#and the thing about faces coming back means that any time any Doctor is offscreen

[objectivelyimpermanent]

I'm sure that this has already been noted, but is Rogue a Timelord?

Rogue and the Doctor are equated to one another a lot. Some of this could be just two people finding similar interests to encourage fondness, thereby driving the romance plot. Both are troublesome and both like Kylie Minogue. The Doctor does seem like a more experienced or emotionally healthy (or "post-therapy") person trying to get someone more shy or less experienced out of their shell.

But it's more that that. There's the obvious in the name: Rogue sounds very Timelord of a name. But there's also the framing of when they introduce themselves to each other. Rogue is interrogated as as much a name as "the Doctor" is a name.

There's also the obvious time-travel in a ship that can be cloaked with a central console that makes it look a little like a retro-TARDIS. Others also have pointed out that 15's offer to Rogue to argue "across the stars" sounds a lot like the offer 10 gave to undead Simm!Master.

Retro-TARDIS. Time travel capabilities. Apparent 20th-21st centuries Earth-focus, with the fondness for Kylie Minogue. Apparent recognition of 14/10's face on Rogue's part, and we know now that faces can reappear, so that doesn't necessarily root any possible acquaintanceship at any point in either of their timelines.

Now, I'm not saying that Rogue is the Master. I think there's something even funnier.

What if Rogue is also the Doctor?

[breckstonevailskier]

I mean, as @valkyrieandstrangeridingaragorn has been saying, if we only judged characters by their actions without also adding in the context of said actions, every single character in the MCU would be a villain.

But yeah, the thing with Wanda is that while she has a complex history in the comics, she also bears the unfortunate distinction of her most known stories being the ones that character assassinate her (as opposed to any other stories in her 60+ years as a straight-up hero).

And in the MCU, Wanda has had a very noticeable lack of narrative protection. I mean, okay, every superhero has narrative protection to a certain degree so that they either won't come off as too bad (or at least provide some context/explanation for their bad behavior), but Wanda doesn't get that much.

I always think it's most noticeable when you compare Wanda's actions in Westview with, say, Clint's actions as Ronin. Because of the similar emotions going through each character at the time of these events. Wanda created the Hex in a spontaneous outburst of grief, and also had a lack of knowledge over what her powers could do. Clint went out in his grief over his family being dusted, and became a serial killer who murdered several thousand people over a five year period (assuming he was committing a massacre or two per month similar in size and scale to the ones we do see on-camera in Endgame and Hawkeye, that body count quickly adds up).

The big reason you have people thinking Wanda got off so lightly is because she got called out way more than most heroes do when they screw up, they went out of their way to humanize her victims without giving Wanda some sort of convenient "out". In other words, you have this paradoxical effect where people think Wanda got off too lightly because it was harder on her more than most other heroes in similar situation.

While Wanda doesn't get narrative protection, Clint does. They have most of his crimes take place offscreen and frame it in a way that they can be dismissed as just "he was killing bad people". The only victim of his who's humanized is Maya Lopez's dad, they go out of their way to shift the blame for that death from Clint to the guy who set him up (Wilson Fisk).

Morally speaking, I'd say Clint's actions were worse. Because he deliberately sought out people to murder, and left behind such gruesome scenes that even hardened killers like Yelena and War Machine were disgusted by what he did (and Rhodey even is prepared to write Clint off as a lost cause). He was even used by other mob bosses like Fisk to do their dirty work. And his only justification is because he unilaterally deemed these people "bad guys". He didn't face any consequences for any of this. He was welcomed back to the Avengers like nothing happened, and got an upbeat Christmas show where a rich college girl gushes over his heroism, she blows up some more comically inept criminals and even feeds a few of them to owls (yeah, those shrunken down Tracksuits is kinda disturbing when you think about it), and the show ends with Clint and Kate burning the evidence of Clint's crimes.

It's probably because of that aforementioned "narrative protection" that you don't see people calling for Clint to be locked up for his crimes, but you do see them wanting Wanda to face punishment consequences for Westview, even though no one died there and Wanda has plenty of mitigating circumstances. (In fact, even after Wanda killed a lot of sorcerers in Kamar-Taj as well as the villainous Illuminati during Doctor Strange in the Multiverse of Madness, I bet she'd still be disgusted by what Clint did and it wouldn't be hypocritical of her to think that way, because Wanda's murders have the mitigating circumstance of her being under the influence of the Darkhold, a circumstance that Clint doesn't have for his crimes.)

I mean... it wouldn't be that hard to retroactively say that there were casualties as a result of the Hex. I don't want that to happen, obviously, but if someone really wanted to, one could easily say that a bunch of people starved to death since they were being suspended and unable to eat or drink (though I think there's an argument to be made that the Hex itself was sustaining them), or that some people were so mentally broken by the mind control that they committed suicide. That would definitely be too dark for the MCU, but it would be feasible.

Also, even if no one was physically harmed, how are people supposed to mentally recover from having their minds invaded and their bodies puppeted for days on end, all while feeling insurmountable pain and torment to the point where they seriously want to die? I'm sorry, but there is simply no way to be OK after that.

And that's just talking about the adults. Imagine how mentally fucked up the CHILDREN will be from this. Even if Wanda's Hex kept them sedated, that still means they were still seeing her horrific nightmares the entire time, to say nothing of the day that they were being puppeted like everyone else.

Wanda may very well have damaged Westview's citizens beyond repair. Sure, she didn't mean to do it, or even realize she was doing it, but it still happened.

Lastly, constantly trying to distract from Wanda's crimes by pointing out that the other Avengers have also done bad things is whataboutism. It doesn't change the fact that she committed an act that could easily be classified as a crime against humanity.

Believe me, I wish none of this was true. I really do. But these are the unfortunate facts. There's not much we can do about them.

[Then again, considering the MCU has totally ignored the psychological ramifications of basically everything else that has happened since the first Avengers movie, making WV the outlier would be weird, so hopefully everyone will indeed be fine like you say, as unrealistic as that would be.]

[forthegothicheroine]

The King in Yellow, 1949

Much of this story is true.  Warnings in the tags.

When I had pneumonia in my early teens, my mother brought home an armful of VHS tapes from the library to alleviate my misery.  Knowing my snobbish preferences, she had grabbed copies of whatever she found in black and white.  I remember something musical that I suspect was Busby Berkeley, I remember Mildred Pierce (a bad choice, as it turned out- the plot includes a young girl dying of pneumonia), and I remember a period piece called The King.  I faded in and out of consciousness while I watched it, but it soothed me while I was awake and filled my fever dreams with sparkling images.  I could never find it at the library again, nor at Hollywood Video or even early Netflix (once my father got the subscription service where you could order practically every DVD.)  It was a bit odd that it seemed to be so obscure, given that it starred old Hollywood legend Ingrid Bergman (and, although I initially forgot it, Marlene Dietrich.)  But even big stars make films that fall by the wayside in public memory, and it seemed that this was one of them.  Google was no help, and at the time that was that.

I didn’t see the film again until I was watching Turner Classic Movies at my grandparents’ house.  I loved watching that channel with them while filling out the crossword puzzle that came in their little TCM catalogue (all of it based on movie trivia, the only kind of crossword puzzle I’ve ever been any good at.)  I recognized a certain scene where Bergman stood on a balcony, looking sadly at the moon.  Her face had an expression of unutterable melancholy, and the crescent moon reflected in each of her eyes, giving the impression of two moons in one sky.  I had very little time to catch up on what I’d missed before we had to go meet my cousins at the local Italian restaurant.  I knew logically that the movie would be long over by the time we returned, but I turned on the channel anyway.  Of course it had moved on to the lesser known Alfred Hitchcock film Stage Fright, but then I heard Marlene Dietrich sing before I could reach the remote to turn the tv off in disappointment.  I knew that I had heard her sing before, and I knew it had been in The King.

Dietrich’s singing often comes across as somewhat campy today, with its Rs pronounced as Ws and it’s up-and-down tone.  Madeline Kahn parodied it brilliantly in Blazing Saddles, such that it was a bit of a disappointment when I finally saw Dietrich’s western Destry Rides Again and found it to be lifeless and inconsistent next to the parody.  Still, we remember her voice for a reason, and when I remembered it that night, I knew that its sardonic loneliness had rung through The King and made me shiver in my dreams.

The TCM schedule didn’t list The King in its time slot, but something else.  If I had taken down the name, maybe it would have helped me find it.  Sometimes the same movie runs under multiple names.

I didn’t see the film all the way through for many years, after I graduated college.  I had found a web page that listed public domain film noir, including one called The Masked Guest.  The website described it as a costume noir, and I curiously clicked on the link.  Once I took in the credits running on the youtube window, my eyes grew wide and I did not move from my place on the bed until the movie had run its course.

The credits did indeed list it as The Masked Guest, but I recognized the strange repeating design on the title cards.  They told me that in addition to starring Dietrich and Bergman, it was directed by Fritz Lang, and a character called The King was credited to “???”  (I hadn’t seen that kind of credit since the first Karloff Frankenstein.)  When the King finally appears on screen, though, it is unmistakably Orson Welles’s voice that booms out from behind his elaborate costume.

Here are the things I understand about The King, or The Masked Guest, or The Man in Yellow, or any other title I’ve found for it on public domain archive searches.  Dietrich and Bergman play princesses named Cassilda and Camilla, respectively.  Though Dietrich’s accent is German and Bergman’s is Swedish, they blend together to give the film the impression of being set somewhere on the map that I can’t quite find.  The scenery and camera angles are very Freudian, with a great deal of archways and pillars.

The first act of The King involves frankly dull romantic plotlines, and the only thing that really saved it was the feeling that the suitors were supposed to be insipid, a suspicion lended credence by the fact that the love interests were listed so low on the credits.  Dietrich is the scandalous sister and Bergman is the responsible one, though each takes on aspects of the other as the film goes on.  Dietrich sings her song at a party, dressed in a fake 17th century gown and leaning against a piano.  Although just a moment ago she had been laughing and joking with her gentleman friends, her song takes an abruptly serious tone (not seductive, not sentimental) as she tells the story of a city lost to time and memory.  Bergman slips away from the party and onto the balcony, where we see that wonderful shot of the moon in her eyes.  Is she mourning?  Is she longing?

Dietrich cuts off the song by abruptly screaming “Not on us, King!  Not on us!”  She flees the party weeping and shaking, and from there on the film goes mad.

Though uncommon, it is not unknown for movies to switch between black and white and color, done most famously in The Wizard of Oz.  The film The King recalls here is the silent Phantom of the Opera, which had a masqued ball scene tinted in shades of red and green that tried to provide a whole spectrum of color.  The effect is even odder in the masqued ball scene in The King- the only color that appears is yellow, highlighting things like candlelight, Dietrich’s hair, a passing gown, a vase of tulips.  It also highlights one particular masked figure, whose expressionless mask was decorated with a black pattern against a sickening yellow canvas- the same pattern I had seen in the opening credits.  The color of his costume causes him to stand out from the crown even when he is far off in the background, just one head among many others.  It must have taken long and painstaking hours of work to color in every frame.

Dietrich still seems broken up days after her song, though Bergman tries to coax her into joining the dance.  Finally, at midnight, Dietrich goes out to face the party, but only to demand that every guest remove their mask.  The yellow man with a voice that once warned America about a Martian invasion tells her that he wears no mask.  Bergman reacts with disbelief, but Dietrich starts laughing like a woman unhinged.  As she laughs, the yellow hue seeps out of the King’s clothing and face- if that really is his face- and begins to color the entire ballroom crowd.  I think that what follows is bloodshed, but if there is any carnage (doubtful under the Production Code censorship), the blood must be tainted yellow and splashed across the camera like daubs of paint.  Dietrich’s laughing face is doubled and tripled on screen until it dissipates, but even when it has faded offscreen, it feels as if her ghost continues to watch the proceedings.  

By the end of the scene (filled with German Expressionist camera angles and mad violin screeching), only Bergman remains alive, cowering behind a grandfather clock.  It does not hide her for long.  The King steps towards her and extends his hand.  Reluctantly, but with a fatalistic expression, Bergman takes his hand.  They walk away together hand in hand.  The screen shifts back into black and white, and then the credits roll before we can get a good look at all the bodies in the scene.  The credits say it was based on a play called The King in Yellow, although Raymond Chandler of all people apparently had a hand in the screenplay.

As I said, that’s what I think I understand.  It’s an oddly experimental art film for the era, and it may be awaiting rediscovery by the film festival crowd.  I feel as if I alone know about it, though that obviously isn’t true.  It is my little secret; I tell myself that my husband doesn’t need me to show it to him, it would be too odd for his taste.  I’ve rewatched it many times, even if it seems like each time I search for it I have to find a different video platform or torrent.  Naturally, no subscription site has it available.  Maybe I am the last person who will ever watch it.  Maybe no one will ever think to look for it again after me, and it will be completely forgotten.

When I was hospitalized, they let me use my laptop at night before I went to sleep (no power cord, though, in case I tried to hang myself.)  I found a youtube link for The Man in Yellow, and I watched it every night.  It wasn’t a soothing sort of movie, but having it in my mind all day and then watching it in the evening allowed me to think as opposed to crying endlessly while the other patients shot me awkward looks.  I clutched the childhood stuffed animals my mother brought me when she visited, and I always held them extra tight when the masquerade scene started.

I watched the movie when I had to move away from my beloved San Francisco.  I watched the movie when I lost the last of my grandparents.  I watched the movie when a doctor unwisely took me off my medication and I couldn’t manage to eat for a month.  I watched the movie when the whole world got sick and we all locked ourselves away from each other.  I don’t mind that I don’t entirely know what it means.  I don’t mind the nightmares.  In the hospital they kept telling us about mindfulness exercises, and maybe the fact that I can focus on every aspect of the film so closely that all else falls away is the reason I keep coming back to it.  I’m being mindful.  I’m not letting any stray thoughts invade my head.  I’m just watching and waiting for the next beat of every scene, leading inexorably to that yellow-stained bloodbath.

Streaming media doesn’t last forever, and each time I find The King, I worry that it will be the last time I ever can find it.  My efforts to download it have so far been unsuccessful, odd considering that it is in the public domain.

When I watch The King, I am once again a child in my bedroom being cared for in the throes of agonizing sickness.  I am once again sitting on the couch with my grandparents in front of the tv, both of them alive and lucid again.  I am once again in the hospital, all alone except for my stuffed animals and the staff trying to keep me alive.  The film reflects in my eyes like the crescent moon in Ingrid Bergman’s gaze.  It sings to me.

I am determined to find a way to obtain The King under any name so that I never have to worry about losing it.  During some of the worst times in my life, it is the only thing that has kept me sane.

[katytheinspiredworkaholic]

Correspondence, Chapter 04

Pairing: HotchReid

Summary:  An AU where Reid never joined the FBI, but got roped into consulting for the LA field office while working and teaching at Caltech. Hotch gets his email referred from a fellow agent, and they start to work on cases together -- until they start talking on a regular basis. Regular becomes frequent, frequent becomes constant. They know nothing about each other, but they don't really mind.

Rating: Mature/Explicit (eventually)

Chapter CW/notes: Action-y in that there is offscreen violence and peril, injuries, talk of surgery and symptoms/effects of medical grade narcotics (morphine), more on that big ol’ age difference. Side notes: Agent Anderson of the L.A. field office has no relation to Agent Anderson of Quantico, VA, because Agent Anderson of the BAU is a national treasure. (I’m considering going back and renaming the OC, but as of right now this is the last we hear of him for a while). And I know no one really pays attention to them, but the time stamps on the texts match the time zone of the scene setting. Set in season 6, self beta’d.

Word Count: 8893

Masterpost Link

Ao3 Link

--

Chapter 04

--

Late September 2010

--

Spencer Reid wakes up to the early grey morning two weeks later, a perpetual haze shrouding his room long before his alarm was supposed to rouse him. He reaches blindly, blearing eyed and checks his phone for what feels like the hundredth time, only to find no messages waiting for him. A terrible, horrid feeling has been clawing at his chest and throat the longer it gets -- the more time that passes -- and he still hasn’t heard from Hotch. 

They’ve been messaging each other near constantly for months now, and it only seemed to get more intense after that fateful talk at the beginning of September. Where Hotch finally revealed he’d thought Spencer was much older than him, and not the other way around. Spencer had set him straight, as much as he could, and even that had been nerve-wracking to say the least. The two men were crossing into a territory neither really wanted to put a label on, and Spencer was both afraid of it and excited by it. Of what it could mean, and how long it could last, but he’d thought he’d had time to figure out a solution to his inadvertent secrecy.

Then, Hotch began working a case in Delaware two days ago. 

It seemed like a textbook unsub; maybe a little aggressive with anti-establishment overtones, but nothing they couldn’t handle. Nothing the BAU hasn’t seen before. They’d been closing in on the suspect, no location yet but some prospects that needed checking out, and the last Spencer had heard from Hotch…

It had been lunchtime for him, and midafternoon for the older man. The exchange hadn’t been anything of consequence, just their usual, easy correspondence. Hotch was going to check out that lead they’d spoken of, Spencer had a budget meeting as soon as he was done eating in the middle of his office hours, and they had a plan to play chess online that night. Hotch is still terrible at it, but he keeps coming back no matter how thoroughly Spencer wipes the floor with him. Now, sometimes they just forget about the game entirely after the first few minutes. It makes him smile each and every time, soft and fond and lighting a warmth inside him Spencer has… never felt before. 

Then Hotch hadn’t messaged him the rest of the night.

Hadn’t shown up online to play chess.

Hadn’t texted him goodnight, or even sent him an update on the case. 

Nothing in their conversations warranted such ostracization, and although Spencer has been ‘ghosted’ before (as his doctoral students would say) he knows Hotch would never do that. Not after everything, the history they’ve built the past months -- leaving nothing but the dread to sink in and spread like a stain.

All night, he imagines the worst.

By morning, he all but expects it.

--

[]9/22, 18:59[] Are you alright? Did something happen with the case?

[]9/22, 19:10[] If you were that scared of losing at chess, I can also beat you at online poker instead.

[]9/22, 19:30[] I’d suggest scrabble but that’s honestly not fair to you.

[]9/22, 21:55[] Hotch? 

[]9/22, 22:30[] I’m assuming that lead panned out, and you caught your unsub and are neck deep in interrogation.

[]9/22, 22:36[] I don’t want to imagine anything else, so that’s what I will picture.

[]9/23, 00:06[] Hotch please answer me. 

[]9/23, 05:32[] Please be okay.

--

Spencer arrives at Caltech looking a little more of a mess than usual. More than most are used to seeing him, at least, and it causes a few second glances from students he passes and other faculty -- but he really can’t find it in himself to care, this morning. His unruly curls, getting longer again, falling into his face and over his ears, are frizzy in their unkemptness. Bags under his eyes, normal, but he’s settled for glasses instead of his contacts. He has a spare pair in his desk, he’ll have to change them before class. His glasses somehow always make him look even younger. A mystery that boggles the mind, because once he had grown into his face a few years ago (around 26 or 27, close enough he had worried he would forever be cursed with a ‘baby face’) Spencer had thought he would finally be getting away from that. 

And yet, square jaw and ‘grandpa’ glasses and thin frame towering just over six feet did nothing in the slightest to aid him. Certainly not stopping a man outside the campus coffee shop from shouting “Watch where you’re going, kid!” as he near barrels over him on the sidewalk. Not his sweater vest or half suits, attire straight out of a 1940’s noir film (he’d even sported a vintage inspired undercut with his waves combed over for a while there, too. Way too much upkeep, as nice as it looked). Nothing makes him any more grown up in the eyes of the unsuspecting world, than he’d been without his five doctorates and board of director’s seat. No matter what he tried, it seems.

This has been a subliminal thing for years, something Spencer always said didn’t bother him in the slightest. And for a long time he didn’t care one way or the other, he just kept getting more degrees. All his life Spencer has been ‘too young’, always been ‘kid’ or ‘sport’ or ‘tiger’, even when running quantum physics equations in his head. And it didn’t matter. Not with his credentials and accomplishments and everything he now has to his name.

Until Hotch.

Now, Spencer cares.

Notices, even through his haze of worry and sleeplessness, how on the street it’s “Watch it, kid!” and fifteen yards later it’s “Good morning, Dr. Reid” as he steps into the Physics building where everyone knows him on sight. Knows him, and what he’s capable of. 

What if when Hotch met him all he saw was… another kid? 

If they ever met.

“Whoa, rough night Dr. Reid?” 

“Yes, you could say that,” he mumbles out as he signs in and scans his ID card, taking the stack of mail that the desk attendant hands him. But stops before he gets too far from the desk, backtracking. “Hey, have you watched the news this morning? Did anything show up about New England or Delaware?”

“Not that I saw, Dr. Reid,” she says in confusion, looking up from where she had been texting on her phone. “Just a whole lot of coverage on the shitshow at capital hill, as usual. Oh, and more depressing reports about the earthquake clean-up in New Zealand.” 

Of course, why would there be a news story about a killer in Delaware here in California. He’d have to look up everything online himself. 

“Thanks anyway, Carla.”

“No problem, Dr. Reid.”

-

Spencer spends way too long online that morning, searching for anything about the case Hotch and his team are working. He usually prefers paper copies of news media, at first barely knowing where to begin, but he falls into a wormhole of news outlets and local Delaware station websites, reading the thousands of webpages faster than he can scroll and click through them. But he can’t find anything pointing to a disturbance related to the case. There's nothing about a raid, or a shooting, or even an arrest -- which could all just be a part of the ongoing media blackout -- but it also does nothing to stop him from panicking. Spencer gives up after an hour, and diverts to other resources. Ones with a direct line to Hotch. 

With a drafted email pulled up to Ms. Penelope Garcia, the BAU's personal tech analyst, he ponders how to... even word this without it sounding too personal. Too much like he and Hotch have more than just a working relationship.

Because they do. They have... something.

Something that gives him fluttering sensations in his stomach, makes him check his phone constantly, and react to even the slightest chime similar to his text tone. Makes him smile when he sees Hotch's name on his notifications, in his email inbox, makes him message the man in the middle of the day at the most random thoughts. Just because he wants to make him laugh.

[]8/21, 15:36[] You're going to get me in trouble.

[]8/21, 15:38[] You didn’t laugh in front of your team, did you? The scandal.

[]8/21, 15:42[] I'm at a crime scene. There's a dead body in front of me.

[]8/21, 15:43[] Then why are you checking your phone?

[]8/21, 15:45[] You know why.

But that’s not something that is shared with the rest of the team, he’s sure. So he should be careful how he words his email, lest Ms. Garcia realize that Spencer isn’t asking purely as a colleague. 

Surely they know he has friends, though?

Chewing his lip, Spencer types out a brief email asking if Agent Hotchner is feeling well since he missed an appointment the night before and hasn’t been returning his calls. It’s a phrase he’s used often, so it comes naturally to Spencer as he types it out, and he realizes… he hasn’t called. He’s sent a dozen text messages, but not a phone call. Never a phone call. That was against the rules, the unspoken ones that always kept this friendship easy and free-flowing and evolving into something more.

But this feels like the closest to an emergency they’ve ever encountered before.  

He looks to his phone beside him on his desk, and tries to fight back the dueling forms of panic clawing at his chest. Listed in bullet points behind his eyes. Panic that Hotch might not answer, panic what that means for the man he’s been… becoming more and more inclined to than any other person he’s met in so long. Panic if he does answer, breaking that barrier of written words to spoken, and the opportunity to hear Hotch’s voice. But he would also hear Spencer’s, and then there would be no hiding just how… how young he really is. He still didn’t have a plan for that, wracking his overworked brain day and night for a way to incorporate the information into a conversation that wouldn’t stop everything in its tracks. 

But his phone is in his hand before he can stop himself, Hotch’s contact pulled up and his thumb hovering over the phone number with baited breath. 

Was he really going to do this?

He presses the touch screen and can hear the line connecting, the dial tone ring even before he gets the phone up to his ear and waits. It rings, and rings, and rings a fourth time -- before clicking over to voicemail. And Spencer’s hyper-fast thought processes fail him as he realizes far too late that he’s going to hear Hotch’s voice for the first time, anyway. Frozen in a panic, unsure if he wants to or if that had been something he wanted them to do together that the seconds slip by like water through his fingers and suddenly it’s too late.

“You’ve reached the voicemail box of -- (703)-567-8790 -- this caller is not available. Please leave a message after the tone--”

It’s an automated, female voice that rattles off the numbers and generic call back message, and Spencer hangs up before it can begin recording him. Exhaling a shaky breath, relief a flash flood on his nerves that nothing had been ruined between him and Hotch thanks to an ill-timed phone call. 

He keeps the momentum going without much thought, and adjusts his email to Ms. Garcia before sending it. 

It feels so understated, and yet over dramatic the more he thinks about it. The more he reads it.

.

Please let me know of his well-being.

.

God, no wonder Hotch thought he was in his 60’s. 

But Spencer has to keep the façade up, for now, not give away anything he doesn’t want to just because the emotional part of his brain is running rampant over the rational one. There are… many explanations as to why Hotch isn’t answering him. His gut feeling aside, he doesn’t need to be panicking like this. The world is still turning, he still has work to do, so Spencer tries to gather himself into some semblance of order and preps to talk to his doctoral students within the hour.

--

His morning routine progresses as usual, as if nothing at all is wrong with the world. Dr. Reid has his mandatory round up with his doctoral candidates going over thesis and dissertation parameters, class lecture schedules, updates, the works. Like morning announcements, but he requires them all to be there and to listen, and they all show up. Everyone knows of Spencer’s eidetic memory. He will certainly not forget a single date or schedule change, and he expects his students to not forget as well. 

But this morning Spencer is fully distracted, his mind elsewhere, somewhere in the state of Delaware with an agent who may or may not be in danger. Because Spencer cannot shake the feeling that something is wrong. It almost seems more like a fact than a feeling. The juxtaposition of his daily routine and this unfounded worry throws him entirely off kilter, and all of his students seem to know right away. 

Then, his distraction reaches its peak when his email pings, right in the middle of his department announcements. A response from Ms. Garcia of Quantico, VA flashing across his laptop screen. Spencer’s eyes skim the preview sentence in the pop-up box, and his voice trails off as his mind… whirls. 

.

Dr. Reid, I’m sorry to tell you I don’t know when Hotch will be available again. There was an incident, and he’s still in surg-

.

Surgery.

Surgery.

That vice-like grip of worry that has taken hold of him since last night tightens further, to the point Spencer can’t breathe. Hotch is in surgery, Hotch is hurt, and if he hasn’t been answering his phone since last night -- or even late yesterday afternoon -- it was not a minor thing.

Hotch is hurt. 

She doesn’t know when he will be--

If he will be --

“Dr. Reid? Are you okay?”

“I--” he’s still looking at the email pop-up box, and is clicking on it before he can stop himself. Immediately disconnecting his laptop from the projector as his email loads there. It takes him a fraction of a second to read the email. “I’m sorry, an emergency just came up. Kimmy, finish reading off the schedule for me?” He doesn’t even wait until she answers him, just picks up his laptop and retreats to his office as fast as his long legs will carry him.

.

--surgery and we’re still waiting on word. I know you 2 talk on the reg so I’ll keep you posted. 

Fret not, genius professor, our fearless leader has been through much worse than this.

.

She’s using informal speech patterns, which she has never done before. It bleeds her nervousness, and worries Spencer even more. Teetering on the edge of panic. Ms. Garcia also revealed she knows he and Hotch talk, but surprisingly that doesn’t have the effect he thought it would on his already rattled nerves. Instead, any and all reservations fall away as he types out a response much in the same way he and Hotch had started their friendship all those months ago.

.

Please, is there anything you are allowed to tell me about the case or his condition? We --

.

Spencer pauses, bites his lip as he considers crossing this boundary into the uncomfortable unknown, and then thinks about Hotch on a hospital operating table three thousand miles away.

“Screw it,” he mutters and continues to type.

.

--We’ve become good friends and I’m very worried.

.

The reply is almost immediate.

.

That makes 2 of us, boy wonder, but I’m already hacked into the hospital records database and Prentiss is in the waiting room for any immediate actions.

I’m sending you the case files and the incident report from last night. Maybe you can see some shiz we can’t b/c the bossman is tough but he’s been in surgery a long time. 

.

Of course, whatever he can do to help. Spencer’s heavy heart-beat triples in his chest as pulls up the files and immediately prints them out so he can read through them faster. Utilizing anything and everything he can do to aid the BAU team, and whatever Hotch has gotten himself into. But then, his mind sticks on something from the email. Boy Wonder. It stalls his hands mid-movement.

Ms. Garcia knows how young he is.

She must have done a background check on him, that would make sense since he’s been consulting so much lately. But why would Garcia know his age, and not Hotch? Wouldn’t she send the files to him directly? Had Hotch really known, all along?

Or did she do it on her own, and not tell him? Assuming her boss already knew everything about him. It’s too many questions and possibilities and they are interfering with what’s most important right now. Best to get it out of the way, no time to be indirect about it.

.

Ms. Garcia, did you update my dossier with the bureau after you ran my background check?

.

If you’re referring to why Hotch seems to think you’re rocking the senior discount at restaurants and not still getting carded for beer, then no I didn’t update it. I’m very anti-gov files having every detail of our lives in them, that’s what   I’m for, and I figured there was a reason he didn’t know. Your secret is safe with me, sugar bean.

.

Spencer hadn’t meant for it to be a secret at all, it just happened that way. 

The real reason is Agent Anderson of the LA field office is a dick, with a bully streak he never outgrew after high school, and didn’t bother filling out a full file on him the first time Spencer consulted for the FBI. Then, he couldn’t be bothered to update it when his consultations became more than a one time thing.

But that was all in the past now, and Spencer can’t even be upset about it. Because now he has Hotch.

.

Thank you, Ms. Garcia. I’ll let you know my findings soon.

.

He skims the file quickly, pulling information out at lightning speed. It appears a very straight-forward case. As straight-forward as a murderous sociopath can be, anyway. Very anti-establishment, like he and Hotch had discussed the previous day, aiming for specified targets that devolved to anyone in a uniform. Anyone who appears too official, or labels as official. 

It’s easy to see, now, why the unsub attacked Hotch instead of running from him. He practically served himself up on a silver platter. But there’s something about the kills that’s bothering Spencer. The knife wounds, bludgeoning, even the gunshots during the first murders when the unsub still hesitated -- it’s all overkill. Rage. Every single target has died from massive internal bleeding, M.E. reports all label the knife wounds and beatings as the cause. But the amount of blood left over, measured during autopsy, doesn’t add up. They bled too much. No wounds indicating intentional bleeding occurred, and the tox screens are all clean. 

Except, every victim’s hospital records show elevated potassium rates. Spencer’s hands, skimming down each and every page quick as they can, stop on a dime as his gaze zero in on the information. 

“Oh, God,” Spencer whispers, quiet and horrified. “--Hotch.”

There’s no time for email.

He picks up his phone, goes to an older email that has full contact details in the footer, and dials Ms. Garcia’s direct line in Quantico.

“Speak, and behold greatness.”

“Ms. Garcia, it’s Dr. Reid,” Spencer says, and his tone and quickened speech patterns gives way to his panic.

“Dr-- Dr.  Reid?” 

“Yes, quick there’s no time. Do you have Hotch’s hospital records in front of you still?” 

“Yes,” Garcia says, her voice a musical thing even in it’s breathless reaction to his heightened state of haste. “Updated every two minutes.”

“Is his potassium elevated?”

Some quick typing of keys that move faster than even he could ever hope to type. “...Yes.”

God. “Okay, okay I need you to call the hospital right now,” Spencer says in a spiel that all sounds like one word. “Whatever you have to do, he needs Sodium Polystyrene Sulfonate as soon as possible, to counteract the chemical imbalance or he’s going to go into kidney failure and bleed out.” 

There’s more typing going on and Ms. Garcia’s breathing has gone a little labored.

“Alright, alright I’m getting patched through. What else can you tell me?”

“I think he’s been dosed with something called an XG Compound, either Eastman or Zhao I have to look up the specific components and chemist. But they are a series of banned, experimental military-grade drugs that suffer effects of thinning the blood, that’s why they can’t stop the bleeding around his stab wounds and old scar tissue.” Hotch’s old wounds from Foyet would only exacerbate the condition, once it reached the kidney failure stage, but up until then the intrusions of hardened tissue is the only reason his abdominal cavity hasn’t been flooded with blood and drowned out his other organs. 

“Okay, okay I’m through, I’m keeping you on the line. Stand by-- ” then she clicks over and he’s left with a pulsating silence. Nothing remaining but continuing his work, and hoping he’d called in time. Hoping that Hotch will be alright.

--

Spencer is digging through his floor to ceiling bookshelves for the biology book on airborne pathogens given to him by a visiting Professor two years ago and he is hating himself for never cracking it in that moment. It’s nearly the last book he gets a hand on, because of course it is, and he makes it a third of the way through the book before Garcia is back on the line. The phone on the floor beside him and just barely within reach. 

“You literal genius, I could kiss you,” Garcia tells him in what can only be overstated relief, and Spencer snatches up his phone with a very undignified scramble. “They’ve had to do two transfusions on him and are prepping a third, but you were right he’s been dosed with that XG compound.”

“He’s going to be okay?” Spencer asks, still cross-legged on his office floor surrounded by books and holding his phone to his ear like a lifeline.

“Yes, yes my dear he’s going to be alright. They think. He’s not out of the woods yet and the surgery is still going on, but he -- he would have died within the next hour if you hadn’t found out what was wrong.”

Spencer’s heart is in his throat, her words doing the exact opposite of reassuring him. Hotch had been that close to dying, to being forever out of reach, because Spencer had been too scared to pick up the phone. 

“I should have called sooner,” he says, so quiet even someone in the room wouldn’t have heard him correctly. “I knew something was wrong.”

“Oh no, sugar don’t think like that. You just saved his life,” she pauses, like she wants to say something else, but diverts to an adjacent topic. “How did you know?”

“Autopsy reports. There wasn’t enough blood left in the bodies, they bled out too quickly. Then I saw the elevated Potassium,” he murmurs it all, rattled off without really thinking about it.

“And you just… knew all of that, without looking anything up?”

“That’s basically what I do. The only reason anyone calls me,” Spencer laughs but it holds no humor. “I know too much, make connections, and drink too much coffee.” 

“You drink and know things, oh God I hope you get that reference because you’re getting a coffee mug.”

Spencer laughs a little, despite the situation, and feels… lighter, somehow, even with the worry still plaguing him. Caught up in his chest like a bad cold. 

“I’m reading this textbook on airborne pathogens, I have a hunch, and I’ll send you anything I find that can help with the case,” Spencer continues, his voice not so heavy for a moment. “Just… tell me when he’s out of surgery? Keep me posted?”

“Of course, honey, you’ll be my first message,” Ms. Garcia assures him, but then she pauses again -- and he almost hangs up because it feels too anticipatory. “You should tell him, B.T.Dubs.”

Spencer hesitates more than is probably necessary.

“... I don’t know what good that will do,” he admits, quiet and unsure. “I’m not -- I’m not ready for this to be over.”

“You’re not that young, honey. Does he know you like him?”

“Mmhmm,” Spencer makes a nervous, affirmative sound. “And… he likes me, or who he thinks I am.”

“Don’t write him off just yet, Doc, let him speak for himself when he wakes up,”  Ms. Garcia all but scolds him, in as gentle a way as possible and Spencer appreciates that, at least. 

“--I’ll think about it.” 

--

Not long after Spencer finds what he’s looking for: military grade poisons that were banned for causing adverse effects, listed and categorized by chemist and agency. It is the Eastman compound, originated during the first invasion of Afghanistan. Their unsub has prolonged exposure, Spencer is sure, and that will narrow down the suspect pool immensely.

After he sends the information to Ms. Garcia, Spencer looks to his phone once more, where there is a block of text all from him himself in his correspondence with Hotch. Begging him to be alright, to answer him, and now that he knows that the man has a fighting chance -- or as much of one as he will be able to have, with where advanced medicine resides in the current conjecture of time -- there really isn’t much he can do now. But hope. And wait. And pray.

Except Spencer doesn’t believe in prayer, or God, or anything that might hear him. The only thing he really believes in is science, and facts, and none of that is very helpful to him right now. Except maybe the coincidental balance of the universe, in a theoretical physics sense, and unexplained phenomenon that have an equal and spatial balance to it. Anything with the descriptor ‘unexplained’ always draws him in like a moth to flame, and he knows he can typically find a semblance of comfort in the way his brain constantly connects dots and far off specks of information that not everyone can see at first glance. Constellations in the sky. But only when he has someone to tell it to, that even pretends to listen for a moment, and for a long while now… Hotch has been that someone. Hotch always listens to him.

Before he knows it, he’s typing into the text box once more --

[]9/23, 11:10[] You’re in surgery still, but Ms. Garcia has confirmed the treatments are working and they are able to actually repair the damage instead of treading water like they have been the past ten hours. I’ve had her personally in contact with the doctors and surgical staff, and all they’ve been able to tell us is to let them work and just pray for you.

[]9/23, 11:13[] Which is such an odd thing; men of science telling people to pray like the outcome of a surgery isn’t in their hands, but some theoretical astronomical entity. I know it’s probably just a ‘bedside-manner’ tactic, but it doesn’t help me in the slightest so it just irks me instead.

[]9/23, 11:15[] I don’t believe in prayer -- a shock, I’m sure -- but I do believe in the phenomenon of universal affirmation. It’s an interesting trend in history and spans cultures where if someone has something awaiting them, to live for, even if they are unaware of it… they will fight harder to cling to life. 

[]9/23, 11:18[] But I also know you will fight tooth and nail for Jack, and for your team that you treat like family, and maybe even me. I’d like to hope I’m included in that, and no amount of books or IQ points can make me think of something to contribute to help you keep fighting.

[]9/23, 11:19[] Just please keep fighting. Come back. And if I come up with something to entice you… I’ll let you know.

It eases a lot of the tension in his chest, talking to Hotch like this -- even if he’s just talking at him, in a place where he might never know what Spencer has had to say. But he can hope. Hope that Hotch will wake up and have thirty missed messages and see they are all from Spencer and it will make him smile. 

Spencer would give anything to see him smile, and he allows himself to hope that one day... he might get to. 

He might as well, while he’s sitting there hopelessly hoping for things beyond his control. 

Come back to me.

Spencer almost types it out, can see it in the text window though he hasn’t pressed a single letter, and closes his phone before he can. Pressing it to his mouth and closing his eyes and just… 

Hoping.

--

The hours roll over into the afternoon, and there’s still no word. 

Spencer has spent the majority of the day messaging Ms. Garcia, who has had no information beyond trivial updates here and there and Spencer has read more about surgical procedures and practices than he has in his entire life. Even raided the biology department’s library, surrounding himself with the comfort of books and files and filled his head with the soothing monotony of medical terms and safety protocols. 

But once noon has come and gone he finds himself staring into the bookshelves across from where he sits on the floor, among stacks of textbooks, with an epiphany trying to make itself known to him. Despite his every attempt to ignore it. 

His phone is back in his hand, there’s an email correspondence from Ms. Garcia that only briefly says Still nothing. And that makes up Spencer’s mind. 

[]9/23, 12:49[] I’ve thought of something.

What he types next makes it hard to breathe, his heart lodged in his throat, and it all comes flowing out of him much like before. His fingers keep moving, his emotional part of his brain steam-rolls over the rational one, and then he’s done and he’s tacked on six extra messages and Spencer has to put his phone away before he rereads it beyond what is deemed healthy or sane. 

Because he’s done what he could, and all he can do is believe that will be enough to… subliminally keep Hotch fighting. The day is only half over, and Spencer feels like he hasn’t slept in a week. 

It would be hours before he got the message that would send relief through his spine like a shot of Novocain. Just three words from Ms. Garcia, sent in haste in a text instead of an email.

{}9/23, 14:58{} He’s in recovery.

--

Hotch wakes up just barely the first time, the room spinning and hit with that familiar smell of anesthesia he can always taste as it fills his senses, before he slips back under. 

The second time is to a small pencil light being flashed in his eyes, staccato movements meant to test his pupil reactions, and an older woman in nurse’s scrubs saying his name and calling to him. He hums an affirmative, even though he isn’t fully returned to a working state of mind. Instinct, more than clarity.

“Welcome back, Agent Hotchner.”

“About damn time,” he hears Prentiss say from somewhere across the room. Probably leaning the wall, if that faux drone is anything to go by. The nurse gives her a look but his agent isn’t even fazed by it, as far as Hotch can see. It takes him a moment for his eyes to adjust that far. But he knows the look well enough he doesn’t actually have to see it. 

“Where is everyone? Is anyone else hurt?” Hotch can feel the words form on his tongue, droned out in a haze, his mind slowly coming back to him. 

“Good to see you, too, boss,” Prentiss says in mild exacerbation, coming up to the side of his bed but not taking a seat. She must have been waiting a long time, her whole stance jittery just like after long flights on cases. “Everyone is fine, you’re the only one that got into a knife fight with an unsub who’s into biological warfare.” Hotch blinks at her, trying to make her words make sense without asking it of her. He remembers going to a warehouse to follow a lead, but not much else after that. It’s coming back too slowly to keep up with her. Prentiss just sighs, and repeats herself. “Everyone is fine.” 

She regales him with a play by play, his own memories appearing like raindrops on a windshield to accompany her commentary. Slowly beginning to form a picture of what had happened. He’d been stabbed before, more than he cares to think about, and he’s been dosed with military-grade drugs before as well -- but never both at the same time. No wonder he feels like he’s been hit by a truck.

“You’re lucky to be alive, honestly,” she points out, hip resting against the plastic side panels of his hospital bed. 

“Yeah, I’m gathering that.”

“And your phone has been blowing up like crazy.” 

Hotch is finally able to sit up enough and see straight without his vision swimming, to find that his agent does indeed have his cell phone in her hands. 

“What?”

“Yeah, eight missed calls and three voicemails, and--” she squints at the screen before looking at him in astonished confusion, “eighty-seven missed text messages, from a whole bunch of people. I’m not reading through all of them. I didn’t know you were that popular.” 

“I’m the Unit Chief, popularity has nothing to do with it,” Hotch deadpans, more himself. Wanting to reach for his phone but his arms are still dealing with pins and needles sensations, sluggish to lift and his fingers uncooperative. “Who called me eight times?”

“Let’s see,” she unlocks his phone -- somehow, god damn it Prentiss -- and scrolls through his notifications. “Two calls from Jessica, one from me, three from Strauss (Jesus), one from Dr. Reid, and one from Garcia. It doesn’t say who the voicemails are from.”

Hotch suddenly feels much more alert, his heart rate monitor picking up but he does his best not to draw attention to it, instead looking up at Prentiss as carefully guarded as he ever is. 

“Dr. Reid called?” he tries to keep his voice even, and unaffected, but the aftereffects of the drugs in his system leave a little more hitch in his voice than he would have liked. 

“Yeah, he’s been talking to Garcia,” Prentiss says without much comment, still scrolling through his phone and making Hotch a little more than nervous. “Busted the case wide open, and saved your life while he was at it. We never would have known you were dosed with something if he hadn’t figured it out. Think you owe that old man a fruit basket.”

“Can I have my phone back?” 

“Don’t think you’re supposed to have it,” she says without looking up, still scrolling through his notifications. “Lots of junk e-mail…”

“One of those voicemails is probably Jack, I should call and let them know I’m alright,” Hotch tries to reason with her.

“He and Jess are already on their way up, they’ll land in an hour,” Prentiss tells him, but looks over her shoulder for that nurse as she makes to hand Hotch his phone anyway. Still hesitant despite her predilections to breaking every rule she can get away with.

“I still want it back,” Hotch insists, regretting saying it as soon as he does.

It catches Prentiss’ attention a little too sharply. “...why?” But at Hotch’s steady stare and solid silence, unwavering like he hadn’t just been in surgery for hours on end, she finally relents and hands it over, still giving him a suspicious look. 

“It’s important,” he finally admits, when she doesn’t stop staring for a good couple of minutes. Those perfectly shaped eyebrows raise near to her hairline, the profiler in her connecting more dots than should be humanly possible. 

A small smile teases her lips, though not fully forming there. “Now I wish I’d read them.” 

Hotch just gives her a reprimanding look of his own, but it’s short lived.

“Thank you, for staying.”

“Wouldn’t miss it,” Prentiss assures him, her smile going softer. “I’ll leave you to your mystery woman.” A beat, another raised eyebrow. “Person.” A knowing look, but then she exits and Hotch is able to look at his phone at his own discretion. 

- 

Hotch goes through the text messages with a brief glance; there’s so many of them. Other agents and agencies, his team in a group chat Garcia had started, Jessica left fifteen before someone got a hold of her, and Jack’s school sending reminders about soccer and parent teacher conferences. 

But 39 are from Spencer, and his heart constricts in his chest at the worry he must have caused the man. Aches next to the scars on his chest and the blood that doesn’t belong to him in his veins. And somewhere in the recesses of his mind, it’s coupled with a torturous feeling of longing. Even subtle jealousy, because even half drugged out of his mind Hotch hadn’t missed the precise word choices Prentiss used. Garcia has been talking to Spencer -- talking. 

Garcia got to hear him.

She talked to Spencer, when he still hadn’t, because of some unspoken rule Hotch isn’t even sure when they decided upon. He still knew so little about the man, and Spencer’s voice could tell him so much with just a few words. He could fill volumes with what he would learn from just a single message --

Without much further thought, Hotch pulls up his voice mail. Listens to the automated voices and the three messages there. None are from Spencer, although his heart had beat a little harder in anticipation -- enough his heart monitor beeped audibly next to him. Embarrassing as that was, like a lovestruck teenager. He’d glared at it and centered his breathing until his heart rate slowed back down, not wanting to alert the nurses station. Two of the voicemails are from Jessica’s phone, one of her worried out of her mind, and the other of Jack telling him they are coming to see him and he hopes he feels better soon. Just listening to his son speak more strongly than his aunt had or anyone else should in his situation, telling his daddy he loves him while the sounds of a commercial airline filter through the background, makes Hotch want to smile and sob all at once.

The last voicemail is from Garcia, telling him a similar story to what Prentiss had earlier, but with a bit more detail on her end. How ‘Dr. Reid’ called her out of the blue, because there had been no time for his usual emails, and gave them the information that saved his life. He’d been working the case diligently, ever since, and was checking up on him a lot. More than a lot. ‘Let him know you’re okay, when you wake up and get this. The poor guy is worried sick, and my updates only give him so much comfort.’

Spencer had actually called Garcia, when he hasn’t physically spoken to anyone in Quantico the entire time he’s consulted for them, just to save a few precious seconds to relay what he’d found. He’d even broken their rule, probably before hand, and called Hotch -- just to make sure he was okay. Hadn’t stopped working to help, the moment he found out he wasn’t.

It’s a strange thought, that if not for Spencer -- Hotch would be dead. That Jack would be flying up here for a very different reason. 

Hotch switches over to the text messages with a lump in his throat. Not at all prepared, emotionally, but needing to know.

The 39 messages start from the night before, when they were supposed to have had their usual online chess date. They range from playful banter, teasing edged in worry, and escalate to panic as the night wears on. Anxious worry bleeding through the single sentences, building and building until that lump in his throat feels like it might block off all air soon. 

Please be okay.

God, that alone starts to set a tone -- and reveals something Hotch hadn’t expected to find. Those three words give way to his speech pathology training, and all indicate that Spencer is… very likely younger than he’d originally thought. Some of Hotch’s assumptions might be close, even the teasing ones he’d only said because he’d been sure they were wrong. The other man is obviously beyond worried about him, as well. Petrified, despite knowing the risks of his job. They had become so close the past few months, were most definitely past the flirting stage and into something so tentative and wonderful Hotch can barely believe it some days. But they had never talked about this, about the possibility that Hotch might walk into a situation one day and not walk back out of it. 

Spencer’s messages soon give way to him just… talking at Hotch. Relaying what was happening, philosophical rants meant to ease his own mind and Hotch finds himself smiling softly at the man’s constant stream of thought, lectures at genius levels that he still feels so compelled to share with Hotch. Because they are that close. They really, truly, are -- and it brightens the fluttering feeling in his chest all the more. How Spencer is trying, subliminally, to draw Hotch back to the light. Three thousand miles away.

Please come back.

Hotch hears it loud and clear, the come back to me. Even unwritten. And it makes his heart skip a beat, aching as it does.

Then…

[]9/23, 15:49[] I’ve thought of something.

[]9/23, 15:52[] I’m 29.

Hotch doesn’t understand, at first. But then it hits him.

Years.  

29 years. 

Spencer is 29 years old. Proven, further, by the following messages sent after that.

[]9/23, 15:56[] I’m a certified child prodigy, on a registry and everything. I graduated high school at just twelve years old, and had my first Ph.D. by 15. Youngest in CalTech history.

29.

Jesus Christ, no wonder he hadn’t wanted to tell Hotch his age. 29 is… far younger than he expected. 

When Spencer was born, Hotch was getting his driver’s license. 16 years difference in age…

He keeps reading, despite the numb aftermath of a bomb going off inside his head, trying to process it and also hear the younger man out.

Younger. Spencer is 16 years younger than Hotch, and he finds himself scrubbing at his face to try and wake himself up further as he reads what Spencer sent.

[]9/23, 15:57[] I turn 30 at the end of October, and I was trying to wait until then to tell you. 

[]9/23, 16:00[] I’ve noticed a prominent dynamic shift in perception, between listing my age as in my 20’s and ‘almost 30’. It’s a numerical allusion our brains can’t help. You hear 29, you think 21. It happens with decades, too, once someone is outside the familial range of 10 years. +/- either side.

[]9/23, 16:02[] An age gap doesn’t sound as bad when I’m 30. That’s why I wanted to wait, just a little while longer, but if that universal affirmation phenomenon actually works for us -- I don’t mind dealing with the consequences.

[]9/23, 16:03[] Just please come back. 

[]9/23, 16:07[] Please be okay.

[]9/23, 16:10[] I miss you.

His heart is about to be ripped to shreds. 

Hotch feels terrible, because Spencer is right. 29 sounds so young, and it keeps repeating in his head over and over. But 29 isn’t the same as 21, he isn’t some college student still stumbling around trying to figure out his life. He has five Ph.D.’s, runs three departments at one of the best universities in the country, is consulted by the FBI and Homeland Security and very obviously has a reputation he upholds to the highest regard. Hotch had guessed Spencer was 32 not so long ago, what was the big difference between that and his actual age? From what little Spencer just shared of his life story, he’s never gotten to be a kid, so who was Hotch to consider him one? What gave him the right to be floored by this, did it actually change what he thought of Spencer? How he felt about him only moments prior to reading that?

I miss you.   Come back.   Please be okay.

I’m 29.

It could be the recent flirtation with death, the anesthesia or the morphine, even the gratitude that Hotch will get to see his son again and not leave him without both his parents -- there’s so many reasons for him to take pause as he considers the messages in front of him. 

But it feels a lot like the months of talking, and the countless late nights spent together, that pile up and up in his chest. A rising pressure that reminds Hotch that he and Spencer have something, and it’s not a normal, regular situation for either of them. Something that precedent, and everything Hotch has ever been told to hold to standard, doesn’t seem to fit. He and Spencer don’t seem to fit, when looked at afar or even on paper -- but they do. They really do. It was never supposed to be something that could be this easy, or normal in any capacity.

But what about their lives ever was?

[]9/23, 18:26[] I’m so sorry I worried you.

[]9/23, 18:26[] I miss you, too.

[]9/23, 18:27[] If I stop answering you, the nurse took my phone away. I hate hospitals.

[]9/23, 18:29[] Hotch, you scared me to death.

[]9/23, 18:30[] I know, I’m sorry.

[]9/23, 18:31[] From what I heard, you saved my life.

[]9/23, 18:33[] I don’t even know how to begin thanking you for that.

[]9/23, 18:36[] Just get better.

[]9/23, 18:38[] Which means resting, don’t glare at your nurses too much. They’re there to help you.

There’s a long stretch of a pause in their correspondence, which picks up so smooth and easy it’s as if they had never stopped. Like the last few days hadn’t happened at all. But they had, they were both looking at the messages to prove that. He does take pause, maybe more than he should, and Hotch knows miles away Spencer is just as nervous. Staring at his phone.

-

Hotch isn’t wrong. Spencer let out such an exclamation of relief at Hotch’s name on his notifications he about sobbed with it. He never cries, hasn’t in years -- but his eyes sting with relief and worry and… an emotion he doesn’t want to name.

[]9/23, 18:44[] What day is your birthday?

[]9/23, 18:45[] October 28th.

[]9/23, 18:45[] Same week as mine. November 2nd.

Hotch pauses, again, considers his next response… and 3,000 miles away Spencer can barely blink as he stares at his phone with mounting dread. 

[]9/23, 18:49[] I understand why you didn’t want to tell me. It’s alright.

[]9/23, 18:51[] Am I correct in assuming you’ve never been in a relationship with this much of an age gap?

It takes Hotch a moment to even gather the courage to type that out and send it. Knows it sounds almost too formal, for them, but Hotch also knows that he and Spencer are balanced on the edge of a knife, here, and… no matter what the outcome, everything is about to change between them.

Spencer licks his lips in nervousness, reading the line over and over although he has no need to. It feels like a tipping point, and he’s still… terrified this will be his last conversation with Hotch outside of case work. Ever. 

[]9/23, 18:55[] Never. 

[]9/23, 18:57[] I haven’t had many relationships at all. My peer groups have always been older than me, and people my own age never understood me enough to be interested. So it’s just something I was used to, going without.

[]9/23, 18:59[] This has been… the closest thing to what I’ve been told is normal that I’ve ever experienced. I’ve never had the chance to have something like this with someone, or connect in this way. I gave up, for a long while there.

[]9/23, 19:01[] I’ve been in a similar situation before, on an intellectual spectrum.

[]9/23, 19:03[] I’ve never--

Hotch pauses, again, putting his thoughts in order. Weighing it all, before taking that final leap. Spencer waiting with baited breath, all the more. 

But Hotch doesn’t regret what he sends. Not one bit.

[]9/23, 19:03[] I’ve never dated anyone younger than me like this, before, so we’ll both be on a learning curve.

[]9/23, 19:03[] But we will figure it out. Together.

Spencer’s breath catches, and he can’t seem to release it again. He can’t believe what he’s reading. What Hotch has sent him. 

He said ‘dated’.

He thought they were dating. Spencer isn’t quite sure he can trust his own eyes, despite the words being there in stark black and white on his phone screen.

[]9/23, 19:06[] Dating?

Hotch smiles, because he just knows -- from that single word text -- that Spencer has sent it not in admonishment or anything negative of the sort. But in hope. Confident that he recognizes the nuance in Spencer's voice even without ever having heard it, Hotch just knows, and it makes warmth blossom anew in his chest. Sends his heart rate monitor skittering across the machine all over again.

[]9/23, 19:08[] Hate to be the one to tell you, but all of those late nights where we talked for hours instead of playing chess? Those were dates.

Spencer has his hand over his mouth, still in disbelief that he hadn’t… fucked this up beyond repair. That his age hadn’t been the deal breaker he’d feared so vehemently for months now. That everything is still as it was, age difference and life-threatening situation, aside.

They were dating. All this time.

[]9/23, 19:10[] I should have worn nicer clothes.

Hotch laughs at his phone at the same time Spencer laughs at his own, having reread what he’d sent. 

3,000 miles away, and their quiet laughter coincides perfectly. 

[]9/23, 19:11[] Our next one I’m sure I’ll be in a hospital gown, so I think you’re in the clear.

[]9/23, 19:12[] Sounds like you’re making plans, already. 

[]9/23, 19:12[] You still need rest.

[]9/23, 19:14[] Well, I have to thank you somehow. And, I saw something about poker instead of chess? I’m actually not bad at poker.

[]9/23, 19:15[] … you remember I’m from Vegas, right?

[]9/23, 19:16[] We’ll play for fake money.

[]9/23, 19:18[] No such thing.

[]9/23, 19:19[] I do play for favors, though.

[]9/23, 19:19[] Oh? 

Hotch feels a wild, youthful thing unfurl in his chest as he types away. Mischievous, almost, in a way he only gets when he and Spencer are hours deep into conversations in the middle of the night. But it’s broad daylight, and he has to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling too wide. Getting lost in the thrill of it all. In the officiality of it, now, and another curtain unveiled between them.

[]9/23, 19:20[] Did you have something in mind?

Spencer has to be blushing seven shades of red, right about now, and he hides his face from his phone for a moment before he realizes how ridiculous that is -- Hotch can’t see him. He can stop messaging the man any time he wants to.

Except he doesn’t want to.

[]9/23, 19:24[] I’ll get back to you.

Hotch can’t help it as he grins at his phone. A wry, suggestive thing, but he manages to school it before a passing nurse can see him -- how his eyes are alight with possibility. With elation, just from talking to the younger man that had seemed to capture a part of him he thought wasn’t available to anyone any more, and types out one last -- slightly more flirtatious subtext to put a cap on their conversation. To indicate he’s awaiting more, always wanting a little more of Dr. Spencer Reid.

He can blame it on the morphine, later. 

[]9/23, 19:25[] Looking forward to it.

--

(tbc...)

--

Tagged List:  @spencehotchner @ssa-sarahsunshine @gothamapologist @reidology @marsjareau @dragon-snaps-fandom​ @emmyraebird @just-an-emo-rat​​​ @aaron-hotchner187 @dk18077 @more-heid-pls @fakin-it-til-i-make-it @merpancake

[captainlilyuniverseworld]

Poached

Written for the @hannibalbingo​ and filling the square Business AU.

Title: Poached

Characters: Hannibal Lector, Will Graham, Beverly Katz, OC Male Character (offscreen)

Warnings: As this is an excerpt of what might be a longer thing none so far

Tags: Business AU, Restaurant Owner Hannibal, Bartender Will, 

Written For @hannibalbingo​

A/N: This is both my first square filled and my first official thought out Hannigram fic idea. Hope you all like it :)

Word Count: 1061

“Check this out.” 

A pair of binoculars were thrust in front of Will’s face the second he walked through the door and he shot Beverly a small glare, but took the binoculars.

“Notice anything different about the place across the street?” she asked. 

He leaned against the bar as he held the binoculars to his eyes and checked out the building across the street. They’d been keeping an eye on it since the FOR SALE sign had been taken out of the window two months ago and started a slow transformation. Into what apparently was a new restaurant. 

 La Dolce was written on the frosted window in black calligraphy with what looked like a fall display. He couldn’t tell much from the binoculars but it looked like the whole place had been gutted and refurbished. 

“There goes the neighborhood huh?” he set the binoculars on the bar top. “Have you actually been over there yet?” 

“No, but they’ve been taking things in since seven this morning,” she answered. “Haven’t been able to figure out what kind of restaurant it is though.” 

“Pricey,” Will snorted as he made his way behind the bar and poured himself a cup of coffee and picked up the inventory delivery list. “Where’s the Templeton? I ordered like three bottles. And Bombay? And the two cases of Vodka?” 

“You know Stu, cheap distributor’s means gapes in the delivery,” Beverly said. She picked up the box that had been sitting on the floor and set it on the counter. “I grabbed two bottles of the Templeton, and there’s a case of the vodka in my trunk.” 

“Bev…” 

“You bought last time.” 

“You notice how he’s always late on delivery days?” Will said as he took the bottles out of the box. “Like he knows we’re going to give him shit about it.” 

“We just have to stick out for two more years, then we can open our place,” she reminded him. 

“That’s if I don’t kill Stewart first, and we just run this place ourselves, though to be fair, we do run this place ourselves,” Will said. 

He absentmindedly picked up the binoculars to look at the former empty space, now restaurant across the street. It had been a craft store when they first moved in. It was going to be a coffee shop at one point, before it was an Army Recruitment Center for a hot second before it sat dormant for a year and a half. 

He leaned over the bar in interest as a sleek black Bentley pulled into an empty space in front of the restaurant and an older man stepped out of the car in a dark burgundy blazer, with a pair of slim fitting black slacks. He glanced over his shoulder and Will froze as their eyes seemingly met. 

He turned back towards the building after a beat and walked over to one of the men carrying furniture into the building. Will lowered the binoculars and looked at Beverly to see if she had witnessed the encounter, but she was busy counting the money in the register. 

“Bought the place sight unseen,” Freddie Lounds said when she came in later that evening. 

Freddie Lounds worked for Tattle Crime and made it her business to find things out, even it was something menial like who bought the place across the street. She sipped her Cosmo and glanced around the bar for the umpteenth time. 

“Looks like your boss might have a little competition,” she smirked. 

She shook her drink and Will rolled his eyes as he picked up the cocktail shaker and refilled her empty glass. He looked over as the bells of the door signaled the arrival of another customer and froze when he recognized the man who had stepped out of the Bentley. 

He took a seat at the bar, a few down from Freddie and picked up a menu. Up close Will could see a beige colored cardigan underneath the blazer. He was older, but he was handsome. His hair looked almost silver with bits of brown mixed in, and his eyes were a striking maroon color. 

“That’s him,” Freddie stage whispered. 

Will looked back at her. 

“He’s the owner of La Dolce, Doctor something,” she waved her hand dismissively. 

“Doctor Hannibal Lecter,” the man said as he set down the menu. “If you’re going to talk about someone, you should make sure they can’t hear you.” 

His accent wasn’t one Will had heard before. Something, deep European maybe. 

Freddie said nothing in response but pointedly looked at the TV on the wall, even though Will knew she had no interest in the game. 

Will made his feet move in the direction of the man and scratched the back of his neck awkwardly. 

“Knowing Freddie, she probably wanted you to hear her,” Will said as he leaned against the bar 

The man glanced at Freddie, she was still turned towards the TV but her head was tilted slightly in their direction. Will ignored her in favor of giving the man his full attention. 

“Would you like to come work for me?” the man asked. 

“I’m sorry?” Will wasn’t sure he had heard the man correctly. “Are...are you trying to poach me doctor?” 

“Hannibal, please,” he said, he smiled briefly. “And I suppose I am yes. Are you interested?” 

“We don’t even know each other,” Will pointed out. 

“I have been a few times. The bar was crowded and I believe I was served by the owner, but I was impressed by the way you handled your guests. I enjoyed your sleight of hand in which you watered down your shots if a guest pushed for your partaking in a drink with them,” the man, Hannibal, said. “And the way you took over when your boss took an unexpected break.” 

“I’m flattered?” Will didn’t know if he was a little creeped out, or impressed at how easily the man blended in so that Will didn’t notice him before. 

“I’m prepared to offer you the position of head bartender at my restaurant,” he told Will. “Twenty dollars an hour including any tips you make.” 

“Look, I’m...I’m really flattered,” Will started. 

“Please, think it over,” Hannibal said as he stood up. He reached into his blazer and pulled out a business card. 

Will took the business card and gave a small nod as he slipped it into his back pocket. “Yeah...I’ll uh, I’ll think about it.”

[josie-effortposts]

The Woman Who Fell to Earth

I stopped watching Doctor Who in 2013 after the 50th anniversary special. Up to then I was deeply obsessed by its reams of stories, hidden subspaces and detailed production histories. It wasn’t just entertainment, it was a case study in a massive shared universe, and a direct function of the times and places it had been written. 

It’s never been very controversial to anyone I know to dislike Moffat’s run of the show, and as it drew to a close everything that followed seemed pretty well-telegraphed: Chris Chibnall would become the head of the show, it wouldn’t be very good, reactionaries would blame bad writing on a female Doctor while plenty of others would just lost interest, the ratings would drop and the whole show would become less culturally relevant. It was a Cassandra truth.

But that said, I still wanted to try it. I watched a bit of the Twelfth Doctor and had mixed feelings, and when I watched the first episode of the Thirteenth I found myself taking notes on it. So, without a lot of structure, here are my thoughts.

1. New Who treats first episodes as very important, the first moments that we see new Doctors and their statements to the world. Call it a modern tradition - where “Robot” and “Time and the Rani” play the change for comedy before jumping into the week’s adventures, “The Christmas Invasion” and “The Eleventh Hour” are primarily statements of continuity. By Twelve’s first outing the villains themselves become metaphors for change, and now Thirteen delivers a brief speech about deciding to become different while paying respect to the past.

2. Speaking of that speech, I feel like there must have been an earlier draft that connected the plot to these metaphors a lot better. The villain of the story keeps pieces of his past triumphs with him at all times, but these trophies are body parts taken from the dead, and they disgust the Doctor. At least Twelve’s flesh robots were stumbling towards eternity.

The villain as a whole is just what you’d expect from a low-grade Doctor Who monster, I guess. He’s supposed to be on a hunt, which sounds really cool, but this consists entirely of him walking places and murdering random bystanders by touch. He’s not keeping the masquerade up or succeeding in his goals by doing this, and the rest of the story implies that he’s at least shrewd about getting what he wants. The Doctor’s complaints against him center on him being a cheat who can’t do the hunt fair and square and on his desecrating corpses, but she never seems very angry at him over murdering people. 

The idea of the Doctor stopping a proper hunt actually sounds interesting to me, especially as someone who sat through all of DWAD’s The Most Dangerous Game. There’s a lot of suspense in dealing with an intelligent, directed killer with a small number of targets, be it in Predator or Day of the Jackal, and a villain that stalks, hides or sets up ambushes could be easier on the budget. Or you could keep the villain the same but add a second member of his species to the setting and have them in competition, conflict on conflict. (That sounds like it’d make a good module for TIMELORD, actually...)

3. The Doctor feels simplified. I don’t mean the new personality of this incarnation, although I think the slight amnesia-until-climax is a bit forced. There’s just stuff that comes off wrong. For instance, things are outlawed in “every civilized galaxy” and the villains traveled from “five thousand galaxies away”. Despite ostensibly going anywhere and anywhen, the show’s always respected some species of distance, in that going far enough away or leaving the universe itself is a pretty big deal (especially since so much of it sticks to Earth). This line could’ve been any distance and nothing else would’ve changed, but it kills the idea of space - how can galaxies be civilized? It feels like the setting is shrinking - the word just sounds big and spacey, and this is the part where the Doctor says that something’s out of place, so big, spacey words go there.

This probably sounds nitpicky, but it feels lazy. Where Davies and Moffat both repeatedly made the Doctor or companions into the Most Important People in History, Chibnall seems to take it as read that the Doctor can just do stuff as the plot demands it. The climax involves her making a jump over a dangerous drop to the gasps of all assembled, but her first appearance is after an even longer fall where she breaks through the ceiling of a train car and isn’t even scratched. She "reformats” a phone into some kind of tracking gadget with six seconds of thumb typing and builds a new sonic screwdriver out of random scrap, which then solves basically every issue in the story. And, naturally, she can pinpoint things from a billion light-years away.

My favorite Moffat story is probably “The Eleventh Hour” because it presents the Doctor with a genuine challenge at his most vulnerable. If he had his regular tools handy then it would’ve been a much more straightforward Doctor Who story, but there’s no time to stop and build a new sonic screwdriver, because people are going to die by the time he’s finished. I wish more modern stories had that.

4. I can’t tell how I should feel about the side characters here. Not the companions, although it feels like Chibnall looked at RTD’s companions and thought “why not bring the entire family along?” There’s just this odd tension in characterization between comedy and drama for them, and without a very detailed soundtrack it’s hard to tell what emotions the script’s trying to go for.

One of the hunter’s victims has spent years trying to find his missing sister after another hunter abducting her. Instead of any resolution coming to that story he just gets murdered without ever knowing what happened to her and then the Doctor commandeers his workshop. (It’s even made clear that these human trophies are all still alive, just “in stasis”, so there’s no reason to think they couldn’t save her and presumably several others.) Meanwhile one of the main characters suffers a short fall and dies, taking up most of the final act with a funeral despite us hardly knowing her.

Other victims are worse. A man throws pieces of his salad at the monster for no discernible reason - he doesn’t even seem drunk, and then he dies as the hunter crushes that salad underfoot. A security officer gives a heartfelt goodbye to his family and tells them what a lucky granddad he is, then walks offscreen to be murdered. Neither of these scenes had to happen, and both together don’t even fill a minute of the runtime, so what was the motivation? The first is at least charmingly odd, but both of them feel like bizarre, extremely cheap set-pieces.

The soon-to-be-trophy himself listens to positive affirmations in a crane, then shouts them as he’s being chased. “I’m important! I matter!” The implication would seem to be that this is goofy behavior, and yet the things he shouts are in some ways the themes of the show. Is this self-critical deconstruction, unabashed humanism poorly delivered, a running gag?

5. The other half of a new Doctor, classic or modern, is this shedding of old things. Not always in terms of showrunners, but sometimes in attitudes or fans. The change from Six to Seven was motivated by a desire to change the tone of the show, for instance. Nowadays this is reflected a lot by the fandom - every Doctor has newcomers who jump back out because they don’t want their hero to be replaced, but the jump to Eleven confronted a lot of younger fans with this for the first time. Then Twelve culled some fans who couldn’t stand the Doctor being old and unkissable, and now Thirteen’s wiped out her own contingent of grognards who think the Doctor being a woman is a radical idea invented in the last three years.

That said, I’m not a fan yet. Some Doctors I don’t like as much for aspects of their characters, particularly Five, but Thirteen just doesn’t feel Doctorly. (To be clear, neither did Twelve.) I grew to enjoy Matt Smith’s performance where I thought I wouldn’t, and I’ve found a lot to like in every Doctor, but for some reason both of them still feel like actors playing the role to me, where Unbound Doctors and Mark Kalita have captured whatever the core is.

6. I feel like I’m getting old. So much of the beauty of Doctor Who just feels transparent now. After Moffat the maximalist decades of worldbuilding can never convincingly pretend to add up to a coherent universe and they can’t escape into the freedom of canon-indeterminacy any more than they already have. Even Big Finish, which I used to adore, feels strangled by a mandate to realize and box-set every possible combination of whatever actors they can summon from the show, no matter how many tedious hours they have to fill with cardboard characters and back-of-the-napkin monsters.

There’s no excitement in the adventure for me, because I know the route and the destination. And I don’t know if that’s Doctor Who being formulaic or disenchantment from seeing the patterns too much, or some personal lack of spark and imagination. I feel like there must be some drive I don’t have, one that would re-energize my own perspective in the face of concrete understanding, that would see it as a good thing that I understand another layer of what I enjoyed so much without sacrificing that enjoyment. But if it’s there, I just don’t see it.

But hey. While there’s life, there’s...

[fanforthefics]

Tyson and Gabe. Amnesia AU. (Maybe. Did you write one of these? I didn’t think so but the inception au may be close....)

Love a good amnesia AU! The synopsis of what I would write:

Gabe first hears about it when he gets a call from Marner, of all people.  He doesn’t really know Marner, or really like him as far as he knows him--which has nothing to do with how close he and Tyson have gotten, thank you very much--but he still picks up.  

Which is how he learns that Tyson hit his head in the game last night, and no there’s no brain damage he’s totally fine, except, well, it’s not a big deal, he’s just sort of, you know, forgotten. Some things. Like the last year. Which includes being traded. And also, Mitch adds, sort of uncomfortably, he’s asking for his boyfriend? By which he seems to mean you? 

So it takes a while, but Gabe gets out of Mitch that 1) Tyson has amnesia, 2) he’s forgotten being traded, and 3) he’s forgotten that they broke up. 

Gabe has to take a few deep breaths, but he gets out that he doesn’t see how it’s his business, anymore. Mitch gets even quieter, but then, he eventually gets out that the thing is, well, the doctors says they aren’t supposed to tell Tyson anything? That it’ll be better for him to recover on his own? And they already accidentally broke the trade thing and they aren’t supposed to do anything else big and a breakup is very big and it’s the Avs by week anyway so can’t he just...come up and hang out while Tyson recovers? Gabe’s ready to say no, for his own mental health, but then Mitch adds, “I know you guys broke up, but don’t you care about him at all?” and it sounds like a challenge and Gabe can’t say no. 

Which is how Gabe gets conned into spending his by week with his amnesiac ex-boyfriend who thinks they’re still together. 

It’s just as bad as it sounds. 

It’s not like they ended things because they hated each other now. They had even meant to stay together after the trade, had made plans about Skype dates and when to visit and everything. It just got--hard. it wasn’t like the summer, when they both had time to call; they were both busy all the time. And Tyson was working on making bonds with his new team, which Gabe got, but it meant less time for calls, for Gabe. And maybe Gabe didn’t handle it the best, watching Tyson be Tyson at people other than him, in articles and on social media, when Tyson wasn’t also there to bitch him out about being a dick and then slap him on the ass as they were making dinner. 

So, anyway--the long distance thing didn’t work. And they broke up. None of which meant Gabe didn’t care about Tyson anymore, or that seeing Tyson smile at him from the hospital bed, that big bright smile with just a hint of a tease in it, hit him any less hard. Or that he maybe didn’t get a bit choked up as Tyson started in on him for taking so long to get here, he could have died, Gabriel, and then the last thing Gabe would have said to him would have been--well, he didn’t remember, but he was sure it was mean and Gabe would have regretted it. 

Gabe takes Tyson back to his house. Gabe pretends that he’s been in Tyson’s house before, and that he’s not just guessing where things are as much as Tyson is. Gabe endures all of the Leafs’ suspicious looks at him when Tyson’s not around, like they think he’s going to fuck up and hurt Tyson. Fuck them all, Gabe thinks sulkily, he’s loved Tyson longer than any of them. Gabe puts off any sex or anything ostensibly because Tyson’s injured but really because that’s sketchy as hell and also it might kill him. It’s also killing him to play at domesticity with Tyson, like nothing ever happened, like they never died not with a bang but with a whimper (not even a real bang, Tyson had said, on something that was terribly unlike a laugh, because of fucking course Tyson was in Toronto). 

But the thing is--Tyson is not an idiot, and Tyson knows Gabe. Tyson can tell something is Up. Like, he gets Gabe wouldn’t want to fuck him when he’s injured, but Gabe doesn’t touch him any more than necessary. Gabe looks at him sometimes like he misses him, and Tyson’s not saying that it couldn’t be, like, Gabe missing the him with his memories, but it’s only been a year, and that’s coming back slowly. Tyson’s pretty sure he’s the same person. Something else is happening, something that clearly fucked Gabe up, and Tyson’s not going to just let that go. 

So he starts to push, because that’s what he does. He pushes, bit by bit, an experiment in what Gabe’ll let him, and Gabe battles every moment with his better self not just to give in to what Tyson wants. 

The by week ends. Tyson’s memory is still patchy, but the doctors say there’s nothing more that they can do, so he goes back to practice. And then there’s nothing more for Gabe to do, so he goes home. 

But--Tyson still hasn’t remembered, and Gabe just...doesn’t tell him. It’d still be bad for Tyson, Gabe tells himself. He can’t tell. (Nate sideeyes the shit out of him for that, but he falls into line because he doesn’t want to mess with Tyson’s brain).  So for the first real time, they do the long distance thing. 

And it’s...easier, this time. It’s working. Gabe’s not as weird about it, when Tyson’s calling him more; he can handle it more, when Tyson’s calling more, putting in the effort. Still no sex, which is requiring more and more creative excuses from Gabe (and a lot more jerking off from him), but--it’s good. 

Until Tyson starts getting weird. Or weirder, anyway. He starts pushing more, and a little less in his usual tease and more in something that looks like how he gets on the ice, hard and determined. His teasing starts getting more pointed too, dancing around Gabe’s jealousy and his occasional neediness and how he reacts when he’s insecure. 

It takes Gabe a while, but finally, one day when they’re playing each other or something so they’re in the same place, and he can finally actually see all of Tyson, Tyson says something or makes a face or reacts, and it it clicks. 

“You remember!” Gabe accuses him, and Tyson throws his hands up. 

“Of course I fucking remember,” he snaps backs, “No thanks to you!” 

Because Tyson remembers, and--it explained way more than it doesn’t, but...Tyson doesn’t get mad often, but he gets mad at this. He gets the first bit, when he was brain-damaged and confused and everyone was treating him with kid gloves, but now Gabe just like decided to gaslight him into still acting like Gabe was his boyfriend and was probably laughing at him all the time for it, poor pathetic Tyson who was still hung up on his ex. Clearly the only way to deal with it was to gaslight him back. 

(Offscreen, Nate: I really don’t think that’s the best way to handle this. 

Tyson: No, that’s definitely the only option.)

So they fight, and it circles around to Gabe, angry and hurt and missing what they had already, admitting on mostly a yell, that he didn’t tell Tyson because, “It let me pretend you still loved me!” 

That takes the winds out of Tyson’s sails, and it gets them to talk. Finally. About the break up, and what caused it--about what a bad place Tyson had been in, how fucked he was over the trade and the move, and how maybe he had taken that out on Gabe, how he had retreated because he couldn’t handle it. About how maybe Gabe hadn’t been as vocal as he should have been about how badly he was taking the trade and the move and the long distance and, most of all, Tyson retreating. About how bad it was for them when they were far away and Gabe couldn’t bully Tyson into actually talking about his feelings and Tyson couldn’t really believe Gabe’s comfort. About Gabe’s jealousy, and Tyson’s carelessness with it, and how it had grown. About all the little things they’d let balloon until they ended here. 

And then: “But it’s been good, right?” Tyson asks, sounding small. “What we’ve been doing?” 

And the thing is, the thing Gabe had been holding onto too hard is: it has been. It’s been good. It’s worked. So he agrees, and then--Tyson’s looking at him, with that hint of a smile on his face, half a dare and half a question, and sometimes Gabe thinks he’s never not been in love with him. He definitely didn’t get over him. So, “Yeah,” he agrees, to the thing Tyson isn’t asking, “This time could be different.” 

“Good,” Tyson tells him, and that inserts himself onto Gabe’s lap, “Because you’ve been very nobly not having sex with me but it’s been giving me the biggest case of blue balls so you owe me like, 6 months of fucking.” 

“Right now?” Gabe asks dryly, like he’s not grabbing Tyson’s ass, because it’s been even harder on him, he remembered the time apart. “Can you even handle that?” 

“Can you?” Tyson retorts, but the rest of his retort is swallowed by Gabe finally, finally, kissing him again. 

(It’s not 6 months worth of sex, that night, but it’s a lot of pent up energy they’ve both been carrying). 

They still need to talk more--about the time apart, about what happened, about how to handle the long distance. But the last scene is them on the phone, after a game, and Gabe lies back and listens to Tyson talk about the shit he and Ralphie have been getting up to with various Leafs, and he closes his eyes and it’s almost like Tyson’s there, and--it’s good. It’ll keep being good. 

[sparrowsabre7]

Used a guide, because life is short and this game is long. So I'm meant to talk to Fragile by selecting Fragile jump in my room. I guess that makes sense but given it's only ever been for fast travel not sure how I would have worked that out as a method of communicating, or that Fragile could put you into a beach.

It's quite a nice story beat, that Fragile can't jump to Amelie as previously explained, but she can jump to Sam and Sam can get to Amelie through the things that bind each of them like knots on a strand. It may be a little on the nose but it still works, as does perhaps the first moment of consensual touch Sam allows in the game, after Fragile quietly says "I'll have to touch you" and he silently accepts. For all his weird sexualisation of some scenarios and badly worded dialogue, Kojima can still sell emotional beats when he needs to.

On the beach at last; ok, Higgs is Darth Vader now and has force powers. He creates a BT spiderweb and sets Amelie at the centre before a fourth wall breaking monologue about stick vs rope and one last boss fight: no items, final destination, Fox only.

It's Strandin' Time!

Ok this kind of... blows. It's a stealth segment where he can find out where you are almost instantly. Why the fuck wouldn't you take any weapons Sam? It's really hard to break line of sight. I know I need to throw the boxes to distract him but it's not working. Did manage to yeet one right in his dumb fucking face though. Didn't see that coming Mr. God Particle.

Ah fuck this; LEEROOOOOY mmJENKINS!! Decked the shit out of him then pivoted to bind and then kick the shit out of him some more. God, that's satisfying.

After a few rounds of that, "I don't need a gun Sam". Brave of you to say half way through the fight dickwad. Come at me.

When you were partying, I studied the strand. When you were learning how to control BTs, I mastered the parry mechanic. While you wasted your days at the gym in pursuit of vanity, I cultivated inner strength. And now that the world is on fire and the barbarians are at the gate you have the audacity to come to me for a boss fight and expect victory. Welcome to dirt, punk.

Oh, and apparently you don't need a gun but do need grenades. You're a real honourable warrior, Higgs. Truly the last of the samurai.

Kicked out a Snake-like "Aaaaaah" from him and it's over.

No. Wait. Round 3. "We got DOOMS, Sam! This was only ever gonna end one way." Ok, I... I don't know what that means but now we're in Tekken apparently. Health bars above our heads and everything. Oh no, it's Mortal Kombat, with the slow mo jaw break.

This...

This is kind of a shitty end to a boss fight... I'm literally hammering attack and winning it's just so incongruous with the rest of the game, should have left it at stage 2.

It's got dramatic music like it's meant to be the Snake and Liquid fight in MGS4 but I have no emotional connection to Higgs, in-game or out. He's just kind of a shithead, there's no brotherly bond here and he's not been established enough.

Ah multiple headbutts finisher. It is literally trying to be that MGS4 fight.

I know this isn't the end since Cliff's thing is still unresolved, but it is definitely trying hard to feel that way.

Oh shut the fuck up Higgs, stop with your "you won but still lost" bullshit. Fragile, kill the fuck out of him, please. Ugh, don't repeat I'm not that Fragile like it's your catchphrase.

Ha! Fuck you Higgs! Run out of BT juice. Oh... was that it? One punch. Also, don't just repeat "You're damaged goods" back to him like you're in a Joss Whedon film and that's an adequate comeback. Wow after a strong start this not-finale has been super anti-climactic.

Oh nope,she is going to shoot him. But offscreen. Fragile managed to bring Lou over too, nice. "Where should I take you?" Fragile asks, before Amelie butts in with "He doesn't need you, he's got me." Alright, calm down. Jealous much. But Sam is like "yeah you should go." Glad Fragile at least calls them both out on it.

Ok, so now Amelie says she could have left at any time basically, but did it to force Sam to connect the Chiral network.

And now we're "Mario and Princess Beach" running back home.

And now everything has gone insane. Now Bridget is here but maybe she's also Amelie and Die-Hardman is here to kill Bridget for fucking the world up and now Cliff is here and he knows Die-Hardman (who's real name is John) and Bridget is sending him after Sam but now she's Amelie again and behind Sam and tells him to run by pushing him in the sea, causing him to repatriate but in the repatriation sequence it's not BB inside Sam but one of those horrid dolls.

What the FUCK.

Ok and now I'm back in my room and Deadman tells me Amelie ported me here and then checked out to "finish what Bridget started" which I'm guessing may still mean blow up the world or the beach or something. Christ it has got very dense very quickly.

"We've been operating on the assumption, Higgs was controlling Cliff"; have we? News to me, I always assumed they were two separate antagonists given the Battlefield was entirely separate from Higgs' brand of goopy nonsense. So now Cliff has Amelie AND Die-Hardman on the beach. Great so things have gotten worse. Now Fragile can't port me to the beach either because reasons.

So I have to walk all the way back East all the fucking way because she transported all the secondary characters before me.

Thanks a fucking lot. This has been a real kick me while I'm down moment.

At least I don't need to carry anything there save protection and climbing gear. Hope I can at least drive some of it.

Ooh more flashback time. Looks like Bridget was intending to use BB as a sacrifice to build the UCA, unclear if by causing the Death Stranding or somehow starting the Chiral network.

Anyway now I'm walking these 6k or whatever back to Lake Knot. Some zipline help but one asshole put the zipline where the dismount is off a cliff. Sam echoes this though with a "nice zipline, asshole".

I also have no equipment, so stopping off at the paleontologist to gear up. Nice, a free bike too. Everything's coming up Bridges.

Oh fuck off Deadman, I don't want a Cliff notes session (pun intended), especially when you're just restating a bunch of theories. So Cliff wants BB to b whole, yep already gathered, the battlefield is tied to him due to his anger dragging his hellscape through with him. Sure, cool, can I get back to my drive now?

Oh come on... BTs can now spawn as catchers immediately, don't even need to grab you. Fuck this, I'm running. Sorry purple bike!

Jesus fucking christ Deadman, fuck OFF. Blah blah secret BB experiements were to make BT detectors but actually they were designed to make the Chiral network like I thought.

Oh.

They made the network by building all the cities with a BB integrated into each one.

Jesus Fucking Christ, I didn't see that coming...

That's some heavy shit man. This is that episode of Doctor Who with the space whale heavy.

While I ponder that horrific choice I'll inevitably have to make I am enjoying coming back and seeing how much bigger the highways have gotten in my absence. It's so fun to boost down them on a trike.

Another call from Deadman. Cliff put his BB in the care of the scientists but didn't know they were going to use the BB for the Chiral network, I assume he thought the experiments were benign per the lie told. Deadman says he's unsure how he was able to arrive on Bridget's beach and that there must be more to their connection so I'm going to go ahead and guess, he's Sam's father as well as the BB's, or he's a sibling of Bridget.

Fucking hell, another call from Deadman. Jesus give it a rest. No apparent connection between Die-Hardman and Bridget because his past has all been redacted, also suggested that Die-Hardman had no connection with Amelie/Bridget and that it's DH connection to Cliff that allowed him access to Bridget/Amelie's beach. God my head hurts.

Heartman's saying that the beaches are beginning to merge into a single seam, aside from the battlefield and Heartman's beaches. Amelie may have some kind of super bridge that controls all beaches which further my theory that she was BB patient zero.

Oh boy, big ol' Chiral storm, looks like it's battlefield time.

Flashback time, Cliff gives a sad speech about being a father and it looks like Die-Hardman killed Cliff under Bridget's orders.

Ok we're in Vietnam now and Cliff's wearing DH's mask. Comparatively this opener is less badass than the WWI and II battlefields but only in comparison. In any other games this would be a ridiculously cool moment. The arena itself excels as always, still not sure I could pick a favourite. Vietnam feels more linear but the mix of violent explosions, fire and oppressive silence and darkness work so well together.

Ok, I was wrong, actually reaching Cliff gives a supremely cool scene of Cliff and co marching through a lake of fire.

Another intense game of cat and mouse later and Cliff is finally down.

It's actually a really nice moment of emotional catharsis. Cliff begins to whistle a tune to BB and Sam completes it. It's not a big shock reveal, just a quiet mutual realisation that Cliff is Sam's father. They embrace and then a gunshot is heard and Cliff disappears, having first transitioned from combat gear to a suit, I hope implying his becoming whole and at peace. Despite minimal development until this past hour of exposition, Cliff has been a much more successful antagonist compared with Higgs.

Another flashback, DH is saying that Cliff should escape with his BB, but he will be forced to carry out any orders Bridget gives, hence the previous flashback. Seems DH was one of Cliff's soldiers. Still unclear if the woman lying on the bed, who is Cliff's wife, is the same person as Bridget. It's deliberately vague and when Bridget approached the BB in a previous scene her face was covered with DH'S mask.

Oh... Sam seems to think Cliff is Lou's father but that very much wasn't my take away from that scene. Deadman comes along with a recording of DH, says that Amelie left a message for him to get to the beach with one of Cliff's dolls. He knows it's a trap but plays along anyway and says Amelie also has no recorded past and made the point no one's ever met her in person. Seems to point to the fact that she may only exist on the beach.

DH says that her soul remained on the beach while her body deteriorated in the real world, but with high DOOMs abilities. She could then travel to the beach body and soul by the time she was 20 and the president said never contact Amelie except by hologram, but once the Chiral network was up and running DH checked the old records:

Bridget had uterine cancer in her 20s and never had children, yet Amelie is the spit of a younger Bridget, so... what's the connection?

Ok, now Fragile's here, and says Amelie was behind Higgs, she led the Demens and he abandoned Fragile when Amelie showed up, began the extinction initiative. She could control BTs and she was the one who turned Higgs into Homo Demens, able to command BTs at will. There was no BB in Higgs' chest pack either, only another of the dolls Cliff had.

But if that's all true, then why did she not just trigger the death stranding when Sam competed the network? Why did she need Sam to kill Higgs?

Another chapter closes but I feel we've still got a ways to go.

[nitewrighter]

I really like your fic "A Second Opinion", I hope you're going to continue it!

Why not now?

Previous Chapters: 1, 2, 3

----

“And you’re sure about this guy?” said McCree.

“For the 23rd time, yes,” said Hanzo, irritated as the door slid open to Athena’s secondary terminal near the Watchpoint training area.

“Agents, you must understand I’m diverting  much of my processing power towards logistics with Winston and Lynx Seventeen,” said Athena as soon as they walked in.

“We know, Athena,” said McCree, pulling out the swivel chair and allowing Hanzo to sit down, “But you’re still able to run the comms systems, right?”

“Of course,” said Athena.

“I’m going to need you to open a new comm channel,” said Hanzo, tapping away at Athena’s keyboard, “Identification numerals 11--”

“You do not yet have clearance to open new comm channels,” Athena said automatically and Hanzo’s brow furrowed. He looked at McCree.

“I think we should think about--” McCree started but Genji stepped forward.

“Agent override,” said Genji, “Vocal confirmation: Shimada, Genji. Granting temporary overrides to probationary agent Shimada Hanzo to open new comm channels.”

“Override recognized,” said Athena, “Probationary Agent Shimada Hanzo?”

Hanzo drew in a steady breath and began typing at the keyboard again, “Identification numerals 111801110514.”

“Identification numerals accepted,” said Athena, “Would you like me to hail?”

“Yes,” said Hanzo.

“Comm or Vid-Com?” said Athena.

“...Vid-Com is available?” said Hanzo.

“Yes,” said Athena.

“Vid-Com,” said Hanzo.

“What difference does it make?” said McCree.

“We should,” Hanzo cleared his throat, “We should have visual clarification.”

McCree’s brow crinkled with skepticism but Genji just leaned forward and pressed a key on Athena’s keyboard.

“Hailing Comm ID 111801110514,” said Athena.

“Genji!” McCree said with irritation, “We need to think this through!”

“Angela doesn’t have time for us to ‘think this through!’” Genji snapped back.

“Connecting,” said Athena, “Connecting...”

Athena’s screen blipped to a blurred environment and several chimes sounded.

“Hailing,” said Athena, “Hailing.”

Something muttered and distorted sounded over Athena’s speakers and the screen unblurred to reveal a man in dim light in what appeared to be the bridge of a luxury yacht. A handsome man plopped into the captain’s seat, clearly exhausted and rubbing his eyes.

“This is Josué Dosou--head of staff for Vernand Sainclair’s yacht crew, currently reporting from The Sainclair...Vernand is not available at the mom--”

“Baptiste?” said Hanzo.

“Hanzo?” Baptiste’s eyes suddenly lit up and he slapped his hands on the dashboard of the yacht, “Hanzo! It is you!” His eyes instantly flicked to McCree and Genji on either side of Hanzo. “...is it safe to talk? Who are your friends?”

Hanzo cleared his throat, motioning to both McCree and Genji as he spoke. “Baptiste, this is Jesse McCree of Overwatch, and my brother, Genji.”

“Genji!?” a smile split across Baptiste’s face, “I’ve heard so much about you!” Baptiste seemed to catch himself and his eyes flicked to Hanzo briefly before flicking back to Genji, “Good things!” Baptiste saw fit to clarify.

McCree and Genji exchanged glances as Hanzo cleared his throat.

“As much as I would like this to just be a call to catch up, my friend, I’m afraid I’m contacting you regarding a very serious matter,” said Hanzo.

“Well, I did say if you ever needed a helping hand...” Baptiste started and a quiet smile crossed Hanzo’s face. McCree looked from Baptiste on the screen, to Hanzo, back to Baptiste, back to Hanzo, then finally to Genji. Upon making eye contact, Genji just shrugged.

“An ally of ours,” Hanzo continued, “Angela Ziegler, has been captured by Talon.”

Baptiste’s face suddenly dropped from its jovial expression. “Talon took Doctor Ziegler?” he repeated quietly.

“It’s of utmost importance that we get her back as quickly as possible,” said Genji, leaning into the call.

“No-no--I mean, yes, I understand completely,” said Baptiste, “If Doctor Ziegler has been taken, that means---” A bell could be heard ringing and Baptiste suddenly sprang to his feet, “Excuse me one moment,” he said, getting up and rushing offscreen. The ringing sound stopped and Baptiste could be heard grunting in the background.

“Baptiste?” said Hanzo, leaning into Athena’s microphone. There was only grunting on the other side. Hanzo cleared his throat and dropped his voice slightly, leaning into the microphone again, “Jean?” he said.

“I can hear you! I’m still listening!” Baptiste yelled from offscreen.

“Is... everything all right?” said Hanzo.

“Everything’s fine! Keep going about Doctor Ziegler!” Baptiste yelled from offscreen.

Genji cleared his throat. “Doctor Ziegler had been spending the past three days at a medical conference in Malta. About 5 hours ago, she was taken from the bar at the Hotel Eupheme. We don’t have any audio, but we do have video.” Genji hit a few keys on Athena’s keyboard and sent over the silent footage of Mercy and an enormous man with a white streak in his massive mane of black hair at a hotel bar.

“Give me a second!” Baptiste called again from offscreen.

“I’ll just... set it on ‘replay’ said Genji, tapping a few more things onto Athena’s keyboard.

“...loving this contact so far,” said McCree flatly.

“He’s an ally you’d want on your side,” said Hanzo, giving a sharp look to McCree.

“Sure. Ex-Talon. I’m itching for it,” said McCree with an eye-roll.

“Ahh... sorry about that,” said Baptiste, coming back into the view of the screen, a large dentex under one arm, still flapping slightly.

“Is that--” McCree stammered, “Were you just fishing?!”

“Man cannot live on Sainclair’s mini-bar alone, my friend,” said Baptiste, pulling a cooler out from beneath the yacht’s dashboard and stuffing the fish into it, “But now that I have the next few nights’ dinner secured, I’m more than happy to help with--Mauga!?” his eyes practically bulged and he looked back at Hanzo as if the video footage Genji had sent him couldn’t be real.

“So it is Mauga,” said Hanzo, thoughtfully, “I thought he matched your descriptions of him, but---”

“Wait, you know this guy’s name?!” said McCree, looking at Hanzo.

“I wasn’t sure,” said Hanzo, swiveling his chair in McCree’s direction, “And furthermore, I only had audio on your meeting with Jack. This is the first I’m seeing of him as well.”

“Oh I’m so sorry you couldn’t bug our conference room better,” said McCree with an eye roll before turning back to Baptiste on the screen, “So who the hell’s Mogwai?”

“Mogwai is a band. Or a gremlin. Mauga is an old coworker,” said Baptiste, “Really not someone you want to mess with.”

“Really? I thought he looked like 7 feet and three inches of fun,” McCree muttered under his breath.

Baptiste stared at the screen, apparently studying the replaying footage of Mercy leaving with Mauga. “Talon had to have had the hotel locked down,” Baptiste said, apparently mostly to himself, “Mauga knows how to throw his weight around, but from my own experiences with Doctor Ziegler, not even he could get her to a second location just through intimidation. A lockdown of that level couldn’t be Talon’s long-distance drop teams. It would have to be local--they probably only took her to a facility a few hours away.”

“You worked with Ang--with Doctor Ziegler?” said Genji.

“Only for about a week, in Venezuela. She leaves an impression though,” said Baptiste.

“You worked with Mercy and Talon?” said McCree, leaning into the screen.

“McCree,” Hanzo hissed under his breath indignantly, but McCree kept up his glare at Baptiste.

“I had defected from Talon well before meeting Doctor Ziegler,” said Baptiste, “But as I was saying, the facility they took her to would likely still be in the mediterranean--You said she was taken from Malta, right? And if they didn’t knock her out, that means they needed her medical know-how, rather than just striking a blow to Overwatch, which means they’ll be keeping her at a Talon facility with well-equipped labs. My money’s on Venice--highest possible security with all the administration there.”

Genji gave a somewhat impressed look over to McCree but McCree just shook his head. “We already knew that,” said McCree, leaning into the screen, “How can you help?”

“Aside from pretty much having all Talon attack strategies and logistics memorized?” said Baptiste, leaning back in his seat, “I’m a full-fledged combat medic and on top of that, a pretty good shot. And I want Doctor Ziegler safe just as much as you do. For what it’s worth... I really wanted to join Overwatch when I was a kid.”

“If you can help us---” Genji started.

“Hold up hold up hold up,” said McCree, before looking at the Shimada brothers, “Sidebar?”

“Baptiste, I apologize---” Hanzo started.

“No, no, it’s fine,” said Baptiste with a wave.

“Athena, mute audio,” said McCree and a small crossed out mic icon appeared in the corner of their screen.

“We’re rushing into this way too fast,” said McCree.

“I assure you, no one wants to take down Talon more than Baptiste,” said Hanzo.

“And how do you know that, exactly?” said McCree, “And if Genji hadn’t rushed in, I would have asked this question earlier, but how the hell do you have this contact?”

Hanzo’s lips thinned thoughtfully and he cleared his throat. “Technically we had known each other only briefly while he was still in Talon,” said Hanzo.

“...I’m sorry, what?” said McCree.

“It--it was negligible,” said Hanzo, “A few words exchanged. Little more. I knew he was a good man back then--even if at the time our father decided against an alliance with Talon.”

Genji’s visor suddenly brightened. “I thought he looked familiar!” said Genji, excitedly, “The estate security had to practically drag you off--”

Hanzo cleared his throat sharply and Genji gave a short glance to McCree and a nervous chuckle. “I--mean---” Genji just looked at Hanzo, “Go on.”

One corner of McCree’s mouth twisted up in a grimace. At this point, he was used to drawn out and dramatic stories where Hanzo was involved, but now he had a pretty strong idea of where the story was going.

“We wouldn’t meet again until a few years later,” said Hanzo, “It was shortly after Genji confronted me at Hanamura castle and said we must take a side. I am not proud to say I decided to flee as far from Hanamura as I could. I decided to run from the decision. And in my flight I found myself in the Caribbean, and then...I met Baptiste... again. Through a whole... mess of circumstances, we found ourselves fighting against a Talon incursion in San Pedro de Macoris. He is---His fighting style is unparalleled.”

They fucked, the thought came to McCree as a knee-jerk reaction but it was all he could do to stuff it down and fold his arms. Hanzo was withholding too many details, too many exchanges between himself and Baptiste for that not to be the case. But he didn’t care--at least he told himself that--and anyway if Hanzo was emotionally compromised that just undermined Baptiste’s whole presence in this mess, didn’t it? 

“Well that’s a vote of confidence,” said Genji, looking at McCree, but McCree was now avoiding eye contact with both of them, itching beneath the brim of his hat.

“...I don’t believe I would be here without Baptiste,” said Hanzo, “I knew there were two sides, that conflict was unavoidable, but my time with Baptiste showed me that I could not flee in grief forever. That eventually... I would have to take action.” Hanzo drew in a steady breath, “I know I do not have your trust. But I would have you trust Baptiste before you trusted me. That is his strength of character.” 

“I trust you,” said Genji, putting a hand on Hanzo’s shoulder.

“He killed you,” said McCree, flatly.

“I trust you,” Genji said insistently, giving Hanzo’s shoulder a squeeze.

“Genji, you don’t trust him, you’re just terrified of losing the Doc,” said McCree.

“I can do both,” said Genji, his shoulders bunching up.

McCree huffed.

“It’s a two to one vote,” said Genji.

“Hanzo’s status is probationary. It’s one to one. And if I bring Ana in here you can bet we’ll actually be involving the vetting process for this Baptiste guy.”

“I thought you believed in redemption!” Genji snapped.

“I do!” McCree said on reflex.

“Then why is it so hard to believe Baptiste might share our cause? That Baptiste might want to help Angela?” said Genji.

“I--It’s--I--” McCree tried not to look at Hanzo as he stammered. He inhaled sharply through his teeth. “Fine! Fine! Let’s bring in Ex-Talon-Look-At-My-Fish guy! Don’t come crying to me when it blows up in our faces!”

“I assure you, you’re making the right decision,” said Hanzo.

“Yeah,” said McCree, not making eye contact with Hanzo, “Yeah let’s hope so.” He looked back at Hanzo and Genji. “So... unmute?”

Hanzo and Genji gave a simultaneous nod and McCree said, “Athena, unmute.”

The crossed out mic icon in the left corner of the screen disappeared.

“Baptiste, you still there?” said McCree.

Baptiste glanced up, slightly startled and in the midst of cleaning the dentrex he had caught and pouring the guts into his bait bucket. “Hm? Oh-” He nearly fumbled with the fish, then smacked it against the bait bucket a few more times before throwing the fish into the cooler again and setting the bait bucket aside. “Yes. Yes, I’m listening.”

“What are your current coordinates?”

“I can calculate that, with his permission or your override,” said Athena.

“That’s really not--” Baptiste started.

“35°34'24.8″ North, 15°52'07.8″ West,” said Athena, projecting the map on a picture in picture.

“...you’re in sneezing distance of Gibraltar,” said McCree.

“You mean this stupid party boat actually made it across the Atlantic?” said Baptiste incredulously.

“With Agent Vaswani’s help, we are theoretically capable of opening up a teleporter at his coordinates without compromising our satellites,” said Athena.

“Huh,” said McCree, before looking back at Baptiste, “You said you wanted to join Overwatch, right?”

“Yes...” said Baptiste, hesitantly

“So how soon is good for you?”

“Well that depends---”

“Five minutes enough?”

“What?” said Baptiste.

[mittensmorgul]

Faith on the tnt loop (which, full disclosure, I slept through oopsie, so I pulled out the blu ray because this is NOT one I can skip).

Post 14.20, this episode is... extra-amazing, honestly. I’ve always felt that this episode was unwittingly (possibly, at the time it was written) a window into what this story could potentially do. When I first binged this series, this was the first episode I finished where I had to stop and completely reevaluate what I was actually witnessing. This was the episode that took me from casually consuming a fun lil monster show to 100% invested in this grand narrative. Even without any knowledge of what the ensuing 6 1/2 season (that existed at the time), I felt like I had my first glimpse of a much bigger picture in store for me. This was the first episode that, after a break to absorb what I’d just witnessed, I went back and immediately watched it again. Turns out I wasn’t reading too much into it... in fact, I wasn’t reading nearly enough into it...

The episode begins with Sam and Dean hunting a monster that we’ve only ever seen once more in the entirety of canon-- a rawhead, which earned a mention in 14.01 after an off-screen hunt for one went wrong enough to have left a tooth behind in one of the AU hunters. As if the monster in this case has been rendered doubly irrelevant, by virtue of the fact it practically dies offscreen in 1.12 while Dean's defeat of it and his own actions and choices in defeating it are the actual inciting incident of all the relevant action to follow. And in 14.01, all that remains of the rawahead was a tooth that's extracted from a wound and likely a wild hunter's tale.

Dean explains the use of the tasers they're using to take down the rawhead (specifically that the electricity is deadly to it and each weapon is one use only, "so make it count"). Dean takes his shot, and misses, but they find the children the rawhead had been holding captive. Dean tells Sam to take them outside to safety, and Sam hands over his taser to Dean, leaving Dean alone to face the monster (who we learn in 14.01 moves a lot faster than expected, and fast enough that we never even really see it in 1.12). Dean is literally backed into a corner, on the ground in a puddle of water, with the monster looming over him when he chooses to take his shot. It's not like he had much choice, right? So he shoots, and thanks to the water he's lying in, he electrocutes himself as well, damaging his own heart to the point where the doctor gives him a month to live.

He could've made a different choice, could've rolled out of the water, could've tried to fight off the rawhead (probably ineffectively) but perhaps enough that it would've given up and escaped to hunt children another day, but Dean took his shot, in a circumstance where he felt it was the right thing to end this monster and prevent it from hurting anyone ever again, even when it hurt him in the process. Not that he knew it would necessarily kill him to do it, but he was fully aware of the power of the weapon in his hand and what it was capable of, and accepted that it would hurt him right along with the monster he'd aimed it at since they were “connected” through the puddle of water.

Can anyone else say Hammurabi? Equalizer?

All of this has happened before.

But that's just the beginning. Because Dean survived, even if mortally wounded. This was the first time, though, that they were motivated to defy death, and that brings us to the true Monster of the Week-- Sue Ann LeGrange. Yes, I know it's technically "a reaper," but operating under Sue Ann's control and on her orders. She was the one who chose who lived and who died, based on who SHE thought was worthy, or unworthy in the case of her chosen victims. She was "playing god," deceiving her husband after saving HIS life with this dark magic (which required at least TWO sacrifices on her part-- one to make the altar and talisman to bind the reaper in the first place, and one person to die to save Roy, unbeknownst to him), and letting him think that he was miraculously granted the gift of healing by God.

And Sam decides to look for a similar sort of miraculous cure for Dean, even when Dean had accepted his own apparent fate:

DEAN: Look, Sammy, what can I say, man, it's a dangerous gig. I drew the short straw. That's it, end of story. SAM: Don't talk like that, alright? We still have options. DEAN: What options? Yeah, burial or cremation. And I know it's not easy. But I'm gonna die. And you can't stop it. SAM: Watch me.

Sam isn't about to go committing human sacrifice like Sue Ann, but after a tearful phone call plea to John for help, which goes unreplied to, Sam takes matters into his own hands, just as Dean checks himself out of the hospital having accepted his fate:

SAM: You know, this whole I-laugh-in-the-face-of-death thing? It's crap. I can see right through it. DEAN: Yeah, whatever, dude. Have you even slept? You look worse than me. SAM: (Helping DEAN to a chair) I've been scouring the Internet for the last three days. Calling every contact in Dad's journal. DEAN: For what? SAM: For a way to help you. One of Dad's friends, Joshua, he called me back. Told me about a guy in Nebraska. A specialist. DEAN: You're not gonna let me die in peace, are you? SAM: I'm not gonna let you die, period. We're going.

(aside to lol at John’s friend being named “Joshua,” namesake of the one angel God continued to talk to after supposedly abandoning Heaven and Earth, the angel who told Sam and dean in 5.16 that God refused to step in to help stop the apocalypse, and the angel killed in 12.19 by Dagon before fetus!Jack hijacked Cas to kill Dagon in turn... and even after his death it was Joshua’s amulet in 14.17 that enabled him to summon Chuck back into the story... funny that this hunter we never hear about again was the one to point Sam in the direction of this healer...)

And I'm sorry to just keep pasting in chunks of transcript, but this all goes to Sam and Dean's respective outlooks on pretty much everything, and the Grand Manipulation of Chuck in the entire narrative as we now understand it post 14.20:

DEAN: I mean, come on, Sam, a faith healer? SAM: Maybe it's time to have a little faith, Dean. DEAN: You know what I've got faith in? Reality. Knowing what's really going on. SAM: How can you be a skeptic? With the things we see everyday? DEAN: Exactly. We see them, we know there real. SAM: But if you know evil's out there, how can you not believe good's out there, too? DEAN: Because I've seen what evil does to good people.

Sam has faith, Dean's a skeptic. Throughout s14 we saw what it would take to break Dean to the point where he would accept the word of God without question. It literally took the entire season, more than half of it revolving around his possession and complete loss of free will and self, building him up when Michael left him again and giving him a false sense of security to begin to feel comfortable building emotional bridges to his entire family (including Jack), only to tear it all down and lose himself to Michael again on a whim, losing Mary again, losing Jack to soullessness because of his own failed choices (in his estimation, at least). This process of showing Dean how little power and control he has over his own existence was furthered by Billie presenting him with the supposed singular solution to save the world, which Dean interpreted to mean the most horrifying iteration of self-sacrifice the show has ever presented to us-- an eternity spent at the bottom of the ocean, locked with Michael in the Ma'lak box. Ironically, just as he was beginning to think of himself as something more than just a weapon, the parallel can't help but be drawn to the First Blade, which Cain had thrown to the bottom of the ocean in a similar fashion. Which should only serve to remind us that even that's not a permanent solution to any problem. And I think THAT was the lesson Billie truly wished Dean to understand. Jack is the one who ends up making the true sacrifice (his own human soul) to kill Michael once and for all, and Dean is left with the guilt of that.

But several other important incidents in s14 tie directly back to this, too. 14.08, playing with life and death, learning about what truly matters in someone's destiny after death, and what the Winchesters are willing to do to save a loved one. Ironically, in the process, Cas is backed into a corner, making a deal with the Empty Entity for his own happiness in exchange for Jack's soul.

Nothing ever comes for free. The Winchesters have been juggling these horrific choices and sacrifices their entire lives, and nothing is ever just as simple as an uncomplicated win.

Which is a key element of 1.12. Dean's skepticism, his feeling of "wrongness" after being healed by Roy, uncovers the larger truth. Sam desperately wants Dean to just let it go, accept it as a miracle, and move on:

SAM: Look, Dean, do we really have to look this one in the mouth? Why can't we just be thankful that the guy saved your life and move on? DEAN: Because I can't shake this feeling, that's why.

A miracle isn't enough for Dean, and the truth is darker and more horrifying than Sam can accept. As he uncovers more and more of the facts of just how Roy is supposedly healing people, he tearfully apologizes to Dean, and they work together to find a way to stop it from happening again. Someone is controlling a reaper, literally trading one life for another. Chuck must've LOVED this episode of his favorite show. It nails all his favorite themes:

DEAN: You never should've brought me here. SAM: Dean, I was just trying to save your life. DEAN: But, Sam, some guy is dead now because of me. SAM: I didn't know.

Ignorance of the truth didn't stop them from becoming entangled in this mess, though. Just like it hasn't stopped them from becoming entangled in every other cosmic mess they've stumbled across over the succeeding 14 seasons. Sam believed it was a miracle, and his faith had blinded him to the truth-- or at least made him want to believe, motivated by the results at Dean's miraculous healing. It's the same faith that led him in early s11 to want to believe his visions were coming from God, that maybe his visions that had plagued him in early seasons were being used for good now-- and with the intervention of Billie in 11.02 when those visions began, it's interesting how the solution that actually saved his life in that circumstance technically came from what she said to him about being "unclean in the biblical sense."

Reapers and their powers and limitations (clean hands!), and their knowledge of the Bigger Picture that Billie herself won't be able to see until she dies and is resurrected with the mantle of Death, have their beginnings in the mythology right here, enslaved to the will of a mortal woman who believed she could make choices about who deserved to live and who deserved to die based on her own corrupted sense of morality.

Even when the concept of Death is introduced in 5.10, he's presented as "lesser" than what he truly is by virtue of Lucifer having bound him to his will for the purposes of the apocalypse, and as merely one of the Four Horsemen equal to War, Famine, and Pestilence. In 5.21, we learn what he's "supposed to be." Practically an equal to God, with the power over all life and death. It's not really until 13.05 that we learn the truth about just how powerful Billie has become, and yet what her limitations still are. We begin to see one side of this massive cosmic chess match, all leading up to the biggest revelation of them all in 14.20.

Back to 1.12 again... (sorry it's impossible not to be continually distracted by the theme spiral here). Dean also is uncomfortable for the first time over the potential for The Lord to be eyeballing him specifically, which is a feeling he's gonna truly grow into throughout s4 "I don't like being singled out at birthday parties, let alone by God," right up through the showdown at the end of 14.20.

DEAN: Why? Why me? Out of all the sick people, why save me? ROY: Well, like I said before, the Lord guides me. I looked into your heart, and you just stood out from all the rest. DEAN: What did you see in my heart? ROY: A young man with an important purpose. A job to do. And it isn't finished.

Throughout the episode, they believe it's Roy controlling the reaper and making the choices about who lives and dies, but he was literally blind to the fact it was Sue Ann. He was as much a victim in all of this as the people he believed he was healing, that he believed he had been touched by God to impart new life to. But knowing the full truth, Dean has to stop someone from being healed that even HE believes deserves to be saved, to be spared the suffering of a life cut short by an inoperable brain tumor, after learning an innocent man would die in her place. No matter how much he might feel that Layla didn't deserve that fate, he also doesn't believe the man who'd been protesting Roy's healing ministry deserves to die just for that fact, either.

SUE ANN: I just don't understand. After everything we've done for you. After Roy healed you. I'm just very very disappointed Dean DEAN stares at her, saying nothing. SUE ANN: You can let him go. I'm not gonna press charges. The Lord will deal with him as he sees fit. SUE ANN leaves. The cops turn to DEAN. COP 1: We catch you round here again son, we'll put the fear of God in you, understand?

Once again, in text, Sue Ann is unwittingly labeled "God." It's not God's wrath Dean fears, but Sue Ann's, knowing his defiance has likely turned him from worthy of healing to unworthy of living. Now this has moved beyond idealistically wanting to stop someone from playing god with people's lives right back to the immediate need to stop them before someone else becomes the next victim. And all of their choices-- Dean not being able to walk away, not being able to look the other way, discovering the full horrific truth of how he himself had been brought back from the brink of death, led them to this juncture where it truly felt like they had no other choice but to stop the monster. It literally became a life and death matter for Dean.

I still find it fascinating that as a result of their actions and choices in this episode, the reaper who'd been enslaved to Sue Ann's will was freed when Sam crushed the talisman that kept him bound. I find that highly amusing in retrospect, that while Dean was literally touched by an incarnation of Death several times in this episode, Sam effectively committed services rendered to the Cosmic Order.

We've learned so much about all of this over the years, as well-- the need for balance, order in the universe, and so many of those lessons have come from Death directly. Dean learns some of this firsthand in 6.11, for example, when he takes on Death's job for a day (or at least the life-and-death side of his job, now that we know so much more about his knowledge and understanding of creation as a whole). We learn even more through Billie, and her constant reminders that what's dead should stay dead, and through Billie's reapers once she becomes Death. 13.19 reminds us, through a story about the consequences of killing reapers, just how tenuous the course of cosmic events can be, and what the universe does to self-correct when the balance tilts too far in one direction. It's a lesson Tessa began to teach way back in 4.15, in an episode where Dean once again saves the life of a reaper (not only unwittingly protecting the cosmic balance, but literally stopping the breaking of a seal and staving off the apocalypse for at least another day, and that entire episode, that entire case, only happened through the unwitting guidance of them to the case by Cas-- still operating under Heaven’s orders and pretending to be Bobby sending them to that town to investigate...).

It has always felt to me that the show has subtly revealed more about the truth of the cosmos through death and Death than anything else. And that's on full display now in 1.12. Sue Ann's lies of omission about Roy's "powers," her manipulation of circumstance and her ensnarement of a reaper to do her will, choosing who lives and dies and literally "playing God," is it really any wonder to find out that Chuck has attempted to do the same on the highest cosmic scale from the start? He is a writer, after all, writing the entire story of the universe even as the universe fights to tell its own story. It's only by looking to the center and seeing the truth of the entire picture that they can free themselves from that fate, break the spell that's held them captive to Chuck's narrative and this endless cycle of sacrifice.

Heck I still love this episode. So much that I’ve let the next three episodes play out in the background... This is the entire spiral of the story played out in miniature, wrapped into a single episode.

[realityhelixcreates]

Lasabrjotr Chapter 13: Baited Traps and Telling Dreams

  Chapters: 13/? Fandom: Thor (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe Rating: Teen And Up Warnings: Nothing, I Think Relationships: Loki x Reader (But not yet) Characters: Loki (Marvel), Thor (Marvel), OFC, Tony Stark, Pepper Potts, Clint Barton Additional Tags: Post-Endgame: Best Possible Ending, Writer Wants to Make a Mythical Detective Loki Ragnarok Joke but Never Finished the Book, Look Dude the Avengers Don’t Like You, Deal With It, Loki Makes a Hasty Declaration Summary: Loki begins his investigation, Reader deals with being injured.

“Hear me, loyal followers!” Loki addresses the gathered encampment. ”You who persevere through cold nights, you who make your devotion known with your presence! I have need of your assistance in an important matter!”

Perhaps he was laying it on a bit thick, but it had netted him the attention of every human in the camp; even the little worm he had berated before.

“Just this morning, outside the city, an attempt was made on the life of my…”He hesitated for just a moment. “My Seidkona. Perhaps some you remember her? She came out among you a month ago. This craven assailant then stole a horse, and rode back this way. He used this blade.”

Loki produced the offending weapon and held it out for inspection.

“I will not require you to throw the coward at my feet this instant; I would not expect any of you to put yourselves in that kind of danger. However, if any of you have information, I expect it to be delivered to any of the gate guards very soon. Until then, go about your business, with my blessing.”

A few of them winced at that last part, which filled him with a dark satisfaction. So there were intelligent individuals out here after all, those who might understand that the blessing of the God of Mischief may have many edges.

Let them band together or tear each other apart now; it didn’t matter. As long as he got what he was after, who cared how these mortals produced it?

He left them to their tents and fires, marching back through the city, glaring at practically everyone who approached him.

That was one possibility set in motion. Hopefully the strength of their faith would allow the campers to turn on one of their own, if one of them was really the culprit. He would see that a handsome reward would go to any of them that provided information. The camp humans hadn’t been shown any special regard so far, but keeping them firmly on the side of the gods might be more advantageous than he had previously thought. They had to know every human in the area, because they were every human in the area.

Loki made straight for the large library, where, on his orders, most of the remaining Asgardian historians were gathered. Here, he presented the blade once more, bidding them to search any sources they might have, to discover if the weapon had any known history. If it had come from within Asgard, they had the best chance of finding out.

That was the second possibility. If any of his Asgardian enemies were behind this, he would not show them mercy either. You were human, but you were under Crown protection. An attack on you was treason, and no matter how above the law some families thought they might be, he was all too willing to remind them of how wrong they were.

Now for the most annoying part. Passing the guards and entering the sparse, shrine-like computer room, he switched the machine on and entered his own password. He brought up a video call, and waited.

Tony Starks’ smug, stupid face popped up on the screen.

“Hey Thor, you need a genius today or wh-“ He noticed who he was talking to. “Oh, fuck off!”

He stormed away from the camera, quickly replaced by Pepper.

“Good afternoon, Mrs. Potts.” Loki said evenly. “Good to see a professional.”

“Kiss my titanium ass!” Tony shouted from offscreen.

“Er, what can I do for you?” She asked, eyes flicking to the side as Tony began going into a full rant. “I’m sorry, it looks like I need to transfer you. One moment.”

“No, we don’t apologize to him! We do not-“

The screen blacked out for a moment, coming back online in an entirely different part of the tower.

“Hello? Who is…hm.” A familiar face and voice went from curious, to cold in no time flat. Loki smiled, but not in a friendly manner.

“Hello, Clint.” He said in a low, gentle voice. “How are you doing today?”

“I was better twenty seconds ago. What do you want?”

“I would not assume you are ignorant of what is happening in my area of the world. Why would I call?”

“Either something is rotten in the state of Asgard, or something concerns the woman you stole. So which is it? Straight talk; I don’t have the time or patience for your knotted speech, so just get to the heart of it.”

Insufferable. Why couldn’t Banner have been there? He could at least talk to Bruce. This was going to be like flinging words at a wall.

Loki explained what had happened, playing up your vulnerability, and the injustice and cowardice of your attacker. Clint had a soft heart underneath all his skill; he would want to help you, even though he had never met you.

“What I want to know is if she had any enemies among her peers that would have the means to get here. Or alternately, if you know of anyone who would make an attempt on her for being close to my brother and I.”

“Oh yeah, that’s not a huge number of possible suspects or anything. Let me just get right on that, it’s not like I have anything else to do for the rest of my life.”

“I didn’t say it had to be you specifically, but if you are volunteering…”

“I’ll see what can be done. No guarantees.”  Hawkeye then abruptly ended the call.

Loki sighed at the blank screen. The only consolation was that eventually, this entire generation of humanity would die, and he might be able to make a fresh start.

Now to wait.

No, now to check on you.

                                                                                  *****

 Loki led you gently by the hand through the most lavish building you had ever seen. There were entire gilded rooms, glowing, warm; tapestries as long as the halls, gloriously detailed in the history of Asgard. Every floor a mosaic, every pillar carved with the delicacy of lace. Foreign music floated on the air.

You felt as if you were floating as well, wrapped in loose clothing, light on your feet. Loki wouldn’t let you make any sudden moves, bidding you to just walk slowly and take in everything around you.

You were vaguely aware of a stiff feeling in your back, of your surroundings being smaller than they appeared. Loki’s scent was all around you, comforting. Here, you had no fears. In this beautiful palace, he ruled, and you were safe. No sickness, no dead fields, no evil; just tender hand-holding, and justified pride in thousands of years of Asgardian artistry.

Your clothing tangled around your legs, but you didn’t fall. A sheet? You were wearing a sheet? And bandages? You could feel them around your torso, not too tight, but enough to be noticeable.

The music changed, fading into a low hum. You had heard this before, in the medical wing. Bjarkehild had described a machine that showed everything that might be wrong with a patient. She’d called it a ’Soul Forge’, explained that what they had now was a very stripped down version of it. Like the Bifrost, it was one of the things they were slowly rebuilding, always improving upon.

Were they near the medical area of the palace? What wonders might be there? You asked if you could go see it, and Loki simply smiled and nodded.

The place he led you to was just as lovely as the rest of the palace; clean and sterile, but not lifeless, decorated in soft, calming colors. You’d spent a lot of time in doctor’s offices and hospitals over the past year, but none of them had seemed so comforting.

Loki scooped you up and placed you on one of the beds. It was so soft and warm. The sheet spread out around you. He tucked it up around your shoulders, sat down next to you, and took your hand again, under the sheet.

If only you could stay like this. Safe and unafraid. Warm. Happy.  You knew it couldn’t last; you lived a life of impermanence. Once you opened your eyes, this would all be gone.

You opened your eyes to find yourself only partially correct. You were in a bed, and you were in the medical area. You were in a sheet, and wrapped in bandages. Loki was there, and he was holding your hand under the sheet.

But there was no ancient palace, no beautiful art or architecture. And unlike what you now realized was a dream, you were still filled with fear and apprehension.  You drew your hand away.

“Ah, you’re awake.” Loki said, standing to hover over you, worry in his tight expression. “How do you feel?”

“Not sure yet.” You said, groggy. “What happened to me?”

“We were attacked. Some craven bastard threw a knife at you.”

“Oh. I thought it felt like getting punched by a fist made of wasps.” You said. You didn’t mention that a sneaky knife attack sounded like the kind of thing Loki would do. Perhaps it was only ‘craven’ when someone else was doing it.

“Did you hit the horse?”

Loki sighed and sat back down. “No. You actually guaranteed that wouldn’t happen. Not that I would have struck the animal anyway; my aim is always precise.”

“I messed up your throw. Sorry.”

“Oh, a bit more than that, I’m pleased to say. You performed your first feat of independent magic. Teleportation. You brought my blade right back to me. It was very tidy, but you’ve had an excellent teacher, so I expect no less.”

So smug. You would have found it endearing, if you weren’t so caught up in yourself.

“It doesn’t hurt as much as I thought.” You said. “Don’t get me wrong, it hurts a lot, but I thought it would be more debilitating.”

“The knife did not penetrate far. Luckily, our assailant was clumsy with his throw, and left you with no more than a nasty cut. The only reason you are here right now is because dealing with a sudden injury and with sudden magic fatigue at the same time overwhelmed you. But you will be fine now. Look, I have grapes.”

He handed you a little bowl full of the green and purple fruits, which you dug into ravenously.

“I can teleport?”

“You can teleport objects, at least. Small ones. But perhaps bigger, with time. Perhaps even something as big as yourself, someday.”

“So…kinda like a little, walking Bifrost?” You wondered. Loki went silent, mouth opened, mouth closed, absorbing the idea.

“That is actually a very interesting thought. What a clever little thing you are! Look at how your value grows. A movable Bifrost would be precious indeed.”

His expression darkened.

“All the more reason to find this enemy and neutralize them. I’ve got several investigations ongoing, but for now…” He placed his hand on top of the sheet, trying to find yours underneath. You moved your hand away.

“I know I have been busy, and you’ve been cooped up like a doll in a closet. But while this threat is still looming, I intend to keep you close by. You may have to sit through some terribly boring official meetings, but at least you will not be alone. It’s either that or being locked into your room, I’m afraid.”

“Is that allowed? I’m not a dignitary or anything. Isn’t some of that stuff secret?”

Loki regarded you with some amusement. “Tell me, what is it you think royalty actually does?”

“I dunno.” You grumbled. “Top secret government stuff.”

“Ha! You think we have garden parties and eat treats all day, don’t you?”

You thought about Hamlet. Lear. Othello. All the blood, the distrust, the betrayal.

“Not exactly. I guess I just don’t know.”

“Prepare to learn. And if you get bored, you can just bring a book.”

You groaned.

                                                                                  *****

Loki had been right: some of these meetings were super boring. You couldn’t understand most of what was being said; only when Thor or Loki were using their ‘allspeak’ magic. Even then, you only got their parts of the conversation.

Loki had dressed you up like you were something special, but it hardly seemed to matter. The people meeting with the brothers either ignored you completely, or seemed annoyed that you were there at all, no matter how you looked. Maybe he’d just done it for his own pleasure. He had referred to you as a doll, after all.

One fellow in particular seemed very displeased to see you there, and had a lengthy-and if Loki’s expression was any indication-impertinent argument about your presence. Loki had used Allspeak the entire time. Either he wanted you to know how disgusted this man was by you, or he wanted you to know he was defending you.

“It is final, Alarr.” He said firmly. “It is not your concern.”

The man, Alarr, bristled and huffed, speaking back with obvious disrespect.

“Actually, you do.” Thor said. “He is my brother, my advisor, my second-in-command. He is your prince, and it is important that everyone remembers that, especially people with your influence. It is of utmost importance that we remain united as we rebuild. There are too many people who would see us divided.”

Alarr gesticulated broadly. You thought you heard the name Odin somewhere in the tirade.

“This is all true. However, these times are different from our golden age, and calls for a different kind of leadership. Even our father grew weary of conquering and made sincere attempts at peace. So too, will we. But it must start with tolerance for the presence of the people who were here before us. There will not be another Nornheim.”

Alar stroked his braided, blonde beard. He was clearly still displeased, but seemed to acquiesce, though he shot suspicious glances at you for the rest of the meeting. He seemed to be demanding that the camp be removed, viewing them as a safety hazard, a possible harbor for enemies.

To your relief, both king and prince believed that to be unreasonable and unnecessary. Not to mention unsustainable.

“How many Einherjar do you propose we remove from their posts and their training, to fruitlessly patrol the fens in search of itinerant humans?” Loki asked. “And by what rights do we remove citizens of this country from land that is still theirs? What measures do you suggest we take to repel them? Do we become violent toward the very people who have harbored us?”

The argument went back and forth, but Loki’s defense of the camp stuck with you. He didn’t even like the people out there. He too, had said that he considered them potentially dangerous. You didn’t see what he got out of defending them. It couldn’t be because of you, and you doubted it was simply because it was the right thing to do.

“He is literally always so unpleasant, all the time, every day.” Loki said, after Alarr had left.

“He’s of the old guard.” Thor said with a shrug. “He will get used to the new ways. There isn’t really any other choice.”

“He’s going to be trouble.” Loki warned. “He does not see me as a legitimate authority, and he barely tolerates you as one.”

“And what do you suggest then? We can’t imprison him for ‘general unpleasantness’. For one thing; we don’t have a prison.”

“What, you guys don’t have spies? Can’t you just watch over him?” You interjected.  They both turned to look at you, their movements almost comically mirrored.

“Eh, never mind.” It wasn’t really your place to speak here. Who knew, maybe all their spies had been killed in the destruction of Asgard, or were trapped offworld, with no Bifrost to bring them back.

“It’s nothing you need worry yourself about.” Loki said. “You needn’t worry about anything.”

Or do anything, if the entire boring day was any indication. At least Loki and Thor got to talk to people, even get into interesting debates. You got to sit still and say nothing. You couldn’t even get really comfortable, the slash across your back twanging every time you put any kind of pressure on it.

He was probably just trying to reassure you of your safety, but the boredom was almost torture. You could have stayed locked in your room and been safe enough. At least then, you could have had a nap. But Loki insisted on keeping you within arms’ reach. The attack must have really spooked him.

You probably should have felt more conflicted about it than you did. Someone had tried to kill you! Or, at least, someone had tried to hurt one of the two of you. Loki could not be ruled out as the intended target of that knife either.

Oh, he had been so ticked off, demanding to know if you had seen the danger coming, if you had tried to protect him with your body. You had told him how stupid that was; he was thousand times tougher than you, he could take a knife without needing your help. That seemed to mollify him, but now you wondered if you should have lied and gotten yourself locked up.

Again, at least you could have taken a nap.

Loki left his chair to crouch before you.

“Are you hungry? Do you hurt?” His hand stroked down your back, causing you to wince away. “Oh, you do hurt. Do we have anything that can alleviate pain?”

“We need to stock up on some human medications for you.” Thor said. There was a sort of sparkle in his good eye as he watched his brother. “They’re completely ineffective to us, I’m afraid.”

“Er, speaking of that, I’m definitely going to need some, uh, feminine hygiene products.” You hadn’t wanted to talk about this, but there wasn’t any getting around it. “I’ve got the insert, but it takes a little while to dry everything up.”

Both brothers stared at you, baffled.

“I know what all of those words mean individually…”Loki began.

You sighed. “I think I need to talk to Bjarkehild.”

[ayellowbirds]

Keshet Rewatches All of Scooby-Doo, Pt. 12: "Scooby Doo and a Mummy, Too"

("Scooby-Doo, Where Are You", Season 1 Episode 12)

AKA "We Forgot One Universal Monster Last Episode"

The episode opens on a view of a university campus, with the usual spooky musical sting in spite of nothing being visibly eerie... until we cut into a building identified “DEPARTMENT OF ARCHEOLOGY” (sic). Inside, a professor is introducing the gang to the mummified remains of Ankha, an ancient Egyptian ruler who was once “the most feared ruler”—though we’re never given a reason why he was feared. What did he do that was so terrible?

I’ll note that the subtitles spell the name as “Anka”, but the Scooby Doo wiki gives the more standard-looking “Ankha”. As is oddly typical of adults who are not the culprit in a given episode, the Professor is never given a name, though he introduces his colleague as Dr. Najib, who helped bring the mummy over for the university’s replica of Ankha’s tomb.

A middle eastern man with narrow eyes and permanently lowered brow, voiced by Vic Perrin in an almost exact duplicate of his portrayal of Jonny Quest villain Doctor Zin, Najib raises the subject of the curse of Ankha, relating his hope that it did not follow them. I’ll say it right here, because it’s not much of a spoiler when so many flags are triggered right away: Najib is the culprit, and it’s another example of casual racism this season. The thieving, scheming Arab was a popular villain trope of the day, and while Najib isn’t quite as overt as some other variations on the trope, he’s far from a deconstruction or a subversion.

As Najib makes his exit, the gang agree to help the Professor, and Shaggy lays his filthy mitts on an ancient golden medallion the entire cast identify as a coin in spite of a lack of any evidence that it is currency. As Shaggy manhandles priceless ancient artifacts, the Professor explains it’s part of an unsolved mystery, and suggests the gang pick up some sandwiches on his dollar in order to satisfy Shaggy’s appetite.

While they’re gone, the Professor hears a crash, and comes out to find the mummy gone and a mummy-shaped hole in the glass doors. Meanwhile, Shaggy receives an order of three burgers and three sandwiches—liverwurst, à la mode. The chef spoons bright pink ice cream onto three open-face sandwiches, and Shaggy hands him a dollar bill and a half-dollar coin... that is actually the ancient Egyptian coin! 

Shaggy has unconsciously pocketed it, demonstrating kleptomaniac tendencies that are never commented upon. The gang pay properly and Fred suggests they grab the sandwiches and get back to the Professor to return the coin. I’ll note that the food is clearly served on dine-in plates, rather than to-go containers, and when the food is taken from the counter off-screen, it makes a plate-rattling sound. Did they just walk out with burgers and open-faced sandwiches in-hand, sans any kind of container or wrapper?

When the gang return, they find the Professor in his office, where he’s been TURNED TO STONE! “14-karat stone”, Shaggy quips. Velma, bastion of rational, scientific skepticism, observes that only one person could be responsible: the mummy.

The gang look outside and find the busted glass, but Velma notes that it’s broken in rather than out, making it clear this wasn’t an exit. Fred orders the gang to split up and search for the mummy, and Shaggy soon accidentally discovers the bandaged terror hiding in the Janitor’s Closet. Locking him in, Shaggy, Velma, and Scooby flee in terror, instead of doing the reasonable thing and making sure the mummy is properly trapped.

Thus ensues the usual hide-and-chase sequence, although the mummy only groans and shambles slowly rather than running. Of course, there’s still extensive damage done to priceless museum artifacts by the B Team’s attempts to hide. Eventually cornered, the mummy begins to demand, “coin... coin!!” and nods and grunts in the affirmative when Velma suggests he means the old Egyptian one, and not the quarter Shaggy offers him.

When Velma insists they don’t give him what he wants, it falls to Scooby to defend them, and he demands a hefty price of Scooby Snacks.

I believe this is the first time we see a box of Scooby Snacks, which are drawn as being about half the size of previous appearances, and the box simply reads “SCOOBY SNACKS”. It’s also the first implication that “Scooby Snacks” is the name of a product on the market, rather than just what the gang call dog treats, or a home-made specialty.

Emboldened, Scooby tries taking a swing at the mummy with his left foreleg, but there’s a sound like a steel drum being struck, and Scooby’s metacarpals collapse and fold inward like a limp accordion tube. This does not deter the carb-loaded canine, who dashes offscreen and returns in a karate gi, and begins to yelp out kiais so badly stereotypical that the captioning refused to display them as he chops at the motionless mummy. It’s no more effective, so Scooby tries one last attack: 

A little of the old razzmatazz.

At first, the soft-shoe routine seems to be Scooby’s attempt at desertion, but in spite of Velma’s shock, the dog sneaks back in behind the advancing mummy and nails his rags to the floor with a hammer.

Once again, the trio flee without making sure that Ankha is captured, even though Velma says they’re going to tell Daphne and Fred that they just did that. Meanwhile, Fred and Daphne are exploring outside, having found what look to be the mummy’s footprints going into a construction area. They discover Dr. Najib’s car, with what appears to be the doctor turned to stone, and wonder if Shaggy and Velma have run into the mummy themselves, not seeming to be concerned that their friends could be turned to stone any moment.

Having returned, Shaggy and Velma find that the mummy has escaped and disappeared, and inspect the piece of bandage left nailed to the floor. They retreat to a laboratory to investigate the new-feeling wrappings and determine its actual age, where an unattended Scooby drinks three large glasses of a chartreuse liquid. There’s an odd screen-filling animation of an explosion that fades in and out, and Scooby’s head has turned into that of a frog!

He lets out a few confused ribbits, and the effect reverses, explosion included—without Shaggy or Velma noticing. Meanwhile, the mummy reappears, demanding the coin before Velma can finish her analysis. While the two humans flee the room in an improvised smokescreen, Scooby is left behind, and the duo only realize as Daphne and Fred rejoin them. The room is empty except for evidence of a struggle, and a window is left open in the back. Fred worries that he’ll end up like the Professor and Dr. Najib...

...and sure enough, the gang discover a stone Scooby back outside. As Shaggy mourns the loss of his friend, the real Scooby digs his way up out of the ground to join him in tearfully weeping over the sad scene.

“Look, Scoob! You’ve been turned to stone!”

Rather than questioning Scooby about what happened to him, the gang decide to backtrack and ignore the great huge clue right in front of them.

Investigating the Professor’s office, Velma learns that Ankha was also the wealthiest ruler of ancient Egypt, and thinks she’s discovered the solution to the mystery of the coin, finding a photo of a statue of a hippo-headed figure that may or may not be a badly rendered representation of the goddess Taweret (understandably lacking the usual large sagging breasts of images of that deity; this is a kids’ show). The likeness of the coin appears with some other symbols on the statue’s belly, but just as the gang realize it, Ankha busts down the office door.

Retreating to the second floor, the gang duck into the wood shop, where—i’m sorry, why is there a WOOD SHOP in a university’s DEPARTMENT OF ARCHAEOLOGY?

Fred tells Daphne to hit the lights so  that they can hide in the darkness of a room full of sharp objects and heavy machinery, but Daphne hits the wrong switch and turns on a handheld, corded buzz saw that spins to life and climbs up the wall by cutting through the surface of it.

Now, in addition to majoring in anthropology and library science, i took an elective class in the extremely well-appointed woodworking facility at SUNY Purchase College, and i have at least a basic sense of shop safety. So i speak from something of a position of experience when i say, WHY WOULD YOU PUT THOSE SWITCHES NEXT TO EACH OTHER?

As the saw cuts across the ceiling, back down the wall, and past the mummy, it moves on to circle the gang, cutting through the floor and sending the gang dropping down to the floor below... where there’s a swimming pool. 

WHAT KIND OF ARCHAEOLOGY DEPARTMENT IS THIS? A WOOD SHOP? A SWIMMING POOL? WHO DESIGNED THIS COLLEGE, MC ESCHER?

The enraged mummy tosses the saw down at the gang, and its improbably long power cord reaches far enough that the saw moves through the water, chasing the gang as they paddle for their lives. Kudos to the saw’s manufacturers for so extensively waterproofing it, but i really don’t think a 100 meter power cord is a necessity.

Continuing to flee the mummy, Shaggy and Scooby enter the construction area from before, stumbling into a work space where Shaggy notices bags of “Quick Drying Mold Cement”, and “spray molds” that actually appear to be just wooden crates with cement poured in around an empty space in the shape of a standing human being.

“Ruh-huh!” Scooby replies. You could’ve told them that, Scooby. It would have been helpful.

I’ll note that the mold is in the shape of someone standing or laying straight, and all the “stone” figures we’ve seen so far were sitting down. This is what happens when you don’t communicate plot details to your art department, people.

The mummy of Ankha catches up, and the boys flee into a groundskeeper’s shack. When Shaggy peeks out to see if the coast is clear, however...

FOR THE LOVE OF GOD! Yes, for the love of god.

Ankha continues to demand the coin, but meanwhile, Scooby and Shaggy find the Professor bound, gagged, and stuffed into a bag in the corner. Shaggy pulls down his gag, and asks, “are you alright, Professor?”

“I’m fine!”

“Groovy,” Shaggy replies, putting the gag back in place. “Be back for you later.”

The duo make their escape and the chase scene starts up again, now involving a ride on an improbably speedy lawnmower through an empty gymnasium, and a bit more in the way of trampoline antics. This show loves trampoline antics. Mid-bounce, Scooby, grabs onto a pair of gymnastics rings, and uses his hind legs to kick the mummy across the gym, dunking his bandaged butt into the basketball hoop.

It’s stuff like this that led to the Globetrotters crossovers, i’m sure.

The gang unmask "Ankha”, who, as i’d spoiled ahead of time, is Dr. Najib. He had faked his own petrification as part of a plan to get his hands on the coin—actually the key to the statue in the photo from the book. The gang and the Professor discover that a slot on the back of the statue serves as the keyhole, because apparently no-one was ever diligent enough to examine the back side of this stone figure, and its mouth opens to reveal a “glass beetle”.

Not quite, says the Professor.

There’s no resolution about what happens to this obscenely large “diamond”, identified as such at a glance without any kind of testing of its hardness. Scooby finds the whereabouts of the real mummy of Ankha, and the gang celebrate as Dr. Najib is probably in the midst of arguing his diplomatic immunity somewhere downtown.

And once again, no “meddling kids”, not even a scene of the authorities arriving. All we see of Najib unmasked is the usual silent, glaring fuming, and the explanation falls to the gang and the Professor relaxing calmly in the epilogue.

(like what i’m doing here? It’s not what pays the bills, so i’d really appreciate it if you could send me a bit at my paypal.me or via my ko-fi. Click here to see more entries in this series of posts, or here to go in chronological order)

[journeysintowebcomics]

Girl Genius Liveblog #175

UPDATE 175: Return of Tweedle

Last time there was a short time to rest after Wulfenbach’s troops evacuated the town. What’ll happen now? Well...whatever it’ll be, will be brought by Tarvek’s treacherous family, who continues to cause havoc and migraines all across the world of Girl Genius, I bet. Let’s see what Tweedle is here for.

Before starting, here’s a comment I received! Han100894 says:

I feel it's a somewhat unfair to blame Zeetha being stabbed on underestimating Zola--she was at the time unknowingly(unlike the rest at that point) drugged (she did the hehe bit) and Zola was enhanced to the point she did the exact same thing to Higgs moments later. And I find it interesting how despite everyone saying it she never even seems to be pained at all about her injury--faster healing then they expect perhaps?

Good point. I had forgotten she was filled to the brim with Movit 11. That put Zeetha at disadvantage. I think Zola would have been competent with weapons even without the Movit, but maaaaaybe not to the point she’d defeat Zeetha. Who knows.

Also everyone in this story heals faster than expected. Maybe it means something, maybe it doesn’t. Anyway, to Girl Genius!

Tweedle over here is having some delusions of being some sort of charming prince, here to spirit Agatha away and presumably lead her to the core of the Knights of Jove backstabbing and use her as a pawn. Obviously Agatha won’t play along, and refuses to come with him. Vanamonde suggests to ride the horse because Agatha riding a horse with a potential enemy is good PR – really now, Vanamonde – and she counters she has a dragon. Honestly, a dragon fits much better the Heterodynes than a horse. More impressive, more lethal, more extravagant.

Okay, the next movements have been defined. There’ll be ceremonies to perform, mechanisms and people to face and tell them to bow down to the almighty Heterodyne heiress. It’s pretty much the equivalent of doing paperwork and dealing with bureaucracy. Agatha isn’t pleased, she was looking forward to fixing the town – the Castle can do that, no worries there, I’d say – and finally get some food and sleep. When’s the last time she did such thing? She has been awake and moving for like eight volumes in a row! Maybe after this she’ll finally get to do that.

I have to take Agatha’s side on this one. You have to be doing something wrong if you don’t use your despotic power and command over the entirety of the town to get things like cake. Maybe if you got the Knights of Jove more cake they’d hold you on higher regard instead of letting Tweedle challenge you, Tarvek.

Speaking of Tweedle, he feels foolish being the only one to ride a horse, and brags about his connections to the abbess of the red cathedral, the very same abbess who tried to knock Agatha out. Smooth move, Tweedle.

Wow, that’s a really nice cathedral. Look at that red color! I like the look of this building, I would genuinely want to take a look at it. This cathedral in middle of somewhat normal houses and stores...the mental image kind of reminds me of that cathedral that’s completely black and is located in France, in a village I don’t remember right now.

Like this, but red.

The inside of the cathedral is just as red as the outside, and there’s a doctor/priest who makes the cathedral tours and will oversee the ‘dark rites and twisted oaths of the Heterodynes’. Neato! I admit I’d like to see what are these. Some of them involve placating interdimensional creatures who could come and ravage the world. I don’t know how accurate that is, but I’m not surprised.

While these ceremonies are performed offscreen, Tarvek confronts Tweedle., telling him he can’t do anything to replace or hurt Agatha, because a lot of people would immediately fight him. The Castle, Gil, Tarvek himself. The only reaction from Tweedle is an ominous acknowledgement they can’t replace Agatha with a puppet. Hmm...maybe he intends to kill her. Anything for the Heterodynes to not recover any power, I’d say.

Oh! An interruption. Alright then! It’s about the Hugo nominations. Already? I’m either breezing through the archive, or the rate Girl Genius is updated is very slow. It seems Girl Genius won’t be nominated again because it’d win every time, people say.

Stuff to read someday! I really have to check stuff that won the Hugo award. I liveblogged Digger back when I started this website, I knew it won the award. If everything has the quality Digger and Girl Genius have, I know I’d enjoy it all.

So! Agatha, play the part of the villainous evil genius! She does it without much enthusiasm, much to the priest’s guy, and Tarvek takes the chance to flirt, because what better place to sin than in middle of a cathedral, I guess. Things are nice, things are silly, there’s plans for a feast...so of course it’s time for trouble to arise. It doesn’t come from Tweedle, though. It’s the Baron? He said he’s going to come by himself, it may be Wulfenbach.

Everyone crowds to see what’s going on. It’s definitely the Baron, it’s not a bomb. Perhaps an airship for one person? It’s something nobody has seen before, and the Castle’s defenses are only slowing it down. It must be Wulfenbach’s ace up his sleeve, then. It already sounds fearsome.

Taking advantage of the confusion, Tweedle strikes. So not only there’s one problem, there’s two.

There we go, this is what I was waiting for, for Tweedle to show his plan. After Zola, I can’t underestimate anyone, so despite Tweedle’s dopey behavior and Tarvek clearly not thinking much of him, I was waiting for him to make a move. I’ll say, he chose a good time for that. Everyone’s going to be dealing with the Baron, compared to him, Tweedle is a minor threat – for now. Tarvek is the only one who noticed this, maybe he’ll solve this problem while the rest fight the Baron.

All the Baron has to do is step outside for Mamma Gkika to freak out, hah! His reputation precedes him! He’s going to cause major trouble here! And he has some sort of device in his hand.  It’s a ball with many buttons. A bomb?

Tweedle seems to know where he’s going. He drags Agatha along, covering her mouth and saying how much he dislikes Tarvek knows what he’s talking about. By now everybody noticed Agatha has been kidnapped and follow them.

Oh! Well that sure wasn’t something I saw coming! Tweedle can throw knives. This is...I lost count how many times Tarvek has been in mortal danger. Add one more to the list. Still, other characters in the past have survived getting stabbed in the chest. Maybe he will survive too! On the other hand, characters have died because they got stabbed in the chest. His odds of survival are like 50%, I guess.

Outside, Mamma Gkika pounces, Wulfenbach calmly takes it. As soon as she demands he surrenders, he accepts unconditionally, and activates the device.

He surrenders, hm...okay, that does seem like a bomb of some sort, but I’m not sure about that. I mean, no way Wulfenbach would let himself die. He must have some sort of plan here. No idea what could be, though.

I think I shall stop reading for now.

Next time: in two updates

[calangkoh]

Character Breakdown: Roy Mustang (2003 Anime)

Time to talk about this awful person. He sucks. And I love him to pieces. He’s a fantastic character. It’s often overlooked that the 2003 anime had hella strong characters (complex, realistic, ambiguous, and meaningful to the well-woven themes of this deeply symbolic series while retaining identities outside of being puppets to the overarching plot), and Roy Mustang was one of them. 

I. The Flame Alchemist, Hero of Ishval 

II. His goal to be Fuhrer

III. His relationship with Ed 

IV. His resolution, and what it all means

I. First a quick rundown: we first really learn about the “Eastern Rebellion” in Flame vs. Fullmetal, where we first see Roy’s PTSD, and his status of the ‘Hero of Ishval’. Later, we learn that it was a massacre from Marcoh. Roy is already disgusted enough by his slaughter of the Ishvalan people, but it’s the order to kill the Rockbells that drives him to an attempted suicide. Initially, I was in the same boat as everyone else who found this problematic--that of all the people he killed, it was the killing of two white doctors that affected him most. But it’s deeper than that. We already know Roy is filled with guilt for the slaughter: he developed a human transmutation theory because of it. In a later episode where he needs to use his alchemy for “crowd control,” he retreats into an emotionless persona. (His remark to Hawkeye, while cold and cruel, makes sense with his PTSD.) So, his order to kill the Rockbells wasn’t more important than other deaths he caused, just different, because it made the military corruption all the more obvious to him and the viewer. (People become soldiers to protect their country, especially in Roy’s case. Most likely the soldiers of the massacre held on to faith that their government was doing all of this for a good reason. It takes the deaths of the people you meant to protect to realize that the government doesn’t actually care about them. Then there’s how it reveals the institutional racism that plays a part as well. 03 isn’t sloppy with how it handles race, so I believe that we are supposed to feel weird about him seemingly being more affected by the Rockbells’ deaths. The race issue is an entirely different analysis, however--one that as a white woman, I don’t feel justified to get into beyond what I’ve already mentioned.) It was also the death that he’d end up hiding from.

Mustang is in Resembool for different reasons than Mangahood at the start of the series. One, he’s coming in response to one of Ed and Al’s letters looking for Hohenheim, but he labels his visit as “nostalgia, or misplaced curiosity.” It’s likely that he wanted to finally face the Rockbells, but got sidetracked with the events that unfolded while he was there. It’s no secret he’s cowardly about it. When Ed makes an offhand comment about Winry (”I’m going to see my doctor...you know the one”), Mustang shuts Edward down with cheap mockery (which lacks the usual banter-y smugness...he actually intended to hurt Edward with this comment). When he visits Gracia, he decides not to come into the house when he sees Winry looking down at him from the window. He remarks to Hawkeye, “Dealing with the living is a lot scarier than the dead. Give me a ghost any day.”

Roy is more clearly affected by the events in Ishval than he is in Brotherhood. He’s a more solemn character, and some key differences in his reactions to shared events between the two series really highlights this. When it’s revealed Scar is Ishvalan, Brotherhood Roy just displays a general shock, while 03 Roy looks down sadly and says sardonically “Now we know why he’s killing us.” I’ve mentioned how the useless-in-the-rain scene differs greatly. This isn’t a criticism of Brotherhood Roy (I like him equally, but for different reasons), but just a highlight of how differently Roy is interpreted and written in ‘03. He’s clearly still dealing with the aftermath of the genocide, while Brotherhood!Roy has moved on to pursue a noble goal. Speaking of this goal, the motivation for becoming fuhrer differs as well, which brings me to the next aspect of 03!Roy’s character...

II. As @combustiblegarbage says, Roy’s goal to become fuhrer was never really about becoming fuhrer, but rather about redemption. It’s unknown why Roy joined the military in the first place, but Hughes seems to imply in the above scene that it was for naive reasons of wanting to protect people. 

Maes: ”Did you think if you became a state alchemist you could fix anything? Bring back anyone who died in a controversial war? Invent some utopian world?” 

Roy: *smiles* “I don’t know.”

As far as we know, Roy attempted suicide twice, and by the time Maes visits him, he had developed theories of human transmutation. He considers himself a coward for not going through with killing himself, but believes himself unworthy of living, so the only thing he feels he can do is make his life worthwhile. He wants to do something to make up for his mistakes. And he arrives at the conclusion of becoming fuhrer.

But as we know, this is a misguided goal. His reasoning implies that it’s not his fault for following orders, and that he could do everything better if he was in charge (gosh what a prideful thing to believe). I’ll get into this in my final point. For now, a quick mention on Roy’s acting abilities.

While it’s not as explicit (since we don’t have Madame Christmas), Roy’s womanizing and lazy attitude is just as much of a front as it is in Mangahood. This becomes apparent when he vocalizes his desire to be furhrer and is called out on it. He pauses. It’s a significant pause, as though he’s considering how to play off his treacherous statements as nonthreatening. Then, he goes off on his ridiculous mini-skirts skit, which by 03 Roy’s personality, is uncharacteristically overbearing. (Other than his “I LOVE DOGS” rant, in which I agree with Havoc has to do with him being ‘manic’ from Ed challenging him to a duel, Roy is a person who keeps his cool.) Later on in the series, we see Roy go on a date with Grace from the flower shop. While his team assumes it’s just another date their womanizing boss is going on, by the faces Roy makes and the context of the date, we can tell it’s all for information. We see Roy collaborate with Armstrong as well in the same episode. He uses Havoc’s date with Catherine to get a letter from Alex. Roy is always using situations to his advantage, in ways that make him remain unthreatening to outsiders.

And Team Mustang is more or less aware of this, and has mad respect for him. (I even interpret Havoc’s response to the mini-skirt rant as playing along with the act.)

Havoc: “Mustang cares about that stuff.”

Ed: “Or wants a promotion.”

Havoc: *slams on breaks* “It’s true, kid. Mustang’s no political novice. He’ll do whatever it takes to move up the chain around here. But if that’s all he’s about, we wouldn’t follow him.”

III. Roy’s relationship with Ed is fascinating to me, because he’s simultaneously protective of him, while also being unforgiving and sometimes cruel in trying to expose him to the harsh realities of life. It’s almost as if Roy is fine exposing Ed to these truths as long as he’s in control of it. He’ll be smug or indifferent to Ed’s suffering as long as he has the teen wrapped around his finger, or as long as he’s not left in the dark. As soon as Ed starts getting into trouble without Roy knowing, or without him having the ability to protect him in case something goes horribly wrong, that’s when Roy gets angry. 

At first, Riza’s comment seemed off to me, since Roy never really expressed care when they were in danger. I then realized two things: one being that Roy’s irrationality must happen largely offscreen, and Riza’s comment being our hint to that. Roy seems to always know everything that’s going on with the Elrics before the plot takes off, and there was a three-year gap of military life we don’t know about. I assume that (a) Roy has a period between sending them off on missions and eventually retrieving information on the boys where he becomes overly concerned about them and (b) one reason he seems to know everything Ed does is because he’s overprotective and cares about their safety, and he just likes to play it off as a power move when facing them (as a way to keep them from getting into trouble that he’d be unable to rescue them from). The other thing I realized, is that her saying this is more like a “hey. look at his previous actions in the series with a new perspective,” from the writers. All his smugness with the boys is just as much a front as the rest of his persona. He keeps tabs on them. He tries too hard to be in control of them at all times. He acts manipulative. All of it is his (albeit horrible and unhealthy) way of caring for them while trying to hide it.  

And after this, we see Roy’s more genuine care for Ed. He gives a loving look when he stops Archer from drawing his gun at Ed’s outburst. He gets visibly stressed out by Ed talking to Archer (a man Roy rightfully distrusts) alone and making deals with him. He tries to advise him. After the events of Liore, he aggressively tracks down Ed, and when he finally faces him, he yells at him for not coming to him for protection. 

“I’m not chasing you because I was commanded to; I’m doing it because I’m pissed. Now why did you two run away without asking for my help first?!”

Roy should know that Ed doesn’t really have reason to trust him with all the times he low-key blackmailed him, but somewhere deep down he’s offended that Ed couldn’t see that Roy actually does care for him. He’s angry that Ed didn’t trust him enough to ask for his help and to leave him in the dark, and he’s angry with himself for not being able to be there for him. It all goes back to Roy needing to feel in control of the boys in order to know that they’re safe. 

EDIT: It’s also important to mention how Roy his the truth about Ishval from Ed (another reason Ed doesn’t trust Roy). For someone who believes Ed to be familiar with the harshness of the world and freely exposes him to it, the Liore case was something he couldn’t bring himself to talk about with Ed. He said his reasoning explicitly. It was too much for Ed to handle. He knew it would psychologically break Ed (and it did), meaning Roy never gave Ed anything he didn’t think he could handle. 

[[Though this is a controversial viewpoint, I do believe Roy was a (again, albeit horrible and flawed) parental figure toward Ed. His state in CoS seems to solidify that he felt responsible for protecting him, blaming himself for his disappearance. From the start, Roy takes the Elrics under his wing and guides them. Even Brotherhood!Roy wasn’t as ‘parental’ as 03!Roy was; BH!Roy was much more of a peer/older sibling figure, at least in comparison.]]

IV. Just as Ed and Al had to battle their sins (Ed and Al battling Sloth, and Al battling Wrath was also quite symbolic), Mustang battled his: Pride, or “preoccupation with oneself.” As I mentioned, Roy’s motivation for becoming fuhrer is a less noble goal than it is in Brotherhood, because it’s still motivated by selfish reasons: a desire to redeem himself and erase his guilt (even though it likely wouldn’t succeed), and because of complacency in the corrupt system (a major theme of 03) and that in achieving power he would be able to ‘do it better,’ so to speak. 

Bradley is Pride in 2003 for a few reasons, but the one that correlates with Roy is his statement of believing himself to be a guardian angel to humans by doing things in favor of a (wrong and corrupted worldview provided by Dante) bigger picture. This is essentially an ends-justify-the-means attitude in favor of bringing an ideal to fruition. And this is exactly what Roy says was wrong with his attitude in the car scene, and again strengthens later.

“The end justifies the means when it comes to achieving my ultimate goal. Back then, that just seemed like the right stance for me to take...[in response to Ed saying he wouldn’t be able to become fuhrer] That may be, but I can’t let him get away with what he’s done.”

...

“I didn’t do this for politics. I couldn’t forgive myself for being blind this long. It was the only way to atone for the friends I didn’t save.”

Two major themes of the series are present with Roy in this sense: “Even when our eyes are closed, there exists a world outside of us and our dreams” and the theme of equivalent exchange run parallel with this development. 

The former refers to how no matter how much we want something, we can’t turn a blind eye to how those wants coming true would affect the world around us. We can’t ignore what we sacrifice to selfishly achieve those dreams. AKA, Roy’s dream to be fuhrer.

The latter refers to how equivalent exchange isn’t a clean rule. In Roy’s case, he does the right thing by defeating Pride, and by shounen anime standards, doesn’t that mean he should somehow get what he wants in the end as a reward? 2003 says no. Sometimes you can do the right thing and end up losing everything because of it, but no matter how unappealing that possibility seems, it doesn’t mean we shouldn’t try, because we’re not independent from the world around us. We’re a part of it, and we’re only as good as we collectively make it. The reward should be in that. This further ties into “there never will be a war that isn’t in some part caused by all of us.” 

So Roy’s journey adds to the themes of 03, just as most characters do. His arc is beautiful in that sense. In what it represents. Like Ed, he’s a deeply flawed and sometimes horrible person, but you need these complexities to get your point across. He works wonderfully with the narrative.

[5typesoftrash]

Inhibitions - Chapter 2

Author: quicksilvermalec Artist: starfleetcadet1 Rating: M for swearing, mature themes, and minor sexual content Pairings: Sastiel, Castiel/Ezekiel, Castiel/Crowley Warnings: Rape/Non-Con (mentioned) Brief Tags: Angst, Pining, Drug Use, Minor Character Death Summary: So Castiel isn't the most - moral? Conventional? Call it what you like - attorney, but fuck if he isn't one of the best in the state of California. He's gone up against lawyers from all over and only lost a handful of cases in twenty years. So when a young up-and-comer beat him in a case he should have bagged, of course he was interested. But he wasn't expecting this.

[longer tags, link to art post, and fic under the cut]

Extended Tags: Angst, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Slow Burn, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No supernatural, Alternate Universe - No Angels, Alternate Universe, lawyer AU, Lawyer Sam Winchester, Lawyer Castiel, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied Sexual Content, minor explicit sexual content, Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Minor Character Death, Offscreen character death, Getting Together, Getting Back Together, Falling In Love, Boys In Love, Boys Kissing, First Kiss, First Time, breaking up, Breaking Up & Making Up, Betrayal, Misunderstandings, Miscommunication, Grief, Trauma, Negative Religious Experiences, Religious Sam Winchester, Mentions of Corrective Rape, Gay Castiel, Pansexual Sam Winchester, Pansexual Gabriel, Black Lives Matter, Protests, Pining, Mutual Pining, Age Difference, Widowed Castiel, Sad Castiel, Hurt Castiel, Endverse Castiel - Freeform, Sad Sam Winchester, Hurt Sam Winchester, Angst with a Happy Ending, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Good Brother Gabriel, Protective Gabriel, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Incest, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, POV Castiel, Castiel is a Novak (Supernatural), this story is all over the fuckin place, kind of a wild ride with plenty of twists, enjoy!!

Have a link to the art and you can read this story on AO3 as well! 🧡

~~

“Tea?” Gabriel asks in amusement as his brother sits down on his couch.

“That would be lovely, darling,” says an admittedly very high Castiel in his best impression of Balthazar.

Gabriel snorts, disappearing into the kitchen to make it. Castiel has always been one hundred percent positive that if not for the fact that he greatly enjoyed tea, especially when he was high, Gabriel would never have it in his house. However, thanks to the fact that Castiel very much did enjoy it, Gabriel somehow never ran out. It’s quite miraculous and wonderful.

Castiel laughs nigh hysterically on the couch until Gabriel returns. “Alright, crazy boy, get your stoned ass over here and drink this tea I just made for you.”

“But Gaaaaabriel,” Castiel chuckles. “Gabriel. Gaybriel. Are you gay?”

“No,” Gabriel says, sounding unamused but resigned. “I’m pansexual. I’ve told you this a thousand times.”

“Oh,” Castiel replies. “Well that’s kinda like gay.”

“No, you’re gay. I’m LGBT.”

He shrugs. “Whatever. Same difference. Ooh, tea!” Castiel reaches for his mug and slops some of the tea onto his leg. He doesn’t even notice in his hurry to drink it. “Ah! It’s hot! What the fuck!”

He puts it back down. “How dare you bring me something hot?”

“Did you want cold tea, Castiel?” Gabriel asks, sounding resigned and exhausted.

“I- yes? No. What’s the right answer?”

“I think you need sleep,” Gabriel mutters. “Here’s a blanket.” He tosses it at Castiel and it hits the younger Novak in the face.

“No,” Castiel whines. “I don’t wanna.”

“Jesus Christ,” Gabriel declares as Castiel tosses the blanket onto the floor. Gabe watches his brother stand up with hollow, miserable eyes.

Then Castiel looks down, then back at Gabriel accusatorily. “My leg is wet!” he shouts. “Why the fuck is my leg wet, Gabriel? What did you do? Did you spit on my leg?”

Gabriel takes a deep breath, dragging the palm of his left hand down his face. “No, Castiel,” he says as patiently as possible. “You spilled tea on yourself.”

“Oh,” says Cas. He picks up his tea again. “Still hot. I’m still mad at you!”

Gabriel groans and lays back. “Dear god,” he mutters to the ceiling. “Why does this always happen to me, and never to any of my brothers.”

It might be Castiel’s imagination, but he thinks he hears a voice reply, because Castiel actually trusts you.

He may be wasted and useless, but he knows the voice of God when he hears it.

~~

You’re a dick.

That’s all the text says. Castiel scoffs and shoves his phone back in his pocket after he reads it.

He knows he’s a dick. Gabriel has made himself quite clear on that on several occasions. Plus, Castiel is on a mission right now; a mission to recruit himself a new, brilliant attorney.

When he walks into Sam’s office, the other man is on the phone.

“Yes, Dean,” he’s saying. “I know you need me to cover the water bill. I’ll have it by the end of the month, I just don’t have it now. Yeah, I’ll get paid! I get paid in like two weeks. Okay? I’m gonna get almost three thousand dollars then and we’ll be able to cover rent and utilities. Jesus- yes, I can hear you yelling at me- oh my god. Dean- look, Dean, you know that attorney I ‘fangirl’ over all the time? Yeah, he just walked into my office. I’ll call you back.”

He hangs up without saying goodbye, then mutters, “fucking asshole.”

Castiel snorts. “Who was that?”

“Older brother,” Sam replies quietly. “Dean. He’s… kind of a dick sometimes. I love the shit out of him, and he’s a good guy, but he just doesn’t know how to be… not intense. He doesn’t know the meaning of the word ‘moderation’, I guess.” He trails off, then seems to come back to himself, snapping to attention. “Anyway, I’m oversharing again. What’s up?”

Castiel smiles. “I have an offer to make you.”

Sam blinks. “Hm?”

“Would you like to work for Novak Represents as a defense attorney? We’ll be paying you about seven thousand five hundred dollars a month to start off, you’ll be assigned regular cases, benefits, paid paternity leave, the whole shebang. What do you say?”

Sam worries his bottom lip with his teeth. “I don’t know,” he says honestly. “I’ll consider it.”

Castiel winks at him. “Get back to me within a week and we’ll be just fine.”

Sam flushes and stares down at his desk until Castiel disappears out the door.

He pulls out his blunt – he can’t be found almost anywhere without one in hand – and lights it as he walks back to his car. He’ll simply have to hope that Sam accepts his offer.

~~

He arrives at home safely – as always, despite Gabriel’s insistence that smoking while driving impairs him and that he’ll most definitely crash his car one day – and puts the kettle on, as is his routine. He sighs, falling into a chair and rubbing his forehead. It might just be age, but he’s more and more exhausted lately, as if every small thing he does expends three times as much energy as it did a decade ago. As if his life is perpetually making itself harder.

He turns on the TV, tosses his used blunt, takes off his shoes, and returns to the kitchen as the kettle whistles its warning. As he sets about making his tea, his mind wanders back to Sam.

Sam Winchester. The boy who could run the world if he set his mind to it. The boy who owns a firm at the age of thirty. The most skilled and talented lawyer Castiel has ever had the immense pleasure of meeting. Most people don’t have both.

Sam Winchester.

What is it about Sam Winchester that Castiel finds so fascinating?

It’s not simply his looks; looks have never been that important to Castiel, although he won’t deny that Sam is attractive. It’s not simply his competence in the courtroom, although that is certainly a major factor.

There’s something about him. Something… unique. Something that draws Castiel toward him, but he couldn’t identify it if he wanted to. Something-

“Ah! Fuck!” he shouts, pulling his burned hand away. “Goddammit.” He sets down the kettle and turns to the sink, running his hand under the cool flow of water.

Let this be a lesson, he tells himself. You cannot afford to get distracted in this job or this life. Not even by young, mysterious, attractive defense attorneys.

~~

“Castiel!” shouts an enthusiastic – if aggravated – voice from outside.

Oh, fuck.

That would be Kevin.

“Come on, Castiel,” adds another, this one reproachful.

Lovely.

And Anna.

“What do you want?” he yells in the general direction of the window.

Kevin and Anna are two young people who live on his block. (Fuck him for calling them ‘young people’, he’s forty, not sixty.) Kevin’s in undergrad, almost 20 (he’s half Castiel’s age. Half!) and Anna’s twenty-six and working on her doctorate. They like to come around and bother him. Sometimes they do his yardwork or repair things in his house, but mostly they yell at him or ask him questions.

Today is no different, evidently.

“Can we come in, Castiel?” Anna demands.

“Have you fallen down?” Kevin jokes.

Castiel rolls his eyes and lets them inside. “I don’t know what your problem with me is.”

“We don’t have a problem,” Anna says happily as she traipses inside. “We happen to be very impressionable, wide-eyed young people who find ourselves interested in the wisdom of a much older, more experienced person such as yourself.”

“Fuck you,” Castiel mutters, slamming his door. “Why are you really here?”

“Homework help,” Kevin admits. “I needed you to help me write this paper.”

“Jesus Christ, I have cases to prepare for!” Castiel exclaims. “I can’t just sit here tutoring you both all day every day.”

“Oh,” Kevin says quietly. “That’s fine, we’ll leave. See you another day, Castiel.”

Castiel sighs and rests his head on the coffee table. “Alright, get your ass over here. What’s the paper on?”

~~

Castiel only has one true friend, in the sense of another person in one’s peer group whose company one seeks out voluntarily for entertainment and without an ulterior motive such as requiring a service; a comrade.

Castiel’s friend is named Crowley.

Crowley is, by all accounts and all possible definitions of the word, an asshole.

However, as has been established between the two, Crowley is definitively Castiel’s asshole. They’ve even slept together on multiple occasions, although they’ve both made it very clear that they’re not interested in going anywhere else with that.

Castiel, for some bizarre reason that even he could never quite put his finger on, actually enjoys Crowley’s company, and they’ve managed to remain good friends for a number of years despite having fought and been very angry with each other quite a lot of times.

So when Crowley calls Castiel that night, he’s relieved. When Crowley calls Castiel, it never means anything more than ‘let’s go for a drink’ or ‘let’s have a snog’. On one rather (extremely) memorable occasion, it meant ‘let’s go on an impromptu trip to Hawai’i, wear floral print, get sunburned, and drink fruity alcoholic beverages on the beach for several days’. (They returned to quite the disasters in their respective places of work.) Crowley never calls for Reasons. Crowley calls for the exact opposite.

(When Castiel calls Crowley, it always means ‘I need something from you.’ Specifically, weed.

For some reason, Crowley doesn’t seem to have any problems with that. Maybe that’s because Castiel never argues and simply goes along with all of Crowley’s insane schemes.)

So Crowley calls Castiel. And Castiel feels immense relief.

“Hullo, Castiel!” Crowley says in his rough, sandpapery, Scottish drawl. “How are you, darling?”

Castiel laughs quietly. “I’m just fine, Crowley. How have you been?”

“Quite lonely. Can you imagine when all your friends are bloody pricks except for one who never calls, that might be a bi’ of a lonely existence?”

Castiel manages to muster a small amount of shame. “Well, propose something to me then. Make me come out with you and do something insane. What is it this week, busting a crime ring in Reno? Buying illegal substances and distributing them to college students?”

“Hm,” Crowley says softly. “What’s a fun and illegal thing to do? How do you feel about hijacking a classic car for a cross-country road trip?”

“What kind of classic car?” Castiel asks, intrigued.

“There’s someone down the street from me at the moment with a nineteen sixty-seven Chevrolet Impala. It’s black, sleek, positively gorgeous, angel. Want to have a go at it?”

“Maybe later,” Castiel laughs. “For now, I think I’ll just join you for some whiskey.”

“I’m already at our favorite meet-up spot.”

“I’ll be there in five,” Castiel says, and hangs up.

~~

Their favorite meeting spot is a bar on the corner of Nowhere Place and Who Gives a Fuck Avenue. It’s called Honeybee, which Castiel suspects Crowley knows is why he likes it, and they have strippers and hookers there, which Castiel suspects is why Crowley likes it.

Plus they have absolutely exquisite booze.

Castiel finds Crowley at the bar nursing a beer and sits down next to him, grinning.

“Good evening,” Crowley murmurs, taking a sip of his drink. “What’ll it be?”

“Vodka tonic,” Castiel requests of the bartender, turning in his seat to look at Crowley. “What heinous schemes have you been up to since last we spoke?”

Crowley scoffs quietly. “Oh, Castiel, you always think so little of me.”

“Not little,” Castiel rebukes. “Accurate.”

“Touché,” Crowley laughs. “It’s the same as always, angel, selling reefer to anyone who’ll buy and seducing barely-legals, what did you expect? I’m not going to suddenly change my evil ways because you ask.”

The sarcasm and sass are positively dripping from the emphasized words, but Castiel isn’t fazed at all. He simply takes a swig of his drink and replies, “I didn’t ask.”

“That’s true. And I’m glad you haven’t because that would complicate things quite a lot.”

“Indeed it would,” Castiel replies.

They drink and talk for quite a while, but ultimately Crowley passes over Castiel’s companionship for that twenty-two year old in the corner who’s been eyeing him up all night and Castiel goes home alone.

What else isn’t new.

~~

Balthazar calls him up next. It’s three days since he paid Sam that visit to his firm and he needs something to entertain him while he’s rolling in cash and no cases.

“Hello Castiel!” he says eagerly. “How have you been getting along?”

Castiel smiles. Balthazar always manages to make him smile. “I’ve been alright,” he replies. “How’s it going with you?”

“I’m just wonderful,” Balthazar says cheerfully. “But you sound bored.”

“Out of my mind,” Castiel confesses.

“Then come on over to mine and we’ll play a board game, shoot the shit.”

Castiel sighs happily. “That sounds amazing. When?”

“Anytime. I’m free all week.”

“Great. I’ll see you in forty-five minutes.”

Castiel’s relationship with Balthazar has always been better than anyone in his family besides Gabriel. Gabriel was never hard, seeing as how they were closer in age and interests and practically everything. Gabriel had also been kind to him when none of his other family was. By the time Castiel was ten, Michael was solely supporting them with what limited income he could scrape together as a nineteen-year-old high school dropout and Lucifer had gotten himself emancipated and moved out. Gabriel was the only who had been there with him for the vast majority of his childhood.

Balthazar, meanwhile, has always been the ‘hot cousin’ of the family. (With Castiel, obviously, as the gay cousin.) He was never awkward as a child, spewing sass like hot rocks from the tender age of four and his body never becoming gangly or disproportionate. Even now, in his mid-fifties, he’s beautiful in the sort of indescribable way that older people often manage to be, the sort of beauty that is utterly unattainable (and completely unfathomable) to the very young.

And Castiel always idolized him, when they were children together. They are thirteen years apart, so when Castiel was seven, Balthazar was turning twenty, and from practically the moment Castiel knew what a crush was, he had one on Balthazar.

As Castiel gathers his things to meet his cousin at his house, he sighs. He’s so tired, always. He swears it didn’t used to be like this. He hopes it gets better, but he knows that it probably won’t.

He forgets to lock his house.

~~

“So, tell me of this Samuel Winchester,” Balthazar says playfully as Castiel is setting up Sorry!. Castiel scoffs and knocks over Balthazar’s pieces as retribution.

“You know everything there is to know.”

“No I don’t,” Balthazar says teasingly. “And you know that I don’t. Don’t you couzie?”

“Screw you with a jackhammer,” Castiel replies.

“Oh, saucy today are we?” Balthazar’s light, cheerful tone never falters. “There’s the sassy Castiel I’ve come to know and love. Tell me, darling, what’s the behind-the-scenes? What are you feeling that no one else is privy to? As the kids say, ‘spill the tea’.”

“I hate you so much,” Castiel says with a totally straight face. Apparently knocking over tiny, translucent, colored pieces of plastic wasn’t enough to vent his frustration, so he takes Balthazar’s expression far too literally and knocks his cousin’s mug of tea onto the floor.

“You delightful bastard,” Balthazar exclaims, staring at him in awe. “You positively fabulous prick.”

“You pompous ass,” Castiel grumbles under his breath.

“Clean my carpet, you arsehole, but first, I really do need to hear about this Winchester character now.”

Castiel can feel his resolve wearing away and he sighs. “Fine, for Christ’s sake if it will make you shut the hell up, okay. What do you want to know?”

“Are you falling for him, Cassie dear?”

Castiel scoffs. “I’ve met him twice, Balthazar.”

But of course, that’s not an answer. The number of times he’s interacted with Sam has, in fact, very little impact on how he feels about him. And as it stands… he isn’t quite sure whether he’s falling for Sam. He’d like to believe he knows better than that.

Balthazar must be able to read his thoughts, or else they’re just very in tune with each other, because he replies, “time doesn’t always have an impact on how you feel about someone.”

Castiel groans and tosses his head back over the back of his chair. “Look, Balthazar, if you wanted a love confession or some sort of cheesy, romantic-as-shit speech you should’ve gotten me drunk or high – or, best option, both. I don’t have anything for you.”

Balthazar hums distractedly. “Alright, then, Castiel. But don’t think I won’t be checking in on him.”

“Dear fucking god please do not do that.”

“Too late!” Balthazar cackles. “It’s in my calendar already.”

~~

Castiel gets the call at 8pm on Thursday, six days after he paid his little house call to Sam’s office. Caller ID: Unknown Number. He answers it.

“Castiel Novak?” asks an all-too-familiar voice that really shouldn’t be familiar.

Castiel smiles. “This is he.”

“Hi, it’s Sam Winchester,” replies the voice on the other end.

“Yes, I figured that out,” Castiel replies. “Have you considered my offer?”

“Yeah,” Sam says, all breath and no voice. “I’ve… I’ve given it a lot of thought, and I just…” He trails off, and Cas worries for a moment that he won’t resume speaking, but then he says, “I’m sorry, Castiel, but I can’t accept.”

Cas freezes. “I- wait, what? Why not?”

Sam sighs. “Well, I just… I love my little firm. You know? And I don’t wanna become one of those selfish big shot lawyers who looks out for number one and has no morals. Uh, no offense.”

“None taken,” Castiel murmurs absently, barely aware of anything he’s saying. Not that it particularly matters, because Sam is just continuing on.

“I became a lawyer to help people, and by representing these economically disadvantaged young black protesters, I can actually do that. So… no, unless you’re planning to let me keep doing this, to let me keep not charging these people for the work I’m doing for them, I can’t take this position.”

“I understand,” Castiel replies softly. “Thank you.”

His phone falls to the floor and he stares at the wall. He might be in shock. He isn’t sure.

Masterpost | Next | Previous

[nanyoky]

hey gang guess who’s sick in bed and therefore not drinking but is definitely getting Fever Weird which is the next best thing really

No it’s not i’m sick as a dog and fucking miserable and probably not going to be as much fun as usual, full disclosure. Instead of sushi and cider like my usual wednesdays, i’m having tang and saltines so.... cheers.

also i want you all to know there were no working links so i had to wait for the official cw stream to go up like a pauper come on team it’s 2018 we’re better than this

mayor mac and the lodges are still in cahoots and now v knows why but you know who doesn’t yet? ME THAT’S WHO

oh wow so that’s penelope’s deal now

this is- in a darkly hilarious way- the photo negative of season one keller boys “no cruising guys today kiddo” “good GAWD dad”. “i may be a widow but i can still fucking PULL” “good GAWD mom”

i should not be laughing but oh my god CHERYL’S FACE jesus h christ

it’s veronica’s job to keep next gen riverdale chill “when the news breaks” ruh-roh

did archie say he’s going to start a band “of redheads”? so just- him on guitar and cheryl screaming into the mic like a kraken? that’s the only possibility i can envision

“are you upset?” “upset? ronnie, i’m crazy about you” that is a suburban white mom level of non-answer, archie- stop hanging out with alice cooper

RED ALERT KEVIN READS CLIVE BARKER NOVELS AND MY LOVE FOR HIM GROWS EVEN MORE

awkward betty and archie eye contact is almost as obvious as veronica’s stilted forced “we should probably all stay calm....” to the room at large

((the saltines went over pretty well so i think i’mma try some chicken nuggest pray for me team))

“my home is a dickensian nightmare- i won’t have my school turn into one too!” there is just... so much here. short version: cheryl’s origin story is that of the classic highschool bully: not in control of her home life, so enacts violent control over her school. in this way she has not changed. also jesus christ she’s so fucking dramatic i love her like this is in any way her problem but she’s automatically FURIOUS about it. but also just: wow cheryl hates poor people.

“of course. we’re fine.” kevin’s skeptical face (tm) is mint. top shelf. the good shit.

“jones- this is very lovecraftian, which i’m sure was the intention.” toni has jughead Figured Out, and i’m not sure he’s comfortable with that. 

*jake peralta voice* toni- first off your insinuating voice is way too high you sound like meryl streep in mama mia

oh my god sweetpea and fangs are just so dumb. so pretty and so dumb. just because you two wear leather jackets and flannel doesn’t mean you’re not dumb jocks. i’m calling it: sweetpea/reggie. can you imagine the angry makeouts???? so much angry repressed sexuality.

toni’s face of “oh god why are you morons celebrating” is some of the best we’ve seen of her so far my hopes are high for next gen serpent characterization with this plotline

WHAT DOES HIRAM NEED ALL THIS LAND FOR?!?!?!?!?!

POLLY MY GIRL!!!!!!!!!!!!!

oh wow yeah actress must have gotten a better gig or something and is only available for a cameo or two if a show as drama loving as RIVERDALE is keeping the birth of twins offscreen

THE LEADERS OF THE FARM?????? NO. NO. UNACCEPTABLE.

“juniper and dagwood” *betty face*

also yes polly you are in a cult get your babies and LEAVE. go hang out with smithers and joaquin whom i command are safe and happy and healthy wherever they are

“that’s mine by the way” FUCKIN COLD.

FINALLY someone other than the sheriff’s office is getting involved in how fucking SHADY this “small” town is

“is this even legal, what you’re asking me to do?” SMART, REASONABLE ARCHIE IS HERE TO STAY I LOVE SMART, REASONABLE ARCHIE WHO HAS LEARNED NOT TO JUST ACCEPT EVERYTHING ADULTS TELL HIM AT FACE VALUE

oh nevermind one seed of doubt and he’s back. poor boy. sweet boy. dumb boy.

oh nooooo freddddd

fp in his adorkable pop’s uniform smugly nudging about betty is a great moment everyone deserves an in-law that loves them like fp loves betty

please tell me “doctor beeker” is their actual science teacher’s name

we all know that finding the lost cooper brother is going to do ANYTHING but make alice a happier, more stable person right this is not going to end well

i mean even if he wasn’t a minor and using him to get information from a dangerous criminal was a profoundly shitty thing to do, the fbi could have picked literally anyone in town that would have been a better double agent because this is.... not a subtle conversation.

GREAT SONG CHOICE FOR THE SERPENTS’ INTRO TO RHS ((my mom had a tape with this song on it that she’d play to get me pumped for kindergarten))

okay i’m only going to say this once and then probably once more in the scorecard but: how much better would this mixed school plot have been if JOAQUIN WAS STILL IN TOWN?!?!?! the joy and comedy if he and kevin got back together?? the ANGST IF THEY DIDN’T?!?!?!?!?! i am CHEATED. LAID LOW. BITCHSLAPPED.

THAT BEING SAID: this is so good already. serpents swaggering in. veronica’s stepford forced cheer. cheryl and reggie STRUTTING to create conflict.

toni’s face upon gazing at cheryl once more is just so very gay. angry gay. furious that she has to see those mile long legs again.

“no one invited facist barbie to the party” !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! "ragamuffins” !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

oh archie. so pure. so ineffective. as always.

did jughead just sidehug sweetpea away from conflict are they there now

i haven’t been paying enough attention to outfits so far but the placement of cheryl’s iconic spider broach not over her heart like a normal broach, but ON HER SHOULDER LIKE IT’S CRAWLING was a topnotch choice by wardrobe

again this is some classic response to sexual assault in the category of “well that’s unfortunate” until it’s about someone close to you come on archie you’re better than this.

which of course reinforces cheryl’s “me against the world” attitude because NO ONE SEEMS TO FUCKING CARE that she was attacked except veronica and the cats

“of the park avenue lodges” juggie. not helping. although i’d like to think jughead has mentioned veronica enough that toni knows this is just mild teasing between unlikely friends

josie’s awkward “now just... josie...” BROKE MY HEART

“joaquin and i used to hang out. talked about you all the time” OF COURSE HE FUCKING DID THAT POOR BOY WAS *ELIZA SCHUYLER VOICE* HELPLLLLLEEEEEEEEEESSSSSSSS. also i’m so happy joaquin has FRIENDS that hopefully still keep in touch please just someone check on him i miss my gay biker leo

godfuckingdammit reggie

“no more serpent jackets” okay- okay- i really need to ask the writers to go to a real high school just once. once. in what world would they have not made this a rule already???? i got in trouble in middleschool for wearing a bandana okay and i was a weird horse girl and LOOKED IT.

is josie hanging out with the core four+kevin because cheryl’s weirdness was scaring her off and the cats have cut all ties? has she lost her entire support network??? i’m worried about alpha kitty guys include her in stuff

jughead is #worked up and toni is having none of it thank god for toni

“i just need to borrow one of jason’s blazers” thank GOD they haven’t abandoned creepy ties between jason and archie. please someone share my half baked conspiracy theory that they were switched at birth and archie is the real blossom twin

juggie. i love you. i genuinely do. but you are being a prime fucking asshole right now. 

i was rolling my eyes so hard at jughead’s bullshit i almost missed sweetpea’s turtleneck which would have been a TRAGEDY

this separation between jughead’s attitude and the rest of the serpents is finally bringing to light what has bothered me about his plot this season so far. he’s so fucking desperate to fit into his role as the heir apparent to the gang but he doesn’t actually know shit about being in a gang and being in danger all the time. for all he grew up poor his has this really privileged attitude and i can’t wait for toni and co. to just tell him to sit down and shut up because believe it or not his actions have consequences

OH MY GOD VERONICA’S SOLUTION IS MAKEOVERS BECAUSE OF COURSE IT IS

i was going to say “what they didn’t call ahead???” but of course not. cooper women do not call ahead

i mean we all knew this wasn’t going to go well and i think a lot of us thought it might be a possibility but...... umm.... heavens.... golly.... that.... that uh... looks like.... ayoungblondskeetulrich. .....jinkies.

oh god why do we have two prostitution plotlines in one episode why why is this a thing in riverdale now

on a lighter note they are hitting into my nostalgia funny bone hard this ep with the game in the whyte wurm being mortal combat ii it’s been years since i’ve gazed on those pixilated icons of my childhood

fp giving you advice on doing the smart thing instead of your kneejerk reaction to a shit situation is a real lowpoint i hope you realize that juggie

again, as heavy as it is, i’m glad they don’t shy away from the dreaded “R” bomb with this nick plotline. like characters seem hesitant to say it in a realistic way, but they do use it which keeps it from feeling like the creators trying to write around controversy

i like that they’re acknowledging it’s pretty shitty of archie to not care until it’s about veronica it feels like brewing #character development

BAHAHAHA TONI AND SWEETPEA LOOK ADORABLY HORRIBLE THIS PLOTLINE IS BLESSED

I mean don’t get me wrong, i love seeing nick get beat up as much as anyone else, but archie should have def talked to veronica before all that and she’s right to be upset

yess betty goin to rescue her bro and showing up in the suspiciously convenient nick of time i love it

archie being a good boy and clearing the air about the kiss before things get out of hand but also.... not mentioning the fbi agent after her dad is such a very riverdale thing to do

omg they’re making a d&d cover group i lied i’m bringing it up again HOW DARE THEY NOT HAVE JOAQUIN HERE FOR THIS WHEN HIS BOYFRIEND IS A CERTIFIED D&D NERD CAN YOU FUCKING IMAGINE THE BANTER

BLOSSOMS JESUS H CHRIST

god this poor lost cooper boy this is the most awkward situation ever because you know alice and hal are not going to handle this well and you know betty is going to try too hard to make it work and you know chic is probably involved in some stuff that will be Plot (tm) later on and this is just A Lot

archie.....

chic..... (we’re supposed to find this threatening, but psych, chic is noticing all the suspiciously different features they have almost like they might be half siblings instead of full siblings.....)

Episode Scorecard:

# of Sick Beat Drop Editing Sequences: None

Do I Still Miss Joaquin: Do i have to fucking elaborate YES okay goddammit someone better be working on a “joaquin never left” au to fit in with this serpents at rhs plot as we speak or i will be MOST CROSS.

Episode Hair MVP: Toni’s was looking particularly nice today

Episode Outfit MVP: sweetpea’s turtleneck. hands down. but with a close second being the placement of cheryl’s spider.

Episode Cast/Crew Shoutout: soundtrack was better than it has been this season- good choices there.