#the intellectuals in the writing room for this season were fighting for their lives but i respect the battles they picked

[ugisfeelings]

i love being a fake fan i still haven’t watched s&b but i have seen literally every single cast interview and i think everybody should clap for a little crows spinoff so frederick james carter can stay employed or else ill burn down the basement that they run n*tflix in 🤗

[katytheinspiredworkaholic]

I’ve been rewatching CM and god, what I wouldn’t give for them to bring TG back for this revival. I haven’t even watched seasons 12-15 yet because I’m in denial about him being gone 😭😭😩

omg I haven't watched it either xD I've been holding off watching s11e22, The Storm, for like a month I swear. Which, I know is going to be amazing but I also have heard it's the beginning of the end and I'm not readyyyyyyy.

I would give anything for TG to come back. A n y t h i n g. But idk what CBS feels is the appropriate amount of time to be blacklisted or whatever the hell they did 🤷‍♀️ despite how it would be so easy to write him back in, and the missed opportunities is already making my skin crawl.

Okay. This was going to be a quick answer, but I've been THINKING about this way more than I should lately, without ever having watched 12-15 but I feel like I know enough, and with all the projects I'm going to be finishing/starting soon I know I won’t have time to do anything with my ideas. So I'm just going to type this little beginning I have plotted out and maybe one day I'll make it into the fic I want it to be:

(I know you didn't ask for a hc/blurb thing but surprise you get one xD)

CW: Spoilers for season 11-15 that are probably inaccurate af, fighting, violence, bit of blood and injuries talk, some profanity. 

-

((I legit have this all plotted out like a full season, and picture everything as shots and scenes and I know exactly how I would want to bring Hotch back.))

-

It would start in a small suburban town in Indiana, legit white-picket fence, middle of nowhere, off the grid town. With the most pedestrian name ever, we might as well call it Mayberry. Typical weekend morning, bright green grass and trees and summer sunshine lighting it all up, they still get papers delivered it’s that picturesque. And it’ll pan to all sorts of people on this street of nice, two-story houses, and finally zero in on not the man picking up his paper from his front porch, but the jogger slowing down that the man calls to next door, calling him a name we’ve never heard before -- but the jogger answers with that dark eyed squint and a nod... and it is Aaron Hotchner. Or the man who used to be Aaron Hotchner. He hasn’t gone by that name in years, WITSEC provided him and Jack with new ones.

His house isn’t even really decorated like a home, he’s been in enough over the years to know tell-tale signs of what a happy home should entail. Photographs, memorabilia, nostalgia tucked away in corners -- they don’t have that. He has a couple of photographs he keeps in his office, the only two in inconspicuous view being a photo of Haley and Jack when he was two years old, and a photo of his team the day he completed the FBI triathlon and they all showed up to support him. Everything else of their old life is in boxes in a storage facility in downtown D.C., under another false name that can never be linked back to them. 

Mr. Scratch was a poor excuse for why he and Jack were still under WITSEC, but he hopes near daily that it was enough of a reason that no one would question why he didn’t return once that monster was dead. That no one smart enough to read between the lines would go digging for more reasons, or worse -- try to find him -- and they pictured him living a happy retirement very similar to the charade he is living now. 

But Aaron Hotchner was never meant for retirement. No matter how easy and simple his days have been the past few years. It was only a matter of time. 

He walks through his home that looks more like the insides of a Home Living magazine, to his kitchen which is bright and spacious and tiled white that he knows Haley would have loved, getting a glass of water from the sink and chugging it all in one go. It isn’t until he’s getting a second glass that he hears it. The faucet was supposed to have masked any disturbance, they were careful in when they moved, how they placed their feet, the slowness of the their approach -- but not enough.

Hotch keeps his shoulders relaxed, his spine still ram-rod straight but that’s just how he stands and it keeps tension ready at a moment’s notice. Keeps him on alert, which he needs as he takes slower sips of water and lets all his other sense shift to a heightened awareness. Knows this house like the back of his hand, even if he’s never allowed himself to consider it home, so he knows which floorboards creak and where all the furniture is strategically placed. Always prepared for something like this to happen, even if he never imagined someone would be so bold. 

Their mistake.

With a careful tick of his head, peripherals his only guidance, he strikes before the intruder gets to. An iron grip and momentum that propels their face into the metal of the sink basin, shocking them that what their file was so misleading about their target. Retired FBI agent, almost 60 years old, living in Pleasantville with a picket fence and a vegetable garden. This should have been easy. The intruder is stunned by the blow, attempts a quick recovery where they lash out and get a few good body shots into the older man -- but he’s built like a brick wall, can take a blow and give it back twice as hard -- a few more precise hits and another crack of their face to the sink that shatters the bridge of their nose leaves the attacker slumping to the floor. 

“You didn’t do your research,” Hotch tells them, breathing a little heavy, opening up a drawer usually deemed for junk and pulls out zipties and an ancient looking cell phone buried deep at the back. “Sloppy. I expected more from him.” 

The attacker kicks out Hotch’s knees in a fit of rage (at having his skill set insulted so), leaving them both crashing to the floor. They grapple and fight a bit more, knocking dishes from the counters and pots and pans to the floor from the grill top island, but Hotch is so well-trained in take downs he gets the slighter man pinned with only a split lip and a single hitch in breath. He barely broke a sweat. Knocks the guy out clean, two solid punches to his face, and he stops because he knows better. Has been there before, and they need to question whoever was sent to his house to kill him. 

He’s barely off the floor, the intruder binded and stuck in a corner when Jack walks in from early morning soccer practice. Takes one look at the kitchen, his dad with blood in the corner of his mouth, and the guy all in black bound by zipties and already knows what happened. Sixteen, nearly as tall as his father now, he looks only mildly worried for all of two seconds until he sees that his dad has an old flip cell phone held up to his good ear, awaiting a connection with their handler in Indianapolis. 

“... Does this mean we get to go home?” 

The shot would pan back to Hotch, and he wouldn’t answer him, just tells the person on the phone to ‘patch him through, they have a situation’, and there would be no very obvious look in answer to Jack’s question. But all of us who know him, know the subtle changes in expression and the slight softening to that stern frown, knows what his reply would have been.

-

The very next scene would be the BAU. JJ and Emily walking at a brisk pace covering a debrief, since they basically run the department now. Everyone has been called in, everyone, retired and moved away and even the ones who cut all ties have been contacted. JJ has just gotten off the phone with Elle, who is working as a liaison in Rome and assured her that if anyone showed up in her home to attack her that they would be leaving in a body bag. But she appreciated the heads up. 

In the bullpen it’s more like a family reunion than anything. Garcia has just gotten off the elevators, a flurry of color and blonde curls and bright as ever, Morgan and Savannah are trying to corral Hank and the twins (both girls and pure chaos now that they can walk) while still making introductions with the new team and their families, and asking if Reid or Rossi know anything about what’s going on as JJ gets there and asks for everyone’s attention. 

“Not everyone is here yet, Kate and her family are on their way from upstate, Will’s getting the boys from school, and Alex and her husband are on a plane, but we need to get started as soon as possible.”

“What’s is going on, JJ?” Morgan asks, passing off one of the twins to Penelope who is in full baby fever mode despite what is obviously a very bad circumstance that has brought them all together. It’s a juxtaposition that has put everyone on edge. It doesn’t help when JJ and Emily look at each other as if in confirmation, trying to decide who is going to tell them.

“Okay, that doesn’t inspire confidence,” Rossi points out. “What happened?”

Emily sighs and makes a gesture for JJ to take the floor, since she has been on point for most of this.

The bull pen is silent in anticipation.

“Earlier this morning, Hotch was attacked in his home in Indiana,” she says, and whatever anyone thought was going on -- that wasn’t it. The shock across the room is like a bomb has detonated.

Rossi curses something out in Italian, looking down, and JJ immediately realizes how this all sounds. But doesn’t even get to backtrack as Reid looks completely devastated and Garcia like she’s about to cry and everyone else starts shouting questions at her. 

“What happened to Jack?”

“How did they even find him? What the fuck is wrong with WITSEC?!”

“Is he okay?” asks Tara, the only intellectual who can see the panic now blooming on JJ’s face.

“Yes, yes! He’s okay, sorry, no -- Hotch is fine. The guy who tried to kill him... not so much, but he should be conscious soon so they can question him.” 

“Jesus Christ, JJ,” Morgan says looking like he just aged ten years in the past 30 seconds. “Lead with that.”

“Sorry, I’m sorry. He’s okay, Jack is okay, they’ve been picked up. But... there’s a lot we need to be filled in on,” she admits, which quiets the room once more. “Apparently, the WITSEC had nothing to do with Mr. Scratch. There’s something much bigger and more dangerous going on, and he went under to keep us all safe. As well as himself, and Jack.” 

“What is it?”

JJ makes a gesture with her hands splayed as she looks a little lost. “I only know bare bones, we have to wait to hear the specifics and get everyone somewhere safe.” 

“You think we’re going to trust WICSEC after this?!”

Emily intervenes this time, “We have a plan, or... Hotch has a plan, I think. We’re just learning about everything as we go, he’s really the one that knows the most about it.”

“Then where is he?” Morgan speaks up again. “If he’s been pulled out, and we’re all in danger, why isn’t he here explaining this to us himself?” 

It’s a good question, and everyone looks expectantly at the two women leading the informal briefing. 

“Will he come back at all?” Reid asks, speaking up for the first time. It’s been years, that’s a long time to rethink a life like the BAU, and everything it entails.

JJ takes a deep breath. “He’s... in--”

“Out-processing.” 

Hotch is at the back of the room. Everyone turns to him, even JJ and Emily look surprised to see him so soon.  ((But we all know the CM cinematography love that kind of return shot, so I’m catering to it. For situational parallels if nothing else. Imagine the gif sets.))

“I pushed it as fast as they could go, but WITSEC always drags their feet.” The familiar drone, dry barely-there-humor, breaks whatever spell that had been over the room at the sight of the old Unit Chief. Disbelief and relief and stunned surprise litter every expression, and although Penelope looks like the first to say something, her words change course just as she opens her mouth. Because  Hotch is still in civilian clothes, a duffle-bag over his shoulder he used as a go-bag for decades, and beside him with a bag of his own with messy dirty blonde hair is--

“Oh my God, is that Jack!?” she near sobs, the teenager smiling at her in a way that looks so much like Haley, and she goes to hug him first with the boy meeting her halfway. “You’re so tall! And so grown up, look at you!” There’s definitely tears and the team converges on the Hotchners all at once. Reid hugs Hotch first, as tight and bone-crushing as that night in Atlanta all those years ago, followed soon after by Rossi who looks like he might shake the man but just hugs him tight and plants an absurdly embarrassing kiss on his cheek that finally cracks Hotch’s expression into something like a smile. Everyone hugs, everyone, Savannah calls him Aaron instead of Hotch because that was how he’d introduced himself all those years ago, the twins wave shyly and he shakes hands with the newer members that never got to meet him but have heard very tall tales about him for years and years. 

(And y’all, it would be the best damn scene and I would sob like a baby watching it.)

Morgan would be the one that would hold back and let the others go first, but it would also be the most profound when Hotch goes to shake his hand and the other man uses that to pull him into a tight hug of his own. 

“I’m glad you can still hold your own,” he’ll tease with nearly no heat behind it. Hotch hears it for the caring that it is.

“Like hell I would let that happen twice in my own home,” he assures him. 

Everyone settles down, and Emily leads some finer points of what’s going to happen with everyone in the next few hours. Days. Weeks, even, because there’s no knowing what is going to happen next. Hotch observes her, and there HAS to be a shot where she glances over to him and they share a look of understanding -- because she is Unit Chief now, and he approves of what he sees. 

But she turns the floor over to him, and Hotch explains what’s going on.

((I’m going to leave the finer points out about the case and the unsub, mostly because I haven’t finished ironing them out yet and I hope once I watch the remaining season I will be able to much more easily))

But at SOME POINT in the briefing, when Hotch is explaining what happened with the assassin in his home and how he apprehended him, and Emily maybe interjects with the injuries sustained and that they are still waiting for the man to regain consciousness. Penelope will 100% lean over to where Jack is sitting beside her and say without flinching, “Your dad is such a bad ass.”

((I also plan on bringing up Reid was in prison in this scene but it will be more humorous than anything because of Hotch’s reaction, stay tuned on that one. Again I’m not there yet))

((and where I’m taking them is also a secret because I need to do research and it will be so damn cool, but Hotch has everything completely planned out -- like he does. Goes as far as asking the few who question him “Secure enough for you?” when he drops where they will be staying and the protection they will have. Full blown mic drop moment.))

“So gather all of your belongings that you have here. Secure pets and homes, call the kid’s schools, whatever you need to do,” Hotch informs them, stepping back into his old shoes as team leader without even meaning to. But no one tells him to stop. “We need to be in the air ASAP, the jet is being prepped as we speak so we need to move on this.”

He leaves it at that, and everyone doesn’t move. Watching, waiting, smirking a little bit (Penelope, maybe even Reid), until he gives in.

“Wheels up in 30.”

Garcia giggles so much she near cackles with it. “Oh, I just got goosebumps!” And by Emily’s smirk and Morgan’s shared grin with Reid, a million watts between them, everyone is up and moving and pulling out cell phones to get their affairs in order.

Rossi sidles up to Hotch at that point, also openly smirking that they got him to say those four time-honored words. “Welcome back, Aaron.”

And Hotch, well -- he looks around the room at the family he had to leave behind without any hope of seeing them again, and feels every hardened edge in his face and demeanor soften. Before he looks to Dave and tells him what’s been going through his head ever since he walked back through the doors of the BAU.

“It’s good to be home.”

((END SCENE))

[postmodernmulticoloredcloak]

At least Kripke allowed his writing team and Jensen to fly off into different directions with Dean and explore him to the limit. Not only that, but he also allowed his protagonists to go down dark paths, most interestingly taking the Regular Guy/NiceGuy™️ Sam and turn him into something much darker and subversive from s3 -s5. Kripke's NiceGuy™️ Sam was more shady and dangerous beneath the surface and Kripke's BadBoy™️ Dean was much softer beneath, they were both subverting the tropes. (1)

Wheras Carver, and especially Dabb, both of whom are also soft spoken nerd boys who probably have some issues, if not a deep intense hatred, for Dean types, just stuck with the straight forward NiceGuy™️ trope with Sam, pushing his "nice-ness" so far that Sam's character traits became non-existent beyond judging/preaching to Dean, and acting as some kind of foil to Dean's relationships and "bad behaviour" all while living in a NiceGuy™️ intellectual world that is the MOL Bunker. (2) And Dean!! was thrown under the bus more times you can count while Carver, but especially Dabb, was in charge. At least Kripke allowed his writers to have their say, so Dean had his cheerleaders in the writers room, whereas I'm struggling to come up with any real Dean fan writers since s11, they all followed Dabb's lead. Dabb especially demonised Dean for his rough edges, for his anger! treated Dean as if was dumb, a "lower" person than Sam or Cas via their "funny reactions" to Dean (3) And even just in general, over the years what has often been praised as "character development" is more like Dean's rough edges being deliberately softened, and why? For Dean's benefit? Or so he can conform to Sam's standards, to Cas's standards? (because Cas is another NiceGuy™️ insert) and therefore Carver and Dabb's standards. Dean over the last few seasons, has either been spat at or made to conform. The later seasons are rife with classism, and Dean has been the biggest victim of it (4).

Honestly I’m kinda nauseous and generally unwell today so I’m not really up for, like, thinking too hard about things or making an essay but... that’s kind of fair and unfair...?

We were talking about Kripke’s original pitch the other day and sure, it’s interesting to discuss for a hot minute but eventually it’s kind of meaningless, because the general approach he and the rest of the writing team had when they started the show was to try things out and adjust the course depending on what they saw that worked or not. The show rapidly changed from the original pitch, and that’s because the show was a multi-authored story and allowed to be. It was also new and raw and it had a lot of space to change and develop (unlike later seasons who had a whole history before them). I can’t say which part is Kripke’s merit or Gamble’s or anyone else because I don’t really know, we can just see the final result. But we can say for sure that Kripke was quite open to be elastic on his original idea. Just think about the ~super hard non-breakable no-angel rule. They broke it, so.

I’m not going to psychoanalyze Carver or Dabb because that’s not really something I’m interested in. The Carver era’s bigger issue, imo, wasn’t with Dean (they decided to go a certain direction with him, and sure it didn’t go very smoothly because they found themselves between a rock and a hard place because they wanted dark Dean but also... Dean isn’t really easy to “darken” without taking some huge risks that obviously wasn’t the case to take, so the result was sort of wobbly, but honestly I don’t really have big problems with that) but with Sam. And I think that’s also relevant to Dean’s case because when you have two leads like spn has, what you do with one inevitably reflects on the other. Somehow Sam was allowed to be dark in earlier seasons, then at some point a reticence came in. I have no idea what the reason of that was. I suspect it’s not just Carver’s/Carver’s team’s fault because season 10 does attempt to do a thing with Sam that eventually kind of gets dropped there. It feels to me like there was a will to darken Sam just like Dean, but something went wrong.

A big problem is that at some point the narrative stops using Dean and Sam as two sides of a coin (having them in conflict, not necessarily fighting about something, simply expressing different perspective on something) and that damaged the narrative. Except when they fight over something, and then Dean is always framed as wrong even though if you think about it for a minute he’s not really.

There’s also a Cas problem, I don’t think it’s a coincidence a lot of Cas stans started saying that Cas was too good for Dean and Dean stans started saying that Dean was too good for Cas, and a lot of Destiel fans started saying that the Jack arc had erased the DeanCas relationship. It’s like... they were hashtag married but when you think that married couple don’t actually like each other, you know? ...That probably wasn’t the right way of phrasing it but hey.

[goosewithasaxophone]

Attack On Titan seasons 3+4 Spoilers (and 1 if you haven’t started it or gotten halfway thru it yet)

EVERYONE LISTEN UP OR DONT IDC BUT I JUST FINISHED EPISODE 8 OF AOT AND I HAVE AN IRRELEVANT HEADCANON THAT HELPS ME FALL ASLEEP AT NIGHT

Levi says to the kids (i guess they’re not kids anymore 😭😭😭😭) “Don’t die on me” and i just AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA it got me thinking how fuckin TIRED THIS POOR MAN IS of LOSING HIS FRIENDS

he lost his mom as a young child, his squad in s1, Kenny, Erwin and almost Hange (TOO CLOSE MOM TOO CLOSE) in s3, now Sasha in s4 ??? he needs a BREAK !!!!!!!!!!!!

so here’s my headcanon that i think about nonstop ☺️☺️

Levi is alone in his office after they return from the fight between Eren and the other titans. Sasha is put to rest with her things gathered and folded nicely on Levi’s desk to return to her family (are they alive ?? whatever i don’t remember).

He’s sitting at his desk writing a letter to go with Sasha’s things when they’re given back to whomever. Hange walks in, she’s exhausted. They both are. She stands in his doorway watching him. He tells her to come in, his tone gruff and assertive and his voice low and tired. His eyes are dark, even under the light of the lantern on his desk, shedding a low warm glow around the little room.

Hange steps closer and stands behind him where he sits, reading over his shoulder at the letter he’s writing. Beside it, she sees another letter, in fact, it’s a small pile of letters. Each paper has his scribbly writing inked and smudged and aged. She glided her fingers across the sides of the top page in the pile, trying to read them under the dull light. She sees the name “Erwin Smith” appear several times in several variances throughout the letter. Her heart twinges at the heartfelt words in the letter. Underneath that one she searches for other names in the other letters. She sees Petra, Oluo, Eld, and Gunther throughout the other pages.

By the time she finishes reading final letter in the pile she snaps back into the moment and notices Levi writing more aggressively on Sasha’s letter. His pen is taking the pressure from his hands and almost tearing through the paper. Hange has to place her hand on his wrist before he goes too far. He resists and tears a hole in the paper.

“Fuck,” he curses aggressively under his breath. Hange is about to say something, she opens her mouth to try to say something, anything that will reassure Levi that the tear in the page is nothing to fret, he can write another copy. But she knows she can’t say that because his words are authentic and to write another copy would be replicating a feeling already felt. That’s dwelling in the past and Levi doesn’t do that.

So she says nothing, and instead places her hand on his back. If she presses her palm flat against him she can feel his breath grow shallow and rigid. His breathing becomes audible.

Levi does not show emotion. He stares straight ahead and speaks monotonously no matter the situation. He uses his actions as expression and displays loyalty through his behavior.

Unless he’s alone with Hange.

Moments pass and Hange thinks he’s pulled himself together, so she takes a step back. Just as her fingertips lift from the man’s back he slams his fist on the desk and drops his face into his hands. Hange swoops down and throws herself over him like a protective blanket. She snakes her arms around him as far as they’ll go and squeezes tightly.

Levi curls forward from within her embrace and continues to try to control his breathing. He’s failing, they’re both aware, and neither say a word. It’s not until Hange realizes he isn’t going to immediately pull himself together that she takes another action. Shuffling her feet until she’s directly in front of him she brings her arms underneath his and raises him so he’s standing. She can hold him much closer this way.

“Fucking shit,” he sobs. Despite the lack of context Hange knows exactly what he’s talking about. It translated to “Why do I keep losing people?” She says the only thing she can think to say in the moment.

“Not me,” she whispers, feeling her own tears begin to sting her eyes. “Never me.”

“You were too close,” he mumbles. “Don’t ever fucking pull some shit like that again, he growled, remembering back to the sight of her being slammed against the trees, the sound of her voice shouting in pain as she hit the hard surfaces on her way down after her gear failed to suspend her. “That was too fucking close.”

Hange chuckles weakly. “I’ll do my best.”

“No you won’t. Your wreckless ass can’t stand not being at the center of danger.”

“What do you expect, that’s how we learn about things. From the center of them.”

“You’re fucking stupid.”

“I know.”

He brings his arms around her waist and pulls tightly. She knows he doesn’t mean the things he says. She knows he doesn’t think she’s intellectually stupid. He just doesn’t want to lose her too.

“You’re not gonna lose me, but I can’t lose you either, okay?” she said, trying to take a more encouraging turn. “I can’t handle those stupid kids on my own. Someone’s gotta be around to kick the shit outta them and keep ‘em in line, okay?” He nods against her chest and keeps his face buried in her.

It’s late evenings like these, when they return from some sort of mission, after Levi has changed out of his bloodstained clothes and Hange has restored her messy ponytail and everyone else has settled in for a long awaited rest, that Levi finds himself emotionally more vulnerable. It’s late evenings like these that when Hange is around and they’re alone, he can let himself be vulnerable. She’s his closest remaining partner.

It’s the pile of letters on his desk, never sent out, only ever growing with every additional squad member’s death, that Hange sees Levi’s true colors in. He’s not the cold, distant, abusive caption that everyone fears to anger lest they experience his wrath. He’s the damaged, healing, fragile captain that is so goddamn determined to keep his squads alive because every single time a member dies, another small piece of him dies with them. When the kids came into the picture he had never felt a greater weight on his shoulders. Every boy containing Farlan’s eyes and every girl containing Isabel’s, though no one saw it but him. He had to keep these stupid, wreckless, impulsive kids alive, because if he didn’t, who would?

But now the kids weren’t kids anymore. They were growing up. They were maturing. They were seeing things that toughened their skin and their hearts. They were taking control of their lives and realizing the real important things in life.

Levi was glad he could see them grow up and become wreckless adults instead of their old wreckless selves. But it also scared him, because he used to be that fresh new wreckless adult. And now he was the only one left. Him and Hange.

And that’s why he puts up an emotionless front. Because he and Hange are the last two left. The kids may think they are on their own, but Levi keeps an eye out. He watches and observes and takes pride in their enthusiasm on the good days and stays quietly sympathetic in the defeated hope on the bad ones. He’s watching because he cares so much. And that is what makes him so afraid.

Anyway that took me a half hour to type out because the more i thought about it while writing it the more developed it got. So there’s my big detailed headcanon, probably some misinformation in there but that’s because i don’t always understand what’s going on in the show and i’m far too behind to start the manga now. hope y’all enjoy and can suffer through the rest of the season along with me <3

[mantra4ia]

NBC Debris, episodes 1-9: overview of high hopes and adjusted expectations

*Mild spoilers ahead*

I'm rooting for this show guys, really I am. The premise and the two main characters / actors are interesting, or at least try very hard to be. But this series has been slow off the ground despite my excitement during preseason teasers and here's why, in my view.

Pros:

An intercontinental alliance gives room / potential for some interesting spy craft, I just wish it was slightly more artful, less heavy handed.

Alien debris having potential to do good things is also a fantastic promise to expand on. George Jones talked about some terraforming level stuff (whether it goes right or wrong is another story), let's see more of that. Are tech giants fighting over the intellectual property rights to debris-based advances? How are money and favor between industry and the government changing hands (apart from a very literal briefcase full of cash on the black market when we first meet Influx)? How do different pieces of debris interact with one another, maybe it changes some of their properties in unpredictable ways.

Bryan and Finola have good amorphous lead chemistry. We aren't being force-fed where it is going to go, but we know it's a compelling relationship where they're both relying on each other to get through challenging emotional hurdles (marine special ops, family tragedy). And we see them together, riffing off each other from the beginning, and it works as both a personal and professional partnership.

Strongest debris-scifi-based episode was definitely 1x04 "In Universe" with the chlorine- respiration-based biome. To me it's the best of the season so far.

Strongest character episode so far is maybe 1x09 "Do You Know Icarus?" or 1x06 "Supernova"

Cons:

Episodic structure hampers the ramp of tension building. You don't get big payoff because you get short plot points. Yes there's the recurring "ball of light" and Influx references, but those are more phantom thread teasers than a long game of steadily developing insights.

No fully developed villain or antagonist to make the stakes seem tangible and priorities urgent or simmering: is it Influx, Maddox, Ferris, casually mentioned foreign government espionage, the guy who played Michael on The Vampire Diaries? I don't know, and worst of all nor do I really care because I don't feel their immenent threat or ideological purpose. I am more worried about the debris body count, but debris is a problem / quandary, not a viable adversary at this point. We've got a multi-front conflict, and 45 minutes with underwhelming writing complexity to try and meet the task. It's a struggle.

The ABCD action-based plot. I have to do this sequence in order to beat this level. Where's the character building?

Speaking of which, while I like Bryan and Finola's dynamic opposite each other, I can't say the same about their development as individual characters. Their depth and relationship to others has so far been terrible due to superficial telegraphing which tells us rather than a writing structure that shows us why we're supposed to care about them, their lives, or their relationships to others, like Finola and DeDe and George as a family unit, or Bryan and Maddox. Seeing an old family video of sisters dancing to a favorite song does nothing for me when I haven't seen them interact on anything more than a long distance phone call. Can we maybe get a flashback of them at George's memorial so that we can get a sense of how devastated the family was or see the consequences of DeDe's substance abuse habit as a crutch during an emotionally chaotic time in her life? No. We get hearsay. Maddox is supposedly so worthy of Bryan's trust, pulled him from the brink of a dark emotional abyss (1x07), but we get no sense of that bond off the clock like Bryan checking in on Maddox's family, or any sort of personal connection. Just a cold professional relationship with a few one liners.

Telegraphing to ambiguity ratio: certain things the audience gets explained to us, like alternate universes visible in the molecular imperfections of glass or how they damaged George's hippocampus and impaired his memory (like they're just throwing out words to sound sci-fi impressive), and yet some basic details that would help build this world lore and make it believable are left up to off-screen imagination? Come on now, we all know the season one is for world building. Hop to it! Debris falls from the sky, worldwide, and you're telling me no one knows about it and it doesn't impact public life / culture in any way, it doesn't make the news cycle, nothing? You're an Orbital agent, and you're able to fly around in laboratory equipped jets and land in whichever airspace you please, and no one bats an eye? Terrorists are using debris against civilians, and we don't see government restrictions, curfew, lockdowns, etc, we don't get any minor glimpses into ramifications on ordinary life? No, because the focus is always trained on our "field agents" but not the playing field. It's mundane, small stuff questions that keep us grounded, which is a refreshing and needed balance in sci-fi, but apart from a conversation about stale Peeps I don't see attention to daily details of life as we know it.

We are literally told in the pilot by a title card (talk about expedient) that "three years ago images were captured of a wrecked alien spacecraft moving through the solar system" and for 6 months debris has been falling. Has it smashed through any cities causing panic? How is it spun by the media, or how is Orbital keeping it out of public attention? Is there a political power struggle over research access, and what do those higher up agency meetings look like? Where and how is the recovered debris being cataloged and stored when it is not used in active research? Who has clearance to it, what is that clearance called/what does it entail, which government retains agency of debris pieces, or does that depend on where Orbital recovers it? This is like first-five-episode-arc lore building and we are nine hit or miss episodes into the season! I need this show to level up if it's taking the route of being clever and cerebral, which it appears to aim at by focusing on the scientific part of sci-fi. If it's goal is to be a small scale, partner ride along weekly mystery with heavy synthetic sound cues, then it needs to pick a tone that takes itself less seriously.

The dialogue is so lackluster and expository. Please get some of the writer's room to focus on making it sharper, quicker, smarter.

The science of debris: George Jones, as some genius mind behind Orbital tech, isn't believable. We don't get to see any part of his professional life in Orbital in the three year lead up to when we meet our characters, he doesn't even have any dialogue when Finola first finds him captive. We have "science-aesthetic" scribbles on a chalkboard and Finola's word that George is a workaholic research savant. It doesn't ring true and by extension some of the "rules" of this Orbital technology seem murky (not as in we learn alongside the characters, but as in the concept seems under developed). George's biggest contribution thus far is a levity critique of Bryan's driving speed. At this point he's a plot device to further Fin's journey, as is DeDe. That's base.

Lack of interest in supporting ensemble: why should I care about Maddox's family crisis, or DeDe's addiction or George's suicide after he was shut out of his own research at Orbital, etc? Again this ties back to previous points of show don't tell, and build a world, maybe use some flashbacks. Make it personal — why is George's research (apart from a generalized better world) so singularly important to him that it breaks his family, what compelled Brian to transition from military service to Orbital? How are different factions within Orbital — like the research team and the field agents — getting along, who's at the very bottom of the barrel or on the very top of the hierarchy?

I want this show to succeed, but I don't get a clear read on what genre they want to be or more importantly what the characters want. Please increase the focus on dialogue, get the basics of want-obstacle-action done right, and then the debris and the conflict it creates can have a bigger impact.

[misha-moose-dean-burger-lover]

Going on Sixty

Dean’s fifty eight. 

He’s pushing sixty, and that’s exactly what he’s doing. He’s pushing as hard as his back allows - but it doesn’t seem to be working, and if he’d had a stick - though he doesn’t need one, thankyouverymuch - he would’ve been using it too.  

And it’s not just the number. 

He’s old. 

Bobby Singer’s words have never rung truer, and that man has said plenty of wise things in his life. “Old age is both - forgetting things like a drunk, and hurting all over like you’re sober.” It’s ridiculous. Dean won’t vouch for having had a brilliant brain before, but he didn’t used to forget why he went into the next room, he’s quite sure.

And, oh lord, his bones. His joints creak when he sits, and he wishes he’d given older hunters less shit for it when they’d all been whining in chorus about their goddamn hips. He gets sick easy too - Sam, the ever smart-ass says his immunity is as trash as the meals he’d have when he was thirty. He might be right. When it’s flu season, he wheezes like he might cough his heart out; and he’s sure anyone who hears him is positively scared about it too.

So, there. He’s old, and he’s grey, and he’s slow, and he’s grumpy. 

But hell, is he happy. 

Everyday, he wakes up on a mattress that’s known him for just the perfect span of time, under a white, fleecy comforter; all seasons of the year because they’re settled in Key West - who set their bets on Florida, ‘twasn’t him - and he wakes up next to the man he loves. 

Cas is either curled around him, hands tucked around his middle, or he’s cuddled up, pressed to Dean’s front, and Dean gets to wake up hugging him close, leg slot between his, and his nose in Cas’s hair - which frankly, he’s gotten so used to, that it doesn’t even make him sneeze anymore. 

And then they wake up - Dean mostly second; and breakfasts are cooked and coffees are made, newspapers are fetched and kisses are shared, until dressed in fresh clothes to go mostly nowhere in particular, he finds himself seated across Cas on their little table for two - they’d reasoned family meals are more fun on the patio anyway, and ninety percent of the time, it’s really only just them.

And every day, Dean thinks about how lucky he is, and it mostly happens while he’s staring at Cas unabashedly as the beautiful, wrinkled man solves the crosswords, and writes his lists on less printed pages to conserve paper.

Days pass slow, but years are always in a hurry - they’ve been married sixteen years, already. It had all Sam’s doing, that one, he’d never meant to have a grand big day out, with white linen tablecloths and calla lilies and a goddamn wedding photographer.

But he doesn’t need those pictures to remember. Cas, in his cobalt tuxedo, and Dean in his black blazer - both walked up the aisle because either one of them doing it had sounded unfair. He remembers the vows, the dances, and the kiss. It had been everything he hadn’t known he wished for, and he’d cried that into Sam’s shoulder a week after, when Sam brought homethe gigantic album from the studio. That day, he’d gotten to bring Cas home, and make honest men of themselves, he remembered saying - and then, they’d moved into their house together, husband and husband.

The house is close to where Sam teaches, close enough to the shelters they volunteer at twice a week, and at walkable distance from the diners, movies and parks. They have a library debossed in a wall, a garden at the back, and a study for where Dean and Cas alternate taking calls, pretending to be the FBI. 

It’s perfect.

And Dean Winchester’s happier than he’d ever been - and it sucks, because it doesn’t really seem to count. Because now, he’s old.

*

The troubles started slow, as you’d expect them to do.

Dean misplaced the keys to the Impala one fine evening when they’d planned in advance to go play pool and darts at Wren’s. He’d found them at Sam’s, the next day. And if he hadn’t been as busy as he was, correcting Cas whenever he called it ‘losing’ the keys, because he’d ‘known they were at Sammy’s, dammit’ - he would’ve given more thought to how that had been the very start of a long line of similar mishaps.

A particularly embarrassing once, he’d forgotten the other side of the grocery list when he’d gone out - Cas had justifiably nagged him about the lack of oranges, post-it pads, and condoms for the rest of the day.

Once, he got so utterly exhausted performing Baby’s monthly maintenance routine, he fell asleep - and Cas just assumed he was staying over at a friend’s and had forgotten to inform him, so Dean spent the entire night and then some, in the garage.

Yeah, because he slept ten frigging hours a day now.

Dean occasionally complains how it’s happening all wrong for him, because this stuff’s supposed to start at eighty! And Sam and Cas both shine their intellectual scowls at him, and he’s told that he’s been mislead. Cas goes on to add, with a smirk, that since Dean hadn’t exactly allowed himself to age till forty two - when they finally took down Chuck and bowed out of the game - it might be a way for his body to compensate for the delay then. Dean tells Cas then that he’ll make him sleep on the couch, and Sam points out that it’s not Cas who develops a crick in his back from that, and Dean declares that he hates them both.

If someone had told him - and honestly drilled it into his head too, that exercise at thirty would mean surviving at sixty, he would’ve fucking joined his brother on his smug-faced morning runs. He still wouldn’t have yoga’d, to be completely truthful, but he could’ve fucking ran. (Though, he wasn’t sixty yet. That was far, far away.)

But the point stood as it did. Dean felt multiple times the old Cas seemed to be, and especially on the times he messed up and Cas turned even more thoughtful and nice - he has to seriously resist the urge to pull a Crowley and tell his ridiculously understanding husband that he has no idea what old feels like.

Except he isn’t a hypocrite, and theoretically, Castiel is older than mankind, and Jimmy’s older than Dean.

*

A day just so, when Dean’s home and Cas is gone visiting Claire at her new place - she’d moved in with Kaia only last month, after dating for more than a decade, with a quiet, beautiful wedding in the backyard, so Cas had taken with him a waffle maker to keep up the tradition of wedding gifts in their family - and Dean’s sat by himself on the porch contemplating the nature of being old as crap and acting like it, he’s struck with a horrifying thought. 

He hadn’t realized it yet, but all the things he’d been doing wrong, have been affecting his relationship with Cas, somehow. 

The keys? They’d had to postpone a date, that Dean couldn’t even remember them going on later. It wasn’t his fault, but Cas had had a busy week. The condoms? Well, go figure that one. The sleeping in the garage? He’d smelled so much of motor oil that even he couldn’t be disgusting enough to lean in for a kiss the next morning. 

Perfect. So, it hasn’t been enough to ruin Dean’s dignity and his sense of normalcy. The ghost of two-years-to-sixty had to mess with the best thing in his life, too. 

Though, he reasons, Cas has been nothing but accommodating all those times - well, except for when he’s a smartass about it.

Mostly, he just tries to convince Dean that it doesn’t matter, really, and that he understands - but it just irks Dean further. It isn’t fair that Cas can still walk at the same ex-angelic-pace from before, or that he doesn’t have colds and acid refluxes. He’s happy that Cas doesn’t suffer, of course he is - but it doesn’t seem fair. 

Cas might be aging with him, but he isn’t growing old. 

Instead, while Dean developed body aches and lines on his face, he’d just developed more pronounced crowfeet from the ever increasing smiles, and it just made him more beautiful. And he’d widened some, but Dean just likes that more. 

Cas doesn’t forget keys, or sexy items on the Walmart list, or any of the shit Dean pulls. He doesn’t do things which might compromise their time together, or date nights. 

Dean’s the one who does that. 

He can’t believe he hasn’t noticed it before. He shudders at the thought of becoming like one of those old married guys who stop putting a goddamn effort - because he knows he’s grateful for the life he lives, everyday. Getting married to Cas is one of the best things that have ever happened to him. But does Cas know? Does Cas remember? Dean loves him, but he’s hardly able to show it anymore. He can hardly plan elaborate and adventurous dates, and he certainly can’t orgasm thrice in a night. He’s old, and he knows Cas gets it, but does Cas get it?

Suddenly very troubled, Dean takes another sip from his beer. 

As the years passed by, his tolerance for alcohol has gone lower. It even tastes bitter, going down his throat. 

Old age just became exponentially worse. 

*

The last straw is something as inconsequential as a backache is at this age, and as horrid as one too.

Watching Netflix’s Queer Eye in the living room, they’d fallen asleep on the couch, in the middle of the day. Their white settee isn’t large enough for them both to lie down, but they’ve managed to settle pretty comfortably, and it doesn’t even feel like they’ve had to squeeze in, because Dean gets to have his hand around Cas, who has his head rested on Dean’s left shoulder.

The episode is long over, and owing to autoplay, Dean wakes up to the Fab Five spending the week with a completely different person altogether; and Cas stirs too, and lifts his head from Dean’s chest, having migrated downwards to hug his hips, and -

“Fuck.” Dean winces. The loss of weight had allowed his spine to straighten mostly, and a sharp pain shot through his back. He has to fight his tongue to not swear again, because Cas is looking at him concerned - albeit, still drowsy.

“Is everything alright?” He asks, in a sleep-roughened pitch, and Dean tries to focus on that instead on his back. How wonderful Cas sounds, and sure he does, but - holyshit, his back.

“It’s - I’m good, Cas.” Dean placates, trying not to speak through his teeth, still trying to ignore the pain.

“Did we really fall asleep at three in the afternoon?” Cas smiles at him, and his eyes are bright and eyebrows are up. “I’m surprised at us, Dean.” He adds, in a not very surprised tone, and scoots upwards to Dean’s level.

The pressure helps a little bit, only enough for Dean to screw his eyes shut and kiss back.

Cas is slow, soft and warm. He is half draped over Dean’s front, and cupping Dean’s face with both his hands like he wants to take his sweet time kissing today - like he has nowhere else to be, and Dean knows he doesn’t, and he wishes to dedicate all his time to Dean’s lips and Dean goddamn wants him to, too.

It’s been some time since they made out like this. It’s leading to no where - of course it isn’t, they aren’t monkeys who do it on the couch anyone; it’s just what it is, it’s very in the moment, and it’s one of Dean’s favorite things to do. Except right now, he’s not in the moment. 

He tries to return the best he can, letting an arm fall over Cas, and move his lips in sync with his. Cas is adequately pleased to be the one leading, and makes a happy, contented sound as his tongue enters Dean’s mouth.

And it feels wonderful, but Dean’s back still hurts, in spite of the weight now, which means there’s really no easy way out of this.

Cas chooses that moment to let go of Dean’s face, and his left hand trails under Dean, while the right one moves up into his hair. “Dean.” He sighs, and it’s so perfectly gorgeous, that Dean begs for it to stop hurting, so he can start enjoying too, because they haven’t kissed like this in a while, and he’s missed it.

There hasn’t been a reason to not do it - they’ve obviously kissed good morning and good night, but this is still the fortnight Dean forgot the lube and condoms so they haven’t had sex, and now that Dean thinks about it, his back has been showing signs of impending doom, as well as -

“I love you,” Cas breathes out, still nice and tender on him, and his mouth still engrossed in kissing him. 

“I -” Dean looks at Cas, sleepy blue eyes and soft, shaven cheeks, engrossed so completely in Dean - and feels an overwhelming wave of lucky again. “I love you.”

Shit, the least he can do is give Cas what he’s asking for - his back could be tended to, some other time. He’s been a hunter all his life. If he can’t even kiss his husband back without thinking about his aching back, what has he even been doing?

He stops thinking entirely, and gives himself up to making Cas feel good - he hums under his breath like he knows Cas likes to feel on his lips, and tugs Cas closer, and he almost feels better himself, until Cas’s wandering hand somehow snakes to the exact spot Dean’s pain is focused on, and as Cas groans, he presses, and -

“Fuck!” He cries out, almost yells, leaping a good inch off the couch. Cas is on his feet almost instantly, kiss swollen lips now frowning in earnest, studying Dean.

“Was that -” Cas pauses. “Is that an erogenous zone you’ve newly developed, and not told me about?” He asks, and he’s frank is all that matters. “Did you -” His eyes track lower along Dean’s body, where his member is definitely perking to attention, newly so under Cas’s curious stare.

“What? No.” Dean flushes, at the idea of coming in his pants like a horny teenager, from perhaps the most innocent drawn-out kiss he’s ever shared with Cas. Only because he’s been thinking about his back, that is. 

“It’s -” He almost tells Cas. Then he remembers the way Cas had looked at Dean, how much he’d wanted this, and how long it’d been. “It’s nothing. Just got reminded of something, or…whatever. Come back.”

Cas squints at him.

“Don’t look at me like that.” Dean swats He still doesn’t dare to move his spine though, because after he’d sprung up in pain from Cas’s hand brushing the area, he’d managed to find a spot where he wasn’t quite feeling the pain.

Cas continues to squint.

“C'mere.” Dean motions, and makes the mistake of turning towards him to persuade Cas with full-blown puppy eyes, which usually work - because another bout of pain shoots through him, and he visibly squirms.

“Backache.” Cas declares, crossing his arms on his chest. “You have a backache.”

“S'no big deal.” Dean shakes his head.

“Okay.” Cas agrees, and sits down on the couch next to Dean, but not touching him anymore. Dammit. Cas had wanted to kiss him, wanted to keep kissing him, and Dean hadn’t even been able to get kissed. He was a complete moron, and now he knew he wouldn’t be able to get Cas to return to the kissing, till he’d dealt with the situation. 

“Tell me where.” Cas demands.

“I said it’s not a -”

“Falling asleep on the couch must’ve triggered it. You’ve been stiff since Thursday.” Cas notes, ignoring him. “I’m going to shift the TV to the bedroom tonight. You’ll help me with the plugs and the chords, you always know how to get the wires right. Now, can you walk?” Dean opens his mouth to protest that he doesn’t want to, because all he wants to do is sit on that couch, and have Cas on top, kissing him. “Because if you can’t, I’ll have to pick you up and put you on the couch which can be pulled into a bed, and you can stretch out.”

“Cas.” Dean whines.

“Dean.” Cas replies, matter-of-factly. Dean can’t tell if he’s pissed because Dean’s killed the mood by getting a stupid backache, or because Dean didn’t tell about it before.

Who’s he kidding, though? This is Cas. It’s the latter.

“Well, I haven’t tried to walk yet.” Dean finally gives in. Cas smiles, and it’s not a triumphant smile, Dean must have imagined it. But the fond twinkle in his eyes, he couldn’t have imagined.

Cas gives him a hand in getting up, and hooks Dean’s arm around his own shoulder to mostly drag him into bed. He plants Dean on his side, almost with a nonexistent grunt, and rewards him with another smile.

“Lie down. On your front, if you can.” He instructs. “I’ll come back with some ointment. Do you need help flipping to your front?”

“Y'know, you may wear a coat all the time, but you’re not a doctor.” Dean’s only trying to be annoying because Cas is a goddamn dream, and it is a miracle he loves Dean, so Dean must test his patience to make up for it. 

“I used to be able to heal - I think I’m close enough to one.” Cas replies, if a bit sad. “And if nothing else, I’ll kneel next to you, and rub the ointment into your back.”

Dean involuntarily sighs at the thought of that, because while the change in setting is helping, it still hurts like a bitch. And a massage sounds like heaven, right now.

But he realizes instantly after, how he just sighed at that thought like an nineteenth century actress, and grumbles. “Never thought I’d be this happy about a massage. And it’s not even a sexy massage.”

“I’ll have to take your shirt off. I could take my shirt off too,” Cas offers, from the other room, and now he’s moved on to the part where he’s snarky about it instead of kind. “We’ll bag the sexy, don’t you worry.”

“Shuddup. I’ll be lying on my front, anyways. Won’t even get to see ya.” Dean’s cranky, but Cas’s laugh comes across the hallway to him and makes him smile. Cas walks back into the room, sporting a smirk, as he unbuttons his shirt and gestures at Dean to flip over. Dean steals a proper glance. He gets to look at Cas everyday, naked if he wants to, but Cas never stops looking good to him. He’s got the toned abdomen, though you can’t see the formerly well-defined abs. Plus, he’s got chest hair, and there’s his pecs, and the shoulders, and his collarbones - and Dean has a flashback of the time he drunkenly confessed that he’d totally sleep with him, even if he hadn’t been around to see the coverboy model looks he’d had before, or even if he wasn’t the best man Dean had ever known, just because of those arms. 

So, sulking, but without his heart in it, Dean adds. “Sixty six’s not your fucking prime, you massive show-off.”

“Ouch.” Cas deadpans, and it’s not even funny, but Dean just loves his wisecracking idiot so much, so he laughs.

*

But this episode just reaffirms his fears. This newly-old thing is really trying to fuck up his marriage. That stupid backache - which subsided the next day, because Cas’s fingers are magic, and not just when they’re around Dean’s dick or up his ass - had cut into his quality time with Cas. He doesn’t want to let another old-person problem interrupt his time with Cas. He can’t possibly keep this up. 

Even if he has to put in more of an effort, he’s going to make it through this. 

*

“Say, Cas.” 

Cas raises his eyebrows as means of asking Dean to go on. 

“Wanna go out with me friday?” Dean proposed, putting on his most charming smile. Cas looks at him properly, as if analysing his face. Dean reruns his own words through his head, and suddenly realizes how much he sounds like they’re both in highschool. That’s what you say to the cute guy you have a crush on in the boy’s locker room. Or, in the case of Dean’s very heterosexual adolescence, the chick you share fries with in the lunch hall. In any case, it’s not what you say to your husband, suddenly and without preamble, when you’re both in the same bed, having ice cream for dessert while you watch Bohemian Rhapsody.

But Cas’s smile lights up his entire face, when he answers Dean. “Of course, Dean.” And he proceeds to slip a little closer to the middle, so that Dean can have his arm around him while they watch the movie. Dean feels a warmth blooming in his insides as well. Maybe the old thing won’t ruin this for him, after all. He can still make it right. 

“It’s a date.” He mumbles, squeezing his hand. 

“I thought so too.” Cas replies, and Dean can hear his amused smile in his voice. It’s wonderful. 

“Good.” Dean beams. “I’ll meet you in the living room at seven.” After changing clothes beside you in the bedroom at six thirty, he doesn’t add, because it sounds cheesier this way, and one thing Dean’s always loved about Cas, is that the guy really does dig the textbook chick-flick moments. Almost enough that he converts Dean into it. 

*

It’s a goddamn wonder that he doesn’t look as old as he feels, Dean thinks, adjusting his tie in the bathroom mirror. He can’t remember the last time he had to wear one.

He may have wrinkles now, but when he smiles, they look just like the smile lines he’s had since forty. Got to smile more then, he notes, grinning at the mirror, and feeling satisfied with the results. 

He’s wearing a blue shirt, which is a much lighter color than Cas’s eyes are - he’s not even trying to be cheesy, but when you spend all your time looking at your husband’s spectacular eyes, you develop tendencies to compare it to everything else blue you see. And he’s trying out a new-ish fad, and wearing a tie without a blazer. It’s too hot for a blazer. But Cas likes him in ties, so he’s wearing the one Cas got him for his fifty sixth birthday.

It’s indigo, with grey stripes. Cas is wearing grey, he knows. He caught a peak when Cas picked it out of their closet. He likes that shirt.

Dean looks at himself one last time.

For all his whining, he can still clean up nice. He marches out of the bathroom, feeling a little proud of himself, and excited to find Cas. Sure, blame him for wanting to see Cas’s reaction when he checks him out.

He reaches the living room, and is stunned, momentarily. "Cas.“ He just says, without meaning to. The word rolls off his tongue, like it does a thousand times each day, and Cas turns towards him. 

He is in the grey shirt Dean anticipated, but he hadn’t been prepared for how it looked on him, and he’s rolled it up to his elbows in just the way Dean’s told him multiple times he likes - and he’s wearing jeans instead of trousers, and he’s done something to his hair that Dean has no time to process, because Cas is soon walking up to him, and Dean’s definitely losing his peripheral vision too now, fucking presbyopia - or maybe all his eyes want to do is focus on the eyes, and tune all else out.

He has no time thinking about Cas’s reaction on seeing him, not when Cas looks like this, does he?

“Good eve - Okay, hi.” Dean abruptly ends, eyes widened, as Cas reaches him, stopping unbelievably close. It’s stupid how he’s literally done everything there is to do, with this man - and his proximity still gets Dean flustered sometimes. 

“Good evening. You look breathtaking.” Cas tells him, having to look just the little bit up to meet his eyes. 

“Well, I - uh, we still got it.” Dean corrects, leaning downwards to close the gap. Cas hadn’t been expecting it - why not, Dean has no idea; but it’s fun to take him by surprise as Cas slowly melts into the sensations, and Dean only pulls away for air. 

He’s never going to get tired of kissing this man. He’s never going to have had enough. Even if it had been all he did in all of his life, till the day he breathes his last, it’s not going to be enough. Dean’s gonna get old and Cas is not, because he might not be immortal anymore, but he never learnt to start aging - and Dean’s gonna wither and fucking die someday, and all things in the world are gonna get old, but kissing Castiel? That’s never going to get old. 

Cas inhales slowly, deeply, and looks at Dean in that particular way which he reserves for Dean. Dean really fucking loves it.

“I thought we were going to go out.” He says, and the teasing is loud and clear. Dean almost gives in too. As if he’d turn down an offer to stay back in bed with him. 

“Yeah, but we aren’t roleplaying a first date.” Dean says, instead, his upstairs brain getting the better of his downstairs one. “We’re still going to be married. We still get to kiss.”

“Then why was I looking up icebreakers, earlier?” Cas grins back. 

“Because you’re a weird, dorky little guy.” Dean offers, but pulls back too. The further away he stands from Cas, the lesser is the risk of them not being able to make it to the date.

“I’m hardly little.” Cas looks satisfied enough by pointing that out, to not respond to more, and instead goes to pick up his trenchcoat. “Are we leaving now?”

“Sure, big guy.” Dean rolls his eyes. He puts on his own coat, having to stretch his back to get in it. It’s a pleasant surprise, but none of his body parts are aching presently. He’s hoping it stays this way. “I’ll drive the car out to the front. Wait outside for me?”

Cas nods, and Dean goes. He settles in the driving seat, and slides his hands down the cover of the steering wheel. “You ready to charm my date for me, Baby?” He mutters, affectionately, as the engine roars to life and soon subsides to a purr as he drives it out of the garage.

Cas gets in next to him.

“That’s fresh air.” He points out.

“I know.” Dean grins at him, sideways.

“You used an air freshener.” Cas adds. “In your car.” He pauses, as if to process. “This doesn’t smell like the house either. You used a car freshener.”

“I know.”

“You must really love me very much,” Cas jokes, and Dean’s stomach almost drops because hell, that was quick. And of course he does, kind of why he orchestrated the entire thing. He doesn’t know what to say, so he does the one-shoulder-shrug - the universal sign for, I guess.

Cas ducks his head at that, and it’s all sorts of adorable. “So.” He starts, as Dean starts to drive. “Will you tell me where we’re going?”

“You’ve had plenty of time to ask me before,” Dean remarks. “I know you like being surprised. Are you sure you want me to tell you, or is this just one of the icebreakers Buzzfeed taught you?”

Cas chuckles. “Both? And I’m not an amateur. I used Bustle.”

“Well,” Dean grins back. “It’s this newish continental place, near the bowling alley we went to on my last birthday. I looked it up on the internet after hearing of it from various sources, and they have pretty good reviews. We’ll have to try the thukpa.”

“Then we shall do so.” Cas answers.

“Yeah, place is real busy too.”

“Oh.” Cas bobs his head. “What time did you book for us?”

“Yeah, funny thing, I had a problem getting - oh, son of a bitch!” Dean suddenly pauses, horrified. The car swerves as he realizes, and stops thinking entirely. Then he’s pulling over, taking an acute turn from the middle of the road, and Cas is staring at him, trying to figure out the cause for the strange behavior. Nothing had happened on the road.

“Fuck!” He swears, still gripping the wheel. Cas is beginning to panic, asking Dean what’s wrong, on repeat. Dean doesn’t know where to begin. Horrified at himself, absolutely whitening rage - he turns to glare at Cas, though he’s only furious at himself.

“Fuck.” He repeats, for emphasis. “I forgot to make the fucking reservations.”

*

Dean storms into their house, having parked the Impala on the road, trusting Cas to follow. He keeps up, indeed, constantly asking Dean what was up with him. Dean unlocks their door frustratedly, and prances inside.

“Please sit.” He motions, waving his arm in the direction of the couch.

“We could just have driven around!” Cas protests. “Dean, I get that you’re irritated at yourself, but -”

“No.” Dean states, flatly. He sits gingerly down on the armrest of a couch, as Cas takes the other sofa. “I need to do this. We need to talk.”

For a fraction of a second, Cas’s eyes widen, and they’re a little bit worried. Frightened. It must be the pop culture affiliations that phrase has.

Dean leaps to correct himself. “No! Not like that - Never like that. You’re perfect, Cas.” He sighs. “You’re everything I could ask for.”

“And you’re upset about that.” Cas points out, blinking.

“No, idiot. I’m fucking thrilled. But I’m not.”

“So, you’re thrilled, and you’re also not thrilled.” Cas repeats, squinting at him now. Cas is leaning towards him, and Dean gets up from the armrest, and begins to walk around, to avoid Cas’s eyes.

“No. I am thrilled. I’m just not everything you could ask for.” Dean admits, with resignation. He’s tried to fight it, he’s tried to be better, he’s tried everything, but he’s old and pathetic and cannot even keep Cas assured that he loves him - as was just exhibited. He’s been doing everything wrong, for everything right that Cas does.

Cas opens his mouth to say something, but Dean goes on. “I don’t remember stuff, and I can’t do things anymore - and I creak, Cas - and you’re always so fucking okay with all of it, but you shouldn’t have to be with someone who can’t even remember to book a table for a date!”

“I told you we could’ve driven around the town, and then microwaved leftovers for dinner.” Cas throws back. “I liked that car smell.”

“You shouldn’t have to compromise!” Dean argues. “You give me everything I want. You should get everything you want too, Cas! That time, we had to cancel a date cause I lost my keys -”

“You didn’t lose them.” Cas tells him, cutting him off. Dean can’t tell exactly what mood Cas is in right now, but he sure sounds annoyed. Wow, so now Dean’s managed to do that too. Kudos to him. “And I don’t even want to go there now. Claire told me the owners were loud Republicans.”

“That’s not the point.” Dean complains, trying to remember what the point was, himself. “That afternoon! You wanted to make out, and my back was killing me, and we couldn’t -”

“I could always just kiss you now.” Cas declares, standing up, as if to prove his point.

“Not the point.” Dean hurriedly passes the opening to postpone this conversation. “Cas, I just want you to know that I wish I could be more. Like before. Or better yet. I was never enough -”

“Stop.” Cas positively yells, at this point. “I don’t care about the 'point’ you’ve conjured up, Dean. I get a say in this.” Dean’s silenced by the glare he receives. “I love you.” He begins, softening.

“I know.” Dean sighs.

“And I could not have asked for anything more than you are, Dean Winchester.” Cas takes a step towards him. Dean - okay well, he doesn’t move away, as much as he shuffles his weight to the other hip. He wants Cas to get there. “Because you’re everything.”

Dean blushes, though it’s a stupidly common line, because Cas isn’t just saying it. He’s practically emanating it. “Cas, no -”

“And you talk about not putting in an effort?” Cas rolls his eyes, and his neck goes with it. “Well, what have I been doing, then? I’ve been so comfortable with what we have, that I haven’t been initiating newer things, or asking you out, or -”

“That’s not your fault.” Dean says, shortly. “We’re not a week into dating. We’re settled, and domestic, and those are good things. If you were on your toes about us doing new things all the time, what’s the meaning of all the time we’ve spent together?”

Cas looks appalled, though Dean thinks he’s done a good job explaining it. “Awesome. You can whip out thoughtful lines like those when I talk about not putting in an effort anymore, but when it comes to you, I suddenly seem to want more?”

“Don’t you try to Dr Phil your way outta my fuck-up, Cas.” Dean warns, knowing exactly where Cas would take this.

“I don’t have to.” Cas replies. “Because it’s not your fuck-up. It’s mine. Somehow, I’ve failed to make you realize how much I -”

“You’ve not failed at anything!” Dean frowns. “I know you’re going to say you love me, and I -”

“What, you think I just say it?” Cas retorts. “There are millions of words out there, Dean. I have an exquisite vocabulary. I adore you, and I’m bewitched by you, and I cherish you, and I’m devoted to you, and I’m enchanted by you. But at the end of it all, I love you, for nothing could say it better.”

Dean doesn’t know what to say to that.

“Now, you’re going to let me apologize for allowing you to let such insecurities fester.” Cas tells him, having caught Dean in a daze. “You’ve always made me feel loved, Dean. And in these last sixteen years, you’ve made me happier than I could ever have known. You’ve smiled my bad days into better ones, and cooked meals for us to share on that little table, and you’ve let me kiss you, and make love to you, and be wedded to you, and you’ve never once let me feel alone. And since that’s what I’ve most felt, before you, I am more grateful for you than you could ever imagine.”

Dean feels his throat clog up.

“And every day, Dean, I’ve woken up knowing I love you, but gone to bed at night, next to you, somehow even more deeply in love.” Cas emphasizes. He’s standing much closer to Dean now.

“And I cannot believe I’ve never said this aloud, for I think about it all the time.” Cas swears, his tone delicate. “But you’ve grown and changed so much, that it’s that much easier to love you now. It was always too simple, but little by little, you’ve molded into all my nooks, and filled every strange-shaped crevice of everything I ever wanted.”

Dean’s lips tremble, as he buries his face in Cas’s neck, and lets Cas hug him close. He feels a tear slip down his face, but it doesn’t matter, because Cas’s arms are around him, pulling him close, and he can just pause, and listen, and breathe Cas in.

“I don’t know how long it took, the first go-around, as you call it. Maybe I fell in love with you when I rebuilt you, or when I fought with you against Heaven, or by that river in Purgatory.” Cas whispers, words a little garbled as they’re spoken into the fabric of Dean’s shirt. “But if I had met you today, I would’ve fallen in love with you in a day.”

Dean lets out a choked sound, he wants to believe is a scoff. “You only had to ask if you wanted me to have a dad-bod, buddy. Back then, I mean.”

“You’re nicer to hug.” Cas justifies, and on cue, holds on tighter. “But it’s all the other things too. Now, you -”

“Please. Stop, Cas.” Dean begs, and it’s only a little bit of a joke. “If you go on anymore, I’m going to have to sit down, and then I’m not going to be able to get up, without being vastly unattractive about it.”

“You’re ridiculous.” Cas informs him, pulling away to look at him better. “But fine. We can finish this conversation later.”

“And I can tell you more of my side,” Dean looks down at the floor, embarrassed. “Without you rambling off poetry about our relationship, and making it all sappy like you love to do.”

“Only if you aren’t determined to fault yourself.” Cas conditions, smiling now. He’s so beautiful.

“But I -”

“Dean.” Cas scowls, and Dean shrugs, quieting down. “Only if you swear to skip to the part where we talk about how to help you overcome this. Because, I’m sorry, but it’s not me who feels what you think I feel, at all.”

“Shuddup.” Dean mutters.

There’s a silence, a warm and comfortable one. Cas smiles, again, little but pleasant - and Dean mirrors it. He loves Cas so much. And Cas loves him.

“Date nights.” He blurts. “We could do date nights.”

“Of course.” Cas looks amused, but in a good way. “I think we could pull those off.”

“Let’s have them thursdays.” Dean smirks, and Cas grins.

“Good choice.”

“And let’s go on a vacation.” Dean suggests, suddenly. The pressure is gone, but the adrenaline hasn’t worn off. Their entire future seems to be a sky of possibilities. To make each other feel loved, and to be happy. To put in efforts, without making it a big deal. They can do this. “Let’s go to a beach. Out of the country. We could go on a cruise.”

Cas beams. “I would like that, yes.”

“And -” Dean stops himself, blushing.

“Yes?” Cas urges.

Dean squirms.

“- would you like for me to choose more panties for you?” Cas says, tentatively, at the same time that Dean says, “I want to dye my hair.”

Dean lets out a nervous chuckle, as Cas’s eyebrows go up. “Both?”

“Both.” Cas nods, stepping closer again, but this time it’s not a hug, as his hands go around Dean’s middle, but his head doesn’t go on his shoulder. Dean’s the one who closes the gap, exhilarated.

They’ve got this.

*

And as they eventually fall back on one of the couches, Cas straddling Dean because he’s the only one of them who can still do that - Dean remembers that they never pulled the curtains down, and moves to stop Cas.

“Curtain.” He pants. “Could you -” Cas doesn’t seem to get it, and continues to lavish kisses on his clavicle. “Cas.” Dean groans. “The window, please. No one wants to see two old geezers getting sweet on each other through the window.”

“Maybe exhibitionism would rekindle the spark you claim is dead for me.” Cas mocks. “And I prefer lovely, married couple. Less old, less geezer.”

“Sure you do.” Dean laughs back, burying his face in Cas’s chest. “You’re a billion years ancient ex-wave, and I’m definitely a geezer, but sure you prefer lovely, married couple.” Cas’s laughter rumbles through him, and Dean can feel it too.

And just like that, it’s pretty frigging perfect - the sixty 'round the corner be damned.

[wandlores]

Kiss of Luck

Pairing: Ron Weasley x Blaise Zabini Words: 2,470 You can also read this on AO3. This is for the @hprarepairnet and @slytherdornet Quidditch Player Ships Challenge! It is also for the anon that requested I write about a pairing in this scenario revolving around Quidditch. 

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Ron always knew he wasn't the best Quidditch player, but he was truly having his worst season yet. It also didn't help that his best friend and his sister were the stars of the show. He was happy for them, of course, but it just made it harder for him to accept that he was sucking as keeper.

It was an average Friday night for the eighth years at Hogwarts. They always snuck into the Room of Requirement to play some drinking games and unwind from the week they had just endured. Tomorrow was the next big Quidditch match, and Ron knew he had to prove himself, or he had the potential of getting kicked off the team by Headmistress McGonagall.

It was still odd for Ron to realize who his new friends were. It had to do with Hermione and Harry's new love interests, sure, but if you had asked him two years ago if he would be playing a drinking game with Draco Malfoy, he would have called you crazy. 

The Room of Requirement had shifted to their liking. They were surrounded by couches and a makeshift bar that was over-flowing with firewhiskey. Ron was the one to take the first shot.

Very over the edge and very tipsy, he unleashed his soul.

"I just-I just don't understand why I am sucking so bad this year. Did the war take away all my skill? I just don't want McGonagall to kick me off the team."

"Ron, she wouldn't do that," Ginny reassured him, "It would be up to Harry who is team captain, and he wouldn't kick you off the team. Right Harry?"

Harry was laughing about something Pansy had said, but he turned his head at the sound of his name and nodded. Ron knew the only reason he wouldn't kick him off the team though was because of  personal loyalty and Harry not taking Quidditch quite as seriously now after the war.

Ron groaned and leaned back against the front of the couch, and Daphne handed him another shot. Theo laced his fingers through her's as she sat back down next to him.

"We can't be good at everything, Ron," Daphne teased, "And besides, Quidditch is just a stupid game. It's not worth freaking out over."

Ron could feel Ginny's glare from across the room, but Luna gently placed her hand on top of her girlfriend's to stop her from getting too passionate about the topic and starting an argument.

"Quidditch is not stupid," Draco spoke up, "Just because you can barely balance on a broomstick, Greengrass, it doesn't mean the game is of no importance."

Hermione tried not to smile at Draco's words, and she leaned against his shoulder as he put his arm around her.

Daphne rolled her eyes, and she took a pillow from the couch and threw it at Draco's head. Harry and Pansy excused themselves from the chaos to make out, Ron assumed, and the rest of the group screamed with laughter as pillows hit them square in the face. 

Ron was not enjoying the chaos though, and it appeared that Blaise wasn't either. He just sat back in his chair and watched the group with boredom. Blaise rarely said anything during their get togethers, and Ron was sure of the fact that he only came cause Pansy and Theo begged him to. 

So when Blaise finally spoke up to stop the chaos of the pillow fight, Ron was very shocked and his ears perked up as he poured himself another drink.

"I think we should do something other than juvenile pillow fights. Maybe another juvenile Muggle game, perhaps?"

Theo snorted, and Draco commented, "So you want to trade one juvenile game for another?"

"Precisely," Blaise smiled, "I'm sure your girlfriend can come up with a Muggle game we can play."

Hermione pursed her lips as she studied the room. Ron could tell she was tipsy from her drink she had just finished, so this would be interesting.

"Why not truth or dare?" 

Ginny laughed and Theo rolled his eyes, but Daphne leaned forward in her seat and was intrigued.

"I think that's a great idea," she told Hermione, "What do the rest of you think? And if you don't do your dare or tell the truth, you have to take a shot!"

"Then I'm just going to continue taking shots," Harry said as he approached the group again with Pansy's hand in his, "What do you say, Pans?"

She smiled mischeviously, "Yeah, I could go for a game that will make me ridiculously drunk. This week was killer."

They sat down next to Draco and Hermione. Blaise got up from his seat to get some bottles of firewhiskey and placed it in the center of the group. Ron watched as Luna eyed the firewhiskey and wondered what she was thinking about. 

"Who is going to go first?" Theo asked the group.

Without hesitation, Luna spoke up, "I would like to ask the first question, if that's okay."

Theo gestured his hands out in front of him, "By all means, Lovegood, take the floor."

She smiled at him and Ron was happy to see that Luna now had so many friends. Her and Theo had taken a particular liking to each other; Ron assumed it was because they could bond over their unique intellectual pursuits.

"Blaise," she asked, "Truth or dare?"

Blaise smiled at Luna and took another swig of his drink before answering, "Truth."

"Do you actually want to be all our friends or does Pansy just drag you here every Friday night?"

There was an awkward silence for a moment, and you could leave it to Luna to ask a serious question. As Daphne and Theo glanced down at the floor awkwardly, Luna kept her gaze on Blaise. She was intent on having an answer. 

Ron watched as Blaise's adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed, and for once, Ron could see he was answering honestly, "I do want to be your friends, I just don't always know what to say."

No one pressed him for more, and even though Blaise answered honestly, he took a shot. Luna looked pleased with his answer and leaned back into Ginny's arm.

The next rounds of the game went by quickly. Harry was dared to make-out with Pansy in front of the group, Daphne and Ginny had to do a strip-tease.. which made Ron close his eyes tightly to avoid seeing his sister, and Hermione was dared to take three shots in a row. You could say the party was hyped up. 

But Ron still wasn't feeling it. He was feeling miserable, in truth. He just could not stop thinking about his recent Quidditch failures and was always feeling particularly single in this moment. He was happy for Hermione that she was now with Draco, but he couldn't help but feel lonely.

It was only when Pansy leaned forward in her seat and called out to Blaise again that Ron took interest. His ears perked up at the sound of his name; he wasn't even sure why.

"Blaise, truth or dare?" Pansy slurred. She was very drunk, and Harry's cheeks were flushed as he wrapped his arm around her shoulders once again.

Blaise rolled his eyes but played along, "Haven't I already been asked? There are other people, such as Ron and Luna, who haven't been asked a single question."

But Pansy ignored him and pressed, "Truth or dare?"

He smirked at her, "Fine then. Dare."

Pansy glanced at Harry who also had a mischevious twinkle in his eye. For some reason, this made Ron nervous. What were the two of them up to? They had a secret language no one else in the room seemed to ever understand.

"I dare you to kiss Ron."

Ron felt heat flush to his cheeks, and he glanced over to see Ginny avoiding eye contact with him and Hermione kissing Draco's cheek, clearly not paying attention to anything that was being said.

"Wha-what?" Ron croaked out, "I'm-I'm a bloke, he won't do that. He is not into that-"

Theo rolled his eyes, "We don't live in the fifties anymore, Ron. It isn't weird for blokes to kiss other blokes."

"I-I know that," Ron replied, "But Blaise-he-he wouldn't want to do that."

He looked over to Blaise to gauge his reaction. He had expected him to look disgusted, but instead, he had a smirk on his face.

"Do you not think you can handle my charm, Weasley?" He asked him in a flirtatious tone. Stunned, Ron didn't know what to say.

So as Blaise got out of his seat and sauntered over to the other side of the room to sit in front of Ron on the floor, Daphne and Ginny hooted and hollared with encouragement.

"Now this is about to get good," Ron heard Draco whisper into Hermione's ear. She giggled in response.

Ron looked up to see Pansy watching them intently and Harry having a slight smile on his face. 

Ron's vision was already fuzzy from the firewhiskey, but now, he truly felt like the world was spinning. He expected to be opposed to Blaise kissing him, but now he was just excited. He had not expected that, and his heart was thudding loudly in his chest. He was convinced the whole group could hear it.

"Are you ready, Weasley?" Blaise asked confidently.

Ron surprised himself when he nodded, and Daphne squealed behind him.

Blaise leaned forward then and pressed his lips to Ron's. Fireworks ignited inside of him, and Ron felt his mouth open and Blaise's tongue slip inside. Draco was whistling behind them, and everyone clapped as Blaise pulled away. Ron was out of breath, but Blaise looked pleased with himself.

"Now that can be a good luck charm for the Quidditch match tomorrow," Pansy told Ron. So that is what she had planned.

"It should work too," Daphne told him, "When Blaise and I dated in fifth year, I passed my OWLs I was expecting to fail because he kissed me right before."

Ron rolled his eyes, but the rest of the group laughed. All Ron could feel for the rest of the night was Blaise's eyes on him, and Ron secretly hoped he wouldn't look away.

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To Ron's surprise, Gryffindor won their match against Hufflepuff the next day. It was the first match they had won the whole year. Harry came and slapped him on the back at the end of the match in congratulations.

"You did it, Ron! It looks like Blaise's kiss worked," Harry teased.

Ron rolled his eyes, "It is just a coincidence." But he could feel his neck heat up as he thought about the night before.

"Pansy does say Blaise has a certain charm," Harry said as he eyed Ron. It was like Harry could read his mind. He knew Ron liked the kiss, but Ron didn't give into him with more comments.

"Whatever, Harry. I'll see you later tonight. Go find Pans like I know you want to."

Harry grinned at his best friend and turned around to the stands to see Pansy waiting for him. She kissed him hard when he approached. 

Ron was happy for his best friend. He was happy for all his friends and their newfound happiness after the war. He was just hoping now that he won this match, his own happiness would improve, too.

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Ron was determined for the next week to stay away from Blaise to prove that he could win the next match against Ravenclaw without his kiss.

It was hard though, because all Ron wanted to do was be around Blaise, even if it meant they didn't talk. He wanted to casually run into him as Harry was with Pansy and Draco was with Hermione, but it seemed that Blaise kept his distance. He wondered if he regretted what he had done the week before.

So like the coward Ron recently felt like he was, he declined joining the group in the Room of Requirement that Friday night before the match against Ravenclaw. He told himself it was to prove a point, but really, he wasn't sure how he could control himself around Blaise. 

He had only viewed Blaise as a poser before, but now, he could see there was so much more. 

And much to Ron's disappointment but also his relief, he had lost the game against Ravenclaw the next day. It did seem like Blaise's kiss was the kiss of luck. He was determined to have it again.

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The next match was against Slytherin. There was a lot of playful bickering and trash talking between the friends as they prepared to go up against each other. Blaise was around that week with his eyes on Ron, but he didn't say anything to him. It was like he was waiting for Ron to approach him.

Ron couldn't take it anymore that Friday night. As they all left the Room of Requirement to walk back to their common rooms, Ron pulled Blaise aside and around a corner so the others could not see them. 

Blaise smirked at Ron as they met eyes and Ron had pushed him against the castle walls.

"Look," Ron started, "I know that we are playing against each other tomorrow and you are going to want to score me out as chaser for the team, but I need some luck."

"Is it luck you need or just my lips in general?" Blaise asked. Ron could tell he was serious, and he watched as Blaise's long lashes blinked waiting for his response.

Ron swallowed the remaining saliva in his throat and answered honestly, "I think it's a bit of both."

Blaise smiled as he leaned forward and forcefully pressed his lips against Ron's. Ron opened his mouth to invite Blaise in, and all he could taste was firewhiskey. They kissed against that castle wall for an hour, until they finally heard Filch coming down the hall looking for anyone out of their common rooms past curfew.

As they pulled apart, Blaise whispered, "Good luck tomorrow."

Then he winked and ran off toward the dungeons. Ron grinned to himself as he escaped Filch's upcoming wrath.

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Gryffindor did win against Slytherin the next day, and Ron knew it was from Blaise's kiss of luck.

But Blaise didn't seem to care that Slytherin had lost as he approached Ron after the game. Ron was surprised to see that he even looked a little nervous.

"So Weasley," Blaise started, "I was thinking..."

"I would love to go out with you sometime," Ron finished for him confidently.

Blaise jokingly rolled his eyes, "You had no idea what I was going to say."

"I guessed," Ron told him, and before Blaise could reply, Ron pressed his lips against his.

[slippinmickeys]

Master Fic List

I only started writing fic (again) in late 2018, so I’m going to include only the most recent things I’ve written. (Old stuff can be found at various archives.) I can’t believe it’s been a year already! Lots of exciting stuff happened this year, not the least of which was finally getting on Tumblr. I hope to become better acquainted with both the site and all of you in 2020.

Updated 3/17/20 

Release Valve – The X-Files have been reopened with a bigger budget and a bigger staff. Mulder, Scully and the agents under them fight to stay one step ahead the Consortium’s machinations, but when they finally get to the truth, what will they do with it? (MSR, Rated M, 28k)

The Next Week – “She’s placid in his bed. Warm, willing. She has a sleepy smile on her face and the morning sunlight coming through the window catches on her carmine hair, practically burns his eyes.” (MSR, Rated E, 3k)

Fools in the Rain – Inspired by the prompt set forth on Twitter by @IngridDaS1013: “Mulder and Scully get caught in the rain on the way to Mulders apartment so they go up and Scully has to wear something of Mulder’s while her clothes dry…” (MSR, Rated E, 3.5k)

Only Say Goodnight – I have always been upset that we didn’t get to see Mulder and Scully’s moment together right after William was born. This is my hand at that scene and the one that followed, when Mulder left. (MSR, Not Rated, 2.5k)

An Evening at the Petit Trois – For the 2019 X-Files Valentines Day Fic Exchange. Based on the prompt: Mulder and Scully’s ex-lovers are jealous of the loving relationship they have now. (MSR, Not Rated, 2.4k)

Submerge – An on-the-run ficlet with a dose of angst. (MSR, Rated M, 1.2k)

Absolution – For the 2019 X-Files Episode Fic Exchange. “The bath had done nothing but make her think about the decon shower they’d been forced to take 48 hours prior and from there her mind wandered to lustful places. Places she tried to keep secreted away.” (MSR, Rated E, 2.2k)

Storm Front – 100% all trope. Stormed in, one bed, first time TROPE. (MSR, Rated E, 6k)

Brood Parasite – For the Alternate Season 12 Project collaboration with @admiralty-xfd and @rosethornhill. This is Episode 2– As Mulder and Scully settle into their new lives and jobs, the paranormal comes to them—in more ways than one. (MSR, Rated M, 10k)

Charm/Strange – A dance of intellectuals. (MSR, Not Rated, Drabble)

The Other Side of Fiction – Episode 4 from Alternate Season 12. College AU. Mulder and Scully. Scully and Mulder. In this, and every lifetime. (MSR, Rated E, 15k)

Mess – This is from a Tumblr Prompt “I need a place to stay.” (MSR, Not Rated, Drabble)  

So Young Such a Shame – Cancer-arc angsty drabble (MSR, Not Rated, Drabble)

Prompt Drabble Collection – Ten different drabbles from various Tumblr prompts, from angst to AU and everything in between. (MSR, Rated Mature, Drabble)

Epithalamium – “Codependency is a real bitch. Even when he drives her crazy, she doesn’t know any other way to be. There are too many years between them, too many monsters. She wouldn’t even know how to begin telling some other suitor her story.” (MSR, Rated M, Drabble)

The Umbrella Prompts – Tumblr Prompt “kissing under a shared umbrella” and on it goes… (MSR, Rated E, 2.4k(so far))

Extraordinary – For the X-Files Third Party Drabble Challenge – Margaret Scully’s thoughts on her daughter’s love. (MSR, Not Rated, Drabble)

Fairies, Skip Hence – For the 2019 X-Files Secret Santa Fic Exchange – “Bubbles floated like dust motes silently through the living room, catching the color from the lights on the Christmas tree and turning the room kaleidoscopic. She sat in front of the fireplace amongst Matthew’s scattered stocking stuffers, looking young and small. She held a small Santa-shaped bottle, blowing bubbles quietly into the room from a wand protruding from Santa’s hat. She looked like a fairy in the festive space, and his heart clutched at the sight of her.” (MSR, Rated E, 8k)

Of The Eight Winds -- AU Series based on the @sunflowerseedsandscienceprompt: “Mulder is unhappily married when Scully is partnered with him, and while he doesn’t cheat (because sorry that’s not romantic), he falls for her so hard that he finally gets the courage to end the marriage and start fresh.”  (MSR, Rated E, 16k )

Currahee – “There was a moment where she thought of all the people who have ever lived–and died–were ever underfoot. The space above the ground is for the living, and she needed to start doing more of it.” (MSR, Rated GA, 2k)

Fever -- Mulder cares for Scully when she gets sick on a case. Hurt/Comfort Fluff (MSR, Not Rated, 4k) 

The Concept of Dualism -- This was for the 2020 X-Files Fluff Exchange. My prompt was from admiralty: “Anything involving MSR and Melissa Scully. Keep it UST-y please! Late S2″ (MSR, Not Rated, 4k)

A Companion Unobtrusive -- AU - She needed a roommate, he needed a room. Based on the Tumblr prompt from @monikafilefan “how about Mulder and Scully accidentally end up as roommates when their old ones back out? An instant friendship blooms into something so much more. I can just feel the palpable sexual tension already” (MSR, Rated E, 21k)

[selkiewife]

I know i’m late on this but I wanted to talk about The Dragon Demands videos based on the Game of Thrones Season 8 blue ray commentary and the original archived scripts for Game of Thrones, Season 8.

Basically, YouTuber, The Dragon Demands went to the Writer’s Guild Library where he was able to see the archived scripts of Season 8 of Game of Thrones. Both the archive scripts and commentary on the blue ray confirms that most of the destruction in King’s Landing was originally supposed to be caused by the caches of wild fire left by Aerys being accidentally set off by Drogon and not because Daenerys herself “went mad.” The script says that civilians being used as human shields are caught in the crossfire as Daenerys is targeting Lannister soldiers in a strategical maneuver right before she heads to the Red Keep to enact revenge on Cersei. However, Daenerys is never described as specifically targeting innocent civilians needlessly.

My thoughts under the cut:

I have to say, that this makes me feel slightly better in a strange way. I mean, it doesn’t erase the bad writing, the ridiculous way the war against the white walkers ended, the misogyny, the inconsistency, etc etc ETC... but this crucial plot point was the one I just couldn’t let go of because it was just baffling to me. With other controversial plot points, I would disagree with them, but I could at least understand what they were going for and what the motivations of the characters were. But Daenerys turning on innocent civilians was truly baffling to me because it comes out of nowhere, is entirely out of character, her motivations are incredibly unclear, and was not set up at all. But with all the fandom discourse, I had really started to think that maybe I am lacking comprehension skills or something. But no, there is actually a reason it made no sense. The “madness” plot line was added later. Emilia Clarke was never given the opportunity to portray Daenerys as mentally unstable. Emilia was portraying grief and revenge on Cersei (as the original script and directors told her to do) in contrast to D&D’s final editing which was portraying the “mad queen.” No wonder it came across as completely false and bewildering- before we even get into the discussion of whether or not this is in character or not.

I think this is definitely more than just a theory that the script was changed pretty late in development because of all the evidence- it is confirmed by Emilia’s commentary, the Visual Effects team member’s commentary, and also the original concept art. But even if there wasn’t all that evidence, there is also the fact that the original ending makes so many other confusing things in Season 8 suddenly make SENSE.

For example, when Jon confronts Daenerys in the throne room and he talks about the women and children that were burned, Daenerys responds with “She used their innocence as a weapon against me.” Which makes total sense for Daenerys to say if she thinks she is talking about civilians that were used as human shields that died in the crossfire. But it doesn’t make any sense if she carpet bombed the city- although it does make her seem delusional, which is probably why Dave and Dan kept those lines in- hoping it would make her appear “mad,” since Emilia was never actually given the opportunity to portray Daenerys as mentally unstable.

There is also the scene where Jon asks Tyrion, “Was it right?” to assassinate Daenerys and Tyrion responds, “Ask me again in ten years.” There is really no reason for them to have that dialogue if Daenerys really did target and massacre innocent civilians. That is the kind of dialogue they would have if they were discussing someone who had done something more morally ambiguous.

Then there are the lines that are out of place in the final version but that would have made complete sense in the original wild fire version, such as Jon saying “now and always” as he stabs Daenerys. “Now and always” as any Theon fan will tell you, is a phrase that belongs to Theon and Robb and what they said to each other when Theon was pledging loyalty to Robb. Having Jon say this to Dany as he is killing Daenerys represents the ultimate betrayal but also calls back to Theon’s struggle and how difficult it is to chose between loyalties- between families. In this case, Jon is choosing the Starks over the Targaryens. Kit Harrington even says that this is motivation in an interview he gave with winteriscoming.net. But given the fact that in the final edit, Daenerys massacred innocent children and civilians on purpose, Kit’s motivation for Jon seems like a relic of an earlier script:

Kit Harrington: “Jon essentially sees it as Daenerys or Sansa and Arya, and that makes his mind up for him. He choose blood over, well, his other blood. But he chooses the people he has grown up with, the people his roots are with, the North. That’s where his loyalties lie in the end. That’s when he puts the knife in.”

And Yara Greyjoy’s lines. She surprisingly remains completely loyal to Daenerys, despite the fact that she massacred the entire city for no reason:

Yara Greyjoy: I swore to follow Daenerys Targaryen.

Sansa Stark: You swore to follow a tyrant.

Yara Greyjoy: She freed us from a tyrant. Cersei is gone because of her, and Jon Snow put a knife in her heart. Let the Unsullied give him what he deserves.

This kind of conversation only seems plausible if they are discussing Daenerys taking out Cersei after she had surrendered and killing human shields in the process, something I can see Yara completely defending- since she was always in favor of attacking King’s Landing as seen during her war counsel scenes in Season 7.

There is also the Emilia Clarke quote in the behind the scenes video HBO put out after the episode where she explains that Dany was targeting Cersei herself:

Emilia Clarke: “It’s just... grief. It’s hurt. And she has this ability to make that hurt a little bit less just for a minute. And here she is, sitting on this ridge and there’s the emotion and there’s the feeling and the feeling is to fucking kill her.”

Note that she does not say “the feeling is to fucking massacre the city,” or “the feeling is to target innocent civilians.” She says “the feeling is to kill her” as in Cersei Lannister- who is responsible for the death of her dragon and Missandei- and who massacred countless innocents herself when she blew up the goddamn sept lol.

Not to mention all of the set up lines between Cersei, Tyrion, and Varys about Cersei using “human shields” which never came to fruition in the final edit, now make complete sense:

Cersei: Keep the gates open. If she wants to take the castle she’ll have to murder thousands of innocents first.

Varys: Tens of thousands of innocents will die. That is why Cersei is bringing them into the Red Keep

And yet, lol, we never actually SEE Daenerys attacking the Red Keep. We never see innocent civilians inside the Red Keep. We only see civilians being massacred in the streets.

I also remember people who had seen the post Season 8 Game of Thrones Live Concert saying that Ramin switched to footage of the other wildfire scenes in past Game of Thrones seasons during his Bells sequence, instead of showing the massacre of innocent civilians by dragon fire. I use to think he did that because Daenerys was his favorite character. But given what we now know about the original ending, he probably chose to show the wildfire scenes because that was what he had specifically written music for before it was changed- the destruction of Kings Landing by wildfire.

I really wish they had kept the original script the way it was. It still would have been an incredibly controversial ending. Daenerys still goes after soldiers and a Queen who is surrendering- and that action unintentionally leads to the destruction of the entire city. Jon Snow still assassinates his lover and betrays one part of his family for the other. But, it would have at least made logical sense. People would have gone back and forth over whether it was in character or whether it was a good ending. But it would have been something people would be able to actually debate on an intellectual level- the way we debate Daenerys crucifying the slavers (who themselves crucified children) or Jon Snow executing Olly... It is a very grey and tragic ending with a lot of moral questions. It still might have gone over like a lead balloon. But... the ending we have is so much worst because it’s nonsensical.

The only reason I can think that they changed it was to make Jon and Tyrion appear less morally grey for plotting Daenerys’ assassination. They probably knew that the ending would be very problematic and were trying to smooth that over by turning Daenerys into a super villain. Yet they did this too late in the process after already showing Daenerys to be heroic in fighting with the north and then having Emilia Clarke finish her filming still believing she was playing a complex and at times ruthless character but not “mad” or “evil.” And then, there is also the intensely problematic issue with them conflating mental illness with mass murdering super villain. Even if it had been clear throughout the entire season that Daenerys was losing her grip on reality and becoming more and more mentally unstable, it still would have been incredibly controversial and I am not entirely sure it would have made the men look any better anyway.

Even though it is tragic af, at least with the original wildfire ending, all of the characters are incredibly complex and morally grey and you can understand the motivations for everything they do, even if you don’t agree with them. For example, if Daenerys attacks Cersei after she surrendered, it is wrong, but it is also completely understandable. And in my opinion, it’s even more understandable when you remember that Cersei cannot be trusted. She can’t be trusted to send her armies to the north- why should Daenerys trust her to surrender in good faith? This kind of ending would also have said something very powerful about unintended consequences. Even though Daenerys did not intend for so many people to die needlessly, they did because war is horrific. And that message becomes even more powerful if her motivations are understandable. But yeah, this kind of ending would have still been hated and debated but... at least the debates would have been more about the story itself rather than everyone trying (and failing) to make sense of what the story even is.

[bartramcat]

Some Odd Thoughts on CSI 06x03

It's an unfortunate aspect of my existence that the best way for me to resolve an issue in a piece of fiction (or even an evolutionary theory) is to write about it. Also, unfortunately, I used to be a much better writer. I think I have spent too much time on Twitter the last several years and have lost my ability to sustain coherent thought. So here I go again rambling incoherently about my obsession de l'annee, i.e. CSI/GSR. As per usual, it will probably be all over the map. Oh well.

I have no idea why, but I was thinking about the scene in Bite Me as I was driving home the other day. It's a rather weird scene in that it almost comes across as Grissom intentionally trying to hurt Sara. Until we remember it's Grissom. 

The thing about this love story is that we, as viewers, were given entree in medias res, but, unlike a true epic, nobody backfilled in the blanks, so, instead, we have to watch the episodes before the revelation of their affair and try to piece together how different scenes fit into the tale. 

Then there is the Gumdrops problem. If the affair was to have been revealed 2 episodes after Bite Me, then it's pretty safe to conjecture that Grissom probably was projecting his own fears and insecurities about their relationship into the scene. GSR is nothing if not a treatise on the insecurities of love.

Grissom seems to have 2 contradictory responses to the fact that a married couple has separate bedrooms. His first reaction is almost mystification. Why be married and sleep separately? Sara provides some mundane explanations. Then he jumps to the fact that they may well have been suffocating each other, and he couldn't breathe, an hypothesis that seems to both stun and hurt Sara. Then she finds the sexual lubricant, confirming that sex was indeed occurring, despite the separate bedrooms. She asserts that sleeping in the same bed is not a requirement for either sex or romance. Grissom studies her thoughtfully for a moment and then beats a hasty retreat to see the doctor, a statement which at first Sara doesn't seem to comprehend.

I believe that Grissom always wanted to marry Sara, perhaps from the moment he first saw her, although I suspect he was painfully aware of how young she was when he first met her. (When I watch the first 2 seasons, she seems so young, and that was supposed to be a couple of years after he met her.) It's one of the things that makes me question the probability of his having sex with her in SF. I do not think a typical man would have had compunctions, but Grissom is not a typical man. (As much as everything pointed to the possibility of their making love in the time gap in Nesting Dolls, I think Grissom would have seen it as "taking advantage" of Sara's need for comfort.) Initially, he may have viewed her interest in him as no more than an eager student trying to impress a renowned entomologist, and her seeming attraction to him as no more than a short-term crush. In Grissom's worldview, how could the most wonderful girl he had ever met be as attracted to him as he was to her? Even if Sara offered sex, would he have accepted her invitation? I'm not sure. (Of course, the other side of that same coin is that he was so knocked over by his attraction to Sara that he went with it.)

A question I ponder every once in a while: Grissom tells us sex for him is pointless without love. Does that apply only to him, or does he also need to feel his partner loves him for the experience to have meaning? To give him joy, not despair? I don't know the answer to that. One thing is clear: he is not a casual sex kind of guy. He may have had a couple of relationships, including Julia Holden, he tried to make work, but when he couldn't love them, he drifted away from them. The ultimate oxymoron about Grissom is that the man who does his best not to feel is the true romantic: sex and love are inexorably intertwined in his psyche. 

So now back to what I think might have been going on in the scene. I believe that they have been lovers in some sort of undefined relationship for over 6 months. Despite the fact that I think each of them is in it for the long haul, neither believes it will last forever. All along, Grissom has probably subconsciously wanted to propose, but both their work situation and his fear of rejection prohibit the possibility. If he asked, and she said no, that would in effect ruin what was. It's highly possible he was thinking about asking Sara to move in with him, which would be like a marriage without an official commitment. So he's confronted by this married couple who do not share a bed, and it kind of contradicts his expectations of sharing his life with Sara. At first, he cannot comprehend the why of separate bedrooms. (If he was married to/living with the love of his life, he damned well would be sleeping in the same bed with her.)

The more he compares the marriage in front of him to the hypothetical marriage/living with Sara, the more his own doubts creep in. What if they end up like this? What if they suffocate each other? As far as we know, Grissom hasn't cohabitated with anyone since leaving home. Probably pretty daunting a proposition. As per usual, his heart and head are in conflict. Then Sara finds the lubricant. The couple was having sex after all (or so they assume at that point). So she reminds him you can have sex and romance without necessarily sleeping in the same bed. More than likely, that is exactly where they are; they are having sex and whatever passes for their version of romance at each other's apartments, but they are not sleeping in the same bed. (Instead of candlelit dinners, they probably seduce each other over some weird combination of Shakespeare Sonnets, crossword puzzles, and forensic textbooks.)

I know a lot of people think they were fighting around the time of this scene. I'm not one of them. I think it's probably more a matter of Grissom being Grissom and saying things without context, because of his own internal conflict. He creates analogs with victims/suspects often enough that it's easy for me to see him self-identify with the husband, who might also be the primary suspect. Grissom knows what he wants: a " beautiful life" with Sara, but so many things could go wrong. I actually think they don't fight, and I think that's one of their problems. They both internalize their hurt and anxiety instead of letting it out.

At the moment Sara reminds him that sharing a bed is not a prerequisite for sex and romance, I think he realizes that the marriage between these two strangers has nothing to do with his relationship with Sara. He studies her for a moment and beats a hasty retreat. Does he realize she may have thought he was saying she was suffocating him? The look on her face says she does. Does he know he may have hurt her?

Of course, this being GSR, there is no follow up. We really don't see them interact again in this episode, although we do get Catherine's comment to Sara about lovers and coworkers never working out, which also may serve as a kind of sidelong foreshadowing. My guess is that with Gumdrops on the horizon that the whole Bite Me scene was supposed to make everyone go "What the hell was that about?" 

I have read at least 3 different versions of the Gumdrops scenes. What is not debated is that they have sex in the hotel room, and it is implied that their affair is not new. Personally, I would never believe in a million years that these two would ever have sex for the first time in a hotel room while working a crime scene. In no universe can I see either one of them making an overt sexual advance to the other under those circumstances unless sex was already an established component of their relationship. 

FWIW I have always read their relationship as very physical on multiple levels. I remember reading a review in which the reviewer did nothing but complain about the fact that these "two sexless characters" were being sold as a love story. (I think it was the LA Times, but I could be wrong.) You see, the fact that neither character is a "typical" TV romantic icon is, I think, what makes it more compelling, more real, and, yes, more romantic. Even the most socially inept among us can find someone to love and be loved in return.

While the vast majority of the world doesn't possess the intellectual capacity these two do, that same intellectuality is often a large part of their stupidity in love. They overthink, overanalyze everything. And, to a large degree, I think that is what Grissom is doing in this scene. 

[grrlinthefireplace]

Hey so I’ve been seeing you post a lot about La Casa de Papel recently. What exactly is it? It looks kinda interesting.

Thank you so much for asking!

I am delighted beyond reason to have the opportunity to tell you - and by extension the entire world - why this show has cleared my skin, watered my crops, and legitimately healed my soul after this particularly soul-crushing season of Grimdark White Man Television almost broke me as a human being.

I will attempt to keep this as spoiler-free as I possibly can, because this is a show that should be experienced in the moment, but in a nutshell, La Casa de Papel is a heist show set in present-day Madrid which follows both a found family of thieves who rob the Royal Mint of Spain, and the law enforcement officials on the outside who are chasing them.

If that is enough for you, go right to your TV or computer, fire up the ol’ Netflix, and don’t waste any more time.

If, however, you need a little more, here are the top five things I flail about to every single person in my life to convince them they need to start watching this show like immediately and then come back and tell me all about it.

For visual flair, we’ll intersperse them with some gifs of ladies, because I know my audience.

5. character driving plot > plot driving character.

You know that infuriating thing lazy TV writers do where, in order to to hurry up and get to the big explosion or battle scene or dragon attack or whatever, which is the only bit they really care about, they handwave away the whole concept of motivation and make some character do something that any halfway-attentive viewer will immediately clock that they would never actually do?

There is none of that bullshit here.

In its simplest form, the plot of La Casa de Papel is as follows: a brilliant criminal mastermind devises a heist which cannot possibly go wrong, and then we proceed to watch all the ways in which it goes wrong.

This is a fantastic setup for an action story, made even more breathlessly exciting by strategic use of my favorite heist movie plot device (as perfected by Ocean’s Eleven): namely, “scene where it looks like our crime heroes have been outsmarted and are now threatened by a completely unforeseen disaster” immediately followed by “flashback to the team prepping for the heist where we learn that of course they prepared for this exact scenario.”

But from time to time, things do actually go wrong (as they must, or else there would be no story); and, when they do, it is never because you can tell a writer just wanted to write a scene where bullets go flying, and didn’t care how he got there. These characters are so clear, their behavior so consistent, that when gasp-worthy plot twists happen, they happen because of course that character, in this exact scenario, would do that exact thing.

I’m telling you, I came to this show for a ship (more on that in a minute) and I stayed for a swooning, heart-eyes writer crush on the impeccably-designed plot structure and characterization.

4. High stakes, low gore.

Tone-wise, on a sliding scale of Heist Film Intensity where a really fluffy episode of Leverage is a 1, Reservoir Dogs is a 10, and the Ocean’s franchise is somewhere in the 3-4 range, I would place La Casa at a 5 or a 6, which is perfect for me. I love action, suspense, drama and adventure, but I hate gratuitous violence (especially when it’s pointless and masturbatory and doesn’t contribute anything to the plot) and have a very low tolerance for blood and gore. So I kept waiting for the story to eventually take a hard left turn into Tarantino Land, until eventually it was all just one huge pile of dead bodies, and was genuinely surprised when it didn’t.

This is how I learned just how badly my brain has been fucked up by lazy showrunners who think shock deaths are the only way to raise stakes. During the first season of this show, before I had figured out that it was a Flawless Gem of Television Which So Far Has Not Once Disappointed Me, there were probably a dozen moments where I was absolutely convinced that some character was about to be gruesomely killed for shock value … and I was wrong every single time.

Reader, it was fucking wild.

Every single time I was convinced that person A was going to shoot person B in the head because blah blah maximum angst over here in this part of the story and then it will motivate person C to do this other thing, the show did the hard work of finding a smarter, more unexpected direction to take that character’s story. That means that when deaths do come along - and there are a couple - they feel genuinely earned, and they matter deeply to the story and to us.

3. I would die for these women.

This show loves women. Like it truly, authentically, uncompromisingly loves women in all our fucked-up messy glorious complexity. There are no “types” or cliches here; no one is forced to be only one thing. Fuck your one-dimensional Strong Female Characters, lazy writers.

For one thing, on many shows you might be lucky if you get maybe one mom who is given a personality and a story outside of motherhood. Often, on shows written by men, the fact of her motherhood diminishes her strength or her agency. On this show, nearly every one of the central female characters is both a mom and an action hero simultaneously. Seriously. By season 3 there are four different battle moms. They’re all different, they’re not all on the same side, they have different perspectives, and their role as mother impacts the story differently, but that’s the joy of having a whole lot of different kinds of women - no one has to be everything to everyone.

These women are complicated. They laugh, they cry, they crack dirty jokes, they get laid, they have babies, they fight, they make mistakes, they fall in love, they grow. Men pull sexist shit and they shut it the fuck down. Some of them have love stories, some of them don’t, but they are never defined by or triangulated around relationships with men. They get to have relationships with each other. All of them are excellent at their jobs.

Tokyo is the kind of hot mess antihero protagonist we’ve been watching middle-aged white men play for decades.

Allison is such a realistic teenage girl it’s genuinely painful to watch.

Monica has one of the best arcs I’ve ever seen on television, this is not a drill.

Alicia is terrifying. (A pregnant black ops interrogator! ON WHAT OTHER FUCKING SHOW!?!??)

Nairobi is unlike any other character you’ve seen on TV before; she’s got a little bit of Parker from Leverage, a little bit of Raven Reyes from The 100, but she’s entirely her own creature and you will fall in love with her instantly.

And Raquel. Oh, my love, my angel, my hero, Inspector Raquel Murillo. Love of my goddamn life. A fierce, kickass hostage negotiator swimming upstream against a tide of workplace misogyny who sometimes has to make the frustrating little male-appeasing compromises we all have to make to get through the workday. A beautiful, sexy, powerful heroine over 40 whose femininity isn’t diminished based on some bullshit notion that, for example, pairing your tough-bitch suit and gun holster with red toenails and a lacy blouse detracts from your strength. A loving mom and daughter who has to juggle raising a small child and caring for an aging parent with the stress of, you know, trying to stop the biggest robbery in the history of Spain. A domestic violence survivor (TW for those who need it; nothing is ever shown onscreen, but it’s discussed several times) who is given the space to discuss the things that have happened to her and how she has worked through them with such dignity, accuracy and respect that you can tell the writers did their homework.

This is a show where you can tell there are women in the writers’ room.

2. The Professor and Raquel. I don’t want to spoil a single thing for you here except to say that I myself was lured into this show by the promise of electric sexual chemistry between a criminal mastermind and the police inspector hunting him down, and my God I was not disappointed.

1. Love.

This show came into my life at a period where I was so weary of cynicism on television - so fucking furious at showrunners who dangle hope in front of us and then crush it, who only care about building anything if they can tear it down later, who treat love and fun and joy and hope and family and happiness like they’re intellectually lesser than grimdark nihilism with no soul - that I was honestly kind of broken by it. I was just so. fucking. tired. Tired of “the way we show this heroine is strong is to kill off her love interest.” Tired of “sorry but all this rape and murder is NECESSARY because of REALISM” (particularly rich when coming from shows featuring evil A.I.’s or dragons and ice zombies). Tired of getting invested in relationships - whether ships or friends or found families - only to realize that the show I was watching was always going to sacrifice character to force plot mechanics into place, and those relationships were never going to get the kind of care and focus I wanted them to get.

But that is not this show.

The single most revolutionary thing, to me, about La Casa de Papel - the thing that sets it apart from every other rollercoaster action thrill ride on television - is that every single thread of the plot is tied to love.

Every.

Single.

One.

Love of all different shapes and sizes - parents and children, friendships, doomed crushes (straight and queer), toxic exes, blossoming romances, siblings - and over it all, a deep, deep love for humanity.

The thing I said before, about how when things go wrong they go wrong in character-driven ways? It’s this. Love is why everything on this show happens. Love is what makes children want to live up to their parents and what makes parents fight to leave a better world for their children. Love is why deaths have stakes. Love is why we spend so much screentime lingering on small moments another show might ignore, like all the thieves at heist camp sitting down every night to have dinner together and argue about paella techniques. Love is what causes chaos in the middle of the heist; when there’s one person in the room you care about more than the others, you can get distracted and take your eye off the ball. Love is how your enemies can get to you, by leveraging or blackmailing the people who matter most, knowing that you’ll crack if they’re in danger. Love, gone wrong, causes toxic men to develop possessive and controlling behavior towards women. Love is how the Professor gets the idea for the heist in the first place. The plan is flawless on paper, but it doesn’t account for the human variable, and over and over again we see that relationships and connection and sex and family and love cause people to behave in unpredictable ways and throw the whole plan into chaos, which is what makes for a dynamic and compelling story.

How refreshing to see a show simply refuse to grant the oft-repeated premise that a show cannot have both high-octane thrills, and a big soft squishy heart, at the same time.

ANYWAY, I’VE TAKEN UP ENOUGH OF YOUR VALUABLE TV-WATCHING TIME, GO JUMP ON BOARD THIS TRAIN AND COME SCREAM ABOUT IDEALISTIC SPANISH ROBIN HOODS WITH ME, AND LET THE GOOD SHIP SERQUEL INTO YOUR LIFE, YOU WON’T BE SORRY

THANKS FOR COMING TO MY TED TALK

[theburningbright]

XAVIER DOLAN By Jessica Chastain (interview magazine)

When Xavier Dolan presented his first directorial effort, I Killed My Mother—an autobiographical psychodrama about an unruly teenager and his teetering, at-wit’s-end mother—at the Cannes Film Festival in 2009, he had just turned 20. The film received an eight-minute standing ovation, and the labels subsequently affixed to the now 25-year-old Québécois writer, filmmaker, and actor-wunderkind, enfant terrible—certainly spoke to Dolan’s precocious emerging voice. But in the past five years (and with four more feature films), he’s put together a body of work and a distinct point of view that might just make him contemporary cinema’s next great hope.

The stories he’s told—a pair of best friends falling in love with the same man (Heartbeats, 2010); a transgender woman and her partner coming to terms with her choice to transition (Laurence Anyways, 2012); a twentysomething menaced by the brother of his dead boyfriend (Tom at the Farm, 2013); and his latest film, Mommy, a scrappy widow and her troubled son fighting against the world for self-preservation—examine the intimate experiences of characters typically beyond the range of quote-unquote normalcy, moving toward emotional or revelatory catharsis.

Last year at Cannes, Dolan’s film won the Jury Prize (an honor he shared with Jean-Luc Godard), but it wasn’t just the jury who was impressed. Jessica Chastain, who saw the film at the festival, reached out to Dolan via Twitter, and not only have they embarked on a friendship, Chastain will star in Dolan’s first English-language feature, the upcoming showbiz drama The Death and Life of John F. Donovan.

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In late November, while she was on a brief break from promoting her film Interstellar, Chastain phoned Dolan at his home in Montreal to talk about growing up among women, the intoxicating power of James Cameron, and Mommy, Canada’s entry for the Best Foreign Language Film Oscar.

JESSICA CHASTAIN: Hi, sweetheart! This is the first time I’ve ever been on this side of an interview. The first time we properly met was in New York, but I saw Mommy at the Cannes Film Festival this year and I was so blown away. I tweeted, not even really expecting anything, how much I loved the film, and then you and I had a very funny exchange.

XAVIER DOLAN: Should we have a recollection of that?

CHASTAIN: I think people should know how charming you are. I think we should tell them, first of all, that you’re my beard. Is that correct?

DOLAN: [laughs] There’s an awards season coming, and if I’m a part of it, I’m going to need a beard!

CHASTAIN: If you ask me, I am there for you, babe, 100 percent, but you have to take me to dinner first. Do you remember the video you sent me?

DOLAN: Celine Dion—is that it? I first sent you “Take You” by Justin Bieber, and then I deleted it because I was ashamed. How provincial of me, to send you our national treasure. Justin Bieber, Celine Dion—generations of Canadian national gems.

CHASTAIN: You wooed me with Justin Bieber, and so now I am forever your beard, my friend. [laughs] Okay. So where were you born?

DOLAN: I was born in Montreal at the Children’s Hospital. It sounds very cute, but that’s the actual name.

CHASTAIN: Did you grow up in an artist household?

DOLAN: My dad sort of did everything. He’s a musician, a composer, an actor—he’s an artist in all possible ways. He drew and painted—he still does. But even though he was composing his music, they were pop songs, like “Take You.” [both laugh] Not the same budget, though. My parents divorced when I was very young. My mother moved to a faraway land—suburban Montreal. I was brought up in a mainstream environment, culturally speaking. I watched all the kids films—Matilda [1996], Jumanji [1995], Home Alone[1990].

CHASTAIN: What brought you to acting?

DOLAN: My aunt Julie was a production manager and she heard of an opening. Some show was looking for children to run around the house or whatever. I auditioned and got the part, and I showed up in all of my monstrous energy, bouncing everywhere like an electron. I loved the experience, and I think it was important to my mom because she watches every show on TV, like 20 of them, and records with her VHS—yes, that’s correct, VHS. Anyway, sorry, I got lost on my mom again. I digress on my mom. Then I just started auditioning for commercials and shows and films. I got a part in a package of commercials for this big drugstore, from the age of 6 to 10. For four years I shot those commercials and old ladies would stop me on the street and grab my cheeks. That’s how it started.

CHASTAIN: So you digress to your mother. [laughs] It’s interesting going through your films—I want to know how much of it is autobiographical. You were just talking about your mother recording television shows. In your films, the television is an obstacle for bonding between a parent and a child. Is that something you directly took from your life?

DOLAN: In what movies have you noticed that?

CHASTAIN: Laurence Anyways and I Killed My Mother.

DOLAN: You’ve seen I Killed My Mother?

CHASTAIN: Of course, honey! I do my research.

DOLAN: [laughs] Well, I’m very flattered that you would research. When, at night? [laughs] How very extrastellar of you to watch these. Well, you’re right. I Killed My Mother is autobiographical. I would say the percentage of accuracy is 250 percent. I’m kidding—it’s, like, 240. The other films aren’t really. I’m very far from Laurence Anyways. I haven’t experienced heterosexual love and then a gender switch. I haven’t been held hostage like Tom is in Tom at the Farm. I haven’t lived any of these things, but every character is very personal because there’s a lot of me in their anger, their loneliness, and in their rage against society, against people who ostracize people who are different. Even the characters that seem so far away intellectually or socially, for me, when they speak, it will always be my words. There’s a lot of my mom in these characters because you write characters with the things that you’ve watched. As an actor, I’ve been recording forever. I’m a watcher. I’m a stalker. I love everything about people: the way they walk, the way they talk, the way they cry, the way their mouth is distorted whenever they do this or say that. It’s always been a passion for me to observe.

I’ve been recording forever. I’m a watcher. I’m a stalker. I love everything about people . . . It’s always been a passion for me to observe. Xavier Dolan

CHASTAIN: You started acting when you were 4. What brought you to writing and directing?

DOLAN: I always wrote. I’ve written stories since I was 9. We didn’t have a computer at home, but my aunt Magda had one. Whenever I’d go to her place, I was in the basement working on her computer, writing stories. Then I would save them on a … Fuck, what would you call these? They’re so gone right now.

CHASTAIN: Floppy disks?

DOLAN: Exactly! Yes. [both laugh] Floppy disk. I love you for bringing the words to my illiterate mouth.

CHASTAIN: Stop it! You have to remind everyone that this is not your native tongue.

DOLAN: My first language is French. I just love words so much, and in French it feels like I can say whatever I want however I want. In English I feel like I’ve got some words … [laughs] It often feels like I’m lacking the precise term, and it’s really annoying to me. So I would save these stories on a floppy disk until the next time I would go to my aunt’s, when I could continue to write the story of guardian angels sent to Earth to protect the mere mortals.

CHASTAIN: Oh my gosh.

DOLAN: That was the sort of stories that I would write, called The Indispensables or whatever else. There was one called Pink Wings. It was very, very gay. There were always angels.

CHASTAIN: How old were you when you wrote this? You’re saying it was pretty gay—at that time, did you actually know that you were?

DOLAN: I think I always knew. But, then, I didn’t know. I had girlfriends when I was young. [laughs] I was a crazy child. It was such a special childhood. When I was 8, I saw Titanic [1997] with my mom—I rarely went to the movies with my mom—and then we saw Finding Nemo [2003]. One day she brought me to see As Good as It Gets [1997], and I was pretending I was going to the bathroom when I was actually watching Titanic again in another room. When we saw the movie, it transformed my childhood into something else. I was a dreamy kid, and I was dressing up and pretending to be characters, and I was acting out and everything, but when I saw the movie, it made me crazy. I started designing costumes, drawing something like 2,000 outfits. All of that stemmed from seeing the costumes and all the production design and how big it was. It was so vast. It had such a huge impact on my childhood, telling me that it was legitimate to dream that big. The other kids were playing hockey, and I was drawing these clothes and writing letters to Danny DeVito and Leo DiCaprio. “Dear Leonardo. I’m 8 years old. I go to school. I love school.” The letters started like that. Anyway, he never answered, and now it’s too late.

CHASTAIN: Aw.

DOLAN: There will be hell to pay. [Chastain laughs] I didn’t know I was gay, but I knew I was quite different—and not in a special way. My obsession with DiCaprio and [Kate] Winslet and the costumes and everything was so disproportionate. It scared everybody. Actually, I think everybody knew but me. I knew for sure when I was 11 or 12. I came out to my cousin when I was 13. I said something so stupid. If a kid said a line like that in a TV show, the screenwriter would be fired and killed immediately. I told her, “I love women in my heart but not in my undies.” Something like that.

CHASTAIN: No, you did not! [laughs]

DOLAN: She reminds me of that often. It was horrible.

CHASTAIN: Do you feel that with your writing and directing and acting you can delve into what it was like to be that 8-year-old kid watching Titanic and trying to figure out their sexuality? Is it a way for you to explore that within yourself?

DOLAN: I think it’s a way to channel rage. I was a very violent kid. I think movies and writing and art have been a way of channeling this. But I have this will to defend people—it can be all sorts of people. In Laurence Anyways it was a transgender woman; in I Killed My Mother it was an adolescent who was rejecting his mother because he is going through his coming-of-age crisis; in Mommy it’s a more existential thing. These characters are expressive and they’re flamboyant, but they have nothing to do with the other characters from the other movies—it’s always about the things that marked me when I was young. Batman Returns [1992], Titanic, those are the movies that have printed something very deeply into me. I recently realized that most filmmakers start making movies when they’re 30. So they’re looking to the films that they saw when they were 17, 18, 25. Most of them have an education, and if they don’t, they spend years watching films. The only years I’ve spent watching movies were the years when I was a kid, and my father brought me to Jumanji. He didn’t tell me, “Kid, I’m going to show you Bergman and Eisenstein and Citizen Kane.” No.

CHASTAIN: Mommy was in the main competition at Cannes, and it won the Jury Prize. This is your fifth feature film that you’ve made, correct?

DOLAN: Yeah.

CHASTAIN: How old were you when it won the Jury Prize?

DOLAN: I was 25, the age I am right now. And by the time this interview is published, I will still be 25. I will be 25 forever.

CHASTAIN: First of all, congratulations, because Mommy has been selected as Canada’s entry for Best Foreign Language Film for the Academy Awards, which is huge, hello. The film hinges on this imaginary Canadian law that allows parents to give their children up to the state without involving the courts or a fee. What brought this to your mind?

DOLAN: That law is something I read about that had been voted on in Nebraska in the early 2000s. It’s been abrogated, but it was a Safe Haven law that applied to older children. It was used by parents who were barely scraping by, but were also endangered by their behaviorally disordered children. I read about that through a mother’s story, a mother who had abandoned her child in one of those hospitals. She was completely helpless. Her son was younger than the one in Mommy. She had another son, I think, and her son would be very violent, physically and verbally abusive, to her other son and to her. He was a good-hearted kid, of course, and he was mentally ill, and there was no health care whatsoever. She’s completely at the end of her rope, and she sees a future where one day she won’t be able to stop her kid from killing himself or killing someone, so she brings him to this place. I was really moved by the story and thought, “Well, that’s one for a movie eventually.” Then one day I shot with Antoine-Olivier Pilon, who is the lead in the film, in the music video for “College Boy” by this French band, Indochine. I had a major artistic crush on him.

CHASTAIN: He’s also in Laurence Anyways, right?

I was a very violent kid. I think movies and writing and art have been a way of channeling this. Xavier Dolan

DOLAN: He appears briefly in Laurence Anyways. He was already strikingly charismatic and impressed everybody. He really impressed me. I saw him and I was like, “This is the kid from this movie I’ve been planning on doing.” He was one of the elements that impelled me toward writing Mommy. Him, and hearing Ludovico Einaudi’s song “Experience”—he’s an Italian composer; that is the piece you hear in the movie when Diane, the mother, dreams of the future. When I first heard it through a friend at a random party, I was like, “Oh my God. This is a song for a mother who sees the future that she will never have, who dreams the life that she will never have.” I wrote that scene not knowing it would be in Mommy.

CHASTAIN: Anne [Dorval]’s performance is so incredible. Everyone’s performance in the film—Suzanne Clément … In all of your films, the female characters are so inspiring to watch. They’re not stereotypes of an idea. You allow the women in your films to have flaws and strengths. Speaking as an actress, I can tell you it’s very rare to get scripts like that. When you won the prize in Cannes—and the president was Jane Campion—you said, “The Piano [1993] was the first film that I watched that defined who I am … [It] made me want to write films for women, beautiful women with soul and will and strength.”

DOLAN: I was brought up with my grandmother, with my great aunt, with my mom, with my babysitters. All the ladies, “All the single ladies.” [both laugh] It’s who I am. They are the people I want to talk about, they’re the people I want to protect, they’re the people I want to put in my movies and see fail or win. As a writer, as a human being, and as a young man, it’s easier for me to express my anger, to ask questions, to seek answers, to talk, to cry as a woman in a movie. I connect with those figures more than I connect with men. Men are born privileged in the scale of things—I’m generalizing, but it’s true. Women have to define themselves in the eyes of men. They have to fight for their rights, especially in a society that will pretend that there is no fight or no battle, that it’s a cliché, that feminists are reactionary, all these things. As a young man who struggled to find his identity and to find his place, I relate to that quest for belonging in society. With mothers, especially, with their flaws, the way they have made huge sacrifices in order to be good moms or just moms. They probably sacrificed a part of their career, they sacrificed some desires, some dreams. I cannot relate, but I love to talk about it.

CHASTAIN: Where have you been all my life?

DOLAN: Well, I’m here now.

CHASTAIN: Thank God!

DOLAN: And I’m not going anywhere.

CHASTAIN: In I Killed My Mother, your character leaves a note that says that he can be found “in his kingdom.” I’m wondering where your kingdom is.

DOLAN: I hope you’re not disappointed by the answer. Geographically, I can’t name a place, so I will talk artistically and emotionally. My kingdom is on a set. It’s the only place on Earth where I feel I’m not waiting for something. Except when I’m waiting for the touch-ups, the fucking touch-ups.

[mellicose]

Circular Logic

A Ten x Simm!Master fic for @sastmk 

Happy Holidays, I’m your @dwsecretsanta ! I’m sorry it took me so long, but this holiday season has been bananas. This was angst fluffy fluff with a bit of smut thrown in. This is a pairing I’ve been wanting to write for a while, so your prompt was a perfect excuse to take the plunge.

Note: I have a pretty set headcanon about Time Lord sex. [See my Doctor After Dark series for more clarification.] In a nutshell, Time Lords can really light the bedroom on fire when they get it on. They pretty much invented sexplosions.

I hope you enjoy, and Happy Wintermas to you!

The TARDIS ground out its discordant song.

The Time Lord who once called himself the Master was leafing through a book on Ba’enlavian history, a spirit race in the Qu’net star system. He found the book, not in the TARDIS library, but in the section of the TARDIS usually reserved for human companions. He had gone through all the rooms, one by one, cataloging. Researching. He was curious to know what the Doctor and the TARDIS saw in humanity that fascinated them so. But he couldn’t find anything compelling. He had ended his search in Martha’s room. The book he held in his hand had been on her bedside table.

There was a cardinal feather jammed in the section entitled Sexual Magicks and the Manipulation of the Sensual Mind.

Martha was a human, but she was clever enough to get an idea of how Time Lord sex might go. But, of course, she had still failed.

He chuckled and closed the book. As if he needed any instruction. He learned such manipulation eons ago, and used it to his advantage on many occasions. Back in Gallifrey, he had done much to know much. In fact, he and the Doctor had done much together, long before the Time Lady who became his wife wrested his attentions.

The Doctor. His Doctor, despite the feud that nearly tore apart several galaxies. No one knew why they despised each other so passionately. No one but them. They knew since they were children that they were twin souls, destined to spin around each other for as long as they lived. Even the Doctor’s wife felt there was a thread between them that not even his deep love for her could break.

She too had done much to know much, and she had used all her intellectual wiles to drive a wedge between them. And so the feud began, in the backdrop of the Time War. Their love had almost been more important than the imminent destruction.

Almost.

He thought back on how his Doctor looked then. Too tall, and slim as a blade of the red grasses that grew in his father’s fields. They had burned hundreds of kliks of field in their secret explorations, which started as vigorous intellectual discourse and ended with them naked, panting as the field burned around them, proof of their passion.

It was a sweet desolation. The smell of burning flora made him crave the feel of the Doctor’s twin hearts pounding against his, his mouth slick and sweet on his. His eyes squeezed shut and he arched on the jumpseat, awash in memories.

How many worlds did he burn, just for the scent? Then, the inhabitant’s suffering was nothing compared his his longing, which filled him with impotent rage.

Ten bested him, because he could no longer resist. His tears and gentle entreaty on that boardroom floor had proven too tempting, but there was a reason for it - Ten reminded him of who the Doctor was long before he called himself the Doctor. The young man in Gallifrey was also tall and lithe, with liquid brown eyes and a mouth that only the wisest of Time Ladies would know to envy.

Ten was his lover, regenerated. And despite the resentment, the anger, he did not want to push back the inevitable any longer. They were bound together. He felt the Doctor, and the Doctor felt him.Their’s was a promise that no other love could break.

The hard quill of cardinal feather crunched between his teeth and gave off a faint savory flavor.

He sat up and looked around. The console room was too silent, despite the hum of the TARDIS. He missed his voice, constantly rattling off a litany of facts with which he was already very familiar. When they first started traveling together, he was efficient enough to tell him. It didn’t stop him from doing it, so he had ceased saying it.

He knew that the Doctor was still in human companion mode. It bothered him.

He spit out the cardinal feather. It was a gristly red pool in his palm.

Theta.

He needed only to think it. He felt him stir, and respond, and knew where he was. He exhaled with irritation. It was the companion’s quarters.

He walked across the metal gangplank, and the TARDIS moved underneath his feet, taking him to the Doctor. His feet materialized to a winding staircase, and he ran down. Anger began to make his throat burn. The door at the bottom was open. The Doctor sat in the middle of a small room, holding a woman’s suede coat. He sighed loudly to get his attention.

“She saved the world,” the Doctor said softly, and pressed it to his chest.

“No she didn’t. You did,” Koschei said, walking next to him. He looked down on him. His full lower lip trembled, but it was not endearing. It was infuriating.

“Why haven’t you put this in with the rest of the detritus?” he said, trying to suppress his anger. 

“Martha. She was so brilliant - dead brilliant, you saw - but I treated her so coldly.”

Koschei shrugged. “She might’ve just as well been in love with the Sun,” he said. He buried his hand in the Doctor’s thick brown hair. His fury dimmed to indignation. “Don’t they know they’re not made from the same stuff as we are?”

The Doctor looked up at him. His eyes were filled with tears. His fists clenched.

“Why do you cry for her? What did she do for you?”

The Doctor simply had to think of the incident with the family of blood, and Koschei’s eyes widened.

“How did I not know of this?” he said, and dropped down beside him. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“So much has happened,” he said softly. “I can barely process it all in a coherent time line to share with you.”

“You were always a bit slower on the uptake,” Koschei said, but the corners of his mouth twitched to smile.

“Sure. That’s what I wanted you to think,” the Doctor said. “For a while, it worked.”

“You’re far too kind to be my level of clever,” Koschei said, looking down at him. He caressed the back of the Doctor’s neck.

“Keep thinking that,” the Doctor said, gently tugging at his wrist and walking out of the room. When he touched him, he clearly saw his thoughts. There was flashing lights, a hole in this universe to another and fading pink and yellow.

Jealousy made Koschei’s smile twist into a snarl, but his pride made him refrain from lashing out. He walked out calmly behind him and followed him to their bedroom. Triple suns, two orange and one glowing lavender, burned in the arching ceiling above them. They spun slowly around each other, tense.

“Why did you really beg me to regenerate?” Koschei said. His voice was low, but dripping with venom.

“Because then, I thought we were the only ones left.”

“Fitting it would be you, and I. Chasing each other in all of time and space like maiden flies,” he said. It was an insect indigenous to their planet, dragonfly-like creatures who, once they found a mate, would always fly in tandem, circling and tumbling blindly around each other until the moment they died.

“Someone had to clean up the mess you made,” the Doctor said.

Koschei waved his hand dismissively. The Doctor’s eyes widened, then grew sleepy. He dropped Martha’s coat, then took off his own. He threw it on a nearby chair and sat on the bed. 

“Would it have mattered, though? Really?”

“Hmmm?” The Doctor kicked off his beat up sneakers and wiggled his bare toes. Koschei hated them. He adored Ten, but much preferred Three’s sense of style. “What?”

He kicked off his italian leather loafers and sat beside him. “Whether we were truly the last of the Time Lords? Would you have begged less pitifully?”

The Doctor’s mouth moved, but nothing came out.

Koschei lay back on the bed. “All those years, chasing after each other. Scheming. Burning-“ he swallowed hard, “-Fighting. Did you ever miss how things were, before?”

The Doctor lay beside him. Koschei took a deep breath to calm himself. The Doctor’s honey-scented furnace warmth could set him off in microseconds.

“I tried every time to talk to you. I didn’t want to fight. But you wouldn’t listen. Don’t you remember?” the Doctor said, putting his hand on Koschei’s belly.

“All I remember is how many times we met on Earth. And how you valued their lives over yours. Over us. Why them? I don’t understand it. I despised your wife, but at least we agreed about that. You spent far too much time there. It nearly rotted your good sense.”

The Doctor sat up and stared at him.

“Don’t look at me like that. The human race relies too much on emotion, and you followed suit too easily.  By this regeneration, it nearly tore you to pieces. Admit it.”

“You were there, Koschei,” the Doctor said. His brows rose with entreaty. “The human race’s empathy saved me after you nearly killed me. Furthermore, it saved you, regardless of what you did. How could you act like you can’t see it? It’s obtuse!”

“Why must you always mention that?” he said petulantly.

“Because it happened. You nearly sucked out all my life force.”

“It wasn’t a good period for me. And I was furious.”

“You were always furious!” The Doctor jumped to his feet.

“Because you were always one step ahead of me!” Koschei yelled. “They loved you. Without hypnosis. Without coersion. Every living soul loved you, and it made me want to burn the whole world even more! Not only Earth, but all of them. Any world you left your mark, any place where they spoke your name with affection or reverence. I would see each and every one atomized before being tortured with it any longer!”

He panted, and tears finally made his vision blur. He wiped them away viciously. He stood up. His mouth was twisted with emotion, and his eyes burned blue-hot.

“You were so eager to save. Everyone. Everything…” his head shook slowly, and a tear dripped off his nose. He hiccuped. “You wanted to be a hero. You always did, despite acting reluctant about it so many times. Even when we were young...” he said, referring to bully, a body, and an unmarked grave in the fields of desolation.

The Doctor watched him, his eyes rimmed in empathetic tears.

“You ran away,” Koschei said, “on this unregulated ancient thing-“ The TARDIS disapproved, temporarily interrupting the image of the three suns of Q’unet in protest - “and left us to lose the war alone.” He jabbed at the air in his anger.

The Doctor shrugged. “What I needed to do, I needed to do alone. Even my wife knew that.”

“I don’t care about your wife! Or your children, or your grandchildren! What about the promises you made to me?” His neck muscles strained in his passion. “You left me there to die.”

“But you didn’t,” the Doctor said. It was strangely callous.

Koschei barked a laugh. “You needed to be a hero. Your ego demanded it. And I gave it to you. Every single time.”

The Doctor’s face twitched.

Koschei sat hard on the bed. “Every world. Every villainous alien race, intent on destruction. All a game of galactic Risk I always let you win. Well, nearly always. Some people had to die to make sure the rest stayed afraid.”

The Doctor blinked. “What?” He could not grasp the meaning.

Now, Koschei shrugged. “You have this insatiable need to save. I have an insatiable need for you. To keep you near while you ran, I had to do something to engage you.”

“But … all those worlds. Those stars. Obliterated. By you.”

“And sometimes, after years of losing sight of you, the smoke brought you back, did it not?” he said.

“Those lives. Extinguished. For an overglorified smoke signal?”

“Primitive races all,” Koschei said.

The Doctor cursed in Gallifreyan. Koschei gasped. He never cursed.

“You killed … for me?” His voice was strangled with anger.

“I would burn a thousand galaxies to see you again,” Koschei said. He looked down at the Doctor’s horrible shoes and his hearts lurched with desire. “Even twisted in anger and hurt. Even though you refused to see why I did it. You were always so damn single-minded. That’s why you’re so terrible at chess.”

“Why didn’t you just tell me?”

“You left. Without saying good bye.”

“You voted to burn all of Gallifrey to obliterate the Daleks at the High Council!”

“So did you!” Koschei yelled back, frustrated.

“But I didn’t mean it,” the Doctor said weakly.

“Yes you did,” he said.

“No I didn’t,” the Doctor said. “My wife. She was one of the engineers of the Time Lock. I knew she was going to do it before the vote.”

“Then why didn’t you tell me?” Koschei said.

“Because you would’ve been furious, and stayed and tried to stop it.”

The Doctor knew about the Time Lock. To deploy it, his wife had to remain on Gallifrey. They both knew that they would not see each other again. But they had done it all the same. And the Doctor, his closest confidant and long-time lover, had not told Koschei. Because he knew how he would react. And he wanted him to find out about his flight, and follow him.

Because he was the one he could not live without. Only him.

“Still think I’m bad at chess?” the Doctor said, daring to touch Koschei’s cheek.

He was speechless.

“What I feel for you cannot deign to call itself something as superficial as love, yet you can’t read me as well as you think you can. You never needed to do what you did to keep me near. That was my argument, every time. I chose you. In the one time that really mattered, and so many times after. Even when you broke my hearts …” he loosened his tie and threw it on the bed. “It was you I wanted to save most. Not for some altruistic reason, but for myself.”

Koschei pulled the Doctor to him and hugged his hips, rubbing his face against his flat belly. He had done much mischief. Not only for attention, but for pleasure. But only this one creature, in all the beings in this universe and the universes beyond, could make him both soft and hard. Could both arouse, and stay his hand.

The Doctor ran his fingers through his blond hair. The air in the bedroom was heating up. He looked up at him, and the Doctor’s eyes were glowing ochre. He rubbed his thumb along Koschei’s narrow lower lip and sighed at his warmth.

“Take it off,” Koschei said, clawing at the cloth as it began to pop and hiss with their shared heat. He was gasping with need. His hands moved over his body and the Doctor tugged everything off. He tried to pull him to standing in an embrace, but Koschei pulled him into bed. He ghosted his lips over the Doctor’s taking in his precious breath, but he did not kiss. The doctor grabbed at his waist, eager to press their hips together, but he straddled him and sat on him. He tried to buck into him, but Kochei pushed him down firmly.

“Be still,” he said. He felt the Doctor’s hardness press deliciously into his ass, but he resisted the urge to grind. He unbuttoned his shirt and pulled it from his pants. The Doctor tried to sit up to kiss, but again, Koschei gently pushed him down. He liked it best this way. After hundreds of years of longing disguised as hate, he still liked to pique his appetite by taking him in - every glorious feature. He moved down his body and unbuttoned his pants, pulling them down slowly. He loved his long slim legs, his temptingly narrow hips. Long and slim, fragile and tender, but the Doctor possessed a power that made his hair stand on end when he touched him.

The Doctor unbuttoned his shirt, grew impatient, and tore it off. He wanted nothing in the way of Koschei’s gaze. How many years had he secretly craved it? How many tears had he cried when, instead, the Master looked at him with cold anger? How could he have known it was … jealousy?

Koschei took the rest of his clothes off, and they moved to the center of the bed. Koschei’s hand moved from the Doctor’s hip and up to his chest, right between his hearts. Flame traced his palm to his chest. The look on the Doctor’s face, unfathomable desire, made him want to erase all that came after. He wanted to be young again, sneaking off into the fields with nothing but the endless grasses and the gold sky above …

The ceiling flashed again, and Koschei gasped. Even after all this time, Theta’s ability to read his desires felt like a miracle.

“Do you remember the first time?” the Doctor panted as Koschei’s hand moved between his legs and began to stroke. His red-hot palm made his hardness glow like a roman candle.

“Microparticle physics,” Koschei muttered into his neck. “You were always such a dunce at it.” The Doctor tensed. Koschei snickered as his lips moved up the Doctor’s neck.

“I passed that test!”

“Barely. You still can’t grasp the subtleties of antimatter dynamics. That’s why you followed me into that field. You were begging for tutoring.” He squeezed him, and the Doctor gasped and arched.

He pumped himself into Koschei’s fist. Their timelines began to materialize around them like golden cages. “I distinctly remember … I was not the one begging on that day,” the Doctor said, and rolled on top of him. He straddled Koschei, and looking at the Doctor’s flushed, smiling face set against the skies of home made him want to weep. He was right. It had been him to beg Theta to go faster, and deeper.

The Doctor begged him on Earth, but he begged first. For all of him. Forever.

Although they had played long before that hot afternoon in the redgrass fields, it was the first time they achieved a higher-level joining. They had burned their robes to ash, and it was the first time they had been able to see into each other’s minds. Their passion had caused an explosion that surprised them both, and startled the farmers on whose fallow field they made love.

“How much did you pay them for their discretion?” the Doctor said and they rose slowly off the bed. Ghost flame began to flicker and dance around them as they rubbed their limbs together.

“Far, far more that they asked for,” Koschei said, grabbing the Doctor’s ass and pressing his hips to his, “and far less than that time with you was worth.”

Their kisses grew deeper, and now the golden cages around them began to weave together. In these moments they could see not only into each other’s minds, but into each other’s souls. Although there was a lot of violence in Koschei’s timeline, the Doctor felt the undercurrent of longing, and loneliness. And every time they joined, he ached to remind him that he was no longer alone.

“You knew first,” the Doctor said, as he spooned Koschei’s muscular, compact body in his. He wrapped one arm around his waist while stroking him with the other hand. “My name. Before my wife.”

“And you knew mine.Your hand was made for this,” Koschei said, and turned to offer his mouth. Beads of sweat shone like diamonds on his skin.

“For you? Yes,” the Doctor said, and kissed his temple. He loved the prickle of Koschei’s day-old beard, and he rubbed his lips against his cheek, closer and closer to his moaning mouth. “But what about my other parts?” He pumped into his sweat-slick cleft. He felt his pinpoint of intensest heat - his entrance - and grunted. He wanted to make love properly, feel him physically, but it was too shallow an act.

“You were so beautiful,” the Doctor said, as his timelines moved faster and faster around them both. Koschei’s lines trembled around the Doctor’s, matching velocity. “I didn’t know until that day …” He slid into him, and Koschei gasped. He was red hot and going blue. He burned deep inside with the Doctor’s desire. They moved quickly together, the Doctor thrusting, and stroking, and caressing. Koschei reached back to caress him, his eyes closed with ecstasy.

His hands. His cock. His body. His hearts. His timelines. He wanted to feel them all, and forget himself.

“I saw you loved me,” the Doctor said in his ear. His body hummed against his like a black matter engine, silent but powerful.

“I love you still,” Koschei said, and vibrated to dancing embers. The Doctor cried out, and did the same. The embers - memories, distilled soul - danced around each other, spun faster and faster as they gathered the power to join. They saw each other, completely, and wanted nothing more than to be one. Their embers gathered into a sweeping column of light that swirled to the ceiling. The room began to roar with their combined heat. Every collision was pleasure beyond orgasm. And there were billions of them. It was raw passion, and something no human could understand, fulfill, or survive. Their timelines pulsed, harder and harder, wove tighter, grew brighter, until they were one.

Their column of shared soul exploded to a supernova of blue flame that made the TARDIS groan in sympathetic pleasure. After,  there were no sighs, no grunts, just silence as they molecules glued themselves back together into the figures of two men. The bed was ash, their clothes, and the suede coat the Doctor had been holding. Nothing was left, but their bodies, tangled and sweaty on the Doctor’s bedroom floor.

“I know why you did it,” Koschei said softly, running his finger along the Doctor’s freckled shoulder. Finally, their joining had been so intense that he felt why the Doctor chose humans above the hundreds of millions of other sentient races. He could never ever join with a human the way he could with another being from the Gallifreyan star system. And that star system was gone.  He was all that was left.

It was a fail safe.

He could love a human, and he did - deeply - but it would never be like their love. It couldn’t. What the Doctor said earlier about his flight from Gallifrey rang deeper now. He ran, but knew that the Master would follow. Because he had to - they were bound together, not only by feelings, but by soul. They were all they had in the universe.

“You allowed to me think I knew more than you,” he said. “Why?”

“Because I knew better,” the Doctor said, kissing him silent.

[slippinmickeys]

Master Fic List

I only started writing fic (again) in late 2018, so I’m going to include only the most recent things I’ve written. (Old stuff can be found at various archives.) I can’t believe it’s been a year already! Lots of exciting stuff happened this year, not the least of which was finally getting on Tumblr. I hope to become better acquainted with both the site and all of you in 2020. Happy New Year!

Release Valve – The X-Files have been reopened with a bigger budget and a bigger staff. Mulder, Scully and the agents under them fight to stay one step ahead the Consortium’s machinations, but when they finally get to the truth, what will they do with it? (MSR, Rated M, 28k)

The Next Week – “She’s placid in his bed. Warm, willing. She has a sleepy smile on her face and the morning sunlight coming through the window catches on her carmine hair, practically burns his eyes.” (MSR, Rated E, 3k)

Fools in the Rain – Inspired by the prompt set forth on Twitter by @IngridDaS1013: “Mulder and Scully get caught in the rain on the way to Mulders apartment so they go up and Scully has to wear something of Mulder’s while her clothes dry…” (MSR, Rated E, 3.5k)

Only Say Goodnight – I have always been upset that we didn’t get to see Mulder and Scully’s moment together right after William was born. This is my hand at that scene and the one that followed, when Mulder left. (MSR, Not Rated, 2.5k)

An Evening at the Petit Trois – For the 2019 X-Files Valentines Day Fic Exchange. Based on the prompt: Mulder and Scully’s ex-lovers are jealous of the loving relationship they have now. (MSR, Not Rated, 2.4k)

Submerge – An on-the-run ficlet with a dose of angst. (MSR, Rated M, 1.2k)

Absolution – For the 2019 X-Files Episode Fic Exchange. “The bath had done nothing but make her think about the decon shower they’d been forced to take 48 hours prior and from there her mind wandered to lustful places. Places she tried to keep secreted away.” (MSR, Rated E, 2.2k)

Storm Front – 100% all trope. Stormed in, one bed, first time TROPE. (MSR, Rated E, 6k)

Brood Parasite – For the Alternate Season 12 Project collaboration with @admiralty-xfd and @rosethornhill. This is Episode 2– As Mulder and Scully settle into their new lives and jobs, the paranormal comes to them—in more ways than one. (MSR, Rated M, 10k)

Charm/Strange – A dance of intellectuals. (MSR, Not Rated, Drabble)

The Other Side of Fiction – Episode 4 from Alternate Season 12. College AU. Mulder and Scully. Scully and Mulder. In this, and every lifetime. (MSR, Rated E, 15k)

Mess – This is from a Tumblr Prompt “I need a place to stay.” (MSR, Not Rated, Drabble)  

So Young Such a Shame – Cancer-arc angsty drabble (MSR, Not Rated, Drabble)

Prompt Drabble Collection – **Six different drabbles from various Tumblr prompts, from angst to AU and everything in between. (MSR, Rated Mature, Drabble)

Epithalamium – “Codependency is a real bitch. Even when he drives her crazy, she doesn’t know any other way to be. There are too many years between them, too many monsters. She wouldn’t even know how to begin telling some other suitor her story.” (MSR, Rated M, Drabble)

The Umbrella Prompts – Tumblr Prompt “kissing under a shared umbrella” and on it goes… (MSR, Rated E, 2.4k(so far))

Extraordinary – For the X-Files Third Party Drabble Challenge – Margaret Scully’s thoughts on her daughter’s love. (MSR, Not Rated, Drabble)

Fairies, Skip Hence – For the 2019 X-Files Secret Santa Fic Exchange – “Bubbles floated like dust motes silently through the living room, catching the color from the lights on the Christmas tree and turning the room kaleidoscopic. She sat in front of the fireplace amongst Matthew’s scattered stocking stuffers, looking young and small. She held a small Santa-shaped bottle, blowing bubbles quietly into the room from a wand protruding from Santa’s hat. She looked like a fairy in the festive space, and his heart clutched at the sight of her.” (MSR, Rated E, 8k)

Of The Eight Winds **- AU Series based on the @sunflowerseedsandscience prompt: “Mulder is unhappily married when Scully is partnered with him, and while he doesn't cheat (because sorry that's not romantic), he falls for her so hard that he finally gets the courage to end the marriage and start fresh.” Technically this is a WIP, as I have more parts planned, but each chapter gives a glimpse into the whole of their lives and can stand alone. (MSR, Rated E, 6k, WIP)

Currahee **-- “There was a moment where she thought of all the people who have ever lived--and died--were ever underfoot. The space above the ground is for the living, and she needed to start doing more of it.” (MSR, Rated GA, 2k)

**updated

[selkiewife]

I know i’m late on this but I wanted to talk about The Dragon Demands videos based on the Game of Thrones Season 8 blue ray commentary and the original archived scripts for Game of Thrones, Season 8. 

Basically, YouTuber, The Dragon Demands went to the Writer’s Guild Library where he was able to see the archived scripts of Season 8 of Game of Thrones. Both the archive scripts and commentary on the blue ray confirms that most of the destruction in King’s Landing was originally supposed to be caused by the caches of wild fire left by Aerys being accidentally set off by Drogon and not because Daenerys herself “went mad.” The script says that civilians being used as human shields are caught in the crossfire as Daenerys is targeting Lannister soldiers in a strategical maneuver right before she heads to the Red Keep to enact revenge on Cersei. However, Daenerys is never described as specifically targeting innocent civilians needlessly. 

My thoughts under the cut:

I have to say, that this makes me feel slightly better in a strange way. I mean, it doesn’t erase the bad writing, the ridiculous way the war against the white walkers ended, the misogyny, the inconsistency, etc etc ETC... but this crucial plot point was the one I just couldn’t let go of because it was just baffling to me. With other controversial plot points, I would disagree with them, but I could at least understand what they were going for and what the motivations of the characters were. But Daenerys turning on innocent civilians was truly baffling to me because it comes out of nowhere, is entirely out of character, her motivations are incredibly unclear, and was not set up at all. But with all the fandom discourse, I had really started to think that maybe I am lacking comprehension skills or something. But no, there is actually a reason it made no sense. The “madness” plot line was added later. Emilia Clarke was never given the opportunity to portray Daenerys as mentally unstable. Emilia was portraying grief and revenge on Cersei (as the original script and directors told her to do) in contrast to D&D’s final editing which was portraying the “mad queen.” No wonder it came across as completely false and bewildering- before we even get into the discussion of whether or not this is in character or not.

I think this is definitely more than just a theory that the script was changed pretty late in development because of all the evidence- it is confirmed by Emilia’s commentary, the Visual Effects team member’s commentary, and also the original concept art. But even if there wasn’t all that evidence, there is also the fact that the original ending makes so many other confusing things in Season 8 suddenly make SENSE. 

For example, when Jon confronts Daenerys in the throne room and he talks about the women and children that were burned, Daenerys responds with “She used their innocence as a weapon against me.” Which makes total sense for Daenerys to say if she thinks she is talking about civilians that were used as human shields that died in the crossfire. But it doesn’t make any sense if she carpet bombed the city- although it does make her seem delusional, which is probably why Dave and Dan kept those lines in- hoping it would make her appear “mad,” since Emilia was never actually given the opportunity to portray Daenerys as mentally unstable.

There is also the scene where Jon asks Tyrion, “Was it right?” to assassinate Daenerys and Tyrion responds, “Ask me again in ten years.” There is really no reason for them to have that dialogue if Daenerys really did target and massacre innocent civilians. That is the kind of dialogue they would have if they were discussing someone who had done something more morally ambiguous. 

Then there are the lines that are out of place in the final version but that would have made complete sense in the original wild fire version, such as Jon saying “now and always” as he stabs Daenerys. “Now and always” as any Theon fan will tell you, is a phrase that belongs to Theon and Robb and what they said to each other when Theon was pledging loyalty to Robb. Having Jon say this to Dany as he is killing Daenerys represents the ultimate betrayal but also calls back to Theon’s struggle and how difficult it is to chose between loyalties- between families. In this case, Jon is choosing the Starks over the Targaryens. Kit Harrington even says that this is motivation in an interview he gave with winteriscoming.net. But given the fact that in the final edit, Daenerys massacred innocent children and civilians on purpose, Kit’s motivation for Jon seems like a relic of an earlier script: 

Kit Harrington: “Jon essentially sees it as Daenerys or Sansa and Arya, and that makes his mind up for him. He choose blood over, well, his other blood. But he chooses the people he has grown up with, the people his roots are with, the North. That’s where his loyalties lie in the end. That’s when he puts the knife in.”

And Yara Greyjoy’s lines. She surprisingly remains completely loyal to Daenerys, despite the fact that she massacred the entire city for no reason:

Yara Greyjoy: I swore to follow Daenerys Targaryen. 

Sansa Stark: You swore to follow a tyrant. 

Yara Greyjoy: She freed us from a tyrant. Cersei is gone because of her, and Jon Snow put a knife in her heart. Let the Unsullied give him what he deserves. 

This kind of conversation only seems plausible if they are discussing Daenerys taking out Cersei after she had surrendered and killing human shields in the process, something I can see Yara completely defending- since she was always in favor of attacking King’s Landing as seen during her war counsel scenes in Season 7. 

There is also the Emilia Clarke quote in the behind the scenes video HBO put out after the episode where she explains that Dany was targeting Cersei herself:

Emilia Clarke: “It’s just... grief. It’s hurt. And she has this ability to make that hurt a little bit less just for a minute. And here she is, sitting on this ridge and there’s the emotion and there’s the feeling and the feeling is to fucking kill her.”

Note that she does not say “the feeling is to fucking massacre the city,” or “the feeling is to target innocent civilians.” She says “the feeling is to kill her” as in Cersei Lannister- who is responsible for the death of her dragon and Missandei- and who massacred countless innocents herself when she blew up the goddamn sept lol. 

Not to mention all of the set up lines between Cersei, Tyrion, and Varys about Cersei using “human shields” which never came to fruition in the final edit, now make complete sense:

Cersei: Keep the gates open. If she wants to take the castle she’ll have to murder thousands of innocents first.

Varys: Tens of thousands of innocents will die. That is why Cersei is bringing them into the Red Keep

And yet, lol, we never actually SEE Daenerys attacking the Red Keep. We never see innocent civilians inside the Red Keep. We only see civilians being massacred in the streets. 

I also remember people who had seen the post Season 8 Game of Thrones Live Concert saying that Ramin switched to footage of the other wildfire scenes in past Game of Thrones seasons during his Bells sequence, instead of showing the massacre of innocent civilians by dragon fire. I use to think he did that because Daenerys was his favorite character. But given what we now know about the original ending, he probably chose to show the wildfire scenes because that was what he had specifically written music for before it was changed- the destruction of Kings Landing by wildfire.

I really wish they had kept the original script the way it was. It still would have been an incredibly controversial ending. Daenerys still goes after soldiers and a Queen who is surrendering- and that action unintentionally leads to the destruction of the entire city. Jon Snow still assassinates his lover and betrays one part of his family for the other. But, it would have at least made logical sense. People would have gone back and forth over whether it was in character or whether it was a good ending. But it would have been something people would be able to actually debate on an intellectual level- the way we debate Daenerys crucifying the slavers (who themselves crucified children) or Jon Snow executing Olly... It is a very grey and tragic ending with a lot of moral questions. It still might have gone over like a lead balloon. But... the ending we have is so much worst because it’s nonsensical.

The only reason I can think that they changed it was to make Jon and Tyrion appear less morally grey for plotting Daenerys’ assassination. They probably knew that the ending would be very problematic and were trying to smooth that over by turning Daenerys into a super villain. Yet they did this too late in the process after already showing Daenerys to be heroic in fighting with the north and then having Emilia Clarke finish her filming still believing she was playing a complex and at times ruthless character but not “mad” or “evil.” And then, there is also the intensely problematic issue with them conflating mental illness with mass murdering super villain. Even if it had been clear throughout the entire season that Daenerys was losing her grip on reality and becoming more and more mentally unstable, it still would have been incredibly controversial and I am not entirely sure it would have made the men look any better anyway.

Even though it is tragic as fuck, at least with the original wildfire ending, all of the characters are incredibly complex and morally grey and you can understand the motivations for everything they do, even if you don’t agree with them. For example, if Daenerys attacks Cersei after she surrendered, it is wrong, but it is also completely understandable. And in my opinion, it’s even more understandable when you remember that Cersei cannot be trusted. She can’t be trusted to send her armies to the north- why should Daenerys trust her to surrender in good faith? This kind of ending would also have said something very powerful about unintended consequences. Even though Daenerys did not intend for so many people to die needlessly, they did because war is horrific. And that message becomes even more powerful if her motivations are understandable. But yeah, this kind of ending would have still been hated and debated but... at least the debates would have been more about the story itself rather than everyone trying (and failing) to make sense of what the fuck the story even is.

[adaliacom105]

Blog 4 Of Bunnies and Aliens

Hello, once again, classmates, my professor, and readers! 

For this blog post, we will be talking about the films Fantastic Planet and Watership Down.

First, let’s give you a little background information about the two films. 

Fantastic Planet is a French animated film that came out in 1973 and is directed by Rene Laloux. The film takes place in the distant future on a planet named Ygam. On this planet, there are these beings called Draags living on it. Draags are giant blue human-like creatures with red eyes, no hair, and fin-like ears. In this film, the humans are the pets and are called Oms. The story centers on one Om, in particular, Terr. It goes through his life from pet to wild Om. Eventually, the Oms rise after enough exterminations take place. They end up reaching a peaceful agreement with the Draags and get their own moon to live on.

The second movie is Watership Down, an animated film from 1978 and directed by Martin Rosen. This film centers around a group of rabbits who escape from their burrow from impending danger. This group of rabbits then search for a new burrow to call home where they can hopefully stay safe from danger. Along the way, they encounter a burrow where a farmer has set traps for them by baiting food and another burrow with an oppressive rule. After escaping those two burrows, they find a good spot atop a hill, and then the task is to get female rabbits since they were all males. After the daunting task of taking them from the oppressive ruler, they end up living a pretty good life.

It might sound strange that a bunny movie and an alien movie have some things in common but in this case, they do have quite a bit in common with each other.

Both films have in common that both had a species looking for a safe place to call home. The bunnies were looking for a safe place to create a burrow where they wouldn’t be bothered by man and a high place where they could overlook everything and hear clearly in case of dangers. The Oms in Fantastic Planet wanted a place where they could live without fear of being exterminated by the Draggs or being domesticated by them.

Both films have an emphasis on both the act and product of procreation, basically getting kids. In Watership Down, the bunnies risk their lives on three separate occasions to get female rabbits so they could mate. Hazel and Pipkin went to a farm where they were breeding bunnies to break free the females. While trying to break the females out, they had to face a dog, a cat, and humans with guns. The third occasion had Bigwig infiltrate a burrow with an oppressive leader. It may not sound dangerous, but Woundwort, the burrow chief, looks very scary and is also known for attacking bunnies and will kill them. He is now an image that will haunt me. For Fantastic Planet, you have the Draags who do meditation, which allows them to leave their bodies and become like a transportation system. When they go into this meditative state, they go to one of their satellite planets named Wild Planet. There they take over these giant statues that look like Oms without heads or clothes. They then perform a dance for mating, and it’s how they keep their species alive. This can cause a danger to the Draags, for if something happens to their meditation forms, their real forms could end up blind or dead. The Oms would eat these unusual fruits that would allow them to glow at night. Afterward, the women would undress and runoff for the men to chase them to secluded spaces to mate. Doing this poses a threat to the Oms as it makes them visible during the night for predators and Draags to see.

The third thing the two have in common is the need for peace on both sides. In Watership Down, this can be seen when Hazel goes and tries to talk to Chief Woundwort first before he brings his comrades to fight their little burrow for the “treason” of Bigwig. Hazel does this knowing that there was a chance he was to get hurt by Woundwort and the protest of his fellow friends telling him not to go. Unfortunately, Hazel’s pleas for peace falls on deaf ears, and they go to battle. For Fantastic Planet, you have the Oms and the Draags fighting. When the Oms had made it to the Wild Planet and had messed with the Draags mediation and had caused some to go blind, they had realized that it would be better to have peace rather than destroy each other. Unfortunately, it took all that for it to happen, but they ended up reaching an agreement and gave the Oms their own satellite planet.

These aren’t the only things that both movies had in common; they both resemble a historic time in history.

These films remind me of some historical events as well.

Watership Down reminds me of Germany during World War 2. It reminds me of this because of the way Chief Woundwort runs his burrow. He monitors when the rabbits can go out, he marks them with scares and has his officer’s rabbits report to him anything strange to him, and won’t let any rabbits leave. So it reminds me of how the Jews were treated back then with armbands for markings, curfews, and the internment camps.

Fantastic Planet makes me think of animal rights and the civil rights movement. Animal rights are shown through the fact that it uses the approach “would you like it”? The story that is being told is literally if the humans were the pets instead of the animals we have today. While I would like to live the life of my “security” dog (she is overweight, half-blind, and 13 years old chihuahua; she isn’t that great security, she mostly naps), I would like not to fight other humans like they do in dog fights, cockfights, and probably any other animal fight type (I do not have her fight anything, she runs away from fights). I think of the Civil Rights movement because the movie is about one race thinking there superior to another. Some of the actions the South did against the slaves reminded me of the film as well. Like the lack of access to technology would be the same. Most slaves didn’t know how to read or write, and that would be because their owners didn’t want them to, which could be said the same for the Draags and Oms. So it would be the Draags over the Oms, so for real life, it would be the American Civil war with North vs. South. 

One other big that the two shares would be the battle between intellectuals and anti-intellectual.

In Fantastic Planet, this conflict takes place with the Oms. When Terr had brought back a teaching headset, it had allowed the Oms a way to learn. Some wanted to learn from it, and others thought of it as enemy technology and didn’t trust it at all. After having the Draags up the number of exterminations, it took many Oms’ lives, including a tribe leader. This would open their eyes to learning, and they would come together to find a safe place to live without worry.

Watership Down doesn’t have this battle so apparent in the movie. For the intellectuals, I would like to think Hazel would be in that group. He thought about getting female rabbits for their new home, thought of a plan to combat Woundwort, tried for peace before the battle, and believed in his brother's vision because of the last ones’ accuracy.

For the anti-intellectual, I would say Woundwort. I say this for a couple of reasons. The first being is that when one of the female rabbits had suggested making a new burrow and had backed her argument that there isn’t enough room for them to have babies, Woundwort had said no with no real thought about it. Woundwort seems to rule on using fear that I consider stupid since eventually there will be someone who will not want to put up with it, and it just goes downhill from there. You’d probably still have someone out there for your head if you rule without fear, but it’s considerably less. Woundwort continues to go after Bigwig despite a dog there that is way more dangerous, which isn’t so smart in my opinion.

The next part of this question would be to relate this to real life. Unfortunately, I live in my own little world and use social media to play games rather than get the news. I also read the news that mainly pertains to video games and anime. I mainly get my news from family and friends. So I can’t really think of a real-life example other than this struggle is still being illustrated today. In particular, this struggle is shown in an anime called Dr.Stone. A strange green light has turned humanity to stone, and this boy has been released from this stone prison and figured out how to turn the others back from stone. After turning the wrong person from stone, it becomes a race between two tribes, one of strength and science. It sounds weird, but I binged the season in three days, which is rare for me, so I highly recommend it.

So by this point, I am assuming I have thoroughly tired you out from all the reading. Thanks to those that have continued to the end. Happy Holidays!!!