon, leaving her flustered and with her heart racing. At first she thought it was because he simply didn’t want her, but, well, there’s certain physical signs that point to that not being the problem. Her next guess was that he’s simply being respectful. Well, as sweet as that is, she’s ready to get on with it. She’s only human after all, and as such, has needs. Sure, she could take care of them herself, but if she had to guess, he’s experiencing those needs too, and from what she’s heard, it’s more fun to take care of it together.

The only issue: how the hell do you bring something like this up, especially when the person you’re bringing it up with grew up in a much more repressed era than you did? She’s been debating it for the past week, and despite having multiple visions, none of them have given her that key insight into what to do.

Finally, she decides to just say it. They’ve made a point to be honest with each other, and it’s probably best to get it out of the way. They’re adults, after all. They can have this discussion. She’s going to come straight out with it.

“Hey, can I ask you something? It’s kind of personal, and maybe a little uncomfortable.”

“Sure, Doll.” The response is immediate. “Fire away.”

Glancing up to make sure they’re not at a pivotal scene in tonight’s movie (they have a system; at his place, watch something he grew up with, at hers, something made literally anytime after 1945), she spits out the whole sentence in one breathless go. “Are we ever going to have sex?”

It feels like a branding iron where his arm is still wrapped around her shoulder. Still, it’s comforting. At least he’s not moving away.

“I gotta admit, that’s not the question I was expecting. What brought this on?”

She shrugs, carefully keeping her eyes trained on the wall behind his head instead of on him.

“Nothing in particular. Just…” is there a delicate way to put this? “...I think things are going well between us, and sometimes when we’re together… I’ve noticed that there’s a physical response.” She’s really hoping that’ll suffice, because she can’t think of a good way to say “I can feel that you’re hard when you’re on top of me”.

“Oh.”

Apparently, her meaning is indeed clear enough, because he removes his arm from her shoulders. She’s about to apologize (all the while mentally berating herself) when his hand closes over hers.

“I’m sorry about that, Doll. I’ll try to stay calmer.” Wait, that’s not- “It’s just an issue guys have. Don’t think it means you have to do anything that you don’t want to, because I would never-”

“I know you wouldn’t.” Without thinking, she cuts him off. “And I want to.” It feels like she’s sitting in a sauna, she’s so flustered from this conversation. “But only if you do, and I understand if you didn’t-”

“No.” It’s abrupt, cutting her off. A definite answer that leaves no room for questioning. “No, I do. I just-” He clears his throat. “-I didn’t want to bring it up, in case we weren’t on the same page. “ This seems to be a recurring theme, so far. “And it’s not a must. If you change your mind-”

It’s pure instinct. There’s no thought involved as she closes the gap between them, this time with her on top, and presses her lips against his. The response is immediate and enthusiastic. She considers just going on, not putting a stop to things, but realization hits that, although overall she’s ready for this to happen, she’s not ready for it to happen tonight. There’s still things she needs to take care of. Most importantly, protection.

So, gasping for breath, she pulls away. “I’m calling for a rain check, but if after that, you still think I’ll change my mind-” she pushes back her hair and forces herself to take a deep breath. “-then you may just be beyond help, Barnes.” If the chuckle is anything to judge from, she’s made her point.

_________________________________________________________________________________

Wow. Bucky thinks to himself as he exits out of the browser tab on his phone. That’s enough internet for one day. Too much, actually. He knows that it’s the information superhighway, but good god, no one needs THAT much information. He really needs to be more specific with what he googles… or less… or just not at all.

He’d never admit it (and really, who the hell is gonna ask him anyway), but he spent the last hour looking up how to have sex. He’s engaged in the act before, yeah, but it was seventy years ago. Plus, it used to be this huge taboo thing that you suspected was going on behind closed doors, but no one (not even the married couples) owned up to it. If you were ever found out, there were severe consequences. As a man, he didn’t have to worry as much, but if whoever the woman was had her dirty laundry aired… oh boy. She’d be a pariah, a “scarlet woman”, unfit for marriage or to even give the time of day. That led to limited encounters, and, well, it just seemed smart to brush up on what information is out there. As it turns out, people have written a lot about the fine art of love making. Unfortunately for him, most of it is absolute garbage. Some of the positions he just read about (because at that point, the article was like a train wreck; he badly wanted to look away, but he couldn’t) don’t even sound possible, much less pleasurable. He’s all for society being freer, but good grief!

He’s halfway through a bottle of straight vodka (it won’t have any effect, but he’s hoping maybe the alcohol will travel to his brain and sanitize his eyeballs from most of the shit he just read) when his phone rings. Great. He’s always happy to talk to her, but right now… wow. It’s gonna take him some time to recover, so he hopes she doesn’t need him to say much.

“Hey, Doll.”

“I am so fucking pissed off right now.” That sounds promising.

“At what?”

“The city of Bucharest, my apartment, the landlord, whoever the fuck did the plumbing in this building! God!” She’s clearly out of breath, so it takes a minute before she can speak again. “I’m sorry, Buck. It’s just that I came home from work, and one of my neighbors told me the entire sixth floor is under a good inch, inch and a half of water.” Wait-

“How-”

“I don’t know. Busted pipe. It’s leaked down onto the fifth floor, so I’ve got about fifty other pissed off people for company.”

“Jesus.”

She chuckles harshly. “Yeah, we could use him right about now to perform a miracle. This is a shit show, and I haven’t even told you the best part.”

“So the spontaneous flood wasn’t the highlight of your day?”

“I fucking wish! So, naturally, I tried to call the landlord, along with basically everyone else. Get this: since it’s after five o’clock on a Friday, he’s not gonna do anything. Told us collectively to suck it up! And of course, when there’s a leak, they have to cut the power…” He’s starting to see a pattern here.

She sighs. “I really needed to get that off my chest. How are you?” Still slightly weirded out by the information overload, but feeling a little more steady now that he’s got a good catastrophe to concentrate on. However, that’s probably not the best answer to go with.

“Better than you are.”

“What, the sky isn’t falling where you are?” He chuckles.

“No, it’s right where it’s supposed to be.” Which reminds him… “But since it seems like you’re short a functional home, why don’t you just stay here until they sort things out?” He’s got a couch that, while it doesn’t have anything on an actual bed, he can manage to sleep on for the next few nights. Or maybe they can share his bed. He shakes his head. That thought needs to be put to the side, even if it’s meant in the most innocent way possible. Of course, in case she decides to cash in that rain check…

“Yes. I mean, that would be great, if you’re sure.”

“I’m sure.” Actually, he can’t think of a better way to spend the weekend. The plan was to meet up either Saturday or Sunday, possibly both, so this isn’t that far out of the ordinary.

“Okay, but just a warning: They’re not letting us go up to our floor in case there’s been electrical damage as well-” That’s smart. If the pipes are in that bad of condition, who knows what the wiring looks like. “-so all I have is my purse, backpack, and what I wore to work. No toothbrush or pajamas, or anything like that.”

“That’s alright. All you have to bring is yourself.” He’ll have to look, but he’s pretty sure he has something in his closet that’ll work okay for her until she gets the all clear to go into her apartment. Plus, there’s a laundry mat just around the corner, not to mention a pharmacy.

“Thank you. I really appreciate it.”

“Not a problem.” He glances at his bedside clock. Five thirty-four. It takes roughly half an hour to get across the city by bus, so… “I’ll see you around six fifteen?”

“See you then.”

As soon as the line goes dead, he springs into action. First thing’s first: make sure there’s no dirty clothes, old dishes, or trash laying around. That takes all of five minutes. He should probably check that he does indeed have something she can wear so they won’t have to fumble around later. Tshirts are pretty universal and… yes, he has a few pajama bottoms that have a drawstring waist. How much time does he have left? The phone screen lights up, giving him his answer. Twenty-seven minutes. More than enough time to run around the corner and pick up a few things.

His intention is to buy the basics: spare toothbrush, deodorant, hairbrush, maybe a different shampoo than his three-in-one body wash (it’s convenient for him, but she might prefer something designated for hair specifically). But, well, there’s quite a few aisles, and he gets sucked in. Does he need to buy razors, or is that rude, like he thinks she’s hairy? What about aspirin? How often do most people get headaches? He honestly can’t remember.

By the time he realizes that he really needs to get a move on, his basket is full and he has no idea what aisle he’s on. Desperately, he looks around, and his eyes land on… huh. So they just have them out in the open these days. Last time he was in the market for that, he had to beg a married friend to make the purchase for him. He briefly wonders if he’ll need to produce proof of marriage or something similar, but pushes the thought to the side. It’s the 2000s. He can probably just go up to the register and pay, and no one will give him a second look. But there’s just one problem: which brand? He should google… suddenly remembering his adventure from earlier today, he decides to just go with his gut and pick one. There. Now, he needs to pay and get the fuck out of here because there’s only ten minutes left, and he’d rather not have these out in the open, in case she thinks that’s the reason he’s asked her to stay over. If it happens, great. If not… well, he’s made it for the past seventy years. What’s a few more?

___________________________________________________________________________________

She was still pretty shaken up when she arrived at his apartment, carrying her backpack and purse, slightly damp from the drizzle of rain now covering the city. But immediately receiving a long hug, being instructed to make herself at home, and hearing the offer to take a shower so she could warm up did a lot to restore her good mood.

It was one of the sweetest thing she’s ever experienced in a lifetime where most people have showed her their worst, going into that bathroom and finding a new toothbrush, stick of deodorant, nail clippers, hairbrush, and even shampoo. That and Barnes bashfully informing her that, “I’ll stay in the living room until you’re done. Take your time.” She almost suggested that he just join her in an attempt to broach the subject they left off on two nights ago, but thought better of it. She’s just started to strip when a knock comes from the other side of the wall.

“Sorry. I just remembered that I forgot to give you a change of clothes. Can I leave them outside the door?” A smile forms on her face.

“Sure. Go ahead.” No one’s given this much thought to her comfort or boundaries before. Yet another reason she knows this is the right decision.

She doesn’t stay in the shower for long, just enough time to wash and stop shivering. After toweling off and brushing out her hair, she cracks open the door. Sure enough, a worn but clean tshirt and pair of pajama bottoms are waiting for her. The familiar scent of the laundry detergent he uses envelopes her as she dresses and, at long last, leaves the safety of the bathroom.

True to his word, he’s still sitting on the couch, thumbing through a book she gave him some months back (he’s missed so many feats of literature that have made their way into pop culture; today’s choice is The Hobbit because, while it was out before everything happened to him, he’s never read it) when she emerges. Just in case he’s so absorbed that he hasn’t heard her, she repeats his gesture from earlier and knocks softly on the wall.

“Hey. I’m out. You can have your apartment back.”

“Hey.” That smile always makes her feel slightly unsteady on her feet. “Find everything okay?”

“I did.” She settles into the place next to him. “Thank you, by the way. You didn’t have to go out and get supplies.”

“I know.” He nods, hand closing around hers. “But I wanted to make sure you had whatever you needed.”

They chat for a while about their days, discuss what they should do with the weekend ahead, even throw out ideas for dinner. The entire time, she’s trying to figure out the best way to bring up that she’d really like to finish what they started the other night. However, by the time he’s left to grab some sort of takeout, she’s still no closer to an answer.

Fortunately, their dates usually follow a pattern. Food, a movie, and then the not-so-innocent cuddles. This time, he’s on top of her when she feels the tell-tale sign that he’s as fired up as she is, so she suggests,

“Do want to maybe move to somewhere more comfortable?” His already dilated pupils grow even larger, and he nods.

“Yeah. That sounds like a plan.” She waits for him to roll off of her and head towards the bedroom before she grabs her purse and, digging around inside, grabs one of the foil packages she bought after their last date.

It’s only once she closes the door behind her, shutting them into an enclosed space with a bed (not to mention it’s pretty damn clear what both of their intentions are), that nerves get the better of her. He takes a step towards her, and she leans up to kiss him, but he ducks his head out of the way.

“You’re shaking.” His hand ghosts over her arm, making it obvious that, by comparison, she’s practically vibrating on the spot.

“Sorry.” She chuckles nervously. “It’ll pass.”

“It’s alright.” As he says it, he meets her eyes. “We can stop. Nothing has to happen.”

“I know.” She nods, swallowing hard. “But I want it to.” Their lips briefly meet before he pulls away again.

“Let me ask you, just before we get started, is this-” He stops short, eyes darting from her face to the wall and back again. “...have you… before?” Oh. “Not that it matters, not to me, I just wanted to know so that-”

“I have.” She nods, feeling heat rise to her cheeks. “Once. I was eighteen, and-” It was awful. She’d been seeing the guy for a few months and he kept whining about her not putting out, so she decided to get it over with. He went in dry without any warning, and when she asked him to stop, give her a second to adjust, he told her he couldn’t. She was bleeding and in pain for days afterwards, and to top it off, when her period was late, she thought that, even though he’d pulled out, she was pregnant. That turned out not to be the case, but it, along with the fact that she usually doesn’t stay in one place for very long, has put a damper on her ever wanting to do that again. Except for now. “-it wasn’t a great experience.”

“I’m sorry.” On instinct, she searches for the judgment in his face, the disgust. It’s nowhere to be found, only genuine sympathy. “I’ll do my best to make sure this time is better. That is, if you’re still up to it.”

“I am.” Not waiting for a reply, she wraps her arms around him and starts trailing kisses up his neck towards his ear. “I am. I trust you.” She hears his breath catch, but before she can comment, he’s hoisted her up and is carrying her in the direction of the bed.

As he sets her down, she pulls him on top of her, letting her hands wander over his sides, up his back. After a few moments, she feels his fingers move from her hips to toy with the hem of her… his.. shirt.

“Is this okay? Can I take this off?” She starts to nod, but remembers just in time that he’s so close, they’d butt heads.

“Please.” She expected to feel exposed once she was at least partially undressed, but instead she feels… adored. His eyes are roaming over her newly exposed skin, though his hands have respectfully returned to her waist. In a moment of confidence, she reaches behind her and unhooks her bra. There. Now she’s completely shirtless.

“You’re so beautiful.” The flush from her cheeks is spreading down her neck, but she still smiles.

“Care to make things even?” It’s brief, but she catches the look of hesitation.

“Sure.” Before she can offer to do it, he shrugs his shirt over his head, revealing to her, for the first time, the entirity of his metal arm. She must look for a moment too long, because with a shrug, he informs her, “I can put my shirt back on. No big deal. I know there’s some scarring…” That’s not going to fly. She needs to reassure him, make him feel as desired as he’s made her feel.

“Or if you want to stop-” She stands and, after briefly making eye contact, places a kiss on the most prominent scar.

“Don’t you dare think that way for a second.” They’re flush against each other, chest to bare chest. “Not for one.” Slowly, she slides her hands from his shoulders down to his waist, hesitating just over the button. “Is this okay?” Another shakey breath.

“Yes.”

Going forward, it’s much less awkward. The rest of their clothing is shed, and soon they’re back to their previous position; on the bed, with him on top of her. She feels his fingertips brush the inside of her thigh and gasps.

“May I touch you?” She nods.

“You’d better.”

It’s gentle, more of him feeling her out than anything else. Still, she can’t help but think this is infinitely better already than last time around. Suddenly, he pulls his hand away, and it takes all her effort not to whine at the loss of contact. Before she can ask if something’s wrong, does he want to stop, he’s flat on his stomach, head between her legs.

“Tell me if you need me to stop.”

“What-” Her breath catches as it becomes infinitely clear what he’s doing.

Again, she’s expecting pain when, after several minutes he eases a finger into her, but at this point, she’s so wet that there’s absolutely no difficulty.

“Are you okay?” She nods.

“Don’t stop.”

The process is agonizingly slow, he’s so intent on his task. When, finally, he pulls away, she’s so close that she can almost taste it.

“Do you still want to-”

“If you don’t stop asking me that, I’m gonna slap you.” It’s a joke, and she thinks he knows it, but just to be sure, she siezes his hand (the metal one, which is usually cold but has now warmed from being held close against her body. “I’m ready, so long as you want this too.”

“I do. You wouldn’t believe how much.” Yeah, she thinks she would. “Just give me a second.” Perfect timing. He rolls off of her, which gives her the opening she needs to grab the packet she managed to hide under the pillow while he was… otherwise distracted. When he returns from digging inside the wardrobe, she holds it up, only to realize-

“Oh.” He’s got one as well. “Seems like we both came prepared.”

He chuckles. “Just in case, although that wasn’t why I asked you to stay.”

“I know.” She nods and pats the space next to her. “Not why I said yes either, although I can’t say I’m disappointed.”

He returns to the bed and drops his packet onto the nightstand. “Save this one for later?”

“Definitely.”

There is a bit of discomfort once he starts to push inside her, but it’s not painful. Just… overwhelming. Slightly embarassed she asks,

“Can you wait a second? Please?”

“Of course. Are you alright?” She shifts her hips slightly, making them both groan.

“Fine. You can move now.”

She may have only done this once before, and she has no idea what his experience consists of, but as she hits her peak mere seconds before he does, gently coaxed over the edge, she can’t help but think some things are better the second time around.

“I love you.” It’s whispered against her neck as, once she cleans up and returns to bed, she settles herself against him.

“I love you too.”

___________________________________________________________________________________

The first thing he thinks when he realizes that he’s not alone in bed is that HYDRA’s found him. He’s being activated. His eyes shoot open although apart from that he doesn’t move a muscle, and that’s when he recognizes the person next to him. It’s her. She’s here.

The events of last night come back to him all at once, and he feels a smile forming on his face. It’s been a while, and in any case, it would be wrong to run a comparison, but what they shared, the pure intimacy of it both physically and mentally was incredible. Maybe he should feel a sense of shame. That’s what he was taught growing up. But instead he feels… peaceful.

That is, until her eyelids flutter and she rolls over, shifting the covers so that he gets a good view of her still naked body, and with it, the bruises on her thighs and hips. Bruises unmistakably left by his fingers. Dammit. He’s done the last thing he ever wanted to do: he’s hurt her.

“Good morning, sleepy head.” She yawns, the teasing words muffled. “It seems like we overslept.”

His mouth goes dry, and all he can manage to choke out is a simple, “Yeah.”

She frowns, sitting up slightly, and lets out a small groan. “You alright there, Bucky? You look a little off.” The late morning light only serves to highlight more marks he’s left, this time on her shoulders, neck, and breasts. Stubble burn. Hickeys. Why the hell was he so rough? At the time, he thought he was being gentle, but obviously he’s just as much of a monster as Bucky Barnes as he is once the Winter Soldier takes over.

She’s still staring at him, brow furrowing in concern.

“Fine.” He clears his throat and begins to sit up. “Stay here. I’ll make you a cup of tea, maybe some oatmeal.”

“Alright. Don’t be gone too long.”

Her words follow him out of the room, and into the kitchen. Fuck. He should’ve known better.

Maybe once upon a time, he was a decent man, one who could be with a woman like her and not do her a disservice. But now, it’s clear that he falls short in every way. In an act that was supposed to be pure pleasure, a way of communicating how much they mean to each other, he’s hurt her.

“I trust you.” The words from last night ring in his ears. He shouldn’t have let her. It’s pretty damn obvious that, even at the best of times, he can’t be trusted.

“Tell me what’s going on.” Even with his enhanced senses, he still jumps in surprise as the unexpected words come from behind him. He turns around slowly, not wanting to startle her. She’s standing there, clad in only one of his shirts, arms crossed over her chest (now bearing his marks), staring him down.

“Nothing.” He shakes his head.

“Bullshit. I had a vision of you staring off into space, and here you are, jumpy as a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs.” At another time, her choice in phrases would make him chuckle, but right now, he can’t muster it.

“Last night-” Her eyes widen, but she stays silent. “I hurt you.”

“No, you didn’t. Not at all.”

“I did.”

She frowns. “Bucky, I think I’d know if you’d hurt me, and I’m telling you, I’m fine.”

“Doll, look at yourself!” He reaches out to take her arm, but immediately freezes. “Go in the bathroom and take off your shirt. Take a good look in the mirror and then tell me I didn’t hurt you.”

“Alright.” Her jaw clenches, and she marches off in the direction of the bathroom. A deep sickness gnaws at the pit of his stomach and, completely worn out, he sinks into a kitchen chair.

Not thirty seconds pass before she walks back into the room, this time completely undressed.

“Tell me you’re not talking about a few love bites.”

“And bruises! You may not have noticed, but they’re in the exact shape of my fingertips.”

“Oh my god!” She shakes her head. “It’s a sex injury. A minor one at that! If you didn’t heal so damn fast, you’d probably have nail marks all over your back!”

“That’s not the same thing.”

“How is it not the same thing?”

“I’m a monster! And you’re not.”

She takes a determined step towards him, and he leans as far back as the chair will allow.

“Bucky, you are not a monster, and I am not afraid of you.”

“Then you’re stupid.” He hates himself for his sharp words, but she needs to take this seriously. Underestimating how dark, how evil he can be, is a mistake. A deadly one.

“Hey!”

“Don’t you get it?” Without any input from his brain, he stands. “They could find me, and with a few words, I could stare you dead in the eyes as I murdered you! If you were my mission, I wouldn’t even hesitate, and you’d be dead before your body hit the floor!” Her mouth falls open, but she immediately closes it again. “This isn’t something that can be worked through with some patience and a positive attitude! I could kill you!”

“So could a million other things!” Her voice rises in volume, and before he can contain it-

“But they’re not in the bed sleeping next to you!” He’s shouting at her. God. Everyone is right. He’s beyond saving.

A few tense seconds pass before she looks up at him, a steely look in her eyes.

“Look, I get it. I know what you could do to me.” As she speaks, she pulls out a chair and sits. “But I could also get run over when I cross the road, or the room could fill with carbon monoxide while I sleep. I could have an aneurysm and drop before anyone knows what’s happening.”

He opens his mouth to tell her the likelihood of any of those things happening is far lower than the chance that he’ll hurt her, this time in a major way, but she holds up a hand, silencing him.

“I’m gonna be cautious, but I’m also not going to live my life in fear that the ceiling is going to collapse or nuclear war is going to strike, or that someone is gonna turn up and say the magic words that make you go cuckoo for cocoa puffs-” What? “-and I just realized you’re too old for that reference.”

“That’s another thing-” He’s about to remind her exactly how big their age gap is, that although he’s physically close to her age, chronologically, he’s closer to the age of her great grandfather, but she lets out a sudden groan of frustration, and that makes him bite his tongue.

“Oh, fuck off, Barnes! If you’re about to start in on how you’re too old for me, then I’m not gonna wait for you to go full Winter Soldier before I kick your ass!” Out of all things, that’s what snaps him out of it, makes him feel like maybe, just maybe, there’s still a chance they can make the best of things.

Smirking, he asks her,

“You think you could kick my ass? Really?” It must be the breaking point for her too, because she snickers.

“Of course. It’s the little bitches you have to watch out for.” That’s it, he’s laughing, nearly doubled over, and from the looks of things, she’s in much the same state.

“You’re something else, you know that?” He asks between stilted breaths.

“I think we both fit in that category, Pal.” Her smile fades, but only slightly. “Bucky, if you really want me to go, if that’s what’ll give you peace, then I’ll do it, but I meant what I said. I trust you.” Never. He’ll never want her to go, he’s sure of it. Well then, that only leaves one option.

“I know what we’re doing today.” It’s an abrupt segue, but it’s the only thing he could come up with on short notice.

“And what’s that?” The microwave dings, reminding him that he needs to stir the oatmeal, and he pushes past her.

“Sit down and have your tea. You’re going to need all your energy if I’m gonna show you how to use a gun.” If she’s staying, then at least he can teach her how to defend herself beyond the basics she already knows.

“So I guess this means you’re keeping me around for a little while longer?” It’s spoken like a joke, but he turns to her, meeting her eyes to drive the point home.

“Yeah, Doll. As long as you want me."

#marvel #captain america #the winter soldier #bucky fanfic #fanfiction #bucky barnes x ofc #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes #pre civil war

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possiblyimbiassed · 4 years

Text

John’s “therapeutic” blog

I’ve been fascinated by the wealth of content in John Watson’s blog since I first noticed it; I think it was some time after S2. For being a complementary work to a TV show, it’s surprisingly well crafted and packed with information. Joe Lidster, who has written the fictional blogs and websites of John, Sherlock, Molly and Connie Prince, is a screenwriter who has been working also with Doctor Who and its spinoff Torchwood.

Unlike the rest of the content within the BBC Sherlock franchise, for example the online game ”Sherlock the Network”, the escape room “The Game is Now” or the book “Sherlock Chronicles”, John’s blog is fully available online for free, you don’t even have to register anywhere. And unlike the other blogs of the franchise (Molly’s and Connie Prince’s blogs and Sherlock’s website), John’s blog is lengthy and has a lot of posts in it. It gives us background and explanations of cases that aren’t mentioned in the show, or only referred to, and I also think it provides a “second opinion” of what we see in the show. It’s a bit like what John says in TLD:

It certainly seems like this blog has been created as a special little treat for the fans, since most of the casual viewers of the show probably don’t even know it exists ‘IRL’. But I think the blog is much more than that; partly because it’s so heavily referenced in the show – with frequent, accurate and exact pictures of it (at least until S4) – and partly because it tells us so much about John’s character. I think John’s blog is significant and important in trying to analyse BBC Sherlock. And maybe the version of John we see in the show will actually get more nuances to it if we look at the blog, which is expressly written by John himself?

More under the cut.

As some of you might know, I’ve written a meta series (X) where I try to explore the idea (originally from @raggedyblue) that the blog describes the ‘real’ events in John’s and Sherlock’s life more accurately than the show, and that what we see in the show up until HLV is Sherlock reminiscing their life together while reading up on the blog. In my view, the show might be Sherlock’s embellished and dramatized version of the events - ironically a bit similar to what Sherlock usually accuses John of doing in both Doyle’s canon and on the blog. But I find the blog’s writing style far more prosaic than the show, and also more prosaic than Watson’s stories in ACD canon; in BBC Sherlock the roles might have been inverted compared to canon.

An example of this would be the scene in TEH (which I talked about in this meta over a year ago) where Mary is (supposedly) reading the following un-published post directly from John’s blog editor:

“His movements were so silent. So furtive, he reminded me of a trained bloodhound picking out a scent. I couldn’t help thinking what an amazing criminal he’d make if he turned his talents against the law.”

Something doesn’t seem quite right here, though. While the rest of the post is text from another, already published, post (The Speckled Blond), this first part is taken almost verbatim from ACD’s story The Sign of Four (SIGN). It describes a crime scene where Holmes has just “whipped out his lens and a tape measure and hurried about the room on his knees, measuring, comparing, examining, with his long thin nose only a few inches from the planks and his beady eyes gleaming and deep-set like those of a bird”. I see a big style difference between this and the rest of John’s blog. Since the quote above never appears on the ‘IRL’ blog, I’d rather believe that in BBC Sherlock this is merely wishful thinking from Sherlock that happens inside his Drama Queen Mind Palace. This impressive description is, I think, what he would truly wish that John had written. ;)

I also suspect that the continuing references to different blog posts in S4 are all made up in Sherlock’s mind, since John’s blog ‘IRL’ stopped updating after TSoT, when Sherlock hacked it and took over the storytelling.

Be that as it may, this meta is a reflection upon what John Watson’s famous blog actually might stand for, and what I believe it tells us about his character. In these months of quarantine, I’ve been passing the time by reading through the whole online version of the blog and taking notes of it.

Therapeutic origin

It seems like the initiative for John to start a blog came from Ella Thompson, his therapist. I believe Ella’s initial idea was therapeutic; if it was almost impossible for John to talk to her about his feelings and inner problems in their sessions, she might have found it difficult to help him. Therefore she suggested that he write it all down on his own instead. And if Ella could persuade him to talk about his life on an online blog, she would also be able to read it.

Of course this wouldn’t be the same as if John told her about his inner reflections in confidence, in a real therapy session, but maybe the blog would give him an incentive to talk about his life at all. And you have to start somewhere.

At the end of TST we see Sherlock visit Ella, but when she asks him to “open up completely” he refuses.

If S4 is happening inside Sherlock’s head (as I believe it is), this might have been Sherlock’s way of trying to psychoanalyse John, to ‘solve John’s case’, by envisioning the therapy situation in his mind palace. A well-known method of Sherlock Holmes is that he tries to put himself in the other person’s place and think about what his own response would have been to the situation. In ACD’s story The Musgrave Ritual (MUSG), Holmes says: “You know my methods in such cases, Watson. I put myself in the man’s place, and, having first gauged his intelligence, I try to imagine how I should myself have proceeded under the same circumstances.”

Which is also evidence that the character of Sherlock Holmes does indeed not lack empathetic capacity. Also in the show, John’s assertion that Sherlock “doesn’t feel things that way” etc. is basically BS in my opinion. The problem is that John refuses to see this.

John’s state of mind before Sherlock

John’s first three blog posts (in the middle of December - January) seem to completely lack motivation.

And this is maybe what one could expect from the deeply depressed John (as he appears in the beginning of the show), isn’t it? No surprises there.

Everything seems meaningless, and John only makes two attempts at blog posts to comply with Ella’s recommendations, but he doesn’t actually write anything in them. After the second attempt his old army friend Bill Murray tries to contact him, but John seems to have cut off his ties with the rest of the world; he doesn’t answer the comment.

At the third attempt over a month later, John seems to want to delete the blog he has started, but lacks the technical knowledge to do so. The fourth attempt is just a snide comment to Ella:

She doesn’t respond, however (not very surprisingly perhaps). Instead, John’s sister Harry discovers the blog and tries out this means of communicating with him. But John ignores her.

But at the fifth attempt at least John has gone out with some friends and describes it – almost bitterly. Sadly, it also seems like John met up with them mainly to avoid his therapy session with Ella.

So, the problem is that whatever Ella may have thought that the blog would mean for John’s healing, I think she aimed well but unfortunately missed the target. John Watson does not ‘open up’ himself on the blog. When he finally starts to really write - after he met Sherlock - it’s not actually about him (supposedly); it’s all about Sherlock. Basically, John goes directly from ‘Nothing happens to me‘ to ‘Sherlock happens to me‘.

What the blog tells us about John ‘after Sherlock’

John’s blog may be all about Sherlock, but there isn’t actually that much praise for Sherlock in the blog posts as one might think. My impression is that John applies his (perhaps somewhat overestimated) writing skills to project his own failures and self-loathing on his closest friend. More than anything else, I think the blog is John’s emotional outlet for his frustration over his unsatisfactory relationship with Sherlock and his own inability to improve it. Instead of trying to actually talk to Sherlock, he uses the blog to vent his frustrations over Sherlock, speculating wildly about what he believes Sherlock is thinking and feeling.

The stories and adventures are thrilling and entertaining, yes. But his assessments of Sherlock’s character are really not very uplifting. John doesn’t strike me as an ‘analytic’ person, which in this case means that John’s theories about Sherlock are rather based on his personal emotions than logical conclusions. It’s sometimes even a bit difficult to follow the chain of events in John’s posts, because it’s usually so intertwined with his gossipy and out-of-context comments about Sherlock’s personality.

Unfortunately, Sherlock doesn’t seem to realise this projection, and neither do we see him address the issue of John’s misconceptions about him. I believe Sherlock takes many of John’s jibes and insults at him at face value, which – sadly - only adds on to his own self-loathing. I also think that Sherlock trying to draw conclusions about his mysterious friend through the written blog might be a mistake; it may eventually tell him a lot about John’s problems, but to see these he needs to look behind all the cover-up of blatant criticism of him, Sherlock. Maybe that’s what Sherlock’s trying to do in S4, by setting up scenarios in his mind palace?

Judging by how John comes across on the blog – and in the show – I think Sherlock’s claim “You’re abnormally drawn to dangerous people and places” in HLV is a perfectly sound analysis - on the surface. However, I think one must read between the blog lines in order to see other possible motives for John wanting to hang out with Sherlock. Reading John’s posts textually, he gives a strong impression that he’s there for the adventures; when there is danger in the air, John’s never bored.

In the comment section Sherlock never mentions John’s evaluation of his character. Instead he repeatedly criticises John’s writing style. I get the impression that this is Sherlock’s subtle way of getting back at John without having to directly address John’s misconceptions about him. As I said above, I think John’s writing style is very different from Watson’s style in canon; far less respect for Sherlock and a far more prosaic and simple language. Canons Watson seems careful not to speculate much, while John does this all the time.

Examples that form a pattern

There’s a good deal of praise of Sherlock in John’s posts, but it has almost exclusively to do with his admiration for Sherlock’s intellectual capacity; he’s repeatedly described as ‘clever’ and after the Fall, John claims that “nobody ever really outwitted Sherlock”. But in fact, I’ve found very few blog posts where John doesn’t also criticise or complain about Sherlock in some way or another. And there are only two posts (out of a total of 45) where John says something positive about Sherlock’s character:

1. After their first meeting he calls Sherlock “strangely likeable” and “charming”.

2. In what John meant to be his last post ever (he believed Sherlock was dead), he calls Sherlock “funny”, “charming” and “everything a good person should be”.

On the other hand, there seems to be nothing in John’s own (supposed) opinions about Sherlock that he regards as too negative or inappropriate to publish online. I very much think this is about self-loathing; he projects his own shortcomings on his “psychopath” friend and flatmate. Like it’s always a relief to have a scapegoat. An additional explanation might be that if John is closeted and in public denial about any romantic feelings for Sherlock, this makes him not want to appear too ‘besotted’ on the blog. ;) Thus, he might believe he needs to compensate the praise with criticism. Problem is, with this contradictory approach the readers might ask: What is John’s actual relationship to Sherlock? Handler? Hostage? Lover? Concerned citizen? It’s hard to claim he’s a ‘real’, professional colleague, since John’s actual profession is a medical doctor. But why would John be friends with a psychopath?

To seriously claim that his best friend is a psychopath seems perfectly OK to John, though – he does it repeatedly, and quotes Donovan’s claim that Sherlock “gets off on it”. At the end of A Study in Pink, John talks about Sherlock and the serial killer as if they were both psychopaths, one undistinguishable from the other:

“The taxi driver drove him to a college of further education so they could both educate each other on - well, on how their minds worked, I guess. It's not something I'll ever really understand and, to be honest, I'm not sure I ever want to understand it. To be that much of a psychopath. To be that above the rest of us.”

John even seems to pretend to prefer ignorance to understanding, only to find one more opportunity to blame Sherlock. Here are some examples of other things John calls Sherlock publicly on the Internet:

Arrogant

Rude

Imperious

Pompous

Madman

Freak

Childish and

Not safe.

He also says on the blog that Sherlock is spectacularly ignorant about some things, like the solar system.

Little Freudian slips

In the post titled The Speckled Blonde

(which is basically a re-count of canon’s The Speckled Band - SPEC) John’s closet angst reaches new heights:

Apparently John finds it important to preventively point out to his readers that he was not sharing a bed with Sherlock. Or, actually, that he even preferred sleeping on the floor before sharing a bed with his flatmate. The thing is, however, that the information that they spent the night in Julias bedroom isn’t at all necessary for the story, since - unlike in ACD Canon - nothing of importance apparently happened during that night. John actually tells us nothing about the night as such. The only ‘feature of interest’ is that Sherlock found a suspect bottle of bubble bath on the victim’s night table, which he took to Barts for analysis (and he was right - the bath had killed Julia by poisoning). Obviously, John could have described this crime scene investigation entirely without mentioning that they had spent the night there. So, if this little morsel of information was so embarrassing for him, why did he even include it? Hmm...

In my biased mind, I can only think of two alternative explanations (not mutually exclusive, though): 1. John had spent so much fantasies and subconscious energy on reliving this night that he just couldn’t keep this info entirely to himself (Freudian slip), or 2. Something actually happened that night - something that had no bearing on the case. After all, John never says that he slept on the floor, only that he was going to sleep on it. ;)

Speaking of bubble bath, I find the fact that Julia died from it slightly suggestive, and even metaphorical, as such. Because there’s also another case on John’s blog describing someone dying in a bath: The Deadly Tealights. The victim suffocated in a bathroom where the candles consumed all the oxygen. John has included this little comment:

Why does John bring up the idea that a person taking a bath with candles would potentially be judged? What has his own bath routines to do with the crime case? Does the victim really need John to find excuses for his private life? Methinks this rather might be John’s closet angst speaking again. Someone has tried to belittle John for liking baths, and apparently John seizes the opportunity to vent about it on the blog. Metaphorically, this tells me that the closet is suffocating for John, and that the ‘chemistry of love’ is involved.

John - The Moral Compass

John is often referred to as the part of the duo who a) is more sociable and b) works like a sort of moral guide to Sherlock. The detective, on the other hand, is shown as a “sociopath” who supposedly doesn’t understand this kind of things. And – to be honest – Sherlock doesn’t actively say much to contradict this perception; sometimes he even appears to agree with it.

(I think his actions should be a clue to the contrary, though).

According to the blog, John seems to believe he himself is the adult one in this acquaintance, the one who does understand the rules of society. He repeatedly calls Sherlock “childish”. Judging by John’s descriptions in the blog, one might almost think that John had been forced to hang out with Sherlock, trying to do the best of it. But seeing as it’s entirely voluntarily it’s a bit hard to understand, for example, how John can blame Sherlock for “leaving me and Sarah to be kidnapped” in The Blind Banker:

John makes is sound like Sherlock left them to the enemy deliberately, knowing that someone would come after them. But weren’t they at home, supposedly on a date? If John didn’t like it, couldn’t he have left any moment and gone out to continue the date he was supposed to? But no; John counts himself among the innocent persons whom Sherlock “involves in his adventures”:

After reading the whole of John’s blog, all I can say is that this guy is a living, breathing contradiction. How can he be Sherlock’s moral compass if his needle is spinning all the time? :))

In The Great Game John describes himself as just a “pawn” in Sherlock’s and the killer’s great game, equalling himself with the other victims. With his insinuations, he indirectly blames Sherlock for the death of 12 people and goes back to Sally Donovan’s “freak” accusations:

Another interesting bit is this, describing Sherlock’s reaction at the pool, when John for a moment appeared to be behind everything: “I should have been horrified that he'd even doubt me for a second…” Wait – what!? John is capable of telling the whole world the most damning rubbish about his friend, but if Sherlock for any second doubted John, he’d be horrified? This part is also of interest: “But the laser sight simply moved to Sherlock's head and I was forced to let go. For a second, I wondered if Sherlock would have done the same for me but then all I knew for certain was, at that moment, I knew I was going to die.”

Before that, John had just described what could easily be interpreted as Sherlock calmly trying to talk Moriarty out of having John killed, but to John this was just “The two men talked, both clearly pleased to…”. In John’s view, he was the only one who was forced to let go of the killer because of the threat to Sherlock. Honestly, who is it, between the two of them, that most appears to lack empathetic capacity?

Creds and Competence

John appears to be a rather honest, humble and straightforward in the show, quite competent in his medical profession, and in TSoT he is highly praised by Sherlock:

But on the blog John is more ambiguous, and he isn’t always modest. Sometimes he appears to enhance his own role in the crime solving and take credit also for things that are clearly Sherlock’s doing. For example, in The Great Game there’s this:

“Between us, we worked out that while Connie's death had been made to look like the result of a tetanus infection, it had actually been caused by poison - their houseboy, â–“â–“â–“â–“â–“, had overdosed her on Botox!”

But if we’re supposed to believe the show, John actually believed it was a tetanus infection, while Sherlock deduced and later demonstrated poison:

John also expresses a slightly childish vindictiveness in making a lot of fuss about Sherlock’s failures; every single time Sherlock can’t solve a case, John points it out on the blog with glee. It almost gives me the impression that the doctor is suffering from inferiority complex. He even uses “Sherlock Holmes Baffled“ as a title for one of their cases.

This seems to be written in jest, since Sherlock frequently is rude about other people’s lower intellectual capacity, but actually hates ‘not knowing’.

I admit that this may be funny to joke about once, but it gets a little tiresome that John has to point it out every time. Why does John even do this, even as Sherlock has explicitly asked him to not publish the unsolved cases? Which I assume would not be good for their business?

If John truly is Sherlock’s colleague, wouldn’t he also be more interested in helping to solve the cases, rather than talk about the failures? It seems to me that John is struggling so hard against his own feelings for Sherlock that he feels the need to provoke rather than help him.

The Most Inhuman Human

Sherlock’s supposed lack of humanity is a recurring theme for John; he claims that “people” want to know that Sherlock is human, as if anyone - on the blog or in the show - except John had ever questioned this.

I can’t remember anyone on the blog except John showing an interest in this issue, though. In the post Many Happy Returns he writes this (my bolding):

“Yet the video... it showed the other side to him. He was rude, yeah. Arrogant. Apparently lacking in anything resembling empathy. But I'd forgotten just how funny he could be. He was so charming. So... human. It's bizarre because most people would say he was the most inhuman person they'd ever met. But he wasn't.”

He wasn’t? Wow - great revelation, John! [sarcasm :)]. But who said that, actually? Not even the haters and trolls on John’s blog ever claimed Sherlock was inhuman. It’s one thing that Donovan and Anderson called him a freak and a psychopath, but John is the only character I can think of who has ever implied that Sherlock would not be a human being. Only John calls him a ‘machine’. Which is a load of BS of course; John really doesn’t strike me as a professional doctor when he says this, even less as a friend - always trying to mark the distance.

So what’s Sherlock’s ‘complete lack of empathy’ in that video actually about (mini-episode here)? Was it because he didn’t want to go to a birthday dinner with people? Hardly - John seems to understand this about Sherlock. Or was it maybe because of his comment: “How can John be having a birthday dinner? All his friends hate him!” Well, this probably hurt a bit (even if I rather think he sounds bitter and jealous - he wants John for himself ;) ). On the other hand, Sherlock then backtracks and seems to regret his little outburst:

Mary’s role in John’s life

The blog is where Mary Morstan appears to be introduced to John; on John’s first blog post about at least a year after Sherlock’s ‘death’, she suddenly just shows up in the comment section, sending him kisses and inviting him out:

John ignores her, though, and when his sister asks him who Mary is, he doesn’t answer. Mary seems to hang in there, however, and the next time she appears is on the Deadly Tealights post (the one with the dead flatmate in the suffocating closet bathroom). And now she’s called Mary Morstan. Next time is The Inexplicable Matchbox. Both times her only comment is ‘ignore the trolls’. John rather seems to ignore her, though. Finally, he finishes his Many Happy Returns post (which was supposed to be his last) with saying that he has now “found someone” (without naming them) and should concentrate on that.

All this is a little bit weird, though, considering Mary’s comment in TEH, when she is logged in and reading aloud from the editor of John’s blog: “The famous blog, finally!” As if she hadn’t already read all his posts and tried to interact with him on the blog? Hmm.

In the show Mary just seems to come from out of nowhere, suddenly showing up in the graveyard holding hands with John.

Her anonymity reminds me of Doyle’s treatment of Mary in canon, where she’s only mentioned by name when she’s still a client, before she marries Watson.

On the blog Mary is not mentioned by name until over a year after John met her, in spite of her presence in the comment section long before that. And it’s not until John’s first post after Sherlock’s return - The Empty Hearse - that John says something appreciative of her. Suddenly she is (still without name) "...the best thing that's ever happened to me. Sorry, Sherlock :)”. For the rest of the blog posts, John’s (very scarce) answers to Mary’s comments are never flirty or appreciative in the least. Mary’s own last comment, on the very last post - this time written by Sherlock who hacked the blog after John’s and Mary’s wedding - is this: “SHERLOCK! SHUT UP NOW!”

None of this gives me the impression that John has fallen in love with Mary. The silence with which he treats Mary on the blog rather makes me think of her as someone basically not very important; a sort of substitute in a desperate attempt to fill an emptiness in his life. And I think it might be significant that as soon as John recognises the existence of Mary in his life, he seems to use her as a sort of buffer towards Sherlock. A façade. First it’s the gleeful “Sorry Sherlock :)” comment above. Vindictive, it appears. And then, in the post Happily Ever After, John insists that his and Mary’s impending (heterosexual) marriage must clearly be the reason why Sherlock chose to help a gay couple getting together, one of them leaving an abusive marriage which was basically a façade. This whole ‘conclusion’ is so stupid that I’m rendered speechless.

Summary

To summarise - for those of you with enough patience to have followed all my ramblings in this marathon meta - I think the picture of John’s character that we can discern from reading up on the whole of his blog possibly tells us even more about him than the show. If the show reflects Sherlock’s mind, albeit almost entirely focused on his own perception of John Watson, this blog might actually give more insight into how John’s own mind works. I think it shows us someone who is struggling desperately with his own feelings. Someone who is trying to mark a distance that he believes is healthy for him, but that he actually doesn’t want, towards the object of his affection, by criticising them. The full-fledged, living, breathing contradiction that is John Watson comes to its full right by the blog. We could almost say he’s ‘human’ :). Kudos to Joe Lidster and the other showmakers for providing us with this gem.

Tagging some people who might be interested: @raggedyblue @ebaeschnbliah @gosherlocked @sagestreet @sarahthecoat @tjlcisthenewsexy @elldotsee @88thparallel @sherlock-overflow-error @yeah-oh-shit

#John's blog is important #John's blogging is his therapy

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welllpthisishappening · 3 years

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AO3 Tag Game

Hey, guess what? I continue to wait for people to email me back and acknowledge deadlines they met weeks ago, and @optomisticgirl keeps tagging me in stuff. So I’m going to keep using that stuff as solid distractions and a means to avoid throwing things.

1. How many works do you have on Ao3? 50! Which is just patently absurd, quite honestly. 41 for Once Upon a Time (although that doesn’t include the one-shot collections), 8 for The 100 and that 1 little Six of Crows fic.

2. What is your total Ao3 word count? 3,003,485

L O L

3. How many fandoms have you written for and what are they? Three, technically. But that one Six of Crows fic was more a product of like—crazed writing that I’m not entirely sure will ever happen again. So, really Captain Swan and The 100.

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos? Tripping Over the Blue Line Out of the Frying Pan You Play Ball Like a Girl Melt Your Headaches, Call it Home The PyeongChang Triple

5. Do you respond to comments, why or why not? I do! Or, rather I try to. I’m way better about it when I’m actively posting a story and I respond to the comments from the last chapter when I’m posting the new one. I know back in the day it was viewed as bad form™ to respond to comments (both on Ao3 and Tumblr, honestly) because it skewed your stats, but if you’re going to take the time to write something nice (or not so nice, honestly part two) I’m going to take the time to respond to it. Also, I’ve met people in fandom because they commented on my fic and I like...stalked them to tell them how wonderful they are.

6. What’s the fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending? It doesn’t end angsty per se, but Where You Can Still Remember Dreaming was regularly referred to as AngstFest2k17 while I was writing it. It’s far and away the angstiest thing I’ve ever written. Like, stuff HAPPENS in that story. Organized crime sort of stuff. People get shot!

7. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve ever written? Nah, not really. Having characters from different universes or fandoms interact kind of...weirds me out? Sorry, SuperWhoLock.

8. Have you ever received hate on a fic? Eh, I wouldn’t call it hate, per se. Snarky comments? Yeah, for sure. People had THOUGHTS AND FEELINGS about The Period of the Long Change and some of them were...let’s call them enthusiastic, huh? Also, person who called Emma a COW after the train station chapter of You Play Ball Like a Girl, I think about you regularly.

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind? Timely question is timely! The subhead of this fic should just be: if you can’t banter with your wife while going down on your wife, are you really in love?

10. Have you ever had a fic stolen? We’re gonna gloss right over that one.

11. Have you ever co-written a fic before? I haven’t, but in theory I think it’d be fun!

12. What’s your all time favorite ship? I’ve written nearly a million words SOLELY about Captain Swan falling in love while also working and playing for a hockey team. So, like. Seems obvious, right?

13. What was the first fandom you wrote for? Aside from that self-insert fic that my fifth-grade self didn’t realize classified as fic where Justin Timberlake called me hot after I saved various musical star’s talent? Nothing until You Play Ball Like a Girl. I read a shit ton of fic before that, though. Like, an almost questionable amount of fic.

14. What’s your favorite fic you’ve written? All Was Golden in the Sky — I know, I know. You may be asking, “But Laura did you not just post smut in honor of a fic anniversary only you were celebrating? And did you not JUST talk about writing nearly a million words about a fictional hockey team that almost always occupies some of your thoughts?” Yes, yes I did. But! All Was Gold in the Sky is like...the magical road trip story of my dreams. It’s got everything I love. Banter, kissing, more kissing, snarky mermaids, sword fights, happily ever after, EVERY BIT OF CANON I COULD TWIST TO MY OWN WRITING WHIMS. Honestly, I’m just ridiculously proud of this story and how everything fit together and I absolutely loved writing it and, like, yeah, if Blue Line is my fandom heart, then this might be my fandom soul. My fantasy-loving, overly-complicated plot-loving soul.

If you’re reading this, consider yourself tagged. Tell me things about your writing.

#laura rambles #how many times can i read the same articles over and over until my cover story sends its cover photo???#we have to be getting close to a record

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tellthemeerkatsitsfine · 3 years

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It’s time again! Thoughts on Taskmaster s11e03, written as I watch it:

- The fact that Mike’s glass model of animals fucking broke is very disappointing. Partly because it was a great idea that should have gotten him lots of points and he was cheated out of it, and partly because I wish I could see what it looked like before it broke. But I do think Lee deserved the five points he got for the prize task. A baby mask on a dog is pretty shocking.

- Lee winning a task with a combination of good aim (he is a darts player) and his motorcycle helmet was quite badass.

- Charlotte trying to run faster than water could fall was very adorable.

- I enjoy how not bothered Sarah was about her approach. She figured out she could make it work by putting ice on a bridge and waiting for it to melt. And she was fine with that. She has solved the academic problem of how to complete the task, and the fact the fact that she had to wait for ice to melt in a time-based task was fine.

- …Okay, I wrote that last point after seeing Sarah’s attempt but before seeing her score. Knowing that the person who melted ice was the fastest of the four contestants who’ve been shown so far just makes it better. Of the four (haven’t seen Jamali yet), Lee throws a motorcycle helmet and comes last. Sarah melts ice and comes first.

- Task: Make these stones hiss from behind a rope. Jamali Maddix: I’m going to chase Alex to make him get me a balloon faster and then set the whole thing on fire. Fantastic.

- I really liked Lee trying to argue that the sizzle of the fire wasn’t really a hiss and getting into it with Jamali about that. There is something fantastic about aggressive competition between two people who came fourth and fifth in a task because one threw a motorcycle helmet and one set shit on fire. While the other contestants, who all did smarter things and performed better, are content to just watch them fight about it.

- The order of operations is Lee argued that Jamali’s hiss shouldn’t count, Jamali argued back that it did count, Greg shut Lee down and said Jamali was right, Lee looked annoyed about losing the argument and Jamali looked extremely pleased about winning. Immediately after that, Alex announced that Jamali had taken more than twice as long as the fourth-place finisher (who happened to be Lee) anyway, so it really didn’t matter. And then Lee gave Jamali this incredibly smug look that’s certainly my favourite thing I’ve seen so far this episode. Excellent. God I love this show.

- Enjoying the saga of Jamali and Alex and the phrase “What’s up?” It feels like it has similar but in some ways exactly the opposite energy of James Acaster refusing to say hello to Alex in season 7.

- I really hope Jamali complaining about Alex being too slow when helping becomes a running joke in this season.

- My guess before the episode started as to who would say the title (“Run Up a Tree to the Moon”) was Mike Wozniak. Instead, Greg Davies said it. So far, he has said it twice.

- In season 9, I found it funny that three of the four contestants had to look up the Taskmaster theme tune for a reference when they had to write lyrics to it (the only two who knew it off the top of their heads were Rose and Ed, which tells you who in that season was really into the show and wanted to win). In season 11, Jamali Maddix just had to be prompted to remember Greg Davies’ full name.

- Charlotte’s clock that didn’t work at all is adorable. I actually think it was a great idea, and making a clock like that was my first thought as to what I’d do in this challenge. But I’d probably make it on cardboard or something, not use an actual clock with gears to mess it all up.

- It’s very on brand for Sarah to think that obviously the most reasonable way to remember the months of the year is to sit in a specific position and touch your joints in a certain order.

- Honestly I think everyone was terrible on task two. None of those are good ways to remember the number of days in each month. There were so many ways to just do a simple visual representation.

- This luggage task is activating my anxiety. Such an unpleasant situation. One of the few advantages of COVID is I’m not supposed to have to see airport security at this time.

- Okay, normally Lee Mack is a comedian whom I very much like, one of my favourites, and one could describe that as a “celebrity crush”, but a mostly fairly platonic one because the element of physical attraction is normally not really there (I do like the Northern accent though). But every once in a while that changes, usually based on what he’s wearing. Anyway. I just thought I’d mention that while watching this luggage task. Not to be objectifying or anything but when Lee takes off his Taskmaster jacket he’s wearing a black t-shirt underneath. The shirt fits him quite well.

- “It didn’t say you can’t bully your way through.” – Jamali Maddix, summarizing his approach to this entire show

- I just spent a bunch of seconds watching the team of three act out a nursery rhyme and yelling at my screen because it was incredibly obvious what they were doing but Greg somehow wasn’t getting it. How was he not getting that it was clearly The Itsy-Bitsy Spider? Yeah it knocked me down a peg when it turned out to actually be Twinkle Twinkle Little Star.

- So far, Lee and Mike are two for two in terms of getting five points for team tasks. They make a great team; putting those two together was such a good idea.

- Good job to whatever behind-the-scenes person managed to write a poem that summarized the episode and get it into the autocue before it ended. That should become a tradition.

- Well that was a very fun episode. Now it’s time to listen to Ed discuss it with Katherine Parkinson, and I hope he mentions that she has now been joined by a new person in the club of people who appeared on Taskmaster while clearly not knowing what the show was. At least Katherine knew Greg’s name.

#taskmaster

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3ternalslumber · 3 years

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Orange Side Theory - Ignorance

I’ve seen orange side theories on guilt and anger — but those are emotions and generally fall underneath Patton’s area. Ignorance, however, has much more evidence to back it up including colour theory, suspiciously coincidental timing and even breaking down a side to it’s basic functions. In this literal essay I will—

First, there have been lots of theories ranging from guilt to anger. However, these are emotions, falling under Morality’s area. So I thought, what makes a side a side? The answer was thinking. Every side is a way of thinking. Logic and Anxiety deal with the thoughts and processes: the problem solving, if you will. The more realistic views, even if some are a little far fetched. The Creativity twins deal with the thinking of the soul. They grasp ideas and concepts through passion and imagination. Morality and Deceit deal with more morality based decisions — whether or not something is wrong before making a choice. So the Orange side must deal with thought processing of some sort. Due to guilt and anger falling under Patton's management, they are unable to be the Orange side; Patton had said, in Moving On: Exploring Nostalgia, that he’s “at the core of a lot of [c!Thomas’] feelings” (7:14-7:18). I've done some research and I've come to the conclusion that the Orange side must be, or relating to, ignorance because the side has only shown up through little hints, not quite being shown, almost daring people to ignore his presence. Furthermore, willful ignorance is a choice we make and can be detrimental to one’s life. For example, in Putting Others First: Selfishness vs Selflessness Redux, Logan is providing information and Patton presses the ‘skip all’ option, showcasing an act of willful ignorance despite the possibility of the information being able to help with the situation at hand (23:18).

Second, the dark sides and former dark sides each have noticeable abilities. Janus can silence sides from speaking or having influence on others, like in Can Lying Be Good when he stopped Logan from speaking his name (19:09-19:13). Remus can make c!Thomas focus solely on him by drowning out the other sides’ voices and making c!Thomas be able to only hear him, like in Dealing With Intrusive Thoughts (5:35-5:48). Virgil can duplicate his voice and make c!Thomas physically do things — possibly on instinct or due to the panic induced Fight or Flight reflex — as seen in Moving On: Exploring Nostalgia when he makes c!Thomas throw his phone at the ground due to c!Thomas’ ex calling him back (5:00-5:05). The proverb “see no evil, hear no evil, speak no evil” is displayed in the ever changing picture frame above the couch in Patton’s room, in the episode Moving On: Dealing With a Breakup (1:25-1:41). Their abilities could reference this proverb. For example, Janus’ ability and domain could be a reference to ‘speak no evil’, being able to silence other’s voices alongside being the embodiment of ‘evil thinking’, or lies. Remus relates to ‘hear no evil’, given his power to drown out the others. The intrusive thoughts add to this, c!Thomas ‘hearing evil’ or bad thoughts because of the Creative side. Virgil is a strange case, as he doesn’t exactly match up with the ‘see no evil’. He does, however, match up with the less commonly known fourth part of the saying: ‘do no evil’. Virgil’s voice becomes louder than others to be heard, to become authoritative — he doesn’t use it often, usually when he’s panicked, but when he does, c!Thomas listens and often does what he says. Perhaps he wasn’t in the metaphorical — and literal — picture due to not being a Dark Side anymore, or maybe it’s because the proverb is more common without the fourth monkey. The only one left is ‘see no evil’ but who could fill in the gap? Sure, anger makes people not see properly — “blind rage” and all — but anger is an emotion that fades. Ignorance is, by definition, the lack of knowledge or information: willful or not. In law, willful blindness is synonymous to ignorance; the act of keeping oneself unaware as an attempt to get out of breaking the law due to their lack of knowledge of why it’s a criminal act (2, 3). In addition, when Logan, during Putting Others First: SvS Redux, presents two options: informed or ignorant, Roman presses the ignorant button without hesitation (14:13-14:18). Roughly three minutes after Patton, also in Putting Others First: SvS Redux, presses the “skip all” option instead of reading the information Logan had presented (23:18), “01134” is seen in orange at the top right corner of the screen (26:32). When typed in a calculator and shown upside down, the text says ‘hello’. Furthermore, the top right side of the screen also says “Thomas=8”, showing that Thomas has eight lives; one for each of his six sides and himself. Or perhaps it’s more than that and there’s eight sides that make up Thomas, it would make sense for him to be balanced (that might be an essay written at a much later time).

Finally, the Orange side only shows up after moments of intense ignorance. For example, at the beginning of Moving On: Dealing With a Breakup, Roman gets angry about nobody wanting to talk about the fifth season of Lost with him. c!Thomas asks Patton about Roman’s emotions as it wouldn’t be unwise to say Patton’s room would have an effect on the others like Virgil’s did. Patton responds that it was nothing, that he just acts “a little bit silly! That’s all!” and tries to distract the others with pictures, unsuccessfully repressing the emotions (1:25-1:35). This time frame is simultaneous as the picture of the monkey proverb — “see no evil, hear no evil, speak no evil” — appearance (1:25-1:41). The picture changes, however, when c!Thomas refuses the option to turn a blind eye and asks for clarification. Furthermore, in Putting Others First: SvS Redux, if Logan did not verbally speak, c!Thomas, Roman and Patton ignored him. They carried on as if he wasn’t there, choosing to not read his possibly important information. In one specific instance, Patton asks Logan what a real philosopher would think about what he’s saying — when Logan gives an answer Patton doesn’t like, a button pops up in yellow and black (Deceit’s way of ‘shutting Logan up’ without being there, albeit technically being Patton who did so — side note: this is where Deceit took Logan’s spot). Patton presses the button and Logan — Logic — is silenced (23:18). It is soon after this that the orange side makes his presence known as the earlier mentioned “01134”. Later on, Janus (disguised as Logan) tells us that knowing or having been told certain information “does not give you the license to ignore it in the future, especially when the consequences of forgetting are so perilous” (27:35-27:46). Basically, information repetition is not an excuse for ignorance. Less than three minutes after this, Janus asks Patton to expand on his contradictory statements to which Patton responds with frustration of his own lack of knowledge, turning into a giant frog — a beast, if you will (30:20-30:30).

Ignorance is complicated, being quite the broad topic, but this seems like it’s too coincidental to be anything else: the way of thinking, the abilities, and the little hints.

Sources

Episodes mentioned (in chronological order)

Moving On: Exploring Nostalgia (https://youtu.be/ihCqpkPNtNM)

Putting Others First: Selfishness vs Selflessness Redux (https://youtu.be/KCr3SN6vWFQ)

Can Lying Be Good (https://youtu.be/N2d4oti_eBo)

Dealing With Intrusive Thoughts (https://youtu.be/Tn0pKxShY8Q)

Moving On: Dealing With a Breakup (https://youtu.be/m-PMR1TDMQk)

https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Three_wise_monkeys (the proverb)

https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Willful_blindness (willful blindness/willful ignorance)

https://freemanlaw.com/willful-blindness-and-corporate-liability/ (willful blindness/willful ignorance)

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perpetuallyfive · 3 years

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Schnee Week, Day 3: Weiss Ships

So I don’t actually have a finished fic or even a chapter to share today because until my sudden burst of creativity on Monday evening, I have been primarily focused on the next three chapters of Dishonored. (Roughly 31k words written so far across two chapters. It’s coming!) But one little thing I’ve been planning for a long time is on the back-burner and I thought I’d share an excerpt.

Way back at the end of 2019, pretty shortly after we met, @catalyswitch showed me a sketch she was working on of a Schneekos modern day AU and asked me for my thoughts.

This is the beginning of the fic I’ve been wanting to write since then.

Winter drives her (and her things) to campus, but Weiss moves in on her own. There’s some kind of important meeting — lots of covert messages on a blackberry, which is a thing these kinds of people still use — and Winter can’t delay any longer. It’s not like Weiss expected anything else.

Maintaining low expectations for others and high ones for yourself are sort of the Schnee motto. It saves a lot of disappointment in life, in general.

She decorates her room just fine on her own. Minimalism is another thing she’s grown accustomed to in the mansion mom gave up on renovating in between her fourth and fifth trip to rehab. Call the abandoned projects and clutter in the attic a metaphor for something, if you’re inclined to such dramatics.

Weiss has never had any need for those kinds of abstractions or distractions.

She hangs a single picture on her wall.

Unlike the family portrait that hangs in the dining room, this is casual. While that is carefully composed and well lit, this shows Weiss and Whitley amidst of a mess of wrapping paper, faces lit up with excitement and the soft glow of the lights from their Christmas tree. Winter is in the background, distributing the gifts. Mother sips some unknown liquid from a coffee mug.

Father is nowhere to be found, and the photo was surely taken by Klein. That’s clear enough in Weiss’s smile, which is confident and unrestrained.

Her posture is straight. Her eyes are bright.

It’s as if her past self was looking right out into the future, smiling at the person she is today.

First day of orientation, and she’s ready for anything.

Correction: the one thing Weiss Schnee was completely unprepared for is her roommate.

The girl is a whirlwind of chaotic confusion, and so is the rest of her family. At least, Weiss has to assume this mess of (noisy) people is somehow this girl’s family. None of them look alike. The two loudest (by only a small margin) are blond with smiles as big as their biceps.

None of them have really stopped talking since they burst into the room and began hanging all kinds of things from the walls on the other side of the room.

“What—” Weiss begins, but she has no idea where the question is going.

What’s there to ask?

“Yes, hello!” the person who is probably Weiss’s roommate — but looks much too young for it — shouts from just beneath the mattress she’s managed to get stuck underneath. One of the blondes lifts it off her, and she darts back out, flailing. “Hi! I am your roommate, Ruby. If that’s what your what was.” She stands at attention, hands on her hips, as if that justifies any part of this. “I’m the what’s what, if you were wondering.”

Weiss barely has time to catch her breath. She’s not sure this even counts as caught. “… what?”

“Exactly!”

The two blondes exchange looks and both laugh, but Weiss doesn’t think it’s very funny.

“You must be Weiss,” the man who technically looks old enough to be someone’s father says, holding out his hand to shake.

The other blonde keeps her arms folder over her chest. “Weiss Schnee, wasn’t it?”

She says it in the same way that everyone says it. As in, are you one of those Schnees, as in they know her father. As in they’ve turned on the news sometime in the past eight years. Everyone knows the Schnee family name; father hasn’t exactly been under the radar.

But all she says is, “That’s right,” while shaking the man’s hand. Firmly.

Always shake firmly. Father taught all of them that.

“Your father sure has his hands in a lot of pies.”

“He doesn’t, actually.”

“Doesn’t—”

“—know the first thing about cooking.” Another early lesson: know when to make your exit. Weiss stands abruptly, her stack of books completely forgotten on the bed. “Well I,” she begins, but she’s already made a fatal error.

Because the new roommate is noticing the books. “Oh, wow, are you majoring in political science?” She’s suddenly much too close to Weiss’s personal space, though for what reason is unclear. It’s just happening, and Weiss is along for the ride. “That’s so cool! I guess it makes sense, huh, because of your dad and everything.”

There’s the elephant in the room. The very large (very republican) elephant. “I chose my major for myself, actually.” It was not an easy or a quiet conversation, and certainly not one Weiss cares to repeat to these total strangers. “As I was just going to say, I have somewhere to be.” Somewhere far away from here, that is. Literally anywhere else. “It was lovely to meet all of you,” Weiss continues, not bothering to acknowledge the fact that she has learned absolutely none of their names.

The first place Weiss finds to hide that she doesn’t think her roommate will find her is the coffee shop. It’s clear from her demeanor that the child — very obviously too young to be at college, so perhaps some kind of prodigy which would explain the hyper active behavior and poor socialization — is in no need of further caffeination.

Coffee shops are also a useful place to disappear. It’s easy to blend in to a crowd of people all looking closer at their cups than they are each other.

Except of course for the table of jocks nearby. Weiss has absolutely nothing in common with any of them.

Even if some of them are aesthetically appealing.

On day three of avoiding her room and her roommate, Weiss discovers that said roommate — her name is Ruby, a fact Weiss intends to immediately forget again — does in fact require even further caffeination.

If she cared about this particular annoyance at all, she might be concerned about the state of her heart.

As it is, she’s more concerned with her own social standing being seen in public with an infant who only stops talking long enough to consume even more coffee.

“So anyway,” Ruby gasps, practically gargling her last gulp down. “What about you, are you excited for your first day of classes?”

Since Ruby is studying something else — what that is, Weiss can’t recall, although she’s probably repeated it more than once — and will come nowhere even close to a political science course, the answer is very obviously yes. Weiss tempers her excitement, somewhat, just for the sake of kindness.

“I’m overjoyed,” she says, almost neutrally.

“Yeah, me too.”

The jocks are there again today. They’re always there. Maybe the field they train on is nearby? Maybe they come here to study?

No, that doesn’t seem likely.

They’re all laughing (loudly) at something a boy with blue hair just said. Hopefully it was about something other than fashion decisions.

“Weiss?” Ruby says, as though she’s just repeating herself after perhaps even several attempts to get Weiss’s attention.

But all Weiss will offer in return is vague non-commitment. “Hm?”

“I was asking if you know them.” She points at the table that Weiss was very covertly staking out and Weiss slaps her hand back down. But Ruby just repeats the gesture with her other hand. “I only ask because you stare at Pyrrha a lot, and I was wondering if you wanted me to introduce you.”

“What, I do not,” Weiss answers without having any idea who Ruby’s even referring to.

At least.

Unless she means the redhead, because then yes. Weiss has been watching her off and on for the past three days, but surely so has everyone else in the cafe. They all have eyes after all.

Even if Weiss’s are currently bugging right out of her skull as Ruby jumps out of her seat. She can see what’s coming, but it’s already too late. “Pyrrha!” Ruby calls, her voice a clanging shriek.

Weiss recoils so hard from the sound that her eyes temporarily close. It’s such sweet relief safe in this darkness that she is reluctant to open them.

When she does, the redhead is there, at her table.

Her smile is confident but carefully contained. Her posture is relaxed and casual. Her hair is pulled back in a loose ponytail, with curls carefully framing her face.

“Oh,” Weiss breathes, before she can think better of it, before she can think at all. “Oh, hi.”

Years later, Weiss will wish she could remember what Pyrrha said next. But she doesn’t. She only remembers the way that smile pushed firmly into her chest, opening up an empty cavern of want that she had never known existed before.

The space inside, the empty need, felt almost limitless. It should have been awful.

But the one thing Weiss can remember from that exact moment is how much she was smiling.

#schnee week #schneekos #i swear this fic is schneekos (and some other background ships too) even if there isn't enough of it in this excerpt #i'm trying to focus on finishing the thing with the huge world and plot first! lol #pulling it home at the end has been um work #but in the meantime :)#my fic #rwby #(''background ships'' she says as if she doesn't intend for some of them to be really prominent. but look i'm trying to not make promises #that my brain doesn't end up able to cash etc. it's nice to hope something flows as comes across the way you want.#but it's another thing entirely to actually promise it when you've only written less than 2k words.)#(okay some of chapter two is also written but shhhhh.)

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