#my part; there are repeated references to danger on the streets‚ suggestions in a very bourgeois manner of societal breakdown and more than
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Fully Completely 1
Warnings: non-consent sex and rape (series), attempted violence, mutual irritation.
This is dark!Loki x reader and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.
Series Synopsis: There’s a new face in Birch and he’s come to haunt your door.
Sister series to Smalltown Bringdown, When the Weight Comes Down, and Little Bones
Note: I did not plan to get the first part done so soon. I will probably be setting time aside as I write this to also work on some original stuff. When it comes to that, I’d love if y’all might let me know what you think would be a better medium to release it? Kindle, Patreon, etc. I’m really not sure but if it was Patreon it would like be two series running at once with a chapter of each a month + Q&A and maybe some bonus materials? I am a noob at this shit and it wouldn’t be for a while yet.
Anyways, I’m rambling...
Thanks to everyone for their patience and feedback. :)
I really hope you enjoy. 💋
<3 Let me know what you think with a like or reblog or reply or an ask! Love ya!
Chapter 1: She simply slammed the door
💀💀💀
The garage smelled like oil and snow. The cold air seeped under the closed metal door as you sat on the low stool and affixed the new headlight to the propped up Harley. It was only the start of an impractical rebuild; your brother wanted everything metal replaced with chrome. You thought it was obnoxious but the parts were paid for and you could never complain for money.
You were funded exclusively by the town’s club, your garage not far from The Asp where the members hung out and revved the engines you found yourself looking at more often than you liked. You were good at what you did though and privileged for it. You had the protection of the club without having to devote yourself truly to its bounds.
You checked the wiring and rolled away from the bike to change the station as the radio crackled. The snow kept setting the speaker to static and the noise was driving you mad. You flipped the switch to play the cassette stuck in the drawer, the old stereo beaten up and filthy. Springsteen’s gristled tones filled the shop and you wheeled back to your brother’s ride.
With the storm would no doubt come more work. Your fingerless gloves itched more than they kept you warm. Your fingertips were numb as you touched the frigid metal and the sweat of your palms made the fabric uncomfortable. You were used to it, rather tolerant as your task kept you distracted.
You were interrupted as you bent to look under the tank and get a good look at the exhaust and the rest of the beast’s entrails. You had the new pieces still wrapped and didn’t intend to do it all at once. Jerome could wait for his tacky redesign.
A loud banging came at the metal door and you glanced over in irritation. Anyone in Birch knew to come in the painted door to the left and not hit the large one. You huffed and stood with a groan, your hips sore from the low stool.
You fixed the front of your fleece-lined denim jacket and pulled the tail of your plaid shirt from inside your jean pocket. You’d been hunched over so long you were all wrinkled. You went past the large door and into the small entryway off the left of the garage and opened it with a tinkle of the rusty old bell above.
You stuck your head out into the gales as the snow continued to fall and squinted at the man in his thin jacket. He stood beside the long luxury car as another man with wild orange hair remained in the driver’s seat and blew into his hands. They were out of place in the small town and you could tell by the way the man scowled at the door that he knew it.
“Hey,” you called to them, “there’s a place down the street. I don’t do walk-ins.”
“Oh, hello, Miss…” he let his voice trail off as he neared and you stared at him rather than provide your name. His accent, his attire, the curl of his lip, it was clear what he thought of you and the bodunk town, “actually I was referred by an acquaintance. One, James Barnes.”
“Bucky?” you furrowed your brow.
“Mm, yes, that one,” he said, “my car will need detailing. We had some difficulties on the motorway.”
“Right,” you tried not to scowl, “well, if he sent you, I guess I can help.”
You left him and the door clattered behind you. He followed a few steps after as you went to the switch and pushed it to raise the wide door of the garage. You waved in the driver of the car and he carefully pulled in beside your brother’s bike.
He got out and you were surprised by his size, he was taller even then his companion and wider; neither could be described as short. You lowered the door as the thinner man walked along the shelves and the long table along the other side of the garage. The bigger man stood by the car and tucked his hands in his pockets.
“Not much better in here than out there,” the dark-haired man turned back to you, “you have heat in here?”
“You need a better coat,” you said as you rounded the back of the car, “and some boots.”
You glanced pointedly at his leather shoes and bent to reach under the table. You pulled out the space heater and plugged it in as you set on the wood. You cranked it up and smiled at him tritely.
“So, what’s the damage?” you asked as you looked to the other man.
“Headlight, maybe,” he said in a peculiar accent, “some scratches. We had a bit off a run-in.”
You neared and bent to examine the front of the car. You sighed as you tilted your head and clicked your tongue. It was easy enough to beat out the dents and buff out the scratches with a quick refinish. The headlight would need to be replaced and you knew they didn’t carry anything for that model in town. No one there was pretentious enough to drive it.
“If you want the headlight done before you leave town, it’ll take some time to get the replacement,” you warned.
“Oh, and how do you know I’m leaving?” he taunted coyly.
“Well, I know you’re definitely not sticking around,” you scoffed.
“Why wouldn’t I? A quaint place like this, I’m sure there is so much to explore,” he said dryly.
You had no delusions of what Birch was but it wasn’t the part of outsiders to deride the dead end. You stood straight and put your hands on your hips.
“You can go back to your castle, my lord, but you will have to wait out the storm,” you sneered. “Two days for the scratches. If you want to take it back after that and wait for the headlight to arrive, that’s fine with me.”
“Two days for the scratches? Surely you could do it before the morning,” the black-haired man insisted.
“I could but I have other work to do,” you replied, “so you can be patient and take your turn in line after all the hicks who live here.”
You went back to the table and grabbed your phone from where you tossed it earlier. You unlocked it and searched the model of his car and scrolled through the parts list.
“You’re Bucky’s guest so I’ll send the bill to him?” you asked, “though you do look to be able to afford it yourself.”
“You can invoice him directly,” he assured, “so you’re one of them?”
“One of them?” you repeated as you focused on checking out. The damn internet kept cutting in and out.
“My brother, those men in this town, I never knew a woman--”
“I’m not a biker. My brother is in the club,” you assured him, “so that big blond dope, he’s your brother?”
“Regrettably, yes,” he slithered, “Loki Odinson,” he introduced himself as he rubbed together his hands, the leather gloves doing little to protect his fingers, “my driver is Korg, and you’ve yet to tell me with whom I am trusting my property.”
“Again, there is a shop down the street. Prices aren’t bad,” you finished up your purchase and tucked your phone in your jacket pocket.
He met your eyes as you turned to him and he looked down his nose. You kept on and brushed past him as you went back around the car and sat by your brother’s bike.
“Sorry about the boss,” the other man, Korg, intoned, “he can be a bit--”
“Don’t apologise for me,” Loki snipped, “I needn’t atone to her.”
You rolled your eyes and wheeled around the side of the bike, “if that’s everything, you two can head back out. I’ll let you know when the car’s ready.”
“We might wait for the snow to calm,” Loki suggested.
“I close in an hour, you’re not staying here all night,” you sniffed.
“Trust me, I have no special desire to spend more time with you than necessary,” he retorted, “I don’t think I’ve ever met a woman so volatile as you, dear, and I’ve only just met you. I never expected you people to have very many manners but perhaps what I did presume was too much.”
You bared your teeth but kept at your work. You would worry about kicking him out when you finished the wiring.
“To be fair, had you not spoken first, I might’ve assumed you were a man,” he added.
You paused and glanced down at the open tool box. You weren’t unused to the comments, you weren’t girly in any way but it wasn’t like you were trying to be a man. You wore what was comfortable and in your work, practicality prevailed over aesthetic. Yet, your years of ridicule as a kid made you less tolerant of the comments and those had stopped long ago because you made sure they did.
“Oh, darling, have I upset you?”
“Don’t call me that,” you said as you reached into the toolbox.
“Well, you’ve not given your name and I’d hate call you what I truly think of you--”
The wrench flew from your hand as you stood and spun to him. It barely missed his head and bounced off the wall and plunked onto the table beside the heater. His eyes rounded and the other man looked at him. There was a thick silence as you glared at him.
“If you weren’t a friend of Bucky’s, I wouldn’t’ve missed,” you hissed, “now I will kindly, before I reach for a bigger wrench, ask you to leave.”
He pushed his shoulders back and tilted his head as his lips thinned dangerously. He swallowed and beckoned the other man with two fingers. His cheek twitched as if he would grin and he nodded subtly.
“Well, darling, how amusing you are. These brutes must adore you,” he snarled, “the exterior does indeed say it all.”
You bent and reached for another tool blindly. He blinked and quickly dodged as you flung the next wrench and he followed his henchman to the entryway. Your temper was a match for many men. It kept you safe.
“Barnes did not say his mechanic was a madwoman,” Loki called back as the bell rang.
“What, are you going to tattle on me?” You stormed towards the doorway, “you precious little princess?”
“Princess?” he met you in the doorway as Korg behind him held the door open and the snow blustered in, “I know Barnes will do me no other favours, but do you think he’ll do you any?”
“Get out,” you spat and shoved him, “I don’t need men to take care of me and I have no problem in proving that.”
He bit the inside of his lip in a crooked smirk and winked before he turned away and strutted out into the snow, shielding his face from the wild winds. Korg trailed behind him and the door sprang back into the frame. You crossed your arms and glared at the peeling paint.
You were tempted to tow his car out and let it weather the storm but you were smarter than that. If he was doing business with Bucky, you would be a fool to get in the way of it.
💀
The snow dwindled to a lazy dusting, the ground thick and treacherous. That day, you started early and around noon, you headed across the street to the diner for your usual lunch of a club sandwich and black coffee. You didn’t have to order as all the waitresses knew what to expect. You weren’t unfriendly but your association made many standoffish.
You tapped on the lip of your mug with your thumb, fingers hooked through the handle. The sleepy town felt dead in the winter. You were used to the dullness of Birch but tolerance was hardly happiness. It was home, where you’d grown up and you had no certain desire to get out, but you wouldn’t mind a little more than what was expected.
You yawned and gulped down the last of your coffee. It was bitter and left a few grounds on your tongue. You leaned back and grabbed the monthly newsletter from between the salt and pepper shakers. You read through the fun facts which weren’t very fun or even new. They were copy and pasted out Guinness and Reader’s Digest.
You looked up as you sensed someone approach your table but it wasn’t the waitress. The man from the day before slid coolly onto the seat across from you at the booth and smirked over the table. You raised the newsletter again and folded it backwards to read about the weekly knitting circle down at the rec center that was also the library.
“Good afternoon to you too,” Loki said, “it must be fortune I ran into you, I was hoping to inquire after my car--”
“I told you, two days,” you said tersely as you continued onto your horoscope …‘a new force will bring change’... You hated this tripe. You swore, every month they just switched the blurbs under each sign and hit print.
“So be it,” he cleared his throat and you lowered the paper as he shrugged out of his jacket.
“What are you doing? I eat my lunch alone,” you said.
“Well, to be frank, I was pointed here on the promise of some famous cabbage soup,” he explained as he folded his jacket over the seat next to him, “you looked like you needed company.”
“I don’t,” you assured him.
Kimmie came over and set down your sandwich. She greeted Loki and you saw the way she eyed his tailored suit. He stuck out in the town of flannels and denim.
“Hello, sir, can I get you something to drink?” she asked.
“Tea, English breakfast,” he ordered smoothly.
“Oh, sorry, we only have um, um, sorry, peppermint, earl grey, ginger lemon, and green,” she listed off as she tried to remember them all.
“Earl grey,” he sighed, “and a menu.”
“No, no menu,” you insisted, “and you can take his tea to another table.”
“And when we’re through, I’ll take the cheque,” he ignored you and snickered under his breath.
“Kimmie, can I get a to go box?” you asked as you shimmied off the seat and snatched up your coat, “I have to get back to work.” You took out your wallet and counted out the usual amount plus a tip, “thanks.”
“Of course,” she smiled awkwardly and glanced between you and Loki.
She scooped your sandwich back up and scurried away with it. You felt him watching you as you walked away and went to stand by the till as you watched Nora flit into the kitchen. She packed up your food and returned with the box. You took it and headed for the door, ignoring the arrogant out-of-towner on your way.
“Wait,” Kimmie called out your name and you turned back as she held up your keys, “you dropped these.”
You met her halfway and took them from her with a mutter. Again, he was watching you… or still watching you. She spun and promised she’d have his tea shortly.
“Hmm,” he hummed and you head to the door again, “interesting, I never would have put the name to the face.”
You pushed out into the snow and gritted your teeth. You thought of getting the work on his car out of the way quickly so he would leave you alone but your spite made you want to put it off entirely. Whatever. He’d be gone soon enough.
#loki#dark loki#dark!loki#loki x reader#birch#fully completely#series#sequel#dark fic#fic#dark!fic#thor#mcu#marvel#au#biker!au#biker au#biker boys of birch#bucky barnes#korg
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“Embrace” - Din Djarin x female!reader
Tigaanur Series: Part 1 | Part 2 (you’re here!) | Part 3 | MASTERLIST
Summary: The first time you slept next to the Mandalorian definitely wasn’t that comfortable. The second time would have been a lot better … if you could have fallen asleep in his embrace.
Warning: the fluff continues, a bit of violence/near death experience? (honestly ... is that news in that series?), more touching and bed sharing, suggestive themes, Hmmm slow-burn romance! My favorite ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)
Category: fluff
Words: about 8.000
Notes: The sequel to “Touch” is here! You don’t have to read the first part necessarily but I would suggest it because some things are references you might understand better if you read both. I also decided to name this series “Tigaanur“ which is Mando’a for ... touch, lol.
I hope y’all like the second part just as much! I had a lot of fun writing this, hehe.
Note 2: Again, set during season 1 but the events are drawn out over a longer period of time (but they aren’t really mentioned)
Note 3: If you like my writing ... I’m taking Requests! Or if you just want to be notified when I upload something: I’ve started a taglist, too!
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“Embrace” – Din Djarin x fem!reader
With a huff you turned in your makeshift bed and stared at the ceiling of the Razor Crest, your hands clasped and neatly placed on your stomach. Keeping track of the time was difficult when you were in hyperspace for more than a day, at least for you, but when spending these days unable to fall asleep, the minutes seemed to last an eternity longer. Insomnia plagued you in your hours of otherwise peaceful slumber ever since a few weeks. All those events, all those concerns to keep the Child safe and the realization that there was a bounty on your head now, kept you awake, alert even when you knew it was safe to close your eyes. Your days were a constant pattern you couldn't escape from. Fighting, fleeing, repeat. You were aware of what you had signed up for when you joined Mando and the little one on the Razor Crest and you didn't regret a thing. But what you hadn't been aware of at the beginning was just how much your mind would struggle to process everything. You adapted to having to be observant and careful all the time, you just couldn't switch it off anymore. Your body shook with energy, prepared to act if necessary at any time even when you were more than exhausted.
In the last couple of weeks you only seemed to find any sleep when your body was too exhausted to function anymore, leaving you passed out in the copilot seat more often than not. When Mando would notice you almost falling sleep beside him, he always urged you to go down in your bed. You knew he only wanted you to sleep comfortably, the copilot seat wasn't the best alternative for your body and especially for your back. You didn't dare to tell him that the moment you would settle down in your bed, you would be wide awake for the rest of the flight.
Sometimes sleep was within reach, so close but your mind would startle you awake before you could get a hold of it. Leaving you panicked in your bed with your heart beating relentlessly against your ribs, keeping you awake for the rest of the night. Other times your body was simply too restless for you to even feel tired, let alone fall asleep. The constant stress your body and mind were under, slowly but surely strained your nerves.
You groaned, frustrated at yourself, and pressed the palms of your hands against your eyes. You couldn't deal with this anymore. You kicked back your blanket and stood up from your makeshift bed. You stretched your arms over your head until your shoulders made a satisfied plopping sound, then you grabbed your blanket, draped it over your shoulders and head like a hood before you made your way to the ladder leading up. You tiptoed silently past the Mandalorian's cot in which the kid was sleeping soundly, not wanting to wake the little on up, and then climbed up to the cockpit.
Mando shifted in his seat the moment you set a foot onto solid ground again, tilting his head in confusion as he looked at you. You walked up to him with your head lowered and sat down into the copilot seat to his right. With your feet plopped onto the seat, you wrapped the blanket around you and leaned your head back, glancing at the streaks of blue and silver above your through the window.
"Nightmare?" he asked, his voice a soft whisper his modulator struggled to pick up. His concern for you made your heart flutter and warmth spred in your stomach.
"No" you shook your head and wrapped the blanket tighter around your body. "Just can't fall asleep right now." It wasn’t a lie, just not the complete truth either.
You let out a sigh, your eyes still fixated onto the fascinating beauty that was hyperspace even though you have seen it a million times already. But the nebula of blue and silver, of the stars swirling around you, never ceased to amaze you.
The silence was light but filled with unspoken words and questions. You didn't dare to ask any of them out loud. You didn't want to disturb the comfortable silence and you weren't sure if you wanted to hear his answers anyway. You had asked him the question that was burning on the tip of your tongue before. His answer didn't really clarify much for you, you were still unsure at times. Now you only knew that he didn't mind the touches, didn't mind you around him. You were curious but also afraid to ask again. You liked how the bond you two shared was right now, you didn't want it to change to something awkward.
Your eyes fluttered close unwillingly, the exhausting taking a hold of your stiff body. You still couldn't relax but your body needed to shut down, needed to recharge. You heard the Mandalorian shuffle with something but before you could open your eyes to look, he had already grabbed your hand from underneath the blanket and intertwined his un-gloved fingers with yours. The warmth of his touch immediately washed over your whole body. Your lips formed into a soft smile as you squeezed his hand in thanks, slowly melting into his touch and the seat, gradually you felt your body relax.
Mando began to draw small circles on the back of your hand, soothing your racing thoughts to a halt. No words were spoken, but you didn't feel like they were necessary right now. You were just grateful for his touch as your mind slipped into a peaceful slumber. The last clear thought you could form stuck with you even when you woke up again a few hours later.
You never seemed to be able to relax in your bed just as good as if you were in the cockpit with Mando by your side.
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"Why does this always happen?" you huffed under your breath as you ran beside the Mandalorian, trying to get back to the Razor Crest before one of the men hunting you could land a shot.
You had just wanted to get some more supplies again, with three people on the ship rations didn't last long, especially with the always hungry kid that was hiding in the bag slung over your shoulder right now. You had wanted to go alone but after what happened the last time, when you had gotten badly hurt, Mando didn't allow that. Especially now that there was also a bounty on your head to track him and the kid down. You were in far more danger than he anticipated, than he wanted. But you also were in a desperate need to leave the ship even if it was only for an hour. You couldn’t stand being trapped there any longer, so you argued with him, refused to stay behind. After a while, and very reluctantly, Mando agreed to you going with him which meant that the kid had to join, too, because you didn't want to leave him alone on the ship. You had hoped for it to run smoothly, to just for once be able to enjoy a trip to a market and not be confronted with the harsh reality again. But you should have known better, you should have known that some bounty hunters would spot you three, that it was just inevitable.
So, that was why you were running through the narrow streets of the city you were in right now. Fighting them all off immediately hadn't been an option this time with all the civilians around you blocking your path and sight, so you three had to resort to shooting your way free and immediately fleeing after that. The plan had been to find a spot where you would have some advantage to attack but the city seemed to only consist of small, narrow streets in which you couldn't do anything except try to run, try to not get shot in the back.
Mando was running beside you but after a while you had trouble keeping pace with him. Your legs burned, the exhaustion in every fiber of your body from weeks of almost no sleep slowed you down more and more. Gasping for air you tried to not fall too far behind.
The Mandalorian took a sharp turn to the left, vanishing into another small side street. You stumbled, struggling to slow down enough to take the turn without needing to stop completely. You could only vaguely hear the shouting of the bounty hunters behind you over the blood rushing through your ears and your heart hammering against your ribs. But what you could hear, or rather feel, was the blaster shoots zooming past you, barely missing. They were coming closer, fast.
The kid cooed in your bag, confused by what was going on when you grabbed the bag and pressed it with him in it protectively against your chest. At least he wouldn't get hit there.
You managed to round the corner and fixated your eyes back on Mando's form. With a groan you sped up, trying to catch up to him. But then you felt the laser of a blaster, its heat sizzled past your face, missing your skin only barely. Your heart leaped into your throat and you jumped to the side, your back collided with the wall of a building as you came to a sudden halt. When you collected your thoughts enough to turn your head, you saw the bounty hunters had already followed you into the small street and you knew there was no use in escaping anymore. If you ran, they would just shoot you in the back. You looked down at the Child who had stuck out his head from the bag, staring at you with his big, round eyes, and you knew what you had to do. You had no other option. You had to fight.
You grabbed your blaster from the holster on your hip -Mando made you take one with you and had taught you the basics, now that you were on the radar of bounty hunters too- and slung the bag around so the Child would be hidden behind your back, safe from any blaster shots coming your way. You had no time to aim so you just shot into the general direction of the bounty hunters, hoping for the best, as you pushed yourself from the wall, avoiding a few shots only barely. Miraculously you managed to hit a few of them, or maybe it was Mando who hit them. He had to be somewhere behind you, he probably noticed your absence and had turned around to help, but your mind was too clouded to notice his footsteps hurrying closer or his blaster shots coming from behind you, more unfocused and aimless than usually.
You ducked your head down to avoid a few more otherwise fatal shots and directed your blaster to the bounty hunter closest to you, only for it to jam. You pulled the trigger three times before you realized that nothing was happening. Your eyes widen in horror and you did the only thing you could think of right now: Protect the Child at all cost. You let your blaster fall to the ground as you spun around, so your back was facing the bounty hunters. You grabbed the bag during your turnaround and pressed it against your chest again, putting one hand on the little one’s head in an attempt to soothe him while your body shook in fear. You prepared yourself for the hit, prepared yourself for the heat sinking into your skin, for the pain, when you suddenly felt someone grab you and spin you around with them. You were too disoriented to react, to fight, you could only hear the lasers leaving the bounty hunter’s blaster, but none of them hit you. Instead, they hit something metallic, making them bounce off. You lifted your head slightly and your breath got stuck in your throat as you realized what was happening. Mando had wrapped his arms around you and spun you so his body was shielding you and the kid from the lasers, his back facing the bounty hunters, instead of yours. You couldn't do anything, except for staring at his visor in pure shock while he silently stared back, not even tilting his helmet in question. Him moving his hands behind your back stayed mostly unnoticed by you. Only when the whistling birds already struck down the bounty hunters that were left did you realized what he had done.
The echo of the blasters suddenly stopped, leaving the small side street in complete silence with the only exception being your still widely beating heart hammering against your ribs. The first one to move was neither Mando nor you but the Child, who was tugged in between the two of you. Wiggling and stretching his arms out he cooed at the Mandalorian whose helmet lowered to look at him. Slowly he loosened his grip on you, though his arms still stayed wrapped around you. If you didn't know it any better you would have said he was afraid you would disappear if he let go. But you didn't mind his hold on you, your legs were shaking uncontrollably and you would probably have slumped down on the ground without him.
"Are you hurt?" he asked and glanced back at you, his voice frantic. You shook your head and let out a breathy sigh.
"No-o" you said and gasped for air, your heart pumping hard against your chest in relief, before you directed your gaze to the little one. "We're okay. B-but I need a moment."
You let your forehead fall against Mando’s armored chest and just focused on your breathing. The Mandalorian didn't move or interject, instead he tightened his arms around you again, giving you not only stability but comfort, too. You closed your eyes and tried to stop the shaking of your body. The adrenaline had vanished and only left the fear behind that was still closing its claws around you. You gulped, realizing that you almost ... that you could have died. A cold shiver ran down your spine as your breath hitched. This could have been the end of your journey. You could have...
"We need to go" Mando spoke up, his voice caring an apologetic tone. You nodded against his chest, understanding that you had to leave the planet before more bounty hunters could arrive. You bit your lip and straightened up, taking a step back the Mandalorian let his arms slip from you, bringing them back to his sides.
"Let's go" you agreed, trying to cover the waver of your voice with a small smile.
You held the Child pressed against your chest the whole remaining way back to the Razor Crest. His soft squeaks kept your mind at ease and focusing on his big, curious eyes made you forget about what almost happened. At least for the time being. Luckily, you didn't walk into any more bounty hunters. Though you could only take a deep breath of relief when the hangar closed tightly behind you. You only half-heartedly noticed Mando gently pushing you down onto the edge of his cot by the shoulders. You stared at the ground before you, still hugging the little one against your chest, and didn't even register the Razor Crest taking off. The short startle of the jump into hyperspace was also left unnoticed. Only when the Child was softly taken out of your arms did you look up at the Mandalorian, who had come back down. You didn't protest as he put the little one into his hammock where he promptly fell asleep.
"You should get some rest" the Mandalorian suggested, one of his hands resting on your shoulder, the leather of his glove brushing against the skin of your neck. The sensation left small tingles behind which would have made you sigh if you weren’t so tense.
And even though you would have loved to, you knew sleep wasn't an option for you right now.
"I can't-" you choked out and lowered your eyes to stare at your still shaking hands. You clenched them to fists and bit your lip. And even though the Mandalorian didn't speak up, did you know what he was asking when his hand wandered from your shoulder to your neck and cheek. You leaned into his touch, closed your eyes and wished to just fall asleep in his comforting presence, to just be able to forget this day.
"I haven't been able to sleep properly ever since I joined you" you confessed, your voice faint. "But it has gotten worse over the last few weeks."
"What can I do to help you?" the Mandalorian asked sincerely concerned. You couldn't help the soft chuckle escaping from your mouth.
"Can you stay?" you hummed even though you knew he couldn't. This wasn't necessarily the worst sleeping position you were in since the last couple of weeks, but also not one of the best. However, if you moved to your bed or to the cockpit now, you would be wide awake once more. But Mando probably didn’t want to and couldn’t stay in that position anyway. You sighed at the warmth of his touch, relishing the moment for a few seconds more before you would have to stand up. But then Mando pulled away, making you open your eyes in an instant. You were about to stand up from his cot when he suddenly kneeled down before you. Freezing in place you stared at his visor that stayed trained on your face. Every word you could have said got stuck in your throat when he grabbed your legs and slipped your shoes off. You couldn't even ask him what he was doing, though your face probably gave that thought away. He placed your shoes neatly beside the entrance to his cot before slipping his off, too, which only left you even more confused. You blinked at him in lack of understanding, searching for words.
"What are you doing?" you managed to ask when he had stood up and took a step closer. He was now directly in front of you, his body so close you could feel the warmth that radiated from him and it springing over to you. He was so close that you had to put your head back to keep your eyes focused on his helmet.
"Staying with you" he only answered. Before you could ask further questions, he suddenly picked you up with one arm underneath your legs and the other bracing your back. Your eyes grew wide as you just clung onto him, unable to protest.
Somehow Mando managed to get you two settled into his cot with him lying on his back, almost taking in all the space, and you on your side, trying to squeeze into the space that was left. Nevertheless, you had to press against him with your head lying on his armored shoulder. You didn't dare to breathe, didn't dare to move at all and just watched Mando for a while. He had his hands clasped on top of his stomach, the visor of his helmet pointed to the ceiling, harshly reflecting the still switched-on lights of the ship. He didn’t move and you began to wonder if he had already fallen asleep. But then you thought about how he was even supposed to fall asleep that way in his bed, completely dressed in his armor. Wasn’t he uncomfortable? You furrowed your brows, your eyes still trained on his helmet. Or did he always sleep that way? Fully dressed in his armor? Unmovingly on his back like a rock?
"Sleep."
You couldn't help the squeak spilling over your lips as you flinched in embarrassment, making the Mandalorian chuckle lowly. He had noticed you staring, obviously. You cursed at yourself and ducked your head in, trying to sink into yourself and appear smaller while your cheeks heated up. Embarrassed you stared at your hands, refusing to meet the Mandalorian’s gaze again. His shoulders shook lightly from his silent laughter. Then he grabbed the blanket, draping it over the two of you before he pushed a button on the side of the wall which switched off the lights and closed the door to the cot. You were grateful for the darkness as your face definitely gave away your flustered state. For a few moments you focused on Mando's regular breathing through the modulator, feeling his body move next to you to the almost completely silent rhythm. You mimicked his relaxed breathing, trying to clear your thoughts and focusing on only that and not the close proximity you had to each other. And before you knew it your body relaxed and you fell asleep, tightly pressed against him.
_______________
You were relieved and grateful to Mando for finally having found some sleep through his help, but you would be lying if you said it was a comfortable slumber.
You had awoken alone in Mando's cot. Well, not completely alone. The kid was still sleeping in his hammock above you and the pain in your back was now also a new companion. Spending one night cramped into one tiny space with a man completely dressed in cold, hard armor probably wasn't the best idea. Nevertheless, you had slept and for the first time in weeks you felt somewhat well rested, back pain brushed aside.
You groaned and set up, rubbing your eyes and wondered how you didn't notice Mando leaving. In the tight space that was his bed you surely would have felt him move, right? Well, apparently you had been far too out of it for that. You were somewhat impressed at yourself for having fallen so deeply asleep but your body probably had just passed out, far too exhausted to keep being alert even in your sleep.
You yawned, searched for the button to open the cot and then crawled to its edge to put your shoes back on, noticing that Mando's were gone. You stood up and glanced at the Child but when you noticed that he was still soundly asleep, you silently walked to the ladder and climbed up. Once you were at the top you stopped and stared at the back of Mando's helmet, suddenly feeling very unsure of yourself. Sleeping next too him was the most intimate gesture he had shared with you. And even though that wasn’t really something big normally, you had shared a bed with friends before, this felt different. Somehow it felt intrusive and very exciting at the same time. You felt special but flustered none the less. Then you huffed and shook your head, clearing it from those thoughts.
'We only shared a bed' you told yourself. There was nothing special about that, right? Well, maybe not with any other person. But with Mando every small step felt like a miracle, like a risk to take even though being close to him was nothing new to you anymore. You held hands, you saw and felt his skin underneath the leather gloves, you even sat on his lap a few times while in hyperspace. But nothing ever felt so intimate than lying next to him in his small cot, even if you had a sore back now because of that. Alone the memory of it made your heart speed up again. Never had so simple gestures felt so exciting to you. And then the desire hit you that you wanted more, wanted to be closer to the man behind the beskar. And that thought suddenly scared you.
You shook your head once more and forced yourself to sit down into one of the copilot seats. You stared out of the window, too afraid to meet the Mandalorian's gaze should he tilt his head to you, too afraid he would somehow know what you were thinking. You felt torn. Torn between wanting to embrace whatever this was and scared to know what he wanted, what he thought. Scared to know what exactly this was. It wasn’t a simple partnership anymore, not just a crew you happened to join. This was something that set your heart aflame whenever you were near him. But you didn’t want to ask. You didn’t want to know his answer. As long as he didn’t tell you what this was to him you could continue to pretend, to relish these moments that meant so much to you.
You folded your hands and placed them in your lap to stop yourself from fiddling with your thumbs. The silence was uncommonly heavy, pressing down on your shoulders and pinning you to the seat.
"Thank you" you whispered after many minutes of complete silence and glanced at the Mandalorian through the corners of your eyes. He only hummed and nodded, not turning to meet your eyes.
_______________
The rest of your day was filled with the giggles and squeals of the Child as you played with him to distract yourself form your thoughts. You couldn't stand being in the cockpit alone with Mando today, so you had passed the time and busied yourself with caring for the kid. That was until he had fallen asleep in your arms at the end of the day, or at least you guessed another day had passed. Keeping track of it in hyperspace was still rather hard for you.
You had put the little one to bed and were now standing in front of him, in front of Mando’s cot, unsure what to do. Glancing at your own bed you felt your stomach tighten. You already knew you would only turn from side to side without finding any rest in there. The only option to find any sort of sleep would be next to Mando.
You sighed and climbed back up to sit down into one of the copilot seats only to almost run into the Mandalorian as the door to the cockpit slid open suddenly before you. You froze, your face only inches away from his chest. You took a deep breath before you slowly lifted your head until you could look into his visor. When he didn’t move to the side or reacted at all, you furrowed your brows at him in question.
"Aren't you tired?" he asked and gently took your hand in his. It was the first time that he had talked to you today. The rest of the day had always been filled with awkward silence, something you had always feared should you ask the questions that were circling in your head, something you had wanted to prevent by staying silent, but now it was too late. He tilted his head at you when you didn't react. For a few moments you were overwhelmed and struggled for words.
"Ehm, well, yeah but-" you weren't able to finish your sentence, though you weren't even sure what you had wanted to say anyway, when Mando squeezed your hand and nodded to the ladder. Understanding what he wanted to signal to you, you let your hand slip from his and began to climb back down, Mando following close behind.
You were back where you had stood before, not knowing what to do. When Mando slipped his shoes off you did the same, just so you had something to occupy your mind with. When he turned to look at you, you stayed put where you were, frozen in place with your heart hammering against your ribs, begging you to let it escape. Did he really want to sleep in his armor again just so you could find some sort of relaxation, some form of comfort through his presence? Not to forget how painful it was to wake up earlier today for you, then you couldn’t possible imagine how it had to be for him. You suppressed the wince that would have spilled over your lips other wise and shook your head. Now wasn't about your comfort during sleep, but Mando's. And sleeping in armor definitely couldn’t be comfortable or even good for him. He should be able to relax in his ship and not be reminded of his job, his chaotic life through the armor he wore during the day and now at night, too.
"Isn't it uncomfortable to sleep in your armor?" you asked sincerely concerned and not just to gain some more seconds to try and sort your mind. Mando only shrugged his shoulders, while you rubbed the back of your neck that still felt a little stiff from this morning.
"You don't have to-" you wanted to explain to him that he didn't have to do this for you when he would be uncomfortable as a result, that you would just try to sleep in your bed again so he felt comfortable enough to take the armor off and sleep alone in his cot. But every word got stuck in your throat when he did something you never thought your eyes would ever witness. He took off his armor, piece by piece, right in front of you. Your eyes grew wide and your mouth fell slightly open.
"What-" you only managed to croak out as your eyes wandered over his form, the last piece of armor he still wore being his helmet and the rest of his clothing being what he wore underneath, a simple shirt and pants. You couldn't help yourself, you couldn't keep yourself from staring at him.
His shoulders were still broad and wide even without the armor but only now did you notice his slender waist. You gulped and stopped your eyes from moving lower, bringing them back up, only for your heart to leap into your throat as you stared at his chest and arms that were now only covered by a dark, long-sleeved shirt. You already knew Mando was physically strong but the shirt did nothing to hide the muscles flexing in his arms and shoulders even when he was only standing before you. Why did you feel like he was standing bare before you when he only took his armor off and was still standing before you fully clothed? You felt your face heat up and your breath getting shallow at that thought. Your body tensed as you forced your eyes to stay on Mando's visor. You had embarrassed yourself enough already.
He hadn’t said anything when he had taken off his armor nor when he stepped closer to you, directing you backwards to the cot. When the back of your knees hit the edge you stumbled, almost falling on your back but Mando grabbed your hand and kept you upright.
"Careful" he chuckled. Your face grew even hotter as you bit your lip, suppressing the mindless blabber that would have escape you otherwise. Slowly he lowered your still tilted off-center body until you found yourself on the exact same spot as yesterday. It felt rather surreal and you kept wondering if you weren’t just dreaming right now. Maybe you were still asleep? But when your eyes glanced at his exposed neck, the skin sun-kissed and flexing over his muscles in such detail, you were sure you couldn’t make this up during your sleep, that this had to be real.
"Mando, I-" you began but he shushed you.
"Let's just get some sleep, okay?"
You nodded and stood up, letting Mando settled into his bed first. He laid down like he had yesterday, flat on his back with his arms on his stomach. For a second you hesitated, staring down at him before you followed him into the tight space, plopping down on your side with your back to him and snuggling underneath the blanket he had already draped over himself. You felt far too flustered to face him right now, especially with the lights still on. Without a word he closed the door to the cot and switched the lights off.
You gulped, somehow feeling Mando's side pressed against your back even more prominently than before. You took a deep breath and closed your eyes, snuggling deeper into the blanket in an attempt to make yourself fall asleep faster. Only to suddenly realize that everything in the cot smelled like the Mandalorian, smelled like something metallic (his beskar) mixed with something earthy, something grounding, something soothing. Heat immediately rushed back into your cheeks and your body tensed. Oh Maker, how were you supposed to fall asleep now? With Mando's scent in your nose and his body tightly pressed against you, you definitely couldn't. You didn't really feel uncomfortable but to say this position did anything for your still slightly sore back and neck was also not correct. And that your heart racing uncontrollably fast didn't help you in any way either. You couldn't relax like this.
Your eyes darted around in the dark as you tried to jump over your shadow and control your rapid breathing. Then, before you could back out again, you turned around underneath the blanket so you would have faced the Mandalorian if the lights were on. He didn't react or at least as far as you were aware. He could surely be looking at you through his visor, that probably had night vision, without moving his head. You gulped before carefully placing your hand on his chest. You felt him tense underneath your touch instantly, signaling you that he wasn't asleep yet. You felt how your cheeks heated up even more when your fingers brushed his muscular chest instead of the cold, hard beskar armor you were used to by now.
"Mando?" you asked quietly, your voice trembling nervously while you patiently waited for an answer even after many seconds of silence. You wanted to make sure he was comfortable enough to answer you before you tried anything else.
"Yes?" he finally said and you felt his head moving beside you ever so slightly.
"Are you comfortable?" you questioned further. Another few seconds of silence followed in which the only thing you could focus on was how close you were to the unarmed Mandalorian. You could feel every muscle on his chest underneath your touch, still a bit tense but slowly loosening up more and more. You could feel his soothing warmth even more, now that the beskar wasn't in the way. You bit your lip, suppressing a sigh.
"It's alright" he only answered, leaving your question rather unsatisfied. You took a deep breath, trying to stop your body from shaking and forced yourself to speak up again.
"I am not" you whispered and felt him tense up again underneath your touch. You felt his head move once more, probably now completely turned to face you. He didn't say anything, just stared at you through the darkness. You struggled for words for a while, unsure how to continue without making him uncomfortable, without sounding too demanding. Then you lightly shook your head as far as that was possible lying on your side next to him.
"Could you-" you began but bit your lip. Collecting all the courage you had left you forced yourself to continue. "Could you turn on your side?"
You stared into the darkness, at the unmoving Mandalorian as your pulse quickened. Nobody moved and you began to fear that you had overstepped a boundary. Maker, he had taken off his armor in front of you for the very first time. This must be even more uncomfortable for him than you. You gritted your teeth, cursing at yourself. You should have stayed silent and just tried to sleep. About to apologize you opened your mouth only to suddenly feel movement beside you. Before you knew it the Mandalorian laid on his side, but not like you had expected it with his back facing you, but with his chest. Your heart leaped into your throat, leaving you breathless and unable to form the words you had wanted to say out loud. You froze, your whole body tensed up in disbelief.
"Is that better?" he asked, his voice an almost inaudible whisper.
"Yeah" you croaked out. The silence that followed was deafening, making the beat of your heart even more audible and you were sure Mando must have been able to hear it, too. Your brain shut off, leaving you alone in the dark, helpless. How were you supposed to sleep now?! With your eyes wide you stared in front of you, stared into the darkness where Mando's chest was, only inches away from your face. You almost yelped in panic when you noticed that your hand was still touching him, pressed against his unarmored chest. But you couldn't move away. Was your mind blank only seconds before was it now swarming and crowded with thousand of thoughts.
You flinched when you suddenly felt a featherlight touch on your waist. You needed a few seconds to process that it was Mando's un-gloved hand.
"Is this okay?" he asked, his voice so soft his modulator didn't even pick it up. You realized that this was Mando's real voice, not the distorted sound of his helmet but what he would sound like without it. A shower of tingles wandered down your body, leaving you breathless. You opened and closed your mouth a few times, trying to find the words.
"Ye-yeah."
Mando let his arm sneak around your waist, wrapping it around you and slowly pulling you against his chest. You didn't even notice that you were the one to tangle your legs with his, it felt intuitive.
Suddenly you felt really dizzy. Was this really happening right now? You grabbed Mando's shirt with your shaking fingers and buried your head in his chest in a stupid attempt to hide. Because the moment you had to take a deep breath to try and calm yourself down, you only grew even more dizzy when his scent filled your nose. You cursed silently in your mind. But even through all of this, did you notice how your body slowly relaxed under this touch and warmth. Involuntary, you let out a soft sigh and closed your eyes.
"Thank you, Mando" you managed to whisper after probably minutes of silence. The Mandalorian didn't immediately retort anything to that and instead tightened his grip on your waist and squeezed the hand of his free arm between the two of you to place it on to of your hands that were still pressed firmly against his chest.
"Din."
You lifted your head to look at where his eyes must be hidden behind the darkness and furrowed your brows in lack of understanding. "What?" you asked confused.
"Please. Call me Din."
Your eyes widen and your face grew even hotter if that was even possible at that point. He ... he just revealed his name to you? Your breath hitched. He just revealed his name to you.
"Din" you tested his name on your tongue in a hushed tone. The Mandalorian went rigid as he sucked in a sharp breath and you feared you had misunderstood him but then he pressed you even closer to him, making your heart skip a beat. You gasped for air in shock when he nestled into your hair as you felt his chin on top of your head and not the cold helmet. His legs had sneaked around yours, pinning you against him but you didn't feel trapped. Quite the opposite, you actually enjoyed his tight embrace.
"Din?" you asked, your voice wavering noticeably. The grip around your waist tightened for a split second as he tried to stifle his sigh, making you chuckle and melt against him.
"Din" you said again with a cheeky smile on your lips. The Mandalorian growled against you, making you jump in surprise.
"Are you trying to torture me, cyar'ika?" he asked, his voice husky and low. You paused, not quite understanding what he meant by that.
"What-" you began, shifting in his hold so you would be looking at his face in confusion if it weren't so dark. For a few seconds you just stared and thought until your eyes widen in realization as your mind caught on. "When was the last time someone called you by your name?" you asked in a hush.
"Can't remember" he answered you in a low growl as he pressed himself against you. Your cheeks burned again in an instant as you struggled for words once more. Din’s breath stuttered through the modulator, his chest heaving against yours. You wondered if his mind was as blank as yours was but then he suddenly let go of your waist and instead grabbed both of your hands before you could collect yourself enough to react to any of the things he had said, to the things he had revealed to you. For a few moments he just drew soothing circles on the backs of your hands, tracing your soft skin as if it was the first time he felt it. Then he directed them upwards and placed them on each side of his helmet. After that no one moved and you barely dared to breathe. You hadn't touched his helmet before, always far too afraid since it seemed to be the most important part of his creed.
But the only thing on your mind wasn’t your surprise at that and instead you could only focus on how the coldness of the beskar underneath your hands and the warmth of Din's hand on top sent shivers down your spine.
"(Y/N)?"
You hummed in response, still unable to speak up, your mind far too clouded.
"You can take it off."
Your body stiffened as you blinked in confusion. Did he really just say that? You must have imagined that, right? Right?
"B-but your creed?" you objected, staring into the darkness.
"It's okay as long as you can't see my face" he explained, squeezing your hands before leaving them alone on his helmet as he wrapped his arms back around your waist, lifting you a bit further up so you were face to face with him. Your hands were still cupping the sides of his helmet as you sucked in a sharp breath. Were you really about to do this? It felt wrong even though he had asked you to. It felt … intimate.
"Please, cyar'ika. Let me be close to you."
Din's pleading voice and the foreign nickname send shivers down your spine. Your breath hitched as you pushed all your worries to the side and slowly lifting the helmet up. Its hiss echoed in your ears as you held your breath, your heart beating so strong you felt it in your throat. You pushed it up over his hair that brushed your hands, leaving tingles behind. Then you placed the helmet to the side and gasped when you felt Din's breath on your face. The sensation left you dizzy as your heart began to drum relentlessly against your chest. Your hands felt useless as they floated in the air, not knowing where to put them. For many seconds you didn’t dare to move before you squeezed one of your hands back between the two of you, placing it on his chest before taking a deep breath.
"Can I?" you asked in a whisper, your other hand hovering over where his cheek must be hiding in the darkness.
A soft "Yeah" escaped Din's mouth and you didn't waste another second and gently placed your hand on his face. The sensation and his warmth left you with a feeling you couldn’t quite place or understand. Slowly you began to outline his features, let your hand wander from his chin up to his ear, feeling his strong jar and the slight stubble that adorned it. The combined feeling of his surprisingly soft skin and rougher stubble left you breathless. You let your hand placed on his cheek for a few moments, trying to collect your thoughts and failing miserably. You sucked in a sharp breath and carefully continued to let your fingers wander to his forehead, tracing his eyebrow you felt how his eyes fluttered close. Then your touch traveled back down, mapping out the shape of his nose. In the end your fingers hovered over his lips and you felt his breath against them as they trembled. Gently you placed them on his chin and felt your way up to his bottom lip. You traced the outline of his mouth in a trance and when he chuckled against you, you didn’t even flinch and joined in. Your fingers found their way further up, to the corner of his lips, feeling the stubble above his lips form into a mustache. You chuckled again. He took your breath away.
"Beautiful" you whispered as you continued to caress the corner of his mouth. You felt it crinkle up in a smile as Din laughed, the rumble of it vibrating in your chest, the sound hypnotizing you.
"Mesh'la" he responded in a hushed tone, as he drew your faces closer. You weren't sure what the word meant but you didn't really care right now. His scent so metallic yet earthy, so soft yet sensual and warm it left you breathless and with your thoughts spinning, craving more. Your heart hammered against your ribs, screaming and begging for a few more millimeters, only a small push forward. You were sure Din was able to feel the echo of your heart against his own chest. He shifted lightly against you, wrapping his legs around you more, and tightening his grip on your waist, drawing your body even closer even though not a single hair could fit in between you two anymore. Your sleepiness was completely forgotten by now as you stared into the darkness, not able to close your eyes even though you couldn't even see anything. But you didn't need your eyes to see him, to know how beautiful he was.
He lowered his head, placing his forehead against yours. You were glad to note that you weren't the only one whose breath stuttered over your lips at that. You couldn't help but melt into him, soaking in his warmth and the feeling of comfort, the feeling of belonging right there with him. Feeling like this was all that life was, feeling safe and protected. At peace.
You let your hand wander to his hair, burying your fingers into his locks. The slight tug made Din growl once more, the sound low and dangerous, teasing and daring you to continue. You smiled and brushed his hair back, taking part in the game he dared you to play with him, no matter the consequences. You wanted to see what he would do, you wanted more. All those months of faint touches, whispers of being close to one another, had left you even more touch-starved then before, even more desperate. You didn’t care for the unspoken boundaries anymore. You just wanted to let yourself fall into your desire, a desire Din seemed to share.
Slowly one of his hands crept up the back of your neck to also bury his fingers in your hair. The sensation made you gasp and your hair stand on end. You were sure Din was grinning at that, proud and pleased. Out of instinct you freed one of your legs from his and draped it over his waist, seeking to be even closer to him, even though his whole body was already pressed against you and his lips so close that you could feel the ghost of his breath on yours. It made you shiver in anticipation. Pressing your forehead even more against his you took a deep breath, taking in his soothing scent.
Only a few millimeters more and you would have the closeness you sought. Only a few millimeters closer to fulfill the whishes of your heart. Only a few millimeters closer and you would have known how his lips felt dancing against your own.
_______________
Tigaanur Series: Part 1 | Part 2 (you’re here!) | Part 3 | MASTERLIST
No kisses, hehehehe. Want to have a third part with them kissing? ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)
Then leave a comment and reblog! Feedback is always highly appreciated, it keeps me motivated and I’d just like to know what y’all think and if you liked it!
_______________
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#the mandalorian#din djarin#din djarin x reader#the mandalorian x reader#din djarin x female reader#the mandalorian x female reader#mando x reader#female reader#x reader#star wars x reader#fluff#the mandalorian oneshot#the mandalorian imagine#Tigaanur series#mando#the mandalorian season 1
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i hate everybody (but maybe i don’t) 1/3
This is my @jurdannet & @jurdannetrevels Secret Snusband gift for @sevenfreckles-for-sevenloves! You tapped into a story I’d been wanting to write for ages, so you get three parts and three POVs (Vivi, Cardan, and Jude). Happy Holidays, I hope you like it. ♥ Thanks to @xdarkofthemoon for betaing!
This fic is rated E. Content warnings this chapter for excessive alcohol consumption, references to alcoholism, and (prescribed) antidepressant use.
Read on AO3 or read below:
Bars in Barcelona are not especially different from bars in the US. It’s a discovery Vivi has made over the course of her study abroad tenure: everything is different on the outside, but on the inside, not so much. She does like the outsides, though. She likes the tidy streets, the way the buildings don’t rise to blot out the sun as they have a habit of doing in American downtowns. She likes the cozy sameness of the facades, broken by the whimsical surprise of the odd Gaudí contribution. Like a lot of the European cities she’s visited there seems to be some unifying design principle, some common understanding. At home it’s anyone’s guess what the next office building or apartment complex might look like, a mishmash of styles as the cities clamor to reinvent themselves, modernist or postmodernist or deconstructionist or whatever.
Heather could name them all, if Heather were here.
But Heather isn’t here. Tonight, Vivi is out on the town with her two younger half-sisters, Jude and Taryn. Her twin baby sisters, although they hate it when she calls them that. The twins’ spring breaks overlapped by happy accident, so their adoptive dad, Vivi’s biological father, had sent them off on an all-expenses-paid Barcelona trip for a mini family reunion.
Taryn had been thrilled to go out. “I’m so excited that we can drink here,” she’d exclaimed, as she touched up her makeup in the AirBnB’s living room mirror. It’s a two-bed, two-bath apartment with an updated kitchen and certainly beats the dorms. Vivi was forced to give a silent, resentful thanks, Dad, but not out loud.
“You drink at home,” Jude reminded her from the bathroom, where she was trying to wrangle her hair into some style Taryn had sent her from Pinterest. “We have fake IDs.”
“It’s not the same,” Taryn had huffed, applying another coat of mascara. Vivi got that. It had not been the same when they came to Europe before, either, because they had been with Madoc, Oriana, and little Oak. Somehow parents at the table makes the glass of wine with dinner much less daring.
Jude had eventually settled on a high ponytail, and off they went.
Now they’re out at a bar not far from the AirBnB, with each of the twins perched on stools and Vivi leaning against the bar between them. Maybe it’s because she hasn’t seen them for so long except over FaceTime, but Vivi is shocked to notice that her little sisters aren’t kids anymore. They haven’t been little for a while, not since they overtook Vivi in height when they were twelve, but it’s one thing to not be little and another to be an adult. Taryn, who’s been yearning for adulthood since her tweens, finally looks more at home in the role. And Vivi doesn’t know how Taryn got Jude into that dark purple halter dress, which dips low in the front and lower in the back, but the way she wears that and her lipstick is a stark reminder that Vivi’s sisters are in fact nineteen, and no longer chubby, soft-faced children. It’s weird, and Vivi doesn’t like it.
Vivi gets hit on sometimes—with her undercut and piercings, mostly by “alternative” men and curious women—but the novelty of good-looking twins means Jude and Taryn shouldn’t need to pay for their own drinks. And they wouldn’t, except anytime a guy gets too close to Jude or Taryn, Jude adopts a laser-eyed glare and says, “No,” which is thankfully the same in both languages. Otherwise she might start speaking with fists.
“I don’t know why you won’t let us get free drinks,” Taryn pouts.
“The drinks are on Madoc,” Jude points out, nodding to the credit card Vivi puts back in her pocket. “They’re basically free.”
Taryn mutters, “It’s the principle of the thing.”
“You guys are such sisters,” Vivi says, taking a swig of beer.
“What does that mean?” they demand in unison.
Vivi grins and closes her eyes, shaking her head. For a second she just stands there, between the twins, and lets everything wash over her: the sibling bickering, the pungent smell of beer and whatever syrup is in Jude’s cocktail, and the music. Music is a strange experience in bars here. First there’s a Spanish song Vivi’s never heard, and then there’s Halsey, crooning over a Chainsmokers beat, and then back to Spanish with perennial favorite “Despacito.” It’s total whiplash. Vivi loves it.
It’s only because she’s listening so hard that she hears Taryn give a tiny gasp.
Vivi opens her eyes. Jude has gone very, very still. Her shoulders, which had been hunched up around her ears as she leaned over the bar, roll down her back, and the muscles there tense. Vivi is not sure Jude is remembering to breathe. She and Taryn are both staring at some fixed point across the bar, so Vivi looks too.
“Oh, hell,” she says.
On the other side of the bar—of the small space they are all crammed into—are four familiar figures. Three boys, one girl. Vivi has to blink to place them, because it seems absurd that four kids they went to high school with would show up in Spain while they, the Duarte sisters, are also in Spain, and also because they weren’t in Vivi’s grade. She knows them, though. Everyone knows Cardan Greenbriar and his trio of hot, mean friends, but Vivi knows them particularly well because of how her sisters have tangled with them over the years.
Taryn whispers, “What are they doing here?”
“I can go ask,” Vivi sighs. That group of kids has no quarrel with her. She and Cardan were friendly back in the day, meaning “ten years ago when Vivi would go hang out with Cardan’s older sister.”
“No,” Jude says, voice firm. Without taking her eyes off the interlopers, she picks up her cocktail and downs the rest of it.
Vivi doesn’t know exactly what happened, but Jude shed her fight-or-flight response sometime in high school. Now, she only has a fight response. Maybe Vivi took her flight response, because it was Vivi who was the terror until she turned eighteen, when she got the hell out of dodge. Taryn has always been in the middle, trying to keep the peace.
“We can go somewhere else,” Taryn suggests.
“No,” Jude repeats, setting her glass down on the bar a little too hard. “I’m not going to let those jerks keep me from having a good time.”
“Which I respect, and more power to you, but also, like, there are plenty of bars in Barcelona,” Vivi points out.
Jude glares. “I’m fine.” And then she holds up one finger in the bartender’s direction.
“You know those are really alcoholic, right?” Taryn says. Worry begins to seep into her voice like melting snow through cracks in a sidewalk.
“I know my limits.”
Vivi and Taryn exchange a wary glance. Jude might know her limits, but she has no problem blowing past them. Jude may not think Vivi remembers the tae kwon do tournament she sat through when Jude was eleven and Vivi was thirteen, but oh, Vivi does. Vivi remembers how her sister volunteered to spar until she had tired herself out to the point where she could no longer stand. Vivi also remembers Jude driving to school on a single hour of sleep after staying up to finish an extra credit essay in a class where she already had an A. Jude somehow didn’t crash her car, but she had been unbearable the entire day. Jude is a danger to herself and very occasionally a menace to society.
But Jude is also an adult and it’s not Vivi’s business.
“Suit yourself,” Vivi says, with a shrug. “It’s dear old Dad’s money.”
A few minutes later, Jude is nursing her second cocktail, and Vivi and Taryn are trying to carry on a conversation as though everything is fine. Any normal person would be well loosened up by now, but Jude retains that unnatural stillness like a dog who’s noticed a squirrel on the other side of a yard. Or, more accurately, maybe like a deer who’s spotted a human hunter approaching over the ridge.
Jude is no defenseless herbivore, but Vivi knows half a lifetime of being bullied has made her feel like a target.
“Hey,” Vivi says, jostling Jude with her elbow.
“What?”
“Tell me about your freshman year misadventures. Taryn won’t open up.”
Jude snorts. “What misadventures?”
“You have to have a few,” Vivi says. “I didn’t raise my sisters to be boring.”
“You didn’t raise us at all,” Jude mutters at her cocktail.
Vivi has never seen her sister anywhere near drunk before and is not sure she likes her like this. “What about boys?” she asks, gently elbowing Jude again. Then she raises her eyebrows. “Girls?”
“No. Nobody.” Jude finishes her second drink and, glaring across the bar, apparently makes the decision to switch to shots. “Vivi, is vodka still ‘vodka’ in Spanish?”
“I’m not answering that.” Vivi sighs. “What about you, Taryn? Anybody?”
“Huh? Um, no.” Taryn had been looking at their erstwhile schoolmates too. One of the boys, the redhead, is looking back. Locke. Vivi exhales. Bad news. There’s history there, the kind of history that shouldn’t repeat.
“Reeeeally?” she asks. “Nobody? Not one boy?”
Taryn blinks back to herself. “Vivi, I go to school for fashion design. They’re all gay.”
“Well, that can be fun.” Vivi gestures at herself. God, she wishes her sisters had brought Heather along. The hot lady bartender with the gorgeous tattoo sleeve keeps trying to catch her eye, and Vivi and Heather had established a “what happens in Barcelona stays in Barcelona” policy before she left, but Vivi doesn’t want a hot lady bartender. She wants her girlfriend.
“Yeah, they’re cool.” Taryn glances back across the bar. Now the blue-haired girl—Nicasia, Vivi recalls—is looking back, along with Locke. Not good.
Since Jude is negotiating for a shot of vodka with hot lady bartender in competent enough Spanish, Vivi lowers her voice and asks Taryn, “Are you feeling especially homesick?”
“We’ve kept in touch.” Taryn doesn’t meet her eyes.
Vivi would hold more of a grudge if someone had tried to sleep with her and her sister, but that’s very much not her circus or her monkeys. She asks, “Did you know he’d be here?”
Taryn shakes her head. “He said they were doing a European tour for spring break, but, like, it’s a big continent.”
“Good news,” says Jude, holding up a shot glass. “It’s vodka in both languages. Cheers.”
“You are going to be sick,” Taryn says.
Jude gives her a sarcastic shrug and then downs the shot. She coughs a little, which somewhat ruins the impression she’s trying to make, but swallows it all down.
“Jude,” Vivi says, beginning to worry, “we really can just leave.”
But Jude is looking at her old high school nemeses again. Cardan had been a particular thorn in her side, or he in hers; Vivi never made sense of that conflict, of who had started what. What she does know is that they’ve definitely been spotted now. The blond boy—Vivi doesn’t quite remember his name—seems to make a move to walk over to them, but Cardan reaches out and grabs his arm, shaking his head. Valentine? Valentino? looks sour, but doesn’t approach. Jude stares them both down.
“I have to use the bathroom,” Taryn announces. “El baño.” Taryn had taken French in high school.
“But—” Vivi begins.
Taryn has already vanished into the crowd. Vivi puts her elbows on the bar and cradles her head in her hands. “This is all going great.”
“Not how you pictured our night out on the town?” asks Jude, who has obtained another shot of vodka from God knows where.
“Yeah, not really.”
“Well, I can fix it.” Jude drinks her second shot and does not cough this time. “I’m going to go talk to them.”
Vivi picks up her head. “That’s a terrible idea.”
“So what?”
“Dad’s going to hold me responsible if anything happens to you.”
Jude fixes a level stare on her. “Dad never holds you responsible for anything,” she says. She slips a little when she gets up off her stool. Vivi wonders if she’s really thinking about fighting someone in those heels.
“You’re mean drunk,” Vivi tells her, trying to grab her arm. “Don’t go.”
“I’m mean sober, but nobody notices,” says Jude, which doesn’t make any sense. She shakes Vivi off. “Besides, I have a few things I want to say.”
And for the second time that night, Vivi watches as one of her sisters pushes her way into the crowd of people, unsure if she should follow or not. Maybe it’ll be good for Jude, in the end, to get some of this out of her system.
The guys across the room are watching Jude approach. Cardan especially. The blond guy is sneering, but Cardan watches Jude with the same strange stillness with which she’d watched him. Like he’s holding his breath until she gets there. Unlike Jude, he doesn’t seem that drunk at all, which Vivi notices because, well, it’s a rare day that Cardan Greenbriar isn’t drunk.
But he is too busy watching her and not his blond friend, who decides that he’s going to intercept Jude before she can even reach Cardan. He pushes over to her first and bars her way, and although Vivi is too far away to hear what’s said between them, she notices the squaring of Jude’s shoulders and the widening of the blond guy’s sneer. Because she is watching closely, she sees that Valerian is the one who shoves Jude first.
Valerian. That’s his name.
It clicks right before Jude punches him in the face.
The bar erupts. Cardan springs to his feet and tries to pull his friend away from Jude. A couple of nearby patrons try to save Jude from herself—Vivi could have told them it was a fool’s errand—by holding her back, not knowing Jude has sharp elbows. Valerian struggles hard and manages to break away from Cardan, only to find himself being grabbed by more pairs of hands. There is shouting in Spanish. Even the hot lady bartender is drawn away, trying to signal her coworkers.
The most Vivi-like thing to do would be to leave Jude to it and keep her nose clean. But Vivi remembers asking Madoc on the day of that fateful tae kwon do tournament, while they revived Jude with sips of Gatorade, why Madoc hadn’t stopped Jude when it became clear she was flagging. “Your sister needs to learn for herself when to stop fighting,” he’d said. “If I make those calls for her, she never will.”
Vivi has a lot of qualms with Madoc’s parenting style, and Taryn is nowhere to be found.
“Oh, hell,” Vivi says again, and she dives into the knot of drunk brawlers to pull her sister from the fray.
---
“I can’t believe you got us kicked out,” Vivi says.
Jude, drunk, hapless Jude, is sitting on the curb with her head between her knees, presumably trying not to barf. There’s still enough anger left in her to flip Vivi off.
“Unbelievable.” Vivi folds her arms and looks left, then right. It seems like a good quarter of the bar spilled out onto the sidewalk with them, a crowd of people chattering about what just happened. Forget kicked out, Jude’s lucky she wasn’t arrested. “Do you see Taryn anywhere?”
“What do you think?”
Vivi pinches the bridge of her nose. Taryn will be fine. She has the AirBnB address and a phone she can use on WiFi. Besides, as far as Vivi knows, she ran off with Locke. Vivi hasn’t seen the two of them come out of the bar yet, and she would not be surprised. She knows a bad decision when she sees one.
“You keep sitting down,” Vivi tells Jude. “I’m going to figure out a ride home.”
“Your face should keep sitting down,” Jude mumbles spitefully.
“Hey, guys? Vivi?”
Vivi cringes as soon as she hears the voice, because she knows the voice, and because in this situation the owner of that voice will only make things worse. Vivi doesn’t have any personal grudge against Cardan Greenbriar—they’ve even sometimes been friends—except for how her sister feels about him. Taryn’s always said he was kind of a dick, but Taryn doesn’t hate him like Jude does. Nobody hates anybody the way Jude hates Cardan. Vivi wonders if Jude has something to prove.
Sure enough, Jude’s head swivels at the sound of his voice like the kid’s head turning around in The Exorcist. “You,” she snarls, and then stumbles to her feet.
“Jude,” Vivi says, trying to catch her sister’s dress to pull her back, but Jude is already out of reach. With another sigh, Vivi stands too.
“What are you doing here?” Jude demands of Cardan, openly hostile. It would be funny, because Jude is a full head shorter than him, if Jude was anybody else’s sister. “We were all having a great time until you showed up.”
“It’s anybody’s city,” Cardan says, but he doesn’t seem to be mocking her. He holds up his hands to show her they are empty.
“Go the fuck home!” Jude yells, and shoves him, sending him back a couple of steps.
Vivi shouts, “Woah!”
“It’s okay,” Cardan tells Vivi over Jude’s head. “She’s not hurting me. Let her get it out.”
With a little cry, Jude pushes him again, and this time he only stumbles back a half-step, but he keeps his hands up and his stance somewhat grounded. The next time Jude shoves him he doesn’t budge at all, and Jude lets out a grunt of frustration, fisting her hands in his jacket.
And then she bursts into tears.
“Oh,” says Vivi, but Cardan doesn’t seem that surprised. She wonders if he’s used to people behaving badly while drunk or just being drunk himself.
“You’re so a-awful,” Jude says between sobs. “Everything’s awful all the time.”
“I know, Jude,” Cardan replies. He gently pries the jacket out of her fists so he can remove it and drape it over her bare shoulders. Jude grabs onto his shirt instead.
“Why do you hate me so much?” she asks, with a small hiccup.
“I don’t,” Cardan replies. His hand rubs circles between his shoulder blades. “But I hope you’re too drunk to remember that.” He looks up at Vivi, and Vivi feels a brief flash of embarrassment, like she’s intruded on something intimate, before she remembers that they’re in public and, also, she has no shame. “Were you going to get a taxi? I can keep an eye on her while you do. I don’t think she should walk back.”
“Oh.” Vivi blinks. “Yeah. I’ve got it. Where’s your ‘friend?’”
“Sent him packing. He’s back at the hotel, or he should be.”
“Well… good.”
But Cardan isn’t listening. He’s already looking down at Jude again.
It turns out Vivi has, carelessly, let her phone die. She isn’t anal about things like that. Taryn’s the one who keeps a charger in her purse at all times, but Taryn has vanished, and Jude’s phone only works on WiFi outside of the States.
So they hail one of Barcelona's bumblebee-like taxis the old-fashioned way, and Vivi is the one who climbs into the passenger’s seat and tells the driver where to go in Spanish that’s fluent, if definitely not Spain-Spanish. It is deeply ironic that Vivi, the only sister without a drop of Duarte blood in her veins, is the one who speaks Spanish the best. But Jude and Taryn were only seven when their parents died. Vivi had been nine. Two years makes a big difference with these things, especially because memories are shaping and re-shaping themselves in the minds of children that young. As far as the twins’ brains are concerned, they only had their parents for a short time.
Vivi remembers more. She remembers sitting on the counter in the old kitchen, legs swinging, as her dad cooked on Fridays—the special day, the end of the week day—and pointing at things in the kitchen so Justin could tell her their names in Spanish and she could echo them back. Cebolla, onion. Queso, cheese, of course. Cuchara, spoon. The words had a favor of their own, different from the English words she learned in kindergarten. She remembers the smell of toasting coriander seeds, the bright songs her dad would hum, the vibrant melodies bursting from the CD player Vivi leaned her elbow on. When she got far enough along in school, she threw herself into Spanish, hoping the words would pave a road that would lead her back to the man who shaped her.
Sometimes Jude gets in a sulk about their awful twist of fate, or Taryn gets weepy, and Vivi just wants to yell Justin Duarte was my dad, too! She feels like her throat is raw from screaming it her entire adolescence. It was easier in the end to just move away for college.
She ended up in Spain because Madoc and Oriana weren’t keen on her going to Mexico. Oh, sure, they’d been before on vacation no problemo, but as soon as Vivi wanted to go alone it was game over. No matter how much Vivi told them it was very racist of them and a total double standard. Apparently Oriana didn’t want her getting kidnapped. Vivi, who has in fact seen the movie Taken, knows she can get kidnapped in Europe just as easily, thanks very much. That had not been a persuasive argument with Madoc.
So here she is, in Barcelona, where familiar words can have entirely different flavors, and that’s even before getting to Catalan, which she can now speak a little but not well. Most of the time, she’ll be honest, she does love it here. At this moment she’s not feeling charitable toward anything.
Cardan helps load Jude into the backseat of the taxi. The driver, looking in the rearview mirror, asks, “¿Su novio?”
“¿Qué?” Vivi asks reflexively. She cranes her head around to see Cardan sliding in next to Jude, his arm around her shoulder. She switches to English. “What the hell, dude?”
“She won’t let go,” Cardan says simply. It’s true; Jude is clinging to him like a very weepy barnacle, her shoulders still shaking.
“Alright, well.” Vivi turns back around. It’s good to have the extra pair of hands. She wishes again that Heather was here. “You’re the official Jude wrangler now.”
“Copy that. I just—” He sighs, and in the rearview, Vivi sees him rub his face with his free hand. “It’s my fault.”
“Sure is.” The taxi begins to pull away from the curb, and Vivi checks her anger. She amends, “Actually, no, it’s not your fault that my sister’s a lightweight and an angry drunk. But from what I hear, the years of prior psychological damage are totally your fault. So, credit where credit is due.”
Cardan nods. Jude sniffles forlornly. Vivi is intrigued by how gentle he’s being with her, how tolerant. His shirt looks like a regular cotton tee, but knowing him it probably costs about the same as a single night in their very nice AirBnB. He doesn’t seem to mind that Jude’s getting snot and tears all over it.
“Hate you,” Jude mutters, pressing her face into his shoulder. “Hate this.”
“I know.” He pushes a lock of hair that’s escaped from her ponytail. “What are you on?”
“Huh?” There’s a pause. Vivi is watching the road now, but she can imagine Jude’s confused blinking. “I don’t… drugs.”
“Meds.”
“Oh, um, fuck.” Another pause. “Zoloft. I switched this year.”
“You’re not supposed to drink on that stuff,” Cardan says, but it almost sounds like he’s teasing. “It messes you up. I thought you were supposed to be the smart one.”
Jude sniffs. “It’s not like I’m operating heavy machinery,” she says, slurring slightly.
Cardan chuckles. “I did the Zoloft thing, too. I’m not on it anymore, though.”
“‘Cause you couldn’t drink?”
“Like anything would stop me.” He pauses, and Vivi looks into the rearview mirror to find him biting his lower lip in an exaggerated way, so drunk Jude is sure to get the joke. “No, there were... personal reasons.”
Jude is utterly nonplussed. “What?”
“Ah, you know…” He leans over and whispers something to her. Her eyes widen, and then she lets out a small, nervous chuckle. “Oh.”
“Yeah, I was like ‘If I can’t have sex, won’t that just make me more depressed?’”
To Vivi’s great surprise, Jude giggles. A totally surreal sound. She hasn’t giggled like that in years, if ever.
“There we go,” says Cardan, weirdly indulgent. “No more crying. Or, well—oh, okay,” he adds, as Jude turns her head and begins quietly sobbing into the sleeve of his shirt. “I guess some more crying.”
“You seem very sober,” Vivi remarks.
“Yeah, I’m trying it on. Just club soda for me tonight.” He leans over to rest his head on top of Jude’s. “It, cómo se dice, sucks.”
“Like your accent.”
“So I’ve heard.”
Vivi is beginning to get vaguely suspicious. She says, “But you are handling this well. Just used to dealing with a lot of drunks?”
“Huh? Oh.” Cardan’s dark eyes flick up to meet Vivi’s in the mirror. “This isn’t the first time. Jude got wasted at prom, after the stuff with Locke and Taryn came to light. Completely trashed.”
“I didn’t know that.”
“You were finishing up sophomore year, right? In like, Massachusetts? And it’s not like she would have told you. If she’s lucky, she doesn’t remember it. I loaded her into the Uber that took her home.”
Vivi’s stomach twists, but she channels the newfound sister guilt into suspicion and narrows her eyes. “Decent of you.”
“Yeah, I was trying that out, too. Got puked on for the trouble.” Cardan leans his head back against the headrest now. Jude’s sobs have quieted down. “But I still remember the Four Phases of Drunk Jude Duarte.”
“I’m glad somebody does,” Vivi admits. “What are they?”
“Angry, weepy, horny, sick.”
She snorts. “Basically Snow White’s shittiest dwarves.”
“Basically,” Cardan agrees. “But you’re not in danger of her getting sick yet, because we haven’t hit—ah. Um. Well.” He clears his throat. “Never mind.”
Vivi looks up into the mirror again to see Cardan plucking Jude’s hand off of him and returning it to her. “Did we just hit horny?”
“We just hit horny,” he says, his voice strained. Jude has her face buried in his neck again, but this time for entirely different reasons. The hand he had returned to Jude is already sliding back down his shirt. “Okay, hands above the waist. No, above—”
“Oh my God.” Vivi covers her mouth to stifle her laughter.
“Great. Very helpful, Vivienne,” Cardan says, grabbing Jude’s wrist and holding it still. It speaks to their relationship as nearly family friends that he can use her full name without invoking her wrath. “Your sister is outright molesting me and you can’t even tell her to knock it off?”
He doesn’t sound totally panicked, though. “I think you might want my sister to molest you,” Vivi guesses, turning around in her seat to look at him. Somehow, Jude has managed to thoroughly drape herself across him, but Cardan is showing admirable and frankly uncharacteristic self-restraint by keeping her from doing anything that can’t be undone. “Just a little.”
“When she’s sober. Jude, don’t bite my ear. Jude—”
Vivi snickers. The rest of the short ride passes like that, with Cardan deflecting Jude’s advances and Vivi deflecting the taxi driver’s questions about what exactly is happening back there and whether Jude is going to be sick all over his floor mats. They are lucky enough to not hit “sick” until Jude is out of the car and walking up the five stairs to the door of the apartment building. With Cardan’s warning in mind, Vivi is able to jump back in time.
Cardan, who is nearer to Jude, is not so lucky. She leans against the railing and doubles over it, but his shoes and the bottoms of his jeans are still caught in the splash zone. “Okay, great,” he says, gathering her back up. He does not sound entirely tolerant now, but he also doesn’t sound as angry as Vivi might expect. “That’s over. Feel any better?”
“No,” Jude mutters.
“You might in the morning.” He moves them both so Vivi can pass and open the door. “Man, is this really only the second time this has ever happened to you? I have to say, I’m jealous. Not of you in this moment, of course. Just in general.”
“We can’t all be charming teenage alcoholics,” Vivi says, propping the door open so Cardan can help her through.
“You hear that, Jude?” Cardan asks. “Your sister thinks I’m charming.”
“Uh-huh,” says Jude.
“Don’t let it go to your head,” Vivi warns. “She’s almost out. Let’s get her upstairs.”
Jude doesn’t make it into the bedroom she and Taryn are sharing. They put her to bed on the couch, on her side, with Cardan’s jacket draped over her. There’s no laundry machine in the AirBnB, but Vivi finds some detergent in the cabinet and they fill the bathroom sink with lukewarm water so Cardan can wash his jeans. Vivi is not sure the right time for the conversation she should have is now, when Cardan is standing in his boxer briefs and Jude is passed out in the next room, but on the bright side, there probably isn’t a worse time.
“You know, I didn’t think we had this level of friendship,” Cardan remarks, dunking his jeans in the sudsy water. “Dealing with your sister must really be a bonding experience. You always liked Rhyia best.”
“Well, Rhyia’s cool.” Vivi folds her arms and leans in the doorway. She kicked off her boots when they got in the door, so Cardan now looks even taller, although certainly not very intimidating in his underwear. “Calvin Klein. Nice. You always struck me as more of a boxers guy, I have to say.”
“Sometimes. These jeans are pretty tight, though.” He looks over at her. “Do you need something?”
She shakes her head. “Oh, nothing. I just can’t believe you’re trying to fuck my sister.”
“I’m not trying to fuck your sister,” Cardan says, massaging his jeans in the sink in such a way that Vivi is forced to wonder whether he’s ever done his own laundry. “She’s wasted. And she hates me.”
Vivi frowns deeply.
Cardan asks, “What?”
“Nothing.”
“Vivienne Leigh—”
“Don’t you pull out my full name for this. You’re playing some game here and I will figure out what it—oh.”
“What now?”
Vivi squints at him. “Are you in love with my sister?”
Cardan lets out an exhausted sigh. “Taryn isn’t really my type.”
They both know they aren’t talking about Taryn. “What the fuck. How long?”
“Like a year. Or maybe my whole life. I’m not sure.”
“Does she know?”
“I really hope not.” Cardan grimaces at his reflection in the mirror, and then looks past himself to see where Jude sleeps on the couch. “She’d never let me live it down.”
“Okay, well…” Vivi pauses. This is more older sibling responsibility than she signed up for. “What are your… intentions?”
“I don’t have any.” Vivi purses her lips, and he adds, “I really don’t. I wasn’t expecting to see her tonight. I kind of thought I’d never see her again after we graduated.” He pauses and looks down at the sink. “I think, someday, I’d like to be a person she likes. That she’s capable of liking.”
“That’s it?”
“That’s it.”
“Huh.” He has it really, really bad. Vivi can’t imagine what Jude said or did to make him feel that way about her. Maybe it was her total lack of regard for him? “Is this why you bullied her for years?”
“I hope not!” Cardan exclaims, in a way that suggests this thought has occurred to him before, and moreover, that it actually bothers him. “I don’t know! I don’t want to be that fucking cliché, Vivi.”
“We’re all cliché in our own special ways,” Vivi says, glancing back at Jude. A vague plot is beginning to take shape in her brain. Jude is the plotter, Taryn the planner—there is a difference—and Vivi the pantser, normally. But there is something here that she thinks she can exploit. “Seeing as you have no pants, you should probably stay over. I don’t think any of our clothes will fit you.”
“Seriously?”
“Seriously. You can have one of the twin beds.” After a beat, she adds, “I’m not telling you which one is Jude’s.”
“Darn,” Cardan deadpans. “Now I don’t know which one to jerk off in.”
Vivi pulls a face. “That’s the idea.” And then, because Cardan is hopeless, she reaches forward and yanks the plug from the drain. “Rinse off your jeans in clean water. Otherwise they’ll dry all stiff and soapy.”
“Thank you for the advice, oh wise one.”
She rolls her eyes and leaves him to it. After checking on Jude, whose coloring and breathing are both normal, she heads back to her room and looks at her phone. Nothing from Taryn, even though it’s later than Vivi thought, but Vivi isn’t worried. Taryn’s kind of like a cat in that, somehow, she always manages to land on her feet. Vivi fires off a quick text to her, then stares at the glowing screen, thinking about the way Cardan had rested his head on top of Jude’s in the back of the taxi.
She texts Heather: sisters are a lot of work
And:
i wish you were here
It’s much earlier in New England. When the three dots pop up to indicate that Heather is typing a reply, Vivi smiles.
#jurdan#judecardan#jude duarte#cardan greenbriar#jurdannet#jurdan fanfic#the folk of the air#the wicked king#the queen of nothing#the cruel prince#mine: fic#fic: i hate everybody
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[ V V S her diamonds ] – ch 03.
[4:15 p.m.] Disappointment tweaks at Seungwan’s heart when she peers through the huge glass window of their study cafe and sees no Bae Joohyun.
. . . . .
A group of students are huddled in the back, bent over open textbooks, laptops and scattered stationary.
Yerimie, Saeron, Seul, wow, there’s Jennie sunbaenim. And she spies Sooyoung sunbaenim balancing a tray of various caffeine-injected drinks back to the table.
A sad sigh escapes her lips. Perhaps she’s l–
“Seungwan?”
Oh my g– what the–?! Seungwan screams, whipping around in shock at the fingers gently resting on the back of her shoulder. She’s met with a slightly surprised Joohyun, standing there wearing a cream Jute blouse tucked into denim jeans, twinkling eyes and endless amusement etched into rosebud lips.
“S-Sunbae!” She exclaims, grasping her chest to calm her rapid-fire heart. “Y-You’re here, I was just–”
What, peering through the glass, looking for you like a creep?
“It’s fine,” Joohyun chuckles, adjusting her hold on the stack of thick notebooks cradled in her arm and motioning for the younger girl to lead the way. “Let’s go. This is heavy.”
Thursdays might’ve found an unexpected favour with Son Seungwan.
Busy eyes move from annotating to the two girls urgently making their way over, the students lifting their heads at Seungwan’s warm greeting.
“Sorry we’re late,” she sincerely apologises.
Jennie knowingly eyes her friend. “Not surprised.”
Joohyun raises her a playfully challenging brow before slipping into the free seat next to Sooyoung at the end of the table, right across her partner.
“You ordering anything, Wan?” Seulgi asks between highlighting her page, offering her and Joohyun biscuits in individually wrapped aluminium packets.
Joohyun takes one and Seungwan nibbles on the edge of her biscuit, deep in thought. The group soon slips into the robotic rhythm of monochromatic scribbling, greyscale note-taking, typing, and intermittent snacking. Jennie slips away to order small desserts for everyone at the table. They thank her with shocked bows and hungry stares, unable to settle on one in the garland of appetising coloured treats on the tiny table.
“Sunbae, you’re like Santa Claus,” Seulgi happily attacks the New York baked cheesecake. “When did you order this? It’s like we were asleep and we just woke up to presents!”
Her bearish enthusiasm has an observant Sooyoung unconsciously smiling around her fork.
As the group tucks in, Seungwan thinks a group study date is the safest she can be in terms of being on the receiving end of any more of her senior’s teasing mannerisms.
Fortunately, Joohyun always surprises her.
A little later on, they’re discussing the historical impact of contemporary Korean literature. Right in the middle of a sentence, Seungwan’s concentration is shattered by a deep blush of raspberry when she feels a feather-light graze against her right Adidas sweatpant leg. She chokes, almond eyes shooting up from messy essay notes, silently begging for mercy. But of course, Joohyun’s serene, unbothered expression gives nothing away as she continues to ask for her opinion as though Seungwan is crazy for looking like a flustered mess.
The frazzled junior doesn’t know what makes her head spin more; the fact that Joohyun, composed as ever, initiated a game of footsie right under both their friends’ noses in public… or that she secretly enjoys it.
Not that she’ll ever admit to the latter.
Small fists corkscrew the sleeves of her sky-blue Chrome Hearts hoodie as the desperation to hide the cherry-blossom tint in her cheeks builds.
. . . . .
It’s past midnight by the time they’re done, and everyone bids goodbye with ‘Z’s coming out of their ears. Much to everyone’s surprise, Sooyoung and Seulgi got along pretty well this evening and the taller girl had hastily agreed when Seulgi suggested they visit her favourite boba place. Yerim and Saeron were late for their movie, and Jennie was spending the weekend at her girlfriends’.
“Wait, are we dumb? Why did we book this now,” Saeron asks incredulously, “aren’t you gonna get wrecked by grumpy ajumma? Curfew ended like ten minutes ago.”
“Ah who cares, she’s always like that,” Yerim retorts with a dismissive wave. “I could fill a prison wall with how many strikes she’s given me and Seungwan and Seulgi unnie.” She slings an arm over Saeron’s shoulder, urging them to hurry. “C’mon, ads don’t take forever.”
“Wan-ah,” Seulgi calls back as she’s being dragged away by an eager Sooyoung, “if you order pizza can you leave some out for me!”
“Yeah, yeah. Enjoy. Don’t wake me up.”
“Hyun-ah, you sure you’re not coming?” Jennie’s sleek midnight-black Vetements cardigan blends with the hues of the night sky, giving away how late it is. She swipes into her messages. “Chaeng said she doesn’t mind.”
Joohyun laughs with mock disgust. “Thanks Jen, but I’m not crashing your date-nights anymore, thank you very much. I saw enough the last time, my eyes can’t take that kind of stuff.”
Waving goodbye, Jennie and Chaeyoung speed off, leaving Seungwan wondering what ‘kind of stuff’ Joohyun could be referring to.
The pair are drawn to the horribly lit bus stop and just about the only source of light for miles.
Seungwan yawns silently, but she doesn’t mind waiting with Joohyun. It’s late and although her apartment is in the opposite direction, she’d be at ease knowing her friend got home safely.
The darkness is engulfing, allowing an overhead street lamp to bathe them in its flicking spotlight like stars in a West End Production.
“We were pretty productive today, sunbae,” the younger tries to make conversation to fill the space between them. “Do you wanna come for next week’s session too?”
“Sure,” comes the reply. “Thanks for waiting with me. When’s your ride getting here? We should’ve booked at the same time.”
Seungwan nervously scratches the back of her neck, crinkling her worksheets in her grip. “Uh, I’m just walking home tonight actually.”
“Oh? Do you live closeby?” she asks in surprise, assuming they were both waiting for taxis.
“Ah, yes, I’m just– it’s just down there.”
Joohyun narrows her eyes suspiciously. “Down there… where.”
“Just a quick walk, past… past the duck pond,” the girl mumbles, staring down at her shoes.
“Q-Quick? Quick?” Joohyun stutters, malfunctioning at their severely clashing definitions of ‘close’. A delicate fist draws back and Seungwan flinches, Bae Joohyun looking closer and closer to doing what she did to Lucas to her poor, startled junior. “The duck pond near uni? Yah, Son Seungwan, that’s almost a twenty minute walk from here.”
“Fifteen if I have my speed walking playlist on,” Seungwan tries, but she isn’t listening.
“A lot of dangerous things can happen in twenty minutes, you know.” She hurriedly unlocks her phone and clicks into the KakaoTaxi app, altering the destination to add a stop and shoving it into reluctant hands. “Hurry, put your address in.”
Seungwan so badly wants to politely decline, not confident in her ability to sit in a moving vehicle with such a pretty person without hurling herself out the window at top speeds. But the latter’s glare dares her to try.
With shaky fingers, she successfully types in her address after three tries and hands it back. Joohyun checks it and confirms the change. Seungwan wants to comment on how her frantic nature is actually really endearing, but she resists, thinking she’s still cooling off from it.
“Thank you, sunbae,” she bows instead. She even tries to insist she pay her share of the ride, but Joohyun refuses, saying it’s what she gets for thinking it was a good idea to walk home alone.
Finally, a black Sedan pulls up to the curb and the driver winds down his window. “KakaoBlack for Bae Joohyun?” He checks, looking as ready as both girls are to go home and crash for the night.
The girl nods, opening the door for Seungwan to get into the backseat and climbing in after her.
Grand streaks of neon dance across the car windows, falling behind as quickly as they appear. Seungwan tears her gaze from the rapid city lights when she hears her name.
An almost child-like excitement masks Joohyun’s usually steely features when Seungwan hums questioningly, not having heard what she’d said. “I said unnie,” she repeats, “you should call me unnie now that we’re closer. Honestly, I wanted to correct you this evening, but I never got the chance to. Aish, everyone was so noisy.”
The topic of noise has Joohyun distracted, suddenly popping off on a tangent about how sound-proof couple study rooms should be integrated in cafes and student-dense areas alike. But Seungwan finds it hard to focus on anything other than those glowing eyes and that tiny, lopsided smile.
For the rest of the journey, the two exchange stories of their university life experiences, life outside classrooms and even a few laughs; mostly on Joohyun’s part at how Seungwan seems to have the most prankish roommates slash best friends in the world. She loses it at ‘carbonara shampoo’, finding the idea wickedly genius and hilariously absurd altogether. Uncontrollable cackling booms in the backseat and Seungwan can’t help but giggle too, ears saturated with Joohyun’s chimerical laughter.
Eventually, the street lights and the houses start looking familiar and they’re pulled into a student apartment lobby before either of them knows where the time went. Joohyun can see the grumpy ajumma at reception wearing a frown, but she doesn't know it’s because someone’s gone over curfew. Again.
“Goodnight Seungwan.”
“Goodnight… unnie.” Seungwan wishes, ignoring the way their new closeness unfolds her heart like a secretly passed note. “Stay safe, and message me when you get back!”
Making to get out of the car, she flinches when she’s unable to fully stand up. Gulping, she glances over her shoulder to see Joohyun holding her back by her bag straps. In her sleepy state, the younger can’t tell if that intently searching gaze is serious or not.
“By the way, when you were looking into the cafe from outside this evening, you weren’t checking Jennie or Sooyoung out, were you?”
Seungwan shakes her head truthfully. “Why?”
“Good.” A cat-like smirk graces her lips and Seungwan’s stomach drops. “Just making sure.”
. . . . .
#red velvet#wenrene#university au#i ranted about cheesecake#because i want some#established chaennie#YES CHAENNIE IS MY FAV#AM I WRONG?#NO.#the aggression speaks volumes#hints of Saeri and joygi#are we surprised that irene takes kakaoblacks
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Chapter 4 – It is always 1895 [TAB 1/1]
TAB is my favourite episode of Sherlock. It is a masterpiece that investigates queerness, the canon and the psyche all within an hour and a half. Huge amounts of work has been done on this episode, however, so I’m not going to do a line by line breakdown – that could fill a small book. A great starting point for understanding the myriad of references in TAB is Rebekah’s three part video series on the episode, of which the first instalment can be found here X. I broadly agree with this analysis; what I’m going to do here, though, is place that analysis within the framework of EMP theory. As a result, as much as it pains me, this chapter won’t give a breakdown of carnation wallpaper or glass houses or any of those quietly woven references – we’re simply going in to how it plays into EMP theory.
Before digging into the episode, I want to take a brief diversion to talk about one of my favourite films, Mulholland Drive (2001).
If you haven’t seen Mulholland Drive, I really recommend it – it’s often cited as the best film of the last 20 years, and watching it really helps to see where TAB came from and the genre it’s operating in. David Lynch is one of the only directors to do the dream-exploration-of-the-psyche well, and I maintain that a lot of the fuckiness in the fourth series draws on Lynch. However, what I actually want to point out about Mulholland Drive is the structure of it, because I think it will help us understand TAB a little better. [If you don’t want spoilers for Mulholland Drive, skip the next paragraph.]
The similarities between these two are pretty straightforward; the most common reading of Mulholland Drive is that an actress commits suicide by overdose after causing the death of her ex-girlfriend, who has left her for a man, and that the first two-thirds of the film are her dream of an alternate scenario in which her girlfriend is saved. The last third of the film zooms in and out of ‘real life’, but at the end we see a surreal version of the actual overdose which suggests that this ‘real life’, too, has just been in her psyche. Sherlock dying and recognising that this may kill John is an integral part of TAB, and the relationships have clear parallels, but what is most interesting here is the structural similarity; two-thirds of the way through TAB, give or take, we have the jolt into reality, zoom in and out of it for a while and then have a fucky scene to finish with that suggests that everything is, in fact, still in our dying protagonist’s brain. Mulholland Drive’s ending is a lot sadder than TAB’s – the fact that, unlike Sherlock, there is no sequel can lead us to assume that Diane dies – and it’s also a lot more confusing; it’s often cited as one of the most complicated films ever made even just in terms of surface level plot, before getting into anything else, and it certainly took me a huge amount of time on Google before I could approach anything like a resolution on it!
Mulholland Drive is the defining film in terms of the navigating-the-surreal-psyche subgenre, and so the structural parallels between the two are significant – and definitely point to the idea that Sherlock hasn’t woken up at the end of TAB, which is important. But we don’t need to take this parallel as evidence; there’s plenty of that in the episode itself. Let’s jump in.
Emelia as Eurus
When we first meet Eurus in TST, she calls herself E; this initialism is a link to Moriarty, but it’s also a convenient link to other ‘E’ names. Lots of people have already commented on the aural echo of ‘Eros’ in ‘Eurus’, which is undeniable; the idea that there is something sexual hidden inside her name chimes beautifully with her representation of a sexual repression. The other important character to begin with E, however, is Emelia Ricoletti. The name ‘Emelia’ doesn’t come from ACD canon, and it’s an unorthodox spelling (Amelia would be far more common), suggesting that starting with an ‘E’ is a considered choice.
When TAB aired, we were preoccupied with Emelia as a Sherlock mirror, and it’s easy to see why; the visual parallels (curly black hair, pale skin) plus the parallel faked death down to the replacement body, which Mofftiss explicitly acknowledge in the episode. However, I don’t think that this reading is complete; rather, she foreshadows the Eurus that we meet in s4. The theme of ghosts links TAB with s4 very cleanly; TAB is about Emelia, but there is also a suggestion of the ghosts of one’s past with Sir Eustace as well as Sherlock’s own claims (‘the shadows that define our every sunny day’). Compare this to s4 – ‘ghosts from the past’ appears on pretty much every promotional blurb, and the word is used several times in relation to Eurus. If Eurus is the ghost from Sherlock’s past, the repressive part of his psyche that keeps popping back, Emelia is a lovely metaphor for this; she is quite literally the ghost version of Sherlock who won’t die.
What does it mean, then, when Jim and Emelia become one and the same in the scene where Jim wears the bride’s dress? We initially read this as Jim being the foil to Sherlock, his dark side, but I think it’s more complicated than this. Sherlock’s brain is using Emelia as a means of understanding Jim, but when we watch the episode it seems that they’ve actually merged. Jim wearing the veil of the bride is a good example of this, but I also invite you to rewatch the moment when John is spooked by the bride the night that Eustace dies; the do not forget me song has an undeniable South Dublin accent.* This is quite possibly Yasmine Akram [Janine] rather than Andrew Scott, of course, but let’s not forget that these characters are resolutely similar, and hearing Jim’s accent in a genderless whisper is a pretty clear way of inflecting him into the image of the bride. In addition to this, Eustace then has ‘Miss Me?’ written on his corpse, cementing the link to Moriarty.
[*the South Dublin accent is my accent, so although we hear a half-whispered song for all of five seconds, I’m pretty certain about this]
Jim’s merging with Emelia calls to mind for me what I think might be the most important visual of all of series 4 – Eurus and Jim’s Christmas meeting, where they dance in circles with the glass between them and seem to merge into each other. I do talk about this in a later chapter, but TLDR – if Jim represents John being in danger and Eurus represents decades of repressed gay trauma, this merging is what draws the trauma to the surface just as Jim’s help is what suddenly makes Eurus a problem. It is John’s being in danger which makes Sherlock’s trauma suddenly spike and rise – he has to confront this for the first time – just like Emelia Ricoletti’s case from 1895 only needs solving for the first time now that Jim is back.
At some point I want to do a drag in Sherlock meta, because I think there’s a lot more to it than meets the eye, but Jim in a bride’s dress does draw one obvious drag parallel for me.
If you haven’t seen the music video for I Want to Break Free, it’s 3 minutes long and glorious – and also, I think, reaps dividends when seen in terms of Sherlock. You can watch it here: X
Not only is it a great video, but for British people of Mofftiss’s age, it’s culturally iconic and not something that would be forgotten when choosing that song for Jim. Queen were intending to lampoon Coronation Street, a British soap, and already on the wrong side of America for Freddie Mercury’s unapologetic queerness, found themselves under fire from the American censors. Brian May says that no matter how many times he tried to explain Coronation Street to the Americans, they just didn’t get it. This was huge controversy at the time, but the video and the controversy around it also managed to cement I Want to Break Free as Queen’s most iconic queer number – despite not even being one of Mercury’s songs. There is no way that Steven Moffat, and even more so Mark Gatiss would not have an awareness of this in choosing this song for Moriarty. Applying any visual to this song is going to invite comparisons to the video – and inflecting a sense of drag here is far from inappropriate. Moriarty has been subsumed into Eurus in Sherlock’s brain – the male and the female are fused into an androgynous and implicitly therefore all-encompassing being. I’m not necessarily comfortable with the gendered aspect of this – genderbending is something we really only see in our villains here – but given this is about queer trauma, deliberately queering its form in this way is making what we’re seeing much more explicit.
Nothing new under the sun
“The thing that hath been, it is that which shall be; and that which is done is that which shall be done: and there is no new thing under the sun” (Ecclesiastes)
"Read it up -- you really should. There is nothing new under the sun. It has all been done before." (A Study in Scarlet, Sherlock Holmes)
“Hasn’t this all happened before? There’s nothing new under the sun.” (The Abominable Bride, Jim Moriarty)
This is arguably the key to spotting that TAB is a dream long before they tell us – when TAB’s case is early revealed to be a mixture between TRF (Emelia’s suicide) and TGG (the five pips), and we see the opening of ASiP repeated, we should be questioning what on earth is going on. This can also help us to recognise s4 as being EMP as well though – old motifs from the previous series keep repeating through the cases, like alarm bells ringing. Moriarty telling Sherlock that there is nothing new under the sun is his key to understanding that the Emelia case is meant to help him understand what happened to Jim, that it’s a mental allegory or mirror to help him parse it. This doesn’t go away when TAB ends! Moving into TST, one of the striking things is that cases are still repeating! The Six Thatchers appeared on John’s blog way back, before the fall – you can read it here: X. It’s about a gay love affair that ends in one participant killing the other. Take from that what you will, when John’s extramarital affection is making him suicidal and Sherlock comatose. Meanwhile, the title of The Final Problem refers to the story that was already covered in TRF and the phone situation with the girl on the plane references both ASiB and TGG, and the ending of TST is close to a rerun of HLV. It’s pretty much impossible to escape echoes of previous series in a way that is almost creepy, but we’ve already had this explained to us in TAB – none of this is real. It’s supposed to be explaining what is happening in the real world – and Mofftiss realised that this was going to be difficult to stomach, and so they included TAB as a kind of key to the rest of the EMP, which becomes much more complex.
However, if we want to go deeper we should look at where that quote comes from. I’ve given a few epigraphs to this section to show where the quote comes from – first the book of Ecclesiastes, then A Study in Scarlet. It’s one of the first things Holmes says and it is during his first deduction in Lauriston Gardens. This is where I’m going to dive pretty deep into the metatextual side of things, so bear with the weirdness.
[we’re going deeper]
Holmes’s first deduction from A Study in Scarlet shows that he’s no great innovator – he simply notices things and spots patterns from things he has seen before. This is highlighted by the fact that he even makes this claim by quoting someone before him. If our Sherlock also makes deductions based on patterns from the past, extensive dream sequences where he works through past cases as mirrors for present ones makes perfect sense and draws very cleverly on canon. However, I think his spotting of patterns goes deeper than that. Sherlock Holmes has been repressed since the publication of A Study in Scarlet, through countless adaptations in literature and film. Plenty of these adaptations as well as the original stories are referenced in the EMP, not least by going back to 1895, the year that symbolises the era in which most of these adaptations are set. (If you don’t already know it, check out the poem 221B by Vincent Starrett, one of the myriad of reasons why the year 1895 is so significant.) My feeling is that these adaptations, which have layered on top of each other in the public consciousness to cement the image of Sherlock Holmes the deductive machine [which he’s not, sorry Conan Doyle estate] come to symbolise the 100+ years of repression that Sherlock himself has to fight through to come out of the EMP as his queer self.
This is one of the reasons that the year 1895 is so important; it was the year of Oscar Wilde’s trial and imprisonment for gross indecency, and this is clearly a preoccupation of Sherlock’s consciousness in TFP with its constant Wilde references, suggesting that his MP’s choice of 1895 wasn’t coincidental. Much was made during TAB setlock of a newspaper that said ‘Heimish The Ideal Husband’, Hamish being John’s middle name and An Ideal Husband being one of Wilde’s plays. But the Vincent Starrett poem, although nostalgic and ostensibly lovely, for tjlcers and it seems for Sherlock himself symbolises something much more troubling. Do search up the full poem, but for now let’s look at the final couplet.
Here, though the world explode, these two survive
And it is always 1895
‘Though the world explode’ is a reference to WW1, which is coming in the final Sherlock Holmes story, and which is symbolised by Eurus – in other chapters, I explain why Eurus and WW1 are united under the concept of ‘winds of change’ in this show. Sherlock and John survive the winds of change – except they don’t move with them. Instead, they stay stuck in 1895, the year of ultimate repression. 2014!Sherlock going back in his head to 1895 and repeating how he met John suggests exactly that, that nothing has changed but the superficial, and that emotionally, he is still stuck in 1895.
Others have pulled out similar references to Holmes adaptations he has to push through in TAB – look at the way he talks in sign language to Wilder, which can only be a reference to Billy Wilder, director of TPLoSH, the only queer Holmes film, and a film which was forced to speak through coding because of the Conan Doyle estate. That film is also referenced by Eurus giving Sherlock a Stradivarius, which is a gift given to him in TPLoSH in exchange for feigning heterosexuality. Eurus is coded as Sherlock’s repression, and citing a repressive moment in a queer film as her first action when she meets Sherlock is another engagement by Sherlock’s psyche with his own cinematic history. My favourite metatextual moment of this nature, however, is the final scene of TFP which sees John and Sherlock running out of a building called Rathbone Place.
Basil Rathbone is one of the most iconic Sherlock Holmes actors on film, and Benedict’s costume in TAB and in particular the big overcoat look are very reminiscent of Rathbone.
Others have discussed (X) how the Victorian costume and the continued use of the deerstalker in the present day are images of Sherlock’s public façade and exclusion of queerness from his identity. It’s true that pretty much every Holmes adaptation has used the deerstalker, but the strong Rathbone vibes that come from Ben’s TAB costume ties the 1895 vibe very strongly into Rathbone. To have the final scene – and hopefully exit from the EMP – tie in with Sherlock and John running out of Rathbone Place tells us that, just as Sherlock cast off the deerstalker at the end of TAB (!), he has also cast off the iconic filmic Holmes persona which has never been true to his actual identity.
Waterfall scene
The symbol of water runs through TAB as well as s4 – others have written fantastic meta on why water represents Sherlock’s subconscious (X), but I want to give a brief outline. It first appears with the word ‘deeper’ which keeps reappearing, which then reaches a climax in the waterfall scene. The idea that Sherlock could drown in the waters of his mind is something that Moriarty explicitly references, suggesting that Sherlock could be ‘buried in his own Mind Palace’. The ‘deep waters’ line keeps repeating through series 4, and I just want to give the notorious promo photo from s4 which confirms the significance of the motif.
This is purely symbolic – it never happens in the show. Water increases in significance throughout – think of Sherlock thinking he’s going mad in his mind as he is suspended over the Thames, or the utterly nonsensical placement of Sherrinford in the middle of the ocean – the deepest waters of Sherlock’s mind. Much like the repetition of cases hinting that EMP continues, the use of water is something that appears in the MP, and it sticks around from TAB onwards, a real sign that we’re going deeper and deeper. I talk about this more in the bit on TFP, but the good news is that Sherrinford is the most remote place they could find in the ocean – that’s the deepest we’re going. After that, we’re coming out (of the mind).
Shortly after TAB aired, I wrote a meta about the waterfall scene, some of which I now disagree with, but the core framework still stands – it did not, of course, bank on EMP theory. You can find it here (X), but I want to reiterate the basic framework, because it still makes a lot of sense. Jim represents the fear of John’s suicide, and Jim can only be defeated by Sherlock and John together, not one alone – and crucially, calling each other by first names, which would have been very intimate in the Victorian era. After Jim is “killed”, we have Sherlock’s fall. The concept of a fall (as in IOU a fall) has long been linked with falling in love in tjlc. Sherlock tells John that it’s not the fall that kills you, it’s the landing, something that Jim has been suggesting to him for a while. What is the landing, then? Well, Sherlock Holmes fell in love back in the Victorian era, symbolised by the ultra repressive 1895, and that’s where he jumps from – but he lands in the 21st century. Falling in love won’t kill him in the modern day. What I missed that time around, of course, was that despite breaking through the initial Victorian layers of repression, he still dives into more water, and when the plane lands, it still lands in his MP, just in a mental state where the punishment his psyche deals him for homosexuality is less severe. This also sets up s4 as specifically dealing with the problem of the fall – Sherlock jumps to the 21st century specifically to deal with the consequences of his romantic and sexual feelings. There’s a parallel here with Mofftiss time jumping; back when they made A Study in Twink in 2009, there was a reason they made the time jump. Having Sherlock’s psyche have that touch of self-awareness helps to illustrate why they made a similar jump, also dealing with the weight of previous adaptations.
Women
I preface this by saying how incredibly uncomfortable I find the positioning of women as the KKK in TAB. It’s a parallel which is unforgivable; frankly, invoking the KKK without interrogating the whiteness of the show or even mentioning race is unacceptable. Steven Moffat’s ability to write women has consistently been proven to be nil, but this is a new low. However, the presence of women in TAB is vital, so on we go.
TAB specifically deals with the question of those excluded from a Victorian narrative. This is specifically tied into to those who are excluded from the stories, such as Jane and Mrs. Hudson. Mrs. Hudson’s complaint is in the same scene as John telling her and Sherlock to blame the problems on the illustrator. This ties back to the deerstalker metaphor which is so prevalent in this episode; something that’s not in the stories at all, but a façade by which Holmes is universally recognised and which as previously referenced masks his queerness. Women, then, are not the only people being excluded from the narrative. When Mycroft tells us that the women have to win, he’s also talking about queer people. This is a war that we must lose.
I don’t think the importance of Molly in particular here has been mentioned before, but forgive me if I’m retreading old ground. However, Molly always has importance in Sherlock as a John mirror, and just because she is dressed as a man here doesn’t mean we should disregard this. If anything, her ridiculous moustache is as silly as John’s here! Molly, although really a member of the resistance, is able to pass in the world she moves in in 1895, but only by masking her own identity. This is exactly what happens to John in the Victorian era – as a bisexual man married to a woman, he is able to pass, but it is not his true identity. More than that, Molly is a member of the resistance, suggesting not just that John is queer but that he’s aware of it and actively looking for it to change.
I know I was joking about Molly and John’s moustaches, but putting such a silly moustache on Molly links to the silliness of John’s moustaches, which only appear when he’s engaged to a woman and in the Victorian era. He has also grown the moustache just so the illustrator will recognise him, and Molly has grown her moustache so that she will be recognised as a man. In this case, Molly is here to demonstrate the fact that John is passing, but only ever passing. Furthermore, Molly, who is normally the kindest person in the whole show, is bitter and angry throughout TAB – it’s not difficult to see then how hiding one’s identity can affect one’s mental health. I really do think that John is a lot more abrasive in TAB than he is in the rest of the show, but that’s not the whole story. Showing how repression can completely impair one’s personality also points to the suicidal impulses that are lurking just out of sight throughout TAB – this is what Sherlock is terrified of, and again his brain is warning him just what it is that is causing John this much pain and uncharacteristic distress.
This is just about the loosest sketch of TAB that could exist! But TAB meta has been so extensive that going over it seems futile, or else too grand a project within a short chapter. Certain theories are still formulating, and may appear at a later date! But what this chapter (I hope) has achieved has set up the patterns that we’re going to see play out in s4 – between the metatextuality, the waters of the mind and the role of Moriarty in the psyche, we can use TAB as a key with which to read s4. I like to think of it as a gift from Mofftiss, knowing just how cryptic s4 would be – and these are the basic clues with which to solve it.
That’s it for TAB, at least in this series – next up we’re going ever deeper, to find out exactly who is Eurus. See you then?
#tjlc#emp theory#thewatsonbeekeepers#my meta#meta#mine#chapter four: it is always 1895#vincent starrett#mofftiss#1895#bbc sherlock#johnlock#tjlc is real
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The Beds We’ve Made PT. 3
Kurt x De Sardet
Word Count: 1,550
Warnings: Explicit Language, References to Past Abuse, Death
Author’s Note: Did my homework and wrote this in one night. I’d call that a new record to not procrastinate! Enjoy! -Thorne
The one thing she could praise the Ordo Luminous on was their ability to be punctual with their executions. It occurred at dawn when the streets were dead, save a few store owners who were making ready for the day. De Sardet stood just fifty feet from the platform, her eyes glued to the man in the center. He’d forgone screaming for mercy and pleading his innocence. Either that or he’d yelled himself hoarse. Kurt stood at her right, Petrus at her left and they watched the Inquisitors deliver a final sermon before throwing their torches at their feet. As so the fire spread, so did their agony filled screeches, though De Sardet figured it was payment for the cruelties they inflicted. When their figures went up in a vicious roar of auburn, Kurt gave one last glance before passing behind her and the older man, finally leaving his memories where they belonged—in the past.
***
Petrus had stayed behind in San Matheus to relay messages between the Mother Cardinal and Constantin for De Sardet, allowing for the Legate and the mercenary to make their way back to New Serene. They’d been quiet, neither wanting to really break the silence over what they’d witnessed. Death, as gruesome as a heresy burning, was a lot to take in, even if the ones that died were abhorrent people.
De Sardet could tell that there was a lot on Kurt’s mind. He wasn’t one to be vocal of his own issues, and even when he was, it was like he was telling as if someone had a gun to his head. Still though, she could feel the emotion, and she loathed to call it anxiety, radiating off him in waves.
They stopped at one of the camps for the night, knowing that traveling at such a time was considerably more dangerous than traveling during the day. Too many things that you couldn’t see until they were right on top of you. She busied herself with pitching the tent, only setting up one as it wasn’t necessary to set both. At least that’s what she told herself.
Kurt and she had known each other since they were twenty-two and twelve. He’d helped her through more personal things than even her own mother had. Princess De Sardet had gone on a political trip to San Matheus once, leaving her behind at the castle. Thirteen years old, there were some things that hadn’t been explained yet. Kurt had hidden his awkwardness well when he explained it though, gently ushering her to go find one of her maids to help her. She’d never forget his help that day, and on the other days when she needed apothecary potions. He’d been nothing but supportive, and quiet, and it meant more to her than she’d ever admitted.
That being said, they could share a tent with no problems. They were grown adults who had certainly not been dancing around one another with flirtatious smiles and suggestive comments. Oh, who was she kidding, the thought of actually getting into the same tent with the mercenary made her heart race and her cheeks warm.
When Kurt returned with the firewood, he started setting it up, eyes briefly flitting to the single tent she’d put up, and the rolled one still beside it. Apparently, he had the same thought.
“Good idea making one. It’d be a hassle to take both down in the morning.”
De Sardet nodded, settling back onto the log as she watched him strike the flint with the fire striker. “I hope you have no objections to sharing one.”
“I feel like I’m being set up,” he snorted. “If I say no, it means I don’t view you as a lady, and if I say yes, it means I do.”
She rolled her eyes. “Can’t you ever just answer the question?”
“I can,” he agreed. “But I’d rather make you exasperated.”
“Charming thought process there, Kurt,” she sighed, but it held little heat. “And just how many women has it worked on?”
“Common ladies? Loads of times. Noble ones? Well, I think you’d be the first.”
Something shimmered in De Sardet’s eyes, and he knew he’d given her ammunition. “So…I’m your first noble? I’m honored.”
“If your mother could hear you know,” Kurt retorted dryly, but his eyes widened once the words came out and he looked at her as if he’d just shot her. “My lady, I’m sorry. I didn’t—”
De Sardet chuckled, waving off his apology. “It’s alright, Kurt.”
The mercenary looked away, settling back onto the dirt, back resting up against the log. “I…forgot momentarily…I know it’s still sore.”
She let out a heavy sigh, hunching forward slightly, knee brushing his shoulder. “Hopefully, it won’t be that way forever.”
“Hopefully,” he repeated mournfully, his gaze long and lost.
De Sardet regarded him a moment, then gently placed a hand on his shoulder. “Kurt…are you alright?” He didn’t need to ask to know what she was referring to.
Shrugging, he replied, “I’m glad he’s gone. Hurt more people than I care to remember. But…” Kurt started, his face contorting with something she couldn’t quite place. “But even in my solace…I still can’t help but think a part of me will always burn with anger.”
“I want to say I understand but I don’t think I do…at least not like you have. What did he do to you, Kurt?” She inquired softly, and he met her eyes. “If you want to tell me, of course,” she added. “I don’t wish for you to tell me what you’re not comfortable with.”
He shook his head. “No, I—I want to tell you.” Kurt took a moment to gather himself, eyes shifting back to the fire. “As you’ve probably guessed, what happened to Reiner…happened to me as well. All that I am—it’s a product of those Ghost Camps.” His lips twisted into a frown. “The only difference between me and him was that I survived.”
De Sardet let a frown of her own come across her face, heart aching for him. “What was it like to train under the Major?”
Kurt’s expression turned downright loathsome. “When I was a kid, I was considered ‘elite’. I could down experienced soldiers in minutes, so when I was discovered, they sent me to the camp. I was assigned to Major Hermann’s squadron.”
He sighed heavily. “We were beaten practically every day. With fists, with weapons, whatever people could get their hands on. Barely slept. Barely ate too. And Hermann humiliated us whenever he could. Because he knew he could. All the same treatment as Reiner, Wilhelm, and the others…”
Kurt trailed off and she saw him take a shuddering intake of breath as he remembered, “Except Hermann would occasionally come to…visit…us at night.” His jaw clenched and he shook his head, spitting, “No offense, Lady De Sardet, but it is something I’d rather forget. That bastard went up in flames, and I want all my memories to go with it.”
De Sardet nodded sympathetically. “Yes, of course. I understand.” Squeezing his shoulder, she murmured, “Thank you for telling me though, Kurt. I know it took a lot to bare such nightmarish memories like this.”
Kurt turned his head, catching her gaze once more and he confessed, “There’s no one else I’d trust more with this than you.”
Her heart gave a thump in her chest and she smiled with earnest. “I…that makes me very happy to hear.”
She pulled her hand away, setting them into her lap before she asked, “So now that he’s gone, have you begun to think about what you’ll do in the future? You’re more than talented enough to gain any position you could ever want.”
“I have,” Kurt nodded. “For once in my life I feel as free as a bird. Like there’s no longer a cage around me.” He gestured to the wilderness with a smile. “I’m free to do as I please and go wherever I wish.”
De Sardet opened her mouth, but immediately thought otherwise, snapping it shut. A moment of silence passed between them, and all she could feel was her pulsing heart. To hell with it. she thought.
“I hope Kurt—” she started, and when he looked at her again, she firmly stated, “I hope that I’ll be with you…us together in that future.”
Kurt’s icy gaze went wide, but he snapped himself out of his stupor, replying wholeheartedly, “I admit that it’s still so mindboggling that someone as…divine as you…has found something of an interest in someone like me.”
She raised a hand, cupping his cheek, thumb brushing over his stubbled skin as she professed, “Whatever insulting words you coin yourself with are not what I see. When I look at you Kurt, I see my greatest friend. The one who has always stood at my back.”
De Sardet smiled warmly. “I see an honorable and loyal man. I see you, Kurt.”
When he didn’t say anything, evidently too shocked to form a coherent thought, she pulled away and stood. “I believe I will rest first. You’ve no issue with the first shift, do you, Kurt?”
He swallowed thickly and shook his head, stuttering, “N-no, my lady. Have a good—good rest.”
She smiled. “I will. Thank you.”
#kurt x de sardet#de sardet x kurt#greedfall fanfiction#greedfall fanfic#greedfall#kurt fanfic#kurt fanfiction#de sardet fanfic#de sardet fanfiction#kurt#de sardet#petrus
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Fault Lines Under the Living Room
Part III: Watch - Chapter 9: Smog Layer Rolling In
Available on AO3
Chapter Summary: The trio compare notes.
Chapter Word Count: 3578
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Beyond the city, Vitrious was a patchwork of barren plateaus with deep crags of lush valleys between, dense vegetation knotting together until only those adapted for such environments would have any hope of navigating them. Drift set his shuttle down on the flat plain, well within sight of the parked Decepticon craft, and took a moment to vent before he rose from the pilot’s seat and made for the hatch. He checked the cell was secure, catching Grit’s optic as he passed; there was a glare, but no sharp remarks as Drift turned his back on them.
The soil was a hard-packed conglomeration of quartz, granite, and limestone that sparkled even under Vitrious’s perpetually overcast weather, but Drift’s gaze was up as he approached the too-familiar vessel. The hatch was open and Rodimus was sitting on the ramp, Ratchet standing at his left shoulder. They waved but put up their hands, stop, when he started coming closer.
“Sorry,” Rodimus said over comms.
“We don’t know how far the effects extend,” Ratchet explained.
Drift stopped where he was, stance wide and swords glinting.
“Do you really have the Enigma?” he asked.
“It’s not the kind of thing we could make up,” Ratchet said.
“Where did you find it?”
“Another Autobot left it on the Lost Light,” Rodimus said. “Arcee. Don’t know where she got it from, but she hid it on this shuttle and took off. We tried to follow her, but some things—I got us hit with a satellite.”
“A satellite,” Drift repeated.
Rodimus nodded.
Drift raised his two fists and bounced them together.
“Hit you.”
“We’re not going to get very far if that’s where your suspension of disbelief ends,” Ratchet said. “And anyway, we both played a part getting into that mess. I wasn’t the most communicative pilot.”
Rodimus shifted, looking down at his pedes, then grinned. Without making optic contact, Ratchet matched it.
“A lot of things were said, but that’s beside the point.” Rodimus waved his hand. “We lost control of the shuttle and by the time we got it back, Arcee was gone.”
“Why would she do that?” Drift asked. An object that dangerous needed to stay far away from Cybertronian hands, especially anyone aligned with the civil war factions. To abandon it like that was either negligence or malicious, and he found himself glancing at the sky, wondering whether someone else was on their way to retrieve it.
“Didn’t tell us,” Ratchet said. “Didn’t even tell us it was here. Had to find it ourselves.”
“Both of you?”
Ratchet and Rodimus glanced at each other.
“Who else?” Drift pressed.
“What?” Rodimus asked, both their gazes snapping back to him.
“Who else was with you? You can’t form a combiner with just two people.”
“That’s where it gets complicated,” Ratchet said. Unlike Rodimus, who had taken to glancing at the ground again, spoiler twitching to give the illusion his whole frame was in motion, Ratchet’s optics and posture were steady.
“It was just us,” Rodimus said. “I didn’t know what to do. Ratchet had just said he was—“ He froze, looked up at Ratchet, then went on. “He was leaving, and the glowy thing in the wall seemed like a good distraction from that.”
“We were both under immense stress,” Ratchet said, laying a hand on Rodimus’ spoiler. The twitching stopped. “Maybe the Enigma picked up on that. It decided we were a good enough match that it could link us together while it looked for someone else.”
“A holding pattern,” Drift said. The word came up automatically; in reality, his attention was being yanked between Rodimus’ slight smile, Ratchet’s hand, and the fact that the latter had apparently been in the process of deserting. That didn’t sound like the Ratchet he knew.
“Yeah, exactly, that’s what Cyclonus called it,” Rodimus said, oblivious to his internal struggle.
“You’ve heard of it?” Ratchet asked.
“Only briefly, and my sources weren’t that trustworthy.”
“Tell us what they said anyway,” Ratchet said, his hand moving into soothing strokes along Rodimus’ spoiler. Drift found himself looking at the ground. “We still know next to nothing about this thing, beyond that it’s a pain in the aft and poor judge of character.”
Drift shook out his hand and unsheathed his sword, twirling it in front of him in basic patterns. Better to be frank with his restlessness than let it distract him from the matter at hand.
“It’s rare, and terrible,” he said. “Bonded sparks without a physical connection to stabilize them try to overpower each other.” He thrust his sword forward, grimacing at the blunt movement. “The case studies all described once-friends trying to rip each other apart, just for a few minutes’ peace.” There must have been instances of final components being introduced, but he hadn’t bothered to log them to his memory. He’d been looking for horror stories to break up the boredom. Shockwave’s archives had been an indulgence.
“Hasn’t been easy,” Ratchet said, “but it was never that bad.” Even from this far away, his gaze was like a physical touch on Drift’s plating. He tried to ignore it as he moved into his next step in the pattern.
“We did organize an entire shuttle to keep me from frying Ratchet’s circuits,” Rodimus said. “Oh, and meditated!” His spoiler flicked, briefly dislodging Ratchet’s hand before he put it back. Their disturbed looks switched to matching grins again, and Drift now recognized it for what it was: a private joke.
Drift paused to regard them, their easy postures combined with the gentle way they moved around each other. Nothing like what he had filled his head with all those years ago.
“Why did you come?” he asked, sheathing his sword. “You said you need my help.”
Rodimus stood up, creating a gap between them.
“Like Ratchet said, it hasn’t been as bad as what you heard,” he said, “but we can’t live like this forever. Ratchet’s—”
He stopped, optics flashing, and Ratchet closed the distance again, pressing a hand to the back of his neck.
“It’s been a challenge,” Ratchet said. “We can function, but neither of us can fulfill our responsibilities while we’re like this, especially if we’re at risk of pulling someone into it. We need some way to minimize the effects or, ideally, cut it off. Unfortunately, that falls outside my area of expertise.” He dropped his hand.
“But we were thinking: weird spark stuff, bonds between people. That’s kind of what you’re all about, right?” Rodimus stood, the corner of his lips quirked up in a hopeful grin.
Drift stared at it. His hand was frozen, still wrapped around the hilt of his sword.
“Cyclonus suggested Spectralist meditation practices might influences the effects of the Enigma,” Ratchet said with a resigned acceptance that, in another situation, Drift might have prodded at. Ratchet was handing him a free turn in their old game, only it wasn’t a game anymore and Drift found himself with a miserable hand.
“And you want me to…”
They looked at each other, more than a glance this time.
“Well, was he right?” Rodimus asked. “Is there anything you can do?”
Unlike most answers in Drift’s life, this one came with little inner turmoil.
“No. There isn’t.”
Spectralism was a war religion. A subset of Alchemists had felt their belief system had become too tied up in the politics of the war, especially after the Acuity had announced a passive alliance with the Autobots. The Alchemic apostates believed that, by focusing on the body, one could transcend the factional gulfs that divided their species, and named their new movement Spectralism, in reference to the standard spectrum of light emitted by their photonic cores. It was a modern religion designed around the issues of its time. Not ancient long-lost artifacts of questionable ethics.
Rodimus’ spoiler drooped and Ratchet’s optics dimmed. Rodimus straightened up a moment later, brave smile on, but the way Ratchet sunk into his own plating told Drift far more about their shared headspace.
“That’s okay!” Rodimus said. “We can figure something else out. Or not! Ratchet’s been warming up to me. Bet we could make it a few years at least before we—”
His words choked off and Drift had to look away, anger roiling beneath his plating. He hated that he couldn’t just feel sympathy for their situation; wrapped up in it was the knowledge that they had come, not for him, but for something he might provide. He had always been a tool for other mechanisms, from his days on the streets up through his rise in the Decepticons, and hoping for any different after he defected, after the war ended, after he joined Rodimus’ side kept demanding a steeper price.
He was still trying to figure out what he could say that Deadlock would not have when the plasma bolt caught him.
It hit his right shoulder from behind and sent him sprawling. He landed on the hard ground and gasped as pain, numbness, and the tingle of backup sensors raced up his armor in rapid succession. Calibration had not finished before he was trying to get up again.
“Drift!” Ratchet and Rodimus yelled.
He grunted and tried to see who shot him but had to roll away to dodge a second bullet aimed for his helm. He heard a second, quiet shuttle landing beside his own and realized his mistake.
The third shot went wide, expecting him to keep rolling in the same direction, and he took advantage of the lost second to leap to his feet and lunge at Grit’s crewmate, frozen at the edge of the hatch. His left sword came up to block another volley and then he was on the Decepticon, spinning and shoving him to the floor of the hatch with his gun arm pinned behind his back. There was nothing he could do to stop the remote-piloted shuttle, though, already taking off while the other two scrambled aboard. He shoved the Decepticon into the ground, then jumped over him. Someone was shouting, but he didn’t hear the words. If he could catch the underside of the ship—
He missed. The thrusters fired just as he leapt and sent him hurtling, skidding across the plateau. He tumbled end over end, plating banging against the solid ground, until at last he came to a stop on his back, staring at the open sky.
He struggled to sit up. The pain wasn’t bad, but vertigo had him misjudging the weight of his frame. He heard the shuttle flying away before he could see it, followed by gunshots. He started to roll over, a delayed evasive maneuver, before he realized that the blasterfire was coming from the ground. Rodimus and Ratchet had retrieved weapons and were shooting at the retreating shuttle while their own sat idle.
“Go!” Drift shouted. He hoped that was what he’d said. “Don’t let them break atmosphere.” He swayed onto his feet, looking around for the sword that had flown from his grasp.
A pulse flew by his helm, singing the air itself, and he turned around to see the Decepticon crumple to the ground, gun falling out of his hand.
“Not leaving you behind,” Rodimus said.
“Not like we’ve had great luck chasing people off world anyway,” Ratchet added.
Above their heads, the shuttle’s thrusters pulsed as it prepared for the final push to break atmosphere. Already it was receding from view, the planet’s smog layer rolling in to cover its retreat, and Drift knew it would be off his own ship’s sensor range long before he got it airborne. He tried to gauge how far a ship like that could travel before it needed to stop for fuel.
“You okay, Drift?” Rodimus asked.
Drift shut off his comms.
He picked up his sword on his way back to the shuttle. The Decepticon was lying on the ground, clutching his hip; warm energon seeped from between his fingers. Drift doubted he would die from the wound, but the bleeding was enough to make anyone panic, which was exactly what he needed right now. He pointed his blunted weapon at the Decepticon’s throat, allowing the curve of the blade to cut a hair-thin line in the plating housing his central energon line.
“What’s your name?” he asked. “How important are you to Grit?” Voice trembling slightly; good. Most Cybertronians knew the difference between shivers of fear and barely-concealed anger.
“Spur,” the Decepticon squeaked, trying to back away from the sword while keeping both hands on his hip. Drift noted the dent in his helm where Rodimus had shot him earlier. “We were stationed on the same moon. We’re business partners.”
“Are they coming back for you?”
“Yes!” Spur nodded his head, optics bright and wide. “They’re coming back with reinforcements, and they’re going to be mad if something happens to me.”
Drift would have groaned, had he the energy. Even if Spur was lying (most likely) the possibility of Grit reaching out to other rogues put Vitrious in a much riskier situation than it had been in before. Suddenly, it was no longer a matter of stopping a single slave trade operation: now there was information on the line, harder to predict and much more complicated to contain. Once he had the immediate threats neutralized, he was going to have to determine whether the Galactic Council should be tipped off to the vulnerability of this sector, a question of whether safety from Decepticons was worth the Council’s brand of planetary defense.
That was a problem for the future, though, one he was able to brush aside as he sheathed his sword and leaned down, hoisting Spur with his good arm while he used his bad one for balance.
“What? Hey, wh—”
“You know where they’re going,” Drift said. “Give me the coordinates.”
“N-no! What would I—”
“You want to get back together with your crew, right?” Drift asked, dropping Spur back into the ruined cell. “Give me the coordinates and I’ll make sure you’re still online when we drop you off.” It was a bluff, of course, but Drift had always had a talent for making bots think the worst of him.
He received the packet over a broadband comm frequency. After scanning it for viruses, he diverted it to the ship’s navigation system, then popped open one of the panels in the wall and retrieved a pile of stained rags. He crouched beside Spur and dropped the rags so he could catch one of the Con’s desperate hands and pry it away from his wound.
“Wait—”
“Relax,” he commanded, deftly retrieving his cuffs so he could clip one end around Spur’s wrist and the other to the lower frame of the cell where it extended slightly from the floor. It would make for a less comfortable trip, but that was what he got for breaking Drift’s things: Grit had shorted the locking mechanism and brute forced the failsafe. It would be a time-consuming fix, both whatever patch job he could throw together and the eventual repair stop he would have to make at a legitimate mechanic.
Satisfied Spur was secure, he pulled away Spur’s other hand and started to mop up the spilled energon with one of the rags. Already, the flow had slowed, but he wanted to see the damage for himself before he trusted self-repair.
“Here,” he said, pushing the pile to Spur. “Pack the wound with that to slow the bleeding. I’ll take a closer look once we’re airborne.”
Spur stared at the rags like he had no idea what to do with them, which Drift doubted. One did not make it through a war like theirs without learning the tricks to keep a body from dying.
“Why?” he asked.
Drift received a ping from the navicomp and waved off Spur’s question, retreating to the pilot’s console to confirm the flight path. As he had suspected, the destination was not far. Even doubling the computer’s estimated travel time, which had become necessary since the last time he’d wormed his was into the engine, it would still barely be enough time to prepare for a conflict. He hit a button to raise the hatch and input the commands to prepare for takeoff. Faint voices were buzzing through the ship’s comm system, and he entertained the idea of shutting that off, too.
“Gonna get that?” Spur asked, optics angling to the speaker.
“Don’t know,” Drift said, playing with the volume control. The sound dipped so low he might have mistaken it for a piece of his thoughts, too indistinct to even be called nonsense.
“It’s your team, right?”
“No, not really.” He shut it off, the sound of the engine filling the space so immediately he didn’t have time to miss it.
“I would’ve killed you, if it hadn’t been for them.”
Drift glanced back. Spur had taken his suggestion and was packing the wound, and there was defiance in his posture now that he was not stooping to keep himself from bleeding out.
“No, you wouldn’t have,” Drift said. “You were aiming for my helm, right? The finials make me look taller than I really am. Your shot would have missed my cranial casing by less than an inch. A blow like that would knock me down, make it look like you had hit, but I would have received more damage from the fall itself than the gunshot. Provided I landed with my palm down, I would have retaliated before you got your finger back around the trigger.” He turned back to the viewshield. Ratchet and Rodimus had disappeared, the Decepticraft’s hatch was shut, and the engines were coming online.
Spur huffed.
“Autobots are weird.”
“I’m not an Autobot.”
“Nah, but they are.” There was a clink of metal, as though Spur had tried to gesture with his bound hand. “Never seen them give a scrap about a bot like you.”
A notification came up: shuttle primed and ready.
“Listen,” Spur said. “You’ve clearly got some sort of history. I don’t care what. But in my experience, there’s no bigger nuisance in the universe than an Autobot who decides to care about something, especially if it happens to be none of his business and all of yours. So, in the interest of not getting shot again, can you at least make sure you have those two under control?”
Drift leaned his head back to look at the ceiling. He wasn’t an Autobot. Not anymore, Rodimus had seen to that, and he’d never really wanted to be one, anyway. Did he care about things in a fundamentally different way from how Ratchet and Rodimus did? Had the divides in their species been driven down that far? Or had they been the reason for the war in the first place? He didn’t have an answer for that. But maybe Spur had a point. Without looking, he turned the comms back on.
“—on’t go yet, just listen, we—”
“What.”
“Drift!” Rodimus said.
“What’s your fuel pump pressure?” Ratchet asked. “Feel anything loose or out of alignment?”
Drift shook his head. There was a twinge in his shoulder and the usual weight of his body, but those were manageable.
“I’m fine,” he said. “Grit’s collecting reinforcements. I’m going to intercept. You two should head for the nearest Council-aligned planet and wait there; if you hear even a rumor that Cybertronians have started moving in, let the local enforcement division know.” They would alert the Galactic Council security forces, and then Vitrious would be out of their hands.
“We’re coming with you,” Rodimus said, though the tone was all wrong. He sounded like Ratchet.
“No.” Commands had never suited Drift’s voice; even now, it came out sounding like a demand. “I can’t help you, and I sure as slag can’t protect you. What happens if the Decepticons find you? Or worse, get onto the ship and find the—” he glanced back at Spur, “—the you-know-what? Then it’s not just Vitrious: everyone’s problems get so much worse.” His fingers were drumming the console, an anxious non-beat. “I’m sorry that you wasted so much time coming out here and that you’re having to live through this. Really, I am. But I need you to let me do this.” Once Grit was taken care of, he would regroup with them and do what he could to help their situation, what little it was. But his list of debts was long and this one came first.
“We don’t need your help or your protection,” Ratchet said. “Believe it or not, we’re more than capable of taking care of ourselves, and we can recognize when someone else’s problems are more pressing than our own. We’re coming to help you, Drift.”
His hands wrapped around the yoke.
“I’m not going to—”
“We’ve still got a tracker on that shuttle,” Ratchet went on. “So, you can either ping us the coordinates now and let us strategize on the way there, or you can wait for us to catch up in the middle of—of whatever this is. Your call.”
Drift’s engine growled. He heard a hiccup from behind and turned his glare on Spur, who looked inappropriately unrepentant for a mech cuffed to the floor.
“I hope you know I hate you both.”
“Hey!” Rodimus yelped, but Ratchet laughed, and a moment later Rodimus’ nervous chuckle floated through as well.
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'Countdown': New chapter for "Redemption in a Spirit in a Cold War" is out!
"Countdown"
"I maybe got one eye but I'll kill you, Sarah!"
Chapter Summary: Time's running out for Yirina & Park as London is in danger of getting destroyed with the Greenlight asset by Sarah...
Link of the Picrew here!
To read it on AO3, click here!
Words : +4300
Taglist : @snowgoldwaylon , @clxudtea , @efingart
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London is in big danger now...Perseus...Bellamy & Sarah...their whole presence here was to find the Greenlight nuke that was hidden under the British parliament while the whole government is in town to blow it up, killing millions of civilians & bringing the United Kingdom to its knees in the Cold War. A project that I thought to be out since 1981, coming from the CIA, was still active despite the events surrounding it 3 years ago, a project that I & Zasha inadvertently brought out to Perseus and allowed him to try to blow up Europe with it...and now, I'm trying to get it down again...avoiding him to destroy London...
The only thing that was in me at the moment while Park was leading me to one of a car before getting in it and leave the sector rapidly with Price's quickly formed team...the only thing was just the anger of...having been mistreated, tortured by Bellamy & Sarah, my thoughts about the latter changing to be less friendly with her after the stab in the back she did to all of us. No words were coming out of my mouth as we were going away to join the British Parliament at the Palace of Westminster, Park focused on driving the car and following Price's team van in the streets of London.
She...Park wanted to know more about what happened to me down there in that cell but I stayed silent, away in my thoughts of getting Sarah, Bellamy, and anyone that's with them...what they deserve. I could see the distress in Park's eyes just by looking at her, she was worried, calmer than me despite the situation and I was understanding her on that part. She must have been deadly worried when she learned that I & Zasha got captured but now, I needed to stay focus, my eyes drifting around...
As we were driving to reach the parliament, my gaze fell on the mirror in front of me between me & Park, and by curiosity, I put the mirror in my direction to take a look at my left eye and...and just by looking at it...
"Fuck..." I muttered, discovering how much my eye was looking more like a mess and Zasha was right, my eyes weren't having the same color patterns. The right one was still blue while the left one...it became more very light blue going more into a white color, the vision of it still blurred. "Shouldn't have look at it," I thought to myself, putting my back against the seat.
"You'll be fine, Yiri," Park assured in a normal voice, her eyes staying on the road.
"I'm not sure of it," I said.
"Don't worry," She added, her voice taking a better tone, still sounding to reassure me at the moment.
"My eye is a mess, can't be sure that I don't need to worry about it," I told her, turning my head slightly to the right to look at her. "They injected me with their damn needle in the eye and they kept me awake with the product in the eye," I declared, sounding a bit angry in my voice. "Instead of letting me sleep, they put music in my ears to make sure that I suffer worse,"
"They...they did that?" She demanded.
"Yes," I whispered, my word causing her to clench her fists while having them on the steering wheel, holding it firmly.
"The same music?"
"No," I replied, having guessed that she was referring to a memory of me during our time in Verdansk. "It was different...Only You," I articulated, those two words staying in my mind and as if I could hear it in my ears.
"Only You?" She repeated.
"Can make...all this world...seem right," I started to say, remembering the song in my head before I stops myself by shaking my head. "Sorry, it's just that...I got it in my mind since...since..." I apologized but I cut myself up, the hours have passed since that happened. "A long time," I resumed.
"I'm sorry," Park whispered.
"It's not your fault...it's mine," I claimed in a clear voice, still feeling the blame for the event in the metro and that crash. "It's my fault if I got me & Zasha captured and...someone wounded...and another killed,"
"It's not..."
"No, just...don't, ain't helping," I cut her gently in her words even if she was trying to do her best to make me think of something else as I was looking outside, seeming to soon arrive at our destination. "I know that you want me to think of something else but not here," I told her straight about this. "Now, we just need to stop Sarah & Bellamy to destroy London," I muttered, my head going back into looking in front of me as Park was still looking confused about Sarah's name been mentioned despite after my revelations about it.
"Sarah Stone...I never thought that he got a sister," Park thought to herself, slightly turning her head around for a bit on her right.
"She's crazy, she's dressing in her brother's clothes for his legacy," I exclaimed, a vision of seeing her in that blue outfit with a green hood was disgusting to me. "She played everyone in here, she faked to be friends with us...just to get us in a better way,"
"I thought that she was a friend," Park remarked, me shaking my head at this.
"She played it," I repeated. "Manipulating the files to make sure that we believe that Harry was back from the dead and we bought it," I passed my hands through my face, avoiding touching my left eye at the moment. "She wants to avenge her brother by killing millions of citizens with the very thing that me...you, we swore to stop 3 years ago," I said clearly, Park turning her head with a little smile on it at me.
"We did," She grinned before she looked back at the front of her. "Here...the parliament," She pointed outside with her left hand towards the building at our right, seeing Big Ben's tower from afar. "And the government is here, looking at the security," She commented, seeing outside a lot of policemen and policewomen standing near the building.
"Price and his men are pulling over there," I said, seeing their blue van going to park itself on the right side of the road.
"We should join them, then," Park said before she decides to get the car behind the van a few meters from it.
We stopped the car right behind the van and just by looking at the palace and its surroundings from the car's inside, I was wondering how the CIA could have implemented a nuclear bomb right under the place that the British government is reuniting but that thought went away as Park was taking out from her pocket, an MI6 identification card on a necklace, putting it around her neck before we could go out of the car, going to join Price and his men near the van as some cops were coming to them.
"Excuse me but who are you?" A policeman with a bulletproof vest asked Price as we were arriving near the group. "You have some identifications?"
"We're with the SAS, sir," Price replied to him but the policeman was looking unconvinced with his colleagues behind him.
"Sure, sure, we believe you," The policeman scoffed, thinking that we were joking with him. "Get serious, let me see you all your papers," He demanded, sounding less funny of a sudden.
"Excuse me," Park finally stepped inside the group, going to face the policemen with me. "You don't think that's serious but it's bloody hell right," She affirmed, not happy that we were thought like that. "I'm with the MI6, there's a threat inside a building," She showed the policeman the palace behind him through the gates, her face getting along with her voice.
"How's that?" The policeman suddenly got his voice changed, worried, to be honest.
"A terrorist group entered the building & intend to blow up a nuclear bomb under it," I revealed directly, speaking up and going straight into the subject with the police, seeing in a second their eyes going wide at this.
"We need to enter that building and stop that threat, you have to let us in," Price declared, sounding assertive to the policeman that was looking terrified.
"Uhm...Uhm...sure, sure," He stuttered, his hand going to stretch a bit the collar of his vest. "What should we do? Alert the houses?" He suggested.
"No," I said clearly. "If the government is alerted of that threat, the terrorists could be aware of it & detonate the bomb," I suggested, knowing that it was a big risk to take if the government was aware that a nuke was beneath their feet.
"Good point," Price noted, nodding at me before he looked at Park. "If they're under the building, we should take them on two sides," He proposed.
"There's an entrance near a pier on the Thames, get your men with you to that entrance, it will surely cut them off in the case of an escape from them," Park ordered, pointing towards a direction as we start walking in a group to the portal separating us from entering the palace. "I'm going with Yirina inside the palace," She told them.
"Understood, let's go, everyone," Price agreed before he gestures to his men to follow him inside as the portal got opened by the cops, letting us enter and parting ways with Price's team.
"Uhm, miss, what should we do now?" The policeman's voice came behind us as we were directing ourselves towards the entrance of the palace.
"Alert the security about the threat but they can't alert the government," Park slightly turned around to face him, making her voice clear for him. "Stay here, we're taking care of this," She affirmed before we resumes our walk inside.
"Let's hope that we don't arrive too late," I confided to Park, taking a deep breath as we were arriving near the building, a bit of stress of going inside coming in me. "Not even changed," I commented in a low voice, looking at the state of my outfit that was filled with dirt.
"Let's hope," Park repeated in a low voice before we got in front of the door, some policeman guarding it.
It didn't take a few seconds to let the policemen open the door for us, even after Park showed them her MI6 credentials around her neck before we could step inside the building that was holding a very important reunion of the British government at the moment and it was sure that the stress was coming inside of me just to think of it and that the bomb under our feet could blow up at any moment if Sarah and her team already left the place to be doomed.
Since that Park was the one to know the place perfectly, I followed her around as my thoughts were overwhelming me during my walk behind Park...are we going to stop Sarah in time? That was the main question that came to my mind but...but...we need to stop her, we have to. She's going to nuke London for her revenge...just for her terrorist brother...just for someone...her brother...we have to stop her, everyone knows that and just by looking at Park's walk, she was thinking the same thing.
Then, after only a minute to walk through the building, we managed to arrive at a door that was leading to the underground of the building but we were surprised that the door was kept by two policemen that were very-well armed and protected than the others cops that we crossed paths with, the two looking rather...normal...
"Sorry, miss but this area is restricted to the public," One of the policemen addressed us, putting himself in front of the door as we were arriving near it.
"We're with the MI6, we need to get down, there's a security threat," Park announced, showing off her card to them.
"Sorry, but we can't let you here, it's a private zone," The other policeman in front of me said to her as I was getting suspicious of these guys, now looking different...and not British. "Besides, we got nothing of that sort from a security threat," He explained.
"Hey guys, the bomb is going to be on soon, you should get out," Suddenly, a voice over the radio that was belonging to the guy in front of me went on, a feeling of confusion taking over the two 'cops'...those guys were posing as cops...
"Cops...just fuckers..." I taunted them before I start to give the guy in front of me the first move by hitting him right in the teeth.
Park immediately reacted by also throwing a punch to the other guy face, launching ourselves to take care of these two 'cops' and thankfully, those two weren't in fact a big deal to neutralize, taking only at least 10 seconds to get them out and putting them on the ground before we decide to check them in quickly, seeing that they were Perseus agents undercover...that operation must have been prepared for days...and it's only the beginning for the moment...
"And now?" I demanded to Park after I got up from the guy I was checking.
"Now, it's time to get down but..." She started as her eyes were looking at the two 'cops' on the ground, and then, looking around. "We can't take the risk to let those two escape, there's no cop in here," She said as we were in a part of the building that wasn't having a lot of cops around.
"Meaning?" I narrowed my right eye at her.
"One of us goes down while...while the other stays here to get the two under control before the security gets them," She explained, chuckling for a bit as she put her hands on her pistol. "You stay here," She ordered, cocking her pistol.
"No," I stopped her, shaking my head at her. "I'm the one going down," I volunteered, getting in front of Park to stop her from going down and passing that door.
"Yiri, no...you...you're not..." Park tried to defend herself but I shook my head at this.
"Maybe that I can see with half of my vision, maybe that I should be healed but no...I'm going down," I claimed, taking out my M1911 from my jacket.
"I don't want to lose you," Park whispered in a low voice.
"Me too," I assured her with the same tone, checking up the mag of my M1911, 5 bullets remaining in it. "That's why I'm the one taking the risks,"
"You don't have to do that," Park asserted, putting her hands over my right shoulder to make me change my mind.
"It's my fault that Perseus is going to use Greenlight and..." I snorted, putting the mag back into the gun to load it, moving to face the door and open it. "I'm going," I announced before I start to walk away, not feeling Park's hand on my shoulder as she was seeming helpless to stop me to do what I needed to do.
The stairs that I was using to reach the underground was pretty old, looking like it was never fully maintained to a good shape and it's with cautiousness that I start to go down the stairs, taking care to not miss any steps and going slow in my moves, thinking that at any moments, I could be surprised by a Perseus agent right now and it made me keep my M1911 pointed right in front of me, a look of determination coming on my face.
Once that I reach the underground level, it was at this moment that I needed to be careful, extremely careful since that I can only see right with one eye and...no, it was too late to back down, Sarah needed to stop to detonate that nuke and destroying London. I started to walk in the only direction that was getting offered by me to take, staying aware of any noises that could come around me: the sounds of water flowing through some pipes, a little buzzing getting heard from afar...I stayed careful.
But the more I was advancing, the more the underground wasn't looking old enough, seeing some spotlight and crates around...getting soon accompanied by some noises that were certainly people speaking and it caused me to be silent in my footsteps as I was getting closer to those talks, and then, I put myself behind a crate, arriving near a big room looking like some sewers with in the middle of it...the bomb...and Sarah...only her...in the same clothes as her brother...
"How much time?" There was also a hooded soldier near her, standing up as she was sitting, doing something with the bomb.
"Not so long, we'll be away when it will explode," She replied in a sort of reassuring voice.
"Good to know," The hooded soldier affirmed, passing his hand through his face as Sarah got up but then, some clouds noises came from another hallway at their right. "What's that?" He asked.
"Must be the SAS, good," Sarah presumed as I was thinking the same thing, maybe that Price and his men had to fight to get here. "More useless people to die tonight," She remarked, and that...I don't know why but it provoked something that I couldn't control...rage...causing me to go out of cover, pointing my gun at the two.
"Not in my watch," I spoke up clearly to the two, taking the risk to do this like that.
"What the fuck?" The soldier cursed as he turns around, seeing me arrive in the middle of the room.
"Don't try anything," I ordered, staying at a safe distance from them and keeping the two under my control. "Hands up," I gestured with my M1911 up, seeing that the soldier complied first as Sarah was looking unimpressed.
"Grigoriev..." She smirked at my sight. "A pleasure to see you here, came to admire the show?" She questioned, not ready to get her hands up at my command
"I'm here to stop you," I affirmed.
"Not sure that it will happen," She told me, staying stubborn and not complying as she got next to the soldier, his hands staying up. "I see...weak," She muttered by looking at the soldier before of a sudden, she got a blade out of her left sleeve...and start to stab to the neck, the soldier.
I could see that she was emotionless to the man that she was stabbing now, not stopping in her move as I was looking terrified at the scene I was watching in front of me...Sarah...literally stabbing one of her own men in front of me and continuing even if the guy was dead, making his blood flow like a fountain as she put him down on the ground before her eyes went to look at me, her face filled with the blood of the soldier.
"You're crazy," I said, lowering my gun at seeing her like that, a pool of blood forming on the ground.
"You don't know me well, Grigoriev," She stated, smirking at me with the blood on her face, passing her right hand on it. "Harry wasn't showing his full potential to the cause, I did what he couldn't do,"
"By destroying London?" I presumed.
"He was a bad man but never, he wanted to burn that city down to the ground," She told me, checking her hands full of blood. "Now, this city will burn...by me...Sarah Stone!" She claimed loudly to me, getting her head up to form a disturbing smile with her lips.
"No, not with me," I admitted, my hands letting my M1911 go off on the ground.
"The pathetic little lost girl with one fewer eye...against me...in a fistfight?" She lamented my choices before breaking a laugh about this. "Going to be a pleasure to break each of your bones before I let you die here with that bomb,"
"I maybe got one eye but..." I started before I clench my fists, ready to stop her from doing her plans. "But I'll kill you,"
"Let's see that!" She said in a clear voice before we both starts to move in each other direction to get it done.
She was the first one to try a punch at me, throwing her right hand at me at full speed but I managed to avoid it at the last moment by moving myself back behind before she starts to get serious to put me down for good, causing me to stay on the defense for the moment by trying to block at my best the punches and kicks that she was giving me, either succeeding or failing to do so, slowly getting the advantage over me as I found myself blocked with my back against the wall behind me.
The blocks that I was doing to counter her wasn't working anymore as she started to get dirty on me, punching me faster and making me impossible to counter everything from her and hitting me in the chest and my left knee but by chance, I took a moment that she was taking a breath to get away from the wall, avoiding a punch directed to my face and causing her to hit the brick wall with her fist.
"Fuck, you bitch!" She shouted, holding her right wrist with her left hand before she turns her head around to look at me with rage. "You're hard to kill but not impossible," She commented, me catching my breath and trying to keep an eye on her.
"You messed up with me, you're deserving it," I taunted her, what she did to me was enough to make me reach my limit.
"Says the bitch who worked with my stupid brother for years," She exclaimed before she starts to turn around me in a circle at my left, she was trying to get out of my sight. "Man is so manipulative, remember?" She demanded in a normal voice as she was walking on her side faster to get away from me.
"What do you mean?" I asked her, confused as I was trying to keep her insight. "You...you manipulated your own..." I couldn't finish that I received a kick behind my right knee, causing me to fall for a bit on the ground.
"Yes," She replied behind me directly without having finished my question. "He wasn't...very sure...before her little sister came to see him straight," She commented, moving in front of me as I was trying to get up. "Helped him to kill some...useless people...including...a brother from...someone," She smirked at me as I start to think about...Park's brother, William.
"You didn't..." I tried to say before she put me down again on my knees, her hands over my shoulders.
"Oh yes, I did," She told me with a smile before she got at my level. "Made him believe that her pathetic brother hated him, made him murder people...bang, bang, boom," She mimicked before breaking out a laugh from her mouth. "So easy to break, Harry's mind was so easy to break," She taunted as I realizes with her words that... for a long time, she was the one who orchestrated William's death...and put the blame on Harry. "Since that, he thought that he was the boss...until you kill him and got me to get into his boots to make his legacy live,"
"No, you created a monster...and I'll kill you!" I then got myself into a rage and managing to get her hands off my shoulder before I decide to throw myself on her, right into her chest and getting her on the ground, and finding myself on top of her. "That's for Peter...for me...for Park...for everyone you killed!" I shouted loudly, at each punch I was giving to her face, mixing her blood with the soldier's one on her face.
I was giving all of my strength inside of these punches, doing all of my best to make sure that she wasn't going to get out of here alive before she got some nerves to hit me in the chest, stopping me to give her more pain than she deserves before moving her feet to kick me & push me away from her far behind her, making me land at a few meters from her, and then...I saw my M1911 near me...and...I had no choice to take it...
"AAAHH!" Sarah screamed, going to charge me over before I took the M1911 in my hands, and then, I pulled off the trigger, shooting two bullets at her, hitting right in the chest and in the right shoulder. The bullets caused her to stop in her run to look at the bullet holes in her body before falling on her knees as I got up from the ground, gun in my hand.
"That's for everyone," I muttered as I looked at her with desperation.
"You weren't pathetic after all," She said, still sounding stubborn. "Just...stupid...and lost," She proclaimed as I hold my M1911 by the cannon of it. "If not dying by that not-working nuke, the numbers will," She exclaimed before she spits some blood on my clothes, giving me nothing but disgust towards her.
"Just...fucking...die," I declared before I took a deep breath, and then, I decided to hold her by her hair to expose her throat before using my M1911 to throat chop her with a strength more powerful than my punches from before.
The strike made her cough out some blood from her mouth, trying to speak to me but it was mostly inaudible sounds coming out of her mouth as her eyes went wide at looking at me before she shut them down and I let her down, throwing her on the ground...it's like the...first time that...I'm using...to be violent like this to kill someone...I never did this but now...I felt...bad for doing this but also...I don't know, Sarah was a monster, she deserved a worse death but...why I'm violent...I'm not the monster that Perseus tried to create.
My eyes then went on the bomb that she was working on, leaving her to die painfully on the ground to take a look at the bomb that was in fact, not even armed...not working at all and a smile came on my face about it, seeming a bit happy before I start to fall on my knee, some tears coming out of my eyes, and then, falling on the ground on my back, completely exhausted by this day...seeing now only the light above the ceiling...as I could hear some people approaching...
It's with a smile that I closed my eyes, thinking about my friends...about my love...
#call of duty cold war#black ops cold war#cod black ops cold war#cod cold war#cod cw#cod bocw#call of duty#cod#fem!bell#helen park#yirina grigoriev#bell x park
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The Broken Hearts Part 5!!
I feel like I publish a new chapter once a millennia, so I don’t think many people are going to read it, but if you’re still here, I thank you from the bottom of my heart ❤️ BUT, because I never publish, I made sure that this chapter was extra long! Happy New Year!!
“ELLIE!”
Ella felt her entire body jolt awake.
“Lucie? What are you doing here?”
“I came as soon as I heard! How could I stay in Idris when there is trouble here?”
“What about your children,” Ella said, blinking away sleep. “Did you bring them?”
“I wanted to, but Jesse said it was ‘unsafe’ for them to be here. So we left them with Gideon and Sophie.”
Ella sat up and tried to blink away her sleepiness.
“What time is it?”
“It’s almost noon, you lazy bum. You must get up.”
“We stayed up late.”
“Everyone else is awake.”
Ella grunted. “I’ll be down in a minute.”
...
Ella walked into the breakfast parlor and slumped down next to James, who was reading over some papers. His daughter, Caspara, was on his lap, gurgling and talking to James, even though she hasn’t said her first words yet. Caspara always seemed to be talking either to herself or others, though what she was trying to say, no one will ever know.
“Hulloooo!” Ella said, crossing her eyes at Caspara. “How’s my favorite Herondale niece?”
Caspara giggled and stretched her hands out to her. Ella gave her one of her fingers and Caspara was quiet, leaning back against James’ chest and holding Ella’s finger in her hand.
“There she is! Our Sleeping Beauty!” Lucie said, fake swooning as she strolled into the parlor.
“Honestly Lu, couldn’t you wake me normally?” Ella said referring to her morning scare.
“Normal? I refuse to be associated with that vulgar word.”
“Lucie, stop terrorizing your poor sister.” Jesse said, coming from behind Lucie.
“Thank you, Jesse.” Ella said, grabbing a piece of toast.
Lucie slumped into the nearest chair. “You are no fun.”
Jesse rolled his eyes. “You should have thought of that before you brought me back from the dead.”
“Please do not discuss your resurrection this early in the morning.” James said, his face in his hands.
Ella looked at him and then at Lucie. She shrugged and gave her a face that suggested she thought James was being dramatic. Ella giggled.
“Are you two staying here long?” She asked Lucie and Jesse, who no doubt portaled in from Idris this morning.
“We don’t think so.” Lucie said. “Eva and Adeline should not be left in Gideon and Sophie’s home for extended periods of time for they might get too comfortable with them and begin acting out.”
“They take after their mother.” Jesse said.
Lucie glared at him. “As they should. Imagine having children like Jesse. What an absolute bore.”
Had Lucie and Jesse’s relationship not thrived on their bickering, Ella would have called a decorum. Instead she enjoyed the show for a while longer before turning to her brother.
“What are you reading, Jamie?” Ella asked, looking over his shoulder.
“He won’t tell us.” Lucie said.
Ella frowned. “Why not?”
“Because Sherlock Holmes likes to work alone.” Lucie said, conveying her annoyance with her tone of voice.
James glared at Lucie. “I’ll tell you, Ella.” Lucie gasped and up a hand to her chest. James continued speaking as though she’d done nothing. “I’m reading over the institute records. Maybe we are all overreacting and last night was just a power outage.”
Ella nodded and looked at her cereal. She didn’t want to remind James of the cruel voice that haunted her dreams last night, the one that spoke before the power went out. James and Cordelia were clearly worried enough.
So instead, she had breakfast with her siblings and niece. She’d figure it out later.
…
“Hullo Ben!” Jesper Carstairs said cheerfully, “We’re going to the institute and were told to pick you up.”
Ben looked at him through squinted eyes. “That sounds oddly vague. You are not going to abduct me, are you?”
“Of course not.”
Had the idea of Jesper Carstairs abducting Benjamin Penhallow—who was a good five centimeters taller than the former— not been so absurd, Ben probably would not have taken Jesper’s word.
But it was, so Ben obliged.
“Who’s ‘we’re’” Ben asked, referring to Jesper’s earlier statement.
“Oh, right. The Fairchilds are meeting us coming with us.” Jesper smiled. “Look, they’re right there about to cross that street. TILDY!” He called.
Matilda whirled around. “Stop calling me that!”
Jesper smiled. “She loves that pet name.”
…
“What does it mean?!” Ella exclaimed, slamming her head against her open book on the table. Said book was on demon attacks in the past.
Alex was sprawled upside-down from the edge of the sofa, bouncing a rubber ball on the wall and catching it with fluid expertise.
“Will you stop bouncing that bloody ball?” Ella said, after what felt like the fiftieth time he’d chucked it against the wall.
“You kiss your mother with that mouth?”
“I am trying to think, Alex. Something you have no experience with.”
Ella caught his ball before Alex could and sat on it. Alex stuck his tongue out at her.
“You are both children.” Said Jesper from where he sat on the floor entertaining baby Caspara, who Ella had taken with her to the library after breakfast.
“Oh, the irony.” Jocelyn said, not looking up from her book.
“Should we be concerned about this? The blackout, I mean.” Alex asked, sliding down to the floor. Caspara laughed and stretched out her hands for Alex to pick her up.
“I don’t know. It seems like a pathetic threat to me. But maybe that’s because we grew up around danger.”
“I think I agree with Ella, but I also don’t think we should ignore it. However unthreatening the message may have been, we shouldn’t just ignore it before we have a few answers.” Ben said.
The others nodded in agreement before they all fell silent again, reading or thinking.
“Wait a minute, look at this.” Matilda said from where she was seated. “There’s a demon that can supposedly ‘create’ darkness.”
Ella felt her eyes widen. She pushed past Alex and sat down next to Matilda. Soon, the six (well, seven if you counted Caspara, who was giggling in Alex’s arms) shadowhunters were all crowded around her, peering at the book.
“In Islam, they use this expression: Iblīs al-Qadīm. It translates to ‘The Ancient Iblis.”
“Iblis. Like, the common Iblis demon? Yes, they do leave darkness where they go, but enough to immerse the entire institute?”
“Perhaps this is a different type of Iblis. From a different realm; a distant cousin of the standard Iblis demon we would find on patrol.”
“We should ask an inside source.” Ella said.
Suddenly, all of the shadowhunters were staring at Alex Lightwood.
Alex furrowed his eyebrows before he realized why they were staring.
“Hell no.”
“Alex, come on.”
“How do we know they have the same tastes in men?”
“You have a dark charm.”
“No.” Alex said, scooting away. “My brother, Christopher, has a dark charm.”
“Alex, Iblis demons love you.”
“They begged for you to be the one to kill them last year, when we cornered them.” Jesper said.
“Those Iblis demons love them some Lightwood-Herondale boys.”
Alex looked exasperated. “Let me get this straight, you want me to seduce these ‘new’ Iblis demons to get information on what happened?”
“Precisely.” Ella said.
Alex sighed, knowing he wasn’t going to win the argument. “Even if I did agree to this, which I do not, how would we even go about attracting their attention?”
“You might want to leave that to be.” Jocelyn said with a devil’s smirk.
…
“I hate this.” Alex said.
“You’re doing great, darling.” Ella called from above.
“I hate this.” He repeated.
“Alex.” Alex looked up at where Jesper was calling him from. “Do it for the ladies.”
“Shut your face, Carstairs.”
“They’re coming! Everybody hide.”
Alex turned to a pillar in the empty warehouse.
“Not you, Alex!” Ella hissed. “Get back on your mark.”
Alex frowned and stood on the “X” Ella had drawn on the floor of the abandoned building.
At that moment, Matilda came in sprinting and jumping along the walls, tailed by an Iblis demon.
“You’re dead, little girl. You have no idea what kind of enemy you get ma— Oh, what have we here?”
Alex cleared his throat. He tried to lean against a pillar casually. “Hello there.” He said, trying and failing to sound seductive.
“How is this boy Anna Lightwood’s brother?” Jocelyn whispered, her face in her hands.
The Iblis demon, however, looked closer at Alex before swooning. “A Lightwood.”
“It said Lightwood with pure…I-bliss.” Jesper said, laughing silently at his joke.
“Idiot,” Ella said with a smirk.
“Lightwood boy, what brings you to these parts?” The Iblis demon inquired.
“I’ve come in hopes for a favor.”
The Iblis demon looked delighted. “What will you give me in return? A kiss?!”
Alex cringed, “No, not a kiss. That’s how my grandfather Benedict killed my grandmother and got turned into a worm.”
“Oh, of course, I’ve seemed to have forgotten about that bloody demon pox.” The lblis demon said.
“Consider yourself lucky.” Ella mumbled under her breath. Her father never let her forget it. She shuddered at the lecture he had given her, Alex and Jesper when they were thirteen. Ella had seen brighter days than those.
Alex cleared his throat. “In return, I grace you with my presence.”
The Iblis demon licked it’s lips, “Sounds good to me.”
Alex shifted uncomfortably.
“I was wondering… Erm, do I call you Iblis?”
“Call me ‘darling’.”
“I think I’ll call you Iris.”
The demon gushed. “My very own pet name! My sisters will be dead with jealousy!”
Alex looked at Ella, confused. Ella gestured at him to keep talking.
“Erm, alright then. I was wondering if you knew of any other Iblises?”
“Ibli”
“Right. Ibli coming into this dimension?”
“Hm, I can’t say I do.”
“Oh.” Alex said, making a show of looking disappointed.
“Wait!” The Iblis called. “I think I may know something about a distant relative of us Ibli coming a couple of days back.”
Alex smiled uneasily. “Fascinating!” By the Angel, he’s a horrendous actor. Ella thought.
“And, do you by any chance, know if they’re powerful?”
The Iblis hissed, “that they are. But my species of Iblis is much better. We are more civilized. Why, these Ibli are so easily manipulated and would do just about anything to please their master.”
Master?
“Is it always the same master?” Alex asked.
“No, it can be anyone.”
“Interesting. And do you think these Ibli, theoretically, could make all of the lights of the institute, let’s say, go out?”
“Of course.”
“Even if demons aren’t allowed to enter hallowed grounds?”
“These Ibli can do it from a distance.”
That was all the information Ella needed. She got up from her crouched position along the ceiling beams and unsheathed her seraph blade. She stepped forward, only to get pulled backwards.
“What the heck, Carstairs?”
“What are you doing?”
“I’m going to kill the Iblis.”
“You can’t kill Iris.”
“Who?”
“The Iblis.”
“Well, I’m not going to let her kill my parabatai.”
“Hey,” Ben said. “Don’t assume Iris's gender.”
“I’m not going to let Iris kill my parabatai.” Ella mended and jumped off the ceiling beam.
“Say, where’s that purple-eyed brother of yours?” The Iblis demon asked Alex, seconds before Ella’s blade plunged into it’s heart.
…
“That was a bit ruthless.”
“Would you rather it kidnap you and make you it’s husband?”
“We could have reached a level of compromise.”
“Alright then,” Ella said, wiping her blade on the grass. “Next time, you handle the situation as you deem fit.”
“I will.”
“Fine.”
“Fine.”
The other’s heads whipped back and forth as the parabatai brawled.
Ella stared at them, “don’t you have something better to do?”
“No, we really don’t.” Said Jesper.
Alex rolled his eyes. “Let’s just get out of here and figure out what we’re going to do next. I don’t like the feeling of this place.”
Jesper made a joke about what Alex had just said while Ella fell into the back of the line with Ben and Matty.
“What do you make of this?”
Ella shrugged, “I’m not one for solving riddles.”
Ben furrowed his eyebrows. “Iris said that it shouldn’t have been a spontaneous attack; though you may not like it, Ella, I can’t help but think that Owen disappearing was more than a mere coincidence.”
“I’ll have to agree with Ben.” Matty said, “It’s not like Owen to run off like that.”
Ella didn’t want to think about what had taken her nephew, not one bit.
“Who would do such a thing?” Ella asked.
“Somebody with a grudge against your family.”
Jesper, Alex and Jocelyn stopped joking around and laughing and turned to the others.
“A grudge against the Herondales?” Jocelyn asked.
Ben shook his head. “A grudge against the Grays.”
“Belial.” Ella whispered.
“Why would they attack Ella’s family and not Belial himself? No offense to your family, El, but why bother attacking the Herondales when Belial has made it clear he doesn’t care about them?” Jesper said.
“Because they are important to him. Don’t you remember? He could have possessed James, and walked earth again, had he let him.” Matty said.
Ben nodded. “The Herondales have the ability to grant him freedom.”
“Well, this is just wonderful.” Jesper’s tone dripped sarcasm. “How many enemies must Belial have? A thousand? A million? How will we ever find who's behind this?”
They were all silent for a moment.
“Oh,” Alex said, more to himself than anyone else. “It might not be that hard.”
“What do you mean?” Matilda asked.
“Lesser demons don’t have the mental capacity to orchestrate something like this. What happened yesterday night, that wasn't an attack; it was a threat. Why else would someone go to the lengths of kidnapping the direct descendant of Belial, just to leave him somewhere in the institute unharmed and easily found? Moreover, why not attack all of the Nephilim? All lesser demons think about is feeding; they’re not evolved enough to feel things such as revenge. This is the work of a greater demon.”
Alex’s realization was left in the air. Nobody wanted to voice the possibility that this could be the work of a Prince of Hell. Ella exhaled. That doesn’t mean they shouldn’t talk about it.
“Does anybody know of the Princes of Hell? Which ones could potentially have contact with our earth?”
Jocelyn nodded. “It can’t be Sammael, Lucifer or Lilith. They’ve been banished and will continue to be banished for many years to come.”
“We’ve collectively decided it can’t be Belial.” Jesper said.
“Mammon hasn’t come in contact with Belial for years. Azazel doesn’t really care; he’s not one to start drama. Astaroth— ” Jocelyn said.
“What about Belphegor?” Ella interrupted quietly.
Jocelyn furrowed her eyebrows, “There haven’t been sightings of him in over a century.”
“But is it possible for him to come back now?”
“Yes, I would think so. Why do you ask, Ella?”
Ella swallowed. “Belial met James in a realm he stole for Belphegor. Belial is the reason he hasn’t been seen in so long; he’s the one that wounded him greatly enough that he hasn’t come back yet.”
They all looked at her gravely.
“Well,” Ben said at last. “I think we have our suspect.”
Tagging: @celias @lightlady599
#ella herondale#alex lightwood#the broken hearts#the last hours au#the infernal devices au#tsc au fanfic#matilda fairchild#james herondale#lucie herondale#lucie and jesse
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ALTERNATIVE STYLE ICON: RICHARD CHAMBERLAIN IN WALLENBERG: A HERO’S STORY
by Réginald-Jérôme de Mans
The writer George Santayana famously wrote that those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it. Ironically many who repeat his quote forget who first uttered it.
I had long meant to write about Richard Chamberlain in this role. I once referred to him as “the fey king of the miniseries” and I don’t regret it: foppish, almost milquetoast in fare as varied as a two-part TV version of The Bourne Identity (with Jaclyn Smith, natch), Shogun, and as a leading candidate for an honorary Seinfeld puffy shirt: Not only did he play the Count of Monte Cristo in a 1975 TV movie, but a bunch of what Elaine Benes would have called chandelier-swinging characters in other Dumas adaptations, including Aramis in Richard Lester’s The Three Musketeers and Louis XIV and his twin in The Man in the Iron Mask. Postmodern swashbuckler author Arturo Perez-Reverte even described a character in one of his own novels as looking “like Richard Chamberlain in The Thorn Birds, only more manly.” That same Thorn Birds role, Father Ralph de Bricassart, also inspired a certain Rhunette Ferguson to give her son, a future New York Jets player, perhaps my favorite name ever: D’Brickashaw.
Dubbing Chamberlain an Alternative Style Icon for his role as Swedish diplomat Raoul Wallenberg is low-hanging fruit. For years this TV special dwelt at the bottom of my Netflix queue for that express purpose. Former Savile Row tailors Manning & Manning won an Emmy award for the outfits they made for him; decades later Bryan Manning had some very interesting things to say to the inimitable Simon Crompton of Permanent Style about the 1930s and 1940s cutting styles he had to adopt for Chamberlain’s outfits for the movie. Chamberlain’s costumes are appropriately dashing, from the full diplomatic gala white tie ensemble worn while conspiring with the Papal Nuncio of Budapest to a tan double-breasted suit with horizontal peaked lapels that is, quite simply, magnificent.
Zagreb, one of the most beautiful cities in eastern Europe, admirably filled in for 1940s Budapest and Stockholm in the making of this production. I’m fairly certain that I’ve stayed at the Zagreb hotel on whose esplanade Chamberlain wore that suit, in an early expository scene where the American and Swedish governments encourage Wallenberg to take a position with the Swedish legation in Budapest. I’ve been told Zagreb’s one of two cities in Europe where the street lamps in certain neighborhoods are still gaslit. Gaslighting happens to have been one of the reasons that I finally wrote about this icon.
Of course there’s plenty to mock in the conventions of this telefilm, even beyond Chamberlain’s indisputable 1970s and 1980s stock hero status: its heavy-handed setup and plotting, making Wallenberg out to be a one-man anti-Nazi force from his time at home in Sweden (wearing a U. Michigan sweatshirt to indicate that he had studied in the US - did college sweatshirts even exist back then?). Miniseries meant melodrama and its archetypal characters: an adorable child whom Wallenberg saves from the death camps only to die of illness; a shoehorned-in love interest in the form of a kindhearted baroness who lobbies her suspicious husband to relax the Hungarian government's strictures on Jews; a fiery Hungarian resistance fighter who provides the unofficial, combative counterpoint to Wallenberg’s diplomatic, humanitarian efforts through official channels. And, of course, Wallenberg’s kidnapping by the Soviets at the fall of Budapest meant his story was perfectly framed for 1985, when we still couldn’t trust those Russians. (In fact, to this day no one knows what they did with him.)
A few appropriately haunting and powerful moments do ring true, including Wallenberg’s cordial verbal fencing matches over contraband Scotch and cigarettes with Adolf Eichmann. Whether those meetings really took place in that form or not, their film versions appropriately capture the realities of how we are forced to engage with evil. Rarely are we simply battling an easily identifiable other, weapon to weapon. Instead, we encounter evil in the everyday – in fact, it seeks us out, finds shared ground, converses with us over pleasantries and hospitality even as we recognize its intentions. It identifies with us, we identify with it. Even as you know it is evil.
Eichmann had made it his avowed duty to kill the Jews of Europe. Wallenberg’s mission, as an emissary of an officially neutral power, was to help save as many as he could. And he did, through famously fearless, reckless endeavors including the distribution of thousands of official-looking Swedish passes to the Jews of Budapest, the creation of vast cultural centers and warehouses in the Swedish mission buildings in which these new countrymen could work under the aegis of their adoptive country, and savvy diplomatic maneuvering with the Hungarian and German authorities and military. He went as far as to climb on top of a train bound for Auschwitz and distribute passes to as many deportees as he could while soldiers fired shots at him. Looking back, historians suggest they were firing over his head to warn him as they could easily have dropped him at that range, but it’s not likely Wallenberg knew that at the time.
At that time diplomats of neutral powers could make fortunes more safely as armchair heroes: playboy Porfirio Rubirosa reportedly did so in Paris selling visas to the Dominican Republic to French Jews during World War II. In that respect, perhaps, both he and Wallenberg were heroes… of different sorts.
Wallenberg did not do it for money. The Wallenbergs were Swedish aristocracy (with, the film takes pains to remind us, an ounce of Jewish blood) with considerable means – hence the finely tailored wardrobe for Chamberlain. Thus, an easy cynical response to this essay could be that a rich aristocrat with diplomatic immunity risked nothing swanning around the salons of Budapest, just like the fictional gentleman spies we read about and watch on screen.
That response is wrong. Heroism is not just born of opportunity. It is recognizing when a choice confronts you and taking the difficult, unpopular and dangerous one in order to do what is right. Fictional heroes like Bond or Steed rarely suffer meaningful personal loss and rarely confront the reality of evil. Evil is your friend with many positive qualities, maybe more intelligent or cultured or better dressed than you, the one you looked up to, who gradually reveals the awful things he or she believes and has done. Evil is those complicit in carrying out those things by their inaction, their credulity, or their cooperation, not at the point of a gun but of a paycheck. Evil is legal, logically explained, repeated and reported until its baseless reasoning becomes fact and the foundation for more lies, more evil. Evil can so easily become the system.
Hindsight is a handicap, for it doesn’t usually permit us to see that there were no times without ambiguity in battles between good and evil and no certainty that good triumphs. We have the privilege of retrospect to acknowledge the dashing diplomat in Savile Row suits was a hero for saving innocents from deportation and death as part of the most ghastly genocide in history. We learned what genocide is, and had to invent the word to describe it. Because at that time the people singled out for persecution and death were unpopular, historically, socially and legally marginalized, supposedly easily identifiable and classifiable. A group that societies had made it easy - through regulation, ghettoization, oppression and antagonism – to hate, and whole false narratives drawn up to explain why that group hated and wanted to destroy us even more than we them.
One of A Hero’s Story’s most timely and inspiring lines is Wallenberg’s reply to the Hungarian ruler’s query why the King of Sweden cared so much about the Jews of another country, when he was a Christian. Wallenberg reminded the prime minister that the King’s “concerns transcend religion or national borders.” That concern is humanity, our lowest common denominator, our shared recognition of our capacity for suffering. That concern drove a man to acts of incredible selflessness, a generous mercy that seems to have cost him his liberty and his life. There is no romance to Raoul Wallenberg’s fate. It is worth remembering that he probably saw little romance in the actions he took in Budapest.
Now is no less an unromantic time, no less a time when others – so many different others –are easily denigrated, feared, distrusted, brutalized. Otherization, both of many within our borders and pressing against them, has returned, as has fascism, with apologists blandly elegant or brutally populist, like some inauspicious comet in our skies. Now, again, is a time for heroes – men and women who recognize how difficult and dangerous it is to do what is right. That struggle is far from those of Chamberlain’s habitual roles swashbuckling against a monolithic, universally despicable, evil. Evil is among us, habituating us, desensitizing us, gaslighting us. Far from frills and fanfare, celebration, or certainty of triumph, can we place ourselves in Wallenberg’s Budapester shoes and do what is right?
Quality content, like quality clothing, ages well. This post first appeared on the No Man blog in February 2017.
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A Girl’s Best Friend (Peter Parker x OC) - Part 14
Synopsis: Diamonds are man’s best friend- or dogs are girls’ best friends, wait… how does the saying go again?
Warnings: Family issues; Peter has a crush and it’s complicated; mention of assault; good dogs; College AU; aged up! characters; TONY STARK IS ALIVE AND WE ALL LIVE IN A HAPPY PLACE CALLED DENIAL
Word count: 2.4k
Part 13 <<< >>> Part 15
MASTERLIST
The streets of New York have never seemed shadier and less safe than tonight. Bella felt Emmeline’s unease and urged the pace, trying to reach their destination quicker. She had entered the address Ned texted her in maps, and now power walked through the city. She didn’t want to use a taxi, she needed the fresh air, despite feeling cold down to her very soul, she needed the quiet.
One would argue that the streets of New York, even at night and on Christmas day, were not quiet. But it was better than being trapped inside a taxi. It felt good to walk somewhere after having been taken from one place to another all day, wearing high heels and a dress. In comparison, her winter boots and jeans and sweater sure felt like the most comfortable thing she had ever worn.
“We’re here… I think,” she told Bella, who stopped in her tracks as soon as Emmeline turned towards the building harboring the right number. “The fourth floor, he said. The light is on at least.”
This building was nothing like what she was used to. The staircase was narrow, the walls needed a fresh layer of paint, the steps were uneven in places and the whole place smelled a bit weird, but she climbed up, preceded by Bella, up to the fourth floor. She stared at the doormat for the longest time, smiling to herself. It read Carpe Diem, the lettering surrounded by tacky blue flowers.
The door opened. She hadn’t even realized she had knocked, but soon, there was a tall woman standing before her, big glasses on her nose, long brown hair, a friendly smile that quickly dropped when she saw Emmeline’s bandage.
Em opened her mouth to say something but the woman – aunt May she presumed – was quicker.
“You must be Em,” she said. “Come on in, honey. It’s cold outside.”
May held the door open for her and Bella, smiling at the dog wagging its tail, not showing any animosity towards the friendly woman. For the first time in hours, Emmeline felt warm. As soon as she stepped inside this tiny, slightly cluttered apartment, she was hit by a wave of coziness and warmth that nearly made her cry again.
“I’m so sorry to intrude, I know it’s Christmas but I couldn’t reach Peter and I was worried so I decided to come by. I hope I’m not-“
“Easy there,” May laughed, giving a reassuring squeeze to her shoulder and offering to take her coat. Emmeline nodded and took of the garment, handing it to her host who hung it behind the door, along with her scarf. “You’re not intruding at all. Peter’s friends are always welcome here. Do you want something to drink? You look like you could do with some warming up. I’ll tell Peter you’re here.”
“I’d love a drink, yes,” she graciously accepts, wiping her palms on her jeans. Where to stand? What to do? Bella barked suddenly, making Emmeline jump back and clasp a hand over her heart.
“Oh, she must have sensed Tessa’s presence,” May explained, smiling as she filled the kettle with water. “Peppermint alright with you?”
Emmeline nodded. This was an out of body kind of experience; she had no idea what too do with herself.
“Sit down, please. I saw what happened tonight, you must be pretty shaken up. I’m sorry you had to go through that, but I’m glad Peter and you are both alright.” She offered her a sincere smile when handed her a mug with her tea. “I’ll be right back.”
May disappeared for a second, to get Peter. It was Emmeline’s chance to take a deep breath and look a bit around her. This place was full of life and memories. On the walls hung pictures of Peter when he was younger. There were trophies in a corner, and a medal too. He had won prizes at science fairs and whatnot. Emmeline smiled to herself. She had won her fair share of prizes too, but she didn’t know what happened to those – except that they were definitely not proudly displayed on her parents’ mantlepiece that’s for sure.
Peter came back alone; May must have thought they’d want a bit of privacy.
“Em, what- what are you doing here?” he stuttered out, still pulling down his sweater when he stumbled into the living room. He was coming out of the shower.
“Peter-“
Emmeline’s instinct was to pull on Bella’s leash to prevent her from growling up at Peter since she has never met him – a feat, really. How was it even possible that her dog and Peter had never seen each other?
Except the strangest thing happened: Bella didn’t start barking, or growling. Bella gently tugged on her leash and rolled on her back, asking for belly scratches from this perfect stranger.
It rose a red flag in Emmeline’s mind, and for some reason, she recalled what Dexter told him about having a shattered jaw. She suddenly remembered Peter’s unexplainable bruises, and how tired he always was. Spider-Man telling her that Peter was safe, even though she hadn’t mentioned his name. Peter knowing she was lactose intolerant when she hasn’t told him. She connected dots that she had no idea she even noted, she linked together seemingly unrelated events until she came to a conclusion that she wasn’t sure she liked at all. It was crazy. She had to be wrong. But was she?
Her eyes landed on his shirt, and she saw it. The tiniest, faintest trace of blood forming exactly where the thought Spider-Man had been shot.
“What the fuck?” she breathed out.
Peter flinched, having seen the look of recognition in her eyes. She had come here to appease her mind, not to unveil a secret she had no idea was there. A part of her saw Peter more clearly than she ever had before; another part felt the full impact of the betrayal she just found out about.
“Don’t freak out,” he told her, holding up his hands. “I can explain.”
“Can you, now?” she asked, barely holding it together. Was she going to cry or scream and throw a vase at him? Even she didn’t know. Oh, it would be a surprise then. “What explanation could possibly make this pill easier to swallow?”
Bella seemed confused about the lack of belly scratched and rolled over again, now looking for the other dog in the house. Em unhooked the leash without thinking, watching Bella dash towards another room. Yes, she wanted to storm out and never look back, but she also wanted to stay here. More than anything. She wanted to hold Peter in her arms, and find the reassurance she had come here to find.
Instead, she found this new mess to deal with.
“What the fuck, Peter?” she repeated. “Months! It lasted months!”
She didn’t need to explain what she was referring to. All the times he had visited her. Hell, he had visited her tonight. She had spent a whole five minutes crying into his chest. She had told him her secrets, she had trusted him, Spider-Man. Only to find out that he was the very person she was telling him about.
“Oh, my God,” Emmeline whispered to herself. “Oh, my God.”
Her fingers raked through her hair so hard it hurt her scalp but everything was too much, too much to deal with. She already had so much on her plate, how was she supposed to handle this too?
“It’s not a joke, is it? If it is, it’s sick, and you need to tell me right now,” she said, holding onto a shred of hope.
Peter slowly shook his head no, and Emmeline fell onto the sofa, unable to stand any longer.
“I’m sorry, I-“
“Don’t. Don’t serve me a stupid excuse.” It was impossible to pretend not to be disappointed and hurt. She didn’t even look at him. “You came tonight. You were on my balcony only an hour ago. I was worried sick that something happened to you when we got separated during the shooting. I tried to call you, I asked Ned to text me your address and I came all the way here just to make sure you were alright!” she suddenly shouted at him, eyes glistening with unshed tears. “You know that I hate to go out at night! You know because you’re fucking Spider-Man and you were there when I was assaulted in that alley! Couldn’t you let me know you are safe?”
Peter joined her, kneeling in front of her and trying to get her to meet his eyes.
“I didn’t mean to worry you, I tried to let you know I was okay, remember I told you-“
“Spider-Man told me you were evacuated by the police. That’s all I get? I was worried out of my mind! Anything could have happened! Anything! Dexter was nagging me about having been ditched by my date, the police wouldn’t let me through, I was all alone there, looking for you!”
“I’m sorry, Em. I never meant to hurt you.” It would make things a lot easier if he didn’t look so genuinely sorry, and Emmeline already regretted looking at him. It was easier being mad when she wasn’t looking. “My phone was destroyed in the chaos, and I needed to come back here quickly to let May know I was alive.”
“Does she know?”
“Yes. Ned knows too.” At last she was getting answers. It was as though the truth was pouring out of Peter’s mouth, finally. “But, Em, it’s a secret, you ha-“
“I’m not going to tell anyone,” she cut him off, annoyed that he would even suggest that she would. “Fuck you, Parker!”
He shot her a little crooked smile.
“That’s not what I was going to say. You have to understand why I didn’t tell you. I didn’t keep it from you for selfish reasons; the people who know are in danger because of it.”
“You’ve seen my life! When am I ever safe?” Emmeline countered, standing up and facing away from Peter now. “I told you so many things… private things…”
Spider-Man… or rather Peter’s words came rushing back to the forefront of her mind. I only exist to you when I’m here and not outside of this balcony. It wasn’t true. You talk to me the same way you would write in a journal you intend to burn once full. It couldn’t be true.
“And I kept them between us, didn’t I? Whatever you told Spider-Man, I never used it against you as Peter. Please, you have to see that, I didn’t deceive yo-“
“You took advantage of me, whether you like it or not,” she cut him off again. What he said made sense, but she didn’t want to listen to her sense of reason. “What did you expect, Peter? I’m curious. Did you think you could keep on leading two different lives and that I wouldn’t notice? Were you going to maintain two separate relationships with me?”
“No, I…” There was nothing to say, she wasn’t wrong. He hadn’t thought far enough ahead when he began to develop real feelings for her, and when he realized he was, he didn’t want to think about the consequences of his actions. “I don’t know. I don’t know.”
“Well… I don’t know if I can look past what you did,” Emmeline sighed, feeling a stone drop inside of her. She felt like throwing up. She needed to get out of here. “Tell your aunt it was nice to meet her, and thank her for the tea. Bella, come here!”
She whistled and Bella came running on command, followed by Tessa who stopped by Peter’s feet while Emmeline hooked the leash back on Bella’s collar.
“No, wait,” Peter tried to stop her when she went for her coat. “Please, stay. Let’s talk this out.”
“I don’t want to talk to you, Peter. I can’t even look at you. Don’t try to see me again.”
Every word weighted heavy on her tongue, tasted like rust. She wanted to cry so badly. She wanted to stay in this warm and welcoming place and not have to go back to her empty, lifeless penthouse, where no one waited for her, where no one offered to make her a cup of tea to warm her up.
“Em- Em, please. Please, I didn’t mean to lie. You have to believe me, I’m sorry it came to this. I’m so sorry, I should have told you…”
She didn’t look at him, she didn’t even turn around as she wrapped her scarf around her neck.
“It applies to Spider-Man, too,” she said. “I don’t- I just….” A sigh. “Stay away from me. I need to be alone.”
Did she? Not really. But being alone was the closest thing to being safe for her. She was used to it; it was familiar. No one could hurt her, if she was alone. Still, it would have been difficult to miss the tremor in her voice, and Peter flinched upon seeing just how upset he had made her.
And out she walked, leaving Peter standing there, rubbing his neck, hitting his forehead against the door frame as soon as she was gone. Her perfume lingered in the air for a minute or so, and Tessa whined next to him, sensing that something was off.
“You need to fix this, Peter,” came May’s voice, soft and gentle, as always.
“You heard her,” he answered with a deep, hopeless sigh. “She doesn’t want to see me again.”
“She’ll come back towards you, trust me.” May came to stand by his side and smacked a kiss on top of his head. “Give her time, and then earn back her trust. Make sure to deserve it this time.”
“I really messed up.”
May only hummed slightly and closed the door, but Peter didn’t need confirmation. He needed Emmeline to forgive him.
.
.
.
Reblog to save a writer
TAGLIST: @of-virtuoso @justanothercynicalgenzkid @the-freefeather @complete-trash-101
#peter parker#spider-man#peter parker imagine#peter parker fanfic#peter parker fanfiction#peter parker oneshot#marvel#mcu#spider-man: far from home#spider-man: homecoming#spiderman#spider-man: ffh#spider-man far from home#spider-man imagine#peter parker x oc#college au#aged up!peter parker#aged up! characters#tony stark is alive#canon divergent rp#post endgame#post ffh
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Kisses
Challenge: Using all of these prompts in ONE fic.
Warnings: Kisses! Smoking, sex references, implied smut, alcohol ment, making out, very light nsfw (grinding, moaning, clothes on sort of deal), Dying and being resuscitated, and then at the end when they’re old and grey, implied character death of natural causes.
Ship: Eventual LAMP/ Royality/ Analogical
Plot: Different kisses tell different stories, here’s the anthology of theirs.
@quintessentialworld Here you go! This took a couple of days to write aha so sorry it’s late!
Age order from eldest to youngest: Patton, Roman, Logan, Virgil
First Kiss/ Shy Kiss/ New Year’s Kiss
Part one: How Virgil met Logan
Virgil hates parties, but he also hates being alone on the one time of year where loneliness and alcohol definitely do mix. He’s wearing all black, with his purple hair hanging into heavily lined eyes, he even went all out on some smoky eyeshadow and mascara. The best way to blend in on new year’s eve is to dress like you’re wishing for someone else to save you from the hollow loneliness.
So, in essence, he’s dressed to kill. Metaphorically speaking.
The bar is a notorious gay bar on the edge of his street, the parties last well into the morning and opens in time for drunks to pour in at dusk. He’s already got a bottle of cider in his hands, dangling between his fingertips as he drinks away his anxiety long enough for his hips to sway to the beat. Virgil’s not usually a drinker, he knows his disorders and alcohol don’t always go hand in hand, but New Year’s was the time for this sense of maturity to disappear.
It was approaching midnight, bodies pressing and lips tangling, everyone is looking for a one night offer of love or at least some counterfeit version of it. Virgil’s eyes are sweeping the room as he takes a pause to allow the alcohol to simply do its job whilst he soaks into the realization that it’s not actually that bad being here.
The cool grey eyes pause as they meet a stranger's eyes, and Virgil’s lip curls up into a small smile, straightening. The man doesn’t appear to be a fan of mingling, his body leaning against the wall as he nurses a bottle of beer. The stranger, with dark curls and a fitted dark blue shirt, tucked into black jeans, straightens a little, glances around as if expecting Virgil to be looking at someone else.
By the time he’s turned back, Virgil is already moving towards him. The stranger jumps at the tap on his shoulder, cheeks flushing before he offers an unnerved smile. “Virgil,” The younger introduces himself, holding out a hand for the other to shake “Do you have a New Year’s kiss planned?”
“Logan,” The stranger replies, his eyes a cool blue behind thick-rimmed glasses. “And I don’t tend to engage in such arbitrary social conventions, I’m here because my friend insisted I come,” He swallows at the grin on the other’s face, despite his own reluctance to engage in the same risque behaviors of the body and heart that his best friend may endeavor, he can’t deny this...Virgil...is quite attractive.
“Well then, what do you like to engage in?” The way Virgil talks sounds suggestive even though the question itself is rather innocent. Logan might not be well advised in matters of romantic and sexual endeavors, but he’s not as stupid nor innocent when it came to attractive men fluttering their eyelashes as many may think.
“Art mostly,” He finally replies, voice a little hoarse in his throat as he inhales and exhales, but the music is too loud and it carries his voice a little. He expects to be asked to repeat what he’s said but instead finds a hand tugging his.
Logan, being a hopeless gay man, allows himself to be lead by the man wearing jeans way too tight to be good for his circulation, he looks over his shoulder but can’t see the man he’d come with anywhere. Gulping down some of the alcohol, he finds himself outside. “Sorry, I couldn’t hear what you were saying,” It takes a moment to realize that there was a hidden agenda, as a cigarette is slid between the man’s lips. The spark of the lighter illuminates Virgil’s face and gives a warm glow to his face.
What is a man this pretty doing dragging Logan of all people outside? “Art is what I like to engage in, I study it,” Virgil’s eyebrows raise and he leans against the wall, his long legs crossing as he presses his upper back against the brick wall.
“Me too, actually,” Suddenly there’s interest on the other’s face as he leans up, eyes searching; Logan, feeling suddenly very vulnerable, turns his gaze down to his feet as his lips part to say something but no sound comes out.
No-one has looked at him with interest since his psychiatrist. And that was not a pleasant sort of interest
They talk for a little while about their studies, sipping their drinks and sharing a cigarette as they become interested and curious about each other. It hadn’t been what they’d expected from their night, it’s an unlikely situation to meet someone at a bar you like for more than a quickie in a grimy toilet, but perhaps this New Year was going to bring a lot of firsts.
The countdown starts from inside the bar, the noise carrying outside, the two of them look at each other and Logan looks down again. His cheeks are red and his heart is beating curiously fast, but he’s not about to ask (damn his own pride). Virgil’s hand rests on his shoulder as the numbers carry to the street. “5,” His eyebrows raise, a small smile on his lips “4,” Logan nods in response, swallowing as he leans in a little, hesitating, shy. “3,” Dear God, he feels like he’s on fire, “2,” Is this supposed to feel so scary? “1″ Virgil’s lips are so soft.
It’s quick, a peck really before they’re both looking anywhere but at each other, a cigarette burning out between Virgil’s fingertips. “Call me,”
Logan stares at the phone number pressed into the palm of his hand with a numb expression as he watched the other walk away with a sway of his hips.
--
Drunk and Sloppy Kiss/ Seductive Kiss/ Passionate Kiss/ Long Kiss/ Against a Wall Kiss
Part Two: How Roman met Patton and subsequently courted him.
“So just what is a man with a face as beautiful as yours doing all alone?” Patton startles a little, turning on his heel to face the voice, cocktail balancing rather dangerously in his hands. “Sorry, if that’s a little too forward, I didn’t mean to startle you,” Patton, who sees the way the others face looks rather worried for startling a stranger, simply smiles.
“No worries, I’m here alone because I want to be,” He runs his spare hand through his light brown hair before his eyes glance over the other’s face and body. “I’m Patton,”
“Roman,” He holds out a hand which Patton takes, expecting it to be shaken, only to have a kiss pressed to the back of his hand. The elder’s cheeks flush rather red and not from the alcohol as he straightens a little, a small ‘oh’ parting from his lips in surprise.
Patton’s a small man, with a petite figure, flowers tucked into his hair in colors that reflect his pastel purple skirt that reaches his ankles and light blue shirt that ends just above it. There’s glitter over his eyes and cheeks and honestly, Roman thinks he might be dreaming because a man so perfect should surely not be sat alone at a bar.
The younger looks over his shoulder, but he can’t see the friend that accompanied him here anywhere. Assuming his rather socially inept roommate had bailed, he turns back to the man he’d struck up a conversation with and smiles “Would you be interested in a dance?”
--
Six shots later, Roman could barely tell you what his own name was, only that he felt like he was drowning in sheer happiness as he felt Patton’s hands in his hair, feeling him giggle against his neck. He pauses for a breath “May I kiss you?” He pants into the air, his body leaning against the wall in an effort to stabilize himself. His answer is lips pressing rather sloppily against his own, trying to make a rhythm of teeth and tongue whilst remembering how to think consciously.
His body is stuck between the wall and Patton, fingertips trailing under his shirt and bunching up his skirt. The younger feels as though he could barely breathe and he doesn’t particularly want too, nibbling down on the elder’s lips to elicit a sharp inhale followed by a much more gravelly sound. Roman smirks against the other’s lips.
“Your place or mine?”
--
Awkward Kiss / Surprised Kiss
Part Three: In which Logan asks his roommate for kissing advice.
“Okay run that by me again, you kissed a guy last night? You, Logan Sanders, Mr Robot, kissed a guy?” Roman stirs his cup of coffee with a shake of his head, his face a picture of surprise and a little glee. “That’s hard to believe, but I’m happy for you,”
“He gave me his number,”
“And?” Logan shoots Roman a look, raised eyebrows couple with his lips pressed in a straight line; that’s the face Logan gives Roman when he’s being a dumb bitch. The realization rolls rather quickly and the elder of the two took a particularly big mouthful of his cup of coffee. “And you’ve never had a guy interested in you before have you, pocket protector?” Logan sighs and gives a resigned nod. “Damn dude, I knew you didn’t get around much but you’re 22 and you’ve never even been on a date,”
“I’ve not had the time Roman, I was always too involved in my studies to concern myself with romance, and I never had a desire to pursue a romantic relationship, if that’s even what he wants out of me and I’ve certainly never considered following a sexual relationship either,” Roman lets out a sigh and slides his cup of coffee over to teh rather distressed Logan “Do I call him? Do I not call him? Why is this so troubling?”
“Because it’s new for you specs,” The elder rather rarely has a moment of wisdom but matters of the heart were certainly his area of expertise. “You’re panicking because you know a lot of things and you don’t need to often think things through so intensely but those things are founded in logic not emotions,” He nods to the coffee “Okay have some coffee and let’s have a Q and A, what do you want to know?”
Logan takes a thoughtful sip of his coffee before looking back at his roommate “How do you kiss somebody?” It’s a good job Roman is not currently drinking coffee because he might’ve choked “Can you teach me? I only know what I’ve seen in films and I doubt that’s realistic,”
“Okay, so we’re starting with kissing 101, wonderful,”
The elder stands and holds out his hand for the other “Do you mind a practical demonstration, you know I’m not particularly good with words,” Logan lets out a small laugh despite his nervousness. He trusts Roman despite his own nerves and gives a nod of consent. “Okay so first you need to relax,” He gives his friends hand a small squeeze, his spare hand cupping the taller’s face. Logan’s eyes flutter closed and he tries to relax.
Roman’s lips are a little rougher than Virgil’s, still a little dry from the overwhelming consumption of alcohol from the previous night. He’s not a bad kisser, except Logan immediately begins to panic as his lips move. Immediately his fight or flight reflex kicks in and he pulls away. Roman sighs “Okay, yeah that’s awkward,” Logan groans and rests his face in his hands, cheeks flushing. “Why don’t you try leading? Trust your own biological instincts, instead of waiting for me to do what I want to do? Take the lead, and control, I feel like that’s why you’re panicking,”
He’s right, that is exactly why Logan is panicking. Sharing control over any element of his life is difficult, this is nothing new.
Logan stands up, towering a little over Roman. The irony of a man so tall previously feeling so small is ironic and would be humorous if not for the panic he’s trying to hide. His fear of rejection and being wrong is written into Logan’s biological code; luckily if anyone understands this, it’s going to be Roman.
So Logan takes the lead, he closes his eyes and allows his own wants and needs to take place, pulling Roman into a warm kiss. A noise of surprise escapes Roman’s lips at just how forceful -in a somewhat gentle sort of way- the initiation had been; Logan’s hands are firm and controlling and...honestly he’s a good kisser.
“That was good,” Roman leans against the counter, his cheeks a little red and his breath a little rough. “You’re a good kisser, honestly just do exactly that and this dude will fall straight in love with you,” Logan gives a lazy attempt at a smile, looking a little out of it as he grabs his coffee. “However if you want to continue practicing...I am 100% down,”
--
Kiss on the Nose/ Kiss on the Ear/ Forehead Kisses/ Throwing Their Arms around the other person whilst they kiss / When One stops the kiss to ask “I’m sorry are you sure-” and they answer by kissing them more/ Top of Head Kisses
Part four: How Patton meets Logan
“Oh, you have a roommate,” Roman spins around with his cup of coffee and beams. “Hello!” Logan blinks at the stranger that’s just exited Roman’s room, wearing the man in questions’ shirt and boxers. He’s small, with fluffy brown hair and dark brown eyes and a wide smile.
“Patton!” Roman holds out his arms for the other and accepts a warm hug. “Patton this is Logan, my best friend, and roommate, Logan this is Patton, we got...well acquainted last night,” The younger gives a pleasant smile and nods.
“Good morning Patton, would you like some coffee?” He nods towards the pot “It’s still hot, help yourself,” The smallest man grins and thanks Logan, before heading towards the coffee pot. It’s here that the roommates have a silent conversation. Logan indicates to himself and then to the door, which is met by frantic nodding. The younger of the two gives a small smile and shakes his head. “I’m going to leave you two to have a more sober conversation, I have some business to attend to,”
“Is your business the guy you kissed last night?” Roman jokes lightly, but it’s met with a badly concealed smile and a middle finger. “See you later Lo,”
The door closes behind the art student with a thud, leaving Patton and Roman in silence. “How are you?” The younger of the two finally asks, pulling his hair up into a messy bun, little strands falling around his face.
“I’m good,” Patton sits with his cup of coffee “I had fun last night, it’s not something I do often but, I just needed a bit of a change, meet new people,” The drama student nods in agreement, “I hope you don’t think I’m...you know, one of those guys, pretty face and not much else,”
“Of course not!” Roman replies indignantly “Actually I was hoping we could get to know each other a little better, outside of a drunken haze of lust and all that,” Patton giggles, looking down at his coffee.
“Yeah, I’d like that,”
They talk for a while, a long time in fact. They have multiple cups of coffee and Roman makes breakfast and lunch. They discuss their lives, Patton has just been through a bad break up, Roman hasn’t had a romantic relationship since high school, Patton is a technology student, he’s training to be a technician and he knows how to build his own computers from scratch. Roman studies performing arts and he’s a pretty good singer if he does say so himself.
“I wasn’t sure what to expect this morning,” Patton hummed as they sit on the couch “I mean I remember most of last night, and I remember you asked my consent for everything so I thought you couldn’t be that bad of a person but...I hadn’t quite expected you to be this sweet,” Roman gives a small smile in response, cheeks dusting a light red as he blushes.
“You’re really sweet Patton, I’d like to be friends, or maybe something else,”
The laugh that escapes Patton’s lips sounds like how Heaven might feel, to Roman. It’s very typical of him to get attached fast which is why he so often spends time with only Logan, it’s a defense mechanism. But he’d never met Patton before, a man so soft and gentle and intelligent.
His train of thought stops with Patton’s lips on his, gentle and soft, hands cupping his face to steady them both. “I’m sorry, are you sure that-” The elder’s apologies are swallowed as Roman’s lips press too his again. Roman’s arms wrap around him to pull him closer, the two pressing against each other but in a much more innocent way than previously. Patton can feel the other’ heartbeat against his own chest.
When they pull away, Roman peppers kisses over the other’s face, on his forehead, nose, ears and the top of his head, whilst Patton lets out a small squeal and dissolves against his friend’s chest, burying his face. The two laugh and lie with each other, getting to know each other a little more. Roman presses one last and gentle kiss to Patton’s forehead, a delicate act of intimacy before the other stills and smiles sweetly up, pressing a soft kiss to his lips.
--
Awkward Teenage Crush Kiss/ Soft Kiss/ Tender Kiss/ Being unable to open their eyes for a few moments after the kiss / One small kiss, pulling away from each other for a moment before devouring each other/ One small hoarse whisper “Kiss me,” / Staring at each other’s lips trying not to kiss, before giving in
Part five: Logan calls Virgil and they meet up.
He put down the five less than three minutes ago, he’s been pacing for every second since then as he inhales and exhales shakily. He was meeting Virgil at the cafe just across the road considering they apparently lived relatively close to each other. He didn’t want to admit that he was a little anxious, cracking his fingers as he leans against the wall outside the cafe.
He smells cigarettes first and turns to see the man approaching, his hair falling into much more lightly lined eyes, wearing a black shirt and comfortable ripped skinny jeans, a purple patched hoodie hanging over his skinny figure. Logan straightens himself up and offers a smile. “It’s good to see you again Virgil,” The smile he receives is small, but it’s enough for the nerves to just roll back a little.
They order and Logan insists he pays, and sit down to talk a little more. Logan doesn’t exactly have a list of requirements when it comes to a relationship, but his focus is generally the other’s ability to be interesting. He’s not a sexual person and unlike Roman, his focus doesn’t start on that side of a relationship, he imagined if he wanted a relationship it would have to begin with him actually liking the inside of a person. Their brain, their words, the things they say and the things they love.
So they talk, ask each other questions, discuss their courses and what they love about it (The work) and what they hate (the people) and their hobbies. Logan does a lot of painting, he talks about how his roommate keeps complaining because he leaves canvases lying around, he also knows how to speak four different languages: English, Korean, Dutch and Russian. He has no reasoning, he just enjoys learning. Virgil sells tattoo designs for extra cash and he did a course in stage makeup and design, he’s also got four tattoos of his own; a dragonfly on his wrist, a stormcloud of his forearm, a band of flowers in black and purple watercolour around the top of his arm and a geometric raven illustration on the back of his arm.
Logan is an only child, whilst Virgil has an older brother called Thomas.
The elder hadn’t quite found himself interested in another person before, well he’d been interested in Roman, they were best friends after all so surely that doesn’t count. He hadn’t been interested in someone who is almost a stranger too him before, having spent most of his teenage years desperately pushing everyone away is likely to be the cause of this.
They get another coffee to go and walk down to a nearby open park, continuing their conversation in the afternoon sun. Sat on a bench and observing the trees, Logan stares as Virgil talks, opening up more and more to rant about his life. Usually, the elder would find this irritating, but he’s hanging on every word that leaves the broody man’s lips. And then he’s just staring at Virgil’s lips with a fascination
Virgil pauses, finally realizing the other was no longer talking but looking at him with his head resting on his hand. He’d never seen anyone look at him with sheer content before, happy to exist alongside him and listen (The two of them are so damaged and lonely, but there’s a chance to help each other see the light). They continue to look at each other, eyes searching as they hesitate, the pressure in the air suddenly seemed so different. It was like even nature was waiting to see what might happen next.
The hesitation is so clear, Logan waiting for permission that his throat feels too tight to ask for, it comes when Virgil’s rough and hoarse voice whispers “Kiss me,” And he does, his hand awkwardly cupping the other’s face as their lips meet in a soft and tender kiss, shy and gentle but longer than the one they’d shared last night. It felt like the sort of kiss that a teenage couple might share, blushing and nervous. They pull away, inches from each other, waiting to catch their breath before neither can quite bear it. Logan pulls Virgil closer, lips parting and commanding the other into a heated kiss, Virgil happily obliges, tongue brushing the elder’s lips. The sensation rolls straight through Logan and causes him to let out a gentle surprise between excitement and surprise.
When they finally pull away from air, their foreheads rest against each other’s, Logan’s hand on Virgil’s neck with their eyes closed, soaking into the situation. With one last tender, gentle kiss, they pull away and force their eyes open, unable to hide their smiles as their hands join and they look away from each other, blushing.
--
“I’ve missed you,” kiss/ kiss as part of a dare/ giggly kiss/ Spin the bottle kiss/ following the kiss with a series of kisses down the neck/ height difference kiss / kisses where one person is sat in the other’s lap/ Public kiss
Part six: In which Patton throws a birthday party (And how Virgil meets Patton) (And the first time Logan kisses Patton)
“I’ve missed you!” Patton shouts gleefully as he launches himself at Roman, legs wrapping around the other and arms clinging on warmly. Logan and Virgil snort and walk around the two lovebirds in search of food and alcohol. In the meantime, Roman steadies himself in time for his partner’s lips to be pressed firmly to his own, lips immediately parting as he tries to soak up as much intimacy as possible. He finally slides down to the ground and calls across the room to Logan and Virgil “Hello again Logan, is this your plus one?” Virgil physically steps behind his friend as Patton runs across the room to see them.
“Nice to see you again Patton, happy birthday, we brought wine as requested,” Logan and Patton had become somewhat friends over the past month that he’s been all but living in their flat. The younger of them didn’t mind, Patton was overbearingly happy all the time but he was a good person, and kind, he’d even started making cookies for them to take to classes as a snack. “This is Virgil, Virgil this is Patton,”
“He is literal sunshine,” Virgil replies, peeking from behind Logan “You weren’t kidding,” Logan steps to the side and hides a smile as Virgil is pulled into a hug, the dark and broody man looks almost terrified by Patton.
“Okay, so now everyone’s here, guys come and meet my only other two friends,”
The other two friends is a man with light purple hair studying psychology called Emile, and a man in a leather jacket that smelt suspiciously like herbs called Remy. Emile was rather quiet but talked with enthusiasm, whilst Remy was rather loud and hogging an entire bottle of wine too himself.
When they were all suitably tipsy, a game of spin the bottle is announced with one of Remy’s empty bottles. Logan tries to duck out, but Virgil seems to find the idea amusing so he plays along. By the time he’s spinning the bottle, he's already drunk enough to stop caring about it, right until the bottle lands on his best friend’s boyfriend. His first reaction is to ask Roman if he’s okay with this, but his friend only leans back with a smirk “Oh please do,”
He doesn’t quite have time to question this reaction before Patton’s pulling him to his feet and grinning mischievously.
Logan looks back at Virgil, who only shrugs. “I don’t mind if you don’t mind,” With the confirmation that he would not be hurting anyone’s feelings, he looks back down at Patton who is easily a head and a half shorter than him. The younger has to bend a little to reach as Patton stands on his tiptoes and brings Logan into a soft and slow kiss. (Virgil and Roman exchange a very similar look, and just after the two pull away, Roman mutters “Damn I wish I had that on tape”)
They manage a few rounds before Remy suggests truth or dare. Logan was already very ready to give up on these traditional uni student party games as he slows down on his alcohol intake and leans his head on Virgil’s shoulder. The smaller plays with his hair gently, watching his friend’s shoulders rise and fall slowly.
“Alright Roman, I dare you to kiss Patton,”
“That’s way too easy!” Remy complains “They kiss all the time, it’s like second nature,”
“Shut up and enjoy the show,” Roman retorts as Patton climbs into his lap. Logan looks up tiredly to watch as Patton pushes his partner back against the couch and joins their lips warmly, hands carding through his hair and trailing down his chest. The artist feels like he’s invading in something private but can’t quite tear his eyes away as the elder’s lips trail from Roman’s lips down to his neck. He hears Roman make a sound and his own breath hitches at the quiet moan, swallowing dryly before looking away. He can’t quite tell if he’s uncomfortable. Patton giggles as his lips return to Roman’s lips, finishing off their little show with a deep and warm kiss.
It’s enough for Logan to announce he’s quite tired and needs to go home, Virgil gives a polite smile and follows the other, but there’s worry replacing his previously drunken hazed smile. “Are you okay Logan?” He asks once they both get outside, and the other plasters on a brave smile.
“I’m fine, just quite tired thank you, Virgil, would you like me to walk you home?” Virgil nods and presses a gentle kiss to the other’s cheek, taking his hand as they walk away.
--
Moving Around While Kissing, Stumbling Over Things, Pushing Each Other Back Against The Wall/Onto The Bed / A Gentle “I Love You” Whispered After A Soft Kiss, Followed Immediately By A Stronger Kiss / Before bed kiss
Part Seven: The first time Roman tells Patton he loves him
“Tired?” Roman asks as he sits on the edge of the bed to toe off his shoes, Patton smiles and shrugs, his hair falling into his tired eyes. Roman stands to pull his boyfriend into a hug, pressing a small kiss to his shoulder lovingly. The two enjoy the quiet, before pulling away from a little. Pressing a soft kiss to each other’s lips, Roman feels his heart surge with warmth. He pulls away, his eyes swimming with emotion as he shakes his head slightly, smiling like he was seeing the stars for the first time. “Pat...I love you,” He whispers so softly as his partner’s face lights up.
“I love you too,” He kisses him with all his strength, Patton’s face cradling his own as Roman’s arms wrap around him, pulling him close. They move against each other, kissing until there’s barely any air in their lungs before Patton’s being pushed against the wall, tugging at his shirt. The item lands on the floor before the other is pushing his boyfriend forward until his knees hit the bed and the two tumble backward. Laughing between kisses, Patton rests his forehead on the other’s shoulder.
“We should sleep,” The shorter leans up onto his arms and Roman nods. They exchange a gentle kiss. “I love you,” The words sound so nice falling from his lips and the long-haired man wants to hear it over and over until the words are ringing in his ears.
--
“Good Morning” kiss/ Kiss on the neck/ kiss on the back/ Morning kiss/ Lazy Morning Kisses Before They’ve Even Opened Their Eyes, Still Mumbling Half-Incoherently, Not Wanting To Wake Up
Part Eight: In which Roman and Patton are very much in love, in the morning.
Roman presses a tired kiss to Patton’s neck and then back, his arms snaking around his boyfriend’s bare chest as he longs for some hugs. Tiredly, Patton turns over, barely able to open his eyes as he presses a soft kiss to the other’s lips “Good morning,” he mumbles, burrowing against the younger’s chest with a string of incoherencies that follow, muffled by skin.
“Morning,” Roman replies, followed by a tired yawn, “I love you,” He adds quietly, pressing a kiss to the other’s sleep-mussed hair. He receives a sleepy ‘I love you’ back, but it’s so slurred by Patton’s tiredness that it elicits a quiet giggle from the receiver. Finally, he forces his tired eyes open to look down at the man in his arms, whose petite figure is curled up warmly, gentle sighs of happiness escaping him. “We have lectures to get too, Patton dearest,” A groan of a complaint is the response he receives but the elder turns on his back and stretches, wide brown eyes opening.
“I love you,” He says a little clearer now, and Roman’s heart flutters in his chest, unable to contain his smile. Patton loves him!
“I love you too Pat, now let’s get ready,”
--
Kiss at Dusk/ Kiss under a full moon/ Accidentally witnessed Kiss/ True Love Kiss/ Breaking The Kiss To Say Something, Staying So Close That You’re Murmuring Into Each Other’s Mouths
Part nine: Logan and Virgil expect to have the flat to themselves tonight, Roman and Patton had not quite expected to find them both there. (And the first time Logan tells Virgil he loves him)
“The moon looks nice, it’s a really clear night tonight,” The two lean out on the balcony, sharing a cigarette as the wind cards gently over their skin. Logan presses a small kiss to Virgil’s cheek and the other leans against him, resting his head on the other’s shoulder with an arm rubbing his back.
If Logan had been a man made up of emotion, he’d say this moment feels magical. As Virgil moves to trace a line along the other’s cheek, as his lips gently meet the others. It feels so warm despite the breeze, his heart beats faster and he feels so much at once. A gentle wave of happiness overlaps his entire body and fries his logic where it begins.
If he didn’t know better, he’d say he’d just experienced love, so intensely that his body feels so full of emotion. When he pulls away just so slightly that he can mutter “I love you,” against all better judgment and Virgil’s lips, he knows that he doesn’t know better at all. This is the first time he’s ever found love, right where he hadn’t expected it to be.
Virgil kisses him back firmly, intensely, his hands cupping Logan’s face as though he’s hanging on for dear life too him. Like letting go would cause him to sink under invisible waves. “I love you too,” Is the murmured words he gets, his forehead resting on Logan’s.
The elder feels as though he’s on fire, akin to an electrical current running through his veins as he resumes pressing his lips to the other’s, mouths moving, hands shaking. His heart skips at least five beats at once but his focus is just Virgil, his touch, his words, his smile and the way his fingers are tugging at his hair. Breathless, Logan pulls the younger closer, desperate to just feel all he can.
The door opens and the two pull apart, cheeks flushed and lips a little red as Roman, with Patton a second behind him, blinks and stares. “Sorry?” He squeaks. “We’ll just..” They both scuttle towards Roman’s room and Logan buries his face in his hands for a moment. His body still feels so warm as he looks back to Virgil, but the other only smiles and pulls him into a hug.
“We should probably go watch a movie or something or we’ll be listening to those two all night,” Logan laughs and takes Virgil’s hand in his, leading him towards his room.
--
Sad kiss/ Forbidden kiss/ in secret kiss/ “We can never be together,” Kiss / Goodbye Kiss
Part ten: Roman screws up (And Roman admits he’s in love with Logan)
“Are you...crying?” Logan asks tiredly to a disheveled Roman who looks as though he hadn’t attempted to sleep. “Where’s Patton?” Roman starts crying again, shoulders shaking at the mere name which now sounds like shattering glass into his heart.
“We had a fight,” Roman finally mutters and Logan swallows but begins making a cup of coffee, he’s not exactly a bookful of knowledge when it comes to these topics but he can at least try to support his best friend. “He said he needed me to stop lying,” The coffee boils and is poured into two cups, Logan takes a seat next to his friend.
“Lying? About what? I always assumed there was not a thing you two didn’t share,” Roman lets out a sigh so heavy that it’s reminiscent of stones sinking in water. He looks at Logan with such an immense sadness. In his mind, he could see Patton kissing him firmly through tears and shaking his head, stepping back (”We can’t ever be together properly if you won't be open to yourself, me and him about this”) and then he was gone.
So Roman throws caution into the wind and pulls Logan into a kiss. He tastes like tears and coffee and anger, his movements desperate and pleading whilst Logan’s hands don’t quite know where they should be and he wants so desperately to just enjoy this but, he pulls away, placing his hands firmly on the other’s shoulders with a shake of his head. “Roman, you’re upset and it’s causing you to be irrational,” He speaks firmly but not unkindly “Let’s talk, okay?”
So Roman talks, he admits a secret he’d been keeping to himself for a couple of years now, one he hadn’t decided to unveil. “It’s not that Patton dislikes that I’m in love with you too, he’s open to the idea of it, but he hates that I won’t admit it, and it wasn’t until he walked away that I even realized how dumb I’m being,” He sips his coffee “I’ve known you for a few years now Logan, I knew if I told you that you’d freak out but eventually you’d adjust, I was just so scared of admitting it, I don’t even know why,”
Logan listens.
It’s not something he himself had quite considered before, especially since Virgil came on the scene, but some reactions and observations made sense now, both on his part and Roman’s. He’d rather enjoyed kissing both Roman and Patton.
“Okay, okay,” He nods “I need to talk to Virgil, but you call Patton and tell him you’ve told me, we’ll need to patch you two up before we start wondering about uncharted territory,” But he stares at Roman a little, and offers a smile, before giving his hand a small, comforting squeeze “We’ll figure this out, you are after all my best friend,”
--
Quick Kiss / Caught off Guard Kiss / I’m sorry Kiss
Part eleven: In which uncharted territory become more exciting (Plus, Virgil and Roman’s first kiss)
It was a hard gamble, but well-received. Roman had already known that Patton would be okay with the situation, and the other hugs him and thanks him for being open. “I can’t stand lies Roman, I need you to always be open with me I’ve...I’ve dated a liar before and he broke my heart,” He pauses “I’m sorry I overreacted, I shouldn’t have let my past issues affect you like that,” Patton’s lips press softly to Roman’s, his thumb brushing gently over the back of the younger man’s hand. It’s a gentle touch, as the elder man usually is. It’s enough, however, for Roman to know they were okay.
Logan told Virgil everything from start to finish, from Roman kissing him, too his confession, to Patton and Roman’s fight and why it occurred. The younger paused from sipping his ice coffee and nods calmly, taking it all in. “So your question is whether or not I would feel comfortable with a polyamorous relationship?” He asks, leaning back in his chair, before nodding. “Okay, I mean, I’ve never been in one before but I’m more than happy to try,”
“Are you sure? It’s very important that you don’t just say yes to please me,”
“Lo, when have you ever known me to agree with you to make you happy?” Is the snarky reply he gets through a teasing smile.
-
“So,” Roman says quietly to Virgil as Logan and Patton talk over making dinner “I suppose we should talk too,” Virgil can see the nervousness radiating off of him, he feels bad for making the elder man feel like that and places a comforting hand on his shoulder.
“Roman, this is the single most exciting thing that has happened to me in my life, you don’t need to feel like I’m upset with you stealing my boyfriend, neither of you, besides he was yours first,” Roman blinks but smiles. “Plus I’ve got something more interesting than talking to do.
The elder freezes the moment Virgil’s lips are pressed to his, he’s warmer than Patton, taller, with a more demanding way of moving. Roman’s kisses are a lot more sure than Logan’s slow-paced exploration and guided hands. The two hadn’t expected it to feel so right.
Logan and Patton watch curiously “That’s really...attractive to watch,” Patton finally sighs. Logan bites down at his lip, remembering the same strange pressure he’d recalled from watching Patton and Roman making out at the party. It takes him a moment to understand that what he’s feeling is lust, before letting out a long breath and looking down at his feet.
Patton gives a light giggle, leaning upon his tiptoes to press a quick, gentle kiss to Logan’s lips. “Here’s to sharing beautiful boyfriends,” He hands Logan a cup of coffee with a smile “And also being the beautiful boyfriends,” The younger really cannot find a fault in that logic.
--
Routine Kisses Where The Other Person Presents Their Cheek/Forehead For The Hello/Goodbye Kiss Without Even Looking Up From What They’re Doing
Part twelve: In which they’ve all formed a habit
Logan is usually up first, organizing what he needs for the day, if Virgil has stayed the night he’ll awake not long after but first will have a good ten minutes where he decides if it’s worth him getting out of bed. Roman will then be next, fixing his morning cup of coffee before getting ready for his morning jog, on days when he has 9AM-11AM lectures, he simply gets ready for those. Patton is always last awake, the latest recorded time being midday or ten minutes before his lecture.
Patton has also practically moved in with them, there’s an entire drawer of his skirts and shirts in Roman’s room and several of his sweaters and jeans hanging in the left-hand side of Logan’s wardrobe. Occasionally, they will all try and cramp into Logan’s queen-sized bed but it generally ends up with Roman getting up in the night and retiring to his own room as the need for sleep trumps the need to be cuddled.
Virgil, who actually pays rent for his own place and finds more comfort in being alone, isn’t over as often as Patton who can simply make himself at home anywhere and everywhere. But he’s there enough to feel consistent in their lives.
Today Roman has a 9AM lecture, Logan hands him his morning cup of coffee with a gentle kiss to the other’s cheek before he returns to Virgil who is trying desperately to cook breakfast. His arms wrap around the other’s waist before pressing a gentle kiss to his shoulder. “Look delicious,”
“Smells it too!” Roman calls as the eggs and bacon are scooped from their respective pans onto plates. Patton comes padding out of the room, rubbing his eyes. He’s wearing Virgil’s hoodie and Roman’s underwear and honestly, the three have to resist the temptation to ‘aw’ as the sleepy young man trods into the room, wearing Logan’s socks that have prints of little robots on them.
“I’m free all day, I might make some cookies for you all,”
“Yes please,” Virgil calls over his shoulder, balancing four plates over to the breakfast bar before shimmying them onto the surface. “I love your cookies,” The four sit down and Virgil leans over to Roman, who instinctively places a quick kiss to the others cheek as a thank you for breakfast.
There were only two people in this flat who could be trusted to make breakfast, and neither of those was the original residents. Logan tends to get distracted with something ‘more important’ and Roman has about as much ability to cook anything as a dog might.
After breakfast, Roman heads into the shower and Logan set about cleaning the dishes, one thing that his mind can focus on was a task that required constant observation. Virgil and Patton continue to drink their coffee, talking. Every now and then the logical artist glances over his shoulder to catch them smiling. It makes him happy to know they are happy.
Roman finally exits the shower, as he approaches each, they absent-mindedly tilt towards him to accept a kiss on their cheeks, the way they always do before he leaves. Logan doesn’t even look up from his dishes as a chorus of “I love you’s” follow the actor out the door.
--
Against a Locker kiss/ Kissing So Desperately That Their Whole Body Curves Into The Other Person’s / Hiding/ Hoping not to get caught kiss/ Hands On The Other Person’s Back, Fingertips Pressing Under Their Top, Drawing Gentle Circles Against That Small Strip Of Bare Skin That Make Them Break The Kiss With A Gasp
Part thirteen: Logan and Virgil have plans that don’t include going to their class.
In the list of things that Logan had planned to do today, being shoved against a locker with his boyfriend’s lips attached to his had not been one of them. lips, teeth tongue, it was a frantic kiss which was not the sort of kiss he’s used too from the younger man, but he’s more than happy to oblige as his hands rest on the other’s back, feeling Virgil curve into him like water molding to its container. Virgil’s teeth sink down on Logan’s lip and the other has to pull away with a gentle gasp. He takes a minute, grabs Virgil’s hand and drags him towards the nearest store cupboard.
Flicking the lock shut he finds his back pressed to the wall, the younger grasping at his shirt as his lips trailed to Logan’s neck. A low moan escapes from the back of his throat and his eyes fall closed. Logan’s fingertips press under the other's shirt, drawing gentle circles against the bare skin of his hip, Virgil pulls away with a small gasp, shivering at the contact. It was the closest either of them had quite gotten to touching bare skin.
A little bit more grounded, Virgil steps away, catching his breath. “I’m going to...need a minute before we go back out there,” Logan flushes, scratching the back of his head with a blush. Virgil snorts and nods. He didn’t quite miss the way Virgil shook his head the moment Logan’s hand came into contact with his bare skin but thinks it might be wiser not to mention it.
--
Kisses Meant To Distract The Other Person From Whatever They Were Intently Doing
Part fourteen: In which the fantastic four graduate
“Patton!” Roman squeals as his boyfriend once again peppers his face with kisses “I’m trying to get ready!”
“You’ve been getting ready for hours Roman you look fine!” The eldest whines, resuming the kissing attack. Logan snorts and lures the elder away with a promise of cookies, whilst calling Virgil to ask if he knew where he’d put his cap.
“You all look so handsome,” Patton smiles dreamily, Virgil rolls his eyes and kisses the top of Patton’s head softly, before handing Logan his cap. “Where was it, Virge?”
“On his bed,” The two dissolve into laughter as Patton fluffs up his hair that has been neatly permed for the occasion and fell in little loose curls into his eyes. Virgil’s dark purple hair had been bleached intoa much lighter shade, with his makeup a little more subtle than usual. “I guess you guys will finally meet my parents, my mum’s been dying to meet you, and my brother,”
“Oh yes, my parents are excited too,” Patton hummed gleefully “My mums made us all cookies, and believe me, if you think my baking is good, you will love hers,” Logan looks down at his feet, for the last year he’d been avoiding this conversation, as he shuffles quietly over to the coffee pot.
It’s a blessing that Roman finally walks out, his smoky red and orange eyeshadow matching his newly dyed red and orange hair. He twirls as Patton gushes and Virgil mutters a “Not bad Ro,” It’s Roman who notices how quiet Logan is being, the way his hands shake a little as he pours himself a coffee, and how he avoids looking at everyone. But it’s also Roman that knows Logan’s relationship with his parents. He approaches the other quietly.
“They’re not coming are they?” Logan shakes his head, placing down the coffee pot and bracing his hands on the counter, eyes screwed shut as he looks down. He wouldn’t cry over them again. “I’m so sorry Logan,” He all but collapses in Roman’s arms as the other rubs his back warmly. “I really am sorry,”
“Don’t be, it’ll be nice to see your parents again Roman,” He sniffles and blinks rapidly, looking up at the ceiling.
“And you’ll still have our parents, honestly my mother will adopt you immediately,”
“And Thomas, my brother, he’s so excited to meet you honestly, the moment you mention that you study astrology in your spare time he’ll be attached to you at the hip, he loves talking about space,” Logan smiles and holds out his arms for his boyfriends to cram into warmly. “Now we, have a graduation to attend, which is for ourselves, not our parents, not our families, and maybe for each other, but you and we have a right to proud of all our hard work,”
Logan nods with a small smile.
--
Angry Kiss
Part Fifteen: Logan is pissed off at his parents for not turning up.
Patton’s parents were lovely and insisted they all come for Christmas dinner this year, seconds after Roman’s parents ask the same thing. They become aware after Virgil’s parents propose dinner that they were going to have to start splitting up holidays for respective parents. Logan, however, is biting his own lip knowing he’s unlikely to ever have a Christmas dinner with his parents ever again.
After Virgil’s mother lightly asks where his parents are and his eyes start tearing up, he realizes that no matter how much he tries to ignore it, his emotions regarding his parents had not gone away.
Patton finds his resting his head against a wall in a corridor, tears streaming down his face. But they’re not sad tears, they’re angry tears. “Hey Lolo, it’s okay, I’m here, you can talk to me or vent or, whatever you need,” Logan is generally quite a docile and cautious person, which is why it’s so surprising when he kisses Patton with a sheer amount of passion that the smaller almost falls straight over. It’s all fierce, desperate like he’s begging for a solution that somehow he will find in between the other’s lips. Despite the fact the elder can taste the anger and tears, Logan remains gentle with his hands, he doesn’t grab or force or hold too tight. He gives Patton the room to pull away if he wants too.
For Patton, having dated Roman the longest, kisses that are a little fierce are not unusual. Logan’s anger doesn’t have the same amount of force as Roman’s dominative passion, something that Patton quite adores. So he’s comfortable and allows Logan to vent in one of the very few ways he knows how too.
When he pulls away, the two breathing rather heavily, the younger looks calmer but tired. “Thank you,” Patton’s arms wrap around his partner’s and holds him close.
“It’s no problem, Logan, we’ll talk later about this okay?”
They talk later after the celebrations are over, and Logan finally admits he’s heartbroken by his own parents, and finally, he allows himself to properly cry in front of them.
--
Starting With A Kiss Meant To Be Gentle, Ending Up In Passion
Part sixteen: In which Logan is ready and Virgil is asexual
Logan is not particularly a sexual person, he experiences sexual desire but sexual attraction comes and goes with him, it takes time for him to build it. That’s to say that this is the first time in his life he’s really experiencing sexual attraction. Even with the sexual attraction, he still hadn’t quite been ready to engage in sexual activity, and as far as his partners were concerned that was fine. Virgil didn’t particularly desire nor dislike the idea, he had a sex drive, but no real desire to actually engage anything beyond a good make-out session. And Roman and Patton took care of each other just fine.
When he’d brought up the topic, Roman had choked on his cereal and Patton had dropped his spoon. Virgil, chewing nonchalantly on his cereal had shrugged “I’d rather not, but you guys go ahead, I’ll let you know if I change my mind,” It’s somewhat ironic that the only man not interested in sex was the one who was the least perturbed by it.
Which is why now is happening. Roman’s hands trace delicate circles on his back as he inhales steadily before exhaling again, accepting a gentle and slow kiss from the other. Patton sits cross-legged on the bed, watching with a dazed smile. As it turns out, the actor can be gentler when the occasion called.
It’s Logan who makes the first move, deepening the kiss as his hand fumbles to pull the other closer, the gentle movements quickening until Roman’s flush against him and his blood is roaring in his ears. As Roman’s lips trail down his neck and a low sound escapes his lips, he meets Patton’s wide grin and allows the two to take care of him for the night.
--
“I do Kiss,”
Part seventeen: In which they can’t legally all get married to each other, so they marry one and know in their hearts they’re all really together.
A double wedding was a humorous idea, it’s very simple, with only their parents, Remy (Who had finally stopped drinking entire bottles of wine to himself), Emile, and Virgil’s younger brother Thomas, to attend. Logan didn’t invite his parents, he knew they wouldn’t come anyway.
“I now pronounce you both, husbands and husbands,” The small audience cheers and Thomas throws flower petals at them (note: not over, at), whilst exclaiming something about love being gross, but he’s smiling the entire time.
Virgil presses a warm kiss to his legally married husband, Logan, whilst Roman and Patton shares a similar kiss before they’re both traded off to each other, rejoining in a group hug. Thomas high fives them all whilst Remy takes photos for his Instagram. “Ladies, you’re looking wonderful,” Roman strikes a pose as laughter escapes him, the four captured in an image of exuberance and happiness.
--
Exhausted Parents kiss / Themed Kiss
Part Eighteen: In which they’ve gone through a long process to adopt, and Logan and Roman are trying to control an excited child in Disneyworld
“Robin!” Roman races after the seven-year-old, a difficult feat after being forced to dress so extravagantly for the occasion. Have you ever tried to run with a long red cape? Looks good, not very easy though. He lifts her up and balances her on his hip with a tired expression “You need to stop running off!” Logan chuckles, having managed to escape a full prince outfit in favor of a black shirt and long coat, he got to be a Disney villain, which means he escaped the cape. (”Cloak, Logan, it’s a cloak,”) “What are you laughing at pocket protector?” Roman huffs but accepts the tired kiss that is offered with a small smile.
“How undeniably adorable you two are, now should we be heading back to your fathers Robin? They’ll be dying to know the day you’ve had,”
“One more ride? Please, Papa!” Logan exchanges a look with Roman before giving a nod.
“Alright princess, but hold our hands, no running off,” The squeal the child emits makes them both beam and lets her shimmy down to the ground, grabbing their hands as she tugs them towards the ride. People offer them strange looks, be it the costume or two men raising a child (little did they know there were four), but the three have never quite been so in their own little world.
They watch from the side as the little girl spins around on the teacups, sharing one exhausted but overjoyed kiss from the prince to a villain (but of course, to them, they were both princes really). Tiredness in their eyes, but happy nonetheless.
--
Returned From the Dead kiss/ Kiss of Life/ “I almost lost you” kiss/ “War’s end” kiss
Part Nineteen: In which Patton terrifies them all and finds out he has heart problems in the worst possible way.
It was a normal day, Logan had gone to work, Virgil was fussing on his computer, Robin was at school (Now fourteen years old and even more of a handful than she was as a child), Roman had gone too an audition and Patton was making cakes.
And then it wasn’t a normal day.
Virgil remembers the shout, he remembers his own tears, he remembers doing CPR, he remembers his muscles burning and screaming for help. He remembers dialing the emergency services, shouting for an ambulance.
He remembers that Patton’s heart had stopped.
He sits in the hospital, shaking with tears pouring. Roman had come the moment he’d answered Virgil’s call, Logan not long after turns up. The nurse comes out with a calm expression, her eyes full of sympathy as she tells them Patton is going to be okay.
“He’s had a heart attack, apparently he’s had untreated heart valve disease and it caused the valves to swell, which in turn resulted in a heart attack, they’ve had to perform emergency surgery to alleviate the issue, but luckily it was not an extreme attack, it was good that you were there Virgil, without you and your dedication he would not have had such a high probability of survival,”
Virgil collapses from exhaustion and falls asleep in the waiting area as Logan and Roman discuss what they should do.
They wait for hours until they’re told they can visit Patton. The eldest looks so much smaller and paler in the harsh hospital light and white walls. But he smiles like tired sunshine.
“I almost lost you,” Virgil whimpers, pressing soft kisses to Patton’s cheeks “I almost lost you,” Roman kisses the back of Patton’s hand.
“I need to go pick Robin up from school, should I bring her here?” Patton shakes his head.
“No, don’t, it’ll scare her, take her home, tell her there’s been a family emergency and I needed to go see my parents,” Roman nods and presses a tender kiss to Patton’s lips. “I love you,”
“I love you too darling,” Logan and Virgil sit on either side of Patton, pressing gentle kisses to his hands and cheeks and showering him with all the love they had, despite their desperate need to be close to the other and love him with all they had, they didn’t want to cause any issues with his healing.
Logan has to carry Virgil to the car after visiting times are over. Logan is the one that calls Patton’s parents to tell them what has happened, and Logan is the one that holds the other two men as they cry, he talks Virgil through his panic attack that follows and says goodnight to Robin. After all the need for his strength dissolves, he lies between his other two lovers and cries until he can no longer breathe.
When Patton finally comes home a couple of days later, he receives a series of passionate, loving, warm kisses from men who could not bear to imagine a life without him. Roman takes the extra effort to dip him, with care, and press a loving kiss to the other’s lips as if he’d just experienced hell and could think of nothing else to make him happier than a brush of intimacy from one of the loves of his life.
--
Kiss at Dawn / Kiss in a dream
Part twenty: Patton misses Roman
Lips pressing against warm yet shivering skin, fingertips intertwined, gentle mutterings of “I love you,” Roman’s eyes wide with emotion before closing with a gentle kiss on his husband’s shoulder, trailing gently up to the other’s lips and wrapping an arm around his waist. Patton’s heart feels so full of love that he might cry.
Then, when he wakes up and knows Roman isn’t here he does. Logan blinks awake at the quiet sobs, an arm coming around his partner’s waist to whisper reassurances. Roman was currently on tour and the three of them were all a little unsettled by this, but he loved his job and they wanted to support him as much as they could.
Patton, the one with the most emotion of them all, was taking it the worst. He lets Logan carry him to the kitchen and make him a warm cup of tea as the sun peaks up over the horizon. “It’s going to be okay,” The younger says quietly and kisses Patton in a reassuring fashion “Only a few more days and he’ll be home again,” The eldest nods and wipes his eyes.
They both stare out of the window and watch the sunrise, wondering if somewhere, Roman was watching it too (He was).
--
Jealous Kiss
Party twenty-one: Roman is a little jealous and acts out
Being away from your partners for a long time can take its toll on a person, for Roman it can make him a little jealous. He doesn’t like jealousy because as an emotion it’s not a general part of his personality, he’s a very understanding and open person. It also makes him rather melancholy when he’s jealous.
When he wanders into the apartment, Logan is at work and Patton’s out doing some shopping, whilst Virgil is tapping away at his laptop. “Pat?” He hears the youngest call before he looks up to see Roman. A little surge of emotion grows in Roman’s veins as he crosses the room to pull the other into a kiss that lay somewhere between “I missed you,” and anger at himself for being away for so long.
He wonders how often they’d kissed each other and told each other they loved each other whilst he was gone, those little moments he’d missed. It’s this thought that causes him to push a little more, hold on a little tighter, but Virgil was not born yesterday and he can easily tell something is wrong as he pulls away. Roman never really kisses him the same way he kisses Logan and Patton, he kisses the other two in a much fiercer way because it’s tailored to their needs and wants and how they like to receive those types of kisses.
He always kisses Virgil like he’s something much more delicate because those are the kisses that Virgil craves the most. Teeth and tongue were far much further up Patton’s alleyway than the youngest’s.
“Talk to me Ro,” He says softly, squeezing his hand “What’s bothering you?” With a sigh, the actor sits down and offers a tired smile.
“Sorry, I’ve just...I’ve been a little jealous,” Virgil nods and listens “You’ve all been here and you’ve got to talk to each other and hold each other and tell each other you love them and I’ve...been so far away I’ve barely had the chance to talk to you all,”
“Ro, it’s okay, you’re here now and honestly it’s not felt the same without you, Logan’s been up with Patton almost every night because he’s missed you so much he can’t sleep,” The admission breaks his heart a little, but he tries not to show it too greatly. “You’re home now Roman,”
--
When One Person’s Face Is Scrunched Up, And The Other One Kisses Their Lips/Nose/Forehead
Part twenty-two: In which, they all get ready to send their daughter off to Uni.
“Have you got everything Robbo?” Roman asks with a hum, piling the last box into the van as his daughter grins with excitement and nervousness. They remember that feeling too, but it had turned out to be the best years of their lives.
“Yeah dad, I’m good,” She gives them all a hug each, a little ‘aww’ escaping her as Patton starts to cry, she’s taller than him now and it’s quite amusing. “I guess I’ll see you in a few months now,” This does nothing to ease Patton’s tears and she pulls him into another hug “It’s gonna be okay pops, I promise,”
“You better look after yourself,” The eldest grumbles, wiping his tears “I’ll be on the first train up there if you don’t!”
“I will,” He hands her a box of cookies for her travel and they all step back as she pulls her backpack on to her shoulders. “Thank you, for everything,” Roman blinks back small tears as she walks out of the door, pausing for a minute “I love you all, you’re the best dads I could’ve asked for,”
“Love you too kiddo,” With a small wave she’s off, to continue her journey in life, the first stage she won’t really need them for.
“It’s alright Pat,” Virgil mutters, bringing the other into a hug and peppering his hair with small kisses “It’s all going to be alright,”
Later, Patton would busy himself making cookies, but they were all keeping an eye on him. Slowly his spirits began to lift a little and he whistled along to the music as he worked. Logan, in need of attention, began to distract him by wrapping his arms around his waist and resting his chin on the other’s shoulder. Little giggles escaped the eldest as he puts down the bowl and allows himself to be twirled around, scrunching his face as an array of kisses are pattered across his cheeks.
The laughter that fills the home is comforting.
--
Needing to Kiss to hide from bad guys / Sated kiss
Part twenty-three: In which Virgil and Roman almost get mugged.
They’re both walking down the street from the theater where Roman had just had his audition, taking their usual shortcuts to get to their nearby coffee shop. When they see the figure approaching them, they don’t notice for a moment the amount of threat they pose; then they see the knife. Virgil reacts first grabbing Roman’s arm and running “Knife, he’s got a...knife,” He pants out, the stranger follows them out into a busier street as they continue to run before Virgil pulls up his hood and yanks Roman’s over his head. Their lips join and the hoods cover both their faces, and they stay like this for a little while as the crowds move around them. Virgil searches the crowds but can’t see the man at all anywhere.
Looking exhausted, Virgil brings Roman into a much gentler kiss before exhaling tiredly and resting his head against the other’s shoulder. He looks like he wants nothing more but to go to bed and never move at all again.
--
Kiss inspired by a song
Part twenty-four: In which Remy and Emile get married forty years after they’ve met.
The wedding was nice, simple, neither of them was wearing white and Remy had to be fought to not be wearing a leather jacket at his wedding. It had taken them a while to get married, both busy with their jobs and each other they were simply waiting for the right time.
The reception is sweet afterward, the two slow dance before everyone else joins them, drifting in and out of the softness and gentle lyrics of the song. Patton, whose head is on Roman’s chest, sings along gently and the younger listens as the reminder of just how much he loves the other hits him again. To the left of them, Logan twirls Virgil and the two laugh, content to be witnessing the marriage of their oldest friends together.
Roman, the romantic of them all, feels overwhelmed to be surrounded by so much love. He cups Patton’s face and brings him into a gentle kiss, a smile full of wonder crossing his face. He truly had been enchanted to meet these three misfits. Logan and Virgil drift over as they notice Roman becoming more emotional, trading gentle kisses in a way that felt so intimate and soft.
“I was enchanted to meet all of you, the loves of my life,”
--
Last kiss / It’s-the-end-of-the-world kiss
Chapter twenty-five: In which they say their goodbyes. (Implied character death)
Patton looks paler in the hospital light, he always does. Since the first time his heart had caused abnormalities, he had been in and out quite often. But he’s okay, he’s old now and his hair is grey and his eyes and tired but he smiles like the moon and stars at night. He’s happy, as he holds Roman’s hand and Logan rests his tired head against the bed, whilst Virgil has run out of tears to cry.
It’s time, and that’s okay.
“I’ve had a good life,” He says, throat dry but still his voice is so full of emotion. “It’s been great guys,” Roman presses a shaky kiss to his lips, his hands holding onto the other’s as he tries to hold himself together. Logan takes his turn, resting his head against Patton’s for a second before kissing him with the draining energy he has left. Virgil’s kiss is soft, gentle, just like he is, full of loss. “I love you, all, so much,” They say their responses, give their speeches, they talk about Uni, about everything they needed to say to him about how it just wasn’t fucking fair.
But Patton only listened with an exhausted smile, because he’d already and always said what he needed too, to them.
@analogical-mess // @unikornavenger // @mycatshuman // @creativity-killed-thekitten // @theresneverenoughfandoms//@charmingprincey//@aclickonapostwillchangeyourlife // @heck-im-lost // @k9cat//@stilljittery//@romansleftshoulderpad // @sanderssideslibrary // @max-is-tired//@therealmoshar// @punsterterry // @trashypansexual //@miserykillme//@demigodnamedathena //@sevencrashing // @misunderstood-shadow//@aphriteblack // @jemthebookworm// @sandersandthesides //@penguinkool
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Boomtown: Area 404
This is a journal of my adventure at Area 404, the new immersive music venue experience by Boomtown Fair. Please forgive any inaccuracies in my account as my memory is still a little hazy these days. Usually I take loads of photos and notes but Boomtown had asked us to keep our phones away so I don’t have as much to pull from as I usually would (although later on I was told I could take a few for the purposes of writing this after all - but I decided to do so sparingly).
I hope you enjoy the following account of my adventure in Area 404 which was made possible by a brilliant set of actors, organisers and set designers. Big thanks to Martin, Kaptin, Dank Parish and everyone at Boomtown HQ who pretty much invited us into their home for the night.
Area 404 - The First Investigation
Area 404, formerly the Sector 6 Nuclear Facility, was still at the top of my investigation list and one of my chief concerns. We didn’t know enough about it and this troubled me. A nuclear meltdown is reported and then we hear next to no follow up news for a year? And not only was no news escaping from the site but it appeared no one seemed to have left the area since and only a handful of our investigative agents had managed to bring any information back from the area at all and the information they did bring was sparse to say the least. What had happened to all the workers? Why had no one been evacuated? And what of the rebels that had once lurked in the sewers below planning their revolution?
The information we had managed to ascertain led us to believe that this was of the main sites for AMI’s data processing and assimilation. On top of that rumours of something being manufactured there were rife. People had been suggesting that AMI (the Artificial Machine Intelligence that now ran Boomtown) had actually caused the meltdown herself and she was now in control of the site. Whatever had happened at the Sector 6 Reactor had however seemed to have caused a knock on effect with both the fish stocks and soil quality in the surrounding neighbourhoods.
All we really knew for sure was that an exclusion zone had been set up in a large radius around the site and people had begun to refer to it as Area 404.
It had been a couple of months since we had heard anything from 404 at all and over a year since the meltdown itself. Surprisingly the first to break the silence were the corporate giant OneCor, who had slid into the void left behind by Bang-Hai Technology when the entire Bang-Hai company had collapsed following a string of major scandals.
PRESS RELEASE | GLOBAL MEDIA OUTLETS
OneCor operatives are working around the clock to provide medicine and food supplements in response to the growing crisis in Area 404 of the former Sector 6 nuclear power station.
The Emergency Aid Upgrade (EAU) will provide those in the quarantine zone with a medical kit including an experimental vaccine as well as energy and morale boosting food and beverage rations.
OneCor CEO Gordon Romance said: The unfortunate events unfolding in Area 404 demand a direct and immediate response and we are ready at the frontline to assist. Our lab is primed to test the vaccination results for a prompt diagnosis and we are confident that our technology will offer a fast and robust solution for those affected.
– ENDS –
Notes to editors:
EAU comes in a rugged but stylish, ready-to-roll, shock proof box.
EAU medical kit includes experimental vaccine DC10X.
EAU food and beverage rations include OneCor best-sellers, Alpine Milk and BoonPops.
This was followed by a large response from people commenting on the post begging to get hold of the DC10X vaccine as well as promises from the Hawkmaul Foundation Fellowship to provide boots on the ground and further research and investigation into the matter.
I myself made my own enquiry to OneCor’s very own Sally (Head of People) via Twitter.
“What do we need to vaccinate against? I'm heading into the danger zone on Friday. Will DC10X be ready in time?” I asked.
Further useful information was not forthcoming however and OneCor only seemed to repeat what had already been said in the press release stating “Hi, Jonny. I hope you are having a wonderful day. Our Emergency Aid Upgrades come ready-to-roll in a stylish but rugged shock proof box”
I had become suspicious of both OneCor and Gordon Romance over the past few months and was no longer sure I trusted the shallow seeming facade they showed the world. What was DC10X? Did the name itself hold any clues? Could it be related to roman numerals? Well 10 was indeed X and DC was 600...but no that didn’t seem to get me much further. Also EAU was french for water...could there be something in the water at 404 or even in the aid box itself? Was this just paranoia? I did feel like my levels of paranoia had risen each year since The Revolution… maybe there was something in the water...
I could no longer hold back, it was time to get to the bottom of this, so I began preparations to head an expedition through the wastelands of the exclusion zone and into the depths of the Sector 6 nuclear complex itself. This mission was to be divided into 4 separate expeditions over the space of two weeks with myself and a small team spearheading the investigation as first on the ground. This first expedition was to arrive on the site on Friday the 1st of November 2019. Myself and my crew all got our survival gear together, comprising of breathing apparatus, protective goggles and clothing, along with tactical outfits, torches, scanners and testing equipment.
The day before our expedition we finally received some communication from the Bang-Hai Industries Employees still trapped inside the exclusion zone. Presumably one of the technicians had finally been able to repair some of the communications lines using the support OneCor had been sending into the zone.
Dear Citizens,
Following the explosion of Sector 6’s power plant, all Bang Hai Industry workers have been exposed to unprecedented levels of radiation and the blast has given birth to what is known as The Cloud. Exposure to this amorphous dust will warp your body and your mind. In lock down, AREA 404 has been in survival mode for a year. Rations and resources are desperately limited, we need new supplies from OneCor and your presence is urgently required.
In 33 hours the gates will open and we’ll welcome pilgrims from the wasteland who have bravely avoided exposure, to explore the dark corners of AREA 404 and discover its residents living with mutations, which must be regularly treated.
The Cloud is coming.
We travelled through a nuclear wasteland that reminded me a lot of a rather rainy Bristol, but in this case we presumed the rain itself was probably toxic. The journey itself was surprisingly without incident although it had taken us about 12 hours to finally reach the industrial complex. My core team consisted of myself, Becky, Ryan and Gemma. Gemma had even arrived via aircraft, flying in from the other side of Ireland. When we reached the old Sector 6 complex we found it to be heavily fortified with a large contingency of Bang-Hai Security forces still remaining to protect the gates. As we were marched along the exterior fences we heard what sounded like loud screams and growls coming from the inside.
“I’m starting to have second thoughts about this.” I said to one of the guards as he ushered us forwards to the checkpoint at the main gates. It took a few minutes of faffing about between us, but we eventually managed to locate all the relevant documents and ID cards that we needed to grant us entry into the main complex. A few steps and another line of security stopped us to give a full pat down, making sure we weren’t carrying anything dangerous or illegal.
We regrouped once through the gates and I made sure my breathing mask was fully secure.
A group of Bang-Hai Industry Workers still dressed in their orange overalls stood further down the road that entered the industrial complex One of them held a megaphone made out of scavenged parts.
“Welcome Pilgrims. You are now entering the safe zone. Use of unauthorised technology is forbidden. All citizens are subject to spot checks for your own safety. Please maintain caution at all times. You have made it through the wasteland and survived. Welcome to paradise!”
Stood either side of him were two other orange-overalled workers that looked a little worse for wear, with various disfigurements that I presumed were either from the meltdown itself or the effects of The Cloud. One of them wore a breathing mask and held a torch in one hand. Our group was stopped again as this seemed to be a third and final check point for access.
“Are you infected? ARE YOU INFECTED?” they asked us, making us each roll up our sleeves so they could check our arms and shining the torch in our eyes to observe to check them as well.
“We’re clean. See! We’ve come to help from outside the exclusion zone.” I said pulling my sleeves up further. “What’s going on? What are you checking for?” I asked him as he finished checking my eyes.
“He’s the one to ask.” said the man muffled by his mask, indicating the one holding the megaphone. The person in question was currently shouting further instructions into his megaphone for the next lot of pilgrims who were entering behind us. I waited patiently to question him… looking round though I realised I was becoming separated from the rest of my team who had continued further into the complex. I turned and jogged up the road to catch up with them, thinking it was probably best to stick together for now.
The industrial complex that surrounded the old Sector 6 Nuclear Facility was a warren of roads, buildings, gantries and stairs. It was a mess but surprisingly intact. Bang-Hai Industries workers walked the streets in their orange jumpsuits, mixing with pilgrims from the wasteland and groups of scavengers trading in junk and artifacts. Some of the area’s denizens had fared better than others. Indeed some of the less fortunate employees had become not only severely physically twisted but had become feral, losing their selves and their minds, becoming nothing more than wild zombies. The other workers still seemed to keep them out in the open but kept them on heavy chain leashes as if they were guard dogs hunting for something. Their handlers all carried some kind of makeshift cattleprod in case they did get out of hand. We tried to give these feral ghouls as wide berth where possible.
The orange-suited workers seemed to be bringing all kinds of scrap and scavenged supplies in from the wasteland. As the scavengers reached the centre of the complex, their comrades lowered baskets down from their balconies up high, before hauling the materials up to safety for sorting and distribution amongst the survivors. One balcony seemed to be functioning as some kind of watch point and one of the workers had another megaphone shouting warnings and instructions to people on the ground.
“KEEP YOUR MASK ON AT ALL TIMES!” they shouted to Ryan who had temporarily removed his mask in order to talk easier. This was probably very good advice given the state of the survivors here, who knew what we could be breathing in and what may be contained in The Cloud.
We made sure to explore the area as best we could, down the dark alleyways and up the industrial staircases to the gantries and walkways above. The Engine Room seemed to be fully functional and was pumping out what sounded like a mix of urban classics mixed with soca vibes. As to what the engine may be for or what else it was generating, that remained a mystery.
We managed to find a safe point up the road from the main gates from where I signalled our other operatives and scouting groups to rendezvous there if possible. I wasn’t sure if my signal was getting out across the wastelands until The Assguard (Personal Mercinary Service) managed to return my call, advising me they were closing in on the safe zone.
While awaiting their arrival I managed to run into a good handful of our agents who were already exploring the site. Those I did to run in to, I exchanged information and contact details with. Those lucky enough to find me early on, I rewarded with barrels of repurposed toxic waste from my own personal haul.
On top of my stash of toxic barrels I had also brought a bag full of bottle caps with me for trading with the survivors and wasteland. Some of these I gave to other agents and some of them I gave to the Tekno Wombles, the most famous of all the wasteland scavengers. We had first seen these hardened veterans of the wasteland on the drone footage from Area 404 that we had managed to recover earlier in the year. The Wombles, although very cautious and wary of me at first, were most appreciative of the gift and showed their thanks using hand gestures as the breathing masks severely hindered their communication. Some additional caps, I also gave to The Assguard when they arrived, who it was a real pleasure to finally meet in person.
The next place I stumbled upon was labelled the Mutant Dance. Beyond heavy metal industrial doors was a dark hot warehouse full of all sorts of odd mutated humans from the wasteland. Some wore masks and strange costumes and some looked so different I wondered if they were even from this planet. The temperature increased exponentially as you made your way further down the room past the strange gurning faces. My protective greatcoat was rather useful when out in the streets, but in this environment I was starting to overheat so I found myself mostly staying at the back near the doorway observing.
Some time later while myself and the rest of my party were hanging out near the main thoroughfare there appeared some kind of disturbance coming towards us. A group of survivors were returning from the outskirts clutching a large OneCor supply crate. The woman up on the balcony with the megaphone announced their triumphant return and a large group of survivors excitedly emerged from the doors and alleys of the safe zone. One worker, who seemed to have some kind of authority here, snatched the crate eagerly and placed it on the ground opening it. People tried to grab things but the stronger ones held them back and instead tried to distribute the rations and vaccines in some kind of orderly fashion but it was on the edge of turning into a chaotic free for all. Those who were starving clutched at the silver bags of food supplies and others grabbed the bottles of liquid and clung to them as if they were life itself. Also in the box seemed to be medicines, needles and containers of vaccines.
“We have 17! 17 new doses!” declared the authoritarian worker.
Some of the needles were passed around to various people in the crowd who immediately injected them into their arms. The rest of the supplies were placed into metal baskets that were then hauled up to the balconies for safety to be distributed later when needed.
Later on we saw these vaccines put to real use as one of the survivors seemed to go weak, collapse and began having a violent seizure. The fit however soon seem to subside as soon as they were given an injection of the DC10X that had arrived in the supply crates. The effect was very impressive and very fast...almost as if an addict had just been given a high dose of their ‘fix’. Was this vaccine really making people better? Or had people just become addicted to it now?
One of the survivors saw me observing and came over to make sure I hadn’t become infected. They kept their own mask on securely and again checked both my arms and my eyes but this time indicated for me to raise my mask and open my mouth so they could check that as well. Was this the third sign of possible infection? They seemed satisfied for now at least and let me go.
I followed where some of the people had gone and saw that they had retreated to some kind of medical room at the entrance to the Acid Chamber. The room seemed to be securely locked, possibly under some kind of quarantine procedure but we were able to observe through a thick perspex window. One of the workers were strapped onto some kind of medical bed as two other workers conducted experiments with petri dishes, test tubes and various pieces of scavenged scientific equipment. This time however when they gave the person the injection it seemed to make them worse sending them into a feral rage. The other workers tried to hold their crazed comrade down on the table, tightening the straps and administering some kind of sedative to try and calm them. Once their colleague was back under control they just resumed their experiments. On a closer look at the two makeshift ‘nurses’, both seemed to have blood round their own mouths and were partaking in drinking blood samples straight from pipettes and the petri dishes themselves. They were also injecting themselves with various needles and acting themselves more erratic as time went on. I found that I was actually glad that we were locked outside the room after all. Things were getting worse for these people, it seemed like they were slowly turning into some kind of crazed blood drinking zombies. I also took particular note of two more things I spied through the dirt encrusted windows, firstly a large antiquated device at one end of the room that seemed to be labelled A.M.I, and secondly that there was a very large amount of clocks all over the room and all of them seemed to be frozen at 1:50.
We hung around this medical room for quite a while observing the behaviour of the people inside. Another survivor pulled himself up the concrete steps from outside to where we were stood and stumbled a little as he did, trying to balance himself on a single metal crutch. The man looked seriously ill as he himself peered through the window, placing his hand on his own breathing mask as he did.
“Are you feeling okay?” I asked him.
The man leaned over and spoke to me through the muffling sound of his mask. He told me something about whistling whispers fading to chaotic black...or something along those lines. I nodded to him as he hobbled back off into the night. Immediately I tried to get my notebook out to write it all down but found that by the time I started writing that I had already forgotten most of what he had told me. Maybe this place was starting to get to my mind too now…
Back out on the street one of the leashed feral zombies tried to come after me as it’s handler tried to hold it back.
“Keep it back! Keep them away from me!” I exclaimed, putting my arm up in defence, making sure goggles and mask were secure, before pulling out my scanning device which I waved over it, just out of reach. I couldn’t manage to get a clear reading but there were definitely very high levels of infection in it, it wasn’t just some kind of nuclear mutation, this was something biological.
But what was the source? It seemed more and more that the surviving workers were using these zombies as either some kind of guard dogs or for detecting something. I had hoped that it was maybe just them looking after their former friends but a later discovery made that very unlikely. A short time after that I had found The Decontamination Room. The room’s entrances were covered with heavy plastic flaps and as we entered we saw all the walls had been covered in plastic that seemed to be heavily splattered in blood. Body parts hung from the roof on hooks as if this was an industrial butcher’s...but all the parts seemed to be human. Is this what they’re idea of decontamination was? Were they just murdering anyone that they decided were too infected?? This was a fate we definitely needed to avoid for ourselves. In a daze from this discovery I wandered through the hanging bodies and then came to another window, much like the one on the medical room. This time though I wasn’t sure if what I was seeing was real or some kind of hallucination. Sat behind a huge table was Rothchild, the former head of Bang-Hai Industries, but from his head had sprouted two black horns as if he were the devil himself. Across the table from him was a girl in a striped hooded top who looked like she could have been just a regular attendee to the yearly Boomtown Fair… but the girl seemed to look exactly like AMI, the AI that now ran the city. Given the recent evidence we had uncovered, myself and my group were fairly certain that AMI had been based on someone Rothchild had known and been obsessed with. Could this be that person? How were they connected to him? On the table between them was a great chess-like board that represented Boomtown itself. The two seemed to be locked in an eternal game as they moved the pieces around the board.
The game went on and on until AMI got angrier and angrier knocking all the pieces over and throwing them around the room. Is this what happened in reality? Was the nuclear meltdown AMI having her own meltdown in response to Bang-Hai’s pure evil?
Everything seemed to have some kind of representation on the board and in the room, from a Tiny Arcadia that had long ago been removed from the board, to the resources of the land itself. Rothchild himself took great glee in wasting the water that he seemed to be withholding from both the people and AMI, letting it drip slowly onto the floor.
Eventually AMI begged him for just a drop of water, which Rothchild gave to her. In fact they were now acting less like opponents and more like a dark lord and his pet. Rothchild began feeding board pieces to AMI, everything from the cattle to the people, and AMI ate them up obediently and with a great hunger. Her behavior began to be more and more erratic and bizarre, as if mirroring the inhabitants of the Safe Zone. I found Rothchild was now looking over at me and I gave him a confused shrug as I tried to make sense of AMI’s behavior. The horned CEO and puppetmaster threw me back one of his trademark grins and well known evil laughs.
After a while AMI decided she no longer wanted to play the game and began to cower on the floor. Rothchild took this opportunity to attack her and started throwing her around the room, grinning as he did so. I banged against the window giving him a big thumbs down to which he looked he looked at me with indignation at first which then turned back into maniacal laughter as AMI fled from him.
Was I really hallucinating this all? Was this a window into another reality? Was this some kind of holographic simulation? I wasn’t sure but this metaphorical power struggle had me gripped.
I wandered the complex some more eventually finding myself in the towering Reactor Core room with it’s many levels. I couldn’t get any clear readings but the reactor now seemed to be fully functional again. The core seemed to be generating a lot of power but for what? The rumours seemed to indicate this was all AMI’s doing but for what reason?
The safe zone was getting busier and busier and a lot of the people had begun to exhibit a strange behavior. From across the now bustling room I saw what appeared to be a devilish Rothchild, still haunting me, making his way through the crowds with the hooded AMI before disappearing behind some curtains. I tried to follow for a moment but realised the phantoms were lost to me already. I made my way to the upper levels along with my expedition members to try and get my head together and refresh myself at a bar which was serving OneCor approved beverages in exchange for plastic. From this vantage point we could see the many pilgrims that had flocked to the safe zone tonight for their protection. Various travelling bands performed on stage to entertain the pilgrims. Maybe this really was some kind of paradise compared to the wastelands outside?
The busier it got, the harder it was to keep track of both the rest of the expedition and the other agents that were attending. I found my curiosity had lead me back to the medical room window. When I arrived I saw that one of the Tekno Wombles had been taken sick and was now strapped to the medical bed with 3 of the orange suited Bang-Hai workers now trying to treat him.
As I stared through the window a second Tekno Womble turned up and joined me taking off his mask and looking heartbroken and forlorn at his associate.
“The cloud has taken him.” he said with great emotion “How? How? We took every precaution! He is my brother. My brother!”
The 3 orange overalled amateur nurses began preparing the DC10X vaccine to give to the sickly Womble.
“No! You can’t do this!” said the one by my side as he banged on the window “It will kill him! It’s not safe!”
He moved to open the metal door but it seemed to be once more locked from the inside. He tried to force it but was getting nowhere and helplessly returned to the window with a defeated look to him.
As they injected the man on the table, the sick one began to have the same violent seizures as the previous occupant of the table, and began to heavily foam at the mouth.
“NOO! Nooo… BROTHER! They’re killing him” the second womble said banging on the window. The one on the table shook some more before suddenly the movement stopped and he went limp.
“The cloud has left him. My brother is dead…” said the man beside me crying as I tried to comfort him.
“I am so sorry for your loss.” I said shaking my head and watching the orange suits running round the table in a panic trying to do something.
“How long had he been sick for? What happened?” I asked but the man was too distraught and inconsolable.
One of the technicians inside the room was now getting out some kind of home made scrap defibrillator which they hooked up to him. As they activated the device the man jolted back to life trying to burst from his restraints. They tried to hold him down as he thrashed and writhed. He had that same look in his eyes that I had seen in both the previous patient and the chained up zombies. The Womble no longer seemed the same person and there was certainly no joy from the brother on my side of the glass following this miraculous resurrection. I felt it was best to leave them to it at this point as I was aware I was entering the point of invading the privacy of the brother’s mourning.
This left me wondering though, what was in the cloud? Was is some kind of pollution? Was it biological warfare? If so who was responsible? Was it Bang-Hai and Rothchild? Was it AMI releasing clouds of Nano-Technology? Was the cloud really just made up of all the data that AMI had been uploading and storing? If so why was it affecting people in this way? Or was The Cloud nothing to do with people being sick? I kept thinking that the person most obsessed with clouds the past few years was Mr. Bliss, one of the richest men in Boomtown and one of the group called The Cygnets (allegedly). Could he be involved? He had already tried killing people using radioactive fibers taken from Area 404 (allegedly) so he must have sent someone here. We knew he was already trying to wipe more people out to get rid of the ‘excess poor people’ (allegedly). I really did have more questions than answers now since coming to the safe zone. I was certain though that the DC10X was making people worse now though and that OneCor was partially responsible for this. Gordon Romance (their CEO) had a lot to answer for. Maybe the next weeks called for some hard hitting journalism and questions. Was this a bridge I should publically burn though? It could come back to bite me in the ass at a later point if I did.
I walked the corridors, alleys, warehouses and gantries for a while, thinking and taking it all in. A few times I saw a flash of blue as an AMI Android marched past expressionless going about whatever mysterious business it was doing. People had spotted a good few of these models had been about this evening. In fact sightings of them were becoming more and more common. They’re goals were as obfuscated as the central AI itself though.
There were two bits of the Area 404 industrial complex that seemed to be rather odd and out of place. Both of these appeared to be some kind of religious shrines. One seemed to be depicting AMI as a golden-throned cornucopic goddess playing her game of chess within the confines of Boomtown with the Sector 6 Reactor at the centre. A second shrine seemed to depict a doll head which looked much like the cherub emblem on the top of both AMI’s throne and proudly displayed on the protective suits of the Tekno Wombles. This dolls head was accompanied by clocks which were again stuck on the time of 1:50 and seemed to be surrounded by flowers, greenery and some kind of fibre optics.
As my own Pip-Boy Wristwatch hit 1:50 I made sure to check all the areas I had explored so far just in case this was the time something significant was happening at this now well publicised time. When I searched through the complex though I found that all the orange suited Bang-Hai employees had vanished, presumably retreating to wherever it was they were safely laying their heads down for the night. It had been worth a shot but the clocks were obviously more of a mysterious clue than an instruction. I remembered that a similar thing had been observed in Oldtown during the fair. People had been given cards showing showing this time from AMI at De Graff’s Reformatory. Our agents at the time had tried to find something happening at that time but nothing of note seemed to occur at this hour.
Agent Janna had mentioned that all the clocks had stopped on that occasion and Xander Hawkmaul had said that it was always “ten to too”.
Ten to Two, Ten Tu-Tu, 10 22, 1022… there must be some significance. As I puzzled this out by the Engine Room I man in a white boiler suit ran up to me.
“Are you Jonny?” he asked excitedly, clutching 3 dark brown looking drinks in his hands.
“Yes. Do I know you from The Group?” I asked him.
“Don’t take the vaccine. That’s some bad shit man! I can’t tell you any more. I’ve been working for OneCor for about 6 months now. I could lose my job over this!” he slurred before running off into the crowd leaving me rather surprised and baffled by the very quick exchange.
The rest of the night was mostly uneventful and as it reached 3:30 in the morning we decided it was best to order our extraction vehicle and return to base. It had been an interesting time to be sure and I was sure this wouldn’t be the end of our dealings with Area 404. We would get to the bottom of things one day, that I was sure.
To close this journal entry I will leave you with some final words from OneCor’s CEO, Gordon Romance.
Wishing brave citizens
@area404complex
all the best for a speedy recovery and fast exit - thanks to our fantastic EAU (Emergency Aid Upgrade) packs and wonder vaccine DC10X 🥂 #area404 #FirstResponders #inspirationalquotes #radiationsickness #OneCor #BeautifulFuture.
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simple harmonies
prompt from @sierra198466: After Beyond, Spock dumps Uhura and he realizes he loves Jim. He then finds out Jim has loved him since Into Darkness.
word count: 2.2k
ao3 link.
Spock has never known himself to do what humans refer to as “space out”. On the contrary, he does mental exercises daily to make sure his mind remains sharp. When there is a moment that he finds his thoughts floating from the current situation, he is normally able to bring himself back to reality.
However, during the whole conversation he and Nyota have, all he can seem to truly focus on are the wind chimes that are outside the coffee house door.
His mother had them, at their house. She used to say that it was the last non-electronic object that humans had to play music for them. The wind rarely gusted enough on Vulcan to make them sing; but whenever it did, she would look out the window and have one of her mysterious smiles that Spock never quite did figure out.
Like mother, like son. It is he who is transfixed, looking out the window, unable to look away as the chimes gently bump each other in the wind.
“We should end our romantic involvement with each other,” he says as Nyota takes a breath, ready to launch into the next part of her argument with him.
She stops. Blinks at him. “What did you say?”
The wind picks up again, knocking the littlest chime into the largest. A melodically odd tone results. “We should end our romantic relationship,” he repeats.
Nyota, for the first time since he’s known her, is speechless.
“Do you think that if we flew far enough in space, we could find the end of time?” Jim asks. He’s propped against the railing, staring out into the San Francisco bay.
Spock stops his vegetable gyro’s trajectory toward his mouth (it’s from a food truck that Jim insisted on them eating at; “the best in the galaxy” were his words). He frowns at his friend. “Modern physics suggests that a concept such as the ‘end of time’ is—”
Jim waves his hand, cutting Spock off. “I don’t want the science crap, any theorized evidence. What do you think?”
“Why do you wish to find the end of time?”
Jim shrugs. His hair is being lightly brushed by the wind and there’s a melancholic smile on his face that Spock cannot understand. “If you can find the end, maybe you can trace it back. To where you want to go.”
Spock takes a thoughtful bite of his dinner and swallows before saying, “Even the ocean has an end. Technically.”
“It does, Spock,” Jim says, looking as if he’s seeing Spock for the first time, “it sure does.”
An hour after Spock leaves Nyota at the coffee shop, he receives an angry call from Doctor McCoy. He lets his phone ring itself to voicemail. The message is about as emotional as he expected.
“Listen you crazy hobgoblin—Nyota just told us what the hell you did. Just breaking up with her like that, no explanation, then walking out? Where the hell do you get off? You better believe that I’m going to kick that green ass of yours into the sky, and make sure you don’t get on the ship for that 5-year-mission—”
Spock deletes the message.
He stops at a crosswalk. People jostle his shoulder as they walk by. As is typical in the crowded streets of San Francisco, he feels fleeting snatches of their emotions and thoughts as they touch him: grocery lists running through people’s heads, worrying about who will pick up the kids at daycare, annoyance at how hot and sticky it is for a day in December.
Spock remains standing there. Staring into space, once again. The sound of windchimes stuck in his ears.
Spock tries to forget the day Jim got injured and almost died in his arms.
Peace talks with the people indigenous to Echo IV had not gone as expected. After refusing relations with the Federation, things had become tense. Jim, trying to calm down the situation, had gotten caught in the crossfire.
Spock’s hands were uncharacteristically shaking when he tore Jim’s shirt open to apply medical attention. McCoy was on the ship, since there was no anticipated danger at this meeting. Around the corner, the security team tried to manage the situation. Any requests for beam-ups were greeted with static.
“Spock.” Jim’s hand, stained with blood, caught Spock’s. “Leave it, find a way to get to the ship, just—”
“Cease talking.” Spock applied pressure to Jim’s wound. His mind was spinning. He could feel Jim’s agony through his skin.
“Get to the ship. Just be safe,” Jim choked out as he slipped from consciousness.
Spock tried to hail the Enterprise countless times. He helplessly watched as Jim’s face grew paler. Most of the security team had died, and Spock knew that soon it’d be him and Jim left. That Jim would die, either by someone else’s weapon or from his own wounds.
And all Spock could do is watch.
By the time the ship was finally hailed, and they were finally beamed aboard, McCoy had to stick a hypo into Spock’s neck to stop his body’s shaking.
It took five crew members to pull him off the unconscious captain.
It was standing over Jim’s sickbed, with Jim patched up and well and sipping water from a straw, that he finally relaxed. Breathed. He didn’t listen to the words that Jim said. He only watched his face, alive with emotions, and his lungs, expanding with breath.
It takes the whole afternoon before Nyota finally answers her comm. Spock is walking on the Starfleet Academy campus, which is empty due to the holidays, when his pocket buzzes.
“I wish to say I’m sorry,” Spock says, in a rush, before she can hang up.
She sighs angrily on the line. “I knew you weren’t a smooth talker, Spock, but, this... this takes the fucking cake.”
“I realize that I was … too forward.”
“Too forward?” she yells. “You didn’t even give me warning! One minute we’re arguing about me spending time on Vulcan with you, the next you’re dumping me in broad daylight! What the hell is wrong with you?”
“I do not know.”
“Well…” She sighs again. “It’s not like I didn’t see it coming. But the way you did it, it just—” There’s a silence. “I’m pissed at you, Spock. And I will be for a long time. Don’t call me again, okay?”
“Underst—” The comm link cuts out. He pockets the device, and stands by a large oak tree.
A cadet walks by in his uniform and shouldering a backpack. He looks surprised that someone else is on campus before giving Spock a wry, understanding smile.
“What was your mother like?”
Jim is lying on the floor of Spock’s living room apartment, wine glass clutched in his hand. He stares up at Spock innocently.
“Why are you asking such a question?” is Spock’s reply.
“Tell me about your mom, and I’ll tell you about my dad.”
“You never knew your father.”
Jim lets loose a laugh. “Low blow, Spock. I know enough, okay? Now, tell me.” He sits up, legs crossed. “Just one thing.”
Spock doesn’t think about his mother often. It threatens his control.
But it’s Jim who’s asking.
“She loved nature,” Spock says. “She always tended faithfully to a garden in the backyard, and would cry if a plant died.”
“A happy thing about her, Spock.”
“I did not know these facts had to be so specific in nature.”
Jim raises his eyebrows, stares at Spock expectantly. Spock relents. “Very well, she... “ He pauses. “I never understood her. She seemed to have many secrets.”
Jim rolls his eyes to the ceiling. “I’ll never get anything out of you, will I?”
“Perhaps give me an example of what your father was like, so that I may see what you mean.”
Jim grins. “All right. Mom said that he used to sing to her all the time. He was really good at it.”
“You did not inherit this talent,” Spock observes.
“What? I’m awesome!”
“I have heard you in our adjoining bathroom on the ship.”
Jim laughs, a full-bodied one where his head is tilted back and his golden hair catches the light of the setting sun. “You’re such a jerk, you know that?”
Spock lets a small smile tug his lips.
Jim’s laughter dies down, and he takes a sip of wine. In the silence, Spock offers, “My mother loved music. Her favorite object in the house was the wind chimes that hung just outside our kitchen window.”
There’s a sad way about Jim’s eyes when he says, “I wish I could have met her.”
Spock feels something fissure his heart. “As do I.”
On his birthday a few weeks later, Jim showed up at his apartment with a small, blue windchime. Spock stared at it for approximately 9.78 seconds before accepting the gift.
Spock finds a bench to sit on the harbor boardwalk. The sun is dipping low in the horizon, making the ocean seem to glow.
He does not want to return home, just yet.
Since the coffee shop, his mind has been restless. Unordered. Jumping between memories and realities as if he were a living television set.
He remembers the last time he was on this boardwalk. The image of Jim is in his mind, face happy and open, eyes discerning the sea in front of him. Spock has no doubt that he could take the world by storm if he wished; the galaxy included.
Jim could have anything if he set his mind to it. Could have anyone. It’s illogical; if these are the facts, then what does Jim need with an awkwardly socialized half-Vulcan?
Spock frowns at his shoes. The idea of Jim not needing him… is frightening. When Spock himself needs Jim so.
Spock’s gaze snaps to the ocean. The pieces in his mind burst together in a colorful, clarifying light.
Jim is at his apartment door when Spock returns, sitting against the door. He quickly scrambles to his feet when he sees Spock.
“Where the hell were you?” Jim asks angrily. “I’ve been calling and looking everywhere!”
“I have just been to your apartment,” Spock explains, unsteadily. “You were not there.”
“Because I’ve been waiting for you, you idiot! I’ve gotten hundreds of messages from Bones, Uhura, even Chekov has heard about it and is upset—”
“I regret worrying you,” Spock supplies, lamely, as he takes out his keys. He walks into his living room as Jim follows him through the door.
“What, you just break Uhura’s heart and then take off? And don’t even tell anyone where you were? You’ve been M.I.A all day!”
Spock places his keys on the coffee table. “I am aware.”
Jim puts both hands on his hips, glaring at him. “So, what, no explanation? You’re just gonna stand there?”
“I was attempting to find you. I need to—”
“Then why didn’t you call me? Why did I have to—”
“I am in love with you.”
Jim stares at him. His mouth remains slack, his eyes wide. “What did you just say?”
“It’s why I was attempting to find you.” Spock sits on his couch, hands on his knees to stop them from shaking. “I have come to this realization 3.57 hours ago. I regret not realizing and telling you sooner. And I regret not knowing this as I was ending my relationship with Uhura. But I assure you, I will give her an explanation.”
Jim stares at him. “You’re kidding me.”
“I assure you, I am not.”
“How can you just—sit there and deliver that news like it’s the fucking weather?”
“It is a fact. I thought it best for you to know.”
Jim puts a hand on his forehead, shaking his head. “Uhura’s gonna kill me.”
“I understand that the likelihood of you reciprocating my feelings is 5.456%,” Spock says, almost too quickly, “due to the fact that you have not shown amorous feelings for me in the past. I understand if you were to open my position to applicants, as working with me may now seem impossible. If you were to—”
“Spock.” Jim walks to the couch and stands close enough so that their knees touch. He stares down at him. “Shut up.”
Spock obeys. Jim kneels down to Spock’s eye level.
“Do you remember when I died?”
Spock goes tense. “I do not see what that has to do with—”
“Spock. Just answer the question.”
“Of course I remember. It is a stupid question.”
Jim closes his eyes in frustration. “God, you’re making this difficult.” He takes a breath and opens his eyes. “When I died, I couldn’t really get words out. And there was that… damn glass between us. So I couldn’t tell you what was really in my head.”
“Tell me what?”
Spock’s breath hitches when Jim is suddenly taking his hand, holding it between his. “I’ve loved you for years, you stupid Vulcan.”
Spock’s heart feels to have stopped. He takes time to illogically memorize the moment; the shadows casting on Jim’s face, the complete stillness in his normally animated expression. But only a moment, because Spock cannot stay still any longer and is framing Jim’s face with his hands, bringing him forward in a very human, very emotional kiss.
“Finally,” Jim breathes on Spock’s lips between kisses, moving to bracket Spock’s legs with his. They fit together flawlessly; effortlessly. As if the small moments between them were meant to lead to this.
In the distance, on the flight of the wind, Spock can hear the chimes.
#my fic#spirk#space husbands#i tried to be artsy with a new writing style sigh#lemme know how i did i would love feedback
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TWEWYtober belated Day 23: Web, pt. 2
Previous: Web, pt. 1 | Next: Creature | From the top on AO3
(Note: I ended up needing this prompt for two things, so here ya go. Neku's first encounter with Vaugirard's Composer was in Light, pt 2)
The only warning Neku gets, before the Composer of Paris's 15th arrondissement appears in his borrowed studio for the second time, is a brief, blurry, dizzying moment where everything's haloed in light. He makes it to the nearest chair and sits down before the force of the Composer's aura bowls him over.
"Wear this," Vaugirard says without preamble, and holds something out. Neku's still blinking spots from his eyes; when he finally manages to focus, he feels like he's staring into one of those old Magic Eye tricks where you had to go cross-eyed to see the real picture. But he holds his eyes stubbornly still, and the world slowly resolves back into something like normality.
At least, as much normality as it can hold, when there's a glow-in-the-dark demigod standing in front of him and offering him a necklace. A smooth silver disc spins and winks on its chain, reflecting the Composer's light, and as Neku peers at it more closely he sees the delicate, glittering spiderweb carved into its surface.
"It won't hurt you," Vaugirard adds quietly. "And it will keep your imagination's effect on the world around you in better check, so you can avoid future… incidents."
Neku grimaces, but he reaches out to run his fingers along the length of the chain, watching the way the light glints along it. "No more closets full of gothic lolita, huh?"
A laugh ripples out of the Composer. "Not unless that's what you buy. But it doesn't strike me as your likeliest choice."
No more incidents. A week ago that would have felt like he was losing something, but—there was never anything there to lose, was there? His head's been playing tricks on him. Nothing more.
Neku takes the pendant and turns it over carefully, running his fingers over the web to feel the lines of the carving. It's beautiful, and what it offers is tempting; it tugs at him, even though the tugging is accompanied by a sharp twinge in his chest.
It's also a gift from a Composer, and he asks, carefully, "What's the catch?"
"No catch. This is to everyone's benefit, Neku." Vaugirard smiles, through the veil of light. "You won't be at constant risk of accidentally ruining your decor or turning yourself into a nightlight, and those of us charged with maintaining the stability of reality will breathe a little easier in your presence. Honestly, I'm surprised your Joshua didn't give you something similar years ago."
"Yeah, well," Neku mumbles. There's a warm sympathy in the Composer's aura that pulls gently on his words, urging him to speak. He can feel it easing him along, and a part of him digs his heels in, but then he thinks—screw it. He doesn't owe Joshua anything, except maybe a punch to the face. "Most helpful thing Josh ever gave me was a bullet to the head, so, you know." This comment passes without reaction, and through the haze Neku manages to file this away: either Vaugirard already knows that story, or Joshua's not actually as eccentric for a Composer as Vaugirard claimed. "I wouldn't really be too surprised. I don't think he's ever given a shit about making anyone's life easier."
"Even so, you can't have spent all your time in Shibuya?" Vaugirard hums at Neku's uncertain head shake. "But sending as volatile an imagination as yours into other districts on a regular basis—that would have been tantamount to a declaration of war."
Neku snorts. "I mean, for the guy I knew? That would've been on brand, probably."
"Still. You're lucky you haven't had trouble. If any one of the districts around Shibuya had taken offense… well." Vaugirard's light dims slightly, and he turns to gaze out the window, folding his hands behind his back. "No sense in dwelling on what didn't happen."
What didn't happen? Neku almost wants to ask, and then again he doesn't. He doesn't think he's quite ready to hear the details of whatever fate Joshua's apparently left him open to for the last ten years. The casual carelessness of it burns his throat and leaves a bitter taste.
He goes back to looking at the pendant, turning it over and over. "So—no catch," he repeats, softly. But he has the uneasy feeling he is the catch, that the instant he puts the thing around his neck the web's strands will spin out of their silver disc, and they'll stick, and he'll never get them off his skin.
He also doubts he's walking away from this conversation without putting the thing on, whether he wants to or not.
"Look, if you know how I got tangled up in the Game to begin with," he says, measuring the words out carefully, "you'll maybe understand why I'm a little… leery about Underground jewelry. However pretty it is."
"Ah. You're referring to the 2007 incident," Vaugirard says. "The red pins."
Neku's not sure if it's reassuring or not that the Composer's mind went there so quickly. "Yeah, got it in one."
"An understandable concern, from your vantage," Vaugirard concedes, and his light warms again, soft and kind. "Neku, there's no way for me to prove to you that that's not what this is. But will you believe me if I tell you that I have no desire to be the one starting a war? No one—well, no one sensible—wants a repeat of the incident you mention. It had repercussions enough that it's still fresh in the Underground's memory. If I were to start handing out mind-control devices, I'd be re-opening a very dangerous door, and my fellow Composers would take steps against me."
Neku digests this, and thinks: he could pretend he's actually being given a choice right now. It would be easy to pretend. It would be nice to pretend, but he's still never gotten comfortable with lies. "And if I don't put it on?"
Vaugirard sighs. "Then forgive me for being blunt, Neku, but I won't be the one starting a war." He meets Neku's sharp glare with placid calm. "I don't recommend it. You're one man, barely more than a child and far from home, with too much strength and no idea how to control it. If I acquiesce to your wishes and don't force that chain around your neck, someone else will."
Neku looks down. Well. He did ask.
"Or," Vaugirard continues quietly, "you go home to Shibuya now. And I do mean now; there will be a taxi at the curb by the time you reach the street, and first-class reservations awaiting you at the airport, if you so choose. You go home—to a Composer who has proven full well how poorly he values you, by the simple fact that he let you come here unwarned and unprepared—and you hope that whatever peculiar goodwill the rest of Tokyo has shown you, it continues to hold. And I suggest, once home, you leave as little as possible."
Neku stares at the web-laced pendant, and remembers a poem he had to read in an English class once, years ago. 'Won't you step into my parlor,' said the spider to the fly…
His movements feel stiff and strange as he lifts the chain and slides it over his head.
(Note: In other news, @surskitty is running a TWEWY gift exchange for fics, art, and icons/moodboards over on AO3. Signups are open until the 10th. So if that's your thing, come join us! \o/ )
#twewy#twewytober#twewytober2018#twewy fic: afterimage#neku sakuraba#seldon writes things#please tell me the formatting worked tumblr is being appalling today#fanfic
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Better Call Saul Rewatch, Part 2/30: I’m A Lawyer, Not A Criminal
Mijo (Season 1, Episode 2)
Written by Vince Gilligan & Peter Gould / Directed by Michelle MacLaren
Breaking Bad liked to juxtapose food preparation with menace (particularly where Gus was concerned), but after some extreme close-ups on blood-red peppers and some vivid sound design, we pull out and see that Tuco’s just, well, cooking. In an apron, in his grandma’s kitchen. (Raymond Cruz gives more nuance to Tuco here than he had the chance to in Breaking Bad. He’s not quite as quick to anger, which actually makes him scarier, since you don’t know when he’s going to strike.)
Aside, this is such a Breaking Bad frame:
Mrs. Salamanca arrives with Cal and Lars in tow, fretting about the accident; Tuco reassures her and sends her upstairs, ominously adding “turn up the volume real loud so you can hear it”. I love the twins’ complete obliviousness to the danger they’re in. Even when Tuco pointedly asks them if the cops are coming, they don’t get it; they’re still yammering about “dollar amounts” when he picks up his abuelita’s cane.
The first half of this episode is harrowing. A situation Jimmy thought he could micromanage has spiralled out of control, and he looks sick with fear throughout, face contorting, hands trembling. He does a good job of talking Tuco down at first, only for it all to collapse like a house of cards when Lars yells that the scam was his idea. This brings us to a classic set-piece:
The desert! I missed you.
It’s a good choice not to show Nacho taking in the information about Craig and Betsy and the money they stole; it keeps our attention locked to Jimmy’s perspective. All we need to learn about Nacho at this point is that he’s smarter and more level-headed than his boss.
This scene is where we see that Jimmy really is a good advocate at a fundamental level. He reads Tuco well enough to know how to appeal to him; he deploys truths and untruths selectively for the greatest effect. When Tuco won’t budge on the issue of the twins’ punishment, he starts bargaining: what’s proportionate? What’s fair?
Giving Jimmy credit for arguing on behalf of Cal and Lars after he himself is set free would be setting the bar low, but it does demonstrate qualities that Saul Goodman must have buried pretty deep. He saves the twins’ lives, and he looks utterly disgusted with himself when he and Tuco shake hands on their “sentence”.
The whole leg-breaking/breadsticks sequence is... a lot. You get momentarily distracted by the sight of Jimmy’s maybe-date (it made me wonder about his and Kim’s past relationship; there’s obviously something between them, but he’s flirting with someone else; did they just fool around a few times, or did they actually date and then break up?) and then the snapping starts and ugh it’s just awful. Kudos to the sound design department. Please never repeat this.
It’s poignant that Jimmy, traumatised and blind drunk, ends up seeking shelter at his prickly brother’s house. Chuck seems to experience pain in his right arm just after Jimmy passes out on the couch, right before he thinks to look for Jimmy’s phone. This is an early hint at the true source of his symptoms: if it were really the electromagnetic fields, he’d have reacted as soon as Jimmy crossed the threshold, but he seems fine until he appreciates what a sorry state Jimmy is in.
The next morning, we get to see Chuck’s house in daylight for the first time. In general, the interplay of light and shadow in Chuck’s house is managed beautifully. Draped in a space blanket, Chuck passive-aggressively informs Jimmy that he’s out of milk, and then beautifully pretends not to have read the urgent care bill that fell out of Jimmy’s pocket. The whole “take off the space blanket” back-and-forth that ensues is just so well written and acted, in such an unflashy way. Underneath Jimmy’s hungover frustration is the fear that he is the reason Chuck is under the space blanket:
Jimmy: Hey, Chuck, listen. I— I know how this looks. I’m down to my last dime, and suddenly I’m paying for broken legs. But it’s not that, I swear. This represents a good thing, ultimately.
Chuck: Okay.
Jimmy: I’m not backsliding. This isn’t Slippin’ Jimmy.
Chuck: Fine.
Jimmy: Take off the space blanket, will you, please, Chuck?
Chuck: It helps.
Jimmy: Take off the space blanket. I didn’t do anything wrong.
Chuck: It has nothing to do with that. It was your phone.
Jimmy: Take off the space blanket.
Chuck: Why?
Jimmy: Take off the space blanket, Chuck. Come on. Take off the blanket.
Begrudgingly, Chuck takes it off. Jimmy goes out to find his phone, and Chuck wraps himself back up again.
Another montage! I love this one, it’s so snappy. The Baroque music is something we wouldn’t have heard on Breaking Bad. We get to see Jimmy wheeling and dealing with DDA Bill “Petty With A Prior” Oakley, subsisting on vending-machine coffee, and exchanging glances with Kim. The shot where Jimmy meets a client, walks into one courtroom, and emerges from another door with a different client is almost balletic, and the sequence of cuts between arguments in different cases (improvised by Bob Odenkirk) is especially good. Just as he did at HHM and the nail salon, he engages with the people around him, giving coffee to a deputy outside the courtroom. His suits, shirts and ties are notably subdued; James M. McGill isn’t flashy, after all.
The show takes its time integrating Mike within the plot, which is good. They could have gone full fanservice from the start, but they don’t. (The audio description track on Netflix just calls him “the parking attendant” for the first few episodes until someone finally uses his name.) You do wonder why, after the third or fourth time Mike makes Jimmy go back for more stickers, he doesn’t start double-checking his validation with the clerk. Maybe he did offscreen and she wouldn’t budge.
The sequence where Jimmy gets into his office, checks for messages, unfolds his bed, pours himself a drink and settles back before being disturbed is one of the quiet, carefully observed scenes that BCS does so well. Nothing dramatic is happening, it’s just a guy coming home from work and making himself comfortable.
The exchange in which Nacho asks Jimmy to help him rip off the Kettlemans would do little but move the plot forward were it not for Nacho’s uncomfortably accurate reading of Jimmy. Much as he protests, much as he insists that he’s sticking to the straight and narrow, much as he pretends to be only temporarily based in Mrs. Nguyen’s back room, he is seen through.
One of the tragedies of Jimmy McGill’s life is that no matter what he does, people keep telling him who and what he is and always will be: Slippin’ Jimmy, a conman, a criminal. Another one is that he keeps on proving them right.
Misc.
“Judge’s gotta see your mother. … Well, do you know anybody who looks like her? … No, an uncle won’t do it.”
Hello and goodbye to Jimmy’s shortest-lived alter ego, Special Agent Jeffrey A. Steele, FBI. I wonder if we’ll ever see him again?
This is so far the only episode of BCS directed by Michelle MacLaren, who directed some of my favourite Breaking Bad eps (Salud, Madrigal, Buried) including such #iconic scenes as the poolside cartel massacre.
Timeframe: May 25 to maybe June 5, 2002; the urgent care receipt is dated May 25th, and Jimmy wears at least nine different ties in the courthouse montage, suggesting at least two weeks of work.
The parking lot is the one at the end of 1st Street, behind the Albuquerque Convention Center; it’s not actually attached to any of the courthouses, but it is very close to them. (NB: whenever I cite a location, credit should go to Marc Valdez, who has catalogued pretty much every site used in filming BrBa and BCS on his blog.)
Music
“Boulevard of Broken Dreams” by Juan García Esquivel (1958), during the bar scene
Vivaldi’s Concerto for Strings in G Major, RV 151 (Concerto alla rustica), first movement, during the court montage
References
The Code of Hammurabi: a Babylonian legal code dating back to 1754 BCE that codified the principle of retaliatory justice. Law #196 states “if a man put out the eye of another man, his eye shall be put out” (source).
“Title 21, Schedule II through V, including Part B” refers to the United States Code Controlled Substances Act.
“It’s showtime, folks” is from All That Jazz (1979). Context, from Shmoop:
Joe Gideon is a chain-smoking, pill-popping workaholic by day and playboy by night. As a famous choreographer-director, he is physically burning out. Every morning he greets his hungover, bloodshot image in the bathroom mirror with, "It's showtime, folks!"
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