#I thought her brief appearance at the beginning of the season had to indicate a larger appearance later and I was right.

[releasing-my-insanity]

LOOK WHO’S HERE!!!

[Three gifs from the trailer for the All Creatures Great and Small 2020 season 3 Christmas special. Maggie and Tristan talking in the pub. Maggie says “You put your name forward, there’s nothing more you can do.” Tristan smiles and nods in a “you’re right” sort of way. At the Skeldale House Christmas Eve gathering. Maggie hands Tristan a drink and says “Not got many takers this year?” Tristan replies “Father Christmas is lacking his usual charm.” Maggie looks rather appalled at “Father Christmas’” attitude. Tristan glances back at her like “See what I mean?”]

[jessthetea]

I guess Jess’s attempt to debunk the breakup rumors and get attention failed tremendously because it didn't get the noise she thought it would. On Twitter, the post only got 10 likes and 3 retweets but comments calling them out for it being old photos, Instagram had 11k likes and that is barely anything along with comments calling Jess out, barely on Facebook and that's it. It is not going viral anywhere because people didn't ask if they were “still going strong” or care about the relationship to begin with except when they officially dated publicly in 2022 at the same time Jamie got his role in Stranger Things which was convenient. (Plus Jamie’s silence and still traveling alone even though he was “supposedly” with Jess isn't helping her case either). Not saying Jamie isn't important or popular because he is and there are plenty of articles and results under his name and still counting even though he's not an A-list celebrity yet, it is just that he's not THAT popular (yet) for paparazzi and media to follow him on every single thing and they definitely don't care about Jess as to why they haven't posted anything about her or their relationship for two going on three years until they recently “cared” about what’s going on. Jess is steadily outing herself that she's behind this and everything else that Josey had facts on her about is true. Now karma is catching up to her and she knows her time of fame that she barely had is coming to an end.

Jamie is certainly not what one would classify as an A-list celebrity, and that much is indisputable. His appeal is far more specialized, perhaps confined to a particular niche or genre. While every life holds its own significance, in the realm of fame, Jamie is neither prominent nor popular enough to attract the relentless attention of the paparazzi on his own.

Even with his role as Vecna in Stranger Things, it’s doubtful he faces the same level of scrutiny as his co-stars. One can quite confidently assert that the more prominent members of the cast contend with the paparazzi far more often than Jamie does. Additionally, the character he portrays bears little resemblance to him, both in appearance and voice, which only serves to make him even less recognizable or prone to public harassment.

Moreover, Jamie hardly seems the sort who is thirsting for fame or attention. Acting and music may be his professions, but one gets the sense that he engages in them out of personal passion, not for the lure of wealth or stardom. Many performers fall into this category—dedicated to their craft, yet choosing to keep a low profile, taking on projects that appeal to them rather than those designed to catapult them into the public eye.

As for Jess, her motives remain somewhat elusive. It’s patently clear that she craves fame, power, and wealth, as her behavior prior to her involvement with Jamie indicated. One might speculate that she believed Jamie was on the cusp of astronomical fame, especially following his portrayal of Vecna in season four, with the promise of season five to come.

Perhaps she imagined he was on the verge of becoming a billionaire, a veritable A-list superstar, and thought she might simply ride his coattails, much as she’s done with Renell and Quil. But Jamie is decidedly not that kind of man, and whatever grand scheme she may have concocted seems to have faltered.

It was rather amusing, in fact, to see the comments on the JustJared photos, with people asking who she was—one even noting her resemblance to Snape from Harry Potter in that particular ensemble!

This only reaffirms the reality that she is largely unknown or, at the very least, utterly irrelevant to most. Even more amusing were the remarks about the photos being old, as if that diminishes their significance entirely.

It seems Jess's brief experience with fame is nearing its inevitable conclusion. Even her most ardent supporters—the stans, irritating though they may be—have grown notably quieter, seemingly less eager to defend her.

They appear to realize her time is nearly up, and I, for one, can’t help but anticipate the fallout. I suspect they’ll all pretend they never supported her in the first place. Whatever the outcome, it’s evident that Jess is desperately clinging to Jamie’s fleeting fame, while he appears to be making every effort to distance himself from her.

[natashasfilms]

Chapter Four - Derailed

Summary: FBI agent Leila faces a profound life change after giving birth to a baby girl, supported by her loving husband. Despite the challenges of motherhood, Leila returns to her role as a dedicated agent a few months later, ready to confront gruesome and haunting cases with the BAU team.

Pairing: BAU!Fem!OC x Male!OC , EVENTUAL Aaron Hotchner x BAU!Fem!OC (Like much later)

Warnings: This story contains mature themes such as sexual content, strong language, violence, mentions of alcohol and drugs, blood, gore, and death. All the usual Criminal Minds stuff. And there is NO CHEATING.

Note 1: I imagine Leila Kade as South Asian but I have decided to let you, the reader, imagine her appearance, hence the reason why I have not given her a face claim. However, her race does not affect the story, whatsoever. You, as the reader, are free to imagine her however you want. If you don't see her as South Asian, then that's fine. It won't affect the storyline. I also imagine the OC!Male as South Asian, but again, it won't affect the storyline.

Note 2: The team will consist of the main cast (Emily, Derek, JJ, Spencer, Penelope, Aaron, and Rossi) but will also include Elle Greenaway and Jason Gideon because they were some of my favorite characters and I wanted to include them with the rest of the team. Basically, Elle and Gideon never leave when Emily and Rossi join.

Note 3: There will be multiple time skips throughout this series. For example, the first chapter will begin on the first season and episode of the show but then there will be a time skip to later episodes (because there are obviously way too many episodes to write this series on and I wanted to include specific episodes that would help the plot of this story). This means that this series will be a slow burn romance but I believe it to be better this way. This will also stray from the actual show a lot, so don't expect it to follow the plot precisely.

Series Masterlist

Season 1, Episode 9

Balancing a cup of coffee in her hands, Leila ascended the steps to her office. Her gaze swept across the cubicle, and the absence of Elle's usual seat caught her attention. She knew Elle was on her way to Texas for an interview with a child murderer.

Exhaling heavily, she settled into her chair. The numerous stacks of paperwork on her desk loomed before her, a daunting task she was not looking forward to. She understood that if she didn't start it now, the piles would only continue to increase.

Leila was just on the brink of diving into the topmost file when JJ burst into her office in a hurry. "Conference room, now."

Startled, her eyes widened at the sudden interruption. She quickly rose from her seat, momentarily forgetting about the paperwork spread across her desk. Following JJ's brisk steps, she made her way to the conference room. "Is it serious?" She asked JJ as they walked.

"It's a shooter situation on a train." She responded.

As everyone assembled in the room, except for Gideon, Leila moved over to Aaron's side and leaned in slightly to catch a glimpse of the case file he held. JJ initiated the briefing by explaining the grim situation, where a shooter had taken control of a train, leaving five hostages in peril and a security officer dead.

Projected on the screen was a security tape, capturing the essence of the crisis. Leila focused intently, her brow furrowing as she approached the display, while JJ, Spencer, Derek, and Aaron delved into the details of the case. In the midst of the discussion, Gideon entered the room, and Leila instinctively stood aside to allow him a better view of the footage.

Then, a realization struck Leila like a lightning bolt. "Wait…" Her voice cut through the conversation, and Gideon's sharp intake of breath indicated he had come to the same conclusion. Their eyes remained glued to a specific figure on the screen, their collective attention captured.

"My God!" Gideon's exclamation mirrored Leila's thoughts, confirming they were seeing the same face.

Derek's voice cut through the tension, his curiosity piqued. "What?"

"Elle." Leila and Gideon said in unison, catching everyone's attention as they all took a better look at the footage, noticing the familiar brunette.

They headed to the train's location while discussing the case en route. The unsub had demanded a conversation with a "higher authority," though no religious references had been mentioned. They speculated that he considered them the "higher authority." The deadline he set for this conversation was three hours, but that window had closed two and a half hours ago, leaving them with just thirty minutes to act.

Upon reaching the scene, numerous police cars were already positioned and prepared for action. The team stepped out of the SUV and engaged in discussions with the other law enforcement personnel present. Leila's gaze remained fixed on the train, her heart racing as the realization hit her that her best friend was on board with a murderer.

They entered the mobile command center to review the train's security footage, fully intending to initiate negotiations with the unsub. Abruptly, the situation escalated as the unsub forcibly dragged a woman by her hair to the other side of the train.

Amidst the tension, a ringing phone drew everyone's attention. A collective glance exchanged between them, and Gideon swiftly reached for the receiver, pressing a button to take the call.

"He wants to know who you are. He wants to know who just arrived." The woman's trembling voice conveyed through the phone.

"Tell him it's someone who can help resolve the situation." Gideon replied, his tone composed and deliberate.

Amidst more indistinct murmuring, the woman's voice came through again, strained as the unsub held a gun to her head. "What part of the government do you work for?"

Gideon's response took a different approach. "I never said I was with the government." Leaving Officer Frank Moretti perplexed by their exchange.

Leila seized the opportunity to clarify the strategy to Moretti, muting their microphone while explaining. "The less he says, the more mysterious we seem, the higher an authority we become."

"What part of the... What part of the government?" The woman asked again, her voice breaking as she sobbed. They remained silent, focused on the video feed before them. "Are you FBI?" She pressed, her desperation palpable.

Gideon's response left no room for doubt. "He can ask me himself."

The unsub grabbed the phone, his voice laden with curiosity as he inquired about the identity of the speaker. Gideon remained to the mysterious persona they had orchestrated, responding that the unsub should recognize them. In return, the unsub mysteriously insisted on the removal of "it."

Leila's brow furrowed as she crossed her arms, confused by what the unsub was referring to. Despite her confusion, Gideon adeptly maintained the facade, asserting that the process of removing "it" would take a long time. The unsub then issued a one-hour ultimatum for the removal of "it," or else he would take the lives of every "agent" on the train. With that, he abruptly ended the call, leaving the line dead.

Without knowing what "it" was, they only had one hour to figure it out, before all hell broke loose.

Recognizing that the unsub was in the midst of a psychotic episode, the team worked to uncover common delusions during such episodes. Aaron turned to Reid with this query, to which the young profiler responded that delusions were diverse and influenced by personal experiences.

One of the women held his arm, as if she were indicating something crucial, perhaps the elusive "it" they were supposed to remove. They observed scars on his arm, resembling wounds from razors or pens he had used to extract whatever "it" was supposed to be.

"So he thinks he has an object implanted in his arm, and he wants us to remove it." Leila deduced, grasping the unsub's intentions.

"Probably." Gideon concurred. "And if we don't remove it, he's going to kill somebody."

Derek's phone began to ring, prompting him to step aside to answer the call. The rest of the team remained engrossed in the footage, searching for any potential clues. Elle, unfortunately, remained handcuffed to her seat, her gun confiscated by the unsub, leaving her defenseless.

After ending his call, Derek rejoined the group, catching Gideon's attention. As Gideon inquired about the hostages, Derek relayed information he had just received from Penelope. He worked swiftly on the computer, accessing the files Penelope had sent concerning all the hostages, and proceeded to display the contents for the team to see.

Their current strategy involved creating the illusion of removing a non-existent microchip. They needed a plan that could convince the unsub they were taking out the device while secretly doing nothing of the sort.

"We could fake it." Suggested Spencer during their brainstorming session, causing everyone to turn their attention towards him.

"Seriously, Reid? A magic trick?" Derek exclaimed, leaning back in his chair in disbelief.

"Yes, a magic trick." Spencer affirmed.

Aaron promptly dismissed the idea, saying, "No."

"I used to do it during college exams." Spencer elaborated. "I can make things appear and disappear."

"We can't afford to put another agent in the line of fire." Aaron stated firmly.

"But we need to do something."

Leila interjected with a sigh with an idea that struck her. "Okay, fine. Teach me."

Spencer regarded her with a mix of surprise and disbelief. "What? No."

"If you can do it, then why can't I?" Leila countered, not willing to let Spencer risk his life by boarding the train.

Spencer shook his head, emphasizing the urgency. "I've been practicing this my whole life. We have less than 30 minutes."

Leila, determined to keep Spencer safe, persisted. "Reid, I am not allowing you to get on that train with an armed psychotic." She gestured towards the surveillance cameras, stressing her concern for his safety.

"No." Spencer continued. "Even if you managed to learn it, I can't let you go when you have a young daughter waiting for you at home."

Leila felt frustrated but understood his point. "So, what's the alternative?"

"We don't have one." Gideon interjected, rising from his seat. All eyes turned to him. "We don't have any other choice."

Spencer prepared himself to board the train, all set to execute the plan of faking the removal of the microchip from the unsub's arm. Leila pinched the bridge of her nose in anxiety, watching him gear up with a bulletproof vest. Aaron returned to the mobile command center with a counterfeit microchip, a small piece taken from the inside of a phone. They stepped outside, and as Spencer readied himself one final time, he turned towards the train.

They provided him with last-minute instructions and precautions, going over all possible scenarios. Spencer nodded to show his understanding and readiness. Before leaving, he looked at his colleagues and made a request. "Can you guys do me a favor?"

"Anything." Derek replied.

"Could at least one of you act like you're going to see me again?" Spencer's request, which would typically be lighthearted, held weight in the current situation.

"See you when you get back." Aaron reassured him, a hint of nervous laughter in Spencer's response. With that, Spencer turned and began his approach to the train. The team watched him walk away, leaving Leila shaking her head in disbelief.

"I can't believe we're letting him do this." She muttered, rubbing her temples in frustration. "I'm a quick learner, I could've gone."

Derek turned to her, offering support. "Spencer's right. If something were to go wrong, you'd be leaving Jasmine and Zaid behind."

Leila's gaze remained fixed on Spencer's form. "He's too young."

"He's also incredibly capable. He'll go in and come out before you know it." Derek reassured her.

"I don't doubt that." Leila said, knowing Spencer was very capable.

The SWAT team maintained their poised stances, guns ready in case they needed to take action. Back in the mobile command center, the team scrutinized the live footage, their eyes fixed on Spencer's every move as he boarded the train. Once on board, he deftly removed his bulletproof vest, possibly in response to the unsub's demands.

"Damn it, Reid, I told you not to remove the vest." Derek's frustration was palpable as he spoke, his lips tense.

Leila's heart pounded in her chest as she watched intently, running a hand down her face in anticipation. As they observed, Spencer artfully mimicked retrieving a device from his arm, executing his magic trick to perfection. It looked as though he was making his exit when the unsub compelled him to remain seated, causing Leila's brows to furrow in concern. Unable to hear the conversation, they became alarmed when Spencer was forced to sit down once more.

"Get off the train, Reid." Gideon murmured with urgency.

Leila's head shook. "The unsub said something to him. Something's wrong."

Trying to calm down the unsub, Spencer and Elle's efforts to sway the unsub's thoughts seemed apparent. Spencer struggled to stand again, only to be forced back into his seat.

"All right, it seems calm for now." JJ said, attempting to provide reassurance.

"Reid's still on the train." Gideon said. "Now we have two agents in there." Making a quick decision, Gideon dialed the phone on the train, waiting for the unsub to respond. However, the unsub remained motionless, ignoring the call.

One of the hostages, a young man of twenty, stood up, engaging in conversation. Leila sensed the tension building, fearing that this interaction could escalate dangerously. Suddenly, the unsub rose to his feet, raising his weapon and firing a shot. The doctor held her abdomen in the place he shot, and fell to the ground.

She fell into the arms of the young man, while other hostages rushed to her side. The unsub then walked over to where the phone lay, picking it up. Gideon engaged him in conversation, and the unsub kept repeating that "it all ends today."

The unsub put down the phone again and JJ asked them what that meant.

"It means he's decided on an endgame." Aaron explained.

"He's going to kill himself and the hostages." Gideon added.

They called the unsub once again but the unsub pointed his gun at it, firing a bullet into it.

"Let me know when HRT's ready." Gideon told Leila and Aaron, and the two quickly left the command center. The SWAT team still had their firearms raised while Leila and Aaron ensured that all preparations were in place, knowing that they might have to take action soon. The tension was palpable, and Leila's thoughts were focused on the safety of the hostages, Elle, and Spencer. Suddenly, a gunshot echoed from within the train, causing Leila's eyes to widen. Her heart raced as she anxiously waited for news, watching Gideon rush onto the train.

Eventually, the passengers began emerging from the train. It came to light that one of the hostages had managed to shoot the unsub, although he was still alive. Thankfully, the psychiatrist had also survived, though she was unconscious due to the loss of blood.

Leila walked over to Elle and Spencer, embracing them both tightly. "I'm so glad you're both alright." She said, her voice filled with genuine concern. Then, she directed her attention to Elle. "You really should get checked out, just to be sure."

Elle shook her head adamantly. "No, I'm perfectly fine." Leila shot her a stern look, clearly not convinced. "I'm really okay, Leila!"

"Go." Leila commanded, her tone firm, before turning away so she wouldn't have to listen to Elle's complaints.

After their return to the BAU, everyone began gathering their belongings, ready to head home. Derek accompanied the psychiatrist to the hospital, and Elle needed to get herself checked in due to the ordeal she had endured as a hostage. The day had been incredibly stressful, especially for Elle, who had been held captive throughout.

Leila observed her colleagues leaving and then stepped out of her own office, only to notice Aaron still immersed in paperwork in his office. Without hesitation, she knocked on his door, and he welcomed her inside. Leila entered briskly, a concerned expression on her face.

"Aren't you heading home?" She inquired, observing the piles of paperwork on his desk. Her thoughts turned to her own unfinished paperwork, which she had packed into her bag with the intention of working on it at home.

"I wanted to wrap up a few of these files before I leave." Aaron explained, gesturing to the papers scattered before him.

Leila furrowed her brow and crossed her arms. "Why not take them home and work there? Haley and Jack probably miss you. Instead of staying here alone to work, why not spend quality time with your family and finish your work there?"

Aaron contemplated her words for a moment. "You're right. I thought if I could finish these now, I'd have more focused time to spare for them."

Leila chuckled lightly. "Our work keeps us busy, Aaron. We don't always get those opportunities. So it's better to spend the time you have with your family than to try to accomplish everything at once and risk missing those moments."

He began gathering his papers, neatly placing them in his bag. Once ready, he slung the bag over his shoulder and joined Leila as they walked toward their cars. They chatted casually along the way.

"Alright, goodnight, Leila." Aaron said, waving farewell.

"Goodnight." Leila replied, a warm smile on her face as she got into her car. As she started the engine, a sense of anticipation filled her. Finally, she was heading home to her two most favorite people in the world. She longed to see her husband and daughter, the ache of their absence had been deeply felt throughout the day.

It was true that she would do absolutely anything for her family.

[bookquotes-20]

Crashing

Fandom: Folk of the Air

Ship: Jurdan

Rating: T

Fluffy Angst

Little had changed since Jude’s ascension to the throne. As when she was Seneschal, she coordinated the kingdom’s affairs with unparalleled grace and tenacity.

Perhaps the greatest difference was the respect and admiration that shone in the eyes of her subjects and colleagues. Some entertained the sentiment freely while others offered their appreciation with reluctance, but even those that loathed to admit it, could not deny that their Queen was remarkable.

Oh, and of course, the revels.

As Seneschal, Jude could still make up excuses of work to avoid attending the unending festivities that were often separated by little free time. Cardan was never far from “a party mood,” as it was called in the human world. And when she was considered a mere accessory to the crown, she had no direct obligation to attend each meaningless celebration.

Now that she wore said crown, the lavish parties were considerably more difficult to avoid.

Jude still did not attend them all, nor did she attend them in their entirety. She would, though, make an appearance alongside her husband at the beginning and end of each.

It was a thrill like no other, walking to the dais boasting their thrones, her hand firmly in his, both draped in finery.

He would brush a kiss across her knuckles each time before they took their place together, and his voice would boom across the hall to begin the merriment.

For years, Jude had watched Cardan’s lithe form adorned in lush garments and glittering powders as he maneuvered through galas and feasts and festivities. And yet still, he managed to take her breath away each time.

First with his otherworldly beauty, for their was no other way to describe it. She hesitated to call it Fae beauty because he truly surpassed all the Fae she had seen. The slant of his high cheekbones accentuated by the faint shimmer of gold. The sensuously dark eyes rimmed with kohl that only served to increase their depth, through the contrast they provided against the white around his irises. When a sheen of intoxication covered them, they glimmered like the night sky. The wine he indulged in throughout only served to darken his sinful mouth, accentuating his lips against his pale skin. Unfortunately, Jude was acutely aware that she is not the only one who has noticed Cardan’s painful beauty.

Beyond this carefully crafted beauty, though, through this new lens placed upon their lives, Jude saw something else that set her stomach aflutter in ways she could not hope to explain. Her disinterest with the merriment gave her the opportunity to watch her husband with rapt interest. Observe in ways she had not let herself indulge before.

She watched Cardan charm their guests and dignitaries, smiling wide and tipping his head back in laughter at their stories. His lighthearted demeanor and mischief coaxed grins from even the most stubborn of their guests. Enough so that they’d miss the coy turn to his lips, the sly gleam in his eyes that indicated he was there for more than celebration and mirth. He would masterfully put all around him a perfect ease and walk away having gleaned whatever political advantage he sought. Every. Time.

It fascinated Jude to no end. Her husband was cunning. And no one was the wiser. 

The thought enticed a chuckle from her chest.

The sound seemed to catch Cardan’s attention. He turned his head toward her and gave a small smile as he started up the dais to her.

“Would you grace me with a dance, my queen,” he said, eyes shining. She smiled and took his outstretched hand.

His gaze never wavered from hers. Not when he maneuvered them through the crowds to the center of the room. Certainly not when he placed her hands on his shoulders and his own firmly on her waist. Absolutely not when his fingers pressed with careful deliberation against the small of her back to arch her towards him.

“You’ve danced with quite a many people tonight, my king.” Her voice was mostly teasing. Although, a seasoned ear — and his was most definitely seasoned when it came to Jude — would swear there was the faintest undertone of jealousy. Cardan’s lips twitched into a smile.

“I have only wanted a dance with one person all night, and I have her in my arms.” Jude rolled her eyes in attempted annoyance, but the barest pink on her cheek betrayed all.

He raised their joined hands to twirl her. If he deliberate cut the spin short so she would fall against his chest, neither of them mentioned it.  The longer they danced, the more the world around them faded away. As it often did when they were together. 

The King and Queen had a way of losing themselves in each other. The time, the location, the circumstance was of little import. The ever burning spark between them would flare into a wildfire that burned all else out of their consciousness.

Flint and tinder indeed.

That’s why both startled when a loud cough beside them brought them out of their reveries. Jude nearly jumped backward, she truly would have were it not for Cardan’s firm grasp on her. They turned to see The Bomb waiting with an amused smile.

“Pardon the intrusion, lovebirds — I mean Your Highnesses,” she corrected with a giggle. “If I may borrow the Queen for a moment?”

Cardan threw The Bomb an annoyed glance, as if to say Really? but it only served to fuel her laughter. Jude squeezed his hand apologetically before starting to pull away. He held on to her till the last second, reluctant to let go, desperate to maintain the physical connection between them.

“I’ll see you in our chambers,” Jude whispered, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek before The Bomb pulled her away.

The Roach and The Ghost are waiting for them in the shadows of the exit arch. The Roach glances behind the two, suppressing a laugh at their High King who looks downright forlorn at the loss of his queen. What is the expression the mortals use? Whipped?

“What’s wrong?” Jude asked as they approached the spies. “Is there immediate danger?”

“No immediate danger,” The Roach reassured, “A messenger just arrived from the Court of Teeth with a letter. Nothing too serious but it does require a prompt response. They would like to meet with you and the Cardan in one week’s time regarding expanding and fortifying trade routes between the Court and Elfhame. Since it is a four day journey, we thought it best that we send the messenger with a response immediately to avoid rushed panic.”

Jude nodded, “That would be wise. Take me to him.”

In nearly an hour, she had received the message, formulated the perfect response, sent the messenger on his way, and planned the critical details of the summit. The Roach shook his head in amazement, a small smile curled The Ghosts lips, and The Bomb just looked on in respect and adoration. Their Queen was frustratingly talented. When it came to everything except her own safety that is. Her lack of self-preservation was a source of anxiety for them all.

“Would you like an escort back to the revel?” The Ghost asked softly. Jude smiled and shook her head.

“No, thank you, I think I’ll retire for the night. Enjoy your evening.”

They nodded and bid her good night as she started towards the royal chambers.

A deep breath left Jude’s chest as she closed the doors behind her. Her hands rose to her temples, fingers massaging the skin softly.

A brief moment passed until she felt a pair of arms encircle her waist. She didn’t hesitate to melt into her husband’s embrace, allowing his body hold up her own. Her hands covered his as he placed a soft kiss to the skin of her shoulder. Jude found herself thanking Tatterfell for choosing a sleeveless gown for the evening, held up by an intricately embroidered chord of fabric wrapping around her neck.

She tilted her head to look up at him. “You returned from the revel quite early.” Her brow furrowed and she scanned his face for signs of exhaustion. “Are you tired?” He shook his head. 

“My heart was elsewhere.”

The phrase was simple, but the weight of his gaze made it anything but. The corners of Jude’s eyes softened.

“I believe I still owe you a dance, my king.”

Cardan’s eyes brightened. “I believe you do,” he took her hand, brushing a kiss across her knuckles, “my queen.”

She turned in his arms to face him. His arm didn’t move from her waist, simply shifted to better accommodate her.

“Music?”

Cardan smiled and pulled her in closer. His cheek brushed Jude’s and his lips moved to her ear. He began to sing softly.

Jude’s eyes widened in amazement. His voice.

It was unlike anything she had heard before. Deep yet soft, like waves of velvet washing over her. Something in her body thrummed at the sound.

Resonance, was the term that came to mind. It was as if his voice was a frequency her very soul was tuned to. A sound made just for her.

Her forehead fell forward to rest on Cardan’s shoulder. She heard the smile in his voice as he swayed their joined form gently around their chambers. Jude felt the music vibrate through his body against her own.

“You have a beautiful voice,” she whispered against his shoulder. 

“Thank you, my love.” He pressed a kiss to her temple.

“What song is it?”

“It’s an old Fae ballad, a tale of two lovers whose very natures pitted them against one another.” Cardan spoke low in her ear. Even in the privacy of their chambers, it seemed as though he was hiding the words from the rest of the world, speaking only to her heart. “Just as the lovers constantly fought with each other, their hearts fought them. Their souls were made for one another, yearning to be united. Despite the world of circumstances separating them.”

There was a heavy silence. “I thought of it often in your absence,” he admitted.

Which one? Jude wanted to ask. During her exile? When she was taken by the Undersea? She pulled back to search his eyes. Or perhaps, even in their childhood? When they claimed to feel nothing but hatred for each other.

She rose on her toes to press her lips to his. A silent thank you for his trust, his admission. He kissed her back with more fervor than she expected. Jude braced a hand against his neck, fingers creeping into his dark curls just briefly while his lips moved against hers. Cardan pulled back slightly, breaths coming heavy as he rested his forehead against hers. His brows were furrowed, lines of tension contouring his face. Like he was reliving the pain of losing her all over again. Her fingers traced his face, smoothing the lines away.

“Every time I saw you, there was a fire that lit my veins,” she says into the space between them. “As you said, I always thought it was hatred.” Jude paused. “But I couldn’t, for the life of me, figure out why that fire burned so much brighter when I saw another girl in your arms.” His eyes snapped open at that, lips parting in slight awe. The corners of Jude’s mouth twitched. Success, she thought as she saw the pain slowly melt off his face as mirth creeped in.

“My queen,” Cardan began, his eyes sparked anew, “were you perhaps, jealous?”

“Were might not be the right term, are is more appropriate.” Jude scowled slightly. Her fingers stroked the back of his neck absentmindedly. “I still don’t like all the women that try to weasel themselves closer to you, with no regard for your wife’s presence.” She felt a tremor run up his spine at the word. Wife.

Jude paused, hesitating before reminding herself of Cardan’s admission to her. One piece at a time.

“They’re all quite beautiful too,” she muttered under her breath, averting her eyes.

Cardan looked at her as if he didn’t quite hear her correctly.

“My love, you can’t possibly be insecure about your appearance?”

“I mean, I’m not blessed with their Fae beauty or anything.” Truth be told, Jude had never cared about her appearance in front of the Folk. Her battle physique and training were most important to her, they still are. But she would be lying if she said she didn’t occasionally reflect on the differences between her and the beauty of the women that threw themselves at Cardan.

“Jude, look at me please, love.”

When she did, her breath hitched at the intensity of his gaze. “I understand insecurities are normal, everyone has them. Gods know I have more than most. But you have absolutely nothing to concern yourself with.” His hand tightened on her waist, pulling her closer. “You are without a doubt the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. No one else has the power to take my breath away with a single look. To make my heart race with a single touch. To undo me with a single kiss. You have ruled my heart, my mind, my very soul long before any of those women you speak of.”

Jude’s breath froze in her lungs. She knew Cardan loves her. He knew she loves him. They had whispered the words against each other’s lips and skin in dark nights of their chambers, spoken them through their eyes when their gazes locked across the throne room, laughed them to the wind as they danced in the royal gardens (at Cardan’s request). Yet the raw emotion in his words right then, the surety in his voice, nearly cut her open. She wanted to return the sentiment, to tell him what he means to her, but the words froze in her throat. A flash of hatred coursed through Jude at that. Hatred directed at no one but herself. For still freezing when it comes to laying her heart bare before him, the one person she trusts. The one person who deserved her vulnerability. Instead, like a coward, she caught onto his earlier words. 

Jude snorted. “Please, you don’t know what the word insecurity means when it comes to looks.” She poked at his high cheekbones jokingly, before tracing her finger down his sharp jaw. “You’ve never looked less than perfect a day in your life.”

Cardan’s hand rose to cover hers. His gaze pinned her in place. “And yet when I saw true contempt in your eyes, the day you returned to Elfhame, I felt uglier than I ever have in all my days.” He flashed back to the hate she directed at him. It felt like a steel net, weighing him down, closing his airways. He could hardly breathe under the weight. 

She brushed her thumb over his cheek.

Tears in his eyes were the last straw. Jude searched his face, her thoughts racing. No more, she decided. No more hiding. Cardan deserves better. He deserves more. He deserves vulnerability and to be loved freely. He deserves no more armor. Jude steeled her heart and something shifted in her eyes.

“It’s interesting that you saw contempt,” she murmured. “Considering I couldn’t bring myself to be angry with you the way I wished to.” Cardan’s eyes widened in surprise. The corner of her lips twitched. “Unfortunately, hating you has never been easy.” Jude stroked his cheek again. “There are days I question whether I could truly manage it at all.”

There’s a lightness in her eyes he’s unaccustomed to. No. Not a lightness, but rather the absence of weight. Jude does not often voice her feelings, but when she does, there is hesitance. Fear and reluctance swirl in her heart and heavy her tongue. The words she normally would have had to force out, flow today from her lips as naturally as water. Her lips ticked upwards, settling into the ghost of a smile.

Her arm wound tighter around his neck, decreasing the distance between them, while her other hand remained pressed between his hand and his cheek. His own arm tightened around her waist, pulling her closer still. Her mouth rose to his, just a hairsbreadth from touching it.

“Did you ever truly hate me,” she whispered.

“I believed I did.” Cardan’s gaze never wavered from hers. “I convinced myself the intense emotion that clouded my every thought was hate, because it seemed like the only acceptable answer. I tried to nurture those thoughts further towards darkness and hatred. At least that I understood.” His temple pressed against hers and a breathy chuckle escaped his chest. “What a fool I was.”

Jude paused a moment before asking another question.

“Can you tell when I lie?”

Startled again, Cardan thought. He contemplated his answer. “I believe so.”

“How do you know?”

“I don’t think I can put it into words,” he said. “Truthfully, I don’t think I myself understand how I know. Perhaps it is a product of watching you with such scrutiny all these years. There are parts of you I find myself so attuned to that it surprises me. Very little of myself is conscious when it comes to you, my sweet nemesis.” His thumb brushed back and forth over the skin exposed by a cut of her gown at the waist. The ministration in conjunction with his smooth voice is mesmerizing. She finds herself losing awareness of everything but him. “Your eyes usually give me my answer. As you speak, whenever I look in your eyes,” he moves her hand from his cheek to his heart. “something in here just knows whether you are telling the truth.”

She locked her gaze with his now.

“I love you.”

His breath froze in his throat. And he knew, something deep in his heart knew, that it’s true. He returned her honesty with a kiss. Whispering his greatest secret against her lips.

“I love you, my dearest Jude.”

[casasupernovas]

Fast forward after Lazarus' transformation and first kill, we are back with the Jones'. Francine pulls Tish aside and begins to question who Martha's new friend is. "The way she followed him." Now you can argue that Francine's concern is a bit over the top, but it's clear that Francine knows her daughter well and knows if something is amiss. And it is. Tish comes to her defence and Leo doesn't seem to share Francine's concern either. But Francine's worry is clear - "she's not a Doctor yet. Never will be if she doesn't stay focused." This new stranger maybe hampering Martha's journey.

Leo interjects and says "so she's found a bloke so what?" Francine's responds by saying she just knows something else is going on behind the scenes and again, we know she is not wrong. Now, I think you can argue that we aren't given enough reason for Francine to be so concerned - it's one thing for her to disapprove of a potential boyfriend, it's quite another for Francine to think something nefarious is going on. I think maybe if Martha had followed the Doctor over to the controls whilst the machine began to overload, then Francine's concern may have been more valid, or if she had overheard the conversation with Dr Lazarus. I think we just needed a bit more.

Martha's family is not as fully established as Rose or Donna's. Most of Series 1's episodes build all around Rose's life. 'Rose', the 'Aliens of London' two parter, 'Father's Day', 'Boom Town' and 'The Parting of Ways'. For Donna, we see 'The Runaway Bride', 'Partners In Crime', 'The Sontaran Strategem' two parter, 'Turn Left', 'The Stolen Earth' and 'The End of Time' two parter. All of these episodes include either family or relationships close to the characters that serve to world build and help the audience understand who they are. The Jones only get 'Smith and Jones', 'The Lazarus Experiment', 'The Sound of Drums' and 'Last of the Timelords' for her season, and a brief cameo in 'The Stolen Earth'. I know Reggie Yates became unavailable for filming but Leo Jones is not the only member of the Jones' family. I really wish we got more because what we have already established is interesting enough. Leiticia, the eldest, the highflyer, very confident, a tad shallow. Leo, the youngest, already with his own family all before turning 21. Francine, the matriarch. I'd like to point out all the Jones' have a Londoner accent. It's not particularly cockney or 'working class' like Rose, but it's not posh. Francine however, does sound very posh and RP. That's a pretty good indicator into what sort of woman she is like also. She clearly thinks very highly of her family and wants the best. She also cares about keeping up appearances as expressed in the very episode when she wished for her ex husband not to bring along his 'trophy girlfriend' to Leo's party. Clive Jones who we have only seen twice is also apparently either very well off or squandering his money on his new girlfriend, as shown in the shiny new car, paying for Leo's birthday party and taking Annalise shopping. A mid-life crisis. These are some pretty good foundations, and it's a shame it never really gets built upon.

Anyway, Dr Lazaruz entices Leticia upstairs, something she later said she only went through because "if it could work for Catherine Zeta Jones..." and I...okay girl. Lmao. Tish is apparently no above using...'unscrupulous' methods to get ahead, the Doctor and Martha find the corpse of Lady Thorne and realise that Lazarus could attack someone else and leave downstairs whilst Tish and Lazarus come upstairs. We get another Master reference as Tish said she had no experience in PR but the interview panel thought she had 'all the necessary attributes; this is clearly deliberate.

The Doctor and Martha decide to go upstairs again after being informed by Leo that Leticia has gone upstairs with Dr Lazarus. Francine tries to speak to the Doctor but the Doctor immediately races upstairs causing her to spill her drink. When a mysterious man speaks to her, she is obviously very irate about him, speaking tightly in reference to Martha's new 'friend', and the mystery man says she ought to choose her friends more wisely, successfully planted a seed of dissent.

Up on the roof we get a world weary Doctor reiterating to Lazarus the value of the human capacity for life, and we get another snippet into the world of Martha Jones, when Leticia asserts that Martha always finds faults with men Leticia finds herself involved with, insinuating that this is a regular occurance for Leticia and a normal thing for Martha to do. But seeing how Tish acts towards Lazarus, I think it's fair to assume that Martha more often is right than wrong in this regard. Now why all three try to use the lift instead of the stairs is beyond me but they get downstairs anyway after the building goes into lockdown. (Shudder)

Now. Here I think is a good example for Francine's concern. The Doctor running to the chamber and tossing the sonic to Martha, instructing her to use setting 54. It's very command and follow, and he takes charge after telling the hall they are all in danger. "The way she followed him." This is practical and needed for them both to do, but it would be concerning for an outsider, especially Francine. Your medical student daughter is suddenly in the midst of danger, following orders from a complete stranger, and it comes naturally, like she's done it before. What's going on? Lazarus attacks and his tail (stinger?) causes a table to crash into Leo's head, and Martha, her mum and Leo get away after the Doctor lures Lazarus away from attacking Francine and Leo and gets him to chase him. Martha shows her Doctorness, by checking over Leo, his eyes, gets ice, deduces he's (mildy) concussed and leads the charge instructing them all to get out of the building after telling Tish the Doctor is buying them time. At the bottom of the building everyone is still stuck inside (I'm getting Children of Earth vibes) and Martha deduces that there must be an override switch to get everyone out. She gets to the desk and uses the sonic which opens the doors.

As everyone leaves however, Martha knows she has to stay and help the Doctor despite the danger. Francine protests after saying it could get Martha killed but Martha says she doesn't care and she has to go. Francine asserts that the Doctor is the reason she wishes to return, however, I would argue that Martha demonstrates in 'Smith and Jones' that she would always help in a dangerous situation, even if there was imminent danger. Francine also states that Martha has changed and he is why. Tish backs up the Doctor realising he was buying them time, however does not wish for Martha to return either. Martha does not listen and runs inside after the Doctor.

Now, I wonder if the Doctor really thought Martha had left him to fight alone as he seems extremely surprised to see her, "what are you doing here?" but nevertheless they continue their crusade to stop Lazarus. Or maybe, the Doctor is still so in denial about having a companion again, he's surprised when she acts like one, backs him up, helps him. Outside, Tish reassures Francine that both the Doctor and Martha would be okay, and this is probably because Tish saw first hand their dynamic and how he got her away from Lazarus. The following exchange is very interesting:

Francine: "She turned her back on us, went back in there with that thing...for him"

Leo: "He must be some guy."

Tish: "Maybe she loves him."

Francine: "She just met him."

Knowing that Francine is in the midst of a bitter divorce, it's not surprising she would take this so seriously and so personally, exacerbated by the life and deathness of the situation. She feels like she has been abandoned yet again by someone she cares about, and even to take it further, replaced by another white counterpart.

Tish also seems to understand that Martha has deep feelings for the Doctor. You would have to to to literally follow someone into danger like that. The whole family (minus Clive) are at a crossroads because their sister/daughter has gone from her normal life with them, to putting herself in mortal danger for a man they have only just met, a man to their eyes Martha has only just met. It's a lot to deal with, and it's made even more tense by the mysterious man who is oh so polite and seems oh so concerned for Martha - "Is your daughter still in there with the Doctor? He's dangerous, there are things you should know." So Francine listens. He may be a complete stranger like the Doctor, but he's charming and calm and seems to care. So Francine listens. I would like to know what he told her, because it's enough to prompt Francine to get violent.

Back inside, Lazarus chases Martha and they hide inside the chamber. We get a funny exchange because we know the Doctor always has a plan...but sometimes he doesn't. We have just established how Martha followed him into danger, because she knows she has to help, she wants to help, but she also is confident in his ability to save the day. So when he announces he hasn't got a plan, and didn't even really think his intial idea to get into the chamber through, Martha is incredulous and sarcastic; "in your own time then." We then get another funny innuendo - "what are you gonna do with that?" "Improvise" he says while slowly moving down out of the frame, past Martha's waist. Lol. They can be funny but there do appear to be a lot of these in relation to Martha this season so I can't help but point them out.

Anyway they almost go as Martha puts it 'through the blender' and Lazarus appears to be back to normal, and Martha observes that it's almost pitiful and the Doctor quotes T.S. Elliot. There's also a piece of music here I am very upset was never released. It plays after the stretcher takes Lazarus away

More to come!

[sharkbait77]

The Sun Sets With You

Chapter Two: The Arrival

Summary: A simple yet despondent farm life suddenly sparks with new hope when an unusual traveler makes your town his latest stop and brings with him intriguing and promising viewpoints and no one to share them with. Until he meets you.

Pairing: Ezra Prospect x f!Reader

Rating: M

Warnings: Death of a parent, nosy neighbors, irritated feelings, lmk if I missed any

W/C: 3.2k

A/N: Welcome back! First of all, I want to thank each & every one of you that read & enjoyed the Ch.1! Your wonderful comments really set it in stone for me to continue this fic & I really hope I don't disappoint! Anyway, I can't wait to hear what everyone thinks of this one! I'm so nervous!

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Chapter One || Chapter Three

~APRIL EIGHTEENTH OF EIGHTEEN SIXTY-SEVEN~

The days passed, the same as they always do, yet with no word on any boy or man willing to spare the help for the farm. You did your best to think rationally; the majority of the families around town were busy with their own affairs, their own shops and farms. It was only you and Pa, and while the majority of the townspeople were friendly, not a soul seemed to spare a second thought towards the two of you, outside of banding together for Ma’s funeral.

You were preparing to give up, once again, the hope that perhaps there was one – at the very least, one – man who would take pity on you and Pa. The more you reassessed the people of the town, the more it appeared they only ‘cared’ when it suited them, when whatever dilemma you and Pa were faced with was the opportunity for them to engage in hearsay.

Mrs. Williams, for example – although kind and respectful while you stood in front of her – immediately took it upon herself to, not only relay the information that help was needed to every man, woman, and child in town, but indefinitely began to spout words of pity regarding you and Pa. Of course, that got the whole of the town babbling about how awful, how unimaginable, it was to have to endure the tedious season by yourselves. Yet, no one desired to lift a pinky to help.

So, as you enter the town, you aren’t stunned when you hear whispers as you pass. It had been a brief few days prior that you had finally been overlooked, finally was not the cause of their speculations. And now, you grit your teeth with disdain and continue walking through, awaiting the moment you reach the haven of the shop and, hopefully, have a moment to collect your thoughts and set them in the icebox to cool.

One positive outcome of it, you gather, if you were to look on the other side of things, is that you have gained the ability to avert your ears from whatever nonsense the older women gossip about, not concerned so much of what they say, just that it was taking place at all.

However, as you make your way down the dirt road, you realize it isn’t just the typical gossip coming from the elderly ladies, and are even more shocked to learn that you are not the subject of the chatter. The whole town is seemingly buzzing like a hive of bumblebees, a hum carried through the air consisting of ‘Did you see him?’, ‘A visitor’, and ‘What a strange man’.

Even you acknowledge that it must be interesting news for the whole town to be churning with such fervor and animation over it. The town, collectively, has never been so excited about anything since the new sheriff was appointed and you find yourself turning your ears to the conversations to see if you hear anything of importance. Once you realize, though, that you're partaking in the exact avocation you so despise when it's directed toward you, the doors close inside your ears once again and you walk straight to the shop.

After you’ve had time to settle and display all the new wares, the bell rings and you hear behind you the whispers of the older ladies filling the atmosphere, conspiring against whatever – or, whomever – has attracted their attention so.

“Hello, dear!” One of them – Mrs. Foster, who is seen as the lead hen – yells out to you. You take a deep breath, summoning the companionable parts within you to the surface.

“Hello Mrs. Foster,” you greet while turning to face the group.

To her side, Mrs. McKenna and Mrs. Jones, along with her young daughter, Lucille. Lucille Jones must be the closest you have to an acquaintance in town, but her mother keeps her quiet and buried under her wing, grooming her to be exactly the respectable young lady that will surely attract a wealthy husband, therefore paying for luxuries his new mother-in-law would not be able to afford otherwise. That poor fool.

“Have you seen the latest traveler, dear?” Mrs. McKenna asks.

“I have not,” you reply simply. Tis the truth, after all, but something about this mysterious traveler, that has caused such an uproar, makes the curiosity seep into the lining of your veins. Though, you would not engage in their gossip just to find out more.

“He is most strange,” Mrs. Jones adds, answering a question you had not asked.

“To each his own,” you say, feeling the irritation at their simple minds grow in your belly.

Before another moment could be spared for this nonsense, you quickly distract them with your latest concoction: a complexion cream made from eggs, cream, oats, and lavender, a soothing blend that would help hide the blemishes on their faces. Not their consciences, unfortunately, but it excites them no less.

~APRIL NINETEENTH OF EIGHTEEN SIXTY-SEVEN~

You awaken before the sun today, the sky is still a dark cobalt and fading into sapphire behind the hills, indicating the orange ball of light will be presenting itself in moments. You sigh, stumped at the sudden feeling in the pit of your core that today will be unlike the others – somehow. You turn over on your other side, away from the window, in search of another wink of sleep. It is futile, and you accept the call for the day to begin.

You step lightly so as to not disturb Pa sleeping just below your floorboards, and begin washing your face, arms, and legs, dressing in your usual skirts, and meticulously perfecting the knot of your hair. You even go as far as braiding the length of it before pinning it around on the back of your head and the sight of it resembles a flower. You hum; a sincere hum of a song your mother used to sing. You ponder why it entered your head in this moment after not having heard it in over a year.

Once the sun begins to peek its rays across the fields, you step down the ladder softly, keeping your eyes to Pa’s bed on the other side of the rails to ensure you haven’t woken him. Only, he isn’t there. His bed is made with care so you know he hasn’t been resting on it for a while. As soon as your boots are planted on the wooden floors, you turn to face the rest of the house. He is nowhere; not in the kitchenette, not sitting at the table, nor sitting in his armchair in the corner of the house.

Confusion strikes you; he has not risen before you since Ma was still here. You grab the lockbox from the safe and your bonnet off the wooden hook in the wall, tying it around your neck and placing the box in your bag, stringing it over your shoulder before stepping outside. There is still a chill in the air from the night and you shiver slightly before cupping your hands around your mouth.

“Pa?!”

You yell into the air, the heat of your breath visible in front of you as you await an answer that doesn’t come. Your eyebrows wrinkle across your forehead, worry beginning to creep into your bloodstream. You walk down the steps from the house and turn towards the fields. As you look across them, the sun shining bright enough now to help your vision, you don’t see his figure anywhere. You walk towards the barn, cupping your hands around your mouth again to repeat your call.

“Here, child!”

You hear the rasp of your father’s voice respond from within the barn. You will your heart to rest from the fright that rushed through your veins, breathing right again knowing your Pa is well. You walk to the doors of the barn, the sun blinding you briefly before entering and you see Pa standing and chatting with a man.

He stands with a confident, yet humble posture, straight brown pants covering tall legs, suspenders attached at the waist and strapped over a bone-white shirt with a black coat resting across broad shoulders. In his hands, he fiddles with a wide brimmed, brown hat that, as you step closer, you can see has small tears & rips along the outer edges. He turns to look in your direction, a soft and friendly smile underneath a neat mustache, hair sparsely adorning his jaw.

“Daughter, this is Mr. Prospect,” Pa introduces.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Prospect,” you give a small curtsy and bow your head.

“I assure the pleasure is mine, miss,” he replies, bowing his head. “Your father and I were only just discussing the season you will be faced with here. I am most obliged to be suited enough for work and I am at your service.”

You nod along to his words, finding it difficult to search inside your brain and pull something out of it that may continue the conversation. His voice is rich and decadent, finer than the most luxurious chocolate you might have the pleasure of introducing to the buds on your tongue. It sounds as if it comes from deep within his being as opposed to his throat, and you find it very pleasing to your ears.

“Mr. Prospect here will be our new farmhand for the season. He only just arrived moments before you rose,” Pa continues.

“Forgive me, Pa, I did not hear you wake-”

“Do not fret, little one,” he smiles and places a weathered hand gently on your shoulder and you smile in return. “Daughter, please show our new employee the farm; I have yet to do so, but the chickens need feeding now.”

“Yes, Pa.”

Pa exits the barn with a stomping of his boots as his heavy and tired legs carry him, turning the smile on your face into a small frown. You exhale through your nose and turn to the man, noticing a small tuft of white locks at the beginning of his hairline, fading into a rough cut of shaggy, brown hair. You avert your gaze so as not to be impolite with your stare and look into the mahogany irises of his eyes.

“Well, Mr. Prospect, I do apologize for you having to lodge with the cattle,” you say as you gesture to the black and white beasts resting in their stables.

“It is quite alright, miss. I’m sure they will be most interesting to converse with,” he smiles, a soft chuckle escaping his mouth and his jest pulls a giggle from your throat as you smile.

“Just up there –” you point to the ladder leading to a platform above the cows. “– is a bed of hay. It may stick you, but we will provide plenty of blankets to soothe the irritation and keep you warm.”

His gaze meets the platform, exposing his elongated neck and strong jaw, his profile revealing his aquiline nose and you find your gaze fixated on him once again. What an intriguing man. You realize he must be the new traveler the town was so preoccupied with yesterday, but you find nothing strange about him at all. Quite the opposite. He seems to be the purest and gentlest man that has ever passed through this town. He looks back down to you, the soft, good-natured smile reaching his eyes, the same smile on his face from the moment you met.

“Follow me, please.” You lead him out of the barn and to the fields on the other side and he places his hat back on his head as he walks.

“This is the field the corn will grow, and just on the other side of the barn will be the potatoes. I must divulge that it is quite strenuous. I am thankful to you for accepting the work; it will help my Pa and I tremendously.”

“I respectfully deny your thanks; I’m afraid it is I who should be thankful to you and your father for welcoming me with such friendliness,” he replies and you look up into his eyes. Such beautiful orbs, as brown and majestic as the mountains that surround you, the likes of which you’ve never seen.

“This way,” you say, a light tremble in your voice from momentarily having the ground swept from under your feet. You lead him to the house, stepping up the stairs and opening the door. You take a step inside, but the man does not enter, rather staying still on the porch, fiddling with his hat in his hands once again.

“It is quaint; I’m not sure where you are from, Mr. Prospect. Perhaps you are familiar with more lavish dwellings,” he looks around the room as much as he is able from where he stands and smiles.

“Not in the slightest, dear Sunflower. The home you reside in is lovely and most would be envious to have such to call their own,” he says kindly and you smile genuinely in return, a warmth reaching the apples of your cheeks from his endearment.

“You are welcome to our table for meals and coffee, if you’d like. And we have wash basins you are free to use as well.”

“Many thanks, miss. I am very grateful to have been blessed with hospitality such as this.”

You nod your head, lowering it slightly as you walk out and back onto the porch, the man waiting for you to step down into the dirt before he follows suit. You smooth out your dress and turn to look back at him, his eyes having not left you once.

“What is your name?”

“Ezra,” he replies, reaching his hand out to shake yours. You offer your hand politely and return your name, the greeting between you holding firm, yet gentle; his hand is warm and soft, slightly calloused from farm work.

“Ezra,” you repeat, letting each letter of his name roll from the back of your throat, over your tongue and through your teeth. It was as smooth as the butter you had churned this past monotonous week. “What a unique and beautiful name; very pleasing on the tongue.”

He blushes lightly, a small, shy smile forming on his lips as he averts his gaze to his dirt covered boots.

“Did you see the notice at the post?” You ask, smiling fondly at the bashful man in front of you and he faces you again, nodding his answer. “Yes, I assumed so. There was one at the shop, too, but you had not walked in while I was there.”

“Yes, once I saw the notice and inquired about the position, I spent some time familiarizing myself with the town before heading here to see your father. He had been preoccupied yesterday and requested I return early this morning.”

“That’s strange. He didn’t mention it to me,” you ponder. Then again, it wasn’t unusual for Pa to not trouble you with these affairs until it was time to deal with them. “And you only just arrived yesterday, correct?”

“Yes, miss. To be frank, I am slightly unnerved at the commotion my arrival has stirred; it seems the people here are not accustomed to travelers.”

“Unfortunately, no,” you reply with a contrite look on your face. “I apologize for the welcome not being so friendly. Do not take it to heart. I have grown up here and still feel like an outsider,” you add, the sudden remark escaping you naturally. You have a strange feeling that you may be able to open your mind and thoughts to this man who exudes comfort and compassion. Maybe someday.

“Well, Ezra,” you enunciate again. “I’m afraid I must go now. Pa will have you busy with work in no time, I guarantee. If you ever need anything from me and I am not here, our shop is in town, right after the bank. Please do not hesitate to come by and ask.”

Ezra looks at you again, the tender smile that had budded on his unconventionally attractive face blooming into a full fledged, teeth baring grin. The sight of it makes your heart skip a beat, sparking a dull fire in the furnace within your belly that had long been barren, full of the ashes of any past flame that ceased to exist as quickly as it had lit.

At first glance, it may have been easy to overlook his features, but as you gaze at him before you, it is not difficult to see that he is, in fact, very handsome. You smile in return, adjusting your bonnet to sit atop your head and turning on your heels to walk toward the town.

Of course, the people are still buzzing with the recent arrival of Ezra Prospect. Even worse now, word has reached that he is to be your new farmhand. Mrs. Williams, of course, heard from her husband that Mr. Prospect had shown intrigue in the position, and later that night while they ate dinner, Mr. Williams shared the news with his wife. It truly is doubtful that anyone would be able to survive one, single daybreak without having something or someone to talk about.

The main three hens, Mrs. Foster, Mrs. McKenna, and Mrs. Jones all swarm your personal environment before you even make it inside the shop and they are just about bouncing in their heeled boots, awaiting any sort of information you can give them about Mr. Prospect.

“I hear he’s your new farmhand.”

“Is he as strange as he looks?”

“He seems dangerous; best keep your distance, dear.”

They will not stop; one question rolling into the next from each of their beaks. You have a right mind to lay out some feed on the ground for them so as to keep their mouths busy with other matters. The irritation courses through you, a dull tightness forming at the base of your skull.

“What is his name?”

“Perhaps if he did not feel so unwelcome by the whispers of the town, he may be more inclined to tell you himself,” you say harshly before having a moment to think twice.

They gape at you; the audacity, their expressions seem to say. You don’t seem to care for it, though. To have them whisper about you was one thing; you could manage just fine, however bothersome it is. But Mr. Prospect seemed friendly and gentle enough to make you relinquish any passiveness to these women, unwilling to keep cordial when they’re so unpleasant of anyone new introduced to this town. It’s unusual, this feeling. Protective. Over a man you only spoke to for no more than fifteen minutes.

The women scoff under their breaths, very obviously offended by your response and denial of amusing them. They whisper amongst themselves as they walk away, not trying to hide their second glances at you from over their shoulders as they continue down the road. Surely, the word will spread that you did not wish to speak to them about the traveler, and they will conspire on which hen to send next to continue the digging.

You feel some relief, however, knowing now the conversation will be turned back to you instead of Mr. Prospect. He did not deserve to be treated as such during his stay and you would make sure of that.

Chapter One || Chapter Three

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[michaels-blackhat]

thoughts on evil Forrest 😈

We are going to start out by apologizing. This is very very late. I’m sure when you sent this ask, you meant it to be in the same joking tone that I approach all of my other propaganda posts. Sadly, this is actually going to be a deep dive into a few Evil Forrest related things, including the moment I feel they changed directions, the perfect wasted build-up, and the implications of the change/how it then negatively impacted the story. As I’m sure you already know, by being on my blog at all, I don’t think the story was good to begin with, so we are going to focus on the weird hoops they made themselves jump through to make that story still work. Additionally, I am only going to mention once, right now, how much of a waste it was to not have Forrest ‘fall for his mark’ and complete one of my absolute favorite tropes. Honestly, I think “because I want it” is a completely valid reason to like Evil Forrest. But, the question was “Thoughts on Evil Forrest” and these thoughts have been developing for over a year and a half. So, I apologize in advance.

The majority of this is under a cut, with highlights in the abstract. If no one wants to read this, I understand completely. Go ahead, skip it.

Note: it pains me greatly to not actually have full sources for this essay. Just know that in my heart I am using proper APA citations, I just absolutely do not feel like digging through tweets to find sources to properly cite.

Abstract:

Previous research indicates that Roswell New Mexico has a history of repeating excuses to explain mid-season changes to plots. This essay explores how those excuses are not only loads of crap, but how they hinder the show’s ability to tell a coherent story, misuse the multiple-plot structure to enhance the themes being explored, and lead to decisions that mean the show continuously goes over budget. This also means that characters are not used to their full potential and has led to what some fans consider to be “out of character” behaviors. While these behaviors are not universally agreed on, evidence can be shown that these behaviors directly contradict emotionally important character arc/plot points in the show.

The author of this paper acknowledges that the show took some strides to mend this problem. However, once again no consensus could be found on whether Forrest was a low-level member of Deep Sky and thus just allowed to fuck off on a bus, or his job was recruitment because he did a piss poor job of making Alex not join.

The concept of Evil Forrest has been with the fandom as early as New York Comic Con (NYCC) in 2019, when it was revealed that Alex had a new “blue-haired love interest”. Speculation abounded within the fandom, with some people, including the author, going “yeah, he’s evil” while others rejoiced in the concept of Alex having a loving partner. Speculation increased as fans discussed Tyler Blackburn’s seeming disinterest in his new love interest, prompting some once again to scream “EVIL” at the top of their lungs to anyone who would listen. Very little was revealed, beyond the fact that the new character would show up somewhere around episode 3 of the second season.

Episode 2.04 aired with some commenting on how he barely interacted with Alex- prompting more evil speculation- and others excited to see the characters interact more. The character appears again in 2.06, where he invites Alex to dubious spoken word poetry (which Alex attends); 2.08, where they have a paintball date and go to The Wild Pony; 2.10, where the two are seen writing together briefly at the beginning of the episode; and 2.13, where Alex performs his song at open mic night, tells Forrest his relationship with the person in the song was long over, and they kiss. Forrest was not revealed to be evil during season 2.

Amidst the season airing, Word of God via Twitter post announced that yes, Forrest had originally been planned as a villain, though not the main villain, but it was changed as filming progressed.

The Word of God Twitter post revealed that Forrest had originally been planned as a villain, but they decided that they could not make their “blue-haired gay man” a villain. This mirrors a similar situation and excuse used the previous season, where the character of Jenna Cameron was originally planned to work with Jesse Manes against the aliens, before it was changed because they just ���loved Riley [the actress] too much”. Both of these examples occurred while already filming and reflect on a larger problem with the show. Though not the topic of this essay, it is important to note that both characters are white, both in the show and by virtue of being played by white actors. The fact that they couldn’t be villains for one reason or another is not a courtesy extended to the male villains who are all the most visibly brown, and thus ‘other’, members of the cast.

This also highlights the fact that, via Twitter, it has been revealed two other times that occurrences that were reported in season 1 also occurred in season 2. During the airing of episode 1.02, it was revealed that the single best build-up of tension in the show- when Alex walks to the Airstream not saying a word to Michael after a dramatic declaration- happened because one actor was sick at the time and they had to go back and film the kisses later. At the point of airing for episode 2.08, it was revealed that one of the actors were sick and unable to film a kissing scene. Allegedly, this caused the writers to retool the entire scene and deviate from the plan to make that subplot about Coming Out. The execution of this subplot will be explored later in this essay.

The last occurrence revealed via Twitter also revealed larger issues within the show: lack of planning and poor budgeting. During the airing of season 1, Tyler Blackburn was needed for an extra episode beyond his contracted 10. A full explanation was never given, but speculation about poor planning and to fill in because Heather Hemmens had to miss one of her 10 episodes due to scheduling conflicts for another project. During the airing of season 2, yet another tweet came out saying they made a mistake and Tyler would once again be in an additional episode. No explanations beyond “a mistake” were given, though once again speculation occurred. It is the opinion of the author that this was due to changing plot points over halfway through writing, while episodes were already in production. It has been speculated by some that these changes occurred during the writing of 2.08, which was being finished/pre-production was occurring roughly around the time of NYCC 2019.

Previous Literature:

A brief look at different theories of plots and subplots

Many people have written on the subject of plotting, for novels and screen alike. The author is more familiar with film writing than tv, but a lot of the concepts carry over. Largely, the B- and C- (and D- and E-… etc) plots should reinforce the theme of the A-plot. This can be through the use of a negative example, where the antithesis of the theme is explored to reinforce the theme presented by the A plot, or through other examples of the theme, generally on a small scale.

A movie example of this would be Hidden Figures (2016), where the A-plot explores how race and gender impact the main character (Katherine Johnson) in her new job. The B-plots explore the other characters navigating the same concepts in different settings and ways- learning a new skill as to not become obsolete and breaking boundaries there (Dorothy Vaugn) and being the first black woman to complete a specific degree program and the fight it took to get there (Mary Jackson). A TV example that utilizes this concept of plot and theme is the 911 shows. Each of the rescues in a given episode will directly relate to the overall theme of the episode and the overall plot for the focus character. This example is extremely blunt. It does not use any tools to hide the connection, to the point you can often guess the outcome for that A-plot fairly quickly.

This is not the only way to explore themes within visual media. Moonlight (2016) looks at three timestamps in the life of Chiron. Each timestamp has a plot even if they feel more like individual scenes or moments rather than plots as some are more used to in films. Each time stamp deals with rejection, isolation, connection, and acceptance in different ways. So while there is no clear A-, B-, or C-Plot, each time stamp works as their own A-Plot to explore the themes in a variety of ways, particularly by starting out in a place of rejection and moving to acceptance or a place of connection to isolation.

Please note that there are many ways to write multiple plots, there are just two examples.

While there are flaws within season 1 of RNM, overall the themes stayed consistent throughout the season, mainly the theme of alienation. The theme threads through the Alien’s isolation/alienation from humanity which is particularly seen through Michael’s unwillingness to participate and Isobel’s over participation. There is Rosa’s isolation from others, how her friendship with “Isobel” ended up compounding her existing alienation from her support system due to her mental illness and coping mechanisms. We see how Max and Liz couldn’t make connections. This theme presented itself over and over in season 1. While this essay is not an exploration of the breakdown of themes in season 2, it should be noted that there were some threads that followed throughout the season. The theme of mothers/motherhood was woven throughout season 2, with some elements more effective than others. Please contact the author for additional thoughts on Helena Ortecho and revenge plots.

One of the largest problems within season 2 was the sheer number of plots jammed into the season. These plot threads often ended up hindering the effectiveness of the themes and made the coherence of the season suffer. Additionally, a lot of them were convoluted and difficult to follow.

Thesis:

Essentially, season 2 was a mess. To look at it holistically is almost an exercise in futility. Either you grow angry about the dropped plots and premises, you hand wave them off, or you fill them in for yourself. Instead, this essay proposes to look at individual elements to explain why Forrest should have stayed evil.

We first meet Forrest in 2.04 when he is introduced on the Long Family Farm, which we later learn was the location where our past alien protagonists had their final standoff. He’s introduced. He’s largely just there. The audience learns he has more of a history with Michael. In 2.06, we meet him again with his dog Buffy (note: poor Buffy has not been seen again and we miss a chunky queen). There’s mild flirting, Alex is invited to an open mic night, which he attends. For the purpose of this essay, the author’s thoughts on the poetry will not be expressed. Readers can take a guess.

It is after this point that the author speculates the Decision was made. This choice to make Forrest not evil- paired with the aforementioned ‘can’t kiss, someone’s sick’- impacted the plot. We have Alex have a scene with his father- which the author believes could have been pushed to a different episode- and then have Alex go on a date and then not kiss Forrest at the end of the night. Here, the audience sees Forrest hit Alex in the leg, allegedly not knowing he had lost his leg despite ‘looking him up’, which parallels the shot to the leg that happens to Charlie. Besides wasting this ABSOLUTELY TEXTBOOK SET UP WTF, it also takes Alex away from the main plot and then forces a new plot for him. Up to this point, Alex’s plot was discovering more about the crash and his family’s involvement. Turning Alex’s date from a setup for evil Forrest to a Coming Out story adds yet another plot thread to a packed season. It is also the author’s thought that this is where the convoluted kidnapping plot comes in. With Forrest already in 2.10 for a moment, a plot where Alex is evil has Forrest attack him for Deep Sky rather than Jesse abduct him for a piece of alien glass Alex was going to give him anyway and then for Flint to abduct Alex from Jesse. It’s messy. In a bad way. Evil Forrest would have been a cleaner set up: no taking back a piece of alien glass Alex gave to Michael in a touching moment. No double abduction. Instead, there is only Forrest, who Alex trusts, breaking that trust to take him as leverage over Michael.

Implications:

Now, Alex has two plots (Tripp & Coming Out). The Coming Out plot is largely ineffective, as they are only relevant to scenes with Forrest and have the undercurrent of there only being a certain acceptable way to be out. This could have been used for Alex to discover his comfort levels, mirroring Isobel’s self discovery, but there was not enough screen time for that. Additionally, Isobel’s coming out story was about her allowing herself the freedom to explore. Alex’s story was about the freedom to… act like this dude wanted him to. Alex’s internalized homophobia played out often in the series but it was also informed by the violence he experienced at Jesse’s hands and the literal hate crime he and his high school boyfriend experienced. With that in mind, the “kissing to piss off bigots” line comes off poorly. This is a character who experienced what a pissed off bigot could do- reluctance to kiss in public is not the same as not being out. There is more to be said on this topic, but as it is not actually the focus of the essay, it will be put on hold. To surmise: Alex’s coming out is attempted to be framed as being himself, but it is actually the conformity to someone else’s ideals. It does not work as an antithetical to Isobel’s story, as the framing indicates that the conformity/right was to be out contradicts Isobel’s theme.

Further Research:

MAKE FORREST EVIL YOU COWARDS

Author Acknowledgements:

The author of this paper acknowledges that the show took some strides to mend this problem. However, once again no consensus could be found on whether Forrest was a low-level member of Deep Sky and thus just allowed to fuck off on a bus, or his job was recruitement because he did a piss poor job of making Alex not join.

[lorenfangor]

Laws and Customs among the Andalites (aka The Great Andalite Sex Meta)

(a brief ooc note - this meta is written from the perspective of an in-universe human researcher; consider it an early draft of their collected notes. also, I want to note that Andalite culture and customs are distinct from human culture and customs, and their concepts of gender and sex are purposefully different. nothing here is meant to be Good Representation, just what I personally think is most likely when it comes to our favorite scorpion deer. also I have to thank @nikosheba for her invaluable assistance and co-authorship of much of this work because without her this never would have gotten codified - she’s the other person authoring this hypothetical research paper. eventually this will be crossposted to AO3? but in the meantime, here.)

Introduction

This paper is a summary of information collected through a series of detailed interviews with Andalites on the subject of Andalite sexuality and gender, focusing on mating behavior in order to highlight how and why they are different from humans. This is not a comprehensive examination of all relevant factors, but as no scholarship on this subject yet exists, it can be considered a beginning to human xenological examinations of our greatest and first alien allies.

Andalite Gender

Andalites perceive gender as a male/female binary correlated directly with assigned biological sex. Unlike Earth, biological sex does not seem to exist on a spectrum on Andal and its moons, with chromosomal and genetic expression solely indicating ‘male’ or ‘female’.* This means that if there are intersex Andalites, this researcher is unaware of them. Transgender Andalites - meaning, specifically, Andalites whose original assigned biological sex does not reflect their self-perception or their desired social role - do exist, and there is no stigma or taboo against the existence of such individuals, but it is expected that they will become morph-capable and craft a suitable new body for themselves using DNA acquired from consenting individuals and a careful Frolis maneuver. They will then morph that new body, either male or female, and turn nothlit to maintain it. Genderfluid and otherwise nonbinary transgender identity is not extant culturally on Andal, though there is some variance that is socially permissible in gender presentation and expression. The standard, and the enforced social norm, falls along the existing male/female binary. 

Female Andalites are smaller physically than males, with slightly shorter tails and smaller tailblades. Their arms are less robust than those of the males, though their fingers are slightly more dextrous on average. In addition to taking the primary caregiver role in childrearing, they act as scientists, artists, and philosophers. Male Andalites are larger and more adept with their tails but less adept with their hands, and assist in childrearing as well as acting as protectors and warriors at need. In peacetime, female Andalites are cultural influencers, taking an active role in shaping the ethics and focuses of the population at large, as their roles are revered in the ideology and spirituality shared by all of their species. In wartime, males rise to prominence, taking the lead in defense and strategy. There are exceptions to these norms discussed below. 

Though Andalite females are more revered in peacetime than the males, and though their positions in Andalite society are respected and venerated, there is a pervasive patriarchal sexism present in Andalite day-to-day life, largely due to females’ smaller size and inability to face a male in a tailblade duel. Whether or not this is due to the recent war with the Yeerks is unknown, and further research is necessary to track the rise and fall of sexism in Andalite culture. 

*Despite the biological essentialism inherent for humans in the use of ‘male’ and ‘female’ to mean ‘man’ and ‘woman’, there is no solid conception in Andalite society of sex and gender as separate from one another, and therefore this paper will default to language that accurately reflects how interviewed Andalites discuss their society and its members.

Lothren and Anglith

Gender is not the primary factor to be considered when studying Andalite sexuality. There is no taboo against homosexuality, nor an expectation of heterosexuality, and the genders of the individuals involved in any given mating are irrelevant when compared to whether or not said individuals are lothren or anglith. A lothren is usually a male, and is the active mounting partner in the act of mating, and an anglith is usually a female, and is the passive partner who is mounted. The dominant individual in any herd is its highest-ranking lothren, and this position is either awarded due to great cultural achievements or won after many tailblade duels with other lothren. Female lothren are statistically more likely to be homosexual or at least primarily interested in pursuing female anglith for mating, and male anglith are also statistically more likely to be primarily interested in male lothren. This researcher was unable to confirm the existence of mated pairs consisting of a female lothren and male anglith, but multiple subjects stated that such a thing is plausible and socially acceptable. 

As penetration and being penetrated are central to Andalite conceptions of sex, all lothren are in possession of functional penises. Male lothren are born with them or acquire them by going nothlit, and female lothren are morph-capable and have specialized morphs for sexual intercourse created by use of a Frolis maneuver. The question of whether or not male anglith universally have specialized morphs for sexual intercourse remains unanswered, though interviewed subjects stated that they had heard of specific individuals taking this approach. Until further research can be done, the available data indicates that anal intercourse appears to be the traditional method of copulation in male same-sex Andalite pairs.

Male anglith and female anglith have many shared social roles, though it is acceptable for male anglith to act as warriors and soldiers. In peacetime, primarily, male anglith act as additional caregivers for juvenile and infant Andalites, and unlike female anglith they show a great interest in gardening.* Female lothren, for their part, are additional protectors for the herds they belong to, and often provide a balancing influence in herds where females greatly outnumber males. Just as male anglith can be warriors, female lothren can be artists and scientists. Some humans have speculated that the reason Andalite military policy specifically excluded female lothren was so that in the event of danger on Andal, there would be fighters present to act in defense of other civilians; the subjects interviewed for this study all unanimously agreed that this was the primary reason for such a choice. 

*It is important to note that as a herd species, Andalites discourage individual expression of personality and interest, and indeed their genetic development seems to actively select against behaviors that do not fall into a spectrum of community-accepted traits and practices. Stereotypes are not harmful for Andalites as they are for humans, and generalizations are far more accurate. All interviewed subjects spoke at length about their desire to be part of a greater whole, and how their lives were actively shaped by their need to be accepted by a herd.

Season-Mates and Bonded Mates

Superficial human observation would indicate that like many species on Earth, Andalites mate for life, and form what could be described as nuclear families with two parents and children. This is not universally true, however; Andalites have two forms of relationships, and both can produce offspring. A season-mate is a mate taken out of necessity with the mutual understanding that the coupling does not specifically indicate a long-term partnership, though if there is a child conceived, the parents remain together for the first year of that child’s life before the male departs and the female joins with other season-mated females to collectively raise their young, with support from male anglith and the herd at large. A bonded mate is closer to a human spouse, and bonded mates swear oaths of fidelity to one another and forge a telepathic link that increases their capacity for thought-speech and shared emotions. Children born to bonded mates have two parents for the whole of their childhood as well as that same collective support of the herd. Neither method of conceiving and raising children is considered to be ‘better’ or more moral, and Andalite-authored psychological studies have indicated that as long as there is a herd present for a child to grow up within, there is no substantial difference in development, overall health, or emotional resilience.

Both season-mates and bonded mates can be either heterosexual or homosexual - as stated above, there is no taboo against same-sex pairs. 

Andalite Mating Behavior

Note: All Andalites interviewed for this study currently live on Andal in large herds composed of several smaller family groups and unaffiliated individuals; it is this setting that will be discussed in this paper. Mating behaviors aboard Dome Ships are yet to be fully examined, though further study may reveal that they are much the same.

All Andalite anglith have a yearly estrus cycle that centers around early spring, regardless of whether or not they are female. This is believed to be so that all members of a herd go into season at the same time, thus preserving unity in the population as a whole. There are no reports of what humans would call truly asexual Andalites. While some individuals are completely uninterested in sex and romance, all are drawn to copulate by the yearly estrus cycle. Hypothetically, someone repulsed by or not desiring intercourse could spend this time in and out of morph, as morphing breaks the rut or the heat, or offworld, though none of the interviewed individuals were aware of any Andalites who partook in this behavior.

The first member of a herd to go into heat is the anglith mated to the dominant lothren (traditionally called a Prince in peacetime) and when they* are fully in heat, their lothren drops into rut. All Andalite herds have their own social dominance hierarchies, and each herd has its own place in a greater dominance hierarchy that places every herd on the planet into its own position. When the other lower-ranked anglith in the herd scent their Prince in rut, they too go into heat, which causes the lower-ranked lothren to then drop into rut as well. 

What follows is a period of anywhere from one day to one week, in which unmated lothren and anglith size one another up and match together while bonded mates retreat to their own scoops and engage in sexual intercourse. Bonded mates will traditionally hang ceremonial ribbons on the trees bordering their scoops, thus indicating the presence of a lothren in rut and/or an anglith in heat. Unmated Andalites in search of either a bonded mate of their own or a season-mate will hang ribbons should they find a suitable partner.

Lothren will spar with one another using tailblades to win the right to mate with a particular individual anglith, and anglith will spar with one another in the same manner for the right to mate with a particular lothren. Even bonded mates are sometimes challenged in this way, if the lothren or anglith is particularly desirable or famous.

After all who can match up with one another have matched, and pairs are established, they will retreat to the lothren’s scoop, and ribbons will be hung. The anglith then runs across the scoop, pursued by the lothren, and will either be caught and mounted or will spar with the lothren until they yield, at which point they are mounted. If the anglith truly does not want to engage in intercourse, they will fight off the lothren attempting to mate with them, and depart. This is very rare in modern Andalite society, but was said by interviewed individuals to have once been common in past millennia. If the lothren does not satisfy their partnered anglith sexually, this is also cause for combat, as sexual pleasure is expected.

Lothren rut lasts for three Andalite days, or roughly two and a half Earth days. Should any lothren or anglith enter into a scoop where a pair of Andalites are mating, they will be fought off. For this reason the lothren does not sleep or eat during their rut - it is more common for an unmated lothren to attempt to win an anglith by combat than for an anglith to make such a challenge, and if an anglith were to do such a thing, the lothren could reject them without combat. The mated pair will copulate many times, only stopping for the anglith to rest and eat and drink. When the rut is over, the anglith will complete a season-ending ritual and the lothren will rest before completing a ritual of their own a day later. Unmated lothren and anglith will drop out of season when the last mated pair is finished regardless of whether or not they have copulated. Once both a lothren and anglith have completed their season-ending rituals, they will take down the ribbons bordering the scoop, and rejoin the herd at large. If a child has been conceived, it will be known after five Andalite weeks, and as a result most season-mates in male-female pairs remain together for that length of time.

After the spring season has passed, Andalites do not experience intense sexual arousal that would drive them to mount or be mounted in intercourse for the rest of the year. There are other intimate behaviors that they engage in to strengthen their relationships with their bonded mates or for recreation, including grooming, the intertwining of tails, and the sharing of fantasies and erotic thoughts, though these usually do not result in copulation. 

*As anglith and lothren can be either male or female, gender-neutral pronouns are used in this portion of the paper.

Andalites and Humans

An Andalite lothren mated to a human, as was the case with Prince Elfangor-Sirinial-Shamtul and his mate Loren, will respond to their mate’s scents and sexual interest regardless of what time of year it is. Humans are primates, and are on a menstrual cycle rather than an estrus cycle, and therefore are always in season and sexually available. Had Prince Elfangor not taken a human form and gone nothlit, it is reasonable to assume that he would have dealt with near-constant rut. It is unknown whether or not human anglith go into heat, though preliminary data suggests that they at least enjoy the experience of lothren rut and do not find it undesirable, and are unusually receptive to the attentions and intentions of their mates. There is no data available on humans taking the lothren role mated Andalite anglith, but it is the opinion of this researcher that the majority of humans who pursue Andalite mates do so because it is their desire to be mounted rather than do the mounting. Preliminary data also suggests that specific humans responsive to Andalite pheromones and desires, or scenting as anglith to interested Andalite lothren, do so because they are already sexually attracted to Andalites, not because there is an innate compatibility between the species.

It is not known whether or not an Andalite and a human in their original forms can procreate. Andalite nothlits are fertile in human form, and human nothlits are fertile in Andalite form, but no mated human-Andalite pair has conceived a child while the two species are in their original bodies. Analysis is ongoing as to the viability of our species’ genomes. 

Impacts on Andalite Sociology

Due to being a herd species with yearly estrus cycles and social structures dependent upon the presence or absence of traditionally male sex organs, Andalites are not sexually conservative by human standards. They openly discuss mating and sexual pleasure, and they are frank about the roles that biological urges play in their society. They will say directly if they believe a behavior is motivated by a desire to mate or by sexual interest, and they are confused by the idea that subtlety or concealing one’s interests could be the preferred approach taken by humans. To them, openness means a healthier herd, and this researcher observed many comments such as “They need to mate and clear their heads,” or “He’s probably in pre-rut, he’s being short-tempered.” They value self-control and self-awareness, which manifests as a desire to deal with sexual urges quickly and immediately, preventing them from impacting both smaller family groups or larger herds. 

Whether or not the Andalite tail translates directly to a human phallic symbol is as of yet unknown. Andalite lothren certainly view the tail as a sign of virility and strength, and the larger size and greater strength of male tailblades is prized, but as females and male anglith also possess tails and tailblades, the comparison cannot be said to be direct. Where the metaphor can be argued to be strongest is in discussing the vecol, or specifically, the vecol who has lost a tailblade - this loss impacts both sexual function and social standing, with other Andalites responding to it as if the afflicted individual has been visibly castrated and lost their virility. See the next section for greater detail. 

Sexual Function and the Vecol

Vecol is a word that can be loosely translated as ‘fatally disabled’, though it often specifically means ‘an individual who has lost their tailblade’. Vecols are expected to isolate themselves from Andalite society and dissolve any bond they might have with a mate, regardless of if they’re anglith or lothren. The reasoning for this seems to be historical - in the past, disabled members of Andalite herds were vulnerable to predators or disease, and injuries such as broken legs or dislocated joints would drastically shorten lifespans and reduce quality of life, and leaving disabled individuals alone would reduce the chances of the herd as a whole being negatively impacted. Advances in Andalite medicine and social ideologies and the advent of peacetime have meant that vecols now are solely individuals whose tailblades have been lost due to accident or injury, but they are still expected to act as if they are dead to their people and isolate themselves from their herds and mates and families. This researcher is not commenting upon the ethics of this cultural norm, nor defending it.

A lothren vecol is unable to fully drop into rut and copulate with an anglith in a way that would satisfy them and end their heat, and an anglith vecol is unable to go into heat. As a result, it can be stated definitively that the presence of a tailblade is crucial to Andalite sexual function regardless of gender or sexual position, even in situations where tailblade combat is not required. This provides some explanation as to why the custom of isolation still exists - a mated pair incapable of ending a rut or a heat would eventually feel immense psychological stress that would negatively impact them and would spread to their herd thanks to the communal Andalite lifestyle and the telepathy all Andalites possess.

Conclusion

Andalite sexuality is distinct from human sexuality, but not so uncommon as to be totally unrecognizable. There are also questions raised about evolutionary biology and evolutionary theory that must be asked when it comes to the presence of yearly estrus cycles on two planets, as well as similar behavior in two completely genetically distinct types of herd species. As this is a small study with a sample size of only a few dozen individuals, more data is needed before conclusive answers can be stated, or before solid conclusions can be argued. But as an introduction to Andalite sociology and sexual politics, these interviews are illuminating and worth examining on a deeper level.

[arcticfox007]

The Wych Elm and the Cemetery

Happy Christmas @aibari! I’m you’re secret santa and I hope you enjoy your gift!

Thanks to @destielsecretsanta2020 for putting all of this together :)

Wishlist fulfilled: Angst with a Happy Ending, Case Fic, Weird Small Towns (well city in this case), Weird Angel Lore, Hand holding, and Americana (I tried to work in as much as I could) – if you want specific info on all of the Americana I tied in, check out my endnotes on AO3 😊 Also, @aibari I’m happy to list you as the giftee on AO3 if you have a name over there.

The is roughly set during early Season 12, but I’m not married to canon or anything.

***

               Dean wasn’t easily impressed these days, but even he had to admit that the tree growing out of the grave was unlike anything he’d come across before. The historic cemetery in the middle of Missouri had its fair share of trees, but they had come here for this one. Cas stood next to him looking like he was attempting to interrogate the tree with his mind. For a moment Dean was distracted by the angel, smiling a bit at the memory of the time Cas had insisted on interrogating a cat. Luckily, Cas had gotten better at blending in, so at least he wasn’t actively asking the tree questions. There was the sound of someone clearing their throat to Dean’s other side and Dean directed his attention back to the cemetery’s caretaker, Mrs. Paige.

               “I’m not sure why the FBI would be interested in something like this.” The older woman sniffed and looked at both Cas and Dean suspiciously. Dean turned on the charm and gave her a warm smile.

               “Unfortunately, we aren’t at liberty to discuss the details of the case, but we’d appreciate anything you can tell us about this tree Mrs. Paige, or the woman who was killed, Louisa Abbot.”

                We’d also like any information you might have on the person who was buried here,” Castiel interrupted. “Most of the marker seems to be missing, perhaps destroyed by the sudden growth of this tree.”

               “Well, I can certainly get you the information on who was buried here, this was one of our more famous gravesites. The man buried here died in the early 1800s, he is one of two Revolutionary War veterans laid to rest in the cemetery, his name was William Abbot. I believe he held the rank of Captain. The Boone Historical Society may have more information about him, but he is one of the earliest burials in the cemetery and a lot of those records have been lost over the years.” Mrs. Paige chewed on her lower lip for a moment, staring along with Dean at the tree once again. “The tree will have to be removed to restore Captain Abbot’s grave.”

               “Was Captain Abbot an ancestor of the victim?” Cas’ question caught Dean off guard. There was something strangely mesmerizing about the massive twisting trunk rising out of the ground exactly where the remains of Captain Abbot would have been. Dean registered that Cas and the caretaker were continuing to talk, but Dean stepped away to examine the tree more carefully. It’s roots, on the surface at least, didn’t seem to spread out much. Rather they seemed to go straight down into the Earth. Its trunk was thick enough to have been there for hundreds of years despite having only appeared a few days ago. The tree itself was knotted in appearance, with ugly, twisted branches shooting out in all directions. For some reason it occurred to Dean that the tree looked like it was screaming in pain. Dean jumped when he suddenly felt Cas’ hand on his shoulder.

              “Dean. Are you listening?” Dean pulled his eyes away from the tree and turned towards Cas who continued to keep his hand on Dean’s shoulder.

               “Ah, no, sorry. This,” Dean waved vaguely at the impressive scene before them, “is kind of distracting.” Cas nodded seriously. Dean noticed that the caretaker had left, but was distracted again by Cas pulling his hand back. They always touched a bit longer than was probably normal, but Dean still regretted the loss of the warmth on his shoulder.

               “Mrs. Paige said that the victim may have been a descendant of Captain Abbot, but she wasn’t sure. She suggested the Historical Society again, if we needed further information. She did say that she knew Louisa Abbot when she was a teenager. She was one of several teenagers she used to call the police on for breaking into the cemetery after hours to party. Mrs. Paige said she hadn’t really seen her in more recent years.

               “Is there any way to tell if the good Captain is still here?” Dean waved towards the roots of the tree. Cas shook his head. “Ah well, I’d be surprised if they were still here. I guess we better find out what exactly Louisa Abbot was into.” They started walking back towards the car.

               “I agree. I’d also like more information on the tree. I know it’s a type of elm, but I’m not sure of the significance, if there is any.”

               “Call Sam and get him to work on it.” Cas let out an exasperated huff in response to Dean’s delegation of research to his brother.

               “Dean. The entire reason we are here without Sam is so he can rest. He needs to sleep to get over the flu, especially since he refused to let me heal him. I am more than capable of finding the information, perhaps while you visit the historical society.”

               “Alright. You want me to drop you off at the library?”

               “That would be acceptable.” Cas paused to look out over the cemetery again before opening the passenger side door of the Impala. Dean noticed the angel’s hesitation.

               “Everything okay man?” Castiel turned towards Dean upon hearing his words and Dean notices the sadness that ghosts across the angel’s face. “Seriously, Cas, what’s going on with you? You seem more, I dunno, out of it than usual.”

               “I – this place is a lot like the cemetery where Mary was originally buried. I don’t like the memory of you leaving to die.” Cas looks away abruptly and climbs into the passenger seat. Dean is at a loss for words, so he doesn’t say anything at all. He drops Cas off at the library with all the things left unsaid hanging between them.

***

               It’s off season for the small college town, most of the students having gone home for winter break, so the hunters end up with better than normal accommodations. Dean is more than happy to discover a decent grill-themed restaurant practically in the parking lot of their hotel, and Cas is happy to wait until his companion is content with food before telling him what he’d found during his time in the library. Dean talks ideally about the pie store the server had told him about, wondering if they’ll have time to check it out before they leave. Cas lets Dean talk, he finds himself still grateful that he can have these moments, he truly thought he was going to lose him in the attempt to destroy Amara.

               Ever since Castiel’s brief time as a human he’s found that the emotions he’d been slowly acquiring over the years have amplified at a rate that he has had difficulty adjusting to. He’d hoped at the beginning that regaining his grace would have given him back some of the control that had spiraled away from him, but he can’t help but dwell on almost losing Dean.

               When they reach their room, Dean opts to take a shower before swapping case notes so Cas tries to take that time to compose himself. When given moments away from Dean, where there is a chance for quiet, the angel forces himself to let the feelings he has for the infuriating man wash over him. He lets himself feel the pain at having to let him go up against Amara alone. He lets himself feel the overwhelming joy at seeing him alive once again. He lets himself feel how much he’s fallen in love with the beautiful human being. He recalls talking to Anna at the beginning of what would become his fall, her telling him it only gets worse. He has no doubt now that she wasn’t just referring to his struggle with doubt. An angel that can feel things akin to a human can easily become overwhelmed. They were not built for these sensations, and so, every time Castiel lets go to indulge in the wash of his emotions he pulls on his grace and works to reign them in one at a time. By the time Dean emerges from the shower Castiel has regained some semblance of stoicism.

               “So, this lady at the historical society was great. She apparently teaches genealogy classes for free to the public or something, so she was able to pull up the victim’s ancestry pretty fast. Captain Abbot was her ancestor all right, so at least we have that connection. Couldn’t find much out about the family besides that, so we should talk to Louisa’s next of kin tomorrow. I think the police report said she had a sister locally.” Castiel agrees to the plan and pulls out some information he had printed at the library.

               “The tree is called a ‘Wych Elm’ and is a common wood used to build coffins, which may explain it’s presence. It’s possible, if Captain Abbot’s coffin was made from this wood, that whatever spell was cast had the side effect of growing a new tree from the wood.” Dean raises his eyebrows skeptically when Cas shares this information.

               “It’s called a witch elm Cas; do you really think it’s there because of the coffin wood?” Castiel rolls his eyes at his companion.

               “W-Y-C-H Dean, not witch. It means pliable, it’s named for the characteristic of the wood. But no, to answer your question. I doubt it has anything to do with the coffin wood. It’s not a tree common to this area.” Dean waves his hand to indicate Castiel should continue. “You are not the only one to mistake the name of the tree for something else. More recent lore does associate the tree with actual witches as many of them seem to like these trees as ritualistic sites. The rest of the lore associates them with melancholy and death, especially because the trees are known for unexpectedly dropping branches and injuring the unsuspecting people standing below them.”

               “Yeah, okay. Does that mean that Louisa was some sort of witch, and grew the tree there on purpose?” Cas thinks about Dean’s suggestion for a few moments.

               “Possibly. The other thing these trees are known for is guarding the entrance to Hades, so it may also be a result of an attempt to raise the dead. I cannot be certain as this seems unlike any other necromantic ritual I’ve heard of. I am also uncertain at to the motivation of raising someone who died over two centuries ago, as the more recent dead are usually preferrable to necromancers.”

               “Alright, well there’s not much more we can do tonight.” Castiel nods and watches Dean dig through his bag. Dean hesitates for a moment and Castiel begins to wonder if he forgot something at the bunker. Dean shakes his head and pulls a bundle out of his bag, tossing it to Castiel.

               “Here, I forgot I brought this for you.” Dean looks expectantly at the angel as Cas looks at the material in his hands.  

                “Clothing? Dean, I have no need to change clothes.” Castiel’s confusion is evident on his face. Dean sighs rubs the back of his neck.

                 “I know man. Just try though, you’re more human-like than before with Heaven losing power. I know you don’t want to talk about it, but I noticed that you eat more often, and even sleep sometimes. I think you’ll actually appreciate relaxing in something that isn’t a suit and trench coat.” Cas looks at the clothing in his hands, dismayed that Dean has seen the weakening of his connection to Heaven. He hadn’t wanted Dean to think him less capable but at the same time he’s touched by the thought the man had put into the angel’s situation.

                 “Thank you, Dean. I will try.” Castiel goes into the bathroom to change and when he emerges, he finds Dean sitting on one of the beds flipping through TV channels. Dean slides over, indicating that Cas should sit down as the TV is only visible from the one bed. Dean complains that the only thing on is a Law & Order marathon because the hotel doesn’t have a streaming service on the TV. Cas doesn’t mind though, sharing the bed to watch television gives him an excuse to watch over Dean as he sleeps without Dean complaining about it. Even nicer is how Dean falls asleep gradually in the middle of an episode and doesn’t seem to notice how he curls into Cas’ side as he does it. Cas smiles and allows his feelings to wash over him again as he thinks about how the softer PJs must be more comfortable for Dean to lay on.

***

                  The following evening found the hunter and the angel at a place called Warm Springs Ranch. When they called Louisa’s sister, she told them she could talk during her break. The ranch ran some sort of Christmas event and Janice Abbot was one of the people in charge of it. Dean tried to play it cool, but he couldn’t help getting a bit excited over the chance to see the Budweiser Clydesdales. He did remind Cas that interrogating the horses was unnecessary to which he had received one of the angel’s full body eyerolls. Dean would never admit it out loud, but he really enjoyed Cas’ sarcasm. He thought the eyerolling was kind of adorable.

               Dean hadn’t meant to spend last night half snuggling with his best friend, but Cas didn’t seem to mind so he wasn’t going to worry about it. Dean figured his secret crush on the guy was his problem, not the angel’s – as long as it didn’t mess up their friendship it wasn’t worth agonizing over.

               They had unexpectedly spent the morning at the morgue. There was another strange death last night, something had eaten the victim’s spleen. They’d only received a call about it because the original victim, Louisa, had also been missing her spleen along with several other organs and most of her blood. If it was the same creature it certainly seemed to enjoy the bloodier organs of the body. The only other thing the victims had in common was proximity to the cemetery. The most recent victim had visited the cemetery the previous day according to her wife.

               After that trip, they had gotten access to Louisa’s duplex and were now in agreement that she had been a practicing witch dabbling in necromancy. Cas had been on the phone with Rowena during the drive to the ranch giving her a rundown on the information they had in the hopes that she could help then understand more of what was going on. Eventually Cas had given in and called Sam, admitting that the younger Winchester had a much easier time getting Rowena’s cooperation.

               When they finally arrived at the front of the line of cars entering the ranch, Dean began to understand why there was a crowd. The lights draped everywhere were impressive and Dean was happy to note that Cas seemed taken in by the display. It always cheered Dean up to see Castiel happy, it felt like those instances were all too rare in their line of work. Dean and Cas showed their badges at the entrance and asked where they could find Janice. They were directed to a side road for staff and Dean noticed the small frown of Cas’ face.

               “Hey, want to ask if we can drive through the light display if we have time before we leave? It looks kinda awesome.” Castiel didn’t exactly smile but Dean could tell the suggestion pleased him. Dean wasn’t always sure why, but he was much better at reading Castiel than anyone else. Dean drove around to the back to park his car in what he assumed was the employee parking lot. They made their way through the staff entrance and asked around until they found Louisa’s sister.

                “I honestly don’t know what I can tell you guys that I haven’t already told the other cops. I’m sorry she’s dead but Louisa and I were not close. She and I have barely spoken since we were kids. She was friends with some really weird people and did a lot of drugs when we were younger. I’m really not surprised she ended up dead in a cemetery.” Janice was clearly frustrated at her sister’s death and the notoriety it had brought with it. They did manage to find out the names of some of the ‘weird’ friends Louisa hung out with but beyond that she had been more than happy to offer them free access to the Christmas event just to be rid of them.

                Dean was fairly certain the interview had been a dead end outside of assuring himself the sister wasn’t also a witch, but he didn’t feel their time had been wasted as he watched Cas roam through the stables. Cas attracted the few colts in residence leading to the kids in attendance following him around so they could see the young horses up close. Dean felt a soft warmth spread out from his chest as he watched his best friend talk with both the children and the colts. The children didn’t think anything of Cas having conversations with horses.

              They eventually made their way back to the car and drove through the light display. Maybe they should have talked about the case, but Dean didn’t want to ruin the moment. Cas gazed out at the decorations with a look of quiet contentment on his face and Dean reached for the angel’s hand without thinking about it. Cas threaded his fingers through Dean’s without even turning away from the window.

             Later that night, after grabbing burgers at a drive thru, they poured through the case notes together hoping to find something they had been missing. Dean didn’t even remember falling asleep until he woke up to Cas rolling him onto a pillow and laying a blanket on him. He mumbled a drowsy thank you and sunk into a dreamless slumber.

***

               Cas thought that maybe it was a mistake, but after last night he didn’t want to be away from Dean. Once he had pulled a blanket over his exhausted friend, Cas changed into the pajamas Dean had given him again and laid down beside him. He stayed above the covers and just watched Dean sleep. He didn’t tell Dean anymore that he’d watch over him as he didn’t enjoy being called creepy. Dean didn’t seem to understand that watching was part of who Castiel was as an angel. While he had rebelled and fallen it didn’t change his need to watch over the man he pulled out of hell. It would be like going to long without air for a human. Cas needed to watch Dean, to protect him, to assure himself that he was safe.

                He noticed Dean shivering despite the blanket draped over him and Castiel found himself giving into another impulse that he wasn’t sure Dean would appreciate. He pulled on the smallest amount of his grace to give some substance to his wings and dropped one of them on top of the man he loved. They were broken and battered, but over the years they had healed enough to fill out a bit. Dean quieted as he felt the weight of the wing, and Cas saw a small smile ripple across his face. The angel would just have to pull his wings back from the physical realm before Dean woke up, but it was worth the grace to keep Dean more comfortable as he slept.

***

               Dean opened his eyes in the morning to find a sleeping angel next to him. He froze as soon as he saw Cas there, more worried that the angel had fallen asleep than about the fact that Dean was all to happy to wake up to his best friend lying beside him. He reached over to see if he could wake Cas up and ran into – feathers? Dean quickly rubbed his hands over his face and woke up more definitively. Yup, those were feathers. Large, gorgeous, black feathers that shimmered like obsidian in the sunlight. It was as if every color that had ever existed had come together to create the shimmering black of Castiel’s wings. While concerned about why Cas was sleeping and why his wings were manifested when Dean had only ever seen shadows, Dean couldn’t help but be enthralled with the things. His hand reached out to pet the one blanketing him before he actually thought about it. He had just enough time to appreciate how amazingly soft they felt before Castiel awoke with a gasp. The wing pulled back suddenly and Cas was sitting up staring at Dean in shock.

               “Sorry, sorry! Did I hurt you? I didn’t mean anything by it, they were just so amazing… I’m so sorry Cas!” Dean held up his hands trying to placate the angel as he also sat up. Cas looked at his wings as if he had just realized they were physically present. Surprise travelled over his features and with a roll of Cas’ shoulders the wings disappeared. Dean tried not to look as disappointed as he felt. Cas turned back to Dean and briefly touched his jaw.

               “It’s alright Dean. I was just surprised. They were manifested more than I intended and the sensation of you touching them was unexpected.”

               “Did I hurt you?”

               “No, like I said it was just unexpected, not harmful. I apologize, I didn’t mean for them to be out for so long.” Dean was surprised to note that Cas looked embarrassed.

               “I – I’m glad I got to see them. They’re fucking awesome Cas, the shadows were badass enough, but wow. If I had known you could manifest them like that, I’d have been begging you to show me for years.” Cas laughed and the tension between them evaporated. Dean got ready in the bathroom and found Cas back in his regular clothing hanging up the phone when he’d finished brushing his teeth.

               “Rowena thinks she knows what happened, or at least some of it. She’s not completely sure about the role of the Wych Elm, but she did say that it’s likely we will need to use wood from the tree to kill the creature that was raised.”

               “Did she say what it is?” Cas nodded in response to Dean’s question.

               “She thinks Louisa was trying to make her own vampire. Ties of blood are necessary for control and the age of the corpse increases the power of the risen dead in a ritual like this. Rowena said that no one tries this type of thing though, because the amount of power and control needed are astronomical. She said she wouldn’t try it herself, that there are easier ways to get a loyal servant. Then she said something about how maybe Louisa didn’t have the ‘assets’ Rowena had?” Dean broke into laughter and Cas tilted his head in puzzlement. Dean always enjoyed Cas’ air quotes.

               “Don’t worry about it, Cas. Okay, so Louisa was trying to make her own breed of vampire.”

               “It would seem so. Obviously, she wasn’t successful, and not just in regards to her lack of control. Whatever the creature technically is, it’s not just drinking blood.” Dean chewed over Cas’ words as the angel did something on the laptop. All Dean could think is that this thing seemed to be some sort of zombie vampire. It didn’t really make a difference though, as long as they had a way to kill it. Or re-kill it as it were.

               “So, Rowena said we can use the Wych Elm wood to kill the thing?” Cas didn’t even look up from the screen to answer Dean’s question.

               “Not exactly. She said it had to be the specific tree that grew out of the grave. She also said it wouldn’t be enough by itself. I’m looking at the spell now.” Dean decided to leave Cas to it and work on getting their gear together. It was still a vampire after all, even if it was some sort of mutant version.

               “Dean. I think this will work. Dead man’s blood should still help to incapacitate it. We also need the ashes of it’s creator and the blessing of the divine.” Dean widened his eyes at that list, but he supposed it was doable. They could steal Louisa’s body from the morgue if necessary. “We use the spell to seal the ingredients into the wood of the elm. Then we have to stab the creature with the elm wood through its heart.”

               “So, we have to stake the vampire? Seriously?” Dean was amused at the idea of staking a vampire actually working.

               “Yes, Dean. Afterwards I’d still suggest decapitation and burning whatever is left, just to make sure it stays dead.” Cas closed the laptop and pushed it aside.

               “Sure. You have a plan for blessing of the divine?” Cas smiled at Dean.

               “That’s easy enough.” Cas didn’t even warn Dean, one moment he’s standing there looking at the angel expectantly, the next he has a faceful of feathers.

               “Um, I thought you didn’t want me touching them.” Dean couldn’t see Castiel, but he could hear him snickering. Dean pushed the wing away from his eyes in time to see Cas laughing at him.

               “I said it was unexpected, not that I minded you touching. Anyway, this will work.” Dean watches as Cas runs his finger through the feathers and finds one that comes loose. In between one blink and the next the wings are hidden once again. Cas hold a single feather in his hand, the echo of his earlier laughter still present in his smile.

               “What about the ashes? Do we need to break into the morgue?”

               “We don’t need a specified amount; we can get away with most anything. Maybe just hair or something small, we needn’t steal an entire corpse.” Dean sighs in relief, that’s one less complication.

               “Well let’s head out then, I’d like this taken care of before sunset. Wait, how are we going to find the thing anyway? You think it’s prowling around the cemetery?” Cas nods.

               “Yes, Dean. Rowena seems to think it’s probably tied to the elm and with the other victim also being close to the area I’m inclined to agree with her. Using the tree for the spell may even be enough to draw it to us. If you want to drop me off at the cemetery, I can start preparing everything while you get the ashes.” Dean agrees and grabs his keys.

***

               Cas is somewhat relieved to be dropped off at the cemetery. While Dean hadn’t reacted poorly to being draped in an angel wing this morning, or the fact that Cas was asleep in the same bed, he couldn’t help feeling that he had been pushing things too far. He hadn’t meant to fall asleep while also solidifying his wings. He needed to conserve his grace for more important tasks. While Castiel was truly content to just be a part of Dean’s life it was difficult to remind himself that he could not have more, especially with his poor control over the very human-like emotions he now experienced. What was really tipping him over the edge though, was how Dean kept reacting. Dean did not react with anger or defensiveness when he found himself in situations that hinted of a more intimate relationship with Cas. He acted as if it were normal and even welcome. It surprised Cas, but it also gave him some of the hope that he had never really allowed himself to have. It was distracting, which made it all the better that he would be prepping the spell by himself.

               Cas collected a branch from the Wych Elm growing out of Captain Abbot’s grave, mindful of the tree’s reputation for dropping branches on unsuspecting passersby. Then Cas took a few moments to make sure the caretaker knew that he and his partner may be around afterhours because of the attack yesterday and was happy to find out that she had already decided to stay with a friend until she felt safer. Cas made quick work of the elm branch, pleased with how easy it was to shape into a stake. The sun would set soon so Castiel got to work engraving the sigil they would need directly into the tree trunk. Once Dean brought the last ingredient it should only take them a few minutes to complete everything. With any luck the vampire would come to them.

               He was so absorbed in creating the sigil that he almost didn’t hear the movement behind him in time.

***

               As usual, things had not gone according to plan. Dean had arrived to see Cas holding the mutant-vamp at bay, but clearly struggling to gain an upper hand over the creature they didn’t yet have the means to kill. Dean knew better than to jump into the middle of that fight, it was more important to finish Rowena’s spell. He dumped the ashes in with the rest of the material. Luckily Cas had left a copy of the actual spell out by the bowl with all the ingredients. The incantation was pretty straightforward and Dean quickly scooped up the resulting concoction on two fingers and began filling in the sigil carved into the tree. Dean picked up the branch Cas had sharpened into a stake and touched it to the sigil, running through the incantation one more time. In a brief flash of light, the sigil was absorbed into the stake.

               “Cas!” Dean threw the stake towards the angel who managed to catch it neatly without even looking. Ducking down as the creature threw itself towards him, Cas pushed the stake up and underneath the monster’s rib cage with more force than a normal human could have managed. Dean breathed a sigh of relief too early, the vamp surged back up and made another run at the rapidly tiring angel.

               “Rowena may have overlooked something.” Cas sounded remarkably composed considering how ragged he looked. Dean looked around them desperately for something they had missed. Then he saw how the tree was shivering and pulsing as if trying to reach out to the vampire. Of course!

               “Hey asshole, leave my goddamn angel alone!” Dean knew the shotgun wouldn’t work against the creature but it got his attention, and with the impact to its shoulder and the stake still protruding from its ribcage the monster snarled as it barreled towards Dean. Dean was backed up against the tree as Cas turned on him with a horrified look on his face.

               “DEAN!” Cas sounded both angry and devastated as he chased after the vampire, but Dean just yelled out instructions, all too aware what this probably looked like from Cas’ point of view.

               “Stake it to the tree!” Cas caught on quick and as Dean threw himself out of the way Cas leapt after the thing that had once been Captain Abbot. Cas reached down to where the stake was sticking out and wrenched until the creature’s back was on the trunk of the Wych Elm. Pushing off from the ground Cas slammed the stake further in, until the vampire was stuck to the tree. It screeched as light pulsed from the stake into the tree. The Wych Elm seemed to come to life as it collapsed in on itself, dragging the mutant-vamp back to wherever the tree had come from. Within moments all that was left was a broken gravestone.

               “Huh. Guess we don’t have to worry about burning it,” Dean quipped. Castiel rounded on him, clearly not feeling amused.

               “What were you thinking? What if I hadn’t been fast enough?” Dean let Castiel rant at him for a few moments, standing up and dusting off the dirt from the back of his jeans.

                  “I’m sorry, man. I didn’t want to tip it off.”

                  “So instead, you made it look like you were drawing it away from me? Getting yourself killed for me!?” Castiel’s eyes flashed dangerously blue.

                   “Yeah, and it worked. For the record, I’d have done that even if it wasn’t to trick the thing though. Better me than you.” Dean was maybe angrier than he expected. He realized he’d been worried about how long Cas would last against that thing as he noted cuts that weren’t healing and the way the angel was swaying as he tried to hold himself upright. He also noticed that the blue in Cas’ eyes was in no way diminishing as he glowered at Dean.

                    “You. Are. Absurd. You are worth everything to me.” Then, rather abruptly, Cas fell over. Dean’s heart was pounding in his ears, both from what the angel had said and the sudden alarm he felt at a cosmic being fainting. He pulled Cas up into his arms, and damn, he was heavier than Dean had expected. Not just the muscle that Dean could feel, but he idlily wondered if the wings somehow added weight. Either way, Dean eventually made it back to their hotel room, although his back wouldn’t thank him for it later.

***

               Cas woke up in the pajamas Dean had given him with an arm thrown over his chest. Confused, Cas turned slowly and realized that they were back in the hotel and Dean was asleep beside him, curled around the angel’s torso. As small rays of sunlight peeked through the curtains Cas could see his normal clothing folded nearby on a chair. He noticed that the wounds his grace hadn’t healed yet had been cleaned and bandaged, and that the blanket was pulled up around both him and Dean. As Dean let out a contented sigh in his sleep and burrowed closer, Castiel thought that perhaps he too was worth everything to someone. Smiling the angel allowed himself to drift back to sleep, happily thinking about how Dean had told the vampire to stay away from “his” angel.

***

@destielsecretsanta2020, @aibari

[hannibals-hoe]

Hannibal Commentary

This is a episode by episode rating and discussion of the best show I’ve ever seen.

⚠️Spoilers Ahead⚠️

Season 1

Episode 1, “Apéritif”

Alrighty let’s get into this.

Opening scene- we are confronted with a typical true crime tv series type of landscape- police sirens, officers, dead bodies. The show starts off with a weird sense of familiarity. Then, we are focused on Will. He is immediately thrust in as the main character, despite the show’s title. If you look closely at his expression, you notice how uncomfortable and disturbed he is to be at that crime scene. And as his eyes close, the color gradient shifts as he does- from a casual investigator, into the mind of a killer. As he traces his steps backwards and finally stops outside the home, you can see the look in eyes change. This is vital to the rest of the show so I’m going to call this the “Will Graham Murder Eyes.” He closes his eyes for a moment- but when he opens them again- you can see the lifelessness of a killer’s eyes. The very first words we hear of the show are Will describing the crime itself- a relatively non violent and casual one considering the rest of series. This is why when I recommend Hannibal to someone I always say to get past the first episode because it’s way to basic for the show as a whole.

Anyways, once Will concludes his findings, we cut to his classroom. When Will converses with Jack, we notice his tendency to not make eye contact, as described later on. This is such masterful acting on Hugh Dancy’s part. When Jack asks Will for help, we can see Will’s reluctance. It’s clear he’s uncomfortable with his inner and outer thoughts even so early in the show.

The second time we see Will go into his “this is my design” phase, he is clearly more violent as we see him strangle Elise Nichols. The viewer is almost left with a feeling that Will is actually the one responsible, which is what will happen with those around Will later in the season. At least, that’s what I first interpreted during my first watch. You’re like, “wait, Will didn’t actually kill these people right?” But as the show goes on everything makes more sense about Will’s little mind trick.

Next, we see the sweetest part of Will’s character- his love for strays. One cannot help but smile watching Will care for Winston and his other dogs. It is such a stark contrast to what we have seen so far of Will’s character. And then, we watch him struggle to sleep with his nightmares. When he uses a towel as a blanket, we know that this is not new for him- that he has nightmares regularly. The first episode expertly characterizes Will in a way no other show I’ve seen has done before.

Then, in the bathroom scene with Jack, Will is describing the way this killer (Garret Jacob Hobbs) kills- he says, “he kills these girls quickly and-“ he pauses. This pause, I believe, is him stopping himself from straight up saying “with mercy” instead, he adds, “to his thinking, with mercy.” Will, once again, is fearful of his own dark thoughts and how those thoughts will be viewed by others, specifically Jack.

Then, we see Will at the autopsy table, and a beautiful yet disturbing image of Elise being impaled on antlers is seen. The antlers will become a running symbol in the show, later an elk, then the Wendigo. At this point, I do believe the symbol was not planned, but, I could give the creators the credit of intending for them the sign for evil- in this case, the evil of Garret Jacob Hobbs. When Will concludes that this killer is eating his victims, we cut to our first shot of Hannibal.

We don’t need to see explicit human organs being cooked yet- we know it’s cannibalism. The shot of Hannibal himself is quite stunning- barely any light surrounding his features, he appears almost like a skull in the darkness. We visually know he is supposed to be the villain. But as the episode goes on, it’s quite easy to forget that Hannibal really is a serial killer and cannibal.

Next, we are put in Hannibal’s office with Franklyn. When he places his dirty tissue on Hannibal’s table, we can see Hannibal’s visible resentment. He is once again characterized as the villain. Jack then enters the equation, asking about Hannibal’s secretary, who we never see, though I believe it is quite likely Hannibal killed her, as he only describes her having “romantic whims” and “followed her heart to the United Kingdom.” As Jack walks around Hannibal’s office, he looks through some of his drawings. If you look closely, beneath the art Jack is viewing, there is a distinctly visible drawing of “the wound man” I only noticed this after my fourth or fifth rewatch. It made me so angry because if Jack had seen that, we know Hannibal would have killed him right then and there. While Jack is looking, Hannibal does seem to wonder if Jack will notice the sketch. Hannibal picks up the scalpel, ready to defend himself, but when he is confident Jack is not investigating him, he places it on his desk, arranging it “just so.” Mads doing that was such great acting because we immediately know the Hannibal is a perfectionist, which works out to his advantage during his many murders, as he leaves no usable evidence.

And now, we go to Hannibal and Will’s first meeting. Instantly, Hannibal is able to notice Will’s lack of eye contact. As Will describes why he does this, Hannibal’s expression changes, he looks Will up and down, and gives a small smile. Right here- I believe with all of my being that Hannibal started to fall for Will right there. Will’s kind of sad, dark humor instantly is able to draw Hannibal in. However Will is not able to reciprocate these feelings just yet- he feels attacked by Hannibal’s accurate analysis.

Our next crime scene is more graphic than the first two by a good margin. This is the first of Hannibal’s murder scenes. As we cut between the crime scene and Hannibal’s cooking, we are confronted with the very obvious disgust of Hannibal being a cannibal.

One of my favorite shots is the next, with Will in the shower, (hehehe duh) then the stag. This symbol could be interpreted as either Will’s evil growing within him, or Hannibal- lurking in the shadows. In this case, I lean towards the latter, as the next shot is of Hannibal himself, bringing breakfast for Will. (As the show goes on this symbol will vary in meanings but don’t worry I’ll explain it as best I can.) Already, Hannibal has a want to help Will, by making sure he has a good meal. He could have very easily just traveled with Will to the construction site without food, but in a way, he could have wanted to self-congratulate himself by obviously providing Will with the evidence that could convict him. To me- Hannibal’s motive for bringing Will breakfast is a mix of him showing his nature of self-congratulation (described by Bedelia later in season 2) and wanted to provide for Will’s well-being in the only way he knows how. The next few lines are some fabulous foreshadowing. Will’s initial wish is for their relationship to be strictly professional- however we very well know this is going to change. Already, Hannibal objects to this statement, he is hoping they will become at the very least “friendly.” Next, Hannibal establishes the symbolism of the teacup, saying that is how Jack sees him. Will laughs out loud at that, and that is one of the only times we see Will have a strong expression of happiness. Yes, later on Hannibal becomes an object of resentment for Will, but I think this interaction is a strong indication of what life would be like for Will and Hannibal post-fall.

Now we head to the construction site and the discovery of Garret Jacob Hobbs. Hannibal is visibly impressed by Will’s ability to find Hobbs, and his admiration grows.

Hannibal then calls the Hobbs’ residence, warning that “they know.” It’s such a subtle yet powerful move in Hannibal’s part. I think the real reason Hannibal makes that call is to test Will. Hannibal knew Hobbs would react violently, and he wondered if Will would use violence back. He wanted to test Will’s potential and what he perceived Will to be- a troubled FBI teacher who has dark impulses he is deathly afraid of. Arguably, everything Hannibal does for Will from this point forward is to take away his fears. Will fears his own darkness and Hannibal wants him to finally find peace and beauty in that darkness.

Anyways, back to the show. There is a brief shot of Will, covered in blood, with the pendulum of his mind swinging back and forth. This tiny time jump serves the purpose of both suspense shock. We are left to wonder what Will has done- we can assume it was brutal, but was it evil? I’ll get into that later. So, Hannibal and Will arrive at the Hobbs’ home, and Will is confronted with a nightmare. Contradictory is Hannibal’s reaction to the scene. Even when Hobbs’ wife is bleeding out on the front porch, Hannibal is shown with a non caring and relaxed demeanor. Will makes his way inside and begins his journey to a troubling self-discovery. He shoots Hobbs 10 times, his fear for Abigail evident but more powerful is his hatred for Hobbs. When Hobbs’ falls, he utters that famous line, “see?” I think the completion of that sentence would be, “see, it feels good to kill.” Will is going to struggle with this the entire series and only with Hannibal’s help Will he be able to agree with it.

Will struggles to save Abigail, and Hannibal appears, less focused on Abigail and more on Will. Nonetheless, he uses his big, strong hands (sorry) to save Abigail’s life. As he does so he looks up at Will, perhaps thinking, “Ok, he does have that darkness inside him.” Once the scene clears, Will is back outside covered in blood. I will again bring attention to his expression. His “Murder Eyes” are back. He is reveling in the power that killing Hobbs made him feel. I would not say this is dissimilar to how he feels after killing Randal Tier in season 2 and Dolarhyde in season 3. He’s like an addict from then on- he would deny it, but killing Hobbs was a high he would chase for the length of the series.

The last scene of the episode is in Abigail’s hospital room. Will goes in to see Hannibal, sitting next to her bed and gently holding her hand, sleeping. It’s easily the most humanizing shot of Hannibal. Will takes a seat himself, watching Hannibal with what could almost be described as a loving gaze. In that moment, he completely trusts Hannibal with her well being, as Hannibal’s hands saved her life. In a very subtle movement, Will looks down at his own hands, sitting half open in his lap. It’s quite possible he is thinking that his hands had done something quite opposite to what Hannibal’s have- they have killed.

Wow that was a ride if you read all of that thank you so much. I’ll check for typos one of these days. Stay tuned for next episode ok I’m outttt.

[ablindingsupernova]

Thoughts on QotS S5 thus far

“That girl from Culiacán is gone”

After this latest episode I needed to get some thoughts down. I was concerned before the season began that ten episodes was not enough time to finish Teresa’s storyline. We now have four episodes left and there’s no indication that Teresa is having second thoughts about the choices she’s made. She didn’t become the Queenpin overnight and it’s going to take more than a handful of brief conversations about her true motivations to reach that girl from Culiacán that wanted to do things differently.

“She doesn’t just want to survive, she wants to live”

Okay, this line set me off. Since when does Teresa have to lose herself in order to live? From the time she set out on her own, she was determined to run and grow her business another way. Sure, it started out as being about survival but Teresa was still doing things her way, even as late as last season. And the survival wasn’t just about not losing her life, it was also about not losing her soul. I genuinely don’t understand what point the writers are trying to make.

Jeresa. I know this show isn’t about romance. I know this show is about Teresa’s journey. But Teresa’s relationship with James is a critical part of that journey. From the start, they were set up as foils and along the way their roles reversed. That the show hasn’t had them interact on a personal level more this season is troubling because I don’t see how we can have a satisfactory ending to Teresa’s storyline without a satisfying ending for Jeresa. And the way that both the show and the network have been promoting their romantic relationship, it should be featuring more heavily in the storyline. Right now, James is the only one who cares about how Teresa’s changed. George is gone but even when he was still around, he didn’t seem concerned. Kelly Anne’s easy acceptance is somewhat surprising but she’s also still carrying her guilt over her betrayal and any concern she may have has been eclipsed by her desire to please Teresa. And forget about Pote. He seems completely tone deaf, not even a flicker of worry over the choices Teresa is making. And he’s known her long enough to know that this is not how she wanted to do things. 

From the previews it appears that next week marks the beginning of the end. And yet, nothing to suggest that James is going to find a way to get Teresa out of that cave.

[erin-bo-berin]

The Game

MASTERLIST

I wrote this with season 13-15 Spencer in mind. The more confident Spencer that would shoot his shot (no pun intended) because this one gets a little crazy. But I’ve always imagined Spencer could be a little wild in bed at times, even be up for a game or two. ;)

Spencer Reid/Reader

Rating: Mature (smut)

Word Count: 4,888

Objective: Whoever can withstand any form of teasing the opposite partner dishes out, the longest, wins.

Rule 1: No sexual activities allowed i.e. no sex, foreplay or kissing on the lips.

Rule 2: Normal touches are allowed, no matter the body part.

Rule 3: You may tantalize in whatever forms you please as long as it doesn’t break rule number one.

Rule 4: The game is over whenever one party gives in to his/her desires.

Rule 5: Winner is treated to whatever they please (sexual or non sexual).

Let the game begin.

•

You and Spencer had this little game you liked to play occasionally. Simply nicknamed, The Game, it had become a part of your relationship. It wasn’t often that you played, but when you did it was always played with high intensity. Sometimes the game could get nasty.

Currently, you were in the middle of it.

Working at the FBI had not only tuned your attention to details, but it also made for a monotonous work schedule with little or no free time. Somehow with the invention of this game it seemed to spice things up both at work and in your relationship respectively.

It’d began the previous morning.

After a rough month of cases, there finally seemed to be a lull long enough for the entire unit to catch their breath. Staying so busy obviously led to little to no time for intimacy, so it had been a few weeks. This would make the game much more exciting. Spencer was competitive, always wanting to win and you had to hand it to him, he had won more times than he’d lost.

It was on the flight home when you felt your phone buzz in your pocket. Pulling it out, you saw a text from Spencer.

Ready to lose again? 

You looked across the jet towards your seated boyfriend. He shot you a wink, knowing his request was automatically met with a yes.

That all you got pretty boy? I’m shaking.

You didn’t watch as he answered, instead you watched the three dots appear that indicated he was typing.

His answer was only three words.

You will be.

A tingle of desire shot through your body.

Bring it.

•

Today had started off slow enough. You had some work to catch up on so you’d arrived at work early. It was already a tough morning as Spencer had purposely slept shirtless the night before. It was early yet, but you somehow knew this time around things would be even more intense.

His personal best was 6 and a half days. That was as long as he’d lasted before you jumped his bones. This time you were determined to win.

Your glance at the clock revealed that it was 7 in the morning. You only had an hour and a half until the currently deserted bullpen would be filled with bustling activity. You picked up your mug and made your way to the coffee machine. That was something you and your boyfriend definitely had in common, you both ran on coffee.

You were just about to pour the leftover day old coffee down the sink drain when the sound of the doors opening startled you. You weren’t expecting Emily in until at least 7:45.

You yelped, jumping at the sudden noise, the coffee spilling all over your blouse. You heard the sound of chuckling.

“Great start to your morning, huh babe?” Spencer walked over, handing you some paper towels.

“What are you doing here so early?” you asked, blotting the stain.

He shrugged, “Just felt like being extra productive today.”

Your eyes narrowed suspiciously. It was more likely he thought it would be a good opportunity to mess with you.

“Uh huh,” you said disbelievingly, “Thanks for making me ruin my shirt.”

“Anytime,” he grinned, walking away from you and towards his desk.

“Damnit,” you mumbled, realizing you wouldn’t be able to blot this stain away.

If you were lucky, you might have a spare shirt in your go bag. You paused, an idea forming in your mind. Since you were sure Spencer had an agenda of his own, you decided to pay back the favor.

“Spence?” you called across the room, “Is my go bag still by your desk?”

Your fingers unbutton your ruined shirt, trying hard to keep the smirk off your face. It was an ingenious idea, really. 

“Yeah, why?” His back was still turned to you, his attention on the files he was flipping through.

“Can you grab my extra shirt please? I’ll just wear that today instead.”

You walked to his desk, your shirt dangling out of one hand, your upper torso clad in only your bra. The moment he turned to hand you the garment, his jaw about hit the floor.

“Figured it’d be faster to just change here. You don’t mind, do you?” you smile sweetly.

“That isn’t going to work,” he muttered, forcing his eyes back to the file after you took the shirt from him.

You shrugged, purposely leaning across the desk when you kissed his cheek to thank him, so he could get an eye full of your cleavage. Lucky for you this bra was just a hair too snug and you had to admit, your boobs looked amazing today.

“Get to work big boy, it’s gonna be a looong day” you called, pulling the shirt on as you walked away.

•

“Kid, I see the wheels turning. Just spit it out already,” Rossi said.

The team was currently in the middle of working a case, everyone working their hardest to catch the unsub. Everyone was spread around the briefing room, you at the round table with JJ and Penelope. Your boyfriend stood in front of the boards that held all the case information, one hand resting on his chin as he studied the information laid out in front of him.

You never knew how, but there was a place Spencer went when he thought. He would space out and focus on nothing but the problem at hand. It was always extremely attractive to you.

“Okay, I think I’ve figured out his pattern. He started in the western part of Virginia right? Then headed to—”

You’re not gonna lie, you ended up missing over half of what he said. You loved when he showed off his knowledge and that brain of his, even just in his job. Your eyes wandered as he talked, eyes lingering on his hands. They moved with his words and you couldn’t help but think of other places those hands had been rather than just used at a crime scene or flipping through case files.

“Right, Y/N?”

You were completely zoned out and missed the fact you were being spoken to.

“Y/N?”

You snap out of it, realizing the entire team was staring at you awaiting the answer to JJ’s question.

“Oh uh- sorry. What was that?”

“I asked if you received the coroner’s report from the latest victim.”

“Right, yes.” You pull out a paper from a file and hand it over to her.

“I know your man is dreamy and all Y/N, but you gotta stop zoning out,” Penelope smirked to herself.

“Hush,” you chuckled quietly, turning back to the rest of the team.

Apparently she wasn’t the only one to notice your staring. Spencer’s smirk made your stomach flip. You weren’t going to let him win again.

•

An unspoken rule of the game was that when it was time to focus strictly on the case, you obviously did. The game would be put on hold until the case was finished. It was one of those days where you were rushing against the clock to catch the killer.

The team was split up, everyone doing different tasks. You, Spencer and Matt were currently sat around a table trying to make connections with an old case, to the one you were currently working on. It seemed to be the same M.O. 

“In 1989 Lila Long was found dead on the doorstep of her house,” Matt said, laying out the photo once again, “Stabbed 14 times.”

You nodded, chewing on your lip while you thought. It was presumed that she managed to escape the unsub who had grabbed her just blocks from her home. She had managed to make it to her front door where she died. It was unclear whether the unsub had caught up to her and stabbed her again or if she had succumbed to her injuries.

“I don’t think he found her again, as there isn’t any blood splatter here,” Spencer motioned to the picture, gesturing at the door, “We know there would be a specific pattern, but it was never recorded for sure because of the amount of blood found there.”

“Fast forward 30 odd years and another woman shows up dead on her doorstep in the same neighborhood,” you say, setting the most recent crime scene picture next to the older one.

“Rosalie Brewer, 51, blonde hair, blue eyes,” Matt reads off the file, “Exact same type of injuries, a dozen or so stabbings.”

“Are we sure it’s not just a copycat? The story does seem to be the local legend. Maybe someone decided to recreate the murder?” you ask, tapping your pen.

“I don’t think so.” Spencer rubs his jaw; you can tell his mind is whirring.

Matt and Spencer throw around some theories, your eyes focusing on Spencer’s fingers twirling his pencil as he thought. 

Maybe because it’d been a longer dry spell of no intimacy than normal for you, but your thoughts automatically turned sexual. Memories of how those long, slender fingers of his had traced your bare skin flashes through your mind. How they’ve dug into your hips and slid down your thighs before parting them and—

You snap yourself back to reality quickly. Now is definitely not the time to be thinking of such things but damnit did it set your stomach churning in desire. Thankfully, a distraction came in the nick of time.

“Guys, we have a suspect!” Luke rushed into the room, Emily on his heels, “I think he just might be our unsub.”

“Garcia’s on the phone with intel,” Emily set her phone on the table for all of us to hear. 

“So, turns out, Lila Long has a son. Yes my dears, you heard me right. Apparently she gave birth secretly 18 years prior to her death while out of the country. She gave said baby up for adoption and never looked back. Fast forward 18 years later little Adam, all grown up, goes looking for mommy dearest and let me tell you it wasn’t for a nice and cozy reunion. According to his adoptive mother he was always a difficult child with a very bad temper. It was so alarming to his adoptive parents that they made him see a therapist. The therapist notes that he showed bipolar symptoms, had a definite anger problem and at times seemed unhinged and out of touch with reality. It wasn’t until after his 18th birthday that he found out the true story about his birth mother; that she’d basically left the country to have him, secretly give him up for adoption and come back to the States like it never happened.”

“Let me guess,” you said, “That didn’t bode well with him?”

“Right you are. Adoptive parents said he made passing remarks about “hunting down the bitch”. They knew he was angry about how he came to be adopted but they never suspected he’d actually find her and kill her.”

“But he did,” Emily said.

“But how does that relate to our current case, Garcia?” Spencer asked.

“Get this: Rosalie Brewer was Lila Kong’s best friend and helped arrange for her to have her child in secret and even found the adoptive family. She just moved back to the neighborhood a few months ago. There was a witness report in the police files that she’d been seen at a local coffee shop talking to a man that no one seemed to recognize.”

Garcia rattled off the description of the man and sent over a picture of Adam. It was a dead ringer. Everything was a go from there.

•

Hours later, the case had come to a close. Adam, who had turned out to be the correct unsub had had so much resentment toward his birth mother and her best friend—accompanied with his unstable mental health—decided to hunt them down and kill them in cold blood. The reason for the 30 year difference between murders was the fact he hadn’t discovered Rosalie’s existence and role in the secret adoption until he was much older. In his mind, the job wasn’t complete until she, too, was dead.

You were exhausted; physically and mentally. He gave up pretty quickly and it could’ve been a worse take down, but the prior days of working hard had taken a toll. Currently, you were relaxing in one of the chairs on the jet, a blanket pulled over you. You thought you were the only one awake, when you heard your phone buzz in your lap, underneath the blanket.

You retrieved it and open a text message from Spencer.

Don’t think I didn’t notice you staring at my hands today.

Another text popped up.

Don’t forget what I can do with them, sweetheart.

Like you could.

You text back, ignoring his provocative texts.

Come over here and keep me company. I’m lonely and cold.

A buzz came slower this time.

Giving in already? Thought you’d last longer than this.

You typed your answer at lightning speed.

In your dreams, Dr. Reid.

You hear a soft chuckle as he walks over to join you in the seat next to you.

“Why are you even still awake?” you asked.

“Just wide awake. You?”

“Same.”

It’s quiet for a bit and you’re sure he’s asleep when you hear him shift positions next to you, alerting you that he’s still just as awake as you are.

A wicked smile slowly spreads across your face as you get an idea. You’re grateful for the dark so he can’t see your expression clearly or predict what’s coming.

“Spence?” Your hand rests on his knee gently, innocently as if it’s just a typical lingering affection.

“Mhm?”

He looks over at you and you can barely see the outline of his face in the darkness.

“Remember the mile high club?” you asked nonchalantly, as if you were simply chatting about the weather.

“The mile high club?” he repeats, clearly confused.

“You know,” you bite your lip, even though you’re not sure he can see it and lower your voice just in case anyone else happened to be awake.

“That time on the way home from a case? When you were having a little problem?”

Your hand slides barely an inch upward and you hear his sharp intake of breath, whether from your touch or the memory you’re unsure.

It had been before the game had been invented. Spencer was extra worked up that day on the way home from a case, so you decided to sneak into the jet bathroom with him to give him some help.

“When I gave you a blow job right there in the jet bathroom?” Your voice is low, your lips by his ear.

“I-I remember,” he croaked.

“That was extremely hot. Trying to make sure you stayed quiet so no one heard us.” 

Your hand slides up his thigh and you smirk satisfactorily when you hear his breath hitch.

“But I could tell how hard it was for you. All you wanted to do was moan my name out loud and grab my head to push me farther down on you.”

He’s silent, his breathing becoming heavier. You’re turning him on and it feels good to be winning for once. You’re not one to dirty talk much, but for this situation, you were pulling out the big guns.

“Admit it. Part of you wanted the entire jet to know just how good it felt with my pretty little lips wrapped around your cock, driving you absolutely insane.”

A low groan escaped his lips and you find yourself having to muster up all the strength you have not to kiss them right then. His hand grabs your wrist, stopping your hand from moving any further.

“Give up now and you can have your way with me when we get home,” you grin triumphantly.

“Never.” 

He places your hand back in your lap, before moving to get up.

“Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a matter to sort out,” he grumbles, making his way back to the bathroom.

You can’t help it, you laugh as he half limps toward the back of the jet.

You didn’t see him for quite awhile after that.

•

“Gotta admit Spencer, I’m impressed you’ve held on for this long.”

It’d been only a week. Usually the games were over pretty quickly as one—usually yourself—gave in after only a few days. But you were so determined to crack him.

“That’s just because you have no idea what I have up my sleeve. Points for you for getting creative lately though.”

You snickered. His most recent jet bathroom escapade had involved him and his hand only.

“I’m still waiting to see what you got.”

He was picking up files to be delivered to Emily’s office when he turned and nodded to your phone.

“I’d check your phone if I were you.”

Your brows furrowed, confused as you reached for your mobile device. You press the home button, lighting up the screen to reveal a slew of messages from Spencer, which seems to include several pictures.

Opening them, you see that it’s a variety of selfies only showing his face from the nose down, his lips the center of attention in every one. The last message was actual text.

I seem to recall your little fascination with my lips. Thought you might enjoy. You especially like it when they’re in other areas too.

You could kill him. It was one of your weaknesses, that’s for sure. You look up and see he’s halfway to Emily’s office now.

“Not gonna work!” you hollered towards him and he sends back a huge grin as if he knew you’re full of shit.

Which you are because now you’re beginning to weaken. But you’re still far from giving up.

-

You get him back at lunch.

You’re eating at your desk with your legs propped up, clearly giving Spencer a good view of them. He’s purposely ignoring you though, doing paperwork, much to your amusement.

You finish your sandwich and reach for the banana you’d packed earlier that morning. You’d been wanting to try this one ever since the game began for the first time. He just happens to glance up as you finish peeling your banana and you shoot him a wink and give a sly, suggestive lick to the side of the banana.

His tongue flicks over his lips as his eyes flicker from your mouth to your eyes, the determination still strong in them. The desire is there alright, the will to give up, is not.

•

Fuck you, Spencer. No actually, fuck me.

The thought floats across your mind. It’s another day at the Behavioral Analysis Unit but damnit if Spencer doesn’t look extra good today.

He always looks good in his work suits and ties, but this one is beyond belief. Or it may just be the fact that you’re wound up and in need of release, but you’re pretty much drooling from afar.

His pants were probably the best part cause his ass looked amazing in them. You’re pretty sure if any of your other teammates were to notice you staring at your boyfriend across the room they’d see you practically in a puddle of your own drool.

“You’re not playing that game again are you?”

You jump at the sound of JJ’s voice nearly sending your pile of files, documents and paperwork flying off your desktop. You turn around in your chair to see her standing at the edge of your desk, an arched brow and amused expression on her face.

JJ was the only one of the team you’d actually relinquished details to about your teasing escapades. Being the one female you were closest to on the team, sometimes sex life talk came up and it slipped out once. She found it creative and intriguing, saying it was never a bad thing to spice things up. But now, apparently you’d been a bit too obvious.

“How’d you know? Is it that obvious?”

“Not exactly. But it was my first guess when I saw you ogling Spence like a dog after a steak.”

You chuckle snort, the simile quite an accurate description of yourself.

“Yes, but the stakes are high this time. It’s been over a month since the last time we..you know had time for anything.”

“By all means, continue on. Win this one for us ladies,” she joked, heading for the stairs.

I plan on it.

•

Okay, so, that plan is not going so well after all. 

It’s a slower day than normal and it’s barely past lunchtime. Spencer isn’t even actively doing anything other than existing and you feel like jumping out of your skin. How the hell he’s keeping his cool is beyond your comprehension.

You glance at your phone when you notice it light up in the corner of your eyes.

Hey, Y/N.

Are you a tardis?

Your brow raises and you reply.

A what?

A time machine. Just stick with me here.

Another text arrives while you’re still reading his initial reply.

Because I’ve heard being inside you will take me to magical places.

You stifle a giggle. 

That’s a pick up line made for you, Spencer.

Ooh baby, you make my floppy disk turn into a hard drive.

You laugh out loud causing a few agents to glance in your direction and you quickly hush.

Give me the chance and I’d be happy to turn that floppy disk into a hard drive.

The gray dots linger on your screen from some time before his answer comes.

Well, shit.

-

You can feel Spencer’s eyes on you all afternoon and you’re entirely grateful that you decided to wear the nicest, form fitting skirt you own along with a button down that shows just the perfect amount of cleavage to still be considered professional.

You cross the room to make copies and you feel his eyes follow you making you shiver. It’s been 12 days since the game started, a personal record for the both of you. The sexual tension between you and Spencer is so high you’re sure it’s gonna boil over at the most inopportune time. 

Instead of focusing on reports you need to file, your daydreams have become more prominent. All you want is him and you want him bad. You’re on the verge of begging just to be able to feel the amount of bliss he puts you in.

You almost groan out loud when you hear Emily ask him if he minds staying a little later to finish up the final reports. You’re not really up to being home alone so you decide to stay with him until he’s finished.

The number of people in the bullpen starts to dwindle until it’s just you and Spencer left. You’re swiveling in your chair, watching him, his face a mask of determination, his tongue poking out the side of his mouth. 

Oh, how much you want those lips on yours, on your skin, those hands roaming your body, squeezing the right places. To have his body pressed close against yours, so close that you can feel his erratic breathing and spiked heart rate against your own chest. You wanted him to make you moan, make you scream even, the building was practically empty at this hour anyway.

You weren’t sure when you got up, but you were halfway toward him when you croaked his name weakly.

Whether it was because of your tone of voice or he just could sense it, he looked up, jaw going slack when he saw your shirt half unbuttoned, your fingers fumbling on the bottom half.

“You win alright?”

In a quick as lighting movement, he’d stood, picked you up and deposited you on his desk, his lips firmly attached to yours.

“Let’s call it a truce, okay?” he murmured against your lips before resuming kissing you.

The kisses were hot and wild, all the pent up sexual frustration being released finally. His teeth scraped over your bottom lip, tugging on it gently before twirling his tongue simultaneously with your own. Your shirt was all the way unbuttoned and your bra pulled down before you comprehended Spencer performing the actions.

He moaned into the kiss, his hands cupping your breasts. You automatically arched into his touch, lavishing in it after going so long without it. His thumbs rubbed over your nipples eliciting a ragged moan from you. Your inhibitions were out the window at this point and you could care less what you sounded like, you just wanted more of him.

“If I knew you’d be this reactive to me, I would torture you more often,” he smirked, leaning down to place his lips around one nipple, sucking gently.

“Oh my god,” you moaned, a hand tangled into his hair.

It was like you were super sensitive to his touch because every little thing he did set your nerve endings on fire. You were throbbing with need and he was enjoying this way too much.

“You son of a bitch, you’re enjoying this aren’t you?” you half growled, pulling his face back up towards yours, pressing a kiss to his sharp jawline, attempting to kiss him again.

“I haven’t the slightest idea what you’re talking about,” he grinned wickedly, denying your lips of his.

His hand pressed flat against your stomach, pushing you backwards on his desk while hiking up your skirt. His lips pressed against the soft skin of your inner thigh as his hands spread your legs and pushed your panties to the side.

“Spencer, please- fuck,” you moaned, his tongue licking a slow path up you.

“Oh I’ll get to that eventually, just you wait,” he chuckled.

Your ability to form coherent words had vanished, so no remark came in response from you. All you could focus on was his mouth on you and that you wanted more.

You could’ve killed him when he stopped just on the brink of your undoing. 

“Darling, if I had to listen to you much longer I would’ve been done for,” he commented, kissing you again, helping you unfasten his pants before you climb in his lap.

The mutual feeling of ecstasy was all over both your faces the moment you lowered yourself down on him. You vowed then to always let him win the game after this because this was too amazing to miss out on.

“Oh fuck, Y/N, fucking hell,” he groaned into your neck, his slight stubble scratching against your neck giving you chills.

It was rough and border animalistic, your lust and need for each other more than either of you could handle. Your hips rocked roughly against his, fingers digging into his biceps. Your eyes may have rolled back in your head at one point.

One hand is on the small of your back to steady you as you move up and down on him, your back arched as the pleasure rippled down your spine. His lips trail down your exposed throat, marking you as his, his other hand squeezing your hip.

Your hands grip the back of his chair to aid you in your rougher and harder movements as your orgasm builds, the sensation of a pit of lava in your stomach increasing.

A sheen of sweat coats his forehead, stray pieces of his brown curls sticking to his forehead. Your own hair has partially come out of its ponytail, stray pieces hanging in your face. His hand moves from your hip pushing some stray strands from your face before giving you a brief kiss. 

His own release is quickly approaching as his head falls back against the back of his chair, teeth scraping his bottom lip.

“Oh yes, baby, yes,” he growls deep in his throat.

A hand snakes towards your core, his thumb circling your clit. Your climax hits you hard and fast causing your vision to nearly go white. Your breath catches, interrupting your ragged moan of his name.

He lets himself go then, his groans filling the empty room, his expression of blissful pleasure the sexiest thing you’ve ever seen him do.

As you ride out the aftershocks, his lips return to yours, kissing you more gently this time, the action full of love. Your hips have slowed then stilled when he breaks the kiss.

“God, you’re amazing,” he whispers, nudging his nose playfully against yours.

You smile, wrapping your arms around his neck so you can stay in his lap for a moment longer before you have to stand and clean yourself up.

“I think I have a new rule for the game,” you commented.

“What’s that?”

“Spencer always wins.”

[moonstarphoenix]

Hi! I saw some of your tags about Steve and Peggy and I remember how angry I felt after Endgame and how it made me reconsider everything about their “relationship” and even Peggy and I was wondering what is your detailed opinion about her/ their relationship? I remember how I used to think she was this incredible female character, but now I realize it was mostly because the mcu lacked good female characters because looking back, there are some very questionable things about her.

Endgame has caused a lot of us to reconsider Peggy and the “relationship” with Steve. I honestly never gave much thought to her. She was in the first movie and then he moved to the future and she was a part of his past who had lived her life. An old friend he could reconnect with. Endgame, however, changed all of that.

Also, I apologize to my followers. This got long.

Peggy Carter is a very questionable, morally gray character. To me, it’s obvious that she held very little interest in Steve other than as a viable candidate for Project Rebirth until he became Chris Evans-sized. The little interest she shows at camp and in the car ride is because he is literally unlike any man she has ever likely encountered, like the guy she punched, who likely always objectified her. Her interest in Steve seems to stem from the fact what he can do for her career. This is a theme that carries on though not just TFA but through Agent Carter as well. The colors she wears in the iconic first season shot of blue dress and red hat, naming the whole organization SHIELD as a nod to Captain America. The rewriting in the radio program of what happened to Bucky suddenly becoming Betty Carver. It’s like a big red arrow saying “I knew Captain America (Captain America, not Steve Rogers). I was his one and only!”.

They don’t talk for months throughout TFA. Literal months. There’s nothing that shows us them getting to know one another, them writing letters, etc. It indicates they haven’t spoken in months by the time he shows up to entertain the troops. My good friend, @cosmicmechanism, did a timeline that shows how very little contact they actually had in the movie. [LINK] He’s off being the showpony, she’s doing whatever it is she is doing. Which is another issue. We are never actually told what they hell she does. Is she an agent for MI-5? Is she a spy? Is she a secretary? We never know, other than for no real reason, how/why she seems to be pulling a paycheck from the US Army and appears in meeting with high ranking army officials when she shouldn’t have been there. Had they kept her the Virginia heiress she is in the comics, her presence in the US Army would have made a little more sense.

The AC tv show presented a lot of problems in trying to elevate Peggy’s importance to Steve. She certainly wasn’t leading the Commandoes and wasn’t anywhere in the field with them, otherwise she would have been shown in the montage in TFA with them and she would have had a prominent part of that exhibit in TWS instead of a brief interview ABOUT STEVE RESCUING HER HUSBAND IN AZZANO.

Anyway, there’s also the way she acts with and around Steve. She stops the safer transport to Azzano to drop him off in a war zone with bombs actually going off around them. There would have been soldiers on the ground tracking Steve’s descent. He would have been easily captured. Then, there’s the red dress trope. The vixen appearing in a scene for no other reason than to seduce the hero from the other person in the scene, whether it’s a friend or other love interest. Even if you don’t ship Stucky, you can still read that scene as the seductress looking to come between two best friends. Plus, there was no reason for her to even come to the bar dressed like that. If she wanted to remind Steve of a meeting, she would have appeared in normal clothes.

And of course, we have the attempted murder scene. This is the scene that made so many, including me, not like Peggy Carter. That scene of Peggy shooting Steve behind is new shield is played for laughs and a moment to make seem badass but it’s toxic, violent, and downright abusive. She acts like she already had a claim on him. He was not hers. They weren’t dating in any way. And yet, her reaction to walking in on a free man kissing another woman was to shot him. In a closed environment with a big metal circle the only thing protecting him. She didn’t know that shield would protect him. She didn’t know those bullets wouldn’t ricochet. She could have easily killed Steve or any person in that room including Stark.

The next major grievance to me that they gloss over the fact that as a director of SHIELD, she would have had a hand in hiring Zola, the same Nazi scientist she knew had captured and tortured Bucky, the best friend of the man she supposedly loved, who she knew was HYDRA. She allowed him to continue his work, likely signed the paychecks that funded his continued experiments. She was a founder. She would have had a say. She would have been a part of that decision. That indicates something darker as well. Based on the fact that we saw Howard Stark call Zola Arnim, shows that they became close to him. And that hints that it is entirely possible that Stark and Carter knew about Bucky or at least the Winter Soldier program, which is human experimentation. That doesn’t look too well on MCU’s golden girl, does it?

If they had allowed her to be the morally grey character and actually showed Steve realizing that HYDRA had corrupted SHIELD from the beginning and she was involved in that, I think a lot of us could have come to terms with the character. It certainly would have been a better story and added layers upon both Steve and Peggy. Instead, they pushed this false ‘love of his life’ narrative and how she made him the mad he was for a woman he had kissed once, talked to maybe 4 times, and a relationship that likely wouldn’t have worked out due to a difference in morals and ethics.

Their relationship is a problem because we are never fully shown them developing that love. We get a few flirty glances, an attempted murder scene, a kiss in the middle of a mission, and a compass with a picture that Steve had obviously cut out himself. They could have had them exchange letters, had her send him a real pic, etc. Anything to show them getting to know each other. Instead, we get him staring at a compass that honestly would have been destroyed in the crash or would have been thrown from the window on impact. It shouldn’t have survived.

I do think you’re right, Anon. I think a lot of us thought she was an amazing, badass character because she was only one of three female main characters at the time. Until we are introduced to survivors Nebula and Gamora, and genius Shuri, and strong, beautiful Okoye and Nakia (true badasses all of them). And let’s face it, Hayley Atwell (a problematic woman in her own right) did a good job pushing Steggy and trying tot elevate Peggy’s importance to Steve as more than it really was and shown to be, also negating the whole reason Steve became Captain America, trying to enlist in the army 6 times and always fighting, and the relationships he had with Bucky and his mother, Sarah, pre-serum.

So I hope you enjoyed this reading! Thanks for the wonderful ask!

[curiousconstellations]

The Price of a Bean and the Cost of Love

Summary: With no clue how to defeat a villain the town can’t remember, Hook and Emma venture to the Enchanted Forest to retrieve some magical items from the Evil Queen’s castle. Along the way, they rediscover the connection they shared before they were separated by worlds a year ago. 3B canon divergence, Rated T, 8k, also on AO3 here

A/N: Happy Holidays @phiralovesloki​ I’m your CS Secret Santa! I hope this little fic will bring you some cheer to this wild year :) Honestly I had so many ideas after revisiting season 3 that I’m definitely down to write more S3 renaissance/divergence fics from now on!

Thank you @cssecretsanta2020​ for another great event!

-/-

The more frequently they host these hushed conversations by the fireplace, the more Emma grows to despise the décor of Granny’s B&B, however cozy it may be. It’s difficult to keep Henry safe whilst also keeping him away from these discussions of the Enchanted Forest and curses and magic, so the common area of the B&B is the best option when she knows he is tucked away asleep upstairs.

Her parents and Regina are going back and forth at each other while Hook stands by the fire, raising an eyebrow every time Regina fires an insult or her mother shoots down Regina’s suggestions with judgement.

“Well, even if we could figure out who did this, they’ve done a spectacular job of making sure I can’t fight back by stripping my entire vault of anything magical that could help. I bet it’s all just sitting back at the castle, wilting away like this damn town will under this curse.” Regina bites out angrily.

They all silently reflect on her words and Emma can’t help but wish she were back in New York right now. At least then her issues would be about prying Henry away from his video games long enough to sleep and do homework, not trying to protect him from some unknown fairy tale villain who had cursed their family and friends and was turning people into flying monkeys. God, what is her life?

“What if we could retrieve some things from your castle?” Hook asks, everyone swinging their heads up to look at him curiously.

“What the hell do you mean, pirate?” Regina demands. Hook sighs and pinches his nose; a gesture Emma finds herself sympathizing with when dealing with Regina.

“I mean that I have a way of returning to the Enchanted Forest. I can use it to fetch your magical goods and then you can do your thing with your little bottles and jars and we can resolve all of this.”

“And how exactly do you have a way of getting back there?” David asks suspiciously. Hook fishes in his jacket pocket and reveals a magic bean, rolling it between his fingers slowly.

“I procured two beans, the first I used to get to Emma in New York. The second, well let’s just say I had it saved for a rainy day. Now, this cursed business is really only a slight drizzle for me, but if it will help, the offer stands.” The offer had mostly been made to Regina, but Emma finds Hook’s gaze on her. She’s pretty sure he was not offering this bean for Regina’s sake.

“Well, I don’t trust you to go alone.” Regina shrugs. Hooks rolls his eyes upward in frustration and Emma’s lips twitch a little. The man is not particularly good at hiding his emotions.

“I’ll go too.”

Her words are met with immediate disagreement from her parents, but she patiently waits for them to finish their complaints before speaking.

“Look, you’re all cursed. As far as we know, you can’t leave town let alone jump through a portal. Hook and I are the only people not affected by the curse. He brought me here to help, so this is something I can help with. I’m the saviour after all.” Emma sighs, glaring at her parents until they surrender.

“Is this even necessary? Regina, I’m sure you can cope without your things for now. We can find another way to figure out who cast the curse and defend ourselves if need be.” Snow says firmly, David backing her up with an affirmative nod and a squeeze of her shoulder.

“Isn’t it better to have and not need, than need and not have?” Hook interjects.

“See? The pirate gets it. He’s willing to give up a bean for this. What would the town say if they find out their royal highnesses didn’t do everything they could to protect them?” Regina says smugly.

“Look, guys, enough. Hook and I will go get Regina’s magical crap from the castle, end of discussion. I don’t like not having all the tools possible to face who or whatever this is.”

“Thank you, Miss Swan.” Regina says, her tone indicating it was more of a dig at her parents than actual gratitude.

“Fine. But how will you get back? You only have one bean.” David asks. Emma looks to Hook for answers, considering this was his plan to begin with. He catches her eye and clears his throat with an awkward scratch of his ear.

“I can get another bean from the same seller. I know where he is.” Emma knows he’s hiding something, and she plans on pushing him on it later, but for now she lets it slide.

“Well, how do you know that he has more, or that you can get one from him? It’s a bit of a precarious plan, especially now my daughter is coming.” David replies roughly.

“I trust that Hook will get us back, okay. We should probably get going soon and I want to say goodbye to Henry first. I know you’ll all take care of him, but he’ll think I’m leaving him with strangers, and I don’t want him to worry.” Emma heads upstairs before more disagreements break out, exhaling with relief at the tiny amount of peace the dark, quiet hallway provides.

She wakes Henry to explain that she needs to go somewhere else for work, but she will be back in no time. He’s sleepy and confused, but he smiles when she says he will be treated to all the ice cream from the mayor he wants and some lovely meals from her friends (yes, the one that was apparently her cellmate). Emma hugs him tightly and says goodnight once again, watching over him for a moment before turning off the light and closing the door.

“You don’t have to come along, Swan.” Hook says softly from behind her as he exits his own room.

“And let you have all the fun trashing Regina’s castle? I don’t think so.” She scoffs. They share a brief look, and, in this moment, she is particularly grateful for this uncanny ability they seemed to have developed of understanding each other with a single glance. It’s simultaneously terrifying and comforting to know Hook can read her so well.

Emma says goodbye to her parents while Hook gets strict rules from Regina about what to do in her castle and he looks like he’d rather switch places with her and be hugging David right now. She’s hoping they will be back pretty soon but and she’s putting all her faith in Hook’s suspiciously vague plan to get them another bean home, but her trust in him grows each time he does something selfless, chipping away at her suspicions with his surprising decency and kindness.

They head out the back behind the B&B, the frosty air nipping at her skin as she shivers. Hook’s breath comes out in clouds when he offers her one last chance to back out, but Emma simply shakes her head, and he tosses the bean on the grass. The portal swirls in front of them and a second later they’re jumping through in a dizzy haze of flashing lights and crackling sounds.

With a rough landing in between some trees and a distinct shift in the atmosphere, Emma knew they had made it to the Enchanted Forest. Well, running back to New York wasn’t exactly an option anymore.

-/-

“I walked around the Enchanted Forest in my normal clothes last time, I don’t see why it’s an issue now.” Emma grumbles, fighting with the heavy material of the skirt they had nabbed from a clothing line. Hook had already explained it to her, but he indulges her complaints nevertheless.

“We don’t know what or who has been left here after the curse. Looking like you’re from another world is a sure-fire way to gain attention, and we want to get in and back as soon as possible, right lass?” He smirks at her grumbled response as they continue down the path in the forest, squinting at the peak of the castle ahead of them. They had been walking for some time; unfortunately, the bean did not let him pick an arrival spot closer to the castle. He had thought that perhaps this time alone with Emma would be pleasant, perhaps even a time for them to reconnect after being separated for a year, but so far Emma appears to be preoccupied with her own thoughts.

“Did you miss going on adventures with me while you were in New York?” He asks teasingly, glancing over at Emma as she scoffs.

“You bet. The Big Apple had nothing on trekking through trees and beanstalks in strange lands with a pirate.” She replies humorously.

“The Big Apple?”

“It’s a nickname for New York.”

“Your land never ceases to confuse me, Swan.”

“Yeah, well, staying in New York would have meant not having to deal with the confusion of curses and villains.” He can sense the shift in Emma’s attitude with her bitter words and he sighs.

“So, you would have preferred it if I had left you alone in your new life.”  

“I’m glad you came and gave me my memories back, but you have to understand how hard it’s been for me leaving that life of blissful ignorance to the existence of…all of this.” Emma waves her hands around, gesturing at the land they’re in.

“You act like knowing of the existence of magic and fairy tales is a burden. But don’t you ever think about what it has to offer, what it’s already given you?”

“When magic was the entire reason for me growing up alone? For my parents being cursed twice now? For Neal’s crappy childhood and Regina killing a bunch of people and countless other shitty things? Sorry, I’m just a little preoccupied dealing with all of that that see the beauty in it.” Emma speeds up her steps and Hook strides to match her pace. She’s clearly jaded, and she has every right to be, but he feels like he should be doing more to reason with her. He suspects that her dismissal of magic and this world will cause a chasm soon enough, pulling her further away and back into the noisy streets of the city she seems to love so much.

They continue along the path in relative silence, jumping into the trees when they hear the odd carriage or footsteps ahead as a precaution to avoid potential foes or having to explain who they are. Hook can feel the air cooling as the day progresses and he’s concerned about the few hours of daylight they have left. He hadn’t thought that they could achieve everything in a single day, but Emma’s cold demeanor had put him off broaching the topic of resting come nightfall.

The castle soon becomes visible as the trees thin and the path becomes wider. Hook is surprised that no one is around. He wasn’t sure what to expect, but he had wondered if some strays left behind from the curse would ransack it or something. From appearances, it had been left alone, which was a good sign for collecting all of the necessary items Regina requested.

“The way Regina talked about this place I thought it would be beautiful, but honestly it’s kind of ugly.” Emma comments, making eye contact with him for the first time in over an hour. He smirks, nodding in agreement and pleased they can at least mock the architecture together.

“Aye, her taste is indeed questionable.”

“It’s weird to think my grandparents lived here, that my mom grew up here. I feel so disconnected from all of this.” Emma admits as they walk up the stairs to the main entrance. It’s so eerily quiet that Hook is reminded of the curse that hit everyone here, snatching them away to the land without magic. Their trek to the castle and his concerns of Emma’s longing for her old life had almost made him forget why they were here in the first place.

“Perhaps that is something you could discuss with your mother. Maybe hearing stories of her childhood and your grandparents will help you appreciate this part of your life more.”

“So that I won’t want to go back to New York you mean?” Emma asks flatly.

“I didn’t mean it like that. I just meant that, like you said, you are disconnected from your history here, and maybe understanding it more will help you better accept magic being in your life.” Hook shrugs, trying to pass it off as nonchalant. Emma hums suspiciously and he realizes he really has no ability to pretend anything other than the truth with her.

“And perhaps I don’t want to say goodbye again.” He adds boldly. Since Emma regained her memories, he’s been dancing around his feelings for her, prioritizing her return to town and figuring out the business of this new curse. After all, she was juggling her cursed parents and her son’s own sheltered memories, she hardly needed him making things more difficult.

“There is a lot of New York you haven’t seen yet. There’s more to the city than the inside of a jail cell.” She jokes, giving him a lopsided smile. They’ve reached the main entrance now, the doors grand and intimidating in their aggressive spikes and bolts as deterrents. Hook pulls on the large handle, the door creaking loudly in the otherwise quiet entrance. The immediate hall inside is empty, no guards or thieves in sight, and they step in apprehensively.

“Are you suggesting I should come to the city with you, if you were to return?” He asks as Emma glances around in wonder.

“Well, I-” She starts, but she suddenly stops and slams into him, knocking them both to the floor as streaks of fire blaze above them. The fire singes the floor right where they had stood, fizzling out after scorching most of the entranceway. Hook looks around frantically, not seeing anyone around to cause balls of fire to hurdle at them. Emma’s heavy skirts and cloak are draped over him, her hair tickling his face as she moves off him with a groan.

“I’m sorry, it just came out of nowhere and I reacted.” She sits up awkwardly, looking around to see if any more fire could come their way as she shifts her cloak back over her bodice correctly and puffing out her now red cheeks.

“No worries, lass. I’m impressed by your quick reaction.” Hook replies as he stands, offering her his hand to help her up.

“I deal with some shifty people at work, I’ve got to be fast.” Emma shrugs. He delicately moves a curl of her hair back in place, catching her eyes as he does so. It’s the softest she’s looked since he found her in New York, a look he hadn’t seen since they said goodbye at the town line a year ago. It lasts only a moment before she looks away, but he’ll hold onto it as a sign that whatever formed between them in the cruel humidity of Neverland still lingered in her soul.

They cautiously proceed through the castle towards Regina’s tower, both on the lookout for other apparent protection spells that were still in effect. He wondered if they would find some hint of what happened before the curse, but everything seemed normal, at least for the castle of the Evil Queen. Once they find her room, they quickly grab bottles and books and trinkets from the vanity, tossing them into a sack he had in his pocket.

“Regina said she has a room where she keeps more things, but it’s sealed with blood magic so this will have to suffice.” Hook tells Emma as she sniffs one of the bottles and grimaces.

“And no doubt she will blame us if this stuff isn’t what she needs.” Emma scoffs. The setting sun reflects off the vanity mirror and Emma’s hair shines in the hazy orange glow. He admires her for a moment before stepping away to stand at the balcony, looking out the stretch of land ahead and the pastel colours of the sunset. Emma soon joins him, and they stand together and watch the changing colours of the sky in silence.

“I don’t know how Regina could stand here and see something so beautiful out there and want to retreat into this cold, dark palace.” Emma says quietly.

“Maybe she was scared of the potential life outside of this, so she retreated to something familiar.” He replies, glancing over at Emma to see his meaning was not lost on her by the way she shakes her head. He thinks she’s ready to launch into another defence of her wanting to go back to New York, but she doesn’t say anything. To his surprise, she shuffles closer and rests her head on his shoulder. They stay like that for a while, until a chill settles over them and Emma sighs wistfully.

“So where is this bean seller?” She asks, pulling her cloak around herself with a shiver.

“He should be down by the water. But we should rest for the night. It’s a bit of a walk to the port, even longer and more hazardous in the dark.” Hook replies, his stomach sinking at the thought of the next part of their quest.

“Okay, but I don’t want to stay here. I’m sure the beds in the guest rooms are nice but this place freaks me out. Is there an inn or something close by? Preferably somewhere we could find some kind of food.” Emma laughs lightly when her stomach rumbles mid-sentence.

“Aye, there’s a tavern in a village close by, if we leave now, perhaps we can make it by the light that’s left of the day. I have no idea if anyone will be there, but there may be something left behind we could salvage to eat.” Hook grabs the sack of magical items and swings it over his shoulder, ushering Emma ahead as they quickly descend from the tower.

He keeps close to Emma as they walk in the dusky light, glancing ahead as the individual trees of the forest become indiscernible and form an ominous tunnel of darkness.

“Why did you have two beans?” Emma asks, her voice breaking the quietness of the night.

“Well, why not?” He evades with a cheeky tone.

“You said you were saving it for a rainy day. I get being prepared for the worst, but it seemed like you had a specific purpose for it.” Hook thinks for a moment, deciding whether or not to tell the truth. He thinks of her head on his shoulder earlier and the way it felt so simple and easy to stand by her side in peace.

“I got a second one in case you wanted me to leave.”

“Leave?” Emma asks incredulously.

“You had a life in Storybrooke with the town and your family, and then again in New York with your boy. I came to bring you back to them, but I never had a place in that life of yours. I have stayed for the possibility that I could, but if you wished that I didn’t, I would return here and never burden you again.” Hook tugs on the sack awkwardly as they walk, almost wishing he could see her face but also relieved to be shielded by the darkness.

Emma is quiet, and the longer she doesn’t speak, the more anxious he becomes. She could easily turn around right now and tell him she does want him to leave her life, and the thought makes his chest ache.

“You’re not a burden, Hook.” She says quietly. He takes that as the smallest of victories and relaxes a little. He thinks she’s about to say more when she suddenly trips, slipping onto the ground with a painful groan.

“Swan!” He tosses the sack down and kneels beside her, widening his eyes in the dark as if that would help him see better.

“I think I hit my…” Emma mumbles. Hook gently touches her face, feeling blood already forming at the cut at her temple. He kicks around and feels a rock on the path just as Emma turns on the ground and retches.

“Concussion.” She mutters, slumping against his chest.

“Aye, that was a nasty hit to the side of your head, lass.” He says softly as he brushes her hair away from the cut. She’s in no state to continue walking, but there’s no way they can stop here for the night; she’ll certainly need food and water to ease her discomfort. He reaches for the sack and loops the string over his hook before scooping her up in his arms, much to her disoriented chagrin.

“Down, I’ve had this loads before.”

“Doesn’t matter how often this happens to you, Swan. I’m not having you wander about in the dark in this state. You’ll end up knocking me out too with your stumbling.” He teases lightly. She grumbles something unintelligible, but he takes her burrowing herself against him as resignation. Hook watches her close her eyes and furrow her brows and he hopes he can reach that damn tavern soon.

-/-

 A wave of nausea hits Emma when she opens her eyes, the image of the room feeling like a puzzle her brain is too slow to piece together. A candle flickers on the other side of the room, the dancing flame making her unsteady vision worse. She slides up the bed she lays in, wincing in discomfort. Looking around the room at the simple décor, she assumes this is the tavern. To her left is another single bed, the sack of Regina’s things sitting on top along with Hook’s jacket. There is a cup and a pitcher of water on the small table in the middle of the beds and she clumsily pours some and takes a slow drink, her dry lips and throat relieved to feel the liquid.

She tentatively reaches up to touch her head, feeling a small bandage across the cut on her temple, her hair damp from what she hopes is the water used to clean the wound and not blood. The door creaks open and Emma is relieved to see Hook.

“Ah good, you’re awake.” He says softly. She notices the plate he’s carrying and practically salivates at the thought of food, but he puts it down on the table and stands beside her bed, gently lifting her chin up with his fingers.

“Your eyes look alert, I’m sure some colour will come back to your cheeks once you’ve eaten.” His fingers are warm against her skin and she feels cold as soon as his hand slips away.

“I was able to bring up some cheese and a small amount of bread, but Sylvia won’t allow any hot food in the rooms. If you are feeling well enough, we can go down a bit later for something more.” Hook explains as he passes her the plate of the ration sized portions of bread and cheese.

“Sylvia?” She asks before tucking in, happy to have a least something to put in her stomach.

“The owner of the tavern. Turns out, the curse left a few people from different villages all over. A lot of them gathered here after the curse hit and made their own sort of village. It’s a lively little place.”

“Does anyone know what happened?”

“Not in any great detail. Some were outside of the boundaries and saw it descend, but they didn’t know why. They said it was a green fog that seemed to appear from Regina’s castle. They’ve all been too scared to go there in case its dangerous, but no one knows who cast it or why.” Hook sits down on the other bed and slides out the flask from his jacket pocket. She watches him take a drink and longs for the pleasantly warm feeling of his rum.

“Have you eaten yet?” She asks, swallowing the last of the bread guiltily.

“I had some bread and cheese downstairs.”

“We should go get some warm food now. I’m still hungry and I bet you are too.” Emma says firmly as she moves off of the bed. Hook jumps up to stop her, his hand gently holding on to her shoulder like she’s going to break.

“Are you well enough?”

“Hook, I’m fine. It was a concussion; I’ve gotten them plenty of times when a skip is rough on the run and I still catch them every time.”

“Aye, but head injuries can be fatal. Just because you feel fine doesn’t mean you are.” He replies with concern. She rolls her eyes and tugs on his arm as she feels her stomach grumble in desire of more food, pulling him towards the door.

“And if I faint it could easily be from hunger. Come on.”

Hook leads the way down the stairs to the common area of the tavern, the old place dimly lit with candles scattered about, leaving pools of melted wax around them. Emma hears the buzz of chatter from the front room and is surprised to see so many people here. Hook ushers her to the table closest to the fire that was fortunately free and she hums in appreciation at the warmth. She sees him gesture to the woman behind the bar she assumes is Sylvia, who gives her a once over and smiles before leaving through the door behind her.

“The food will be here shortly, Swan.” Hook reassures her as he sits down on the bench beside her. They both soak in the heat of the fire eagerly, Hook holding out his hand in front of the flames for warmth. Emma subtly looks over him, noticing his tired eyes in the gleam of the fire and his tense shoulders. They hadn’t been able to see the light from the tavern before she hit her head, so she assumes they had still been a fair distance from it, which meant that he had walked all that way with her in his arms in the dark. He must have also tended to her wound and made sure she had a soft place to lie down when they got here.

“Hey, um, thanks for making sure I was okay.” She says awkwardly, reaching out to give his arm a squeeze. He seems surprised by her gesture, raising an eyebrow and quickly looking back at the fire.

“Of course, love.”

“And you’re not some stray dog I’m going to get rid of by the way. You’ve helped me and my family out a lot. I said that you could be part of something, and I meant it.” Emma speaks quietly, aware that they had attracted some attention from the other patrons when they came down. Hook nods and puts his hand over hers on his arm with a soft smile.

“Some warm stew for the lovebirds.” Sylvia says loudly as she comes towards them with two steaming bowls and some water. Emma gives Hook a questioning look, but he responds with his own vague expression that tells her to play along. They thank Sylvia and tuck in, Emma too grateful for the warm bowl of food to even care what’s in it. Her body instantly relaxes at the taste of food and she practically inhales the whole bowl, realizing the last warm meal she ate back in Storybrooke felt like days ago. Hook grins at her and asks Sylvia for seconds for both of them. Four bowls of stew later they turn back to the fire, feeling full, warm, and surprisingly relaxed.

“Lovebirds?” Emma murmurs to him, knocking his shoulder with her own teasingly.

“I told her you are my wife. I thought it the easiest way to explain a passed-out woman in my arms that I needed to stay with.” Hook explains sheepishly.

“I’m surprised she gave us a room with two beds then.” She scoffs.

“It was the last room left.” Hook says humorously. Emma hums in understanding but starts gnawing on her lip at the fact that a mild swell of disappointment fills her chest. She hadn’t given much thought to their sleeping arrangements beyond finding a bed outside of Regina’s castle to lie on for the night, but now that they have a room with beds of their own, she thinks about what it might have been like had there only been one. It’s ridiculous and she puts it down to the overwhelming craziness of the past few days making her yearn for some comfort and that is it.

“Disappointed, Swan?” Hook smirks, flashing her the smoldering gaze that obviously gets him a lot of attention.

“Please.” She rolls her eyes; glad her cheeks were already flushed by the fire. The heat of the fire and the tension simmering between them brings her right back to Neverland and she licks her lips at the thought of their kiss. Emma finds herself feeling the same desire to throw caution to the wind and kiss him again. It seems fitting that they are in another world again and away from her home that she can lock these moments away in the compartments of her mind that separate reality and these fantasy experiences.

Loud cheering from across the room breaks the intense gaze between them. Emma exhales and takes a drink of water, watching the group of men begin to play music. They tease each other about their singing voices as they start a song off-key, a couple of the rowdier ones getting up to dance with no coordination. The other patrons clap and cheer them on, some of them joining in with the dancing.

“Go on loves, join in!” Sylvia encourages them with a wink as she clears away their bowls. Hook grins wickedly, taking great pleasure in the way she groans with dread.

“Nope. You can’t get me up there, I have no idea what this jig type thing even is.” She says firmly, watching a couple shake their legs in strange ways as they twirl around.

“Then it’s a good thing you have a partner who knows what he’s doing.” She can’t help but stare wide eyed at Hook as he stands up, offering with his hand with a warm smile. With a wince, she puts her hand in his and lets him lead her to the middle of the room, holding on to him as he positions them for the dance.

“Remember I have a damn concussion, Hook.” Emma grumbles, breathing in sharply when he brings her closer to his chest.

“I’ll go easy on you, love.” He whispers in her ear as his stubble grazes her cheek. He guides her through some basic moves, and she feels laughter bubble up in her chest at the absurdity of the situation. They manage to jump and twist in time to the music a few times, both of them laughing at her lack of coordination despite him practically leading each of her body parts that needed to move. Emma finds herself enjoying it, giggling happily when she eventually starts to pick it up. When the music begins to pick up in tempo she sways into Hook, feeling a little overwhelmed by the fast movements. He responds by holding her waist and tucking her against his shoulder as they sway slightly. They’re no longer moving to the music, but she finds that she doesn’t care that they’re swaying slowly near the rowdy crowd still skipping about.

“How do you know how to dance like that?” Emma murmurs close to his ear.

“The crew and I would frequent taverns like this and picked it up. We even danced on the Jolly some nights, especially in the summer when the air was warm and smelled sweet.” She hears the sadness in his voice, and she realizes she doesn’t know what happened to Hook during the missing year or where his ship was.

“What happened to the Jolly?”

“An illustrious bean seller has her.” Hook says quietly, and Emma leans back to look at him. She searches his eyes, and it dawns on her what he means.

“You traded your ship for me?”

“Aye.”

She’s overwhelmed by this revelation and for the first time stops overthinking and just reacts, her lips finding his with relief. It feels warm and comforting to be in his embrace, and for the first time since leaving New York, she truly feels the spark of her old life reignited. It’s then when she feels the stir of passion and peace swell inside her a wave of exhaustion hits her and she sinks into him weakly.

“As much as I love a woman swooning at my feet Swan, you need to rest now.” Hook teases, kissing her forehead gently. They leave the boisterous fun of the tavern for the quiet chill of their room for the night and Emma practically collapses into bed, her limbs screaming out for rest. She’s already slipping into sleep when she feels Hook kiss her cheek and she dozes off to the burn of desire from the high of their kiss.

-/-

Hook wakes up to a pressure against his right side, twitching his nose at the tickle of hair. It takes him a moment to adjust to the dim light of early morning before realizing it’s Emma, pressed against him and deeply asleep still. She must have climbed into his bed at some point in the night, but he has no memory of being stirred in his sleep (he most certainly would have remembered Emma Swan coming into his bed).

The beds were small and certainly not made for two people, but he’s far from mad to have her body against his in the morning. Their kiss last night had been unexpected to say the least. Hook had been well aware that the truth of his ship’s whereabouts would come to light at some point given that they needed to find the man who had it, but he thought perhaps Emma wouldn’t realize what exactly had transpired. For the sake of their relationship, he was glad she had seemed to know the gravity of it. Hook stays in bed for a while, holding Emma as she sleeps. He dozes in and out until she begins waking up.

“Morning, Swan.” He says warmly, watching as she frowns and takes in her surroundings.

“Um, hi. I’m sorry, I was freezing.” She says all flustered, wriggling out of bed quickly.

“No worries, I was too.” Emma nods apprehensively at him, rubbing her eyes sleepily. They awkwardly dance around each other as they splash water on their faces and shrug on their cloak and jacket, ready to leave as Hook hoists up the sack. Sylvia convinces them to grab breakfast before they leave, shoving bread rolls in their hands as they head out. The port isn’t too far, but it’s another decent walk there and he’s grateful for the sustenance.

This walk feels more comfortable between them than the one to the castle and despite the awkwardness after waking up, Emma seems more relaxed now. He teases her about watching out for rocks on the path, laughing when she playfully shoves him into the grass. He feels these moments from Emma are rare, so he cherishes the sound of her laugh and the curve of her smile. They hadn’t broached the topic of New York again, and Hook thinks it best to leave it until they return to Storybrooke. Perhaps their little quest will help defeat this new foe quickly and Emma can appreciate her exposure to the magical world. Or perhaps she will decide to still go, but he can go with her. The noisy, busy streets of her city would be bearable if it meant still having her in his life.

The brilliant blue of the water rests ahead and before long he recognizes the Jolly, his heart sinking at the thought of his home belonging to another. He had wondered if he would ever see it again, which may have been the less painful scenario than seeing another captain at the helm.

“I’ll do the bargaining, lass. This is personal between Blackbeard and I, so it’s best you stay back.” Hook warns Emma as they reach the ship, still glorious and majestic in comparison to the other ships around her.

“I can hold my own, Hook. This is my bargain too, is it not?” Emma retorts. He shakes his head, wishing she hadn’t taken his words as a dismissal of her strength.

“Aye, but Blackbeard is cruel. If he sees how important this is to you, he will do something vindictive. And quite honestly, I’m concerned he will hurt you if he knows how much you mean to me.” Emma opens and closes her mouth but doesn’t seem to find the words to respond and simply nods.

She hangs back while he walks up the ramp and onto the ship, surveying the small changes made here and there. He did not see a familiar face in the crew, but most of his had been loyal and left when he did, some finding other crews to join and others venturing off elsewhere.

“Hook, as I live and breathe! I did not expect to see your sorry soul standing on this ship ever again.” Blackbeard bellows, an arrogant smile on his face.

“I’m in need of another bean.” Hook says curtly.

“You blew through the two I gave you already? What the hell are you playing at, mate?”

“Do you have another or not?”

“Aye, but the cost…do you even have anything of value left to trade?” Blackbeard inspects him, his eyes landing on the sack of Regina’s things. Hook tosses it to him, watching him catch it with intrigue.

“Take your pick.”

Blackbeard rifles through and snorts obnoxiously.

“Trinkets? Jars? What fool do you take me for? You must be desperate coming to me with this junk in search of a bean. Why do want one so badly?” Blackbeard stares intensely waiting for him to crack. Hook matches his gaze silently, but he sees Blackbeard’s eyes wander to the harbour and with a sinking feeling, Hook knows by the grin on his face that he has seen Emma.

“A woman, of course. The very same woman you needed the first bean for perhaps? She’s a beauty, that’s for sure. Well, in that case, what is she worth to you?” He challenges, smug that he has Hook in such a position.

“Name your price.” Hook grits out.

“Oh, you love her. In that case…your life of servitude for a bean. She gets the bean; I own your soul.”

Hook feels the colour drain from his face. This had been a risky plan all along, but such a bargain was so painfully steep he was taken aback. Perhaps he shouldn’t have been considering he truly does not have anything else to offer beyond his own life. But this was his plan, and he would be damned if Emma suffered because of it.

“Fine. Deal. But I get to give her the bean myself and say goodbye.” Hook says wistfully. Blackbeard actually looks surprised for a moment, but he shrugs and gives Hook the precious bean from a little pouch in his pocket, along with the sack of Regina’s apparently worthless items. He heads back to Emma, trying to keep a neutral face but struggling.

“So, you got it, right? What was the trade?”

“Here it is, Swan. Take it. You’ll be home in no time.” He evades as he curls the bean into her hand, clicking his tongue when Emma glares at him.

“Hook, what did you do to get it?”

“I’ll remain here and work for Blackbeard.”

“Okay…for how long?”

“The rest of my life I suppose.”

“No. Absolutely not, we can find another way to get back.” Emma shakes her head vehemently.

“The town needs you too much. We don’t know what has transpired while we’ve been gone, and you need to get Regina her things and be with your boy.” Hook says softly.

“They need you too.” Emma replies, reaching for his hand when he shakes his head.

“Killian…I need you.” His chest aches at the way she uses his name. Her words both fill his chest with happiness and break his heart; of course she expresses such a sentiment when they must part once more. Her fingers are laced between his and he holds her gentle hand tightly, not ready to let go.

“You don’t, Swan. You did just fine without me the for the past year.” He replies with a short humourless laugh.

“Because I didn’t remember you. If I did…I don’t think I would have started seeing Walsh. Maybe I would have-”

“No use speculating now, lass. It’s in the past, but right now you need to worry about your family and the town. Don’t worry about me.” He makes sure she has the bag of Regina’s things and kisses her cheek softly, smiling sadly when she dips her head and brushes against him.

“Not a day will go by that I won’t think of you.” She whispers.

“Good.” He responds, wishing that perhaps this goodbye will only be temporary like the last turned out to be, but the reality of Blackbeard’s bargain weighs heavily on him and Emma already feels a world away from his damned soul. They linger for a moment longer before separating, Emma exhaling and looking at the bean as she walks away from him and out of the busy docking area, turning back with a wistful smile only once. He waits until he sees her go through the portal in the distance before heading back onto the Jolly, ignoring Blackbeard’s taunts to retreat below deck.

He’s home, but without his freedom and without the woman he loves. A more sensible man would also be without hope, but when he meets the crew, he sees a few familiar faces, and the way they call him captain in hushed tones stirs something in him to fight to get back what he has lost. He’ll bide his time, but after being around the heroes, their penchant for hope has certainly inspired him.

-/-

Things never seem to slow when Emma returns. In the time that she had been gone, Regina had discovered that it had been her sister Zelena who cast the curse and she had been masquerading as Snow’s midwife. She had barely been back a day when they finally found Neal, but she lost him again just as quickly as he had come back. The reasons for returning to New York only grew with every painful and dangerous thing that happened. She even tried working on her magic and learning from Regina, but when Zelena took her newborn sibling in an attempt to cast a ridiculous time travel spell, Emma had had it.

She would be leaving for New York once her parents were settled with her brother, and not a moment later.

But the reported sighting of the Jolly Roger down by the harbour had her pause her exit plans.

Emma had avoided speaking of Hook, simply telling people when she returned that he had decided to remain in the Enchanted Forest. No one seemed convinced, but thankfully didn’t push her on it. In some twisted way she had been pleased to have so much to deal with that she didn’t have time to think about what his absence meant for her, but in quiet moments of respite, she longed for the warmth of his presence in her life.

When she gets the text about the Jolly, she races down to the docks, wishing she had taken her car as she carries Henry’s book with her rather awkwardly. She finally gets close enough to see the little figures of people walking about the deck, and if she squints really hard, she thinks she can see Hook.

It’s unmistakably him when she reaches the ship and she calls his name, smiling at his reaction as his eyes find her. She hurries up the ramp and throws her arms around him so hard the book slams into his back, causing him to chuckle into her hair.

“Hi, Swan.”

“Hi, I’m sorry I just didn’t think I’d ever really see you again. How did you get the ship back from Blackbeard? Did you use another bean to get here? How the hell does he have so many?” She rattles off, tucking the book under her arm after their embrace.

“I’ll explain all later, but more importantly, what happened here? Did you figure out who cast the curse?” He asks with concern, looking over her to make sure she was okay and frowning at the book.

“It was Regina’s sister, the Wicked Witch of the West. It was some sibling rivalry crap, but she wanted my baby brother for a time travel spell and mayhem ensued. We’ve stopped her but…I’ve lost my magic and we lost Neal.” Hook reaches out for her and she leans in to his touch, relieved to feel the spark of comfort she usually feels around him.

“I’m so sorry, Swan.”

“Look, I know how you feel about it, but I just really wanted to go back to New York after all this. Henry gave me his book to remind me of the magic that makes up our family history, and I’ve been trying but I’m just…exhausted.” Emma sighs, sinking into him when he reaches his arm out to embrace her.

“Well, I just got here, you can’t leave now.” Hook jokes softly. Emma is about to respond with a quip of her own when she sees a beam of light flash in the distance.

“What the hell is that?” Emma mutters, trying to figure out where the light was coming from. She has a horrible suspicion that it may be coming from the barn and she groans, tugging on Hook’s jacket sleeve to follow her as she heads over there.

“David left a message, Zelena died and somehow triggered the time portal.” Emma yells over the loud noise of the magic when they reach the barn.

“Emma, perhaps we shouldn’t get too close.”

“We need to close it!”

They swirl around in a magical portal once again, being thrown into another unexpected and unpredictable adventure. But, as always, Hook is by her side, and she’s realizing that despite the pain magic has caused in her life, it has also brought him into her life, and maybe it’s about facing the hardships together.

“You don’t have your magic, it’s too dangerous."

"But-"

She’s interrupted by the sheer force of the magic pulling them toward the portal and they cling to each other as they tumble on the ground roughly. They both struggle to avoid falling in, Hook using his appendage to grip onto the ground. Emma holds on to his hand, but she feels herself slipping away and she’s worried he’ll leave her to fall into the unknown hole of time. She meets his eyes, and he lifts his hook to fall in with her.

And so she decides to do just that. When their little adventure in the past comes to an end, after witnessing her parents fall in love, attending a ball, almost losing her mother, and maybe falling in love with Captain Hook along the way, she decides to make Storybrooke her home. There are the occasional foes in town, but it is a place full of family, friends, and love, and they can face anything together.

[mitigatedchaos]

Review: SAC_2045

(~3,700 words, 15 minutes)

This post will contain some minor spoilers for SAC_2045.

Summary: You may have thought SAC_2045 was a poor entry in the Ghost in the Shell franchise - actually, it's just intended for younger audiences.

Previously: Standalone Complex 202045:1-4 (superseded)

-☆☆☆-

And what did you think of the remaining episodes of GitS:SAC_2045?

[ @irradiate-space​ ]

Standalone Complex

There's a certain indescribable feeling associated with Ghost in the Shell: Standalone Complex as a work, an artistic touch related to the director associated with it, independent of other considerations. SAC_2045 has it, which isn't too surprising since Kenji Kamiyama is back.

SAC_2045 is Standalone Complex. For a brief moment, while watching it, I inhabited my pre-2016 personality and outlook. I can't tell you how much that means to me. Since the arrival of streaming I've tended to bingewatch series, but on the first run-through I decided not to bingewatch this one.

If you approach this show as season 4 of Standalone Complex (Solid State Society being season 3), it's underwhelming. Now, viewing it again, it's become obvious that a conventional season 4 of Standalone Complex was never the intent of SAC_2045 to begin with.

For those of you who have delayed until now, the English dub has been uploaded - it released without one due to the pandemic. They bring back a number of the voice actors from the excellent Standalone Complex dub, though having already watched it with subtitles, I didn't feel the need to confirm the dub's quality.

Sustainable War

To properly describe a new theory of war is the same thing as to invent it. While the idea of war as a for-profit industry has been kicked around for some time, it's generally assumed that this is a kind of parasitic relationship on the part of the war-making industry.

As time goes on, warfare becomes more abstract (partly because warfare happens where it can happen), much like society itself is becoming more abstract as information moves more quickly and humanity gains access to more energy.[1] In SAC_2045, "Sustainable War" is part of the context of the world and its current issues, but we aren't really told how it works - if it's similar to contemporary information warfare and a blurring of the lines between state and non-state actors, it's bound to be quite confusing.

I believe my earlier assessment of "Sustainable War" is correct. The key feature of sustainable war, the reason they say it's safe if you leave it to the experts, is likely that it involves AIs constantly forecasting against each other and moving units around with few direct confrontations. The goal would be to lock in a victory without having to fire a shot, except for small skirmishes that don't escalate to major incidents (due to the AI forecasting).

The presence of armed separatist movements even in Japan may also indicate that the ruling institutional bodies are engaged in a kind of Post-International Politics,[2] which treats all international relations as fundamentally existing between subnational entities - however, I believe that later information suggests this wasn't their original intent.

What makes it "sustainable"? Since if done correctly, very little is actually physically destroyed, the cost is less than conventional warfare, and thus the war can continue indefinitely. Why does it threaten humanity with destruction? Because there's an awful lot of military hardware waiting for someone to actually pull the trigger.

Season 1: Ep. 2

So what is the intent of the series' creators? I think they may be telling us through this dialogue between Togusa and Section Chief Daisuke Aramaki in episode 2.

Aramaki: Seems time has toughened you up. Togusa: Is that supposed to be a compliment? Aramaki: It is if you want it to be. Togusa: Then thanks for the kind words. “I made the right decision by choosing this line of work over my marriage.” That’s what you’re saying? Aramaki: Perhaps. [...] Togusa: They're bringing back Section 9? [...] Aramaki: But my takeaway from the proposal is this: The PM's reason for the urgent reforming of Section 9 takes priority over his personal motives. I believe his true objective is meeting the Americans' demands for the dispatch of special resources. Togusa: So it's as the Liberals feared? An American-born Prime Minister would be no more than an American puppet? Aramaki: I've yet to meet him in person, so I can't really say. But this is an opportunity to have the Major and the rest of you undertake a major operation for me once more. Togusa: What sort of op? Aramaki: Over the past few years, I have searched for an answer on how to deal with a society in turmoil. I'd like you people to lay the groundwork that will help the next generation find that answer. Togusa: I don't know what a man in my position can contribute, but I'll humbly offer whatever assistance I can.

Those of us who cried, Kamiyama, tell us the future once more! based on Standalone Complex's prophetic analysis of a memetic crime wave were bound to be disappointed. SAC_2045 is less rooted in the near future than in the now - cyberbullying, endless war amidst historic prosperity, employment suppressed by automation, savings eaten up by the complex machinations of finance, and a breakdown of national borders? That's today.

Those of us who hoped for a Ghost in the Shell: Unicorn, a psychically overpowering work that synthesizes the full body of Ghost in the Shell into a single coherent form to elevate us to a higher level of understanding, should have tempered our expectations. To reach each new philosophical level is more difficult than the last - to achieve that with Ghost in the Shell of all things would have required a multidisciplinary genius near the limits of current understanding.

Kenji Kamiyama is just an anime director. And anyhow, Gundam Unicorn was a book before it was an animated series. And who among us even knew we'd have to write a book before 2015? Ghost in the Shell was well-understood enough, so I instead wrote 25,000 words worth of hypothetical country and became a blogger, like the infamous Scott Alexander.[3]

If we approach SAC_2045 from the lens that it's a humbler work designed for younger audiences, however, some of the creative decisions make more sense.

Purin

Just how old is Purin, the MIT grad who joins the team later on? If I had to guess, that's '23歳' on that profile she provides, and Ishikawa notes that she 'skipped a few grades' on her way to a PhD. But she acts like someone a lot younger. She's enthusiastic and we're assured she's intelligent, but seems to be lacking social training. For example, she makes the mistake of assembling an era-accurate music player for Batou combined with a playlist after consulting the Tachikomas to find out what he listens to. There are two ways to take this.

The first is that she's intended as a relateable character for someone who would make this class of mistake. It's the sort of mistake I might have made at age 13-14, meaning that the show would probably be aimed at someone that age or lower. Overly enthusiastic, doesn't understand romantic relationships, impulsive, poor reading of boundaries / poor modelling of others outside of certain domains, impulsive in a way that causes social screw-ups? Yeah that could certainly apply to an ADHD kid of about that age.

And all of a sudden the tone of the first five episodes with the gun-fighting, the literal Agent Smith, the decision to place the focus in America, and even the mystery of the series being much simpler than Standalone Complex 2nd Gig's plot regarding Asian refugees in Japan make a lot more sense. This is Ghost in the Shell for kids!

Wow, I didn't think that could be done!

...is what I should say, except that around the time I acquired the ability to futurist shitpost, and I used that ability to predict that it would.

Purin II

The second reading is that the youth of the future are fucked up. She probably has some tricked out modifications, both cybernetic and genetic. Now usually you would tell someone to try to become a well-rounded human being. But...

The global economy has crashed. Batou mistakes her for a robot - creatures that look like pretty young women are a dime a dozen. In the dating market, she would be competing with full sensory immersion VR pornography on the one hand, and at the upper end of society where cybernetics are more widely available, likely women with a similar appearance but decades more experience and professional standing.

Note that in the original Standalone Complex, the team take down an 80-year-old Russian spy with the full prosthetic body of a 20-year-old. Full cyborgs aren't common then, nor are they in SAC_2045 (though cyberbrains are ubiquitous), but if the economy recovers that may change, and the sector she's trying to get in to (full-time salaried government rather than marginal private employment it would seem) is going to be very tough to enter either way.

So Purin may have to be over-optimized even to just appear on the screen. In fact, she says,

"Just so I could work at Section 9, I moved most of my sentimental memories to external storage."

Youch! It's no wonder she's socially maladjusted. Just how much of her social learning (in particular key events necessary to rebuild logical inferences on the boundaries of behavior on the fly) has she locked away?

Purin III

But you know who Purin looks like? Notorious internet personality, Gamer Girl Bath Water seller, and IRL video game character Belle Delphine.[4]

Or rather, it's the other way around - 2D animation compresses real detail into suggestive abstraction, letting your mind fill in the rest. Going from those impossible 2D shapes to 3 dimensions creates strange results, like training your machine learning algorithm on the salient features of a cat's face, applying it to human shape, and putting pink hair on the result. Belle Delphine adopts that otherworldly kind of appearance as part of her act.

Technically, this a stylistic choice. Within the framework of SAC_2045, this is what "a 23-year-old female" looks like.

Purin is in fact so non-threatening that her big red coat obscures her figure. I'm gonna go with younger audience. Now if only I could remember what pronoun she uses.[5/☆]

Motoko

With a full prosthetic body, outward signs of human-like aging are almost an artistic expression, much like in a world with cheap tissue engineering, visible scars are a choice.

When she was first introduced in the original Ghost in the Shell manga, we don't know how old Motoko Kusanagi is. It was once said that her name is analogous to "Jane Excalibur," which in English would be an obvious alias. In the first movie (from 1995), she's cool, almost cold and robotic.

In the original Standalone Complex, Motoko has a more mature personality than in the manga, but she has a clearly adult look by the standards of anime. Seriously, check out this fantastic character design (combat suit), although admittedly the better-known "leather jacket and bathing suit" design is more ridiculous, fashion-wise.[6] (Fortunately, she gets pants in her much more stylish second season outfit.)

ARISE starts off with a young Motoko Kusanagi in a chaotic post-war period before the Section 9 we know was assembled. This shows in her character design, but it really shows in her personality. This was actually why I had joked about an even earlier Ghost in the Shell.

There is a sense in which the 2017 live-action movie's Motoko is even younger. Scarlett Johansson is a killer cyborg with amnesia. She doesn't even have one day of formal combat training.

Motoko 2045

Ilya Kuvshinov designed SAC_2045's Motoko Kusanagi.

Yes, that Ilya Kuvshinov. You could be forgiven for thinking this is a teenager that hardboiled assassins Saitou and Ishikawa in the background have been hired to bodyguard.

Despite this, Atsuko Tanaka has resumed her role as Motoko's voice actress. Standalone Complex's Motoko looked 25 and felt mid-30s. SAC_2045's Motoko looks 16 and has the voice and attitude of 40.

This may make more sense than you might think.

Through Whose Eyes?

Throughout much of Ghost in the Shell as a franchise, Togusa, the only non-cyborg on the team, who is pulled from a police department instead of a military background, tends to be character used to help the people of our time relate to the future. He's the guy that doesn't know the things we also don't know, so in explaining concepts to Togusa they're explained to the audience.

In SAC_2045, most of the team are off doing cool cyborg things in America. Aramaki (whose in-world function is to create the bureaucratic environment within which Section 9 operates) tasks Togusa with finding them. The original Standalone Complex first aired in 2003. It's been 17 years since it was created - a similar situation to finding someone that reached adulthood who was born after 9/11. And during this time, Togusa's life has changed - the family man is now separated from his wife. And the world has changed - Togusa is now working for a private security firm. Togusa's role in the first five episodes isn't to guide the new viewers.

His purpose is to guide or stand-in for the old viewers.

The New Viewers

"Do you still hold a grudge against the Major and the others for leaving you behind?"

For the original viewers, SAC_2045 is your world, too. Togusa is there. Togusa is you.

The new viewers are Purin. Enthusiastic and smart but awkward and not confident in their skills. How could they measure up to these much more talented and experienced characters? (Also consider who is going to watch any sort of Ghost in the Shell - it's probably going to be a moderately bright and introverted kid, who is the kind of person that may be more comfortable socializing with people outside of their age band.)

But Motoko is visually separated from the rest of Section 9. Batou, Saitou, Ishikawa, Boma... they all have a much more adult look in keeping with their appearance in previous versions of Ghost in the Shell. What gives?

Batou is sort of a cool adult male figure - this is actually a pretty natural use of the character and his sense of humor as previously established in other Ghost in the Shell properties. We especially see this come through in 「PIE IN THE SKY - First Bank Robbery」 episode, with the old folks and the 21st century bank robbery.

Motoko's difference in appearance is because she's acting as a bridge between the two. The new viewer (as represented by Purin) is supposed to grow into being like Motoko as they gain confidence and experience. (The characters aren't each limited to a single role, of course.)

But SAC_2045 is still a work that's shared between two groups, similar to how the excellent Into the Spiderverse features both the teenage Miles Morales and an older Peter Parker that has lost his way, with the loss of the vibrant young adult Peter Parker being what starts the plot going.

The Last Quarter

With this framework, the rest of the work should express its nature as targeted at a younger audience itself. Watch the last few episodes through this lens and you'll see how much sense it makes. One takes place at a school. Even the bizarre 3D style that resembles recent video games makes more sense. If we take Togusa's earlier conversation with Aramaki as a discussion of SAC_2045 itself, later on there's even a sort of acknowledgement that Ghost in the Shell is a difficult work for someone of a young age.

So with that context in mind, does it work?

Standalone Complex

If I remember correctly, years ago, when I was perhaps 15 or 16, I was watching a tiny CRT television some time after midnight, and I saw the thirteenth episode of the original Standalone Complex - NOT EQUAL. It was like nothing I had ever seen before. I was immediately taken by it. And, from what I remember, I immediately understood it.

It was as though it were made just for me.[7]

To me, Ghost in the Shell is like a textbook. I thought that as a creator who has reached a place where I am able to be involved in that kind of work, I'm in a position where I have to convey its contents to a younger audience. Well, I knew it would be a lot of work, but I figured it would be my way of giving back to Ghost in the Shell. I thought that I needed to accept the baton and offer Ghost in the Shell to a young audience, to the same degree that Ghost in the Shell raised me to be who I am.

- Tow Ubukata, in a 2015 interview, regarding ARISE

For many people, Ghost in the Shell is a profound influence. I felt that it lifted me to a new level of understanding.

SAC_2045

But what about SAC_2045?

I can't view Ghost in the Shell with new eyes. When I first saw it, I wasn't the kind of person that casually memes futuristic ethical dilemmas as a means of practicing politics.

Compared to the anime I watched back when I was 13, would I have watched SAC_2045? Yes. Is it more philosophically and politically sophisticated? Yes. Would I have found it memorable? I think so.

Would a 13-year these days watch it? That's difficult to assess. I bet someone who does data science for Netflix could tell us, if they wanted. I'm sure Kenji Kamiyama and Shinji Aramaki are considering the same thing.

2017

How does it stack up compared to the rest of the franchise?

For most enthusiasts it's going to be one of the weaker entries, though it certainly does a better job explaining itself than ARISE.

Compare it to 2017's live action movie, however, and I think we'll find it isn't the weakest. The reason is that the writers of Ghost in the Shell (2017) decided to tell a story about bodily consent in which becoming a cyborg is a form of trauma. On some level this may have been a reasonable decision, but they didn't commit to the concept sufficiently fully to execute it well enough to carry the movie - and simultaneously, they dumbed down parts of the regular Ghost in the Shell material for American audiences. As a result the movie flopped both financially and artistically - except for the visuals.

In fact, I wrote a sequence of posts (1, 2, 3, 4) on how to rewrite the live action movie as an actual Ghost in the Shell property. I feel no need to do so for SAC_2045 - and I can't even think of what changes would need to be made.

I look forward to the second season.

-☆☆☆-

[1] It's short, but that's a concept in this post. "Advanced by Left-Wing theorists, Ninth Generation warfare sees all acts as existing on a spectrum of political violence. Most acts of ninth generation warfare consist of extreme pranks."

[2] If we accept the idea of "Fifth-Generation Warfare" as motivated by a desire to prevent the enemy from using their conventional military assets, then a corresponding theory of international politics would involve preventing enemy factions within foreign governments from taking control of those governments' institutions - effectively treating all countries as in continuous level of conflict analogous to a soft civil war.

[3] There is a kind of technique to this, but in my case I substituted ADHD for raw IQ and conscientiousness, which is part of why my posts are so much shorter than, for instance, Moldbug's. In any case, technically, Scott's blog posts on the matter amount to roughly a mere 11,600 words, and the book of the black forest amounts to approximately 26,000 words (which I'm told is entertaining reading), but I'm sure if we go looking we can find an additional 15,000 words worth of worldbuilding from a man known for writing 16,000 word blog posts.

[4] Would it be more of a legal liability to sell regular water with GGBW branding, or actual GGBW that could prove to be a potential health hazard?

[5/☆] There's some future strand lurking beneath the surface here that I can't quite put into words; a culturally divergent moe meltdown where an appearance this ridiculous becomes normalized among some sub-population. To quote the Funko Pop Hatred post,

There are questions about the anatomy of anime people and their internal organs, and particularly about what sort of impact-dampening alien meta-material their softer bits are made out of, but at least homo sapiens gokuensis looks like it’s a branch off a similar starting hominid! Whatever transhuman engineering company was responsible for manufacturing the creatures in the typical harem anime has some weird ideas about human beings, but we’re clearly in their ancient lineage somewhere.

Under Late Safetyism, everyone is a declawed catgirl.

Anyhow, I don't want to alarm you, but I can't guarantee that this won't be the future somewhere. Both Purin and Belle Delphine resemble Xiaoice, "The AI Girlfriend Seducing China's Lonely Men." (2020)

[6] Motoko's ridiculous outfits are a major flex on the non-cyborgs, who aren't indifferent to ambient temperature and whose natural bodies may have unflattering features. Similarly wild fashions can exist in places like Second Life, a 3D digital platform with mostly user-uploaded content. Presumably they're also a flex on every Japanese salaryman who still has to dress like a normal guy.

[7] "It's as though it were made just for me" is also how I feel about the original game Mirror's Edge. Its follow-up, Catalyst, is also a personal favorite of mine.

[aion-rsa]

Investigating Digimon’s Biggest Unanswered Question

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On June 25, 2000 on Fuji TV in Japan and October 21, 2000 on Fox Kids in the U.S. an episode of Digimon aired that over 20 years later continues to haunt fans and the franchise itself alike. This was an episode that opened up a world of possibility and a plotline darker than anything else seen in the series – an episode that ended with a gigantic cliffhanger that has never been directly dealt with since.

The installment was season 2 of Digimon, episode 13. ‘The Call of Dragomon’ a.k.a. ‘His Master’s Voice.’ This episode introduced the Dark Ocean.

After all these years it continues to spark debate and analysis from fans. Why? It’s not like Digimon didn’t have its fair share of dropped plots. Why does the Dark Ocean stand out and why was its mystery never resolved? To try and answer that, we have to take a deep dive into the episode that introduced it all.

It begins when Kari Kamiya experiences bad dreams and visions of an ocean swallowing her up. Dark creatures follow her in the hallways. She flickers out of existence and appears in the Dark Ocean. It’s a greyscale world. A lighthouse shines darkness instead of light. Kari attempts to find a way out and stumbles across the dark creatures from earlier, glowing red eyes their only feature. They painfully cry out for help, desperately hoping Kari will free them from the power of the evil Digimon Emperor. 

It’s all a trick however and important differences between the Japanese and English versions of the episode occur at this point. In the English version the dark creatures attempt to kidnap Kari, hauntingly telling her, “you’ll be our new queen. We need you.”

In the Japanese version it’s much more unsettling. They tell her, “you are worthy of being our bride. In order to fight the new god (the Digimon Emperor, it’s implied), we must create new offspring.”

In both versions Kari is saved by her Digimon partner Gatomon and the dark creatures retreat into the ocean. In the English version they woefully explain their foiled plan,

“We thought you would love to be our queen. With your power you could lead us in the battle against our undersea master. I guess we were wrong. Beware, our master can sense your power too and he will come for you.”

In the Japanese version they leave Kari with this parting message.

“Chosen one… we believed you would be glad to be our bride. Very well. We shall return to the depths, to our former god, and wait for the time.”

Kari escapes from the Dark Ocean but a giant Digimon, named Dragomon in the Japanese version, rises from the ocean. The master the dark creatures spoke of. Its eyes glow red. END OF EPISODE. What does it all mean? This seemed like it was going to be a major storyline. The end of the English episode even teases, “who is this evil dark undersea master? Don’t miss the upcoming Digimon!” But that question would never be answered.

The master/god would never be seen again and Kari never crossed paths with the dark creatures. It’s a massive cliffhanger that the franchise has never resolved and no one from the production has given any answers to. The Dark Ocean does show up again but only for brief appearances. 

A flashback in episode 23, ‘Genesis of Evil,’ shows a young Ken dipping his digivice into the Dark Ocean’s waters, transforming it into a Dark D3 digivice which would later give Ken the power to inhibit digivolution. Ken, as the Digimon Emperor, also draws on the power of the Dark Ocean to power his base.

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Kari, Ken Ichijouji, and Yolei Inoue stumble into the Dark Ocean through a “phase warp” in episode 31, ‘Opposites Attract.’ Yolei is unable to see the Dark Ocean until her frustration at that somehow makes it so she can. This seems to indicate that one’s emotions when entering the Dark Ocean can have a major impact on what happens to you there. Ken and Kari both have their share of trauma which may have influenced the Dark Ocean’s hold over them. Ken was originally pulled into the Dark Ocean after his brother died, a brother Ken had previously wished would “just disappear.” Kari watched Wizardmon, a kind Digimon that she’d grown close to, jump in front of an attack meant for her. She held him in her arms as he died. Yolei, her life comparatively easier, wasn’t affected by the Dark Ocean as much as them.

In the Japanese version of the episode Kari worriedly states, “they called me here… again.” It seems the master/god still wants Kari’s power. The three manage to escape through a “hole in space” and never return.

Later in episode 45, ‘The Dark Gate,’ Ken banishes the evil Digimon Daemon to the Dark Ocean. He opens a portal there by facing his darkest fears and with a little team friendship power. Curiously Daemon indicates he already knows what the Dark Ocean is, calling it Dragomon’s Ocean in the Japanese version. 

It’s briefly mentioned in episode 48, ‘Oikawa’s Shame’ when evil mastermind Oikawa reveals the Control Spire’s that plagued the team in the first half of the season and prevented regular digivolution are a “present” from the Dark Ocean. 

The Dark Ocean also gets a few fleeting moments in the Digimon Adventure tri. films. Previously unknown Digi Destined Himekawa becomes stranded in the Dark Ocean after her Digimon partner, Taprimon, couldn’t remember her. She fought back against the dark creatures there but was pulled into the ocean never to be seen again. The films also address the Daemon cliffhanger by hinting he could return as a villain but this never went anywhere. With the Digimon franchise well into a reboot of the original first season, it’s doubtful this or any other Dark Ocean plots will ever get resolved.

That leaves fans (including us) to try to make sense of it all. First off, let’s look at those key differences between the motivations of the dark creatures in the Japanese and English version of episode 13.

In the English version, the creatures seemingly tricked Kari into helping them by using the dark spirals. They knew this would make her sympathetic and hoped she would join them as their queen in a battle against their old undersea master. Why did they need Kari for this? They mention she has power they need but it isn’t clear what that power is. Previously in the series she had a connection to the crest of light so maybe they were hoping her light would be able to wipe out their master. There’s no clear answer to any of that question but it seems Kari, more than any other Digi Destined, has some special role to play in this conflict.

The Japanese version’s motivation for the dark creatures is much clearer. They aren’t fighting against their god; they’re working for him to fight the Digimon Emperor. They chose Kari because she was worthy of being their bride, a bride who would create new offspring to aid in the fight. This leads us to speculate that these dark creatures, which certainly aren’t Digimon, are offspring of some other bride.The horror of all that is off the charts and deeply uncomfortable, especially since Kari is a middle schooler. It’s no wonder this was changed for the English version and rightly so.

Putting that real life horror aside, the biggest lingering question at the end of the Japanese episode is what the dark creatures meant when they told Kari to, “wait for the time.” The time of what? What did this god want with her? 

In all this we also need to ask what the Dark Ocean itself even is. It’s implied to be a dimension or world that isn’t the Digital World, especially since Kari can get there without using one of the Digi-World gates. We only see a small section of the world. The ocean, a beach, the lighthouse, an abandoned town, and a tunnel.

The only other clues we have to try and decipher what the hell the Dark Ocean is comes from its clear influence, H.P. Lovecraft. Dragomon might as well be called Cthullumon given his appearance and the way he rises from the sea. A clear connection is drawn in the Japanese episode when a text card appears just before the title card, written in “digicode.” This is basically the Digimon alphabet and thanks to TMS over on the Digimon With the Will forums we know it translates to “Ph’nglui mglw’nafh Cthulhu R’lyeh wgah’nagl fhtagn.”

In Lovecraft’s “The Call fo Cthulhu” story this translate to “In his house at R’lyeh, dead Cthulhu waits dreaming.” This would imply that Dagmon is actually Cthulhu! This could mean any number of things for the multiverse of Digimon but just reading it on the tin, it matches up with the dark creatures statement in the Japanese episode that they’d “wait for the time.” We can now reasonably extrapolate that they’re waiting for the time Dragomon aka their god will wake. Most likely to aid in their fight against the Digimon Emperor… or perhaps something bigger.

With all this information, fragmented as it is, what can we reasonably guess the Dark Ocean is? Perhaps, since the Digital World is made of data, the Dark Ocean is the black screen in-between the 1’s and 0’s in the Digital World’s code. A place that has to exist for more “code” to be written but that’s barren of any life. Dragomon and the dark creatures could have been banished there long ago but before that it was an empty world, only carrying fragments of the code around it (the town, the lighthouse, etc.) That also lines up with the Digital World, which also contains fragments of real world machines and structures (trains, buildings, etc.) This proximity to the code of the Digital World is further supported by the fact that people or Digimon could fall through “phase warps” into it like Kari, Ken, and Yolei did. The Dark Ocean is a world between a world. A world that needs to exist for the sake of another world but is not truly a world of its own. A world you almost never see but if you do… it’s nothingness.

It’s no surprise why the Dark Ocean continues to captivate and frustrate Digimon fans all these years later. A gigantic story was hinted at, one that held particular importance to fan favorite characters Kari and Ken. It could have expanded the scope of Digimon’s world, bringing in a power beyond anything else the team had ever faced. The “what if?” of it all holds great power over fans. It’s a shame the show abandoned something that could have been so compelling.

However, perhaps its lack of resolution isn’t a completely bad thing. It makes the world of Digimon more mysterious. There’s more going on than just the battles the kids are having. There are other forces at work. Powerful forces that have their own goals outside of simple destruction or desire for power.

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The more you get of a franchise like Digimon the more likely you are for its fantasy world to get overcomplicated or over explained. Things get too tidy, too neat, everything is related to each other or a small group of characters (looking at you, Star Wars.) The Dark Ocean breaks all that up. Sure our characters’ stories intersect with it but they’re only a small part of the mystery of the Dark Ocean. If it’s a mystery that’s even solvable. As much as fans want it solved, there’s something powerful about a mysterious force lurking at the edge of the Digimon universe.

The post Investigating Digimon’s Biggest Unanswered Question appeared first on Den of Geek.

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