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spencers-renaissance · 4 years ago

Text

you know that a boy who likes boys is a dead boy

Summary: Spencer's gay. He joins the BAU and befriends the team, but it is 2003. It's a secret he has to keep. He just didn't expect it to be this hard.

Tags: gay!spencer, coming out, hurt/comfort, insecure!spencer, misunderstandings, angst with a happy ending, dad hotch, protective!hotch, protective!derek, childhood trauma TW: one instance of explicit homophobia, but it is referenced a lot, as is Spencer's internalised homophobia at the start of this fic. A shit ton of heteronormativity but tbh that's just canon lol

Pairing: Spencer Reid/OMC, Spencer Reid & Derek Morgan, Spencer Reid & Aaron Hotchner, The BAU Team & Spencer Reid

Word Count: 6k

Masterlist // Read on AO3

Consider this my contribution to pride month 😌 I've waited so long to post it and I'm so glad I'm finally doing it because it's definitely one of my all time favourites <3 Gideon is here somewhere but just like with all my early season fics he's not really part of the plot I combined my moreid and gen taglists bc it was hard to know the audience for this, but just ignore it if you're not interested!

you know that a boy who likes boys is a dead boy, unless he keeps his mouth shut, which is what you didn’t do, because you are weak and hollow and it doesn’t matter anymore. — richard siken, a primer for the small weird loves

Spencer has only told one person in his whole life.

His mother guessed. For as long as he can remember, she’s used gender neutral pronouns when talking about his future partner, read him all the gay literature she could find, promised him that he’s perfect just the way he is.

The trouble is that Spencer only believes her until the first grade, when Ryan Sampson shoves him over in the playground and calls him gay. His mom had only ever used that term in a sweet, loving way, taking care to associate such words with positivity, as long as his dad wasn’t around to hear. When that word comes out of Ryan Sampson’s mouth, it is not said with sweetness and love; it is said with venom, and Spencer learns quickly that his mom is wrong. He is not perfect just the way he is.

And so, he keeps it a secret. When his mom notices him getting uncomfortable at the mention of future partners, she stops bringing it up, though she refuses to give up the diverse education she provides for him outside of school. His dad tells him that one day he’ll be a strapping young man and marry a nice girl in a church, and Spencer nods along. He ignores the way his stomach turns with anxiety at the thought. Ignores the screaming match his parents have that night. Ignores the fact that it started because Diana chipped in with ‘or boy’.

He’s in high school by the time he’s twelve, and the only part he’s grateful for is the absence of pressure to get a girlfriend. His dad’s out of the picture now, and Spencer tries not to let himself think that maybe if he wasn’t like this he might have stayed. Diana’s so out of it most days that she doesn’t remember what she noticed about him when he was a child, only recalling the last few years of shoving himself so far back in the closet he can hardly see the door anymore.

It feels like he’s lost his last ally.

(He hates that a small part of him feels relieved she doesn’t remember; that he almost feels assured by the fact that the last person to know who he really is has forgotten. There is only this version of Spencer Reid now. No other exists.)

He makes the mistake during his second undergraduate degree. He’s just turned eighteen but he is already a doctor and, fortunately, this alienates him from most of his peers, but someone manages to slide past his defences. Ethan Miller is twenty, in the second year of his (first) undergraduate degree in Chemical Engineering, and he’s nice. Spencer doesn’t have a lot of experience with friendship, but they get on well and Ethan makes him laugh. For the first time, he feels comfortable in the presence of anyone other than his mother.

They slip into an easy friendship: waiting for each other after class — Spencer back in the undergraduate buildings now he has his first PhD under his belt — and going out for ice cream and pizza and Thai food. Ethan goes to parties while Spencer studies, and then they reconvene to watch Doctor Who and play cards.

For almost a year, Spencer keeps his secret carefully locked up, hidden behind the mask he’s perfected after so many years. Even though he’s eighteen, nearly nineteen now, he doesn’t try and explore that side of himself. No, that’s far too risky. He doesn’t try and pretend any other way either, he just stays silent and lets people’s assumptions lie for him, but he can’t help the longing that claws up his throat when he locks eyes with a passing guy on campus. One time, he’d seen two men kiss on a bench in the city, and he’d run back to his dorm and had a panic attack. Why couldn’t he have that?

The feelings don’t stop, and he doesn’t know how to make them. He hates that he isn’t normal, but still longs for the touch of a man, the feeling of being wrapped up in strong arms, of being kissed by dry, chapped lips, and falling asleep to a heartbeat approximately 11% slower than that of a woman’s.

It’s a constant battle inside him, emotions raging, and he struggles to control it, suppress it, tame it.

He pays a sorry price.

Ethan makes him feel comfortable, and that turns out to be a detriment. He relaxes around the other boy: he tells him about growing up as a pre-teen in a high school, about how a child feels living 260 miles away from home, even about his mother’s illness.

And one day, it slips out. They’re on the beach, lying on towels as they look up at the blue sky, talking about what their futures will look like: Ethan will be a successful chemical engineer in Berlin, and Spencer will work for the FBI, profiling serial killers.

“You’ll have to marry a German girl,” he tells Ethan. “It’ll be tough to convince an American girl to move all the way to Germany as soon as you graduate.”

“Yeah, and what about you? You’ll be off fighting crime around the country, not much of a life for a family.”

“Oh, I imagine my husband will be the type to—”

“Husband?”

Spencer freezes. It shocks him as much as it shocks Ethan. He doesn’t even pay much attention to Ethan’s disgusted face and his outraged tirade. He hears slurs and insults, hears him say that he can’t believe Spencer tricked him like this, that he was probably waiting to make a move on him, that he was never to look in Ethan’s direction again, but Spencer is frozen in time.

He’s never allowed him to think much about what his personal life might look like in the future, but he’d said ‘husband’ on instinct, without thinking, and it’s clearly something he actually wants. Ethan’s words sting, but the moment brings about a realisation Spencer is thankful for; it instigates a journey of self-discovery and self-expression, of the joy of living as your true self.

He loses his first and only friend, but he gains something much more valuable. He visits gay bars — nervously sipping a non-alcoholic drink in the corner at first, before soon becoming confident enough to respond to the men who sidle up to him and ask for his name. He lets go and dances the night away, sometimes going home with one of the many dance partners he acquires during the night, sometimes heading back to his own dorm happily alone.

Makeup and dresses and skirts and heels make their way into his wardrobe, and he befriends girls and drag queens and other gay men who encourage him to be exactly the way he is. And the best part is, he never has to come out to any of them. All of them know, and that’s good enough for everyone.

The fun comes to a sad sort of slow, however, when he joins the BAU. Everyone knows law enforcement’s relationship with the LGBT community is less than adequate — Spencer’s seen it with his own eyes: butch lesbians and men in dresses getting roughed up by angry police officers for ‘lewd behaviour’ or ‘drunkenness’ when they’re just being themselves. It’s not safe for him to tell anyone, so he doesn’t.

He still goes out with his friends when he’s in town and wears makeup and dresses and crop tops when he’s at home, but presents as rigidly straight Dr Spencer Reid to his team at the BAU.

The hardest part about it is that he loves his team. He’s known Gideon for years — and he wouldn’t be surprised if he suspects something after coming over to his house unannounced one night, only to have a man other than Spencer open the door — but he settles into a comforting dynamic with Hotch. He can’t help but see him as something of a father figure, and he knows Hotch has a soft spot for him, always looking out for him and taking him under his wing without a moment’s hesitation.

Elle, JJ, and Penelope all take a shine to him, too, teasing him without a hint of malice in their tones, only the kind of playful kindness that reminds him of his mother. He forms a special bond with Penelope and they spend hours watching Doctor Who together and geeking out on all the areas their interests overlap, and the comfort he feels with her matches the comfort he’s found with his new group of queer friends.

(She doesn’t hold a candle to Ethan, he decides one night, after he’d cried at a movie she’d made him watch and she felt so bad she made him hot chocolate and jam toast and cuddled him until he felt better.)

Derek becomes a brother to him. He puts him in a headlock at least once a day — which Spencer has been reliably informed by multiple sources is a very brotherly thing to do — and teases him relentlessly, while simultaneously being fiercely protective of him. Enough so, that Spencer sometimes wonders if he even has Hotch beat in that department.

He loves his team and his team loves him. It should be simple. It is still 2003.

He comes in one morning late for a briefing, his shirt buttoned wrong and his hair is a mess, and he’s fairly sure that his attempt to cover the hickey at the base of his neck with concealer has been ultimately unsuccessful. It’s obvious why he’s late. Gideon is too engrossed in the case file to notice, but Hotch raises an eyebrow, an amused look on his face as everyone else immediately takes to teasing him.

“Who’s the lucky lady, pretty boy?”

Elle raises an eyebrow to match Derek’s shit-eating grin, “Someone definitely got some strange last night.”

“When do we get to meet her, Spence?” JJ asks, smirking as he takes a seat.

He’s bright red — as if he needed to look any more debauched — and Spencer tries to ignore the hurt that seizes his chest at the reminder of his need to stay quiet. This team respects him, and he can’t throw that away just because Spencer gets too comfortable.

God, he wishes Penelope was here.

“None of your business,” he mutters, trying to keep his tone light. He fails.

Naturally, Hotch notices and swiftly moves the briefing on, and Spencer keeps his gaze locked on the case file, not missing the absence of a reprimand from his superior. He’s constantly thankful for the older man, but in this moment, he wishes he could hug him.

(A voice that sounds dangerously close to Ethan’s rises up and taunts him in his ear: he wouldn’t want a dirty homo like you anywhere near him—)

Derek doesn’t let up on the case, continuing to bug him about the special lady in his life. He does concede that it could’ve been a one night stand, which is one front he’s right on, but a couple more concessions are necessary before Derek comes close to the truth of last night.

Eventually, Derek stops, and Spencer notes that the cessation of comments comes suspiciously close to the last time Derek and Hotch were alone together. He doesn’t have it in him to feel angry at Hotch for stepping in when he had it handled; doesn’t have the energy to act as though his pride is wounded, because really, neither of those things are true, and he doesn’t need to add another item to ‘Spencer Reid’s List of Things He Pretends to Be.’

The situation is forgotten, and time moves on.

Things change when he finds his first proper boyfriend. He doesn’t know what he was expecting, but it certainly wasn’t the giddying rush of emotions it turns out to be, and Spencer spends his days smiling as he daydreams his time away.

His name is Oscar Wilkins, a History professor at Georgetown University, and Spencer falls quickly in love with him. Ever since their mutual friend had introduced them at a gay bar one evening, they’d spent all their free time together. He’s kind and gentle and understanding of Spencer’s hectic and unpredictable job, and he finally has the chance to experience everything he quietly and shamefully longed for as a teenager.

The only downside is the silent breaking of Spencer’s heart that the most important people in his life can’t meet his boyfriend. He longs to show Oscar off, to hold hands in front of his team, lean up to press a tender kiss to Oscar’s lips. He wants to put a framed picture of the two of them at the Washington Monument on his desk to remind him of why he needs to get through the hard days; he doesn’t want to have to sneak out of the hotel room he shares with Derek to whisper hushed, loving goodnights over the phone.

But he’s too scared. Too cowardly.

It’s different being who he is with his gay group of friends littered with wlws and drag queens and other gay and bisexual guys. They understand.

But Derek and Hotch are two extremely masculine, alpha men: Derek’s a ladies’ man and Hotch is married to a woman he met in college with a baby on the way and both have a strong and dominant energy that still sometimes manages to intimidate Spencer even after all these years. And Elle and JJ are lovely — some of his closest friends, really — but sometimes they remind him a little too much of the mean girls he went to high school with.

The hardest person to keep his secret from, though, is Penelope. She’s his best friend and he desperately wants to give her all of him, but he’s so scared. He’s lost a best friend to this secret before, and even though he’s certain she’d be fine with it, what if she accidentally let it slip to Derek? What if Hotch found out and didn’t see him in the same light anymore? What if the girls started teasing him? What if Gideon didn’t want to mentor him anymore?

The fear paralyses him. And it’s a cycle he doesn’t know how to break.

Fear, though, doesn't stop everyone from noticing his daydreaming, his dopey smile when he checks his messages, his urgency to get home where he would’ve stayed until the small hours of the morning before. As excellent as he is at hiding his sexuality, he’s fucking terrible at hiding the fact that he’s in love: it was easy enough to pretend he was straight, but hiding something this all-consuming is an impossible ask.

Derek comes over to perch on the edge of his desk one afternoon, sighing as he sits down. “Pretty boy, this is getting ridiculous,” he says, snatching Spencer’s attention away from his phone. “You’ve been grinning like an idiot for the last twenty minutes as you’ve texted Future Mrs Reid. When are we going to meet her?”

(He hates the new nickname the team has given his mystery significant other, although Oscar had found it hilarious. “It’s funny because when we get married, we’ll hardly be able to tell,” he’d argued through his laughter. “Neither of us will change our name because of our academic profiles, and we’ll both still be ‘Dr’. Our wedding rings will be the only indicator.”

Spencer hadn’t argued back, because he’d been too tongue-tied and flushed pink at Oscar’s use of ‘when’ in regards to their hypothetical nuptials. It was only made bearable by Oscar kissing him gently and tucking him under his arm, not embarrassing him any further as Spencer had sort of anticipated, warmth settling over his chest at the thought of their future together.)

“You won’t,” he replies, perhaps a little too curtly.

Derek starts at that, clearly not expecting it. He definitely should’ve tried to play it off as a joke. “What— should I be offended, pretty boy?”

You wouldn’t call me that if you knew who I really am.

“That’s up to you, Derek,” he says calmly, although he still can’t meet his eyes, “but you won’t meet the ‘Future Mrs Reid, so I think it would probably be best if you left it alone.”

“Damn,” Derek mutters under his breath, clearly pissed off and probably more hurt than Spencer ever intended. “Suit yourself.”

And with that, he gets up and leaves his desk. Spencer’s only solace is the text message he sees on his phone when he picks it back up: I love you so much. You know that, right?

The light-hearted ridicule comes to an abrupt halt after the incident with Derek, and it’s clear that he had been the biggest contributor to the teasing. He’s thankful that the jokes have stopped, but he wishes desperately that it didn’t come with the growing distance between him and his team. Loneliness takes the place of his previous irritated anxiety, and he isn’t sure what’s worse.

It all comes to a head at the end of a case in Michigan. They’re stuck in the lounge of the small inn they’d stayed in the last few days, a snowstorm having blocked them in and grounded the jet, although Gideon had long since retreated to his room. The fire’s going and they’re the only guests around, so it’s cosy enough, but Spencer can’t help but feel sick at the idea of another night away from home.

It’s only been two weeks since he’d snapped at Derek, but the chasm between him and the team is only widening with each passing day. He knows it’s not a case of ‘pick a side’, but the team’s morale relies on light-hearted banter and teasing, and him not being a part of that anymore has only brewed awkwardness. Everyone’s trying to give him space when space is the last thing he wants.

Oscar’s keeping him company over the phone at least, but it’s not quite enough to quell the loneliness swimming around his stomach, and the 'discrete' sideways looks he gets from the team only make him feel worse.

“At least it’s nice and toasty in here,” JJ sighs as she takes a sip of the hot chocolate the kindly inn owner had made for them all.

Elle hums in agreement. “There are worse places to be grounded.”

“I dunno, man, I just wanna get home,” Derek says, not taking his eyes off the fire. Spencer can’t help but agree.

“Oh, come on,” Hotch muses, considerably more jovial now the case is over, “we��re here, and that’s not going to change any time soon. We should make the most of it.”

“It’s at least nice to be somewhere sort-of Christmassy now it’s December,” Elle points out. “We could be stuck in a dingy police station like we probably will be next week.”

“Ooh, I noticed that Jemimah and Kiran started planning the Christmas party last week,” JJ says, smiling at them. “I offered my help, but they seem to have it covered.”

Hotch raises an eyebrow“That’s probably a good thing. You don’t need more work on your plate.”

“Not gonna argue with that,” she murmurs, smiling as she brings her mug to her lips again.

Spencer doesn’t miss that Derek is still stewing on the opposite side of the room.

“Are you looking forward to the Christmas party, Spencer? Will you come?” Hotch asks, clearly trying to rope him into the conversation, which he appreciates. He’s been making a lot of effort with him the past few weeks, and it’s just about the only thing that’s getting him through each day.

Before he can reply, though, Derek erupts from the other side of the room; an already pissed-off man being pushed over the edge. “He won’t even let us meet his fucking girlfriend, Hotch, he’s not gonna want to come to the Christmas party!” he yells, throwing his hands in the air as he glares at Spencer with a stormy expression raging across his face.

Suddenly, Spencer can’t stay silent anymore, and his retort shocks himself just as much as it does everyone else. “I don’t have a girlfriend!”

It might be the loudest he’s ever shouted in his whole life. He’s always been quiet and restrained, the type to state his feelings as calmly as possible no matter how he’s feeling on the inside. Even in the biggest fight he’s had with Oscar, his voice was barely loud enough to qualify as a shout.

There’s a brief stunned silence, but Derek quickly slices his way through it, voice raising to meet Spencer’s fiery emotion, fierce and loud. “Oh, don’t even go there, Reid, you’re really gonna try and argue that? You’re gonna lie about her as well as not let us meet her? What a boyfriend you are.”

“I don’t! I don’t have a girlfriend!” he repeats, voice catching this time as tears rise unbidden to the backs of his eyes and all the emotions of the journey he’s taken with his sexuality over the years flood him in a wave of intensity he’s not prepared for.

“You’re fucking lying—!”

“I have a boyfriend!” he yells. “Alright? I have a boyfriend. I’m gay.”

The anger and emotion quickly dissipates, and he’s left standing alone in front of the team he’s put so much effort into hiding this from, watching shock spell out across everyone’s expressions. He’s never felt smaller than he does in that moment, and he quickly grabs his phone before running upstairs to his room, locking the door behind him.

“Oh God, Oscar, I fucked up so bad,” he cries over the phone as soon as his boyfriend picks up.

“Hey, hey, breathe, baby,” Oscar says gently, but Spencer can hear the anxious concern in his voice, “it’s gonna be okay, I promise. I’m here. Do you want to tell me what happened?”

“I just— Oh God, I just told the team.” A new wave of horror rolls over him as he realises what he’s done. Times might be changing, but it’s still only 2006, and he doesn’t know each and every nuance of his team members’ political positions and, fuck, he hates that his existence is a fucking political position.

Oscar’s been so understanding of his reluctance to not tell the team, even though Spencer’s met pretty much everyone in his life. He isn’t sure what he’s done to earn such a gracious and understanding boyfriend, but he’s not about to question it.

“Baby, I know it’s scary, and I know you’re really worked up right now,” he counsels, voice soft and reassuring, using the nickname he knows Spencer loves the most to make him feel as safe as he can from 700 miles away, “but it’s probably not as bad as you think. From what you’ve told me about the team, they love you so much, and even in the case that in the past they've had some issue with gay people, I can't imagine they’d ever actually think of you any differently when it comes down to it, Spencer.”

He’s crying too hard to reply, and Oscar understands immediately, gently transitioning into a story about his day that slowly starts to calm him down, and by the time he’s wrapping it up, his tears are starting to subside.

“Thank you, Ozzy,” he whispers into the phone, lifting himself up off the floor and making his way to sit on the bed instead.

“You know I’d do anything for you, sweetheart,” he murmurs warmly. “Do you want me to stay on the phone for a bit?”

“Yes please,” he whispers again, holding it as close to himself as possible, drawing all the comfort he can from his boyfriend’s voice.

He lies there listening to Oscar’s voice and trying not to think about the disaster downstairs for a good ten minutes before there’s a tap at the door.

“Oz, there’s someone here,” he says, voice panicked.

“I think you should probably speak to them, baby,” he urges. “I’ll stay on the phone with you while you do, if you like?”

“Please.” He gets up from the bed gingerly, keeping his phone tightly gripped in his right hand as he slowly unlocks the door with his left, revealing Hotch on the other side.

“Hey, Spencer. Do you mind if I come in?”

He’s riddled with nerves, but Hotch is smiling warmly, and he’s never said a harsh word to Spencer, so he steps aside and lets him into his room.

Hotch quickly notices the phone in his hand, visibly still on a call. “Is that your boyfriend?”

Spencer nods.

“Do you mind if I talk to him?”

His brows knit in confusion and his lips part slightly in surprise, but it’s all he can do to hand the phone over, watching Hotch carefully.

“Hi, Spencer tells me this is his boyfriend?” Hotch inquires politely into the phone, his tone still warm. “I’m Hotch, Spencer’s boss.”

He can vaguely hear Oscar speaking on the other end of the line, and he worries slightly that Oscar will somehow give away the familial feelings he holds for Hotch, but the conversation doesn’t last long enough for the anxiety to really take over.

“Everything’s fine here, I just want to have a conversation with Spencer, so is it alright if we hang up and I talk to him alone for a minute? He can call you straight back afterwards.” After a brief pause in which Oscar says something, Hotch looks back up at him. “Are you okay with that, Spencer?”

He nods hesitantly, and Hotch says a quick goodbye to Oscar before surging forwards and wrapping Spencer in a hug. It catches him off guard, but he doesn’t waste any time in burying his face into Hotch’s neck and soaking in the comfort and warmth that always radiates from his father figure.

“Come on,” Hotch says softly as they pull away a good minute or so later, “let’s sit down, shall we?”

“You’re not mad?” Spencer can’t help but ask, the question burning his tongue as anxiety — however quietened from Hotch’s hug — still swims around in his stomach.

“There are many things that could make me mad, Spencer,” he says earnestly, “but this is not one of them. I would never be angry at you for being who you are, okay? I might… I might be overstepping here, and if I am, then tell me and I’ll back off, but I’ve always seen you as a mentee, and over the years that’s developed— well, I see you more as a son these days. And part of that is wanting to protect and support you no matter what you do or say or who you are.”

Spencer wastes no time in diving back in for a hug, clinging onto Hotch for dear life as he hugs back, rubbing his back gently.

“I’m so sorry you didn’t feel like you could tell us sooner, Spencer,” he says in a voice soft with affection and regret. “But I’m so glad you’ve told us now.”

He only presses closer at that, tears springing back to his eyes. “I didn’t want to lose you.” He knows what he’s implying, and even in a roundabout way, he’s glad he’s telling Hotch.

“Oh, Spence,” he sighs sadly, “you couldn’t do a single thing to lose me. I’m in it for the long haul.”

“Really?” he asks, hating how insecure he sounds.

“Really,” Hotch promises, pulling away as Spencer does. “Now, you have a whole team of agents downstairs who are feeling very sorry for themselves and really want to see you.”

Nausea rolls in his stomach and panic springs back up as he looks at Hotch, desperate for some sort of grounding. “Are they angry at me? Do they hate me now?”

“No one hates you, Spencer,” he says firmly. “I promise you that. Everyone just wishes that they’d made you feel more welcome and comfortable. We all hate that you felt you had to lock up something so integral to who you are, and we can’t help but feel we played a part in it.”

“No,” he protests — the last thing he wants is family blaming themselves when it has nothing to do with them, “it’s not your fault, it’s just…”

Hotch nods. “I understand, it’s okay. Now, do you want to go down and see them? You don’t have to if you don’t want to, but it might help ease your mind to see that they really don’t hate you.”

Spencer pauses, taking a moment to think. “Can I see Derek first?”

“Of course,” Hotch says understandingly, and the comforting smile that crosses his face makes Spencer feel safe and taken care of. “I’ll send him up?”

Spencer nods and Hotch hugs him once more before leaving the room almost reluctantly. He wastes no time in picking up his phone and sending a text to Oscar. You were right. Hotch is fine. He’s just sending Derek up before I go and see the team but he says that no one’s angry and I think I believe him. Thank you, Oscar. I love you.

Not even half a minute goes past before his phone lights up with a text back. I’m so glad, baby. Call me later, okay? I want to make sure you’re okay before I go to bed. I love you more.

Before Spencer can argue that actually, he is the one more in love with the other, a hesitant knock sounds on his door. Nerves suddenly flip his stomach, and he clenches and unclenches his fists a couple of times before forcing himself to cross the room, revealing a very worried and regretful-looking Derek.

“Oh, pretty boy,” he says sadly, before crushing Spencer in a warm and tender hug. Immediately, he relaxes into the arms of one of his best friends, and relief courses through his blood at Derek’s reaction. “I am so sorry that I ever made you feel like you couldn’t tell me that you were gay or had a boyfriend. That’s completely on me. I don’t care who you love, Spencer, I just want you to be happy, okay? And if this guy makes you happy, then that’s fine by me. But if he ever lays a hand on you or—”

“Derek, Derek,” he laughs, “it’s fine I get it. Thank you, though, I’m… I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you earlier and for snapping at you in the bullpen that time…”

“I understand, Spence,” he promises. “It’s in the past, okay? And I’m sorry for pushing so hard. I mean, I’d love to meet him but if you don’t feel comfortable or you don’t want to, that’s fine, too. It’s your life, man.”

“No, I… I think I want you guys to meet him. It’s been so hard to keep him away from the people I consider my family, you know?”

“Yeah, I know. Maybe after Christmas, we can all have dinner or something.”

Spencer smiles shyly. “Well, Oscar’s a great cook, so I reckon we could work something out.”

Derek grins, throwing an arm around his shoulders as he immediately jumps back into teasing him as they make their way to the door to go downstairs and see the rest of the team. “Ooh, lover boy’s got him a chef, hey? What else does this Oscar have going for him?”

Spencer chatters eagerly about his boyfriend to Derek, barely skipping a beat when he joins everyone downstairs, his friends taking his cues and joining in with the conversation seamlessly. He’s had enough fuss for one night, and the warmth and understanding on everyone’s faces tells him everything he needs to know.

“Do you have any pictures of him?” JJ asks, raising an eyebrow with eager expectancy as they all settle back into their seats by the fire, a warm and unbelievably happy feeling settling in Spencer’s stomach.

He blushes, digging out his phone from his pocket and unlocking it. “More than a few, I think.”

He finds the most recent picture of his boyfriend — a candid shot of him cooking in the kitchen, spatula aloft, and a huge grin on his face — and hands the phone around.

“Oh wow, you like them buff, huh, pretty boy?” Derek teases as soon as he gets his hands on it, and Spencer’s stomach twists in a sudden bout of fear, expecting to see some hesitancy or even disgust on his friend’s face. What if he thinks that Spencer has a crush on him? What if he’s uncomfortable around him now?

But if Derek’s having any of those thoughts, they don’t show on his face. He’s smiling widely and openly, all the pent-up anxiety and frustration borne from hurt gone from his body language, and he looks completely comfortable sat next to Spencer, his arm stretched out behind him on the back of the sofa.

They sit happily around the fire for a couple of hours, settling into a happy, intimate familiarity Spencer hadn’t realised was missing when he was hiding something so integral to his being from his family, and he’s still smiling when they finally part ways to head to bed, the clock ticking closer and closer to 1 am.

He gets ready for bed quickly, brushing his teeth and throwing on the top he’d stolen from Oscar the first time he’d stayed at his place; a welcome change from his worn and wrinkled suit. As soon as his teeth are brushed and the lights are all off except for his bedside lamp, he pulls out his phone, knowing there’s one more thing he has to do before he goes to sleep.

“Spencer?” Penelope’s voice sounds down the line, clearly concerned. “It’s almost 2 am here, are you okay?”

“I’m gay,” he says, getting straight to the point. The main reason he ever kept it from her was because of his fear of it accidentally getting out to the team rather than fear over her reaction. After all, multiple of his drag queen friends are also hers.

“Oh my God,” she says in that small voice she uses when she’s not actually talking to you, before finally actually replying to me. “Spencer, I’m so happy you told me!”

He doesn’t miss her choice of words, or the way she says them and he tilts his head suspiciously. “You already knew, didn’t you?”

She sighs. “Yeah. I’m sorry, a couple of months ago I saw a text from Oscar on your phone when you went to the bathroom during one of our Doctor Who marathons, and it wasn’t hard to figure out the relationship.”

“And… wait, you’re not mad at me for not telling you sooner?”

“Spencer! Of course not. I was waiting for you to be comfortable enough to share it with me. I felt awful that I knew without your consent but I didn’t want to tell you because I didn’t want to catch you off guard or make you feel uncomfortable. It’s fine that you waited, baby genius, I’m just so happy you told me now. What finally gave you the courage?”

“Well, it might have slipped out in front of the team this evening,” he admits sheepishly, “and the only reason I never told you was because I was scared that it would slip out somehow — accidentally, of course, I didn’t think you’d tell anyone on purpose — and now everyone knows. It’s been killing me not to tell you, Penelope, it really has because I love you so much and you’re my best friend and I trust you with my life, it’s just…”

“Whoa, slow down, Spence,” she laughs fondly, “you don’t have to explain yourself to me, I understand. But I’m glad you finally told everyone and you can be yourself completely with us, now. We all love you no matter what, you know that right?”

“I do now.”

“Good. You should get some sleep, baby boy, it’s late and you’ve had an emotional evening.”

Spencer smiles. “Yeah, I know. You should, too, Pen. I’ll see you when we can finally make it home, okay? Love you.”

“Love you, too, 187,” she says softly, and Spencer can hear the smile in her voice. “Goodnight.”

As soon as he hangs up, he settles down into the bed, turning off the light and pulling the duvet up over his shoulders before dialling one more number.

“Hey, baby,” Oscar says, voice as gentle and caring as it always is, although thicker with tiredness now. “I take it everything went okay?”

“Yeah,” Spencer murmurs, already feeling tired as the safety he always feels at the sound of Oscar’s voice settles into the fibres of his being. “It went so well. I can’t wait for you to meet everyone.”

“I can’t wait either, sweetheart. Are you in bed now?”

“Yeah,” he sighs. “Can you talk to me as I fall asleep?”

“Anything for you, Spence,” he says softly, before transitioning seamlessly into a story about the professors on campus, and his gentle comfort and the knowledge of the unconditional love his family has for him finally lulls Spencer into the best sleep he’s had in weeks.

taglist : @criminalmindsvibez @moreidstrobed @suburban--gothic @strippersenseii @takeyourleap-of-faith @negativefouriq @makaylajadewrites @iamrenstark @livrere-blue @hotchseyebrows @reidology @i-like-buttons @spencerspecifics @bau-gremlin @hotchedyke @tobias-hankel @goobzoop @marsjareau @garcias-bitch @oliverbrnch @physics-magic @sbeno22 @temily @enbyspencer @im-autistic @anxious-enby @kuolonsyoja @reidreids (add yourself to my taglist via this form!!)

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lesbian-in-leather · 3 years ago

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Okay so I'm fully aware that this film doesn't deserve the amount of thought that I'm putting into it but. The stepmother's song was heartbreaking like... I'm choosing to pretend my version of Vivian from my previous post is canon so the way the song was musically written as almost a villain song but not quite, combined with the way Idina acted it genuinely hurts and I've already rewatched it several times. And some of the lyrics in particular really stand out to me (so naturally I decide to dissect all of them)

I don't care, this is life

It's not fair, it's not right

Okay first of all we have the fact she she just believes this is how life has to be. She's a woman who has been completely destoryed, and she know it isn't right or fair but she genuinely thinks this is how it has to be, that this is the only was to live

All that hope and that pride

It's a waste, it's a lie

Anyone who thinks the concept of hope is a "waste" and a "lie" is clearly a victim of something like sorry this line hurts me

All you want is to breathe

Little girls should run free

But your corset's too tight

And your heels are too high

She clearly sees so much of herself in Ella and, I mean... look at this. These are the words of a woman who feels so trapped and has just given up and let herself be convinced that this is how the world has to be

The treasure you found? Bury it!

The only way out? Marry it!

That shadow of doubt? Carry it!

Carry it down to your grave, oh...

She feels like she has to hide anything that brings her joy, and that the only way to be safe is to marry. She doesn't even feel safe voicing her true feelings - and she isn't even wholly convinved by this system but she thinks that that means she's wrong. And that she has to carry that doubt to her grave, and just continue with the way things are done. And the really interesting thing is that, at this point in the song she leaves Ella's room. But she doesn't just walk out, no, she runs away with a face full of grief and regret for what she's forcing Ella into

The world doesn't need another dream girl

She sings the first line alone, looking almost regretful. Like she's convincing herself that what she told Ella was right. And she repeats it into the mirror. She's tearing herself down, burying the doubt deep inside so she can save her daughters (all three of them, but especially Ella, the one who is the most like her) from the pain she felt

You're too dumb, you're too young

Full of heart, so naive

You're so blind, you're so green

You'll give up, just like me

After convincing herself that she's in the right she goes on with her tirade, berrating all of her daughters... by comparing them to herself

The wings are ornamental

They have no intention of letting you fly

First of all, this links back to the corset and the heels being a cage women are forced into, but also, she acknowledges that the temptation and illusion of freedom are right there. But women aren't allowed to try. Which is so obviously about how she was allowed to persue her dream by going to a music school, only to be torn down and insulted by her own husband for doing so. Her use of "they" shows that she isn't the one enforcing these rules - they are being imposed upon her just as much as the girls

Don't be sentimental

During this section, she's holding a butterfly. A green butterfly, so not Ella's magical godmother. Perhaps it would have been her own. But she waves it away after this line, getting rid of the oppurtunity for her life to be changed, because she's been given that chance before and it was a trap

Some legends are born in the wrong time

She knows she could have been great, but she also truely believes that women in this time aren't allowed to be. That neither she, nor Ella, nor any other woman can achieve anything but heartbreak and disappointment in the society that they live in, and that there's nothing to be done but wait. And it echoes so true for so many real women born throughout history and even into the modern day

This treasure you found? (Bury it)

The only way out? (Marry it)

That shadow of doubt? (Carry it)

Carry it down to your gravе

Her daughters join in, and she's clearly been teaching them this from a young age because, despite the sadness and almost fear they show, they don't fight her like Ella does. She truely believes she can never be great, and that she'll have to live with only the broken hope of who she could have been

(Bury it. Marry it. Carry it)

Proving further that this isn't a true villain song, other female character join in. The maids in the palace feel they must bury their individuality. The queen feels she had to marry the king and, in doing so, forfeited her right to an opinion. Gwen feels like she'll have to carry her ambitions to the grave, because she'll never be listened to or even taken seriously by the people with any power

Carry it down to your grave (Bury it)

Your grave (Marry it), your grave (Carry it)

(Bury it) bury it, (Marry it) marry it, (Carry it) carry it

More and more women join in, and Vivian just looks so sad. And the repitition of "grave" shows that she really thinks that this is her life, and that she'll die how she's lived - unfulfilled and ignored

(No, no, no, no ah!)

Bury it! (Bury it!)

Marry it! (Marry it!)

Carry it! (Carry it!)

Bury it! Bury it! Marry it! Marry it! Carry it! Carry it

Carry it down to your grave!

Your grave! Your grave!

This bit gives me chills every time because they all go absolutely feral. Every woman, even Vivian, is just kicking and tearing and screaming because it's so blindingly unfair and there's nothing they can do but they all have the same pent up rage, from the queen to the servants to the women in streets. And if reason won't work then they'll tear the whole goddamn world down. And internally that's what every woman there wants. But they all hold it in because, like Vivian, they've been punished and controlled and stepped on so many times that they've been convinced they're the problem, that everyone else is content with the system so why can't you be?

[Piano Instrumental]

And then finally. Finally Vivian is alone again. And her hair is dishevelled and she looks like she's trying not to cry and she plays the piano so beautifully and so loudly and so wildly that she's like an entirely different person. And then she almost does cry but she shakes her head and smiles a little and I have to applaud Idina's acting because it feels so real. There are no singers, and there's no other music. Just Vivian, and everything she could have been. All the parts of her she's been repressing, finally allowed to be seen for one honest and heartwrenching moment

And it reminds me so much of the final scene in the Ibsen play Hedda Gabler (which happens to be one of my favourites). Where the controlled character of Hedda just lets go and play the piano we've never seen her touch, and she plays wildly and loudly and it's so different to how we've ever seen her before. And her husband tells her to be quiet and she says she'll never make noise again - and then she commits suicide to ensure that she doesn't

The world doesn't need another dream girl

And then this. This line breaks my heart. Because she just sings to herself in the most broken voice, in a quiet, croaked whisper as if she's afraid someone might hear. And it shows how much she's hurting, how much she wishes the world could be different. This song was never directed at Ella. She only sung it to try and save her from the life that Vivian herself lived. Vivian is the dream girl, and that line is always, always directed internally. No one else ever sings it and it's never sung with anyone else on screen. It was always about her, and it was never a villain song

#cinderella #cinderella 2021 #character analysis #i have upset myself #but this song is so good #and so heartbreaking #sorry i went really overboard here #if anyone read this far thank you #hedda gabler #i guess #it was briefly mentioned #tw mentions of suicide

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mystic-scripture · 5 years ago

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All the Angst and all the Dirty for Spendy pls

Sure, Sara make me horny and sad why don’t you.

For the Angst:

9. Have they made each other cry?

When they finally talk about Emily and what going to JJ did to Wendy’s head (see preview below), it makes them both cry, whenever one of them fails to see an emotional drag on the other causes issues. They are both very intellectually minded, so talking about feelings is hard for them. So when they do finally manage to break down each other’s walls, it is pretty emotional.

10. Write a ~300 word argument scene for them.

Wendy’s hands shook as she took the bottles out of the pocket of her bathrobe. Spencer’s eyes widened, his lips forming words he didn’t have the voice to say. She licked her lips before she spoke, trying to keep herself grounded.

“What are these doing in my apartment?” She was afraid of the answer, but she needed to know. “And is this why you’ve been avoiding me?”

“Avoi- I haven’t been avoiding you.” He ran his hand through his hair, averting his gaze from hers. “I just forgot they were in there, if you recall I had a bit to drink last night.”

“Oh, oh I recall, you were escorted here because my place was closer.” Her hand clenched so hard, she could hear the glass of the bottles grinding together. “But seeing as you pride yourself on your Eidetic Memory, I doubt that’s true, so answer… the damn...question.”

It was Spencer’s turn to lick his lip, his stance going rigid as she stared him down. “I-I was going to have JJ help me flush it. I’ve been having thoughts...and I didn’t want to put you through that again. I wasn’t going to use, but-”

“You’ve thought about it and your answer was to go to JJ?!” She groaned,dropping the bottles to pull at her hair. “And not me? When I was the one to help you stop in the first place, you thought going to another woman was okay?”

“I-I didn’t want to worry you,” His eyes pleaded hers to understand, searching for a way to talk his way out of this fight. “I know things have been hard for you since Emil-”

“How would you know how hard things have been for me? I’ve barely even seen you at work let alone here.” She shoved at his chest. “You’ve barely even touched me since the hospital and you have the gall to tell me how I feel?”

“Wait, are you mad at me for not being here?” His hands steadied her before she could pull too far away. “For giving you your space when I knew you needed time to figure things out? I thought you were the one pulling away from me.”

“God for a second just think with this,” she snapped her hand away, jabbing a finger at his chest. “And get out of that stupid, big brain of yours! How could I possibly have been pulling away from you? My body language, speech patterns, even the way I’ve looked at you the past few weeks has been screaming for you to notice me!”

“But you didn’t, and you’ve been adding insult to injury by seeing her.” Wendy gulped down the venom forming in her words. “And you will never understand what that did to me.”

11. What causes them to fight?

They get into little debates about things all the time, but all out fights? Honestly, Wendy lashes out when she gets insecure, usually about JJ or other girls. Reid tends to into fits of ‘I’m angry because I care’ rage toward her about taking care of herself. They also get pretty pissed at each other when one of them decides to be reckless on the job.

12. Do they have differing political opinions?

No, Wendy does her best to avoid it while keeping informed, but every now and again, Reid will go on a factoid tirade which usually ends up stressing Wendy the hell out. She knows they are necessary, but as long as she didn’t have to partake in them, they were a far away necessity.

13. Name something they would never do for the other person.

For? Not much, there’s a lot they would do for each other. Heck, Wendy has nearly died from Anthrax for/with him, and he took a bullet to the knee for her. Of course this causes them to get made at each other for being stupid, but they are very much an “I jump, you jump” couple.

14. What would be a dealbreaker?

Lies. Wendy has had to deal with so many lies in their job and in her life, she can’t stand it. And Spencer, well we saw what happened when JJ lied to him given how close they were.

15. What are traits they dislike in one another?

It kills Wendy that he is such a technophobe, like technology is her life, and it’s what got her into the FBI to begin with. Also, she is a bit of a neat freak, so when he scatters things about when they are working together she gets a little punchy.

With Spencer, he can’t understand how stubborn she is in spite of any facts he throws at her. It doesn’t matter how many books or articles he’s read on the subject, once her opinion is made, there isn’t much that can change it. Also, he doesn’t understand how she can be so tidy, his brain works too fast to clean as he goes, but she is so freaking meticulous? Sometimes it scares him.

16. If they broke up, what would be their opinions of each other?

While it would be hella awkward having to revert to their friendship, they are friends and coworkers first. They will always have tremendous respect and want the best for each other.

For the Dirty:

25. What moves do they know work on the other?

As soon as Spencer does anything to her neck or earlobe Wendy is done, and he knows it. Also whenever he pulls on her hair to guide her somewhere. Wendy meanwhile, takes great pride in knowing his need to be in control, and will give little noises or attempts at dominance just get him a little more riled up.

26. What are their favorite parts about physical affection/sex?

Honestly? The dichotomy of it all, the sweetness of everything they do in spite of how rough they go about it. And Spencer makes damn well sure that Wendy comes at least once, a lot of times before him. Wendy likes to watch him come undone, stroking his face and maintaining hella eye contact.

27. Do they have any kinks/fetishes that they share?

Spencer is totally a Dom, and Wendy is happy to be his sub. Choking, hand binding, and shibari are shared kinks. Also, Wendy in JUST one of his dress shirts or cardigans drives him nuts, and for her, there is something about the muscles in his back that just does it for her.

28. Write a ~300 fantasy one of them has about the other.

“I can’t believe you talked me into this,” Wendy gasped, pulling him by his tie for a hungry, lingering kiss. “Literally any of them could walk in on us Or worse, hear us.”

“Then I guess you’ll just have to be quiet.” He murmured, spinning them to pin her against the door of the Jet’s bathroom.

He smirked as she let out a small gasp, but nodded. His hand took her wrists in his as he ravaged her neck, kissing and licking his way down the opening of her dress shirt. She trembled, biting her lip to keep the moans from coming out too loud, glaring at him. She knew he was doing this on purpose, that he wanted to see just how far he could go and keep her quiet. Her wrists struggled against his grip, her hips dipping towards him when he pulled away.

Chuckling lightly, he let her go, hands going to the zipper of her skirt. Her hands roamed, his sides, dipping to his belt that she made quick work of. Opening the zipper, she dipped a small hand to palm him, releasing a surprised growl from Spencer. Her pink lips formed a satisfied smirk and she bit her bottom lip.

“And you were worried about me...” She teased, using her other hand to wrap around his neck to pull him into another kiss, biting his lip harshly. “You sure you can manage it, Doctor?”

Her mocking him, mixed with what her hand was doing almost undid him there, but he grabbed her hips, pushing her into the door with an audible bang. Her eyes opened, and a startled noise formed in her throat, but he quickly shut her up, kissing her roughly, and using the opportunity to gain entrance with his tongue. His hands moved to cup the back of her thighs and she hopped out of the pool of fabric that was her skirt to wrap around him.

Soon, his pants and boxers followed, and her underwear was twisted aside. He adjusted slightly, making it so that he pillowed her head with one hand, and held onto her with another. Wendy took the hint and placed hands above her head, pushing against him and bracing herself on the door. Looking into his eyes, he taunted her, teasing her entrance.

“Keep talking,” He ordered, backing away when she tried to meet him. “We’ll just see who can manage it.”

29. What are each of their signature foreplay moves?

Spencer takes his time roaming her body with kisses, and keeping her pinned, the inability to touch him drives Wendy crazy. Wendy will bite his lip, or tongue during heated kisses and go to pull away all innocent like.

30. Write a short exchange of dirty talk between them. (kind of not really, just Wendy being a brat)

“Comeon Dr. Reid, what’s the matter? Afraid you can’t handle it?

“You have no idea what I can handle, Little Girl.”

31. What do they love to do after sex?

Aside from a second or third round? Snuggles, just laying there in the afterglow until one or both of them falls asleep. Wendy traces patterns on his chest while he threads his fingers through her hair.

32. Do they enjoy morning or night sex?

Uhm...Yes. Most mornings end up getting interrupted with their job though.

Send me a ship and numbers!

Wendy Tag: @abbyarcxnes @perfectlystiles @raging-violets (sara asked, no need to tag her) @foxesandmagic @anotherunreadblog @curious-kittens-ocs @darknightfrombeyond (Missed you or want to be added? HMU!)

#wendy asks #spendy asks #good lord I'm bad at smut #spendy smut #Fic: Prolific #fd: criminal minds #Wendy Durant #asks answered

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missvalerietanner · 6 years ago

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The Unseen Soldier | Part 36 | The Debate

Subject: Hades & Persephone (aka Aiden & Sophie)

Genre: Southern Gothic retelling

Words:3,059

Summary: Sophie addresses the town and pleads for a resolution.

Author’s Note: A LONG update today, but I couldn’t stop. XD

Updates every Sunday! Click to read.

She emerged from the forest where she entered, stepping with care over the fractured shards of glass scattered among the grass. She glided across the paved roads like an angel, carried on a gust of her own confidence. She followed the roads in silence until they led her to the first stop: a house with lights spilling out from the kitchen and highlighting the grass at its backdoor--a house she wasn’t eager to see again so soon.

She inched toward the door, wrung her hands in and out of fists, and pushed open the screen door to step inside. No knock. No warning, just an intrusion.

“Sophia,” Denise exclaimed and hurried over from the sink. “What--how are you back here, and what are you wearing?”

She looked her mother in the eye, squared her shoulders, and did her best to keep her voice even and calm. “Tell everyone to meet at town hall at sun down. There’s a lot we need to discuss.”

“Excuse me?” She snarled. “That’s where you’re going to start with us, missy? After disappearing the way you did, breaking through the wall all of us worked so hard to build, and you think you can waltz back in here without even a hello and start making demands.”

She winced as her words struck deep. “Mother, everyone will listen to you, and it’s urgent.”

Denise scoffed and perched her hands on her hips. “Then out with it. I will not take orders from my own child, Sophia. I birthed you, and no matter what lies that monster may have filled your head with, you are still a child.”

Sophie tilted her head to the side to catch her father’s eye. He sat at the dining room table in the center of the kitchen, newspaper in hand. Only for the first time she could remember, Zachariah’s eyes weren’t glued to the black ink words on the pages before him. His eyes were locked on her, and Sophie saw a hint of regret in his eyes.

For once, Sophie had gained her father’s full attention, and the realization made her heart swell, even under the crippling tirade launching from her mother’s mouth. He curled his lips together in an apologetic grimace and held her gaze, letting her know he was finally listening.

“Father,” Sophie whispered, silencing Denise the moment the word passed her lips. “Please.”

Zachariah stared for a long time at the woman before him, no longer his daughter. She had been altered, just as he noticed upon her return before. But she stood even more different now, stronger and more confident. She braced herself on sturdy legs with a pose of authority lifting her spine straight. She had changed, but whatever the Soldier in the Woods had done, it was for the best.

He nodded, quick and curt--a single dip of his chin--in acceptance of her request.

Denise wheezed with laughter and spun to face him. “Absolutely not, Zachariah. You will do nothing to help her. Whatever this is--it’s probably some trick thought up by that beast to ensure everyone in town will be in one spot so that he can kill us all tonight in one go.” She raised her arm and pointed wildly at Sophie. “And she’s the bait. These people will listen to me, not you, and you will not--”

“Denise,” he whispered her name in a low hiss, silencing her babbling as he set the newspaper down, tossed his glasses to the table with a hollow thud, and rose from his seat with the grace of a god. “She is our daughter. Not bait. Not a beast--our daughter. And she is asking for our help.”

“Zachariah, I forbid--”

“We have done things your way, Denise,” he said, never raising his voice. “It is time to start listening to her.”

Denise tossed her hands to the air in surrender and stomped off down the hall. Zachariah nodded to Sophie again, and she smiled, returned the nod, and retreated from their doorstep to head toward the center of town.

- - -

Sophie stood at the edge of the courtyard framing town hall with her back to the building and her eyes on the horizon, watching as the sun dipped below the thick height of the forest.

“You look beautiful,” Alina said, stepping forward from the shadows of the street.

“Hey, Shoe,” Sophie said with an easy smile. “Thank you for coming.”

“How could I miss your big debut?” Alina nudged her arm and laughed. “And it looks like I wasn’t the only one.”

Sophie turned her back to town hall and faced the fading light dying against the lanes of black asphalt, and there, she watched as wholes families marched toward her. Every face she recognized and many she’d forgotten passed her by with grim, tense frowns plastered on their lips. Most made no effort to notice her as they passed, and the few who did offered her either curt nods, curious stares, or disgusted groans.

“Well,” Alina said, sucking in a breath through her teeth, “I guess not everyone’s as excited as me.”

“I don’t need excitement. I need open minds and open ears.”

“That’ll change when the Soldier shows up.”

“No,” Sophie whispered, shushing her friend. “He’s not coming.”

“Oh, I figured--” Alina pursed her lips in a pout. “What are you doing here tonight? Most of these people are probably expecting to see the Soldier.”

“This isn’t some show where he’s put on display,” Sophie hissed, insulted by the insinuation.

“Then… what is this, Sock?”

“The town is in danger. The walls my mother encouraged everyone to build--they’re a threat.”

“More than the Soldier?” Alina asked. “More than you?”

Sophie sighed and turned her attention back to the throngs of onlookers passing them by.

“I love you, Soph, but let’s be honest. A lot of people saw your hair burst into flames that day. They saw you smash through the glass, and it’s all everyone’s talked about since then. Convincing them that you did that to help them…” Alina shrugged and let her words die in the air.

“I know it won’t be easy--”

“Easy? Soph, they’ll never hear it.”

“They’re so desperate to hurt us they can’t see they’re hurting themselves.”

“No one,” Alina warned. “No one likes being told they’re wrong. About you, about the Soldier, about the wall or the forest.” She set her hand on Sophie’s shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze. “You can say all the right things, but you’re going to be speaking to deaf ears.”

Sophie sighed but held her shoulders high, refusing to let her friends words cripple her resolve. “I still have to try.”

Alina laughed, leaned forward and pecked a kiss against her cheek. “Of course you do. Do you know what you’ll say tonight?”

“No,” she admitted with a laugh in her words. “I’m hoping inspiration will strike soon.”

She laughed again and patted her on the back. “Good luck, Sock.”

She spun on her heels and bounded inside the building among the mass of locals.

With a final, parting glanced toward the darkening horizon and the treetops settled against the sky, Sophie turned and marched inside to face whatever wrath awaited.

- - -

The air in the town hall was a vacuum: silent ringing in her ears as she stalked down the central aisle. The pews on either side were filled to near capacity, and the eyes of each attendee rolled over her as she passed. The click, click, click of her heels thundered in tune with her racing heart beat as she approached the rising steps of the stage. One, two, three steps, and she crossed to its center to face her public with a grim frown.

She stood tall, her shoulders straight, and her chin tilted back. She sucked in a deep, calming breath through her nose and held her hands in steady fists at her hips.

“She’s back?”

“The Soldier let her go?”

“What does she want?”

“What does he want?” “Is she going to take someone else?”

“Will she fix the wall?”

“Did he send her?”

The murmurs danced through the air at a growing volume.

“The wall--” she shouted to be heard over the whispers “--has to come down.”

The murmurs turned to shouts heavy with rage. People clammored to their feet faster than she expected, and she flinched as men in the front pews lunged at the stages, shouting all manner of profanity at her.

“That wall is the only thing protecting us from that monster.”

“You’ve been blinded by him, child. You’ve been tricked.”

“We won’t lose another to that beast and his hellhounds!”

The shouts rolled over one another, meshing into one voice. Her eyes scanned the crowd for any sense of understanding, for any hint of anything other than anger. Alina shrank in her seat but offered a sheepish wave. Amelia and Allen sat beside her, disinterested and picking their knives clean from a morning spent hunting. They were oblivious to the noise around them.

Sophie’s eyes paused when they caught her mother’s gaze. Denise glared at her from one of the pews at the back, a deep scowl set in her features. Zachariah stood by the door like he was guarding it, keeping everyone inside, and he observed the rowdy crowd with a frown.

But Denise stared only at Sophie.

“What do you want from me, Mother? Do you want me to wither and die here, cooped up in this room?”

“Don’t be dramatic, Sophia. I just want you to be safe.”

“What’s so terrible about the forest? It’s beautiful.”

Denise pinched the bridge of her nose. “Sophia, that place is dangerous, and I forbid you from entering it.”

“But what if I belong there?”

Denise scoffed. “Oh, Sophia, don’t be absurd. Your place is here with your family. And today, your place is out there in the fields with your father.” She turned toward the door. “Don’t keep him waiting again. There’s a lot of work to do today, and you need to start helping instead of wasting your time with this childish fantasy.”

“But Mother--”

“Enough, Sophia! You will not speak of that forest, and if I catch you near its borders ever again, I guarantee you will be sorry. Now be a proper daughter and go help your father tend the fields.”

The door slammed behind Denise as she left the house, headed to the market. When she was gone from sight in the old farm truck, Sophie bolted through the doorway on bare feet and ran straight for the forest, intent on never returning.

Sophie blinked, and tears dripped down her cheeks and burned hot trails across her face. She released a stuttered breath to ease her hammering heart, and when she faced the crowd, she saw wide eyes and gaping mouths staring back at her. A familiar heat stung her back, and with a quick side glance, she saw the ends of her orange hair alive in flames.

“Witchcraft!”

“No, it’s the devil’s work.”

“The Soldier is the devil!”

“This is a trap. She’s going to kill us. For him!”

Denise’s face was hard as stone, unrelenting and unforgiving. Zachariah marveled at his daughter with hopeful eyes and a surprised grin. Alina clapped wildly in her seat and laughed.

“No,” Sophie yelled, raising her hands in defense. “You shouldn’t be afraid. This--this what I can do with the forest’s help.”

“The forest!? The Soldier’s here--”

“No,” Sophie shouted, trying to control the mayhem.

“He’s gonna kill us! Just like he killed the others who trespassed in his forest.”

“Oh, God, he’s going to kill us like he killed the third Ridley brother.”

Sophie clamped her eyes shut, sucked in a deep breath, and eased her nerves. In the darkness of her eyelids, she saw Aiden’s father and the chains she bound him with. She felt the power in that metal, the fire burning his skin and holding him in place. She saw the empty faces of the Voids, and she saw the glaring red light signaling she was home.

She exhaled, opened her eyes, and the fire in her hair was gone.

“Listen to me,” she shouted over the fading cries of panic. “I am not a threat to you. Neither is Aiden, the one you call the Soldier.”

“He stole you.”

“He kidnapped you.”

“He brainwashed you.”

“No, he didn’t.” She found her mother’s gaze again and frowned. “I left. On my own. And he saved me.”

The bickering voices grew silent, and Sophie stepped to the edge of the stage and addressed her captive audience.

“We all grew up hearing the stories of the bastard son in the woods, the Unseen Soldier. But he is not a killer or a tyrant. He protects the forest and keeps it safe. For us.”

“The forest is… for us?”

“No, it’s lies. She’s clearly lying.”

“The forest is his home. He protects it for himself.”

“Yeah, he’d kill anyone who stepped inside.”

“The forest is a paradise,” Sophie began, ignoring the whispers. “It is a safe haven for us to roam when we die. Aiden--and I--are its Guardians. That’s why the trees grow so thick and why there’s no set path. The dead wander through its greenery and become trees thickening the paths, ready to be reborn. And when a new life is created here in town, a tree in the forest rots and falls, returning that soul to town. It’s a cycle that must be balanced.”

“Reborn? What madness is she spewing now?”

“This is just nonsense.”

“Is this why she brought us here?”

Sophie cleared her throat and recited the words she knew would gain their attention. “They say a beast is but a beast, and most monstrous of all burns the deceased, but to cut through his nasty stare, all one needs is a mirror laid bare. How cruel a life among the dead to be bound by such filling dread, when the reflection of his own face is enough to shatter that space.”

Silence hollowed out the hall.

“I learned the stories, memorized the rhymes--same as all of you. And my mother convinced you all that building a wall would protect your children, your sisters and your brothers, from becoming like me, from being taken. And she used these silly childhood rhymes to do it.”

Sophie studied the quiet faces. She had their attention now.

“Mirrors blind the dead. They cannot pass through them, and they simply bounce off of them and go the opposite way. Do you understand?” she yelled. “Your dead cannot leave. They cannot enter the forest, and they cannot find peace. They cannot become trees, and they cannot be reborn. The Wall will suffocate this town, and you must tear it down.”

“Bullshit! Utter garbage.”

“Lies! Lies pushed by the Soldier.”

“You just want us to be vulnerable to him.”

“You want us to let him out, let him come here and snatch someone else.”

Sophie stomped her foot against the creaky wood of the stage. “Listen to yourselves. You are letting fear control you. Fear of the forest, of Aiden. Aren’t you all tired of living in fear? Aren’t you all tired of not knowing the truth of the forest, of not seeing what’s beyond its veil?”

A young woman with auburn hair seated in the second pew from the stage stood on unsteady legs. A young man stood with her, holding tight to her arm to keep her upright. She dabbed at puffy eyes with a handkerchief and held another hand against her swollen stomach.

The crowd grew quiet when she rose before their eyes.

“If our dead cannot pass through,” she asked in a quaking voice as sobs leaked from her lips. “Then new life is trapped too?”

Sophie stood straight as a wave of goosebumps peaked across her arms. “Yes.”

“He kicked--before the Wall was finished. But since then--” she wheezed as tears poured from her eyes.

“Our baby,” the husband said. “He--he hasn’t kicked since the wall was completed.”

“My grandmother,” a voice echoed from the back. “She loved to tell stories. She was always talking. But she’s cold now. And since the Wall went up, she just stands and stares at the wall. She doesn’t talk anymore.”

“My husband stands in the fields all day, wandering straight lines. If he trips, he just gets up like nothing happened and keeps going.”

“My son was sick with a cold. I gave him medicine. I--I thought he was getting better, but he just--he stares.”

“My uncle does the same,” someone cried out. “He stopped eating, stopped talking.”

“I thought my cousin disappeared in the forest, but I saw him walking down the road in the middle of the night. I tried to wake him. I--I tried to talk to him, but---”

The squeak of rusted hinges drew everyone’s attention to the back of the building where the two double wood doors crept open. Zachariah moved out of the way, and all eyes watched as the thick, hulking figure of the Unseen Soldier stepped inside.

Gasps and whispers were ignited throughout the crowd as they drank in the figure of their nightmares. But amid the pale light of the building and away from the pitch darkness of the forest nad the growling fangs of his three dogs, Aiden seemed less like a terrible beast to them and more like a man. Mud-covered boots on his feet matched every other farmer in town. Dirty jeans, a simple white shirt, and a sturdy tan jacket covering his muscular arms and back were all normal as well.

People watched him with caution, unsure of what his presence meant, and one-by-one, people returned to their seats. Whether it was out of fear or respect wasn’t clear, but Sophie didn’t care. She was too busy battling with her own surprise, struggling to process the surrealism of seeing the epitome of the forest--the human representation of all the things she’d longed for--mingling in the mundane town she’d been so desperate to escape.

“The forest and the town exist as one,” Aiden began in a booming voice. “But the Wall interrupts that. The forest can survive. You can’t. So if any of you give a damn about your lives--” he gestured to Sophie at the front of the hall “--you should listen to her.”

#tus #the unseen soldier #hades and persephone #greek mythology #retelling #writings #hapsgs #southern gothic

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atomicsimulacra · 7 years ago

Text

The Smell of Rotting Orchids

(( Anna finds AM and AMos, after they were kicked out of Vault 67. Content warning for animal death/animal gore and some nasty swears from AM. ))

A gunshot rang through the air, blowing a feral dog’s head clean off its shoulders. Whatever bark tried to leave its throat silenced with a gurgle, its body collapsing limp on the hillside. The chilly, morning air stilled, save for the faint breath of the hunter; a thin, red headed woman.

After a moment, Anna Lovett walked down the frosty slope, stashing her hunting rifle on her back and pulling the brim of her fedora lower over her eyes. Her beige trench coat bunched around her armpits and sides, but settled as she readjusted the fabric, under the gun’s strap. Crouching besides one of the dead dogs, she pulled out a hunting knife and made an incision.

Steam and entrails spilled from the carcass. The fleeting urge to gag crossed her mind.

As she harvested the meat from her kills, Anna counted the morning’s blessings. She now had something to cook up for lunch, after having stayed in Diamond City to give Valentine a tune up and heading out an hour prior. Perhaps, if Danse was in the mood, they could share a meal together, before she headed home to Croup Manor. Cambridge Police Station was easily thirty minutes away; Croup Manor an hour and a half. She’d end up at home with sore feet one way or another, she reasoned to herself. Might as well make it enjoyable.

Satisfied with her plan and butchery, the red-haired woman rose from the last mongrel and stretched, arching her back and rolling her neck. Once she decompressed, she looked down and frowned. She’d gotten a couple specks of blood on her light blue shirt, even after having been careful. Before she could curse her luck, a soft, male voice broke the silence.

“What’s the good of moonliiiiight?

When you haven’t got a boyyy to looooove…?”

Anna paused, then turned her head to the right. The voice continued to sing, having emerged from a cave in the side of a rocky outcropping, which sat on the hill Anna stood on. If it weren’t for the voice, the cave was easily camouflaged by the surrounding rocks.

“Niiiight time’s just the time to spoooon…

Underneath theeee silv’ry mooooon…”

The red-haired woman scanned her surroundings, her brows furrowing, before venturing to the mouth of the cave. She didn’t enter it, but she did listen in, intrigued. It wasn’t everyday people sang in the open, let alone from caves.

“Every fella’s ha-ppy, cuddlin’ ��neath the stars abovvvve…

Ohhhh, when the Moon is shinin’, what a heavenly bliss!

Look at what you’re missin’, when you caaaan’t steal a kisss—“

“Oh for fuck’s—“ another voice, similar to the singer’s, tried to interject.

“Soooo, what’s the good of moooooonliiiiiight? When you haven’t got a boy to love?”

The other voice spoke up again, with a peeved tone.

“I was about to ask the same thing about us sitting here, AMos.”

“Are you just saying that because there’s a scuffle outside, AM?” AMos hummed.

“Something, probably human, is tearing those dogs apart outside,” AM growled. “And yet here we are, in a dank, cramped, shithole—“

“A safe little outhouse, more like,” AMos interrupted. AM audibly seethed, pacing the floor. The sound of something metal against soft rock followed, mirroring human footsteps.

“If you’re expecting me to stay on that lackluster reasoning alone,” AM spat. “Then you have another thing coming, you yellow bellied scrap heap!” Anna couldn’t help but wince. She couldn’t see who was talking from where she sat, nor could they see her.

“You mean to tell me you’re content?!” AM ranted. “Hiding here, giving humans something to gloat about?!”

“They blew up the goddamn world, AMos! They deserve to suffer and bleed!”

“These humans didn’t,” AMos calmly replied, his tone distracted. He sounded preoccupied with something, other than his brother’s tirade.

“They never asked to be born here. They’re as scared and confused as we are, poor dears.”

The sound of someone getting up from the floor followed, as AMos continued speaking.

“I simply couldn’t kill them in good conscience. Even after Pohl.”

Anna leaned in, as she eavesdropped. Whoever these two were, they didn’t sound like ghouls or super mutants. This filled her with the urge to reply, but how? That was the question. Regardless, the pair raged on.

“The raiders outside don’t care about our sob story, jackass,” AM growled. “They want us dead!”

“Only because androids are uncommon or malevolent,” AMos reminded him sharply.

“They want to kill us, brother!” AM said exasperatedly. “The why doesn’t matter here!”

“Son of a fucking bitch, how many times do I—“

AM didn’t get to finish. In that moment, Anna found her words and spoke up.

“Excuse me? Is… someone there?”

The two beings fell quiet. They didn’t even breathe. Anna tried again, holding her hands up to show she wasn’t a threat. Her amber eyes softened, peering into the dark.

“There’s no need to be frightened, whoever you are,” the red-haired woman explained.

“I’m not a raider, nor do I mean you any harm. Are you two alright in there?”

From the darkness of the cave, two pairs of eyes emerged. One pair had red and blue irises set among black sclera and bored into Anna’s very soul. The other two had pink and baby blue irises and closer resembled human eyes, though they had the unnatural sheen of glass. They also fixed onto her, but they hardly scrutinized. Each set revealed a certain truth to both individuals; they were both clearly second generation synths.

“Is… That a fact now?” AMos asked. On registering how Anna looked, his tone brightened.

“Oh, how wonderful! It’s been a while since we’ve met someone civilized!”

The longer he stared, the more the eyes he owned became half lidded. His voice softened, more resembling a coo.

“Civilized and… Goodness,” AMos sighed appreciatively. “Simply ravishi—“

“Who the fuck are you and how the fuck did you hear us?” AM demanded, having put a hand over his brother’s mouth. AMos let out a muffled sound in protest.

“My name is Anna,” the thin woman replied. “Are either of you hurt?”

“I asked two questions, you horse-faced cunt,” AM spat. “How did you hear us, goddammit?”

Before Anna could answer, AMos bit into his brother’s hand, getting AM to shut up with a pained whine and pull away. Anna flinched, causing AMos to pause before speaking.

“…Forgive my brother, Ms. Anna,” AMos said gently. “He isn’t very trusting of your kind.”

“I, however, have good people sense, and you appear trustworthy. I’m assuming you heard our disagreement, from inside our shelter?”

Anna nodded, wary of both synths for different reasons.

“It sounded to me like you’d been there for some time,” she explained. “So I wanted to offer a hand, if you needed it. I’m skilled in robotics you see, and I was on my way home.”

AMos’ eyes widened in interest. Carefully, he neared the human woman, as AM inspected the damage AMos had done to his metal palm. As the synth ventured more out of the cave, it was clear he wore rose tinted glasses and a pink sweater vest, with a white shirt, jeans, and matching shoes. The seams of his plating were sewn and stapled, giving him the appearance of a doll.

“Is that so?” AMos asked warmly. “I must say, that’s very kind of you, Ms. Anna.”

“Was,” Anna corrected. “But with your brother’s attitude, I’m tempted to redact my offer.”

AMos shot a tense glance to AM, before continuing on.

“As I said before,” AMos explained. “My brother is wary around your people but he doesn’t mean ill will. I mean, just look at what they’ve done to him, in the time we’ve been out here.”

AM let out a yelp as he was yanked into view by his brother, revealing he was in quite the sorry state. The back plate of his head was completely gone, revealing his metallic skull and the numerous wires that connected his body together. His seams were worn and frayed, the plates that made them up stained with dirt and blood. His hand and foot plates had completely broken away, leaving his metal endoskeleton exposed.

An ugly scar from Mirelurk Hunter acid crackled across his chest, but the true extent of the damage was hidden by a ratty, green cloak AM wore, haphazardly held together with crude stitching, rope, and duct tape. Worst of all, two sets of Yao Guai claws had been raked across his face, giving it a savage grid like pattern. AM’s gaze hardened, as he was gawked at.

“Goodness,” Anna gasped. “You two really are in dire straits.”

“Indeed,” AMos sighed pitifully. “The outside world has just dreadful!”

He lounged on his brother, forlorn. AM bunched his shoulders in response. With AMos having made their case, Anna considered the two synths then rose to her feet.

“Follow me, then,” Anna offered. “I can give you two a tune up and a place to stay.”

AMos’ face lit up like a Christmas tree. He practically jumped to his feet, beaming at Anna.

“You’re too kind, Ms. Anna,” the more intact synth replied appreciatively. “You won’t regret it.”

“I certainly hope not,” Anna said with a hopeful, smaller smile.

“Now come along. We have a long way to go."

Anna started on the trek home, but AM didn’t move an inch, even as AMos followed behind her. AMos turned and glared at him, causing AM to frown. The two stared at each other a moment, equally stubborn regarding what they wanted to do. AMos then marched back over and pulled his brother upright, murmuring something in his ear.

“Now, now, brother dear,” AMos said through tight teeth. “I know you have your reasons for acting this way, but if you continue to insult Ms. Anna or her generosity… I’ll going to have to do something I’ll regret. And no one will find the body.”

He had an eerily serene smile on his face. AM appeared completely unaffected, save for a small huff of annoyance. The human woman looked over her shoulder, having not heard a word they’d exchanged.

“Are you two coming?” Anna called.

“Yes, of course, ma’am! I just had to fetch the wet rag!” AMos replied with a giggle.

He then proceeded to drag AM after him with frightening ease. The roughed-up synth scowled in outrage, trying desperately to pull himself away.

“You insufferable, brown nosing—“

Anna had already tuned out their conversation, to try and focus on getting the three of them home. She knew for certain now she couldn’t visit Danse, but they hadn’t planned anything formally, so she wasn’t too fussed. She was more worried about the two synths tagging along behind her. It was clear there was some truth to AMos’ words; the world thus far had been unkind to them. AM’s behavior screamed that of primal, fight or flight response.

Despite this, the red-haired woman resigned herself to her offer. She wouldn’t know the true extent of their damage until they got home.

It couldn’t hurt to give them a chance.

#anna lovett #am #amos #fallout 4 #fallout #amorousxmenace #harvest hand

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words-writ-in-starlight · 7 years ago

Note

Please tell me all about your complaints with BBC Merlin, bc I too have Many Complaints (ft. Miscommunication and Secrets Are Good For Drama to a Maximum of One Season and Certainly Not Five; Morgana is a Terrified and Oppressed Woman Who Is Made Evil for Being Terrified and Oppressed and Does Not Deserve It, Much Like All Mages; and Everyone Has A Serious Case of Forgetting Their Character Growth when The Plot Requires.

*deep breath*

Honestly I think my ultimate complaint about Merlin is that it suffers from an absolutely crippling case of narrative cowardice, which is a concept you might recall from my Inevitable Tirade About SPN. Basically: if you open your show with a large portion of it predicated on a conceit that has to be drastically altered in order to accomplish the ultimate goal of the plot (in the case of Merlin, switching from uther’s Camelot to Arthur’s Camelot), you can’t be a shit about it and you have to actually goddamn do it. CHANGE YOUR PARADIGM, YOU LIMP NOODLES.

No, I’m dead serious, all their problems basically boil down to a critical inability to change the paradigm. Let’s do an experiment to prove it.

Merlin’s magic, obviously.

Two things here.

First, Merlin hiding his magic. At the beginning, Merlin can’t tell anyone about his magic on pain of death, because Uther. This implicitly sets up the eventual transition into Arthur’s Camelot as a shift into a ‘safe’ Camelot for magic users in general and Merlin in particular, because we all know a little bit about Arthuriana and we know that Merlin becomes Arthur’s trusted adviser, magic and all. So in order to accomplish that transition, what ‘should’ happen (by ‘should’ I mean, ‘the thing that makes intuitive sense to someone waiting for the plot to advance’) is that Merlin’s presence and involvement in Arthur’s life gradually makes Arthur more comfortable with magic, until finally a crisis forces a reveal in which Merlin comes clean and puts Arthur in the position of deciding once and for all where he stands. Plot and precedent in every other Arthurian legend requires that Arthur decides, at the very least, that Merlin is not evil and that consequently magic can be used for good. This would by virtue of necessity put Arthur and Merlin against Uther, and moreover mean that it would be the two of them scheming together in order to save the kingdom every couple weeks, which would be an excellent way to develop their relationship and progress toward Arthur’s Camelot. Instead, by trying to uphold the ‘secrecy’ conceit, the plot is forced to relapse to Square One every couple of episodes, and therefore when Arthur’s Camelot does come ‘round, it’s not safe for Merlin to come clean, Merlin still doesn’t really trust Arthur, Arthur’s playing checkers on a board where the other side is playing chess, and We The People feel pretty fucking cheated.

Second, Merlin’s magic in general. FRIENDS. COMRADES. IF YOU ARE GOING TO GO TO GREAT LENGTHS TO SET SOMEONE UP AS THE MOST POWERFUL MAGE IN HISTORY, I WANT TO SEE THEM BE THE MOST POWERFUL MAGE IN HISTORY. Honestly by about season 3 there’s no point to Merlin being worried about coming clean, because we’re told repeatedly that he’s powerful enough to not worry about being burned at the stake or whatever. According to what we’re told, Merlin should have the raw power to walk into Uther’s courtroom and announce “Hello, all, I am a warlock and I dare you to mess with me” and then go back to his business. But since we never see him actually carry that out–y’all he fucking killed Nimueh with lightning, why didn’t we see that again?–Merlin’s power level is mostly an Informed Attribute, which leaves the viewer frustrated and confused by a lot of the tension the show sets up regarding threats to Merlin’s life. We see Merlin demonstrate multiple times that it would be almost impossible to execute him by traditional methods, and yet we’re still supposed to agree that it’s too dangerous. Like. Listen, my friends. Here is a pro tip. It’s actually not a narrative-ending problem to have a ludicrously OP character (which is what Merlin would be if the writers were consistent with his abilities), but you have to acknowledge that they develop a whole different set of obstacles than someone who isn’t ludicrously OP. It just takes some creative thinking.

Morgana!

Morgana is horribly mistreated by the narrative and I’m not gonna question you there, but moreover, a lot of the problems with her magic plotline are, again, about a fear of changing the paradigm. So, like, okay, let’s all agree that it would make infinitely more narrative sense for Morgana to go to Arthur, her foster brother and trusted friend, in distress and tell him that she thinks she can do magic, which Arthur would tell his servant Merlin. The two of them recommend that Morgana keep it under wraps, and maybe that’s how Arthur starts to come around on the magic thing, rather than Merlin’s influence. Sure, super chill. Instead of just doing an about-face on the whole loyalty thing because…what…she’s not the heir? (It’s been A Minute since I put myself through this show.) Instead of that whole mess, maybe Morgana comes to Merlin when Uther is wounded and begs him to help her find a way to heal him, because surely, surely, if his beloved ward (and daughter) uses magic for something so pure and innocently good as healing the king, it can’t be evil. When that inevitably backfires, Uther banishes Morgana from Camelot, and Arthur tells her to go because it’s safer. Morgana, betrayed by Uther and perceiving herself to be abandoned by Arthur and Merlin, turns on Camelot in a rage and allies with her sister Morgause. This plotline gives Morgana more agency, avoids the rather unsavory “madness leads to murder” overtones, minimizes the predatory vibe of Morgause’s plotline, and actually contributes to developing Merlin and Arthur as leaders and characters alike.

The problem, of course, is that this plotline hinges on Arthur’s character not being a static piece of shit that would honestly fracture under even the most minimal paradigm shift. So instead, Morgana draws the short straw for a sudden face-heel turn so that there can be a motivation to enforce Arthur’s hatred of magic and Merlin’s fear of telling the truth, and then she disappears for half a season only to show up again crazy and homicidal, which…honestly there’s not a lot of emotional punch there. At no point in time did I sympathize with Morgana because, update, I do not believe that fratricide and patricide are legitimate responses to her situation in the show. But since they presented it as a problem that should have been sympathetic, I was mostly just angry rather than disinterested.

Merlin and Arthur’s friendship!

Honestly this should be pretty blindingly obvious, but Merlin and Arthur…I actually don’t super care for their relationship, because there are so few occasions when Arthur counterbalances his constant insults and judgement with the kind of do-or-die loyalty Merlin shows him. And like on the one hand it’s clearly meant to be largely in good humor, but there are plenty of times when it’s Clearly Not. But the worst part is that I can’t even hold it against Arthur because Merlin is not telling him the truth, which in turn I can’t hold against Merlin because Arthur is pretty much a narrow-minded magic-hating prick, which never changes because Merlin isn’t telling him the truth, because Arthur has never given him reason to think he’d stand by Merlin against Uther, and so on down the line.

And you expect me to believe that relationship develops into something strong enough to build a kingdom on? To build a legend on? I think the hell not. In order to develop that relationship into something that feels as last-gasp-devoted as the show tells you it should, someone’s paradigm has to shift and it basically has to be Arthur because See Above and, again, the showmakers are fucking cowards.

Arthur’s personality AS A WHOLE

Once again: I am existentially exhausted by the whole Arthur Is A Dick thing. And I don’t blame Merlin for starting it, but it’s definitely a peak concentration of the whole phenomenon, and I fucking hate it. I eventually stuck it out and watched three seasons and change and I did genuinely enjoy a lot of things, but I attempted the first episode three times and had to stop because I was so fucking aggravated with Arthur’s character. And basically, in order for him to move firmly out of Spoiled Rich Prick With Issues into Competent Merciful Leader With Tragic Backstory That Panned Out Well In The End, he needs to acknowledge in-narrative that he’s been, A, contributing to the persecution of magic users and that’s something he’ll never truly be clean of, and, B, he’s been not only mocking but actively penalizing Merlin for what Arthur does not realize is saving the country. Basically, it would require Arthur to grow up, not just in his status as king but in and of himself as an individual, in his relationships as well as in his throne, become more than a war hero with more courage than is healthy. It would require Arthur to spit out an apology that sounded like an apology, and start trusting Merlin’s word as an adviser rather than a conveniently intelligent servant.

And like. That paradigm shift would probably have made the showrunners shit their pants on the spot.

If you, like me, couldn’t move past these issues but still want(ed) to enjoy the characters and universe, I have a solution for you! Here is the most magnificent series rewrite I have ever seen in my life, and as far as I am concerned the One True Merlin Canon. The link is to the Season 3 rewrite, which is where it goes hard AU and solves a lot of problems.

In conclusion: fuck this noise, everyone go watch Legend of the Sword instead, @Guy Ritchie please make at least one sequel.

#the inevitable merlin tirade #the graveyard of shows with potential and terrible execution #god i just...i took this one really personally guys #like way more personally than supernatural believe it or not #arthuriana is CLOSE TO MY GODDAMN HEART #but yeah no i've thought about it a lot and unlike spn where their issues were Numerous And Invasive #to the point where the show was almost unsalvageable past oh say season 3? maybe 5 if i'm VERY generous #merlin's problems almost entirely boil down to this one issue: the inability to take the leap and change the paradigm #MERLIN IS A FUNDAMENTALLY GREAT CONCEPT #LIKE #I WAS S O READY TO LOVE THIS SHOW GUYS HONESTLY THE DISAPPOINTMENT WAS CRUSHING #i stopped watching when i couldn't take it anymore and i was depressed for weeks #because there is so! much! potential!#GOD #anyway i need to think about something else now because i'm so ticked off about this show #i'm gonna go write a fic where the librarians are camelot reborn so stay tuned for that #oh also i started watching discovery last night and HEAR ME OUT HERE #michael/saru yes or yes #and obviously space science boyfriends #and like speaking as a Science Queer(TM) i can confirm that we are The Worst #and spit out terrible science jokes when confronted with attractive people #like the whole 'the frontal cortex isn't that important' was like SAME DUDE i've made some Bad Jokes to hot people #like someday i really will blurt out some bullshit about conjugated ring systems and chemical perfection to a pretty girl in a bar probably #anyway here's wonderwall #idiot teenagers with a queue #necer0s #asked and answered

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oneinvictus · 8 years ago

Text

I’m surprised it took me this long to rant about this topic, considering it’s something I rant about on a daily basis, angrily Tweet about and rage to my friends about. Street harassment in Colombo, and across Sri Lanka in general.

When I first started taking the bus, I wondered why my mother – in her modest teacher’s saree – kept her pota wrapped around her and excessively alert. Why she asked me, in my innocent school uniform, to be careful.

Fast-forward a few years to me taking the bus home after my first day at work. Sitting on the 187 as it ambled down that first stretch of Olcott Mawatha. Dude comes and sits next to me. I happen to glance at his phone as I reach over the pay the conductor and spot what’s no doubt porn on this grainy screen. Few minutes later, I feel what’s like an elbow repeatedly jabbing into me. And it was. As the dude was having some fun with himself. Disgusted, I hugged my bag closer to my chest and turned to the window. Out of the corner of my eye, I see his hand reaching over toward my chest which was fortunately shielded by my bag. I kind of shifted and dude ran off.

If you’re surprised that this happens, that’s cute.

Perverts on Public Transport

The bane of every woman commuting around on a daily basis. Be it staring at you from across the aisle with this sleazy look to rubbing their crotch on your shoulder when you’re sitting in an aisle seat. Or groping you as you pass them in a crowded bus.

There’s always a bevy of ‘What Was She Wearing’ queries. Firstly, that’s immaterial and second, there is no distinction anyway. Seriously be it school uniform, saree, drab baggy clothes, well-fitting clothes, hijab, this can and has happens. And if you’re calling the woman into question here, I have serious doubts here.

These aren’t isolated incidents that happen once in a blue moon. If you trawl through social media, you’ll see women lamenting incidents like this on a daily basis.

And then the second tier of questions, usually from men, revolve around ‘Why Didn’t You Fight Back?’ Well it’s really nice that you think that it’s so easy. Imagine being trapped in the crowded vehicle/crowded street, surrounded by people who only have a 50% chance of sticking up for you if things go south, that addition mounted on top of your existing anxieties that surge at the thought of confrontation. It’s not simple, it really isn’t, and if you respond to someone’s rant about harassment by belittling their response to crippling fear and violation, you’re a part of the problem. The victim-blaming, female-shaming problem.

Patriarchy

While we don’t ever do anything to address this, it is the root of the [all] problem[s]. This odd dynamic that exists in these situations where the man believes he has some power over the woman, where he is allowed to do as he wishes irrespective of her dignity and value as a person.

This monster is going to take paragraphs, pages, books to unpack. Long story short though, not only does patriarchy bring about the rampant harassment of women but the ‘justifications’ people offer for it. ‘Men no, can’t help’, ‘maybe what you were wearing aroused him’, ‘you should know better than…’- where we curtail women’s movement, behaviour and choices because men just can’t help acting a certain way. This rationalisation for harassment, sexual assault, abuse is unnerving. We can’t ask the men to not do something wrong but we can ask the women to stop living their everyday lives. That phrase that gained traction after the 2012 Delhi rape case, ‘Don’t tell your daughter how to dress, tell your son not to rape’, rings ever true – that solution is treating a symptom when the virus that is the cause goes unchecked.

Shoutout to the men who are so entrenched in this system that they can’t seem to care about someone else’ safety or, you know, just be a decent person. I once spent a mind-numbingly daft few minutes trying to get through to a guy who kept insisting that ‘it’s not really harassment if the guy didn’t intend to harass you, yes you felt harassed but was that his intention’ and how ‘this all comes down to women’s insecurities and anxieties, that is why you feel uncertain and violated and we shouldn’t put this on men’ oh and also ‘women in Sri Lanka have it better than men’.

I was boiling over with rage and chose to stop conversing for my own sanity’s sake. But seriously, imagine the feeling of trauma taking to the roads on a daily basis, going home exhausted from worry, only to hear people fault you for the threat that someone else has posed to you.

Patriotism

You’re probably wondering what this has to do with anything. And rightfully so. The many times that women lament about their experiences of harassment, there is a bunch that comes out with ‘don’t say that, do you have evidence? Sri Lanka isn’t so bad okay’. Why not, yes – my experience and yes, it is. To have someone level allegations against the Sri Lankan Man equates to some insult to national integrity and their first reaction is to tell people to keep shut, not explore whether the Sri Lankan Man’s actions are deplorable and warranting of such allegations (they are).

In some cases, it’s because they just want to keep women silent. In more, its because people – men – are not ready or willing to accept the fact that this is a huge problem. That it draws back to generational, historical patriarchy and they’re so deep in it that they can’t even see that they are the problem.

Privilege

I’m not going to doubt the fact that a majority of women, in some circumstance or another, have experienced something along these lines. But we do have to realise that some segments of women do in fact have it better than others.

Some of us feel insecure travelling on public transport alone and when we’re too worried after a few incidents, some have more avenues out than others. If you’re well off financially, you have the option of taking tuks/cabs around everyday and that’s good for you. Some of us have to bus wherever possible because we can’t afford a 500/= ride home daily. If you’re in the minority – and the catcallers/harassers identify this – you are demeaned further because they know you might not understand them. If you’re a hijabi, you might get harassed by your own, to shame you in some way, or others who are looking again to demean your identity. LGBTIQ women, women with disabilities, women who don’t fit into boxes – you can imagine that they are going to have it much worse. Discourse around women like this is as vile online as it is in real life.

Pepper Spray

Whenever I go off on this tirade after returning home sick of being on edge for the duration of my commute, someone volunteers the option of self-defense, usually a can of pepper spray. They mean well and I appreciate it – and should probably buy a can of the stuff – but it’s nevertheless disheartening that we have to devise ways to keep safe instead of eradicating the problem that’s causing that insecurity.

Where do we start?

I honestly have no idea.

Criminalise it? But then you have to rely on reporting. What if people don’t report due to access issues or because they’re doubtful if they’ll be taken seriously or not.

Education? That is seriously the most feasible option right now, where you end it before it can start, get to the kids before they’re too influenced by the roles forced on them, before they hear some of the ridiculous reasoning that people give for these incidents, without owning up to the fact that we have a problem.

A complete overhaul of social attitudes? Not feasible, but certainly ideal, because we have to start on a newer, equal slate.

Don’t ask me how we’ll get there.

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