#i have so much shit we have said that could just be whimsy and angel

[wakkodoodle]

@urbanqhoul please consider your health when doing these things I beg you

Anyway it’s just them

(I’m Ninja Crow)

[lustbile-archive]

In The Cards

HaechanxReader

Word Count: 3.7k

Summary/Warning: Smut. Best friend Haechan wants you to read his tarot :( warning! very beginner tarot knowledge. all card interpretations found on the app golden tarot

Request: can i request a bestfriend-to-lovers hyuck where he and the reader share their first time together?

This is the third installment of my week of halloween fics. Info about possible blurb night here

“Please?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s weird.”

“How is it weird?”

“Haechan seriously,” you finally turn to face him as you lay side by side on your bed, the pout and puppy eyes he wears on his face the exact thing you had feared to see as you knew he had his ways of convincing you no matter what, “you’re asking me to do a reading on your love life.”

“And how is that weird?” his voice pitches as he turns to mirror you, now with you both on your sides and your phones tucked under your respective pillows you have no choice but to stare into his warm eyes. His body is dramatically lax as he relaxes into the mattress, already ready to toss his body around obnoxiously if you decide to deny him again.

“You’re my best friend dude, it would be weird to see what the cards say about your possible romantic activities,” you were somewhat telling the truth. Yes, you thought it would be kind of weird to see what your cards had to say about his love life, the idea being weirdly intimate for you, but you also knew that there was a small part of you, an evil yet insecure little gremlin that had made a home in your heart a few months before, that would take whatever they say directly to heart. You never anticipated forming romantic feelings for the boy in front of you, actually when you and Haechan had first started getting close you stubbornly denied that something like that happening was possible, yet here you were stupidly infatuated with the boy who lays in your bed wrapped warmly in a worn hoodie with your heart trapped between his teeth, “that and I’m not even that good at doing readings yet.”

“An even better reason to do it,” he sits up with a jolt of energy making you return to your place on your back to watch him, “so even if you do my reading, like you said you’re not that experienced so we won’t take what they say to heart right? It can just be for fun.”

Your eyes squint in disbelief as you try to read the look on his face. Regardless of his words, you know it wouldn’t just be for fun. Haechan had made it kind of obvious on the few occasions that tarot readings, and things related to things of that nature, were brought up, that he truly did believe it. Haechan had a whimsy about him, a belief and willingness to believe in things outside of himself, things he couldn’t really explain, and usually you’d find it incredibly endearing, but now it just helped in raising your stress levels.

“Come on dude,” his head tilts back and his face scrunches as he tries to convince you, his determination unfortunately making a smile start to pull onto your lips, “I’m bored and the ambiance is way too sexy right now for us to not do some witchy shit.”

Again, like always, he was unfortunately right. It was late into the night, nearing 3 am, and a storm raged loudly outside. The storm being the exact thing that had locked Haechan in your room to begin with as it had knocked your power out an hour or so before the time he was meant to leave, so he had decided to stay instead. He had claimed it was because he didn’t want to bother with traveling in the storm, but you could easily pick out the softness behind his eyes when you casually mentioned not wanting to be alone in the dark.

Along with the steady storm, you had also gathered your collection of candles and scattered them lit around the room, that and the quiet sounds of Florence + The Machine and Fleetwood Mac playing from the small speakers connected to your phone only supported Haechan’s argument. You two had perfectly crafted the perfect atmosphere to ask questions to some other force, and you can’t help but kick yourself for putting yourself in such a position.

“Okay fine,” you finally respond hesitantly, a grimace on your face and you move to sit up as well. You hate the way your chest tightens at his reaction to your words, an excited jump bouncing him in the air as he leans over to the table you keep to the side of your bed. The idea that he just knows exactly where you keep your things dances tauntingly in your mind and you angrily push it down as you move to sit facing him with your legs crossed underneath you.

“Found ‘em,” he whispers as he rifles through the drawer, a quiet triumphant noise squeaking from his chest as he moves to sit back in front of you, mirroring the way you sit with a smug grin on his face.

“Shuffle them a couple times for me,” you say, motioning to the deck in his hands, and he does so immediately. His fingers work slowly and gently, the fear of damaging the deck floating around his form. He splits it a few times, shuffling them together in a neat stack before he hands them to you like a devious cat happily offering their owner a dead mouse, and you smile softly at his consideration for your things.

“I’m only gonna do a three card pull okay? Past, present, and future okay?”

“Yeah, yeah that’s cool,” he nods excitedly as he shifts around where he sits, his anticipation slowly gaining on him, “I’m cool with whatever.”

“Okay give me a question to ask while I shuffle,” you command, your hands holding the deck as you get ready to shuffle, “it can be as detailed or vague as you want, the cards should understand what we're asking.”

“I just wanna know…’’ he hesitates for a moment, his lips caught between his lips as he thinks, “love life I-.... hm… I guess I want to ask it to show me the path my love life will take.”

You only nod in response before your eyes fall closed. Your heart beat picks up and your hands shake slightly in your nervousness, but regardless you begin to repeat the question in your mind as your hands begin to move. ‘Show me the path of Donghyuck’s love life’ you speak to your cards as they dance between your fingers, your hands much more rough than Haechan’s.

His breathing is almost deafening as it's the only human sound that hits you as you work, and you hear it catch when your hands stop moving.

Your eyes open again, and with a deep breath you lean forward to spread the cards out in front of him in the shape of a fan, “pick three and put them in my hand,” you command again with your hand held out flat, “whichever three speak to you.”

“Okay,” he whispers, his fingers moving to hover over the cards and the way he holds himself he looks as if you’ve just asked him to take a standardized test. He jolts slightly before grabbing the card below his hand, and it's quickly placed on your palm. His reaction when picking the other two are not much different, and after a minute or two you have all three cards and you’re gently collecting and setting the remaining cards to the side.

“Okay,” you start as you shift to get in a more comfortable position, “we’ll start with past.”

He nods as you move to lay down the first card you were handed, the card revealing itself to be The Lovers, their naked bodies and the angel that lives behind them almost taunting you and making you tongue stick dryly to the roof of your mouth.

“Okay..” you trail off as you glance at the boy in front of you, his eyes going slightly wild at the sight of the card in front of him, “now present.”

Wanting to get out of the situation as quickly as possible, you lay the next card down, and before you now lay the two of cups. Another pairing of people to stare as you squirm.

“Finally,” you huff moving to lay down the last card, “future.”

With a soft thud, you place the card down, the naked woman that floats in the center of The World card is impossible to ignore. Haechan hums quietly in consideration, his head bobbing slightly as his eyes move across the spread before him. He looks pensive for a moment when he looks up at you, until a playful grin takes over his features.

“What does any of this mean?” he asks with a laugh.

“Well,” you start moving to grab the book you keep next to your pillow that hold the different descriptions of the cards, scolding yourself for still not having them memorized, “none of them are reversed so that that as a good sign, and none of them are The Tower so you’re not doomed to die alone I suppose.”

He laughs again as he watches you flip through the book, your eyebrows knitted together as you search for the first card.

“Okay so, your past is The lovers,” you start, one hand resting on top of the card as your eyes shift around the page, “it represents partnership, union, duality, and choice. This says it means a union of harmony, full of trust, confidence and strength, This relationship both a physical attraction and a deep emotional bond between them.”

You stutter slightly as you read, your eyes darting up to gage his reaction once the words leave your mouth, his face is soft but serious as he thinks, and you can’t help but get overwhelmed by the look.

“Okay, and then present,” you hand shifts to the Two of Cups while your other hand flips to the correct page, “this card means unity, partnership and two become one…” you trail off slightly, hoping Haechan only assumes it’s from you trying to read the page and not for the real reason that is the words in front of you makes you heart beat harshly against your chest, “signaling a union and partnership of balance, honor, and respect, The ancient symbol of the caduceus also suggests energy, passion, and sex, and the intermingling of opposite forces.”

“Oh,” he responds involuntarily as he absorbs the words you speak, and you can only wish that you could crawl into his mind and see exactly what he’s thinking.

“Okay and lastly, your future,” you shift again, your previous position suddenly not feeling comfortable anymore, “The World card represents fulfillment, harmony, and completion. It says, absolute unity, perfection, accomplishment that draws from inner and outer sources. This card signals the harmony of the inner and outer worlds, and reaching a level of enlightenment. An era of one's life is complete and there is joy and celebration that is coming to welcome it.”

With a soft smacking noise, you shut the book and place it back to its spot next to your pillow. Your words still linger in the air with a tension wrapped around them, and in your desperation to avoid Haechan’s eyes you begin to return the cards to the deck, a silent thank you being spoken in your mind as you thank them for their knowledge.

“So what do you think about that?” he asks, his voice softer than earlier, the tone making your eyes dart up to try and read the emotion on his face.

“It’s not about what I think Hyuck…” you place the hair tie that lives on your wrist around the deck to secure it and place it on top of the book, and when your done you lean back onto the palms of your hands to survey his body language while also creating more distance between you, “it was your reading so it’s your interpretation, what did that tell you?”

The words come out like you’re trying to cough up years worth of chewed gum and the way they clog your throat makes you feel weird. It may be up to his interpretation, but you can’t stop the way the cards and their meanings make you feel as they wrap a confusing combination of hope and terror around your fragile heart.

“I think,” he starts as he once again moves to mirror the way you sit, a soft but unsure smile on his face, “they told me exactly what I needed to hear.”

“And what was that Hyuck?”

“Well you know, the whole emphasis on partnership, and union, and choices. If anything i’m starting to think your cards like me a little bit cause they kind of told me exactly what I wanted to hear.”

“And what was it you wanted to hear Haechan?” you ask, his smugness and confidence making you laugh quietly.

“That I’m not putting my hope or my heart in the wrong place. I think it’s saying that I’m right in wanting the thing I want so badly.”

“Jeez Donghyuck,” you huff as you fall to lay back onto your side, a giddy feeling flooding you as he once again follows suit, “you speak in more riddles than the cards do.”

“Oh do you want me to tell you straight forward what those cards just told me?” he asks rhetorically as he lays close enough for his face to crowd you personal space, his breath occasionally hitting your skin.

“Well yeah, lay it on me Hyuck, what did those cards encourage you to do?”

“I’ll fucking lay it on you alright,” he doesn’t even give you the time to form the question in your mind of what he could possibly mean before he’s on the move. He’s on you before you can blink, his body pushing you onto your back and his hands landing against your bed next to your head and caging you in. Your body reacts before your mind does, and your hands are gripping his wrists and you legs are falling to the side to allow him to rest between your thighs, as he knocks the air from your lungs with his mouth pressing against yours.

You both let out matching hums in content at the feeling of each other’s lips. You’d call yourself a liar if you said you had never imagined what it would be like to kiss the boy that now rests on top of you, but no matter how many hours you had logged dreaming about the very moment, none of it prepared you for now.

He rests his body flush against yours as his lips work against yours, and there’s only a beat of time before his tongue is brushing against your bottom lip, begging for entrance.

You break away, the idea of him feeling the same way as you filling you with childish excitement and confidence, so much that you can’t stop yourself before you’re teasing, “so my cards told you to attack me?”

“Hush,” he pecks against your lips once before speaking again, “they told me I was completely in the right for being in love with my best friend, and that making a move would only end in happiness.”

“You’re in love with me?” you ask, those being the only words that stick in your mind, Your hands tighten around his wrists, and the skin of his face flushes in realization of what he said.

“Uh… yes,” his eyes are filled with his nerves as they lock onto yours. The internal debate he has with himself of wanting to tear his eyes away while being completely unable to is transparent and puts you at ease at the idea that he’s just as nervous as you, “I’m sorry if that’s really abrupt, but I really am.”

“Donghyuck,” you whisper, leaning up to nudge the tip of your nose against his, “I’m in love with you too.”

“Thank fuck,” he swears louder than intended, and you giggles of happiness is smothered by his lips latching to yours again.

There’s no asking this time as his tongue shoves its way into your mouth, and you let out a pleased groan when the moment he licks at the back of your teeth, his hips shift down and he begins to softly grind against the crotch of the thin fabric of your pajama shorts.

“Tell me,” he speaks between open-mouthed kisses that he places across you mouth and up your jaw, his words doing their own licking against the shell of your ear, “tell me if you want to stop, cause I don’t think I can.”

“I trust you Hyuck,” you whisper during the fleeting second that your mouth is free, “do whatever you want, I’m so in love with you.”

He groans loudly at the string of words that leave you, the noise cutting through and disrupting the smooth voice of Stevie Nicks and his body returns to rocking gently against yours.

Your hands trail away from his wrists, moving up his forearms and up until your fingers tangle in his hair. The slight tugging you give to his roots pulls another groan from his mouth, and the sparks of pleasure that hits your lower stomach at the sound combined with his hardening length pressing against you through the thick fabric of his sweatpants makes you feel like you could live in this moment forever.

You can feel your growing arousal spilling from you, the wetness making the fabric of your underwear stick to your skin, and at the feeling of him suddenly bumping gently against your clit makes you squeak as you hips begin meeting his thrusts with their own.

“Please,” you whimper out when his mouth latches onto the skin stretched over your jugular, “want it. Need you.”

“I’m gonna keep you up all night,” he growls the promise against your neck, “I have so much time to make up for.”

He sits up, a smile of pride on his face when you huff at the loss of him. You only get a few sounds of discontent out before his hands are grabbing at the fabric of your shorts, and shoving them down your legs, your ruined underwear following. The fabric is tossed behind his shoulder, and in his impatience, his hands are rough as they grab at your thighs. He pulls you, bringing you down the bed to be closer to him, before he’s pushing his own pants down to bunch at his hips, his tip brushing against you and making you jump as he slaps against his stomach.

You squirm as he returns to his place flush against you, both at the sudden feeling of the room’s air hitting your damp skin and the way his length glides against you. You can feel your arousal smearing against him, and in your desperation, you’re grabbing his face and pulling back down to meet your lips again.

Laying there, pressed as tightly together as you can be with your mouths devouring the other’s, you feel him reach between your bodies. His fingers only take a moment to dip into you, gathering your wetness on his fingers, before he’s using it to coat his length more than it already is.

He pulls at himself a few times, the moans he lets out at the friction being swallowed by you, before he’s pressing into you without warning.

The stretch and the idea of your best friend being the one that is so suddenly fucking into you has you reeling. You feel overtaken by the feeling of whiplash, and as he pushes into you inch by inch, you let out a moan that lived deep in your belly.

He pauses when he’s fully inside of you, the depth that he reaches as the girth of him making your eyes begin to roll wildly and before you can catch your breath his hips are retreating.

His pace is rough. He’s slow, and he doesn’t pull but a few inches out, but every time he returns to your body, it's a harsh thrust that knocks the air from your lungs.

It’s not long before you feel overwhelmed, the way the cozy heat from the candles and the thick fabric of his clothes as they brush against you licks at your skin and sinks you into the mattress. His mouth refuses to separate from yours, and his thrusts are consistent and unrelenting.

You’re sure you’ve never felt more held in your life as your wrapped up with your best friend, one of his hands moving to hold the side of your face while the other travels down to play with the sensitive nerves of your clit. The gentle way his hands move against you contrasted by the rough way he fucks into you has you clinging desperately to his hoodie as warm tears well up in your eyes.

One of your hands moves down as you get closer, your nails digging into the fabric that covers his ass as you desperately try to pull him closer than he already was. This and the way your hips start bucking against him makes him groan as you two get tangled in your sheets.

You feel the tingling warning of your orgasm running up your spine, a crackling moan feeding into his mouth from yours and the way you softly clench around him being his only warning before you come with a cry.

His hips stutter as he follows quickly behind, a very similar sound of bliss slipping from his mouth as you two begin to shake against each other.

You feel like you’ve been sewn into his skin as you twitch together with aftershocks, him equally as unwilling to separate his body from yours. Once he pulls his hand from between your bodies, his arms wrap tightly around your waist, and he pulls you tightly into his chest as he lays his full weight on you, and you legs wrap around him as you refuse to let him slip out of you.

“We’re going again in a minute,” his voice rasps as he presses his face into your shoulder, his nose nuzzling against the skin.

“Really?” You ask with a laugh as your hands return to their job of running through his hair.

“Yes I just need a minute,” he promises, and you shiver as his hips start to shift already without him even thinking, “it’s what your cards would have wanted.”

[memzhay]

The Elevator

Rhett and Link stepped into the elevator on the 8th floor of the Courtyard by Marriott Downtown in Portland, Oregon.  Portland was always a fun town to visit: cool vibe, easy nonstop flights, excellent coffee, that giant awesome used bookstore. They were meeting with a team from Laika Studios, the ones who did Coraline, to talk about a possible animated version of Bleak Creek. If everything went well, this could be a perfect fit for the story. They were trying not to get their hopes up, but were both fairly nervous and excited to see how it turned out.

They were alone in the elevator, Link reading aloud from his phone about the history of Laika and what the company was about, when the elevator suddenly stopped with a jolt and a loud grinding sound from the back wall. They grabbed onto the walls both letting out startled yells of curse words and general panic.

“What the ever-living crap?!” Link shouted. “You alright?” he said to Rhett, grabbing onto his arm like a life vest in the ocean.

Rhett’s eyes were wide with terror, his knuckles white as he grasped the handrail for dear life. He’s not alright, Link realized.

Well, Link thought, he can’t be the one to go to pieces all the time. Rhett should get a turn here and there. “Hey man,” he said gently. “It’s alright. It’s not moving anymore. Did you get hurt at all when it dropped a little there? Your knees? Your back?”

Rhett shook his head quickly. Eyes locked tight, face red.

“Breathe, man, just breathe!” Link commanded, taking his right hand in both of his. “Hey Rhett, look at me a sec. Boy, you’re tore up aren’t you? Come on Rhett, deep breaths.”

“Fuck.. Fucking.. FUCK!!” Rhett shouted, but he then sucked in a huge lungful of air and opened his eyes, locking them onto Link.

“There we go,” Link said with a smile he hoped was comforting. “Here. Let’s check out this lovely carpet down here. Let’s just sit you down.” He kept a hold of Rhett’s hand in one of his, putting the other on his shoulder and guiding him to the floor of the elevator. “I’m gonna talk to the front desk and see what the actual fuck, right? And you just breathe.”

Rhett nodded wordlessly from the floor. Link opened the panel above the floor buttons and grabbed the emergency phone. Rhett heard him talking to the front desk as he tried to get a hold on himself. He wasn’t claustrophobic or scared of elevators or anything. Why was his heart racing so bad? Why was Link relatively unscathed? Link once melted down when he dropped a pen off a damn balcony! Why couldn’t he get it together? In what seemed like a fraction of a second, or maybe 50 years, Link was on the floor next to him, one hand on his shoulder, the other on his knee.

“They think it was a damn bird or something,” Link said. “Stuck in the whosie-whatsit thing that the cables go in up there. They have somebody on the way. We’ll hear them up there soon.”

“We killed a bird?!” Rhett cried.

“We did no such thing!” Link insisted. “That bird made a very bad decision. We just happened to be here.”

“Who gets stuck in an elevator?” Rhett demanded. “That’s something that happens in movies, not in real life!”

“Hey, we get in a lot of elevators,” Link said. “You get in enough elevators, you get stuck eventually. It’s math.”

“Fuuuuuck!” Rhett groaned, pulling his legs to his chest and resting his head on his knees. “Laika!” he yelled.

“On it!” said Link, standing up and scrolling through the contacts in his phone. Rhett heard him talking, but he sounded far away. Get it together, McLaughlin! Next thing Rhett knew, Link was again seated on the floor next to him.

“They are apprised. Told us to be safe and let them know what happens. This will make a great ice-breaker for the pitch meeting, don’t you think?” Link said patting his back with a chuckle that sounded slightly forced. “Now,” he continued, “What to do to take your mind off things until our friends fix the problem?”

“When I’m in a stormy ocean,” Link began.

“Oh, you couldn’t possibly!” Rhett objected.

“I rub myself with calming lotion.”

“UGH!!” Rhett protested.

“And crawl inside a soft cocoon,” Link continued hypnotically.

“Stop man. For reals,” Rhett said with a strained laugh.

“Alright,” Link agreed. “But ‘The Puzzle’ doesn’t get talked about enough. That shit was dope!”

“When in your life have you ever said ‘That shit was dope’?” Rhett demanded.

“Just then,” Link admitted.

“You’re a freak,” Rhett said amused.

“I’m your best friend who you love so much,” Link corrected.

“Maniac!” Rhett laughed.

“The best friend a man could ever ask for! Hair all full of silver moonbeams and eyes like the Caribbean!” Link needled.

“BARF!” Rhett proclaimed.

“A friend like no other! Heart of an angel, whimsy of a jester, and the lithe body of a sleek jungle cat!” Link added striking his best sexy tiger pose.

“The nerve!” Rhett giggled. “The absolute, unmitigated gall!”

They leaned against the wall chortling until Rhett was breathing normally and seemed more grounded. “You got any more tricks in your Link Neal bag of foolishness?”

“Spread your legs,” Link instructed.

“I beg your pardon!” Rhett said in shock.

“It’s pretzel time, Rhett,” Link said nodding his head.

“Be serious!” Rhett demanded.

Link raised his face to the overhead lights. “Cuddle Queen Jean!” he intoned, “Be with us in this our hour of need! May we cuddle and cuddle well!” Link crawled into Rhett’s lap and scooched around. Rhett muttering under his breath about god damn elevators and birds and indignity, but obediently wrapping his arms and legs around Link who nuzzled into the base of his neck, sing-songing “Pretzel time, pretzel time,” and letting out a contented sigh.

“Unbelievable,” muttered Rhett. “It would be pretty hilarious if they find us like this when the doors open,” he admitted.

“I hope there are at least 3 people with cell phone cameras at the ready. The fans would love it. This is vintage us and I’m here for it,” Link stated matter of fact.

Link made a point of taking deep slow breaths in and out, continuing until he noticed Rhett was matching his breathing.

“Daddy like peanut butter,” Link said into his shoulder.

Rhett snorted derisively. Link pulled his head up, raising his eyebrows. Go with the bit, Rhett. Always go with the bit. No exceptions.

“Daddy don’t like elevators,” Rhett said miserably.

Link nodded and laid his head back on Rhett’s shoulder. That’s more like it.

“Daddy like puppy dogs,” Link continued.

“Daddy don’t like losing his shit,” Rhett said.

“Daddy like emotional honesty,” Link cooed.

“Daddy don’t like liver,” Rhett said with a smile.

“Daddy like his best friend,” Link said happily.

“Daddy does too,” Rhett said fondly.

“Hey, I win,” Link said peacefully. “You didn’t say ‘Daddy don’t like’.”

“Yep, you win,” Rhett sighed, giving him a good squeeze and leaning his face into Link’s hair. “You win.”

[sidecarghost]

Suptober20 - Day 23 Favorite

Notes: Favorite OTP. Intended fic to be fave superhero discussion, but somehow ended up turning into Destiel fluff.

Jack: I found an online quiz to find out which superhero I am.

Dean: I already know I’m Batman. We both lost parents from bad guys. And we rid the world of evil while driving an awesome car. And Bruce has Alfred. This guy that is unflappable and old as dirt and he puts up with all Bruce’s shit, despite being mostly underappreciated.

Castiel: I am an angel and a hunter, Dean. I’m not your well-mannered British butler.

Dean: But you nail deadpanning, Cas. Like dry wit is your superpower.

Castiel: Literal superpowers are my superpower, Dean.

Jack: What about you, Sam?

Sam: Thor, because I can wield Mjolnir. And Thor had a rough time and made some bad decisions early on, but transcended all of that to become worthy. Plus we are both badasses with amazing hair.

Gabriel: *randomly appears* obviously, I am Loki, duh.

Sam: Holy shit Gabe, I thought you were dead!

Gabriel: Well, I am the trickster. What superhero are you Casicorn?

Castiel: Hmm... is there a superhero that rebels against Heaven and falls in love with the human he formed a profound bond with?

***

Dean: You mean like platonic love, right Cas?

Castiel: Well, yes I was thinking every possible definition of love. The love that forms on a spiritual level when you bond with someone over common interests and admiration. You enjoy their company and savor their friendship. And the romantic love that craves being close to them and makes everything in the world brighter when they are around. The love that wants to celebrate their joy, comfort their hurt, flirt relentlessly, and guides you to give up everything you have ever known for a chance to find a place in their heart and to be worthy of it. And sexual love that makes casual touches feel like jolts of electricity, fills you with desire for the feeling of their lips and hands on your skin and longing to consummate a shared passion for each other in explicit, intimate acts with them.

Dean: Fuck Cas, that was beautiful. I didn’t know- It was like I thought maybe— but you’re you. And I’m fucking terrible about being honest with how I really feel. It’s just easier to bury shit and leave things the same rather than take a chance and screw them up.

Castiel: I know.

Sam: uh, come on Jack, Gabe. Let’s give the lovebirds some privacy.

Gabriel: But things are just getting interesting. And I’m back from the dead, and Dean hasn’t even said a word to me.

Dean: Congrats on being alive Gabe, now please fuck off.

Gabriel: That’s much better, thank you!

Jack: Okay, I finished the quiz. I’m Deadpool.

Sam: *pushes Gabe and Jack out of the room* Deadpool, what the hell? That doesn’t even sound remotely correct.

Gabriel: Well, Jack can regenerate from any wound. And he is a bit of an anti-hero.

Sam: Anti-hero? No fucking way, he’s bubble gum and optimism.

Jack: Yeah, I was kind of hoping for Robin so I could be Dean’s sidekick. Although I wouldn’t have minded being Valkyrie and fighting evil with you either Sam.

Sam: See, Gabe? Jack is not Deadpool. Deadpool would have said something offensive like, “At least I’m not stuck in a lame ass hero team up with thunder Barbie, a trickster with an inferiority complex, or the bat diddler.”

Sam: I think Jack is more of a Billy Batson, but with more wholesomeness and whimsy.

~~

Castiel: I hadn’t planned on making a love confession over an online superhero quiz.

Dean: Well, I owe Jack one then. Come her Cas. I got plenty of room on the couch seat next to me. I think I want to try something more too. We can try taking it slow, and go as far as we are comfortable.

Castiel: *Sits next to Dean, hesitates then rests his head on Dean’s shoulder* Are you comfortable?

Dean: *slings his arm around Cas’s back* Yeah Cas, I like you leaning on me with your head there on my shoulder. It’s like the part of my brain that always wants to jump out of my skin is suddenly quiet. You’re my anchor, Cas. Just don’t leave, and I’ll always be okay.

Castiel: Of course Dean, if I ever leave it won’t be by choice. Hmm... I still haven’t figured out which superhero I am.

Dean: I know which one you are. You are my superhero.

Castiel: That is the sappiest thing I have ever heard.

Dean: Better get used to it, because Batman is king of the sap.

Castiel: Is he though?

Dean: Well, this one is.

[nickelkeep]

Angel

Pairing: Dean/Cas Rating: Gen. Word Count: 669 Warnings: Pure, Unadulterated, Tooth-Rotting Fluff. Written For: @notfunnydean​′s 2019 SPN Advent Calendar, day 6. On Ao3

Dean stood on Jody’s porch and watched as the snow fell peacefully around the house. She and the rest of his family were inside in the warmth. He had found himself growing too warm. Dean could have easily blamed his self-imposed exile on the sheer amount of bodies in there, or the alcohol everyone had been drinking. But honestly, it was Cas who was building up the warmth in Dean.

A look and a smile from the former angel of the lord were too much and not enough combined in a neat little package that resided where Dean’s heart should be. Dean took a swig of his beer and leaned against one of the posts by the stairs. He smiled softly to himself as the snow fell down, coating the ground.

Overcome by a moment of whimsy, Dean walked down the stairs and stepped into the middle of the yard. He looked towards the sky and closed his eyes, letting the snowflakes gently kiss his skin.

“Dean?”

Dean opened his eyes and looked back towards the door. Cas was standing on the porch, his hands in his trenchcoat’s pockets, watching the hunter with a soft smile. Dean’s heart pounded faster, and the corners of his mouth pulled back into a broader grin. “Cas.”

“It’s cold out here. What are you doing?” Cas slowly made his way down the porch steps and stood next to Dean.

“It was getting a little warm in there.” Dean pointed over his shoulder. “I needed a breather, and it just looked beautiful out here.”

“They’re asking where you ran off to.” Cas’ eyes follow Dean’s gesture to the front door. “I said I’d come find you.”

A soft chuckle escaped Dean’s throat. “I wasn’t exactly lost, Cas.”

“We know. But the girls are excited to give out presents, and I know Sam and Eileen are too.” Cas held his hand out, letting Dean intertwine their fingers together. “And I’d much rather have you inside with the rest of our makeshift family.”

“Can we stay out here, just an extra moment? It won’t kill them to wait.” Dean lightly tugged on Cas’ hand and pulled him closer.

“I don’t want you getting sick.”

“You can get sick now, too, you know.” Dean let out a sigh. “I guess I can make this quick then.”

Cas tilted his head in confusion. “Make what quick, Dean?”

“I’ve been thinking a lot lately. Especially with the fact that I almost lost you.” Dean squeezed Cas’ hand. “We’re not done yet, but we’re getting close. And when this is all over, and we’re free? I’m done hunting. We can keep the bunker, train the next generation of hunters. Help Sam with all his Men of Letters stuff.”

Cas started to speak but was stopped by Dean. “Hold on, Cas. Like I said, I’ve been thinking. And I want to be a person who survives to get out of this life. We’re still young–” Cas scoffed in amusement, interrupting Dean. “–ok, smart ass, I’m still young. We still have the rest of our lives in front of us.”

“So what are you thinking, Dean?” Cas asked, his eyebrow raised in curiosity.

Dean reached into his pocket as he fell to one knee. “We’ve been together for a long time, Cas. I never thought I’d get the opportunity to find someone who loves me, shit hand and all.”

“Dean…” Cas chastized.

“I’m serious, Cas.” Dean held a box up and opened it, exposing a simple silver band. “Marry me, Cas? Make it official?”

Cas nodded, and Dean pulled the ring out of his box, slipping it slowly onto Cas’ finger. Once it was on, Cas leaned over to hug Dean and pull him up, but stumbled instead, causing them to both fall over in the snow.

The pair laughed as Cas pulled Dean in for a soft and reassuring kiss. Dean pulled back and looked at Cas, smiling. “Well look at that, I’ve gone and got myself a bonafide snow angel.”

[purkinje-effect]

The Anatomy of Melancholy, 48

Table of Contents. Second Instar, Chapter 15. Go to previous. Go to next. TW: frank discussion of human experimentation. There’s two ways to dehumanize someone: tear them down or put them on a pedestal.

_____________________________

“Thank you again for the meals,” ‘Choly told Ick the next morning. “And the use of your vehicle. And your help. And, well. Everything.”

“Just sad I can’t drive ya right back to the base an’ drop you off,” the mummy Furrier replied as he stacked up the bowls by his wash basin. “Straight shot down cuts right through where you say the Rust Devils set up house. Mmm, though. The route to and fro will be clear soon enough. And then. Then the Riverhawk can take you both ways whenever you like.”

“Will that ever include a route down Pawtucket Boulevard?” Sticks thought aloud with whimsy.

“Wouldn’t have to worry ‘bout that, if you’d just move to Voire,” Ick started again, unable to resist the bait.

“We... really have to get going, Mister Ick,” ‘Choly interrupted, pulling Sticks toward the opening of the Furrier’s house. “The sooner we get back to Deenwood, the sooner we can return.”

The ghoul and old man both exchanged an endeared laugh as they were separated once again. Outside, ‘Choly mounted Angel, and they were on their way to retrace the path back to the military base. Even with the visor cutting the glare of the morning sun, ‘Choly could recognize the difference between his default physiology and how he’d felt on a heavy dose of Day Tripper. It wasn’t a painkiller, but hell if it hadn’t distracted him from his pain and exhaustion. He did his best not to complain of his stiffness, not to risk sounding ungrateful for Ick’s rather lavish amenities.

Once they had crossed out of Downtown back onto Pawtucket Boulevard, ‘Choly cleared his throat.

“Can I ask you something?”

“I don’t think I could keep you from asking things,” Sticks replied, surveying for crabs. “You’re like a little kid seeing the world for the first time.”

He paused to re-steel himself.

“We weren’t together, before... were we?”

The ghoul scoffed a laugh, only to sober and straighten his gait.

“Oh. You were serious. Uh.” Sticks whet his lips, and chewed at them. “I wouldn’t have even given it half a thought back in the day. I’ll admit, I’ve been a lot more open minded as of late. Supposing I can owe that to being a bit lonely, but it’s not like I’ve done much in terms of remedying that. I... I don’t know.” He tossed a glance to the chemist riding a Handy, but kept his eyes on the road. “What, did you think of me like that before I, y’know?”

“My memory isn’t working like it should.” ‘Choly choked up on his deep flush. “I think it’s what was damaged worst by being frozen. Regardless, if I did like you before, I... hhhH-I think I really like you now.”

When Sticks stopped in place, ‘Choly thought at first he’d spotted a threat. But when Angel continued on ahead of him, he stopped the Handy and turned to look at the ghoul.

“Tch. Don’t know why I’m even surprised. You’d watch monster movies and then take a thirty minute shower after. Guess I’m still all looks and no substance.”

“--Oh hhh h-all the substances,” the chemist blurted out, only to smear his face in stupidity. “That’s not what I--”

Sticks pressed onward again with a frown, and ‘Choly and Angel followed.

“I can’t handle this right now. I’m still adjusting to learning a day ago that you’re even alive. I feel like we’ve both got a lot to work through here. Give me a minute. I’ve got to grab some shit.”

“...That’s not a no.”

“--Mister Carey,” Angel scolded, stopping far back a ways to separate the two, while the ghoul went inside the restaurant at the Sampas Pavilion.

At a distance, the chemist could tell the ghoul had gestured around the front door not unlike some kind of secret handshake. He thought perhaps it had been him gesticulating while he spoke to himself, but a few minutes after he’d vanished inside ‘Choly understood it to have been disarming a handcrafted home security system of sorts. Recalling that Sticks had done the same upon their departure affirmed his presumptions.

‘Choly dismounted Angel and took to his cane, to get out of the street. The pavilion itself lay across the road from the restaurant, a slab of concrete with four latticed metal pillars connected at the top. He stood in the center of it, and stared up into the metal work. Nearly ladder-like, he thought. He tried to remember what the phrase Jacob’s ladder meant, but Sticks approached him now toting a satchel, and the deliberation sublimated.

Meeting no resistance, they went the rest of the way down to the base in silence. ‘Choly took Sticks in the West entrance, to avoid Rust Devil activity. The biometric scanners seemed to have the ghoul on file from previous visits to the base, and didn’t object to him. The same Mister Gutsy met them once they passed the first boom barrier.

“Captain Carey, you’re late again. The General was starting to worry the enemy had gotten you. I see you’ve brought the entrepreneur Sticks with you. Explains why you were waylaid. The General has indicated he cannot be permitted on premises without escort. Do not let him out of your immediate company.”

“So good to see you, too,” the ghoul shrugged off.

“I don’t intend to take my eyes off him,” ‘Choly insisted, watching as Sticks took the lead of even Green Seven to meet General Francis. He bit at his lip when he realized how it must have sounded, but said nothing further.

Sticks opened the General’s office door to let them all in, and he waved enthusiastically to find she had her Assaultron with her.

“Oh, Helen. It’s so wonderful to see you,” he greeted with lyric. “How are the kids?”

“I am inorganic and Olivia is sterile,” the robot replied. “In the possibility you are suggesting that her supervision and maintenance of the base’s robotics redefines them as her adoptive children, they are exceptionally lethal and high-functioning as usual. Thank you.”

Once the office had shut again, Olivia marinated on the cold shoulder, and undesired company, only to warm into a chuckle.

“Good morning,” she grinned. “Considering you survived the trip, I’m to expect you have good news.”

“The Furriers agreed to help,” ‘Choly blurted out. He bit his tongue, not to lash out at knowing she’d drugged him before.

She clasped her hands together in a stiff pleasantry, knowing exactly why Sticks had come. The ghouls made eye contact, but said nothing to one another. She knew better than to pour any of them a drink.

“For your trouble, I believe a promotion is in order.” She stood. “How does... Colonel Carey sound? It’s only right.”

Thrown for a loop, ‘Choly had to process the proposition for a moment. When she gave him a persuasive grin and a murmur, he scrunched his face up in cognizance of the ramifications of the title.

“I’ll bite.” He sat to ease his posture and smooth his confidence. “Funny you mention it. MKExcell would be to my pay grade, then, wouldn’t it? The sachem agreed because Sticks promised the Furriers a hundred units of X-Cell. Love to know how they’ve managed to form such an unrepentant habit for a confidential chem.”

Her face slacked, and she crossed her arms behind her back to pace. Sticks made himself comfortable leaning in the far corner behind the door.

“You’re a few centuries behind in debriefing. It’s not necessarily on topic, but I suppose I can catch you up, since the other day a history lesson sounded like why you came to Deenwood in the first place.” She glanced over to Sticks, who neither budged nor seemed to care. “What the Furriers want is called X-Cell-Root. It’s the earliest and least stable test formulation of X-Cell.” She paused only a moment to make eye contact with ‘Choly again. “Are you sure I couldn’t interest you in a drink?”

“Just tell him why I have to play your middle man,” Sticks snipped. “Better from your mouth than mine.”

Any composure she had crumbled apart like a fallen cake. She poured herself a drink, and sat to keep herself from pacing.

“MKExcell... subsisted of ten branches of research. The results of seven of them went toward formulating what is now known as X-Cell. The next step was to refine and perfect the performance chem. During the war effort, there were many fields of study as to how to create the perfect soldier. There... was also talk of creating the opposite: a chem which could weaken opposition without lethal intent. X-Cell-Root exited prototype phase about two years before the new world order began. X-Cell circulated on the black market for a good bit until its high addiction rate began to indicate that even spaced out usage bioaccumulated the compounds in the user. Withdrawals effectively disintegrate the user’s immune system, and eventually begin deteriorating all sugar compounds in the body.

“...And that’s where you come in, Melancholy. Like I’ve said, I’ve read up on all the DIA documents on base, and I’ll admit I brushed up on you once you arrived. The Psycho branch of research was one of the three that didn’t actively contribute to the formulation of X-Cell, but you did good work. Good, loyal work. You wanted to know what your return to active duty would have entailed? They wanted you to work on phase two of MKExcell--MKExceed.”

‘Choly’s face drooped in stupor, but she rattled on undeterred.

“As I’ve told you, I was already on base working on the project when the nuclear exchange transpired, and I continued my research despite the apocalypse. X-Seed remained lethal for years. I ran out of test subjects, and worked with what I had on hand, collecting ferals and raiders alike. I extended the offer for voluntary testing to the locals--the Furriers--in exchange for weapons and first aid provisions. All they ever want these days is chems.”

“--I’m sorry, but I don’t understand.” ‘Choly rubbed at his head in exasperation, being given on a silver platter what he had sought. “The Furriers all but told me outright that they’re descendants of enlisted soldiers dispossessed from Deenwood.” She sighed and shoved an anxious smile behind another sip of liquor, but he didn’t stop there. “If Deenwood’s casualties were, from the sound of it, at a consequence of chem testing, not radiation, then how did you become a ghoul?”

Sticks couldn’t contain a sarcastic snort, only to hold up his hands when she glared his way.

“I... was not forthwith regarding on base survivors. Confidentiality of MKExceed, you know.” Olivia softened. “The original drive to continue the MKExceed project was the hope that it might provide a... cure. I was exposed to an X-Seed formulation that instigated an acute onset of cancer. Using several Fusion Cores, I rigged a way to give myself radiation treatments. I’ve never said I had the strongest command of radiology.” A taut self-conscious smile pulled her into herself like a drawstring. “At least it’s bought me all the time in the world to continue my research. I’ve managed to formulate an X-Seed that doesn’t mutilate those exposed to it. And while I've also successfully created a stable formula of X-Cell without addiction rates, I haven’t yet ironed out the hefty side effects of withdrawal symptoms that come with X-Seed. You might find some legitimate benefit in X-Cell-Squared, all things considered.”

She reached into her desk to produce an inhaler with four ridged ampuoles jutting back from the actuator and perpendicular to one another. When she set it in front of ‘Choly, he gawked at it, then around the room for advice. Angel said nothing. Sticks shrugged. Olivia’s enthusiasm only increased. He inhaled sharply and accepted it.

“I’ll have to think about taking it. In private.”

“Quite fine. First one’s on me.” She unclenched when he pocketed it. “It will take me about a day to synthesize the amount of chem the Furriers are requesting. The three of you are to stay on base until I can send you on your way with it. Keep Sticks in check, won’t you, Colonel?”

“What, you don’t trust me?” Sticks muttered playfully, falling in line and more than ready to get out of the same room with her.

“Old habits die hard,” she replied as they left.

“Don’t they ever,” ‘Choly sighed under his breath.

Go to Next »»»

[obsidianarchives]

The Dragon Leather Jacket

Blaise Zabini was glad to get out of the castle, but was annoyed it had to be alone. He hadn't cared much for Valentine's Day years before, despite the loads of chocolate frogs that ended up in his bag. Even this year, two second year Slytherin girls sent him cards that projected a magical ballet they thought he’d like and he'd cooly refrained from sinking into the floor at the embarrassment when he’d opened them in the Great Hall that morning.

But while Valentine's wasn't his thing, a certain Hufflepuff girl was. He'd tried asking her to spend the day with him — only to be rejected. The resulting discontent was a feeling only she could give him, as he’d learned when she rejected him for the Yule Ball last year. She'd said it was because he had some growing to do, and he knew he did, but that didn't make it smart any less. Something about Desiree Warbeck’s insistence that he could rise above the stereotype of his house was both annoying — and really attractive.

He hadn't even wanted to spend the day with her as a Valentine's date, that was just a convenient coincidence. Her birthday was coming up and he knew her sweet tooth probably couldn't resist a private basement reservation at Madam Puddifoot’s (he'd never be caught dead eating in the general seating area) or a trip to the balcony in Honeydukes where they sold their most expensive chocolates. But he'd asked her at the end of last BSU meeting and she'd said no. She claimed it was because her friends had something planned for her birthday, but he suspected she just wasn't ready. Which really meant he wasn't ready.

He was trying. People like Umbridge made it easier for him to see the flaws in his upbringing when she not only recruited people like Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle for her Inquisitorial Squad, but used that group to try to bust up his club just based on the color of their skin. Blaise didn't fight for much, but the BSU had come to mean more to him than he really knew how to express. Come for them and get on his shit list. But Des had caught Blaise smirking at a joke Malfoy had made about the Creevey brothers — Malfoy had done a decent mouse impression, okay? — and she’d refused him her weekly meeting cookies for two weeks.

So Blaise wandered Hogsmeade alone. He tried not to hang with Malfoy’s crowd much anymore, not least of which because Malfoy and Parkinson just started hooking up and he didn't feel like gagging while Crabbe and Goyle pigged out on the chocolate frogs they’d “stolen” from him that morning. (He let them have the chocolate. He’d considered giving them to Desiree, but knew it wouldn’t help his cause to give her chocolates given to him by other girls.) The rest of the BSU had either paired up or squared up and Blaise wasn't in the mood to be anyone's third or fifth wheel. It was times like these that he almost regretted not having more friends. However, a quick look around at the students laughing obnoxiously as they walked out of Zonko’s made him figure it was definitely for the best.

All he could think about was Desiree, wondering where she was, what she would do if he randomly showed up where she was, and how to figure out just how to...do that. It was cold outside, though, and he didn't want to just wander alone. It looked pathetic. So he shook off his stalker inclinations and looked at the shops on his left and his right. His choices were Zonko’s and Gladrags. He typically owl ordered his joke products on the occasion he found some whimsy, to avoid stepping in that madhouse, so he gladly chose Gladrags.

It was quiet inside. Being a shop on the high-end side, not too many Hogwarts students frequented it. Some of the Slytherin well to do and families like the Abbotts frequented, but he knew he'd never spot a Weasley in here.

Blaise didn't buy much for himself. His mother sent him whatever he needed and a few extravagances he usually didn't even ask for, but were the result of whatever dalliances she was working to profit from (and then eventually end). So as he looked around the shop, he found himself looking at the ladies wear, imagining each item on Desiree's curvy form. With her grandmother being a world famous songstress, she didn't want for much either, but he couldn't recall her in a Gladrags original. Her style was practical, with classic silhouettes, and neutral color palettes, but usually with a pop of color. He also knew she liked to wear cutesy dressing gowns (last year’s end of lessons BSU slumber party told him that) and that she liked to bake. Maybe an apron? He went over to the house-wears, but nothing called to him.

“Need any help?” The shopkeeper, a small mousy woman with wide eyes and a nervous manner approached. “Ah, Mr. Zabini. How are you? How is your mother liking that yeti’s fur stole she purchased?” Blaise bit his lip, not wanting to admit the stole disappeared with husband number five. “She's doing well.” He kept it curt, never interested in enduring meaningless small talk.

“Are you looking for anything in particular?”

“Uh, just a gift.”

“For? A special someone perhaps?” The shopkeeper wiggled her very thin eyebrows.

Blaise hated this. It's why he so often owl ordered. But he was stuck on a gift and Desiree would find it hilarious that he had endured what he joked was his boggart: small talk. “It's for a friend. A girl.”

The shop worker’s already large eyes lit up. “Oh, we have a special new makeup collection just in time for a late Valentine's gift!“ She grabbed Blaise by the arm and led him to a display near the front of the shop. “These foundations change their shimmer with the wearer’s mood,” she said, holding up a palette of pale foundation.

Blaise looked at the palette, and the surrounding equally pale mixtures and vials, and looked at the woman. He knew what he wanted to say, but imagined Des as an angel on his shoulder, telling him to be nice to the woman, he said, “That wouldn’t work. Her skin’s about my complexion.”

“Ah,” said the shopkeeper shortly, gingerly putting down the foundation and moving away from the display, looking around the room for where to drag Blaise next.

Blaise turned his head, his eyes falling on a section across the store. It was almost like someone had cast a Lumos charm on a jacket at the far end of the room. He headed straight for it, leaving the shopkeeper to keep up behind him. The jacket was black dragon leather, with a hint of gold shimmer. It was cropped short and had gold swirling embellishments on the collar. It was perfect.

“Oh, I'm not sure this would be of any interest to an acquaintance of a family of your caliber. It’s from a new designer we’ve been trying to work with. But they’re Muggle-born, so their style is a bit…eccentric.”

Blaise smirked. Yeah, it would be perfect for Desiree. “I’ll take it.”

“Sir, it’s going to be 100 galleons.”

“That’s fine,” he said, waving one hand dismissively while the other fingered the collar of the jacket. It was softer than it appeared and he could see the gold shimmer highlighting the yellow-toned brown of Desiree’s skin.

Blaise left Gladrags deciding he’d done enough lonely wandering for the day and started to head back towards the castle. But before he did, he felt the day couldn’t go without a bit of chocolate. He stepped into Honeydukes and got a chocolate frog to slip into the jacket pocket, a little surprise for later.

——

Desiree Warbeck regretted lying to Blaise. She’d said her friends wanted to do something for her birthday, but really they were just stalking the boys they had very distant crushes on. They were older recent Hogwarts grads who were working at nearby shops, so she was just flitting from store to store with them as they giggled over Grown Wizards. Desiree loved a good giggle over a boy, but the boy she wanted to giggle over sometimes ran with the wrong crowd and she couldn’t be with him if he maintained the same beliefs they did. So she’d shut him down when he’d asked her to hang out today and she wasn’t even having a good time without him. Rubbish.

She thought she’d seen him along the path as they all walked down to the village, but then she kept imagining she was seeing him everywhere she went with her friends. She knew he owl-ordered nearly everything, so there was no way he’d gone in Scrivenshaft's. He didn’t even like their quills. When she profoundly started to ache at his absence, she decided to call it a day and leave her twittering friends to their stalking, heading back to the castle to hole up in the kitchens with the house elves and begin her baking-to-get-her-mind-off-boys ritual.

Four hours later, she’d baked enough cookies to feed an army. I was really trying not to think about Blaise, wow, she thought, realizing with that thought that she’d already lost the game. In front of her were dozens of cookies she’d made without even using magic.

“Ms. Desi, what are you going to do with all these cookies?” asked Dobby, who was always the least fearful of the house elves and liked talking to Desiree and asking her questions. The rest just let her do whatever she wanted and kind of left her alone.

“I’m not sure Dobby. I can take a few to tomorrow’s BSU meeting, but the rest…I definitely can’t eat all those cookies,” she said with a laugh.

“Should we decorate them for the Valentimes Day and give them out?” Dobby could never get the name of the holiday quite right.

“That’s a great idea, Dobby!” With a snap of his thin fingers, dozens of Desiree’s cookies had pink and white frosting in the shape of hearts. Desiree liked experimenting with decorating spells herself, but house elf magic was second to none. She insisted Dobby eat one and he nibbled at one before slipping it into his little apron pocket. Desiree wondered if house elves had very different taste buds because he just didn’t seem to enjoy it and she knew her cookies were good. After thanking him, she grabbed her tin of BSU cookies, and headed out the door.

Just as she was climbing out the portrait hole, she bumped into someone and nearly dropped the cookie tin. “Oh!” she exclaimed. “Oh!” she said again when she realized it was the very boy she was trying to avoid thinking about all day. “Blaise, what…what are you doing down here?”

He looked startled at having run into her, and she noticed him move his hand, which held a package, behind his back. It took him a minute to speak and Desiree flashed back to when he’d asked her to the Yule Ball last year. He hadn’t even been this nervous asking her out for her birthday.

“I was looking for you,” he said finally. Then…nothing.

“So why do you look so shocked to see me?” She arched an eyebrow at him which, from the way he continued to stare at her, she realized didn’t help put him back on his guard.

“Sorry,” he said, scratching the back of his neck with his free hand. “I’ve been looking for you since before dinner and I just realized I hadn’t thought of what to say when I actually found you…”

He motioned for her to walk with him and they headed to a little nook under the staircase leading to the Great Hall. There was a ledge and he invited her to sit.

“I know it’s not your birthday yet, but I got you something in Hogsmeade today.”

“Oh Blaise, you didn’t have to get me anything.” She smiled softly, though, at knowing he’d been thinking about her all day too.

“I know, but I saw it and couldn’t walk away without getting it for you.”

He placed the package in her lap. She opened it, finding the black dragon leather jacket, the light gold glimmering softly at her. Her mouth dropped open.

“Blaise, I can’t accept this, it’s too much. Literally. This had to cost a fortune.” But she couldn’t help but stare at the jacket, finally putting her hands on the soft leather.

“You know that’s not an issue,” he said, sitting next to her, vanishing the wrapping with his wand to let her hold the jacket in her hands. “And look, it’s perfect for you. You once told me you wished your Hufflepuff came with a little more ‘badass,’ so…here you go.”

Desiree felt like her heart was growing four sizes in her chest, and it already took up way too much space. She clutched the jacket to her chest, squeezing it as she forced the incoming tears back into her eyes. She refused to cry in front of this boy! But not only had he been thinking about her today, he’d listened to something she’d said off-hand months ago, maybe even last year.

She looked at the boy to her right. The boy who was a Slytherin (which wasn’t a bad thing), dormed with members of the Inquisitorial Squad (which wasn’t his fault), and had some regressive views about Muggles and Muggle-borns (which she’d refused to tolerate). But she thought, from their BSU meetings and personal conversations, he was working on that last one. And here he was. His usual stony face more open than she ever saw it in public. The faint flush on his chiseled cheekbones a very brown distraction from the thought that had been niggling in her mind for a minute. Which was...

“Wait, did you…go to a store for this?”

Blaise laughed, a full blown cackle, which she’d definitely never seen him do before, and she couldn’t help herself. She kissed him on the cheek.

He stopped laughing, his breath caught in his throat. Desiree smirked and stood.

“Thank you, Blaise. I love it. I’ll have to save it for just the right occasion. Maybe you’ll even be there to see me wear it.”

She winked and walked away towards the Hufflepuff common room, with an extra sashay in her step. Her grandmother, the great Celestina Warbeck, had always told her to  “always leave ‘em wanting more.”

[ncstings]

spots to kiss #20: georgia & benjamin a kiss on where the back of the neck turns to shoulder.

“Did you see who they were?” She’s got a bag full of groceries under her arm as she leads out of the elevator, walking down one of their long hallways.

“Only briefly. But they were carrying things, it didn’t seem appropriate to stop them.” Benjamin says mindlessly over the phone. She caught him while he was working and he said he could talk, because how could he say no to her, but it’s clear he’s doing something on top of it.

“Shame, Ben. For shame.” She hisses. “I have to do everything myself. I’ll have to take one of the bottles from the fridge as an impromtu gift. Unless you have a fruit basket laying around.”

“I’m sorry, is that something you think people just... have?” He laughs.

“Don’t joke, you never know when you’re going to need a gift basket. Before moving in with you, I always had supplies for making a spa basket on the fly.” She looks around her, rounding another corner. “How do you think I got to be so successful.”

“I wont question your ways.”

“Oh shit---!” Georgia stops dead in her tracks, seeing a door wide open. “They’re home.” She hisses.

“Why are you acting like they’re outlaws? They’re just new neighbors. They looked perfectly approachable. A little young, but, who am I to question anything.”

“What, like, how could young people afford a place like this?” She pauses. “How young we talking?”

“I don’t question people’s income. But certainly under thirty.”

“Wow, good for them.” She stands up straight. “I should say hi, I hear music playing.”

“Why is their door open?” 

“I don’t know I haven’t talked to them yet.”

“Seems strange is all. You don’t think they’ll cause any problems do you? Have lots of parties or anything?”

“You’re the one that’s met them, Benjamin.”

He hums, then there’s a pause for a second before he finishes. “Well I should go, you go investigate and report back.”

And she did just that. Georgia hung up her call, rushed her groceries back into the apartment, and grabbed a bottle of wine from her fridge before she dipped back out into the hallway.

Music still poured from the open door. Nothing loud, and it was rather slow and sensual rhythm and blues that she couldn’t really complain about the music choice. When she neared the corner, she was shocked to find a baron apartment, with some furniture with tarp over it. There was tarp over pretty much everything in fact, and a small woman standing on a stool, painting the wall a lovely mint color.

She was petite, tan, and Georgia couldn’t see her face but from her rather toned body, she imagined her to be beautiful. He hair was tied back in a bandana and her clothes were splattered with paint.

He knuckles tapped against the door frame, gathering the woman’s attention in the large condo. When she turned, her suspicions were confirmed, she was utterly beautiful. And very young.

Benjamin refuses to question income but in a place like this, she can’t help the questions.

“Hello!” Georgia chimes. “I just wanted to come by and say hello. We’re your neighbors across the hall. I’m Georgia. My fiance Benjamin is at work but he says hello in spirit.” As she speaks, she’s watching the woman get down from her stool, and start to approach her in the doorway, wearing a smile.

“Hi,” She says, her voice light, a bit breathless, but in a way that just sounds like that’s her voice. It’s alluring, no doubt. “I’m sorry if having the door open was bothering you, I just wanted to get this place aired out with all the painting.”

“Oh no, it’s totally okay, it gave me the nudge to come by and say hello, I just got home from work early, went to the store, now I’m here, saying hello.”

The woman laughs politely and nods, then holds out a hand. “I’m Laney, My partner James lives with me but he’s out ... “She pauses, her smile looking the fondest it could. “I’m not sure, sitting at a cafe thinking something whimsical or buying furniture, who knows. He’ll be back later.”

Georgia laughs in return, taking the outstretched hand to shake. “Seems very far from my fiance. I don’t think whimsy is a concept he even comprehends, but we definitely have a friend like that.”

“Yeah, he likes his alone time though. As do I.” She smiles. “I would love to show you around the place but as you can tell, it’s really not ready.”

“Oh no, that’s totally okay. When I moved in with Benjamin I nearly redecorated the whole place. He’s a man with very good taste but you know, not my kind of taste.” She winks playfully.

Laney laughs lightly, and it sounds like clouds and sparkles and she can imagine just about anyone would fall for her. “James is a very fashionable person, though he’s been hanging around all kinds of fashionable people since he was very young.” Her eyes crinkle, and she looks behind her. “He picked out the mint, but we’re doing something a little different. Patterns and stuff.”

“Oh, that’ll be interesting.” Georgia nods. Maybe they’re a little different. She’s not getting the vibe that they’re much like the modern architects that live in the building. People her and Benjamin’s age who work downtown in the finance district. It’ll be a breath of fresh air.

She sighs, and then looks down at the bottle still in her hand. “Oh! I wanted to bring this by to you guys, a little welcoming gift. This is my favorite dessert wine, perfect for a date night.”

She watches as Laney looks at the bottle, her smile turning quaint with her lips in a thin line. For a moment, Georgia considers that she picked the wrong wine. Or maybe it was too cheap? Who knows with these guys, they might be far too out of her pricerange.

“Thanks,” She says softly, looking up to meet her eyes. “We’re actually sober, though.”

Well at least it wasn’t her. “Oh gosh, of course! You know, I was talking to Ben over the phone, told him we should keep an emergency fruit basket around. I’m sorry about that.” She tucks the bottle under her arm, then reaches out to squeeze the other’s arm gently. “You know what, why don’t you guys come over for dinner? Neither of us are that great at cooking but we can make one thing really well so our treat!” 

“That’d be nice, yeah. James and I are free tomorrow night, is that okay?” She lets out a nervous laugh, as if thankful for the interaction.

“Perfect! Just give us a knock okay?”

//--//

Georgia moves around the table to light the candles before rushing back to the kitchen, where Benjamin stands over the stove. “This has to look perfect. Something in my bones just tells me they’re way cooler than any of us and I want to impress them.” She huffs, reaching into the fridge where she’d picked up raspberry soda. Something made in Brooklyn where the guy said it was frequently sold out. “You don’t think they’re too cool for soda, do you? I told you they don’t drink but like... I don’t want to make them drink just water. Oh god, this is why we don’t make new friends. Why did I invite them over, they’ll see what big of losers we are.”

She closes the fridge and bangs her head against the aluminum, only to find a pair of arms sliding around her waist, and a pair of lips kissing the back of her neck. “You do this for a living, love, it’ll be fine.” He continues kissing her skin. “You look beautiful and it was very kind of you to invite them and I’m sure the appreciate the warm welcome.”

Georgia sighs, her head resting against the cool metal. “Tell me what a cool unstoppable sexy babe I am, please.”

“No,” He says plainly, reaching down to give her ass a squeeze. “You don’t need me inflating your ego anymore than I already do.” A final kiss to her neck and he’s back to the stove, cooking the only thing Vincent really taught them to cook. But they like it enough they make it almost once a week.

It’s not long before there’s a knock on their door and Georgia launches to answer. When she does, the door swings open and she nearly gasps.

They’re a little too good looking and she nearly falls over.

When she’d met Laney, she was dressed for painting, which was obviously not her prime. But here, dressed in a tight little crop top and shirt skirt and she looks perfect. Her hair was tied back and yet immaculate.

And then the partner in question was just as perfect. Shining seafoam eyes, covered with tattoos that could mean any number of things. Dressed in some sort of pleated high waisted pant and patterned blouse that looks far more expensive than anything in her closet, yet effortlessly cool and slick. 

“Hey!” Georgia coos, letting them both in as she tries to ground herself in what might be something completely out of her league. She’s never had to plan a wedding for two people that were so absolutely unapologetically cooler than her.

She turns around to find that Benjamin rounds the corner greet them, raising an eyebrow in her direction. It lasts only a second, before he steps forward to introduce herself, and a collection of hands are being exchanged in shaking.

Laney introduces James to her, who is polite and far too sweet to be even real. Then again, it took her over a year to come to the conclusion Vincent was real, so she should be accustomed to this.

Everyone gets situated with dinner. Georgia’s thankful when they say they love raspberry soda. Either she guessed right, or they were painfully polite. Both made her just a little bit more relaxed as they began eating their dinner.

“So where did you guys move from?” Benjamin starts with the simple questions, and she’s thankful for that too. To her, she feels she has to come up with wildly intricate questions to engage the table. She hadn’t even considered the basics.

“Los Angeles. But we both grew up in California.” James responds, poking around his plate. “This is really good, you guys are really good cooks.”

Both Georgia and Benjamin let out a full laugh, but it’s the latter to clarifies. “One of our close friends is a very good cook, he taught us to make this at one point. We like it because it’s easy and tastes good.”

“Carbonara fits that bill, yeah.” Laney nods, picking up more of her’s. “James and I tried to go on a cooking journey a while back. We needed something to do together after we hadn’t been doing anything at all...” Her nose scrunches when she looks to James, who shakes his head fondly.

“Needless to say, that was not the way we needed to bond together. We decided puzzles was a lot better.”

Georgia snorts, looking over the Benjamin. “Can you imagine us doing a puzzle together?”

“Georgia would spent thirty minutes trying to tell me a corner piece belonged in the center.” He grins. “After the first ten, she’d realize she was wrong but she wouldn’t be able to accept it so she’d just fully commit. Most likely to try and make me annoyed.”

Georgia playfully hits him with her napkin and rolls his eyes. The couple across from them laugh, and after a few seconds, she sighs. “I mean he’s not wrong, I would almost certainly do that.”

The table laughs again.

Georgia picks off a piece of her bread, adding onto her statement. “Explains a lot though, being from LA, you guys give off a very coastal cool vibe.”

“Do we?” Laney looks at James, her hand reaching over to, what Georgia presumes, squeeze his thigh. “We don’t feel very cool. In terms of Los Angeles, and where we come from, we are extremely uncool.”

James nods, sucking in his bottom lip as he moves thing around his plate, and then takes another bite.

The air’s a little stiff, so Georgia decides to move on. “So how did you guys meet?”

“Rehab.” James says after swallowing his bite.

The air gets a little more stiff. Georgia’s holding her fork in mid air and she’s not entirely sure what to do with this information. She looks to Benjamin, who’s eyes are glued to the couple, and he’s just continually nodding his head.

“I’m sorry.” Laney laughs nervously, rubbing James’ leg again. “We’re trying this thing we learned in therapy where we’re a lot more open and honest with ourselves and the people around us. Secrets and being closed off didn’t really do us any favors.”

“Okay.” Georgia nods, taking a sip of her soda. “I’m sure we could do some good with that.”

Benjamin snorts, then takes another bite of his food.

“How long have you two been together?” James changes the subject, pushing a smile forward.

Georgia looks to Benjamin, eyebrow raised. “I think... less than two years? Got engaged about six months ago.”

“Congratulations.”  James nods. “Love is a beautiful thing, and an important thing to cherrish and hold onto.”

Georgia nods, reaching out to squeeze Benjamin’s forearm. “Had some rough patches but no one puts up with me quite like this guy.”

He pats her hand before she pulls it away, and the two look to the young couple to find them soft-eyed, looking at them with adoration. “That’s lovely.” Laney says softly.

“We had our own, too.” James says, looking over at Laney. “Though who’s surprised when you come to meet the love of your life while you’re both trying to get clean.” He huffs in amusement, then looks back to the others. “We do a lot of therapy now. We’re kind of at the point where we’re not interested in things failing again, and we want to put in the work. It’s taken a lot of time but it’s good.”

“That’s so nice.” Georgia feels herself sighing, unable to help getting wrapped up in their romance. “And you guys decided to move to the East Coast?”

“Yeah,” Laney adjusts in her seat. “Just needed to get Los Angeles off of us. All the bad reminders and the enablers. Plus, my work is easier to do here, and James is kind of between things now.” She looks to her partner, who nods.

“Oh, what do you guys do?” She’s itching to know, considering how tastefully expensive they both look.

“Laney is the most talented fashion designer on earth.” James grins before she can interject.

“Oh god.” She huffs, sinking lower into her seat.

“Wait, really?” Georgia’s eyes beam.

“Now you’ve done it.” Benjamin shakes his head, digging deeper into his plate.

“Like, what kind of fashion? Couture or like with a store or what?”

Laney shrugs. “I got to show my stuff in Fashion Week for the first time last year but that’s only after James wore my suit to his red carpet.”

Georgia’s eyes gape, and she leans back in her chair, bringing a hand to brush back her hair. “Whoa, hold on a minute, who the fuck are you guys?” She doesn’t mean it to sound so brash, but now there’s mentions of a red carpet and she might faint.

“James makes movies.” Laney says simply.

She looks to see that James’ cheeks are pink, and he’s looking down, “I wrote And End a long time ago, I was a script doctor for a while. Couldn’t really make anything good because I was too busy snorting cocaine. Uhm... and then two years ago I wrote and directed and produced Over Sunset Drive.”

The room is quiet. Georgia slowly looks to Benjamin, whose face has now gone pale. He’s got a single spaghetti noodle hanging from his lip and it takes him a second to realize it before he chews and swallows his bite. 

“He makes me watch And End all the time.”  Georgia points to Benjamin, then looks back to James. “You wrote that?”

“At nineteen, yes.”

“What?” Both Benjamin and Georgia say in unison.

“I am thoroughly impressed.” Benjamin adds. “I don’t want to act inappropriately, but I loved both of those films.”

“Thank you, I appreciate that. It’s no inappropriate, you guys have pretty reasonable reactions. It’s always weird to bring it up. But it’s even weird to not bring it up and then have that come up way down the line.”

“So you’re not going to make any more movies?” Georgia frowns.

“That’s a bold thing to say. I’m not so sure. I write a lot of poetry. Sometimes Laney tells me I should publish all the love notes I write I quite like them being just for her. But I have a lot of personal stuff that could get published. I also like to paint. I’m fortunate enough that I can spend some time, figure it out. I also just want to support Laney on the direction her career has taken.”

“God that’s so sweet.” Georgia pouts. “You two are so adorable, you have to be our friends.”

The couple laugh, and look between each other. “We don’t really have much for friends here since moving, so we can’t really turn that down.”

“You guys would love Maggie and Vinnie, they’re the most sickeningly sweet disgusting couple there ever was.” Georgia leans forward. “And they’re out best friends.”

“That’ll be fun. People used to call us gross.” James laughs.

“Yeah I’d like to see you guys try and compare to them. Though who knows, they could use actual good competition.” Ben adds in.

“You know what though, I know for a fact Zebby is in all the cool New York circles. If you want the art circle, I’ll get you her number too.” Georgia wags a fork at them. “She’s also probably closer to your age.”

“Oh, really, you guys don’t have to do that. We appreciate your warm welcome as it is.”

“No no, Georgia wont stop with this until you have too many friends you don’t know what to do with.” Benjamin looks over to them with an annoyed look, which only lasts seconds until he looks back over to her, sees her with her phone out, and shakes his head with an endearing smile. “Love, why don’t we do dessert, we can do that later.” His hand reaches out, slowly taking the phone form their hand so they can continue their evening.

[timeagainreviews]

My Series 10 Rewatch: The Return of  Doctor Mysterio

Ah, another Christmas episode. How many is that now? Two in a row? If you’ll recall from last time, I remarked that the only thing I liked about Christmas episodes was that it was more Doctor Who. While I will admit to a degree of hyperbole, it wasn’t far from the truth. Which is why "The Return of Doctor Mysterio," is such an interesting follow-up, as I have a "second" reason to like Christmas episodes. Only in a Christmas episode can Doctor Who get truly stupid. I’m not saying I hated it, I’m not saying I liked it, but I think I loved it.

"The Return of Doctor Mysterio," is very much a stupid episode. But in the same way, a child can believe in a jolly fat man delivering presents every year, Steven Moffat asks us to believe in a Doctor Who where Superman could exist. It doesn’t fit the tone of the show, and it’s not even particularly topical. The idea of superheroes in the media is so cliched, that it’s cliched to even point that out. It felt a little dated even at the time it was made. So how has it given me a newfound love for Christmas episodes? Because it plays its hand at the right moment. Doctor Mysterio could only ever work on Christmas.

We open on the Doctor swinging outside a young boy’s bedroom window on Christmas Eve. The Doctor has been up on the roof of the New York skyscraper this boy calls home. After climbing into the window the Doctor introduces himself to the boy whose name is Grant. He explains that he was up on the roof building a machine to fix space-time distortions created by his own meddling. Think back to stuff like the weeping angels turning a hotel into their own food pantry of Rory-O’s. It’s a classic Doctor Who machine made out of various bits, making very little logical sense. It doesn’t matter though because the Doctor is in possession of a McGuffin named the Hazandra, a gemstone also known as "the ghost of love and wishes." Basically, it’s Christmas magic a convenient polyhedron. With it, his machine should stabilise the distortions.

Young Grant and the Doctor’s interactions in this scene are a great example of Capaldi’s charm as the Doctor. I love the Doctor not knowing Clark Kent and Superman being the same person is common knowledge. It scans with his not knowing there was a film called "Alien." The Doctor doesn’t need to know everything all the time, Chibnall. I find everything about this scene completely believable in its context. There’s a brilliant exchange where the Doctor produces a glass of water from his coat for Grant’s cough. After being handed the Hazandra by a man going by "Doctor," he assumes the Hazandra is medicine for his cough and gulps it down. I find it a little hard to believe that a geek like Grant didn’t at least question if it was a D12 first. He seems like the kind of kid who has done some tabletop gaming. Having taken a heroic dose of Christmas magic, Grant starts tripping out like he can fly and shit, which he does, because wishes. Realising the only thing to do is wait for the gem to pass through his digestive tract, the Doctor bides his time. I like to think that somewhere for about a week, the Doctor was scanning the plumbing of that building with his sonic screwdriver. "Still nothing."

With Grant’s body refusing to give up the ghost, his superpowers grew more powerful. This, of course, brings us to present day where Grant is now mild-mannered manny and Super Saiyan "Goku," noted by the G on his chest. No, wait, wrong franchise, it's the Ghost, not Goku. Not since "The Mind Robber," has Doctor Who taken on the concept of superheroes quite so directly. But, unlike Karkus, the Ghost is not meant to be a man from a comic book. Though everything about him is directly from a comic book. The Ghost’s powers are a little boy’s wishes given form. I’ll admit that while wearing my Doctor Who cosplay, the coat does tend to blow in the wind like a superhero cape.  While some will even agree that the Doctor is a sort of superhero, even the show recognises its own limitations in this department. Seeing a caped vigilante standing next to the Doctor is weird. It’s wisest to treat this as an anomaly.

Moffat is in no way shy about playing into some of the biggest comic tropes. When we meet Lucy Fletcher, a reporter for the Daily Chronicle, she’s an obvious homage to Lois Lane. So it’s easy to assume that the people she’s investigating, a corporation known as Harmony Shoal, are some sort of villain. It’s also a reminder of the influence of comic books on classic characters like Sarah Jane Smith or Donna Noble. Also in attendance is Nardole, seemingly reunited with his body. After some pointed questions about missing executives from Ms Fletcher, the press conference ends with Lucy unconvinced by their answers. She decides it’s best to stay behind and investigate. As do Nardole and the Doctor.

It’s a testament to how little I remembered within the year between these two Christmas specials, as I didn’t even remember that the Shoal of Winter Harmony were a Doctor Who baddie. Hell, I didn’t even remember it years later when I watched "The Husbands of River Song. If you’ll recall, I went on to complain that they were underdeveloped. Well, I guess I got my wish because here they are again. This time around we learn that the Shoal are a group of brains that look for viable hosts to live within. They open up the heads of humans and replace their brains. I’m beginning to see why I forgot these were the same villains. One is a bunch of brains in a jar, à la "The Keys of Marinus," while the other is a group of people able to open their seemingly hollow heads. Like, do the brains open up when they open their heads later? Why do they open at a diagonal layer when the brains clearly have a vertical hemisphere? Their physiology is a bit perplexing, even by Doctor Who standards.

While discovering the Shoal’s secret, Lucy meets the Doctor and Nardole, who are also spying. After witnessing one executive transplant an alien brain into the body of another executive, the three of them are captured and held at gunpoint. It's at this moment when we first see Grant as the Ghost, as he saves the trio using super-heroics. After whisking Lucy back to her apartment in a classic "superhero saves the girl," manner, we learn that Grant is actually Lucy's manny for her baby. This explains why he was watching out for her, and how he found her home so easily. The Doctor, having used the TARDIS to track the Hazandra, is already at Lucy's apartment waiting for Grant to chastise him for using his powers. Lucy believes the Doctor is there for her causing both her and Grant to lie to one another about how they may or may not know the Doctor.

Now, I would like a minute to talk about the costume. Basically, it's not very good. In fact, it's kind of bad. I don't mean to badmouth somebody's hard work, because it's not the craftsmanship I'm criticising. It's barely even the design. It's the reason for the design. You see, the Ghost has an awful mask. It covers about 75 percent of his face and is basically like no hero mask we've ever seen. The reason for this is that despite all of its whimsy and Christmas magic, the idea that a pair of glasses is all the secret identity a hero needs is too stupid even for Doctor Who. Hell, it's too stupid for Superman. Lois Lane is a Pulitzer Prize-winning journalist, and she's thwarted by a pair of specs? Seeing them make up for it by covering Grant's face in an awkward plastic mask just highlights how poorly Doctor Who and capes mesh. Except in the case of Jon Pertwee.

Lucy and Grant have that classic Clark Kent, Lois Lane, Superman, love triangle going on. Or Jerrica, Diego, and Jem if you're not a comic book nerd. It's the whole "Does she love me, or does she love him?" trope. All that's left is for Grant to do one of those two dates at the same dance scenes and we'll be set. Oh, they do that later on in the episode? Oh. But that's getting ahead of ourselves. Let's talk about that interrogation scene.

In 2012, "Zero Dark Thirty," came under fire for its apparent glorification of torture during interrogation. Which seems a weird takeaway if you've actually seen the film. However, the point was made- torture is inhumane. Which is why I must warn those of you with a gentle constitution that the torture scene of Mr Huffle is brutal. Every time Lucy adds pressure to this poor man's head, he cries out in agony, and she knows it will work. The Doctor is unable to stand the idea that another need suffer that he might keep his secrets, so he spills the beans. Of course, I'm kidding, the scene is absolutely ridiculous, but it's also kind of cute. It's yet another of those moments only afforded by Christmas magic because anywhere else it would be stupid. I just want to know where Moffat hides the giant bollocks required not to edit that bit out.

Now, remember how I said in my review for "The Husbands of River Song," that the baddies never really had much development? As it turns out, they're not all that deep. The main goal of the Shoal (Judoon on the moon), is to fortify their headquarters to survive a massive blast. Their reasoning is that when their ship impacts with the planet, their building will remain standing among the rubble of New York, acting as a beacon to the world's leaders who will flock to them. This way, the Shoal can take over the bodies of leaders. It's a dumb comic book idea in a dumb comic book episode. If their building attracted anything other than droves of survivors, it would most likely attract the attention of investigators. "Oh hey, maybe we should investigate the people who battened down the hatches immediately before the blast." Nothing fishy there. A foolproof plan. Because comic books, and Christmas.

Please don't mistake my tone for derision. I genuinely think Moffat made the right decision in keeping the plot a bit campy. It absolutely fits with the theme of the episode. This doesn't mean that the premise doesn't wear thin. It does so with so much haste that the promotional photos began to feel hackneyed. I've said in the past that Doctor Who is very much like a comic book, but even then it's a completely different genre than superheroes. The idea of the Doctor and the Ghost teaming up seems more appropriate for the comic pages of Doctor Who Magazine. And even then it would feel silly. You would see it come up on lists titled "Top Ten Weirdest Moments in the Doctor Who Extended Universe." It's up there with "Combo Man" or "NFL Superpro," in that it's a pale imitation that does nothing to add to the genre. The fact that they made a Ghost spin-off comic book is mind-boggling.

The Ghost fits very uncomfortably into the Doctor Who universe. Hell, he fits uncomfortably into New York. I did the math, he was old enough to stop 9-11. Or at least save some people. It's one of those "This is why the Doctor doesn't travel to the holocaust," things. It's just easier to ignore a real world tragedy. But even within the Doctor Who version of New York, the episode raises a few unanswered questions. Ever since Amy and Rory "died," the fandom has questioned why the Doctor didn't simply travel back in time to save them. Moffat's response was that the events of "The Angels Take Manhattan," made New York too chaotic a place to land. So the fans said, "What about taking a taxi into New York after landing safely outside?" To which Moffat said "Ah, but the tombstone! It's a fixed point in time." Which is a good point. There's no way you could possibly fake a tombstone. Those things are counterfeit-proof.

The point I'm getting at is that New York is all sorts of messed up by the Doctor. As I stated earlier, it's the whole reason he was there in the first place. The problem I'm having is that if the Doctor brought the Hazandra to New York to repair the rift, and Grant swallowed it like medicine, what the hell repaired the rift? How is the Doctor able to visit Lucy's house? How is the Doctor able to travel to and from the Shoal's ship orbiting the earth? If the Doctor can pilot the TARDIS in and out of New York City, what exactly needed fixing? And if nothing needed fixing, why then are Amy and Rory dead? And it wouldn't be a big deal if Moffat hadn't literally made it a plot point in the first place! That's two episodes in a row now where Steven Moffat introduces a concept only to completely go against it later on. Maybe he knew he was on his way out and he started phoning it in because I know Moffat is a better writer than this.

Ok, so where are we in the story? It doesn't really matter. Basically the Ghost and Lucy have dinner on top of Lucy's building. But it's when talking to the Ghost that Lucy realises she loves Grant. At no point does she not realise she's an idiot unable to see through a very dumb disguise. The Doctor and Nardole have jumpstarted the Shoal's plans by crashing the ship themselves. This forces the Shoal to act ahead of schedule. Also, for some reason, the Shoal seems to think they would be able to take over the Ghost's body. I guess superhero skin is one of those things famously known for being fragile and easily broken. Surely there's no flaw in this plan whatsoever. Grant uses this as an opportunity to switch out of his cape in back into manny mode. Acting as the hero, he swoops in and saves the day. Not only does he thwart the Shoal, but he also one-handedly catches their ship before it can make impact, thus saving all of New York.

The Doctor alerts UNIT to the Shoal's activities and before they can make their break are apprehended. All except for a single Shoal who has taken over the brain of a random UNIT soldier. It's one of those comic book cliffhangers that will fall apart if you start to think about it. I'm going to say it's absolutely acceptable in these circumstances, but I am absolutely still going to pick it apart. Like didn't the Shoal say earlier that they require a suitable host? What constitutes a suitable host? Did they mean suitable as in "a person in power," or was it a blood type thing? Do some people's bodies reject their new brain? Furthermore, didn't the Shoal keep creepy surgeons in closets for this kind of operation? How then is one of them able to do complex surgery in the span of moments? As I said, it falls apart.

"It falls apart," is the theme to this episode. In fact, the entire plot hangs on the premise of stupid comic book cliches. Nothing about this episode works as an episode of Doctor Who. But, as I said, it does work as a Christmas episode. In that way, it makes me both love, and continue to hate Christmas episodes. In the same manner, I admire its frivolity, I also loathe its crudeness. I'm not exactly running out into the streets like Ebenezer Scrooge asking what day it is, but I'm not saying "Bah! Humbug," either. Let's just say, I'm glad the next episode in this watchthrough isn't a Christmas story. The only thing worse than watching two Christmas stories in a row is watching them while in lockdown in July and August. There is neither anything holly nor jolly about this season.

The important takeaway is that I actually found myself having more fun this time around. Perhaps it was the fact that I now knew what to expect. The idea of a Doctor Who superhero episode can't be as bad as it already was. I've found this to be a common theme in revisiting a lot of Doctor Who. Without your initial expectations in the way, fun can sometimes peak its head in and say hello. Which is why I said I loved this episode. It wasn't good, but it was fun. I even got to see this play out in real-time. My boyfriend who had either never seen the episode, or forgotten it completely, spent most of his time hung up on how stupid the premise was. While I was actually able to spend more time appreciating the performances. The superhero tropes seemed less tired, and more like a necessary function of the narrative. Sometimes there is virtue in knowing something is going to be shit.

Hey friends! Thanks for reading this far. I wanted to pop in and apologise for how long this took to post. Last week was my birthday so I took the time off. Also, for some reason I was really dragging my feet with this one. Go figure. Next time, we say hello to Bill! See you soon!