#(It feels wrong to not refer to the doctor by their number but I do so under protest as I still maintain he should be fourteen not fifteen)

[ysaona]

— Act 2, s2, arcane spoilers.

First of all WHAT THE FUCK! Isha dying was a cannon event; I’m not even going to lie, but her using three of the gems like Jinx did crushed me. Even when Jinx said, “You know, you remind me of her in some way,” referring to Isha reminding Jinx of her old self, Powder. All I could think about was Isha thinking in her head, maybe even saying in her head, “I can help them!” just like Powder did in Season 1, Act 1, Episode 3. When it came to trying to save them in the end of Act Two.

Also, rip our glorious god Viktor. I don’t think he’s dead if I’m being honest. I think the doctor is gonna be doing a number on him to bring him back.

I just can’t believe how overall perfect it was with Jinx being able to stand next to Caitlyn without Caitlyn wanting to rip that laughter out of her throat lol. I had a personal theory that Caitlyn would see all the havoc being caused and, even through all the grief she was going through, she’d turn against her people and find her way back to Vi, and I was right! (In a way.) I’m so happy. At first, I thought all second act that CaitVi was not gonna be canon, but BOY was I wrong! I just know they’re having rough Sesbian lex at the end of Act Three.

I’m very nervous to see how Jinx will be, especially if Isha does die, which seems like she does. How grief will play a role in her character development. It would genuinely be for the worst. Knowing that Jinx said having Isha was like wearing glasses, and she loved and cared for her no matter what, but you could tell they were doomed from the start. Isha fell in love with how Jinx was a symbol of Zaun and how she was looked at as a hero. That’s why Isha wanted to be like Jinx so badly and looked up to Jinx.

ALSO WHERE IS MY MOMMY SEVIKA AUGHHH I MISS HER COME HOME SHE HAD LIKE NO SCREEN TIME ):

Okay, sorry how this is all over, lol. Feelings are new; I literally just finished watching it, guys. 😓 Okay, love you all so much, bye! Also, thank you all for 942 followers. I can’t believe you guys ACTUALLY LISTEN TO ME, LOL. BYE, BABIES!!!

[sarahwatchesthings]

Where there's life, there's hope.

Where there's tears, there's hope.

Where there's risk, there's hope.

Where there's snow, there's hope.

There's hope everywhere except where there are talking space babies.

[davidtennantgenderenvy]

On David Tennant and Aging

So, I’ve seen a lot of posts in response to Tumblr users’ habit of affectionately calling their favorite middle aged dudes “old men”, David Tennant in particular, saying things like “clearly you’ve never met an actual old person”, “omg you talk about these guys like they’re 80”, “please be normal about people aging”, etc. And on one hand, all of these statements are objectively right and true! But as someone who’s always been really fascinated by and found a lot of beauty in getting older (which I’ve explored in some of my writing on A03 because nobody else is going to do it for me), I’d like to provide a bit more nuance on how I think this label applies to David in particular.

David, obviously, in literal terms, is not “old”, at least not to me- I don’t personally consider people old until they get past 60. 52 is middle aged, simple as that. And yet, when I see David stuck with the “old man” label, it still somehow feels weirdly right, for a number of reasons.

It annoys me so much when people say David “hasn’t aged a day since Doctor Who”, because, well…

He clearly has. A lot. He’s got forehead creases, deep crows’ feet and eyebags, and I think that post-Fourteen we’re gonna see him rocking the grey temples a LOT more. He also has the voice of an older man now, his upper range is still there but the default is much more deep and rich, with a gravelly, rumbling quality that just goes straight through you. I personally think Broadchurch was when David finally started to embrace looking his age- Alec Hardy just wouldn’t have been served by Ten’s fresh-faced boyishness.

Obviously, these are the kinds of changes you’d expect any 52-year-old man to have, but something about David just makes it all seem a bit more… intense? The expressiveness of his face combined with his almost gaunt frame makes his wrinkles very prominent, and when he works his voice to its emotional extremes, his lower register can sound positively ancient, to devastating effect.

David, I think, is someone with an old soul- I don’t think he could be as good as he is at playing ancient characters like Crowley and The Doctor if he weren’t. He has lived so many lives, given so much of himself to so many characters, often incredibly tragic ones, and I think it wears on him. David also has five kids. FIVE. Do you know how exhausting it is to be one of the hardest working actors alive and be a present, loving father to even ONE child? But David somehow does it anyway! Nowadays I see him and my heart breaks because he looks so tired, so weary and fragile. But he’s all the more beautiful for it to me because I know that that is because he is kind. He’s a deeply empathetic person who feels and lives to the absolute fullest, and that story is written so clearly on his face, along with every other story he has ever been a part of.

There’s other things about David that make the label endearingly fitting- his utter hopelessness when it comes to technology, for instance. And he’s just got that warm, wise, grandpa energy too sometimes- look at that above Fourteen picture and tell me I’m wrong!

I once showed my friend who’d only seen David in Doctor Who and Harry Potter a picture of David from Around The World in 80 Days. It was a particularly emotional scene, and his face had just the most beautiful expression of compassion and sadness, every wrinkle on full display. And she said, in a less than complimentary fashion, “he looks so old!” Which, of course, offended me quite a bit at first. But to me, referring to David as old almost feels like a badge of honor, something he’s earned by living fully and selflessly, working hard and being wise and compassionate beyond his years. I think David himself is secretly more than a little insecure about the fact that he’s getting older. There’s sadness behind every jovially self-depreciating remark he’s made about his age in the past year, particularly in comparing himself to Ncuti Gatwa. I know how much David struggles with his impostor syndrome and how people perceive him, and I can clearly see in his eyes the fear of being discarded, the anxiety he feels about if he’ll still be as loved as he was back in 2007 now that he’s closer in age to King Lear than he is to Romeo. So I hope David knows it’s a privilege to watch him grow older, to watch his soul and talents deepen with the crinkles around his eyes. If I, in my silly goofy tumblr girl-ness, call David Tennant an old man, it’s because it’s a label that suits him beautifully- even if it isn’t TECHNICALLY an accurate one yet.

[creepycranberry]

Same people, Different circumstances

Eddie Munson x mom reader

Warnings: fluff, angst, not proofread

You sat in the dark, covering your ears in search for some reprieve from the wailing. You had been crying too, for hours it had been like this.

You felt guilty for just letting her cry but you were so exhausted. She had a fever, she spat out whatever medicine you tried to give her, you had the noise machine on, you shushed and hummed until your throat was dry but nothing worked.

She wouldn’t eat or sleep or stop crying and it was becoming too much for you alone.

You didn’t understand moments like this. You had done all of this alone. You found out you were pregnant in a rest stop bathroom alone, you had gone to doctors appointments alone, sat in the bathroom puking by yourself, you set up the nursery alone, you drove yourself to the hospital and gave birth alone, every single step of the way you’ve done this completely alone.

Aside from your landlord, an old Cuban lady who spoke with a thick accent and watched Winnie while you went to work.

But she was away visiting family this week, so you were utterly and completely alone.

You hadn’t meant to call him, you meant to call your upstairs neighbor to see if they had a thermometer because yours had crapped out when you needed it most. But instead when the ringing stopped it was his voice.

“Hello?” A deep groggy voice mumbles into the phone and you hiccup the sob you had been working on keeping down so your neighbor wouldn’t be too concerned, “hello?” He asked again, much more awake this time.

“Eddie I didn’t mean- I called the wrong number, just go back to sleep I didn’t mean-“

“Is everything alright sweetheart?”

He shouldn’t be so sweet to you.

Sure you ended things on good terms but this wasn’t anything he should be worried about.

“Yeah, yeah it’s fine.”

“Why are you crying?” He asks softly and you bite your lip to keep from crying more.

“She won’t take her medicine, and she won’t stop crying and I don’t know what to do.”

“Who? Teddy?” He asks, referring to the tabby cat that was likely hiding under your bed.

“No- no. Um, Winnie, my kid. She has a fever and I don’t have a thermometer and she won’t take her medicine and I called you accidentally.”

There’s rustling over the phone and the muffled sound of a girls voice. Dammit.

“Eddie if you’re busy-“

“No, I’m fine. I’ll be over soon,” the jingling sound of his belt rings over the phone, “you need me to grab anything from the store or do you want me to just come right over or..?”

“Eddie really you don’t have to-“

“I’ll grab some take out too, be there in a minute.” And then the phone clicks off.

You go back into the nursery where a still wailing Winnie is sat up in the middle of her crib, covered in puke.

You feel guilty for stepping out to make the call and you have to work to keep yourself calm as you go to the crib to pick her up, shushing and apologizing as you head towards the bathroom.

You go through the motions of giving her a bath despite her fussing.

Your thoughts drift to your embarrassment over calling Eddie. You didn’t even know how it happened, maybe you still had him on speed dial or something?

And explaining to him that you called him over your kid who he’s never met or heard of is in your top ten most awkward moments.

But for right now you need to focus on your daughter.

You wash the puke out of her hair and the little rolls of fat on her legs and the crack of her neck and you try to softly shush her.

Just as you’re drying her off there’s a knock at the front door. You essentially swaddle her in her towel as you go to get the front door.

Eddie is standing there with take out bags in one hand and a handful of random things in the other.

“Hey.” You haven’t seen him in about a year. You both promised to keep in touch but life got in the way.

“Hi.” He smiles sweetly and moves further into the apartment. He sets down the stuff in his hands and Winnie momentarily quiets down when she notices a new presence in the room, “hi Winnie,” Eddie coos, hand moving to smooth down her wet hair, “I’m Eddie.”

“You really didn’t have to come over here, Eddie. I meant to call my neighbor but I guess I forgot to take you off of the speed dial on my landline and-“

“Don’t worry about it. I told you I’m always here to help and I meant it.” He assures you, reaching out to the baby to see if she’d rather go to him, which to your surprise she does, “hey girlie.” He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a thermometer. He takes her temp and grimaces.

“I know you just sounded busy.” You shrug, heading over to the laundry basket on the couch to grab a onesie for her. You pluck a diaper off of the coffee table and much to Winnie’s chagrin you take her away from Eddie to change her diaper and dress her.

“I really wasn’t.”

“I’m not sure your date would agree.” You comment, velcroing the diaper closed.

“I didn’t realize you could hear her.” He mumbled, scratching the back of his neck.

You just shrug.

“Can you just hold her for a second while I change the sheets in her crib?”

Eddie nods, reaching out for the baby who has stopped wailing but is still fairly fussy.

You busy yourself with her sheets, grabbing the extras from her drawer and taking off the soiled ones. You try and breathe and not dwell on the oddity of the situation.

When you make it back out to the living room Eddie is attempting to feed Winnie a cracker.

“She’s too small for that, Eds.” You inform him and he jumps, holding the cracker away from the baby and taking a bite for himself to hide what he was doing.

“I-I know I was just-“

“Feeding her a cracker?” You smile and he begrudgingly nods.

“She just seems hungry.” He shrugs.

“She probably is but she won’t take a bottle. I’ve been trying on and off for hours.”

You lean your head onto your hands and close your eyes.

“Well how about you eat something and I’ll see if she’ll take a bottle from me?” Eddie suggests, propping the baby on his hip and heading for the bag of takeout on the coffee table.

“Good luck with that.” You mumble, rubbing your face to wake yourself up. Eddie heads for the pantry and pulls out the baby formula and a bottle. He makes a bottle with Winnie on his hip, humming a Bowie song to her as he shakes her bottle, “since when do you know how to make a bottle?”

“Steve and his girl had a baby a couple months ago, I’ll babysit every now and then when he needs me to.” Eddie shrugs, offering the bottle to Winnie who gives him and dirty look and shoves the bottle away, “well you gotta tell me what you want, girlie.” He tells her, and then the pouting starts. Her little bottom lip juts out and she looks at him like he just cut off her teddy bears head and he panics, holding her close and begging her not to cry, “come on, Winnie, don’t cry. If you cry your mom won’t ever let me come back and then I’ll cry and cry and cr-“

He smacks his head on the cabinet he opened but forgot to close and curses.

Winnie giggles and reaches up to where he hit his head and she pats it, a little harshly. Eddie frowns at her and then lightly pats her back on the forehead.

She laughs again and you smile, relieved after not hearing the sound for an entire day.

“You little sadist.” Eddie grumbles and walks her over to the couch, bottle still in hand. This time when he offers it to her she takes it, leaning onto his arm a bit more.

Eddie looks at you with a grin that never fails to make your stomach flip and you smile back.

“Your turn.” He nods to the take out and you groan.

“You didn’t need to bring food Eddie, the fact that you came here at all is enough.” You try and convince him but he isn’t having it.

“Well I’ve gotta make sure you eat too.” He shrugs and you sigh, opening the bag to find the logo of a Chinese place y’all used to order from all the time.

You frown slightly and Eddie panics a little, “did I get your order wrong? I could have sworn-“

“No. You got it exactly right.” You assure him, a tight smile gracing you features and Eddie shakes his head in confusion, setting Winnie’s bottle on the table and burping her.

“Then what’s wrong?”

“Nothing I just- it’s weird I guess.” You shrug, opening the takeout container and a plastic fork.

“What do you mean?”

“Just us. It’s just- we haven’t spoken in a year, I have a kid you found out about an hour ago and yet the second I call you you’re here, with food you know I love, my exact order, and you’re feeding and burping my baby and-“ and it should have been like this all along.

Eddies quiet for a moment, like he heard what you almost said and is trying to figure out how to react, “I mean circumstances are different but we’re still us. This is how things were before… us. If you need me I’m here and if I had called you before this you would have been there as well.” A pause, “right?”

“Of course.”

“So how did she happen by the way?” Eddie asks, changing the subject.

“Well you see, when a man and woman meet and have a few too many drinks almost every time they’re together-“

“Okay, okay, I get the picture.” Eddie grimaces and you lightly giggle, “is he around?”

“Not really. I told him and he asked me if I wanted him there and he was really practically a stranger and I asked if he wanted to be there and he answered honestly. And I told him that was fine. I don’t expect anything from him, he sends money every now and then but other than that she’s never met him.” You explain, lightly combing the babies hair with your fingers.

“Shitbag.” Eddie mumbles.

“He knew he wouldn’t be much of a father and he was honest about it. Would rather that than he feel obligated to stick around and make her life hell.” You shrug and Eddie nods.

“So you’ve done all of this alone?” Eddie asks and you nod.

“Pretty much.”

“That is so wildly unfair.”

You raise your eyebrows, a grin growing on your lips despite yourself, “It's nice to hear someone else say it.”

Eddie nods, standing up and cradling Winnie, bouncing her in his arms and pacing in an effort to get her to sleep.

“I really hoped she was yours at first.” You confess and Eddie's eyes widen, “don’t get too freaked out, I just knew that if she was yours I wouldn’t have to do it alone. And that maybe she could have some kind of dad figure.”

“That makes sense. We could pretend she was mine.” He smiles and you shake your head.

“Whatever, Munson.”

“No, I’m serious. It doesn’t have to be a big thing I’m just saying that like, if you need me to take her for a weekend I could take her for a weekend. And I could help when she starts school or when she’s sick. I can teach her to ride a bike and I can scare her first boyfriend and beat his ass if he hurts her and I could teach her how to check her oil and change her tires. And when she gets caught drinking I can pretend to be disappointed and help give her a really stern talking to.”

You laugh and nod, “maybe. I’m gonna let you think about what that kind of commitment would entail first though.”

Eddie smiles and looks down at a now sleeping Winnie, “she looks just like you.” You nod, “she’s got my eyes though.” He quips and you shake your head.

“Oh whatever.”

Eddie grins and you have to try your best not to feel that familiar ache in your bones.

He goes to the nursery and leaves you in the living room by yourself with your food. After a moment you hear the sound of a noise machine and the click of a door closing and then he’s back.

“You made that look so easy.” You grumble as he sits next to you.

“I’ve just got that fatherly touch, yknow?” You laugh again and he smiles. Not a grin, not a cheeky, mischievous smile. a content, comfortable smile that warms you in a way you’ve longed for since you broke up, “how’ve you been?”

You shrug, “I’ve been. If I keep moving I don’t have to think about how I am.”

“Are you happy?” Eddie asks, moving to face you so his knee is touching yours.

“Sometimes,” you shrug, “every now and then it gets stressful but a good day is a really good day.” Eddie nods, “what about you?”

He gets really quiet, “I’m not happy.”

Your face falls and you instinctively start repeatedly smoothing his hair behind his ear in the way you know comforts him, “what’s up, hon?”

“I just don’t have much anymore I guess.” He shrugs, “I don’t have much purpose.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It is what it is. I work and I try to meet new people but I just don’t feel like it’s worth it.” He explains.

“Why not?”

He’s quiet again, mulling over whether or not to give an honest answer, “because none of them are you.”

“Oh.”

“Don’t- don’t think too much about it, like don’t read into it too much I just- you’re fulfilling for me. You held on and you helped and you gave me this sense of purpose that I haven’t really been able to get since…”

You stay quiet and wait for him to finish what he was saying but he doesn’t.

“Do you wanna stay here tonight? I mean, just in case Winnie wakes up and would rather have you get her than me?”

Eddie just about melts. He rests his forehead on your shoulder and nods.

“Yeah. I mean, I wouldn’t want to disappoint Winnie.”

————————

Pt 2

[python333]

residual self-image — python³

― ― ― ―

synopsis residual self-image is the mental projection of your digital self; it refers to your own physical appearance that is understood by you, that is projected unto you by yourself. you see yourself as something to be ashamed of. price sees something different.

relationships platonic!captain price & gn!reader.

characters cap. price.

word count 7.6k

warnings anxiety/panic attack [not sure exactly how to classify it; i think it's more of an anxiety attack?], reader takes SSRIs [zoloft/sertraline], suicidal thoughts and almost-suicide attempt, reader is the most unreliable narrator known to mankind, second person pov [you/your/yourself], usage of [name], usage of [c/n] for call sign/code name, bad matrix references/spoilers for the matrix and the matrix: reloaded.

note please please PLEASE let me know if this comes off as me romanticizing having anxiety or taking antidepressants so that i can fix/rewrite it /srs i don't take any form of antidepressants or anxiety medication and i also am not diagnosed with either of those!! nothing i say is final!!! i do not have firsthand experience with what reader goes through in this fic!! sorry i disappeared for a second, have some food as an apology. again, feel free to correct me on anything you think is inaccurate and i will (most likely) change it!! also sorry for like 3k words of backstory oopsies

In The Matrix, Morpheus gives Neo two options: blue pill, or red pill?

He says that if Neo takes the blue pill, “the story ends, you wake up in your bed and believe whatever you want to believe”. But the second option, the red pill, if Neo takes that, he will “stay in wonderland and [he] show [Neo] how deep the rabbit hole goes”. Neo, of course, takes the red pill, and is shown the “real world”. 

Neo is thought to be “the One”. With the “O” in “One” being capitalized, so you know that it’s a pretty important title. 

In the end, Neo becomes confident in who he is and what he can do, and defeats the “Agents”. Trinity confesses her love to a “sleeping” Neo, their ship is getting attacked by whatever those weird fuckin’ creatures were called, and Neo defeats the last of the agents. The end. 

You take pills too. But yours are blue. They’re matte, powdery, baby-blue pills that are branded with the name “ZOLOFT”. It’s sertraline, to be specific, and you’ve been taking it for the past few months. You’re new to pills like these, ones meant to treat anxiety and depression and a number of other medical issues, so you didn’t know how much to take at first. You asked your doctor so many questions. You think about it often, and wonder if, even though it’s their job, that doctor had gotten annoyed at some point because of your inquiry. 

These pills do similar things to the ones in The Matrix, though. You take them, preferably at night, and wake up in your bed like you always do. You believe whatever you want to believe, and another chapter is closed at the end of every day, marking another page closer to the end of your story. 

Some days, the story feels like it’s going to end sooner than expected. 

A side effect of sertraline―or, well, Zoloft specifically―happens to be suicidal ideation. It’s not that common, not that talked about, and isn’t the most well-known. But then again, most mental disorder-treating medicines have some kind of side effect like that, and plenty of people take things like antidepressants without an issue―or so you thought―so surely you could deal with something as simple as sertraline, right?

Wrong. So, so, wrong. 

It’s probably really bad for a person who works in a military group to be dealing with such thoughts. You think about quitting sometimes, for the sake of the other people in the task force, because what could happen if the wrong straw breaks the wrong camel’s back while you’re doing an assignment? What if, caught in the crossfire between your team and your enemy, you say fuck it and decide that it’s all just too much? What are the odds of that happening? What are the odds of anything happening? What were the odds of the Earth being created, of the first animals evolving, of the first humans speaking the first languages? Statistics are so important, chance is so important, and odds determine everything. What are the odds of you deciding whether or not you have the will to live? The ability to keep going, to keep the routine you’ve always kept, to keep from taking one of those G19s from the armory and turning off the safety before pulling the trigger? To commit to such a permanent solution, one you’ve deemed as the “s-word”, because thinking about it sometimes is too much.

Or maybe it’d be a rope, your brain continues without your consent, A chain. Anything that will hold your body weight up enough for you to dangle from the fan on the ceiling―an image that makes you lean towards a chain, sickeningly enough, because of the idea of your abnormally stretched neck on display. The purple bruising that would appear, the indentations of each link, the smell of your blood and the metal of the chain unable to be told apart. Maybe your eyes would still be open, and it would look like you’re staring down at anyone who walks into your office. There’s so many possibilities. They add up, and create new odds, new chances. Every time you simply think, you are creating a new way to go about life, and that creation is sometimes stored so deeply in the back of your mind that it haunts you. It comes back around, becomes more common, the chances of it happening go up. 

Sometimes the odds feel like they aren’t in your favor at all. Sometimes you wonder how you could’ve ever thought that any part of the universe was against you. It’s not bipolar; it doesn’t come and go in extremes, it just comes and goes. The odds will lower in your favor some days, and you will deem those days “bad days”, and other days they will be so high you don’t even think about “good days” or “bad days”. But those other days are almost as bad as the “bad days”, because they go by so quickly. You take them for granted so easily, too easily, and they leak through the thin lines between your fingers, leaving you with nothing by the end of the day. 

Sometimes on “bad days”, your hands go from cupped to praying, and you will plead with yourself to just get better. You never do, on those days, and after taking your medicine you will go to sleep and believe that the next day will be better. Or, at least, convince yourself that the next day will be better. 

You would’ve understood if Neo took the blue pill. If he stayed in blissful ignorance, even after all of the weird shit that happened to him. If he continued to wake up every day in a “normal” world, to sell computer systems and hacking programs, to be anyone but “The One”. 

Because that’s what you do. You take your medicine, and go on with life as normally as possible, even with all of the things that you’ve been through. You wouldn’t want to be the one responsible for saving the world, or beating up robot-alien-things, or whatever. Just like how you don’t want to be held responsible for really just… taking care of yourself. 

Which you’re shit at, by the way, if that doesn’t make things worse. 

You take your sertraline and that’s about it. It’s not like it doesn’t work, it’s just underwhelming sometimes. Before you got on it, you would take more things to heart, think about things more, and were probably a little more prone to actually killing yourself. After starting to take it, it was admittedly pretty rough. It felt like your anxiety had increased a little, like your paranoia had only heightened, and everything felt so elevated. 

Then, maybe a few months after beginning to take it, everything dimmed out. Like one of those lightbulbs you can dim, everything gradually came back down, and even lowered to a more tolerable level. You were glad, at first, that you had endured those first few months the way that you did because you’re not sure you would’ve even been here to this day had you not. Reading several articles and Reddit posts about Zoloft definitely didn’t help, especially as someone who was taking it partially for anxiety, but still, you managed. 

And then you realized that just taking the medicine didn’t do as much as you hoped it would. 

It helps you deal with anxious and depressive thoughts, yes, but you still feel like something’s missing. That lightbulb in your mind has dimmed, but it’s only just enough light to see ahead of you. Before all of this, the light was bright enough to blind you, to make you see that dreadful stark-white that still sometimes haunts you―when it dimmed down to where it is now, it was obviously a relief, but you feel like now there’s not enough light. 

You understand the whole point of the medicine is to dim that light, to help bring down your mental state to a more “normal” one, but you think that even people who don’t have diagnosed mental disorders feel strong emotions like you used to. Maybe not as strong, but definitely something adjacent to it. You miss that, funnily enough―getting strong enough emotions. 

Right now, you’re sitting at your desk in your office, staring down at the plate of mashed potatoes in front of you. You get it almost every time it’s offered, and endure the teasing you get from your teammates, all for one purpose. 

To hide your pills in it.

Mashed potatoes are starchy, yes, but easy to swallow without chewing. They’re thick enough to help hide the feeling of the pill going down your throat, and don’t leave that weird aftertaste in your mouth that taking your medicine with water does. You tried taking the pills with water at first, like you would with any other medicine, but with this specifically you just can’t. It’s too easy to notice, they’re too big to just hide with water, and it feels like swallowing a rock every time you take them with water. 

So, mashed potatoes it is. 

The pill is already mixed into it. You had folded the small blue tablet into the mushed vegetable with a plastic fork, trying to keep it as hidden as possible, making sure no hints of blue bled through the beige-yellow of the potato.

You’re now watching the mashed potatoes, unblinking, as if it’s going to grow legs and run away from you. It’s never truly easy swallowing the medicine, even with the mashed potatoes coating it, but it’s usually easier than it is today. Then again, today was deemed a “bad day” the moment you woke up, so this was to be expected. 

You grab the white plastic fork after a brief moment of hesitation and pierce the food with it, hand trembling ever-so slightly as you do―not from anxiety, but from your lack of water intake―and pick up a clump of potato with little strength. The vegetable oddly weighs your hand down the tiniest bit more than usual, but you ignore this in favor of pushing yourself to just force the food into your mouth. You try your best not to chew, your jaw only really moving to chew the side of your cheek instead to satisfy your urges, and eventually manage to swallow the food. 

Right off the bat, you can tell the cluster you swallowed had the pill in it. Lucky me, you think almost bitterly, not sure whether you should be happy or uncomfortable, at least it’s over with. It’s not that it’s a bad thing that you got to the pill so quickly, but usually you’re able to get a few bites of medicine-less potato in before the actual medicine itself. Nonetheless, you scoop up another fork-full―fork-full?―of mashed potatoes and try to eat as much as you can to get rid of the weird feeling of having a pill going down your throat. 

Just the fleeting thought of having a pill that big going down your throat makes it feel like your esophagus is closing. You feel yourself grow closer to nausea at the feeling, setting down your fork and pushing the paper plate of your dinner aside, just to rest your elbow on the table and put your forehead in the palm of your head. It’s bad enough that you feel ashamed because of the fact you even have to take antidepressants, so it’s even worse that those same antidepressants are throwing bad side-effects at you. 

Ashamed because needing medicine to function the same way anyone else does feels so pathetic to you. Maybe it isn’t pathetic. Actually, you know it isn’t; you don’t look at other people who do the same thing and think that they should feel as ashamed as you do. But you still look at your bright orange prescription bottle, labeled with your legal name, and think that you shouldn’t need it. 

You think, for a moment, that it’s because of how much you’ve dehumanized yourself. 

Dehumanized is such an ugly word, and it leaves a strange bitterness in your mind after thinking about it, but deep down you feel that it’s true. You know that you’re human, obviously, because physically that’s what you are. You are, undeniably, a homo sapien―a person, a living being that is a bipedal primate mammal. You, in a less literal sense, have those same cords attached to you that Neo did when he first went to the “real world”. 

But you need those cords, you think, lifting your head so that your chin is resting in your palm instead of your forehead, you need to stay attached to the Matrix. 

Because you took the blue pill. You found a way to keep yourself attached to the Matrix, to keep yourself grounded to what you wish you could experience without them. And those cables weigh you down, and that pod you stay encased in limits your movement―sometimes you feel more like the pod than the person inside of it―but it all seems so worth it to you, doesn’t it? To keep believing what you want to believe, to wake up everyday and dose yourself with that fifty-milligrams worth of sertraline hidden under a pile of food, to eat that food and swallow that pill even though it makes you feel like a mutt? 

You take a shuddering breath in, your thoughts building up in volume and mass, more questions entering your mind too fast for you to process them all. You feel that familiar rush of adrenaline, the kind that triggers your ‘fight-or-flight’. It lights your nerves on fire and causes them to jump, to electrify, and you feel your fingers twitch with the feeling. It almost feels like there’s something crawling along your nerves, under your skin, and the thought almost triggers your gag reflex. Your eyelids flutter, barely shutting for just a moment before you force them open. Your gaze flits over to the still-mostly-full plate of mashed potatoes. 

You’re usually able to finish them, even on “bad days”. But today, with nausea swirling uncomfortably in your stomach, and a too-big pill going through the thin tubes inside your body, you find that it’s much harder to even think about picking that fork back up. You can almost feel your heart beating through your palm, that continuous th-thump, th-thump growing exponentially faster, and your palm getting sweatier by the second. You shift your feet and find that invisible needles are poking at the bottom of them, small pins that push and prod at your skin that leave a strange hot-cold feeling. It forces you to take the pressure off of your feet by holding them up ever-so slightly, the soles of your shoes just barely touching the ground. 

You swear your heart rate increases at all the different sensations lingering on your body. You can feel your breathing starting to pick up, and for God knows what reason, you suddenly find it difficult to keep your eyes locked onto one object. Your gaze dances around the room as a surge of chills runs up your spine. A trail of goosebumps rises after each wave of biting cold, passing over the bony projections of your dorsum. After having so many of them, you know instinctively the signs of an oncoming anxiety attack, and know how quick those symptoms escalate from simple shallow breaths to the inability to keep your breathing consistent at all. Yes, they develop slower than a panic attack does, but the gradient from fine to not-fine is hard to view as slow when there’s so many symptoms to keep track of.

At the thought of such a thing happening, your gaze instantly locks onto the prescription bottle sitting on your desk. It’s still uncapped―fortunate for you, because you’re seriously doubting your ability to uncap something with a child-proof cap on it right now―and in your eyes is practically glowing. It’s so tempting, because it’s just right there, so easily accessible, so easy to just grab and pour however many pills you need down your throat. The thought makes you realize how dry your mouth feels, how constricted your throat feels, but your mind is too filled with a flurry of incoherent thoughts to dwell on such feelings. 

With your free hand, you grab the uncapped bottle. It shakes with your hand, now more from your building anxiety than your dehydration, and makes the tablets inside rattle. You bring it to your lips, ignoring the chiding voice in the back of your mind telling you how disgusting it is to just put it on your mouth like that, and shake it just enough to get a single pill out of it. The dryness of the pill sticks to the wetness of your mouth, just below the border of your bottom lip. You set the bottle down and poke at the pill with the tip of your tongue, the weird vanilla-like taste of the medicine spreading across the muscle easily. 

Your mouth is dry, so you have to use the residual saliva sitting on your tongue to slick the pill up enough to go down somewhat-smoothly down your throat. It’s still rough, and some areas of the pill remain powdery, the feeling of it sliding down your throat enough to make you gag. For a brief moment, the action causes the pill to lodge in your throat―it’s not big enough to make you choke or anything, but it’s enough to make your heart beat faster and your hands grip onto the edge of your desk tightly. Your thumbs are tucked under the edge, the first knuckle at the tip of your finger bent and the flesh of the tips of your fingers turning lighter from the pressure. 

You cough once you feel the pill go down your esophagus entirely, and breathe raggedly afterwards. Deep down, you know that the medicine takes some time to work, and that if you gave it a little longer than a minute that you’d start feeling better. But the reeling anxiety that wraps around your throat like a chain seems to pull you impossibly farther away from that betterness, and forces your throat to tighten to a point where your breathing feels limited. You go from breathing through your nose to your mouth, where you can still taste the lingering artificial-vanilla with every inhale. 

It’s getting worse, an annoying voice tells you, one that manages to be louder than the others, the medicine’s supposed to help. You’ve only taken a hundred milligrams so far. Another and it’s a hundred and fifty. An overdose is only if it goes over two hundred.

It’s stupid logic but more tempting the more you think about it. It is, after all, only a third pill. You’d be pushing it—

Do you really care all that much that you’re pushing it? What if you want to break that limit? The limits you made, to keep yourself alive, that you still sometimes question the existence of? 

―but that doesn’t really compute well in your mind, and you soon find yourself reaching for the bottle again. Each pill shakes with your hand, and with each tremor another wave of tablets hits the sides of the bottle, like a visual representation of the thoughts that bounce off of the walls of your brain. You lift the bottle, and bring it to your lips, the area that makes contact with your mouth cooler than the rest of the bottle from earlier when you had done the same thing. You’re about to tilt it up before you hear a sudden knock at your door. 

The noise is startling and makes you drop the bottle, the pills spilling over the edge of it and onto the table. 

“Shit,” you curse quietly under your breath, quickly flattening your hand and sweeping all of the pills into a pile, and picking them up in clusters. You manage to get them all back in the bottle before another knock sounds out, and cap the bottle before opening up one of the small drawers on the side of your desk and shoving it in there. 

“Come in!” you call out in a strained voice, praying that you’ll be able to keep it steady for as long as the person at the door needs to talk to you. You close the drawer just as the door creaks open. 

Much to your horror, you look up to see your Captain. 

Your palms are still sweaty as he walks in, so you try to discreetly wipe them off on your pants, and hope to whoever can help you that he doesn’t pay too much attention to the sweat gathered on your forehead. You take a deep breath as silently as you can, attempting to gather yourself before Price can notice anything being wrong.

“It’s a quarter past two,” Price comments once he walks in, closing the door behind him, “why are you still awake?” 

You look over to the digital clock on your desk almost immediately and, oh shit, it is exactly 2:15. You look back over at Price, who is busying himself with pulling the chair that was once in front of your desk around it, presumably to sit next to you. You still feel the dreadfully fast pace of your heart, that th-thump, th-thump, th-thump that you can hear blaring in your ears. It makes itself known in your chest, in your wrist, even in the base of your throat―almost every pulse point in your body has forced you to become aware of its existence.

You swallow dryly, trying to ignore said feeling, and reply, “Why are you still awake?”

Price raises an eyebrow at you, pulling the chair up beside you and sitting down in it, “I asked first.” 

You look at him with an unimpressed look on your face. “Can’t sleep. Why are you up?”

Price hums and leans back in his seat, arms crossing over each other, “Same reason.”

It doesn’t sound like a lie, but it doesn’t sound entirely true either, in your opinion. It’s not that you don’t trust him, but he just seems like he’s up to something. What that something is, though, you aren’t sure. 

“Why the food?” Price nods over to the plate of mashed potatoes, very noticeably unfinished. 

Your gaze follows his to the mashed potatoes. You can still feel the moisture on the palms of your hands, the small tremors that wrack your fingers, and Price’s presence does nothing to soothe your flaming nerves.

“Wanted dinner,” you shrug as casually as you can, forcing a neutral expression onto your face―you briefly overthink what a neutral expression looks like, and decidedly just let your face relax the best you can, “I didn’t get any when everyone else went, I was busy with something, and didn’t really want to head over to the mess with so many people over there, plus I was busy.” 

You look over at Price after your lengthy explanation, not realizing just how lengthy it was, and watch the corners of his lips quirk up into an amused-yet-worried smile. 

“You said you were busy twice,” he points out, before pausing, and pointing out again, “and it looks like you’ve taken a few bites out o’that at most.” 

You don’t bother to look at the mashed potatoes again; you know very well how they look, and know how undeniably full the plate looks. 

“Didn’t feel that hungry,” you make up a poorly thought-out excuse, that even you can understand is unbelievable. 

Price blinks at you, slowly, before sighing. 

“Are you alright?” Price asks, looking more concerned than amused now. You should’ve known from the moment that he walked in that you wouldn’t be able to hide anything from him. If not for the fact that he always seems to know what’s going on, then because of the overwhelming presence of your disquietude. 

You look at him and try to figure out what to say. What is there to say? You were panicking just two minutes ago, with your prescription bottle in one hand, the other too shaky to hold up the damn thing. You can still taste that vanilla. You can still taste the plastic. The bottle itself never once touched your tongue, but every time your tongue rests in your mouth, the tip of it pokes at the same exact place the bottle made contact with. You expect it to taste of vanilla, like its contents, but it doesn’t; it tastes like the pharmacy you got it at. It tastes like the sterile white of the counter, the fingers of the person who handed it to you, the money you spent on it, and the time it took you to get it. 

It’s nothing pleasant. The strange vanilla of the pills aren’t either, but they’re preferable to the bottle itself. 

Price notices you zoning out for a moment, and waves a hand in front of your face. Your eyes unconsciously track his hand for a moment before you blink back into reality and look at him. You knew you were fucked earlier, but when you look at his expression, at the look in his eyes as he watches you snap back to reality, you know that he knows. Maybe he doesn’t know exactly what happened, or how it happened, but he knows something. Fuck, he knows. 

Or, maybe he does know. Maybe he heard your cursing through the door, even with your low voice, maybe he heard the pills spill onto the desk, maybe he heard the opening and closing of the drawer, maybe he―

He’s staring at you.

―has security cameras set up in here, because he does in every room, every hall, everywhere but the bathrooms and the sleeping quarters―

He’s talking. It’s muffled by the sound of your own heavy breathing.

―or maybe it’s just intuition, a gut feeling he has, where he just knows that something’s wrong, that same gut feeling that everyone seems to get when something isn’t the way it’s supposed to be―

Your palms are sweaty. Your heart is pounding out of your chest. You’re starting to feel a little lightheaded.

―the same “gut feeling” that you experience every day but have to ignore because it’s not a gut feeling it’s anxiety and your real gut feelings feel the almost the exact same way anxiety does so you may never know if you ever get an actual one―

Price grabs onto your arm, though the feeling of his skin on yours can’t push past the skin-crawling sensation that coats your skin.

―but how do you really know that your gut feelings aren’t gut feelings? How do you know that anything is anything? That it’s really Price that’s sitting next to you, that it’s your own office you’re sitting in, that―

“[name]!” Price’s voice snaps you out of the trance you seem to be in, and you sharply inhale at the sound of his voice, his volume much louder than you expected it to be. 

You didn’t realize how fast and heavy your breathing had really gotten until this point. You look at Price, a little more on the panicked side now, with restless eyes that can’t stop flitting all over his face. He takes his hand off of your arm before you can even notice it was there in the first place, and leans back away from you. 

You try to take deep breaths, but each breath feels like trying to breathe underwater, and each inhale-exhale leaves you shuddering. You look down at your lap, breath hitching and stuttering, and the moment you open your mouth in the hopes of breathing easier, you are all too aware of just how dry it’s become. You’re sure you let out some kind of sound that alerts Price of your growing distress, because he hesitantly leans forward and takes a deep breath. 

“[name],” Price keeps his voice soft and quiet, quieter than he’d been just a few seconds ago, his soothing voice a gentle wave crashing against the rock of your mind, “you’re okay. Look at me, soldier.” 

Like a remote to TV static, the noisiness of your mind is partially calmed and the waves that wash over your brain provide sweet escape from the overwhelming adrenaline and cortisol thrumming in your veins.

Mindlessly, you do as he asks, his words grounding you and tugging you back down to Earth more effectively than any anchor could. When you look at him, his eyes are clouded with concern and there’s a small frown on his face that almost perfectly juxtaposes his usual quokka-smile.

You know you’re still trembling. You can feel the hairs that stick up on your legs and arms, the weird hot-cold feeling that creates pinpricks of discomfort across your body, the way your heart is trying to escape the prison cell of your ribcage—but none of it compares to the unbelievable dizziness you feel. Your head is a balloon filled with helium and it is slowly deflating, but not fast enough. You feel like you’re no longer in control of your own body—or were you ever in control? 

Your stomach is churning. There’s a sense of dread that dwells there. You might throw up. 

Cutting through your thoughts is Price once again.

“You listenin’?” your Captain asks, to which you nod after a delay of a few seconds. Price holds a hand out and gives you a questioning look, the question of ‘can I touch you?’ clear enough on his face that you nod lightly and he takes your hand gingerly.

“Do y’know where you are?” Price asks. You nod, and he softly requests, “can you tell me where?”

“My office,” you answer simply, the gravel in your voice making you wince. The warbling that escapes your mouth is nowhere near your usual voice, and for a moment you think you might be right about needing to vomit, but you manage to push it down and pray. Price ignores this and pushes on.

“And who am I?” he asks, as if he doesn’t know. 

“... The Captain.” Price purses his lips—he doesn’t really want to accept this as an answer, because he wants you to say his actual name, but he knows what you mean, and you know what he’s doing. He knows that you mean that you’re here, that you’re present, and you know that he’s trying to ground you the best he can.

“Do you know my name?” he questions, to which you nod again, though a little more moderately, seeing as the repetition of nodding your head only makes you more lightheaded, “what’s my name?”

You take a few shaky breaths, ones that are shallow and uneven, ones that hitch enough for it to be so noticeable that Price manages to pick up on it. You open your mouth to talk, but find that your tongue is too heavy to lift to create coherent sounds. The thought somehow heightens your anxiety, something that seems to be noticeable to Price, judging by how his expression shifts to something impossibly softer.

“Here, let me—” Without another word, Price cautiously brings your hand up to the middle of his chest, where his sternum is. 

He exaggerates his breathing, taking long, deep breaths in, and similarly long exhales. His chest rises and falls satisfyingly, and it’s clear that he wants you to copy him. You try your best at first, taking that same too-deep breath that he does and fail almost immediately as you choke on the air you attempt to inhale. Price brushes his thumb over the back of your hand and takes another exaggerated breath, breathing in through his nose and out through his mouth. You keep your gaze more focused on the lower half of his face as you copy him, oxygen going in through your nose, and carbon dioxide going out through your mouth. 

That one successful breath is followed by an unsuccessful one, then another successful one, then another, and it’s a little rocky but you find that soon enough you’re breathing. There’s air flowing in and out of your body smoothly, with each exaggerated breath you take, almost in sync with Price, until finally he puts your hand back into your lap but continues to hold it. He squeezes it once before letting go, and clasps his hands together. 

“What’s my name, soldier?” he asks, and this time you think you can answer him. 

“John Price,” his name feels weird coming out of your mouth, especially with no honorifics, but he accepts the answer anyway. 

“Good,” Price praises, giving you a small smile, “you’re doing good.”

The approval he gives you helps to calm your nerves the tiniest bit, and you feel yourself slowly coming down from the God awful high that you’d just been on. Again, you’re not sure how he knows, but he senses that you’re calming down―is it because your breathing is steadier? You aren’t nearly as restless? You’re no longer zoning out?―so he leans back in his chair and watches as you do the same. 

“Now,” he breathes out, “can you tell me what’s going on with you?” 

You look away from him for the briefest moment, sparing a glance at the cabinet you know the bottle of your pills lays in, before looking back at him. If he noticed you pulling your gaze away from him for a split second, he doesn’t mention it nor does he make it known that he did. 

“There’s not really anything going on,” you shrug, to which Price scoffs. 

“[c/n],” he looks at you, disbelieving, “two seconds ago I had to help you breathe normally. I know that there’s something that’s going on, somethin’ that had to trigger what just happened.” 

You stay quiet and he gives you an expectant look. The pressure from his fixed glare makes you feel like you’re about to explode. 

Finally, you answer him defeatedly, though vaguely, “I was in the middle of taking my medicine when you knocked.”

Price stays silent, expecting you to elaborate. 

“And…” you try to find a way to make it sound less awkward than it does in your mind, though you suppose there’s never really a correct way to go about something like this, “I almost took more medicine than I needed to.” 

The silence continues, but now Price looks less expectant, and instead more of a mix between concern and something else you can’t identify. That something, though, is still soft, and still has a hint of pity―maybe sympathy?―to it.

“Almost?” he repeats, “was that on purpose?” 

When you think about it, it’s complicated. You didn’t necessarily intend to overdose, you just dismissed the idea of it. Or, at least, you don’t remember trying to overtly kill yourself. Then again, you knew the risks of taking more pills than prescribed to you; had you taken that third pill, you would’ve only been one more away from an overdose, and even then you’d still probably get some kind of health issue. 

Price’s face hardens when you don’t answer immediately. He must be taking your silence as a “yes”. 

“Not… really,” you answer slowly, “I don’t know what I was thinking.” 

He nods, waiting a few seconds before asking, “Have you thought about it before?”

By it, for some reason, you sense that he isn’t asking exclusively about taking one too many tablets.

It’s tempting to be dishonest about it; it’s a shameful thing to you, to use the things that are supposed to help you to harm yourself, to be so careless with your own life. You know that it isn’t necessarily all your fault, but there’s still that small part of you that can’t help but feel guilty for using something so many other people try so hard to get to almost kill yourself with. 

After a few beats of silence, you decide to answer, “Yeah.” 

Price nods again, and he looks like he expected that answer. “D’you want to tell me more about that?”

You could, hypothetically, go in-depth about all of your weird thoughts about committing. The ones you’d been having just, what, fifteen minutes ago? Thirty minutes ago? The ones about chains wrapped around your throat, stolen guns from the armory, deep purple bruising and a stretched neck. Those thoughts, the ones that try to make ending your life sound pretty, that try to make it sound appealing. It’s not to convince yourself, you don’t think, but rather to help you come to terms with the fact that you were already convinced that you were going to commit at some point. The thought still scares you, because you’re a pussy―terrible, terrible choice of words, a voice at the back of your mind insists, you’re not a pussy, you’re just like anyone else―but you felt like you just knew that you were gonna die by your own hands. That you’d already made the choice, and now you have to understand it, to realize it. 

You are in that room full of TVs, with The Architect in front of you, telling you that you have no choice. That, in fact, the problem is choice. You are surrounded by a million other yous, all protesting, all denying that you have no choice but to kill yourself, all yelling “Bullshit!” because deniability is the most predictable of all human responses. 

But, you remind yourself, The Architect was wrong. He told Neo that he couldn’t do anything to save Trinity from her “fate”, but Neo did save her. He plunged his hand into her chest and forced her heart to beat. 

That’s true. 

And, you add on, The Architect is a computer program, tasked with mimicking human emotions, despite never having felt them. He could never understand the power of human will, of the desperation so many humans have to live. 

Because The Architect was never alive. He is a sentient computer program, whose job is to create a world in which humans can “live” while they are fed on in the real world, but his problem was his inability to create anything less than perfect. We aren’t expected to be perfect, and are taught that flawlessness doesn’t exist, which is why he came to the conclusion that he needed a “lesser mind” to help him create a better Matrix. 

You aren’t supposed to succumb to the idea of having no choice. Because that, in itself, is a choice. Everything you do is a choice. Even if everything you do will only add up to the same ending, to the same fate, why should you waste time not making the choices you want to make? When you assume that you have no choice, you assume that everything you do will go to waste, but that’s not true. You aren’t the only person that exists. You aren’t the only person who makes choices. The choices you make affect other people’s choices, and those choices affect another person, and another, and another. You still have to live through the choices you make, as does everyone else, so even if everything will end the same, why should you make inherently bad decisions when you could be making good ones? Why should you go through things you don’t have to go through, just because you believe that nothing matters in the end?

“Not really,” you answer Price, snapping yourself out of your thoughts, “I don’t… want to think about it too much right now.” 

Price looks a little more worried now but he doesn’t protest your decision.

“Is there anything in here that you could use to hurt yourself?” he asks after a moment, “Or that you’ve already used?” 

You bite your tongue. Technically, the pills count, you suppose, but those are your meds. You can’t really have those confiscated.

“Other than the medicine, no,” you answer truthfully, much to Price’s relief, as is evident on his face as his hardened expression softens. 

“Good, good,” he shifts in his seat. 

He’s gearing up for something. You can tell with the way he subtly presses his clasped hands together, the way his face goes through a mix of emotions, and the way the deafening silence of the room really seems to be getting to him. 

Suddenly, he asks you, “D’you think you’re going to… ?” 

He doesn’t ask you explicitly, but you have a good idea of what he’s asking.

“I was thinking about it,” you respond softly, “before you came in.”

Price nods, having expected that answer. You’re not sure if it was obvious, or if he just assumed you were thinking about it because of you confessing to having thoughts of it before this. 

“Y’know I have to tell someone about this, right?” Price reminds you gently, as if you didn’t already know, “Someone up the chain. Might be Laswell.” 

You hum affirmatively, because you didn’t expect anything less from him, and know that it’s for the better. It doesn’t make you feel any better, obviously, but you know how to be realistic when the time calls for it, and you know that if the roles were reversed you’d do the same thing. Not because it’s mandatory, but because when you imagine Price in your situation, the thought wraps itself around your heart and twists. 

The room is silent for a beat, and you get the feeling that Price is somehow more uncomfortable with the quiet than you are. He shifts in his seat while you stay still, and he clears his throat to break the silence for a brief moment before speaking up again. 

“It’s late,” he points out the obvious, before pausing and irresolutely asking, “do you want to head back to my quarters with me for the night?” 

His words confuse you for a moment. You open your mouth to ask why, before it suddenly hits you―oh, right, you just basically confessed to being suicidal. He doesn’t want to leave you alone right now. 

“Yeah, sure,” you agree, less questioning than Price expected you to be judging by his momentary look of surprise, before he nods and begins to get up. 

He pushes his chair behind him, standing up straight, and holds a hand out for you to grab. You grab it gingerly and use it to haul yourself up, your knees cracking as you do after having been sat for so long. You wince at the sound and Price gives a light-hearted chuckle.

“I thought I was s’posed to be the old one?” he teases, making you give him an unimpressed look and let go of his hand. The room falls back into soundlessness.

You both remain silent as Price leads you out the door of your office, turning off the lights and closing the door after you, and continues to lead you down to his sleeping quarters. His are farther down the hall from yours, because of his higher rank, and therefore takes longer to walk to from your office. The long walk is quiet enough to hear a pin drop, but you both don’t mind this, as the atmosphere here is more comfortable than the one in your office. 

Eventually, you make it to his room, where he opens the door for you and signals for you to walk in first with his hand. You enter the room and hear him enter shortly after you, and go to sit on his bed before pausing. 

“I’m still in my…” you gesture to your clothes, gear-less but still not your “normal” sleeping clothes. Price raises an eyebrow at you as you wave at the state of yourself. 

“I’ve seen you sleep in worse,” he points out, “and I think you sleep in this than in your actual sleeping clothes.” 

You’re about to ask how he even knows about that, before he answers you before you can voice your question, “I’ve seen you walking back t’your quarters in these clothes and hear you snoring a second later at least ten times.”

You close your mouth and sigh through your nose, before muttering, “Didn’t know I was talkin’ to fuckin’ Sherlock Holmes.” 

Price snorts at your retort, “If I’m Sherlock, are you Watson?”

You think about it for a moment, before shaking your head negatively. 

“No?” Price toes off his boots and walks over to you, sitting on the bed, “Then who are you?” 

You sit down next to him, “I dunno. I’m like…” 

“Like Neo,” you continue, ignoring the way Price’s eyebrows immediately raise, “and you’re Morpheus. But less smart.”

“You’re not Neo,” he scoffs, “and I’m not a less-smart Morpheus.” 

“I wasn’t askin’ you,” you grumble, shaking your already-loose boots off of your feet and crawling up Price’s bed. You manage to snake under the covers and feel Price’s eyes on you as you do, staring holes into your face.

He hums in acknowledgment, not bothering to answer you verbally, and instead gets up to lift up the covers and get into bed. The bed is small enough as-is, but with two people inside of it, it obviously gets much smaller. Price doesn’t seem to mind, though, and turns so that his back is facing the door and his front is facing you. Directly in front of you is the base of his neck, but if you tilt your head up, you can see him looking down at you with tired eyes. 

You let out a soft breath through your nose and realize just how tired you are. Price seems to notice this, because his arm comes up and rests across your side, his hand splaying across the middle of your back. He gives you a comforting sweep of his hand, before settling it on your upper back, absentmindedly rubbing his thumb in soothing circles against your clothed back. 

You close your eyes, and he closes his, and it feels like you’ve woken up in the real world and removed the cables from your body.

[jmtorres]

Hi, this is random, but would you mind sharing more about your gut issues/long covid? (I.e. diagnosis, treatment). I have chronic fatigue, and gut issues that are definitely linked to that, but all of my doctors are being extremely useless about it. (No worries if this is not the kind of info you want to share with a total stranger on the internet)

(This is in reference to my comment on this post)

@reptilerex I appreciate you recognizing the sensitivity of this ask, I am going to go ahead and answer it because I feel like the likelihood that you or someone you know (or even others of my readers) are struggling with long covid and finding adequate medical help vastly outweighs the minuscule probability that you've hacked into HIPAA records and are planning to dox me lol

so in the immediate aftermath of my first bout of covid (despite vaxxing and masking regularly, I'm up to two now 😭) my obvious symptoms were fatigue – going to the grocery store would wear me out for 2+ days – and a 20 year-old scar from a car accident reopened, which sounds like some scurvy ass bullshit, and I do wonder if the fact that my friend @niqaeli, who knew that long covid symptoms are highly correlated with MCAS symptoms and was encouraging me to start MCAS otc treatments like vitamin C supplements, helped. (worth noting that while I didn't hear anything about old scars reopening as a covid/post covid thing before it happened to me, but when I told people about it, they were like "oh yeah, that happened to me or someone I know" SO often) My doctor sent me to a wound specialist for that, and they kept poking it trying to figure out if there was some embedded shrapnel that they hadn't realized was in there originally, but ultimately it just healed back over much redder and angrier than the first time.

so then, the fatigue. My doctor had me wait three months because it wasn't officially long covid until three months. obnoxious as hell. I found out the DMV accepts long covid for a disability placard reason and got my doctor to write me a DMV form about how I couldn't walk hardly any distance. she was willing to do that before the three month mark.

I was Johnny on the spot coming back three months after, the first thing she did was send me for a chest x-ray because the obvious/expected reason for fatigue is you're not getting enough O2 in your blood. There was nothing wrong with my lungs and we were kind of at a dead end until I presented my doctor with more options.

I mean, I was kind of like, my PCP is being useless, I have a PPO, why can't I just go directly to a specialist, but it turns out specialist won't take you without a referral because reasons. I had heard rheumatologist is as good at figuring out weird vague shit so I tried to book there but when I told them long covid, they said that wasn't their department. They said I needed to go see an immunologist which sounded wrong to me, but there was a pretty good HIV specialist immunologist in the area that I tried to book with who said no that's not what long covid is. someone recommended a Long Covid Specialty clinic in a city that is 2 to 5 hours away depending on traffic and I knew I wasn't making that drive in my current condition so was like somebody local gotta help me.

so I went back to my PCP and said to her that I had learned from disability communities online that sometimes a rheumatologist can be helpful. And she said OK we can do some blood tests for inflammation markers to see if I can justify a referral to a rheumatologist. (and I thought of my weird scar issue and thought gee I better have some weird inflammation markers)

So I had some inflammation markers pop and I got a referral to a rheumatologist, and they were actually willing to see me. The rheumatologist ordered so many tests, like an unbelievable number of tests. I think they drew like eight vials of blood. Plus other samples. The rheumatologist was basically like let's look for anything and everything.

I had a borderline response on Calprotectin. To quote from the explainer in the test notes:

Calprotectin in Crohn's disease and ulcerative colitis can be five to several thousand times above the reference population (50 mcg/g or less). Levels are usually 50 mcg/g or less in healthy patients and with irritable bowel syndrome.

so I wasn't high enough to qualify for IBD outright from that test results, but I was high enough that it flagged to the rheumatologist, and I had reported a family history (brother has IBD), so he said that was enough to diagnose and started prescribing me for that.

The thing is, rheumatology is an ass backwards way to get an IBD diagnosis and I was having another symptom that I hadn't reported because I was a dumbass and this is the apocryphal frog boiling slowly thing. I was having fairly regular loose stool/diarrhea. if I had told my PCP that could I have gotten a referral to a gastroenterologist and gotten a less ass backwards diagnosis?

I hadn't told my PCP about loose stools for two reasons:

I didn't think it was relevant to the fatigue, and in fact, I still didn't think it was relevant when the rheumatologist called it, and I was really surprised when taking medication for IBD did actually turn out to help the fatigue

I knew I was lactose intolerant, so I thought it was already explained. However, the rheumatologist and I had this exchange:

Him: so do you still drink regular milk or just Lactaid?

Me: Lactaid

Him: then you shouldn't still be having diarrhea

Me:…

I can't remember the first med he started me on because I was only on it for a couple of weeks before we had to switch. (it helped a lot when I could tolerate it but about every three days I had to throw up and then I felt awful and didn't take the med for a couple of days and you can guess how that went.) the one that I went on long-term that actually worked without side effects for me was mesalamine/lialda. I also started experimenting with some dietary changes, the low FODMAP diet is intended for IBS not IBD, but you are still expected to have IBD triggers so I was playing around with that.

for a few weeks, I had incredible improving energy. It was crazy.

then I made what I can only now think of as a mistake in trying to be proactive about my care. because I had stumbled ass backwards into an IBD diagnosis and I felt like I should have gastroenterologist confirm it, and I went to go see my brother's gastroenterologist. he wanted to do a colonoscopy and he asked me to go off the mesalamine for six weeks so that he could see what my colon was like without treatment and it was the worst fucking six weeks of my life. Hated it. colonoscopy results: he didn't see anything fucking wrong and would not diagnose IBD or prescribe mesalamine based on what he found. I said, but the mesalamine improves my symptoms, what does that mean? He said, it means keep seeing your rheumatologist.

I went back to the rheumatologist and told him about the whole debacle with the gastroenterologist and he was like "so how did he explain your inflammation readings?" like CHECKMATE. And he concluded that any lesions I had must be in the small intestine, not the large intestine and so were not seen by colonoscopy.

I kept taking mesalamine. My improvement was slower after the break from it which sucks but I did get back to normal lab work within six months, hallelujah.

Follow up: MORE stuff that might have been avoided if I had gastroenterologist regularly, had gotten an IBD diagnosis from a gastroenterologist, or had mentioned my shitty symptoms in the immediate: the gallbladder bullshit this summer

I had my second round of covid in May and I didn't notice a lot of fatigue coming out of it, though I was more cautious with myself the second time around, but I was sort of holding my breath for what horrible nonsense is going to come out of this now? so then I had what I thought was a really bad case of Gerd that didn't go away for two weeks even though my Gerd usually resolves in like a day. I went to my PCP twice during this period and then ultimately ended up at the ER when I realized my pain was in my side not central anymore and I was worried about appendicitis. It wasn't appendicitis. It was my gallbladder. and it came out that night. overall, I am very happy with how the hospital handled the emergency for instance, I didn't realize until two weeks later that I seriously could've died because they were so calm about it the whole time but like they don't do same-day surgery unless death is on the line, let's be real.

but here's things that could have been helped if I had better gastroenterology care:

I didn't find this out until I was researching gallstones after the fact, and I would like to think a gastroenterologist would have warned me whereas the rheumatologist wasn't super aware of it but: IBD can lead to gallstones because one of the ways a cholesterol gallstone forms is, if you get an imbalance of bile and cholesterol in your gallbladder; your body wants to recycle bile by reabsorbing it at the end of your small intestine, but if you have IBD, sometimes it loses the bile instead of reabsorbing it, and then you get an overabundance of cholesterol, turning into a gallstone the size of a golf ball

I told my PCP it was a case of Gerd that wouldn't go away, but I didn't tell her I was also having diarrhea. Diarrhea is not a Gerd symptom. Maybe if I had just fucking told her she might've recognized or could've sent me to somebody who would have recognized it as a gallbladder symptom before it turned into an immediate emergency

tl;dr don't hide your gut symptoms from your doctor because you "think" you know what's wrong with your guts or that it's not related to your other problems or you're embarrassed or what the fuck ever just tell them that you're shitting yourself because it might turn out to be important

[cypheragent]

obviously there is nothing wrong with going on hormones and then stopping if a person finds it is truly not for them but "detransitioner" is not really an apolitical identity and generally refers to a group of people i have very little sympathy for. and the coddling of detransitioners people engage in is just insane. even far too many trans people fall into this trap i'm afraid lmao. there are pretty much two kinds of people among those for whom "detransitioner" is an identity, and they are 1. the "ex-homosexuals" of trans people who are just repressing their transness now, and 2. transphobic cis people. i mean that's really it right? if detransition was truly right for a person and they really are cis now, why the fuck should i care what they think about trans issues? they aren't my problem, my responsibility, and their opinions about trans people mean as much to me as any other cis person's, which is to say: jack shit. "what about people who detransition?" literally, and i cannot emphasize this enough, not my problem. why are trans people expected to answer for these people or justify ourselves in light of their existence? literally, what do they have to do with me?

aside from this, your average detransitioner (again, with this i refer not to people who simply choose to quit hormones and don't become raging transphobes about it, but Detransitioner as political identity) is essentially a person with no sense of personal responsibility who society chooses to coddle because they appear to confirm society's transphobia. it's pretty insidious tbh, society at-large's obsession with detransitioners, validating them and blaming trans people and the increase in our rights, specifically to bodily autonomy, truly reveals the part most people don't want to say out loud: that they believe this is the ideal. this is what a not insignificant number of people (even many who claim to accept trans people, frankly) believe to be the best option, if possible, for trans people. i've definitely encountered a number of people who are like, fine with trans people's existence, but want to believe very firmly that transition is a sort of unfortunate last resort that should be avoided at all costs if possible, and that reasons not to transition should be emphasized and sought at all cost.

viewing transition as unfortunate (rather than what it is: joyful) can be seen in the pearl clutching over trans children especially. what if they regret it! the hypothetical dysphoria a cis person would experience as a result of transition is more concerning than the dysphoria trans people already experience, because the feelings and experiences of cis people are always, always the priority, and trans people and their suffering an afterthought.

anyway, i got a little off-track from a point i wanted to make, which is that the majority of detransitioners have no one but themselves to blame. and yet this is never what they do. doctors are to blame, trans people are to blame, literally anyone but themselves. i don't think most people would fall for this narrative as easily if not for the fact that society hates trans people, so again, it's a narrative people like because it confirms what they want to believe, that transition is unfortunate. in the modern era, there are so many resources to understand what transition will do to a person's body that i find it difficult to sympathize with someone who acts as though it was some kind of big shock. of course, i understand that someone can do all the reading in the world, know what they are in for, decide to go through with it and still find, unexpectedly, that it isn't right for them. (this probably isn't as common as people want to believe though... i mean, detransition rates are low as is, and even the majority of detransitioners themselves will tell you they didn't do research, they didn't know hormones would do this or that. somehow, i am supposed to believe this is everyone's fault but their own.) that being said, it is very much possible to simply not become a raging transphobe in light of this! accepting personal responsibility instead of blaming others is probably the first step.

of course, trans acceptance is only beneficial for those who go on hormones then choose to quit anyway. dysphoria is easier to cope with in a world where people don't discriminate against gender nonconformity. if you believe in a worldview that ascribes disgust to bodies that are or have been on hrt, bodies that don't fit the cis binary mold, then... yeah, that will contribute to any misery that you might be experiencing. insisting that your body is "ruined" or "mutilated" isn't exactly going to help with your self-perception and overall mental health. acceptance of different bodies is one of the necessary steps to improving your own mindset (and improving your treatment of others, for that matter). going on hormones, or going off them, literally anything a person can do with their body, should be accepted as rather mundane all things considered. sure, it's a big decision, but at the end of the day it's ok to make a decision, to realize it wasn't the right one, and there is nothing wrong with anyone's bodies. you gotta move the fuck on with your life at some point.

of course, all this is supplement to pretty much the most basic and obvious point that anyone should agree with wrt hrt, which is that what other people do with their own bodies is none of your damn business and everyone should have the right to choose for themselves. the fact that some people might regret it is not an excuse to remove that as a basic right for everyone (nor is it an excuse to insist upon stricter gatekeeping, for that matter). furthermore, the simple fact that hormones are life-changing for many people is an indisputable fact. die mad about it, i guess

[cupcakeatsea]

I’m not the only one to have questions about whether Doctor Odyssey is some sort of alternative reality or not. Honestly I’m not sure - part of me hopes for the silly, sexy boat to just be that but another part hopes for some sort of twist. So I’m going to brain dump my thoughts here to bring some people along for the ride.

Firstly, what situation are we actually watching? If this isn’t a normal cruise ship, what’s happening?

Theory number 1 is that this is Dr Max Bankman’s coma dream. And I definitely see why this is the most popular. He’s the main character and the Covid flashbacks are vague and dreamlike compared to the way the rest is shot. But while this feels most obvious alternative reality, Ryan Murphy also co -created Grotesquerie which is a coma dream. So I’d be seriously surprised if that was used twice in two separate tv shows from the same person in the last 6 months. NGL I’ll be kind of pissed if I watch this happen twice so close together.

Second theory, and what I’m leaning towards is this is some kind of afterlife. References to the ship being a “paradise”, to it being like “heaven” and to the crew being “guardian angels”. Capt Massey takes his responsibility to the passengers extremely seriously and tells Max as much so the safety of all on board is really important. It’s also considered a “once in a lifetime” trip, which yeah, it would be if you’re dead. I like the idea that it’s ferrying the dead to their place of rest.

So now I’m going to go into some of the reasons I think something is off with this ship.

All the main cast have had near death experiences. Max with Covid, Avery with appendicitis, Tristan with CO2 poisoning and even Capt Massey with his broken heart syndrome. I know in any medical based drama the main cast will have close calls but this is within the first 6 episodes. Suspicious…

We never see anyone board or disembark from the ship. It’s strange to not even have generic establishing shots of people walking up near the ship, to have a green screened few shots of the crew on a harbour side, to have any moment of people coming on or off the ship even as a suggestion. Everyone comes in through the trippy tunnel and that’s it. Now, either I’m too poor to even comprehend such an impressive entryway or this is a visual of “going down the tunnel to the light”. Because I don’t think any cruise ship in existence has an entry like that.

“But Cupcake”, I hear you say, “what about the scenes off the boat? On the islands and beaches?” Well, we might see them on a speedboat if we’re lucky, but not actual shots of leaving or getting on the ship. And we only ever see crew or passengers from the ship at these destinations. The big one here is the passenger whose arm gets trapped in the cave - where are the local emergency services? Where’s the coastguard? An emergency helicopter of some sort? Why is the medical crew of a cruise ship doing extreme emergency rescues? We hear about all these incredible destinations they stop at but we see nothing of them and no outsiders to the ship (the couple lost at sea are sort of an exception but I think you can work it into the theory).

Next thing is something specifically brought up by Sam that I follow on TikTok for 911 stuff (vampirebuckley on X). Dr Max has to be lying about his award for cleft palate surgery (he’s the wrong kind of doctor for that), or it’s a fantasy of being exceptional. But I extend that to all the medical crew. They’re qualified and experienced enough to perform surgery (skin infection debridement and appendectomy), and they have such broad and in-depth medical knowledge they can diagnose (potential) tropical diseases and Huntington’s? Not forgetting they have a CT machine ON A CRUISE SHIP. I’m no medical professional, all I’ve done is watch medical tv shows, but this is out there even for this genre. It’s like the fantasy of being exceptional in your field, but all of this is just insane for a cruise ship however luxurious it is.

Lastly, the name of the show. The word odyssey literally means an arduous journey. Homer’s The Odyssey is about Odysseus facing many trials as he makes his way home from war. Sure, it could just be a cool sounding name or it could be a hint. Also why I’m leaning towards a ferrying the dead situation because that still holds some danger in trying to get everyone to the other side safely whereas the ship just being heaven would be a bit too final and lacking the risk factor a medical show needs.

If you read all this, thank you! I’m new to all this theorising stuff and I honestly might be terrible at it but this was fun. And even if I’m wrong and it just the sexy throuple boat show, I’ll still watch and enjoy the hell out of it.

[jackhues]

together - pricey shots and brick wolls

pricey shots and brick wolls! au masterlist

note: takes place in march 2022 - rowan's 23 years oldish. if something's not factually correct, i'm so sorry guys. i tried really hard to make it kind of accurate. i kind of don't like this... but anyways it's here now

tw: asshole doctor, mentions of periods/fertility

--

"i suggest you drink lots of water and work out more," the doctor told rowan. "if the pain continues, you can take pain medication, but i don't think it'll be necessary. take a half hour walk in the mornings and evenings and stay hydrated. perhaps watch your diet as well. it's nothing big."

rowan stared at him, unsure if he was being serious.

the doctor noticed this, raising a brow in her direction. "any questions?"

"i'm just -- i mean, i'm an athlete," she reminded him. "i work out a lot more than the average person. i stay hydrated. i've got professional trainers making sure i have a healthy, balanced diet. i can't get any healthier than this. telling me to drink more water, to work out, to eat healthy -- it's not a solution. i can't do it any better than i am right now."

rowan could've sworn the doctor was about to roll his eyes.

"you play in a league?" he asked her. "or just... recreationally?"

"i play professional hockey," her voice came out tougher than usual. "i play in the phf, for the toronto six. i play for team canada too, i just won a gold medal for this country a month ago. i can assure you, my diet and work out routine has nothing to do with the pain i'm feeling."

the doctor sniffed, noting some things down on the clipboard.

"alright, the best i can do is prescribe you some pain medication," he ripped a prescription off and handed it to her. "i can also refer you to a specialist, but i don't think it'll be much help."

"i'd like to see the specialist," rowan responded, taking the prescription.

"sure, okay," he nodded, filling out something else and handing it to her. "you'll get a call from that number in a few days to work out an appointment time."

"thank you," rowan told him, not really meaning it.

she left the room, making her way back to her car. she took a deep breath, reminding herself to calm down. being angry and driving home would do no one any good.

over the past few weeks, rowan had been experiencing lots of pain and intense cramping. her periods had always been a little unusual, but so were her mom's, and she didn't think too much about it. the big problem was the cramps and pain she'd have even after her period. her fiancé finally convinced her to get it checked out after seeing her crumple in the middle of her practice due to pain.

"this is why i haven't gotten my shit checked," she muttered to herself, angry at the doctor for simply dismissing her. she'd heard stories of this her whole life, and of course, it finally happened to her.

she sent a text to joseph, letting her know the appointment was done and she was going to see a specialist eventually. finally, convinced that she had cooled off a little, she turned the car on and made her way home.

---

rowan got the call to pick up her reports while she was washing the dishes.

"everything alright?" joseph asked her once she hung up.

"it was the specialist," she told him. "um, they told me i have to pick up the reports."

"that was pretty quick," he responded. "i thought they take like, weeks. i didn't know it only takes a few days."

"they usually only tell you to pick up reports if something's wrong," she continued quietly. "otherwise, they might not even call back."

"hey, hey," joe got up quickly, taking her hands in his. "hey, look at me. giving your report doesn't mean it's something bad, okay? you won't know until you get them."

"can you come with me?" she asked, her voice a little small.

"of course," he responded. "you don't have to ask. whatever you want, love."

rowan's heart felt like it might burst -- either from the nervousness of getting her report back, or the love she felt for joseph in that moment.

unable to speak, she simply nodded, allowing joseph to lead her outside and to the car. he talked while he drove her to the specialist's office, telling her about his day and all the crazy things his teammates had done.

she appreciated him a lot for that, for doing his best to take her mind off of this. she wasn't usually nervous when it came to things like this, but for some reason, she could only think up the worst things.

"you ready?" joe asked her, turning the car off and turning to her.

rowan closed her eyes, taking a deep breath the way her uncle had taught her years ago. a deep breath in, a deep breath out -- and out with it went the thoughts of everything that didn't matter in this moment.

she nodded at her fiancé, "ready."

---

"miss price?" the doctor asked, entering the room.

rowan sat up straighter, nodding, "that's me."

"and this is?" the doctor looked at joseph, sitting in one of the seats near the patient's bed.

"joseph woll," rowan introduced him. "my fiancé. he'll be staying here for the reports, i already signed a consent form at the front desk."

"perfect, it's nice to meet you," she smiled at joe. she turned to her computer, typing up a few things and pulling up some files. "okay, so rowan price? twenty three years old?"

"yup," rowan nodded.

"you came in for a pelvic ultrasound and test two days ago, due to intense, recurring abdominal pain, correct?"

"mhm," she nodded again.

the doctor furrowed her brows at the reports, turning back to rowan. "is there anything else you'd like to tell me? any other pain? discomfort? irregular periods?"

"it's mainly just cramps so bad that i can't even walk," she responded. "a little bit of back pain, but nothing else really hurts. sometimes i feel sick though. and my period's always been a little weird."

"hmm," the doctor noted. she turned back to rowan, passing over two ultrasound photos -- the printed results of her ultrasound a few days ago. "you see the tissue clumps right here? that's a type of tissue similar to the lining of your uterus."

rowan examined the ultrasound, barely able to make out what the doctor was explaining. it had nothing to do with the ultrasound, but it was simply the fact that rowan was unable to ever see ultrasounds.

her parents had once tried to surprise her with the ultrasound of her youngest brother when they were pregnant, and she had no idea what it was.

"well, this tissue isn't in your uterus," the doctor explained. "it's growing outside, which may cause bloating, especially around your period."

"that's what's causing the pain?" rowan asked. "uterus tissue not growing in my uterus?"

"it's a condition called endometriosis," the doctor told her. "you might've heard of it."

"i have, yeah," rowan muttered. she might've heard of it, but she didn't know much about it.

"there's no cure for this, but there are treatments," the doctor told her. "hormone therapy, iuds -- surgery's also an option. the treatments can relieve your pain, they can increase your fertility, they--"

"wait, what?" rowan cut in. "it affects fertility?"

"in many women, yes," the doctor told her. "you won't know for sure unless you try to get pregnant, but there is a solid chance you may be infertile. if you'd like, we can do more tests..."

the rest of the doctor's words seemed to go straight through rowan's ears. she was hearing them, but she wasn't understanding them.

she heard joe say something to the doctor, who nodded in understanding and left them in the room. the door closed behind her, and it was as if the spell had lifted.

"hey, look at me," joseph said to her, cupping her chin in his hands. "it's going to be okay. you're okay."

"i just -- i'm scared," rowan whispered, finally speaking. "i never thought about being a mom before, and now that i might not be able to be one -- this is so stupid, why am i like this?"

"don't do that," joe told her sternly. "don't invalidate your feelings. you were just informed of a health condition, you're allowed to be emotional over whatever part of it you want."

"i'm still mad about that stupid doctor too," she whispered, voice cracking as more tears welled up in her eyes.

"you should be mad about that too, he was a dick," joseph agreed.

rowan closed her eyes, leaning forward and letting joe wrap his arms around her.

"whatever's next, i'm here for you," he promised her. "we're doing this together."

in that moment, rowan knew, they were going to take it step by step, and they were going to do it together.

---

note: before someone goes crazy, rowan doesn't think being a mom is her only purpose in life yadda, yadda -- she's just in shock. she has siblings that are much younger than her, and she loves babies. she never expected to possibly be infertile so the news is shocking to her. that's all, thanks <3 also if you feel like i depicted smth wrong, please let me know (nicely is all i ask)

[skylarsblue]

Hii! I would like to ask for Sinclair brothers with a gn s/o who struggles with an ed? Preferably anorexia, but you can make it unspecified if that'll work better for you ^^ Thank you so much and if you need any closer info, I'd be happy to help!

(Hope you're doin' alright and sorry this took so long!)

✦Struggling With An Eating Disorder✦

✦I make this a bit more subtle but please proceed with caution. If you're struggling, there are places to reach out. Including hotlines.✦

✦GN! Reader, unspecified race, height, & body type, again, proceed with caution✦ ✧Vincent; He/They, Bo; He/Him, Lester; He/Him. Bonus: Carly; She/Her, Nick; He/Him✧

✧Vincent Sinclair✧

Vincent's the most emotionally competent of his brothers, which comes with being an artist. They also understand being physically insecure, and wanting to change those aspects of themselves. Vincent will be the one to notice signs even if you haven't said anything.

He's hesitant to actually approach you with his suspicions, but his concern will eventually overtake the anxiety of being wrong. It's hard to be verbally gentle with sign language but they do their best. If you struggle to admit it and start crying or getting upset, they'll do their best to express that they aren't upset in anyway. He's just worried.

Victor was a medical doctor but had some books on mental health, which Vincent has read, and he will go back and reread them if he thinks they'll hold anything that'll help. The information might be outdated but he'll take whatever he can to ensure they know everything possible they can do to help.

Keeping up with a therapist is hard out in Ambrose, and all the brothers are hesitant about you leaving on the chance you let something slip. But, when trust has been built, Vincent will pressure Bo to let you go. If Bo doesn't take you, Lester will. You're likely to miss appointments but Vincent does their best to keep up with it.

They're not good at cooking or with food in general. They don't have a disorder but they forget to eat often. Still, he does his best to eat with you so you don't feel alone with it, assuming that's what helps. In their mind, making it more of a social things leaves less room for your mind to wander and make you feel bad. He'll even take his mask off for you.

Vincent's got a plethora of markers and paint, and they will absolutely go in on everything Bo brings into the house and cross out the calories. Even if that means painting over an entire package.

They enjoy drawing you frequently, and the way they do is always so honest and surreal. If you see his drawings of you, you might ask why he chooses you. Every time they'll respond with a genuine, from-the-heart sentiment. "You're the best muse I could have." "I want the challenge of capturing your beauty." "Every artist needs something beautiful for reference."

Vincent means it every time.

✧Bo Sinclair✧

Bo's really not emotionally intelligent. He's harsh and rough and approaches everything in life with a hardened expression. But not with you, not after you've wormed your way into his heart and made yourself at home in his ribs.

He's not gonna understand at first, not if you put it in simple terms at least. He's never had that problem. But when he sees how it affects you on really bad days, it'll start to dawn on him that it's not an easy fix. You can't just pick something up and eat it. It's a battle all the time. This is when he starts to soften up and treat it more delicately, as delicately as he knows how anyway.

If he can't find a working pen, he'll tear/cut out the calorie counts on foods & drinks. And if he's taken you out somewhere, he'll reach over and cover calorie numbers with his hand. If it's a big sign over the order counter, he'll simply tell you to go sit down while he orders. You might think Bo doesn't notice, but he'll know all your favorites by heart.

He's gonna ask you what he can do to make it easier. If you say you don't know, he'll throw out options until one seems to stick. And then he'll adopt it to his routine religiously. Forming habits is easy and he knows this. Adding another step to his general day routine is nothing for him.

Bo's hyper-protective of you. It shows in his reluctance to let you leave the town, to be involved in the process of wax figures, even climbing on the counter to grab something high up. Lester says it's the older brother in him, Vincent once called it "dad instincts". Ironic, given Bo hated his own father the most. So if he hears a single comment about your appearance from someone else, and it's not a compliment? He's immediately throwing hands.

He'll pick up photography again, a gesture he hopes silently conveys how he sees you. Every camera click and slide of polaroid film is him trying to tell you how he sees you, since he's not that good with words. He'll pin them up in the garage and certainly keeps more than one in his wallet.

Bo will rip the size tags off your clothes. But, he'll remember it, so that way he can buy your clothes. You don't have to worry if you no longer fit in a medium, large, or small. He's got it logged in his head. If he really isn't sure, he'll try to subtly measure your waist with his hands, acting out physical affection while gathering the data he needs. Just to avoid even the concept of you worrying about that letter in the back of your jeans. His physically affection will also double. Naturally, he's a horny bastard, and he'll try to show you he finds you attractive by using stuff like sex. But if you aren't up for it, or the insecurity is just a bit too much, he'll certainly settle for holding you on the couch.

And honestly? He'll bring back his old poem hobby, write you a sonnet, hoping the words on paper will translate how they do in his brain. "It's not that good but...ya know, the meanin's there." He's a bastard because it's an absolutely beautiful poem and it's definitely gonna make you cry.

✧Lester Sinclair✧

Lester's more in touch with his feelings and the emotions of others than Bo, but he's not as in tune as Vincent. Still, Lester is very observant of things like body language and voice cues. If he sees enough signs, he might not know it's an eating disorder, but he will eventually ask if you see yourself negatively. It breaks his heart when you admit it and part of him will wonder if he contributed in anyway. He's relieved when you say he hasn't, but it still pains him.

If your problems with food stem from things like childhood trauma or parental pressure, he's gonna have a murderous rage for those people, but you won't ever see it. The only Lester you see is charming lover with the patience of a saint. And terrible puns.

He'll probably talk to his brother Vincent for advice since Vincent's the one that was ever interested in mental health and psychology. He wants all the information he can get so he can support you completely. Lester thinks of himself as an idiot, but he's not gonna let that stop him from keeping you happy.

Lester rarely goes to grocery stores and tends to make all his meals from scratch. But, still, he'll cover calorie counts on anything he needs to buy in. Sometimes he'll move snacks into new containers because he couldn't find a marker and he couldn't tear that portion out. He won't even throw the package in the house trash, he'll put it in the outside one.

He drives into the city most frequently and he will absolutely go off his work route to drop off/pick you up from therapy. No matter how expensive the appointments are too. He makes decent money and he's got a pretty cheap lifestyle, but even if he didn't, it wouldn't matter. He'd simply pick up a second job to cover the cost.

Lester's cooking skills are actually rather impressive, and he eats surprisingly healthy meals. (excluding a lot of salt & using roadkill meat) If that's the kind of thing that'll help, then yeah. He'll even help you start a vegetable garden. Anything to help you and hey, acts as bonding time.

If anyone makes a single comment about your size or weight, he'll honestly kill them on the spot. Lester is the kindest of the Sinclairs, and he is the most sane, but he's not above chucking a body into the roadkill pit. If there's anything left to dispose of anyway. He'll get it done quickly & ruthlessly, then come home to you with a grin and a hug with your name on it.

Lester isn't good with words and he's not always sure if he's helping, but he makes it clear he's trying. You're his special person, if anyone's gonna make sure you know that, it's him. No matter what it is. He'll bend over backward without your request because he feels that's the bare minimum, to keep you as happy & healthy as possible.

✦Bonus✦

✧Carly✧

She understands the pressure of needing to maintain a certain weight. Society is a bitch, after all. But Carly ain't about that, and she'll support you with everything she's got. Whether it's chucking out calorie numbers or being with you for every meal. She'll do her best to encourage you to eat at least once a day, even if it's hard. And if you're struggling to the point of tears, she'll hush you and give you gentle words of encouragement. She's extremely proud of you every time you make a breakthrough.

✧Nick✧

He's an asshole a lot of the time, but he cares, he honestly does. Hearing you have that kind of struggle with your body is, well, it makes him angry. Not at you, but at the fact he can't fix it for you. So he'll speak to you softly and express his adoration for you as best he can, even if he's real rough around the edges. Even when he and his sister are on rocky ground with each other, he'll drop his pride and go to her for advice if he's left unsure what to do. Nick feels like you're the only good thing that's ever happened to him and he's fucked up enough in his life. He's not about to let you struggle with something alone.

[exoticalmonde]

Part I. Hortus de Escapismo Dr. Evealia's Reaction

Ah, finally.

Hortus de Escapismo

Garden of Escapism

Full experience includes waiting for 19837364 endless hours for the servers to open, rewatching the PV (English Version)

The animated PV

And listening to the biggest banger of a boss music without knowing any context. Including to whatever this splash art is meant to be about why does he look so... sad?

The following contains only the aftermath of the gacha and me being real chatty about the way characters look + expectations, so if you're looking for commentary of the story, please refer to Part II!

Hortus de Escapismo is on the horizon and Dr. Lundi is a radiant and unavoidable ball of excitement during the pulls. How could she NOT be??? Six months of saving, an ungodly ammount of pulls and a surprising eagerness of Executor to arrive home later (i.e. the fact out of eight 6*, only two were strangers).

Speaking of strangers, an obscure horse wandered into the pulls to remind her that he's still her number one husband and Executor comes second. Most likely because to summon Federico she changed Mlynar on her homescreen to Executor normal version and he got a little worried, the old man.

Among the 4 Doctors there's always 7 pots of each Elite, so it's no wonder the other one went to Dr. Pinkie before pity, which pretty much concluded our pulls. I don't know what happened to Dr. Kryo, but I personally didn't pull because Hoederererer is on the horizon four months from now and I am BEHIND because of Silverash Kernels.

Fastest character build ever in the world. I think maxing out characters ASMRs have to exist. It's so nice to see it happen so fast. Aesthetically pleasing, complete and right.

But since I'm giving statements that are already unrequested, I just want to say that Executor is not my type. I don't like stiffly blunt and I am also on the side of Sarkaz, so just Sanktas in general are a little... off for me. Except Enforcer, Enforcer is my baby and I would kill for him.

Go on, TRY and convince me this isn't one of the coolest arts ever. I need old 6* characters to get a revamp on their E2 art, because compared to this few can truly compare. God is behind him, holding the scythe, the statue is half a robot for whatever reason???? And it's so cool???

Not to mention that he looks exactly the same face-wise versus his E0 art, which cannot be said about, I don't know, SilverAsh, who looks like he was born in a wet cardboard box all alone in an alley.

His token is also so so so so cute, I don't know what the overall experience with listening to him talking into your ear feels like, but just-- just read this:

'A wireless earpiece. The latest of the Lateran Curia's tech products, and the same model that Executor himself currently uses. Is he giving this to you so you can stay in contact with him at any time, perhaps?'

??????????????????????????????

Cutie patootie.

Base skill not all that impressive. For some reason while looking into it Dr. Pinkie expressed surprise, because she couldn't find any other operator who gives productivity for EXP cards, but by complete accident I saw FEater is another one.

Insider's splash looks great, he's the embodyment of that one weirdo who always gets in trouble for some reason. Might be the spiky hair. Might be the army of pigeons following him.

Their voice actors are amazing so far as I heard, so we wait and see what he's like personality wise.

HIS POTENTIAL IS ABUBUBUBU

'A handwritten dessert recipe. With proportions finetuned to Insider's own personal tastes, the sugar content ABSOLUTELY exceeds recommended guidelines! This one's a pick-me-up!'

Ma'amn...

Not me. Not with that look.

Jail.

'A user manual for precision machinery. Though the only thing inside is a special phone number, since she thinks telling you what to do directly is easier. (But sometimes she'll teach you wrong on purpose–depends on her mood.)'

JAIL FOR YOU

[demigodofhoolemere]

Collecting all of my thoughts on the 60th specials now that they’re over and there’s a cohesive overall picture, because I had many and I want to de-clutter them in my head for my own sake. Not in any particular order of significance, just stream of consciousness as I rewatch.

Be warned that while there were definitely things I enjoyed, there’s going to be a good bit of negativity in here, so if you understandably don’t want to see critiques of something you really liked, please do yourself the favor and don’t read this. I know what it’s like to see very negative takes on something you loved a lot and I know how bad it can feel as it sits with you in your stomach for a while if you’re particularly sensitive to it. Enter at your own risk. Also, I’m not looking to be argued with so if you read any of this and disagree with me on things, please just keep scrolling. This is just me throwing my thoughts at the wall.

And obviously, massive spoiler warnings here. I’ll be talking freely about all the things.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

THE STAR BEAST

- I’ve seen people make fun of the opening but I don’t find anything wrong with it in particular. The Doctor standing there like he was cut and pasted is a little silly but it’s not laughably bad either. I get the feeling they realized after they’d already shot the specials that they needed a recap and threw it together pretty quickly but it’s not terrible.

- The new credits are GORGEOUS and the music makes me very happy.

- I have issues with it that I’ll get into but despite myself it’s nice to see Tennant again. He was my first Doctor and his era is very nostalgic for me so it would be hard to be totally unhappy to have him around.

- That said, now with the context that the return of this face somehow has nothing to do with the Toymaker, I’m baffled and not a fan of bringing him back just for the sake of it. I really thought there was going to be SOME kind of interference by the Toymaker that would be delved into a bit when he eventually turned up, something to justify this, but no. Which means that he really is just back because that particular regeneration needed closure or something, and yeah, Ten had issues and not the happiest sendoff, but in my personal opinion it just feels more like favoritism from RTD. For 57 years, regeneration has meant letting go, and it comes across like RTD can’t do that if he has to make up non-interference-related reasons for bringing an old face back and thereby altering regeneration mythos (which he does again in an even worse way later…) by suddenly saying it’s possible for a past life to come back. I know there’s technically precedence for old faces returning, in the form of the Curator, but that was done so quickly and vaguely that it’s not invasive. This is asking us to go along with old faces coming back for *checks notes* reasons, and to give a whole new number, altering our numbering system forever, to who is essentially just Ten again. I’m sorry, but I am never calling him Fourteen. I’m resigned to the fact that I’ll have to refer to Ncuti as Fifteen and so on from there, but that’s just Ten. The only difference is that he’s got three more lives in his head that make very slight differences to his personality. Very, very slight. But it’s bugging the crud out of me that Tennant is apparently so special that it’s fine to randomly have him become himself again, that he gets two numbers, and is now being made to appear twice on every poster that has the full lineup. I am never going to acknowledge him as a whole new regeneration between Jodie and Ncuti, I’m sorry. I adore Tennant, he’s my first and I’m legally obligated to mention that I do love him extremely dearly, but if none of this had anything to do with the Toymaker torturing him and playing with his emotions or something by making him look like his old self who had so much baggage, then this whole thing is immediately silly and self-indulgent on RTD’s part.

- I know that the Doctor and Donna were brought together again because the two of them combined as the DoctorDonna could save London, but it happens so fast and without emotion. Their paths just sort of happen to cross, immediately. It’s done very quickly and in a way that doesn’t let me feel the full weight of him reacting to seeing her again.

- However I love seeing Donna again. She’s very much the same Donna I’ve always loved and it’s great to see her.

- I do like bringing back the recurring joke of Donna missing out on obvious alien attacks, lol.

- Nice that this stuff takes place in Camden seeing as Bill Hartnell partly grew up there.

- I appreciate moments like the psychic paper saying “Grand Mistress” instead of “Grand Master” as acknowledgment of Thirteen’s existence. I was worried she’d be entirely swept under the rug.

- Allons-y! 💙 That does my inner 2012 self’s heart good.

- Shaun Temple is a sweetheart and a delight.

- Gotta love throwing in one last reference to Nerys, lol.

- Donna, I’m proud of you for being such a good person that you want to give away your money to people in need, but keep at least SOME of it, girl! You’ve got a family!

- Shirley Anne Bingham is awesome and she can stay as long as she likes.

- Oh boy… pretty much everything to do with Rose feels very ham-fisted and clumsy to me. You can have a trans character without going about it like this. If the point is supposed to be to normalize portraying it in media, then it should be natural, not be about making a point. Shoving it down the audience’s throat every minute is naturally going to make people dislike the writing, even people who fully agree with the intent. I’ve already seen a fair number of LGBT+ viewers discuss this being poorly done. It doesn’t feel well-written to me and I don’t think it’s going to age particularly well either. More on this later as the worst of it crops up.

- I love Sylvia trying so hard to protect Donna by completely denying anything alien and acting like everything is normal. This poor woman is doing everything she can. I never thought I’d like her so much.

- Sad to hear Donna talk about feeling like she’s lost something but never knowing what it is.

- The Meep and the Wrarth Warriors all look incredible.

- Not a fan of the sonic basically being a magic wand. There’s a reason they ended up ditching it in the Classic series, because it was getting so that the Doctor relied too much on it, and that was before it had anywhere near the convenient powers it’s had throughout the modern series. This is a big step even further than they’ve ever taken it before and it really took me out of it. The sonic shouldn’t be able to create Iron Man HUD screens or Green Lantern hard light shields. I’m hoping they don’t do that again as the show continues.

- Murray Gold’s music is beautiful and it’s great to have it back. It does have a tendency to get too loud, though. I like to hear what people are saying.

- I do quite like the interactions between the Doctor and Shirley. She’s got a good personality to bounce off of him. I especially like them waving at each other as he sneaks off onto the UNIT truck.

- That pretty purple light coming from the ship was more exciting when I thought it was the Toymaker’s power coming to control them. Oh well.

- Love Donna’s reaction to the Meep.

- Poor Sylvia at her wit’s end. Someone help that woman.

- While it’s fitting that the Doctor has now been slapped by the trifecta of mothers from the RTD era, I’m not sure that we should still be doing gags like that where it’s apparently okay and funny to slap someone if they’re a man. The reverse would go down very differently. At least in context it makes perfect sense for Sylvia to be angry that he’s shown up and to want to get rid of him, but I hope that kind of humor doesn’t stay.

- Shaun walking in on all of this chaos like

- Nice to see the Doctor get emotional over Wilf. Same, dude.

- ^ I also really like that Kate took it upon herself to get him into a nice care home practically for free. I appreciate that she gets in touch with so many of the companions and that she’d go out of her way to help him have what he needs. I could see her dad doing that, too. I’d like to think that Yates is in the same care home (considering Richard Franklin is in real life at this point) and he and Wilf can share stories.

- Gaaahh at, “You’re assuming ‘he’ as a pronoun?” Nobody talks like this.

- Not sure the Doctor should be talking so freely about aliens and two hearts right in front of Donna and risk her remembering. He even casually hands her the sonic for a moment and shortly after starts explaining what it is. Probably not the best idea. Bit careless, mate.

- Part of me feels like the barrister wig bit is a little too silly, but then again:

- Anyone who had any awareness of the original comic was already waiting for the Meep’s turn, but knowing didn’t make it any less of a good reveal. I liked the very sudden shift.

- Shirley having weapons in her wheelchair, heck yeah. Reminds me of the Brig’s concealed gun in his cane in SJA.

- I like Donna feeling compelled to help even if she can’t remember having ever done anything like this. I also like Sylvia’s chilled realization that Donna called him “Doctor” without having ever been told.

- Lol at the kid watching the destruction from the window and not running or looking freaked out in the slightest. Boy has no self-preservation instincts.

- There is definitely some good emotion going on with the Doctor’s conflict in having to reactivate Donna’s memories, and it’s extremely well acted, but for whatever reason I don’t feel as much weight here as I should. It’s not just that I’m too disconnected from their original run at this point, because I rewatched The Stolen Earth/Journey’s End as well as The End of Time in the lead-up to this airing and I was severely emotionally impacted like I’d been thrown back 10 years in time, so I have no idea why I just don’t feel as much as I wish I did. It’s definitely not about their acting. Maybe it’s just too quick? Because I feel like the pacing of this episode in general goes by so fast that there hasn’t been enough time to really drive home the drama of what remembering will do to her, or the full extent of their relationship. Everything just sort of happens. The conflict of having to choose to restore her memories is great but the actual regaining of those memories just feels… sudden? Unearned? I don’t know.

- Don’t know how to feel about Donna having straight up Winter Soldier trigger words to unlock her memories.

- I really feel like her getting her memories back should have been a much more emotional moment between the two of them. She has no reaction to suddenly having it all back — it’s just undercut with the humor of yelling about having given away all of her lottery money, and being mad at him that there was a subconscious part of her that had his influence that drove her to do that. Honestly, I believe Donna would do it anyway, you don’t need to make some explanation for his soft heart still sticking around in her head like she wouldn’t have done that on her own. After a decade of wishing Donna could one day have her memories restored, this isn’t what I wanted out of it.

- It’s better a minute later when she realizes she only has 55 seconds left before her brain fries but she’s okay with it because it’s the best 55 seconds of her life to now be fully herself again. It’s also sweet when the Doctor is holding her as she begins to fade away, even if it’s undercut a moment later by her suddenly waking again.

- I’m not sure why the metacrisis energy in her head would split off and have half go into Rose in the womb. I suppose you could come up with a way that makes it make sense but it’s pretty convenient.

- Doctor: “We are binary.”

Donna: “She’s not. Because the Doctor’s —”

Doctor: “Male.”

Donna: “And female.”

Rose: “And neither. And more.”

… Huh??? Are they trying to say that Rose is trans because the Doctor is capable of being either male or female and the metacrisis somehow passed this on?

- I like the quick moment between the Doctor and Sylvia. Didn’t know I wanted more of them.

- The Meep’s ominous allusion to “the boss” doesn’t seem to have been about the Toymaker, so… what gives? Not that that’s a bad thing that it wasn’t, I wasn’t sure what to think of him having people working for him anyway, but I’m curious if that thread will ever get picked up.

- Donna: “Yes, we know.”

Rose: “We know everything, thanks.”

Donna: “And you know nothing. It’s a shame you’re not a woman anymore. ‘Cause she’d have understood.”

Rose: “We’ve got all that power, but there is a way to get rid of it. Something a male-presenting Time Lord will never understand.”

Okay, first off, why the attitude with the Doctor? Geez. Second, Thirteen never let go of anything in her life lol, no she wouldn’t have understood. Third, did they not just say that the Doctor is ‘male and female and neither and more’? Now a few minutes later the Doctor is suddenly just a dumb man who could never understand because he doesn’t have a woman’s perspective? One minute we’re saying gender doesn’t matter because he’s both and none, the next we’re using the standard binary against him to act like the women are so much smarter than him? There’s no need to pick on him like that, and please, just pick one, you can’t have it both ways. Also, oh my word, ‘male-presenting Time Lord’? Russell, can I have a word with you about writing sentences that sound like they would actually come out of someone’s mouth?

- ^ Additionally, the solution to the metacrisis is to just… let go of it. They literally just choose to make the energy leave them. Easy as that. That feels so incredibly unearned and completely undermines the stakes involved. For 15 years Donna was at risk of having her head explode. Her ending was an absolute tragedy with very serious consequences. And now they just go, ‘Well, they can let go of the metacrisis though’. All of the drama of her circumstances feels horribly undermined by the easiness and convenience of that. I don’t think they should have fixed everything in just the first episode of this anyway, let alone that lazily.

- I am quite a fan of the new TARDIS interior. It’s a bit big, hopefully we’ll get some furniture in there over time or something, but it’s a very neat design. I’m very pleased to have the Classic white back, but that the lights can also change colors if they feel like adding a bit more mood or character to a scene. I’m also assuming that its wheelchair accessibility means we’ll get Shirley in there at some point, which I look forward to.

- Aw at the Doctor remembering how Donna takes her coffee.

- “I really do remember, though. Every second with you. I’m so glad you’re back, ‘cause it killed me, Donna. It killed me, it killed me, it killed me.” Aw 💗

- “I said so!” Poor Sylvia, lol.

- Watching this the first time under the assumption that the Toymaker was pulling strings throughout the first two specials, I really thought they ended up at the end of the universe because he hijacked the TARDIS, and the coffee was a coincidence. Nope. Turns out the TARDIS really just broke down that bad over one spilled cup of coffee. It really should be more resilient than that!

~~~~~

OVERVIEW

I liked more than I realized, there is some good in here (Sylvia was the unexpected MVP), but for me the bad just outweighs it too much. The things I do like are generally small moments and the things I don’t are generally quite big ones, which is a problem. I’ve got a number of issues with the writing, and that’s just if the episode were standalone, let alone the fact that this is supposed to be for a big anniversary. In the context of the entirety of the specials it’s got even more problems. This doesn’t feel like it’s celebrating anything, except perhaps the original comic which is nice at least, but apart from that, it’s just… an episode. A poorer one at that, imo. The pacing is rushed and the writing is often either forced or lazy or both. It doesn’t have anything to do with the next two specials and it doesn’t set up anything that it should. Maybe I shouldn’t have expected that it would, but I find it bizarre that it doesn’t.

I really wanted to like this and I went into it expecting that I would, but even beyond the writing problems, I just couldn’t connect. I don’t know if it’s the pacing or what but I don’t feel nearly as much as I want to and feel I should. Ten and Donna are being very much themselves and they’ve got stuff here that should make me emotional, and to a degree it does, but… something is just off. I don’t feel the weight of it, and that’s a recurring problem throughout all of these specials. For whatever reason the episodes just don’t emotionally resonate with me for the most part, even if I’m pleased to be watching Ten and Donna and should therefore be more excited about it and care more about the fact that they’re back on my screen. I really, really want to care more about seeing them again. I do care, but it’s just… off. The rushed resolution to Donna’s problem doesn’t help, either. I don’t feel the emotional payoff. Part of me feels like if they were going to undermine the impact of Journey’s End by solving everything with such ease and casualness, then maybe they shouldn’t have done this at all. And I love Donna, I do, I’ve always wanted her to remember eventually, but I really feel there needed to be more to it than this. This doesn’t feel earned. I’ve got little to no emotional catharsis out of it. I would wonder if it was just a me problem if not for the fact that my sister came away from it feeling the same. Tales of the TARDIS handled this better for Jamie and Zoe in just 5 minutes — they didn’t have stakes for remembering like Donna did, it was just a cruel thing done to them, so it doesn’t feel like it’s undercutting anything to have their memories restored just as easily as they were taken, and there’s a whole ton of emotion packed into that 5 minutes that feels real, earned, and gets to me every time I’ve watched it. Why I don’t feel the same about Donna is beyond me.

I’m really struggling to understand why after just this first episode so many people were rejoicing that RTD has saved the show. Granted, I didn’t hate the Chibnall era, just select parts of it in the same way that I would have problems here and there with RTD and Moffat, so I’m not coming from a place of having felt like the show I loved was dead, but I really don’t see how The Star Beast is any better than most given episodes of the preceding era. I didn’t feel some magical shift. If anything, I liked most Chibnall era episodes more than this. I don’t know what everyone is talking about.

Thankfully the next special is a vast improvement imo.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

WILD BLUE YONDER

- The opening with Isaac Newton just feels completely unnecessary to me. I feel like Russell just wanted to make a joke about changing the word “gravity” to “mavity” and decided to create that opening scene. I believe I also saw that the actor is a friend of his so this also could have spawned from him trying to create a bit part for him. Whatever the origin is, I’m not a fan of it. I really hope the mavity joke doesn’t continue past these specials, because I find it very annoying for reasons I can’t even quite place. Just gets on my nerves. And let’s forget the fact that the word gravity existed before Isaac Newton anyway.

- The TARDIS blaring the military song at the beginning and later near the end is another thing I would have sworn was the Toymaker having a laugh. Nope. No clue why it’s doing that, then. They do say something about the TARDIS playing them a war song, I guess they mean to imply it was some kind of warning of what they were getting into? But it kind of just happens. I feel like RTD keeps doing things without explanation just for fun. And there’s definitely a time and place for that, but in these specials it keeps being stuff that really should have elaboration and then they just don’t.

- I really like the massive spaceship and its design. Feels like something my brain would make up as I’m listening to a Big Finish story. The moving pieces are awesome as well.

- This is just me being someone who primarily prefers the Classic series a lot of the time, but I’m kind of done with New Who making a point of people’s attractiveness. I don’t need commentary on how hot the characters think anyone they’ve run into is, let alone a historical figure. New Who has a strange obsession with sexualization. RTD and Moffat are the worst offenders with this. Can’t call to mind times where that happened in the Chibnall era but I could be missing something. In any case I really want them to grow up a bit.

- Hey, that’s the first reference to the Doctor snapping his fingers to control the TARDIS in who even knows how long! Not that I was even a fan of that concept but it’s interesting to hear about it again.

- I like that Ten quickly stops himself from placing any blame on Donna and apologizes.

- The Doctor kissing her hand and holding it to his chest when she starts panicking is very sweet. 💗

- Woohoo, bringing back the HADS! Troughton fans unite!

- I love the robot. That is a great robot.

- I totally thought that the void outside was the Toymaker’s realm. That’s what I get for listening to Solitaire I guess.

- ^ I was also waiting for the glass that the Doctor was pressing against to completely disappear and he would fall into the Toymaker’s realm. Would make a good fic though.

- With all of the shots of Ten and Donna being watched from behind I kept expecting the forms of old companions like Susan or Steven to show up to mess with the Doctor. Never mind.

- I knew he was going to lick the strange gooey substance. Same old Ten.

- Poor Donna wondering what her family would do if she never returned.

- I thought it was abrupt that the Doctor had finished his job and already come back to Donna, but the moment where we cut back to the Doctor fiddling around immediately made it click that Donna was NOT talking to the real one, which is terrifyingly creepy.

- ^ I assumed at first that the Toymaker was faking being the Doctor to get information out of Donna. Then when the fake Donna turned up I thought they were both just his puppets he’d sent. Even when it was revealed what they really were I still imagined the Toymaker had something to do with sending them after them. Still jarred that these first two specials had absolutely no set-up for the big bad they were teasing in promotions for ages. But this particular instance is still very good without having anything to do with him. The Not-Things are chillingly creepy and I was constantly on edge.

- I like how Donna has absolutely no reaction to, “My arms are too long,” as if the Doctor would just say that lol.

- The long arms are so freakish in the best kind of freakish way.

- I seriously thought for a minute that they were turning into giant marionettes. There’s a bit of music during the reveal that sounded a bit circus-y for a moment as well. I could not stop seeing the Toymaker around every corner lol.

- David and Catherine kill it as the Not-Things. It’s fascinating to see them play against themselves in such a dark way.

- The way they look when they’re growing enormous and are appearing more and more freakish really feels like something my brain would concoct while listening to Big Finish if they did a story like this.

- I really enjoy the darkness going on here generally. They didn’t shy away from being absolutely twisted and terrifying and disturbing. It’s good to have a bit of that sometimes.

- This is seriously David and Catherine at some of their best. This special has the best stuff for the Doctor and Donna as a duo and their relationship, as well as having to play everything twice. They’re so good at making the Not-Things convincing that I was genuinely having a hard time figuring out which ones were real for a while.

- I hate the Timeless Child lore but it’s used here to good effect. Same with the Flux. I actually quite enjoyed the Flux arc but the fact that it did permanently wipe out half the universe without getting reversed or fixed and we just don’t talk about it is ridiculous. While I wish they would fix the situation, similarly to the Timeless Child it’s used well here.

- That contorted crab walk thing is incredibly disturbing even if it does look stupid lol.

- Really, how can they use a line like, “To play your vicious games and win,” and not have me think the Toymaker was involved somewhere in here?

- The Doctor not being able to stop thinking is very relatable lol. I would fail so badly in this scenario.

- I really like the design of the old captain of the ship. I’d love to see what that species looks like when they’re not just skeletal remains. Unless they actually do just look like bone anyway like Thestrals, in which case that would be even cooler.

- Everything about the climax is very well-executed. The drama, the pacing, the stakes. Very strong stuff.

- Poor Donna being left behind. But do you know what I was expecting? Naturally, for the Toymaker to pluck her out before the ship exploded so that he could keep her alive to force to play games. These specials did not go anything like I expected lol.

- Sweet Ten and Donna just sitting there reeling for a minute.

- Not sure what invoking a superstition at the edge of the universe is supposed to do with the return of the Toymaker in the next ep. He says it’s because the walls of reality are thin and all things are possible, but that doesn’t mean that pouring some salt on the ground magically has something to do with him specifically. Feels like a very weird reason to give when the logical thing to do would just be to say that the Toymaker has been plotting to get him back for a long time and finally showed up now.

- Wilf broke me. This was the one thing in any of these specials to get me truly, legitimately emotional. Shed a tear over him and his sweet face. It’s a shame they weren’t able to film any more scenes with him but I’m so glad they got that one in.

~~~~~

OVERVIEW

By far the best of the specials. I quite enjoyed the sheer darkness and madness of this one, and David and Catherine absolutely knock it out of the park. The writing is largely very good and it’s very effective in its scare factor, as well as in showcasing the relationship between the Doctor and Donna. This is the best stuff they have in any of these specials and I felt a little more connected to them here than in the other two. That doesn’t say as much as I’d like it to, but I’ll take it.

It stands up very well on its own, which in one way is great and the mark of a wonderful episode, but in another way also speaks to one of my overall problems with these episodes which is that they’re not connected to each other. This is a fantastic story and extremely well done, but once again it doesn’t feel like it’s celebrating anything and I truly don’t understand why these specials weren’t written to be a lot more connected than they are. At the end of the day it’s just a collection of random episodes that fill a gap before Ncuti takes the reins. That said, I’m not complaining about this one, this really was very interesting. Definitely the standout episode out of the three.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

THE GIGGLE

- Getting this out of the way right from the start lest I comment on it during every scene of his: NPH steals the show. He acts his heart out here. On the one hand it’s a very different approach to and portrayal of the Toymaker, which would otherwise bother me, but I can buy it as a Toymaker who has had centuries and centuries since the original serial to grow madder and madder and madder (and though he doesn’t regenerate like a Time Lord, I’d still be willing to believe that pieces of his personality might shift with different faces). On the other hand, there is still very much an element of Michael Gough in his darker, more intense moments. Glints that you can see in his eyes and his wicked grin. Very different but very the same. I really wish more of the episode had focused on him, and even further that he had been involved in all three of these specials.

- I appreciate the different accents he puts on throughout, as it proves me right that he just copies things from all manner of cultures he has no connection to. Vindication.

- Genuinely creepy in the opening scene the way he talks about the doll family as if buying the one doll would be separating it from its family and make them sad. You get the impression he’s not kidding. Even creepier when he says the hair on the doll was from a woman who won’t be missing it and won’t miss anything ever again. This one scene sets up right from the off that he is deeply unsettling and has done truly horrifying things to the victims of his games.

- I keep looking for Easter eggs in the toy shop and keep finding nothing lol. Wasted opportunity to have a Trilogic game or something hidden in the background.

- There’s some very dark music that plays frequently which seems to be the Toymaker’s theme. I really like it.

- Very unsettling that the Doctor’s first interaction with the Toymaker is unbeknownst to him. I like that he just stays in the background for a minute before messing with him while he still doesn’t know it’s him.

- I don’t like that the new UNIT building is essentially Stark Tower. That’s much too ostentatious for an organization that’s supposed to keep a low profile. Their building in The Power of the Doctor was already way too big. I don’t know why they seem to have gone very public now.

- I like that Kate is so scared by all of this that the first thing she does is to just grab the Doctor in a hug. Also, nice shoutout to Kate having fought Yetis.

- Mel! 💗 It's so nice to have her here. I haven't seen her Classic stuff yet but I've always adored her from afar, she's so precious. I'm always here for bringing back old friends as long as it's done well. The Doctor's reaction to her is so sweet.

- Sorry to disappoint, Mel, but you’re not the first redhead lol.

- Cool little robot guy. I'd ask why they have him working for them but they also had an alien as their scientific advisor for years, so whatever.

- Very interesting to demonstrate what happens to people's minds by turning Kate's protective armband off. Her tirade over nothing is both funny and frightening.

- The return of newscaster Trinity Wells! Nice to see you, girl. Though I have no idea how UNIT not only created but has already been trying to mass produce and give to the world these Zeedex bands within 2 days for this to even be on the news. Apparently they were an invention of the robotic character the Vlinx but that’s still a bit fast lol.

- I like that Donna was able to figure out the music scale from a perfectly ordinary experience. And lol at having Bonnie Langford sing the arpeggio.

- Considering the implication that having traveled in the TARDIS prevents the effects of this on an individual, I now want fic of every companion who's living in modern day Earth reacting to all of their neighbors and family suddenly losing their crap. Ian and Barbara watching their friends pick loud fights in the streets, Jo seeing every member of her family go mad. Not to mention the characters who either never set foot in the TARDIS at all or not long enough for it to protect them. Poor Liz Shaw somewhere, and Benton and Yates. All of the SJA kids except for Sky since she's an alien, and she'd have to deal with all of them being terrible.

- I like that they have Mel doing some technical stuff since she was supposed to be a computer programmer.

- Glad they gave a reason for why and how Mel is back on Earth lol. Nice shoutout to Glitz while they were at it as well.

- Kate really seems to like offering everybody a job lol.

- Subtle bit of creepiness to the Toymaker that no matter how many of his juggling balls he throws, he's still juggling the same amount of balls.

- I'm glad they had him already know Donna's name. I imagined he would have to but you never know what writers are gonna do. I'm also very pleased that it's immediately acknowledged that the Toymaker is an extreme threat by having the Doctor tell Donna to go back to the TARDIS the second he's realized who it is.

- Heck yes to the brief Hartnell and Gough flashes! It's not only lovely to see them in general but I love the weight that it adds, that they know each other from so long ago, and that those people are still who they both are inside the different faces. You can see Michael Gough's eyes in NPH right here in particular and for a moment I feel I can even see Bill's eyes in David.

- Shoutout to the hidden Joeys in a couple of different places. They're not nearly as visible in the episode as the set pics made it seem but I know he's there.

- Love that he means Hartnell when he says, “When I was young.”

- I like the unnervingness of the endless hallway and all of the doors just leading you nowhere. I can imagine that kind of a trick in the original serial. (In fact I now really want to see that be something they'd have to deal with. I can just hear Steven's huffy, 'Oh, no,' when they realize they're never getting anywhere lol.) The two of them ending up separated is also good stuff.

- I still don't see what invoking a superstition at the edge of the universe has to do with bringing the Toymaker in. It's a really weird and nonsensical reason to give when the only reason you need is that he's finally coming for his rematch.

- Very creepy stuff with the poor man being made into a marionette, as well as the Doctor seeing himself as one. That’s the kind of disturbing factor I was hoping for with this special. There isn't a ton of this kind of thing here and I'd have gone quite a bit darker myself for this whole episode but I appreciate what we have.

- The Toymaker looming above, looking down as he holds the puppet strings is some really good imagery.

- Donna vs the rest of the doll family is very freakish, but I also feel bad for them because there's no way those weren't real people at one point. Particularly disturbing to have Donna rip Sue's head off and kick it across the room, considering. I know she doesn’t know these were people, and even if she did she does have to protect herself somehow, but yikes.

- I love the painted stage backdrops in the middle of absolute black nothingness. I was hoping they'd have this sort of thing, since much of the original is in this sort of broad, void-feeling space.

- I really like this bit where the Toymaker is showing what happened to the previous companions that have been on the show since Donna left. Very chilling to see him be well aware of all of the particulars of these events and I’m glad they went for it in torturing the Doctor with personal pain. It wasn’t as much or as dark as I’d hoped but I like it, and I always like seeing a Doctor acknowledge companions he was with when he had different faces. Very nice to see Ten’s face talk about Amy, Clara, and Bill. Also, nice recap for those who may have stopped after Tennant originally left, and wow, the Moffat era really had a ton of tragic departures. I keep thinking what must have been going through Neil’s head reading about a character who was killed by a bird, and the various insane-sounding reasons from the Doctor as to why these characters are somehow okay despite what happened to them, considering he apparently didn’t know about Doctor Who whatsoever prior to being approached for the role!

- Oh, the shift in the Toymaker’s face when the Doctor challenges him to a game. Stuff just got real.

- It’s so good to see them playing at a table again.

- “I made a jigsaw out of your history. Did you like it?” Not sure what that means unless they’re trying to indicate that he’s somehow responsible for the Timeless Child mythos, or at least for various inconsistencies in the Doctor’s life. I doubt they’d hand-wave away the whole TC arc like that when Russell said he wouldn’t undermine his friend’s work, so I don’t know what to make of this. But if we can ignore that from here on out then that rocks.

- Poor Master, lol. I can only imagine bedraggled and broken Dhawan being offered a chance to live if he played a game, taking the offer, and promptly losing. I want to know how that went down. Apparently very badly, if the price was being trapped inside the Toymaker’s gold tooth. Also, is he aware of what’s going on or is he just sort of in stasis in there? It would be awful for him if he were conscious of everything, but awful results are how the Toymaker operates, so I wouldn’t be surprised. Imagine the Master trying and failing to scream to the Doctor to do whatever he has to to get away.

- Okay, who on earth is this person the Toymaker supposedly didn’t dare play? They’re claiming that he played and defeated God but there’s somehow someone even more powerful that the Toymaker of all people is scared of? “The one who waits”? Jokingly headcanon-ing that it’s Rory until we get anything further on that, lol.

- I mean, the Toymaker ain’t wrong about the issues of the human race in the 21st century 🤷‍♀️ VERY weird to hear him say the word ‘cancel’ though. That originated here on tumblr to my knowledge. Things like that have gotta stop breaking containment, now they’re spreading so far that a character from 1966 is saying them.

- Love the Toymaker’s aghast reaction to Donna saying he’ll just cheat. Though they make it sound like he’s forced to always play by the rules by some sort of cosmic force that binds him. In the original you get the impression that it’s just a matter of principle to him, which I prefer.

- I like that the king on the playing card looks like it could either be Michael Gough or NPH, or perhaps a blurred line between them to represent both.

- Part of me feels like the dancing scene is a bit too far in terms of silliness for circumstances that should be very serious, but it’s also too enjoyable for me to not get a kick out of. They also managed to make it quite dark and threatening, having him appear all over the place, forcing Kate and then Mel to dance, turning the two UNIT men into bouncing balls that still retain the images of their screaming faces and the Doctor telling Kate that they’re dead, and making all of the bullets turn into rose petals therefore showing them all that they’re helpless against him. For something that should come across as ridiculous, it’s actually surprisingly effective. Though I don’t know what it is with RTD and having his big bads dance to girl group songs lol.

- When Kate asks where the guards and staff have gone and the Toymaker just goes, “I think they’re still falling.” Eek.

- Ten really has a thing for offering bad guys to travel with him instead of wreaking havoc lol. But I love that they had him say that the two of them together could be ‘celestial’. Thank you for the little reference and for proving me right again that that’s the context in which we’re supposed to take his title. Also, interesting little moment there where the Toymaker very nearly almost seemed tempted.

- This scene is very quickly ruined, but I like Donna and Mel going to the Doctor’s side to be with him as he regenerates. Very sweet to see two past companions who still love him very much and are willing to put themselves in the line of fire just to make sure he’s not alone. And when the Toymaker comments, “Handmaidens,” it reminds me of the original serial when he comments on Steven’s “adolescent expressions of loyalty”.

- Nice detail that Mel seems a lot more prepared and okay with the realities of regeneration, just comforting him with a smile and not seeming terribly worried whether he’s going to be okay because she knows he will be, she’s seen him in the aftermath of a regeneration before and loved both Doctors she was with. Of course she and Donna are both emotional, but Mel definitely strikes me as more ready to deal with what comes next.

- I’m really mad that this moment is all about to get undermined, because having Ten 2.0’s last words be, “Allons-y,” aka, ‘let’s go’, is incredibly fitting and poignant in contrast to the original, “I don’t want to go.” Why’d they have to go and ruin what could have been a nice, touching regeneration?

- Aaaand here’s the moment that ruins the entire rest of the story for me. Rather than regenerating like normal, the Doctor “bigenerates”, splitting into two of himself so we have both Tennant and Gatwa together. It’s hand-waved with, ‘oh there’s this thing called bigeneration that’s supposed to be a myth but apparently not!’ and then not discussed any further. Russell, you just got back, did you seriously have to already bring a massively disruptive lore change with you? We just had one. I seem to be in the minority, at least on tumblr, but I am not on board with having two Doctors existing simultaneously. It feels more like the Doctor split off a twin. You can’t copy a soul and have two of that soul at the same time. That is not how people work. I keep having to focus on Mel being adorable in the background because the rest of this is aggravating.

- I feel it robs Ncuti of a proper entrance as well. He doesn’t get the same process that every Doctor before him since Troughton has gotten. He’s relegated to splitting off of the fan favorite rather than taking his place as is kinda his right, which could also easily cause people to forever view him as an offshoot and not the proper Doctor. Not to mention the fact that their split also divided articles of clothing between the two of them, meaning Fifteen is left running around in underwear for the entire remainder of the episode. A lot of people seem fine with this but I really think it’s an undignified entrance for the poor guy, and I’m not sure it’s going to age very well either. It would be humiliating enough for any Doctor to start out that way but I can already see people in the future looking back on it as a very degrading introduction for the first black Doctor. My mind also often goes to considering whether certain things would come across the same if it were a woman, and boy, that would not be received well if the new Doctor were a woman having to run around in her underwear as an intro, which means it isn’t really great for a man either.

- I wish I could enjoy the two Doctors excitedly interacting, but that’s the kind of thing that’s only fun or interesting in the usual context of multiple incarnations meeting up from different time periods. This stuff would otherwise be cute, but in the context it’s in, I’m just too uncomfortable to enjoy any of it.

- “Do you come in a range of colors?” is another line that I’m not sure is gonna age well. I’m not sure I like the sound of it now as it is.

- The Toymaker claims he played against the “guardians of time and space” and shrunk them into voodoo dolls. Are we talking Fifth Doctor era Guardians? Poor guys.

- Part of me feels the “ball game” final fight is cool looking (or at least, it’s well-shot to distract me from the fact that it’s not that good; I can’t decide), but the ultimate result is disappointing. It’s pretty unsatisfying to have the Toymaker’s defeat be that he happened to not catch a ball. It makes him look unskilled to just have it graze past his hand when he easily could have stretched slightly further and gotten it. I know people say that his original defeat in the old serial was anticlimactic, but he was defeated because the Doctor was clever. It wasn’t that the Toymaker did anything that would lead to his own loss, it’s not that he wasn’t as clever, it’s just that the Doctor had a good idea and succeeded with it. It was very evenly matched, but somebody has to win even in a very tight game and it was the Doctor. Here, the Toymaker loses because he was unlucky. It wasn’t a victory on the Doctor’s part, the Toymaker just messed up. That doesn’t feel like a satisfying defeat at all because it’s not even a defeat. Everything hinges on the Toymaker somehow not catching a ball.

- Don’t know if that’s the last we’ll see of the Toymaker. It may be the last of NPH playing him at least. I wouldn’t be shocked if they brought the character back for another round some decades down the line, just get him out of the box and dust him off on the rare occasion.

- He says his “legions” are coming, and I believe RTD has said that Fifteen is going to keep facing them. Curious who those will be. I don’t exactly see the Toymaker having armies in reserve somewhere.

- Good for the poor man that he gets to not be a marionette anymore!

- Fifteen: “You can’t save everyone.”

Ten: “Why not?”

Because you go Time Lord Victorious when you start asking that question. Have a Snickers.

- Again, I wish I could enjoy the two Doctors. Fifteen comforting Ten should be a very sweet thing, but this whole thing just feels so wrong to me.

- Well, cue endless speculation on whose hand picked up that gold tooth with the Master in it. That should keep the fandom going for a while.

- ^ Also, ahhh, the various Master laughs when it focuses in on that! I think I hear my beloved Delgado!

- I greatly appreciate all of the Classic references when they’re talking about all of the things they’ve gone through and never stopped to rest after, and all of the people lost.

- Fifteen: “Sarah Jane has gone, can you even believe that for a second?”

Ten: “I loved her.”

Fifteen: “I loved her.”

Owww, official confirmation in TV canon that Sarah Jane is gone by now. I’d appreciated that they had never explicitly said anything like they did with the Brigadier. I loved her, too. 😢

- ^ Also mentioning loving Rose, ahhh. The Doctor has never actually said those words to or about her because he was always an idiot thinking it didn’t need to be said. Finally, a Doctor says onscreen that he loved Rose! 2012 me is pleased.

- Mavic Chen! RTD said he’d be mentioned at some point, but still, there’s a deep cut of a reference! Heck yeah, Hartnell enthusiasts rise.

- “I’m fine because you fix yourself. We’re Time Lords, we’re doing rehab out of order.” Okay, this particular line would seem to imply that at some point when Ten 2.0 eventually regenerates, it will be to Fifteen? That he’s thrown back into the timeline and bigenerates out of himself as Fifteen, thus meaning there’s still just the one Doctor and the timeline aligns itself? Nothing else in this episode indicates that whatsoever, but if that’s what I’m meant to take out of it then it would fix a lot.

- So… they’re seriously saying that he became Ten again for the emotional catharsis of sitting back and living with Donna’s family for a while. Messing up regeneration lore to enable past lives to come back, ignoring that the point of regeneration since its inception is to move forwards, for what is essentially RTD’s fix-it AU fic for his own characters. This continues to feel like it’s RTD’s celebration of his own stuff rather than an overall 60th anniversary celebration. I really want to be happier about having my Ten back, and that Donna gets to remember everything, but so much of the way this has been done leaves a bit of a bad taste in my mouth.

- Aaand oh boy. Here’s the bit where they duplicate the TARDIS. For the sake of argument, say that Fifteen really did come after Ten 2.0 living his life with the Nobles and he’s just thrown backwards in the timeline. If that’s supposed to be the same with the TARDIS, that he’s just bringing it into this time somehow from where it last was with Ten 2.0 prior to his regeneration, then that would be fine. But there is absolutely nothing that indicates this. The takeaway I get is that the TARDIS has been copied. Tennant is going to stay at the Nobles’ and have the original TARDIS on hand so he can still leave sometimes. Gatwa takes off in the copied TARDIS. The Doctor that we’re supposed to be following from here on out is no longer traveling in the very same TARDIS as he always has. If that’s seriously the case, then that’s a GIGANTIC heck no from me. Absolutely not.

- Oh, how I wish I could more properly enjoy this final scene of Ten with the Nobles. On paper it’s absolutely adorable. If they confirm that Fifteen is the regeneration after and not an awkward offshoot, then retroactively I could enjoy this a lot more, but until that potentially happens, I’m still uncomfortable with the two separate Doctors at the same time and therefore uncomfortable with the context of him being here because there was a second Doctor who can keep going instead.

- Would have sworn that the Doctor’s eyebrow story was going to be about Delphon but then he says another name. Oh well.

- I do really like that Mel gets to join in on the Noble family gatherings. Lovely to keep her until the end and that she gets to have sort of a family. “Mad Aunty Mel” 💗

- ^ Also sweet that the Doctor took her to New York in the Gilded Age for a nice little trip at some point in the time skip before this. Mel deserves nice things.

- Why are we saying that Wilf is shooting the moles in the garden? Unless there’s something I’m forgetting where he’s done something like that before, I don’t feel like Wilf would hurt a fly let alone moles. With how hard it was for him to take out his gun after so many years in The End of Time I’m not sure I buy him being okay with shooting anything. Weird note to end on for him.

- Having the Doctor spend most of his time living with the Nobles and resting presents a bit of a Steve-stays-in-the-past-in-Endgame problem in that there’s no way he wouldn’t always be trying to right wrongs around him. Just like Steve would have to ignore every horrible thing he could do something about, including rescuing Bucky who is being tortured out there, any time this Doctor isn’t there when something is going terribly wrong nearby, it means he’s ignoring it while he lounges. That doesn’t sound like him at all.

- And off Fifteen goes, getting ready to go into the Christmas special. I’m worried about it but hopefully it’s better than I think it will be…?

~~~~~

OVERVIEW

Oh, massive mixed bag.

I really like the Toymaker parts of the episode. He wasn’t in nearly as much of it as he should have been and his downfall is disappointing, but the overall writing for him and performance by NPH was fantastic. There’s some very good dark and twisted stuff in here and I’m glad they went for it, even if I would have done even more with it. He is far and away the main highlight of the episode and much of my enjoyment of it is down to him. Mel also plays a considerable role in that, just because I’m thrilled any time an old companion turns up, but I also felt more connected to her, whose stories I haven’t even seen yet, than Ten or Donna somehow. Honorable mention to Kate and Shirley who were also great.

As has been true of all of these, I still just can’t fully emotionally connect with Ten and Donna. I desperately wanted to, and there’s a part of me that did in a way, but nowhere near how it should have been. I feel like I’m insane because on paper there’s nothing even wrong with them and it sure as heck ain’t the performances. But going from a few of their episodes in series 4 in the lead-up and feeling all sorts of strong emotions, that somehow just didn’t carry over to this and I don’t get why. Pacing? Trapped in the poor writing around them? I seriously can’t figure this out, but it doesn’t feel the same as it used to at all. Something is wrong and I don’t know what the heck it is.

And there’s the matter of Ten coming back because apparently that specific incarnation needed a happy ending. I really feel the need to emphasize that I LOVE TEN, but being nostalgic and sentimental isn’t a good enough reason to mess with the regeneration cycle and skip backwards a few lives. Literally the reason they give is that this particular face needed rest (they do say that the Doctor needs rest generally, but they didn’t have to go back to this face to do that — Donna indicates that this face came back so that he could ‘come home’ and be happy.) It feels way too much like favoritism to single this incarnation out in such a big way, and honestly? Ten needed to go when he did. He was becoming someone he wasn’t and it was his time. Of all of the Doctors, his was the one that actually really needed to regenerate, for the sake of his own soul. It was certainly distressing but it was a solid end for him. I don’t feel he needs this do-over to go back and get a happy ending. No one Doctor deserves that over another (though if they did, it would be poor Two whose life was cut short by execution courtesy of his own kind.) I love Ten so dearly but it feels wrong to act like he’s so important that he specifically has earned any of this treatment. I’m beginning to appreciate Tom Baker’s approach of not making multiple comebacks precisely because of his popularity.

For a good chunk of this ep, the writing was pretty good, especially where the Toymaker himself was concerned. But once the bigeneration happened, it was so downhill that it makes me struggle to want to rewatch this even for the good parts. I’m really, really hoping that I’m right and Fifteen is meant to come after Ten 2.0 has already had his lifetime, ditto his TARDIS, because it would largely save this episode for me and because the alternative is completely appalling and I can’t be okay with it. To make matters worse, Russell has claimed that he believes the bigeneration echoed back into all previous regenerations and causing each Doctor to split off from the last so they all get to go on with their own life, that they’re ALL out there in some kind of “Doctorverse”, which is absolutely insane. It defeats the purpose of regeneration: “Times change and so must I,” and, “Life defends on change and renewal.” This completely flies in the face of a critical aspect of the show, that one has to move on eventually. There’s a time for each of these incarnations, but they can’t last forever. It weakens all of these deaths, a good number of which were sacrifices, to claim that they all actually get to live on, and the very idea of it also supports my fear that there’s seriously just supposed to be two Doctors now and we’re supposed to be okay with that. According to Russell there’s a whole ton of Doctors existing simultaneously and that’s supposed to be okay. It’s the definition of bonkers is what it is. I really feel the opposite of all of the ‘RTD saved the show!’ sentiments; it feels like he’s gotten too big for his britches and has returned with a bizarre god complex where he’s wielding way too much power and plans to use all of it however he wishes. He’s single-handedly making me nervous for this entire next era.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

BIG PICTURE

Though there are definitely things I liked, particularly the Toymaker and Wild Blue Yonder, there was far too much that I don’t feel good about for me to be able to say I really loved these specials. I probably won’t reblog much of it beyond what I already have and I’m not particularly motivated to rewatch these except in a full-scale series rewatch because I’m not the sort of person who can let myself skip stuff.

I really feel like these should have been either Jodie’s or Ncuti’s. Ten didn’t need to be here, much as I love him. It could have either been a very dramatic ending for Thirteen (though I enjoyed The Power of the Doctor for that) or a very interesting beginning for Fifteen. It would be interesting to see a brand new Doctor have to navigate such intense stuff. And if it had been Thirteen, I honestly feel I may have emotionally connected better because she’s who we’ve been with.

In my perfect world, these would have all had to do with the Toymaker. Have him be woven throughout the first episode (and give that first ep a very different plot than what we got) and then a cliffhanger that reveals him as having been behind it all, leading into two full episodes of fighting against his power. Either keep Wild Blue Yonder, because it’s pretty darn good, and just have it so that my initial thoughts regarding involvement from the Toymaker were correct, or alter it entirely and focus on really delving into who he is and how much danger they’re in. Make them play deadly games. Get some incredibly dark and disturbing visuals and emotional torture in there; show past companions as puppets and dolls (whether it’s really them or not), have them come to life and taunt the Doctor if they’re fake or hauntingly beg him to save them if they’re real, make him face choosing between saving Donna vs other friends, really dig in as deeply and darkly as is possible without permanent consequences like death. Make episode 3 a long battle of wits with lots of intimate time between the Doctor and the Toymaker, with extremely severe personal stakes. Go all out. If you’re going to use the Toymaker again you really should be taking advantage of just how far you can go with a character like this, and the dynamic between him and the Doctor. Give NPH a boatload of screen time and a big, twisted sandbox to play in. Loads of emotionally, mentally, conceptually, and visually dark and disturbing things. They had some very good stuff but there should have been more of it, and even more unsettling, or at least on par with the marionette man and the soldiers turned to balls. If we keep Tennant for this, make the regaining of his face a plot point that was influenced by the Toymaker, something to torture him because Ten was one of the most emotionally volatile and damaged. When regenerating into Fifteen, let it be a normal regeneration, preferably caused by the Doctor needing to sacrifice himself to defeat the Toymaker because he can’t get away like he did before — this time, he really does have to face going down with the Toymaker to succeed. Keep Donna because she’s a prime resource for hitting Ten where it hurts, but have their reunion be orchestrated and the regaining of her memories be more complicated. It shouldn’t be as easy as it was. Have ample time to give full acknowledgment to the stakes involved. If she regains them in the first episode and it feels too easy, make it so that the Toymaker has only made it seem that way, but she’s in serious trouble the longer she goes on with her memory intact. Either tragically make her forget again in the end to save her life and to not completely undo Journey’s End, or make it far more complicated to ensure that she can safely retain the memories. It should only be in the final episode when they’ve fought for it and come out victorious that they can confirm that she’s safe and is able to go on this way. Definitely keep Mel somewhere in here, as well as having other old friends appear in some way or another. In the VERY least, just reference Steven and Dodo, because they didn’t, dang it all, and I ask for so little.

There’s so much that I wish these specials had done, that I wish they’d been. And largely, they just didn’t. For all the good that there was, there was a heck of a lot that ultimately makes it fail as a collective whole, at least for me. I had to put on a Classic story as a palate cleanser after going through all of that again.

[avacoleman]

when the lights go out || a firstprince fic

summary: Henry Fox’s career is in crisis and his dating life isn’t faring much better either.  After a chance encounter with a charming man becomes memorable for all the wrong reasons, Henry throws himself into his next assignment: writing the memoir of a beloved C-list actor. Henry, however, knows Alex best for the role he played as his random, awkward one-night stand. Henry enters their professional partnership keen on keeping their relationship just that. But after Henry confesses that their hookup was less than spectacular, Alex concots an arrangement that Henry is unable to resist. In addition to ghostwriting Alex’s life story, Henry will teach him a thing or two about satisfying a man.  As they spend months out on the road together, they must decide if the connection between them is yet another story worth telling.

chapter 2/8 || rated e || read on ao3 *updates every tues. and fri. *

Portland, OR Rose City Comic Con Day 1 [Unknown number] hey, i hope you’ve made it safely [Unknown number] in case it wasn’t clear, this is alex. i’ll catch you later. maybe we can grab a bite or something after today’s panel? Henry saves Alex’s number and confirms that yes, he’s arrived in one piece and would be happy to join Alex after the event. All of this is still wrapped in impossibility for Henry. Even though he’d been fully briefed on the tour and signed his contract, the fact that he’s now embarking on a multi-city tour with Alex hasn’t sunk in yet. The six and a half hour long flight didn’t do much to lessen the surrealness and now that he’s here at the venue, Henry doesn’t see an end in sight to the feeling. The convention center is, in a word, daunting. For as much as Henry loves Lord of the Rings and Star Wars, he can’t say his appreciation for the franchises has ever been this devout or even close to it. All around him people are decked out in elaborate, truly remarkable costumes. Some are easy to ID like Doctor Who and Marvel characters. But others are so obscure that Henry can’t even hazard a guess. It’s overwhelming but also kind of intriguing too, seeing people be wholly themselves and embrace the things they love. He forces himself to focus up as he grabs a directory map of the convention’s floor plan for reference before going up to one of the booths for his credentials. With his badge secured, he looks at the map again and makes his way over to where Alex’s panel is being held in one of the larger rooms. It takes him some time to find it; the convention center is practically a maze. But he spots a blowup outside the door clearly marking the panel, Supernatural in the Mainstream. By the time he gets inside, the room is packed and the excited chatter is practically tangible. 

Henry spots a few Crescent Valley fans in t-shirts referencing the show. Admittedly Henry still hasn’t started the series, but before he hopped his flight out of JFK, Pez spent the vast majority of their last few days together giving Henry a pretty substantial rundown of the essentials, including some cast trivia. Most notable from the recap was learning that Alex had dated one of his co-stars, Nora Holleran, during season two. Henry decided it was none of his business– only after doing a Google search on her.

Even with the knowledge that the show resonated with so many people while it aired, it’s strange to reconcile it with the fact that the guy he met on a whim at a bar is part of such a cultural force.

After a few moments, a woman takes to the stage, introducing herself as the moderator. The audience is ravenous as she introduces the panelists and Henry almost goes deaf from the screams Alex earns when his name is called.

Henry studies Alex as he crosses the stage, waving to fans and putting a hand to his heart in appreciation for the warm reception. The large monitors on either side of the stage zoom in on his face and the sincere gratitude Alex feels is plain as day in his eyes.

“Alright, let’s get started, shall we?” the moderator says to kick things off.

Alex in his element during the panel, magnetic really. Even though he’s one of four panelists, it’s so clear to see how he effortlessly draws people in. 

Henry takes out his notebook, hoping to glean something in any of Alex’s responses to the questions directed at him that can be a kernel of an idea they can turn into the core of this book.

He can’t shake Alex’s words during their lunch with Zahra, the way it seemed that Alex sincerely wanted his book to be about something real. 

Vanity cash grab celeb autobiographies were a dime a dozen. Henry figured for people who lived so heavily in the spotlight, it probably felt like the natural progression of things. But with Alex and his team being so adamant in their search, scouring through profiles in hopes of finding the right person to pen Alex’s story, he had to believe this book would actually stand for something other than more dollars in their pockets.

There isn’t much that Henry is able to take away for research other than noting the way people gravitate towards Alex. More than once, he’d actually seen people in the audience quite literally shift to the edge of their seats as he spoke.

When the panel is over, Henry fights against the current of attendees to make his way backstage. He presents his badge to the man at the entrance who gives it a once-over before deeming it to be authentic and ushering Henry through the curtain.

Alex is easy to spot, holding court just as he’d done on stage before, this time with a small audience of just the moderator and his fellow panelists. He’s got a water bottle in his hands, preparing to take a sip when he catches sight of Henry instantly and politely excuses himself from the group.

“You survived day one. How’d you like it?” he asks.

“Your world is very different from mine, but it’s pretty cool,” Henry admits.

“Good, I'm glad to hear it.”

There’s a lull as Alex looks him over and Henry suddenly feels oddly self-conscious and small. Seeing this side of Alex, the sheer star power, is a bit overwhelming.

“You're done for the day, right? I took another look at the itinerary this morning. You’ve got the signing tomorrow, yes?”

Alex nods. “Yeah, I’m all yours starting now.” The man’s face instantly flushes. “You know what I mean.”

Henry offers up a smile that feels more like a white flag. 

“We should head out,” Alex says.

He moves away and heads back to the others in the room, making his parting remarks before touching Henry’s elbow and guiding him to a set of double doors he hadn’t initially noticed when he entered. Henry is treated to a glimpse of the convention center’s underbelly, the private exit that leads them to a secluded area outside on the street level.

Henry is sure it’s probably all in his mind, but now that it’s back to just him and Alex, away from the adoring fans and bright lights of a main stage, the man standing before him now is someone else entirely again. Henry wonders if he’ll ever be able to wrap his head around the two versions of Alex that exist in this world.

“There’s a park not too far from here. Do you want to walk around for a bit?” Alex asks.

It’s a random ask but Henry is glad for it. He’s not sure what to do with himself as they try and find their rhythm around each other.

They make it to the park a few minutes later and walk alongside the edge of a small pond.

Henry turns to attempt starting a conversation and it seems as if Alex had the same thought too; they bump arms immediately and both rush to apologize.

Henry sighs and stops walking.

“I have to ask. Are you still sure about this?” 

Alex’s eyebrows furrow. 

“What do you mean? This walk?”

Henry crosses his arms and gives him a dry look.

“Ah. You being on this project then,” Alex says.

Henry nods. 

Alex looks at him. “Of course I am. I won’t lie, it is a bit of a mindfuck when I stop and really consider it. I’m still trying to figure out how to be around you. But my opinion on your work? My decision to collaborate with you? That hasn’t changed. Not one bit. So, yeah, we had a good night. Great conversation and even better sex,” he muses. “But I can forget it if you can.”

Henry snorts out a laugh in surprise that he quickly tries in vain to cover up as a sneeze. Alex, rightfully, doesn’t buy it though Henry wishes desperately that he would. He hates the way Alex’s face falls. 

“Are you…do you mean you didn’t enjoy it? That I wasn’t…,” Alex trails off.

Henry’s basic functions betray him and his mouth merely opens and closes like a landlocked fish struggling for breath.

In the end, no response is an answer within itself and Henry watches the varying degrees of what can only be described as horror play out across Alex’s face.

Goodbye tour, goodbye contract, Henry thinks. All gone before it even truly got started.

For a man that writes for a living, Henry falls short on what to say. How could he possibly salvage this now?

“I…it…,” he flounders. 

Bang up job, Henry, he internally chides.

“Oh, my god. Oh, my fucking god,” Alex whispers to himself. “Crap, that’s why you snuck out then, isn’t it?”

Henry winces. While that is an astute, wholly accurate description of what he did last week, hearing it so plainly — and from Alex’s lips no less— just makes it sound that much harsher.

“Maybe it was just an off night. It happens sometimes. But look, we don’t have to talk about it. Like you said, we can both forget it ever happened. Today can be our official day one.”

Alex shakes his head, refusing to let it go.

“No. What didn’t you like about it?”

“Alex, come on. Seriously. We don’t have to get into it.”

Alex takes a step closer.

“Please? I want to know what I did wrong.”

Henry frowns.

“That’s harsh; don’t frame it like that. Just think of it as…areas of improvement.”

Alex crosses his arms. “That isn’t much better, but I guess you’re right.” Alex pauses. “Okay then, what do I need to work on?”

Henry groans and looks up at the sky.

“I…how is this happening right now?” Henry mutters to himself, rubbing his forehead and turning his eyes to the water.

He gets a wild fantasy of jumping into the pond and hiding in its depths to avoid this conversation. Could he hold his breath long enough to wait Alex out? He’d be willing to test that hypothesis if it meant even five seconds away from this talk.

When he looks back at Alex, the man’s eyes are unwavering and Henry’s instantly transported to the night in question. To how wide eyed and earnest Alex had been after they had sex and he checked in. It makes something in his chest crack a little, enough to put a hole in the wall he hoped to build around the truth.

“Well, the handjob was a bit…rigid. And when you were working to open me up, that felt a touch awkward. And then when you were actually inside me, it was rushed and uh, a tad repetitive. You were enthusiastic, which was nice, but I couldn’t quite mirror that.”

He hopes his answer is diplomatic, but he knows there’s simply no easy way to say any of this. 

Alex’s brows knit together deeply and it feels like a lifetime before he speaks again.

“So…sex. You’re telling me I’m just straight up bad at sex as a whole?”

Henry groans and slaps the palm of his hand against his forehead.

“Like I said, it could have been an off night. We were drinking, we were both overexcited. The room was cursed or perhaps I really was, remember? There’s a lot at play here.”

Alex is quiet again, too quiet for Henry’s likings. Henry awkwardly scratches the side of his nose and rocks slightly on the balls of his feet as Alex stares off at nothing before turning his gaze back on Henry.

“I’ll take this into consideration. Thank you, Henry. I appreciate your honesty.”

It’s clinical and closed off and Henry wishes he could take back the last few minutes. But the truth is out there, the ball squarely in Alex’s court and Henry can’t help the sinking feeling that he’s about to lose it all.

~*~*~

Rose City Con

Day 2

Much like yesterday, Alex continues to be incredible with fans. It’s only a signing today, but Alex’s energy is on one hundred for each and every person that comes his way. He poses for pictures and makes good conversation with fans. He asks them questions, learns a bit about each of them. It’s clear to see the knack he has for making everyone feel like they’re having a unique, truly personal interaction with him.

Several people come up to him already in tears and overwhelmed, but Alex doesn’t seem fazed by it at all. Henry is impressed with the way Alex puts them all at ease in no time, cracking jokes as he signs merch.

Henry has no clue how Alex manages to keep his enthusiasm going for hundreds of people. The fact that this is only the first city makes his head spin. He’s not even the one engaging with people and yet Henry feels exhausted merely watching Alex in action.

Henry barely managed to sleep last night. Each time he closed his eyes, he was brought right back to the water’s edge with Alex, replaying every painstaking moment of their conversation. 

There was no time to talk about it this morning. The last thing Henry wanted to do was throw a wrench in Alex’s day when he had this signing scheduled.

Looking at Alex now, it makes Henry commend actors for their ability to truly compartmentalize and put their focus where it needs to be.

Once the signing wraps and the final Crescent Valley fan is off with a bag full of newly inked merch, Henry sees the first crack in Alex’s mask. His shoulders sag a little and he rolls his neck from side to side before standing.

He hops down from the slightly raised platform he was seated on. Henry walks towards him without really thinking about it.

“Are you heading back to the hotel now?” Alex asks.

Henry cocks his head to the side, adjusting the strap of his bag.

“I was going to…unless, do you have something else you need me to shadow you on?”

Alex shakes his head.

“No. I was hoping we could talk.” 

Henry looks around. There are still some stragglers from other signing lines though they’re out of earshot.

“We can go back together,” Alex says decidedly. 

They take a car service back to their hotel and Henry is all too relieved once they’re outside again. The ride over was silent and heavy with the weight of whatever Alex wanted to say but couldn’t in the moment.

All that free time merely left Henry with a thirty minute window to dream up scenarios of what Alex wanted to discuss. Every single one of them ended in him being fired and pulled from the tour.

“Can we go to your room?” Alex asks.

Henry nods stiffly. He figures maybe it’s for the best. At least he’d be able to pack his things immediately after Alex chewed him out and sent him on his merry way back across the country to New York.

For now, three thousand miles don’t separate them, merely three feet as they head up the elevator. 

A feeling of déjà vu sweeps through Henry, but this evening couldn’t be any more different than the night they met. Instead of crowding each other’s space and making out, they keep enough distance that their clothes don’t even come close enough to touching, never mind any other parts of them.

Henry lets them into his room and pockets his keycard as he steps inside. The door slamming shut behind Alex sounds ominous though Henry fully recognizes that’s probably his irrational brain conjuring the sense of foreboding.

“So…you wanted to talk,” he says, toeing off his shoes and setting them neatly along the wall. The sooner they got this over with, the better.

Alex nods, crossing his arms against his chest, his hands holding firm to his biceps. The positioning makes him look so small suddenly, vulnerable even. It’s such a sharp contrast to the energy Alex had with fans not too long ago. 

The enigma of Alex Claremont-Diaz continued to baffle him.

“After we spoke yesterday, I took some time to think about everything. I decided to do some research,” Alex says. “I went back to past partners to see if they shared your point of view.”

This isn’t at all where Henry thought this conversation was going. All the same, he plays along, still bracing for the worst. This could all well be a roundabout way of him getting the axe.

“And what were the results of your findings?” he asks.

“They were inconclusive. They all said they never faked it with me which got me thinking again. There’s a factor to consider here that varies from the others.”

Henry's confusion must register on his face because Alex sighs and rubs his face.

“I’ve recently…uncovered something about myself that probably should have been super obvious to me. But hey, you know what they say about hindsight.” 

Alex groans in frustration at himself.

“Can you, like, just face the wall or something? I’d really rather not have to look at you when I say what I’m about to.” 

“Your ridiculousness truly knows no bounds, does it?” Henry huffs but Alex quickly levels him with a glare.

Henry holds his hands up in defense, knowing a lost cause when he sees one.

“Fine, fine,” he says, turning away. 

He can see Alex in the reflection of the TV screen and a part of him feels guilty for not owning up to this fact when sees the tension in the man’s shoulders and watches as Alex shakes his hands as if warding something off.

“My past partners were all women. It’s come to my attention in recent weeks that I’m bi and the night we hooked up…that may or may not have been the first time I had sex with a guy. So maybe, just maybe, I wasn’t stellar at it for what I think is a pretty valid reason when you think about it.”

Henry turns back so suddenly the soles of his clothed feet scrape against the carpet. He’ll think of the rugburn later, but for now, there are bigger things to focus on.

“Alex,” he says, unsure of where to even go next. His mind is racing so quickly, it’s hard to make sense of anything right now, not with Alex’s confession laying bare before him. 

“Your shoulders barely even fit through doorways so I don’t want your head getting big too,” Alex quips, “but…I wanted to be with you that night. It felt like nothing else really mattered to me except getting into bed with you because we really vibed and I wanted to see where it could go. And I know that sounds totally lame and cheesy and probably pathetic as hell or whatever, but it’s true.”

Alex rolls his eyes at himself, stuffing his hands in the back pockets of his jeans.

“This doesn’t have to be a big deal. Hell, it doesn’t even have to be a thing, period.”

“Alex,” Henry says again. This time, something in his voice must stand out because the other man finally stops talking and looks directly at him.

Henry holds his gaze for a moment, needing his words to ring clear.

“It should be a thing because it is in fact a big deal, contrary to what you might think of the matter. Coming into your sexuality, it can be a lot mentally and emotionally. Add in making physical strides…you took a major step that night. That sort of thing isn’t easy to do.”

Alex huffs out a terse laugh.

“It was a swing and a miss.”

“I’ll pretend that’s a cricket reference instead of the tragic baseball one I’m sure it was intended to be.”

Alex’s lips quirk into a reluctant smile just as Henry was hoping it would.

“The only cricket I’ll acknowledge is Jiminy,” he says.

Henry laughs. “I’ll allow that inane response. We’ve got more important things to discuss.”

Alex sighs and takes a seat at the edge of the bed, his head lobbing back as he looks up at the ceiling. All it does is expose his smooth neck and Henry looks away before the sight gets the better of him.

He follows Alex over and sits beside him, his hands resting on the comforter on either side of him. Alex doesn’t rush to speak which Henry grows a little concerned with. Alex is hardly ever quiet or still. Seeing him like this now, Henry can practically hear the whirlwind of rushing thoughts. 

“I should hope that by now, you know you can be honest with me. That’s quite literally what I’m here for. Whatever’s on your chest, you can say and it’d be completely safe. Let your conscience be your guide and all that.”

“God, I hate you,” Alex says, but there’s no bite to his words, especially as he smiles softly and rests his head against Henry’s shoulder.

“Thanks for being so cool about this. Part of me is still not entirely convinced I won’t be struck dead from embarrassment later but, if I had to get news like this from anyone…I sure as shit am glad it was you.”

“You’ve got nothing to be embarrassed about. This just explains a lot. I’m sure you’ll only get better from here on out, now that you know.”

Alex sits up and snorts a laugh.

“And how many guys will I have to fuck until I get it just right?”

“Is that a riddle? A rhetorical question? Some kind of demented R-rated Goldilocks reference?”

“I’m genuinely asking here,” Alex says sincerely, enough to get Henry to quiet down. “What if I never figure it out and I’m just this trash partner for dudes going forward? How many is standard for it to, you know, click?”

Henry smiles sympathetically. “I can’t answer that for you.” Alex frowns, but Henry continues. “It could be ten or it could be as little as one. It’s different for everybody. You just need to get more comfortable with it.”

Alex’s brows furrow, his lips pinching slightly before he looks away. It’s almost an identical look to his expression that night when he was taking his time in touching Henry for the first time.

“What are you thinking?” Henry asks now, unlike that night. They’re well past that stage of being tentative.

Alex opens and closes his mouth before shaking his head.

“Nothing. It’s nothing,” he says, getting up from the bed and running a hand through his curls.

Henry rises to his feet too as Alex turns back to him and speaks suddenly.

“I’m hungry. You hungry? What do we think the room service situation is like here, hmm? I’m guessing high volumes of quinoa and other rabbit foods. A damn shame. I weep in Texas barbecue. Fuck, what I wouldn’t give for some good barbacoa right now,” he prattles on as he tries to sidestep Henry.

Henry gently catches hold of his arm and stops him in his tracks. Alex sighs defeatedly and looks up at him.

“Maybe we’ll get to a point where I’ll be able to read your mind, but until then, I’d really like to know what you’re thinking,” Henry says. “Please.”

Alex sighs again. “Well, when you ask so nicely.”

Henry lets go of him then and holds his gaze. The stalemate ends as Alex collects his thoughts and courage.

“I was thinking, maybe you’re onto something with that whole ‘one person’ thing. Like…I don’t know, maybe that one person could be you? You could, maybe, teach me. Show me the ropes. Or at the very least, explain how I could be better. You know, give me pointers and stuff…if you’d even go for that.”

Henry’s jaw drops slightly, his blood rushing and pounding in his ears. For all his ribbing and joking before, Henry can tell Alex is completely serious now.

“You know, I can’t read your mind either, right? You’re gonna have to say something. Ideally right this second because if I thought I was out on a limb before, I’m freefalling right now and spiraling is not cool or sexy,” Alex says.

Henry blinks twice, letting Alex’s words fully sink in.

“Wait…you’d want to…with me again?”

Alex rolls his eyes and throws his hands up.

“I feel like you deserve a redo. And besides, do you see any other hot British men around here who know my secret shame?”

Henry startles out a laugh.

“You shouldn’t be ashamed and we British men do not travel in packs.”

“Tell that to the Redcoats. British men traveling in packs,” Alex repeats and shudders. “No good ever came of that. Just open any history book at random.”

“My god, do you ever stop talking?”

“Usually when my mouth is occupied in other ways.”

Henry quirks a brow.

“Down, boy. Get your mind out of the gutter. I was absolutely talking about when I’m drinking coffee or eating food or—“

Henry puts his hands on either side of Alex’s face.

“For the love of God, can you be quiet for two seconds so that I may think?”

Alex mirrors his raised brow.

“Holy shit, you’re actually gonna consider this?”

“Did you think I wouldn’t?” Henry shakes his head and lowers his hands. “I mean, yes, there are a hundred and one reasons why we shouldn’t. Chief among them being that we’re here for business not pleasure.”

“But seeing as though we kinda shot that to hell without meaning to…,” Alex supplies. “I freaking love loopholes. I really do.”

“Why doesn’t that surprise me?”

Henry looks up at the ceiling briefly before shaking his head.

“If we do this, we’re going to have to be very, very careful. I don’t want to jeopardize our working relationship. This book has to always come first.”

“Of course.”

Henry sits once more on the bed, Alex stepping close to him with his arms crossed against his chest.

“If this were to happen, we’d need to establish some ground rules. No staying overnight in each other’s rooms. If, for any reason, one of us wants to call it off—,”

“No questions asked. No awkwardness,” Alex says. “Simply not wanting to anymore would be reason enough.”

Henry nods. “Yeah, exactly.” He purses his lips. “And it won’t be a daily thing either.”

Alex scoffs and puts his hands on his hips.

“Jesus, do you think I’m insatiable? You’re hot, but I promise you, I can in fact exercise some self-control.”

“In the short time that I’ve known you, I must admit that’s coming as quite a revelation, but I suppose I’ll have to take your word for it.”

Alex rolls his eyes and smiles softly, his face a bit thoughtful. Henry can’t look away as Alex speaks, especially as he takes note of Alex’s change in tone, the way he grows more serious and contemplative.

“I’m gonna make it up to you. That night.”

“You don’t owe me anything. Besides, this isn’t even about me. I’ll just be here to help you figure out what your future partners might like.”

“And the best way for me to start with that is by learning what you like. When the time comes, yeah, I’ll figure out how to make another guy come undone. But in the meantime? These next few weeks? It’s just me and you. I want to make you feel all the things you should have when we were together. Every sigh, every moan, every desperate breath. I’ll earn it for real this time.”

Henry’s throat feels a bit dry at the thought, at the determination in Alex’s eyes. 

“Is that a promise then? A challenge perhaps?” he manages to say, trying to keep his composure even as he feels himself getting aroused.

Alex doesn’t miss a beat as he says, “Sweetheart, that’s a goddamn guarantee.”

~*~*~

Phoenix, AZ Canyon Con

One of the best parts about agreeing to be the ghostwriter for this project is undoubtedly the ability for Henry to visit cities he’s never been to. 

The flight to Arizona with Alex was enjoyable and this time around, they’re set up in an AirBnB for an entire week.

They’ve settled into their temporary new digs pretty nicely and Henry is looking forward to making further progress with Alex and this book. 

Neither of them has actually brought up the other day and the deal they’ve struck with each other. Henry hasn’t been sure how to breach the topic, but now that they’re set to stay inside this rental for the week, it feels like it’ll take true Herculean effort to ignore the elephant in the room for much longer.

He reasons that since it was Alex’s idea, he’ll leave it to him to mention when he’s ready. For now, they have been able to tiptoe around it, making conversation about virtually anything else.

Henry takes up residence on the couch with his laptop, headphones on as he queues up Crescent Valley. He’s begun watching the series as part of his research. He’s halfway through season one and he still can’t tell if he likes the show or not. Despite that indecision, he can sincerely say Alex is a pretty great actor.

The show itself is campy at best, but there’s something very earnest in Alex’s portrayal of a newly turned vampire attempting to find balance in the two worlds he’s a part of.

Episode nine begins and for better or worse, Henry finds himself getting sucked into it. He rues the day already when he’ll have to confess to Pez that he should have watched along with him back when they were roommates in university. He’ll never hear the end of it. He’d better start preparing now for the resounding chorus of “I told you so”.

Henry’s so wrapped up in the show that he jumps a little when he sees a figure in the doorway of the living room. Alex is now both on his screen and here in the flesh.

Henry awkwardly makes to get up, hitting pause and taking off his headphones.

“Did you want to watch television in here? I can go.”

Alex’s brows furrow a little.

“Oh, no. I just wanted to hang with you. I know we haven’t really had much time to sit down about the memoir yet, so maybe we could now? But if you’re busy though, we can do it later.”

Henry shakes his head and closes out of Crescent Valley. He switches over to the Google Doc he created, storing away all the notes he’s been taking from various interviews he’s watched and read of Alex.

“Now would be great. It’s been nice seeing you out there with fans, but what I’m still trying to understand is the reason why you want a book at this time. What’s the angle or message you want readers to connect with?”

Alex takes a seat on the single seater across from Henry. 

“I want to talk about my sexuality, my ADHD, being a tragic child of divorce, the highs and lows of being in this career. But, mostly the first part.” 

Alex takes a deep breath and lets it out.

“I want to come out and maybe in doing so, it’ll help someone else to make sense of the things they might’ve been feeling for years, but never knew how to dissect or put a name to.”

Henry thinks back to their initial business meeting. Alex had made it clear that despite their past, Henry still remained his top pick to ghostwrite. Alex had also said there were different reasons why he hid the truth of who he was. Now it all slid into place since Alex’s admission the other day.

“Alex, that’s incredible. This is huge.”

Alex smiles nervously. 

“I can’t believe I’m doing it, but I feel good about my decision. My friends and family know. I feel good about myself, even though I’m still figuring this out.”

“You’re taking a big step and on the world stage no less. That’s pretty remarkable. I’m proud of you. I’d be honored to help tell your story.”

He takes his phone out of his pocket.

“Do you mind if I record? It helps me to get details correct and it’s also useful in getting your cadence right when it comes time to start writing.”

“Not at all. Go for it,” Alex says.

Henry nods and opens his voice memo, hitting record. He asks questions about Alex’s upbringing, the sort of little things a quick Wiki search can’t tell a person. 

True to the terms of the contract and Zahra’s assurance, Alex makes himself, for a lack of a better term, an open book. He gets candid about how his parents’ divorce coupled with his relative celeb status has made it difficult for him to put much stock into the concept of dating, especially with people outside the industry.

This fact in particular strikes Henry though he decides not to examine that too closely.

After about an hour and half, Henry decides they’ve covered enough ground to get him started.

“This was great. Thank you,” he says, looking over the new notes he’s taken and saving the recording.

“Yeah, of course.” Alex still looks contemplative and for a moment, Henry merely chalks it up as a side effect of their in-depth conversation until he stands and Alex speaks up.

“Um, could we talk about the other thing too?”

Henry doesn’t need clarification. He tucks his laptop under his arm and sits back down.

“Of course we can.”

Alex lets out a relieved breath.

“I couldn’t sleep last night and I kept thinking about the problem areas you mentioned. One thing you’ll learn about me is that I like making lists and stuff to keep me on track. There’s a neurosy or two in there, but let’s not look at it too hard right now. We can get into that later for the book,” Alex says.

“Point is, I ended up making a sort of…outline for us and these sessions so they have some structure to them. You can talk things out first and then maybe we could have a practical portion. I can link you to the live doc.”

Henry blinks a few times.

“That’s comprehensive. You've made a sex syllabus.”

Alex’s cheeks flush slightly.

“It’s too much, isn’t it?”

“Alex, I’m British. I thrive off structure and formality. I’d quite like to see this outline so yes, please, link me.”

He stands up again.

“Maybe you could come by my room in about an hour?” Henry suggests. “The deal was that the book comes first. I’d say we made sufficient progress today in that area,” Henry says, tapping his laptop.

Alex blinks twice. “Sounds good.” 

His tone is almost detached and before Henry can ask if he’s alright, Alex is already on his feet with his phone in hand.

Henry retreats to his room and sets his computer down on the nightstand. He hears the chime of his inbox and he opens it to find an email from Alex, subject line “aforementioned sex syllabus 🍆💦”.

Henry laughs and opens it.

The first lesson, Back to Basics, has subsections for kissing and touching.

Henry closes out of the doc as his eyes look at later topics like fingering and oral. He begins to pace, his neck feeling hot at the road ahead. 

In all fairness, at least, this first lesson won’t be difficult at all. Kissing is as harmless as it comes and Henry can attest to the fact that this wasn’t actually an area in which Alex needed improvement.

All the same, Henry knows there’s merit in easing them into this new working relationship instead of jumping into the deep end on day one.

An hour goes by much faster than Henry could have anticipated and suddenly Alex is knocking at his door.

Henry squares his shoulders and crosses the room to let him in. He takes some reassurance in the fact that Alex looks as uncertain as he feels.

“Hey,” Alex says as he comes in, taking a look around himself before landing back on Henry. Even though these sessions were Alex’s idea, Henry gets the feeling he’ll have to be the one to get the ball rolling tonight.

“I will preface this lesson by saying you don’t need any pointers in this department.”

Alex smiles to himself and Henry has to admit, it’s kind of adorable seeing that reaction.

“Regardless, I think your guideline was pretty smart in starting out slowly with these sessions. We can build up from there.”

Alex nods. “Cool, I’m glad you agree.”

Henry stuffs his hands in his pockets. “And you’re sure you want to do this, right? I won’t be offended or anything if you’ve had a change of heart in the past hour.”

Alex shakes his head. “No, I’m still in. I guess I’m just nervous about screwing things up a second time. I don’t know if I could readily bounce back from that level of humiliation.”

Henry steps closer to him, removing his hands from his pockets and instead encircling Alex’s waist.

Alex’s eyes widen but he doesn’t shrink away or look uncomfortable. If anything, he looks curious. Expectant even.

“I think the best way for us to get past the awkwardness might be to simply embrace it,” Henry says.

Alex peers up at him, his eyes drifting to Henry’s lips and back just as he’d done that night right before they kissed for the first time.

This time around, it’s Alex who makes the first move and tugs Henry closer. Henry can’t hide the way this affects him. His breath catches as Alex leans in and presses his lips to Henry’s.

It’s reflexive to kiss him back at once. Alex had left his brain in an absolute fog that night in New York as they kissed on the street and weeks later, Alex hasn’t lost his spark.

This kiss doesn’t mean anything. It won’t lead to anything and Henry thinks that’s what allows him to rid himself of any self-consciousness or second thoughts.

Alex’s kiss grows hungry and quickens and for the sake of Henry’s quickly beating heart, he needs them to take it down one notch or two.

“A bit slower,” Henry says softly against his lips. “I don’t want to rush this.”

Alex smiles and does as he’s instructed. He kisses Henry agonizingly slowly, perhaps out of spite, but Henry relishes in it. Alex’s tongue skims along the seam of his lips and Henry opens his mouth to him at once, gripping Alex’s hips as their tongues meet.

He breathes in deeply, his mind growing hazy in that way that Alex is too good at initiating. Henry feels like absolute putty in Alex’s hands, entirely malleable. 

Alex must know it too as he takes control and walks Henry back to the nearest wall. Henry instinctively drapes his arms over the man’s shoulders, lightly threading his fingers through Alex’s hair.

Alex lowers his hand between the two of them and lightly cups Henry. Henry sucks in a surprised breath at the touch.

“Next time,” Alex says quietly, tauntingly.

Henry whimpers in protest.

“Unless,” Alex tacks on in question.

Henry pulls his face back a little and licks his lips.

“Touch was on the agenda, right? We can do a teaser.” Henry sighs. “Rather, selfishly, I really want you to keep touching me. That felt nice,” he admits.

Alex laughs softly but places his hand back over Henry. His cock twitches immediately at the attention. He clenches his jaw as Alex strokes him lightly over his clothes. Henry’s eyes shut, his head resting back against the wall.

His arousal grows with each stroke, his whole body feeling liable to melt. If Alex had touched him like this their first night, it most definitely would have set a different tone for the evening.

He rocks forward as he resumes their kiss. Alex tentatively squeezes his cock. Henry moans against his lips, heart pounding. Alex squeezes him again before continuing to stroke him. Henry can feel himself leaking.

Alex’s hand creeps up, gripping the waistband of his jeans. Henry desperately wants to feel Alex’s skin on his in earnest, but he reminds himself that this is merely their first day. He can’t lose himself like this, no matter how good it feels.

He touches Alex’s wrist lightly and opens his eyes. Alex stills at once and lets go.

“I think that’s good for day one,” Henry whispers.

Alex nods. “Yeah, that was, uh,” he clears his throat and returns his arm to his side as he steps back, “that was enough.”

And yet still, Henry wants more. He wonders if it would be wiser or more efficient for them to blow through the lessons in one go. Maybe that way they could in fact spend the rest of their time together doing what they’ve signed contracts for and are actually getting paid to do.

But the knowledge that he can get access to Alex like this for several more weeks makes him throw away all sense and logic. He wants an excuse to keep these clandestine meetings going.

“I’m gonna grab a shower,” Alex says unhelpfully. All his words do is put images in Henry’s mind that shouldn’t be there.

Henry nods stiffly. 

“I’ll get started on dinner for us in the meantime,” Henry says. Maybe getting lost in the rhythm of cooking will make it easier for him to calm down.

“I’ll see you in a bit then,” Alex replies.

Henry sees him out and waits until he hears Alex’s footfalls down the hall before locking his door and undoing his pants to finish the job Alex started.

[itsevanffsbutspam]

one day i woke up feeling dizzy. ridiculously dizzy, for my standards, and i know my body can get real fucked up sometimes so that's saying something. breathing deeply or doing jumping jacks or running in place didn't help. biking to uni didn't help either, even though that should theoretically raise my blood pressure and heart rate. i did everything i could think of, and considering i wasn't registered with the local gp yet, after day five (!!) of persistent dizziness that was enough to make me feel like i could keel over at any moment, i finally bit the bullet and did what people were telling me to do; i went to the closest gp center for an emergency (spoed, it doesn't translate well) consultation.

the hours for those are from 17:00 onwards into the night, and during weekends; like, the hours that regular practices don't take patients. i went, waited until 17:00 exactly to go in. there was one guy in the same situation as me (had a problem (i think it was a broken leg), wasn't registered with a gp either, so he came here for a checkup). his friend was also there but that was just moral support. he was the only person aside from me in the waiting room the entire time i was there.

i told the lady at the desk what was going on, gave her my social security number, and she directed me to wait. i did, i think i got called in around 15 minutes after i sat down. went in for some tests, and everything came back fine. hemoglobin was fine, heart was fine, blood pressure was on the low end, 95 over 60 i think. something like that. they were extremely nice and understanding; the doctor attending to me was someone in training and her mentor, so i think that helped with them treating me like a person. they told me they'd talk about it and let me know if they thought i needed to see an actual gp, and i agreed, so back to the waiting room i went.

about 10ish minutes later i got called in by a gp, a man, who sat me down and asked what was going on. i explained everything again, and he told me he'd do some tests; blood pressure, hemoglobin, et cetera. at that point i thought i'd gone to the wrong doctor and misheard my name or something, so i told him i'd already had those tests done. he said 'huh' and scrolled down on his computer. turns out this guy hadn't even looked through the file they'd given him about me! great start.

he asked me some followup questions, to which my answers were all pretty much 'everything seems normal', and as we went on he got visibly annoyed. i'm autistic so it has to be visible if i can fucking see it, right, i'm shit at inferring those things. great sign. we did some neurological tests to see if my brain fucked up, and it hadn't, thank god, which made me relieved that i wasn't possibly dying or whatever. my main concern and such.

this guy sat me down, and then proceeded to tell me that i really shouldn't be there if it isn't an emergency. the implication was that i was 1. bothering him, and 2. that i was taking up the space of people who really needed it.

i can't really explain to you what i felt in that moment, but i am still really proud of myself for grinning and bearing it. but let me recap the situation i was in.

i had been feeling dizzy enough that i was having trouble standing for FIVE DAYS STRAIGHT. i had consulted the site for the nhs and friends and family, all of whom told me to go to the doctor, and so i, after five days of nonstop dizziness, mustered up the courage to go.

there was ONE person aside from me in the waiting room who was being treated already when i got called back.

the women who tested me earlier were the ones who chose to refer me to that gp. they made that decision based on what they considered necessary. if i'd been fine, they would have told me to go home and i would have gladly gone.

i was at the time not registered with a gp in the area. i told them this. i'm fairly sure my registered gp's location being on the other side of the country was visible on my file. i would have had to travel three and a half hours alone with a potential serious problem to reach a doctor, and then i would have had to wait a week or more for an appointment anyway.

i was not in the ER. there is an ER in that building but i was most decidedly not in the emergency room. i was in the off-hours gp center, which is by definition not an emergency room. for emergencies you call 112. for non-emergencies but things that can't be delayed several days you call the off-hours gp center. that is where i went. i checked. twice.

i always thought that it was a good thing to go to the doctor and find there's nothing seriously wrong with you, instead of not going and getting serious complications later. so why was it that this guy treated me like a burden and insinuated i was taking up space that, let's be real, wasn't being used anyway? all because i didn't have a real enough problem, in his mind, to warrant being there?

i could have been directed to go home twice before then; at the reception, and after the preliminary tests, but both people thought my symptoms were serious enough to warrant a further check right then and there. so why was i being told that i wasn't meant to be there?

i eventually did register with the local gp a few weeks later, and that took almost three weeks to complete. then i went and got an appointment, and on the site it takes almost two months to get one, but if you call it still takes---you guessed it---a full week. a month of delay in care when i can barely walk or stand straight is, let's be honest, time i'm not comfortable wasting. so i ask again. why the fuck was i being treated like i wasn't meant to be there?

this isn't the only time i've been dismissed out of pocket because my situation wasn't severe enough, or wasn't connected to a serious underlying problem even though it impaired my normal function, and i'm not the only person this has happened to. it's genuinely come to a point where i have to start defending myself before i go to the doctor, so i have arguments why i'm allowed to be there ready to go just in case this particular gp decides i'm not sick enough to warrant care, again.

i wait two weeks before going to a doctor, instead of going right away and inevitably being told 'come back in two weeks and see if you still have the issue'. i don't even go to the doctor that much, maybe twice a year at most (not counting follow-ups), but i've come to expect it. how fucking sad is that? i have to defend my right to get healthcare from the people giving it to me. and i pay to be able to access healthcare!

i get that this is better than some people have it, etc etc, but i'm not okay with calling this state of things acceptable. not at all.

but seriously, what was i meant to do? perform neurological exams on myself? test my own hemoglobin at home? measure my own blood pressure with a blood pressure meter i don't have? travel 100 miles by train and bus with a condition that could put me at risk of harm in the process just to see a gp who'd tell me to wait another week anyway? piss off.

[pinkeoni]

Crack Theory (lmao): Will’s Powers Could Be Activated With Drugs

Okay this is part crack theory and part actual theory.

In every season there is typically some kind of reference to drugs and drug use, and for me it kind of feels like they are building to something, but I’m not entirely sure what yet.

Season One

El’s mom Terry is given LSD by the lab as part of MK Ultra, this is linked to El’s powers

Hopper pops pills to deal with his trauma

Lonnie is an alcoholic

Season Two

While possessed, Will is continuously drugged with some kind of sedative

It’s revealed that the drugs given to Terry did in fact awaken powers in her as well

Max sedates Billy

Season Three

Nancy compares the symptoms of the flayed to the symptoms of being on drugs

Hopper drinks copious amounts of booze

Robin and Steve are both drugged by the Russians

Season Four

Eddie is a drug dealer, and Chrissy went to him in order to do ketamine

Argyle and Jonathan both smoke copious amounts of weed together on screen, Argyle also smokes some with Eden

El is sedated a couple of times while back in the lab

Jonathan gives the SBP worker Purple Palm Tree Delight in order to use the kitchen

Argyle is seen picking mushrooms at the very end, which given his character’s association with drugs could possibly be Magic Mushrooms

kaypeace21 has her own posts about drugs in the show that’s a really interesting read, but I wanna throw my own two cents.

So drugs seem to have always been in the story, and at some points even contribute to important plot points. El’s powers can be traced to drug use, Will being sedated was important to gaining leverage from Henry, ketamine is the reason Chrissy was at Eddie’s trailer in the first place and the reason Eddie was blamed for her death, etc.

So how do I make this all about Will? (like I do with everything)

Drugs can have more than one function narratively, as seen above. I think there could be a number of ways that they show up, but one possibility is the trigger to Will’s powers.

It’s not like drugs haven’t been used as a power trigger before, they were the trigger for Terry’s powers.

In fact, it’s even possible that we could have already seen something like this on screen with Will.

Okay so this next part is gonna feel like a bit of a stretch and take some serious explaining but bare with me.

So when Will was possessed and brought to the lab under extreme pain, he was sedated with some kind of drug. He was sedated with the same drug a few times after this scene, all during his possession. The drug is never mentioned by name to my knowledge. Or in the very least, not named in season 2.

While there’s a multitude of different drugs that it could be, there’s a possibility that it could be a drug that was named in a later season— ketamine.

Ketamine is a drug that can be taken a few different ways. It can be snorted in powder form (like what Chrissy and Eddie planned on doing) or it can be injected in liquid form, like what was happening to Will. Ketamine can cause a relaxing sedation effect and relief from pain, and has been used by doctors as a popular pediatric sedative.

Even if I’m totally wrong about the specific kind of drug, Will was still being repeatedly put under using some kind of drug. Which, as established in the same season in the case of Terry, can be used to trigger powers.

Everytime Will comes back from being sedated, it seems as though Henry has taken him further and further. Now this could just be because time has passed, but I want to propose that part of why Henry was able to get further into Will’s mind is because of the drug that Will kept getting sedated with.

In season 2, Owens mentions something about “opening neurological floodgates.” Oftentimes when discussing the affects of drugs, especially psychedelics, the phrase “opening the mind” or something similar gets thrown around. Becky even says something similar in regards to what happened with Terry. And this is literally what happens, psychedelics open up certain synapses in the brain in order to create the affects that it has.

Ketamine is a sedative, but it’s also a psychedelic. The drug that activated Terry’s powers, although more powerful, was also a psychedelic. If Will’s “neurological floodgates” were being opened with the help of a drug, this could be part of how Henry was able to reach more of his mind and take over more and more of him. But alternatively, it could have also been giving Will access to more and more of his powers.

It’s been discussed plenty of times before, but during the progression of Will’s possession, his eyes become more and more brown and then bloody red, which is similar to what happens to El’s eyes as she pushes the boundaries of her powers. This doesn’t seem to happen with any other possession victim.

Perhaps Will was literally having a war with Henry in his mind? As Henry was slowly gaining more access, Will was gaining access to his powers, even if only subconsciously aware of it. Literally already having a power battle with Henry.

I also wanna point this out: the name of the specific weed that Jonathan and Argyle keep smoking is Purple Palm Tree delight. You know what else is purple?

(Did I mention this is part crack theory yet 😂)

So then, could this concept come back in season 5?

Let me propose a scenario.

The gang are running out of time to save Max. El knows that she has to use Will’s mind to access Henry’s mind lair and get to Max, HOWEVER Henry has been dormant for the past two years and they can’t seem to get a grasp on him. So how then, do they open the neurological gates in Will’s mind to access Henry’s mind lair, creating the accidental consequence of activating Will’s powers?

With the mind-altering powers of psychedelics!

[surreality51]

My little boy turns 1 years old this week. He is a real miracle. I know people talk about the miracle of life etc etc. In his case, it really is a miracle that he is here, because we weren't at all sure he was going to make it.

(Long ass post under the cut. Warnings for discussions of pregnancy and pregnancy complications, consideration of abortion, infant medical conditions, childbirth, medical procedures/surgery, and religion)

When we went in for our 20-week anatomy scan, the maternal-fetal specialist delivered devastating news: our baby had severe heart abnormalities. There were parts of his heart she simply couldn't find on the scan, and parts that appeared to be on the wrong side. Her best guess: DiGeorge Syndrome. She recommended genetic testing and a referral to a regional specialist for high-risk pregnancies. She also gently offered to refer us to a clinic if we decided to end the pregnancy.

We took the sheet with the clinic phone numbers and walked out of the doctor's office stunned.

The next few days were the worst days of my life.

There were so many unanswered questions. Was it DiGeorge? If so, how severe would it be? Would he be able to walk? Would he be able to eat? Would he even make it to term?

On top of all these questions, there was that list of clinics sitting on our dresser and a ticking clock in our minds. Our US state allows abortions up to viability, which was generally 22-24 weeks. We were at 22 weeks. My husband and I stayed up for three nights debating what to do. We wanted this baby, but we didn't want him to live a life of suffering.

That Sunday, we went to mass as a family--us and our two girls. It was the first time we had gone since the pandemic started, our first time in three years. The girls talked about how excited they were to have a baby brother. My husband and I pasted smiles on our faces and said nothing about what we were considering.

At the end of mass, after the priest had given his final blessing and people were gathering up their things, a woman came up to us. We had seen her before at church, but we had never spoken.

"Congratulations!” she said, pointing at my round belly.

“Thanks,” I replied automatically.

“You don’t know me,” she continued, “but I remember you guys from before the pandemic. Your younger daughter was just a baby then. She’s a big kid now!”

We smiled and introduced ourselves and our daughters.

“Are you having a boy or a girl?” the lady asked.

“A boy,” my husband replied.

“How nice! I have three boys. This is my youngest,” she gestured to the young man beside her. He was taller than her, but they shared the same dark hair, mocha-toned skin, and broad smile. She patted him on the arm. “He’s home visiting during spring break from college. They grow up so fast.”

He waved hello.

Then she turned toward us, smiling kindly, and said, “You’re going to have so much fun."

We thanked her and said we hoped to see her again next time.

I didn’t think much about the exchange, as we had to get the girls some lunch and then go grocery shopping, but later at night after the kids were asleep and my husband and I were getting ready for bed, he turned to me and said, “I think we’re going to be okay.”

“What do you mean?” I asked. It had only been four days since the diagnosis, but those four days had felt like four years. I was still feeling like our whole future as a family was teetering on the edge of a great unknown.

“I think everything is going to be alright,” he said, “because of what that woman said. Did you hear? I was praying last night for God to send us a sign, show us the right path, whether it’s to continue on or to abort. Just show us which way to go. And then today a lady who has never spoken to us before, and hasn’t seen us for years, suddenly feels compelled to come up to us in church with her third son and tell us that we’re going to have so much fun with our baby, who is our third kid and is a son. She didn’t have to do that. There was no reason for her to approach us, she's never come up to us before, she doesn't even know our names. But something pushed her to speak up in that moment.”

I stared back at him, dumbfounded. I don’t know much about God or fate (he's the one who is religious, not me), but sometimes things are just a bit too on the nose to be a coincidence.

Ten days later, we got the first part of our genetic testing results: no major chromosomal abnormalities. A week after that, detailed scans with a specialist confirmed the severe heart defects, but no other visible defects.

Two weeks later, the rest of the test results came back: no DiGeorge Syndrome.

Our baby was going to make it.

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

It wasn't all smooth sailing after that. There were still a lot of questions about his heart defects and how they would affect him. In all, the fetal cardiologists identified 10 things wrong with his heart. Usually they can show a standard anatomical drawing of a heart and point to what was wrong; with our baby's heart, they had to hand-draw what his heart looked like, because there were just too many abnormalities. It was that far off from a normal heart.

The craziest part was that he was still alive and growing. It took the fetal cardiologists--specialists who are part of a nationally ranked children's hospital and who see complex cases every day--nearly two hours to figure out how our baby was still getting oxygen circulated when his heart was so fucked up. (Usually a diagnosis takes 45 minutes.)

It turns out that his defects are a case of "two wrongs make a right." For example, he is missing his pulmonary valve (pulmonary atresia). This is Bad, because the pulmonary valve and pulmonary artery are part of what connects the heart to the lungs. No pulmonary valve or artery means the heart can't pump blood to the lungs to pick up oxygen. It can also lead to a weakened, underdeveloped right ventricle because no oxygen is going to that side of the heart (Very Bad). BUT, if you happen to have a hole in your heart wall (ventricular septal defect), then that hole acts like a back door for the blood to flow from the left ventricle to the side that's not getting any oxygen (right ventricle).

In other words, usually having a hole in your heart is Bad and can require open heart surgery to fix, but in this case is Good because it is a workaround for the missing pulmonary valve.

Of the 10 things wrong with his heart, about half of them are workarounds that happen mitigate the other, more serious defects. The surgeon said that his heart is messed up in exactly the right way for him to survive.

It's amazing--miraculous, even--how the human body can adapt to survive.

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

Despite reassurances from the doctors that our baby would most likely make it to term, I was incredibly nervous that he would be born premature or stillborn. At the same time, I didn't want to induce labor early because my husband and I believe that babies will be born when they're ready and it's generally not a good idea to induce labor unless you have to. But the doctors wanted to schedule an induction because they didn't know what our baby's condition would be at birth--would he be able to breathe on his own? would his circulation adapt to being outside the womb? They usually schedule an induction so they can ensure the whole medical team is available when the baby arrives. (i.e. so the baby doesn't come on a Tuesday and require emergency surgery but the head surgeon works at a different hospital on Tuesdays)

We didn't even have the option to pick the date, it was just whatever day during week 39 when the whole medical team--my OBGYN, the neonatologists, the respiratory specialist, the cardiac interventionist, and the cardiac surgeon--were available. Our case manager told us that we would be notified when a date was selected.

Funny enough, the one date where all the schedules aligned was August 8. (Federer's birthday)

Still, as the induction date approached, my husband and I felt conflicted about essentially evicting our baby from the womb. But we understood that it was about logistics and we didn't really have a choice, so we mentally prepared ourselves to show up at the hospital at 10am on August 8 for the induction.

The night before we were supposed to go in for the induction, I started feeling some tightness in my lower back.

"Haha, wouldn't it be funny if he decided to come on his own on August 8 anyway?" I said.

"'You can't evict me if I come out first,'" agreed my husband.

Two hours later, the tightness in my lower back hadn't gone away and in fact had started to spread to my lower abdomen.

"Hmm...maybe I should go shower right now," I said, remembering that I was too tired to shower for 48 hours after my second kid was born.

The first contractions started at 1am on August 8.

We headed to the hospital around 4am. He arrived on his own at 12:10pm.

————————————-

[My father told me a few weeks afterward that someone must have been watching over my baby, because we almost didn’t get ahold of my mom when I went into labor.

The plan was that I would call her when I went into labor so she could come watch my two girls while my husband took me to the hospital. (Just my mom; my dad was useless with me as a child and I wouldn’t trust him to watch my plants, much less my children.) But sometimes her cell phone reception at home doesn’t work and her phone goes straight to voicemail without ringing. It happened again when I called at 3am on August 8. I tried three times, getting more frantic with each call. Finally I called my dad’s cell phone.

He picked up on the first ring.

He later told me that he had woken up for no apparent reason and had picked up his phone to check the time. It was 3am so he was about to go back to sleep when he saw my call. His phone was on silent and he’s a deep sleeper, so if he hadn’t randomly woken up at that exact moment, he wouldn’t have seen my call nor gone to get my mom.

My dad is not religious, but he told me that someone must’ve been looking out for me and my son that night.]

—————————————-

The delivery was the smoothest delivery of my three children, and I take that as another sign that someone was watching over him and me. As soon as he was born, the medical team was all over him. I got to hold him for a single minute before they took him, because given his heart anatomy, there was a small but real chance that he might not get enough oxygen to his brain or body and turn blue, in which case they would need to start emergency measures immediately. My husband and I knew this going in, and my only hope was that he would be alright and I could hold him, if just for a minute.

He came out beautifully, and my OB placed him in my arms and I got to hold him, touch his little hand, and tell him I loved him before they took him to the ICU. My husband went with him, as was the plan. I was wheeled into the recovery room alone.

With my first baby, I had a level 3 tear and could barely walk for a week after delivery. With my second, I had minor tearing but the anesthesiologist messed up the epidural and so I was laid low with an epidural headache for a week. This time, the delivery was so smooth that I had no tearing at all. I was up on my feet within 24 hours and discharged.

It was a lucky thing too, because I wanted to be with my baby. Most hospitals are not equipped to handle babies with such complex heart defects, so the plan was to transfer our baby to the children’s hospital within a few hours of birth, as soon as he was stable enough to be transported. By the time I was discharged, he was already there. My husband stayed with him the whole time and only left to pick me up and drive me over.

I feel like whatever higher being was watching over us knew that I needed to be there with him too, so they gave me the smoothest delivery possible so I could be on my feet and get over to the children’s hospital as soon as possible.

(I’m sure it being my third baby and not my first probably helped too.)

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Being a parent is scary enough, because you hold this little being’s life in your hand and all you can do is hope you don’t fuck them up too badly.

Being the parent of a baby with complex congenital heart defects is fucking terrifying.

On day three, our son had the first of his three planned open heart surgeries. I will never forget the helpless terror of knowing that doctors were going to cut my baby open and do heart surgery on him at three days old. They tell you about the risks and potential side effects or complications before asking you to sign the consent form. The risk of death was low for the procedure, with a 98% survival rate, but 1) we already knew that percentages suck because the chances of having a baby with congenital heart defects in the first place is about 1% and pulmonary atresia occurs in about 1% of that 1%, so we were already screwed by percentages, and 2) the bigger risk is that he would get a stroke or brain bleed or something from being put on the heart-lung bypass machine. They tell you not to Google the chances of complications from the bypass machine, but of course you do, and then you can’t unsee that the risk is somewhere between 40% and 70%.

FUCK.

But you have to sign the forms and let the doctors do their job, because if you don’t do the surgery and risk the bypass machine, the risk of your baby dying from their heart defect is probably 100%.

The hardest thing is knowing that everything is out of your hands, and you just have to pray or hope that your baby comes back to you alive and whole.

I remember seeing him afterwards, with all of the tubes and lines coming out of him and machines beeping everywhere and a gigantic ugly cut running down his chest with stitches holding it closed, and just bursting into tears, because he was so tiny and had to go through all that, and if I could have taken his place, I would have. But this was the hand he was dealt.

I cried again when he opened his eyes and saw us two days later, but this time it was tears of relief, because I could see in his eyes that he still recognized me. He was still in there. He was still whole.

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We were discharged from the hospital in mid September, just before my husband’s birthday. It was the best birthday gift ever, and a cause for celebration. But the months following were not easy. Besides the normal challenges of juggling three kids and surviving newborn boot camp, there were the additional challenges from his medical needs:

He was on oxygen support 24/7 because his oxygen saturation levels would drop without oxygen support. He had to wear a nasal cannula all the time, and if he pulled it off, we basically had a few minutes to get it back on him before he started turning a little blue (spoiler alert: babies are very grabby, especially when they have something taped to their face)

If we wanted to go anywhere with him, we had to bring his portable oxygen tank too. The oxygen tank has about 3 hours of oxygen, so we always had to bring a backup too. We were always on a timer for when we had to switch him to the backup tank or make it home in time to hook him up to the oxygen concentrator. My recurring nightmare was that we got stuck in traffic or caught out somewhere and his oxygen ran out and I would have to watch him die before the ambulance arrives. He was on 7 different medications, including 2 breathing treatments that had to be administered twice a day with special equipment. Some medications were twice a day, some were three times a day, some were every 8 hours around the clock, and you cannot forget or mess up the medication schedule. This was on top of feeding him every few hours and doing all the other things for our older kids so they don’t feel neglected. My husband and I joke that we must’ve had it too easy with our first two kids so this time we had to play on hard mode.

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In February of this year, we got the call we had been waiting for: our son’s second surgery was scheduled for the 12th.

We knew that his second surgery would be somewhere when he was 6-9 months old. The first surgery at 3 days old was to install a shunt, which is basically a connection that allowed him to get blood where it needed to go despite having no pulmonary valve. It was a workaround that would allow him to leave the hospital and grow until he got big enough for the doctors to do the actual repair of his heart. It was never meant as a fix for his conditions, and he would outgrow the artificial shunt somewhere at 6-9 months.

In December, we started noticing his oxygen levels dropping. In January, they were sometimes as low as the 60s. (Normal people are at 95-100% oxygen saturation. His normal target was 75-85%. Anything below 70 was bad.) I wasn’t sure if he was going to make it to his surgery. We watched him anxiously as the day approached, fingers crossed.

The second time is not any easier than the first. This was a complex surgery that would be done by the head surgeon; the first surgery was more routine and was done by one of the other surgeons on the team. Our surgeon was renowned in his field; he even had a procedure named after him. It heartened us to know that we had the best surgeon on our case; it also meant that our case was so complex that only the head surgeon could do the fix. When we asked him how many cases like ours he saw, he said “two or three per year.”

This is a surgeon who does multiple surgeries a day in one of the busiest hospitals in the country.

At least he had seen cases like this before.

The game plan going in was to either do a full fix (anatomical repair) or a workaround (physiological repair). The surgeon said he wouldn’t know which option to do until he got in there and saw with his own eyes what the situation required. Basically our baby’s heart chambers formed correctly (4 chambers in the right place and good size) but all of the major and veins are connected on the wrong side. Veins that are supposed to be on the right side are instead on the left. The aorta comes out of the right ventricle instead of the left as normal. The pulmonary artery, which is supposed to come out of the right ventricle, is straight up missing. So the surgeon could either make the connections go the right way, or make the heart go completely the wrong way. Either option was better than the current half right (chambers are correct) and half wrong (connections are on opposite side). We needed either all right or all wrong.

The risks with the surgery were also greater, because it would be a longer procedure and that meant more time on the bypass machine. The longer you’re on the bypass, the higher the chance of complications like stroke or brain bleed. This was a very long procedure.

The wait in the waiting room is a special kind of hell, because there is nothing to do but wait and think about all the things that could go wrong. When we asked about the risk of our baby dying during the procedure, the surgeon said 15%. When it’s your baby’s life on the line, 15% seems very far from 1% or 0%.

We were told that the surgery would be done around 11am and the surgeon would come to the waiting room to tell us how it went. By noon, he still hadn’t come, and I was trying not to panic that something had gone wrong. Finally he comes at nearly 1pm, almost two hours late, and tells us that our baby’s surgery was successful but they couldn’t do an anatomical repair. They had to do plan B, physiological repair, and make his half-wrong heart all the way wrong. Doing so was actually easier because the heart kinda wanted to go that way anyway, so apparently he got done early and jumped to another surgery. That’s why he was nearly two hours late coming out.

🤦‍♀️

Anyway, so my son has a backwards heart. His aorta is connected to his right ventricle instead of his left, and his pulmonary artery is connected to his left ventricle. The veins connected to his right and left atria were already switched at birth. Most people collect deoxygenated blood in their right atrium and pump blood to their lungs from their right ventricle, then the oxygenated blood comes back from the lungs into the left atrium, and the left ventricle pumps it out to the body thru the aorta. My son’s heart goes the other way: the left ventricle pumps to the lungs and the right ventricle pumps to the body.

You wouldn’t know it by looking at him now. He looks like a normal, happy baby. He loves to eat strawberries and watermelon, loves when his dad reads to him, and loves watching his older sisters. He turns one years old this week, on August 8. We weren’t sure when he was born if he had 6 days, 6 months, 6 years or 60 to live. He’s made it past the first two milestones; chances are pretty good that he’ll make it to 6 years. (Because of his backwards anatomy and the fact that the right ventricle is not designed to pump blood out to the body, there is a 15% chance that he’ll have heart failure and need a heart transplant at some point.)

I don’t know how long we have with him, but I’m grateful for the time we’ve been given so far and will take it one day at a time. He is a true miracle, my baby with the backwards heart.