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canary3d-obsessed · 4 years ago

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Restless Rewatch: The Untamed Episode 18, second part

(Masterpost) (Other Canary Stuff) (Previous Post)

Warning: Spoilers for All 50 Episodes!

Hey OP where’s the funny header gif for this post? Sorry, it was murdered by an angst demon and the framing of these shots.

My Found Family Came to Find Me

Continuing our flashback from last time, we see Baby Wei Ying up a tree, refusing to come down because he's afraid there are dogs. Eventually he falls out of the tree, like a dumbass a child, and Yanli tries but fails to catch him.

Unlike his grownup counterpart, Baby Wei Ying doesn't pretend he's unhurt when he is hurt. I'd like to put the change at Yu Ziyuan's door, but actually he admits to being hurt during his Gusu summer - he mimics Lan Zhan's stoicism when they're getting beaten, but it doesn't come naturally to him, and he whines a lot afterwards.

By the time of the Animatronic Dog incident, however, he's laughing off obvious injuries that have secret trauma behind them. By the time he comes back, coreless, from the burial mounds, he won't confide in anyone about his hurts any more, except possibly Wen Qing.

Yanli carries Wei Ying, in a sequence that will be echoed much later in his life when Lan Zhan carries him (gifset here). While they head back, she tells him that Jiang Cheng has a bad temper and to ignore whatever mean things he says. This will also be echoed in the future, when Wei Wuxian says it to Lan Zhan after their argument with Jiang Cheng in the shrine.

Yanli also explains that Jiang Cheng loved his dogs and that he's been very sad since Jiang Fengmian sent them away, demonstrating once again that Jiang Fengmian is a terrible father. Yanli says that Jiang Cheng will be happy to have a friend with him, though. This kind of makes Wei Wuxian's role in Jiang Cheng's life "replacement dog."

Jiang Cheng, after getting over this particular snit, got worried about Wei Wuxian and woke up Yanli to find him, and then went wandering around in the dark like a dumbass a child, and is banged up and crying when the other two find him. Yanli encourages him to apologize to Wei Wuxian and he does, which will not happen again until the very end of the show.

They all smile and laugh together, as Wei Ying looks to Yanli to guide him through the insanity that his life has suddenly become.

(more behind the cut!)

They head back to Lotus Pier in a sweet montage of walking and smiling together, with Jiang Cheng carrying the world's most beautiful candle holder with the world's most wind-resistant candle in it, to light their way back. Back in the present day for a brief moment, Jiang Cheng pretends to sleep and listens to his sister insisting that the three of them should always stay together, while a single tear rolls down the side of his face.

Soup is Love, Chapter 1 of 1000

Then we head to the past again. In Jiang Cheng & Wei Ying's now-shared room, Wei Ying sits on the bed trying to figure out how to deal with his grumpy new roommate.

Wei Ying is unsure what to do when confronted with pajama game this strong. Tiny Jiang Cheng is already a fashion king.

Then he tells Jiang Cheng he's not going to narc him out to the clan leader, since it was his own fault that he hurt his leg. This is all Jiang Cheng needs to hear to decide Wei Ying is all right, and he says that he will help Wei Ying chase away dogs in the future. In fact, Wei Wuxian will protect Jiang Cheng from punishment basically forever, while Jiang Cheng will continue to threaten Wei Wuxian with dogs...forever.

They shake hands on their new understanding and then jump up and down laughing, Wei Ying's leg being all better now, apparently. When Yanli arrives (carrying a tray of...can you guess? I'll let you guess), they stop jumping. Wei Ying dives in to give Jiang Cheng a little tickle/embrace in an adorable moment that would have me saying "oh, my ovaries!" if I hadn't surgically sent my ovaries to hell a few years ago.

Yanli introduces Wei Ying to the emotional and gustatorial miracle that is her lotus and ribs soup. He hesitates a long time before tucking in because he's so unused to being fed.

Consent? I Don’t Even Know Her

The flashback wraps up with Yanli conked out on the table from the drugs in the incense burner, while Wei Wuxian, who is somehow unaffected despite sitting almost as close to the smoke as she was, checks on her. Jiang Cheng and his Uggs period-appropriate sock thingies get out of bed to come stand with Wei Wuxian, and have feelings about sending Yanli away after she JUST said she doesn't want to be parted from them.

Wei Wuxian: If she didn't want us to do this, she shouldn't have signed that blanket consent-to-medical-treatment form. Jiang Cheng: Wen Qing made me sign one of those plus a durable power of attorney, is that bad?

This episode is all about people overriding each others' agency and making massively important decisions without the consent of the people who will be affected. But in a feudal context, it's not a violation, no matter how it feels to the person being controlled. In feudal life, your body belongs to your lord -- your sect leader, in the world of CQL. Jiang Yanli and Jiang Cheng's choices are overridden by their clan leader's final command to Wei Wuxian. Wei Wuxian's core is arguably Jiang Fengmian's property--Wei Wuxian certainly sees it that way, just as his hand was Yu Ziyuan's to take if she wished.

The brothers tenderly tuck Yanli into bed in the rolly cart and hand her off to Song Lan. They talk about how important it is to get her to Lanling and that she's probably going to be mad, as they thank Song Lan for helping them.

Yanli listens while she sleeps and, in what is becoming a trademark Jiang move, lets a single tear roll down the side of her face. Jiang Cheng points out that Yanli never gets mad at Wei Wuxian and Wei Wuxian is like, true dat.

How Can You Mend a Broken Heart?

Song Lan is always so emotional about every damn thing, I love him. Here he's like OH GOD NO DON'T FORMALLY THANK ME! STOP!!!

Then he starts to ask Wei Wuxian to pass a message to Song Xingchen for him, but then decides not to say anything, making it super obvious that they fought and aren't together.

Wei Wuxian reacts to this with confusion and distress, probably because he doesn't want to imagine ever having a breakup with his own soulmate. Which he soon will be having. But possibly he's just upset that his OTP broke up.

After Song Lan takes off, Jiang Cheng gives Wen Qing a rude & perfunctory thank-you bow, turning away before she can return it. Wei Wuxian tells her not to take it to heart - basically everyone who deals with Jiang Cheng gets a version of the "ignore what he says" speech. She says she understands and that in his place she would have behaved worse, which is so totally not true.

Then she asks Wei Wuxian if he's sure about the core transfer (not in so many words, because the script is being kind of being vague about it, without actually hiding what's happening). His reply pretty much encapsulates the whole Wei Wuxian experience.

Then he and Jiang Cheng walk off, with Jiang Cheng giving us a rear view that had me googling Wang Zhuocheng's fashion shoots to determine if that wagon he's draggin’ is really as delightful as this belt makes it look. Alas, there is not a wealth of photographic evidence for this research, as compared to, for example, photos of Xiao Zhan's outstanding ass.

Wen Qing and Wen Ning see them off, with Wen Qing wishing they valued their lives more. Although, what she and Wen Ning are doing is massive treason, so their lives will be pretty much forfeit if they're caught, so...

The Sunshot Campaign of Like 60 Dudes

Wei Wuxian and Jiang Cheng walk up the mountain for the whole beginning of the Sunshot campaign, which...okay. Maybe it's like Dunkirk or The Witcher where they intercut stuff that is happening in different timeframes, which is one of my least favorite new film style thingies.

You know, for a guy Wei Wuxian constantly calls "peacock," Jin Ziyuan really doesn't wear a lot of adornment; just some subtle metalwork on his belt with no dangly bits at all, and a single reasonably-sized hair crown. Compared to the extremely fancy Lan Wangji he's almost plain. We already know that Wei Wuxian is a massive hypocrite when it comes to his idea of a perfect boy, however.

So, this is the Lanling Jin army, which consists of literally 60 guys, including the ones on the stairs and Jin Zixuan and Douchebag Dad. How are they going to fight a war with this tiny group? Why do they have such a big plaza? Hasn't anybody on this production learned CGI cloning?

That’s better.

Nie Mingjue and his best bitch Baxia make quick work of the 4 Wen guys who were assigned to hold the Unclean Realm.

Hello, Daddy Da-Ge!

Squeeee, it's Lan Wangji! He's taking back Cloud Recesses! Ooooohhh we've missed you Lan Wangji.

Look guys he's here! Look how beautiful he is. He's looking at the gate of cloud recesses and thinking thoughts that Lan Xichen or Wei Wuxian could probably see in his bewitching eyes if they were here to see him, which they aren't. But at least he is here!

....and now he's gone again. *cries*

Hares On The Mountains

Jiang Cheng and Wei Wuxian continue roaming prettily around this pretty mountainside. The locations in this show are such eye candy.

Young laddies they run like hares on the mountains Young laddies they run like hares on the mountains Young laddies they run like hares on the mountains If I was a young lass I’d soon go a hunting

Jiang Cheng starts to have doubts about the whole Baoshan Sanren thing. Wei Wuxian's reply pretty much encapsulates the whole Wei Wuxian experience.

Then we have just the tenderest blindfolding scene, (more gifs here), which is fodder for your ChengXian dreams, if you have those.

Here's a good place for a sidebar about what is and isn't incest. Whee! In the CDrama context, relationships tend to be more clearly defined than in western media. The mechanism of confession & acceptance means that people either are or are not in a romantic relationship, with few grey areas. So a character can literally say "we grew up as brother and sister, but now we are dating" and when someone looks startled they just say "there's no blood relation" and everyone is like "cool cool" and that's the new definition of the relationship.

For a strong example of this, the extremely wonderful Go Ahead is about a contemporary family in which a girl and two boys, who are not blood relatives, are all raised together, and call each other brother and sister. When they become adults, they and everyone around them expect the girl (now a woman) to marry one of the two men who have been her brothers, while whichever one she doesn't choose will carry on as her sibling. It's treated as the most natural, logical thing in the world; the only question is whether she wants to make that transition, and with whom.

Looked at through this lens, Wei Wuxian's relationships with his adoptive siblings have just as much potential to turn into romances as his relationships with his friends do, and there's nothing creepy about it. As such you can expect my meta to always get into ChengXian moments without treating it as a wrong or forbidden love. Hopeless, of course, because Jiang Cheng is such a prick the power of WangXian is stronger, but that's a different matter.

What is wrong is wearing this fantastic hat & veil combination when the most fashionable person on the mountain is blindfolded and can't see it.

In the course of this blindfolded encounter with Wen Qing, Jiang Cheng gets to kneel before a powerful woman, be led along by a length of silk that's placed in his hand, and then knocked the fuck out and operated on. He'll wake up in a hotel room in a tub full of ice with "we took your kidney" written on the mirror in lipstick, and he'll love every minute of it.

Soundtrack: 1. Still Fighting it, by Ben Folds 2. Hares on the Mountain, by Steeleye Span

Writing Prompt: The NEXT time somebody blindfolds Jiang Cheng

#fytheuntamed #the untamed #the untamed gifs #chengxian #cql #restless rewatch the untamed #canary3d-original #my gifs

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mittensmorgul · 4 years ago

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Hi Mittens! Happy holidays! I love your meta and I had a question: I've seen you make a couple posts about Miracle lately, and while I'm definitely angry at canon replacing Cas with a dog, I was kind of taken aback at some of your comments about Dean and dogs (specifically how much you seem to hate that combination; I've never felt strongly about it one way or the other). Do you have a tag or post about your feelings on Dean and dogs? Or could you explain in a little more detail, please?

Hi hi!

Dean... has never been associated positively with dogs on this show-- up to and including that scene in Scoobynatural where he does the SCOOBYDOOBYDOOOOO! and Cas rolls his eyes and tells him flat out he’s not a talking dog. I mean, even in one of Sam’s heaven memories, he’s effectively replaced Dean with a dog... so while Dean was being implied-harshly-punished by John for “losing” Sam, Sam had been having the time of his life with a dog instead... Sorry, I’ve got a lot of resentment for dog symbolism in the show...

Cas has also been associated with dogs in a lot of... let’s go with derogatory comments, and since this dog in the finale was SPECIFICALLY a replacement for Cas in Dean’s life... I find it particularly insulting, you know?

5.14: We get dog comments about Cas and Dean both in this ep. Famine refers to Cas as Dean’s dog... “You sicced your dog on me, I threw him a steak.” And we see Cas crouched on the ground eating meat. Earlier in this ep, Sam teased Dean about his lack of any “appetite” for anything with the comment, “when a dog doesn't eat-- That's when you know something's really wrong.“

7.21: after being banished, he reappears at a dog track, where the dogs were unhappy. so... Cas was basically just another unhappy dog in this part of the story.

10.22: Rowena compares Cas to a “dog who thinks he’s people” for being an angel who rejected heaven and chose his family with the Winchesters.

10.23-11.03: Cas is literally under a spell referred to as “Attack Dog,” which he fights against but is slowly turning him into a killing machine. He seeks help from Heaven, but they only want to use him, to torture information out of him and then kill him once they get what they want. It’s implied he even kills a dog in 11.01.

11.06: when Cas is in the bunker still suffering from trauma related to the attack dog spell, lying in bed and watching tv, he changes the channel to a news story about a dog riding a skateboard, and the newscaster uses Rowena’s line from 10.22: “Aw, that dog thinks it’s people!”

12.19: Lucifer refers to Cas as the Winchesters’ “purse dog,” and s12 is littered with dog references, especially between Lucifer and Crowley (which started back in s11 when Lucifer was using Cas’s vessel and treating Crowley like a dog... there’s a lot of negative baggage attached to dogs on this show)

13.16: Scooby is obviously the one dog Dean’s okay with, having positive childhood associations with him. But when comparing themselves to the scooby gang, Sam says they don’t have a talking dog, and Dean replies that Cas is sort of like a talking dog... which is interesting because at the end of the episode Cas tells Dean he’s NOT a talking dog. And this, in a scene that was directly foreshadowing Dean becoming Michael’s suit...again, more negative baggage for both of them.

The Dean vs Dogs imagery really kicks in when Dean’s soul is destined for Hell in s3, though.

3.10: In his rant to his dream self, Dream!Dean accuses Dean of being as “mindless and obedient as an attack dog,” just a few lines before he gives the “daddy’s blunt little instrument” line that Cas reminded us of in 15.18. So I do think this is something that the writers couldn’t possibly have been unaware of in invoking that specific line and the specific baggage attached to it.

3.11, one of the MANY deaths Dean suffers is from a seemingly nice dog he tries to pet in a friendly manner. The nice golden retriever mauls him to death, like the hellhounds are due to do to him in just a few short episodes...

3.16: literally torn apart by hellhounds... don’t know how else to make it clear that Dean Is Not A Fan of this.

4.06: suffering from Ghost Sickness, and being magically forced to experience heightened levels of fear, he runs from a lil Yorkie with a bow in its hair, pausing only long enough to warn another person on the street to run before it kills them. We are invited to see how his biggest fear-- of Lilith, of being tortured in Hell, and having been dragged there by hellhounds-- is literally tied to his feelings toward actual dogs, including nonthreatening little lap dogs.

6.01: When Dean falls under the djinn’s spell, he hallucinates an unseen monster, presumably something akin to a hellhound, but when he thinks he’s caught the monster, it’s the neighbor’s Yorkie. Just like in 4.05, Dogs, Hellhounds, and Things Dean Fears In His Soul are all tangled up together.

6.08: aka that one episode I forget exists until it comes back around on the loop (actually I don’t forget it exists anymore, I’ve seen the show too many times at this point, but meh...). But it does plant this fear, that any dog anywhere might not really be a dog. The “sleeper cell” skinwalker packs in cities all over the world? Yeah, not a happy thought for someone who really doesn’t like dogs. Or at the very least has a low-key fear of them.

7.15: I would qualify this one as just “symbolism,” but since this episode is full of anvils, it feels legit to mention that the spell Jeffrey uses to summon his demon back to him involves using Dean’s blood and a dog’s heart. Not really a dean/fear thing, but Dean AS a dog-- and a sacrificed dog at that.

8.01: When Dean gets back from Purgatory, he gets in the Impala and smells dog. Bringing on the famous rule that he’s quite angry about Sam having clearly violated even when he wasn’t on the same plane of existence at the time-- No dogs in the car. He’s still clearly not a fan. Early s8 becomes a long string of “Sam hit a dog” comments, too.

8.15: for all this episode’s grossness, it does remind us over and over again that Dean really does not like dogs. Even flat out having Dean say he likes dogs, and the woman who literally is a dog familiar tells him that no, he doesn’t.

9.05: Dean... is basically a dog. He bonds with the Colonel a bit, even identifies with the dog while he’s under the spell, but all that good will that built up between them effectively shatters again with the ominous last words he gets before the spell wears off and the knowledge that dogs were not created to be man’s best friend, but had some other-- and in this context seemingly sinister-- purpose.

And then we have every other ep that deals with Hellhounds, Dean’s failure to kill one leading to Sam taking on the trials instead of him, tied up in their mutual discussion of what they see as their respective futures-- Sam wants to live, and he wants Dean to live, too, instead of Dean constantly running toward death and self-sacrifice. So like, these themes are all tied up together, and makes all the dog stuff incredibly not fun when it comes to Dean specifically.

So when Dean does lose Cas-- and everyone else on the planet-- the dog being the ONE living being they’ve found, Dean picking her up and putting her in “Cas’s place” in the car, only to have Chuck snap her away like she was a manipulative trick the entire time? Not even really real, just one more thing to give Dean a tiny bit of hope only to maliciously snatch it away again?

And then for the SINGLE thing Dean asked for from Chuck being to bring Cas back?

And then he doesn’t get Cas back, but apparently kidnaps this random dog instead?

It’s just... indescribably weird to me, and so entirely out of character and insulting to Cas on top of it all. Like this was the only happiness Dean was allowed after saving the universe. No found extended family, no life outside of Sam and hunting, no dream of retiring and finding a beach to sink his toes in the sand for a little while. He just gets a dog, which he canonically doesn’t like and has a lot of issues with for entirely understandable reasons. So like.. .how is this cute or happy or nice?

#dean vs dogs #spn 15.20 #i'm sorry the dog thing is just making me irrationally angry on dean's behalf but dammit it's just gross to me #Anonymous

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dangerous-disposition · 5 years ago

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On Tragedy vs. Bad Endings

[Image ID: user @frostyfrogz replied to your post “my mag171 #thots: I fully agree with. I love jonmartin I want nothing but the best for them. I know my answer today was an obvious twisting of dialogue but its just frustrating sometimes because it seems like people dont understand some sort of tragedy will indeed happen. I have never and will never suggest that something will happen to Jon and Martin’s relationship I’ve just been saying the shows not going to end well no matter what.]

So I have a lot of thoughts about this very subject, and too much for the replies on my post, so allow me to try to articulate what I mean, and what a lot of us mean when we say “it does not make sense for either Jon or Martin to turn evil in the end,” even in a show that has been advertised from day one as a tragedy.

First of all, no one thinks this is going to end happy. The few who do are usually unaware that this show is billed as a tragedy, and are quick to be corrected. I didn’t know it was a tragedy until I was on season 3 and someone told me. It’s overall just best to assume that the OP knows it’s not going to be a happy ending, because “reminding” people or “explaining” to people that the ending is going to be sad is a fast way from people to get annoyed and defensive.

Anyway! It appears, above all, that people have either fundamentally different ideas of what a tragedy is or accomplishes, or that people have a fundamentally flawed understanding of tragedy and it’s place as a narrative device/theme.

My thoughts are that tragedies hurt, and tragedies can be devastating, but they have to have a message and they should not be cruel to the audience.

A cruel ending would involve leading the audience to believe one thing for the entire book, show, movie, podcast, what have you, just to rip it away at the last minute like a big “fuck you” to the audience. Those sorts of endings are inherently mocking of the audience, and ultimately disrespectful. The only people in the audience that “benefit” from this sort of writing are the cynics who spent the entire show talking down to everyone for seeing the silver lining in the impending tragedy, even if, up until the finale, the silver lining was always part of the narrative. Like it took actual twisting and outright ignoring of the narrative as it’s written to be cynical and sceptical all the way until the end.

That is, plain and simple, bad writing. Jonny Sims is not a bad writer.

Now tragedies often have “happy endings,” they just also have an element of sadness colouring that ending. A good, tragic ending should, in my opinion, feel bittersweet. We should see it coming, we should know it will hurt, but it should be for the greater good and should further the narrative that has been told from the beginning.

I said a few weeks ago that a tragic ending without a silver lining is just torture porn, and I stand by it.

Now, if Jon or Martin are revealed to be Actually Evil in the end, where is the silver lining in that? What narrative has even possibly hinted at this outcome, without putting on cynic glasses?

Every single plot point and plot “twist” in TMA has been clearly detailed, never relegated to pure subtext that you would have to comb through a single interraction and analyzing the tone in which it was said (which could easily be actor shortcomings or error). They have always been obvious, at least in hindsight. This is why, for a while, I subscribed to the Web!Martin theory, but due to recent episodes I’m more inclined to believe those “obvious things” were red herrings.

Throughout The Magnus Archives, the common theme in every. Single. Season finale is that “we are stronger together.” What do I mean by that? Well, here’s the general idea:

Season 1: The one time someone gets separated by the group for any significant length of time, like I mean the main group, she gets killed by the NotThem and replaced.

Season 2: Jon is alone, due to his intense paranoia and his reluctance to reach out for help. This leads to a disastrous series of events that leaves him a suspect of murder, and his friends even more doubtful of his character.

Season 3: In the episode just before they deal with the Unknowing, Jon literally says that isolation was his downfall, and he was going to work on trusting his friends more. When they got separated during the Unknowing, things went to shit. When they found each other again, they were able to rally and they “succeeded.” Conversely, they are also teamed up with Melanie and Martin who hung back to bring down Elias. They were successful, working as teams on separate objectives, etc.

Season 4: This is, by far, their most “successful” feats while simultaneously their least. The whole season was again showing the downfalls of isolation. In the season finale, Jon has Basira and Daisy’s help, and while bolstering himself with their strength, and the strength in his conviction to save Martin to be with Martin, Jon was successful in stopping Peter Lukas and saving Martin. Conversely, Martin and Jon’s isolation in Scotland could be, theoretically, implicated in how Jonah Magnus was able to succeed in the end like that.

Now evidence of this same train of thought in season 5? Jon literally says it: Gertrude would not have done well in this post-apocalyptic world, because she had no friendships, no anchors, no reason to stay human. And then Jon says “you are my reason” to Martin.

It is in the text of the story that the only way to succeed, or win, or survive, is through trust, friendship, and love. One of the main factors in so many of the statements, on why the statement givers succumbed to the fear in their story, for even a moment, had to do with very little personal ties to anyone else. Many of the statements feature isolation and, as Jon put it, “lack of corroboration.” On the flipside, many of the statements that ended with the statement giver escaping successfully, and surviving long enough to be reached out to for follow-up questions, involved them having close personal ties to someone else that kept them safe, somehow. Like the girl from Italy; remembering her mom saved her from the Lonely. Or, more ridiculously, the guy and his dog that escaped the spiral because he was so distracted by his dog and had to be home for dinner. In MAG170, it was Martin’s love for Jon, and his trust in the love from Jon and his friends, that saved him from the Lonely again. Jon’s incredible amount of love, and respect, and trust in his friends is what’s kept him from becoming another Jared Hopworth or Jude Perry. In MAG155, Cost of Living, he expresses open disgust in how that particular avatar of The End justified her actions, killing and killing and killing again because she viewed herself as more worthy of life than that person. In that same episode, he talks of not blinding himself because he hopes to use his powers to protect his friends, that without them they’re too vulnerable. Honestly, this is the same reason Peter Lukas is unsuccessful, because Martin only helped him at all to protect his friends. The fact that he didn’t see his failure coming was hilarious.

Gerry said in Family Business that there is no “entities of love”, and that might be true, but love and trust is literally what saves you from fear. How many of us deal with things that are scary in our lives, if only because we have some level of trust in the people or things around us. How many of us have been brought out of a panic attack by someone we love and trust?

So all of this has been presented to us, over and over and over again, which is what I, and others, mean when we say “it does not make sense for one of them to be evil.” That’s what we mean when we say “it would be Bad Writing to make one of them evil in the end.” The entire show has driven home the message that we need love, we need personal connections to survive fear. To rip that away from the main characters at the last minute and call it “tragedy” would be a spit in the face of every single listener who took the story at face value, without picking it apart and reading lines out of context. And Jonny Sims and Alex J. Newall have both said they hate lazy writing.

Now, none of the JonMartin fans I follow are deluding themselves to think this show will have a happy ending outside of very self-indulgent fix-it au fanfics.

The way I see this going down is that Jon and Martin will figure out how to put the world back to the way it was, but Jon will not be able to be part of the new world with Martin. That’s the tragedy; that the world gets saved, and Jon helps save it, but he doesn’t get to benefit from his efforts in any way. The tragedy is Jon loves Martin so much, and they deserve their happy ending, but they don’t get it. But, they still saved the world so others can have their happy endings.

Idk about you, but between the “Jon turns evil in the end” and “Jon stays good and sacrifices himself to save the world” endings, only one of them has me in tears right now as I type this out, and it’s not the former.

I’m not against sad endings,I’m against bad endings that punish the audience for having even a bittersweet hope. I’m against sad endings that are just sad for the sake of being sad, with zero pay-off or reason to happen, especially when those endings throw out 5 years of hard work.

And hey, I might just be forced to eat my words in the end, but not before I fly all the way to England and make Jonny Sims eat a knuckle sandwich.

This was a lot longer than I meant for it to be, but I just have a lot of feelings.

#jonmartin #the magnus archives #tma #tma spoilers #THE POWER OF LOVE AND TRUST WILL SAVE THE WORLD #also idk the proper format of like image id's but i didn't want to NOT type out the reply #my mag thots #500 notes

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malloryslourd · 4 years ago

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secrets zoe had kept for the other girls that she told cordelia after she snapped

madison

madison owed a dealer over 200$ and when he showed up to the house to collect he took some expensive mantle piece as payment- it was worth way more than 200

madison was texting and driving and hit the back of some old ladies car but told cordelia someone had hit her in a parking lot and didn’t leave a note

madison once woke zoe up at 3am yelling, telling her they needed to go get a plan b asap

madison was the person who dented cordelia’s car with her car door

there’s more weed in madison’s closet than cordelia has probably ever seen in her life

madison threw a party one weekend and someone broke into cordelia’s office and fucked with all of her files- causing cordelia weeks of extra work that she thought she had caused herself

madison snuck someone into the house through her window and they ended up breaking the gutter on their way out and that’s why the front porch floods even during little showers

queenie

after they all got kicked out of a party, queenie smashed a window of the house and they had to out run the cops with mallory crying in the backseat

queenie broke the washing machine once and didn’t tell anyone so when misty was the next person to use it she almost flooded the house

queenie deadass never got her license and has been driving around with just her permit for years bc she’s “too busy”

queenie was the one who accidentally gave coco a weed brownie that had her sleeping for 16 hours after her crying episode

queenie has planned the last four parties at the coven, NOT madison. but she uses madison’s social media to post/send out invites

queenie threatened the neighbor after she complained about music being too loud, the neighbor called the cops

queenie and madison thought it would be funny to put hair dye a few shades darker in fiona’s shampoo, madison was joking, queenie was not

mallory

mallory killed all of the plants in the green house that had been growing for months and blamed it on madison bc she knew she would get in trouble for it

mallory has three speeding tickets she never told cordelia or misty about

mallory accidentally destroyed one of the supreme portraits and had to get a replacement done- using cordelia’s money

mallory got drunk on christmas eve with madison and was hungover on christmas morning, not suffering from a surprise sickness

mallory pays a kid across the street to watch the dog on weekends- once again, using cordelia’s money

mallory definitely has changed the chore list on the fridge before anyone could see it in order to give herself the least amount of work and then changes it back at the end of the week so it looks like it did when they put it up, she’s done this for almost a year and no ones noticed

mallory snuck out of the house once and had to get zoe to come get her from a party bc her ride was blacked out on someone’s couch

coco

coco set the kitchen on fire during thanksgiving, NOT fiona

coco asks both cordelia AND misty for money without telling the other so she ends up getting double every time she needs it

that accident coco got in was 100% her fault and her ankle didn’t actually hurt at all and the 7+ doctor trips were not necessary

coco has recorded almost every single argument cordelia and misty have gotten into and sends them into the girls groupchat

coco sold all of cordelia and misty’s clothes she thought were ugly as a “favor”

there’s a hole behind the couch in the living room bc coco kicked it in when she was drunk and zoe had to fix it before anyone woke up

coco got pulled over speeding and offered the cop “a few bucks” to just let her go home. she had to appear in court the next week

#c.gs. post #z.b. post #m.m. post #qu. post #c.v. post #ml. post

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katehuntington · 4 years ago

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Title: Black Dog - part five Word count: 5600± words Episode summary: When Sam gets an anonymous phone call with information about his father, Dean receives a text message with coordinates to different location. The brothers clash and split up, one following orders, the other trusting his instincts. Meanwhile, in the wilderness of Cascade Range, Washington State, Zoë loses grip on a personal case and is forced to confront her demons. Without back up, this might very well turn out to be her final hunt. Part five summary: Dean and David hike up White Horse Mountain, and the hunter stumbles on something he never expected to find. Episode warnings: Dark! NSFW, 18+ only! Angst, gore, violence, character death. Description of blood, injury and medical procedures. Supernatural creatures/entities, mentions of demon possession. Swearing, smoking, weaponry. Descriptions of torture and murder. Illegal/criminal practices. Mentions of nightmares and flashbacks. Descriptions of suicidal thoughts and tendencies, depression, panic attacks, hallucinations. Author’s note: Beta’d by @winchest09 & @deanwanddamons. Thanks, girls!

Supernatural: The Sullivan Series Masterlist

S1E03 “Black Dog” Masterlist

“There. That’s our car.”

David points at the Ford Escape ahead, which is parked alongside the road next to a stream. Dean peers through the windshield and nods, satisfied. He didn’t actually think it was possible, but David is as good at chart reading as Sam is. The nineteen-year-old remembers these backroads well.

Even though the timing isn’t perfect, now that the end of the day is approaching fast, the kid with the heart of a lion is determined to find his family and bring them home. If this creature turns out to be a wendigo, a hunt at night adds a bigger risk, but according to David, the weather is going to take a turn within the coming days, leaving not much time to lose. Then there’s the factor of those three missing hunters. The old wise man down in the village presumed them to be dead already, but a presumption isn’t definite. Dean will not write them off without finding either solid proof or dead bodies, and every minute passing slims the chances of their survival.

As the hunter pulls over, he observes his surroundings. A fallen tree blocks the road ahead. It has been there for a while by the looks of it, because besides the SUV of David’s father, two other cars also await their owners to come back. One is a 4x4 Jeep with huge antlers attached to the grill, the other is a two-seat Land Rover with way too many bumper stickers on the rear end. “I’m guessing those are the hunters’ cars,” Dean presumes.

He turns off the ignition, the guitars and drums of Led Zeppelin’s Black Dog cut short, then he gets out of the Impala. The frozen ground crunches under his boots, the breath he blows out forming a small cloud as soon as it collides with the cold air. David takes his example and exits the car as well, moving towards the Ford.

“There’s equipment inside that we’re going to need,” he says, while trying to have a look through the window. Dean walks around his Chevrolet and slides the keys into the lock of the trunk. “Like what?” “You know, the ten essentials. Ice axes, crampons, snowshoes, all that,” David sums up. “Apparently I don’t,” Dean mutters, realizing it’s a good thing David decided to come along for the ride. His father had taken him and his brother on survival training plenty of times, but never in these snowy conditions on treacherous mountain tops.

David curses, as he tries to open one of the doors. “Damn it, Dad locked it.” “That’s where my equipment comes in handy.” David turns around to see what Dean is talking about. He has opened the trunk of the Chevrolet and takes out a steel lath which is slightly bent at the end. David has seen it before in movies; it’s used for carjacking. For a second he glares at Dean. Why would he carry something like that with him? Skillfully, Dean slips the lath between the glass and the rubber frame, and with a quick motion, he unlocks it, without leaving a scratch. He steps back and gestures to the car door. “Knock yourself out.”

Stunned, David glances from the SUV to Dean as he starts to wonder what this guy does for a living. Before he can ask, the stranger fires a question at him, though. “How long did it take you to get over that ridge?” Dean wonders. “About three hours. It’s getting dark already, so it might take a little longer than that,” David admits, watching Dean head back towards the slick, black car. “Where are you going?” “I need to make a call before we go on this little adventure,” he notifies before he lowers himself into the driver’s seat.

He closes the door and sighs, then takes out his phone. For a few seconds, he stares down at the little device in his hand, unsure if he should go through with what he’s about to do. Sam chose to walk away from him when he offered him a choice, Dean should not be the one crawling back to him. Or should he? Does he need to be the bigger man here? The first one to restore contact? If he does, he needs to do it now. The signal is bad down in the valley, not to mention up there between the clouds.

Pressing the speed dial before he can decide otherwise, Dean presses the dial button, but is eventually put through to voicemail. He can’t help but wonder if Sam just denied his call or that he’s unable to come to the phone. While the standard message plays, he starts to get worried. His little brother better not be in some kind of trouble. Then the final beep sounds in his ear and he leaves a message.

“Hey, Sammy... It’s - it’s me. I just wanted to let you know that, uh... I’m in Darrington, Washington State. Dad was right, there is a case here. I’m not sure what it is yet, but I’ll figure it out. Anyway, I’m going into the woods and won’t be able to contact you any time soon, so…” He pauses and takes a breath. “I hope you’re doing okay, Sam. Leave me a message when you get this.”

After those words, he hangs up and stares at his phone. Why couldn’t he say it? Why couldn’t he pronounce that simple word? Is it that hard to tell his brother that he is sorry about that fight? Apparently it is. With a deep sigh, he gets out of his car and notices David is already waiting. He has two backpacks ready and is carrying all sorts of tools on him. “You’ll need this,” he offers, handing Dean a backpack. Dean takes it and hooks his arm through one of the loops, then he turns to the trunk of his Chevrolet. “Good, now let’s bring on the good shit.”

With those words, he opens the lid and lifts up the double bottom, revealing his weapon collection. David’s eyes widen and stare down the trunk. Pistols, shotguns, knives, grenades, a sniper rifle, axes, crossbows. And is that…? Is that a grenade launcher? Every single weapon you could possibly think of is stored in that car.

Frightened, he looks over at Dean. “Are you going to kill me?” Dean looks aside, puzzled. “What? No, of course not.” He takes his gun from his waistband, unloads it, and replaces the bullets with silver ones. Curious yet scared, David monitors his actions.

“Do you know how to handle a rifle, David?” Dean asks while he packs a set of flare guns and extra cartridges. It still bugs him that he’s not sure what he’s dealing with yet, which is usually step one when it comes to hunting. He doesn’t want to waste more time, though, with so many lives lost already, so he’s gearing up for every creature still on the list. “Yeah, Dad took me deer hunting a few times,” the young guy replies, still doubtful. “I’ll tell you one thing, it ain’t deer we’re gonna hunt,” Dean comments.

He hands the young guy a loaded pistol, which David puts away behind his belt. Dean loads a shotgun with rock salt, in case he finds a spirit in these woods. When he’s done, he gives it to David as well as a flare gun. “Shoot first, ask questions later,” he orders.

“What are we hunting exactly?” David likes to know, slightly freaked out. “Probably a skinwalker, which is a creature that is able to change into any animal it wants, and if we’re really lucky, it’s a wendigo, which is an incredibly fast and close-to-perfect hunter. But it could also be a daeva, ” Dean rambles, as if he’s reading from a boring history book while preparing his own shotgun.

David's jaw drops. What did he just say? Is this guy for real? Or is he about to hike up a mountain with someone who should be admitted either to a mental institution or locked up in jail? That would be the obvious explanation, but after what he experienced, he knows it’s not the only scenario. This stranger, who he had never seen before in his life, is the only one who believes his story and has taken him seriously. He wonders, though. What’s the scarier thought? Going into the woods with a possible mad man, or to seek out something evil, something supernatural, in the wilderness?

Dean notices his guide’s reaction as he slams the lid of his car and locks it up. He figured the kid needed some time to comprehend, but they need to get going. The hunter turns to David again, skillfully loading his rifle single-handedly. “Welcome to my world.”

Leaving the teenager in complete shock, he walks past him and expects him to follow, which he eventually does, once he snaps out of it. “So… we just kill the monster?” he asks as he catches up with Dean, looking aside. “Not ‘just’. These creatures are damn fast, so it’s gonna be a hell of a task.” Dean gives the directions clearly, knowing they will need some time to sink in. “If you see any kind of animal, you shoot it with that gun I just gave you. If you see something that looks slightly human, torch the fucker.” “What if it’s something else?” the only remaining Cleveland questions. “Then you run like hell and let me take care of it,” Dean orders. David nods, trying to process the information. “And the shotguns?” “Oh, I took those just in case we run into an evil spirit,” Dean adds nonchalantly.

The young guy, who is exposed to way more new information than he can digest, stops dead in his tracks, leaving Dean in the lead. Completely staggered, he stares at him, bug-eyed. Did he just say ‘evil spirit’? As in a ghost?

“You’re insane!” he concludes. “If you have a better explanation for all this, please share,” Dean returns, growing impatient. David catches up with him again, observing him while they march up the trail. “You do this for a living? You actually hunt these things down?” he asks, both stunned and curious. “It doesn’t pay well if that’s what you mean, but yeah. Someone has to do the job,” the hunter admits. “And I thought I had it bad in college,” the teenager scoffs under his breath.

Silence follows as the company of two starts their journey up the steep hills at the foundation of Whitehorse Mountain. It’s a good thing Dean has endurance, because it’s a tough trail they’re following. They parked the car at 750 feet, far below the Lone Tree Pass, and crossing these terrains isn’t exactly a walk in the park. Downed evergreens make it difficult to move fast, almost as if the woods are trying to slow them down, knowing what’s up there.

They are about two hours on their way when they hit snow. The thin layer of white allows the two young men to make good time, and it doesn’t take them long to reach an open area. Ice crystals reflect the mystical moon rays, the only source of natural light they have. Dean might be wearing several layers of clothing, but he can’t shut out the freezing temperatures completely. His hands tingle and his nose and ears feel cold, the brisk night air uncomfortable against his skin. The hunter turns up the collar of his jacket to protect his neck from the elements, but silently wishes he had brought a scarf at least.

The snow that fell yesterday reached lower altitudes than it did last week, announcing winter. David’s flashlight shimmers on the silver surface as they cross the open space. Cautious, Dean scans the area holding his torch up, shining it in the direction where he’s looking. David, on the other hand, checks his altimeter. “We’re at 2400 feet,” he notifies. Dean checks his watch, it’s almost ten-thirty. “We’re not gonna reach the Lone Pass Tree before midnight, are we?” “I’m afraid not. Want to set up camp?” David proposes. “No, we’re not gonna close our eyes in these woods. Something’s off,” Dean replies, alert.

The skilled hunter can’t put his finger on it, but the hair in the back of his neck is straight up. He looks around, his focus flicking over his surroundings. He lets the light glide along the edge of the forest, when he sees a hint of a shadow. It moves so fast he barely captures it, yet he immediately draws his shotgun, which alerts David. “What?” “Shh…” Dean hushes him and gestures to follow him. “Stay close. Keep your eyes open.”

Scared yet brave, David takes out his gun and does as told. The only thing they hear are the noises coming from the woods and the snow rustling under their shoes. Dean wants to get out of this clearing as fast as possible; they are sitting ducks out here in the open.

With his hunter instincts on high alert, Dean crosses the field, the stock of the shotgun against his cheek and the back end firmly against his shoulder pocket as he peers past the barrel. His father, having served in Vietnam, taught his sons everything he knows about 360 degrees combat. The military training has proven his worth throughout his career in hunting evil, and today is no exception.

The two make it to the treeline, finding shelter in the shadows of the forest. After a few hundred yards, Dean stops dead in his tracks, spotting something that doesn’t fit the picture. What appears to be the remnants of a campsite comes into view, and he lowers his weapon. He realizes it’s probably the three missing hunters, but as they approach, it becomes clear that the creature he’s tracking has beaten him to it.

The place is completely trashed. A fire has died out, fresh snow covering the blackened logs. The tents, which were set up in a triangle around the only heat source, are shredded to pieces. Strips of canvas sadly hang from the tentpoles, the soft breeze moving them back and forth. Blood that leaked from the groundsheet and tainted the ice should have been a warning, but the young Cleveland pulls back the cover anyway, regretting it the second he beholds what’s inside. He stumbles away, instantly throwing up and dumping his half-digested meal into the snow.

Dean watches the young guy for a second, who wipes his mouth and stares back at him, pale as a ghost. Unfortunately, it wouldn’t be the first dead body the hunter has come across, yet he still pushes away the torn canvas with caution. He can understand David’s response, because it’s anything but a pretty sight. Inside lies what remains of one of the men. His torso has been ripped open and bodily fluids have splattered everywhere. Bite marks and scratches have torn his clothes, revealing the disemboweled body. His face has been eaten away, his remaining limbs already turning black. Scavengers have been snacking on his flesh, yet the frost that covers him has taken away the worst of the smell.

With a sigh, the hunter steps back and investigates the other tents, finding the same dramatic portrayal behind every curtain. He spots the rifles by their sides; they got ambushed. The fact that all three of them are still in a sleeping position indicates that the attacks happened at once. It’s not just one predator who has made this area their hunting grounds. There are at least three of those creatures out there, which makes them outnumbered.

His flashlight catches the torn-up canvas. The fabric is cut up by razor-sharp claws by the looks of it, four digits instead of five. “I can tell you one thing, it ain’t no wendigo,” he concludes, ruling out the lonesome monster.

But if it isn’t a wendigo, then what? Dean glances up at the sky through the branches. The moon was full a few days ago, yet now it’s partly shadowed; it can’t be a werewolf either. When he redirects his gaze back to the ground, he spots an imprint of a paw, stained with crimson. It looks like one of a wolf or some other canine. The experienced hunter is putting his money on the monsters being skinwalkers, until he looks back into one of the tents. The guy’s chest is ripped to shreds, but his heart is still there. So what the hell could this be then?

Pondering, he steps back, making eye contact with the teenager. David is trembling slightly, and Dean would do anything to break the picture that will be forever framed in his mind. The kid is scared for life. “You good?” he asks sympathetically, holding his gaze. His question is answered with a nod of the head. David swallows with difficulty, but then he exhales, collecting himself. “Let’s keep moving, there’s nothing we can do for them,” Dean says. “Turn off your flashlight, it will only make us easy targets. Those things could be anywhere, so stay close, alright?”

David nods silently once more, doing exactly as Dean tells him. They move away from the site where the horrific event took place and traverse left, further into the forest to a wide-open strip, leading to the slopes of the Lone Pass Trees. The tall evergreens seem to try and cut out every bit of light, isolating them from the rest of the world. Darkness overshadows the boy and the hunter, who have both drawn their weapons.

For a moment, Dean closes his eyes and listens, trying to identify the many sounds of the night. Then he opens them, giving his pupils time to adjust. They are being watched, the hunter can feel it in his bones. He taps David on the shoulder to tell him to stop. Alerted and highly aware of what’s going on around him, Dean holds his shotgun up. If it’s a forest spirit, the rocksalt is going to hurt, but if this thing turns out to be a daeva, it’s only going to buy them a few extra seconds.

Then he notices it, something sneaking at ten o’clock. A branch twitches softly, but it’s enough for Dean to aim the barrel in the direction where it came from, trusting his trained ear. In a reflex, he steps in front of David and pulls the trigger, shooting a slug from the barrel, immediately taking cover behind a tree and pulling his guide with him. It’s a good thing he does, because whatever it is, it shoots back. He hears the rock salt hit the target right before the slug from the other weapon splinters the bark right next to his head. As he turns his face and shuts his eyes, protecting them from the wooden fragments, he hears the creature scream out.

“AAH! God damn it!!”

Dean’s eyes widen as he feels the tree trunk against his back. No fucking way. Impossible. Yet, he knows that voice, he knows it way too well. The hunter carefully peeks from behind his cover. “Uh-oh.” “What?” David whispers, scared. “What is it?” “This is far worse than a wendigo or a skinwalker,” Dean comments under his breath, after which he puts on a louder voice. “Zoë?” A short silence follows as it seems to sink on their opponent who she just had a face-off with. When the realization hits, hell breaks loose. “Dean Winchester, you fucking ASSHOLE!!” Zoë curses.

She has her arm clamped over the area where Dean just unleashed the insides of his shotgun. The agonizing injury has her coughing, the wind knocked from her lungs just moments earlier. Zoë has never been shot with rock salt before and although she knows it won’t kill her, it’s certainly not a pleasant experience.

“You two know each other?” David assumes, surprised by this unexpected development. “Unfortunately, we do,” Dean comments. “You fucking SHOT me!!” she cries out, infuriated.

Dean grimaces, cowering at her harsh tone; he’s dead meat. He just fired a gun at Zoë Sullivan and actually managed to hit her. He’s not sure if he will live to tell the tale. Then he remembers the little prank she pulled on him in Paragould. As his facial expression changes, he glares around the tree.

“Well, you deserved it!” he shouts back, a part of him regretting his words the moment he pronounces them. “WHAT did you just say to me?!” Zoë returns, in disbelief. “You wrecked Baby!” Dean argues. “Baby? What are you… Oh, you have got to be shitting me!” she snaps, frustrated. “You shot me over a fucking car?!” Immediately, Dean’s eyes widen and he scoffs, insulted. “It’s a--” “- ‘67 Chevrolet Impala,” the huntress interrupts. “Big fucking deal!” “You know what’s a big deal? You shot me too, back in Rochester. With a real bullet!” Dean counters.

Another pause follows, the quiet moment allowing her ragged breaths to be audible. Dean can hear her cough and groan. Shit, she’s in a lot of pain.

“Zo?” “Yeah?” she moans. “Sorry.” The huntress huffs. “You will be when I’m done with you.” “You’re not gonna shoot me, are ya?” Dean questions, before he dares to come out of hiding. “No, I guess we’re square,” she sighs.

Dean appears from the shadows while Zoë tries to crawl up, her forearm still tightly pressed against her chest. Seeing her on the ground has the older Winchester sibling fasten his steps towards her. He offers his hand, and when she glares at him she notices the concern in his eyes, despite the dim light. Reluctant, she places her palm in his and allows him to pull her in an upright position, after which the hunter crouches down next to her.

“You alright?” he checks, peeling her warm coat away. “Had worse,” Zoë croaks, clearing her throat with difficulty. The winter coat she’s wearing has cushioned the rocksalt somewhat, but bruising is already evident, blood surfacing through her skin. “Shit,” he cusses, his voice laced with guilt. “David, give me some light, will ya?”

Perplexed, the huntress looks past Dean at the young guy who pulls a torch from his backpack. She assumed the tall figure behind the hunter was Sam, since the two siblings are so unhealthily co-dependent on each other. Zoë snaps her head back to face the older Winchester brother, then hints at David. “You brought him here?”

Before the hunter can answer her, the flashlight flips on, its rays exposing the state the woman before him is in, silencing him instantly. A blood splatter has painted her neck and chin with red, her brow and temple badly bruised. Crimson has dripped down from her forehead and dried into her pores, a cut on her cheekbone is still bleeding. No way in hell that a bit of rock salt caused that.

Dean gapes at her. “Jesus, Zo. What the fuck happened?” “I got into a little fight,” she admits carelessly. Not satisfied with that answer, he sternly stares into her eyes. “With what?” “Doesn’t matter,” she mutters, pushing herself off the ground, half accepting Dean’s support when he helps her. “I still can’t believe you dragged the kid with you.” “He needed a guide,” David answers before Dean does. “I thought you were with Wildlife Services?” Confused, Dean shifts his attention from Zoë to David and back. “You talked to him?” “Of course I did. You think I would work a case without a background check?” she snaps, pulling herself loose from the hunter’s grip once she’s on her feet. “Why didn’t you tell me?” Dean now asks David. “I didn’t think it was relevant. I had my statement taken by several people. How was I supposed to know that she’s a hunter too?” the young guy excuses. Now it’s Zoë’s turn to Dean in shock. “You told him?!” she cries out. “He deserved to know, Zoë,” Dean defends. “He deserves to live and so do you,” she returns firmly. “The both of you need to get off this mountain. Now.” “No, not without my family,” the brave teenager states, determined. “You’re no good to them dead, David. Believe me, you will end up the same way as your father and sister if you don’t go back,” she lectures.

Confused, Dean watches the exchange, unsure what Zoë’s words could mean. “For fuck's sake, Zo. What are you hunting?” “It’s taken care of, but you two need to leave. Now!” she replies firmly. “You can come back for your family’s remains, I promise you that. But not tonight, unless you want to suffer the same fate.”

Her brown eyes bore deep into David’s. Her promise is sincere, but so is the warning. A pressing expression strengthens her words, convincing him to listen. There is something about her that forces David to understand he must do what she tells him to. He looks from one hunter to the other, then he nods as he swallows apprehensively. “Okay,” he agrees. “Here, take this with you,” she hands him an amulet. Dean recognizes it as the demon protection necklace Zoë stole from his trunk back in Rochester. When he took the pendant back, he was sure he had left it in the trunk of the Impala, but she must have snatched it again when he wasn’t looking. Why would she need the enchanted jewelry? What is hiding in these woods that the amulet would work on? Demons? But that doesn’t fit the leads at all. Wanting to get a grip on the situation, the hunter tries to read her, but Zoë gives him nothing.

“Run and don’t look back”, she tells David. “And the gun?” David gives the man who accompanied him on this quest a wondering look, the 9mm Glock burning behind his waistband. “Keep it. Might come in handy,” Dean insists, also handing him a card from his pocket. “This is my brother’s number. When you get back to the village, give him a call and he will help you.” “You’re going with him,” Zoë decides strictly. The older Winchester sibling glances from David to the injured woman. Her breathing is still elevated, but her gaze is as penetrating as ever. Dean doesn’t back down, though, his green eyes are as piercing as she has ever witnessed them. “No, I’m not.” The huntress rolls her eyes skyward, trying to tie down the anger that is building in her stomach. Now is not the time for the hunter to fight her, yet she has to convince him fast before they run out of time. “Dean, listen to me--” “I’m not gonna bail,” he makes clear, his father’s orders in the back of his mind. “You are not part of this case,” Zoë hisses, suppressing her rage. But Dean doesn’t falter. “I am now.”

The smart woman who has made quick-thinking her middle name, turns away from him, her hands moving to her head, fingers raking into her brown locks. When she swings back around to face him, he sees a desperation in her stance he has never witnessed before. “For fuck’s sake, Dean! Listen to me for once! If you stay, you will DIE!!” she cries out, retreating her hands from her hair and gesturing wildly.

The complete change of demeanor stuns Dean. Trying to unravel her odd behavior, he watches her, noticing the shimmer in her eyes when the moonlight catches them. It starts to dawn on him that she’s not sending him away because she doesn’t want his help. There is so much more at stake than just pride.

“I don’t want your blood on my hands, Dean,” Zoë continues, her voice much softer now. “Please, just… Please go.”

Compared to her harsh words a moment ago, these come out as a pleading whisper. He could have sworn he heard a tremble, her words laid thick with fear and sadness. Nothing about this picture seems right. Could it be that the mighty huntress is actually scared?

It only fuels Dean’s determination to remain by her side even more. His green eyes turn softer, a mix of comfort and compassion filling them. “I’m not leaving you alone on this one, Zo.”

She breathes out a shuddering sigh, admitting the loss. It’s not often that it happens, but Zoë doesn’t argue further. The commitment in his tone, the way he’s looking at her right now, she knows that a nation’s army couldn't change his mind. David seems to realize it too, because he steps back and intends to leave. “Good luck,” he wishes them.

Both Dean and Zoë give him a nod, after which he disappears into the darkness of the forest. When he’s out of sight, the remaining hunter turns back to Zoë. She can’t look at him, aware that she has already lost the battle and that Dean has sealed his fate. She and the older Winchester brother might not get along, but this is not what she wishes for him. Now that he chose to stay, he chooses to die. Not okay with this in the slightest, she shakes her head and looks down at the icy soil at her feet.

“You shouldn’t have followed me, Dean,” she sighs, trying to keep the tears at bay. “I didn’t,” he returns, truthful. “Oh, come on,” she scoffs. “How else would you explain that you end up here on the--” “Dad sent me.”

Stunned, she looks up, his words a complete shock to her. Several questions start to swirl inside in her mind. John? John sent him here? How did he even know she would be on this mountain? On this exact spot? And why would he send his son on a suicide mission?

“Why in hell would he jeopardize your life?” she counters, frustration and fury thick in her tone. “Maybe because he thinks yours can be saved,” Dean brings to mind. Zoë chuckles and turns away from the Winchester son who bears such a resemblance to his father, taking a couple of steps away from him while she tries to wrap her head around the situation.

“Is that funny to you?” he questions, hostile, her cynical laugh rubbing him the wrong way. “It is, because last time I checked, saving my ass is about the last thing your old man wants to do,” she returns, venom in her voice.

Her acquisition puts John’s son off once again. He has noticed her disrespecting and aggressive attitude towards his father several times before and he can’t resist continuing on that matter this time. “What the fuck is your problem with my father?” he asks defensively. “Can we please not do this? Not now,” she intervenes, seemingly tired, after which her gaze wanders. “You shouldn’t have come.”

Dean observes her intently, unable to comprehend what is happening. Zoë Sullivan who doesn’t want to pick a fight? That’s a new one. Her choice of actions alerts Dean, even frightens him a little. However, nothing will ever make him reconsider the decision to stick around. Dad gave him a job to do and finding the huntress here, clearly in deep shit, can’t be a coincidence. He approaches Zoë, forces her to look him in the eye by gently gripping her shoulders and turning her to face him.

“Zo, what are you hunting?” he asks, emerald greens staring at her. “I’m not hunting, Dean,” she answers, her voice only having a fraction of its usual strength. “I’m ending this.”

In the far distance, a church bell rings. Startled, Zoë snaps her head to the side, staring into the direction of the valley as the single carillon chimes. Midnight is here.

Three… four… five…

Time becomes valuable when it runs out. This is it. This is the moment she has feared for exactly one year now. This is the moment that she has to pay her dues.

Seven… eight… nine…

“Zo?” Dean tries to call her back, hoping to get her attention, but she has shut herself out. The woman before him is identical to the girl he met four years ago, when she was possessed and the carpet got pulled from under her. Panic and fear swim in her eyes and tears begin to pool just above her bottom eyelashes. Unable to respond, she listens to the sounding of the bells, pulling in irregular breaths. She’s on the verge of breaking down.

He isn’t sure how to handle her, the huntress who has seen so much evil and has endured so much pain. She never gives in to fear, never wavers, never gives up, until now. And still, Dean doesn’t have a clue what is going on, but he is starting to fear the worst himself.

Gently, he slides his hands down her arms until he’s holding her by the wrists, tightening his grip to get her to look at him. Finally, Zoë turns her head and stares back, teardrops coming down her bruised and bloody face. Despite the lack of light, he can see them glisten with sorrow.

Ten… eleven…

Then the last call of the church bell echoes through the valley. It feels like the drums stop right then and there and the floor is about to disappear from under her, which will force the seemingly unbeatable huntress to fight the noose. Her entire form trembles under Dean’s touch. She can barely say a word, because she knows they will be one of her last. And so she whispers the most fragile, truthful, and frightening message that has ever left her lips, only for him to be heard.

“I’m so sorry.”

Dun-dun-dun! Hope you enjoyed the cliffhanger. Feel free to rant about after the read. Thank you so much for reading. I appreciate every single one of you, but if you do want to give me some extra love, you are free to reblog my work or buy me coffee (Link in bio at the top of the page)

Read part six here

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luulapants · 4 years ago

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Digging into the Teen Wolf credits

So I fell into a bit of a rabbit hole researching the shift in writing and directing credits in Teen Wolf, trying to find some explanations for the lack of continuity, whiplash change of directions on storylines, and the messiness of the later seasons. A lot of people (myself included) tend to focus on casting issues and Jeff Davis as the be-all-end-all of these issues, but here are a few interesting things I’ve put together:

1. Waning involvement from the original producers/directors -

Russell Mulcahy was a producer/exec on all 100 episodes and directed 39 episodes, including every season finale and all but one season premier (5a). He was a big-shot music video director in the ‘80s. According to his Wikipedia, “Mulcahy's work is recognisable by the use of fast cuts, tracking shots and use of glowing lights, neo-noir lighting, windblown drapery, and fans.”

Tim Andrew came on as a supervising producer and progressed to executive producer, holding a producing credit for all 100 episodes. He directed 35 episodes, including some of fan-favorite suspense episodes like Night School, The Girl Who Knew Too Much, and Riddled.

While their producer credits stayed steady, it’s the director credits that interest me. Between the two of them, they directed 75% of S1, 100% of S2, 83% and 75% of 3a and 3b. S4, it drops to 58%. Back up to 70% and 90% for 5a and 5b, then plummeting to 60% for all of S6. It’s worth noting that S4 is the first season where we start to notice that whiplash effect, not really sure what characters’ motivations are. In one episode, the focus seems to be family financial drama, and then we forget about that and focus on Lydia’s powers. Then the focus is assassins, then Kate Argent - and what the hell is up with Peter?

It’s hard to say for sure, but one could draw the conclusion that the decline in director credits from Andrew and Mulcahy also suggest a decline in interest from them in maintaining the show’s storylines.

In fact, in 5b and season 6, you see a third long-time producer, Joseph Genier, step in to direct a few episodes: the rather sloppy Maid of Gevaudan, Blitzkrieg, and Genotype. We can’t give him too hard a time over it, since his only other directing experience ever was a 2016 Netflix horror movie The Secrets of Emily Blair, shitty even by Netflix standards. He also has some late-season writing credits, but we’ll get to that later.

2. The curious case of Angela Harvey -

In order to understand the writing on TW, you need to know Angela Harvey. She climbed the ranks from personal assistant to writers’ assistant, then, starting in 3a, staff writer.

A staff writer is a salaried, stable figure in the writing department, who works with what is often a rotating door of producers and head writers. They’re usually not the “ideas” person and don’t get the final say, but they help the head writer work through the story and stay on track. Most larger shows have a whole team of staff writers. TW never had more than one at a time.

Shortly after her promotion to staff writer, Harvey got her first full writing credit for Frayed, which is a controversial episode! It’s both praised and detested for the non-linear storyline, the sometimes confusing flashbacks, and Allison’s emotional hallucination of her mother.

After that, she went back to staff writer and was a rock for the show for all of S3 and 4. In S4, she got full writing credit for I.E.D. and Time of Death. Both got mixed reviews on-par with the rest of the muddled mess of S4, but I will note one thing: the human factor. I.E.D., for me, was the first episode that really gave a more rounded picture of Liam, who until that time felt very much like a new puppy coming in to replace our favorite old dogs that went to live on the big farm in the sky.

S5, Harvey gets a promotion to ‘story editor,’ which is pretty much just a title and pay promotion. She wrote A Novel Approach and Strange Frequencies, two more mixed-bag sort of episodes with some golden moments and some crippling larger-story issues. Then she writes the slightly stronger The Sword and the Spirit and...

Gone. She vanishes from the credits for the rest of season 5. I haven’t been able to find any specific explanations, but I did find a rather telling quote from her in an article about how black writers get hired but not promoted in TV: “I repeated staff writer four times,” she said.

Harvey then returns for 6x2 with a shiny new title: executive story editor. I can only draw one conclusion from this sequence of events, which is a contract dispute. Harvey demanded a promotion (as she should have, given her longevity on the show!), was denied, and walked off. The show floundered in her absence and begged her back with the new title.

She got full writer credits for two more episodes for S6 but left the show for good after the second, After Images.

To me, it seems clear that they had a strong, stable voice in Angela, but her commitment to the project waned as she realized that the show had no commitment to her. She may not have been the strongest head writer, but she was an essential core, a beating heart of the show. Her contributions were undervalued and, ultimately, the show suffered because of it.

3. The rotating door of writers -

It’s not unusual for head writers to come and go on shows. Then again, most shows have a stable core in the writers’ room to host those head writers. TW had Jeff Davis, who has frequently been acknowledged to be overly hands-on with the writing (even in episodes he did not take writing credit for), and a single staff writer: Angela Harvey and, before her, Andy Cochran (who was staff writer for S2).

S1 did not have a staff writer, but that was because Jeff had a very firm grip on the story and also because there were only four writers other than Jeff Davis (and the original Teen Wolf movie writers). Interestingly, none of those 4 writers ever returned to the show after S1. This would become a theme for TW writers.

Jeff kept even tighter control on S2, writing 8 of 12 episodes with the help of Cochran. Other than them, there were four other writers, two of whom were a writing team.

Jeff wrote 15 of 24 S3 episodes and brought in 6 new writers and one S2 writer, Christian Taylor who also produced and directed. Of the new writers, only Ian Stokes, who wrote The Fox and the Wolf would become a regular writer afterward (though Alyssa Clark did write two more episodes in S4). Stokes wrote three S4 episodes and three for 5a.

Jeff wrote 6 of 12 episodes in S4, 5 of 10 in 5a, 4 of 10 in 5b, and then did not write again until the series finale.

Starting in Season 4, the writing credits are all over the place. Most writers come in for a single episode and never again. The few notable exceptions are:

Eric Wallace, a later seasons producer

Will Wallace (not sure if related) who was a writers’ assistant that seems to have been randomly granted writing credit for 5a’s Ouroboros, despite having no other writing credits to his name previously. He got writing credit for 4 other episodes in S5 and S6, plus a random staff writer credit for 6a’s Ghosted.

Lindsay Sturman, a lalter seasons producer who now writes and produces for Supergirl.

And producer Joseph Genier who, as he had been allowed to direct later seasons with no previous directing credits, was also allowed head writer credit with no previous writing credits.

What can we divine from this? Chaos, honestly. An inability to resist the uninformed and careless whims of the producers. The lack of lower-level writing staff, who are usually the ones there to give stability and cohesion to the story, meant that every new writer brought in new and contradictory ideas of what the story was about and where it should go. Looking at these credits, I can’t tell if the problem was that everyone wanted to write and writing spots were being given as thank-yous in exchange for producers laying down money or if they had such a difficult time finding quality writers willing to work in that environment that producers had no choice but to step in and write as well as they could given a lack of resources.

4. The vanishing first assistant director -

Compared to the other issues, this one seems minor. However, it seems like TW gave up on the position of ‘first assistant director’ at some point. This position is essentially the right hand of the director, making sure that set runs smoothly and the director has everything they need.

James J.D. Taylor held the position for 50 episodes, including all but 4 episodes in S1-3a. In the first 3, Jeffrey January filled in. For the fourth, Eric Sherman, who would come to be Taylor’s backup, it seems. For 3b and the first half of S4, Sherman and Taylor traded off every other episode. Taylor tried his hand at directing for S4′s Monstrous, at which point Sherman started trading off episodes with Matt Rawls.

Taylor went back to first assistant director for S5, but intermittently and with no backup for his position. 8 of 20 episodes in 5a had no first assistant director. Taylor directed 6x2 and was first assistant for 6x4 and 6x5, but 17 of 20 episodes of S6 had no first assistant.

Sure, there were second assistant and second second assistants, but it seems very odd to neglect such a pivotal position. What is especially baffling is that 6b had first-time directors Tyler Posey, Linden Ashby, and Joseph Genier all working without a first assistant director. To me, this speaks to staffing issues and difficulty organizing a show that was clearly on its last legs.

In summary -

Where the early seasons had focused attention and investment from the original core producers, directors, and the show runner, clearly their attention and care for the project waned over time. They failed to promote the show’s most valuable workers and failed to bring in lower-level staff to do the grunt work in the writers’ room. Instead, they pulled in more and more higher level executives, who tend to have lofty ideas about where a show goes but no willingness to dig into the nitty gritty details. Film schools could make a study of Teen Wolf: “How to run a show into the ground.”

#teen wolf #teen wolf meta #tv industry #screenwriting

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mythicalsecretsanta · 4 years ago

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In The Bleak Midwinter (G)

This gift is for: Grace-Anna (AKA @rhettroedits) Seaborne does not particularly enjoy Christmas and he especially doesn’t enjoy being back in his home town for it. From your Secret Santa, Mai (AKA @holdbythenotsharp)

Link to AO3, or read below:

As the insufferably cheery notes of Wonderful Christmastime invade his awareness, Charles Seaborne realizes he has been standing in front of the uninspiring wine selection of an A&C, staring at it blankly for some time. Trying to choose between a mediocre Merlot and quite possibly an even more mediocre Pinot Noir is impossible with the seasonal jingle assaulting his ears, overriding intelligent thought.

To be honest, he’d prefer whiskey, but years spent away from his home state had made him forget grocery stores here don’t carry hard liquor. To be really honest, he could die a lucky man, if he never had to hear Wonderful Christmastime again, he thinks as he reaches for the Merlot.

Seaborne doesn’t enjoy surprises. As a rule, he doesn’t allow himself to be caught off-guard. Some might call him inflexible, even uptight, he prefers methodical and well-prepared. But as it turns out, it’s very difficult to be prepared for seeing a ghost.

He had been on his way to the checkout, before remembering his intention to pick up a proper shampoo to replace the miserable 2 in 1 his hotel offered, so he turns around to navigate back to the personal care aisle. Halfway there he spots the figure of a tall man standing in the middle of the pet food aisle, browsing dog treats. It had been years since Seaborne last saw him. His glasses are smaller than they used to be, with subtle metal rims, and he’d grown a full beard at some point, but there was no mistaking. His best friend from childhood — who he had not heard from for almost a decade — had apparently gotten a dog.

Apprehension and dread overwhelm Seaborne. He wants to run away, but his feet have stopped moving. It’s not like they had a falling out, really. He could probably just say hello, and Roach would probably say hi back. But then what?

Roach drops a bag of treats into his basket, jolting Seaborne back into action. He scurries behind a shelf and pretends to be engrossed in canned fruit until his heart stops racing. After a moment of contemplation, he decides he can subject his hair to the torture of 2 in 1 for a day or two more and makes his way out of the store, stealing glances over his shoulder, making sure he is not spotted. He doesn’t notice his hands trembling until he’s sitting in his El Camino in the parking lot, failing for the third time to aim the key into the ignition.

By the time he’s back at his hotel room, a spartan affair at a Holiday Inn near the interstate 40, he has almost convinced himself the man he had seen was actually a ghost, or possibly one of those kombucha drinking hipsters that had invaded the town since his last visit. What are the chances it was the man Seaborne specifically hoped to avoid this trip?

After watching two episodes of Magnum P.I. and polishing off most of the wine, he’s practically forgotten about the encounter. It’s as if it hadn’t happened at all. He plans to go on as usual, as if it’s just another job in just another town, not the prodigal son’s return to a place that had not been kind to him. That night he has an unsettling dream about being lost in a maze of dark alleyways, wandering endlessly, hunger and thirst eating away at his insides. Just when he expects to collapse next to a stack of pallets in some dead end that stinks like month old garbage, he notices a lonely turkey vulture on a nearby rooftop staring at him with piercing eyes, waiting.

The dream refuses to leave him alone the following day, and gloomy imagery creeps back into his mind as he sits in his car, staring out of the window and across a parking lot at an office building. It’s rainy and chilly, and the windows of the El Camino keep fogging up as he shivers in his seat, fingers wrapped tightly around a takeaway cup of some sickly sweet gingerbread flavored coffee concoction. If nothing else, the sugar and the caffeine should give him energy to keep staring at the building’s only exit. The guy he was hired to follow should be out any moment now, but Seaborne is not a patient man, so he fiddles with the knobs of the car radio, taps along on the lid of his cup after finding a station that doesn’t play Christmas songs and — after realizing the tapping will not keep him entertained for long — fishes out his phone from his pocket. He’s been doing this for years, he can easily keep one eye on the door of the office building and the other on his phone, while he idly slides his thumb across the screen to reveal increasingly inane, mostly holiday-related, updates from distant friends and even more distant family members.

“Where the hell is he?” Seaborne mutters to no one but himself and leans back in his seat. Even after all the years of working in a job with a lot of downtime, he hasn’t learned to tolerate boredom. It still makes him irritable and antsy; like each minute spent with nothing to do pressurizes the anxious energy inside him until he is ready to pop.

After a while of scrolling, he is sure he doesn’t want to see another picture of someone’s child or pet in a cutesy costume or posed in front of a decorated tree in a mockery of domestic bliss. He hasn’t been paying that much attention to the motions of his thumb, so when he looks down again he’s startled to see the profile page of a Jim Roach. After some initial hesitation he browses through the pictures, just to confirm he is in fact still with Gina and they have two kids and a third on the way. There are several collections of photos, of a vacation to Hawaii, of an anniversary party, of their children’s birthdays. Seaborne scours through them frantically, like he’s trying to find something specific, but he doesn’t know what. When he looks up from the device, his is the only car in the parking lot and the office building looks dark and empty.

That night as he sits alone in his hotel room, trying to distract himself from the strange and somewhat disconcerting damp smell lingering in the surrounding air, he googles Roach. For no real reason, just… He’s curious. He finds Roach has started a business selling commercial kitchen equipment, and all signs imply he is doing alright for himself. He lives not too far from where they both grew up and his number is listed. Seaborne saves the number on his phone. Just in case.

When he calls the number the following morning, he hasn’t planned what to say. Indeed, he hadn’t planned to call at all, but he can’t get the number out of his mind. The mere presence of the number in his phone’s memory has been burning a hole through his pocket ever since he left the hotel earlier. It’s still early, he figures. Judging by the opening hours of Roach’s store, he might still reach him by calling his home number. He hits the call icon on his screen, fully aware he has never done a single thing so spontaneously in his entire life. It rings for some time, and he contemplates hanging up.

“Hello?” Gina answers the phone.

Seaborne inhales to say… to say what exactly? His mind is blank, and his jaw is so stiff he fears he couldn’t move it even if he knew what to say.

“Hello?” Gina’s voice is more demanding and Seaborne is sorry for bothering her like this. She’s probably trying to get the kids to school or something. He really shouldn’t have called. Hanging up on her seems more courteous than creepy, given the circumstances. He decides to drive by Roach’s house later instead to satisfy his curiosity about how the man lives these days, maybe see what kind of car he drives, or if he has a pool.

The driveway is empty when he gets there a few hours later, and he can’t see a pool, but Seaborne slows down to get a good look at the swing set in the yard. It’s a nicer model, he knows after shopping for one for his niece’s birthday last year. The house is nice too; it looks welcoming and happy nestled in between others just like it, with their well-maintained gardens marred only by the occasional scattered toy. Roach has come a long way from where he was when the arrival of his firstborn pressured him into accepting a job offer from his father-in-law instead of pursuing a career with his best friend.

The twinge of something dark he felt outside Roach’s house returns to him later at night, when he is back alone in his hotel room. The feeling is hard to name. Jealousy of the pleasant, middle class family life Seaborne never accomplished with his ex-wife, perhaps, or remorse of letting all that between him and his best friend? Sleep evades him as he tosses and turns in his overly soft bed, getting up every once in a while to adjust the temperature, have a glass of water or to urinate. No amount of focusing on his breathing or imagining himself on a tropical beach calms down the heavy pounding of his vexed heart. He doesn’t know what a panic attack feels like, but suspects it might be something like this.

Even three cups of coffee cannot revive him the next day. Exhaustion is like an itch behind his eyes and sitting still in a car with nothing to do aggravates him even more than usual. The insecurity and guilt that had cursed his existence the night before still linger in him, gnawing away at his usual indifference and cynicism. Worst of all, the day has been long but futile, Seaborne has still not got any incriminating evidence against the man he has been following for the better part of a week and he is seriously considering just packing up his things and going back home. What good will it do him, another day or two in this town that only reminds him of his loneliness? As if the holiday season wasn’t bad enough already.

The passenger side door of the El Camino opens, interrupting his thoughts. Seaborne turns to scold the intruder, but the words he had held on his tongue glide to the back of his throat and he swallows them, as the intruder settles down on the seat beside him, arranges his long legs neatly under the dashboard and leans back in the seat like it’s something natural he does every day. For a while they just sit still, air thick with anticipation. Seaborne has no idea what to expect, and the questions spinning in his mind refuse to be arranged to words.

“What’s the gig? Who are we following?” the intruder says. He’s wearing sunglasses instead of the glasses he had on in the grocery store, and he looks a bit like a rock star with his big beard and leather jacket. Or a moron, considering it’s not sunny, but Seaborne lets that slide for now.

“We are not following anyone, dude, what are you doing here?” Seaborne can’t help but feel a little self-conscious about still wearing the same gray tweed coat, now sporting holes in the elbows. It’s still a good coat, though, and he was never one to throw away perfectly usable items of clothing.

“You wouldn’t have driven by my house six times in two days if you weren’t looking for help.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, so what are we doing?”

“It’s an infidelity thing… You know, I only drove by your house because the guy’s mom lives near there, at the end of the cul-de-sac. I was looking for him and thought he might be there.”

“Sure. Good to see ya, man.”

“Hmm.”

Seaborne wants to say he missed Roach, working with him, or just sitting with him like this, but it might be too much. They never said things like that before, theirs just wasn’t that kind of a relationship. He suspects Roach is not expecting it either, judging by the way he leans his cheek on the side window, staring intensely at something outside. Probably some squirrels running around in the park across the street.

“So. Still investigating privately after all these years,” Roach says, breaking the comfortable silence.

“Turns out it’s what I’m good at. Or at least somewhat more successful than as a chef.” Seaborne replies. It’s not untrue, he’s made a name for himself and has a steady trickle of cases landing on his table, even if success may be a slight overstatement.

“Questioning the questionable. Missing dogs and eaten flowers, still?”

“Shut up.” A slight twitch in the corner of Seaborne’s mouth reveals he doesn’t mind the gentle jabbing. The years had softened some parts of him at least. He is no longer the tightly wound bundle of aggression and defensiveness he once was. “Still a lot of cheaters though.”

“You know I gotta ask… is the guy at least older than twelve this time?”

“Come on, man!” Seaborne can no longer contain his giggling, and the delighted grin on Roach’s face only spurs him on. “At least acknowledge my lack of mustache first!”

#mythical secret santa 2020 #type: fic #rating: G #gift swap #submission

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purplesurveys · 4 years ago

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1180

The last time you washed your hair, did you use conditioner? Yeah, I’m pretty paranoid and always feel the need to use conditioner because of a bad rebonding job from like a decade ago that stiffened up my hair as soon as it would get wet. It lasted for around a year, so I formed the habit of always using conditioner every time I shower. I don’t think I’ve ever used just shampoo since then.

Do you prefer light or dark jeans? Dark, but I suppose it would be nice to start experimenting with lighter shades as well.

When you listen to music, do you generally sing along, or just listen? It depends if I know the lyrics or I’m feeling the song at the moment. Obviously with my new obsession with BTS I can’t really sing along to entire songs, but I do sing the few English lyrics they have per song, hahaha.

Do you have any of your exes as friends on Facebook? Yeah but she’s been muted for like half a year already, as is the rest of her family. I do have plans to unfriend her entirely; I’m just not sure when I would push through with it, and I already gave Angela permission to log onto my account one of these days to be the one to do the unfriending.

Who was your first love? Do you ever miss that person? Gabie. I miss the friendship sometimes; I don’t think I’ll have a friendship as deep and connected as the one we had, so I will always feel sorry about how that went to waste. But I don’t really think about our relationship anymore as I’m pretty good at blocking off certain memories, so I don’t miss her in that sense.

How many cars are parked at your house right now? Two.

Do you have any Italian ancestry? I highly doubt so. If anything there’s probably a tiny drop Spanish blood in there but that’s the most European I’ll ever get.

Do you prefer water to be ice cold or at room temperature? Like, drinking water? Ice cold, always. I hate warm water.

Has anyone ever told you you’re a control freak? Not to my face, but I know I’m one so I’m sure other people have said that about me at least behind my back.

Do you know anyone who has gone missing? If so, were they ever found? Yes, my friend Mik and one of my aunts. They were both found eventually.

What was the spiciest thing you’ve ever eaten? Eating ghost pepper instant noodles was a pain I would never want to go through again...I threw that shit out after my first forkful, lmao.

Do you need to talk to someone? No, not in particular. In a more general sense I do wanna start gaining more friends though, so I’ve been meaning to expand my circle by creating a new Twitter account just for my BTS dump. In other words, I am a 23 year old with a stan Twitter HAHAHAHA

Is something confusing you at the moment? No, I’m good.

When was the last time you had a real deep chat? Maybe my conversation with Andi a couple of nights back. We were talking about a tricky situation with their ex-friend who turned out to be a real dick when they came out to him a year ago, and they just wanted to get my perspective on how I would handle it.

Who did you last see on webcam? The PR manager for one of our clients, who we all despise because he doesn’t know how to do his job. Thankfully he’s resigning soon so we’re all just waiting for him to leave and finally meet a much more competent replacement.

What’s your best friend’s pet’s name(s)? Angela has two dogs, Hailey and Kennedy. Andi had Apollo, who I wanted to meet so badly but sadly he passed away a week ago at 15.

Have you ever taken a picture while laying in the grass? There are photos of me sitting on grass, but not lying in it. I would imagine that would feel very prickly and uncomfortable.

Who’s your favorite Disney character? Baymax or Flynn Rider.

Have you ever deliberately tried to get someone drunk? I’ve made my friends chug drinks or down shots and it’s happened vice versa, but it was always in good fun and we never made each other harassed from it. It’s just your typical college rambunctiousness, and if anyone felt uncomfortable or iffy then we didn’t hesitate to move on.

When was the last time you used a pay phone and who were you calling? I’ve only ever seen those in my first school, when I was in kindergarten. I never got to use it and they also took them out not long after.

Do you like being kissed on the neck? Yessssssssss

Have you ever had sex with someone you weren’t dating (but had feelings for) in the hopes that they would ask you out later? Nope. I don’t think I would have sex with anyone I wasn’t dating.

What’s the most you would be willing to spend on a good bra? Probably a couple thousand bucks if I thought I looked good in it.

Do you have any of your teachers’ personal cell phone numbers saved in your contacts list? I don’t think so. I never tried getting close with any of them, and I always tried to stay hidden as much as possible. I was just in class to get good grades and pass.

Do you ever stalk peoples’ personal blogs, even if you don’t know them very well? I never really scroll through people’s Tumblrs anymore. That was more of a thing I did in like 2013, but these days going through my dashboard is enough.

What’s one thing about today’s generation that you just can’t stand? Some social media trends done for clout make me revolted, especially when it has anything to do with wasting food. I also hate when they do extreme pranks that I know I wouldn’t find funny if I were ever the victim, like tossing someone’s phone into the ocean.

Be honest: how do you feel about abortion? Pro-choice.

Is there anyone you currently want to reach out to? I would love to catch up with Katreen at some point, but I know we’re at different points in our lives now and it would probably never happen.

What is your favorite piece of art you own? I commissioned my sister to make an artwork of the 2D1N cast, and she did a great job making it! I haven’t gotten to use it or promote it yet, but I will soon. It’s really well-done.

What’s the one thing you apologized for this month? Replying late.

My favorite color is ______? Pastel pink.

I wish I had _____? Longer weekends.

What did you buy today? Nothing – I’d call that a success lmao, I’ve been spending money as if I had a million fucking bucks over the last week. I did have some packages arrive today though: my own copy of 2 Cool 4 Skool (my first physical BTS album!!!!!!); the official poster from their album BE; the Ivy Park sneakers I ordered earlier this month, and an Ivy Park bucket hat Bea had apparently gotten for me as a birthday present.

What has challenged your morals? Vices.

What made you pick up the last book you started reading? I had to read it in preparation for a one-on-one session with my employer’s CEO.

What about your life concerns you the most? Whether a stable future is in the cards for me.

What do you find particularly offensive? Would you say you’re easy or difficult to offend? Probably Filipino-American comedians or influencers who use stereotyping of Filipino accents and habits as a punchline; they do more harm to the culture than good. I can tell you not one Filipino who lives in the Philippines actually finds those funny, and Bretman Rock is probably the only personality who’s able to flaunt the culture in an entertaining and hilarious yet classy way.

When it comes to being offended, I guess it depends on the context. My humor can get pretty dark and low-blowy, but I would have a problem with someone who I know has genuinely problematic views.

What was the last series you finished watching? Do you have any plans to begin another? I think it may had still been Start-Up from last December. I’m not too big on Korean dramas since I find one episode waaaaaaayyyyyyy too long. I don’t think I’ll be starting on anything soon, Korean or otherwise.

What is one way in which you are different from a year ago? What is one way in which you are still the same? I’m single now, for the first time in technically six years. I also think I’m doing better and happier, breakup notwithstanding. OH and I love wasabi now, hahah. As for what’s unchanged, I still like taking surveys and I’m still stuck at home, though the latter’s not really in my control anymore.

If you could learn about anything without the stress of grades or cost, what kind of classes would you take? I’d just go back to UP for the free tuition. We also have the widest range of programs out of any university in the country, so it’s a damn good deal.

Name a song you’ve listened to today? Fly To My Room - BTS

When you were younger, did you have a swing set or a playhouse in your backyard? We didn’t; but one of our relatives that we’d regularly visit did have a playground that I’d use all the time. It’s still there, just very unmaintained since no one uses it anymore.

Is your mall nice? Which one? We have five different malls nearby lol. Mall culture here is on another level.

Do you have a Sonic near you? If so, what’s your favorite drink from there? No. I’m not so sure what they serve there, either. I’m guessing milkshakes?

Will you be voting in the presidential elections next time around? I’ll always exercise my right to vote.

How do you feel about chocolate-covered strawberries? I hate strawberries and I hate fruits, so even if you coat that shit in Nutella and cookie butter and chocolate syrup I still wouldn’t touch it.

Did you ever stop having feelings for someone and then started having those feelings again for them? No.

Do you hate the last guy you had a thing with? I’ve never had a thing with guys.

To whom did you last give the finger? I haven’t had to do that in a while.

What was the last musical instrument played in your presence? My sister’s keyboard.

Do you like sprinkles on your ice cream? Not particularly. They make things look cute, but they never taste like anything tbh so I never saw the point in paying extra just to have them on my desserts.

Honestly, have you ever crashed a party before? Nah. I cringe thinking about that.

Do you know how to do the moon walk? I don’t.

Has anybody ever told you that you have a good singing voice? Never gotten that specific compliment before because I know I don’t have one.

Onion rings or french fries? Onion rings.

Has anybody ever described you as a heart breaker? No.

Has anybody ever told you that you talk too fast? I don’t think so, but I know I have the tendency to do so occasionally, especially while I’m presenting a deck. Once I notice it I make an effort to pace myself.

Who is the best cook that you know? My dad and both my grandmas all deserve that title.

Which meal throughout the day do you skip the most? I literally never have lunch ever.

What’s the largest amount that you can juggle at one time? I can’t juggle.

What was your favorite thing to go on at the playground as a kid? Sandboxes, since I liked the texture; the sandboxes in school were also often empty, which worked well for my introvert self. I find that it’s carried over to today, since I still enjoy touching things like slime and kinetic sand.

Do you know how much you weighed at birth? How much? I think 5 or 6 lbs, I’m not exactly sure but it’s definitely somewhere in that small range.

Which aspect of your daily routine takes the most time? What do you do? Work, for sure. I work a normal 9–6 so that’s already 8 hours out of my day, but I also OT a lot after hours, and I work throughout my lunch break as well so that technically makes it 9 hours. I also like getting up earlier and starting some work before my shift so that I would have less tasks on my plate for the day.

Do you enjoy buying gifts for others, or could you do without this? I LOVE getting people gifts. Food is especially my love language, and I always get food delivery for my friends, family, and my team at work.

What is one thing you are expected to do, if anything? I mean, I have work deadlines tomorrow so there’s that.

How do you tend to view driving? Monotonous or entertaining? I love driving. I don’t think I ever complained about having to do it. It’s calming and relaxing when I’m doing it alone or with a partner; and it can be entertaining with the right set of people.

Do you enjoy talking about music with others? Not always. If I don’t listen to the artist then I can find the conversation quite boring, like if my friends would get into a full-blown discussion about Taylor Swift.

Is acting something you enjoy? No. It wouldn’t even be something I’d be interested in doing.

When do you feel most accomplished? Finishing a work day with no tasks left behind.

Do you think Manwich is amazing or completely gross? Idk what that is.

How many best friends do you have? Two.

Are you a smoker, drinker, pothead or none of the above? I drink sometimes. I also kinda smoke, I guess.

If you have your ears pierced, when did you get them pierced? My mom had them pierced when I was a month old.

Do you own any exercise machines? My mom has this rowing equipment thingy. I don’t have any of my own, though.

On Facebook, do you have people listed as your siblings who aren’t really your siblings? No.

Have you ever drawn or painted a self-portrait? I remember having to draw one as a school assignment, but I’m pretty sure I half-assed that because I couldn’t care less for art class back then.

Who was your last voicemail from? We don’t have voicemails.

Have you ever been falsely accused of something serious? I don’t think so. That’s the sort of situation that would stick out in my memory if ever.

Did you ever set up a lemonade stand when you were a kid? No, not a thing here.

When was the last time you spoke to someone in a different language? Around an hour ago when I went downstairs and chatted with my sister briefly.

Have you ever received an anonymous gift? Nope.

Have you ever camped out somewhere for an event the next day? Nope but I definitely still wouldn’t be opposed to doing that haha.

When were you the saddest in your life? 2016 was fucking miserable. < I’d have to agree. 2017 was also awful.

Do you know anyone, personally, who is in an abusive relationship? Are you? I used to know one but she got out of it. In a sense, I suppose I also was in one.

If you have siblings, have they moved out or do they still live with you? Well they’re younger, so they definitely still live here, with our parents. I’m the first one expected to move out, but I’m taking my time.

Have you ever gotten searched by the cops? No.

Do you like fried rice? Of course. I like any kind of rice.

What was the last thing you drank? Water.

#survey #surveys

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magdaclaire · 4 years ago

Note

do you write Clintasha? if you do i'd love the “i dont know how to exist in a world without you” prompt with them

A year late, @nightwideopen, but you can find it on ao3 or read it under the cut!

Aw, concussion, no.

This probably definitely isn’t good. A collapsed building, an archer who definitely can’t fly, and no escape plan. It wasn’t exactly a recipe for success, and Clint can tell from the hospital bed he woke up in that it worked out about as well as could be expected. He can feel the muscle in his legs, underworked and overrested, and wonders how long he’s been out. He hopes it wasn’t too long. He might have missed an episode of Dog Cops, and that is so totally not the business. He might have missed his turn to pick the movie for movie night! Tony never gives concessions for injuries, so they would have skipped his turn entirely. Assholes. Clint is halfway through a mental rant when he notices Natasha sleeping next to him, slumped in the waiting chair.

She looks rough. Rougher than he’s ever seen her before, hair mussed and unwashed, no makeup but the remnants of mascara, and her nail polish is cracked. For any other feminine person, those traits might be relatively normal. For the Black Widow, Clint gets a sinking feeling in his stomach and wonders exactly how long he’s been out. He watches her but doesn’t bother to wake her - if anyone else starts even walking down the hall, she’ll wake anyway. They’re both like that, but he doesn’t know when she became comfortable enough to sleep while he was awake. It wasn’t so quick as his own comfort, it never was, but it must have been years ago. He wants to lace their fingers just to know that she’s there. He doesn’t.

She wakes up anyway.

“Clint,” she gasps, startling awake and grabbing at his hand herself. When she sees him awake, cognizant and aware, there’s something so fragile to her that Clint has no idea what to do with it. She’s his best friend, his partner, his perfect other piece, the caution to his forward motion, the rough edges to his clean comfort. She’s his Nat, whatever that always means for him. His safe place.

“I’m okay, you’re okay, we’re okay, Nat. We’re good,” he whispers, cautious of how much his throat hurts, and she reaches for the cup of ice chips next to his bed. He has to wonder how often they’ve been replacing them if they’re just there, but he has all ideas that he’s in the Stark Tower medical wing, not an actual hospital. Natasha hand feeds him several of the chips, letting him suck on three of them at a time instead of the usual one. He waits for them to melt in his mouth before bothering her into speaking. She looks too shellshocked, too guilty, too something to speak at first, and he wants to give her time.

“I watched you fall,” she says eventually, her voice just as small as his whispers, and something in the range of his chest cracks apart. As many times as she’s seen that, it must have been some kind of bad this time. He really does lace their fingers now, his still bruised knuckles cracking slightly from the bit of strain. He doesn’t mind. It’s worth it.

“I’m okay, Natty. I’ll get better. Broken bones grow back together stronger - you won’t be able to keep up with me when I’m all healed up,” he proposes in his best jovial voice, giving her one of his best grins. She doesn’t give him a smile back, but some of the tension in her face relaxes before she’s grimacing again.

“I watched you fall. You fell and we couldn’t find you and you - you weren’t responding on the comms. You weren’t saying anything. You weren’t there. That was. That was the most scared I’ve ever been, Clint. I think you’ve ruined me, Hawkeye,” Nat says stiltedly, looking down at their laced fingers. She swallows audibly and is she - is she crying? Is she about to cry? Nat doesn’t cry. Natasha Romanoff does not cry, because Clint will cry and then they’ll both be crying and how useless is that? He strokes his thumb over hers to get her attention back, and when she looks at him, he smiles. He means it, means it, means it, because even if he is in pain and Nat is crying and they’re both crying, he still means all his smiles at Natasha Romanoff.

“I’m okay. Nothing too bad happened,” he promises, even if he doesn’t know the extent of his own injuries. He just wants to reassure her. She shakes her head.

“You don’t understand, Clint. You’ve ruined me. The Widow… I’m not meant to have any connections, any reason to depend on another human being, but. I don't know how to exist in a world without you. I don’t know how to live without weird omelettes in the morning and couch cuddles and reruns of Dog Cops and Kitchen Nightmares and someone to tell me that the nightmares aren’t real. I can’t do this without you,” she rambles - the Black Widow rambles - and Clint just wants to stand up to hold her. Instead, he scoots over, patting the hospital bed space next to him. There’s no hesitation in her quick migration, the way she throws herself from the chair and into his side, just softly enough to make sure she doesn’t damage anything. He wraps an arm around her.

“It’s okay to need me. I need you too. I love you, Tasha. You’re the most important person in my life,” he says simply, because she always needs things like this - emotional things - laid out in the simplest terms. Sometimes he wants to kill every single person involved in Red Room training himself. Sometimes he wants to take Natasha with him to do it, a little Widow-Hawk vacation from Avenging to do some classic revenge. He takes all of his protective emotions and puts a kiss on the top of her head, pulling her even closer to him.

“I love you too,” she replies, her voice still so quiet and crackling, but he knows she means it just as much as he does. She loves him as much as anyone can. And that works for them.

#clintasha #clint barton #natasha romanoff #natasha romanov #widowhawk #mine #nightwideopen

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yoitscro · 5 years ago

Photo

First thought: Homestuck^2 should've just been called Beyond Canon, and more people should call it that.

The 2 was put on for chuckles; HS trending the day it was announced with it being a sequel spoke enough about how such a thing shant be underestimated, and why Homestuck is ABSOLUTELY more than just our small twitter crowd (and the scrap of us still on tumblr). I say that because remembering the Beyond Canon part slightly reassures me about the fact that this is a fanwork that will do some weird shit, and things I don't agree with, but isn't something that I have to subscribe to enjoying all the way with how I engage with Homestuck.

Homestuck 2 is not the canon continuation. Homestuck 2: Beyond Canon, is an OFFICIAL continuation.

Not having it on such an important stool and as the only content we all are only allowed to digest should come from both people who obsessively dislike it, and people who defensively support it. If a character says they kick babies then I can say, hey that's weird, maybe not great writing, but I can pretend they don't in my content, and i dont have to send threats or call people cishet white men for it! and, it's an absolutely great thing that we were all encouraged to create our own ideas without anyone who's influenced us to do so squinting their eyes when we actually go through with it. Glad I don't have to put this story up to the expectations of being a sequel to a 11 year, worldwide IP that's shooketh the internet landscape since it's merely optional, Death of the Author persists, and ideas aren't just dominated and revolved around the perspective of a 1% in this entire fanbase.

That said.

As an OFFICIAL continuation versus a canon one, HS2 is ok. It certainly has that fanfiction vibe, and a story it wants to tell. I can't really tell what that story is since we have like, 10 sub plots rn though. There's not a real a clear indicator on where the focus of main conflict is that connects all these stories together.

I thought that the prose in replacement of Vriska's battle was jarring, but not teeerribly surprising for the format HS2 is going for. It's more so using drawings to compliment text versus Homestuck's usual of panels being side by side with visual importance, or even itself being the one compliment. It sorta feels weird tho that it brought old fans back in with art just for them to get sneered at when they get a bit upset that there won't be main staples of art known to progress the story forward.

Also people who mock people for “having to read homestuck” knowing there’s language barriers and struggling focus from those who’ve been use to something that was never so dense, are ridiculous.

Personally this could be solved by knowing how old flashes worked, having way more artists on the team, maybe even an art director if not already, and noting that we're not asking for the next Cascade. Rome wasn't built in a day, but Rose Ride sure was, and Homestuck’s animation is absolutely not the same as a 12-24 framed 12 minute cartoon. That, or just snuff the illustrative art as a whole since it's very clear on where the focus is.

I’m sure you’re not here trying to see my opinions on how the outer workings are though, versus plot.

Uuuuh, let's see. Yiffy's still a name I don't care to use until I eventually get tired of any of my art that do not show up in tags. This is fine and not as offensive as people are saying it is. Minors who want to cosplay this character don't have to call themselves this character. Not wanting to be one letter away from accidentally entering a very NSFW space of twitter is fine. Also the lot of people call Tavros, Tavvy.

I hope Kanaya's anger at being cucked is actually seen versus being implied through fan guesses and another character having to say she was.

Roxy needs to be more of an involved character. Where are they during all this?

Jane should have a mention of her relations to HIC being a main/bad influence on her current parallels to Alternian dictatorship.

The PRE-RETCON GROUP should have a fun one-shot update for fans who like them, since they oughta be around if they fell through the ghost hole. Most of them. The sprites that aren't Jasprosesprite should also show up too, since they're around.

Aaaaaand I think we should be extra careful going into the future when it comes to the alien rebellion. It's weird that a lot of the writers are white and toy around with concepts that can be a not so great parallel to racism. Currently not great timing rn! If the characters are going to remain aracial, but with them still doing not much to reference other non-white earth cultures or getting new hair cuts that have different textures (looking at you, Rose), we shant make the species with actual biological benefits a racism commentary. the xeno joke at least had a play on words. If any writer has happened upon this then a, please don't get mad at me again haha, and b, consider having more black writers or directional assistance on your squad. You know who they are.

In the future. I casually want the ghost from the Dream Bubbles to be shown since it's a big elephant in the room to not have a single one of them in the bg despite a load of them appearing from the ghost whole. Don't gotta give them speaking lines, especially the dancestors. I personally don't know if I want that right now.

I also hope in the future that we don't get HS content that is only going to revolve around HS2, if it's optional enough to engage with without being the only option. That's why PQ could ended a bit better for me, and why I hope it's not the main thing that's keeping Hiveswap on the backburner. I don't think it's farfetched to consider that multiple HS content could come from more than just one team; to relieve work load, but to also strengthen the idea that Homestuck can be a various amount of perspectives when it comes to the ideas fans have. The most dedicated fans leading the direction of the story is not just a handful of them. If anything, at least acknowledge the massive ass fan projects going on once in awhile to showcase the different avenues.

"Hey Cro, you sure have bitched about this alot. Do you have anything good to say? Why don't you stop reading if you hate it so much!"

Not every comment needs to be golden, love. Again, some of these decisions I eck at, but ultimately they're just words on a computer that I'm not holding anyone at gun point to do, and I'm curious to see how the story handles itself going forward, since again, it's just a fanwork. Sometimes I wish to not only see where the plot goes, but to see a writer's craft in action.

Good Things:

The Art. Again, please have more artists. It'd help so much, especially since the main one is also double timing for VE. That said, HS2 sticks out to me because of the way the color composition is used. Aside from hair and other tiny things, I haven't seen black used a lot, which makes colors pop. It's really nice to look at. I hope we get more sharper styles of character in the future, since it builds on nostalgia and makes the trolls feel much less like they're from Repiton, but I can deal with it for the most part. I also like that one panel where the omega kids and vriska are talking in the dark room, and based on where they're standing, the text aligns. Tasty as hell.

Meat and Candy still do hold neat logic in the direction the stories go. Candy, while it could be more tasteless in some areas, is chaotic and too much of a good thing. Meat is having something a little more straightforward, though I'm not sure quite yet where it's going. I always found Candy to be the part of the epilogue that actually entertained me the most, from how much of a surreal Robot Chicken skit at 3am it felt. Sometimes the jokes slapped real nice and made me wonder, going in, how is this monkeys paw gonna play out and, hopefully, make people laugh or smirk like they got a good roast at themself?

The slightly episodic feel of each update is what I wanted from the Epilogues, so it's interesting to see that play out when it comes to switching different perspectives.

The bonus updates get points for featuring characters that a lot of us have been wanting to see for ages.

Hopefully this isn't unpopular, but I think the tension of Yiffy's introduction was nicely composed and written (ignoring some of the things I wish for Jane). It leaves you with enough want to see what'll happen next time. You could also say that despite her growling and making a lot of noise, it's not actually bad writing: I see it as the audience being forced to see her in the same perspective that Jane see's her; a dog. Upon no context we're seeing the same thing while knowing things are obviously off, and once we see this character in a new environment where their personality shines, it'll have a bigger impact her own character being humanized. So I like that.

Okay, I think that's all I got. I improv wrote most of this; hopefully I won't be taken out of context since I don’t think that HS2′s writing should ultimately be a judgement of the writers as people, nor treated as if they should hold the same unhealthy work environment that Andrew forced himself to do when writing the og comic. And I'm still like, donating to the patreon and everything, lol.

[runs away]

edit: i was going to put the cw as another positive thing for the comic...but...yeaaaah.

#hs2 #beyond canon #homestuck 2 //#i ran out of room so i posted this here lol.

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emisfritish · 4 years ago

Text

Puppy eyes make everything paw-ssible - Part 3

Pairing: Sarawat/Tine (2gether the series)

Summary: Retraces the journey of how Charlotte came to be the most beloved member of the Guntithanon/Teepakorn household.

Chapters: 3/6 (although each part can be read as a stand alone).

Previous parts : Part 1 - Part 2

Next parts : Part 4

Notes: Oups... So I guess this story will not be published before the episode airs. My bad ! But thanks to an anon bullying me (lovingly, of course ;p), here’s the next part !

Turns out the answer to Tine’s fateful question at the pet shelter is- a lot. His pocket size dog, as Tine had described Charlotte, can actually be a lot of trouble. That’s the thought that crosses through Sarawat’s mind as he hears a whine come from behind their closed bedroom door, which he valiantly tries to ignore.

Him and Tine are currently laying in bed, Sarawat enjoying his evening immensely thanks to Tine resting half on top of him and to the lazy kisses they’ve been exchanging for the past 5 minutes, when another whine sounds from behind the door, prompting Tine to pull away from him.

The only reason Sarawat doesn’t whine himself is because he’s a better person than that, but the urge is definitely there.

Tine, still on top of him but having pushed himself up by the strength in his arms, looks down at him, worry evident on his face, and Sarawat sighs.

“No,” he says, the word out of his mouth before Tine even has the chance to ask whatever question he was about to.

Tine opens his mouth indignantly.

“No Tine,” he repeats, and Tine pushes himself up completely, sitting down on the bed in front of him and prompting Sarawat to do the same, his back against the wall behind them.

It seems like a lot of their conversations start the exact same way recently, and Sarawat is already tired of the coming argument. The fact that every single one of these conversations end with Sarawat caving too, does not help improve his mood.

“Come on Wat, we can’t just leave her there, sleeping on the floor. She’s a baby, and she’s crying,” his boyfriend says, turning his face towards the door where Charlotte can still be heard whining.

“Tine, need I remind you that she is a dog ? She’s 5 months old already, and she has a mat on the floor, that’s where dogs are supposed to sleep,” he says firmly, knowing that the argument, as logical as it may be, will have no impact on his boyfriend.

“But Wat, listen to her right now…” Tine starts whining himself, and Sarawat can feel his heart tug in his chest. He’s not a monster, he doesn’t like hearing Charlotte’s small dog cries from the corridor, but he can stand it if it means educating their dog into being more independent. The cries combined with Tine’s puppy eyes though ? That’s where trouble starts for him.

“Tine, she can’t keep sleeping in our bed with us every night, she has to learn at some point,” he tries to explain, and he sees Tine nod his head in acceptance.

The thing is, Sarawat would be more understanding if it was Charlotte’s first night in her new house, but she’s been with them for about a week now, and this has been happening every night. He can’t have his evenings interrupted by a tiny dog every single night, as cute as she may be.

“I know Wat, you’re right. And I promise Saturday when we take her to the training center I’ll ask about it and see what we can do to encourage her to sleep on her mat. But for tonight, please, can we…” Tine pleads, his eyes going all sad the longer they have to listen to their dog crying outside of their bedroom, and Sarawat sighs, resigned.

“Fine, ok. But we’re talking about this Saturday Tine, I swear,” he ends up saying, and he sees Tine pump his fist.

“Yes ! You’re the best Wat,” he says, pushing forward on his hands to lift his body and press a quick kiss on Sarawat’s lips, before getting up from the bed and making his way to the bedroom door, opening it and instantly bending down to pick up Charlotte who was waiting in front of their door.

Still feeling the taste of Tine’s lips on his, Sarawat licks his own for a second before sighing. This is what he could have had tonight, if they hadn’t recently opened their home to this tiny dog.

Before he has more time to lament, Tine walks back to the bed, putting a now happy Charlotte in the middle of it next to Sarawat, before he walks around to lie on the other side of the bed, turning to his side to face them both.

Charlotte lets out a tiny happy bark, before she makes her way closer to Sarawat who’s just lied back down, and licks his face in greeting.

Sarawat scrunches his face, still not used to the rugged texture of her tongue leaving spit all over his face, and Tine laughs across from him, one of his hands making its way to caress Sarawat’s cheek, before he scratches Charlotte’s head between her ears.

“It’s okay Charlotte, he’s acting all tough now, but I know he hates hearing you cry too. Plus, he’s only grumpy before you interrupted what was about to turn into some very pleasant adult time,” Tine whispers to the dog, and Sarawat turns his face to glare at him from where he is still laying on his back, which causes Tine to smile teasingly at him.

Is that what was about to happen tonight ? Because Sarawat hadn’t been sure, but now he’s even more annoyed.

“But it’s okay, I’ll make it up to him and he’ll get over it,” he finishes, and Sarawat doesn’t know whether he wants to glare some more at Tine, or whether he wants to laugh at him for explaining all of this to their dog.

“You’d better,” he ends up mumbling, his lips pouting slightly and Tine throws him a winning smile.

Not one to let his boyfriend tease him that way without reciprocating, especially when he looks this beautiful, Sarawat suddenly lifts himself up on one elbow to tower slightly over Tine, before he pushes forward to kiss him good night.

What was meant to be a tiny peck goodnight turns into a little more when he gets sucked into it by the taste of his boyfriend’s lips, deepening the kiss a little before Tine, who had definitely been happily reciprocating until a second ago, suddenly pushes him away with a hand on his chest.

“Saraleo ! We can’t do that, not in front of Charlotte,” he ends up admonishing him, and Sarawat can’t do anything but stare at his boyfriend in surprise, not quite knowing if Tine is serious or not.

“Really Tine ? Again, she is a dog. You do know that right ?” he asks incredulously, and he sees a blush make its way on Tine’s cheeks. And damn it, that makes him want to kiss his adorable boyfriend even more.

Tine just glares at him in answer though, prompting Sarawat to sigh and drop back onto his pillow.

“Fine, have it your way,” he mumbles, turning on his side so his back is facing both Tine and Charlotte.

Still, he’s not actually mad at Tine, and knowing how insecure and worried his boyfriend can get, he’s not about to let those be the last words he tells him before they go to sleep.

“Good night nuisance, I love you’,” he whispers in the dark, and he feels Tine push forward to kiss the back of his neck gently.

“I love you too,” he murmurs, before the weight shifts on the bed, Tine lying back down.

A few minutes after, just as Sarawat is starting to feel the tug of sleep pull at him, he feels a very different texture replace the lingering feel of Tine’s lips on the back of his neck, when Charlotte starts licking it happily.

Not able to hold it, Sarawat lets out a laugh at how ridiculously endearing his dog can be, before he turns on his other side, coming face to face with Charlotte, and a laughing Tine in the background.

“Fine, fine, I’m not mad. Good night to your too mini nuisance, it’s time to sleep now Charlotte,” he laughs, pushing on the dog’s butt so she’ll lie down, which she does after a few seconds, curling up in a circle in between him and Tine.

Lifting up his eyes towards his boyfriend, Sarawat sees the sweet smile he is sporting and he shakes his head and laughs in answer. God, their dog was weird, but he really did love her already.

Settling for the night, Sarawat ends up scooping closer to both Tine and Charlotte, throwing one of his arms so it can rest above his boyfriend’s waist, bracketing Charlotte between them.

Sleep starts tugging at him once again, and the last thing he hears before he succumbs to it is his boyfriend’s sweet voice.

“Good job Charlotte, now we get cuddles thanks to you,” Tine whispers in the dark. “I love you both.”

And yeah, ok. Maybe Charlotte is a bit of a pain with her interrupting every single alone time moment he’s had with Tine in a week, but he has to admit that he could easily get used to falling asleep cuddled with both her and Tine every night.

#emi's writing #saratine #sarawat x tine #2gether #2gether the series #still2gether the series #saratine fanfic #saratine fic #2gether fanfic #2gether fic #I'm sorry this is late guys but in my defense no one seemed like they cared ;p

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artificialqueens · 5 years ago

Text

I Want to Believe (Branjie) - Athena2

Summary: A believer and a skeptic shouldn’t work. Everything about them clashes. But somehow Vanessa ‘Spooky’ Mateo and Brooke Lynn Hytes manage just fine. (an X-Files au one shot)

A/N: So this is…something. I honestly don’t know what to call it. It’s not inspired by any specific episode of the X-Files, and you don’t need to be familiar with the show to read this. Thank you Writ for betaing and supporting this, you’re the best. I’d really appreciate any feedback you have!

(Now)

Everything about them clashes, but the most obvious is their desks.

Vanessa’s is messy and haphazard. Week—and maybe even month, by the smell of one—old coffee cups are scattered along the surface and obscuring the lone photo on her desk, drops of coffee sticking to her computer keyboard and staining her stacks of newspaper articles, with quotes circled in frantic red pen. Not an inch is clean, even the drawers covered with taped-up newspaper articles and blurry photos, the insides crammed with handwritten accounts and old books of mythical creatures and her chip stash. Everything is urgent—Vanessa works with a breathless passion that moves into her desk, everything she cares about laid bare on the surface for all to see, with the sense that she was working as fast as she could, wanting to find things (find the truth) before it was too late.

Brooke’s is just like her: neat, sparse, and secretive. She wipes the top down each week with Lysol, getting rid of her own coffee remnants. She keeps all her notes in a fancy leather notebook in handwriting so neat it looks typewritten, all her files in alphabetical order in a folder. There’s nothing personal on the top, save one picture. The bottom drawer is where Brooke really is, hidden behind metal like the real Brooke. That’s where she keeps the Snickers bars she sneaks on the sly, where she keeps the plush kitten keychain she likes to smooth her hands over, even the trashy magazines she pretends not to read. Her dedication is there in the notes and files and endless searching, not stopping until she has answers—answers that usually contradict Vanessa’s. Brooke’s own form of truth, but one no less hard-fought for.

A believer and a skeptic. Everything about them clashes. They shouldn’t work. But considering the lone photo on both their desks is the same photo, of them locked in an embrace, they somehow do work.

—-

Two Years Ago (Then)

Spooky Mateo.

They’re transferring Brooke, and gone are her days of a private office with her own secretary, solving high-profile murder cases late into the night.

No, she’s being led down, down, down, deep into the bowels of the FBI building, through freezing halls and over floors that haven’t seen a mop since the Reagan administration, all to receive her new moldy basement office with a woman who’s the butt of nearly every FBI joke.

Vanessa ‘Spooky’ Mateo, so named because of her fascination with the paranormal, supernatural, and general what-the-fuckeries.

Kids missing with no explanation? Mateo was there, insisting some blurry photo contained a UFO. Weird murders with lots of blood loss? There’s Mateo reading vampire lore from an old book. People acting weird? Alien cult, Mateo would claim, citing some obscure news clipping.

“Here you are,” Ariel says, stopping at a door. “Have fun.” She’s gone with a smirk, and Brooke can just imagine the laughing she’ll do upstairs.

Brooke takes a breath and steps inside. It’s just a temporary reassignment. New policy says Mateo has to have a partner, and Brooke got the shaft. A few months down here, tops, and she’ll be back in her clean office with her personal coffee machine and real cases, not aliens, actually using her former doctor knowledge.

The office smells like wet dog and coffee. There’s an empty desk crammed against the wall that must be Brooke’s, and the other desk—at least Brooke thinks it’s a desk and not an abstract art piece of newspapers and coffee cups—is Mateo’s. She’s currently hovering over a newspaper, pen behind her ear, poking into her wavy brown hair, and another in her hand, scribbling notes in the margins. She’s so focused that Brooke has to clear her throat three times before she snaps up like she got shocked.

“You must be Brooke!” Vanessa jumps out of her chair and runs to Brooke, pumping her hand up and down and forcing Brooke to balance her box of desk stuff single-handedly. She’s kind of cute, now that Brooke sees her up close and not walking the opposite way. Her soft brown eyes are wide and passionate, her teeth dazzling in the dim lights, an oversized wool cardigan pulled over her button-down, no doubt to ward off the chill down here.

“That’s me. And you’re Vanessa.”

“Yep! Here’s your desk.” Vanessa nudges her into the corner. “It’s small down here, but not so bad. It does get cold, though. I have an extra jacket if you need it.”

Brooke nods, loosening her white-knuckle grip on her box and brushing layers of dust off the desk. With a little dusting and polishing, it might not be so bad. Oh, who is she kidding. The computer probably hasn’t been turned on in 20 years and her teeth are practically chattering and her chair is held together with duct tape.

She takes another breath and sits. The chair is actually comfortable, a small beacon of hope in this dungeon. Brooke has a better view of Vanessa’s side of the room, and the papers taped to the wall make her head explode, eyes pulled in fifty directions. Pictures of supposed UFO’s. Articles on disappearances, people sharing their alien abduction stories. Blown-up crop circle designs. Pins in a map signifying something Brooke doesn’t know. And right in the center, a poster proclaiming I Want to Believe.

“Look.” Vanessa’s in front of her desk, hands on her hips, looking like a little kid playing tough. “I know they sent you here to babysit me. I know no one believes me. And I know you can’t wait to get outta here. But give me one case before you judge anything. Just one, okay?”

Brooke thinks. She could refuse, march upstairs and demand her old office back. But something in Vanessa’s voice, or her eyes, fiery with determination, makes Brooke pause, something burning in her stomach. Snap judgments are unwise, she knows that. Working here, she has to think critically, look at all the pieces before she assembles them. And Vanessa did offer her a jacket, a kindness Brooke hasn’t seen from anyone else in this building. Brooke doesn’t want to run upstairs complaining like a little kid, either. Knowing her co-workers, they probably have an office pool going on how long she’ll last, and Brooke wants to prove them wrong, cost them some money.

“All right,” Brooke says. “What have you got?”

—-

(Now)

Their clothes are the same, standard uniform, yet still brimming with their differences.

Vanessa wears her suit exactly as she should, with slight modifications. The jacket comes off at her desk, replaced with a worn cardigan that’s soft and cozy like a blanket. Her top two shirt buttons are usually undone, because she didn’t like the collar squeezing her. You’d never doubt she’s FBI from the proud, brash voice she announces herself with, the way she appears much larger than she is, but Vanessa still keeps her badge in her right waist pocket, easy to whip out and proclaim FBI, like people do on TV. Brooke insists on ironing the suit for her, and Vanessa watches, mesmerized, and Brooke brings out sharp lines in the fabric. Vanessa will usually try it on after she’s done, relishing in the warmth, letting Brooke adjust her sleeves and collar and kiss her hands and neck. She’s happy every time that suit wrinkles because it means ironing day, means Brooke’s kisses.

Brooke wears her suit exactly as she should: perfectly pressed, shirt buttons done all the way up, her shoes shiny enough to see your reflection. Her badge is kept in her left breast pocket for easy access, to show people even though her attitude makes it clear she is who she says she is. After years in loose scrubs, she likes the stiffness of the suit, the crisp lines and how it seals her up inside it, feeling safe and important with that suit on. It’s a point of pride for her when she puts it on in the morning. Vanessa’s hands often slip around her chest before she puts her shirt on, clothing Brooke’s bare skin with her warm hands. Vanessa will always say how she loves a woman in a suit, peppering kisses up Brooke’s chest and neck as she buttons the shirt for her. Vanessa’s kisses are another reason she loves the uniform.

—-

(Then)

Vanessa snickers as Brooke grips the door handle.

“Is the big bad agent afraid of my driving?” She teases.

“Not you. Just the road’s so bumpy,” Brooke explains.

It’s true the road is bumpy, flanked by dark woods and endless fields where they’d never find you. They’re past the point of radio signals, to where even Google maps can’t help you if you get lost. There’s a stillness and silence out here she likes, that reminds her of dry, dusty summers as a child, reading about aliens by flashlight.

“You’re not taking me out here to murder me, are you?” Brooke asks feebly.

“I wouldn’t tell you if I was, would I?” Vanessa smiles and to her surprise, Brooke returns it, her face looking like it’s about to crack from the gesture.

Brooke isn’t exactly what Vanessa suspected. Vanessa knows all about her, knows she has a medical degree and was top of her FBI class a year before Vanessa was top of hers. Brooke is good, a rule-follower, but very dedicated. She stays as late as Vanessa to finish a case, genuinely checking on people in the hospital after their case was solved. She’s annoyed with her reassignment, Vanessa can tell, but Brooke is giving her a chance, which is more than she can say of anyone else.

Brooke’s got her nose buried in Vanessa’s notes, biting her lip as she reads. There’s been strange disappearances and reappearances for weeks, with no pattern: a toddler one day, a senior citizen the next, college kids and preteens following. All were gone for a few hours and woke up in their rooms with no memory beyond flashing lights and strange faces—hallmarks of extraterrestrial abductions, things Vanessa’s studied for years. Vanessa hasn’t found any leads, but a woman contacted her, believing she knows where the next disappearance will happen.

Even Vanessa treads lightly with psychics—it’s an easy thing to fake, if you do research or have excellent deduction skills—but the woman’s phone call had been desperate, begging Vanessa to visit before another disappearance happened.

Brooke looks up from the notes. “So,” she begins skeptically, “this woman thinks she knows where the next event will happen?”

“Yes. Says she’s been having visions and realized they matched the disappearances on the news.”

Brooke scoffs.

“Guessing you never had your palm read or anything?” Vanessa asks.

“It’s all fake. They look through your bag or something, or pick something so generic it can’t be wrong.”

Vanessa sighs. Brooke’s not entirely wrong, but with a stubbornness Vanessa might struggle with. She’s not trying to turn Brooke into a full believer like her, but some acknowledgement that weird shit just happens, no explanation, would be nice.

“A lot of them are fake, yeah,” Vanessa admits. “But sometimes they’re not. One time a psychic told me something my mom always says, word for word. There’s no way she could have known. Another told me my notebook was in the fridge, and it was, I dropped it without knowing. And another time—“

“But those are the exceptions,” Brooke insists. “The majority are fake, or just lucky guessers. There’s always a scientific explanation.”

“I’m not saying science is fake and don’t vaccinate your kids, Mary!” Vanessa exclaims to a sheepish chuckle from Brooke. “All I’m saying is that some stuff can’t be explained. It can’t.”

“Yeah, but I can’t write ‘unexplained’ in someone’s report. There has to be something real to write.”

Brooke’s clinging to her orderly worldview, not that Vanessa can blame her for that. Who would question everything that’s so solid and real to them? Brooke’s a hard nut to crack, but Vanessa has a feeling that what’s inside will be worth the effort.

“But you have to admit that unexplained fits sometimes. Weird markings on people’s bodies with no other injuries. Disappearances with no other explanations. Photos of creatures—“

“Those can be faked.”

“But sometimes, Brooke, just sometimes, weird things happen and you can’t explain them.” If she can convince Brooke of this, she’ll consider it a win. Someone to at least try to understand her, to acknowledge that her years of research have merit. This has been her life for years, trying to find proof of what others wouldn’t consider.

“Maybe.”

Vanessa turns into the woman’s driveway so hard Brooke slams against the door.

“Sorry.”

“I’m good,” Brooke says.

Vanessa’s not one for stereotypes, but the cottage before them…well, it could definitely be used as a set for a witch house in some horror movie. Rows of plants curl toward them along the path, ready to pull them into the soil. The circular windows watch them like eyes, following every move. Jagged wooden steps like broken teeth lead up to a crooked, scratched purple door that Vanessa knocks, vowing to show no fear in front of Brooke.

The woman who answers is younger and prettier than Vanessa expected, not a wart or frog or crooked finger in sight.

“Vanessa Mateo, FBI—“

“—Brooke Lynn Hytes, FBI.”

She and Brooke turn to each other, wondering why they didn’t sort out who would speak first.

“First day working together, I see,” the woman says. “I’m Scarlet. Come on in.”

Vanessa sticks her tongue out at Brooke and they step inside.

“Tea?” Scarlet offers. “The water should be ready. I’ve got green tea and berry tea aside, I knew you were coming.”

Brooke stiffens beside her. Vanessa’s favorite is berry tea, and she’s guessing from Brooke’s pale yet composed face that green tea is hers.

She elbows Brooke playfully as they sit.

“Lucky guess,” Brooke whispers.

Scarlet puts the mugs in front of them and fidgets in her seat.

“Is this gonna be like an interrogation?” she asks fearfully.

“No,” Vanessa soothes. “Don’t you worry, you’re not in trouble at all. We just wanna hear about your visions, okay?”

Scarlet nods, and Brooke pulls out her notes.

“Whenever you’re ready,” Brooke says. Her tone is calm and even, not stressing Scarlet, and it’s a point of approval for Brooke in Vanessa’s book. So many people would have demanded answers or spooked Scarlet, but Brooke is surprisingly gentle even if skeptical.

“I’ve always seen stuff,” Scarlet begins. “Knew when my grandma was coming over, knew my birthday present before I opened it. But the last few months I’ve been having these dreams. There’s flashing lights and numbers and these big dark smudges in the sky. I didn’t think anything of it till Yvie–she’s my girlfriend–had the news on, and the house number where one of the disappearances happened matched a number in my dream. And they’ve all matched since then. Except one. The most recent one. I think it’s where the next disappearance is gonna be, and it’s tonight. I can feel it.”

The only sound is the scratching of Brooke’s pen. Vanessa is riveted in her seat. Flashing lights and dark smudges are very promising signs, a hint that this is beyond the natural world, like she thought.

“What’s the number?” Vanessa asks.

“256. It’s a green house with white shutters. Morning-something Lane is the street name. That’s all I saw.” She pauses, looks at them in concern. “Will that help?”

“It helps a lot,” Vanessa assures her, and it does. They have the day to find this house, and with Scarlet’s tip, it shouldn’t be so hard. They can stop another person from disappearing, and there’s a new spring in Vanessa’s step as they thank Scarlet and head outside.

“So,” Brooke prompts.

“So.” Vanessa’s not going to gloat about Scarlet, but she’s not giving an inch either.

Brooke sighs. “Well, we need to find the house and get the people out. Tell them there’s a gas leak or something so they’ll listen. Problem solved.”

Vanessa nods, because that was her plan too. Except for one thing. “Well…”

“Well what?” Brooke demands, and the tiny crease in her forehead is almost cute, proves that her perfect face is very human.

“Get the people out, yes. But I want to watch the house tonight. I want to see if anything happens. And I want you to come with me.”

—-

(Now)

Bedtime is Vanessa’s favorite thing with Brooke. It was something they used to do differently, something Brooke changed to help Vanessa sleep better. Vanessa used to hate sleeping, would bury herself in work until she passed out at the kitchen table. She’s always afraid of the dreams. Dreams of all the things that happened when she was little, crying into her blankets because no one believed her. She burrows into the mattress when she sleeps, blankets snug around her like it will keep the dreams from exploding out. With Brooke, she doesn’t have to be scared. She snuggles against Brooke, Brooke’s arm secure around her, holding her down. When she does have the dreams, when she mumbles into her pillow and cries out in her sleep, Brooke is there, gently kissing the back of her neck and telling her it’s all okay, she’s there and won’t let anything hurt her. She’s never slept as well as she does with Brooke.

Brooke was never one for sharing a bed. She liked to sprawl out on her mattress, tug all the blankets over her, roll over and not have to worry about hitting anyone. She could sleep with files and notes littering the sheets and no one would care. But with Vanessa, bedtime has become something special. Brooke sprays their pillows with a calming lavender spray she thought might help Vanessa sleep. She usually tucks Vanessa in and then slips behind her, holding her close. Brooke never craved another person against her chest while she sleeps, but she can’t imagine sleeping without Vanessa there now. And when Vanessa thrashes against her, whimpering in her sleep, Brooke does all she can to keep Vanessa together and calm her down. She’s never slept as well as she does with Vanessa.

—

(Then)

256 Morning Bird Lane is in the middle of nowhere, because of course it is.

“Can’t these aliens ever land in a city?” Brooke complains. “At least near a freaking grocery store or some sign of civilization.”

The emptiness is making her uneasy. She and Vanessa are parked in some lot across the street from the house, and there is literally nothing for miles. Brooke’s a city girl. She likes trying new restaurants every week and having hundreds of grocery stores to choose from and never being far from a hospital should disaster strike. She likes knowing there are people around, even if she appreciates the anonymity from those people that a large city grants her. Sure, people suck when they smash into her on the subway during her commute or hold up the line arguing over coupons, but at least they were there. There’s nothing like that here, no glow of city lights or hum of cars, no knowledge that people are nearby, living lives as complicated as yours. There’s nothing but trees and darkness and silence, and the hair on Brooke’s neck is standing up at the thought. She’s grateful Vanessa is here with her, to save her from the abyss of silent solitude.

“So you do think it’s aliens,” Vanessa challenges.

“Absolutely not. I don’t care if Jabba the fucking Hutt himself drops out of the sky. I just can’t wait to get out of here.”

Vanessa shrugs. “We lived out in the country when I was little before we moved. It’s not so bad. And I brought snacks if you’re hungry, y’know.”

“I’m fin–are those Snickers?”

“Yeah.”

Brooke reaches in Vanessa’s bag and pulls one out, letting chocolate and peanuts fill her mouth. At least she has candy, a reminder of the city vending machines and check-out counters that await her.

“Scarlet told me they’re your favorite.”

Brooke’s heart stops. “You’re shitting me.”

Vanessa tries to keep a straight face, but she caves with a mighty laugh. “Yeah, I’m kidding. I just grabbed ‘em because they’re my favorite too.”

“Oh.” Snickers are Vanessa’s favorite candy. It’s a pointless fact, no value in knowing it. But it feels important to Brooke somehow, like it’s a part of Vanessa uncovered. What is a person, really, other than a collection of things they love? Christ, this middle-of-nowhere shit is making her philosophical. Soon she’ll notice how gorgeous Vanessa looks in the moonlight.

They eat their candy and lapse into silence.

“What made you join the bureau?” Vanessa asks.

“I started doing medical consulting with them a few years ago. Then the bureau offered me a full position, working cases and helping with the medical stuff. Said they’d pay off my med school loans and my bureau training fees, and I was in so much debt after med school it seemed like a good idea.”

She’s always wanted to help people. Brooke had gone into medicine for that reason, to help people and give them better lives. An old mentor of hers from med school recommended Brooke as an FBI consultant, and she answered questions about murders and injuries for stony-faced, black-suited agents. She couldn’t help but hope they’d show up every day, bring her a big case to help with, bring a killer to justice and prevent more people from being hurt. Bring her excitement she didn’t know she was missing. Her life as a doctor wasn’t boring, but when she heard the FBI was coming it gave her a thrill like nothing else. When they offered her the job, she realized all she wanted was to be part of that world, to be one of them instead of their consultant.

She doesn’t tell any of this to Vanessa, though. What’s the point? This should just be a few months of partnership. No need to bare her soul to Spooky Mateo.

She’s not quite as spooky as Brooke thought, though. She’s almost sweet, soothing Scarlet and packing stakeout snacks. There’s a bravery in her, the way she marched up to Scarlet’s house without an ounce of fear. Vanessa’s a fighter, Brooke can see all the traits she herself carries present in Vanessa, in her determination to keep going and boldness to just go after what she wants because there’s no other way she’ll get it.

“Well, I’m glad you joined,” Vanessa says. “It’s kinda nice to have you here.”

“Just kinda nice?” Brooke teases.

“Yeah.”

Brooke snorts against her will. “How did you join the FBI?”

Vanessa smirks. “You wondering how Spooky Mateo ended up here, aren’t ya?”

“Maybe a little.” Brooke’s grateful the darkness hides her burning cheeks.

“I don’t blame you.” Vanessa shrugs. “I just wanted to help people, really. People who don’t get listened to.” She takes a breath. “When I was little, weird shit always happened. Flashing lights and dark things in the sky. Weird shadows in my room. Sometimes my toys would move around on the shelves. One night I swear I saw some sort of creature. Something not natural. Everyone said it was my imagination, but it was real. My parents dragged me to all these doctors, and eventually they decided moving to the city might help. The things stopped happening after that, but I never forgot them. And that’s what I wanted to investigate. Stuff you couldn’t explain.”

She really does believe what she’s saying. Brooke’s interviewed enough people to recognize honesty. But can Brooke believe her? Her rational side kicks in. Boredom in the country could have caused Vanessa’s overactive imagination, which calmed down with the city’s stimulation. It makes sense. But Vanessa shaped her entire life and career around those events. She wants to find the truth, and Brooke respects her for it, even if that truth isn’t hers.

“You don’t have to believe me,” Vanessa says. “But that’s why.”

“I–” Brooke freezes when the time on the car dash crosses her vision. It can’t be right, it can’t be. She checks her watch. No no no. “Vanessa?”

“Yeah?”

“The last time I checked the clock, it was 10:51. I know it.” Brooke swallows hard and points to the time now.

10:43.

“Shit,” Vanessa breathes.

Brooke blinks, and the time flickers to 10:51. Maybe it was her imagination–there’s a sudden gust of wind, enough to make the car shake. The dashboard lights blink on and off, the car headlights throwing light all over then fading into darkness.

“Vanessa!” Brooke yells over the howling wind, but no answer. Brooke closes her eyes against the blinding lights, can’t see Vanessa beside her.

The radio switches on despite having no signal, classic rock and then pop and then something unintelligible blasting through the speakers and rattling the windows. The bottles in the cupholder shake in place, liquids bouncing all over the plastic. There’s a loud whirring sound above them, a black shape blocking out the moon and throwing beams of light that bounce off the house across the street before vanishing all at once.

The clock changes to 10:52.

Brooke’s chest burns as she takes her first breath in she doesn’t know how long. Her knees are up against her chest to protect her, and her sweaty, tense hand is currently being squeezed by Vanessa, who is in the middle console of the car, half-in Brooke’s lap. Vanessa’s hand is soft and warm, her body solid and soothing against her, and Brooke is almost sad when she lets go and shifts into the driver’s seat.

“What the fuck was that?” Brooke demands, still trying to get her breathing under control.

“I don’t–” Vanessa’s chest heaves as she draws in air “–I don’t know. But it had to be the cause of the disappearances. Just like Scarlet said. Some kind of space–”

“Don’t say spaceship.” Brooke’s rational brain churns to life, trying to turn what she’s seen into something real, something concrete and logical. Something that makes sense. “It was–it was probably a helicopter.”

“That was no fucking helicopter and you know it! Electrical disturbances, time malfunctioning, they’re all signs of extraterrestrial activity.”

“No, okay? No! There’s some logical explanation, and that was not some alien ship here to abduct someone.”

“I was right! You know I am!”

Vanessa takes a breath, and the silence fills the car to bursting. Brooke can’t do this anymore. Her mind is reeling and the argument is taking more energy than she has.

“Look, can we just go? I don’t want to be here anymore.” Brooke’s voice comes out smaller than she intends, and it softens the anger on Vanessa’s face.

“Yeah,” Vanessa agrees. “Let’s go.”

Vanessa reaches into the cupholder for her drink at the same time as Brooke and their heads smack into each other.

“Ow, shit!”

“What the hell kind of blockhead you got?”

The next thing Brooke knows, they’re laughing. Laughing to stay sane after what happened, to cling to each other, to go back to normal, even if that normal may not fit Brooke’s definition anymore. It’s the perfect thing to break the tension, and when Brooke locks eyes with Vanessa, the brown wide and soft before her, she wonders if this was meant to happen. If there is something beyond this universe, something bringing them together.

“What did you say before? About unexplained stuff?”

“Sometimes things just happen and you can’t explain them.”

“Yeah,” Brooke says.

And then they’re both leaning in, and the kiss defies explanation. Brooke’s lips melt against Vanessa’s, their hearts still racing and speeding up even more at their touches. Brooke rests one hand on Vanessa’s shoulder and the other on her thigh, two points of contact to ground her, prove that they’re both here, doing this. Vanessa is intoxicating, burying her hands in Brooke’s hair and pulling her closer, until their chests are touching and Brooke’s knee is against the gear shift but she doesn’t even feel it. It’s just them here, just them kissing, and when she pulls back Brooke thinks of Vanessa’s poster and knows that if she believes in anything, it’s Vanessa.

—-

(Now)

“Wanna get pizza tonight?” Vanessa asks.

“I kinda want burritos,” Brooke says sheepishly, and Vanessa rolls her eyes.

“Pizza tonight and burritos this weekend?” Brooke suggests.

Vanessa nods. The compromising is something she’s gotten used to, working together on things while accepting they still have their differences.

It’s been two years since Brooke was transferred down here, two years of taking cases no one thinks twice about and helping people the best they can. Two years of being partners at work and almost two years of being partners at home, of trying to cook and cuddling on the couch and sleeping together, making even things like grocery shopping and cleaning fun as long as they’re together.

Even if Brooke fights tooth and nail to scientifically explain everything, and Vanessa pushes for unconventional ideas, to consider paranormal events, they’ve still managed all these years. They work together perfectly, their ideas and methods often meeting in the middle. Vanessa’s odd sources getting them a real lead that Brooke’s formalities couldn’t. Brooke’s medical knowledge saving someone Vanessa would have thought gone. She knows Brooke doesn’t always believe, and that’s okay.

Because Vanessa believes in her, believes in them, and as Brooke takes her hand as they head out of the office, she knows Brooke believes too.

#rpdr fanfiction #brooke lynn hytes #vanessa vanjie mateo #scarlet envy #branjie #lesbian au #x-files au #paranormal au #athena2 #concrit welcome #submission #s11

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