#and by dissecting her body you come to terms that.. this is a dead body. this isn’t my wife anymore. she’s gone

[devourerofcheesecake]

@dismemberment-on-a-tuesday-night

Exploring the others body but in a distinctly body horror way

[lxmelle]

Do you think there's a way/chance Gojo might still return.

I very very very much don't want that but some theories around here started getting to me.

For example the fact that we don't know Kenjaku's technique and how it works, also in the recent fanbook in Gojo's timeline the airport scene was referred as "a certain place" not afterlife.

Also his end was uncharacteristically 'happy' for jjk. Yes, his body is still used but his soul escaped the exploitation.

Soooo I'm curious as to what you think?

Hi, Anon 😊

Thanks for submitting a question - I don’t get many of these! What an honour that someone wants to hear my thoughts 😆 You’ve opened the floodgates of my mind, so proceed with caution 🙈

I’ll preface by saying that I generally feel that people can believe what they want to, so I don’t typically go out of my way to impose my opinion if I disagree with someone about their views. It’s just about being respectful I guess? I kinda wonder what theories there are out there about his revival, because I don’t engage with the content-makers much at all.

I will say I’m not ignorant to them, and do sometimes come across some posts on twitter & Reddit of that nature. Nobara and Gojo seem to be the most popular for revivalists. I get the impression that these posts dissect phrases / how things are described, or focus on the symbolism of specifics like that of lotuses’ regarding rebirth… but I think it doesn’t change what cannot be changed. Gege has hinted at his stance of them not returning for some time with how the story has been unfolding. Correct me if I’m wrong, and I know satosugu fans also do this for their “ship”, the only difference I perceive is that theorists exclude evidence that refutes their opinions (i.e. cherry picking things that become twisted into conclusions) and therefore it becomes a confirmation bias.

For example, the lotus symbolises many things, including purity due to how the blossoms grow in the murky depths of muddy water. Not necessarily rebirth in isolation. The lotus also carries some meaning in enlightenment. Resolve for growing despite its conditions. So... ince again, it’s not necessarily just rebirth.

In terms of the permanence of death… The have been too many reiterations of the narrator and reactions of characters that describe Gojo’s death for it to not be fact. I know this will disappoint those hoping for a comeback, and I think this question wouldn’t be posed if there wasn’t a sliver of hope that Gojo would “return”. I dunno, I guess I have mixed feelings about this because why just Gojo? Because he was the strongest, therefore he “deserved” to live again? His students need him? But… What about Choso? He didn’t get to be more of a human. And Nobara? Was that all her young life amounted to? What about Yaga? Didn’t panda need his dad? And Nanami? He didn’t get to go to Kuantan or retire with his riches he slaved for as a salaryman. Countless others, really. And let’s not forget Geto. He deserved to have a better life too. Did he not? (I, for one, would love for Gojo to come back on scene if Geto could as well... but... yeah. Alas. 😔)

So I guess I naturally have to ask: If it was so easy for the dead to rise again, why was it not possible for others who have died before Gojo? Also, unlike others, Gojo didn’t seem to reject the possibility of his death, so unlike Sukuna who had an interest in becoming cursed objects to extend his life or Kenjaku who body hopped, of Tengen who erased people... Gojo had no such wish, and felt he would “win either way” whether he lived or died in battle. This was his philosophy that was akin to a Military General. He was, to his core, very objective and accepting. It was both a strength and a weakness - just as Gege described in his character book.

Speaking of being a character… within Jujutsu Kaisen, Gojo Satoru was just one person. Gege spoke about his process behind Yuji as the main protagonist over Megumi and how Gojo’s role as the sensei was sealed after JJK0, whereas Yuta could be omitted. What remains true is that Gojo wasn’t the lead protagonist of the series. It would narratively be a disservice to Yuji, Megumi, and Yuta as members of the new generation.

What remains also true is that he was loved as a character. His legacy had been left. He made a significant dent in combatting the biggest threat to humanity. His role has been fulfilled... as fans we can continue to love him and recognise his impact. I think Gege depicting him in so many flashbacks is an ode to him in many ways. I don’t think it would be done like this if he were “returning”. It just does not make sense.

If we also think about what Gojo wanted as a character, or as an individual - I think he also found his own fulfilment. He didn’t want to return. I’ve come across some interesting perspectives of international fans who opened my eyes to a different perspective too: that Geto was happy to support him “as long as he was satisfied” and wasn’t going to urge him to go back - if going back was even possible in the first place. Because Geto prioritised Gojo as a person and not as the role of sensei or role as the strongest. So if Gojo was satisfied enough, Geto was satisfied that he was there to stay in the afterlife.

Let’s talk about directions too. North, according to Mei Mei, seemed to mean... rebirth. To become someone new. No where does it say that returning back to life was a possibility. Was she even right in the first place? Was the plane actually going to take off? So many questions. Whatever it was… Gojo also said he wished that the airport scene was not a figment of his imagination. The strongest sorcerer. Praying? I mean... why shouldn’t he get his wish? 😪 I think Gege said that the airport scene was like a reward for those who died. There is a better word for it but I can’t remember what it was. Will edit this post when I can remember.

I mean, these are my personal views and I guess people will believe what they wish to believe and hold onto different pieces of what’s shown to justify their beliefs. I suppose I wonder what has begun to sway you if his comeback isn’t something you particularly want? Is it a hope that he can continue something that you feel has been left unfinished? Is it out of love for him?

Hmm… I guess I feel like the baton had been passed, and he’d done all that he could possibly do, as the strongest

…even to the point of letting his body be used once he could no longer use it.

I know it is disturbing on many ways. However, within the series itself, it was a necessary strategy from the perspective of those not knowing how things would transpire.

Everyone there experienced a desperation to survive - to find any potential way to defeat Sukuna without the umbrella of safety that was Gojo Satoru. And Gojo cooperated - he never bothered with collaborating with to others since he always fought alone. This was character development too. This was for the next generation too. He couldn’t fight all battles for them. Some things, they needed to do themselves. Just as how he and Geto, as teens, were assigned to a mission that nearly got them all killed. This was the screwed up jujutsu world.

Ultimately, Gojo did his best in the battle. He did his best before the battle. Killing the higher ups included.

We may not know what Kenjaku’s CT is, but only Yuta can body-hop now… Gojo’s body, without Yuta in it, will not have a functional brain. Remember: he was also brain damaged from the fight with Sukuna.

It isn’t possible to survive without a brain. We don’t know how they’re keeping Yuta’s body fresh and how fresh the body needs to be in order for Yuta to return to it. These are the strange questions we can only speculate since we also don’t know how Kenjaku managed to enter the body of Geto in the state he was in, and then regenerated his heart and arm. Gojo’s body was stitched up in preparation for Yuta, for example. Yes it is mysterious. But. As it stands, again, only Yuta can hop. Gojo... I’m sorry to say 😪😢 is lifeless.

I think some theorise that it’s about the soul. But honestly, I believe Geto’s body with Kenjaku in it did not have Geto’s soul in it. It’s not a “Megumi’s soul co-existing with Sukuna��� situation. Nor was it “Yuji with Sukuna”. Geto’s body was imbued with his CT and his memories, just like a cursed tool would - e.g. Nanami’s weapon. So Kenjaku can pilot it and receive information from it as part of his CT. It’s like a humanoid mecha.

It reacted to Gojo’s voice like a “dragonfly without its head” - it was merely a physical reaction.

Just like how a human body will twitch and move even after the person has expired.

Like the tail of a lizard that twitches even if detached from its head. It is involuntary. A residual instinct.

Kenjaku’s perspective of how the body and soul is one directly contrasts with Mahito’s view. So I don’t think we should pick one interpretation as more correct than the other when they both agreed that it was dependent on Cursed Technique in the end.

So... I guess those are my views. I really like how you phrased it - as his soul escaped exploitation. I suppose I see this as being true, since we saw Gege describe Gojo in this kind of “afterlife” that he doesn’t try to explain. I mean, this is an afterlife specific to Gojo, so who knows where it is?

Gege is funny like that I think. Multiple characters have been shown to hold conflicting views, and even as the story creator, he doesn’t play God who knows all and sees all that is able to describe a definitive afterlife. It’s both poetic and frustrating at the same time imho.

Honestly, I also find it challenging to accept. A part of me wonders if he wanted it to be an actual delusion, but I’m reminded of how he talked about souls and reincarnation - so I know in the verse that souls exist and that what Nanami said about his death was something Gojo couldn’t have just imagined in his dying moments.

Sorry it took a while to respond! Hopefully it’s... thorough enough? If you have something else to follow up, please drop me a comment or another Ask!

[rosegolqen]

Per aspera ad astra

spencer reid x oc

i. vers un nouveau départ

Take a look at our new menu.

On your far left side is our everyday option, you can find that it is our most useful and precise tool: the scalpel. While scalpels come in many different shapes and sizes, their existence stays the same; for making skin incisions, tissue dissections, cutting open and piercing through the flesh to get access to various organs.

Next to the scalpel lays our bone saw. The metal is sharpened every day, while we may not use it on every occasion, it is there to provide us with smooth level cuts to the bone. Literally. In addition to surgery, they are also used in forensics, torture and dismemberment.

Don’t be afraid, our other specialities are not as disturbing as the one above. Just smile.

You can see one of our most useful desserts on your right side; rib cutters. Or otherwise known as rib shears. As the name implies, it is used to cut the rib cage to open the chest for examination. It quite resembles a pair of normal cutting scissors. Many in the business opt for gardening shears as a cheaper alternative, but it’s recommended to purchase true rib dissection shears to ensure quality material for long-term use and ease the cleaning process.

But that’s just our advice.

Do you want me to continue or have you decided what you’ll choose as your option for dinner?

No?

Alright. Let’s continue then. I’m going to tell you our most successful and used sell.

Our post-mortem needles. They are very well known is our expertise. They are used for suturing the skin after a wound or a necropsy. It helps to return the body to a natural-looking state. In easier words for people who are not as bright as us. To sew you back up and look as new as before.

Very helpful in our line of work.

Have you decided yet?

Yes?

Hmm…

Excellent choice. Let’s get to work.

The room’s cold temperature should have made her shiver but she was more than used to the freezing conditions of the Federal Bureau of Investigation’s morgue. She was too tired to head upstairs to her office so Aubrey rather stayed here. In the dark, where corpses kept her company every day.

It was rather...quiet. Pure silence. In her most honesty, she didn’t mind it. Living people talked enough already, but corpses never utter any words. Well, not with their mouths, anyway. Rather their bodies. What they endured. How they withstood the things they did. How they fought back against illnesses, addiction or the worst-case scenario— mankind.

The freshly brewed coffee’s taste made the doctor focus a little better than before. A recent case of murder fully operating on her desk and her mind was full of thoughts about the multiple strange things that happened to the victim’s body.

Half an hour ago Aubrey read the reports of the previous three bodies. As the fourth appeared the FBI stepped in, transporting the girl’s corpse to her to examine it.

Sondra Watts. One of many unfortunate souls to pass away from violence.

The three previous reports about the girls were written by different pathologists. He explained that the victims showed a sign of dehydration and torture. True, she thought as she examined the last victim, Sondra’s appearance.

The killer’s first victim was Melissa Kirsch, she was first attempted to be strangled, said the report. The purple and blue bruises around her neck like a beautiful necklace adorned with different types of jewels indicate that on the photo included in the file.

Photos of victims were just as disturbing as seeing their bodies. But Aubrey was never that picky. She always wanted to work with people, dead or alive.

Melissa, the first victim, however, didn’t die of strangulation in the end, she was stabbed. The photos showed the craters on her wounds, they were a dark red colour in contrast to her pale, white skin. The colour of her hair seemed dull and grey. Lifeless.

Perfecting his method, the killer started using a belt with his second murder. He started to become more ruthless and angry. Years of trauma and pain from a young age can destroy a person like that for them to attempt and do such unforgivable things to another human. It seemed absurd and impossible. It meant that for someone out there, there was no saving.

All of the victim’s eyes sunk into their faces, and harsh marks and scratches covered their eye areas. The pathologist explained in his reports that he thought the victim’s eyes were covered with tape.

Also true, Aubrey thought.

Sondra happened to have the same wounds around her eyes. Her eyes were not the only thing this killer hurt, while there was no indication of sexual assault, gashes of red and purple covered Sondra’s mouth as well.

It could be possible that a gag covered her mouth at the time she was held captive.

One of the strangest things this killer did to his victims was to cut and polish their fingernails. A sign of remorse. Coming from a psychotic killer it seemed…unthinkable and it made Aubrey nauseous to her stomach.

As she took out the fourth victim’s organs and measured them, then wrote them down on a note pad Aubrey wondered how these girls felt in the last minutes of their lives. Did they accept that they were going to die? Or did they hope even in their last breaths that someone was on their way to save them? Only to lose that hope and die after a week of being held captive?

She didn’t want to think about it but hundreds of corpses come and go through this morgue alone. How many people are victims of cruelty and violence every day?

“A lot, I imagine.”

Aubrey turned her head to the voice. A shadow stood in the doorway leading up to the offices. He was tall, rather built nicely but never her type. The voice belonged to Dr Damien Morris. Her coworker and second in command in this Pathology Unit.

Damien was always…a bit obsessed. Always asking to spend time together even though she denied him a few times already. Always acting too nice and defensive, ignoring Aubrey’s boundaries or the dates she’s gone on over the years. Let’s not talk about jealousy, he never got the point. And she doesn’t think he ever will. He’s a nice guy— don’t get her wrong but Aubrey never felt that spark between them that he was trying so hard to bring alive.

It was annoying at this point but he’s a good pathologist. A good person. She wouldn’t want to destroy the slight friendship they worked on in the last two years. Also, he’s not the only one, so this was not her first time dealing with obsessive people.

“I thought you went home?” Aubrey asked Damien as she took off her bloodied gloves. Throwing them out in the bin, her steps took her to the sink where she rinsed her hands thoroughly with soap two times. The cloth in which Aubrey dried her hands was soft, almost too unbearably soft.

She made her way to the desk. Taking a sip of the still-hot coffee as she sat down. Her focus was on filling out the paperwork for the victim. Her neat handwriting stopped for a second as Damien came closer.

“Nah, I thought you might need some help?” He pulled out the other chair and sat down. He was wearing his light blue button-up as usual. His black trousers fit him flawlessly, tailored to perfection to his body.

“No, thank you. I’ve got it all covered.” She looked at him, offering him a silent smile. The room’s temperature dropped— she was sure or maybe she imagined it. Aubrey hasn’t slept in in a while, her mind was playing tricks with her, she convinced herself. “The fax machine doesn’t work though, so I have to bring the report of the victim to Agent Jareau personally.”

Damien offered, “I can come with you if you’d like?” His smile was giving her the creeps even though it seemed genuine.

“Damien, go home.” She shook her head, a few of the shorter face-framing curls falling in her face as they escaped the clip they’d been in all day. “You’ve been here all night.” Aubrey frowned as she looked at her Cartier Tank Louis watch on her wrist. “Or morning. It’s 4:48”

“So have you been.” Damien leaned closer, his elbow almost touching hers. His strong cologne hit her as she took a breath. It was too masculine and strong.

Aubrey cleared her throat as she stood up. Her tone changed as she spoke to him. Authority was evident as she was still his boss. He should not be questioning how long she was to stay in and work. “Yes, but I’m the Head of the Forensic Pathology Unit.” On the other hand, Aubrey understood his concerns though. It has been a long workday for the both of them and he was nice and just looking out for her as she would be for him. “Go home. I promise after I finish this I’ll be on my way home too.”

“Alright.” He hesitantly agreed. Standing up he made his way to the exit, but not without looking back and staring at her. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“See you.”

Instantly as Damien left she felt relieved. Aubrey would accept his behaviour as long as he did his job well and stayed in the zone of friendship and nothing more.

6:02

Aubrey finished her report and put it in a light brown, beige folder with the victim's name. She washed her hands again, took on another pair of gloves and started to sew the open chest of Sondra Watts together.

After a few swift stitches along the girl’s abdomen that didn’t take her too long, she was finished sewing back her skin. Sondra was only skin and bones now. Her brain got removed at first yesterday, by another pathologist who worked here. He’s an expert in human brains and determined that the victim’s brain didn’t suffer any head trauma.

Aubrey covered her body again with a white surgical cloak. She pushed the victim’s body into the cooler that was reserved for her as long as her body would stay there. In a few days, she would be transported back to her family and most probably be buried.

The coffee on the desk ran cold, but the doctor still drank it. It didn’t do anything good for her organs but she could not take chances of falling asleep. Although over the years her body mastered the ability to stay awake longer than it could take.

6:32 in the morning.

Great. The bakeries were about to open up. She could grab some breakfast on her way to the FBI’s headquarters where Agent Jennifer Jareau worked with her team. Aubrey could have called an agent to come for the files but she haven’t seen her blond-haired friend in a while. She’s been busy with work and the writing process of the second book for her trilogy.

That’s a lie. There wasn’t any progress, so far. She hasn’t even started writing that book. But nobody needs to know that.

While balancing work and her personal life, she had time last year to finish her first-ever book. It even got her first place in the New York Times Bestselling Author list within the first two days of publishing. She’s held that title for about 47 weeks.

Aubrey pulled the three last victim’s files from the top drawer in the desk. Adding the one she finished before, she threw her slightly bloodied cloak into the washing bin as she made her way out of the morgue. She could take the stairs but her feet carried her rather to the comfort of the elevator. The morgues were in the basement and all of the people's offices and desks who worked here were on the top floors.

As she got her bag and purse from her office, Aubrey noticed how bright it was already outside. You easily lose track of time down there with no windows to remind you of the outside world. Only your clock ticking, the cold temperature and corpses held you together, they were there to evoke memories of the living people.

The orange hues painted the sky a beautiful picture. Swirls of lavender were still evident from the night but slowly starting to disappear as the sun made its presence known today. A few people rushed, running to catch their train for their early shift. Some walked slower, enjoying the quiet morning of Virginia.

Aubrey was glad the FBI’s headquarters was only a few streets away from her office. It made sense that the two buildings would be close to each other. All medical files of the victims run through them, they check to make sure everything is in place and correctly done before being brought over to the different Units of the federal bureau.

The building looked like any other dull-painted facility in Quantico. While on the outside it seemed normal and boring, the inside was filled with working agents and people who have caught a dozen criminals in their years of work.

Aubrey has only been here a few times in her life but the security guards who greeted her as she stepped into the foyer were always sweet. She only had to show her badge the first three times she visited, after the fourth, they let her in without the need to show it. Of course, you were still required to pass your luggage through an x-ray machine where they check for dangerous items between your stuff.

The receptionist who sat at her table welcomed Aubrey happily. She was rather beautiful. Her outfit represented every inch of a wealthy lady. The first time Aubrey has been here she needed the receptionist's help with pointing her in the right direction of the Behavior Analysis Unit but by now Aubrey knows it like the back of her hand. Or rather human bodies.

She headed to the elevator, stepped in and pressed the right button. The shiny metal door closed, her reflection greeting her. She had to admit, she looked tired but it was nothing a bit of makeup wouldn’t be able to fix tomorrow. After she drops off the files Jennifer needed Aubrey would head home just like she promised Damien. She doesn’t think she even has the energy to stop by her favourite bakery.

The sound of the elevator stopping and its door sliding open brought her attention back. Her steps were confident as she strode to the glass doors leading to another room filled with working desks. Some people were already working, filling out all kinds of papers and reports.

Aubrey didn’t need to head to Agent Jareau’s office because she was already on her way to the pathologist. She texted the agent before she left her office that she was going to drop the victim’s files off. By the look on Jennifer’s face, she arrived at the right moment.

Her kind smile brought one on Aubrey’s face as well. She pulled her into a quick hug. Has it been this long since Aubrey has seen her blond friend? “I’ve missed you, you know?”

Aubrey groaned, “Yes, I know. By the way, you are crushing my clavicle bone.” She returned the hug equally as brutally as Jennifer but she didn’t seem to mind. The pathologist only realized now how she needed Jennifer as a friend in her life. She loved her quick wits and gentle personality. She made her feel safe every time she was with the agent. It’s been such a long time since they’ve gone out together or got coffee.

“I hate your fancy words.” JJ released her and she could only grin at her expression, her lips tugging into a teasing smirk “Just say collarbone.” The agent shook her by her shoulders, “Uhm, excuse me? How was Egypt?”

“Oh god, I haven’t even told you about it. It was amazing, I loved it.” Three months ago Aubrey was invited by a research group and some archaeologists who found a mummified woman fifteen miles from Cairo. They asked her to research the dried tissue of the mummy and find the cause of death. While that took a long time she still enjoyed her time in Cairo. She learned about the culture, and the city’s history and even made some acquaintances.

After two months of careful work with a team of specialists, they were able to determine the woman’s age and how long ago she passed away. Their study also found the infectious disease that afflicted the people of her time. She sadly fell victim to this sickness as well and passed away at the age of 21 with a small fetus in her belly.

“I read the article.” JJ gushed loudly, throwing her hands in the air. Working Agents gazed irritated their way from the loud communication in the quiet early morning but they ignored them. “‘American-British Forensic Pathologist Dr Aubrey Crawford helps identify the mummified body in Egypt.’ I even bought the newspaper and taped it to my wall in my office.”

Aubrey groaned, her cheeks burning from her friend’s teasing. Covering her face with her hands she laughed, “To be fair I was not the only one doing the work. They should have included the other scientists' names as well.”

“You deserve to be in the spotlight for once.”

The pathologist dropped her hands from her face, “Still. Made me feel bad. Then I remembered how much money I spent on med school and instantly felt better.” JJ laughed, shaking her head. Aubrey reached into her bag, pulled out four beige files and handed her friend the documents, “This is for you, my darling.”

The victims’ names were written neatly on the front of the files. Jennifer’s mood instantly soured, her brown furrowed. And her cool mask of concentration slipped on. “Four murders in four months. The fifth victim was already abducted.” She took the files from her hands. “You know, you didn’t have to bring the papers over. You could’ve E-mailed them to me.”

“It’s fine, I’m on my lunch break anyway.”

“Your lunch break is at 7 o’clock?”

The brunette shrugged, “You know, it’s a lot easier when you’re the Head of the Forensic Pathology Unit.”

JJ’s chest rumbled, a quiet laugh escaping her lips. “I can imagine. Thank you for the papers. I’ll call you if I need anything.”

“Alright.” Aubrey nodded. Sometimes if the case required her friend to ask her to explain her observations and findings to the team. It only happened one time when a genius colleague of hers was sick and JJ insisted Aubrey’s gifted brain and gentle explanation would help her team understand the medical terms she used in her report better. “Jennifer?”

“Yes?”

“Could I use the coffee machine?” She had her eyes set on the device since she stepped into the bullpen. Aubrey didn’t think she would be able to go home awake without another coffee and she didn’t want to start an accident on the busy roads of Quantico.

Gentle motherly thoughtfulness shone in JJ’s eyes. She hoped the dark circles she could practically feel below her eyes weren’t that obvious. “Of course, help yourself out. That’s the least I can offer.”

“Thanks.” Aubrey greatly appreciated her blond-haired friend. She hugged her goodbye one last time, parting farewell and promising to call her later this week so they could catch up.

Turning around with heavy steps Aubrey made her way to the far left corner of the room. The surface of the grey table, which oddly resembled a kitchen counter from the expensive magazines, lay with all kinds of ingredients you would need for your coffee. Cabinets and rows of mugs were your choices to pick from. She settled for a basic white cup with the FBI’s logo. She would bring the cup back the next time she was to come in again to work or visit JJ.

Pouring water into the reservoir, and finding the already ground coffee beans on the counter Aubrey quickly slid the paper filter into the brewing basket of the coffee machine. She needed a strong coffee, so she put two big spoonfuls of coffee grounds in the filter. Shutting the brewing baskets lid, she gently pressed the button on the machine, the button lighting up in a red colour. Waiting for the coffee to drip down, she busied herself by putting two teaspoons of sugar in the white mug. Taking the milk out of the fridge and an unused teaspoon from the drawer, Aubrey waited for her coffee to be ready.

After waiting for about a few minutes and the coffee still didn’t drip down how it was supposed to, she gave up on waiting. Shaking her head at the thought, she didn’t want to ask JJ what was wrong with their coffee machine but Aubrey guessed she could stop by and just buy a small latte on her way home.

Before that happened and she could put her mug in the sink, she felt a presence beside her. Even though he was near her, he still paid attention not to brush his body against hers. Tall and lean, with his long fingers covering the machine and opening the lid again. His delicate touch made her eyes only focus on his hands and how they were pinching a tube inside the coffee machine.

Aubrey realized he was fixing the device, already having experience with the old machine. This most probably happened too often. “Thanks.” Her gaze left his hands as her eyes found his. He quickly looked down, not granting Aubrey the ability to see his eyes longer. Selfish. She didn’t mind openly staring at him, he was worth looking at. “I’m Aubrey Crawford.”

“I know.” He sucked in an embarrassing breath, “I mean—“ the stranger stumbled over his words, his head shaking slightly, making a few brown hairs fall into his eyes, which he quickly pushed behind his left ear again. She smiled at the deep scarlet blush appearing on his cheeks, “I-i don’t know. But I know. I’ve read your book.” Tall, lean and attractive stopped fumbling with his hands, the coffee machine turning on. Instantly coffee dripped down, the smell reaching her nose. Or maybe it was the stranger. She wasn’t sure. It was delightful, nevertheless.

“Ah.” Of course. Her books. Aubrey was rather proud of them. Sad that he only knew her because of them.

The man, who was probably around her age, gestured to the coffee machine. Awkwardly scratching his neck. So definitely not a social person who liked or better— knew how to make small talk. “It’s a bit tricky.”

“I noticed.” He reached from his neck to massage his right shoulder with his left hand. He seemed to be doing that a lot based on his poor posture and his slightly rounded shoulders. The stranger then straightened to his full height. Oh. Aubrey was tall without wearing heels but she still had to crane her neck to look up at him. He still avoided meeting his eyes with hers as he dropped his hand from his shoulder and reached for a mug in the cabinet beside him.

When he turned back to Aubrey, she gently moved her finger to rest on her chin, the movement making him look her in the eyes, “You have beautiful eyes.”

He clearly didn’t expect the compliment by the way he reacted to her words, “Th-thank you.” The stranger took all his courage and advice from his friends by the way he took a big breath, he most probably did a thing he was not often brave enough to do. He introduced himself, and a pretty voice flowed out of his throat even though he only said his name. She was mesmerized.

Aubrey doesn’t know what was wrong with her. Sleep deprivation. Definitely. She should stop staring. She will. Just a few more seconds with him. “I’m Spencer.”

“Spencer…” Her voice sounded strange to her ears as she spoke his name. “I like it. Very unique.”

“Actually, the name Spencer, according to the Social Security Administration of the United States, began increasing steadily in its popularity as a male given name in the early twentieth century and spiked dramatically in the 1980s, 1990s, and early 2000s. Today about 2353 people are named Spencer.”

He talked fast and enthusiastically. Never did Aubrey hear someone say something so confidently and without tripping over his words while the syllables flowed out of his mouth at this speed. It was fascinating and endearing. He was. This stranger. “Do you do that often?”

“What…?” The furrow of his brows told Aubrey, the stranger expected something negative to be fired back at him.

She shrugged, “Charm every lady you see with your smart facts.”

Spencer’s eyes widened at her forwardness, his mouth and perfectly anatomical teeth on display as he smiled. He seemed nervous, his right hand rubbed the palm of his left. “No, that rarely happens.”

“Well, Spencer, you’ve been successful today then.” She smiled at him, the smell of freshly brewed coffee hitting her nose once again. Reaching around Spencer she served her cup halfway up, stirring the coffee with the teaspoon thoroughly so that all the sugar grains melted. Unscrewing the cap from the milk bottle, Aubrey filled her mug to the brim with milk and stirred it again. “Thank you for helping me. I’ll see you around later.” She waved him goodbye, putting her used spoon into the sink.

“Yeah. You too.”

Aubrey didn’t look back at him as she walked away. The bullpen was slowly but steadily filling with more people while the sun rose higher and the day started. All these people with different lives working for the same reason. To save and to protect.

The tall stranger was left dumbfoundedly staring at her retreating form, his coffee forgotten in his hand. He only realized later when he was sitting in the conference room with his team already working on a case that he forgot to ask for her number. He didn’t forget anything. Nothing slips past his mind. Never.

Yet, this strange irking feeling clawing at his insides told him that they will cross paths again.

[carefulfears]

feel free to ignore if this question is too morbid dcjhfg but, what do you think it was like for scully to perform an autopsy on mulder's mother? i keep thinking about how wild that is and how we didn't get any reference to it afterward. she dissected his mom!! that's a new form of intimacy!!!

babes. babes. i think about this all the time.

(cw for mentions of suicide below the cut)

she dissected his mom. the thing about sein und zeit is that it takes everyone's usual roles (and especially methods of deflection) and breaks them down to the literal ground, makes it so much more corporeal (bordering on carnal), and punishing than anyone can bear.

scully is a pathologist, she's "death's best girl," she finds comfort in connection to the dead. in that moment at tena's house (another of mulder's homes turned into the scene of a crime), there's so much said in her "oh, no, mulder. please don't ask me to do this."

(when has he ever not asked of her, when has she ever not followed)

"i mean, it's one thing on a stranger, but you're my friend, and she's your mother."

this is scully's job. this is her role. this is what she does, in their lives. he comes up with the theory, she does the autopsy and finds the evidence to counter or support it. this is the one/two step of their years together. but just as his persistent ideology is failing, as is her refuge in the clinical.

the language is specific and purposeful, "you're my friend." that term means something to them, it means something in this story. it's not been long since they stood in his hallway, "you were my friend, and you told me the truth." she has memorized everything that he has ever said.

when he responds, "i know, but if you don't do it, i might never know the truth," it's all over. when has he ever not asked of her, when has she ever not followed.

this is not a stranger. this is a body that scully knows. this is a person that she last saw on surveillance tape, signing her son over to the devil, cigarette smoke framing her face. this is a person whose home she stood in, when scully was the only person anyone looked in the eye, the only person who could hear the violence in the next room. this is a hospital bed she held her crying partner next to, years ago.

this is the person who took the photos that have ground their journey, the ones in his home, maybe the one on the desk she writes her reports at. she will later find copies of those photos burnt in the photographer's trash.

the first time that scully met tena, it was at a funeral. it was to share hope. "i told your mother that you were gonna be okay. i just knew."

but now, it's been a long time, and that kind of faith is harder to come by.

"She hasn’t spoken to him since Monday night, when he’d told her he was going to take a couple of days. She’d seen him yesterday, though. Driving carefully parallel to the path where he usually runs, taking the long way home to catch a glimpse of him, fogged and out of breath, between the trees. Sometimes, she could admit to scaring herself."

-throat, eye and knucklebone by audries

this is not a stranger, this is a body that scully knows, and when she does what is asked of her, there are no surprises in the truth. tena took her own life and she did not leave a note, she took her "unsaid" words and answers to her grave.

(in pusher, it was when the gun was pointed at his own head that mulder didn't hesitate to pull the trigger. in demons, yet another home turned into a crime scene, twice over, as scully carefully walked up to see his gun at his jaw. in gethsemane....if the phone hadn't rung in gethsemane, would he have left a note?)

what sein und zeit makes painfully obvious, is just how fragile it all is. what a house of cards this quest is, this family is, scully's life is. in the end, it was one little girl's disappearance that built it, and another's that tore it down.

(this is what CSM warns scully against the next day, in closure. "out of kindness, agent scully. allow him his ignorance. it's what gives him hope." allow him his hope, agent scully. it'll break everything you have.)

scully's first appearance in sein und zeit is in the motel room in sacramento, when her annoyance at having to track her partner across the country to collect his homework turns into visible fear the first time mulder says "she's not dead," as the news report on amber lynn lapierre plays.

when mulder's phone rings, and his mom is watching the same news feed, there's more of a connection between him and his mother than there has been in years.

"I'm watching the news. That little girl in California...you're out there, aren't you?" "Yes, I am. Are you okay, mom?"

for nearly 30 years, the last remaining members of this family have sustained on repression and fantasy, respectively. when the tape plays on another family's loss, neither method of coping can withstand confrontation with the physical.

"A closed-mouth smile as he flicks through files on their cornered computer table. 'I am my father’s son.' Except that he isn’t. He is his mother’s son. She knows that with a hyper-specific intimacy, the way she could tell you the periodic table, the chambers of a heart, the location of the aneurysm that killed the fourth cadaver she’d cut open at Stanford. That is: she know through science and biology. Through blood and white gloves."

-throat, eyes and knucklebone by audries

when amber lynn lapierre goes missing, both mulder and tena lose the refuge they've built for themselves. it speaks to the core of this story, and this "quest": every single person on earth is valued as samantha should have been. every single loss on earth is connected, is a reminder and an opportunity.

ultimately, truth is unescapable, and ignorant hope (or avoidance) only lasts so long. mulder and his mother are suffering the same conflict, and she doesn't survive it.

scully is not exempt.

[blazedrawsstuff]

Been a long while since I draw a Monster High OC, let's fix that! Meet Mori Caine, the daughter of Albert Caine, aka The Caretaker!

Mori Caine Daughter of The Caretaker

Parent

Dr. Albert Caine aka "The Caretaker"

Age

15

Killer Style

Victorian gothic, it runs in the family.

Freaky Flaw

I have been told that I cannot “read the room”, as they say.

Pet

I’m sure you’re familiar with “ant farms”, correct? Well for me, I have a worm farm! The worms crawl in, the worms crawl out, how adorable~.

Favorite Activity

When the school day is done, you can find me in my family’s funeral home. Tending the graveyard and preparing the bodies for burial. But I shan't forget to mention my little…side projects, my experiments if you will.

Pet Peeve

I advise you to NEVER interrupt me while I work. Whatever you need me for, it can wait.

Favorite Subject

Mad Science and Biteology. Experiments and dissection, there’s truly nothing better than that for me.

Least Favorite Subject

Eekonomics, all that comes to mind for me is how expensive caskets are. Besides, money means very little once you're six feet under.

Favorite Color

Black, White, and Greyish-Blue

Favorite Food

I fancy marrow toast with either blackberry jam or whipped cream. Whichever I’m in the mood for.

Friends

Cindy Caine (Younger Sister)

Peepa Beatngu

Vespa Starlin

Selene Wicked

River Styxx

Abilities

Immortality As a member of the undead, she is immortal

Skillset

Funerary Practices Naturally, as the daughter of a funeral caretaker, Mori has extensive knowledge and expertise in embalming and preparing bodies. Dissection Similar to the above, Mori knows a lot about how to cut up a body and studying its parts

Personality

Mori acts very much like your usual Victorian-era lady; Polite, gentle, and sophisticated. But if there’s one thing that sets her apart from them, it’s her fascination (or should we say, obsession) with death. No doubt stemming from her pallbearer father. She also has a dark sense of humor. Like her dad, this passion for death makes her rather apathetic towards the well-being of those she experiments on. She also tends to state things that most would be sensitive and disgusted by as if they were lighthearted facts.

Trivia/Additional Information

Her first name comes from the term “memento mori”, which is an artistic element that serves as a reminder of the inevitably of death. As “mori” in English means “to die”.

Mori’s voiceclaim is Della Saba, who voiced Aquamarine in Steven Universe.

Mori’s birthday is October 4th. Both stemming from the day that HHN: Islands of Fear (the event that introduced The Caretaker) began, and also that 4 is a number connected to death in Japanese culture. This makes her Libra. Her pet and favorite food are references to lyrics of “The Hearse Song” and its various versions. Mori’s favorite flowers are daisies, which references the term “pushing up daisies”, which means to be dead.

[furbygoblinxiv]

Ok, it's gotta go to Gertrude on this one

I've listened to both taz and tma, so major spoilers for both.

In terms of Lup, yes I love her, yes she haunts the narrative. But she does so with her absence, which is only fully understood once you a) relisten to the podcast and b) dissect the characters mental states. We didn't even get her name until the Angus Macarons incident, and didn't even know that was a name until after the suffering game. Her absence is haunting people, yes, but she's not haunting the narrative too much more than any of the other redcoats and their relics are. Plus, I mean, she literally comes back there at the end (albeit as a lich (so still "haunting" lmao)).

Gertrude, on the other hand? Not only are her fingerprints touching everything, she affects things pretty consistently throughout the entire show, which we know of from the first listen alone.

She ruined multiple of the rituals that the other entities were attempting, which meant Elias would have less truly solid competition later on. She threw her assistant Michael Shelly to the distortion, literally causing the creation of Spiral Micheal and his presence throughout the plot. This woman intentionally caused the archaic messy archival system that Jon is trying to fix at the start of the show and is thus the entire reason that Jon starts recording the messages in the first place. She did so knowing that it would cause Elias issues, what a queen. She even bound dead Gerard Keay to that one haunted book so he could provide important info later on. She directly and indirectly interacted with basically every single major player on this chessboard, short of the body of Jonah Magnus himself, that was available to be worked with or screwed over when she was alive.

That's just the things she did while alive that influence the plot later on. That's not even scratching what happens once her death is discovered.

Uncovering the truth of her death is a major mystery, for, if I'm remembering correctly, the entirety of seasons two through four in the show. His investigations into her death caused Jon to go out of his way to do things find information he would have never found otherwise and get further tangled into this mess, such as investigating the spooky tunnels. These are things that directly influenced the plot. Not to mention, the paranoia about being killed and these new truths literally fundamentally changed his mental state, and not really in a good way.

Like. Sure his statements sound similar, but ain't no way season one episode 1 Jon would do this:

It's especially in a narrative haunting way since, in the horror mystery show, the main character has a dead predecessor who seemingly died mysteriously, and makes it a point to say that he wants to ensure that his death isn't a mystery like hers is.

What's the status on his wiki page?

Yeah. In a direct parallel to the predecessor that he didn't want to parallel. His fate is left a complete mystery.

Compared to Lup? Who's death is never investigated because the skeleton was just a skeleton and umbrella just a magic item, until we got the backstory necessary for it to become an impactful death? If someone stopped listening to taz balance 75% of the way through (so a little bit into suffering game), they might have a glimmer of a theory of who Lup is, and nothing more. If they stopped listening to tma at 75% (10 episodes before the season 4 finale)? They'd know Gertrude, because her actions and presence haunt everything.

Gertrude was a woman who influenced the 'political' landscape of the entities, the status and lives of multiple people, and her death influences the tone, direction, plot, and themes of the show, while also setting up a direct foil/parallel situation between her mysterious end and that of our protagonist.

Both these women are baddies with ripple effects throughout their entire shows, but only Gertrude affected everything in such a tangible way that we can see just how much, at a minimum, she's haunting this narrative at every step of it.

So yeah, I know we all love Lup, but vote Gertrude

Haunting the Narrative Round 1

Haunting the narrative means that the character’s absence heavily impacts the plot. They’re not present when their influence is most strongly felt, whether they’re alive or dead!

[nellie-elizabeth]

Grey's Anatomy: Haunted (19x04)

Happy Halloween!

Cons:

I actually wish they'd done more with the spooky holiday vibes. It was cute to see Bailey in a costume or whatever, but they could have had slightly more fun with the whole concept. What about Meredith's younger two children, did they get to have a fun night trick-or-treating? What about Teddy and Owen's kids? Felt like this episode could have had more checking in with the various families.

Say it with me: Nick is boring. This week he was nothing more than a boring sounding board for Meredith to bounce off of. I miss when she dated interesting and dynamic men with personalities. Sigh.

I thought that Jules's little rant about the cadavers being disrespected was a bit odd. Surely in med school she had to dissect a cadaver? She must know that donating bodies to science includes medical training purposes? I just thought it was odd to make her a mouthpiece for this. Almost like it was just there so that Owen could reassure us, the audience, that stabbing a dead guy's body and pretending there was still a way to save him wasn't actually as ghoulish as it seemed. To be clear, it is kind of ghoulish. But it's also an opportunity to learn, and that felt like an obvious truth that a resident would already know.

Teddy and Owen... I'm getting tired just from typing their names out. This week, we see that the resentments have piled up. We see Teddy advising Link not to go there with Jo, because dating your best friend just ruins everything. We see Owen warning Winston not to let his resentments with Maggie grow until it ruins the love part of things. So... are Owen and Teddy getting a divorce? Good, if so, let's get it the hell over with please. And if they're not, can they please just shut up for a while? Go away somewhere? Leave the show, and give me Jackson back? Sigh.

Pros:

Helm! I like that we've had Schmitt and now Richard each stopping by to chat with Helm as she works her bartender job. I'm surprised by how much I enjoy checking in with her, and how much I hope she gets everything she deserves from the hospital and then chooses to come back. Maybe Meredith will make a late-game realization about herself, leave boring Nick, and fall in love with Helm. Sigh.

While I wish there had been more Halloween vibes all around, I did still like the trauma lab, the way the interns worked together, and how Lucas maintained that team atmosphere by asking if all of them could scrub in on the prize surgery, instead of just him. We're seeing this show reflect some hopeful and real trends in the medical field at large. Our original group of interns never would have agreed to take collective credit for an accomplishment. Can you picture Izzy or Alex or Cristina offering to share their surgery with their friends? No! And yet Lucas offers it, and it's a sign that maybe things can improve. They even all go off to have breakfast together. Blue is clearly the outcast in terms of trying to make everything a big competition, but even he allows himself to be pulled into the camaraderie, which I like.

As a contrast to how much Teddy and Owen annoy me, and Meredith and Nick bore me, I like the more realistic, grounded, conflicts that Maggie and Winston continue to navigate. Maggie has a blind spot when it comes to her work, and she's definitely been steamrolling her husband in the office. Winston respects and admires her authority, but for the good of their marriage, he's considering switching specialties. I could see this conflict playing out in ways that annoy me, but I'm hopeful that we'll see a more realistic and interesting development of this plot thread from here.

One thing I almost put in the "cons" section but I'll reserve judgment for later... I heard that Ellen Pompeo was only going to be in eight episodes this season. For some reason I assumed they'd be spaced out throughout the season so we wouldn't even feel her absence, but instead she's been in these first four, looks like she's going to be in next week's as well, which has me worried she's going to be vanishing, maybe even moving away, for the entire second half of the season or more. However, I think the setup for this works okay: Zola's anxiety is continuing to cause problems for her, and Meredith is determined to get her into the right environment to foster her incredible mind and heart. We're seeing Meredith be the kind of mother she never had, endlessly patient and calm, giving Zola a chance to feel her feelings and process them. It's insane how long this show has been on the air, that I've watched the fictional character of Zola grow up this much.

Speaking of patient parental figures, I love that Richard noted Schmitt acting out, and he stepped in, was firm with him, but also admitted to his failure and said they were working him too hard. That was huge! I'm so happy for Schmitt that he has this opportunity, and also that he has Richard advocating for him and noticing when things are getting to be too much.

I also liked the Simone and Maggie stuff, where we learn that Simone cracked under the pressure in her last program after being subjected to racist and sexist behavior from her colleagues and would-be teachers. There's video of her freaking out and destroying property that's made its way online. This is a rebuilding year for Grey Sloan. I love that they've taken in the misfits, the people who deserve a second chance because life sometimes doesn't line up the way you want it to. And Simone showing the video of her breakdown to her fellow residents, them all being impressed and saying how they would have reacted, was honestly kind of sweet, reinforcing this teamwork thing our new characters have got going.

I don't know, I'm a little wary about Meredith's departure but honestly I'm having a good time with this season thus far, by and large! I'll definitely hang around to see what's next.

7.5/10

[dimonds456]

Gem Steven’s gem is flipped upside-down. (Theory/Speculation time!)

SPOILERS FOR @spudinacup’s SU AU “Gone Wrong”!

Also WARNING: long post!

So recently, someone pointed out that Steven has a scar on his torso going across his gem’s location, which I found interesting in and of itself. Makes sense, since he wasn’t able to heal it since he DIED and his gem was shoved out of his body before it got the chance to heal him. That slash mark is there now. Wow, neat! Nice detai-

Wait.

Hold on a sec.

Is his gem... flipped upside-down? Well, it’s been like this for a while, maybe it’s just a creative choi-

...oh.

This is VERY intentional.

So I did some digging, and found much more symbolism and possible foreshadowing, and now I want to throw out my theory about Gem Steven here, including his potential arc and character development. I’ll try to keep everything brief while still blowing your minds, and I’ll try to get across what my jumbled mind has come up with.

Spud please notice me.

I will not be uploading photos to go with everything I say (go reread the comic after this and verify for yourself what all I’ve said), but I’ll show visuals when they’re necessary. I do not claim ANY of this art as mine (I wish my art was this good ;u; ), all of it belongs to Spudinacup and their SU AU, which has all kinds of hidden symbolism, foreshadowing, and visual cues we haven’t picked up on yet, as I’ve just learned while researching this theory. This ain’t your run-of-the-mill AU, everything in here is intentional. Scott Spud doesn’t do coincidences. So I’ll point out that stuff in screenshots.

Okay let’s go.

SO! To begin with, let’s talk about why his gem may have flipped, and to realize that, we have to know when. We don’t see the gem much, but we do see it constantly through Chapter 1, where it is normal. The pentagon is pointed upward. However, in Chapter 2, this is where we see it flipped upside down. When did that happen? We didn’t see it. I believe it happened in that first scene in the bathroom, right after we left. The butterflies were swarming angrily, and Steven was very lost in thought.

Notice whenever those butterflies appear. They seem to show up every time he thinks about who he is. Is he still Steven, or is he someone else now? Steven is dead. Everyone is mourning him, trying to heal him, but Gem is still here. So if Steven is dead, but Gem is still alive, that must mean he isn’t Steven then, right? But then that undoes everything we learned in “Change Your Mind.” He IS Steven. He’s always been Steven. But that’s when they were together...

...And so the butterflies swarm.

Notice how the first one shows up when he looks at himself in the mirror. When you look in a mirror, you should see yourself, right? But who IS he? In the show, butterflies represent thoughts and ideas, mostly dark ones, disturbing ones, or ones you don’t want to think about. Well, he already spent WAY too long proving who he was, so now to do it again sucks.

But he isn’t Steven anymore. He’s on the couch being mourned. But he’s already proved he IS Steven before, and it’s this uncertainty that is making his mind swirl. I believe this is why he flipped his gem. Just upside-down, so it’s a small thing no one will notice, while he tries to figure it out. In doing so, he’s separated himself from “Steven”, as they’re not one and the same anymore, and the flipped gem shows this. He’s someone else right now. Maybe. He’s not sure.

So what do we call you for right now? Steven. He already proved he was Steven, so until he’s proved otherwise, Steven it is. Now he just has to figure out what exactly that name means and wether or not he still fits that quota.

Flipped gem/Pink Diamond imagery is EVERYWHERE, mostly hidden in drastic shadows or in panels. It’s things you don’t notice at first, until they’re staring you in the face. See if you can spot them from the 3 screenshots below.

There’s probably more hidden throughout the comic, these are just the ones I’ve found that I feel confident enough to show as hard evidence.

So, what does it all mean? We’ll talk about the screenshots in order, left to right.

First, the Diamond is hidden as the panel in the center. In it, Human Steven lies upside down while the gem-panel is technically upside right. This can be interpreted in a few ways, but what that means to me is that something isn’t right here. If you flip Steven back around so he’s upside right, the gem is now upside down. Notice Gem Steven looking towards his human half on the bottom panel there, clutching his shirt over his gem. It’s a motion we’ve seen Steven do a TON throughout the show, anytime he’s thinking about Rose/Pink, who he is, or complicated gem stuff as a whole. Because early on, his identity was always shrouded in shadow. THAT is Steven, on the couch, without his gem. So for Gem Steven to call himself Steven is inaccurate, but also not at the same time. It’s all swarming in his head, and thus, the gem is flipped.

Next, he’s just broken the rejuvenator. This was probably the hardest to spot of the three, but if you look at the panel where Bismuth asks “feel better?” you will see, in the background, a white line cut through the soft pink hues. Look closer. It’s the outline of the gem, but it’s flipped correctly this time. This is because Bismuth seems to be the only person NOT saying Steven is dead, and treating his gem half one and the same. Is she unnerved? Yeah, but who WOULDN’T be? This is still Steven we’re talking about, as emotionally blocked as he is. He’s aware of why everyone is being weird around him, so to see Bismuth trying her best to treat him with familiarity instead of a completely different, new, dangerous stranger is really calming and helps to calm the storm a bit.

Notice the gem is flipped correctly. This is because he feels like Steven right now. Bismuth has been constant confirmation that he is still Steven, no matter the circumstances. Notice how his eyes dialate back to a larger size. They do that a lot in the comic, articulating his emotions without changing the rest of his face. It’s a clever detail to keep track of. His eyes grow more relaxed, dialating bigger when she pats his shoulder, asking if he feels better after destroying the weapon that killed him. It’s a huge relief for him to hear. So, the gem is correct.

Finally, we see Bismuth telling Greg that his son is dead, which is very contradictory to what Bis was saying earlier (in Steven’s eyes). Where is the gem on that frame? Look at Steven’s shadow. There it is, facets and all. To us, the gem is correct, but think about it this way: if Steven were actually replaced with the gem in that frame, what would it look like, Pink’s or White’s? That’s right. The point is coming from his feet, meaning it would look more like White’s, meaning it is back to being flipped upside down. Again, Bismuth just said Steven is dead, meaning he’s back to questioning his whole entire identity. So it’s back to being flipped upside-down.

It seems that the orientation of the symbolic gems hidden throughout panels show quite clearly where his head is at in terms of who he is. If it’s upside down, he’s separating himself from the cold meatball on the couch, whereas when it’s normal/upside right, he is associating himself WITH the cold meatball on the couch.

Notice he’s been grabbing at his gem a lot recently, too, all things he does while in turmoil over who- or WHAT- he is. He cannot heal right now. He can’t use his powers. Some powers are new and unfamiliar (see the more recent pages where Lapis struck out with water and he blocked with those hexagonal shields/walls). “Steven HEALS people.” He can’t, so who is he?

This is something he’ll need to have an answer to by the time the comic is done, and this is a mission for Gem Steven and Gem Steven alone. If his human half were alive (and content without his gem), he’d probably call himself “Steven” no questions asked, since he GOT his answer already, two years ago. But Gem can’t do that, not when everyone keeps drawing all these lines between the two. He needs to learn what being “Steven” means, and know that he is a part of a greater whole, but on his own, he is STILL Steven. Everyone else needs to realize this, too, and stop separating the two. It’s gonna be rough, since it may feel like replacing what they lost, but is it really? It’s going to be a tough road to trek, and I don’t know what anyone’s answer is gonna be (that’s the big mystery here, after all), but I’m here for it.

Remember, all of this has been speculation on what may happen based on facts and clues Spud has presented us with. I’m not claiming to know how Gem Steven’s arc will end, but I am throwing my hat into the ring on where I THINK it will go. Either way, the foreshadowing, symbolism, and unspoken characterizations here have been excellent, and I’m looking forward to seeing everything play out. Spud, your mind is incredible, and whatever you’ve got planned over there, I’m confident the answer will be satisfactory.

I’ll shut up now. Thank you for reading this huge meta post, and go read Spud’s comic. You can find it at @suaugonewrong or on Spud’s Tumblr, which was linked above. If you think I’m wrong or have a counter argument, bring it. Let’s talk, cause this is genuinely interesting and fun to dissect. I wanna talk about it OwO

Thank you. You may now continue scrolling.

[thevindicativevordan]

You got any thoughts on Superman Birthright?

Probably my second or third favorite Superman origin, and the one that has my favorite Clark/Lex interactions.

Real pity it didn't get to stick as the "canon" origin because I like it a lot more than the Byrne origin that preceded it and the Johns Secret Origin that succeeded it. Smallville's influence is undeniable, but not a detriment, I like the Kents as flawed younger parents rather than wizened flawless mentors (if they have to be alive still when Clark becomes Superman that is). Pa Kent struggling with feelings of alienation with regards to Clark growing up and taking more of an interest in his heritage is still one of my favorite Pa/Clark moments in Superman's history. Ma Kent being a UFO buff is a great idea, apparently Waid had a story about that he never got to tell. I wonder what it was? Would probably make for a nice Annual or fill in story now that he's back at DC.

Lois is great of course, for all the reasons she usually is, as is Perry who gets way more panel space here than he usually does. Lois and Perry's relationship here is hilarious, love the gag where he writes out two lists of reasons to fire or keep her respectively. "No good place to hide the body" had me cackling. Jimmy though is just kind of there, he's the pal who has Supes back as always, but he's heavily overshadowed by the rest of the cast. Only real disappointment for me in terms of the core cast members.

There's a lot to like here in it's handling of Clark Kent as well. Love that Waid actually shows us Clark has travelled the world to gain some perspective, that he's not naïve or clueless, simply idealistic. He's seen the cruelty of the world up close, and he's also seen the way people react when they realize they're dealing with someone who has "gifts" (whether that's himself or Lex).

Showing us some of Clark's pre-Daily Planet journalist career is also a big pro for me, that's an area of Clark's life I wish got fleshed out more. Waid manages to establish a divide between the Clark and Superman identities that still makes the two feel different without it being a repeat of Pre-Crisis. It's a return to Superman being more "real" while Clark is more of a disguise, but "Clark" isn't bumbling so much as overlooked and ignored (which if you've lived in a big city is pretty much exactly how you get treated as a newcomer). His co-workers barely acknowledge his existence, Lois isn't giving him the time of day, Perry tears him a new one for not having a story to turn in about the ongoing alien invasion on time, Clark has to suffer in the trenches over the course of the story to prove himself.

Like Morrison's Action Comics run, this origin tries to fold a lot of the original Golden Age attitude back into Superman. This incarnation is a man with a temper, him shooting a gun then catching the bullet before it hits the guy who sold guns to a school shooter is literally a recreation of a Golden Age panel. Yet this isn't a "retro" take at all, despite being from Christopher Reeve's biggest fan. Waid writes Clark as someone who makes mistakes, fucks up in ways you don't typically see Superman do, and has a lot of doubts about whether or not he can live up to the task he's set before himself. Doesn't help that Metropolis doesn't welcome him any more easily as Superman than it does as Clark.

Public opinion about him is divided at first, then swings heavily to negative as Lex frames him for a false flag Kryptonian invasion, only to finally recover after he saves the day and exposes Lex. Personally I like Superman to have to work for that glowing reputation he usually enjoys, and if Lex is involved in trying to turn the public against him, so much the better. The anger and contempt towards Lex he demonstrates in particular sets the tone for the relationship between the two in the modern day.

Speaking of Lex, my God, this has got to be one of my favorite takes on him, and on his relationship with Clark, both pre and post Superman.

As adults Waid nails the Post-Crisis status quo of Lex being a selfish piece of shit who hides his nature behind a façade of philanthropy. For all his attempts at projecting an aura of power and intelligence, both of which he has in spades, Lex is so clearly defined by the lack of love and understanding he was shown as a youth. It's Superman "disrespecting" him, by not being happy to pose for photos with Lex after seeing him commit an act of sabotage, that pisses Lex off. For this "crime" Lex does everything he can to smear Superman to the public, and entertains holographic fantasies of dissecting Supes to copy his powers. He quips that killing Kal is "genocide" since he's the last of his people, something he demonstrates no empathy for at all given he laughs in Clark's face when he realizes Superman doesn't know he's the last.

Waid's Lex is probably one of the most monstrous incarnations, yet one of the most sympathetic as well. For my money, Waid is the one who convinced me that Clark and Lex being friends back in Smallville is a good thing.

One reason is that Clark gets to see how people react to "gifted" individuals. By observing the way Lex is treated for being unlike the rest, Clark gets a taste of what's to come if his own abilities were ever exposed. This has the dual benefit of establishing why Clark puts so much effort into making people feel at ease, and also establishing Lex as sympathetic for being unable to hide like Clark can.

The second big reason is that it shows why Clark thinks there's a chance Lex can be redeemed. Birthright Lex wasn't a monster from the start. At first he tried to help, but it always backfired. Doubling the efficiency of the milking machine scared/hurt the cows and upset Pa Kent, his ideas for how to improve the local government got rejected, and of course his experiment with Kryptonite. Sad twist of fate that Lex mistaking Clark's look of pain for the fear/disgust he sees everywhere else is what causes Clark to eventually give him that look of disgust for real when they reunite as adults. But having their first interactions be friendly instead of hostile makes Clark's hope that Lex can become a force for good feel grounded in reality instead of hopelessly naïve.

Can't gush enough about Yu's art either, he can make Superman look bright and inspiring, or scary as hell. His take on Metropolis makes it look and feel like a "City of Tomorrow", someplace exciting and dangerous, a city that needs Superman to protect it. Yu's Krypton is also one of my favorite incarnations, love that he gave Lara the S-curl! That's one idea from the DCAU I wish had become sacrosanct for all future origin retellings. Lara doesn't get to have enough influence on Kal to my tastes, so any little bit counts.

Sadly overlooked as it was coming out due to Azzarello and Lee doing For Tomorrow, it seems like it's risen in status after the fact. The S-shield being a symbol of hope on Krypton in addition to the El family crest has carried forward thanks to the DCEU (which is hilarious given Waid's feelings on that franchise).

Waid has another Superman project coming up next year with Brian Hitch that appears to be a "Year 2" follow up to Birthright. No clue if it will actually take place in strict continuity with Birthright, honestly it feels weird to have anyone but Yu do a direct followup to that, but Waid has said that a Superman run from him would basically be an issue 13 that continues from this story. I'm excited to see Waid take another big swing at Superman, I think he still has it in him to put out a great story, and Birthright being out of continuity may end up being to everyone's benefit. If this ends up being Waid's last Superman story, I hope he gets to do whatever he wants with the Birthrightverse. Kill off the Kents if that's his desire, I know he prefers them dead (as do I). Fingers crossed whatever he comes up with is good.

[rhosyn-du]

Never make a mess when a total catastrophe will do - Chapter One

Pairings: Jimon, past Clace, background Clizzy, a bunch of other minor background pairings Rating: Explicit Art: @cor321​ Beta: @all-thestories-aretrue​ Tags:  Alternate Universe - College/University, fake dating, oh my god they were roommates, friends with benefits, idiots to lovers, pining, miscommunication, holidays, drinking games, mistletoe, symbolically significant Oreos, domestic fluff, brief mention of past character death, Jace’s self-worth issues deserve their own tag Summary: What do you do when you find out your sister is not only dating your ex and love-of-your-high-school-life but is also bringing her home for Christmas? Bring your annoying, hot, annoyingly-hot roommate as your fake boyfriend to show them you're totally fine with it, obviously! There's no possible way this could backfire. Link: AO3, Tumblr Master Post

Chapter One

“Lightwood’s Mortuary, you stab ‘em, we slab ‘em. How may I direct your call?”

“You know,” Izzy said, “that joke would land a lot better if you hadn’t turned green last week when I mentioned getting to do my first cadaver dissection.”

“First of all,” Jace said, abandoning his laptop in favor of flopping back onto his bed, “it’s creepy that you say ‘getting to’ instead of ‘having to.’ And second of all, no one wants to hear about how much fun you had slicing up dead bodies over Thanksgiving dinner.”

“Max wanted to hear about it.”

“Max also can’t wait to get to middle school because he heard you get to use actual fire in science class,” Jace pointed out.

“Max is just into science like his big sister,” Izzy countered breezily. “Anyway, I wanted to talk to you about Christmas.”

“Please,” Jace said with far more enthusiasm than the situation probably warranted. “I’m desperate enough for any distraction that will take me away from trying to memorize third declensions that I would love to discuss whatever family holiday drama is so colossal I’m hearing it from you instead of Alec. Is Robert planning to show up uninvited to Christmas dinner with his girlfriend again? Oh! Did Mom finally snap and kill him? Is that why Alec isn’t calling? Is he helping her hide the body?”

“Oh my god,” Izzy laughed. “Dad and Annamarie are spending the holidays in Provance with her family, and there are no bodies to be hidden. This is what you get for taking Latin instead of Spanish like a sane person.”

“This coming from a woman who’s studying both,” Jace pointed out.

“Yeah, because a basic understanding of Latin and fluency in Spanish will both help me get into med school, and I need all the help I can get if I’m going to get into Grossman. Besides, I’d never imply anyone in this family is sane. If you studied more, you’d know that ‘Lightwood’ is just Latin for ‘totally fucking cracked.’”

“Please,” Jace snorted. “It’s not even a Latinate name. It’s Germanic. ‘Lightwood’ is Old English for ‘totally fucking cracked.’ Speaking of which, what’s the Christmas disaster?”

“It’s not a disaster exactly,” Izzy hedged, and Jace felt a sudden frisson of actual unease. Izzy normally had no problem speaking her mind. “It’s not a disaster at all, actually. It’s just. I invited someone.”

“Oh.” Jace relaxed. He didn’t know why Izzy was making such a big deal out of this. In the years since the divorce, Maryse had often encouraged her kids to invite any friends without a place to go to join them for holidays. Izzy’s own roommate had come for Thanksgiving last year. “That’s cool.”

“No,” Izzy said, like he was missing something obvious. “Jace, I invited someone. Someone I’m seeing. Seriously.”

“Oh,” Jace said again, this time with dawning comprehension. “That’s great, Iz. I’m happy for you. Wait, Mom’s not doing her overprotective, no-one-is-good-enough-for-my-children thing again, is she? Is that why you called, you need me to run interference?”

“No, no,” Izzy reassured him, although her voice still held an underlying tension. “Mom’s been great, actually. They knew each other already, so that probably helps.” Jace heard a shaky inhale before Izzy continued. “You, um. You know her, too, actually.”

“Oh yeah?” Jace said with forced ease, wracking his brain for any clue as to what could have Izzy so freaked out. Whatever it was, Jace wasn’t going to add to her stress. As far as he knew, Isabelle had never even been serious enough about someone before to even use the term girlfriend or boyfriend, let alone bring them home for Christmas. “Who’s the lucky lady?”

“It’s Clary,” Izzy said in a rush. “I’m dating Clary.”

The world seemed to tilt on its axis, and Jace was glad he was already lying down.

“Clary?” he repeated. “M—” He just barely stopped himself from saying “my Clary.” Because she wasn’t, not anymore. Not for a long time. “Morgenstern?” It was a clumsy recovery, but it was the best he could manage. “You’re dating Clary Morgenstern?”

Jace and Clary had met at the beginning of Jace’s junior year of high school. Clary, a year younger, had just lost her mom, and the two initially bonded over the shared experience of having lost parents. But Clary was fierce and bold and so full of passion even in the depths of her grief that Jace really couldn’t help falling in love with her. They’d dated for nearly two years—practically forever in high school terms—and even though they’d both known they were growing apart by the time Jace had to choose between his first-choice college in Boston and staying in New York to go to NYU, Clary would always hold a special place in Jace’s heart as his first love.

“Yeah,” Izzy said on a heavy exhale. “For a while now. That—that’s why I called. I didn’t want it to be weird, you know? For us all to just show up and for it to be a surprise. But I guess I probably shouldn’t have done it over the phone, either. I just didn’t think—”

“Izzy,” Jace said, much more calmly than he felt. “Breathe. It’s okay.”

“God, I should have told you sooner,” Izzy continued as though he hadn’t even spoken. “I just knew it probably would be weird for you, so I didn’t want to say anything until I was sure—”

“But you are now,” Jace interrupted again. It wasn't really a question. “Sure.”

“Yeah,” Izzy breathed. “I’m so sure.”

“Then it’s not weird,” Jace lied. “I mean, come on, my sister is dating someone who makes her happy and who I know will treat her right. What kind of idiot would I have to be to complain about that?”

“Really?” Izzy pressed. “Because I told Clary I wanted to talk to you before we finalized plans. So, if it is weird for you, or even if you just don’t want to be the only single person at the table on Christmas—”

“I won’t be,” Jace interrupted.

There was a pregnant pause, and then Izzy squealed so loud Jace had to pull the phone away from his ear.

“Oh my god, Jace! That’s amazing! Why didn’t you just say you were bringing someone, too, you jackass? Do you know how worried I’ve been about telling you about me and Clary?”

Which wasn’t what he’d meant at all—he’d only meant that Maryse was single, too—but Jace couldn’t resist the excitement in Izzy’s voice, not after her earlier panic.

“If I’d known you were all freaked out, I would have said something sooner,” Jace improvised. “It’s kind of new, and I haven’t even had the chance to tell Mom yet.”

“Let me,” Izzy insisted. “I’ve been trying to get her to admit that she and Luke are an item for ages, and maybe knowing that we’re all happily attached will be the push she needs.”

“Hold up. Mom…and Clary’s stepdad?” Jace was starting to wonder if this was some bizarre stress nightmare brought on by impending finals.

“Yup,” Izzy confirmed, popping the “p.” “They’re not even subtle about how much time they’re spending together, but Mom keeps talking about how they’re ‘just old friends.’” Jace could practically hear the eye roll.

“Anyway,” she continued, “if I leave now, I can catch Mom closing up the bookshop and maybe finally get her to crack. Don’t worry about Christmas plans. I’ll take care of everything. Talk to you later!”

“Iz, wait,” Jace started, but he was interrupted by the telltale beep of the call ending.

Jace stared at his phone, wondering how, exactly, he’d managed to make such a disaster of things. He couldn’t deal with this right now, he decided, tossing his phone aside. He just had to get through finals, and then he could come up with some excuse for why his nonexistent girlfriend couldn’t make it for Christmas. An excuse that wouldn’t make Izzy suspicious. Or Clary. Or Alec. Or— Fuck. Not thinking about it.

He turned his attention back to his laptop only to realize after several minutes of staring blankly that he wasn’t prepared to think about Latin anymore, either. Fuck it. He was going to spend the rest of the evening on the couch, drinking beer and watching stupid people doing stupid things on TV and thinking about absolutely nothing at all.

Because Jace just couldn’t catch a break, he found both the couch and TV already in use. He wanted to be annoyed, especially since he knew this was at least the dozenth time this semester his roommate had watched Return of the Jedi. Part of him was annoyed. But another part of him was…not annoyed. And that was yet another thing Jace wasn’t going to think about.

Jace’s first impression of Simon Lewis, when he’d walked into History and Literature of Music their freshman year, had been that he was kind of hot, in a nerdy way. His second impression, when he actually talked to Simon a few days later, was that the guy was annoying as hell. Over the course of the year, as they somehow ended up hanging out with the same group of friends, it became a tolerable sort of annoying. So tolerable, in fact, that when Jace found himself desperate for a roommate the next summer when Raj bailed on him last-minute, he’d agreed to let Simon have the second room in the surprisingly affordable apartment he’d found.

Jace’s third impression of Simon came four days after they’d moved in together, when he happened to be walking down the hallway at the exact moment Simon stepped out of the bathroom, towel wrapped around his waist, a stray droplet of water trailing down his surprisingly well-defined abs. In that moment, Jace must have lost his mind, because he had the sudden, almost overwhelming urge to follow the path of that droplet with his tongue and, oh. Oh no. Jace had been wrong this entire time. Simon wasn’t just annoying. He wasn’t just nerd-hot. He was annoyingly hot.

And Jace was maybe just a little bit in trouble.

Because he’d seen the kinds of people Simon dated. Thoughtful. Driven. Well-adjusted. Unlike Jace in pretty much every way that mattered. Not that Jace dated, but he wasn’t the kind of person Simon hooked up with, either, he was pretty sure.

(Jace confessed his fourth impression of Simon to Maia several months later, after many, many shots of tequila. Maia laughed at him for a solid five minutes, but she also poured them another round and never mentioned it again after they sobered up because she was actually a pretty good friend despite how much she always seemed to enjoy Jace’s suffering.)

“What’s wrong?” Simon asked around a mouthful of instant ramen. Jace refused to acknowledge that the way his cheeks puffed out when he ate was cute.

“Just.” Jace shook his head. “Holidays. Family stuff.”

“Your sister planning to make Christmas dinner again?” Simon asked.

“Worse,” Jace said, flopping onto the other end of their stained Goodwill couch. “She’s dating my ex.”

Simon winced. “Ouch, dude.” Simon poked at his noodles with a pair of well-used disposable chopsticks. “You still have feelings for your ex?”

“What? No, of course not. It was ages ago, and we were practically still kids. And the breakup was mutual.” He made a face. “But Izzy’s bringing her home for Christmas.”

“Okay, yeah, that could be a little awkward,” Simon conceded.

“It gets worse,” Jace admitted. “When she told me, I kind of panicked and said I was bringing someone home, too.”

Simon frowned. “I didn’t know you were seeing anyone.”

“I’m not,” Jace told him. “Which is kind of the problem.”

“Wow. You really know how to make things difficult for yourself.”

“Thanks,” Jace said. “Very helpful.”

Simon shrugged, then said, as casual as if he were offering to toss Jace’s towels in with his to make a full load at the laundromat, “You could always take me home with you.”

Jace stared. “What?”

“I mean, I’m going to be in the city anyway,” Simon continued, “and it’s not like my family does Christmas. I think Mom and Becky can manage the traditional Chinese takeout and Fast and Furious marathon without me.”

“Your family watches The Fast and the Furious on Christmas?” It was the only part of that Jace was emotionally prepared to process.

“It used to be Die Hard, but Mom’s got a thing for Vin Diesel, so now we alternate years.”

Jace stared a moment longer, waiting for any of this to make sense. On the television, Boushh threatened Jabba with a thermal detonator.

“Right,” Jace said when it was clear the situation wasn’t going to make sense of itself. “Okay. Rewind to the part where I’m supposed to take you home with me for Christmas and, what, pretend you’re my boyfriend?”

He could picture it all too easily. Simon wielding his enthusiastic charm to keep Izzy out of the kitchen while Jace helped Maryse make dinner. Simon joining Alec in coaxing Jace toward the piano when it was time to sing carols. Simon flushed and smiling after a couple mugs of Magnus’s deceptively alcoholic eggnog. Simon’s hand in his because that’s just something boyfriends do.

It was a horrifyingly tempting prospect.

Jace pushed those thoughts away, crossing his arms over his chest and directing all the scorn he felt at himself into the stare he leveled at Simon. “What’s that supposed to accomplish other than giving me a headache?”

“Hey,” Simon said, setting the dregs of his ramen down on their secondhand Ikea coffee table, “I’ll have you know that I make an excellent boyfriend.”

That wasn’t exactly news. The fact that Simon was friends with basically all of his exes said as much. But Jace wasn’t about to let on that he paid that much attention to Simon’s dating habits. Or to pass up such a good opening. “That why you’re single?”

“Not the one currently desperate for a holiday date here, pal,” Simon pointed out.

“I don’t know, you seemed pretty eager to be my holiday date just a second ago,” Jace said, adding a wink just to be obnoxious.

“It was an offer, jackass. One which I now deeply regret.”

“Which you should,” Jace told him, turning to the TV and pretending to watch. “Now we can both forget this conversation ever happened, and I can go back to figuring out what I’m going to tell my family about why my nonexistent significant other can’t make it for Christmas this year.”

“Right,” Simon muttered, picking up his bowl and turning his own attention back to the movie.

Jace told himself he didn’t feel just the tiniest bit disappointed.

“The thing is,” Simon said several minutes later, as Boba Fett tumbled into the Sarlaac pit, “my cousin Rachel is getting married on Valentine’s Day. And my Bubbe Helen is still pretty cranky with me for breaking up with Maia.”

Jace frowned at him. “You and Maia dated for like a month and a half. Over a year ago.”

“Yeah, well,” Simon said, “Bubbe Helen really liked her, but I think maybe that’s because Maia’s the only person I’ve ever brought to a family function. So, I was thinking maybe if I brought someone else to Rachel’s wedding, she’d get the hint and drop the Maia thing. And then you suddenly needed someone to take home for Christmas, and I thought we could, you know, help each other out.”

It was a terrible idea, and Jace meant to say so. He really did. But what came out of his mouth instead was, “You want to introduce me to your grandmother?”

“I mean,” Simon said with a shrug, “she’d probably be happier if you were Jewish, but I honestly think she’d be happy to see me with anyone who’s not a total asshole. Ever since she found out Maia and I aren’t together anymore, she’s been acting like I’m going to end up a lonely old maid or something, which I totally don’t get, because A, I’m only twenty-one, and B, she doesn’t think it’s a problem that Becky’s single and Becky’s two years older than me.”

“Glad to know I meet the very minimal requirement of not being an asshole.”

“Not a total asshole,” Simon corrected with a teasing grin.

“You’re really making a compelling case for trying to convince our families that we’re a couple,” Jace said drily. But he was maybe just a little bit weak for Simon’s smile, so he added, “But you might as well tell me how exactly you think this would work. Theoretically.”

“Theoretically,” Simon repeated. “Right. Well, we’d need to come up with a game plan, obviously. And rules. Rules that we actually follow, because that’s where things like this always fall apart, when someone ignores the rules.”

“Where things always fall apart,” Jace repeated. “Is this something you do often?”

“What? No! I just mean like in movies and stuff. Fake dating is practically its own genre, so we have a ton of examples for how not to do it, and…” Simon frowned as his voice trailed off. “And now that I’m saying this out loud, I’m realizing how dumb it sounds. You’re right. We should forget this conversation ever happened.”

“Or,” Jace said slowly, knowing he was going to regret it but unable to stop himself, “we could spend some time coming up with a plan and then decide if we think it will work.”

“Wait, really?” The slow grin spreading across Simon’s face did nothing to ease Jace’s sense of impending doom, but it did fill him with a soft warmth that made the doom easier to ignore.

“Why not?” Jace shrugged with practiced nonchalance. “I’m done with classes at noon tomorrow if you want to do it then.”

“I’ve got a break from then till three if you don’t mind meeting near campus,” Simon said. “Say, Java Jones at twelve-thirty?”

“Sure,” Jace agreed to the background of Jabba’s sail barge exploding. He hoped that was less metaphorical than it felt.

~~~

“I thought we were planning a couple of fake dates, not staging a major military operation,” Jace said as he surveyed the notebooks and stacks of paper strewn across the rickety cafe table in front of Simon.

“Oh, sorry,” Simon said, hastily shoving exactly one of the many notebooks into his backpack. “I was just reviewing notes for my econ final while I waited.”

“Is all of this really necessary?” Jace asked, attempting to clear enough room on the table for his coffee and the banana muffin that was attempting to pass for lunch.

“It’s so necessary,” Simon told him, reaching over to steal a piece of Jace’s muffin. “I don’t want to end up like Melissa Joan Hart in My Fake Fiancé.” He popped the piece of muffin into his mouth. “Or Melissa Joan Hart in Drive Me Crazy. Oh! Or even worse, Melissa Joan Hart in Holiday in Handcuffs.”

“I have no idea what you just said.”

Simon sighed heavily. “I’m saying we need clear, well-defined rules if this is going to work.”

“Is rule number one ‘don’t be Melissa Joan Hart’?” Jace asked, snatching his muffin away when Simon reached for it again and taking a pointed bite.

“No,” Simon said, with far more seriousness than Jace thought the situation warranted. “That’s rule number two. Rule number one,” he continued, opening a blue notebook to a fresh page, “is ‘absolutely no sex.’”

Jace choked on his muffin.

“If there’s one thing everyone seems to agree with, it’s that things always break down when that rule gets broken,” Simon continued as though Jace weren’t struggling to breathe around a mouthful of muffin and why Simon thought they even needed a rule for that.

Jace washed the remaining crumbs of muffin down with a generous swig of coffee, then leaned back in his chair with a deliberately cocky grin. “I mean, I know I’m damn near irresistible, but do you really think you need a rule to keep from jumping me?”

“Rule three,’’ Simon said, scribbling furiously in the notebook, “treat each other with the same respect we’d treat people we’re actually dating.”

“Hey, I would have the same question for someone I was actually dating.”

Simon looked up from the notebook. “That explains so much about your dating history.”

Jace flipped him off, and Simon flashed him a shit-eating grin. “Nope, sorry, rule one. But,” he continued, serious once again, “we should have rules about what kind of physical affection we are comfortable with. Like, I know we don’t normally do hugs, but it would be weird if we never hugged in front of your family if we were dating, right? What about holding hands, is that too much? And what about kissing? I’m definitely cool with cheek kisses, but I don’t know—”

“Simon,” Jace interrupted before he could get too worked up. Or make Jace think about more things he really shouldn’t be thinking about. “You’re allowed to hug me. And hold my hand. Honestly, I’m sure I’d be fine with anything you’re comfortable doing in front of my family, so how about we just go with this: casual touches are fine and for anything else, I’ll follow your lead.”

The look Simon gave him was so searching that Jace almost worried for a second that Simon would be able to see right past his crossed arms and feigned nonchalance to the part of him that was less worried about showing physical affection than how much he wanted it, the part that avoided hugging Simon because he liked it.

“Okay,” Simon said finally. “But you have to promise you’ll tell me if anything I do bothers you even a little bit.”

“You mean like singing Shake It Off at the top of your lungs in the shower?” Jace asked.

“That was one time!” Simon protested. “I was up all night studying and under the influence of too many energy drinks. We agreed never to mention it again.”

“No, you told me never to mention it again and I laughed at you.”

“See, this is why we need rules. You’re already breaking number three.”

“Yeah, because we’re not pretend-dating yet,” Jace said. “That one might be a little rough, but I’m sure I can manage with some practice.”

There was that searching look again, but then Simon nodded like Jace had said something particularly insightful. “You’re right, we should practice.”

“We—what?”

“If we’re going to convince people who actually know us that we’re dating, then we should practice first,” Simon said, like it was the most reasonable thing in the world. “Not just the rules we know are going to be hard, but all of it, so we can work out any kinks in the plan before showtime.”

And maybe it was reasonable, but it was one thing to put on a show for his family, for Simon’s family, for a few days at a time in places that might be familiar to each of them individually, but that weren’t theirs. It was entirely another thing to do it here, in the cafe they went to at least twice a week, or on campus where they’d first met and had to keep on attending classes for at least another year, or even worse in the apartment they shared, around their friends—

“I really should have thought of it earlier,” Simon continued, blissfully unaware of Jace’s inner turmoil. “My best friend back home, she’s an amazing liar. Like, seriously, she got away with everything when we were kids. But any time she needed me to back up her story, she’d make me practice with her like a hundred times until she knew I could convince her mom and stepdad, even after I got good enough that I didn’t have to practice to convince Mom. Man, those two could sniff out the tiniest discrepancy in any story. Like, if normal parent bullshit detection is a one, my mom’s is probably a solid three, but Fray’s parents? Eleven, easy.”

“I’m pretty sure no one I’m related to has supernatural bullshit detection,” Jace told him. “And it’s common knowledge I’m a better liar than you are, so if you can fool your mom without practice, so can I.”

“Maybe,” Simon conceded. “But a little bit of practice couldn’t hurt, right?”

Jace was pretty sure that it could hurt, actually, but he was also pretty sure he was the only one in danger of getting hurt, so it probably wasn’t worth consideration. Especially weighed against the hopeful enthusiasm in Simon’s expression.

“What did you have in mind?”

“We could start by pretending we’re on a date right now,” Simon suggested. “We’re already sharing a muffin. So, just treat me like you’d treat anyone you were on a date with.”

“My dates don’t usually involve this many notebooks,” Jace told him. “And if my date stole my muffin, the date would be over.”

“Come on, you’re not even trying,” Simon said, gathering up the papers and notebooks. “You’d really ditch your date over a muffin?”

“Absolutely,” Jace insisted. “They’d have to be seriously good in bed to make up for it, and I’m pretty sure rule number one says you’ll never get muffin-stealing privileges.”

“If the biggest benefit to sleeping with you is getting to share your muffins, then I’m not the one missing out,” Simon told him.

“You selling your body for muffins now, Lightwood?” an amused voice interrupted. “I bet I know a few people who’d toss a bran muffin or two your way for a chance at that ass.”

“Which is why you’re not my pastry-pimp, Roberts,” Jace said, smirking at Maia as she helped herself to one of the table’s empty chairs. “I only trade this ass for top tier, gourmet muffins. If your muffins don’t have at least two Michelin stars, I’m not interested.”

“I give him a week until he’s working corners for Entenmann’s,” Simon told her. “He was just threatening to walk out on our date over a bite of mediocre banana nut.”

Maia’s eyes widened. “Your— Oh, shit, sorry,” she said, scrambling out of her chair and throwing them both an apologetic smile that Jace was pretty sure wouldn’t be directed at him if he were sitting with anyone other than Simon. “I swear I didn’t mean to interrupt, I just thought you were studying or something. You guys have fun, and I’ll just—”

“It’s a practice date,” Jace interrupted, “not an actual date. And Simon’s a dirty muffin thief who won’t even put out, so I’m not sure it really even qualifies as any kind of date.”

Maia looked between the two of them, then slowly lowered herself back into the chair. “I know I’m going to regret asking this, but what exactly is a ‘practice date,’ and why are the two of you on one?”

“Jace needs a fake boyfriend to take home for Christmas, and I need a fake date for Rachel’s wedding,” Simon explained, snatching the last bit of Jace’s muffin without remorse. “And we thought we should practice dating before trying to convince our families that were actually, you know, together.”

“That’s a terrible idea, and I regret any part I played in the two of you becoming friends,” Maia said flatly.

“Yeah, that would probably worry me more if you didn’t say that like twice a week,” Simon told her.

“Oh god, Simon, what did you let Jace talk you into now?” another voice asked, and suddenly there were three more people crowding around their tiny table, because apparently all of their friends were at Java Jones today. Which, in retrospect, Jace should have expected, given how often they all hung out there.

“It was actually my idea,” Simon told Maureen, sliding his chair closer to Jace’s to make room for her, Bat, and Lily. “Jace is taking me home to meet his family over the holidays, and I’m taking him as my date to my cousin’s wedding.”

This proclamation was met with a stunned silence that was broken when Lily turned to Jace and punched him in the arm.

“Ow! What the hell?”

“That’s for abandoning me, jerk,” Lily told him. “Not that I can really blame you—either of you,” she added, giving both Jace and Simon an appreciative once over, “‘cause damn—but I thought we had an understanding.” She sighed heavily. “Now that you’ve gone over the dating Dark Side, who’s going to be my wingman? You’re probably going to start doing all kinds of relationship-y things and talking about feelings—” she said it like it was a dirty word “—and crap like that.”

“I am not going to talk about my feelings,” Jace said, at the same time that Simon said, “We’re not actually together. We’re just pretending.”

“They’re planning to try to convince their families they’re dating even though they’re not,” Maia explained. “Because they apparently think that’s not just a disaster waiting to happen.”

“Oh,” Lily said, sounding oddly disappointed.

“Fifty bucks,” Bat announced, “says that when this blows up in their faces, Jace is the first one to break down and call Maia in a panic.”

“Hey,” Jace protested.

“Oh, you’re on,” Maureen said, ignoring Jace entirely. “Sorry, Simon, but no one panics quite like you.”

“I’m in,” Lily said, “and I agree with Maureen that Simon will break first, but his call to Maia will be interrupted by Jace calling five minutes later.”

“Why am I the one getting all of the panicked calls?” Maia wanted to know.

“Because you’re the only person at this table who isn’t an asshole,” Simon told her, “but nothing’s going to go wrong, let alone panic-inducing levels of wrong, so you’ve got nothing to worry about.”

“Dude,” Jace said, “she’s an asshole to me.”

“You like it,” Maia and Simon said in unison, causing the rest of the table to collapse into laughter.

“Okay, fine,” Maia said around her giggles several minutes later, “if you’re all betting, then count me in, too. I bet that these fools,” she looked pointedly at Jace, then at Simon, “don’t call me when this whole thing goes to hell, but I somehow end up having to haul their asses out of trouble, anyway.”

“I rescind my assessment of you as not an asshole,” Simon told her.

“I’d think twice about calling the woman who’s going to haul your ass out of trouble an asshole if I were you,” Bat said.

“Back to this pretending to be together thing,” Lily said. “What exactly does that entail?”

“That’s actually what we were trying to figure out when you guys showed up,” Simon told her. “We started a list of rules, but we only made it to four so far.”

“Your list should definitely include making out,” Lily said decisively. “Having made out with both of you, I can say with confidence that you’re definitely missing out if you don’t. In fact, you should try it now so we can let you know if it looks authentic.”

“You just want to watch them make out,” Maureen said.

“Yes,” Lily told her. She didn’t add ‘duh,’ but it was implied. “I always want to make hot people make out. But in this case, I’m also being helpful.”

The ensuing argument over the line between helpful and self-serving was thankfully cut short by the opening guitar line of Blonde Redhead’s Barragan.

“Sorry, I’ve gotta take this,” Simon said, holding up his phone. “I’ve been playing voicemail tag with Becky all week.” He looked at Jace. “Talk more about this later?”

“Sure,” Jace told him.

“Tell your sister I said hi,” Maia called after Simon as he headed away from the cafe’s crowd.

“You know,” Jace told her in a low voice, “you could always tell her hi yourself instead of always asking Simon to pass messages.”

Maia gave him an unimpressed look. “After everything I just heard, I’m pretty sure you’re the last person in this room I should be taking relationship advice from.”

“Bite me,” Jace told her, but he didn’t disagree.

[bouncyirwin]

Big Girls Cry || KakaSaku

[Based on a prompt: shuffle your music, pick a random line in the song and start your fic with it.]

“I wake up.”

Hotaru-sensei gazed passively at Sakura, her gaze neither dissecting nor empathetic. The elegant arch of her wrist rested delicately on her note pad, her pen poised ready.

“I wake up,” Sakura repeated, though her words have not gained any conviction. She merely sounded defeated.

“What do you do when you wake up?”

Sakura seemed to ponder this for a moment. “I ... cry. Sometimes. Or I roll right back to sleep.” She bit her lip. “Look ... I know what you’re going to say. That this is just my depression, or my way to escape my trauma or whatever. But I don’t see how this is going to help.”

“Haruno-sensei,” Hotaru-sensei leveled her with a flat look. “When a patient of yours clearly needs a wheelchair, not because he is not capable of walking, but because walking will most definitely worsen his injury, and he refuses the wheelchair, maybe because he has the outlook that needing a wheelchair is a sign of weakness and he’s clearly anything but ... tell me, what would you do?”

The faintest flickers of a smile, a ghost upon Sakura’s lips as she recalled numerous similar incidents: “I’d make him use it anyway.”

Hotaru-sensei nodded. “So then let’s apply the same principle here. You are from your own perspective dealing with this on your own, feeling that eventually, with time, you will move on. And that talking about what you’ve been through is a sign of weakness, while in fact, talking, and coming to terms with what happened and how you feel about it is what will truly help you move on. What will I do in this case?”

Sakura sighed. “Make me talk anyway?”

Hotaru-sensei smiled. “Correctly observed, Haruno-sensei. Now, tell me what you’ve had for breakfast.”

Sakura faltered a moment, shaking her head at the abrupt subject change. “Um. An apple.”

“Just an apple?”

“I had tea as well.”

“How would you describe the breakfasts you used to have when Hatake-san was around?”

Sakura’s lip quivered some. She swallowed thickly as she said: “U-um... we would have miso soup. That’s—was—his favorite. Steamed rice. Tsukemono. Kobachi. Traditional stuff really.”

“What else does he like?”

“Kakashi? Um. He liked dogs. Books. Gardening. He had a lot of hobbies. He talked to his plants.” Sakura laughed hoarsely.

“Mhm. Would you describe him as eccentric then?”

“No. Maybe. I loved that he was a little strange. He always had the most random facts on the tip of his tongue. Did you know a human can swim through a blue whale’s veins?”

Hotaru-sensei sighed softly. Put her pen down. “Why had, Sakura-san. Why was.”

Sakura took a quivering breath. “Because he’s not here anymore.”

“But he is,” Hotaru-sensei stressed. “He’s not dead.”

“He’s in a coma.” Sakura sat back, glaring at Hotaru. “A vegetable.”

“You said it yourself that there is a chance he could wake up.” Hotaru-sensei reasoned. “Is that not true?”

“I said the chances of him waking up are slim.” Sakura hugged her body. Her complexion was ashen and paling under Hotaru’s placating stare. “I can’t even take him off life support because the council threatened to charge me with murder.”

Tears come suddenly. They stream down her face silently. “This isn’t what he would’ve wanted,” she shook her head, a soft sob echoing from her.

“Perhaps... What do you want?”

“I want him back,” she said, voice pleading. “I want him back so bad I’m ready to crush the moon, or collect the stars or bottle the sea. I’d do anything—anything—to have him back.”

Hotaru sighed softly. “You know that’s not how it works Haruno-san.”

“I know,” she said numbly. “I know more than most.”

“How does that make you feel?”

“Like I’ll never be whole again,” Sakura buried her face in her hands, took a trembling, strained breath. “Like my lungs will strangle themselves and kill me.”

Hotaru put her pen down. “Alright I think that’s enough for today.”

Sakura nodded.

“Before you go, I want us to work through the breathing exercise together, alright?”

Sakura nodded again, taking a shaky inhale.

“Take a deep breath ... one, two, three, four, five ... exhale ... one, two, three, four, five...”

Her mind drifted, even whilst her body sunk into the rhythm of a breath after a breath after a breath.

Did you know that lungs can float on water? The memory came unbidden.

Sakura didn’t know; couldn’t have imagined since she felt like she was drowning all the time.

Yeah, it’s the only organ that can do that. Pretty sick, huh?

The memory didn’t matter then. It hardly mattered now when her lungs were made of lead. What she remembered most was his mouth; the pucker of his lips, the upward curve of a smile, the sharp canine grazing flesh. She hadn’t been paying attention; at least not enough to remember what he said next although she had a vague sense that it was important. Sakura had been too taken by the urge to kiss him.

You’re the strangest man I know.

I know. And you’re the most wonderful person I know.

The breath caught in her throat

Vicious hotness pooled behind her eyes but Sakura forced it down, and took another one, and another.

What do you think happens in the afterlife?

I’m not sure I believe in it. A bunch of dogs I’d hope. Maybe books would grow on trees, that’d be nice. A river of miso? Man now that would be sick.

A smile, so painful, but so helpless, touched her mouth.

That’s all it’d take to make you happy?

Well, yes. And you. Most of all, you. But that’s a given.

Her breath quivered again. Maybe she was never meant to breathe easily again.

“Good work, Haruno-san. Well, you know the drill, I’ll see you on Thursday.”

Sakura bid her goodbye and made her way to Kakashi’s hospital room, to where she spent her days and nights lately.

She walked in hoping against hope that his eyes would be open, just like she always did after a grueling session with Hotaru-sensei.

And just as always, they weren’t.

Sakura’s back touched the wall, defeated yet again, but her legs didn’t give like she feared. From her perch on a dull wall, suffocating on clinical scents that ate her Kakashi away day by day, she watched his chest rise and fall with each breath the machines forced into his lungs.

“I hope you’re breathing for the both of us,” she told him, voice rough.

Maybe in the end, she was more angry than hurt. That he’d dare go first. That he’d dare chain himself to a bed in the place he hated. That he went and hurt himself so badly even she couldn’t save him.

“I hope you can hear this,” she went on. “I want you to know this is the dumbest thing you’ve ever done.”

His chest rose and fell again, hypnotising, its own kind of sick addiction. His face, even deadly pale, still held an ethereal sort of refinement, like he was more angel than human.

“And you’re an asshole.”

“And I hate you.”

“Almost as much as I fucking love you, which is a lot. Which is more than I can bare. So I hope you find the good grace in your heart, or a shred of sympathy in it for me, and open your eyes.”

The steady heart rate on the monitor remained unchanged. Her eyes swam until she could no longer map the cresting lines of what powered the things she loved most in the world.

“I see,” she said after a moment, strangled. “Well then, you know the drill. I’ll be back tomorrow.”

And when he didn’t open his eyes, Sakura forced her lips around a whisper. “Good night, Kakashi.”

Fascinating how basic functions like movement, the things she depended on, on day to day basis to stay alive, could fail her so suddenly. Her legs refused to move. And why should they when what they sought was home, but home was no longer there.

She watched him a moment longer, until her lungs burned so much she doubted she could move at all.

Did you know ... that falling asleep next to you makes me the happiest?

Movement. Perhaps his calling from another life; his soul reaching out for her for one final request. Sakura’s feet carry her over to his prone body without thought, into the nook by his side, into the only place she felt whole. She curls into him and cries, and cries and cries.

I think I prefer waking up next to you. You do have the most ridiculous bed hair.

.

.

.

[kirankickskancer]

DMX

Funny story guys - remember how I said it felt too good to be true that I was getting off easy with a lumpectomy? Turns out it was too good to be true. Tomorrow morning at 6am I am heading in for a double mastectomy (DMX) and an axillary lymph node dissection (ALND.) Like the character in the movie Saw, I have to make a choice between my life or my body part. At my post-lumpectomy visit with Dr. Cody, he explained with his trademark diagrams on the back of the pathology report how my margins were not clean. Lots of the bubbles he drew around a breast silhouette (that looked nothing like mine) had question marks and one had a big fat cross. Then he sent me up to radiology to get magnified mammograms to prove his point. This just felt like a cruel joke - getting a mammogram on a healthy breast is bad enough, but getting one on a breast that has just been split from armpit to nipple and sewn up again two weeks ago, was pure torture. A fellow survivor on my Facebook group likened it to running over a dead animal (this is why I love these ladies - that made me LOL!)

Dr. Cody’s verdict after seeing the mammogram was that even he, the famous breast conservationist from MSK, recommended a mastectomy. Even if he got the positive margins, there would still be too many far-spread calcifications left behind. (Hello Doc, the calcifications were there since the beginning, so then why did you suggest a lumpectomy?)

I was feeling less than confident with the whole staff at MSK - swanky hospital, efficient service, top notch research but the personal touch was lacking. At my post-lumpectomy visit, I was not asked how I was feeling or the range of motion in my arm. I didn’t even realize I had developed cording, which affects a quarter of all breast cancer surgical patients and is a result of scar tissue developing under the arm where the lymph nodes are removed. A simple exam on their part would have proved that I couldn't stretch my arm above my head or reach out to pick up something without pain, which are symptoms of cording. If it wasn't for my groups, I wouldn’t even have known what I was experiencing or how to make it better (PT, massage, heat and stretches to increase range of motion.)

Feeling disillusioned with my doctor, and upon the advice of my oncologist brother-in-law, I got a second opinion from the surgeon who practises in Hartford. Dr. Niamey Wilson came highly recommended by my beloved oncologist Dr. DeFusco who was in charge of my chemo treatments all summer. I had met with her over the summer when we were going back and forth between having the surgery in NYC or CT. We finally settled on NYC because MSK had the best technical capabilities including frozen section and so I could be near the kids during their school year in NYC. Dr. Wilson agreed that mastectomy is the way to go. She also thought that more nodes should be removed in addition to the 2 sentinel nodes removed by Dr. Cody.

At this point I had way too many decisions to make - Single mastectomy or double? Reconstruction or not? Sentinel nodes or Axillary node removal? New York or Avon, CT? After soul-searching for a week, long walks in Central Park and conversations with other survivors (Thanks Laura, Anu, Deb) I finally decided: Double, because I don’t want to look like Dr. Wendy Sage from The Simpsons (much as I admire all single-breasted women.) Flat, because I would rather have no boobs than fake boobs that have no sensation. Axillary node removal because cancer is a sneaky fucker and I will play hard (even if it means I have to wear a lymphedema compression sleeve 12 hours a day) - I tried to get away easy and it didn’t work so I will give it all I have this time around to make sure I win. Avon, because I need the mental and physical space to recover and even though it feels selfish to think of myself first, it is what my kids need from me in the long run.

So, here I sit, in my big empty house in Avon, with all the space I need and crave, to come to terms with my loss. I grieve for the body I have to give up, and look forward to the new person that will emerge after the scars and the trauma has healed. I ask myself Why me? And the answer comes to me: Why not me? This is my path to tread. I am not brave, I am not a warrior, I am just a woman taking one more step forward because that is all we can ever do.

[clareguilty]

The Strongest Metal

This is a commission fic! Junkrat/Roadhog Rated: M | No warnings, injury recovery Word Count ~2400

“There’s nothing for you to worry about with me, Mr. Rutledge. To many, I am just as much of a criminal as you are. Turning you in would also result in a sentence for myself.” The voice was unfamiliar. Heavily accented. Stern but soothing. The words floated around, barely making sense.

“I can’t thank you enough. If I had been in your position, I don’t think I would have done the same.” That was Mako. He sounded tired, anguished. Jamison hated that.

He couldn’t remember what happened. He felt terrible, like he’d been on one hell of a bender.

But they had been fighting. He remembered that much. Those guys with the dark armor and the red helmets. Didn’t they know that the outback belonged to the junkers? There may have been no official law in the land, but that didn’t mean they were just going to roll over for any band of soldiers that showed up. They had been fighting to protect their natural resources since before the crisis.

And then those other blokes had showed up. He’d heard about them before. Overwatch. The pride and joy of humanity’s defenders. They’d been shut down last he heard, but he recognized them when they showed up on the battlefield.

Oh. Jamison remembered now. He had died. Been blown to smithereens. Exactly the way he’d always thought he’d go.

Was this heaven? Not where he thought he’d end up, really. But Mako was there, and whoever this lady was. An angel?

Jamison cracked one eye open, wincing at the bright fluorescent lights overhead. Oh yeah. That was definitely an angel.

Wispy blonde hair, piercing eyes, literal fucking wings. She was in all white armor and glowing gold. She looked exhausted.

And Mako was there, looking just as tired. He always looked tired, really, but not like this. He sat slumped in a chair, unmasked and hair down. Jamison had never seen him so miserable. Some sort of afterlife this was.

“Hello, Roadie,” he croaked. His voice sounded terrible. His throat was dry and scratchy. He was starting to think he wasn’t dead.

Both Mako and the angel snapped their heads towards him. “You’re awake!” the angel gasped. She immediately reached for a biotic scanner. “How do you feel?”

Jamison hadn’t really thought about it until she asked. He hadn’t really felt anything if he was being honest, and he told her as much. He was sore, disoriented, but he couldn’t really feel anything.

She frowned. “I guess that’s not the worst thing. Can you move at all?”

He raised his arm, wiggling his fingers with a grin. Then he saw his hand. 

“What the hell?! What happened to my arm?” Last he’d checked, only his right hand was cybernetic, and it certainly didn’t look like that. He looked at both of his hands, except these weren’t his hands. They were sleek, polished metal with tiny spindly joints. But they moved when he wanted them too, and he could feel them, even if they weren’t flesh and bone.

He flexed and curled the fingers in front of him. His frown only deepened as he inspected the high quality engineering. It wasn’t scrap, that was for sure. Much too fancy to be a part of him.

“Who did this to me?” He demanded. “Give me my old arm back!” He had made that arm. That arm was a part of him.

“Jamie,” Mako reached out, but he pulled his hand away before he could touch the horrible mechanical monstrosity. “You’re arm is gone. You were in an explosion. Dr. Zeigler saved you.”

“Saved me?” Junkrat looked down at his body. Where there was once flesh and blood and scar tissue, there was nothing but metal and wires and -- still quite a lot of scar tissue. “I look like a fucking omnic!” The angel winced.

“You’re alive,” Mako said. “You owe these people your life.”

“What life?” Jamison spat. “What am I now? Did you give me a fancy new leg too?” He sneered at the doctor, throwing the sheet aside to look at his legs. Thankfully, his peg was still there. And aside from some bandages, his flesh leg was still intact.

The doctor fumbled over her words. “We wanted to wait until you were fully rehabilitated, but there is the option to change your prosthesis, or even try to integrate some cybernetics.”

“I don’t want any of your corpo bullshit tech.” 

“Jamie,” Mako scolded him. “You wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for Angela. She did the best she could to save you.”

Jamison glowered, but kept his mouth shut. Mako really did look like shit, and he probably hadn’t left his bedside in days.

“We’re at an old Overwatch outpost,” Mako continued. He knew Jamison would listen to him over the doctor. “Quite a few former agents have come back. They helped us in that fight against the black-suited soldiers. Apparently they come from an organization called Talon.”

“I don’t care about any of that,” Jamison waved his hand. He hated how the motion felt. “I don’t want anything to do with them.”

Mako sighed. “We don’t have a choice. It’s going to be some time before you’re healed. Angela has explained to me what you’re going to need. She has experience with cybernetics, but there isn’t a lot here.”

Jamison said nothing.

Why should he care about Overwatch? Or Talon? Or any of that shit? He wanted his body back. He wanted to be as far away from doctors and agents and civilization as possible.

But he had never seen Mako like this, not even after the worst job. 

So he sat through the doctor’s check up, begrudgingly answering her questions and letting her poke and prod at his new body. 

“How long have I been out?” he finally asked.

“It’s been nearly a week.” She was gentle, hesitant as she redressed his wounds. “The biotics have helped to heal the most severe of your injuries. But, I have limited resources, so I have to make them count. I know you aren’t… happy with your cybernetics. They’re rudimentary and certainly not where I’d like them to be. If you so choose, we can always modify or upgrade anything once we have access to proper engineering. This outpost has been out of operation since the crisis and-”

“Yeah, yeah,” Jamison cut her off. “Roadie trusts you, and that’s enough for me. But I want nothing to do with your Overwatch.” He wanted to be gone as soon as possible. Back to Junkertown, back the the safety of the outback.

It was another day before they told Jamison the full extent of his condition. He slept fitfully, a combination of biotics and medication and paralyzed numbness. He hated moving in the hours he was able to. It wasn’t his body. It wasn’t him.

He had been caught in an explosion in the fight against Talon. The blast had ignited the gunpowder on his own gear. He hadn't been in very good shape when Mercy -- Doctor Ziegler -- had found him. It was through sheer luck that he had been saved by the one doctor who pioneered full body cybernetics.

The hospital at the Australian Overwatch outpost had been… lacking, but between the doctors and engineers on hand they had managed to stabilize Jamison and fit him with rudimentary cybernetics.

Jamison knew he should be grateful. He was alive because of their generosity. But he couldn’t tamp down the resentment. He didn’t ask for this. Why would they go through all that trouble just to save some lowlife junker?

But he couldn’t leave Mako. If any of the two of them was going to be left alone it was going to be Jamison, he had resigned himself to that. Maybe he would have to pull through just for the old bastard.

The doctor -- he had taken to calling her blondie just to see how much it annoyed her -- fixed the nerve receptors and recalibrated the movement on his cybernetics. He knew how tedious the process was, he had done it all himself when he lost his arm the first time.

But that had been on his terms. He had gotten himself blown up and he had fixed it. None of these battles or fancy hospitals or strange people practically dissecting him every damn day.

Every time he tried to throw a fit, Mako would shoot him a look that would guilt him into playing nice. Mako would say thank you when the doctors finished up for the day. Mako would help clean him and dress him and feed him. He felt like a damn baby.

They finally let him out of the hospital after a few days. He wasn’t perfect -- not that he was anything special before this whole shitshow. But he doubted he would ever feel right again.

He staggered down the halls to the room Mako had been staying in. The Overwatch base was nice, but it felt too sterile, too civilized. Jamison and Mako were used to their little shack in the outback, they had never needed any fancy bells and whistles.

“Roadie,” Jamison whispered, “Maybe we could slip out of here tonight. Steal one of them fancy all-terrains and head back home.” He had seen the vehicles they came in one. They would scrap for some nice parts or sell for a good bit of money.

“No,” Mako didn’t even blink. “You’re still not well. The doctors here will look after you. We’re not leaving until you’re better.”

Jamison scowled. “Fuck them. I don’t need them. I can build everything I need out of scrap at home. I’ll just need your help.”

Mako was unfazed. “It’s too dangerous. You barely survived as it is, and the stuff they pieced you back together with isn’t going to last very long.”

He knew that. He knew he was on a timer. Without access to any real, up to date medical equipment he was just wasting away on the temporary machinery. He wanted to say it didn’t matter, that he’d rather go out on his own terms than be strung along from one set of parts to another, but he couldn’t do that to Mako.

“I hate it here,” he said.

“That’s fine,” was all he got in response.

The room was cozy, dusty, impersonal. It had been decades since Overwatch had any real presence on the continent, something that showed in every part of the base. The dorm was small and empty, a little run down, but the bed was big enough for both of them.

There was a small pile of gear on the desk, Mako’s gun and mask, some biotic canisters. None of Jamison’s gear had survived the explosion.

“I’m going to have to build a new gun, aren’t I?” Jamison asked. He was going to have to start over on everything. There was nothing left.

Then he caught his reflection in the mirror. It was jarring, to see his own face on an unfamiliar body. The wires and the plates and the joints. He was staring at the stranger in the glass when something soft smacked him in the face. One of Mako’s shirts.

Jamison unfolded the soft, faded material. He couldn’t even feel the texture of the cotton. “I’m pretty hideous now, ain’t I, Roadie? Uglier than ever.” He pulled the shirt over his head, wincing at the ache and pull of his healing muscles. 

“I don’t care how you look, Jamie,” Mako said quietly. “As long as I have you here with me.”

Frowning, Jamison washed his face in the sink. He liked being away from the constant supervision of the hospital room. All he wanted was to be left to his misery. He didn’t care about calibration or pulmonary function or anything like that.

He flopped onto the bed, glowering at the ceiling. Mako lay beside him, sighing and resting his hands on his stomach. “You don’t have to like this,” he said.

“Good. ‘cause I don’t.”

“You should be nicer to Doctor Ziegler.”

Jamison snorted. “Why?”

“For me.”

That wasn’t fair. Jamison would have continued being an asshole with no regrets if it weren’t for those two words. Because he would do anything for Mako, even if it meant letting some doctor make him miserable every damn day.

He would survive. Just for Mako. Even if he hated what he had become. It’s not like when he lost his leg, lost his arm. That had been before he had Roadie, and he had fixed himself up on his own. On his own terms. He had still felt whole, even with a peg leg and a scrap arm.

Now he was premium alloys and advanced sensors, and he had never felt more broken. Even Mako wouldn’t look at him, wouldn’t touch him. They treated him as though he was fragile, made of glass and not the strongest metal his body could carry. 

He woke in the night panting and sweating. The same nightmares that had followed him for years. Metal fingers scrabbling at the plates on his chest, the wire channels running to his neck. He needed it off.

Two massive hands closed around the thin metal joints of his wrists. Calloused fingers, chipped nail enamel. Mako.

“Jamie,” he said.

“Roadie,” Jamison croaked. They had done this before. Countless times. 

He was surprised when Mako threw his arms around Jamison, pulling him close. It was the first time he had truly touched him since he woke up in that damned hospital.

“I’ve got you,” Mako whispered. He didn’t even wince at the feeling of metal against his skin. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Jamison huffed in disbelief, but nuzzled into Mako’s chest. The familiar sound of Mako’s raspy breathing helped to ground him. “I’m the one who almost croaked. I just didn’t want to leave you with all these Overwatch weirdos.”

“They’ve been good to us.” Mako murmured. “We owe them.”

“You’re too nice. We don’t owe them shit, and the first chance I get im going to rob them.”

Mako chuckled. “They could help get rid of those soldiers.”

“I’m done with soldiers,” Jamison groaned. “I’m done with everything. I just wanna go back to the shack and drink my weight in beer.”

“We will.”

[thedannyphantomcookbook]

The Phantom Origins

Okay, so I know probably a bunch of people have already done this, but I wanted to rewrite Danny Phantom, from just before he got his powers to maybe when he tells his parents.

 I’m tired of waiting for a reboot that may never come, so here is what I picture the reboot would look like. 

I’ve always thought it would be darker and more horrific, that the ghosts he fights are more monstrous and demonic.

 That there would be a little bit more of a medical concern for Danny’s humanity being affected by his ghost half. Is he becoming more ghost like? Is he gradually getting sicker and sicker, and his ghost DNA ravages through his body like cancer? 

Would Vlad be not only a sexist, creepy, abusive old man, but contains a thirst for deception and power that he poses a real, apocalyptic threat on Earth and the ghost zone?

Are ghosts actually the spirits of the dead? Or are they a different breed of human that lives in a completely separate dimension, that’s is layered and hidden within ours?

What about Danny’s mental health. He has to keep this big secret from his parents because he absolutely FEARS what would happen if they found it to the point he’s scared they wouldn’t believe he was their son and try to kill him as a result, or keep him hostage in the basement, slowly torturing him and dissecting him until he’s dead? What would the world think of him? A prophet? A demon? Would they accuse his parents for experimenting on their own children? He would have so much fear and anxiety that he’d have to be on edge all the time, falling into depression, panic attacks - not to mention the PTSD he’d get from it all while battle nightmarish monsters and the hanging question over his head of what he is now. 

These are just SOME of the questions I’ve had that Butch Hartman will never answer. He set up such a great plot and characters but carried it out pretty poorly over the show (which may or may not be his fault since they wanted to keep it kid friendly.)

I hope to get into the deep and dark and nitty gritty details of Danny Phantom we’ve imagined but never get to see. I wrote the first chapter below, and I plan to write much more. :)

I hope you guys enjoy it!

Follow me over at Ao3 

Summary:

Dr. Madelyn Fenton and her husband, Dr. Jackson Fenton, have just built the world's first portal to the Ghost Zone - an alternate dimension where undead linger for all eternity. The only problem is no one believes in what they are doing. The townspeople call them the Fenton Freaks and the rejection letters from the National Science Foundation are piling up. Not even their own children can tolerate their ghost obsession. Their 14 year old son, Danny, does what he can to separate himself from his parents. Mocked by his peers and judged by his teachers, he keeps his head down and stays out of the spotlight. 

It comes as no surprise to Danny when his parents' machine fails to work on the first test run. Discouraged, they leave empty handed for the weekend to go to the Ghost Hunter's Expo, where they were expected to present their portal during their panel. As soon as his parents leave, Danny invites his friends over to give a tour of yet another one of his parents' failed experiments. When he gets dared to walk inside the machine, he triggers something that turns it back on, and for the first time ever, his parents have an invention that works. But that's the least of the surprises when Danny emerges from the portal himself...

To Whom It May Concern,

To the esteemed members of the National Science Foundation, myself, Dr. Madelyn Fenton, PhD., and my husband, Dr. Jackson Fenton, PhD., write to you today to consider us for the New Exploratory Scientific Research Grant Award. Our combined decades worth of research within paranormal scientific research fields have led us to believe that the “ghost” entities that haunt our very Earth, could in fact be the missing link to creating new technology, curing human illnesses, and prolonging human life on Earth.

The term “ghosts” is defined as a religious or spiritual being, or the hypothetical soul of the human body, separated from physical forms, usually that of a person recently deceased. Dr. Jackson Fenton and myself have a different theory about the “ghostly” entities that visit our Earth. We have sufficient evidence to prove that ghosts are in fact not the spirits of the dead, but an entirely new species of the human race. We believe they exist in an alternate dimension - a separate plane of existence that is not unlike ours. Recent developments have also shown the possibility of dimensional travel -  we believe ghosts are able to pass through into our plane of existence for a temporary amount of time. Through our rigorous research, construction, and experimentation, Dr. Jackson Fenton and myself have created what would be a “portal” to this plane of existence, to the “Ghost Zone.” By exploring and studying the ghost zone, we could collect a limitless amount of research and data that could be used to benefit humanity for the rest of our existence.  

We have provided within our application our twenty years of research and development, along with video recordings of our experiments as evidence of our work in progress, as we humbly request your consideration for the New Exploratory Scientific Research Grant  Award.

Sincerely,

Dr. Madelyn Fenton, PhD. in Quantum Physics and Paranormal Studies

Dr. Jackson Fenton, PhD. in Theoretical Science and Paranormal Studies

From the Grants and Admissions Office of the National Science Foundation

To Dr. Madelyn Fenton and Dr. Jackson Fenton,

Thank you for your interest in applying for the New Exploratory Scientific Research Grant Award. The New Exploratory Scientific Research Grant Award (NESRGA) is an esteemed scholarship opportunity that looks to provide funding for ground-breaking scientific research to scientists working within small and local laboratories. After carefully reviewing your application and research, we have come to the regretful decision to decline your request to receive the NESRGA.

We unfortunately could not approve your request due to the following issues:

Insufficient or lack thereof evidence or proof of scientific research of ghostly entities and/or undiscovered species, the “Ghost Zone” dimension in which these entities exist, or possible travel to said “Ghost Zone.”

Insufficient of lack thereof peer review research and laboratory data.

Paranormal entities and alternative dimensional research is not recognized under the National Science Foundation as factual scientific work.

We are thrilled to hear that you share such enthusiasm, passion, and ambition in the pursuit of scientific exploration, research and development. You are a part of a wonderful community, and through your tireless efforts, you will help bring our Earth into the future.

We welcome you to apply for the NESRGA again next year.

Sincerely,

Barbara Keaton,

Director of Grants and Admissions

National Science Foundation

GHOST HUNTERS EXPO - THIS LABOR DAY WEEKEND

To Drs. Maddie and Jack Fenton,

We are excited to have you return to speak at the Ghost Hunters Expo this coming labor day weekend. We have reviewed your Ghost Zone Theory and we anticipate your presentation of your research.

Please note: due to new regulations we cannot allow the following into the convention center:

Ecto-infused food, inanimate objects, or animal mutations of any kind.

Alarm or defense systems that release a form of knock out gas, ectoplasmic goo, ectoplasmic foam, spoiled meats, or  live rodents. All alarms and defense systems must be turned off while inside the convention center.

Samplings or gifts of homemade cookies or other food, beverages, or gifts to bribe the judges.

Disclosed weapons that are not a part of your presentation and/or not approved by the convention prior (we will have metal detections at all entry points of the convention hall)

Asking for audience volunteers unless approved by us prior your scheduled presentation time.

Ghost claims targeted towards convention guests, judges, or other presenters.

All presentations and inventions must have been tested and approved by a judge prior to your presentation time (i.e. no last minute or surprise inventions).

Fighting or displays of physical aggression.

Destruction of convention hall equipment, the building’s foundation itself, or other presenters equipment and or inventions.

We thank you in advance for your compliance and full understanding of the new regulations.

We look forward to seeing you!

Best,

Trevor Martin

Ghost Hunters Expo Coordinator

“Did you see this?” Jack Fenton asked, waving the notice from the Ghost Hunters Expo. He scoffed. “New regulations...I wonder who were the bimbos that made them enforce these rules.” He crumbled up the notice and threw it carelessly on the floor.

“How’s that portal coming, sweet cheeks?” he asked his wife.

Maddie Fenton was deep within a hexagon shaped chamber carved out of her laboratory converted basement wall. The interior was lined with a colorful array of wires and tiny blinking lights. At the end of the chamber, sheets of metal and hardware fanned in on itself. Maddie was kneeled on the floor, wrestling with a few cords.

“I’m just struggling to connect these last couple of wires,” she answered, pinching the two cords together. With a last bit of strain, the cords connected with a satisfying click.

Wiping the sweat off her brow, she came out of the chamber. “Hopefully that will stabilize the gravitational pull of the Ghost Zone once we get the portal running.” She briefly thought back to a dark memory from their college days when their first Ghost Zone prototype had malfunctioned and the toxins from the Ghost Zone leaked out of the portal, resulting in displacing one of her lab partners for the remainder of their college career.

“We got it this time, baby,” Jack said confidently. “There is no way we could make the same mistake twice.”

Maddie sighed as she walked over to the control panel to record the ecto-readings. “I just wish we knew for certain what had gone wrong that day. All of this guess work is driving me crazy.” She picked up her notebook and briefly reviewed her meticulously hand written notes before adjusting some dials.

“Okay,” she huffed, satisfied. “I think we’re ready for a test run.”

Jack clapped his hands. “Excellent! I’ll go grab the kids!” He ran to the basement steps and shouted, “Jazzy-pants! Danny! Get down here!”

A few minutes later both of their teenage children shuffled down the basement steps.

“Is this gonna take long?” Danny asked, disinterestedly. “Tucker and I were in the middle of planning our next battlefield strategies for Doomed. There’s only a few days left of summer vacation and we still have so much planning to do if we want to beat the other online players and achieve the seven Keys of Destiny.”

“And I was in the middle of an important breakthrough in my self therapeutic psychology research,” their daughter, Jazz promptly stated. In her hands she clutched an open copy anxiety and phobias workbook. “Did you know that high functioning anxiety in adulthood is caused by childhood trauma from never feeling safe in your own home? This would explain so much about me and Danny -” she paused in her speech when she saw the machine her parents were working on.

“Oh, no.” She snapped her book shut and pinched the flesh between her eyes. “ Please do not tell me you called us down here to witness another one of your experiments. Don’t you remember what happened last time?”

“Oh, Jazz, relax,” Maddie said, waving her off. “Those burn marks from the last ectoplasmic gun experiment healed eventually. And look!” She walked over to a closet in the back of the room and pulled out two polyester jumpsuits. “We made you both your own custom fitted, lab safe, jumpsuits!”

Jack appeared beside Maddie. “And we matched them with ours! Jazzy-pants, yours is teal to match your mother’s. And Danny, yours would have matched mine but the store didn’t have orange.” he held out a plain white jumpsuit with black gloves and boots.

“And I haven’t even shown you two the best parts!” he grabbed the jumpsuits from Maddie and spun them around. Crudely pressed onto the fabric of the jumpsuit was a cutout of Jack Fenton’s smiling face, emblazoned on the chest.

“Pretty cool, huh?” Jack grinned.

Jazz was the first to respond. “Dad there is no way you’re going to get me to wear that,” she said while backing away and shaking her head. “How about Danny and I will just go upstairs and you can call us down after  you’ve tested it? That way we’ll be safe and not have to wear those hideous jumpsuits.”

Danny silently agreed with her while struggling to conceal his own disgust at the suits. It was one thing to be forced to wear a jumpsuit like his parents but it was an entirely different level of lame to have to wear his father’s face across his chest. What if his parents insisted he wore it all the time, like they did? Involuntary images of him becoming the laughing stock at his new high school was surfacing in his mind, more than he already was for being the son of the city’s eccentric ghost hunting husband and wife team. He was already struggling to stay above the pathetic nerd social ring in his class. They’d have to create an entirely new category of nerd just for him if he wore that suit. The thought of it made him want to crawl away in a hole and be left there to die.

“Mom, Dad, I have to agree with Jazz,” Danny said. “The suits are kinda...lame.”

“Oh, nonsense,” Maddie dismissed. “These jumpsuits are the latest fashion that every ghost hunter wants.”

“And when we reveal these babies with my face on them, everyone will be scrambling for one. We’ll be rich!” Jack stated proudly.

Jazz snorted. “Um, I somehow doubt that. Look, we’ll just go back upstairs and you two can let us know when it’s safe, okay?” She looped a hand around Danny’s arm and started pulling him away.

“Oh, no you don’t!” Jack clamped a hand on both of them  and spun them back around. “You two are being given the chance to witness scientific history! And we are not going to let you pass up on this.” He tossed the jumpsuits to Jazz and Danny. They unwillingly caught them.

Jazz glowered at Danny. “If you take any photos and post them on the internet, I will kill you.”

Danny held out his suit reproachfully. His dad’s smiling face seemed to be laughing at him, like all of the students as Casper High will be if they ever found out about this.

“Don’t worry about it.”

A few minutes later, Jazz and Danny stood alongside their parents in their matching jumpsuits. Jazz stood with her arms crossed, silently fuming, her foot tapping impatiently. At her mother’s insistence, Jazz was forced to tuck in her long, red hair and wear the hair sealing head cover and thick, dark eye protection goggles that came with it. At equal height, Jazz and Maddie were identical in their suits.

At least Danny couldn’t match his dad. Jack’s suit was bright orange and about twenty sizes larger than Danny’s, due to his father’s obsession with Maddie’s homemade fudge and cookie inventions. Danny’s own white suit was slightly too large for him, and hung in odd places due to his skinny frame. He didn’t have to wear a hood and goggles like his sister either - another thankful shortage from the ghost hunter’s clothing warehouse. He picked at his dad’s pressed on face design on his chest as he waited for his parents to get the machine ready for its test run. His dad had tried ironing it on, but had done it poorly, so that with a bit of a tug, it was already beginning to peel off.

Jack and Maddie Fenton ran back and forth across the lab, double checking last minute calculations. Machines whirred and beeped around them, the hum of electricity warm in the stagnant air.

Danny had a good idea of how this was going to go. If this would be like any of their past experiments, it would fail miserably. The experiment would go haywire, probably spout ectoplasmic goo everywhere or accidentally giving ecto energy to the nearest food item. One year, their parents had tried making the Christmas Turkey in their newly invented Ultra-fast Instant Pot and instead infused it with demonic ghostly energy and reanimated it. Danny remembered hiding underneath the kitchen table as Jazz had to beat it back with a pastry roller, screaming for their parents.

The ghost zone portal was their most ambitious project yet. For most of Danny’s life, they had dinner table discussions, weighing mathematical equations and scientific chemical balances in hopes of being able to one day engineer the world’s first ghost zone portal. He was fairly surprised when he found out at the beginning of the summer that they were finally constructing it, and even more so when they claimed last night it was completed. They had been rushing to get it done in time to present it at the Ghost Hunters Expo this weekend.

He glanced at the table beside him looking at the pile of papers his dad had haphazardly stacked among the beakers and ghost weapons. Sitting on top of the stack was the rejection letter from the National Science Foundation.

“It means that they don’t think what they’re doing is science,” Jazz had interpreted for Danny after reading it when their parents’ back was turned. “And who could blame them? There is zero evidence supporting the existence of ghosts. It’s just superstition.”

That’s all it was. Superstition. And  yet, his parents had at some point in their youth latched on to the idea that ghosts were more than a myth, and even though they’ve never actually seen one in person themselves, they were determined to prove ghosts were real. What amazed Danny the most is the amount of people who also believed in the same theory. In the years past when his parents had dragged him and Jazz to the Ghost Hunter’s Expo, the crowds always seemed to grow bigger and bigger. Scientists, hunters, enthusiasts, and even ghost cosplayers gathered under the same roof for a full weekend, exchanging theories, stories and footage of what they thought were ghosts. The most ridiculous rumor he had heard at the last ghost hunter’s convention was one of a young, blue haired female musician, who became an overnight sensation after one performance at a local carnival. She had also disappeared quite suddenly after the performance, which raised a lot of speculation. Ghost hunters claimed her unusually pale skin and hypnotic vocals were a part of her ghostly powers. Jazz had stated that it was simply because she was a successful female in the patriarchy they had to deem her as a ghost to explain it.

Danny didn’t want to say anything else after that.

“Jack,” Maddie called from across the room, typing away at a computer. “Did you remember to pour in the ecto-purifier?”

“On it, baby!” Jack cried while fumbling with a control panel. Danny watched as grabbed a can of diet cola, which sat next to the similar sized gray cylinder labeled “EP.”

“Uh, Dad?” Danny called. “I don’t think that’s the ecto-purifier.”

“What’s that?” Jack asked. He turned to look at the object in his hand and barked out a chuckle.

“Thanks, son! That was a close one.” He placed the can of diet cola down and picked up the correct cylinder. “Who knows what would have happened if we purified the toxic ghost energies with diet cola. Could you imagine?” He poured the bright green liquid into the appropriate chamber.

In the corner of his eye, Danny saw Jazz shake her head. “Idiot,” she whispered.

Jazz believed she was the only mature Fenton in the family. At some point during her high school career, she had decided it was up to her to convince her parents that ghosts were not real, and to force them to change their careers to something more normal or socially acceptable. She had tried to get them interested in just about any other scientific field she could think of, such as deep sea diving to discover creatures living on the ocean floor, to NASA’s space engineering program. When those didn’t work, she tried to build a case proving the psychological damage they were causing to her’s and Danny’s upbringing. Over the summer, when she wasn’t preparing herself for the SATs she’d have to take later that school year, she poured over every psychological book she could get her hands on from the library. No matter how many times she argued about the permanent damage her parents were inflicting on their amygdala by creating an unsafe environment for her and Danny to grow up in, their parents would say it’s all worth it for the sake of scientific advancement.

Danny tried desperately to stay out of their fights. Most days, he was too focused on trying to survive a day without being called “that ghost geek” by his peers, no matter how many times he told his classmates he didn’t believe in his parents’ work. Maybe it was because of his small, bony limbs that made it so easy for his classmates to mock him. Or the fact that his only two friends in the entire world were also considered a variety of nerd within the social climate. His best friend Tucker was a little too obsessed with the latest technology and his other friend, Samanatha - Sam for short - was the only school’s goth girl, who filled her entire personality and outlook with dark and depressing outfits and literature. In a weird way, it did make sense that the girl who loved to read about the dead, and the boy who loved technology, would want to be friends with the kid whose parents called themselves ghost scientists. Still, they were his best friends and he wouldn’t trade them for anyone else.

He had been telling them about the portal his parents were building all summer. Just like he was, his friends were also doubtful it would work. They deliberated about what the inventions would actually do. Tucker still brought up the time Danny’s parents were testing out an anti-ghost gravity spray, to temporarily make a ghost lose their flight ability. The morning they were testing it out, Danny had woken up in a hovering bed. It had shocked him so much, he fell off his bed and face-planted onto his bedroom floor, breaking his nose. At some point, Tucker and Sam started placing bets about the outcome.

“Maybe the portal will just blast a hole through the wall and you’ll send up in the Amity Park Sewer System,” Sam guessed last night after he told them his parents were getting ready for their first test.

“Bet you five bucks that Danny will lose all of his hair this time,” Tucker had joked.

He absentmindedly ran a hand through his exposed hair and briefly wished he had a head cover and goggles like Jazz. He couldn’t help but notice there was something different about his parents this time. They didn’t have the same, bubbly and excited energy they usually had when showing off a new invention. They seemed more focused this time. Even his dad’s goofy banter towards Maddie had taken a back seat as his dad frowned over the controls. It was weird to see his dad actually concentrating. Maybe it was the hundredth rejection letter they received from the National Science Foundation, or the pressure to present this weekend at the Expo, but it seemed like they were seriously trying to make this thing work. They did not want to fail.

“Okay everyone!” Maddie ran over and started waving her hands. “Backs up against the wall.”

Jazz sighed and turned to walk over to stand behind the boxed in yellow line, the “safe” spot in the lab. Danny thought  a metal containment center with a viewing screen would have kept them safer, but supposedly his parents didn’t have time to build one. Danny followed his mother and sister.

“Almost…” Jack muttered at the controls, typing away. Suddenly there was a loud click that echoed off the basement walls. Machines roared to life and lights winked on. Inside the portal, the metal fans began to spin.

“YES!” Jack punched the air, triumphant.

“Jack!” Maddie called to her husband, gesturing towards the safe zone. He jogged over and squeezed himself in between his two kids.

“This is it!” he shouted over the noise, which was gradually becoming deafening.

All around the room, machines and computers turned on. Attached beakers and graduated cylinders filled up with green, bubbling liquid. A wall lined with dialers bounced up and down. Puffs of smoke expelled out of exhaust pipes. The portal itself began to crackle with electricity, its interior fans spinning faster and faster until it started emitting a bright green glow. The pressure in the room changed, popping Danny’s ears. He felt the tips of his hair begin to rise with the electric waves.

The whirring of the fans inside the machine began to ring out a high pitch squeal as the machine glowed brighter, and brighter, blinding Danny’s naked eyes. He squinted and held out a hand over his eyes, peeking through his fingers. The air around them grew warm and staticky. His father clamped a hand tightly on Danny’s shoulder, as if to hold him back from running away.

It was working. Danny couldn’t believe it. Not once in all of their years of inventing ghost machines and hunting equipment, they may have actually been able to build something that worked like they wanted it to.

What would this mean? That ghosts actually existed? That his parents were not the crackpot fools the town took them for? And if they did exist, there was the one question that no one has been able to answer.

Were ghosts dangerous?

He looked up at Jazz. Her expression was unreadable through the head covering. He looked at his parents, wild and furious excitement in their eyes.

Then, when it seemed like Danny’s ears couldn’t take much more of the screeching noise, a BOOM exploded from the portal. Light poured out of the machine and flooded the room. Danny yelped and turned away. Jack stepped in front of his family and hid them with his massive torso from the explosion. Then, very suddenly, the room went dark. Every light and machine that had been just buzzing with life, died. Danny’s hearing rang in the abrupt silence.

“What the heck?” Jack was the first to say something.

“I got a flashlight, hang on,” Maddie said next. Danny heard her fumbling around her utility belt and a small light winked on. She shined it around the room. Curls of smoke rose up from the machines. The glow from the ecto-purifier had also faded.

“I don’t understand,” Maddie said, dumbfounded as she gazed around the room. “This should have worked.”

“We checked every calculation,” Jack said, equally mystified.

“And tested every single machine.” She threw up her hands. “I even made sure the damn computers turned on!”

“Well, obviously, this wasn’t going to work,” Jazz suddenly said, her anger returning. “You guys were trying to open a portal to nothing . Because ghosts don’t EXIST.”

She ripped off the hood and goggles. “I’m going back upstairs to change and burn this stupid jumpsuit, and work on processing this trauma that you have inflicted on us, yet again.” Without waiting for her parents to respond, she stomped back upstairs, her footsteps echoing off the silent basement walls

Jack shook his head. “What is her deal?”

“Oh, never mind her, Jack,” Maddie said. “We need to figure out what went wrong. We only have a day until the expo and we promised to present this.”

Danny’s parents turned their back on him and began working to restore the power, jumping right into a deep discussion. Danny took the moment to quietly slip away back upstairs.

The second he was back into his room, he let out a long exhale. Suddenly remembering he was wearing the jumpsuit, he hastily ripped it off and then threw it in the trash bin in the corner of his room.

He flopped back onto his bed, and lay in the stillness of his room for a few minutes to collect his thoughts. He stared up at the plastic, glow in the dark stars and planets stuck on his ceiling.

He couldn’t believe there was a moment back there where he thought the machine was working.

He didn’t want to imagine what would happen if ghosts were real. There were no real scientific facts about them. All those convention attendees at the ghost hunters expo all had different theories about what ghosts are - the religiously damned, aliens, spirits with unfinished business, souls that died before their time, another species - no one could settle on a single argument.

But if they did exist, what would happen then? Would they swarm the Earth, like cicadas after their years long sleep? Would they haunt each and every home and building in towns and cities, and try to claim it as their own? Would the world be plunged into a ghost apocalypse, where every human had to fight for their own human survival and soul? Were ghosts malicious or peaceful?

His parents might be arrested for creating the portal in the first place, if it did turn out bad. Or the government might force them to work alongside them to rid the Earth of the ghost population. What would happen to him and Jazz? Would they be put into juvie, just for being the kids of the Fenton Freaks? Would they be put into foster care, once the government decided Jack and Maddie were unfit parents for him and Jazz?

What if the human population adopted a sick fascination of ghosts? Businesses would try to profit off the ghosts by selling fake anti-ghost protection devices or offer tours inside “haunted” houses. There might even be a community in which some would fall in love or even want to become a ghost themselves.

The world would become absolute chaos.

Danny shuddered at the thought. He didn’t understand what his parents saw in trying to prove their existence. What good would proving the undead existed bring to the world?

His anxious, spiraling thoughts were interrupted when his computer dinged. Danny got up and sat down at his desk. He wiggled his mouse to wake up his computer. Tucker had sent him a message.

Still have all of your hair?

Danny chuckled and wrote back.

Yep. Nothing happened though. But the power in the basement blew.

Damn ,  was Tucker’s response. And I had just invested in a 25 pack of markers to color your head in Lancer’s class when you fall asleep.

Danny laughed out loud. I can only imagine all the pensises you’d draw.

I had planned no less than 50. Two for each color.

Well I hope you kept your receipt cause I still have a full head of hair. Unlike you. Danny made a jab at Tucker’s own buzzed haircut. He had tried growing out dreads for the school year, but his mother forced him to shave it off after he got caught staying up on the computer way too late one night. She paid the barber to give him a military buzz cut.

Shut up, dude, Tucker typed back. While you were away not getting your hair fried off your scalp, I was devising up a new battle plan to defeat Chaos.

Danny smiled. Oh yeah? Lay it on me.

[dannyphantom-rewrite]

Character ref for; Jack, Maddie and Jazz,

Art by @gally-hin / @gally-hin-phantom

Okay so first off; in terms of Actual redesign, I didn't change a whole lot. I'm actually very fond of Jack and Maddie's design's, my only real issue was with their proportions. Like...look as a lady person who is also thiCC I do not have a fucking wasp thin waist and I'm sure I'm not the only one, lmao. As for Jack? Godamnit he looked like a brick on toothpicks. Just Let him be a fucking Bara man! Anyway of course I asked Gally to do this one bc they're fucking great at drawing different body types

I also cannot and will not take credit for Jazz's outfit. I didn't have any issue with her canon clothes aside from them being a bit plain, so what she's wearing here was literally pulled straight off of her original concept art, which I will link here.

Anyway, getting to the Actual character lore now, let's start with

Maddie Fenton

-Full name is Madeline (I haven't decided on a maiden name yet)

-Born and raised on a farm in Arkansas, had a southern accent that she trained herself out of in college bc it was just one more reason for people not to take her seriously. Still sometimes uses "y'all" completely unironically bc old habits die hard.

-She has a really big family, and they're proud of her accomplishments but feel like she's wasting her talent studying ghosts, because really, up until the Fenton portal was up and running there wasn't even any solid proof they existed. Her sister Alicia is the one outlier there, and even if she doesn't understand, it she completely supports her.

-She majored in engineering and minored in psychology at Wisconsin EDU. Her, Jack and Vlad were all in the same engineering class, and that's where they met.

-Maddie is particularly interested in how ghosts think, analysing their behavior, their motives. Not only that, but they aren't just dead people with unfinished business, they've built an entire culture in the Ghost Zone that is completely seperate from humanity, and she wants to understand all of it.

-skilled marksman and 9th degree black belt, (which is. The highest fucking level there is holy shit? I looked it up after I saw it on her wiki page.)

Jack Fenton

-He's from Minnesota (Amity park is in Illinois and him and Maddie didn't move there until after they got married) 

-okay, "but why minnesota specifically" you ask? Because. I crave. Foot ball discourse. 

-minnesota vikings vs green bay packers guys do you UNDERSTAND WHERE IM GOING WITH THIS 

-The funny thing is that Jack only watches football casually while Vlad is a fucking die hard so when these two got together to see a game it was like....

-Jack: Here to chill and have a good time.

-Vlad: Primed and ready to start a fist fight at any given moment.

-I am never not going to be salty about how Canon Jack was portrayed like a complete moron 99% percent of the time. Like no...theres a difference between Actual Stupid and ADHD induced dumbass-ery.

-Am I saying Jack Fenton has ADHD? Yes. why? Because I also have ADHD and I have always vibed So Hard with his Character.

-Jack is loud and easily excited about things that interest him. He's impulsive and fidgety and yeah, a bit absent minded. He has a mouth that clearly runs so much faster than his head. His train of thought doesn't get derailed so much as it stops and takes several different detours on the way to it's final destination.

-and that's only the tip of the iceberg, really, I'd need an entire essay to get into this completely, but I just really relate.

-Jacks skill-set / interests regarding ghosts vary a bit from Maddie's, most notably in the sense that he doesn't believe that they're static entities already set in their ways, completely incapable of change.

-Jack majored in engineering and minored in Biology at Wisconsin EDU.

-Jack's work with tech is a bit hit or miss. He definitely HAS the engineering skills, but the intrest isn't always there and he's constantly jumping back and forth between different projects. He tends to focus on the concept work and schematics and leave most of the assembly to Maddie as a result. It's an arrangement that works well for them, and has drastically decreased the number of unintentional explosions in the lab.

-A lot of Jack's work tends to revolve around ghostly biology and Ectoplasm, figuring out how ghosts are made, what makes them tick, what the hell Ectoplasm Actually Is, how it's used as an energy source, ect.

-and yes, that does also mean he handles the dissections.

-See that facial scar? Yeah, that's not actually there at the start of the series rewrite but it's very important for plot reasons so I had to include it. Can't say much more on the subject because SPOILERs owo.

Jasmine Fenton

-Jazz is a 18 years old, and a senior at Casper high.

-Which means she prepping to go away to college and won't be around to keep an eye on Danny.

-Obviously that doesn't mean I'm just writing her out of the story, oh no. Know why? Because she's also gonna go to Wisconsin EDU. ya know who else is in Wisconsin? Fuckin' Vlad.

-Jazz is autistic, Although she passes for neurotypical in part due to symptoms being completely over looked in girls due to gender stereotyping and also the fact that she doesn't have any special interests that are considered " "too weird.""

- Her hyperfixation with psychology started at a young age in an effort to better understand people, and social/emotional cues and all that.

-Jazz is well liked at school but she's not popular or apart of any specific group or clique. She's very kind and compassionate to people, and just about everyone knows her, but you'd be hard pressed to find someone who actually Considered her a friend. Except maybe Spike.

-I'm gonna have to give spike his own Character ref at some point, but he's this scary looking goth kid that's been held back twice. He's actually super sweet, just really fuckin' quiet and anxious. Him and jazz kinda ended up gravitating towards each other. She might do most of the talking, but they look out for each other.

-its not like jazz doesn't try to socialize, but it's difficult and she's found it much easier and less stressful to just. Keep to herself and let her interactions with her peers stay shallow and superficial. Sure, it's lonely sometimes but it's better than constantly worrying about saying the wrong thing or making some other misstep.

-One of Jazz's other special interests is football, and it's not so much the players or the game as it is the strategy of it? Started out as one of those things you do to bond with your dad, and she ended up getting really into it.

-She absolutley winds up getting into stupidly intense discussions with Vlad about it, too, lmao.

-Her and Danny probably bonded over SBNation bc that shit has both sentient satellites and ridiculously complex football mechanics.

-She's completely oblivious to the fact, but Dash has a massive crush on her bc holy shit this girl understands football (hey bud your toxic masculinity is showing put that shit away)

-I mentioned that Danny was in Cheer for a bit in middle school so it makes sense that she'd also be pushed into doing some kind of extracurricular activity.....so.....she was in a martial arts class for a bit thanks to Maddie and has a good grasp on self defense.

I think that's everything? I feel like I'm leaving things out tho? Idk if I did I'll come back and add on to this later and also pls don't hesitate to ask questions bc it really helps me flesh things out better.

[jalebi-weds-bluetooth]

Hello AJ. Shy anon here. I recently started watching MJHT and I recall you've watched the show too. I haven't gone too far ahead but I just noticed that Nupur has a lot of similarities with Khushi. (Which is funny because Sanaya is in it as Gunjan who's like such a contrast to Khushi and Nupur). The very first similarity I actually noticed was the clothing, specifically the bangles. I'd love to hear your thoughts on the show. Just any thoughts. I really enjoy when you deep dive and dissect shows and storylines. I hope you're doing well. Bye 🥰

Hello Shy Anon!!!!

Oh I love that show and its cheesiness to every bit! It had the perfect everything - romance, comedy, drama and an excellent way to show a parallel lead that rarely happens now cause the whole focus goes to literally one character...

DAMN THOSE DAYS!!!

Oh Nupur? Haye!

(long exploration of Khushi, Nupur, Mayank, Samrat under cut)

Yes, Nupur and Khushi have a LOT of similarities because:

1) They represent the classic Indian television female lead; manic pixie, colorful, quirky, witty, middle class, wears tons of jewelry such as bangles and earrings and a Bollywood loving dream girl. This is ITV’s basic template for every heroine. Nupur and Khushi are just the far better and memorable ones. 

2) They’re also written by the same writer! 

However in my opinion Nupur is a slightly more fleshed out and stronger character because:

- She never compromises with her self respect.

- Balances tradition and progressive thinking very well. 

- Keeps grudges and demands apologies when she’s been hurt.

- Knows how to communicate. 

- Allows people to depend on her as much as she depends on them.

- Is always a sister first, lover second. 

- Has ambitions, career, education but ALSO loves romance, marriage, etc. 

- GROWS as a character. She starts from being too eager to fit in, naive, unaware, to mature, proud of her roots, intimidating :)

- Knows when to apologize, works on her ego. 

- Is fiercely independent post marriage and loves being ‘Nupur Bhushan’ as much as ‘Mrs. Mayank Sharma’. 

Nupur would never work with ASR. She’d kill him. No doubt. And sue his dead body. 

Also I think given she was a Star One heroine, the writer/s had more room to develop her as an independent woman as opposed to the perfect ‘bahu’ which is what star plus literally demands from all of its heroines. 

Nupur never had to fit in Mayank’s household nor meet the ‘Sharma’s’ expectations unlike Khushi who is inborn with what they expect from a Raizada bahu. There’s no standard at the Sharma household. Their ‘ideal’ bahu is one who’s independent and has her own persona. Like Mayank’s mum and Nupur. 

I feel Khushi would’ve been more like Nupur if IPK was made as a Star One show. She’d be a slightly calmer, more orthodox and more childlike than Nupur but yeah, actually be treated as an independent character. 

Lol, I realised what a brilliant actor Sanaya was when I saw her interviews!

Also, let’s just say that Gunjan was path breaking as an ITV lead. 

She’s everything you’d expect in a ‘male lead’ and so different from what they catered.

- She’s extremely intelligent, anti social, a scholar, fiercely loyal to her family, mature, pragmatic, practical and is acutely aware of her surroundings. She’s proud of who she is - even though she is intimidated of new spaces and people. A classic introvert who’s very new to Mumbai. You’ll notice later in the show that she’s a no bullshit woman and her hurt, grief lasts for years. 

Unlike other female characters who go over their emotions in a flip and their hurt is never addressed, Gunjan has difficulty moving on from her pain and takes a lot of time to come to terms with her emotions. Also, she’s incredibly sorted and slightly naive about the matters of heart. 

She’s so guarded that she ends up hurting the person she loves. 

Now I feel ASR and Gunjan would be excellent friends if they met in college. Their personalities and pride on education and intelligence is at par - they’re equals if you ask me. 

AND COMING TO MY FAVORITE BOIS - MAYANK AND SAMRAT.

SAMRAT IS MY ETERNAL LOVE. THEIR BROMANCE IS EVERYTHING AND SAMRAT IS THE SWEETEST PUP WITH THE MOST EPIC CHARACTER GROWTH. YOU WILL UNDERSTAND WHY. HE IS THE BEST MALE HERO ON TELEVISION. BOY IS JUST... SO FREAKING NICE. BEING HOT DOES NOT MEAN YOU’RE A DICK. HE’S HOT AND SWEET AND EVERYTHING!!!! 

Mayank, I love him. Again, I feel he’s a very mellowed version of ASR. Quick to judge, “once good opinion lost, then lost forever” types (*cough* Darcy), attached to his mum, does not take being lied to very well, is very single focused, slightly self absorbed, refuses feelings for like a billion years, likes being ‘self made’ and is proud of who he is. Also, secretly loves challenges *lol*

In my eyes MJHT, despite being kitschy, cheesy, very 2000s with a barely passable wardrobe, remains as a much superior show than IPK just in terms of writing and characters. Yeah, they do have shit plots in between and you go WTF but in general they never really compromise on the female nor male leads. I mean I wish they went a hundred episodes less but still...

They really focus on fostering a healthy relationship between all the important characters and not just love, but also - most importantly - friendship. In that way, it was incredibly mature writing. I will defend this show with my last breath! AND CAN I SAY THIS SHOW HAD AN ENDING? LIKE A PROPER ENDING?

THEIR ENDING WAS THE EXACT REVERSE OF THE FIRST PROMO MJHT EVER RELEASED AND I CRIED. *spoiler no spoiler but if you can ever search for the “love bole toh...” promo then you’ll know what I mean when you’re done with the show*

I’ll tell you where IPK surpasses MJHT - production value, subtlety, background scoring, direction and chemistry. Like Samrat/Gunjan, Mayank/Nupur will give you all the feelz for sure (and I was so damn excited when I learned that Mohit and Sanaya are a real life couple) but there’s something different with Arnav and Khushi. You can’t tear your eyes away from them and I think it’s because Sanaya and Barun are... brilliant actors.

Barun, especially, is a rare gem. 

But apart from that, enjoy MJHT and keep me posted! Also you should write to @leila1 - she’s another MJHT lover like us!!!

THANK YOU FOR THROWING ME BACK INTO MY BACHPAN FEELZ