#Too much sleuthing in my life evidently

[myckicade]

Here's what's rolling around in my skull. I'm probably just pissing in the wind here, but it's not like I'm not already drenched on this subject.

See, I trust Mr. Jenkins & Co. I trust them in the sense that I don't trust them at all.

(Please know that this doesn't involve pacing and such things, but just... It.)

There are too many kooky things for me to accept what we have seen as 'Door: Closed'. The thing that I keep coming back to, though... The fucking land burial. I've read more than one quote from Mr. Jenkins stating that Izzy is his favorite. Now, I've done my own characters dirty a time or two, but to take away the rite that they have earned? Nah. Unless Izzy had a wish that only Ed (or whoever) knew about, it's not adding up. And that grave marker... Something about the shape of it, the construction, it's tickling at my brain. Factor in Ed's passive reaction to the suggestion of revenge, the shot going in on the left side, and the fucking seagull, and I'd like to call bullshit on the whole thing.

And, if I want to get super daffy-doodles about it, did we see Izzy get put in that hole? Did we? Hm? (I know this is a long-shot, but it's fun for me to point out).

Again, I'm sure this won't amount to a hill of beans, but something about this just doesn't feel right. It could be the Denial Stage, buuut. These guys know how to play the con, so I'd be very interested in Finding Out.

[piosplayhouse]

I don't know if you'll answer but I need to know the lore behind sexy times with Wangxian, like is it a fanfic? why do people hate the author??

It was the longest mdzs fic posted during its time in 2021 and gained extreme notoriety for its absurdly long tag list, frequent update schedule that consistently forced anyone scrolling any of its tags to see it at the top of their page, and escalating poor, racist, and trolling authorial behavior that ultimately culminated in the author virtual1979 being suspended from ao3 for a month because she posting an author's note saying she hoped that all her haters would contract covid and die. She deleted the fic from ao3 a little while after this happened, ig bc she wasn't getting enough attention anymore, but allegedly the thing's still up on dreamwidth under strict friendslock. The fan lore article goes pretty in depth about it:

The best summary for why it pissed people off so much is really just showing you these screenshots of what the fic looked like towards the end of its life on desktop and mobile (be warned opening the full image):

From my personal experience:

from 2019 up until around 2021 the fic really was just a normal-ish, if very strangely written and kinky, wangxian porn fic about them basically just fucking around post canon and enjoying day to day life. It updated pretty frequently and had a fair amount of tags because the author was literally just tagging anything that she wrote. But like the first few hundred, maybe even a thousand tags were pretty accurate to what the fic was because of that, and were relatively manageable for the first few years that it didn't pick up any attention really.

At some point in 2021 when cql was really starting to blow up online and the tag count was starting to pile up to the point of annoyance, the fic started receiving some comments that were just like "hey can you try to cut down on tags, I don't think it's necessary to be so specific as to tag 'Korean food' or 'eggs' or whatnot". The author did not share this idea, evidently, and instead built a grudge against commenters who would tell her to delete tags, subsequently adding more and more as time went on.

As the tag count and updates increased, the content of the fic did too-- it got a lot, lot weirder. I'm sure someone's saved it all somewhere but for reference it spun out into what I can only describe as like if Rick and Morty's plot was cut to be just the parts of the show with underage/incest plotlines with All Tomorrows level sex dystopian world building exclusively to elicit the most visceral audience reaction possible. Around this time is when more people started to notice the fic and its escalating tag issues, leading them to leaving more comments complaining about it, leading to the attention seeking author spitefully adding more tags. Around this time is when she also started adding fake tags that didn't apply to the story whatsoever (sorry to disappoint, "talking vagina" was one of those. I did check) just to boost the count, take up more space on people's screens, and bait people into commenting hate for attention.

By this time, it had become a fandom-wide annoyance as she had begun to tag entirely unrelated ships, therefore putting the near-daily updating titanic of a fic at the top of any mdzs-related tag. People were outraged about this, and calls came for ao3 to step in. Ao3 waffled around for a bit as there was no official rule at the time that imposed a tag limit, so there wasn't established ground to ban virtual1979 (who btw many people suspected of being 40 whole years old due to the username and allegedly some other internet sleuthing on Facebook or something). Meanwhile, she began to tag other fandoms-- tgcf, svsss, BTS, basically anything that would get a lot of attention and draw hate with the advent of The Monstrosity suddenly drowning out all other recently updated fics of the targeted fandoms.

People had been trying to retaliate without ao3 action, though, by coding their own themes/skins that would allow someone to block a user or work and other fic writers made their own parody, the "bland times with wangxian" collection, which were minimally tagged sfw shortfics typically featuring wangxian just doing laundry or things like that. A good amount of them were actually like just fics where wwx would explain to lwj how to install custom ao3 themes and block fics that were taking up too much space on his screen. Imo it was pretty funny, but these also sparked some controversy as people disagreed with fighting annoyance with more annoyance to people trying to find content.

Either shortly before or after ao3 staff said they'd step in due to an insane amount of reports and backlash, I forgot which atp, virtual1979 began perhaps the worst tagging spree of the fic's life by changing the title, many of the tags, and the summary to a slew of racial slurs, sexually explicit imagery, and other generally offensive statements. I'm pretty sure this came after the fic was temporarily hidden once, as this update gained considerably less attention than the rest of the tagging saga, but people were still rightfully pissed about it. Ultimately, like I mentioned before, the author was then suspended for a month for wishing covid and death on her haters, and attention seemed to die down during this time to the point where she didn't really fight much more when her suspension ended and deleted her account and the work shortly after. Again she seems to have moved to dreamwidth, but most have forgotten her and I'm not sure if her presence is public at all on there. But that's the story of the worst mdzs fic ever written

[thepastisalreadywritten]

By Kate Andrews

Has Kate Middleton united America? For the past few days, we have been one nation under her spell.

The Princess of Wales has dominated Google searches in the United States ever since Kensington Palace released that now-notorious doctored photo of her with her children for Mother’s Day.

Her name search beat that of both ‘Donald Trump’ and ‘Joe Biden’ over the past week.

To say she has broken the internet would be only the start of it: rumours of her well-being are making their way into every newsroom, dive bar, and church fellowship hour across America.

My friends from all over the country text and call me to ask the same question: What’s happened to Kate?

They know I’m as removed from the royal family as anyone could be, but I’m in London and I work in Westminster, so they hope I’ve heard a theory that hasn’t made its way across the pond just yet.

Left-liberal pals who usually text me when Trump says something obscene now want to know when I last walked by Buckingham Palace.

Did anything seem strange? More right-leaning friends, who tend to send videos of Biden jumbling his words, want to know if it’s unusual in Britain to not wear your wedding ring.

Or did someone photoshop her ring out of the Mother’s Day photo, too? Is that even her hand in the picture?

I wonder if Kate knows she has achieved the impossible in bringing America together in this way.

I suppose that depends on where she’s been, how she’s been faring, and how much she’s checking the news – all questions that largely remain unanswered.

Either way, it’s an impressive feat and a wonderful service she has performed.

Sure, it would be nice if existential threats to the United States and its citizens were cause enough for us to find common ground. But I’m not going to be picky.

I will forever be grateful for this smidgen of evidence that, if the cause is compelling enough, America can pull itself back from the brink.

How did ‘Kate-gate’ go viral in a nation that isn’t even her own? The princess’s prolonged absence from public life has the right components to capture America’s imagination.

We are a country obsessed with The Crown and true crime. Since we rejected the British monarchy almost 250 years ago, we have rarely had the opportunity to combine the two.

The mystery of Kate’s movements and the online sleuthing required to discredit that photograph proved to be a golden moment.

But it’s the cover-up elements, which made the story stratospheric.

Like everything else in the States, conspiracy theories tend to be big – the more far-fetched, the more viral they go.

Trumpist QAnon talk has never appealed to non-partisan Instagram girlies, but speculation around a princess’s whereabouts make for perfect 20-part video series to add to your highlights reel.

That’s because Kate-gate is not your traditional conspiracy fare.

The big questions – what’s happened to Kate, where has she been – have not been whipped up from nothing.

Suspicion has been fed by a number of public-relations mishandlings from the Palace.

Stories have changed, a photo has been botched and is still being censored on social media.

This is particularly strange given the normal PR slickness of the Firm: a protective, ruthless operation that presidents and popstars envy.

Some of the rumours have taken absurd and dangerous turns. But it’s not only fantasists who have questions. Something seems to be happening; we just don’t know what.

We may never find out what Kate has been up to these past months. And perhaps we shouldn’t. Her medical issues aren’t our business, after all.

But we know what’s happened to her in the eyes of the public: Brand Kate has skyrocketed.

She and her family have become even more intriguing – the Prince and Princess of Wales’s Instagram and X accounts gained more than 200,000 followers combined in the days after the doctored photo was posted.

That intrigue has made the princess all the more sensational.

Kate is now a mega-celebrity. She has the kind of fame her sister-in-law craves so badly.

Markle’s tactic was to shout from the rooftops: to make herself and her point of view heard through every media platform and streaming service that showed any interest. It worked for a while.

Had a pandemic not scuppered her big moment, ‘Megxit’ would have been the story of 2020.

She and Harry still got to sit down with Oprah. Netflix charted their journey from the Palace to the Hollywood Hills. But attention quickly waned.

This week, the duchess finds herself doing what every fame-hustler must do in the fight for survival: launching a lifestyle brand.

Her Californian-inspired venture, called American Riviera Orchard, will be offering us fashion advice and gardening tips, along with another outlet selling artisan jams and yoga gear.

Yet as she pushes the cutlery and cookbooks, it’s absent Kate whose face is projected all over the world: a testament, if there ever was one, to the power of silence.

Given the long line of mess-ups from the Palace, this boost for Kate is a fairly good outcome.

The princess disappeared for a few months, and the world made its message clear: we simply can’t bear to be without her.

When she returns to public life, she will be more adored and loved than ever.

The rumours and theories will die down. The outpouring of support for the Princess of Wales will continue.

It seems likely that she will, as promised, resume public duty in the spring.

The future queen of England will return, radiant as ever, to stand next to her future king and her family, as if nothing ever happened.

We’ll watch on, always with the niggling feeling that there was something we weren’t told and that not knowing is the key to the charm.

As Walter Bagehot said:

‘We must not let in daylight upon magic’ – or photoshop, for that matter.

NOTE: Additional photos have been included in this article.

[free-for-all-fics]

Enola Holmes and Enola Holmes 2 Prompts Part 1! Months ago I watched both films and fell in love with Henry Cavill’s Sherlock. These have been in my notes for months because IWTV season 2 came out and put these on the back burner for a while but here they are now! I wrote so many I’ll have to split them into two separate posts. Pls tag me if you’re inspired by any of these and I’d love to read it! 🕵🏻🖤🕵🏻‍♀️

1. You and Enola are twin sisters. You both ran away from home to avoid going to Miss Harrison’s finishing school, and ended up inadvertently getting yourselves involved with a young Viscount Tewkesbury and saving his life. Ever since your successful solving of that case, the both of you have been on other wild adventures as you’ve solved cases. Competent and multitalented detectives in your own right, you and Enola have worked hard to pave your own paths in the world without relying on your older brother’s legacy. You’d both rather build your own careers on your own merit rather than riding your older brother’s coattails, so together you’ve established a separate detective agency where the two of you are business partners, colloquially known as the Sister Sleuths. Though your first attempt didn’t do so well and people mistook you and Enola for secretaries and Sherlock’s assistants, your business eventually caught on once you exposed the matchstick factory as being part of a grand network of murder, money laundering, and police corruption. While Sherlock can deal with the hoits and toits, this is where you and Enola should be.

When Sherlock took you both as his wards, you were so relieved. As your brother, you love Mycroft, but you’ve tried and failed to like him as a person. He’s so odious. A stick in the mud. Exhausting to be around. Sherlock is a much better brother and legal guardian. While Enola is off on her own blossoming romance with Viscount Tewkesbury, you haven’t met that special someone yet. You’re not too worried about your marriage prospects, though. You’re still young, hardly at risk of becoming an old maid, and, even if that were to happen, you’d be content with just adopting a cat or a dog or a bird and living in single blessedness as you solve mysteries for the rest of your life. For you, your career comes first. Romance just isn’t in the cards for you yet. As an unattached man himself, Sherlock is understanding of your decision to put romance on the back burner for now.

~

“Good day, Mister Holmes, I—”

Sherlock holds up a hand. “Don’t speak. You look out of breath.”

The other man shuts his mouth, blinking rapidly and ducking his head as if in embarrassment before slowly stepping back and unconsciously biting his lip. There’s no doubt in Sherlock’s mind that this man first went to his flat at 221 Baker Street, and when there was no answer there and he realized nobody was home, he next went to your and Enola’s agency and, when Enola or your coworkers told him you weren’t there, he asked around until he finally found your family house. He’s been running all over London. Sherlock smirks faintly, taking a puff from his pipe and looking over at the chaise lounge where you were sitting not ten minutes before. When there was an insistent and very annoying knock at the door, he had you go up to your room and stay there, asking you to work on cracking ciphers, reviewing evidence, or anything else that would help solve his and/or your current mystery. He made an inference that, just based on the style of knocking, whoever was there wouldn’t leave even if asked. He made an excuse to keep you busy, out of sight, and out of earshot while he handled this, just in case it was that ninny Inspector Lestrade come to ask questions about you like the last time you and Enola got into trouble and he had to hide you in a hidden compartment behind his wall map. But this was much, much worse.

You and Sherlock have been busy multitasking as you work on cases and fix up the property. There’s much work to be done both inside the house and the garden surrounding it outside, though you’d keep some things the same for sentimental reasons, like the chalk tally marks on the wall and the noseless bust statue of your grandfather. But this man, much older than you, a man you don’t even know, has the nerve, the gall, and the audacity to come knocking on Sherlock’s door and bring the day to a screeching halt when he asks - no, - demands your hand in marriage. As if you’re property and not a person. The man belonging to this new face stepped forward with an air of forced dignity and honor about him as your brother begrudgingly let him inside the house. Your mother, Edith, Mrs. Lane, and Mrs. Hudson are all protective of you too, of course. Their protectiveness is fierce and completely, totally built on deep love for you, just like his. Doubtless, they would not agree with what this man has come to ask of him, but they don’t need to be here to add their input. They knew what the outcome would be.

“What’s your name?” A small smile accompanies Sherlock’s seemingly innocent and innocuous inquiry as he looks up at the man in question and moves to lean his chin on his palm as he smokes his pipe, tapping the tip of it on his chin. The man gives Sherlock his name, to which the detective nods. “Funny,” he says, “I’ve never heard my sister mention that name before.”

If you hadn’t told him about this man, the logical conclusion to make would undoubtedly be that there’s more people you hadn’t mentioned to him. But if that were truly the case, that would only lead to endless trouble from him on your side. But Sherlock knows you know that, and he also knows you don’t want that. So, really, there’s only one other explanation. He waits for the wisp of smoke to waft out of his mouth before he lifts his head a little more to gaze up at the man in front of him. “Are you sure you have the right person? Are you sure you know my sister and aren’t confusing her with someone who maybe looks like her?”

The man seems to stumble for a brief moment before settling on an answer. “Yes. I’m sure. I know her.”

“Right. How?”

This garners an even longer hesitation. “I’ve seen her around town.”

Sherlock can’t help but let out a short but sharp, “HA!” in disbelief. The man stands silent, yet Sherlock can see his face growing red – not with embarrassment, but irritation, anger. His eyes dim slightly, and his fists are clenched so tight his knuckles are almost white. Temper. This man has a temper, and if something as simple as another man laughing at his expense brings out that temper, Sherlock doubts he’d ever get himself a woman that escaped the occasional abuse. Despite this, Sherlock can’t help the small smile that appears on his lips before he brings his pipe up yet again to puff. “That so? You seen her around town, yes?”

The man’s face hardens and he glares at the wall for a brief moment before turning it on Sherlock. “Yes.”

“You can hardly count that as knowing someone, Mister...” He isn’t even looking at the man as he says his name, and yet he can tell that the man opposite him probably looks like a raging bull at this moment, smoke coming out his ears and nostrils. Sure enough, when he lifts his head just enough to lay eyes on him, red is practically all he sees.

“Mr. Holmes,” the man says, clearly still attempting to cover his angered tone with a calmer one, “I am a respectable man—”

“Respectable!” Sherlock laughs. He snuffs out his pipe and throws it across the table before crossing one leg over the other, leaning back in his chair and folding his hands in his lap. “How old are you?”

“Thirty-one,” the man seethes out through gritted teeth.

Sherlock nods. He’d thought as much. “You’re practically twice her age, and yet you want to marry my little sister.”

He fidgets, though Sherlock can see it isn’t out of awkwardness. His lip keeps twitching, and his balled fists look as though they’re ready to swing and hit someone at any time. If the man is foolish enough to resort to violence and try to hit him, Sherlock is prepared. He’s an accomplished swordsman, singlestick fighter, and pugilist, after all.

“Do you even know how old she is?” Sherlock asks, voice still calm yet still extremely unforgiving. “Answer the question, Mister…” Sherlock demands with a faint nod.

The man has the decency to look frightened for just a second before he schools his features and lifts his chin defiantly. “No. But I do know that she’s a young lady that needs to be married—”

“Needs to be married?” Sherlock’s voice rises a notch. There’s a deep frown on his face as he uncrosses his legs and stands to his feet, moving closer to the man stood in front of him. Sherlock’s height is greater than the man’s. “Needs to be married, you say? My sister is seventeen, and only just turned. She’s not even of age yet, so don’t you dare tell me what she needs. I haven’t thought about her marriage once. To society, she may no longer be a child and is now a young woman and therefore entitled to the rights and freedoms that come with it and with that I can agree but, until the day she turns eighteen, she’s still my ward. And even after she turns eighteen, she’ll still be my sister. And it is my duty as her legal guardian and older brother to protect her.”

The poor bloke soon finds himself face to face with none other than the Sherlock Holmes, his nose mere inches from his own. Now he’s closer, he can clearly see the anger swimming in those blue - like hard, cold ice - eyes, and the way his jaw is firmly clenched. No doubt he’s trying desperately to maintain his composure and control the emotions that are so obviously struggling to take over.

“Marriage isn’t something she needs protection from. Women get married to older men all the time, Mr. Holmes.”

“Not in this house and not to men like you.”

He stiffens. “Men like me? What are you insinuating? As I said, I am respectable—”

“There’s nothing respectable about coming into someone’s house and asking to marry their seventeen-year-old sister, a girl you’ve never even met before!” Sherlock hisses. “Do you seriously believe she’d want to marry you?”

“She doesn’t have to want it,” The man says, moving his face closer to Sherlock’s. His voice is challenging, steady, and yet nothing but poison. “As you said, you’re her older brother. She’s your ward. Make her!”

The man can’t contain a gasp as he’s punched hard in the face. The sting and burn that accompanies the greatest detective’s fist connecting with his cheek only grows worse with each passing second, even after Sherlock withdraws, and he hastily reaches up to grasp at his aching skin, afraid that he’s possibly bleeding. He isn’t, but it’ll definitely leave him with a purple eye. He turns accusing eyes on the offender not a second later, yet makes no move to speak. All signs of confidence have drained from his face, leaving nothing but fear and shock. He turns his attention back on Sherlock as the man moves to speak.

“I would never make her marry a man like you,” he grinds out through gritted teeth. “In fact, I would never make her do anything. She can decide what it is she wants to do for herself. I’m her brother, her legal guardian, but not her owner. All you want from her is the money she has, and the family name and body she possesses. You want to marry her just so you can further yourself and reap whatever benefits you can sow from such a match. Having the world’s greatest detective as your brother-in-law would put quite a feather in your cap. Give you grounds to boast at parties. But I doubt you even know her first name.”

The man has the good sense not to answer. Each word Sherlock utters seems as though it’s dripping with venom, and it’s all aimed at him. If he’d ever doubted the famous Sherlock Holmes before, he doesn’t now.

“You are mad,” he says quietly, though it’s loud enough for Sherlock to hear. “Why you wouldn’t want someone like me as your brother-in-law I have no—” He steps back as another punch is aimed at his still-burning skin in warning. His purple eye will become black if he isn’t careful. He clings to his cheek yet again and glares at Sherlock, who stands rooted to the spot, feet apart, arms crossed over his muscled chest, and an emotionless expression on his face as he arches an eyebrow.

“No idea? I have plenty. See, I know all about you. Beyond the fact that you’re entitled and suffer from an inflated ego and delusions of grandeur and self-importance, I know about your past marriage and divorce, and the mistresses you got pregnant. See, men like you like to get young girls like my sister pregnant to prove to their fellow financial-types that their pecker still works. Set the mistresses up in an apartment with fancy clothes and such. I know how you arranged to have your bastard babies taken away and then sterilized and abandoned the mothers after they gave birth. Only, one of the girls bled too much, so she was kept intact.”

“She worked in service. She was impressed by fine clothes, a dinner out. Perhaps I persuaded her to think that my intentions were…”

“Honorable?”

“She was hot-blooded. Feisty. Like a mare that needs breaking in.”

“So you broke her in?”

“She didn’t understand the rules.”

“What are the rules? You take her innocence, her youth, her prospects in respectable society, and then you have her child taken off her and sent God knows where?”

“I thought her child had died.”

“Indeed he did. Her baby boy was stillborn. As for the others, they’re scattered about. I can only pray those bastards take after their mothers and not you. Do you want to say anything else, sir, or can we bring this madness to an end?” Sherlock asks, calm and smooth.

He breathes in deep and has the decency to look slightly shameful. But only slightly. “No, Mr. Holmes. I don’t.”

Sherlock nods, the corners of his mouth turning upwards. He steps forward. “I can’t believe you had the nerve to come here and ask that of me. You’re a brave one, I’ll admit, or a stupid one. But if you actually walked through that door with the idea you’d walk out engaged to my sister then your skull is thicker than it looks. When she marries, and it won’t be for a few years yet, if ever, it’ll be for love or for business. But not convenience. I’m not handing her over to the first man that walks through my house.”

The man scoffs and opens his mouth to speak again, but Sherlock holds up his hand and tilts his head slightly to the side. “You’ve had your say, Mister, so don’t speak another word. You came here with a question, and my answer is no. Now, get out before I hit you again or call the police.”

He has just enough time to insult Sherlock under his breath before turning and hurrying out the door Mrs. Lane opens for him. The door shuts loudly, almost shaking the building, and Sherlock sighs before reaching down for his pipe. “He won’t be coming back. He better not,” he says to himself, smoothing back his curly, dark hair that somehow became even more messy and disheveled than normal in just a few minutes. That man really made his blood boil.

He walks upstairs to your room and sits next to you, listening intently as you show him all you’ve done so far and what’s left to do. All the while, he can’t help but let his eyes linger on your guileless, youthful face, and his attention strays entirely to the way you’re rapidly talking about what you’ve found so far on your current case, and getting increasingly frustrated simply at the prospect of reaching a dead end. He shakes his head the slightest bit, wondering to himself how anyone could take one look at you and think it all right to have you as their wife. You’re a woman in many ways, but still a child in other ways, the baby of the family, and he isn’t just saying that.

Giving you a husband would take away your freedom and your innocence, something he adores in you, but, more importantly, giving you a husband would take you away from him. No matter what anyone says about the Holmes family, the one thing that will always remain true is the fact that you and Enola come before anything else, even his detective work. He’ll be damned if he hands you over to a man – any man – and only sees you a few times a month, or even possibly a year. You and Enola keep the family together; you’re the light, the hope, and the future of the Holmes legacy, and without you he’d probably spend most of his days at a pub, chasing away his problems with drink and/or drugs or living in his mess of an apartment, vexed by his cases instead of sitting with you, listening to you simply speak and feeling those worries and fears drift away into nothing. You keep him sane. You keep him whole. You’re more than his sister, you’re his friend, something he never thought you or Enola could be considering your age gap, and his tendency to be a workaholic and antisocial. He needs to hang onto you just a little longer before he lets you go. Just a little longer. When you ask, he tells you what transpired.

“No one’s going to be marrying my sister anytime soon, least of all someone like that. You and Enola are the youngest of the Holmes children. You’ll make your own choices when you’re older and I’ll know better than to speak for my sisters. But, for now, I’ll look out for you, as I’ve done, and keep those leeches and predators off your tail. No one’ll get near you if I have anything to say about it, which I will. But the next time some stranger comes in here asking for your hand in marriage, I’ll step back and I’ll give you permission to punch him in the face before we kick him out onto the streets together. You can always say it was me who gave him that purple or black eye.” He smiles at you, and you return it immediately, before pulling him into a quick hug. “No one’s taking my sisters away from me just yet. This isn't about you being my sister or my ward," he says, his voice softening further as he leans in closer. "This is about you simply being you and a force to be reckoned with in my life. I do everything I can to not overwhelm you, to not stifle you. Your independence and your drive to push further and discover new things are just some of the many, many things I absolutely adore about you, even if you frighten me sometimes. I don't want to ever be the cause of those beautiful qualities being taken from you.”

"I..." you begin, your eyes wide and glossy with unshed tears. You hold his gaze for a moment before looking down at your joined hands. "I've been told many times in my life that I shouldn't or couldn't do something. And as much as I hate to admit it, I wasn't deaf to it." You shrug, your gaze unfocused, and continue, "And you know perhaps better than anybody…the treatment of others can linger, no matter how far removed we may be from it. And then an innocent party such as my brother, who I love immensely is willing to take the blame." You take a breath and meet his gaze, a sad smile on your lips. "I'm better than that, and I'm sorry.”

"Old habits," he conceded, smiling faintly.

"Indeed."

Being alone doesn't mean you have to be lonely. Mother never wanted that. She wanted you to find your freedom, your future, your purpose. Sherlock wants the same for you too. You are a detective, you are a decipherer, and you are a finder of lost souls. Your life is your own. And the future is up to you.

2. You’re Sherlock’s younger sister and Enola’s twin. Like her, you believe yourself quite capable of something more than just becoming a wife and a mother, spending days on end with needlepoint and tea. But you’re still a teenager and you begin to feel…things. Strange urges in your mind and body that you’ve never felt before and can’t explain, especially when you think of men. Either you’re in Miss Harrison’s Finishing School with Enola against your will and she catches you in the act, or your brother, Sherlock, catches you in the act at home (luckily you’re covered by your blankets and bedsheets, but your sounds you try to muffle and movements still make it obvious to him or to Miss Harrison what you were doing). Eudoria was not an ordinary mother. She didn't teach you and Enola to string seashells or practice your embroidery. You did different things: Reading, science, sports, all sorts of exercise, both physical and mental. She said you were free to do anything at Ferndell and be anyone. She was your and Enola’s whole world. But she didn't share everything with you. Eudoria believed privacy was the highest virtue, and the one most frequently violated. And though she prepared you and Enola for many things... The outside world was not one of them.

“Every night, Mr. Holmes, every night, she touches. The priest says she needs ice baths and leeches.”

“Leeches?”

“The priest says the devil is in her mind, tempting her. Mycroft is her legal guardian, but he’s unavailable. That's why I’ve called you here and brought her to you. To decide what is to be done.”

“Miss Harrison, there is nothing wrong with my sister’s mind.” He turns to you. “You're becoming a young woman. And there's not a thing Miss Harrison nor any priest can do about it.”

“The body's the temple of the Holy Spirit. It is a blessed gift not to be defiled by lust.”

“Yes, I, too, learned scripture when I was young. But instead of answers, I found only questions. Why does God allow us to feel both pleasure and pain? Why has he given a young girl like my sister impulses and desires she cannot begin to fathom or control? Is this the God of who we speak?”

“Mr. Holmes, my point is that her body is not her own. It is meant for her husband and her husband only. And until she has a husband, she must keep herself intact if she’s to ever have any hope of having future prospects.”

“Miss Harrison, that’s quite enough. I will not tolerate my sister being spoken about as if she isn’t in the room with us. And I especially won’t tolerate her being talked about as if she is nothing more than an object or vehicle to be controlled and used by men to satisfy their desires. I won’t hear of it. Not by man, nor by God. She’s female, but she’s still a person, with her own thoughts, imagination, hopes, dreams, ambitions, needs, and desires. Her mind and body is her own, not some hypothetical man’s. Now, please, remove yourself from this room and I will remove my sisters from these premises. I see keeping them here is leading nowhere. This curriculum of yours isn’t benefiting them in any substantial way, so I withdraw both of my sisters from your school. Their time here is officially over. She and Enola will be coming home with me.”

“But Mr. Holmes, you can’t just— your brother said—”

“Leave Mycroft to me. I’ll deal with him. If you’d get her and Enola’s things, Ms. Harrison, we’ll leave at once.”

Or, if Sherlock catches you at home, maybe you believe yourself to be terribly sick with fever, shortness of breath, etc. Your body and/or head hurts, especially when you have your monthly courses, and doing this brings you immense relief but you’re not sure why. Since your father is dead and your mother is on the run and never bothered to give you any sort of guidance on this matter, it’s up to your older brother, Sherlock, as your legal guardian while your mother is gone, to sit down with you and give you “the talk” that she neglected to give you. Just another thing about the outside world that she didn’t teach you.

“What I mean is there are other things…physical…or perhaps intangible…that bring a couple together. Well, yes, of course there’s more to a marriage, physical and intangible. Both.”

“Both? But how can something be both physical and intangible when they are quite the opposite? You are beastly! Never mind.”

“No. I’m not laughing at you. I’m laughing at the absurdity of how little mothers tell their daughters, including our own.”

“They tell us nothing. Mother told Enola and I nothing. ‘Oh, you've time enough for the world. Let it do its damage later,’ she said. No one else will tell me anything. So, how am I to find a proper husband if I do not even know what I am to be searching for?”

“You will know when you know.”

“What does that even mean?”

“I cannot tell you.”

“I thought we were family. Tell me. Tell me!”

“All right! All right! What happens between a husband and a wife… Well, it is a natural continuation of what happens at night.”

“At night? What happens at night?”

“When you are alone.”

“When I am sleeping?”

“Not when you are sleeping. When you touch yourself. You do touch yourself? When you are alone, you can touch yourself…anywhere on your body, anywhere that gives you pleasure, but especially…between your legs. And when you find a feeling you particularly enjoy…you can carry on with that…until the feeling grows, and eventually you reach…a pinnacle, a release. And that should help you…come. You don’t need a husband to perform the act you’ve been performing, or to achieve an…orgasm. But you know that already.”

“But, if I don’t need a husband to do…this… How does a lady come to be with child?”

“Sister, what a question!”

“I thought one needed to be married.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Apparently, it’s not even a requirement.”

“Sister, that is enough.”

“I take it you know?”

“Do not look at me. I’ve said too much already.”

“I must know, Brother. Or else how can I be sure it won’t happen to me? I’m not pregnant now, am I?”

“Have you ever…shared your bed with a boy? Have you ever let a boy touch you the way you touch yourself? Or in…other ways?”

“No. It was an all girl’s school, Sherlock.” You look at him like ‘Duh’.

He clears his throat awkwardly. “Right. Then.:. Then no. No, you’re not pregnant. For that to happen you’d need to…it takes more… Have you ever visited a farm?”

“Sherlock Holmes, I hope you are not encouraging improper topics of conversation.”

“Not at all, Edith. In fact, I was just heading off to…take my stick out.”

“Sherlock Holmes!”

“A round of fencing.”

“Oh, but… Sherlock, you were playing so lovely on your violin. Don’t go just yet. Please, do go on. I want to hear some more.”

At night, You sit outside in a tree, looking up at the moon from your vantage point on the tree branch as you smoke a cigarette, only for your brother, Sherlock, to catch you.

“Y/N Holmes.”

“Go on, then. Chastise me.”

“Spare one for me?” He sits below you by the base of the tree. You reach down and hand him a light as he takes a smoke from his pipe.

“Suppose I desire something different.”

“How do you mean?”

“Just…different. At the finishing school, I watched all those other girls with their needlepoint and table manners… I watch women prepare for these balls with all of those dresses and secret language of their fans and the many suitors, and I am…exhausted. Suppose I want a different life, Sherlock, that I truly believe I am quite capable of something more…even when I am not allowed to have anything else.”

“Then I would say…that you’re not the only one.”

3. You’re Sherlock Holmes’ wife (and possibly Laszlo Kreizler’s sister, if you want an Alienist crossover). You’re pregnant with your first child. Despite that, you still insist on helping with cases. Obviously you can’t and won’t go out into the field directly because that’s too dangerous, but sometimes you still sit up in bed and write away in your notebook or sketch away in your sketchbook until your hands are sore. Ever since you told Sherlock of your pregnancy, he’s been even more protective and hovering than he was before, even when you’re not showing yet. No matter how much Sherlock tries to get you to stop thinking about any cases, to rest, to relax, to focus on growing your child, you’re stubborn and refuse. You’re pregnant, but not a complete invalid. You can still help and be useful. And besides, staying active during pregnancy is important.

When your sister-in-law, Enola, brings home your husband after he’s had far too much to drink, you let her stay overnight. You’re no stranger to your husband’s habits. Sherlock occasionally used addictive drugs, especially in the absence of stimulating cases. He sometimes used morphine and cocaine, the latter of which he injected in a seven-per cent solution; both drugs being legal in 19th-century England. You strongly disapproved of your husband’s cocaine habit, describing it as his only vice, and concerned about its effect on his mental health and intellect. Although you have "weaned" Sherlock from drugs, the detective remains an addict whose habit is "not dead, but merely sleeping". Your compromise is that he can still use tobacco, smoking cigarettes, cigars, and pipes, so long as he does so outside or away from you (the smell is too much now and you don’t want to inhale secondhand smoke) and go out for a drink now and again. He almost never imbibes, especially not while you’re pregnant, but his current case is vexing him. There’s a lot of question marks on that case board. The only other time you saw him like this was after his bachelor party. He called your name from the coach, his voice threatening to wake the whole neighborhood before you opened your window.

~

“Keep your voice down!”

“Please come and join us.”

“I’m not going to your bachelor party, Sherlock Holmes.”

“This part of the evening is over. It’ll be a more intimate gathering of only our closest friends.”

“It’s far too late and entirely inappropriate.”

“It’s now the very witching time of night, when churchyards yawn and Hell itself breathes out contagion to this world.”

“Are you intoxicated, Sherlock? Is he, John?”

“Lingonberry schnapps, and perhaps one or two glasses of champagne,” Sherlock slurs.

“Or three.”

“I still have my wits about me, though.”

“Really I don’t…”

“Please, Y/N. I know many of our good friends would be sorely disappointed by your absence.”

~

Your pregnancy was making it difficult to get comfortable in bed and sleep, anyway. Lucky for the both of you is that Sherlock falls asleep almost immediately as soon as he takes off his scarf and coat and collapses onto the couch. You apologize to Enola for the mess. Your flat isn’t usually like this, in such a state of disarray. You would’ve cleaned, but you’ve been so tired or nauseous and mobility may or may not be limited depending on how far along you are. Her questions about the case from the night before turn into questions about you and Sherlock in the morning, more specifically, what it is to be in love. Enola asks you about love because she’s still unsure of her feelings for Tewkesbury.

“Do you regret not visiting your ex-fiancé?”

“We hardly had time.”

“One makes time when one wants to.”

“Then there's your answer. May I ask, why are you so interested?”

“Bessie is counting on me to find Sarah.”

“I meant in my seeing my ex-fiancé.”

“I remember when you first met him. Your company was rather dull because you could think of nothing else. You’re like that with Sherlock too. What does it feel like when you're in the first throes?”

“Well, you and I are already well aware that neither your brother nor the young Lord Tewkesbury are ordinary men. To be in love and to know you’re in love is different for everyone, I’d imagine. For your brother and I, it is…restlessness, above all. Our minds are never still. He waits at a street corner in case I happen to pass by... I attend a party that I’d otherwise dread in hopes he’s been invited or found a way to sneak in. And we usually end up bringing almost every conversation back to love in some way. Love, passion… They can be powerful motives. It has been in many of our past cases.”

You would’ve continued your conversation the following morning, but Sherlock woke up before you and Enola. While he purposefully startled Enola awake, he wanted to let you sleep. But you woke up anyway to them bickering back and forth.

“And why, pray, have you moved everything?”

You and Enola both look around. “Nothing looks different to us.”

“Nothing looks different? Ev— ohhhh…” And there’s the hangover headache kicking in.

“Your head is sore? I can’t think why.”

“This is why I don’t have people in our rooms, my love,” he says to you. “Look what Enola has done. My papers are entirely out of order.” He says, kneeling down to ‘rearrange’ them.

“Your case, it’s vexing you. Seems to be an awful lot of question marks on that map of yours.”

Sherlock’s patience has run out. “Dundee cake. Door. I will see you again.”

“Maybe I can help.”

“You can help by leaving.”

After a few more minutes of sibling bickering, Enola takes the Dundee cake and leaves. Sherlock turns his focus to you, asking you tons of questions about last night and if Enola bothered you too much, etc.

You settle back into your shared bed. “I’m all right,” you reassure him, bringing your hand up to comb through his hair and settle along his jaw. “I promise I’ll tell you if I’m ever not.”

He lets out a shaky breath, closes his eyes, and nods. Turning his head, he covers your hand with his own and places a light kiss along the edge of your palm. He settles both of your hands in your covered lap.   

“Can I get you anything, darling?”

Your eyes lighting up, you smile and squeeze his hand tightly before releasing it and sliding down further into your sheets. “Actually, do you mind handing me my sketchpad and charcoal? It’s just there,” you say, pointing toward your vanity in the corner.

When he returns with it safely in hand, his eyes questioning, you motion for him to join you in the bed with a reassuring smile. After removing his robe and his slippers, Sherlock slides under the covers next to you and adjusts you gently. You grimace and yelp softly as his leg grazes your hip, and he whispers calming apologies into your hair as you settle into his side with your sketchpad in hand.  

“All right?”

You nod soundlessly, steady yourself with a soothing breath, and begin to sketch and make notes. “Enola and I were discussing the case last night. Going over what we’ve found so far, possible theories… Something she said last night got me thinking…”

“What did you have in mind?”     

“What if…” you begin, your voice growing stronger as you speak.

He marvels at you silently and smiles into your hair. His genius wife.

4. Sherlock invites you out to dinner because, though he’s hesitant to admit it, he needs help on this case. He’s found himself stuck at an impasse or what’s almost a dead end, frustrated at having only one lead, and that one lead only leading him in circles like some intricate dance. He thinks maybe having you, a woman, to consult with will help him to see from a different perspective and help him find something he was missing or overlooking before. Maybe you’re Laszlo Kreizler’s sister and your reputation as an Alienist and/or experience in detective work encourages him to seek you out.

“It is very intimate.”

“I gather you mean it’s not Delmonico’s and I entirely know your point, but you see, I quite like to dine alone on occasion.”

“As do I. To what shall we drink?”

“Let us drink to getting drunk.”

“I’m not entirely sure that’s possible. I do not like to…”

“To lose control?”

“Behave indelicately.”

“Your message sounded urgent.”

“Yes. Truth be told, I’ve reached an impasse and I thought you might shake some of the rocks free with…a criminal investigation, actually. In truth… There are facets of the female mind I find very difficult to grasp.”

“Am I to be your subject or your sounding board?”

“The latter, of course. But I’m puzzled to no end by the actions of this woman. Once I think I’ve gotten a handle of her motivations, she…”

“She surprises you?”

“Yes. Exactly. Yes. That is why I thought it would be invigorating to engage on this…with a colleague.”

“A colleague.”

“Another toast. What shall we drink to this time, Miss Kreizler?”

“To collaboration.”

“It is a fascinating case.”

“What disturbs you about this one?”

“Well, it’s an unexpected fetish for a woman who uses her breasts as deliverers of death.”

“A dramatic turn of phrase for something I might argue might not be a fetish at all.”

“You wouldn’t consider this behavior a deviation? I am surprised to hear such an argument.”

“From a woman?”

“The most recent studies suggest a fetish is a means by which a man reduces a woman to a fraction of herself, experiencing sexual gratification. The fetish is pleasurable because it partializes a woman and thereby renders her non-threatening.”

“Has that been your experience?”

“Sorry?”

“If your gaze were attracted by a shapely bosom, do you forget about the woman to whom these parts belong? Have you forgotten all of me when you see my ankle?”

“I don’t categorize myself among the sufferers of this pathology.”

“Perhaps this type of attraction is not the pathology at all, and perhaps a woman might enjoy her part in such a ritual. With adult males, a woman’s breasts are life-affirming. She doesn’t use them in this context; she puts them in a position to respond to pleasure. Breasts are erogenous zones.”

“I’m aware of that, of course. But the public nature of it?”

“It’s interesting, I agree.”

Your discussion over drinks leads you and Sherlock back to his flat where you, whether you’re both a little (or very) drunk or not, engage in such a sexual activity. You let Sherlock help you undress and when you finally undo your corset and free your breasts, you have him stay seated while you stand, guiding his head, more specifically his mouth, to your breasts to suck on your nipple. You both found the feeding ritual strangely arousing. Of course, Sherlock had seen women’s bare breasts before, but he hadn’t made such avid mouth contact as he had with you - the greed, the need, the furious dependence he had for the flesh and the milk made you lightheaded, in a good way. When no one was looking, you would take Sherlock and put him in contact with your skin and rejoice in the moaning and the coughing of the avid detective as you show him how pleasure can be derived from such an act, how you, as a woman, enjoy your part in such a ritual as he “feeds” from you. Performing these sex acts helps Sherlock get into the mind of the person he’s after. This was just what he needed to get unstuck and have a breakthrough in his case.

~

“Crazy idea. Have you ever considered a flatmate?”

“For what purpose?”

“To stop you descending into this! You should not have to shoulder this burden alone.”

“I haven’t. I didn’t. There is someone who has been a consolation to me.”

“Someone?”

“A woman.”

“Oh.”

“Not quite like that. She’s a formidable woman, a detective in her own right. Y/N Kreizler. She’s given me great counsel.”

“A kindred spirit.”

“Perhaps. Yes, I think she is.”

“I’m happy for you, Sherlock, that you found such an agreeable companion.”

~

One afternoon, Sherlock spots you in the market doing some shopping. With a baby on your hip. He sees you, you see him, and he sees you see him, but instead of walking up to you or greeting you, he turns the other way and leaves. He needs to think about what it might mean if the child is indeed yours. He finds himself confiding in his sister.

“You know, why should I care if that's Y/N’s baby? You don't believe me, do you?”

“Believe what?” Enola asks.

“That I don't have feelings for her.”

“I came into this world many years after you did, but I’m not an idiot, Brother. I know you better than anyone. I know you better than you know yourself. You're in love with her.”

~

“Enola. I applogize. It was not my intention to intrude upon you.” You say apologetically from your spot on the couch in her office.

“Didn’t want to wake you. Sleep is a rare commodity for us both these days. I phoned Sherlock to let him know where you were. I hope you don’t mind.”

“Of course not. That was very courteous of you. Did he say anything?”

“Only mumbled about extremes you’re willing to go to avoid either confrontation or conversation. I forget which.”

“Both apply.”

“If you’d like to talk about it…”

“I would not.”

“Would it help if I already knew what it was concerning?”

“No.”

~

“Hello?” You ask as you pick up the phone while Enola steps out for a minute. You don’t think much about who could be on the other line. Until you hear his voice.

“Oh, thank God. I’m so relieved to hear your voice. I’ve been expecting you. Enola said you left her detective agency hours ago.”

“I’m sorry. I was supposed to, but right as I was about to leave, there was more work to be done at the office.”

“Have you uncovered a new lead? Y/N, if you refuse to speak to me, I—”

“I’ve not refused.”

“You have. And it’s unbearable.”

“I think you know by now that I find it particularly difficult and I have trouble…”

“Expressing?”

“Yes. Expressing. But I thought what we did was rather wonderful. However ill-conceived it may have been.”

“Are you saying you regret it?”

“No. That’s not what I meant. But we did not think it through. What it was.”

“The question is not what was, it…it’s what is and…what will be. I’m asking what you want. Damn it, Y/N. I can’t do this anymore. This talking in circles, it’s maddening.”

“Sherlock. I didn't sleep with you to try and trick you or force you to look after my child. You know, I can earn my own living. But what I don't want is to be alone for the rest of my life because a man I was foolish enough to marry was too cowardly to face up to his duties.”

“I'm sorry for what happened to you, truly. But, if you’ll have me, I'm ready to take care of you and your child. Bloody hell, I love you. And I will make a decision for the both of us if I must. Goodnight Y/N.”

~

“I meant what I said before.”

“No, you didn't. You're in love with what you don't have. You're in love with your dreams.”

“Aren't you?”

“Yes. I suppose I am.”

“Very well, then. I shall wait very patiently until you become the first female Chief of Detectives. In the meantime, let me accompany you to a carriage.”

“I'm perfectly safe, thank you. Cab!”

“I won't wait all night. The 20th century is almost upon us, and with it, a bright new future with bright new ideas. Why, women might even get the right to vote. Washington Square, please.”

“Sherlock Holmes, you just took my cab!”

~

“You play chess so romantically, Sherlock, with such daring, gallantly accepting my gambits, and yet, still mercilessly ruining me. Perhaps you play with such reckless abandon because there's little at stake. There's no risk. Knight to king's knight seven, knight takes pawn. Check.”

“King to queen one. Are you offering a wager?”

“Queen to bishop's knight six. Check. Indeed. Should you lose, then you're mine to do with as I so wish.”

“I fear at this moment, I would have an unfair advantage. What you suggest sounds positively Faustian. You mean to take my immortal soul. Yet hardly likely, Y/N, when my knight takes your queen.”

“Perhaps merely your mortal body, then? Checkmate. I do believe I did say to do with you as I so pleased.”

“Are you sure I can't tempt you to stay in England with me?”

“I'm sure Laszlo and the institute would thrive or even prosper without me. He’s realized he’s not some omniscient god.”

“That's quite the breakthrough, to know one is not divine.”

“A breakthrough you made for yourself?”

“Yes, I'm simply a man, quite an imperfect creature. But your arrival in my life has precipitated a desire to change. I must…”

You kiss him. “Don't change too much. I like the man you are.” You pause, as if considering. “Tell me… How is the weather in England during the Spring?”

~

“Laszlo, Sherlock has asked me to stay with him in England, as his wife.”

“Are you thinking of accepting him? Whatever it is you decide, you must place your own happiness first.”

“Sherlock means the world to me. And yet, I fear we desire different things.”

“But there’s more?”

“I feel pulled every which way.”

“You should abide by your own advice.”

“What of you?“

“Despite all my knowledge of life and my own advice to patients, I hesitate. I tread gingerly when I should step purposefully.”

“I should step purposefully, then.”

“Yes.”

“I shall miss you, Laszlo.”

“And I, you, but this isn’t the time for melancholia. Even so, as we find ourselves oceans apart.”

“I hope there will still be occasion for us to dine together when I return.”

“If you return. So how long will you be in England for?”

“I'm not sure. Six months, perhaps longer.”

“And you'll have Mr. Holmes to share the adventure with.”

“Will you come over for the wedding?”

“We’ll see. We’ll talk about that later. But for now, why don’t you and Sherlock go out and drink to your engagement?”

“American bourbon, straight up. Well, I better go and tell Sherlock my answer. I can’t keep him waiting forever, poor thing. The anticipation must be killing him. I love you, Laszlo. Goodbye.”

“I love you too, little sister. Bye.”

~

Unbeknownst to you, your brother, Laszlo, mails Sherlock the ring that was meant for Mary. Enclosed with the ring is a note:

Sherlock,

This was for Mary. I hope you’ll find someone you can give it to.

“Thank you, Laszlo.” Sherlock says to himself from under his breath, his voice no less sincere despite the lower volume.

~

“I want it noted I was right. About our news. It is not the appropriate time to tell the family. Not with the ongoing case and Enola’s courtship with Lord Tewkesbury. Not to mention your mother has her hands full. We can keep our secret a little longer.”

“Is this the only reason you wish to delay our news? You are happy, I hope?” Sherlock asks.

“Oh...very happy. And very busy.”

“We should tell them tonight.”

“I thought you wanted to wait.”

“You and I... we are at our happiest in this moment. And if I am honest, I have wished for it to just be the three of us a little longer. It is a great change, but you and I will make our way with our child the way we have always done with each other.”

~

“Enola, I - we have some news.”

“Sherlock, nothing is so bad that you cannot tell me. Grasp the nettle, and it hardly stings.”

“Y/N is in a delicate condition.”

“Dare I ask?”

“I'm the father.”

“What he means to say, is that we are expecting.” You interject, helping your husband find his words.

“I know. I was just waiting for you to say it.”

“What do you mean, ‘you know’?”

“The signs were obvious, Brother. For a genius, did you really think I hadn’t noticed her symptoms? I guess us women see things men don’t. This is the best news! I am happy for you, Sherlock. Because now, you get what your heart desires and that is to be a father. Of course, you love your eldest child just as much, but deep down, you wanted a child of your blood. You said that it didn't matter, but...I suspect that it did. Desiring a child of your own is nothing to be ashamed of. It's a new life, a new Holmes. Let us tell the family. They will be so delighted.”

~

“I am so envious. You cannot imagine how charming our town in America is. It has been so long since I have ridden there.”

“What about Hungary? Don’t you miss it too?”

“It has its attractions, to be sure. That being said, I attended school in America. I’ve lived there longer than I did in Hungary. My parents immigrated and moved us there when Laszlo and I were children.”

“Well, I should like to see America. In fact, I should like to see it soon. Before our child comes.”

“Now?”

“Mm.”

“Of course I want to go over with you, one day. But the journey takes months.”

“Yeah, and if we go now, we will have time to prepare for the birth there. Look, I know how much you love our life here. You have made yourself completely a part of our family. But I cannot help but feel that something is missing.”

“What about your mother? She would be missing the birth of her first grandchild. And your sister and your brother, they would be missing the birth of their first niece or nephew.”

“Our child…will always be a Holmes. But I should like them to know that they are a Kreizler as well, know their history. And it is important for me to know it so we can share that history with our child, together. Mother, Enola, and Mycroft will understand that. And we will return.”

“Please do not make me love you more. I do not think I can bear it.” You say with a smile as you kiss him, excited at your future trip.

5. A widowed man of wealth, status and power sold his only daughter in marriage to another man to better the business relationship between them, but after ten years of marriage, the daughter dies under mysterious circumstances. The regretful father hires you, A 19th century detective, to investigate the dark truth. Since 19th century society is harsh and dismissive to women with “unconventional” careers, you utilize men’s clothing, wigs, and makeup to assume a false male identity. You effectively disguise yourself as male while acting as detective. Your current client, like many clients before him, assumed he hired a man for the task.

Everyone knows of the Gentleman Thief: He was never caught, his crimes are executed with style, and he’s always quick with a clever quip with a constant smile on his face. While you’re investigating, you can’t rule out the possibility that this Gentleman Thief is just a red herring and that this might be the doing of the grieving father. He’s still a suspect of the recent death even though he hired you. Could it have been murder? Or was it an accident? Or did the daughter fake her death? To follow a lead, you disguise yourself as a mysterious noblewoman in order to be invited to a ball held by another suspect, who may or may not be engaging in suspicious or illicit activity. At this ball, you cross paths with Sherlock Holmes, who just so happens to be investigating the same case, or a case that’s connected or overlapping with yours. Nobody, except Sherlock, realizes that the detective sticking his nose in places where it doesn’t belong and the alluring noblewoman he’s met at this ball are one and the same. He knows who you really are (maybe you’re Laszlo Kreizler’s younger sister.) He doesn’t blow your cover, however. You end up in the refreshment room or a random closet together. No matter how many times you smack each other with a fan or rolled up paper and stomp on each other’s feet, declaring how much you loathe each other, you always end up kissing in the midst of arguing or discussing what you’ve found.

That very evening, The Gentleman Thief suddenly shows up at the ball, sword in hand. There’s no sign of humor about him this time. When attacking the ball, the Thief hired infiltrators to counter the guards. Which is why everyone except you and Sherlock are very surprised when it’s not the gentlemen, but instead every lady in the ball who draws swords and other weapons from their gowns. While the case isn’t yet solved, a part of you is sad that the ball had to come to an end.

“It's really over now, isn't it?”

“You sound disappointed.”

“I've never had an experience like this, and I wonder how many more I'll be allowed.”

“Somehow, I get the feeling you're done with people allowing you to do things.”

You meet again and again through your thrilling, dangerous adventure, befriending each other and falling in love. He’s always worked alone, but his sister, Enola, has shown him that perhaps you could work together.

“You're not asking Y/N to join this mad escapade of yours, are you? It will put her in a most compromised position. Look at the beasts that surround her on a daily basis.”

“I believe she's up to the task.” Enola says with confidence.

“She's not as strong as she'd like you to believe.”

“Sherlock, please. Do not let your affection for Miss L/N/Kreizler get in the way of logic.”

“My affection?! My God. Do you never tire of the sound of your own voice? Miss L/N/Kreizler is resourceful. And because she's a woman, she's unlikely to arouse suspicion. That is quite sufficient for my purposes.”

They had to stop their bickering because they could hear you approaching, conversing with others.

“…It's something new. Forensic science married with human psychology. One might easily imagine the ramifications if we are successful.” An associate says.

“I rather like it.” You then turn to Enola and Sherlock. “Pardon my candidness, but I feel I must ask. Did you have this evening entirely planned?”

“What exactly do you mean by ‘entirely’?”

“That we...I...would agree to assist you.”

“Aside from the job of scrubbing floors, you're the first woman in New York to become a successful detective. That shows initiative and a desire to advance your place in society. Am I mistaken?”

“No.”

“I've asked the commissioner for you to be the liaison between us. Your task will be to keep me informed of developments within the department and keep Inspector Lestrade abreast of our actions outside.”

“And he agreed?”

“Perhaps not in so many words. May I assume you have an interest?”

“It wouldn't be fair to assume anything about me, Mr. Holmes.”

“You look lovely this evening, Miss. May I offer you a ride?”

“No, thank you. I'd prefer to walk. Please go on without me.”

“At this hour? It’s not safe. There are scary people about.”

“Yes, let me know when you find one. I'm not a child.”

“I may not be an expert marksman, swordsman, singlestick fighter, and pugilist like you, Mr. Holmes, but I assure you I can handle myself.”

“Very well. Enola, are you coming with me?”

In the carriage, Enola can’t help the expression on her face. It’s a mix between smug and disappointed.

“She was offered a ride.”

“Though perhaps you might have insisted.”

“A little resentment and introspection will do us both some good. She’s not as strong as she’d like to think, and neither am I.”

Enola snorts at that. She can’t help it.

“You find that amusing?”

“Our weaknesses sometimes serve us better than our strengths. I'm just surprised to hear you admit you have a weakness.”

“I was speaking metaphorically.”

6. Bridgerton Crossover AU: You’re a descendant of the Bridgerton family (maybe a paternal descendant from one of the four sons, so you still carry the Bridgerton surname, or you go by Bridgerton as your professional name even if your mother took your father’s name.) You're much like your great grandmother or great aunt, Eloise, an independent and free spirit, unafraid to speak your mind or challenge societal norms to pave your own path. You meet and befriend Enola, only to fall in love with her older brother, Sherlock, as you become involved in her and/or his cases. This of course creates gossip and there's talk wherever you go, especially if/when you agree to marry him, but you don't care. Enola approves of you not for the benefits she and her brother could reap from a union with a woman from the Bridgerton bloodline, considering your social standing and wealthy inheritance, but because you make Sherlock so happy and like a better, happier version of himself. She likes this new version of her brother, a man who isn’t lonely but able to share his life with another. And it doesn’t hurt that your family is no stranger to being the subject of a scandal or gossip sheet back in the day, so you’re thick skinned and can steel yourself against any unflattering newspaper headline if you do do something wild, risky, or crazy while helping Sherlock and/or Enola on a case.

7. Something like the dinner scene from The Little Mermaid, where you perk up at seeing Sherlock’s smoking pipe and take an interest in it. Maybe you’re at a ball or some other party or social gathering to assist Sherlock with one of his cases, or Enola has invited you to come over to her family home for dinner because you’re her friend, but also as part of her plan to subtly try to set you up with Sherlock.

“Ha Ha. Come on, honey. Don't be shy.”

You enter in a beautiful dress that Enola helped you pick out. You think you look so unlike yourself you feel naked in the dress. It’s the finest dress you’ve ever worn. Enola said you could keep it, and when you tried to decline, she insisted until you gave in. It suited you.

“Oh, Sherlock, isn't she a vision?”

“You look…wonderful.”

“Come, come, come, you must be famished. Let me help you, my dear friend. There we go. Ah, quite comfy? Uh… It's… It's not ofen that we have such a lovely dinner guest, eh, Sherlock?”

Like Enola, your upbringing was rather unconventional and your table manners are…lacking, to say the least. You’re a bit of an oddball, just like her. Maybe you’re selectively mute. Everyone around you save Enola looks dumbfounded at your somewhat weird and childlike behavior and you’re embarrassed, trying to shrink back into your seat, wishing the ground would swallow you. Until you see Sherlock’s pipe when he lights it and you brighten. He notices you looking at it with awe.

“Uh, do you like it? It is rather…fine.” He hands it to you so you can admire it up close.

You turn it every which way in your hands before you bring it to your lips and blow its contents into Mycroft’s face. Sherlock laughs.

“Oh, my!” Mrs. Lane exclaims.

Sherlock clears his throat to cover up his laugh. “Ahem, so sorry, Mycroft.”

“Why, Sherlock, that's the first time I've seen you smile in weeks.”

You smile at hearing that.

Mycroft is wiping his face. “Oh, very amusing. Mrs. Lane, what's for dinner?”

“Oooh, you're gonna love it. Chef's been fixing his specialty.”

8. You’re Laszlo Kreizler’s sister and have moved from New York to England. Like your friend and colleague, John Moore, you have experience working as an illustrator who examined crime scenes closely and recreated the victims’ bodies through artwork for your brother’s investigations. You see Enola’s advertisement for her detective agency in the newspaper and become interested, so you pay her a visit. Maybe you and she could work together. You’re something of a detective yourself. When you come in and introduce yourself, Enola recognizes your name immediately and is starstruck. Not only is she excited about meeting an American woman, (Hungarian-American, you correct her slightly, but she can tell it was all in good teasing fun to get her to relax) and one with a career similar to hers to boot, she’s read about your work and that of your brother’s while studying every book in the library and reading American papers.

“And who are you, and what do you do, and how do you come to be here?” you ask.

“I’m a detective.”

“As am I.”

“You’re teasing me.”

“Yes, I’m teasing you. But it’s also true. I was an Alienist, alongside my brother. Y/N Kreizler.”

You don’t elaborate on what an Alienist is. You don’t have to. Enola already knows. Her books have told her that, in the 19th century, persons suffering from mental illness were thought to be alienated from their true natures. Experts who studied them were therefore known as alienists.

“I’ve read all your work. I’m Enola…”

“Of course I know you’re Enola Holmes. Who in New York hasn’t heard of you? The young girl detective across the pond who was responsible in cracking the Tewkesbury case. The one and only sister to the famous Sherlock Holmes.”

“It was said that you and your brother treat adults, too.”

“That is correct. But Laszlo always found children’s minds to be more interesting. As Alienists, we treated mental and emotional disorders in our patients, and we tried to alleviate their condition. We do not presume to cure them.”

You can tell Enola is a bright and very intelligent and intuitive girl, just like her older brother, but she seems down in the mouth, and you know exactly why even without asking. People haven’t been taking her seriously, have they? They all believe her to be the secretary or Sherlock’s assistant. You’ve been there. When she flips the sign to closed and prepares for the night in, she lets you stay with her. Though she knows you can handle yourself if you were to walk home or fetch a carriage at such a late hour, she’d like your company. She enjoys talking to you a great deal. You encourage her, tell her to not give up hope of building her own career, independent of her brother’s legacy. You form a bond as you tell her you’re in a similar situation. Like her, you love your brother, but didn’t want to be stuck in his shadow, so you moved to England to find your own path.

“What’s on your mind, Enola?”

“The detective agency. You know, during my time at Miss Harrison’s reform school, I never felt like I was being myself.”

“But you do here.”

“Oh, yeah. This is my own place, but I feel at times that I've been hiding behind its walls, and yet, it's my life's work, and it has given me great joy. But now I feel like a failure. Everyone is asking after Sherlock, thinking I’m his secretary or his assistant. The Tewkesbury case was mine, yet public perception is accrediting it to him. I feel I’ll never escape his shadow.”

“You will. If there is no struggle, there is no progress. Sometimes, Enola, you just have to decide what it is you want and then fight for it. You will not see a lot of photographs of detectives that look like us in the ‘Police Gazette’. Not yet, anyways. But I think of it like this: Your office here is lit by electricity, and before electricity, people used kerosene lamps, and before that, they used candles made from whale oil, and the man with the whale oil candle could never have envisioned all of this. We may be judged as women, but we must remember that we are detectives, and whether we wear skirts or trousers is immaterial to what we do. It's human nature to make mistakes, Enola. We sometimes might fail, but we should not be defined by our failures.“

You tell her of your own struggles and experiences of having to prove yourself, dealing with men underestimating you simply because you’re a woman, calling you the weaker sex, wanting your brother’s services instead just because he’s a man, etc.

~

“This is why we called upon you, Y/N.”

“I’m grateful for that trust. I can assure you I will do my utmost to help you find your daughter.”

“Well, yes, Y/N. Isobel and I hoped, we wondered if we could use your good graces to call your brother, Laszlo? Dr. Kreizler had some success, did he not, with that dreadful monster who was murdering young boy prostitutes?”

“Indeed, he did.”

“And do you not think his assistance in this case would be invaluable?“

“Should I have need for my brother, I would not hesitate to ask Laszlo for his help and insight. But what Isobel requires now, is an expert in the procedural method of criminal detection, because there is always a trail, no matter the criminal’s stealth or genius. And if you still hesitate to consider me professionally, I will remind you of the prejudice against our sex that could impede this investigation. Does it not take a woman to know that a woman who has lost a child is neither hysterical nor irrational, and that she has cause to be as she is? That she must be heard? You need a detective, and a woman such as I with the resources and the experience. I see your pain. I see your suffering. And I care. I care, deeply.”

“I want you to help me.” The woman, Isobel, finally relented, moved by your passionate words laced with such deep sincerity. And you did end up finding her infant daughter, but the case didn’t end there. There was another infant kidnapping, the grandson of a Vanderbilt.

“What do you know about her?”

“I’m not sure you want another party on this search, sir. It will dilute our efforts and perhaps bring unwanted notoriety to the case. She’s a renegade, a man in a corset. She’s a bored society girl who dabbles.”

“Well, I want to find out for myself. Miss Kreizler and Miss Howard are on their way here.”

“A slip of a girl can’t roam those streets, or these. You wouldn’t let your own daughter go anywhere near that place, would you?”

“Funny, we’ve just come from those streets. Assuming we’re the ‘slip of a girl’ you’re referring to, Mr. Byrnes? Y/N Kreizler and Sara Moore, Mr. Vanderbilt.”

You found both infants, alive and unharmed, and returned them home to their families and brought the culprit to justice.

“It is curious, is it not, at the time Mary Shelley was writing her book, there was a belief in galvanism, that man could reanimate the body through the use of electric impulses? And that day… That day they used the same potent force to take the life of an innocent woman. Underneath our skin, bone, and sinew, which of us are not monsters?” You ask Enola, not really expecting an answer.

“It was indeed monstrous what happened that day.” She quietly agrees, thinking back to what she read about that particular case. It was dreadful to read about, so she couldn’t comprehend how horrific it must’ve been for you to experience.

“I promised I would look for her missing child. My good friend, Sara Howard and her detective agency were at my disposal. She helped me in any way she could. We did have to bring in Laszlo once we realized that case was bigger than originally thought, but together, we cracked it. We were splashed on the front page of the paper, this time heralded as heroes instead of slandered as incompetent. From then on, people started to take Sara Howard and her detective agency, as well as myself and my work, seriously. But it was a long road. It still is. There’s always possibilities for change, for improvement. So while it’s normal and understandable in times like these to feel down in the dumps, you can’t let it get to you and stop you from doing what you love to do, what you were born to do. I could always use a little pick-me-up. That made me feel better. The key is to never overindulge to the point of inebriation. What would you drink, Enola?”

“I would have a glass of burgundy.”

“I have American bourbon. Straight up or watered down?”

“I will have that.”

“How goes it with your brave new adventure, detective?”

“Seems that most of my clients are rich, old dowagers who think their servants are stealing from them.”

“The curse of the greenback. The more money they make during the day, the more they worry at night over losing it. The room is unquestionably yours, Enola.” You say, looking around at the books and papers and other miscellaneous objects that decorate the living space.

“Well, the rent’s not unreasonable, and we are on a good street.”

“What I meant was…”

“I know what you meant.”

“You’ve surrounded yourself with your most valued possessions. And if I were of a mind, I would tell you much about who you are by observing the ephemera you’ve chosen to display here.”

“It’s late, Miss Kreizler. If you would kindly refrain from making a psychological profile of who I am based on the furnishings of my office.”

“Your brother is proud of you, seeing what you have accomplished.”

“I like to think so. Thank you for the bourbon, Y/N. It was restorative. And rest assured, I will call on you should I need your assistance.”

You meet Enola again at the ball, either through coincidence or careful planning.

“Miss Holmes. Fancy meeting you here.“ you whisper so only she can hear.

“Enola.”

“Very well. Then I’m Y/N to you. But for now… Let’s keep to our fake names…Tabitha. Getting any good gossip yet? Any promising leads?”

She nods.

“Good. Keep your eyes and ears open and I shall do the same.”

But unbeknownst to her, her brother is also there, and just so happens to be investigating his own case which overlaps with hers. You literally run into him.

“And in fact, it seems as if all of the most important people in England are here. Even still, I didn’t for the life of me imagine I’d meet you, Sherlock Holmes. It’s quite the honor.”

“The honor is all mine. Indeed. I would very much like to… Perhaps we could discuss…”

“My card. Do call on me, Mr. Holmes, and I’d love to be of assistance to you in your case, should you need it. I’m already assisting your sister in hers.”

While facing off with the corrupt police and the culprit behind everything on Sherlock’s current case, he gets shot in the shoulder, scaring you nearly to death. There’s so much blood staining his sleeve, you can’t tell if it’s a flesh wound or something more. You’re too occupied fighting off a bad guy of your own. You manage to kill your adversary, but also suffer an injury that requires hospitalization. During your stay, you receive visits from Sherlock. So many visits in fact that it’s like he never leaves the hospital.

“I found bits of your sketchbook in the fireplace.”

“Are you spying on me now?”

“You’d actually have to be interesting for me to bother spying on you.”

“The drawings in that sketchbook were abominable. I could not stand to look at them.”

“I believe that is why they call it a sketchbook. I write in my journal, which is not the same as writing a novel. It must be very difficult to want something and not be able to get it.”

“Sherlock…”

“If you enjoy drawing but need practice, then practice. Hire a drawing master. Find a young man to act impressed.”

“Easy for you to talk. You’re a man. If you desire the sun and the moon, all you have to do is go out and shoot at the sky. Some of us cannot. Look no further than the Brontë sisters. They all possessed a huge talent for writing, and yet they all had to hide away and publish under a false male name.”

“Yes, because if anyone knew who they truly were, they’d surely be strung up for what they wrote.”

“That is not my point. The Brontës were all talented writers, but women, therefore they had nothing, and still they wrote. You’re a man, therefore you have everything. You are able to do whatever you want. So do it. Be bold. At least that way I can live vicariously through you.”

“Are you writing under a male pseudonym? You’re an accomplished writer, always scribbling in that diary of yours. You certainly know everyone else’s business. You have more opinions than anyone else I know in London. You would have my full support and admiration either way. So… are you?”

“No. Though if I were…do you honestly think that I’d admit it?”

9. Illusionist inspired: Sherlock is hired to investigate your murder, but it turns out to be a scheme you and he concocted to successfully run away together to be married.

“Love. What it does to people.”

Inspector Lestrade tells the story of a man who claimed to be a clairvoyant and the noblewoman he fell in love with to Sherlock.

The clairvoyant was born the son of a carpenter, and became interested in magic. He fell in love with you, a woman of German or Austro-Hungarian nobility, but you were forbidden to see each other as he wasn’t of noble birth. You kept meeting secretly but, in 1889, you were caught and separated by force after your lover was arrested in Austria-Hungary by a German Chief Inspector during a magic show involving necromancy. Years later, the clairvoyant returned to Vienna to perform. During one performance, he encountered you again and learned that you were expected to marry a nobleman, who, it was rumored, was brutal towards women and even murdered one but used his power and connections to have it covered up. Your betrothed invited your clairvoyant lover to give a private performance at his home, which was an opulent palace. During the performance, he humiliated the nobleman in front of the royal guests; in response, he was banned from performing again. When you came to offer your lover help, you made love instead. Your lover asked you to flee with him, but you were afraid you would be caught and executed. You revealed that the nobleman was planning a coup against his elderly father. You tried to end your engagement with him, and your body was discovered the next morning in the Vienna Woods, an unknown man blamed. This threw your lover into depression. He bought a theatre and began a new series of shows focusing on the summoning of dead spirits.

Your betrothed secretly attended one, during which the clairvoyant summoned your spirit, who said that someone in the theatre was your murderer. Your betrothed, unnerved, ordered the police to arrest the clairvoyant for fraud, but he avoided jail by confessing to the public that his show was an illusion. He was threatened that if he summoned you in his next performance, he would be imprisoned. The police attended the performance, and in spite of the warnings, the clairvoyant summoned you again. Police stormed the stage, but to the shock of the audience, the clairvoyant himself was revealed to be a spirit when the police officers’ hands passed through him. The German Inspector revealed to your betrothed that he had found evidence—your locket—which could implicate him in your murder, and that he knew about the plan all along but chose to support it since he thought the nobleman was better and more competent than his elderly father and he could get a promotion to Chief of Police by supporting him. However, your death made him realize your fiancé was also unfit so he changed his mind and informed your fiancé’s father and the Austro-Hungarian General Staff of his conspiracy to seize his father’s position and power. As officers arrived, feeling cornered, your unwanted fiancé shot himself in the head. The Inspector left and placed your locket in his pocket. He was now no longer Chief Inspector of Police.

As a boy approached him, he was jostled by a man in a long coat. The boy gave him a package containing the clairvoyant’s notebook about the Orange Tree trick, which the German inspector had been unable to figure out. He shouted to the boy asking who gave him the notebook, and when the boy replied, "Herr Sigerson," he realized the person who jostled him stole the locket. He chased the man, but he boarded a train and escaped. The inspector realized the jostling and the notebook were a message from the illusionist, and he began to rethink recent events. He concluded that you and your lover staged your death so that you could be free of your betrothed, with your ghostly apparitions being nothing more than illusions, smoke and mirrors. The inspector laughed delightedly at the brilliance of their plan. As Lestrade concludes his tale, Sherlock asks if they ever discovered where you and your lover went. Lestrade answers in the negative, but hypothesizes that they ran away somewhere to start a new life. Sherlock excuses himself and leaves Lestrade’s office, claiming he must get home to his wife. The German or Austro-Hungarian noblewoman is you, the clairvoyant is Sherlock, and together you pulled off the greatest trick the world will never know, a mystery that will boggle future generations long after you’re both dead. Far away from your hometown, you and your husband, Sherlock, have started a new life together in England. Every morning, Sherlock places your locket around your neck for you, kissing up and down your neck and shoulders while doing so. Here, you’re not a noblewoman. You’re simply Mrs. Holmes and you get on with your lives like thousands of others.

10. A Little Princess-esque AU: You’re short on money, and decide to get a job as a scullery maid at Miss Harrison’s Finishing School for Girls. The school is often a mess because of the many students, and you work yourself to exhaustion cleaning up after them. You’re instructed by Miss Harrison to give the newest student, Enola Holmes, a tour of the facilities.

“The exercise room is over here. The music room is down the hall. The dormitories are upstairs, and you may have seen the playground. Or the ground where the playing would be if it was permitted. You look as if you like playing outdoors.”

You befriend Miss Holmes, who insists you call her by her first name, Enola. You take time out of your busy days to visit with her in private and give her words of encouragement, and make fun of Miss Harrison for her unrequited love for Mycroft, among other things. You’re a spot of hope or sunshine for her in this drab and miserable place.

“Do you know why I am an educator? It's because I want to make people happy. I want you to live a full and vibrant life. Not with anger and endless questions, but with answers. I prepare my girls for the world, for the real world. I would never abandon you and leave you to fend for yourself. Yes. Mycroft told me.”

“My mother had her reasons.”

“I'm sure she did. I knew your mother. We were friends for a while. At school. She was a peculiar little thing. Was always unpredictable, always challenging. She never truly cared for anything except her own...unusual ideas.”

“She cared for me.”

“Then why did she leave you? Prefects will accompany you to and from lessons. This door will always be kept locked. You'll thank me...one day, when you're happily married with a pair of strapping boys. Sleep well, Enola.”

After Miss Harrison leaves, you sneak in. You’re an expert lock-picker. There isn’t a lock you can’t pick. You sit next to Enola and wrap your arm around her, comforting her. “Don’t pay any mind to Miss Harrison. She’s so desperate to mold and shove girls into these tight little boxes of conformity. She wants people like us to fit into society’s strict definition of what makes a woman, even if it means breaking our bones and contorting our bodies to get us to fit in that tiny box. She holds institutions like marriage and motherhood on a pedestal, yet she herself is neither a wife nor a mother. It’s hypocrisy, Enola. And being a woman is so much more than what society has dictated. Women are capable of so much more than being housewives and mothers. I’m of the opinion that some people shouldn’t have children. They do it because they think they’re supposed to, but it’s not really what they want.”

“Is that the way your mother was?”

“Yes.”

“She didn’t love you? Your father, he…he loved you though, didn’t he?”

“He died when I was eight. He had an…accident with a gun. He was raised in the country. The city made him uncomfortable, and he had a nervous disposition. Perhaps he’d simply had enough. But before that… Yes, he did. I was his whole world, and he was mine. I imagine it was difficult for a man from the country to maintain the lifestyle to which my mother had become accustomed. He did his best for us, but it wasn’t good enough for her. I always felt, as a child…that if he did love me, why did he leave me? My father kept a great deal hidden from me...which is why I'm overly inquisitive, I suppose. As a child, I was unaware of my father's melancholia... It became so overwhelming that he tried to take his own life. I was the one who found him. At the last moment, he'd lost his courage...and tried to pull the gun from his mouth. He was in terrible pain. Half his face... He took my hand, and we held the gun together...”

“I'm sorry, Y/N.”

“I've learnt that we can either let it haunt us for the rest of our lives...or we can accept it...and use the memory of our pain to help others.”

“I'm not sure the choice is entirely in our hands.”

“I disagree. If it weren't, we'd all be murderers. I was happy before Papa died. I was always happy. My father, he… He loved the circus. Would always take me to the country fairs and the traveling circuses when they were in town. I saw these acrobats, and I wanted to do something like that, but Mother would never approve. I had these pretty dresses, taffeta and silk, and I…I did ballet dancing. I knew all the moves: pirouettes and arabesques. It was just mother and I after my father’s accident. I was the perfect child. I never gave my mother any trouble at all. I went to school with children from the finest families in London, as clever as any of them, and I was a beautiful dancer. We lived in Paris for a year. I studied at the school of ballet. But after my father was gone I realized…none of it made me truly happy anymore.”

“What will make you happy?”

“I don’t know. I’d like to find love, like anyone, but I just haven’t yet. But I’d like to have a chance to do what your brother does - what you do. To solve mysteries, uncover secrets, embark on wild adventures, don disguises and different names. You’re a brilliant young lady, Enola. You mustn’t let Mycroft or Miss Harrison beat and smother that out of you. In this place, there’s an expectation of acting, thinking, and being as they tell you. But you mustn’t let them force you to become someone you are not. Especially not for a man’s satisfaction. You’re a person, not property. Your future belongs to you. Remember that.”

“‘My future belongs to me’? Funny. My mother said that.”

“Then she is wise. Goodnight, Enola.”

You meet Enola’s older brother, Sherlock Holmes, when he comes to visit her. You’re such a hot mess that the first impression you make is less-than-ideal. He Instructs the headmistress to leave the room after she fetches Enola, but you’re permitted to stay. Enola is very perceptive and notices the way you’re looking at and speaking to her brother.

Later, Enola tries to recruit you into her escape plans, but at first you say you can’t, that you’re bound here by your job and if the headmistress finds out you abandoned your post, she’ll be furious and dismiss you. But when Enola points out, “would that be so terrible? What do you have here? There comes a time when you have to make a hard choice. And, in that moment, you will discover what mettle you truly have, and what you’re prepared to risk for what matters. Your future belongs to you,” you realize she’s right. You have to go for the adventure. So you scheme with her and Tewkesbury to aid in her escape. The three of you steal Miss Harrison’s automobile and hitch a ride on it. Days later, all the parents and guardians come to see the girls’ progress, but you and Enola are long gone, having already escaped by that point. During the confrontation with the true culprit, you get stabbed or shot, and are recovering in the hospital. Unbeknownst to you since you’re asleep most of the time, Sherlock visits you every day.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he says to the hospital staff as he holds up a finger and passes by the front desk, going straight to your room. He stays there until visiting hours are over. Unbeknownst to you and Sherlock, Enola plots and schemes to play matchmaker between you and her older brother.

To be a Holmes, you must find your own path. Her brothers have, her mother has, and she must too. But Enola now sees that being alone doesn't mean she has to be lonely. She believes the same is true for her brother. He’s been so lonely and needs a flatmate and companion or, even better, a wife of his equal intellectual caliber. She sees his match in you. And she wants you as her sister so she can continue to take you with her on detective cases and wild adventures, since you’ve proven yourself capable of quick thinking and holding your own against bad guys and the unexpected. You don’t know why but letters suddenly come for you in the post, all from Sherlock. You’re soon pen pals and writing to him regularly. At first they’re very formal, asking about his sister’s progress and wellbeing, etc. but over time they become much more personal and even intimate. Your first letters tell him of Enola, of how her case is progressing. Formal and impersonal, nothing about you as you commend Enola on her clever mind and intuitiveness. The most recent letters are much more private and could be considered “love letters”.

After Enola solves the case, she talks Sherlock’s ears off about you when he comes to visit her in her detective agency above Edith’s shop, but there’s no sign of you. He excuses himself so he may look for you. When he finally tracks you down to your new place of work or your home, it’s far from innocent as you invite him inside and give into your passions. While you’re laying in the afterglow, he asks you to accompany him to his flat, but you can’t. He corrects himself and takes your hands in his own: He doesn’t want you in his flat for a tryst, he wants you in his apartment for forever. He wants you to move in with him. He wants to court you. Maybe you’d consider a partnership? Holmes & L/N? And maybe someday, that’d become Holmes & Holmes?

11. Loosely A Little Princess/Ever After inspired AU: When an odious woman/man of wealth, position, status, or power (or all of the above) discovers you know about her/his bribery, extortion, or blackmail scheme (or other crime) and possess incriminating evidence against her/him, she/he frames you for theft and/or murder and summons the police. You narrowly escape by running down streets and alleyways, until you jump the large rooftops of an apartment building. You make a perilous climb up the trellis to an open window on the second story, nearly slipping and falling due to rain making everything slick. As the man/woman and police search the apartment building one room at a time, you’re found by Sherlock Holmes, the man who lives in the flat you broke into. You don’t say a word, but your eyes and the evidence you’re clutching protectively in your hands tells enough of the story. When police barge in and try to drag you away, you panic, screaming for your ‘husband’. Sherlock, curious and always loving a good intrigue, plays along.

“What is the meaning of this? What are you doing to my wife!?” He saves you from prison after the police and woman/man become far too sheepish under his piercing gaze and analytical eyes, especially when he calls out the woman/man on her/his lies and exposes her/his misdeeds using the evidence you’ve gathered, effectively destroying whatever flimsy case she/he might’ve had against you. But now it’s awkward because gossip spreads fast and sooner or later society is going to believe Sherlock and you to be married. What do the two of you do now?

12. You came from a family of wealth and extravagant comforts, though your parents are merely a Lord and Lady. The marriage between your mother and father was one derived of convenience. A transaction was struck that included the promise of marriage between your father, the strapping second son of his family, and your mother, the middle daughter of her family—a resentful woman who was considered a spinster at twenty-seven. The groom was several years his bride’s senior and was ill-tempered and the object of much abuse. Nearing thirty, she was considered too old to form a family and thus, a good portion of the land came with her as dowry. Your father utilized the family fortune to expand and build. He threw lavish parties in which he groomed investors. As fertile as the family’s business empire was, your parents led a barren life at home. He mistreated your mother brutally and beat her frequently. One such beating was so violent that he snapped her leg bone cleanly in two, which forced her to walk with a cane from then on and would keep her engaged in regular rehabilitation trips to the London Hospital for the rest of her life. Your parents shared a bed only two times—both brief and brutal and full of resentment and only to fulfill the obligation to lineage. The first instance produced you. In your gender, you carried on your father's disappointment and gave a vessel to your mother's anger. The mansion and its library provided you with a vast empire to rule and a land of magical nooks and crannies in which to hide and to lord over. Your father ignored you and your mother loathed you, for you had inherited your father’s good looks and fine features.

It was your destiny in life to be bred as a nurse/companion to your mother. From an early age, you were made aware of the many liniments and chemicals that your mother required in the maintenance of her many ailments. The only physical contact you ever had with your mother was the long and extended sessions of therapeutic massage that you would provide for the ailing woman. You would rub liniments on your mother's skin and over the scarred flesh of her leg. You would derive great pleasure from these services and in a thankless, acrid way, your mother came to depend on you greatly when you were at home. You were forbidden from engaging in friendship with the children of servants or workers, but your natural curiosity led you to discover the rewards of your family’s extensive property- a veritable garden of Eden for butterflies in Spring and Summer and a home for shiny, multicolored beetles in the Fall and Winter. As a girl, you were not expected to be educated in anything but music, cooking, and embroidering, but in your father's vast library you discovered books on entomology, biology, and chemistry, and you grew dexterous with your mother's medications and often prepared difficult concoctions containing poisonous elements.

The day your brother was born, you thought you had never seen anything more beautiful than that baby. The adoration provided to him astonished you: He could do no wrong—he was the heir, the blessing, the bearer of the family crest. You helped the maids tend to him and learned a single lullaby that his wet nurse sang to him. His skin smelled like cookies and his little hands were made of rosebuds and silk. The wet nurse, a gentle, decent woman was full of stories and sayings and songs. She took to you like a mother and told you stories of her vast family—she had nursed 8 babies in her 10 years of marriage and was bound to go back to her tiny household at the end of her tenure at your house. A tenure that would last three years as was customary in those days. But then your brother died in an accident when he was still a child.

~

“I've noticed she wears a man's signet ring.” Sherlock noted aloud to a gentleman who was also acquainted with your family. Just an observation.

“It was passed down to her after her father’s death. The ring was supposed to have been her brother’s when he came of age. It was meant for him. A rather sad situation. An accident. Some kind of terrible fall. Or at least that was the official story. The rumors were that he died by his father’s hand.”

“How old was she?”

“Fourteen. At the time, she was sent to a sanitarium. She'd lost her brother when she was still quite young herself. Perhaps you should measure her skull to see how it affected her. Have you interest in her?”

“Good God, man. I've known her since she was a child.”

“She's no longer a child.”

“I've not thought of her in that way.”

“Certainly you have.”

And so your mother was left with you after your father and brother’s untimely deaths. The useless daughter. She had designed plans for you to be married off to the highest bidder, but when she later discovered you were with child after you missed your courses, she disowned you and sent you away to live off scraps, not caring to ask who the father is.

~

You’re living on your own, surrounded by and befriending hard-working people who weren't born as well as others. You’re often in the street, carrying a basket of beautiful flowers or laces and ribbons to sell. Or you’re sewing “piecework”. Nobody recognizes you underneath all the raggedy clothes or dirt and grime covering your face and hair. When your secret lover, Sherlock Holmes, England’s finest detective and a highly sought after man both for cases and courtship, calls on you, your mother evades the truth of your predicament. She makes up a bogus cover story of you either being very ill with Typhus and are quarantining elsewhere and not taking visitors, or, not thinking that far ahead, she panics and claims you’ve been kidnapped or gone missing. Having not much of a choice at the risk of looking suspicious, she allows Sherlock to investigate the house, including your bedroom. There, he finds clues you left for him and only him to find you. They’re imperceptible to every human eye except his. While he’s questioning her, your mother tries to set him up with one of your cousins, after which he becomes even more suspicious and skeptical than he already is. It’s been so many months that your mother feigns grief and pretends to go into mourning after you’re presumed dead, and it doesn’t take long for the newspapers to report on your “death”. Sherlock grieves, but not because he believes you dead. He believes attending your funeral or putting on an act will get him closer to finding you. You’re out there somewhere, alive. He knows it. You’ve been out there somewhere all these months. He sets off across the country, searching for you. When Sherlock finally finds you, you’re either heavily pregnant and ready to pop at any moment, or have had his and your child already.

Either way, he takes you back to his childhood home to care for you and the baby. His flat at 221 Baker Street would also do, but the house is bigger.

~

“I know about your parents. What they did to you. The favoritism they showed your brother and his premature death.,. What your mother did to you when you didn’t bleed… Forgive me, if I pried into matters that were not my concern. I only did it out of regard for you.”

“She lied, you know? My mother. When I missed my courses. She didn’t want a baby. A bastard. She and Father didn’t want me. My younger brother was my parents’ favorite and after he died… I’m of the opinion that some people shouldn’t have children. They do it because they think they’re supposed to, but it’s not really what they want. But being courted by you, held by you, even in secret… and having our baby… That made me happy. To feel loved. When the baby was born, they were covered in blood, and the nurses wiped them down, and they laid my baby on me, and from that moment, I loved them. And all this time, there's been an ache in my heart, an emptiness ever since my brother died, and it may sound foolish, but I hope, perhaps, that if a small part of him were to be born again, that I would see it in my own child, or my own child in him.”

“That doesn't sound foolish.”

“It doesn't?”

“No. Sounds beautiful.”

“While I was pregnant, I had my heart set on naming our child after my brother if I had a boy. I hope that’s all right. But they’re your child too and if you had a different name in mind, I’d be okay with having my brother’s name be their middle name instead.”

“Of course. It’s a wonderful idea.”

“Now I've something to show you. I was thinking about your current case and your current client’s father, which got me to thinking about your theory about fathers, which got me to thinking about my own father.”

“That's a lot of thinking.”

“Look at this.”

“Ah, it's an old society column.”

“I didn't know what I was looking for at first, but when I saw this, it struck me.”

“You were looking for something on your father?”

“Yes. For something that could tell us more about our culprit.”

“You seem to be obsessed with the man.”

“Perhaps I am. Hmm. Go on, read it. My father... My father had two sides — one loving and the other brutal, the two often coexisting. It was something as trivial as putting me to bed, I recall. A game of tug of war. We were laughing... I don't remember if he was drunk or if I said something that offended him. He must have pulled my arm behind my back. In small children, fractures often affect...” you trailed off.

“I’m sorry, Y/N.”

~

“Here’s to your engagement, Sherlock. Long time coming.”

“Cheers.”

“I hope she’s makes you happy.”

“Thank you, Enola. She does.”

“Proud of you, Brother.”

“Sherlock Holmes is getting married. I had prepared notes, whimsical thoughts on the nature of love. Practical counsel in what it means to be united in body and soul with another being. All that I had wanted to say, but now I realize I cannot offer you any of these thoughts as I’m somewhat tipsy. And it seems I have left my notes in our previous establishment. Sherlock… It is my greatest privilege to be your friend. And as Voltaire said, ‘virtuous men alone possess friends.’ You are indeed a virtuous man, a free spirit, restless soul, blessed with kindness, bravery, and passion. You are sometimes reckless, certainly careless, and occasionally hopeless. But… It is my sincerest hope, wish, that your new bride sees you as we do, cares for you like we do, will know you as we have known you, and will love you like we do. Should she dare. To Sherlock.” John says as he raises his glass.

After you marry, you go on honeymoon, where you spend your days sightseeing and being as close to a normal couple as you can be, and your nights and early mornings in bed together.

“I believe I now know the reason why every mama of high English society keeps her daughter in total darkness about certain…diversions.”

“Mm. Do you?” Sherlock asks, as he busies himself by kissing every inch of skin on your body that he can.

“Should they have told us what it was truly like, however would we get anything else done at all? I must go.”

“Mm.”

“If I am to be Mrs. Holmes and mistress of all of this, I must start learning the lay of the land.”

“You are already mistress of all this.”

“And I look forward to exploring that particular land further… Later.” Your husband grabs you and turns you over so you’re laying underneath him again, effectively holding you in place. “Sherlock!”

“You said that detective work was most intimidating. That illustrating crime scenes was most daunting, not always easy to stomach. Why not stay and look the case over this room? You may find it a bit more titillating.”

“I do not doubt it. But I suspect Mrs. Hudson shall always resent me if I do not meet her for breakfast.“

“Then let her resent.”

“I shall do nothing of the sort. Her cuisine is a little limited, but she has as good an idea of breakfast as a Scotswoman. Besides, my friends told me a lady is nothing without her housekeeper. I imagine a landlady is cut from the same cloth and I must make a good impression, or nothing in this flat shall run smoothly. Besides, I should check on the baby.”

Sherlock finally relinquishes his hold on you, laying on his back in bed while he holds up an arm to wave you goodbye. “Then I wish you well.”

“Mr. Holmes.” You curtsy.

“Mrs. Holmes.”

You laugh as you exit your bedroom.

The phone rings. Sherlock answers it.

“Sherlock, I have prepared the study for you to work—.”

“Watson, I am on my honeymoon.”

“You’ve left the records of your latest case in some disarray. I cannot make head nor tail of your trains of thought, and there are several letters from people begging an audience with you, so that you may hear their case.”

“Very well! If I must.”

~

“Teething. I'm sure that's what it is. Your baby is at that age.”

“Well, is there anything I can do?”

“Clove oil. Dab a bit on your finger and rub it into your baby's gums. It acts as a mild analgesic.”

“How much?”

“Don't worry. It's only a bit of clove oil.”

“I want to pay for it, Mr. Freewater. I can take care of my child alone while my husband is away. Here.”

When your mother hears the news of your marriage and who the father of your baby is, she tries to come crawling to his flat at 221B Baker Street or his countryside family house, acting the part of loving mother and being sickeningly sweet to him, throwing herself at his mercy to try to extort him or something. She may even bring your aunts or uncles to back her up. But Sherlock isn’t having any of her manipulative groveling and vulture-like behavior. Sherlock doesn't even let your mother or anyone she’s brought with her step across the threshold. That’s when she looks over Sherlock’s shoulder and sees you in the background, either in a chair and rocking your baby to sleep or holding your baby in your arms while pacing back and forth to soothe them. A wedding ring on your finger. A wedding ring on Sherlock’s. Upon realizing that you’re married, she’s about to say something, but Sherlock shuts down whatever ideas she had swimming in her head before she gets a chance to even form, telling her in no uncertain terms that since she disowned you, she has no legal ties to you, him, nor your child. He’s not her son-in-law and owes her nothing. She‘ll never again lay eyes on your child, for he/she is not her grandchild. She doesn't have a claim to anything, and can either leave quietly or he’ll have the police escort her and whoever she’s brought with her off his property. Is it any surprise your mother (and possibly your aunts and uncles) leave town so soon after the newspaper prints the latest issue, her face splattered on the front page detailing the case of the previously thought to be kidnapped, sick, or missing daughter who, turns out, was none of those things at all. What your mother had done created a scandal of such public attention, she’d never hope to recover or show her face in London again. She’s gone and you hope she stays gone. You swear that the only news you want to hear regarding her is the obituary announcing her death and the date of her funeral, if she has one, so you can visit her grave once and only once, much like you did sometime after your father died. You visited your father’s grave once and only once and swore to never return.

“I don't really know why I came. Maybe because now I'm free to speak my mind. I've always blamed my failings as an adult on what you did to me as a child. Those failings...were my own. I remember something you once said to me. ‘Nature never allows a man to be more than he is. Only less.’ For years, I believed those words reflected your own bitterness and failure. But now I understand there were for my benefit. You were simply preparing me for what you knew would be a life of disappointment and pain. But you were wrong. I know that now. I still believe we can be better than nature intended, even if you can't. You did the best you could. Goodbye, Papa.”

However, you visit your brother often, at least twice a month, always leaving a fresh bouquet of flowers and other small gifts for him.

[tragcdysewn]

small little plotting/starter call for hwevent 15 under the cut! honestly, a lot of my muses are not gonna be very interesting ic for this one, but they will still join in the fun

abigail mckinnon

vaguely concerned about her family, but is ultimately going to be living her life as normal until something happens to one of them, because she is not a detective nor does she want to be

ahsoka tano

unfortunately she's legally obligated to care even though she's pretty sure this is just palpatine nonsense part 79, so she will be looking into things and setting up security at the white house

allana solo

nope, absolutely not, you can not pay them enough to get involved in this shit. she's got her own problems and girl is exhausted

ariana dumbledore

it honestly would not even occur to her to try and involve herself in this. she's a little nervous for herself and her family but they're all smart enough to protect themselves barring the twins who are babies and not likely targets so

ariel

honestly, idk if ariel understands the concept of a serial killer, but she's definitely a little concerned that people seem to be dying. she could definitely be convinced to sleuth, but it's not her first instinct

arlecchino

arlecchino is having fun. girl is gonna plant some fake evidence, maybe steal a few bodies from the morgue to harvest some organs if she can. she's only here for cause chaos

bela dimitrescu

see arlecchino, bela is just taking advantage of the bullshit going on, having a little snacc if she stumbles upon any bodies

beru lars

bop bop bop beru is getting her gun out if anyone comes too close to her so do not try it i'm not sorry

cassie lang

will be genuinely investigating and trying to find out what the hell is going on. she will also be very protective over her friends, sorry not sorry

danika barnes

honestly is laying low, girl is paranoid and wants absolutely nothing to do with any of this. she has almost no attachments in this city and has no intention of getting involved for random people

davina claire

there's a very good chance davina investigates a bit but only if she starts getting worried magic is involved. a normal serial killer is so many levels of not her problem

dewey riley

man is on edge. they are armed always anyway but now he is about two seconds from shooting at any moment. any and all ghostfaces will be getting shit, and tatum is getting a gun happy early birthday

elphaba thropp

hell no. elphaba doesn't like people enough to get involved, and her history with trying to do the right thing tends to end with her getting accused of murder and other crimes so hard pass

eula lawrence

she's a cia agent so she will be looking into it a bit but really this isn't her job, could probably get dragged into shit if amber pouts at her enough but it's definitely not her priority

feng xin

fuck no!! the last time he tried to scooby a mortal massacre his whole life went to shit!! he is wrapping tara in bubble wrap and making sure his clown friends stay the fuck out of this thank you very much (they won't, and he'll cave and help in ~10 seconds)

feyre archeron

she's going to protect her family, but beyond that, she doesn't put much stock in her own investigation skills, so unless someone asks her for help, she won't be doing much

hallie parker

she's posting conspiracy theories on twitter and retweeting any posts she can about it. prepare for a very long video essay when the first killer is caught outlining everything they know about them

hazel levesque

demigods are not supposed to deal with mortal problems, so unless they or her brother is affected, hazel is pretty much staying out of this whole thing

he chunyu

no thank you this is an easily stressed out bitch! girl is hiding in her bedroom until this is all over thank you good night

howl jenkins pendragon

they'll make protection spells for anyone who asks, no charge, and will be worrying about his family and his little group of obnoxious teenagers way more than they'll admit

james potter

man is physically incapable of staying out of shit, he will be investigating way too often, might get himself into some shit because it's james

james witherdale

i mean... this is just a buffet for him sorry

jin zixuan

he could easily be pulled into an investigation, and will be very on edge, but it probably won't occur to him to look into this on his own because he's Just Ken™️

jun wu

honestly man is waiting to get blamed for this, he's not sure who's gonna call him out first but he's sure it'll happen and is just ready to be like 'if i'd done it no one would know they were dead also why would i kill some random mortals idk'

kiyi

they have no intention of being a part of this. kiyi is not a fighter at all, despite their best efforts, so the most they'll do is try to protect their friends that don't have any abilities

kore sekkari

lol, kore is honestly thinking this is a fun time. she's not one for senseless violence, but watching the jedi scramble and fail over and over again to stop it is pretty funny to her

korra

she's gonna help people if they get the chance, but they're not gonna go hunting down a magically powered serial killer until the situation gets more serious

lan wangji

man is out to protect people, and will probably keep an eye on things where he can, try to keep people safe, but his priority is his family and keeping them alive and keeping himself alive for their sakes

li susu

she's also big on protecting people, but she also has a very small child to take care of so she's not going to throw herself into anything without enough knowledge to know she can handle it

lumine

honestly will probably be playing scooby doo with amber and hu tao, will probably also drag zhongli into it to help keep an eye on childe because she does not trust that man

luo fumeng

most of her loved ones are not people she worries about in something like this, maybe penelope and sabrina but even them not so much. she's confident they can all take care of themselves

lysandra ennar

she has done their part saving the world, they are done thank you very much, she wants to take a nice little cat nap

manon blackbeak

she does not care. i'm sorry but she doesn't give one single shit unless one of her friends gets killed

marinette dupain-cheng

will be patrolling as ladybug as often as possible, trying her best to at the very least stop murders from happening, even if she can't manage to catch anyone she'd rather save someone if she can

mj jones

girl is in full investigative journalist mode and she will not be stopped. catch her poking around places she should not be and possibly getting herself in trouble

mo ran

he cares about protecting chu wanning and is debating killing xue meng while he can get away with it because he wants that man aware

mobei-jun

could not give less of a shit as long as qinghua isn't getting hurt, because if binghe and sha hualing get attacked lord help the bitch who did it honestly

nangong jingnu

she's not getting involved please just let her chill in her apartment and avoid the hell out of all of this thank you

nie mingjue

*dinkleberg vc* jin guangyao. not but really man is gonna be trying to help where he can and also really debating just killing jgy but probs won't actually do it :(((

qi rong

i mean... its free real estate right? gotta have a little snacc every now and then

renesmee cullen

she honestly is staying out of it, they have no interest in sleuthing or figuring things out, it's not her business at all

rosamund du prix

see nessie, she honestly isn't a detective, and the whole thing just feels very out of her depth in every way

sheev palpatine

he is investigating because he's the vp and he has to, but he's not really fussed unless his siblings or daughter end up injured

shen qingqiu

man is paranoid and probably has a knife on him at all times, but most of his friends are pretty indestructible so he's not too concerned about them

shi wudu

he is concerned about qingxuan. that's really it, honestly

thanatos

people die, it happens, they aren't too fussed as literal death

wanda maximoff

she's going to be trying to protect her friends, but wanda is very unsure of doing anything else atm so we'll see

wen qing

has been getting followed by some random guy for a bit now so is um very concerned but ultimately trying to be cool

xiao lanhua

she thinks dongfang qingcang might have done it. that's all they got but if one of their friends get injured she'll be starting problems

xiao qing

could absolutely be pulled into checking things out, though they're definitely not much help in terms of finding clues she'll go with you for moral support

yor forger

if you hurt her husband or her kid you will die but beyond that? she's staying out of it

[aikoiya]

I actually have some ideas!

Also, I'm thinking that, for the Maddie & Jack situation, we could go a similar route to the Ao3 fanfic series A Phantom In New York City. Or even take a couple of cues from Shadow of Doubt & Phantom of Truth where, yes, Maddie & Jack really freaking mess up. And they mess up bad, but they legitimately love their children. Thing is, they are egotistical & tend to have difficulty taking other people's opinions into account.

Not to mention, I see them as having issues with their senses of object permanence. This, as well as my hc that Jack & Maddie are both neurodivergent in some shape or form, results in them getting wrapped up in their own heads, wrapped up in each other, laser focusing on their fixations (namely ghosts) &, at times, results in them being unintentionally negligent despite really & truly adoring their family.

They are also the scientists who managed to prove without a shadow of a doubt that ghosts are real. And this is after having been disregarded for years as crackpot within the scientific community.

As a result, now they tie their pride to being right. Especially when it comes to ghosts.

And we all know their initial thoughts on ghosts. All of them are evil.

Now, because of this, if the reveal doesn't take place correctly, it can result in them reacting in the exact worst way possible.

In other words, I think in order for it to go well, I believe that they both need to be convinced that Phantom & Danny are the same person or they will incorrectly believe that he is either being possessed or has been replaced by Phantom. Or at least, that Danny a/o Phantom ‘believe’ they are.

If they aren't convinced, then they will do what I'm sure a lot of angst phans believe, attempt to capture him & either torture him until he tells them where Danny is or attempt to ‘purge him of Phantom’s influence.’

Now, at the end of the day, even if the reveal goes the exact wrong way, I still think it's possible for things to get better. However, again, the key is them realizing that Danny & Phantom are the same person. Though, if it isn't via the use of science to, like, scan his DNA or something, then they're liable to believe that Danny died in the portal & may not even contemplate the possibility that the residual electricity may have resuscitated his body, thus returning him to life.

As such, they'd believe that his ghost was possessing his own corpse. Or, if they do think of it, they might think that the ‘ectoplasmic imprint of consciousness’ created by his own death was possessing his body & may try to expunge it.

Either way, they might try to separate his ectoplasm from him via the Ghost Catcher. However, I'm of the opinion that due to literally being half-ghost, this would divide his personality, though in different ways depending on what he wants at the time.

And, while the 2 halves would be okay for a while, as time would pass, both would begin to degrade until the ghost destabilizes & the human dies.

Basically, bad times.

But yeah, back to the idea I have for the actual story.

I'm also thinking, instead of just going outright Pat O'Brian, what if I literally go the angle of merging the characters of Pat O'Brian & Ralph Dibny here? So, I'm going with the initial name, Pat Dibny & a merging of their backstories & powers.

Like, I really enjoyed Ralph in the Flash show & I especially enjoyed his sleuthing, but joking nature. If I remember rightly, he was actually legitimately good as a detective & was, evidently, a talented chemist, just not the best at being very serious, is all. I also liked his love for mysteries.

So I very much like the idea of merging the 2 & maybe having his wife also be a detective too to sort of go a similar route to Joshua & Margaret from Adventure Time. Like, literally make it a family business.

In such a situation, as Plastic Man, he'll have all of Plastic Man's powers, but plus Elongated Man's enhanced sense of smell.

Regardless, he'll end up in a happy, healthy, & supportive marriage. Because Ralph should get at least 1 iteration where he gets to be happy.

I also like how Pat O’Brian continued to maintain his connections with the criminal underworld to gather information despite having reformed. It'll be useful both as a hero & a detective, so I'm keeping that.

My thoughts are that Pat Dibny was initially a corrupt cop in Gotham, who was using his connections to help him as a crook (Kite Man). But after everything with his nieces & nephew, as well as the accident that turned him into Plastic Man, plus his encounter with the monk who turned away the police when he sensed in him a greater capacity for good, he realized that he'd been completely dissatisfied with his criminal life & remembered his childhood dream of one day becoming a detective. And the original reason why he became a cop.

It'd been so long since he was that bright-eyed kid absolutely enthralled with mysteries & a desire to help clean Gotham up... He guessed that all the corruption in the force had just... it got to him... beat him down... In a way, Kite Man was his way of getting out his frustration…

His gang didn't know it, but he tended to donate his portion of the loot to the many orphanages around Gotham as he'd been one since 10.

As a P.I., he does a lot of work involving things like kidnapping & child trafficking. That isn't to say that he doesn't also do murder cases, stolen items, & other things, but he definitely tends to get a lot more driven when the victims are kids. Which, he tends to be really good with due to his personality.

But I do like the idea that he initially adopts them illegally, but after the accident, meeting the monk, & deciding that he wants to change & be better. Batman notices & helps him to create a new identity & legally adopt his nieces & nephew.

Which, would make it easier for him to become a P.I. because if he has a new identity, then he can't be a cop anymore. Because only Pat Dibny was registered as a cop. But, now, he's Ralph O'Brian & he can finally pursue his own dream of solving mysteries & cleaning up Gotham, but without the corruption saturating the GPD getting in the way of his every attempt.

I can also see him, Dick, & even Gordon becoming drinking buddies that often commiserate over the sorry state of the force & plot how to root out all the corrupt cops in the precinct, which Ralph can act as an anonymous source for.

Oh! I love the idea of them & Jason all coming over to play cards with the Villain Fam on weekends after they move to the new house!

I want a fic where Danny is adopted but not by the JL but a villian. BUT! It is a very minor villian to the point where people are absolutely gobsmacked when he calls the villian dad, like everyone just stops what they're doing and watch the interaction. Bonus points if they find out that Danny is an absolute powerhouse monster and wonder what entity away from God's light did they fuck to have him.

"That's your son?"

"Yes."

"The glowing white haired teen?"

"Yes."

"The same glowing white haired teen that just froze a star and then ate it?..."

"Yes! And?"

"THE FUCK YOU MEAN "AND?", HE JUST ATE A STAR!!"

___________

Danny in a less than human form: *screeching*

"Scream all you want but you still have school tomorrow and you're going."

Danny: *leaves taking the cold and weirdness with him*

"Sorry about that, he gets a bit cranky when he has to take a nap."

The rest of the villians in the meeting terrified: Oh...

___________

"It would much easier if you got your son to help with your task."

"Absolutely fucking not! He's not going to do ANY vigilante/villian bullshit if I have any say in it."

"You have the ultimate weapon at your side and you-"

"My son is blessing not a weapon, I advise you to NEVER speak about him like that ever again."

____________

Villian, threatening JL Hero: Tell your kid stay away from my son, he doesn't need any of that shit yall bring into his life.

JL Hero: What?

____________

Personally I like to imagine this somebody as Kite-Man but that's just me, use whoever yall like.

[kingdomoftyto]

OKAY, done. Finally. I beat AAI.

I have too many thoughts so I'm putting it behind a cut

First, the negative stuff, because from a design standpoint this game bums me out.

Gotta say, I still had fun with it, but I also understand why Investigations hasn't gained as much traction as the main series. It's, uh, a bit of a slog, if I'm honest. I had high hopes for the "seamless transition" I'd seen touted between the Investigation phase and the Argument phase (this game's replacement for Trials), but in practice I think it actually hurts the pacing pretty badly. Instead of a long buildup of gathering evidence followed by a satisfying sequence of breaking down testimonies, and a single climactic moment where you finally land the baddie.... instead, it's a series of bite-sized sleuthing segments interspersed with smaller one-on-one arguments. The arguments are never as satisfying as the main series' cross examinations, and even the eventual breakdowns don't feel as dramatic or gratifying.

(And the Logic system had SO much potential but was mostly wasted on far-too-obvious deductions instead of the stuff that might have actually made you feel clever to piece together.)

This next point is super subjective but the cases themselves also feel kind of... boring in comparison? That might seem crazy because one of them involves kidnappers in mascot suits bashing Miles over the head in a haunted funhouse, but I honestly found untangling the crimes a lot less interesting than in the main series. Maybe it's because there's more focus on forensics than on testimony...? But I loved Rise from the Ashes in AA1 and that case was PACKED with forensics minutiae...

I think it honestly might be due to the lack of a trial as the driving force behind the narrative, because you're not doing things to save a defendant and you don't have a courtroom opponent to worry about, which changes the entire... idk, vibe of the story. You're just kind of solving murders because they happened in your proximity--which works perfectly well for other detective media but feels wrong for the AA formula, somehow? The writers for this game try to emulate the urgent feeling of protecting a defendant by having a character you know get accused of murder in every single chapter, but it feels lower stakes than, say, Maya getting arrested, because you're getting involved before any real case has been built against them. The only ones arguing against you tend to be detectives in this game, not lawyers (even Franziska is just assisting Interpol in this one), and Lang tells you right out that he doesn't care about actually proving anything as long as he gets a suspect--he wants the actual guilt of the accused to be dealt with later, at the eventual trial. It feels nothing like fighting for your defendant's life while the judge's verdict hangs over your head, to be decided at any moment.

... Also the text scrolls way too slowly and the music's not as good :(

ON THE POSITIVE SIDE, however:

Kay's awesome, Yatagarasu's a fantastic concept, and more Franziska and more Gumshoe are always welcome.

Speaking of, in a total reversal of the pattern established by the rest of the series, the last case was not the best and the penultimate case was easily my favorite. This is in no small part because it featured tween Franziska, the looming presence of Manfred, and the single most dramatic moment of the game--when the villain whips out a gun and nearly shoots Miles in the courtroom. (There's also more emotional payoff in this one with how he initially comforts little Kay than in anything that happens at the end of the game, imo.)

Btw, it's nowhere near as much as I expected from the memes, but Miles' occasional mentions of Phoenix are also really awesome every time (and, yes, really funny too). I was especially hype when he brought him up during the very last interrogation segment:

(It was undercut a bit by the solution he was struggling to find being blindingly obvious, but that's a me problem)

Of course the biggest appeal of the game is simply getting to see more of Miles in general, and I think it does a fair job of delivering on that. It's got lots of fun headcanon fuel (he's a flower snob!!), some great interactions with other characters (Franziska, Gummy, even Larry!!), and at least a tiiiiiny bit of character development for him, as he continues to work out what his goals/purpose are going to be and what he's willing to do to achieve them. It's cool to see where his headspace is at post-Trilogy, though the timeframe of the game being restricted to the span of less than an in-universe week kind of limits how much of a glimpse we actually get into how he's holding up.

This Youtube comment on the soundtrack really hits the nail on the head for the exquisite dramatic irony plaguing me throughout the game due to its placement in the timeline:

(AAI takes place about a month before Phoenix's disbarment, if I understand the timeline correctly... lmao feelings)

I expect the story to be more interesting in AAI2 and to hopefully expand on what this game started. Trying not to get my hopes up too high, but cautiously optimistic...!

Anyway, IN SUMMARY:

Weakest game in the series so far imo, mostly because the mechanics change the core formula in a way that doesn't do the pacing any favors. No regrets playing it because the characters are more than worth it, but bit of a letdown when it could have been a super cool idea for a spinoff.

At least we got some adorable sprites of this nerd out of it

[emospritelet]

Heatstroke - chapter 24/24

Last time, Gold confronted Zelena over trying to frame Regina, and Lacey caught the whole show on tape. This is the final chapter! Happy endings FTW!

[AO3]

x

Lacey set down the camera on the shop counter, and raised an eyebrow at Gold.

“So,” she said. “What do you want to do?”

He inclined his head, lifting a hand and letting it fall.

“It appears you have a story to tell about Miss West,” he remarked. “I feel the choice is very much yours. Perhaps Mr Glass can be persuaded that running an exposé is in the public interest.”

Lacey hesitated.

“Yeah, I think he would,” she acknowledged. “It’s just - Mayor Mills doesn’t know, does she? About Zelena.”

“I don’t think so.”

“I think maybe we should tell her,” said Lacey. “Before it all comes out, I mean. That would be the decent thing to do, wouldn’t it?”

“It would,” he agreed, and let out a heavy sigh, his head rolling back. “Well, that’s unfortunate.”

“What is?”

He raised his head again, sending her a stern look.

“It appears I’ve discovered a conscience,” he said. “The rumour was I didn’t have one. I blame you for this outrage.”

Lacey giggled, and leaned in to kiss him.

“Does that mean you’ll come with me to break the news?” she asked, and he offered his arm.

“To the Mayor’s office,” he said. “I’m sure Regina will be just delighted to see us.”

-

“This can’t be true.” Regina was staring at Lacey’s phone, having watched the recording twice. “This - this is impossible!”

“This must be a hell of a shock,” said Lacey, and Regina shook her head.

“I always thought she disliked me, but Mal told me I was being paranoid,” she said. “All this time she was plotting to ruin my life because my mother abandoned her? The nerve of the woman!”

“I guess sibling rivalry’s tough to deal with,” said Lacey. “Makes me glad I’m an only child.”

“Well, she certainly has my mother’s ambition and vindictiveness,” said Regina, with a sigh. “I don’t suppose you know anything about the father?”

“I’m afraid not,” said Gold. “Did your mother ever hint that you had a half-sister?”

Regina shook her head.

“She never spoke about her youth,” she said. “Other than to tell me she had to fight for anything she could get and I should do the same.”

She handed the phone back to Lacey and frowned at Gold.

“Exactly how long have you known about this?” she demanded, and he smiled.

“I heard what you did,” he said.

“That wasn’t what I asked,” she said coldly. “I know you, Gold. Were you holding onto this information until it was of use to you?”

“You think I’m working against you?” he asked, in a mild tone.

��I think you never do anything that doesn’t benefit you.”

“Well, perhaps you don’t know me as well as you think,” he said. “Or perhaps we assess risks and benefits differently. Either way, you have Miss French to thank for the investigation of her past and this recording. I merely - encouraged a confession.”

“Quite the sleuthing team,” said Regina, in a dry tone. “Can we expect a new office in town? French Gold, Private Investigators?”

“I don’t mind investigating his privates,” said Lacey, and Gold shot her a very level look as Regina curled her lip.

“Thanks, I’m going to spend the rest of the evening trying and failing to get that image out of my head.”

“You’re welcome,” said Lacey cheerfully.

“The question for you,” said Gold, “is how are you going to handle this? Miss French has quite a scoop on her hands, but she wanted to bring it to you first before raising it with Mr Glass.”

Regina shot Lacey a grateful look before sitting back in her chair with a sigh.

“There’s supposed to be a debate,” she said. “The two of us up on stage. You think it’s her intention to reveal the whole sordid story in front of the whole town?”

“I don’t believe she wants the rest of the town to know,” said Gold. “If they did, then her whole campaign reeks of sour grapes. She’ll want to play on the image she’s created while she’s been here. However inaccurate it is.”

Regina growled under her breath.

“I can’t believe I’m having to go through this charade!” she snapped. “I’m supposed to stand there and - and debate her when she’s trying to frame me for corruption and destroy my life!”

“We don’t have any actual evidence that she’s tried to frame you,” said Lacey, and Regina nodded impatiently.

“I know, I know. Nothing court worthy on that tape, however much she hinted at it,” she said. “If it’s okay with you, I’d like to hand it over to the Sheriff, get him to look into it.”

“If you agree to an exclusive interview with me after the debate, sure,” said Lacey quickly, and almost blushed as Gold shot her an approving look. Regina drummed her fingers on the desk.

“She’s far too good for you, Gold,” she said abruptly. “I hope you know that.”

He smirked at that, winking at Lacey.

“Oh, I’m well aware.”

-

Gold was finding it hard to stop grinning like an idiot now that he and Lacey were dating, and even found himself unexpectedly granting rent extensions, much to the surprise of nervous tenants. He made dinner for her again later in the week, and she stayed the night, Darcy curled at their feet as they drifted into sleep. It was pleasant being nuzzled awake by a purring cat and finding Lacey in his arms. It was a feeling he could get used to.

They had eventually managed to finish the interview, most of which was carried out in bed, and he had found himself telling her things he had previously had no intention of revealing. He blamed that on Lacey; it was difficult to maintain his usual cool distance when she was wearing his discarded shirt and looking at him as though he was a particularly delicious snack. She kept her word about giving him the final say on the article, however, and upon reading her draft, he noted that she had kept some of the more personal details to herself. He only felt the need to redact a couple of minor points about his early life, but was happy to let the remainder stand as it was. If the rest of Storybrooke was surprised at the intimacy of the piece and his sudden desire to be open about his life - well, they could all go and fuck themselves, as far as he was concerned.

The only opinions he cared about were those of his family, and it wasn’t too long before Neal called. Gold sighed as he looked at the number flashing on his phone. They’re gonna tease me relentlessly about this. Emma especially.

Shaking his head and smirking to himself, he picked up.

“Dad, hi,” said Neal. “Thought you might have called to let us know how your big social occasion went. You’re not avoiding the issue, right?”

“Of course not,” said Gold. “Been a busy week, that’s all.”

“Uh-huh. Emma thought you’d say that.” Neal sounded amused. “She’s been dying to find out about the dance, so I said I’d call for an update.”

“Tell her she needs a better hobby than worrying about my social life,” said Gold dryly. “How’s Henry? I was wondering what to get for his birthday.”

“Nice attempt at deflection, but I’m not done with you,” said Neal. “Come on, how did it go?”

“Uh - it was fine,” said Gold.

“Did you ask Lacey to dance, like I said?”

“Yes.” Gold hesitated. “We’re - uh - sort of dating now.”

Neal whooped, making him grin.

“Way to go! See, I knew you could do it!”

“Yes, well.” Gold scratched the back of his neck, feeling awkward. “It’s early days, I suppose. Very early days, but it’s going well.”

“I am so happy for you, really. Wait until I tell Emma.”

“She’s gonna tease me, isn’t she?” said Gold dryly.

“No more than usual.”

“A lot, then.”

“Hey, her teasing comes from a place of love.”

“Hmm.” Gold was amused. “Well, you can tell her I love her too.”

“And you can tell Lacey we can’t wait to meet her,” said Neal, and Gold’s grin widened.

“I believe the feeling’s mutual,” he said.

“Good. How about in two weeks’ time?”

Gold smirked to himself.

“Excellent timing,” he said. “It’s the Mayoral debate and election.”

“I’m almost certain we can find something better to do than listen to some crusty old politicians.”

“I think you’ll be pleasantly surprised,” said Gold. “It could be an interesting night.”

-

The evening of the debate arrived more quickly than Lacey thought possible, and she was nervous about more than just reporting the evening’s events. Gold’s son and daughter-in-law were due any minute, and there was a tiny part of her that kept whispering that they wouldn’t approve, that they would wonder why the hell Gold, with his money and power and class, was dating the likes of her. Stressing over her coverage of the election was a welcome distraction from the unwelcome internal monologue, and she concentrated on getting her things together for the debate, checking the recording equipment on Gold’s kitchen table and fretting about the sound quality.

“You’ve already checked it three times,” he said. “It’s fine.”

“I’m supposed to be writing the front page article!” she snapped. “What happens if I fuck up and don’t get anything recorded? I’m gonna look like a total idiot and Sidney won’t trust me with anything more complex than the hot dog eating contest!”

“I can record everything on my phone, if you’re worried,” he said. “Besides, don’t you do shorthand?”

“Yeah, but—”

“You’ll be fine,” he said gently, and kissed her head. “I promise.”

The doorbell rang, and Lacey started, heart thumping.

“Relax, that’ll be Neal and Emma,” said Gold, heading for the door. Lacey frowned at his back.

“Relax, my arse,” she muttered, shoving the recording equipment into its bag.

There were voices from the hall, and a sudden burst of laughter, and she closed her eyes, willing herself to calm the hell down. Footsteps from the doorway made her look up, and she was greeted by a warm smile and an outstretched hand. Gold’s son had his eyes, and curling dark hair above a ready grin.

“I’m Neal,” he said. “Really pleased to meet you.”

“Lacey,” she said, shaking his hand. “Uh - likewise.”

She was reminded vividly of the fact that she had flashed him on their first encounter, and felt a blush start to rise in her cheeks. If Neal was thinking of it too, he was better at hiding it than she was. His wife was a pretty blonde, with a kind look in her eyes and a plump baby in her arms, who was glancing around curiously at everything.

“This is Emma,” added Neal, “and that’s Henry.”

“We’ve heard a lot about you,” said Emma, shooting Gold a teasing look.

“Well, I won’t ask if it was all good, because I’m willing to bet it wasn’t,” said Lacey, and they chuckled.

“Maybe not at first,” admitted Emma. “Don’t hold it against the old bastard, though.”

“Oh, believe me, the feeling was mutual,” said Lacey.

“I’m standing right here,” said Gold evenly.

Lacey caught Emma’s eye and returned her grin. She felt herself relax a little, and leaned over to kiss Gold’s cheek.

“We got there in the end,” she said. “Uh - how hungry are you guys? I didn’t even think about dinner.”

She shot Gold a look, hoping that he would suggest something, and he nodded.

“We’ll head to Granny’s after the debate,” said Gold. “I have no doubt that Lacey will be demonstrating her excellent skill as a journalist, and I’d hate for you to miss it.”

“No pressure then,” said Lacey, and he smiled.

“You’re writing the article for the Mirror front page,” he said. “You have an exclusive with the Mayor herself after the debate. Sidney Glass clearly believes you to be as capable as I do.”

“Yeah, because I got that interview with you,” she said. “I didn’t tell him we were naked when I got most of that info.”

Neal closed his eyes with a pained expression.

“Shows ingenuity if you ask me,” said Emma abruptly. “I can usually get a ton of stuff out of Neal when we’re naked. Must run in the family.”

It was Gold’s turn to look pained. Neal put his hands over his face with a heavy sigh, and Lacey and Emma chuckled. Lacey decided that she liked both Emma and Neal very much. She zipped her bag and nodded to Gold.

“Okay,” she said. “Wish me luck.”

-

The town hall was filled with residents, chatting amongst themselves and casting curious glances at the empty stage. Ruby was seated next to Leroy on the third row back, and she winked at Lacey as she and Gold took their own seats. Ruby had been delighted to hear that the two of them had started seeing one another, and had only made a salacious comment to Gold on one occasion. Maybe two.

“Big turnout,” said Neal, glancing around. “I had no idea the people in this town were so into politics.”

“Usually they don’t bother,” said Gold. “The Mayor getting some competition appears to have piqued their interest.”

As though his voice had summoned her, Regina walked onto the stage, chin held high, looking calm and competent in a sharp black suit. Zelena followed, in a green dress with a soft silk scarf around her neck and gold hoops in her ears. A green folder was tucked under her arm, her hair tied up, and Lacey thought she was going for the image of a respectable school teacher. A gleam in her eye spoiled the look.

Dr Hopper was moderating the debate, and Lacey quickly checked her recording equipment and opened her laptop, rattling off a few sentences about the tense atmosphere of the hall and the opening statements from each of the candidates. Zelena gave a speech about decency and traditional values, at which Regina seemed to be stopping herself from rolling her eyes with some difficulty. Regina spoke of her record on town planning, law and order—she shot Zelena a look at that point—and prosperity.

“Thank you, ladies,” said Dr Hopper, when she was done. “Now, perhaps we’ll go to some questions from the press before we deal with those the townsfolk have submitted.”

“I have a question for Miss West,” said Lacey, in a loud, clear voice, shoving her laptop at Gold as she got to her feet.

Zelena’s mouth twisted, her smile more of a grimace.

“Of course,” she said lightly. “It’s - uh - I’m sorry, I’ve forgotten your name.”

She waved a languid hand, and Lacey felt her mouth flatten.

“Lacey French, Storybrooke Mirror,” she said evenly, and Zelena let out a tinkling laugh.

“Of course, silly me,” she trilled. “How could I forget Storybrooke’s eager young reporter? Lending the local newspaper such an air of class in that - lovely - outfit.”

There was a muttering amongst the townsfolk, and Lacey distinctly heard Ruby say ‘What a bitch!’, but she smiled sweetly as though she hadn’t understood the insult.

“Yeah, I have a question about your motivation for running for Mayor,” she said. “You said yourself you’ve never been involved in politics, so what inspired you to make this move now?”

Zelena smiled widely.

“Well, as I said, I thought about where I could do the most good,” she said. “Storybrooke is a wonderful town, with many excellent qualities, but talking to its residents has made me realise that there’s a feeling that it may be lacking direction. I sense a need for a return to the basics of community. Neighbourliness. Family values. The traditions of small-town America that we all grew up with.”

“But you grew up in England,” said Lacey. “Wasn’t your father a diplomat? How do you know this view of America is either accurate or desirable?”

Zelena’s nostrils flared as she continued to smile brightly.

“Well,” she said. “Who’s been doing her homework?”

“Yeah, it’s just that people hear politicians mention tradition and family values, and all too often it’s a smoke-screen to hide racism and homophobia,” went on Lacey. “How would you address those concerns?”

Zelena spread her hands.

“I’d say look at my record,” she said. “Since I moved here I’ve made it clear that I’m happy to work with people of all backgrounds. It’s important that no one feels left out, and my initial conversations have led me to believe that there are concerns, and that some residents feel that their interests are not - fully appreciated - by the Mayor.”

“What kind of interests?” asked Lacey quickly, before Zelena could turn away, and her mouth twisted again as she tried to keep smiling.

“As I said, some feel that traditional family values are being lost in the push for modernity,” she said. “I’d like to reassure them that I stand for everything that Storybrooke represents. Decency. Morality.”

“Does that mean you think the Mayor is immoral?” asked Lacey, and Zelena pulled a face.

“I think there have been some questionable decisions at city hall under her watch, yes,” she said. “Does anyone really think that a seedy bar called Queens of Darkness is fitting for this town?”

“It’s a jazz club,” said Regina. “And there’ll be dance lessons each week. A perfectly respectable establishment, run by three accomplished businesswomen.”

Zelena let out that insincere laugh again, and Lacey sat down, retrieving her laptop from Gold and opening it up as Zelena addressed the room.

“Well, it’s not only the company the Mayor keeps,” she said. “We’ve all heard the rumours. Missing money, accounts not holding quite as much as people thought…”

“That’s an outrageous lie,” said Regina coldly. “Where’s your evidence, Miss West?”

Zelena smirked, as though she had been waiting for that very question. She held up the green folder, showing it to the room.

“I have the evidence right here,” she announced. “A brave employee of city hall managed to smuggle this out to me. Evidence that the Mayor has been embezzling town funds!”

There was a shocked intake of breath around the room. Lacey typed furiously.

“How dare you!” snapped Regina. “That’s a lie and you know it!”

“I believe this is my allotted time to speak!” Zelena snapped back. “I think the people of Storybrooke deserve to know exactly who you really are, don’t you? They should understand the choice before them!”

The doors at the end of the hall opened, and there was the sound of heavy boots on the floor. Zelena looked surprised, and then somewhat nervous, and a low-level muttering started up in the audience. Lacey glanced over her shoulder, watching as Sheriff Graham Humbert walked towards the stage with his deputy Dorothy Gale by his side. Regina appeared to be drumming her fingers on the lectern, and Lacey couldn’t work out whether it was anxiety or impatience.

“Miss West,” said Graham. “We’d like you to come with us, please.”

“Why?” demanded Zelena. “I’m a little busy winning this election, in case you hadn’t noticed.”

“It’s a matter of obstruction of justice,” said Graham. “If you could come to the station, please.”

Zelena opened and closed her mouth, a sudden flicker of fear in her eyes.

“What if I say no?”

“I’d prefer not to have to handcuff you,” said Graham.

“But we will if we have to,” added Dorothy, folding her arms.

“This is a conspiracy!” blurted Zelena, waving a finger at Regina. “Did the Mayor put you up to this? This is exactly the kind of corruption I’m talking about! The Sheriff being used as the Mayor’s enforcer!”

“Miss West…”

“Mayor Mills will do whatever it takes to silence me!” she went on. “She’s scared I’ve exposed her for what she is!”

“Miss West, I didn’t want to have to arrest you, but…”

“One hint of competition and she calls in her - her goon squad to crush it!”

“Oh, for God’s sake, I know you’re my sister!” said Regina loudly.

Silence fell, and Lacey hurriedly typed a few sentences, describing the shocked atmosphere of the town hall. Zelena was staring at Regina, eyes wide and nostrils flaring.

“I wasn’t going to mention it,” said Regina, curling her lip. “I wanted to give you a chance to be a decent person and deal with this in an honourable way. But since you’re determined to try to ruin my life for no good reason, then yes. I’m well aware we share the same mother, and frankly she’d be disappointed at this pathetic bid for attention.”

“How dare you—”

“I believe it’s my turn to speak,” interrupted Regina. “We’ve listened to enough of your rambling this evening. Since you’d been dropping hints about corruption in my office, I had Sheriff Humbert investigate. He told me earlier this evening that someone had been planting evidence to try to frame me. No doubt that’s what he wants to speak to you about.”

“This is—”

“The residents of Storybrooke know how seriously I take my duties as Mayor,” Regina went on, addressing the room as a whole now. “They know that I value their support and their trust. Of course I’d want any threat to that to be investigated. I’m just - I’m beyond disappointed that the threat comes from my half-sister.”

Her voice echoed around the silent room. Lacey was watching the townsfolk avidly, their eyes fixed on Regina as she spoke.

“I had no idea that my mother had had a daughter before me, no idea that I had another family member out there in the world,” she went on. “Her coming to Storybrooke should have been a time of joy and reunion. But instead of her reaching out to me, she tries to undermine me, to take away the most important job I have in this town.”

She looked down, shaking her head, and Gold leaned in close.

“I wonder how much of this is for the benefit of the voters and how much is genuine,” he murmured.

“Maybe fifty-fifty,” Lacey whispered back, and he nodded in agreement.

Regina raised her head, taking a deep breath, as though steeling herself for something unpleasant. Graham and Dorothy had edged towards the stage, Dorothy removing the cuffs from her belt.

“All I can do now,” said Regina, “is trust that justice will take its course.”

“You know nothing about justice!” shouted Zelena, as the Sheriff started reading her her rights. “You’ll pay for this! All of you!”

She was still yelling when Dorothy handcuffed her and marched her from the room. The sound of the doors closing was very loud in the silence that remained.

“Well,” said Regina, placing her hands on the lectern and looking around the room. “I think we can all agree that this was one of the more - eventful - political debates this town has seen.”

There was a ripple of nervous laughter, and she smiled.

“I truly hope that Miss West gets the help she so desperately needs,” she went on. “And when she has, I want her to know that she’s welcome to visit with Mallory and I. After all, we may not be able to choose our family, but that makes it all the more important to nurture the bonds we share with those around us.”

There were noises of agreement from the audience, and Gold leaned in close again.

“Ever the politician,” he murmured, and Lacey nodded.

“Storybrooke is like an extended family to me,” went on Regina, “and all families have their moments of conflict and frustration, but underneath that there is respect for one another, and a common set of values. I believe I have lived by those values for every year that I’ve served as your Mayor. I will always reach out to those in need and I will always act in the best interests of this town. Under my leadership, Storybrooke will continue to prosper. I guarantee it.”

There was applause, and a couple of cheers, and Regina nodded, looking extremely self-satisfied. She started taking questions, and Gold kissed Lacey’s cheek and whispered that he would see her in the diner when she was done. She watched him leave with his family, Emma balancing the baby on her hip and Neal pushing the stroller after them. Lacey turned back to listen to Regina field a question about the state of the town’s roads, bent her head to her laptop, and began typing up her article on the Mayoral debate.

She emailed the article over to Sidney before leaving for the diner, and walked back there with Ruby, who was chattering about the drama that had unfolded. Regina had been in her element when answering the remaining questions, and Lacey had felt a surge of satisfaction over her part in exposing a crime. Perhaps small town life offered the chance for rewarding work after all. She could see Gold and his family through the window, and his face lit up as she entered, making her stomach flip. Damn the man. I’m falling in love with him.

“Excellent job this evening,” he said, getting up to pull her chair out and kissing her cheek. “I got you a rum and coke, I hope that’s okay.”

“Perfect,” she said fervently, and took a slurp, relishing the taste on her tongue.

“How’d the Mayor look at the end of all that?” asked Emma, and Lacey pulled a face.

“The whole place gave her a round of applause, and she was looking about as satisfied as she could, I guess,” she said. “I still feel kind of sorry for her. Not every day you find out you have a half sister. Especially one that’s out to get you.”

“Well, it could have been a lot worse,” said Gold. “I very much doubt Miss West will present much of a challenge from a jail cell.”

Lacey nodded, taking another sip of her drink.

“Does this mean you and Regina are friends now?” she asked, and Gold smirked.

“Oh, I wouldn’t go that far,” he said. “What’s that term the kids use these days?”

“Frenemies?”

“That’s the one.”

“Kind of like we were,” she observed, and he laughed.

“Regina would fillet me with a letter opener if I even contemplated looking at her the way I look at you.”

“No, I don’t mean that,” she said. “I just meant - well, we kind of had that thing where we poked at each other to get a reaction, right?”

Gold looked as though he was trying very hard not to laugh, and she swatted his arm.

“Stop thinking about dirty stuff! You know what I mean!”

“I do,” he acknowledged. “And I, for one, am very glad that we - er - got the reaction we wanted.”

“You’re still thinking about dirty stuff, aren’t you?” said Emma shrewdly, and Gold shrugged.

“Maybe a little.”

-

They ate ribs, sticky with Granny’s special sauce, licking it from their fingers and washing it down with beer and wine and rum. By the time they got out into the cool night air, Lacey felt wonderfully tipsy, and regretted putting on her high heels earlier in the evening. At least there was no one else around to see if she fell on her arse, she supposed. Neal and Emma were walking ahead, pushing the stroller and talking quietly, and Lacey let out a sigh, slipping her arm through Gold’s for support, and resting her head on his shoulder.

“I ate too much,” she said, and Gold chuckled.

“We all ate too much.”

“You didn’t throw half of it over your lap, though.”

“No, I thought I’d leave that to you.”

“Stupid gravity,” muttered Lacey, and he laughed, squeezing her arm with his.

“Tired?” he asked.

“Yeah. Long day.”

“Maybe you should have an early night.”

She glanced up at him, and he was grinning at her, his eyes twinkling.

“How’s that gonna work?” she asked flatly. “Your family’s staying over. No way I’m letting you give me screaming orgasms while they’re in the room next door.”

“In that case I could sneak over to yours,” he suggested. “You could scream to your heart’s content.”

Lacey giggled, barging him affectionately with her shoulder.

“I think I love you, Mr Gold,” she said, and Gold stopped dead, turning to face her with a stunned look on his face.

“Really?”

Lacey turned to face him, taking his hand.

“Really,” she said. “I mean I’m kind of drunk, but that’s not why I’m saying it. I think I’ve sort of been in love with you for a while now. Is that okay?”

He was staring at her, wide-eyed, and a softness seemed to spill over his features, making his eyes gleam as he smiled.

“Well,” he said. “I think I love you, too, Miss French. Is that okay?”

“More than okay.”

He seemed to hesitate for a moment, then raised his chin.

“D’you want to move in?” he asked.

“Can I bring Darcy?”

“Of course.”

“Then you got a deal.”

He was grinning, and she found herself grinning back, her heart swelling with love for him.

“Let’s wait until after Neal and Emma go before I move in, though,” she said. “I think you said something about screaming orgasms?”

Gold’s grin turned wicked, and he bent his head to kiss her.

“I’ll be over later.”

She let his lips pull at hers, leaning in to feel the warmth of his body as his arms went around her, and let out a sigh of contentment. Yes. Life in a small town could be amazing.

[why-this-kolaveri-machi]

it’s a fucking metaphor!

Titans 3.08

i’ve finally gathered the mental and emotional resources to do this thing, so let’s go! as always, i’m typing this up as i see the episode.

SPOILERS AHEAD

1. on watching this opening scene, i was thinking back to how gar was in s1, or even the early bits of s2. the way he idolised the others, particularly dick, and his readiness to go along with whatever they said, and the way he practically bled the need for acceptance. and here he is now, openly defying dick, fully open to and aware of the flaws of the people he loves and admires, knowing he is accepted no matter what and extending that generosity elsewhere. it’s a remarkable bit of character growth that’s... sort of blossomed in the background and so rewarding to see and acknowledge. 

1.25. i guess what i really love about this conflict over how to respond to jason--as clumsily as it is sometimes written--is how their histories and individual traumas inform each character’s reaction. dick is torn between his guilt over what’s become of jason and his drive to do what batman had essentially given up on doing: he is motivated to track down red hood at all costs but there’s a sense that he’s not completely sold on the idea that the only way to stop him is to kill him. (he might go the comics route and try to put him in arkham? god, imagine if the season ended with jason in arkham.) kory’s never had much of a connection with jason in the first place, and jason has done one of the worst things he could do in her book: track and kill a member of her newfound family and is threatening to kill more. 

and gar... sure. look. the idea of jason and red hood as separate entities appeals to him; that red hood emerged when jason was drugged to the gills by scarecrow and lost his usual inhibitions. gar’s struggled with what he becomes when he’s pushed to his limits, too--he did rip open that experimenting scientist with his teeth way back in 1.07, after all, and he was brainwashed by cadmus in s2 into becoming a literal monster. he needs to think, to know, there’s a dichotomy, a line that can only be crossed under extreme duress or by outside influence. 

and he says--and we say--that he was accepted back into the titans in spite of what he’d done, but was he really? gar’s always struggled with his footing in this group; relegated to the caretaker, the tech guy, the gatekeeper, and sometimes punching bag even though everybody’s paying lip service to how much of a family they all are. perhaps gar reaching out to jason and offering acceptance is aspirational on his part: perhaps this is the effort he hoped the titans put/or will put into getting gar back, even when it would seem like he’s too far gone.

1.5. anyway my point is that i don’t think it’s worth discussing this in terms of right/wrong decisions because all of their reactions make a lot of sense given their backgrounds/personalities. gar is doing a fine job here of tracking down jason’s friends and trying to find him that way, but we the audience know that jason is ultimately going to end up an anti-hero/eventually-hero character, so with that knowledge in mind we know that gar’s reaction is the right one. it’s knowledge that the other characters don’t have, so to judge them on it is... uh, unfair.

1.8. also, molly is awesome, yay!

2. dick and barbara flirting over the phone is so cute! i love to see this side of dick: lighter, peppier, willing (even if somewhat reluctantly) to put his mission aside to go out on a date with his girlfriend. and i love how easy this makes his dynamic with kory too: it’s all very domestic and utterly delightful. 

(also, re: the water leak in barbara’s office--you’re saying GCPD could afford fancy-schmancy table-wide touch screen computers and evil-lair lighting but needs its frickin’ commissioner to catch leaking water from above her desk with mugs and fishbowls????)

2.2225. this is probably a teeny tiny thing and i’m not sure i want to bring it up at all BUT. the fact that dick feels compelled to lie to barbara about not liking fancy gala food and eating something more substantial before the date? not a terribly great sign, though i wouldn’t call it a red flag per se. 

“this from a man who forced his students to eat cauliflower crust pizza...”

3. so.... conner and kom are a Thing. huh.

in theory i really like the idea of them bonding over an innate alien-ness and longing for a place they could really belong. both of them are alien twice-over: conner a mix of kryptonian and human, practically generated in a test tube, and kom being somebody that was born different and rejected by her own people, now stuck on a planet dominated by an entirely different species. i even like them exploring this bond physically. i guess it’s the sense of... uneasiness around what we do and don’t know about kom that makes this scene land slightly left of centre to me. i think titans, especially through s2, has cultivated in its audience a sense of distrust even until the final episode, just in case somebody vital to the season is suddenly revealed to have had ulterior motives (i’m even low-key suspicious of leslie). i really want to see this kom-conner dynamic play out but the anticipation of watching the other shoe drop is sucking out the enjoyment.

4. for fuck’s sake dick, gar’s not your gatekeeper.

TIIIIIIIIMMMMM \O/

4.5. i love this nod to tim’s origins in the comics, the way he just comes in and lays out all his evidence and makes it clear to dick that he needs tim’s help as robin. the fact that he was there at the flying graysons’ last performance, he was obsessed with their acrobatic moves, and was observant enough to connect those moves with that of robin and later nightwing... all of this came together to put him where he is right now.

(i also love how he can’t contain his giddy excitement when talking about the day dick grayson’s parents died... to dick grayson. even if dick weren’t nightwing, that would be a deeply uncomfortable thing! yet tim can’t help himself, and i love him for it.)

4.8. it’s a testament to how much dick’s caught off-guard that he can’t come up with a better response to tim’s allegations other than “uh... he stole my moves! as you know, no two gymnasts in the world are allowed to do the same moves. now, let me escort you out while pretending poorly that i’m not at all shaken by this...”

4.9. i’ve talked about this before, but i find the logic around secret identities in this universe utterly fascinating. the titans don’t make much effort in keeping their identities secret: everybody seems to know that kory is starfire for instance, or that gar is beast boy. dick grayson is seen hanging out with kory a lot, especially at crime scenes. it won’t take a lot of sleuthing to find out that the titans are currently camped out at wayne manor, and to put two and two together.

my theory was that superheroes and villains have become such an integral part of daily society that it’s almost not worth it to seek out their secret identities, or that it’s just not a big deal anymore. like politicians or diplomats, not everybody bothers to look into who exactly their local politician is, but the people who know just... know. it’s a sort of unspoken social contract.

tim’s broken this contract by confronting dick about his identity, and dick’s not ready to deal with it. not entirely.

look at him! *pinches his cheeks*

5. ngl, it was quite satisfying to see jason knock the scarecrow out like that. 

5.5. i guess... the question of jason’s culpability is always going to be a thorny one and would make for a great courtroom drama spinoff. there are a number of factors to consider: jason’s personality, the rough circumstances under which he grew up, his undoubtedly stressful transition to being robin, bruce wayne being... well, bruce wayne, never feeling accepted by the titans and having most of them turn on him, being roundly defeated and almost killed by deathstroke, alfred’s death, a fuckload of ptsd, his violent death, crane’s manipulations, coming back to life, crane plying him with a drug. but there is no easy line to draw between any of these factors to his actions. i think it would be a disservice to jason’s character to attribute his actions entirely to these things and rather irresponsible to do so. i think jason has to reckon with the fact that when he took crane’s drug, he wasn’t reckless and chaotic like the thugs he gave it to; the planning that went into hank’s death was meticulous and the way hank died--dawn essentially tricked into pulling the trigger that blew her lover into bits--is so drawn out and cruel. 

5.75. it’s occurring to me that crane might have given jason a placebo. maybe jason’s dependence is psychological, and he’s externalised his fears in such a way that he believes crane’s drugs literally wipe them out, however temporarily.

in any case, the boy needs (more) therapy.

6. “he walked like robin...” fuck, tim

“gait recognition sweep” god, this show. i don’t know whether to laugh or cry. hey, once we’re done doing this gait recognition thingy, can we get a goddamn plumber in the house??? or move the commissioner’s desk so that sewage water isn’t dripping on her head or the million dollar touchscreen desk???????

6.5. oh no dick!!!!!! i am delighted that you got hurt but i feel ashamed about it! that looked like it really hurt!

he’s really not having a good time of it, is he. from being shot by a sniper to slamming at full speed into an suv, he’s got to be really fucking battered by now. and that’s just the physical side of it.

“can you believe that just over a week ago i was sitting in san francisco eating cauliflower crust pizza and feeling good about myself for the first time in five years...”

7. kory’s having visions again! now that she’s figured what they are, do you think the show’s just dropped justin? it’s curious that HPG hasn’t been brought up in a while after featuring relatively heavily in the beginning. hmmm.

8. dick’s in hospital but... he looks remarkably whole for someone who took a spill like that. you’d think he’d at least have a bruise to show for it. on the other hand, i love that the first thing he says is ‘i need to call home’. reminds me of season 1 dick and his clumsy attempts to explain away his found family as an ‘alliance of necessity’ or some bullshit. what a long way he’s come!

*gasp* dick’s hallucinating again!!!!!!!!!!!! i’m doing the dick’s hallucinating dance! can you believe that we’re carrying over these huge honking issues unearthed in season 2 onto season 3? can you believe?!!! all that time and effort i spent talking about dick’s mental health from last season has not gone in vain!!

... ahem. anyway. more on this later.

“hold on barbara, i think kory gave me the number to this therapist that she kept calling Hot Psychiatrist Guy...”

9. just an interlude to say that i’m barely halfway through the episode and i’ve already written 2k+ words... ugh. i’m going to try and be more concise.

10. man i fuckin love it when titans goes all out with its weird mindscapes and i’m extra glad that kory’s the focus this time. is that baby kom or maybe a secret sibling that neither of them knew about? was that lady luand’r? and is this place where kory was circling where the secret sibling is? it’s all very intriguing. 

(if justin turned out to be that sibling... we’ve a real luke/leia situation on our hands.)

11. aw, i knew that nice security guard was going to die, but it still hurt to see him go :(

12. this show is so bizarre. like i get the mindscape as a narrative device, but jason using sex workers to try and vocalise his guilt about killing hank was just weird. like. i have to use tamil, sorry: idhulaan yaaru pa room pottu yosikara??? some things just can’t be translated into a second language.

i guess one way to interpret jason’s reckoning with what he did to the titans as a sign of him coming off crane’s drug, but i think it’s more to do with the disillusionment of realising that he was a mere pawn in a more sinister plan, and not, as he thought, a player in control of his destiny, rising to the purpose of liberating gotham of its fears in a way batman never could. along the way, he’s done some truly irreversible damage. it’s a bitter pill to swallow.

13. another hallucination! it’s really intriguing that it’s a young dick(?), younger than we’ve ever seen him, wearing an early-era robin costume from way before he even became robin. (this is also interesting in that it gives credence to the idea that ‘robin’ is an identity that dick created entirely on his own, and as a possible homage to his family.)

“old road, old house... it’s all gone.” i wonder what it all means.

13.5. it’s entirely likely dick’s hallucinating because of a brain injury from the accident, though just hallucinations without any other focal neurological deficit is unusual. he might’ve been microdosed with fear toxin at some point, though i wonder when... did jason do so after dick’s accident? did he get dosed at the factory from last episode? 

it’s also possible it’s a continuing manifestation of dick’s issues from last season--which, if you remember, he never told anyone about and therefore never properly addressed. maybe he was hallucinating bruce wayne in a psychotic episode accompanying an acute stress reaction and maybe that’s what’s happening now. nobody’s denying that he’s under an extraordinary amount of stress right now. another way to look at it is that this is how he externalises conflict that he can’t bear to suppress anymore; if in s2 halluci!bruce manifested his insecurities and self-loathing, then these hallucinations... something to do with his fears, no doubt.

yet ANOTHER way to look at it might be: rachel is reaching out to him through their, well, psychic bond. after all, they were able to use that bond unconsciously last season to get the titans back together; maybe rachel has learned to gain a degree of control over it in themyscira and is sending across warnings? it’s all very intriguing.

anyway:

“i hear you skipped over the discowing suit in your evolution to nightwing... how could you??”

14. can you imagine, gar did all the work of reaching out to jason via molly and jason wants to meet dick? smh.

14.5. “i’m just a regular guy doing regular things” he says, standing at the opening of a secret old tunnel, like a secret person doing secret things, confronting someone who can now officially be called his stalker. neither of you guys are ‘regular’

14.8. ‘my dad was a cop and he taught me how to investigate’ - hmmm. i guess they’re trying to Explain Tim but i don’t think that’s really necessary. so he’s smart and he’s obsessed with batman and robin--that should be enough, imo. 

15. that scene with scarecrow and his mother was... wow. i’m just laughing here helplessly, because what the hell? for a while i thought it was an extended dream sequence and i’m still not entirely sure that it isn’t...

anyway. i still love that titans is happy to throw out its plot in favour of extended character-exploration sessions.

15.5. it seems to me that this scene with crane and his mother (i have no idea if there’s anything in the comics similar to this) serves to move forward this season’s theme of harmful legacies and how parents can damage their children in the name of their mission. in a way it’s been the underlying message of the entire show but we’re really seeing it being reinforced this season. the titans, serving as a foil to scarecrow, are using the damage to rebuild themselves and actually work through their issues together, instead of spiralling further and further into the morass of their issues.

other than that... god, that scene was painful to watch. i can’t say i like this version of scarecrow or how this actor plays him at all.

16. i wonder what’s jason’s play here. i think he’s smart enough to realise that the titans aren’t going to just forgive him and let him be a titan again after what he did, and that dick agreeing to it is just a bid to pin both him and crane down. maybe it’s a ploy to trap them, get back on scarecrow’s good books so that he can have the drug again. who knows.

17. i absolutely felt dick when he said “we’ll bring him in and then re-assess the situation.” what the fuck else is he going to say? the priority is to get him.

so kory and dick are both hallucinating while potentially trying to rehabilitate their murderous siblings. CONFIDE IN EACH OTHER ALREADY

18. TIM NOOOO! you beautiful, reckless fool!

18.25. just to quickly address it here because i know it’s been brought up before: i think it’s perfectly justified to not have conner take tim to the hospital via superspeed because a) i don’t think we’ve seen conner do that with anybody so far and b) it’s probably not a good idea to submit tim’s body to that kind of stress without knowing what it would do to him. the paramedics with actual equipment and experience would be there in a few minutes, so on a risk assessment, i would say dick and conner absolutely made the right call.

18.5. i guess we won’t know what jason really intended to when the titans came to the pump to see him, but this is definitely going to set a big wedge in his relationship with crane. then again, crane got what he wanted--using starfire’s powers to blast through to the underground pipes--so jason can argue that this is exactly what he was working towards, too. 

anyway, mortal peril, hallucinations, murderous family members, creepy visions and robins sprouting left and right. time to get rachel and donna on the scene, i think.

[magnetothemagnificent]

Yeah I just learned the news a few hours ago, I've been meaning on making a post about it with reciepts because as a queer Jew who grew up Orthodox, this is a huge betrayal. I'm too busy to make a full post, but basically, in summary:

Yaakov Levy is not his real name. His real name is Erez Oved. Yaakov Levy is a character created in a music video he was in about a year ago. The music video is about homophobia in the Charedi community. As far as we know, and this is all developing information, he was never Charedi.

Based on the fact that Yaakov Levy, a gay Charedi man, is a character in a music video, I believe there are more people responsible for this deception. There are other people featured in his videos, particularly a woman he claims is his sister and a woman he claims is his mother. I don't know yet if they are actually his family members, but I doubt it at this point and suspect they are also actors. I have been trying to do some amateur sleuthing to figure out who they are, but again, my personal life is very busy so I haven't found much.

My issue with This.Is.Kosher is that his content, now that we know he's not actually Charedi (he is actually gay, though), is dangerous.

Why is it dangerous?

It misrepresents what Charedi life is like. While I'm sure there are plenty of Charedi parents and siblings who are supportive of their queer loved ones, the fact of the matter is that it is dangerous to be queer in certain Charedi communities, especially in Israel.

The political climate in Israel is becoming increasingly right-wing. No anti-LGBT legislation has been passed yet, but it's an ever present concern. Homophobia in Charedi communities is a huge issue, and content This.Is.Kosher presents a lie. It would be one thing if Yaakov Levy was real, because then he would be speaking about his experiences. But Yaakov Levy isn't real, Erez Oved is. And he is presenting a world where an openly queer Charedi man is 100% safe and comfortable in his community, when the reality is that a situation like that is rare.

And the thing is, there are queer Orthodox and even Charedi people who have supportive families and live their truth within their communities, but that is not the norm yet. How can we expect homophobia to be taken seriously when Orthodox Jews in denial can just point to This.Is.Kosher and say "homophobia isn't a problem in our community! Look at him!".

Erez Oved is also claiming to be a voice for queer Orthodox Jews, when he is not Orthodox. He is speaking over the voices of actual queer Orthodox Jews, to talk about their experiences, good or bad.

And there's also been evidence that he's been using his This.Is.Kosher account to solicit donations for Yaakov Levy, a gay Charedi man, who isn't even real.

I don't know what Erez Oved's intentions were. Maybe he had good intentions, maybe he didn't, but at the moment he is denying everything on This.Is.Kosher's instagram, and not taking accountibility.

Screenshots:

And here is a link to his Music Video

(goyim I'm going to ask you to refrain from adding your two cents on the matter)

[id in alt text]

apparently this.is.kosher is a fake and just cosplays as a chasid?? wtf 😒

[cherryusa]

Welcome back to town, Sleuth! Hope you enjoy your stay… Because you’re never going home!

THE SLEUTH:

THEODORE “TED” LEWIS DACRE MONTGOMERY, PLAYED BY HERMAN

“SO, HOW WELL DID YOU KNOW LUX LEWIS? AND, LIKE, BE TOTALLY HONEST… ARE YOU GLAD SHE’S GONE?”

Ted blinked in shock. He knew Cherry was prone to ridiculousness, but he figured the journalists would work to call it out instead of playing into it. At the very least, he hoped they’d be researched enough that he could get some info out of them. “Well...she was literally my cousin. So I’m definitely not glad she’s gone.” He said bluntly, staring at Clarissa like she was out of her mind. He recalled the call from his uncle, how messy the whole situation quickly became. News from Cherry just got worse and worse week by week. “I actually wish I knew Lux better than I did. Our families live so far away and we were pretty different growing up. Not a lot of fuel for some deep cousin connection or anything. That’s why I’m excited to meet her friends! I want to see the side of Lux y’all Cherriots got.” He chimed. It wasn’t a complete lie. In finding out what those people thought of Lux, he knew he could slowly but surely piece together the truth.

“WHAT ARE YOU PARENTS LIKE? DO YOU, LIKE, THINK YOU’RE ANYTHING LIKE THEM, OR DO YOU HAVE TOTAL MOMMY AND DADDY ISSUES?”

He blew a raspberry. His parents are objectively terrible. Emotionally distant but constantly meddling with the trajectory of his life. “I mean...my uncle and aunt are still grieving. This is my second time visiting since Lux died. They didn’t even make it to the funeral.” He explained. It was all too familiar to Ted by this point. They probably wouldn’t even show up to their own son’s memorial if it wasn’t going to make them money. Bottom-lines and appearances seemed to be their main worry most of the time. He tilted his head as he glanced toward Clarissa, flirtatiously. “Are you into guys with mommy issues or what?” He asked. Clarissa’s disgusted glare told him everything he needed to know. He lifted his hands in defeat and laughed. “In all seriousness, I respect my parents. They’re hardworkers and I’m getting my education because of it. But I’ll be damned if I end up anything like 'em.”

“YOU CAN BE HONEST WITH ME… WHO DO YOU THINK MURDERED LUX?”

Ted squinted at Clarissa. “Do y’all really consider that up for debate?” He inquired, leaning forward. “Don’t get me wrong...I wanted nothing more than to believe that someone did this to Lux...” He paused. He didn’t just want to believe it. He had empirical evidence at this point. Someone in this town was hiding something, and the worst part is that it was someone close to his cousin. When he did narrow it down, it would be too late for accusations. Ted backed himself that much. He planned to root out who was at fault before the trees even began to redden. “As hard as it is to admit. We have to accept that Lux was going through more than any of us knew about. All of that energy speculating on who fucking dunnit should be put towards something else. Like iunno...maybe supporting her loved ones instead of interrogating and ostracizing them all the damn time. I don’t have my certifications or anything yet, but I’ve studied enough to know that none of those kids are okay after some shit like that. Y’all could have a lot more dead kids on your hands.” He spoke, gesticulating with his hands all the while. In reality, Ted knew one thing. When he found out which one of those bastards were responsible for pulling a wool over this town’s eyes...a premature death will be the least of their worries.

SOLVING THE CASE OF LUX LEWIS - A TED LEWIS INITIATIVE

aka Ted had been using Lux’s high school yearbook and annotating pictures of the gang with sticky notes, because he’s fucking crazy passionate

Step One: RORY

From what I’ve heard, Rory is friends with Noah and Zev. That’s really unfortunate. She’s mighty pretty and definitely undeserving of whatever backstabbing is coming her way from those nerds.

I’ve listened to those damn tapes back to back...and nothing suggests that Rory has a hand in this. I think she’s my best bet in forming a real connection. Who knows, maybe down the line we’ll get to take down Lux’s killer together. She seems like a smart enough lady.

One more time for good measure: she’s a fucking rocket.

Step Two: ELAINE

If things don’t work out with Rory, Elaine’s my next target. She was pretty buddy buddy with Lux if I remember correctly. And she wasn’t in town when Lux died. Good things.

She’s a fucking rocket too.

Honestly...Lux has some really attractive friends.

Focus, idiot!

There’s the whole lady on lady thing between her and Lux. That’s a fucking bummer, to be honest. I obviously can’t confront her about it...it’d completely blow my cover. But I think if I insert myself into her life, I could get her to lean on me. Definitely a long-con...but not really because she does actually look like someone who could use a good friend.

Step Three: NOAH

This smug son of a bitch is gonna be a hard nut to crack. The tapes said something about him being a little bit of an outsider? So probably on the quiet shy side? Those are the mofos with the most to hide.

Since coming to town I keep hearing confirmation about what was said on the tapes. Some photo of him and Lux the night she passed? I have lots of reasons at this point to believe Noah had something to do with what happened to Lux that night.

He’s like a writing nerd or something? I’ve gone to school with that type of kid. I’ll just plan a meetcute where I walk past him in public and drop my “signed” copy of The Giver. Make some conversation about our favorite writers. Invite him to look over some of those stupid stories I wrote for non-fiction and get as much information as I can out of him.

If he really did kill Lux...I’m gonna have to really lay this whole “Southern Gentleman Ted” act on him real thick. But I got this.

[joontier]

Parallel Palpitations | V1; report i

pairings: dr. park jimin x female reader 

chapter rating: NC-17 | genre: romance, slice of life, humor

warnings: none to note

word count: 2k

g/n: this is just an intro basically ksjdfksjdf but i’d also like to inform yalls this coincides with the Subliminal in Scrubs universe (jk’s installment of TWA) 

Parallel Palpitations (the records) |  navi. | m.list

Closing his locker with his foot, Jimin tries to carefully balance his books placed precariously on top of each other in his arms as he walks back to the dean’s office where he’s also arranging most of his stuff to take home. It’s already been a week since he’d officially graduated medicine from Busan National University, and he had only kept going back to school to gather all his belongings so he could start reviewing. 

“Jimin, is that you?” The question almost knocks clumsy Jimin off his feet, surprised at how there was still any other person in the office besides  Kyungjo who was also collecting his stuff to take home. Jimin sets all of his books down first on a desk and turns, only to come face to face with none other than Jeon Jungmin himself, associate professor and chairman of the Jeon Medical Center. 

“Professor Jeon! Good evening Sir...It’s already late, professor?” 

Jeon Jungmin laughs, patting Jimin on the back, “I was going to say the same to you kid. You should go home.” Jimin flashes the older man a small smile, “Ah...yes, Professor. I’m just grabbing the last of my stuff then I’ll be on my way. This won’t take long.” 

“It’s fine, Jimin. The staff know you well anyways,” Jungmin sighs, then rests his weight on a pillar as he puts his hands in his pockets. “You know, Jimin...you’re a very bright student...I think even one of the best in Korea if I do say so myself.” 

The young man momentarily pauses with what he’s doing, taking in the professor’s words, “Oh, I think that’s a bit of an exaggeration, Sir.” 

Jungmin chuckles as he shakes his head. “It’s true - you’re driven and you’re smart. It’s a fixed formula for someone who achieves great success in life later on. Your parents must be very proud. I would be too, if you were my son too.” 

“Thank you, Professor. Everything I do, I do for my parents.” 

The older man lets out a deep exhale and gives Jimin another pat on the back. “Just wanted to let you know that you’re going to be a fine doctor Jimin - and the Jeon Medical Center would definitely need fine doctors like you. I realized I shouldn’t be telling you this, but I really hope you will choose JMC for your post-graduate internship. We have a good program here,” Jungmin’s voice goes down to a whisper, “If you wish to, just let me know…” 

Someone enters the office and bows to the both of them and recognizes the same man as the professor’s driver. The man collects the professor’s briefcase and coat with one nod of Jungmin. “Well, I’ll head off first, Jimin. I can give you a ride home if you’re done with those.” 

Jimin shakes his head quickly, declining the one and only Jeon Jungmin’s generous offer. He’s unsure about the other offer though, but if he lets himself get a car ride home with the chairman himself, the latter might take it as a favorable answer to his proposal to which Jimin is still undecided. “No thank you Sir. I’ll be alright. This might still take a while after all,” Jimin says with an awkward laugh, tapping the top of the stack which was rivaling Jimin’s height. 

“Alright Jimin. Get back home safely. And I...hope to see you again very soon.” 

Jimin gives him a curt nod. “Good night, Professor.” 

He continues on with his remaining tasks, wanting to finish quickly so he could finally go home and rest. “Is he gone?” Kyungjo’s voice startles Jimin, the book in his hands nearly causing the tower of books to collapse. “My god! Stop doing that!” Jimin scolds his friend as it wasn’t the first time Kyungjo’s sleuthing had given Jimin a fright. 

“Yeah, he left already. You done with your stuff?” 

“Uh-huh. All set and ready to step into the real world,” Kyungjo replies, waving his hands in the air. Jimin narrows his eyes at the other boy, judging him silently. Kyungjo has a particular inclination towards alcohol and Jimin wonders if today was one of the days where his friend indulges himself yet once again. 

“Have you heard about his actual son? What was the kid’s name again...uh…” Kyungjo snaps his fingers in mid-air as Jimin asks what was the issue with the chairman’s son, likewise reminding Kyungjo it wasn’t best to talk about it in the dean’s office. “Ah! Yes, Jeon Jungkook. Heard that their relationship got so bad that Jungkook completely cut himself off from the family once he graduated high school and went to Yonsei instead of BNU because of his daddy issues.”

Jimin, unsure how to handle and process that kind of information, simply shakes his head at Kyungjo. “It’s wrong to gossip about other people's lives like that.” When Jimin looks over at his friend, Kyungjo is no longer listening, fumbling with the remote as he turns up the volume of the office television. 

“In other news today, two thousand five hundred sixty one students of Seoul National University graduated this afternoon 25th of February, 2023. The ceremony was held at COEX Convention Center in Samsung-dong, Seoul to accommodate the number of graduates this year. With a yearly average of at least two thousand three hundred graduates, this year’s commencement ceremony records the highest number of graduates in the history of the national university. 

“Not only did they record the highest number of alumni, but this year also marks the first year to have a foreign national graduate as the school’s valedictorian.” Jimin is listening just as intently as Kyungjo now with both boys focused on the TV screen. “Jeong Yeorum, also known as Summer Jeong by her colleagues, graduates with flying colors today from Seoul National University’s College of Medicine. Here is part of her valedictory speech this afternoon.” 

A girl appears on screen and she stands behind the podium with a bright and reassuring smile on her face. “As we embark on the journey of the rest of our lives, I implore you all, to do what you love, because I believe it’s what you’ll do best. There will be countless times of trial, but keep in mind that perseverance will always prevail. Always aim for the moon, because even if you miss, you’ll land among the stars. Class of 2023, good luck. And remember, graduation is only the beginning.” 

“Wow!” Kyungjo claps his hands enthusiastically as he marvels at the girl. “The twenty-six year old, who along with her  family migrated to South Korea back in 2015 when her father was reassigned to an office here in Seoul. The valedictorian says she’s not entirely foreign to Korea as her paternal grandmother is actually a native of Jeju. Jeong Yeorum then attended a co-ed high school in Mapo District, where she likewise finished her secondary education with academic distinction.” 

The reporters, equally impressed with the girl’s achievements, couldn’t help but add their own comments to the news report, “Wow...I guess some people are simply born for greatness.” 

“I agree with you there, Dongho-ssi. We might be looking at the next Bae Jeonjoo, the only woman in the group of doctors who pioneered neurosurgery in South Korea. Ms. Jeong Yeorum, if you are seeing this, we’re rooting for your promising career. Fighting!” 

As soon as the news anchors proceed to report other news, Kyungko turns off the television and mentions the time. “Well, she was pretty cute, wasn’t she? Totally my type! Maybe when we get to Seoul to review, we’ll get the chance to meet her...and make her my girlfriend!” 

Jimin rolls his eyes at Kyungjo, placing a firm grip on the shoulder, “My friend...you are either drunk, hungry, or high. Either way, you should go home. Don’t worry about me, I’ll just close up here.” 

Kyungjo shrugs his shoulders. “You’ll still go, right? To Seoul?” 

“I will. Don’t worry.” Jimin gives the other boy a reassuring nod. 

“Still half half with the rent, a’ight? I’ll be counting on you, Jiminie...and don’t let me down. Also, tell me when you’re leaving for Seoul so I know when I’m not supposed to bring hot city girls home...they have the tendency to be...loud sometimes.” 

This boy was definitely high, and whatever substance he’s taking, Jimin wants none of it. 

“That’s your cue, Kyungjo. Go home and take a cab instead.” 

“I can drive! I’m not high or drunk!” Kyungjo puts his hands up in the air in defense. “Hey, look, I can even moonwalk!” He proceeds to dance wildly as he exits the office, leaving Jimin questioning how he even became acquainted with Kyunjo in the first place. 

You barely hear the sound of your name being called on stage when the audio of Hoseok’s loud whooping completely dulls that of your professor’s. “Oppa! Nobody would be able to make out my name with your audio input!” Playfully shoving your cousin’s phone back into his hands, you continue to mumble your complaints about the poor video quality. 

Indignant with your words, Hoseok retorts, “Hey! I’m not a professional videographer, alright? What’s important is the actual moment happening and not how the moment was captured!” Hoseok hooks an arm over your neck, bringing your head to his chest as he gives you a noogie. “Oppa, my hair!!” 

Pulling yourself away from his grasp, you quickly pat your hair down but not delivering a solid smack on Hoseok’s back. As you’re fixing your hair, you weren’t able to put much thought into where you were walking, ultimately, and accidentally bumping into someone in a blue and black graduation robe similar to yours. 

Quickly, you look up, apologizing profusely at the person. “Oh! I’m so sorry- I…” “It’s okay,” the guy smiles a little, “_________, right?” You’re sure the surprise is evident in your face when he mentions your name when he barely even talked to you during the entirety of med school. “Yes! I mean...hello, Jungkook..” Clearing your throat, you quickly think of something to divert the impending awkward silence, “Well...um, congratulations to you for graduating as the batch valedictorian!” It now dawns on you that he really did graduate on top of the class, “Wow! You’re real smart!” comes your thoughts, unconsciously voicing them out. 

‘You’re real smart?’ Really? That’s the best you could’ve done? 

Jungkook chuckles, slightly taken-aback by your audible observation. “Oh yeah...um, thanks.” From behind you, you hear Hoseok clear his throat before speaking up. “Hello!” You hang your head low momentarily, already imagining Hoseok making fun of you later for this. 

“Right, Jungkook, this is my cousin, Jung Hoseok. Oppa, this is my classmate - Jeon Jungkook.” The two men shake their hands briefly before Jungkook speaks up, “Well, I’ve got to go now. Congratulations to you too Soomin. And Jung Hoseok-ssi.” 

As soon as Jungkook gets out of your sight, Hoseok nudges you with his elbow. “Please tell me that man was Jeon Jungmin’s son,” he says, shaking his head in disbelief. Nodding your head, you raise an eyebrow at him. 

“Got a crush on the dude?” Oh god. Here we go again. 

“No! Jeez.” 

“Why were you so awkward around him then?” 

“We barely talked in class. Hell, I don’t even think we were within at least fifty meters from each other.” 

“But he’s a handsome man?” 

“Maybe you’re the one that’s got a crush on him?” 

Hoseok glares at you. 

“Do you think maybe you’d know which hospital he might be interested in taking his PGI? Woocheon perhaps?” 

It’s your turn to glare at him. “I told you. This incident was only one of our very few interactions ever. I think the last time he talked to me was when he borrowed a pencil during a class and that’s it.” 

“Well...if you’d discover where, let me know. Because if he does apply for Woocheon, and we’d happen to get the girl from SNU too....” Hoseok nods his head slowly, stroking his chin “Woocheon will have the A-Team interns this year, you included.” 

You roll your eyes, resting your arm against the car door that Hoseok opens for you, “You really think that’s going to pay for you ruining my hair?” 

“No, but you’re going to thank me if Woocheon manages to snag the dream team!” 

© joontier 2021

[estrel]

The Christmas Compromise

merry christmas, @lilliankayl !! ‘tis i, your secret santa! this ended up getting a little long, so there will be multiple parts up...soon. here’s the first one, which you will also eventually be able read on ao3 when it’s complete. hope you enjoy!!

Part One.

Dean feels his mouth start to form a lazy smile.

Through the winter chill and the foggy annoyance that his blankets are skewed around him to provide the least amount of heat and warmth, there is a distant recognition that the smell of coffee in the air isn’t just any brew.

Despite the effort to untangle the sheets from his legs and feet, Dean manages to bare his skin to the winter cold of his room, provided the damage to his heater. He makes a mental note to fix that later, after they come back. Dean can last a few days until then.

He can practically see his breath hanging in the air when he yawns, pulling on warmer clothes as quickly as his stiff muscles and numb fingertips will allow him. Sweats, then t-shirt, then hoodie, because he isn’t expected to be anywhere until later and he can always change before that if he needs to.

Better to die comfy than in plaid.

It’s early morning, judging by the darkness outside and Dean’s alarm clock that blinks 5:30 AM at him in white block numbers, but he can’t find it in himself to care that he’s awake to see hell freeze over. Lucky for him, there’s a quick fix to his sleepiness less than twenty feet away.

The socks take entirely too long to fit onto his feet. When they finally do, Dean yanks his door open and pads down the hall, stopping at the entrance to his kitchen.

It’s a modest kitchen—a modest home, really, but it does it’s job—and it’s empty save for an occupied chair at the kitchen table.

Dean stares for a second.

He’s allowed to notice clothes and posture before that second is disrupted by Miracle making a racket coming into the kitchen, and Cas turns to face them.

“Morning,” Dean greets him. The smell of coffee is much stronger here, and Dean can feel his mouth beginning to water.

Cas pushes a full mug towards Dean’s seat.

“Good morning, Dean. I made you—”

“My favorite brew,” Dean finishes for him. He sits, letting his fingers thaw under the ceramic of the mug and breathing in the heavy scent of Cas’ coffee.

“It’s everyone’s favorite brew,” Cas says, taking a sip from his own cup. “That’s why it’s the priciest.”

Dean levels a look at him.

“I have to make money somehow,” Cas defends.

“Yeah, yeah,” Dean waves him off, bringing the drink to his lips. The first taste is hot—too hot—and it burns his throat on the way down.

“You never learn,” Cas says. Dean doesn’t need to meet his eyes to know that they’re squinting at him. “You’ve been burning your tongue on my coffee for years, you’d think it’d make an impact by now.”

Dean only frowns and mumbles into his coffee something about “not every time,” to which Cas rolls his eyes.

They can only pretend to be angry with each other for a few more minutes before it subsides into companionable silence. Dean lightly kicks Cas’ foot under the table to get his attention.

“You gonna need a ride to work?”

Cas sets his mug down and shrugs. He’s still in his night clothes: a white t-shirt—Dean has never understood how Cas can stand the cold—and borrowed sweats, but he’ll probably burrow through more of Dean’s wardrobe to get his outfit for today. The guy might as well live here with the amount of time he spends at Dean’s place and the fact that Dean’s closet is practically Cas’, too, now.

I could always just ask him…

Dean swallows the last of his drink and stands before he can contemplate the question again. He busies himself at the sink, and then ducks under the counter to get Miracle’s food from the cabinet.

“Yes,” Cas says eventually, evidently having gone through every other option before arriving at that one. “Is it a bother?”

Dean pokes his head over the counter to look at him.

“No, man, you know I like driving Baby around. Besides, I’ve got some shopping to do, and, y’know…”

“Free breakfast,” Cas adds for him, a teasing note in his voice. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed the muffins that go missing every time you drop by.”

Dean sets down Miracle’s food and whistles softly, standing straight once Miracle trots into the room and to his bowl to eat.

“Hey,” he points a finger at Cas, “Consider it a compromise since you never pay for gas.”

“It’s not like I haven’t offered,” Cas meets Dean by the sink to wash his cup out. “Do you want me to pay for gas, Dean?”

He’s standing close in that way that Cas always stands close—in the way that Dean has stopped correcting for years now. That’s just how he is, he reminds himself, and puts visible effort into keeping his eyes trained on Cas’ blue ones.

“No,” he says, “You don’t need to pay for gas. All I’m asking is that you look the other way when I happen to find a cookie just laying there for the taking. Do that, and it’s free rides for life.”

“When you say ‘laying there,’ I assume you mean in the casing, behind the counter, where only employees are allowed,” Cas sasses back, face stripped of emotion except for the slight furrow to his brow. Imperceptible, if it wasn’t Dean that was staring.

“So now I’m an employee?” Dean asks, finally pulling away from their bubble to pretend to clean the counter. “Jee, Cas, you shoulda told me. I would have put my apron on.”

Cas punches him lightly on the shoulder, done with washing his cup but fingers still wet from doing so. It leaves an imprint on Dean’s hoodie, which Dean acts like he hates, but it gives him a motive to attack Cas back.

They scuffle, elbowing each other and pushing each other around the kitchen—Dean even manages to try for a few tickles to Cas’ armpits and stomach, but still to no avail—until Miracle joins in and they stop so as to not accidentally step on a paw.

“I’m going to take a shower,” Cas says, once they’re done with the rough housing. Patting Dean’s back once, he leaves the kitchen and enters Dean’s room down the hall.

Warmer, now, with the extra movement in him, Dean leans against the counter to catch his breath. At least that’s what he tells himself, watching Cas mill around from door to door until he hears the bathroom shut and the shower start.

When Dean is sure that Cas is out of hearing range, he pulls out his phone.

“Bitch,” Dean starts, pressing the cold surface to his ear and cheek.

“Jerk.”

He smiles. “How’s it goin’?”

“Same old, same old. Got a case about to close up here real soon, so. Expect to see me at the Bunker in a few days.”

“You’ll be there,” Dean confirms. “Glad to hear it.”

“And you? Everything good?”

Dean shifts at the accusatory tone in Sam’s voice.

“Yeah, man. All good. Shop’s runnin’ just fine. Bobby says hi.”

A huff of laughter. “He still kickin’ your ass?”

Dean nods, even though Sam can’t see him. “Bobby’s Bobby. You know how he is, never a moment’s rest. Come to think of it, I actually had to remind him that it’s Christmas this week. The guy was asking if I’d be in on Friday. Had to tell him he wouldn’t be in on Friday, crazy bastard.” He hears Sam chuckle. “Oh hey, by the way, I think Rufus is coming with this year.”

“Really? Haven’t seen him since—”

“Yeah, I know. Well, he’ll be there—you can recount the tall tales of Rufus and Sammy to everyone as a Christmas present.”

There’s a pause, and Dean checks to see if the call had cut off before returning his phone to his ear.

“—coming?”

“Sorry, what?”

“Is Cas coming?”

Dean hears the shower shut off. The guy makes quick work.

“I was assuming,” he says.

“Well, you should ask.”

“Why?” Dean scoffs, “It’s pretty much a given, dude, he always comes.”

He can practically feel Sam’s eye roll over the phone.

“What?”

“I dunno, Dean, c’mon. You can’t just expect him to come whenever you call. He’s got his own family, you know, and—”

Dean grimaces, folding an arm over his chest. “No, he doesn’t. We’re his family. Those dickheads are—” He sighs, tries to contain the outburst before it can be unleashed. In…out.

“Trust me, Sam, he doesn’t want to see them. He’ll be at ours on Friday.”

“Dean—”

“Nice talkin’ to you, Sammy. I’ve gotta go, taking Cas to work.”

“Wait, he’s there?! Hang on a second—”

“Bye!”

He cuts the call before he can hear another word out of Sam, and just in time to see Cas in the bathroom doorway. He’s looking at Dean with his head tilted curiously, and Dean’s breath immediately catches in his chest.

“Was that Sam?” he asks. As if his hair isn’t all wet and towel-rustled, as if he isn’t dressed in Dean’s clothes.

“Yeah,” Dean croaks. He clears his throat. “Yeah, yes. He says hi.”

“I’m sorry I missed him,” Cas frowns, making his way over to Dean. Dean stills.

“It’s six,” Cas continues, “I should be at work by seven, if you can manage it.”

When Dean just stares back, Cas adds, “You should get dressed.”

“What’s wrong with this?”

“You’ve been wearing that hoodie for three days straight and you’re beginning to smell like Miracle,” he deadpans. “Go shower, I can wait.”

Dean pushes himself off the counter and brushes past him. “Thanks, Cas. How considerate.”

-

When Dean parks Baby in front of Heaven and Hell Cafe, he does so in his grey henley and several layers of long-sleeves, with jeans that do nothing to combat the cold.

Shivering, he follows Cas inside, and warmth envelops them upon entry, along with the jingle of the door bell.

“Cas!” comes a familiar voice. Dean hears more than sees a set of doors opening, and Jack is suddenly in front of them wearing a huge smile.

“Oh, Dean! Good to see you,” Jack lifts a hand in greeting, but it looks more like he wants a hug. Dean smiles back at him and waves.

“Hey, kiddo. Everything alright?”

Jack nods. “Yes. Although, I…I do need to see Cas for a second.”

“Oh, um. Of course.” Cas glances at Dean with a look that says ‘I’ll be right back,’ and follows Jack through the double doors that lead to the kitchen.

Dean trails after them half-way, stopping behind the counter to sleuth after some morning treats. He decides on what he thinks is a cinnamon roll, pulling it out of the casing and shutting the door as quickly as he’d opened it.

He stuffs the pastry in his hoodie’s pocket for later, and thanks the universe that it’s wrapped and won’t get covered in fuzz this time (he’d learned the hard way).

“—makes sense. Just let me know if anything changes.”

Cas appears through the doors looking slightly stressed. Dean fights to urge to get up and soothe, to run his hands across Cas’ shoulders and ease the tension there.

“You good?” Dean checks instead. Cas nods.

“Fine. Just…It’s fine. Didn’t you say you had shopping to do?”

“Are you kickin’ me out?” he jokes.

“No, but the shop opens in thirty minutes. Feel free to stick around if you’d like.” Cas’ eyes drop to Dean’s crotch area, and he quickly looks down to see what Cas is looking at.

“You can eat that here. No point in hiding it since the gig is up.” Dean lets out a breath. Cas had been staring at the lump in Dean’s hoodie pocket, where Dean was keeping his breakfast. What happened to ‘looking the other way?’

“Thanks, but you’re right, I should probably get going. I’ve gotta do errands and be at the shop later to work for a few hours. You coming over tonight?”

Cas pauses in the middle of putting his apron on, contemplating the question.

“No,” he says slowly. “Not tonight.”

Dean tries not to frown. Suddenly the weight of his phone in his pocket is ten times heavier than it was a few seconds ago. ‘Well, you should ask,’ the little voice inside his head that sounds like Sam, says. He sighs softly.

“How about, um. You’re—you’ll be there on Friday, right? Do you need a ride? I was planning on leaving on Thursday, if you wanted to come with. I know Claire’s heading out earlier. Jody, and all them, too…so.” Dean forces himself to meet Cas’ eyes. Something in his chest feels tight when he notices Cas’ expression has only gotten worse.

“I,” Cas starts, gaze falling to his shoes. “I don’t know, Dean.”

That thing in Dean’s chest solidifies and sinks to his stomach, settling there uncomfortably. 

“Don’t know what?”

Cas starts rummaging through the bakery cases, adjusting things that don’t need to be adjusted, meticulously cleaning crumbs from platters and making sure the little banners with the pastry names on them are all straight and perfect. 

“If I’ll be able to go,” he says finally, not looking up. “It’s the holidays and I’m busy here this season, people have been ordering pastries for Christmas, and I don’t know if I plan to close on Christmas day, because my regulars might want to come in still, and—“

“Cas,” Dean stops him, leaning over the counter. Cas notices and lightly tries to push him off so he can start on the counters, but Dean grabs his wrist to get his attention. 

“You’re going to work yourself to death, man. It’s the holidays. Your regulars will understand if you don’t show up on Christmas, okay? And you’ve never had this issue any other year, so...” Dean makes Cas look at him. “What’s really bothering you?”

to be continued...

-

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[betweentheracks]

Updates//Recent Inactivity

Hello all! This is me finally taking some time to sit down and offer up a rundown on how life is currently going as a means of explaining my inactivity. This is a personal post that is guaranteed to be both rambling and emotional so if that is not your cup of tea, I understand and happily advise you just skip over this post as it is not relevant to the actual content this blog was intended for.

EDITED: After reading this back I now realize this is really just me spilling the tea on my own life and is laughably dishy in details which is extremely not my usual stance on my personal privacy. But idk, it was cathartic so I'm leaving it as is despite the urge to redact 70% of what I say.

I'll start with the good news that I am officially out of lockdown and have remained COVID-19 free since my return home from the hospital. This also means my son finally was allowed to come home to me which is dazzling and exciting and also a little terrible too. He's at a precocious age where tantrums are the cool way to communicate and having been gone for so long completely thrashing his established routine has caused friction. He came home and his parent was not the same as when he left; is much weaker and less energetic than before, paler and shaky - but also there's the addition of my best friend having moved in to assist and take care of me/him while we all do our best to muddle through.

The readjustment has been rough and a lot of this week has made me incredibly thankful to have practically zero memory of how I was as a child. There have been injuries: I have been whacked in the face with the metal cover for a floor vent while dozing on the sofa instead of paying rapt attention to whatever silliness he was showing off to me, there was his complete dismissal of me asking him to stay back and away from the hot oven as I pulled lunch from it's fiery jaws only to then be faced with a toddler quickly approaching with his hand raised to touch so I naturally made a move to block him and in the process I let go of the oven door which slammed upward and clamped my arm tightly between it and the inside cavern of the oven while it was set to a roasty 400 degrees Fahrenheit - earning me a mangled arm with burns of varying degrees, and then we also had that fit where it seemed like a much more grand idea to scale the babygate cordoning the stairs and I had to rush up them to stop him from tumbling face first down two flights and of course did the falling all on my own and did it backwards then slammed painfully into the wall of the landing. This all happened within a 48hr time frame and makes me wonder why I am so catastrophically inclined.

I have bruises that range the majority of my spine courtesy of the wall and stairs, two minor first degree burns on my forearm that are in the shape of an equals and quite large despite the lack of actual pain I feel from them, and the underside of my forearm was instantly blistered then popped then melted down into a horrid glob of skin mush and sticky red-orange and is a second degree burn that I have been assured is no real cause for concern as long as I tend it with care. In all, I managed to escape my momjuries relatively unscathed and with a child that was scared senseless at having hurt his momma and is quick to listen and never stops cuddling me in the time since. Here's hoping he isn't significantly traumatized from this since exactly none of this is especially his fault and is due to my clumsy, accident-prone status in life.

So yes, The Toddler has returned home to me and after some happenings we have settled and are happy. However, his blast from the past father has suddenly just decided to reemerge after more than a year of radio silence and static and has slapped me with a custody petition. Hooray. While I have no worries on this matter due to my mother working for one of the top custody lawyers in the state and snagging him as my representation, and the utter lack of competency on my estranged baby daddy's end clearly being displayed in literally anything and everything the idiot does/says, I do have to now go through the overhaul of a custody case and that is just so weak and exhaustive. Not to mention the basis of his claims that I am not fit to raise a child are founded in my health concerns and the crazy work schedule I keep; ironically, my health is making it so that I have much less insane hours and makes this fairly moot but to each their own I guess. Also worth noting on this matter is that he only did this now because he was recently placed under penalty for child support back pay and nothing in this world matters to him like his money and this is his special way of getting one over on me for tampering with his meager earnings. (He's a wannabe musician - the soundcloud rapper sort, just so we are all on the same page here). If I thought for even a second this was a genuine desire to be an active and stable parent I would be a lot less pressed to act in favor of making it legally binding that he can only see him under a supervisory condition and share time evenly, but it just is not believable in the slightest.

So the thing is - my health is actually quite dismal presently. I'm due in for open heart surgery on the 8th of April and until then I have been doing my utmost to mind all the nagging I get from doctors, PT specialists, the surgeons that will be slicing and dicing me, and my in-family medical practitioner that sometimes remembers he is also my brother and not just an MD. But like, you guys, this surgery is terrifying and technically is two surgeries rolled into one. They'll be cracking my chest open and then stopping my heart while they lift it from where it sits sweetly unhinged and lopsided in my body and very finely shave away some of the excess muscle that has built up around the wall of my heart as well as some unfriendly scar tissue that has lingered since my last surgery years ago. Granted there is no accidental slip that nicks my ugly gargantuan heart and renders me as good as dead, once this first part is finished the other surgeon will need to be deft and very quick to place this ventricular assisting piece in the valve that has all but given up on functioning altogether and do so in the time remaining before the time limit for my heart being essentially unplugged from by body is up, which would also feasibly mean my death. Lots of exciting and terrible sounding consequences, am I right?

Well let's bear it in mind that I am just below 30 in age and therefore not duly experienced in the realm of facing down my own mortality via making all necessary legal arrangements and managing my affairs and assets so that, in event of my untimely death, the custody case still doesn't stand a chance of snatching my son away to the sad misfortune of being raised by a man that has stated openly he only has interest in his kids so far as what they can do for him/get for him in terms of benefit and that he would be unwilling to be hypocritical and never deter his children from drugs and a lifestyle of extremely questionable moral integrity and hygiene alike. Eugh. But I also have had to make sure there is a DNR in place just in case things go wrong during the operation, my will has also been finalized and notarized, all my savings and financial/material assets have been squared away to come into my child's inheritance when he is of age and, most importantly, a document that states clear and direct instructions for him to be placed in care of my mother or, if she is unwilling or incapable, he will be under custodial order and guardianship of my best friend whom he has always viewed as a pseudo-dad anyway. Legally binding and even in light of the paternity petition this document supersedes parental right by way of the provided evidence I have submitted to prove a lack of parental credibility. That's right, I spent days lowkey stalking and sleuthing about to capture what I needed to show this man for what he actually is and I have precisely zero guilt or shame for doing it; this is my child on the line and that means momma doesn't have to play by the rules of snitches getting stitches or whatever other scary street rules he tosses at me as idle threats. (He's done this routinely for all the years I have known him, and it is somehow both pathetic and hilarious because he knows for a fact that, if I wanted, I could throttle him in less time than it would take for him to form a rational thought between his drug soaked braincells - I was also a person of less than savory character not too long ago and can handle myself very well. But I digress because I am losing my track of thought.

After the surgery I will have so damn much PT and rehab, all of which will be specific to varying parts of my body that will need to be reworked and strengthened. Weeks, months of it really. This surgery is major and hits heavy enough that I will be in the hospital for at least 10-14 days just recovering from it without taking into consideration any number of complications that could pop up. Hell, if they get in there and find a situation worse than they currently have an understanding of in the limited capacity of cardiology tech can provide of such a gnarled beastly heart and realize they can't really do anything with it after all, I'll be added to the transplant list. I think this is more daunting to consider than the surgery, honestly.

In that way that doctors have about them, I was "comforted" by being informed that this was an inevitability and I would have been faced with this in a matter of years - less than a handful actually - but the way COVID-19 chewed through me sped it up. I'm sure my years of substance issues were also very helpful in this endeavor, but either way I still am unsure whether I feel better knowing this or not? Mostly I think I feel conflicted and hopeful tempered with the caution of life being super shady in the ways it has often brought me to the doorsteps of dying in situations that seem like odd chance. I also am gifted with being so capable in jinxing myself that I brought myself to COVID-19 ("The way life is going I'll probably square up with Rona next week or some bullshit." Positive test flagged within the following week) and also into labor ("Watch me go into labor on Labor Day since that would be the sort of universal pun that would strike my bad penny having ass." Indeed hatched my youngling on Labor Day of that year) by saying some things within the scope of my bad humor that instantly manifested as reality so I'm not taking any risks here lol.

The gist is that life is really stirring up the winds over here and so I haven't been online and posting anything that would make my blog valid in a fat minute. I do apologize for this and also for the fact that this post took me nearly a week to type up, but when things calm a little I will be back in full. For the time being I will be sporadic and do what I can when I can!

Thanks to anyone that read this mess all the way here! And a big thank you to all of you still supporting me!

[agentnico]

The Afterparty - Season 1 (2022) Review

We shall get to The Afterparty review momentarily, but first I would like to tinker my tiny little brain on a minor thought that has graced my mind just now - what is it with Channing Tatum having become the go-to Hollywood cameo choice? Having in the past decade popped up in said surprise cameos in films such as The Lego Movie, This Is the End, Free Guy and heck even my man Quentin Tarantino got in on the fun by having Tatum appear momentarily in The Hateful Eight only to get his head shotgun-blasted off. Now The Afterparty follows in the same footsteps. So I ask, why Hollywood do you seek a cameo in Channing Tatum? It’s a question I ponder and it’s a question I sense I shall not find the answer to. Regardless, let’s just add it to the list of random thoughts one has whilst in the shower. As for the review...

Plot: When a high school reunion's after-party ends in a stunning death, everyone is a suspect; a detective grills the former classmates one by one, uncovering potential motives as each tells their version of the story -- culminating in the shocking truth.

There you have it, ladies and gents, another murder has occurred. However Hercule Poirot is currently busy dealing with a death on the Nile, Sherlock Holmes is awaiting to be recast yet again, and Daniel Craig’s Benoit Blanc has taken his knives out once more somewhere on Netflix, so now we leave this case with the very reliable hands of...Tiffany Haddish. Okay, not my first choice, but I imagine she’s better at solving mysteries than Shaggy and Scoob so let’s give her a chance. And that chance is to solve the murder of Dave Franco, and I must say, the wrong brother died, gosh darn it! I feel like James deserves such a fate more, but hey, it is what it is. Regardless, this being a murder mystery we get the usual amount of suspects and then we alongside the detective have to workout who did it. The murder that is, who did the murder, it doesn’t matter what other things they may have done, that is not our business. That being said, naturally other secrets from each character are brought to life in a way that provides them opportunity to grow and discover second chances and personal fulfilment. 

What separates this whodunnit from others of its genre is, well, the genre. Or should I say genres in plural, since the way Christopher Miller (who for the most part works on this one without his usual collaborator Phil Lord) presents this show in that each character has their version of the story, and that doesn’t just mean in substance, but also in style. So every episode tells the same story, however from a different character’s perspective and as such fits a genre that’s befit of their personality. We get an episode that plays out as a romantic comedy, we get one as a horror, another as a John Wick-esque action thriller, further one as a straight up musical and so on forth. You get the drill. For the most part this unique approach works, however I must say with an 8-episode season, seeing certain events play out after multiple times over and over again did get at times too repetitive, so certain episodes particularly suffered from being blatant filler. All I’m saying is a shorter and sharper season wouldn’t have hurt. 

Cast wise, the ensemble is an overall strong one, even though stand out wise I wouldn’t say there were that many. Tiffany Haddish unfortunately didn’t impress too much as the detective. It’s not that she was particularly bad, it’s just that with these types of murder mysteries you always wish for the main sleuth to have some kind of weird quirk or eccentric side. Whether with Poirot it’s his moustache and French accent, or with Daniel Craig putting on that Southern dialect and talking about donuts in Knives Out, those peculiarities is what made those characters pop. With Haddish, I didn’t unfortunately see any of those type of idiosyncrasies. Moving on to the suspects, certain casting choices were evidently made purely based on those actors’ previous roles. Ike Barinholtz once again place the rude rebellious type, Ben Schwartz is the over the top fast talking ball of energy (hence why he’s the voice of Sonic after all) and Jamie Demetriou is as awkward as he usually is. All have their fun moments, but you basically get what you expect from them. Dave Franco plays a Justin Bieber type and then Sam Richardson is really the only one I’d say is a stand out. I’ve seen Richardson appear in minor comedic roles before here and there, however here he gets to be front and centre and he delivers. He’s got the comedic chops but also gets moments where you really end up wondering if he’s hiding more that we think he is. Think Ana De Armas in Knives Out. Richardson is the Ana of The Afterparty.

All in all I’d say The Afterparty comes as a success for the Apple streaming service. The mystery is enticing enough, the cast are game and the new approach of blending the genres together work for an interesting experiment, however I’d say if we get future seasons they definitely should be shorter and Haddish’s character should get a little revamped more. Otherwise it’s once again yet another win from the guys who brought us The Lego Movie, 21 (and 22) Jump Street, Into the Spider-Verse and Mitchells vs. the Machines. They seemingly can do no wrong.

Overall score: 7/10

[sta-bright]

My First Tumble

Hi Tumblr,

I was inspired to get a Tumblr account, believe it or not, from Netflix's 2021 four-part docu-series "Crime Scene: The Vanishing at the Cecil Hotel." Although I highly doubt anyone cares enough to read any of my posts or has the attention span to read anything longer than a few sentences written by a 23 year old with her boobs out, *just in case,* SPOILER ALERT.

The (main) topic of the show focuses around Elisa Lam, who vanished in early 2013 when she was staying at the Cecil Hotel and was then found dead in one of the four water tanks on the roof 19 days after being reported missing (I think I have that correct but don't hold me to it, imaginary readers. It was something like that.).

Anyway, "...to make a long story short"... "too late" #cluereference, Elisa had a Tumblr blog. It seemed to be a good setup for how she was writing very personally, which is what I want to do, so here we go. I have a blog page for the business I own, but to be honest, it's geared more toward, well, business, so I don't feel like I can write freely, or only like the "good" or "normal" part of myself, the good stuff geared at an audience without scaring people away or whatever. So for this one, I don't really care as much about proper grammar or spelling, just somewhere to write my real thoughts if and when I can focus enough to sort them out enough to put them down. I have a bunch of journals, but they are all over the place and I can't write fast enough, so I'm going to try this out. I have a lot to say, and I think even just putting it out there even though I know no one cares might help me feel a little bit of relief, even if anyone does read it and might think I'm an idiot or whatever.

I wasn't sure what to name my blog, and I'm not sure if there's a way to change it in the future, but for now I have decided on "Sta-Bright." Most of my family and some of my close friends call me "Sta" and my partner David calls me Sta Bright, which I think is really cute and makes me happy, so here we are. I use the word partner because I think the word boyfriend is a little too young for us and our relationship warrants a higher level than that. ANYWAY, there is the background information for you, my new friend, Tumblr. I already feel better.

So, this show really pissed me off for a few (many) reasons. I've legitimately been pacing around all morning. First, even the title of the show is misleading. The death of Elisa Lam was not a "crime." It was a devastating incident of accidental death highly likely (as confidently confirmed by all professionals involved) related to a psychotic episode of her mental illness, Bipolar I, which I also happen to have. Netflix using the title "Crime Scene" to lure watchers in is disgusting within itself. Good for you, Netflix. Holla for the dollas! Make that money, baby.

Then, beyond the fact Netflix milked four episodes out of a glamorized case that was ruled an accidental death for this reason not even long after finding Elisa, it is the whole ordeal of the reality and dramatizing of this saga that is so sad.

Upon the release of the famous elevator footage the day she went missing, it went viral almost instantaneously.

*Hold please* I actually just read an article by BBC.com where director of the series, Joe Berlinger, says, "For the average viewer it's another compelling story you watch and then move on to the next. But for who this happened to, it's the worst moment in their life. It's a real tragedy for that person and that family." LOLOLOLOL OKAY JOE!!!! Is this why you spent FOUR EPISODES talking about bullshit theories to keep people hooked and open more discussion? You know that this is not out of respect. Shame on YOU!

"If you look at the other tellings of the story, you'd see she's the victim of some horrible, evil presence that took control of her.

"Those kinds of narratives, I think, are incredibly disrespectful and probably why the family just didn't want to deal with another show that was going to exaggerate the circumstances of the tragedy."

So is this why you made a show exaggerating the circumstances of the tragedy? Lol. "We need to talk about the ghost stories" Or do you need to talk about them to open a can of worms to more losers who fixate on the case? OR IS THAT JUST ME? I don't know. Lemme tell ya what. If anything ever happens to me, please make sure this Joe Schmuck doesn't make a pathetic docuseries about it.

Then, aside from the pathetic profit of Netflix, the actual details of what happened and how society and the "web sleuths" investigated, obsessed, and chimed in on this case is a whole other ballpark about society's minimization and lack of knowledge or respect for mental illness on its own.

THEN, there is a quote by Amy Price, the manager of the hotel during the incident, who is now profiting on a book she is writing about HER experience:

"I want to share my story," she says.

"But this isn't a horror story or anything like that. This is a story about struggle."

Okay, Amy. Whose fucking struggle are you writing about here? I legitimately don't know if she is referring to hers or Elisa's, but either way, it's gross.

It makes me so sad that this whole situation warranted MILLIONS of theories, millions of internet trolls writing articles about the "BIZARRE" death of this girl. This case is not fucking bizarre. It is unfortunate but it is not bizarre. This case was plastered all over internet lists with the titles "bizarre, unexplained cases of missing people." It's not unexplained, and it only was not for long.

These "web sleuths" were busy having a blast, going to the crime scene, smiling as they recorded, posting videos about their stupid theories. Trolls posting their dumb, far-fetched theories without knowing all of the facts, thinking they know better than the professionals, who DO have the findings, did do the labs, did do the investigations. And people still insist that THERE HAS TO BE MORE.

Of course, I don't know all the facts either. BUT, according to the actual professionals involved rather than the entire population of people who love a good "mystery," Elisa's toxicology results showed that her levels of the medications she was supposed to be on signified she had not been taking them as she should have been. They also found bottles of her medicine that had more pills than prescribed, also showing that she had not been taking them.

THEN, she was removed from the room she had been sharing with a few others due to "odd behavior" leaving weird post-its telling them to go away, or whatever. THEN, apparently going into the hotel lobby and screaming "I'm crazy!" or whatever it was.

Although all experiences with mental illnesses are unique, all of these details plus the footage, both detailing erratic behavior, leave no doubt in my mind that the professionals, SHOCKINGLY, CRAZILY, may be right! Who thunk it! I have legitimately acted in the ways described and shown in the video. I don't and couldn't understand HERS, but I understand MY paranoia, hallucinations, experiences I have had, and the actions that are presented, and I guarantee some would look very similar to that footage. Ask the few people who know me best what it's like when I'm not on my meds or fuck them up. I legitimately saw myself in her actions.

Yet, the internet losers had to fixate on a death metal artist who had stayed in the hotel for a few days A YEAR before any of this happened and legitimately ruined his life. His alibi was completely valid and he was dismissed by investigators. He was out of the country, he had tons of substantial paperwork and proof that he was, but that didn't matter.

Because no one takes bipolar disorder seriously, dismissing it as just mood swings, people being dramatic, seeking attention, being lazy, and everyone needs something more sensational, THIS wasn't even an option. They needed to fixate on crazy, fun conspiracy theories, watching the footage over and over and over again, sitting in their caves with their thumbs up their asses writing about their ballpark theories, internet bullying innocent people instead of doing any research on bipolar disorder, instead of defending or considering that it was a psychotic episode, which literally all of the official facts and footage present.

Clearly I'm not a professional either, but like... watch the show and you tell me. You tell me what you think is likely. You tell me what the professionals agree on. But before you make that call, try reading a little bit about bipolar disorder. Try reading about the psychotic episodes that can come with it. It probably won't change your mind, but oh well. It probably is just the hotel being haunted, ya know. Right? This is just my little rant that doesn't matter.

If you want to think it was a ghost, a demon, if it was a murder even though she literally had zero signs of any physical violence and there was zero evidence of it and all evidence the other way, you do that, boo. Have a blast. Hey, I 100% could be wrong, right? Absolutely. Who am I? Just a little dramatic, stupid, crazy nobody.

That's just my take, no better than any other internet trolls, I suppose. When all is said and done, in my little fantasy world, I guess people would just take bipolar disorder seriously and understand the severity of it. People would take it to consideration for the actions and words of those who have it. That's not fun, though. Everyone loves money, everyone loves a good story. Everyone loves making fun of people. Everyone loves a disability you can see. Everything I do is just me being an oddball. Everyone loves to be an internet bully.

I'm sorry for Elisa and her family who have had to deal with years of this. Years of people dismissing the severity of mental illness and obsessing over ghost stories, obsessing over the number of likes or views they get, money they make off of it.

Wow, that was a blast. I'm fairly confident no one will read this, but I feel a lot better that I put that out there. Again, I'm a little nobody, so nothing I say matters, but that's just my take on all of it. I've given up trying to convince anyone that I'm anything but weird, because I know no one will care or accept that. I'll just keep making people feel uncomfortable and keep looking like an idiot. Woe is me, am I right?

You have a blessed day now.