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wwilloww · 2 years

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sh. | ot7 | chapter ten

PAIRING ot7 x reader

RATING Explicit. 18+.

GENRE smut. fluff. angst. nonidol au. wildnerness au. roommates au. friends to lovers.

SUMMARY Six months of quarantine have kept you apart. Somehow the distance sparks something new in each of you: questions, unfinished conversations, threads once chased now left cold. So when your roommate invites you to come with him to a mysterious house in the mountains with your friends, how could you even think of saying no?

WC 6k

WARNINGS AND TAGS no reference to reader with pronouns. navigation of consent. yn wears a dress. mentions of bts being larger than the reader.

← || series m.list || →

AN: Hey, do you know @madseok and @calixwrites and @thatlongspringnight? because you should. because they're the literal best. writing this chapter was a bit of a several-weeks nightmare and yet these folks stepped in and helped my sanity and my creativity and this chapter. i am so so grateful for them. so much is happening with nanowrimo in this story and they're keepin me on track. pls give them a hug if you see them.

©wwilloww Do not repost, translate, or use my stories without my permission.

CHAPTER TEN: PLUMS IN OCTOBER

There’s nothing quite like waking up the night after a good cry. It has a kind of crystal clarity to it. Your lungs ache a little, your eyes are swollen, but you feel cleared out. Like your chest has been mopped and dusted and whatever’s left, well, it feels ready for the day.

The window is still open, spilling too-cool air into the room and you pull the down blankets up to your chin, rolling over, swollen eyes still sleepily closed, hand reaching out, hoping to find a body, hoping—

The window is still open. Your eyes shoot wide as the events of last night come flooding back.

The warmth of his body. The way you had fit into all of his nooks and cracks. His lips, blooming like spring’s first cherry blossoms upon your skin.

That thin line between dream and reality still wavers before you, grey and unclear. What from last night had been nothing more than the workings of your mind? And more frightfully, what had been his own doing? In the dark, it was harder to tell. Your name, sung from his lips? His hands wrapped around you like he couldn’t bear to let you go? Your lips, pressed to his neck—well, horribly unfortunately, you were very sure that that did happen. In the daylight, your face warms in embarrassment at the memory.

Snatching your hand away from the other side of the bed, you’re relieved to find it empty and surprised by the pang of longing that strikes you at the realization. Would you rather be alone, or embarrassed? You’re not sure.

Heart all a-ache, you clamber out of bed and get dressed, pulling on a comfortable flannel over a pair of leggings. The scent of breakfast is already wafting underneath the closed door, and, stomach grumbling, you make your way out of the room only to bump into a very firm body.

“Oh!”

Jimin turns around, already dressed and ready for the day.

“Jimin. Were you waiting for me?”

“Yeah,” he grins.

“Is this kind of meeting going to become regular?”

“I don’t know, do you want it to?”

You smile, reach for him, hands winding around his waist. So close, it’s hard to deny the warmth radiating out from between your bodies. He pulls you tight against his chest, threading his fingers between yours, and the two of you just stand there, smiling a little sleepily at one another before he speaks:

“I’m going to kiss you. You know, as a good morning.”

His lips are dangerously close. “Uh-huh, sure. A good morning.”

He kisses you lightly, like he’s not in any rush to get anywhere, like he’s got nothing planned for the rest of the day except to kiss you. One of his hands winds its way to your cheek, cupping it gently. The kiss is a soft, wandering thing.

“Good morning,” he says against your lips.

“Good morning,” you reply breathily.

Softness though, quickly becomes heat as he slips his tongue between your lips and maneuvers you against the closed bedroom door. His hips press into yours, grinding against you. It’s heated, needy. You respond with your fingers drawing down his back. Searching for skin, you untuck his button down from his pants and skate your fingers along the warmth of his hips. You think he might even fuck you, right outside your bedroom, if you let him, fast and desperate. It’s like second nature to imagine him breathing hard against your neck as he fucks into you, imagine him coming and it dripping down your—

Your name sounds from the end of the hallway. And then: “Jimin? Is that you?”

“Shit, shit, shit,” you curse, your hand fumbling for the doorknob behind you as you press down and tumble with Jimin into the bedroom. You slam the door behind you as footsteps ring down the hallways, ever nearing. In a frenzy, you attempt to straighten yourselves out. Jimin chuckles as he watches you frantically try to compose yourself, tugging your clothes back into place.

“It’s Hoseok,” Jimin says, just as the door opens and the man himself walks in. His gaze flickers between the two of you, your bedhead, Jimin’s half untucked button-down shirt.

“Morning, Jimin.”

“Morning Hobi,” Jimin says, already reaching for the door ready to slip out. “See you at breakfast.” You throw him a meaningful glare as he disappears into the hallway.

“Are you okay?” Hoseok asks, stepping closer. “Your lip—” Before you know what’s happening, he reaches out for you, and traces his thumb over your swollen lower lip. “What happened?” In his voice, there’s an edge of curiosity, of trepidation.

Instead of answering, you find yourself staring up at him. A thick lock of dark hair falls into his eyes, and he blinks, but, too focused on gliding his rather large thumb against the soft flesh of your mouth, doesn’t brush it away. But you do, reaching for him and tucking the piece of hair tenderly behind his ear again. And there’s that thing again.

Clear and crystal cold, like the wind sweeping in through the open window. Striking right through your chest, while your fingers trace the shell of his ear and his thumb presses into the corner of your lip.

Your breath shudders to life, and as it sweeps over his hand, he seems to blink back to reality, and with a nervous chuckle, slips his hand away from your mouth.

“Sorry,” he says quickly. “Forgot myself there for a moment.”

“’s okay, nothing to apologize for,” you breathe. And you mean it. You don’t want him to apologize for any of it.

You two are still standing so close.

“Breakfast?”

“Breakfast, yeah,” you chuckle, and the tension breaks. He smiles that familiar smile and leads you out of the bedroom.

As your nose fills with the smell of kartoffelpuffer and roasted chestnuts, the phrase echoes in your mind: forgot myself. Funny enough, you feel more yourself than you have in months, despite the soft, confusing glow that’s now taken up residence in your chest. Hoseok sits close to you at breakfast, and at some point, his arm is swung across the back of your chair. As Jimin chatters about a dream he had—something about camping in the forest to awaken to an empty lake—you let yourself lean against Hobi’s arm. He smiles down at you when you do, grinning like you’ve just made his day, and you warm beneath his gaze. When you turn your attention back to Jimin and his dream, you almost think Hoseok’s fingers brush against the back of your neck.

But it can’t be.

It feels too normal. It feels too right. To have him there, touching you like that. When you glance up at him, he’s looking down at you, a smile quirking in the corner of his mouth.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

It doesn’t feel like nothing.

When his gaze shifts across the table, you follow it.

Jin is leaning back in his chair, a slow, late morning smile spreading across his face. One of his hands is on Tae’s thigh, who is chatting eagerly and enthusiastically with Jimin, but your attention is anywhere but there. Instead, it’s on Jin’s mouth.

Jin bites into a ripe plum—is it even plum season anymore?—and the juice spills out from his mouth, dribbling down one corner while a particularly large drop glides over the crest of his lip before slipping down to his chin. His tongue darts out to collect the purpling juice, but he’s too late, the plum bead is already trailing down his neck, a kind of dark stain on his skin.

Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ, you curse, What the fuck is up with these men today?

It’s then that he catches your gaze.

“Still hungry?” he asks, raising an eyebrow.

“V-very full, um but—Where’d you get that?” you stammer. It’s long past season for ripe plums.

“The tree. In the backyard.”

Curious, you stand from the table, your curiosity winning out over your desire to stay glued to Hobi’s side, and drift to the broad window that looks over the backyard. Sure enough, among the golden and bare trees stands a fully fruiting plum tree.

“How strange,” you murmur. “A plum, in October.”

Breakfast breaks, and you’re nearly ecstatic to hear that it’s not your turn to do dishes. The rest of the day stretches out before you, empty and impending.

Tonight is the night you all decide where your relationship is going.

Over breakfast, Jimin had suggested that you all dress up for dinner tonight, something that everyone hastily agreed to, as it had been a while since you all had done something of the sort. Back before you had all been separated, every once in a while you, as a group, would dress to the nines and hit the town, always deciding on a fraudulent event to celebrate: a 50th wedding anniversary, a nobel prize, a belated middle school graduation. Dazzling and decadently dressed, any stranger who came across your party would be convinced within minutes by a chirpy Jungkook and serious Jin of the notoriety of the night. The frequency of these events lead to you all being prepared to dress to the stars at the drop of a hat. However, those nights feel like eons ago.

Now, though, a significant part of you feels as though all of you are speeding towards imminent doom. At least you’ll be doing so in style, you think wryly.

You decide to take the day to yourself, avoiding the boys’ invitations to go kayaking and rockclimbing and the like, instead insisting on getting some much-needed quiet time.

That doesn’t last long though, because it seems like every corner you turn in the house, another beautiful man is waiting, taking up space, making you think wildly improper things:

Taehyung, emerging from the heated pool in the backyard. The water drips off of his body, and you swear time has slowed to slow motion. Droplets roll down the tight muscle of his torso and he shakes out his long, wet hair in a kind of doggish motion. There’s something wildly youthful about him these days, you think as you watch from the window. A kind of youth that has little to do with age and more to do with an unhinged kind of freedom.

Yoongi, you find half clothed and finally ghosting the hallways, long after breakfast has been finished. Somehow in his sleepy state, his soft aura and hard edge blend intoxicatingly well together. He sends you a wink when he finds you staring a little too long.

Jin, all over the house, eating very drippy fruit. It seems to be a brand. A really fucking well-suited brand.

The day passes quickly. Too quickly. You want to cling to time, ask it to hold back, and you do your best to do so, scrolling through your phone and flipping through random books in the library.

But soon the sky is darkening and the house becomes quiet as everyone begins to get ready for dinner and the looming conversation. As you’re making your way back to your room to try to scramble something from your pile of sweatpants and sweaters that might look a little bit nice, you stumble across a small reading nook, inhabited by your roommate. You poke your head in.

Namjoon is sprawled elegantly across the window seat that overlooks the back of the house. Framed against the dramatic mountains, he looks the picture of the intellectual mountain man, a book propped up in his hands, the valleys behind him caked in sunset.

When he goes to turn the page, he brings the pad of his thumb to his lips. Pink tongue darts out to wet the tip, before he presses it to the corner of the page with such precision and care that you too, find yourself wetting your lips.

He notices your gaze.

“Hm?” he hums your name. “Can I help you?”

Yes, you want to say. You can keep doing that absolute fucking sexy page turn thing.

“Nope, nah, all good,” you say a little too quickly.

“Oh?” he cocks an eyebrow and closes the book with a loud snap! “It seems like you’re thinking about something?” You shake your head, but he stands and moves towards you. “Perhaps, are you thinking about yesterday?” He knows you too well. You give in.

You nod.

His eyes darken as the two of you stare into one another. It’s the same look as yesterday: the steadiness of him, knowing in his desire. Like light in flight, flickering down from the trees onto you. It makes you feel like you’re bathing in something golden and rare.

His steps sound dully on the wooden floor as he approaches. You’ve been hovering against the doorway, watching him, so when he arrives before you, he slots himself in in the narrow frame, looking every inch the broad and dashing man that he is. His large hand grips the archway as he towers over you. Your back is pressed to the inside of the old wooden door now, and the two of you swing in a balance between the two rooms.

Everything says he’s going to kiss you. His lips are a little flushed. His lids, heavy. His breath, so, so close to weaving itself into yours. He says otherwise.

“I won’t kiss you. Not before all the dust settles. Doesn’t seem fair to the others. But I will do this.”

He reaches down and lifts your hand before flipping it over, palm facing up. Your breath shudders as he tenderly lifts your hand to his mouth and presses a full-lipped kiss to the middle of your palm. And then he lifts your hand a little higher, and kisses your wrist, right where the pulse is screaming through your veins.

Somehow him not kissing you where you want him to is even more thrilling, as your whole body buzzes with excitement. It’s like standing on the edge of a great height and looking down.

“Oh, please, Namjoon. Are you really going to deny me?” you tease, sure that his valiance will lose out against his desire.

He looks genuinely torn for a moment there, but he nods, sets his face into that of a perfect gentleman and says “Yes.”

Your heart is racing. “And I can’t do anything to convince you otherwise?”

With the softest of touches, he reaches for you, takes your chin in his hand, and runs his thumb across your cheekbone before tracing it over the shell of your ear. He takes you in for what feels like a long moment, and you know he is considering your offer. Considering what you might offer. Your heart ricochets in your chest.

“No,” he says finally, though it looks like it pains him.

Your heart thuds to a disappointed stop.

“Well,” you say, perking up, still trying to brush the electricity of his touch from the soft skin off your face. “If you’re going to deny me that, you might at least escort me to my chambers?”

“That I can do,” he smiles and takes your arm like he did yesterday. “Shall we tour the grounds?”

“Indeed, m’lord.”

He chuckles.

The two of you wander off down the hallway, leaving your books behind.

“Tell me,” you say. “Why isn’t it fair to the others that you kiss me?”

Namjoon laughs at your pout. “Well, I suppose. It feels like everything’s hanging in the balance of this question and maybe… well, maybe I lost a bit of my sense yesterday. Pushed things too far.”

“I didn’t think you pushed things too far, not at all,” you grin. And then more quietly. “Maybe I wouldn’t have minded if you pushed it a little bit further even.”

Namjoon coughs at the insinuation.

“Oh?”

“Mm,” you affirm.

When you look up at him, he’s got a bit of a smug smile on his face and you can’t help but stop the eager smile that slips across your lips. It’s good to see him like this.

“Can I expect you’ll be showing up in all your finest tonight?” Namjoon asks.

“Ah, well, if my finest is my best cable knit sweater and my favorite pair of leggings, then yes.”

“You mean you’re not dressing up?” He seems shocked.

“I forgot to pack my MET gala look,” you shrug.

“Unacceptable!” he cries, letting go of your arm. “It’s not tradition if you’re not in your finest—we’ll have to find you something.”

“What? You brought a full-on suit to the mountains?”

“Yes of course I brought a suit to the mountains,” Namjoon says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Most of the others did too.”

“Oh.” You suddenly feel strange showing up in a pair of sweatpants when all of your friends will be in tuxedos.

Namjoon notices. “But don’t you worry one bit. I’ll find you something to wear before tonight.” “My aunt has to have left some clothes somewhere. She was known for her parties, I bet I can find a boa and something sparkly somewhere.”

“You’ll pick something out for me?”

“I’ll pick something out for you,” he grins.

You warm at the thought of Namjoon picking something out just for you: him staring at colors and cuts and guessing what kind of thing you would look best in.

The two of you chatter as you wander around the many hallways of the house, before making your way back to your bedroom, your arm cradled in his elbow. It feels like the beginning of a new habit. One you like.

As you near the glass bridge, it strikes you that this may be the last moment together before everything changes. The last moment as a friend group that is merely a friend group.

You dare to look down at the edge of the bridge, and you find something that surprises you. Before, it was simply a rocky ravine. But a crystal clear stream trickles down through the rocks and trees. Had that been there before? Where it emerges from the rock, it looks like the mountain has cracked open and is spilling its innards to the world.

“Has that always been there?” you ask.

“Oh, uh, I—I don’t think so?” Namjoon murmurs, just as struck as you. “How strange.”

The dress Namjoon picked is stunning. Somehow, it fits you perfectly, and you say a small thank you to his aunt for the opportunity to wear something that looks, well, like a piece of art.

The dress blooms in red. Soft fabric falls like the new stream of water down your body, where it gathers at your hip before spilling down in a new cascade to the floor. Sleeves that at first felt too large to wear now perch at your shoulders, a semi-transparent poof that makes you feel like someone who’s just recently discovered they are royal.

You feel divine.

It’s been so long since you dressed up, and tonight, it feels like some kind of offering to a temperamental god.

Dressed, (well, mostly, the shoes Namjoon brought you were microscopically small) you wander out into the house, but no one is to be seen. You still have a little bit of time before dinner, and so when the urge pulls you, you follow.

The mountains, dressed in dusk, call.

You step outside, the cold biting through the warm fabric of the dress, the hiking boots you’ve donned, a stark contrast to the elegance of the outfit. You wander towards the edge of the kept yard to where one side of the slope drops off into the valley.

“Hi,” a dark voice murmurs from behind you.

“Hoseok,” you smile.

“It’s so formal when you speak to me like that,” he frowns.

“Hobi—” you correct.

“You’re beautiful—”

“Ah—”

“I mean, you look beautiful tonight.”

“And I don’t the other nights?” You raise a teasing eyebrow.

“No, of course, but—you look a different kind of beautiful tonight. By the way… last night. I’m sorry about last night,” Hoseok says quickly.

“Sorry?” you say. “No, no need to be sor—”

“I was dreaming,” he interrupts. “And forgot my place.”

Forgot my place.

You don’t know how to fit these words into your body.

“I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable, if you woke up and felt unsafe or worried or—”

“No, no, I wasn’t uncomfortable.”

Hoseok freezes and looks at you, scanning your face like he’s searching for something in particular.

“You—you weren’t?”

It’s like he’s puzzling language together. If you weren’t made uncomfortable by his entanglement in you, then you must—

You reach for his hand, taking it in yours and pulling him close to you.

“Hobi,” you say softly, “I couldn’t feel uncomfortable because—”

Jin’s voice breaks through the cold.

“Where the hell have you been? Everyone’s waiting!” He struts through the open door, waddling awkwardly in socked feet and a well fitted tuxedo. Of course he brought a tuxedo to the mountains. “Fuck,” he hisses, as the cold seeps through the thin fabric of his socks. His walk is only paused by the punching bag that hangs in the outdoor gym, throwing a half-hearted jab, before continuing his waddle towards you. He grabs both of your hands and tugs you towards the warmth already spilling out of the open door. “Inside, inside. We’re starving and impatient.”

Hoseok huffs.

“In more ways than one,” Jin winks.

Hoseok pulls his arm out from yours and your phone tumbles from your hand, rolling a little farther back. When he goes to turn around, you stop him, tell him, “I got it, I’ll be right behind you.”

Still, he bends down, picks it up for you, and slips it into your hand with a little pat.

“I’ll see you soon,” he smiles knowingly, and the pair disappears inside.

You take a long, last moment gazing at a distant summit, painted peach and purple as the sun sinks below the horizon of the mountains. Each day that passes, they feel more and more familiar. Like learning a new friend.

You’re not entirely sure why you need the extra space, but it calls for you, in the way that your chest is a little too tight, in the way that your breathing comes a little too quickly.

What are you feeling?

You wander slowly up to the house, taking your sweet time as you circle around the question. You slip inside, toeing off your boots and dropping your jacket on a nearby chair. From down the hallway, the boys’ voices echo, a soft ruckus of chatter and chuckles.

From down the hallway, you peer inside the dining room where all seven of them are sitting, Hobi is still getting settled in his big winter jacket. You smile as your eyes gaze over each of their faces, considering each one of them and the prospect that Yoongi has set before all of you.

Everyone should fuck.

And then Jimin’s words: There is enough mutual desire in this house to power an entire country. Had he really meant it? As the group confidant, you were sure he would be the one to hear about anything first, but, well, looking at them, you wonder if they too, feel a semblance of what you feel when you look over each of them:

Namjoon, and his sharp, all-seeing eyes: you want them all over you. That you might glimpse something new about the world, maybe even about yourself, in that warm brown. You want Yoongi, exquisite composer of moments, you want him, want to relish in his space of creation once more. Taehyung, well, he is old love, shaped new. And Jin, and his deep reserve of joy and unexpected wisdom. Jungkook, delightful Jungkook, sparkles with a springtime of youth and adventure. Jimin, designer of control, his emotional depth and precision of action inspires you. And, of course Hobi. What is it about Hobi? You don’t know how to put him to words. You only know that when your eyes lock with his, your heart clicks into some place deep and unknowable within—but your chest tightens at the thought.

Hobi is the unknowable. What you do know is this: You want them. You want them in more ways than one. But thinking about that starts you down a path that definitely screams run. Even if that voice that turns its back at the first sign of complication is becoming quieter these days, it still hums in your head. And tonight the hum is building to a fever pitch.

They look so comfortable, like they belong there together. Like no matter how the cards fell as each of you were given your lot in life, these seven men were meant to be in the same room with one another at some point, that a spark would fly, in any universe, timeline, or life. As you stand in the hallway, the distance between you and them widens.

Jungkook sits with his feet propped up in Taehyung’s lap, Hobi chuckles with Yoongi about something. Namjoon, Jin, and Jimin look at something on a phone. As you look at them joking around, your chest warms. Warms like there’s a wood fire, stoked too quickly to flame.

All at once, something shatters in your chest. As you reach for your own desire, it feels like everything you have worked for falls apart.

You want this, yes. You undeniably and irrevocably want this.

But you want them closer than sex too.

You want to fall asleep on their chests, in their clothes. You want to wake up in the morning with them curled around you. You want to fall into them at any given moment, wrapping around their backs in the kitchen, tackling them on a hike—all the things that you know and love about your friendship with them. But if you could, you want to ask for it to linger. You want the lingering, the hands tangling, the holding on even when you should have let go long ago.

You tell yourself that all it is, all you want is intimacy. Intimacy, after all these months of solitude. But something in your chest sings, more, it’s more.

It’s not just the sex, but you’re tripping over the unspoken words, it’s something about wanting them all closer, closer, closer. Closer than sex. What is the word?

The word is run.

Run, run, run.

Your breath quickens in your chest, gasps rising from the simmering fear in your gut. All at once, the formerly towering ceilings seem even farther away, and the spacious walls are creeping closer to you.

A thousand words sing emptily on your tongue as you look at them.

Your body makes the decision for you.

Out of the hallway, the boys’ voices drowned out by the pounding in your head, the hallways blurring past. Someone calls your name, but all you know is the door. Get to the door. You hurry to the front of the house, where your keys are still hanging from the wrought iron key rack where you left them that first day, and you snatch them up, the metal biting into the soft flesh of your palms with how tight you hold them.

But when you push open the heavy wooden entryway, the door flinging open behind you, your car is nowhere to be seen.

You had parked it there, right beneath the steps, in the gravel driveway. You were sure of it.

But there’s no car. There’s not even a driveway. Instead of gravel, at the bottom of the steps lies a thick carpet of small plants, wild grass, and fallen leaves. And rising before you like an ancient being, a dense wall of trees. Evergreens and oaks and aspens tangled so closely together.

In your red dress, you are but a small creature against the dark beast of the forest. Earlier, you had felt like an offering to a distant god. And now you know you are.

It’s as if the whole world has been swallowed up. There’s nothing there. No road. No cars. No little village waiting at the bottom of the valley. It’s just wilderness. The whole world, returned to what it must have once been: Dense, impenetrable wilderness.

Something between a sob and a gasp racks through your body and the keys you were holding so tightly drop to the steps beneath your feet.

At once, you feel it all. This deep, deep consuming fear. You want to push it away, but something urges you: look a little closer and suddenly you know. This whole time, you’ve been afraid of being found. Of being looked at. Of being seen.

But beneath that lies something else: a fear that the people you hold most dearly to you do not want to find you.

As if in answer to the churning of your insides, before you stretches the great unknown.

Darkness is threaded between the trees, and as if it were a pool of water, you see yourself reflected back in it. Small, impossibly small, lost in the mountains, and standing with your back to an open door.

So far away from what you know, if you were even to try to get back home, away from this, away from this burning, horrible, lovely beast in your chest—what would be waiting for you? A vacant apartment? An empty city? A silent world? The practice of life, the normalcy, the companionship? To go back is to go further from it. See: all of it is gone. Decimated in the rubble of the past. What you know, what you knew, that disappeared months ago, when the world around you dissolved.

The path you were walking has long since crumbled beneath your feet. For months now, you’ve been bushwhacking through the forest. And now, finally, you see it, standing golden before you. The choice was never between the known and the unknown. It was never a choice at all. The only way forwards was always into the unknown, into the empty sky, nothing but grey clouds swimming beside you.

And them. And them, beside you, a voice within reminds you.

It’s time to let the beast within you lead the way.

Where? You’re not sure. In this instance you know with your whole body: what you’re looking for is not back. It’s forward, somewhere in your future.

Your knees give out beneath you and you sink to the cold steps, fingers tangled in your sweater, arms wrapping tightly around your torso.

The truth is, there is no escape. The open door of the house marks what you already know: You’ve already been seen. But the fear is that if you turn around, no one will be there waiting for you.

Someone calls your name softly from behind you.

“Everyone is waiting. Are—are you okay?” It’s Yoongi and you shudder and wrap your arms tighter around your body. Your friend steps down before you and gingerly, reaches down to lift your face to his. “Oh.” When he sees you he plops right down beside you, pulling your arms apart and wrapping himself around you too. “You’re doing that thing again, aren’t you?”

You nod.

“I thought you were going to get in your car and leave.”

“I tried.”

“Huh?”

“It’s gone,” you motion to the forest spreading before you.

Yoongi looks between you and the spot where you swear you parked your car. “Metaphorically? ‘S right there?”

You both stare at each other in confusion, and it’s then that you realize. Yoongi doesn’t see the forest. Not like what you see.

But he sees the confusion on your face, and pulls you into his arms, his body wrapped around yours, protecting you from the cold, from the confusion, from it all.

And there, he says the thing he should have said months ago, while you were still wrapped in his arms and in his bed as the snow drifted down outside the frosted window: “You have to stop running.” His face is hard, but earnest, and when you feel the truth rising to your lips you let it past, into the space between you:

“What if I don’t know how?” It’s barely a whisper.

He grabs your hands, his long fingers lacing securely around your sweaty palms, and he squeezes them tightly, and it’s like a ship anchoring into a long-forgotten harbor. It’s not romantic, not sexy, not one bit—but it’s what you need.

“That’s okay. This, this doesn’t have to be something you need to know how to do. It’s more something you stumble into, and you give whatever you want to give it, and you hold onto your kindness, and then hope for the best.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Does that sound so difficult?”

“No.”

“And is it something you want?”

You look up at him, the unfallen tears still warm against your lashes when you blink. And you nod.

“Then there’s only one thing you have to do.”

“What’s that?”

“Speak your desire.” He nods, encouraging you.

You elbow him and he grunts. “That’s fucking cheesy.”

“I don’t know, man, what else do you want me to say? Fuck your friends? You don’t need my permission.”

“Okay fine.”

“You understand the sentiment.”

“I do.”

“So I mean it, speak it.”

He looks at you so hard, you think he might be able to read the words off your tongue without speaking them.

“I… want you. I want them.”

Yoongi slowly extricates himself from you, stands, and brushes his hands off his against his jeans. “Good. Then I’ll give you a moment and when you’re ready, come inside.”

You nod and watch him close the front door softly behind him with a gentle click.

Cupping the back of your head, you press your fingers into the skin at the nape of your neck, a nervous tic. The cold near-winter air slices through your lungs and you’re suddenly aware of just how pericing the chill is. That and—

At the edge of the forest, the sprawling forest that is still very much there, something white flutters in the grass, like a birdwing searching for flight.

A piece of paper.

You creep towards the looming woods, careful not to step beneath the shadow of the great being, and tug the paper from the grass. A postcard.

The mailbox is all the way up the steps, but the way the postcard is laying in the grass is almost like the house spit it out.

Your heart catches in your throat as you read the message scrawled hastily on the front.

I’ve made my decision. An opportunity like this doesn’t present itself often and I’m not going to let it pass, I’m not going to give up the chance to have you again. I can’t get you out of my head and I need you to know what I know.

All of a sudden it feels like your heart is going to eat straight through your chest, it gallops through you at a forbidden pace. Which of your boys wrote this? Which one—

You flip the card over. There, scribbled:

For my sunshine, from your Sora.

The trees feel like they’re looking at you. Like they lean closer. The house behind you, encouraging.

What you do next can only be described as marching. Hands clenched together, the postcard crumpled in your fist.

In the hallway, there’s a wastebin. You look at it for a long moment before deciding.

You toss the postcard away.

Something deep within you cracks open as the paper hits the bottom of the empty bin with the softest tap. You know you’re not supposed to be doing this. You know this is wrong. And yet you can’t bear any other reality.

Though reality seems rather shifty these days.

At the doorway, you take a deep breath. Something deep within you releases.

“Hi,” you say softly. It’s so quiet. And yet, seven pairs of dark eyes turn to look at you.

You squeeze your hand so tight that the nails pinch into your skin. Come on. But when your name slips from the lips of one of the men in the room with such softness, such care, that’s enough encouragement for you.

“I’m in.”

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alottanothing · 3 years

Text

Kismet

Summary: Evie prepares a meal for the stranger who helped her and finds herself more than a little smitten.

Previous Part: Hope

Word Count: 5707

Warnings: Language

Tag List: @ramilicious, @txmel, @edteche2, @gloriousdarkangelsworld, @diasimar, @xmxisxforxmaybe (Let me know if I missed you, or if you would like to be added to the tag list)

A/N: Okay, I almost didn't get this up today because I was up most of the night sewing kilts for Highland Weekend at the Ohio Renfiare. BUT I stayed awake and did my final read-through, so this should be mostly okay. I skipped a couple steps in my editing to get this up on time but I think, for the most part, it's okay. If you see a grammatical booboo, just ignore it, I'll get in here sometime this week with my other two editing steps and find it, then repost this. Capisce? Okay, cool...now. I hope you enjoy it, I also hope my trying to phonetically write Mer's accent doesn't get too annoying. I know you really shouldn't write accents, but I think it helps add to the characters. And I do try to keep it to a minimum so it doesn't get annoying. Thanks for the love the first part received last month! I know waiting so long between updates is a bit sad after weekly updates with LtR. But life is busy right now and once a month is all can guarantee.

Jonny did not know how to keep a house.

In fact, Jonny did not know how to do much more than drink, argue, and get into fights. He was nothing but a thorn in Evie's side—never mind how much she needed him for a place to lay her head. A necessary thorn was still a thorn. Given the opportunity, she would rip it out as soon as she could and dress the wound promptly so she was finally able to heal better. She stayed only because she had no other choice. And every time Jonny raised his voice or stumbled in reeking of alcohol and red-faced, Evie could hear her best friend's warning in her head. Cynthia had begged her not to go with him, but she hadn't listened.

Oh, how she wished she had.

Luckily, Jonny wasn't the kind of man who liked to stay home which eased the ache of the ever-present thorn in her side. Whatever money he did have, he spent out on the town—the town being New Orleans. Like Evie, Jonny had been born and raised in the Big Apple, the noise and the chaos was part of him. As such, he hadn't taken to the quiet suburban life Bridge City offered as well as Evie. She liked the quiet, easy flow of the sleepy town. Her housemate loathed his new home. He thrived in disarray, thus, he found a group of like-minded young men to run amok with in the neighboring metropolis every chance he got.

If Jonny had been any sort of amicable company, the notion of him leaving most every night to wreak havoc several miles away would have been upsetting. Thankfully, his penchant for city life meant a good portion of Evie's days were spent out from under Jonny's tyranny. The hours he was gone were blissful and calm, and she relished in them. Whether she was creating art or tending to chores around the old house, Evie didn't care as long as Jonny wasn't there—never mind how lonely the routine often was.

Evie had never gotten the chance to meet Jonny's maternal grandmother, though she suspected she would have liked to. Unlike her grandson, she seemed like any other sweet elderly woman judging by the furnishings she'd left behind. There were dozens of lace doilies, and table cloths with soft patterns, decretive china even, but it was the plethora of photos the old woman kept that told Evie she'd carried a kindly heart. All of them were kept in pristine albums or intricate frames; they were the only barbles that seemed to have been cleaned or dusted with any regularity which spoke of how much she must have treasured them. Evie loved those tiny trinkets and black and white memories. It didn't matter that they were not her legacy of family heirlooms to keep, she adored them anyway.

She couldn't count the number of times she'd replaced a broken frame that had fallen victim to Jonny's drunken belligerence or scrubbed tirelessly at a stain he'd left on the patterned tablecloths. It proved to be a hefty undertaking, but dwelling in the fantasies of someone else's history let her forget the grief of her own. She was willing to sacrifice a little elbow grease if it allowed her mind to roam away from the shadow that never really seemed to vanish.

For all the effort Evie put in on the interior, the cottage held little in the way of curb appeal. The porch was sunken in the middle, the paint was peeling off in chunks, and the yard was mostly weeds. Worst, however, was the screen door which squeaked so loudly, every dog in the neighborhood howled in protest every time someone crossed the threshold. The outside needed love that Evie simply didn't have the energy to lend. Despite the grit, however, the foundations were sturdy enough that she didn't worry. The cottage proved to be stronger than she looked—a feat Evie felt she had in common with the old house. And while it was a swell enough place to rest her head, it never truly felt like home. Home was somewhere safe, and as long as Jonny lived under that roof she wasn't safe. Not really.

Fortunately, Jonny wasn't home when Evie returned after her run-in with Mr. Shelton—Mer, she corrected herself with a hint of a giddy smile. Without her housemate there, her evening promised to be hopeful instead of lonely, and she wasted no time in figuring out what to make for dinner.

With her red pumps replaced by her worn-in slippers and her blue checkered apron secured around her waist, she set a pot of water to boil and dialed the phone conveniently located in the kitchen. Every evening she called her sister-in-law to pass the time and keep up on unimportant gossip back home; this time, however, Evie was excited to finally have some good news to share.

"You got the job, didn't you?" Cynthia Clarke asked on the other end, sounding hopeful. "I knew you would."

Evie grinned, still amazed how the sound of Cyn's voice always seemed to settle some of the ever-present anxieties buzzing in her head. She missed her friend so much.

"I didn't even say yes."

"Did you or did you not get the job?" Cynthia pressed.

"I did," Evie confirmed and her smile grew hearing her friend cheer on the other end of the phone.

"See! I knew it." Cynthia said. "My gut feeling is always right."

Evie rolled her eyes and shook her head fondly.

"I think I'm gonna like working there too, so that's good." she mused as she stood at the stove, eyeing the pot of water she’d set to boil.

"That's so great, Ev. I'm so proud of you." Cynthia paused before continuing. "So, what are you up to tonight? Avoiding Jonny?"

"Sorta," Evie nodded even though she knew her friend wouldn't see.

As she continued to watch her cooking pot of water she told Cynthia all about her trouble with Jonny's car and the man who'd been so kind to help her.

"Wait. You invited the stranger over who fixed the car?" Concern was heavy in Cyn's voice, and Evie half expected a lecture to follow.

Despite knowing each other since childhood, Cynthia had taken on the role of her protector since Evie's family was no longer in the picture. The war had claimed Evie's father, and brother—although they'd never found her brother, Jimmy after he disappeared behind enemy lines. Evie never lost hope that Jimmy would one day be found, Cynthia though, was certain her husband was never coming home. After Cyn’s brother, Charlie, died at Normandy Cynthia had difficulty believing anyone was going to make it home. As for Evie's mother, losing a child and her husband to the war was too much for her tender heart and she passed not long after. Ever since, Cynthia was overcome with the need to act as Evie's guardian.

"He wouldn't let me pay him," Evie explained. "So I'm making him dinner—it seemed like the least I could do."

"I suppose…." Cynthia didn't sound convinced, if anything she sounded slightly irritated there was no quick way for her to argue the logic. "Just be careful, Evie. You don't know this guy—he could be another Jonny Doyle. Or worse."

"He's not," Evie said quickly. She wanted nothing more than to tell her friend all about how benevolent Mer was, but she decided against it. Cynthia would only argue that point somehow.

A long pause followed, and Evie wedged the receiver between her ear and shoulder so her hands were free to work on the meal.

"So, what are you cooking?" This time, there was a hint of jest in her friend's tone when she spoke.

The art of cooking was one creative outlet that Evie struggled with, second only to music. In her youth, her mother did all the cooking—it was a passion of her mother's—thus Evie had done little more than watch in wonder as her mother whipped up meal after meal effortlessly. Breakfast she the meal she was probably best at, apple pies too, but anything beyond that Evie required a step by step guide to prepare. And even then she lacked confidence. Thankfully, when she'd fled south, she remembered to grab her mother's cookbook. It was a cumbersome tome with yellowed pages and notes scribbled into the margins: a piece of art itself cultivated over years of collecting recipe after recipe starting the moment her mother stepped off the boat that brought her from Ireland. And like a witch and her spellbook, Evie depended on it.

"Spaghetti with garlic bread," Evie admitted feeling as though the meal lacked a certain something.

Pasta was something she knew held a low degree of difficulty when it came to preparing. Surely she couldn't mess up pasta.

“Mmm, I can almost smell it,” Cynthia said.

“Shut up.”

“No, seriously,” Cyn replied. “You’re mom’s spaghetti recipe was always my favorite.”

A doleful smile pulled at the corners of her lips, thinking back to her mother happily cooking in the kitchen as she sang a Celtic tune. It seemed strange that those moments would never again play out, instead they’d become bittersweet memories Evie could only relive in her mind.

“Mine too,” she murmured, suddenly missing her family.

Neither of them said anything for a moment, and Evie’s mind roamed the dregs of her grief before blinking back into reality and the hope of something happy to come.

“I need to go, Cyn,” Evie told her friend with a sigh. “I don’t want to burn the garlic bread.”

Cynthia chuckled and said her goodbye, only after making Evie promise to call her in the morning to let her know how everything went.

With her second hand restored after hanging up, Evelyn reached for her mother’s cookbook to give the steps another look over to ensure she had done everything and added every herb and ingredient she was supposed to. She’d followed everything perfectly, even factoring in the little notes scribbled into the margins left there by her mother—those she smiled at fondly and traced the fading ink with her fingers. Everything was as it should be. Even so, without a taste, Evie knew the sauce she had prepared would never be as savory as what her mother made so effortlessly.

“You were the artist in the kitchen, Ma,” she said with a shrug. “I’ll stick to paper and canvas.”

For the smallest of a moment Evie thought she would hear the warmth of her mother’s laugh, and when it never came she sighed again, trying not to dwell on the shadows behind her. What mattered was the light ahead.

Despite her lack of confidence, the meal came together without any severe hiccups. The noodles were not overcooked, the sauce was a complementing mix of savory and sweet (though, as she had guessed after a tiny taste, was not nearly as good as her mother's) and the garlic bread was nicely golden. A small tingle of pride manifested in the form of a surprised, but satisfied, smile as she surveyed the dinner before her.

“Not bad, Ev,” she told herself, knowing her mother would have been delighted.

With the cooking done, Evie threw a glance over her shoulder to the clock mounted on the wall, triggering a surge of anxiety to bubble in her gut. Stranger, perhaps, was the amount of excitement coursing through her veins. It was as though all of her happiness was riding on whether or not she would see Merriell again. None of it made sense; the man was little more than a stranger. The coupling of nerves and delight was not a feeling that put her ill at ease, however. She trusted it. And it was that peculiar sensation that seemed to fuel her movements.

With a few minutes to spare, Evie wandered into the small bathroom to freshen up. She made sure her hair was still pinned the way she liked—up and pretty. Her make-up was holding up nicely despite the heat; all she needed was a fresh layer of lipstick to complete the illusion of a put-together young lady. It wasn't often she wore a dress with heels and a face of cosmetics—she liked to when the opportunity arose, but she was just as comfortable in a pair of old overalls and smudges of charcoal on her face.

Just as she wiggled back into her red pumps—discarding her worn-in house slippers with a couple of calculated kicks—a knock on the door signaled Merriells arrival. Immediately a grin curled onto Evie's lips and her heart began to pound an anxious-excited rhythm. A blush threatened to color her cheeks to give away the torrid muscle beating in her chest—her ever yearning heart already making leaps and bounds for a man she had known for mere hours.

Don't be ridiculous—she warned herself taking in a deep breath to curb the eagerness coursing in her veins. Untying her apron, she tossed it along with her discarded slippers and went to answer the door, taking one last deep breath to steady the fervor in her heart.

Merriell had changed and showered. The sweet bouquet of his shampoo coupled invitingly with the musk of the aftershave he'd chosen, making it difficult for Evie to keep from soaking in the scent he carried. His curls were still somewhat damp—too much moisture in the air to keep the heat from drying them on his way over—though they fought to spring back into their previous fluff. The grease-covered, jeans he'd been wearing had been replaced by a nice pair of tan slacks, and the buttoned shirt he wore was a soft shade of green that made his eyes glitter a deeper emerald as he stood under the glow of the porch light. All Evie could do was stare—utterly beguiled—every rational thought in her head lost to her.

Mer smirked, amused by her ogling. "Hiya."

Evie blinked, coming back to reality, suddenly feeling foolish, and uttered a nervous "hi" before swinging her arm to invite him inside.

"Come in."

Merriell's smile grew as he crossed the threshold, inhaling deeply. "Mm, smells tasty in here."

He gently forced a bottle into her hands as he passed on his way to investigate the savory smells in the kitchen.

"I wasn' sho what ya was makin', but I figured wine usually goes with anythin'."

"Oh, thank you." Evie glanced at the label, unable to read the French words printed there. "You didn't have to bring anything."

"I know," Mer shrugged, placing his hands in his pockets. "I just wanted to make a good impression."

There was something almost boyish when he smiled then—cheeks coloring pink ever-so-slightly—that made him even more of a mystery. One Evie was eager to solve.

"Well," she said placing the bottle on the kitchen table. "It should go perfectly with dinner."

His expression lost a hint of its boyish charm as it grew into a look of delight.

"Make yourself at home," Evie gestured vaguely between the table and the sofa in the living room as she ventured to the cabinet where the stemware was kept.

She placed two crystal glasses on the table along with the wine and retraced her steps to fetch some of the nicer china Jonny's grandmother had kept. Mer watched her, his gaze, gentle and attentive, and a little bit yearning as she methodically sat the table.

"Need help with anythin'?" he asked finally.

"Nope," She replied with a smile. "Everything is almost ready."

The hearty red sauce on the stove was beginning to boil again which told her it was hot enough to serve, and Evie eyed the pot with scrutiny, praying silently her attempt at cooking would go over well.

"I'll pour us a glass then," Mer announced.

"Great, lemme…" Evie spun to fish for the corkscrew in the drawer of misfit utensils, finding it, only to turn to see Merriell holding his lighter against the neck of the dark bottle just below the cork.

Before she could ask, a loud pop sounded, causing her to jump as the cork went flying.

"Oh my goodness!" she laughed, a little surprised, a little impressed. "Where did you learn to do that?"

Mer shrugged, a sly expression on his features, and left her question unanswered.

"How much ya want?" He held the open bottle over the top of her glass, waiting patiently.

"Enough," she said, tossing him a coy smirk without really meaning to.

He bit his lower lip as he smiled, chuckling under his breath when he poured a generous glass of red wine for each of them. She thanked him as he took his seat and grabbed his plate to dish out their dinner.

"How much pasta would you like?"

Mer's face lit with charm and mischief as he turned to face her.

"Enough," he grinned.

The expression on his face was playful, his smirk devious and amused by his own response and his cheekiness settled warmly in Evie's stomach. Not only did she revel in it, but she also played into his whimsy and scooped as much spaghetti into his plate as she could before coupling it with the savory sauce and a slice of bread.

Despite being only strangers, the atmosphere that bloomed that evening was not marked by any hint of bashfulness, instead, it was relaxed and amiable. Warmth that Evie had longed to dwell in again—that unrefutable kindness she'd lost with the passing of her family—flowed uninhibited from the man sitting adjacent to her. His conversation was cautious but still jovial and genuine. It was the first time since running south Evie could recall what life felt like without grief and fear weighing upon her. Merriell was a stranger, but she felt safe with him. Jonny had never made her feel that way.

"So," Evie spoke as she twirled the last bit of pasta with her fork. "What is it you do, Mr. Shelton?"

Mer cast her a look of disapproval—no doubt in retaliation to being addressed so formally—before his features softened back into a neutral, yet somehow still amused side smirk.

"Nothin' too excitin'," he stated vaguely. "The odd jobs are what I like ta do the most—like fixin' ya car this aftah noon."

Without really meaning to, Evie leaned forward, resting her elbow and chin on the table, utterly enchanted by the beautiful stranger at her table.

"You like to get your hands dirty, huh? Fixing things?" she was entirely too intrigued with the thought of what he could do with his hands.

He shrugged, suddenly modest after a foray of playfully arrogant smirks and glances. It made him abruptly twice as charming.

"I've always had a knack for it, I guess." Merriell finished the food on his plate with the help of his remaining garlic bread to mop up the sauce still left on his dish.

"What about you?" he asked after chewing. "Ya workin' anywhere?"

All at once, a proud smile lit up Evie's face. After all the excitement of seeing Merriell again, she'd almost forgotten about her good news.

"Actually, I just got a job today—the general store downtown, Southern Comfort."

Mer's face lit up too, "Birdie's place?"

"Yeah, you know it?" Of course, he knows it! She thought, Bridge City's population was slightly less than the number of people who lived in a single district back home in New York. Everyone knew everyone else.

"Sho do—I was practically raised there…ole Birdie's like a second mothah to me."

"Really?" Evie found a great deal of comfort in that notion. In fact the more she thought on it, the more she realized how similar the old woman and Mer were; they radiated the same magnetism and sincerity.

"Mmhm," he nodded, his eyes focusing elsewhere as the veil of memories danced across the contours of his features. "My mama used ta work there…once upon a time…"

"Does she still work there?"

Merriell's face lost a hit of its levity and he swallowed as though to fight off the onslaught of sudden emotion threatening to cast a shadow onto his expression.

"No…" he said softly. "She—uh—she died, about a year ago."

Shit!

Abruptly, sick knots twisted into Evie's stomach, feeling callous, but understanding of the quiet misery he hid under layers of charm and arrogance.

"Merriell, I'm…I'm sorry—I didn't mean…"

He met her eyes and cast her a quick smile—doleful, but enough to ease the awful feeling in the pit of her stomach.

"It's okay," he reassured her, reaching for his glass of wine and taking a good gulp before changing the subject. "Birdie's great—you'll enjoy workin' for her."

"I hope so…" Evie said softly, still too embarrassed to meet Mer's glance longer than a second or two.

For the first time all night the atmosphere they shared felt cumbersome—perhaps more melancholy—than she'd wanted it to get. Evie sat, worrying her bottom lip, her fingers toying with a loose thread in the table cloth as she stole quick glances through her lashes in Mer's direction.

He was nursing the alcohol in his glass with the same sadness she'd caught plaguing him as he sat at the bar hours ago. And while Evie was eager to know if his grief stemmed only from the loss of his mother, or perhaps more, Merriell was still too much of a stranger to warrant such questions. It didn't matter how easy it was to be near him, she had not earned the right to know his narrative.

A soft sigh broke past her lips as she fought to find a way to properly allay the gloom that was quickly ruining an otherwise wonderful evening. It wasn't until her eyes found their desert sitting on the counter, waiting to save the day, that she perked up.

"Got any room for apple pie?" Evie asked with a hesitant smile. She hoped he wanted to stay long enough to have a slice, though she would not have blamed him for wanting to leave.

Immediately Mer perked up too, the shadows on his features retreating with the promise of something sweet.

"I was countin' on it—seems as how you promised a slice earlier," he said with a boyish grin.

When she stood, he did too, helping clear away their dinner plates, and letting them soak in the sink to be washed later. Evie cut them each a slice of apple pie and the delight on Mer’s face made her smile too seeing him lick his lips as his grin continued to grow. Catching that flash of his tongue was like a bolt of hot lightning striking her without warning; a blush rose so quickly on her cheeks Evie had to look away to keep the blunder a secret. Thankfully, the pie was more than enough to hold Merriell’s attention away from her.

“Mmmm… Almost looks too good to eat,” he said ogling the desert in front of him.

When Evie chanced a look his way, the expression on his face caused her to chuckle, “‘oughta be, I made one for my pa every year for his birthday since I was nine. It’s probably the only thing I have any confidence in making in the kitchen.”

“Coulda fooled me,” Mer quipped as he loaded his fork with as much pie as he could.

The moment he took a bite, his brows creased, and eyes closed as he chewed painfully slow. Those few seconds were like agony. Evie’s heart was pounding in her chest with so much anticipation she feared she might faint as she watched him sample the only thing she could actually make that was worth a damn.

“Fuck me, if that ain’t the best apple pie I’ve evah had the pleasure of tasting.”

A somewhat nervous, but relieved chuckle sounded in the back of Evelyn’s throat as she watched Merriell shovel a larger bite of pie into his mouth.

“Mmm… Yep. God damn delightful.”

“Stop,” Evie said sheepishly, suddenly afraid he was overselling his reaction to keep from hurting her feelings.

“No,” he wiped his mouth and leaned across the table to meet her gaze with a sincere expression that stole away all the doubt writhing in her stomach.

“I mean it. If I wasn’t so full of pasta, I’d eat that whole damn pie right now.”

“Well,” Evie grinned softly, trying not to let her blush color her cheeks too obviously. “Thank you. And you’re welcome to take the rest of it when you go.”

Excitement took form on his face with a smirk that was sweet but roguish all at once—a sort of debonair charm that amplified his magnetism—as if his bright eyes dark curls and razor-sharp jaw did not make him alluring enough already. Again she had to look away knowing the pink in her cheeks would be too strong to combat.

“Imma have ta take ya up on that offah. An’ I’ll be thinkin’ ‘bout you every time I cut me a slice.”

That blush was unstoppable; her heart was suddenly so smitten, it felt as though butterflies were fluttering merrily in her stomach. She felt weightless with warmth and hope swelling in her bosom, fearing any slight breeze would carry her off. It was ridiculous how at ease Evie felt sitting there eating pie with a complete stranger. The conversation had been easy all night; even when it had delved into less savory topics he still made her feel comfortable. Evelyn had forgotten what it was like to be in the company of a man who wasn’t easy to anger, who was genuine and kind and wanted only to live in the moment.

For a time the whimsy of the atmosphere faded as the warmth in her heart ached, suddenly missing her brother James and Cynthia's brother Charlie. Both of them were good men, kind and genuine—like Merriell—but they had been swallowed by the rages of war. Brave young men were lost forever, while a man like Jonny Doyle was still alive How was that fair?

No matter how pleasant her thoughts could be, they always fell back to the grief that plagued her. She sighed, deeply, pushing those intrusive memories back into the depths of her mind so she could find joy once more in the moment with a kind stranger.

When Merrill finished his plate he made a beeline for the sink full of soaking dishes.

“Oh, no,” she said jumping to her feet. “I can do those.”

Merriell, however, shook his head. “Uh-uh, you did the cookin’, I can do the cleanin’.”

When Evie tried to argue, Mer simply shook his head, his grin amused but determined as he kept scrubbing the dirty dishes.

“Let me help at least,” she suggested. “I’ll dry and put them away.”

Before he could protest, she snatched the freshly rinsed dish from his hand and began wiping away the droplets of water clinging to the porcelain surface, throwing him a smug smirk that made him chuckle.

“Alright,“ he smirked.

She watched him for a moment not really paying attention to her task as he scrubbed the old plates clean, overcome with a blissful vision of peaceful domesticity. It made her stomach fill to the brim with whimsy and her heart was fluttering again; had this stranger bewitched her already? Or did what she feel bubbling lightly in her gut like a seltzer stem from an end to her loneliness—even if it was only for a few hours? Evelyn didn’t know. Nevertheless, she was intrigued with a profound feeling and she wanted to dwell in it for as long as she could.

Occasionally as he would hand a freshly washed dish her way, his calloused fingertips would brush against her skin, igniting a spark she didn’t know how to react to. It was more than an amicable tingle racing from the tips of her fingers right to her heart. And each time they touched, Merriell would cast her a gentle smile that held nothing more than his inherent charm and magnetism. She wondered if he felt it too, or if her need for companionship was playing a dirty trick on her.

When the dishes were all back in their usual places—the night drawing to a close—Evelyn realized she was not ready to say farewell to her Beautiful Stranger. She longed to stay up all night just chatting with him, she did not care about what, Evelyn only wanted to stay encompassed a while longer in the blissful warmth he brought into her life. Once he was gone, all she would be able to do was stay up and ponder the significance of those little touches and the sparks they brought.

Thankfully, Merriell lingered on the old rickety porch, one hand in his pocket, the other holding onto his plate of leftover pie, seeming to stall their inevitable departure.

“Well,” he said with a grin. “Thank you for invitin’ a stranger ovah for dinna.” He paused, glancing at the leftover pie in his hand. “Can’t recall ever having a better plate of pasta, an’ nothin’ evah gonna beat this pie.”

Evie quickly looked at her feet to hide another blush.

“It was the least I could do,” she told him before looking back to meet his eyes. “You have no idea how much of a savior you were this afternoon…”

A glint of concern flashed in his eye, his brows beginning to crease as his unspoken question lingered between them.

She thought about telling him—telling him how Jonny was nothing more than a throne in her side, and how much she cherished Merriells company—but Mer was still a stranger. It wasn’t right to unload so much onto someone she’d only known for a few hours.

Before Mer could offer any reply, the sound of screeching tires stole all their focus as an old wagon pulled along the curb—narrowly missing a collision with the mailbox. The rowdy passengers were laughing and shouting loud enough even before the door opened to let Jonny stumble out. He staggered on drunk feet and screamed a handful of profanities to his buddies in the car which made them all roar with laughter.

It was only after the wagon full of hooligans pulled away that Jonny began to stagger towards the house, and it was exactly then that Evie’s fluttering heart became consumed with panic.

She and Mer watched him cross the yard, unseen, both frozen: Evie in fear and Merriell in confusion. Jonny’s intoxication level inhibited him from taking notice of them until he was at the base of the steps leading onto the porch. Immediately, his eyes narrowed and he frowned.

“Who the hell are you?”

“Jonny, this is Mr. Merriell Shelton,” Evie said quickly, willing her voice not to shake.

The Doyle’s were not known for their hospitality, nor were they known to trust most people. Especially strangers.

“He helped me this afternoon with a bit of trouble I was having,” she explained vaguely, hoping to thwart any more suspicion. “I made him dinner to say thank you—he’s just about to leave.”

Jonny eyed Merriell, seizing him up as best he could through drunken lenses. Mer stood his ground, eyeing him back with a subtle intensity that never so much as cracked under Jonny’s scrutiny.

Finally, being the better man, Mer held out his hand in a friendly manner, “nice ta meet ya.”

Jonny cast a prolonged glare at Merriell's open hand, his brows furrowed and part of his lip hiked up in a sort of snarl. Instead of returning the kind gesture, Jonny made a show of spitting at his feet before tossing his heavy leer at Evelyn.

"Evie, do not invite any more strangers into my house. I don't care if they are dying." He shoved past them both, purposely bumping Mer's shoulder (most likely in hopes to start something) muttering as he went: "I don't trust any of these filthy southerners."

Shock sent Evie's jaw slack; this time the redness in her cheeks was a symptom of embarrassment instead of infatuation. She should have known Jonny would say something rude and uncouth. Without another thought, she grabbed Mer by his sleeve and pulled him across the lawn until they stood next to his truck parked along the curb.

"I am so sorry about him," she said, crossing her arms and glaring at Jonny's house, ashamed and angry.

Mer shrugged as he placed his partially eaten pie in the passenger seat through the open window before fixing his hands in his front pockets.

"Ya boyfriend's a bit of an asshole."

"He is not my boyfriend," Evie corrected vehemently. "I don't think he knows that though. I'm just staying here until I can figure some things out."

Merriell was quiet a moment, nodding silently. It seemed as though he was taking his time processing the whole situation. There was compassion on his face and behind his eyes, but it was guarded somehow. Evie caught it though and she was grateful when he didn't ask the questions plainly forming in his mind.

"Well," he said finally, his tone light as one corner of his mouth quirked into a grin. "Since he ain't ya othah half, I feel more inclined ta leave ya with this…"

Gently, Merriell caressed her upper arm as he leaned forward to plant a tender kiss on her cheek. He let his lips linger slightly longer than was common for such an act, that all at once wove a new hopefulness into her heart.

"Dinna was swell," he added as he pulled away, his smile somehow more charming than it had been all night. "Hope I see ya again, Evie."

"Me too," she murmured.

Evie watched as he got in his truck to leave, her hand held to the cheek he'd graced with his kiss. And when he drove away, it took everything inside of her to keep from running after him.

#Beautiful Stranger Series #Merriell Shelton x Original Character #Merriell Shelton #Snafu Shelton #HBO War #The Pacific #The Pacific Fanfiction #Rami Malek Fanfiction

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berena-cpr · 3 years

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Unfinished Masterpieces - Fic Rec List

Remember the WIP on ao3 you can’t let go? The one that resonated with you? The one that you’d give anything to know how it ends?

While the Berena Creative Project Resuscitation event is all about starting to work again on projects sitting in our draft folders, life can get in the way of finishing a project for a hundred reasons.

These works, posted, but still a few chapters short of ending, are loved though and with this list we’d like to share the love for the unfinished masterpieces one can find in the Berena tag on ao3.

Given the high response we had when we asked to tell us about your favourite WIPs, you’ll find the list under the cut:

Anything Else to Declare? - LittleMissO

“I've personally had sleeping issues since I read LittleMissO's Anything Else to Declare because yeah, I'm still there, breath held and heart pounding like crazy after the most delicious slow burn, and pining, and that outrageously flirtatious conversation over a whiskey.”

that line between your heart and mine - ktlsyrtis

“it is just plain hot but also I love the idea of them writing letters to each other and I also love the exploration of what their relationship might be like with Bernie still being in the RAMC.”

you disappear like your cigarette smoke (now the taste of your kiss is all that remains) - bonnissance

“A wonderful, emotional angst filled fic, looking at how Bernie’s life might still have progressed after Serena left. I loved how it showed her testing her own boundaries to see if it was possible to find another relationship with someone else and when she found that wasn’t something she could do, she accepted it and found other ways to be happy without Serena. I reread it fairly often because although unfinished it doesn’t ever seem incomplete. But the last word “Serena” always leaves me full of a hope that I would dearly love to have fulfilled.”

Secrets in the Dark - Wonko

“I’d love to see this continued!”

For a Good Time Call - Regency

“Young Serena using that pure sex voice of hers to make a little extra as a phone sex operative, and young nervous Bernie taking the first tentative steps in exploring her sexuality. Who better than Serena to help her figure things out? The premise of the fic is ingenious, the writing amazing, the dialogue just outstanding. Hot, sexy, soft and full of compassion and feels. I would sell a kidney to read the next chapter to this – Bernie and Serena meeting years later and recognising each other’s voices.”

you're the only one I never looked for - gutsandglitter

“Never expected I'd enjoy a Baby Boom AU, but I love this fic. Serena hanging out in the country feeling extremely overwhelmed and constantly running into this weird tall, awkward woman named Bernie is a mood. I will forever hold out hope for an update so that I can someday read about them having lots of sex (after an appropriate amount of angst, miscommunication, and unexpected grocery store encounters, of course).”

Things Kayryn doesn't write - Kayryn

“So they’re not exactly unfinished, because they are complete, beautifully crafted, amazingly inventive, head canons, but they’re not completed fic’s so I’m counting them. I actually think that’s one of the lovely things about them, there’s a full story in there but enough space in them to bring your own imagination to the details. The fact that every head canon is spot on and you can completely image it happening is the icing on the cake, and the perfect characterisation is the cherry on top. Canon could have taken lessons from from Kayryn”

I Want to be Your Fantasy (Maybe You Could Be Mine) - Regency

“I just love the concept and the first chapter just pulled me in and I so very much want to know what happens next.”

Notting Hill - Bat_and_Breakfast

“All the “Rom Com idiots in love but they don’t know it miscommunication capers” re-envisaged for Berena you say? Sign me up! I love the way the plot of Notting Hill is absolutely recognisable, but never at the expense of Bernie and Serena’s characters. Everything they do, their responses, the dialogue, is so them. And the cleverly cast Holby regulars as supporting stars - genius. It’s an absolute triumph of transformative work. It’s wonderfully and engagingly written. If you’ve ever got sucked into watching “just a bit” of rom com and found you’ve just lost a couple of hours of your life - this fic does the same thing.”

Follow Me There - troiing

“Full disclosure: I’ve never watched Sanctuary and I know nothing about the characters. But this crossover fic is so good, that it doesn’t even matter.”

hold me closer (tiny dancer) - serenacampbell

“I don’t know why I’m so attached to that fic, but I am. I love the premise of a slow burn fic where the characters still get to do sexy things during the awkward slow burn oblivious period. It’s like the best of both worlds.”

Machu Pechinku - Jrnsaxa

“Forget France and Nepal, what if Serena spent her sabbatical in Peru? The setting in this is beautifully vivid, as is the the delicate ways in which Serena and Bernie start to reconnect after Elinor.”

Hello, Major - lesbianquill

“This is a near perfect Serena being fixated on Bernie in fatigues fic. The first chapter is very insightful, helping us to understand why Bernie might not be happy to accede to Serena’s small kink/obsession. That of course doesn’t last for too long because Bernie loves Serena and she loves having sex with Serena. It was offered as a smutty one shot, but then they rewarded us with an even smuttier second chapter and teased us with the news that a third chapter would be forthcoming. It never happened. Main reason for wishing it could be continued? I enjoy well-written smut.”

In the Spirit of Three Stars - alwayssomethingelse

“Bernie and Serena as Federation officers on Deep Space Nine. Oh, the potential!”

Anatomically Correct - phantomunmasked

“Bernie severely overcompensating for any possible awkwardness in their first time by ordering a mountain of sex toys is a premise that will always delight me. Every time I go back to this one, I ponder what their weekend away would bring with a big grin.”

The Clinic - RexWolfe

“Maybe it’s all the Bramwell we’ve been watching, but this one’s been on my mind lately. Can’t go wrong with a Victorian AU.”

a life in pictures - Regency

"I soooo want to see Serena maybe modelling for Bernie (or at least just how the date goes)”

working up a storm inside my head - sevtacular

“While this isn’t actually an unfinished fic in the sense of chapters missing, the prompt fic collection of Sev can always be added to as far as I’m concerned. Love what has been written so far, hope there will be new chapters with time.”

Body and Soul - ChalkHillBlue

“Possibly the weirdest AU idea ever, this body swap AU makes my brain go crazy with the possibilities every time I read it.”

When We Need One Another The Most - Whispersmummy

“I know this isn’t strictly Berena but it wouldn’t have been written if not for the Berena fandom who love most every conceivable way these two dorks might get together. Very well written (imo) and cleverly constructed fic. Lots and lots of angst and who doesn’t love angst? Only thing missing is a small amount of smut. (Yes I’m back there).”

Ring In The New - fiveroundsrapid

“Fics where Bernie comes to Holby before/during Adrienne’s illness are my kryptonite, and this one is so good!”

Holby One: A Star Wars AAU Story - elitryalittle

“Holby One is my favorite unfinished fic. It’s not just because I came to Berena via Star Wars (a bit of an unusual way, but here I am), but also because I can totally see Serena as a healer and Bernie as a Jedi knight. Kudos for their excellent knowledge of the SWU and this great idea of a crossover fic. I’d give them a limited edition “Looking for Leia” patch and a sticker if they’d finish it.”

to gaze at you, from afar (I sigh, I sigh, I sigh) - bonnissance

“The photographer/model AU you never knew you needed in your life, but you really, really do.”

Heroic Endeavor - Nicolaruth27

“I never would’ve thought I’d be down for a Greek god AU, but this fic has permanent residence in a corner of my brain. Bernie as Athena in mortal form is inspired, and the way the fic is interwoven with canon is a delight.”

what a lovely way to burn - ktlsyrtis

“I just love anything that's weaved into canon but with them being happy and dating and communicating."

Love, Unexpected - Igerna

“Bernie is still married to Marcus when she meets Serena during a conference. They immediately bond and keep in contact, sharing both professional advice and thoughts on their private lives. Love, for them, happens rather unexpectedly. I do love conference fics and slow burns - and this is a good one.”

a little less war torn - kitnkabootle

“The setup for this - in which Serena is the one who goes to help when Bernie is brought to Holby, instead of Raf - is one of my favorite ‘what ifs’ to ponder, and the writing is outstanding.”

#berena #bernie wolfe #serena campbell #holby city #berena cpr #fic rec

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petrichoravellichor · 3 years

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What We Deserve

Written for Day 14 of the Supernatural Deserved Better Creative Challenge (prompt: free will).

Relationships: Adam Milligan/Michael, minor Adam Milligan & Sam Winchester

Rating: T

Warnings: n/a

Summary: After helping the Winchesters defeat Chuck, Michael avoids Adam until one day, Adam seeks him out; OR, the soft, angst-with-a-happy-ending epilogue these two deserved, damn it.

(Read on Ao3)

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

In the days after his brothers beat God, Adam tried many times to talk to Michael, only to have Michael push him away.

“Leave me,” he said finally, not meeting Adam’s eyes. “I don’t...I wish to be alone.” Then he vanished to some far corner of Adam’s mind, and nothing Adam said made any difference.

“I’m worried about him,” he confided to Sam, after two weeks of radio silence. “I know he’s still there; I can feel him.” Adam sighed, leaning back against the park bench he and Sam were sitting on. “He just won’t talk to me.”

“Maybe he just needs some space,” Sam offered gently. “What he did, standing up to his dad like that, watching Jack drain Chuck’s powers, it couldn’t have been easy. He’s probably still trying to process it.” A beat, then: “Has he said anything about going back to Heaven?”

Adam shook his head. “No, not since I got back. He’s hardly said anything, and it’s...” he hesitated, weighing various words and eventually opting for, “weird. For the longest time, we only had each other, and now it’s like I’m a stranger to him. It just doesn’t make sense, you know?”

He knew, of course, that Sam didn’t know, not really. How could he? No one who hadn’t spent the Earth equivalent of over a thousand years locked inside their own mind with only one other being for company could even begin to understand what it was like to suddenly feel like half a person when said being went quiet.

Still, he also knew that Sam was trying. He’d made a point to keep up regular contact with Adam since Jack had brought everyone back, as had Dean; but whereas Dean was usually keen to avoid acknowledging the proverbial archangel-shaped elephant in the room, Sam, at least, had been willing to listen. It didn’t fix what was broken between them, not by a longshot; but for now, at least, Adam just wanted to move forward as best he could with the family he had left, even if things were complicated.

“You know him best,” Sam said finally, “and from what I saw that time at the Bunker, you can get through to him even when he’s done listening to everyone else, so...just keep trying, I guess, and see what happens. Hopefully, he’ll come around.”

When nearly another week had passed with not even a mental peep from Michael, however, Adam decided that enough was enough. Michael could yell at him if he wanted to, but Adam would make him do it to his face...or at least, to his brain’s manifestation of his face. He lay down on his motel bed and closed his eyes, focusing carefully until he found the part of his mind that wasn’t quite his own and leaning into it.

Suddenly, he was standing in the woods at sunset, pine trees stretched tall on either side and a crystal lake sparkling in front of him. Adam surveyed the area curiously, wondering what made the place so significant that Michael would seek it out, when suddenly his eyes lit upon scorch marks and the remnants of some sort of spell, and the pieces clicked together: this must be the clearing where Michael had joined Sam and Dean in their final battle against Chuck.

No sooner had the realization occurred to him than he spotted a lone figure by the lakeshore; it was Michael. He was sitting on the ground, looking small and almost human-like with his knees pulled up against his chest, his back to Adam as he stared out over the water, apparently lost in thought. Adam took a deep breath, steeling his nerves for what he was pretty sure was going to be an argument, and headed over.

“Hey, Michael?” he called softly as he drew near. “Are you okay?”

Michael turned to look over his shoulder. Adam had been prepared for annoyance, even anger; what he hadn’t expected was anguish. Michael’s eyes were red rimmed and watery, and the gilded glow of dusk made shimmers of his tears; he looked, if not broken, just about to break. “I told you,” Michael said, voice rough and raw, “to leave me alone.”

For a moment, Adam wondered if he should. His goal had been to make sure Michael was all right, not to intrude upon a moment of private grief. And yet, now that he’d actually seen Michael, the thought of leaving him in his current state was not only unconscionable but downright unthinkable. Adam shook his head and continued forward, determined. “No,” he said, taking a seat on the ground at Michael’s side. “You’ve been avoiding me for weeks, and I’ve had enough. You don’t have to talk to me if you don’t want to; we can just sit here.” He met Michael’s gaze and continued, more gently, “But I’m done leaving you alone. Got it?”

Michael stared at him, expression unreadable; then he nodded slowly, turning back to look out at the lake.

They sat in silence for what felt like hours, till the last of the pink and gold light had faded and the sky became a star-splashed indigo lit by a silvery moon. Adam’s eyelids grew heavy in the stillness, and he was just shy of falling asleep when:

“It wasn’t supposed to end like this.”

Adam started, eyes snapping open; he turned to look at Michael and saw the other staring forward as though in a daze. “What wasn’t?” Adam asked.

The corner of Michael’s lips twitched up in a mirthless smile. “Everything. I was supposed to defeat my brother, and my Father was supposed to usher in a new age of Paradise. Instead, He…” Michael trailed off, looked down at his hands, and repeated, “It wasn’t supposed to end like this.”

Adam hesitated, then scooted sideways till their arms were touching. Michael glanced up, apparently surprised by the sudden contact, but he didn’t pull away; Adam took that as a sign to continue. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I mean, I’m not sorry the world didn’t end, but the part with your dad...I know what it’s like to get screwed over by family. It sucks. Like, a lot. And I just...I’m sorry.” He didn’t know what else to say, so instead, he wrapped an arm around Michael’s shoulders, hoping the touch would do what words couldn’t.

He felt Michael stiffen, and for a split second, Adam worried he’d overstepped; but just as he was about to pull away, Michael relaxed against him with a quiet sigh. “Thank you,” said Michael softly. “This is...Thank you.”

Adam shrugged, grateful for the pale wash of moonlight; the blush he could feel would be painfully obvious otherwise. “Yeah,” he managed. “Of course. You’re welcome. It’s what friends are for.”

Michael looked at him strangely then, and Adam got the distinct impression he’d caught Michael by surprise. “You would have me as a...friend?”

I would have you as anything, thought Adam, just as long as I get to have you. “Well, yeah,” he said instead, managing a weak smile. “You’re kinda the only one I’ve got.”

Michael studied him, brow still furrowed slightly, as though Adam were a puzzle he couldn’t quite solve. Then, before Adam realized what was happening, Michael leaned over and pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead. A tingling warmth spread throughout Adam’s entire body, and he gasped. Michael pulled back at the sound, eyes wide with concern. “Was that...unwelcome?”

Adam shook his head. “No,” he said quickly. “No, it’s just...you surprised me, is all. It was nice.” He tried to will his heartbeat down to a more reasonable rate, reminding himself that it wasn’t like he was an expert on angel behavior. After all, he really only knew Michael, and he’d only seen him interact with other angels during moments of battle. For all Adam knew, forehead kissing was just something angels did with their friends, and it wasn’t a big deal.

Thankfully, Michael just nodded, seeming to accept Adam’s words at face value. “Good,” he said, sounding like he meant it; and then he lay back against the ground, folding his arms behind his head to gaze up at the stars. Adam hesitated, part of him wanting to bid Michael goodnight and get the hell out of there while he still had at least some of his dignity intact, but instead he found himself copying Michael’s pose, leaning back until they lay next to each other like two parallel lines.

For a long time, they were silent. Adam pondered the night sky, nearly forgetting that they were still in his head as he picked out familiar constellations. He wondered if Michael had been there when the originals were made, or if maybe Michael had made the originals himself. He was about to ask when he heard Michael say softly, almost as though he were thinking aloud, “Did I do the right thing?”

Adam glanced over, not sure what Michael was talking about. “What do you mean?”

“With God.” Michael looked at him, expression laced with doubt and something else Michael couldn’t quite read. “How do I know the choice I made was the right one?”

Adam shifted onto his side to face Michael fully. “Do you regret it?”

“No. But neither did my Father regret the choices he made.”

“No, but I’ll bet he never questioned them, either.”

Michael was quiet for a moment, considering. “No,” he agreed at last, “I don’t think he did.”

“He chose to send everyone in the world away. You chose to stand against him to bring them back. Billions of people are alive because of you. It was the right call.”

For several seconds, Michael didn’t respond, and Adam thought their conversation was over; then, in a voice so quiet Adam nearly missed it: “That isn’t why I did it.”

Adam frowned. “It isn’t? I...What do you mean?”

Michael sighed; he rolled to his side so their bodies mirrored each other, gazing at Adam intently. “I told you, that day in the Bunker, that though you and I had been together for years, my Father and I had been together for eternity, and as such, He would always take precedence over you.”

Adam nodded, biting his lip against the sudden hurt in his chest. He remembered the exchange vividly; Michael’s words had hit him like a slap to the face. It wasn’t exactly a novel sensation, being made to feel he wasn’t good enough. His father hadn’t been there for him growing up, and his brothers had left him to rot in Hell for over a decade. Even Michael had only chosen him because Dean had been unavailable. Adam knew that, he knew all of it, and yet...and yet somewhere between falling into Hell and walking out of it, he’d let himself start to think that maybe, just maybe, he actually mattered to someone for once. Michael could have left him the moment they were free, but he’d chosen to stay, and Adam...he’d wanted to believe that had meant something, but apparently it hadn’t. He’d been—

“I was wrong,” said Michael, softly, and Adam almost forgot how to breathe; it took him a moment to find his voice.

“You...were?”

“Yes.” Michael looked down. “I—You must understand: for as long as I had existed, my loyalty—my undying loyalty—had been to my Father. He gave me orders and I obeyed them without question, because to question them would have been to question Him, and to question Him would have been to question everything. And so when Castiel...when he showed me what God truly was, for the first time in my life, I was lost. Heaven was in shambles. My brothers were dead. My Father had...used me; he’d taken everything from me. I was angry. I gave your brother and Castiel the spell to bind Him because I was angry, and when they failed, I avoided them because I was angry. All I had left, all I knew, was you.” Michael hesitated, and when he spoke again, his voice was heavy with pain: “And then He took you away as well. For the first time in over a thousand years, I was completely alone, and...and it was the most incomplete I’d ever felt, and I didn’t know what it meant.”

Adam swallowed; he didn’t know what to say, could only stare.

Michael continued without looking up: “And so when your brothers found me again, I decided to help them, not out of anger or because I cared about the rest of the world, but because it was what you’d asked of me when your brothers first came to us, only I hadn’t listened, not fully. I knew that to stand in open defiance against my Father was to very likely forfeit my own life, but I didn’t care, because it didn’t matter. Nothing did, except you, and the chance, however small, that I might get you back. That is why I chose as I did, and I don’t regret it, not at all, and…” Michael finally met Adam’s gaze, fresh tears in his eyes and something akin to terror on his face, “and I don’t know what that means.”

By then, Adam’s face was wet with tears of his own, but he didn’t care, because what Michael was saying...Adam did matter to him, had mattered more than God. And maybe Michael didn't know what that meant, but…

Adam shifted forward, closing the distance between them. “I think I do,” he whispered, and before he could talk himself out of it, he pressed a quick, chaste kiss to Michael's lips, hoping desperately that he hadn’t misread the situation. When he pulled back, Michael's eyes were wide, and oh God, Adam wanted to shrivel up on the spot. He opened his mouth to apologize...but before he could, Michael was kissing him, and it was so slow and deep and reverent that Adam felt sure he'd have floated away if Michael’s arms hadn’t held him firmly in place.

When at last they pulled apart, Michael was gazing back at him in open wonder. “You...I’ve never...What is this?” he asked, voice tinged with awe.

Adam let out a soft laugh, trying to catch his breath. He reached up to cup Michael’s cheek. “It’s me saying I choose you, too. I thought there was no way you could ever want me like this, but if you do—”

“I do." Michael's hand came up to caress Adam's cheek in return. “More than I’ve ever wanted anything.”

“Then you’ll stay?” Adam whispered, and Michael nodded, leaning forward to rest their foreheads together.

“Yes,” he murmured solemnly. “Yes, I will stay. Where you go, I will go; and where you lodge, I will lodge. Your people shall be my people.” He pressed a careful kiss to the corner of Adam’s mouth, adding, “And your love, my love.” Then he kissed Adam again, soft and achingly tender, wrapping his arms around Adam’s waist and pulling him close till they were pressed together from head to toe, and it was impossible to say where one ended and the other began.

And Adam loved him, God did he love him, because Michael was comfort and safety and home. For the first time in a long time, Adam felt home; he felt loved. And he'd never feel like half a person again.

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

Note: The last part of Michael's dialogue is an adaptation of Ruth 1:16: "But Ruth said, 'Do not urge me to leave you or to return from following you. For where you go, I will go; and where you lodge, I will lodge. Your people shall be my people, and your God, my God.'"

Michael, wayward archangel that he is, replaces "God" with "love." 💙

#midam #adam milligan x michael #michael x adam milligan #adam milligan #spndbcc #spn michael #spn #supernatural #spn 15x19 #spn spoilers #what we deserve #my writing #midam fandom what is upppp?#i'm new here please accept this humble offering #they deserved SO much better omg

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solivagusdraco · 3 years

Text

From the Depths of a Lab: Boundaries Between Nonhumanity and Creativity through the Journey of a Potential Silvally 'kin

I'm a dragon.

That's a fact I've known for over a decade at this point. It was pure chance that I ever even learned of otherkin - somewhere along the line, one of my best friends mentioned being a therian, and so I asked what that was. If I ever had any doubts about my draconity just being something developed because I heard this new fascinating thing… the fact that I still feel my wings and get sense memories when I search for them, even after this long, would eliminate those… we'll call them worries. Perhaps a poor choice of words, but it's what fits in my experience - I'm firmly in the spiritual otherkin camp.

And perhaps that, and my continued journey to understand psychological 'kin, is part of the "problem" that spurred this essay.

Again, perhaps a poor choice in words.

This isn't some discussion about facets of the community, or debate on origins. My experiences aren't another's, just as theirs aren't mine. This is an essay on personal exploration, and the adventure of trying to confirm or deny a kintype whilst sifting through muddy water, years after I've last done any serious introspection on such topics. But if you're still interested in the personal ramblings of this dragon, then I welcome you and will pull up a nice rock for you to sit on. All I ask is patience, for words are hard for me. Talking about myself is even harder.

I awakened as a Dragon in 2010. I found a hearttype in Painted Dogs in 2014. Both of which were… simple.

I found my dragon in meditation and introspection, finding memories of both sense and the more traditional kind. The senses persisted, and still persist. Perhaps one day I'll wake and realize I'm not a dragon, but that doesn't change what I am now, nor how I feel. I am a dragon, and I found that through soul searching.

I found a home in painted dogs during a chance trip to the zoo. They had just recently finished a new exhibit for those fancy canines, and for some reason I just felt so excited to go see these creatures I'd never heard of before that moment. And then I saw them and while I didn't feel like looking in the mirror… It felt like looking through a photo album. I'm not them, yet still they're so familiar.

But this isn't an essay about dragons or canines. Or perhaps it's an essay about them both, just in a different, chimeric form.

Pokémon has always been a part of my life. As of writing this, I'm 27 and the franchise is 25 - the only part of my life without Pokémon are years I don't even remember. I learned the TCG, my first video games ever were Gold and Silver, I had plush and played pretend with my friends. I had favorites… but I never made a character. Not a trainer, not a Pokémon. Rather, it was literal decades before I made a proper Pokémon OC.

Sev the Silvally was made out of a desire to try and run a Pokémon ask blog as a means to improve my art skills through regular practice. I don't even remember the thought process that made me choose a Silvally over any of the other hundreds of Pokémon - I just knew that I'd started drawing and suddenly I had a crime against Arceus with a broken RKS Drive. Granted, Type: Null and Silvally had been my favorite Pokémon of that generation, and my inspiration for the blog was a Type: Null blog.

Later on, Sev would become something of a comfort and coping character for me.

I had been abused by someone I considered one of my best friends in high school, and while I had since recognized it as abuse by the time of Sev's creation… It still bothered me. So I decided to have Sev's escape from the Aether Paradise be that he was stolen by an abusive trainer, and his evolution happened when that trainer turned her abusive hand to a Rockruff pup - an evolution not through love for his trainer, but rather through a desire to protect. Sev escaped his abuse and got the chance to learn how to live without the shadow of his trainer looming over him, just like I hoped to do. Escape that shadow. Let Sev be my guide through the nightmares and hate scrolling that still persisted.

He stopped being just a character.

But what does this all have to do with otherkin?

As I mentioned, Pokémon has been a part of my life for effectively my whole life. Yet despite that… There's never been a Pokémon that gripped me with the intensity that Silvally has. I've hungrily looked for merch, official and unofficial. I'm in the midst of making a fursuit, complete with electronics. One of my Tumblr usernames is multi-attack, and oftentimes now when making an account on a website, the first thing I check is if 'Silvally' is taken as a username. The design I painted on my mailbox is of my dragon and Sev, in a sort of "coat of arms" reminiscent style. This chimeric Pokémon latched on to some part of my mind and refused to let go.

And yet it wasn't until this past year that I even considered that Silvally could be something other than a "mere" favorite character.

Perhaps it's a hearttype. Perhaps it's a kintype. Perhaps it is just a mere favorite character. Introspection is the answer, regardless. My way to find just what Silvally is to me. But then there comes another question. Another problem.

With my dragon, the hunt for memories was clear cut. I had no existing thoughts to sway the hunt, and what memories I eventually found… They had little comparisons to various dragon media I'd consumed. But I start this investigation with Silvally at a disadvantage - I've made a character with crafted backstory, and consumed what little canon information exists on the species. There's no blank slate for me to start from - whatever search I do will always be colored by Sev and his tale.

So then I have to ask myself:

Is Sev his own character, or is he me?

I've never had a character that I was able to just write. Perhaps it's akin to soulbonding, but what I've read on that experience just doesn't quite taste right for the circumstance. I'll create a path for my characters, a baseline for their personality to grow on… but all too frequently, they end up bucking those guidelines and becoming their own person, as it were. They don't keep me company in my mind, but they still make their own minds clear should I try to direct their story or actions in ways they don't agree with.

Where does one find the boundary between self and other, when those "others" make their own decisions yet aren't their own entities?

To say nothing of my tendency to dole out my flaws and traits to each of my characters. Each little facet of myself being the seed from which a character will grow. Sometimes as the simple fact that the familiar makes creation easier. Sometimes as a means to work through a problem. But regardless of reason, it doesn't change the fact that almost every character I've ever made has had some piece of me in their core.

But… When every character you make is a facet of yourself, the moment you consider that they might be more than just a character gets muddy. Is it a hearttype, born from a facet of yourself that your subconscious decided you needed to care for more? Or is that facet just a part of you that recognized what you were, long before your consciousness connected the dots? And if kintype it is, then how do you determine what memories are real? Were the plot points and character biology you designed mere fabrication of the mind? Or were they flashes of another life, fleshed out, recorded, and/or adapted in the name of writing?

As if the discovery and determination of memories wasn't already complicated enough.

Sev's name was the only decision I consciously made whilst creating him - shortened from 'severance', as his creation was for the partial purpose of finally separating myself from old memories. Everything else just… happened. There was no rhyme or reason or choice to anything. Not his color, not the reason he and the other Silvally of his world were created. Every plot point, every musing on his biology was a simple moment of "Oh, so that's how it happened".

In what way is that different from how I found my dragon, with her quiet nights of meditation and introspection until the memories and feelings fell into place?

Now don't misunderstand - this isn't me saying that discovering a kintype is nothing more than making a character. That couldn't be farther from what I'm saying! Rather, I'm musing on the question of where the boundary is between the creative process and the discovery process. If Sev (or just Silvally in general) isn't a kintype, then it's still fascinating to me that his creation was so similar to me discovering my dragon. And if he is a kintype? Then is that particular creative process something to be mindful of when contemplating "original character" kintypes?

Perhaps this question would be easier to find an "answer" to if I knew what Silvally was to me… but I don't! That's almost the point of this essay - a vague attempt to knock some solid feeling thought loose from my mind.

It just happened to lead to a fascinating line of thought.

#otherkin #otherkind #alterhuman #heraldic speaks

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aliatori · 3 years

Note

Hey! I'm going to ask for L, O, T, S (and let you pick which one(s) you want to answer :B)

Oh hey lio, thanks for the asks. <3 Lucky for you, you get the answers to all 4, since L and T are here and I’ll answer the other two in this post.

O: What motivates you to write?

My half-serious and off the top of the head answers: deadlines where I risk disappointing someone if I miss it… and spite. So much spite.

Joking aside, the answer to this varies on several fronts. For original fiction, a lot of my writing motivation stems from wanting to follow a passing idea down the rabbit hole, wherever that might lead. A few recent stories started with questions/concepts like ‘What would an isolated village where residents are cursed to never look in a mirror look like, and why are they cursed?’ or ‘Orpheus/Eurydice, except Orpheus is toxically obsessed and gets as many chances as he wants to ‘rescue’ her, and Eurydice is a genderfluid demigod who gets more powerful every time she’s sent—or sends herself, bloodily and messily—back to hell’.

When I’m in a period writing for fandom, I mostly want to see my faves in whatever tropey situations I like, subverted or not. Since I tend to pick… uh, Canon’s Least Loved ™ characters as my faves (insert me looking longingly at a certain Prince’s Shield or a white-haired Empress to be who dresses all in red), it’s often a ‘If you want something done, do it yourself’ that motivates me to write whatever I have in mind. I’m also a flagrant multishipper, but usually in the sense where I ship my fave(s) with almost everyone and want to explore those dynamics.

There’s also some truth to the opening jokes. When I’m in a slump OR when I want to keep writing motivation going, I’ll often seek out an exchange that sounds interesting so I’m ‘forced’ to write. This is incidentally how The Forsaken and the Forsworn became a thing, so success levels vary from ‘fun exchange’ to ‘holy shit I’m on month three and counting of constant obsession’. And I’m not exactly proud of the whole spite/contrarianism motivation, but hey, sometimes you see a bad take in passing and channel it into creativity.

In general, giving myself permission not to feel obligated to share things and have fun with it has been helpful in motivating me to sit down and put words to documents. (We won’t talk about how I’ve needed find other motivation for when I do need to eventually share said words, hahaha.) Thinking of the dopamine hit of putting the finishing line down on a one shot or shorter piece is often enough to get me in the chair, and for longer projects, thinking of getting to The Next Big, Exciting Scene is my carrot to chase.

And this is perhaps the most bitter pill to swallow but… sometimes waiting for motivation is like waiting for rain in the desert. It’s a regular occurrence where I sit down, set a timer, and agree with myself to work on my current project for X amount of time. I like it when I feel motivated, but it can be a luxury feeling, especially when life or mental health isn’t cooperating but I still want to get stuff done.

S: Would you let a stranger off the streets read your first drafts?

If this requires a yes or no answer alone, abso-fucking-lutely not.

If I can add some addendums, I’d say it depends. It would be far more likely for my original work, especially if I got to elevator pitch the stranger first and let them decide if they’re interested. I like my writing a lot, but I also realize M-E rated speculative queer work isn’t going to be everyone’s cup of tea.

For fanfiction, I would sooner eat a kilo of black licorice in one sitting than show them to a stranger on the streets, though I’ve thrown rough stuff up on Tumblr and such. My poetry and essay first drafts are between me, my hard drive, and the gods alone; nothing horrifies my private Scorpio nature than letting my messy, raw, emotional work be seen before thorough editing for craft purposes.

#ali answers #long post for ts #writing

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daggryet · 3 years

Text

my thoughts on the characters right now, seen from their perspectives (5/01)

tommy:

his main priority is his discs, from the beginning till now he’s wanted the discs back

we have to remember what tommy has been through with dream during his exile - he had given the discs up for l’manberg to have its independence in the first place, making it very clear when they took l’manberg back that he wanted the discs back now - he started his quest to get the discs back and was, in his mind, betrayed by his best friend for doing what he always said he wanted to do - he was secluded, isolated, which he very clearly did not handle well. he thrives off company, and now he was alone, alone and betrayed - dream manipulated and gaslit him into believing he had no one but dream, and that dream’s lovebombing was him being a good friend - he was almost driven to suicide due to touch starvation and emotional neglect - he believed the punishments dream gave him were warranted, were normal - even after he escaped from dream, he had difficulty figuring out what the truth was, if dream was a friend or not, if techno was an enemy or not

tommy has had his world split apart and put together again, and when it was put together again, nothing was the same except for one thing:

the discs

the discs he gave up for l’manberg, the dream he and wilbur had of a country emancipated from the tyranny of their rulers, is the only goal that has stayed the same through everything

going through the trauma tommy has, has definitely made it harder for him to keep himself tethered and feel empathy to see where the lines between what is okay and what is not okay is

the discs are his goal, tubbo (and l’manberg as an idea) is his tether, his anchor, to who he was - and maybe even his empathy. when he doesn’t remember tubbo and the l’manberg he helped build, he doesn’t think of how much his actions hurt the people around him

prediction:

he said it himself: he’s not gonna actually join techno in destroying l’manberg - even though we as viewers, from an outside perspective, can see that he’s already been well on his way to do that - he has one goal right now: retrieving the discs, in that quest the goal justifies the means

he’ll use techno, once more, as a way to get his discs - the difference is, this time he’s 100% aware that he’s using techno. they don’t have shared goals

techno isn’t stopping just because tommy breaks loose from him, and technoblade was very clear in what he wanted: he wanted l’manberg gone forever - and as tubbo reiterated, l’manberg isn’t a physical place, it’s the people.

if/when technoblade does harm to tubbo, tommy will turn against technoblade completely

dream isn’t done with tommy: he’ll do what he can to get him back under his control - a disillusioned tommy who is betrayed by both techno and tubbo (more in tubbo’s section) is an easy target to manipulate into believing he truly has no one but dream

tubbo:

tubbo was a spy during the schlatt administration and got executed publicly for it, by technoblade

even though he ‘forgave’ technoblade for it - despite tommy not being willing to let it go, he’s obviously not forgotten

he was put in as president by wilbur and promised that he was going to have his term defined by peace and open borders, he wanted unity even if people were still split into dream smp and l’manberg

tubbo’s term was immediately kicked off with l’manberg being blown up by wilbur, and it being revealed dream had orchestrated it all, no matter the outcome of the actual war - essentially, that all their sacrifices had been nothing as they’d been pawns in dream’s chess gam

technoblade, the man who executed tubbo even though he’d been reassured technoblade wouldn’t hurt him, also ‘betrayed’ l’manberg and spawned withers into the already blown up l’manberg

he rebuilt an entire country, making l’manberg flourish for the first time since it’d originally been trying to get emancipated

his vice president commits essentially foreign terrorism and because of his status, he also drags l’manberg as a country into the fight - had tommy been a regular citizen, it’d have been the work of a rogue man, and the matter could have been dealt with as such - a vice president is the stand-in for the president, what he says should be an echo of what the president says and does, what he stands for

without warning, his country had been encased in obsidian walls, built as a punishment by the very god-like player who’d planned out l’manbergs explosion

tubbo tries, through what is l’manberg’s original idea: fighting through words, and actually makes a deal with dream where he gets to keep both a free-ish l’manberg and tommy at home

tommy, without tubbo’s knowledge - again, rebels against dream, crushing all hopes of a peaceful treat - he is subsequently given the dilemma: either exile your best friend or i will build the walls as high as they can go, and if any of your citizens think of even going close to the walls - they will be slaughtered

he chooses, with the help of the viewers, to exile tommy - his cabinet protests this, says he’s acting like schlatt by not communicating his decision to them - ignoring that they, with tommy, changed their attitudes and the entire plan the night before, planned to team up with the very anarchist who had murdered tubbo and attempted to remove the government forever - while also not even knowing whether or not techno would even want to help them, and he couldn’t sacrifice his country on the whim that techno maybe would want to help protect the government against someone he has a neutral relationship to

was manipulated by dream to think tommy hated him and that he shouldn’t visit him, that dream - the one who had made wilbur blow l’manberg up - was his friend

his own cabinet is scheming behind his back, his closest ally - ranboo - has betrayed him in secret by helping technoblade and philza

thought for a long time that the decision he had made to exile his friend had driven him to suicide

the friend he thought was dead, has now teamed up with technoblade (killed tubbo, betrayed l’manberg) and committed not one but several acts of terrorism and torture

through no means of his own, tubbo’s presidency has been defined by violence

predictions:

ranboo lost them their only leverage over technoblade they had left, either unwittingly or on purpose - but tubbo has one very big thing to leverage: tommy’s disc

he could 1) bargain with dream, give him the disc in exchange for help against technoblade and tommy, 2) bargain personally with tommy, threaten to burn the disc if he doesn’t give himself up

the festival, or the aftermath of it, could also be a set up for a quackity coup

technoblade:

helped pogtopia retake l’manberg, did lie by omission by not making it completely clear that he did not support them reinstalling themselves as part of the new government

for as much as he was clear in that he was an anarchist, pogtopia was also clear in that they wanted to overthrow schlatt and take back (l’)manberg - it was 1+1=2 to put together they wanted to return to the position they’d held before the election

after his failed attempt at removing the government, he went into self-imposed retirement under the guise he has steppped down from his violent ways - reveals to tommy that he has secretly prepared his revenge on l’manberg, showing him tens of wither skulls, making it very clear he’s not done wanting to destroy all governments

wants revenge over l’manberg for what they did to philza (either his dad or his long time friend through the wars, depending) and to him (attempted to execute him, would have succeeded if he hadn’t had a totem of the undying)

took tommy in and helped him through a lot of his trauma, recognised his anxiety and tried his best to accomodate - rephrased his “give me your armour, tommy” - reminds tommy what dream did to him - makes him focus when he panics so techno can find him and help him through his panic attack - continues to make clear that when he asks for something back, it’s only because he wants his things - not because he doesn’t want tommy to have it at all

used tommy in the beginning only as a useful tool, not as a valuable ally: cared for him, wanted him to be better (if, very cynically, it was only because a traumatised child soldier isn’t much help), but changed his outlook

as opposed to last time: when he decided tommy wasn’t just a tool, but an ally, he made it clear to tommy what he wanted, what his goal was. no sugar coating, no metaphors that could be misinterpreted

mirrored wilbur’s demand: join me or don’t, no matter what you choose, you’ll lose somehow, because i’m blowing l’manberg up with or without you at my side - either unwittingly or on purpose, to compliment tommy’s own wilbur-saying “l’manberg is my unfinished symphony”

predictions:

he’s going to attack tomorrow at the festival, possibly kill quackity (i don’t think so), tubbo (maybe, not kill, but definitely injure), or fundy (more likely)

he still owes dream a favour, and dream has been building the prison secretly with room for a lot of prisoners but mainly one, powerful player - the favour could be that he was asked to step into the main cell, where he’ll never get out - the favour is a genie’s wish: it might not turn out as dream wants it, even if what happens technically fulfills his wish

dream:

has one goal: wants the entire server to unite under dream smp as one biog happy family - ie. he wants them all as puppets that follow his directions and strings without resisting, a happy family just as he wishes they act

has the power of a god (*cough* creative) and is possibly also an immortal being - possibly a being along the lines of pennywise, the nogitsune (teen wolf), immortal beings who feed on something other people produce. be it fear, chaos - lack of free will

he knows he is the puppetmaster, ie. his speeches to king eret - “just remember what it is that gives you power, it’s no pretty little crown. i’m the reason you have power.” - as long as everyone dances to his tune, they can pretend to possess whatever titles. he’s the one with the power.

had never met resistance before tommy joined the server and started war and war again against him, and he even helped in ruining dream’s illusion of the united family by building l’manberg and asking for independence

l’manberg was a dream of wilbur and tommy’s, but the discs were still tommy’s most prized possession - which is why he allowed l’manberg “unofficial” independence from dream smp in exchange for both the discs

after the great l’manberg war and blowing everything up, something he’d planned, l’manberg had a president that wanted peace above anything else, even official independence - with no borders, no official recognition of the independence, dream could still pretend his happy family dream had come true

tommy then destroys the new king, george’s, house, making it clear that even though everyone else has fallen back into the ranks, tommy still rebels, ruins his picture perfect smp

getting tommy under control is top priority: - this includes getting control over his most prized possessions, the discs. that’s top priority. if you have the discs, you have tommy - and he wants tommy. he wants tommy to be the perfect puppet, as all the other people on the smp are

in exile, he does what he can to isolate tommy geographically, mentally, and gaslights him into believing he has no one but dream

gets tommy used to a routine where the prize, if he is good, is lovebombing, so he gets used to thinking that what dream wants him to do is good - and doing anything else, literally anything else but the routine, is bad

you can win the war even after losing a few battles, if you can get complete and utter control over your enemy: - either by having enough leverage over him to ensure he’d never go against dream - or by having him so dependent on dream as if he was a pet

he wants tommy back under his power

is in possession of knowledge that will make the entire smp hate him - possibly from the book schlatt left him? - will stage a fight with punz to ensure that he still has a spy within l’manberg to keep an eye on them

has commissioned awesamdude to build him an inescapable prison for someone whose power or influence or whatever is too important or big for dream to be able to kill this person, even with his godlike powers - this could be technoblade

technoblade owes dream a favour, a one wish for everything your heart desires wish

predictions:

dream will be going into hiding as everyone on the server will be against him, either because of him revealing a secret or he does something to someone (maybe puts them in prison)

he wants power over tommy again, this means he has to get both discs (he might have one? or he was bluffing), one from skeppy, the other from tubbo - and it also means he has to separate him from technoblade (even though that might solve itself)

captainpuffy built him a house very, very far away where no one knows where he is - when he gets his hands on tommy, he might somehow bring Tommy with him all the way out there, while he hides from the rest of the SMP’s anger

#long post #like long long #dream smp #manipulation tw #suicide mention tw #if this flops at least i'm now so tired i'll fall asleep immediatelu

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dercolaris · 3 years

Text

Moonlight

A new translation of one of my Scriddler stories, because @finzphoenix posted her picture to it (again, thank you!) and I thought it would be nice for everyone to have it in English. The flow is okay I think and overall working. I can live with that^^ Also a huge thank to @shin-arei for helping me with checking for some errors.

I hope you all enjoy it! Have fun!

Edward growled in frustration. Batman had been able to solve every single one of his puzzles so far, even with little difficulty. Sometimes the black-haired man wondered whether the dark knight didn't secretly have some helpers behind him. Maybe that was why he got the answers so fast every time. There was really no other logical way to explain it. His ideas were far too brilliant and sophisticated to be resolved so quickly. A loud beep signaled that the minutes were finally over. He opened the door of the microwave and touched the plate fearlessly without thinking, then drew his fingers back immediately. The man cursed louder than planned: "Damn, it's freaking hot! Well, at least the baby is working again. You're the best, Edward. As always of course.” The Riddler grinned and put his aching fingertips in his mouth, cooling the skin with his saliva. There was probably no device that he couldn't fix somehow. After a while he let his fingers slip out of his mouth and began to tidy up the table, putting the used tools back in the right places. That action probably made no sense to an outsider, but even in this apparent chaos, there was some kind of order. As a proof, the tinkerer usually never had to search long when he needed something from his work area. Jonathan of all people had to make fun of this at regular intervals and was very amused by this situation. In principle, this was more than contradictory from his partner, as he himself had no functioning system for meaningful organization and the countless laboratory utensils in his room simply came to rest where he had just used them. Edward snorted calmly. The constant accuse of Jonathan, that he's the mess in the relationship was on the verge of ridicule. Edward quickly let go of the ludicrous thought and strolled towards the hallway, turning off the light when leaving his workshop. Fortunately, they shared a common habit of leaving the lamps on in the corridor. The tinkerer strode across the gray wood on the floor, looked carefully into the adjoining room on the left, and raised an eyebrow. To his amazement, the laboratory was empty. His lips formed a thin line. Was Jonathan going to the toilet or, to the great surprise of whole Gotham, indulging in something to eat? The Master of Riddles walked into the stuffy room and dared to take a look at all the papers on the desk. A total mess.

“One after the other, Ed. Where the fuck did I put that stupid screw now? Damn. Bugger me. It can't just have vanished into thin air! For god sake!” The tinkerer sighed in exasperation and threw several tools over his shoulder, quietly talking to himself with clenched teeth. His entire workplace was a complete mess and any attempts to control it ended with the fact that the chaos after cleaning was often worse than before. At this point, the black-haired man had to admit a bitter defeat in his life. The shambles couldn't be tamed, no matter what he tried. Edward systematically rummaged through a large pile of bolts and nuts in a metal can, occasionally cursing when touching the sharp edges of some implements. His fingers finally fished out the correct object. He grinned wider, let the iron rotate skillfully between his fingers and muttered with conviction: “Well, there we have the culprit. No one escapes Edward Nygma.” With that, he turned back to the broken microwave and inserted the missing screw into the fitting opening in the metal case. The device had surprisingly stopped working yesterday evening. It was no problem to replace it with a new purchase of course, but where was the fun in just rebuying it? The tinkerer absolutely loved taking care of defective equipment and getting things working again, that any other mechanic would probably have thrown in the trash right away. The Riddler leaned down a bit and fumbled with his fingers on the timer. The lamp inside started to glow promisingly. To confirm his suspicion, he put a porcelain plate in the microwave and turned it on. Hopefully, a few minutes would be enough to heat up the dish. The Master of Riddles crossed his arms over his chest and watched the action with observant eyes. Edward groaned slightly, tapping his upper arms impatiently with his fingers. It was absolutely incomprehensible to many other villains, why the infamous Riddler often dealt with obvious trivialities. In their eyes it was just a complete waste of time. The tinkerer grimaced a bit and stared at the slowly descending digits on the black display. Most of the criminals simply had no idea how his brilliant mind worked. He wasn’t really capable of multitasking, but doing just one thing for half an eternity plunged the black-haired man into a deep depression sooner or later. A lack of success was a poison for his soul. Foresighted, the inventor had got used to the habit of including such short works, even if there were actually more important things on the to-do list. His partner was very different in this point. Jonathan almost never made it seem like he didn't mind getting results right away. Just the permanent further development of his fear toxin and the search for confirmation of his daring theory of fear reduction in human beings would drive the Master of Riddles insane in no time. Perhaps, that was one of the main reasons, why he almost always failed in his plan to humiliate the bat brain, which was clearly underexposed and shouldn't be a huge challenge under normal circumstances.

He picked up an almost fully written sheet of paper, which somehow seemed out of place for him, and stared at the lines in pure disbelief. The former psychiatrist had a typical doctor's handwriting and it had cost the tinkerer some nerves to be able to decipher it to some extent. Even now there were still words on the piece of paper that he could only interpret with a great amount of creativity. The unknown characters and numbers between the text made it still clear, that the older man was working on some new parts of his formula. Chemistry had never been Edward's specialty. With a small sigh he put the paper back on the table and went to the window, slowly moving the dark green curtain aside. Even if the sun was staying a little longer on the sky in autumn, twilight fell surprisingly quickly over Gotham in the early evening hours. The soft red gradually gave way to an almost dripping darkness. The Riddler put his hands in his trouser pockets and looked at the surrounding area with an uneasy feeling. That they had to live near a forgotten piece of forest and that the first signs of a possible civilization were a good ten kilometers away emphasized the eerie atmosphere. Jonathan clearly enjoyed the solitude, or rather the intimate togetherness, in the Victorian house. In return, he was willing to take several miles to get to the next suburb. The brown-haired man had withdrawn more and more in recent years and finally decided to eke out his existence outside of society. Edward smiled softly. That was phrased a bit pessimistically, but hit the point quite well. He knew that his partner absolutely loathed unnecessary small talk between neighbors. He had probably worked as a psychiatrist long enough to be fed up with humanity for a lifetime and beyond. The Riddler, on the other hand, found the situation in pure isolation still extremely strange and it made him more than nervous when noises from the forest slipped through the open windows randomly. He would never admit it openly to his partner, but it was quite scary to live here in the woods. The inventor averted his gaze from the window and went back into the hallway, searching the rest of the first floor for the gaunt man. When he found no trace of Scarecrow in the living room either, the black-haired man paused for a second. Had he forgotten an appointment? Not really. Edward took out his pocket calendar and slowly flipped through the weeks, finally stopping at the current day. Nothing. He frowned. Had there been a valid reason for Jonathan to go outside and leave him?

The tinkerer went to the glass door to the veranda and dared a look out at the white, slightly shabby wooden framework. The misshapen ceiling lamps were all rusted from the constant rain. The Riddler stretched his head a bit more to be able to see better into the blurry distance and finally spotted the very narrow back at the other end of the creaking floorboards. He slowly pushed the door aside and stepped out into the cool night air. Without any hurry he walked to his partner, leaned next to him on the wooden parapet and followed the staring eyes of the former psychiatrist up in the sky. The full moon stood ominously in the center of the blackness, clearly stole the show from the great number of twinkling stars beside it. The brown-haired man was breathing heavily, almost in awe: “Isn't it a breathtaking sight, Edward? When I look at the glowing constellations in the night sky, I feel how insignificant my short existence on earth actually is. Fascinating.” The Master of Riddles was startled, but initially said nothing about this cruel statement. The corners of his mouth twitched slightly. A gentle breeze caught the couple on the porch and made them both barely noticeably trembling. The black-haired man finally mumbled: “Not really, John. I find it rather scary to occupy myself too much with my own impermanence.” The other gave a muffled laugh and turned slowly to the tinkerer. Edward let his eyes slide leisurely down from the dark sky, stared into the pitch-black forest. A few crows flew out of the tree tops with a loud crack and briefly covered the moon. Distracted, the inventor didn't notice that the former psychiatrist had hold out his hand to him. A quiet throat clearing made him suddenly aware of the unexpected gesture. The Riddler looked inquiringly at his partner, then hesitantly touched the long fingers in front of him. Jonathan took a step closer to him and placed his other hand on the hip of the black-haired man, smiled meaningfully. The Master of Riddles still wasn't quite sure what the other was up to. The lean man spoke softly: "Don't be afraid, Edward. Even if your existence will not matter to many, your presence in my life will make a huge difference.” With these words he began to move, gently leading his significant other through the night in a slow dance. The Riddler blushed slightly and finally put his free hand on the older man's narrow shoulder, surrendering to the unusual moment without really questioning it. He studied the angular face of the brown-haired man, looking for the many bumps on his pale skin. The blue, icy eyes drilled deep into his soul as usual and searched successfully for all the small and bigger secrets that Edward wanted to keep to himself.

Jonathan was extremely talented at drawing out every painful detail in his life without revealing too much about himself. The tinkerer didn't even know if the older one was a Gotham native. There were clear indications that the former psychiatrist did not come from a big city, or at least had not lived in one for a long time. He was overwhelmed by the hustle and bustle of the main streets far too quickly and preferred the quieter suburbs to the lively center, although this only had disadvantages in his actual situation. In addition to these signs, there was also a strange accent, which the thin man tried to desperately suppress. It was only audible when he was immensely excited or visibly upset. Otherwise Scarecrow was a walking mystery. A mystery he still couldn't solved. Edward blinked two times and carefully laid his face into the crook of the other's neck, instantly enjoying the faint warmth emanating from him. The pleasant smell of roasted coffee rose to his nose. Jonathan usually drank at least one pot of the black liquid and since he often played with a few beans while working, his fingers also smelled of freshly brewed coffee. The former psychiatrist's chest rose and fell evenly. The Master of Riddles closed his eyes, simply relaxing, listening to the rhythmic beating of the heart of his counterpart. They moved in unison across the floorboards, only accompanied by the gentle glow of the moonlight, which tried to cast its shadows on the wooden facade. Edward clawed his fingers a bit deeper into the soft fabric of his partner's oversized shirt and practically held onto it. After a while he heard the hoarse voice of Jonathan's whisper: "We are immortal in moments like this, Edward." The tinkerer shuddered slightly and looked up in amazement, staring breathlessly into the blue eyes of the gaunt man. Jonathan leaned forward without a word, tenderly sealing their lips in a sensual kiss.

#DC #Batman #edward nygma #Jonathan Crane #riddler #scarecrow #scriddler #arkhamverse #finzphoenix #shin-arei #dercolaris

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vegetacide · 4 years

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Sleepless

Veg●notable: So... this popped into my head.. wrote it.. and here we are.

Any mistakes are purely my own...

Characters: Kayo/Virgil, Jeff Tracy

General warning: Just a little gropey

Word count: 4541 words

Time: Middle of the night. Crack past when regular people would be sleeping

Location: Lounge balcony, Island

Summary: Someone is having a hard time sleeping.. stuff happens. Embarrassment ensues.

Enjoy!

o0o

Virgil sat upright with a jolt, the feeling of foreboding and dread chasing him into the land of wakefulness. Breath heaving, heart pounding a rapid staccato in his chest, he scrambled up his rumpled bed until his back found the headboard and kicked his legs free of the tangle of linens.

Croaking out a command, the shadowy remnants of the nightmare which had been plaguing his slumber vanished as the soft, pre-programmed lighting illuminated the quiet space of his room. Reassuring him that he wasn’t actually hanging from a mountain a mere finger’s width away from a trapped climber..

Cursing softly to himself, he racked a hand through his sleep tousled hair and swung his legs over the side of the bed resisting the urge to shiver as the temperature controlled air breezed over his sweat soaked back.

Slouching he braced his elbows on his knees and rubbed the exhausted fog from his eyes. The dream had felt so real, the blistering cold, the blinding wind, the burning chill in his chest as he desperately tried to stretch those last few centimetres.

He’d been so very close yet not close enough. The climber’s pleading voice, hoarse from screaming grew quiet and an odd calm of realization had settled over the indistinguishable features of their face. A dark truth had been registered, that salvation was not in the cards for them.

In that instant Virgil had recognized the climber’s sudden intent and throwing all caution to the bitter mountain wind, he’d lunged. His thighs coiling then thrusting him out and away from the purchase of the ledge he’d been dangling from and just as he started to free fall, the climber let go…

He stared down at his hand and frowned at the slight tremble in them. Clenching them a few times and dispelling the dull phantom ache he felt from the situation that had been conjured from the depths of his own subconscious.

Catching the dim, blue numerals of the digital display on his night stand, Virgil exhaled wearily and with a grunt of effort pushed to his feet. A couple hours of sleep was better than no sleep at all but after three straight days of this, the lack of a full eight was starting to wear on him.

His brothers always razzed on him for his late morning sleeping habits and it looked like it was going to be no different once the sun decided to crest the horizon. Little did they know though that his penchant for daytime slumber was more out of a dire need than laziness on his part.

He’d suffered the insomniatic spurts for a large part of his adult life. Some due to traversing multiple time zones on a regular and completely throwing off his natural circadian rhythm and other from an over-active mind that just ceased to shut off at a reasonable time.

He’d tried various sleep aids over the years, from the medicinal variety to the drinkable kind with a percentage stamped on the side of the bottle but neither of them were long-term solutions. Both had side effects that were detrimental to his chosen career path. Hard to concentrate on a rescue in a drug induced fog or function effectively with a hangover. He knew that from experiences and both were definitely something he didn’t want to try or risk again with lives on the line.

So letting the brotherly teasing just roll off him was his preferred dénouement. As for the twilight hours from dusk till dawn? He filled those lonely hours with copious midnight sessions in the island gym, or with twilight maintenance work on his ‘Bird. The latter had been done so frequently that he could reassemble Two’s VTOL thruster assembly blindfolded, one hand tied behind his back and with a set of nail clippers as his only tool…. On the rare occasion when the exhaustion wasn’t too intolerable, he’d even break out his art supplies. Usually though his creative muse would be out cold in a corner somewhere so his productivity on those nights was severely lacking and whatever he managed to produce was subpar at best.

No one ever saw those works of so-called “art”. They were tucked away in the far back corner of his art studio saved from the trash for some reason he was unable to wrap his head around despite the fact that he loathed them for their complete ineptitude.

Crap results or not, it served its purpose of distracting his mind from whatever it was that was preventing him from dreamland and he found that on more than one occasion he managed to just stumble off to bed again before the rest of the house had roused to start their day. Hiding the fact that sleep had been evading him and effectively staving off both the worry wart that was Scott and matriarchal commandeering presence of his Grandmother.

Though these days, he had the added pressure of dealing with the wandering presence of his father as well. Who seemed to ghost around the house at night as much as he did. Virgil suspected that his father was still adjusting to being Earth side and except for one instance had managed to avoid him.

Jeff Tracy’s sleep patterns were erratic at best but that was to be expected after his survival ordeal in the Oort cloud. Virgil knew from a medical standpoint that given time his father would eventually adjust but in the meantime, he would have to play a one sided version of cat and mouse with the man just so he didn’t set his father’s somewhat questionable mental stability for a spin. He had enough on his plate to deal with already, he didn’t need the added weight of his second oldest son’s problems on top of it.

Giving his head a shake at the direction of his thoughts, Virgil made his way over to his closet. If he let his mind drift in that way for too long he would find himself down a rabbit hole he would have a hard time finding his way out of. At the moment he didn’t have the mental stamina or the wherewithal for it either.

Reaching blindly into the dark depths of his closet Virgil rummaged around until his fingers came across the soft cotton of a well loved pair of track pants. Slipping the loose folds of worn fabric over his legs he contemplated his options for the rest of the night and just couldn’t drum up the energy to make a decision.

Catching a glimpse at his bed out of the corner of his eye he knew that staying in his room wasn’t on the table. Turning, Virgil made his way quietly on bare feet out the door and towards the stairs. Maybe something good would be on late night TV but knowing his luck as of late it was unlikely. At this point though it was better than coming up with an alternative. He’d already gone over Two with a fine toothed comb and his muscles were still recuperating from the previous nights work out. Last thing he wanted to do was to end up with a work out related injury. He was already pushing safety parameters on call outs as it was and a sprain or strain was going to have him benched for sure

---

Ten minutes of channel surfing was all it took before Virgil hit the fed up phase of his evening. Abso-fucking nothing on TV. Nothing at least that could keep his attention. Tossing the remote somewhere to his left, he shoved up to his feet, grabbed his glass off the low table and headed out on to the balcony to watch the light show of a storm that was passing by off-shore.

Leaning his elbow on the railing overlooking the pool he watched the play of light as it rumbled across the dense cloud cover. By the looks of it, the storm was shaping up to be a big one but all their scans told them it would keep well to the South of their island home. Even as far out to sea as it was, the winds were starting to pick up and Virgil could hear the storm surge as it crashed against the shoals and rocky outcroppings far below the family villa.

Losing himself to the slashes of lightning that danced across the heavens in a vibrant display of scorching white streaks buffeting, turbulent bruise coloured clouds that in an instant succumb to the abysmal void of inky black. He could feel in his bones that beep bass rumbles that followed. Thrumming through the Earth, cement and rebar of his home up though his feet and the oppressiveness of its ferocity weighed on him. Even all these many miles away the might of Mother Nature could be felt. He just prayed that no one was stupid enough to be out in that mess.

“Fingers crossed.”

*-*-*

It hadn’t been her intention to startle him. Far from it and it wasn’t like she was trying to be quiet about her approach. Virgil had been just so lost in thought that he hadn’t noticed her standing beside him contemplating the stark contrast of light and shadows across the expanse of his tense back and heavy shoulders.

“Shit… Kayo, you scared the crap out of me.” He heaved a sigh, settling his weight against the railing again.

“Sorry, didn’t mean too but I was just agreeing with what you said.”

Puzzled eyes turned towards her and a thick brow arched in question to her statement.

Mirroring his pose, she gave his shoulder a nudge with her own before pointing a finger off towards the churning storm. “That no one is stupid enough to be out in that.” She watched him out of the corner of her eye as he processed her words, noting the stiffness to his posture, the way the darkness hung like a bruise under his tired eyes and the paler of his skin. Even in the limited lighting he looked more ghost-like than human.

He gave a grunt of understanding before turning back to watch the storm and lifting his tumbler to the distant clouds in a salute. “Here’s to hoping.” The last dregs in the glass disappeared in short order as he tossed it back. The whiff of whiskey wafting her way as he set the empty vessel on the railing between them.

“I thought you were on rota tomorrow?” She questioned as she eyed the glass and wondered how much had been consumed.

“I am.” His eyes followed hers and he gave a shrug but no further explanation and Kayo didn’t press.

She’d basically grown up with the man and his brothers so she trusted his judgement impeccably but there was still something bothering her about the whole scene. Something felt off..

“You okay?” She was never one to bat around the bushes and her gut was very seldom wrong especially where it concerned the man beside her. The man she’d stopped seeing as a sibling sometime ago and started seeing as something else entirely. It was something that started to blossom one unforgettable snowy night the previous November in New York but neither of them had had the time to tend to since…. Other more pressing things had gotten in the way and there was now another Tracy planet side and returned from the dead as a result.

Maybe now…

He gave a shrug and he shifted to look at her, the wind blowing in off the coast tousling his unstyled hair in a roguish way across his brow. “I’m fine, nothing to worry about.”

He was holding something back, she could tell. Something eerie lurked in his tired walnut gazed. Shifting across the usual vivid depths like the smoldering haze after a wildfire. Dampening what was usually brilliant and clear.

She stepped towards him, her hand reaching to cup his check. The unshaved scruff rough against the palm of her hand. “I’m a good listener if you need an ear.”

He turned into her embrace, brushed his lips over the soft flesh of her hand in silent thanks and smiled at her. “Kinda a prerequisite in your line of work.”

Her own lips quirked up. “Growing up in a house full of testosterone it was a necessity or I would never have been able to sneak out at night with five over protective brothers.”

Virgil chuckled, some of the murkiness leaving his eyes. “Point taken.”

She let her hand drop and a flash of something like disappointed flickered across his brow.

His breath fanned across her face as he sighed, the light fragrance of whiskey warming her. “So…” she said, crossing her arms and emitting the air of stubbornness she was known for. “Spill already.”

A heavy shoulder lifted, the light cast through the open lounge doors catching on the planes of thick muscle with the movement and she couldn’t resist brushing a hand over the warm skin.

“Rough night, that’s all.”

“Can’t sleep again?’

He looked surprised at her question and she had her answer without him saying a word.

“Virgil, I specialize in security. I am well aware of your night time routine.Two has never run better and the gym equipment requires a break from you before you actually break it. Besides,” She added admiring the way his biceps bunched as he rested his hands on his hips, “You get any bigger you won’t be able to fit down Two’s chute”

A soft curse slipped past his lips. It was obvious that he’d thought that his attempts to avoid his family had been successful.

“Don’t worry, I haven’t or wont say anything to Scott.” Her fingers gave his shoulder a light squeeze of reassurance. “If it gets worse I know you’ll do the right thing and say something yourself. You’re dealing with it right now in your own way and you have a right to your own privacy and council. Just, if you wanna talk...” she stalled out on her offering, shifting her gaze away from his to take in the night around them as heat started to colour her cheeks.

A moment later his fingers danced across her brow and she sucked in a breath as he gently tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. His strong musician’s fingers lingered until she met his eyes again.

He was looking down at her, so close now that the bare skin of his chest brushed hers with every breath. He seemed to be sturdier now, more so then when she’d discovered him looking despondently at the storm. An assuredness that had been missing before seemed to have returned to the strong line of his jaw and the tension she’d seen in his posture was gone. There was a shift in the air around him, almost anticipatory in nature and she felt a thrill run down her spine.

Her pulse kicked at the heat imbued in his eyes as he gently angled her face towards his own. She stammered, not able to finish off what she had been about to say. “..uh..talk about....”

“Thank you, Tin’ He whispered, the oaky tang of alcohol ghosting across her lips and effectively stopping her uncharacteristic fumbling.

It took but a nanosecond for her brain to go from a midair stall out to ignition. Her inner monologue screamed, demanding that she act. Only the slightest of movements would be needed to bridge the distance between them. An easy contraction of muscles and she could push up on her toes, silencing all other words with the meeting of their lips. Without further hesitation, she did just that.

Months of denied contact and frustration sprang to the fore, blazing bright and intoxicating. Before either of them were aware, they were wrapped around each other. His strong body flush to her own, his hand tangled in her hair that had somehow between one second and the next come undone from its customary binding.

“God..” she panted, barely recognizing her own voice. His lips skimming across her flesh, trailing like fire down her neck to that spot that made her world flip on its axis. Light headed she scraped her nails down his back. Seeking purchase as her knees grew weak.

“I’ve missed you…”

He emitted a groan of approval. The sound heady, potent and oh so primal. It was almost her undoing and the burn within her flared.

Desperate for more and caring little about where they were standing, she slipped her hand between them...

The sudden intrusion of a throat clearing had them springing apart so fast that she almost lost her footing and she gracelessly plopped down on the nearest lounger. A feeble attempt on her part to save face. The instantaneous lack of Virgil’s body heat made her shiver and it sobered her mind faster than any cold shower could.

One of the overhead lights flicked on and the silhouetted figure at the balcony door came into sharp focus. A short striped housecoat was sashed neatly at a trim waist and slippered feet scuffed lightly over the flooring as the head of the house stepped out onto the balcony. In one hand he swirled a glass of water. Condensation dribbling over faintly scared hands as the ice cubes tinkled with the rhythmic movement.

“Tanusha,” He greeted, one proud eyebrow arched high over suspicious eyes as he scanned over the breathless pair. “Son.”

*-*-*

Fuck… that was all that came to mind as Virgil gaped at his father though he knew better than to voice the expletive.

Reaching out a hand, he grasped at the railing and wished his own long forgotten glass wasn’t so empty.

How in hell was he going to explain this?

He peered over to Kayo hoping that she could provide something, anything that might salvage the situation. The stunned deer-caught-in-the-headlights look he found though didn't bode well.

His first attempt to speak caught in his throat and he cleared it self consciously before risking a quick glance down to assess his person. Thankfully everything was where it should be and mercifully, PG...well...kind of.

“...Dad…It’s late, what are you doing up?”

Jeff blinked at his son then held up his glass, the answer obvious. “Hydrating, as I can see you have been doing too.”

“Oh..ya that… just a night cap.”

“And you’re on call in the morning?” It was said more like a statement than a question and Virgil did his best to hide the wince at the hidden reprimand.

His father turned to Kayo, effectively dismissing the subject from further conversation as he was well aware that his message had been received loud and clear.

Virgil did a fast and stealthy re-adjustment of his pants and groaned internally. Chances were by morning he would find that his shift had been rescheduled and he was going to need to dodge the Scott Tracy hairy eyeball all day. An unwritten rule that all the younger brothers were well aware of; never mess with the Commander’s schedules. It was some old hang up from his military days that he’d never grown out of to the detriment of the rest of the island. As unpredictable as Scott could be when on mission, at home you could figure out the time of day by what the eldest was doing. From his morning jog right down to when he grabbed the daily stock reports and headed to the bathroom.

It was kind of freaky actually. The man’s bowels were perfectly timed, no matter the food that went in...even if it was Grandma’s cooking.

Giving the back of his neck a rub, Virgil surmised he spent far too much time with his brother, far, far too much time.

Well with the exception of playing a tantalizing round of ‘avoid the angry, overly concerned big brother’… at least he could attempt to catch up on some sleep.

Ding! Bright side!...Crap.

“Tanusha, didn’t know you were back on the island. How was the flight in?”

“Uh.. hell of a cross wind on approach, ” Kayo finally piped up, returning once more to her feet. Her security agent persona nailed firmly back into place. “But nothing Shadow couldn’t handle.”

“Hmm, glad to hear it. You’ll have to let me take her for a spin sometime.” His father said all conversationally as if that fact that his second eldest and basically his adoptive daughter hadn’t just been about to get it on right there on the balcony like a pair of randy teenagers.

Jeff tipped his chin in the direction of the storm. “Nice light show.”

Virgil caught a hint of a grin on his father’s face that was not quite hidden behind a careful sip of water. The man knew exactly what he was doing and he was loving every minute of it.

“Uhhh… ya. It is.” Well, this was definitely awkward and his father was sadistic. Now would be a fantastic time for John to call down with a situation.. Somewhere.. .Anywhere.. For anything.. Like a cat stuck in a tree in say like Alaska...right now…

Kayo nodded her head in agreement and mouthed an apology in Virgil’s direction when Jeff turned to take in the view. “Well, it’s been lovely talking to you both but duty call.” She glanced down at her wrist as if to check the time but really it was to avoid the pleading look on Virgil’s face. “Canada’s about to come online and they owe me a report on last week’s protocol updates.”

Virgil’s shoulders slumped..

“Good night, Tanusha.”

“Good night, Jeff.” And she slinked off into the house, holding her head high despite that fact that there was still a healthy glow of red riding her cheeks.

Jeff shifted his attention back to Virgil. “So..you two were just,” He actually stopped mid sentence to emphasize his point with finger quotation. “Talking ?”

Exhausted beyond measure, embarrassed within an inch of his life and, if he was going to be truthful to himself; horny as hell…Yup, this evening was summing up to be a real shit show.

Crossing and uncrossing his arms, Virgil really wasn’t sure what to do with himself. It wasn’t like he was a teenager anymore. He was a grown man, of course he had relationships of a romantic nature.. He wasn’t a monk, by any stretch of the imagination but this was his father and old habits apparently did die hard.

Despite the length of time his father had been absent and the fact the family dynamic in the house was still adjusting to the patriarch’s return, Virgil felt like he’d somehow regressed back to a sixteen year old again. Caught making out with his highschool girlfriend on the couch and trying to make up excuses for the state of their undress.

The smile on his father’s face told him though that the man was well aware of his son’s floundering.

“Relax, son.” A humorous snort followed and he wandered over to stand beside him, leaning casually on the railing. “ I believe we had that conversation about the birds and the bees when you were eleven. You’re a grown man, I’m not going to fault you for looking for a bit of peace and comfort. ”

Virgil studied the ground, his mind drifting to the woman that had so captured his attention. He’d been skirting around how he felt in regards to her for months and he still had doubts if it was right of him to feel the way he did. To revise their adoptive familial relationship to something more intimate after everything they had been though. He often wondered if he was in some way taking advantage… as stupid as that might sound to others he seriously questioned his own motives.

It had been Kayo that had taken the first giant leap though. He shouldn’t have been surprised with her intuition. She’d seen right through him. Tore down all his defenses to expose what he so stupidly thought was hidden from her. Everything all out into the open for them both to see and after that..right into a penthouse suite at the Park Hyatt.

One thing about Kayo, she certainly didn’t waste time when the chips were down. She knew what she wanted and she went for it.

“So, you and our Tin-tin, huh?” Jeff chuckled and Virgil brought his attention back to his father.. “I never would have suspected but seeing you two together just now.. Well, I can definitely say that the pair of you are a good match. Complementary to each other actually.”

Despite his own embarrassment, Virgil started to relax. Relieve that his father seemed fine with what he had inadvertently walked in on. “Its, uh.. still very new.”

“Really?” Jeff questioned, his brows shooting up in mild surprise. “With that chemistry? Reminds me of when your Mom and I were together. After the first few months there wasn’t a lot that could distract us from…”

“Dad!” Virgil all but squeaked. He didn’t think it was possible to fit more blood into his head at that moment but apparently he could. Well at least the blood had stopped pooling somewhere else....thank God..

Jeff raised a placating hand and his words carried a laugh in them. “Okay, okay. I will spare you the details. The point being, the pair of you look good together and I must admit even with me still trying to get the lay of the land around here… you two fit and if it makes the pair of you happy, then I wholeheartedly approve.”

Virgil was speechless a moment. It had been the last thing he expected. Approval so easily given from a man he remembered as being rather commanding and if he was being truthful to himself, a bit intimidating.

His father’s time in space had changed him, changed them all in ways they didn't fully understand.

His father placed a hand on his shoulder, his calloused fingers tightening for a brief moment before he turned to watch the storm.

They sat a moment in companionable silence. Father and son, just taking in the light show together, getting reacquainted in a quiet moment while the rest of the house slept on.

It didn’t last long but it was enough to start mending the old tired fences that lay scattered between them. Not broken from misuse but worn from the years of absence. “You should try and get some sleep, son. You look tired and the sun will be up soon enough.”

Virgil inhaled deeply, tasting the distant rain and the linger hint of jasmine on his tongue. He nodded as he pushed away from the railing, rolling his shoulders to loosen up some of the knots that lingered there. “I should.” He agreed but paused before heading inside once more. “Thanks, Dad. Enjoy the storm."

Jeff tipped his glass slightly in salute. "I always did love a good show."

Virgil paused a moment, not sure how to take that but quickly decided he was way too tired to figure it out. Shaking his head, he rolled his eyes with a soft chuckle and stepped back into the house.

o0o

FIN

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heythrrdelilah · 4 years

Text

Lights, Camera, Love (Tom Holland x Reader) Chapter 1

A/N: So, I’ve been wanting to write for Tom for a while now, I hope all the marvel fans approve. I have incorporated some of my personal goals; like acting since I did 7+ years of theater throughout my life and my certification in Radio/film broadcasting. Also, My nursing degree im working on. So this plot may seem cheesy because of it but… oh well. Also playing off the easter egg of Gwen in endgame.

Word Count: 1,642 (the next chapters will be better and longer sorry)

Warnings/tags: Fluffish, slow beginning (sorry.... it’s been a while since I’ve written anything), friend-zone

Pairings: Tom Holland x Reader

The cold winter breeze sent chills down your spine, making you regret not taking a bigger jacket or adding a few more layers to your outfit. Today, was your first day of work as a small part in the new Marvel movie. You hadn’t known much about it, because today was the first table read for your scene. The main cast had done their table reading months ago, however, for certain scenes, the small parts come in with the main cast as needed. You knew that you had more than one line, otherwise you would be placed with the extras. When you auditioned, you didn’t have a preference for a role, which was ideal for the directors. Directors usually want to have complete creative criticism over everything. Plus, you didn’t have an agent anyways, you had just heard of the audition through an online alert you set for google. Your regular day job was a nurse, which you were thankful that the hospital gave you days off for the filming.

“ID and reason for entry please?” The guard at the gates asked you when you arrived in your 2019 yellow and black camero. You nodded, reaching for your purse. Your nerves were causing your hand to shake as you passed your ID along. “Studio 9, Marvel. I play Mikayla, a small role,” You stated with a nervous, shaky tone. He marked you down on the ipad he wielded and passed you your ID along with a parking pass. He pressed the button for the gate to open and you went through, finding your way to the studio. You parked in the assigned spot, which was shockingly close to the studio building and exited.

Nervously gripping your coffee, you walked slowly into the building. There was a security guard in the doorway, who gave you a pass and directions to the reading table. You walked slowly through the building, seeing hundreds of employees rushing around to build sets, props, costumes, lighting, and several agents on their phones. It was seven in the morning and people were already working so hard. You dodged several people rolling giant wooden boards, along with piles of paint. From upstairs, where the reading room was, you could look down to the floor and see everything from above, as the rooms and offices were all around the sides of the building, leaving the middle open. You looked for office number 24 as instructedd in the email. As you reached the windowless room and door, you knocked gently before entering. The room was warm and smelled like a coffee shop. The lights were perfectly balanced between dim and bright. The tables were set in one big circle and the only other person in the room at the moment was a small blonde with rolled up knit sleeves, placing gift baskets at every seat. “Hello! You must be (y/n)! You’re early!” She smiled, placing another basket at another seat. I waved slightly, “Good morning, yeah sorry I actually thought I was running late. Would you like some help?” You placed your coffee and purse down on the table against the wall with the coffee pots, yes...plural. You rushed over to the two carts of baskets and began placing the heavy packets on the table. You hadn't even noticed the names on the baskets either.

"I'm Clara, by the way. I'm the Mr. Whedon's assistant," She placed her dainty hand out for you to shake. She was the same height as you, but probably weighed 20 pounds less given her viable bone lines. You were careful to lightly shake her hands. You didn't want to be objective when looking at her, guessing her weight, but your previous struggle with an eating disorder left a mark on your brain when it comes to this stuff. She was pretty in the way every other shy girl who moves to LA is. Definitely stuck out in this city, Atlanta that is.

"So the director gives gift baskets to even the smallest of roles? That's super cool," You walked over to the coffee stand and took your cup. She followed, pouring herself a nesspresso. "Small roles? No. There are too many characters with less than 10 lines. Why?" She took a second before her Raven black brows lifted, "oh shit! You don't know? They told you that you didn't get mIkayla right?" Wow-what a shot to the heart! You thought to yourself. You swallowed the lump in your throat and shook your head. "Well, you blew everyone away and they didn’t want to waste your talent on a classmate of peter. So, they decided it was time for Gwen Stacy to head into the Avenger world,” Clara informed. You scrunch your brows together, “Wait… is this why we saw a glimpse of Gwen in Endgame? That is honestly so sick!” You couldn’t contain your excitement. Your expression grew into a big smile. You were a big marvel fan, so this job was a double dream come true. It hadn’t actually hit you that you were Gwen Stacy until you found your seat. The gift basket in front of you had a place marker attatched, like one at an office, that read “Gwen Stacy/ (y/n),” you were reading out loud. “How many acting jobs have you had before this?” Clara asked cheerily. You placed your coffee down next to the basket, “This is the first professional one.” Just as Clara was about to state something, the door opened behind her.

Walking in was the tall blonde you could never not recognize, Chris Hemsworth. Your heart skipped a beat seeing him in person. Sure, you’ve met a few small celebrities before at concerts, but never someone with so much recognition. He was wearing jeans and a baseball Tee, his hair was spiked up and his smile was plastered on his face. He looked down at Clara and gave her a friendly side hug, “Nice to see you as always.” His accent was like cutting butter. Smooth and pleasing. She smiled up at him before motioning to the coffee. “As always, same to you. The coffee is set up and this film’s gift baskets are an assortment of pastries. Yes, this means apple fritters,” she smiled, pointing to his seat. You were frozen at your chair, hearing your heartbeat in your ears. “Oh I’m not the first one? This is different!” He began walking over to your direction. You found the courage to stand up, smoothening out the wrinkles in your shirt during the process. “Hi, I’m (y/n). I am apparently playing Gwen Stacy,” You placed your hand for him to shake. He towered over you, as you were pretty short. His firm grip on your heand suddenly calmed you, “i’m Chris. Nervous? I heard this was your first film?” You nodded slowly. This was just another person. Celebrities are people and you would just have to think that when everyone else walked through the door. “It’s so funny, I thought I had a small part, but Clara informed me otherwise just this morning. I thought you had all table read months ago,” You blabbed, taking a sip from your coffee. He chuckled, “They probably meant for it to be a surprise,” He spoke loud enough for Clara to hear that last part, “We read earlier than the small roles, but that doesn’t start until today.” You nodded smiling. This had to of been a dream. “Gwen stacy isn’t even an avenger though and-” Chris cut you off, placing his hand on your shoulder, “It’s the film industry. Nothing has to be accurate. Just accept it and welcome.” Chris walked over to his chair a few down from you, already opening his bag, placing the name card visible to the center of the circle. You placed yours in the same fashion. Shortly after, the door opened once more. Tom Holland walked through sporting a hoodie and jeans. When he looked up from his phone, he greeted Clara and Chris first, before finding his seat beside you. He turned to you, “You must be our Gwen? Im Tom.” He placed his hand out for you to shake, which you kindly did. He was much more handsome in person, in fact, it made your stomach knot up just looking at him. After introducing yourself, you removed the gift basket from the top of the table and placed it beside you, just as the other two had.

“First table read?” He asked, his british accent melting your heart. You nod slowly, “Yeah. I am honestly afraid I’ll be laughed out of the room by the end of the day.” You finished the last gulp of your coffee and pushed your chair back to stand up and walk over to the coffee station. Tom followed, to your surprise. “Listen, Can I tell you a secret?” He asked in a hushed tone, grabbing a glass mug from the table, giving you one after he tossed the paper cup into the trash. You nodded, “If they put you in a role higher than what you auditioned for, you must be good. I highly doubt you will be laughed out of the room.” Your face burned red as his kind words actually sunk into your mind. You shook your head. You had to be professional. These were the people you were going to see every day for a good year. No way could you be blushing at every Avenger walking through the door just trying to create a friendly environment.

“In fact, if you are laughed out of the room, I will walk out with you. Losing both of us. If not… you have to hang out with us after the table read? We all planned on going out for pasta. You aren’t one of those carbphobic ladies are you?” He asked, nudging you slightly. Friendly.

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nickburn · 3 years

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Things I Enjoyed in 2020 Despite Everything

Seasons Greetings! This year has felt like an eternity for so many reasons, and before it’s over, I’d like to take a look back on the distractions that got me through it. Along the way, I’ll occasionally point out where I was emotionally at the time and whether I got into a particular thing before or after the pandemic hit in mid March. I hope you enjoy this little retrospective of some of my experience during one of the worst years of human history!

Games & Mods

Might & Magic VI: The Mandate of Heaven

When I was making my 2020 resolutions list late last year, one of my goals was to play more old games in my backlog and not buy many new games this year. That goal largely went on hold, because, well, I sought out enjoyment wherever I could find it instead of forcing myself to play one thing or another. But before Covid, I was really enjoying my new playthrough of M&M6. I’d made attempts at it before, but it was really GrayFace’s mod that made the game click for me. Modern features like quick saves and mouselook make the game much more accessible, and I’d recommend it to anyone who wants to try an old-school RPG. It’s a great stepping stone into a mostly-dead genre. I’m hoping to get back to it soon. I just jumped ship to simpler ventures like Doom Eternal after the pandemic hit and haven’t looked back since.

Pathologic 2

I learned about the Pathologic series late last year and have since become a little obsessed with it. Hbomberguy’s lengthy video essay on the original game really intrigued me and lead me to trying the sequel/remake in April via Xbox Game Pass. In a weird way, it was cathartic to be a doctor in an even more dire situation than our current one and still see signs of the townsfolk trying to help each other deal with a supernatural plague and little help from their local government. The game helped me express a lot of what I was feeling at the time, when I was still getting used to working from home and wondering just how long this could go on for. I’ve gone back to it recently, and I’m hoping to finish it someday, if I can find a way to stop dying. Above all, Pathologic 2 teaches you how to make choices in no-win scenarios with little information or resources and still persevere, despite the world going to Hell around you. And that’s maybe the most important thing to practice at the moment.

Overwatch

I’ve continued to look forward to weekly Overwatch nights with my friends every Thursday, and it’s really important to have something like that right now. Even if it’s just a new episode of a show airing, a new video from a favorite YouTuber, or a regular Zoom call with coworkers, it helps so much to have something to anticipate from week to week and month to month. Otherwise, it’s really easy to feel like nothing’s going on besides the entropic deterioration of the universe. Overwatch itself helps with this, because it’s such a positive, bright, and optimistic game, as only Blizzard can create. And it’s improved a ton in the past couple of years, in a lot of ways. If you haven’t played in a while, hop in and check out all the new content with your friends; I think you’ll have a great time. It’s looking more and more like Overwatch 2 is right around the corner, and I’m very much looking forward to it.

I learned how to play Go after watching a documentary released this year about AlphaGo, the computer that beat the Go world champion, and I have a huge appreciation for the game now. I think it’s even more beautiful than chess, though even more insidious to learn. If you haven’t played before, start with a 9x9 board, teach yourself the basics, and try playing with another beginner friend. I guarantee you’ll be amazed at the amount of strategy and imagination that a game ostensibly about placing black and white stones on a grid can inspire. Go’s one of several new hobbies I’ve picked up this year, and those new hobbies have really helped me pass the time in a way that feels productive as well as take my mind off whatever depressing news just got blasted across Twitter.

Doom 64

Doom Eternal was fine, but Doom 64′s where my heart lies. The PC port on Steam is great, allowing everyone to easily play the game with mouse and keyboard. Its levels are tight and colorful, often asking the player to backtrack multiple times through the same areas to unlock new ones and take on whatever new twists await down each darkened corridor. It’s a surprisingly fresh experience. Unlike many modern Doom mods that strive to be sprawling marathons, 64′s levels are short but memorable, and the game is a great entry point to the series for newcomers because of that. Retro FPS’s continue to inspire and entertain me, and Doom 64 is one of my new favorites.

Golf With Your Friends

I’m not usually that into party games, but Golf With Your Friends strikes the right balance between casual tone and skill-based gameplay. The maps are vibrant and devious, the different modes are creative and often hilarious, and the pacing is near-perfect. If you’ve got a squad itching to play something together for a few nights, I guarantee you’ll have a lot of laughs trying to knock an opponent off the course or turning them into an acorn just as they’re about to attempt a nasty jump.

Quake 1 Mods

I probably sound like a broken record by now to a lot of you, but I won’t rest until I get more people into retro FPS’s. The outdated graphics and simple gameplay can be off-putting at first, but it doesn’t take long at all to get hooked after you’ve played the likes of excellent mods like Ancient Aliens for Doom 2 or Arcane Dimensions for Quake 1. And it’s only getting better, with this year marking probably the best year for Quake releases ever. The industry even seems to be taking notice again, with many talented mappers getting picked up for highly-anticipated, professional indie projects like Graven and Prodeus. And while the marketing around the retro FPS renaissance as the second coming of “boomer shooters” should be much maligned, the actual craft involved in making mods and brand new games in the genre has never been stronger. I even contributed four levels to the cause this year, but you’ll have to play them yourself to decide if they’re any good: https://www.quaddicted.com/reviews/?filtered=burnham.

Streets of Rage 4

I had not tried Steam Remote Play before this year, but it works surprisingly well if you have a decent internet connection. Because of Remote Play, I was able to complete Streets of Rage 4 with my friends, and it was very close to the experiences I had as a kid playing brawlers like Turtles in Time on the Super Nintendo. The game is just hard enough to make you sweat during the boss fights but just easy enough that the average group of gamers can complete it in a night or two, which is ideal for adults with not a lot of free time.

Hard Lads

Hard Lads is a pure delight of a game by Robert Yang about the beauty of a viral video from 2015 called “British lads hit each other with chair,” which is even more ridiculous than it sounds. It made me smile and laugh for a good half hour, and I think it’ll do the same for you.

Commander MtG

The Commander format for Magic: the Gathering is one of my favorite things, and in 2020, I dug into it more than any other year. More so even than playing or watching it being played, I created decklists for hours and hours, dreaming up new, creative strategies for winning games or just surprising my imaginary opponents. I sincerely believe this little ritual of finding a new legendary creature to build around and spending a few days crafting a brew for it got me through the majority of this summer. I didn’t have a lot of creative energy this year, but I was able to channel the little I did have into this hobby. Especially during the longer, more frustrating or depressing days at work when I had nothing else to do or just needed a break, I could often dive back into card databases and lose myself in the process of picking exactly the cards that best expressed what I wanted to do for any given deck. And it’s nice to know I can always fall back on that.

Yu-Gi-Oh!

I played a lot of Yu-Gi-Oh! growing up but never had the cards or the skill to be particularly good at it. I just knew I enjoyed the game and the 4Kids show, but I quickly them behind when I got to high school. Fast forward to 2020, and the game and franchise have evolved substantially, not always for the better. But I do find it so intriguing, with a skeptical kind of adoration. It’s not nearly as well-supported as Magic, but what it does have are gigantic anime monsters on tiny cards with enough lines of text to make your head spin. And it’s so interesting to me that a franchise like that can continue to thrive alongside more elegant games like the Pokemon TCG and Hearthstone. And the further I’ve delved into how the game has changed since I stopped playing, the more invested I’ve become, going so far as to start buying cards again and looking into possible decks I might enjoy playing. An unequivocal win for Yu-Gi-Oh! is Speed Duel, which seeks to bring old players back to the game with a watered-down, nostalgia-laden format with fewer mechanics and a much smaller card pool. So if all you want to do is pit a Blue Eyes White Dragon against a Dark Magician, that’s 100% still there for you, but the competitive scene is still alive, well, and astoundingly complicated. And I think that’s kind of beautiful.

Black Mesa

I wasn’t expecting to have the tech to play Half Life: Alyx this year, so Black Mesa seemed like the next best thing. And it really is a love letter to the first game, even if it’s far from perfect. I even prefer the original, but I did very much enjoy my time with this modern reimagining. If you’ve never played a Half Life game before, I think it’s a great place to start.

VR via the Oculus Quest

Around halfway through this year, I started to get really stir crazy and yeah, pretty depressed. It seemed like I’d be stuck in the same boring cycle forever, and I know for a lot of people, it still feels like that. So VR seemed like the perfect escape from this dubious reality where you can’t even take a safe vacation trip anymore. And you know, I think it works really well for that purpose. The Oculus Quest is especially effective, doing away with cords or cables so you have as much freedom as you have free real estate in your home. I don’t have a lot of space in my studio apartment, but I have enough to see the potential of the medium, which is completely worth it. Next gen consoles are neat and all, but I’ve got my heart set on picking up the Quest 2 as soon as possible.

* Beat Saber

I was most looking forward to trying Beat Saber on the Quest, and I was not disappointed. You’d think rhythm games had reached their peak with Rock Band and DDR, but the genre keeps on giving with gems like this. It’s hard to convey if you’ve never tried it, but the game succeeds so well in getting your entire body into the rhythm of whatever song you’re slashing through.

* Half Life: Alyx

Again, I really did not expect to be able to experience this game as intended this year, and I still don’t think I really have. The Oculus Link for the Quest is admittedly a little janky, and my PC barely meets the minimum specs to even run the game. And yet, despite that, Alyx is one of my top three games of 2020 and maybe one of my all-time favorites. Even as I was losing frames and feeling the game struggle to keep up with all the AI Combine soldiers running around, I was still having a blast. For me, it is one of the best reasons to seek out and own VR and a pinnacle of game design in its own right.

Hades

For me, Hades has mostly been similar to every other Supergiant Game that I’ve played: fun and well-polished but ultimately not engaging enough to play for very long. And there’s always this sheen of trying to be too clever with their dialogue, narration, and music that rubs me the wrong way. But Hades is certainly their best game, and I can’t deny the effect it’s had on people, much like Bastion’s reception back in 2011. And I’m really hoping Hades gets more people into roguelikes, as a more accessible and story-driven approach to the genre. Timing-wise, I wish it hadn’t come out around the same time as Spelunky, because I think it did make some people choose one over the other, when the best choice is to play both and realize they’re going for very different experiences. The precise, unforgiving, arcade-like style of Spelunky isn’t fun for everyone, though, and Hades is thankfully there to fill in that gap. I’m really glad I found more time to play it this year at least to succeed on one escape attempt; it’s a fun game to think about in a game design context. And I do think the game has a lot of merit and is doing some clever things with difficulty that the studio likely could not have honed nearly so well without the help of Early Access. The most impressive part of the game to me is not the story or the music or the combat but the massive amount of contextual dialogue they somehow found time to program, write, and record at a consistently high level. All of this is just to say, Hades is obviously one of the best games of the year, and you should play it if you have any interest in it at all.

Spelunky 2

I’ve spoken a lot about this game on Twitter, so I’m not going to rehash much of that here. For me, it’s been a journey of over 1,000 attempts to learn the intricacies and secrets of a deep and demanding game that’s been as frustrating as it’s been rewarding. But it remains a constant source of learning and discovery as well as mastery and pride for me, and I still have hopes of reaching the Cosmic Ocean and getting all the trophies someday. It’s been a joy to watch other Spelunky players too, even as some fair worse than me and others fair far better. And the Daily challenge keeps me coming back, because seeing my name high up on the leaderboard just makes me feel so damn good (or at least I’ll get a good laugh out of a hilarious death). At its heart, Spelunky is a community endeavor, and I think it succeeds at that better than almost any other game this side of Dark Souls. I think it is my Game of the Year or at least tied with Alyx, I really can’t decide. If you don’t think you’d enjoy it, all I’ll say is, the frustration and difficulty are integral to the experience of discovery and surprise, and your brain is better at video games than you think.

Chess

Okay, yes, I watched and enjoyed The Queen’s Gambit, but I think 2020 had already primed people to get into chess this year regardless. Like Yu-Gi-Oh!, chess was a childhood pastime of mine that I really enjoyed and then quickly left behind as I discovered things like music and the internet. If I had to assign a theme to my 2020, it would be rediscovering old hobbies to remind myself how good life actually is. And now I’m more committed to chess than I ever was before. I’m watching international masters and grand masters on YouTube (as well as the incomparable Northernlion), I’m playing regularly on Chess.com, and I’m even paying for lessons and probably my own theory books soon. Like most fighting games, chess is a complicated form of dueling a single opponent with zero randomness, so mistakes are always on you. And modern chess platforms offer extremely good analysis tools, showing you exactly how, when, and why you screwed up so you can do better next time. Like Hearthstone, it’s a quick, addicting, tense, and rewarding way to train your brain and have fun. And it seems more popular now than ever, in part due to a certain Netflix original TV show...

The Queen’s Gambit

I think a lot of people want to be Beth Harmon, even if they know they shouldn’t. It must feel so good to be the best at something and know you’re the best, even while under the influence of certain substances. It’s what makes characters like Dr. Gregory House so fun to watch, though you’d never want to work with the guy. For me, anyway, I always wanted to be a prodigy at something, and what little success I’ve had made The Queen’s Gambit very relatable to me. More so, it’s easy to relate to growing up in a conservative environment with few real friends and fewer outlets of expression, only to realize you’ve finally found your thing, and that no one can take it from you. That’s mostly what I’m going to take from The Queen’s Gambit anyway, more than chess or the Cold War commentary or the problematic relationships Beth has with her cadre of rivals/boyfriends. The show gets a strong recommendation from me for fans of chess as well as lovers of optimistic coming-of-age stories.

March Comes in Like a Lion

Similarly, March Comes in Like a Lion features a protagonist who is scarily close to a version of myself from like eight years ago. My best friend has been urging me to watch this show for years, and I’m still only a few episodes in. But I love how it portrays a young person who’s moved to a big city away from home for the first time, with nothing more than some meager possessions and the hopes of becoming the best in the world at something. And Rei is not confident in himself or outgoing at all, he’s extremely depressed despite pursuing his dreams and trying to distance himself from his somewhat toxic family. It’s a great reminder that the smallest kindnesses can often change our entire perspective on the world, and that even the people that seem the most well-equipped to handle life often still need help. I’ve been very fortunate to have people like that despite mistakes I’ve made, and I hope to be that person for others too.

Umbrella Academy

I’m pretty burnt out on superheroes, but UA put a good enough spin on them that they felt brand new. The show is rough in places, but it’s surprising in some really clever ways. And the comics are some of the wildest stories I’ve ever read, like Hitchhiker’s Guide meets Watchmen.

HunterXHunter

I binged about 100 of the 148 episodes of HxH this year, which I recognize is not a significant number in the wider world of long-running shounen anime, but it’s quite an undertaking for me to finish a show of this length. The series goes places I never expected and made me care so strongly for characters I thought I’d hate at first. It’s the smartest and most endearing show about a band of misfits going on crazy adventures and punching people for the good of the world that you’re likely to find.

Hannibal

This is the rare show that’s simultaneously comforting and nightmare-inducing if watched for extended periods. I can remember nights after binging a few episodes where I couldn’t get many of the disturbing images out of my head. Fair to say, Hannibal is not for the faint of heart, nor is it without some low points. But for those who enjoy gory thrillers or gritty detective dramas, it’s a must-watch.

Yu-Gi-Oh! Original Series, English Sub

You can probably imagine my surprise as I discovered this year that the Japanese version of the Yu-Gi-Oh! anime is not only much better than the 4Kids version we got in the States, but it’s actually a decent show. The plot makes much more sense, it’s more interesting, the stakes are higher, the voices are better, and overall it’s just more enjoyable to watch. I don’t know if I’ll stick with it long enough to finish it this time, but this is definitely the way I’d do it and would recommend to others.

Fargo Season 4

It’s a miracle we even got another season of Fargo this year, let alone on time and of the same high quality as the first two seasons. It has a great setting, cast, and conflict. I love Chris Rock, and it was so cool to see him act so well in such a serious role. There’s a Wizard of Oz homage episode that is nearly flawless. And the post-credits scene at the end of the season is just the cherry on top. If you haven’t checked out Fargo by now, you are really missing out on some of the most interesting stuff happening in TV. I can’t wait to see what Noah Hawley does with the Alien franchise.

Movies

Cats

I had to include this one because it was the last full movie I saw in theaters before the pandemic hit. I technically went to Sonic too, but my friends and I walked out after about 30 minutes. The less said about that movie, the better. Cats, though, is a strange and curious beast (pun intended), adapting an already unruly animal (pun intended) to the big screen and yowling to be recognized (pun intended). But for every awkward or embarrassing scene, there’s one of pure joy and magic, like the extended ballet sequence or Skimbleshanks the Railway Cat. The film knows exactly what it is and leans into it hard, like a familiar yet slightly insane feline begging to be stroked, which I imagine is exactly what fans of the musical wanted.

Children of Men

There’s not much I can say about this film that probably hasn’t been said better elsewhere. I was intrigued to watch it when I learned it was one of my friend’s favorite movies. And I have to say, it’s really profound in a prescient way. Clive Owen gives one of the best performances I’ve ever seen. You should watch it, but only when you feel like taking a severe hit to the feels.

Basic Instinct

Vertigo is probably still my favorite film, so when I learned this year that Paul Verhoeven made a bloody, sex romp homage film to it in the 90s with Michael Douglas starring, I simply had to watch it. And you know, it’s not bad. It’s nowhere near as good as Vertigo, and you can see the ending coming a mile away. But what it does have is the immaculate Sharon Stone, who you cannot take your eyes off for the entire movie. And the movie knows it, making her look as alluring and suggestive as her character is to the detective investigating her. You could do worse than to watch it, just don’t expect any of Hitchcock’s subtlety or looming dread to seep into the final product.

Books

Dune

I finally finished Dune this year, and I can genuinely say it lives up to the hype. It’s not the easiest book to get through, but it’s by no means one of the most difficult either. I’m still bummed that the new film was delayed, but it might give me time to read the rest of the original book series.

The Fifth Season

Another fantastic piece of fiction, I cannot recommend this book enough. N.K. Jemisin is one of the best living authors of our time. If you want an original setting with a brilliant magic system and complex, compelling characters, look no further.

Video Content

Northernlion

I’ve been a fan of NL for years, though I’ve never been that into The Binding of Isaac. He just has a charismatic intelligence to him that sets him apart from most “Let’s Play” YouTubers to me, and he’s very funny to boot. I guess I’d say he seems a lot like me or the person I could picture myself being if I were a professional video content creator. So I was really excited for NL’s series of Spelunky 2 videos, and I still watch them every day, months later. And now he’s teaching me how to get better at chess, being a good 600 ELO higher than myself at the moment. His sarcastic and improv-laden banter have withstood the test of years and gave me some much-needed comfort and laughter in 2020. Somehow, the man even found a way to keep up his prolific output this year while raising his firstborn child. There are those who said it couldn’t be done...

The Command Zone - Game Knights

Josh Lee Kwai and the rest of the crew at The Command Zone continue to put out some of the most well-produced tabletop gameplay videos on the internet. It’s perhaps no surprise, seeing as how Lee Kwai created trailers for such blockbuster films as Scott Pilgrim Vs. The World and Jimmy Wong had a supporting role in the live action remake of Disney’s Mulan. But the crew around the two hosts are just as important and talented, and it’s clear that they all share the same singular vision for the channel’s future. They’ve carefully crafted a team of expert editors, animators, cosplayers, and voice actors to deliver one delightful video after the next at a consistently high level. If you’re into Magic: the Gathering at all, you simply need to watch Game Knights.

Cimoooooooo

I found Alex Cimo’s channel shortly after the algorithm learned I was interested in Yu-Gi-Oh! again, and at first, I was less than impressed with him. But it’s clear to me now that he not only loves what he does, he’s an expert Yu-Gi-Oh! player and analyst. Plus, he’s very good at explaining some of the more complex concepts in the game in a way that newcomers can understand. I’ve watched every new episode of The Progression Series and The History of Yu-Gi-Oh! so far, and they’re the best way I’ve found to learn how the game developed and changed over the last 20 years.

Team APS

This is another great Yu-Gi-Oh! channel, focusing more on skits, gimmick videos, and casual games rather than analytical or theoretical content. Mostly, they seem like a really great group of friends that just have a blast playing Yu-Gi-Oh! together, and their love for the game makes me want to play more too.

Tolarian Community College

Somehow, a community college English professor’s channel went from a quirky little deckbox review platform to the most popular Magic: the Gathering channel on YouTube in only a few years. But it’s easy to see why when Brian clearly loves what he’s doing more than most people ever will. He’s not only a fantastic reviewer and MtG scholar, he’s one of the most outspoken voices for positive change in the community and the game. Is he too hard on the Magic team at Wizards of the Coast? Perhaps, but without his measured and well-reasoned takes on all things Magic, I think we’d be much worse off.

IRL

Cooking

Even I get tired of eating the same things every day, so I’ve taken it upon myself to learn how to make more dishes, mostly out of sheer boredom. And I know I’m not alone in that, but I have to say it’s been a rewarding and fun adventure. It’s really surprising what you can throw together with a decent recipe and a little creativity in a modest kitchen when you decide to break away from the microwave for once.

Chinchillin’

Like many people, I felt that I needed a pet to survive this year, and I’ve always wanted a chinchilla. So I took a risk and bought one from a seller on KSL a few months ago, and my life has definitely changed for the better. No longer simply alone with my thoughts all day, I have a furry little companion to commune and bond with. And it’s more difficult to find time to feel sorry for myself when a basically helpless tiny creature depends on me for almost everything. Not to say it’s been a perfect experience however, people don’t say chins are difficult to care for for nothing. And I have learned more about them than perhaps I ever cared to know before, but that’s only made them more interesting to me as a result. Overall, I would recommend them as pets, just be prepared to give them a lot more time and attention than you would to say, a fish or a hamster. I’ve seen the commitment compared to that of a large dog, and I think that’s fair, though chins seem far more difficult to train and are far less cuddly. Basically, imagine a fluffy, super fast squirrel that can jump half your height, shed its fur at will if grabbed too tightly, that sleeps all day and bathes in dust, and that cannot get wet or too hot or eat 99% of human foods without serious complications. And they get lonely, and they all have their own surprisingly distinct personalities, some shy and mischievous, others bright and social, and everything in between. But I’m glad to be part of my little buddy’s life and hope to make it a long and enjoyable one for him. Part of why I wanted a chinchilla so badly is they typically live between 10-20 years, much longer than the average rodent or even many cats and dogs. And they’re sadly endangered in the wild, poached for their incredibly soft fur, which is why I believe it’s critical that we care for and learn more about them now. And above all, I adore my chinchilla’s antics, even when he continually tries to dig up and eat the paper bedding below his cage when I’ve provided perfectly edible hay and pellets for him in much easier to reach locations.

And that’s all, folks...

If you’ve read this far, know that I really appreciate it and hope you learned something new about yourself, art, or the world. And please do let me know what’s kept you going the most this year too, as I suspect I’ll still be searching for new distractions next year, even after I’m able to get a Covid vaccine injection. As Red Green would say, we’re all in this together, and I’m pullin’ for ya. <3

#2020 #hobbies #art #youtube #reviews #entertainment #games #books #film #tv #netflix

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ikemenshakespeare · 4 years

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Harr X MC | “Spring Fever”

Warning: NSFW.

Authors Note: I’ve been inspired to write something like this since “A Charming Change” event released a while ago. They missed a few of our favorite guys, So I asked around and most people said they were curious to see our boy Harr with a different type of personality then his regular shy withdrawn self. Although the storyline is not the same (like at all.) I had fun putting in my own creative twist on the idea of opposite personalities! As always enjoy, reblog, and comment because I love to see feedback from you guys. Thank you to all who read! 💕

Harr darted onto a quiet ally still hand in hand with me. He let out a small sigh of relief but I stared him down with a frown. “What’s wrong?” We were casually strolling through central quarter and next thing I knew he was frantically trying to find some place to hide.

“There’s just so many people, I’m not used to openly walking around like this.” I looked behind me to exam the scene, trying to understand the feeling Harr was having. With close examination all I could see were the many people laughing and enjoying each others company.

“Everyone seems to be having a wonderful time. After all, the weather is beauitful. I find going out like this really fun, I think you just have to give it some time and you’ll grow to love it too.” The sounds of spring played peacefully. The birds were chirping and the wind whistled a soft happy tune as it breezed by. Looking into his eyes I could still see the conflict, but he responded confidently.

“I guess you’re right, let’s continue.” He stiffly led me back into the busy street and we began walking once more. I thought back on all that’s happened in the past couple months. Harr had his reputation as ‘The Wanted Wizard’ upheld after he helped both armies defeat the currupt magic tower. He was so used to living in his own isolation that he forgot what it’s like to be around lively groups of people, to be excepted in a town which he came from. I glanced around hoping to find something that would take his mind off the nerves. I suddenly stopped short, in awe of what I saw. A little Kiosk stood on the corner of the road. The entire thing was covered in a number of different flowers, Some I’d seen before and some I had not. Harr spoke up, “what is it MC?”

“Look over there, have you ever seen this little shop before?” He looked over and shook his head, a shy no. “Do you mind if we take a look? Maybe they sell flower arrangements, I’ve been meaning to get something new to spiff up my bedroom.” He smiled sweetly and squeezed my hand.

“Sounds like a plan.” As we walked closer I saw a woman a bit older then us organizing bottles. I spoke up to get her attention.

“Hello, Miss?”

“Oh hi! Are you be interested in purchasing one of our perfumes?” Perfumes?

“Oh no, I’m sorry. I was admiring your kiosk and thought you might be a flourist. My mistake.” The woman’s smile never faltered.

“Well that’s quite alright, You can still sample and see if you’re interested?” She pulled up one of the bottles she’d been organizing earlier. The pattern was an array of 5 different colors so bright I thought it may be glowing.

“I really don’t have much money, so I don’t know if I’d be able to purchase something as fancy as that.” Harr looked down at me then spoke to the shopkeeper.

“Can we take a look at it?” Her smile gleamed.

“See! This young man understands quite well what a woman wants. If your hesistant to try for yourself, maybe your boyfriends opinion could help make up your mind?” She handed the bottle over for Harr to inspect then continued on. “Our scent is made up of several of cradles most beauitful flowers, that’s why I’ve decorated my kiosk this way. Every bottle is unique due to its combination of colors which upon movement of the bottle reveal many different variations.” As if testing her theory Harr tilted the bottle, and surely the rainbow pattern changed.

“It’s beauitful...” I stepped forward to take a closer look for myself now. The woman stared on expectantly.

“Aren’t you going to try it sir?” To my surprise Harr wore a skeptical look on his face. I spoke up not wanting him to get uncomfortable.

“The scent is for woman right? If you don’t wanna smell feminine I could-”

“It’s fine.” One quick spray and the area around us smelt of the most wonderful flower field. Surprising since he’d sprayed it directly on himself.

“It smells amazing!”

“It really does! People say while wearing it they find themselves feeling more active or excited. Some have even said they’ve felt amorous.” The way she spoke those last words left a sour feeling inside me. It was almost as if her whole demeanor had changed. Using my better judgement I gave my final decline to her offer.

“I’m sorry, I don’t think we’ll be buying anything from you today. Thank you for all your kindness!” With that I turned around and walked away as quickly as possible, dragging Harr not far behind me. I know I saw a park a couple blocks back, maybe we could head over there to sit down and relax. The entire way Harr remained unusually silent, even for him. When we were just far enough into the park I stopped to ask him, “That women was a bit strange, wasn’t she? I’m glad we got out of there when we did.” No response, I turned around. “Harr, are you feeling alright?” Before I could make eye contact, I felt myself being pushed to the ground. “HARR?!-” my shout was muffled by his left hand against my mouth. I was in such shock I didn’t even notice he’d pinned my hands above my head.

“SHH.” He hissed. I tried mumbling some confused questions his way but they remained unheard. He gazed at me with eyes I’d never seen before. He looked lustful, maybe closer to hungry. We locked eyes for a moment before he slowly tilted my face, leaving one side of my neck exposed. I felt his tongue move leisurely down my neck. My body tighten as I breathed out a small moan. Harr gave me a deep chuckle in response, something I would never expect from him. My eyes widened in shock. “I never realized how cute you could be Alice, I should’ve taken control sooner.” Alice? He hasn’t called me that since we’d first met... Desperately I ripped my hands from his grip and used them to pry his fingers from my lips. Leaving his hand halfway between my jaw and throat.

“What is going on with you?? You can’t do this here, someone could see us.” I urged, I felt like my entire face was on fire. Yet somehow, his hands were warmer. Gentle as they were against my skin, his eyes were relentless.

“Alice, are you trying to tell me you don’t like it?” My brain practically flat lined at his words, All rational thought leaving my mind. Truthfully I had lost count of how many times I’d fantasized about Harr. Imagining all the possible things he could do to me. Even a moment like this was something I could only daydream about, but the possibility of it ever actually happening... Harr could never- Another unarming laugh fell from his lips, in the best way. “It’s written all over your face, you don’t really want me to stop, do you?” I’d been caught red handed, lying would do nothing for me now. I shook my head, turning a brighter shade of pink then should’ve been possible. A grin like moonlight spread across his face. Then he brought his lips unbearably close to my ear and nipped. A gruff whisper came to follow, “Alice, I promise to take care of you... so long as you behave like a good girl.” My heart hammered in my chest as he started undoing the buttons on my blouse, slipping his hands to cup my breasts. The sun was starting to set, and many of the towns people were more then likely on their way home. I could go against my better judgement and go through with this. Get away with our dirty little act and have some fun, but something inside me screamed it’s not right. This has to do with the woman at the perfume shop? I just know it! If he goes on like this he’ll regret it. I took my hands and placed them on either side of his cheeks, I struggled to speak through the undeniable moans of pleasure I felt.

“Ha-Harr, this isn’t like you. You don’t have to do this.” He paused abruptly and his one eye winced shut before flashing back open again.

“What are we...” Like he was having some sort of epiphany, he jumped back in surprise. “Eh-!” He fell back on his behind, using him arms as support. He was turning a shade of red that rivaled the color of my own cheeks, I’m sure. “The-the perfume. That’s the last thing I remember before I-” he looked me over hesitantly, a disheveled mess.

“She tricked us, it’s not your fault. As soon as I can I’ll be sure to notify the red and black army about what happened here!” I angrily began adjusting myself back to normal, buttoning my shirt and giving my hair a quick run though with my fingers. Harr gave me a weary look.

“No MC, it was my fault we’re in this position. I had a feeling that woman was up to something, but as soon as you volunteered to try out the perfume yourself I panicked and reacted without thinking. I’m sorry.” He looked away from me, ashamed. I grabbed his hand and squeezed it tight as I could.

“This wasn’t your fault, that lady played a nasty trick on the both of us. We can figure out what to do about her later, but for now we should head home. It’s starting to get dark.” The look of astonishment on his face was undeniably cute, but then he did something that surprised me for the upteenth time today. A soft kiss pecked my lips, so quick I could have been mistaken that he’d even done it at all. “What was that for?”

“You’re amazing, you know?” I grinned bashfully.

“Listen, My heart cant take much more of your antics. Are you sure all the effects have worn off?”

“Yes. But if you don’t mind I would like to say one more thing.”

“What’s that?”

“I love you.” He rendered me speechless. As he stood up he helped me to my feet aswell, brushing the grass off my skirt like the true gentleman he was. We spent our entire walk home in content silence. Our hands never apart from one another.

#Harr Silver #Otome #Ikemen Revolution #Fanfiction #Cybird #A Charming Change

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inikavulpixelreviews · 4 years

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Let’s Talk About Pokemon - Gen 8 Retrospective

This Generational recap itself might be a bit on the shorter side, since I already said my peace on the games themselves and their less than stellar impact on the fandom before I even started them. (Not that there isn’t a lot I’m talking about here today though, hoo boy.) Though just know between a repeat playthrough and my opinion on the Pokemon dropping as I've analyzed them more, I'd say my final verdict is that they're a decent enough swan song to the way Pokemon games used to be that made Gym battles feel special again but lacked in a lot of other areas. 6/10 overall.

Though obviously Gen 8 isn't done yet. Since DLC is on the way, as I've said several times already. My general thoughts on the concept of Pokemon DLC replacing the traditional “Third Version” is good. For one thing I'd much rather pay $30 for access to new content immediately over paying another $60 for a “Pokemon Armor” version that had most of its new content back-loaded in the postgame. $30 is still steep... but it's better. And of course, the prospect of releasing more new Pokemon via DLC is a good one too. Hopefully releasing DLC rather than a full game every year will relinquish some of the workload off Gamefreak... so perhaps we can get smaller batches of new Pokemon released mid-generation to help mitigate just how many Pokemon felt like they didn't get finished in time. But also hopefully it'll mean Gen 9 will be all the better when we get there... Gamefreak has stated they're really challenging themselves with the next major Pokemon games so hopefully they're taking the more level-headed criticism to heart and it's not all talk but we'll have to see.

Yeah, that's about all I have to say about the state of Pokemon as of right now, neverminding my multiple rants and tangents since I've already gone to great lengths to state that Gen 8 isn't as good as I might've initially thought. I still like it overall, and it's probably still not my least favorite Gen... but it's very much like Gen 4 with an EXTREMELY mixed bag. Certainly felt like for every excellently designed Pokemon they had below-average flunky that feels like it should've gone back to the drawing board once or twice. But even all that aside, one of my more annoying sticking points with Gen 8 is the severe lack of new animals.

So in place of my usual ramblings on my thoughts on a generation as a whole, let's do a little Compare and Contrast. Let's look at the past few Generations and see just how noticeable this flood of species redo's is. Green checks are significantly new enough animals, Red crosses are for animal origins that have been done before, Yellow slashes for Pokemon with vague or heavily mixed taxonomic origins, and Grey circles for Pokemon that are disqualified for being Objectmon, since we've yet to get repeats of those. (Also disqualifying Gen 8's regional evos other than Obstagoon since it's not necessarily their fault that they're repeats.)

Are there arbitration in places? Probably. But I feel like the point still stands that Gen 8 was waaaaay too reliant on touching up on animals already covered in Pokemon before. Especially when there's still so many animals that have yet to get a Pokemon to their name. The one plus Gen 8 does have in this regard is that it has a few more “taxonomically vague” Pokemon than usual. But repeating animals in and of itself isn't all that bad, if you make the repeat different enough to be interesting in its own right. The one thing you could do wrong in that regard is to just make your monster notably more “normal” compared to the Pokemon it's repeating. So how does that hold up?

As much as I've established that one's a crow and the other's a raven, the two animals are still very much similar creatures. But I do feel like Murkrow and Corviknight are differentiated enough while both still being a “fantasy” creature in their own way. Murkrow is very much a gangly, cartoony crow while Corviknight covers the more majestic side of corvids.

Another one that's pretty blatant is that we now have two regions with a Ladybird as the common bug. Orbeetle does however get to be more accurate to the Ladybird life cycle, starting out with a larvae and ending with the beetle. Again, Ledian and Orbeetle are very different flavors of the same creature, Orbeetle not skimping out on any outlandish elements. In fact, it's more visibly outlandish than Ledian was.

This is where things start to get hazy. I've stated that Nickit and Thievul are sadly my least favorite fox Pokemon to date, simply because it has the least to offer imaginatively than all the other foxes that accompany it. Ninetales has the kitsune thing going on, while its Alolan variant covers Arctic Foxes. Zorua is a fantastical take on the tricky nature of foxes by combining aspects of shapeshifting kitsunes or tanookies while throwing in a bit of Kabuki. And Fennekin grows up to be more of a wizard. Thievul is very much a stereotypical red fox while having the trickster nature of foxes that's not only been done by Zorua before, but also in a much more stereotypical thieving way like a Swiper the Fox sort of thing.

Wooloo always struck me as odd ever since it turned out it wasn't the region's common Normal-type. I can excuse plainness in the common woodland animal since they're rather uniformly not terribly interesting (and arguably are like that by design). So it turns out it's more of a common early-game fodder just like Mareep is, but Mareep is just a smidge more interesting by being elemental, and also it turns into Ampharos, a weird little bipedal lamb with little flippers for some reason. Which is reasonably more imaginative than a Pokemon that's mostly just a sheep.

Sandaconda is another one that feels significantly fantastical and unique compared to its previous serpentine cousins. The only snake Pokemon beforehand that was hugely different from the template of what a snake usually is was Snivy. Sandaconda is even unique as far as cobra monsters go, with its “hood” being a big ol' sac that it keeps its projectile Anakin-repelent in.

Centiskorch is a little iffy. It's cool that they turned a real centipede's grappling maneuver and turned it into an even more effective weapon via its heat spots. But in terms of body shape it's significantly more normal looking for a centipede than Scolipede's almost horse-like proportions, isn't it?

Another iffy comparison since they're both fairly “regular” looking Octopus monsters. But even so, I'd count it as a point against Gen 8 since there's been more than plenty of time to come up with a cool and unique body type for an octopus.

That's better! Eiscue, while normal-looking if you only count the penguin body, is still a funny and imaginative take on a penguin monster that is a completely different flavor from Empoleon's stern look to boot.

Another dodgy one to justify. There's neat theming in there, but there's hardly any denying that an elephant that rolls up into a wheel and rolls around is notably a much weirder take on an elephant that Copperajah going by an elephant's body shape to a T.

Had they gone for a look more purposefully weirdly geometric like they SEEM to be going for, I probably would've given it a hand-wave, but even with that in mind, Copperajah is pretty vanilla in terms of Elephant monsters. Especially compared to Donphan.

...So even then, it's pretty mixed in that regard. Some Pokemon feel like worthwhile additions to the biodiversity, but others I can't help but wonder what the point was. Did Wooloo really need to exist in a series that already had Mareep? Couldn't they push Copperajah's concept further to better contrast with Donphan? Having repeats isn’t BAD, pretty sure every Gen past the 2nd has done them. But it’s hard to find sticking points on Gen 6 and 7′s repeats. Aurorus is totally different from Meganium. Vikavolt, while being much more close to realism in body structure compared to Pinsir, is still a vastly different fantasy creature just on account of having a gun for a face. And the whole Goomy line is almost nothing like Magcargo. And all that is WHILE still bringing in plenty of new animals to play with.

So yeah, I hope all that can help with understanding why I was a little harsh on Gen 8. It's still not my least favorite, cause we still got a ton of good out of it, and I would much rather have a mixed Gen of “Some Really Good, Some Not So Great” over Gen 2 and 4's “Some are good but the rest are really plain and boring.” But of course, as per usual, we gotta do the lists...

Top 10 Favorites of Gen 8:

Like I said, the new Pokemon that are good are REALLY good. Still struggled to make a Top 10, for good reason!

Top 10 Favorites Overall:

That said, there wasn’t a ton of impact on my Top 10. Top 50 maybe, but not here.

Bottom 10 Least Favorites of Gen 8:

Sadly there was plenty I was just plain not a fan of. Has there ever been a Gen where I just straight up dislike the whole Bottom 10? Hmm...

Bottom 10 Least Favorites Overall:

And tragically, this Gen did make a pretty deep cut into my least favorites, oof. It is an unholy image to not see Gallade be all the way to the left up there.

The Cutest:

The Coolest:

The Prettiest:

Corviknight and Eternatus aren’t just there because I ran out of traditionally pretty ones, just so you know. There’s something about a sleek, nearly all-black design that is genuinely gorgeous-looking to me.

The Spookiest:

Most Creative:

Weirdest/Most Unique:

Most Forgettable:

Most Personality:

At least there were still plenty of personality-driven designs! Look at all these adorable little charmers and smug little shits.

Most Under-Appreciated:

Best Regional Variants:

I’ve probably said it already but I am legitimately ecstatic with Regional Variation being a mainstay feature now. There is INFINITE potential with the concept and totally didn’t deserve to get ditched after a single use just in Alola. In fact I think it’d be rad if they do any more remakes they retroactively made “Sinnohan” or “Hoenn” forms of Pokemon. I thought they might’ve made some “Kantonian” forms for Pokemon in Let’s Go and redesigned a few modern Pokemon to look a bit like they were designed back in the 90s... but sadly that didn’t happen. Despite how cool it would’ve been. But Kanto is sacred ground that cannot ever be changed, I guess...

Best Ultra Beasts: (????????????????)

Best G-Maxes:

I still love the concept of G-Maxes, and we’ll probably get a few more before Gen 8 is done entirely. But it does stink that the concept in the end felt a little half-baked. Speaking of which...

Pokemon That SHOULD'VE Gotten G-Maxes:

Because G-Maxes wound up being locked to only be for Gen 1 or 8 Pokemon, with only a handful of exceptions. MAYBE they’ll stretch into other Gens in the DLC, but until then lemme just make a personal wishlist of SQUANDERED potential. Though I’ll limit myself to Pokemon that are only in the current Galardex as to not be here all day.

I’m sure if you pay attention to the Fakemon scene at all, you’ve already seen a few G-Max Dhelmises where the seaweed has grown so massive that it’s now able to possess an entire haunted ship. And they are CORRECT to make such a thing because GOD what were they thinking NOT doing that?!? It’s right there under your noses!!!

Still bummed there was never a Mega Vanilluxe... but this could easily make up for it! A towering snowing mountain of ice cream is a super cool idea for a kaiju-size ice cream monster, maybe even ditching the icicle shaped cone in favor of having it rest in a “bowl” of ice!

Like??? Hello????? Are you telling me you’re making Kaijumon over here and you’re NOT gonna make a giant mecha?????????????????

Because a giant living beehive deploying swarms upon swarms of Combee is a badass concept just by itself.

Like c’mon this one was REALLY staring you in the face. A region set in Poke-England and you’re not gonna make a funny giant Zeppelin?

Just trying to imagine a colossal haunted chandelier is giving me chills by itself. Especially if you were to make it look elaborately regal and all that.

I’ve not got a specific idea, you’d just think they’d compensate for the lack of a Mega form.

G-Max Rillaboom has me feeling like this one’s likely to not happen, since I imagined a cool idea for a G-Max Trevenant was to make it a giant Deku-Tree looking haunted tree with a colossal trunk and even bigger canopy.

I guess Butterfree already had the spot taken for “Mothra stand-in”, but I feel like Frosmoth has just as much cool potential for a G-Max form as Butterfree did. Especially with the powdery snow scales it has.

Perfect opportunity to give Goodra a giant, more monstrous slug-like form. But no dice there either. Maybe next form gimmick...

Okay, C’MON. We KNOW they weren’t that bothered about giving G-Max forms out to Pokemon that already had Megas. This is the most obvious one of all! ESPECIALLY since its defacto-Mecha Godzilla got a G-Max but it didn’t.

Most “Unfinished” Feeling:

Since “least favorite” doesn't necessarily meant “unfinished.” (As much as I dislike Toxel, it doesn't really strike me as “not done.”) Not that I have clairvoyance on Gamefreak's internal workings, but some of these Pokemon definitely feel like they're not up to scratch with the series's usual quality standard.

My Disappointment is Immeasurable and My Day is Ruined:

To pick on Gen 8 one last time... and since it was a running gag anyway, here's the Pokemon that just crush my dreams the most. Except Appletun, mostly. It's good enough to be let off the hook. The rest? They were things that were on my wishlist of things and animals I would've LOVED to see get turned into Pokemon, only for my hopes and dreams to sink faster than the Titanic. Considering a majority of concepts within Pokemon don't come back, if not for a very long time, these Pokemon mean that I have to reluctantly strike a cake monster, a snowman, a coal monster, a train monster, a sea urchin, a pie monster, and some fresh Lapras attention off my wishlist. Sigh.

With two rounds of DLC coming, the main Pokemon review series probably won't be back until the tail end of this year shortly after Crowned Tundra is released. I am excited to get to talk about some of what they've shown so far, but I'd rather wait until the content is released and we know everything about the new Pokemon and Regionals. There will however be at least one more little bonus article about Gen 8 and the future of the series, but I wouldn't expect it to be out for a while. Before the DLC is out probably, but still a long ways off.

[Archive]

#Pokemon #Gen 8 #Sword and Shield #Pokemon Sword and Shield #Pokemon Reviews

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