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the-desolated-quill · 3 years

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WandaVision: ‘Subverting’ Good Television - Quill’s Scribbles

(Spoilers for the first five episodes)

Hey everyone! Well... it’s been a while, hasn’t it? The last time I wrote a proper review or Scribble, people still thought the COVID crisis would be over within a month. The poor saps. But I thought that as a special way to mark this year’s Valentines Day, we could take a closer look at the Marvel Cinematic Universe’s shittiest power couple in their new Disney+ show WandaVision.

The first of many MCU spin-off shows that nobody asked for, broadcast exclusively on Disney’s totally unnecessary streaming platform, WandaVision is about everybody’s favourite whitewashed Nazi experiment and her red sexbot boyfriend as they try to fit into a suburban sitcom neighbourhood without arousing suspicion.

Yes, you read that correctly. The MCU has a sitcom now. My life is now complete.

Sarcasm aside, I was legitimately curious about WandaVision because of its unusual setting. And considering one of my most common criticisms of the MCU is its total lack of creativity, anything that’s even a little bit subversive is bound to attract my attention. Of course ‘subversive’ doesn’t necessarily mean ‘good.’ I could hand you a canvas smeared with my own shit and call it subversive. That doesn’t necessarily make it good art. And that’s exactly what WandaVision is. A canvas smeared with shit.

So lets split this critical analysis/review/angry bitter rant into two distinct chapters. The first focusing on the plot and setting, and the second focusing on the characters. Okay? Okay.

Chapter 1: Bewitched

Critics seem to be utterly enamoured with the whole sitcom gimmick, and it is a gimmick. As far as I can tell from the episodes I’ve seen, the sitcom setting serves no real purpose whatsoever other than to make the show ‘quirky.’ Which I wouldn’t mind, believe it or not, if the show was actually funny. There’s just one problem. It’s not.

Now in some ways describing why a sitcom doesn’t work is often futile because comedy is largely subjective. What I find funny, you won’t necessarily find funny and vice versa. With WandaVision, however, I won’t have that problem. I can demonstrate to you precisely why WandaVision, objectively, isn’t funny. And it all comes down to one simple thing. The stakes. Or rather the complete and total absence of stakes.

The show makes it very clear from the beginning that none of what we’re seeing is real. The cheesy theme song, the era appropriate special effects (mostly. It’s actually very inconsistent), the joke commercials, and, in the case of the first two episodes, which are in black and white, the appearance of red lights and objects in Scarlet Witch’s general vicinity. (Gee, what a mystery this is).

Basically Wanda has brought Vision back from the dead and created this sitcom world for them to inhabit. I’ll explain the stupidity of this in Chapter 2. The point is none of this is real, and that has a negative effect on the comedy because the very nature of comedy is suffering. Take the plot of the first episode. Wanda and Vision have to prepare a dinner to impress Vision’s boss. If they fail, Vision could lose his job and the couple could be exposed as superheroes. If this were a normal sitcom, it would work. The stakes are clear and it would be satisfying to see the two struggle and overcome the odds. But here, we know it’s not real. If it’s not real, it means there’s no stakes. If there’s no stakes, it means there’s no suffering. If there’s no suffering, there’s no comedy.

It would be one thing if the unfunny sitcom stuff lasted for like the first ten minutes or so before making way for the actual plot, but it doesn’t. Oh no. It doesn’t even last for the first episode. Out of the five episodes I’ve watched, four of them are almost entirely about these unfunny, objectively flawed sitcom homages, each set in a different time period. The fifties, the sixties, and so on. And what’s worse is that nothing that happens in them is plot-relevant. That gets relegated to the last five minutes of an episode. So you’re forced to sit through twenty five minutes of boring slapstick and puns in order to catch even a whiff of actual story. Which begs the question... who is this for exactly? It can’t be entertaining to Marvel fans, who have to slog through all this pointless shit so they can figure out what the fuck is going on. Comedy fans may get a kick out of the sitcom pastiche at first, but after four episodes, surely the joke would wear thin. So why is it in here? Clearly someone in the writer’s room absolutely fell in love with the idea of doing a Marvel sitcom, but nobody put in any time or effort to figure out how it would work in context.

I cannot stress enough how bad the plotting of this series is. As I said, the vast majority of a thirty minute episode is about shitty sitcom plots that aren’t funny and don’t have any impact on the story, only to then tease you with a crumb of actual plot in order to keep you coming back for the next instalment. Admittedly it’s an effective strategy. I was more than ready to quit after Episode 2 until that beekeeper showed up out of the sewer (don’t ask. It’s not important). WandaVision essentially follows the Steven Moffat school of bad writing. String your audience along with the promise that things might get more interesting later on and that all the bullshit that came before will retroactively make sense by the end. Except, as demonstrated with BBC’s Sherlock, that doesn’t work. And even if it did, it wouldn’t justify wasting the audience’s fucking time. And that’s what the majority of WandaVision is. A waste of time.

The only episode that doesn’t follow the sitcom format is the fourth episode. Instead it basically exists to explain all the shit that happened before. The shit that the audience, frankly, are smart enough to figure out for themselves. Wanda created the sitcom world as a way of coping with the loss of Vision, blah, blah, blah. Yeah, we got it. Thanks. It doesn’t advance the plot or anything. It’s just a massive info-dump. But by far the lowest point was when Darcy (by far the most annoying character in the first Thor film and is just as obnoxious here) was sat in front of the TV, watching the sitcom and asking the same questions we were. Not even attempting to look for answers. Just reiterating what the audience is thinking. Like this is an episode of fucking Gogglebox.

In the end it becomes apparent why the series is structured the way that it is. It’s to hoodwink people into subscribing to Disney’s stupid streaming service. If you think about it, there was no reason for WandaVision to be a TV series other than to lure gullible fans in with a piece-meal story buried in a mountain of crap. This isn’t a TV show. It’s what is cynically known in the world of big business executives as ‘content.’ They’re not interested in entertaining the audience. Instead they crave ‘engagement’, which isn’t the same thing. Watching WandaVision is like staring into the void, waiting for something to happen, while Disney charge you for the privilege.

Chapter 2: I Love Lucy

So the plot sucks balls. What about the characters? Surely if Wanda and Vision are likeable at least, it’ll give us something to cling onto.

Well as I was watching the first episode, it suddenly hit me that I couldn’t remember anything that happened to them in previous films. I knew Vision died, but other than that, I couldn’t tell you significant plot details or their personalities or anything. Not a great start.

See, up until now, Vision and Scarlet Witch have been little more than background characters. So already there’s an uphill struggle to get us invested in their relationship, especially considering we haven’t actually seen that relationship develop. In Avengers: Age Of Ultron, Scarlet Witch is killing people because she’s pissed off about Tony Stark killing people (you work that one out) until all of a sudden she stops and joins the good guys because the script said so. Vision meanwhile is introduced as a convenient deus ex machina to beat Ultron and gets no real personality other than he’s a robot. Captain America: Civil War comes the closest to giving Wanda a story and personality of her own as it’s her actions that cause the Sokovia Accords to come into effect, but she never gets any real growth or payoff as the film is heavily focused on Cap and Iron Man’s penis measuring contest. And as for Vision, all he does in the film is accidentally cripple War Machine. No real character or arc there as such. And then we have Avengers: Infinity War, where Wanda and Vision are now sporadically in love and on the run until that pesky Josh Brolin, looking like a CGI cross between Joss Whedon and a grumpy grape, comes along and rips out Vision’s Infinity Stone to power up his golden glove of doom, and the film treats this like a tragic moment, except... it isn’t. Because we haven’t really had the time to properly get to know these characters and see their romance blossom. So instead it just comes off as hollow and forced.

WandaVision has the exact same problem. Apparently Wanda was so distraught about Vision’s death that she broke into a SWORD base, stole his corpse, brought it back from the dead... somehow, and then enslaved an entire town of people to create an idyllic lifestyle for her and her hubby while broadcasting it as a sitcom to the outside world... for some reason. Putting aside the dubious morality of it all, it’s impossible to really sympathise with Wanda or her supposed grief because we’ve barely spent any time with her. Had the Marvel movies taken the time to properly explore the characters and show us their relationship grow and develop, this might have had more emotional resonance. But no, it just happens. In one film they barely speak to each other and in the next they’re a couple. No effort to explore how they feel about each other or any of the problems that may arise trying to date a robot. It just happens and we’re just supposed to care. Well I’m sorry, but I don’t care. You’re going to have to try a little bit harder than that I’m afraid. What’s worse is that, thanks to the whole fake sitcom thing, it’s impossible to really become invested in Wanda and her plight because the show has to constantly keep us at arms length at all times in order to keep up the pretence that this bullshit is somehow mysterious.

Looking through the WandaVision tag, it amuses me how many people say that she’s acting out of character. And yeah, her actions are a bit of a head scratcher. Why would an Eastern European’s ideal life be an American sitcom? Why a sitcom? Why kidnap an entire town? Why keep changing the decade? None of it makes sense, but you’re wrong for thinking that Wanda is behaving out of character for the simple reason that Wanda has never actually had a character. In fact, ironically, Wanda mind controlling an entire town and forcing them to do her bidding is probably the one consistent thing about her as she did this in Age Of Ultron. In interviews, Elizabeth Olsen and Paul Bettany described how they used actors like Elizabeth Montgomery and Dick Van Dyke as influences, which is really funny because they’re straight up admitting they don’t have characters and even now they’re still not playing the characters, instead emulating the work of far better actors.

As I was watching the show, it became abundantly clear that not only do Marvel not have the faintest idea what they wanted to do with these characters, but they also straight up don’t give a shit about these characters. Wanda in particular has had a rough time under the tyrannical regime of the House of Mouse. First they cast Elizabeth Olsen, a white woman, to play a Romani character, then systematically erasing her Jewish roots, even going so far as to put a cross in her bedroom in Civil War, and now the character is being butchered even more by forcing her into an American sitcom housewife role that she apparently willingly chose for herself, which is laughable. I mean say what you like about Magneto in the X-Men films, at least they actually depicted his Jewish culture. At least they recognised his Jewish background was important (though not important enough to cast a Jewish actor apparently). Wanda’s steady cultural erasure over the years is incredibly insidious and judging by Olsen’s comments in interviews, where she called Wanda’s comic book outfit a quote ‘gypsy thing’ unquote, it seems nobody has an ounce of fucking respect for the character or the culture she’s supposed to be representing. (and to all those kissing her arse saying it was a slip of the tongue, she has been repeatedly called out for using the slur in the past, so at this point I’d describe her behaviour as wilful ignorance)

If you want further proof of how much Marvel doesn’t seem to care about Wanda, look no further than her brother Pietro, aka Quicksilver. At the end of Episode 5, Wanda brings Pietro back from the dead, except it’s not Pietro. It’s Peter Maximoff, the Quicksilver from the X-Men films played by Peter Evans, who coincidentally is not Jewish or Romani either. So Quicksilver has the dubious honour of not only being whitewashed three times, but also twice within the same franchise. But should we really be surprised at this point? It’s Marvel after all. The same company that whitewashed the Ancient One in Doctor Yellowface and claimed it wasn’t racist because Tilda Swinton is ‘Celtic’. But now I’m going off topic. My point is that this isn’t a simple case of recasting an actor like Mark Ruffalo replacing Edward Norton as the Hulk. WandaVision actually acknowledges the recast in-universe, which makes no sense. Why would Wanda bring back her brother, only to make him look like a different person? We the audience may be familiar with this version of Quicksilver, but she isn’t. That would be like me bringing my Grandad back to life and making him look like Ian McKellen. He’d be perfectly charming, I’m sure, but he wouldn’t be my Grandad.

If Marvel really cared about the characters or narrative consistency, they would have brought Aaron Taylor Johnson back. Instead, now they have absorbed 20th Century Fox into the hellish Disney abyss, they use X-Men’s Quicksilver as a means to keep viewers from switching off and so that people will write stupid articles and think pieces about whether the rest of the X-Men will show up in the MCU. It’s like dangling your keys in front of a toddler’s face to distract them from the rotting corpse of a raccoon lying face down in the corner of the room.

And it’s here where I decided to stop watching the show because fuck Disney.

Epilogue: One Foot In The Grave

You know, I am sick and tired of the so called ‘professional’ critics bending over backwards to praise these god awful films and shows when it’s so clear to anyone with a functioning brain cell how bad they truly are. WandaVision is without a doubt one of the most cynically produced and poorly structured TV shows I’ve ever seen. Its riffs on classic sitcoms are pointless and self-indulgent, the writing is terrible, the characters are unlikable and unsympathetic, and it’s entirely emblematic of what the entire MCU has become of late. And it’s only going to get worse as Disney drowns us with more ‘content’ to keep the plebs ‘engaged’. In short; pathetic.

#anti wandavision #anti marvel #anti mcu #anti disney #quill's scribbles

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casebasket · 4 years

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The Mystrade Treatise

I am long, long out of the Sherlock fandom, but I still have a soft spot for mystrade after ~ 7 odd years (the only thing I really cared about in the show), so when a friend asked about mystrade I hit them with a spontaneous 2000 word block of text. I thought I’d share it as an homage to the still quietly existing community of mystrade shippers out there. Basically, in this essay I will argue for my interpretation of how the BBC TV show Sherlock (2012) establishes an implied relationship between Mycroft, (The Government) and Lestrade (The Force) in the subtext. This analysis will be broken down to two parts: 1) show chronology / their history and 2) their compatibility, which can be further split into 2a) personalities and 2b) external circumstances.

(The beginning is the only formal(ish) part of - I’m calling it a treatise -, the rest of the piece is written in “I typed it all in messenger app” style. This all came out off the top of my head, so if you think I’m missing something I’m open to the callout)

TL;DR: I’m still mystrade trash and I’m pulling the receipts on mystrade canon

1) Their history - it's clear they know each other and are in communication with each other since the very beginning - and very likely even before - the events of the show. Just a show tidbit, the ending of the pilot episode has Lestrade watch John and Sherlock walk away happily staring into each other's eyes and tell Donovan about their potential as partners, whereas the actual first episode replaces him with Mycroft talking to his assistant Anthea, which shows their character parallels. In one aspect, their role as "aggravated older guardian" is a shared one and one that - rationally, but in fanon - allows them to commiserate with other another. Also, Mycroft kidnaps John in his very first day of him meeting Sherlock, so reasonable to conclude he did the same to Lestrade, so they've clearly met. And, I believe it's canon that Lestrade helped Sherlock with his drug problem, so he's clearly run into Mycroft, whether it's because his brother's OD'd or found with possession or whatever whatever. The possibilities are endless.

We have hints of them knowing each other throughout the show - in season 2 episode 2 the Hound of Baskerville (I am surprised and appalled I know this off by heart instead of more important things), the duo meets Lestrade in a tavern where he's clearly back from holiday and when Sherlock eggs him by basically calling him Mycroft's lackey, he, aggrieved, says "I don't just do what your brother tells me", which is a line I still unfortunately remember over 5 years later, and that is the first precedent set in canon that they clearly communicate. We can interpret this line, given the circumstances, that Mycroft asked him to cut his vacation short to go check up on his brother, and Lestrade, being whipped, was like fine.

This is mere speculation, but in that mini episode, Many Happy Returns, Lestrade is listening to Anderson go on about his conspiracy theories on how Sherlock is still alive, and at the end of it he passes a newspaper article about Sherlock, and he smiles at it like he KNOWS he's still alive somewhere even though he just walked out calling Anderson on his bullshit and dismissing his theories, and I like to interpret that as Mycroft told him Sherlock's still alive. Plus, when Sherlock greets him after his two year absence, the way Lestrade reacts is less “am I seeing a ghost because you’re supposed to be dead” and more “you’re finally back I already know you were alive because my boyfriend Mycroft told me”.

The first time we see them in frame together (in the mystrade community this is famously known as the 29 frames moment because they only showed up for - 29 frames, like 2 seconds) was in season 3 episode 3, where Sherlock goes missing and everyone looks for him in the hidey holes they know of. Lestrade is seen in Mycroft's office while Mycroft tells him about potential hiding spots. Honestly he did look hella dismissive and rude but you know what? Everyone was stressed. But this shows not only is Lestrade trusted in his secret government offices - and likely this was the secret one because it looked like a cellar - but he trusts Lestrade implicitly. When Sherlock is about to leave on a plane, Lestrade's in a pub watching the TV screen when Moriarty's face is all over it and the very next scene we see Mycroft on the phone with someone getting the news that this was happening. Coincidence? I think NOT - Lestrade called up Mycroft and told him, CANON.

And then there's the Christmas special or whatever it was, about the abominable bride, and yes, this one is set in Sherlock's drug fevered mind, but that only means that, in Sherlock's mind, he sees the two of them as a set (Sherlock ships it confirmed lol). During the whole episode when we see the canon versions of Mycroft and Lestrade they are together as a unit. When John leaves him, Sherlock's mind goes to the most reliable thing in his life to help him, which is his brother (and his brother's boyfriend) and his friend Lestrade to help him, together. Sherlock asks the two of them to help him dig up a body and they share a Look, which is clearly Mycroft's way of asking Lestrade to do the dirty work of actually digging and Lestrade resignedly concedes because there is no other way to analyse the Look, and in the next scene we see Sherlock and Lestrade digging in a grave while Mycroft holds up a lantern because Mycroft doesn't like legwork and Lestrade, clearly his boyfriend in Sherlock's mind, understands this and is willing to accommodate.

And then we have the whole of S4, or as I like to call it, Johnlock hell but mystrade victories!, because in s4e1 when Mary is shot in the aquarium, the first person they look at is each other, indicating they take some level of comfort or seek it out from one another in a room full of other people, also the two of them arrived together so they clearly coordinated, also when the gun was lifted Mycroft looks shocked and steps back a bit while Lestrade moves forward in a “ready to step in” protective gesture, and this all happened in the same frame, and there are gifsets of this happening, and everyone was quietly screaming (Johnlockers in pain, mystrade shippers in "look at them sharing a frame together look at these scraps we're getting"). In the second ep we don't see them together but we do see Mycroft getting hit on by Lady Smallwood and he looks hella uncomfortable about it, while Lestrade is talking with another detective and Sherlock shoots him down telling him she's not the one (because clearly we all know who is the one and Sherlock knows it's his brother).

Oh yeah also jumping back to S3, Mycroft is saying no one can match him and he sees everyone as goldfish but Sherlock is like oh really and was lowkey concerned about him and that's how the mystrade fandom got this whole goldfish thing and it's adorable (special shout out to duchessclovery ‘s masterful fanvid romcom series A Fish Called Greg), and in the wedding ep Sherlock calls Mycroft to attend the wedding but he refuses, and Sherlock says "specter in the feast" to entice him and I like to interpret that as him lowkey jabbing him with a *in*spector in the feast because Lestrade was there looking tired and lonely throughout the whole ep lmaaaaaaaaaaaaao.

Anyway back to S4E2, Mycroft is getting hit on, Lestrade is the most tired we've ever seen him, Sherlock is trying to waive off Lestrade's suitors to save him for his brother. Why is Lestrade so tired? Yes, he's questioning a suspect or something, but also! maybe it's related to his love interest getting hit on, who knows???? And lastly, the last ep of S4, the golden era of mystrade, at the very end of the episode after we've seen Mycroft at his most vulnerable, Sherlock asks Lestrade to "take care of him (Mycroft). he's not as strong as he seems". This was an explicit request by Sherlock, addressing Lestrade correctly for the first time, to take care of his brother, and Lestrade says yes. Of course I will. S4 ended with the promise of the him taking care of Mycroft and honestly I don't care about the entire episode except that part

2) A: their personalities: so, Mycroft, as his colleagues know him, is ~ the ice man ~. He's hard to know, even harder and more stubborn and isolated than his brother, and on top of that he's like, contractually obligated under his top secret government job to not be known. That makes him, and this is canon as Sherlock discussed his loneliness with him in S3, even more lonely than his brother, and probably, as much as he likes to think himself more accommodating than his brother and he can definitely pretend for the sake of appearances, more difficult to deal with than Sherlock if he really sets his mind to it. But he's not a complete block of ice - after all, ice can melt - and he has soft spots for his family, esp. his unruly little brother, and by extension (maybe more necessity than real care, but still) the people his brother affiliates with. Because Sherlock is so tricky to deal with, I believe he has a soft spot for people who share that softness for his spiky sibling, and no one cares for Sherlock as he does except for Mrs Hudson, John, and Lestrade. Lestrade's done it for even longer than John, and in the show plays a somewhat paternal figure to Sherlock despite him causing him even more stress sometimes than solving cases for him would relieve. Lestrade is shown to drop everything to help Sherlock when he needs it, and is considered one of his best friends when Moriarty put a sniper on each of Sherlock's closest acquaintances (Lestrade was a target). Lestrade always saw the good in Sherlock despite everything, and believed he could be great. Very few sees the same potential, or shows that level of kindness for - lets be honest here - someone we would want to kick in real life. Lestrade's kindness and patience, enough to deal with Sherlock, surely can be extended to involve Mycroft, as Mycroft's protectiveness extends somewhat to Sherlock's friends.

And this is not a one way street of just Lestrade being kind and accepting. The people Sherlock surrounds himself with appear dull, and have "normal" lives, but secretly either have a florid past (Mrs Hudson) (and her present with the race car and her quick thinking when the flat gets ransacked) and/or crave adventure and danger and intrigue (John) (Molly). Lestrade is the probably the same. He seems aggravated by Sherlock but still like him a whole lot and truly care for him, and you don't go into policing if not for some kind of excitement. He has a failed marriage with his wife who boringly cheated on him with a PE teacher, like how predictable and cliche, and they broke up. Lestrade is loyal, and he wants to fix things, but in the end it doesn't work out. The show doesn't really tell us why, but given what we know of his work and his habits, he probably spends way too much time on the job and in part, neglected his home life. That isn't to say the cheating his wife did can be condoned, nor was it justified, but it does tell us that Lestrade is a workaholic who craves excitement and adventure which explains his attachment to Sherlock. Who else can match that with him in a relationship? Another workaholic who surrounds himself in government intrigue and MI6 bullshit cloak and daggers who also share a soft spot for the most annoying detective consultant, of course!!! For all we know from the show, Mycroft is Lestrade's one constant relationship outside of work. Their common interest is keeping their shared loved ones safe. Beyond that, even though Mycroft feels bored by everyone because "no one is as smart as i, hohoho", Sherlock used to be the same but he found John. We see Lestrade able to hold his own against Sherlock sometimes too, and he is a detective inspector, so as much as Sherlock likes to call him dumb we know that Lestrade's actually pretty smart. If he can hold up his own against Sherlock, he can hold up his own against Mycroft. Mycroft needs someone with the patience to go through all his bullshit, and Lestrade needs someone smart and interesting and protective, because as a protector himself sometimes you forget you need someone to protect you in turn. And that is basically their whole thing - two fierce guardians, trying to protect the world, finding they also need protection, and finding it in each other (end of season 4). Also there's this scene where Lestrade is sitting by his desk with his feet propped up while he eats a donut and says "not my division" which looks exactly like this scene where Mycroft is sitting by his desk with his feet propped up looking smug, or as the mystrade shippers like to call it, "boyfriends picking up each other's behaviours". Essentially, the johnlock relationship sort of parallels the mystrade relationship in that we have a smartass, spiky, secretly vulnerable one paired with a badass, patient, relatively more sunny one. But more mature. And also preferable. The two of them share some kind of relationship that has reached the point of nonverbal understanding, as we can see in their quiet glances towards each other during the few times we see them on screen together, that requires a level of trust and time.

2) B: compatibility in external circumstances - this is a short one, it's mostly that they're both workaholics who needs someone to understand their unpredictable work schedules, and also how minimal their social life can get being a) married to work and b) work can be classified and you can't tell anyone about your case files / government coverups. No one could understand the need for secrecy and getting up in the middle of the night for a case/subterfuge than Mycroft and Lestrade, as their career roles work in tangent with each other. And they share (1) chaotic child between the two of them, so they just. get it when one receives a call telling them to fish this loud annoying bitey man child out of the Thames. Their jobs get in the way of establishing close relationships, so who better to relate to than another who live the same kind of life and can understand?

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dr-gloom · 6 years

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It’s Still a Good Life (Ch 2)

Yay! Chapter 2 is here! (we’re going to pretend this was posted before midnight)

Chapter 1 Chapter 3

@dead4sevenyears and @the-incedible-sulk if you wanted to like read this idk

This was based off the song Promiseland by Mika, which I actually used the lyrics for later in the chapter. I had kind of a hard time writing Logan but I hope it’s okay!

Fandom: Sander’s Sides

Pairing: past logicality

Tags/Warnings: some swearing, some punching, uhhh, feels?, idk

Summary: Logan is trying to cope with the breakup and Virgil tries to be supportive.

Enjoy!

Read it on AO3

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Logan awoke the next morning feeling numb. Awareness crept up on him slowly, first coming to him in the soft weight of the blanket draped over his legs and the pressure of Virgil leaning against his side. Then in the soft sound of the TV, as Netflix had closed at some point of the morning to be replaced by the soft droning of some talk show. The room was far more lit than it had been when he’d fallen asleep, sunlight flooding through the curtains and the kitchen doorway where the windows remained unblocked. He studied Virgil’s face, admiring the calm peace overtaking the usually dower expression.

Then Logan remembered why he was there in the first place and his heart crumpled. He’d thought Patton loved him. He thought they were happy, perfect. What happened? Why was he not enough? Who was it that Patton loved more than Logan, whom he’d been dating for almost a year? He just didn’t understand. It made no logical sense; who dates someone for that long if they didn’t really love them?

So many questions, and no answers; how frustrating. And yet….

And yet, he didn’t want answers. Not really. He didn’t want to know why he wasn’t good enough, or who Patton left him for, or whether Patton had ever actually loved him. He didn’t want to know. Thinking of the possible answers was only making him angry, and… He didn’t like being angry.

Virgil woke up to Logan seemingly disappeared. The blanket had been moved to cover Virgil, and the couch beside him was cold, meaning Logan had left a while ago. Virgil frowns, getting up and tossing the blanket off as he headed into the kitchen. It looked just how Virgil had left it the night before, tea kettle and all. He moves through the other rooms in his small house, thinking the further he went that Logan must have gone home. Virgil hoped he was okay… He didn’t even get to check on him before he left. Virgil checks his room, the last one in the house, with a strange sense of anticipation. When he opens the door and finds his room empty, he berated himself for getting his hopes up. Why would Logan be in his room anyways? He probably had gone home.

He’s heading back to the living room when he hears it. As he passes the garage door he hears the sound of impact and an angry shout. Curious (and slightly scared) he opens the door slowly, peeking inside. The light is on, and Logan stands on the far side of Virgil’s garage, punching the punching bag Virgil has hanging from the ceiling. He’s sweating, face red and twisted into the most terrifying expression Virgil thinks he’s ever seen. Logan is just going at it, one punch after the other with no form or rhythm, blindly hitting the punching bag and shouting angrily as he does so. Virgil takes a moment to calm down and realize that this is Logan, if he’s kicking the shit out of a punching bag then something is seriously wrong, and slowly enters the garage. Once he’s about two feet behind his friend, he speaks up hesitantly.

“Uh… Lo?”

Logan whips around to look at Virgil, that furious scowl still set into his features, and he must se how Virgil tenses, his mind screaming to run, run away now, because Logan takes a shaky breath and forces his face into a more neutral expression. “Ah, my apologies Virgil, I didn’t know you were standing there.” Virgil just nods dumbly, and Logan steps away from the punching bag with a small sigh. He really didn’t like being angry. He didn’t like to worry Virgil.

“Is there something you need?”

Virgil seems to snap out of it and he blinks. “O-oh, uh. I just- I thought you left, so I was- I was just looking for you. And now I’ve found you, haha. Worst game of Where’s Waldo ever, you weren’t even hiding.” Logan raises an eyebrow. That joke was just… Bad. Seriously.

Virgil must be freaking out.

And it was Logan’s fault.

Logan drags a hand through his hair, not missing the way Virgil flinches just slightly and watches Logan’s movements. “Well, here I am. Do you perhaps want breakfast? I wouldn’t mind cooking right now.” Virgil nods and leads Logan back into the house, perching on the arm of the couch as Logan heads into the kitchen. As he gathers the ingredients for pancakes and bacon, his thoughts wander.

He… was angry about what happened with Patton. He loved Patton, more than he thought he loved anyone. And he thought Patton felt the same… but apparently not. So, what did that mean for Logan? Were his own feelings a lie? Was he just so blinded by them he couldn’t see that Patton didn’t feel the same? He didn’t know. He hated not knowing. It made him feel helpless. In some part of his broken heart he felt almost indignant. He’d spent so much time, invested so much in their relationship, and Patton just… breaks his heart? Ends it like it’s nothing? But… he knew that wasn’t right. He’d seen how broken up Patton was about it. He’d noticed the tears in the other’s eyes, the way his voice cracked as he apologized. How he tried to stop Logan as he walked away, face carefully blank.

It would be so much easier to hate Patton, part of his mind tells him.

Yes, but the world would be so much colder, too, he tells it.

He finishes making breakfast in silence. Once he’s done, rather than tell Virgil to come to the kitchen he just grabs their food, a syrup bottle, and silverware and joins him on the couch. By this point Virgil’s finally relaxed, scrolling through his phone. He looks up when Logan comes in and smiles when he’s handed his food, and the two eat in silence. It isn’t until Virgil turns on the TV fifteen minutes later that either of them speaks. It’s Virgil who breaks the silence.

“It’s okay to be mad, Lo. He hurt you. No matter what his intentions or wishes were, he still hurt you, and it’s okay to be angry about that. Just don’t let it make you forget how you felt when everything was okay.”

Logan swallows around the lump in his throat and nods. “Thanks, Virgil.”

Virgil knocks on the door to Logan’s house before letting himself in. It’s been a few weeks since Logan told him that Patton ended their relationship, and Virgil made sure to visit his friend at least twice a week. He entered the home, carrying a couple bags of food to make dinner, surprised to find that the lights were off. He sets the bags on the counter and calls out into the still air, “Lo?”

When he gets no response, he frowns. Maybe Logan fell asleep? But it was four pm…. And Logan always stressed the importance of keeping a “proper sleep schedule” … Virgil heads back to Logan’s room, just to make sure.

Virgil always loved Logan’s room. The ceiling was painted to look like the night sky, a perfect blend of purples, blues, and black with white dots of varying sizes that actually glowed in the dark. It’d been a present from Roman when Logan moved into the house – sort of a housewarming gift. The walls were a calm neutral grey, only interrupted by a couple bookshelves and a single poster from BBC’s Sherlock. Logan’s bed was simple enough; a queen-sized bed with navy-blue sheets and a constellation blanket. A desk in the corner housed his laptop and a few other miscellaneous belongings.

Virgil wasn’t paying attention to any of that, though. Logan was sitting at his desk, leaning back relaxed in his rolling chair, his eyes closed as a song played from the speakers (which must be why Logan didn’t hear him, as it was playing a little loud).

-Prayed every night to a religion that was chosen for me

Sold my soul, broke my bones

Tell me what did I get?

Did my time, toed the line

Ain’t seen anything yet

Strike me down to the ground

You know I’ve seen it before

Make it hurt, I’ll eat the dirt

I just don’t care anymore

Logan was mouthing along to the lyrics, and if Virgil had to guess he’d say Logan’s been listening to this on repeat. He didn’t seem to realize that Virgil was there yet.

How could you break my heart?

Already played my part

I kept my promise man

Show me the promiseland

Don’t occupy my throne

Give me the crown I own

Lived like you told me how

Look at me now

Virgil frowned and silently sat on Logan’s bed. Did Logan regret his relationship with Patton? Or did he regret listening to his parents for most of his life? They’d had Logan convinced (up until he met the three of his friends) that he had to succeed in life to be worth anything, that he had to make something of himself to be worthy of love. Sometimes Virgil wonders if Logan thinks about what his life would be like if he’d told his parents to shove it up their ass. Virgil looks at Logan as he mouths the words to one of the lines, his face screwed up as if he were genuinely asking,

If I’ve never seen the good, how can it come to an end?

Virgil wasn’t sure why, but that actually… hurt. Not that he felt insulted, but he couldn’t imagine how Logan felt this way. He cleared his throat, feeling bad suddenly for spying on this private moment.

As soon as he does, it’s like the atmosphere of the room shatters. Logan’s eyes open and he rushes to pause the music, looking over at Virgil. He doesn’t get mad though, just asks, “How long have you been here?” Virgil shakes his head, looking at the bookshelves and reading over titles he’s seen a hundred times before. “Not long. Might want to turn your music down so you can hear people breaking into your house though.” Logan grins slightly and stands.

“Yes well, it might behoove you to get my attention instead of watching me, next time.” Virgil blushes slightly. So, he had known? Logan just shakes his head.

“Come on, you can help me make dinner and we can watch that cartoon you’ve been talking about. Sean’s Galaxy?”

Virgil rolls his eyes and follows Logan to the kitchen. “It’s Steven Universe, you uncultured swine, and you’ll love it.”

#sanders sides #sanders sides fanfic #virgil sanders #logan sanders #sanders sides fanfiction

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ao3porcelainstorm · 3 years

Text

poison ivy & stinging nettles 15

On Ao3

Pairing: Sherlock/OFC

Rated: M

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

Chapter 14 - Chapter 16

Chapter 15- Ophelia

~~~

I missed normal. At least, normal for Baker Street. Solving crimes, going to work, and not having to worry about being shot or murdered.

It's nice, and with Amelia around, it keeps things at least a little interesting. Sherlock is on better behavior, though that didn't stop him from shooting a hole in the kitchen and earning an earful from both Mrs. Hudson and Mia the other night.

I've been doing better. The wound is pretty much healed up, and I've been able to accompany Sherlock to crime scenes again- much to Amelia's relief.

Apparently, she'd been getting sick at the sight of the bodies. Not the best habit to have when working alongside a murder consultant.

~~~

I will burn the heart out of you.

Sherlock couldn’t shake the words out of his head, his thoughts lost deep in his mind palace.

It was incredibly inconvenient, given that he was presently standing over the body of a local priest and couldn’t recall the name of the parish the man served.

“Cathedral of Our Lady the Blessed?” John voiced, peering up from his mobile.

That’s right. He knew that.

The mental image of the large church sprang into his mind.

“Right,” Sherlock stood up, straightening his jacket. “We should interview the sisters.”

“We’ll get the body to Molly,” Lestrade promised, the remainder of the forensic detectives wrapping up the small scene.

There hadn’t been much to observe. The body hadn’t had any marks of trauma or bruising. No bullet or stab wounds, no blood. No signs of poisoning. If Sherlock was less thorough, he would have chalked the whole thing up to a random heart attack.

But it was the surroundings that made the death that much more suspicious.

The priest had been found on the stage of an empty gentleman’s club. The building had been set for demolition, and during a last check of the property, a construction worker stumbled across him and called it in.

“Probably some rival showing off the priests lack moral fiber…” Sherlock mumbled under his breath.

“What?” John flagged down a taxi.

“I bet it’s someone at the parish who thought little of the priest,” Sherlock cleared his throat.

“A bit obvious then, don’t you think?” John chuckled, giving the address to the driver. “Leaving him in an old strip club?”

“Certainly not the most clever,” Sherlock agreed, sliding in next to him.

…burn the heart…

“We’re here,” John nudged Sherlock’s arm.

Sherlock blinked out the window, disoriented by the sudden arrival. The parish was at least a thirty-minute taxi ride away from the scene of the crime. He quickly paid the driver and followed John to the entrance of the large building.

It was ornate, old, and the grounds were incredibly well kept, given the age of the property.

“Hello,” a nun greeted with a smile, bowing her head to the pair. “Inspector Lestrade said you would be coming.”

“Thank you, Sister…?” John replied politely.

“Angeline,” she smiled again. So many smiles. It was irritating. “I’m relieved you two were able to make it to us so quickly.”

“It’s a shame about Father Matthews,” John hummed. Sherlock could feel the doctor watching him out of the corner of his eye while the detective poked around the gardens.

“He was a good man,” Angeline sighed. “A true child of Christ in all his work.”

“Did he have anyone who would have wanted him dead?” Sherlock questioned bluntly, scanning the Queen Anne’s lace over.

“Sherlock,” John warned. “I apologize Sister…”

“No, no,” Angeline waved off John’s concern, looking to Sherlock. “He came to us with a troubled past. Addiction, adulterous behaviors… he was looking for redemption and we provided it. He’s served our parish for a decade now.”

“And someone must have disagreed with bringing in such an unworthy man,” Sherlock surmised, folding his arms behind his back.

“Most did,” she confessed in a low voice. “Though another brother, Father Colin, was especially vocal about it.”

Sherlock nodded, continuing their way around the parish while Angeline pointed out particular areas of interest, eventually guiding them to the late Father’s personal quarters.

“Have a look around,” she unlocked the door, standing aside while the men began digging through the room.

Nothing of too much interest. Some dried flowers, some notebooks, bibles…

He took a few pictures for good measure, though nothing seemed to pique his interest.

…heart out of you.

They were back in the garden. John was saying something to Angeline and making her giggle while Sherlock was knelt down next to… parsnips?

The plot was partially dug up, some flowers and carrots discarded on the soil, a spade stuck into the dirt.

He took a picture of a flower he vaguely recognized as Queen Anne’s lace and sent it to Amelia to double-check. It was almost identical in structure, with a large bundle of small white flowers at the end of each stem.

“Sherlock?” John stepped over, looking concerned. “Are you okay?”

Sherlock tilted the plant closer to his face, studying each tiny bulb.

“This isn’t Queen Anne’s Lace,” he stated decidedly. As if on cue, his phone chirped to life with a message from their resident florist.

Hemlock. Don’t touch it. Don’t breathe it.

Sherlock pulled away, quickly wiping his hands on his pants.

“John, we’re going to need to make a stop,” he murmured, handing John his phone.

John skimmed over the message, eyes widening.

“Yes, right,” he cleared his throat. “Thank you. We’ll be back.”

~~~

“It’s an easy mistake,” Amelia poured Sherlock a fresh cup of tea. His head was pounding, his hands still burned from the Hemlock's stem. “They’re eerily similar. Not to mention, the ends look a lot like common vegetables. Accidental exposure happens more often than you’d think, to some of the most practiced professionals.”

“Have you ever mistaken it?” he grumbled, pulling his mug to his face, his hand shaking slightly.

“I- well, no,” she frowned apologetically. “I did accidentally poison a roommate once. Unintentionally. He’d been going through some of my samples and came across some dried hemlock. Thought it was marijuana.”

“How on earth?” John stared up at her in disbelief.

“He wasn’t very bright,” she hummed in thought. “Ended up dropping out shortly after.”

“That’s incredibly reassuring, Amelia,” Sherlock muttered.

“Maybe next time, you text me the picture before you start messing with it?” she tutted under her breath. He could feel her eyes linger on him. Worry. Concern. Masked by a snarky comment.

“I think we now know how the priest died,” John shrugged, sitting in his chair. “Poisoning.”

“Is Molly a full toxicology report?” Amelia perked up, chatting with John about the potential postmortem effects of a Hemlock poisoning. “An intentional poisoning wouldn’t necessarily have any outward signs. Maybe vomiting? But if he didn’t touch it, there wouldn’t be any irritation on the skin.”

She gestured to Sherlock’s hands. He responded with a scowl, earning a snicker from his friend.

I will burn the heart out of you.

~~~

“Now I know the poison wasn’t strong enough to hallucinate me again,” Amelia’s voice teased through Sherlock’s subconscious. His mind was dark. The only sign of life the familiar New Yorker accent. “Are you dreaming about me?”

His eyes opened to a brightly lit field of wildflowers. The sun was shining above him, a handful of willow trees visible in the distance.

Next to him, Amelia was sitting cross-legged in a small patch of grass, a pile of flowers being careful strung into a flower crown in her lap.

“Isn’t this nice?” she asked him, grabbing his hand and pulling him next to her. Sherlock was struck by the way the sun hit her hair, pulling the reds out in a fiery blur. She leaned over, gently setting the flower crown on his head.

“We should go to the countryside,” she mused, leaning back, closing her eyes, and letting the sun warm her skin. “Or maybe visit my mom’s summer house back home.”

“What is all of this?” Sherlock finally found his voice, gesturing around them.

“It’s a dream, silly,” she snorted, falling back against the plush grass. She rolled her head toward him, a long sigh relaxing her shoulders. “Peaceful, isn’t it? There shouldn’t be any Hemlock here, don’t worry.”

It was like a scene out of one of those cheesy Jane Austen BBC movies. The clouds moved lazily across the sky and Amelia continued stringing flower together, holding each one up and listing its name and informal meaning.

“Be mine?” she held up a red carnation, sitting up and smiling sheepishly over the crimson flower.

“Excuse me?” Sherlock was certain he’d misheard her.

“That’s what it means, dork,” she tucked the flower behind his ear with a flourish. “Love, compassion, romance, be mine…”

His hands touched the silk-like petals, pulling the flower free and twirling it between his fingers.

“Is this supposed to be a subtle message?” he teased, giving the bloom a dramatic sniff.

“Oh Sherlock, I don’t need to be subtle,” her voice morphed, lowering in tone, an Irish lilt catching the ends of her words. He looked up, the meadow was burning around them, but when he went to reach for Amelia’s hand, it was gone.

“Asphodel grew in the underworld,” Moriarty’s voice announced from over his shoulder. “In a purgatory of sorts, between life and death, the worthy dead and the unworthy.

Asphodel’s filled the field, the smoke sweeping over the landscape, creating a grey haze amongst the white flowers.

“Are you worthy?” he taunted, following Sherlock as the detective scrambled to his feet and started toward the willow trees. “Deadly nightshade.. Belladonna, one of the most toxic plants on earth… Hemlock… well, you know all about that now, don’t you?”

The plants sprung up around his feet.

“I told you I was going to burn the heart out of you,” Moriarty continued, strolling through the deadly plants. “I didn’t think it’d be so easy. Pathetic, Sherlock.”

Sherlock ran and ran. Something in his chest told him to keep heading toward the willow trees, but no matter how quickly he sprinted, they stayed the same distance away.

“Better get out now, Sherlock,” Moriarty cackled, plucking Belladonna and tucking it in his hair. “Get out while you can.”

Sherlock jolted awake with a start, his heart thrumming against his ribs. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the darkness in his room, the moon still shining outside his window.

Only a dream. He ran a hand down his face, taking a deep breath.

An image of Amelia with flowers woven through her auburn curls flashed through his mind's eye. Laughing, the sky blue and bright behind her. Peaceful.

I will burn the heart out of you.

~~~

“Amelia, what’s your middle name?” Sherlock asked a few days later. Amelia was in the kitchen attempting her hand at some homemade chocolate chip cookies.

“You don’t know?” John lowered his newspaper, peeking up at the detective in surprise. “I know something you don’t?”

Sherlock looked to John incredulously, pausing to ensure he’d read his friend’s reaction correctly.

“How do you know?” he demanded, looking between him and Amelia for an answer.

“He helped me fill out the paperwork for long term residence,” Amelia shrugged, opening the oven to check on her baked goods. “It isn’t a big deal, I figured you already knew.”

“No, don’t tell him,” John called out.

“He’s just going to dig up my social security card or something,” Amelia replied frankly, hand on her hip. “I’d rather him not disturb my filing system. I finally organized it last night.”

She wasn’t wrong, Sherlock mentally relented. He already had a plan for how he intended to go about finding it, starting with Mrs. Hudson and the original rental application. It wasn’t cheating if he accidentally saw it on the paperwork.

“Then what is it?” Sherlock pressed, earning a long sigh from John.

Amelia laughed at John’s reaction. Fishing through the cabinets, she pulled out a pair of oven mitts, focusing completely on the task at hand.

She pulled out the cookie sheet, the scent of the cookies floating through the apartment.

Sherlock reached for one but was swatted away by a spatula wielded by the American.

“They need to cool,” she snapped. “And they’re for John. You know, our dear, injured friend?”

“What’s your middle name?” he tried again, sidestepping her and approaching the tray from behind.

“Ophelia,” she answered, spinning and swatting his hand again. He waited for her to look away, deciding to distract her for the time being.

“Amelia… Ophelia…?” Sherlock paused, pulling his hand away from the tray when she sent him a pointed glare.

“Yes,” came her calm response.

She explained that her mother had been on a Hamlet kick around the time of her birth, and her father had apparently thought the combination of names had been a stroke of genius.

“I guess I can’t say much,” he reasoned, grabbing one of the cookies and retreating before Amelia could swat at him. He downed the hot cookie in a single bite, his mouth hanging open. “Ah, hot… hot..”

“I told you to wait!” she scolded, shaking her head.

“He has no self-control,” John sighed.

“Amelia Ophelia purposely made them too hot,” Sherlock complained, dropping into his seat.

“There we go,” Amelia rolled her eyes, disappearing back into the kitchen to put the cookies on a plate for John. “Shall I start calling you William?”

Sherlock made a noise of disgust.

“I can’t believe you’d be so cruel, Amelia Ophelia,” he relented, stealing another cookie from John’s plate. “Telling John your full name and not me.”

“Well, William Sherlock Scott Holmes,” she pulled off her apron and stood in the doorway between rooms, arms crossed. “I had just assumed you’d done a thorough background check.”

“I would never violate the privacy of a friend,” he lied.

Both Amelia and John snorted in response.

“You’re the one who so rudely pick-pocketed me and stole my identity,” he continued, taking a large bite out of the cookie. He pointed it in her direction. “I would never.”

“Why the sudden interest?” she asked, grabbing a tray of clean cups and a freshly poured tea kettle, setting it between the men.

“I just wanted to know,” he shrugged indifferently. That wasn’t a lie.

“Amelia Ophelia Holmes,” John hummed mockingly, sending his friend a knowing look. “Sounds like a storybook character.”

Amelia rolled her eyes, fixing herself a mug of tea.

“He’d take my name,” she stated firmly. “William Sherlock Scott Brenner.”

“I hate it,” Sherlock sat up. “You’re taking Holmes.”

“Amelia Holmes,” she tried, pulling a face of disgust. “Amelia Holmes-Brenner.”

“Mia Holmes has a nice ring,” John supplied, earning a low groan from his friends.

“John Hamish Holmes sounds even better,” she stole a cookie from his plate when he glared at her in offense, giggling as she took a bite.

“Sherlock Watson,” Sherlock tried, shrugging. “Not terrible.”

“Amelia Watson,” John shot back, guarding the remainder of his cookies from the pair.

“Amelia Ophelia Watson,” Sherlock corrected sharply. “A very important distinction.”

“William Watson,” Amelia perked up. “I think that’s my favorite so far.”

“It isn’t fair when you use alliteration,” Sherlock protested. “And I don’t go by William.”

“Why not? It’s definitely fitting for a distinguished English gentleman such are yourself.”

“Stop it or I’m referring to you as Mrs. Holmes in front of Mycroft and leaving you to fend for yourself,” he threatened.

“He’d probably think you married me against my will,” Amelia shot back, smirking. “Obviously to steal my fortune like some dastardly Victorian-era villain. We should get you an evil little mustache.”

“Oh, and he can wear the deer hat,” John agreed quickly.

“Like Spock when they went into the parallel universe?” Amelia lit up, shoot ideas back and forth with John until Sherlock stood up.

“I’m not growing a mustache,” he declared.

“It’s okay, we know you can’t,” Amelia nodded solemnly.

“I can, I just choose to be clean-shaven,” he protested, starting for the kitchen. "It's more professional."

“Ok Sherlock,” she flashed that pleasant smile. That dumb smile she did when she didn’t want to be rude.

“I’m telling the truth,” he paused and reached over John’s shoulder for the final cookie.

“I’ve never seen it,” John shot back.

“The truth comes out,” Amelia pointed to the doctor. “Don’t be embarrassed Sherlock, I can’t grow one either.”

“I’m due to meet Molly,” Sherlock grabbed his jacket, throwing it over his shoulders with a huff.

“Don’t forget your scarf,” Amelia called. “Don’t want your poor face getting frostbite. Lack of protection and all…”

“Remind me why I let you move in?”

Chapter 16

#sherlock #sherlock original female character #sherlock bbc #sherlock fanfiction #sherlock/OFC #sherlock/oc #john watson #watson #fanfiction #fanfic #writing #sherlock/reader #reader #OFC #OC

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