#and watching those key mental walls break down is just very compelling to me

[yourgamemasterthewhiterabbit]

Perhaps even

wow that's a nice inflexible honour code you've got there. i can't wait to see it broken under immense pressure, and you along with it.

[zimshan]

august braindump: on the state of tv and heartstopper

the last year has been such a strange time for me and tv. i honestly cannot remember a time i watched less new tv shows. it’s not for lack of trying but every show/season i started, i was just dragging my heels to finish. some of that is because they’re older shows that aren’t as good as their earlier seasons. stranger things s4 took me an entire year to finish. the pacing was just wildly off to me, and that’s disappointing after the incredible structure of s1. some of that is because of subject matter. i haven’t been able to work myself up to watch outlander after the s5 finale because i just don’t have the mental bandwidth for a sexual trauma storyline. babylon berlin i stopped watching because they were threatening to kill another kid. i’ve noped out of so many shows because of the ratcheting stakes, something that i'm so so tired of seeing done just for the hell of it.

of all the shows, i probably watched the great s2 quickest because it was just so off the wall and the tone of s1 still fascinates me. but even that dragged and was partly guilt tripping to justify my hulu subscription, and i could never let my guard down because it was always going for the most outrageous grotesque thing. i’m stalled on s3 now that they’re killing off characters left and right.

i watched shadow and bone s2 like 15-20 minutes at a time in july because i just found it a snoozefest compared to s1. i legit just wanted to finish it to cross it off my list. how terrible is that? the moment i finished, i started the fame game, a bollywood show, literally because of one gifset on my dash. and watched that 4x faster than anything else i’ve seen all year. cementing my idea that the best of netflix is their international shows. but that shit was pretty dark too.

so beginning of august, i opened up netflix sleep deprived and looking for something to get my mind off my impossible deadline and fuel some writing inspiration. someone on my dash was recently talking about Heartstopper, and it reminded me i missed watching it last year when everyone was talking about it. so seeing it pop up on my netflix screen, i absentmindedly thought, "what the hell let’s see what the fuss is about" and started the first episode. and you know it did the impossible. it grabbed me from the first few frames, and i looked up 2 hours later like oh right sleep. and now i just want to analyze it like a bug. what the hell makes it work where others have failed?

the binging culture inherent to streaming tv is fascinating to me because i almost never do it. if there is one anti-binger out there, she is me. i miss the era of one episode a week on a certain night every day for years. my patience maxes out at 45 minutes every time. i think it’s terrible that shows need to be so bingeable millions of people have to watch an entire season in a weekend to get renewed. because even the best shows i can't commit to doing that for. where does anyone find the time or brainspace, idek.

i know most of the coverage and reaction to the show seem to be about representation and i agree. but there’s something about the elements of Heartstopper that just work where other tv shows lately have faltered and i want to break it down for parts. because on paper it does seem so simple. some of it really is just basic storytelling in tv. those first three episodes are key and the pacing is excellent, every second counts and the acting, editing, and music really drive the show and keep it compelling. on rewatch, i can see how the addictive quality is very much in the editing, in the music, to keep it punchy so that you never think to stop watching. but it’s also in the white space, the moments they give to the lead actors to let a moment breathe. i've been beating this drum for decades now but this show gave so many good examples of it.

several 5-minute sequences caught me thinking god that so compelling why how. the one that stood out on rewatch is the texting sequence in 102 after nick’s interception of the assault scene. there’s zero dialogue but the editing, acting, and music work together to feel the weight of the moment and then lift up from there.

all these essentials combine with something unique like the animations as visual representations of emotions and attraction and create some kind of magical alchemy. it’s been a long time since i’ve thought about it but “lightning in a bottle” describes the best seasons of tv i’ve seen: where it feels like everyone on set, all the actors, every one of the crew, writers, directors, care about the story and are working on all cylinders to do their best job. in the age of streaming, this seems to be more rare than ever and learning about mini writing rooms during the WGA strike has helped to understand why. so has seeing those checks to send home the overall state of residuals in the streaming era. to do the best job people need to be paid fairly. full stop.

so i started Heartstopper and watched 4 episodes in the blink of an eye. the next day, 6; the last day 4. then i did a thing i almost never do anymore: i looked up the soundtrack. music has always been a driver for me, a tv show that nails a score or soundtrack is always gonna get under my skin more than one that doesn’t. it’s part of the necessary ingredients for a good show for me. all my forever tv loves, music plays a central role, music that defines and sets the tone for the show and then becomes forever married to it. you can create a list of the songs and play it back and see the show unfurl again in your mind. its my favorite way of revisiting a show without actually watching it, after a good vid that is. but it works best when the music is a dead lock for the scene or character and typically this is sound driven more than lyrically driven. this show uses a 2012 era style sound i already have a strong affinity for, i have multiple work playlists from the last decade to drive me through a deadline with Foster The People, Fitz and the Tantrums, et al.

but it also did a thing i haven't seen in a long while: the lyrics were used as an extension of the script for internal character POV. in the first episode alone you have the following lyrical-visual pairs: -i'll go anywhere you want to go on charlie getting ben's text to meet -i wanna get lovesick with you on nick watching charlie run and asking him to join the team -right before i'm swallowed by my mind and cursing at the sky on charlie out of place on the rugby field before nick pulls him in to the group -what's the point of looking at the view? cause every time i do i just see you on elle and tao missing each other -the world ends it's you and me/in my head if we can be together/maybe we'll live forever on nick tackling charlie and the leaves animations around them -i see the signs of a lifetime on nick getting charlie's thank you x text paired with the flowing bird animations roll to the credits

this is vidding happening here.

so i spent a good two days listening to the soundtrack and related albums as i got through my deadline. and then i started getting some more questions about the timeline on the story (the soundtrack is of a style popular circa 2012 that i associate with 8tracks playlists even though the actual songs are a bit later, 2015 onwards) and looked up the books the show was based on. i started Solitaire after seeing it was the author’s first book and wanting to read tori’s POV after the glimpses in the show got me thinking about her elder daughter role.

then i looked up the comics when i realized the timeline of Solitaire was a year later and wanted to fill in the gaps. and wow, i’m in awe of how much of the show was already here, how much detail went into the show to match certain frames. the comics are basically acting as storyboards for the show. i used to do the most basic storyboarding for vidding a lifetime ago. i’ve recently gotten the storyboarding itch again the last few months after watching some BTS docs on TCM about storyboard artists and remembering how fascinating and underappreciated the skill actually is. there's some beautiful storyboarding out there, but it doesn't have to be beautiful, it's just got to be functional. at its heart, it's about the frame, the shot, the visual that tells the story. and a lot of that is already done in the comics and translated straight to screen.

i’m inspired learning about alice oseman’s story as a young author, how she started and finished Solitaire before graduating high school, writing the story she wished she saw on the shelves. then how she was taken with her two secondary characters and started teaching herself how to draw to visualize and bring to life their own journeys. it’s such a great example of how storytelling takes on a life of its own and how you are not defined by only your current skillset. there are no boundaries on creativity and curiosity but the ones we self-impose on ourselves.

the last few years, i’ve been thinking a lot about why some works fail to resonate while others succeed, especially in regard to book to screen adaptation. it probably started with the absolute fail that was GOT S8 and rereading THG next to the films and grown from there with my TCM pandemic focus. obviously it’s a gamechanger when the author is the showrunner and that alone is rare. the whole nature of Heartstopper as a webcomic first and driven by subscribers and kickstarter donations is unique as well. alice has built up a passionate audience to create for that helped promote the show and that makes a lot of difference.

but the streaming element is an added issue. by the time i finished season 2, my one overriding thought was wow, imagine society if this had aired 20 years ago. i couldn't help but think of the kids this show could have helped, seeing such an sincere example of queer community on screen. but interrogating that further, i know it’s a silly thought. it wouldn’t have gotten made at all. in 2000, dawson's creek kicked up hate over one gay kiss that amounted to almost nothing. my best friend at 15 came out as gay and felt like he had to pirate QaF asap as the only piece of queer rep around but something far outside of our age group. this story is age appropriate for the age that needs it. in 2023, homophobic parents are waging wars on the school board and libraries in our area for carrying books with queer representation including those of oseman's. no network would greenlight 22 episodes of a queer tumblr webcomic. netflix gave the show 4 hours for its first season in the middle of the pandemic. it only gets made in the streaming era. it is a product of the times, even if the story originates 10 years earlier.

[]

the picture of queer community and lifting up and supporting others is essential for the age this is targeting. i know i'm 20 years older than that target and am mindful of that. this show is not for me. but it's been a while since i've watched a teen series, probably skam, which is a big outliner in teen shows. i think from my dash i assumed the show was going to be pure teen fluff but instead was surprised how much texture it has. the love story is the focus of the gifsets, but it does sell the show short imo. the world doesn’t ignore the dark parts---homophobic bullies, abusive partners and clueless parents, trauma and its long tail, anxiety and eating disorders, the ways love and community can uplift and support but not cure. reading Solitaire i can see where it’s coming from, a dark story that starts the verse. the darkness is there not ignored but part of the journey. its presence makes the light more powerful. but its best virtue is that despite its dark parts, it’s at heart a comforting story. and i think this is an overarching reason why it succeeds as a show. the comic does right by each character and in turn cares for the reader. so everyone working on it saw the story as a comfort themselves and did right by the story. that care shows on screen.

the way Solitaire ends is a thesis statement of sorts for the osemanverse: support and lift each other up, you’re not alone and stronger as a community. it matches skam's thesis, and heartstopper continues it. that reminder is a balm to these times. it's the ethos of organizing but it got lost in isolation of the last few years. its simplicity is part of its power. part of lightning in a bottle is timing. i know some people have lived with this story for years, but after 4 long plague years, its sincerity speaks to me. i can’t think of a reminder i needed more than this story at this time. sometimes you really do stumble on the right story right when you need it.

anyway, this verse has gotten in my brain now so fair warning. heartstopper/osemanverse posting ahead.

[akvtsuki-ari]

A Study In Body Language| iii. angel wings

Warnings: talks of trauma, drug use and addiciton, broken childhood, general talk of loss and sadness, general sad tw 

Length: 4.5k 

Authors Note: this fic is really my pride and joy. this chapter is heavy and honest and i hope you all like it. thanks for sticking with me as always and i hope everyone ejoys. much love <33

Plot Summary: You’ve been taking care of Spencer and living with him on and off for a few months, and tonight was supposed to be any other night but it wasn’t. You and Spencer speak honestly for the first time, and Spencer thinks he sees wings on your back. No more walls, no more secrets. 

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 

You were getting a little too accustomed to the company of Spencer Reid. After that first night, you’d stop by every day and depending on the situation, some nights - no, many nights, you’d sleepover. The morning sun would shed your worries away as you hear Spencer asleep in the other room. You slept less than Spencer at this point, but he was constantly exhausted, so who could blame him. The mental toll of addiction was blooming, and more often than not you worried about his relapse. Some days were better than others, but the night was always difficult. Full of darkness, and silence, and overthinking. 

It had been two months, on and off of living in Spencer's apartment for temporary amounts of time. Everywhere he went there were traces of you, the smell of your shampoo and soap, or your laundry folded up neatly, or grocery lists you wrote in cutesy stationery. Your house was in a similar condition - with traces of Spencer's existence there though he’d never actually set foot in your apartment. His clothes, mostly. Old books he gave you to read, as a small and unspoken repayment. Little reminders of the other person just seemed to pop up everywhere and neither of you really spoke about it. Not if you didn’t have too. 

It was two months like that before tonight happened - what would have normally been another normal night. You made dinner or ordered takeout if you were too tired. The two of you would make small talk, small bits and pieces of intimacy in many ways unknowing, falling onto the floor in front of you, for the other person to pick up. Then the sun would rise, and you’d take care of your personal life while Spencer tried slowly but surely to reintegrate. This was normal for both of you. 

Two months of living on and off with another person accustom you a lot to their inconsistencies. Sometimes it was glaringly obvious when something was wrong, like now. When the knock on Spencer's door lingers for a few seconds too long and you can feel the tidal waves crash and go to shit. When your heart pounds in fear as you use the key to unlock the door and see a needle missing on the desk and know. It was the small pains, the growing pains that hurt the most when you and another person share the same quiet space. 

It hurt most to see Spencer so exhausted. It was killing him and he was letting it, but he was trying. Something happened, surely it did but what? He was getting better even if it was slow but something made him look to the needle before he looked to you and maybe that was the hardest part. That all the walls both of you forcibly kept up may be a reason he got here in the first place. You didn’t have time for heartache, because for now you just didn’t know. You didn’t know of the circumstances, or evidence, or even if he didn’t overdose and those things are the darkest. 

When you see Spencer Reid, staring into the ceiling high out of his mind, you don’t really know how to feel other than sad. You’re not crying, you’re not in pain, you’re just sad. You wish you were angry because anger is such a simple and uncomplicated emotion but you could never be. It was just sad. For a lot of reasons, but just that at the end of the day. 

You sat next to Spencer, placing your bags on the floor. You leaned on the coffee table, taking his temperature. He looked over at you, wincing but smiling. You can’t blame him for chasing his happiness, you suppose. Your hand rests on his forehead for a few seconds as you watch him in silence. He just looks up at the ceiling, eyes flitting with nothingness as he lays there, unmoving.

“What happened, Spencer?,” your voice isn’t solemn. He appreciates that you’re genuinely just asking him a question. His eyes fall onto your expression, and he looks carefully at all your features. A feeling of adoration stir in his chest, his hands reaching out to touch your face and you let him. He figures its the high talking, so he doesn’t say anything. He just looks at you - and touches you, afraid that if he doesn’t you’d disappear and he wasn’t ready for that yet. His fingers shake when he moves them. But they still as soon as he touches your skin. 

“JJ called, and asked me how I was,” he laughs. It’s not a genuine laugh, because you’ve heard Spencers genuine laugh and it sounds different. Less throaty, and more like an uproar. 

“I hate lying to them, hah. I do it all the time, but every time it comes with this regret. This time the lie is so bad, I might never tell them,” he muses. You hold his wrist and pull off from it. He looks at you curiously but you lock fingers with him instead and that seems to ease him. 

You just look at him for a few seconds. You don’t have much to say that he doesn’t already know because well, that's just the thing. The two of you still don’t know much at all. You wish it were as simple or well-thought-out as destiny but it wasn’t. It was careful considerations to make sure that things never got too close. That ultimately, both of you could leave this situation behind someday with nothing more than solidarity. Neither of you tried, to tear down any walls or breakthrough any barriers. You sat stagnant, on opposite sides of the same concrete wall and just spoke, or knocked, or otherwise. Each of you just trying to make sure the other survived the darkness. You can’t help but feel it was your fault, that maybe if you were JJ for him, he wouldn’t feel so compelled to break but the notion is flawed. 

It sounds complicated because it is. It takes a level of stubbornness from every party to spend two months with someone and scrape by without at least being friends. You were close, but not friends. If there was a word for that, then this was it.  

“Don’t leave tonight, please,” his voice is dry when he says it. It sounds like he can’t bear too but he does anyway and the request is a surprise. You just nod, staring at him. Trying to figure out how to just exist in something so complicated. 

“Tell me, something, Y/N,” he poses the questions, turning his whole body to face you. You read his expression and he laughs at your confusion. 

“Nothing, in particular, we don’t really do very good at honest conversations, do we?,” he smiles when he says it. You can’t help but smile back, recognition of his words to be true. You just look to him, his body language is so relaxed and quiet. It’s a little unnerving how much you don’t recognize him but whose fault was that? It’s hard to say his or yours. No sway in either direction.

You don’t really know why or how it happens. You don’t know if it’s the way he looks at you so warmly, or the way his hands hold yours so tight like your the last thing he has to hold onto. It was like the two of you had forgotten the whole world, genuinely forgotten it and this was all that was left. Both of you just holding onto the other person, the person who’d walk with you through the darkness without intention and now you were both here. It wasn’t time because it never would be. It would never be the right time to stop being so stubborn, but sometimes the universe aligns in a way where it makes the most sense to not be. None of it ever made any sense but how could it?

“I’m sick of playing this game, Y/N, and you are too. It’s stupid, and it doesn’t have to mean anything but we keep letting it. It keeps meaning something and that’s why you’re still here. So what does this mean to you?,” Spencer's question isn’t aggressive, or unwarranted. He’s right, thats the part that's most difficult. 

He was right. Two months of being together, living together, talking together and still the both of you were here. At some point, the moral obligation stopped, at some point, the emotions didn’t make sense - at some point, there was no need for either party to keep going. But you did, and neither of you knew when the end was. At some point, this was something more than a moral obligation. It had personal stakes, rooted in fear, love, and acceptance. Stakes from personal places that neither of you ever talked of. Always just managed to avoid it. 

“I asked you two months ago, so know I’m asking again. Why’re you here?,” Spencer asks, looking at your expression. You look to him for reassurance and he gives it to you before you settle and go to tell him why - or really who. 

“His name was Michael. He was a brother to me, and when I was little - he always got me out of trouble. He showed me what it meant to live, and to be alive. He taught me how to fight, he taught me how to love, and he showed me how to be kind. Every lesson I learned, he taught me. When the addiction finally caught up with him, he gave me a note. Told me thank you for everything, and that he was sorry. Sorry he couldn’t fight away the demons anymore and told me to remember to be kind. That, that would change the world someday. That’s the short version anyway,” you spoke solemnly. You weren't sure when you started crying, but Spencer started wiping tears off your face. 

It was the first time anyone on the team had ever heard of the story. They knew things about you, of course they did but you always kept that part of you. It made you, all of you but you didn’t want so many people to know all of you. Just not yet anyways. It was such a dark part of you, and maybe part of you believes that if you keep it away - they wouldn’t have to carry the burden of sympathy with them. You didn’t want sympathy; you didn’t want anyone to know just how fucked up your life used to be because it took you so long to grow from that. You’re afraid of unpacking something that you spent so many years compartmentalizing. 

“Shit, sorry,” you say softly. Spencer just looks at you. 

“I didn’t really have much family, my mom passed away when I was young and my dad isn’t really around - he took me in, but he’s a piece of shit. It was the neighborhood that raised me, I made trouble but who didn’t? I have plenty of people back home who are family but there’s no blood relation,” You explain. Spencer nods, a little tired.  

“I was pretty isolated as a kid, so I kinda get it,” he explains. You give him a smile. 

“It’s different, and I know how hard it was for you. You shouldn’t diminish that,” you explain warmly. Spencer cries this time, which is certainly unexpected. You wipe his tears. 

“Michael took me under his wing when he was volunteering at the community center. He said I reminded him of someone, never told me who. Every time I go home that center is the first place I go,” you say softly, recalling home fondly. Spencer listens to you intently. 

“It housed a lot of addicts and homeless folks. So now, I just know when something is wrong. I know what to do, and what to look for. Every person has a different reason and story, so sometimes there's no time to do everything you can. Sometimes a hot meal and a shower, and that one night of comfort is the most you can do for someone. Because ultimately, you can’t force them to recover. You can only give them the tools to try,” you explain, recalling your life back home. A part of yourself that only Hotch really knew, because it was always so hard to talk about. 

“I’ve seen it all, you know? The whole world is sick so what do you do? For me, I just try my best to do what I can. The BAU, and life back home, all of it. I just try my best because it’s all I can do,”  your voice is gentle when you say the last part. Spencer's throat is closing up as he stops himself from crying. He sees what everyone else must’ve seen before. It’s hard to not be moved by you. 

“What do you do when it’s not enough?,” he asks quietly. You’re startled by the question but you pet his hair for a second. 

“Your best is always enough. It’s foolproof because there isn’t anything you can do after your best. So when it feels like my best isn’t enough, I try to remember that there wasn’t anything more to do. It’s hard but it’s how you stay afloat. When it becomes personal, it’ll gnaw on your soul till there's nothing left, so I try so hard to make sure it doesn’t get that way,”  you explain soothingly. The last part sticks on Spencer's conscious mind but he doesn’t say anything about it. 

“You know, we never talked about the first night you were,” Spencer croaks. You look at him for a second, pausing and taking in his words. You didn’t, and it never occurred to you that maybe you should. 

“Would you like to?,”

Spencer just smiles. You take that as a yes. 

“You’re different when you’re like that, and like this,” you’re the first to talk about it. Spencer just looks at you knowingly. 

You put on Harry Potter and waited for Spencer to come out of the shower. Everything was going surprisingly well and when Spencer popped his head out of the bathroom to ask for a towel - you had earned yourself a little faith that maybe this would turn out okay. 

It was short-lived, really. Spencer comes, and sits, and eats. But he isn’t hungry, and he slept for a while but he doesn’t think he will ever again and his breathing becomes unhinged. The folly into what should’ve felt inevitable. It was the first time you’d ever seen Spencer in such a state, unready and willing but destined to fall apart. 

You got him to eat, and to sleep - but the night was going to fall any time soon and he was losing his mind. Moving constantly, walking and pacing, and sighing. He couldn’t hold himself any longer, couldn’t fathom the idea of being alive. Of course, it hurts too. It hurts when you don’t take it and it hurts when you do, so for a while, you and Spencer are just stuck. You’re watching him fold into himself and you’re just a little unsure. 

Spencer sits to read and his hands are shaking. Harry Potter long forgotten, the lasagna foiled wrapped, and the city dark. The world had stopped it felt like but Spencer couldn’t stop shaking. His finger trembles every time he turned the page and an exasperated sigh fell from his lips. He just wanted to focus on anything but the feeling that made his skin feel so hot and prickly. 

You sit next to Spencer and silently take the book from his hands. You hold his hands together and put the book away and you walk to lock his doors and turn of his lights. He looks at you curiously as you pack things away and tidy up. You grab a pillow and some blankets and sit on the couch next to him before you lay down, pulling his shoulder down towards you. He’s little spoon, eyes terribly confused and face flustered. You just braid his hair and lay with him for a while. Eventually, it’s so quiet, he stops shaking. He’s too confused to be upset so he relaxes instead. You’re silent the whole time and he falls asleep in your arms, unsure but happy to be anywhere but in his own head

“Why did you do that?,” Spencer asks first. You look to his eyes as he asks for your recognition and answers. 

“The easy answer was that you needed it. We’re human, we all need to be held sometimes,” you explain. 

“What's the hard answer?.” Spencer always managed to notice those things. The small things that most people wouldn’t catch. 

“That I wanted too,” you look over to him as you answer his question and he gives you a small smile. He nods a bit - eyes hazy and just nods. Spencer looks distantly for a while, comfortable silence falling into the air as the both of you sit and think. 

“I stopped having nightmares after that night,” Spencer confesses. You must look very surprised, Spencers chuckle soothing to your ears as he glances at your face. 

“You were having nightmares?,” you query carefully. He gestures a yes as he stares up at the ceiling, hands, moving to lay on his back, finding your hands as he looks up. You accept it and Spencer gives it a squeeze. 

“They stopped after, and I haven’t had one since you started living here part time,” Spencer admits to you in good faith. You laugh at the part-time comment and Spencer does too. 

Silence again. The longest pause between the two of you as you look at everything in the room but each other. Spencer's expressions fall between being completely relaxed to tense, mind running a million miles at an hour though physically he was relaxed. The drugs never fixed anything, it becomes clearer as he comes down from a high but he feels better. He guesses your the reason and he can’t help but smile to himself. How ridiculous. 

You were in an odd place now it seemed. It was dark outside, though, not your average darkness. It wasn’t the kind that was eldritch - full of shadowy beings and abyss. It was the kind that just seemed to be. It was comforting in it’s own right but maybe that’s just because you were sharing that darkness with someone, someone who you didn’t hate. Someone who understood you, in all the complicated and broken pieces that you came with. Someone who wasn’t trying to fix you, but reframe you in his own mind so that things made sense. Spencer just wanted to make sense of you. 

“This is so complicated, you know that?,” You announce. Spencer hums in agreement. 

“We’re complicated people,” 

“What else do you wanna talk about?,” you ask Spencer, figuring that there was only one way this could really go. The night was the only place confessions could be heard, and you figure tonights the night. It’s really like you read Spencer's mind because he wants to ask you so many questions. Maybe it's a little by default that you know so much about him but he didn’t know anything about you it seemed. You were shrouded in too much mystery and maybe that’s what made him so suspicious of you back then - like he couldn’t accept your outright kindness because he always figured you had some bigger play. It was gut-wrenching to learn you were simply kind. Unabashedly kind, and you had your own reasons but most of them were simply because you were you. He was starting to see light in you, and every time he uncovered a piece there's more of that blinding light - falling onto his face and filling it with warmth. The kinda that pricks his skin after being surrounded by the cold for so long. Maybe it was selfish to find it like this, unfair to uncover you after all this time. He couldn’t help himself, the warmth was a feeling too addicting to stop searching for. 

He feels this pang of guilt, but he knows he needs to say it before he asks anymore question. 

“I’m sorry,”

You don’t need to ask. You know what he’s apologizing for because in the last few months you’ve learned a lot about how Spencer thinks and what he does. It’s everything that the two of you shared that he’s saying sorry for. You don’t need him to apologize but you accept it. 

“Me too,” 

Silence is the loudest voice in the room. 

“Why’d Hotch let you off work?,” the question is sudden but doesn’t feel that way.

“My dad is sick and I don’t know how I feel about it. I’ve been calling home and the neighbors a lot to make sure he’s okay cause I’m not all that sure I wanna see him. I don’t feel anything for him, but it’s sad to see him crumble,” 

“Fuck, I’m sorry,” Spencers voice shakes. That’s troubling but here you still were, watching over him almost needlessly. He knows it was your choice to do it but the way he’s been acting towards you just seemed so unwarranted now. It was okay, really it was but he couldn’t help the guilt that ate at him. You just shake your head, stopping him in his train of thought. 

“It’s okay, Spencer. Really it is, shit happens,” you seem tired, likely because you are. It’s 4am and though you don’t have anywhere to be the conversation of such an emotional scale was getting to you. It was exahusting but you tried your best to keep up with the sleep that was threatening to swallow you. 

More quietness. This time it feels affectionate. Spencer turns his body to face you, his eyes hanging over the way your lids flutter shut with sleep. He’d yell at you to go to bed normally, sometimes he’d catch you awake when you’d sleepover and do just that. But he knew that the conversation wasn’t over - the elephant in the room was still hanging over the both of you and it was just a matter of who would decide to answer the question because the two of you just can’t keep moving like this.

 At some point, you would have to both fall away from this reality that you share. Neither of you wanted to, it was unspoken but, this was nice. It was comfortable, though difficult and at times clinical. It was an escape from everything because every night the both of you ended up next to each other speaking in whispers and watching tv together. Nothing but that. Nothing more or less. You wished it could go on forever, and you hoped he did too but it couldn’t. Two months just wasn’t enough time to escape. But time was up, and if this didn’t prove that then what would? It wasn’t Spencer's relapse as much as it was why he relapsed in the first place. JJ was a reminder, and even though he’d gotten calls before, it broke him this time. It was one time too many, and it meant that time for this had run out. Before this break was gone forever, you two were just trying to find some closure.

You straighten your back out, as look at Spencer. He looks at you, as the two of you make comfortable eye contact. It’s not unnatural, or weird, or tense. You give him a genuine smile and he returns it. Nothing is left to hide so for a second the two of you just enjoy each other's company.  For maybe the first time, it’s not so secretive. It just is. 

“What do we do?,” Spencer chuckles. You shrug, sitting up straight. 

“Well, you should go to rehab, and I should probably go back home,” You say sleepily. Spencer doesn’t disagree with you but it’s difficult for him to admit it. 

“It helps if we’re both brave. So, after this, we can hold each other accountable, and be friends” You clarify. Spencer smiles brightly, his high finally having left him. He’s exhausted now, but he sits up. You stand up too, going to the kitchen. Spencer's eyes follow you as he looks at you curiously. 

“I’m gonna make some coffee, we can sleep in the morning but we should probably start looking at centers. And I need to book a flight back home,” You state. Spencer relaxes and fights the urge he has to hold you. Look into your eyes and say thank you for everything. He figures he has all the time in the world for that now and hopes recovering will be the best thank you of all. He hopes it will be enough. 

He hopes he’s enough for you. 

___

The sun was blinding, even past the curtains it was warm and inviting. The shadow of your laptop danced along Spencers coffee table - as two mugs sat next to it for company. It was a little cliche, the way the birds chirped and the sound of the city just seemed to be so still in the morning. Well, not morning - 3pm. You and Spencer didn’t sleep all night, so really you went to bed around when it was morning.

Spencer's chest rose and fell, as your sleeping figure was draped on top of him. It’s unclear how the two of you fell asleep like that, but at least this time it felt final. He was warm, and the way his hands rested on your back made you sleep easier. The weight of you on top of him made him relax - as if he knew he could always keep you safe from now on. Who knows if you’d ever talk about it, because when you wake up this will all be over. But the memories will always be there - and if you don’t talk about it, you’ll always have an excuse to come by, even if you didn’t need it anymore. 

You booked Spencer sometime in a rehab facility and scheduled an appointment with a therapist for him. It took all night because Spencer was rather picky about scheduling, but you didn’t mind. You booked a flight back home, and Spencer offered to go with you. You declined but you said maybe when you visit home for a happy reason he can come.

Now you’d both have reasons, just in case those stubborn feelings returned. 

The universe knew better, always did. It was too late for needing reasons by now, but it’d be a long time before either of you figured that out. That maybe friendly affections weren’t so friendly, and that at the end of the day both of you ignored the simple things. 

After all, this is a case study in body language. How it changes and grows when your heart opens to someone. 

It’s said when you’re in love with someone, their eyes dilate because of chemicals in the brain. 

Spencer's eyes were always blown out when he wakes up, but you figure he must be tired. 

Right? 

_____

taglist: @cynbx @zephyr-studiesjp @skrrrrrrrrrrt​ @louistwinslover​ @pastanest​ @nomajdetective​ @iamburdened​ @secretlyablueunicorn​

[alphaflyer]

FICLET:  Echo

For @cassiesinsanity, who gave me the prompt “That was a perfect example of how not to do things.”  Warning for politics...

                                                Echo

Steve really, really hates it when someone looks over his shoulder, especially while he’s trying to type on his iPad.  Those stupid electronic keys weren’t exactly made for serum-enhanced fingers and he always feels a little clumsy and self-conscious -- particularly when the someone is Tony Stark, whose own fingers can make any electronic device perform a Scott Joplin rag. 

“Do you mind?” he snaps at Tony, to absolutely no effect. Instead of scatting, the man draws closer.   Much closer.  Steve can feel his breath on his neck, warm and damp and smelling slightly – no, a lot – of beer.

“Hey, assassin people,” Tony says right beside Steve’s ear, his voice pitched high in amusement.  “Did you know that Captain America is contributing to the comment sections?” 

“Do you mind?”  Steve says again, this time with a proper don’t-fuck-with-me snarl.  “Or have all notions of privacy and personal dignity gone out the window since I went under the ice?” 

“Commenting on what?” Natasha wants to know, while Barton just utters a lazy but definitive, “Ee-yup.” 

The two former S.H.I.E.L.D. agents peel themselves off their couch in unison and head over to Steve’s side of the room on silent feet.  He is about to shush them off when he sees Barton unceremoniously shove Tony aside, a move that deserves to be rewarded with some momentary tolerance. 

And so Steve says nothing when Barton drapes himself over the back of his armchair, while Natasha settles gracefully on the armrest and leans in. Her perfume is the same as the one she was wearing on the Lemurian Star; for a moment Steve flashes back to the night when his world had started to fall apart, except he hadn’t known it then. Not yet.

“Whoa,” Barton says as he digests the contents of the page Steve has been looking at.  (Why do they call it a page when you can go down it endlessly – shouldn’t that be a scroll?) He taps off the keyboards without asking, so he can see the whole article, not just the comment window, and moves the cursor up.  He whistles softly. 

“That is some fucked up shit you’re lookin’ at, Cap.”

Steve nods, inexplicably comforted by the validation, however crudely delivered. 

“These people are either Nazis, or nuts,” he replies.  “The stories are bad enough, especially the ones by that Greek guy.  But the comments people leave?  My word.” 

He shakes his head as he watches the text flit by under Barton’s calloused finger; for a former carnie, the man reads surprisingly fast. 

“I suppose me and Bucky and the others, we fought a whole war so these jerks could keep the right to open their mouths, but I sure don’t have to like what comes out.” 

“And so you comment back.”   Barton nods approvingly and stops his scrolling.   “Righteous use of force and all that - do your Cap thing and hit those suckers where it hurts.  Makes perfect sense.”

If it makes sense, then why does Steve feel so mentally exhausted by the process?  He tries to explain, for his own benefit as much as the others’.

“For some reason, though, no one on the Internet seems to actually want a rational discussion. They just … pile on with insults, as soon as I make a perfectly reasonable, fact-based point. By the way, does anyone know what’s a ‘libtard’, or a ‘cuck’?”

“Well, what do you expect?” Natasha sounds amused possibly at some joke that only she – and maybe Barton – understands.  Someday Steve will figure out how they do that, this reading each other’s thoughts.  

“Sorry to break it to you, Steve, but you are on the Breitbart site.” 

“Breitbart?”  Apparently, Stark was insufficiently offended by the Barton shove; he hasn’t left the common room, he’s just gone to pour himself a Scotch. He takes a deep swallow and shudders.  “Abandon all rational thought, ye who enter there.” 

Steve’s chair currently being occupied by three people leaning over one iPad, Tony steers to the couch opposite from it as if that had always been his destination.  He plunks himself down and puts his feet on the coffee table, carefully placed in between the empty Chinese food containers and the beer steins.

“Seriously, Cap, piece of friendly advice?  You need to avoid that kind of site if you want to stay sane. Don’t let yourself be baited.  I mean, would you walk into one of Doctor von Doom’s toxic slime factories on purpose?  Let me tell you, I wouldn’t.”  He considers for a moment.  “I’d send Thor.” 

Tony probably has a point, if the angry churning in Steve’s gut is any indication.  Not about sending for a Norse God to do the mucky jobs, of course, but about maybe better avoiding political aggravation altogether.  Lord knows it’s bad enough waking up thinking you’ve won the war only to learn Hydra’s been there all along – and now, all these morons are crawling out of the woodwork, waving the Constitution just so they can burn it to ashes? 

“So what do you suggest I do, Tony?  Stay off the internet?”

“Works for me,” Barton shrugs.  “All’s ever there is pictures of kittens and the criminally stupid, trying to tell people not to vaccinate their kids.”   

He scrunches up his face, and looks over at Natasha for a second.   

“Well, I suppose there’s porn.  Say, Cap, you discover porn yet?” 

Natasha is fixated on Stark, who has gone uncharacteristically quiet.

“Tony?”  Her voice is soft, yet threatening.  “Are you thinking again?”

Steve shakes his head.

“I can’t give up on the internet altogether.  Still too much catching up to do.  Wikipedia…”  

He lets his voice peter out as Tony sets down his Scotch glass – a man who’s had an epiphany.  Tony looks up at the ceiling, like Joan of Arc calling out to her voices. 

“Friday?” he says, his speech a little slurred from all that beer and Scotch.  “I need you to write me an algorithm.  Something that separates sane from stupid.  Filter out all the Nazi junk, so that our good Captain here can cruise the web without going bonkers.  Can you do that?”

The melodious voice comes out of the ceiling somewhere, a fraction of a second later.

“As you wish, sir.  Would you like the algorithm to be applicable only to Captain Rogers’ personal browsing patterns, or to be more generally available?” 

Steve wants to say something to the effect that this isn’t necessary, that he’s a man and can take a little bullying on occasion, in fact needs it so he can feel useful when he whacks it down.  Besides, the word ‘algorithm’ gives him the shivers a bit.

But Stark gets there first.

“I think we can save everyone a lot of hassle by limiting all that unnecessary friction between people.  I say, just go for it, Friday.  Whole hog.”

                                                      …..

At first there isn’t much change, but after a couple of weeks Steve notices that his Facebook page and Twitter are much more pleasant places to spend time on.  His feeds seem mostly to show links to articles that are more interesting than annoying, with even the occasional science piece thrown in.  He even finds himself agreeing with most of the posts, and when the occasional commenter says something incendiary or abysmally ignorant, enough people shout him down so Steve no longer feels compelled to.

It’s all working pretty well, actually; even Sam agrees, and he is even more cynical than Stark.  In fact, Steve finds himself looking into the future with more confidence than he’s had since those helicarriers dropped into the Potomac. 

Yes, things are going very well, until … 

The team watches incredulously as the electoral district counter goes ever deeper in the red and PA, Wisconsin and Michigan get declared for Trump.  Even Tony, who’s been raised at the teat of billionaires and can identify with the dollar signs in the candidate’s eyes, shakes his head in disgust.

“Are they fucking serious?”  

Barton stares at the screen, where a handful of pundits are shouting over one another in horrified alarm. 

“Wonder why nobody saw that coming?” 

Natasha looks at her half-empty champagne glass, in which the bubbles have long since gone flat. 

“Maybe because we stopped talking to people with different points of view?  And stopped seeing them?” she says slowly.  “If the Red Room taught me one thing, it’s that building walls around your own thoughts can make your mind seem like a comfortable place to be, but it can only make you blind.”

She looks at Tony.

“And as for that algorithm of yours, Stark?  That was a perfect example of how not to do things.”

[myyearinmovies]

17) ⋆ Split (2017) ⋆ - 21/1/2017 (Spoilers)

While the mental divisions of those with dissociative identity disorder have long fascinated and eluded science, it is believed that some can also manifest unique physical attributes for each personality, a cognitive and physiological prism within a single being. Though Kevin (James McAvoy) has evidenced 23 personalities to his trusted psychiatrist, Dr. Fletcher (Betty Buckley), there remains one still submerged who is set to materialize and dominate all the others. Compelled to abduct three teenage girls led by the willful, observant Casey (Anna Taylor-Joy), Kevin reaches a war for survival among all of those contained within him - as well as everyone around him - as the walls between his compartments shatter apart.

WHAT. A. FILM. I’ve got so many things to write about this film. First off I thoroughly enjoyed it and there’s been a lot of drama or talk surrounding this film which I personally think there doesn’t need to be. A lot of people were turning around and saying it was ‘Demonising’ DID (Disasociative Identity Disorder) which I really think it is not. M Night Shyamalan would not have done something like that. James McAvoy himself even questioned while playing the role ‘Is it okay? Are we okay to do something like this?’ and said he wouldn’t have done it had he of known it was going to be offensive. Here’s a good section of an interview that I found interesting.

For me, seeing this movie, I didn’t not once think it was ‘Demonising’ DID. I just saw a man, who was broken and struggling with this illness and he understands what he is doing is wrong but it’s out of his capacity to control it. McAvoy mentioned (in the interview linked above) that they weren’t set out to blame people with DID, it was a case of blaming those few characters who were malevolent and vicious. The other really great and important argument he made was looking at it the other way and said about superhero movies “Well if you’re in a wheelchair you can’t play Professor X... if you’re not allowed that, or maybe you are allowed that ‘cause he’s a good guy. Does that not mean you’re not allowed to be a bad guy if you’re in a wheelchair?” It’s an extremely important thing to say because if you think about it - If the person in the film was a good person who was suffering from DID, would we allow it because they’re good? Much like the film Filth, it’s one of those movies that will either be you love it or you hate it. McAvoy has even said in the past he loves getting involved with films that are able to cause controversy or cause a stir because of it’s content.

Controversy rant aside, let’s break down the main characters James McAvoy portrayed: 

Dennis: Often seen as the ring leader of this uprising in Kevin’s body and the reason why the whole plot was happening. Dennis is seen as the one that kidnapped the girls in the first place because of an incident that happened with two out of the three girls while ‘Kevin’ was working. There are so many twists because as you know, it’s a Shyamalan film, but Dennis in fact arguably all of them, are alright until you provoke them. They’re all in their own way intimidating. The things we learn from him is he get pleasure in watching girls dance and he had extreme OCD. I couldn’t help but feel he had a priest type look to him with the same button up shirt, quite stern but as his character unfolds we find out he is less than faithful.

“Let us show them what we can do. Let us show them how powerful we can be.” - Dennis

Patricia: Patricia is almost the mother type figure in all of this. There’s almost a nun vibe that also comes out from her. Again she’s not one to be provoked. She is almost an intimidating person in the fact she’s quite sweet and calm. She assures the girls that despite Dennis’ ways, he was not to touch them.

“Don’t worry, i’ll talk to him. He listens to me. He’s not well. He knows what you’re here for. He’s not allowed to touch you, he knows that.” - Patricia 

What Patricia comes across to me is that she knows she is trapped inside a man’s body and she just really wants herself to appear more feminine. An important scene to me was where Patricia was brushing the girls hair with such care and love and almost the way a mother would brush her daughters hair. She finishes it with a flower. Flowers are to be noted all over the place. Even the girls notice and Casey comments saying (or so I remember) “it’s like we’re important.” And my guess is Patricia was the one that put the flowers there.  A quick search on what yellow flowers (as I couldn’t work out the exact type of flower) are meant to mean happiness, bonds of friendships. Did Patricia want to just be friends with the girls because she’s trapped with all men and in a man’s body? Because for me personally I don’t think it symbolises the friendship between Casey and the other two girls.

Hedwig: Hedwig for me was my favourite of all the people in Kevin’s body. Mostly because although he appeared to be 9 years old, I think he could be just as intimidating and scary as the others. He shouldn’t be taken advantage of because he can easily lash out and he does have a nasty streak in him. I also liked how he settled the audience slightly and brought in a little comedy. The whole film is a thriller/horror so having a little something to lighten the mood was good. We see in the film that Casey almost takes advantage of Kevin because of how old he appears to be thinking he wouldn’t be as smart but despite his appearing age, I don’t think he’s as stupid as he seems. I couldn’t help but feel sorry for him though because of how he said about the other two (Dennis and Patricia) not listening to him (I think from what I remember)

“... he's done awful things to people and he'll do awful things to you.” - Hedwig

What I also love about how they chose to show James McAvoy was that they had him with a shaved head, a blank canvas if you will. I don’t think it would have been right if he had of put on wigs. It also made it more believable, especially where Patricia is concerned. I think it’s even more creepy and eerie (no offence to McAvoy) seeing someone like McAvoy’s build in heels and a skirt but no long hair or a more ‘feminine’ hair style. It also makes it so easy to slip in and out of his personalities. An example of this would have been when the girls look through the key hole and see what they think is a woman talking to Dennis but in fact it was ‘Kevin’s’ body was making Dennis and Patricia talk to one another. Just the way that each character was brought to life at a click of a finger was just incredible and I commend and congratulate McAvoy for doing that. It’s not an easy job having to do not only Dennis, Patricia and Hedwig but also we see Barry for a bit and we briefly see characters called Orwell, Jade and The Beast.

The Beast was so fantastically portrayed and I have to admit, quite terrifying. It was started from the very beginning that we knew it was coming, that The Beast was coming and that we should be prepared. For when the time finally came for The Beast to awaken, it was pretty amazing to be honest.

I think it would only be fair to mention Casey, the smart young lady of whom Dennis also kidnaps. I thought she was fantastic but I can’t help but think she was overshadowed quite a lot by James McAvoy. I mean it’s partly understandable because it’s not just about her. But despite this she was great.

One thing for me that kind of let it down was the twist at the end of the movie, because for me I haven’t seen Shyamalan’s movie Unbreakable, it didn’t quite make sense to me. So it is now on my list and I will be watching it shortly. I must say that because I knew it was going to be a Shyamalan film I was expecting a mind blowing twist and I just wasn’t really getting that unfortunately.

Overall, I feel like it’s one of those absolutely love it or absolutely loath it. I am on the absolutely love it side. I most certainly would watch it again.

8/10