#I can certainly see why the Shanks fans are Shanks fans

[quinloki]

Hey @alexa-fika I'm answering this this way because I chewed on it a little and didn't want to share the link. It's not the possible spoilers of it, just so much that the caption IS mean, and I didn't want anyone to gives views and clicks to such a mean-spirited thing.

And Kid is... hm, he's not easily digestible that's for sure. I don't think he's dislikeable at all, I just think the kind of person he is isn't for everyone. Built up from his past and his upbringing and such though, Kid is Kid. He makes sense - something I do have to give Oda credit for in terms of a lot of his characters.

Doflamingo made sense - I use him as an example because we got a detailed rundown of his past. We know where he came from, what he went through, and have a basic idea of how he ended up as he was. It's not meant to make us dismiss his actions, but there's enough there for us as the audience to say "Okay, I can see how he got here."

We don't have all of Kid's details, but enough to be able to say "Okay, I can see how he got here."

And if this was Kid's Story™ and not Luffy's Story™ then I think how his personality and bravado are perceived would be very different. But I also think you could make One Piece as a story with Kid at the center of it because there's a lot of overlap between him and Luffy in regards to their actions, sorrows, motivations, and strengths.

We don't get as much detail with Shanks, but as a literary device Shanks is meant to be mostly an enigma. We have no idea who his parents were, don't know what Roger said to him at the end, why he made the decisions he did (i.e. not going for the one piece right after Roger's execution). This allows Oda to have plenty of room to utilize this character as he wants and needs to.

Which is I think Shanks being/becoming a villain is just as plausible as him being a "good" guy throughout. And I don't really like the idea of "good" and "bad" in One Piece, because there's already so much from the show itself that bucks those perceptions.

Pirates are supposed to be bad Marines are supposed to be good

But canonically we've learned that your chances of finding help are fairly equivalent whether you run up to a Marine or a Pirate.

More correctly Pirates are Free Marines are Bound

Pirates are free to act as they please, and Marines are bound to a system that dictates when and how they can act.

It's brilliant story telling, honestly, and one of the reasons I love the series so much.

As for the latest episode, I did answer a couple asks on my Kid Pirate Sideblog @punks-never-die205 that go into more detail about how I felt about the episode and how I think it could resolve.

I'm dying to see the outcome in the manga, and I hope it's something like I expect, but honestly. This is Oda's story. Just like with anything I'd write, while he does have certain parameters and limitations he has to abide for commercial reasons, it's still HIS story.

He's entertained me and millions for years and more, so I think he deserves to end it as he pleases. I just hope he pleases to end it in the ways I think he will xD

[goingbuggy]

I’m coming from a place of debate because your view on uta is really intelligent and thought out, so I’d like to discuss a little from the other side and see your thoughts if you feel like it

Uta herself felt so self insert oc, very Mary sue, like especially at first glance. Oh I’m part of the red hair pirates and shanks daughter and the best diva in the world! Luffys childhood friend and I’m super powerful soo super powerful I could destroy the world!

I mean yes she is fleshed out a bit more and fun to watch. Don’t get me wrong I like the movie and her design is cute and fun. But it still feels like every middle school one peice fans 500 page fanfiction come to life

Also just where she was put in the universe as a red haired pirate is kinda irksome, small details being all the red hair pirates are usally men, non devil fruit users and big detail being shanks was adamant to having no kids on his ship. . But it’s totally cool to have all those things if it’s her.

I also kinda feel Uta existence kinda cheapens shanks relationship with luffy. And that sours my view of her a lot think, and quite a few other people’s.

I get your point -- her integration into canon is a bit hamfisted -- but honestly, you could argue the same for Sabo, and he plays a far larger role in canon than her, so. Idk. I can shrug off the whole "retroactively important character" thing pretty easily. And sure, she has the potential to be extremely powerful, but I think the limitations placed on her ability effectively prevent her from seeming too OP. Exhaustion is her main weakness, and she's shown to not really have a lot of stamina. Uta World isn't even sustainable in general, either; no human can overextend their body and mind in such a way to maintain it for forever. (Unless you're Blackbeard, I guess, and you don't sleep, but... I digress.)

Also, RHP members not having devil fruits doesn't make it a rule for being part of the crew. It's a cool idea -- especially now that we know devil fruit users are at a natural disadvantage against the rising tides -- but it's never been established as intentional. Same with the RHP all being men. These are commonalities, but I don't think that makes them rules which Uta "breaks." And yeah, it does seem strange in hindsight that Shanks would say Luffy is too young and yet choose to take in Uta, but Shanks was in a tight spot regardless. Where would Uta have gone, if he chose not to take her in? Factor that in with her circumstances being so similar to his, and I think it makes sense why he would keep her on his ship. She is an exception for logical reasons.

I'm curious as to how Uta "cheapens" Shanks' relationship with Luffy, too; Shanks clearly inspired many different kids on many different islands. Luffy may be the protagonist, and Shanks certainly does care for him, but he also cares for the new era as a whole, which includes the newest generation. Him encouraging Uta to become a singer for the betterment of the world and the pursuit of her dream is very in line with his character. If anything, it heightens our understanding of his goals.

[wesleysniperking]

Yasopp and Usopp

This clip from Strong World: Episode 0 gets me each and every time.

Why?

Because I think of the fact that Yasopp eventually did leave Usopp and Banchina because of his dream, and it’s so amazing how much Usopp resembles Yasopp here (minus the nose). Like, seriously. Yasopp’s hairstyle is so retro but still has that Usopp pre-timeskip vibe. In the manga Usopp sits on the cliff/hill and sees the Romance Dawn trio approaching Syrup Village (Chapter 23? I think?).

Yasopp is sitting on that same-ish(?) hill.

Shanks is wearing that same d*mn straw hat.

It makes me wish we could get a movie or special of the Red-hair Pirates’ early days, and see how much alike Yasopp and Usopp truly are. Because c’mon, I can’t believe Yasopp didn’t at least have a few hiccups along the way. The old geezer can barely face his son right now. Shaky knees and all. Might get island diseases too.

Although this is irrelevant…Usopp and Yasopp are both fire signs (Leo and Aries). They both love fish of the season. They are both great sharpshooters/snipers. They both have observation haki (yes, Yasopp’s is advanced but still…)…and more we have yet to see.

Also, what’s another thing worth noting is that no matter how selfish Usopp may come off (although he isn’t selfish at all), I can most certainly say that it speaks volumes that when the RD trio was approaching, Usopp had his pirate trio with him. Meaning that, maybe this represents that Yasopp is selfish in his journey, but Usopp isn’t. He’s able to connect with the others in the way his father isn’t.

When Shanks approached Yasopp, Yasopp was alone. Meaning again, that not only is Usopp not a selfish guy, but he is definitely a true leader. His dad doesn’t necessarily lead (I don’t see it in him—even at commander status and what he did in RED); at least in the sense of what I’m thinking. There’s something better with Usopp than what his dad ever had going for himself.

Leave it to shonen manga fans to define (in a half-baked way) what true masculinity and superiority looks like…whatever.

related links:

one

[ruthlesslistener]

Found your Twitter/hollow knight art doing research for a thing and thought it was really good. I like your art, outlook, and creativity. Know you have a fan.

(P.S. any ideas on the "reproduction" of Unn and the Radiance?)

HA now THAT'S not how I expected that side of my art to be discovered! Hope you had fun though, because I certainly had a blast coming up with those designs. I really need to get back to drawing in general- maybe refreshing those old refs would be a good start. They could use a little sprucing up

Unn has the standard land slug reproductive anatomy (though I have thought of going with leopard slug weirdness), in that she can inseminate or be fertilized via penis fencing, and has those 'love darts' to shank other gods in order to get them to carry more of her eggs. Been a long while since she's used them, though, because she's very very old and no longer has any interest in reproduction, either sexually or asexually. She's phasing into that 'ancient god dying via slowly becoming one with their element and ceasing to be an entity as we know it' part of the Higher Being's life cycle that not many get to, and she's sticking with it rather than being busy sticking others

Radi, however, I see as sexless by choice, simply because she doesn't want any aspect of her creations to be ruled by other gods (and also because she just has no desire to try sexual reproduction). May Higher Beings stick with sexual reproduction post-ascension because even if their bodies are no longer tethered to the material plane, their new forms still tend to follow the same concepts as their old selves, so sexual reproduction still amounts to merging traits with another in order to create recombinant offspring- it's just that the genetic material is now made of Soul or Essence instead of nucleic acids (creating young by mingling two souls is also possible, but sex is fun so hey, why not?). Radi wants none of that- if she creates or reproduces, then she wants it to be 100% her creation, with no outsider influence. So she's essentially sexless. This works out well for her because her and Grimm were formed by abstract constructs manifesting into reality rather than a godling metamorphising into a Higher Being, so she has no memories of bodily urges to sway her, but even if she did, she'd get rid of them. She doesn't like the idea of bodily needs swaying what she consciously wants, which routine hormone cycles would do to her (which is one of the few traits she shares with the Pale King, not that either would ever admit to it)

[undisputed-queer-a]

Trans Rights are Human Rights, or why I struggle to boo CM Punk

Ok the title is sort of a lie. I certainly didn't struggle booing him on Sunday live in Wembley. But in all fairness he was facing Samoa Joe who is one of those wrestler that I just care about always have for damn longer time than I have liked Punk. I, like most of the British crowd, was chanting my lungs out for Joe and yes might've booed Punker but my attitude slightly changed during the post of of this amazing if slightly predictable match. After the match, as pictured, CM Punk posed with a fan holding a sign that said "Oi Rishi! TRANS RIGHTS ARE HUMAN RIGHTS" this is the latest in a string of support Phil has made towards the trans community including but not limited to a cool charity t shirt that I own but do not have in my possession.

I was at All In with a friend and when that happened he turned to me and said "THAT'S US!" as we both screamed and cheered CM Punk. I supported CM Punk in this moment even though he has given me so many reasons to think he is a twat. I cheered him because if I'm honest being a trans wrestling fan is hard.

These events are pretty recent and are still upsetting to me so I will try to make this section brief. Unfortunately I couldn't find a date for this particular event since none of the articles mentioned one so, at Wrestlecon Giselle Shaw, a trans woman currently wrestling in IMPACT was accosted by wrestling legend Rick Steiner. Brother to Scott Steiner and father to Bron Breakker. Steiner hurled lots of insults towards Shaw including slurs. I’m not going to read it out but Shaw’s tweets I will link below so you can hear the story from her. This is possibly the most extreme example I have of LGBT+ issues still being prevalent in wrestling today and the worst thing Rick Steiner has done since the Chucky segment. It makes me sadder than I can express that Giselle shaw can’t go to a convention without people being shitty.

There was a second after me and my friend had that exchange at All In where I thought "Am I okay saying that? It's London it's not like I'm in London that often. Is it safe to say I'm trans?". Obviously I am okay, I got safe and was not shanked up at any point but I was scared. And I think this fear is heightened by the fact that I have seen a wrestler, a wrestler I look up to, experience harassment due to their gender identity.

I felt safe at All In, it was incredible and I loved being a wrestling fan surrounded by wrestling fans. But there have been times where I have felt uncomfortable or unsafe in this fandom. I think that there are worse ones and that I feel generally more accepted in the wrestling fandom that I perhaps might expect but I shouldn't have to feel like this, ever.

So that's why I struggle to boo CM Punk, and why that moment was one of my favourite of the night, because CM Punk made me feel like I could be a part of the wrestling fandom. That I wasn't out of place. That I was accepted and I will forever be grateful for that.

In conclusion, on Sunday CM Punk has helped me and I hope that you can do one thing for me, just one. Go watch a match with a trans or non binary person in it. Please, it shouldn't take long. It could be Gisele Shaw, it could be Nyla Rose, Kidd Bandit, VENY, Max The Impaler, Jessica Love, Sheik Khan Abdi, Abadon, you could watch an old Kagetsu match if you want. I would love to see trans or non binary wrestlers get recognition and appreciation. So go off, watch that match. and if you do retweet this and say what match you watched and what you thought of it.

This has been Undisputed Queer-a.

Slay The System, certainly Shock The Cis-tem, sorry I'm a day late, I will see you next Monday (probably, hopefully, should be)

[basedkikuenjoyer]

Memento Moria

Kiiiii-shi-shi-shi! Happy Halloween! Last time we took the whole month for Victoria Cindry with our #Spooky Sidestory. That was fun, if you don't know Cindry always borrowed from a famous ghost story about a spirit named Okiku. Which means you maybe need to think a little more in hindsight about her being an actress whose story relies on a theme of toxic obligation. We touched on Moria a bit, how he serves as a warning to what lies ahead. But I always wanted to give him his due. He's such a good seed for the yonko; baiting the idea of separating the crew, the zombies as an analogue for infighting, his shadow keeping you from even touching him. How many people did he beat without lifting a finger? This becomes a huge motif by Totland & Wano.

Moria is a great villain, though I'll never fault a younger fan for not quite getting it yet. Other characters share this idea of their dreams dashed by the buzzsaw of the New World, but Moria is the one who really embodies it. He's not just someone who experienced loss, he's defined by it. I mean this in the nicest way possible, you won't truly relate to Moria unless you've had some kind of tangible past success. Laurels to rest on long enough you know how dangerous that can be. I love this "whiteout" panel, how his face looks so bat-like. If you need a refresher on why this pertains to Kiku:

Kiku's introduction already leans on drawing from One Piece's history, subtly baiting key associations. Bat-Man being one of the first Gifters is certainly a choice, and his extremely shallotesque shape reinforces the reference. For those who don't know, Moria's animal motif isn't a gecko. It's a bat, Gecko Moria. Komori=bat. That in Kiku's intro is worth pointing out alone, much moreso when we get an update on Moria paired with a reflection (Catarina) of what we just highlighted out of the star of the first act. Those two are solid thematically, now add the Ringo ripple.

Does it have to mean anything? No, but theoretically if we wanted to have one of the Akazaya involved somehow there's a certain logic to Kiku the Ringo native being the intuitive choice. It's just like the Shanks/Buggy angle. We have someone so oddly worldly in Wano and yet again a known thread is set up it can easily run through her. I might actually want to see a flashback of Kiku & Moria having a chance encounter over Shanks. If only because I can guess how Shanks would go. You think Moria might make a play at recruiting the demonic prodigy of the Akazaya? Say what you will about his necromancy, which I'd imagine Kiku would abhor, I don't see Moria being the type to care about the trans aspect. Being earnestly good about it like Luffy seems reasonable.

Moria though, just as a villain he's grown on me. Or really I've grown, lost groups of people I once felt brought out the best in me. Lazily replaced them with shadows, spun my wheels in a position that sounded like a good enough spot to be in. I get Moria, he's kinda over it but hasn't fully given up. Just taking a lazier, safer approach because he's scared of what lies ahead. Shadows Asgard and taking in 1000 shadows is a big example of growing on me. Makes so much more sense when you see how Kaido/Wano builds off of the concept. Moria has the power to be a top contender, he doesn't have the will to control it. Shadow Asgard, false divinity.

Back then, even the Straw Hats see it right away. Luffy turns to the crew and tells them to take care of the rest cause he's gonna get reckless. I love the parallel of Luffy having to take on a taste of Moria's true power and Zoro well, that time when nothing happened. Kuma's getting plenty of focus now but we'll wait until the flashback ends to do him proper. Keeping that strong and famous crew he could count on over more zombie mooks won the day. That under the threat of daybreak is good shit.

[makeste]

BnHA Chapter 328: Pandora’s Box of Discourse

Previously on BnHA: DEKU TOOK A BATH.

Today on BnHA: 

Also Naomasa grew a beard. Goddamn. 

please let this be a cool chapter that plays nice with my ADHD lol

(ETA: lol I feel guilty because a lot of people hated this chapter, but I’m just happy there was a lot of stuff to make fun of, and also that I have another week to work on my backlog of meta posts since the kids were MIA.)

around one month ago?? ah, okay, so we’re gonna find out what was in that Tartarus security file huh

I love that they just randomly set the place on fire

was it necessary to do this in order to escape? no. was it a good idea to set the island they were occupying on fire while they were in the midst of still occupying it? uh. was it cinematic as fuck? fuck yeah

wow it’s a pervert!!

that’s so great that the villains set loose this fine fellow who I’m sure is definitely not a serial rapist. truly the LoV is so noble and misunderstood. they’re just trying to free society from its chains people

oh my god??!

SHANKED!!! oh my god I cheered for Stain before I realized what I was doing. time to have an identity crisis I guess

so he’s all “hey what’s going on.” which, while a respectable question, is something I personally would have waited to ask until I had put a bit of distance between myself and the fiery murder island. but that’s just my personal preference

Stain you really are tenacious I’ll give you that

“what’s the point of escaping prison if you’re not gonna be smart about it” well shit. anyways yeah you’re dead right, society is in the process of collapsing and the outside world is in total chaos, good call there

oh shit

I mean it’s not like we really expecting anything otherwise, but still. fucking brutal. I feel like these guys’ fates were decided the minute that one guy called AFO “scum” back in chapter 94. AFO is unmatched at getting long-term revenge

??

ahh, was it the security footage??

fdsdfk he’s still alive??

and he’s immediately launching into an inappropriately theatrical monologue even as the darkness closes in on him fdlfksjdlk. you know, was it ever confirmed that the other guy back in chapter 297 was Seiji’s dad? I’m just saying

very impressed that he’s still coherent enough to weigh the pros and cons before making the decision to gamble on giving this info to Stain, who at the very least has his own moral code and isn’t allied with AFO. it was definitely still a risk, but as we now know it was also the right call

what a weird alliance. so Stain tells him that he’ll give it to a just person, and the guy is all,

okay for real though I’m gonna need someone to run a DNA test on this guy. maybe it was some kind of cuckold situation?? the other guy had the family resemblance, but this guy absolutely 100% raised Shishikura Seiji and you are not going to convince me otherwise

anyway, so Stain is all,

PRISON GUARD: “???? ??????? what the hell. what the fuck does that fucking mean. I’m dying here, jesus christ, whatever man fuck you”

(ETA: I kind of feel like this might have been Stain’s last appearance in the manga, given all the fanfare. there’s not really much else he can do for the story at this point, and he seems to have gotten all the character development Horikoshi was planning on giving him. so if this really is it, hasta la vista and good riddance I guess.)

DWLFDKSLDK MEANWHILE, OUTSIDE

(ETA: I feel like this is meant to be evocative of that Sermon on the Mount painting, but in a really fucked up way lol.)

if it were me stumbling upon this scene I would just shake my head and walk right back into the flaming building. not getting involved in that mess. sorry not sorry. I’ll take my chances with the fire, especially given that it’s half-assed neutered BnHA fire lol

blah blah blah and so he decided to pass the info on to All Might -- HOT DAMN, HOLY SHIT

NAOMASA HOLY SHIT. THE APOCALYPSE LOOKS GOOD ON YOU, BOY

“I really like that facial scruff thing Aizawa’s got going on, I think I’m gonna get in on that” yes sir. “also thinking of ditching the tie in favor of the bulletproof vest look. also thinking of getting totally fucking jacked.” good lord. except I’m pretty sure that’s just body armor, but also I don’t care. anyway I should probably stop staring and actually read the fucking speech bubbles here lol

“All Might first handed this information over to Nao, and then went to see Deku, and then came back to Nao” thanks for that tidy little summary Horikoshi. we are capable of piecing events together in sequential order, I just want you to know that. but thank you

“so has Deku finally gotten a bath? also, sucks that Stain saved the day, but what are you gonna do” Nao I missed you so fucking much and didn’t even realize. how am I just now realizing that you are the perfect man

for a second I was gonna ask why Tartarus’s security systems would be cut off from the outside world, and then I remembered that’s a basic security control, and then I actually got impressed by how sensible that is. like, it’s been a while since I could genuinely say that the good guys (excluding class 1-A) did something smart. not that it helped them much in the end, but still

anyway so they’re talking about how AFO was able to coordinate the attack by communicating between his horcrux self on the outside and his ugly peanut-faced self on the inside

huh

okay you have my attention. I am taking notes here lol please continue

ah okay so he says that prior to Jakku, the transfer of information between him and his Vestige self was only one-way. but post-Jakku when Deku was in the hospital, he was able to tell what was happening inside the OFA Radical Lisa Frank Dead People Book Club Realm when he touched him. I feel like we established that before, actually. but he didn’t talk about how it actually felt, though

boy we already know this lol. yes AFO can talk with his horcrux self. and he can also communicate with his little bro in OFA too, let’s talk about that sometime why don’t we. what exactly does that imply, based on the rules we’ve established here

my god I cannot get over Naomasa and his fucking facial hair

no wonder All Might was in such a hurry to leave Deku and get back here

like I have no idea what this radio waves nonsense is but my god, people

that jawline. also so it’s a quirk, I see. except last I checked Deku didn’t have a radio waves quirk, so that doesn’t really explain his connection to AFO. but whatever, hopefully we’re at least getting closer to some kind of reveal here

(ETA: since I sometimes forget that other people’s lives don’t revolve around my theory posts, here are the two relevant links if you by chance want to know my thoughts about this.

Hagakure is still The U.A. Traitor™ regardless of whether Deku is passing information on to AFO through his psychic link, which he almost certainly is.

speaking of said psychic link, Deku is a horcrux.

just posting these now, because whenever trippy OFA stuff happens I tend to get an influx of theory asks. so hopefully this will be a bit of a time saver lol.)

-- wait, what

THAT’S what the recording was??!? holy SHIT. I genuinely was not expecting that. y’all wiretapped his fucking telepathy. fucking quirks, man. wild

AND THEY USED THAT POWER TO DETERMINE WHAT WE ALREADY KNEW, HUZZAH. GOOD SHOW

-- oh shit wait lol, except I forgot we’re not talking about 38 days from the present, we’re talking about 38 days from the date the conversation was recorded. heh. um

yeah that’s the face I would make too if All Fucking Might just casually told me we had eight days left until the end times

oh, pardon me. three fucking days

r.i.p. anyone who thought we were going to have another band arc sob. I sure hope Deku is enjoying that nap

(ETA: I realize people were hoping for a longer rest period here, but given that the man warned us all the way back in chapter 306 that we were entering the final act, you can’t really blame him too much when that turns out to be true. anyway but I do recognize that we’ve reached the point in the story where this kind of discourse is going to become a weekly occurrence, simply because there’s no possible way for Horikoshi’s actual endgame to line up perfectly with the variable headcanons of millions of fans, all of whom have wildly differing and in many cases contradictory expectations which can’t possibly all be fulfilled. anyway, so I’m already bracing myself for that lol. this coming year is going to be a wild ride.)

damn, U.A. out here looking like the motherfucking United Nations

-- is this U.A.?? I actually just realized, U.A. is four interconnected buildings, not two. wait holy shit is this Shiketsu?

wait holy SHIT

based on the overwhelmingly powerful vibes of bureaucratic incompetence, I’m thinking this really is the (future) U.N., or whatever organization it is that deals with international hero stuff

“just let them handle it themselves I’m sure they’ll be fine” yeah okay, thanks guys. appreciate it

wait oh shit did he say that it’s not just Japan?

soooo, what you’re telling me is that AFO is this close to bringing about the end of not just Japan, but the entire world, and you guys don’t think it’s a good idea to help the Japanese heroes stop him? so, genuine follow-up question: are you guys already planning your rich people exodus into space a la Wall-E, and that’s why you don’t give a fuck?? like, what??

omg international heroes

these guys are from World Hoodie Mission, right? is this Horikoshi’s way of reminding me to buy tickets

(ETA: and it worked too lol.)

WHO??? WHAT???

don’t tell me you’re introducing yet another badass new female character for me to fall in love with only to watch as you dismember them and/or blow them up, Horikoshi. I’m getting tired of playing this game my dude. don’t lie and tell me this time will be different. we’re not doing this again goddammit

noooooooooooooooooooo

god fucking dammit lmao. [sighs and rips the previous paragraph into shreds]

on behalf of Americans I apologize for our superheroes always being Like This

I also apologize because I love her already and I’m gonna be shameless about it. so fucking shameless you guys

is her fucking hair red white and blue. it is, isn’t it

this is the volume cliffhanger, 100% lol. it will take every ounce of Horikoshi’s willpower not to put her on the volume cover. he’ll have to settle for the spine or the inner cover this time because Deku VS his class 1-a superpals takes precedence. but it will be a close thing let me tell you

tbh it’s that smile that does it for me. she’s definitely All Might’s protege. get out there and show them how it’s done girl. and maybe call Salaam and BRD and see if you can’t convince them to play hooky from their governments as well. why not. world’s ending in three days you guys. “sorry, I’m busy this weekend” ain’t gonna cut it lol

so while I am not fully caught up with Vigilantes, I have read far enough to know that there’s an American hero named Captain Celebrity whose superpower from what I recall is being a humongous douchebag. and while I haven’t read far enough to know what happens to this guy, I can’t say I’m very disappointed to learn that he’s no longer the number one hero in the U.S. (actually, didn’t they kick him out and that’s why he moved to Japan to begin with?). anyway, so my thanks to Horikoshi for having a marginally higher opinion of Americans than Furuhashi, even though we have definitely not done anything to warrant said opinion lately, and you may have inadvertently opened the door to a pandora’s box of discourse lmao

(ETA: lol I went into the tags and they don’t disappoint. “why is she dressed like a flag” because she’s an homage to Captain America and Major Victory and literally every other character on this list. again, I apologize for fictional American superheroes being Like This. “oh boy another thicc waifu to make the fanboys happy” look, tumblr fandom never seems to have a problem thirsting over Dabi or Tomura or Aizawa or Nao, lol, I’m just saying. “where is Captain Celebrity” idk, probably murdered by the exploding bee cartel, let’s just be grateful for our good fortune and try not to Beetlejuice the man.)

anyway, so let’s see if Horikoshi’s recent character development with regards to making Mineta not terrible anymore will apply to other aspects of his writing as well. I know I was making light of discourse just now, but I do think the complaints about him introducing yet another new character at the 11th hour to be cannon fodder in the final battle are absolutely valid. and again, it wouldn’t be a problem if he didn’t keep maiming/killing off his female characters one by one instead of developing them and letting them kick ass long-term. but that said, I will never complain about Horikoshi adding another female character to the series, regardless of how clumsy the attempt may be. go ahead and pander away, just give us more girl power lol

anyway so we’ll see how it goes, but I think I’m gonna be optimistic and let myself hope once again, even though I’m probably gonna regret it lol. it is what it is. she is standing on an airplane just chilling for fuck’s sake. I’m only human. anyway fingers crossed

[magnoliabloomfield]

Possession Finale

After a blissful but not nearly long enough nap, Gally was awakened by a knocking on the med hut door. He came to enough to realize how comfortable he was before it was rudely taken away from him. He’d had a hold of Nikola’s waist and his head was resting under her chin before she slipped out from under him. He was left behind in the cot that felt more uncomfortable than ever before as she crossed the room and opened the door.

“Hey, how is he?” Jeff asked as he came in.

“As good as he can be after what they put him through. I got him all patched up and let him rest a bit. I think he’ll be ok,” her voice drifted to Gally. He started to pull the memory of kissing her up through the fog in his head and couldn’t help the smile that tugged at the cracked corner of his mouth. He was way more than ok.

“Thanks for helping me,” she added. “It was nice to have privacy.”

Interesting, Gally thought. He helped her? Did he… know?

“Thank yourself for that,” Jeff chuckled. “It’s only because you took all those anti-peeping precautions in case you ever became a patient.”

“Still, you guys got Shawn out of here to make this all possible. What’s been going on out there?”

“Mostly taking care of Shawn, you really did a number on him. I think all the boys will keep out of your biting range from now on. Well, all except one, I’m assuming,” Jeff was saying and Gally imagined he meant him.

Nikola giggled and it was the sweetest thing in the whole shucking glade.

“I take it went well then?” Jeff asked and Gally wished he had fallen back asleep for real, it was wild enough what had just happened between him and Nikola, it was crazy awkward to hear another person discuss it.

“Very well,” Nikola answered and Gally blushed despite himself. “I’m really glad we had this opportunity, I don’t know what’s going to happen going forward.”

Gally almost frowned at that. What did she mean? He wasn’t going to be changing his mind about his feelings, and he definitely didn’t want to give up kissing her now that he’d had a taste. Damn, that reminded him of the shuck Shawn was saying.

“Well, I really hope it works out in your favor,” Jeff said and sounded pretty darn sincere. “Alby really wants to hear what happened from you and Gally. Is he up for it, do you think?”

“I’ll try and wake him up, if he needs more rest then I’ll come out and talk to Alby first,” she told him.

“Alright, I’ll let him know,” Jeff said and there was the sound of the door and lock again.

“Did you get all that?” Nikola asked as she gently sat down on the edge of the cot and delicately ran her hand over his hair. He was so bruised and battered she was afraid a normal touch could cause him pain. Her fingers lightly brushed over any bit of unbruised skin she could find.

“M-hm,” Gally hummed as he cracked his eyes open and saw her hovering over him like an angel. “Just what exactly did you do to Shawn?”

She laughed before a protective edge took over her. “He got what he deserved for messing with my best friend, that lousy shank.”

Gally chuckled at her use of glader slang. “A few months ago, if someone asked if I’d ever kiss my best friend the answer would have been a hard no.”

“Don’t tell Newt that, he’ll be devastated,” She said without missing a beat and Gally chuckled hard enough to hurt himself on that one. “I wish we could stay in here forever,” he said when the laughter and then the pain subsided.

“I know,” she sighed. “Me too. So… one more before we go back out there?”

“At least two,” he corrected, making a bashful grin spread on her face as she carefully laid next to him, careful not to bump or jostle him in his sore state.

Her fingers ran through his hair, giving an electric thrill down his spine as her nails grazed his scalp. He’d never felt a caring or gentle touch before, and definitely not anything sensual, so everything she did was a new sensation to him. She leaned down to him and he knew what was coming first, her nose brushing against his and he grinned wide when she did even though it hurt.

“You like that, huh?” he asked.

“What?” she asked, not knowing what he was referring to.

“The little nose nuzzle,” he clarified, tilting his head to graze hers with his.

“It’s because you have such a cute nose,” she smiled and nuzzled back, watching his face go pink. “You’re really cute, if you didn’t already know that.”

“Is ��cute’ a good thing?” he lightly squinted at her, remembering how she called the dog and the baby animals cute.

“Uh, it’s a very good thing,” she said like he was completely clueless. “Cute means that I not only find you wildly attractive, but I also enjoy spending time with you, so I’d make out with you but also I’d talk about anything with you and do anything for you that a best friend would do, and then make out some more.”

“Is that what it means?” he chuckled, seeing her nod and bite her lip as she grinned too. “Well, that sounds pretty shucking good.”

He reached up with his bandaged hand and slipped it behind her neck, gently guiding her lips to his once again. It felt like they were expressing all the emotions they’d have to suppress once they walked out that door, like they were reassuring the other of their feelings even if they had to deny something when they got out there.

They knew they couldn’t linger too long with Alby waiting on them, so very begrudgingly they got up and left the privacy of the medhut. The world of the glade was fairly small, but after his time alone with Nikola it came crashing on him with a violent rush. The sheer number of boys and their noise was almost too much for him even though he’d been living with it for three years.

They walked together but at a proper distance even though they’d much rather have been holding hands. They already felt a separation depression. Finally they got to the gathering hall and found Newt and Alby there, leaning tiredly in their seats.

“Hey,” Alby greeted, surprisingly calm. “How are you guys doing?”

“Fine,” Gally shrugged, not used to being asked that.

“Really? ‘Cause you look terrible,” Alby lightly teased him as Gally took a seat. “And you Nikola? He didn’t hurt you too bad?”

“No, it’s not that bad,” she said even as she wrapped her hand around her pony tail and ran it down the length of it.

“I bet Shawn wishes he could say the same,” Alby’s joke fell flat.

“I won’t apologize for that,” She said firmly, and Gally had to fight to control the expression on his face and not look over at her like she was a goddess.

“Don’t worry, that’s not what I’m asking you to do,” Alby assured her. “I want to hear what happened from you two. Nikola why don’t you go first, I’m just way too curious.”

“I heard some noises and I found Shawn and two other boys ganging up on Gally and beating him, so I yelled at them to stop before I tried to scream and run for help. Shawn caught me, and he was covering my mouth. He grabbed my hair so I couldn’t get away,” she said and again she touched her hair. “So when I managed to get one of his fingers between my teeth I just bit down as hard as I could. He’d either have to let my hair go, or he wouldn’t have a free hand to do anything else so long as I could clamp down hard enough. Plus it made him scream which brought everyone running.”

“So, you bit him because you were afraid of him hurting you?” Alby asked.

“He certainly could have, but I did it to help Gally,” she answered. “I thought they were going to kill him.”

“Uh-huh,” Alby nodded, tongue in cheek as he let that information settle in. “And what about you, Gally?”

The builder sighed heavily. “I was collecting wood in the dead heads when the three of them showed up,” he started reciting. “Shawn started talking a lot of crap about me trying to rile me up, he wanted me to hit him.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because after he hit me, Johnny said ‘I thought he was just supposed to hit you?’ and Shawn said ‘Screw that.’”

“So, you knew he wanted you to hit him, and you did it?” Alby questioned, looking skeptical.

Gally let out another breath and fidgeted a little. “I held back for a long time,” he said, looking down as he picked at his thumb. “But then he started saying some stuff I couldn’t let slide. I gave him a warning, I just grabbed his collar and gave him a little push away from me since he was in my face. He didn’t take the hint so then he had to take the hit.”

“What did he say exactly?” Alby asked, Newt’s eyes darted to Nikola and back.

“It made me believe he would do something to hurt Nikola,” Gally answered.

“What did he say?”

“I’m not gonna say it in front of her,” Gally said resolutely as he held Alby’s authoritative gaze.

Alby gave a pause as he considered Gally. “That bad, huh?”

Gally just nodded and felt Nikola shift uncomfortably in her own seat.

“Something bad enough to get you to throw a punch you knew he wanted when you were outnumbered three to one,” Newt observed.

Nikola gave him a sideways glance, wondering now more than ever what it could have been, still feeling guilty that it had something to do with her at all. But she was also thinking about how Gally was such a good guy. Maybe a little dim for getting into fights when he was outnumbered and secluded, but his intentions seemed good.

“I can’t imagine doing that for someone that wasn’t special to me,” Alby said and he seemed to be digging at something.

“Oh come on,” Nikola scoffed, trying to throw him off. “I’m the one and only frail little girl here, so either they want to protect me or they’re what I need protected from.”

“And those scales could quickly tip out of your favor if you’re not careful,” Alby was trying to speak in some kind of passive yet meaningful coded language and Nikola was sick of it.

“You mean your rule about me not belonging to anyone?” She looked at him cold, hard, and flat. “Glad to know I’m not just another inanimate object that came up in the box, but I’m not a big fan of that rule all the same. I don’t want to harm anyone, I would never intentionally hurt someone, but that includes myself. I’m not going to put myself through pain just to cater to someone else’s warped idea of possession. If I want to be close to someone I should be able to, it doesn’t harm anyone, they have to be responsible for how they think and feel about things that don’t actually affect them.”

“In a perfect world that would work,” Alby said and she felt a big ‘but’ coming. “But this is not a perfect world-“

“So what!” Nikola burst. “Are you planning on staying here forever? When we get out of here there’s a whole big world out there that isn’t going to bend and cater to them and they should be learning now to handle that and be a part of that kind of society.”

Alby sighed and ran a hand over his face in frustration. “We’re getting off topic. Nikola, do you want to banish Shawn for what he did?”

“No,” She said easily, causing all three boys to look at her sharply, Gally getting a shooting pain in his neck from it.

“How can you say that?” he asked her.

“I don’t want boys banished because of me,” she shrugged easily. “What, you think they won’t start hating me for being the reason one of their friends is dead? That’s how they will see it. They’ll think I do things on purpose to get someone banished. No, no banishing boys because of me.”

Gally couldn’t believe it, he sat there staring at her dumbfounded.

“Alright then, you can go now,” Alby told her as he shook his head, looking a few years older since they first came in.

She was hesitant to get up and looked between him and Newt and then glanced over at Gally. Apparently they weren’t done with him.

“You’re excused,” Alby reiterated, earning a slight glare from her before she got up and left.

Gally felt the beating was only starting.

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

It was dark and the glade was quiet for once. Despite what he’d been through, Gally was awake. Maybe it was thanks to the nap he had taken earlier. He sat on the swing in the midnight air that was just right when nothing else was. He’d spent time in the gathering room with Alby and Newt, hearing it from both of them that he needed to keep his distance from Nikola and not get attached.

As if he could do that. He never told them just how attached he was, he never tried to tell them the rule sucked, nothing. He just sat there. Sat there hating the glade, hating Wicked more than anything, and missing her. He hadn’t seen her the rest of the evening since he’d been in no shape to work and went to his room to rest and get away from everyone else.

“Hey you,” a soft voice came from behind him, startling him slightly from his thoughts, but he calmed down as soon as delicate arms wrapped around his shoulders. “How are you doing?”

He placed a hand on Nikola’s arm and let a heavy breath out through his nose, glad it was her and not anyone else. “That’s a difficult question to answer,” he admitted, feeling her warmth against his back.

“Anything I can do to help?” she asked before kissing his cheek.

“I don’t know, I don’t think so,” he said glumly, leaning his head back against her shoulder.

“Are you sure?” She kissed just below his ear and he nearly fell off the swing.

“Nikola, Alby and Newt reamed me about being too close to you, we’ll only get in more trouble if we’re seen together like this,” he said even though it was the saddest thing in the world to tell her.

“Don’t worry about it,” she whispered in his ear. “Tonight no one will recognize me.”

Gally furrowed his brows at that and turned to see what she meant.

“Holy shuck, your hair,” he kept his exclamation quiet as he saw her pixie like hair cut. “Why did you do that?”

She came around and stood in front of him, her hands resting on his shoulders, her whole body exuding stress. “Because it really freaked me out!” she started explaining. “He had me and I couldn’t get away, I couldn’t get away to get help for you when you needed it, and I hated how that felt. I never want to feel that again.”

Gally reached up and touched her hair and her face.

“Am I ugly now?” she asked when he stayed quiet.

“Never,” he burst immediately and she grinned in the moonlight.

“Would you be terribly upset if someone thought they saw you kissing another boy on a dark night?” she asked as she leaned closer.

“I could live with it,” he admitted as he looked up at her.

She leaned down and just before her lips touched his he pulled back. “But first, can you tell me why you don’t want Shawn banished for what happened?”

She nuzzled his nose with a slightly exasperated sigh. “Because it would set a precedent, you mess with the girl you get banished. And if we’re ever caught like this, I can’t have you getting banished. Literally, they would have to banish me with you.”

“Really?” he asked in surprise.

“You tried to beat up three boys for something one of them said about me,” she pointed out. “So, yes… I love you too.”

He wasn’t prepared for those words. He’d never heard the word ‘love’ directed at anything but ‘I’d love an air conditioner’ and similar phrases. She was willing to live with Shawn so she wouldn’t have to live without him, if that wasn’t love Gally didn’t know what it could be.

He got up from the swing and hugged Nikola, hugged her close and tight and she hugged him too, though she tried to be gentle. He finally pulled back, brushed his nose against hers and then whispered, “I do love you,” before he kissed her and kissed her.

“You must be tired,” she said when they were standing with their foreheads pressed together.

“I’ll stay up all night,” he said, more serious than joking.

“You need rest to get better,” she lightly scolded him before tiptoeing to whisper in his ear. “Come on, let’s go to the med hut. We’ll say something hurt and you couldn’t get to sleep and I was helping you.”

Despite his better judgment, Gally did what he wanted to do. He walked hand in hand with her to the medhut, fumbled through the darkness until the found the cot and picked up where they’d left off. Her chest was his pillow and her fingers brushed through his hair until he fell into a deep, sweet sleep like he’d never gotten before.

~~~~~~

It was chaos in the morning. Despite telling them their pretty accurate and hardly dishonest reason for being in the med hut together all night, Alby was fuming and some other keepers were too.

Gally stood with Nikola as she seemed to square up against them. As much as she wanted to, she didn’t interrupt Alby’s old sermon about the not belonging rule and other complaints going around.

It was Gally that snapped this time.

“She doesn’t belong to me,” He said, loud enough for almost everyone to hear. “She belongs to herself unless she wants to choose otherwise. It’s a stupid rule to tell people who they can and can’t belong to, only they get to decide that. So all I can say is… that I belong to her.”

Nikola looked up at him with surprise. She’d never expected the independent, headstrong and proud Gally to show any kind of submission. But she remembered how he’d said ‘you’re my friend and I’m yours’. He was hers. He was hers.

That effectively shut everyone else up for a long minute. Naturally the first thing they did was call a gathering and that time they walked hand in hand to the hall, Nikola taking adoring peeks up at his grim and determined face.

They had to admit that they were more than friends in no uncertain terms and deal with the keepers reactions to that. But in the end, no one could make a sound argument against what Gally had said. The new rule was that they could be together, but if they could just not rub it in anyone’s face that’d be nice.

He climbed the ladder to her tower that night, a prince coming to his princess.

“Has it lost the thrill now that we don’t have to sneak around and keep it secret?” He asked as she laid on his chest this time.

“Absolutely, I’m so over it now,” she said sarcastically, poking him in the ribs as she giggled. “Of course not, silly.”

Gally had never been called silly before.

“I’m really glad it worked out,” she sighed as she traced a circle on his chest. “But most boy’s aren’t exactly thrilled.”

“I’ll beat them all up,” he said and she giggled again.

“All at once?” she asked skeptically.

“If I have to,” he said. “I’d do anything for you.”

He kissed the top of her head, his fingers threading through her short hair, liking how soft it was.

“Because you’re mine?” she asked, propping herself up to look at him, her gaze happy and hungry.

“Because I’m yours,” he confirmed, nuzzling her nose and feeling the response of her lips on his.

She was also his.

Possession Masterlist

@frequentlychangingfandoms @quackquackbi @poulterjonas @crazysheeplyca @pre-google @gladerscake @neilox @thesuitkovian @carp3d1em @cottoncandy-dreamxd @emilyhadenbaker

The next one I want to start is Gally's love story after he gets taken in by the right arm. We don't go outside the glade enough in TMR fics, we always sending extra girls in lol. I don;t mind, obviously I've done multiple ones just like that. But I thought would be fun to try something different

[opbackgrounds]

Hi there Sarc' ;) I am sorry if the question has already been asked but I thought it could be interesting to have your opinion about this. While I love most of the female characters in OP and think that most of them are well developed and can be truly good role models for girls I still feel that Oda sometimes has a sexist view on female characters (the jokes about the naked bath scenes for example or Kororo being considered ugly make me really uncomfortable). What do you think about it?

Ah, I wondered when I would get this question. 

When people talk about sexism in One Piece they typically are referring to two different things: How women are drawn, and how they’re treated within the narrative. While there’s some overlap here, there’s enough distinction that I want to address them as two separate points in two separate posts, because I guess I had Opinions, and by god there should be a limit to how much text one tumblr post can be expected to hold. Consider this an introduction.

Buckle up, kiddos. This is gonna be a long one. 

Nami Face Syndrome Isn’t the Problem...

An important thing to remember with Oda’s art and storytelling style is that almost everything is hyper exaggerated for effect. You don’t go into One Piece looking for realism. You don’t go into One Piece expecting the characters to act like normal people. Everything--from the art to the humor to the battles--is stretched and pulled to its absolute limit in hopes of garnering a particular reaction. When a character is sad they cry big bubbly tears with dribbles of snot coming from their nose. When they laugh their mouths take up half their face. 

And when a girl is hot, her tiddies are two great big watermelons stuck to the center of her chest.

What is often dubbed “Nami Face Syndrome” within the fandom is somewhat misleading. After all, why was Wanda, who is a literal dog that walks on two legs, decried as yet another Nami clone at her introduction? I would postulate it’s less to do with her face and more to do with the fact that from the neck down they are virtually identical, something that’s made more obvious because Wanda is literally wearing Nami’s clothes

What makes this frustrating for a lot of people, myself included, is that it’s not that Oda is incapable of drawing more diverse body types, but that he often chooses not to. Take for example the Kuja tribe

or the Charlotte family daughters (thanks to Arthur at Library of Ohara for the resource). It’s pretty clear Oda has the chops to make his women as weird as the men, and he often does! For important characters, even. And yes, as the Kokoro example given above sometimes the gonkness is brought attention to, but for others like Lola and Chiffon it’s...not. 

(more on mermaids later)

But Sarcasticles, one might protest, even Oda’s “ugly” characters have ginormous boobs! Where is my itty bitty titty committee representation >:(

To which I can only shrug. For Oda, boobs on a woman are like abs on men. It doesn’t matter if it makes sense, they’re gonna have ‘em

Seriously, Oda. What the fuck.

...So What Is?

I have a theory that’s impossible to prove, and that the problem isn’t so much Oda’s character design so much as the ratio of his male to female characters in general. It’s not that every female character is a Nami clone, but Oda has a template he uses for attractive female characters ages 16-25, the same way he uses Robin as a template for attractive women ages 26-35, which is how you get cases of mistaken identity like Viola for Robin or scenes during Reverie where one could be forgiven for thinking Nami’s supposed to be an identical triplet

 Oda does this for his men, too. It’s not as obvious because 1) Even men with similar facial features can have a wider variety body types due to Oda having a sliding scale of buffness he’s willing to attach to a pretty face and 2) There are more men. 

There are a lot more men.

In groups where the male to female ratio is more or less equal (Baroque Works, Big Mom’s kids) you get a wide variety of designs. But there’s only one female Supernova. There’s one female Warlord. CP9 only has one female agent. Only one of the Revolutionary Commanders is a woman. There are very few female background characters in crowd shots, especially among marines. Big Mom might be the only female Emperor, but she’s not young, In fact, when drawing her at age 28, Oda defaults to a much more generic “pretty girl” face before giving her much more striking, memorable features in her 40s

If you look at Oda’s male characters, the ones that are supposed to be hot are often given the same square jawline and the thin-bladed nose that at one point in time was reserved for Robin. Both Coby and Sabo had very distinctive noses before their glowups, while Ace must have had a laser treatment done on his eyebrows sometime between Alabasta and Marineford. 

But the biggest difference on the men has got to be muscle mass. The overgrown noodles of early One Piece are lost to the annals of time. Shanks alone must have gained 30 pounds of pure muscle from the time Luffy got his first bounty to his appearance at Marineford. 

Now, I will acknowledge that there is a difference between the increasing sexualization of female characters and the male power fantasy of giving Zoro bara tiddies post-timeskip. While I do think there are certain male characters specifically designed to be the Hot Dude, what I’m trying to emphasize here is that Oda works with templates for both men and women, and both of those templates have been exaggerated over time. Bigger boobs for women, more muscles for men. And when you’re only slotting for one girl in any given group, and that one girl has to be The Hot One then you’re going to have a lot of ladies that end up looking the same. 

My love for Otohime on this blog is well known, and I want to use her as an example of what Oda can do when he works beyond this template, because it’s really freaking good  

Otohime is neither conventionally attractive nor gonk. She’s dressed in very conservative, traditional clothing and has a narrow waist and small chest. 

There are no sharp edges on Otohime. Not her eyebrows, not her jaw, and most of the time not even her hands, emphasizing her gentle nature. You don’t see it as well in this panel, but Otohime’s head is often drawn wider than her shoulders, emphasizing her frailty. Oda gives her a longer neck to compensate, and the overall effect is a very soft, willowy figure. 

Her headpiece looks like a sunburst. The audience never sees her fins, so Oda gives her a scale patterned kimono-dress-thingy (my knowledge of Japanese clothing is, uh, not good) as a visual reminder that she’s not human. The sash that circles around her head harkens back to Japanese mythology as a symbol of divinity, similar to a halo in Western culture. And fun fact: Otohime is named after a god, just like Neptune, while her goals and ideals are pure enough to be heaven-sent. 

I’m not an artist, but this is a really damn good character design. A lot of Oda’s older female characters are. Dandan, Tsuru, O-Tsuru, Shakky, Kureha, Big Mom, and Nyon are all instantly recognizable and have strong designs, even if a few of them fall into the hourglass figure that Oda often defaults to. It’s just...there aren’t that many of them.

So the question becomes why aren’t there more women, and I think the answer is because, ultimately, One Piece is a series geared at boys. While I wish there were a few more important ladies, I can understand why there aren’t. 

Note, that doesn’t mean I think it’s right or that Oda is obligated to include more women. It’s just one of the facts of the shonen manga industry at this point in time. 

A more important question, I think, is why does every younger woman have to be attractive? And why do the attractive ladies have to wear outfits that are blatant fanservice? This is something I don’t have an answer for. Oda has said on more than one occasion that he writes One Piece with his twelve year old self in mind. It could be that it’s a calculated move to appeal to his audience, in which case it’s certainly worked because said Hot Ladies are constantly used in marketing and merchandising. It’s the Hot Ladies that top the popularity charts (although, to be fair, who’s there for competition?). In the most recent chapter a new Hot Lady was introduced, and the fandom went batshit crazy for her.

Even the fans who are very vocal about how Oda sucks at drawing women. It’s interesting how that works out sometimes.

Or maybe I’m giving Oda too much credit, and he’s just horny. Not having direct access to Oda’s mind, I don’t have an answer. If I had to guess I’d say it’s a little of Column A, a little of Column B, because that’s usually how life is. 

But in a vacuum big tiddies are just a design choice. An exaggerated aesthetic, in a series full of exaggerated aesthetics. It’s when that design choice is paired with in-story comments, actions, and decisions where things really start to get heated. But that’s a whole other ball of wax, and there should be a limit to how much one tumblr post can be expected to hold. I promise I’ll get to the meat of your question next time.

Thank you so much for your patience. I really do think it’s important to start here before diving into everything else, if only because it helps keep my thoughts organized. I hope you’ve found this helpful, and if not, I hope to do better next time. 

[ontheoddoccasioniwritestuff]

Between Bars (Spencer Reid x OC)

Summary: Spencer is wrongfully arrested for murder and placed in Millburn Correctional Facility awaiting trial. While he attempts to survive until his friends can prove his innocence, his cellmate Oscar has an unexpected effect on Spencer during their time inside together.

AN: Thank you to @april-14-blog, @zhuzhubii​, and @imagining-in-the-margins for your unwavering attention and support while writing this. 

I’m writing another post-prison Spencer fic but idk when it’s coming out. I’m still caring for my dad and prepping for my nan’s funeral.

To the anon who asked for an Emily Prentiss x Trans!Male reader smut, it’s in the works I promise!!

Word count: 11k words

Content warning: Usual criminal minds violence, character death, spoilers for season 12, threats of violence, stabbing, PTSD, mentions of battery, mentions of panic attacks. Let me know if I’ve missed anything.

Masterlist // AO3 Link

“My last roommate got shanked.”

Spencer struggled for a second to keep his composure. The cell door slid shut with a loud buzzer and a clank of hollow metal.

His cellmate, in that identical grey jumpsuit, was tucked up on the bottom bunk with a book in one hand and a green crayon in the other. He was underlining something. Once he was done, his eye lifted off the page. They just as devoid of emotion as his opener was. That scared Spencer more, that this man had clearly spent a long time in here being dehumanised to the point where he held about the emotional range of a mannequin.

But at least he wasn’t violent. Yet.

Spencer approached the foot of his bed. His hands, one of them still sore from the cut on the palm, placed his belongings there. A tremble ran through them when his cellmate moved out of his line of sight; the sudden thought of being stabbed through the underside of his bunk kept him standing for now.

“I’m not gonna shank you.”

Spencer’s shoulders squared, “Ok.”

“Name’s Oscar.”

“Spencer Reid.”

“Welcome to hell, Spencer Reid.”

 ---> ---> ---> ---> ---> 

 His chore was laundry. It was somewhere without sharp objects, which meant inmates brought their own. Spencer was doing his best to walk the balance between standing his ground and not making himself a target. But apparently there was no such line to follow and no help from his cellmate, sifting through his own cart of laundry on the other side of the room.

That was until the inmates began taunting Spencer over his belongings.

“Excuse me.”

The crowd immediately parted to make way for Oscar, whose unflinching gaze pushed them further back.

“Thank you,” he said in the same empty tone. His very deliberate stare landed on Spencer as he passed and collected a pile of towels from the table at the room’s centre. The group around them dispersed and remained so even as Oscar returned to his station.

Oscar’s hands weren’t shaking before then. Now, certainly, as he stuffed bedsheets into the giant machine, a tremble ran through his arms and stuck in his wrists.

Spencer didn’t comment, not even that evening as he climbed onto his bunk, his back pressed hard against the wall. His knees pulled close acted as a desk for his journal. His pen scribbled away long after lights out, putting down his thoughts, his innocence, trapping his worries onto the paper. It was too long until his next evaluation. His notebook was his only confidant now.

A creak beneath him stilled his hand, and he felt himself freeze as the shadow of Oscar rose up from his bunk. One of his hands was behind his back. Spencer’s feet dug into the mattress and forced him hard against the concrete. His eyes flinched shut as Oscar brought his hand out. But they opened as soon as they were closed and they were met with surprise.

In Oscar’s palm sat a red crayon.

“You’ll wanna swap to this,” He said with such a softness that Spencer spent the next ten seconds processing it. His incessant blinking did nothing to clear up what was happening.

Eventually he said an equally quiet voice, “Why?”

Oscar’s shoulders shrugged an inch, the tension he held in them inflexible, “Worst you can get from this is a bruise.”

Slowly, Spencer accepted the crayon with his left hand and rolled the pencil around in the right. “What should I do with this?”

“Hide it.” And Oscar disappeared from view.

Spencer ran his finger over the tip of the crayon before he dragged it across the paper. It would suffice for now. Maybe he could ask one of his friends to send some his way in their next letter. If they weren’t too busy trying to solve his case.

  ---> ---> ---> ---> --->

 JJ’s presence was the most welcomed part of Spencer’s life here. But he almost hated it.

Opposite him, always several inches between them as well as a divider, JJ holding up one of Henry’s drawings but unable to hand it over to him, it drove him insane. The constant reminders on the walls – and often barked by guards – not to touch coated their conversation. JJ didn’t ask about the bruises from his most recent beating. She answered Spencer’s queries, updating him on his case.

Spencer tried very hard not to sound so eager about getting out. His hopes were already dashed to pieces; the fragments were just holding on. He needed that hope to survive but if it grew too strong, it would destroy him.

For half a second, his attention was drawn out of the goodbye to see Oscar nearby. He was standing before another visitor’s table and a young woman who had the same nose as him on the other side.

He missed JJ’s hugs. He longed for one long after she had disappeared from view, shuffling along with the rest of them towards the refectory.

A commotion erupted up ahead. Spencer watched with masked reverence and the rest of the line as Oscar remained unflinching in the volume of the guard’s shouting. Even when he got right up in Oscar’s face, Oscar was stoic as spittle sprayed across his face. Moment after the guard walked away, Oscar wiped his face clean, a terrifyingly neutral expression held together.

Once lunch was done, Spencer re-joined with his new friend Luis in the laundry room, who was still not over Spencer’s injuries. There was something else that Spencer wanted to talk about.

“Do you know much about…” Spencer dropped his voice to barely a whisper, “Oscar?”

Luis looked at Oscar with the subtlety of an elephant seal then back to Spencer to deliver his answer, “He’s gone after people in the prison, but nothing ever gets tied to him.”

And Luis proved his point when Oscar pressed his hands against the stab wound in Luis’ neck, a futile attempt to save his life after Frazier and Duerson’s failed recruiting of Spencer. Oscar fled the scene without consequence, leaving Spencer in the pool of blood, and he never once tripped on his alibi or took off his armour. Not even when Spencer spoke at him about it before lights out.

  ---> ---> ---> ---> --->

 But Spencer found a chink in the armour.

Oscar’s sleeping problems were apparent throughout the night. If his offering of a crayon earlier hadn’t been enough evidence, the yawning and tossing about the bottom bunk. Spencer knew why Oscar was awake too. He wasn’t the type to stay awake to ensure his continued survival. Insomnia was a symptom that Spencer was starting to show too. He had been struggling to rest while he gathered the aforementioned evidence. For some reason, it brought him a slither of comfort, because it made Oscar more human.

Another was the letters he had in his pillow case – the most obvious place to hide something, therefore the least obvious? Reverse psychology aside, some nights featured the rustling of paper

Work in the laundry room continued as if there wasn’t a man murdered in it just days before. Oscar was reinforcing the contrast between yesterday and now with a faint hum. He was clearly a little more comfortable since it was just him and Spencer in the room.

Spencer’s mind pulled up Howl’s Moving Castle which he watched with Penelope. Oh, Penelope. With her bright colours and optimism. It was not a film he pictured Oscar to be a fan of. But he hardly knew him, and he wanted to.

“What song is that?”

Oscar shrugged. A huff forced itself out of his nose. “Don’t remember.”

“It sounds nice.”

He huffed again, clearly closing the conversation. Spencer counted in items he tossed into the machine, flinching still at the marks on the bedsheets. His eye avoided them but landed on the dark patch of concrete where Luis had bled out.

“Oscar, why did you defend me last week?” Spencer asked.

“I don’t know.” The irritable edge in his voice prevailed the more he spoke, “But you owe me so consider this: don’t be a mule for them.”

It was an almost anger that Spencer felt at this request. Surely Oscar would understand, of all people, after being in here that:

“They’ll kill me if I don’t.”

Oscar sighed and turned his back to Spencer, no longer humming. Spencer felt a twang in his gut pluck away at his rage. But he also felt satisfaction in the fact that he had gotten Oscar to crack again. Not in a malevolent way, he felt like he was getting Oscar to open up more and more.

“I’m doing what I need to survive,” Spencer added. For his sake, maybe, but he knew it was a little more reassurance for Oscar.

  ---> ---> ---> ---> --->

 “I am innocent.”

“You’re gonna get killed if you keep saying that so loud.”

Spencer stopped speaking, but he kept moving about the floor space of the cell. The worst part was the walk up to the bars. But, with his notebook confiscated, he had no other outlet and he made sure that Oscar knew this as well.

“It keeps me grounded, reminds me of who I am.”

Oscar didn’t say anything about Spencer’s incessant pacing, simply turning a page in his new book, “That must be nice.”

With a deep breath of stale prison air, Spencer’s speed grew erratic until he very nearly kicked at the bars in frustration. He stopped himself just as the instruction reached the surgery scars on his knee. It stung as he jumped up into his bunk and squeezed his knees to his chest, his arms shaking with the pressure he put on them.

“How many years do you have to go?” He said quietly.

“Half a year until an appeal, six years if I serve the rest of my sentence. You?”

“My trial has been postponed. I was offered a plea deal. But-” Spencer stopped to swallow, a pitiful attempt against the absolute Sahara that was his mouth “- But I didn’t do it.”

His hand pushed the heel of his palm into his eye. The other screwed itself shut as his mind zeroed in on his actions. When Spencer’s hand lifted away, Oscar was standing up in front of him. His white shirt was on show, the top half of his jumpsuit rolled down with the arms tied around his waist. He was stretching his arms up, and his head was tilted a few inches to the left as he watched Spencer with a blank face.

No, not blank.

Open.

Then his stoicism clouded over and Oscar dropped his arms. “Nice rehearsal for the jury.”

Spencer’s irritation became inflamed, “That kind of attitude might get you a badge of honour here-”

“This kind of attitude,” Oscar interrupted, and immediately Spencer regretted his words, “Has helped me survive here. I suggest you stop running your mouth if you wanna do the same.”

The burst of anger fizzled out fast like a firework, and Spencer watched Oscar disappear out of sight with a dull thud on his mattress. But before he could, Spencer had noticed that Oscar’s hands were shaking again, just like he hadn’t seen since the fight in the laundry room – the first one.

Spencer’s hands gripping his shins, he worried that he had lost another… friend? Ally? He didn’t really know what to use as a description for their relationship but Spencer knew what he wanted. Least of all, he wanted Oscar to be upset with him.

“Oscar?”

Nothing. Spencer slipped off the bed and pressed his back against the wall, sinking down until he was on the ground. His eyes were on Oscar, who was staring without seeing Spencer opposite him. Nevertheless, Spencer stayed in his sight and asked a tentative question.

“What’s the first thing you want to do when you get out?”

Oscar blinked and his gaze shifted a millimetre to Spencer and his peace offering. Then Spencer saw it. A quiver of Oscar’s bottom lip, then it shifted and Spencer noticed that Oscar was biting the inside to stop his reaction taking over any more of himself.

When his mouth opened, it released a sigh before he spoke. “Hug my mom.”

Spencer nodded, the stuffiness of his throat returning as he fought to keep back tears, “Me too.”

  ---> ---> ---> ---> --->

 It was an attempt to get Frazier and Duerson off Spencer’s back. Maybe to stop him from taking the drugs himself. The temptation was certainly lingering stronger, with the promise of a temporary respite.

But now the prison was locked down. Shaw, along with four other inmates, were isolated in the infirmary. These were far from innocent men but God that didn’t mean what he had done was right.

He’d done it to survive, but it was still all his fault.

“What’s up with you?”

The gate to their cell sliding shut behind Oscar. He stared at Spencer sat in the bottom bunk, his head in his hands. Footsteps echoed down the corridor before another buzzer and another gate opened then shut again. They were far from alone, the concrete providing an illusion that there wasn’t an endless tunnel with two men per cage.

“Spencer.”

He stood up, dropping the grip from his hair. His ears tuned into the noise from other prisoners. What he wouldn’t give for some silence right now.

“The poisonings were my fault.”

All air sucked from Spencer’s lungs as Oscar was suddenly upon him. He was smacked against the wall, Oscar’s hand over his mouth, his forearm pinning him into place. Spencer let out a cross between a gulp and a sob, caught into his throat as Oscar harshly shushed him. Spencer’s eyes looked around Oscar terrified, he struggled against him.

Oscar’s voice rasped with a spitting disgust, “You’re really fucking stupid!”

And he slammed his weight against Spencer again, his breathing heavy, his pupils dilated, “Don’t you fucking dare repeat that to anyone.”

Spencer’s head knocked against the resolute wall when Oscar shoved him once more, stepping back and creating distance between them. With the ache at the back of his skull, Spencer stared dazedly at his cellmate.

Oscar’s voice matched his haggard appearance when he said, “You’re a dead man, Spencer.”

The intimacy of his name striking right at his heart, Spencer worried that he would join Oscar in tears. But there was no time; a guard rattled his baton against the bars.

“What’s going on in there?” He bellowed into the cell.

Oscar clenched his jaw, “Nothing.”

Then he reclaimed his bunk and faced the wall.

“Into bed, inmate!”

Sparing a glance to the vulnerable position Oscar was laying in, unable to receive the look of gratitude, Spencer got into his bunk. The silence he wished for enveloped him and he longed for it to vanish.

He pressed his palm against his lips. It wasn’t the same as when Oscar did it.

  ---> ---> ---> ---> --->

 His second meeting with Dr. Tara Lewis revealed that Spencer had manufactured his own memory and that he had been coerced. But the BAU needed proof of his innocence, and Spencer resumed his waiting game in the yard.

Oscar was taking a new route around the edge of the wire fencing as opposed to spending his free time in the gym. His shoes scuffed in the dirt, no doubt rubbing a blister into his heel (based on his gait), and his step weaved around the groups to avoid interacting with anyone. Wordlessly, Spencer joined him. Oscar looked at him but didn’t speak.

Spencer’s session with Tara had brought forward a question he had considered asking before. Tara had spoken about his mother, how life was before prison. Spencer missed being known, knowing someone. The rawness of that need hung off his frame with his jumpsuit. Oscar was probably still pissed off with him. But God, Spencer needed to cease this withdrawal from human contact more than anything.

“What did you do, Oscar?” He asked under his breath, “To get into prison?”

“I knew a guy; he was the worst kind of person to get caught up with. He did some things to me. So I beat him up, and I cut his pecker off.”

It all sounded so very rehearsed, and Spencer wondered if Oscar had been planning what to say since they first met. The two men continued to walk in step until eventually Oscar broke the silence.

“Yours isn’t on my to-do list.” The left corner of his mouth twitched as he spoke

Spencer lifted his stare from Oscar’s mouth, hoping the heat around them would mask his blush, “Did he die?”

“No,” Oscar ironed his lips back into a straight line, “Unfortunately.”

“You don’t regret it.”

“No.”

“Thank you for not telling the guard what I did.”

“What did I say about repeating it?”

Spencer pressed his chin into his chest, forcing his mouth shut. It naturally deflected the glares that were aimed in his direction from other prisoners as he and Oscar sat down at an empty table.

“It seems I only give you grief.”

But Spencer’s pity was cut short by that touch of a smile on Oscar’s face returning, “Your company somewhat makes up for it.”

The distractions ended. Spencer was once again aware that there was very little he could do in this place. He restrained his yearning to hold Oscar’s hand across the table, to feel his tender palm again, until he was back in his bunk with an entire night to think about what it might be like in a situation where Oscar wasn’t threatening him into silence.

  ---> ---> ---> ---> --->

 It was going to be another sleepless night.

Spencer reached his arm out of his foetal position and over the edge of his bunk. Oscar was likely still awake; Spencer was hoping that Oscar would ask him about what was up, like he usually did. Like he already had after Spencer’s mother had visited with her new care assistant.

As he waited, Spencer sniffed back his tears. He didn’t want anyone to see him cry, even if tears were supposed to be good for the skin – God knows his skin needed it after all that Dial soap. The red eyes were already hard enough to hide without the addition of damp cheeks. Grief weighed down his eyelids, but fear kept opening them – just in case.

Then five calloused fingertips touched the back of his hand. Spencer gripped the air, his wrist bringing his hand an inch in. But as the fingertips spread across his skin, he allowed them to continue. Oscar’s mattress groaned below him and his fingers linked with Spencer’s. The thumb wrapped around to press into Spencer’s palm.

Spencer almost whined when Oscar snatched his hand away, but a split second later his stomach dropped at the sound of a clatter down the hall.

Minutes passed like hours before the bottom bunk let out a familiar creak of Oscar rising from it. He rested his forearms against Spencer’s mattress, right beside Spencer’s outstretched arm. Goosebumps rose and the hairs stood on end, coaxing Oscar closer.

With a quick glance at the bars, Oscar whispered, “Your friends will get you out. They’ll help your mom.”

Spencer sniffed, “What happened to being a dead man?”

“I don’t think you – or your friends - are going to let that happen.”

“What about you?”

“I guess I could fall under ‘ally’ for once.”

“What if I wanted you to be something else?” Spencer’s arm shifted and his hand brushed their knuckles against Oscar’s stubbly cheek.

Oscar hinted at tilting his head against him, and Spencer couldn’t help but press a little firmer as Oscar said, “You should sleep.”

“I can’t.”

Oscar’s finger stretching out to brush the crook of Spencer’s elbow, “Me neither.”

Nevertheless, Oscar let Spencer go and got back down into his bunk just moments later.

Both men pretended to sleep until the fantasy became real. The whole time, Spencer was thinking about how hearing faith in his team from someone who had never met them – or even displayed an ounce of hope within his entire relationship with him – meant so much.

  ---> ---> ---> ---> --->

 Spencer had a new wall to force his back against. His left leg was not in a state to keep him taut against it, the throbbing ache a poor disturbance from his thoughts. Time, time, all he had was time to think and do nothing else.

About how his occupation in the government was leaked to what felt like the entire prison population.

How the note with the promise of invading solitary confinement lay screwed up by the door.

How Shaw had threatened him before bawling like a baby when the guards tackled him for stabbing Spencer.

How Oscar, with his jaw slack and eyes glassy, was outlined in Spencer’s blurring vision.

Oh, Oscar. Shoved back by inmates in the scuffle before he disappeared from view. He was only there because Shaw had made the first move. Spencer had seen Oscar reach into his pocket as he crept behind Shaw. No regard for his own safety. That was when Spencer grabbed Shaw’s hand and manipulated it into plunging his shiv into his leg and arm.

The night before, Oscar had been quiet, and Spencer figured that he had learnt that Spencer was an FBI agent. No chat before bed, Oscar just curled up under his blanket and read until lights out.

Spencer was patient. He waited long into the night before bringing out his toothbrush. There was no time for resting now; he scrapped the end of the brush against the edge of the bunk frame. Flakes of plastic snowed down onto the concrete floor, but he didn’t get out to sweep them beneath the beds just yet. That was a job for the morning – if it came.

Suddenly Oscar popped into his field of view.

“It’s better if you do it like this,” He said, taking Spencer’s hand in his and demonstrating the direction with which to carve his shiv, “And make sure you – never mind.”

“What?”

“Forget it. You’re a fed. They probably trained you with this shit.”

He took himself away and Spencer swallowed hard, “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.”

“I’m not. Means you’re learning to protect yourself. I’m more grateful for that.”

Spencer’s hand still tingled from the way Oscar held it. The simplest of touches grounded him, and it was almost as if Oscar knew that. When they were called to lunch by the alarm, filing out of the laundry room, Oscar had gone out of his way to walk by Spencer and brush their hands together. Not a single break in his stride, the touch was brief but it breathed a sigh of courage into Spencer’s lungs and he went into the refectory calmer.

He bit the inside of his cheek, willing away the stinging of tears with his head leaning back against the wall.

His palms flattened against his legs as he heard the key turn in the door. His eyes watched it creak open, revealing a guard

“Get up.”

Wincing, Spencer moved off the pathetic excuse for a bed, “Where am I going?”

No answer.

Spencer shuffled through the hallway with dread weighing each step down. The last fragment of hope was waning, but he clung to it as he was shoved into an empty room. Even as the guard closed the door behind him and his ever-vigilant eye was stuck on the glass of the window, Spencer held that hope close as he waited for someone to come in.  While not necessarily a believer, he called to anyone - who might hear a sinner’s prayer - that he could touch Oscar once more before he was killed.

  ---> ---> ---> ---> --->

 It had been a long time since Spencer had sat on this side of the table. On the job, visiting a suspect or informant in a case, but now his entire perspective had shifted.

He wondered if any of the guards recognised him now that he had a suit, a visitor’s badge, and a few extra pounds around his middle.

An instinct, he flinched at the buzzer. The memory had tormented him for weeks and hearing it fresh and raw against his eardrums was worse. Steps sloped into the room in a dull out-of-sync march. The prisoners found their allotted tables one by one, some with enthusiasm and others without.

Oscar dragged the chair across the floor before taking his place opposite Spencer.

“Hello.”

Spencer was completely torn between smiling at his presence – his voice – and keeping a composure so as not to draw attention from other prisoners. “Hello.”

Oscar wrapped his arms in each other, elbows pointed on the table, “Did you get to hug your mom?”

It was hard to forget the grip on Diana’s frail body, the relief seeping through Spencer’s body at her safe recovery.

“Yeah, I did.”

“Good. I’m glad she’s ok.”

“She’s in a facility now, being taken care of full time. Did you get my letters?”

“I did, thank you. And did you get mine?”

“Yes. How is your new cellmate?”

“Some dipshit in for possession. Nothing to worry about.”

Oscar’s fingers tapped on the table, and Spencer could see them trembling still. He nodded; his mouth pressed into a line. He couldn’t think of what else to say despite his many rehearsals beforehand. It felt wrong to talk about being out of prison, like dangling a bit of bacon in front of a dog before popping it into one’s mouth.

So he went straight for the jugular, “I’m getting you out, Oscar.”

Oscar frowned, looking almost offended. “Don’t say that.”

But Spencer continued, “I’ve spoken with your lawyer, Zoe; she’s got all this stuff ready for your appeal.”

“Spencer.”

“Your family completely support what we’re doing. I’ve spoken to them over the phone.”

“They wanna meet with me and your lawyer, properly coordinate. We can do this!”

“Spencer, stop!”

Said person stopped relaying his grand plans for the future. Oscar had barely raised his voice but he caught the attention of the nearby guards, already reaching for their belts. Oscar’s nostrils flared as he exhaled, his eyes not even crossing the threshold that separated him from Spencer.

His voice caught in his throat, “Stop it now. Don’t give me hope.”

Spencer blinked. A second time, a third, then he frowned right back at Oscar bewildered.

“Why won’t you let me fight for you?”

He didn’t get an answer immediately, so he kept talking.

“You fought for me, Oscar. You kept me alive in here. Let me do the same, get you out. You can’t stay here!”

It started subtle. But Spencer saw Oscar shaking his head at his words. He refused Spencer any more eye contact, not even when Spencer begged Oscar to look at him so that they could talk more about the upcoming appeal.

The buzzer sounded again and Spencer began to panic as Oscar rose from his seat. No way was their time up already. An urge to reach across, grab Oscar’s hand, make him stay, shot through him. It only stopped because he didn’t want some desperate grab to be the last touch between them. He tried to call after him, but his voice stuck in his throat at the sight of a baton being used to force Oscar into the queue.

  ---> ---> ---> ---> --->

 Spencer had walked the paths of the bullpen thrice now: once to get coffee, second to “get the right form”, and the last time he didn’t say why to his curious colleagues. Clearly none of those were the true reason but they left him alone. That was their problem. They never spoke to each other about what was wrong until it was too late.

The second his phone rang, he lunged for it. His slim fingers scrabbled to slide across the answer button and bring it up to his ear.

“Hello!” Instantaneously, his shoulders slumped and he pinched the bridge of his nose, “Sorry for shouting. Look, I’m waiting on an important call, can I ring you back?”

Before the caller had time to respond, Spencer slammed the phone face down and began his route again, leaving it on the desk so that he wasn’t constantly checking the screen.

“Have you ever seen him so attached to a piece of technology?” Luke grinned at JJ.

“Never.”

“This con must be something.”

The phone went off again when Spencer was getting another mug of coffee. Its ringtone was loud but not loud enough to reach the break room.

Simmons raised his voice ever so slightly, “Spencer! Phone!”

A ceramic clashed with a sideboard, and Spencer appeared, his hip clipping Luke’s desk on the way over. In his frenzy, he found the wherewithal to check the caller ID before he answered, “Tony?”

Spencer had already begun powerwalking out of the bullpen, but he stopped when he heard a cry from Eliza in the background.

His friends and co-workers watched his expression falter from focus to frustration.

“I’m sorry.” His voice failed him, clearing it, “I’m sorry, Tony, for you and your family. Can I call you back?”

This time, he waited for confirmation and he stayed on the phone for half a minute longer to reassure the Dunnagan family on the other end that he would not give up. Once the call dropped, the phone did too – against the desk. Spencer folded his arms in on himself. His fingers were bent into claws, digging into the creases of his elbows. Upon realising what they were doing, he covered his face as if to weep, but there were no tears.

“Spencer.” JJ touched his shoulder

“The appeal didn’t even have the chance to be unsuccessful,” He dragged his hands across his face into prayer, “Oscar cancelled the hearing this morning without telling us.”

He swallowed back the lump in his throat, “I don’t think I can be alone right now. Can I stay at yours and Will’s tonight?”

“Of course,” JJ’s hand smoothed out a wrinkle on his suit jacket.

  ---> ---> ---> ---> --->

 Upon entering the attorney’s office, Spencer was embraced by Dakota. Eliza kissed both his cheeks, Tony shook his hand, and Zoe gestured for him to sit in the final empty chair.

Together, they discussed the plan for the appeal. It was to be fool proof. There was the added benefit of a recent sessions with a therapist; Spencer was still willing to go and talk about how Oscar had saved his life in prison. But Spencer was also fighting this disgusting urge to say that “none of that matters because an appeal panel won’t see him at all if Oscar keeps withdrawing”. He kept pushing it down to simmer in his stomach, away from his vocal chords.

He was almost glad when his phone began ringing, “Excuse me, it’s my boss.” Stepping out of the office, Spencer narrowly avoided another lawyer walking along the stripes of the carpet. “Hey Emily.”

“Hey. I know it’s one of your days off. I just wanted to see how you’re doing?”

“We’re just going over Oscar’s appeal.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

Wow, he really walked into that one.

“I just keep thinking about how he sabotaged himself. I mean, doesn’t he want to get out? Why doesn’t he want to get out and be with me?!” Spencer swallowed back the lump in his throat, “And I know none of the team approve of him.”

“Spencer,” Emily had her parent voice on. An expert voice for someone who didn’t even have kids yet.

But Spencer just carried on in spite of it, “He’s a convicted batterer, not exactly the best option for a boyfriend and especially for an FBI agent, but do any of you know why he did it?”

His agitation was muzzled when Zoe poked her head around the door and Spencer softened his tone to apologise, to assure he would be back inside shortly. He waited until the door closed before he spoke again.

“Emily, Oscar is the only person who knows what I’m going through right now. He’s a good man, I truly believe that, or else he wouldn’t have helped me. And I need him to get out. I can’t stand knowing he’s in there for why he did what he did. Knowing he’s not getting the help he needs.”

It was then that Spencer realised, even as they were interrupted, that Emily had been waiting patiently for him to finish. She was now letting his words sit between the phone lines, likely mulling over what to say next. Spencer really fucking hated waiting.

Thankfully his patience did not need to wear itself thin, this one time:

“I do know why he did it. I had Garcia pull up his file when you went to visit him for the first time. Spencer, I’m glad this man has you on his side. Let me know how the meeting goes.”

“Thanks, Emily.”

  ---> ---> ---> ---> --->

 As Oscar placed himself down opposite Spencer, he flinched in the plastic chair. Spencer fought his own wince at the sight of so much swelling, so many bruises, so many cuts, littering his face.

But he gave the tiniest of smiles in spite of the state of his face, “How did you know, Spencer?”

“Your mom told me. She’s a lovely woman.” Spencer flexed his fingers before linking them again, “I wish I had a proper gift to give you, but I was scared the guards would just confiscate it.”

“The card was more than enough.”

A bright blue card with balloons on it was tucked into Oscar’s pillowcase. Inside were as many notes on what he needed to say for the appeal as Spencer could fit around the “HAPPY BIRTHDAY” already printed into the card.

“I forwarded them and the rest onto your lawyer. She should go through it with you.”

Oscar’s smile tainted by hesitation as it crawled off his face, “I don’t know.”

Spencer could see him withdrawing, hiding in his jumpsuit. But even then, Oscar’s expression wore his melancholy like a veil. It blocked out any semblance of neutrality from when he had first met Spencer. The state his protection was in, he wouldn’t last long at all.

“Before prison, I was really sensitive to touch, germs. But now-” Spencer stopped, his voice so quiet he nearly couldn’t hear himself as he finished, “I can’t wait to touch you again.”

Oscar shivered. His eyes screwed shut as if to protect him from what was being said. But Spencer persisted.

“What would you like to do for your birthday? If you could do anything.”

“Picnic in the park,” said Oscar after some thought, “Uh, a real big Cuban sandwich, with roast pork, Swiss cheese, lettuce, pickles, and ham. And chocolate covered strawberries.”

“What, in the sandwich as well?”

“Yes.” Oscar rolled his eyes, misty and threatening to spill, and Spencer felt a rush of panic. More emotion was only good for him. Oscar, left behind in his cell, this could be disastrous. But he couldn’t get enough of it, and he selfishly persevered.

“When you get out, would you let me hold you?” The buzzer went off, but Spencer spoke over it as he stood, “Please, Oscar, consider this appeal.”

“Ok, Spencer.”

From his place at the table, Spencer watched Oscar try to cover his emotions, but there was still a glimmer of a tear retreating as he joined the queue of prisoners heading back to their cells.

Before he stepped out the prison, Spencer slipped his sunglasses back over his eyes to hide how red they were from the guards.

  ---> ---> ---> ---> --->

 Stood in the shallow shade of Eliza’s range rover, Spencer switched the bouquet of sage flowers from one hand to the other. Dakota had suggested them; she said her brother liked the colour most. Spencer wiped his free hand down his trousers before checking the time. He’d done that four times already. He hoped no one was giving him odd looks from the other side of the fence.

Utter relief was not usually how he would describe hearing that buzzer. But for the first and last time, he did feel a sense of respite knowing he would likely never be coming back here for such a taxing visit.

Then he remembered what that sound actually meant. His back straightened right up; his hand brushed through his hair and checked his breath once more.

Tony led the way out of the prison. He was clearly trying to remain casual but the glee seeping out of his body was just palpable. He had an arm around Dakota, kissing his daughter’s head so vigorously that her half-up hair was messed up. Clearly Dakota didn’t care though. Her hand was behind her and she turned to see the person holding it.

It was Oscar, arm looped with Eliza who clung to him like a crutch. Their eyes matched each other, shining brown like horse chestnuts.

Spencer found that he could no longer look away from Oscar. A breeze rustled through his hair. His face was alive with tear tracks and a grin that ached on his rosy cheeks. An old suit, one clearly meant for court and court alone, slouched on his shoulders. But for that short moment where he breathed fresh air and leaned his head on his mother’s, there was no weight to him.

Then Oscar found Spencer, fidgeting with his tie and his grip slacking on the bouquet, and all the emotion he had repressed for five years in prison custody were exploding into a supernova.

Oscar forgot Eliza’s arm, dashing around his family to run for Spencer. Spencer found himself matching the pace and the destination. His feet carried him quick until he and Oscar collided. A fierce hug crushed them. Oscar’s hand was constantly adjusting its grip on the back of Spencer’s head, and Spencer’s free one fisted at Oscar’s suit jacket, trying to bury themselves in his ribcage. Neither missed Oscar’s shaking, his sobbing. Spencer curled into Oscar, wrestling with his instinct to pull away. Lindsey and Cat, they ruined so much for him already; they couldn’t take Oscar too.

When they heard the footsteps of the Dunnagan family stop nearby, the men drew apart – only about a foot or so. Oscar’s cheeks were wet behind his wide smile and Spencer saw that one of his front two teeth was a little crooked.

Spencer then presented his gift in the small space between them, “For you.”

Oscar gently clasped the bouquet on the white ribbon that wrapped around the stalks, “No one’s got me flowers before.”

Spencer then vowed to buy flowers as often as he could for Oscar, and especially sage. He looked so good with purple.

The ride to Danny’s Food Truck had Oscar sat in the little middle seat, his sister on one side, Spencer on the other, and he held both their hands. His bouquet was cradled in his lap. The wet ends of the stalks dripped twice onto his suit trousers, just before his bouncing knee.

  ---> ---> ---> ---> --->

 Once again, Spencer had lost himself in his work. When he was interrupted just an hour before, Oscar was there. He had waved a hand into Spencer’s peripherals but Spencer still jumped at it. He hated that his skittish behaviour was still prevalent, returning just as Oscar had started appearing in his personal life. In his apartment.

“Sorry, Spencer,” Oscar had said in a gravelly voice, “I just wanted to ask if you were ok with Randy’s for dinner tonight.”

It was two hours before they were due to have dinner.

“Of course, it’s your turn.”

“How’s the work going?”

“It’s good,” and Spencer showed him the notes he’d written so far.

Oscar had taken them into his hands and read over them. Meanwhile Spencer watched his micro expressions. The huff of air through his nose, the corners of his mouth wriggling about as if to smile before flattening themselves out, all seemed positive as Oscar offered the papers back.

“Nice joke!”

“Right, joke…” Spencer accepted his notes back, “Where?”

“There,” Oscar leant over Spencer’s shoulder and tapped the second line of the first paragraph. Spencer noted that he smelt nice. So much better now the Dial soap was out of their care routine.  

And it was now that Spencer found himself missing that smell. It was a nice distraction. Burying himself in his work was not a good distraction anymore.

He stood away from his desk and took his mug out to the kitchen sink. Despite trying not to look at the pieces of a vase half-wrapped in newspaper, Oscar’s wailing at the very start of their day together punctured its way into Spencer’s head. One particular thought posited that Spencer should keep one of those jagged pieces – just in case. Just in case of what?

Shaking his head, Spencer went and found the source of his chills: his living room windows were wide open, the curtains lifting gracefully in the breeze. Rain pattered against the world outside, some of its drops reaching the carpet. The smell of the rain was light in the room. It was almost drowned out by the sound.

He found Oscar passed out on the couch, his bare feet poking out from under the throw. His head was resting between his folded arms, one hand under the pillow. His headphones askew and playing “The Flower Garden (Extended Version)” by Joe Hisaishi.

Kneeling next to Oscar, Spencer touched his arm, “Do you want me to order for you?”

Oscar nodded, stretched out, then promptly fell back asleep. He would have trouble later tonight. But Spencer was glad that he finally found some respite. His seemingly endless apologies for breaking the bowl were over.

That was where the good news ended though. Spencer looked closer at Oscar’s hand, now unmasked. A medium piece from the broken vase rested in his loose grip. After some moments deliberating, Spencer eased it out and placed it with the rest of the vase. Then he went to his phone and dialled.

“Hey JJ. I hope it’s not too late, but,” Spencer tapped his nails against the plastic handset, “Would you mind coming over? Oscar is here, but I don’t know if he’s ready to help me through this.”

He smiled at the flowers he’d bought that day standing awkwardly in a jug before hanging up. He and Oscar really should move in together. Or at least he should invest in a sofa bed.

Twenty minutes later, there was a knock at the front door, and Oscar was up on his feet. The sofa’s throw clung to him.  

“I invited someone over,” Spencer said quickly, “Sorry I should have told you, but I didn’t want to wake you again. Do you want to wait in my room?”

Oscar stayed in place and shook his head, so Spencer went ahead to open his front door.

Two days apart was far too long. JJ embraced Spencer tight, rubbing his back as she rested her chin on his shoulder. She gave the best hugs. Maybe rivalled by Oscar, but Spencer would never tell her that.

“Can I get you anything to drink?”

“A coffee would be great,” JJ shrugged off her jacket

He pivoted in a half circle, “Oscar?”

“No, I’m good, thank you.”

Spencer wasn’t really sure what happened in his absence – besides his stomach turning itself over and over. When he returned with two mugs, the only information he could garner was that Oscar had dropped the throw back onto the sofa that stood between them and JJ had inched a little closer

“Here!”

Oscar twitched at Spencer’s loud entrance, visibly relaxing by the time JJ had her mug of coffee in her hands. He adjusted the throw until it was back to its original position then crept towards the door.

Spencer frowned, ruining the quiet exit as he said, “Where are you going?”

Oscar thumbed in his direction of travel. “Bathroom.”

“Oh,” Spencer felt his cheeks heat up, “Good luck.”

He saw Oscar rolling his eyes but there was a flash of a grin and a tiny wave to JJ before he disappeared from view. Spencer’s stomach steadied itself, busying itself with sloshing his coffee about instead. His grip around his mug adjusted as he turned to JJ.

“He’s not what I was expecting,” JJ said. There was nothing malicious in her tone. In fact, if there was anything, she seemed pleased that Oscar had subverted her anticipations.

Spencer nodded, his mouth turning up a little smile, “That’s what I thought too. Thank you for coming so quickly.”

“It’s ok, anytime.”

They sat together on the sofa, leaving the armchair free just in case Oscar wanted to join them again.

  ---> ---> ---> ---> --->

 Moving in together was supposed to solve everything.

Neither Spencer nor Oscar explicitly said or thought that. But when their triggers persisted and their behaviour shifted dramatically still, they couldn’t help but be a little disappointed.

Spencer had another nightmare last night and woke Oscar up at around half past three. They couldn’t cuddle each other, but their hands would brush and the two men would avoid looking at the matching scars on their thighs – and Oscar’s on his stomach, Spencer’s on his arm.

“Would you have killed Shaw, if I hadn’t done anything?”

“Yes.” “Does that scare you?”

In the dark, he could hear the fear in Oscar’s voice

“No, because I think I would have done the same.”

Carried on as if he hadn’t heard, still scared of himself, “I wouldn’t do something like that now.”

Oscar spent the rest of the night on the couch, so he wouldn’t touch Spencer in his sleep. Words of his therapist spun around his head: “Prison twists and warps people until they’re worse than they were before. We can’t speak now for what we would have done then.”

It was a quiet day as a result of the restless night. Quiet was nice sometimes; it was something new for them to experience together. Spencer and Oscar had breakfast together, washed and dressed, before they went down to the communal laundrette together. Washing and drying clothes was too big a task to do alone, even now, and Oscar needed his shirt to be clean for his job interview in a few days. The nightmare Spencer had faded into the background as he tried to focus on something else.

Without realising, he said aloud to Oscar, “I wanted to kiss you in the laundry room.”

Oscar stopped stretching his damp pyjama shirt out, and it was clear that he had joined Spencer in reminiscing about their job in prison.

“Which time?”

“Every time.”

Spencer watched as Oscar let out a quiet “heh”, a shy smile playing on his lips. But Oscar cut it off quick before either of them could enjoy it, and he reset his expression to blank. The silence that followed swallowed them both whole.

“Oscar,” Spencer moved next to Oscar and, in clear view, touched him on the arm, “It’s ok. You can laugh.”

“I know.”

“You can smile if you want to,”

“I can smile,” Oscar repeated, his words grounding him next to Spencer, his hands flattened atop the dryer as it rumbled into life. His lungs took in a few more breaths to spread a thin layer of calm over him and he looked back at Spencer, “I can also kiss you if I want to, if you want.”

Checking the laundrette door, Spencer’s hand moved from Oscar’s arm to Oscar’s cheek, guiding him home. Their lips met in messy perfection. Short and sweet, with a sigh shared between them, Spencer was pleased to see the smile returned to Oscar by the time they separated. As tense as Oscar felt in his arms, even with the smile soon fading, Spencer could feel the tiniest slack in his shoulders now.

With the most burdensome chore out of the way, the two men returned to the flat. Spencer helped Oscar compose another covering letter to ship off to another job opening before they called Oscar’s family for lunch.

Facetiming was always a trip when they were calling the Dunnagans. Tony had a similar understanding of “technology” as Spencer, so when he answered the call, it was a close up of a nostril or a frowning muted face that greeted Oscar and Spencer on the laptop screen. Eventually Eliza saved them from an eternal farce. She brought them into her kitchen, bringing Dakota and her partner Ellis in on the call when it was time to prep for lunch.

Dakota led the way with a recipe from her restaurant, “If any of you dare share this with anyone, I’ll knock you out.”

Her laugh only sang one note before she slapped her hand over it and looked down at her screen with a face full of guilt. Oscar laughed it off, maybe a little forced, then he swiped at the nearest conversation topic – the world’s hottest pepper.

“Maybe you could stick in in your next recipe. Do a competition where if you eat all the spicy stuff, you get your name on the wall and get half off or something.”

And the call continued for a little longer.

Spencer was just testing out the new spices acquired in their online shop – because according to Dakota there was nothing is worse than being able to actually taste the chicken – when the screen froze. A tiny widget popped up to inform the men that the signal was too poor to continue the call.

Oscar wiggled the mouse, “Oh, God, your connection’s gone again. You mind if I try and find us a better provider?”

“Go for it.”

They clinked their wine glasses together, sipping with questionable responses to it. Oscar dared another sip while Spencer was satisfied with just the one, deciding instead to check on the chicken.

“Spencer?”

“Yeah?”

Oscar placed his wine down. “Are we boyfriends?”

In all their time together, Spencer realised they never once spoke about their relationship status. They just sort of… moved in together, shared a bed, held hands and kissed occasionally – without discussing what was going on.

He said with relative boldness, “I’d like to be.”

“I’d like to be too,” Oscar bit his lip, the smile distorting but still charming as ever. His arms swayed a little. “Can I hug you please?”

With a renewed sense of vigour, Spencer said, “Yes please.”

  ---> ---> ---> ---> --->

 Spencer’s mind needed a rest; perhaps returning to the geographic profile after some time apart would garner a new connection. This case was driving everyone nuts, not just him, and it was only the third day in. he plucked his mug and headed over to the coffee pot for a top-up.

Whilst pouring his third cup of the morning, Spencer took note of his phone’s weight in his trouser pocket. He decided to lessen it, his hand reaching in and dialling for Oscar.

The call clicked after three rings then a boisterous laugh erupted from the speaker.

“Sorry, Spencer! This little one keeps jumping up at me! She barely reaches my knees!” Oscar���s voice was playful. Little claws clicked on a hard floor followed by a tiny yet indignant yip that was echoed by several much deeper barks. Spencer assumed this little one was a ring leader at the dog kennel, the one Oscar was trying to sweet talk.

“That’s ok. You sound like you’re having a good time.”

“It’s brilliant! They let me take four dogs out on a walk at a time!”

The ache in Spencer’s left shoulder from sleeping in an odd position alleviated just a touch. “Yeah?”

“I think I might try to get my licence back, so I can maybe drive them out to the countryside.”

“That’s brilliant news.”

“How’s the case?”

“I’m just taking a break.” Spencer sipped his coffee, burning the back of his throat. As he flinched, he caught sight of Luke’s hand, waving him back over to the conference room. “Sorry, Oscar, I have to get back to the profile.”

“I really like how you say ‘Oscar’.”

“I’m just saying your name.”

“I know,” and Spencer could very clearly hear Oscar’s smile in his voice – even over the constant din from the dogs he was caring for.

“I like how you say my name. See you later?”

“Hopefully. Take care of yourself.”

What a delight to see Oscar, after a rush of evidence flooding in and the pieces slotting together in a now-obvious profile. That evening in fact, Spencer made it back to his apartment at the same time as Oscar. He was carrying a plastic bag to mirror Spencer’s satchel. He didn’t feel like cooking and knew that Spencer wouldn’t be in the mood either; it was a few microwaved meals from the local store in his bag.

They ate dinner in the sitting room on trays - as a treat – and they partook in a very one-sided conversation about Star Trek. Oscar didn’t seem to mind, and honestly Spencer liked the freedom that came with talking here. It was like a hint of who he was before was bleeding through. Every so often though, Oscar would remind him that his food was going to get cold. Spencer would take a moment to eat before the next interesting factoid was inspired from the episode on the TV.

At the start of the next episode, his plate empty, Spencer noticed that Oscar’s gaze was a little restless as he finished his dinner.

“Is something bothering you?” He asked, adjusting his position on the sofa.

Oscar shrugged as he put his cushioned lap tray onto the carpet, “Not bothering me. I’m just curious about something.”

Naturally, Spencer said, “Ask me.” Maybe it was the difference between Vulcans and Romulans again.

“When you stabbed yourself while looking at me, before you got out, was that a substitution for sex?”

Spencer blinked several times. He could feel pinstripes forming on his forehead. He cleared his throat, took a sip of his water, cleared his throat again.

“No, no. I… um.”

Then he stopped because he realised he didn’t quite have an answer yet. His mind was busy straying back to that moment: the flare of pain in his leg and arm, the roaring of inmates around his head, and Oscar - an island of frozen calm amidst the chaos of Spencer’s actions. Eventually, Spencer found a semblance of a reply and he delivered it.

“I was just looking around, and I found you. I think I was looking for comfort.”

Seemingly accepting of this, Oscar’s attention moved back to the TV. His hands occupied themselves with each other. However, Spencer was not quite ready to let the subject go; he’d been thinking about this a lot lately.

“I’m sorry we haven’t…”

Oscar picked up what he was putting down, “Don’t be sorry, Spencer. Don’t ever, ever be sorry for that. I didn’t ask to guilt you. It was in the lesson you taught last week. I listened to it on my break today.”

The image of his Dictaphone on the desk at college - and another of it hanging out of Oscar’s rucksack’s front pocket – recalled itself in Spencer’s head.

“I probably could have asked you a bit nicer,” Oscar altered his position on the couch to bring his knees up to his chest.

“Probably.”

“I’m sorry, Spencer.”

“You’re forgiven.”

“Could you tell me more about the Romulans please?”

As Spencer restarted his speech, albeit with less enthusiasm than before, Oscar brought out his notepad from his backpack. His fingers pinched around the blue crayon as he scrawled Spencer’s facts, putting the differences into a roughly drawn table.  

  ---> ---> ---> ---> --->

 Seeing Oscar standing in the bullpen with a visitor’s badge was not what Spencer expected to see today. He certainly didn’t expect to see him sipping tea with Penelope and chatting away at Spencer’s empty desk. Oscar had clearly just arrived, still bundled up in his coat. The flowers Oscar had sent to the office that morning stood gorgeously arranged beside his oft-neglected computer desktop.

“Hi!” Spencer power-walked up to them, almost reaching a jog. Oscar met him halfway, but his pace decreased the closer he got to Spencer. It was the sound of the team drawing through the glass double doors that told Spencer what was going through his head.

He turned to his family, already gesturing behind him where Oscar stood, “Everyone, this is my boyfriend Oscar.”

Waving, Oscar had his other hand stuck deep in his pocket as he spoke, “Penelope gave me the rundown of your names. Nice to meet you.”

The team was rather tired from the case and obviously a little caught off guard by the fact that the felon Spencer had fallen for was just hanging around in their bullpen. But Spencer was relieved when they all greeted Oscar with a fairly warm manner, wished Spencer "happy birthday" again, before they shuffled off to their respective desks and offices. Penelope bid her farewell to Oscar with the promise of a movie night some time in the future. Then she hugged her Boy Wonder and returned to her batcave.

“Sorry,” Oscar said quietly, “I wanted to travel home with you. Kinda forgot that I would be running into your whole team.”

“I don’t mind. In fact, I wanted you to meet them.”

Spencer’s hand stayed in Oscar’s for the entire walk back to Oscar’s new car in the lot. While they parted momentarily en route, they found each other again when Oscar had to pull over during the drive home. The car that had swerved and cut in front of them became two red lights in the far distance, the sound of its engine and screeching tires muted by Oscar’s heavy breathing.

Oscar released the steering wheel and clung to Spencer’s hand, but Spencer could feel that Oscar was holding back, trying not to crush his fingers. He rubbed over Oscar’s knuckles.

“In, two, three, four,” Spencer counted, “Hold, two, three, four. Out, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight.”

He repeated this five times and Oscar leant back in his seat.

“I was doing so well,” He said, his voice cracking in its quietness.

“You still are. We both are.” Spencer kissed the back of Oscar’s hand, “Come on, I’ll drive us the rest of the way.”

Two blocks later and they were about to enter their apartment.

Oscar stopped them though, just before Spencer’s key met the lock, “Could you wait out here? Just for a minute, please?”

Spencer complied, a countdown in his head clicking off the seconds as soon as his front door was closed to him. A smile crept onto his face as he heard Oscar clattering about the apartment. He wasn’t exactly being subtle; Spencer wouldn’t have it any other way.

Once Spencer was finally allowed in, he was greeted by a low-lit scene. Oscar was holding a match to the last candle at the table. He’d taken off his long coat to revealing a freshly ironed floral pattern. The stereo speakers were already humming Mozart. The crumpled takeaway paper bag by the pedal bin didn’t go unnoticed, but Spencer decided to focus instead on how the food was arranged on the plates - either side of a delightful floral arrangement.

“Oh Oscar, you already got me so much this morning,” Spencer said sheepishly, with the knowledge that he had avoided looking up the prices of his gifts so he could calculate just how much of Oscar’s third paycheque went into his birthday.

“I know, but I wanted your birthday to be perfect,” Oscar opened up one of the tubs, a wave of steam lifting gently with the lid, “It’s from the new Thai place down the road.”

Spencer hung up his satchel on his its hook, “I suppose I have been wanting to try their green curry for a while now.”

Once he had changed into something more comfortable (plus a hint of smartness), Spencer sat down with Oscar for dinner. Both men found that he was not immune to the romanticism of a candlelit dinner with his boyfriend, and Spencer more so. The effort behind it, the aroma of the lavender candle with the spiced food, the glow around his Oscar’s face as he went over the day behind them, it was all getting to him.

Of course, Oscar offered to clean up once they were done eating and talking – for now at least. Spencer still helped though. Any time with Oscar was time well spent. Even loading the dishwasher. Except now Oscar was staring at Spencer’s face, gaze fidgeting between his eyes and his mouth, and Spencer was worrying about it.

Christ, what was he meant to do to let Oscar know he wanted to kiss him without saying so? Pout?

“Are you ok?” Oscar’s brow creased.

Fuck.

“Yes,” Spencer said, quickly removing the pout from his lips, “I’m good.”

“Good.” Oscar swung their linked hands between them thrice. Then he let go of one to thumb across the corner of Spencer’s jaw and he closed the gap between them. Spencer felt Oscar’s recently applied lip balm on his chapped lips, those stupid lips that Spencer spent too much time thinking about. They felt so much better against Spencer’s and smiling with reckless abandon. So reckless, in fact, that the smile grew into a laugh, buzzing against Spencer and tickling him more than his facial hair.

Oscar pulled away, still giggling and apologising, “Sorry, sorry, I’m not laughing at you.”

“I know you’re not. You’d never laugh at me.”

  ---> ---> ---> ---> --->

 A chorus of “hello!” harmonised in the doorway as the Dunnagans’ entered Spencer and Oscar’s apartment. Laden with gifts and food offerings, Tony, Eliza, and Dakota kissed and hugged their way into the sitting room.

Oscar and Dakota were the ones in charge, everyone else on some kind of prep duty while they ordered them about in the politest manner. Spencer was trying to be a good prep boy but Eliza was just better and faster, so he stuck to cleaning as they went. Oscar kissed his cheek while passing by; Tony had hung up a sprig of mistletoe just over their heads. Ducking away to avoid kissing his potential father-in-law, Spencer chased the sound of his phone ringing. He even ducked under it as if lowering his torso would avoid the mistletoe above him.

All five swayed ever so slightly out of sync as they bellowed the classics and groaned over the pop renditions. Spencer’s new watch hugged his wrist and ticked away each pleasant second.

“No, don’t hide your hair!” Eliza ripped off the Santa hat Spencer’s head and pulled up flattened tufts of his hair until it resumed its usual messy state.

“There! Never get a haircut, you’re too handsome for that.” She patted his cheek before taking another swig of her red wine – the same shade as her Christmas jumper and Spencer’s cheeks. Spencer looked to Oscar, not to protest but to see if he had Oscar witnessed this.

Oscar merely shrugged, “I mean she’s not wrong.” He finished off peeling the sprouts, handing them over to Tony for chopping, “I have to admit, it was one of the things that drew me to you when we met.”

“Really?”

Another nod in response, Oscar drew nearer, closing the conversation to everyone but Spencer, “You and your Bambi eyes and your hair and your perfect mouth.”

Spencer suddenly found himself unable to look directly at Oscar, as if he were the sun. An outsider looking in might infer that it was the gaudy red of his horrendous Christmas jumper that made his cheeks seem so pink. They would be wrong.

Spencer burst out, “It was Rossi on the phone. He wants to know if you’re still coming tomorrow?”

“Yeah, I’m not backing out. If I start to, I need you behind me and pushing me through the door.” Oscar’s shoulders twitched with his laugh.

“I don’t know, feels like you could toss me over your shoulder if you wanted.”

“I could. Technically.”

Spencer’s cheeks went scarlet at the thought of Oscar carrying him down Rossi’s driveway in such a way. But before he could ask Oscar to slow the flow of compliments, Dakota called to them across the room: “Aw, Oscar, you’ve got your own stocking?”

“Yeah, Spencer bought it for me, early gift!” It hung proudly on the bookshelf beside Spencer’s.

The table had already been set for the family. Dakota brought her own crackers, informing them that the snap had been removed. Terrible paper crown and horrendous jokes were passed around the five people before they dished up their Christmas dinner. Comically small in his hands, Oscar cradled the box of the primary coloured crayons in his palm and frisbeed the ruler with the shapes cut out over to Eliza.

The pigs in blankets were a little burnt, the nut roast barely touched, and there was so much left over that they would be eating ham and turkey sandwiches for days to come.

Spencer was so full of food and joy that it would be impossible to be carried on his boyfriend’s shoulder. He settled instead for being held in Oscar’s lap as they squished into the armchair, the rest of the family on the couch to watch the garbage Christmas specials. Dozing on his shoulder with a close-lipped smile, Oscar looked content. His yellow paper crown was crushed near the front, slipping down his left temple.

Oh, Spencer was grateful for his dedicated memory. He could match and topple all those memories of them in prison with times like these forever – and he planned on doing just that.

[packsbeforesnacks]

Inside You There Are Two Wolves || Adam, Cece, Darwin, Nell, Ulfric, & Winn

[Part One | Part Two] [Side B]

TIMING: Sunday, July 19th, 2020, Sunset LOCATION: A clearing in the Outskirts. PARTIES: @walker-journal, @thebickedwitchoftherest, @wardinasrani, @nelllraiser, @big-bad-ulf, & @packsbeforesnacks SUMMARY: The ritual to recover Winn’s memories goes very, very wrong. WARNINGS: None.

Everything was in place, the way it was meant to be, in the small clearing Winn had chosen as the place for the ritual. At first Darwin had been a little hesitant: a memory journey was always tricky, even with just one mind to explore, but travelling through two minds? So many things could go wrong that he refused to think about it, let alone share his doubts with the participants. At least Darwin wasn't alone: granted, he'd guide the ritual, he'd keep the connection stable, but two others would fuel his magic, and the help of Nell and Otto had been invaluable, really; the procedure was fairly simple, but knowing he wouldn't have to rely only on himself made Darwin's task easier. Darwin looked at the four unconscious bodies of Noah, Arthur, Mercy and Winn, carefully arranged on the ground in a sort of cross, their heads touching. Right now they looked peaceful, sleeping a dreamless sleep thanks to the magic they casted, but Darwin knew that was going to change soon.

“Well, here we go.” Darwin addressed Nell and Cece, his lips a thin line. “I'm going to join them. I don't know what we'll find inside, but whatever happens, you two will need to keep the flow of energy going. If the magic stops we could be trapped; it doesn't have to be a lot of energy, but it has to be stable. I, of course, will do my best on my side, but... Like I said, we can't foresee what will happen there.” Darwin wasn't a fan of putting his mind in the hands of others, but Nell had proved to be reliable, and at least they had backup. Speaking of, he turned to Adam (another person he knew would take his task seriously) and Ulfric. “To make this journey possible there'll be lots of magic involved. And we're not dealing with simple humans here, so... Be ready for anything. I'd like for us to still have a body to return to, if you know what I mean.” Sharing a meaningful look with the other magic users, one that let them know he was about to begin, Darwin sat down between Mercy and Winn, and placed one hand on each of their foreheads. “Wish us luck,” he murmured before closing his eyes and focusing, ready to begin.

Certainly, Nell wasn’t Winn’s biggest fan, but she also wasn’t one to stand by and let someone have their memories locked away while wanting them back. Still— the entire memory debacle with August had left her apprehensive when it came to do any magic that might even be remotely similar, and it had only been under the reassurance that she’d be more power source than anything that she’d agreed to partake. After all, her track record with memories and magic wasn’t exactly squeaky clean, and the last thing she wanted to do was make things worse. Nevertheless, she let her magic flow through her to join Darwin’s and Cece’s. “We won’t let you guys get lost in there.” As for possible complications cropping up, that was something Nell had more confidence with. “And we’ll make sure he’s got enough fur on him to survive the winter when it’s all done,” she joked with a deadpan look. Then she was silent, letting her own eyes drop closed as she focused only on giving Darwin the power he’d need, glad that her magic had recovered decently enough after all of the recent debacles.

Adam glanced to Ulfric, feeling the ice-hot burn of the larger man's inhuman presence, a twin to the constant discomfort Winn produced in Adam’s Hunter senses. He had no idea what this guy was, but hopefully the ginger giant was strong enough to deal with whatever Total Recall craziness was about to go down without also being hungry enough to eat the sleepers.

Regardless, Adam listened to Darwin’s explanation of the proceedings carefully, having come to trust the Demonologist’s expertise during a particularly harrowing assignment to close a Hell Rift. This was a complex ritual to say the least. On one hand, it was interesting to see all the folks that’d turned up to help when Winn had… like… a forced brain transplant into Mercy because of bird bookends or something. Most of them, Adam knew, some in contexts that’d given no hint to the abilities on display here.  

Nothing like some communal lobotomy to bring folks together.

The axe holstered at Ulfric’s waist hung heavily, seeming to absorb the weight of the situation. In this clearing, the familiar tool would become a tool of execution. There had been more formidable options to choose from in the buried stash of weapons the werewolf had found amongst Celeste’s parents' things, but if the worst occurred here he did not want Winn to go out by a hunter’s blade. In fact, he would’ve preferred not to bring a weapon at all, besides his natural ones. However, there were too many others assembled for this ritual, some of whom he’d never met before and more still who weren’t aware of his true nature. It wouldn’t have been wise to expose himself even if there wasn’t a high risk that shifting would result in the rest of the attendees ending up as collateral mincemeat.

He glanced at Adam, hoping that Winn was right about the boy’s ability to defend himself and the sleepers. The younger werewolf hadn’t given Ulfric any reason not to trust his judgement recently, but he couldn’t sense any shifter in Adam, which did raise questions about why he’d been chosen to take up the role of bodyguard opposite him. Returning his gaze to Darwin, he paid close attention to the spellcaster’s words, wanting to keep the chances of anything going wrong as low as possible. He’d never even considered taking a fellow wolf’s life before Winn’s request, and he was still vehemently disinclined to cross that threshold. “Lykke til,” he nodded solemnly to Darwin to indicate that he understood both the content and gravity of his instructions, wishing him luck as he joined the four in their slumber.

Winn sure had assembled a ragtag group of people together to get this job done. Cece recognized a few of them. Mostly, Cece was just happy to not be the one leading the charge for this mental magic. Cece had more experience with taking memories than piecing them back together. She was fairly confident that she could do it, if required. But having someone specialize in it was way more helpful. Plus, as far as safety went Cece would much rather be chilling outside of Winn’s body instead of roaming around in that head of his. She didn’t need to know all that information.

Luckily, this Darwin fellow was taking the lead and Cece was more than happy to be a power conduit. She sat cross-legged on the forest floor, peaking an eye open at the group surrounding Winn. Into the dreamworld they go, Cece supposed. “Just a heads up to any non magic users,” Cece glanced over at Adam, and probably Ulfric, “If you haven’t been in any spells like this before. We know you don’t use magic, but we can still borrow some of your strength to help the spell. So just keep calm and focused with us. All of us will be happy and healthy at the end with everyone participating.” If things went smoothly. Did things ever go smoothly?

Wind blew through the forest as the ritual thrummed to life. The bodies of the sleepers were illuminated in the late afternoon sun cutting through the curtain of the trees overhead. The air buzzed with the presence of the magic, and, if anyone had been watching Winn’s face closely, they would have noticed a frown on the werewolf’s face.

Then, the crackle changed, the mood of the energy shifting down into something darker. Mercy’s face, previously serene, was frowning now, too. The ritual was underway, and the sleepers were making their way through the dreamscape. But then, the unexpected happened.

Winn sat up, and opened his eyes. There were no signs of life from him, other than the steady up and down breathing of his chest, the unblinking stare into the middle distance, and the way that, if you looked closely, his fingernails were lengthening, slowly, into claws. Behind him, something like a black mist rose from the centerpoint of the spell, covering the ground like rolling fog.

The forest had gone cold.

Even though Nell wasn’t the most comfortable with memory magic, she could feel the way it was shifting between them as Darwin worked, feeling it take form and shape as she quite literally powered on, keeping her intentions in line with what they were trying to accomplish here. But her eyes opened as she felt the twist in it, a potential unwanted result coming to fruition bringing her own little frown to her lips to unknowingly mirror Winn’s and Mercy’s. “Something’s happening,” she said aloud, eyes already scanning the faces of those that had been put under for this mission for anything that might tell a story as to what was going wrong. As she watched, she locked onto the claws sprouting from Winn. “Adam,” she spoke with a  warning tone in her voice, tilting her head in the direction of the werewolf’s hands. “His claws.” She wouldn’t tear herself away from Darwin and Cece just yet, not when it seemed there was still the potential to keep things under control.

Adam, sage of the arcane that he was, could generally identify a couple key indicators of when wizard shit was headed sideways. For example anything with creepy children or dramatic laser beams into the sky was like DEFCON 1 as far as Satanic tailgate parties went. Bloody writing on the wall in ancient languages was a good indicator that someone needed to be shanked back into their home dimension, as were well-endowed chicks with psychic powers making narcoleptic predictions about the ‘master’s arrival.’

Black mist? Bad Sign.

Hot Turkish girl saying his name in a way that really made Adam feel….

Oh wait, bad sign today.

Damn it Nell.

Clearly Adam’s secret wolf wrassling skills were needed and the Hunter was quick to hustle to Winn’s side before the sleepwalking…sleepslashing?...of other participants could transpire. He attempted to hold Winn’s arms in place.

Ulfric winced at little as the blonde witch, who he deduced must have Cece, called on them to ‘lend some of their strength’. He’d only just managed to win it back, and with the new moon looming he still only possessed a fraction of what he would when it was full. But if there was anything he’d be willing to lay it all on the line again for, it would be another wolf, one he was bonded to in both word and blood. Bowing his head, he concentrated on keeping his thoughts centred on the desired outcome of the spell, just as he had the last time when he’d been helping Ariana and Celeste before—Focus. That is not focus. He internally chided himself for letting his mind wander away from the present moment, just as Winn jerked upright, claws extending.

Ulfric rushed to his other side without any further thought. The balance of magic had been disturbed and knowing whether his slip in intentions had contributed to it wouldn’t save his friend. “Come on, Woods, you told me yourself you can control this,” he urged the young werewolf, grabbing one arm so Adam could focus his efforts on the other. “You know how!” With his words and thoughts, he willed it to be true, willed that the memories Winn already had access to would triumph over the ones that had been locked away.

“Son of a bitch” Cece sighed. Wolf Winn clearly didn’t want to cooperate as much as person Winn did. Whether this was some alter ego lashing out at the idea of recovering memories or just a reaction to whatever was happening inside of that fucked up head of his, things would turn dangerous real quickly if Adam and Ulfric couldn’t calm him down. “Keep the spell going,” Cece spoke to Nell, breaking off for a moment to rummage in her purse and pull out a vial of powder. She popped the lid off of the vial, pouring the powder onto the ground. She grabbed for her keys, pressing the point against the tip of her palm. She pushed deep, twisting the key until she felt the skin break. She made a fist over the powder, squeezing tightly until blood dripped from her hand and into the powder. She pressed her finger deep into the mixture, mumbling Latin to herself until the new substance began smoking, then she dragged it across the ground, forming a barrier around herself before moving towards Nell.

“This should keep things out for now, but it won’t work forever, if he breaks free and comes after us.” Cece spoke mechanically, not wanting to break Nell’s focus, simply inform her of what Cece had been doing. As far as protection spells went, this wasn’t the strongest. It was purely for emergency situations only. It wouldn’t hold up against an onslaught by wolves. “You can step out, but nothing can get in. Unless they break it.” That cheery thought out of the way, Cece jumped back into her circle and sat back down, joining back in on the spell.

Magic crackled through the air with warning, the fog of the black mist had engulfed the clearing, settling on the ground in an ever-present wash — save for the circle Cece had created. Though, perhaps, outside, the sun was still shining, the rays of ‘light’ coming into the clearing through the trees were violet, the trees themselves becoming twisted and black. The grass beneath Cece’s feet was still green and lit by the sun, unaffected, but darkness fell on the rest of the assembled friends, painting the world in grim tones. Winn, or Winn’s body, was still, for a moment.

But then, Winn let out a gasp of pain as a thicker, darker mist pulsed out of the epicenter of the spell, his form trembling. Eyes that had been glazed over lit up with panicked recognition, as he surveyed the scene before him.

“Get away,” Winn said, fast and quiet, his body shaking against the force of Adam and Ulfric’s hold, now. His breath was golden-hued, slipping out when he spoke. “No time. They’re… coming.” The golden breath, time, was rapidly running out, and the new mist began to curl in and around Winn’s form, covering his skin with a sticky, black-blue liquid. His hands, the first to get covered, curled inward, and began to change. Into… something.

“It’ll… get…. you… too,” Winn grit out, trying to keep the mist from sliding down his throat, infecting him with its magic. His unfocused eyes hinted that the werewolf hadn’t ‘woken up,’ so much as been able to communicate, somehow, through the spell. And then, as the last of his breath wisped away, he coughed and gasped, inhaling a lungful of the mist. It came more quickly now, spurred by this invitation, and Winn’s body, with a growl, began to transform more fully.

It wasn’t the wolf, not quite, there was something… off, about it. Something that seemed to cut angles into Winn’s form that shouldn’t have been there. Elements of both of the werewolf’s forms made it in. The strong, lupine claws, golden eyes, a coat of black, black fur, and big, vicious teeth. But it was lithe, coiled, like a human, and, as it ripped its arms from Ulfric and Adam’s grasps — with a firm snap, like it had broken something — it leapt across the clearing, landing to stand, the mist clearing from its body, but not dissipating, no.

The mist poured out from the creature born from Winn, and into twin pools of black ink. Here, at the confluence of the ancient magic, the sheer power of the assembled casters, hunter, and wolf, the valkyrie’s kindling, and… something deeper and darker, buried in the fabric of White Crest itself, they could come free.

Winn’s dreams gave them form, these half-shadows, and they warped into grisly manifestations. A human, with slashes down his exposed chest. A werewolf, transformed, dripping black blood from its neck. They spared a single, venomous glance at the creature that had once been Winn Woods… and then rushed Adam and Ulfric with inhuman speed.

Nell knew the magical black mist couldn’t have come from their end of the spell, which made her assume this was simply a manifestation of Mercy’s abilities, subconsciously fighting back on this breach to keep their hold on the memories that they were trying to unlock. For a moment, she thought back to Erin’s father and the wish magic they’d faced there, wondering how she’d managed to get caught up in two fury debacles in the last few months. But that didn’t matter now.

Winn’s words and the wolf’s leap didn’t bode well for their bunch, and Nell turned her back on the magic for a split second to launch a blast of magic towards the wolf’s side in an attempt to knock it off balance, hoping to give Adam and Ulfric any time they might need to prepare themselves for the apparently imminent fight to come after the wolf had wrenched itself out from under them. The rest of her magic was still focused on the spell, continuing to be the battery pack that Darwin needed in this moment as she looked over her shoulder at the action, deciding whether or not she should give Cece the reins for a few moments.

Given the tendency of magic to stick a taser up physic’s asshole without using a safe word, Adam hadn’t brought any firearms to Winn-intervention (Winntervention?) just in case bullet trajectories went all non-Euclidean.  

Thus, Adam drew two silver versions of modernized Ka-Bar tactical knives, weapons of straightforward brutality and cutting edge material’s science that would’ve made good on Adam’s promise to make Winn’s death as painless as possible.

But even as the lupine nightmare made manifest charged, Adam had a flicker of hesitation in the tunnel-vision that so often overcame him in the thick of combat. Was this thing connected to Winn somehow? Could they hurt it without harming Winn too?

Adam was pretty sure shanking Winn in the soul violated Bro-Code.

Rather than the disemboweling slashes to the vulnerable underbelly that would’ve been standard procedure when face a lupine adversary, Adam met the creature’s charge by rolling to the ground beneath the creature and delivering a superhuman kick to straight to the gut to throw it off-balance and break its stride.

“Can we hurt this thing without hurting Winn too?” the Hunter shouted, flipping alacritously back up to his feet as the wolf manifestation’s claws ploughed deep grooves in the forest floor right where Adam’s had just been seconds ago.

Ulfric only had a fraction of a second to be relieved Adam had gone for the more wolf-like manifestation, before it was nearly on him. He unsheathed his axe and gripped its handle tightly, ignoring the dull throb in his right hand. Unleashing a war cry, he pulled the axe back, in anticipation of striking the shadow man’s side and slicing through his softest parts to fell him like a tree. But Adam’s yell caused him to hesitate, the battle cry withering in his throat as the surprisingly heavy vision collided with him at full force and knocked them both to the ground. Timber! “Yes… a head’s up on that front would be… appreciated!” the werewolf called out to the conscious spellcasters between grunts as he wrestled the manifested figure, pinning its wrists to the wilted grass beside him, the axe dislodged in the fall.

With an almighty thwack! Ulfric headbutted the shadow man and rolled out from underneath him. Regaining his footing and his axe he assumed a defensive stance again, this time he turned it round to the blunt side, ready to dole out non-lethal blows while he waited on the official word from the witches on how to proceed.

Fucking hell, there were dream demons now? What the hell was going on? Something else had to be feeding into this magic. If this was just some form of mental magic it would be easy enough to cut off. Cece poked an eye open, witnessing the scene unfold as her and Nell tried their best to focus on the spell. If they were cut off and the others got trapped, well, that would be hard to explain.

“Kill those things!” Cece yelled out to the men wrestling them. “Just don’t kill Winn. We don’t care about the other things.” It probably wouldn’t have any bad effects on Winn. It totally most likely wouldn’t. Maybe. “Nell, you got any fight in you?” Cece and Nell seemed to be juggling the power by this point. Keeping the spell wouldn’t be easy alone, but it was still better than being mauled by an angry wolf of his horde of fucked up nightmares. “I got this if you want to tag in.”

Winn observed the scene unfolding in front of him without worry. He snarled, rushing towards the circle that the damned witches had formed to protect themselves, and started slashing and clawing at the barrier. His ‘claws’ broke off, faded into mist, and then came right back to settle on his paws. Eventually, he would knock this barrier down, and kill both of them. He would feed his bloodlust.

The wolf felt its own claws scrape into the dark ground, blood dripping and sizzling the grass where it fell. Adam’s assault had winded it, but, given it didn’t need to breathe, this wasn’t much of an issue. The knives — silver. But… Silver couldn’t hurt it. Not anymore. Not since… It howled, a strangled, gurgling sound in the darkness, choked off and dove for the boy, dripping maw bared as it went for the hunter’s side. Tearing into his flesh would be the revenge he deserved. After all, Winn Woods had killed his brother. Why not kill Winn’s friends?

The man, for his part, was faring well against Ulfric. He had been trained to hunt werewolves since he was a child, and, before Winn had taken his life, he was good at killing the beasts. If it hadn’t been for his children, watching, the wolf would have never stood a chance. With fury and power, it reached to grab the axe, black tendrils wrapping around it as its twin appeared in the man’s other hand. Excellent. He slashed at Ulfric, going low, trying to cut into the soft skin of the werewolf’s legs. A wolf that couldn’t run was as good as dead.

Nell didn’t need to be asked twice when it came to joining the fray as Cece held her spells. “Just keep draining me, too!” she called to the blonde, knowing the spell needed power to stay aloft. She knew the men could hold their own, but there was still safety in numbers, wasn’t there? Besides, with Winn’s shadow right up against their barrier, it’d be better to head him off right now rather than wait for him to break through. Not for the first time, Nell cursed the fact that she hadn’t yet gotten her summoning tattoos redone after the skin of her arms had peeled off, knowing this would have been much more to the point if she could have brought in her hellhounds or cockatrice. But it didn’t matter, she was confident she’d be able to take him on her lonesome.

Still she’d had the same thought flitting through her mind of whether or not any bodily harm done to this version of Winn would manifest on the man once this was all said and done. If she could, it’d be prudent to take him down with minimal damage done, just as she aimed to do when she’d been bringing in beasts for the Ring. Before she could do that, she needed to get him away from the barrier before he broke it where it stood. Well— no better way to do that than giving him what he wanted, right? Casting a spell over herself that would temporarily enhance her speed, she darted out the other end of the barrier, away from Winn in hopes of getting him to play a little game of chase. “Come and get me, mutt!” Sorry, Ulf, she mentally apologized should he happen to hear.

So there they were, two sorceresses, sleeping beauty wolf, timber wolf, shadow wolf, evil wolfish wolf, man wolfish wolf, and Adam.

In other news, Adam had just gotten bitten in the side by a dream. Was he infected with imaginary lycanthropy now? Did he now have Winn’s emotional hangups in his bloodstream? Sin rabies? What would he tell his family when he turned into a were-dream?

The Hunter might’ve given the issue more thought if he wasn’t in so much pain. Admittedly part of that pain was from where the dream wolf's maw had sunk into his chest and back. The other half of pain was that these silver knives seem to be doing jackshit as Adam football tackled his adversary from the side to try and knock it off balance, trying to plunge his daggers deep into its underbelly.

Ulfric had the shadow man in a holding pattern, keeping the strangely solid figment of Winn’s subconscious at arm’s reach with the blunt side of the axe. But it was getting tiring, so he was relieved when Cece gave the go ahead to just kill the meddlesome manifestation. That was, until it manifested an axe in its hand out of whatever substance dreams were made of. “Ugh, Drit og dra,” he swore under his breath. If he hadn’t resorted to bringing a weapon along with him, would the shadow man have been able to arm himself without copying his?

He didn’t have much time to contemplate that, as the shadow-axe swung towards his legs and he jumped back narrowly missing the blow. Growling, Ulfric swung the axe at the man’s neck only to be blocked by the handle of his. The two axe-heads caught on each other and the werewolf used the stall in the shadow man’s momentum to charge into him and knock him to the ground, before following through with a savage blow that drove the wedge of his axe into his skull. He dug his boot into the man’s neck as he yanked on the handle to dislodge his weapon from the bone it was caught in, and then left it there as took stock of the battlefield. Cece and the rest of the sleepers remained safely inside the circle for now, with Nell holding Winn off while Adam wrestled with the wolf manifestation.

Ulfric’s first instinct was to assist Nell, since he knew and trusted her and had never gotten round to thanking her properly for how she’d assisted him and the Bennetts. But the boy looked to be in more immediate need of assistance, even if the werewolf was reluctant to throw himself into the fray with anyone wielding silver. “Can you handle yourself?” He called out to the young man, when he finally pulled the axe free, glancing between him and the dark haired spellcaster for any changes in the tactical situation.

Chaos had erupted around the group. While Cece had always been pretty adept at tackling insanity and violence with a more level-headed and calm approach, even she had to admit she was getting a bit nervous as Winn barreled towards the barrier. It hadn’t been made to stop a creature as strong as a werewolf. Luckily, Nell had distracted it and led it away, keeping the barrier as well as the spell safe for now. But things weren’t looking especially optimistic at the moment, with Nell facing down Winn’s werewolf, Ulfric and Adam both dealing with their own troubles and injuries. All while Cece was forced to sit in her little bubble, bored and trying to remain focused.

“Hey could you guys wrap this up? I’m trying to focus here! You’re being really loud!” Cece fucked with the trio outside of her bubble, mostly out of boredom. She wished she could drop a message to the group inside of Winn’s brain to hurry the fuck up as well. They were the ones actually lollygagging. Take any longer and their bodies were the ones that would be getting the real shit end of the deal

Winn turned his attention away from the barrier as Nell darted out, but no sooner had she done so that Ulfric’s axe was buried in the skull of the shadow man. In that moment, both of the other shadows seemed to almost glitch, and Winn cried out in pain as the shadows faded back into mist and wisped into him. He twitched, growled, stood stock-still as the mist covered him. The edges were a little sharper, now, claws longer, looking less and less like a werewolf and more like an abomination. Winn set his sights on Ulfric, chasing him down, claws first, fast and furious with wild abandon.

The wolf, meanwhile, howled in pain as Adam’s daggers sunk into its underbelly, rolling over and up again. It grasped at the daggers with its claws, using its newfound resistance to silver and tearing them out of it, and tossing them haphazardly towards the witch. The hunter had some bite to him, did he? Well… It feinted towards the hunter, before turning and barreling towards the witch, hoping it hadn’t been slowed too much by the wound.

“No good fucking wolf,” Nell cursed under her breath as Winn seemed to give up the chase from her as soon as it had started. Still, at least he’d been lured away from Cece and the magic. And perhaps this gave her more of an opening now that he was distracted by Ulfric. Cursing herself for not thinking of it or bringing them in the first place, Nell whispered a quick few words under her breath to Summon forth what would hopefully be her saving grace when it came to the werewolf— wolfsbane, grown in her own greenhouse and crushed until it could be fit into pill form. She’d dropped the capsules into many an unsuspecting wolf’s drink in a bar while she distracted them, and they’d worked wonders when it came to bringing in fighters for the Ring. Of course...none of those werewolves had been in a raging dream state. What was she supposed to do with Winn? Slather the thing in peanut butter and hope he gobbled it up?

She didn’t have a chance to think further on the matter when a sudden, searing pain erupted from her thigh. Huh. A silver dagger seemed to be sticking out of her, much to her annoyance. Looking up, she saw the last of the knives the wolf had tossed headed her way, and her hand instinctively raised, magic pulsing through the air to stop them in their tracks, and turning them back on the charging wolf.

“I’m good, man,” Adam told the lumberjack guy in the midst of wolf wrassling.

Or at least things were fine until the wolf faked him out and made a beeline (dogline?) over towards...

…where Nell giving Winn diet pills? Sleep aids? Now with 50% less chance of wolfing the bed at night?

Holy shit she just got shanked.

Adam didn’t didn’t really have to give that matter any more thought as he sprinted after the wolf-thing, attempting to football tackle the wolf from behind.

Ulfric nodded at Adam’s assurance and did pause as he hurtled himself in Winn’s direction, swinging his axe in a wide berth to keep the creature that had grown from the man at a distance. It wasn’t enough to keep his unnervingly long claws from scraping along the flesh of his arms leaving bright, burning trails. But the older werewolf kept at it, pushing Winn back in Nell’s direction so they could take him on from both sides. Noticing the vial of what looked to be pills in her hand, he realized her intent to get him to swallow them. Chances of getting that done without feeling the full sting of Winn’s fangs were slim, and even if it wasn’t the full moon, he wouldn’t have blamed the humans for being hesitant to risk that. From the way things were going, hesitancy wasn’t something they could afford. “Toss it,” he called to Nell, jerking his head back to indicate that she should go long as he dodged another swipe of Winn’s talons. “I can do what needs to be done.” Soon Woods wouldn’t be able to brag he was the only one who’d gone and got himself deliberately bit. That alone would make it worth it, even without the bonus hopefully putting an end to the nightmare the ritual had unleashed.

Things were getting pretty boring, leaning back and supplying power while all the others were battling werewolves and dream demons in shit. Not that Cece would rather be battling it out with any of them. That shit looked hella dangerous and- did Nell just get impaled with a dagger? Damn. She didn’t let it bother her though, and kept on trucking. They seemed to have a plan. Or a semblance of a plan at least. Cece had a guess what Nell had summoned, but it didn’t matter much at this point what it was as long as it worked. If the group could get that shit inside of Winn, then they may have a chance at calming the asshole down. Honestly, Winn was even more unbearable asleep. From her bubble, there wasn’t much Cece could do to help the group rangle the wolf. But she might be able to distract it, as long as she could multitask.

Sound spells weren’t difficult. Trapping noise within a certain space was easy enough. It was helpful for keeping conversations private and blocking out noise. Cece used to use it to focus, it beat the discomfort of noise cancelling headphones. She split the power between Darwin and Winn now, taking a moment to focus on the wolf that was attacking the rest of the group. She drew a circle into the dirt below her while chanting to herself, trapping the sound within a small barrier around the wolf. It wasn’t hard to tell that the other two weren’t exactly normal humans, the last thing she needed to do was blow out Adam and Ulfric’s eardrums too. Once she was confident the noise would only affect Winn, she positioned her fingers at her mouth, mumbling “Heel boy” and laughing to herself before whistling. It wouldn’t look like Cece wasn’t making any sound at all, unless they were in Winn’s bubble, where the high pitched noise must have been deafening to a creature with enhanced hearing.

The wolf went snout first into the ground with the force of Adam’s tackle, struggling against Adam’s grip. It wouldn’t die. Not here. Not like this. Not again. And certainly not to a fucking whelp of a hunter. It gnashed its bloody teeth, still fresh from the blood it had already taken from Adam. It was slowing down, it knew, a side-effect of the wounds the hunter had inflicted. Was this its last gasp? Was it to be forgotten, again?

Winn snarled, then howled loud and deep as the whistle from Cece — fuckin’ witches — pierced his monstrous ears. Fuck, fuck, fuck. He couldn’t move. He couldn’t move. He needed to fight, needed to escape, needed to kill. But try as he might, he was immobilized. The shadows clung tighter to him, but he couldn’t breathe.

With the knives landed on the wolf, and Adam tackling the dream creature from behind, Nell was free to magic the wolfsbanes pills straight into the hand of Ulfric, leaving no room for error as the glass vial rocketed towards him, making a beeline for the ginger wolf. Ulfric would be alright to get in down Winn’s throat, right? There was a kernel of worry gathering in her gut, but she didn’t have the time to pay it any attention while there was still a shadow wolf gnashing away, currently connected to Adam. Looking back to the pair, she couldn’t help but wonder when the wolf had gotten hold of the Hunter, another flicker of worry flashing through her as she saw the initial wounds that had been dealt to her friend. Mental note. Healing party after all this bullshit is done.

Speaking of healing, the fucking knife was still lodged in her damn leg. Maybe she could use that, though. Sure, you weren’t really supposed to take knives out of wounds until you were ready to heal them, but the sooner they ended this— the sooner she’d be able to stitch herself and the others back together. Gritting her teeth, Nell pulled the dagger from her thigh, stifling the gasp that wanted to break free from her as pain once again made itself known. “Adam!” she called out before tossing the knife his way, figuring it might be a welcome sight in dispatching the wolf. The silver hadn’t seemed to hurt the thing, but Ulfric’s shadow man had withered away under the axe, right? First the vial, now the dagger, she really should have looked into more shot put in highschool with the way this scuffle was going.

Adam knew that there were two main methods to kill wolves. One was slow and cruelly tactical, a painful crippling that permitted an inclined hunter to track the victim back to other prey. This was typically accomplished with heavy jacketed AP ammo, though a serrated tactical knife could serve with some freakish strength behind it. The prey would typically panic in the agony of the steadily worsening wound and their instinct to run would in fact seal their demise, as circulation did the Hunter’s work for them.  

The second method was the to maximize internal tissue trauma in the shortest period possible, singular swift brutality. Softer tipped bullets were usually employed for this, as they mushroomed inside the body cavity and killed very quickly. But this method was admittedly much harder to accomplish with a knife.

Earlier this year Adam would’ve likely gone for the first method, maybe even enjoyed the savage simplicity of it. Growing up, Adam had been warned in vain to not get addicted to the adrenal rush of combat. A Hunter is merely a servant fulfilling a duty, and taking pleasure in regrettable necessity was the quickest way to fall from grace. After dad died, Adam had backslid in a big way. The consequences spoke for themselves.

As he’d been taught, Adam mentally visualized a six inch deep wound through the chest into the hard knot-like heart. The Hunter locked his legs around the wolf-beast he was wrestling, pressing down on its lungs. With one hand, he lunged directly under the wolf’s jaw to grab its throat directly on the trachea, muscles knotting and straining like bruised wire as Adam tried to twist the nightmare-thing’s unnaturally large maw away from him, grimacing as its thick moist breath sent hot splittle across his face.

Ignoring the searing pain of the seeping lacerations the wolf’s thrashing claws had raked open during their wrestling match on the forest floor, Adam called upon the rote mental exercises of training while his breathing settled into a staccato tempo. Pain, the filth caked mud, the ritual, the other combatants, and Nell’s blood still sliding down this blade all faded. For a moment Adam and the wolf seemed completely alone, nothing else existed. Almond shaped amber eyes met the human’s cold jasper stare in a split-second of understanding before a dagger’s plunge snuffed out their light.

Once the frigid metal of Adam’s dagger was the only thing left of the wolf’s form, the air shifted, again, the black mist of the creature fading back into Winn. Winn howled, once more, in pain, as though this much power was too much for him. He fell to the ground, writhing, twitching as the force of the shadows overcame him, the force of the screeching from Cece’s spell blistering in his ears. Howling cut through the sky, through the clearing.

There was a hand in his mouth, shoving something down his throat, and Winn chomped down hard into the skin of Ulfric’s arm, but the deed was done.

Winn’s body convulsed as the wolfsbane took effect, not even magic able to overcome the werewolf’s weaknesses. Eventually, the shadowy form collapsed, maw first, onto the forest floor. The woods were silent, the mist was fading. Winn Woods was facedown in the dirt, bruised and bloodied, but breathing.

And the dreamers were waking up.

Blinking, Noah opened his eyes, the adrenaline of their kissing making him grin. “Winn?” Noah called out to his boyfriend next to him, rolling over to poke the other, before panic overtook him. Where was Winn? Something was wrong.

[onepiecereactions]

One piece characters explained to a non One Piece fan #2

Shanks

Yes we think that he applies at least 3 times a week a moisturizer and a nourishing mask with shea butter after each shampoo. We think that's why he has such beautiful hair. Officially he did not eat a devil druit but we believe that he ate the BADASS BADASS FRUIT. No, there isn’t more beautiful face on the planet than his. He makes jokes and plays swords with the best swordsman in the world. He enlisted the kid in piracy while this kid was still drinking orange juice. He lost an arm but the fans know how to be inventive to overcome that if you see what I mean ... He showed up in the first world war in tongue and bermuda to stop everything and obviously everyone listened. Shanks president. we all hope for a beautiful scene at the end of One Piece where Shanks kills Blackbeard. We call him daddy

Ace

I can not talk about him it's way too hard. Most precious man in One Piece Most beautiful smile in One Piece The cutest freckles of One Piece Too cute and adorable to die. Even when he was small and stupid he was adorable. Gave us the most beautiful scene of the manga. Finished his life surrounded by a wonderful family, which he deserved. Was killed by a bastard, we all hope that Luffy will kill him Has the best brothers in the world and was the best brother of the world. He went to see an emperor just to talk and he left in Bermuda shorts. Deserved to live.

Marco

He ate a demon fruit that makes him a phoenix. A FUCKING PHOENIX One of the most beautiful men. Extremely kind and intelligent, he is perfect. He loves each of his brothers and his father. His crying face at MarineFord has traumatized us. We waited for years to see him again and it was worth it. looks like a pineapple, certainly, but still beautiful. Do not like when others make sounds of birds next to him. MARCO THE AWESOME AND PERFECT PHOENIX PLEASE! Deserved better.

[making-a-supperer]

#4.  The HOBNOB

277 Sheridan Rd, Racine, WI 53403 Sat, Feb 23  @5pm

hob•nob – to socialize, mix, associate, hang out (informal) mingle, consort, hang about, keep company, fraternize.

Before I headed off to Portland to spend the whole month of March with some of my grandkids, Lauren and I decided to squeeze in our fourth supper club of the year by the end of the Polar Vortex month of February.  Great decision, especially as we targeted the HOBNOB in Racine, a very popular supper club that has been high on our radar for the past couple of years.  The HOBNOB’s lakeside setting and old fashioned décor are highlighted in many of the fine WI Supper Clubs books out there.  While the rainy-foggy evening clouded the lake view, our spirits weren’t dampened on this much-anticipated evening.

The HOBNOB has always been a family-owned business. The Higgins family opened the original HOBNOB in downtown Racine in the 1930s. Higgins and his two sons started building the current HOBNOB in 1952, which took two years to complete. Michael Aletto, purchased the HOBNOB in February 1990. It was a smooth transition, as Aletto kept many of the Higgins' family recipes and included some from his family's restaurant in Illinois.  Michael’s wife and co-owner Anne Glowacki says most of the menu items are prepared in-house, including all the sauces and soups. She says they take a lot of pride in the daily preparation of the food, the dining set-ups and the bar.  This is a very unique place that accommodates special occasions with its excellent food, private rooms, live entertainment on the weekends, and of course signature ice cream drinks!

Higgins to Aletto hand-off in 1990?

Our Making-A-Supperer victims for this round were my longtime family friends Ginny and Tom, whose family grew up along mine in the NorthShore part of Milwaukee.  Soccer is a huge part of our connection as I coached their son Ian, Ginny started the Women’s Soccer Club which my ex-wife played in, and “Big Tom” and I have played with the old-timers for the past 20+ years.  They have 6 (maybe 7, hard to keep track) beautiful kids and Ginny comes from a family of 16 kids (maybe 17).   That rather large crew held the world record for largest family band, besting the Von Trapp’s from The Sound of Music fame.   I love sharing that tidbit.    It was great to catch up on Ginny and Tom’s kid’s lives during our cozy 30 minute drive from Glendale to Racine.  And like Lauren, Ginny is a gourmet cook so there’s that connection as well.  Really love these guys!

So this HOBNOB place has really cool spaces. The Belmar Room, just off to the left as you walk down the main hallway, has lavish off-white half-circle booths and tables with its own bar. This room can be booked for special events and it houses live entertainment on the weekends.   There is also the private little Moroccan Room, which fit up to 6 in cozy quarters, farther down the main hallway.  This is a must dining spot in the future. The Cocktail Lounge, AKA the main bar area, runs nearly the length of the main dining room and here’s where the full vibe of the past comes to life.  Circular leatherette booths, dim lighting, swanky music, and cocktail glasses as far as the eye can see.  Even the coat room oozes with old school charm.  Why have we never been here before?

The Belmar Room in front.  Private Party Time!

We were seated in the Terrace Room, which normally has an awesome view of Lake Michigan.  But again it was rainy-foggy so we focused our attention on the menu.  We started off with the crab stuffed mushrooms and calamari, which came highly recommended by our server Debbie.  Of course I had to badger Debbie about our Making-A-Supperer tour and I had her be the first to sign our invite post card – a new tradition.  Debbie has worked here on-and-off since ’98 and she offered a few stories about the place.   She quickly offered Lauren a replacement for her too-strong Manhattan and she did recover nicely from missing Ginny’s knife.   She was a very good sport with putting up with our goofiness and I didn’t hold it against her for never hearing of the Making-A-Murderer Netflix series.  I’m guessing the gravitational pull from Chicago is greater than from Manitowoc for “Raciners”.  Anyways, giving the HOBNOB a 4.25 service rating.    And the mushrooms and calamari were tasty but not quite spectacular.

The Cocktail Lounge area.  Bit dark and noisy - in a very good way!

Tom and I savored fine whiskey Old Fashioneds as the group ordered entrees.  Of course we had our regular little spat about a “guideline” of everyone ordering something different so we could max out our menu sampling.   Lauren is good with ordering first so she never runs afoul of this “guideline” – but she’s not a fan.  But it is just a “guideline”, so…   ☺    Lauren picked the Filet Oscar, Ginny the Lamb Shank, Tom the Whitefish, and I chose the Prime Rib.  All of the dishes were very well prepared and delicious.  But Lauren is the real foodie so I’ll let her blog post address the juicy details of the entrees.    Lauren and Tom rated their Filet Oscar and Whitefish as 5 stars, Ginny rated her lamb shank as a 4, and I gave my prime rib as a 4.5.  So a 4.5 overall food rating.    The crazy thing was we didn’t take a single picture of our entrees – we were too busy enjoying each other’s company and family stories.  Such a comfortable place that we forgot to do our job.  So Google to the rescue for an entree shot.

We did splurge a bit, even without adequate tummy room, on a few desserts.  Tom ordered the towering Banana Banshee ice cream drink, Ginny the chocolate torte, and Lauren and I shared a classic crème brulee.  Ok, we all shared everything.  It was all delicious – and way too much food for the evening.  But, when in Rome…

Big Banana Banshee dessert for Big Tom

The big hitter for the HOBNOB is certainly ambiance.  The combination of the lake views, the special rooms, the vintage décor, the outdoor neon signs, the original owners photos in the entrance, the Cocktail Lounge, and the so on and so make this quite the supper club destination.  We give it a 5.0 rating for ambiance and I can’t imagine any other remaining supper clubs on our tour exceeding this kind of package.  But surprise me.

So we’re giving the HOBNOB an overall rating of 4.75, tying it with the Five O’Clock Steakhouse for our highest ranking so far this year.   And the average cost of $63/person was much lower than the Five O’Clocks $105/person cost so that helped the HOBNOB rating.   We’ve only hit 4 of our 19 targeted clubs so far, but I wouldn’t be surprised if these 2 clubs stay at the top of our list at year’s end.  It will be interesting to see how central and northern Wisconsin fares against these early leaders.  They could get killed, in a Making-A-Supper manner.  BTW, Facebook gives the HOBNOB a 4.5 rating.

Ginny trades in Big Tom for Big Chair

Speaking of Making-A-Supperer, this supper was a bust relative to Steven Avery guilty or not discussion.  Server Debbie was guilty of Netflix ignorance and Ginny and Tom obviously have better things to do with all of their gang than watch Netflix murder documentaries.  After a painful series overview and much egging on, Tom offered a surprisingly low 7% guilty verdict, heavily influenced by his suspicions of a corrupt sheriff’s department.   Ginny finally rested at a 45% guilty verdict, which was probably influenced more by her torte than my boring series overview.   I’m hoping our next supper victims will be a little more educated on the Avery story.  I think we need to find a Manitowoc supper club next…  

[fullmetalirin]

Fullmetal Alchemist: Episodes 50-51

Fullmetal Alchemist Episode 50: "Death"

As zeppelins rain bombs upon London during World War I, Edward and Hohenheim flee the city. As they watch the attack from a distance, Hohenheim explains that in this world, on the other side of the gate, the science of physics has developed instead of alchemy but, because Edward's soul was transferred over without his body, the Gate of Truth within himself can be used to return to Amestris. Meanwhile, with Hawkeye's help, Mustang has sneaked into the Führer's mansion to confront him and avenge Hughes. Gluttony, moping over Lust's death, is forced by Envy to begin gradually eating Alphonse's armored body to complete the Philosopher's Stone within him so Dante can use the stone to switch bodies with Rosé. Annoyed with Gluttony still mourning the loss of Lust, Dante alchemically destroys his mind so he can be nothing but an eating machine just as he begins gradually eating Alphonse. Wrath, still moping over Sloth's death, tries to intervene by using alchemy so he can use Alphonse to revive Sloth, but Dante has Edward's original limbs removed from Wrath's body so he can no longer perform alchemy in doing so. After repairing his relationship with Hohenheim, Edward returns to Amestris and tries to stop Dante's plans and set Alphonse and Rosé free, only to be distracted by Envy, who begins tormenting him in battle. When Edward angrily demands to see Envy's true form, Envy gleefully obliges, transforming into Hohenheim and Dante's deceased son, causing Edward to hesitate in sorrow. Dante reveals that Envy was the first ever homunculus, created when Hohenheim attempted human transmutation to revive his son who died of mercury poisoning. As Envy admits this is the reason why he hates Hohenheim for abandoning him to start a new family, the homunculus instantly transforms his arm into a blade and heartlessly kills Edward by piercing him through the heart while a horrified Alphonse, Rosé and Wrath watch.

Hm, I forgot he transferred to WWI London. I thought Amestris was equivalent to Nazi Germany.

Ed is impressed by zeppelins and airplanes. Hohenheim says their mechanical engineering is better than in their world, but Amestris has pretty sophisticated manufacturing too. Trains are apparently about a century old, which is about on par with our timeline. I guess you could presume that technology hit a plateau as people figured alchemy was better for more advanced applications.

Bradley keeps his remains in his house. He's read the Evil Overlord List! Selim saw the safe, so Bradley entrusts him with the key. That's pretty smart, since it's unlikely Mustang will think the kid is relevant.

Riza has dispatched Bradley's guards and is at his door. I presume this is a diversion, because we cut to Mustang sneaking in by… jumping over the wall? I'll presume that was alchemy-assisted.

Archer is still not dead.

We cut to Ed and Hohenheim and get my other favorite scene. Hohenheim explains conservation of energy, explicitly drawing a comparison to our very first example: Al fixing the broken radio. The souls of the dead from Earth pass into their world and provide the fuel for alchemy. This makes perfect sense: we already know the Philosopher's Stone, which amplifies alchemy, is powered by souls, so it's only logical that regular alchemy work the same.

Hohenheim explains he really did love Trisha, but left because he didn't want them to see the rot. I think this is a flawed but reasonable explanation. The rot represents more than just itself: it's a mark of his sin, a reminder that this body is not his own and that he's committed atrocities to obtain it. I see this more as him being unable to bear the answer to the inevitable question, "Why are you rotting, Dad?" It's horribly selfish and cowardly of him, but at the same time, it's understandable. Humanity is flawed.

Back in Amestris, Dante needs Gluttony to eat Al to complete the Philosopher's Stone. Apparently Dante designed him to refine red water. However, Gluttony is still BSODing over Lust, so Dante destroys his mind by removing his ouroboros tattoo.

Hohenheim confirms that Dante can't create a Philosopher's Stone on her own.

Hohenheim leaves us with the bright side of Dante's philosophy: you can gain something for nothing too. When a parent loves their child, he says, there need be no cost or reward.

But Ed still clings to equivalent exchange, admitting his only argument is that he doesn't want to believe a sacrifice could go unrewarded. He believes he just has to keep trying.

And then a zeppelin falls on him! He returns through the Gate just in time, but the poor boy he was inhabiting is still certainly dead.

Back in Central, Riza tells Bradley Mustang is after him… why? To get his family out of the way? Bradley goes into the wine cellar to fight Mustang, and the door is alchemically sealed behind him.

Bradley gives basically the same speech as Dante, saying really he's helping people by keeping the Philosopher's Stones from them.

Bradley explicitly says Mustang's fireballs will be less effective in an enclosed space. Thank you!

The Gate takes Wrath's arm and leg, but not the rest of him.

Ah. Ed realizes he used Earth!Ed's life to make the jump.

And now we get confirmation Gluttony killed Marcoh way back then.

Envy has a lot of fun running through forms to taunt Ed.

Alchemy can't be used because the activation of the Philosopher's Stone makes it too reactive. What does "activating" it really mean, though? We haven't seen alchemists need to do anything special to use it before.

Seeing Envy's true form stuns Ed, but… it doesn't look that recognizable? Ed says it looks like Hohenheim, but Hohenheim had a beard, and we just established he was willing to punch his mom's face. I remembered it as him looking like Ed, which would have made more sense. Still, it's a neat reveal. I've heard Brotherhood fans say it's a worse motivation than the one he has in Brotherhood, but, eh, his Brotherhood motivation was clever in theory but felt totally contrived and out of left field. Daddy issues might be cliché, but it's fitting for the more human homunculi, and it makes for a powerful parallel with Ed – further emphasized by them both being his children. I still think it'd have been stronger if we didn't learn it earlier, though.

Also, I do like that Envy violates talking-is-a-free-action to shank Ed while he's distracted.

Dante says Envy was the first homunculus ever created, so I guess Dante and Hohenheim were the first alchemists?

Rose appears to break out of her trance upon seeing Ed die.

Let's update our homunculi list real quick before the last episode:

Greed is wasted.

Lust defects, and is killed out of vengeance for a loved one.

Sloth is paralyzed.

Gluttony refuses to eat, and is made a slave to base desires.

This one is actual irony. He's spent the whole series only caring about eating things, but now, when he's actually ordered to, his human emotions get in the way. He's killed by an absence of gluttony, and becomes the embodiment of gluttony – a slave to base instincts. I find that a lot more clever than "Gluttony is eaten" – that is just so utterly trite and banal, you don't get points for that.

Fullmetal Alchemist Episode 51: "Laws and Promises"

Alphonse breaks free and attempts human transmutation as he sacrifices himself - using what's left of his Philosopher's Stone within him to revive his brother. Envy appears at the Gate of Truth, having failed to stop Alphonse, and encounters Edward's soul. Learning that Hohenheim is still alive on the other side, Envy gleefully decides to head through to kill him against Edward's advice, disappearing into the distance as a green, serpentine dragon. Edward reawakens to see his body fully healed as well as his right arm and left leg are now flesh and blood. However, Alphonse has been taken by the Gate of Truth as a consequence. After having Rosé take an injured Wrath with her and flee to Resembool, Edward attempts human transmutation, offering his own life, allowing Alphonse to return to his body, albeit his memory is recalled up to when the brothers tried to resurrect their mother. Meanwhile, Mustang successfully kills Führer Bradley with the help of his son Selim, who unintentionally weakens his adoptive father by bringing him the remains of the human from which the Führer was originally based. The Führer responsively strangles his son to death out of anger before Mustang takes his advantage. As he takes Selim's body and leaves the mansion, Mustang is confronted by Archer, who apparently shoots him in the left eye. Hawkeye arrives in time to save Mustang's life and kills Archer. Dante escapes into an elevator to find the Führer to help her exact vengeance, only to be devoured by Gluttony, who fails to recognize her. Alphonse is back in Amestris now and Edward is pulled through the Gate of Truth and is currently in Munich. The brothers both resolve to reunite again someday.

Dante snarks that maybe Ed just didn't pay enough to deserve survival – "We always come just a little short of the price."

We actually see Mustang drawing the transmutation circle with his blood. So much cooler than him doing it offscreen!

Al destroys Gluttony's jaw. Gruesome.

Mustang successfully destroys Pride. Since he didn’t use a sealing circle, I’m guessing he really did exhaust all of Pride’s lives. See, that’s acceptable to do once as a climactic cool moment. Notice also that we skipped straight to the end instead of watching him use fireballs for two minutes straight.

Riza saves Mustang by being the only person smart enough to shoot at Archer's human half.

Envy jumps into the Gate in pursuit of Hohenheim, and even manages to shake off the souls trying to eat him. Hardcore.

After the scene with Dante and Gluttony, we see the elevator open to an empty chamber. Creepy.

Ed's lost limbs are restored when he's resurrected, but it costs all of Al's Philosopher's Stone.

Sheska says Amestris is no longer a military dictatorship, but the current wars will still continue. However, they've become more tolerant towards Ishbalans.

Roy has an eyepatch. Just like Bradley! Riza said her outing him and then doubling back was part of the plan, but I'm not sure how or why.

How did Hohenheim get to Germany? The year is 1921, so he somehow survived 7 years even though his body looked to be at its limit.

Ed thinks Einstein's theories are bunk. Heh.

Ed says he planned to offer his life as the price for restoring Al. The fact that he didn't makes him wonder if he got something for nothing.

The ending spiel is a twist on the standard opening spiel: Al recognizes that equivalent exchange is not the law of the world, but he still hopes that hard work will pay off, and that one day they'll be reunited: a promise, not a law.

Conclusion

I think this is a good finale. The cutting around is a bit disorienting – it perhaps might have been better to resolve Mustang's side of things earlier? – but not uncalled for. I like how Mustang is actually challenged and injured in his fight scene instead of just effortlessly coasting his way to victory; he's cool without being overpowered. The final boss fight with Envy is a bit meh, but huge fight scenes were never what I was watching for in the first place (and Mustang vs. Pride kind of has us covered on that front). In terms of how this interacted with and resolved the story's major themes and questions, I think it was excellent. We learn what is behind the Gate, we learn the truth behind alchemy, we get discussion on the theme of equivalent exchange, and the protagonists' driving motive, the restoration of their bodies, is resolved. It's an open-ended finale, but not an unsatisfying one. The villains are defeated, the characters have learned important lessons, and they're going to keep on living.

Mustang's side is probably the weakest part here – Cyborg Archer is really weird and random and seemingly just there to add more tension and battles. His fight with Pride feels a bit truncated since we keep cutting away from it. I'm still not totally clear what his plan was or if it made sense, and it was very dumb of Ed not to tell him how to fight homunculi. I do like that Riza saves him in the end, though.

Ultimately, this is again the rare OG arc that I feel could have been better spread out over more episodes. Getting all the characters into position is rather rushed and relies on a bit of contrivance, and the finale itself feels like it's trying to say more things than it really has time for. But I'm still happy with what we got.

Now, this is more subjective, but I find the dual sacrifices way more emotionally meaningful here. I plan to do an ending comparison post where I will discuss this further, but for now, I think it's very powerful that Al finally has his moment of triumph. He's spent the whole story as a damsel in distress, even getting literally turned into a MacGuffin for this finale, only ever watching helplessly as people make horrific sacrifices for him while he can do nothing to save them. So here and now, he says screw it, for once he has the power and he's going to use it to save the person he loves more than anything in the world. It's so strong that it's an absolute mirror of what Ed did for him, and extremely meaningful that in a series that started with and revolved around the impossibility of resurrection we end with a true one.

But Ed, stupid, stupid Ed, can't be content with what Al gave him and refuses to learn his lesson, so he puts them back where they started. I'm not sure how I feel about that – it makes him into a very stagnant and stubborn character who refuses to learn the narrative's lessons even when they've been so firmly pounded into his skull. The point of Dante's speech, to me, was that you cannot keep throwing good lives after bad – Ed has hurt himself and so many others on this journey, justifying it to himself with sunk cost fallacy. The correct option is to cut his losses and go home, to be happy with what he still has instead of throwing away even more. Even the very fact he planned to kill himself to bring Al back shows he's still ignoring him – Al has said over and over again he doesn't want Ed to do that. Are these brothers doomed to be trapped in an endless spiral of self-sacrifice for the other? But… I gotta say, Al staying dead would have been too much of a downer. They've been through so much that they do deserve a miracle. (There's that stories-as-just-worlds striking again!)

I actually have never seen the movie, so maybe it resolves some of these things! I shall see. But for now, let's complete our list…

Greed is wasted.

Lust defects, and is killed out of vengeance for a loved one.

Sloth is paralyzed.

Gluttony refuses to eat, and is made a slave to base desires.

Envy kills himself out of jealousy.

Pride is killed by his son.

Wrath outlives them all.

An ironic pride death is easy – hoist them by their own petard. This show takes it a step further, and has Pride undone by his namesake. I'm pretty sure it is said somewhere that Selim is his biological child in this continuity, and that the capacity to sire children was one of Pride's human traits. That makes it deeply ironic that the son is the reason he dies.

I never bought Wrath's Brotherhood death as "irony". Wrath being killed by wrath… I don't even know if that's poetic, it just kind of… is. We say those who live by the sword will die by the sword, and for good reason. Wrath dying to wrath isn't unexpected or at all clever. The volatile, self-destructive sin being the only one to live, though? That's irony.

And oh my god you guys Brotherhood!Envy kills himself out of PRIDE not jealousy, he could not have been more explicit about it! Know your sins if you're gonna be smug about what deep symbolism they are!! This one is still a bit of a reach – wrath is a closer fit – but there is a case to be made that he is doing this out of a desire for the connection and satisfaction that other children have yet was denied to him.

Lastly, I think you could make a case that Dante embodies all the sins and is undone by all of them simultaneously. She believes herself above humanity, yet she is easily frustrated, slothful in her attitude towards the homunculi, envious of others' bodies, and greedy, lustful, and gluttonous for life and power. Wiping Gluttony is an act of impatience, frustration, greed, and arrogance in the assumption she could still control him.

Even aside from that, though, this is such a fitting end for her. She's spent her whole life plotting in the shadows, never allowing herself into a position of personal harm, and just as she tries to slink away to do it again she's undone by her own tangled web. Work behind the scenes, die behind the scenes.

[basedkikuenjoyer]

1081 goes in about the direction I expected. We have all these break weeks with Golden Week (!) coming up and I kind of like having these big goofy hype chapters of the outside world. We really are getting some cool info on Blackbeard, Shanks, Garp & Admirals all rocking the stage. And here we go with one of those titles that immediately grab you. Just gonna say it too, how nicely would that prop up the omnipresent line of Blackbeard mirroring Luffy’s journey if we saw “Tenth Person” for anyone soon?

I’m guessing once we’re on a regular schedule we’ll be back to the lab again...but would not be surprised to see time has leapt forward a little. Remember the little napkin outline for a Kishotenketsu plot. We could start by seeing the big incident resolved before launching into a long flashback. We could see what looks like a truly dire outcome before doing the same. Or we could just advance to a night on the island with the situation devolved, knowing that a big incident is to come soon. Part 3, or ten, should be jarring and tonally different. 

Okay fuck no. I know this chapter’s got at least one mutual all ready to take a trip to Japan for all the wrong reasons. Load up the buggy, get me grandpappy’s scattergun, we gotta correct a sitiation here consarnit. Do not mess with Hibari. Especially right when she’s being a cutie patootie. What is the big first takeaway the second we see this? It is now almost certainly Lafitte & Katarina Devon making their way to Egghead. That pair will be all about subterfuge so I’m heckin giddy. Kujaku being amazing makes up for the threat to my beautiful little lark (oh shit, that’s actually relevant to the Art NUE Kikuhime thing) and Prince Grus being fussy is pretty damn funny. The fight is cool, not much to say, but I do like we’re seeing this kind of flashback again. SWORD continues to endear me and that’s after spending fifteen years referring to Koby as “That little wiener kid.” Now with the star of the chapter:

Man is this scene hard to read. See, I could interpret it either way and both seem valid. Either Aokiji or Blackbeard is showing off a real knack for oratory skills. Kuzan being a SWORD guy through and through schmoozing to get in like Drake did for Kaido would probably act about like he would here. Or it could be Blackbeard showing off this hurdle to being a captain. I adore the little flair of him striking this Yakuza pose and showing respect. I can believe all four capabilities; either is putting on an act, neither are sincere, or both are. But it’s kinda like Law mirroring Brook’s recruitment with Jean Bart or Blackbeard doing the same echoing Jinbei in Impel Down. There’s a better way to say it, a better timing. Is that really all it was for Kuzan? Their conversation is right, he just sorta happened to fit in because he does have the right personality. Maybe something about Garp made his loyalties waver along the way or maybe Blackbeard just caught the right moment to poach a star looking for a new role.

But then of course, we have the tragedy. I wasn’t even a huge fan of the guy in particular but this one stung.

The Polar Tang was one of the best ships and I love me some Big Bad Jean Bart. Sulong Bepo coming in clutch with what I’m guessing was a Rumble Ball was cool as hell. Though Chopper...that was highly unethical medical practice dude. It’s okay since you’re cute and I guess a pirate doesn’t report to an ethics board so it’s okay.

Still, it reinforces how I felt about Kidd. This is the classic Kabuki virtue cause-and-effect. Big picture, this is why the Straw Hats trained for two years. But it also pertains to how they learned the lessons of Wano. Kidd potentially never really had to, there’s a nice overlap of Killer and Wano themes. Particularly some that line up nicely with precious flower Okiku. If he just learned to listen to that voice more he’d have been better off. If he’d just been less aggressive about going after everything in front of him he’d have been better off. Law? He’s more of the neutral step. He didn’t do anything wrong, but he didn’t make much of an active effort to take in Wano like Luffy did. He only just now started to gravitate towards understanding the big picture while Luffy’s had Robin on that since Sky Island. This one straight-up involves Kiku because Act 1 beats you over the head with it.

This is still my favorite one. But there are quite a few panels I could use. It’s the promise to Tama and it always caught my eye how beautifully Law & Kiku frame Luffy. You have the nice light/dark contrast immediately following Bakura Town. Both even have it a little internally with Kiku’s dark hair and Law’s hat. The way they’re carrying their swords even helps out. It’s all around this moment too, they’re acting a bit like the angel & devil on Luffy’s shoulders. 

Really excited to see where the next leg of this arc heads.

[gothamwillmeme]

Jonathan Crane's Pathetic Life- Narrated

Well, hello there. “What? Who the fuck?” I bet you’re all wondering who this is. “Cash! I think someone hacked the intercom again!” This young, I mean, ancient man, is named Jonathan Crane. And this is a day in his sad pathetic life. “Oh fuck yo-”

JONATHAN’S DAY Jonathan begins his day either at 4 am or 4 pm, whichever he wakes up at. Look closely at the bags underneath his eyes.

Fun fact: It’s a game in Arkham to count the bags underneath Jonathan’s eyes each day. If you’re the first one to count them all without losing count, you win a prize!

“Doc, I think I forgot to take my meds yesterday.” “QUICK RESTRAIN HIM!” “Oh, come on- OH!”

Oh, in the groin! Poor luck, Jonathan.

Jonathan is then force fed his medication for the day after reeling in pain from the aggressive dick-punch he just received. Arkham Asylum is a wholesome place for growth.

It’s lunch time in Arkham Asylum. You’d think it would be this time that everything is at its calmest.

But it’s really one big shit show.

*camera zooms out to reveal Jonathan sitting quietly at a table while everyone screams and throws food at each other*

It is at this inopportune time that Jonathan forgets to eat, per usual, and decides to get a little reading in.

*Garfield Lynns approaches Jonathan* “Oh, kindling!” *Garfield takes the book and sets it on fire*

And it’s also at this time that Jonathan gets dragged back to his cell for attempting to strangle Garfield Lynns with his own shirt.

After sitting in his extreme isolation cell for hours with nothing to do, Jonathan begins to have dangerous thoughts. “What if I made fear toxin vape pens and sold them to hipsters?”

Oh, Jonathan. You silly man.

It’s time for his weekly doctor visit. “Okay, Jonathan, please step on the scale for me.” “Alright.” “What the… Scales can’t even go negative, can they? How are you showing negative 140 pounds?” Jonathan sighs. “That happens a lot.”

Jonathan is allowed to participate in recreation time. He begs the guards not to make him participate, but since when is Arkham a healthy place for mental recovery?

*Edward and Jervis scream profusely as they are assaulted with dodgeballs* *Joker laughs in the background* *Jonathan just stands there and takes it*

After Jonathan and his friends, Edward Nygma and Jervis Tetch are pelted with dodgeballs, the three are corralled into a room with the warden.

“Okay, I’m not mad-” the warden sighs “-if you tell me which one of you did it, I won’t revoke privileges.” “It was me.” Jervis lies. “It was definitely Jervis. Take him to jail, lock him up.” Edward nods. “I know it wasn’t Jervis.” The warden says. “It surely was not me.” Edward assures. “Then it must be Jonathan.” The warden assumes. “I have no idea what this is about.” “Someone treated the water in the employee lounge water tank with laxatives.”

Edward laughs, apparently finding the matter hilarious. Tell that to my fourteen hours in the stall, Mr. Nygma. “I most certainly did not do that.” Jonathan rolls his eyes. “Then who did?” “Why would you assume it was us three?” Jonathan argues. “Because it’s always you three.”

Jonathan glares at Edward. Edward sweats nervously. “I say it was Joker.” Edward offers. It was probably Joker. “It was probably Joker.” The warden shrugs.

They are eventually released, just to go back to their pathetic mundane life. Jonathan’s anger issues overtake him and he somehow manages to punch a hole in the wall of his cell. The walls are made of concrete.

Fun fact: Jonathan has so much pent up anger and hatred in his skinny frail body that it’s believed you can see the actual fires of hell burning in his eyes whenever someone approaches him.

Jonathan hates his life. “I hate my life.”

Jonathan manages to make a prison shank with a pencil. He smuggled this contraband into his cell months ago after hiding it in his- “Don’t tell them where I hid the pencil.” -ass. “Goddamnit.”

Jonathan uses it to carefully open the screws of the floor vent and carefully enters it. Jonathan, ironically, had just finished reading Shawshank Redemption.

Fun fact: Jonathan is skinny enough to fit in nearly every crawl space, air duct, and every locker at Gotham university. He discovered the last one when his own students shoved him in a locker after he gave a lecture on the demise of all happiness.

Jonathan manages to escape, being careful to ruin as many lives as he can on the way out. Because Jonathan is an asshole.

“I’m finally free-” Finally free? You escape every other week. “Shit, you’re still here.” Time for you to go back to your pathetic home. “It’s not pathetic.” It’s pathetic. Just like you.

Jonathan makes it back to his pathetic home in one piece. He sits down on a luxurious cardboard box with his pet crow like some sort of edge lord and spends an hour fawning over the poor bird before he finally gets back to work. How long have you been awake, Jonathan? “49 hours.”

Fun fact: Jonathan has a serious problem.

What are you working on, Jonathan? “Jonathan Crane isn’t here anymore but if you’d-”

Fun fact: Jonathan is a fan of overused cliches.

What are you working on, Scarecrow? “A fear toxin that breaks the fourth wall.” Whatever is that for? “You’ll see.”

What’s that smell? I think I’m AKCODJDJDOFNCHK KKINDHAJS

Ṣ̢̦͙̲̭̠̮̺̜͌͊̅͑͌͌̑̓͘͝ć̢̧͉̗̜͕̦̹͓̯̑̀͗̄̈́̆̉̓͝ą̳̳̜̥͖̟̖̃͐̎́͌̅͑̈́͑̃͜ͅr̝̼̪̙̠͙̠̺̝̪̃̏́̀́͗̋̈́̓̚e̛̼̺̰͎̣͇̪̮͇̅̊́́̏̈́̂͘͜͝ḑ̹̦̪͔̠̤̹͙́͆̾̎̒̾̾̚͠͝ͅ ̨̖̗̱͈̬̺͇̦̣́̎̒̍͗̐͆̂͆͠y͉̯̲͎̳̻̙̺̑̂̄͋̈̆̑̓̑͌͜ͅę̡̣̘̪̹̹͉̮̊̑̾̏͋͑̔̎̇͝ͅt̨̛̤͙̝͇̠̹̬̼̄̉̾̒͊̊̀̆͘͜?̧̛͈͚͖̺̳̻͉̹̋̈͆̈̈́̽̌̿͜͝