#I love the scene where he breaks into Bart’s room and then decides not to kill him and sings

[allieinarden]

I love that Sideshow Bob has that classic dramatic conflict going on where your obsession with your mortal enemy translates into a profound connection because you understand that the longed-for eventuality of his demise would spell the end of your life’s purpose, and it is completely unrequited, Bart would like him to be dead.

[miss-choco-chips]

Young Just us college au

Rent a room, Dick said. It’ll be a nice experience. Don’t just buy a flat, that’s boring and lonely.

Tim had tried to tell his brother that maybe he prefered lonely to crazy, but Dick had insisted. And everyone knew just how difficult dealing with that could be, so he knew better than to resist.

At least, he had tried to comfort himself, he knew the people he’d be rooming with. They were all his friends, an odd assortment of assholes he’d picked up on school, summer camps, vacation trips, scientific events, even comic cons, and just… fell platonically in love with them.

Maybe, as Dick said, it would be fine.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-

No, it wasn’t fine.

-Jay -he whispered into the phone, hoping he wouldn't be heard by the others on the other side of the door- Jay, they are crazy. I need extraction asap. We could fake my death and I can go to University somewhere else.

The older man laughed in the other end of the receiver, the sound of pages rustling indicating Tim had caught him during his daily grading paper sesion. That was the sound of crying students dying over carefully demolished arguments.

-They are all your friends, Timbo. If you fake your death, you’ll need to start over again and meet new people.

Tim hissed.

-Exactly, babybird. Also, this is day one of sharing a house, how bad can it possibly be?

-Jay, they left the kitchen lights on. It’s daytime! Why the hell do they need the lights on? Aren’t they aware of how big the bill is gonna be if they are like this?

-...Timmy, you… you are a billionaire. I think that should be the last of your concerns.

-That’s not the only thing. It’s so noisy, Jay. I choose the attic room hoping it’ll be nice and quiet. It’s not. I can hear everything. What do I do if some of them pair up? I’ll be stuck here listening to them having sex forever!

-...I don’t know where to begin.

-You can start by contacting B for me. He was right when he said it wasn’t a good idea for me to live with other people. But I can’t call him to help me out of this, because I think Dick blocked my number in his phone, and my emails don’t seem to be reaching him.

-He said it because you are the purest of his children, and he knew college was corruptive enough without adding dorm sharing to it; that was his version of helicopter parenting. But Timbo, it’s moving day. You’ve been there for less than five hours. And you already emailed B?

-The first thing Slobo did when he came in was to fart. In the middle of the living room. I can’t live with them, they are animals!

-They are your best friends, you’ve known them forever.

-But I never had to deal with them in a closed space for an unlimited amount of time!!! I’m trapped here.

-...

-...!

-...Are you hiding in a closet?

-...no. That would be stupid, in a three story house where I have my own/

-You are, ain’tcha?

-I am. Please help me?

Long sigh- I’ll meet you for coffee on the place near the Economics building so you have an excuse to be out for the evening while the others finish their moving. You’re done with your part, right?

-Yes! Thank you!

-You owe me.

-Next time Dick wants bonding time, I’ll sacrifice myself volunteering so you can run.

-And this is why you’re my favorite. Be there in ten.

-.-.-.-.-.-

-Tim? Tim! Here you are!

Blinking was a thing Tim suddenly remembered he needed to do, and he did it a few times as his eyes were dragged away from his book by a pair of hands on his cheeks.

-Kon? What are you doing in the library?

The other boy was panting slightly, flushed from what Tim guessed was a desperate run there.

-I was looking for you! You never came back after classes were done for the day, and you didn’t pick up your phone. We were very worried, dude. 

-I was just studying, chill.

-It’s almost midnight.

No, it couldn’t be.

-No, it isn’t.  I haven’t been here that long.

Serious and slightly worried, Conner thrusted his own phone in Tim’s face and… uh. Look at that. It was nearly midnight.

-Oh. Got distracted with research, sorry.

-It’s been barely two weeks, how much can you possibly need to study?

Unprompted, Kon started to help him pack his books and papers. He seemed utterly amazed by the almost illegible graphs and charts.

-No, this isn’t homework. I’m working on a thing for WE…

The rest of the way home was spent with Tim talking Conner’s ear off about shit he had absolutely no idea about, but didn’t complain, just holding Tim’s backpack with one hand while steering his sleep deprived friend back home with the other.

-.-.-.-.-.

-Bart? -Tim yawned, getting into the kitchen and raising a confused eyebrow at his friend- It’s… three am. What are you doing awake?

-Stress baking -the smaller boy replied, never stopping stirring the bowl- You?

-Papers and presentations.

-Classes or WE?

-Bit of both. What are you making?

-Cupcakes. Want some?

-They’ll go great with coffee, thanks.

They spent the next half hour waiting for the oven to do its magic talking about video games, classes and evil teachers.

-Your brother is the worst. TA. Ever. He always grades my papers and he’s a bitch about them.

-He relishes in the pain. It’s what keeps him young. I swear he never grew  past fifteen.

-It’s scary, and honestly so annoying. Like, I get pointing out mistakes, but he doesn’t need to be a passive aggressive ass about it.

-I’ll let him know what you think.

-Please don’t. I’m afraid of him, and the power he holds in his hands. The power to make me fail Creative Writing.

-Why are you even taking that class? Actually, what even is your major?

A shrug, and before Bart could open his mouth to reply, the timer let them know the cupcakes where done.

-You can have one before bedtime, dude. The circles under your eyes look like make up at this point. 

-You are one to talk, mister Stress Baking at Three in the Morning.

-But unlike you, I don’t have to be up at the ass of dawn. C’mon, have one of these and back up you go.

-Bite me.

-I’d rather bite this peanut butter miracle, but if you insist…

-No! Bart, get away from me!

-Then go to bed!

-Go to hell!

-I AM in hell! I have Jason Fucking Todd as my TA!

-IF YOU DON’T GO BACK TO BED RIGHT NOW, I’LL KICK YOU BOTH ALL THE WAY THERE! -Cassie’s voice echoed in the walls, and they both blanched at the reminder that her room was, in fact, in ground floor.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-

A part of college Tim had never considered, let alone readied himself for, was the… party bit. 

-What do you mean, of course you’re coming -laughed Anita, clutches firm on Tim’s sleeve as she dragged him into hers and Cassie’s room.

-No, I have to study for…

-You don’t have any midterm or final this week. I know, because I checked. No papers due either. This is literally the perfect time for you to party. 

-I can’t, I…

-Suck at socializing? Yeah, cher, I’m aware. That’s why awesome me is taking you as my plus one for this party. No need to thank me, glad to be your social buffer whenever you need me.

Tim started to resist in earnest when they got into the room and he caught a glimpse of the clothing Anita had apparently chosen for him.

-There’s no way I’m fitting into those pants! Let me go!

-I’ve seen you squeezing your butt into the vent that one time when Kon threw the key to the coffee maker cabinet inside it. If you could get in there, these pants are a piece of cake.

-No!

-Don’t make me hurt you, Drake.

-Anita…!

-Ugh! -she stopped, dropping Tim on her bed and crossing her arms. She averted her eyes- My ex is gonna be at the party. I might have been exaggerating a bit when I said I was over him, but I already promised my friends I was gonna be there. I… could really use your help here. I know it’s not your scene, but Kon and Bart have midterms, Slobo would straight up punch my ex with his astounding lack of subtlety, Miguel is away dealing with family stuff, and the girls are awesome but not really what I need right now.

A pause.

-Okay, but I’m absolutely not putting on that crop top. And we better not end up wasted, I have a reputation to uphold.

Spoiler alert: he did put on the crop top. And they had to call Conner to walk them home after the third time Tim walked into a lamp post and Anita fell into the campus’ pond.

-.-.-.-.-

They were walking back home late on a Friday when they were approached by a group of stupid, drunk dudebros. Tim was already dreading the moments to come before they even spoke, just by the way they kept eyeing Cassie’s legs and Anita’s rack. Cissie herself was wearing loose pants and a sweater, so she was safe from their disgusting examination. Not that it kept her from crossing her arms and looking down at the assholes.

-Heyyyyy, ladies. Wanna go clubbing with us?

Tim shrugged- He’s talking to you, girls. I’m out. Have fun.

Cassie caught him by his hoodie before he could take a single step. He heard her warning clear as day and sighed, defeated.

-Yess, you can go -slurred Dudebro number two, waving him away- There’ three of us, and three of those pretty things. You can get lost. 

-See, Cass? Hear the gentlemen. You don’t need me here.

Anita kicked him in the shin.

-No. We just got our nails done. You either solve this peacefully, or take care of it if it turns dirty. Why do you even walk us home if not to protect us from creepers like these?

A loud ‘hey’ came from the dudebros, but Tim ignored them. Silently, he pointed at Cassie’s legs (he had seen her crushing a watermelon between them once), Cissie’s arms (a thing of beauty that made multiple lesbians all around campus cry) and Anita’s katana (that she wasn’t supposed to keep on her person around other students, but who was gonna enforce any rules on the girl with the giant knife?).

-Excuse me? You three should be protecting me. I’m a rich, sheltered boy.

Apparently done being ignored, the three idiots decided this was a good time to throw the first punch. Which Tim dodged, without breaking eye contact with Cassie. She raised her eyebrow, not moving an inch. Cissie was examining her nails. Anita’s eyes promised hell.

He sighed, turned around, caught the second coming punch, and used the hand under his palm to force the dudebro to his knees. A knee to the face and then he turned to the other two. 

Next time, Slobo was walking with them.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-

Flip side:  the attic room had its own bathroom. Significantly smaller than the ones on the other two floors, but hey, no sharing. 

The downside: apparently, the bathroom vents all connected with one another, and because of their aligning schedules, he often took showers at the same time Miguel did.

Flip side: Miguel had the singing voice of an angel, and the acoustic was fantastic. Showers were rarely boring now.

Downside again: Tim often forgot himself and sang along, but his voice… wasn’t as pretty.

Flip side again: at least, judging by Miguel’s smile, he found it adorable rather than pathetic.

Downside number three: Greta and Cissie’s room, by some unsolved mystery, also had connecting vents to the bathroom, and the archer girl was… less charitable about Tim’s inability to sing.

Flip side: Greta liked him better than most of their house mates, and she had more than enough dirt on Cissie to keep her from sharing the secret of Tim’s awful voice. 

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

-Hey, baby bird. Sorry I’m calling just now, it’s been a while.

-Hey Jay. Don’t worry, you’re busy grading papers.

-How do you know?

-Bart was crying in the tub this morning. Completely clothed and eating nachos with whipped cream, I might add.

-What is that boy even studying? I know he has Chem classes, Roy is his TA, and Kory saw him in the designer’s building. 

-That is an unsolved mystery for the ages. 

-Hey, speaking of your housemates, how’s it going?

Tim stopped on his way out of the kitchen, eyes growing fond as he examined the group on the living room. They were fighting over that night’s movie choice. He didn’t know why they tried, Greta was gonna win. Nobody could resist her and Miguel’s puppy eyes. 

-It’s… it’s been great, actually.

-Uh huh.

-But don’t tell Dick. He’ll be unbearably smug.

-Of course I won’t. You still have that time I crashed B’s favorite car on me.

-Oh, Oh fuck! -came Slobo’s voice- TIM, BRING THE FIRE EXTINGUISHER!

A loud crash. Tim winced, eyes leaving his friend in favor of the wall. If he didn’t see it, it wasn’t happening.

-TIM, BUD, WE NEED SOME HELP HERE!

-...what was that, Timbo?

-Nothing.

-TIM, TIM, THE TV IS ON FIRE!!! COME QUICKLY BEFORE IT REACHES THE XBOX OR SO HELP ME GOD I’M MURDERING EVERYONE IN THIS ROOM!

-...Tim?

-Don’t tell B.

-Gotcha. Going to save their lives?

-More like hiding in my room until they sort themselves out or die. Good luck on those papers.

-Good luck on surviving.

[introvertguide]

The Graduate (1967); AFI #17

The current film under review is the classic comedy, The Graduate (1967). This moving is one of most well known and referenced films that I know of in American film. It was the last film to win only Best Director while also being nominated for other categories. This makes sense because the acting was good with many newcomers and character actors of the time, but there was some stiff competition at the Oscars that year. Director Mike Nichols did an exceptional job telling a story within a story utilizing symbols and camera movement to let the viewing audience know what the characters were thinking. Show not tell, which is perfect for this sort of media. Let’s go through a summary of the story before looking at any more of the technical or behind-the-scenes notes. This, of course, is always kicked off with...

SPOILER WARNING!!! I AM ABOUT TO GIVE AWAY THE ENTIRE PLOT!!! THERE IS A LOT MORE TO THE STORY OF THIS MOVIE THAN JUST THE PLOT, BUT IT IS STILL GOOD TO WATCH THE WHOLE THING THROUGH BEFORE DISCUSSING IT!!! IF YOU DON’T WANT IT SPOILED, STOP NOW AND WATCH THE MOVIE THEN COME BACK AND CHECK OUT THE REST OF THE ARTICLE

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Benjamin Braddock (Dustin Hoffman) is a 20-year-old man who just recently graduated from an East Coast college and has returned to Pasadena, California to stay with his parents and figure out what to do with his life. He is embarrassed by his doting parents at every turn when they invite all the family friends to come see him. The wife of his father’s business partner is Mrs. Robinson (Anne Bancroft), a middle aged women who seems unhappy with her marriage and convinces Ben to drive her home where she tries to seduce him. He runs away but later calls her and meets her over at the Taft Hotel and starts up an affair. 

Benjamin spends the summer relaxing by the pool and going off on trysts with Mrs. Robinson at the hotel. During one night at the Taft, Mrs. Robinson reveals that she only married her husband because she was pregnant. Ben knows her daughter, Elaine (Katherine Ross), and jokes that he should date her. Mrs. Robinson is not happy with this and forbids him from seeing her daughter. Unfortunately, Ben’s parents think it would be a great match and set up a date between the kids. 

Ben tries to sabotage the date in the most cringe-worthy way. He ignores Elaine and drives like a crazy man. He takes her to a strip club and sits her right next to the stage. It is so bad that Elaine runs away crying and Ben feels remorse. He actually likes Elaine and they go and have burgers at a drive-thru. They want to have a late night drink and the only place close that is open is the Taft Hotel. They go in and everyone there recognizes Ben which makes Elaine believe he has been seeing an older women. Ben says it is true and the affair is over, so the two plan another date the following day.

Mrs. Robinson threatens to tell Elaine when Ben shows up at the house to pick her up, so Ben tells Elaine first to ruin any blackmail. This upsets Elaine and she returns to Berkeley to go back to school and avoid seeing Ben. 

Ben decides to move to Berkeley in hopes of getting back with Elaine and takes up residence in an all male dorm house. Ben finally runs into Elaine and she says her mom told her that Ben had gotten her drunk and raped her. (Wow. Keep this in mind because I will bring this up again in the conversation section.) Ben explains to Elaine and she forgives him. They hang out and Ben asks her to marry him, but she apparently has promised to marry some other guy named Carl Smith. Unfortunately, Elaine’s father shows up at Ben’s apartment to tell him that he is getting a divorce from Mrs. Robinson and forcing his daughter to marry Carl Smith. He makes a major ruckus and Ben is thrown out by the dorm manager.

Ben goes back to Pasadena and breaks into the Robinson house in search of Elaine but only finds Mrs. Robinson. She calls the police claiming there is a burglar. As Ben escapes, she says that he can’t stop the marriage between Elaine and Carl. He drives back to Berkeley and finds out were the wedding will take place (Santa Barbara) and rushes to the church. He can’t get in the front door so he runs up to the organ room upstairs and bangs on a glass barrier that looks down on the ceremony. He shouts out for Elaine and she eventually yells back in front of all the guests. She runs out and meets Ben, who pins the door closed with a large cross.

Elaine and Benjamin elope by jumping aboard a bus and sit among startled passengers. Their ecstatic expressions change to looks of uncertainty as the bus drives away.

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I have a list of questions that people have asked me when I told them I was doing an analysis of The Graduate, so this will act kind of like a FAQ sheet for the film and hopefully answer some questions:

Dustin Hoffman doesn’t look like he just graduated from college in the movie. How old was he?

Lot of questions about the age of the actors. At the time the movie came out, Katherine Ross played Elaine the college student at 27 years old, Dustin Hoffman played the recent graduate Benjamin at age 30, and Anne Bancroft played the part of middle aged Mrs. Robinson at age 36. It kind of made sense about Dustin Hoffman because he is a very small man with great hair and can look the part of somebody much younger. Katherine Ross lied about her age for years so directors thought she was 3 or 4 years younger than she really was. Anne Bancroft is the one that stands out the most because they put in a couple of grey streaks in her hair and added some crows feet around her eyes and called her 10-15 years older. I think Director Mike Nichols knew this so Elaine and her mother have almost no screen time together.

Didn’t that movie win an Oscar for the music?

It did not. In fact, the song that the film is known for, “Mrs. Robinson,” was not played beyond instrumental snippets. The film was not even nominated for anything music related. 

I think I have seen the movie before because it feels familiar.

The film is set in California and has some of the most well known scenes in American cinema. The initial seduction scene between Mrs. Robinson and Ben captured the hopes of college boys everywhere. The idea of finding a beautiful and experienced woman that aggressively makes all the first moves is the dream of many a man. The famous scene right after Mrs. Robinson reveals she married because she was pregnant and didn’t love her husband shows Ben about to leave and framed by the leg of Mrs. Robinson putting on a stocking. I have never seen wrongful lust depicted any better and it really sticks with you. The final scene in the movie in which Ben stops the wedding and runs away with the bride has been used in many movies and TV shows and really displays Hoffman’s acting because we slowly realize that the new couple has no idea what to do next. I only remember one other non-speaking acting performance were a realization is revealed purely through a slow facial close-up, and that was from Jack Nicholson in One Flew over the Cuckoo’s Nest. 

I remember there was some kind of accusation of rape that is never resolved. Did that really happen?

Yup. It did. I never realized how awkward a brush over this was until I specifically looked for it. Mrs. Robinson told her daughter that Ben raped her and Elaine still talks to him instead of calling the police. A rape allegation is not a light thing and there would not be pleasantries at the zoo if this was the case. Why would a girl who believes she is talking to a man that raped her mother and was now stalking her college aged daughter do anything but get the police involved? Elaine actually entertains the thought of marrying the guy. She thought Ben raped her mother and Ben says that the mother seduced and slept with him. She is apparently OK with this. I wouldn’t be.  

Do they actually show Mrs. Robinson naked?

This was asked more than the age question. The answer is “yes, sort of.” There is a very brief shot of Anne Bancroft’s bare chest for two or three frames. If you consider that movies are generally filmed at 24 frames per second, this is very brief. I can’t imagine how many desperate people were quick on the pause button when the movie came out on video. 

Did they use this movie for a Simpson’s episode?

Not just one. The famous shot with a leg in the foreground was in the episode “Homer of Seville” and “Beware My Cheating Bart” while the famous “Mrs. Robinson, you are trying to seduce me” line from the same scene was used in the episode “Lisa’s Substitute.” An homage to the end of the movie was used twice for Grandpa Simpson in the episodes “The Last Temptation of Homer” and “Lady Bouvier’s Lover.” 

So now to the questions I answer for every movie on the AFI top 100. Does this movie belong on the list? Of course. It is a well directed movie full of symbolism. It is the first major role for Dustin Hoffman (one of America’s most well known movie stars). It is engrained in American vernacular: I knew that “she went all Mrs. Robinson” referred to an older woman seducing a younger man years before I ever saw the movie. Mrs. Robinson is a classic villain and that character alone deserves a spot on the top 100. Would I recommend it? Sure would. It is a little cringy at times for me, but it is legitimately funny. There are a couple of topics that are sometimes weird and sometimes uncomfortable, but the direction is good enough to move quickly through these parts to suspend disbelief. Check out the movie and check out the soundtrack because both are great, widely available, and great pieces of classic Americana.

[basketcase1880]

Once again I’ve taken part in the Sherlolly Secret Santa organised by @sherlollysecretsanta

This year’s gift is for @forever-sherlollied. I’ve taken liberties with The Empty Hearse; Sherlock came back after 4 years of being “dead” instead of 2, and it takes place just before Christmas. Some of the events of The Empty Hearse are referenced here. This is loosely based off my favourite (almost) Christmas number 1 here in the UK; Babe by Take That, so if you know the song, you’ll know the twist.

 Sherlock has returned from the dead and there’s only one person he wants to see. Only thing is, Mycroft thinks it’s one Dr Watson, but it’s another doctor entirely, Dr Hooper.

 Before the Fall, Sherlock and Molly had been secretly dating. It was so secret that Mycroft had no idea about his brother’s love life, so had kept track of John instead of Molly. This allowed Molly to slip under the radar and move back to her home village where she was able to keep a very special secret. But one person kept track of where she was…

BABE

As soon as Sherlock had finished with Mycroft, he only wanted to be one place. Of course, Mycroft thought he was smart in telling his younger brother about John Watson’s whereabouts, and as much as Sherlock was happy his best friend had been monitored, he was more concerned about the biggest secret in his life before his “death” and whether she would want him back.

 Molly Hooper had been his lifeline the entire time he had been away bringing down Moriarty’s network. He kept focused on what he was doing because he knew he would be returning to her. He had to protect her at all costs. After all, Moriarty knew Molly’s worth when he tried to date her, but Sherlock played indifferent in order to protect her. Molly knew that, knew that Sherlock kept their relationship secret to protect her, understood why he hadn’t introduced her to his family, and she liked it like that. She liked having him all to herself when he wasn’t on a case. Their cover was that he used her place as a bolthole, and fortunately, that kept Mycroft off the scent.

 Making his way to St Barts, Sherlock was looking forward to seeing his girl. But when he got there, he was surprised to find that there was no trace of Molly. He knew he had been gone a few years, but he still expected Molly to be at Barts. Maybe even running it now, but alas, there was no Molly. Lestrade, however, was there and was shocked to see Sherlock back from the grave.

 “You bloody bastard,” Lestrade said as he shook his head at the sight in front of him. “You’ve cost me in a bet with Anderson. He was adamant you were still alive and had simply faked your death. I’m never going to live this down.”

 “Poor you,” Sherlock simply said with no emotion in his voice. “Do you have any idea where Molly is? I would like to speak with her.”

 “If she helped you fake your death, I’ll kill you myself,” Lestrade countered, knowing most of Anderson’s theories revolved around the young Specialist Registrar helping Sherlock to fake his death.

 Sherlock didn’t verbally say anything in response to Lestrade’s comment, but his face must have said everything, because Lestrade was soon back pedalling his comment.

 “She moved away about three months after you died,” Lestrade informed. “Said something about her mum not being well and that she was moving back home…”

 “Did you keep in touch with her?” Sherlock suddenly questioned, interrupting the detective. “She wouldn’t have cut ties with London completely. She knew there was a chance I would be able to return, so she would have kept a loose connection to my life in the city.”

 “Of course she kept in contact with me,” Lestrade said as if it was obvious. “She texts me once a month to check in with how Mrs Hudson and John are without rousing their suspicion. They don’t know I have a contact number for Molly.”

 “Give me the number,” Sherlock demanded.

 “I don’t know…” Lestrade hesitated.

 “She would want me to call her,” Sherlock said slightly more polite. “As I said, she helped me fake my death. She knew there was a chance I would be able to return to London. She’ll want me to call her.”

 Shaking his head, Lestrade wrote Molly’s number down and handed it to Sherlock, he just hoped this wouldn’t come back to kick him in the ass. He really liked knowing Molly was safe, even if she wasn’t around anymore.

 [PAGE BREAK]

 When Sherlock got back to 221B Baker Street, and after Mrs Hudson got over her shock at him being alive, Sherlock relaxed in his chair. He played with the card that held everything he had been working towards: Molly. But he was hesitant to call her. Had she moved on with her life? Had she got bored waiting on him returning? Did she have someone new in her life? Someone new to love her?

 Before Sherlock could dwell on anything more to do with Molly, the door to the flat burst open and an angry John Watson came bursting into the room with an exasperated woman on his coattails.

 “You bloody bastard,” John exploded. “You bloody bastard. How dare you do this to me? I mourned you. I stood at your graveside and mourned you…”

 “Yes, I saw you,” Sherlock said, his eyes never lifting from the card between his fingers. “Black really suits you. That moustache doesn’t.”

 “Hi there,” the woman smiled at Sherlock, completely ignoring John’s anger at the other man, deciding to introduce herself. “I’m Mary.”

 “Nice to meet you, Mary,” Sherlock smiled. “Tell me, if you were given the number of the one person in the world you would like to speak to the most, would you call them?”

 “Excuse me?” John asked, not believing the scene before him.

 “Are they expecting your call?” Mary asked, completely ignoring John’s exclamation.

 “No, they’re not,” Sherlock replied, ignoring John, too, fully recognising Mary’s intelligence to be on his level. “She doesn’t even know I’m back yet.”

 “I’d call them,” Mary smiled. “Must be someone special.”

 “Yes, she is,” Sherlock said. “She’s my Molly.”

 “Molly?” John exclaimed. “Your Molly?”

 “Yes, of course, John,” Sherlock said matter of factly. “Molly and I were an item before my death, she helped me fake my death. Now I must call her, I will call you tomorrow and arrange a time for us to meet. Goodbye John, Mary.”

 “Goodbye, Sherlock,” Mary said as she dragged John out the door. “And good luck with Molly.”

 “Goodbye,” John could be heard calling as Mary dragged him down the stairs.

 Now that Sherlock was alone again, he pulled his phone out of his pocket and began to dial Molly’s number.

 [PAGE BREAK]

 Molly was busy making sure everything was ready for Christmas. It had always been her favourite time of year, and nothing would ruin it for her. Not even that Christmas when Sherlock had been preoccupied with The Woman.

 Sherlock. Even just thinking about him made her smile. Yes, their relationship had been secret, but that’s how she liked it. From what Sherlock told her about Mycroft, it was best to keep it between themselves for a while because Mycroft would try and use her against him. And so, after Sherlock “died” she knew she couldn’t remain in London. She had to go back home, especially after the news she got two months after Sherlock left.

 She had purposely broke contact with almost everyone in London, but she knew she couldn’t break it completely. She had to keep an eye on John and Mrs Hudson, but she knew if she had direct contact with her, they would break down her walls and get her to return to London from the small Wiltshire village she had returned to. She couldn’t return to London while Sherlock was away, it wouldn’t be right.

 Just as Molly was wrapping the last present to put under the tree, her mobile rang, so she grabbed it to accept the call despite it being an unknown number.

 “Hello?” Molly said and paused, allowing the other person to speak.

 [PAGE BREAK]

 Sherlock’s heart stopped when he heard Molly’s sweet melodic voice say “hello”.

 “Molly,” Sherlock said once his voice came back to him. “I’m back. Where are you? Can I come to you?”

 “Sherlock?” Molly asked, barely able to hide the tears in her voice. “Are you really back? I’m not imagining this?”

 “No, Molly, you’re not imagining this,” Sherlock reassured the only woman who ever had his heart. “I’m really back. I’m sitting in Baker Street on the phone with you after arguing with John. Just tell me where you are, and I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

 “I’m, I’m at my mum’s,” Molly choked out before she could stop herself. “Nomansland in Wiltshire.”

 “I remember you talking about it,” Sherlock smiled, as he mentally calculated how long the journey would take. “By the time I get a car, I’ll be there in about two and a half hours. Wait for me, Molly.”

 Before Molly could answer Sherlock or tell him she’d be able to come to London tomorrow, he had hung up. Yes, she wanted to see him, but she wanted to be able to control the environment. She wasn’t sure how Sherlock would take the news she had to tell him.

 [PAGE BREAK]

 Two and a half hours later, as promised, there was a knock on the front door of Molly’s house. She was nervous about this because she wasn’t alone in the house, her secret was very much present in the house and she knew she wouldn’t be able to keep it from Sherlock. Biting the bullet, Molly took a deep breath and opened the door to see the handsome face of the man who had stolen her heart years ago.

 “Molly,” Sherlock smiled as he held his arms open to her. “My Molly.”

 Molly couldn’t believe he was standing there in front of her. Yes, she had spoken to him only a couple of hours ago, but a part of her said it wasn’t real until he was standing in front of her. “Sherlock,” she whispered, and she collapsed into his arms, and breathed in the scent that was entirely him. “You’re really here?”

 “Yes, I’m really here,” Sherlock said as he lifted his head from resting on Molly’s head. “I’m back and I’m not going anywhere ever again. Unless you’re going with me.”

 “Oh Sherlock,” Molly sighed again. “I’ve truly missed you. I waited for you, but I had to do it away from London. I just had to get away from the city.”

 Before Sherlock could ask her why she needed to get away from the city, a slight movement from behind her caught his eye. “Uh, Molly, are you alone here?”

 “No,” Molly said, bracing herself for what was to come. “There’s someone I would like you to meet. Would you like to come inside?”

 Sherlock followed Molly’s direction into the living room, which was decorated beautifully for the festivities, and took a seat on the armchair next to the window. He wondered who Molly was wanting him to meet, especially since she had just told him she waited on him. It was soon obvious to Sherlock, however, when Molly re-entered the living room.

 “Molly?” Sherlock questioned as his voice caught in his throat.

 “Sherlock, I’d like you to meet your son,” Molly said with a smile as she held a young boy of about three years old with very familiar curls. “William Arthur Hooper. William, this is your daddy.”

 “William?” Sherlock asked, and Molly nodded. “That’s my first name too. But we have a son?”

 “Yeah,” Molly smiled as she moved over to beside Sherlock to allow him to see his son. “I found out two months after you left. Do you want to tell your daddy how old you are?” William held up 3 fingers but still stayed close to Molly. “He’s been away helping to make the world safer for you, baby boy.”

 “Hello, William,” Sherlock said as he lowered himself to the floor, so he was on the same level with his son. “I’m so sorry I wasn’t here before, but I promise I’ll be around from now on.”

 Molly smiled at the way Sherlock was talking to their son, it was all she had ever dreamed of. And then the best thing she could ever think of happened, William lunged out of her arms and onto Sherlock’s lap, wrapping his arms around Sherlock’s neck. Molly thought she saw a tear in Sherlock’s eye, but he blinked, and it was gone, so she doubted its existence.

 “Mumma, can daddy stay?” William suddenly asked, causing both Sherlock and Molly’s hearts to skip a beat. Hearing William call Sherlock daddy was so emotional for different reasons; Molly because she wasn’t sure how he would react to meeting Sherlock, and Sherlock because he never expected to be called daddy.

 “Mumma and daddy need to talk baby boy,” Molly said, honestly. “And it all depends on gramma, too. This is her house.”

 “Okay, mumma,” William said through a yawn. “I’m tired.”

 “Why don’t you go for a nap while mumma and daddy talk,” Molly suggested, and she caught the look on Sherlock’s face that said he didn’t want to let their son go. “And you can sleep in daddy’s lap if you want?”

 “Just let me take my jacket off first,” Sherlock said, suddenly realising he was still in his belstaff. “There we are, William, let’s get comfortable so you can have a good nap.” William climbed back into Sherlock’s lap and curled up in his arms. Sherlock leaned down and pressed a soft, loving kiss to William’s curls. “Sweet dreams, my boy.”

 Molly smiled at her boys again. She had dreamed of this moment many times in the four years she had been separated from Sherlock, but actually having him in front of her, cradling their son was a million times better.

 While Sherlock rocked William to sleep, and surprisingly sang lullabies to him, Molly decided to make herself useful and go and make them a cuppa. Waiting on the kettle to boil, Molly decided to call her mum and make her aware of the situation at home.

 “Hi mum,” Molly said after the call was connected. “You’ll never believe what’s happened here… No, Sherlock is back… Yeah, I told you he wasn’t actually dead, but he had to go undercover to crack a crime syndicate… Well, it’s safe enough for him to come back… No, we haven’t discussed anything yet, we’re just about to… Just now? He’s currently rocking William to sleep for his afternoon nap, and we’ll talk after William is asleep… He’s amazing with him, you can see when you get home… Thanks, mum, I’ll let you know when it’s okay to come back… Love you, too, mum.”

 Back in the living room, Sherlock had finished singing to William, and he had caught the end of Molly’s conversation with her mum. He was glad he was meeting all of Molly’s expectations despite having only been a dad for the past hour. He guessed it was just natural instinct, and he couldn’t wait to introduce his son to his parents.

 “Mummy is just going to love you, William,” Sherlock whispered. “She always begged me and your uncle Mycroft to give her grandchildren. And as for your uncle, you can call him Uncle Mikey, and he can’t get mad at you because you’re only a child. He hates it when mummy calls him Mikey.”

 “So, we’re not going to be a secret anymore?” Molly asked coming back into the living room.

 “No, I had every intention of introducing you to my parents as soon as it was safe,” Sherlock replied. “I thought it would be safe until ‘Jim from IT’ showed interest in you. That was when I realised I may need to take drastic measures to bring him down.”

 “I was never interested in him,” Molly smiled as she sat down on the sofa closer to Sherlock than she had been before. “I was just trying to make you jealous. But you were getting ready to introduce me to your parents?”

 “Yes, and I still want to,” Sherlock smiled as he reached out to take Molly’s hand. “Both of you. And I want you both to move into Baker Street with me.”

 “Are you sure, Sherlock?” Molly asked. “Aren’t you going to ask John to move back in?”

 “By the looks of things, John is about to ask Mary to marry him,” Sherlock said. “And the only way I want Baker Street to be a family home is if it’s my family living there. So, what do you say, Molly, are you and William going to move back to London in the new year?”

 “You’ll let us have Christmas here?” Molly asked, shocked that Sherlock was so giving. “And what will you be doing while we’re celebrating Christmas here?”

 “Of course, I don’t want to upset William’s routine,” Sherlock said. “If he’s anything like me at this age, routine is important. As for me, I shall be in the Cotswolds. I feel I should be spending Christmas with my parents this year.”

 “Will you tell them about us?” Molly asked. “About William?”

 “Of course,” Sherlock replied with a smile. “I may even set up a video call on Christmas Day so I can see you both. Talking about Christmas, is there anything I can get William? I don’t want to take the credit for anything you’ve bought him, after all the thought and effort you’ve put into everything.”

 “You don’t have to get him anything,” Molly reassured Sherlock. “You coming back is gift enough for him. But if you must; he’s showing some interest in music and he likes pirates.”

 “Just like me at that age,” Sherlock smiled. “We can have our own Christmas gift exchange when we’re all back at Baker Street. And before you say anything, you’ve given me the gift of fatherhood and a family, so you don’t need to get me anything else. Just knowing that I have the two of you, and all three of us are going to be living under the one roof is enough. Now, how sound a sleeper is William? Will he wake if I were to move seats?”

 “He won’t wake,” Molly reassures Sherlock with a smile, and she repositioned herself on the sofa, so she was better positioned for Sherlock joining her. “So why don’t we watch a movie while we wait out nap time?”

 When Sherlock sat down beside Molly, he took the arm that wasn’t supporting William and wrapped it around Molly’s shoulders. He then leaned down to press a soft kiss to Molly’s lips, then laid his cheek on Molly’s head and both parents finally felt complete having the love of their lives in their arms along with their son.

[theemptyquarto]

Abandoned WIP

Warstan (but John got killed off before the story starts) and purely platonic Sherlock & Mary.  Quite AU... John and Mary get together before Sherlock jumped off of Bart’s.  Maybe a little bit of hinted unrequited Johnlock, I honestly can’t remember if I was going there with this fic.  A “Mary is the new Watson” retelling of “The Adventure of the Empty House,” rated T.  This was written before S3 happened and I fell in love with BBC Mary and she actually made me view BBC John as an interesting character in his own right and I rejiggered my alignments.

I’m going to rant here, just briefly, about how ACD’s Mary Morstan is probably one of the most wronged-by-their-author characters that I can think of, which is why I started writing this fic where she takes the lead.

She appears for the first time in the second-ever (authorially, not chronologically) Sherlock Holmes story, “The Sign of the Four,” and is delightful.  Watson falls hard in love right away and acts like a huge dweeb about her, she’s courageous, clever, and kind.  Maybe without all the panache of the later Irene Adler, but a more traditionally Victorian heroine for our more traditionally Victorian junior protagonist.  Her next appearance, “The Adventure of the Crooked Man,” is significantly more tangential, but she sets the action of the story in play and is shown to be a helpful, kind figure.

And then all of a sudden Conan Doyle ships her off to visit her mother (she was established as an orphan), stops using her at all, and finally kills her off.

Not even on the page.  Between books.  And it’s mentioned so tangentially in two lines of “The Adventure of the Empty House” that you can easily miss it if you aren’t looking for it.

(Incidentally this sort of shit is why ACD fandom can’t agree on how many wives Watson had or who the subject  of his “sad bereavement” is.  The number ranges from 1-13.)

Why, Artie?  Why did you do that?  I mean I get if you want to park Watson back at Baker Street you probably do have to off her but you were a fairly good hack and doing it this way made you give up the opportunity to have some sort of emotional payoff in your stories.  Especially since you later introduce another wife character who is in no way distinct from Mary (a niche component of ACD fandom thinks that Mary didn’t die at all and Watson “abandoning (Holmes) for a wife,” was him and Mary reconciling after an estrangement.)

Anyway.  Don’t create cool characters and then kill them for no good reason.  That’s my point.

_____________

The Empty Flat (Mary)

I had been widowed for three months and was rather surprised at how badly I was doing with it. The snug three-bedroom garden flat in Maida Vale had been the perfect size for a not-quite-young couple planning on children.  Now it seemed vast and empty and utterly, utterly silent.  When I slept, which wasn’t all that much, I did it on the sofa.  Our bed still smelled faintly of his aftershave, and I couldn’t stand either to sleep there or to wash the sheets.  Arthur, the blue point Siamese cat who I had bought into the marriage, would curl up on my feet and awaken me with his yowls in the morning.

To some extent I had been able to occupy my mind with work, and the requirements of my job had kept me more or less a functional adult.  But the summer holidays had begun a week previous, and I was thus thrown entirely on my own resources, which were scant. What family I had left were all back in America, and the friends I had made in England seemed to have melted away since John’s death.  Some days, I thought that this was due to the universal impulse to avoid reminders of mortality.  Other days I decided it was more likely due to the fact that I deleted their emails and declined to answer their phone calls.

The truth, as always, was probably somewhere in the middle.  

Whatever the cause, my life was empty.  I ate when I remembered that I was meant to.  I wore pajamas all day.  I left the flat when I ran out of cat food, and at night I would turn on the tv and stare at it without paying attention until I finally sank into oblivion.

Presumably it was on one of those descents into the maelstrom of crap British late-night TV that I first took note of the murder of Ronald Adair.  The dead man was vaguely familiar to me, though I had never watched any of his shows personally.  He was a scion of one of those impoverished but very old-and-noble families that the English keep on out of sentiment. Showing unusual initiative for one of his class, he’d made a success of himself by appearing on a famous reality show, then on the “celebrity” version of that show, and parlaying that into one of those mysterious but apparently quite lucrative careers that consist mostly of having your picture taken.  

And now, he was dead, shot in the back of the head in his own bedroom on Park Lane.

The story struck me, for some reason.  John, when he’d been alive, used to take four daily papers and half a dozen weeklies, and I had not cancelled them yet.  I plucked a week’s worth out of the recycling where I had tossed them, unread, and scanned through them for articles about the murder.

Ronald Adair had been alone in his bedroom, drinking neat whiskey and updating twitter, when he died.  His last tweet (@JustLukeyA, “LOL C U @ Ibiza”) had been sent at 10:11 in the evening. His personal assistant had heard the sound of breaking glass, broken down the locked door that led into the bedroom, seen his body, and dialed 999 by 10:17.  The bullet had been a large caliber hollow point round that had done severe damage to the back of his skull, and he had most likely died almost instantly.

The entire affair was mysterious.  While the police hadn’t released any real statements, the personal assistant had been the only other person in the house at the time of the shooting, and had been released after questioning.  This would suggest the shot had been fired from outside, but the window in Adair’s bedroom, while open, was on the fourth floor.  There was no evidence to suggest anyone had climbed to the window, meaning that the shot had come from somewhere outside.  

This made no sense at all to the gossip rags.  The window faced directly over Hyde Park, and any level shot would have had to come from over a mile away.  And shooting from ground level would have been impossible: the Park was open, reasonably crowded given the warmth of the summer evening, and no one had heard a thing.  The American embassy was less than two hundred yards away, and even its overblown security hadn’t noted any unusual activity.  Essentially, it was impossible that he could have been shot, and yet there he was.

As I read through the papers, I thought how John would have gone through them at the breakfast table to try and figure out what had happened.  Although his professional interest in solving mysteries had died with Sherlock, he never lost his fascination with the more arcane sorts of crime.  He would have loved this one, and I could imagine the crinkles that would form around his eyes as he would describe the possible motives, mechanisms, and solutions.  It was a Sunday, and I suspected that he would have wheedled me into taking our normal long walk in the direction of the crime scene.  I’d have teased him, said he was morbid, but I’d have gone, and he’d have hypothesized happily for a while.

I could so clearly imagine it, and it made me smile, despite myself.  It had been difficult to like Sherlock Holmes, and very difficult to deal with the fact that their association put John into danger on a regular basis.  Yet, now that they were both gone, I found myself forgiving every thoughtless insult and sleepless lonely night the detective ever gave me, since he had made John so happy.  

Wishing to hang on to my happy memory, I decided, abruptly, to take the walk over to Park Lane myself, just as John and I would have done.  It was past time I actually started doing things again.  I would go and see where Ronald Adair had died, and I would try and solve the mystery, and I would remember John.  Quickly, before I could change my mind, I showered, dressed, and left the flat.

July, in London, is one of the few times of the year when it approaches being warm enough, and it was a beautiful day.  I took the long route around Kensington Park, since a straight shot would have taken me directly past St. Mary’s Hospital, where John had worked - and where his body had been taken. The trees were brilliant green, and it seemed everyone in London was sunbathing or playing football or falling in love around me.

Ronald Adair’s flat was adjacent to the Mariott, in one of the converted brick Georgian edifices that infest all of Park Lane.  I had forgotten to take note of the number, but it was easily identifiable by the flowers and stuffed animals heaped up on the low fence that surrounded it. There were a fair number of gawkers, and by asking, I found which window Adair had been shot through.  I was stumped, for the moment, but thinking logically, decided the best route was to see from where I could have made the shot.  The busy street and the shrubbery borders of the park being ruled out, necessarily, I confined my attention to the sidewalks.  I took pictures on my phone, and paced around, and tried to work out the trigonometry involved.  

Then I stopped.  There were half a dozen locations from which the shot could have come.  It would be the hell of a task: the window was small and high, but if it were dark out and the shooter were aiming into a lit room, it would be possible. I had hunted a lot as a kid, and might have been able to make it with a rifle.  John, who had been an excellent marksman, might have been able to do it with a handgun.  But to do it quickly enough to avoid notice in a busy neighborhood, to do it silently?  That was impossible.

All facts that were undoubtedly obvious to the police.  If John had been with me, it would have been a fun little mathematical exercise.  We’d have followed it with a walk home, dinner at the pub on the end of our street, and making tipsy love in the light of a summer sunset in our flat.  But he wasn’t with me, and he never would be again, and the day would end as all days did, alone with the cat and the television and the dark.  The whole thing was a pointless, futile exercise - a little girl’s attempt to play make-believe.

I knew, suddenly, that I was going to cry.  It happened a lot, and it wasn’t an experience I wanted to share with all London, so I spun around to depart and slammed full-force into a souvenir hawker who had been just behind me.  Grace has always eluded me.  The pole she carried, hung with ballcaps and other tat, fell to the ground, and she gave an indignant Cockney squawk of “Oi! Watch it!”  I bent to retrieve her pole and handed it back to her, mumbling, “Sorry, sorry,” and fled outright into the park, keeping my eyes firmly on the ground.  

Leaving the path, I hurried through the park, not really aware of where I was going as long as it was quieter and emptier.  I reached a dim copse free of children, tourists, and lovers, where I sat down, and let the tears flow.

It’s easy to see why the ancient Egyptians thought that the heart, and not the brain, was the source of love.  True sadness isn’t felt in the head, it’s felt in the chest, and I could feel every choked beat of my heart as I sobbed and gasped and tried to catch my breath for what seemed like ages.  But from a pragmatic point of view, I’m sure I didn’t go for long.  Crying is too tiring to keep up for much time.  Of course, I had come out without any tissues, so I wiped my aching eyes and puffy face on the corner of my cardigan.  

At that moment, the hawker walked into the copse.  

“There you are!” she called out, “Wondered where you’d got to!”

I sighed.  “Look,” I said, “I’m sorry about knocking into you.  It was an accident.  If I’ve damaged anything I will be happy to pay-“

“Na, na, love.  Just a load of rubbish.  Can’t hurt it if it isn’t worth anything to start with.  But I saw your face and thought you might be in some trouble.”  The woman was elderly, with a mop of dyed auburn hair and a thick Docklands accent which I would love to render in text, if it didn’t look so silly.  But her blue eyes were kind, and she handed me a miniature water bottle marked with “Souvenir of Hyde Park.”

“I’m – fine.  I just got a little upset.  Thank you.”  The water was lukewarm and tasted faintly of plasticizers, but it soothed my irritated throat.

The woman seemed to take this remark as an invitation, and placing her wares on the grass, sat next to me.  I have lived in London since I was twenty-five years old and I could tell what was coming.  There are two main personality types among the English: the type that is intensely uncomfortable with any sort of emotion, and the type that delights in every possible expression of sentiment and wishes to hear all about it.  They’re like New Yorkers in that respect.

Apparently I had found one of the latter variant.

“You get to see a bit of everything, my line of work,” she said, digging a battered packet of Silk Cut out of her pocket, “Care for one?”

I had officially quit smoking years ago, when I finished my doctorate, and stopped even having the occasional one when I started dating John, since he loathed the things.  Just at that moment, though, it sounded like heaven.  “Yes, thank you.”

She shook two out of the packet, and passed one to me before getting out a transparent plastic lighter.  She lit hers, and then handed over the lighter.  A brief breeze kicked up, and I bowed my head over the tiny flame, trying to make the cigarette catch, as she said, quietly, “Now, Mary, you need to remain calm.”

The cigarette caught, and I took that first delicious, poisonous drag, before the fact that this stranger knew my name really filtered into my mind.  

I looked over, and where the woman had been, sat Sherlock Holmes.

  The Sign of Four (Sherlock)

The art of disguise, as I have often remarked, is in context far more than it is in costume.   Truly approximating the appearance of someone else is only possible from a distance: in ordinary situations major alterations to the face appear theatrical and attract more attention than not.  If, instead, you select a character who would be entirely appropriate in the context in which he appears, you need make only minor changes to your own appearance.  The observer’s mind will then do ninety per cent of your work and you will be de facto invisible.  I intend to write a monograph on the topic when I have the time.

Mary Morstan may have had some subconscious understanding of this.  On the occasion of our first meeting, I observed that she was wearing a carefully calibrated disguise, although I doubt she would have referred to it as such.  Very high heels, but an intentionally prim and boxy suit, severe makeup and hairstyle, heavy-framed glasses.  She introduced herself with a flat, middle-American accent, only slightly sharpened by years of living in London.

Just after she arrived, John walked into the flat, his arms filled with carrier bags of groceries, which he set down with great rapidity in order to shake her hand.  

“Mary Morstan, my associate, John Watson.  Miss Morstan,” I said, “Teaches maths at Westminster School.”

She stared at me when I said that.  John, I noted, didn’t let go of her hand when her attention was distracted.

“How do you know that?” she asked.

I sighed, though in truth I always enjoy it when they ask for the reasoning.  

“You’ve obviously come straight from work, meaning that you work Saturday mornings.  Chalk dust on the right cuff, which is worn in a way that you only ever see with people who spend a great deal of time writing on blackboards.  There are traces of red ink on the heel of your hand and a splotch near the tip of your index finger.  Thus, teacher.”  

As I’d expected, she dropped John’s hand to examine her own.

“You took the tube to get here, and in those shoes you probably didn’t walk far before you boarded at Westminster station: there’s construction digging up the street there and the fresh splashes of yellowish mud on your left stocking are quite distinctive.  Half a dozen schools in that area, but your ensemble suggests older students and moneyed parents. Hence, Westminster School.”

The last was a gloss, as her ensemble suggested nothing of the sort.  It said quite plainly “I teach older boys.”  Her skirt was unfashionably long, her blouse was buttoned up to the neck, and her jacket was boxy in order to conceal her rather large breasts.  Having attended an all-boys senior school, I recognized the style, and the motivation behind it.  But since I was undoubtedly going to receive the ”abrasive” and “show-off” lectures after her departure, I saw no reason to add the “inappropriate” one, and simplified the matter.

“And… maths?”

I sighed again, this time sincerely.  The easy ones are never any fun.

“There’s a graphics calculator in the right pocket of your overcoat.”

At that, she laughed.  Giggled, really.  But almost instantly, she caught herself, cleared her throat, and dropped back into the lower vocal register that she had previously affected.  Everything I could ever have wished to know about Mary Morstan’s character was thus revealed in the first five minutes of our interview.  Nature had given her a respectable brain and deposited it in a body that was small, blonde, and rather fluffy.  Her disguise did a reasonable job of concealing this, but she would spend the rest of her life trying to make people take her seriously.

“That’s amazing,” she said, “I read in your blog, Doctor Watson-“

“John, please,” he interrupted.  Oh dear.

“John.  I read about this kind of analysis but it’s remarkable to see it in real life.”

“Can be a bit creepy if you’re not used to it, though,” John replied, which I thought extremely unfair, given that I had been very polite and not mentioned that her teeth demonstrated her adolescent bulimia or that her fingers and eyebrows strongly implied a mild obsessive-compulsive condition.  I maintained my dignity, and said only,

“Thank you, John.  State your case, Miss Morstan.”

“Right.  Well.   I suppose I have to go back to the beginning.  My father, Thomas Morstan, was English.  I was actually born in Sussex, but when I was two my parents divorced and my mother and I moved back to America. I never got to see him much, growing up, but he always kept in touch, by phone and letters, and then by email when that came around.  Sent birthday gifts and that sort of thing.  Ten years ago I finished grad school, and he offered to buy me a ticket to come and meet him in London.  I hadn’t seen him for several years at that point and I didn’t have a job so, obviously, I said yes.”

“Mmm.  Continue.”

“He’d booked us rooms at the Langham, which I thought was much too expensive for him, but he said it was a treat for my graduation.”

“What was his profession, then?”

“He started off in the Army, but he resigned his commission after the first Gulf War and joined the diplomatic service.”

“As?”

“An attaché.  Just an office job, basically.  Visas and helping distressed tourists and so on.”

“And his rank in the army?”

“Ah, he ended as a Lieutenant Colonel, I believe.

���Go on.”

“I flew to London, expecting him to pick me up at Heathrow, but he wasn’t there.  No answer when I tried to call him.  I took a cab to the Langham and asked if he’d checked in, and he had, but there was no answer when they called up to his room.  Eventually they agreed to open the door – he’d had a heart attack a few years before, and I was getting very upset - and all of his things were in there, but no sign of him.  I never saw him again.”

“Interesting.  Did the police investigate?”  John was patting her shoulder, sympathetically, which seemed excessive given that the death (and yes, it was death, almost certainly) was ten years in the past.  She should have been well beyond it by this point.  But upon closer observation, I could see that he was right: a slight swimminess around the eyes and the set of the jawbone indicating gritted teeth.  Oedipal complex.  She replied, calmly enough.

“Yes.  They didn’t find anything.”

“Of course they didn’t.  They never do.  Did your father have any acquaintances in London?”

“Only one that they could find: a Major Sholto.  He had no idea Dad was even in town.”

“Mmm.  I doubt a disappearance ten years ago would incline you to seek the services of a consulting detective today.  What has changed?”

Morstan cleared her throat and opened the battered leather attache case that had been sitting at her feet.  From a manila folder, she removed a broadsheet page of yellowing newsprint, with a quarter-page sized advertisement in the upper right hand corner circled in red ink.  The paper was the Omaha World-Herald, the date was May 4, 2004, and the advertisement simply stated:

“If Mary Morstan, daughter of Captain Thomas Morstan, will contact the address below, it will be to her advantage” followed by an email address.

“Half a dozen of my friends from high school saw this and forwarded it on to me.”

“And what did you do?”

“I sent them an email.  I said I was Thomas Morstan’s daughter, that I’d relocated to London, and asked what they wanted.”

“Any reply?”

“No.  And when I sent on a follow-up a few days later, it bounced.   It was just Hotmail… could have been anyone.  But then a few days after that, I received this in the mail.”

Reaching back into the attaché case, she pulled out a small pouch made of black jeweler’s felt. Loosening the drawstring, she tipped something small and square into her palm, and passed it over to me.

I could hear John inhale sharply through is teeth as I reached for my lens.  Mary said, wryly, “Yes, that’s pretty much how I felt.  It’s a three carat, blue-white, flawless diamond.  Probably dug up in India, if that’s any help.  It’s worth around $150,000, retail.”

“Unusual cut,” I murmured, looking at the magnified lump of crystallized charcoal, “It’s called the-“

“The old mine cut,” interrupted Mary, “Meaning it was most likely faceted sometime between 1700 and 1900.  I know.  After the police gave it back to me, I had it appraised at Sotheby’s.”

“You went to the police again?”

“I did.”

“Any good?”

“Not really.  They hung onto it a while, but nobody reported any similar gems lost or stolen, and then they gave it back.  Apparently it’s “not illegal to be given things.”  So after that I was on my own.  But I still didn’t feel right about it, so I had the appraisal to see if a real professional could find anything more useful.”

“Well done,” said John, heartily.  He was in a fair way to make an idiot of himself over this woman, although she seemed flattered by the compliment.

“Thank you,” Mary replied, “And then, the thing is, Mr. Holmes, that it didn’t stop with this.  Every year since then, on May 14, I get another one of these in my mail.  I’ve changed addresses and it didn’t make a difference.  Perfectly matched, very expensive diamonds.  I left the rest of them in my safe deposit box: even carrying one of them around makes me edgy.  And then, yesterday, there was this.”

She passed over a letter.  Fine, high linen content paper, no watermark, 10-point… Trebuchet font, printed on an HP laserjet printer. It read, “Be at the third pillar from the left outside the Lyceum Theatre on Saturday, July 9 at seven o'clock. If you are distrustful, bring two friends. You are a wronged woman, and shall have justice. Do not bring police. If you do, all will be in vain. Your unknown friend.”

There was no signature or address.

“Did you keep the envelope?”

“Yes, here.  And here,” she said, passing over a small heap of padded mailers sealed into plastic zip-topped bags, “Are the envelopes the diamonds came in.”

“Well, you do have the right instincts.  Not much to see here, though… the letter and the last three packages had their labels off the same printer.  The first four were from another.  It stretches credulity to think that there are separate groups doing this so we’ll assume for the moment it was simply a matter of replacing an outdated device.  The mailers can be bought anywhere.  Various London postmarks… thumbprint on this one, Miss Morstan, may I see your right hand please?  Thank you.  Your thumbprint. I’ll put them under the microscope later but I doubt there’ll be that much to learn.”

“And you’ve no idea at all who may have sent these?  No… admirers, things like that?” John asked.

She laughed at that.  “Generally, when men are interested in me they go more for things like asking me to dinner rather than anonymously sending me a million dollars in gems over the course of seven years.  I’m not that unapproachable.”  I rolled my eyes at their stale flirtation, although I don’t believe either of them noticed it.

“But…” she continued, more hesitantly, “Mr. Holmes, do you think that there’s any possibility that these are from my father?”

John was glaring at me, and so instead of saying “Of course not.  He’s been dead for ten years,” replied “I’m afraid it’s very unlikely.”

“I see,” Mary replied, quietly.  She drew a deep breath and continued, “Well, regardless, I had planned to go… unless you can give me a real reason not to.  If whoever it is wants to hurt me it seems like they’ve chosen a really baroque way of going about it.  I mean, they already know where I live so it’s not like there’s much point in avoiding them. And I’m getting sick of this mystery.”

“There are, however, a few points of interest in it.  As you are allowed to bring two friends and John is already planning on accompanying you, I believe I shall join him.”

She darted her gaze back and forth between us, smiling, “Really?  You will?  Both of you?  Oh, thank you, thank you so much! This whole saga has just been so shady and I didn’t know anyone who’d be any help with this kind of thing.  It’s such a weight off my mind. Thank you.”

She was gushing, and her voice had inevitably pitched up again.  I responded calmly with, “Yes, well.  Can you be here by five thirty on Saturday?  And leave us your contact information.”

“Of course!”

And, writing an email address and a phone number on a sheet of scrap paper, she disappeared in a whirl of gratitude.

John rose to escort her to the door.  I remained seated, and began texting.

“That, he said, picking up his carrier bags and taking them into the kitchen, “Was a very attractive woman.”

“Hadn’t noticed.”

“Really.  I knew you were a human adding machine but I never thought you were actually dead.  Sherlock, it’s an objective fact!  She’s got a beautiful smile.”

“Very short.”

“Oh, come on.  She’s an inch or two shorter than I am.”

While this statement would not actually exclude “short” from consideration, I simply raised my eyebrows and replied, “Women have developed this remarkable technology called shoes which they use when they wish to increase their height, John.  She’s no more than five feet tall.”

“Yes, well, shortness is not a handicap, Sherlock.  And she’s clever.”

“She’s adequate.”

“And brave.  She was going to walk by herself into a threatening situation just because she wanted to find out the truth.”

“So are you.  So am I, for that matter.  I fail to see why it’s so much more meritorious when it’s her doing it.”

“I’m a combat-trained military reservist, and you are England’s only consulting detective.  It’s our job.  She’s a very small maths teacher.”

I set down the mobile and glared at him, “Mary Morstan, John, is in no need of your protection.  This affair of the diamonds is a mere personal intrigue.  She’ll meet with the woman and resolve it without the benefit of your attention.”

He paused from putting the potatoes in the bin and inquired, “It’s a woman sending the diamonds?  You’re sure?”

In general, I don’t admit which of my deductions I’m certain of and which are (very good) guesses.  Maintaining a reputation as infallible isn’t a trivial exercise.  But John had repeatedly earned the truth from me, and so I said, “No, I’m not.  I’m reasonably confident, given the font choice, the computer used, and the wording, that it’s a woman, and a rather melodramatic one.  But there’s more – uncertainty in these things than I would like.”

John chuckled.  “I should take a picture of you right now and call it ‘Sherlock Holmes admitting he might be wrong’.  They’d love to have it down at the Yard.  So why take the case if you don’t think there’s any mystery?”

“Oh, there is one, just not the “why is someone sending me expensive gemstones” one she came in with.  Can you log on to the GRO database and look something up for me?  My email address and password will get you in.”

“Sure,” he said, walking back into the sitting room and picking up his laptop, “What?”

“Deaths.  Start by looking for “Sholto” in late April, early May of 2005.  If that doesn’t bring up anything, look for ex-military, older, in London, same time frame.”

“Right.  What are you going to do?”

I held up my mobile.  “I’ve done it.  I’ve sent a text to brother Mycroft.”

“Why?”

“Watson, when a man leaves a high rank role in the army to become a low-end functionary in the diplomatic service, what does that suggest?”

“Er, PTSD?”

“No. It suggests spy.  I want to find out exactly what Thomas Morstan did for a living.”  

A week after that, Mary Morstan arrived punctually back at Baker Street. She’d replaced the dowdy suit with trousers and a blue blouse cut low in the front, left off her glasses, and undone her severe bun to let her hair hang over her shoulders.  She had chosen flat shoes this time, which was a relief, as it showed the target of all this display was John rather than me.

Six hours after that, I saw that the display had been successful.  I had to physically restrain John from going to her as she was handcuffed and loaded into a black maria for the murder of Barbara Sholto.  As typical of Americans, she was explaining loudly and slowly to the arresting officer that there had been a terrible misunderstanding, clearly expecting this to rectify the situation.  

“John, look,” I said, sotto voce, as I pinned him to the wall of the alley, “If you go over there you’ll only be arrested too.  Athelney Jones has already picked up the entire domestic staff and Theresa Sholto and would be only too happy to increase his bag.  The man’s an idiot, even by the standards of the metropolitan police.  We’ll text Lestrade to let him know, and the worst she’ll have is a few uncomfortable hours, but we need to be on our way if we’re going to actually catch the killer which is the only thing that will do her any good.”

Even that early, I suspected that Mary would not be as swiftly forgotten as the rest of the girlfriends.

Three days later, Mary was a free woman again.   The lost crown jewels of the Russian Tsars, of which she had been offered a one-third share, were scattered along six miles of the bottom of the Thames.  She had accepted this development with equanimity.  As she said to John, “Even if they hadn’t been lost, it’s not like I was expecting to keep them.  I’m sure there’s still some Romanovs somewhere who’d like to have them back.  The whole time Teresa was telling me the story of how she got them I kept thinking “Yeah, this kind of stuff doesn’t happen in real life.””

I heard, while they were falling in love, enough of “The Things Mary Says” to gag a cat.  I heard about Mary’s feelings on politics, the arts, and current events.  I heard about Mary’s emotional turmoil on the discovery that her father was an intelligence agent who had taken the pay of so many competing nations and organizations that even now nobody could say who he had really worked for.  And that was apart from his being a jewel thief.  I heard enough recitations of her personal charm, intelligence, and integrity to gag a dog.

  Not being enamored of her, I was able to observe her far more clearly.  I saw that she omitted to mention during the investigation that she was already in receipt of seven perfectly-matched flawless three carat blue-white diamonds, pulled from a coronet made for some forgotten Tsarina.  I saw no reason to bring it up to anyone, if she had overcome her scruples about receiving stolen property.  I would rather the money have gone to John than to anyone else, and it was clear by that point that it would.

Over the next months, Mary incorporated herself into John’s life, and thus, into mine.  I grew accustomed to the scent of her cosmetics in the flat’s shared w.c. (she was a disgustingly early riser and had usually gone before I woke up), and the sounds of their post-sex conversation from the upstairs bedroom (they kept the actual lovemaking quiet, out of politeness, but the after-chat was quite distinct).  I drew the line, however, at allowing her to tidy the place.  She didn’t understand the system and would have made a hash of it.

Ultimately, just over six months after the day she rang the bell at Baker Street, I found myself ordering a round of tequila shots at the bar of the White Lion and slipping chloral hydrate into three of them.  Earlier, Mary had balanced on tiptoe to kiss my cheek and whisper in my ear “Can you please try not to let them get him too drunk?”  I carried the round back to the table where a flushed and grinning but not yet weaving Watson listened as a dozen of his Army and medical school friends speculated on whether Mary would qualify him as “Four-Continents Watson” or if the actual location of the coitus mattered more than the origin of the lady in question.  I passed the shot glasses around, judging that the administration of three Mickey Finns to three particular members of the party would bring the night to a graceful but early end in about an hour.

I judged, as usual, correctly.  After decanting the three dazed ringleaders into a cab, the party broke up, and John and I made it back to Baker Street with only slightly more difficulty than usual. The stairs did give him some trouble, but ultimately I was able to successfully deposit him on the couch.  I shook two aspirin from the bottle and handed them to him along with a glass of water.  He took both uncomplainingly.

“Sherlock?”

“Yes?”

“Thanks.  For whatever you did back there.  I’d hate to be a mess tomorrow.”

“I looked up the duties of the best man and apparently making sure the groom is present and presentable are tops on the list.”

“And you even agreed to wear a tie!”  This non sequitur amused him, and he chuckled at his own joke for a moment, before sobering (comparatively), and staring around the flat.  “I’m going to miss all this.”

“No, you won’t,” I predicted, climbing the stairs to fetch the blankets off his bed.  

“I will!” he insisted, “I’m happy, really happy, about Mary.  She’s wonnerful.  But I’ll miss this life.  And you.”

“It’s not as though I’ll be dead.  You’ll be ten minutes away.  I’ll be sure to call you whenever I need my cases blogged.”

“I love you, mate, you know that?  Even though you are- just such a prick.”

I smiled and pitched the blankets at his head.  “I do.  Tosser.  Now go to sleep.  You have a busy day ahead of you.”

He was out and snoring, wearing everything but his shoes, five minutes later.  I refilled his water glass and left it on the end table.

At noon the next day I (wearing not only a tie but my entire morning suit) stood at John’s left shoulder and watched Mary Morstan walk down the aisle.  I doubt she saw me: her eyes were fixed on John, who was sober, alert, and in full dress uniform, as requested.  The expression of love and joy on her face obliged me to concede that, at the moment, she was in fact a very attractive woman.  

I don’t think I could have given him up to anyone who loved him even a bit less.

At the reception I gave a speech which everyone said was very interesting, and drank one and a half glasses of inferior Prosecco.  I watched them cut the cake, noting that the new Mrs. Watson was far more comfortable with John’s ceremonial saber than he was.  She’d lost the callosities of the dedicated fencer, but the skill remained.  Then, as Molly Hooper was prowling around with an eye towards dancing and my actual duties were complete, I slipped out of the hall and walked back to Baker Street.

I stopped in at the chemists and bought a packet of cigarettes, then let myself into the flat.  There was a peculiar sensory illusion that it was larger and emptier than normal: nonsense, of course.  John was routinely absent when I was there.  The fact that the absence would now be permanent didn’t alter the actual physical size of the place.

There was always work, and heedless of my dress clothes, I went to it.  Three months later, I “died.”  And three years after that, I returned to a London which seemed larger and emptier than I recalled.  Sensory illusion again.  The softer emotions have a very negative impact upon accurate observation, and the world in general doesn’t change at all when a single person drops out of it. On an individual level, though, a single death can rip the bottom out of everything.  Such was the case with Mary Watson, who I encountered on a bright August day in Park Lane.  She’d lost a stone in weight, which was significant at her height, and was wearing an oversized camel-colored cardigan which I recognized with a pang as being one of Watson’s.  She had, in general, the appearance of a child’s toy where the stuffing had been pulled out.  I approached her, unseen, as her attention was on Ronald Adair’s flat.   When she lost her composure and fled, I hesitated.  Then I followed.  There were two reasons for this.  The first, as always, was John.  I couldn’t envision a situation where he would not have come to the aid of a crying woman.  In the particular case of Mary, he’d have sprinted to it.

As for the second, well…  On the occasion of the case of Neville St. Claire, John had said to me that, “People in trouble come to my wife like birds to a light-house.”

And I truly had nowhere else to go.   Chapter 3: The Death of Ronald Adair (Mary)

In general, I am not a fainter, and I didn’t faint then.  But a grey mist swirled in front of my eyes, and when it subsided I noticed I had dropped the cigarette onto the well-clipped Hyde Park grass.  I picked it up with numb, nerveless fingers.  With my other hand I reached out to Sherlock and pushed on the flesh of his bicep.  He was reassuringly solid.

“So I haven’t gone mad.”

“No.”

“Not dead, then?”

“Yes.”

I took a drag from the Silk Cut and asked, “Does anyone else know besides me?”

“Mycroft.”

“Of course.”

“And Molly Hooper.”

“That bitch!” I exclaimed, before I could stop myself.  I wouldn’t quite have called Molly a friend.  We didn’t see much of one another, but her quiet competence had gotten me through the hellscape of the funeral.  I found it startlingly painful to believe that she had been concealing a secret like this- especially from John.

Sherlock quirked an eyebrow at me and said, “You’re harsher on her than on Mycroft?”

“There is nothing that I would put past one of the Holmes boys.”

He sighed, and drew on his own cigarette.  The sun dipped below the treetops and set us into shadows.

“Sherlock,” I asked, eventually, “What do you want?”

“I need a gun.”

“Oh, Jesus Christ.  Of course you do.”

“Mary, please-“ and he hesitated.  He and I had never been more than “friendly”, and he certainly had never been inclined to ask any favors of me.  

“You’re still in trouble, aren’t you?” I accused.

He hesitated again.

“Yes.”

“Right,” I said, brushing off my pants and rising, “We’ll talk.  Baker Street, or our place?  My place.”

“Baker Street is being watched.”

“Can we take a cab?”

“Probably.”

It was actually very impressive, how he collapsed his face into that of the Cockney souvenir hawker.  He even seemed to lose several inches in height.  The stage lost an excellent actor when he decided to go into detective work.

We walked in silence back to Park Lane, and took a cab (after he’d dismissed the first one that tried to stop).  He sat next to me in silence, until a horrible thought overtook me, and I said, “Oh, God, has anyone told you?  About-“

“Your… bereavement?  Yes.  I was… very sorry to hear of it.”

It was a relief.  It had already happened several times: some colleague or acquaintance who I hadn’t seen in a while would, in the course of ordinary chit-chat, drop, “Oh, and how’s John doing?” into the conversation.  And then I would have to watch their faces change from polite disinterest to horror and pity as I gave them the news.  I would say it was the worst thing I had to do, but I had developed an entire new suite of worst things in recent months and was somewhat spoiled for choice.

We didn’t speak any further until I let us into the flat.

“Have a seat.  I’ll just go get it.”

John, given that he was occasionally prone to physically violent nightmares, had always kept the Sig Sauer semi-automatic securely locked away in a box in the master bedroom closet.  I retrieved it, and returned to the living room.  Sherlock had installed himself in his old favorite spot on the sofa, and Arthur had climbed onto the arm next to him.  They were watching each other with matching expressions of flat-eyed distaste.

“I don’t know where the key is,” I said, passing the box over.

“It’s fine,” he replied.  And indeed, he materialized a lockpick from somewhere and opened it within ten seconds.

He’d removed his auburn wig, although he still had on an excellent shade of lipstick for his complexion: a glossy transparent berry-stain.  It was almost the only color on his face.  Whatever he’d been up to, it was doing no favors for his health.  I wouldn’t have thought he could have gotten thinner or paler, barring his contracting tuberculosis or vampirism.  And yet, he had managed.  At some point, he’d cut his hair off close to the scalp, and it was faintly peppered with grey.  Sherlock was a year or two younger than I, but at the moment I could see what he would be like as an old man.

“You know that thing’s illegal, right?” I said.

“It’s not something that’s a real concern just at the moment,” he returned, calmly.

“It should probably be cleaned.  It’s not been touched since… well, I’m not sure of the last time John cleaned it.”

“It will be fine.  They’re very simple instruments and Watson was always over-cautious.  I didn’t clean my old one for years and it never had any problems.”

“That’s because John would secretly do it for you every few months.”

One of the small pleasures in life that everyone should get to experience at least once is to watch Sherlock Holmes’ face when he is informed that one of the normals has gotten something past him.  I had to suppress a flicker of a smile at how thunderous he looked.

“Look,” I said, “Give it here and I’ll do it.  The cleaning kit’s on the top shelf above the stove in the kitchen, if you’ll reach it down for me.”

I could hear him rummaging around in the cabinet as I released the clip, disconnected the slide, and popped out the spring.  I laid everything down on the coffee table and accepted the kit when he returned and gave it to me.  When I sighted down the barrel, I could see ample dust, and a fair bit of corrosion from the soggy English atmosphere.  It only made sense, really.  When Sherlock had died, John had lost any professional reason to carry a gun, and gained a strong personal reason to lock it away and leave it to rust.  Dipping the cleaning swab into the wide-mouthed jar of solvent, I began passing it through the barrel.

“’In a self-defense situation, there will be many things you can’t control. The condition of your weapon is not one of them,’” I quoted.

“Did Watson say that?”

“No, though he’d have agreed with the sentiment.  That was my stepfather.  He was the one who taught me about shooting.”

Sherlock blinked at me.  “I didn’t know you had a stepfather.”

“Like everyone else, I do actually have an objective existence apart from the parts you find interesting, Sherlock.”

I sounded bitter, but I didn’t care.  I had been the one to put John back together after Sherlock’s quote-unquote death, and having him sitting calmly on my sofa irked.

“I only meant,” he replied, “That he wasn’t at your wedding.”

“He has congestive heart failure and travel is very difficult for him!” I snapped,

“Sherlock, why the hell did you do this?”

“Well, I had in fact been exposed as a fraud and-“

“Bullshit.  You have been more or less cleared for two years and I’m sure your brother told you that.  D.I. Lestrade had to demonstrate that you weren’t, in general, a criminal, because he wanted to keep his job. Fifty people, including me, by the by, came forward to tell stories of how you had solved cases that you couldn’t possibly have faked.  The only real mystery remaining is this whole affair with Richard Brook, and frankly the best person to justify that would have been you.”

He scrubbed his hands through the bristles of his hair.  “There was more.”

“So tell me.”

Sherlock sighed, and stared off into the space over my left shoulder.  “When the head of an organization is removed, the organization generally remains.  John Kennedy is shot, the United States persists.  The death of Jim Moriarty left a thriving multinational criminal organization with a vacancy at the top for which there were numerous keen candidates.  I have spent the last three years attempting to take advantage of this situation and dismantle its operations entirely.”

Something about the cold way he said “dismantle” made me think I really didn’t want to hear much about this process.  I asked, “And you couldn’t have done that in your own persona?”

“No.  Because- Moriarty was in many ways a remarkable man.”

The tone of this statement was pure admiration, and I rubbed my forehead where I could feel the old familiar “Sherlock” headache coming on. “How’s that?” I asked.

“I don’t want to say he founded a cult of personality, but in his immediate circle were several men who genuinely did admire him and support him in his goals, as opposed to the ordinary hangers-on who simply were in it for the profit.”

“So, his friends.”

“What?”

I sighed.  “Never mind.  Continue.”

[saphsilver]

Inktober Day 28: Companion

Prompt from @ttimemachines​ ‘ Inktober

Voltron: Legendary Defender Happy Ending AU: Fly Me to the Moon

Fly me to the moon, Let me play among the stars Let me see what spring is like on A-Jupiter and Mars In other words, hold my hand In other words, baby, kiss me

Fill my heart with song and let me sing for ever more

You are all I long for All I worship and adore In other words, please be true In other words, I love you

-By Bart Howard, performed by Frank Sinatra

This is like 4 days late cuz the power went out while I was doing this and it stayed off for days lmao thanks pg&e anyway 

I followed VLD since 2016 and am veeery fond of sheith. As a form of self-care, I decided to completely disregard the existence of season 8 and I daydreamed a  sappy, romantic ending I would’ve liked to see and am accepting as canon. GAY RIGHTS.

In a nutshell, Shiro and Keith get together and live on Earth. But you can’t tie down a space exploring power couple to one planet, so they go off with the Blade of Marmora. In this picture, they’re dancing to Fly Me to the Moon, celebrating their (kind-of) elopement and new life together.

I wrote a rough outline and bolded the main points. It’s long, so if you want to read it, buckle up and hit that Keep Reading!

Picking up from what little I remember of season 7 cuz I watched it the day it aired in 2018:

After the big battle with the Galra, everyone is chillin. Shiro is officially captain of the Atlas and Keith is like hell yeah I’m the Black Paladin! Idk whatever stuff they did to conclude the fight with the Galra, but I guess they did that. 

Idk why they killed Allura, but that doesn’t fuckin happen. Everyone is happy!

They eventually settle into their new roles on Earth with Pidge/Katie working as a head of the tech department with the Holts. Hunk and Lance handle diplomatic/relief affairs. Allura becomes the queen of the Alteans they found with Coran and Romelle as her advisory. The mice are there too.

As admiral, Shiro gets a cool fancy house. So they throw a house party and the gang and some of the cool Earth/Galran/Altean people are invited too. It’s a great party 10/10 and 3 hours in, Lance gets wasted cuz Allura drinks him under the table. Hunk is getting some water while Pidge/Katie is taking blackmail pictures. Coran is still partying with the mice and Romelle.

Keith and his introvertedness has his social battery run out at this point,  so he finds a porch to sigh upon. It takes Shiro exactly five minutes to notice that Keith isn’t coming back yet, so he seeks him out in the big fancy house.

 Shiro finds Keith sighing on the porch or smth and jokes about this being their easiest time finding each other and Keith smiles at this. Shiro has a beer or smth and Keith asks to try it to break the ice. Shiro teases him about being old enough to drink. Then he’s like uh yeah remember the time I was stuck on a meteor for 2 years with my mom?? Fair point. Shiro lets him try it and Keith spits it out cuz it’s nasty even though bruh probably drank swamp water. They laugh and banter about that too.

The mood settles and then Shiro asks about those two years. And about  their lost time. Keith asks if he took any of Kuron’s memories since he’s got a clone body now. 

He does. He remembers it, but Kuron’s memories feel like it’s him, but he’s taken a backseat and is watching himself do things instead of doing them himself. Then Keith asks him if he remembers what he said when they fought. “You said you love me,” Shiro speaks softly as he turns back to face Keith. “Is that still true?”

Finally they talk about their feelings. Like a well-developed couple should. Keith does still love him and says that he always will. Shiro also admits his feelings too. Thought he was fam. Turns out he was bae. They almost kiss, but the Voltron gang interrupts because that’s how it be.

The two awkwardly get dragged back into the party and Lance is recovering okay. Also, he’s been offical with Allura at this point too. Lance teases them about being a couple and Shiro and Keith are internally screaming. 

The party dies down and everyone starts to go home. The Voltron gang is the only few left and they help Shiro clean up. Lance gets benched cuz he’s still recovering. As they clean up, Shiro begins to notice how large and lonely the house is gonna get. He catches Keith before everyone leaves and slips him a key and says he’s always welcome just in case he gets lonely. Or something.... There’s some Shiro head scratching and Keith knows what’s up.

Everyone leaves. Shiro is alone. He tries to get some rest, but the house is too gotdamn big and unfamiliar. Being alone in a large space is not good for a guy with PTSD. He works out. He investigates his house, etc. Bro still can’t sleep. 

Afterwards, he just gives up and sits at his kitchen going like :( at a glass of water. Then the doorbell rings. Who is it? DING DING, It’s Keith!  With a duffel bag! Turns out he couldn’t sleep either. Shiro invites him to join him in the kitchen with his :( water and they talk a bit.

Then they pick up where they left off at the party and finally kiss. One of them asks if the kiss was okay, and the other is like HELL YEAH and so they keep going. It’s really spicy. One thing leads to another and then they go upstairs to Shiro’s large bed. (I’ll leave that to your imagination.) 

Either way, morning comes and Shiro wakes up with Keith in his arm(s). (HELL YEAH) Guess they got REAL official. He asks about the duffel bag. It’s literally everything Keith owns. So like. 3 outfits. And some weapons. Hygeine products. Etc. (Dude is a minimalist.) Kosmo is in the living room or smth. Bottom(lmao) line is, Keith planned on taking Shiro up on his offer the whole time. He literally just left to pack lmao (HELL YEAH) Shiro gives him his own closet and drawers since the room is big. Guess they live together now yeehaw. 

Eventually, everyone finds out they’re official and is like FINALLY and so they continue their lives on Earth with Shiro as admiral and Keith as captain. They sort out the war damage for a year-ish or so and then do whatever leaders do in peace time. Probably train their people idk. Shiro is up to his neck in papers. He’s not really digging it. He enjoys his peaceful life on Earth, but he often thinks about what it would be like exploring the galaxy now that the Galra aren’t a threat.

Allura and Lance get married. Lance still gets those blue marks but idk why. Why not lmao. It’s a big wedding and Lance throws the boquet. Keith catches it. He looks to Shiro and DING DING, the lightbulb goes off. The Altean Queen and King have many babies and they all have the marks too. Happy family. Goofy dad. Badass mum. Gotta rule the new Alteans too. That’s all good. They either live in space or get their own land cuz racism doesn’t exist on this earth. Cuz I said so. Either way, Lance and Allura visit the others often with their kids. Hunk and Pidge are GREAT with kids.

The Blade of Marmora calls. Krolia is like hey wus poppin’ son. Keith tells her he and Shiro are a couple and she’s like oh finally thank god. That guy was the only thing he’d talk about for the two years and like honestly it’d be awkward if they didn’t get together. But also, the Blade of Marmora needs Keith. For a while. Like, at year at least. He has a few days to decide to go with them. Keith’s torn between his people on Earth or his people in Marmora. 

Shiro tells him it’s okay to go. But before that, he kneels on one knee and presents Keith with a ring. An engagement ring!!!! It’s specially designed by Pidge with a one-channel track that won’t get in the way of any signals or whatever, but they can find each other, no matter where in the galaxy each is. (Since that’s been a recurring problem throughout the series.)

Keith goes. Keith Galra Facetimes whenever he can. Weeks pass. Months pass. Seasons fly. Shiro terribly misses his fiancé. Nothing goes terribly wrong since this is the endgame, but Keith is away for a looong time. More than a year. He misses Shiro terribly, but he knows his duty is to the Blade of Marmora, which has become a relief effort and guardians of the galaxy. No talking trees or raccoons, unfortunately.

Eventually, Keith makes his way back to earth. Krolia, Kolivan, Axca, and the other Blades are with him. Krolia has a mother-son moment with him and asks him what he truly wants. Keith wants Shiro, but he also wants the life with the Blade of Marmora. It’s way better than on Earth, (no offense.) Then Krolia asks, “Why not take your man with us? His skill is going to waste at that desk.” And Kolivan is like “Shiro is a man of honor. He will always have a place with us if he so desires.” And Keith is like :0

He tells Shiro to come with him and Shiro’s like :O But he’s got papers! And Duties! And... the ability to train a successor to be Admiral! He gets on it. But low-key. Cuz he doesn’t want everyone to freak out. Like All Might and Deku, but not as life-threatening a situation and no consumption of hair. It’s probably that guy who thought Keith was his rival. Jack? Jacob? James! Or someone else idk. Who’s Curtis? We can sprinkle him in, I guess. Not sure if Hunk would want to be admiral. But either way, Shiro steps down from his position and gives it to someone very capable.

Then the Blades are back on Earth. Keith leaps into Shiro’s arm(s) all dramatically and gay as God intended. Shiro and Keith get married!!!! Everyone is there and it’s such a happy day like wowie.

After the wedding/goodbye party and preparations, the newlyweds announce their leave into space. And they fly off! Shiro is part of the Blade of Marmora. They’re a happy family and visit Earth and Altea whenever they can. Everyone still gets together every year for Christmas or something.

The last scene is the space ship leaving earth with Frank Sinatra’s “Fly Me to the Moon” playing. The planets and space stuff fade further in the background. They’re in a field of stars. It cuts to Keith in his uniform holding Shiro, who’s in his earthly clothing and kissing his husband’s hand. A golden ring shines on each of their fingers and they continue to dance. Gosh, they’re so happy and in love. The two never lose each other again.

THE END!!!

[fly-pow-bye]

Powerpuff Girls 2016 - “Drama Bomb”

Written by: Haley Mancini

Written & Storyboarded by: Alicia Chan, John West

Directed by: Nick Jennings, Bob Boyle

More drama for your mamas...and daughters.

The episode begins with the beginning of a school play based on the food pyramid from the 90's, with everyone dressed up as a food item. Not only do we see the return of Robin Snyder in a sort of voiced role, though we never quite get to hear just her voice, we get to see all of our favorite students. And by favorite students, I mean just Barry. Go, Barry, you spinning bowl of chicken noodle soup, you.

Unfortunately, the kid's talents are not showing here, as they're all painfully off-key. Even the last episode that focused on play's idea of Blossom and Jared being the main stars of Townsville Elementary's drama class has seemingly been thrown out, as at least Blossom gets an intentionally bad singing voice as well. Instead, it's Bubbles that's the big star, as she gets to properly sing the big ending song about how treats are good when they're part of a...something. She couldn't figure out the last word in her song, much to the joy of the drama teacher.

A Star Is Blossom still has to be canon, because this episode also features Ms. Moss, the drama teacher that just can't believe she's working with such children. The joke, of course, being that these children are, in fact, children. At least, most of them are obviously children, at least one of them are pretty questionable.

She at least has a good reason for this sudden bout of perfectionism: the stakes have changed. After Buttercup, who is in the play as a T-Bone steak, does the obvious joke with that, she reveals that Citysville's greatest playwrite is coming to this elementary school, and if this play was good, they could go on tour with this amazing play about fruit!

We cut right from the failed rehearsals to the final version of the play, which is, according to a sign gag and not anything in the play itself, The Five Food Groups: A Hero's Journey. Even after watching this episode several times, I'm not sure what the "A Hero's Journey" is supposed to signify. I would guess it's supposed to refer to this plot about the Tomato, played by everyone's favorite brick, in his journey to identify whether he is a fruit or a vegetable, but where does Bubbles' song fit in all of this?

Then again, it's more likely one couldn't even make out what these kids are singing, as they're off-key and can't seem to sing in-time either. Of course, this is all intentional, but it's still bad enough to be hard to listen to. Ms. Moss hopes that Belle Lakes wouldn't notice, maybe possibly giving her a slight break since these are just elementary school students.

That's not the case, as she's bored watching this drivel. Finally, a character I can relate to. But hey, at least that lady right next to her is loving it! Also loving it is good ol' Sitcom Dad, who is taking pictures with this smartphone. You'd think someone who is bad at computers would use some sort of old-timey camera. Good thing the Professor shouldn't fit that description!

This reception doesn't please Ms. Moss at all. If she doesn't do anything quickly, this performance will bomb! That last word gives her an idea.

Ms. Moss continues her affinity with using mystic objects from mystic sources, though this item is a little less fantastic than the play that summons butch viking women. In this case, it's a Drama Bomb that was given to her after she graduated at an academy for master thespians, which, for some unexplained reason, is made up entirely of people in cloaks. When this bomb explodes, it makes anyone caught in the blast 10 times more dramatic!

She happens to have this bomb in a glass case that says "In Case Of Lack of Talent", and I'd say that should have been broken 114 times by now. She calls for a brief intermission, gathering all the students, and then throwing the bomb at them. Covering everything in pink glitter, the bomb's effects appear to be negligible...at least, for a few seconds.

Buttercup: Ugh, what was that?

Blossom: I don't know...it's...

Blossom and Buttercup: Magical!

Ms. Moss quickly comes in to say this is all brilliant, and tells them to go to their places with a really ugly zoom-in to her mouth. No real explanation other than "see, Ms. Moss is cuckoo!", I'm not going to show it, and you're welcome.

Thanks to the power of that Drama Bomb, that opening song from before turns into a big, artsy, and dramatic song in the style of the Cell Block Tango scene from Chicago. The unique coloring, the similar style of the song, and it even goes right down to how the food items in the pyramid looks like they're in jail cells. Honestly, I actually like this choice in visuals.

As for the audio, it's interesting to say the least, if not that memorable or catchy. It's still the same voice actors and voice actresses singing the songs here. I was 100% thinking they were going to pull out some actual singer to dub in for these characters, but it's just the regular actors actually trying to sound good. Less ideal, but less awkward than the alternative.

There is this shot with Blossom and you-know-who embracing that's just randomly in there, even though thankfully this is not a play where Blossom and Jared are the love interests. At least, as far as the viewers can tell, anyway. It does make sense in the play, since it's either two vegetables or a fruit and a vegetable, but I cannot forget all of that baggage from those fantasy scenes from Season 1 and 2.

Belle Lakes starts to get overjoyed at this. That lady right next to her is also still liking this, though the lack of change in her expression is worrying me. And, of course, Sitcom Dad is still sneaking around, taking smartphone pictures. Now that they're supposedly talented now, there's not even a joke here other than the Sitcom Dad creeping out that one guy. I wouldn't blame him.

Blossom and Buttercup are confused, as they can't help themselves but dramatically enter rooms, make dramatic poses, and speak with dramatic lines. Well, Buttercup is just dabbing and speaking as if Bart Simpson got an even worse cold than usual, but I can see what she's trying to do. At least Blossom's Shakespeare-esque lines are fitting here, and she says them relatively well.

Suddenly, the cellphone hotline rings, and Blossom asks what evil besieges the poor Mayor, and...

...it turns out that this episode features Discount Jojo as the villain again, stealing the dome from Town Hall as a decoration! I would say that this continues a streak with episodes with main villains voiced by Roger L. Jackson, but Ms. Moss is a far bigger threat here.

The Puffs attempt to leave, only to be stopped by the power of the Drama Bomb. As Ms. Moss explains, the show must go on, who cares if Townsville becomes a burning crater in the ground. She doesn't exactly say that last line, but she might as well say it.

They don't really turn Discount Jojo's crime spree into a B-plot. We just get this one scene where Jojo is so confused that, no matter how many crimes he makes and how long he makes his laughter, the Powerpuff Girls aren't stopping him. I guess I could see some humor in how Jojo is worried that the usual rhythm of things just isn't happening, it reminds me of that scene from that one episode of Batman: The Animated Series.

Joker: Without Batman, crime has no punchline.

It was done far better there, but I'm not going to hate on the reboot for not living up to those impossibly high standards. No dramatic lines from Jojo here, as much as it would be oddly fitting for this episode, but he does ask what could possibly be so vital that it would prevent the Powerpuff Girls from giving him a slideshow beatdown?

This at least decently transitions to the scene where Blossom dramatically exclaims that it's vital to know if the tomato is a vegetable or not, and even the Tomato does not know. By the way, if you're wondering where the Chicago styling is here, they pretty much forget about it beyond that one scene.

Also pretty much gone is any semblance of a followable plot in this play. I'm not expecting anything Shakespearean to show up in this reboot with or without that Drama Bomb, but there's no real connection between this tomato plot and Bubbles' final song.

Speaking of which, Bubbles is still moping that she can't figure out what that last word in the song is. This scene comes up way too often; it feels more like filler. I could at least appreciate them being over-dramatic, but other than that, it's just "waaah, I can't figure out my liiiines!"

In the end, they say they will do it together...as a whole! This word actually ends up being that word Bubbles was supposed to rhyme with "bowl". I mean, what else could it be? Treats are better than eating coal? You got to pay the troll toll? This show needs some quality control? Would have went with that one.

Essentially singing the same song as her attempt at the end song from the rehearsal scene from the beginning, since it was the only relatively good thing about it, I guess, she finally nails the end song with the help of her sisters. Belle really loved this play, and the uphill rollercoaster with Sitcom Dad still keeps going up without any real conclusion. What does conclude is the spell from the Drama Bomb, signified with some sparkles. The Powerpuff Girls are glad that they're finally free.

However, in the end, Ms. Moss learned absolutely nothing, as she promises to use a drama bomb on every play on this day forward, and then rolls out of the room. How she's going to get more of them will never be explained. The Powerpuff Girls seemingly pay it no mind that future plays might indirectly cause the destruction of Townsville, and decide, now that the show has ended, to finally take on Discount Jojo.

This isn't a bad way to end this episode. Such a old-school beating, not only does it end with a bruised Discount, it even comes with the classic line:

Blossom: Not so fast, Mojo Jojo!

If it actually had Bubbles and Buttercup saying Mojo and Jojo respectively, it would have been perfect, but I shouldn’t compare this show to that show’s impossibly high-to-this-show standards, either. The episode ends with a line that fits in with the rest of the episode, which is more than what I could say about some episodes.

Bubbles: And...scene!

I would have preferred a dramatic line read from Tom Kenny and hearts, but alas.

Does the title fit?

Name of the object, though it does cause drama in pretty much any way I can think of.

How does it stack up?

I'm a little in the middle with this episode. There isn’t much to the episode beyond some dramatic line reads, some better than others. However, it has some nice shots, and the songs, the ones that aren't meant to be terrible, are at least passable. It’s watchable, but I wouldn’t lie and say that yawning playwrite didn’t represent me at some points.

Next, Watch It, did they botch it?

← Checkin' Out ☆ Watch It! →

[misssophiachase]

I'm so excited about the Jodice cons coming up this year, I felt the need to write a little FF based on them (kill me if it's more than 10 parts) leading up to June. 

Synopsis: Actors Candice Accola and Joseph Morgan don't like each other at first but being forced to act together means they can't avoid the simmering attraction developing behind the scenes. Fast forward 8 years and they're due to appear in two fan conventions but given all the baggage and unresolved issues things aren't going to run as smoothly as organisers would hope.

Give Me Love

Part 1: Hello

“They say that time's supposed to heal you...But I ain't done much healing.”

June - 2019 - Los Angeles CA

What exactly do you say to the person who can see straight through you?

That was Candice's biggest challenge ahead of Bloody Night Con in seven days, not that she was counting. She hadn't seen Joseph in eighteen months and although he continued to plague her thoughts, at least she didn't have to actually converse with him. Talk about awkward if she did.

Hello and how are you didn't seem to cut it after all they'd been through together and apart the past eight years.

It was a cool, grey afternoon in Los Angeles, Candice was stretched out in the love seat by her window nursing a cup of herbal tea. In fact, it was French Earl Grey, something Joseph had introduced into her diet all those years ago. Something she couldn't quite let go of yet. If any ex-boyfriend had given or introduced her to anything it would find itself in the closest garbage bin straight after the break-up.

With him it was different.

The Chelsea FC jersey he gifted her still hung in the wardrobe (even though she supported Arsenal just to annoy him), his first edition copy of Great Expectations and the sketches he did while they holidayed in Saint Barts were housed in the den and the remnants of Acqua Di Gio hidden away in the bathroom cabinet. 

Most people would put that down to forgetfulness. After all, you can't be expected to remember everything left over during a break-up. But Candice knew every single item and where they were, she just didn't want to part with them. Hence why Joseph Morgan was scattered all throughout her apartment to this day, not that she advertised the fact for obvious reasons.

She fingered the silver, antique locket around her neck. It was the last remaining piece of him and she liked to wear it close to her heart when she was alone. Not all the time but in moments of reflection. They were picnicking in Tuscany, their May birthdays only a few weeks apart, soaking up the wine, pasta and sunshine during a break in filming. He'd plucked the gift from what seemed like thin air, housed in a white box with a royal, blue ribbon. Her favourite colour.

The locket's exterior was flawless but the best was yet to come. She could still remember how he laid her against his chest as the sun set over the hills and told her the story of his grandparents who were split apart during the war and how they came back to each other again stronger and even more in love. The fact he'd placed their faded, black and white picture next to theirs in the locket was enough to cause a few tears and a thank you that lasted quite a few subsequent days in their hotel room.

He never asked for it back and Candice was glad he didn't. Maybe it was selfish but it just meant too much to return.

She picked up her phone, scrolling through her social media feed as she did so often. Candice knew that looking at her twitter feed was never a good idea. If she wanted a reminder of her relationship with Joseph it was plastered across her timeline on a daily basis. Granted the photos were either scenes they shared from the shows or creative fan edits but they all stirred the same feelings inside.

Candice didn't want to but she missed him. Still. She was happy his latest directorial foray into film had been such a success. If there was something Candice knew it was how good he was at directing people, she'd been one of his star performers in the bedroom after all.

Looking back, Candice would never forget the first time they met at the Craft Services table on set. It was season two of The Vampire Diaries and his character was cast as the big bad and from what Candice knew they wouldn't really have any scenes together but it didn't stop her from thinking he was all sorts of cute with that accent and those dimples.

February - 2011 - Atlanta, GA

"Did the new guy smirk at you?" Candice asked Kat earnestly.

They were in wardrobe after lunch break and she couldn't stop thinking about the way Joseph had been looking at her while they spoke. They'd just met so she thought it was strange, not to mention a little rude. Just because he had a gorgeous accent and lips the colour of deep crimson didn't give him the right to think he was God's greatest gift. Although Ian was an exact and nauseating replica of that, so why should she be surprised?

"I think he has a name, Candice." Kat mumbled from the corner where she was changing her top behind the makeshift screen.

"That's not the point."

"What do you mean smirk? He's always been perfectly polite and professional with me. What did he say anyway?"

"Wished me good afternoon and then I asked him how he's finding everything on set given he's just come onboard." They'd been shooting for the better part of the morning and the hungry hordes had made their way to the craft services table absolutely famished. Her eyes were firmly focused on the sushi, Candice was pretty certain she could have finished the entire plate on her own.

"Sounds pretty inoffensive, maybe that's just the way he smiles at people, did you ever think that?" Kat asked, finally emerging from changing her clothes for the next scene and looking at her curiously.

"You didn't see it, Kat," she sighed. "It was almost like..."

"He was trying not to laugh?"

"Excuse me?" Kat let out a giggle, moving closer and wiping her face with a tissue she'd swiped from the nearby table. "What are you doing?"

"You, uh, have some rice on your cheek," she smiled, knowingly.

"What?" She asked rubbing her face, slightly mortified.

"Seems like someone was trying to hide that fact and obviously it took the form of a smirk." Candice went from completely embarrassed to annoyed in seconds. How dare he do that?

"The least he could have done was say something rather than embarrass me like that in front of the cast and crew," she muttered.

"You just met the guy, he probably thought it wasn't polite to call you out about food on your face. It doesn't make for the easiest first conversation."

"Yet instead he was secretly laughing at me," she growled. "You know, I'm just happy that we don't have any scenes together because I'm not sure I could stand that smirk and those dimples from such a close proximity."

"Sounds like someone was paying an awful lot of attention to someone's dimples," she grinned. Candice didn't respond just busied herself for the next scene.

From then Candice made it her mission to steer clear of the new guy, until it became almost impossible to avoid him. That's what you got for being on a hit TV show and having to do publicity together. And there was no bigger publicity opportunity than the annual Comic Con in San Diego.

July - 2011 - San Diego, CA

This wasn't her first Comic Con, so it was going to be easy right? But apparently the powers above in the network decided to invite him along for the first time. Candice was generally very welcoming but she still wasn't quite sure what to think of their newest cast member.

Given he was pretty much the most evil character to hit the Vampire Diaries in its entire run so far, no one was expecting such a frenzied reception. Turns out a lot of the girls there seemed to have a thing for the bad guy. Candice really should have known.

She found herself looking across at Joseph at the signing table, his dark, blonde hair curled over his ears and that grey, fitted t-shirt highlighting his toned chest. He didn't scrub up too badly and it seemed like the screaming legions of female fans wholeheartedly agreed. Ever since their first meeting all those months ago they'd barely had any interaction, mainly because they didn't share any scenes.

After the craziness of 5000 screaming fans at the panel earlier in the day and a never ending number of interviews it was time for the after party, an opportunity to let loose and really enjoy themselves. Given they were all staying in the same hotel it seemed normal that they made their way together however for some reason it was just him and her crossing the street while surrounded by screaming photographers.

Candice was trying not to stare at just how adorable he looked in that suit while making sure her strapless, aqua dress was still in place as they walked brusquely to avoid the cameras. If there was one thing she knew about Joseph from their day at Comic Con it was just how overwhelmed he seemed to be around the press. For Candice it was actually refreshing given how arrogant some actors could be. Maybe she'd misjudged him?

One of the photographers got too close, knocking her slightly and Joseph reached forward without thinking. His hand grazed her lower back and Candice felt herself shiver slightly. "Are you okay, love?"

"Um, yeah, thanks," she mumbled, her gaze cast downwards. "It's uh just a little cold." She cursed inwardly thinking what a lame excuse it was. The one thing Candice knew without a doubt was that 90 degrees on a Summer night in San Diego wasn't in the least bit cold and she was sure he was aware of that fact.

"If I had a jacket I'd give it to you," he promised choosing to ignore her lie, steering her towards their destination. Maybe it wasn't the best look given the press would misconstrue anything but right now she didn't give a damn, it felt far too good having his hand on her back.

"Nice to see chivalry isn't completely dead," she smirked, and by his expression he couldn't miss the sarcastic tone in her voice.

"Is there something I'm missing?" Joseph murmured, trying to avoid the inquisitive stares of the reporters loitering close by. "You realise I'm a gentleman, right?"

"A gentleman who doesn't tell a girl she has rice stuck to her cheek?"

"I didn't want to be rude," he insisted, his cheeks colouring slightly with embarrassment. She'd never admit it aloud but it was pretty cute.

"Trust me, Morgan, a girl needs to know these things even if she barely knows you."

"Noted, Accola," he grinned.

"Um, we're here," she said, gesturing towards the hotel where the party was being held. "You can let go of me now." As soon as Candice said it she regretted it as he lifted his hand from her lower back. She gave him a thankful smile and breezed into the party like the professional actress she was. But she'd be lying if she couldn't still feel the residual heat on her back.

October - 2011 - Atlanta, GA

"Social media is going to go nuts," Candice murmured, laying herself out on the bed. "You know if it's anything like the response from you putting your hand on my back at Comic Con in July."

"I was only trying to protect you," he replied, flashing her one of his winning smiles.

They were currently at the Forbes house ready to film their second ever scene together. Candice would be lying if it wasn't a big moment for her. She'd always been able to hide her attraction for him because they didn't share any scenes, well until now that was. Now she had to be in close proximity and in a bed of all things. She wasn't quite sure what the writers were getting at given she'd been so hot and heavy with Michael's character Tyler lately.

"Funnily enough I didn't need protection and we both know that," she smirked. "I really should have known Klaus would order Tyler to bite me only to ride in on his horse and save the day."

"I think you've misjudged Klaus, he really can be a nice guy," he offered, winking in her direction. "Speaking of which, I better go wrangle my horse in anticipation."

Candice would be lying if she didn't think he was cute. She'd been so quick to write him off as one of your typical, egotistical actors she came across daily (not naming any names of course) but he had this adorable wit that she couldn't quite resist. Ever since he'd placed his hand on her back in July she'd been a little distracted by those lips and those damn dimples too.

Candice was an actor first and foremost and the scene played out exactly as planned but she couldn't deny just how good it felt to have his body pressed up against hers in bed as she pretended to drink from his wrist. His chest seemed so much more toned than she'd imagined and the smell of his spicy aftershave was definitely causing a few foreign feelings to take over. It was all done in one take, unheard of but Candice knew their underlying chemistry had definitely played its part in creating such a perfect scene.

"Don't worry I'm not counting," he smiled rising from the bed, as the crew moved away in preparedness for the next scene.

"I'm sorry?"

"You know the number of times I've saved you."

"Oh p-uh-lease," she groaned, rolling her eyes as she did. Candice was finding it more and more difficult not to act on her burgeoning feelings for him and she secretly hoped they got more time to spend with each other on set as an excuse.

TBC...On FF HERE

Fun Real Life Fact: Joseph first saw Candice at the craft services table with rice on her face

[nade2308]

I don’t wanna live to waste another day

A/N: It’s completed. Finally! And I am proud and happy to present you with my new fic.

First of all I’d like to thank @stanclub for arranging this challenge on Tumblr, and again as the first time I wrote a fic for one of their challenges, it was a pleasure and I can’t say my thanks enough times because I challenged myself again per se. I hope you like this.

Then thanks go to my partner in crime and lab rat, @82tweeder. If it wasn’t for her, I probably wouldn’t be finished my story or posting for that matter. She was luckily able to go through the story today and she was of great help. Thank you babe. For cheering me and reading through it. It means a lot.

I’d also like to thank @lisamott9 that also cheered me on when I told her about this challenge and the fic. She had so many nice words to say about me and my writing that pushed me to move on from where I was on Tuesday and things just kind of picked themselves up yesterday and today. So, thank you girl, you know how much I appreciate your input. And now I can work on that other story we discussed (maybe I need a little bit of inspiration first, but I’m sure I can tackle that).

And last, thanks to delighted who was kind enough to suggest a few ideas as to where I can go with my story. Thank you hon for one of those suggestions made it in the fic and I was very happy to put it there.

And without further ado, let’s proceed with the story.

Title: I don’t wanna live to waste another day (from “Breaking Inside” by Shinedown).

Written for: @stanclub 2.5k followers writing challenge.

Prompt: Friends to lovers: I keep drawing you in my sketchbook because I’ve always found you to be beautiful and I’m longing to tell you how I feel, but one day you find it and you have questions. With Stucky.

Pairing: Steve Rogers/Bucky Barnes

Other characters: Sam Wilson (mentioned), Tony Stark (mentioned), Peggy Carter (mentioned), Sharon Carter (mentioned), Brock Rumlow (mentioned), Winifred Barnes (mentioned), George Barnes (mentioned), Rebecca Barnes (mentioned), Margaret, Annie, Bart and the other students in Steve’s art class.

It was on days like these that Bucky resented everything. It was almost a year since the event that turned his life upside down and it still haunted him. On days like these, he cleaned the place excessively, trying to come to terms with himself. Bad days were few and far these days, but still often that they worried Steve to no end.

Steve was Bucky's best friend since childhood, and honestly Bucky couldn't even remember when they met first, only that when he set his eyes on the little blond ball of fury, Bucky knew that it was the right decision to stand up for him.

Last night he had a nightmare that Steve was the one that suffered in the mass shooting instead of Bucky but he died on scene. Bucky woke up to Steve yelling his name and trying to wipe the tears off Bucky's face. Bucky sobbed uncontrollably once he realized it was just a bad dream and that Steve was next to him, alive and well.

Steve decided that Bucky needed a day off work so he rang Tony who, besides his eccentric and obnoxious self, was understanding enough that he let ‘Buckaroo’ as he liked to call Bucky, have that day off and get well again.

Bucky fell asleep in Steve's embrace around 5 am and slept through the better part of the day. When he woke up, Steve was still there and only with Bucky insisting he go to class did Steve leave him alone.

Bucky cleaned the kitchen with such fierce determination that by the end of his cleaning spree there was not one thing that was out of the ordinary. He sighed.

Now what?

Bucky wished he didn't insist Steve going on with his life as normal today, because Bucky didn't dare admit to himself that he needed Steve at that moment. Plus if Steve was home, they'd probably binge watch one of those new TV shows on Netflix and eat pizza, and Bucky would drink cola while Steve would down a beer. It was probably just another excuse because Bucky was really hyped up on the new TV show they did on Ted Bundy. All of his friends teased him and acted like they were scared that Bucky would kill them in their sleep one day, because of his interest on serial killers. Steve blamed Bucky's propensity on catching the “Criminal Minds” fever back when they were still in high school. Now almost 10 years later, Bucky was still addicted to the show and it was one of his many escapes when things got rough. Bucky just liked to keep up to date with things.

With nothing else left to clean in the house, Bucky sat down on the couch and wrapped himself in his favorite blue fleece blanket. It was a gift from Steve for Christmas a few years back and it kept Bucky warm when he was cold and in all situations when Bucky was under the weather because of something else. Steve liked to call it the therapy blanket because Bucky often wrapped himself in it when one of his dates went bad.

Bucky counted the minutes till Steve was back home from his class. Despite his need for Steve, Bucky also knew that Steve lived for the 3 times a week he got to do what he actually loved the most, and that was teach people how to draw and paint and share the love for the art.

Steve was always enthusiastic about art. Ever since they were kids, Steve would always draw something for his mom or Bucky, left little doodles on the page margins in Bucky's notebooks, and when he was older he moved onto drawing and painting portraits. Bucky was the huge dork that still kept all his notebooks with Steve's doodles and drawings in it.

It was for a while that Steve hadn't drawn anything or if he did, Bucky didn’t see him doing it. Ever since Steve got the opportunity to teach art classes he seemed more engaged with his students and actually doing what he wanted to all these years, instead of working as a graphic designer in Tony's company, where Bucky also worked in as an engineer. That also meant he was busier than usual and probably didn't have much time for it. Bucky shouldn't have thought much on it but he missed Steve in his element.

Bucky was restless on the couch, nothing catching his eye long enough for him to calm down. He proceeded with cleaning his own room but even that didn't help. And then Bucky eyed Steve's bedroom.

And to those that knew Bucky, they also knew that once he set his eyes on something, it was hard to convince him not to do anything about it. The fact that they both had zero sense of personal space for the other was beyond question, although they both had things the other didn't know about.

Searching for a particular sketchbook that Bucky knew Steve kept on his desk next to the window, Bucky instead found another one of Steve’s sketchbooks that sat open on a particular page. Coming closer, Bucky could see the pencil that was discarded in a haste and the ugly line it left behind. He wondered what made Steve leave it like that and with a shocked gasp he realized Steve must have sketched when Bucky had his nightmare.

Instinctively Bucky picked the sketchbook and took it with him to the living room. Wrapping himself in the blanket again, he opened it on the first page.

And there it was: a drawing of him. Bucky.

Flipping through the rest of the pages, Bucky found numerous drawings of him in various states: Bucky smiling, Bucky laughing, Bucky sad, Bucky grumpy, you name it. Most of them were drawn while Bucky was sleeping on the couch, wrapped up like a burrito.

Bucky thought he should find it creepy, since he never thought Steve was drawing him specifically. Of course Steve did draw him once when he was younger, when he was perfecting his technique on portraits but Bucky thought that was about it.

What baffled Bucky the most was the love he could see bleeding on the pages. The softness of the moves with which Steve managed to capture him and how lifelike he looked. It had woken up something inside him that Bucky swore he'd keep buried for the rest of his days.

He was in love with Steve.

Bucky wasn’t sure when he fell for Steve. He came out as gay in high school and despite his great fear his parents would hate him or disown him, they were the total opposite of that. They accepted him and educated themselves on the topic.

After that his mom always wanted him to hook up with one of the sons of her friends and his father tried his best on giving him tips for how to woo his date (even though he wasn't sure those things would work same on men as on women). Becca was teasing him relentlessly and insisting that she'll be his best woman on his wedding with Steve, to which Bucky promptly choked on his coffee when it was brought up. She had no idea how much Bucky wanted that but when asked he always denied that there was something more between him and Steve. As far as Bucky knew, Steve loved him only as a friend. And Bucky couldn't risk his friendship with Steve with admitting his true feelings, and that he loved Steve with everything he got. That he felt unwanted whenever Steve had someone over, or that he was jealous whenever that someone kissed Steve. And the most embarrassing part of it all, what made Bucky feel disgusted and ashamed of himself was the numerous dates he had where he imagined Steve to be the one that fucked him hard or made slow love to him.

It was painful, but Bucky made do. He compromised with himself: it was better to have Steve as a best friend than not have Steve in his life at all. Bucky didn't want to confess his love to Steve so he'd be told Steve didn't love him back. Bucky was a realist and scared and no one could blame him for doing what he did all these years, and that was hiding how he truly felt for Steve. But it didn't hurt less when Steve told him he asked Peggy to be his girlfriend, nor when Steve started dating Peggy's cousin, Sharon, few months after Peggy and Steve split.

There was that one time when Bucky saw Steve flirting with Sam when they had their usual morning run. Steve was awkward and adorable and Sam put him out of his misery when he told Steve he already had a boyfriend. Bucky had to admit that meeting Sam was one of the good things that happened in his life because Sam helped him find a therapist when things got rough.

Seeing drawings of himself in Steve's sketchbook, Bucky wondered if it was possible for Steve to love him back? Was it possible for Steve to reciprocate on the love that destroyed Bucky slowly, but also kept him alive?

In hindsight, Bucky should have seen it years ago. It was everywhere and in every word Steve said and every thing Steve did. There was that one time when one of Bucky's coworkers outed him in front of the whole group and Bucky had to leave the company because of the harassment he received for his sexuality. Steve wanted to beat the living lights out of Reginald, but Bucky managed to prevent Steve from acting on his emotions.

From then on there were numerous situations where Steve acted protectively around Bucky, but Bucky chalked it up to friendship, because Steve was always like that with Bucky.

Steve couldn't have possibly felt the same for him, right?

Then there was Brock, Bucky's longest relationship up to date. They met shortly after Bucky started working in Stark Industries. They hit it off immediately and even though Bucky liked him enough to imagine a future with him, he knew Steve wasn't very supportive of their relationship. And with right, because Brock showed his true face once Bucky was involved in the mass shooting. Suddenly he wasn't good enough, he was too much to handle with his anxiety and nightmares, and then there was his left arm that lost almost 60% of mobility thanks to the bullet that caught Bucky in the shoulder. There was a whole list of issues that bothered Brock. Gone was the love and attention and promises.

Bucky could clearly remember Steve's reactions and how much he wanted to strangle Brock for what he did to Bucky. It took a while for Bucky to realize that Brock was wrong and that he wasn't a burden and it was okay to have PTSD and anxiety without having to be careful around people. Steve helped him in those tough days and it was then when they decided to share Steve's condo in Brooklyn. Steve was the perfect roommate and they knew each other for all their lives so the decision was mutual and what they both needed.

Looking at Steve's drawings again Bucky was reminded of all the times they nursed each other after a bad time in their lives, all the times they watched over the other when they were sick or a bad night. Because no matter what happened in their lives they always gravitated to each other. It was a given.

Bucky sighed, looking down at the sketchbook one more time before he closed it. He hugged it close to his chest and kept glancing at the clock on the wall and realized that Steve was due to come back from class any moment now. Bucky couldn't make himself return the sketchbook back to Steve's room. He was drained from his night and the realization he just had. It was best he waited for Steve so they could talk.

It was a can of worms he wasn't ready to open, but there was this determination that set itself in him and for once Bucky just wanted to get it all out, come hell or high waters. He'd deal with the consequences later.

Bucky sat himself comfortably on the couch and waited for Steve.

…

The familiar screech of the train tracks alerted Steve of the arrival of his metro line. Just one more thing and he'll be home and with Bucky. Steve beat himself over and over for leaving his best friend alone after a bad night, but Bucky insisted Steve go with his day normally. He shouldn't have listened to Bucky. It wasn't that he didn't trust Bucky with himself but Steve didn't want to leave him alone when he wasn't in his best mood.

Steve entered in the train and found a free seat. He pulled his headphones out of his pocket then put them in his ears and got lost in the moment for a bit. He just wanted time to go faster. It usually did when he was listening to music.

Steve's eyes wandered around the cart. An older couple was seated in the back with bunch of college kids. It made him smile because they reminded him of some of his art students. That in turn made him think of today's class.

…

(Flashback)

Steve sighed in frustration as the third attempt of drawing a simple fruit in class. He could feel his students’ eyes on him, and it made him even more nervous and prone on mistakes. Only the respect he had for his students stopped him from throwing the pencil out of the window.

“Are you okay Mr. Rogers?” Annie, one of the teenage girls in his class asked, seemingly worried.

And Steve didn't want to see that look on such a young face. He didn't like the fact that he caused someone else to worry about him, something about his best friend being always the worrywart. Steve hated the face Bucky always made when Steve was sick or did something stupid. Which was often.

Steve shook himself out of his thoughts, aware he zoned out.

“Yeah, uh, yeah… Just, I think it's not my day. I'm usually better at drawing a simple apple. Sorry.”

“No worries, Mr. Rogers. It happens.”

“I know, I know. Thank you for asking that, though. Don't think anyone else than Bucky has asked me that recently.” Steve replied without thinking.

“Who the hell is Bucky?” Bart, a grumpy 30 years old asked from the back of the classroom.

Steve looked at him, baffled, but he schooled his face quickly. Bart was a good hearted person so Steve didn't take it in a bad way.

“Bucky is my best friend. We know each other since childhood. And we live together.”

There was a chorus of “oooooh” from the class and Steve blushed. He was used to people mistaking him and Bucky for a couple enough, but it never ceased to elicit a reaction from him.

“It's not like that.” Steve spluttered. “He is my best friend. We are roommates. Nothing more.”

“Who said you were?” Margaret, the only student that had hit the 70s mark, queried and winked at Steve.

“I assumed… uh, never mind.” Steve scratched his neck and stood awkwardly in front of his class.

Margaret grinned conspiratorially and Steve could see her and Annie talk to each other. Those two were a menace.

“What's Bucky like?” someone from the back said, Steve couldn't remember his name. Was it Pietro?

It took Steve by surprise that someone would ask about Bucky, but it was a welcomed distraction so he decided to answer.

“He's the greatest. Always there for me. The best friend anyone could ask for.”

Steve then proceeded to tell them all about his best friend, how they met, and the adventures of their everyday life. What Steve wasn't aware was the way he was practically glowing when he talked about Bucky as Margaret was so kind to notice and voice it out loud.

“You certainly sound like you are very fond of him, dear.” Margaret piped in.

Steve blushed again and he had to grin.

“For not being a couple, you blush a lot, Mr. Rogers.” Annie helpfully added.

As if that was Steve's cue to turn in a tomato, he turned a darker shade of pink.

…

Not just that he managed to be productive and teach his class something useful, but Steve was also effectively distracted from thinking about Bucky and the way he looked last night - like death warmed over. He was reluctant to leave him alone today, but Bucky insisted. And nothing could deter Bucky from getting his way with things - which was useful for when Steve got himself in trouble. Bucky was still in the back of his mind the whole day.  

“So, that will be all for today.” Steve covered the sheet he was working on while turning around and addressing his class.

“Oh, but it's too early, Mr. Rogers.” one of the students whined.

“It's actually past the 90 minutes mark, Beth. Besides I have important matters to attend so if you don't mind…”

“It's Bucky, isn't it?” Margaret winked playfully.

“In a way. It's personal though, so I wouldn't want to share more info without his consent. But he had a bad night, and it took me a lot of convincing from him to appear today and not just cancel. So be happy I appeared at all.”

Margaret nodded at the explanation with a knowing glint in her eyes.

When the last of his students left the classroom Steve released a breath he didn't know he was holding. It was time to go home.

(End of flashback)

…

“Breaking inside” by Shakedown blasted in Steve's ears as he all but missed his stop. The song lyrics hit him right in the feels, the story behind the powerful text was hinting at his situation when Bucky was in question and for the first time in a while Steve didn't know how to bury the feelings back to where they were all this time.

Moving on autopilot the last three blocks that separated him from the subway to the condo he shared with Bucky, Steve turned in his head the moment he realized he was gone on Bucky forever.

They were in high school when Steve first realized he liked boys as much as girls. Or the exact moment that he started looking at Bucky with different eyes and suddenly he wasn't just his best friends. He tried quelling that feeling with dating Peggy and then her cousin Sharon, but that didn't help him at all. Steve liked Bucky still and he often caught himself thinking of spending time with Bucky while on dates with other people which wasn't fair for them. Hence why he always broke off things before feels got involved.

Steve still remembered Bucky's face when he flirted with Sam, like a man ready to have a heart attack. Steve chalked it up to Bucky being a jealous friend but looking at things in a new perspective, Steve asked himself, was it possible that Bucky felt the same for him?

There was something that shifted in the air but Steve chalked it up to the cold weather and the wind chill.

Then there was the shooting that changed Bucky's life and by default Steve's too. With Winnie and George being in Indiana, Bucky didn't want to impose on his sister and her family. Steve came up with the suggestion for them to start living together. It took him a while to convince Bucky, but when Steve suggested he either impose on Becca or come with him, Bucky caved in. In the last year Steve had to battle through days when Bucky didn't want to get out of bed and days where you couldn't contain him in one room because he was bored out of his mind. They visited Bucky's therapist together because Bucky was afraid that if he spoke about the event without Steve being present, something could happen to Steve.

Not many could understand Bucky and Steve would forever loathe the moment Bucky met Brock Rumlow and he became Bucky's boyfriend. That schmuck wasn't worth Bucky's love and time and he proved so by breaking up with Bucky shortly after he almost lost his life. Steve almost beat him up then, and only Bucky's pleading voice and the disheveled state he was in prevented Steve from sending Brock to the hospital. Bucky was too precious for Brock anyway. And in Steve's opinion if you love someone, you'll love them in any situation, and not only when they are healthy or working or something else entirely.

...

Passing by the bakery on the corner of the street, Steve saw Bucky's favorite plum tarts being displayed. Without much thought he entered and bought quite a few. He wanted to indulge Bucky, who could blame him?

He managed to wrangle his headphones in submission and put them away. He looked at the time and saw that it was just past 8 pm. He hoped Bucky was okay and that they'd have a nice night watching some movie on Netflix and literally chill.

Steve was careful in opening the door to his apartment because he didn't want to interrupt Bucky in case he was sleeping. And sure enough, Bucky was sprawled on the couch, covered in his favorite blanket, the one that he bought for Bucky for Christmas three years ago. The soft baby blue sweater that Bucky had put on was Steve’s and Steve felt warmth go through him at the sight. Bucky's hair was loose and splayed on the pillow. Overall Bucky looked so soft that Steve didn't want to wake him up at all. But then he saw the item Bucky held with one hand. It was one of his sketchbooks. That didn't surprise Steve because Bucky grounded himself often going through Steve's sketches. What made Steve release a surprised squeak was THE sketchbook that Bucky held in his hand. Specifically one he never wanted Bucky to find.

Steve drew ever since he could remember. It was just something that started as a hobby but it developed in a passion that moved steadily throughout his life and ended in Steve taking art school and later going to arts college which earned him a degree. Nowadays he worked as a graphic designer at Tony's company but secretly he still loved to draw. There was something about the paper and pencil combination that would never get old, Steve knew.

That didn’t bother him essentially, that Bucky would go through his sketchbook. But the one in question he kept hidden at all times for the reason that it was full of drawings from the person that was holding it now. It was part of series of sketchbooks Bucky gifted Steve for birthdays and Steve made a good use of them. But never showing the drawings to Bucky. Only the ones that everyone was allowed to see.

Steve didn't think Bucky would violate his privacy and search for that specific sketchbook but he needed answers before he said more that he should.

Bucky stirred on the bed and Steve had a split second to prepare himself before being assaulted by the softness in the pale blue eyes that looked at him.

Bucky was awake.

…

Bucky heard the soft click of the front door but he wasn't ready to open his eyes just yet. He just wanted to enjoy the warmth of his blanket, and how happy he was that Steve was home. He could hear Steve moving around until he stopped in front of the couch. He stood there for a while before squeaking and Bucky found it hard to pretend he was still sleeping when all he wanted was to laugh because Steve always claimed that he didn't squeak.

In the battle between Steve and his warm post-nap bubble, Steve won. Bucky opened his eyes and stared at Steve, assessing the look on Steve's face. It was a mix between soft, fond and panicked. For a moment Bucky wondered what happened to Steve but then he remembered the sketchbook in his lap.

Bucky blushed as he fumbled with the sketchbook and he shot upright in the couch, trying to detach himself of the blanket and make room for Steve.

Steve stood above him like someone slapped a bucket of hot water all over him. Or maybe a wet Golden Retriever puppy. Yep, that was it.

Bucky didn't realize he was grinning until Steve raised a questioning eyebrow and Bucky smiled fondly at him.

“It's just you look like an adorable puppy. Adorable Golden Retriever puppy. Wet puppy.”

Steve choked on his spit and looked incredulously at Bucky.

“I'm not a puppy.”

“Sure thing pal.”

An awkward silence stretched between them until Steve broke it.

“What are you doing with my sketchbook, Buck?”

Bucky's momentarily good mood evaporated in a second, a frown now on his face.

“I… I’m sorry. I was restless and didn't know what to do so I went to your room. I found this sketchbook on your desk. It was there and I took it. I wasn't snooping, I swear.”

Bucky was distressed and looked genuinely scared. That shook Steve out of his thoughts.

“Sorry… Sorry, Buck, it's just…” Steve took a deep breath. “Today was one of those days where nothing goes right.”

If possible, Bucky shrunk even more into the couch. Steve face palmed himself at the sight.

“Look, I screwed up. I remembered now that I left the sketchbook on my desk and it's not your fault, okay? Not your fault.”

Bucky nodded but didn't say anything. Steve sighed. It wasn't like he anticipated Bucky finding that sketchbook. And now…

Steve went to the kitchen and left the plum tarts on the counter. He washed his arms and then removed his coat and scarf. Going back to the living room he found Bucky sitting on the couch, knees drawn close to his chest and with an off look in his eyes.

“Are you okay, Buck?” Steve asked tentatively, sitting on the couch next to him.

Bucky looked at him with the look of a wounded animal and shook his head. Steve felt awful. He shouldn't have gone to class. He shouldn't have been harsh with Bucky about his sketches. He shouldn't-

“Steve- Stevie, it's okay. Just because I might not react in a certain way, doesn't make you guilty of something. Okay?”

Steve looked at his hands in his lap. He probably said all of that out loud.

“I want to ask you something. You may not answer if you don't want to but seeing those drawings you have of me in that sketchbook… made me think and well…” Bucky chuckled and put a strand of stray hair behind his ear, “I came to realize I might not have been good at hiding what I feel and wondered if you, um, if it's possible you feel the same as I?”

“What are you trying to say, Bucky?”

“The only time I remember you asked me to pose for you so you can draw me was when you were discovering and perfecting your technique. After that, I've seen thousands of your sketches, but not one of me. But I found your sketchbook today and I saw it almost filled with drawings from me. So, I have some questions.”

Steve didn't say anything, deciding he'd let Bucky say his mind first.

“I went through your drawings of me and… I've noticed that they are very realistic. What I'm saying, of course they are, they are drawn by you.” Bucky smiled and looked at Steve, “I could see the love and the affection, how you think of me and I guess I want to know… Is it possible- It's stupid.”

“What is it Buck? What's stupid?”

“It's stupid I got that only from a few drawings and…” Bucky threw his hands in the air and sighed in frustration.

“It's more than just few drawings, Bucky.”

Bucky could see Steve's cheeks pinked up and he wondered just how many drawings of himself were out there.

“I see. Okay, I'm just gonna go and say this… Why is it so tough? Oookay, there we go. I'm in love with you.”

Bucky waited for a reaction. And Steve took too long to say or even do something. Bucky took that as a sign that he screwed things up and he started getting up but a hand on his wrist stopped him.

“What makes you say that Buck?”

Bucky sat back down and looked at Steve. He wasn't yelled at and wasn't ordered to leave the apartment, yet, so that was a good thing, right? He just hoped he didn't ruin his friendship with Steve.

“It's in all you say. And do. And the drawings just helped me gather the courage to talk to you about it. I guess I just put my feelings in a box and locked them. Hoping they'd go away. But they didn't. They are real. I love you Steve. I'm in love with you.”

“Oh, Bucky… I love you so much. Loved you for so long. But I didn't think you could love me back. God, I got out of my mind with worry last year when you were hurt in that mass shooting. When I saw your face on national TV, the way you were frantically running to escape, something lodged deep inside my chest. It turns out I didn't have to worry and hold out on you for so long, but I was scared.”

“Our friendship is too precious for me. I didn't wanna lose it in case you didn't love me back. I don't think that there's anything more that will hurt me than not having you in my life, Steven Grant Rogers.”

“Is this a proposal, James Buchanan Barnes?”

Steve winked playfully and grinned, the gloomy mood from earlier dissipating and his old self back on track. Bucky appreciated Steve and his way of making every situation better. And lighter. That's one of the numerous things about Steve that Bucky absolutely loved.

“It might be. With the way we are living together and we know each other our whole lives, it will only take me putting a ring on your finger to make it official.”

“Such a romantic, Buck.”

“Says the resident sap.”

“Can I kiss you?”

Steve's skin drummed with excitement.

“Yes. Like you have to ask now.”

Bucky smiled and puckered his lips.

The first touch of Steve's lips on his was soft and tender. Bucky didn't expect fireworks to go off or to see stars behind his eyelids but it was easily the best kiss he got to this day. Something uniquely Steve and full of love. It made him tingle and curve his lips in a smile. Steve pecked him again before moving back. As if pulled by a magnet, Bucky chased Steve's lips. This time the kissing became more heated and soon enough Bucky's tongue asked for entrance in Steve's mouth. Steve opened up and kissed as hard and greedy as Bucky, their lips dancing a sweet melody of two souls coming together at last.

“We were idiots, huh?” Bucky asked when he pulled off Steve and leaned his head on Steve's shoulder.

“Damn right we were.” Steve kissed Bucky's temple. “And oblivious too.”

“True that.”

“Although I don't know anymore. Two of my students today kind of pinned me in a corner and think they saw right through me when I mentioned you.”

“You talking about me in class, Rogers?”

Steve ducked his head and was faced with Bucky's smile.

“I might have mentioned you. A little bit. In passing.”

“Uh-huh. Keep telling yourself that.”

…

 6 months later

 Steve arrived a little bit early at the studio he held his classes in. Bucky was sitting in one of the chairs, looking at a catalogue with pictures of wedding cakes. He was engrossed in the content and it made Steve feel warmth pooling in his stomach at the sight of his now fiancé, being so at ease and looking like a soft teddy bear. Steve wanted to cuddle him.

He touched the ring that Bucky put on his finger a couple of weeks ago. The last 6 months were the best in Steve's life and in Bucky's too as he was reminded so of every day. Just waking up next to Bucky every morning was worth facing every obstacle life threw at him. And he was happy to see his students filter through the room and each take a seat.

Today he planned for them to practice their portrait skills and he had the excellent candidate in mind. Said candidate was grinning now, looking like the cat that ate the cream.  

“Okay, everyone, thank you for coming today. As you know this is one of our last classes and I decided all of us to do something fun today. I gave it a lot of thought. And came to a conclusion when remembering something Bucky said.”

The familiar chorus of “ooooh's” made Steve stop with what he was saying. With the corner of his eye he could see Bucky was blushing.

“Back when I wanted to perfect my technique when drawing portraits, I asked my best friend to pose for me. He agreed and that was the only official time he knew I drew him.”

Steve grinned as he saw Margaret and Annie whisper between themselves as always.

“Those drawings that I kept away was what brought us together, to admit our feelings and we are here today because of them, or what Bucky likes to say, what I do best.”

“I thought that was him.” Margaret said and Steve had a split second before he had to tap Bucky on the back because he choked on his water.

Margaret had such a dirty mind sometimes. Steve should've known.

“Sooo, how about we have my fiancé be your model today?”

The whole room whooped and cheered.

“I take that as a yes? Okay, good. I won't be showing you anything today but let you capture this beautiful man all by yourselves. I did that 10 years ago.”

“It was 12 actually.” Bucky piped in as he got up and moved to the center of the room.

Steve waited for him there. For a moment he forgot he had a room full of students in front of him and leaned to kiss Bucky.

There was a loud sound of “yessss” behind them and Steve detached himself from Bucky. Bucky in turn chuckled and turned around.

“Hi, guys. I'm Bucky Barnes, the luckiest guy in the world. And apparently your lab rat today.”

That made the class erupt in laughter. Steve noticed it was tactful by Bucky to make them laugh so they relax.

“Model, Bucky. Model.”

“Yeah, yeah. So, where do you want me?”

Steve prevented any dirty thought to prevail at that question and smiled fondly at the love of his life.

“Right where you are Buck.”

Right next to me.

...

A/N 2: If you’ve come to the end of this story and you figured it out, congratulations. I was inspired for the characters of Margaret and Annie by Political Animals, a tv show Seb’s played in. Margaret as in Margaret Barrish (TJ’s grandma) and Annie (Doug’s fiancé and then wife). Hope you liked it. Leave a comment if you like. I love getting feedback and see what people thought about the story.  

[sduswdnd]

Campaign 1 Part 2

Part 2:

From part one:Sunbear Gobsatchel and his friend, Orlando Bloom – I mean Sildar hired our heroes to escort a wagon of crap to their summer home.  They get jumped but manage to beat up a bunch of goblins, enough that one ends up as a Sherpa for them.  They ended up in a fight with more goblins, ultimately challenging and defeating a bugbear named Kmart.  Looting the cave, they’re left with more piles of crap and a problem: what do we do with this crap?

Oh, and Gerrol is a fighter!  Who knew?

~~~~***~~~~~

“So, this crap. What are we doing with it?”

Traxion starts breaking open the boxes. “Hey guys, there’s Slim Jims in here! And bags of green herbs!”

After a small medicinal break, they set out back to the wagon, playing twenty questions with the elf. According to him, he and Grogmaker were on their way to Phandolin when they were jumped and separated. Locksmacker got dragged to some castle but they left the elf in this cave.

On leaving the cave, Korran starts to twitch and mumble incoherently. He suddenly turns north and starts running. The rest of the party is confused, and start calling after him.

“What’s wrong?” Mirea yells.

“The pipes!! The pipes!!!” He sprints out of sight. “Don’t wait up!”

After getting back to the wagon of crap, they decide to set up camp. Not long afterwards, they hear music lofting in the night air. A young Tiefling playing a viol comes walking up to their fire.

“Like, Hi!” she says, waving at the little goblin in the back. The goblin waves back. The rogue pulls a dagger. “I’m Teiris. I like, saw your fire, and like, it’s really cold, so, like, I was hoping I could maybe like, warm up a bit?”

Aerostar rolls her eyes, “Great, a valley bard.”

“You’re a bard?” Baze asks, “Do somethin bardly...”

She sighs, puts away her viol, and sings:

Snuff the magic dragon, slash her up in two, Stick her with some pointy sticks and cover her with fuel. Snuff the magic dragon, smite her up in two, Stick her with some pointy sticks and cover her with fuel.

Baze puts his blade away. “Yep, she’s a bard. G'nite.” He nods to her then wanders into one of the nearby tents.

The rest of the evening was pretty uneventful, as if an unseen hand decided to let them actually get a full nights rest. They all wake and see the new arrival busying herself by the fire. She looks up, smiles and holds out a plate. “I made waffles!”

Maik nods, taking the plate. “I may actually like her.”

“Oh, and like, I fed your friend here,” she adds, pointing to Perry.

“And suddenly, that feeling is gone.”

Sildar comes out and enjoys his waffles. After breakfast, they pack up and head to Phandolin.

Walking with the group, Sildar starts talking. Apparently Mocksocker and his brothers inherited a time share called Wave Echo cave before it got popular. Now that it’s the hip-hop-happening place, they wanted to start making money, but needed to find the paperwork. His brothers went ahead to get the property papers and Lipsmacker was supposed to follow. He asked Sildar to come along.

Sildar was ghosted by some guy named Iarno after they’d been going out for a while. Last he’d heard from him, Iarno was going to Phandolin, then stopped answering his text messages. Sildar wants to find him, most likely to make a scene.

Some guys are asses, agreed Teiris.

The group finally gets to Phandalin and get the Bart-Mart loading dock. “We have your crap!” calls Maik.

Bart hurries out. “Fantastic!” He calls out and a bunch of azure-vested assistants start unloading the cart. Bart escorts the group into the shop. “I have your payment here. But because you haven’t filled out you W9s, you’ll have to report your own taxes.”

Gold is passed around. Baze starts looking around the shop for shiny things. Maik, noting Baze’s intent, asks the group, “Shall I stab him now, or wait ‘til we get home?”

In the meantime, Bart notices Traxion looking over the bulletin board. “I see you’re looking at the help wanted ads. I have a job if you’re interested.”

Traxion took his heroic stance and said, “Nothing is too much for us.”

The rest of the group look at him with confused expressions, then go back to their shopping.

Bart starts yapping. “There’s this band called the Rembrandts.”

“I remember them,” chimes Trax.

“They got really desperate after their music went off the playlists, so they turned to crime. They’ve been bullying all the shopkeepers here in town, taking money and stealing candy. They hang out at the Sleeping Giant Pub. “

“They suck!” chimed the store assistants.

Bart nods, then continues, “If you’re looking for money, I can tell you we don’t have a lot of money. But we do have very particular items. Items we have acquired over a very long career, items that would stave off nightmares for people like you. If you walk away now, no one will look for you. But if you don’t… and you take out the Rembrandts, we will find you, and we will offer you 20% off on all regularly priced items. Some exceptions apply.”

Traxion tosses his hair, his eyes sparkling in a newfound sunbeam, toothy smile near blinding the people around him. “We’ll take the case!”

The rest of the group pause, sharing shocked expressions. “We what?”

“Never fear, good sir. Soon you’ll breathe easy.” And with a flourish, Traxion leaves for the armorer.

In another corner of the shop, Maik and Baze are fighting over a green frog.

“That’s my Kermit! I stole it fair and square!”

Maik gives him 40 gold in trade and walks off with the frog.

“We should probably find Sildar. He’s still pissed about that guy ghosting him.”

“New girl gets the goblin!”

“Dammit!”

A group of three head to the town hall. Inside, Sildar is filling out missing persons forms. Some tight fussbudget hurries up.

“Are you the folks that brought in all the supplies?”

“Yeah, we are.”

“I’m the mayor here. We’re having a bit of a problem with a Bugbear infestation. They killed the Orkin guy. I’d take care of them myself, but I’m so busy running the town, but if you could possibly take care of them, it may be worth 100 gold.”

Silvenhost cocks his head. “We can look into that, but what about the Rembrandts?”

“I love their stuff!” the mayor chimes.

‘You would,” huffs Teiris.

“We were under the impression they were not all that great. At least that’s what your townfolk said.”

“They’re fine. I’m the one in charge here. I have no problem with them. But the bugbears…”

Teiris hands Silvenhost the leash. “I’m so sorry I’ve been so quiet, but I was overcome by your presence. It’s so… breathtaking.”

Silvenhost starts to look queasy. The mayor turns to the Tiefling, puffing himself up.

Teiris continues, “My friends and I would be happy to take care of your bugbear problem, but if it’s as dangerous as you say, I’m sure a man as strong and important as you would find it easy to pay, say… 200 gold?” She places a hand on the mayor’s chest and looks up through her lashes.

The mayor seems stunned, but then says, “Two hundred…”

Silvenhost jerks the leash, turns to Teiris, grabbing her wrist, “Two hundred, done,” and drags her and the goblin out.

MEANWHILE...

Traxion enters the armor shop. The armorer looks him over with a predatory leer. “Hi, love. What can I help you with?”

Traxion stands, arms akimbo. “I’m looking for some armor.”

She smiles. “I have plenty of armor,” she says breathily. “But I have my best stuff…” she throws open a curtain to a darkened room, “In the back.”

Traxion looks around the shop. “There seems to be some fine armor out here.” He walks over to the wall, oblivious.

The shopkeeper tries again. “But the good stuff, the really good stuff,” she drawls, “Is in the back.”

Traxion holds up another shield. “This looks quite fine.”

She gives him an exasperated look. “Please come into the back.”

Traxion looks up and shrugs. “OK,” and follows her back.

Across Town...

At the nearby shine, are Mirea and Teiris. They’re approached by the Sister.

“Have you ever considered Scientology?”

Mirea and Teiris look up incredulously. Mirea holds up her pendant. The sister starts chatting about a haunted grove and a ghost named Agatha. The sister says she need to talks to the ghost about a book. Old Man Jenkins sneaks past the doorway, but it’s actually Maik dropping off Kermit. Mirea tells the Sister she’ll consider it and she and Teiris head back to the group. They leave the goblin with the sister.

They all head to the bar where they’re catcalled by three drinking frat bros, some of the Rembrandts. The bard tries to reason with them.

“Hey, guys, C’mon… it’s Taco Tuesday…”

Three more bros show up.

“Stabby time!”

“Dammit!”

The fight begins.

Traxion sets his feet, making for a beautiful picture to anyone passing by.

Maik looks over and follows suit.

Teiris says, “What the…” and casts thunderwave. Everyone goes flying.

Gerrol hits the head drunk bro. Mirea tries to help, but misses.

Gerrol and the head drunk bro get into a slap fight.

One of the bros in the street hits Maik. Maik looks offended and cold-cocks him.

Captain Aerostar sneezes as she releases the arrow, and misses.

Baze makes like a whack-a-mole, popping up to toss a dagger then back down to hide.

When the dust starts to clear, there’s only one more bro left, who starts to run.

Maik, Baze, and Traxion move in.

“Wait. Don’t. Stop.”

Stabby stabby. Down he goes.

The mayor comes up with the fuzz. “What’s going on here?”

Teiris links her arm with Mirea. “Oh mah stahs,” she starts in a breathy voice, “mah friend and I were just headin’ into the pub for a sweet tea, and these ruffians came outta nowheh. What eveh would we do? Then these kind men came to owwa rescue.”

Mirea just stares at Teiris.

The mayor looks befuddled. She continues. ‘You wouldn’t want anything to happen to little old us…”

The mayor huffs, “Fine, just.. uh.. yeah.” And hustles off.

Everyone circles up. “So, Rembrandts?”

“Let’s do this.”

BACK AT THE INN...

“So, how are we getting into the manor?”

“Well, we have three of the backstage passes, so we should be able to get in there. But what about the rest of us?”

Teiris pulls a few things out of her pack. “I have two dancing girls dresses…” Aerostar and Mirea glare at her.

“How about prisoners?”

“We don’t have prisoners.”

They turn to Traxion. Traxion says, “Well, we don’t.”

Gerrol says. “We’ll pretend we have prisoners.”

Maik and Baze step up, wearing the dancing costumes. “Let’s go!”

After getting the disguises on, they headed to the manor. Baze scramble up for a piggyback ride as they entered to door.

All around the room were barrels and crates. One of them checks the barrels, which is filled with wine. Maik stabs the keg twice, causing wine to leak onto the floor.

“Now it’s a holy spirit,” he chuckles.

The door across the room opens. Another guard says, “What’s going on?”

Gerrol quickly says, “Prisoner transfer from cellblock 1138.”

“I wasn’t notified.” He looks the prisoners up and down and shrugs. “Have fun.” And closes the door.

They head out the door and into the hallway.

BOOM! CRASH! Traxion, Maik, and Teiris end up in a pitfall trap in the floor. Teiris scrambles out but Traxion can’t keep his hold on the ledge and falls back into the pit. Maik pulls out his rope and throws it into the air. Traxion gets tangled into it. After some trial and error, they finally get out of the pit and spend a moment with the bard to lay on some healing hands. Away they go.

They move on to the next room. Inside are coffins with skeletons lying on the lids. Traxion says,

“We should probably check if this a trap.”

Baze answers, “On it!” and charges into the room. He looks around and says, “It’s cool, the skeletons are dead.” Traxion frowns and casts “Detect BS” and verifies that the skeletons are in fact dead.

Mirea goes into the room. Suddenly the skeleton come to life!

Everyone starts to fight. Except for the bard, who starts to and sing:

You'll be swell! You'll be great!

Gonna have the whole world on the plate!

Starting here, starting now,

Gerrol, everything's coming up roses!

Gerrol flinches at the first note, but towards the end of the song, he feels invigorated. Even inspired! He leaps forward and re-kills the first skeleton.

Baze goes back into Whack-a-Mole mode, hiding, slashing, then hiding again.

Traxion strikes a pose, but also strikes a skeleton!

Mirea wants to activate her arcane flamethrower, but debates on whether she wants to hit Baze. She grudgingly leans over and FWOOM!

Maik pulls his best LeBron James imitation and lobs a flaming cabbage … he scores!

Not to be outdone, Silvanhost swings and finishes off the last skeleton.

Baze puts on a beaten-up fedora. “Time to be an archaeologist,” he says, looting the graves.

Moving on…

They get to another door.

“Check for traps please!”

“Ok… It’s a door.”

‘Ok!” Through the door they go… They find a map. Moving on…

They run into another door, which is open. Inside, they see three more guards and a bunch of cells.

“Prisoner transfer from cell block 1138.”

“There is no cell block 1138. What is your-URLK!” the guard says, as Baze hops out and shanks him. Cap snipes the other with an arrow, and Mirea chokes the last with vines. They free the prisoners, who offer them yet another money-making opportunity. They also find out the big boss is a furry. Or likes them.

Moving on. They come to a large sphincter-shaped cavern. Traxion walks in to get a look around. Battle music starts playing from the large speakers. Suddenly a huge monster comes in. The team takes their opening stances, Maik challenging Traxion for the cover of Adventurers Monthly. The creature starts to communicate with them, mentally.

“Help me…”

Baze yells, “Dibs! I always wanted a pet Rancor!”

Cap scowls. “You don’t even pick up after Perry!”

Baze whines, “But this time, it’s different!”

Traxion and Maik, realizing there are no cameras around, move into the far chamber and spot more skeletons. Realizing he needed to pad his XP since he planned on sleeping in tomorrow morning, Traxion activates the trap and takes out the skeletons.

Moving on. They notice a cracked-out rat skittering around the next room. Following it into a secret passage, they give chase and eventually find Iarno, the guy who ghosted Sildar.

Iarno, knowing he’d been found out, starts to yap. Incessantly.

“Monologing. Why did it have to be monologing…”

Turns out not only was he ghosting Sildar, he was also on Driudr as some guy named Glasscock or Glasspole or Glasstaff, something like that. He hooked up with a Drow named Spider, but it wasn’t serious or anything and he wanted to make it up to Sildar.

Uh-huh.

Mirea calls him an asshole for ghosting Sildar but let him keep breathing. They strip search him and take away his glass staff.

After using Iarno to enlist the last of the Rembrandts, they’re ready to take on the Bugbears.

In they go. Maik decides to indulge his fantasies and becomes a bear. Setting aside his leather whip and vest, he bounds into the room, attacking the bugbear. The goblin servant faints.

Teiris summons an invisible servant and rescues the servant, thinking it would be a good friend for Perry and would keep him from ripping up the cushions and peeing on the floor.

Gerrol gets into a fist fight with another bugbear, Traxion engaging the last.

Cap looks at the nearest Rembrandt. “I bought all your albums…” He smiles back and they start chatting.

Mirea yells, “Pika-CHU!” casting thunderwave and throwing everyone into the walls. After a few more strikes, and one disturbing decapitation, the battle is over. They start talking to the new goblin, whose name is Mosk…

 NEXT UP: Sildar gets his ghost revenge…

[ikenbar]

Mr. Love: Ike’s Choice CH5 PT2

Warnings: Some swearing but like Ike is having a hard day so give her a break, talk of strippers and bikinis but it is literally just talk, some angst, the tiniest pinch of fluff, anger, hate, disputes between sisters, near death experiences and cLiFfHaNgErS!!!! :D

Also! This part is dedicated to one of my favorite teachers ever. Hats off to you Senior Olson... you got featured in a fanfiction... I know this must be the most riveting part of your entire teaching career...

(Chapter Five (Kiro and Youran) Prologue and part one can be found here~)

((Please read the author’s note (and the beginning of the story) on chapter one part one if you’re new here :D))

Chapter Five:

Part two:

I ran up the steps to the school in aggravation. My driver and I had been sitting in traffic for twenty minutes, killing all my time and patience slowly and painfully. I threw open the doors to the school and immediately locked eyes with Adri, who was slouching in one of the chairs just outside of Mr. Olson’s office. She sat up quickly in her chair.

“Oh thank goodness they called you!” She smiled, “I was afraid they’d call-”

“Zip it!” I snapped, taking Adri aback, “Need I remind you that you’ve been suspended?! Just because Bart or Maria didn’t pick you up, doesn't mean you have gotten off scot-free, lady.” Adri’s once excited face grew pale. Someone opened the door to the principal's office. 

Out stepped a tall man in his late sixties. With his back arched and his cane in his hand, he walked with a limp that screamed intimidation. His hair was receding and graying but most of the grey was centered on the bushy beard he brandished like a Norse god. Mr. Olson was a man that showed his years, but his eyes were still lit with the same fire that his younger self held. Even if they were hidden behind his thick, oval glasses.

“I thought I heard you out here.” Mr. Olson smiled at me, “It’s good to see you again Ike.”

“Sir.” Though I spoke impatiently, I still bowed with respect, “Listen, I would love to sit and talk but I’m running late for a shoot for a show. Is there any way we can speed this up?”

“Oof.” Mr. Olson chuckled and turned to Adri, “You chose the wrong day to be suspended.” Mr. Olson looked back at me and gestured into his office, “I just need you to sign some papers for me. Then I can send you on your merry way.” I nodded and followed him into the office, grabbing Adri and pulling her by the collar to follow us. I was handed a small packet of paper by a smiling receptionist as Mr. Olson pulled Adri aside.

My phone buzzed from my pocket. Without looking at the ID, I answered.

 “Speaking.”

“I have a bone to pick with you.” 

It was Bart.

“What?” I moaned as I flipped through the pages of the packet.

“You know the filming studio we rented for the day?”

“Yeah?”

“Why didn’t you tell me we had changed the location?”

I froze. 

“...what?” I asked through clenched teeth.

“The studio stopped me from going in and said we didn’t have the studio today! Then, when I told him who I was, he told me that we had cancelled our time there! I called the crew and they told me that they got an email that we had changed to a different location! So now, I look like a fool! Why didn’t you tell me we switched studios!?”

“Because I didn’t!” I signed the papers quickly and handed the receptionist the packet, “I have no recollection about sending an email! What studio do we have now?”

“The FASL Studio. On the other side of town. It’s a good thing I decided to come early! The donuts ended up being cold though.”

“OTHER SIDE OF TOWN?!” I roared, despite my calm surroundings, “I’m at the school! I’m going to be late!”

“The school?” Bart asked, suddenly sounding worried, “Why? What happened?!”

“Your new daughter reenacted a scene from a 80s highschool sitcom.” I huffed, holding the bridge of my nose, “Does the cast know about the change?”

“Yeah. They are already here. What do you mean by-”

“I’ll tell you when I get there. I gotta go. Bye.” I quickly hung up and grabbed Adri’s arm. “Sorry, Sir.” I said hurriedly. “I gotta go. I’ll be sure to make sure Adri is doing her work and feeling guilty about what she has done. Goodbye.” I hurried out of the principal’s office. 

>

Mr Olson shook his head as the girls left. “Still the same Ike.” He said, turning back into his office.

>

I pulled Adri into the car and gave the driver the new address of the studio. “And try to find a way around that traffic.” I huffed, “I’m going to be late as it is.”

“I’m not going home?” Adri asked, stupidly.

“No.” I kept my eyes glued on my phone as I pulled up my email, “We are going to the studio. But you aren’t going to be doing anything but work. Did Mr. Olson give you a packet to work on?”

“Yeah.” Adri hesitated, showing me the large packet in her hand, “It’s just busy work. They don’t even grade me for it.”

“I don’t care.” I stretched my jaw, “You’re doing it.” Adri opened her mouth to protest but closed it as I cursed. In my sent emails was the email Bart was talking about. It talked about moving locations for the day and how I was sorry for the inconvenience it might bring. 

Except I didn’t write it. 

I would have called Bart to tell him. I would have even told the crew in person if I had the chance. 

There was no way I had sent that email. 

I scrolled down to look at the email's information. 

But before I could read it, my phone screen glitched. I growled and hit it. A high pitched noise radiated from my speakers, causing me to yelp and hold the phone away from me as Adri covered her ears.

“Turn it off!!” She called.

“I don’t know how!!” I screamed, jamming the volume down button on the side of the phone. The ringing stopped and the phone’s screen turned white. A cursive black text gradually appeared on the screen.

“Brought to you by your friend, Key”

 Then, the screen went black. Adri and I stared at the phone, trying to process what had just happened. I tried turning the phone back on. 

Nothing. 

I tried holding the power button down.

 Still nothing.

“Oh come ON!” I boomed, pressing the button repeatedly, “You’ve got to be kidding me. I’ve only had this phone for a week! Victor told me it was the best they had! What the hell?!” I growled and threw my phone into my lap. I rested my elbows on my knees and threw my head in my hands. An awkward silence washed over the car.

“... would it help if I said I feel really bad for what I did?” Adri asked timidly.

>>>

I pulled Adri by the wrist as I ran into the studio. We were only a few minutes late thanks to a shortcut past the traffic but I wasn’t taking any chances. I flashed the guard my id card and pushed open the door. People were bustling around the large studio carrying various tools, set pieces, and props. I pushed through the crowd and searched the faces. I spotted Bart speaking to someone by the snack table. He was a young man with beautiful blonde hair, piercing blue eyes, and a stunning smile.

“Ho thank goodness.” I breathed deeply, “Kiro made it.”

“WHAT!?!” Adri exclaimed from next to me, “KIRO’S-” I tugged at her wrist, quieting her. 

“No.” I hissed, “Not for children who don’t respect the few who don’t get paid nearly enough to deal with their bull.” I flagged down a crew member, “Excuse me. Where are the dressing rooms?” The employee gestured to a wall with multiple doors on it. I thanked him and pulled Adri with me as I walked to them. I opened one and pushed her inside. “Now you’re going to sit in here and work on your packet.” I pointed angrily to her. 

“What?!” Adri scoffed, “I am literally within spitting distance with my idol, and you won’t even let me see him?!”

“No.”

“Why?!”

“You know why!!” I barked, “You started a riot in the middle of class!! I had to be pulled away from an important breakfast to pick you up!”

“What, with the friend you met a week ago?” Adri snapped, “The little producer that is so small even I can-”

“Shut your mouth.” I spoke menacingly through my teeth. The air in the room became tense and strangely cold. Adri stopped talking, “You say anything insulting or degrading about that woman and I swear you'll regret the very second you met me, do I make myself clear?” Adri seemed at the verge of saying something but, in fear of her life, she kept her smart mouth shut. “Now I’m going to go do my work and you’re going to do yours. And you'll do it in this room and silently. End of discussion.” I turned and headed out the door.

“Worst sister ever.” Adri said under her breath.

“Deal with it, princess. This is what happens when you break the rules.” I slammed the door shut with those last words. The entire studio went silent as the bang of the door echoed through the hall. I took a moment to catch my breath. Never had I ever lost my temper like that. Sure, it has been a stressful day but… the moment she brought up Youran… Something in me snapped. Like it was my job to- I shook my head, Now was not the time to be thinking about this kind of thing. I've got shit to do.

I cleared my throat and looked around. My eyes landed on a security guard nearby. “You!” I called, pointing at him. He jumped and came to attention. I pointed to the ground next to me. He quickly walked over to me.

“Yes, mam?” He asked.

“I want you to stand at this door and not let anyone in or out without letting me know first. Do you understand?”

“Yes, mam.” The guard assumed his position at the door. I looked around the still silent studio. “Young!” I walked briskly over to the director, “Fill me in. And make it quick.”

>

“Oh no.” Bart hissed as Young took Ikamara around the studio, “Ike’s in a bad mood.” 

“Ike?” Kiro asked, watching them as well, “Is that the Ike you were talking about? Your other producer?”

“Yup.” Bart sighed, “I was hoping you would catch her on a better day. She is a very kind person, really, but she can sometime be-”

“Why is this not done?!” Ike’s harsh voice carried over the quiet studio, “I’m late once and you guys think it’s time to slack off?!”

Bart leaned close to Kiro and whispered softly to him, “... I know you asked for her specifically, but I would be more than happy to spend the day showing you around if you’d prefer it.”

“Don’t worry.” Kiro smiled sweetly, “I think I can handle it.”

>

I shoved the clipboard back into Young’s arms, “Too much needs to get done in too little time.” I growled, “Quit lollygagging and do your job. I don’t pay you to sit back and do nothing!” Young skulked off, clearly embarrassed. 

“Man!” A familiar voice spoke from next to me, “You really tore into him!” I turned and saw Minor walking to me. He wore a pleasant smile but that vanished when he saw my face. “Something wrong boss?”

“'Something wrong?'” My tone dripped with anger, “You’re twenty minutes late, Minor! I’ve fired for less!”

“S-sorry, boss!” Minor’s tone quickly changed, “I-I went to the wrong location! I didn’t know we had changed studios! Th-then I couldn’t get a hold of you and got stuck in traffic... I promise it won’t happen again!” I glared at Minor. He gulped and bowed deeply. After a moment, I loosened my jaw.

“Don’t worry about it.” I grumbled, rubbing the bridge of my nose to steam my growing headache, “I was late for the same reason. Sorry for snapping. It’s… been a long day.” Minor relaxed and stood up straight again.

“No problem.” He smiled kindly, “It happens! Maybe it’s just in the air. I was told an email went out about the location change? But I didn’t get one. Maybe we were both meant to have a bad day.”

“Right.” I said slowly, “... you have a thing for conspiracies, right, Minor?” 

“Yeah.” Minor chuckled, "You can say that."

“What about hackers? You know anything about them?” 

“Of course!”

“What can you tell me about a hacker named, Key?”

“Key??” Minor asked excitedly, “Man, what don’t I know about them?? Let’s see, well, to start off, they are a white hat hacker. Meaning that what they do what they do ethically.” I huffed and folded my arms. Ethically?? What is so ethical about sending my company on a wild goose chase and killing my phone?! 

Someone tapped my shoulder. I whipped my head around with a glare, only to drop it as my eyes met a familiar ocean of blue.

“Hi!” Kiro smiled kindly, “I’m Kiro. I think you’re the person that’s assigned to help me around the studio today.” I froze and examined his face up close for the first time in weeks.

“... You’re supposed to be in makeup.” I growled, “Where is Gina? Gina!”

“I’ll let you be.” Minor chuckled nervously, backing away from my once again rising, wrothful mood.

I dragged Kiro around the studio, preparing him with makeup and costumes and scripts, giving neither of us a break from the hustle. “Young.” I stopped the stage director and pointed to Kiro, “Get him ready for the first scene.” Young nodded and gestured for Kiro to follow him. I turned and began to walk away

“Give me a second.” Kiro grabbed my arm and held a finger up to the director. He pulled me aside, “Can I ask you a quick question?”

“Is it about the shoot?” I asked seriously.

“...No?” Kiro answered slowly. I opened my mouth to protest, “It’ll be super fast!” Kiro begged, clapping his hands together, “I promise!” I looked at him with an arched eyebrow. He clutched his hands together and brought them up to his mouth, smiling sweetly. I sighed.

“Fine.” I placed the clipboard down and gave him my full attention, “What is it?”

“It’s about the girl that gave you my information.” Kiro asked excitedly, “When will she get here? She said we would be working together today.” 

I froze, my heart sinking to my feet.

Didn’t he recognize my voice? We’ve talked a fair few times. Maybe he forgot what I sounded like… or maybe I had scared him that day with how awful I was treating everyone. Maybe he thought Super Stranger wouldn’t be so hard on her employees. Maybe he didn’t want it to be someone like me… maybe he didn’t want it to be me.

I cleared my throat, “She called and canceled. Something about having something important come up... Sorry.” Kiro’s face fell slightly.

“Oh.” He nodded, still holding a soft smile, “Ok. Thanks!” Kiro forced a larger smile on his face as he walked away from me. I sighed, fighting the lump in my throat. This is why you never meet your idols. 

>>>

Kiro stood on stage for his first scene. I stood next to the camera man, correcting his poor angle. “Ike?” I looked over my shoulder and spotted the costume designer walking over to me with one of the extras dressed as a motorcyclist. “The clasp is stuck on his helmet. I think It’s jammed. Bart said I should go to you?” I took off my blazer and motioned for the extra to come closer to me as the lights in the room dimmed.

“Playback!” Young called through her mega phone, “And… ACTION!” Keeping most of my attention on the extra, I glanced at the stage. Kiro was sitting in a chair by a large desk. He was leaning back, carelessly kicking his feet up onto the table. There was a knocking sound. 

“Come in.” Kiro said, nonchalantly. Even though Kiro was normally so bright, the character he played wasn’t. We had written him to be someone no one would like. Though I was scared Kiro wouldn’t be able to play the character well, his acting was as amazing as ever, stifling any doubt I had. Kiro had this in the bag.

“Dexter Stackman?” The female actor asked as she entered on cue, “The Private investigator?”

“Is that what it says on the door?” Kiro asked.

“Yes?”

“Then you’ve obviously got the wrong person. Try the next room over.”

The crew stifled their laughter. I finally got the clasp undone and helped the extra take the helmet off. “I’ll keep it with me.” I assured the costume designer as she reached to take the helmet, “I think I know how to stop it from doing it again.” She nodded and backed off. I looked at the clasp as I continued to listen to the scene.

“So you're Dexter.” The actress pouted, “I need your help.”

“What help could I give? I’m just some dude sitting at the wrong desk, apparently.”

A creaking noise came from the stage. I looked up. 

“Please, sir. You’re the only one who will listen!”

“Obviously not. Goodbye now!”

I searched the stage carefully with my eyes. Where was that creaking coming from? That’s going to mess with the audio!

“But this case is one you’d be interested in!”

“Does it involve strippers that have had their bikinis stolen?”

“No?”

“Then you’re wrong.”

I huffed and looked up. My breath hitched in my throat. A light swung tediously above the stage. It was rocking unnaturally, almost as if it was about to fall.

I looked straight down from the light. Right under it sat the nonchalant, quipping, boneheaded Dexter, completely unaware of the predicament he was in. 

I threw on the helmet.

“But I-”

“Listen lady,” Kiro stood from his seat and pointed at the actress, “I’ve already told you, I’m not-”

There was a loud snap. Kiro looked above him in time to see the light come hurtling towards his head. I dove into the scene, leaping over the desk and ramming myself into Kiro’s chest, sending us both flying off of the stage. We hit the ground hard as a crash came from behind us. I propped myself up hurriedly to look at Kiro.

“Are you ok?” I asked quickly, inspecting Kiro for any obvious injuries. Nothing was strange except for the rising smile on his face

“Super Stranger!” He threw his arms up in triumph, “I thought you were-” Something clicked on the floor below us. Kiro and I froze. Suddenly, the ground we were laying on flipped backwards, sending Kiro and me into the hole it created. Kiro quickly grabbed onto me tightly as we were launched into darkness.

(Next)

[thecomicsnexus]

The Case of The Chemical Syndicate

DETECTIVE COMICS #27 MAY 1939 BY BILL FINGER, BOB KANE, JERRY SIEGEL, JOE SHUSTER, JIM CHAMBER AND CHARLES BIRO

SYNOPSIS (FROM DC WIKIA)

Commissioner Gordon relaxes at home entertaining his young socialite friend Bruce Wayne. Wayne asks if anything exciting has happened lately, and Gordon explains that a fellow called the "Bat-Man" is puzzling him. Gordon receives a call that chemical manufacturer Lambert has been found murdered. They have Lambert's son in custody, whose fingerprints were found on the knife. Gordon invites Bruce Wayne to the Lambert mansion with him, and Bruce Wayne says he has nothing better to do.

When they arrive at the crime scene, young Lambert insists he is innocent. The lad explains that he arrived home early and saw his father lying on the floor. When he entered the library, he saw a figure escaping out the window. He pulled a knife out of his father's back, and his father's last word was "contract." Lambert's son recalls that his father had three associates, Alfred Stryker, Paul Rogers, and Steve Crane. Steve Crane calls Gordon on the phone. Lambert told Crane that he had received a death threat the previous day. Crane has received a similar death threat, and asks for police protection. Bruce Wayne decides to go home, and Gordon rushes over to the Crane residence.

Steven Crane is killed by a gunman who enters through the window. The thug and his partner steal a paper from Crane and climb onto the roof. They are confronted by a figure they recognize as the Bat-Man, standing in the moonlight. The Bat-Man punches the first thug out, then grabs the second one in a headlock and throws him off the second-story roof. He grabs the paper and escapes as Gordon is pulling up. The GCPD try to arrest the Bat-Man, but they are unable to catch him. Gordon learns that Crane has been murdered, and moves on to the next business partner. The Bat-Man smiles when he reads the paper he stole, and drives off in his automobile.

Paul Rogers visits the laboratory of Alfred Stryker, having learned of Lambert's death by news broadcast. Stryker's assistant Jennings clubs Rogers over the head and ties him up. Jennings explains that he will lower a gas chamber over Rogers and kill him the same way he puts animals to sleep. Jennings leaves to activate the gas. The Bat-Man leaps into the room through an open transom. The Bat-Man grabs a wrench and dives inside the gas chamber before it closes.

He plugs the gas jet with a handkerchief, and busts through the glass with his wrench. Jennings returns and tries to pull a gun on the Bat-Man, but the Bat-Man punches him in the face really hard. Alfred Stryker enters and demands to know what happened. When Rogers explains that Jennings tried to kill him, Stryker pulls out a knife to finish the job. The Bat-Man is hiding in the shadows, and he grabs Stryker from behind to stop him. The Bat-Man explains to Rogers that they were all partners in the Apex Chemical Corporation. Stryker had made secret contracts with all of them to pay them a sum of money each year until he owned the business. He grew tired of waiting and decided to kill them so he wouldn't have to pay. Stryker breaks out of the Bat-Man's grip and pulls a gun on him. The Bat-Man punches Stryker so hard in the face that Stryker breaks through a railing and falls into a tank of acid. The Bat-Man remarks that this is a fitting end for his kind, and leaves via transom. Rogers tries to thank the Bat-Man, but he is already gone.

Later at his house, Commissioner Gordon relates this story to Bruce Wayne. Bruce remarks that this is a lovely fairy tale, and leaves. Gordon thinks to himself that Bruce Wayne is a nice young chap, but he seems to lead a very boring life. Bruce returns home to Wayne Manor, where it's revealed that he is in fact the Bat-Man.

CONTEXT

There is a lot of bad blood behind this creation, so stay with me and we shall go through this...

So the legend says that Bob Kane created Batman when he was a minor and with the help of writer Bill Finger they did the story that was published in Detective Comics. And that is just a legend.

It’s hard to tell if Kane was a minor when he signed his contract to National. He was born in 1915, and that would make him 20 at the time National/Wheeler-Nicholson started the business. We know for sure he wasn’t the “creator” of Batman.

Comics historian Ron Goulart has referred to Batman as the "creation of artist Bob Kane and writer Bill Finger". Bill Finger said this about Bob Kane:

Kane had an idea for a character called 'Batman', and he'd like me to see the drawings. I went over to Kane's, and he had drawn a character who looked very much like Superman with kind of ... reddish tights, I believe, with boots ... no gloves, no gauntlets ... with a small Domino Mask, swinging on a rope. He had two stiff wings that were sticking out, looking like bat wings. And under it was a big sign ... BATMAN.

Finger offered such suggestions as giving the character a cowl instead of the domino mask, a cape instead of wings, adding gloves, and removing the red sections from the original costume. He later said his suggestions were influenced by Lee Falk's popular The Phantom, a syndicated newspaper comic strip character with which Kane was familiar as well, Finger named the character Bruce Wayne after Robert Bruce the Scottish Patriot.

Bob Kane said (and I quote): 

"Bill Finger was a contributing force on Batman right from the beginning... I made Batman a superhero-vigilante when I first created him. Bill turned him into a scientific detective."

Finger wrote both the initial script for Batman's debut in Detective Comics #27 (May 1939) and the character's second appearance, while Kane provided art. Artist Bob Kane negotiated a contract with National Comics, the future DC Comics, that signed away ownership of the character in exchange for, among other compensations, a mandatory byline on all Batman comics (and adaptations thereof). Finger's name, in contrast, does not appear as an official credit on Batman stories or films, even the comics he wrote in the 1940s and 1950s.

To make Bob Kane more of a controversial figure, when Jerry Siegel and Joe Shuster were looking for allies against the way National Comics was treating them, they went to Bob Kane, who betrayed them and at the same time re-negotiated his contract (as, like it was mentioned before, it wasn’t legal).

There is a documentary named “Batman & Bill”, that chronicles how Bill Finger created a legend and died penniless and forgotten, and how Finger's heirs, along with writer Marc Tyler Nobleman, finally righted this wrong. It also shines a light on the systemic injustices in Golden Age and Silver Age comics publishing, in which many other brilliant creators were shafted. 

The documentary’s most compelling when it focuses on the relationship between Kane and Finger, two men who couldn't have been more different. Kane, who died in 1998, was a brash, boastful figure, one who saw his creation—and its popularity—as an extension of himself. A classic showman, he greeted fans wearing sharp suits or Bat-cowls, sold original oil paintings of Bats (which the documentary claims were painted by other artists), and wrote a grandiose autobiography. Even when he wasn't around fans, he preened; the documentary makes much of archival footage and audio recordings of Kane extolling his own genius. Bill Finger, on the other hand, obsessively researched weird facts, and kept a giant notebook full of scraps and notes that he could use in the next Batman comic—information gleaned from riding the bus for hours on end, staring out at the city and recording what he saw. Batman's tragic backstory sprang from his own dark imagination, as did most of the hero’s other defining traits, and even feverish gimmicks like having Batman fight on giant typewriters or dodge giant pennies. But that creativity came with isolation: He made only one appearance at a 1965 convention, and did almost no interviews.

So yes, these days DC found a loophole (I suppose) and even though they still add the byline of “Created by Bob Kane”, they modified it to “Created by Bob Kane with Bill Finger”. I understand this was agreed by the Kane estate.

I think this Ty Templeton comic pretty much encapsulates the Batman created by Bob Kane...

REVIEW

A small synopsis for the other features I am following here. Crimson Avenger is dealing with a mysterious gambling-related murder. Bart Regan is trying to prevent the assassination of all the partners in a company (almost like the Batman story). And Slam Bradley is looking for his federal agent friend who went missing in Switzerland.

Of course the main attraction here is Batman, but I should put some emphasis on how the other features are changing and getting a bit more serious.

The Batman story has been remade several times, so this is not my favorite version of it. However, it is amazing that so many details of the Batman we know today are there already. And it feels too obvious for us, but the reveal at the end that Bruce Wayne is Batman may have been a mind-blower at the time.

I could go on and on about the many things in Batman’s style, but there are too many sources you can check about those.

Happy 80th anniversary, Batman!

I give the stories a score of 8

[jadekitty777]

Time for a friendship PSA

I want to take a minute and talk about this scene:

Because I see that a lot of people use this moment as evidence to make claims that Tai and Qrow aren’t really good friends or even that they hate each other. And while canon hasn’t exactly disproven this possibility, I do feel there’s WAY more evidence to support the opposite is true. So, let me take a few minutes of y’all’s time to show why.

So, since this is the crutch of the issue, let’s start with the scene in question, analyze some of the language used and break it down through the context given to us as well.

We’ll begin with the dialogue:

Tai: Things are just kind of a mess right now.

Qrow: It’s always a mess. Mind if we have a minute?

Tai: What, I can’t stay here?

Qrow: Tai, please.

So, Qrow especially is interesting here – his wording and his demeanor, asking for permission and even saying ‘please’, it’s all very respectful. But, this is also the same guy who started a fight in the courtyard with an Atlasian specialist and outright verbally put down a military general because he didn’t agree with their methods. Not to mention outright arguing with the headmaster of Haven Academy and antagonizing his own sister. He’s a sassy little shit with pretty much everyone no matter who they are or what their level of authority is. He’s the kind of guy who would talk down the Gods themselves if given half a chance. In fact, as far as peers go (not kids, that’s a whole other ballgame), the only other person we’ve seen Qrow really dial down his attitude for and give his respect to is Ozpin, who he trusts completely and is absolutely loyal to.

So for him to be just as humble with Tai, to me, speaks volumes on how he feels about him as both a teammate and friend.

Now, about Tai…

Let’s get a feel for his personality first: With his children, he’s warm and caring, trying to encourage them to better themselves whether it be with their own shortcomings (Ruby’s lack of sociability) or their mental obstacles (Yang’s discouragement after losing her arm). With Bart and Pete, he’s friendly and, we find out, a bit of a jokester. And, as for Raven, though he has obvious misgivings when he talks about her – of which I’ll go more in depth about in a bit – he still has some level of care of her while still being able to reasonably point out her severe flaws.

But with Qrow? In the scene above, he’s angry at him. Yet, this wasn’t the case in the conversation they had while Ruby was sleeping. They were stressed out about ‘something’ not working and how bad the situation was, but not angry at each other.

So, the question is: What changed and why?

It would be easy to assume it’s because Qrow is shoving him out of his own daughter’s room to tell her about her mystical heritage – but what Tai says isn’t correct for that implication. He asks “I can’t stay here?” implying he knows exactly what Qrow is going to be telling Ruby and furthermore, that they had agreed upon it (interestingly, note also that Qrow was chosen to lead this conversation over Tai). So why is he angry about something he agreed to?

Well, I don’t think it has anything to do with Ruby and has everything to do with Yang. And what makes me think that?

Well, for as much as I made a joke about it in this post, I absolutely believe this is why.

First let’s start with this - look at what happens when Qrow shows the picture to his nieces:

When he notices Yang staring at her, Qrow tries to block out Raven and pulls the picture away. He’s actively trying to dissuade her. And yet, four episodes later, when Yang mentions she saw her mom, he decides ‘Ah fuck it’ and tells her about Raven while verbally acknowledging in that same sequence his sister is a big ball of crazy death feathers? Let’s not even get into the fact he’s probably telling Yang this at the worst possible time when she’s already feeling vulnerable and upset over what happened with Mercury.

And we know Taiyang finds out about this. Remember when Yang is about to leave to go after her sister in Mistral? Taiyang says this to her: “Despite telling him numerous times not to, I know Qrow told you about where your mother’s been these days”.

So knowing that Qrow is not the most… tactful of sorts, what do you want to bet he told Tai at the worst possible time – with Yang dismembered, Ruby comatose, Ozpin and a few kids dead, Beacon Academy a wreck – that, ‘oh yeah so I told Yang where to find Raven’. I can just imagine the fight that would break out. Not just because it went against Tai’s wishes but because, unless it’s a hell of a writing inconsistency, for Qrow to go from trying to hide Raven from Yang to instead outright telling her, it seems Qrow broke a promise doing so.

And if he did, I’m sorry but Tai has every right to be pissed off about it. And anger, especially fresh anger, is an emotion that bleeds into everything, which would explain the immediate tension between them.

And for those of you thinking that it’s wrong for Taiyang to keep Yang from her mom and Qrow is more in the right by breaking his word, let me ask you…

Is he?

I’m just going to take one line of dialogue of Raven’s from each of the three conversations she has with Yang:

Episode 4, Raven’s first spoken words to her daughter: So, after all this time, you finally decided to visit me.

Episode 14, Raven verbally putting her daughter down: Who do you think you are lecturing me? Standing there, shaking like a scared little girl?

Episode 6, Raven threatening her daughter: If you side with your uncle, I may not be as kind next time we meet.

So let me ask you again, IS HE?!

While I honestly love her to bits and wish for a lot more with her character, for what we have in canon, Raven is a manipulative, cruel, coldhearted and borderline sociopathic individual who is NOT above abusing or using people to get her way. And we see sides of that not just with Yang but with Qrow too. Obvious murder plots aside, her consistent use of the term ‘little brother’ rather than his name comes off very condescending especially when they’re twins and her grabbing his wrist during their conversation in the bar was a sign of force.

Would it really be so much of a stretch to guess that this behavior was used against someone else? Maybe someone like a former lover?

If there was any sight or sign that Tai was keeping his daughter away from a loving mom who, upon seeing her, just came running over to embrace her and tell her how much she missed her (IE. Kali with Blake), yeah maybe I’d have a problem with his decision. But that was not Raven. Raven was a standoffish egomaniac who went on and on like Yang did a really good job to find her, like getting her respect and love needs to be earned not given.

And imagine how devastating this is for Yang too. One of the biggest character goals we learn about her is how much she wants to find her mom; and to be given this as a result of that journey? No matter what age Yang is, that’s absolutely soul-crushing. And we see that full effect towards the end of episode 14, when she breaks down and cries.

And Tai trying to protect Yang from that? From something he probably experienced and was hurt by first hand? That’s called being a parent. It doesn’t matter that Raven is her mom, Raven is also an active force that can, will and DOES hurt Yang. And being mad at Qrow because he feels that he’s helping put her in the pathway of that hurt, especially if they had an agreement not to? Yeah that’s fair.

So going back to Qrow and Tai: Do I think they hate each other?

No, not at all.

Do I think Taiyang is pissed off at Qrow for very legitimate and fair reasons?

Yes. Yes I do.

Do I think this is an overview of their entire relationship as a whole?

Hell fucking no.

Even the best of friends don’t agree with each other on everything. Sometimes friends fight, or disappoint each other, or hurt each other. Being human and making mistakes is part of living and sometimes those mistakes happen with people you care about. But just because you’re angry or don’t agree with their actions doesn’t necessarily mean you stopped loving them.

There’s also several other things we can pull from canon that are true or even is implied to be true:

A.      Despite rocky beginnings (I’m looking at you skirt incident), Team STRQ became an extraordinary team, which could only be the case if they learned to work together as one, and it was torn apart solely because of Raven’s actions. Neither Qrow nor Tai have ever said or implied any blame on anyone else but her for that.

B.      Qrow and Taiyang both were teachers at Signal – a job that Qrow himself says wasn’t a good fit for him. So why choose something like it to stay nearby unless…

C.      Qrow was likely around a lot after Summer’s death to the point of having a hand in raising the girls. Both his nieces exhibit how close they are to Qrow during the show’s duration and, from these two conversation sequences, it’s obvious the girls look at Qrow as a second father figure

-Season 3: Qrow tells them “Just remember you still have a long way to go. Don’t think graduating means you’re done.”

-Season 4: Tai parallels this by saying “Adult or not, you’ve still got a long way to go before you’re ready for the real world.” Of which Yang’s response is “Oh my gosh does every father figure just have the same three condescending phrases?”

D.      Also, while it’s unclear, the “she” Qrow is talking to ‘Tai’ about that “isn’t coming back” during his poisoned hallucinations was likely Summer. But…

E.       Even if it’s not, even if it were Raven, this still shows that Qrow was there to try and talk to and support Tai through a moment of loss. But if he was around enough to have the girls look up to him like a second dad, then that also means Qrow was there a lot for Tai too.

F.       Tai gave Qrow his trust in both showing Ruby how to wield a scythe, which is what Ozpin claims as ‘one of the most dangerous weapons ever designed’ and no doubt can only be perfected with years and years of hard work, as well as – again I reiterate – telling her about her heritage.

G.      Equally, Tai also allowed Qrow to train her despite knowing his semblance of bad luck is uncontrollable and unpredictable and would be more active when he is using aura, simply because he believed in him enough to protect her if something went wrong.

H.      The lucky convenience of Qrow showing up to save Yang and Ruby when they were toddlers was likely not one at all. Either 1. Tai returned home and called Qrow immediately upon realizing the girls were missing or 2. Qrow came by the house himself, possibly to watch the kids or because he was living there, and found them missing.

In short:

These two are actually married.

I mean, best friends.

This has been a PSA.

[thorne93]

Curious Conundrum (Part 17)

Prompt: You’re John Watson’s sister. One day you decide to visit your brother for lunch, only to meet the infamous Mr. Holmes…

Word Count: 1935

Warnings: language, flirtation, sexual innuendos (maybe? idfk), murder/crime/case related stuff, angst, jealousy…

Notes: Beta’d by @carryonmyswansong Not only did she beta, but I literally couldn’t have written half these scenes without her help. She contributed majorly, even wrote some parts of scenes. I am forever in her debt.

Also, this starts AFTER Season 2, episode 1. I don’t follow all the episodes, but it does follow the timeline and hit some major events : )

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9| Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 | Part 15 | Part 16 |

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

The anniversary had definitely taken a backseat, what with Sherlock headlining here and there, getting awards, presents, and rewards from every case he helped. He couldn’t care less, but you knew John liked the (somewhat) glorification.

But then Moriarty had downright shocked you as he somehow managed to break the case to the crown jewels. He was, of course, arrested. But he had some form of plan. What was it? That’s what was eating all three of you alive.

You were less concerned with how, and more concerned with why he wrote “Get Sherlock” and what the end game was.

Six grueling weeks later and Sherlock was called to trial as a witness. Both you and John accompanied him.

“Remember,” you tried to say and he cut you off.

“I know.”

You let out a breath of frustrated air. “Sherlock, this is serious. Moriarty is not to be fucked with, you know this. Don’t--”

“Don’t do anything like myself. Don’t provoke them. I know.”

You closed your eyes, knowing it was useless.

Before the trial, Sherlock went into the bathroom and you waited outside for what seemed like forever before he finally emerged.

“Bloody hell, did you fall in?” you demanded.

“Sorry, had to deal with a flirting fanatic,” he noted.

“You... What?!”

But Sherlock calmed you down by shrugging it off, and of course, he had to enter court. Sherlock had asked you to tune into your deduction skills and watch all over the courtroom while he took the stand.

When it was all said and done, you three went over the facts, walking back into the flat.

“...Three of the most secure places in the country and Moriarity broke into them and no one knows how or why. All we know is--”

“He ended up in custody,” Sherlock finished.

“Don't do that,” John slowly requested.

“Do what?”

“The look?”

“What look?”

“You’re doing the look again?”

“Well I can’t see it, can I?”

John gestured to the mirror. “My face?” Sherlock asked, completely confused.

“Yes, and it’s doing a thing. It’s doing that ‘we both know what’s really going on here face’.”

“Well, we do,” Sherlock insisted.

“No, I don’t, which is why I find ‘the face’ so annoying.”

You’d been gripping your head in frustration before you finally snapped, “Oh for God’s sakes! If Moriarty wanted the jewels he would have them. If he wanted the prisoners free, they would be. The only reason he’s sitting in a cell is because that’s what he’s chosen. So now the question is why. Why does Moriarty want to be behind bars? What’s the point? What’s the end game?”

By the end of your rant, you’d begun to pace.

“Y/N’s right, it’s part of his scheme,” Sherlock agreed.

At this, the three of you continued to mull over the “why”... Sherlock the most concerned with it.

-----------------

John went to the trial, to hear the sentence. Sherlock waited at home. You were actually doing your real job, busy at a trial of your own, but your mind was never far away from your boyfriend. You were nervous as hell, but you were sure they would find him guilty. How could they not?

But then the horrible news that he was found not guilty rocketed you into another dimension. John had called you after he called Sherlock. His voice was full of panic.

“What do you mean they found him innocent?!” you shrieked as you were on recess for your own trial.

“I don’t know. But they did. He’s coming for Sherlock, I know it. The bastard just hung up on me though.”

You tried to even out your breathing. “Okay, that’s okay. If Sherlock knows this, he has a plan.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“I know Sherlock and I know he weighed and thought about every possible outcome. If Moriarty is coming for him, he’ll be ready. In the meantime, I gotta go. Keep me updated.”

You ended the call and went back to your trial. When it was done (and you’d won the case), you raced to Sherlock’s flat where he was explaining everything to John. Apparently Moriarty had come by the apartment and had a little chat with him. Of course it was a threat, but none of you knew what the hell it meant or could possibly mean.

You and Sherlock seemed to spend the better part of two months going over anything he could be plotting. Romance, the anniversary, the relationship as a whole went on the back burner. All efforts and focus was either on Moriarty or an active case.

Then suddenly, a kidnapping case had come about. Sherlock was nearly giddy with glee as it seemed to be a rather curious case indeed. As luck would have it, you were with him when Donovan and Lestrade presented the case to him. You, John, and Sherlock were driven to the site of the abduction.

You watched Sherlock work (an aphrodisiac for you). He startled the nanny, and then graciously told her he believed her story and requested someone get her a bag to breathe into. The sheer confidence of the ordeal was enough to make you smirk appreciatively.

Donovan caught your approving face and skipped up next to you.

“You think him being a complete ass and scaring poor old women is funny do you?”

Your face lost all trace of humor, and anger ignited inside you. “I think Sherlock getting the job done as quickly as possible is good, yes. Or was that not the point? To get to the children as quickly as possible.”

“He sure has a funny way of going about it,” she muttered snidely.

“At least he doesn’t fuck around while on the job, literally. How is Anderson’s wife by the way?” you asked, turning to face her as you walked backward. A mischievous grin played on your face as you twiddled your fingers in the air at her like a wave before turning to follow Sherlock into the house.  

Watching Sherlock work, you remained silent. It was best not to speak while he was “in the zone” unless asked. He found a bottle and requested for Anderson. Anderson came and prepared the room for black light analysis. Without fail, Anderson gave a brilliant impression of a moron, to which Sherlock told him so.

He found some samples of the kidnappers boots that he said would behave like a map for them. Which would be true. Scraping some samples and the three of you rushing to St. Barts, Sherlock began his analysis, dragging Molly into it as well.

Every time you were around Molly, it was….strained. You knew she had known him longer than you had, you knew she had feelings for him -- still, and she stayed in line, not trying to cross the line of friendship with Sherlock. Yet every time you were around her, there was a touch of awkward tension in the air. Part of you respected her for being an adult, part of you didn’t like Sherlock around her because you knew of her feelings, and another part of you felt entirely sorry for her.

It must be one hell of a thing to watch the man you carry a torch for love another. Even if you and Sherlock never showed any sort of public affection, even if you kept it strictly professional while working a case, the fact remained that you were his and he was yours. This fact was glaring just by the looks you two shared, the way his gaze would linger on yours.The way he would shoot you a knowing smirk. The way he commended your deductions.

So now, you stood with John, helping him on some of the tests when Molly suddenly struck up a conversation with Sherlock that wasn’t science related.

“What did you mean ‘I owe you’?” she asked as she worked. Sherlock stopped his movements and you did too. You couldn’t help but listen in. “You said ‘I owe you’ while you were working,” she noted.

“Nothing,” he quietly said, shutting the topic down.

“You’re a bit like my dad. He’s dead. No… sorry--” she tried, realizing the social awkwardness of her statement.

“Molly, please don’t feel the need to make conversation, it’s really not your area,” Sherlock advised.

She made a face, a nervous, but bold face. “When he was dying, he was always cheerful. Lovely, except when he thought no one could see. I saw him once, he looked sad.”

Sherlock gave her a warning. “Molly…”

“You look said,” she continued, ignoring his tone of caution, “when you think they can’t see you.”

Both of their gazes flashed to the two of you, but you made quick work to shift your own eyes and make your hands start fiddling about.

“Are you okay? Don’t just say you are, because I know what that means when you think no one can see you.”

“You can see me,” he noted.

“I don’t count,” she commented, and a pang of sympathy washed through your chest for her. “What I’m trying to say is, if there’s anything I can do, anything you need, anything at all. You can have me.”

Red shot into your cheeks as you kept your face down, still pretending to work.

“No, what I mean is... I just mean... If there’s anything you need… It’s fine,” she stammered, ending her olive branch speech.

“But what could I need from you?” Sherlock asked and his tone made it clear that he would never need her.

“Nothing,” she replied, sorrow in the back of her voice. “I don’t know. But you could probably say thank you.”

Sherlock stuttered a thank you and she quickly exited the lab. Standing for a moment, you weren’t sure what to do. You wanted to talk to Molly, but on the other hand it would be best if you left it alone. Your tenacity got the better of you and you put your tools down, following her out into the hall.

“Molly,” you called, jogging to catch up to her.

She spun and faced you, not saying a word. You knew she didn’t like you, at all. She was polite to you around Sherlock because of him and John, and because she’s a nice person. But you knew if she could have a wish, it would be to get you out of the picture.

But that wasn’t the case. You were here to stay, and Molly needed to realize what her place was in Sherlock’s life.

You pressed your lips into a flat line as you peered at her, her waiting for you to say something.

“Look... I… I know you love him,” you started and she seemed to stiffen, probably awaiting you to demonize her. “I know how hard this must be for you. I wanted to let you know I appreciate you being an adult about this. And I really appreciate you not crossing that line and trying to be something more.”

Your gaze held hers for a second, a hardness settling into your eyes, while the rest of your face remained soft. “He doesn't have many friends, and it’s nice to know you’re there for him and support him.” You reached up and gripped her arm gently, a reassuring squeeze coming from you. “He and I are lucky to have you in our lives.”

Molly nodded, staying quiet a long time. “I--I--Yeah, you’re welcome.”

You smiled at her, the grin loaded as you let her go. Her gaze lingered on you a moment longer before she walked off to the cafeteria.

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

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[lifes-a-dick]

Determinism vs Free Will and Sherlock’s two falls.

When he jumped from the rooftop, Sherlock was carrying out an action that looked like his own free will but which he actually had no choice in. Determinism in philosophy says that humans cannot act or behave in any other way than they do. Everything that is going to happen is already determined by past events. We have no true freedom, only the illusion of it.

Sherlock couldn’t not fall from Bart’s, because Moriarty ensured through his own suicide that Sherlock would have no choice but to kill himself too. In Causal Determinism, cause-and-effect means that any event is completely determined by prior states. Sherlock knew that Moriarty killing himself gave him no other option, that by that one action (the cause) he must now die (effect). 

Continue under the cut ...

From John’s view Sherlock chose to jump. But the audience knows that he was ‘pushed’. So there are two perspectives - from John’s, Sherlock seemed free to do as he wished, but from the other view we could see every action that lead inevitably to the result.

His fate was inescapable, and you could trace that fate back to the beginning of Moriarty’s “game”. One long chain of cause-and-effect that lead ultimately to Sherlock’s death, no matter what he tried to do to stop it. Sounds like Death in Samarra, doesn’t it?

The opposing philosophical idea to Determinism is Free Will, which says that we do have control over our actions, that they are not already determined, that we are capable of choosing between different outcomes. That we are truly free.

Perhaps this is the point of Sherlock’s second fall, the one from the waterfall in TAB, where he is very clearly making his own decision to jump. It is certainly suggested in his expression as he falls that this is Sherlock re-writing his own story the way he wants. Not the way it was forced to be. He still takes the leap, but this time it was of his own free will. 

If Determinism were true, it would be like being trapped, being forced to play out a part that is already written. However, free will suggests that we truly have some control over the way our lives turn out. This subtext in Sherlock is very much about being trapped into doing what is expected of you versus being free to do what you wish.

The story of Death in Samarra from TST could be another intentional reference to Determinism. It tells a story about the course of the universe being fixed, and that we therefore cannot outrun our fate. What happens, must happen.

Guess what else in TST is about Determinism???! Sherlock’s speech about predicting the future. Because if Determinism is true then the future is theoretically calculable. What Sherlock says in TST is all over the Wiki page on Determinism:

The theory holds that the universe is utterly rational because complete knowledge of any given situation assures that unerring knowledge of its future is also possible. - x (wiki page)

If it were actually possible to have complete knowledge of physical matter and all of the laws governing that matter at any one time, then it would be theoretically possible to compute the time and place of every event that will ever occur. - x (wiki page)

If you could attenuate to every strand of quivering data, the future would be entirely calculable, as inevitable as mathematics. - Sherlock in TST

Sherlock in TST (despite his Free Will fall in TAB), seems dedicated to a Deterministic - completely rational - view of the world.  This is another example of Sherlock fully embodying his facade in S4.

“I’m Sherlock Holmes, I wear the damn hat”

Facade!Sherlock (Hat Man) would be quite happy to exist in a universe where everything were predictable and calculable. It would give him a feeling of control, and it would give him what he craves - the potential to know everything. The potential to deduce anything, including the future. To know everything would be to have nothing to fear.

The determinism vs free will debate is very often focussed on how each effects moral responsibility. If Determinism were true - and Hard Determinism precludes any free will in any of our actions - it would relieve Sherlock of responsibility for his behaviour.  And it would relieve him of the guilt of knowing that he had had the freedom to make other choices. It isn’t his fault that John suffered because of his faked death, or because of his failure to confess his love, because he had no free choice in any of his actions. 

“Jean-Paul Sartre suggested that people sometimes avoid incrimination and responsibility by hiding behind determinism: "...we are always ready to take refuge in a belief in determinism if this freedom weighs upon us or if we need an excuse"” x

Even after Mary made what she thought were random (free) choices in TST, she was unable to get ahead of Sherlock, because in S4, Hard Determinism is real and “no human action is ever truly random”.

Every one of her movements had been determined already, because humans cannot act or behave in any other way than they do. This is how (symbolically) Sherlock found her.

“On one hand, if determinism is true, all our actions are predicted and we are assumed not to be free; on the other hand, if determinism is false, our actions are presumed to be random and as such we do not seem free because we had no part in controlling what happened.” x

Moftiss’s writing on Doctor Who deals with this stuff a lot because stories with time travel in them constantly need to decide whether our actions can alter the future, or whether history is fixed. Moffat’s solution in DW is a combination - there are “fixed points” - certain moments in the universe’s history which must always happen as they do, but then there is flexibility too...

But getting in to the way Moffat handles this in DW is a whole other meta.

[I genuinely came across this entire idea from reading an example of determinism versus free will which used a freaking DIVING BOARD as an example of the distinction between the two concepts. The example said that Determinism is like someone being pushed from the diving board, and Free Will is like someone making their own decision to jump off it (Sherlock’s fancy gay little diving move before he jumps in TAB???!). It made me wonder whether the diving board analogy is like a common philosophy textbook example or something, and if Moftiss have referenced it?? I was unable to re-find where I read this diving board analogy (damn it!).]

Now flash forward from TAB to TFP, where the theme of the episode is I Want To Break Free.

In TFP we get an odd mixture of determinism AND free will represented in the scenes where Eurus forces Sherlock and John and Mycroft to make choices.

Being forced and being allowed to choose should be opposite ideas according to our Determinism vs Free Will subtext. So what’s happening in TFP in Eurus’s game is that we are tricked into believing our characters are being given choices, when they are really trapped in a psychopath’s game! These are NOT choices they are being given. They are prisoners - they have no free will.

I think this is telling a story once again, about the illusion of free will, JUST like Sherlock’s fall from Bart’s did. (SO did the Cabbie’s pill game in ASiP, btw! The cabbie gave his victims a choice, but it wasn’t a very good choice. Choose the gun, or a 50/50 chance at death. The cabbie’s victims were doomed to die though. The existence of any choice in the matter was an illusion.)

The determinism vs free will subtext is not so much simply Moftiss’s opinion on an ongoing philosophical debate, but rather they are using it as a commentary on the way we are made to believe that we are free, when we are not.

“None are more hopelessly enslaved than those who falsely believe they are free” - Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

John is “not free” either (but at least he knows it now). These texts are always about Sherlock, remember. It was just texting, but I wanted more!

I’ve only seen this text message interpreted in terms of John being “not free” because in his heart he is with Sherlock (and as a reference to TPLoSH’s “I am not a free man”). 

But reading it in terms of Free Will frames this text message as being more about our freedom to choose our future, and that John here knows that he can’t outrun his own Death in Samarra which is his heteronormative/no-homo ending that he gets in S4. “Things won’t end well”. Nope. No they did not. “It was nice to get to know you a little”. Because friends are as close as John and Sherlock are going to get (for the time being).

Back to TFP, in the room with only the gun, Sherlock is forced to choose between John and Mycroft, but chooses not to choose, which @tendergingergirl explained here is an example of Buridan’s paradox, another little piece of philosophy referenced here.

On a surface level, clearly Sherlock could simply not bring himself to murder his brother, and so turned the gun on himself.

But the subtext of it - in terms of determinism vs free will - is that killing himself was the only free choice left available to Sherlock. It was what Eurus didn’t want him to do, and she was probably hoping it wouldn’t occur to him. Because it was the one choice left open to Sherlock which would represent a genuine act of Free Will, as it was neither of the two “choices” that were given to him. Neither of those were truly choices. But killing himself was. 

(And with the Cabbie in ASiP, Sherlock did the very same thing. He chose the gun instead of one of the two bottles of pills. But the gun was a fake, in a similar way to how a tranquilizer gun is fake. In ASiP Sherlock ended the Cabbie’s game by essentially getting up and walking away. In TFP he’s managed to escape Eurus’s game the same way - by finding a loophole. He didn’t kill Mycroft, he was able to make a different choice. Of course it didn’t seem like a good choice, but it was a loophole and it allowed him to symbolically escape, proving that perhaps he is indeed Freer than he thought.)

So while Sherlock shows this obsession with Determinism in TST, it seems he is rediscovering his desire for freedom in TFP.

Instead of playing Eurus’s game, Sherlock flipped the chess board. He knew, or had just figured out, that Eurus didn’t want him to die yet, and so Sherlock realised that he held the power over her. There’s a bit of a hint in one of Moffat’s Doctor Who episodes....

“The first rule of being interrogated is that you are the only irreplaceable person in the torture chamber. The room is yours, so work it. If they're going to threaten you with death, show them who's boss. Die faster.” - Heaven Sent (2015), written by Steven Moffat.

So the direction here is good - we’re moving from Sherlock in TRF doing as he is forced, to in TAB and TFP doing what he chooses. From things carrying on as they always have been (determinism), to rewriting history (free will)...

“You wrote your own version, as I remember. Appointment in Sumatra. The merchant goes to a different city and is perfectly fine.” - TST

@justanotherone16 tagging you because philosophy! 

More meta: A Leap of Faith by @raggedyblue and our musings on Reduction ad absurdum here and here and also Mind the Gap again by @raggedyblue. I’m betting there’s more metas out there about this stuff but these are the ones I found. Thanks for reading! :-D

[This is a bit like my Murder, not Suicide meta, but that was in the context of the suicides of gay men that were “murders” perpetrated by homophobic society]

[elizabethrobertajones]

13x08 watching notes

You guys, I literally can't cope with Sam dressing like this much longer. I am being personally attacked. WHo EVEN SELLS ORANGE PLAID.

expectations: best case scenario, some literally unholy lovechild of 7x20 and 12x12.

Heists mean side characters and good heists mean fun side characters. From the promo stuff it looks like we have a couple of quirky side characters, who aesthetically vaguely reminded me of the Doctor Who bank heist episode from the Clara period of the show, just because quirky side characters to bolster a heist episode. It's probably quite easy to beat the mood and justification of ridiculousness from Doctor Who, especially peak Moffatt era nonsense, out of the water, but this is Glynn so I'm expecting good characters, good characterisation, but pooossibly some random plot hole or some sort of back and forth of characters/scenes that's hard to follow that doesn't necessarily hurt the episode but does make it a headache later :P

[note with hindsight: *just hands Glynn a trophy for it and walks off*]

It's essentially the same thing you forgive under Dabb vs cars (aka not a problem unless you make it one), but it doesn't really lend itself to writing a heist either so this is in no way the same level of "Uhoh" as a Buckleming episode but it is a hmmm I hope people aren't arguing in circles about some way the plot worked and ignoring the good stuff when I get online comment :P

I wasn't sure how this fit into the overall picture of wtf the demons were up to before yesterday, but with the promo scene with Bart, selling him as essentially the new (I mean... potentially since season 6) king of the crossroads but maybe not styling himself that way, we may or may not get another overt canon dive like 12x12 showed us how Crowley got his upgrade, to tell us how long this guy has been around behind the scenes (and SENSIBLY staying off the Winchesters' radar), but this character very literally is Crowley2.0 as people have been calling him in the sense that he is what Crowley was when we met him both with the actual job title AND narratively, and in this case probably very content with his job as it is especially with the danger at the very top, and I hope for his sake he doesn't get ambitious, because it would be great to have a character like this survive just for story stability - yeah even though he's another white dude might as well just lump it unless this episode immediately replaces him with someone better but intent on doing the *exact same* job properly - just to have some stability and a second player in the Hell storyline. Especially if they maintain an uneasy relationship with him that he really is the last resort for help Crowley really wasn't since like season 10.

It establishes another position of power in Hell's hierarchy and it's a fairly safe job where a smart demon can accrue a lot of power - Crowley was shown to have a whole bunch of resources and a lot of it predating becoming King of Hell, specifically because it was stuff gathered as a crossroads demon/through controlling that flow of trade. TBH it's better placed than whoever is trying to lead the demons because they have all the resources. I think in 11x23 Crowley said his minions took everything and ran? This dude would be one of the key placed people to do that because he has all the stuff and connections to all the souls collected in deals. Whether that comes up or not I'm just going to assume he did :P

Anyway in the story it creates another character where we basically already know everything about how they function, because Crowley, both on a random world building and originally how Crowley was in the narrative sort of level. It sucks he's getting replaced on a "I did actually quite like him most days" level, and it's definitely a "get 2 people to do the same job 1 man was doing" thing but then the writing had been so bad to Crowley for a couple of years since they ran out of things for him to do that maybe stripping back to basics to get the narrative role he used to offer without all the baggage is sensible >.> If a character takes on so much of a life of their own they can't do the stuff they used to offer without it being an issue like removing any tension about giving them magic things they couldn't obtain themselves, or offering sincere opposition and attempts to kill them from the throne of Hell, then unfortunately for Crowley, this is a great choice. Asmodeus represents all the shit I didn't like that they kept making Crowley do, Bart represents the side of Crowley introduced by Edlund and maintained at least until Edlund left the show (Crowley was his baby even more than Cas was - he just dipped in to write the best Cas episodes but he introduced and pushed Crowley as a character... funnily enough at the end of season 8 both their natures were changed dramatically and permanently). Based on 1 promo scene, I have to admit, Bart is all the bits of Crowley I liked best, while coming across as a bit of a cheap knock off in the way he tries to butter up to the Winchesters, a bit too knowing, a bit too under-informed, while Crowley ran loops around them just in their opening conversation. 

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OMG it's sleeting so I am going to roll the dice and get a lift to yoga from the same person who plain forgot to pick my mum up and take her wherever they were going for about 2 hours last week when I wisely decided to get the bus. See now I have extra time, the episode is downloaded, but... I don't have enough time. Nooo way :P

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Other generic pre-ep thoughts: this concept is goofy but I seriously don't trust it to stay that way because you never trust this show to stay that way. We haven't seen Asmodeus in a non-BL episode and while he is essentially their pet character he's still plot relevant. I'm not exactly on the side of "we HAVE to get Casmodeus before this is all said and done" as in I'd really love it but it seems so easy to bungle in a BL episode. On the other hand, just because Cas is locked up doesn't mean we can't see Misha in an episode while this state of affairs continues (and just because there's no spoilers doesn't mean it's not happening) and Glynn having a crack at Casmodeus sounds like a perfect set up for the kind of stuff we'd want to see out of it, and be a curveball to throw in here.

I'm just going to assume we're not seeing Mary again for a while and this is all set in the main universe.

I assume Jack isn't in the episode but we may or may not get a lead on him at the end, or else be left on "well we have a lead/half a lead on him" because I sort of feel like if he literally breaks the universe next episode after this he'll be pretty easy to find again :P

This may all be some way to force some conversations about how Dean and Sam feel about Jack on the other side of the turning point, especially if it's our last chance for them to be in the limelight until the other side of Wayward Sisters midseason fun. And if Jack has broken the universe next episode, we need to have their current stances laid out before they go rushing in to deal with that. So this could be a fairly light episode for character discussion.

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HI back from yoga

the recap immediately gets into Jack stuff so hey maybe he is in the episode, maybe it's just explaining better why he is not in this episode because the reason why NOT is just as important.

Then just way too much having to recap last episode to get us up to date on what Sam and Dean have been through with all that. I like that they included that Ketch said he was his own twin considering Dean says "twinsies" in the promo scene, as, of course, this may be a really important theme. Twins that aren't actually twins. Cas and the Empty, Ketch and "Alexander", Dean and Crowley2.0, Dean being fed up of things that look like other things and the shapeshifter & ghoul...

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Anyway. "NOW" - Cambridge, England. Okay then. Suuuuuuuuuuuuuuure. *rubs a Union Jack on it to make it more British*

This is your weekly reminder to read these notes in a shrill British accent.

Whoever this is outside looks like she's up to something.

This mueseum:

https://elizabethrobertajones.tumblr.com/post/130991708770/justanotheridijiton-jerry-wanek-on-supernatural

I'm not gonna read into that immediately because its been completely dressed up for the vampire!Dean episode and it's been polished up for this episode. But we get a long look at the stained glass roof and that was a centrepiece for the vamp episode.

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*she continues to be up to something*

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Wow, great security. Bust open a door and no alarms go off? It's the 2nd door that doesn't work, after Dean failed to get the automatic door to open for him in 13x05.

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Mmmm drawers of old scrolls and spooooky writing.

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Just... shove it in your handbag.

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Oh yep she's a demon, that's surprising.

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This is a great way to do a robbery, tbh. Ethics about possession aside, you can burn a vessel and let them take whatever physical damage or legal ramifications of being found in the room where something was stolen, but if you run into problems, just possess the next person. Especially someone with clearance, if you couldn't find them earlier...

I suppose her not being able to open the door earlier was an omen for her not having all the information - not knowing that Bart was going to stab her as soon as he had what he wanted from her, and that she wasn't working for Asmodeus's whim at all, but Bart was going rogue with it. This is another suggestion of the dramatic irony at work - Dean couldn't open the door, he had no faith, and it seemed like to HIM that no one was helping him. But of course Cas had already come back, the automatic door had opened in that sense, but he didn't know so he's encountering this block. This demon powers through it as well without setting off any alarm bells and she should have had some about the whole double cross coming. Likewise, Dean's surprised by Cas's return.

Bart establishes himself as a Crowley-alike instantly, by having a random demon minion to double cross, and to go to the Winchesters. He already has Dean on speed dial which means his number must get circulated among the demons, or Bart has sought it out already from their sources. Whether he's had it a while and just decided to pounce...

I guess it's also like the opposite of Cas phoning him and we don't hear that side of the conversation - I mean we hear Dean on the phone here, but we're staying on Bart's side of the camera, and he's enticing him in with what he needs to find Jack. Again, more dark mirrors of stuff that's already happened... Dean getting a lot of phonecalls he needs to follow his faith on.

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Dean immediately on screen in his bi plaid doing that thing with the gun that's... suggestive. Sitting there obessesively cleaning his gun.

Sam emerges, in a shirt that is going to be a Problem.

*mutes Sam*

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Sam was the one who talked to Cas. I wonder if Asmodeus phoned Sam up rather than the other way around. Like, don't be suspicious, just check in every day and see how they're doing... Just phone one of the brothers at random.

Anyway we already know, of course, that it's not Cas, and here we are with more dramatic irony, the same problem as Casifer before they knew, and it's underlined by Sam being the one to talk to Casmodeus instead of Dean. Fewer opportunities based on what we see on screen for Dean to work it out.

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And now we see the other side of the phonecall, tracking back in time to show us the same thing over again, but now we have Dean's POV on it too and he's not at this disadvantage, at least, with the way it's all been set up. He gets to snark back etc although Bart has the right word to stop Dean hanging up on him.

I do like the snark about Hell street locations :P

Sam's like "a demon!" whispered even though it's obvious and I think Dean clued into it which means once again Sam's being the GA, or a filter for them, and even though he says it silently, he's still spelling out what he thinks it is when it's blatantly obvious to us what it is as we watched the cold open and his side of the start of the phone call already.

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"if I had a way to find *your boy*" - that parenting theme again, and he's addressing it to Dean since that's who he thinks he's solely on the phone to.

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We get a look at a ton of shop fronts and I suppose they're all made up?

The Smile Diner is already incongruously happy - more irony, just that it's all smiles for what would be an understandably tense meeting.

Anyway: "BANGTOWN beauty & barber" "Fine art bartending LEARN TO BARTEND", a restaurant...

A Chinese-owned phone shop "Ketaiya" which I suppose is selling phones, as it says "iphone8.8" in the window but also would fit an idea of calling home, as shops like this exist for most immigrant populations, as a place where they can make cheap phonecalls home. In this part of the country I'm most used to seeing Arabic, Slavic or Eastern European versions of this but I assume it's the same deal. We get cage imagery over the front of this shop, obviously as protection for it as it has a bunch of iphones in it, but the idea that Cas can't call them because he's in prison is right there, and it makes him the lil green mascot in the window.

And then the smile cafe is the next thing along. :)

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"He could work for Asmodeus" smart, but wrong *as far as we know*, and Sam is like "what if he's telling the truth", so this scepticism seems to be flipping their roles from last episode, buuut on the other hand Dean is being defensive and practical and Sam is again entertaining things villains tell them.

"After Crowley I told myself no more demons" it STILL sounds like bitter but civil exes. And you'd bet that "after Crowley" is not "in the last month since he died" but "since that time we had a wild elopement"

but hanging a lampshade on exactly what Bart is doing for them in the narrative, and of course that Dean is going to be predisposed to see him as a Crowley2.0 exactly as we do, so that adds even more depth to the promo scene.

Sam like "you said we need a miracle, maybe this is it" and then Dean calling out that demons don't give miracles - they give deals they can SELL as miracles. Who of the two of you has been jerked around more by demon deals? Oh yeah the one of you who sold your soul because your father's demon deal spiritually broke you already. (I mean yeah Sam has had it PLENTY hard in other ways but Dean and crossroads demons is a very different story to Sam)

"Let's hear the guy out." "And after that we kill him."

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I continue to be enraged that Dean is wearing sensible black and at least MUTED purples and Sam's wearing the orange jacket and a plaid with like, hazard day glo orange strips sewn into it.

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:) Smile Diner :)

it's horrifying, but it has homemade burgers. I have no clue if this is something they scouted out or repainted but the brickwork having yellow lines is like WARNING WARNING WARNING WARNING in film language, like DO NOT ENTER police tape coding. IRL it would be whimsical, especially with all the smilies. On screen, it it horrifying. There's red signage and green neon boxing the window I think they're gonna sit in, and red and green are the poison codependency colours I think? According to Zerbe? I don't know if that's the dynamic here but it's certainly not GOOD, especially boxed in by yellow and black hazard warnings.

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There's a pretty bridge and a sunset/rise in the sign. It's incongruous to the smile theme at least because it doesn't directly relate to smiling, and is just a random image. I would assume it's symbolic in some way... Cas is of course the sun, this does mimic the Gas n Sip logo (especially as it has a maroon version), and the road seems to lead away from the sun across the bridge. They're not helping Cas going in here, that's for sure :P

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Lots of potted plants in here, and one behind Bart.

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"The famous Winchesters!" "Some random demon." Dean is in a power play with him and now they're face to face rather than at a disadvantage over the phone, he's gonna win this one. Watch.

Bart offers a nickname to them, which could be a power play to say hey I'm so powerful we get on nickname terms because I allow you and you should be grateful or whatever, but his name sounds like an old powerful demon name (he and Asmodeus both have old school "us" endings to their names) and so he's actually neutering the part that makes his name sound powerful and impressive. He may be preempting Dean's infamous nicknaming habit, but Dean does it to be dismissive or to humanise. And he's not gonna get the latter treatment :P

Again, offering them to sit and then trying to get Dean on his side with pie - gesture after gesture of power, being the one in control, and knowing them, and the pie is the first sign he's done his Winchester Homework, which bad guys notoriously get wrong or misread. In this case, he's got Dean down as the stupid dumb muscle who can be bribed with pie, and I assume missing aaall the complexity of why demons fear him so much.

He labels Dean a "disrupter" when Dean has been tasked with maintaining the natural order. Dean has only ever tried to STOP bad stuff happening, and though he's ACCIDENTALLY helped unleash a bunch of stuff, it's never been because he WANTS to. He's helped cause a lot of the disruption in Hell with his actions, but that's because Hell is bad and he wants to stop it doing bad things. In general Dean's big victories have been to try and secure the natural order staying as it is, with his two biggest victories being Swan Song and settling things with God and Amara.

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I love how the framing here has all that green light behind the Winchesters, but aside from a line of green behind Bart's head, he's got this innocent white flowery wall and some roses behind him.

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Again, Sam snatches up the spell, Dean doubts immediately, I guess if not that the spell is real that why a demon would just GIVE it to him without ulterior motives. Just be upfront about the ulterior motives :P

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He re-introduces himself as first a cross-roads demon and then THE cross-roads demon, a clarification again. He doesn't say king of the crossroads, but he does smirk at Dean, and says helping people is what he does... Yeah, to a degree. They have to PAY for it. But it's that smarmy salesman charm, this time mixed with someone who looks like a thug boss, the sort who dresses nice but has goons.

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I mean we KNOW he does, but his look is very typical of nice suit, close-cropped hair, and just generally heavy set like he's used to being intimidating more than relying on his words, when you go to cast this guy.

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Dean says they don't listen to/help demons, just kill them, and for one thing Bart's got to know about Crowley, but he says "How Dean of you" like he knows Dean is the one who just threatens to/will kill demons and not think about it. I mean Dean could be showing he's learned from experience. But of course then, the great meta about him negging Dean, by switching focus to Sam, who's already been established even before they get in the diner that he's going to be more willing to listen, that he's the "smart one" aka the one more likely to make a bad decision by listening to people he shouldn't while trying to help.

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And, of course, Dean eats his pie, and we already made the parallels to other scenes like this in diners, but Ishim stands out the most, throwing money at Dean to shut up and buy himself some pie. In this case the pie is already here, and Dean's allowed to be suspicious but also eat the pie because hey, it's here.

Bart treated Dean like he was the stupid pie guy so Dean, who doesn't trust him an inch, acts like the stupid pie guy, while not giving any ground. He is not bribed by the pie, but Sam can't believe Dean's eating it.

There's a world of metaphor there about Dean and seduction. Because of course Bart came on strong to Dean, but Dean wasn't buying that either, the coded second layer of the conversation about him being Crowley2.0 and thinking maybe he can find a way to unlock Dean's interest in dudes... by offering pie of course. Doesn't work like that, you have to earn it. And the coming on too strong is the first weakness he has in not measuring up to Crowley, despite how it all seems like he has the ~perfect plan~ in place.

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They're STIIIILL in these shirts

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Wow, that's some old Biblical stuff. Guess that explains why Dabb tweeted that, pretty quickly. I don't know much about the Queen of Shiba but the idea she's a nephilim is kind of amusing.

I'll have to leave that to the experts but anyway, more douchey guys, although this time King Solomon is keeping tabs on someone like a dick, so um. Welcome to the club of symbolism this part of the season? I assume this is the same guy from the Song of Solomon that we saw Jack glance at in 13x02, and it's more romantic stuff as well.

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Sam's like "Jack is out there in the world, and he's alone and he's scared and he's dangerous", which is exactly Dean's stance from 13x01 saying better to keep Jack in the Bunker with them so the only people he'd hurt are them. Yes Sam still seems to care about Jack, but he is also now valuing him practically, and seeing he's dangerous, and it's caused this flip in his attitude to one mirroring Dean's but obviously with much less hate and upset about what happened to Cas etc

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Heist HQ!

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Quirky random demons! Hat and headphone demons.

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Hahahah they're called Smash and Grab. Smash has flowery DMs so I love her. Grab is wearing that hat voluntarily so I am not so sure about him at all.

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PS: in America has flipping the bird with 2 fingers become a thing or was that a peace sign? When I was a young'un I was told that you always had to do peace signs palm out because showing the back of your hand with the exact same gesture was as bad/worse than giving someone the finger.

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Is Smash human? Since he said Grab is a demon that leaves an empty space over what she is.

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Lol, Dean realising it's a heist. "What is this, a heist? Hold on, is this a heist?"

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Hahahahahha his favourite My Little Pony... Come on Dean, you kept the little pony you cut off that car in 7x06. You literally can not throw stones in this house.

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Luther Shrike looks like if he was on UK TV he'd be played by the guy who played Walder Frey (David Bradley).

There's some stuff on the board that looks like the Sumerian(?) that Kevin translated the angel tablet into. Since we already had Kevin back on screen, it seems superfluous to mention, but it gives me a 4 in a row for mentioning Kevin in an episode this season so BINGO and more dramatic irony that Sam and Dean don't know he's responsible for Lucifer coming back, or, indeed, that Lucifer is back.

(With a bonus grumble from me that it's a reminder, in this season about a nephilim, that we still don't know what the angel fall spell's specific wording was)

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Oh boy the "hell and back" thing. Ouch. So we're apparently delving THIS now? Is this penance for 11x10 and Dean not seeming too bothered to go back down there aside from token nervousness about the whole thing in the acting? Anyway getting flashbacks to that out of the blue... Look I am a smol sensitive Dean girl you can't just throw that at me. D:

It's interesting the perhaps king of the crossroads can't swing this with a random soul. I would assume it's specifically blood of someone CONDEMNED to Hell and saved/brought back. And woah I have it paused right after the flashback to collect myself, but either this has to get a Cas mention or it's one heck of an empty space in the story that Cas saved Dean and is the reason he's viable for this.

And lol lol lol lol see above like THREE PARAGRAPHS AGO I am never ever going to be over the angel fall spell and the fact it required grace in such... suspicious... circumstances of nephilim and cupids, and the whole theme of clarification, and how we have these such specific spells - virgin blood in 12x22, archangel grace last episode, and human who has been to hell and back now...

I'm just saying, I'm gonna be on my deathbed when I'm 150 like "the angel fall spell needed the grace of an angel in love with a human, come fight me, Carver" and then I give up the ghost just so I can go beat him up in the afterlife.

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Bart beams at Dean, wanting his blood. Dean offers it up just to get this over and done with, but he says, no, straight from the tap and anyway you two are extremely competent in a weird crisis, why the heck would I not exploit that I need your manpower for this?

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Shrike is human who has been to hell and back - obviously a dark Dean mirror because apparently he's a sadist and murderer, and Dean's entire thing is whether he's a killer or not for doing this job he does and I have gifsets and meta blahing on and on about that but yeah basically 2x03 set up that for Dean about how you do the job because you like/need killing or you do it to save people, and his torturer arc, and his Mark of Cain/demon descent... Nuff said for now.

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UGH so Sam pulls Dean aside and says, "we want that spell - we NEED that spell" which is a huge clarification, and literally the want/need theme you are probably aware I bang on about a weeeeeeeeeeeee little bit. In general it's the "use your words" theme which does not harm Sam for the reminder but also is a huge Destiel theme because the need/want thing is from the crypt scene/10x19 with the call out on the crypt scene from Dean's subconscious and the ongoing issue of whether Cas feels needed or wanted, with the fact he feels "needed" called out in OH WAIT 13x04, aka last time out for Glynn... the fact the clarification is coming now in the other direction is because this is a Sam thing anyways, and - UGH I have it paused with him on screen and he seems to have an even worse shirt on? - it's not about Destiel subtext for him it's just using your words and in general bolstering the presence of the theme. Of course they don't just want the spell for kicks, they have a serious reason for needing it. In fact Sam's concern about Jack going from emotional concern for Jack himself to seeing Jack as a dangerous crisis is encapsulated in turning a desire into an obligation.

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"He'll never see us coming"

"they're coming"

More dramatic irony, immediately showing us that on the other side of the story the bad guy has more information than they think he does, and that they aren't going to have it as easy as they think. That Bart has already been made as a traitor and that Asmodeus knows his next move will be exactly this.

Asmodeus may not even be *on screen* in this episode and he's being written as more intelligent than he has been in both Buckleming episodes, which is super unfortunate that he's supposed to be an intelligent character and we have to judge the characterisation of these unfortunates who are main BL property off their depiction in OTHER episodes...

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And yeah Shrike may chat with demons but he has demon traps, exorcisms memorised and he toes the line of a horrible human being but not demonic himself, but such a hair's breadth away that demons and demon interactions and generally knowing wtf is going on with demons is just his life.

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He has a really pretty grate which I think is specifically in the hall so that he can exorcise demons out through it. It probably goes straight to Hell

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His windows also have bars on them which look like random jumble to an unfamiliar eye but are of course iron warding

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I think he also has grapevines. He lives on a vineyard with barbed wire and demon traps on the gates.

The metalwork is the coolest thing in this episode and this episode is not half bad so far

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Oh my god Dean called out poor Smash for her amazing boots and called her "Winona" - she DOES bear a passing resemblance, but hey leave the boots alone.

Anyway that moment just to show they're top and tail under a blanket in the back of the Impala which is pretty funny to me - I'm never sure you can actually fit anyone in there like that but they want to prove me wrong.

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I'm like 1000% sure Sam's ruse doesn't work, because Shrike knows they're coming but he's let in anyway because why not. Let's have some fun. Interesting that Sam's the one made to do this. Having to lie and we already KNOW he's been caught out.

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Anyway more focus on the boots... 3 times and I'm super worried we're gonna have to identify some remains by the flowery boots >.>

Or more positively it could be used to fuck with us in some way

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"Dean? Don't get dead." "you too." Aw.

Is Grab in the trunk of the car?

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Iron warded door. Yeah, that's normal.

-

For these guests, the rug is pulled back, the demon trap is plain to see on the floor. We see Sam from above, like he's being watched.

Shrike's front room/office is like Metatron's desk? I swear he had that lamp. Cuthbert's house... I swear that's Bobby's wallpaper or one in a similar hue with appropriately similar patterns to at least make a sort of sense of familiarity.

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Awww Dean and Smash. He calls her weird but then spots she's drinking the delightful sounding does what it says on the tin NERVE DAMAGE, and then he says he used to live on it as a kid, despite its illegal amounts of caffeine.

Ew and she's getting it expired on ebay.

Dean, she may be bonding with you, but don't drink it. It's literally called Nerve Damage.

Welp

he's gonna be bouncing off the walls after 1 sip

-

OH they have to summon Grab I guess?

-

"Cool."

Hahahaha

Dean's babysitting the weirdoes.

-

Heh, calls Dean "chief"

-

HAHAHAHA Smash told Grab off screen that Dean was just a pretty face :P

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WHOOPS looks like Dean just got puppeted by his own blood. Like a couple of weeks ago or something I was writing about a worst case scenario for Jack's powers being that they completely overwhelm him and he's like, inside waiting to be busted out, perhaps as a conclusion of the crypt scene/swan song repetitions from an external evil possessing and controlling to an internal force making it happen - a slow process but it really has switched, and it has been a fairly smooth slope down :D

-

Also that was hilarious. Poor Dean.

-

Dean's being poisoned with NERVE DAMAGE and Sam's being poisoned with homemade gin. If that's what it really is.

-

Hahahahahah Sam picking up a basilisk fang. We've all seen Harry Potter

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LOL Sam knows random knowledge about basilisks and gorgons. Of course it's a test, and Shrike would know what it was, but good on Sam for recognising it. I watched Tall Tales so recently I'm still giggling about him recognising a crocodile belly scale, but now I just think Sam has an affinity for identifying the weirder monsters. He must have read a load of junk about them in the MoL bunker.

His persona as the collector guy wanting to sell to Shrike is basically Sam but with a bit more nervous bluster, which might be explained by knowing how dangerous this guy is and that Sam is having to pretend. He's not even wearing clothes as a get up here.

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OH BOY Sam's big gambit is Ruby's knife... I remember in my 8x02 watching notes (hi Dabb) I was amused that they kind of forget that that knife is one of the most valuable things they own and they just dropped it in the weapon bin with a warning, rather than considering even trading it for the tablet or whatever even as a ruse... Just the idea they go around laden with magical artefacts that help them all the time like this which would actually be priceless to collectors - like in 12x06 Asa having an angel blade on blue felt in a glass case.

I don't think there's been a strong bias about which one of them has an angel blade and which one still uses this knife in fights since Carver era, but Dean took it to Purgatory, while Sam seemed to have more consistent possession of it for a while, Dean was the one who wrangled it from Ruby in 3x16 and sort of formally took ownership of it on behalf of the Winchesters.

Given the emotional background to this season of Sam's powers being explored through Jack, though, it is interesting (since they have enough angel blades they could just swap to using them all the time instead of this knife, which is a relic of Sam's darkest times) to just give it up, but quite aside from its worth to the right market, it has an enormous emotional weight of the season 3-4-5 drama for the Winchesters, and remembering it as Ruby's knife ties it to Sam. He still uses her knife and keeps her memory close, perhaps just as a reminder. But that weight is there and bringing it up is a reminder of all that, because so often we just see it as a tool, but this is asking us to stop and CONSIDER what that knife actually means, how much it's worth, and how even though they could stop using it these days, they don't, but what it would mean to Sam to give it up.

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Dean reeeally not getting along with Grab. Who, of course, is the demon in this mix. The fact Smash is not a demon is only brought up in that scene where Dean is talking about her working with demons - it's taken for granted that she's human and perhaps that is the default, but not when you're expecting a room full of demons as we might be when meeting them. So. More empty space fill in the blanks, use context and people using or not using definitions to not be surprised that she's human.

-

Anyway Grab calls Sam stupid and Dean gets so angry he stops and turns around even though the spell's been dragging him along so there's a ridic Swan Song mirror for the collection - while "puppeted" by the spell, "defensiveness" of his brother halts Dean's progress...

Aaaand he's off again. Not enough? :P

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Hey creepy underground cellars. That's never bad.

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LOL Dean gets called HANDPUPPET

Mr Fizzles can tell when you're being a liaaaaaaaaaaaaaar

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"I will kill you." "I bet you say that to all the girls." Awww and here was I thinking Dean wouldn't get flirted with any more this episode.

That was literally from the Crowley handbook - 9x10/9x11 made a huge point out of it.

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This murder cellar connects to 12x01, 12x12, and 12x20, with the cellars being where Sam was kept and the twig people were made, and 12x12 for the basement Ramiel kept his shit in. Crossing them all over into this is super fun.

I guess this is where Smash does her thing?

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GREAT door.

I hope that thing doesn't bite

-

It almost certainly bites

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Oooh Shrike thinks Sam is a demon.

He didn't see him not get stuck in the demon trap out in the hall.

He has some of the info but not ALL of the info - in this way, while Bart sent them to deal with curveballs, Sam has turned out to be the curveball instead.

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Ow that's a big hole to blow in the books, that were nearly Sam.

He conveniently slides back to his knife.

-

On the other hand re: curveballs, if Shrike thinks he's a demon, that shotgun blast wouldn't have killed a demon but it will kill a Sam.

-

Sam just goes and stabs the dude.

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"As long as I'm on my property I can't die."

Well that's annoyingly cheaty

I wonder if it's symbolic of something but I can't instantly link it to anything so I have to move on.

There's something very like the Cain stuff with Dean in 9x11 between Sam and this guy, especially as they matched up as equals in knowledge about gorgons or whatever earlier.

-

MAW

-

DEAN LOOKS INTO THE MAW

-

Dean does not like spiders.

-

Hard same.

Why is he always so relatable

-

I'm cackling so much at his reluctance to put his hand in there. It's like the not wanting to go in the hole in 13x06 but so much funnier because... spiders.

There was an eel tank at the local aquarium when I was a kid which had a game EMBEDDED in the side of the eel tank to put your hand in and feel what an eel feels like.

I'm having, like. PTSD flashbacks to this and the Tiger Head in the museum which terrified the living daylights out of us as children and we wouldn't even go past it because it looked so fierce with its big open mouth

this is literally combining two of The Most Horrifying Things about my childhood into one

-

Plus biting for blood = needles to draw blood which is a rather more recent thing what with recently coming down with a mystery chronic illness and spending 2 years fishing around for a diagnosis via endless blood drawing, so put that one on the list

-

I believe in you, Dean. You're stronger than me.

He's stronger than me

-

I love him more than I have ever loved him in this exact moment

-

He had to account for the fact that Shrike might regularly go in here so of course it won't take YOUR HAND or something.

Of course it's a massive suspense thing for a teeny weeny pinprick. Of course.

This is like the dead opposite of the Werther Box - it's just a key for the lock, not like... the entire murderous thing Cuthbert designed

-

NINJA reflexes to save Smash there

-

Bye Grab. You were a dick.

-

OH NOES Shrike is here, with the demon knife, covered in blood. That's not worrying for Dean to see AT ALL.

-

Smash just legs it.

Awww she seemed to care about Grab at least a little... They had matchy matchy names.

-

Dean wants to go watch Game of Thrones.

Walder Frey knock off prefers to read the books

-

Uh

how did Sam get here.

I'm gonna assume like... not!Sam for now, since he saved the day so fortuitously.

-

Bart lurkin' outside.

Not surprising at all that Smash has a deal with him. I doubt he's letting her off easy, either, she's going to be sent right back.

-

Does Shrike just walk through this thing and ignore all the darts because they can't kill him?

-

"Shrek" 

-

Sam sure has some quick and easy insights into the keypad.

-

"Like in Entrapment"

"Did you just say Entrapment?"

... Did Sam just get busted over his pop culture knowledge, by Dean, slower on the uptake than what I thought was weird for Sam?

-

Omg they're sending Shrike through because the darts can't kill him. This is ridiculous

-

That *was* ridiculous, but funny

-

Winchester problem solving.

-

Awwwww Smash is back, if it's really her.

Sam figures out she has a deal.

He also has a real side-eye of Dean. If he's actually Sam I got to re-evaluate him through this section :P

-

If not, I have another case of something impersonating Sam while doing The Eyebrows

More horrifying: this is Sam actually doing The Eyebrows

-

Oh god it's full daylight all of a sudden and Sam's plaid

is orange

under the orange jacket

I hate Sam Winchester

undying feud levels

-

Guess this is the edge of the property where he can't be killed? Be hilarious if they get him over the line somehow to kill him

-

STUNT DRIVING

-

Suddenly backstory and emotional music plays.

Starting to think nothing’s up with Sam though, like, if he actually was replaced or not, because it was really funny imagining it and not letting them get the drop on me if it happened, and Sam being called out on his references etc, but we're getting pretty far into it all like leaving the property, having this moment, etc, so maybe it was just a fake out and Sam BAMF'd himself free off-screen or was never even tied up

-

Seems to just be a story of life, though that Shrike's kid died so soon after he was saved, and it was a "waste" of a demon deal. He seems like he must have already been a certain sort of person to know how to MAKE the deal...

What's in the trunk...

Ooh I wondered if it would be as soon as Bart wasn’t forthcoming. So a 6x04 parallel as well (or 6x10, which dealt a lot more with them having to work for Crowley).

-

Oooh they were off the property. WHOOPS. It *was* the gates. I thought so but I didn't figure he'd be so stupid to face them head on.

Although it was over Bart's bones so it was a risk he had to take to leave?

-

And now we have a new problem :P

-

Awww poor Smash

-

And there's the rest of the spell. Do they take it?

-

Oookay I was thinking Sam would have to be Sam for this part and he and Dean are making emotional decisions together and Sam's picking the correct path so... I guess I have to assume 100% this is Sam again? Mittens isn't talking to me about stuff from this episode like there's too many spoilers for her to humour me about stuff. Even what I thought were silly things.

-

And now Smash/Alice is in peril after they made the decision that they do not want to get involved in Bart's shit because he's a shitty person.

-

Bye bye Bart :3 Nice move, Dean.

So basically, yep, Bart tried so hard to be what Crowley was to Dean in their opening interaction and all his set up to come across as like... something Dean had been missing? That Dean might WANT a demon ally to be on the hook with/have on his hook, even just have on his SPEED DIAL, because to him that probably meant being able to manipulate the Winchesters and so on...

But as I figured from the opening, he just completely underestimates them, including that Dean is way way way waaaay smarter than he gives him credit for, so OF COURSE Dean wins by outsmarting him, by doing what soulless!Sam STOPPED Dean from doing in 6x04 and just torching Crowley on the spot because what did they REALLY owe him and how much loyalty could you really have from a demon as uneasy business partners... So Dean outwits him, and in a move almost exactly like 13x06 he sets up the tools and someone else gets the kill but it's Dean who outsmarted the monster.

And whooops half of half a spell? Not even half... it's all gone.

Whoooops. Well at least they saved Alice. And they're putting her on a bus, as they usually do with characters they won't see again.

-

There's like 2 minutes left, which is always an ominous sign.

-

Anyway *waves goodbye to Alice*

-

*Dean pats Sam on the shoulder and we get the last look at Sam smiling*

Aaand to the Bunker, where Dean is getting them some beers while wearing his black Henley.

Like the whole thing resolved with that dude and Bart is dead and all (... they better find someone to replace him although constantly subbing in random "I'm the new king of the crossroads" characters might get a bit ridiculous, we know there's going to be an opening someone will take... I really hope that was a cue to get us to whoever takes over... If not they just make it even more frustrating that I’ve been waiting 7 years to know if someone replaced Crowley or he was doing both jobs, and now it’s made even more clear there’s a job for a secondary powerful demon in hell to show up in this role and the head crossroads demon is a serious position with power and such... It’s such a frustrating hole in the world building to overlook and I've been over-thinking it for longer than I’ve been on tumblr by a good few years.)

-

anyway Sam n Dean are talking

Is Sam going to explain how he escaped from being knocked out and showed up with perfect timing, or was that the plot hole?

-

Nah, they just have a nice talk about the job and how saving people is fun, and all. And Dean being optimistic. Yay! It's a similar call out to 13x06 and why Dean was so obscenely happy in the cowboy room, but Sam is now seeing that Dean is permanently feeling better even in ridiculous situations, and his mood really has permanently resettled to optimism and cheerfulness again and it is NOT just the cowboys.

-

Okay so I probably need to watch the last part of the episode again but I am now weirdly curious about what happened to Sam - though we know he's great at escaping things, but Shrike put his life into doubt to Dean, and we had no reason to assume he'd leave Sam in a place where he could easily get out, I'm guessing now that the way he showed up looking like he COULD have just killed and/or maimed Sam with that bloody knife, and I even pointed out that to DEAN'S eyes it would look sooo much worse than if it was as simple as Shrike knocked Sam out, and immediately legged it to the safe to check on it while just hoping unconsciousness would be enough to keep Sam down. (He has an iron skull after being knocked out so many times - like that thing where you kung fu your hands to have tons of micro fractures in order for the bones to heal stronger? That's Sam's head.)

He seemed to be put into question after he showed up again and I began to doubt it again as soon as they left the property because it would make no sense to leave Sam behind and just take a fake with them for the emotional resolution of the episode. Especially once they got into it and it was blatantly a straightforward emotional resolution to the episode that Sam had too much of a stake in for it NOT to be him at that point.

BUT Dean questioned Sam's reference to a thing right after he showed back up, while Sam was coming up with some hilarious ideas for solving things in a way written which you COULD think he was not!Sam and someone with more info/their own stake in this (e.g. the worry Asmodeus was coming) just because it was Sam at his most mercenary to come up with the "just send the guy who can't die over the traps to spring them all" plan... We KNOW Sam can be like that but at the same time... Sam being like that can also be some other person who would think like that as the LEAST WORST thing they thought that day instead of the actual worst.

Anyway it was all set up in such a way that Dean calling out something he didn't expect about Sam means he's questioning the people around him when they behave uncharacteristically - because he KNOWS his loved ones. He understands when they aren't behaving like themselves. He gets a secret out of Sam that he watched something he'd never normally watch just for Catherine Zeta-Jones, which Dean has to concede, while struggling with how much to mock Sam. It's interesting they use the empty space of Sam arriving without explanation to cast him into doubt, then have him doubted, verbally putting something out there that Dean stopped to question what Sam was saying. They brush it off, and it ends up being nothing, but considering the looming possibility of Casmodeus - and the fact that Sam started the episode saying he'd talked to Cas so they have literally been decieved THIS episode without knowing it (and Dean didn't get to verify if it was Cas or not - another reason to phone Sam instead of Dean)...

I wonder if it is leading up to Dean calling out Casmodeus about not being Cas? That this fake out might have been a time it really was Sam, but we and Dean were given a set up to doubt Sam was there in one piece, us with dramatic irony and Dean with just plain not knowing, and so they could play with this concept and it just tapers off - maybe we take the reaction about C Z-J as proof, maybe we eventually decide Sam has to be Sam after all and there's nothing going on here because he's involved earnestly in the emotional decisions at the end of the episode.

But it was interesting. Unlike with Ketch and his twin, it was the sort of set up where I wasn't certain we wouldn't finish the scene and then cut to Sam tied to a chair and bouncing it over to a nearby sharp object to saw himself free and run and stop the drama, at least until the end of that part of the episode. Once we were back out in the clear light of day it was like Sam's disgusting plaid was all the proof we needed it was really him :P