#and i was agitated because i had literally 3 minutes left in my episode and i kept asking if it could wait

[grimandghoulish]

.

[alirhi]

...goddess help me...

This fucking episode. *deep breath* This... This episode is where I'm expecting to get some serious hate. Let me just get this out of the way right up front:

I. Hate. Zemo.

I do not find him sympathetic, or funny, or charming. I find him creepy and annoying. I did not like him in CA:CW and I do not like him in TFATWS. If you are pro-Zemo, you are not going to like my version of this show from here on out. Just find something else to read and don't bother me about it. You've got the actual canon, so go enjoy that.

Got it? Good. Now, on to the main event!

Episode 3: The Power Broker

First of all, Sam doesn't let Bucky walk in there alone. No matter Bucky's (flimsy and nonsensical) argument, Sam's like "hell no. I go in with you, or you don't go in." The main reason for this isn't to keep Bucky from breaking Zemo out of prison (with decent writing, he would never do that) - it's so that Sam witnesses Zemo taunting Bucky with/about the trigger words. because Zemo is a piece of shit.

Since he doesn't know the full story, Sam is confused, but he files this interaction away to ask Bucky about later. He's listening to Zemo acknowledging that Bucky was "not conscious for most of [his] imprisonment" (which, yes, clearly refers to the time he spent frozen, but can also mean while he was under their control as TWS/"The Asset" - also, key word: imprisonment) and when he calls Bucky a means to an end, Sam scowls, looking ready to go off on him, but he waits. They've got more important issues.

Neither of them entertains the thought of breaking Zemo out for even a nanosecond. He does that shit himself. And literally the only reason I'm sticking with him getting out at all is because I want to address some truly egregious moments linked directly to him in the show. Zemo makes them think he's setting them on the trail when really he's just sending them to his motor pool. Bucky and Sam are confused until they see Zemo in his stolen guard uniform, then they're both angry and want to ship him right back to prison, but he strikes a deal with them: "My help for my temporary freedom. Creating super soldiers cannot be allowed to continue; let me finish my work, and then do with me as you will." He has no intention of going quietly back to prison, obviously, and they're not stupid enough to believe otherwise, but they believe they can keep him on a short leash, so they agree for now. Anything to bring down the Flag Smashers and whoever created them.

After the title, we cut to Raynor on the phone in her office. She's agitated, fiddling with things on her desk. "No, sir," she's practically growling, "it was disrupted. - Walker did! - It's not my fault your new attack dog got off-leash!" She pauses, huffs, and says more calmly, "No. Of course not. I'm sorry. - Well, I don't see how, with the new Cap strutting around barking orders! - What am I supposed to do? Tell Captain America in front of a dozen witnesses that he can't have his predecessor's favorite pet because we're not done reprogramming him? I didn't see that going over too well. I made a call. - No. No, no, no, we can still use him. The work's not finished, but he still trusts me. He'll be back." A pause as she listens. Angry again, she snaps, "What do you want me to do, shove a tracker up his ass? He'll be back, and we'll pick right back up where we left off! - Don't worry, sir, the Asset will be fully compliant and ready to use soon. I'll make sure of it. - Yes, sir. You, too." She hangs up and tosses her phone on the couch, grumbling, "Dick."

Cut back to Sam, Bucky, and Zemo getting going on their trip to Madripoor. On the plane, Sam wants to talk to Bucky about what he's learned so far, but doesn't want to bring it up in front of Zemo... until the notebook incident reminds him that Zemo already knows more about Bucky than he does.

After Zemo's line about the list, Sam angrily corrects him: "You mean people HYDRA used The Winter Soldier to hurt." When Zemo shrugs and his response is basically along the lines of "what's the difference" Sam is like "oh hell no."

"Those words you were reciting at him," he reminds Zemo, "what were they, Russian? They clearly meant something. They were supposed to do something. What are they?" "Sam, let it go," Bucky pleads, unable to look at either of them. "It's nothing." "You wanna drown in your guilt, that's fine," Sam snaps, "but make sure it's for the right reasons." He turns back to Zemo, who's smiling at this exchange because he's a monster and thinks Bucky's suffering is fucking funny. "I asked you a question, Zemo. What did those words do?" "They activate the Winter Soldier programming," Bucky grudgingly admits. He doesn't want to talk about it, but he's sure as hell not going to let Zemo speak for him. "Or, they did, before the Wakandans got all that shit out of my head." "It's a shame," Zemo says with a smirk. "Imagine the possibilities that come with perfect obedience." "I think you mean 'slavery'," Sam growls, "and I think you're in the wrong crowd to be looking so pleased about it. Remember that we can send your ass back to prison any time." "Of course," Zemo agrees, but with an arrogant smile that shows he doesn't believe for a second that these two have any real power over him. Still, he bides his time and sits back quietly, watching Bucky fidget with the notebook. Sam turns back to Bucky, seeing his discomfort; he won't let the topic go, though, not yet. He just softens his tone. "So, they 'activated the Winter Soldier'? What exactly does that mean?" Bucky shrugs, still not looking up. "Pretty much what he said - perfect obedience. What little consciousness they left me between cryo and the chair was squashed down, locked away. And I did whatever I was told, exactly the way they told me to." It finally clicks. He'd had his suspicions before, of course, but now Sam gets it. Visibly horrified, he stares at this quiet, broken man, and finally sees the truth of what he'd been through for 70 years: "They stripped away your autonomy. Shit, Bucky, they didn't even let you be a person. That's..." He swallows, looking like he'll be sick any minute. "That's awful, man. I'm so sorry." When Bucky tries to shrug it off and downplay it again, Sam gets angry. "Look at me!" He waits; it takes a few seconds, but Bucky reluctantly looks up and is surprised to see just how upset Sam is on his behalf. "It wasn't your fault. None of it. When Steve said you didn't have a choice, I had no idea... You really, truly had no choice; not even the ability to choose. That's horrifying." "I doubt it would make much difference to the people he's killed," Zemo points out snidely. "Or their families. Let's ask Tony Stark, shall we?" "You shut the hell up," Sam growls. He watches Bucky flinch and make that face - the face he's starting to really fucking hate - that says he agrees with Zemo. Bucky still can't see things the way Sam does; he still feels the guilt and shame, and even when he himself pointed out his lack of agency under HYDRA, it didn't click for him that Sam is right, not Zemo.

It's too much, too soon. Sam sees that and decides to change the subject, to give Bucky some time to process. He nods at the notebook, and they have their little Marvin Gaye debate, where Sam is over the top about it on purpose, because Bucky needs the distraction.

Of course, Zemo ruins it by opening his big mouth again and reminding Bucky of more trauma: his time fighting in WWII. That's why Sam latches onto the bit about Madripoor; to keep the focus not only on the task at hand, but off of Bucky's past that he clearly still can't cope with.

"James... You will have to become someone you claim is gone." Sam is officially ready to throw Zemo out a window. 😂 The only reason he doesn't jump to Bucky's defense again and basically tell Zemo to fuck himself (in a PG-13 way 🙄) is because Bucky's, as Sam pointed out in ep2, a grown-ass man, and because he's just learned how few decisions this poor man has been able to make in his life. Sam doesn't want to come across as another "handler," deciding everything for him, even if he does think this plan is stupid and needlessly cruel.

At the bar, when asked if he wants "the usual", Sam just casually waves the bartender off like "nah". Zemo already said they had business to attend to, so it's not like anyone would be suspicious that now's probably not a good time to be doing weird shots lol. (wtf even was that? I'm not sure I want to know, but...what part of the snake did he drop into that drink?)

Sam's not an idiot (I'm really so sick of this trend of turning intelligent characters into morons because the writers can't think of any other way to move their plot along) so his cell phone has been off this whole time. No sudden call from Sarah to put them all in danger. There was really no point to that, anyway; Sharon likely would have killed Selby for talking about Nagle with or without the excuse of "saving" Sam and Bucky. I mean, it's not like they know who fired that shot, ever.

"They cleared the Bionic Staring Machine," Sam still jokes, but he follows it with, "and they think he's a mass-murderer." "They think?" Sharon stares at him incredulously. "Didn't he kill pretty much everyone he's ever met?" "Wow." Sam glances back at Bucky. "She really is awful now." To Sharon, he adds, "You met Steve; do you really think he'd have defied 117 countries to protect someone evil?" "He did it for Bucky," she points out. "Let's face it - Bucky could blow up half the planet, and Steve's loyal-to-a-fault ass would still take a bullet for him." "You know I'm sitting right here, right? I can hear you." "Look, I don't think you're evil, Bucky," Sharon assures him. "But I know you killed a lot of people for HYDRA." "I'm not denying it." "He didn't have a choice," Sam snaps, glaring at them both. "But we're not getting into that right now. My point is, the government's afraid of Bucky, and they still pardoned him. All you did was steal something. I'm sure they can be persuaded to see reason." "The day the US government sees reason," Sharon quips, rolling her eyes, "is the day I sprout real wings and fly off into the sunset." "Careful, Icarus," Bucky mocks with a smirk, "the sun and brand new wings don't exactly go together." Then he shrugs and glances at Sam. "But she's not wrong."

At the party that night, it takes a few minutes (grumpy old man Bucky's not sure how to feel about the music lol) but a peek of pre-war Bucky comes out to play: they were told to "blend in", so he dances. At first he's just bobbing around alone looking stoic and out of place, but soon he's smiling and dancing between two attractive people - one male, one female. Sam is surprised, but before he can tease him for it, Sharon comes to get them all. Even she's a little "wait what?" at Bucky having a little fun lol. (recovery is not linear, guys. trauma doesn't mean "perpetually miserable, no fun, doesn't even know how to smile." in my TFATWS, Bucky gets his lighter moments; real ones, not humor at his expense)

When they find Nagle, Bucky's the one who notices and opens the secret door, while Sam keeps an eye on Zemo. Bucky catches Zemo trying to grab that gun; closes the drawer on his hand before opening it and taking the gun away. "Nice try." Nagle tries to get away while there's only one person watching him, but Sam catches him and forces him back into his seat. With a bruising grip on the back of Zemo's neck, Bucky drags him back over to where he and Sam can both keep an eye on him. Nagle is killed in the shootout as they're trying to escape; Zemo still runs off, blows shit up, and comes back with the stolen car so he's not totally useless.

I had no problem with Zemo being the one to kill Nagle; Nagle was the worst and def had to die, and Zemo has never had an issue killing anyone. Where I took issue with this scene was Bucky and Sam being dumb enough to let Zemo wander and get his hands on a gun. Nope. Not happening.

Anyway, shootout! Explosions! Funny banter! The seat thing, which is my favorite nod to CW ever lol... And then the conversation on the plane...

"You okay?" "Yeah." Sam sighs. "Just thinking." "About how to get Sharon that pardon you dangled in front of her?" He shakes his head. "About how Nagle referred to 'The Winter Soldier Program" like it was some kind of after school club; like you weren't standing right there. And 'the American test subject' like... Like Isaiah wasn't even a real person." He turns to face Bucky, looking angry and weary. "Makes me wonder how many times... How many times are we gonna run around in the same circles before people learn? And how many people need to get crushed underfoot in the meantime?" "Did you really just equate me with Isaiah?" Bucky frowns, not sure how to react to that. "That man is a hero." Sam opens his mouth to say something, but his phone goes off and Zemo approaches at the same time, effectively cutting off their conversation.

When they get to Riga and Zemo tries to guilt trip them over Sokovia, Bucky deadpan reminds him, "Neither of us were involved in that fight." "I doubt you'd have been much help if you were." He shrugs. "Probably not. But I like to save my guilt for events I was actually present for. It's a thing." Zemo laughs. "Fair enough."

Bucky goes on his walk, and meets up with Ayo.

[diyunho]

The Joker x Reader - “Trapped” Part 4

Almost one year ago, someone tried to kill The Joker in a speeding car and Y/N pushed him out of the way, getting hit instead. With a fractured skull and broken bones, she was out of business for 6 months; when she finally recovered, The Queen of Gotham wasn’t the same anymore. Trapped inside her own mind and exhibiting severe cognitive impairment, Y/N’s life switched upside down without any hope of ever returning to normal.

Part 1       Part 2      Part 3      Part 5

Next Morning

“We’re done here, OK?” The Joker shouts and you stomp away, furious at his behavior.

“Of course we are done, who the hell would put up with you?!! You’re horrible!!!”

“It finally clicked? Good!!!! Come on, speed it up and disappear!!!!” he points at the top of the hill where your car is parked.

You walk faster and J is increasingly frustrated with each step you take.

“So what you said was a lie?!” he yells before he can stop himself. “You assured me I’ll get used with being loved and here you are running from me! Hypocrite! Who’s the liar now, huh?”

You turn around, stunned.

How dare he twist your most intimate confessions in such a manner?

Y/N and The Joker glare at each other for a few moments before you voice all the bitterness and resentment building up in your heart loud enough for him to hear:

“I hate you!”

“Oh yeah?” he smirks. “Perfect! I’m used to it!”

You reprise your stroll, determined not to fall into his little traps anymore: this time is over and you have to put as much distance in between the two of you in the next few seconds before he attempts one of his tricks.

Not that you would fall for it again, but you never know…

One last glare while you try to open the car door and you see him flair his arms around loudly screaming at his phone; your fingers keep missing the lock and you kick the metal frame, irritated. Another glance and you spot a vehicle driving in the parking lane towards where The Joker is.

“J?...” you hesitantly call out to him yet The Joker probably has the earbuds in so he can’t hear you. “J!!!” you wave to get his attention without success. “Oh my God!” you rush back in his direction when you realize that SUV will hit him if it continues the present trajectory. “J!!! J!!!!”

The King is too absorbed in his business conversation thus he finally sees Y/N next to him as she violently pushes him out of harm’s way.

The strong impact wakes you up and you gasp for air, panicked. Your troubled mind has difficulty catching up with reality: a damaged brain can’t possibly render any type of comfort in this situation.

“Why are you crying?” J mumbles half asleep. “Did you have a bad dream?”

You seem confused and unresponsive to his questions, no other choice besides waking up to check on you.

“Calm down. You had a nightmare, ok?” he pulls the agitated Y/N in his arms. “ Hey, it’s me!”

You whimper at the pain paralyzing your body and don’t complain when he drags you on top of him; it actually feels soothing having someone close that understands what’s happening to you.

“Don’t hold me so tight, I can’t breathe,” J pecks your forehead where the blood clot pressing on your frontal lobe should be. “Better?” he asks a tearful girlfriend that ultimately begins to understand she wasn’t hit by a car minutes ago: it’s an ordeal she already went through months ago despite the aftermath of the accident still creating problems. “Such an early bird,” The Clown yawns since he won’t be able to doze off after your episode. “Only 7 am Princess…” the grumbled noises make you receptive to his complaint. “What about you give me some sugar in exchange for my services?” J suggests, quite puzzled when you roll off him and stumble out of the bedroom. “Where are you going?!”

You don’t answer because you’re concentrating just on what your neurons were able to translate in such a short notice: your man wants sugar. That’s why you’re in a big hurry to bring him a bag containing the sweet product, happily offering the item to his majesty The King of Gotham.

“For God’s sake, Pumpkin!” he accepts the gift nevertheless and places it on the covers. “That’s not what I meant,” he snatches Y/N in his arms and kisses her.

“No…sugar?...” you inquire out of genuine curiosity.

“I already got it,” he mischievously smirks at your bafflement, deciding to exercise your skills at once. “Say Princess: if I give you two kisses and then I give you two more, how many kisses do you get?”

“Ummm…” you debate on the question,”… not enough?”

“Due to your high standards, certainly,” The Joker huffs at the genuine reply. “Your solution is not wrong, but I’m looking for a number. Two plus two? Come on, you already know this one!”

“Mmmm… Four?...” you blur out and get groped as reward.

“Good girl!” J proudly applauds your abilities at crack of dawn. “Enough algebra for this morning,” he changes topic. “Your doctor appointment is at 10; you should take a shower soon,” and he rambles on until something is clear: the blank expression on your face hints at the outcome.

“You’re not listening, are you?” he suspiciously inquires.

“No.”

Why would you? Your brain’s self-defense mechanism prevailed at all the information flooding your deteriorated synapses and the result was blocking the outpour of sentences.

“That was a 10 minutes speech, Pumpkin!” The Joker grouchily admonishes the carefree Y/N.

“11,” you gesture at the clock on the wall.

“11 what?”

“11 minutes, not 10,” you nonchalantly conclude.

“Oh, so you have the audacity to time me while you don’t bother keeping up?!”

“Yes,” you giggle and hide your face under the pillow.

“That’s preposterous!”

“Hm?...” your nose emerges from under the cushion at the fascinating word you can’t recollect being in your current vocabulary.

“Preposterous, Princess!” J repeats.”… Stop laughing, would you?” he forcefully hijacks your pillow and you snicker because whatever-the-heck- it-means Preposterous Princess sounds like a hilarious nickname. “You wanna play games?” The Clown Prince of Crime sucks on his silver teeth willing to bring a final showdown to this magical day. “Fine, remember you made me with your abominable behavior!” he reaches for the nightstand in order to grab his favorite deck of cards. “Pick a card, any card; I won’t peak,” J watches the captivated woman pluck her choice from the mound. “Now put it in the stack,” he urges and you follow the instructions.

The Joker vigorously shuffles the cards then searches for yours.

“Is this it?” he triumphantly flicks the Joker card out of the bunch.

You nod a yes completely smitten he guessed again and your terrible half steals a kiss, triumphantly growling to himself:

“Who’s  laughing now, huh?”

*************

After Your Doctor’s Appointment

J slides the screen on his phone and before he can utter anything you announce:

“Hi, this is Pre… Pro… Mmm… W-wait,” you stammer and gather your thoughts. “This is Preposterous Princess.”

The Joker sighs, definitely unamused at your 5th call in a row to tell him what’s going on at your routine consultation: he barely finished counting the ammo boxes he received with the shipment after you left and going over the heist scheme for next week it’s made impossible by Y/N.

“Pumpkin, I will remind you that’s not what I meant when I said that word. It was Preposterous COMA Princess!! Two separate entities, alright? We need to have a serious discussion after you get home.”

“I have to go, Pro… Ummm… Preposterous Princess is at…at the gates,” you say it very fast and hang up, excited to share news with him.

Yet The Clown is already acquainted with the whole development on your condition: the doctor’s office contacted him after your departure in order to brief him on Y/N health. The blood clot is a bit smaller since it keeps reabsorbing; the cognitive issues are there, tests ended up pretty much within normal range except one, thus it’s necessary for the two of you to have the dialogue he mentioned about.

Five more minutes and you barge in his office holding your yellow teddy bear and for the first time in his life The Joker can’t help regretting he’s about to burst someone’s bubble.

You approach the desk and set the ultrasound picture in front of him waiting for his reaction; your bright smile doesn’t go well with how gloomy he appears, literally an understatement anyway.

“Baby,” you tap the image just in case he didn’t realize what he’s staring at.

“I know, Pumpkin. We can’t keep it.”

“Hm…?” your smile gradually dies out as you comprehend he’s not on the same page with your wishes.

“We can’t keep the baby, it’s very dangerous given you merely survived a severe trauma. I was told it’s nearly impossible for you to have kids, that’s why I didn’t use… Anyway… I admit this one’s on me and the conclusion is… … we can’t keep the baby.”

“No baby?” you sniffle.

“Nope, it would be too harsh on your body. Plus, you won’t be able to use your anti-inflammatory medication if you’re pregnant.”

“I want baby!”

“Are you deaf??!” J slams the desk with his fist, annoyed. “You can’t have a child, it could kill you. Do you want to perish?!” he rises from his chair.

“No… I want you and baby.”

“No way in hell!” he snarls at your defiance.

“Why can’t I h-have baby? Because… because I’m stupid?” you cuddle with your plush toy, heartbroken at his approach.

“You’re not stupid, but I’m beginning to have doubts if what I told you doesn’t make sense!”

“I want baby!” you whisper on the verge of crying.

“I want baby,” The Joker mocks and watches your demeanor change: it doesn’t take a genius to detangle the mystery of how hurt you seem.

“Are…are you making fun of me?!”

The King is a jerk, no doubt about it. Despite his obvious flaws he never ridiculed someone’s disability; it’s simply beneath him. One could say this is a new low for him and he cannot erase it: Y/N’s cognitive impairment is clearly sacred ground he trespassed on a whim when he shouldn’t have.

“If…if you were like me… I wouldn’t laugh at… at you,” you wipe your tears, sobbing. “I’m not smart… anymore but I can m-make decisions, ok? I want baby!”

“I said no!” J yells, fired up you won’t listen to reason.

“I don… I don’t care!” you storm out of the office and trip on the carpet, almost falling to the ground. “It’s my baby!”

“It’s mine also unless you have another boyfriend!!”

**************

You’ve been gone for the last hour; it’s a big place yet it shouldn’t be so difficult to find one’s partner.

The Joker dials your number and inquires as soon as you blow your nose on the other side of the line.

“Is this The Preposterous Princess?”

Dead air again; Y/N isn’t in the mood to speak to the man she can’t forgive for his transgression. In addition to him disregarding her intention of keeping the offspring, he made her feel dumb and that’s unforgivable.

“Y/N, where are you?!” J descends the steps leading to the basement, the last area he didn’t searched for his missing woman. He opens the boiler room, nothing. The pantry reveals zero clues either. The janitorial supplies closet is a different story; a box of sponges flies by his ear, immediately accompanied by a hateful tone:

“Go away!”

“You almost broke my nose,” he over exaggerates. “What are you doing here anyway? I’ve been looking all over the house!” “I’m hiding baby from you,” you clearly enunciate without stammering.

“Give me a break,” he drops on his knees in front of you. “I don’t want you to kick the bucket, why is that a bad thing?”

“I want baby!”

“Stubborn mule, you sound like a scratched CD that skips and skips and skips,” he barks at your persistence.

“Hm?” you crinkle your nose.

“Scratched CD!” he brings his face close to yours, pleased an opportunity for his plan has arisen. “First of all, if you want to keep the kid you have to promise not to die; second, I have no desire to become a father and third of all pick a card!” he shoves them in your fingers, perfectly aware that if you can’t process all the stuff he’s yapping at an amazing speed, you’ll get distracted and forget you’re mad at him; including one of your favorite games to the equation should seal the outcome.

“Hm?”

“Chop, chop, pick a card Pumpkin!”

You suspiciously pluck your item and then shove it back in the bundle.

The Joker steals a kiss while figuring out your card and you protest:

“I don’t… I don’t want your four kisses!”

“That’s too bad, I do come with four kisses, it’s a bundle deal!” J dismisses your logic connected to this morning’s algebra lesson. “Is this your card?” he shows you the Jester card and your mouth opens in amazement.

“A-ha!”

He fights with himself if he should disclose the secret: you don’t seem totally diverted and his plot could misfire due to inaction.

It’s not worth it.

“Do you know how I select the correct card?”

“No.”

“Each single time Pumpkin you invariably pick The Joker card.”

You sulk at the revelation since it’s true: you don’t recall sorting another card from the deck.

“I do… I always choose you…”

He doesn’t have a response and the chat is taking a strange turn, not precisely what he was aiming for.

“Yeah, well… good for you, Princess…” he stands and offers his hand to help you up.

Another smooch as bonus for his assistance whilst The Queen pouts at his impertinence: he has such a nerve!

Perhaps because he comes with four kisses.

It’s a bundle deal.

 Also read: MASTERLIST

You can also follow me on Ao3 and Wattpad under the same blog name: DiYunho.

[dealbrekker]

Star-struck

My new Lucifer made the stars fic with all that angsty goodness.  I’m now 6 episodes into season 3 for the first time, so anything that seems off in the fic can be attributed to that.

---

It started with a suggestion.

Since her acquaintanceship with Lucifer, Chloe had made many of these.

Why don’t you come to the station to do your weird hypno thing to the perp?

Why don’t you stop with the metaphors and come back down to Earth for a minute?

Why don’t you untangle yourself from the Brittanies and act like an adult for five seconds?

Of course, most of these were more so frustrated demands, and the metaphors weren’t exactly metaphorical anymore.  As their odd relationship wound and unwound like a perpetually disfunction yo-yo, Chloe’s suggestions had slowly unfurled, blush by blush, into more intimate proposals. Most were met with a fair bit of sarcasm and lecherous innuendo, and nearly all of them resulted in Chloe either stalking away in exasperated anger or embarrassment.  The fact that she kept trying really merited a visit to Linda. If anyone understood an obsession with the literal Devil, it was the good doctor.

The most recent suggestion, made with genuine thoughtfulness and the mildly—okay, completely—terrifying hope he’d agree, was of the burning cheeks variety.

I’m taking Trixie to the planetarium to see the new exhibit on constellations tomorrow night. You should come.

Lucifer’s deft and slender fingers crumpled over the piano keys.  Chloe winced at the discordant notes, and turning toward him, she was shocked to see a shuttered, hollow look in his eyes.

“I’ve no wish to view such mockery.”

His fingers returned to their melody, and Chloe blinked in stunned silence.  Normally a response like that would send her eyes rolling and her head shaking at his childishness.  Snobbery was a regular trait with Lucifer Morningstar.  She rather thought Satan shouldn’t have a lot to feel so superior over, but she’d learned to keep that train of thought quiet. He didn’t like answering questions about his time in Hell or anything regarding his old job description at all.  

But his reaction hadn’t just been his usual sneering cynicism.  This had been definitive; an ultimatum.  Do not ask me again.

So, she hadn’t. But she turned his words over and over again, even while her face grew red.  Even after he’d settled, and his fingers eventually drifted elsewhere.

But she did ask Maze.

“Maybe he’s not as fond of Trixie as I thought,” she pondered while stirring the soup on the stove. Maze sat at her customary place opposite; a long-distant look fixed on her face.  Chloe searched for earbuds, but the demon wasn’t wearing any.  She pressed on.  “Maybe he’s not as fond of me as I thought.”

Maze’s focus sharpened, and her slit eyebrow arched neatly.  “Please,” she deadpanned.  Chloe blushed and averted her eyes to the pot in front of her.  “Maybe,” her heart fell and she cursed herself for being so obtuse. She stopped stirring and let the spoon drop.  “Maybe the stars are too…”

She trailed off, not knowing the correct word to use.  Heavenly?  Celestial? She didn’t have to think long, because Maze had gone stiff in her seat, her features hardening into a likeness of cold marble.  Chloe stilled, recognizing the silent rarity of the demon’s true rage.

“Forget it,” she murmured, looking away from those soulless eyes.  “I’m sorry.”

As the broth simmered on, Maze relaxed in her seat, and Chloe felt her own tension melt away. The more she thought about it, the surer she became.  Lucifer’s words played over in her head.  She looked back at Maze.

“What did he mean by that?  A ‘mockery’? A mockery of what?”

Maze regarded her coolly, though most of her initial hostility had vanished.  Chloe knew she’d been on the mark with her conclusion about the stars.  Maze’s eyes slid from hers and the distance returned in them.  Chloe waited.

“I have no right to tell you this,” the demon said, surprising Chloe.  Maze showing reluctance over anything revealed just how serious the matter was.  Chloe merely nodded encouragement.  She desperately wanted to know what had bothered Lucifer so much, and if she could somehow make amends.

Maze’s hands clenched and unclenched.  She didn’t have her knives, or else Chloe knew she’d be twirling them in agitation. The demon’s catlike eyes narrowed and pinned her in place.

“I’m only telling you because I know you actually care about him.  This isn’t for me to say, but I doubt he ever will.”  She took a deep breath.  “Lucifer created the stars.”

Hush descended, save for the ticking of the kitchen clock.

Chloe cleared her throat.  “I’m sorry. The stars?”

Maze tilted her head warningly.  Chloe held up her hands.

“Sorry! But.  You’re saying Lucifer created space?”

“No, I’m saying he made the stars.  Space existed.  Dear old Daddy and Mommy made that and were making plans for what else would be set out all neatly inside it when Lucifer,” she snapped her fingers once, as if to say that was that.  “Bam. Galaxies.  Suns.”  She smirked. “Then God threw up a planet nearby and lo and behold, it prospered under your precious sun.”

The soup was all but forgotten.  Chloe stared at her roommate for a long time.  “Lucifer made the stars,” she repeated, somehow failing to grasp the concept despite coming to terms with a lot of outrageous facts lately.  

“Stop being thick, Decker.  He’s the Lightbringer, after all.  Or did you never learn that?”

The demon pushed herself back from the bar without another word.  Chloe stuttered, wrestling with which question to ask first, but Maze disappeared into her room with a slam of her door.

In the end, Chloe did not push Lucifer into coming to the planetarium.  And while Trixie raced around the rooms, cooing excitedly over the man-made galaxies, Chloe couldn’t help but feel they were nothing short of a knock-off.

 “Were you ever going to tell me you created the stars?”

Lucifer slapped his glass down onto the bar with a crack.  He stared at his demonic bartender as Chloe strode from the elevator.  “Bloody hell, Maze.  What else do you tell her while I’m not around?”

Maze shrugged.  “Thought you didn’t lie.”

Lucifer sneered at her.  “Omissions aren’t lies, especially when they’ve no reason to be mentioned at all.”

He turned to Chloe, plastering a brilliant grin to his face.  “Detective!”

Chloe held up a hand. “The stars, Lucifer.  Is that why you didn’t want to go to the planetarium?”

Lucifer realized what she was doing.  She was being terse, badass Detective Decker.  The one that burst into the interrogation room with quickfire questions that left the perp little room to think.  He’d almost vomited up a “Yes, ma’am, I did, ma’am” before giving himself a mental slap.

“Now, now, Detective. Why don’t you sit and have a drink? What is this codswallop about stars, then?”

Chloe leveled him with eyes nearly as flinty as Maze’s.  He cleared his throat.  “Yes, um. Maze, two martinis, please.  Dry.”

His demon didn’t answer, and when he turned around, she was gone.

“Some help I keep,” he muttered under his breath.

“Lucifer.”

He turned back, another wolfish grin in place.  “You’re so sexy when you interrogate, Chloe.”  He added an extra purr to her name.  Only a slight movement of her lips indicated she’d noticed.

“Why would you keep such a thing from me?  From anyone?”

He exhaled a long, frustrated sigh.  

“Because it isn’t bloody important, Detective.  What difference does it make?  Does it change anything?”

Chloe seemed to ponder this for a second.  “In the grand scheme of things—”

He groaned loudly. “Not the bloody grand scheme of things rhetoric.”  He stood and went behind counter to take a long drag from a random bottle.  He didn’t care which.  Gin, it turned out.  “No holy roller nonsense from you please.  It’s terribly unbecoming.”

She ignored him.

“Lucifer, that you made the stars…it’s amazing!  Why wouldn’t you want to brag about it?  You brag about all your other accomplishments.  Your desire-hypno eyes.  Your deal making.  Your…prowess.”

“Oh, remembered that one did you,” he grinned again and sidled back to her side of the bar.  “Can’t much brag about it anymore seeing as how I’m a one-lover man, now.  All I can do is prove it to her.  Over and over and over and…”

“Lucifer!”

“And over again.”

Chloe looked a little flushed.  Lucifer felt a little pleased.

“Why won’t you even go out to look at the stars then?”

“Enough questions, Detective.  They’re boring me.”

“Think of the implications!  Think what would happen if people knew!”

Lucifer barked a laugh.  “And who is going to tell them?  You? Who is going to go up to Joe Schmoe on the street and say, “Oh, oh!  The Devil made the stars.  Tell him thank you in your prayers tonight!”  I don’t bloody think so, Chloe.”

Chloe looked deflated for a minute, and Lucifer began to relax.  If she’d just drop it…

“But how can you not want to see them?”

Guess not.

“Leave it alone, Chloe.  Why do you think I chose the big city lights?  There are stars everywhere.”  He gestured at the TV with a leer in place.  A famous, very attractive actor was giving an interview on some late-night show.  Chloe rolled her eyes and opened her mouth, but Lucifer cut her off.  “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I think I’m rather put out of my mood.”

He began to stalk off to his piano, leaving her at the bar to go or stay as she chose.

“Don’t you miss them?”

He stopped.

And spun around.

“No.”

He meant it to be dismissive.  Blunt. Final.

But it had come out as a croaking plea.

He cleared his throat. She stood.

“Lucifer if you’d just…”

“I don’t want to bloody see the damned stars, Chloe.  I won’t see them, not for you, not for anyone, so drop it NOW.”

His voice had climbed to the roar that made most people cower before him, apologizing and begging for forgiveness.  But not her. Never her.  He didn’t scare her.  And for that he was eternally thankful.  

He just scared himself.

“Good night, Detective.”  He turned away and vanished into his room.  He didn’t breathe again until he heard the elevator open and close.

 She surprised him one day with a blindfold.

“Why, Detective, I never would have guessed,” he crooned as she slipped it over his eyes.  He laughed silently as she tied it at the back of his head.  He could feel the eye roll she was giving him.  “Very kinky, Lucifer approves wholeheartedly.  Where are we going?”

He practically jumped when her lips pressed against his ear.  “You’ll just have to wait and see.”

His heated skin and pumping heart drowned out all other thought as she guided him into the passenger seat of her car.  If he hadn’t been so gob-smacked, the Devil might have sensed the guilt coming off her in waves.

 An hour or so later, the car stopped.  He heard Chloe take a deep breath before she pulled the blindfold away.

Lucifer blinked warily in the receding sun, taking in the desert landscape.  He turned an appraising eye on her.  

“Are you sure you weren’t the one who reattached my wings?”  It was a stupid question, he knew, since the answer was a partial affirmative.  He knew that now.  Doing multiple good deeds in the name of this human woman and her family had contributed to their reappearance.  And no matter how many times he’d hacked them off, it seemed each new day with Chloe, each new skipping heartbeat he’d felt in her presence, had added a literal feather to his proverbial cap.

Even so, seeing the desert again brought the memory of his wings’ sudden regrowth surging back. His shoulder blades itched, and he cricked his neck, straining to keep the bloody things from popping out and embarrassing him.  He shook himself and turned on a leer.

“Or did you have a sandy twilight tryst in mind, Detective?”  He glanced behind them into the back of the car.  “Shall we share a sleeping bag?”  He waggled his eyebrows at her.

But Chloe wasn’t looking at him.  She was staring ahead, out of the windshield at the oncoming sunset, her face rosy gold. Exquisite, he thought.  And then he realized the late hour.

And anger flared bright in his gut.

“You brought me here to see the bloody damned stars, didn’t you?”

Chloe didn’t answer, but her eyes dropped to the steering wheel.  Her jaw clenched.

“Unbelievable.” Lucifer opened the car door and shoved himself out, slamming it behind him.

The air was cool and he crossed his arms as he stalked several paces from the car.  He heard her get out behind him, but he refused to look back at her.  

Silence rolled across the desert with the light breeze.  His thoughts were wild with anxiety.  How dare she kidnap him and drag him back to this thrice damned sandpit to see them. How dare she presume to know what was best for the Devil?  The King of Hell?  He would not look at them.  He’d close his eyes.  He’d shut them out and imagine the flashing strobes of Lux.  The headlights and spotlights and wonderful, drab boringness of florescent tubing flickering with their soulless utility…

“Take me back to Lux,” he growled as he felt her come to stand beside him.

“Tell me why,” she said lowly, “and I will.”

He snarled, his body tensing, his shoulder blades on fire.  He felt his wings digging at his back.  Eager to burst forward…eager to fly up and away if only to get away from the coming dark…

Chloe did not flinch under his rage, though he knew it was palpable enough for her to feel it. She’d flinched before.  Like when she’d reached out to touch his scars, so long ago now.  He’d snatched her wrist in a painful grasp, and seen her eyes flicker with a moment of real fear before concern had replaced it, and she’d embarrassed him enough to send him scampering from her sympathy.

Or when he’d shown her his true face, finally.  And she’d cut of contact for—a long, long time.

This betrayal felt like a dim shade of that day though.  Because she’d forgiven him eventually.  Eventually they’d found their ways back to each other.  But he didn’t know if he could forgive himself.  

Because now he wanted to shake her.  Hard. Shake her until she understood what she’d done.  Shake her—so maybe he wouldn’t feel so helpless.

He turned his anger toward her, and it died under her eyes.  

He would never lie to her.  And he would never, ever hurt her.  The day he did that, he’d be truly lost.  He’d tear his wings off with his bare hands, plume by plume, before ripping the things out by the root.  Chloe was his friend, his partner, his new and treasured lover.  Innocent down to her perfect, little toes.  He only hurt the guilty.  And if Chloe Decker was truly guilty of anything, it was only of caring about a broken thing like him.

When she didn’t shy away from his rage and apprehension, Lucifer closed his eyes, shoulders drooping.

“I can’t bear to look at them.”

Chloe shifted closer. He could feel the heat of her in the chilly air.  A small hand landed on his forearm.  “Tell me, please.”

A shudder carved its way through him, that had nothing to do with the dropping temperature.  His chest felt tight.  Like his lungs wouldn’t work.  It ached so badly, he felt it behind his eyes.  

“I can’t,” he managed to choke out.  He turned his head away and blinked rapidly.  “Don’t make me.  Please.”

Chloe’s hand went to his shoulder.  She stepped in front of him, and the other hand cupped his cheek.  Gently, she drew his face back around so she could see him. “Okay,” she agreed, nodding.  “Okay.”

And it was like with his scars again.  Somehow, she’d cut through him, through his anger and fear, and soothed him.  It was like the day she’d pulled him into her arms and whispered that she accepted who he was, and that she was there no matter what. Although this time he didn’t run from her kindness.  Lucifer swallowed against the hurt in his throat and heart.  He nodded along with her.

After a moment, where he’d laid his cheek on her head, and stared at the fiery sun still ebbing down the skyline, she spoke.

“Before we leave, can I tell you something?”

Lucifer pulled back from her arms, ready to acquiesce to any compromise, should it make her happy. “Yes.”

She took his hand in hers and they walked back to the car.  From the trunk she removed two folding chairs and two blankets.  They sat beside each other, wrapped in the blankets, the sun to their backs.  A few more cars had arrived, parking a little way away.  Families piled out, and began setting up chairs and small camps of their own, too far away to hear properly.  Lucifer frowned in confusion, but before he could comment Chloe began to speak.

“My father would bring me out here every Summer.”

Lucifer’s eyes snapped to her face, intent now, forgetting about the strangers.

Chloe looked like she was far, far away.  He gripped her hand in his, suddenly unnerved by the thought of her being anywhere but by his side.  A small smile flickered on her lips, and she squeezed his hand, momentarily returned from where ever she’d just been.  He gave a silent sigh, and watched her slowly drift back into the memory.

“Every weekend after school let out, he’d drive us out here for camping.  My mother never came, but I think we all preferred it that way.” Her voice warmed with amusement, and Lucifer grinned at the thought of Penelope Decker roughing it in the desert.  Chloe’s thumb ran absent minded circles over his palm.

“We’d just stay out for a couple days, within range of one of the park centers, but determined to be real pioneers.  You know,” she laughed, back again as she glanced at Lucifer.  “Roasting hotdogs and marshmallows and sleeping in our weather resistant tents with a fully fueled truck at the ready in case of emergencies.”

“A real Annie Oakley you’ve turned out to be,” he couldn’t help but jest.  She chuckled, and gave him a small nudge with her elbow.

“Those days were great,” she continued, nestling back into her chair, pulling the blanket closer. “He’d teach me about the plants and how to identify animal tracks.  We’d hike around the rocks and just talk and talk and talk.  We had no secrets.  No lies.”

She went quiet for a span of minutes, lost in memories Lucifer might never be privy to.  And he found that he was okay with that.  That she had had such a connection with her father used to stir up his own bitterness.  But now he was glad for her.  Glad that she’d had such a figure in her life.  And he found, too, that he was thankful that that man had helped mold her into the person she was today.

Lucifer let her have her memories.  Content to simply watch them in her eyes, a play with multiple acts of fondness, sadness, but mostly of love.

“Our days out here were for talk,” Chloe tilted her head back, eyes lifting to the sky that had begun to purple in the semi-distance.  “The nights were for silence.”  She turned and looked at Lucifer.  “And stars.”

Her thumb had stopped moving across his hand, and now she laced her fingers through his.  When she spoke again, her voice carried a roughness he could tell she was trying to stave off.  He tightened his grip on her.

“He taught me all the constellations.  How to spot the major stars and even the planets when they were close enough to be seen. We’d stare at the sky for hours, watching them move across the sky, hoping for a shooting star so we could make a wish and tell Mom all about it.”  Her voice pitched upward, mimicking a younger Chloe’s enthusiasm.  “We saw a comet, Mom.  We saw a star fly across the sky with fire burning along behind it.”  Her voice caught and she swallowed away the emotion.

“After I knew all the names and facts he could tell me, we just sat and admired it.  I felt like there was nowhere else on Earth so beautiful.  Like there was no other view in the entire universe more captivating.”

Lucifer took in her profile, and the shining of the unshed tears in her eyes as she blinked up at the sky, and thought, You’re wrong.

His partner sucked in a deep breath.  “One year for Christmas Mom got us a telescope.  That June we were nearly ready to launch a complaint with the school system for not ending the year sooner.  When we got out here, we set the telescope up and urged the sun to go away, to give us the night sky.  He let me look first once he got it calibrated.”

She went silent again, and the seconds ticked on.  Lucifer felt a distant hum of anxiety in his chest the further the sun sank down, but he couldn’t leave her side.  Couldn’t let her ride the tide of her emotion alone.

It ran high in her voice now, and he knew the tears were escaping her hold on them.  “I couldn’t believe my eyes, Lucifer.  I couldn’t understand what I was seeing.  I couldn’t breathe for the excitement at seeing the stars so close.  Closer even than they feel out here, away from all the lights of the city.”

He pulled her hand up to his lips and kissed it.  She shifted in her chair as if to press closer to him.  She pulled her gaze from the sky and looked into his eyes.  His breath hitched at the wonder there.  

“It’s the heaven I have trouble believing in.  They’re miracles.”

And something in him woke up.

“Yes,” he wheezed. “Yes.”

She’d seen them. She’d seen the stars and had named their truth.  They were miracles.  His miracles.  Not his Father’s, though he’d stolen the credit.  Not his mother’s, though she’d never been much interested in the first place. The stars were his creation, his ingenuity, his art.  They were the truest expression of himself at the time.  All he’d wanted to do when he brought them to life, was somehow capture the essence of his family.  

The stars were portraits.

And he’d never told a soul.

When he was cast down from Heaven, a blight and a ruin, when he was shut off from his brothers and sisters, from his Mother and from his Father, all the warmth went away.  He made no stars for Hell, because he could not imagine the purity and goodness of those better than him in the bowels of existence.

He didn’t deserve them.

And when he climbed his way out, Mazikeen by his side, the stars on the beach had nearly sent him scurrying back down.  Weak and small as they were with the city blazing behind them, Lucifer could not, would not look up.  He buried his hands in the sand, grit his teeth, and commanded Maze to cut off his wings, as his monuments to his family flickered passively above.

One day, he’d tell Chloe what the stars really were.  Beyond their chaos and his need to one-up his Father in the birth of the universe. Beyond even their reflections of the Heavenly Host.  One day he’d tell her that those were pieces of himself scattered across Creation.

But maybe, he thought, as he caught her staring at him with all the feeling that had accompanied her story, she already knows it.

“Are you ready to go?” She asked, sitting forward, hand unclasping from his.  The sun was touching the horizon now.  His eyes flicked to the darkening sky quickly, and then back to Chloe.

In answer he took her hand back in his, sighed shakily, and shook his head.

Around them, more people had arrived.  Small campfires were going, and they could hear children laughing.  Food smells drifted up on the breeze.  A general air of anticipation floated over them, and Lucifer frowned again.  Why were there so many people out here in the coming dark?

“They came to stargaze,” Chloe said, reading his mind.  

Lucifer’s frown deepened.  “Bloody tourists.”  But he couldn’t tell if he was offended or flattered.  Chloe laughed and got up from her chair.  He grinned at her when she lifted his blanket to sit on his lap and snuggle against him.

“Well, hello, Detective.”

“Hello, Lucifer Morningstar.”

He kissed her because he couldn’t help it.

Soon the sun was nearly below the horizon, and they looked at each other for a long moment.  Lucifer took a deep breath and nodded, and together they lifted their eyes to the sky.

And then came the stars.

Chloe was there, pressing her lips to his temple, when the sight tore a longing sob from his throat.

The silly, feeble scattering of stars that had greeted him on that beach years ago was forgotten the instant the scene above him took hold.  There they were, shot across the night sky in glittering high definition. Waves upon waves of him. So many.  He’d forgotten how many.  

The night was clear. And yet his stars clustered in such a way to appear like clouds.  Dark blue, light blue, almost purple.  The white lights winked and pulsed and thrummed.  Euphoric.  Like heartbeats.  Like souls.

His cheeks were wet.

Chloe’s body pressed against his, and she whispered that they were beautiful.  The night had gone utterly silent.  But he could hear the Silver City and his stars in his head. Faint.  Distant.  But there all the same.

“Lucifer, look.”

He blinked, hardly able to look away from the sight above.  But Chloe was pointing out across the desert, and so he followed the line of her arm.

People were fussing with telescopes.  Children were pointing, whispering excitedly to one another.  Couples were bundled up together under blankets.  And all of them were looking up.

All around him these humans had come to the desert, solely to find joy in his stars.

They didn’t know they were his.  Didn’t know the Devil was real.  Would never associate the two entities in any way.

But the looks on their faces were real enough.  

The awe.  

The rapture.  

The peace.

 Chloe watched Lucifer watching the people.  Watched his eyes return to the sky.  Watched the realization dawn on him.

Watching those sharp, handsome features soften and tremble under the weight of his Creation. A child laughed, and woman sighed.

A star rocketed across the sky, and applause burst from the onlookers.  

Lucifer swallowed unsuccessfully against his tears, and Chloe thumbed them away.  

The stars blazed on and the night shone.

Someone turned on their iPod, soft music swirling upward.  Look at the stars, look how they shine for you…

Lucifer Morningstar laughed and swept his partner into his arms, smiling for the first time that night.

They danced beneath the painted sky, he looking down at her, and she looking up at him.

And stars were in their eyes.

[therotatingvillain]

Whiskey Business and an acurate portrayal of depression

So, I’m back with a bit of a controversial topic, modern Simpsons. Now, let’s make something clear here, I agree with all the people saying modern Simpsons is not as good as old Simpsons, especially the humor, which always made the Simpsons so special. Yet I have to admit that in my opinion modern Simpsons has some hidden gems, mainly in the way they portray certain topics. The episode I want to talk about here is season 24, episode 19 „Whisky Business“ and it’s portrayal of depression.

Why do I want to talk about this episode specifically? Why not season 29, episode 3 „Whistler’s father“ and it’s portrayal of child stars or season 19, episode 4 „I don’t wanna know why the caged bird sings“ and the portrayal of obsessive behavior after trauma? Well, „Whisky Business“ has always been close to my heart simply for the fact that I could identify myself in a lot of the things happening to Moe in not just this episode, but also a lot of the other episodes regarding Moe like season 14, episode 22 „Moe baby blues“ or season 3, episode 9 „Flaming Moes“.

Let’s start then. Disclaimer and trigger warning I guess, since I will interpret a lot into simple one liners or off side comments that the writers most probably meant nothing with but making a joke of the entire situation. I will also talk about abuse, depression, suicidal tendencies and a lot more in that direction, so if anything like that triggers you, you should stop reading or proceed with caution. It’s gonna get personal guys.

 So, I’m obviously only gonna talk about Moes storyline in this one and his first appearance already hit me close. Moe tries to talk to his friends, telling them he needs to talk about something important, but Homer, Lenny and Carl don’t even acknowledge his exsistence in any way, even when Moe literally calls out for help, saying things like „I’m begging you, please, please show me some love“, yelling it into the bar without any sort of response. This shows perfectly what it feels like for me when I’m asking for help. There are moments where I know I will do something to myself or have a panic attack or simply break down and I don’t want that to happen, so I reach out, may it be in subtle ways or full on approaching the situation as it is. I once had a really fucking terrible day, in fact a completely shit week and everything I wanted was for someone to show me some love, just to feel like my world isn’t breaking apart and like I’m okay, like things are going to turn out okay, so I asked my father if I could have a hug, nothing unusual to ask your dad I think. He just laughed at me and refused, jokingly asking why I’d need that and then going on about his day as normal. I felt completely invisible. I felt like I wasn’t even deserving of his attention and like he didn’t take me serious nor even listen to me at all. It really felt like yelling at someone that you need help and they don’t even realize you’re there. Like you don’t exist.

After Moe ties the noose around his neck, he sees the suicide hotline number on the wall and decides to call, giving „the new kid a chance to talk to the legend“. It’s like he’s glorifying his depression, like his reputation at that hotline is the only real thing he has ever achieved in his life and this feeling is even further enhanced when you see the pillow and blanket on the couch, almost seeming like Moe has been sleeping at his bar again, not even having an apartment. This feeling of worthlessness, having achieved nothing in your life is I think something we all have felt to a certain degree at some point.

But something that almost brought me to tears, as stupid as it sounds, was when Moe was going to go through with it, but then his phone rings and Moes face instantly lights up as he quickly picks up, answering after hesitating with a quiet and hopeful „Hello?“.

Now it’s going to get really personal because I’m going to tell you guys about something very few people know about me. I tried to kill myself on a class trip in eight grade. I’m not gonna get too into the details, but I was very agitated and stressed and I went to the only person who I trusted and asked if we could talk, but they just shoved me away, which was the last straw and pushed me over the edge. I passed out in the bathroom after a particularly bad panic attack, woke up around 45 minutes later, went into our room and was fully ready to take an entire bottle of painkillers I had packed because I’m stupid and break shit easily. In the end I snapped out of it, but I was fully ready to die in that moment. I had tried to cling to the last thing I thought could be help and it turned out to be shit. It was, similiar to Moe, the thing that inevertibly led to me almost dying and watching how Moes face lid up when he thought there was someone who cared brought me right back to when I tried to talk to that person. It was a moment I believe so many people who have gone through similiar things can relate to.

Turns out it’s just a prank call from Bart and Moe in his rage ends up falling off the chair and actually almost suffocating to death, but a bar broke and he crashed to the ground which alerted his friends, who then come running in and Homer applied CPR, saving Moes life. Moe seems happy afterwards, saying how thankful he is for another chance at life, although his „post suicide happiness“ doesn’t last very long and he goes right back to realizing how shitty the world is and how little he matters. Again something I saw myself in. On that trip after I almost od, my teacher with some classmates put on a little play and it was the funniest shit that entire trip. I was happy, I laughed, I forgot all about what had happened until afterwards. The person I trusted realized what happened, they berated me for it, took away any access to meds I had and left me alone. It wasn’t long after that I called my parents, who basically told me how they hated me for trying to be who I am and I was stuck in a house with people who hated me with a burning passion, so life wasn’t good. I felt like shit again and if I had had the oppertunity, I’d have tried again. It was again so good portrayed that it took me back and made me feel with Moe.

Marge barges in, asking Homer where the fuck he has been, Homer telling her Moe had an accident and Moe very casually says how he tried „to end it all“ but shortly after starts to cry after turning away from everyone. This very much shows how many of us, at least many of fhe people with depression I know, behave. We see it as almost normal, something that, although it impacts our lifes in the worst way possible, is just another part of us, almost like a character trait. But it’s not that, it’s hate and painful memories, feelings that shouldn’t exist, hopelessness, sadness, emptyness, it’s so much no person should feel, yet we tend to act very casually about it in public. Yet once we’re alone, it crashes, so much at once that most of the time I come home from school, the moment I close my rooms door, I start crying. It’s nothing to take casually.

Marge then decides to take Moe on a roadtrip and Moe starts joking, asking if Noosy can come too. Again, something I see in a lot of us. We joke about our depression, our lifes, things we simply shouldn’t joke about because they’re not funny, but it’s a way for many of us to deal with those intrusive thoughts, those feeling of worthlessness.

On the trip Moe is not enjoying himself because all he sees „are 2 million people happier than me“. Sometimes, even the things you love the most will seem extremely dull and pointless to you, because no matter what you do, there will always be countless people who are happier than you and suddenly you feel like you don’t deserve happiness or anything for that matter. Just like Moe feels like he doesn’t deserve the suit his friends want to buy for him, but after some encouraging Moe accepts it.

Moes new suit can be read as you changing to a „new you“, a you that is more acceptable in the eyes of society. You’re sick of society hating you, so you try to appeal to it and it works, suddenly people are nice to you, opportunities show themselves that you just have to take and for a while life seems perfect. Yes, this may not be the real you, but who cares, everything is what you always wanted and as long as you keep up the facade, it will stay this way. But facades break, or in Moes case, suits can rip. Now what is there isn’t the one everyone loved, but the one everyone hated or thought was a freak.

Moe desperately asks Marge for help and she tells him to just be himself, so he actually takes the advice, but everything just breaks apart. Moes partnership he had built with two businessmen over his self-brewed whiskey gets completely ruined since everyone seems to hate or be disgusted by suitless-Moe. It shows amazingly how it feels to have so called „friends“ turn their backs on you once you start to act more like yourself and even though you try your best to show them it’s still you, they leave.

The episode ends on a bittersweet ending with Moe returning to his normal life, only this time a bit more hopeful. He knows it’s not going to last forever, but for now life is okay, he can deal with it.

And that’s just a powerful message. No matter what happens, you will be able to take it and in the end you will emerge alive, fine. You’re going to be okay and even if everything crumbles, it’s okay, because you can rebuild it. Baby steps.

Of course the episode is trying to be comedic with all this, like a string of Moes suit getting stuck in the elevator door going down 98 floors, but to me it still presented depression in a very understandable way and managed to visually show what it sometimes feels like to have depression and to try and deal with it. In my opinion this was one of the better modern Simpsons episodes and I will always hold it dear to my heart just because of how accurately it portrays parts of depression once you scraped through the surface of bad jokes and lame punchlines.

I hope you enjoyed reading this, I hope it was understandable and please don’t cancel me just because I said I enjoyed some modern Simpsons episodes. As always, English isn’t my first language, it’s late at night, I’m dead on the inside, so please excuse any mistakes.

Stay squeaky.

[thorne93]

Curious Conundrum (Part 37)

Prompt: You’re John Watson’s sister. One day you decide to visit your brother for lunch, only to meet the infamous Mr. Holmes…

Word Count: 1718

Warnings: language, flirtation, sexual innuendos (maybe? idfk), murder/crime/case related stuff, angst, jealousy…

Notes: Beta’d by @carryonmyswansong Not only did she beta, but I literally couldn’t have written half these scenes without her help. She contributed majorly, even wrote some parts of scenes. I am forever in her debt.

Also, this starts AFTER Season 2, episode 1. I don’t follow all the episodes, but it does follow the timeline and hit some major events : )

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 |  Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 | Part 15 | Part 16 | Part 17 | Part 18 | Part 19 | Part 20 | Part 21 | Part 22 | Part 23 | Part 24 | Part 25 | Part 26 | Part 27 | Part 28 | Part 29 | Part 30 | Part 31 | Part 32 | Part 33 | Part 34 | Part 35 | Part 36 |

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

Sherlock awoke in another room, much like the ones he’d been on. He was lying on the table in the room, only to be woken by the little girl speaking. He was stumbling about, trying to figure out where exactly he was.

As he was trying to instruct the little girl, he asked, “Are you there yet?”

Suddenly, you heard his voice. You woke up leaning against a brick wall. You took in a large gasp of air, feeling all over your body for a bullet wound, stunned and relieved when you found none.

“I’m here!” you answered, wondering where you were. You started to feel around in the darkness, feeling...stone? Something rough. You were outside, you could hear nature - trees, wind, water…

“Y/N! Oh thank God you’re alive,” he said with heavy relief. “Where are you?”

“I don’t know. I just woke up. Where are you?”

“I think I’m in another cell. I just spoke to the little girl on the plane. We've been out for hours.”

“Hours? Jesus… Wait, she’s still in the air?” you questioned. Something didn’t make sense. The ground was getting closer to her earlier, and now she was suddenly somehow in the air?

“Yes, the plane will keep flying until it runs out of fuel,” he informed.

“Yes, Sherlock I deduced that much on my own…” You rolled your eyes. Honestly sometimes he thought you were some ordinary person.

“Is Mycroft or John with you?” he asked.

“No, I don’t think so. John? John! Mycroft? Mycroft?” you called continuously but heard nothing but your own voice back. “No. They aren’t here.”

After a second of quiet, Sherlock finally asked, “Are you alright?”

“I’m as alright as I can be. I’m alive, you’re alive, that’s what matters,” you answered wryly.

“Okay, keep exploring. Tell me anything you can about where you are,” he demanded.

“Alright. The walls are rough, like stone, not brick. I’m standing on--”

But you stopped, realization finally hitting you.

“Y/N? Y/N!” Sherlock called in panic. “What is it? What do you see?”

“Water, Sherlock. I’m in about two feet of water. I can’t see beneath it but--” You tried to walk, but as soon as you did, your ankle caught. “My ankle is chained. It’s not flat. Hang on.” You reached down and picked up the odd thing you’d been stepping on. When your hands came out of the water and your eyes adjusted to the dim light, you gasped. “There are bones in here with me, Sherlock.”

“Bones? What kind of bones?”

“Small.”

After a second, he whispered, “Redbeard,” in your ear, then after that it was radio silence.

You wanted to panic, it felt like you should be panicking, but this once, your rational mind overcame fear. You took a deep breath, just hoping you would hear from Sherlock, and hoping your brother and Mycroft were okay. You tried pulling on the chain once more to see if it would come loose, but it was futile. All the tugging did was cut into your flesh.

“Man, I really hate his sister,” you quietly said to no one in particular. “She’s definitely not invited to the wedding.”

“Nearly home,” you suddenly heard.

“Sherlock? Hey, I’m in a well. I should’ve figured that out with the water and stone but it’s so damned dark.”

“Why would there be a well in Sherrinford?” he wondered.

“I don’t know… fresh water?” you tried.

“Shut up,” he ordered and you rolled your eyes. However infuriating, you knew he must need to concentrate to find you, the boys, and the plane.

Several minutes went by while Sherlock spoke to someone you couldn’t hear, so you waited and waited until suddenly water started to pour in on top of you in the well. It wasn’t rain either.

“Sherlock?”

He didn’t respond.

“Sherlock?” you tried again, keeping the urgency out of your voice.

Nothing.

“Sherlock, please, I know you’re trying to focus but the well is filling up.”

“Try hard not to drown, as long as you can,” he ordered.

“Oh, thanks for the tip,” you shouted back. God, what an ass. But your frustration quickly dissipated when you realized just how fast the water was rising. What was at tops of your legs was now at your waist. “Sherlock, hurry!”

Sherlock tried talking again, he wasn’t talking to you but you tried to focus on his voice to keep you calm. Eventually, the bones were floating all around you and you eyed them curiously. These bones weren’t an animals as you had suspected. They were longer than that and then --

“Uh, Sherlock. The bones in here with me--”

“Yes, they’re dog’s bones. Redbeard,” he said with an agitated voice.

“They’re not dog’s bones, Sherlock,” you stated with horror lacing your voice as you saw the skull floating by.

More chatting in your ear, but the water continued to fill up the well around you, You tried to keep your head up and back away from the rising water.

“Need your help. I’m trying to solve a puzzle,” he said and you weren’t sure if he was talking to you or his other company.

“The wrong dates. She used the wrong dates on the gravestones as the key to the cipher.and the cipher was the song,” he muttered.

At first you weren’t sure what the hell he was talking about, but this was Sherlock. He’d never let anything happen to you,  so you left him be. Shouting at him, begging for him to work faster, or wondering what he was doing wouldn’t have helped.

But soon the water was nearly too high, at your neck and rising quickly. You braced yourself for having to possibly wade against the chains or hold your breath however long you could.

The water started to get on the earpiece and you could barely make out what Sherlock was saying. Accepting your fate seemed imminent, so you began saying your quiet goodbyes again. They were out loud at first, but then the water came up past your mouth and nose, so you held your breath, praying this would at least be painless.

-------------------

You weren’t entirely sure what happened next. You knew you felt a hand, a body, gripping yours and then you were warmer. Eventually, your full senses came back and you realized you were sitting in an ambulance, a warm blanket over you.

“Hey, there you are,” John said as he walked up, noticing you were more aware of your surroundings.

“Where are we?” you asked uneasily as you looked into the darkness. It appeared to be a country cottage that had burned.

“Musgrave. Sherlock grew up here. “

“But… why are we here?”

John waited a moment, then said, “I’m going to let him explain that to you.” With that, he glanced up and Sherlock was making his way towards you.

John patted your leg and stood, giving you two privacy. Sherlock sat next to you then.

“Are you okay?”

“No,” you answered.

“That's fair.”

Your eyes searched the area of emergency vehicles and you saw that Eurus was loaded up in a van.

“There’ taking her back to Sherrinford, aren’t they?”

“I’m afraid so. I told her I’d take her home.”

“That’s not possible for someone like her.”

“I know but I… feel so bad.”

You shook your head. “What happened here?”

Sherlock looked up, gazing at the charred home as he sighed and answered. “Long ago, when I was a child, we played here. Lived here. I had a friend, Victor who… well… we played pirates. I called him Redbeard, and I was YYellowbeard. Eurus… her mind was already so complicated, so complex that she felt as though she wasn’t included. I suppose the adolescent psychopathy drove her to a jealous fit of rage and she… killed my best friend, because she felt she was alone.”

“That’s...the most awful thing I’ve ever heard,” you confessed.

“Yes…It is.”

Lestrade approached then and said that Mycroft was found alive and safe in Eurus old cell. Sherlock asked that he look after Mycroft.

“So… where do we go from here?” Sherlock asked.

“Where do you want to go?”

“For starters, I think my parents should know Eurus is alive,” he stated.

“Are you sure?”

“No matter what she’s done, or what she is, she is their daughter. They have a right to know.”

“I suppose you’re right,” you agreed.

“So I suppose this is it, then.”

“This is what?” you inquired.

“Well...  you said you didn’t want me to say those words to you again, and after everything that’s happened I would assume you--”

You shook your head and closed your eyes. “I wasn't breaking up with you, you idiot. You just can’t say that to me anymore.”

After a moment he nodded. “Even after what I said to Molly? Can you ever forgive me for what I did? What I said? I should've listened to you. Eurus is dangerous, but my huge ego got in the way.”

You smiled. “At least you’re a big enough man to admit that. You’ve come a long way.”

“I’ve still got a very long way to go… a journey that I hope… you’ll accompany me on?” he asked hesitantly, scared for your answer.

You let out a sigh. “Sherlock, I’m not… mad about what you said to Molly. I was only hurt. No matter what happens between you and I, the fact that you chose Molly to confide in when you staged your suicide and not me will always be a thorn in my side. Irene too. Women that matter a lot to you, I worry that one day you won’t think I measure up.”

He turned to you and placed his fingers under your chin and lifted your face so that you were looking into his eyes. He was never this tender or sweet in public.

“Y/N Watson, how many times must I tell you that you are, always have been, and always will be enough?” he questioned with soft wonder and concern.

A tiny smile touched the corners of your mouth.

“And how many times do I have to tell you, that I’ll always say yes to you?”

“I guess we’ll just have to keep doing it,” he noted before he kissed you gently.

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

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[ihaveneverbeengivenflowers]

Looking for a way out of severe anxiety disorder

Whenever I try to stop and think about it, I feel like I’ve been anxious all my life long. In case you’re interested, here's a (not so brief) part of the story of my experience with high functioning anxiety and where it took me so far.

My mother used to tell me that I never slept longer than 20 minutes at once when I was a baby. It seems my first whole night of sleep didn’t happen before I reached the age of 3. At a very early age my parents took my to a neuropediatrician because my father was sure I had some kind of attention deficit/hiperactivity disorder (just for the record, the doctor said I was just an agitated child, but nothing to be worried about).

It's weird the way how some things are crystal clear in my memory and others are just blank spaces. As far as I can remember, when I was a child I'd often lay in my bed at night and when I was almost losing consciousness, some subtle and dreadful ideas crossed my mind. I felt how would it be to lose my father, for example, and it felt so real as if he was already dead in that very moment. I'd start crying and I'd be helpless, and anytime it'd be gone the same way it came, that is, absolutely out of fucking nowhere.

If my mother told me I was going to have a blood test the next week, or any other thing I’d find unpleasant, I'dnt be able to sleep until it was done. Truth be told, anything different in my daily routine made me sick. Literally. I was so freaking anxious and agitated that I threw up anything that hit my stomach, not even mineral water could pass through it. I had high fevers, sometimes diarrhea too. When I grew up, I seemed to become a bit more calm... although nowadays I ask myself how much of this is true (and the answer is “not much”, I guess).

During my teenage years I woke up around 5 am to get ready to high school. And pressing ice cubes under my eyes was part of the routine, because the previous night I'd have cried myself so hard to sleep that my whole face would be swell by the morning. The funny thing is I can't barely remember why I cried that much.

When I was about 16 or maybe 17 I had a huge anxiety crisis. It still makes me feel bad just to think about it, and part of it is just because I'm still unable to understand wtf happened to me. I was at home around 6 pm watching a silly drama show at the tv. And when the opening theme started to play, something crashed down on me. It was like a baloon suddenly popping in my face and scaring the shit out of me. Except that I got trapped in the feeling of this one second for, like, a whole week. I sweat cold, shivered like I was having a heart attack, I overreacted everything, I couldn't think anything right, everything and everyone around me felt wrong, unknown, I wanted to run away somewhere I didn't know. I couldn't sleep in my bed, just being in my room made me feel sufocated. I didn't know what to do with myself and I felt like a broken machine. I spent that whole week sleeping in the couch and my mother (who probably didn't know what to do with me neither) got mad at me because I couldn't get my shit together. Everyday I sunk deeper in hell and whenever the tv started to play that fucking opening theme again, I felt like that nice and sweet song would be the death of me. And it'dnt go away, I thought I was never going to feel "normal" again. Well, eventualy it was gone. But the fucking music haunted me until the end of that show, I can't tell how relieved I was when it was over.

The point is: for unknown reasons, even after I’ve been through all this weird shit, I never asked myself why, or what was that. Seriously. I don’t fucking know why, but I honestly thought it was... normal. And a couple years later, when I definetely realized it wasnt’t normal at all, I found myself unable to get help because I didn’t know where to start to explain how I felt and what was happening to me. I simply followed the flow as nothing was happening. Whenever I was at my girlfriends’ houses to stay overnight, it didn’t matter how comfort around those familiar people I used to be, I had random mental breakdowns. I felt claustrophobic, something inside me urged to run away back home, even though I knew that being home wouldn’t make me feel any better. Anytime I was out with friends as well, I collapsed either when I was supposed to be having a good time with them or when I came back home.

So I unconsciously limited myself to a very restricted schedule. From my first year in college until I got my masters’ deegree, ie, during six fucking years, I basicaly woke up dead, dragged myself to and back from the university and/or internship and studied as a crazy bitch. At some point when I was already post graduated I decided to bury myself deeper and started my PhD while working at 2 jobs at the same time. I was just on my way to accept a 3rd job, but fortunately it didn’t workout - or I’d may be dead this far.

My moment of clarity, if I might call it so, was when (almost literaly) the dam broke. Last January I had a major vaginal bleeding, I lost weight and I started to feel something like heart arrythmia in very agonizing episodes. My fingertips turned blue, I got dizzy and couldn’t breathe, the air just didn’t seem to get in. During one of these episodes I went to the ER feeling like I was having a fucking stroke and, well, big surprise: there was nothing. Blood pressure, cardiac rate and rhythm normal. The doctor prescripted me a diazepan and you know what? I left the place and didn’t take it. Because, despite all my knowledge as a health professional, I didn’t believe my mind capable of doing so much damage to my body. And the biggest irony is that at least one patient with some common mental disorder come to my office everyday and my fields of research include worker’s health and sleep. This is called high functioning anxiety.

And let me tell you something: until quite recently, I wasn’t even aware about at least half of these things I just said. It took me almost a year (still counting) of psychotherapy, horrible crises - the ones I had at my teens seemed to be nothing in comparison to the ones I got during the last months -, sitting at good doctors’ offices and talking to them for hours and working on lonesome, painfull reflections to allow the following thought to cross my mind: I’ve always been a bad person to myself. I’ve never treated myself with 10% of the kindness, patience and comprehensiveness that I treated anyone else in my life, even the ones who clearly didn't deserve it. I never allowed myself to indulge my mistakes, to rest whenever I was tired or to say “no” simply because I didn't feel like to do something without feeling guilty as fuck. 

I’m not over it at all, don’t even know if I’ll be someday. I'm barely sleeping 5 hours a day, and my sleep quality is very poor. Most days my stomach is continuously sick and I can’t eat without taking meds not to throw my meals up. I’m also taking meds to slow down my heart rate and to stop my own hormones of telling my womb to bleed forever, not because there’s something wrong with my body, but because I'm (still!) not able to prevent my anxiety to screw up all  my physiological functions.

There’s certainly still a lot to go, but I’m trying to keep in mind that healing is not linear.

[sutterbabe]

#1 Dylan Strome

 dylan strome? he was so cute in that video about the stick thing

please do some dylan strome writings!! :)

YOU ARE AMAZING! can you do one where you've been together with Dylan Strome for a while and someone from an other team flirts/hits on you and dylan gets jealous?

Dyl needs more love ok, I love stromer. I hope he’s having a great day (also bby pls shave u look gross atm i dont like it)

Warnings: language

Song suggestion of the day: Tell me the same by MICHL

did some of this remind me of the world junior loss against finland? Did i cry a lot when I thought of that? The answer to both of these is yes because I have nothing better to do than cry over team canada.

“Dylan,” you called, wandering out of the bedroom and smothering a yawn. “Dylan!”

“Oui Madame?”

You giggled as your boyfriend popped his head out of the kitchen wearing the only apron he owned which had the words ‘world’s okayest cook’ printed in large bold lettering. 

“What’s cookin’, good lookin’” you questioned, resting your chin on his shoulder. “Since when have you made breakfast, huh?”

Dylan rolled his eyes. “Oh so now I can’t just do something nice for my girlfriend, huh?” he joked, turning around to face you.

“Trust me, I’m not complaining.” you assured him with a grin. 

“Good for you, otherwise I would have eaten it all myself.” he smirked, leaning down to kiss you gently.

“Sorry for your loss.” you laughed. “How long do I have to wait, huh?”

Truth be told, Dylan was not the greatest chef but at least the food he made was edible so you couldn’t really complain. You knew part of his reasoning for doing all of this was to take his mind off tonights game, which you both knew was going to be a tough one and you weren’t really going to complain if this was how he chose to deal with it.

“Well maybe if my lovely girlfriend would be so kind and stop distracting me, I could make sure it doesn’t burn.”

“Yes chef.” you replied with a grin, finding a spot on the couch where you watched him cook. When he finished, he plated it up and brought it over to you, joining you on the couch.

“So tell me what I’m looking at here,” you asked.

“For your dish today I have prepared waffles topped with ice cream and a forrest berry reduction.. that I bought from the store.” He announced, imitating the few Masterchef episodes you’d watched together. You laughed at that. “And for me, fried eggs and tomato on a base of lightly toasted wholewheat bread and smashed avocado.”

“Ooh, very fancy.” you laughed. “Looks good too, you been taking a few tips from Mitchell at the juniors have you?.” 

“Wow, such faith in me, I’m offended.” he joked, faking hurt.

“You’re an idiot, Dylan Strome.” you laughed, nudging his side. “But,” you added, taking a bite of your food. “it is really good.”

“Why thank you.” He chuckled, pleased with himself.

“Okie dokie, Dyl.” you said, taking a deep breath as you smoothed his collar. “You go out there and you show ‘em.” You leaned up to kiss him gently. “I’ll see you in a few hours, okay?”

“Okay,” he replied, nodding stiffly. “Love you.”

“Love you too, Dyls.” you replied with a small smiled. “Now go and do what you do best.”

That made him smile a little. “Okay, I’ll see you after the game.” he replied, kissing you again before jumping in the car and driving off to the rink. You grinned, waving a little as you watched him go. 

Meanwhile, in the couple hours you had to yourself till you needed to get ready, you tidied up the house and got a couple of things done that you hadn’t had the time to get to yet before making your way upstairs to shrug on your jersey to head to the game.

Normally, you would of sat with the other WAGs but for this game you sat close to rink side. Sometimes for Dylan, just knowing you were there wasn’t enough, so if he could look up every now and again and see you sitting there, cheering him on, it helped to calm him. For a big game like this, you were going to do everything you could that might help him out. Dylan sent a small smile your way as he caught sight of you and you smiled back, taking your seat as the two teams warmed up. You were so focused on Dylan that you almost had a heart attack when a puck landed in your lap, causing you to glance up to see one of the opposing defenders shoot you a wink before skating off. Both yours and Dylan’s jaws fell open a little in shock. It was no secret that you and Dylan were a couple, you’d been together long enough that everyone seemed to know. Sure, when you’d first gotten together, getting hit on was a much more common occurrence and even now you’d receive the occasional flirt or compliment when you were out alone but now at the hockey? Never, you were pretty sure Dylan Strome had gone to great lengths to let the hockey world know how much he loved you. Even before that, you might have faced some flirting but definitely never anything as blatant as being tossed a puck with someone’s number on it. Stunned, all you could do was stare across the ice at your boyfriend who had recovered from the initial surprise and was now fixing said player with a look that really did not make you very optimistic for how this game was going to go.

The first period started and already you could see tensions were high between the two teams, with the opposing team opening scoring early, much to Dylan’s frustration. Going into the second period with Erie scoreless, things began to heat up, with Erie spending a lot more time in their defensive zone than you were comfortable with. That was until Taylor Raddysh got ahold of the puck and the otters were streaking down the ice. Someone hit Taylor, but not before he’d passed it to dylan, who passed around his defender to Alex DeBrincat who tapped it home. You jumped to your feet, cheering as you watched the boys tackle each other in a hug. Both teams finished the second tied, but it didn’t last long.

By the half way through the third the otters were down one. Dylan was visibly agitated and it showed in his game. The game was definitely a lot more physical than it had been in the last two periods. A snipe from Kyle Pettit tied it up with 3 minutes remaining. Both the remainder of the third period and overtime remained scoreless. Which meant you were going into a shootout which was literally the worst part of watching hockey. Dylan managed to get one goal past the goaltender but the otters still lost 5-3.

You knew Dylan was going to be understandably disappointed when he finally emerged from the locker rooms. He wasn’t much into PDA but you knew that you’d both would probably go home and cuddle till one of you fell asleep, which you didn’t much mind. To be honest, you just wanted to support him as best you could. 

Focused on Dylan more than you were your surroundings, you jumped when someone waved a hand in front of your face. 

“Wouldn’t I play to know what’s going on in that pretty little head of yours.” the guy chuckled. You blinked, vaguely recognising him as the defender that had given you the puck during warm ups. “You from erie, huh? Might have to show me around sometime.”

You chuckled nervously. “I’m sorry, but I’m not interested.”

“Aw, just a little walk around town doesn’t mean anything..” he replied with a smirk. ”I mean, unless you want it too?”

“Sorry, you’ll have to ask someone else. I’m spending tomorrow with my boyfriend.” you replied pointedly, really hoping he would sense defeat at that.

“Boyfriend, huh?” the guy laughed. “I don’t see any boyfriend. Anyway, what kinda guy lets you go to a hockey game alone?” 

You narrowed your eyes at him. “I don’t need his permission. I wanted to go, so I did.” you retorted.

“Hey, chill, sweetheart. It was just a question.”

“Unfortunately.” you muttered. “Now, I’m sorry but I’d appreciate it if I could be left alone.”

“I’m just saying, just because there’s a goalie, doesn’t mean you can’t score.” he continued. “And, as you saw tonight, I know a lot about scoring.”

You rolled your eyes. Did this guy ever shut up. “Yes... seeing as you’re a defender who scored a total of 0 goals tonight. Besides, I’ve already got myself a top scorer thanks.” this time you turned away from him and pounced on the first opportunity you got, which just so happened to be Taylor Raddysh, who watched like a dear in the headlights as you greeted him like you guys had known each other since forever. 

“Hey, woah, I wasn’t done with you.” the guy butted in. You sent Taylor the most pained look you could and mouthed ‘where the fuck is dylan’ till he finally got the memo.

“Hey, sorry. I just remembered I left my...” taylor struggled to think of a lie on the spot. “thing. In the locker room. I’ll leave you guys to it.”

You mentally face palmed. You could deal with this guy perfectly fine. You’d just wanted to know what was taking Dylan so long so you could finally leave. You also didn’t want to be left alone with this creep. And.. truth be told. Dylan was not going to be too happy after the loss and if he heard some guy was annoying you... Needless to say it was not going to be fun. Normally, Dylan was pretty good, his self control was surprising strong and he managed to deal with it calmly most of the time but after a game.. well, emotions ran high and his self control kinda went out the window. Meanwhile, overly persistent douche bag, was still talking your ear off.

“Look, I’m sure you’ve got somewhere to be-”

“Got nowhere to be except with you, gorgeous.”

It was at that point that Dylan Strome came barrelling out of the otters locker room, murmuring the words: “I’m going to fucking kill him.” several times over. His gaze found the guy opposite you and you stopped him before he could take another step.

“Dylan,” you warned.

He ignored you, pointing accusingly at the other guy, making you catch his wrist. “The fuck did you just say to her? I will fucking end you.” 

The guy had begun to laugh. “Strome? You’re dating Strome?”

You turned sharply. “Is that a problem?”

“It is when he wants to fuck you.” Dylan growled. 

“This is too good. How the fuck you manage to score that? You can’t even make the NHL.”

Dylan strained against your hold on his wrist and you piped up before he could say anything else. “I notice you’re still playing OHL, get the fuck off your high horse dumbass.” 

“at least I win in the OHL” he smirked

“Shut the fuck up and stop fucking eyeing my girl.” Dylan snapped.

You rolled your eyes. “Dylan, lets go.” you tugged gently on his wrist.

“It’s not my fault she’s so fucking hot.” Okay, there we go, that’d done it. Dylan snapped, slamming the other guy up against the wall with surprising speed. The guy chuckled. “Oh tough guy, eh?”

“Dylan!” you protested.

“Who the fuck do you think you are? You fucking disgust me. If I ever see you near her again, I swear to god I will fucking end you, got it?” Dylan seethed. “Now get the fuck outta here, you piece of shit.”  Dylan finally let the guy go and he obviously knew better than to argue, slinking away with a smirk in your direction. This was not before Dylan had grabbed you round the waist and kissed you, flipping the other guy off as he did so.

“Dy,” you protested, attempting to pull away. “Dylan,”

“No,” he grumbled, deepening the kiss. He didn’t pull away till he was sure the other guy was long gone,

“I had it handled.”

“The fuck you did. What a fucking sleaze bag.” Dylan growled lowly as he dropped his heavy sportsbag on the floor with a thud.

“This is exactly why I didn’t want you to know. You overreact-”

“I overreact?! Did you hear the way he spoke to you?” Dylan cried, throwing his hands up.

“I don’t want you to fight him! Especially off ice!” You protested.

“He was ogling you that whole game!” Dylan retorted. “What else do you want me to do?! Just sit there and let it happen- to watch it happen!”

“You don’t have to get yourself in trouble because of me! If that’s how you react, then yes! Let it go!”

“Let it g-? Let it go?! I can’t just let it go! You’re my girlfriend!” He yelled.

You both stood there staring at each other for a moment, Dylan was slightly out of breath. You were lying if you said that this wasn’t attractive but you couldn’t have Dylan hurting someone or getting in trouble or, even worse, getting himself hurt because of you, you’d never forgive yourself.

“I’m sorry I yelled. I just...” he looked lost as he searched for the words. You cupped his face gently and leaned up to kiss him. 

“Dylan, I know and I get it. But as cute seeing you all jealous and defensive is, I can’t have you pulling shit like that because of me.” you smiled softly. Dylan didn’t reply, just leaned down to kiss you again as you ran a hand through his messy curls.

“I wasn’t jealous.” he mumbled quietly when he finally pulled away.

“Oh liar, liar, you were so jealous.” you laughed.

“I was not.”  he retorted with a grin, kissing you again gently.

You hummed, smirking as he wrapped his arms round your waist and pulled you into him. “That’s what they all say. You were so jealous.”

He chuckled. “Okay, maybe a little jealous.” he murmured.

“Just a little?” you laughed.

He rolled his eyes and you snorted. “Well at least I know that I’ve got a big strong boyfriend to protect me from all harm.”

“Well..” dylan began, joking.

You scoffed and nudged his shoulder. “You are so rude.”

[stumperpumper]

THE BEST ANIME OF 2016

Hello again! And welcome back to another article of Super Anime Suplex. The blog which weekly writes about something anime related, whatever, etc. Today we’re here on a second post looking back on the 2016 year in anime. Here’s a link to my first post discussing smaller categories for anime year 2016, right HERE. This time we will be addressing some big boy categories for the anime year in review. Originally, I wanted to cover all the big categories in this one post but I think that might get a little lengthy. So, we might just discuss which anime was the Best of 2016 and address other categories over the remainder of the week. I just want to make the choices clear and show the deliberation etc. without making a post overly long. So, let’s just see what happens and go from there. WHAT WAS THE BEST ANIME OF 2016? There were a lot of great animes this year, ranging from reliving death repeatedly to Ice Skating. It’s been a diverse year in anime with a lot of really special contenders for this type of “award”. I’m going to start off by listing my nominations for this category and then I’ll hash out a winner.

Erased

RE: ZERO

My Hero Academia

Hai to Gensou no Grimgar

Mob Psycho 100

Kiznaiver

Yuri!!! on ICE

So there are our contenders, now let the choosing begin.

I’m really quite keen on all of these series but I think there’s definitely a winner. Now, this isn’t to demean the quality of any of the above shows; I think they’re all really solid top quality animes that I’d recommend to you in a heartbeat. Let me begin by saying, I don’t think I can honestly condone Yuri on Ice as the best anime this year. Which is a shame really, because I’d really like to. The thing about Yuri is that, for me, it doesn’t really conclude. Don’t get me wrong though, this isn’t a criticism. Frankly, I don’t think Yuri was supposed to conclude because it obviously not over. For me, that’s kind of a death sentence for the show for 2016 at least. I know this is sort of a dick move, and you could almost apply the same logic to Mob Psycho 100. But series that leave off on an open end really make it hard for me to contest them with series that wrapped up their whole story like Re: Zero, Grimgar, Erased, and Kiznaiver. 

Yuri didn’t really conclude any of it’s stories in this past season. It doesn’t really conclude the relationship of Yuri and Victor, Yuri doesn’t win so we have anticipation for him to try again, and similarly we still don’t know what Yuri or Victor want to do with their careers. Save drawing conclusions from the outro, but that’s sort of a quick way to wrap up all that stuff in my opinion. You can’t expect me to be like, OK, that 2-3 minute outro answered all my questions and I can die at peace now. Fuck no, I want a Yuri Season 2. I’m damn sure I’m going to get it too. I’m just saying, if we’re judging what Yuri presented in just 2016 we can’t say with an sincerity it was the best anime. However, I’ll make a strong argument it presented some of the most compelling characters and fluid animation of the year. 

Like I said, Mob Psycho 100 is really similar, though it does leave off on a more solid note than Yuri, it concludes a few of the opened story lines etc. It’s a really nice anime and follows a lot of the beautiful animation trends one might see in One Punch Man. If I recall Mob Psycho is actually by the same author as One Punch Man, so that explains a lot. Though it boasts one of the most unique and original art directions I’ve seen in a while, I think to be a GREAT anime it needs to conclude. Now normally I’d say you need not be a GREAT anime to be the best anime of the year; because, there isn’t always a GREAT anime every year. I use that term very rarely to describe an anime, I reserve it for animes that do it all. This year, I think there’s an anime among the ones above that is truly GREAT so unfortunately failing to be conclusive loses the victory for both Mob and Yuri this year. 

Sadly, My Hero Academia hits this wall too. Which reminds me, where the hell is my season 2!? I hate to rush it but have you any idea how worked up I am about this super hero anime? I need more of it in my life. But seriously, this anime is brimming with coolness and so many feels for Midoria. I hate to say that I’m happy it didn’t finish this year, but I kind of am. There’s something about anticipating this shows next season that I really enjoy being able to do. So My Hero Academia won’t be winning this year, but just wait till it finishes. I’ll have a lot to say about it at that time. (Hang in there Young Midoria!)

Again, this isn’t me saying it’s a bad thing they didn’t conclude, there’s a lot of factors as to why these series didn’t finish. It simply means that when they do conclude they’ll be stronger contenders and I can’t wait to review the year either of these series finishes in. That said, they definitely deserve being mentioned for presenting so much quality without even finishing. Certainly I think an un-concluded series could win Best Anime in a year with different contenders; but not this year. 

Kiznaiver and Grimgar both started and concluded in 2016. Kiznaiver was pretty good and is by the same studio that produced Kill La Kill. The art direction was pretty unique and the use of color was cool too. It’s kind of like a love story type of deal. There’s a lot going on and it feels really relate-able in many ways. But I think it sort of falls flat emotionally. In this way I mean, it tries to invest in your emotions but it doesn’t succeed as much as it tries (if that makes any sense?). But I still love Sonozaki; maybe just not as much as I love Rem. You feel me?

Grimgar on the other hand succeeds where Kiznaiver fails. This anime is like 3 series in one. It’s such a journey in a way that can only be described by watching it. It’s emotional and beautiful, but also kind of sloppy. I love going in depth with each character and getting to know them. I really feel for them and their situation; and that’s really important to me. but, I feel like the plot sometimes becomes confusing or rather... Fuck the plot, I just want these characters to fall in love and be happy already! Like I said, it covers a lot of ground for being a short series. Of course the pacing is going to seem a bit odd when you try to do so much on 12 episodes. With that said, it’s amazing how much I love it anyways. 

Finally, this brings me to the final 2 competitors. Erased and Re: Zero. The ultimate winner by my judgment though. Is. 

RE: ZERO

Let me start by saying, NEVER have I cringed so hard during an anime. Subaru made me cringe so hard at times I literally had to put this series down. Let me say that, when I’m watching something weekly it’s damn near impossible to get me to miss a release day. But Subaru made me leave. That’s how emotionally invested I was. I literally wanted Subaru to die at times, I was covering my face with a pillow screaming “Just fucking die already.” If that doesn’t say emotionally invested, I don’t know what does. And DAMNITT, I almost cried more than a few times. And you know what, I still kinda fucking hate Subaru. But I just love this anime to bits and pieces. 

Let me clarify, I honestly thought after I saw Erased, that it would be my anime of the year. I was CONVINCED. I thought, nothing will top this in 2016. The delicate cinematography. The feeling for the characters. The constant cliffhanger that kept me crawling back for more every time I left. Every week was like another godforsaken question I’d have to wait to get answered. But ultimately, Erased lost due to predictability and a lesser emotional elicitation for me.

I guessed the bad guy in Erased on episode One, too obvious. So obvious I thought maybe it was a Red Herring and that the anime was even more clever than I. Down to the point of over analyzing scenes to search for clues that it could be ANYONE else. Ultimately though, I had to face the predictability in the end. While Erased did get me anxious and invested in the characters it was ultimately weakened by the fact that I figured out who the bad guy was. It’s still a really awesome anime, but I think it’s just a bit too easy to see through which cripples a bit of the mystery in it. 

But Re: Zero. That anime is a sexy creation. You feel for Subaru even in the beginning. You feel how painful it must be to have to suffer so much, and the agitation of not knowing why it has to be such a way. Why does it have to be Subaru who feels all this pain, why does he have to die over and over again? He didn’t do anything to deserve this! You feel for him in that way. He makes you proud by standing up and suffering for people he knows nothing about. He’s so human. So imperfect. He represents all our best parts as a species and at the same time, all of our worst parts. 

Sometimes he disappoints you, by lashing out and letting his emotions control him. As we humans often do. He fucks up, makes mistakes, embarrasses himself (which makes me feel embarrassed for him). He even falls in love and selfishly pursues the person he loves, despite other people who would give anything for him. 

Now personally I’m team Rem, but I can appreciate that Subaru falls in love with Emilia and no matter how much I want to change that “the heart wants what the heart wants.” 

The music is good, the animation is good, the story is good. This is a GREAT anime. I struggled with accepting the ending for a while, because I’m a stickler for endings, but I’ve even come to appreciate that. It’s got that, Samurai Chaploo sort of vibe at the end. Like, yep, that’s what this was all about. There’s unresolved things but fuck it, that wasn’t the point. 

Really, I too would like to see this anime get another season just to wrap up. I don’t know if that is planned or what. Even without that, it’s a GREAT anime. 

It’s not perfect, but you know... nothing is. 

This anime embodies it’s characters. With Subaru as our protagonist, I’d say this imperfect ending suits Re: Zero just fine. 

Well this did run a bit long, so I’ll finish up the other categories over the coming weeks. If you have any criticism or suggestions, please message me. 

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I generally write either every week or every two weeks. If there’s an increase in people wanting this content, then I’ll meet that demand by writing more frequently. Thanks again everyone, and I’ll see you all next time!