#between John wanting to save people or at least give them a chance and Lily and being upset about Arthur inadvertently killing Matthew

[twomystdunstans]

something about John becoming more "human" or "softer", gaining more compassion and humanity while Arthur becomes more bitter and cold, trying to "keep them safe" and immediately seeing the bad in people. not giving someone a chance and doing anything he can for answers.

something about when John said "we may very well end up switching places"

[llendrinall]

Hello, Endrina, I hope you are well!

I was recently introduced to a new ship: Snarry. Never though I could like it, but the fics I read were very well written, so I can see potential now.

What are your thoughts on this ship (if you have any), would you ever write Snarry?

Actually, I'm asking this bc I miss your Snape. So maybe, the question is more, can we have more Snape?

Sending love and inspiration, tai <3

Hello, Tea.

I’m well. Busier than I would like, so I don’t have the focus I need to write long-form, but I’m doing very well. I even got my vaccine!

So, Snarry. It’s not a pairing I see myself writing. It has too many issues and some of my biggest squicks, like teacher/student relationships (god, no) and age difference. The age difference I can get past, because it’s so prevalent that I’m inured to it. I think most, if not all, of Jane Austen’s heroines have +-10 years difference, for example, so one learns not to pay attention. Still, it’s not a pairing that calls to me.

That said, while I won’t write it and it’s not my first reading choice, I have read it occasionally and I agree that the fics were quite good. They managed to make a difficult and very unlikely couple believable, so kudos to the authors. I just hope none of them pursue a career in politics or public relations.

You ask about Snape. The thing about him (and most of HP characters) is that there is an incoherent element to them.

Snape stands on the edge between hero and villain, between human and monster. Snape is a survivor of childhood abuse and teenager bullying, the poor dear. Snape became a supremacist and joined a terrorist group, the bastard. Snape is a horrible, horrible, teacher. Snape is the only remotely competent actor in the Order of Phoenix.

I actually think this is the reason why the HP fandom is so popular, after so many years, and still produces so many fics. Almost all characters have this tension (I’m actually struggling to think of a character without internal strain. Fleur, maybe?), this internal conflict as two things that cannot be exist in the same person. A character cannot stand that internal contradiction for long, and yet it is never resolved in the books. Was Dumbledore well meaning, if inefficient? Or was he a manipulative bastard?

Because the characters are left in that state of incoherence, we write fic and meta to resolve that tension. To do that, we have to choose some aspects and bury or hand wave others because they simply can’t cohabit. This means that when people say Snape was a creepy bastard who doesn’t deserve our good opinion, they are right. It also means that when I choose to see him a kinder light, as a flawed man who is denied the chance to heal from his trauma, I am also right.

My Snape.

What I like best about him is that he is a very efficient and unapologetic jerk. Even in the most positive portrayals (like The Secret Language of Plants) Snape is the personification of drinking orange juice after brushing your teeth. He doesn’t play well with others.

Because he is very efficient, there is the danger of going the Sherlock route (or House route, or… you know, any other show) in which his genius is used to justify him being a cruel prick (sidenote: I want more Sherlock fics in which John gently points out that when Sherlock does X thing or says Y he is hurting people’s feelings, and Sherlock adapting his behaviour in hilariously wrong but well-meaning ways). I prefer to use Snape’s cantankerous attitude to bring up conflict and humour. Snape is the man who will stab Lockhart to shut him up. He is also the friend you hex in an attempt to re-educate him into being a tolerable member of society.

What else? I see Snape as a gay man. The foggy ficlet I’m writing right now might be the first time where I am unsure, he may be bisexual there. Mostly, I prefer if his relationship to Lily is one of friendship. I actually think it’s nicer, and speaks better of him, if his heel-face turn is born out of friendship rather than a desire to save the life of the girl who got away. It’s still love, just not sexual or romantic love.

Some other thoughts about him.

- He is a bad teacher. Not that there are good teachers, since no one goes through teacher training, but he is bad and doesn’t like the job.

- He is a brilliant researcher and experimenter. He would be much happier in a university-setting where you can get away with not seeing students and at least the ones you are forced to see will be slightly interested in the subject.

- Canon Snape went through a lot of trauma and wasn’t allowed to heal. Instead he was picked up by Voldemort and Dumbledore to be used as they wished. If he had gotten away, even if he didn’t go to therapy, just time and distance would have done wonders.

- Despite his acerbic personality, Snape is very good at managing teams. We know that all the other Hogwarts’ houses gang up against Slytherin, and yet until Harry arrived, Slytherin had won the House Cup six times in a row. Six times. This can’t be attributed to Snape giving a disproportionate amount of points to his students, because he only has so many occasions to do so and in any case it would only work one time before the rest of the teachers started to give points by the hundreds. Either the Slytherin students were so good that other teachers, despite their animosity, were forced to recognize their talent; or Snape provoked the other houses to fight between them and grabbed the cup from under them. Either way, Snape is wasted in that school.

- No, really, who gets a bunch of teenagers and turns them into such a well oiled machine?

I want him to fake his death and go live in the French-Speaking side of Canada and finally get a chance to figure out who he is. And when Percy Weasley inevitably stumbles across him, they will simply nod at each other, share a look of “I’m so tired of their bullshit” and carry on without a word.

[wonder-womans-ex]

Curtain Call

Act One, Scene Five 

Sirius knows he’s petty. Extremely so. Petty enough to send the elevator all the way down to the ground floor so that Remus has to either take the stairs or wait, at least.

What Remus said is still wheeling in his mind. Remus kissed someone else. It hurts, yeah, but he’ll put on his brave face. He’ll move on. 

The thing that hurts most—the thing he can’t ignore or get over—is that he’s not sure whether he’s more upset that Remus cheated, more upset that Remus dumped him, or more upset that Remus didn’t give him the chance to break it off. Remus should have owned up to it, and he should have given Sirius that choice. It’s like he said when before he left the staff room—maybe he would have ended things, maybe he wouldn’t have. 

He should have at least had the option to break Remus’s heart like Remus broke his, but instead Remus just broke his twice. 

Sure enough, Remus is five minutes late to the seminar, and Sirius knows that Lily’s pissed. What he doesn’t know is whether she’s pissed at Remus, or if she’s figured out that Sirius is the reason behind the delay and is pissed at him. She seems the type to just know these things. 

He’s pretty sure he’s not imagining her glare in his direction when she says, “We’ll start in a minute or two; John will be back by then with the papers we need for today’s lecture,” but he decides to ignore it. After all, if there’s one thing he’s good at, it’s ignoring his problems. 

Well, and running away from them. It depends on the day and what mood he’s in. 

He also doesn’t miss the fact that when Remus does return, he pulls the classic ‘take one and pass it on’ instead of handing out the papers one by one. It’s probably so that he doesn’t have to look Sirius in the face. 

When the stack reaches him, Sirius has to reach back a whole row of seats to get to the next person. He almost tips over in his chair, but manages to save himself a sore tailbone—and a whole lot of embarrassment—at the last minute. 

The page is split into five sections: theme, topic, setting, characters, and story objective. He remembers, vaguely, learning some of this in grade seven, but that’s where his memory blanks. (What the everloving fuck is a story objective?)

Apparently he’s about to find out. 

Lily claps her hands together in an incredibly teacher-like way. If he didn’t know better, he would have a hard time believing this is the same woman who so aggressively played matchmaker (or maybe she was actually trying to drive them further away from each other; thinking back on it, Sirius can’t actually tell) only a few minutes before. “Well,” she says, addressing the room at large, “who can tell me what a theme is?”

There are a few raised hands, and she calls on the boy just behind Sirius, with chocolate-brown hair and more freckles than he can count. “It’s what the story is about. But like, in an abstract way.”

“Very good.” Lily takes a whiteboard marker out of her jeans pocket. Turning to the board, she draws a T-table, labeling one side theme and the other topic. Under the first heading, she writes abstract, and, across from it, concrete. 

“Theme and topic are often confused, because they’re both what a story is about. But—what’s your name?”

“Benjy. Benjy Fenwick,” says the freckled boy. 

“But Benjy here has hit the nail on the head. The difference between theme and topic is that a theme is abstract—a concept, or an idea, or a feeling—while a topic is concrete—such as a person, place, thing, or event….”

Sirius begins to zone out. Absentmindedly, he grabs a pencil and begins sketching on the smooth, polished wood of his desk. A circle, an oval, a line here and there, some shading—slowly, his doodle begins to take shape. By the time Lily says, “Now, who can give me some examples of a good story theme?” and people start calling out their answers, he’s perfected the glint in his anime-style eye. 

“One last one. How about you, by the back, with the Blue Jays shirt?”

(Of course she’s pretending she doesn’t know his name. Lucky him—he’s always wanted to be demoted back to ‘hey, you.’)

His head jerks up. “Uh, relationships,” he says, because he’s a walking cliche and, yes, of course that’s the only thing on his mind. Why wouldn’t it be?

“There’s an interesting one.” She adds it to the board, right underneath hardship, pressing hard enough that the nib of the pen squeaks. “It could technically be counted as a topic, too, but it works well as a theme.”

There’s a pause as she looks around, seemingly searching for a suitable place to put her pen. Finally, she gives up, tucking it behind her ear. 

“What I want everyone to do now is think carefully about what theme they want to write about. You can pick as many as you want, and you can add more later, but it’s easiest to focus on just two or three. You can pick one of the ones we came up with here, or it can be something totally different, but make sure it’s something that speaks to you.”

Her words resonate in Sirius’s mind. Something that speaks to him? He starts to write, his large printing cramped in the tiny box, and he gets halfway through the second C before he erases it again. He has to think for a minute. He doesn’t want to write about success, not when there’s so little of it in his life right now, but he doesn’t want to write about something dark, like suffering, either.

Loss, he puts down with finality. On second thought, he adds healing. And then, just because he feels like it, friendship. 

The clock on the wall says they have twelve more minutes before they’re finished; he wonders what else they’ll do before the class ends. Right now, the only sound in the room is the quiet scratching of pencils—soothing, he must admit, even though he personally prefers the excitement of applause—and it seems as though he’s the only one who’s finished. 

He lets himself look around, his eyes flickering from the clock to the whiteboard to the person sitting to his left. They dart to the door at the other side of the hall, and forward to where Remus is... staring right back at him. 

The two lock eyes for a good fifteen seconds before Remus lowers his gaze to the floor. It’s not much of a victory, Sirius knows, but it’s a victory nonetheless.

So why doesn’t it feel like one?

There’s not time to burrow any deeper into his own thoughts, however, because Lily is writing once more on the board. Unfortunately for him, he can’t see what she’s written—even when she turns around—because her head is in the way. 

“I assume most of you have your themes, and even if you don’t, you can always come back to it. Right now, we’re going to move onto topic—surprise surprise, also what the story is about, but this time on a more concrete scale. Let’s take Romeo and Juliet, for instance, because I’m fairly sure it’s a story we all know. Does anyone have any idea what the topic is?”

Silence. 

Sirius, usually the self-aware one in any situation (but apparently not this one), knows there are two possible reasons as to why he raises his hand. Unfortunately, he does not know which of them it is. The first is simple—he’s confident has the answer, and he wants to share it. The second is both a little more complex and a little more likely, and that is that he doesn’t know what the answer is and maybe, just maybe, he wants to prove to Remus he’s not afraid to take risks. 

Either way, his tentative “Love?” is declared—spoiler alert—incorrect. 

“Wrong,” Lily says. “Love is a theme, not a topic. Try again.”

Well, he wasn’t expecting a second chance. (It seems he only ever gets them when he’s unprepared.) (Maybe there’s a lesson in that.)

“Um… people in love?” If the first answer wasn’t right, this one won’t be either. He knows that. But it is, frankly, all he can come up with. 

“Ding-a-ling-a-ling,” Lily deadpans, which actually sounds a little funny in that accent of hers. He’s not going to mention that, though, because he’s on pretty thin ice already where she’s concerned. “Correct. Yes, maybe they sound like basically the same thing, but they’re not. The way I like to put it is this: if you can draw a picture of it, chances are it’s the topic. If you can’t, chances are it’s the theme.” After a moment, she adds, “I probably should have said that at the beginning. Whatever.” 

This causes Remus’s lips to twitch up into a smile. In fact, it’s only just now that Sirius realizes he’s watching Remus at all—he could have sworn he stopped—and he forces himself to look away. 

But he really can’t deny it any longer. He really can’t deny that that little smile, happy and pure with just a hint of mischief, still makes his heart pound and his brain turn to mush. He really can’t deny that despite everything—despite the breakup, and the recent confession, and the promises made late at night that he’s getting over this, he really is…

He’s still in desperate, painful, middle-grade YA novel love with Remus/John/does-it-really-matter-what-his-name-is Lupin. 

[dazzlingfantasiesblogs]

Mirror Image P1

Hey all! 

Thought I would drop a story so you all could read something to pass the time! :) 

I also have another Hurricane part coming out too! <3

Dean x Reader (maybe)

Warnings: Mention of blood. 18+. If under 18 you will be blocked. 

Please do not use my work anywhere else.

GIFS ARE NOT MINE

Walking through the bar doors, they slammed against the brick door with force. Setting down the boombox, turning the music to loud grabbing your katana. As Lily Allen “Hard out here” played. Looking the corner of the bar you seen a steel box with two humans in it. Looking closer, you seen it was the famous hunters Dean and Sam Winchester. “Oh, how over rated.” “LETS GO BLOOD SUCKERS” Dean looked through the cage to a woman with short bright blue hair, black handkerchief holding it up. A dark jean jacket, with a black lace bra underneath and ripped jeans. “Who the fuck…?” Dean whispered. Soon four people walked out the back of the bar. Fangs showing, gleaming in the dim lit trash hole that was called a bar. “I suppose I should tell you what this bitch is thinkin If I told you about my sex life youd call me a slut.” 

You sang out looking at the four men racing towards you. “It’s hard out her for a bitch” You sang out slicing the first head, watching the blood spray the wall. The smirk you wore was your greatest asset. Holding your hand up the vampires stopped in their tacks. “Forget your balls and grow a pair of tits” Putting your hand down after the single sentence. “Always trust the injustice because its not going away” After slicing the rest heads off, the bar was covered in blood. The bodies laid limp on the ground. The song stopped and you stretched out. “God damn it Y/N!” Molly walked in the door, a drop of blood falling on her face. “You realize we will have to burn this whole fucking place to the ground?!” She sighed rubbing her temples at her sister. “Was counting on it.” Flicking the lighter open with a clink you walked to the cage. “Oh wow, the big bad Winchesters.” “What in Chucks name are you..?” Raising an eyebrow rolled your eyes. “Human.” Seeing the chain on the box you grabbed your katana. “Stand back…” “That wont cut this thick..” Swiping down the katana broke the steel chain with ease. “Forged by angels.” You spoke, giving off a wink to the taller Winchester. “Than..Thank you. My name is Sam..” He held out his large hand. “Y/N. That over there is Molly. My sister. Hunters.” Dean shoved Sam aside. Sticking out his hand “Dean.” “Ah, the big heroic complex guy. Hey.” Shaking his hand firmly you nodded. “Molly” you waved for her to come over. “Molly” shook both of the mans hands. “Alright, you might want to get out so I can torch this place.”

Sitting on top of your black matte wrangler, you watched the building go up in flames. Looking over you seen Sam and Molly talking, laughing. With a faint smile your eyes turned back to the flames. How you adored the scene of a large fire. “CAS!” Molly yelled running over to the trench coat wearing man. “Hey Molly!” Cas smiled slightly. “Wait.. how do you..?” Cas looked at Dean as he spoke. “Ugh, well.. Um.. Remember when I plucked you from hell Dean? Well.. I plucked her out too.” Dean looked up at you. Your face was stoic, not as playful as before. “You have been to hell?” “Four times. Once for killing an angel that turned bad, the other three for Crowley.” Taking a swig of the whiskey, wiping your mouth. Sam watched the blue haired girl show obvious signs of internal pain. Something about her and her sister was similar to Dean and him. “Where are you guys staying?” “Motel off of 7.” Molly spoke gently, calming Y/N obvious nerves. “So are we..” “Only motel for miles dumbass.” Speaking out loudly. “Oops, was that out loud.” Chuckling to yourself you slid off the wrangler stumbling. Molly looked at Y/N and frowned. “I better get her back before she passes out..” Molly walked over and put her arm under the shorter sister and helped her in the Jeep. “Maybe we will see you around.”

Around 2AM Molly hurd a knock on the solid oak door. She had been awake, writing in her journal. Looking through the peephole, she seen Sam. Opening the door, she let him in. “Hey..” Molly looked at him confused. “Your sister, she is hurting..” Sam mumbled looking at the sprawled out body on one of the beds. Still in her denim jacket and pants. “You don’t know the half of it.” Molly sighed sitting at the bright green lime colored table. “It is funny, I am the eldest. You would think I would be more like her. Yet.. The truth is I was adopted by Y/N Mom. She was a hunter too. A great hunter. There was a haunting at an orphanage. It was terrible.. Long story short.. Y/N mom came in. Y/N at her heels and they saved everyone. Y/N Seen me cornered by the ghost and salt blasted that mother fucker. She grabbed my hand and with a smile saved my life. I can never pay back the life they have given me. Y/N has given me every option to go to college to have a normal life.. I just.. I can’t leave her.” Sam watched the beautiful woman in front of him talk. “I am so unsure why I am telling you this..” “Because I can relate.” Sam spoke with a smile. “However, My family didn’t want me to go..” Molly nodded looking at the man in front of her. “Y/N.. Y/N.. She.. Doesn’t stop. She goes so much. With or without me. She doesn’t stop till she is hurt, or asleep. I have tried to get her to enjoy life, find love.. She won’t..” Sam chuckled a bit at the irony. “Funny, Dean wanted a normal life. Or so he thought. Till he got the chance he couldn’t do it. Where are you two from?” “Ely, Minnesota.” “Lawrence, Kansas.” Sam spoke after.

After a few hours of talking, Molly and Sam got to know a lot about each other. “Want to go get some coffee?” Molly smiled “I would love too.”  they walked out the door, they left it unlocked.

An hour later Dean walked to the room with a wrangler in front of it knocked on the motel door. No answer. With instinct and worried about his brother he opened the door. He looked on the bed to see you still asleep. Stepping on a creaky wood floor board, Y/N Grabbed her gun under her pillow and pointed it at Dean. His hands flew to his glock pointing it at her. “WHAT ARE YOU FUCKING DOING HERE?!” y/n stood up looking at him through her scope. “I AM LOOKING FOR SAM!” “WHERE IS MY SISTER!”  Sam and Molly walked in laughing. “Oh shit!” Sam slid Molly behind him. “WHERE THE FUCK WHERE YOU!?!” Dean and Y/N yelled at the same time. “We went and got coffee..” Sam gazed at Dean to put down his weapon. Lowing your gun you took a deep breath in and out. “Don’t fucking leave without telling us..” Y/N growled annoyed. Holding a hand over her heart. Getting up from the bed, she grabbed some clothes and walked into the shower.

“She doesn’t play around does she?” Dean mumbled drinking his coffee. “She could take you.” Molly said calmly taking a swig of her coffee. Sam snorting a bit, chuckling. “Bull shit.. No girl that is 5’2” is going to take me down.” “Height has nothing to do with it. I am faster than you egghead.” Y/N walked out in her high waisted yoga pants and black tanktop. Her eye makeup dark with a dark ruby lip. Her arms littered in tattoos. “Going for a run..” Molly nodded looking down a bit sadly. Grabbing your head phones you slipped them in your ear and headed out the door.  “Does she always wear makeup when she runs?” Dean asked confused. “Helps her, or so she says..” Molly whispered.

“Run, don’t stop. Seven more miles..” Your mother spoke next to you. The two of your running up a hill that you were sure heaven at to be at the top. Your breathing was heavy, and the sweat dripped down your head. “Mom.. this sucks can we stop?” you spoke in gasps. “NO! Do you think monsters stop?”

 With your headphones in and the music blaring you tried to forget reality. Each bounce of your tennis shoes lifting your feet up, moving forward. Running through the streets of Avon Lake Ohio, you pushed yourself to keep going. Dodging people, pets and cars. People watched as a girl littered in tattoos jogged at full speed. Two hours passed you felt hunger start to consume you.

“She has been gone for awhile, should I go and find her?” Dean asked spinning his cup around. “No, this is normal for her. After a few kills she needs to get rid of the thought. “Could of fooled me, seems like she enjoyed it.” Molly sighed a bit. “Truth is, she does. She is stuck between loving it and hating it. She feel strapped with those feelings. The woman rarely sleeps if she doesn’t drink or take sleeping pills. She can sleep with a guy and kick him out and still not sleep.” “She isn’t getting it good then.” Dean smirked. Sam grabbed a book and chucked it at him.

As you walked in the door you seen a styrofoam box waiting for you on the table. “We picked you up some food.” Dean spoke walking out of your bathroom. “Where is my sister?” your icy eyes staring at his hazel ones. “They went to another coffee shop. They are pretty glued to the hip.”  Sighing annoyed your walked to grab your now cold coffee. “Well at least she can have some fun.” Dean looked her up and down, the sweat dripping from her forehead. Blotchy sweat stained her tank top. “Quit looking at me like I am a meal you pervert. You couldn’t handle this if you fucking tried.” Slapping your hand on his broad shoulder you kept walking towards the bathroom. “You are kind of.. rude aren’t you.?” Dean spoke up, with his lips pursed slightly. “Rude? Why because I am now fawning over the Winchesters? Sorry. The only Winchester I cared about is dead.” Cocking his head slightly to the side he looked over at you. “John.” His name escaped your lips. “He.. He was the reason I killed the thing that took my mom from me. From Molly!” You yelled a little louder than you wanted. Clenching your fists, knowing you were taking it out on his son. The pain of losing your mother. “Y/N.. I.. He never…” “Look at page 168 in his hunters journal.. The special Demon… He.. He helped me figure out how to kill that son of a bitch.” Walking into the bathroom you slammed the door shut. Starting the warm water, the pain and fear that seemed to consume you everyday over flowed. The tears and water from the shower melding together.

Dean skimmed through his fathers journal. “Page 168” Dean started to read over it. This journal entry was a tad longer than the others. “I helped two young women avenge their mother. It was a brutal hunt. I seen the same look in the youngest eyes that I seen in Dean over and over. She would never stop hunting. That much is clear. She constantly paced back and forth reading lore for days trying to find out how to kill this demon. If Dean and her ever met, it would be like looking in the mirror. They would either be the best of friends, or worst of enemies. She kills swiftly, without knowledge of her being there. She took out a vamps nest, without my help. I was captured, she walked in, blood dripping from her sword and a blank expression. She was something to be scared of. After helping escape, I found out she was Mila’s daughter. A fellow hunter that I had done a few trips with. To hear she was dead was a shocker. Y/N moving the same way as her.” Dean took a deep breath. “Special demon..” he whispered to himself. He read on how to kill it. As he kept reading, he learned how brutal the hunt was and how smart Molly was. It was like he was reading about himself and Sam. “Hey we are back.” Dean raised his head from the journal looking at Molly. “Hey guys..” Dean took a deep breath shaking his head. “So you knew our father..” Molly narrowed her eyes on the journal. “Yeah.. he.. he was a great man. When he passed.. I could only imagine how bad it hit you. It hit us as well.” Molly’s voice full of empathy with a caring undertone. “Alright, pack up. We got a hunt to go on.” Y/N spoke walking out in shorts and a sports bra. “Fuck..” Dean mumbled seeing the tattoos that covered her. Sigials, enochian and other tattoos. “You.. you have so many wardings” Sam looked at the wall as he spoke. “Any angel that grabs us gets burned. We can activate it by speaking one word.” Molly nodded pulling up her sleeve showing her arms. “We got a wendigo. Back home.” Y/N spoke coldly as she finished getting dressed. “We can help..” Sam spoke up looking at you once again. “N..” “That would be great!” Molly spoke up smiling. Sliding your hand down your face you shrugged. Molly deserved to be Happy.

Stopping in Saint Paul, Minnesota to eat Y/N got out of her wrangler. Walking ahead of the group to a bar that she often went too when she was headed back to her home city. Opening the steel door, eyes stared at the bright blue haired woman. “Look who it is, the vamp killer!” Gerald hollered from the bar. “Look who it is, the piece of shit that runs this dump!” You smiled a bit walking over to the bar, giving Gerald a kiss on the cheek. Smiling down at you, scooping you into a large hug. “So, a whole vamps nest. Rumor has it you saved…” Gerald watched Molly walk in with he two men he was just about to announce. “Winchester.” Laughing slightly you shrugged. “Molly get your beautiful self over here and give me a hug!” With a smile plastered on her face, she ran jumping over the bar. She gave Gerald a huge hug, receiving a kiss on the top of her head. “Keeping this one out of trouble?” Molly narrowed her eyes towards you. “Trying too, you know how hard it can be.” Dean watched the man behind the bar. He looked oddly familiar. “You knew Bobby..” Dean spoke up staring at the man who was in his late 40s. “Correct. I knew your father pretty well too.” Sam tilted his head slightly. “What are you two doing around my girls?” “Your girls?” Dean asked a bit rough. “Yes, I care for these two. I help them with lore, a hunt. Whatever they may need.” “Gerald. Can I get a shot of whiskey please?” Nodding the man grabbed four glasses with one large ice cube pouring whiskey over it. Grabbing the class you deemed yours, you walked to the pool tables and wracked them up. “So your headed to Ely?” Gerald asked walking over to you concerned. “Yeah.. I am guessing Wendigo..”

[atamascolily]

lily liveblogs “terminator: dark fate”, part four

In which Sarah Connor suffers for the cause in the most ironic way possible.

(one, two, three)

I've already waxed poetic elsewhere about the "My entire body is a weapon"/ "Save it for the ladies" exchange, but let's just say the Rev-9's claim of "Metal hip - two tours in Afghanistan" is a) a great manipulation, and b) might even be true - certainly the part about the metal hip is! And the "thank you for your service," / letting him pass through is just... the irony... I can't even...

(and also, this MAKES SENSE when you realize that Legion was designed to process people and manipulate/control them and THAT'S why he's so good at it).

Sarah Connor gets picked up by a smarmy dude named Officer Rigby. "You belong in your own private cage," he tells her. He's probably going to die soon, and we are not supposed to be sorry about it. (And meanwhile, some random dude yells in the background, "I want to go, too!" No, you don't. Trust me.)

Grace does not believe in bureaucratic bullshit. And she won't accept "detainees" instead of "prisoners". YASS. At least there's fresh meds for her.

Oh! I just realized why she steals the guy's clothes.. it's because nothing else would fit her. It's tough being so tall.

Grace pulls the fire alarm and Sarah recognizes an opening when she sees one and manages to kick Rigby in the groin and take him and both her guards down with both hands in cuffs behind her back. LEGEND. Kyle Reese would be so proud of her, especially since he pulled the same stunt back in T1 in the police station sequence. 

Grace starts opening doors and people rush to get out, oh please let this not be a slaughter.

The dude who was with them (Flacco?) slams the door into the Terminator's face and he gets punched into a wall for his trouble. I hope he survived...

The Rev-9 jumps UP into the rafters, holy shit, and is scrabbling over the metal fence like the Rev-7s in the future scene, and it's so a) predatory and b) so feral and inhuman... and that guard who sassed Dani looks terrified as hell as she faces him down.. and gets slashed for her troubles.

Slaughter ensues, but only people in official uniforms thus far... Every one of them is mobbing the Rev-9 and just getting stabbed.

Oh, good, they found a helicopter. Someone gets punched out the door after them, and you think it's the REv-9 who did it, but it's actually Sarah! YASS. Dani wants to wait for her and Grace wants to get away. Dani doesn't want to leave Sarah (hey, callbacks to earlier!) and jumps out of the helicopter with the gun as the REV-9 runs at her. Dani starts shooting the REV-9 which is very cathartic for her, but Sarah tackles her and pulls her into the helicopter. The REV-9 jumps for it, but misses, and falls the ground and just looks... annoyed despite having no expression whatsoever.

The REV-9's accent with the sheriffs is interesting. There's the same "good ol' boy" attitude as "That's a nice bike" in T2 and the same cut back to our heroes that speaks volumes.

Cut to a forest in Texas. I have no idea if this is botanically accurate or not because I have no experience with Texas flora. But there are pine trees and maple trees, I can tell you that much.

I like how Sarah and Grace are ready to draw when they knock on the door of this ordinary-looking house in the woods, and Dani just looks at them like they're crazy.

Hey, and it's the same music as in the prologue, as Sarah recognizes the Terminator! He says her name and she raises her gun to shoot him except that Grace intervenes and she hits the ceiling.

“My name is Sarah Connor, you killed my son, prepare to die...” No, okay, she doesn’t actually say that, but I’m gonna do it for her.

Sarah stalks off when they won't let her shoot the Terminator. Dani and Grace exchange a look, and Dani goes after Sarah while Grace deals with Carl (his nom de... paix, I guess). They have the ... "So you're a cyborg, too?" talk, which goes about as well as you can expect.

Poor Sarah looks so broken sitting outside alone. Dani uses her people skills to rally her. Sarah's admission that she never took photos of John is a) heartbreaking, and b) good tactics, especially given how previous Terminators used photos, and how the REV-9 uses facial recognition software.

Sarah's sarcasm as she contemplates Carl's family photos is biting and hilarious and poignant especially given what she just said to Dani (and how a photograph was what brought Kyle to her in the first place). MY HEART.

We are meant to parallel Carl's treatment of Alicia and Mateo with Sarah and John, and Sarah and Carl in "Without purpose, we are nothing". The irony that Carl understands Sarah in this way, and that Sarah has been getting her raison d’etre from a Terminator the whole time... way to lay on the pain, writers!

I've heard a lot of critique of this film claiming that Terminators just wouldn't act like Carl, and I think that's not accurate. What exactly do people think a Terminator WOULD do after they finished their mission instad? It's not like Skynet or Legion or whatever gave them any other programming, and we know from T2 they can't self-terminate. So what are they supposed to do, just stand there??

Even though Carl doesn't have his chip removed the way the T-800 in T2 did, Terminators are very accomplished at learning and mimicking humans. They are adaptable. And I think the filmmakers are right that the T-800 would try to find a new mission--paralleling the old one--to give his life purpose. I think this is a very plausible plot device, and also a great opportunity for irony and parallels, which this franchise thrives on and I personally love.

(There's great fic from Carl's POV on A03 by Tyellas that expands on this that I LOVE, so you should all go read it RIGHT NOW.)

I also LOVE the growing parallels not only between Sarah and Carl, but Carl and Grace that the film keeps emphasizing YASSS.

Sarah is NOT PLEASED to learn she's been manipulated the whole time by the robot who killed her son.Understatement of the year. I was wondering when she was going to shoot him!

"Do you believe in fate, Sarah?" OW, MY HEART.

Oh. Interesting. So when Sarah destroyed Skynet, she released Carl from his programming, thus allowing him to learn?? Okay, I'll buy it. Which means that Carl was released at the same time as the other Terminators in all three films (though we get into the simultaneity problem, but that's a headache for another time). It's plausible if I don't think too hard about it, so I'll buy it. I wish people would stop calling plot elements they don't like/agree with "plot holes". That's... not what it means.

[so who is sending the other terminators? Are they from Legion or Skynet? what is their purpose? Since Sarah is a wanted woman in America, it makes sense if she was killing Terminators in Mexico, which makes me wonder if she's been protecting Dani until now???) I have a feeling the film will not answer this question.]

There's a dog curled up at Carl's feet when they cut to the next scene. This is NOT a plot hole, as some people have claimed. This is actually a clue that Carl IS as human as he claims to be... i.e, he seems to have mastered whatever subtle cues that makes the dog recognize him as human, and not a foreign predator. Obviously, YMMV, but I don't see it as a plot hole.

The secret storage armory is de riguer for a Terminator film, but I also enjoy the deadpan social commentary about human barbarism coming from a reformed murderbot. "And also, this is Texas." He's definitely living in the right state for that.

Wow. The training lesson at the shooting range was everything I could have hoped for. I love Sarah's wry smile as the watermelons explode.

OF COURSE SARAH CONNOR "KNOWS A GUY" with an EMP, lol...

Kudos to Carl for getting his family out of the way and for preparing him for this day. But it's clear he won't be back.

... how about that leather jacket and sunglasses? because he's about to start being way less human and way more machine.

oHHHHH he leaves the sunglasses behind, I was NOT expecting that. NICE WORK.

hello rev-9 smashing the family photographs, that's not symbolic of anything at all.

Hey, did they take all the guns with them or is the REv-9 going to use them against their owner?? was leaving the photo of the van on the fridge intentional? Too early to tell! Either way, ironic given Sarah's caution with photos earlier!

Sarah's withering expression as Carl lectures about interior design is GOLDEN.

I now want a road trip movie about this dysfunctional found family. I cannot believe they are only together for less than 24 hours. Thank goodness for fic.

"I don't commit treason for just anybody," is such a great line and one of my favorites in this film.  

Of course the EMP is probably going to disable/take out Carl AND Grace AND the Rev-9 because that's just how this kind of movie works, but there you go.

Sarah telling Carl to shut the fuck up is GOLDEN, they work so well together. Mommy and Daddy, indeed.

AHHH, the major bringing them the EMP on the sly gets shot. It's tough being a minor character in these films. Dani pulls him into the van but I can't help but notice in that position he's a human shield.

Okay, so leaving photos on the fridge was NOT intentional... maybe Sarah should have had an op-sec chat with Carl about that??

Oh, hey, the flesh-like bit of the REV-9 jumped out of the copter while the chassis keeps flying. That's a neat trick. And the moment where the fleshy bit jumps in and they merge is always cool.

Okay, so they're going to the air base. I guess another fight is in order. Ah, this is where the planes are coming in. Apparently, Grace is piloting. That answers my question from the trailer.

They just run the van right up the ramp and the Major is there to take awkward questions. "District contractors" indeed. I hope he'll survive this movie, but I have my doubts. Oh, he's not going with them - I don't know if that increases his chances or not. WHAT THE HELL KIND OF RELATIONSHIP DO HE AND SARAH HAVE ANYWAY??

They didn't bother to close up the back before taking off??? Wow. Okay, I guess that works...

Carl uses himself as a shield for Sarah, which just makes her mad...

The Rev-9 flips out of the burning helicopter onto the ramp, and Carl just takes him down and shoots him. It doesn't take, but it's pretty glorious. SARAH AND DANI ROLL THE VAN OVER HIM OH MY GOD.

Needless to say, I'm pretty sure the Rev-9 will be back... in an EVEN BIGGER PLANE.

Oh, so the EMP is dead...? Maybe they can improvise something.

Flasback! Dani beats the punks that are harassing Grace and talks the last guy into not shooting her because "this is what Legion wants us to do". FUCK YEAH.

"FUCK FATE" is basically the motto of this series (and a slightly more concise, if vulgar, reframing of "no fate but what we make for ourselves" or "no fate" in T2).

OH MY GOD THAT LOOK ON FUTURE!DANI'S FACE WHEN SHE RECOGNIZES GRACE...

"You are the future" - okay, this is very moving and dramatic, but I feel like Grace should have mentioned this back on the TRAIN why the fuck did she wait this long.

"You're John..." Sarah gasps... and just adopted a kid. CHARACTER DEVELOPMENT, Y'ALL. Carl was right, she needs a purpose or else she’s just going to self-destruct.

YESSSSS, I love it when movies answer my questions: apparently future!Dani told Grace not to mention it earlier, because younger!Dani wouldn't be able to handle it. Ah, the ouroboros of causality... I'll buy it, but I still think the film would have been stronger if they had had this conversation earlier on the train.

plane vs. plane hijinks ensue. Grace puts the ship on autopilot so she can actually do stuff. There's a lot of flailing as the ship starts to explode. The REv-9 climbs aboard and uses his oozy bits to rip all the flesh off Carl's hand. There's a humvee with a parachute, but the way the scene is laid out, it's kinda convolunted, but okay.. ... They bust the door open so the humvee can drop out. Carl pins the chassis to the plane but the oozy bits escape and go running free towards them. The plane explodes seconds after the humvee pulls free and parachutes to the ground.... okay.

Sarah Connor's "Aw, fuck," as they land on the hydroelectric dam is GOLDEN.

[fordarkisthesuede]

The Tolls of Justice - Chapter 5

It's morning brunchtime in Atlanta, and I'm servin' up a big ol’ stack of Johnny cakes with a juice reduction on the side. B)

IMPORTANT SPOILER TAGS: past mention of abuse, mental illness, gun violence, bonding over trauma

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Read on AO3 or continue below:

[Chapter 5:  The Wheel Still Turns on the Upturned Chariot]

John was quite used to keeping an eye and an ear out for everything. Arkham had its share of nasty surprises in all its forms, and it paid to be well-prepared for anyone rounding the corner or prying their eyes into what they shouldn’t see.

It took him one week to learn St. Dymphna’s camera patterns. Two to learn the normal guard rotation. One-and-a-half to learn the layout.

He was not used to the impromptu schedules they seemed to make for him, however. It was like his doctor saw some psychologist’s note about how repeated structured tasks was supposed to help affirm that the patient’s reality was indeed everyone else’s reality, scratched it out with pen, tore it out of the book, and tossed it out of the window straight into the industrial-size shredder while they knocked back a beer.

Yesterday was supposed to be the day. Instead he was suddenly forced to see - more like wait around for - his Parole Officer and assigned social worker. Apparently he could not get away with saying he was adjusting fine - both of them grilled him so much after the hour of waiting a piece that he felt like he’d been seared to a fine medium-rare.

As much as it infuriated him and made him want to just grab them both by the collars to make it very clear he was ‘okay’, he’d barely hung on. He’d had to clench his toes as much as possible and try to channel Bruce’s enviable ability to keep calm under pressure as he actively stopped himself from clenching his teeth or saying something he’d regret. He knew - knew - a lifetime in Arkham and a small obituary list on his record would always make people question his intentions and sanity, but it didn’t make them any less annoying, and it didn’t do that...other part of him any favors.

It might have been tamer now, but it was still there, and with every new tightly-wound ball of aggravation it was fed he could feel it start to pace. It seemed to take more and more calm-time to get it to stop lately… Heck, he could feel it now, still but almost pressed against the inside of its cage like it was waiting for something to come close enough.

But he would have to deal with it later. Today was the day. He’d had to adjust his schedule, had to account for a few extra things, but here, in the early evening before the sun completely set and Officer Kane was busy doing his ‘personal call’ to the on-duty nurse downstairs, John could make his move.

He watched the camera in the hall as he counted by tapping his fingers against his thigh. It would turn the other way - indicated by the slight shift in the lens’ focus if he could see it - in twenty seconds. He was wedged tight in the corner underneath it, having slid there and made a show of opening and closing the door so it looked like someone had gone inside.

The felt the familiar anxious thrill in his legs and sides of his head, just like when he was sneaking around Arkham. It was brighter in St. Dymphna, and had less places to hide, but at least if he got caught John wouldn’t be thrown in the hole.

Of course, they could throw him back. They could lock him up and refuse to house him again later. They could-

John shook his head. He didn’t have time to be paranoid.  

This was the time for action! For suspense! For catchy secret agent music!

He’d tapped to twenty, and the Secret Agent Man theme started to cycle in his head; he side-stepped carefully against the wall, just to make sure the camera couldn’t see him for the few steps it took to be out of the watchful eye’s range.

He walked on the sides of his feet rather than his heels, reducing the inevitable noise on the not-that-clean tile floor, and made for his target - the door halfway down the hall with the plate that read Officer Hank Kane, Parole.

John didn’t have long. Thankfully his office didn’t need any RFID card or fingerprint or anything like the more dangerous rooms in the place. Just a plain, old-fashioned lock.

And John had an old-fashioned method for unlocking.

Secret - aaagent maan, Secret - aaagent maan! He hummed to himself, sliding the lost-and-found credit card he’d been carrying around for a while into the gap between the door and the frame, and carefully angling it to wedge in-between the lock mechanism and begin to pry, bending the card out of shape. They’ve given you a number, he continued, wiggling the card’s edge into what should be the right angle and pushing, And taken away your naaame!

He pushed hard, and he twisted the knob at the same time as his finished the chorus - click.

John ducked inside the dim office and almost slammed the door shut just in time. The camera switched positions every thirty seconds - two more and he’d have to walk away like he wasn’t trying to break into the place and wait some more.

The place was just like it was yesterday, and couple have almost doubled as the Arkham Warden’s private office:  a couple of slightly-peeling filing cabinets that held useless documents John didn’t need; a bookcase with a couple of ‘law’ books and far too much football paraphernalia for the Gotham Rogues alongside several pictures of the guy’s wife and kids; a pair of wooden chairs that John swore were deliberately designed to be uncomfortable; and a boring desk with the same thin-client PC and sleek monitor as everyone else had, and yet two more family pictures, one of which had a King Charles spaniel John wanted to kidnap on principle of it being way too cute.

The tune kept playing in the background of his thoughts as he took a seat in the much-more-comfortable office chair. He made sure not to touch the arms.

Password-locked. Just as he’d thought.

John had watched very carefully as Hank typed away yesterday. It was something clearly easy for the guy to remember, because unlike some of the doctors and other staff, he didn’t dawdle over the keys or tap them lightly as they waited for their hippocampus’ reflex to kick in. He’d done the same motions several times during his last visit, which likely meant he used the same password for everything. (Dr. Song seemed to use various complex ones, if her odd typing methods were anything to go by.)

Which was good news for John, because he wasn’t sure what the password was.

He had some good guesses. It was something easy to remember, so something somewhat personal with a series of numbers at the end…so an anniversary of something was pretty likely.

John had remembered the areas of the keyboard Hank had used:   somewhere between one and four and eight and the dash sign on the top row; he’d had to use one finger to hold down the shift key for letter on the upper left, clearly not excelling at touch-typing; he was sure he hadn’t used the space or bottom row of letters, too. He had three tries to get it right before the account would get locked.

He took a moment to think.

Two distinct things in the guy’s otherwise very boring life was his family and football.

John knew the tricks to get into people’s protected FriendBook pages; he could try the anniversary of his marriage or birth of his kids, saved in a note on his phone.

Or he could look up the year the Gotham Rogues won last; it was before his time, he knew, because people wouldn’t stop hoping they’d go all the way every damn year.

Orrrr…

John flipped the keyboard over halfway with his palms. No sticky note there, unfortunately. He supposed he could poke around the desk a little more on the off-chance the guy had left it lying around carelessly like Bruce did with cash, but he was on limited time. He could risk looking and get his fingerprints all over the place, but why bother when he could just try to look it up?

Hm. Family, football, family, football…

John eyed the desk. The picture of the dog might as well have been taken by a professional photographer – it was all alone, as happy as could be, beaming up at the camera in a showy grassy yard with the perfect angle. The family portrait was a typical family photo with all the taste of Wonder Bread.

It was probably the dog, plus either the year it was adopted or the current one.

John mapped it out mentally on the keyboard. Woofles2019 seemed to fit pretty well with the pattern he remembered. It was worth a shot.

He put it in, waiting for the little wheel to finish spinning and give the ‘incorrect password’ message.

There was a soft da-ding, and John was looking right at the same outline of St. Dymphna holding the white lily to her chest that functioned as the clinic’s logo.

“Sheesh, why not just use password while you’re at it?” He snorted to himself.

John didn’t have too much time. He continued humming his little theme to himself to help count off.

He recognized the same enormous register of criminals that Bruce had access to back at the Batcave just sitting on the desktop. John was pretty sure Ian ‘Nito’ had done time for something, likely a drug habit if he’d left the facility after only a week.

At least it was a web-based registry rather than a whole program, so John could easily just delete the history there afterwards as long as he had the time. Well, if it would load fast enough…

John tapped his fingers on the mouse button gently, still keeping the rhythm as the page took it’s time to load. He wondered if Bruce ever had to deal with dumb inconveniences like this before he’d got the super-computer installed. There seemed be a few dozen guys (and non-guys, possibly) named Ian. A quick sort by crime, and the more timely Ian arrested that jumped out to John was Ian Coggs.

There was no ‘Ian Nito’ on file, but ‘Ian Coggs’ made John think of the word in-cog-nito.

It made John chuckle to himself. It was definitely the sort of thing John would do, if he were giving an alias with his own name. Well, if he could make a decent play on ‘John’ anyway. And he had decent makeup to cover his white-and-green tones.

The arrest photo taken several months ago was definitely the ‘Mr. Nito’ that John had seen, only the boring t-shirt Ian was wearing was covering up the tattoos more.

Ian Coggs, arrested for driving under the influence and possession of heroin. Notes included he had traces in his car indicating he might have had the intent to sell, but the charge didn’t stick, as there was no mass quantities in Ian’s car or apartment. He seemed to have served a short sentence and was ordered to check into a clinic.

Hmm… John took a picture of the screen with his phone, making sure to capture the last known address as clearly as possible.

John thought for a second – he could look up Ian’s patient file, too, now that he knew Ian’s full name. It was probably somewhere in some kind of share-drive.

The screen flickered, and a pop up informed him that the operating system was not licensed and please license it, would you? John rolled his eyes – a common issue with those sorts of old OS sitting on the network’s virtual machines. It was wonder they didn’t upgrade yet. The thing was practically a dinosaur.

He ignored it and did a quick search in the X-drive-marks-the-spot had Ian Coggs’ old data just sitting in a folder with his name on it. No handy doctor notes, of course, but there was a discharge form.

John skimmed it, interrupting his little background-tune with an intrigued hum. “Looks like Ian was moving to Bludhaven…”

He’d have to look up the new address later…

John was running out of time. He very quickly wiped away the last few bits of internet history on Hank’s machine and went back towards the door, counting the last couple of beats on his thigh. Three, two…

On one, John again became the ghost of Arkham’s hallways, silent and swift, leaving his tampering unnoticed as he closed the door behind him as softly as can be. Another successful heist on his mental tally; Arkham three, John…

He found himself stopping.

I’m not at Arkham anymore, he thought to himself. He blinked, staring straight down the hall.

Right. Right, it just…looked like the repainted Arkham, sometimes. Sneaking around like this just reminded him of it. That was all.

He resumed walking, clenching his hands and releasing them. He wished he had something else to touch for a bit. Just to make sure.

He reached the stairwell. He needed to get to the library on the second floor. It was open until lights-out at eleven and it was the best place he could get some privacy and a decent phone signal.

It was a short walk to the small room that smelt of overly stale cigarettes and books, with a hint of wood-polish underneath.

St. Dymphna wasn’t new. Arkham wasn’t either, not by a longshot, but at least it had a sizable selection in comparison, even if the tall metal bookcases were all kinds of dangerous. St. Dymphna had short cases, all in soft wood so no one would hurt themselves, all in a room about the size of Bruce’s master-bed-and-bath, half of which was occupied by un-squeaky tables and hushed conversations.

He casually weaseled his way towards the little stacks, pretending he belonged there as much as anyone else, and had a peek at his phone.

Four full bars – the best signal he could get.

Too bad his battery was at twelve percent.

John frowned down at the device, half wanting to break it on principle of it not behaving. He’d charged it just yesterday!

“Old fashioned way it is,” he muttered to himself.

Thankfully the reference section was always deserted. John knelt down and skimmed over the few little books of Gotham history – including one on crime statistics that probably should not be accessible to patients – and snatched the guide-to-the-state map book, feeling the weight and laminated paper cover in his hands.

John thumbed through the soft pages by flicking them like a deck of cards, and stopped right at Gotham.

He’d seen this same map before, years ago, when he was a very bored Arkham newbie who still didn’t know what Gotham was. It was a shiny thing, at the time, a beacon of freedom and mystery, a break from the madness and rust and rot of Arkham. It didn’t take long into cycling through the numerous news segments and headlines for John to realize it was a city with a criminal underbelly so obese that it was a wonder anyone could still be considered an honest citizen. It was fascinating, really, to go back as far as possible and learn just who and what had led to the then-current state of things. The power imbalances and shuffles of gangs, the creative ways people wanted to hurt each other, the things people did just to survive another day… He had hours of fun picking apart the reasoning and motives and predicting outcomes. It was a good thing to delve into when he was stuck without entertainment, which was often on his bad days.

John pulled out his phone and opened the picture he’d taken of Ian’s arrest entry:  his old place was at 511 N. Blade Street, Apt. 1005.

He traced his finger around, and North Blade Street was deep in what everyone referred to as “the Cauldron”, and naturally above South Blade Street. What highly appropriate name for roads; the Cauldron was a hotspot for the more basic criminal activities and lower gangs.

Kind of far to travel to get to the humble area of the Eastern Docks, but that was only if he still lived there. He probably did, if he was hanging around town, even if it was just temporarily. He wouldn’t put it past him to just muscle his way back in, either.

He flipped to the Bludhaven page. Ian supposedly moved to 900 Wanda Way.

Wanda Way was tucked into a tiny corner, off another road, but… There was no nine-hundred address. Wanda Way had addresses in the four-hundreds.

A four and a nine were easy to misinterpret if not written clearly, and the forms were filled out by hand and stamped by an authority figure before being scanned-and-typed in… The only question was, was it done on purpose?

Wanda Way sounded too much like “wander away”, and clearly the guy liked puns on his name, so John had the feeling he’d chosen whatever place was there just to throw everyone off.

The guy was clearly smarter than he looked…

John hummed. Now he just had to get someone to look at Ian’s old place and shake him down.

“Hey, clown,” someone said quietly, poking him in the back of the head.

John felt a surge of annoyance quick-boil his blood. Couldn’t they see he was busy? He wanted to throw the map book at the offender and start teaching them some manners.

But he grit his teeth and clenched the map a little too hard instead, blinking hard once to help push the urge away. It was still there, but he couldn’t let it out. “What?” He growled, turning around.

Mickey stood there, somewhat bewildered by…well, maybe he was actually seeing the roiling violent urge in John’s eyes. Mickey almost looked sheepish, suddenly, drawing the offending hand he’d poked John’s head with to tuck under his arms lying on the shelf. “Just tryin’ to get your attention,” he muttered, staring at him somewhat innocently with his chestnut brown eyes.

John had softened somewhat, seeing as it was only Mickey and not some new asshole trying to pick a fight. “You could always try saying my name, next time, Mick’.”

“I tried twice. You didn’t answer.”

“Third time’s the charm,” John shrugged with a little titter. “Sorry,” he added, not feeling it at all, “I just tend to get absorbed in things. What ‘cha need from little ol’ me, Mick’?”

“Just wanted to know what you were doing,” he mumbled, not looking at him.

What a terrible liar. He probably got caught with his hand in the cookie jar somewhere and wanted escape. “Miiick’, what did you dooo?” He teased, putting a hand on his hip like he was a disappointed parent.

“I didn’t do anything.”

“Mm-hm. Let me guess – you said something a little too bold to someone and now they’re trying to find you.”

Mickey might as well have been sweating bullets as he turned his head to look around. “Maybe.”

John chuckled. “Who did you piss off? ‘Firecracker’ Fred? Abdul? Abdul looks like he could fight well… Ooh, was it Harper?”

“No, none o’ them.” Mickey turned back, glancing back at the front door, and suddenly ducked to the ground like he’d been shot. John heard him crawling on the floor around the case, and John could barely contain his curiosity, so he poked his head up above the shelf to see who had entered.

It was another one of the handful of women staying at the place, scanning the room with a hoity-toity sort of anger. Karen McCarthy - addicted to miscellaneous pills, wine, and pretending she was better than everyone else. John had all of two interactions with her, and disliked both of them.

“Don’t let her see me,” Mickey pleaded from the floor. John sank back down and tried to read Mickey’s face. Why on Earth was he scared of a woman less than half his weight class? Mickey grabbed onto his arm, begging like his life was on the line.

John knew that look. He’d seen it for years in Arkham - Mickey was scared out of his mind. “What did you do?” John whispered. Mickey was friendly with Devi, and seemed to keep his hands to himself. But that didn’t mean he was innocent.

“I just said that her art needed work,” he answered, his voice starting to waver. “She just…flipped out.” Mickey breathing awkwardly. “She just started yellin’, and…” His naturally tanned skin was paling more, shaken by the thought of it. “Don’t tell her I’m here. Please. ”

John didn’t have to. Hell, he could fake it and just let Karen look around all day long as Mickey found new, more entertaining places to hide.

But Mickey was clearly rattled. He hated loud noises and seemed to put up a tough-guy front with everyone. The fact that he was so scared of a middle-aged woman yelling at him that he ran away to hide suggested he might have a trauma surrounding such a thing.

If their situations were reversed, there wouldn’t be any promise of an eventual life with Bruce that would hold John back if Mickey let him be forced to confront his own traumatic experiences again.

Besides, saving him was the hero thing to do. And John could never be Bruce – not exactly – but somehow John was his hero, and who was he to let Bruce down?

“Go a few rows down and duck close to the stack,” John advised quietly. “I’ll take care of it.”

Mickey looked a little more confident as he gave a stiff nod and snuck away.

John put the map book back casually and stood, stretching his arms and craning his back like he’d been there for a while. Making himself as obvious as possible.

Sure as Batman stalked the night, John only had to turn like he was going to leave when he found Karen in his personal space, her beady eyes narrowed in determined dislike. “Where’s Mickey?” She asked, her French-tipped index finger pointing at his chin. “You know where he is?”

“Y’know, the first question really drove the point home, Karen. There’s no need to ask twice.”

Karen was trying to stand tall. Sort of hard, since she was almost two whole heads shorter than him. “Don’t get smart with me, John. Have you seen him or not?”

John gave a dramatic laugh, like he actually found the idea funny. (It helped that she was trying so hard to be fierce when John had faced the scariest people imaginable on a nearly daily basis.) It seemed to get her attention; her shrewd eyes were watching him carefully and she looked a little confused. “In here? You’re kidding, right?”

“Why would I be?” She asked haughtily, clearly thinking he was insulting her.

“The guy can barely read a street sign! He’s so macho-illiterate I doubt he knows what a library even is,” John lied, thinking back to one of the more feral inhabitants at Arkham. Karen didn’t have to know he was talking about a different guy. “He’s probably hiding out in the men’s room by the fitness joing. It’s closer to home and he’ll think you won’t have the nerve to go in there.”

Karen clicked her tongue and looked even fiercer. “Oh, I won’t have to go in to give him a piece of my mind…”

Not that you have much to work with, John thought with all the bitterness he was brewing away inside.

“Thanks,” she said dismissively as she stormed away on her pointless little mission.

“No problem,” John said with a cheerful little wave, “you stupid jerk,” he added quietly, unable to hold it in. He didn’t care if she heard or not, but they were in a library, and raising his voice any more than he already did would be rude.

Once the offending lady was gone, John strolled over to Mickey’s hiding place, finding him with his arms around his knees. “She’s gone,” he said simply. Mickey was not standing to leave. He was staring at the shelves across from him with the same sort of vacant stare that John instantly recognized as dissociative. It wouldn’t be good to just leave him there. He knelt down and waved his hand in front of his eyes. “You home in there?”

“Huh?” Mickey came back to reality. “Sorry. I…” He clammed up for a moment. “I’m not good with women.”

“Ha! You and me both, Mick’,” John joked, nudging him slightly. “You get along with Devi just fine, though.”

“She’s different,” he muttered. “She’s not like…that.”

Talk about vague. Still, if John had any guess he’d bet on… “Abusive?”

Mickey drew in on himself a little. “Yeah. She’s calm. Doesn’t yell. Doesn’t belittle anyone. Doesn’t laugh at people for nothin’.”

Ah. That explained a few things. “Sheesh, I’m two out of three, there. It’s a wonder you talk to me.”

Mickey stared at him firmly. “You’re different, too,” he stated. “And you’ve been there.”

John was perplexed, for once. He hadn’t mentioned anything of his relationship with Harley to anyone, much less in a place Mickey could’ve heard.

“I keep thinkin’ I’ll wake up and be back there,” he explained, running a hand through his short crew-cut and staring at his worn tennis shoes. “In that house. Like nothing changed…”

Ohh, that’s what he’d meant when he said he ‘got’ why John didn’t want to go back to Arkham. Mickey had lived in an abusive place he was forced to call home for a long time.

John wasn’t going to pry further. He didn’t need to. Mickey had finally cracked open like the other eggs at Arkham, and John could see the yolk swimming in its translucent goo.

Mickey was clearly thinking about that trauma now, seeing as how it was at the forefront of everything. It’s wouldn’t be very good of John to leave him on his own now, even if Karen didn’t come back.

But could he risk letting Mickey in on the big mystery? Mickey wasn’t the brightest crayon in the box, but he paid attention enough. A different point of view wouldn’t hurt, either.

“Well sitting there thinking about it all night’s not going to do you any favors,” John said with a nudge on his shoulder. “Trust me, every doc’ I’ve ever had tells me that! Ha ha!” Dial it back; that was too light-hearted. “I know something that will get your mind off it - always works for me, anyway: puzzles. And I’ve got one upstairs I could use some help on.”

“…okay.” Mickey stood by himself, clearly intent on leaving now. “I’ll get Devi, too.”

“The more, the merrier,” John shrugged. “Don’t wait up, I’ve got to make a call first.”

Mickey blinked, apparently examining him for any trace of a lie, and seemed satisfied. “Thanks, John.”

Finally, some decent recognition. “You’re welcome.”

Mickey stuck his hands in his hoodie’s pockets and walked away without another word or gesture that would indicate he had anything else to say.

So John did what he came there to do:  he pretended to be looking for something in the back rows until he seemed settled on something, and sank to the floor with his phone out.

He had to share his findings with Bruce. He couldn’t keep the knowledge of Ian Coggs’ name to himself for another day – he needed more information, but Bruce needed it even more, and surely he’d be ever-so-grateful that John had tossed a nice bundle of intel’ his way that Bruce would heap some praise onto him in beautiful voice of his.

John stared at his last message from Batman’s number.

Checking out Sionis’ place. Wish me luck.

John, of course, had wished him the best luck accompanied by ten heart emoticons. But that was last night, and there was no news on Roman Sionis suddenly being arrested or disappearing or anything like that today. So more than likely, Bruce was still looking for him...

He scrolled up a little. Apparently the guy whose charge-card was used to book the hotel room from the latest serial murder was claiming it was fraudulent charges. Naturally.

John looked at his contact list anyway. Calling Bruce on the job via his cell might interrupt him. He could try the ‘office’ - aka the Batcave - and see if he could catch him early and get him to do a tiny little search.

But he also didn’t want to bother him too much. Bruce had his plate piled high like he had the last clean one at a crowded buffet.

He could call Tiffany. She might be mad at Bruce - and somewhat rightfully so - but it didn’t mean she wouldn’t cooperate if he dangled the right bait.

Not to mention, Tiffany was less likely to be busy. He doubted they made up yet, so she probably wasn’t at the cave. He chose her cell, deciding that if she didn’t pick up, he’d try the cave next.

One...two… John gave a low little whistle as it continued to ring, the little theme song cycling back around again. Five...six…

Rustle, rustle. “...hello?”

“Hi-ya, Tiff’,” he greeted, listening for anything in the background to give away where she was, “What’cha doin’?”

“Well I was eating,” she answered somewhat grumpily, sounding like she had her mouth half-full. “You better have something good to interrupt my biryani.”

He could hear a slight hum, like a high-powered fan on a computer. There was no echo - she wasn’t in the cave. Likely at home. (Didn’t Bruce mention her sharing an apartment?) “Can you do me a teeensy favor?”

“What kind?” It wasn’t dismissive, but it wasn’t curious enough. Still, he could run with it.

“The firewall-breaching and record-lookup kind. I’d do it, but I don’t have the skills to break into records on a cell.” He tapped on his knee, choosing his next words carefully. “Which is why I’m asking you - you could break into BlackGate’s network with a screwdriver and one of those vendor-locked phones for kids.”

“I’ll have to add that to my bucket list,” she joked. A good sign. “What are you trying to break into?”

“Whatever’s at 400 Wanda Way in Bludhaven.”

Click-click-clack. “Haven’s Helping Hand?”

“Ooh-hoo, sounds legit.” Which meant Ian picked the place. He probably never set foot in it, but it was worth a look just to make sure.

“...so, what’s this for? You got a lead on our Chandis killer?”

“I wish,” John huffed, “but it is related to it. Our resident flying mammal is running around looking for B.M. and his lackeys and hasn’t had any luck; I think I’ve found one of them.”

“What makes you so sure?”

“Well, since my friends here are working at places our main baddie has his sticky fingers in, I don’t think it’s a coincidence that mine was recently visited by someone who clearly takes orders from a boss; especially when I’m right down the street from the other little practices.”

“Wait, how’d you know Black Mask is involved with-?”

“Long story,” John interrupted casually, not wanting to delve into that, “Anyway, I also know the guy last lived at apartment 1105 at 511 North Blade Street. Since he’s definitely in Gotham there’s a chance he’d return to his old place.”

“Could be worth a look. Got a name?”

He couldn’t resist a good setup like that. “Why Tiff’, you know I’m called John,” he joked, giggling a little at how she must be pulling that annoyed face.

“...keep going like that and I’ll hang up on you.” She didn’t sound like she really meant it. John ticked off that little checkbox in his head.

“Okay, okay, sorry. It’s Ian Coggs - two ‘g’s.”

A bit of silence followed. John waited patiently, drumming his leg in the same rhythm as the old spy-show tune in his head.

“I’m surprised you’re not running to Bruce with this,” Tiffany mentioned.

“What, he’s not still out chasing the golden goose on top of our other two murderers’ shadows?” Of course he was. John felt it in his gut; Bruce was looking for anything, any shadow, any miniscule thing that might be a break.

“...probably.” It wasn’t quite a scoff - he could practically see her shrugging along like she was pretending very hard not to care.

“Besides, why wouldn’t I tell you? You were part of the team before me,” he said slyly.

Tiffany gave a little sputtering noise. “Doesn’t feel like it. If we swapped places, he’d let you do almost anything.”

That was a little true, but he wasn’t about to say that. He had the perfect opportunity sitting there and he wasn’t going to let it go. “Nah, he wouldn’t,” John answered, knowing there were several things he would absolutely not be allowed to do, “I mean, I might be ‘the adult’ but you’ve got more in the training department. And a better head on your shoulders; mine’s factory defective,” he finished with a giggle at his own joke.

She gave a sort of humph that he took to mean she was mildly amused. Bruce had done the same thing sometimes, with that little upturn in the corner of his lips. John wondered if it was something Tiffany had picked up from being around Bruce so often.

“Of course, you could always prove it to him,” John continued smoothly, pretending to be thinking it over, “If our guy coughs up enough, you’d practically be delivering B.M. on a silver platter.”

She was quiet; she was thinking it over. “You work near the docks; if he’s still in the Cauldron, it’d be a heck of a commute for him.”

“Hey, when the boss calls, you go anywhere.”

“True… I think it’s worth checking out.” John grinned and pumped his fist in triumph, tapping the floor with his shoes as much as he dared. Mission accomplished - he’d pulled the right strings, and now Tiffany was going to search the place for him! “Haven’s almost done cracking.”

John heard an annoying beep in his ear, souring his good mood a little; he pulled away, and sure enough the battery was at seven percent. “Hey, Tiff’, my battery’s dying and I get a pretty shitty signal everywhere else; you’ll have to text me what you find.”

“...it’s St. Dymphna, right? Which room are you in?”

Well, he didn’t expect that as a response. “Um, 308.”

“When’s lock-down?”

“Eleven...” He was pretty sure he knew what she was getting at. “There’s no fire escape or anything for you to land on, though.”

“But your window opens?”

“Yeah, a little...”

“Then it’s no problem. I can swing by in about an hour, hour and a half. I’ll be patrolling around there later anyway.”

“Well, uh, if that works for you…” He grinned to himself; a personal report, too? That could only mean he was growing on her, which meant more information on the goings-on, a happier Bruce, and one less stressful relationship for John to mull over.

Of course, she might just want to make sure he was behaving. Or seeing if she could gather any indication as to what he’d been up to and try to analyze him as much as he did everyone else… John shook the thought. Tiffany was a smart cookie, but she wasn’t on Iman or Bruce’s level of psychoanalysis. Even if she was trying to gather personal info’ on him, she wouldn’t know exactly what went on his head.

“See ya later, then, Tiff’,” he said simply, before remembering that Tiffany did not wear the same sort of armor that Bruce did, “And be careful; the guy packs heat on his right hip.”

“Thanks. Later.”

John hung up, feeling a sort of smug satisfaction. He’d be one step closer to delivering Black Mask to Batman’s doorstep and getting Dymphna cleared of any exploitive activity. And Black Mask himself would shed some light on whoever was pissed at him, solving the other puzzle that nagged at John’s already-messy mind.

Though, speaking of Dymphna and puzzles… John supposed it was time to get some other input.

*~*~*~*~*

“Look, it can’t be either of them, either,” John stressed, pointing to the map of Gotham he’d printed out a week ago on his wall, “Falcone’s dead, and when Maroni got shuffled off to the big house, half the city’s territory – these yellow flags – went up for grabs while their leftovers played follow-the-leader with a bunch of headless-”

“John,” Mickey interrupted, staring at him from John’s chair in the corner, “You’re doing it again.”

Devi flicked her butterfly knife open and closed from her spot on the floor, where she was sitting on several pillows she’d brought from her room. John likened it to chewing gum; just a little something to do to pass time. “He’s trying to say Macaroni and Fal-cone’s old running crews split up into their own groups, Mick’.”

“Then he should just say it,” Mickey muttered, crossing his arms and looking at his feet with an embarrassed scowl.

John resisted the urge to rub the bridge of his nose. “Devi, it’s Ma-roni.”

“I know what I said,” she smirked, flicking the knife open and closed again. “I like him better as a noodle.”

It was funny enough to make John chuckle, but it didn’t cool his temper. John was clearly not meant to be a teacher with how frustrated he was already getting. He didn’t know how Bruce had the patience for it. “Still. They’d normally be good contenders, but their groups are usually the kind to just get reabsorbed into other gangs, and our guy Black Mask-”

“Roman Sionis,” Devi stated, gesturing to the piece of paper John had taped up to the wall.

“- yes, him – likely picked most of the mafia’s less-loyal stragglers up. He’d provide the structure the need.” John circled the little areas he knew the loyalist parts were active in. “The ones who didn’t are a lot smaller in number now, probably still hovering around these little parts they used to haunt.”

“So what does this have to do with the ship?” Mickey asked, trying to follow John’s map marks. “You said that was Roman’s territory now.”

“That’s my point,” John huffed, deciding it was better to try and walk the annoyance out rather than say something he’d regret, “He’s got all this territory,” he gestured to the map as he made strides to their side of the room, “all these people under him, so why kill the informant? Why leave the drugs behind and make it so obvious that it was a hit when they could’ve just stolen the ship?”

“Woah, back up a sec’, hon’,” Devi interjected, leaning forward like she was interested. “You didn’t say anything about an informant.”

He didn’t? He could have sworn… Well, it didn’t matter. He’d explain it. “Ok, so – there’s five guys in the warehouse, right?” John held up his hand to gesture along, glimpsing the green nail polish still there. “Main guy, subordinate, two guards, and Muddy. Their van explodes – from the inside – and they all race out the one door with whatever firearms they have so they can escape. The shooter snipes the guards first, then the subordinate, but the de-facto leader gets the farthest away – the shooter had to get him in the leg first,” John emphasized with a gun motion at an invisible target’s leg, “then the chest. Muddy should’ve been out before the leader, but he’s captured instead.”

“So…Muddy planted the bomb?” Mickey asked.

“Yes!” John pointed at Mickey. “Exactly! He planted the bomb, he knew to leave last so he wouldn’t get shot up like the rest, and he knew when the ship was coming in!” He paced to them, thinking. “But that’s what I don’t get – if they had a guy on the inside high up enough on the chain that he was trusted with receiving that large a package, why did they kill him? Muddy could’ve provided all kinds of information in the long run - why rely on him for this one thing when he could’ve been their main plant in the whole operation? They could’ve found the Volto and Bauta heads and taken control of the area!” He smacked the map on the wall briefly, continuing to pace as his mind churned out everything he’d been mulling over. “And even if they were done with him, why not just leave him there with the rest?!”

Devi snapped her knife closed. “John-”

“Why make it an execution?! Why give him a gangster’s death twice?!”

“John.”

“And if it was all just revenge, why didn’t they wait until they could meet Black Mask personally to kill him, too?! Hell, blow his whole house up sky-fucking-h-!”

“JOHN.”

John suddenly found himself stopped in his tracks in the middle of the room with Devi’s hands on his shoulders.

“You’re ramblin’ again,” she said, smiling gently up at him and patting his shoulders. “Just take a breath, J’.”

He wasn’t rambling, he was just talking fast and trying to get all the thoughts out that had been piled in his brain for the past several days.

...but it wasn’t worth arguing over. Devi and Mickey didn’t have his sort of brain chemistry; they wouldn’t get it. It was easier to just ‘calm down’ even if it wasn’t necessary. It’s not like it would hurt.

John breathed in and out, clenching and unclenching his fists in time for several beats. Sure enough, he did feel calmer. Not that he wanted to, but...still.

“There ya go,” Devi soothed, patting him gently. “Better?”

“Yeah,” he lied. He wasn’t, he wanted to get it all out, just say everything that had been on his mind for the past several days. Wanted to just make them sit there, a captive audience, and ask everything even if he didn’t get an answer.

“Good. You’re onto somethin’.”

John blinked. “...I am?”

Mickey hummed to himself a little in thought. “I know why.”

John felt more confused. “Why what?”

“Why they didn’t wait to meet Black Mask. You said no one in his gang has seen his face - your guy has.” Mickey said with a little shrug.

Devi gave a little ooh. “Whaddya know, Mick’, we’re on the same page,” she said brightly with an impressed tilt of her head.

That would mean the killer knew Black Mask was Roman Sionis. “But why wouldn’t they just go directly to…” The second he said it aloud it clicked. It was why they left the drugs behind, why they drilled it home it was a hit – a herring in maraschino red.  It wasn’t about strictly killing Roman, but eventually taking his place. “It’s an inside job.”

“Ya said it yourself, J’,” Devi shrugged, “Those gangs he picked up ain’t loyal. Besides, you crossed off everyone else.”

Of course. It wasn’t some rival gang, it was someone in his gang, leading them all to believe it was a rival to throw Black Mask off the scent! That stupid sign with the bodies was just another herring! John had been looking up the wrong thing for days, hunting for a shadow!

Ha ha ha ha ha!

He couldn’t help but laugh at himself. At the whole ridiculous thing. How utterly silly they’d been.

And he caught himself remembering that random laughter wasn’t something most people took kindly to a little too late. Devi was glancing between his eyes as if to guess if he was having a manic episode. Mickey was stock-still, watching him with something similar. “S-sorry,” he said, trying to cover the last bit, “It’s just funny how dumb I’ve been. I mean, really, really dumb.”

They looked a little more convinced.

John rubbed the back of his neck, trying to rub the awkward feeling away as he stared right back at Devi, trying to let her see how sane he was. “Really, I would’ve just kept going in circles without-”

John felt like everything in the world had slowed to a crawl:  a dot of red rolled over Devi’s hair where her temple was, climbing up and disappearing like it had never been there in an instant.

It was like something in him woke up – he grabbed her shoulders and pushed her forward, hearing glass shatter before they even hit the hard tiled floor.

He felt the impact in his knees. Real.

Mickey tumbled out of the chair as Devi swore and John rolled away from her to force his back against the wall between them. He heard the thud of his shoulders hitting the wall. Real.

“What the hell-” she started, losing the rest as she spied the little hole in the wall where John’s head had been seconds ago. “Ohh, what the fuck.”

John was looking at the new shattered hole in the window, hearing his heart in his ears.

Someone shot at him. Someone had a laser scope and a long-range rifle. Someone was sitting out there, waiting for him to reappear, or waiting long enough to move positions and get him while they were sitting there.

“What do we do?” Mickey asked in a less-than-steady voice as he curled his legs to his chest. “What the fuck do we do?”

Devi shifted forward, looking like she was going to crawl for it. “We’re gettin’ the fuck out, that’s-”

John grabbed Devi’s arm and pulled her back with a hard yank. “NO!” She almost smacked back against the wall. “Look at the HOLE!” John gestured slightly to the bullet hole in the wall. “It’s lower than the entry one; they can see the floor!”

“Devi,” Mickey rushed, “You have a phone; you can call the cops!”

No, there was only one ofthose that could really be trusted -

“Are you kiddin’ me? You’ve seen how that shit goes! I’m black and John was tried insane – your half-Puerto Rican ass is the only one of us that can pass for one of their crowd! They’ll kill us just for sittin’ here!”

They could call Batman, but he was out chasing Black Mask, too far to -

“Well what the fuck are we supposed to do, then?” Mickey interjected too loudly, the sound breaking John’s already fragile grip on his temper.

“Will both of you just shut up and let me THINK?!” John shouted, slamming his fists on his bruised knees.

Silence settled in, but it felt like the thing inside of John was rattling the cage.

They felt it too, surely – the flight signal had been lit in their brains, but there was nowhere for them to go. John tapped his legs with his fingers one-by-one, feeling the material of his purple slacks as they made impact. Think, think, think – what do you know for sure, John?

There was nowhere to hide. Standing was out of the question. Crawling was just as deadly. They were all like carnival ducks stuck in their stall, brightly lit under a long fluorescent bulb, just waiting for the kid with the gun to aim just right.

They hadn’t been shot yet. Either the would-be killer was waiting for them, or changing position to the wall.

They couldn’t call out for help. Anyone who came in would be shot.

But they couldn’t stay there. If the shooter was smart, they would move after a bit to re-adjust.

So they’d have to throw him off.

John stared up at the long bulb, his mind whirling…

There was the obvious solution:  one of them could risk running for the light-switch.

It was almost sickening how easily he could imagine either of them bleeding on the floor by the switch…

When he thought about it, he was used to being by himself, but he was never going to be used to being alone. With his psychosis’ voices blocked out through his anti-psychotics, he’d found he’d missed the constant company, even if they didn’t always make sense or play nice with his brain.

But here he was, with real every-day company again. The kind that did, in fact, play nice and make sense. The kind that didn’t play mind-games or threaten him or let him get too riled up just to see what he would do. The kind that wouldn’t try to kill Batman if the opportunity arose, or kill him if they thought it was necessary. They weren’t constant, but they were there, as real as he was – he could hear them breathing and feel their fear in the air.

He couldn’t treat them like they were just means to an end.

The looked at the large fluorescent bulb in the ceiling, wishing it would flicker for a few seconds like the old Arkham ones did, and felt his own lightbulb power on.

“I’ve got it!” He grinned triumphantly, slapping his legs and feeling the sweet sting it left, “We need to break the lightbulb!”

Devi shot a look at it, then at him. “With what?”

“Something hard enough to shatter the glass?” John suggested with a chuckle. He supposed they could toss her butterfly knife, but it might not be heavy enough; they’d have to hit the right point. “The chair would work.”

Mickey looked at the desk chair by his feet. He was clearly rattled, huddled in on himself and looking pale. “It’s kind of big.”

“Don’t tell me those biceps are for show,” John teased, poking his arm, “Even I can lift that.” Mickey didn’t seem convinced. “Look, Mick’, you’ve got the corner. There’s no way the shooter can see you. You just need to squat and flip it up like it’s a table,” John said, gesturing the up motion with his palms.

“Mick’,” Devi said, “he’s right. You’re closest.”

Mickey stared at them both, then at the chair, and sighed slowly through his nostrils. “I guess there’s worse ways to go,” he grumbled, pulling the chair towards him.

“You’ve got this,” John said, flashing him a thumb’s up.

Mickey sneered a bit, but he still squat down rigidly and flipped the chair up into the ceiling, hitting its mark – there was the tinkling crash of breaking glass and a buzz of shorted electricity, and John instinctively covered his head as glass rained down and the chair clattered to the floor.

When he looked back up, they were all sitting in the dark. It was almost like being back in the Old Five Point’s office, where he had hidden while the Agency poked their noses in places they shouldn’t have been.

But that was the old John. New John wasn’t scared. Angry, of course, but he was almost…

Thrilled.

Yes… Toeing the line of danger, on a rescue mission for himself and his friends…  

John giggled, feeling ridiculous by how excited he was during such risky business. “Good job, Mickey. Got it in one.”

Glass shattered and a vwoop noise followed as the shooter fired again, causing Devi to push closer to him with a shout. The shot was a little closer to the edge of the dim light coming in through the window. A red dot disappeared, as if the shooter was turning the scope on and off.

A warning - they could still see in, they weren’t going anywhere.

Like hell they weren’t.

“Mickey, can you hand me my phone?” John asked politely. Mickey pulled it down by the cord, as if he thought the shooter could see it sitting there out of view of the window, and shoved it into John’s waiting hand. “Thaaank you!”

Tiffany was already on her way there - he could just tell her to hurry up. Or send that nice drone with the laser attachment.

John tapped his foot along with the rings. It was only three this time before Tiffany picked up, and she was clearly outside somewhere, because he could hear the wind rush by.

“Hey, how far away are you?” He asked quickly, keeping his eye on the window for any glimpse of the laser sight.

“A -” the voice cut off - “minutes. Why-”

“Okay, I can barely hear you, so long story short, I’m being shot at from someone on the building opposite me and would really appreciate some help.”

He could barely hear her over the wind and occasional break in the line. He was pretty sure it sounded like a surprised “what” and then something unintelligible.

“Yeah, so I still can’t hear you. I don’t know what they look like but I’m guessing they’re on the roof, the shots are angled down.”

Another shot came through the glass, closer to the corner.

“Aaand that’s our queue to leave! Hurry, okay?!”

John hung up, knowing she’d be there fast enough, but wondering if she’d be smart enough to hit them from behind or not. Unless they had a watchguard, which they could, depending on who they were…

There was no time for thinking about that. It was time to get out before the shooter decided to move enough so they could see them in the dim streetlamp.

They definitely couldn’t just run across. The pile of glass in the middle of the floor was a hazard on top of the fact they’d be seen. They couldn’t get around the little desk, either, since it was likely visible; they’d have to press flush against the wall to go under the window.

Or...they had to completely shroud themselves in darkness.

“None of you happen to have a stapler or somethin’, do ya?” Devi asked, holding something in her lap. “I’m tryin’ to think of how we can pin this to the window….”

John was impressed for a moment, having been thinking of somehow getting the sheet from his bed or the dresser to do it, but the feeling gave way to something more like a sinking stone plummeting to the bottom of his stomach.

She had been sitting on the blanket Bruce had gotten him when he was still in Arkham. It was the first thing he’d given him when he’d been put away; a green cashmere blend so soft that John almost wondered if it wasn’t made from clouds.

John yanked it out of her hands and clutched it to himself. “You were sitting on it?”

“The floor’s cold,” Devi stated plainly, not intimidated in the slightest. “Besides, you borrow my blanket when you sit in my room.”

That was true. He couldn’t resist covering himself in something as wild as neon-orange leopard with little skulls, even if it was only for a bit. But Bruce didn’t give that to her, she didn’t clutch it around her shoulders when she wanted to remember getting it, the cute look on Bruce’s face, the utter satisfaction John felt as he got under it for the first time and thought how finally, it was warm in Arkham…

He gripped it, telling himself that Bruce could buy a hundred more in as many colors and weights as John wanted when he got out. Enough to make the biggest blanket fort possible over the biggest mountain of blankets possible.

There was no stapler or anything handy, and he couldn’t shove them in the corners of the window… But someone could hold it.

John squinted at the window. He could stretch his arm across and cover it like a curtain; the pane and exterior walls were thick enough not to be pierced with bullets.

The chair was still on the floor. He was surprised no one had come running yet, with all the noise… There was a doctor underneath his room, gone for the day, naturally… But surely one of his neighbors might have heard.

Unless they just thought he was throwing a fit and didn’t want to get involved… Fine time for them to be ignoring him.

John rolled the blanket into a thin tube and swept it over the floor, pushing the shards of glass towards the chair as much as he could, flinching as another bullet pierced the wall.

He pulled the leg of the chair towards him by his foot, moving it slowly at first just to angle it right, and then yanked it towards him as another gunshot came through. Just as he thought, they were definitely targeting motion.

“Mickey, you’re gonna have to move.”

The burlier man eyed the chair warily. “I’m not standing up on that.”

John scowled as he stood to his full height, an urge to kick him only outweighed by the knowledge that one wrong move could hurt them both far worse. “For Pete’s sake, just move over next to Devi and stop acting like you’re going to die if you twitch out of line! I’m trying to save you, here!”

Mickey frowned, opening his mouth to retort, but closed it just as soon as he’d started, settling on just glaring back and doing as he was told, shuffling as John stepped over him to the corner.

“Now, don’t move until I tell you,” he emphasized, wagging a finger at both of them, “and when you do, crawl close to the floor.”

Once he stood (somewhat wobbly) on the chair by the corner, just barely out of sight of the window, John stretched out his hand in front of him, draping the blanket over it like he was pulling out the edge of a cape to do a dramatic reveal.

Pieces of glass wedged themselves in his bare arm. He could feel blood dribble out, feel the sting of cut flesh, feel a little spike in adrenaline and a familiar stir in his core that sent a tingle in his head…

Things looked clearer, somehow. His vision was always twenty-twenty, but somehow things felt sharper, and not just because little edges were digging into him. Without thinking, he knew all this, what he was feeling right now, was all very real.

He adjusted it to cover his arm with a little less glass-digging-into-skin, and upon draping it just right, it felt like he was almost a magician, covering the trick box from the audience’s view as the assistant did the rest.

“Ladies and Gentleman, the disappearing bullets trick!” John joked as he quickly shoved his arm over the top pane of the window.

It was just long enough to cover it completely, and there came a wonderful hush in the audience.

He could feel his heart in his ribs, pounding away like it was counting off beats, waiting, waiting, waiting…

Crash!

Crash-crash-crash-crash-!

Beams of light appeared one by one like tiny spotlights as the window. John barely flinched as he counted off the sounds.

At the count of ten, it went quiet.

John waited a beat, then two, and grinned wider. “And, ohh-ho, they’re gone!” John chuckled, “What a maroon... Okay, now you guys can go.”

“...what about you?” Devi asked, not moving.

“Just go,” John brushed off, not wanting to think about possible magazine refills, “Watch the glass.”

There were no more words, just the little thuds and occasional little crunch of glass telling them they were crawling as fast as possible. John held the blanket steady, thinking as he hoped the shooter didn’t decide to pack an extra magazine.

He could he risk peeking out across the way? Was the shooter keeping a few rounds in the chamber, waiting for his face to appear? Had they given up?

He might not see anything, but if he did, he would know at least the vague height of whoever was standing on the building three or four car-lengths away with a rifle, intent on killing him for whatever reason they had.

The door opened, letting in more light from the hallway, and Devi was the first to sneak through. John spied shiny spots of blood on her arms before she disappeared from view.

Mickey scrambled out after her, similar dots visible on his palms as he stood up.

John let the blanket fall to the floor as he heard them both call out for help. The noise faded into the background as he carefully took his phone out of his pocket. The little binocular lens clipped over the camera with a plastic snap, and John breathed in, smelling copper and the spring air of May, and slid his phone’s lens over the edge of the window, zooming in further on the building in the distance.

At first, he didn’t see anything. The camera was great, but it wasn’t exactly made for night use, even with the adjustments he made to the settings. Just black on a dark building, barely lit by the streetlamp.

But he moved it around a little, trying to get the exact angle the shooter must have been at, and he saw it.

A figure in the distance, barely seen at first, just a dark shape.

And then he spotted the drone with a spotlight, flashing over the figure’s back, and John pressed the record button just in time.

The figure whirled around with their long rifle in hand and smacked the drone right out of the air and to the floor, and seemed to hit it again, a flash of light showing off their silhouette again. One more smash seemed to satisfy them, but John could see them suddenly perk up straight, as if they heard something, and then they were gone, a black blob disappearing into the night with a whirl of a…

No. Not a cape. It was as if they were wearing a long coat.

He kept watching, almost hoping he’d see them come back so he could get a proper look at their face, but instead, he saw a figure glide down to the roof, too sleek to be Batman, and seem to rush to check if the shooter was still nearby, a second drone flying from their hip to scout ahead.

“John Doe?” A voice called from the hallway, light but smokey from years of tobacco use. An orderly - Todd something-or-other. “Are you still in there?”

“Yeah,” he called back, tucking his phone back in his pocket, “I am.”

“Keep away from the window. Police are on their way. I’m staying right outside this door, you just keep talking to me.”

“You don’t need to,” John answered, hopping off the chair and stumbling slightly, crunching over bits of broken glass here and there. “The guy’s already gone.” He pulled down the pages he’d taped to his wall, not wanting anyone to start thinking he was spreading some kind of conspiracy theory, and lingered on the piece he’d written ‘Ian Coggs’ visited Stitched Up Alt.’ on.

Something wasn’t right. The way Ian had looked at him that day, like he hadn’t expected him to be there. He seemed to have reported seeing him to Black Mask, but why would they go after him? Why would they care?

What was one mentally ill guy with a forgotten past to a guy like Roman Sionis?

*~*~*~*~*

John wasn’t sure what he had expected to happen after an incident like getting shot at by a sniper in the middle of the night, but he didn’t expect to be stuck waiting in St. Dymphna’s medical center. Devi and Mickey seemed adamant about not straying too far from him, despite the lengths the active officers on duty seemed to go to, shoving John in a corner bed as the nurse picked out the glass from his arm and they attempted to ask him questions while he repeatedly told them he wouldn’t talk until his lawyer arrived.

And good ol’ Reggie had practically come running on his short, square legs. He probably smelled a lawsuit waiting to happen. That, or Batman had ‘a talk’ with him about responding to anything to do with John as fast as possible after the whole thing with Dr. Crane.

John suspected it was a combination of both.

He was expecting Bruce, though, who hadn’t shown up yet. He didn’t mind if Batman didn’t make an appearance, but what felt like half an hour into the vocal probing, he found himself really, really wanting some comfort. There was only so many distasteful looks and thinly-veiled remarks he could take, even if they weren’t all directed at him.

“I told you, I’m not movin’,” Devi repeated for the third time, sitting quite still against the back of her own bed several spots over. She had the same sort of gauze bandage as him, only she had them on both arms, and some plasters under her short sweatpants where little glass pieces had stuck to her knees.

“If you’re sure,” Dr. Farms seemed to sigh, “Your sister said she’d be on the way. We’ll keep an orderly at the door in case there’s any trouble.”

Devi snorted. “These two aren’t trouble,” she said with a shrug. “I’m not wearing this t-shirt for nothin’, you know.” She gestured to the word ‘kickass’ spelled there in glittery cursive.

Reggie was quick-reading over the statement John had made, the end of his pen trailing underneath. John had left out the part of him using his phone, of course. He wanted to just grab it out from under his pillow and call Bruce himself. “And this is all correct?” Reggie asksed, tapping the fountain pen at the end of the pad of paper.

“Yup.” John swung his legs slightly over the edge of the thin mattress, gently digging his fingers into the fabric. He couldn’t do it too hard, or it’d attract attention.

“You counted fourteen shots?”

“Yuup.”

“...and how did you know when you could let the other two leave?”

“When no more shots came through. Isn’t that obvious?”

“Hm.” Reggie tapped the cap end of the pen against the paper. “This is acceptable.”

John couldn’t back the question burning in his head. The one he didn’t want a bad answer to. “So...what happens now?”

“Standard police procedure, they’ll investigate, ask follow-up questions - the usual,” Reggie answered, “As for your continuing treatment, I believe they’re still figuring out where you’ll be staying until the police clear this up.”

“What?!” Devi leaned forward, a few of her long thin braids falling over her shoulder. “You mean he’s not stayin’ here?”

“He can’t stay in an active crime scene,” the lawyer went on in his no-nonsense voice, “Especially not when he might have been the intended victim.”

“But he’s the reason Mick’ and I are even alive!”

“That doesn’t factor into the decision,” Reggie answered coolly.

“I don’t care,” Devi slid off her bed and joined John’s, crossing her arms and giving Reggie the stink eye, “I’m not lettin’ him go to one of those shitty state homes.”

“I’m afraid that’s not up to you. It’s up to St. Dymphna and the G.C.P.D.”

Them? They had a say in this?

No. No, no, no. He knew what they were going to do. What they wanted to do. He felt his lip twitch backwards and his stomach seize as something white hot hit him.

“I’m not going back to Arkham,” John said with all the restraint on the furious being under his skin he could.

Reggie’s fingers had twitched in a flinch, and he cast a look at John. “I’ll give this to Officer Hutton and remind him of that.”

Devi watched him go with a scrutinizing squint. “You doin’ okay, there, John?”

“Ha, no!” John answered honestly, finding no need to restrain his feelings any more. He felt the other end of the mattress sink; Mickey had sat down on his other side. “Just got shot at, interrogated unnecessarily, and now…” He crossed his arms, wanting to feel something remotely comfortable as the boiling point in his started to wind down to a simmer. “I’d rather have faced that sniper with nothing but a paperclip than go back to Arkham.”

Devi put her arm around his back, pulling him into a bit of a side hug. “I’ll kick their asses if anyone tries to put you in there.”

Mickey gave a chuckle. “Ditto.” He gave John a small smirk. “They’re gonna shuffle us ‘round to who-knows-where, but I’ll be damned if I let them throw you back. Not after you saved me twice in one day.”

John felt more of his anger ebbing away. He felt more grateful than anything, but there was that nice warm feeling that came with people doing genuinely nice things for him. “I’m sorry I yelled at you guys earlier.”

Mickey shrugged. “Better than losing my head.”

“Apology accepted. But it’s no big deal,” Devi said with a knowing little smile, “I’ve looked the devil in the eyes while only wearing a thong. It’s gonna take a lot more than that for you to get under my skin.”

John felt a giggle pass over him. “Better not let a doctor hear that - they’ve got scalpels.”

“That’s awful,” Mickey said with a shake of his head.

“Speakin’ of doctors,” Devi muttered, pulling out something from her pocket and sliding it into John’s palm, “Here.”

It was her butterfly knife. John had almost forgotten how oddly nice it felt to hold one. Light, dangerous, dexterous… The rainbow sheen on the metal was cute, but the fact that she was willing to just hand it to him, all trustworthy-like, was what made him smile, and made that warm feeling grow. “You’re giving this to me?”

“Doesn’t matter where you end up - Gothamites are bound to try somethin’ with you,” Devi said with a little shrug. “Besides, you could always pick a lock with it and run away, if you had to.”

“Run away to where?” John chuckled, “Bruce’s place is pretty far from all the funny farms.”

Mickey gave a short hum of thought and pulled a card out of his wallet. “Here.”

A key card for the Lucky Hotel.

“Better than nothin’.”

“You guys…” John almost felt like he was tearing up. No, scratch that, he was. “You guys are the best.” He put both gifts away (in separate pockets, of course) and laid back to grab his phone from under the pillow. The cops were all discussing matters amongst themselves, not even glancing their way. “You know what this calls for?” He pulled the camera app up and threw his arms around both of their shoulders. “A group shot!”

“Ooh, hold on,” Devi shifted, tilting her head just right for the camera angle, and smiled. “Okay, that’s better.”

Mickey shook his head, an amused smile on his square face. “I knew you two were crazy.”

“Ha ha, like you aren’t?” John ribbed. “Smile!”

A little click, and John thought it was one of the best he’d taken. Definitely one for the album.

And then, in the moment of silence afterwards, John heard it:  the instantly recognizable voice that wove in and out of his dreams, good and bad, real and unreal.

Bruce passed through the thin wall of police and doctors with the unmistakable stride of Batman, the sight hitting John like a jolt to the heart. Confidence, determination, power – it all came through in his steps, as reassuring and steady as the sunrise. It didn’t matter if he was in street clothes or bearing a five-o’clock shadow, it was Bruce’s Batman politely telling the doctor in his ‘fuck you’ voice that he wasn’t letting him stay there a minute longer.

John felt a hand push on his back, and barely heard to little ‘go ahead’ Devi whispered to him.

He didn’t care what was in his way. He didn’t stop moving until he was right in Dr. Song and Bruce’s space, not taking his eyes off Bruce for a moment.

“John,” Dr. Song said with a slight cough, forcing his focus over to her, “Bruce has offered to take temporary guardianship of you while the state goes through its’ investigation. As you’re a ward of the state in our care, you don’t have to say-”

“Yes,” John said, noticing Bruce looking him over like he was thinking of possible injuries, “I’m saying yes.”

Dr. Song seemed to have expected that. “Your lawyer and his are talking, but I made it quite clear that your current treatment is to be followed to the letter. I still want you to report for our scheduled therapy, and you’ll still have to make the appointments set by Mr. Casselli and Officer Kane.”

“That’s fine.”

“Medicine has to be taken strictly by our current regime.”

“Of course.”

“Work hours will still have to be met, if possible.”

“Makes sense.” Dr. Song looked like she was trying to find any reason John wouldn’t agree with. “Really, doc’, you act like I’m not going to come back,” John said with a light chuckle, “I kind of need that certificate of sanity, you know.”

“I just want to make sure you know what you’re getting in to.”

Oh, believe me, I know, John thought to himself, not daring to say it aloud. “I’m sure I can handle it,” he said, sounding as confident as half of him felt.

She seemed a little more at ease. “I’ll draft up the prescriptions.”

The second she was turned away, John trapped Bruce in his arms, intent on feeling the warmth radiate from beneath his plain white button down into his chest, and suddenly felt more…vulnerable than before. He knew he was safe – he was with Bruce – but when Bruce lightly held him back and said ‘it’s okay’ in that soothing, meaningful voice, the little walls in John collapsed, and he found himself clinging onto him for life and falling for him all over again.

*~*~*~*~*

Notes:  

Congratulations, John, you officially made two new friends!!! °˖ ✧◝(○ ヮ ○)◜✧˖ ° I’m so proud of you!!!

Thank you all for your continuing support!!! *.⋆( ˘̴͈́ ॢ꒵ॢ ˘̴͈̀ )⋆.* I hope you can feel my love radiate from the screen!

As you can tell, I had a heck of a time with this chapter. Sure, it’s almost a full week later than previously thought, but look how much stuff happened! It wasn’t originally planned to be this long - but hey, John needs to bond with people, so damn it, I’m gonna write it and make it believable! I had fun making use of the “camera feature” here and adding in investigation choices and a new time-out feature. And I had loooots of fun bringing out our vigilante!Joker in John throughout! I hope I did our boy justice! I reconsidered and rewrote a lot, but I’m pretty dang happy with how much I’ve laid out so far and what this chapter’s accomplished. Especially the little things I’ve hidden in here… Heheheheehheeh!

Next time we’ll return with Bruce, who seems to have a full colony living in his house as two sides of the mystery start to come together… See you in (hopefully) two weeks!

[elizabethrobertajones]

14x08 watching notes

This episode is the Worst I had to lie to my mum when I came downstairs trembling and tear-stained to get a cup of tea to recover, and play it all off as cold symptoms, and now I feel complicit in some sort of deceit with the episode and like Meredith broke the fourth wall through sheer pain.

Good morning, I slept in until seven after they started digging up the road outside at 9pm at night, so I still kinda have a lingering headache from that, but I'm pretty sure Meredith is about to make good on the Dean n Jack murder pact or something else of that level of awfulness so... *deep breath*

-

YAY it is Lily!! I mean it was pretty obvious from the costuming because wow she's a distinct person but idk maybe some people thought it was her mom?

Anyway getting a recap just of how terribly Jack is doing and then also a reminder of Lily Sunder is just.. Good recap. *kisses fingers*

(*curls up in agony*)

In all the drama I never noticed Rowena being among those who yelled "Jack!" when he went down and to be honest she knew him five minutes and I'm crediting all that panic in her voice to his absolutely ridiculous powers of being the most adoptable creature in the cosmos. You take one look at him and you want to make sure his shoelaces are tied properly and he has a glass of milk.

Anyway he totally caught Rowena off her guard and made her express an Emotion(TM) that was not spite and a good chunk of that is new and improved Rowena of the last year or so, but also just... She bonded HARD :P

-

Ironically I left the spoon in my coffee in my haste to get up here and start watching so now I will drink it like that and possibly exit the episode also wearing an eye patch

-

I watched a second and tucked the largest, most comforting stuffed toy this family owns under my arm. Yes, not my personal stash of friends, the family heirloom squishy guy who has been with us through all the worst stuff D:

-

The framing is Sam sitting at Jack's bedside, Dad no.1 as season 13 firmly established for us, and the dad with the closest traditional relationship of father/son to Jack. Then Cas hovers nearby, struggling to be as close but still Dad no.2 with the ongoing and uncomplicated connection to Jack in the sense that both just sort of accept they're now father and son without any debate or internal wrangling, and that's always been Jack's in with the family and the way he inadvertently got Cas to vouch for him from beyond the grave when he said Castiel was his father and Sam immediately just flipped to Team Jack, not, of course, that he'd not been giving him a huge chance and trying to reach out to him already, but that was his "oh shit this is now my son because Cas is dead" moment.

Finally, Dean fills the foreground, face in shadow, the conflicted Dad no.3 who can't even face his dying son, taking it personally because this is literally the fourth smol child he's taken under his wing who he then lost, from Sam, Ben, Emma, a truly tragic collection of lost children. He resisted adopting Jack because he couldn't be a parent again, not after what Sam put him through as a parent, and yet Jack, the most adoptable boy in the cosmos, eventually wormed his way under Dean's skin too, and by the end of season 13 Dean was acting fatherly towards him and by this season Dean's been opening up the doors and letting Jack be his son. And. Whoops. As SOON as you took him on a hunt for one on one father son bonding time, look what happened.

And so Dean will lurk in the foreground, not looking at Jack, peering moodily into some dark empty box that metaphorically is his soul or his remaining ability to cope with losing children or some such nonsense. The pandora's box of parenthood. He's full on dark romantic hero brooding.

-

OH  NO  IT IS A RECORD PLAYER NOT A BOX

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I need our family to retroactively adopt a larger, squishier friend to hug in this trying time

-

Having archived every single one of my watching notes ever between last episode and this episode, I'm more than usually pained by Dean's "not meant to be crap" line because he's been resisting it the entire frikkin time, when Sam kept, even long long long before they knew their real destinies, musing if HIS own personal angst was meant to be and Dean was like don't give me that destiny crap. I swear there's lines about this back in season 2 or 3 when Sam is musing on his powers and the grim lot fate had dealt them. This is a callback line to Dean dealing with his own sense of unravelling control and pure panic about what was happening to Sam, back when that was a thing in the very early seasons and he was having to face the kid he raised from a baby amongst all that tragedy now recklessly declaring all sorts of horrific things about not being able to resist his destiny. Oh, also, in season 2, while under a murder pact from John about killing him if he couldn't save him.

Honestly, it's barely a relationship worth mentioning if you don't have a murder pact going with Dean. Ben is literally the only one of all 4 children AND CLAIRE who hasn't had one with Dean.

-

If this episode involves Dean bringing any of his records in to play for Jack I'm gonna go out in my pyjamas and take a long walk to the sea and then keep walking once I reach it

-

Dean you did not walk nearly far enough for Jack to not hear you thump the wall outside his room

-

PS: totally figured the promo scene was an early emotional beat between Dean and Cas which utterly delights me because the earlier that came in the episode the better as it meant less and less chance it was about anything other than Dean and Cas having an intense relationship over this whole thing.

-

Jack is the absolute worst about dying. He's this saintly angelic little boy from like, no later than 1900s literature, who exists only to bravely suffer and love with his whole heart. He's snatched out of an era when kids needed morality tales about how to die politely of consumption with the least amount of fuss for their parents and 300 siblings.

How dare you fucking die selflessly. Humanity is at its Bithc This Isn't Fair stage. Throw a fit. Go walk into the sea out of protest.

-

Okay you're in Kansas I understand how that is an unrelastic option and I grew up spoiled by the immediate location of the sea should I ever need to walk into it.

-

This show has never made me cry before the title card before.

-

This is the Pippin and Gandalf scene from Return of the King with the whole Into the West thing that they wrote for a sick fan who died before the movie came out and literally Annie Lennox sings what would be Jack's THEME for this scene.

-

Sam is horrified that Jack didn't even live long enough for a LotR marathon to explain the reference that's making him bawl.

-

I LOVE that this scene with Dean n Cas is just about Dean being a wuss about watching his son die because that's so much worse than Jack having asked for a mercy kill or anything. And this all before the title card. Cas tearing Dean a new one about going in and watching your son die smiling beautifully like a little cherub who can't wait to find out what happens next.

-

Jack's gonna be dead before the title card, isn't he?

-

Oof.

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Hey, Dean, one more reason to hate yourself :) :) :)

-

Also robbed Cas of watching him go.

-

But I think tbh they could have done this if Dean wasn't being a coward about watching Jack die that they would leave Sam to sit at this side in the last moment.

-

Ugh, my eyes are leaking too much to type. What the hell is all this wet stuff coming out of them.

-

I've never seen a TFW shot where Sam was the shortest but he is slumped over like someone cut all his strings.

-

"Your brother's in pain" AND WE'RE NOT? YOU'RE NOT? CAS ISN'T?

-

Dean stopping Cas going after Sam with just a catch of his shoulder... Ugh. The two of them are still connected through all this in a way where Cas and Dean are connected whether Dean's in the most obvious pain or Sam is.

-

Cas, pls be selfish and in the most obvious pain at some point this episode.

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Oh please don't make me watch Dean telling his mom that Jack died

please

I beg you

-

They put a photo of Kelly next to Jack's bed D: Or has he always had that?

-

That's not even the photo that Cas had pinned to his board in 12x10 and yes I went and checked, I'm leaking tears too much to watch because Cas is standing over him and this is going to be the worst while Dean's answerphone message lays over the top.

I'm so not here to watch TFW mourn their son.

-

They had him for like a WEEK this SUCKS.

-

ALso I said "please don't make me watch" so they cut away to Cas mourning silently while Dean talks to Mary's answerphone because Meredith is an evil fairy who whimsically takes your wishes and twists them into even worse options.

-

*takes my glasses off and throws them aside angrily when Sam emerges carrying a duffel over his shoulder and wearing the fucking orange jacket he first met Jack in*

-

God, I don't even wear them for focus, just lack of headaches. Why was I bothering.

-

7x10 and this episode are probably going to be unholy companions in this show's canon

"She's come down with acute Tear Duct Blockage. The only option is head amputation or we make her cry, NOW" "Don't worry, I have just the thing."

-

Dean this answerphone message huuuurts

Also explains the Buckleming issue of not calling Mary, to just say, yeah, it escalated, rapidly.

-

Your brother is storming off and Cas is broken.

-

If I have to see Cas see a set of PB&J crusts and a glass of milk identical to what Dean saw in 9x10 I'm - well, I'm still here instead of walking off into the sea so my threats are starting to look a bit performative. BUT I'M THINKING IT.

-

Cas watches Sam go, while Dean is being dwarfed by the bunker and obfuscated by its maze of corridors.

-

*presses my hands over my eyeballs* STOP. STOP IT. GOD. You're not even sobbing or anything you're just lEAKING. This is so annoying! I'm gonna dehydrate and they'll find a shrivelled skellington here and I'll go with just a few quiet sniffs and a dumb smile on my face like fucking Jack did.

Now I'm just distraught about the first time ever in canon we see Cas drive, it's in his dumb blue car and Dean's broken and not up for driving even if Sam presumably hadn't stolen the car for his errand/driving until he finds the sea and walking off into it mission. All my myriad fantasies about Cas behind the wheel of the impala and Dean grinning at him like yeah that's my baby (which one is he talking about?), and nope we're getting Cas's little partymobile and Dean's mute expression of grief.

-

NEVER MIND THEY SHOWED ME SAM CURLED UP ON THE GROUND USING THE IMPALA AS A BELOVED FAMILY HEIRLOOM TO HUG AND I SOBBED OUT LOUD FUCK  YOU MEREDITH FUCK YOU

-

I need the tissues why were they not here in preparation for this episode

-

I need to avoid my mum all day on the ground of spoilers because my face is a walking spoiler

-

"TELL ME YOU DIDN'T  MAKE A DEAL" "wha- no, I'm trying to make a pyre"

Making a pyre doesn't usually involve curling up on the floor.

Cas is getting an accidental glimpse of 13x01's emotional landscape, not that anyone will tell him this was what it was like for Dean, that we now have Sam in the spot of. We're getting some mirror image missing moments, like we just saw Dean get the axe out but did see him begging God... in this one we see Sam go take it out on a tree.

-

Incidentally I re-read all of Terrible Coffee AU two days ago for Reasons and the scene where Sam is whaling on a tree while screaming into the sky is pretty much this. Which is fucking hilarious that 2 years ago I decided Sam taking out his feelings on the local trees was a Thing when he was depressed.

(I wrote that scene the day Eileen was murdered on the show and honestly at the time he was mostly just angry on canon!Sam's behalf and I figured I'd come up with plot reasons later.)

-

Oh, they weren't driving the party!mobile, they were driving something else. I'm not even gonna ask where they get these vehicles

-

Yeah I'm harping on Dabb vs cars because Cas is talking about Jack's story ending like this and certainty of death for angels and this is just... the worst.

-

the story line - Cas deciding how their stories go. Dean resisting the how it's supposed to be of Jack's death. TFW want to take the narrative into their own hands. We KNOW in this world deaths are stored in notebooks, potential ways to pass that you skate past until one claims you. They're free to write their own stories but the ending is always pre-written for them... It's just a matter of which one. But Cas especially... Jack was supposed to bring paradise, and maybe the emotional landscape between season 12 and 14 is a gulf of difference in their openness and bonds, largely facilitated by Jack's presence in the narrative and relentless open love for everyone who was nice to him and even those who weren't in Dean's case. He breezed through their lives, manic pixie dream girl'd them to emotional health, and mayfly'd out. But that's THEIR stories. That's not JACK's story. That's not the epic destiny something as cosmically powerful as him was due, and the potential he was shown to have... It abruptly gets into the territory of Dany having her whole Stallion That Mounts the World prophecy for the son she lost... I've not watched the TV show since it diverged so wildly I couldn't hack it any more, but the books with everyone wondering if, like, Jon Snow was this guy instead, etc, picking this that and the other guy... what if Dany's lost child WAS the only one it applied to and the prophecy just fizzled out? ASoIaF looms over Jack's narrative... He's literally been framed against an Iron Throne in the past, and his character arc for parts of season 13 was a sort of anti-Joffrey in many ways. And then in death, GRRM's unromantic look at fairytales and heroic narratives comes for him too, that maybe it doesn't always happen like the stories say...

... but of course, he also has LotR coding, and in THAT regard, Sam Gamgee has his good old speech about the heroes in the stories and how we relate to them and are inspired by them and become them. The stories that matter. And Jack's was supposed to be one of those. In a way, their lives have been so epic that Jack mostly having a personal impact rather than a cosmic one seems wrong to them. That he didn't become the great hero of his own story, but was a tragic hero who ran a dramatic but personal arc and burned out because his asshole father killed him and his asshole uncle presumably finished him off with an experiment in grace transfusion. At least if my dashboard is to be believed :P It's inconcievable to TFW, the "making it up as we go" people who tore up the script and threw away the pages, that they can't just make this happen or that Jack didn't serve some great purpose. Even men as weary of Destiny as they are, struggle. Just because that was their lives, so how could the son of all three of them not follow in all his fathers' footsteps?

-

"Jack being taken before his time... Being taken before *me*" Cas shut the fuck up.

But that is the speech from Theoden, and once again Sam is Gandalf, which is fucking hilarious that Sam's been Gandalf TWICE this episode.

Ever it's grown on the tombs of my forebears...

you have four bears???

-

God dammit that joke didn't stop me crying as they go knock their glasses together and hold Jack's lil 3 dads wake

-

3 Dads Wake is a great name for a whiskey

-

God, Cas is drinking.

-

CAS.

-

They need to give him like one bottle to every finger of whiskey they drink but dammit if they don't get Cas loaded.

-

Letting them talk privately about how aweomse Jack was and not letting us hear it is a crime

-

Listen you don't even know me if you didn't think as soon as the nougat appeared on screen I didn't hit pause and sob for a whole minute with my hands over my face

-

Officially worse than bobby and the goddamn licorice conversation

-

Cas laughing with caramel hanging out of his mouth is the worst thing the sho whas ever done and I'm suing for emotional damage

-

Imagine being one of the bitter stans who hates one or more of TFW or Jack right now watching this scene. God, are you even human. They're eating Jack's secret nougat stash they all pretended they didn't know he had.

-

I can't believe I'm now thinking that Lily showing up will probably be a lighthearted way to bring up the mood of the episode.

-

Cas is offficially wobbly! We have Cas tipsyness!!

-

Sam tapping out first. Oh no. Don't leave. Don't.

-

Fuck you Sam Winchester how dare you canonically be the most lightweight of TFW consistently for the entire show and need to go crash off the side of your bed and sleep on the floor while Dean n Cas are still drinking together.

-

Did Dean seriously outdrink Cas.

-

Well that's... something.

I am gonna cling to that like a rock in the churning sea I have walked out into.

-

Also I managed to calm myself down with walking around my room taking deep breaths so I could go downstairs pretending not to be a wreck, so I could get tea, and my mum made me finish the sudoku for her. I don't have the heart to show her this episode. She loves Jack more than anyone in this god damn fandom and maybe more than Cas does. Maybe I'll lie to her and say the show ended last episode and Jack was fine hahahahaaaa

-

OH FUCK I hit play and there was a single line of dialogue for the whole wake. Dean drunkenly slurring to Cas, I think, you know we did everything we could, right?

I'm...

*walks further out into the ocean*

-

"Here's to you Jack, wherever you are" I am not okay.

-

Oh fork you Meredith we did not need to see the boy in Heaven eating burgers.

-

Oh fork you Meredith we did not need to see the boy in Heaven eating burgers while on a case with all of his dads.

-

OH SON OF A BENCH THIS IS THE DODGE CITY CASE AKA 13x06 MEREDITH YOU DINK.

-

Oh dear, Heaven is broken. Who was the ashhole who was saying that Jack should die so that he can go to Heaven so he's well-placed to help deal with all this nonsense.

-

LOL Jack would be the sort of person who goes to Heaven and doesn't need more than a second of prompting to be  like oh wait I am dead and in Heaven, and just, like... Go open the door. Just pop his head out like cooee I wanna hang with my dads anyone here to replace the bulb in the sun so I can carry on hanging out here for eternity?

Like, seriously, I'm dead, this is when I am supposed to catch a break.

-

Let The Boy Say Fork.

-

Listen, secondary to his power to be adopted by everyone on sight, Jack is uncanny also with just walking into trouble.

-

And to try and be clam for a moment, this is Jack getting pulled back into the story, but not just by unfortunate happenstance, because he was the one with the sharpness, the cosmic awareness even on this level that Heaven just doesn't quiiiiite work for him in the way it's supposed to even if say it was at full power, that he is the one who voluntarily not just understands instantly that something is wrong, but then is fully snapped back to his old self, and chooses to open the door, and that is the moment of choosing to continue his story, at least for now.

It's like how the last time we saw Bobby chronologically was in Inside Man and Cas and Sam woke him from his repose and got the fighting spirit back into him enough to open his own door and rejoin the story for one last hurrah... And it was a choice there too, a moment of once more telling the natural order to screw itself, Bobby could step outside the proscribed ending of his narrative one last time.

Unless Jack finds him and is adopted on sight today.

-

Sam looks way too healthy.

Invigorated by having a Plan

-

Lils. Finally getting to see the Bunker filled with all her stolen research notes.

And no that wasn't canon before, but boy am I hoping she recognises her research amongst all the bunker's angel lore.

-

Men stealing fuckin everything

-

"We've never looked through Kevin's angel tablet translations"

HAVEN'T WE?

NO

WE HAVEN'T

THEY HAVE BEEN THERE

FIVE

FUCKING

YEARS

And every forking time something comes up where they might be useful I say, HEY WHAT ABOUT KEVIN'S ANGEL TABLET TRANSLATIONS?

and the show says

hey so we don't have the angel tablet but we do have the demon tablet

and I'm like I'm sure that won't have any dumb side effects that could be avoided by having the angel tablet translation just on hand in your archive

did Meredith hear me screeching

because I screeched very very loud after 13x14

13x13 sorry

that was Bucklemming handing her the wrong fucking tablet

-

this is bitter vindication but feels even better than her and Bobo remembering the grace extracting needle in 12x19

-

Glynn is a fucking gift.

-

On the other hand this episode now is pulling on 9x06 and 12x10 at once and that makes me feel woozy

I can't deal with a Glockeybo combo

-

Also waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaah Kevin's handwriting. I can't deal with that AND Bobby memories AND FUCKING NOUGAT DEATH

-

Which I mean I do feel instantly better about once he opened the door and let himself back into the story and I stopped crying at once and cheered up and Lily is indeed providing much needed relief, wild as that all sounds.

-

Lily trying to explain her soul magic to Sam and Dean, rubes who haven't done a single enochian calculation in their lives.

Wait, no, Sam has done one, in ... 12x19 ...

But yeah, a rube and a completely self-taught asshole who knows like one thing about it.

And she's like oh yeah just use his soul and they're like AAH WTF LILY and she's like er this is the most obvious thing in the world what is the problem here

-

where are my cas reaction shots

-

Jack wearing an eyepatch for the rest of the show would be adorable and hilarious

-

"it won't cost much... he'll never miss it" trust me his soul is enormous and boated with sweet nougat love, he can spare it, guys.

-

Dean being able to say "Jack's dead" one day later, when he couldn't say it about Cas practically until he was BACK

-

Nice trade. TECHNICALLY nothing dodgy about it at all, at least in the sense that aside from resurrection consent issues from Jack, once he's back the choice is still on him to choose to grow old and die as Lily has done, or even to stop using the magic to sustain himself and die again immediately if he is squicked out by it... Or it all comes from trading on his OWN soul power.

Definitely better than demon deals or having any favours looming over them etc

And with Heaven in the state it's in, honestly sending Lily there might be easier than they think if NO ONE IS LEFT TO RUN IT.

Er, imminent ghostpocalypse issues aside.

-

We're in ghostpocalypse territory as of a minute ago show time, btw.

-

Cas has quietly observed all this chatter and we get back to him when he says, "Don't you think Jack should decide for himself" so honestly Cas is right there with me, and I always like when me and Cas are the ones agreeing on a thing in the episode.

-

Obligatory reminder that Sam is more aware than most about soul stuff

*takes another piece of coal off the pile I was going to send Meredith for ruining christmas*

-

HEY, ANUBIS.

Don't tell him about what they did to Osiris

Unless that would amuse him

Wait never mind Meredith is literally throwing in amusing snark about 7x04 which I think when Adam Glass disowned that episode (despite how I actually think it's really good and he was too hard on it) he never expected anyone would ever want to throw in amused references about it in canon ever again.

-

"When God left - sorry, long story - " Lily is one of the few people who seems able to conceptually roll with the nonsense TFW deals in all day.

She should join the squad. Always room for a 100 year old badass with deep enochian lore knowledge.

-

I'm sorry has Jack crashed Kelly's heaven or is this a rando little girl. I immediately thought she was Kelly in the long shot and they substituted a lil girl for POV when we got closer and actually had to go back and look again and she was the little girl all along.

-

This also conceptually looks so much like Cas's eternal tuesday afternoon.. A rainy, flower-filled garden.

-

Roosevelt looks SO much like the doggie in 11x20 aside from anything else

-

IT IS KELLY

-

This is horrifying since they never ever got to meet ever until now and I'm suing Meredith

-

I mean I'm already suing her but I'm just adding this to the list of complaints. My laywers are working overtime on this episode.

-

FORK!! THEY GOT HER BACK FROM LEGENDS OF TOMORROW FOR A DAY!!!!

-

Can Kelly and Jack go on a rampage around Heaven to fix things?

-

Her hair is suspiciously darker from the back which I think is her Legends look from the gifs I've seen

-

Wait, Bobby had a forking dog called Rumsfeld, and Kelly has Roosevelt.

-

"Hi mom you're dead"

".......................................................... NOooOoOooooOOoo No no no baby no"

Owwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww

-

Dean resisting the spell and complainging "gotta happen, no other way" is making me feel like the Heaven Drama is going to smack them right before they can get it all done and give them a LOT MORE to worry about than Jack but also give them a roundabout way to see him again and also, of course, mean Lily might be useful for an entirely other purpose while she's here...

-

Dean right now is rationalising this through the lens of that all their terrible deals have been terrible and that this is just one more step on the Winchester life and death merry-go-round, and of course that Jack is about to get the full family treatment he deserves. But that's the Winchester lens of looking at things that even when deaths are brutal and lives cut unfairly short, there's going to be a way to bring them back if they haven't finished their stories. John finished his, in 2x22 seeing Dean get the revenge he needed to be at peace, but everyone else...

Is it ethically right to put Jack on that merry-go-round when he smiled sweetly and died with as much enthusiasm as he gave pretty much everything in his life?

-

The table lamps are out in the bunker D: them being dark is so ominous

-

And Cas shows up like shiiiiiiiiiiiiiit something worse going on guys

-

They're so casual about just summoning gods into their front room these days

Of course they're doing it in the spot in front of the door with the war room behind in one direction... The opposite end of the library to where they opened the rift.

-

Sam picks his way through the wet paint but Dean stands right in the centre of this circle for SUMMONING THE GOD WHO DECIDES WHO LIVES AND DIES AND WHERE THEY GO to have this lil chat with Lil?

-

And now Dean steps out of it and corners her with the obvious question - what's wrong with your magic and why are you risking going to Hell to stop using it entirely?

-

I'm so sorry you have to look at more dead angels, Cas

I'm also so sorry they were killed by black slime because wow after season 7 that was a laugh and a half for you

-

... Can you swear in the hallways of Heaven?

-

DUMA LIVES

(probably "for now" though hopefully longer than that)

Ma'am are you aware you have a Nougat on the loose too

I'd love it if Cas is like hi what's happening also have you seen my son

-

This actress needs to come back for a 3rd time to follow Dean around in a crisis moment.

-

OH NO now Cas is coming to the heaven memory and seeing what Jack considered his best memory

-

YEAH. I knew Naomi would show up, I just didn't know when :D

(She wasn't in the credits as far as I could tell but I already sort of knew they were leaving people off? Or maybe I was thinking lol I bet Amanda Tapping is in this episode and they won't tell us... On the other hand she mAY have been in the credits but I was WEEPING MY EYES OUT so didn't clock her despite my efforts to hold myself together and see who was coming up on screen)

-

Naomi doesn't have the most dramatic entrance on the show but she sure is racking up points for good entrances one at a time each time she appears. She never just, like... toddles onto screen normally.

-

"Perhaps the angel side of him knew he was in Heaven" honestly the most tragic thing I was trying not to think about is that he knew the entire time but he was willing to play along and enjoy hanging with his dads for eternity despite that.

-

Oh man it's another dispute over who owns Jack. Is this kid never going to be allowed to just sit and eat burgers and nougat? (Hopefully not at the same time)

-

Also based on last episode where it seemed like the Empty was awakening but had Lucifer's eyes and we were all NOOO fork that!! is there some more complicated forked up aspect to what's going on or is it just itself and awake and coming for Jack?

-

I love how Naomi just casually knows how many people are in Heaven

-

"What's one nephilim boy against all that?" "But he's MY nephilim boy!!"

-

OH NO NAOMI

-

NOT LIKE THIIIIIS

-

We better get an answer on her state by the end of the episode because she's my fave villain bar Metatron on the entire show and devouring her in shadow is just... yikes.

-

"give it a sec" *POOF* Anubis is prompt, okay.

-

He probably honestly is somewhat slighted that they're 14 years into their career and he hasn't clapped eyes on them.

-

"Yeah, we've died." "A LOT."

-

I honestly, at this point, do not blame them for their lax attitude towards the permanence of death. They need a lot of counselling they're not getting and until they do they really are going to always be terrible at this.

-

A brief moment where Anubis is like, am I going to get Flirty Banter with Dean Winchester?? and he looks at him and Dean's eyes are all dead and "my son is dead" and Anubis sighs like welp not today oh well better luck next time, if I survive this...

-

Getting flirty banter with Dean is a sign of high honour and takes you to some very interesting places.

-

Into Dean if you stick with it like Crowley did

-

And Lily's been standing there this whole time like wow these boys suck up all the attention in the room and I kinda hate them

-

Oh I LOVE this abacus. Is this some nerdy ass research that meredith did to know better than most what to expect here? Even I haven't heard this one, though I haven't really revisited Egypt lore after the expected Egyptology phase as a kid...

Anyway the half white half black beads are super interesting in a wider show symbolism way.

-

Oh deeear, Lily.

-

Of course that instantly makes you fascinated about what would happen if TFW stuck their hands over it.

-

What a good line on the show's philosophy about making your own fate - it's not destiny or a choice from above or anything like that. Your individual actions get you sent to Heaven or Hell in the natural course of things and it's weighed in such a way all he can do is use his equipment to read which way you're going... Everything else is down to you. Free Will, write your own story.

Of course, if Lily did some huge sacrifice I bet she could change things.

-

CAS LAUGHED

ugh this episode should be banned.

-

If you hug Kelly I'm rioting.

-

Everyone who ever hugs Cas slaps their hands firmly on Misha's broad shoulders like it's law and digs in and I don't know if it's because Cas has this wonderful presence about him that even when you're around Misha acting him in the moment you get swept up in it, or you just want to hug Misha like that, but Cas hugs look like the most amazing hugs in the universe and everyone just GOES for it.

Also I am typing this nonsense because I literally used up my box of tissues earlier and the next option is stealing a roll of toilet paper. So I will snark and try and ward off the sobbing.

-

"I'm so sorry. I failed you." Kelly, who has spent about 5 minutes in Jack's presence and understands his nature even beyond her blind faith in him from before but now gets to see the evidence of it: "You didn't. You didn't."

Yes, please can more characters tell Cas that he did a good job even when things don't quite go to plan. Dean's drunken slurring about how they did the best they could, this...

Kelly tells Cas how wonderful Jack is like Cas doesn't know and Cas breaks up.

And you know what this looks like and I'm not going to survive typing this and can already feel my eyeballs filling up with water... 10x20 and Jimmy and Amelia talking about Claire at the end of the episode oh god I hate it take it away from me.

-

Oh good Cas telling Jack we need you alive to fix Heaven but just in a passive way where you not being dead means the Empty backs the fuck off rather than you having to DO anything

-

Ooops the Empty is here as Dumas. I suspect she's not surviving this episode but MAYBE Naomi survives.

-

I am saying with full wishful thinking after seeing her completely consumed by black goo

-

I do like the concept of "THERE ARE MAJOR STAKES TO RESURRECT THE BOY. BRING HIM BACK THIS INSTANT. LITERALLY SAVE THE UNIVERSE BY BRINGING THE NOUGAT SON BACK TO EARTH." because that makes it so much different from "hey bring me back and maybe accidentally unleash some terrible evil in the process but we'll deal with it later  because that's what we do"

-

"HE'S OUR KID" Sam snaps

I hate it, thanks

For the love of god appeal to  her more as a fellow parent.

-

Dean DIRECTLY EQUATES Jack and May

Hold me

-

Equating no soul to not being human in front of Sam aka our no soul test case. Owie. Another reminder of just how hard Dean took it in season 6 until he got Sam back, all that skin crawling feeling of being around him...

You know what? Jack reminds me of the sort of example nice ensoulled Sam stuff we saw in 6x12 when Jared was allowed to play over the top sweet and uncomplicted for a few scenes, just to be a total contrast to how he'd been acting thus far in the season. Of course, we saw him for like 3 scenes of Dean smiling in pure relief when Sam did Nice Things before it all got complicated again, and Jack's been a long-time character :P But Sam does have a sweet street that when it emerges in the rare times it can be uncomplicated, is I think the closest equivalent to where Jack's innocent sweetness is drawn from. He's the son of Sam's puppy dog eyes specifically.

But yeah I think Lily just needs to have this resistance and anger about it all to make it so much more of a flip if she were to decide to do the spell, so that it counts as an even gooder good deed to MAYBE flip her chances. By giving her a good work to do.

And hey maybe if she meets Jack for a minute she'll love him and then be changed by the experience and go out and do more good things etc etc.

-

DUMAS IS SO GOOD AT BEING CREEPY!!

-

Misha hammed the FORK out of being the Empty and now she has to live up to it and she IS.

-

CAS don't fight the Empty by trying to stab it, fight the Empty by humming this is the song that never ends.

-

*makes a disgruntled sad noise about being forced to see Jack laid out on a table in his cute lil PJs with his cute lil socks*

-

Wait, if Lily does this spell does this mean she's using up the last of her soul to do it and going to the Empty anyway?

-

ANGRY LIONESS KELLY COMING TO YELL AT THE EMPTY AND GIVE IT A PIECE OF HER MIND

I've just paused after her yelling "STOP" but whatever happens next, she leaped in when Cas was getting kicked around and that's BAD ASS.

-

Hitting Kelly is like... probably a rage button Jack didn't even know he had so I would like to see how that goes over, but we cut to them trying to resurrect him.

-

I forking love how this is 2 seasons in a row where the message seems to be that you live to spite nihilism and the bitter end of death.

-

D'aw even though Sam said they'd pray it was Dean who used prayer to reach out to Cas in Heaven to give him that heads up. Like, totally practical rather than the sort of prayer he's made before to Cas that was all emotional appeal, but, let's save our son, huh?

-

CAS NO DON'T SAY THAT

The Empty might also really want to think about that because it knows you forking suck to keep around so trading yourself for Jack is like... really? do I really want that? :P

-

"Not for years. EONS, MAYBE." Cas, bud. I love you. I want you to stay alive that long. Do you really forking think that with the life you lead you have eons left? I mean it's really heartening to hear you talk about yourself this way. But I have to ask.

-

The Empty telling Cas that it'll come for him when he finally lets himself be happy is forking hilarious. Cas hasn't been happy once in his life and he doesn't plan to start now. Eons, maybe.

Just like that, he's unlocked eternal, grumpy life. Take notes, Lily.

-

I mean on a practical level this is basically like, yeah, this is why Destiel isn't canon, because as soon as Cas allows himself to be happy, he's ALWAYS known he gets punished for it. In 4x20 he rebelled for Dean and was instantly dragged back by Naomi... This sense of another mission, never belonging, always being on the outside and not getting the emotional resolution he needs, and actively running from it at times or throwing himself in the way of danger to make Dean be happy without him... it's interesting honestly that the Empty is here as Duma and not Naomi as she's been the agent of hoiking him back from happiness enough times in canon... And that fear of losing everything as soon as you're happy? That's what first kept Dean from Jack and then as soon as he really truly fathered Jack, happened to him. Like, that's Team Free Will's entire life story, starting with Jess, to date, here with the Empty making this threat.

-

Duma survived!!

-

Cas... really could have just bought a few minutes to do the spell rather than given himself that burden >.>

But he's determined to make a more lasting sacrifice, one that ensures this won't happen again with Jack, that he can always die whenever he wants and go to Heaven and not be bothered here.

-

Oops Jack's angry now. Now he's seen a dad sacrifice for him, he's suddenly got a case of the Winchester Angsts. Dean in season 2, for starters. Not a good place to be D: Dean in season 2 is proportionately his worst season.

-

I'm not crying because I think I already died earlier in the episode, but that was... truly awful... to watch Cas tell Jack he's at peace with it and he loves him and everyone loves him and then Kelly butts in like I LOVE YOU TOO and mom him a bit with straightening his jacket and hugging him and... UGH.

-

Lily has either the start of a heart attack or loses her soul entirely in the background and wanders into a corner to die? Er.

-

OH HEY WE ALSO MANAGED TO GET THE WORST DEAN HUG SINCE 2x22 WHEN HE GRABS JACK. NEVER SEEN HIM HUG LIKE THAT BEFORE, DON'T WANT TO SEE IT AGAIN THANKS

-

Nope, she just dieded.

Let's hope she went to heaven and we get a super corny young Lily surprise Alicia Witt return moment at the end since this episode is just throwing everything at it.

-

It's Anubis' office!!!

Wow, that's a noisy annoying place to work

Still, I LOVE these visualisations of where the cosmic forces of the universe work

-

I called it super corny but I'm DYING to see Lily's fate change.

-

"Say hello to your daughter for me" DOn't make me cry about Lily please I beg you I am run dry

-

OH THANK GOD NAOMI SURVIVED. Hooooooraaaaay!!!!!!! Oh this is a wonderful ending to a perfect episode to not have to deal with her having being consumed and left dead off-screen somewhere.

-

LOL that slam as he realises what's up and even though she obviously can do what she wants, he's still protectively closing Kelly's door to put a barrier between her and Naomi.

-

"I'm here to thank you"

Oldest trope in the book, but I love when they look over their shoulder to see if "you" is someone else, and Cas, unflappable Cas, in Naomi's presence, still checks the infinite empty corridor.

-

*double checks*

"...... you're welcome?"

Wheee unlocked new plot for altrusim!

-

Ahahaaaahaaaaaaaaa Jack wrapped in a fluffy grey robe. Listen. I am

not

okay.

Jack with his burger and Dean's dead guy robe, spitefully living...

-

I bet Dean made the burger

-

WHY did I type that when I knew how likely it was to make my eyes burn.

-

I did not cry at the last scene of them all at the table so I am going to eat extra cookies at lunch as a reward.

And Jack and Cas sharing a little glance, knowing what Cas did. Father and Son's first dire family secret! :')

-

And gently roll the camera away to credits to leave them to their happy little scene.

-

Presumably with a slow fade so you can fumble for some more tissues.

Gyah.

[seven-oomen]

So I hope you’re feeling better, and have managed to cool down finally.  A year or two ago, the A/C in my apartment kept going out, to the point where finally they had to just replace the whole unit, and there were days when the temp inside would hit nearly 33 degrees (according to Google’s conversion chart.)  As someone also very much built for colder climes, I was about ready to murder someone, but that would have required too much movement and energy expenditure.  So I know just how indescribably miserable that feeling is.  (Frankly if I ended up in Eur at any point, I would probably also cave and buy some sort of A/C, too.  Give me cold over hot any day.  I can always add more layers, I can only take off so many.)  Also, I hope you’re feeling better in general after therapy, and that it was at least helpful and cathartic, if super difficult and heavy.

I’m sorry your game turned out disappointing.  I’d seen a few memes pop up on Facebook with no real context that now make a lot more sense.  I think sometimes a sequel that just doesn’t quite live up to expectations can be worse than if it’s just a trainwreck from the start, because you can visualize how it might have been if only…

I did have one more thought on the HP front (oh god, why?  how?  I was never really even in that fandom…)  I can’t remember enough details right now to be certain if Durmstrang was more generically Eastern European coded or if it was more specific to certain countries, but I thought it wouldn’t necessarily be entirely out of the question that Noah could be a student there.  Chris in Beauxbatons is a no- brainer.  And Hale is already a British last name.  Basically, what I’m saying is Tri-Wizard Tournament, except they’re fucking.  (Which given what little I know about the HP fandom, that is probably not the first time someone’s said that…)

And I see we’re just going right for the feels with that flashback, huh? XD  Why do I have the feeling that there’s going to be a corresponding scene in the current timeline as a callback that will just make it hurt even more?  (My heart says Stiles or Malia singing it to Ben, my head says anything is good, really)  And now I can look forward to imagining John’s ghost lovingly Gibbs-smacking the three of them upside the head any time they start getting angsty about how the other two feel.  Do you have any FCs for (young) Claudia or her father (I think there were already at least a couple different actresses, so I consider her fair game)?  Or Julio?  And having a visual for him now makes me think of the flashback in Ch.6 where he was treating their injuries, wondering if he and Mieczyslaw ever did go to have a “chat” with Elias, if there was a specific event that lead to that particular incident between Chris, Noah, and Elias, and where Peter was during all that (and who kept him from “helping” his father with his visit)?

Oh, one more for the sibling prank pile: when I was in high school/college, a lot of times when I’d be over at this one friend’s house, we’d be downstairs playing video games with her little sister and/or brother (by which I mean, they would be playing GoldenEye or Perfect Dark, and I would just be dying a lot because I’m beyond terrible at FPS), if we were playing music “too loud” (usually No Doubt or Garbage, or later on, AFI), her older brother would go upstairs to his room and start blasting Queen or Pink Floyd at top volume to try and drown us out, like some kind of Stereo Cold War (instead of using headphones, or asking us to turn it down, or something else logical.)  It definitely made for some interesting mash-ups, and I always had to fight down the urge to ask him “…you know we like those bands, too, right?  Like, if you’re trying to dissuade us or irritate us, you’re doing it wrong…"  Long story short, I could totally see Stiles and Jackson doing something like this, until one of their dads gets so frustrated they start blasting some of the most teenager repelling music they can think of to make them stop.  Peter: “You think this Spice Girls mix is painful?  Keep it up and you’ll learn that I know where Chris keeps the Nickleback CDs he doesn’t think we know about.”

This was originally gonna be part of my review, but I wasn’t sure how long it might get, so I saved it for one of these.  So I know in a previous chat you mentioned Peter’s wedding day was one of the happiest of his life, and I know Chris calls them his husbands, while Noah said Peter’d been “practically proposing”, so I was wondering would they be considered engaged at this point, or actually married (like, werewolf married or something)?  Because I am entirely here for some kind of ceremony once shit calms down a bit.  I can’t see Peter resisting the chance to get both his boys into fancy suits to show off just how lucky he is.  And they could work all the kids into the ceremony in different roles, all of them dressed up, too, but allowed to style it based on their personality and preferences.  Think about all the photoshoot opportunities.  Not sure who would be the best choice for officiant, because I’m not sure who may or may not have popped up by that point in the story.  I feel like the most appropriate setting (based on present knowledge) would be the Nemeton.  Second option would be the back yard of the house once it’s been rebuilt, depending how far in the future that is and how long they want to wait to make it official (Or other locations, what ever feels the most right.)  Imagine Melissa (lovingly) roasting the everloving shit out of them in a speech.  T H E  D A N C I N G…  Just, like, a huge celebration of the fact that they made it through.  And don’t forget the honeymoon…  Them at very least getting a room in some super luxe hotel, even if they don’t want to go too terribly far away because of the kids.  Champagne, huge shower stall and Jacuzzi tub, giant bed with 1000ct sheets, balcony with a hot tub, just, like, all the nicest, fanciest luxuries.   (And because I apparently can’t get enough of them teasing Peter to distraction)  At the end of the night they all stumble into the bedroom, and get Peter sitting down on a chair or bench facing the bed.  They loosely tie his wrists behind him with the tie he’d been wearing, and slowly unbutton his shirt and slide it down to wrap around them as well (they all know it hasn’t a chance of holding him, that’s not the point) before backing away out of reach and going to work on each other’s suits.  Eventually they’re down to just their necklaces, dress shirts, and an extra surprise they had made for their husband; matching Chantilly lace panties specially handwoven with a triskelion pattern (I was thinking maybe out of lilies-of-the-valley, because for some reason I felt like Peter was a May baby, and that’s the birth flower for that month, and also I feel that would curve into the Hale spirals fairly easily and nicely.  And while I like the idea that it’s traditionally black, this one has a lovely blue shift threaded through it that would look AMAZING on them), and featuring thin triple side ties made from silk in shades of blue to match their eyes (‘cause maybe he won’t rip it if he can just untie it?).  Peter’s brain would just keep blue screening and rebooting as he tried to process everything, while they turn and crawl up the bed (giving a hell of a view as they go), turning back to him as they lean up against each other, trying to mock pout through their smirks like “Won’t you join us, husband?  It’s lonely up here without you."  His shirt just ends up confetti sized shreds of white cotton (or silk?) floating gently down to the floor as he surges up the bed at literal supernatural speed so fast he almost bounces off the headboard, trying to figure out a way to tackle both of them at once.  (…Holy shit, I cannot believe I just actually wrote all that out.  Apologies if it went a little far, as per usual, I may have gotten carried away.  In my defense, speculating about it kept me from murdering the guy who decided to open and start "testing” our dog whistles because he insisted the last one he got didn’t work, so.)  Actually, that also reminds me, we know that Derek has a triskelion tattoo, do you think Peter does as well?  Or gets one at some point?  Do you think Noah or Chris would ever get one, as a sign of pack loyalty, since the Hales are the ones that took them in when their own families cast them out?  (And also, that’s definitely a mark that’s not going to fade away, but also does not carry the risk of accidental turning.)  Where would any of them have/get them?

And re: review responses, etc.  Don’t worry if you don’t want to reveal too much ahead of time.  I generally figure a lot of what I mention is stuff that has a good chance of just coming up later in the story.  I’m equally happy with the previews we do get and with waiting patiently (I swear I can) for things to be revealed in future chapters.

Oh, and the cosplay!  (Sorry, meant to mention that earlier but I got…distracted…)  If you do ever get the chance to do that one that would be amazing!  By the time I got into TW I wasn’t getting to cons very much any more, so I’ve never really seen anyone cosplaying any TW characters, at least obviously.  And we so rarely got to see any of Peter’s beta shift as it was.  I will say that the Hale boys are some of my faves for fandom inspired fashion (basically where it’s not specifically a costume and most regular people wouldn’t get it but I know.  I’ve done it with a number of characters over the years.)  I have several henleys in colors that feel appropriate to the show’s wardrobe, that if I’m in the mood I’ll pair with some dark jeans and boots or black chucks.  It lets me express my fannish inclinations with less risk of anyone getting all judge-y about it.  I, however, can’t get away with wearing them with quite as few buttons done up as they do, there tend to be laws about that sort of thing.  I also have a cute floral dress that works really well for a Lydia inspired look, and plans for similar, slightly more obvious, versions for Raven (Teen Titans) and Black Canary, should I ever manage to get to a convention again (I’m much more prone to costumes that are adaptations over exact accuracy.  Nobody wants to see me in a spandex suit, not even me.)  But yes, full support and encouragement on the cosplay!  That look is definitely one that would catch attention.

Final unexpected segue: Many, MANY years ago we carried a product at work that was an anti-mating spray (yes, that’s spelled correctly).  It was intended for unspayed females that went into heat to help keep interested males away.  Many were the customers that bought it without paying attention who thought it would help with grooming.  I just thought it was one of the funniest things I’d ever heard of, and that was long before I knew anything about omegaverse fic.  Can you imagine something like that in a traditional a/b/o story? XD  I still think about that product every so often (no idea if they even still make anything like that), and wanted to share the hilarity.

Wow, just realized that it’s like 3am.  Jesus, I’ve been rambling a while.  But I think that was everything?  Anyway I’m going to attempt to go to bed, and pretend I didn’t just write more almost porn.  (There’s a quote from the movie Noises Off! [another fave, highly recommend if you’ve not seen it], where a character is referring to her ability to remember lines, and says “Well, it’s like a slot machine up here.” *gestures vaguely at her head* “I, I open my mouth, and I never know what’s going to come out; three oranges, or two lemons and a banana."  And I feel like that’s an accurate description of my posting style.)

For the FC I do, for teenage Claudia: Davina Claire (but imagine the brown eyes)

For Adult Claudia the actress Joey Honsa: 

And for Claudia’s dad (I’m not awake enough to copy Miech’s name fully): Gary Oldman

And Julio Delgado: Santiago Calbrera

Fucking tumblr... I had entire sections typed out during work but my phone freaked out and now it’s gone and I can retype it all over a again... am angry >:( 

Anyway, yeah I’m doing a lot better, ac’s on, I got drinks and shit. And I’m trying to rock my Reese’s pieces tank with Harry Potter booty shorts.

I’m gonna try and answer the most important things I wrote down and work from there. 

And now I can look forward to imagining John’s ghost lovingly Gibbs-smacking the three of them upside the head any time they start getting angsty about how the other two feel.  

There was a lot of Gibbs-smacking back when John was watching over them. Although he made sure to never freak out Chris and instead go for the ‘abby kisses’ on the temple and forehead whenever Chris did the right thing or was particularly vulnerable.

I also have this headcanon that John took care of Allison and Jackson for the first week or two because Chris just couldn’t. He felt alone at almost 18, just went through pure hell to deliver two babies he doesn’t really know. He loves them, he does, he’s just-, he doesn’t know how to feel. So John steps in and teaches him how to be a parent. It takes a bit of time but by the time Jackson and Allison are a week old, Chris is fully on board and would die for them in a heartbeat. And John just looks at him with this pride in his eyes and kisses his forehead. “I’m proud of you.” It’s the first time Chris hears that from a father figure.

And having a visual for him now makes me think of the flashback in Ch.6 where he was treating their injuries, wondering if he and Mieczyslaw ever did go to have a “chat” with Elias, if there was a specific event that lead to that particular incident between Chris, Noah, and Elias, and where Peter was during all that (and who kept him from “helping” his father with his visit)?

This I will address in the prequel, and maybe a very short teaser flashback.

And I was going to close this story with a wedding, a honeymoon, and a pack run at the end. ^^ And holy shit the panties idea is fucking golden.

I could not focus on my work today XD. What an image please do give me more if you think of them ^^. It’s a lovely idea to have Chris and Noah dressed in lacy triskelion panties while having Peter ‘bound’ in a chair. They’re making out, they’re all having fun. And Peter’s hard, like he’s trying so hard to be a good boy for them but holy shit if they keep making out like that, all bets are off. What a fantastic image. Although probably not the best when trying to work XD. (I don’t mind.)

Actually, that also reminds me, we know that Derek has a triskelion tattoo, do you think Peter does as well?  Or gets one at some point?  Do you think Noah or Chris would ever get one, as a sign of pack loyalty, since the Hales are the ones that took them in when their own families cast them out?  (And also, that’s definitely a mark that’s not going to fade away, but also does not carry the risk of accidental turning.)  Where would any of them have/get them?

He do! All the Hales do, it’s a coming off age thing for the wolves and some humans get them as well to show solidarity with their wolf siblings.

John had a tattoo on his left pectoral. His wife Kathryn had hers on her right shoulder. Nathaniel had one between his shoulder blades out of solidarity to his wolf brethren. (He was born human). Talia had hers on the right side of her abdomen just above her hip bone. Merlia had a tramp stamp triskelion. Peter has his over his heart. (The top of the spiral can be seen peeking through some of his deeper v-necks.)

 Laura had hers on her left shoulder. Derek has his between the shoulder blades in honor of his oldest uncle. Chris gets his on his left pectoral after he’s had his youngest child. (In honor of John) Noah gets his on his right pectoral as a mirror image after he’s had his youngest twins. (They talked about it before hand where they’d get them.)

Malia gets hers on her left wrist. Stiles on his right wrist in solidarity. Both of them on the inside. Jackson gets his just below his right collarbone. Allison gets hers just below her left collarbone. Ben gets his on his left arm when he’s old enough.

Not sure about the others but it’ll come to me.

Can you imagine something like that in a traditional a/b/o story? XD  I still think about that product every so often (no idea if they even still make anything like that), and wanted to share the hilarity.

I am wheezing. That’d be so fucking funny XD Anti-Alpha! Alpha be gone! Spray the horny away! (Okay I’ll stop.)

But now I am imagining Stiles making a prank like that where he just gives his pops (Noah) a spray bottle for christmas that says: Spray the horny away! And has a photoshopped picture of Peter on it with a red cross through it.

They have a good laugh about it.

[im-not-a-what]

What The Deuce

Title: What the Deuce

Summary:  Neal Gold and Lily Vincent don't start on the right foot when they meet at camp. But friendship blooms, and they discover some odd coincidences about each other's families. Before they know it, they've stumbled on a long-kept secret that will throw the Golds and the Vincents for a monumental loop and into an overdue reunion.

Rating: T

Genre: modern AU, family drama & shenangians, long-lost relatives

Chapter: (1) Unfortunate Circumstances

Characters/Pairings: Swanfire, Lily (Rumbelle & Maleficent appearing later)

Notes: Yes, the long discussed Mal/Rumple siblings AU. Fair warning, it starts off very Parent-Trap-ish (sprinkled with teen!Swanfire) but will hopefully evolve into a more original plotline.

AO3 link

Neal should’ve seen this coming—his being sequestered to the far corner of the computer lab with a girl whose gaze could cut glass, which she now directed at his skull. If he had simply stayed level-headed, he would’ve backed off and avoided this. But no, he couldn’t manage to be a sensible person. There was plenty of blame to lob at the glowering girl next to him, but he mostly, and silently, berated himself.

He shouldn’t have let Lily get to him. He should’ve noticed her animosity and sidestepped it on the first day of tech camp. The first lunch, specifically. But avoiding aggressive girls hadn’t been on his mind. He’d been busy looking for a table since his roommates, Michael and John Darling, had gone ahead without him. The prospect of eating in a college dining hall had weakened his knees. With haste, he’d navigated past college students to the part of the hall reserved for the middle-school and high-school kids attending the camp.

That’s when, by chance, his eyes found Emma: bright, grinning, playfully side-eying her friend over a remark.

Neal felt he was seeing a lighthouse. Sure, blame volatile hormones, but a bout of courage (or desperation for a seat) prompted him to rein in his nerves over talking to a pretty girl—a pair of pretty girls, he noticed once he widened his focus—and to approach the table with what he hoped looked like casual friendliness.

“Hey, is it all right if I sit here?”

The contrast in the girls’ reactions was the prelude to everything. The blonde girl eyed him with caution, but her wariness faded behind a smile and what he dared to think was a spark of interest. The black-haired girl with full, frowning eyebrows and nighttime eyes showed nothing but distrust. She looked annoyed and offended that a strange boy had interrupted their insular comradery.

“Sure, go ahead,” said the blonde.

The brunette glanced at her friend, distrust turning to distress. The blonde didn’t notice.

Neal hesitated. Maybe he was about to make unintentional waves. But hey, the brunette could’ve just been shy. He’d be nice, make a little small talk, and maybe she’d relax.

Emma introduced herself right off the bat. When her friend refused to make a peep, Neal shared his name, coupled with eye contact. The girl sat stiffly, as if she suspected he had a knife palmed under the table. Yup, the promise of things to come. He got along well with Emma with hardly any missteps, which in his fifteen-year-old mind was a miracle. Maybe Lily’s reticence was a cosmic counterbalance. That didn’t mean her reticence had to evolve to hostility like a resentment-fueled Pokémon.

Whenever he and the girls ran into each other, Emma let him join them while they walked or got snacks at one of the campus cafes before heading to their respective activities. They were in the same game design class, too. More mixed blessings. Neal had asked about their project, or what their other summer plans were. A few times, Lily had rolled her eyes or muttered that they didn’t have time to chat, or that he was interrupting their conversation. Flashes of embarrassment came and went with Emma—either she was only half-aware of her friend’s rudeness or was trying to deny it.

He hadn’t intended to insert himself into their team, if that was Lily’s problem. He was working with John and Michael on an adventure platformer set on a mysterious island, committed mainly to the artistic side of his group project. Emma and Lily were brainstorming a racing game, along the lines of Mario Cart meeting Grand Theft Auto. There wasn’t much he could do to undermine their work. Emma was the one asking more questions about his ideas. Neal happily answered them, too glad to have her attention to care if her racing game somehow lifted ideas from his island fantasy adventure.

Despite no overlap between their games, Lily was the one who started inexplicably walking by Neal’s computer at his team’s work station. Neal caught her observing his work on the graphics while John coded and Michael contributed ideas to mechanics. After the third time Lily sauntered by them, Neal warned the brothers. Michael flailed a little, more worried about losing credits for an unoriginal game than having his ideas stolen. John assured both his younger brother and Neal that no one was getting their hands on the game code.

If only it had been as simple as theft of intellectual property. If only Neal hadn’t misread Lily’s intentions. At the end of the first week, on the day each group had to present the first phase of game development, complete with a rudimentary demo or, at the very least, concept art and level layouts, Neal’s team volunteered to go first. The coding for their first level was fine, untouched. When Neal pulled up the files for his landscapes and character designs, he gaped at the sight of his lush jungle footpaths, waterfalls and caves recolored in neon rainbow hues. Instead of gleaming crocodiles and iridescent, carnivorous birds big enough to eat grown men, buck-toothed and googly-eyed unicorns haunted the environs. All things considered, the giggles and snickers peeling throughout the classroom were mild, hardly the stuff of mortifying nightmares, but Neal turned hot anyway. One giggling spectator was also sitting back with her arms folded, far too proud to be just amused. Emma, right next to Lily, wasn’t laughing or even smiling. She mostly frowned in helpless confusion. Her attention slid to Lily with half-realized suspicion.

Neal wasn’t the only one upset.

“What the hell did you do that for?!” John shrilly whispered once they’d escaped from class.

“It wasn’t me! You know I’d never do that!”

“I encrypted all our files! No one could’ve hacked into them—”

“So sure of yourselves.”

The boys all but jumped at Lily’s unwanted arrival. Neither John nor Michael recognized her, even if they could begin to guess what she’d done. Her smirk and cocked hips spoke volumes.

Seeing Michael and John so baffled by this girl, a stranger to them, someone they’d never done a thing to, incited Neal more than any personal insult would have. Teeth bared, and for once in his life hoping he could be as intimidating as his father to people who pissed him off, he rushed up Lily, stopping only a few inches short of collision. A quick blink in his field of vision reminded him that Emma was coming out the classroom door.

“If you have a problem with me, keep it between us! Those guys didn’t deserve that!”

“You can’t prove anything,” Lily answered, her voice light and coy. “But it looks like whoever did the art was the only one who screwed up. The game levels worked just fine.”

“It doesn’t matter! This is their game, too!”

“And you broke through my encryption!” John stepped up. His glare was surprisingly effective through the glasses. “That’s destruction of private property!”

Lily deigned to give John all of one glimpse. Her primary focus was reserved for Neal. “Again, you can’t prove anything.”

“I don’t need to!” Neal shouted. “I’ll tell the teacher exactly what you did! Want me to post it on Facebook? Twitter? So everyone knows what a—”

“Hey!” Emma shouted.

His heart could’ve dropped out of his chest and flopped on the floor. Neal didn’t doubt, much as he wanted to, that Emma’s reprimand was aimed at him.

She charged like a Valkyrie, ready to defend her friend’s honor regardless the suspicions he’d seen in her face earlier. “Lily didn’t do anything! She’s not that kind of person! And if you start spreading crap about her, I’ll make you sorry!”

For a moment, he did consider yielding. The last thing he wanted was to incur the wrath of a girl he had a crush on. He certainly didn’t want to throw mud at someone who didn’t deserve it. How could Emma be so confident of Lily’s innocence? Maybe he should trust her, wait this out—

Lily’s smirk grew. “I told you he was a punk-ass loser.”

The words fell like snow and stung like frostbite. They burned away Neal’s good sense. He glared at Lily, then shot a pained look at Emma. “I’m sorry, but it’s not worth this. I didn’t do anything to deserve this.”

Another scowl at Lily. “Kiss your credits goodbye.”

Another sad glance at Emma. “I’m sorry. I hope you find better friends.”

He marched to the classroom. By now, a gaggle of curious teens loitered in small clumps, their attention snagged by the shouting. Some kids continued to watch as Neal headed to the room to report his classmate.

Their nosiness was rewarded. Lily went off like a ticking bomb. She’d held still, watching, barely shaking, until Neal came within two feet of the door. Then she launched after him. A tiger would’ve envied her speed and bloodlust.

Lily matched Neal in height but had a lighter frame. Rather than knock him over, she jumped on his back and lock her arms around his head and neck. The new weight unbalanced him so that he lumbered forward. He had enough self-preservation instinct to turn as he reached the door and partly use Lily’s body to absorb the impact. The pain was evident by her grunt. She wasn’t deterred. She twisted herself against the momentum of Neal’s body so he again lost his balance. This time, nothing saved him from hitting the ground. They both cried out and groaned while rolling across the linoleum. Each scrambled to gain the upper hand.

Emma’s, “Oh my God!” drowned in a tsunami of excited shouts from spectators who were now pooling around the wrestling kids.

No matter how many times Neal managed to get on top of Lily and pin one of her arms, she found a vulnerable spot to knee or elbow. Even in the heat of battle, Neal minded where his hands went. That put him at a disadvantage. When he got a hold of both her wrists, Lily writhed and went as far as spitting in his face. She fought dirty, but it occurred to Neal later that she could’ve swung things fully in her favor as soon as the teacher showed up. She could’ve played the victim, as though she were the one being assault. Granted, several people could verify that she started the fight, but that would’ve carried only so much weight. In the instant that it happened, when she knocked her forehead into his spittle-covered mug and flung him on his back so she could pounce, Neal saw their teacher and burned with humiliation. By the time Lily heard the man shouting at them to stop, it was too late to cover the vicious snarl on her face with tears and pleas.

They’d been forced to a sit-down with the camp director in one of the cramped, too brightly lit administrative offices. The teacher had told them they’d be lucky not to get their butts sent home right then and there. The director, Ms. Shepherd, was a stern woman with a small, often pursued mouth. Her stare made even Lily squirm. She declared that the camp, rarely needing to discipline campers for physical assault, was willing to exercise a one-warning policy, since no one was severely hurt. Their parents would be notified of the incident and informed of the punishment awaiting them: bathroom duty in the dorms, Neal for the boys, Lily for the girls. And, in light of their shared class and Lily’s apparent sabotage of Neal’s work, Ms. Shepherd deemed it fitting to pair them off. They would start over with a new game project. Bathroom cleaning earned disgusted winces; at the second punitive measure, they gawked in outrage.

“If you want to win enough credits for a prize at the end of camp, you’d better figure out how to work together.” Shepherd dug her stare into each of them. “Surely a brother and sister can learn to be civil.”

“What?” Lily barked.

“We’re not brother and sister!” Neal was nauseous. How could anyone think he was related to this crazy chick?

The director sat back. She hadn’t been joking. “Huh. Well, forgive me. I thought I saw a resemblance.”

For the first time, even as anger boiled under their skins, Neal and Lily peeked at each other, searching yet skeptical. The look ended with them turning away like repelled magnets.

“Remember,” Shepherd said, “one more toe out of line and you’ll both be sent home.”

The threat sat in their thoughts as they sat together in the classroom the next day, but it motivated neither of them to work on their joint project. Neal doodled in his notebook, which gave the teacher the impression that something was getting accomplished.

“You two better have something by the end of class,” he warned as he walked by, particularly at Lily. Her hands were occupied staying warm under her arms, and her attention was rapt on the clock over the classroom door.

More unproductive minutes rolled by. Neal peered up and noticed everyone else crowded around their computers, invested in their work. A drop of self-loathing somehow changed into motivation— whether to avoid disappointing himself or to spite Lily remained to be seen. Neal resumed drawing, now with purpose. He couldn’t use the idea he’d discussed with his former teammates; they were now assisted by a boy named Rufio on the art. Emma had been reassigned join two sisters, Elsa and Anna, who at least seemed nice. Anna was the chattiest one, but in the brief intervals where she stopped talking, Emma and Elsa exchanged friendly words while working. Emma snuck a glimpse far across the room, met by Neal’s curious gaze. He ducked back into the notebook.

After scribbling some new ideas—monsters that John and Michael didn’t think would fit in their island, badass warrior women, dark wizards trying to open a portal to another dimension—Neal gave up inventing a story and turned his energy to sketches. He started with a model for a heroine dressed in a knight’s tunic and pants. She carried a sword. Not a fully armored knight—more like a wandering rogue who belonged nowhere but helped anyone she could in her travels. He set her up against a dragon that had Lily’s eyes.

“What are you doing?”

Neal snapped his head toward Lily. She’d gotten up and behind him to spy over his shoulder. He slapped the notebook shut.

“What do you care? You want to ruin another drawing of mine for no good reason?”

Lily pressed her lips together, the first hint of guilt. “It was just a prank.” Not nearly as much guilt as he’d hoped.

“No, it wasn’t. If you have a problem with me, just tell me what it is.”

Lily snorted. “As if that would do any good.”

Neal held his notebook in a protective pose, but he turned his swivel chair so he faced her. “We’re stuck together. You might as well. Do you just hate guys?”

“You’d like to think that.” Lily stomped back to her chair. Even as she plopped down, she let the chair spin around enough that they looked at each other. “I know you have designs on Emma.”

Neal would’ve laughed if the meaning of her words didn’t leave a queasy feeling in his stomach. “‘Designs?’ This isn’t Victorian times.”

“You know what I mean.” She crossed her legs, imbuing her attitude with false sophistication.

“If you mean I like Emma, sure. She seems like a cool person.”

Lily scoffed. “Right, that’s all it is. She’s ‘cool.’”

“What is your problem? It’d be one thing if Emma didn’t want me around. If that’s what’s going on, I won’t bother her anymore. But she hasn’t said or done anything to make me think so. You’re the one being a—”

“A bitch?” The word rolled off her tongue with adult ease.

While he’d been tempted to blurt out it earlier, Neal didn’t have the nerve or anger to say the word now. He was tired of being angry. “You’re the one who doesn’t like me. That’s what I’m getting at. What have I done? If I’ve offended you, I didn’t mean to.”

Lily fell back on nonverbal resistance, but her closed-off posture looked more awkward than defiant. Maybe she was getting embarrassed over her own behavior, or at least the reasons behind it. Neal tried to resume sketching (and brainstorming to how to grovel to Director Shepherd for another project partner). However, for all his understandable ire, he’d been bitten by the curiosity bug. He checked in with Lily and saw that she was simply stewing, and not necessarily over him. But several minutes later, she nearly debunked this notion.

“She doesn’t need a boy in her life,” she said, crisp and quiet.

Neal paused, despite being a few strokes away from deeming his dragon drawing complete. “Did she say that?” He didn’t expect an honest answer. That didn’t stop him from seeking one.

Lily shifted her shoulders, as though fighting against the impulse to give him what he wanted, or to tell him what she wanted him to believe. “I know her. She’s had guys let her down. She doesn’t need any more of that.”

“I’m not like that.” Neal kept his voice low, controlled. He would avoid another fight. “It may be hard to believe since we barely know each other. And yeah, I like Emma, but not just in that way. If I can only be her friend, that’s fine.”

She watched him askance. “I’ve never met a guy who didn’t have a problem being friend-zoned.”

“Maybe all the guys you know are jerks.” He shrugged. A little smile bled through.

“I don’t doubt that. That’s why it’s just Emma and me. We don’t need anyone else.”

A niggling question jumped into Neal’s mind, but he let a few moments of reflection pass before posing it. “Only you two? You must have other friends.”

Lily half-shrugged. She didn’t look at him.

More reflection brought an epiphany. Suddenly all the irrational hatred, even the sabotage, made some sense. And with it, Neal’s anger all but melted. All right, a smidgen sat like a dying ember in his chest, but most of him ached with sympathy. “All right,” he said gently. “I get it.”

Lily was as on fire as ever, even in silence. “Get what?”

Neal licked his lips as he picked his words. It was like crossing a minefield. “Emma is your best friend. Maybe the only real friend you feel you can depend on. You don’t want anything, or anyone, getting in the way of that.”

The words had her flinching, but she turned her chair in his sole direction. Neal braced his hands on his chair’s armrests in case he had to dodge an attack.

“Don’t act like you know me, or Emma. You’re just some guy who wants to get into my friend’s pants.”

“That’s not true!” He straight away regretted the lack of restraint when half a dozen heads, including the teacher’s, turned to them. To make the teacher think he and Lily were deliberating over their project, he rolled his chair closer to hers and bowed his head.

“First of all, I’m not trying to seduce your friend. I wouldn’t know how. And if you’re so sure she’s not interested in dating, you don’t have anything to worry about. Second, I’d have been happy to be your friend, too, if you’d let me.”

“Not interested,” Lily sniped.

“Fine. Third, I do understand. I don’t have a lot of friends back home, either. I’m not one of the popular kids, and I don’t care about being popular, or having tons of friends. But it was nice knowing there were some kids my age to hang out with. Emma seems like someone who’ll give you a chance to sit with her and have a conversation without it being super awkward. I’m sorry if I’m wrong, but it doesn’t seem I am.”

The change happened in seconds. Even as she scowled, her chin tightened and her eyes watered. Neal froze in panic. Oh, God, was she going to cry? Was she going to tell the teacher he was bullying her?

“How can you possibly know that?” She sniffed. Her eyes held their water. “You’ve know her for barely a week. You made that assumption just by looking at her. You can’t know her that quickly. It’s just a line.”

“Hey,” Neal whispered. He stopped his hand from reaching for hers. “I’m not trying to upset you. I don’t know how I know that about Emma. I saw her and I . . . I just trusted my gut.”

Hands clutched, Lily stared down. Her long lashes hid the tears, but now and then a flicker of light betrayed dew.

“What’s wrong? Seriously.”

“It’s nothing.” Some tears dripped. She rubbed her eye with her jacket sleeve.

Neal looked at the teacher. He hadn’t noticed Lily starting to cry. If he did, that would create new problems fast. Neal then remembered a gift from his dad on his last birthday, one he thought kind of ridiculous at the time, but hey, he’d take it. He rolled his chair over to his backpack, came back with it, opened the smaller pocket and pulled out a folded square of cloth.

“Here.” He held it out to Lily.

She had to wipe her eyes to see. Her confusion only deepened. “The hell is that?”

“A handkerchief.” Neal didn’t bother hiding his embarrassment. “My dad thinks they should come back in fashion. Personally, I think they’re silly, but I don’t have any tissues.”

As though half-certain it was poisoned, Lily plucked up the kerchief by only two fingers and shook it open. On the white cloth’s corner, the letters N.G. were stitched in gold-colored thread.

“Are . . . are those your initials?”

Neal winced. “Yeah.”

Lily snorted, almost laughing. “Is your dad for real?”

“Not really.”

“Sad thing is, I think my mom might carry one of these around, too.” That seemed reason enough to mop up her eyes with the kerchief. Once she was done, she returned it to Neal. A quiet minute went by. Her attention drifted to the notebook in his lap.

“So, are you going to tell me what you’ve been drawing? Is it for a game?”

Neal picked up the book, more inclined to share, but he waved it at her as he asked, “Can I be sure you’re not going to draw stupid eyes and big teeth on these?”

Lily rolled her eyes. “Not if it’s my game, too.”

With a budding smile, Neal opened the book. “It’s a vague idea. If you have any suggestions—”

“Wow.” She studied the scene of the warrior girl standing against a mighty, beautiful dragon and a horde of monsters scattered all over the page. “You can make that on a computer?”

“If I have enough time. You like it?”

“Yeah. As long as the dragon is truly badass, I’m on board.”

Neal lowered the book and gave her a thoughtful look. “I’m going to take a wild guess that you’ve got some coding experience.”

Half her mouth curled while she bit the other side. “You could say that.”

He nodded. “All right. We better get started.”

[allforwar]

Congratulations Liv! You’ve been accepted for the role of Dorcas Meadowes with the faceclaim of Emeraude Toubia! Please send in your account within the next 24 hours! We can’t wait to have you as a part of All For War!

Please make sure to enable both your ask and submit and take a look at the next steps.

out of character information

alias: Liv

age: Twenty

time zone: EST/GMT-5

why this character: I have been roleplaying Dorcas for the better part of twelve years. She’s become my little baby and I’m way too excited to have her here. <3 She’s always so unique and great.

past experience in roleplay: Roleplaying for twelve years. Four on Tumblr!

activity level: I’m a strong eight. I’m currently living with my parents to finish out the first trimester of my pregnancy, and my fiance works all the time. So, I’m literally always able to be on. AND DORCAS MEADOWES IS BAE.

in character information

character’s full name: Dorcas Rose Meadowes

Dorcas( door-cas ) A Gazelle, a lanky animal. You were a lanky little girl. The moment your adoptive mother saw you, you were dubbed Doe. An innocent little gazelle you were. Your birth name, though you never knew it, was Alecia Mae Wilson. A Halfblood whose father died before you were born and therefore unable to tell your mother the secret about the blood running through your veins. Oops. You were placed with a new family - the Meadowes.

Rose( row-z ) A wildflower in your small basket. A wild Rose and thus your middle was chosen. The flower became the one thing you held onto. It was pressed and stored and saved and even after going off to Hogwarts, you kept it and would look at it whenever you felt like a piece of you was missing.

Meadowes ( med-oh-zz ) A meadow. Alissa Mae Meadowes and John Scot Meadowes were an older couple unable to conceive children. When it was announced you would be up for adoption - they jumped at the chance. Little Meadowes you would grow to be.

preferred face claim: emeraude toubia, seychelle gabriel

date of birth: April 5th, 1959.

Aries. A birthday is supposed to mean so much. However, a birthday can’t mean shit when you don’t know when you were truly born. April 5th, 1960. It was the day you were dropped off - unwanted, unloved.

Your mother made a birthday for you. She told you that you were born that day, even if it wasn’t the day you came into the world. It was the day you became a part of their family..

Even when you didn’t fit in, and no matter how much you tried– weird things happened around you.

Aries are known to be independent, and bold. Dorcas was and is both. From the time she could walk and talk, she was taking care of herself.

skills:

Charms and Transfiguration. The only two classes that meant anything to her. Potions was dreadful and her other classes were boring. The two classes were the only ones that would truly matter in her Healer training anyways. (Yet no one told her you need to know Potions to excel.)

occupation: Healer trainee.

She is currently a Healer trainee at Saint Mungo’s. While it wasn’t her first choice at a job, it has become something she loves. Always wanting to help the lower people and patients within the Hospital.

on war:

She’s indifferent. She wants to do something but she’s innocent and naive. She doesn’t know what she can do to help. Yet, she knows she wants to do something. Dorcas is in the Order but she feels like it isn’t enough and won’t be enough when Voldemort strikes. The war heavily affects her because of her blood status.

She’s on the Light side and intends to remain there.

boggart:

Lily, Marlene and Sirius’s dead bodies. They’re the only ones besides her parents she’s held love for. They’re the only ones she would die for in a heartbeat. The image is their bodies stacked on one another covered in blood.

amortentia:

Mint: Her mother was a lover of all things to do with Tea. Making her own kinds and versions. Dorcas was a lover of all things to do with her mothers cooking. Maybe that’s why when it came to Tea, Dorcas was right there trying all of them. Mint was and will always remain her favorite. The one thing about her mother she’ll miss the most. Lemon Scones: Lily was a baker. A damn good one at that. Dorcas would eat anything the redhead made her without a second thought. Lemon scones. The one thing Dorcas loved and hated the most. The taste of Lemon would make her gag automatically but the dessert would have her coming back for more. Wet Grass: Her father mowed. Especially after it rained. The smell of freshly cut wet grass would always be the scent that reminded her of childhood. Even after her parents died, she would mow her yard the Muggle way just to be able to smell that scent.

wand:

9", Alder, Phoenix Feather, Supple

While Alder is an extremely rare wood, it was the only wand that didn’t cause everything in Ollivander’s shop to blow up. It was the twenty-third wand he had handed young Dorcas. He immediately hid as soon as she touched it, yet only gold showed from the end. They’re known to be a fighter wand and along with the Phoenix Feather, it creates balance. The short length is due to Dorcas’ short height. Though, she refuses to admit it.

patronus:

Dolphin, they’re sociable animals and Dorcas is the most sociable person you could ever meet. A Dolphin patronus is normally attached to confident and strong people, both of which Doe attributes. While she is still unable to produce her patronus, from reading about the different ones– she believes it or Hare would fit her the best. Though, at age nineteen she will be able to perform it.

important connections:

LILY EVANS: Best friend. Better half. The only one who could relate to her with their blood status and upbringing. Dorcas was there for Lily when Lily needed someone. Especially when Lily upset-baked, Dorcas was there to eat it all. SIRIUS BLACK: Unknown to him but she loves him more than she’ll admit. Friends since first year and continuing on now, Dorcas finds Sirius to be the greatest thing since sliced bread. MARLENE MCKINNON: Twin. Light of life. Marls, her sister from other parents. Numerous summers spent with the McKinnon family. (Donnie was hot okay.) meant they grew too close. Throw in a redhead and you have the trio.

biography & other headcanons

Dorcas Rose Meadowes was born two months premature in a small London home. Her mother had lost too much blood and before anyone knew it, her mother was gone. Little Dorcas was taken and was bounced between family members until no other family wanted her. That’s when the adoption took place and little Doe got a family.

The Meadowes were older, both unable to conceive children and they had been in the system for over six years to adopt a child. At least, until the little brunette girl came to them. Alissa Meadowes was a kind woman and when she first seen little Dorcas– she knew what name to give her. Dorcas Rose it was. Meadowes was a given. The family loved the little girl, always ensuring she had everything she wanted.

Yet, they knew something was wrong with their daughter. Weird things would happen with Dorcas, she would always cause odd things to happen and occurrences of floating books and stuffed animals wasn’t an unheard thing in the Meadowes household. Everything began to make sense before Dorcas’ eleventh birthday.

A woman showed up on their doorstep and spoke about things that made the Meadowes’ confused. There was no such thing as magic, no such thing as the Wizarding World. However, the woman was able to produce books and writing and everything to prove the family that their young girl was indeed a witch. It took three weeks for Dorcas to convince them to let her go. The trip to Diagon Alley was everything the brunette imagined. It was perfect, too perfect. A kitten was bought, a wand was found and everything was amazing.

Dorcas sat by herself on the ride to Hogwarts, at least until Lily Evans appeared. A friendship was quickly struck up. The future Hufflepuff seen herself in the redhead and the two Muggleborns became close.

Within two minutes, she was placed in Hufflepuff. The house was her home. Quickly able to make friends and excel in her studies. Her mother and father were more than proud of their little witch, though they rarely said it. They were scared though, while things in the Muggle world were going to Hell… They wondered if the same was happening in the Wizarding.

Hogwarts was her safe haven, until it no longer was. The Wizarding World was going to Hell and Dorcas needed to choose a side, make a stance. The minute she graduated, she was approached by Dumbledore and asked to join the Order. Doe didn’t need a second thought and joined immediately. She knew with her Healer training she would soon have, she would be a needed asset for the cause.

Healer training wasn’t her first choice, but it was needed. She had friends and family to protect. She joined it quickly and quietly. Making her way up the ladder, always impressing those around her and making sure her friends were there when she needed them. Healing came too naturally.

Then, tragedy struck and Dorcas had to take a step back and reevaluate things.

Three days before her eighteenth birthday, her parents were murdered in cold blood. Their house burned to a crisp. That was when Dorcas decided.

She was going to fight, even if it killed her.