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ontheoddoccasioniwritestuff · 4 years ago

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The Last Cigarette (Spencer Reid x Reader) Smut

Summary: Mr Scratch was an unsub with undoubtedly the greatest impact on the team. Even in death, he pushes Spencer beyond the preconception of his limits.

AN: This was part of a fic swap on @imagining-in-the-margins‘ server! This Unsub!Spencer!AU is for the outstanding @cardigayn <3 I hope you like it!

Content warning: Character death, abuse of power, physical assault, murder, Unsub!Spencer, mentions of rape and attempted murder, mentions of knife wounds, unhealthy coping mechanisms

Smut content warning: AFAB!Reader, they/them pronouns, facesitting, hair pulling, overstimulation, light choking, riding, biting, praise kink, unprotected sex, dirty talk, a hint of breeding

Gif credit: @imagining-in-the-margins // Masterlist

Your name: submit What is this?

No one on the team spoke about what Luke did to Scratch – or rather, what he didn’t do. The BAU were far beyond tired of that man’s torments. His impact upon each member was the greatest of any unsub they had ever encountered and now it was finally time to close the book on his crimes. That included turning their gaze away from the abuse of power that Luke had taken by letting Scratch fall from that building. Not the first time the team had banded together to mask a member’s tracks.

Spencer glanced up from his paperwork. Everyone else in the bullpen was focused on their tasks, as if nothing had happened. Even Emily was at her desk and typing away at her desktop when she had been an inch away from death not two weeks ago.

Spencer’s pen tapped against the desk twice before it was placed down adjacent to his pencil pot. He remembered the details of their cover-up. That wasn’t what paused his paperwork.

His mind was straying to another timeline, in accordance to the multi-verse theory. Luke had made a choice in this universe to not pull Scratch up. In another universe, he decided to save the unsub. What happened next?

After experiencing prison first hand, Spencer could somewhat pinpoint how long Scratch would have lasted in a place like Millburn. The respect for serial killers on the inside, especially those who had tormented law enforcement, would keep him alive.

There was the chance that there was another universe where Scratch would have gotten off scot free. And another timeline where Scratch, without a gun, overpowered Luke or Matt, taking either or both of them down. Kristy had no husband. Jake, David, Chloe, and Lily had no father. Roxy had no owner.

Maybe it was better that Luke didn’t help Scratch off that ledge, that Matt had just stayed back.

Spencer could not decide what he would have done in that situation, and he didn’t have to. But that didn’t mean another version of him didn’t. To be jealous of a version of himself that did not exist in his world was a bad idea. It was out of his hands and in his head – the roof, the unsub, the choice.

--->--->--->--->--->

“Anyone want a coffee?”

A series of murmurs rose from the team, all negative, and Luke tucked his chair back under his desk before he walked off to the SAPD break room. Spencer watched his reflection in the conference room’s window. There was an itch in his brain that spread through a nerve to his knee – bouncing it just beneath the table.

Suddenly that nerve propelled him to follow Luke. Spencer’s feet weaved him in between officers until he found his teammate switching on the station’s coffee pot.

“Change your mind?” Luke raised an unsuspicious eyebrow.

“Yes,” Spencer lied, and he collected a mug to wash up. Suds flooded in the sink, rolling out the mug and around the plughole. Spencer fixated on them, a menial hope that he could focus on something else rather than the temptation of asking Luke for details.

He had to be closer of being clean of this whole thing than he thought. Scratch was dead, the case was closed. A few more years, this would be a memory that haunted him every few weeks instead of every day.

Dilaudid was craved by a tiny section of his brain, but he knew that it would not help him at all. He needed something else to help ease the cravings. If only he had inherited his mother’s affinity for cigarettes.

“Can I ask you something?”

Luke shrugged in return, “Sure.” He had opened his palm by his side but did not reach out to Spencer’s clean mug. Spencer appreciated that. A glance at the bullpen, visible through the open door, told him that no one else had followed them. It wasn’t too late. He could come up with a question about the case, about Roxy, about anything.

“What did he look like before he fell?”

Luke’s expression sobered and soured. He too checked the proximity of the police officers outside their bubble. Clearing his throat twice, he poured the coffee into his mug and spun the handle once it was down to fit Spencer’s need.

His voice was low as he said, “He looked desperate.”

Spencer nodded while he poured into his own cup. Perhaps more caffeine would aid him, for he had scratched the itch and it had spread elsewhere. Stirring in some sugar, he took a burning sip before it had dissolved and cringed at the granules in his mouth.

It was when he’d finally swallowed them, instead of spitting out like he wanted to, that Spencer gave into the itch: “Did he say anything to you?”

“He asked me to help him.” Luke blew on his coffee before taking a sip. Even then, he still struggled to swallow it. “He begged.”

“That can’t have been easy. Thanks for telling me.”

But Luke didn’t seem like he concurred. In fact, he looked as though he wanted to make right the claim and say that letting Scratch die was the easiest decision in the world.

Spencer blinked. Luke was gone, already back in the conference room. Perhaps he’d imagined something like that. His attention shifted to Scratch’s face, morphing it until it was a stereotypical expression of fear. Spencer had heard too much of that man’s voice, but it was good for one thing: recreating the words Luke had told him.

“Help me. Please!”

Matt was back with Emily.

And suddenly so was Luke. Spencer had gone it alone after Scratch. It was just the two of them on the roof, and soon it would be one.

Scratch’s clothes were whipped up by the wind, his begging too. It was almost as though he reached up for Spencer. One last cry for help. Then he fell, silent and ragdoll-esque.

Just before the body hit the ground, Scratch was clinging to the building’s side again. When he fell this time, he screamed hysterically. It echoed across the roof until Spencer couldn’t discern it from the wind. A swell of relief spread through his body. He took a sip from his coffee.

“Reid?” Just as he had done a minute prior, Luke was lingering in the doorway. “We should get back to the conference room.”

“Right,” Spencer dropped the teaspoon onto the side. It clattered about the side, then went quiet, then hit the floor. Spencer didn’t turn to see where it landed.

--->--->--->--->--->

What an absolute smarty pants who could just about learn to use Teams by himself. Spencer leant to the right in his office chair as his partner Y/N showed him the ropes of his new application. How lucky he was to still have them after all they had been through – together and apart.

“And… ta-dah!” Y/N made jazz hands at the monitor.

“Thank you. You’re so good to me,” Spencer straightened up, smiling at the screen, “Can I get you a reward?”

Y/N seemed to ponder on this offer, an act Spencer had seen many times and never grew tired of. Then Y/N tapped their cheek twice and bent forward. With butterflies in his stomach, Spencer tilted his chin up and pressed a lingering kiss there. There was a bashful smile across their face when they drew away. Even after all this time, Spencer was proud he could still affect them so.

The door to his office shut behind them and Spencer looked over his desktop’s background. His students’ homework was hovering in the background, already being printed off. The printer stuttering out each page had long since been tuned out

He glanced away from it to his left and saw Y/N again. Their arms were wrapped around themselves, their body close and facing Spencer with a clear expression drawing bravery upon them. Spencer’s head then turned to see if Scratch was still dangling by the tips of his fingers. He was.

“What do I do?” Spencer asked, his voice almost torn away by the wind he couldn’t feel against his cheek.

Y/N hardly spared Scratch a glance. They had never seen him before, and they made this one time they did as short as possible. Their hand moved Spencer’s head so that Scratch was in his blind spot. They held his face and looked on him sweetly, even in the darkness around them.

They gave Spencer their answer: “Leave him.”

Scratch’s body trembled as his head rigidly shook, “Please!”

But Y/N took Spencer’s hand in their free one and they held it even as Scratch’s grip failed him. Only then did they look at the unsub and watch unflinchingly together as their tormenter fell to his death. A second later, the pair heard the body hit the ground. Spencer began to move towards the ledge, Y/N tugging him back towards the door of the roof.

“I have to see,” Spencer insisted, “I have to know he’s really gone.”

There was no pity, just empathy, as Y/N nodded their head, “Ok.” Their hands tensed together while they approached the roof’s end.

There he was, his body broken, his head smashed against the dirt. Lifeless. Gone.

Then Scratch was falling again, the last seconds of existence, and Y/N was hiding their face in Spencer’s shoulder. He was holding them tight, so that if they changed their mind about watching, they wouldn’t be able to. But he was watching everything in slow motion.

Every fraction of change in Scratch’s terror was drawn out until it was a pantomime of itself.

“Are you ok?” He asked quietly.

“Yeah.”

Closing his eyes, Spencer kissed Y/N’s head. He basked in his comfort before he opened his eyes again and drew a deep breath from the comfort of his desk chair. Then he collected the printed essays of his students, grabbing a pen to prepare for marking.

--->--->--->--->--->

This time Hotch was there, Jack’s face hidden in his father’s chest. Derek too, holding little Hank with all the tenderness a father could.

Spencer waved his hand towards the door, “Get them out of here. I don’t want them to see this.” He waited dutifully for them to leave, both of them sending a nod Spencer’s way.

Once the door bounced against its frame to close, he stood at the edge. He couldn’t feel the cold rushing past him, coaxing him to fall with Scratch, but he could picture hearing it. Almost deafening him to Scratch’s pleas, he turned those words up loud so that he could hear the moment the words stopped, the moment that Spencer pulled out his Smith & Wesson and shot Scratch in the head. His grip faltered instantly and his lifeless body tumbled down.

“No.”

Spencer screwed his eyes shut before looking back at the geographic profile.

“No what?”

He started. He didn’t realise that Tara was still in the room with him.

His words tumbled out quickly, “Just testing a theory, but it’s not right, it doesn’t fit.”

Nodding, Tara made her way beside him and observed the evidence collected so far, “We’ll get there. Just keep that brain going.”

Spencer planned to do just that. This daydream wasn’t as satisfying, like Nicorette mists or chewing gum. Just shooting him in the head? That was more than mercy for Scratch. No, he’d have to come up with something else to use. For the daydream of course.

He was glad that Tara was treating him normally. Not like JJ, who had checked in on him for Dilaudid before take-off. She was hovering around him like a gnat and it was starting to piss him off. Where was this energy when he was actually contemplating the drug’s pros and cons? He was determined to keep it together for the team to function and solve this case, but JJ in his peripherals was making it hard to focus. On work. Not the daydreaming. He loved her to bits, but he just wished she’d leave him to his own devices unless it concerned the case. That was the priority now.

The broken fingers of the victims sat like warped roots of a tree on the board, each knuckle shattered with a hammer. This unsub – a man in his 20s, not 30s – had such an odd post-mortem signature. Like when Ronald Weems did on the prostitutes. The ones Nathan Harris was obsessed with, wrote about, then killed himself before he could re-enact such a crime.

But it was fine. This was different. Spencer wasn’t writing these down. He didn’t need to. That, and he wasn’t about to recreate his daydreams.

“Excuse me.”

“Off for a smoke?” Luke joked half-heartedly.

Shortly after shaking off that effort at a joke, Spencer’s hand froze against the metal pole of the wheelchair access to the police station. His lungs took a deep breath of the cool Christmas air, a worthless hit. He hoped that Derek and Hotch were being the fathers they always wanted to be - that Gideon could have been.

--->--->--->--->--->

Adrenaline was what enabled him to haul Scratch up. Still, Spencer strained with his weight. He was gasping with the unsub when they were both allowed back onto the roof, Scratch’s knees digging into the floor for security and his hands still clasping the edge of the building - from the other side now.

Spencer watched, blood roaring in his ears with each panting breath. He took one deeper and let out a yell as he kicked his foot up into Scratch’s nose. Scratch rolled onto his back with a ragged rasp, blood spouting from his nose to stain everything it made contact with, and his head lolled off the edge of the building. Spencer’s chest burned with unsatisfaction so he kicked again. This time, his foot came down on Scratch’s groin. Ineffective in stopping him from standing, this was personal deliverance of pain.

He was out of breath but completely fine. He had the energy to drag Scratch back with one hand at his ankle, so now his head was beneath a solid enough surface to stomp on three times. Each one sent Scratch’s eyes rolling back further into his head.

Spencer began to use his hands. Getting close into Scratch’s space, he lay punch after punch, no pain on his hands, no. He put it all into Mr Scratch for every second he stole from him and his team until finally he stood up.

Scratch barely had enough energy to cough behind the blood pooling in his mouth. But Spencer could make out the one word he was wheezing in his agony.

“Spencer.”

Then, and only then, did Spencer draw his gun once more and shoot Mr Scratch in the neck.

The jet jolted as its wheels touched the runway. Spencer leant back in his chair, dragged as the jet slowed to a stop. He grunted, his head still catching up to that sudden jolt.

“I want you all to just go home, alright?” Prentiss was already stood at the end of the plane’s gangway, “Get some rest.”

The rest of the trip home was a blur for Spencer; it was committed to his memory but not with any intrigue. Only when he dropped his keys in the front door’s bowl did he start paying attention to his surroundings again. Y/N was powerwalking over to him, instinctively reaching out long before they made it to him.

“Hey baby!” They greeted, and Spencer enfolded them into a tight embrace, “You must be knackered.”

They swayed a little on the spot as Spencer answered, “I was.”

“Was?”

“Not after seeing you.”

His chin brushed over Y/N’s shoulder before he kissed that spot, smiling against the cloth of their shirt. His support rocked as Y/N giggled. Their grip on him tightened for a moment before they ran a hand over his tummy, the little “pouch” as they had affectionately named it. A thought ran past his eyes: that it wouldn’t hurt to start working out if he was going to do more than just shoot Scratch.

“Cheeky,” Y/N touched one of his curls as they pulled away, “Come on, let’s go to bed. Not like that.” They tapped his nose at the raise of his eyebrows.”

“I missed you,” Spencer said, not immediately after that, but when they were both in bed together, “I always do.”

“Me too.”

Y/N was unable to look Spencer in the eye. Spencer loved that they were so overwhelmed with love that they had to seek refuge elsewhere. They were just like him in that sense.

--->--->--->--->--->

Gun drawn, Spencer took deliberate steps stalking through the darkened apartment complex. The entire area was due for demolishing the following morning, so there were plenty hiding spaces for this unsub to jump out of. Every deep breath stilled his hands as he moved swiftly around each corner. Matt mumbled something in his earpiece about going down to the poolside.

He made his way to the third floor and followed the glowing green signs towards the fire escape.

Martin Harvey had just turned around to see Spencer. He instantly dropped the pipe he was wielding and thrust his hands into the air.

“Ok, ok, ok, you got me. Don’t shoot.”

His legs crumbled and he fell to his knees. A coward, just like the profile had said. This was too easy. No, it wasn’t actually. Interviewing those parents and friends of the victims, gritting teeth while working through red tape set up by the small town talk and the prejudices constructed long before this case occurred, none of that and none of what came prior was easy.

“Get up there.”

Harvey frowned, his eyes unsteady between Spencer’s face and Spencer’s gun, “What?”

Spencer tilted the barrel of his gun to the fire escape stairs for a second, immediately returning it onto Harvey, “You heard me.”

Shaking, Harvey took the steps as they came. His hands were still on his head. His boots made hollow clanks against the rusting metal, echoing Spencer’s lighter taps, until they came into contact with the concrete of the roof. The wind felt more brutal today. It was colder than Spencer imagined. The February chills shouldn’t dissuade him much though.

The second Harvey made a move to spin around, Spencer smacked his head with the butt of his gun. Harvey tripped forwards but remained upright. So Spencer holstered his weapon, grabbed Harvey’s shoulder, and punched across his nose. Both men let out a cry. Spencer flexed his fingers to subside the pain, but it continued to shoot up and down his bones. Another attempt, he grappled with the scruff of Harvey’s shirt then shoved him off his balance to the ground. The unsub wobbled and cried out as he fell backwards. Spencer kicked again, not as strong as the last time, but he felt the surge of power in him. Adrenaline, real and flooding his every movement. This was beyond what his fantasies had ever brought him, and he was living for it. He didn’t have to hold back anymore.

“Why are you doing this?” Harvey sobbed, trying to hide in his hands. Pathetic. The man who had raped and attempted murder on five different women couldn’t take it when a man stood up to him.

He hit Harvey once more but drew back from the opportunity for a third. Instead, he rolled the body over the edge with just enough tact to allow Harvey to make a grab for the edge.

Once more, Harvey begged for Spencer to stop.

Spencer looked down on this low life, this scum that dared to interfere with innocent lives for fun. The heel of his shoe came down hard on Harvey’s hand. He howled in pain. Spencer stomped down again; this time there was a series of collective crunches. Harvey let go with that hand, but the other was still clinging dearly to the roof.

As he stared into those panicked eyes, Spencer squatted down beside Harvey’s hands. Broken fingers flailed nearby, Harvey not strong enough to pull himself up and reach for Spencer. His thumb slid off the edge, and the pinkie finger too.

The begging faded into the background. The fear in his face, it had to be at least somewhat the same as Scratch’s. The proximity to danger was beyond comfort.

People he lost:

Derek.

Hotch.

Emily, nearly.

People he loved:

Tara.

Matt.

Penelope.

Luke.

JJ.

Him.

Mom.

Y/N.

Spencer brought down the butt off his gun onto the last three fingers holding on. His eyelids forced him to watch as Harvey fell fast to the ground, a crunch of bones reaching his ears when the ground met with him

A delicious shiver ran up Spencer’s spine. He shook his shoulders and breathed it out. There was not the extreme of happy. Felt in his heart was content in the gentle breeze, in the dull pain.

“Prentiss. He’s dead. I’m on the roof.”

“We’re on our way, Reid.”

--->--->--->--->--->

Paramedics had pressed the sterilised cotton against his cuts while his eyes were on the bag that was wheeled away towards the other ambulance. Spencer’s thousand-yard stare ended shortly after that; Emily walked into his view and touched his shoulder. Her embrace was welcomed greatly, as was the nap he took on the flight back.

His bag was not as heavy as he remembered it being as he drew up to his apartment. Once his keys were out the door, he dropped everything and was on his way to the bedroom for an early night when he bumped into Y/N – who was all bundled in their pyjamas.

“You’re back! In time for Valentine’s Day!” Y/N’s smile was quick to disappear, “What happened?”

“I found the unsub. He fought back, resisted. I didn’t have a choice.”

“Oh Spencer.” They hovered an inch over his face before they settled their hands on him.

A quick kiss on his lips, then they took him into the kitchen and set about making a tea for him. But Spencer didn’t really need, or want, one. He slipped up behind them, mumbling into their ear, “I’m meant to be the one taking care of you today.”

“We take care of each other, Spencer, you know that.” Y/N patted his arms that were now around their waist. Spencer kissed the spot below their ear, smirking into\ them as he felt the stutter in their movements. His lips found the side of their neck and kissed again.

“We do,” He agreed.

“You know, I won’t be able to take care of you if you keep doing that.”

“Oh, you will,” Spencer nuzzled his cheek against them, “Just not by making me tea.” To make extra sure his point was getting across, Spencer moved them around and kissed them with two fingers lightly pinching their chin.

“Your hand-”

“Doesn’t hurt. And I have two.”

Already Spencer was unbuttoning Y/N’s shirt, his thin fingers parting it open to place his cool touch against their bare skin. It shuddered beneath him, sending waves to help him map the rest of their body again in his mind. A tingle sat in between his shoulder blades as Y/N tugged at the curls in the nape of his neck.

How they got into bed doesn’t really matter. It was when Spencer’s hands pressed into the mattress that he winced away from Y/N’s lips.

“You are hurting,” They pushed to sit up.

“I’m fine.”

“You need to rest.”

“What I need is for you to sit on my face and not stand up until I say so.”

Spencer heard Y/N’s teeth knock together as they closed their once-agape mouth. “Can you help me with that?”

Y/N nodded, dumbstruck at Spencer’s words and the thumb he was dragging across their bottom lip in an attempt to distract from his injuries.

“Y/N, I’m ok. Really. It’s just a little sting. Let me love you.”

“I’m not stopping you. I’m just worried.”

Throb of each cut on his hand as his fingers fanned across their skin Grasping tight on their thighs

He only had to let go for a moment while Y/N stripped clean of their clothes Seeking refuge, he felt completely content with those thick thighs wrapped around his head. Not a single time did his mind stray to Scratch or any other unsub now that Y/N was safe from them. Calm seeped over him, fuelling his biting and lavishing his tongue upon their inner thighs

His pace enjoyed such a leisurely stroll around their cunt, the tip of his tongue gliding through each of their folds. Eyes still closed, he had the image of it soaking wet with his spit and their juices. He licked his lips once before he pursed them around the clit. His hands, now stiff and sore from stroking their hips, reached up to touch their chest. He fondled at their sensitive nipples with delight at Y/N fisting at his hair. All this, and he licked at Y/N’s clit like it was an ice lolly on a summer’s day.

When Y/N came first, they let out short bursts of breath coupled with their moans. The second time, they had to hold onto the bedframe as their body slumped forward and their clit rubbed up against Spencer’s nose. On the third, they fell off his chin, rolled to their side of the bed. Giggles fell from their satisfied smile as they curled up. Smearing the back of his hand across his mouth, Spencer pushed onto his side so he could reach them for another kiss. Y/N could barely respond and they were still laughing as Spencer pulled them into his lap. His fingers looked so pretty around their neck; he kept them there until silence filled the room again. When they reached that moment, he squeezed lightly and let out a gentle “hmm” at Y/N’s moan.

“You good, darling?” He whispered.

“Just what the doctor ordered.”

Though their lips were together, they parted in pants and smiles.

“You got one more for me?”

“Of course,” Y/N clumsily patted a hand down his cheek, “You haven’t even had one yet.”

“I don’t need one.”

“You must be the only guy to say that and mean it.”

Swallowing the statistic on how many men had said they wanted to orgasm during sex, Spencer watched Y/N struggle to sit on his cock. Their legs were shaking uncontrollably; they didn’t settle, not even in his firm hold.

His hands dragged them down onto him and over their moans he whispered, “Doesn’t mean I don’t want one.”

“I wanna give you what you want.”

As Y/N rocked into him, Spencer shared the last of their tangy taste that lingered on his tongue. Then he found peace in resting his chin on their shoulder, rising and falling as they did.

“You wanna cum for me?”

Their words hit his ears, “Please, help me.”

A spike of pleasure ripped through his body. In an instant, Spencer flipped them over and drove his hips hard into them. His teeth sunk into the skin of their shoulder before releasing his load into them. His entire being trembled into Y/N, their ankles locked in his lower back lazily as he milked every last drop of exhilaration he could from them.

His cock stayed inside them, keeping his cum safe inside. Y/N barely lifted their head but luckily for them, Spencer’s shoulder was within their reach. They bit him in the same spot he had bitten them, not releasing him until their marks matched.

“I’m so glad you’re safe,” They mumbled against him.

Spencer tipped himself back an inch or two, “I’m happy you’re safe too.” He didn’t mind the ache on his skin any more than the others. It was a nice collection he had gathered today.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Spencer.”

--->--->--->--->--->

This was it, the last cigarette. He didn’t have to worry about Scratch anymore after this.

A low whistle lead Spencer to pull at his collar sheepishly, and Tara leant against his desk. At first, he ignored her, signing off the last of his paperwork. His mandatory session with the team’s therapist set fresh on his lungs without a single symptom of guilt.

“Well, well, well,” Tara teased, indicating to her neck with two fingers tapping, “Something about a life or death situation that gets you in the mood?”

“Actually, research into the terror management theory has shown that people respond to mortality reminders by bolstering their own cultural view, derogating opposing views, and shoring up their self-esteem. By this account, the effect of death on libido will depend on the meaning that sex has for a person.”

“And what does it mean for you?”

“I’m not telling you that.”

“You don’t have to,” Tara grinned, “I would hazard a guess that Y/N’s looking the same.”

Spencer shook his head playfully, “We said we wouldn’t profile each other.”

The ribbing came to a close as Penelope brushed past and announced to the bullpen, “We have a new case, in the conference room.”

Spencer dropped his finished case file into Emily’s empty office on the way to the conference room, his hand only complaining an itch at the motions of holding a pen and a form. It didn’t end as he flicked over the file’s papers while Penelope went over the details of their latest case – gruesome photos of open knife wounds the television screens.

The shrinking juxtaposition between body discoveries indicated a devolving unsub with a disintegrating cooling off period. Basically, it was an unsub not worthy of his daydreams or of his injuries.

Except that’s not what it was at all. This was an unsub to be arrested and face punishment, before more people could be hurt. Spencer didn’t need a cooling off period because he wasn’t going to do that again. He could recall his played-out fantasy in complete and utter detail, never forgetting a thing he saw.

And anyway, this unsub was definitely an impotent and disorganised man lashing out. Couldn’t hold a candle to Scratch. So why waste his time on that? Why would he have another cigarette when he didn’t need one right now?

--->--->--->--->

AN: I do not condone the actions displayed in this fic. I find unsub!AUs of the show interesting developments and the intended recipient of this fic is aware of that. I will not write a part two for this, because I do not have the motivation or idea besides Spencer getting caught and subsequently arrested.

Thank you for reading!

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid smut #criminal minds #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds smut #smut #my writing #wc: 5k+

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unrestedjade · 4 years ago

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Baseless Ferengi headcanons no one asked for and that get increasingly queer-navel-gazing and self indulgent because the horrible space goblins have consumed my brain:

- Mobile ears, because if hearing is so well developed and important to them they should be able to aim those big stupid radar dishes. Also because then they can emote with them and that's cute. THE AESTHETIC IS PARAMOUNT.

- Since they canonically sharpen their teeth with chew sticks and sharpeners, their teeth must grow continuously. So I submit: subcultures that let certain teeth grow out as a fashion/political statement. Ferengi punks and anarchists with 5" tusks. Ferengi with all their teeth filed flat (mom and dad HATE it).

- Corollary to the above, most of their teeth are crooked. At the least, they don't share our fetish for straight teeth. What if their teeth are deciduous, and there's no point in trying to force them into perfect alignment, since they'll just fall out and get replaced? So like, sharks but their teeth can also grow longer with no limit. WHAT HAST EVOLUTION WROUGHT ON FERENGINAR :V

- Parents nagging their kids to sharpen their teeth "or they'll grow up into your brain and you'll die :)"

- Personal space? Don't know her.

Okay I need a cut because there's too many now. WHOLE SOCIETY OF GAY HOMOPHOBIC UNCLES AND AUNTS GO I HAVE A PROBLEM

- I can't remember who on here put forth the idea of them having retractable claws but Yes. :3

- Pushing back against the worst canon episode a bit but: relative ear size being the only obvious sexually dimorphic trait, and even that having enough of a gray area that the only way to be 100% sure you're talking to a male or female Ferengi is if you do a blood test. Unless they're intersex! *shrug emoji*

- This is why they're so fanatical about gender conformity and their Victorian "separate spheres" attitude to men and women's roles. Capitalist patriarchy is fragile! And as artificial to Ferengi as it ever was to Humans! (self-indulgenceeeee about gender shiiiiit)

- You know how with domesticated rabbits, the rabbit getting groomed and paid attention to is the boss? Yeah. Go ahead and paint your bestie's nails, just don't be surprised if she cops a little bit of an attitude with you from then on.

- Their fight/flight/freeze/fawn instincts skew heavily toward the last three, and what a lot of other species read as annoying sucking up is the Ferengi in question feeling anxious and unsafe. Especially if they don't feel integrated into the group. Even being at the bottom of the pecking order is better than not being in the flock at all.

- If they DO opt for fight, it's ugly and typically their last resort. Bites or scratches will get infected without intervention-- microbes that their immune system can handle could cause big trouble for aliens. You might wanna check for full or partial teeth that break off and get lodged in the wound, too.

- Too many of these are tooth related but I don't care. :B More teeth stuff: you know what else has teeth that grow constantly? Puffer fish. Likewise, Ferengi can chew up mollusk shells as easy as potato chips, and they need the minerals for their teeth. (Imagine grandpa Sisko offering Nog a crayfish for the first time and watching as he just...pops the whole damn thing in his mouth and crunches away...)

- Their staple foods seem to be grubs and other arthropods, high in protein and fat. I've unilaterally decided their cuisine also involves a lot of edible fungi, ferns, plant shoots and seeds. Gotta get those vitamins. Overall flavor profile leaning toward umami, vegetal, and fresh herbs, and pretty mild (or "delicate" if you wanna be snooty about it, which a Ferengi probably would let's be real).

- Not much sugary food. I'm basing this solely on Quark's aversion to root beer as "cloying". Which could definitely just be his personal preference, but most of the people I hear hating on root beer cite the actual sassafras/sarsaparilla flavor (saying it tastes like medicine) not the sweetness. Nog might be the weirdo outlier for being able to enjoy it.

- Their home planet isn't bright and sunny, so their eyes are better at discerning shades of gray in low light conditions, with relatively weak color vision. Which could explain why they dress Like That.

- Conversely, human music has a reputation for stinking on ice because a lot of it is juuuuust lightly dissonant or out of tune because we can't pick up flaws that small. Ferengi can, and it drives them up the *wall*.

- Music? So many different kinds. Traditionally, maybe lots of percussion and winds, and water as a common component of many instruments to alter pitch or tone. Polyphony out the ass. Some of the modern stuff is an impenetrable wall of sound if you're not a species with a lot of brain real estate devoted to processing sounds. Pick out one melody to follow at a time.

- Yes, back to teeth again I'm sorry. It's a sickness. At some point in their history, pre-chewing food was just something you did for your baby or great grandma as a matter of necessity. Possibly your baby gets an important boost to their immune system and gut biome from your spit. At some point takes on a more formal intimacy aspect and gradually drifted from something all adults and older kids do to something only women do. Your husband and older kids have perfectly functional teeth, but you love them, right? =_= (Think old memes about husbands being useless in the kitchen if little wifey isn't there to cook, but even more ridiculous. Ishka was right about everything but especially this. Thank you for making your family chew their own food, Ishka. Not all heroes wear capes. Or anything!)

- How did they get started on the whole men: clothed vs women: unclothed nonsense? My equally stupid idea: men just get cold easier. Those huge ears dissipate a ton of body heat. Cue Ferengi cliches like "jeez, we could be standing on the surface of the sun and my husband would put on another layer." At some point, again, this got codified and pushed to ridiculous extremes in the name of controlling women and keeping everyone in their assigned box, to the point that women just have to shiver if they really are too cold and men have to pass out from heat stroke if the alternative is going shirtless, because That Would Be Inappropriate.

- Marriages default to five years, but they're also the only avenue for women to have their own household or any stability. Plus their religion places no emphasis on purity save for pure adherence to the free market and the RoA. So, curveball to the rest of their patriarchal bullshit: female virginity isn't a concern in the least. Bring it up and they'll rightly side-eye you.

- Family law is absolutely bonkers and lawyers that specialize in it make BANK. I feel like custody would default to the father usually but oh wait, the maternal grandfather has a legal stake in this, too, and your next father-in-law is asking HOW many kids are you dragging into my daughter's house, etc etc. Growing up with a full sibling is way rarer than growing up with half or stepsiblings, since it usually takes both men and women two or three tries to find someone they vibe with. (Not love, unless you're super cringe.)

- A misogynistic society is a homophobic society. Imo those flavors of shittiness just come in pairs. Homosexual behaviors are fine within certain parameters (aka "always have sex with the boss") but not on your own terms. To add spice, bisexuality is their most common mode (because I'm bi and these are my hcs for my fics I'm not writing, so there), but capitalism demands fresh grist for the mill so you better get het-married and pop out some kids you lowly peons. You have a choice so make the proper one. :)

- Corollary to the above, that doesn't keep all kinds of illicit "we're just friends with quid-pro-quo benefits for realsies" affairs of every stripe and every gender from going on everywhere. Many Ferengi have a lightbulb moment somewhere in early adulthood when they figure out their dad's business partner or the "auntie" who visited their mom every month had a little more going on.

- Plus there's way more gender non-conformity and varying degrees of trans-ing than the powers that be have a handle on. Pel isn't unique, even if most would have to somehow make it out into space to be able to thrive.

Damn a lot of these are just my personal bugbears plus THE GILDED AGE BUT WITH HAIRLESS SPACE RODENTS ain't they

- Women can't earn profit, okay. But lending or "lending" things to each other isn't commerce, riiiiiiight? To be assigned female is to master navigating a vast, dizzying barter/gift economy. Smart boys and men leverage this, too, and there are splinter sects that view this as the purest expression of the Great Material Continuum.

- Of course plenty of women make profit anyway, and just do their bast to dodge the FCA. The tough thing about insisting on using latinum as currency is that cash can be so hard to track, you know?

- Because of the RoA, guys are discouraged from doing favors or giving gifts without setting clear expectation of getting some return on investment. This can twist into an expression of friendship (and of course women do it too), and the ledger will keep cycling between debit and credit among friends for decades. A common mistake aliens make is to tell them recompense isn't needed without explaining why, or return their favor or present with something that zeroes out the debt. The Ferengi will assume you want to break off the friendship. (I cribbed this from dim memories of an African studies course I took in 2007 and whose textbook I know I still have but I can't frigging find it...)

- Flirting, they do a lot of it for a lot of reasons. Roddenberry made it clear that they're just straight up pretty horny, but there's no reason it can't pull double duty for building alliances with other people, smoothing over feuds or disagreements, or cementing friendships. Ferengi who are ace and/or sex-repulsed are possibly viewed similar to the way we'd view someone who's "not a hugger/not big on touching" and if they flirt just don't get offended if it doesn't go any further; aro Ferengi don't garner much comment aside from an occasional "wow how badass, never falling in love with anyone."

- where to even start on making sense of the Blessed Exchequer??? Like seriously, what is this literal prosperity gospel insanity, I need to force myself to re-read Rand and like, some Milton Friedman for this shit. Help.

- fuck I'm probably going to actually do that, RIP me...

#ds9 #star trek #meta #ferengi #i love them Too Much help #reliving my brief libertarian phase from high school from the opposite direction #my heart wants to make them simultaneously as queer and as repressed as possible #i didn't even make it to the goddamned blessed exchequer my head is too full #i will find beauty in this vulgarity if it kills me #this is too long #why did i spend my time this way

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ttttaehyungie · 4 years ago

Text

masked | myg x reader

masked | min yoongi x reader oneshot

☘ pairing | min yoongi x vigilante superhero!reader ☘ genre | college au, superhero au, humor, romance ☘ rating | NC-17 ☘ word count | 5.2k ☘ warnings | swear words, major violence/fight scenes, some childhood trauma, sexual humor (it’s like,,, one word but i’ll just tag it anyway) ☘ summary | Between academics in the day and crime-fighting at night, and your dumb rivalry with that one pain-in-the-ass, fellow vigilante Vulture, you simply don’t have time for dating. But, damn, is it hard when your partner for project work is as cute as he is. ☘ a/n | y’aaallllll this was so enjoyable to write :’) I hope you all have as much fun reading as I did writing this!

Submitted as part of BWC’s 1st Anniversary Contest.

A fist flies towards your face. You dodge leftwards. You grab the hooligan’s arm where it lingers in the air from the failed punch. Twist. He yelps. But you show no mercy. You hold tight to his arm and spin sharply on your feet. Using the momentum from your movement, you throw him over your shoulder. Thud.

He’s dazed. You seize the chance to kick him over onto his front. Locking his arms behind him, you pin him down with a knee as you fumble around in your backpack for the ropes to bind him.

A giddy excitement bubbles up, effervescent in your chest. Finally! After weeks of failed attempts, you’re so close to a solid capture. It’s just a pickpocket; small fry, really. But it’s a capture nonetheless.

Just as long as- you peek upwards to check- ok. It seems you’re in the clear. Vulture isn’t here. Wait-

Something rustles to your right. You jump in shock.

The thug takes advantage of the shift in your weight. He wrestles his arms free and pushes himself up, and you go tumbling off him. Before you can recover, he’s already sprinting off into the distance. No! He’s getting away!

In panicked desperation, you raise a hand and shoot out a force field. Dumb move. It only boosts him forward, aiding his escape. Ugh. Your victory slips like sand through your fingers.

Crack. A flash of blue pops into the middle of the street.

You roll your eyes. Part of you is relieved that the thief is not getting away. But for the most part? Unbridled annoyance.

You slump back on the ground to watch Vulture teleport in, capture the thief that you’d spent the last twenty minutes pursuing, and teleport out. All under two minutes.

Just as he’s been doing for the last few weeks. Damn. When will you ever catch a break?

“Rough night?”

Seems like your stifled yawn was not concealed well enough. Feeling slightly self-conscious, you shoot him a sheepish smile.

“Yeah. Busy fighting those assignments, y’know.”

He hums in understanding. “Let’s take a five minute break. I’m getting tired too.”

You nod. Yoongi stretches his arms out above his head and leans to the side to get in a good side stretch. Meanwhile, you avert your eyes. The sliver of skin that peeks out from where his shirt rides up has your cheeks growing warm.

“I’m gonna fill my bottle,” you announce, getting up from your shared table. “Do you want anything?”

“I’m good. Thanks.”

The water fountain is just outside the library, but the short walk from the discussion pod and back is enough for you to shake off the drowsy haze you were in. By the time you return to the tiny room- they really weren’t kidding when they called it a pod- the spring is back in your step.

Yoongi looks up as you step back into the room and flashes you a smile. It’s small, but disarming as hell. Your heartbeat picks up.

“Recharged and ready to fight this project?” he jibes.

Right. The project. The project that you’re paired up for, literally for no other reason than sheer convenience. You just happened to be sitting next to each other when it was announced. But it’s fine. You’re chill, Yoongi’s chill. And that’s why you knew it was ok to just turn to him and ask, “Wanna pair up?”

The project is the only reason the two of you are talking. It’s not that you didn’t have any other opportunity to. Not at all. You’re both in the same course and you live in the same dorm.

And it’s not that you dislike the guy. In fact, far from it. If you’re being totally honest, Yoongi is 100% your type. Chill, and a laidback sense of humor with his light jokes. And not to mention, real easy on the eyes. With his platinum blonde hair- his dark roots just beginning to peek through- and striking eyes, all topped off with that heartstopping smirk of his, there is only one conclusion to be drawn. Yoongi is objectively attractive.

You’ve acknowledged this the moment you set your eyes on him at your dorm orientation tour. His blonde hair was freshly bleached at that point and pulled back in a snapback, showing off the bold, black brows that complemented his sharp, feline eyes.

It was uncontrollable. He’s just the kind of attractive that exerts a magnetic pull on your gaze, drawing you in relentlessly no matter how many times you avert your eyes.

And the kind of attractive that makes you lose track of what’s happening. You realized belatedly that you’d zoned out from the tour.

“-survival tips. Make sure you collect your laundry from the dryer promptly. One, because people who hog the machines are inconsiderate assholes. Two, because the dorm cat has a habit of stealing socks and underwear. So unless you like the idea of your unmentionables as surprise gifts for your neighbors- in which case, you’re a psychopath-, please just collect your laundry on time.”

A quick glance at the group around you confirmed that you’re not the only one bewildered by Jin’s words.

“Oh!” Jin’s voice cut through the buzz of confusion. “Just one last thing. There’s a strict no dating rule between the RA and students. I know, I know. It’s hard resisting this gorgeous face. But let’s all give it our best attempt, alright?”

You remember scoffing internally at Jin’s words. There’s just one simple rule you have for yourself in college. No dating.

Between your studies in the day and crime-fighting at night, you simply don’t have the time for it.

And it’s this same rule you have to remind yourself of as you tear your eyes away from the sight of Yoongi casually running his hand through his hair as he contemplates the project.

Just one last loop and- fuck. Did the loser call for backup? You drop the ropes to throw up a force field. The aluminum bat gets flung off into the distance, careening off your invisible force field. Thank god you heard the heavy footsteps approaching. You’ve been on the receiving end of baseball bat attacks, and let’s just say you’ve come to empathize greatly with baseballs after that experience.

You swivel to face him. Block his hook. Uppercut. The thug staggers backwards, clutching his jaw.

There’s movement in your periphery. The first guy has disentangled himself from the ropes. You spot him just as he breaks into a run. Shit. He’s escaping.

A kick lands itself in your side, sending you to the ground. Snap. A cold sense of dread fills the pit of your stomach as the visual of your wrist bent at an awkward angle registers in your mind. The tingling pain blooms as you shake it out.

But you don’t have time to take care of that right now. You’ll have to rely on the adrenaline to keep you going.

You take a second to check if your mask is still in place- alright, you’re good. Turning your attention back to the asshole that attacked you, you fix him with a glare. Before this, it was just a moral obligation to stand against lawlessness. Now, it’s personal.

You recover into a squat. Swipe a kick at his feet. He lands heavily. From his crumpled position on the ground, he makes a grab for you. But you shoot out a force field. The wind’s knocked out of him with the way he’s sandwiched between your blow and the hard asphalt.

Your kick is unnecessarily hard as you roll him onto his front. But an eye for an eye, y’know.

Learning from your earlier mistakes, you tie this one up swiftly.

“Ooh, kinky,” he mutters.

Your sharp retort sits tantalizingly on the tip of your tongue. But it’s too risky to speak. It’s far easier to get recognized by your voice than one would think. You would know. Even after over a decade, the memory of that gravelly voice still haunts you.

“I guess we’re doing this the hard way.” Smash! “I repeat. Where’s the safe?!”

No, you’ll never be able to forget it.

The thug beneath you grunts as you tug the knot extra tight. He deserves it anyway.

Now here’s the only part you hate about successful captures- lugging the offenders to the police station. It’s times like this you really wish you had a different superpower; superstrength, or superspeed, or, dare you say it, teleportation. You’ve considered using your force fields to lob the criminals forward, but all superpowers have their limits. It takes too much out of you to do that and you’ll be too drained to get back to the dorm by the end of it.

And so, with little care for how unglamorous it looks, you drag the thug all the way to the police station two blocks down.

It’s as you’re nearing the station, tasting the sweet relief of your task finally coming to an end, that you hear it- crack. The flash of blue pops up right before the station.

If it weren’t for the flash of blue and prominent crack sound, you wouldn’t have noticed him. Dressed head to toe in black- much like your own get-up-, Vulture manifests out of nowhere, together with a burly, scar-faced man. The other thug from earlier.

This is the closest you’ve been to Vulture. Before this, you’ve only ever seen him in the distance as he pops in to pick up your thugs and pops back out. But now, you’re close enough to pick up on the narrow gold trim that subtly lines his otherwise midnight black mask.

The thug in your hands groans at the sight of his accomplice having been caught. Vulture’s head whips towards you, finally alerted to your presence. Hurriedly, he drops ol’ scarface at the doorstep of the station and teleports out.

Damn, looks like you’ll be playing ding dong ditch by yourself again tonight.

Depositing the thug next to his accomplice, you thump on the door of the station twice and sprint back into the cover of the night.

The pain is truly setting in now. The adrenaline from earlier is all gone and there’s nothing sedating the pain. As if indignant from being ignored, the gnawing pain in your wrist comes biting back now with a vengeance.

But you’re already on campus grounds, so it’s just one more dash across the green, skirt stealthily around the building, up the tree to your second-storey dorm room, and you’ll be home free.

Your wrist throbs. At this point, you crave nothing more than to be showered and tucked into your bed in your jammies. Exhaustion from the entire ordeal laces your bones as you sneak your way back to the dorm.

Ok, it’s just round the corner now and- your heart leaps in your chest when you spot the shadow. Shit. In your impatience you’ve become complacent. You spin to identify the source and oh, thank god. It’s just the dorm cat skulking around in the quiet of the night.

Climbing the tree into your room has never been the easiest thing, but it’s made ten times harder with your wrist out of commission. But somehow, you manage it.

After a quick shower, you head to the shared kitchen to grab some ice for your wrist. You opt to leave the kitchen lights off, the shroud of darkness like a comforting blanket.

“Fancy seeing you awake.”

You jolt. Oh. Yoongi. You weren’t really banking on anyone else being awake.

“I could say the same to you,” you say, hand over your heart. “What are you doing up? It’s three am.”

He raises his water jug in reply. “What about you?”

“Lost track of time doing assignments,” you make up on the fly. “And then I tripped over my books in my sleepy state and busted my wrist.”

“Oh damn,” he says, hoisting himself off where he was leaning against the counter. “Can I take a look?”

His fingers are gentle as they turn your wrist to examine the damage. You try not to stare at how long and pretty they are. How is this even fair? How is it that even his fingers are attractive?

“It’s pretty swollen.” His voice is barely above a whisper. “Let me get you an ice pack.”

You don’t trust your voice, so you just nod, and move to sit.

He digs out someone’s bag of frozen peas and places it gently over your wrist where it lays on the table. The next fifteen minutes is spent in quiet conversation. Despite his quiet exterior, you discover that Yoongi is surprisingly easy to talk to. Of course, you’ve talked to him during your project meetings. But the content of your conversations then are largely restricted to the task at hand.

But here, in the midnight darkness, you find that the hushed words and laughter flow with such easy chemistry, and you desperately try not to fall any harder for him.

You take the peas- half-melted and dripping now- and dump it on the table. Wiping your wrist off on your shirt, you retrieve your bandage from your pocket and attempt to tie it yourself as Yoongi watches.

“Need help?” he offers.

“M’fine,” you reply distractedly.

“Really?”

Your family’s always lamented your obstinate nature, and you guess it’s not baseless.

Yoongi’s hand grasps yours. “Let me.”

Before your hand starts shaking from the nervous energy that’s growing in you, you let go of the bandage resignedly.

His expression is plain as he binds your wrist, as if this is a daily occurrence for him. Maybe it is. His movements look practiced, and the bandage is just tight enough that it restricts movement without cutting off blood circulation.

“You’re good at this,” you say. “Is there some secret side to you that you’re not revealing?”

He laughs a little. “I used to play basketball, and injuries were really common.”

You watch in fascination at the expert movements of his hands. Tucking the end of the bandage in, he pats your newly bandaged wrist lightly.

“All done.”

“Thanks, Yoongi.”

“Take care of yourself. I still need you alive for our project.”

Accompanying the usual morning bleariness that plagues you whenever you have just woken up, this morning it’s coupled with a dull ache in your wrist. Right. Your sprained wrist.

Shifting carefully to avoid placing any weight on your injured arm, you sit up to inspect the dressing. It’s a little mussed up, but its structural integrity is largely intact. Good, you won’t have to redo the bandaging then.

Or worse still, ask Yoongi to patch you up again.

Memories of the dimly lit kitchen come back to you, the faint glow of the corridor lights falling on the contours of his face, the high planes illuminated in an orange luminescence.

In the low light, the way his hands moved as they wrapped your wrist up wasn’t any less elegant and entrancing. The pressure that it exerted on your tender flesh was gentle, taking care not to aggravate the swollen injury.

Fuck. As if you weren’t already having a hard time holding off your feelings for him. Feelings had been bubbling up in you ever since orientation and they grew ever more persistent with each project meeting.

Why did he have to be attractive and nice? It would have been much simpler if he were just an asshole. But no, his personality just had to be as attractive as his appearance, didn’t it?

You stretch to work out the residual sleepiness, but your right rib aches in protest. Lifting your shirt and inspecting it in the mirror, a purplish bruise greets you. That sidekick really did a number on you.

Mornings like this really make you think twice about your decision to walk down the vigilante path. Mornings when the twinging pain of injuries sustained and the fatigue from having spent half the night patrolling the streets is just a little too much to bear. Mornings like this really have you wondering if you should just give it up for a normal college student’s life.

It’s truly tempting. The prospect of getting more than three hours of sleep per night is so delicious. Cuts and bruises would be a rarity. And the fluttery feeling of having a crush on a cute guy wouldn’t have to be marked as a distraction and suppressed into oblivion anymore. You want it. So much. Mornings like this, you really want to call it quits.

But your memory prevents you from doing so.

The way your mum’s hand trembled around yours as she urgently pulled you to the backroom is seared into your mind forever. Even now, your hand quivers.

Her eyes are wide with fear as she whispers, “Stay quiet.”

“The supers will be here soon, right, mum?” you ask.

“That’s right, ____.” She tucks your hair behind your ear with a shaky hand. “We just have to wait for the supers to get here.”

With that, she closes the door and the darkness envelops you. The padlock clicks just outside the door.

“Where’s the safe?” A gruff voice asks. Shivers trail down your spine.

“The cops are on their way,” you can hear your dad respond. Pride fills you at his bravery. “Look, you don’t have to do this. You can walk away right now and-”

“I guess we’re doing this the hard way.” Smash! “I repeat. Where’s the safe?!”

You can hear your mum’s pleas between hiccuped sobs.

“Well if you’re not going to tell me,” the voice continues, “I’ll just have to use brute force.”

More destruction ensues. You wince with every crash, keeping a lid on the whimpers that threaten to escape you. Where are the cops?! Where are the supers?!

“A locked door. Is that an indication of something?” The voice is close now; only the door stands between you.

Bam! The door before you rattles violently. You, too, shake in fear.

“I’ll tell you where it is!” Your dad panickedly relents. “The safe. I’ll tell you where the safe is.”

“Glad you changed your mind, old man.” The footsteps retreat.

And as you emerged from the room later that night, your nine-year-old eyes taking in the wreckage and the distinct absence of help from the police or from the supers that supposedly kept your city safe, your dreams shattered just like the glass shards that laid scattered across your parents’ store.

Ever since you discovered your powers at age five, it became your ambition to become a super. With a flashy power like yours, the chances of it happening were reasonably high.

But all that changed when your parents’ store was mugged. The supers you so admired were nowhere to be found. They were simply too busy fighting other bigger fish out there. And the police? It was a known fact that they’d gotten complacent ever since the advent of the supers.

And that left smaller stores- stores like your family’s- unprotected and susceptible to attacks by ruffian gangs that reigned in the streets. No one cares for petty crime. Not when there are bigger battles to fight out there. It was a flaw in the system.

A flaw that you aim to address through your vigilantism. What use were your flashy powers and lofty ambitions when you just remained frozen in inaction when the time calls for it? The gnawing guilt morphed into a thirst for redemption. You would become the defender of the streets.

So as lonely and draining as it is to live this life of masked identities, you can’t possibly give it up. Your conscience won’t let you.

Maybe it wasn’t such a good idea to come out to the streets just days after sustaining your injury. But after icing and resting it for a day, you swear your wrist is feeling much better. Plus, you skipped your usual nightly patrols last night, but the guilt and worry had left you restlessly tossing and turning in bed. So here you are, mask on and back out on the streets.

The thug takes a swing at you. Normally you would have countered it with a block to follow quickly with a punch of your own. But with your wrist out of commission, you choose to duck down. Even your force fields would cause your wrists to absorb some impact, so the moves at your disposal are severely limited today.

You land a roundhouse kick to his side. He sputters. But he responds swiftly with a counterattack.

You’ve tried to attack mainly from your legs. Even so, your wrist feels the effects of the fight. Wrapped in its bandage, albeit sloppier than Yoongi’s expert dressing the other night but still secure enough, your sprained wrist throbs dully from the exertion.

In an attempt to soothe the ache, you roll it out- ah, the pain flares up your arm. You take deep breaths to work through the pain. You have to keep moving.

But it seems the thug has noticed your weakness. He moves quickly. Grabs your wrist and twists.

“AHHH!” The shrill scream of agony that escapes you is reflexive.

Somewhere in the midst of the white hot pain, you manage to scrape together enough sense of mind to shoot out a force field. It’s weak, and it adds yet another layer to your pain, but it’ll suffice. The thug stumbles back off-kilter.

You cradle your aggravated injury to your chest and blink back the tears. This was a bad idea. Maybe you should just give it up for tonight. It won’t be the first time a thug has gotten away, after all.

But it seems that he hasn’t had enough. He storms towards you, his face curled into a sneer.

You clench your fists. It protests in pain, but you ignore it and lower yourself into a fighting stance. You’re not sure what you can do now with the state that you’re in, but you have no choice.

Just as he picks up into a run, he’s yanked back. The immensity of the relief that washes through you as you hear that crack is so overwhelming, your legs go slightly jelly.

Vulture materializes, in his usual all-black attire, from beanie to combat boots. The gold trim of his mask glints ominously under the moonlight.

The thug takes a knee to the stomach. Vulture’s movements are so quick and sharp, the thug retches slightly. A right hook follows, without missing a beat. The thug veers to his right from its impact. But Vulture doesn’t give him an inch. He throws a left uppercut. A solid kick to the chest seamlessly completes the combo. The thug collapses in a heap on the ground.

Vulture moves like a predator on the hunt. The pace at which he stalks forward is completely unhurried. The lowlife attempts to crawl away, but he’s jerked back by the collar.

Still clutching your wrist, you watch dumbly as Vulture teleports away with the thug before you can get a word of gratitude in.

When you finally rouse from slumber the next morning, it’s from being jolted awake by the unmuffled blare of a car horn. The soundproofing in your room is shitty, but not normally this shitty. Turning to the window through which you slipped into your room last night, you realize it’s open. You were probably too tired to remember to shut it last night.

You pad over to the window, meaning to close it, when you step on something cool and smooth, but very unfamiliar. You retract your foot and look down.

Icy fear grips you. The sensation of it under your foot may have been unfamiliar, but the sight of it is definitely not. Laying on your floor is a black mask lined with gold trim.

What does this mean? Is it supposed to be a sign? Is it some sick joke? Has Vulture figured out who you are? What does he want from you?

Picking it up in your hands and skimming your thumb over the textured leather, you recall the way Vulture defended you last night. Sure, you get frustrated when he swipes your captures. But you can’t deny that, ultimately, you’re on the same side.

But having operated wordlessly all this while, and only coming in for the kill, Vulture remains an enigma. You can’t be sure of his real agenda when you’ve never fought side by side with him, let alone exchanged a word. But you can’t blame him either. You haven’t been one to break the silence either.

Perhaps you will have to now.

As it turns out, you don’t get the chance to. Break the silence, that is. For the third night in a row now, Vulture is a no show.

And for the third night in a row, the criminal gets away.

You’re tempted to blame it on your sprained wrist. But you can’t help but recall all the times thugs have slipped out of your grasp, only to be picked off by Vulture. Honestly, these last three days have you reluctantly acknowledging that your job is much harder without your silent partner.

You strain your ears in anticipation of a crack sound. But for the third night in a row, you’re left disappointed.

What’s up with all these no-shows lately?

You groan as the call gets diverted to voicemail yet again. It’s the seventh call you’ve dialled to Yoongi. Checking the time, it’s now half an hour past your agreed upon meeting time.

You slam your laptop shut. This is ridiculous. Does he think that his cute face will let him get away with everything? Just because he’s produced nothing but quality work in your pairwork so far doesn’t excuse anything.

Ok. Maybe you’re being a little harsh on him. Maybe.

But can you be blamed for being in such a crappy mood? After the shit show that was the last few nights of crime-fighting, you’re already in a foul mood. And now, hauling your sleep-deprived self out of bed and to the library at eight in the morning on a Saturday morning, only to have your partner pull a no-show? Who wouldn’t be pissed?

You shove your things into your bag and trudge back to the dorm. If you get to his room and he’s still in bed… No one can hold you responsible for what you’ll do next.

But you spot him, squatting by the shrubs that line the dorm, as you’re making your way across the green, and he’s very much awake.

You march up to him, intending to tap him on the shoulder and give him a piece of your mind.

“That damn cat,” you hear him mutter. You pause, curiosity piqued. “THIS is why dogs are man’s best friend, not cats. Holly would NEVER.”

“Looking for something?” you ask. He jumps, and turns around.

“Oh, ____,” he says, standing up from his crouched position. “Yeah, I lost something.”

“Funny, because I was looking for something too for the past-” you check your watch dramatically “- half an hour now.”

He gasps. You can pinpoint the exact moment the realization hits him. “I’m so sorry! It totally slipped my mind.”

You sigh. He’s honestly too cute. As it turns out, the answer is yes. His cute face will indeed let him get away with everything; your anger is completely diffused.

“Let’s just take a break this week,” you say.

“You don’t have to do that on my account. Just give me five minutes to grab my stuff.”

“Nah, we’ve made sufficient progress on this assignment that we’ve earned it. And you look like you’re too troubled by whatever you’ve lost anyway,” you say with a wave of your hand.

You pause, weighing your next words. But damn your soft spot for him. “Hey, do you want an extra pair of eyes to help you look?”

He considers your offer for a second. Then, hesitantly, he says, “Ok. Yeah. That’d be great actually.”

“So what are you looking for?”

He purses his lips. Did the cat really steal his underwear? Whatever he’s lost must be pretty embarrassing if it’s this hard to tell you.

Finally, he sighs and spits it out. “I know it sounds weird but I’m looking for a mask.”

You feel your jaw go slack.

“A mask?” you echo hollowly. “Like a ski mask?”

“No, um.” He scratches the back of his neck. “Y’know what, forget I said anything. I’m sure I’ll find it myself.”

He turns back to inspecting the bush. But now you have to know.

“Is it a black mask? With gold trim?”

Yoongi freezes for a second. It’s all the answer you need.

He laughs, and you can tell it’s forced. “Have you seen it?”

“No way.” It’s a mumble at first, then it all comes tumbling out of your mouth. “No way. No way! YOU’RE Vulture?!”

“Vult- What?!”

“Right. Sorry. That’s just the name I gave you because you keep swiping my thugs. And yes, I’ve seen it. Seen it every night you pop in and steal my captures.”

“Wait,” he says, his eyes growing wide as he comprehends what you’re saying. “YOU’RE that hot vigilante with the cool force fields? The one who can’t keep the thugs restrained for nuts?”

“Is that what you think of me?”

“Hey. You have no grounds to complain. Not when you call me Vulture.”

“I’m so tired,” you manage to whine through a whisper. “We bagged three criminals tonight. Can’t you just teleport us back to the dorm?”

“You know we can’t do that, love,” he whispers, rubbing your back. “My powers aren’t the most stealthy. And c’mon, we’re almost there.”

Behind your own mask, you smile contentedly. The lonely nights of crime-fighting have become not so lonely after all.

As it turns out, your synergy with Yoongi is not limited to academic work. It’s been a month now and your teamwork functions like a well-oiled machine, your force fields weakening the thugs and directing them to where Yoongi waits in the shadows to teleport them off to jail where they belong.

“Oh my god,” you breathe, barely maintaining your hushed tone. The dorm cat slinks round the corner, yanking you out of your thoughts.

“That damn cat,” Yoongi mutters.

You pinch his ear, one of the few exposed parts of his body in this attire. “If not for ‘that damn cat’, we wouldn’t have gotten together. You have much to thank this cat for.”

You can’t see it but you know that he’s rolling his eyes.

“You have no defence because you know I’m right,” you taunt.

“Fine, you are,” he says and begins to lift his mask to lean in for a kiss.

You pull it back down. “Don’t get distracted now. We can cuddle later when we’re back safe, ok?”

He huffs, but there’s a spring in his step that was not there before.

And as the two of you round the corner to clamber back up to the safety of your room, the dorm cat watches with eyes aglow in the moonlight.

Your window clicks shut. It’s safe now. Jin shape-shifts out of his cat form and smirks to himself. He still remembers the mutually stolen side glances from orientation. How could he not ship your two dorky asses?

And all the sneaking around that both of you were doing every night, unaware that you both had a masked companion in each other?

But ah, it seems that you’ve finally got your shit together. All he did was nudge you in the right direction. Looks like it worked. Mission accomplished.

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thepriceofbeingaroseisloneliness · 4 years ago

Text

KAORU INTERVIEW ONGAKU TO HITO [PHY] VOL.16 2/2 TRANSLATION

“Wouldn’t it be possible for fans to gather and talk about several things as they spend time together by broadcasting a setlist created by each member?” “What I thought when they were together listening to it was….’Everyone loves Dir en grey’” (laughs) “Of course, there will be opinions like ‘if you are going to cancel, say it as soon as possible’, I’m sorry for that but it was something that had to be discussed and properly decided by each one of us.”

Original text by Higuchi Yasuyuki

Photos by Amita Mari You can read the first part of this interview here. You can buy the magazine at cdjapan or amazon.jp ( Out of Print--Limited Availability. )

Notes before reading: This is the second part of the interview from Ongaku to hito [PHY] vol.16 released the 6th of June. The interview was done during May, so Japan was still under the state of emergency. Feel free to correct me if you spot any mistake or any confusing parts.

---------------------- “Wouldn’t it be possible for fans to gather and talk about several things as they spend time together by broadcasting a setlist created by each member?” -Then, in April the declaration of the state of emergency was announced, the tour that had been already postponed was cancelled but, at the same time as you released that statement, the broadcasting of a music playlist in YouTube as planned setlists by members was also announced. Kaoru: This is…. if I remember properly……the idea came from the fan club management side. It was like “how about trying to do a daily streaming during 5 days of songs chosen by the members?” -The image was more of a setlist, rather than a playlist. K: That’s true, as we broadcasted the planned setlists one by one. So, we already had experienced the reaction of the viewers at the time of the live (without audience). The talk concluded like, “isn’t it like …. the fans can gather together, talk about several things and spend some time together?”, so immediately we said OK. -Your setlist was on the first day, did you choose the songs considering that? K: Well, when we were at the stage of creating the setlists, it wasn’t decided whose setlist would be broadcasted in each day yet. Originally, we decided to do it 4 days before the broadcasting so, there was a feeling of timing like “please send the setlists by tomorrow”, I thought mine overnight and submitted it. The next day, I knew I was the first one. -I thought your setlist was very “Kaoru-like” but, what was your criteria for choosing the songs? K: Although it’s a setlist, there is no live footage so after all, isn’t it a playlist with tracks one after another? The theme was like, “how can I incorporate the feeling of a live concert into it?”. However, even if I included violent/fierce songs, I think I couldn’t get the feeling of a live performance. Also, I dared to try a sequence of songs that wouldn’t be possible at all in an actual live performance. -Things like tuning or equipment, a sequence of songs that can’t be done due to those aspects. K: Then, there is also Kyo’s throat problem. If we try to do several things in the best condition possible, it’s an impossible sequence. Yet, isn’t it great that people are thinking it’s a real concert while it’s listening to it? -You can’t do that at a real concert, but I think it’s interesting to listen to it while imagining it all together. K: That’s right. -Every set list was unique because of the individuality of the members, and after all, as it happened during the live without audience, it was an amazing time as well. K: I thought that too. -While at the screen there was always the same picture, the songs were the only thing flowing. K: It might have been good that the screen didn't change. Everyone had no choice but to imagine in their heads.

-Yes, yes. I did too. It brought back memories of a live I saw, they layered with that scene while I was listening to it. Rather than a pseudo- concert experience, it felt more like a reliving experience. K: I see. That’s why the response we got was more than I expected. Also, what I thought when they together were listening to it was….” Everyone loves Dir en grey” (laughs) -Hahahahaha K: It’s like, they were listening to the songs properly, that’s what I thought when I was seeing the messages at the chat. -It was a virtual space, but it felt like everyone was gathering there and sharing the music.

K: That’s true. I felt like I was connected with the member and with everyone. I think that was good. -Actually, in contrast with that, you are separated from the fans. How are feeling about that right now? K: Well, we can't do anything about that, right now we have no choice but to wait. -That's right K: It’s not just for the music scene. I think there are people having problems with other activities too. Until these things become clear, it’s too much for everyone. Especially for things that are hobbies, like music. I know that there are people who support us not at a hobby level and I’m grateful for that but, after all, we have no choice but to wait for the time being. “It’s because of the situation we are currently in, I wish we can create a future in which that it’s possible” -Meanwhile, the release of a new song has being announced. Does it already have a shape or are you going to start working on it from now?

K: It’s almost finished! If we started from now on, it probably won’t be ready on time (laughs) -Hahahaha. Originally it was supposed to be announced on the last day of the tour. K: That’s true. We decided to release it during summer. -By the way, can you tell us what kind of song it is? K: Well…. ok….it took a lot of time. The creation itself has been done since last year. After starting to play it and let the members listen to it, it hasn’t progressed easily. I've been worried about it for a long time. -So that means that it is going to be a masterpiece/great work following ‘The World of Mercy’? K: Well, I can’t say that at the current stage/phase (laughs). -Right? (laughs) By the way, is this song linked to the current situation going on? K: I haven't read the lyrics properly, so putting that part aside, it wasn’t a song made with this situation in mind. After all, it depends on what the person who listens to the song will think. I don’t really care about that. However, there is no doubt that it is song made in such a situation like the one we are currently in.

-Speaking of “what is going to think the person who listens to the song” thing, I think from the listener’s side, inevitably it will become a song that faces this situation.

K: Yes, that’s right. -But, whether it's a concert with no audience or a broadcast on YouTube, it’s a work that it will be received after the band has tried things that you never did before. I wonder if that will create special way to hear it. K: Well yeah…. I can't say anything about that. The tour was cancelled, and I suddenly had spare time, so I made a song during that time. Maybe I shouldn’t say it’s something unrelated to this situation. -Then, it’s what Kyo is going to sing…. K: Once the lyrics are added, I think you are going to be listening to the song and from there, with the words you can hear, you will imagine “oh, it feels like this”. -That’s still a secret. K: Of course (laughs) -Also, you started a twitter account at these times. K: As expected, the motivation was the YouTube Broadcasting. I thought it would be nice if I could get the feeling I was listening together with the fans on twitter. Doing that, I thought it might be a different approach than until now. -That happened because of the current situation? K: If you say that twitter itself is something new, that’s not true at all, it’s rather an old tool, but it has immediate effects. I wondered if it would be interesting to change the way I show myself. That's why I don't tweet many times a day. -How was it when you tried it? The reactions and so to what you posted. K: Well, the first thing was the number of the people who were watching (what I posted) was different than what I thought it would be. -That’s right (laughs) K: There are a lot of people watching Twitter. Also, I had the feeling that there are many good things and many bad things in there. -From the beginning, because you are a band that has a certain sense of distance from the fans, I thought there might be some resistance to, suddenly, be directly connected on twitter with the person (member) and the fans. K: It’s a balance there. I think it’s good if I could do something new or interesting while maintaining a good balance. Until now, Kyo is the only member to have a personal account on twitter. -I see. K: However, it's not like he is tweeting about private things, and there are a lot of tweets that are announcements or official information, sometimes he himself tweets. I want to try that myself. Moreover, I wonder if I can make it feel more like a personal account than when I tweeted from the Dir en grey official account. -In any case, the current state of the band is trying to catch a hold of several things positively. K: Right now, it’s that. But I don’t know how it will be in the future. Maybe I end up saying “I’m really bad at this” (laughs) -No way (laughs) I think you are dealing with everything calmly and positively. K: But…. the members and the staff discussed it more than usual about the live without audience and the YouTube broadcast, and we decided to make a calm decision. But there were times than the emotions came first until we came to that conclusion. -I see. K: Even if we postponed or cancelled the tour, we talked about it together to the point that separately/one by one discussed if this was the best thing to do. Of course, there will be opinions like “if you are going to cancel, say it as soon as possible”, I’m sorry for that but it was something that had to be discussed and decided properly by each one of us. -It’s always the same when you are making a Dir en grey’s song. K: Ah, I agree with that. -You are making things from the emotions and the strong ego/self of each of you but, it sounds like the process of finally reaching that conclusion was made as a band. After all, it’s something that has to be faced by no one but yourselves. K: Yes. For example, even if there are criticisms against the fact that we will force the tour without postponing it, it would be fine if we were the only ones to be targeted for that. We can’t let the fans get attacked for that reason. I don’t want people to think “that’s why they are fans of a band like that” because of our actions. - As expected, Dir en grey is a kind band. Kaoru: Is that so?

-That’s what I think. I’m sure the relationship between the band and the fans will change. Kaoru: I wonder how it will be…. but, because of the situation we are currently in, I wish we can create a future in which that it’s possible.

#dir en grey #kaoru #phy vol 16 #interview #translation

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amphoraeimpetus · 7 years ago

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The Closer: Pilot

After the recent developments of Major Crimes, I resolved to take a step back and reassess the franchise with fresh eyes and an innocent mind. A driving factor behind this decision emerged following discussions I had with my mom about Major Crimes, so credit should be sent her way! Like many fans I was active in the online Major Crimes community. I consumed the information shared via interviews, blogs, reddit chats, podcasts, and from this developed my interpretations of the characters. My mom is not active online; she would frequently complain that the characters were ‘one-sided’, ‘underdeveloped’, even ‘boring’. This horrified me! Here I am in 2018, feeling betrayed and adrift after investing in a show I fear I misunderstood from day one. Post Conspiracy Theory Part 4 I have reflected upon my viewing experience of both Major Crimes and The Closer and have realised just how much the audience was left to infer and how little was actually shared. So, as a way of processing everything recent events have churned up inside me, I have decided to re-watch The Closer and Major Crimes as a first-time viewer. This means that I will be disengaging the part of my brain that is familiar with the franchise, so my perceptions and interpretations will be limited to the information contained in the episodes themselves. My apologies for the length of this post, future ones will be shorter I promise. So...here I go!

Written by James Duff Directed by Michael M Robin

THE CASE THE CHARACTERS Lieutenant Flynn Captain Russell Taylor Assistant Chief Will Pope Deputy Chief Brenda Leigh Johnson INITIAL IMPRESSIONS

THE CASE

The episode starts with us being thrown headfirst into the crime scene, no pleasantries extended.

“Yeah, well, Ellen, there's a dead woman lying on the floor of his master bedroom with a big, big, big gunshot wound in her face. So how do you think that happened if Dr Collier didn't kill her?" - Lt Flynn

The pace is fast and we are playing catchup along with Deputy Chief Brenda Leigh Johnson when she arrives on scene, and the cinematography of the opening sequence emphasises this. We follow the characters through Dr Elliott Collier’s house and are exposed to the crime scene as they experienced and discovered it.

“Do we really need these masks?” - Lt Flynn “I declared her dead from the hallway, but hey, you decide.” - Dr Tanaka

The humor that permeates this opening scene is blunt, morbid, and utterly refreshing. It is clear that this show isn’t going to be delicate, it has something to say and it’s going to say it.

The victim is a naked woman who has not only suffered several blows to the head, but has been shot in the face and left to decompose in Dr Collier’s master bedroom. Naturally, Dr Collier, an important mathematician, is the prime suspect for her murder, especially as he has failed to check into his hotel in Hawaii. Enter Deputy Chief Brenda Johnson and cue some explosive tension.

Upon looking at the victim, Brenda immediately notices dried vomit on her ear and a stained area of flooring nearby. This leads her to conclude that the murder was not premeditated. As the investigation progresses we discover that two fake passports were found at the scene with the pictures removed, and that Dr Collier disappeared without a trace: there were no pictures or fingerprints, he didn’t hold a California driver’s license, and his employment record had been deleted. What we do know is that while Dr Collier is untraceable, the victim’s prints were everywhere, in Collier’s house, car, and office. However, things get really interesting when Lt Tao tells Brenda that the real Elliott Collier died in 1989 at the age of 19. Clearly ‘Dr Collier’ is running or hiding from something!

“All we have right now is a woman we can’t identify murdered by a man who doesn’t exist.” - Brenda Leigh Johnson

The company Dr Collier works for is refusing to cooperate as giving the LAPD access to information would also give them access to the new technology Dr Collier was developing. How does Deputy Chief Brenda Leigh Johnson get around this? She point blank threatens them...

“What's possible, sir, is that when I release this information to the media, I can forcefully express my shock at how a company whose entire reason for existin' is to make things more secure, could have been deceived on a daily basis by its most valuable employee. What will that do to the share value of your stock?” - Brenda Leigh Johnson

Yup, this is a lady who goes straight for the jugular!

Thanks to dreamboat Fritz Howard of the FBI we now have an ID for the victim: Alana Devon. Turns out��Alana Devon was wanted for murder, she shot a security guard at an act up protest, and this sets up our proper introduction to Lt Provenza...

“I'm sure, Det Provenza, that when you say ‘lesbo’, you don't intend that in a derogatory way.” - Brenda Leigh Johnson

Brenda interviews Ellen Parks and her suspicions are confirmed. Dr Collier and Ellen Parks were ‘emotionally intimate’. When Dr Collier’s fake identity was burned he shared his past with her and asked her to leave with him, having a second passport made. As Brenda said at the beginning, it looks like love.

But then the bomb is dropped... Alana Devon and Dr Elliott Collier are one and the same.

Amazingly, I still feel sorry for Ellen Parks, and she’s not really a sympathetic character. This was an extremely sheltered woman, deeply devoted to Catholicism, who had everything the believed in and felt assaulted and turned upside down in a split second. She had fallen in love with a woman, something contrary to her personal belief system, and it disgusted her. Not only that, but this love was the result of deception, she was betrayed by a person she loved and trusted.

Regardless, Brenda lived up to her reputation as ‘a closer’.

THE CHARACTERS

Lieutenant Flynn

The first detective we meet is Lt Flynn of Robbery Homicide. He’s blunt and sardonic when interviewing Ellen Parks, and his morbid attitude sets the gritty tone for the show perfectly and is somehow endearing. Lt Flynn is clearly in control of the crime scene and seems to be respected by his colleagues (Waters).

Captain Russell Taylor

“She was ordering my boys around like they were her servants.”

We find out that Taylor has 21 years of service with the LAPD and that the elite squad of detectives that now reports to Johnson used to report to Taylor...so we immediately know there is going to be professional tension, particularly after OJ is mentioned. However, Taylor also seems to be protective of his division. Time will tell how much of that concern is motivated by personal interest, his dislike of Brenda, or his attachment to his subordinates. One thing is certain, emotions are running high after Brenda Leigh Johnson transferred in from Atlanta PD as a deputy chief, outranking many LAPD officers.

Assistant Chief Will Pope

“Brenda is a CIA-trained interrogator with excellent references from the Atlanta Police Department and a reputation for getting confessions that lead directly to convictions.”

Pope worked with Brenda Leigh Johnson in DC and is fast to defend her professional competence - a support she desperately needs given the hostility her colleagues harbor towards her. He is also the person to say that she is ‘a closer’. However, it seems that Pope could perhaps have gone about her integration with the LAPD in a more tactful way. For example, Pope reassigned the case to Priority Homicide without informing Taylor who rolled Robbery Homicide to investigate the crime. This resulted in the stand-offs between Brenda, Flynn and Waters.

It is also heavily implied that Brenda and Pope were romantically involved in the past and that a fondness remains between them.

“Sounds vaguely familiar, doesn't it? Me waitin' to hear from you, you off with your wife.” - Brenda Leigh Johnson to Will Pope

Deputy Chief Brenda Leigh Johnson

She is as messy and cluttered as her hotel room...

There is no division between the professional and personal. This is highlighted by her interactions and relationships with Will Pope and Fritz Howard, the lines are blurred.

“There's a problem with your management style.” - Will Pope to Brenda Leigh Johnson

Boss Brenda

“I don’t get emotional. I get damned angry.” - Lt Flynn

Brenda shuts Flynn down by pulling rank, suggesting he take a deep breath and go back to his car while she gets notes from his partner Lt Waters.

Brenda is very factual in her analysis of the scene. She is able to detach herself and identify issues regarding the conduct of the investigation. The main issue of consternation here was that the LAPD did need a warrant for the garage as it wasn’t attached to the house so probable cause was not sufficient, pre-authorization was required. This sequence tells the audience so much about Brenda. She is someone who takes her job seriously, has a wealth of knowledge and experience, and most importantly is single minded in her approach - she is an island! Brenda is following a single track of thought and quickly filters out anyone or anything that is unhelpful in her pursuit. In other words, she sucks at diplomacy in the workplace.

“Look, it's all one house. And the guy's secretary gave us the car keys. No need to be a bitch about it.” - Lt Waters “Excuse me lieutenant, but if I liked being called a bitch to my face, I'd still be married.” - Brenda Leigh Johnson

We find out that her squad isn’t happy. Likely goaded by Taylor, each member of her squad submitted requests to be transferred back to Robbery Homicide. Pope breaks this news to her and it is an interesting scene, Brenda displays some vulnerability on both professional and personal fronts. Her professional response is bold and assertive. She is sure of her abilities as an investigator and isn’t going to take BS from anyone and makes this abundantly clear to Priority Homicide.

When investigating this case we see Brenda as a person who doesn’t trust easily. She is fiercely independent and reluctant to share information and ideas. We get the sense that Brenda has connected the dots and refuses to share her insights with Priority Homicide…she is making them play catch up. Is this just her management style, or is it intentional? Does she want to simultaneously impress and embarrass them by demonstrating her competency in this boastful manner. The final interrogation and confession scene does seem like a big ‘I figured it out before y’all!’ to her colleagues. Given how she was treated by them it is understandable and I hope she got satisfaction from it. They are certainly impressed but I don’t see a continuation of this behaviour winning her any favors.

Schoolgirl Brenda

This amazingly resilient and confident woman dissolves into an insecure schoolgirl when she’s alone with Assistant Chief Pope and Agent Fritz Howard. During a telephone conversation with her mother we get the impression Brenda is self-conscious and insecure about her appearance. This is confirmed when she has drinks with Fritz.

However, her discussions with Pope are more revealing and raise questions. We find out that Brenda not only sold her house but turned down a position at Homeland Security to take the Deputy Chief position with the LAPD, and there was an ethics inquiry at Atlanta Police Department. She seems almost vulnerable at the prospect of returning to Atlanta. It is very clear after her scenes with Pope that she has given a lot up based on her trust in him. What is interesting is that she recognizes that that trust had been misplaced personally in the past and yet she hadn’t expected to encounter a similar problem in her professional life. She makes this distinction clear to him. Still, this makes me wonder why Brenda was so keen to leave Atlanta PD behind. She had another job offer which she turned down in favor of the LAPD, and there was that ethics inquiry…Regardless, it’s a lot to sacrifice based on trust you have in a man who has breached your trust in the past…what is she running from?

INITIAL IMPRESSIONS

Let me temporarily engage part of my brain to point out that Provenza had the toothpick first!

The atmosphere is gritty, imperfect, it feels like you are behind the scenes at the LAPD. The case was really smart, interesting, and engaging on multiple levels. The episode provided a good amount of exposition without being an ‘exposition dump’ - we were introduced to Brenda and have a good idea as to how she fits, or rather doesn’t fit, in the existing power structure at Parker Center.

Most importantly, we are not asked to take sides as a viewer. We instantly realize that there is more than one way to do things and that these characters have strengths and weaknesses. Some of these weaknesses are very stereotypical, such as sexism in the workplace, but are not superficial. They are presented in a realistic way, it is not a slap in the face but rather a peak at the grimy underbelly most women encounter at work and deal with in their stride.

There you have it! That concludes my post for The Closer: Pilot. If you are re-watching The Closer too or have any thoughts or comments, please let me know! I’m also open to Major Crimes grieving tips. Again, my apologies for the length, the next one will be shorter!!!!

#major crimes #the closer #pilot #1x1 #season 1 episode 1 #amphoraeimpetus #andy flynn #provenza #brenda leigh johnson #will pope #taylor #rewatch

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crashmovieessay731 · 4 years ago

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dovesandsparrows · 7 years ago

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Kidnapped: Part 4

( first entry - previous entry - next entry )

The gentle hum of the hover-truck does nothing to calm Angela’s nerves. The arcade is not far down the Hyperlane, but with the van embroidered with the Overwatch symbol, it lags across the tracks, and the road stretches on and on, the end just too far to grasp. She sighs, bowing her head, to picture Genji looking up from behind one of the ancient game machines upon their arrival, beaming as the team had elected to join him after all.

That was the best possible outcome of this trip. Suited in her Valkyrie, however, with a silent Lúcio in deep contemplation beside her, and Hana steel-lipped at the wheel, it feels more like an official mission than worried friends in pursuit. Genji is not a mission, nor is he simply just an agent. His rescue should be their priority until he is home safe in her medbay, for a thorough checking and care.

Home safe with her, and his friends, whose usually bubbly-selves are so withdrawn with the worrying news of his disappearance. It nags at her too, like an ache in her chest she cannot soothe. Her face must display it at this point, because as Hana directs them off the Hyperlane, Lúcio pats her knee, then leans forward to say to the driver, “Are we close, Song? I’ll chuck on my gear, get a scope of the place from the outside. See what I can find.”

She hums in approval, then glances in the rearview mirror at Angela. “You and me for the good cop, bad cop, Doctor Z?”

Speaking with the patrons and staff at the Arcade, Hana intends to ask, when Angela simply would prefer to chase straight after him. Track down this Sombra article, cipher her last known sightings from Talon-monitoring satellites, find her before something bad finds Genji. (Winston had already told her Sombra is far too elusive for the imagery to detect, but it was worth asking, and still lamenting about now.)

Short of Hana’s joke, she replies, “I’ll speak with the owner, yes. You can join Lúcio if you want, I will be fine.”

The stunted answer makes Hana blink, to stare back out to the road. The Arcade is at the end of the street, all bright colors and taunting. “Oh, okay. Uh, Lú?”

“Nah, two people on deck would be good. Maybe you could mingle, there’d be a fan or a hundred.” He hangs over the front seat, fingers framing an imaginary Hollywood sign: “the famous D.Va, in the flesh, on world-saving business! Her prime informant: the arcade dweller.”

Hana giggles, slapping his hands away as the car cruises to a stop besides the decorated building. The display is enough for Angela, who slides out of the car, and treks straight into the Arcade. It’s smaller inside, but the levels climb up higher than she allows her eyes to follow, instead her gaze is set on the counter immediately in front, and the attending with a name badge that says “Jason”. He’s staring googly-eyed at her, whether it’s at the suit or simply her, she cannot tell.

“Ohhhh, hey,” he croons, as she approaches. “The big bosses rang, told us you were coming. Overwatch. I never thought I’d even see you guys in action, let alone meet you. It’s Mercy, right? You’re Mercy, the angel, you’re so coooooool-”

“Yes, I’m Doctor Ziegler. I need information regarding-”

“And D.Va?” The attendee’s attention is stolen as Hana strides in, only in a loose version of her MEKA suit, but still in-gear all the same. She beams at Jason, moving to give him a high-five.

“Hey dude! You can call me Hana, and Doctor Z here, she’s cool too.” She leans on the counter, and Angela tries to relax, reminding herself they are all here to help. “They told you what happened to our agent?”

“Shit, yeah, scary stuff. Talon was here. I could have died, y’know, was texting my boyfriend about it. Then I told him: Overwatch is here, so I really got nothing to worry about, huh.”

“We will try our best to find him, and to secure the grounds,” assures Angela after a deep breath, complete with a patient-brand warm smile. “One of our agents is currently scoping the exterior, we’ll go over the inside.”

“For sure, Doctor. We’ve got everyone on the ground floor, cleared out where it happened so it was clean for when you guys got here.”

Sure enough, the floor is packed with gamers of all shapes and sizes, some with eyes glued to screens, others watching them with mixed expressions of confusion, awe, disbelief and suspicion. It is only small down here, it seems tables and machines have been mashed together like a jigsaw to make room. The capacity of the room means all of the game advertisements - some posters of Hana, too, she realises - cannot be seen among all the people. There is a low murmur from all the patrons, talk of their games, their characters, the goings on, or simply the passing of their lives. Angela hadn’t noticed any of it on her march up to the bench. That, or she chose to ignore it, thinking during such a dire situation as this they would have at least closed the building to the public.

Apparently not. Many things had changed during the war. The refusal to cave to fear was one of them, but it called into question where to draw the line at “stupid”. Allowing people to remain here, with possible Talon activity confirmed in the area, was definitely stupid. Yet she couldn’t dwell on it now, what’s done is done, and unfortunately not her business. Genji is her business. Finding him, making sure he is safe and well.

“Thank you,” she says, shaking the tension from her voice. Genji’s status could worsen if she’s clammy like this, and regardless, it’s unprofessional of her. Better status should be expected of an agent of Overwatch, and a doctor, to not let the situation get to her.

“I’m gonna go make some friends,” Hana announces proudly, giving Jason some finger guns, then disappearing off between the machines, like she’s a part of the scenery, colors and all.

The attendant takes her into the staff area, introduces her to the other staff, and the manager. They are kind, and make her a coffee as she peruses the video footage (erased), reviews the entries to the arcade today (clean), examines the grounds (bare) and checks in with Hana for witnesses (nothing). It turns out, to her utter dismay, Talon may have just committed the perfect kidnapping.

It tortures her, so she reviews where he was taken again: an upturned stool on the third floor behind a machine entitled “Omnic Kong 3”, a nearby open window with nothing but sky in its wake, and the absence of Genji. It’s also when Lúcio chooses to appear in said window, making her jump so much he begins spewing apologies.

“But hey, uh, Doc Z. You’re gonna want to come up and look at this.” Her heart leaps: he’s found something, finally, a lead. Something to grasp, to confirm to herself Genji isn’t entirely out of their reach. “You got your Valkyrie activated? Follow me up here.”

The window is only small, but so is she, climbing out of it with ease. She sits three floors up, legs dangling over the edge, to give a weak smile at Lúcio across the way. He’s perched on the wall next to her, skates grinding in a whoosh sound against the bricks. He glances above his head, where the gutter of the roof begins, something heavy in his eyes.

Her heart leaps, even more than when she activates the Valkyrie suit, pushing herself out of the window. The suit catches her, a quiet pulsing as the wings strain to keep her afloat above the ground. Once the slow descent starts, Lúcio climbs the rest of the way to the roof, so she beckons the suit to follow him.

He’s hunched over a tray, only about the size of her hand, but it is more than they had a second ago.

“Took me a while to find, but hey. Here it is.” He toes the tray, disgusted. Angela crouches down to examine it. “Looks to me like the dart they used to sleep him, they probably shoot him through the window. Hung down, one shot: bam!” He reloads an imaginary finger gun. “Then nabbed him back up here with the translocator, and took off.”

“I’ve seen this technology before,” Angela confirms, with a sigh. “It’s stolen from Overwatch, Ana Amari used the same technology. Almost had it perfected before she was killed.”

“You think it can lead us to him?”

She considers. “Perhaps.” The headache nabs her suddenly, pulling at her temple, beckoning towards the sleep dart debris in the tray. She massages it away with her hand, the other lifting the head of the dart with a gloved finger. “Talon likely finished the technology. If we find out how, we can track down the chemicals they used to do it. It’s a unique serum, it…. Shouldn’t be too hard.” The glimmer of hope she allows herself is minimal, but there. Lúcio is beaming, at least.

“That’s great news! I’ll get onto the others right away, I’ll find Hana! I’ll meet you down in the foyer!” He’s disappeared over the edge of the roof before she can say another word.

Hi all and welcome to the second D&S Fab Collab event!

Season two is centered around the prompt: Kidnapped. The fourth addition is authored by @talizorahs !

♚ For illustration continuations, please limit these works to 8 panels. For prose continuations, please limit these fics to 1k words. These are not benchmark figures, just the maximum amount for a submission.

♚ Submission from the next participating member is due on the 15th of November, either submitted to the blog or DMed to any staff member on the Discord server.

♚ Applications to participate for this season or “arc” are still open! To join, sign up here !

♚ If you want to join our server to be in the loop for more events like this one, join here !

#gency #emergenji #genji #mercy #overwatch #d&s fab collab

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eponymous-rose · 8 years ago

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hey, can you break down the differences between the adventure zone and critical role for me? i haven't listened to either and now i'm curious

Oh gosh, okay. They’re delightful but… very different approaches to the same general idea (broadcasting a D&D game), and I think the fans of one show tend to have a sort of skewed impression of the other show, so here’s my thinking.

Just the basics, to begin with: The Adventure Zone started running in late 2014, and it’s an audio-only podcast in which the McElroy brothers and their dad start a brand-new D&D campaign from scratch. Critical Role started running in early 2015, and it’s a video podcast in which a bunch of best-friend voice actors started filming the D&D campaign they’d already been playing for years at home with the same characters. TAZ is (generally) prerecorded and lightly edited down, CR is 100% live. Both have a lot of howlingly funny and surprisingly touching moments, both get a lot more intense the more you get into them, and both are good shows that are a Good Time, especially when they make you feel things you didn’t sign up for. The main canon of TAZ is currently 56 one-hour-long episodes, with new episodes every two weeks, and CR is currently 85 four-hour-long episodes, with new episodes every week. Most of the reason for CR’s absurd length comes down to (a) three times as many players, and (b) no editing.

The DMs both put a ton of work into the world, but they also have very different approaches. Griffin (TAZ) is DMing for the first time, while Matt (CR) has talked about how DMing D&D games for the past 20 years is what got him interested in acting in the first place. The world of TAZ is much more of a sci-fi/fantasy hybrid, while CR sticks more to traditional fantasy.

TAZ plays fast and loose with the rules, which can be both a delight and a frustration for storytelling reasons—for instance, until the latest arc both spell slots and HP were not really tracked, which means (a) Griffin has had to come up with incredibly creative ways of introducing risk and limitations to the game, and (b) those incredibly creative ways can start to get pretty damn brutal. The mechanics of the game feel like an imposition on the story, most of the time—it’s rare that you get a dice roll that makes a huge difference to the plot (but when you do, as in the most recent episode, it’s pretty darn cool). As a result, the biggest spanner in the works of Griffin’s plans tends to be in the form of out-of-the-box thinking from his players, which they excel at; I think there is a tendency to railroad the plot as a result, but it’s a good story and it’s well worth a little bit of elbowing to keep everyone on track. Magical items also play a huge role, with viewers of the show submitting awesome new trinkets for the heroes of the story to use/abuse/completely forget about.

Because CR tilts more towards the rulebook (although Matt gets more than his fair share of shit for homebrewing and letting things slide and defaulting to the Rule of Cool), chance plays a much bigger role in the story. Matt’s simultaneously battling some incredibly creative players and dice that seem determined to roll as dramatically as possible. Entire subplots have been wiped out by a strategic roll, and in order to be able to adapt to that on the fly, Matt has to be hyper-prepared and have a lot of possible branching points. It’s absurdly open-world, especially now that the characters have the ability to travel instantly through different planes of existence, and Matt keeps pace with a story that feels more character-led than DM-led; railroading is practically nonexistent, which means you get incredible plot developments and super-deep characterization… but it also sometimes leads to long circular conversations trying to figure out what to do next. Because the players are all actors, there’s also a lot more that’s just straight-up improv theater: it’s not unusual (especially lately) to go for verrrry long stretches of riveting conversation without anybody rolling dice (I can think of a moment where Matt could’ve just had everyone fail a charisma saving throw against an NPC but instead just straight-up charmed them all in real life with words).

I’ll put it this way: CR is a basketball pickup game between friends who’ve been playing together so long that they kind of have their own home rules going and stick to them. TAZ is out there playing fuckin’ Calvinball. Both are great fun, but if you go into one expecting the other you’re in for a bad time.

Both shows have a lot of great NPCs, although Critical Role’s format gives them a lot more time and depth to shine (there are episodes where an NPC will have as much or more “screen time” than some of the player characters). Both shows have LGBT representation among player characters and NPCs alike that, while not perfect, is generally improving as the show goes on. For me personally, one of the more frustrating things about going from CR to TAZ was going from three female player characters and a metric fuckton of extremely deep characterization for all the female NPCs to no female player characters and many great and memorable female NPCs who nevertheless don’t get too much screentime or development just because of the the structure of the show.

TAZ is pretty shaky throughout the first arc (Griffin’s fighting a bit of an uphill battle getting everyone to sit down and actually play the game, which is funny in and of itself), but things slowly start to come together and the real potential of the show becomes clear once they break the heck out of the 5e Starter Set. I think the “Murder on the Rockport Limited” arc is what started to pull me in, and it’s not until the latest arc that I’m starting to get the character development I really crave in that show. Critical Role also takes a little while to find its footing, and to me the Briarwood arc (starting around episode 24) is where the mood of the show starts to solidify, with episode 40 and beyond really pushing from “this is cool, I’m enjoying how these interpretations of fantasy tropes are sometimes kinda unusual and off-the-wall!” to “how is this the most honest and genuine character development I’ve ever seen in media what the heck is happening here”.

So yeah. TAZ isn’t total chaos with no plot or effort put into it, CR isn’t a humorless wasteland of mathematical minutiae and rigid formulaic approaches. Both shows are great fun, both are IMO in an upswing and getting better and better as they go along, and I heartily recommend them both if you know what you’re getting into. Have fun!

#critical role #the adventure zone #long text post #Anonymous

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princehcmlet · 7 years ago

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hello guppy! we’re a semi-appless roleplay about a town on a ley line. could we please get an opinion? thank you very much and have a great day!

Oh, heck yeah! Let me go ahead and give you my opinion! Here’s the disclaimer, per usual, before I get started - this opinion is in no way, shape, or form meant to harm the admins! It’s just my opinion and should be taken with a grain of salt, and I do not mean any intentional harm because I value all the work admins put into their groups. Let’s get this thing started, right? (Wow, it got really long, so please read under the cut for the full opinion!)

Okay, the url is beautifully short and simple, and, unless someone didn’t know what a ley line is, it helps me understand your plot a bit more. I like your icon, because I can tell it’s a skull which gives me those spooky vibes. However, I think the text over it is a bit excessive. I would either have just LHQ, or no text at all because it looks a little strange over the icon. Moving on to the main, I love the theme you used! It’s beautifully constructed, and the header graphic is really interesting. I think the part that is peeving me the most is the background, which doesn’t seem to have the same coloring as the rest of the graphics. I would suggest having a more cohesive background just to make sure that everything goes together nicely! The last thing I would suggest is moving the “map” navigation link right after the “home” and “message” buttons. This just helps someone get straight to the navigation so they’re not digging through the other links beforehand. But, otherwise, the theme looks fine and I actually like the color scheme that you chose to go along with the graphics! I think choosing a background that picks up that red color in the scheme would really tie everything together. Onto the navigation, which I really love! I think it’s nice that you can kinda figure that you’re saying “before” and “after” acceptance with your titles, but they’re really creative! I would suggest moving all of the things such as “roles and powers”, and taken things before the application. Just so that people are checking those things out before they apply and possibly didn’t look through those links before they started filling out their application. Otherwise, everything seems to be in order and I dig it!

Plot time, my favorite time! I really love the descriptive language about the town used in the plot. It makes it interesting and draws me into everything about the town. I think there are some things that could be cleared up, and I would love to see them included into the plot. I think that giving more of a call to action to the characters that would be played is important. Perhaps, you could mention in the St. Mark’s Day paragraph that the powers of the players’ characters will be awoken. Also, there’s this sentence, “... the objects it spawns attracts vultures to the streets, hawking the artifacts as if they were shiny and new.” Which confused me quite a bit. I have read the books, so I was wondering if it was an obscure reference to something within them. But, as far as I can tell this sentence was just confusing to me. I think that if you explain what kind of vultures and what exactly they’re taking from Cabeswater. I don’t know, it’s just a strangely worded sentence and I understood it a bit more after reading it, but it could use some clean up. My final suggestion is to add to the end summary a bit more! I saw links to a point system, and I think that this is the perfect opportunity to explain that you’ll have a points system and provide links to it. I also think that you could explain that the characters will have powers within the summary. It feels very bare and like it has a loose connection to the plot I just read. If you had included more details on the overall roleplay, it would have added a great deal to the plot and roleplay itself. Otherwise, the prose you’ve written is wonderful, and I love the idea of a Raven Cycle roleplay since I’m a huge fan of the books. I’ll be going over the locations page and other associated plot pages now. I caught one mistake on the locations page, “A variety of business dot the main street of Henrietta.” This should be, “A variety of businesses dot the main street of Henrietta.” Overall, the locations page is a nice addition and I like all that it adds to the worldbuilding of Henrietta. I love the points system idea, and I know that it would absolutely encourage activity in the roleplay! I think that setting limits is wonderful, and that there’s an activity points system as well! I think you should suggest ways that the character can keep track of their own points, because I know for a fact I would be lost as hell if I had to keep track of my own points, I’m really unorganized! I’d also suggest explaining what “post-level points” are because there’s been no mention of “levels” so far. I suppose you meant after you’ve gone past the maximum amount of activity points? But, I could be wrong! I think that all of the rewards are sound and very interesting, I would really be working with a character to try and reach a new object! Great job putting together such an interesting way to progress the storyline. Oh, that reminds me of the other thing I was going to suggest! You should have a form that the players fill out when submitting a plot drop idea! That way you won’t just get random plot drops all the time, and it would be a bit more organized. The other pages I took a look at were the timeline and the power/roles page. The timeline page really helped me get a better grasp on the plot. I would have been able to understand the plot a bit better if most of these things had been included in the plot summary! I didn’t realize that the dream comas were an important aspect of the plot in the beginning, so I’d suggest adding the dream comas into the summary or making sure to highlight that a bit more in the actual plot. I love that you’re trying to balance out the magical and non-magical characters - similar to that of the actual Raven Cycle characters. It would be cool if you added a ghost section to the powers page, I know you have it as a part of the points system, but perhaps there could be one person who is already a ghost. That would be really interesting in driving the plot forwards.

This has all been plot things, so far, but let me move onto the rules! I think that I would give the penalties for godmodding, cliques, etc. It’s well known that they shouldn’t happen, but what would the admin do to handle that specific situation? Also, by mentioning you don’t accept “problematic” FCs, this is very subjective. Outlining exactly what is considered as problematic behavior (bigoted actions that have not been apologized for, actual arrests/convictions, allegations, etc.) would help to clear up any misconceptions between you and the players! Give the players a bit more information so you don’t end up in an uncomfortable position. I would also say on the character rule what the limit is. Right now, there is no limit set, so potentially someone could apply for an infinite number of characters! While unlikely, it could get out of hand with one person occupying several spaces that could go to others. I would also consider whether you want to set a limit on how many magical/leadership characters a single player can take up. Final suggestion is to add a rule on how the dash should look. Do you allow small/medium gifs? Gif icons? What kinds of themes? All of these are questions that should be answered in some kind of dash rule. No stone left unturned, right? I checked out the checklist (see what I did there) and some of the other pages just to wrap everything up. I think that your checklist is well done, but I would just add some links to suggested, clean, readable themes! Aside from that, everything looks wonderful for the checklist! The other page I would suggest rearranging is the taken tarot cards page! It would be really helpful if you just had every single card that can be taken listed on the page so that someone doesn’t have to go looking through every tarot link before deciding. I would also make sure to clarify if there are some cards that could potentially have two characters filling the role (such as the lovers). Finally, the app count would be so cool if it were separated by the type of card rather than just a list of every single FC applied for as of yet! Lastly, let me go over the application. I love the depth it goes into, and it really lets you engage with the idea of the character! Overall, it’s really well done and I love the effort the admin has put into the application!

Now, I’m done rambling on about everything. After taking a look through every nook and cranny of this roleplay, I can really see this going places. I would apply, too, and might even be applying once my schedule clears up a bit. I had seen this floating around in the tags, and it’s nice to know there are fellow Raven Cycle fans out and about! Good luck with everything, and you’ve received a recommendation from me. Thanks for letting me take a look. This truly is a magical roleplay.

#leyhq #rph #rpc #rpt #rpo #rpa #answered #opinion #rec

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kristiancordero-blog · 6 years ago

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junker-town · 8 years ago

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NASCAR mailbag: Sorting through an offseason of change

Answering questions on segmented race formats, Monster role as entitlement sponsor, Dodge’s potential return, and more.

Since SB Nation last published a NASCAR mailbag, Jimmie Johnson became only the third member of the seven champion’s club, Tony Stewart, Jeff Gordon (we think) and Carl Edwards (shockingly) retired from NASCAR competition, several teams shuffled its 2017 lineups, and in separate announcements the sanctioning body revealed a new entitlement sponsor, Monster Energy, a name for the Cup Series, and radically different race format for its three national divisions.

So yeah, a lot has happened. As a reminder, if you have a question for a future edition of the NASCAR mailbag email [email protected].

New race format, Johnson's pursuit of No. 8, a new Toyota Camry body, or Edwards’ departure: What is the biggest storyline heading into Daytona?

--Justin

No better way to kick off the mailbag then with a question encapsulating what has been a newsy offseason. Individually all are significant with lasting implications throughout the season and perhaps beyond, especially if Johnson were to win a record-breaking eighth championship and Edwards were to return to a team other than Joe Gibbs Racing.

However, the introduction of segments and breaking races into three parts is such a departure from how NASCAR has traditionally conducted races for nearly 70 years this is unquestionably the predominant story of 2017. From how races unfold to a drivers’ mindset to the strategy crew chiefs employ, most everything will be different than what fans are accustomed to.

Then there is the unknown element to consider. You know Chad Knaus, Paul Wolfe, Rodney Childers and every other crew chief are dissecting ways to exploit the new rules for their betterment, coming up with loopholes officials never even thought to consider. It’s going to be equal parts fascinating, confusing, and likely controversial, and because the championship is impacted NASCAR is limited on what tweaks it can make if during the season the formant proves wonky.

I’m a longtime NASCAR fan and I think Monster has the potential to do a lot of good things for a sport I’ve loved since I was a kid. My concern is in this marketing push towards a younger demo, NASCAR will do the same to us as the last time they tried wooing new fans and completely disregarded its roots by overhauling everything so much that NASCAR will actually be worse off. Do you think something like this will happen?

--Steve

This is the delicate balance NASCAR and Monster must negotiate in the coming months and years ahead. Although NASCAR obviously needs to attract a younger crowd and turn them into longtime entrenched fans like Steve, it also must avoid the missteps of alienating a fan base that’s often felt as if they didn’t matter.

To NASCAR’s credit the powers that be have come to understand in recent years they cannot simply disavow the sport’s somewhat unsavory past in an attempt to appease corporations reluctant to associate with a league whose very formation can be traced to bootlegging and one of its marquee moments is a fistfight on the last lap of the Daytona 500.

The good news for those feeling Monster’s new role as entitlement sponsor will spur another period where NASCAR becomes “too corporate” is that the marketing platform for the energy drink manufacturer in many ways fits well with the rougher edges surrounding stock car racing at its highest level. This should help on two fronts: 1) assuage fans concerned that NASCAR will become staid and stay more in line with how they enjoy the product, and 2) help generate some excitement among a segment of the population that gravitate to a sport possessing a bit of bad charm.

How realistic is it Dodge returns to NASCAR? The idea of another manufacturer is something I would love to see, but considering all it involves it doesn’t seem likely. Wouldn’t they need a big team to make work?

--Chris

There’s no denying Dodge is interested in returning to NASCAR, officials for the carmaker have said as much publicly, and NASCAR CEO and chairman Brian France said in November he had spoken with an unnamed manufacturer about joining Chevrolet, Ford and Toyota as competitors in the Cup Series. Remember, though, wanting to and actually taking the necessary steps to do so are two different things. And thus far Dodge is a long ways away from putting one of its cars on the track, as it’s yet to submit formalized plans to the sanctioning body, something required well in advance.

As for the second part of your question, ideally Dodge would align itself with an existing team to not only help ease the transition but also construct engines for the other Dodge-supported teams. The latter of these is the most crucial factor. The manufacturer left NASCAR in 2012 because it lost Team Penske as its flagship organization to Ford and didn’t have a replacement team capable of filling the sizable void to build and supply engines.

Looking at the landscape for potential candidates were Dodge to return, Chip Ganassi Racing and Richard Childress Racing are the two most appealing and realistic options. CGR was one of Dodge’s strongest teams when it reentered NASCAR in 2001, while Richard Childress Racing not only already builds its own engines but could be enticed by escaping Hendrick Motorsports long shadow within the Chevrolet camp -- though it would require a check with a lot of zeros to get Richard Childress to cut ties to his longtime supporter.

Outside of CGR and RCR, Dodge would be hard-pressed, and in some instances contractually infeasible, to entice the likes of Penske, Hendrick, JGR, Stewart-Haas Racing, Roush Fenway Racing or Furniture Row Racing to join its ranks.

Most everyone seems to believe Jimmie Johnson winning an eighth championship is inevitable, but I remember the same thing being said after Richard Petty and Dale Earnhardt won their seventh and neither won again. So isn’t it premature to say Johnson is a lock to win an eighth title?

--Tony

Nothing is a lock, and Johnson would be the first to tell you that. Just look at how his potential championship bids came undone in 2014 and 2015 when assorted mechanical gremlins knocked him out of the second and first playoff round, respectively. He may well continue to dominate for the next however many years, but to capture a record-breaking eighth title he’ll need a considerable amount of luck on his side as well.

But considering Johnson’s age (41), his incredible fitness, and association with Hendrick, which even in a down year is still among the best teams in the garage, there is every reason to believe he will eventually supersede Petty and Earnhardt. And even if he cannot win another series crown, Johnson has already crafted a very convincing case why he should be considered NASCAR’s best driver of all-time when you consider the level of competition he’s faced and the format in which he’s won his championships. An eighth title would only further cement his legacy.

What happened to NASCAR going with a relatively easy to understand points system? Instead I feel like I need a calculator handy whenever I’m watching a race.

--Michelle

Like many things within the sport, the direction is in a perpetual state of flux shifting from one hard line stance to another, often in contrast to previous mandates.

For example, when NASCAR introduced the Car of Tomorrow to minimize the differences between the makes of cars, or two years later attempted to combat decreasing TV ratings by stressing the importance of having races start at universal times so viewers knew exactly when a race went green; a move designed to mimic the bulk of NFL games that kickoff at 1 p.m. ET or 4:05 p.m. ET on Sundays.

Well, both of these plans fell by the wayside. Now Chevrolet, Ford and Toyota each possess distinct characteristics, and start times for Sunday races run the gamut across the afternoon.

Such reversals aren’t always red flags, plans can and do change and sometimes an idea doesn’t take as intended. All businesses experience something similar. But, NASCAR’s inconsistent messages gives the perception its leadership lacks a clear and concise blueprint for the sport going forward, while also suggesting those in charge are desperately searching for a cure-all for the assorted issues.

The intent behind NASCAR’s decision is to better incentivize drivers to continue to push during the regular season. Provide a tangible reward for achievement that aids their championship pursuit, while also discouraging teams that win early then use the balance of the regular season as a glorified test.

The downside is, points and the accumulation of them is now a central focus. And with NASCAR increasing the avenues of distribution (winning or finishing in the top 10 in one of the first two segments), a new or casual fan will be challenged to figure out the nuances. Of course Fox Sports and NBC Sports will mitigate this to some degree via the use of graphics and up to date standings, it still is another layer of complexity in a sport already filled with them.

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