#'and now there is maybe a mildly skewed idea of it.'

[whoslaurapalmer]

[redacted] fic is like. the longest and most enduring game of telephone

[paper-starz]

So, we know how the theory of Wally being sentient came up with clues from the site. But now I wonder how this would apply for the sentient swap au instead! Like, I could see Frank's blinking gif put out the morse code for H-E-L-P as his little nod. Or maybe something a little more obvious like the faces of the characters start to grimace the more you load their character pages over and over on the neighborhood page. Perhaps it would have new and different secrets instead?

AHHHH I SWEAR ALL THESE ASKERS ARE MIND READERS!!

To answer your question, YES! That’s EXACTLY what I was going for!! There will be new “secrets” for each character too!!

On the neighborhood page, Wally’s is the only one who’s looking the other way, everyone else is staring directly at you!! That one was kinda a given!

Frank: For Frank’s blinking gif, it could be cool if he blinked out SOS. Their neighborhood page would change slightly, as the books that he would be holding would have papers falling out (underlined and circled with red marker) and he’s looking a LOT more tired. I love the idea of the neighborhood page getting more different the more you refresh it! Frank here would look more annoyed, eyebrows raised in that “really?” fashion. Perhaps the link above would also change to a phrase, “Frankly, I find that quite annoying…”

Howdy: Perhaps the items in his shop has lil messages in them! (Ex: Bag of beans would instead say “Help” or perhaps even spell out a sentence if you find all the words on the items!) His neighborhood page would also change, his hair a lot more disheveled, his hand gripping onto the grocery bag a little bit too tightly, and one of his hands holding onto a bottle. If you refresh the page too much, then he will be skewed more to the left of the page (almost as if he’s trying to escape!) “I don’t wanna be here right now….”

Julie: The notable secret message about Julie is the one with her and her siblings in the About Us Section (you know the one!) On the website, there’s a secret hidden message that is only revealed if you highlight it (this is also under the picture)! It reads “They will come back.” Julie’s neighborhood page is the one that changes the most, as her hair is ripped out in many places. If you refresh the page, her character will inch towards the screen, almost as if she wants to fight ya! The link above reads “What do YOU want?”

Barnaby: Barnaby has quite a few secrets that he left, most of them are in that slideshow section in the About Welcome Home! You know that one picture where Wally is drawing on a book while Barnaby watches? The roles are flipped this time! Barnaby is holding the book with a mildly concerned expression while Wally asks him about it. “You’re reading books now, Barnaby?” “Nah, just one, kid.” “I wonder what it’s about…” The text is all echoey… His neighborhood page won’t change much, he would still be juggling but there’s bags under his eyes. Refresh the page and you would get this “Uh… Okay..?” He would look mildly confused.

Sally: Sally doesn’t have a lot of secrets that she left, the one related to her is that day/night motif that keeps coming up around the website. She’s the one who changes the least in her neighborhood page, her pose stays exactly the same even if you refresh it a bunch of times! Her link also stays the same since she REALLY wants to stay in character.

Eddie: Not many secrets are left by him! There are a few, such as the picture where he and Frank are standing next to each other and there’s a secret message right to them. However, instead of the message saying “Hello You” it instead reads “Hiya!” (Hes trying to be friendly!) Eddie’s neighborhood bio doesn’t change much, but the notable thing is his mailbag (which seems to be overflowing with letters and papers). If you refresh the page, his link reads “Hiya, neighbor!”

Poppy: Again, doesn’t leave much. Or rather, she doesnt leave anything at all (at least not directly). You gotta REALLY dig deep if you wanna see Poppy’s messages. Ex: In the OG Welcome Home, if you type “voywex” in the link bar, you get Wally typing to you! Here in this AU, you get Poppy instead! “Hello? Are you there? Can you see me? Be careful.” Poppy’s neighborhood bio doesn’t change much other than the fact that she holds a needle and a thread. If you refresh the page, Poppy’s feathers will look a bit more frazzled! “Please be careful…”

Wally: Wally does NOT leave any secret messages! As I mentioned before, on his neighborhood page, he will be the only one looking away from the viewer. If you refresh his page a bunch of times, Wally won’t do anything!

Home: Home is always watching Wally in the website. It doesn’t really leave secrets, the only secret is in Wally’s bio! If you refresh the page, sure, Wally won’t do anything… but Home does. Usually, Home will be looking at Wally. But if you refresh the page, Home will be looking at you.

[fanfic-scribbles]

Safe Keeping

Fandom: MCU Captain America/Avengers

Summary: Sometimes, pushing your boundaries can lead to something good.

Quick facts: Romance – Steve Rogers/Reader – Nondescript Reader

Warnings: Agoraphobic!Reader, a bucket o’ fluff

MCU Timeline: Set at some point post-Avengers

Words: 4268

A/N: I was actually writing a different agoraphobic-focused Bucky/Reader slice-of-life fic but that became too long and too much of a slow burn for me to be able to focus on right now, sadly, so I tried something different. I might go back to it later (I definitely have no problem writing the same concept more than once) but I like how this came out :]

~

It’s early. It’s (relatively) quiet. You’re restless. The conditions are perfect for a walk; all you have to do is…leave. The apartment. Easy.

Right.

You sigh and check your pockets for the tenth time. You have all the essentials, you aren’t going far, you don’t have to go for long, or even further than the block if you decide you really aren’t up for it; all you have to do is…try.

And yet all you can do is stand in front of your door. Do you have to do this? One walk isn’t going to set your life right–

No; this is important. You haven’t left in days, and walking is good and healthy and maybe you can get a coffee or something else nice after you’ve been outside for a little while. As long as the shop isn’t too crowded, but it’s so early that odds are good.

Okay, you have a plan: attempt a short walk, and after the timer goes off you can beeline to a nice quiet coffee shop for a little treat.

You put your hand on the doorknob before you can second-guess yourself (maybe sixth or seventh-guess at this point, probably) and open the door–

–right as someone’s walking by.

You blink and jerk at the brief jump scare but the guy actually jumps and spins towards you. You can’t help it– you let out a little snort. The guy is huge and looks like he wouldn’t be afraid of anything, so seeing him look mildly alarmed and then blush is…funny. He also looks vaguely familiar but you chalk that up to having seen him around before. You don’t like leaving the apartment, but you do (unfortunately) have to do it on occasion.

“Um…sorry,” you say. Maybe this was a mistake after all.

“No, it’s fine, you just…startled me.” He smiles weakly, looking tired. Maybe he was on shift all night. After a brief exchange of “good morning” he keeps on and you…well it’s stupid but you can’t go back inside now, when he’s still down the hall. That would be weird, to open the door and just shut it again.

You knock your head against the side of the door and step outside, and curse your bright ideas as you slip your key in to finish locking up. However, you feel…odd. When you look, you see the guy you scared, staring at you from a few doors down.

“Sorry.” His smile curls a little more, skewing more towards ‘amused’ right out of ‘forced.’ “Do you have a doctor’s appointment or something?”

“Uh…” This is way more human interaction than you were hoping for. This morning is off the rails and the sun isn’t even fully up yet. “No? Why?”

“You just sound like you really don’t want to be out,” he says and turns the key in his lock.

You make a mental note to watch your volume. You’re both fairly quiet even now, but you didn’t think you were that loud just muttering to yourself. “No, no appointment. I mean, I don’t really want to go, but I’m just…taking a walk.”

You brace yourself, for a weird look at the very least, but he still smiles like that isn’t the lamest thing he’s ever heard. “Good for you,” he says, unexpectedly sincere and warm, and opens his door. For a moment you dare to hope that’s it, but he stops and looks at you again. “I moved in a couple months ago but I don’t think I’ve seen you around before. I’m Steve.”

He probably has and just doesn’t know it; you’re not exactly memorable. But you introduce yourself, and after a pleasant goodbye he finally goes inside and shuts the door.

You hit your head on yours. Again. But you make yourself lock the deadbolt and turn away. Yes, it is good for you, and so you’re going to get outside, take your stupid walk, get your stupid treat, and come right back home where it’s safe and you can be alone again.

~

Leaving the apartment every single day seems a little much. You’re trying to get out more, but baby steps are necessary lest you give in to the desire to crawl under the covers for the rest of your life. So you take it easy.

Still, even days later you’re surprised when you run into Steve again. People come and go so much and you don’t really see neighbors all that often as it is (by design, of course), so it nearly brings you to a stop when you enter the laundromat so late it’s technically early and see him there, in a stupidly tight t-shirt, stuffing his clothes into a dryer. He glances over and does a little double-take, but he smiles and nods politely and that– that’s easy to replicate, so that’s what you do, before you go find a washer.

The bench by your chosen machine is broken. The next one is…kind of gross. You look around but, naturally, the only decent one is partially occupied. And, wouldn’t you know it, Steve sees you coming and smiles knowingly, before gesturing at the open half.

“Sorry,” you say as you sit down.

He shakes his head. “Nothing to apologize for,” he says with a light chuckle, and goes back to his book. That’s a relief, and you settle in with a slight turn to keep a line of sight on your clothes as you pull out your own book.

“Do you work night shift?”

Apparently he can multitask. Well, he was nice enough to share his seat. “Not exactly,” you say, then just admit, “Shitty sleep schedule.”

“Oh.” He smiles a little more crookedly and says, “I get that.”

It sounds sincere, and after that you both settle into comfortable quiet.

It’s good to have a nice neighbor.

~

You’re trying to take another walk.

You have been spending all that energy pacing in front of your door just trying to get out. Nothing’s going to happen. But what if it does. You don’t have to go far. But then what’s the point.

And now you just feel bad again, because it’s just a short walk, this should be easy. Okay, step one: open the door.

You open the door.

And you…stand there.

A door opens down the hall and in a panic you shut yours again and put your back against it. You hold your face. “I can do this, I can do this, I can do this,” you mutter, but the words feel empty, and you drop your hands and let them hit against the wood.

This is so stupid. Why do you have to leave for an aimless walk that doesn’t even do anything. Why can’t you just leave for a measly half hour? Or ten minutes? The odds of getting stuck, or something bad happening, is all so miniscule, so why can’t you just stop thinking about it, why can’t you pull yourself together, why–…why…

…Why is there a piece of paper on your floor.

You squint at it. It doesn’t look like any of the paper you have at hand. It’s way too small to be a flier. God, did you pace so much that whoever lives downstairs has come to bitch you out in writing? With a sense of dread you reach down, pick it up, and, after a few seconds to steel your nonexistent nerves, unfold it.

‘You can do this!’

You stare. The little smiley drawn next to the pretty cursive makes a small smile form on your face. It’s…cute. Not a passive-aggressive complaint. Again, you wonder just how loud you were being that someone could hear you just walking down the hall, but the thought flits away. You bite your lip. You don’t want to leave still, but…the person is gone already. No one is around to see if you step outside the building and decide you really, really can’t do this. …And if there is, well, you can just pat your pockets and run back inside like you forgot something. Not like it would be the first time.

You take a deep breath, and look at the note one more time before you fold it back up and put it inside your pocket.

You can do this.

~

It’s a week later you get some unexpected company on your walk.

You glance over as someone comes up on your side, a little closer than most, and when you see it’s Steve you pull down your headphones and exchange polite greetings.

“How’s the walk?” he asks with a bit of cheer in his voice it still feels too early for.

“Not the worst,” you say and look over his well-appointed but heavily breathing self. “How was the…marathon?”

He smiles, and it’s surprisingly beautiful. It might be the first real expression you’ve seen him make, you think. “Refreshing,” he says and rolls his shoulders. His watch starts beeping and he glances at it before sighing heavily. “One more,” he murmurs to himself and silences the alarm before his eyes narrow at the path ahead.

“You can do this,” you say, perhaps a little too quietly. But he actually jolts in surprise, then flashes you an outright grin– before he takes off fast enough to put racecars to shame.

You watch him, and feel a little bloom of…contentment. Maybe coming outside today wasn’t such a bad idea after all.

~

You keep the note in your wallet. Its stupid, maybe– Steve’s just a neighbor you know very little about, (aside from the realization about his heroic extra curriculars that had made you overthink every interaction with him for a good two days), but his scrawled cursive becomes a little lodestone, a way to focus when things feel like too much. When things actually are too much the words don’t matter, and you can return home without too much guilt. But sometimes…sometimes they help you keep moving forward.

Right now you want to keep moving forward. There’s a record shop by your apartment you’ve noticed from your walks and you really, really want to go inside and check it out. However, it is also small, and so it is also easily crowded almost all open hours. You’ve used three walks already just going past it, looking longingly inside and unable to handle the way you can hear the person behind the counter greeting everyone who comes in.

But today. You left the house without hesitation, you have your note and have checked it five times, your resolve has strengthened with each read, and you have no urge to run back and hide behind your door. Today is the day you are going to go in, and the person is going to say hi, and you are going to say hi back, and you are going to browse to your heart’s content, and nothing bad is going to happen.

(Also you checked all the photos available on the internet and you have a good idea of the layout and where you want to go. Because it doesn’t hurt to be prepared.)

Anyway, the point is– you can do this.

…Eventually. You still have a good five hours before it closes at least, so there’s no rush. However, standing, pacing, and just generally being outside of it wanting to go in is starting to get a little boring, if nothing else. Either you’re going in or you’re going home.

You take out the note and read it again.

“Oh.”

You jolt and turn, and there’s Steve, looking mildly startled. “Sorry, sorry,” he says, smiling, and puts his hands up. “I was walking by and saw you and I wanted to say hi.”

“Oh. Hi.” You slip the note away. His eyes glance to it and you swallow. Is it stupid, that you like the note so much? Is he going to think you’re a creep? “You did…that was from you, wasn’t it?”

He ducks his head and looks a little embarrassed. “I heard you saying it to yourself when I was passing by and thought you might…need a pick-me-up. I’m sorry if that’s weird; my hearing’s really good and I don’t listen on purpose.”

“It’s okay. I…I really like it. Thank you,” you say.

His smile returns, and he looks at you. “You really don’t like leaving the apartment, do you?”

Understatement. But a polite one. “I don’t,” you say. “But I also don’t…I don’t want to be stuck. Either outside or in.” You glance at the shop and sigh. “It’s a weird catch-22.”

“Sounds tough,” Steve says, and his sympathy, as ever, seems sincere and not forced. “I’ve been in there before; the owner’s really nice. If I go in first, I can talk to him, and you can come in after me.”

It’s hard not to look at him like he was sent from heaven. Hero, sure, maybe, but this…this is kindness you’d never be able to ask of anyone. “Really?”

His smile grows, and he nods. “You can do this,” he says.

Well, when you have a handy distraction, sure. But you just nod and walk across the street with him. You stop and pretend to fiddle with your phone while he goes in, and when you hear him and the store owner greet each other you take the chance and slip in. Aside from a quick “hello!” you’re left to wander the aisles of records, CDs, tapes, and memorabilia all on your own.

It’s not often you’re actively glad you left the relative safety of your own home, but today is one of them.

~

It’s still probably not normal, how much effort it takes you to get outside, and how easy it is to make you run for safety, but you’re more or less able to make walks a regular thing– at least three times a week, if you're having a good one. Early in the morning, so that you don’t have to deal with as many people. And Steve starts joining you for portions of them. He still likes to zoom past on his runs, but on cool-downs he doesn’t seem to mind keeping pace with you. Both of you are fairly quiet but the silence is as easy as the occasional chatter, and sometimes you can even make him laugh. It’s strange to be comfortable like this, to have someone comfortable with you like this, but you try not to think about it too much.

“Do you…want to get a coffee?” he asks abruptly one day.

That is an excellent opportunity. “I found a place I’ve been wanting to try,” you say, trying not to be too excited, but by the grin on Steve’s face you fail a little. “If you don’t mind. It’s…harder to run away when other people are involved.”

“All right,” he says. “Let’s do this.”

~

Steve is nice to have around. He stops by sometimes to ask if you feel like coming out, and doesn’t take offense when you say no. Then for a week it’s…quiet. And the week after that. You go out for a couple of walks at a time you definitely know he likes to run, but he is nowhere to be seen. You hesitate by his door once wondering if he’s all right, but knocking gets you nothing. It’s probably for the best– you don’t know what you’d say– but as you slink back into your apartment you’re left with a feeling of unease.

~

“Hey.”

You jump at the sudden voice by your shoulder but Steve doesn’t get a word in before you gasp his name. “Are you okay?” you ask and look him over. There’s some scraping on his cheek but it looks nearly healed. “Were you in an accident?”

“Um…” He looks nearly sheepish as he smiles and says, “Not exactly?”

Oh, right– ‘Avenger’ and whatnot. Naturally it only now occurs to you that maybe you should have checked the news, but…maybe it’s better that you hadn’t. Absently you reach out to gently touch around the scrape. His eyes flutter, going a little wide, but then he settles again and almost leans into your hand.

Still, it’s probably inappropriate, so when he’s looking at you with amusement you take your hand back and fight the urge to run back home. “I’m sorry,” you say. “That definitely burst a personal bubble.” Yours, his, common decency’s…

“It’s all right,” he says. “It’s the nicest touch I’ve had in a long time.”

That strikes a chord in you. Something that reverberates and aches, because the joke was poorly disguised, and now he looks a little uncomfortable. You could pretend to ignore it.

Or…

You reach out again, slow and light, making sure not to aggravate or hurt anything as your fingers ghost over his skin. When the base of your palm comes close enough to brush the edge of his cheek, he does lean in. And this time you leave your hand there.

Until you hear someone suddenly shout from a distance away and both of you jerk back. He lifts his head to listen, but when laughter follows, and then fades, you both sigh in unison.

You clear your throat. “Would you…like to take a walk with me?”

He smiles slowly. “I can do that.”

You hold out your hand, and without hesitation, he takes it, wrapping long, strong fingers that seem to surround your skin. It’s probably the nicest touch you’ve had in a long time, too.

~

It’s good you live in the same building, because you have a string of bad days. When he first comes over to check on you, he stands shyly at the door until you, with only a sliver of hesitation, invite him in. Your apartment is nothing special, nothing that really should make you want to stay in it all the time, but it is home and safe and Steve seems happy enough to come by frequently, sometimes to check on you, sometimes to stay so you can enjoy each other’s company. You watch movies, and sit and talk, and order dinner in, and nights end with polite kisses, and then with arms wrapped around each other on the couch, and then with limbs tangled so thoroughly in bed that morning becomes an exercise in finding where one ends and the other begins.

But you’re not sure how long you can expect him to be happy with this. Steve is truly restless; eager to be out and about. He’s fine to do it on his own, but the day comes when he asks, again, if you would like to join him, and even though the gut feeling is ‘no,’ you nod your head ‘yes,’ and get ready to join him outside. It’s just a walk, and he’s excited enough that it pulls you outside your door, outside the building, outside…outside…

You…can’t do this.

“What’s wrong?” Steve asks and laces his fingers with yours.

It’s ridiculous. It’s your own fucking neighborhood, and Steve is right there, patient and sweet as he always is; it’s just a walk, it’s just…it’s just…

“I can’t.” Walk, lift your head, feel anything but shame– that little phrase covers a lot, right now. “I’m sorry. I…”

“Okay.” Steve squeezes your hand. “Do you want me to come back with you?”

You shake your head. “I’m sorry. Go out. I know you wanted to.”

He frowns, but he lets you go. It sucks, but having him stay in would feel so much worse. You attempt some half-hearted cleaning and give up to go sit on the couch in comfy clothes and just be miserable. Why not.

There’s a knock at the door. You cringe and get up, wondering what you're going to say for yourself (what can you say for yourself?) but when you answer, Steve is there and smiling like he’s…pleased with himself.

“Hey,” he says, like nothing happened at all.

“Hey,” you say. “Good run?”

“It was,” he said. “I picked up coffee and breakfast, but I left it at my apartment. Can you come down and stand in the threshold for five seconds while I grab it? We can come back to your apartment and eat.”

You stare at him.

Then you laugh. It’s ridiculous but…hey, this whole fucking thing is ridiculous, most of the time. “Very subtle,” you say, and he grins. Then his smile lessens, but doesn’t fade, and he reaches out. You take his hand in yours.

“If you truly can’t do it, I’ll bring it back, no strings,” he says sincerely. “But…five seconds?”

You think about it for a moment, then poke your head in the hall. Everything is so quiet. “Five seconds,” you say, and allow him to pull you down the hall, leaving your door cracked just a smidge. His apartment is dark and, honestly, a bit of a mess, but you stand obediently in the threshold while he brings over food and drink, and by the time those five seconds pass he’s already herding you back into the hall and locking the door behind himself.

“Five seconds was probably too long for how dirty my place is,” he says when you’re back in your apartment and squished side-by-side at the tiny table you have tucked against the wall. “But hey– you went somewhere new today.”

You can’t help but smile at that. “You’re too good to me, sometimes.”

He reaches over and squeezes your thigh. “I like you,” he says.

You put the breakfast sandwich down, and slide into him. He meets you more than halfway.

~

The next day you show up at his place with some cleaning supplies. He’s mortified, but he lets you stay and help.

~

A week later you’re in the waiting room of a doctor’s appointment when the world feels like it starts closing in on you. You want to leave but you can’t, you won’t, it took forever to get this slot and you’ve already canceled three times. You squeeze your eyes shut tight, but that doesn’t help. Neither does breathing slowly. The clock ticks, the receptionists chatter quietly and answer phones, and the few other people here look very bored.

You pull out your wallet– maybe you’ll reorganize your cards or do something else that can take some focus off this rising panic– and see a corner of paper. You pull it out and unfold it.

‘You can do this!’

You smile slightly. There’s still a pressure, an urge to run even though you know you’d be frozen in place if you even tried, but you look at the paper and think about Steve’s strong hands holding a calligraphy pen with gentle grace; how those fingers feel as they ghost along behind your back and curl around your other shoulder. A body memory of him leaning into you as you rest against him.

Your name is called and you get up, a little steadier, and that much closer to home.

~

It has been a long day, much of it spent doing things, and you’re ready to settle in with a book and your phone and try not to obsessively check for new messages. Steve has been gone for a few days (not doing anything terribly dangerous, thankfully) and you miss having him physically present. It’s probably a little pathetic but…well, who cares; you like having him around, and isn’t the point of being with another person being with another person?

So you’re fine with being a little needy. Maybe when you hear him get home you’ll go visit. He’s still overly willing to come to your apartment all the time, and while it’s a nice gesture, his place is becoming safe all on its own.

A jingle of keys outside is all the alert you get before someone knocks on the door. You get up to go see, and smile at the sight of the figure standing expectantly outside. A few quick flips later, and you open up to Steve leaning against the frame.

“So I had a plan,” he says casually.

“You did, hm?” You mirror his slouch against the wall. “What kind of plan?”

“A good plan,” he says. “I was going to go to the ice cream place a few blocks over and get a couple of scoops and bring them back real fast before they melted. As a nice surprise.”

“That does sound like a nice surprise,” you say, lips starting to curl as you find yourself unable to hold the casual act. “What happened?”

He blushes. “I forgot,” he mumbles, and you can’t help but laugh. He shrugs lightly but the pink flush is already fading and he lifts his head to show you his smile. “I thought I could still go get them, but then I was walking by and I thought…I didn’t want to go before seeing you.”

“I’m glad. I wouldn’t want you to go without seeing me too.” And at that you stop pretending and reach out, meeting him with a hug and a kiss. It feels good to have him back and he’s just as hesitant to let you go when you part to breathe.

“I definitely see the appeal in staying in right now,” he murmurs, still so close to your face and his arms light but still very present around you. “I’ll be right back?”

That’s an option. Or…

“Can I come with you?” you ask without even thinking, but when you do, it seems…fine.

“Really?” Steve says, blinking, but his smile spreads. “I’d like that. If you’re up to it.”

“Yeah,” you say, and after you grab a few necessary things, you slip your hand into his. “Let’s do this.”

~

[white-weasel]

Saw VII and Jigsaw thoughts this fine Saw Saturday! (We actually watched the movies on Thursday but shhh it was Saw Saturday for us in spirit)

I am so sad that Saw VII was…. Not Very Good to put it mildly. Very rushed and all over the place and just did not give me the same feeling as the other Saw movies which was upsetting as this was kinda supposed to be the end cap of the main series :(

Dr. Lawrence Gordon, the character you are. I was so excited when I saw that he came back for this movie but was so disappointed when he was barely in it. I was really hoping for him to be more involved in the story or at the very least to be given a little more explanation for why he joined up as an apprentice. Like give me this man’s psyche and emotional state!!! What made *him* decide to help John do unto others what was done to him? Did he buy into the philosophy? Did he develop some sort of weird Stockholm Syndrome when John nursed him back to health after he survived his trap?

Idk if this is just me but they treated Jill kinda weirdly in this movie? Quite literally just kept her locked in rooms and not allowed to do anything and like. Obviously I would also run to police protection if I had just tried to kill an incredibly dangerous serial killer and failed like Jill did at the end of Saw VI, but I just wish they gave her something more interesting to do than have a weird dream about Hoffman killing her with a train car and cower in fear

The blood and violence was so bad this movie and I genuinely don’t know why. My guess is it’s something to do with the movie being shot/intended for 3D? But even then I don’t think that should make the blood, like, pink right? I’m not watching Saw for the gore necessarily but it was a bit disappointing when you’d see Hoffman’s face ripped open from the end of 6, and then the next shot it looked totally different

(Speaking of the 3D, the scene at the end with Gordon tossing the saw was so unintentionally funny because of it. Like, yes king throw your hacksaw at the audience)

On the plus side I thought the character of Bobby was an interesting angle to explore. A man who basically used Jigsaw for clout and profited off of faking trauma then has to go on and live through that same trauma x10

(It is kinda weird that his wife was punished for his mistakes though considering she literally didn’t know he was lying……… like we saw in 6 with the mother and son that John doesn’t want to hurt those he thinks haven’t done anything wrong (though of course his logic on what that is is skewed) but now he’s suddenly cool using this woman as motivation for a man to do these traps? Seems off)

Mostly solid trap designs this time around!

Jigsaw survivor support group is also interesting! I couldn’t tell if everyone in that scene was actually survivors we had previously seen, but it was cool to be able to pick out a few of them and be like “oh my god I remember you!”

Wish we had gotten to see more Hoffman this movie as well, though seeing him go complete cold blooded killer in the police station was kinda fun, even if it was extremely goofy and unrealistic

If they wanted to, I could definitely see a world where Hoffman is still alive. Yeah he doesn’t have the saw to cut off his own leg, but we know you can skip the chain by breaking your own foot (Eric Matthews) and we also know Hoffman has no qualms about doing that sort of thing to survive (Reverse Bear Trap escape) so he definitely did that. The only question is if he could actually get out of the bathroom afterwards

There’s probably a lot I’m missing about my Saw VII thoughts but unfortunately it’s probably my least favorite of the bunch rn. I think it had some good ideas, some ideas that I was actually super invested in, but the execution was rushed and a lot of our existing characters were seemingly flattened to make them work

So maybe it’s just because I was coming off the disappointment in VII, but Jigsaw was an enjoyable movie to me! The pacing could be a little bit weird, but I also recognize that it was made like… 7 years after the last movie and they were probably trying to find a way to “modernize” the franchise and bring in new fans

The main thing I didn’t appreciate about this movie is how I felt it basically had to trick me for its twist to work. I absolutely LOVE the idea of “the game you’re seeing play out actually happened 10 years ago. We just didn’t say it was a flashback.” It’s such a classic saw thing to do and a lot of it a was foreshadowed. However stuff like the technology level and some of the fashion choices of the victims (I’m thinking specifically of the style of jeans Mitch wore) don’t always work with what would have been around in like 2001 or earlier. Maybe that’s me showing my age and I’m underestimating what was around in the late 90s/early 00s but it just made me a little mad because I felt I couldn’t just sit in the twist and instead had to justify why it didn’t make sense

I do however like the idea of Logan being someone who was saved from his trap by John. He was put in for making a careless mistake, only for John himself to make a mistake in his sedative dosage, not giving him an actual fair chance to fight for his life. It does help bridge the gap between the very obviously personal revenge John took in his first trap with Cecil towards the philosophy he spouts about the games being about appreciating your life later in the timeline

Genuinely though the whole movie I thought the killer was gonna be Detective Hunt, Halloran’s partner. I totally thought it was gonna be something similar to Logan where he wanted revenge on Halloran due to all the shit he had gotten away with. Also, the movie made such a point that “omg the body showed up at Eleanor’s studio/warehouse but only Logan and Eleanor knew about that place” but like….. Hunt followed them to that location. He could have gone in and placed the body there later to frame everyone and then told the cops about the workshop just to make sure the evidence was found. I was so convinced it was him because I felt like Logan was a bit too obvious for most of the movie lol

I liked the shotgun barn game. Very good early Saw trap/game. Short, sweet, and gets the lesson across

Logan’s reveal was hard as fuck, I don’t care what anyone says. I already made a post about how that scene is full of banger lines but it bears repeating: “I am him” “You have a choice: scream or don’t” “I speak for the dead” like okay sir go off

Logan certainly isn’t the most interesting apprentice or character, but I truly think that’s only because we don’t get to see him as an apprentice very much. From everything I’ve seen, he does not come back for either of the next two movies which I think is such a shame because there’s something to explore here with him being the first apprentice! With him being moreso an equal to John, teaching him part of his philosophy that’s so iconic about him, that’s a different apprentice dynamic from what we’d seen before and ahhhh I just wanna know the direction they would have taken this guy

Also makes me curious how much the other apprentices knew about each other. Amanda and Hoffman obviously interacted, but did anyone know about Logan? Was he just like “none of my business” when shit was going off the rails after John died? I want answers on how the Jigsaw apprentice relationships operate lmao

Overall, not the best Saw Saturday showing but yknow what, they can’t all be bangers. At the very least these movies have given me something to chew on and I also still enjoyed myself a lot. Saw, they could never make me hate you even if they’re doing the most with it!!!

I’m hopeful that my friend and I will be able to watch both Spiral and Saw X next week and then we’ll officially be through all of them and I won’t have to worry about any more spoilers! Hooray!

[tiger-moran]

Well, there's love and there's love isn't there (and even more love after that). I mean there are many kinds of love, some perhaps more obvious than others but all still love, and even within the canon itself Holmes and Watson would both seem to acknowledge that what exists between them is some kind of love (examples: The Dying Detective - Holmes's "Quick, man, if you love me!" or Watson's "it was worth many wounds to know the depth of loyalty and love which lay behind that cold mask" in The Three Garridebs); they are clearly not opposed themselves to using the word love to describe some of the feelings that exist between them, which makes it more likely I think that a lot of the readers would grasp that other less explicitly obvious examples within the text are also referring to some kind of love too.

So would the average reader back then take that specific example, Holmes's words in the letter, to mean that Holmes loved Watson or that he and Watson loved each other? I would think that plenty of them would, yes, but generally not as some sort of romantic thing, or not comparable to Watson's (supposed) love for his wife. Victorian society was very homosocial, as in people were largely expected to socialise with their own gender (or you know, sex, since they didn't have much grasp of the whole gender thing) and to form strong bonds amongst them and to some extent even, certain close male-male interactions were actually seen as normal amongst men, things which nowadays people tend to see as kind of... suspect. Like you see old photos of men standing arm in arm - people see those now and jump to assuming that must be a 'gay couple' but it was just something men were 'allowed' to do then without people assuming it said anything about their romantic or sexual inclinations. Or like men dancing together - people criticise the scene in Sherlock Holmes: A Game of Shadows where Holmes dances with Watson for being unrealistic but as far as I can tell this was socially acceptable (albeit maybe regarded as mildly amusing or a bit eccentric perhaps) if it was men who knew each other and there weren't enough female dance partners at an event. And you did have all these institutions and places like schools, universities, the army, social clubs, that were male only or very very heavily skewed towards being predominantly male, even more so than today. Men having a lot of interaction, even close interaction, and forming strong and yes even loving bonds with other men was considered normal and even desirable, up to a certain point. That homosocial culture was what did allow some actually gay couples then to get away with a lot more than we might assume they all did, because men being close to other men was to some degree very much seen as 'normal' (and also because the idea that people were gay or homosexual or whatever was an idea in its infancy really then still - people generally, if they had any awareness of homosexuality at all, tended to think it was just a behaviour some people engaged in, it was basically only about sexual acts that some people participated in, it wasn't an identity, it wasn't about love).

So, would people in general back then have viewed those words as referring to what we'd now be much more likely to see as queer romantic love? Probably not. But would they have understood them as an expression of some kind of love? Yes, very probably they would have.

i’d really like to know how people in 1893 took to Holmes ending his note to Watson in TFP with: “Believe me to be, my dear Watson, very sincerely yours.”

because, like…. how could this possibly be interpreted as anything other than an admission of love?

[canyousevmyheavydirtysoul]

Cape Town. (Chapter 6.3) (R. Ross x Reader)

Empty food containers littered the picnic blanket, surrounding your group as everyone lounged around lazily, soaking up the sun and looking out across the greens.

Ryan had his head in your lap (after asking for permission first, of course) as you absentmindedly ran your fingers through his dark hair. The conversations were comprised mostly of small talk and random topics, further cementing the lackadaisical feel in the atmosphere of the garden.

All along the lush, grassy expanse, children ran around playing tag or catch, shrieking and laughing in excitement as if they were having the time of their lives. Your group watched with soft smiles.

"Remember when that was us?" Jon asked, readjusting his sunglasses.

Spencer scoffed, rearranging his position on the blanket. "You mean last month?"

Sneaking her hand into your backpack, (Y/B/F) pulled out a frisbee and held it up for everyone to see. "Could be us right now," she shrugged.

As expected, Brendon was first to jump to his feet, eagerly reaching for the plastic disk.

"Yessssss," he laughed happily, handling the frisbee in his hands, "I haven't played with one of these in, like, forever."

Standing up as well, Spencer lowered his sunglasses and looked over them at you and Ryan, arching his brows as he spoke. "Shall we?"

After sharing a shrug with the musician in your lap, you nodded. "We shall."

Ryan raised himself up and scrambled onto his feet as fast as he could, so that he could hold out a hand to you and help you up.

Dispersing yourselves across the grassy expanse, each of you took up positions and formed a circle. Once everyone was ready, Brendon started off – tossing the frisbree toward Jon.

He caught it without hassle and kept the game going, swiftly swinging it in (Y/B/F)'s direction. The cycle continued, with the frisbree being tossed between each of you.

On the frisbree's fourth trip around the group, things got intense. By some unspoken word, everyone made a concious effort to catch the frisbree as quickly as possible, and toss it on to the next person with super-speed.

Unsurprisingly, it was a bad idea.

It was fine for a little while – fun, even – but then it wasn't.

As the plastic disc approached you, it was as if time had regressed to slow motion, and even though you could see the incoming danger as clear as day, you couldn't bring yourself to move out of its way.

The frisbree was only inches away from colliding with your face now, and you opened your mouth to let out a small gasp. Accepting your fate, you shut your eyes and winced, bracing for impact – which never came.

Confused as to why you weren't currently on the ground writhing in pain, you cautiously opened your eyes, only to see Ryan standing in front of you with the frisbree clutched tightly in his right hand.

"Thanks," you smiled weakly, shoulders slumping with relief.

"No worries."

"Uh, if you two are done being disgusting, can we continue with the game please?" Brendon's voice filtered through the air around you.

Irritated, Ryan spun around and hurtled the frisbree, sending it soaring through the air at top speed and tremendous height. Not wanting to lose the game by failing to catch the disc, Brendon immediately began sprinting towards it, head looking up and arms outstretched.

"I got it, I got it, I – AH!"

He did indeed get it... and accidently fell into the huge pond in the process.

With a collective gasp, the rest of you rushed over to the water, being extra careful so as to avoid falling in, too. Teetering on the edge of the soily slope, you peered across the pond at Brendon.

The singer was flapping his arms about erractically, yelps spilling from his lips as he tried to prevent himself from going under.

"I'm drowning!" he yelled, water splashing all around, "I'm drowning! Help!"

Narrowing his eyes, Ryan gazed down at the water. The rest of you followed suit, realisation dawning on everyone.

"Brendon..." the guitarist said calmy, body relaxing.

"Help! Help me!"

"Brendon!" Ryan called again, wanting his friend to calm down and pay attention to what he was trying to say.

"HELP!"

"BRENDON!" all of you yellled in unison, "JUST STAND UP!"

Evidently, five people yelling at him was enough to capture Brendon's focus, and neutralise his chaotic energy long enough for him to realise that he was, in fact, not drowning.

"Oh," Brendon said, standing up and looking at the water, which he could now see only reached his knees. "GUYS, I'M OKAY!" he continued excitedly.

"I'll go fetch the clothes," Ryan sighed, already starting the long walk back to the car.

Confused, you cocked your head to the side. "You just carry a change of clothes around?"

Jon, Spencer and Ryan all turned to stare at you with unblinking, deadly serious faces. "We learned the hard way to always carry extra clothes for Brendon."

You and (Y/B/F) skewed your mouths and nodded in understanding. "Makes sense," she muttered.

"Well, I've got the keys," you pointed out, holding them up, "I'll come too."

"No, I'll go," (Y/B/F) butt in, "I need to fetch my sunglasses, anyway."

You gave her a blank stare. "You're literally wearing them."

"Shut up, (Y/N)," she clicked her tongue at you, then grabbed the keys from your hand and linked her arm with Ryan's, "Let's go, puppy."

"Puppy..." he mumbled, furrowing his brows in puzzlement but not resisting when (Y/B/F) led him away.

Rolling your eyes, you placed your hands on your hips and headed over to help Brendon out of the pond.

~

"What's taking him so long?" Spencer queried, looking over his shoulder at the winding path that led to the restrooms.

You had directed Brendon to them so that he could change clothing close to half an hour ago already, and the fact that he had yet to return was mildly concerning to all of you.

"Maybe he stopped to catch a smoke," Jon suggested with a shrug, helping himself to a piece of candy from the packet on the blanket your group was sitting on.

"Nah, his cigs are in the backpack," Ryan pointed out, moving to stand up, "I'll go look for him."

With what was probably his tenth sigh of the day, Ryan started down the path to look for his friend. The rest of you watched him walk away; almost at the exact moment that he disappeared from view, Brendon reappeared – approaching from the opposite direction to which he left thirty minutes ago, and followed by a hoard of tiny people.

"Guys, look, I made friends," he beamed, proudly looking back at the group of small children hanging around him.

There was utter silence for a good while as all of you stared, unblinking and in complete shock, at the singer. Then, everyone started yelling at once.

"Brendon, what the hell?"

"Where did you get them from?"

"You can't just kidnap a bunch of little kids!"

"You aren't the Pied Piper of Cape Town!"

"Chill out, damn," Brendon pursed his lips, then turned and pointed at a woman that was trailing closely behind them, "Their teacher is right there."

Sure enough, the woman stepped up with a small wave and began guiding the children away. "It was nice meeting you, but we have a bus to catch."

"Okay, see you at the show!" he smiled, waving and hugging the kids goodbye.

"Definitely," she smirked. (Y/B/F) tossed her a filthy look.

Turning back to look at your group, Brendon grinned widely and jutted a thumb over his shoulder. "She's coming to the show."

"Yeah," Jon nodded, "we figured."

"Ryan's been gone a while now," you noted, checking the time on your wristwatch, "You think he got lost?"

"Oh lord," (Y/B/F) groaned, "The last thing we need is a lost puppy in Kirstenbosch."

Clambering to your feet, you slipped on your sunglasses and started for the path. "Alright, I'm gonna go find him."

"Wait!" (Y/B/F) called, struggling to get up, "I'll come with-"

But you were already out of sight.

_______________________________

Thank you for reading x

[seven-oomen]

Yay, I’m glad you’re feeling better!  I’ve still got some time before work, so have a few more thoughts.  :D

First, re: Laura’s age, I’m pretty sure that if she was allowed to legally take Derek (16 at best at the time) with her to NY (which I assume she was or I’m sure it would have been mentioned by either Stiles or Noah), she would have had to be at least 18, possibly 21 at the time (I think that might vary state to state, I know 18 is CA legal age for sex) that they left (and she wouldn’t have been able to access their money if she was wanted for kidnapping - leather jackets and Camaros don’t grow on trees).  Also, if there’s approx. 6 years between Cora and Derek, there’s no reason there couldn’t have been as many between Laura and Derek.  And even if she was young when they left, to leave him there alone for SIX YEARS?  Yeah, she’s definitely got some explaining to do.

And maybe the wolf only physically manifests when he’s by himself?  Or later on, only with pack mates he fully trusts?

And, omg, I LOVE the idea of the other dad being Noah this time (as long as Claudia was okay with it, though lbr, she probably actively encouraged it), if only for the look on Jackson’s face when he finds out both who his other parent is and who his half-sibling is.  XD

Not sure how I feel about Theo as a lost Hale.  I haven’t really seen any episodes with him, so most of what I know is through tumblr and fanfic.  The general impression I got was that in some ways he was the most genuinely amoral NE type character on the show (most of the others skewed much more chaotic to me), which could make for some REAL interesting drama.

Oh man, I can just see them all meeting up at like a library or maybe an empty classroom because they’ve been down to the vault, and they start talking about the evidence they have so far, and Peter just starts going off on a rant explaining everything he’s learned, and in the middle of it he notices that there’s a fish tank in the room and just grabs a fish out of it and swallows it whole mid-explanation.  Everyone is mildly freaked out and doesn’t quite know how to react until finally Noah and/or Chris go over to stand in front of the tank before he passes by again to keep him from reaching in again.  XD

I think that was all for now, I need to get ready for work either way.  Enjoy your game whenever it arrives!  I hope you keep feeling better!  *Hugs!*

18 seems to be the legal age for sibling guardianship in the US from what I could find in a quick Google search. So she would have to be at least that. Which would still make her a teenager herself but she could also have been older. I’m also not saying I agree with what Laura did just that I can see why, even if I think it’s shitty and that it’s absolutely cause for what Peter did in S1.

I honestly think that the only Hale that was acting out of malicious/ less than good intent was Talia herself and that the rest of the Hales were just unfortunate results of their circumstances. Laura abandoned her uncle to protect her brother and take him away, which is inexcusable but understandable in her situation, Derek had to go along with her because he was a minor. They also just both lost most of their family including both parents and (as far as they knew) their sister. Laura’s biggest flaw in this case was not returning to Beacon Hills for her Uncle when the situation was safe for her to do so. Which could have prevented a lot of blood shed. And honestly, I feel like she should atone for that. She messed up big time on that one.

I like the idea of the wolf only physically manifesting when Peter is alone, or later only around the rest of the pack. Bonus points if no one can figure out WHY it is happening. Was it the fire? Is it Peter’s way of becoming evolved? No one knows.

Jackson has a fucking aneurysm when he finds out. There’s a lot of yelling and bitching and whining and snapping. But eventually, when months pass and threats rise, Jackson is also the first to defend Stiles, Liam, and Noah whenever they’re threatened. Malia is far more the type of person to sit back and watch what happens and doesn’t really mind her newfound family too much. She’s still adjusting to not being a coyote.

Claudia definitely knew, actually, I like to think she was the one who pushed Noah to go ask that hot piece of ass out. And although she and Peter had no romantic feelings for one another their relationship eventually evolved into a more best friends with benefits territory where they’d keep each other warm in bed before Noah got home and took care of Stiles together after Stiles was born but they never dated or felt romantic love to one another. 

For this scenario I’m keeping Stiles’s canon birth date as April 8th and putting Jackson’s birthdate as Malia’s on Nov 28th. Because that way Peter got pregnant when Claudia was 8 months pregnant. By the time Peter found out he was pregnant six weeks would have passed, Stiles would have been born and not long after Peter would have been kept away by Talia. (How she kept him away I’m not sure yet, but I’m sure she broke Peter, Claudia, and Noah’s hearts in one fell swoop.)

I do have to admit that was more like an after thought, and I don’t have much with Theo other than; I like his visuals as in looks. So I just also might not do that and just keep it at that.

Honestly I just like writing family dramas with surprise kids, ahhahaha, idk why, it’s just my thing I guess.

And that visual is honestly *cheff’s kiss* Yes XD

The pure chaotic energy lol.

Can you imagine Stiles’s face? Can you imagine Liam’s? Or Jackson’s? Lol.

Malia is just staring at it like ‘yeah, that makes sense’ when you’re hungry you’re hungry. And they have a  hard time explaining to her that NO, You are not supposed to eat random animals like that, Malia. NO matter what Peter does.. 

Yes, he is your father, yes he gave birth to you, but that does not mean you should follow his example blindly.

Hahhahaha and now I see Peter just trying to cuddle after eating a fish or a squirrel but the others are too disturbed by him to let him. XD

poor peter

[amwritingmeta]

15x03: Oh hell yes!

I don’t even know what to say. Honestly, does anything have to be said? It was grand! It delivered on all the levels. And it set us up for a run toward the midseason finale that’s already making me sweat along the edges. 

I mean, here, three episodes in, we have, let’s see, what do we have? We have:

Sam shushing Dean with that epically impatient gesture, yeah? 

Yeah. Or more like... WHAAAAAAAAT?? He actually did that? *rewind* Yeah, no, yeah, he did. He put his hand up as Dean was doing his “We’re not just giving up that’s not who we are” infuriated rant at anything inevitable (I mean, yes faith in their abilities is good, just not how it’s delivered bulldozer style) and Sam SHUSHED his brother.

Leader!Sam. Tick-a-box.

We have, what else do we have, oh, yes, we have Dean SENDING CAS TO HELL.

Wow. Woooooooooooow. Like. w o w.

That was h a r s h. No, that was Harsh with a capital H and I knew it would come back and bite him on the ass, the damn stubborn dickhead. Because of course he knows Cas isn’t to blame, logically, for what happened to Mary. He’s just dead set on pushing Cas away for a myriad of reasons all tied to his skewed sense of self, which is still skewed, I believe, no matter how far he’s already come in his progression, and this slight skew-age is making him dig himself into this hole of self-punishment. 

Because, logically, he knows what Cas means to him and, perhaps, he’s starting to get to a point where he can actually see and believe what he means to Cas and he can’t have that. Why should he get to be happy? E v e r?? And, of course, this is mirrored in what Cas is going through with his shadow representative telling him that the moment he is feeling even a breath of happiness, he’s bound for the Empty and eternal oblivion. Alone.

I can’t.

Only CAS will NOT HAVE IT, Dean. *sorry for shouting* *it’s just so perfect*

Cas says: “Jack is dead. Chuck is gone. You and Sam have each other. I think it’s time for me to move on.”

I’m cry. I’m cry so hard. I’m not cry really but on the inside I’m cry and I’m hap. I’m so hap. (wtf stop that) (that’s not even language-ing) (it’s just confusing af) Sorry. Crying from goddamn happiness at the CHOICE Cas makes by the end of this episode to fucking move on from a situation where he’s getting no emotional support from this man with whom he’s been through so much, no benefit of the doubt this time around, because of Dean’s own internal hangups, and Cas is saying, for himself, that that’s enough now. 

Cas is saying, for himself, I’m clearly not wanted. 

Cas is looking at the situation before him as though soon he won't even be needed, because it seems his powers are failing and without them, what use is he to Sam and to Dean exactly? (coming off of what the abominable Belphegor said to him about being used and discarded, of course)

And so Cas is saying, for himself, time to move on from this. Time to let you go. Because I can’t continue on like this, being rejected and sent to my death as if I mean nothing to you, not being listened to, only here to be blamed for everything that’s going wrong. No. You’re not putting that on me. You’re not putting all of it on me. You do that - and you lose me.

Head. Fucking. Exploded.

Cas just drew a goddamn line. 

And look. Look at it. Look at the narrative as a whole. Look at what they represent to one another.

With Cas as representative of Dean’s Faith (in himself and in the future) 

Dean as representative of Cas’ Humanity (mildly dormant until Dean)

then what needs to happen narratively for these two to actually be truly GOOD for each other is a closing of the arc that has seen them standing in as representatives of these core traits for the other, and for these core traits to exist within either of them without the other’s direct influence.

See? See what is happening?? They are letting each other go. They are stepping away from needing the other to find their way into their true identity - which is the function they’ve both served in each other’s individual arc since 4x01 - and, instead, they are moving into the final lap of actually reaching insight and understanding and self-actualisation of their own accord.

I swear.

It is breathtaking. It’s taken my breath. My breath is gone. I’m suffocating. Send help. Send. Help. Now.

Okay, I’m good.

Letting each other go means letting go of need and making way for want, for choice, for invitations to stay and for actual proof that they know who they are whether they have the other in their life or not, yeah? 

Oh man I hope we get this. Whatever form it takes, however subtly they play it, I do hope we get the spirit of this!

Imagine Cas powering down and dealing with humanity on his own, no longer lost and alone and afraid, but choosing to hunt without a second thought. No more dressing himself up as Steve and trying to find purpose in human everyday activity, because his purpose - whether angel or man - was always and will always be to protect. 

And even his worry about dying, if it even comes up, might be dispelled if he realises that death means a 50/50 chance of Heaven and absolutely no chance of the Empty... Taking away Cas’ powers is the ultimate way of making him realise he can cheat that deal plus give us insight into what will make him truly happy! But. We shalleth see-eth!

And Dean? He needs to boost that good old faith in himself, and that faith, to me, is all to do with chilling the fuck out. With allowing Sam to take the lead (and boy is he starting to). With easing up on the need for control. With relaxing into himself, his true self, and letting his facade, his performance, fade away. I wonder if we’re bound for one final short deconstruction arc. 

I’m interested in the cheerleaders next ep. Would be nice to not get a single white straight male dudebro comment out of Dean, you know? It’d just be creepy at this point anyway. But yeah, seeing the underlining of how the kid full of bravado and faked self-confidence is now becoming a true adult would be wonderful. That said, part of the real Dean, I believe, is his giddiness at nerding out over stuff he truly loves and that childlike side of him should never ever go away. More of it, says I! :)

Dean needs to believe he deserves to be saved, but he’s the one doing the saving now, opening up to himself and, more importantly, to actual, real, raw vulnerability. Will he act as though Cas leaving means nothing to him? Most likely. But for how long? Sam will see right through it, right? It would be amazing if Dean’s not being defensive about it. You can tell the moment he says the damning words “And why does that something always seem to be you?” that, the moment the words are out, Dean’s questioning them like he can’t believe he actually said them out loud.

No faith. Stated. 

Dean’s faith in Cas - an expression of Cas being representative of faith to Dean - is gone. And it’s gone for a reason. Because it has to be. Because Cas isn’t representative of faith anymore. Because he shouldn’t be. Dean isn’t aware of it, of course, but narratively he’s being pushed into a position of letting go of Cas. So. It would be amazing if that’s what we get. Not Dean being defensive of Cas’ need to go, but rather Dean being quiet, accepting, perhaps a little defeated, because he literally drove Cas away, but thinking (erroneously but still) that this is for the best. Cas is moving on and so should they and all is well.

Except.

He’ll miss Cas. He’ll miss Cas for who Cas is, not what he represents. He’ll want Cas back, because he loves him. But he can’t want Cas back... maybe hopefully... before he feels deserving of it. Before he believes that what’s actually for the best is for Cas to come home.

The “Where are you going?” is enough to show that Dean cares, that Cas is not really dead to him and that he doesn’t want Cas to leave, no matter how much he’s pushing and pushing and pushing Cas away. And, yeah, the expression on Dean’s face as Cas walks out the door says more than a thousand words. *hot damn Jensen Ackles*

Cas is taking control and he is done being taken for granted. Glory Effing B.

Now I’ve gone into an absolute melting pot of fantabulous setting up for possible character progression for both Cas and Dean, I cannot leave Sam out of it, because I dance, you dance, we all dance under a pogo stick at how this was a fantastic ep for him!

Rowena and Ketch both dying in the same episode is interesting to me, but instead of looking at Dean mirrors (going from dark to light - shadow to integration) I’d like to look at Rowena as Sam mirror this episode.

Sam is at a point where he’s going to have to deal with some deeply buried memories of Hell and of Lucifer, as well as some deeply repressed fears of his idea of being tainted by the devil, if he’s to heal the wounds of his past.

In 13x12, Sam’s conversation with Rowena in Baby revealed that he’s scared all the time, pushing his fear down because it’s necessary, not talking about it because, basically, it’s private/he doesn’t know how to. How can anyone relate to the fear he carries around? Only someone who’s seen Lucifer’s true face would know. 

But Lucifer - for better or worse - is Sam’s dark mirror, his shadow manifested, and all the sides to himself that he’s tried for so long to pretend aren’t a part of him, out of fear that they are all that there truly is to him, should begin to surface so that he has to face them, only to look them in the eye and realise that they don’t hold sway over him, because he’s learned, throughout this journey he’s been on, what matters to him, deep down, what he stands for and what he believes in.

And, front and centre, Sam believes in saving innocent lives. Just as Dean and Cas, Sam is Protector and Shield first, Killer and Weapon second. 

I believe Sam needs to lose his so tightly held and finely tuned control over himself, his ability to push things down, in order to reach proper self-liberation and move into self-actualisation and inner balance. What better way for him to lose it than through a possession. Very intrigued to see what that flash of black eyes from the Godwound might bring us. And Sam is still wounded, lest we forget, so there is still some healing to be done here.

So the symbology of having to kill Rowena then becomes Sam killing someone mirroring his fear, his memories of Lucifer, and this mirror then falling into the Pit through a gaping wound in the ground, bringing back thoughts of Sam’s first sacrifice that brought him to the cage and started his entire journey into true self-repression. 

I see the symbology as calling out Sam’s need to stop pushing things down, to stop burying them, but also, through him being the only person who can kill Rowena (face and integrate his fears) the symbology becomes an underlining of how he, and he alone, holds the power to heal his wounds.

We shall see how it develops, but I have all the hope that it’s going someplace good, that we’re moving towards healing for all of them. And nope still not expecting rainbows and daffodils galore but... a few rainbows would be so nice.

Understated rainbows. In sort of washed out colours. On the wall of a lake house. Mayhaps?

(come back, Jack) (we miss you!)

[oneletteredwondered]

You know that AU where the sides are actually real and ‘play’ their own characters but exaggerated? Yeah that but “Can Lying be Good”.

--

“Are you sure this is a bad idea?” Deceit looks up from the script he’s been reading over Patton’s shoulders to look at the others. There’s a few smiles given his way and Roman’s boisterous laughter.

“Of course Sir-Lies-a-Lot! It’s the best time to introduce a new character to the scene!” Roman laments dramatically, tossing an arm over Deceit’s shoulder which Deceit promptly shrugs off. He catches sight of Thomas smiling fondly at them all, clearly used to these antics.

“As ironic as it is for me to say this,” Virgil starts to say, putting his phone down for just a moment. He catches Deceit’s eyes to make sure the other is listening.

“Don’t worry about it,” He says. Deceit twists up his nose slightly. When the others told him they wanted to introduce him to the video series, he laughed. A laugh that quickly died out as he realized they were serious. He’s not sure if he’s honored or annoyed that Virgil suggested him to be the first of the “darker” aspects introduced.

“The fans are going to-” Virgil cuts off his statement, a look of sudden clarity comes over him. Deceit raises an eyebrow to his silence.

“Oh god the fans are going to love you it’s going to be annoying how much they love you ugh,” And with that, Virgil flicks up his hood and resumes playing on his phone. Deceit merely pinches the bridge of his nose. He’s not sure what the fans will really do. He’s a far sight different than the others and though he’s not the nicest of sides, this script does paint him more.. less nice.

When Roman originally talked him through the script and maybe even potential plot lines, he couldn’t deny, or try to in any case, that playing the more villain role seemed fun. He may not always be the bad guy, but there’s a certain thrill with watching the others squirm. Still there’s only so much fans can take.

“Virgil has a point. Even when he played a more antagonistic role there were a select number of fans dedicated to his character,” Logan informs him. It doesn’t make him feel better. He doesn’t want to be hated necessarily, even if he might enjoy playing the antagonist. He lets out a sigh and glances down at his feet, well, he would if he could see his feet.

Patton looks up at him. He’s wrapped himself around Deceit’s legs happily, practically sitting on his feet and hiding them from sight. If Deceit were to try and walk he’d surely fall over. Patton lets out a soft giggle and nuzzles his leg comfortingly. That also doesn’t make Deceit feel better, but he does give a small smile in return. 

“Don’t worry,” Patton whispers conspiratorially as he holds up an old cardigan. Deceit dutifully wraps it over his shoulders, a wave of his hand changing the rest of his outfit to match the puffball padre in almost exact likeness.

“I’ll help you not be me from right here.” To prove his point, Patton hugs Deceit’s legs almost making him fall over more than he was already prone to. Patton apologizes and laughs, and to make it worse, Deceit copies his laugh almost perfectly, which prompts Patton to keep giggling, so Deceit keeps copying him.

“Are you finished?” Thomas asks but he’s laughing too. 

“Sorry Thoma-llama, guess I got caught in a giggle fit there,” Deceit says in a scary mockery of Patton’s voice, complete with an exaggerated shrug. Virgil has to smack a hand to his mouth to stop his snort but Patton lets himself keep giggling for a little while longer.

Eventually they calm down enough and begin to run through the script together. Thomas records his lines first, though Not Patton interjects to give Thomas the proper scare. Then Roman goes next, being even more dramatic than he usually is to play up his character even more.

When it’s finally Patton’s turn, Roman is there with the script as well, talking on and on about feeling the emotions and really getting in character.

“Well heck Kiddo I think I’m already in character don’t ya think?” Not Patton interrupts after a small tirade. Roman blinks at him a little dumbly at first, looking up and down between Actual Patton hugging Not Patton’s legs and trying to figure out exactly who said it. Deceit can’t help the curl of a smirk that crawls on his face at the confusion he’s caused.

“Anyway!” Roman says loudly. The show must go on.

“We wrote this with Patton in mind, so if you have an ideas on how to make it more.. not Patton..?” Roman leaves his statement like question open and hanging in the air. Not Patton huffs and takes the script, looking over the first few lines and stage directions. He glares down at it, then looks at Roman with a deadpan look on his face as he takes a bold red pen from out of no where and begins to scribble on the script, all without taking his eyes off Roman who looks mildly offended.

“First of all, we do not ‘pop in’ instead of rise up.” Roman opens his mouth to contradict but he’s unsure of Dee is saying the truth or twisting it.

“And Patton, darling, how exactly would you feel if Thomas called you any variant of father?” Not Patton looks down at Actual Patton, and Actual Patton breaks into an ear slitting grin at the mention of being referred to as father. So Not Patton makes a note in the script to not be excited by being told ‘papa’s in the house’.

It goes on for a bit, going back and forth and re-writing without changing too much, till eventually Not Patton is desperately trying to convince Thomas that lying isn’t always a bad thing. Truth be told, Dee himself doesn’t always think lying is the best thing, and there’s Patton, rubbing his leg reassuringly from below, to remind him that it’s okay.

Of course Deceit loves his true entrance, the dark chuckle, the dim lights, oh he feels every bit villainous and it’s glorious. He almost breaks character calling Thomas a ‘foolish dummy’ but manages to push through.

Then comes the worst scene of Deceit’s life.

He hadn’t questioned it before, just accepted, and now he regrets that as Patton does ‘rise up’, right underneath him, and causes them both to fall on their butts.

Virgil is the first to break, sputtering into laughter that he tries to muffle in his hoodie sleeves. Patton is a very close second, doubled over on the ground and trying to breathe but he can’t. Deceit is doing his best to not be embarrassed at the blunder.

“That was amazing!” Roman cheers and wipes a tear from his eye. It takes far too long in Deceit’s opinion to get everyone back under control to finish the line but the momentum is ruined. Every time they even get close to the point where Patton is supposed to rise up, someone breaks into giggle. The first time it’s Thomas.

“Sorry sorry, I can’t do it seriously anymore,” He stops his laughter by covering his mouth.

The second time it’s Patton, unable to full stand because he’s just losing it. Deceit can’t help it either, snickering into his cape. They take a small break after that one.

They get so close the next time but Roman snorts at the last second, which makes Virgil laugh again.

The time after that is the worst, because Patton actually manages to hold it together, long enough to rise up, directly under Deceit in such a way, that Deceit ends up sitting very unstable on Patton’s shoulders.

“Beware the combined powers of Skewed Morality!” Patton shouts and this time it’s Logan who ends up stuffing his tie into his mouth to keep from bursting into giggles. Deceit blinks down at Patton with scared wide eyes but Patton only looks up at him with sparks of joy. Getting down is the hard part and Deceit will not admit that Roman really did need to help him down with hurting either of them.

It takes two more tries before they get it right. Deceit can see the strain of Patton trying not to laugh as he tells Deceit that he’s “in his spot”. To be fair, Deceit has to stuff his own cape into his mouth after Patton tells him a cheerful and plain “bye!” when he sinks out from his own debut.

Patton says the rest of his lines with a smile, Dee curled around his legs an exact mirror of their positions from the morning portion of filming. Virgil goes next and then the end credit scene is thought of and Deceit well, he’s not all that apposed, especially not for a little improve.

“Well since I’m here, I might as well present to you a couple musical puns based all around Deceit,” and if those words and the action he does with it doesn’t make Patton or Roman light up with excitement he doesn’t know what will. He rattles a few off the top of his head, just having a little fun.

“Lies and Dolls, Lying King, Fibber on the roof,” Oh he’s not even sure if the camera is still recording, but he’s having too much fun seeing Patton and Virgil try not to laugh, Roman and Thomas smiling proudly, and that disgruntled look on Logan’s face as the word play keeps coming.

“Jekyll and Lied, totally not partial to that one, Willy Wonka and the Alternative Factory,” He’s being too much, too dramatic, but it’s worth it. He rattles off a few more before he’s at his wits end.

“The Un-Truthers,” Based on the other’s looks, that one might need to be explained.

“The Producers,” he clarifies.

“I think that was my strongest one. That was fun, this was a fun video, I’m so glad I did this,” And Deceit has just enough time to walk off camera before cackling his heart out. He’s only saved by someone else laughing with him. He’s huddled a little, some patting his back and someone else hugging him from the side. There’s also Thomas smiling at him fondly still. He had his reservations before, but maybe, if they wanted, he wouldn’t mind joining them for this experience again.

[kriscme]

One Life To Live

Thanks as always to Ronja for allowing me to write fanfic of her Hunger Games fanfic “The Chance You Didn’t Take”.  You can find it on AO3 and Fanfiction.

Chapter 30 Haymitch alternates swigs of white liquor with large bites of pizza out of a takeaway box.  I’ve mistimed my visit again, catching the last five minutes of “One Life to Live.”   “What’s Celia doing in a therapy support group?” I ask as the credits roll. Haymitch clicks the off button on the remote and the screen goes black.  “Sex addiction,” he tells me, taking another gulp from his bottle.  “She can’t keep her knickers on after what Lance did to her.” “What did Lance do?” The last time I watched this silly show, she and Lance were having a threesome with the gardener. “Made her like sex too much.  And then Anton.  And Cecil.  And 11’s wrestling team.  They’re blaming psychological issues or some such rubbish.  Fear of emotional intimacy is one theory.   Or could be she’s just a slut.” “And what about Blake?  Is he married to Ginger yet?” “He would’ve been but the baby came a few weeks early and now he wants nothing to do with her.”  I wait for more but Haymitch just helps himself to another slice of pizza. “Why?”

He quirks an eyebrow at me.   “Two people with fair skin usually have a fair skinned baby.” “Oh.”  The guy from the punk band, and the real father of Ginger’s baby, is very dark. I rather wish I had seen that episode when Ginger’s baby popped out.  The look on Blake’s face must have been priceless.  “Well, anyway, I didn’t come here to talk about “One Life to Live.”  I wanted to ask you about Cressida.” “What about her?” “Do you think she can be trusted?” Haymitch shoots me an incredulous look and laughs.  “What do you think?  She works for Plutarch, doesn’t she?” I was afraid he’d say that.   My worry must show in my face.  “Why do you ask?  You haven’t done something stupid, have you?”  When I don’t answer, he snorts and takes another drink. “That’s why no one let you make the plans.” This gets my back up.  “Like you did such a good job of it.  If you’d involved Peeta and me in your so-called plans, we’d have known not to let ourselves be separated from each other in the first place. And then he wouldn’t have been captured, and he wouldn’t now – “ “Yeah, yeah, alright,” he says, raising a hand. “We’ve been over this before and I’m not in the mood to have my face gouged again. It’s bad enough that I had to go through it again with Peeta.” Johanna told me that Peeta got mad at Haymitch when those memories came back.  Preoccupied as I often am with my own guilt over Peeta, I sometimes forget that Haymitch is carrying his share of it too and my anger subsides.  Besides, my bitten down fingernails could barely impact a mosquito bite.  I should make time to visit the salon to have those fake things put on again.   “How is Peeta?” I ask.  “Have you talked to him?”  A week has passed since Peeta and I last spoke.  I’d called around the following day to thank him for the cake but he wasn’t home so I made do with a note under his door.   I haven’t seen him leave or return home from the bakery although I know from Johanna that he’s working regular hours. The only visible evidence I have that he’s still in the Village is that the primrose bushes have been pruned recently. Not through all our ups and downs has Peeta neglected the bushes.  Obviously, he did it when I wasn’t around to see it.   He seems to be avoiding me and I don’t know why.  I can’t think of anything I’ve done to upset him.   Before he answers, Haymitch takes a moment to toss the empty pizza box in the general vicinity of a pile of discarded food containers by the window.  Even from this distance, I can see a trail of ants making their way down the wall possibly in anticipation of yet another feast.  In less than an hour they’ll be swarming over the box, picking over the remnants and transporting them back to their nest.   Perhaps this is Haymitch’s idea of cleaning.  Have the ants do it.   “Saw him the day before yesterday.  Had dinner after watching the tape.  Johanna cooked.  I wish she’d let Peeta do it.   He’s a much better cook, but she insisted.  She fusses over him like a mother hen and I think it’s starting to get on his nerves.    But he’s fine, all things considered.  Just very down.  Stares into space when he thinks no one’s looking. But no flashbacks or signs of serious depression.  Keeping busy and sticking to a routine has helped.” I let this sink in.  My initial reaction is to feel hurt that I wasn’t invited to have dinner with them.  It’s irrational,of course.   I’m the one who distanced myself.  And I was busy this weekend anyway.  But I do miss it.  All of us together.   “He’s keeping up with the tapes, then?” “Yeah, although it’s going over old territory if you ask me.  Mostly it’s promotional footage, Capitol parties, various interviews.”  That could explain why I haven’t seen him.  Maybe it’s Cressida and media attention he wants to avoid.  The camera crew are everywhere.  I even saw one of them filming the Village, for no particular reason that I could make out, and paying extra attention to Peeta’s house and mine.   Haymitch drains the last of his bottle and reaches for another beside his chair and gives the top a twist.  “He showed interest in one of them.  The start of the Victory Tour – when you came running out of your house to push him into the snow.” “Ha ha.” I say caustically, giving Haymitch’s joke the response it deserves.   I think back to that day.  Making the most of my remaining hours of freedom: in the woods checking the snare lines; a change of clothes at my old house in the Seam; a visit to Hazelle; and lastly, calling in on Haymitch.    I’d promised to wake him an hour before the cameras came.  It seemed that he’d also asked Peeta, because he showed up at the same time.  To say it was chilly between us is putting it mildly.  Peeta barely looked at me.  When I got home President Snow was waiting for me with his threats.  Convince the districts, convince me that Peeta and I were madly in love, or Gale was dead, with others to follow.  There was no way to warn Peeta, but I was sure he’d perform well anyway.  And he did. Our first kiss in months and no one could have guessed that he was acting – not even me if I hadn’t known better. I ask “Did he remember it?” “Parts of it.  The cameras, falling in the snow, some of what we discussed before Effie and the prep teams arrived.” “You and Peeta?”  I feel a flash of resentment that they had had this discussion without me, but then remember that I walked out soon after Peeta got there. Haymitch probably wanted to talk to us both.  “What about?” “That he needed to change his attitude. Reminded him that the romance was his idea.  That you kept him alive and would’ve died with him, rather than take the victory for yourself.  How imperative it was to keep up the act or people would die.”

It fits.  On the train journey to 11, Peeta apologised to me, acknowledged my actions had kept us alive, and that we should try being friends.   

“That’s what he remembered,” continues Haymitch.  “What he forgot was what I said about you being in a different place than him.  That he had this crush long before the Games even started, whereas for you the romance was a strategy that the two of us cooked up.  And from where I was sitting, I saw a boy who was head-over-heels and a girl who was getting there.  That all she needed was time and patience but if he continued to sulk – “ A conversation between Haymitch and me just before Peeta and I reunited on stage after winning the Games.  About convincing everyone that the trick with the berries was motivated by love.   “Did you tell Peeta this?” “Don’t have to. He’s already there.”  “But you think I’m not?” So that’s what Haymitch meant.   He knew before I did.  Finnick too.   I interrupt. “What did he say?” “That he wished he had known.  That’s all.”  Haymitch gazes thoughtfully down at his bottle.  “It occurred to me that maybe, if this memory was distorted or erased – “ “He’d believe I hadn’t loved him but it was important for us to be friends,” I say, finishing the thought for him.  There’s some logic to it.  I can imagine the half-memory sticking up like a tree root waiting to trip Peeta up.  And then skewing every memory, and every thought he’s had about me since. “It’s a wild guess, but not impossible.  And it’s not like there’s any other ideas.  I should run it past Aurelius.  See what he thinks.” “Do it,” I say.  “At the very least, it can’t hurt.”   The more information Dr Aurelius has the better he can help Peeta. It won’t help me though.  Peeta wouldn’t be mourning the loss of Lace if he didn’t love her.  Or make him love me. Haymitch nods, takes a drink from his bottle, and then goes back to contemplating its depths as if somehow the answers can be found there.  I take this as a signal that the conversation is over and start to rise from the couch when his voice freezes me in place. “So, what’s the stupid thing you’ve done that’s made you worry about Cressida?” I hoped he’d forgotten about that.  Because the “stupid thing” is something I definitely can’t confide in Haymitch about.   “I haven’t done anything,” I say, scowling at him.  “It’s just that I wanted your advice on whether I should be on my guard.  She tried to involve me in the interviews with Marcus. Like I’d be standing well to the side and then she’d ask me a question, and then the cameras would swing over to me. She says she won’t use it but after what happened to Johanna . . .” “If that’s all there is, you’ll be OK.   Even if they do use it and the public wants more, there’s nothing either Cressida or Plutarch can do about it.  No one could say you deliberately set out to draw attention to yourself.  You were just doing a job.   That’s where Johanna went wrong.  She was trying to attract publicity.  And there’s no scandal attached to you and Marcus either – that’s another way they can get around it.  They’ll say they’re reporting on him and you’re merely collateral damage.  So, unless you get caught with your pants down, you haven’t a thing to worry about.”  Haymitch regards me with amusement.  “Or have you? Been caught with your pants down, that is?” “Of course not!” I splutter indignantly. My face burns and it must surely be a bright shade of red.  “I’d never – “ “Calm down, sweetheart.  It was only a joke,” he says, shaking his head.  And then to show how funny he thinks he is; he breaks out laughing.  I judge it to be a good time to leave.   I wander around the Village for a little while.  I want to talk to Johanna.  She’d understand.  But Peeta might come to the door and then how to get Johanna alone without being rude. At home, Marcus has his own worry and I don’t want to add to it by talking about it.   Eventually, I take refuge in my favourite thinking spot; my front porch. And I then I try as hard as I can to reassure myself that I’m worrying over nothing but without much success.   How could we have been so careless? I hadn’t seen much of Cressida during the week.  She’d been busy working on a separate feature on 12’s recovery from the war. She even visited the school.  Mr Matson obligingly gave her a tour and allowed the cameras into the classrooms.  Max made sure to get his face on camera, of course.  When I saw them heading in the direction of my classroom, I locked the door and pulled down the blind.  “Shh,” I said to the kids, “let’s pretend we’re not here.” They thought it was a great game. For the new national park, she wanted to interview Marcus in a series of locations similar to what she did of Gale and me when we returned to bombed-out 12 for some unscripted interviews.   In this case, we’d be following the new trails Marcus had surveyed ending with the lake.  But, because it was unlikely that we would get back before nightfall, it was decided to camp at the lake overnight and return to town the next day.   I was hesitant to go.  I knew it was in my best interests to stay as far from the cameras as possible.  But Marcus said it didn’t feel right for me not to be there since I had played such a large part in it.  And because Marcus and I don’t have much time left together and Cressida had assured me that the attention would be on Marcus anyway, I allowed myself to be persuaded.    Marcus led the way.  Our first stop was at the top of a ridge which Marcus has designated for a lookout. It was a welcome relief to drop my heavy pack to the ground after the long climb and have a long cool drink while Cressida conducted the interview.  The blackberry bushes were heavy with fruit and I positioned myself in front of them.  From there I was away from the cameras but could still watch and gorge myself on berries at the same time.   “Katniss, close by is the very spot where I interviewed you and your hunting partner, Gale Hawthorne, as part of a feature we did on District 12 not long after it was destroyed by enemy bombs.  I got the impression that these woods are very special to you.   What are your feelings about it becoming a national park?” Suddenly all eyes and two camera lenses were on me.  I tried to hide by retreating backwards but was met by a wall of prickles from the blackberry bushes.  Cressida waited expectantly. “Ah, well, you know, times change. I guess from a personal standpoint it’s a big adjustment, but if it ensures that the woods will be protected it’s all worthwhile.” Cressida nodded and turned back to Marcus to continue her questions.  Messalina, her assistant, scribbled something in her notebook.   From there it was easy walking along the ridge and my mind wandered to other times I’d come this way - with my father, by myself, with Gale, and most recently with Marcus.  Before long many feet will trace these same steps and I was overcome by sadness that my beloved woods would no longer be mine.  Even with just these five people, it feels like a violation.   The woods have been my sanctuary.  Would I ever find another? “A coin for your thoughts.”  Startled, my head jerked towards the sound.  Cressida was beside me.  Last time I looked; she had been walking up front with Marcus.  She must have hung back and waited for me.   I didn’t really know what to make of Cressida.   In 13, I had admired her calmness under pressure and the pride she took in her work. It reminded me of Cinna and I thought that if she and I were in the arena together, I would pick her as an ally. But that was before Prim was killed. I can’t be sure, but I suspect she informed Plutarch of our whereabouts that day.  If Snow was telling the truth that Plutarch was behind the bombing that killed Prim, then that makes her complicit in some way.  Maybe not intentionally, but she played a part in much the same way as Gale did.   At the very least it proved to me that Cressida’s loyalty isn’t to me, but to Plutarch and the story she’s chasing.  And then there’s Johanna.  Was it really an accident that Plutarch got hold of that interview? “I was just thinking of how things have changed,” I answered.  There, honest but not too revealing.   Nothing that Cressida could take much from.  I was wrong. “Since we last came this way?” she asked, looking down at the ground. “This must be very difficult for you, more or less following the same route we did for the interviews that day – dredging up memories of times and people lost.” She hesitated for a moment, as if pondering the wisdom of her next words.   “I’m sorry if my relationship with Gale has added to that in any way.  I – “ “It doesn’t,” I interjected before she could say more.  “Gale and I weren’t meant to be together.  I’m happy for you both.  Truly.” Her face cleared.  “That’s what Gale said.  But I wondered . . .” I said nothing because there was nothing to say.   I was a little miffed that Gale had dismissed me so easily.  I thought he should at least have some regret for what could have been.  I was glad that I hadn’t wasted my time fretting over him. “Peeta, then?” “Huh?” The question took me by surprise. “I wasn’t actually thinking about him.” “It would be understandable if you were.  I know I can’t help thinking of that time and of our purpose here.  Do you remember the appeal you made to him from where his parents’ bakery once stood?  If I were asked to choose one propo above the rest, that would be it.   The carnage, the desolation, the utterly incomprehensible loss of life was encapsulated in that short piece.” “Yeah, I guess.”  Personally, I thought they were all awful but perhaps Cressida takes a film maker’s view of things and she judges the artistic merit.   “They still speak of you in the Districts, you know.  You and Peeta.  You haven’t been forgotten.” I shrugged in response.  How could we be forgotten when some of our fellow victors have pursued a life in the public gaze? Our very absence would give rise to speculation – rather like those shows you sometimes see on TV “where are they now?”  At least we’re spared media attention.  That’s something to be grateful for. Cressida went on.  “Your love story struck a chord with the public consciousness that shows no sign of abating.  It represents so many things to people.  How love and hope endure.  Rebirth instead of destruction.  The promise that life can go on, no matter how bad our losses.  That it can be good again.  It – “ “Does it?” I asked, cutting her off. “Well, if they want to keep on believing in that nonsense, I can’t stop them.  I need to take a toilet break.  Excuse me.” Ignoring Cressida’s shocked expression I left her to go in search of a tree.  Why did she have to tell me that?  It’s everything that Peeta’s love would have meant to me too.   And I’m so tired of people and their expectations.  Peeta and I represent nothing.  Nothing! Except maybe that nothing lasts and hope is a stupid illusion for stupid people.   I went through the motions of relieving myself although I didn’t really need to, but it gave me time to calm myself before I rejoined the others.   When we stopped for lunch, I made sure to sit next to Pollux.  We exchanged smiles but that was the end of any kind of conversation.  An avox, Pollux can’t talk and that suited me just fine.  Marcus sent a smile my way and then went back to talking to Cressida.   Messalina was occupied with her notebook.  The remaining member of our party, Remus, was making adjustments to his insect shell – the name I gave the camera equipment that wraps around the bodies of the camera crew.  I disliked Remus on sight with his small shifting eyes that seem to take in everything.   He was the one I saw filming the Village. It was late afternoon when we arrived at the lake but there was still sufficient light for Cressida to do her interview.  I overheard her tell Pollux and Remus she’d like some additional film of the lake the following morning but otherwise we were done.  I would’ve liked to have taken a walk with Marcus around the lake but we were supposed to appear as if our relationship was strictly a working one. He didn’t want the same thing that happened with Johanna to happen to us.  So, when we gathered around the campfire that night for supper, we sat opposite each other.  And when we retired for the night in the concrete house our sleeping mats were as far apart as we could make them.  Not that there was any chance of us getting close – not with Cressida and Messalina there too. Pollux and Remus shared a tent just outside the house.  One of them snored like a chainsaw which Messalina complained about incessantly.   I don’t know who kept me awake the longest – Messalina or the snorer. When the first thin rays of sunlight fell across the concrete house, Cressida and Messalina were dead to the world.  Marcus was already up, dressed and putting on his boots.  He put his finger to his lips and pointed to the door.   I nodded and wiggled out of my sleeping bag.  It took only a minute to find my trousers, shirt and boots and join him outside.  It was my favorite time of the day: the sun just peeking over the horizon; birds caroling the new day; the air so fresh and clean.   The tent was zipped shut; loud snores rumbled from within.  Carefully, we walked past until we were out of earshot.  “Why don’t I search for firewood while you fetch water from the spring?” said Marcus.   “Ok,” I replied, intrigued.  There were logs stacked behind the house and we had brought water in with us.  Nevertheless, I took a couple of empty water bottles and started out for the spring.  It was familiar to us both as Marcus had noted it as a feature on one of the walking tracks and I had long used it as a water source.   It was only about six minutes’ walk away; five, if you don’t count the short stop behind a rhododendron bush to attend to nature.  The spring gushes from the side of a foothill into a brook that feeds into the lake. It’s the sweetest water imaginable and I helped myself to a long cool draught.   And then I waited . . . and waited.  I was about to give up when I caught a glimpse of his khaki shirt through the underbrush.

“What’s this about?  Aren’t we supposed – “ I began.   His answer was to pull me hard against him and capture my lips in a kiss.  It took me by surprise after everything he had said about the importance of maintaining appearances.    But after that first shock, I took fire and answered him in kind, wrapping my arms around his neck and pressing into him, straining to get closer. His belt buckle dug painfully into my ribs.  It had to go.  While I struggled with it, he reached beneath my shirt with one hand to fondle my breast.  My feet started to lose traction and I realized he was pushing me backwards and upwards until I was elevated slightly, my back against a large oak, my feet resting precariously on a root flare.   The belt taken care of, I started on the button and zipper on his trousers.  He did the same with mine, pulling down trousers and underwear in one swift motion.  And then we were both free, his hardness nudging between my legs. “I’m sorry, I can’t – “I panted.  My feet were shackled by my clothes and I was unable to spread my legs wide enough to allow him entry.   Frantically, a boot was unlaced, tossed aside and a trouser leg pulled down over my foot.   Unhampered now, I hooked a leg around his waist and with one smooth powerful thrust he was all the way inside, one hand on my breast, the other braced against the tree, his mouth covering mine.   It felt so, so good.  I could have stayed impaled against that tree forever.  That is, until he started pounding his hips into me.  The rough bark of the oak stabbed into my lower back with each thrust.  It was lucky my shirt tail covered my naked behind or splinters might have been a problem too.  Marcus enjoyed himself though.  I could tell from his breathing that he was close.  But then it happened.   A loud snap.  It was unmistakable.  We both heard it.  Even Marcus, occupied as he was.  Our heads spun trying to locate the source of the sound.  But there was nothing to see; only trees and low bushes. “It was probably just a falling branch,” said Marcus.  He didn’t sound confident. “Yeah, probably,” I agreed, even though a falling branch would also have made a crashing sound as it hit the ground.       Neither of us were at ease and the moment was lost.  Marcus slipped out of me and we put our clothes back in order.  I retrieved the full water bottles and headed back to camp. Marcus returned separately with the bundle of firewood he’d collected before he joined me at the spring. Our fellow campers were as we had left them. Cressida, laid out like a starfish on her back.  Messalina, huddled under her sleeping bag.   The tent still zippered up, the snorer still snoring.  But by the lake, in full insect shell, was Remus with his camera trained on an ibis feeding in the shallows in the early light.  On my approach, he gave a small wave before he returned to his work.  But on his face, was a small, but undeniable smirk.  

[thedistantstorm]

Project Compass 23

Read along on AO3 Here

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This time: Maybe Thrawn was right.

Next time: Ar’alani makes some changes.

-\

The first time Thrawn woke, it was with a lethargic, groggy unawareness. A medic on duty at the time had explained this would happen, that until all the chemicals in his system had been neutralized and run their course, they were in for an interesting couple of days. The medic had said this between asking their patient if they knew who and where they were.

Thrawn had barely had time to sneer back at them before his eyes rolled back into his head. Apparently the medic was relieved.

"The Admiral warned us that he's not a good patient," They admitted, mildly uncomfortable. "Keep that in mind if he wakes up loopy, hmm?"

Ezra had shrugged at the time. Thrawn seemed tired, not so much out of his mind, but it hadn't been very long either. He could handle the Chiss seeing flying tookas or weird colors when it happened. Ezra held back a laugh. He couldn't help but wonder if his idea of Thrawn hallucinating would be as funny as the real thing. Maybe he should keep his holorecorder close, just in case.

Or, on second thought, when Thrawn managed to throw it - and him - across the medbay when he'd woke up next, maybe he shouldn't have. There was a wild look in his eyes, their red glow reduced to vivid crimson halos for how much his pupils were dilated. Fury rang through his posture, and it took Ezra a second to shake off the panic, trying to untangle himself from the chairs that had been tipped over with him. From the corner of his eye, he saw medical staff watching warily. Above him, standing, somehow, Thrawn had managed to rip out whatever intravenous lines had been attached to his left arm, and was holding the pole those lines had been attached to over his head like a weapon.

Thrawn only said one word, his voice menacing and laced with unrestrained hatred. "Rebel."

Belatedly, Ezra was just grateful that Un'hee had been dragged off by Vah'nya to get some much needed food and sleep. This was the last thing the very impressionable young Navigator needed to see. He considered calling on the Force, but didn't want to restrain Thrawn, unsure of his lingering injuries. He looked fine, but he was still shirtless and bandaged from under his arms all the way to the top of his hips.

That option cast aside, Ezra had to hope he was quicker than Thrawn was in this state. He certainly looked to be feeling the effects of whatever cocktail of chemicals were boarding through him. Carefully, he got his feet underneath him and bolted. Thrawn charged him, and no, the distance the Chiss had to cover was unobstructed. He'd just managed to put his back to the doorway and brought his hands up against the blow, reminding himself that Thrawn was out of his mind, and definitely didn't mean it-

"I've got him," Said a sharp, whip-crack of a voice. In Basic, Ezra realized. Her accent was definitely not Chiss, so Ezra decided she must be the woman Ar’alani had told him about. There was the sound of a blaster being drawn, then he felt it being shoved against his back. The woman leaned in as she bent his arm behind his back painfully. Whispering, she added, "Play along."

“Commander,” Thrawn acknowledged, the words coming slower than usual. Behind Ezra, there was the slightest huff, like an aborted snort of hidden amusement. “Be careful. They are never alone.” He considered a moment, setting down his makeshift weapon without concern for why, exactly it was as it was. “Take him to detention cell aurek-nine.”

“Yes,” The woman said, then paused for a second too long, thinking. This time she was a little more steady when she spoke. “Understood, Admiral Thrawn.” Ezra felt her come to attention as best she was able while pretending to restrain him. Her grip had loosened significantly on his arm. She hadn’t removed her blaster, but he didn’t dare draw attention to it. “I’ll return to brief you on what I’ve found about his associates straight away.”

“Thank you. I will contact ISB to send us an interrogator. Perhaps,” Considering whatever he was about to say, Thrawn’s brow furrowed and he frowned, stroking his jaw in confusion.

“What is it, sir?”

Ezra made a half-hearted attempt to struggle, “Nothing, Commodore.” Thrawn answered, resting back on the edge of his bed, trying to figure out what it was that didn’t add up. Ezra noticed the second title, but the woman restraining him didn’t flinch over it.

“I am going to walk you to the door,” Thrawn’s ‘Commander’ murmured, swinging him around roughly. “We are going out into the hallway.” Several members of the medical staff lingered outside the door to Thrawn’s room. None of them were moving to intercept him from potentially doing more harm. Ezra couldn’t blame them, really. “Then you are going to stay there until I tell you it’s okay.”

“You can’t do this,” Ezra balked in Basic. The medical staff stepped back, giving them a wide berth.

“Quit fighting me!” She snapped, shoving him, though hardly painfully. From behind, it looked like a good act to the Chiss watching their actions intensely.

A moment later they were outside the medbay doors. Once they were out of sight, she spun him around to face her and holstered her blaster. “Sorry about that,” She said, though her tone was more blunt than apologetically. “You alright?”

“Yeah. He’s clearly out of his mind,” Ezra said, brushing himself off. “No harm done.” He looked up, surprisingly, into the stoic face of a woman at least five years older than Captain Ivant, by the look of her. Dark eyes, dark hair, and a CDF uniform much like his own.

“I’d say,” The woman said. Her eyes were as sharp as her tone. “I’m surprised you weren’t levitating him back to bed and pinning him there, Jedi.”

“I didn’t want to stress him out,” Ezra admitted sheepishly. “He’s had a rough couple of days.”

“Seems fair,” She supposed, then considered him. “I’ll keep an eye out for him until he stops thinking you’re his mortal enemy. You’re lucky he didn’t think he was on the command bridge, and his people were in danger.”

“Yeah,” He agreed. “You’re the one Admiral Ar’alani sent for, aren’t you?”

She tilted her head to the side. “Yes,” She said. “I’ve seen your face many times during my years of service to the Empire, but I don’t believe we ever met face-to-face.” Her gaze was steely, serious and no-nonsense, but hardly malicious. “Karyn Faro,” She said. “I was Thrawn’s second aboard the Chimaera.”

“You were? But I never saw you among the-”

“No. I missed the Seventh’s,” She paused briefly, trying to find the right word without cursing the barely grown man in front of her, “Adventures by a very narrow margin.” A loud slam echoed from within the medbay, followed by rapid-fire communication in rapidly escalating voices. “If you’ll excuse me, I think that’s my cue. This shouldn’t take long.”

True to her word, it didn’t. One of the medical staff retrieved him within minutes, meanwhile Faro had taken to the chair Un’hee had used hours before on Thrawn’s right, near his head. She sat seemingly at ease, but everything about her felt alert and aware. On guard.

The Chiss medic said something to her in a language Ezra didn’t understand.

In response, the human woman slid her gaze toward Ezra then back to the medic before responding in solid, but moderately accentuated Cheunh. “I understand Cheunh, medic,” She looked away from Ezra. “But you’re welcome for the help. Thanks for helping me get him back in on the cot. He was heavier than I anticipated.”

“You knocked him out?” Ezra asked, surprised. “Really?”

Frowning, she considered her words carefully before speaking. Ezra got the feeling this was Faro’s way of extending an olive branch. Almost amused, she said, “Well, it’s certainly not the first time I’ve thought about giving him a sedative. He doesn’t know when to stop.”

Ezra laughed, and the medic smirked to themself as they set the rest of the medications and intravenous lines on the patient back to rights. “Thanks,” He said. “Uh- Commodore?”

“Just Faro is fine,” She said, switching back to Basic. “My rank is a little, well, let’s call it up in the air for a moment. I’ve been helping the Admiral out since things went to hell on Lothal.”

“Huh. You didn’t defect to the Rebellion,” He said.

“I did not, but if it helps, you could consider me a rebel of a different sort.”

-/

Csilla was a beautiful planet. Ethereal, stunning to take in from above. It was the pale, deep blue that one could only associate with a deep freeze, an eternal winter. He looked out the viewport on the bridge, beside the navigator’s console. It was vacant, like the rest of the bridge. More than ten kilometers away was the Compass, the ship that had been his responsibility for two years now sitting like an ominous reminder of his shortcomings. Vah’nya had doubted they would go back to it now. Not with things like this.

She had come a long way in understanding strategy. And with a blunder like this - at least, a perceived one, at least, politically - it only made sense to tighten the reins, to pull all the pawns back to protect the queen. Not that it was either of their decisions. The fate of everything rested with Admiral Ar’alani’s pull amongst the Aristocra and the Admiralty.

Ivant knew when he’d made the decision to strive for command - first, under Thrawn, and then, here, with Admiral Ar’alani aboard the Steadfast - that it would not all be glamorous or honorable. He’d seen what his superiors had had to do, had seen the light they’d cast upon themselves, both favorable and unfavorable. He’d seen successes painted as failures, and failures washed away with promotions and medals. He’d spent most of their time traveling back to Csilla wondering which one this was. It felt like equal parts success and failure, skewed depending upon the angle by which the events were viewed.

As if capable of reading his thoughts, Admiral Ar’alani spoke from behind him along the same thread. “If I recommend you, will you deny me before the council of families?” Ar’alani said. “Tell me now, before I make a fool of myself in the capital.”

“Do you think they’ll let you? You’ve said yourself that they would call for demotion and possibly a firing squad.”

She hummed, a dissonant, displeased sound that was muffled behind her lips. “I believe pride will win out in this case. You have saved them from a great, potentially public blunder. They will be displeased at the loss of Chiss life at the hands of a human, but they will begrudgingly agree with your judgement. To argue otherwise would make them look like imbeciles, especially if someone were to leak such information to the people.” Her gaze at that was not insignificant.

“Right,” Ivant turned away from the viewport and back to Ar’alani. It always boiled down to politics and red tape. “No offense, ma’am, but you’re sure that a family influenced by the Grysks isn’t on the council? I can’t help but think we’re painting a target on our backs.”

“There is only one way to find out,” She said, tilting her head. “I have a plan with multiple contingencies, Eli’van’to. Do you trust me?”

Where in the past there had been hesitation, here she heard none. Her captain was sincere. “With my life, Admiral.”

A smile might have crossed her face, but it was lightning quick, there and gone before he ever realized he’d seen it. “Then let us go to the capital and face your reckoning.” When his stance shifted to attention, a smirk twisted her mouth, indicative of the cunning woman the Admiral was and the grim pleasure she took in these political games. "Our shuttle awaits."

-/

Despite Ezra’s hope for lighthearted blackmail (something he felt he was entitled to considering Thrawn’s near-assault on him), Thrawn had not had any embarrassing drugged-up, hallucination-ridden moments, only brief periods of waking confusion and almost slurred speech. Faro had lingered for a long while beside Thrawn, until Un'hee had returned and she had wordlessly given up her seat for a lonely chair near the door.

They'd resigned themselves to shifts, one human present at his bedside at all hours. There was hardly a chance that someone would dare harm Thrawn aboard Ar'alani's ship (he hoped), but Faro was diligent. Ezra reluctantly heeded her words, preferring to play it safe. In their couple hours of overlap, conversation between them was stilted, indicative of their status as newly former enemies.

All of it was easier if Un'hee was present, which she was, more often than not. Like Ezra and Vah'nya, who had also been pulled from the Compass, she had also been removed from active duty for the time being, and, following questioning, left to her own devices. The emotional intensity of her concern was palpable through the Force. It was a bright, tender, and vivid concern, like threads between them pulled taut. Un'hee cared for Thrawn, very much. Ezra didn't blame her.

He could admit that he cared about Thrawn, too. Not in the way he cared for his family - this bond was friendship, and it was very different, though not lesser because of it - but he was concerned all the same. Concerned enough to sit with Thrawn overnight, until Faro showed up with some burned caf from the refectory and a tight, defensive smile to relieve him in the morning.

Ezra's concern did make it hard to sleep when he wasn't on unofficial guard duty, however. It was inevitable that his eyelids grew heavy. He realized eventually that it was impossible not to sleep, so instead he willed himself to keep one eye metaphorically open, drawing the Force around himself and Thrawn, and by extension, Un'hee, forcing himself to remain awash in those connections as he dozed lightly. The medbay was completely silent. Surely the sound of anyone or anything would wake him.

Which it did at some point. He heard the sound of footsteps, the unfurling of a blanket. Opening his eyes only the tiniest bit, Ezra made out brown hair and a black officer's uniform.

"Eli?" Un'hee asked for him, groaning with the effort of waking.

"It's late," He said to her. It was unmistakably Ivant. He seemed to tuck the blanket he'd brought around the girl, whispering, "Go back to sleep."

The Navigator didn't argue, asleep again almost instantly. He heard the almost silent rearranging of chairs as the captain pulled the one Faro usually occupied up beside Un'hee's. All the while, Ezra couldn't help but feel wide awake. What was Ivant doing here?

Reaching out with the Force on this was easy. Compared to a Chiss, reading a human's surface level emotions wasn't remotely difficult. Vanto was throwing guilt and worry, his presence stormy, clouded. It was almost that same lonely melancholy that Ezra had been associating with Thrawn for some time now. It felt thicker, more potent now, almost like a dam had broken on his emotions.

In the narrow bed, Thrawn shifted. His breathing changed, the slightest hitch to it, instead of measured and even.

"This doesn’t look like the Thunder Wasp's med-center," Thrawn slurred in Basic. He'd only muttered in Cheunh once or twice since this whole thing started.

"It's not," Ivant said in the same language, explaining,"You've been hallucinating. You have a whole lotta drugs in your system."

"Nightswan?"

At that, the human laughed. It was almost affectionate. "No, Thrawn. He's been dead for years.

There was silence for a while, then, "I'm not in the Empire, am I?" He paused. "I seem to remember-" He said a word in a language Ezra didn't understand. Ezra could practically hear the gears grinding in his head.

"The, uh, purgill were real, but unimportant right now. You left the Empire. You're home."

"Then why are you-" There was the unmistakable sound of movement, and the answering shuffle as Captain Ivant reacted accordingly. Unfortunately the answer to keeping Thrawn from potentially harming when he woke disoriented and confrontational was more medication. Which meant that if he tried to get up, he would likely fall promptly on his face.

And that seemed to be the direction in which things were trying to happen. "Whoa, whoa, don't get up."

A short scuffle, then a soft thud later, Thrawn said, "You are stronger than I remember," Voice unmistakably awed.

Ivant didn’t bask in it. "That was leverage, not strength. Besides, you're higher than a spicehead right now, so don't take that opinion to heart."

"What caused this?"

Ezra suspected they were sitting with their backs to him now and risked another peek. Sure enough, Thrawn and Ivant sat side by side on the bed, shoulders touching.

"Poison. You had a reaction to it."

"There was an antidote?"

Ivant drawled, "’still has to run its course."

Thrawn’s frown was almost audible, his voice nearly hesitant as he reasoned, "You are a hallucination as well, I gather. I would have remembered sending you to the Asc- to my people," He recovered. “Despite my current predicament.”

“You don't remember beating Nightswan at his own game, and we chased that smug bastard across the galaxy for years." Ezra was surprised he hadn’t switched back to Cheunh to prove himself.

"Somehow I doubt that defeating Nightswan would be considered a victory."

"Certainly never felt like it." Ivant relented. "I think it was what drove you to send me to Ar'alani, though."

"We're with her?"

"This is her commandship."

"Interesting. So you’re saying the Navigator isn't a hallucination, either." Ezra suspected there was a gesture.

"No. This is Un’hee,” There was a pause, likely as the girl shifted in her sleep, at the sound of her name. “You helped rescue her from the Grysks almost three years ago now."

At the mention of their enemies, there was more shuffling. Ezra watched through the smallest slits as Thrawn curled forward to cradle his head in his hands, trying to think. The drugs running rampant in his system made it nearly impossible to make connections, Ezra imagined.

"There is something-" Whatever else he said trailed off, too garbled for Ezra to even consider untangling.

"Easy. It's alright. You'll feel more like yourself once you've slept it off, Thrawn, I promise." Eli rose, so Ezra let his eyes fall completely closed, willing himself still as he continued to listen carefully.

Ivant must have maneuvered him to lay prone, because there was the sound of blankets and weight shifting before Thrawn seemed to address the room in general. "You have not referred to me by title for the entirety of this conversation," He commented. He sounded tired, but curious despite it all. "Why?" He asked around a yawn.

"I outrank you," Ivant said. "I have since you got back."

"I am your responsibility," Thrawn mused. Ezra heard the trust in his voice, the utter lack of doubt. If nothing else, the emotion Thrawn gave to his words were less concealed thanks to his current condition. Ezra wasn't sure that was a good thing. He didn't want Ivant further damaging Thrawn's arguably fragile emotional state. Would Thrawn want Eli Vanto there if he were of sound mind?

The answer was immediate. "Always."

Ezra could feel the way Thrawn’s chaotic aura eased at that. "Then I am sure it will be fine."

The room went quiet, the sound of Thrawn and Un'hee's deep breaths in sleep the only ones to reach Ezra's ears.

He'd almost fallen back to sleep when he heard something else. A whisper. "Sometimes I still don't know what the hell you saw in me." It was Vanto. Ezra didn't dare move.

On a very long delay, came an answer. "Something others did not," Thrawn said, sleep-rough. His voice turned dark. "Incompetent fools. You were always-"

"Sleep, Thrawn." Ivant breathed, command tone hushed but present. "I doubt you're going to remember this, and that's not how I want to have this conversation with you."

Thrawn scoffed, seeing through him. Ezra doubted his eyes were even open. Thrawn was good at that sort of thing. "I was upset with you. Before this."

"You are upset with me," Vanto corrected. "Being out of your mind doesn't change anything. I deserve it."

Out of nowhere the Chiss said, "You are obviously being censured." The slightest irritation was noticeable in his voice. "Surely I would have picked up on that?"

"Sleep," Eli pressed. Still, Thrawn must have been looking at him, because he added, far quieter, "I'm not answering you."

"I-"

He sighed. "It doesn't matter right now."

"That could not be farther from the truth. I have never desired," Thrawn slowed, voice fading with each word, "For us to be-" He broke off into deep, easy breaths, too deep to be anything but the precursor to the faintest snore.

Ezra couldn't help but hazzard a peek at the situation when Eli stood a while later. He watched the human pull the blankets properly around Thrawn, who had turned onto his side to face the silent Captain. Then, Vanto leaned down and said something too quietly for Ezra to hear into Thrawn's ear, his hand carefully smoothing the blanket over his shoulder. Thrawn hadn't moved, or even reacted, exactly, but Ezra felt some of that weight Thrawn had been carrying fall away. The strange aura around him, the one that screamed displeasure, discomfort, and wary tension seemed to relax significantly.

Of course Ivant would comfort him. He wasn't a bad guy, exactly, but he had no idea what-

Or, Ezra realized, catching a glimpse of Ivant’s red-rimmed brown eyes and the sad but still so relieved smile on his face, maybe he did know. Maybe Thrawn was onto something about Ivant being censured, but Thrawn hadn't picked up on it until now because his own feelings were in the way. Maybe Ivant really did understand what Thrawn felt for him. Ezra sunk into meditation as easily as he had fallen asleep, content to think on it. Not, he realized afterward, that he ever really needed to.

Captain Ivant sat with him for the rest of the night, leaving just as Ezra feigned wakefulness. He didn't hold Thrawn's hand or even touch him. But he was there, his presence an unspoken comfort, freely given. Ezra got the feeling that this gesture, to Thrawn, just might mean everything.

Thrawn hadn't been wrong about Eli Vanto.

[weirdcultstuff]

Unrelatable Ex-Amish Feelings

Just a note: The specific group I grew up in was an extreme group, with a cult leader. I tried my best not to include things that I think might be specific to the cult I was in, but I can only write from my own experiences, so some of this might not be universal to all leaving-amish experiences. :)

1. Despising Beverly Lewis books. Despising that TLC ‘Breaking Amish’ show. And if I hear one more time about ‘the amish mafia’ I swear I’m throwing something.

2. Seeing strangers with head-coverings or large families and no longer getting that instant mutual bond, because you are out of context to them now.

3. Rolling your eyes at the ‘Amish Made!’ signs.

4. The cognitive dissonance overload.

5. Critical thinking skills? Who is that?

6. Not having an identity as an individual.

7. (If you’re a girl) working caretaking and cleaning jobs. (If you’re a guy) farming, landscaping, and construction.

8. *I’M GOING TO HELL! I’M GOING TO HELL! I’M GOING TO-*

9. Going P.I.M.O. with your also shunned family, because they’ve joined another group that you don’t want to be in either.

10. Purity culture hangover, can’t make eye contact!!

11. Saying “Mr.”, “Mrs.”, “Professor”, “Dr.”, etc. feels like a direct insult instead of being respectful.

12. Not being able to say “Ich liebe die” to friends because it sounds so much more real and serious than “I love you.” In fact, having tons of language confusion and general work to do on your English.

13. *They’re English, they wouldn’t understand how Amish do anyway.*

14. Just. Not being able to explain anything. Ever. It feels like living in two completely different realms of existence, having been amish and not-amish.

15. The shame of buying something at an amish place and being recognized, and offered the things for free since amish don’t do business with shunned amish.

16. People thinking they understand amish culture because they “grew up around baptists.” Like, I guess?? I understand what you mean? But also no.

17. Despising almost any depiction of the amish in mainstream media, and not being able to articulate how it’s all such skewed perspective, and not knowing how to communicate things properly or make it better. Frustrating!!!!

18. Fighting not to have that Penn Dutch accent and thinking it makes you sound dumb.

19. Being the only kid at your college who knows how to clean and cook and sew and keep house.

20. Missing the cows. Missing the garden. Missing making hay. Missing your friends. Missing your family. Missing taking care of babies. Missing working with people who genuinely like to work. Missing tomato sandwiches. Missing the singing. Missing, missing, missing. Parts of you are missing.

21. Freaking out about every possible aspect of clothes and what to wear.

22. (If you’re a girl) panic attacks about giving presentations in school because *women must be silent, and shouldn’t teach men, and business casual means you can’t even cover your head and who is even giving me the authority to do this?*

23. Not knowing how a parking meter, or a vending machine, or maybe an online bank account works and having to ask for help and just feeling so, so, so small and stupid.

24. Being 100% completely clueless about LGBTQ+ terminology or issues, and accidentally coming off as homophobic.

25. Realizing you accidentally came off as homophobic (or sexist, or racist, or ableist, etc.) after learning more words and stuff, and feeling really worried and ashamed about it.

26. Boundaries? What are boundaries?

27. *What do I do with my hair? I don’t look normal.*

28. Not understanding computers. Even after learning how to use computers, not understanding things intuitively like all the other kids who grew up with them.

29. Getting real freakin’ excited about how easy life becomes with electric washing machines and cars and electric heaters.

30. Getting in abusive relationships and getting taken advantage of because you have no idea what a healthy relationship looks like.

31. Feeling alone. Like you’re the only one doing this.

32. Wanting to go back. Missing home, and familiarity, so much.

33. Feeling nostalgic about the good old days when you had any kind of idea of what was going on ever.

34. Missing 100% of pop-culture references.

35. The internalized sexism. (If you’re a girl) just automatically deferring to any men in the vicinity.

36. Wearing clothes that are too big. In muted colors. Without many prints. And feeling very self-conscious about it all. Hoping you don’t run into any amish people in public because they’ll see from your clothes how far you’ve backslid, how much sin you’re living in.

37. Not knowing how the government works. Or voting. Or welfare.

38. Automatically denying and defending any abuse that happened, because *amish are right and the church is right and talking about abuse with english people is only going to prevent them from seeing the truth and the light.*

39. Bristling when people treat you like your life previous to shunning just didn’t matter or didn’t really happen. Newsflash, world, people who have lived lives different from yours still spend all of their lives in ‘the real world’ same as you.

40. *If I just married an amish man, or even a mennonite, this would all go away. Things would make sense again.*

41. What is evolution? What is anything? Is God real?

42. *If I picked the wrong way, and I know I picked the wrong way, then I’m going to hell. I’m going to hell. I’m going to hell. I’m going to-*

43. *I’m being taken captive by strange philosophy. I’m being taken captive by the world. I’m being given over to a reprobate mind for the destruction of the flesh. I’m too far in, I can’t see what’s right or good anymore. I’m going to hell.*

44. Hey, look! You have a favorite color now.

45. “Guys, I’m not Amish. There is not an Amish person alive who would say that I’m Amish. Stop calling me Amish.” *I’m also not ‘english’ though.*

46. *I’m a bad witness. I’m living a sinful life. I’m shaming my family.*

47. Not trusting the government. Not trusting the school system. Not trusting the healthcare system. Not trusting anyone who isn’t amish, not really.

48. Finding out there’s more kinds of ‘english’ music than rock music.

49. Meeting people who have never heard of the amish and just....not being able to compute that.

50. Collecting kitsch. Just ‘cause you can.

51. Switching back and forth from wanting LOTS OF FLAVORS AND COLORS AND LIGHTS AND FABRICS AND MUSIC AND WORDS AND VIDEOS AND BOOKS AND- and wanting to just sit in a dark room with the lights low, doing mending or something normal because it’s all just overload and it’s making your head spin.

52. Amish people invalidating your experience. Non-Amish people invalidating your experience. *Nobody understands, I’m all alone, everyone thinks I’m crazy.*

53. Instinctive fear and disgust towards halloween things. This is what worldliness is, this is all demonic. None of it looks cute. Except that baby dressed up like a hot dog, she’s so cute.

54. Not understanding how non-amish people view animals and pets as practically members of the family instead of mildly interesting or useful outdoor things. Then missing your siblings so much and being so touch starved that when you’re at a friends’ house and their cat sits on your lap you feel positively glowing and warm inside, and you finally ‘get it.’

55. *What church do I go to? Am I mennonite now? Am I baptist? Am I Christian? I have to be a Christian, obviously. Where do I belong? Who do I belong to?*

56. Not understanding equality, even if you think it’s right.

57. Doing ANYTHING your boss tells you to, being a massive pushover until you slowly learn the difference between aggression and standing up for yourself, and then learn how to actually stand up for yourself.

58. People assuming you’re stupid because you don’t know stuff they learned in grade school. You assuming other people are stupid because nobody taught them the stuff you learned as a kid.

59. The moment when you realize that you actually have a lot to give up now, if you go back. And you actually have an identity, you’re a person. Kinda glitchy and buried under a mountain of trauma, but you’re a person.

60. Finding therapy. Finding friends. Finding the internet. Finding other people who have been through hard things too and connecting with them over the things you have in common and your shared support for each other in the things you don’t. Healing, growing. Coming to a point where things feel possible.

It’s a wild ride. But it’s worth it. Hang in there, friendo. <3

[trishmishtree]

[Current as of March 13, 2020]

Dr. Shahed (screenshot above) is an emergency department physician in Ohio who shared this post on Facebook. It’s an account of COVID-19 from the perspective of an ICU doc working on the frontlines in Seattle. Some of my laypeople-friends were sharing it around (and I’ve seen it floating around on twitter and various internet forums], but I noticed that it’s really dense and contains a lot of medical abbreviations and jargon, like it was meant more for other physicians and isn’t really useful for the average reader. So I thought I’d provide a translation for my non-medblr followers who are looking to stay informed. (If you want further clarification, feel free to drop me an ask)

***

This is from a front-line ICU physician in a Seattle hospital

This is his personal account:

We have 21 patients and 11 deaths since 2/28.

We are seeing patients who are young (20s), fit, no comorbidities, critically ill. It does happen.

US has been past containment since January

Currently, all of ICU is for critically ill COVID patients, all of med-surg [medical-surgical] floors are for stable COVID patients and end-of-life care, half of PCU [progressive care unit], half of ER. New Pulmonary Clinic offshoot is open for patients with respiratory symptoms

CDC is no longer imposing home quarantine on providers who were wearing only droplet-isolation PPE when intubating, suctioning, bronching, and in one case doing bloody neurosurgery. Expect when it comes to your place you may initially have staff home-quarantined. Plan for this NOW. Consider wearing airborne-isolation PPE for aerosol-generating procedures in ANY patient in whom you suspect COVID, just to prevent the mass quarantines.

We ran out of N95s (thanks, Costco hoarders) and are bleaching and re-using PAPRs [powered air purifying respirators], which is not the manufacturer’s recommendation. Not surprised on N95s as we use mostly CAPRs [controlled air purifying respirators] anyway, but still.

Terminal cleans (including UV light) for ER COVID rooms are taking forever, Environmental Services is overwhelmed. This is bad, as patients are stuck coughing in the waiting room. Recommend planning now for Environmental Service upstaffing, or having a plan for sick patients to wait in their cars (that is not legal here, sadly).

CLINICAL INFO (based on our cases and info from CDC conference call today with other COVID providers in US):

The Chinese data on 80% mildly ill, 14% hospital-ill, 6-8% critically ill are generally on the mark. Data [in the US] very skewed by late and very limited testing, and the number of our elderly patients going to comfort care. 

Being young & healthy (zero medical problems) does not rule out becoming vented or dead 

Probably the time course to developing significant lower respiratory symptoms is about a week or longer (which also fits with timing of sick cases we started seeing here, after we all assumed it was endemic as of late Jan/early Feb). 

Based on our hospitalized cases (including the not-formally-diagnosed ones who are obviously COVID – it is quite clinically unique), about 1/3 of patients have mild lower respiratory symptoms and need 1-5L NC [1-5 liters of oxygen per minute, via nasal cannula]. 1/3 are sicker, need face mask or non-rebreather. 1/3 are intubated with ARDS [acute respiratory distress syndrome]. 

Thus far, everyone is seeing: 

normal WBC [white blood cell] count. Almost always lymphopenic, occasionally poly [neutrophil]-predominant but with normal total WBC count. Doesn’t change, even 10 days in. 

Bronchoalveolar lavage: lymphocytic despite blood being lymphopenic. (Try not to bronch these patients; this data is from pre-testing time when we had several idiopathic ARDS cases) 

Fevers, often high, may be intermittent; persistently febrile, often for >10 days. It isn’t the dexmed, it’s the SARS2. 

Low procalcitonin; may be useful to check initially for later trending if you are concerned later for VAP [ventilator-associated pneumonia], etc.

Elevated AST/ALT, sometimes alkaline phosphatase. Usually in 70-100 range. No fulminant hepatitis. Notably, in our small sample, higher transaminitis [elevated AST/ALT] (150-200) on admission correlates with clinical deterioration and progression to ARDS. LFTs [liver function tests] typically begin to bump in 2nd week of clinical course. 

Mild AKI [acute kidney injury] (creatinine <2). Uncertain if direct viral effect, but notably SARS2 RNA fragments have been identified in liver, kidneys, heart, and blood.</li>

Characteristic chest x-ray: always bilateral patchy or reticular infiltrates, sometimes peri-hilar despite normal ejection fraction and volume down at presentation. At time of presentation may be subtle, but always present, even in our patients on chronic high dose steroids. NO effusions.

CT is as expected, rarely mild mediastinal lymphadenopathy, occasional small effusions late in course, which might be related to volume status/cap leak.

Note - China is CT'ing everyone, even outpatients, as a primarily diagnostic modality. However, in US/Europe, CT is rare, since findings are nonspecific, would not change management, and the ENTIRE scanner and room have to be terminal-cleaned, which is just impossible in a busy hospital. Also, transport in PAPRs, etc. 

2 of our patients had CTs for idiopathic ARDS in the pre-test era; they looked like the CTs in the journal articles. Not more helpful than chest x-ray. 

When respiratory failure occurs, it is RAPID (likely 7-10 days out from symptom onset, but rapid progression from hospital admission). Common scenario for our patients is: admit on 1L/min oxygen via nasal cannula. Next 12 hrs escalate to NPPV [non-invasive positive pressure ventilation]. Next 12-24 hrs → vent/proned/Flolan. 

Interestingly, despite some needing Flolan, the hypoxia is not as refractory as with H1N1. Quite different, and quite unique. Odd enough that you’d notice and say hmmm. 

Thus far many are dying of cardiac arrest rather than inability to ventilate/oxygenate. 

Given the inevitable rapid progression to ETT [endotracheal tube, aka intubation] once respiratory decompensation begins, we and other hospitals, including Wuhan, are doing early intubation. Face mask is fine, but if patients are needing HFNC [high-flow nasal cannula] or NPPV [non-invasive positive pressure ventilation], just tube them. They definitely will need a tube anyway, and no point risking the aerosols.

No MOSF [multi-organ system failure]. There’s the mild AST/ALT elevation, maybe a small creatinine bump, but no florid failure. Exception is cardiomyopathy.

Multiple patients here have had normal EF [ejection fraction] on formal Echo or POCUS [point-of-care ultrasound] at time of admission (or in a couple of cases, EF 40ish, chronically). Also normal troponins from emergency department. Then they get the horrible respiratory failure, sans sepsis or shock. Then they turn the corner, come off Flolan, supined, vent weaning, looking good, never any pressor requirement. Then over 12 hrs, newly cold, clamped, multiple-pressor shock that looks cardiogenic, EF 10% or less. Then either VT [ventricular tachycardia, aka V-tach] → VF [ventricular fibrillation, aka V-fib] → dead, or PEA [pulseless electrical activity] → asystole in less than a day. Needless to say, this is awful for families who had started to have hope. 

We have actually had more asystole than VT. Other facilities report more VT/VF, but same time course, a few days or a week after admission, around the time they’re turning the corner. This occurs on med-surg patients too. One today, who is elderly and chronically ill but with baseline EF preserved, became newly hypotensive overnight, EF <10. Already no escalation, has since passed. So presumably there is a viral cardiomyopathy aspect, which presents later in the course of disease.

Of note, no wall motion abnormalities on Echo, right ventricular function preserved, troponins don’t bump. Could be unrelated, but I’ve never seen anything like it before, especially in a patient who had been hemodynamically stable without sepsis.

TREATMENT:

Remdesivir might work, some hospitals have seen improvement with it quite rapidly, marked improvement in 1-3 days. ARDS trajectory is impressive with it, patients improve much more rapidly than expected in usual ARDS.

Recommended course is 10 days, but due to scarcity, all hospitals have stopped it when the patient is clinically out of the woods. None have continued >5 days. It might cause LFT bump, but interestingly seem to bump (200s-ish) for a day or 2 after starting, then rapidly back to normal, suggests this is not a primary toxic hepatitis.

Unfortunately, the Gilead compassionate use and trial programs require AST/ALT <5x normal, which is pretty much almost no actual COVID patients. Also CrCl [creatinine clearance] >30, which is fine. CDC is working with Gilead to get LFT requirements changed now that we know this is a mild viral hepatitis.

Currently the Gilead trial is wrapping up, NIH trial still enrolling, some new trial soon to begin, can’t remember where.

Steroids are up in the air. In China, usual clinical practice for all ARDS is high dose methylprednisolone. Thus, ALL of their patients have had high dose methylprednisolone. Some question whether this practice increases mortality.

It is likely that it increases secondary VAP/HAP [ventilator-associated pneumonia/hospital-acquired pneumonia]. China has had a high rate of drug-resistant GNR [Gram-negative rod] HAP/VAP and fungal pneumonia in these patients, with resulting increases in mortality. We have seen none, even in the earlier patients who were vented for >10 days before being bronch’ed (prior to test availability. Again, it is not a great idea to bronch these patients now).

Unclear whether VAP-prevention strategies are also different [in China vs US], but wouldn’t think so?

Hong Kong is currently running an uncontrolled trial of HC 100IV Q8 [hydrocortisone 100 mg IV every 8 hours].

General consensus here (in US among doctors who have cared for COVID patients) is that steroids will do more harm than good, unless needed for other indications.

Many of our patients have COPD on ICS [inhaled corticosteroids]. Current consensus at Evergreen, after some observation & some clinical judgment, is to stop ICS if able, based on known data with other viral pneumonias and increased susceptibility to HAP. Thus far patients are tolerating that, no major issues with ventilating them that can’t be managed with vent changes. We also have quite a few on AE-COPD [acute exacerbation of COPD]/asthma doses of methylprednisolone, so will be interesting to see how they do.

[ineffable-snowman]

Day 15: Laughter

Read on AO3

They laughed. It was neither laughter of joy nor laughter of companionship. They laughed at him.

Aziraphale laughed, too. Not because their laughter was infectious or because he wanted to. He laughed dutifully although he did not understand why they thought him so ridiculous. What was so laughable about his idea? He did not know how to phrase the question because he did not want to give them even more reason to laugh at him.

Gabriel was quick to lecture him anyway. “Aziraphale, I’m sure this idea comes from a pure heart but, forgive me for saying so, it really proves a stupefying lack of insight into the greater good.”

“These things are bound to happen when you are out of touch with everyday divinity,” Michael said with a pitying look. “With only humans as company for centuries, it’s no wonder your perspective is a little skewed.”

“I suppose it is.” Aziraphale tried to chuckle to show that he was in on the joke. “So I take it you won’t consider my suggestion?”

Gabriel snorted and shook his head in amusement. “You certainly haven’t forgotten that Heaven does not attach value to material objects?”

“Oh!” Aziraphale exclaimed in relief. Just a misunderstanding then? “It wouldn’t necessarily have to be material objects for everyone. I thought about blessings, about healings for the sick and hurting, giving the hungry something to eat… Or just little miracles like snow on Christmas. A white Christmas really makes humans so happy.”

“Good Lord,” said Michael, “you are slobbering over this.”

Aziraphale flinched. He threw Gabriel a nervous look, hoping for validation from him.

“Aziraphale, Aziraphale, Aziraphale. Haven’t 6000 years on Earth taught you anything? Happy humans are not necessarily devotional humans.”

“As we have highlighted in our final reports every century,” Michael added. “Statistics show that miserable humans in hopeless situations are more likely to turn to Heaven. How is that news to you?”

“I-I-I know that, of course. I-I just thought it would be nice to give them at least one good day a year. So they could be happy on Christmas even if their lives are otherwise miserable. They would be so thankful, I’m sure. Wouldn’t that secure souls for us, too?”

Gabriel sighed in exaggeration. “Enough of that. You should pay more attention to your routine business instead of this wool-gathering. I hear the demon Crowley has trapped you in London in an infernal ring of fire.”

That was wild. “Er…” Aziraphale did not know how to react to that because he did not want to get Crowley into trouble. That idea must have come from one of Crowley’s embellished reports to Hell (because Aziraphale was fairly certain that he was not trapped in an infernal ring of fire…although he had not left London for quite some time). He should have warned me about that, Aziraphale thought, mildly put off because it presented him as an incompetent angel once more.

“Do you need assistance?” Gabriel asked. He sounded almost worried.

Well, better make the best of it. “Thank you, but that won’t be necessary. I have already breached the ring of hellfire. You see, over the millennia I have become quite experienced in thwarting the demon’s wiles.” See? He was not completely useless.

“That’s good to hear.”

Then Aziraphale had a sudden flash of insight: It would not be so horrible if Crowley had really trapped him in a ring of hellfire in London. In fact, it would be very convenient this weekend because Heaven had ordered him to go to Manchester of all places to bless the launch ceremony of a little church, and the weather forecast looked grim and he really would have preferred to go to the Royal Opera House to see Hansel and Gretel. It was one of his favourite operas and the new production had gotten favourable reviews. He cleared his throat. “However, I’m still busy with extinguishing fires around London. So… I might not be able to make it to Manchester this weekend.”

“Oh, no worries there. I myself will deal with the Manchester business,” Gabriel promised. “You stay in London and focus on that hellfire.”

“Oh, thank you. That’s very gracious of you.”

“Well, it’s what we do, isn’t it?”

***

Now Aziraphale had the weekend off but he was still not over the archangels’ patronising behaviour.

“And then I suggested we – that is, all the angels – could make a collective miracle on Christmas,” he told Crowley when they had lunch in a new Korean restaurant. He needed to get a few things off his chest before he could fully enjoy his delicious starter. “How does the saying go? Peace on earth for everyone et cetera. You know how the humans have invented so many lovely Christmas traditions to spread joy but there are still so many people who are ill or hungry or poor or homeless or just don’t get any presents and feel lonely. So I thought if all the angels put in an effort we could make Christmas a happy event for everyone. A bit like those human fund-raising galas.”

Crowley gaped at him. “You – you suggested that to the archangels?”

“Yes, and can you imagine how they reacted?”

Crowley snorted. “So you – you practically proposed they should dress up as Santa and come to earth to, ha, spread festive joy?” He snorted again and then – he laughed. “Ooooh, I wish I could’ve seen their faces! Bet they loved it!”

Aziraphale huffed and put down his napkin, trying very hard not to let it show how Crowley’s reaction hurt him. “Excuse me,” he said primly, “I need to go to the restrooms.”

Crowley raised his brows because there really was no reason for a supernatural being to go to the toilet. And Aziraphale did not know what to do once he was there. He adjusted his bowtie, washed his hands and miracled away a rude doodle from a tile. He felt stupid and a little betrayed because he had thought Crowley was the only supernatural being to understand. But he had laughed at him, too. Why was it so ridiculous to want to give a bit of kindness once a year? It made Aziraphale angry and so he reached a vicious decision: He would spread joy on Christmas, no matter what the archangels or Crowley thought. Let them laugh!

When he returned to their table, their main dishes had been served but he was not hungry anymore.

“You alright?” Crowley asked without looking at him.

“I’m perfect, thank you,” Aziraphale said icily.

“Is your food not good? You can have mine, I’m not really hungry anyway.” Crowley pushed his dish towards Aziraphale.

“I’m not hungry either.” Aziraphale pushed the dish back.

“Right. How about a digestif?”

“No, thank you. I have work to do, seeing as I will have to do the seasonal blessings all on my own and with the job in Manchester… oh, and apparently I’m trapped in an infernal ring of fire, so I’ll have to sort that out, too.”

Crowley stared at him. “What? How – who?”

“Oh? Isn’t that what you told Hell you’d achieved?”

“Of course it wasn’t me, what do you take me for?”

“But you told them.”

“No! Aziraphale, whoever did this – I had no idea. This is – shit. They must’ve… fuck.” Crowley put a black credit card on the table and stood up abruptly. “I’ll deal with this. You stay away. Okay? You just go back to the – no, you better stay here or…” He frantically looked around, visibly shaken.

“Crowley, stop.” Aziraphale put a hand on Crowley’s arm to make him calm down. All his anger had evaporated. “There is no ring of hellfire. Well, at least I’m fairly certain there isn’t.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I mean, I can’t be entirely sure but to me it just sounded like the archangels had, as usually, no idea what was going on.”

Crowley took a calming breath. “I hope you’re right. But I’m going to check anyway.”

“Be careful, please.”

“You know me, angel, I’m always careful,” said the demon who had once walked into a church and directed bombs onto it.

***

There was no ring of hellfire. A misunderstanding, as Crowley found out once he contacted Hell to make an enquiry. Apparently, the demons had not fully grasped yet how the M25 worked.

“I have no idea how that bit of information got to Heaven,” Crowley said, “but luckily you can rely on angels being daft idiots.”

Ah, yes. There it was again. Crowley had always made it clear that he thought angels spineless, empty-headed creatures. And he had laughed at Aziraphale’s plan like the archangels had done, too. A plan even too stupid for the daft idiot archangels.

“Don’t look like that,” Crowley said. “I obviously didn’t mean you.”

Aziraphale sniffed. “Well. You obviously thought my… Christmas plan was stupid.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to. You laughed.”

“Oh, come on. I wasn’t laughing at you. It was just that it was so funny to imagine the reaction of the other angels.”

“They thought it funny, too.”

“You can’t have seriously thought they would ever…” Crowley grimaced. “You did.”

“Why is it so ridiculous to expect angels to do good?” Aziraphale said in a huff.

“Because they aren’t…they aren’t good, not like you. Come on, Aziraphale, you said it yourself: They have no idea what’s going on on Earth. Why do you listen to them?”

“Just so you know, I will spread as much joy on Christmas as is in my power. And don’t even try to thwart me.”

Crowley grinned. “Wouldn’t dream of it. You defying the archangels – that’s pretty badass.”

“They didn’t exactly forbid it.” Aziraphale considered. He was not stupid. He knew Crowley was making fun of him – not in a condescending way now, more in their usual needling each other. He also knew that Crowley still felt at least slightly remorseful. If he played his cards right… “Anyway, you could help me. Seeing as it’s something the archangels don’t exactly approve, it’s only proper for a demon to participate. Who knows, it could get you another commendation from Hell. Maybe this time even for something you actually did do.”

Crowley muttered something to himself and rolled his eyes and grimaced and then said: “Just for the record, I know what you’re trying to do here, angel – tempting me to do good deeds.”

Aziraphale tried to suppress his grin. He almost had him. It always thrilled him to tempt Crowley to be nice. “I’m sure we could work some more demonic elements in. Let’s say, I take care of getting some presents for humans who can’t afford it, and then you can wrap the presents with tons of sticky tape and tie the bows very firmly and with several knots so they will be so annoyed when they try to unwrap the presents.”

Crowley grinned toothily back. “Let’s make a deal. We do your evil Christmas plan on Friday and on Saturday we go to the cinema to watch the new James Bond film.”

“Hm.” Aziraphale could not really see what Crowley liked so much about that James Bond fellow but he would endure it for the sake of, well – the greater good or evil or whatever. For a happy human Christmas. “We can go to the cinema on Sunday. I wanted to see Hansel and Gretel at the Royal Opera House on Saturday.”

Crowley shrugged. “Fine with me. But weren’t you meant to be in Manchester on Sunday?”

“Gabriel will do that one.”

“Really? Gabriel wants to go to Manchester?”

“He, er, might be under the impression that I am busy extinguishing infernal fires in London.”

“You – what! You didn’t – you can’t – holy shit. You just sent Gabriel to do your tedious work so you could, what, enjoy a weekend off in London?”

“He offered. And I really wanted to see the premiere.”

“You are such a bastard,” Crowley said in delight.

Aziraphale knew he meant it as a compliment, but still, an angel should not strive to be called a bastard. “There’s really no need to insult me.”

Crowley snickered. “I can’t believe you did that! Ha, can you imagine Gabriel doing the shitty work in Manchester while…”

Just for the record, Aziraphale really tried to suppress his giggles but Crowley’s laughter was just too infectious.

[scrapyardboyfriends]

Jenny’s Belated Live Blogging - 31st July 2019

- so...was that that audition scene for Amy that we finally got tonight? Interesting. I still couldn’t care less about this story right now though. My feelings about everything non Robert are very skewed right now. 

- Also...Frank. I don’t really care about what he’s planning but I hope it’s something mildly worth all of the weird secrecy he’s got going on. And sorry you’re gonna die tomorrow. 

- I did kind of enjoy the dampened excitement of Bernice/Liam and Nicola though. Especially Nicola pulling the balloon down. 

- But anyway...Robert. So...I didn’t like hate today or anything. It was fine. But what I really really needed from this episode, was an actual Robron scene. If this really is the beginning of the end and it seems that way, then I needed that scene. I needed to see what Robert’s true mental state was. I needed to see it acknowledged what really happened and for them to talk about it and what it might mean. I know we might get it later, but I really feel like it should have been today. 

- I also wonder how long they’re going to drag all of this out with Lee being in a coma. I guess that might mean that Vic drags her heals on going to Cornwall until they know what’s going to happen?? Maybe? Because she obviously isn’t actually moving. I mean I know we have that August 20th embargo date, so I guess Lee could wake up the week after that or something. But then there’s still the matter of dragging this out till the ‘end of the year’ which I believe that can do. We’ve seen them drag stories out forever. I don’t know. We’ll see. 

- I do kind of like having everyone just know about it though. Even though I also hate it all. I hate seeing Robert look this scared. 

- I did like the Aaron/Vic scene though. I liked that he noticed her going and went after her and back when all of this first started, I did always hope that they would talk about their similar experiences since they had them. Of course, I never thought it would be for this reason but it was a good scene. 

- I have no idea how they get back to surrogacy now but I feel like they’re just going to sort of go down the ‘Robert is in denial about the severity of this or at least trying to convince himself it’s going to be fine and pushing through the fear’ route. It seems in character but that makes me feel like that Robron scene I wanted today is even further away from actually happening. Perhaps we’ll get a version of it when he’s trying to convince Aaron to get back to the surrogacy stuff. Maybe they’re setting it up so that Robert is trying to get his whole life in order and have this baby so that Aaron will have something to focus on if he does get sent down for this and then they’ll use that for him to give Aaron a reason to not follow him if he does go on the run. Either way, I’m surprised they actually brought the Natalie actress back and makes me wonder if they will go through with the surrogacy plans just to facilitate future stories. We shall see. 

[rkheejin]

‧ ₊ ˚ ♡ MGA SEASON FIVE, EPISODE SIX— THE GROUP PERFORMANCES!

           •  •  •  vixx’ shangri la  ❪ 1:15 — 5:05! ❫                      w. kyungsoo, hyojin, suwoong & eric

     on her lips sits a beaming smile of triumph, satisfaction radiating outwards, and finally, she can allow herself a moment of peace. it feels far better than she'd originally thought it would, hearing her name among those considered the best for the second time that season, and she's elated ( she knew, oh she knew, that this performance would have been her best chance at making it back to the top— sure, they hadn't taken first, but they had gotten damn close. heejin could live with that for now ).

     even if she wasn't number one, she'd still been recognized— despite her shortcomings, despite the obvious weak link she was sure she proved to be in terms of certain skills when compared to kyulkyung and minho, she'd still managed to shine and show off her very best. heejin could never admit her true thoughts, too fearful of vulnerability amongst those she still needed proper time and a more relaxed setting to grow closer with, but she'd been worried.

     the thought of having to rely on her teammates to the possible point of them almost needing to carry her along as a way of compensating for her weakness' had plagued her all throughout the week. it had been a strong motivator for her as well, however, especially with the chance of her solely being eliminated if she couldn't match up to them and help keep them steadily afloat amongst the others— so, heejin had wanted to improve, had wanted to get better, and she had done just that with agreeable success.

     yet, despite being safe for another week, eliminations still manage to make her heart stop with full force and disbelief.

     she’s still proud, her body buzzing with unending excitement, but it no longer reaches her eyes the same way it had only a few short moments ago. what does reach her eyes, however, is the brunettes frame as she's made to leave. heejin doesn't even try to hide the obvious frown that pulls at her lips, brows furrowing in her own dejection— things seem to shatter then; wishful, rosy visions of her and jungeun continuing on in this journey together, succeeding together, advancing towards their dreams together just as they'd promised each other they would before all of this started.

    now, it's just her.

     she's lightheaded— it's an odd sensation, to cruise almost seamlessly on such a desperately craved high, but to still taste nothing but bitter disappointment.

     it's hard to focus after that, ears still ringing as her emotions fight for dominance, and it's all heejin can do to keep her features from conveying anything too telling anymore.

                                                                      ♡

     with her emotions already proving to be mildly unstable, her heart still throbbing from both eliminations as well as events in her personal life, now beautifully stained in vibrant violet hues, heejin has no idea what she should expect when her first day of proper practice with her new group for the week rolls around. introductions had gone as smoothly as any, dynamics presenting themselves almost immediately, and despite the unknown, heejin is given at least some insight from the very start— coach cheri was as sweet as her name, coach ella was not one to play games with, and coach wonwoo proved to be far softer than his piercing eyes probably led others to believe.

     it interests her greatly, especially once all eight of them are together and ready to get down to business. that interest, however, slowly dissolves into thinly veiled annoyance as days pass, and it's all she can do to keep herself from raising her voice in front of greedy cameras and impressionable seniors.

     heejin wants to succeed, wants to make sure she only gives her best— that had become her goal from the very moment she had learned who her coaches would be ( who her teammates would be ). they were a mixed bunch, more balanced in some areas and greatly skewed in others, but that was the least of heejins worries— she’s done this before; she’s worked with those different from her, managing to put on performances that succeeded despite these differences.

     but now, surrounded by four men as the only female contestant on her team, the determination to make herself stand out and to not let herself be overshadowed by those bigger than her ( physically speaking, of course ) had taken root in her mind strongly. she understood the risks someone in her position posed— not being able to hold her own, not being able to stand out properly, not being able to showcase the same amount of charisma as the boys on her team.

     she wasn't blind. she knew there were so many out there who still failed to see a girl's strengths when surrounded by boys doing exactly the same thing.

     heejin wouldn't let herself be seen as weak, not by anyone— not when labels like could hurt her standing in the long run.

     she needed to focus— doing so was easier said than done.

     the first real sign she picks up on comes during part distributions once they've all agreed on a song, and heejin is more than happy in how she excels the most vocally amongst them all. deciding her parts comes easily, her naturally higher tone and timbre slotting almost perfectly with every line she tests out, and for just a second, heejin believes the unanswered tension she can hazily feel in the air is simply there because they're all mostly still so fresh to one another— wanting to tread lightly when it comes to newly met people was only natural, after all, even when it came to people as friendly and outgoing as suwoong seemed to be.

     her gaze finds suwoongs frame the moment he voices himself, eyes darting back and forth between him and kyungsoo as her lips remain sealed. she doesn't move from her spot before the practice mirrors where she'd started trying to fine-tune certain points of their choreography, phone in hand as the recording they had taken of them dancing silently plays on. his voice rings so clear in the quiet of the room— can i try this part, too?

     it's rare that she ever finds herself witnessing squabbles like this, and it's in the way she sees kyungsoo stand his ground, the way suwoong doesn't falter in his challenge, that heejin thinks she finally understands why the air seems thicker than it really should be.

     personal attachments and grudges were a tricky thing— they were the main reason heejin didn't feel the want to get too close to anyone during the duration of the competition, people like jungeun, yuri and kyulkyung being those among the exceptions. she hadn't come here to make friends; heejin came here to compete, to show her talents and move on to the next stage in her life. there was no time to dwell on personal feelings, not when practice and performing required as much energy and attention as possible.

     maybe, had she met certain people in a different setting, she'd have felt more interest in making proper friends— but that wasn't the case here.

     she remains silent as their little debate comes to an end not too long after, trial and error settling them right back where they’d been. in her mind, there was no use in coming between others arguments, not when she wasn't needed ( not when this wasn't about her ). heejin already had more than enough to worry about— if her teammates could solve whatever issues they had between one another amongst themselves at some point, she felt no need to stress over them. for now, she needed to worry about herself.

     unlike last week, every group would be down a member once eliminations were over. there were no longer any safety nets, no cushions to relax on regardless of how outstanding your team was. one of them would be gone come thursday, whether they felt it justified or not.

     yet, it seems distraction after distraction is all she gets the longer they practice. granted, not everything dissolves into ruin, their general teamwork skill fairing well at certain points of the day. no one explodes, causes disruptions, or sours the mood more than it'd already been earlier.

     the first time suwoong hits her with his fan, however, fingers unable to get a proper grip before it delivers an audible whap to the back of her head, heejin wants nothing more than to yell at him ( had this been the only incident that day, had she not already been a little tired from how hard they'd all already been working in order to perfect what they could, maybe she'd have been more lenient and not so ready to explode, but it's not— no, she feels he'd done his best to disrupt her multiple times already, bumping into her a tad too harshly from time to time in the groups efforts to get their movements more in sync ).

     she does well to keep it together, however, the only tell of her feelings being an annoyed quirk of her brow, lips forming a tight line, a sigh leaving her silently to let out built-up steam. she stares at him for a moment, gaze hard as she gives a small shake of her head, and his apology falls on somewhat deaf ears— she doesn't want to hear it, not now. "it's fine, let's just keep going."

     she has to save some sort of face in front of them all, has to show, while she's not one to push around, she can be civil when the situation calls for it.

     it surprises her, however, when suwoon extends an invitation out to her to join him and eric during a very much needed lunch break the next day. her mind is still reeling from the events that'd taken place not even a moment before— the tension in the room coming to a head, exploding in an outburst between kyungsoo and wusoong, and heejin can't help the way she visibly flinches as the former bursts out of the room, his fan hitting the practice rooms floor with a thud. maybe it's the shock of it all that prompts her to accept despite her own personal feelings, wanting nothing more than to get out of a room sophisticating with negativity.

     for the most part, she remains quiet as the others reveal their own feelings about things within the group, but it comes out of nowhere— she'd wanted to leave it be, keep herself silent until all was said and done, mainly for the sake of making it through the week without causing even more distracting rifts between them all. but she can't.

     she's gone too long holding her tongue, with keeping herself silent where she'd normally be so outspoken and ready to let her thoughts known. it makes sense, she thinks, that at some point, her exterior would chip. so, as she voices her own annoyances to suwoong, tone curt brows furrowed as her gaze stays locked on him, it feels as if some kind of weight has been lifted from her shoulders. it's an unfamiliar feeling, but then again, letting everything go after bottling it all up is something heejin has never done before.

     she hopes she never has to do it again.

     her confessions help some, but there's still something in her that wants to stay annoyed— call her petty, childish for holding into to things that very well might not be there, but her own assumptions and drive to prove someone ( anyone ) wrong won't let her calm down completely. at least she's given an apology.

     with monday comes mild fatigue— both mentally and physically, the worst she thinks she's felt yet during the competition ( more so than last week, when her emotions had been in an all-time confusion ). it's a lot to keep her gaze forward and mind focused when it seems there's always something causing a distraction, her body finally succumbing to slight soreness with how dance-heavy their routine is for her. heejin has always been a singer, has always put her time and attention towards strengthening her vocals over everything else, so she'd been well aware that being thrown into such dance-heavy routine requirements for two weeks in a row would take a toll on her body at some point.

     it's as she giving her body the proper stretches it needs before they all officially begin with more practice, face bare for the first time in front of them all ( unlike the last few days where she'd decided to do light makeup ), that suwoong and kyungsoo bring them all together. she wants to hate how nice the former is to her now, holding out the donut box they'd brought for the group as a final way of hoping to quell any lingering negative thoughts, but even with how stubborn she is, heejin knows better— she understands what this is, a silent peace offering.

     heejin swallows her pride, a small half grin making its way onto her lips as she reaches in for the first pick. "thank you." we're ok.

     with one final heart to heart, all five of them present and willing to speak for the sake of bettering morale and motivation, that day proves to be one of the easiest to breathe she's had since they came together. it's refreshing, ending things off on a higher note as they finally break and begin to practice.

     dancing still proves to be her vice, but there is undeniable improvement in her movements, heejins will to work harder and clean up anything pointed out as lacking or messy at its highest— with everyone now relatively on the same page, it's easier to out her focus on improvement, and as their final few days pass, she's happy with what she's able to showcase. she no longer has to hope for her vocals to boost her standing when paired alongside her dancing, more confident pulling off a routine as elegant and unified as theirs is ( even with the changes that'd been made to make it a bit easier to follow ).

     the day before filming, fans in hand with varying enthusiasm from each of them, fans are gifted to the three of their coaches— the serve as thanks for the time spared working with them, messages written as a way of immortalizing their gratitude. while the week may have been a trying one a good chunk of the time, with things ending on a higher note before the big day, heejin feels good.

     now, they just had to perform.

                                                                      ♡

     everything feels so different, contestants sat backstage, rather than in front of the stage alongside the judges. it's an unfamiliar feeling so heejin, staff members working around them all as last-minute preparations are done here and there before filming officially begins. she's not sure what's got her skin buzzing with electricity more— the bigger stage, the potential usage of more intense props in the hopes of making stages pop, or the crowd of 1500 people who would be watching them all live as opposed to relative silence and smaller numbers they'd all come to know once filming began.

     whatever it is, heejin wants more.

     eyes bouncing from face to face as everyone settles down to begin, a brief sense of melancholy washes over her— it's still so odd to her, jungeun nowhere in sight when she should have been there ( at least, heejin believed she should be there ). it still saddened her knowing that her best friends run had been cut right before the beginning of the end, but it was a reality she'd been forced to accept during the week between episodes.

     she'd come to terms with it in a way, as unfair as she wholeheartedly believed it to be, and strengthened her resolve— she would continue on and succeed for the both of them, and when the time came, they'd meet one another on the same field once more.

     as performances start, it's easy for her to let her mind wander for a moment, offering a brief moment of peace to steel herself and prepare her mind. vaguely, with her eyes stuck to the screen showing what the others are performing, she lets herself nod along to song choices and analyze. then, as if no time at all had passed, it's finally their turn to perform.

     stood before the judges and live audience, heejin is sure to keep her head high, a confident grin on her lips as she holds her fan loosely. with a cue from suwoong, they sound off their unified introduction before individual ones are given. when it's time for heejin to give hers. "i'm jeon heejin, youths over flowers' gladiolus. like a sword, the very thing this delicate flower is named after, i'll make sure my passion pierces your heart." for the dramatic flair, she opens her fan adorned with the pattern of the very same flower as if it's second nature, raising it slightly to cover the lower half of her face, letting only her eyes and the bridge of her nose show as she bats her lashes prettily.

     as suwoong ends off their introductions with his own ( heejin can't help the way her eyes roll playfully, suppressing a grin ), they're quick to find their positions, fog rolling at their feet, and suddenly, the playful mood they'd originally brought to the stage is gone in favor of something more somber with the dimming of the lights, intense and alluring.

     heejin no longer smiles, her features instead schooled into something more along the lines of captivating, eyes dark to match the mood as the instrumentals begin, the flick of her wrist down with a certain grace, one she'd been sure to perfect as best as possible over the last week. they had to do this right, in sync with one another in order to achieve the polished effect it was meant to give off as if they were all single parts that made up a whole.

     moving positions as starts off the song, the lights becoming brighter once again, heejin makes sure to focus on the sharpness of her movements while also trying to keep a certain fluidity to her body— it's an odd balance to try and find right from the start, but she does her best, sinking to her knees along with the others slowly as suwoong is revealed and sings his own line.

     coming to the center, heejin commands her own attention, vocals smooth, warmth present as she starts the second half of the verse and delivers her lines with tempting charisma. her gaze is intense, holding focus from those watching her. she's glad her portion for this part of the dance isn't too distracting or overbearing on her body, allowing for her to perform it well while keeping her voice steady.

난 네게 취해 아득한 향기에 기대

     she's swift in her change of positions as suwoong comes to the center once more, moving back to where he'd previously been standing before making his way back to the front. her features stay consistent, this brief time of being hidden as they all form a line as suwoong and eric do their parts for the bridge letting heejin put a little more focus on keeping her moves as in sync as she can. arm fanning out as it should, the line eventually parting as the two move off to the side, heejin comes forward with an air of mystery and longing.

모든 숨소리가 너인 것만 같아

     as she finishes the pre-chorus, moving back into position with the rest of the group, the chorus begins, hyojins vocals taking control as they all dance in sync. when practicing, there had been no questioning heejins trouble with making sure she did the moves correctly, even once certain moves that had proved to be a bit too difficult had been changed in favor of something easier. while rhythm wasn't the issue, it was more of making sure they all timed their movements correctly. there was also the matter of making sure she looked strong, charismatic, as she moved her body, letting herself follow the beat well as the others did the same.

     moving forward for the second half of the chorus, she does so with intent, gaze dead center. she moves gracefully, certain points allowing her to do so, and her voice is strong as she delivers.

난 취해 좀 더 취해 이 꿈속에 빠져들고 싶어 넌 다가와서 내게만 스며들어

     the next time heejin is meant to sing wouldn't be showing up for a bit, and so, she chooses to do all she can when it comes to her facial expressions and dancing. with no longer needing to focus on making sure her voice sounds as good as always, she's free to move with a certain edge, and she's able to look out amongst the crowd and judges every now and then. whenever she does, she's sure her eyes a half-lidded, lips never wavering from their neutral position ( though, sometimes, she does let a sliver of a smirk cross her lips ), long hair adding to the illusion whenever it happened to fall over her face perfectly.

     it'd act like a curtain, and once the chorus arrives again and she steps forward to take over the second part to it, she runs her fingers through her hair with her free hand slowly, freeing her features and adding to her own appeal.

난 취해 좀 더 취해 이 꿈속에 빠져들고 싶어 넌 다가와서 내게만 스며들어

     as she finishes and the others take on their parts, it all comes back down to focus— making sure every step she takes is one without hesitation, making sure the aura she bleeds is one that fits the tone of the song, making sure that, even when she isn't in the center, she still demands some form of attention by the look in her eyes. it's all simply a buildup, unknown to the audience, and with each line sung, each part of the choreography taken care of, everything changes as the lights dim once more, just as they had been for the start of their performance. this time, however, unlike how tame everything had been, this dance break holds more power in it, demanding precision heejin normally wouldn't care to give.

     now, however, she performs it with great attention and vigor, hoping to capture it's beauty and intensity the best that she can.

     she can feel her heart racing, breaths labored, but she does her best to keep herself from letting them out through the mic. instead, as they finish the break and the lights flicker back to normal, she takes a deep breath during their brief moment of rest before she belts out a high note, layering over eric as he begins the first part of the final chorus. then, she steps in to deliver her last vocal lines.

가까워지는 넌 다시 또 마음에 피어나잖아

     as their performance comes to a close, the chorus ending and all of them striking their ending pose, their fans all flick in unison as the lights dim for a final time, marking the end of their time on stage. heejin takes a moment, letting herself catch her breath before she shows her face fully once more, a smile growing on her lips. as they give bows all around and are ushered off of the stage, she lets out one last sigh.

     all there was left to do now was wait for their verdict.