#jack unsettles him. he uses that control to feel less unsettled. especially when he can’t do it to the actual threat of that finale: the

[quietwingsinthesky]

the doctor is emotionally manipulative. he’s very good at it, and even better at justifying it both to himself and the people he’s doing it to. he can see when his approval, his affection, is valuable enough to someone that withholding it will be an effective way of getting them to do what he wants. this is one of his best flaws, that he’ll do this to people and do it to them for his own definition of what’s good for them.

(gestures vaguely) twissy.

[corysmiles]

Giant house au! Technos had a sick day with Phil shinking down to help take care of him. They all probably thought Techno always carrying his sword even around the house was Techno being dramatic before Phil had to start using it for a lot of things.

But what about the opposite? Maybe two of the giants are out for a day or two, and the one who stayed behind got sick. Techno tries his best to take care of them despite his size.

-❤ anon

Sick Day

—————————

Giant House AU

CW: language

Notes: I’m gonna make it Tommy who stayed home with him since they haven’t had much bonding time, and so sorry it took literally forever for me to get back to this (also I’m blaming all grammar mistakes on me being sick)

—————————

Techno had no idea how to help a sick giant. He was already so tiny compared to the house he lived in, so trying to independently get medicine for his sick brother was way more difficult than it should have been.

Phil and Wilbur had left just the day before, which normally wouldn’t be a big problem. Techno was fine getting around on his own, especially since Tommy was staying with him.

He just didn’t plan on Tommy catching a fever while none of the other giants were there.

While Techno pondered how to actually get up to the giant’s medicine cabinet Tommy laid down curled up in his bed shivering every so often. He looked terrible.

And sounded awful too.

Earlier Techno had tried to crawl up to give him his shrinking potion, but everytime the boy sneezed it sent Techno flying… And the giant couldn’t hold him either since they both feared he’d cough and accidentally drop the human.

So there wouldn’t be any touching the giant.

Next Techno tried to make him soup thinking it might at least make him feel a little more comfortable. Though quickly he realized he couldn’t even get into the cabinet with human-sized pans without a giant’s help…And Tommy wouldn’t be getting up any time soon. Not even to mention that any soup he made would be nothing more than a spoonful for the giant unless he wanted to try to make him a hundred bowls.

So that left him standing on the edge of the giant’s counter staring up at the glass-panelled medicine cabinet. He’d never had to go in it himself, he had his own medicine in his room, but human-sized medicine wouldn’t do anything for Tommy. He was pretty sure Tommy would have to have at least a couple bottles of human medicine for it to do anything.

However, tilting his head up he could just barely see the jar he needed. It looked so close, but he couldn’t figure out how to get to it. The glass was too slippery so he couldn’t climb it, and he was too worried that if he used his hook he’d get stuck and have no way down until the other two giants came back home.

“Fuck…” Techno hummed, “Tommy you sure you can’t get up for just a moment?”

From the giant’s mound of blankets he heard a loud grumble followed by a cough, “No, cant move.”

Techno rolled his eyes and readjusted himself on the counter to get a better view of the medicine cabinet. He just needed a way to get up there- maybe he could pull something over to climb on. It probably wasn’t the safest bet, but it was better than listening to Tommy complain for the next few days.

Hastily he marched along the wooden counter over to a giant stack of empty cardboard boxes. They would be perfect…if he could actually move them that is.

With a loud huff he pushed his back into the side of the box, but only managed to move it an inch before his foot slipped.

“Come on,” he whined as he kicked out his legs against the counter- still no luck, “You gotta be kidding me.”

With a loud sigh he collapsed with his back pressed against the boxes. It wouldn’t work either.

“You okay up there?” Tommy’s voice boomed.

Techno sprung back up and glared at the huge boxes in front of him, “Yeah. Just fine.”

“Cool,” Tommy murmured, before throwing in, “can you get me some meds big man?”

Techno could almost feel the boiling annoyance building up in his stomach, “That’s what I’m doing.”

All he got was a low hum and another series of coughs from the giant. Not even a thank you.

He better be grateful later, Techno glowered.

It was only when Techno heard a soft chirp behind him that a thought sprung up in his mind. Quickly he turned around and sure enough one stray crow cocked its head at him from the other side of the kitchen. It’s black feathers glimmered under the morning light- it must have been left behind to watch over the house.

“Hey,” Techno cringed, “Bird? Why don’t you come over here Huh? You can help me.”

The bird chirped again and hopped forward before banging its beak against the counter. Not exactly what Techno wanted.

The human’s shoulder dropped as he waved at the crow, “Come on birdy. You can do it, just come here.”

The bird hopped along the counter again ruffling it’s tail feathers at the human. The sight of the giant crow was a bit unsettling, but after Phil trained them they behaved much better… Techno just hoped they’d still leave him alone even if Phil wasn’t there to control them.

“Come on. Just fly over here,” Techno pleaded, but the bird just stared, “I don’t know if you understand me but please just come here. I need the medicine.”

This time the bird cocked its head to the side before flapping over to Techno’s side, the small burst of air from its wings almost knocking Techno over.

“Oh hey,” Techno inched away from the crow’s sharp talons, “Uh maybe you do understand me huh… Can you get me up there?”

Techno pointed up at the cabinet and received a sharp chirp from the bird. Before he could even turn back around he felt a sharp prodding against his back. He tried to pull away but the pressure against his spine increased until he was plunged into darkness.

He was in the birds mouth.

Techno yelled out and tried to kick open the crow’s beak to no avail. All he heard in return was a disgruntled caw before the bird flapped its wings.

“Hey!” he yelped, trying to stay at the front of the animal’s beak, “Tommy help please!”

There was no response from the giant, although Techno wasn’t even sure if he’d be able to hear it from the crows mouth. He felt his chest start to tighten anxiously as he pounded at the hard beak. If he couldn’t get out he’d probably die there.

Tommy wouldn’t know where he went and there was no Phil to reel back in the crows. He felt helpless.

He sent another punch at the crease in the birds beak as he tried to keep his breathing steady. The last thing he needed was to cry.

Thankfully, this time when his fist hit the bird a small crack of light burst across his eyes. Immediately he tried to push himself through before he was regurgitated back onto solid ground.

He wiped the spit off his face and frantically tried to create space between him and the bird before his back hit a cold surface. He flinched away and turned only to find the glass panelled door he’d been looking at before.

His eyes whipped back to the crow that was now staring at Techno with its head tilted.

“You helped me?” Techno gasped.

The bird chirped a couple more times before hopping up to another shelf. Techno heard a bit of shuffling and scratching of the crow’s talons against wood before a giant plastic bottle thumped to the floor beside him.

Techno looked up at the crow with amazement as it let out another happy caw.

“You really are helping me,” Techno grinned, digging his hands into the container’s lid to pop it open, “I guess I see why Phil left you here huh?”

The bird cooed contentedly as it flew down to pitch beside the human. Every once in a while it’s wing would brush against Techno’s side as it’s picked at its feathers. He wouldn’t admit it but it was kind of cute in a “could definitely kill him” kind of way.

When he finally heard the loud snap of the bottle’s lid opening he let out a proud laugh before digging out two round pills. The medicine was almost the size of Techno’s arm.

The crow’s chirping increased as he packed both pills into his bag. This time with a lot less fear Techno let the bird grab him in its beak. The wet darkness was still unpleasant but he knew it wouldn’t be the cause of his demise now.

A loud of gust of wind reached his ears as the bird took off from the cabinet, and while Techno couldn’t see the outside he hoped the crow knew to take him to Tommy.

After a few seconds when the beak cracked open Techno grinned as he found himself right next to Tommy’s blanket cocoon. The sniffles of the giant boy could be heard loudly even through all the layers.

“Hey Tommy!” Techno yelled as he stepped out of the bird’s mouth and patted its head thankfully, “Got you your medicine.”

Immediately the giant’s head popped out of the blankets like a Jack-in-the-box.

Tommy coughed and grabbed at the human, “Really? Give it!”

Before the giant’s fingers could grab onto Techno he stepped back with a loud huff. His feet stood firmly on the ground as Tommy pouted at him.

“No thank you? Really?” he scoffed.

The giant teen rolled his eyes and shrugged off the human, “Whatever, thank you I guess. But I’m literally dying you know.”

A burst of laughter escaped Technos chest, “Uhuh, basically got a foot in the grave Huh?”

Tommy huffed and reached for the medicine again, but this time Techno careful placed the pills onto his outstretched hand. He heard a gulp as the giant downed it before he let out an exaggerated sigh of relief.

“Ahh,” Tommy grinned as he poked at Techno’s side, “Feel better already. Like a new man.”

“Oh shut up,” Techno laughed as he pushed away Tommy’s finger.

However it only managed to urge the giant on as he pushed the human onto the counter with his thumb. Before Techno could even react he was pinned down by the heel of the teen’s hand.

Tommy’s boisterous laugh echoed throughout the house, “Awe how cute lil Techno helping his big brother.”

Techno shook his head at the boys antics and playfully wrestled against his fingers. He was annoying sure, but he always enjoyed spending time with him.

No matter how much he pissed him off sometimes, he was his brother.

[afterhoursfic]

what about eskel as the kaer morhen's sex toy? eskel doesn't get enough dick while he's out on the path and the other wolves (including vesemir, maybe) are happy to have a few nice warm holes to use whenever they feel like it, whatever eskel's doing at the time. and it's not like he has a problem waking up full of cock.

All plot and little porn makes jack a dull boy but oh well. Honestly, I’m in love with this idea and don’t have the proper words to say so but Eskel as nothing more than a hole for his brothers to use is perfection.

I’ve also added Vesemir, there’s no explicit fucking between the two but he just gives Eskel a helping hand here and there.

.

Normally, when he found himself on the last stretch up to the gates of Kaer Morhen he felt the stresses of the past year slowly melt away almost as if it was taking a deep sigh before he could finally relax. This year was different though, instead, his body felt tight and uncomfortable, itchy almost and no matter what he tried he couldn’t make that feeling go away.

He knew the cause of it, of course, It had been just over a year since he last shared a bed, or hell even a hand with someone, and the winter months would only add to that growing timeline. To some, it was a stupid thing to get worked up over but in all that time he had never been truly satisfied, his hand barely took off the edge and often left him feeling worse than before, couple that with almost every brothel kicking him out on sight and having to hear his brothers forays under the sheets meant he was in for a shit few months.

Sure it had never been easy to find a partner, even less so after he got the scars that littered the side of his face but there was always someone who wanted to try their luck with him, to brag about the fact they took a witcher to bed, and yet it seemed his luck had run out.

When he finally passed the gates to the keep he only spared his brothers and Vesemir a quick nod as he settled Scorpion in the stables, if they noticed anything was odd they didn’t say it, but he could feel their eyes boring into him all the same.

After that he eagerly made his way back to his rooms, ignoring Lambert’s attempt to goad him into a game of Gwent, and giving a grunt when Vesemir announced food would be ready in an hour. Once he was behind a closed door he first went to his trunk and dug through it until he found the wooden cock, he’d bought on a whim decades ago now.

It wasn’t the first one he’d owned but he quickly learned not to take it out on the path with him between the monsters that always seemed to damage his belongings and the people who liked to kick him out of towns when he came back from a job, sans his bags, he decided it would just be easiest to leave it here, the worst that could happen would be if Lambert found it and paraded that bit of information.

Now though all he wanted was to get off, to try and ease the edge off, and so he quickly stripped before he almost tore his bag searching for the small vial of oil. In record time he had two fingers slicked and pressing into him, only doing himself the barest courtesy of prepping himself before he was slicking up the wooden cock and pressing it into him.

It felt good for all of a second, to have something other than his fingers pressing into himself, but it still wasn’t a real cock and even as he began to fuck himself and aimed it towards his prostate, he felt little relief. He knew he wouldn’t be satisfied by the end, but he was here now so may as well come, so with one hand fucking the dildo into himself and the other stripping his cock he soon came with a groan and sure enough, he just felt worse afterwards, unsettled almost, and it was only by tossing the wooden cock into the corner of the room that stopped him from destroying it with a blast of igni.

He could feel the frown on his face as he got up to grab a cloth to clean himself before dressing again, could feel the way his muscles bunched up under his skin, coiled tight as if ready for a fight and he knew he had to watch himself tonight lest he gets riled up at his brothers and lash out them before Vesemir forced him to say what afflicted him. He definitely did not want to be having that conversation with any of them, especially as he pictured Lambert’s grinning face.

Dinner was a tense affair, for him at least, offering nothing but grunts here and there as his brothers spoke a little of their own adventures over the past year, apparently, Geralt and Lambert had worked a job together and not only that but Geralt had met an interesting woman by the name Countess Mignole, who Vesemir had had a dalliance with in the past and even got chased out the woman’s window when caught. Any other time he would probably enjoy his brother’s ribbing of their mentor but now all he wanted was the privacy of his room, in fact, he only stayed as long as his food and drink lasted before he bade them farewell and went left for another very unsatisfying hand job before he went back to bed.

The next couple of weeks weren’t any easier on him. During training he lashed out, normally so controlled and level-headed, now he let his emotions get the better of him by constantly using aard to fling his brothers, and one time Vesemir, across the courtyard just to feel something satisfying, and it was satisfying the first few times, but that soon lost its appeal, not that he stopped doing it though.

Of course, he was chastised, most of their training was supposed to be without signs and even then they were only used to disarm and throw each other off, nowhere close to genuinely hurting one another, but watching Geralt, the famed white wolf be thrown back against the keep’s wall definitely helped him.

Mealtimes were no better, most of the time he could skirt by the others to pick up a bit of food from the kitchen, ignoring their lingering stares and attempts at conversation as he just wanted to eat and get on with the day. Dinner though he couldn’t avoid and would often watch his brothers, well mostly Lambert, get exceedingly drunk on his shitty vodka and bragging about the men and women he bedded, and how more than half of them had come to him begging he takes them to bed.

He wasn’t jealous, or at least that’s what he tried to tell himself, but whenever the conversation turned his way it usually ended with him telling them to fuck off before he stomped off to his room. Okay so maybe he was a little jealous.

It all culminated one night when he couldn’t sleep, couldn’t get comfortable no matter what he did, and was filled with the sort of energy that was slowly making him crazy so that he was ready to tear down the walls of this keep just to get rid of it.

He wasn’t that stupid or desperate, yet, and so he simply picked up his sword and headed down to the courtyards, the faint light of dawn beginning to peek over the castle walls as he struck his sword down against the first training dummy.

He watched it crack and fall apart under his sword in a matter of blows and soon moved onto the next one and the next until a shout rung out behind him.

“That’s enough, wolf” He turned to hurl a snarl towards Vesemir but at the sight of the older witcher, of the stance that brooked absolutely no argument, he bit his tongue and instead dropped his sword to the floor, a mistake clearly as he heard Vesemir’s scowl “That’s no way to treat your weapon, wolf, have I taught you nothing”

With a put-upon sigh, he bent down to pick up the blade and didn’t bother to look up as he started to walk back to his rooms to try for the hundredth time to get some sort of relief until he felt a hard hand on his shoulder, a touch that practically branded him even through his clothes and he hated that his knees felt just a little weak, gods when was the last time he had been touched.

He doesn’t even fight it when Vesemir forces him to his knees, just settles on his knees, face cast down as he waits for his punishment. What he doesn’t expect though is a gentle hand lifting his head up and the almost assessing gaze from the other witcher before Vesemir hums to himself and tilts his head in question “When’s the last time you were fucked?”

He doesn’t bother answering, just clenches his jaw and stares back up at Vesemir, which is answer enough apparently as the older witcher just frowns down at him “I’ll leave the boys to it, they’ve been clamoring to get into bed with you since you arrived”

That gets his attention. Sure the three of them had slept together before, when the days were dark and cold and the nights even more so and they needed a brother’s warmth to take the chill from their bones, but it had been years since they’d done anything together, at least for him. Ever since he’d gotten the scars stretching across his face he’d kept to himself, saw the way people flinched and pulled away from him, and he couldn’t bear that from his brothers.

The thought was pushed aside when he felt a pressure at his cock and he looked down to see Vesemir’s boot against the line of his cock, hard against his breeches for gods knew how long and he couldn’t help the moan that broke free as he thrust against the pressure once, and then again and again until he humping Vesemir’s boot, the only thought of moremoremore until he felt a gentle hand card through his hair and it was that that did him in, that had him come with a shout and caused a sizeable wet spot to stain the front of his pants until he was left panting and limp.

The next thing he knows he’s inside the great hall and is being handed off to Geralt and not much longer he’s in a bed with far too many hands pulling at his clothes, turning to see Lambert behind him, but he can’t even say anything before he feels a finger circling his rim before pushing in.

It’s as if all the air leaves him then and all he can do is hold onto Geralt in front of him as he’s fucked on two, then three, then four fingers. He comes again as a fifth finger teases his hole and it earns a chuckle from his brothers.

He whines when he feels the fingers pull out, but he can’t even comment when suddenly he’s being moved onto his front, on his elbows over Geralt with his ass up before Lambert slides into him. His groan is cut off when a forceful hand in his hair is pulling him down and suddenly his mouth is full of Geralt’s cock, barely able to stop himself from choking on it.

Between the two of them, they figure out a rhythm so that he’s either sinking down onto Geralt or pushed back onto Lambert, filled from both ends for the first time in decades, and he’s almost shameful to say how much he missed this, how much he missed being fucked and moved around as if he were nothing but a hole.

He could feel his mind go hazy with it, just let himself relax as he let them use him how they pleased, whether that was by forcing his mouth onto their cocks until they stretched the back of his throat and left him gagging and struggling for air, or using all the strength and stamina they possessed to fuck into his ass for hours until he was an aching, come-filled mess, and even then begging for more.

He’d lost count of how many orgasms he’d had, only knew that a hand hadn’t touched his cock once and yet it was still hard and flushed red, even as another dry orgasm shook through him and wring out another orgasm from both Lambert and Geralt with muttered swears about what a needy slut he was, how he wanted to be their breeding bitch for the winter and couldn’t go a minute without a cock in him.

In dispersed between the moments of brutal fucking that left him a weak, begging mess, were softer moments that were somehow worse, that would have tears at the corner of his eyes if he were able when Geralt slowly fucked into him, oh so careful and gentle as he pressed small kisses along the scars on his face or when Lambert had him pressed face down into the mattress and slowly rolled his hips into him, a comforting weight at his back as he promised to look after him, that they were all he needed.

It was sometime in the early morning when they finally retired to sleep and for the first time in months, he felt relaxed, comforted now that he was surrounded by his brothers, and fell into a restful sleep.

He had half expected that to be it, that they would help him that once to take the edge off, to make him himself again for the rest of the winter lest he physically tear the walls down, and a part of him hurt at the fact but when woke up to an empty bed he didn’t dwell on it.

He took a moment to admire the bruises and scratches littered on him, even the ache that seemed to stretch across his whole body when he stood up before making his way to the kitchen for food and then probably back to his own bed for some more much-needed rest.

That plan was derailed as soon as he stepped into the kitchen, Vesemir working over the stove making some sort of stew for dinner, whilst Geralt and Lambert sat at the small table, Lambert finishing off his breakfast before they all turned to look at him.

The next thing he knew Geralt was up and pushing him back onto the table, quick hands removed his trousers and two fingers pushed into his swollen rim still leaking their come from only a few hours before. He couldn’t keep back the moan in the back of his throat before suddenly Geralt pulled his fingers out to be replaced by his cock.

That’s how he found himself being fucked over the breakfast table, his brothers chatting amicably with each other whilst he was reduced to a desperate wanton mess under Geralt’s hands. He was only half-hard by the time he felt Geralt come into him, how he still had anything left was a surprise to him but he was left panting and whining for more when the other witcher pulled out of him, but he wasn’t left long when he felt Lambert move by his head.

Lambert’s breakfast seemingly finished he was shifted on the table until his table was hanging off of one end and soon Lambert’s cock was teasing at his mouth and with a hum, he began to suck down the younger witcher’s cock. So focused on just how good it was to have a cock in him first thing in the morning, he jumped when he felt rough hands pinch at his nipples, the mix of pain and pleasure sending a shiver through him as he heard Vesemir chuckle above him, but that didn’t stop the older witcher until he was coming with a shudder with Lambert’s cock so far down his throat he was struggling to breathe.

There was a passing remark from Vesemir to clean up whatever mess they made as he left, and then it was just the three of them, Lambert finished soon after with a growl and he was promptly settled back onto Geralt’s cock, now sat on the bench whilst he ate breakfast, and when down pushed face-first onto the table and fucked within an inch of his life before he and Geralt were coming together with a shout.

The following weeks had the same pattern, namely the three of them using them however they wanted, well mainly Geralt and Lambert.

Occasionally Vesemir would find him and offer his boot for him to hump or a hand for him to fuck into, one time he was even given a pillow to rub his cock against whilst he was kneeling between the other witchers legs, yellow eyes boring into him the whole while and after offered a gentle hand and a kind word before being sent on his way.

His brothers were more forceful, insistent in their need, namely, they’d push him against any surface they could, sparing a couple of fingers to prep him, not that they needed it given how often he was on one of their cocks, always open and dripping come. It didn’t matter what he was doing, whether it was reinforcing the walls around the keep, or repairing the fence around the stables.

Normally he could hear them coming and was able to at least move to a somewhat softer surface before he was shoved face-first to the ground and his clothes all but torn off of him. Not that he had any complaints, he was the most rested he’d been all year and there were truly no words to describe how good it felt to be wanted and craved, to be woken up with Lambert cock’s fucking his hole, all the while telling him how good his hole felt clenched around his cock, how desperate he was for them all, that they could bend him over anywhere and he’d beg to fucked like needy bitch he is.

It’s when Lambert calls him a pretty, little cum dump that he comes, only his brother is long from over and instead, he’s shushed back into sleep whilst Lambert continues rocking into him and when he wakes in the morning he can feel the come spill down his thighs, but he’s only given a minute to admire it before Geralt is pushing him onto his back and forcing his legs wide so that he can push his own cock into his hole.

He almost mourns the end of winter. Whilst he’s itching to get back out on the path he’s not looking forward to leaving his brothers, to go through another year of villager’s ire and even less of their coin, but especially without the feel of his brothers fucking him like they’re desperate for him. It’s not that he’s obsessed, well maybe a little, but now that he’s had a taste of being nothing but a hole to be used whenever someone wants now, he needs more like it’s a physical ache.

So when Geralt asks for his help on a big contract he’d heard about on the way up to the keep, how can he refuse when it means he gets even longer to be nothing more than a cock dumb hole meant to be fucked.

[cacophony-of-notions]

Really appreciate you saying that disliking the finale isn't just about ships. I just think it was a disservice to Dean.

People making everything about shipping is getting to me... closely followed in order of frustration by people telling me that I just “don’t understand tragedy” and that's why I can’t appreciate the ending. 

The way Dean was killed was a disservice to him in so many ways that I still can’t untangle it all. It becomes worse the more I think about it instead of better. All of the possible implications behind killing Dean this specific way—seeing it as important that he die this way—are very unsettling to me and I can’t even wrap my head around all of them. This post starts a series of taglines to a number of posts that could be written on the subject of possible disturbing reasons for Dean’s young death.  The fact that it’s so tangled up like this is also why it’s so impossible for me to put the finale behind me, because in the back of my mind, I am always thinking, “What did it mean? What did it mean to kill Dean that young, in that manner? Why that way? Why was this how they wanted him to go?” (and don’t get me started on “Atomic Monsters” and Becky and how it just makes your head want to explode). It seems so pointless at best to kill Dean that way, and then you consider the potential meanings and fall into some truly disturbing waters you can never climb out of. It’s “choose your narrative” among a sea of horrifying possible narratives.

I really felt that Dabb wrote primarily about Dean’s boundaries being violated during his run. This was in theme for Dean before, but Dabb took it to the extreme, I felt. 

Dean had to take on a parental role with his own mother to some extent

Dean had to take on a parental role with Jack that I felt paralleled how John placed responsibility for Sam on Dean’s shoulders. (I really believe Dean never wanted Jack as his child... he cared about him, but their relationship was strained by Jack’s powers and the circumstances of his birth/involvement in Mary and Cas being hurt. Father was a role that others tried to force Dean into, when I really think Dean didn’t want to parent another child, or at least not Jack. He would have been happier with Jack as a brother, absent the responsibilities of being a father to him. This is, imo, why we see Dean treat Jack as much more of an adult even when they are getting along, handling the adult conversations Sam and Cas won’t like sex, and driving lessons. It feels more like the work of an older brother. It’s sensing what Sam and Cas want Dean to be to Jack + what Jack himself longs for, that has Dean occasionally trying to force himself into a fatherly role, but he doesn’t really want that role—he wants boundaries and he wants less responsibility, and there never should have been anything considered wrong with that)

Michael’s possession

The alternate universe hunters (strangers) moving into the bunker, one of the only places in the world where Dean feels safe 

Michael possessing him again

Sam and Cas entering Dean’s mind (a necessary but nonetheless violating prospect)

Castiel’s perpetual secrets

Soulless Jack trying to ingratiate himself back with the Winchesters and continue to be a part of the family (Dean is the found family) while, in his state, being incapable of understanding the real weight of his actions (I reblogged an absolutely wonderful bit of writing on this by mittensmorgul at one point)

Chuck revealed as the ultimate villain, Dean feeling he never had free will at all, the way this took every trauma of his life—every lifelong violation—and made it traumatic in new and horrific ways (the deaths of his parents, him having to raise Sam, going to hell, the deaths of the found family he surrounded himself with). Dean says he doesn’t feel real, that he doesn’t really have choices, that he’s just a puppet, which makes your heart break all over again as you think about this also coming from the man who depended on free will in a world where he felt deeply objectified—”Daddy’s blunt little instrument”, “The Michael Sword”—once again an instrument with no will of its own, no power, simply helpless. 

To take that character, who was shown to experience such sheer terror over the prospect of being controlled by an all powerful cosmic force... having his free will perpetually ripped to shreds, to the extent that when presented with the opportunity to make this horrific lifelong violation finally stop, he turned a gun on the person he loves most in the world (and that person begging him to continue enduring his violation, with no alternative plan, and no idea when he will be able to make the violation stop)... it’s all.. a lot. And they take that person, who was so profoundly terrorized by his lack of agency within the narrative of his life, especially in the last two seasons... who was absolutely torn apart by how he had been controlled and used and objectified, and after he gains freedom from the writer of his story once and for all, and the weight is lifted off his shoulders, and he has the chance to make his own choices and stand out on the road and say, “look now at all the possibilities” they kill him. He is stabbed in the back, he is made helpless against creatures who (as Jensen has noted more than once) Dean considers it a cake walk to defeat. It continues the narrative of his helplessness to stop his own violation (he is stabbed. Stabbed).

And that’s only one unpleasant theme mingling with Dean’s death... there are far more than that.

Then there's what it means for Sam, how it forces him into a life he insisted he had grown out of in season 10—how Sam said what he wanted, once and for all, was to hunt with Dean, but if he couldn’t have that... (and he cut himself off, because he couldn’t even consider the prospect) and they take Sam and force him back into that normal life he didn’t want anymore. This time, it feels like it’s in honor of Dean that Sam lives this normal life (exactly like Jared said in his Variety interview). Years later, he still gets in the car and the pain on his face makes Dean’s absence seem like a raw and gaping wound—like he gave up the hunt not because he actually wanted the normal life, but because Dean would want him to live a normal life and die old, and he couldn’t bear the painful memories that would come from continuing the hunt without Dean or even driving the car. 

There’s the way the finale clashes so painfully with Dean’s speech to Sam and Sam’s returning, insistent speech to him in 8.14—how it gives Dean the ending he expected when he was traumatized and suicidal, and calls us back to that forever unfulfilled promise of Sam’s to take Dean to the light at the end of the tunnel. That light at the end of the tunnel materializes as nothing more than the death Sam was trying so desperately on so many occasions to prevent, no matter what the cost (season 3, season 5, 8.14, season 10, 14.12). Don’t think about how Dean was actually the first to use the phrase “The light at the end of the tunnel” in season 3, talking about his impending death, and Sam insisted, “That’s hellfire, Dean.” 

Don’t think about how there are no pictures of the found family in Sam’s home, only dead blood family and his son. Don’t think about how no one attended Dean’s funeral except Sam and Miracle after Dean said he wanted a big funeral. Don’t think about the disturbing prospect of Sam’s son as Dean’s proxy being the one to “finally” give Sam permission to move on and be back with his brother again. 

Don’t think about Dean saying in the finale that if they don’t keep living, Cas’ sacrifice will be for nothing, only for Dean to die a few scenes later. Don’t think about how Cas’ sacrifice perpetuates Dean’s long held fear that loving him is poison. 

Don’t think about the possibility of Dean’s childhood unfairly burdened with adult responsibilities repeated through Jack when he, as a three year old, becomes the new god. 

Don’t think about Amara, who was caged for millions of years, having her agency ripped from the narrative completely nonsensically, absorbed by her brother, absorbed by her grand nephew, and once more stripped of her free will in the process and caged with only a throw away, nonsensical line that she’s at peace simply floating in existence inside Jack, which makes no sense given her history and seems deeply cruel and thoughtless. Don't think about how she was paralleled with Dean in season 11.

Don’t think about what happened to Adam or Kevin, the former unfridged conceivably to deliver to him a more satisfying conclusion, only for him to be forgotten again.

Don’t think about found family and free will and always keep fighting being torn to shreds along the way. 

[ladyvialana]

Fic: The Fight Still Lingers

Supernatural fic. Dean & Amara. Background Dean/Castiel.

Summary: Heaven is not what it seems. So of course it isn’t Sam who meets Dean at the bridge: it’s Amara.

Notes: post-canon fix-it, spoilers from 15x18-15x20,

Also on Ao3.

Heaven hasn’t been anything like Dean expected. So, when Dean turns to give his brother a hug after a death and lifetime separated, a tiny part of him isn’t surprised to see that it isn’t his brother standing by the impala. It’s Amara.

She is as otherworldly and imposing as ever and her smile is twisted with an unsettlingly familiar sadness.

“I’m sorry.”

Dean doesn’t know why she’s apologising to him; last time they saw each other, he lied to her and basically convinced her to kill herself. Dean should be the one grovelling for forgiveness.

“He’s not coming,” she continues.

“Bullshit,” he says, rage at the injustice of Sam being denied the peace of heaven finally giving him enough of a boost to break through the shock and confusion to speak. “No one deserves this more than him.”

“No one deserves this Dean. Not your brother, not me, and especially not you.”

What did she mean? Wasn’t this the goal? The end to a fulfilling life? Heaven? Peace? Rest?

But the pieces start adding up in his mind. The emptiness and quiet of the landscape, eerie and unsettling instead of beautiful and peaceful. Sure, maybe Jack hasn’t got around to finishing all the minor details yet, but even Bobby mentioned other people that should have been around. They’d met at the Roadhouse. Where were Ellen and Jo? Ash? Hell, why hadn’t his parents been there to meet him if they lived so close now? Where was Jack? Sure, he said he was hands-off, but obviously heaven didn’t count. Didn’t he want to see Dean again? Was he really so busy he couldn’t spare a minute to say hi? And what about what Bobby let slip about––

Dean opens his mouth to ask, but no words come out. He tries to shout, straining his throat so much that – were he still alive – he should have burst a blood vessel.

Amara’s gaze is achingly heavy as she watches his struggle.

“I’m so sorry Dean,” she says again. “This isn’t heaven. And you didn’t beat my brother. This is just an illusion he’s using to keep you contained and docile.”

He wants to deny it, keeps trying to yell at her, tell her she’s wrong, but can only manage to shake his head. She has to be lying. They’d won, they were free – they’d beat god himself and got to live their lives they way they wanted to. He was not a helpless plaything to be tossed around by the whims of cosmic powers anymore.

But the words won’t emerge from his lips. An invisible hand tightens against his throat, choking him as he tries to assert his free will. He can hear the echo of Chuck’s laughter as he desperately fights to speak.

Dean can only fall to his knees in silence.

***

Dean drives; he’s still capable of doing that. Amara sits shotgun. It’s weird, but less weird than he expected. He’s used to having someone at his side. It hurts that it’s not Sam with his ridiculous hair blowing into his face all the time and bitching about the music on the radio, but it’s better than being alone.

Dean surprises himself by speaking. “I am sorry for what I did to you.” Guess he’s still able to talk, as long as the topic of conversation has nothing directly to do with whatever the fuck Chuck did to him.

Amara looks over at him and smiles. “I forgive you.”

Dean swallows and refuses to take his eyes off the road. “Why?”

“I understood why you did it. You were scared and desperate and my brother made you feel like you had no choice but to betray and kill those you cared about to ensure your freedom.”

It sounds even worse said aloud by one of the people he betrayed and killed.

As through sensing his spiralling thoughts – and she probably can – Amara reaches over to brush her hand gently against his arm, just above the elbow. “I’m not angry or upset. I mean it when I say I forgive you and I understand. I was scared too, when I realised your intentions, but even more so when I realised how deftly my brother had driven you to such extremes. When I realised he had done the same to me.”

“Why did you do it?” Dean asks, unaware of how desperately he wanted to know until the question bursts out. “Why did you join with him?”

Amara pushes back into the seat as though the firmness of the upholstery will lend her strength. “He’s my brother and I love him. I was scared to be without him. And I suppose I was scared to think about what I was capable of doing if he was capable of doing what he did to you.” She looks over at him, eyes wide and bare to the centre of her being. “You know what I am Dean, better than anyone in existence.”

Dean considers this for a long moment.

“I do know you,” he finally says, turning his gaze – but not his attention – back to the road. “And I believe you when you say you forgive me. So, I can’t believe that you’re capable of doing anything like––” his voice cuts off with a squeak. Dean growls in frustration and finishes his thought by gesturing vaguely around at everything.

She laughs; it’s hollow and dark. “Is this not what you and I schemed to do to my brother?”

“No,” Dean is able to say. “You’re not cruel – malicious – not like him. You care. I know you care. And you try. You try to understand, you try to see things from other perspectives. You wouldn’t want this for anyone. Chuck, he revels in it.”

Dean is the one to reach out to Amara this time: hand open, palm up. Hesitantly, Amara slides her own hand into his and lets him offer comfort with his firm grasp.

“You care, Amara. Not just about yourself, and that … that means everything.”

She squeezes his hand. “You might have had a little to do with that.”

Because of you, I cared.

Dean pulls his hand back, scratching at the back of his neck as though embarrassed. “Well, whatever the reason, I’m glad. And I’m sorry.”

“Dean, I’ve already forgiven you.”

“Not about that. About what Chuck did to you. I’m sorry he locked you up again.”

Amara sighs. “My brother is very convincing. He promised me the one thing I ever wanted then ensured that I would never have it.”

The one thing I want is something I know I can’t have.

Dean clears his throat, but his voice is still scratchy as he asks, “What is it?”

“Balance. True balance. Light and dark. Creation and destruction. Working together. Existence as it was meant to be.”

“Huh.” Dean had never considered it that way, not really. Darkness, destruction: they were names, ideas, that the human mind associated with evil and wrongness. But Dean knew better – had always known better. He’d lived on the edges of darkness his whole life; he’d destroyed and killed and ended many lives (his own included at times), but he’d never truly considered himself evil. Wrong, sometimes, but he’d also had to make hard and difficult choices that served a long term or bigger picture goal that others might have considered wrong in the moment. Darkness was far more multi-faceted than right or wrong. As was light for that matter.

“You always did understand me, Dean.” Amara is smiling, gentle and content. She is more beautiful than Dean has ever seen her. He wants her to keep smiling.

“I don’t regret it, you know. Freeing you. Sure, some of the circumstances before and after kind of sucked, but I’m glad you’re free. I’m glad I know you.”

“Flirt.” She dismantles the heavy atmosphere and pushes at his shoulder. Dean laughs.

He drives in silence for a time, watching the unchanging empty scenery half-heartedly as he plans what to say. If he can even say it.

“It won’t work,” Amara interrupts before he can pose the question.

“We have to try.”

“My brother is all powerful. Nothing is beyond his control. It won’t work.”

You asked what about all this is real. We are.

Dean smiles. “I know a guy.”

Amara shakes her head. “Why? Why do you do this, knowing you can’t possibly win? How can you still have hope?”

“Because you were right. I don’t deserve this. And you don’t either. And until I’m actually dead and my ashes scattered to the ends of existence, I will keep trying.” He’s a little surprised that he was able to say everything he wanted, but he’s glad. Amara needed to hear it and Dean needed to say it.

Amara sits back, still staring, but hopeful now rather than resigned. “You’re a good man, Dean Winchester. And you deserve to get what you want.”

You're the most caring man on Earth.

You are the most selfless, loving human being I will ever know.

I love you.

Dean smiles. “Yeah.” Maybe he can start to believe it. “Let’s get to work.”

[the-awful-falafel]

Ghost in the Machine - Chapter 5

Read chapters 1-4 on AO3 here!

Fandom: Rick & Morty

Rating: M, Genfic

Chapter Wordcount: 9.0k

Chapter Summary: The drone doesn't work as anticipated. Morty takes Rick on a search for a replacement part, and Rick learns more about the teenager's intentions for him.

It turned out that Rick didn't have to wait long to see what the drone did, as it ended up being tested almost immediately after being finished. Rather than being turned on in the cluttered main room, however, Morty carried it to the smaller room down the hallway. It was the same room Rick first woke up in, and it was just as empty as before. Rick figured that the kid probably changed rooms as a precaution, so if the drone acted unpredictably it at least wouldn't break anything important.

Rick had been made to follow, as well as bring a few plates of scrap metal along with him. He didn't know what they were needed for, but at least Morty wasn't threatening to make him stab himself this time. His insides clenched involuntarily at the thought. Even though he had managed to calm himself down to a certain extent, mostly by forcing himself to stop thinking about it, he knew it was only a matter of time before the other shoe would drop.

The drone was activated using a tablet-like controller. The thing hummed to life with a whirring, beeping noise, small lights along its side flickering on. Retractable wings shot out from panels on its sides, and it immediately took flight, hovering in the air like a miniature helicopter. Its mannerisms seemed faintly familiar to Rick, but he couldn't pin down what it reminded him of just yet.

After some basic movement tests, which proved the drone could move smoothly in every direction while airborne, Morty got around to testing its other functions. With a single button press on the tablet's screen, a cylinder attached to the drone's front lit up with a bright blue light. There was another whirring sound as its internal mechanisms adjusted.

There was a slight jerk in Rick's mind, making him deposit the scrap metal onto the floor. He then backed away to give the drone some space as it hovered over the material.

The drone scanned the metal for a moment, then a beam of energy shot out and lifted the scrap into the air. Piece by piece, the scrap metal was broken apart until it was practically disintegrated. The glowing flecks remaining were swiftly absorbed into a port on the drone's front, as if the machine was storing it away for later use.

It was then that Rick realized what it had been reminding him of-- it was a construction drone. It didn't share the precise shape or dimensions as the mass-produced industrial models, but the equipment it was using was unmistakable. Advanced fabrication technology and tractor beams allowed it to manipulate, deconstruct, and reconstruct matter in mere moments. It was like a faster and far more efficient 3D printer, and a swarm of them could build a skyscraper in less than a day assuming they had a blueprint and sufficient material to work with.

So Morty was going to be building... something. Rick's thoughts shifted to that other blueprint the kid had been working on, the dome-shaped structure with the spikes. Could that be it?

The kid tapped a few options on the tablet, and an image of a cube appeared on the screen. The device attached to the front of the drone lit up again, this time with a green glow. It seemed prepared to reconstruct the matter into the desired shape.

And that's when something fucked up. The drone made a weird grinding, buzzing noise that did not sound pleasant. If that wasn't enough to indicate there was an error, Morty's shoulders tensing up definitely gave it away.

Another beam of light shot out of the drone, but instead of forming a cube, a haphazard twisted mess of restructured metal was assembled midair. It looked like a small abstract sculpture with its jagged edges and intersecting surfaces. The material was too thinly spread out to support its own weight, so once it was dropped onto the floor it collapsed like it was made of aluminum foil.

Rick was still rather bitter from earlier, so that malfunction was downright satisfying to watch. He had no idea why it happened, but for the moment he didn't care. The more things that went wrong for Morty, the better.

Although a part of Rick was still trying to figure out what went wrong, exactly. Nothing looked faulty with the drone's blueprint the few times he had caught a glimpse of it, and the kid definitely looked like he knew what he was doing when he was assembling it. There was always room for error, but something going this blatantly wrong still seemed strange.

Morty promptly pressed a button on the controller, and the machine gently landed on the ground before retracting its wings and shutting down entirely. It looked rather small and unassuming when it wasn't activated, but that was mostly due to its streamlined, compact design.

Mostly streamlined, that is. There was still that large dent on top of it. Rick hadn't seen anything that indicated it was interfering with the drone's mobility or functionality, but…

… Hold on. That wasn't entirely true. Could that dent really be the reason for…?

There was barely anything left of Rick's dignity by this point, but he still couldn't help a disorienting half-full sensation from bubbling up in his chest. A glowing sense of pride, born from raw, vehement spite. It was almost kind of funny. Who would have thought that the next time he screwed over Morty would be completely by accident? God, he couldn't wait to see the bastard's reaction when he figured it--

“Wow, you really need a win, don't you?” Morty said, his voice deadpan. “I can't imagine why you'd be jumping to take the credit otherwise.”

Rick's excitement died away in an instant. His attention immediately snapped to the kid with a sharp fuck off.

Morty sighed and hefted up the drone onto the nearby table. “Besides, it would take a lot more than a dent to affect the reconstructor like this.”

A slow sinking feeling formed in Rick's gut as he thought it over. He stubbornly wanted to cling on to his small victory, especially because the asshole was clearly trying to demoralize him, but he was also starting to notice the discrepancies the longer he analyzed the situation.

As much as he hated admitting it, Morty was right. The damage he had inflicted wasn't located anywhere near the part of the drone that malfunctioned. And even if the dent had affected something internal, there's no way the kid wouldn't have fixed it when he was fiddling around with its insides earlier. All that was left from Rick's first act of resistance was a minor mark in the plating.

… Well, there went Rick's last hope that he actually accomplished something.

When Morty started to examine the drone, presumably to search for defects, Rick was left to stand back and observe as usual. Normally he would have used this time to try to think things over, to figure out how he could exploit this turn of events. But he felt much more... exposed on a mental level, and it was slowly chipping away at his concentration, no matter how much he tried to ignore it.

The fact that Morty was taking new measures to monitor Rick shouldn't have been surprising. He had even feared that the kid could read his mind earlier on, though he ended up dismissing it after a lack of evidence. But now that it was finally implemented, it still unsettled him to his core. Perhaps he had been taking refuge in the fact his most rebellious thoughts were private, and he could safely think to himself without fear of retaliation. Now he couldn't be sure of anything anymore. Even though Rick didn't know how precise this surveillance was, he could assume it was enough for Morty to get a pretty comprehensive picture of his mental state.

It didn't help that the kid was giving Rick absolutely no indication of when he was listening in. Surely it couldn't be a constant thing, could it? As far as Rick was concerned, what little mental privacy he had was still thoroughly destroyed, and he couldn't trust any potential lapses in Morty's attention to mitigate it, because how could he even tell? What if Morty faked inattentiveness to lower Rick's guard?

This whole thing was causing a faint but persistent paranoia to seep into the edges of Rick's mind. Here he was, his cover blown, and he still couldn't get his thoughts under control. Fuck. How was he supposed to find a way to fight back now?

Spending too long in his own thoughts was never pleasant, so Rick wrenched himself back to the present moment. It looked as though Morty had practically disassembled the drone while searching for the problem. The fabricating device on the front had been completely detached, and several side panels had been taken off to expose its internal circuitry.

The fiddling and examining didn't take too long before the kid seemed to find something. He stared at the inside of the frontal apparatus several seconds too long, but his expression remained carefully blank, and he slipped the detached component into his jean pocket. Morty then stood up straight and left the room. Rick almost moved to follow, but a firm order of stay put stopped him in his tracks.

Rick had already been doing jack shit, so sure, why not give him even less to do? Although he couldn't help but notice how much the whole situation was giving him deja vu. Shame that he wasn't made to hold the drone while Morty was out this time around, otherwise he'd drop and damage it further without a second of hesitation. Something in his chest twisted at that far-fetched thought.

He still didn't know what the problem with the drone's reconstruction abilities was, but Morty didn't seem too happy. Guess this was something that couldn't be instantly fixed.

Whatever Morty was doing, it was apparently intensive enough to leave Rick waiting way too long, enough for his legs to start cramping up. It must have been well over a half hour later when Morty finally reentered the room. Rick wouldn't be surprised if the asshole had intentionally stretched it out to frustrate him, although that might just be his bitterness talking.

Nothing about Morty's appearance indicated what had taken so long, unfortunately. He had retrieved the portal gun, as well as a plasma gun he had strapped to his belt. This piqued Rick's curiosity a little. Was Morty gearing up to go outside again? Considering the last time led to Rick nearly getting killed by alien monsters, he wasn't exactly thrilled at the possibility.

But Morty didn't order Rick to follow him back out the door. Instead, the kid strode up to Rick and, without hesitation, handed the older man the portal gun.

With a subtle jerk in Rick's mind, he took it, fingers adjusting around the handle in an eerily familiar way. As he stared down at the smooth surfaced device, watching the green energy crackle in its tube, he felt nothing but confusion. Why was Morty having him hold it?

The portal gun wasn't the only thing Morty ended up handing him, as the kid also gave him a spare plasma gun and a small sack that felt like it was filled with something heavy. Both items fit rather neatly into Rick's inner coat pockets. He supposed these were for whatever expedition they were going on, although the plasma guns felt more like a precautionary measure. Morty didn't have any heavier firepower equipped this time around, so it was unlikely they were going to be intentionally looking for a fight.

When it came to giving him the portal gun, though, Rick was still drawing a blank. Maybe Morty was just exercising more power over Rick for the sake of it, like how the kid made him do the dirty work during the venom hunting, but something about this felt more… specific, in a way that didn't make complete sense. Shouldn't it not matter which of the two of them was shooting the portal?

There was another mental pull, and Rick proceeded to input a specific set of coordinates into the portal gun. He didn't receive any subconscious indication of where they led to, and the sight of them didn't ring any bells. Rick took aim at the wall and pulled the trigger, shooting a glowing green portal against the back of the room.

Rick expected Morty to enter it, but the kid didn't move. Instead, another sharp jerk in Rick's mind prompted the older man to go through first. For all he knew, Morty was throwing him out front as a meat shield, but unsurprisingly his body stepped through the portal without hesitation.

Now, based on everything he had seen so far, Rick had been getting the impression that Morty was a bit of a recluse. People only really lived on uninhabited alien planets if they didn't want to draw attention to themselves, or if they didn't want to conform to the rules of society. Usually it was some mixture of both. Either way, Morty definitely seemed like someone who didn't want to be disturbed.

So when the portal dropped him out in a noisy cityscape, Rick's first thought was what in the actual shit.

It looked like he was in a deserted alleyway, but the jarring sounds of spacecraft passing overhead, clanking industrial noises, and distant chatter and commotion eliminated any sense of solitude. Aside from that, though, the whole alley was dimly lit, relying only on the distant lights from the street. The concrete beneath Rick's shoes was grimy and cracked, and various puddles had formed from uncovered sewage pipes, giving off a foul stench.

Morty stepped out immediately after, the portal closing behind him. He examined their surroundings for a moment before turning to face Rick. A push in the man's head ordered him to keep walking, and he headed towards the open end of the alleyway. Morty followed closely behind.

When Rick exited the alley, he found himself on a wide and sloped street, not big enough for vehicles but still rather expansive for pedestrians. The lighting here wasn't too bright either, being limited to street lamps and a vaguely greenish tint coming from somewhere in the dark sky. But, far more importantly, it was crowded.

Aliens of all different shapes and sizes mingled together, traversing up and down the street. Some were cloaked or otherwise taking measures to conceal their appearances, but there were also plenty who didn't seem to care. An elongated equine-looking creature strode past, towering over the rest of the passerby, and a gaggle of multicolored, blob-shaped aliens moved to avoid it. Some bipeds were chatting amongst themselves in an alien language, too faint to make out.

Rick didn't have much time to let the scene sink in, as he ended turning the corner to walk down the street, sidestepping a few aliens in the process. Morty stayed close to him, although the boy appeared remarkably unfazed by all the activity around them. Rick soon realized why, as aside from an odd glance or lingering stare, practically nobody was paying any attention to the two of them. They were just another couple of aliens walking around, nothing special that was worth noticing. As long as they didn't draw attention to themselves, it was unlikely they'd be bothered.

Along the sides of the road were various stores, services, and stalls. It looked like a lively marketplace, with various individuals doing commerce and examining wares. Bright neon signs were hung up over shop windows, flashing entrancingly. In more shadowy corners of the street, some peddlers were talking in hushed whispers with their clients, and Rick occasionally saw them exchanging bags of money for… something else, and from the furtive glances it didn't look legal. Huh. Black market activity out in the open? This was shaping up to be an interesting place.

More outspoken shopkeepers were constantly pestering passerby in various alien tongues, several of which Rick understood perfectly. One of them even attempted to flag down Rick, annoyingly obstructing his path and babbling on about something that roughly translated to “fantastic prices!” and “best perzoid seeds in sector eight!”

Rick gave an icy glare in response, a rare occasion in which he was in complete agreement with something Morty made him do. The alien wilted under the gaze, and it hurriedly switched its attention to another potential customer who was just coming down the street.

Rick's gaze wandered, allowing him to appreciate how fucking dense this area was. The distant horizon curved upward, revealing a whole colony built into a structure that resembled a massive ribcage. It enclosed the sky and had many hanging structures build upon it. Spaceships of different shapes and sizes flew in and out of docking bays attached to the rib-like formations, being low enough in the atmosphere to create constant background noise. Upon closer inspection, Rick realized his impression of the base structure was exactly correct-- it was a massive leviathan skeleton from eons ago, having reached the size of a continent upon its death, and civilization had since colonized its remains.

Rick felt like he had probably been here before, or at least somewhere similar. But no matter how much he strained, he couldn't remember the place's name for the life of him. All the finer details were either missing or too blurry to be recognizable. There were too many questions he didn't have the answers to. How dangerous was it to be out in the open like this? Were there threats around? Why would someone want to come here?

The place looked to be far from a metropolis, as just from its profile the vast majority of the city seemed to consist of factories, spaceports, or slums. Even the architecture appeared to be mostly made of harsh geometrical edges and dull colors, adding to the rather dreary atmosphere.

Their portal seemed to have taken them to the inner portion of the city, and the market looked bright enough, but it still didn't look much less shady here compared to the distant outer edges. It had taken only a few glances for Rick peg this place as being a haven for criminal activity, and not just because of the location's familiarity. Morty seemed undeterred in coming here, at least, so there had to be something the kid wanted that was worth the detour.

There were a few armed guards around, and they were bipedal and insectoid with a grayish green color. Some had wings. It took barely any time at all for Rick's mind to supply Gromflomites as the species, and he found himself being vaguely disgusted for some reason. Oddly enough, they seemed to be largely ignoring the crowds and disruptive shopkeepers around them, merely talking amongst themselves and the occasional individual. A few times, Rick saw them surreptitiously pocketing money mid-conversation and pointedly looking the other way.

Ah, corruption. You could always count on that being rampant in these backwater Federation territories. Rick paused for a brief second at that recollection. Huh. Where did that come from?

They continued walking through the windings streets, navigating through the dense crowds in a way that made Rick feel rather cramped. He wasn't being ordered to do much aside from lead the way, but there was also an indistinct subtlety wired in there, something that kept his guard up and made him take in his surroundings. The few times he turned to look at Morty, the teenager was wearing his usual emotionless expression, but he too was scanning the storefronts and stalls. What were they looking for, exactly?

“Hey, kid! Morty! Is that you?”

Morty froze in his tracks, shoulders stiffening.

Rick turned around automatically, searching for the source of the voice. The crowds were milling about and ignoring them like always, but it didn't take too long before he found it. There was purplish lizard-like alien poking their head out of a nearby store window, staring straight at the two of them. As if to confirm it, they waved a forelimb in the duo's direction.

It could have been easily dismissed as another annoying merchant trying to grab their attention, but this one knew Morty by name. And the way Morty was reacting was the sign of someone who hadn't expected-- or wanted-- to be recognized.

Rick wasn't looking at Morty anymore, instead having his attention entirely focused on the alien, so he couldn't see what the kid's next move was going to be. With Rick's hand instinctively on the plasma gun and his insides tensing up in anticipation, he half-expected violence to break out right then and there.

“Hi!”

For a split second, Rick didn't realize that Morty had spoken, because that sounded far too earnest and chipper to register as the same person. He turned his head and saw that the boy had a friendly smile on his face, giving the alien a little wave. The tense, deer-in-the-headlights behavior from before was nowhere to be found.

Reality seemed to take on a surreal quality as the two of them walked over to the store counter. Rick could detect a strong chemical scent coming from behind it, like a cross between pool chlorine and window cleaner. There was also a faintly medicinal scent mixed in there, too. Based on the shelves full of labeled jars, flasks, and bottles, it seemed like some sort of… chemistry store? Or a drug store crossed with a hardware store, perhaps. Some of those bottles looked like over-the-counter alien medicine.

The alien running the place was definitely reptilian-looking, with dark violet scales and a broad, toothy snout. However, they also had an extra pair of forelimbs and four slitted eyes, one eye being completely clouded over and milky. Rick couldn't tell if the creature was male or female, although there was always the chance that the species didn't even have those two sexes.

He wasn't left with much time to process it. As soon as they got close enough to the window, Morty propped his arms up on the counter and spoke up again. “Sorry about that, you caught me off guard.”

The lizard-alien grinned, all four eyes fixed on the teenager. “Not a problem! I just haven't seen you around these parts for a while! Thought you might have gotten yourself shot by a fed or something.”

Morty gave an exasperated sigh, but his expression was otherwise good-humored. “Gosh, it's nice to know you have so little faith in me.”

“Hah, well, I doubted it'd actually turn out like that,” the alien said, absentmindedly tapping their claws on the counter. “You're a nice enough kid, you know better than to stir up trouble.”

Rick stared incredulously as the scene unfolded, a profound sentiment of what the fuck filling his mind. But of course, the conversation continued like he wasn't even there.

The lizard-alien appeared to be multitasking with their extra pair of limbs, tipping a vial of some strange liquid into a bowl. “Anyway, cutting the pleasantries, where have you been?”

“Spending time with family, mostly,” Morty said.

The alien made a noise that sounded like a cross between a scoff and a hum. “Sounds exhausting.” They swished the bowl with one hand, and the mixture gave off a sizzling noise before it was promptly poured into a jar. “And have you finished that project yet?”

Morty stood a little more sheepishly. “Well… kind of.” He averted his gaze, and his voice softened somewhat. “It... didn't turn out the way I hoped, but I learned quite a bit from building it. Always a work in progress, you know?”

“Well, you can't break an Oorthgul's spine in a day,” said the alien, almost casually. “You'll get there eventually. Else you'll end up selling boring shit like me, right?” They gave a bark of a laugh, before suddenly looking wistful. “Truth to be told, it's not the worst. Have to move shop every so often to keep the feds off my tail, restocking is a pain, and it's not the most lucrative stuff to sell, but aside from that…”

“It seems to be working well enough,” Morty said. “You should be proud of yourself.”

Rick's thoughts were finally starting to catch up with what he was seeing, although that didn't help him all that much. It felt like the entire situation had nosedived into the uncanny valley in a way that practically made his skin crawl.

Morty's act was disturbingly convincing from the outside. The friendliness, the relaxed posture, the sincere manner in which he talked. Even the parts that weren't completely concealed, like his cleverness and confidence, now came off as charismatic rather than creepy.

If Rick hadn't already seen how fucked up Morty truly was, he might have been fooled, too. But even knowing that, this whole display was messing with his head, making it hard to tell what was real and what wasn't. Had it always been this easy for Morty to just... flip a switch?

The reptilian alien seemed to take the compliment rather well, standing up a bit straighter and clicking their tongue. “Always you and knowing what to say, huh?” There was a pause, and then the alien's gaze flickered to Morty's face. “By the way, what happened to your eye?”

Rick thought he saw Morty tense, almost imperceptibly, but then the boy simply shrugged. “Lost it in an accident.”

What a fucking liar. Rick had seen that eye before the patch was put on, and it looked perfectly intact. Although based on the wires, it could possibly be a cybernetic eye of some sort, so Morty's excuse wasn't completely implausible, all things considered. Perhaps the kid was actually being more honest than he seemed, mixing in truths here and there to make his deception more credible. Or maybe Rick was just overthinking it.

Unexpectedly, the alien made a sharp, amused noise. “Hah, that makes two of us, right?” They tapped their cloudy eye, which Rick only now realized was probably a sign of blindness. Then a glint appeared in their remaining eyes. “You know, if it's recent, I probably have something in stock that could regenerate--”

“Thanks, but no,” Morty interrupted sharply. The amicable tone in his voice was gone. “You should know by now that I don't fall for that.”

Annoyance passed over the alien's face for a moment, before switching to a look of resignation. They sighed, almost sounding wistful. “Shame, but I supposed I can't complain. You nearly bought out my whole stock the last few times you were here. What could I sell that you don't already have?”

Morty smiled. It looked rather insincere to Rick, but he wasn't sure if the alien would be able to tell the difference.

Then, as if only now remembering that there was an additional person present, the alien turned to look at Rick. “And who's this?”

Becoming the center of attention made Rick feel weirdly uncomfortable, although that was probably because he wasn't in any position to make a response. Just when he was expecting Morty to divert attention away from the older man, the world ground to a halt.

Something shifted inside of Rick's skull.

Everything was suddenly tight and restrictive around him, far more than usual. Yet he also felt disconnected somehow, his limbs numb and floating on air. There was a sensation in his brain like something cold and heavy was sinking into it, and the words slipped out of his mouth before he could react.

“Why don't you mind your own damn business?”

The lizard-alien seemed taken aback, their four eyes blinking unevenly. “… Excuse me?”

Rick's vocal chords continued moving of their own volition, completely ignoring his growing horror as his body did a small, dismissive shrug. “Yeah, just because the kid's all chummy with you doesn't mean I care. Nobody comes to places like these to make friends.”

It felt like something had shoved its way into his skull, smothering him until he could barely think. He was getting that same sort of mental intent as if he were talking of his own free will, that sense of what he wanted to say and how to say it. But the intent he felt now was overpowering, focused, and yet utterly devoid of emotion at the same time. It was largely indistinct, the specifics being impossible to parse in his detached state, but it took only a moment for him to realize these weren't his thoughts.

The cold suffocating sensation lifted ever so slightly, leaving Rick rather dazed, as Morty smoothly interrupted his way back into the conversation. “He's just my grandfather. Don't mind him, he's always been a bit of a dick.”

Rick only had a half-second to register what Morty just said-- wait, the two of them were related?-- before the pressure returned. He turned and scoffed a little, like he was irritated by Morty's comment. The body language felt practiced, but at the same time it came off as far too natural. Like someone had slipped into his skin and was puppeteering him directly, with no intermediate programming or commands to get in the way.

The whole thing was was invasive like nothing else had been up to this point, in a way Rick could barely describe. He struggled to regain control of himself, to force the intrusion out. His thoughts were an incoherent mess of get out of my head get out of my head get out of my HEAD--

But nothing was working. It was like clawing at ice. There was a distant flash of irritation, and his panicked struggling was interrupted when the force in his head shoved him down more intensely, creating a sensation not unlike being pinned to the floor by his throat.

stop squirming

Rick went almost completely still after that.

“I… see.” The alien's voice sounded off-put, yet oddly far away. “Any particular reason that he's with you?”

“Well, actually, it was his idea to come here in the first place,” said Morty, shrugging a bit. “He needs something for one of his projects. I'm just here as backup.”

Rick was only half-focusing on the conversation between the alien and his maybe-grandson at this point, but hearing that made him freeze. Wait, what? Why was he getting blamed for this?

And then Rick-- no, Morty-- spoke up again, adding onto the previous statement like some particularly twisted ventriloquist act. “And before you ask, it's not some sort of illegal chemical or drug, so you're fresh out of luck.”

The lizard-alien rolled their eyes and crossed both sets of forearms. “No need to get uppity, I'm well aware you weren't headed in my direction. Is what you're looking for sold down near the factory sector? Because there was a sting by the feds there recently. Everyone cleared out.”

“Wouldn't mind giving us directions to a substitute location, would you?” Rick asked, a dry edge to his voice. It didn't exactly sound like a request.

The alien scrutinized him for a moment, eyes narrowed, before huffing in a grudging manner. “You're lucky that I owe Morty a lot, otherwise I'd wouldn't tell you shit. So, what are you looking for?”

“Not getting too specific, but tech components.” He leaned in a little closer. “Rare parts for machines, robots, whatever. The kind of stuff that you can't manufacture without missing a nanometer of detail. Know any place like that?”

The reptilian scratched their chin somewhat. “Hmm… I don't know any vendors specifically selling that stuff, but...” Something seemed to occur to them, and their eyes brightened. They leaned forward. “Your best bet would be to head to sector nineteen. It's not directly next to any of the factories, but it's connected to them via shuttle, meaning a lot of the related shops migrated over there when things went belly up. That good enough for you?”

“Yeah, yeah. It'll work,” Rick said, almost dismissively. He turned to leave. “Come on, Morty.”

The teenager moved to follow, but not before turning to the alien and giving a polite wave. “Thanks for the help!” Morty said cheerfully.

The alien called after them as they walked away. “Come back sometime, you hear?”

And then crushing pressure mercifully lifted from Rick's mind, leaving him with just the usual level of mental restriction as his body kept walking on autopilot. Despite that, he felt shaky and hollow, as if he was having trouble acclimating to the shift.

God, he felt so fucking violated. As if the mind control wasn't degrading enough as it was. It wasn't simply the fact that Morty could make him talk. That had barely even come as a surprise, considering everything else the kid had been able to force Rick to do. He just didn't expect it to feel like... that.

Like someone had forced themselves into his brain, crushing him down. Like his body didn't even belong to him anymore.

And the speech and mannerisms came off as so natural and convincing that he doubted any bystanders would be able to tell the difference. It wasn't robotic or stiff in any way, unlike how he sometimes behaved when receiving orders. By all appearances, there was nothing wrong with him, no reason to suspect anything.

It made him feel even more isolated than before.

Not only that, but something Morty had said during that exchange still stuck with Rick. Grandfather. He had called Rick his grandfather. And, strangely enough, it felt like the truth. But although it most likely wasn't a lie, at the same time it felt… wrong? In a similar way to how all of Morty's behavior up to this point had registered as 'wrong'. There was another piece of the puzzle Rick wasn't remembering. And what kind of fucked up kid would do this to a family member, anyway?

He… he'd figure it out later. Yeah.

Now that they had a set destination, their journey through the city went by much quicker. No other aliens interrupted them, although they did make some detours to avoid guards and checkpoints when necessary. All the streets and corridors looked rather homogeneous, so Rick supposed that it was only due to Morty's apparent familiarity with the area that prevented them from getting lost.

Eventually they reached what Rick could only assume was 'sector nineteen'. Like the lizard had said, there was an obvious transport shuttle running through the center of it, crowds of aliens getting on and off at regular intervals. Interestingly enough, the tracks seemed to be built right through the leviathan skeleton's spine, shooting up and down in a straight line along the structure. Up close, the size of the long-dead creature was made even more staggering. Each vertebrae was as tall as a five-story building and over twice as long. No wonder it was a good foundation for a colony.

The construction of the area looked newer, based on the clean concrete and the sheen of the metal buildings, but as expected the shadiness factor hadn't decreased one bit. There were still plenty of stores along the side of the street, ones with big and flashy signs and windows that were barely more trustworthy than the stalls and carts from before. At least there were far fewer merchants bothering passerby here.

Many of the stores appeared to be hardware focused, with various robots and electronics on display. Any one of them seemed to match the description of what Morty was looking for, but although the kid would slow down to examine them, it only took a glance or two for the kid to dismiss most of them outright. The seedier the place looked, the longer the examination took.

Eventually their options were cut down to the shadiest places, which weren't along the main street, but along smaller, more desolate side streets. Some were even in actual alleyways. It was one of these places that Morty finally seemed to settle on.

It was dreary and windowless, sitting alone near the end of a corridor. The sign by the door was written in a particularly obscure alien language, but Rick could still read it well enough.

PRICELESS, SALVAGED materials! ADVANCED circuitry!

- Every part a roboticist needs from across the galaxy (Levels of assembly vary)

- Sold in the following conditions:

* Used

* Heavily Used

* New

- NO QUESTIONS ASKED

- NO REFUNDS FOR USED ITEMS

It was obviously suspicious, but at the same time it seemed almost… mundane, at least compared to everything else. Rick wasn't sure what Morty saw in it. Well, all searches had to start somewhere, he supposed.

As usual, Rick went through first, pushing the door open with a creak. There was a faint dinging noise to indicate their arrival, but otherwise it was quiet. Only the faint whirring of ventilation systems and computer processors filled the silence.

The interior of the store was dim, cramped, and looked more like a workshop than anything. The only indication that it was supposed to be selling things was the half-dead neon sign hung up over a counter, flashing prices in alien writing. There were wires and metal parts scattered everywhere, and unfinished robotic frames were hung up against the wall. The floor was coated in some sort of grungy substance, and a good portion of the items on display looked well-worn or even rusty.

After browsing around for a minute or two, someone finally seemed to be alerted to their presence. There was the sound of scuffling behind the counter, as well as muffled vocalizations. There was a pause, then the presumed shopkeeper came through the back door and up to the register.

Rick's first impression was of a giant armadillo, or perhaps an oversized silverfish. The alien was multilimbed yet bipedal, and all parts of their body were armored with the exception of their head and forelimbs tentacles. Their face looked like a cross between a wasp and a vulture's, and their beady black eyes regarded the visitors with suspicion.

“So,” they said after a pause. Their voice had a strange crackling quality, probably caused by a lower-quality translator. “Buying anything?”

There was that shifting sensation in Rick's head, and he mentally shuddered as the intense pressure pushed him down again, creating that strange disconnect from his body while simultaneously crushing him into a corner. Once more he had the feeling of his thoughts being pressed in horribly close proximity to someone else's. Fuck, it was like something was grabbing the inside of his skull.

Still, he didn't dare move. He was so fucking pathetic, letting this happen to him without doing anything about it, but the fear was paralyzing. It was like being held at knifepoint, and he didn't know what Morty would do to him if he started struggling again. At least he had been somewhat expecting the sensation this time, but it didn't make coping with it any easier.

With some difficulty, Rick kept his focus outward. If nothing else, he could at least make himself pay attention. The last thing he needed was to get too absorbed in his head and lose track of what was happening around him.

“Depends,” Rick said. There was a faint pull in his mind, and he snapped his fingers. As if on cue, Morty stepped forward and retrieved the detached drone component from his pocket. Without a word, he dropped it on the store countertop, and Rick continued. “You have any of these in stock?”

The shopkeeper's eyes widened at the sight of the small, cylindrical object. They reached out a tentacle and nudged it around with disbelief, as if to examine it from every angle. “Is this… a fabricator?” There was an almost excited gleam in their eyes. “Impressive. Most impressive. Nobody but the federal construction fleets and licensed factories are supposed to have access to them. Finicky to build in the first place, too, what with the internal nanotubes...”

“Yeah, I know, and this one's broken,” Rick interrupted. He placed his hand on the object, presumably to prevent the alien from getting too eager and possibly swiping it. “Only the deconstructor portion works. So do you have them stocked or not?”

The greedy look in the alien's eyes vanished, almost with a twinge of disappointment. They withdrew their tentacle, their expression becoming neutral. “Of course, of course. Only a few, though. I can't exactly talk about my stock openly, considering the risk, but since you were kind enough to get straight to the point…”

The shopkeeper got up and scurried to the backroom behind the counter. Before the door closed, Rick caught a glimpse of shiny metal components hidden within, stacked on shelves. A marked contrast in quality to what was on display in the shop itself, weirdly enough.

With the lull in the conversation, the pressure in Rick's head lifted slightly, allowing him some amount of relief. But he couldn't turn to see what Morty was up to, as much as he had the urge to. So far, the kid was being quiet and letting 'Rick' do all the talking. It was… eerie.

A few minutes later, the alien returned, gripping something small and metallic in one tentacle. They placed it on the counter in front of Rick. “Here,” they said, almost proudly. “It's lightly used, but that's good for you since it lowers the cost, hm?”

“Whatever,” Rick said, not even looking at the alien anymore. The moment the object had been placed on the countertop, he snatched it up and examined it closely, turning it every which way. It was definitely a fabricator, being virtually identical to the one Morty had brought in. Rick didn't really know what he was supposed to be looking for, exactly, but Morty certainly was making him scrutinize this thing down to the molecular level.

The alien was still talking, although Rick could distantly sense that Morty was tuning them out. It was unsettling how he was just able to know that, now that he was being controlled manually like this.

“Now, part of me wants to ask why you would want this. But my rule is no questions asked, and I do my best to stick to that. And it goes both ways, so no asking me how I got hold of the fabricator in the first place. Anyway, that'll be thirty thousand--”

Rick abruptly dropped the fabricator back down on the table. “Pass.”

The shopkeeper froze at the interruption. “Pardon?”

“This one has a defect,” Rick explained. He pointed to the open end of the cylinder. “Jagged edge, right down the inside of the barrel. It won't work.”

Rick's gaze had lingered on the inside portion of the component a little longer than normal. It occurred to him that there was no way Morty could've figured anything out from that unless he had access to Rick's senses, or at least his vision, and that realization just added a whole new layer of fucked up to this shitfest of a situation.

Meanwhile, the alien looked oddly expressionless. “Hm. Strange.”

They didn't sound nearly as surprised as they should have been.

It wasn't just Rick who noticed it, as from what he could tell the implications weren't lost on Morty, either. The mood of the room suddenly became a lot darker.

“Well, it was lightly used,” the alien said. “Are you sure it was an actual defect? It could be--”

“Look, I'm not expecting a pillbug like you to know your way around this stuff,” Rick said, his voice low and sharp. “But I've worked with fabricator technology before. It's busted, even more than the one I brought in. I'm not buying it.”

The alien looked downright insulted. To their credit, they managed to keep their response to an irritated glare as they took back the offered fabricator. “… Alright, then. I'll bring out one of the other ones. Let's see if that one will be more to your liking.” And with that, they once again headed to the backroom.

Maybe it was just that exchange pushing it over the edge, but Rick was slowly starting to pin down another reason why this whole thing was disturbing him so much-- Morty was scarily good at emulating Rick's personality. Nearly everything being said sounded like something Rick would say in this situation, give or take a few words.

Admittedly, there was still something a little… off about it, as though the teenager's own uncanny qualities were leaking through the facade. Rick's voice was measured and even, which sounded unnatural for reasons the man couldn't quite pin down. His demeanor came off as a shade more ruthless, and obviously his motives didn't match up in the slightest. But there was nothing that was a total red flag, either. There was more abrasiveness, impatience, and exaggeration in every category, but beneath that surface layer it was still Morty talking. Everything was just filtered and carefully reworded through a Rick-like lens.

But… something was missing. It didn't make any sense. What was the point? Why was any of this necessary? Morty had already shown how easily he could negotiate and manipulate people on his own, back when he was talking with the reptilian alien. But now, he wasn't even contributing as backup. The shopkeeper had shot a few weird glances at Morty, but was otherwise ignoring the kid completely. Why was Morty going out of his way put on a completely different act through Rick?

The shopkeeper alien returned with a replacement fabricator, apparently even more lightly used than the previous one. But after a second examination, Rick found yet another defect, even though it was so subtle he had almost missed it. Morty was a stickler for quality, apparently.

This cycle happened about two more times with the following fabricators, both which had varying levels of quality but still had some defect hidden in there. The alien was also getting increasingly indignant about the rejections, almost like the insinuation that anything they were selling wasn't perfect was personally offensive to them.

It reached the point where the shopkeeper practically slammed the third one on the counter. “This is the last one,” they said, glaring. “So if you still manage to find something wrong with it, tough luck. I'm not bringing out more.”

Rick had already picked it up with his fingers, studying it in an almost absentminded manner. “Is it, though?”

“What?”

He placed it back down. Morty had already identified a flaw, but the kid didn't seem interested in having Rick bring it up at the moment. “The last one, I mean. You know, I find it hard to believe that all the fabricators you have stocked are completely defective.”

“I told you, I don't have any more,” the shopkeeper asserted. “Like you said, what do I know about fabricator tech? Could be that I just missed all of what you're seeing.”

“You seemed to know plenty when I first brought my own fabricator in,” Rick said.

The shopkeeper alien didn't seem to have a rebuttal to that. It left plenty of room for Rick to continue speaking. He could tell that Morty's patience was wearing a bit thin, although Rick didn't have much preemptive sympathy for the alien.

“I'm just saying, I don't like people who try to scam me. I don't appreciate it when they hold out on me, either. I'm going to guess that you have a perfectly manufactured fabricator back there, and you're not giving it up because you know how valuable it is and want to keep it for yourself. Which, hey, I get it. I'd do the same thing if I got something that rare and useful. Except,” Rick gave a rather creepy smirk, one which was disturbingly familiar. “I'm not leaving until I get what I came here for. So it's probably a good idea for you to hurry things along.”

The alien seemed almost baffled. “… Is that a threat?”

“Just stating a fact,” Rick said. “You can read into it however you want.”

Despite that and Rick's relaxed posture, it was abundantly clear what Morty's intentions were, simply from the older man's body language. He was already taller than the alien and was now thoroughly exploiting it, leaning himself over the counter and closing the space in a way that could only be read as an intimidation display. He was also not breaking eye contact in the slightest. More subtly, his hand was also resting on the hilt of the plasma gun, although it was unlikely the alien had caught that part.

And the threat was definitely working. The shopkeeper looked incredibly uncomfortable, shifting a bit in place.

“I could report this,” they said. “You'd be dead the moment you step out the door.”

“And that would be suicide in more ways than one, wouldn't it?” Rick drawled.

The alien stewed for a moment, as if fighting with themselves internally. If they had teeth, Rick was sure they'd be grinding them. Finally, they gave in, eyes narrowing. “… Fine. But first, I'm going to need that back.” They reached out and grabbed the last faulty fabricator off the counter, a bit more aggressively than normal, and then they retreated to the backroom for the last time.

When they came back, they were carrying another fabricator, but this one seemed sleeker and cleaner than the rest. With great reluctance, they deposited it on the countertop, their expression unreadable.

Rick picked it up and studied it, just like he had done with the previous ones. It took a few additional minutes to examine every side and part of it, but that just proved Morty's hunch correct. This fabricator was practically flawless.

“That will be one hundred thousand credits.”

Rick's head immediately jerked up upon hearing that, and he saw that the alien had an almost smug look on their face. Damn, that was dirty. Even with the memory problems, some subconscious part of him reacted to that price with holy shit that's expensive. In hindsight, it wasn't that surprising that the alien sneaked in one last asshole move to try to dissuade them.

Which is why it took both him and the shopkeeper completely off guard when Rick's body retained his smile and calm demeanor. He pulled the small sack out of his pocket, triumphantly dropping it on the desk. “Deal.”

The alien's eyes were wide, and as they opened the sack and started counting the heavy pile of high-value currency within, their eyes widened even further. They obviously hadn't expected the two of them to be able to actually afford it.

“Actually,” they said slowly. “I misspoke. How about two hundred thousand--”

There was the high-pitched whine of a plasma gun being armed, and a split second later Morty was pointing his weapon directly at the shopkeeper's head.

Rick moved his gaze away from the teenager and resumed staring down the alien. “Trying to raise the price after we already made a payment? That's a new low.”

The alien looked rather pinned by the situation, their eyes flicking rapidly between Rick, Morty, and the gun. But there was a hint of defiance in their voice as they spoke. “At least I'm not making a kid do my dirty work.”

Rick's temper almost snapped at that. Maybe it was just from being blamed for something he didn't do, and while parts of this conversation had already been doing that, this… this was explicit. The alien had it completely reversed. Rick was being made to do dirty work here. Morty was the one behind all of this, it wasn't fucking him, damn it!

And Morty must have sensed his indignation, because the little shit practically rubbed it in with what Rick said next. “Like I care about what you think. He's useful, isn't he? Does whatever I tell him to.” His smirk widened. “You wish you could sell machines that work half as well.”

Rick felt like his blood was boiling. Stop using me as your fucking scapegoat, you piece of sh--

Then it clicked.

A scapegoat.

The shopkeeper alien was giving him a death glare, even as they took the money. “Get out of here before I make you.”

Rick shrugged. “Whatever you say.” He slipped the new fabricator in his inner pocket, then turned around and started walking back through the shop. Morty followed, but the kid didn't take his aim off of the alien until the two of them were right by the door. Rick reached into his coat for the portal gun.

There was a sharp blasting noise, and Rick felt heat graze his shoulder before the shot collided with the wall in front of him, leaving a burning mark. Every muscle in his body tensed, and he whipped around.

The alien was pointing a pistol-like weapon at him, a look of spiteful fury on their face. Upon seeing that they missed their target, though, their eyes widened in sheer panic.

“Shouldn't have done that,” Rick said darkly. There was some hint of sadistic glee mixed into his voice.

The alien rushed to move, but it was too late.

There was the pull of kill in Rick's brain and his fingers were on the plasma gun's trigger in an instant. The alien was blasted back against the wall, their head exploded into chunks and their dark green blood splattering against the concrete.

The weapon lightly sizzled in Rick's hand. It was just as quick and messy as killing the venomous monsters had been the day prior.

The pressure retreated from his brain, creating a vaguely disorienting sense of vertigo as his mind adjusted. A mental tug prompted him to withdraw the portal gun from his pocket, and he shot it against the wall, causing a glowing green portal to open up. But Rick wasn't all that focused on his surroundings right now. He couldn't stop himself from thinking.

This… this was the real reason Morty was keeping him around, wasn't it?

It wasn't just for a power trip or needing extra muscle. Those were still factors, yes, but neither of them were the main reason. What the teenager really needed, and what this trip so clearly illustrated, was someone to act as a distraction, a diversion, someone to take the fall.

And as Rick stepped through the portal, he couldn't stop himself from seething.

[sacripent]

information   re : castiel   and   the   five   senses

we   find   out   in   various   episodes   that   cas ’ s   senses   as   an   angel   are   far   more   powerful   than   human   senses   .      he   can   see   farther   ,      hear   more   ,      taste   differently   ,      etc   .      than   his   human   counterparts   .      mostly   for   my   own   sake   ,      and   the   sake   of   writing   it   all   down   somewhere   ,      i   wanted   to   explore   this   in   a   little   more   depth   ,      as   i ’ m   sure   it   has   a   profound   effect   on   how   castiel   understands   and   interacts   with   the   world   .  

castiel   and   taste

we   find   out   in   9 . 11   that   castiel   experiences   food   and   taste   quite   differently   as   an   angel   than   he   does   as   a   human   :

CASTIEL: Tastes like...molecules. SAM: What? What are you talking about? CASTIEL: When I was human, you know, I had to eat constantly. It was kind of annoying. SAM: Yeah, a lot of human things are pretty annoying. CASTIEL: But...I enjoyed the taste of food -- particularly peanut butter with grape jelly, not jam. Jam I found unsettling. SAM: So, what? Now you can't taste PB and J? CASTIEL: No, I-I taste every molecule. SAM: Not the sum of its parts, huh? CASTIEL: It's overwhelming. It's disgusting. I miss you, PB and J.

he   says   it ’ s   ‘ disgusting , ’   but   i   think   that ’ s   a   relative   term   .      for   instance   ,      while   i   don ’ t   think   castiel   ever   found   eating   particularly   enjoyable      (   with   some   exceptions   ,      notably   his   love   for   burgers   and   especially   in   5 . 14   )      ,   i   don ’ t   think   he ’ d   consider   it   ‘ disgusting ’   until   he ’ s   experienced   it   as   humans   do   .      if   anything   ,      i   think   he   views   eating   as   more   informational   or   observational   .      eating   as   an   angel   would   be   more   like   watching   a   documentary   or   analyzing   a   work   of   art   as   opposed   to   guilty   pleasure   tv   or   reading   a   cathartic   novel   ,      if   that   makes   any   sense   .

castiel   and   smell

i   believe   castiel ’ s   sense   of   smell   operates   similarly   to   his   sense   of   taste   .      as   an   angel   ,      we  know   that   ,      much   like   a   dog   ,      he   can   get   a   whole   variety   of   information   from   his   sense   of   smell   .      this   is   discussed   somewhat   in   8 . 08   ,      along   with   other   episodes   .

CASTIEL: I can't sense any EMF or sulfur. Mr. Freleng's arterial health is, uh, excellent. [He leans over the corpse and sniffs.] Mm. He did recently suffer from a... [sniffs] ...mild, uh... [sniffs] What is that? ...bladder infection. DEAN: Cas, stop smelling the dead guy. CASTIEL: Why? Now I know everything about this man.

because   of   this   ,      i   don ’ t   think   he ’ s   able   to   smell   ‘ the    sum   of   the   parts   , ’      much   like   he   can ’ t   taste   the   sandwich   as   it ’ s   intended   .      he   can   smell   where   the   sugar   came   from   ,      who   ground   the  peanuts   ,      what   sort   of   wheat   was   used   for   the   bread   ,      etc   .      ,      but   he   doesn ’ t   smell   it   .      i   think   that   discovering   smell   would ’ ve   been   another   game   changer   for   him   when   he   became   human   ,      and   he   definitely   spent   a   lot   of   time   sniffing   flowers   ,      hanging   around   when   someone   baked   or   cooked   ,      etc   .      i   also   think   it   would   have   been   a   revelation   to   find   out   what   dean   the   winchesters   actually   smelled   like   .

castiel   and   sight

again   ,      it ’ s   made   very   clear   that   cas ’ s   sense   of   sight   is   waaaaaay   more   powerful   than   a   human ’ s   ,      and   that   like   with   taste   and   smell   ,      he   can   gather   information   that   humans   cannot   .

CASTIEL: Wait a minute, Dean. Those derelicts, they're demons. I can see their true faces. DEAN looks through binoculars at the men standing around the drum and sees another man on a balcony above them.

not   only   is   castiel   able   to   make   out   the   faces   of   demons   that   dean   needs   binoculars   to   see   ,      he   can   see   their   true   faces   .      he   can   identify   angels   and   demons   by   sight   ,      and      (   with   the   help   of   his   superhuman   memory   )      remembers   all   those   he ’ s   seen   or    met   previously   .      i   also   headcanon   that   as   an   angel   ,      castiel   can   see   a   person ’ s   soul   .      i   think   he   sees   it   sort   of   like   an   aura   ,      but   outside   our   current   color   spectrum   .      there ’ s   a   general   color   /   feeling   the   soul   always   has   ,      but   i   also   think   that   he   can   sense   strong   emotions   in   others   ,   as   these   would   have   an   effect      (   however   slight   )      on   the   soul ’ s   appearance   .      because   he   doesn ’ t   remember   being   on   earth   or   taking   a   human   vessel   before   pulling   dean   out   of   hell      (   i   think   he   has   ,      and   naomi ’ s   brainwashing   has   caused   him   to   forget   )      ,      he ’ s   not   initially   very   talented   at   interpreting   these   visual   cues   ,      but   as   he   becomes   more   in   tune   with   his   own   emotions   ,   he ’ s   able   to   understand   more   . 

castiel   and   sound

we   know   that   castiel   and   all   the   angels   are   tuned   in   to   ‘ angel   radio   , ’      as   dean   calls   it   ,      which   is   on   a   frequency   humans   can ’ t   hear   .

DEAN: I meant what's the word on the Word? Any, uh, tablet chatter on angel radio? CASTIEL: Oh, I couldn't say. I turned that off. SAM: You can do that? CASTIEL: Yeah, it's a simple matter of blocking out certain subsonic frequencies. I could draw you a diagram if you want.

to   me   ,      this   shows   both   that   angels   have   suuuper   sensitive   hearing   and   are   able   to   hear   both   way   higher   pitches    and   way   lower   pitches   than   humans   and   that   they   have   an   insane   amount   of   control   over   their   hearing   .      i   headcanon   that   at   times   ,     cas   has   more   or   less   turned   off   his   hearing   ,      especially   when   he ’ s   drawn   in   by   something   .      when   cas   ignores   someone      (   especially   if   they ’ re   calling   his   name   to   no   avail   )      and   continues   to   do   whatever   the   hell   he ’ s   doing   ,      he ’ s   most   likely   blocked   out   whatever   frequency   their   voice   is   on   .

castiel   and   touch

yeah   ,      i   saved   the   best   for   last   !!!      seriously   ,      though   ,      with   all   the   rest   of   his   senses   being   jacked   up   ,      i   don ’ t   think   there ’ s   any   way   cas ’ s   sense   of   touch   isn ’ t   superhuman   as   well   .      when   he   touches   clothing   ,      he   can   feel   each   thread   woven   into   the   fabric   .      when   he   touches   the   leaf   of   a   tree   ,      he   can   feel   it   photosynthesizing   beneath   his   fingers   .      this   means   he   can   find   touching   other   living   beings   to   be   a   bit   overwhelming   ,      at   least   at   first   .      if   he   grabs   someone ’ s   arm   ,      he   can   feel   the   blood   pumping   beneath   the   surface      (   this   means   he   can   also   tell   if   your   heart   starts   racing   !!!      )      .      and   so   on   ,      and   so   forth   .      this   also   makes   sex   really   intense   .      it   really   is   a   joining   of   bodies   ,      two   becoming   one   ,     whatever   cheesy   names   are   given   to   it    .      and   like   with   smell   and   taste   ,      it   feels   wholly   different   as   a   human   .      on   one   hand   ,      he   likes   being   able   to   feel   everything   about   his   partner   when   he ’ s   having   sex   .     but   the   way   he   feels   as   a   human   means   that   sex   is   much   more   focused   on   pleasure   .      as   an   angel   ,      it ’ s   more   about   the   experience   and   the   proximity   and   the   way   he   nearly   feels   as   if   he ’ s   inside   his   partner ’ s   skin   .      as   a   human   ,      he   doesn ’ t   feel   the   two   hairs   you   missed   shaving   or   the   way   your   heart   skips   a   beat   when   you ’ re   overstimulated   .      he   just   feels   the   pleasure   ,    which   makes   it   much   more   intense   ,      in   its   own   way   .  

[blipblorpsnork]

Observer (An Antisepticeye Fanfic)

TW/CW for psychological horror, blood, darkness, holes

Enjoy under the cut~

A light breeze kicked the leaves near your feet into a lazy frenzy, tumbling to and fro over one another in a soft spiral before descending once more to the ground and scraping lightly against the concrete. It had been quite some time since it was cool and dry enough for you to enjoy an evening out on the porch by yourself; with a book in your lap and a hot mug of chocolate with those tiny marshmallows you'd always loved in hand, it was peaceful and pleasant. Autumn had finally come and with it nicer temperatures with shorter days. It was, you mused to yourself, one of the best times of the year.

You drew a small sip off of your steaming cup, breathing in through your nose as the condensation hit your face and warmed your rosy cheeks. It had gotten comfortably chilly in the last few days, enough so that warmth was wantable but not necessary and nothing felt too stifling anymore. It was a relief, to say the least, from the summer heat and humidity. High temperatures were bad enough without having to nearly swim through the air.

You'd been reading your book on a small bench swing for the better part of twenty minutes by now with nothing and no one to disturb you. Your family was out for the weekend and you'd opted to stay home to get some well-deserved alone time. It had been very pleasant thus far and you were enjoying yourself immensely; just you, your book, a small bit of absent-minded humming, and the autumn breeze.

Until that is, you heard something odd. It sounded very in-the-distance, like an afterthought you forget almost as soon as you hear it, but you would have sworn you heard a laugh. Your house was set back on a somewhat large property and your neighbors, if you could even call them that, weren't for a good couple acres on either side of you. It was more or less unheard of for a kid to wander this far onto the property, and unlikely someone would be lost in this direction. Almost immediately afterward, however, a stronger gust of wind rattled a branch overhead and you realized that must have been the long and short of it. The wind had been playing tricks on you and since it was getting dark, you almost spooked yourself.

You shrugged it off, physically and mentally, and turned a page softly, eyes finding the beginning of the next sentence with ease. You lost yourself in the written world quickly and willingly and before you even felt yourself blink it had been five minutes.

Then you heard it again.

It was more distinct this time. A high but definitively masculine giggle, or maybe a cackle... or both, perhaps. It was just as hard to pin down this time, but very much more real feeling. You knew for a fact this time that you'd physically heard a laugh, rather than inventing one in your mind. By now you were just this side of unsettled, and slowly but carefully you put down your book, looking around yourself offhandedly.

In a cautionary way, you observed your immediate area, looking for signs of home invasion or a would-be abductee. You made it seem casual, a stretch of the arms over your head, cricking your neck to either side, a couple well-placed full bodied stretches that let you look completely around yourself. And to your relief, you found nothing.

But that didn't explain why you'd heard a laugh.

Not wanting to become a silly statistic (or yet another ridiculous person in a horror movie, so to speak), you refrained from calling out. If someone was nearby and had ill intent, you'd only be letting them know you were there. If someone was lost, well... They'd see the house and approach openly, hopefully.

Nothing happened for a decent amount of time while you flipped through your phone, checking notifications and keeping a vigilant watch on your surroundings. You heard something much like an animal in distress in the distance but forced yourself not to become frightened by it. You lived in a forested area, after all. But even with all of your diligence, you still startled when a soft and lilting voice broke through the relative quiet.

"Excuse me?"

Your eyes snapped to the source of the voice to see a young man, likely a bit older than you by a good margin but still boyish in feature. He wore an apologetic smile on his kindly face and was holding a bright yellow pet leash in his hands.

"I'm sorry for startling you but, have you seen a dog run through here?" the young man asked, gently brushing his green-dyed fringe from his eyes absently. "He got off his lead and now I can't find him. I think he ran this way."

Though sympathetic, you couldn't help but be circumspect of the query. You had seen in many articles that predators liked to lure abductees, especially young ones, with the false premise of a lost pet. Kidnappings often seemed pure and guileless until it was far too late.

"I'm sorry," you started, "but I don't think I've seen any--"

A sharp, remote yelp halted you mid-sentence, simultaneously lending truth and worry to the stranger's need for information. When your gaze swung back to him, you could see the concern etched into his expression.

"What kind of dog is he?" As you stood, you set your book on your bench swing, pocketing your phone in a single move. "I can help you try to look, I know this area really well."

"He's a stupid little hyper Jack Russel and he's always getting into trouble," the man replied in clear exasperation. "I would really appreciate the help though. I am so sorry for bothering you and ending up on your property."

You brushed the apology aside with a slight wave of your hand as you half-hopped down the deck stairs to meet him near the fence surrounding your house. "It's fine, can't control what dogs do half the time." You smiled reassuringly. "Do you have pictures of him?"

He did have pictures of the dog, thankfully, and showed you a few from his phone. After you'd gotten a suitable idea of what dog you were looking for--not that there would be any others, but still--you gestured to start heading off to where you'd both heard the distressed sound.

You didn't talk much while you walked through the wooded area, not wanting your voices to spook the animal into running further. You also still didn't feel entirely comfortable helping a stranger look for his lost dog; you didn't even know the guy's name, and still weren't absolutely sure how they'd ventured this far onto the property in the first place but, hey. Some of the walking paths no one used anymore cut through the back half of your property. Maybe that's how they'd gotten here.

You kept your (e/c) peeled as you moved through the fallen leaves and squishy mud under toe. Any whiteness would be very notable, so the dog wouldn't be too hard to find unless he was under something or in a hole. Hopefully uninjured either way.

It had been nearly ten minutes of walking in a general 'that way' direction before you caught sight of what must have been the dog, white and high speed and on the run. With a frightened noise, the white and tan blur streaked past you and the stranger, startling you both. The dog ran yelping and whining perpendicular to the direction you'd been moving, forcing you to not only change course but to start giving chase lest you lose him again.

"Shit, quick this way!"

You as a pair began to run after the dog as he zigged and zagged through the trees, making scared little noises all the while. You felt bad; he likely thought you were a predator coming to eat him! As you thought of this and realized you should stop chasing him and give him time to settle down once more, you turned to say as much to your newfound companion. You nearly skidded into a tree when you realized he was nowhere in sight.

Cursing low under your breath, you spun in a circle, trying to find the green-haired man or dog, but to no avail. Why hadn't you asked his damn name?

"Hello? Hey, I can't see you, did you fall? Just shout if you can hear me!"

You strained your ears, hoping to hear a laugh and a "hey sorry!" or something similar, but there was nothing. You took a deep breath, ready to shout so he could hear you in case he'd fallen and needed help when you heard his voice in the distance.

"Over here!"

You spun in your circle once more, utterly lost to your bearings and unsure of where the voice came from. You almost shouted when once again you heard, "This way, I found him!"

You began to jog toward where the stranger's voice was echoing through the trees. How had he gotten so far in that direction? Was that the direction you'd come from? Sighing internally and realizing you'd have to just keep walking til you hit a fence to be able to tell where you were, you picked up your pace.

"Where are you? I still can't see." Your voice startled a small contingent of birds from a tree above you, spooking you enough for you to give them a dirty look.

"Still here!" His tone held a note of desperation. "I think he's stuck!"

You adjusted your path, picking up your pace to try to get there as soon as possible. A stuck and frightened animal could very quickly turn into an injured and frightened animal. After what felt like just barely too long of almost running, you looked around you, not quite watching where you were going. Shouldn't you have seen them by now?

You nearly screamed in shock when your foot suddenly hit nothingness and you plummeted forward. The ground had suddenly given way to emptiness, a gaping maw of a hole, and as your body hit the damp soil and gravel on the other side, you realized you were falling.

It wasn't far of a fall--enough to leave you feeling sore and bruised, but not enough to knock you senseless. It hurt, but there was no way anything was broken. Your head throbbed from nearly eating a faceful of dirt, but otherwise, it was fine.

But it was too dark. For so short a fall, you should have been able to see the sky above you. You should have been able to see the mouth of the hole above your head. You should have been able to at least hear something. All you could hear was your pulse thrumming in your ears, banging against the confines of your skull as if begging to be freed. Nothing else seemed to be making noise. It was deafeningly quiet.

You could smell something wet and earthy, like the scent of soft loam and mildew and slippery stone. The ground beneath you, though you could not see it, was soft--sickeningly, worryingly so. It made you uncomfortable, uneasy; it just didn't feel right. Your fingers dug deep into what you hoped was mud and grit as you levied yourself upon a single hand, lifting yourself to a hunching crouch.

You didn't understand how you'd gotten down here. There weren't any massive holes on the property last you knew. You'd lived here your entire life and even in the heavy rain season your family never had problems with sinkholes or anything like that. And yet here you were in absolute darkness, in a hole that felt displaced and unusual. Uneasily, you recalled feeling like you saw the young man standing at the lip of the hole as you fell into it, smiling widely down at you.

But that was crazy... Right? He wouldn't have just watched you fall. Right...?

You wanted to call out for him, but something in the back of your mind warned you sharply not to. This wasn't right. You had seen him. Inarguably. And he had watched you almost gleefully as you fell into this mysterious hole. You felt your initial instinct of self-preservation had been warranted. But you just didn't understand why.

So you waited in the dark, willing your senses to come back to you fruitlessly.

Still your pulse throbbed behind your eardrums, muting the inky world around you. It was too dark to see even your hand directly in front of your nose. You had to rely, hesitantly, on your olfactory senses, for what good that could possibly do you. You couldn't very well sniff your way out of a cave, now could you.

You debated on crawling forward, hand and knee, toward what seemed to be a near-imperceptible draft, heavy with humidity and the smell of rot. You leaned forward, off balance from lack of sensory input, but only touched more gritty slick and soft something beneath you. The idea quickly faded, placed into the 'never to try' area of your mind. Just as quickly, you tried to think of something else. Perhaps, if you found a wall to lead you...

You inched forward very slowly, one hand outstretched, hoping you were going in the right direction. In your crouched position, your knees already ached, and your thighs trembled in anticipation of fatigue, but you didn't feel safe and stable enough to stand. Not yet.

It took scant minutes that felt like hours, and by the end of creeping forward so diligently your thighs really were screaming, but finally, your hand hit something that could pass as a wall. You jumped, inhaled sharply through your nose when you finally touched whatever was in front of you. It had the texture of rough stone, much like the rocks that littered your family's expansive property. Perhaps this cave, this hole in the ground, was where they'd originated.

Steadying yourself on the wall--that was what you could only assume it was, as it went down to the ground and up far further than your fingertips could reach--you finally pulled yourself into a standing position. Your back ached in protest, hip joints stiff and crackling slightly, but it was nothing you couldn't handle. Sometimes being curled up reading for too long had the same effect.

The throbbing behind your mastoid bone had died down as you concentrated on finding the wall of the cave. Cavern? Cave. You could hear how still everything was. It was unnerving. Just as unnerving as the spongey yet pliable softness of the ground underfoot. Just as unnerving as a stranger suddenly appearing and disappearing on your property and watching you fall into a mysterious hole.

Your breathing was loud in the silence. It made you all the more aware of how alone and lost you were.

"Don't worry. You're not alone."

The voice came from nowhere even as you had the thought and seemed to be everywhere. This time you could not stifle the shriek that left your mouth. Clapping one hand to your face only made the noises echo even further. Eyes wide with sudden fear, breaths trembling and shallow, you stood so still you could even hear how your breathing shifted the fabric of your clothing.

That had been the voice of the young man who had led you here in the first place. But where was he? Where had his voice come from? There was no way he had fallen into the same hole and you could not see the light of an opening anywhere.

"I know you're there. No use being quiet." A high giggle filled the cavern, your ears, the entire space around you. It was that giggle you'd thought you had heard from before. Somewhere in your subconscious, you registered that the masculine voice didn't echo like all of the noises you made did. There was no reverb off of the stone walls.

You didn't know what to do. The statements were so innocuous but you could feel the malicious intent in his voice. You felt as though you were directly in the path of the Devil and that He felt He would be feasting well tonight.

A sudden blast of cool air against your face caught you off guard. It was coming from in front of you, the direction the almost un-feelable breeze had been coming from before. That had to be the entrance of the cave! You started forward quickly, slipping in the muck beneath you. The awkward movement sent a sharp pain up from your ankle, reminding you grimly of when you twisted it in the forest as you fell just a short while ago.

But you couldn't let that keep you from escaping, from finding light and the entire world above you. Scraping some knuckles off of a small jutting-out of stone you didn't expect, you once again levied yourself upright. With some hesitation, you quickly walked forward, oblivious to any potential obstacles in front of you, still blind to the uneven path beneath you.

The giggling seemed to be following you at a considerable distance. He was behind you still, but he couldn't possibly see any better than you, right? There was absolutely no way. And as you began to walk even faster, the voice seemed as though it was slowly but assuredly being left behind. He wasn't keeping pace, or perhaps he couldn't. Far be it from you to slow down now, but you felt like maybe you could relax just that smallest bit.

"You're weak."

The voice was right behind you, right in your ear. You could feel the breath on your skin, following you even as you stumbled and started to run blindly. It was grittier than before, somehow, almost like it was being forced through a noise filter. All at once noise erupted around you. Laughing, sinister and tangled, bounced off of every surface in the cave. A strange, high-pitched keening seemed to be getting closer to you, slowly at first but quicker as your steps did the same. It sent a jolt of pure panic into your stomach and despite the slippery substance beneath you, you moved even faster away from that whining pitch.

"I'm here now."

It was closer now, his voice, so much closer, not just next to you, but in you, in your ear and your brain, rattling around your skull and that laugh that laugh that laugh! It was too close, wrapping around your brain stem and slithering down your spinal cord to plant shivers of terror at the base of your spine!

A noise wrenched itself from deep in your chest, a partial scream, partial sob, and you let it free. There was no front of fearlessness, nothing you could do to pretend you weren't witless with horror. You could almost see light at the mouth of the cave, that same sort of peripheral light of a star at night; looking directly toward it there was still nothing but never-ending darkness, but if you pulled your gaze elsewhere in the inky blackness, there it was. Like hope glimmering just in the middle distance.

The floor of the cave was becoming less slick with whatever you'd been standing on and more firm. There was the deafening sound of your shoes against the rock mixing unpleasantly with the near-shriek of laughter filling the air thickly around you. As you gained surer footing, you hastened your pace as much as your legs could take you. The tips of your fingers, scraping along the wall all this time to keep you grounded and going in the right direction, were bleeding profusely.

That same wall left your fingers for a terrifying moment, and you slipped and slid to an unsteady halt before bursting into a larger area of the cave and being nearly blinded by the light from the mouth.

Safety was right there! You were closer than you realized to escape, to the light where you could see and hide more effectively! Another sobbing cry fell from your lips as you nearly fell forward, fingertips touching off the ground and propelling you upright and forward once more. You were so close to being able to run back into your house where you could lock yourself away and call the police, your family, anybody.

Your feet were hitting the ground at what felt like an impossible rate. The pounding behind your ears was back, nearly drowning out the voice behind you, and you were grateful for it. Anything to get the cacophony of mangled laughter and voices behind you out of your head.

The light in front of you was almost too much, but you forced yourself to focus on it. It was a point of hope and salvation, finally tangible, and you weren't going to so much as blink if you could help it.

You were so much closer now. Close enough that you could smell the wet dustiness of soggy leaves that must litter the mouth of the cave. You could even make out the shapes of a few of the mighty trees nearly obscuring the entrance to this horrible place, and the sight of them felt like salvation.

But not for long.

A shape moved in front of the light, blocking it from you in its entirety. You skidded, trying to stop yourself as the laughter shifted rapidly all throughout the space. Just as suddenly as the now imposing figure of the man from earlier came into your vision, the laughter died down from around you and laser-focused to just in front of you.

You couldn't keep yourself from careening into him, it, for no human could have possibly chased you and still ended up in front of you, hitting his chest with enough force to knock the breath out of your own lungs. The inertia carrying into the collision caused you to bounce backwards, falling harshly onto your ass. You could just barely see the light you'd been running toward between the man's, creature's legs. A sliver of hope that was snuffed as he crouched in front of you, arms resting almost pleasantly across his knees.

You couldn't see well still, couldn't make out the individual features of his face from the insufficient illumination, but you could see his eyes. Once blue, they glowed with a malicious, muted neon green light, one that set the small hairs on your arms on end, sent an electric current of unadulterated fear through your extremities.

"The s̸t̵o̵r̷y̷ ends h̷e̴r̵e̴." His grin seemed to hold its own sickening light.

Before your vision blinked out, you screamed.

N̷̩͇͂ô̷̧̬̭͇̺̮͕̍͐ ̶̛͙̠̲͜o̴̪͇̲̖̳̹̲̊̇̑̕n̴̦̯̫͂͌̏̔̏e̸̡̥̖̯̾̈́̊͝ͅͅ ̴̭̀̍̐̉͗h̸̛͔̾̿̆̚è̷͚͕̫͍͈̜̙̏̔͛a̷̧̠̻̯̳̖͐͋̋̚ͅr̶̩̱̽͘d̴̨̤̻̙͗̿̆̎̃́ͅ ̵̧̯̠̠̖͕̼̃͑͑͊̈́́͠y̷̡̽̃́̆̚͝͝ǫ̸͔̝̫͙͔̠̊̃̓̿̔͝u̶̦̜͒̀̽̈̑̿.̷͍̣̈͂̃̀̕͜

This ended up being way longer than I intended it to! The final word count ende up being 3721, Jesus. xD Anyways!! Thanks for putting up with my ages-long hiatus. Tagging people who have shown interest or might like it!

@ego-protection-squad @egosurveillance @steffid101 @destinggirl @artistic--insomniac @alliedoesstuff @purple-finch @peka-iz-krov @randompjo @ask-hinata-and-toby-crap

[mizcalculate-miztery]

Thoughts on Anti and Dark

So because of recent events in both fandoms, I started thinking about Dark and Anti, and how I personally view them. Because there’s no denying I love both characters. And everyone always likes to compare them (which is completely understandable), so I started comparing them in my own mind. Comparing how they operate, what I find so terrifying about them, their personalities, basically everything. And I just kinda wanted to get my thoughts about them down on paper (or… document I guess). So here’s some personal thoughts I have about Dark and Anti.

(Prepare for opinions! Also, like I said I love both of these characters. Just because I might say one is stronger than the other, or scarier doesn’t mean I like the other any less. Remember that this is all MY opinion and thoughts! You can agree or disagree with whatever ^_^)

Anti

Ah, the Glitch Bitch. Such a fascinating character, especially of late as Jack continues to flesh him out. We were first introduced to the knife-wielding weirdo last Halloween when he slit Jack’s throat on camera before taking over. Wow. That’s quite the entrance. It’s disturbing and wrong and terrifying. And it’s made even more sinister by the glassy-eyed stare Jack gives the camera as he does it. So with his appearances leading up to and including Halloween, we learned several things about Anti:

1) He’s absolutely ruthless, cruel, and sadistic. He kills Jack for seemingly no reason other than he finds it fun or satisfying in some way.

2) He’s calculated, sneaky, and smart as hell. I know that often times the fandoms portray Anti as the cocky, sloppy, hyper-active, and boisterous newcomer in comparison to Dark (which I agree with to an extent; Dark’s character is based on the fact that he can manipulate those around him into abandoning their beliefs; his character and powers seem based in the psyche and mind as opposed to Anti’s more physical powers), but Anti can be just as tactful and deceptive as Dark. He hid messages in the tags of the videos, he appeared at specific times during gameplay because he wanted to give us hints by highlighting certain words or events.

And in my mind, he leaves hints for us because, again, it’s fun for him. He likes playing little games. Anti enjoys seeing us struggle to connect the dots, and laughs when we figure things out just a little too late, taunting us. He loves the attention we give him and he knows that so long as he keeps leaving a trail of crumbs, we’ll follow it. And that means he has control over us. Humans want closure and completion to any story. And yet, Anti is still an enigma for the most part. We kinda know what he wants, we kinda know his plan. But we’re still not 100% sure of anything! We aren’t even 100% sure of what Anti even is or how his powers work. Is he a demon? A computer virus or glitch? He seems capable of possessing people, travelling in time, and messing with electronics. But who knows what else he can do? All these “maybes” and questions make us want to know more, and so we keep watching (this is very similar to how FNaF became so popular- just enough clues and evidence to keep people interested in learning the entire story). We’re curious about Anti and that’s our ultimate downfall. You know what they say: curiosity killed the Jack.

In many ways, Anti is childish. He’s loud and brash, loves playing games, throws spectacular tantrums, and can often be surprisingly profound. And all of this is great! There’s a reason that creepy, evil children are a horror trope. I also think that this works great in regards to Anti being Jack’s dark persona. Anti and Jack are very similar, not just in terms of looks. Basically everything I said above about Anti being childish can be applied to Jack. But the brilliant part is how, even though Jack and Anti are so similar, they couldn’t be more different. Jack’s sometimes childish behavior is endearing. He’s often cutesy and excited, but can and will whine if something doesn’t go his way. His enthusiasm and energy are what many people enjoy about his content. And then when he gets into a pensive state, he says some really inspiring, and genuine things. Anti is the same way. He’s always teeming with energy, and his manner of speaking is very similar to Jack’s in that they are both a little silly and childish. He isn’t verbose, he’s simple and to the point. “Always watching,” “tired of playing pretend,” “there are no strings on me,” “I wonder what will happen to your favorite boy,” etc. All very simple, something you could absolutely see a child saying. But even despite his common vernacular, what he says can be profound. Just look at all the theories about what he says and how much each line could mean. Anti takes what is good and liked about Jack, and twists it into its worst self.

Let’s get into some of Anti’s symbolism, specifically eyes. Now, Jack has had eyes as a staple of his channel since forever, and Septiceye Sam has been the mascot for as long as I’ve known of Jack. But Anti takes this concept one step further. Not only do his eyes change color constantly, but he’s always been very focused on what eyes do. In his first full appearance, he mocks us for just watching as he took over and eventually killed Jack. He seems very interested in the bystander effect. We were the bystanders who noticed the weird glitches in Jack’s videos leading up to Halloween, but just sat and watched to see what would happen next. We were curious because we thought everything was a game, and that Jack was just doing something nice for the fans who created Anti. And while this is true in reality, it isn’t true in regards to the story that Anti is apart of. Because Anti is part of a story. All of Jack’s Egos are. So is Jack. And so are we.

This is one of the reasons Anti is so cool a character. Because we know he’s a character, and yet he can make things seem so real. Anti’s story has become very much like an ARG like Marble Hornets. Anti openly talks to us so that we become a part of his story. He says things to make us feel as if we can do things to help. He tells us that we’re just sitting here and watching, so we try to retaliate, to do something (ex. #septicsave). But while we may be a character, all we'll ever be to the other characters are a set of eyes. Whenever Anti talks to us, it’s pre-recorded. All we can really do is watch. We can try to do things all we want. In the end, Anti’s already done whatever he’s going to do in his story. He gives us a false sense of power and choice, when we really don’t have any. (Disclaimer: I know that Jack loves theories and suggestions from the community and often takes them into consideration when crafting the story around his characters. Again, in reality, we do have a choice and influence, but so far in the story, we don’t.)

And Anti also knows we’ll never stop watching. He seems to also like the concept of “seeing is believing.” Because the obvious answer to “beating” Anti is to stop watching. But then what? Will he truly lose? How can we know if we don’t watch? Unless we see him lose, who’s to say he didn’t complete his take over, his killing spree, whatever it is he wants? We would have to rely on faith and hope alone. And unfortunately, humans aren’t particularly adept at trusting what they can’t perceive with their senses. So in the end, we watch because we feel as if we have to. And we keep going round and round in circles.

And that’s why I love the concept that’s been floating around recently about how god damn interesting and horrifying the idea of a livestream where Anti tortures Jack is. A deep-web “red room”-esque scenario where the viewers tell Anti what to do to Jack. Not only is that just unsettling in premise, it’s horrifying because some people would actually suggest awful things (because humans are morbidly fascinated by the suffering of others). And again, the only way to stop it would be for everyone to stop watching. And that would never happen. Because if no one’s watching, who knows what Anti would do to Jack? Who's to say he wouldn’t just torture him without us watching? And then there will always be the people who want to see what Anti would do to Jack. So no matter what, Anti wins. And we just sat and watched.

I started writing this entire analysis a few weeks before the charity livestream, but I’m adding it in because holy fuck. Other people who are much more eloquent and concise than I am have already analyzed everything I’m about talk about, but I wanna get my thoughts out.

So. That was a fun time! I can’t even fathom how many people stayed up all night to watch those damn security cameras! I was one of the people who was up all night (I had finals and papers to write so I was up anyway), and I don’t think I saw the stream dip below 6,000 people watching. That’s insane that that many people stayed up for 20+ hours just to see what the hell was going to happen. By the time I fell asleep on Saturday, I had personally been awake for around 41-42 hours, and most of that was due to watching the streams to see what was going to happen. Anti managed to keep us glued to our screens for hours on end, stringing us along with little clips every now and again. And one of the most interesting things is that the majority of the footage wasn’t new content. Only the clips of Emma, Ethan, PJ, and Robin doing their spooky stuff was new. And yet we kept sitting there watching. Just the amount of influence Anti has over us is astounding! Again, a lot of the Overnight Watch stream connects with things I’ve already said. How do we beat Anti? Stop watching. But what if we miss something? So we keep watching. Circles. We sat by as eyes (security cameras) while we saw all this creepy stuff happened. Anti won BIG TIME. He was able to see just what lengths we’re willing to go to just for him.

So now that I’ve beaten how Anti operates into the ground, let’s talk about why he’s scary to me. Because he is. One thing about Anti is that he’s unstable and unpredictable with deadly mood swings. Anything that is unpredictable is nerve wracking because it plays into the fear of the unknown. Like I mentioned before, we aren’t certain about much of what Anti does. We’ve theorized and theorized until our theorizers are sore, but we don’t know much other than the fact that Anti killed Jack, and most likely Schneep. Even Anti’s movement is unpredictable due to his glitches. This is something that really unsettles me because I’m a visual person who likes to be able to keep track of things visually. For example, I’m also rather scared of bugs, but so long as I can see where a bug is, or I’m able to track it going around a room, I don’t freak out about it. But as soon as one buzzes past my ear without me seeing it, I get very startled and flinch HARD. So Anti’s glitching everywhere is also pretty unsettling for me as I can’t predict or track it visually. He also is more than willing to physically harm us as well. That’s another scary thing about Anti. He wields a large fucking carving knife and seems very ready to use it. Everyone has a pain threshold that they don’t want to cross. So Anti is also scary because he gives the very real threat of unbearable pain.

So for me, Anti’s scariness comes from a combination of his unpredictable nature and movement, his enthusiasm for hurting people and his propensity for causing pain. He also tends to have a slow buildup to a reveal. He drops hints for sometimes months at a time before he makes a full appearance. That sense of anticipation is also nerve wracking (it’s the entire basis for the thriller genre). For me, though, it actually makes it less scary because at least there’s some solid hints that something will happen soon. This isn’t to say these are the only reasons he’s scary (after all, he’s also pretty good at playing mind games like I stated before. But the types of mind games he plays don’t scare me; I just find them impressive and clever more than scary). This is just why he’s scary to me.

So that’s a lot of my thoughts on Anti. I think he’s a very cool character and Jack has taken him in a super interesting direction. Plus, the use of medium and the gimmicks and plot points he derives from his medium are a goddamn treat to theorize and write about.

Dark

The monochromatic monarch, the VHS Cunt himself, Darkiplier. Has this guy seen some development this year or what? From a weird emo roomate to a master manipulator, Dark’s Valentine’s Day reintroduction was quite the spectacle that I was not expecting (I mean, up until Mark called the horror show “The Dark Mark”). So, with the retooling of his character, what do we know about Dark now?

1) He’s a master manipulator and just “the worst.” Mark confirmed this during one of the charity livestreams where he discussed “A Date with Markiplier” in detail. He clearly says that Dark wants to use us and he’s not our friend. He will pretend to be anything we want him to be in order to gain our trust before throwing us aside once our usefulness has run out.

2) He’s a being from another dimension who just so happens to bleed into our dimension that does not follow the laws of physics, similar to Warfstache. He and Mark are two different people.

3) Dark is jealous of Mark’s success and accomplishments and wants to take them for himself.

As the year has gone on, we’ve seen that Dark has a rather large plan forming. He’s working with other Egos (especially Warfstache) in order to take control of the channel, as we saw in Markiplier TV (if we assume this is part of the “canon.” I personally do, but I know a lot of people have been questioning it lately).. And then the huge bomb that was “Who Killed Markiplier?” dropped to give us the origins of both Dark and Wilford. And from that, we also now know that Dark’s plan for a takeover is not just a result of jealousy and a lust for power, but also for revenge and retribution.

So in many ways, we know a lot more about Dark than Anti. We have the basic plan, backstory, and motive. But there is still a treasure trove of stuff we don’t know about Dark. We don’t know the total extent of his powers or exactly how they operate, and we don’t know his exact plan. Similarly to Anti, this ambiguity keeps us watching and theorizing.

But, with the reveal of Dark’s backstory, he now has another hook into the viewers that keeps our attention on him and keeps us easy to manipulate: he’s a sympathetic character. To an extent at least. Okay, so we all know he’s a master manipulator, a horrible person, and a villain. But a villain is only a villain in the eyes of someone opposing them. A villain is their own hero. And when you give a perceived villain sympathetic motivation, it can often change the way viewers look at that character. Dark’s motivation is reasonable. Anyone can see that he has reason to be angry. WKM!Mark destroyed the lives of the Colonel, Damien, Celine, the Detective, and the DA. The way Mark framed WKM’s ending, Dark becomes sympathetic. Because of WKM!Mark’s antics, both “halves” of Dark lost everything. Damien had his body snatched and lost both his best friends. Celine also lost her body and lost both of the men she at one point loved. Betrayal and loss of loved ones are two of the most effective ways to drudge up sympathy for a character because at some point, most people have experienced the pain of one or both. In this way, the viewers can now easily view Dark as the “hero” of sorts while Mark becomes the villain.

But giving a villain a sympathetic backstory can be very dangerous because it can give the villain one more way to manipulate the viewer. Mark has gone on record in his “I EXPLAIN EVERYTHING” livestream that Damien and Celine aren’t really their own entities anymore. The dark energy of the House combined the worst parts of them together along with itself to create a new being: Dark. Damien and Celine are no longer in Dark. Not as we knew them, anyway. And yet, I can guarantee you, if Dark ever felt it was needed, he would create projections of Damien and Celine to make it seems like they’re still in there. And they would reach out to us and gain our sympathy and trust. Reassure us that this is for the best, and that it’s all part of their plan. How they’ve missed us and just wish we could go back to the way things were before that dreaded poker game. And we would crumble. Dark would wrap us around his finger, make us care again, and trust him more. Because they were still there. It wasn’t just Dark. They weren’t bad people. We had to help them, had to believe them! After all, what do we always say? They deserved better.

Dark is a mastermind. Due to his manipulative nature, he’s always thinking dozens of steps ahead so that no matter the circumstance, those he wants to control will stay firmly trapped under his thumb. And this bitch will prey on anything to get what he wants. Any sort of weakness a person has, he will exploit. Heck, he’ll exploit their strengths, too. Dark, to me, is a people reader. He’s observed so many people and figured out how they operate. He’s figured out which people are most responsive to positive reinforcement, and those who are most responsive to negative reinforcement. And he’s content to observe. Dark is patient, while Anti can be more impulsive. Dark does not mind waiting and biding his time to make sure he is successful. There’s a reason he’s had fewer appearances than Anti (again, story-wise not logistics based).

Just like Anti and Jack, I adore how Dark and Mark compare to one another. Even though we know Dark isn’t exactly Mark’s dark persona, it’s really intriguing to see how Mark took that concept of his dark side and fleshed it out. Because again, Dark and Mark have very similar personalities and strengths. Both are very charismatic and are good at influencing people, extraordinarily smart, and emotionally driven (in many ways, including temper). But the way they use these gifts is how they differ and why it’s so interesting to observe. Mark uses his charisma and influence to better the world, whether it be through charity or simply giving people who may have given up a reason to live. He uses his intelligence and creativity to entertain millions and is always coming up with interesting ways to make what he does more successful (just look at the recent livestreams). In contrast, Dark uses his charisma to charm people into doing and getting what HE wants. He uses his gifts selfishly instead of selflessly. He uses his gift as an influencer to coerce people into doing horrible things (like shooting Mark in ADWM), and his intelligence lets him figure out how the human mind operates so that he can better control it. It’s such a cool concept to have these two people be so similar and yet they are completely different.

Okay, now, why is Dark scary to me? Well, as a said before, Dark seems to operate in the realm of the mind. We haven’t seen him pull anything particularly violent besides pulling a gun on Mark. Other than that, he’s been trying to manipulate us and others through our emotions and thoughts. As someone who has always taken pride in how sharp my mind is, it scares me to think that Dark could turn my own mind against me just by taking my weaknesses and words and twisting them to mean something negative. I don’t like being outsmarted, and I could absolutely believe that I would somehow talk myself into a trap by being outsmarted by Dark. I like to think that I would be able to see through his charade and not be bothered by his words, but I just don’t know. I’m only human and there are some very vulnerable parts of me that could be prodded to make me even more vulnerable. And while I don’t think I wear my heart on my sleeve, I don’t think I hide my emotions well, and Dark will take whatever he sees and attack with it. Another thing about Dark is that there is still so much that is hidden about him. We haven’t seen enough of him in action to determine much. It seems he’s acting on the horror concept of “the less you see the monster, the scarier it becomes.” And god damn has that been executed well. We’ve only had extended exposure to Dark in ADWM. All other appearances have been quick cameos where we get a better sense of his personality, but not much else. Again, him biding his time has proved very effective. He proved he was a threat before disappearing into the shadows to watch everyone worry themselves into a tizzy. We’ve seen a snippet of his power, but who knows what else he’s capable of? That’s why there are so interpretations of him. He takes on the powers and forms we are personally most afraid of. He’s become the monster in the dark. He’s a looming menace which has always scared me. The last thing that scares me is that I can see parts of myself in him. I’m prideful and I have quite the temper when pushed far enough. I’m ambitious and my thoughts can be viciously vengeful. I think back through my life and wonder how much in my life would have had to occurred differently for me to become a manipulative piece of garbage (hint: less than you would think). And that’s a horrifying thought to me.

So Dark is scary due to his intelligence, his ambiguity, and the fact that he’s realistic enough that I see characteristics of myself in him. Dark’s appearances also don’t have the build up that Anti’s have. We get an occasional hint or two, but they’re subtle enough that it makes us question whether or not we’re looking into things too much. Then out of nowhere, an appearance happens and the entire fandom is sent reeling. I think the most build up we’ve gotten for Dark is the week long clue hunt the led to Who Killed Markiplier?. And that wasn’t even built up FOR Dark. This more guerilla warfare style of appearances is much more effective in scaring me because it leaves me feeling nervous all the time. Between Anti appearances, I’m able to calm down. But because of the suddenness of Dark’s appearances, I’m always high strung wondering when, where and how he’s going to strike next. Because I can “feel” him watching, calculating his next move, but I can never figure out where he is to prepare myself for the next appearance. So for me, it more effectively scares me as I feel more of a loss of control.

And that’s a lot of my thoughts on Dark! He’s very much the style of villain I’m drawn to, so I have a lot of fun theorizing about and analyzing him. I love that Mark embraced this character and made him his own because he’s made a very formidable and compelling villain! And I can’t wait to see where this story goes next and how Mark will burn the fandom down next time!

[halfsan]

✎ Epidemic

Rating: T Fandom: Jacksepticeye Summary: Post “SAY GOODBYE” video. After Jack was killed, a worried Dr. Schneeplestein rushes to stitch him together, but something tries to stop him. Author Note: This fic has been days in the making and I’m actually pretty proud of it. I tried to proofread it quickly just so I could post it so I apologize for any errors, also for any characterization weirdness. Also I refrained from putting Anti’s dialogue in zalgo because sometimes it can be very hard to read(especially on mobile)! I hope you all enjoy!

One hundred percent real doctor. One could argue that his methods were very extreme and unorthodox—perhaps emulating a certain sort of over-exaggerated surgery game—but he would get the job done. No matter how messy and sporadic the operation went, his patients were cured—enough. He could cure anything, at least, that’s what he wanted to believe once he discovered a digital disease. Well, he would deal with that problem later. Right now, he had work to do on the near-lifeless body on his operating table.

The good doctor couldn’t help but blame himself for Jack’s current state. If only I had been faster, if only I had said something, if only if only if only… Now, however was not the time to lament on past mistakes. Dr. Schneeplestein had quick work to do. The faintly beeping sounds of the heart monitor drowned itself out as the doctor tied knots in the sutures upon Jack’s neck, only pausing to wipe the beading sweat on his forehead.

It came as quite a shock when Schneeplestein came upon the grotesque site of Jack face first into a freshly carved pumpkin with an even fresher jagged cut along his neck. He had been worried, maybe a bit paranoid as well. The doctor had seen the strange digital corruption in Jack’s videos, and thought it to be a bit… strange. It gave him a terrible feeling in his stomach, to the point where that Halloween night, he practically broke into his house to check to see if he was safe… only to find out he was too late. Well, almost. Even though his skin grew cold and the heaving of his chest was faint, Jack was still clinging to life, but only just. And Schneeplestein knew he could save him if he acted quickly.

Seeing Jack hooked up to all kinds of medical equipment unsettled the doctor, but he forced the churning in his stomach away to complete his work. Finally, the last suture was in place, but as Schneeplestein reached over to his table to retrieve the antiseptic, a shrill, ongoing beeeeeeeep sounded from the heart monitor.

“No…” he muttered under his breath as he turned his attention to the heart monitor. Sure enough, his eyes only confirmed what his ears heard. Flat line. His eyes began to fill slightly with moisture, and his gaze fell down at Jack… his friend. His skin was pale—at least, more than normal—and his chest was still. Schneeplestein trailed his eyes up to the disgusting, rushed suture job upon Jack’s neck, and then to his face. He let out a shaky sigh.

That was when something happened that the doctor didn’t expect. Jack’s eyes flew open, which ordinarily would’ve relieved him, but the scleras of his eyes were a deep black. Schneeplestein took a small step back, nearly tripping over his footing. At first there was no sign of emotion of Jack’s face, but with a blink of his eyes, they returned their normal baby blue color with a hint of… malevolence? The feeling soon became clear when Jack twisted his neck to make eye contact with the doctor. Slowly, Jack’s lips curled upward into an inhumanly evil smile that made Schneeplestein’s stomach sour.

“Jack…?” His voice was barely audible as he was practically holding his breath in fear. Jack—rather, the thing possessing Jack—did not respond, his arm shooting towards his table at an inhuman speed. It reminded him of a DVD skipping and was so fast if he blinked, he would’ve missed it. Schneeplestein followed Jack’s movements as fast as he could and saw that he brandished a scalpel from his array of tools. The doctor barely had enough time to react as Jack swung the blade in his direction. Schneeplestein staggered backwards to avoid the attack. It all happened so quickly, but he managed to come out unharmed, save for his face mask which was torn by the blade.

“Jack’s not here.” Even though it looked like Jack, it didn’t sound like Jack. His voice was deeper and more guttural than Jack could ever make his sound. He began to sit up from the operating table, tearing the medical wires from his body as he rose. “Not here anymore. I’m all that’s left now.”

“A—Anti…” Upon hearing the doctor speak the name he’d been given, Anti’s held his arms out, as if he was taking a bow. The scalpel stayed locked in his hands the entire time. With a low giggle in his throat, Anti took slow steps toward Schneeplestein. Each movement made produced a strange “glitch” that unsettled him. Schneeplestein stood firmly, despite the chill in his spine. “Stay back!” he ordered, damning the subtle stammer in his words.

“Is that a threat?” Anti questioned, punctuating it with a laugh. “What are you going to do, doctor? You already couldn’t save him. He belongs to me, now.” Anti stopped within reach of Schneeplesteen, drinking in the fear in his eyes. Though he stood still, the doctor could still see the strange “glitch” effect. Violent twitching, his facial expressions changing rapidly, it made it hard to tell which movements were real.

Anti held up the scalpel, causing the doctor to slide his foot backwards, preparing to make a run for it. Instead, Anti directed the scalpel to his own throat, gliding the blade along his skin until he found his target: the freshly sown sutures. With a deep laugh in his throat, Anti began slowly cutting them away one by one. For a while there, Schneeplestein lost his will to move. His fear froze him in place, despite the fact that he wanted to stop him.

Help me…

Was that…?

“Stop!” Whether or not the voice he heard was real or not, Schneeplestein finally came to his senses and lunged towards Anti, grabbing him by the shoulders and tackling him to the ground. There was still a chance to save Jack. There had to be. The impact caused Anti to drop the scalpel he held and crash into the table scattering forceps, syringes and various other medical tools. Schneeplestein pinned Anti to the ground and bared his teeth. “I von’t let you do zhis!”

Despite the doctor trying to come off as threatening, Anti’s expression stayed the same, in that almost permanent grin. Instead of a normal reaction to basicallyy being attacked, he simply laughed. It started slow but suddenly developed into a cackle, and in a flash of static, Anti suddenly vanished from beneath him. Schneeplestein stared at the floor in disbelief, and before he got a chance to look around, something came crashing down on his back, hard.

Schneeplestein barely had a chance to recover from having the wind knocked out of him. Anti had stomped his foot down on him and the doctor didn’t even have a chance to look behind him before Anti grabbed a fistful of his hair and shoved his face to the floor.

“What are you talking about, doctor?” Anti asked in an almost sarcastic tone. “I’ve already gotten what I wanted. You can’t stop me now. I’m in control, and I have been from the start.” The doctor struggled, but the more he did, the more Anti pressed his heel into him. Anti dipped his head down closer to Schneeplestein and continued in a low, demonic growl.

“You could’ve saved him. If you hadn’t been so frightened. Lament your failure. You are just as weak as he is. But…” There was a pause and Schneeplestein heard a very faint clink noise come from his right side. “You could be useful…” He tried to fight Anti’s strength to see if he could tell what it was, and although he didn’t see it, he had a clear idea once he felt something stick into his neck.

“Ughh.. Vhat… did you…?” Schneeplestein struggled to speak, but Anti finally lifted his weight from him and the doctor rolled over to face him. That was when he saw it. An empty syringe was clutched in Anti’s fist, and just as he began to ponder what it contained, Schneeplestein found that his eyelids began to sink. “…you…” His vision began to smear as the sedative took quick effect. The blur that was Anti slowly crept towards him, but there was nothing he could do. The last thing he heard was that horrible guttural voice.

See you soon.

Knowing his own sedatives, Schneeplestein knew that he had been out for maybe a few hours, but it only felt like a few minutes. He awoke to a hand on his shoulder gently nudging. His head hurt and his spine ached from lying on the hard floor for so long. Despite his fatigue, his eyes slowly opened and he was surprised to see who was calling out to him.

“Doc, you okay?” Jack hovered over him with concern in his baby blues. Schneeplestein widened his eyes and trailed them down to the green haired man’s throat, noting that the disgusting gash that he had stitched together had left no trace—not even a scar.

“Jack,” the doctor began, pausing to wet his lips. “You’re alive…” He said it so quietly, it was almost a whisper, but Jack heard it and gave him a questioning look.

“Uhm, yeah. Why wouldn’t I be?” he said, as if it were obvious. “You weren’t experimenting on me or something, were you?” As Jack finished his inquiry, he lifted the hem of his shirt and checked around his abdomen, as if he was making sure his kidneys were right where they should be.

Did Jack have no idea what had happened to him? Did he not know about Anti? This wasn’t all some kind of trick or illusion, was it? It couldn’t be. Schneeplestein glanced around the room and saw that it had been in—more or less—the same disarrayed condition it was after he tried to go after Anti. He even saw the emptied syringe in the floor.

“No,” he finally answered. “No, I didn’t. You’re perfectly fine.” Schneeplestein slowly stood himself up and stretched his back, producing a loud pop.

“Oookay then,” Jack drawled and then pointed to the exit. “I’m gonna go home now. See ya. And Happy Halloween.”

“Of course,” the doctor said holding palm toward Jack, bidding him a farewell. “You, too.”

After Jack departed, Schneeplestein began cleaning up his operating room, picking up his tools and sanitizing them, and disposing of the used needle. Admittedly, he was still very unnerved by what had transpired just a few hours ago. But Anti had released his hold on Jack, and he seemed to be okay. Maybe Anti just gave up, but Schneeplestein couldn’t fathom him surrendering so easily.

There was no point in dwelling on it, so either way the doctor felt he needed to get some well deserved rest after such a stressful Halloween night. Sleep, unfortunately did not come so easily as nightmares of the glitching demon invaded his mind. Frustrated and exhausted, Schneeplestein flung the covers off of himself and hurried to the bathroom to search his medicine cabinet. Ibuprofen, asprin, acetaminophen—aha! Sleeping pills. Schneeplestein fumbled with the safety cap for a few seconds before unscrewing the lid and pouring two pills—make that three pills—into his hand. He grabbed one of the disposable cups from the stack on his sink and filled it with water. The pills went into his mouth and he chased them down with the water, cringing at the slightly metallic taste.

Hopefully the pills would help. He paused for a moment in the bathroom, resting his hands on the edge of the sink and hanging his head. A long yawn escaped his lips and his eyelids drooped shut from how tired he was beginning to feel. The room was silent, so when he heard a light plink noise, it rang in his ears almost deafeningly. The doctor assumed it to be a drip from the faucet, but when he opened his eyes, there was a drop of red that contrasted with the porcelain sink. Schneeplestein narrowed his eyes in confusion and glanced up at his mirror.

“Vhat the..?” A streak of crimson red had dripped from the inner corner of his eye. A shaking had rose to his face and wiped it away with his finger. Examining the texture confirmed it to be blood. It was at this point he grew to become horrified.

Something flickered in the mirror making the doctor ignore his bleeding eye. He stared at his reflection for a long time to see if it would happen again. Just as he thought maybe it was just sleep deprivation taking its toll, it happened again. His reflection flashed to static, glitching in and out of focus. There was no doubt about it. It was Anti. Schneeplestein’s reflection kept shifting to one of Anti, and on his throat was a very familiar jagged slit, oozing fresh blood.

As Anti glitched in and out, his expressions were changing, from and emotionless stare, to psychotic laughter, to brandishing a large kitchen knife. Schneeplestein felt frozen in place, gazing in to the mirror despite feeling this inexplicable terror. He could hear Anti speaking to him, as if it was directly in his head. Voices mixed together like there were multiple conversations going on around them. It gave him a headache and he could only pinpoint various bits and pieces.

—couldn’t save him— —thought I was gone— —weak— —just like you— —can’t get rid of me— —my puppets— —one by one—

The voices came to a stop, and so did the flickering of his reflection—though it did not return to his own. Anti stared at Schneeplestein from behind the mirror and after a brief silence, the digital manifestation rose a hand to the glass. He gave the doctor a wicked grin and suddenly reached through the mirror at an unfathomable speed. Anti’s hands gripped the collar of his shirt and pulled him so close their noses were almost touching.

“You can’t cure me, doctor,” Anti growled, gritting his teeth. “I’m an epidemic.”

Those were Anti’s final words to him, and Schneeplestein was shoved to the ground. His chest was heaving, desperate for oxygen as he was quite certain he held his breath since Anti appeared.  Slowly, the doctor rose to his feet, using the sink to help support him. His eyes stayed low, trying to avoid the mirror, until he finally dared to take a glance. To his relief, everything seemed normal.

After hesitating for a moment, he got a closer look at himself, noticing the blood from his eye was gone. There wasn’t even a stain. Almost like it didn’t even happen… but he was certain it did. Because he ended up seeing something that he wished he didn’t. He wouldn’t have even noticed it had he not been carefully inspecting his reflection. Upon his neck, there was a very faint scar along the length of his throat. Schneeplestein touched his fingertips to the area, carefully tracing the crooked line.

One by one… an epidemic…

This was only the beginning. They all were in danger.

[tenscupcake]

electrostatic potential (30/?)

ten/rose. adult this ch. another one down guys! more notes on ao3. thanks a million to amber for the literal HOURS of her time she dedicated to helping me with this and making it better. summary: as the doctor and rose traverse time and space looking for adventure, they slowly fall victim to a mysterious energy that can manipulate their emotions. though confused and unnerved by the cerebral affliction, neither of them understands its cause, or realizes that it could jeopardize their friendship. what will it take for them to discover the truth? this chapter on ao3 | back to chapter 1 on ao3

The Doctor is quite familiar with the concept of adaptation. Living creatures adapt to their environments, even when surrounded by distressing stimuli. Desert dwellers learn to survive sweltering summer days; the metabolic rate of most species slows in response to a scarcity of food; a person with chronic disability learns to live with it.

So, too, the Doctor has learned to live with the unrelenting threat of mortality.

Until this moment, he hadn’t realized that all his previous memories with Rose were tinged with dread. Even in the most enjoyable, intimate moments, the burden of certainty that she was a temporary presence in his life tormented him. That persistent, unsettling feeling in his gut that he’s making a mistake. The incessant whispers from the dark depths of his mind, warning him that he’ll suffer for succumbing to something as human as romance.

This burden has been so constant in his life, he hadn’t realized how heavy it had become. The double-edged sword of adaptation: it facilitates survival, but over time it can cause one to forget what it’s like not to need it. Forget there’s a better way to live.

Only now that it’s been lifted does the Doctor finally realize what he’s been missing. For the first time, he’s able to pour all of himself into a kiss and savor each moment just because it’s wonderful, not because he doesn’t know when it will be his last. Not because he’s trying to engrave the memory of her lips in his mind to sustain him once she’s gone and he’s forced to carry on. He’s never known what it feels like to experience a touch from her without wondering in the back of his mind how much longer it will last.

He doesn’t even attempt to hide any of these revelations from Rose, too inflated with the sense of relief to do anything but trust her with all of them.

With her legs wrapped around him the way they are, her soft moans and the way their minds are intertwining so easily, the Doctor can’t help imagining what it’d be like to shag right here on this exam table. Why bother moving? He has every capability of keeping her artificially comfortable despite the less-than-ideal cushioning.

Now that the potential threat to her life has vanished, the adrenaline rush from mere minutes earlier suddenly finds a new outlet. Rose’s enthusiasm for his idea quickly manifests as intense arousal that winds its way into his mind. Potent as ever, it seeps into his bloodstream, circulates through his system until he’s flushed and dizzy from it.

He still finds it unfair that she knows how to get him hot and bothered and helpless in a matter of seconds now. Especially now, when she is not nearly as affected. Obviously turned on, yes, but her focus is not nearly as singular as his. Other subjects are competing for attention in her mind. Questions about the nature of her new existence are interrupting her fantasies, and the curiosity starts to put a damper on her passion.

The Doctor gently and wordlessly tries to convince her to let the questions wait until after, letting his hand wander under her shirt, tempting her with promises of things he’ll do to her, but it doesn’t have as much effect as it normally does. Instead, he starts to wonder about the answers to some of her questions, too. It becomes rather distracting, and not at all conducive to setting a sensual mood.

He supposes there will be plenty of time for shagging later. Centuries of it, if they’re lucky.

Still, she has to shove his chest with a fair amount of force to break their kiss.

“Will I still have to sleep like a human?” she pants out. He huffs out a chuckle against her cheek at her first choice of question.

“I imagine so.” He nods gently. He takes a moment to dampen their connection. It’ll be easier on her to be able to formulate her questions properly before she asks them, and easier for him to focus without the overload of hormones. “Like I said, you’re still 100% human. Just… enhanced. So I think your brain will function basically the same, including the need for a nightly recharge.”

She’s quiet for a moment, and without thinking he lowers his mouth to her neck, still inebriated from the effects of her aroused mind. The hand beneath her shirt climbs a bit higher, grazing her breast. She sighs and clutches a fistful of his hair, but the distraction is short-lived.

“Will I still get sick?” she asks, tugging back on his head.

He pulls back again somewhat reluctantly.

“You’re still susceptible to human diseases, if that’s what you mean. But you’re not likely to contract much while you’re traveling with me. You’re always up to date on immunizations.”

“Will I have to do anything differently?”

He can hardly hear her thoughts anymore, but it almost sounds like she’s disappointed. Like she wants a reason to separate herself from humanity, for some tangible proof that she’s different from the rest now.

“Like what?” he asks, puzzled.

“I dunno.” She shrugs.

“I don’t think you have to change a thing. You’re just gonna age a lot slower.” He hopes this affirmation will reassure her that she is different, but it does the opposite. She frowns a little, cogs visibly turning in her mind.

“Can I regenerate?”

This question is sufficient to completely snap him out of the aroused haze she so easily put him in. He pulls back a bit more, taking his hand out from beneath her shirt. Placing his hands on the table on either side of her, he hums and gives it a moment of thought.

“I don’t think so.”

There’s a moment of silence as her forehead scrunches up.

“Why d’you look unsure about that?”

He exhales slowly. Damn, she can read him even better than she used to.

“You can’t regenerate,” he clarifies. “But… something similar is technically possible.”

“What? Seriously? What’s similar to regeneration?” She sounds more surprised than he would have thought. And a little frightened.

“I never told you this but…” He reaches behind his head, pulling on the collar of his shirt. He didn’t tell her about this for a reason, and doesn’t know if it’s a good idea to spill the beans now.

“What?” she pressures him.

He sighs again, dropping his arm.

“Jack Harkness is basically immortal.”

“What!?” she spits out, bringing her hands up to her head in disbelief.

“He died. You brought him back. Well, Bad Wolf did. I sensed it as soon as he was created. He was a fixed point in time. He can’t regenerate, exactly, but… he can’t die. Even if he’s killed, he’ll come right back. It’s why I ran away from him.”

“Doctor, how could you do that? He probably needs us! What kind of curse is that, living forever surrounded by a bunch of mortals?”

Biting his tongue, he gives her a pointed look.

“Right.” She catches her mistake and softens her harsh tone. “Sorry. But not anymore, right? I mean, I’m not totally mortal anymore.”

He brushes both past the accusation and her apology.

“I think his immortality was an accident. You couldn’t control the power you held, and when it was unleashed on him, it completely hijacked his biology. But this is different. I’m not sensing you’re a fixed point the way he is. Something is preserving your life, not eternalizing it.”

“So what does that mean?”

“Well, I don’t think you’d pop back up if you…” He leaves the end of the sentence hanging, for fear of completely ruining the nice mood they’d built up.

“So, still gotta be careful, then?”

He half-grins at her attempt to lighten the mood, but doesn’t answer. He can already feel himself deflating from the inside now that they’ve inadvertently brought up death again. He can’t let that happen. He simply can’t. Especially not now.

It was barely a few minutes that lasted, his naïve bubble of imagining Rose was safe from death now. His – their – lifestyle is dangerous, full stop. He’s living proof of that: exactly zero of his nine deaths have been due to old age.

“But I mean, if I’m not murdered or anythin’, will I just live forever?” she asks, and he’s relieved to keep talking. Talking keeps his brain at least partially occupied.

“Not forever. I can’t even live forever. I’m not literally immortal. But compared to a human lifespan, it’s just easier to think of myself that way, sometimes. And it’s like I said, I can usually sense that kind of permanence.”

“So, how long then? I mean, am I gonna outlive you?”

So many morbid questions. Can’t they go back to being carefree and snogging? He realizes how sentimental and hormonal she making him lately, and how ridiculous it is to think such a thing at a time like this. But he felt a lot better about their prospects a few minutes ago. Is simply celebrating the moment too much to ask?

But it’s selfish to deny her answers. This is her life, her mortality they’re talking about. She deserves to know, and on her own terms.

He considers what happened, that Bad Wolf’s power was essentially drawn directly from the heart of the TARDIS.

 “I think your mortality is probably connected with the TARDIS’,” he answers slowly.

Rose considers that for a moment, biting the inside of her cheek.

“An’ how long does she live?”

The Doctor rarely entertains such questions, but he does know the answer to this one. His and the TARDIS’ connection is uniquely powerful. He knows that whenever he passes on for good, the TARDIS won’t survive much longer. He’s the only one who can operate her, keep her healthy, and their lives are intertwined. If he were ever separated from the TARDIS, it would crush him, but if she were ever separated from him, it would kill her.

“Her life is connected to mine. We’ve been together so long, if I died, she would too. Fairly quickly. So, in essence…”

“Mine’s connected to yours, too.”

He nods bleakly in affirmation.

“What’s that look for? Isn’t that a good thing? It’s perfect.”

He sighs.

“It’s just like you said, Rose. Immortality, even quasi-immortality, is a curse. I never wanted to lose you, but I also never wanted to bring something like that down on you.”

“But you didn’t. I did. It was me, making the decisions when I was Bad Wolf. I must have decided this, way back then, even if I couldn’t remember.”

“I suppose so.”

“I did promise I’d never leave you. This is the only way I can keep my promise.”

His hearts swell despite the guilt.

“But I can’t regenerate.” It’s not a question, but he responds anyway.

“You won’t need to.” He’s resolute. “I’ll protect you, no matter what.”

“But what if…”

“Don’t,” he bites back, fury bubbling up inside him. “I will. The same way I have up until this point. If something is that dangerous, I’ll go alone.”

She doesn’t bring up the times he couldn’t save her, and he’s glad for it. He won’t make such a mistake again. There’s no way any Dalek scum is going to take her from him now. He won’t allow it.

But Rose also doesn’t try to fight him on his insistence he’ll take some missions alone, which is glaringly out of character. He knows she won’t be likely to take a decision like that lying down, she never has. She must not think he means it.

“I’m serious, Rose.” His fists clench with his jaw.

“You’re not gonna ditch me anymore.” She crosses her arms, just as resolved as he is. Apparently, she was just humoring him by staying quiet, never planned to let him go through with such a thing. “I thought we established that.”

“You can’t regenerate, Rose!” he lashes out, nearly shouting despite being so close. “Isn’t risking your life selfish to the people who love you?”

Oops.

He takes a step back, mortified.

Rose gasps softly, and he stifles down one of his own.

Swallowing hard, he backpedals as fast as he can.

“Your mother?” he manages to choke out. “Your friends?” Hearts in his throat, he gulps down another breath and stares at her, waiting to see if she’ll let his slip-up slide for the millionth time or if she’ll finally call him on it.

She does look undeniably disappointed, but miraculously, she lets it drop.

“It’s not about me bein’ selfish, though. It’s just about doing what’s right. You of all people should know that. Aren’t you doin’ the same, after all, risking your life even though you’ve got loads of people who care about you?”

“I can regenerate,” he insists. But knowing that fact doesn’t make much difference to her, he knows that. So he changes course quickly. “Just, don’t go throwing yourself in front of bullets. Please. I can’t lose you. Especially not now.” He can hear how desperate he sounds, but right now he doesn’t care.

She’s quiet, waiting for him to say more.

He closes the distance he put between them, and takes both her hands in his. Stares down at them, trying to keep his voice steady as he says his next piece.

“I once told you you could spend the rest of your life with me, but I couldn’t spend the rest of mine with you.”

“I remember.”

“I meant that. Because I really never thought it’d be possible. And… I just don’t want to squander this one chance I’ve got. You’re it. You’re the only one. I mean, you were… before, but… now…” He closes his eyes with a grimace, cringing at the words coming out of his mouth. All this hope is properly bad for his eloquence. And his dignity.

It’s a good thing Rose is the no-nonsense type. This would be so much worse if they had to play traditional human courtship games; if he had to play it cool now so he wouldn’t seem desperate, like losing her wouldn’t totally destroy him.

“I know.” She’s somber. “It’s not exactly easy for me, either, though, you know. When you go changin’ everything about yourself.”

Oh.

His hands fall away from hers.

“You mean… That is, if I… you’ll stay with me if I change again, though, won’t you?”

Panic suddenly bubbles up in his chest. It was exceptionally hard on her last time. He was born arse over elbow for her; if she had snogged him the very moment the regenerative fires subsided he would not have protested. But it took her days to accept that he was the same man. Weeks to stop acting like he was a stranger when they were alone. Months before she had the regained the level of trust and fondness in her eyes when she looked at him.

Is she unwilling to put herself through that again?

“Of course I’ll stay.” She wraps her hands around his back and tugs him closer. But she looks down at his shirt, as though she’s still withholding half the truth.

“I’ll be the same man, up here.” He tries to reassure her. She looks up, and he taps his temple.

“You’re right. Just not easy to get used to, y’know.”

“I know. And honestly, Rose, I do my best not to die. It’s a defining character trait of mine, believe it or not. But, it’s sort of…” He hates that he’s thinking it, and doesn’t want to bring it up at all, but he knows it will come out soon anyway. Whether because Rose considers it herself, or he accidentally leaks it while they’re connected, it’s bound to come out. “Inevitable that we will have to even the odds at some point. I do have two regenerations left.”

Rose’s face falls substantially at this idea, and he wants to kick himself for it.

A couple of things cross his mind, though. First, the deal he made with himself a few days ago: if need be, he can cancel his remaining regenerations. Second, the fact that he knows damn well why this is his youngest-looking incarnation yet. Without much deliberation, he decides to go with the second point to try to lift her spirits.

“But, you should know…”

“What?” She perks up at the potential.

“Well, when I changed last time, I did it for you. I turned out like this,” he from his head to his toes “because my subconscious thought it was what you wanted.”

“Did you get struck by lightning too?” she asks, scrunching up her face like she doesn’t believe him. “You’re sounding loopy.”

“No! I’m just saying that… it isn’t purely a lottery, though I like to pretend it is sometimes. I can’t really come out with two heads, or no head.”

“Great time to have a lark, when I’m watchin’ you die.” Her sarcasm is made more evident by her glare.

“Sorry,” he says, unconvincingly. “But… the truth is, there are certain factors that can affect the outcome. Like, in the early days of the Time War, for example. I needed strength, and resilience, and less empathy. So that’s the sort of man I became. The version of me you met. I can change into whatever I need to be, based on the life I’ve had preceding the change, the circumstances I’m in at the time of my death. And sometimes, that can include certain… strong emotional factors.”

He doesn’t say love again, doesn’t even think it. He’s careful not to, even though it’s so clear when they’re in each other’s heads he’s starting to forget why.

She hasn’t said it, either, though. Not in that context.

But the way she looks at him then, eyes bright and glassy, lips parted but holding back a gasp, he knows she’s thinking it.

“I was only thinking about you, while I was dying,” he continues, blowing past the moment. “I really, really wanted you to like me when I came out the other side. And you know what I was like before, I was…” he trails off, hesitant to slander his previous incarnation. Without him, he’d have never met Rose. He owes him everything. “But… you made me who I am now. And it could happen again. I can change into whatever you need me to be. That could even mean staying the same.”

“Really?” she cracks a little smile, encouraged.

“It’s never happened to me before, but I wouldn’t say it’s unprecedented in the universe at large. And even if I don’t stay the same, I promise you, I’ll make sure you’ll still like me.” He offers a gentle smile, and she returns it easily, pondering the possibility for a moment. She does seem uplifted at the idea.

“I’d never leave you, though,” she says. “You know that. Even if you do change. You’ll still be the Doctor.”

“Always.”

Waiting a long moment to ensure she’s depleted of questions for the time being, he leans down to capture her lips again. He intends it to be brief, chaste, even, but before they know it, hands are wandering and soft sighs are echoing through the infirmary.

Though he still thinks it would be brilliant fun to shag on the exam table, he really should be taking better care of her than that today. She deserves the best.

“Mh, want to head back?” he asks, breaking away.

“Really?” she asks, not bothering to hide her disappointment.

He chuckles against her lips.

“You were ready to have your way with me on this table a few minutes ago, what’s stoppin’ you now?”

“Nothing. I am certain it’d be lovely. It’s only that… I think you’ve been battered around enough for one day. And this table seems, er… conducive to bruises.” He taps his palm on it, and it gives just the unpleasant thump he predicted.

“I’m not as fragile as you think, y’know.” She narrows her eyes, derisive.

He only wants her to be as comfortable – no, more than that: spoiled – as possible, but he expected such a reaction. He continues with hardly a pause, trying a different avenue.

“No, you’re right.” He nods. “You’re not fragile at all. Tough as nails, you are.” Though he’s making a joke of it in this moment, he knows it to be entirely true; he’s seen just how resilient and capable Rose is. “But…” he lowers his voice. “It’ll be so much more comfortable there. It’s warmer… there’s a real bed. With real sheets. Soft ones, too.”

She does look enticed, but still hasn’t recovered from his jab at her fragility.

“Also, I just thought, since it’ll probably be our last night here, you might like to stay in our room for it.”

“Last night, really?”

She sounds disappointed, and her uncertainty gives him pause. They’ve done what needed to be done here, haven’t they? The fish are bouncing back. By the looks of it, Kairi’s project doesn’t need further input from him. Usually, Rose is ready to move on precisely when he is.

“Well, the problems are solved. Nothing left to see I haven’t shown you. Time we moved on, isn’t it?”

“Suppose so,” she shrugs, running her hand down his shirt. “It’s just been so lovely here…” she trails off, lost in thought. Silently toying with a button on his shirt. After a few moments, he begins to wonder whether she’s actually thinking about the island anymore or just imagining tearing off his shirt. He hopes the latter.

Suddenly, she shakes herself out of the trance.

“Where to next?” she asks, looking up.

After a moment of thought, he realizes he doesn’t know.

“I haven’t thought about it much, actually.” He frowns a little. He only just now realizes how odd that is. Before today’s cataclysm, he hadn’t given any thought to their subsequent destination. Despite the fact that this trip has been (romantic snafus aside) rather uneventful compared to other of their adventures, he’s been so wrapped up in everything with Rose he hasn’t been yearning to leave.

He always grows bored of any environment, eventually, becomes antsy to refresh his senses. Without the constant stimulation of fresh scenery and people, his mind crawls back to the past. Old demons and persistent fears wear down his psyche. So he avoids such circumstances whenever he can. He may have been forced into a nomadic existence initially, but now his wanderlust has become his most reliable coping mechanism.

But these past several days with Rose, he hasn’t once felt that urge. The deep tug to flee to greener grass. He’d be content to stay here several more weeks, years even. It was mere habit that made him suggest it was time to go.

But at the same time, the fact that Rose is going along with it so easily reinforces that line of thinking. Even if they’d both be content to stay, they’re more than content when they keep traveling.

“Oh?” she asks to break him out of his reverie. She sounds like she doesn’t quite believe him, and he can’t blame her.

“Off the top of my head, though…” He squints up at the ceiling to concentrate on potential locations, knowing looking anywhere on her body would distract him too much. “The golden mountains of Sbardha, perhaps? Orrrrr…. the infamous hypernova of the Taraka galaxy? Or, oh! I never did take you to Fentonillo. The aromatic planet. Even the dirt beneath your feet is vanilla scented.”

“What, seriously?” she sounds intrigued, but skeptical.

“Oh, yeah,” he nods, grinning. “You thought apple grass was nice, wait’ll you smell that.”

Rose giggles, and pushes him gently so she can jump off the table.

“We’ll figure it out later, hm? C’mon.”

She tugs on the front of his shirt and leads the way towards the hall.

When he carefully pulls open the front door and peers outside, it’s raining again. There’s a crash of thunder, but it’s muted and distant, perhaps a neighboring island taking the brunt of it now. Still, it’s easy not to feel threatened by the sound from within the safety of the TARDIS. He has his reservations about letting Rose anywhere near a storm again.

But then he remembers something.

“Not to worry,” he says, taking off back towards the hall. “I’ve got just the thing!”

He implores the TARDIS to move the storage room closer, and once the ship realizes why they’re in a rush, the Doctor is able to retrieve what he’s looking for and return to the console in a matter of seconds.

“An umbrella, really?” Rose asks when he brandishes the object upon his return.

“Not just any umbrella. An electricity-resistant rubber umbrella.” He sidles up to her and hands it over for her to inspect.

“Why do you even have this?” Rose asks, turning it over in her hands. “Go walking through storms often?”

“They’re commonplace on Karabijali. Essential, actually. Electrical storms are a daily occurrence there. Everyone’s got one. This particular model was a gift from an acquaintance of mine. Well, friend, I suppose. Well, ex-friend. We didn’t leave things on the best terms.”

Rose rolls her eyes at his anecdote, and pulls open the door, opening the umbrella as she steps out.

The Doctor follows closely behind and takes over responsibility of holding onto it. Though it’s plenty big enough for them to both be covered, he errs strongly on Rose’s side.

The walk is fairly short, and they don’t fill it with conversation. They would have to shout to hear each other over the rain, anyway, and watching the distant flashes of lightning has both their minds busy.

He doesn’t know if he’ll ever see lightning again without it eliciting hair-raising terror. He should be happy; it gave Rose a lifespan to match his. But each distant strike forces his mind to relive every harrowing detail: the light swallowing her fleeing silhouette, her lifeless body crumpling to the wood.

He’s anxious to get her back inside. Not just out of the storm, but bare in his arms. Maybe it’s vain, or naïve, to think that physically covering her body with his will do anything to protect her from any real dangers, but he can’t help it. When their minds and bodies are intertwined so closely, it feels like she’s safer. The universe can’t take her without going through him first.

As soon as they’re inside, he’s determined to waste no more time. He tosses the umbrella to the floor with a splash of water, and guides her over to the bed. She sits down on the edge, and he kneels in front of her, grazing his fingertips over the branching scars on her arms, still in disbelief at everything that’s happened in the last half day. He brings his hands up to her face, touching her temples to reunite them mentally. He’s had enough of talking and tests and numeric data; he needs to quantify her vitality with his own hands.

Her lips crash down against his, her hands are working off his shirt as soon as he’s suggested it. All their teasing from this morning and the infirmary table comes rushing back to them both. With the head start, their minds swirl together with a heat and desire that quickly translates to desperation for Rose. He has to slow her down with his hands tied around her wrists. Exude a sense of patience into her mind. Once he’s helped her undress, he invites her to lie back on the bed, stepping out of his shorts before he kneels down again.

He wants to take his time for this. Their first time united in this new, impossible timeline. His first time touching her since he thought he would lose her forever. To see for himself that she’s real and alive and his, and savor every moment. Every inch of skin. He can’t shake the feeling words will never suffice again; but he can at least begin to show her how grateful he is that she’s here. How beautiful and cherished she is.

His hands comfortably resting on her skin to maintain their link, he lowers his mouth to her ankles, which gave way too easily on the boardwalk. Willing strength into them with each kiss. He climbs up onto the bed as his lips ascend, showering her calves, knees, and thighs with tender kisses.

He’s then drawn to the scars on her arms, the only physical evidence of the transformation she’s undergone. He almost wants her to keep them as battle scars, reminders of how resilient she is. She silently agrees, but wishes his lips were elsewhere. Pleads with him to speed things up.

Want to take it slow, he says her through their link. I thought I lost you today.

She doesn’t respond with words, but their connection alights with understanding and reassurance. Her sense of urgency fades as she surrenders to his pace.

He’s gentle around her ribs, where faint bruises are forming from his own hands. Seeing the blue and purple blotches sends him straight back to the boardwalk, to an earsplitting crack and her heart stagnant in her chest. But Rose brushes her fingers through his hair tenderly as her mind quietly chases the memories away. He lets his lips linger on her chest as the sense of calm overrides the guilt and anxiety, savoring the way her heart is thudding against her ribs now. Grateful for her extraordinary ability to calm him, he spends some time tending to her breasts before continuing his exploration. The way it makes her squirm, clench her fists in his hair, gasp out his name, it nearly does him in.

He shifts his mouth up to her neck, where he can feel her racing pulse again. He can’t get enough of it. And when he finally touches her lips, it’s almost like kissing her for the first time again. Mere hours ago they were cold and still and her life was about to slip away forever as he touched them. But now they’re soft and warm as she fervently kisses him back, and he wants to go on kissing her forever.

Rose promises he’ll never have to feel them that way again.

Unexpectedly, a pulse of anger sizzles through him.

Don’t make promises you can’t keep, he commands, his eyes welling with tears.

I never have.

It’s not a tough act or a way to push her away. His default state is assuming everyone either leaves or dies. Because they always have. Every single one.

Rose knows that, but she’s trying to make him understand this is different.

And as much as his subconscious is fighting it, he can’t deny there’s an ember of hope inside him now that they may be able to spend forever together. And not only does Rose see that hope, she encourages it. Stokes it with every intoxicating stroke of her hands, every brush of her mind against his, until it’s a raging fire in his mind. For a moment, he’s even angrier that she would do this to him, because though it’s a possibility now, it’s far from a certainty. And the more hope he has, the more devastated he will be if those hopes are ever crushed.

Fueled by his anger and her determination, their kiss grows passionate. Before long, messy and uncoordinated. He rolls them over until he’s settled on top of her, pinning her arms to the sheets. His patience dwindles with hers, and he starts to grind slowly against her thigh until they both let out a groan.

He always knew she would slip away from him. Was convinced of it. It was only a matter of time.

But now… the test results flash through his mind. It’s more than possible. It’s likely.

Forever, Rose had said on that exam table. Not for the first time.

But this time it means something. It echoes with truth. It carries more weight than it ever would.

To everyone else, forever was an evocative vow; to him, it was hollow. Meaningless.

But the evidence is clear now. The numbers don’t lie.

Forever.

He slips inside of her heat at last, sighing out her name next to her ear.

Rose scrambles for a grip on his back, pulling him further, holding him closer.

But unlike what usually happens, their physical senses quickly fade from their perception as something else beckons their attention. The Doctor’s time sense tingles in the back of his mind, tugging on every thread of his consciousness, screaming for him to pay attention to it. He strives to ignore it, not wanting to interrupt this moment with his untimely ability, but the itch becomes progressively harder not to scratch. He lets down his guard for but a moment, and it quickly overrides their entire connection.

Golden, chaotic threads of time. Fleeting, contradictory visions. Decades of possibilities branch from this moment and wind into the future, the pathways ambiguous and blurry.

He recognizes it instantly.

It’s their newly intertwined timeline.

He can see all that could be, but until a few hours ago, this could never have been.

It would only take an ounce of focus to elucidate one of those paths, and the prospect is painfully tempting.

But he has to restrain himself. As all time travelers should, he has a rule against letting people know their fate prematurely, and he knows that ought to extend to Rose. Besides, if he can help it, he doesn’t want to know either. Whether it’s a future that entices him or one that fills him with dread, he’s better off not knowing.

But he also knows more often than not, he can’t fight these senses. When they have something to show him, he usually ends up seeing it whether he wants to or not.

He tries to steer their minds away from the future, back to pleasure and intimacy, and it almost works. He almost overpowers them.

But now that she’s had a glimpse, Rose is eager to see more. Bolstered by Bad Wolf, her power alone starts to make them a bit clearer.

His only way of fighting back, he starts to move, and tries to concentrate on the sensations it brings to overwhelm the visions away. The way she swallows him whole with every thrust, the way every inch of him fills and stretches her. Rose breathes out his name as the physical world catches up with her, but her desperation to peer into the future doesn’t diminish.

His time senses are too potent to ignore unless they’re both determined to.

The Doctor holds Rose’s hand as they race down a hospital corridor crowded with panicked medical staff. A fresh surge of attraction rushes through Rose when she realizes blue has replaced brown on his pinstriped suit.

He can’t help but smile as pride swells up inside him, and his mental fortitude to resist crumbles even further.

The TARDIS looks recently redecorated as they dance around the console initiating a dematerialization sequence. He can’t imagine doing that anytime soon, and concludes it must be far into the future. Perhaps even following a regeneration. Does this mean he may be able to stay the same for her, after all? A rush of euphoria floods through him at the thought, that translates to a wave of pleasure that brings them both to the brink of a climax.

He stops his hips and they temper themselves, both of them now loath for this to be over too soon.

It’s that moment that the Doctor realizes something: he’d normally see both sides of the coin in a revelation like this. Both the desirable and undesirable potential futures.

He can just barely sense some less enticing potential futures looming in front of them, shadows breathing in the distance. Ominous storms, threatening sheets of stark white.  Screams and zaps of lasers and whips of cold wind.

But inexplicably, the golden light lingering in Rose’s mind chases them away before the Doctor can make out enough details.

Rather than wallow in the knowledge they exist, known to him or not, he clings onto the bright threads of their one and only shot at this, because he never thought he would get one. Gravestones punctuated his lonely timeline before. Definite ends were a perpetual certainty. But for once, a timeline with another person stretches into an indeterminate future. Now that the floodgates have opened, he’s having a hard time closing them. He wants to keep watching.

Rose’s bags and books are scattered around his bedroom; both their clothes hang in his closet; there are two toothbrushes on the counter in the loo.

He’s standing next to an ocean next, wearing a tuxedo he doesn’t yet own, surrounded by familiar lavender sand as the sun sets over the horizon. He takes a deep breath and exhales slowly, combing a hand through his hair, messing up what was a pristine style. Reaching into the pocket of his jacket, he pulls out a pair of small silver rings inscribed with circular Gallifreyan.

He recognizes the trinkets immediately: they’re customary in Gallifreyan marriage ceremonies.

The Doctor freezes above her again, his breath caught in his lungs.

He suddenly feels a bit less guilty for not stopping this. With or without Rose’s persuasion, he was bound to have an episode like this. A shift in his timeline this critical wouldn’t remain stifled very long before its potential repercussions burst behind his eyes either way.

The events they’ve just seen are not set in stone – they’re in flux. All of them may occur, some, or none. But the mere possibility of some of them is enough to overwhelm their connection with a unique kind of hope.

Tears escape Rose’s eyes as the sprawling timeline shrinks and fades away, and the Doctor catches them with gentle kisses as he starts to carefully move again.

With a gentle nudge to her mind, he turns up the intensity of her physical sensations, and focuses solely on her as he settles into a new rhythm. Her pleasure quickly overflows into his body, too, and the building friction begins to drown out everything else once more.

Rose wraps her arms and legs around him possessively, determined to let nothing interfere with their forever. She begs him not to stop even as she vehemently wishes this could last forever, scrapes her teeth on his neck when she can’t decide which one she wants more. But by then it’s already too late. Soft cries of their names fill the air as they’re finally overwhelmed by it. Stars burst behind their eyes as they succumb to the tremors of pleasure, rocking back and forth in unison until they’re completely spent.

They lie tangled together for a while as they catch their breath, reflecting on everything they’d seen. They don’t talk; they don’t need to. But wordlessly reassure one another they’re ready to pursue the enticing possibilities that lie ahead of them.

When he opens his eyes, can’t help his gaze from drifting down to her figure, still pink and glistening from exertion. But before he can admire the view for long, her eyes open, too. As soon as she catches him staring, he feels her twinge of discomfort.

“You’re beautiful,” he breathes.

He can feel her blush.

“Thank you for saving me,” she whispers to change the subject.

“Thank you for saving me.” She’s still so close to his mind, she understands that he’s using the word in a different sense.

She yawns, and her eyes drift closed again.

With one more kiss, he takes one of her hands in his, intertwining their fingers.

“You can sleep,” he whispers, brushing her hair away from her face. “We’ll have more time to talk tomorrow. And the next day. And the next ten thousand after that.”

She smiles, her eyes still firmly closed. He tries to stay strong as the strength of their connection starts to diminish when she slips towards unconsciousness. As much as he doesn’t want her to go, he can’t possibly force her to stay awake after everything she’s been through today.

But before she nods off, something startles her back to alertness. Her eyes open with a soft gasp.

Has she detected their connection is faltering and started to miss him already, too?

“You said a telepathic connection like we have shouldn’t be possible with me. With a human, I mean. It’s possible because of this, because of Bad Wolf, isn’t it?”

Right. Just another question.

“I’m fairly certain, yes. It’s still a mystery to me how I never detected it sooner. Wasn’t looking, I suppose. And I gather the TARDIS helped keep it under wraps for a while. Waiting until the right time.”

“’M glad it’s possible,” she murmurs. Curiosity sated, her fatigue catches up with her again immediately.

“Me too.” He squeezes her hand, and just barely manages to restrain himself from opening up their link fully again.

It’s less than a minute later she’s sound asleep.

He half regrets telling her she should sleep. A part of him (okay, a big part) wants her to stay awake all night so they can keep kissing and talking about their next adventure. Her exponentially greater need for sleep than his has always been annoying, but now that he’s likely to share a bed with her every night, he imagines it will be even worse from here on out.

He’s not at all tired. After everything that happened today, he has a lot to process. And he’s slept so many nights they’ve been here, he’s already overcharged as it is. Lying here yearning to touch her mind again, or worse, lusting after her while she’s trying to sleep, won’t be a productive use of his time.

He suddenly realizes the constant pattering of rain on the roof has stopped, the storm either spent or else raging on somewhere out of earshot. Without the incessant rain drowning it out, he can once again hear the gentle crash of waves against the shore he’s grown accustomed to. It would be comforting white noise if his mind weren’t racing.

Storms, test results, regenerations, marriage proposals… it’s a lot to take in. It was all enough to put Rose out for the night, but it seems to be having the opposite effect on him.

He’s just about to get up and head back to the TARDIS to find a project to keep his mind and hands busy for the night, when there’s a tiny rap at the door.

Confused and mildly alarmed, he leaps up to investigate, fishing his sonic out of his shorts before he heads to the door. But in the process, he realizes both he and Rose are still completely naked, and he’s suddenly gripped with panic.

He throws a blanket over Rose and wriggles his shorts on before he heads to the door.

He opens it cautiously, wielding the sonic in one hand. But he instantly relaxes when he sees it’s Kalei, equally shirtless. It is still a bit warm out from the tropical currents the storm brought in. But he was hardly expecting visitors tonight.

“Hi,” the Doctor says quietly, not hiding his shock.

“Hi,” Kalei sighs, as though with relief. “I just came to check on you guys. I was worried when you didn’t show for dinner.”

Oh. He’d completely forgotten about dinner. Rose really should have eaten, too.  Oh, well. She needs rest. She can catch up on calories tomorrow.

“Dad said not to bother you, but I had a weird feeling earlier. I just wanted to make sure.”

“Sorry we didn’t check in, Kalei,” the Doctor says, trying to ignore what Kalei said about having a weird feeling. “We had a bit of an eventful day. And we didn’t want to get caught in the storm.”

“Eventful?” he asks. “What happened?” His forehead scrunches with concern as he leans over to peer past the Doctor’s head.

The Doctor pulls the door until he’s squeezed between it and the frame, effectively blocking his view.

“Nothing,” he says gruffly, but his body betrays him by sending all his blood into his face.

Suspicious, Kalei’s eyes wander up to his hair, then flicker briefly to the side of his neck. He nods knowingly with a little smirk.

The Doctor slaps a hand over his neck and sighs, blushing even more. He doesn’t even remember that happening.

“Anyway, do you two want anything?” Kalei asks, sensitive to the Doctor’s discomfort. “I can bring back some leftovers.”

“Rose is already asleep,” says the Doctor. “And I can do without. We’ll definitely come round in the morning.”

“Okay,” he shrugs. He turns to go looking slightly disappointed, and the Doctor feels a tug of regret.

“Was there anything else?” the Doctor asks sincerely, and Kalei perks up.

“Well… I did sort of hope, maybe, I could ask for some advice. About Dakota. I never did tell you guys about that date.”

The Doctor’s stomach twists uncomfortably.

“Of course,” the Doctor says with faux enthusiasm. “But I know Rose would want to be a part of it. Can we all three talk in the morning? I’m sure we can sort it out.”

“Yeah,” he smiles genuinely, not discerning the Doctor’s interest is completely fabricated.

“Great.” Knowing Rose will be the only one Kalei needs, the Doctor returns his smile.

“Thanks, Doctor. Good night!” With a small wave, he turns and jogs away. He really has grown a bit fond of Kalei, and he doesn’t want to cause him any grief. By trying to help in this regard, he most certainly would. Rose will be far more helpful.

The Doctor cautiously closes the door. When he climbs back onto the bed, Rose whispers to him.

“Wh’s’at?” she mumbles sleepily, stirring under the blanket.

“Oh, I’m sorry, Rose,” he whispers back as he lies next to her. “I hoped not to wake you. It was Kalei, he came by to check on us. I said we’d see him in the morning.”

“Kay. Good.” She cracks her eyes open, as though to ensure he’s securely back in bed. He suddenly feels guilty for considering leaving to work on other things. It’s what he’s always done when they’ve slept together before. But that was only ever in a platonic context. It feels different now, somehow, especially considering the day’s events. He doesn’t want to be apart from her. But nor can he lie here bored all night, his mind wandering back to her near-death experience or the prescient visions he’d conjured. So what solution is there?

She’s about to drift off again when a thought occurs to him.

“Rose.”

“Yeah,” she mumbles, eyes still closed.

“Since you’re up. I… I hate to ask, but…” His airway constricts before he can finish the sentence.

His hearts clench tightly in his chest. Is this going to be too much? He shouldn’t be asking at all.

“What is it?” she opens her eyes, sensing his acute discomfort.

“Do you think… er… could I stay with you tonight? I mean,” he lightly taps his temple.

“What d’you mean?” she asks, her confusion no doubt worsened by her exhaustion.

“I almost lost you today, and after everything, I… don’t think I’ll be able to sleep. But I don’t want to be apart from you.”

“I don’t have to sleep, Doctor. I can stay up.” Rose opens her eyes wide, and immediately makes an effort to appear perfectly alert.

“You don’t have to.” The Doctor chuckles. “You can sleep while we’re connected, I just need your permission to maintain it. It would mean I’d be able to see your dreams, if you have any, but that’s all. I won’t go snooping for anything else.”

“Yeah,” she nods, looking relieved that she doesn’t have to sacrifice any sleep. “Yeah, of course that’s okay.”

“Okay.” He still feels ashamed for asking, but he’s also flooded with relief that he can stay with her for the night. It’s so much better than tinkering.

“How’s that work, then?” she asks.

“Well…”

With a brief touch to her temple, he takes them to Rose’s garden in a few short seconds. It’s still brilliantly illuminated, and he already feels lighter as he takes in the familiar scenery and breathes in the chlorophyll and sweet pollen.

The blanket is still where they left it in the grass last time. He gestures for her to lie down, and she’s relieved to do so.

“You can just let yourself fall asleep,” he continues his thought as he nestles into the space next to her and holds her hand. “The same way you always would. You’ll be asleep in the real world, too.”

“Mmhm,” she mumbles, snuggling up against him and closing her eyes.

“You might dream of me more than you normally would.”

“S’okay with me.”

She stays awake for a few minutes longer, happy to have him as a guest for the night. Cuddling is great, she says, but this is a whole new level of comfort. She’s never felt more… well, she can’t put a word to the feeling. The opposite of alone. Knowing he’ll be here with her while she sleeps, she feels safe.

Safe.

Knowing she shares the feeling of being safe when she’s close with him, his hearts feel like they could leap right out of his chest. He’s never considered himself very masculine, too geeky and slight to really fit the bill, but she makes him feel like a proper man. And he’s realizing more and more just how much he likes it.

It’s obvious the moment she slips under. The stream of conscious thought abruptly halts, along with the familiar mixture of surface emotions swirling inside her. Her mind instead flits between abstract thoughts and recent memories quickly, processing and storing. And some moments, it’s completely blank. A peaceful stasis. But regardless if her mind is occupied or at simply recharging, it cradles his just the same, like he’s something that was always meant to be there. It’s next to impossible to dwell on negative thoughts while he’s surrounded by her like this, and he doesn’t try.

Though he’s not planning to sleep, he closes his eyes, content to spend the night basking in her presence, letting the golden light of this place warm his soul.

But after about an hour, Rose Tyler does have a dream.

And it is about him.

[minttearoom]

Nick Spencer’s Captain America is Bad, but in these ways

OK  ... I made this blog so I could dump my bad opinions on it, so call me out on this if anyone needs to.

-- This isn’t something I care about too much, but I feel like I need to start off by saying that Hydra doesn’t and shouldn’t always have a 1:1 equivalent with Nazis or the political specifics of fascism. In their first appearance, they were a generic mustache-twirling, world-domineering evil enterprise. Although that’s changed because Nazi leaders were retconned in to match the WWII backgrounds of Marvel’s heroes, it’s always been story-dependent as to whether that element really mattered. Sometimes, Madame Hydra trying to take over the world was just Madame Hydra trying to take over the world so that superheroes could have fistfights. There’s a usefulness to a generic SPECTRE-type evil organization for when comics that need a villain to punch. Although it’s important for stories and readers to criticize what that evil entails, there’s a messiness that’s involved when it comes to shared universes and different tools serving different functions in different contexts. This is an issue that mostly irks me when it comes to how the conversations about Captain America are framed, and how they’re framed solely in terms of Hydra, when there’s a little more going on there; this was especially bad after Captain America: Steve Rogers #1 came out.  *HOWEVER, this is kind of irrelevant to the rest of what I want to talk about.*

-- I’m not sure if a story about an altered-reality Captain America being evil, or even being a Nazi is off-limits. I’m not a Jonathan Chait “protect malevolent free speech” type, but I do think that you might be able to tell a somewhat meaningful (and possibly respectful) story under these conditions. I understand that WWII is highly sensitive and emotional, and I also understand the situation surrounding Captain America’s creation. However, it’s not like similar stories (or story beats) haven’t been done before -- even one drawn by Jack Kirby. I hate Nick Spencer’s Captain America for a variety of reasons, but part of the reason why is that I think you might actually be able to publish a story like this, even (or especially) in these times, and have it be salient and productive and well thought-out.

-- The problem with Nick Spencer’s Captain America goes back to the beginning of his run. From the beginning, he set out to do a run that broached extremely topical political issues, but keep his comics from making too strong of a stance in any given direction, while insisting that it did have a stance. For example: since the KOBIK/Cosmic Cube plotline, he’s been paying lip service to the idea that there needs to be a discussion about the growth of the security state and what it means to create unimaginable and invasive authority and power when you don’t know who will be in control next. ... Except whenever someone does have anything to say about it,it’s usually only a couple words, or a weak sketch of their stance. You might think this is fine, as long as the conflicts that Spencer brings up are carried through the plot to create meaning. After all, you don’t want to buy comics just to see talking heads debate politics. However, this doesn’t carry through for a few reasons!

-- The first way, most commonly seen in Sam Wilson, is that he’ll bring in some way for the critical/left-leaning position to be criticized. Though this is mostly like to preserve some sort of apolitical company line, it ultimately amounts to centrism, which is a political stance in and of itself, defined by the extremes of political climate in which you’re speaking. You see it first with Rick Jones -- he was a whistleblower hacktivist in the early issues of Captain America: Sam Wilson. The characters in Spencer’s book seem sympathetic to him when he gets caught, but Rick did BREAK THE LAW :( so his rightful course of action is to join SHIELD to help the security state keep on doing everything he despised! 

Then came the infamous issue where a Tomi Lahren-type character was inciting hate against a specific undocumented teen -- the new Falcon, Joaquin Torres. Joaquin, understandably, was about to go give her a piece of his mind, but he gets derailed by the appearance of a group of teens who obviously serve as an in-universe warning of the dangers of what he was about to do. These teens, the new Bombshells, not only spouts awkward online academia-derived lingo about safe spaces and trigger warnings but they also advocate violence against racists! They come and fight Falcon and Rage as if to, say “Look out! Don’t become like them!” 

You see it when Sam goes to stop Rage from getting in a confrontation with the AmeriCops (Spencer’s convenient robotic representations of racist police brutality). There’s no real strong reason for Rage to have not gotten into a confrontation, as the AmeriCops were ridiculously over-the-cop brutal and terrible, except for concerns about optics and (this is a recurring theme which obviously clashes with some of the issues Spencer wants to bring up) respect for authority.

You also see it when the only true far-left voice in the entire run, Flag Smasher, is the only the only one to fully articulate his issues with corporate influence over politics, the security state, and the no-fly list, and ends up being not only a violent terrorist assassin, but also (amazingly) a plant by Steve Rogers. I can’t begin to say how ridiculous that was.

-- The other way that Spencer undermines the political claims in his run is in how the villains are made overly sympathetic. So much of Captain America: Steve Rogers is about the ideological purity and clarity in Steve’s heart. He is destined to lead Hydra because he is still a great man in the way that Dr. Erskine recognized. (This bears out in the most disgusting of ways in the FCBD issue of Secret Empire, where Steve is still worthy to lift Mjolnir.) 

Steve is part of a faction of Hydra lead by some horrorterror old god/sweet old lady named Elisa who becomes Steve’s doting mother figure. She gets in close with his mother, and then dotes on Steve day and night about how he’s good and pure and destined for greatness -- and there isn’t much to undercut this as fascist BS. Elisa goes on and on, essentially dogwhistling what might as well be soliloquy about Steve’s Aryan purity and good heart, yet she never really gets a strong villain moment to underscore the idea that what she’s saying is wrong. The one truly evil thing she she was supposed to have (kill his mother offpanel) apparently never happened! She appears unharmed in later issues of CA: Steve Rogers.

-- This links into the other major problem in Spencer’s run: his depiction of Hydra. From the get-go, he plays up Hydra as not only a fascist neo-nazi organization, but specifically one that parallels modern ethnonationalist movements, all being propagated by the Red Skull. He further links Hydra to literal European nationalist militant movements by having Hydra take over Sokovia (#moviesynergy). Linking back to what I talked about at the beginning, this is all fine, so far; Spencer is making the specific choice in this story to use Hydra as an analogy for Nazism and its connection to the modern day, and this is a story that is obviously just as much about the Red Skull. EXCEPT, over the course of Spencer’s flashbacks to Steve’s altered past, we see that Steve is a member of a faction of Hydra that has always opposed not just the Red Skull, but Hydra joining the Nazis in general!

-- It’s an insanely weird choice to decode: does Spencer want to tell a story about Steve Rogers being allied with the Nazis ... or not? He certainly shows him helping the Nazis in WWII. What’s the point of saying he was secretly opposed to them and the Red Skull this whole time? What is he trying to do with Hydra?

-- For that matter, how much less fascist is Steve supposed to be? He rails out against Red Skull’s cheap inflammatory tactics, yet by the time his Secret Empire is set up, he’s already created an authoritarian state that rounds up Inhumans and puts them into camps! CAMPS!

-- There’s a lot of other, little, infinitely frustrating things. The FCBD issue explained that Wanda joining the HYDRA-vengers probably wasn’t of her own will, but having the Romani girl on the Nazi team is still unsettling, especially if they don’t end up giving her any space to react to it. Spencer’s writing is way lacking in nuance -- whereas Ales Kot gave a thoughtful look at the paranoia that must feed the drive to do crazier and crazier things in the name of security when he wrote Maria Hill in Secret Avengers, Spencer’s Maria Hill shrugs off each evil thing she does in the name of the state with a joke and a condescending comment. Spencer sucks at writing spies and spy stuff in general (there’s no reason he should have gotten two tries at Secret Avengers!), so seeing him try to handle SHIELD in general in the context of this run has been annoying. Also, ... why can Steve lift Mjolnir WHEN HE JUST HELPED KILL BUCKY, jfc.

-- Again, this is partially upsetting because some parts of this aren’t terrible. Sam Wilson is the most effortlessly diverse Captain America book ever, with somewhat decent stories about things like police brutality and immigration when they aren’t being undercut by other elements Spencer sticks in to ~balance things out. Seeing the Champions fight HYDRA in Secret Empire is also pretty unobjectionable. It’s the context and the handling that’s made this all atrocious -- even the publicity of blowing this Nazism thing up to a huge event is pretty dubious.

[yoursummerfrost]

sidogosidhgjkv hi it’s OFC day for @omgcpwomenfest so I wanted to introduce everyone to Shani, a character I created for the fic I’m publishing this weekend but will probably appear in future stories too! Have some random headcanons that are sort of AU-flexible and don’t always apply (notably, in future stories Shani might be poly but in her original story she’s monogamous).

Feel free to send me asks or message me about Shani! I love her so much! Going under the cut bc it got long af.

Shanelle “Shani” Grady-Troy

Shani is a Black woman who grew up in Long Island and loves sports

Her favorite is baseball because she used to play it with her dad

She played softball for a while but she was pretty solidly mediocre and gave it up

She has a lot of hangups about achievement and struggles to find something she enjoys worthwhile if she isn’t fantastic at it

Softball was never going to get her a college scholarship but her grades could so she put everything she had into those

She also likes hockey, but she prefers women’s hockey to men’s and she chirps Jeff and Kent about it constantly

As for men’s teams, though, she likes the Mets and the Islanders the most, and psuedo-begrudgingly cheers for whatever team Jeff is playing for at the time

She and Kent bond over their love for the Mets because Kent grew up in Brooklyn. One time Jeff mentions how A-rod seems pretty chill and he nearly doesn’t survive the combined assault

As the name implies, she’s married to Kent’s mysterious teammate, Jeff Troy

They met in like 2005 in New York, when Troy still played for the Rangers

But they didn’t get married until 2010

Shani rejected Troy’s first proposal because she was still in school 

If you asked her what she thinks about fighting in the NHL she’d condemn it loudly and whole-heartedly 

But she’s secretly kinda into it

She shares exactly one (1) secret with Eric R. Bittle more on their relationship later and it’s this and only bc he admits he’s into it first

She likes fussing over Jeff when he comes home with bruises and shit

It makes her feel like the heroine in a superhero movie 

Shani is a Nurse Practitioner who works in the ER 

She’s a badass and she sees a counselor on a semi-regular basis because the ER is rough and it takes its toll whether you’re a badass or not

She’s unapologetic about the fact she has a therapist

She’s also unapologetically bisexual and it took her a long time to get there but she will Take No Shit about it now

When things started getting serious with Jeff some of her queer friends gave her a hard time

She felt like she was betraying her queerness by dating a dude and betraying her Blackness by dating a white dude

But she had other friends in the community who were more supportive and she realized that she wasn’t the one erasing herself

She ends up staying with Jeff and most of her friends apologized for their bierasure when she stood up for herself

Jeff identifies as straight but is definitely the Overly Invested Ally stereotype and usually has a Bi Awakening at some point, but until then this conversation happens a lot:

Shani: the Straights are at it again

Jeff: but babe I’m straight

Shani: I know and I love you anyway

Shani being openly bisexual is one of the reasons Jeff (and her, by extension) is the first person Kent comes out to in Vegas

Shani likes plans

Jeff has zero plans. He jokes that his wife has enough plans for the both of them. Shani is unironically pleased by this truth

Shani has plans for situations in the ER, for every vacation their family will ever take, for emergencies with their children

She also has a plan for when her fiance’s favorite rookie shows up at their door suicidal at 3 am because God forbid they’re unprepared for that one again

Shani will always love plans but she’s learning to be a little more flexible

In universes where they’re poly she’s in charge of scheduling and making sure everyone has comfy boundaries etc

Her relationship with Kent fluctuates based on the circumstances but she’s always super protective of him and platonically affectionate

They have the cutest cheek kisses and cuddle sessions

In ‘verses where Jeff and Kent are dating, Shani and Kent still don’t have a sexual relationship it’s just not Them

They probably try it once like

They’ll be snuggling on the couch and a little tipsy from some wine with dinner and just look at each other. And they lean in and kiss, and when they pull away they just look at each other and go “Nahh” and go back to chirping Jeff for his terrible fashion sense

She’s very aware of the fact that her husband is Gone on her and has been since they met, and she’s super secure in their relationship

Jeff is worried when he starts getting closer to Kent at first and he always asks Shani if she’s okay with stuff

Jeff: Um. Hi babe. Would it be okay if I cuddled with Kent sometimes? He just seems so lonely sometimes and–

Shani: Kent Parson is a Sad Boy who deserves to be swaddled with affection at literally all times and I would be disappointed if you didn’t want to cuddle him.

Jeff: ….so yes?

Shani: Yes thank you for asking

She worries about Kent sometimes though especially if Jeff hasn’t had his Bisexual Awakening yet

Kent is definitely lowkey crushing on Jeff and she doesn’t want Kent to get hurt

It can get a little manipulative when Kent’s mental illnesses aren’t being well controlled and Shani struggles with being sensitive to it without letting her and Jeff be taken advantage of

Shani doesn’t like Bitty at first

She has a fundamental mistrust of White Southern Boys who are too polite and nice all the time

Kent: Eric Bittle is a ray of sunshine who’s never done anything wrong in his entire life

Shani: Seems Fake But Okay

It’s not that she doesn’t think Bitty’s a good person it’s just that she likes people who say what they mean and Bitty Does Not Do That

She can’t tell when he’s being genuine because everything is hidden behind 72.5 layers of passive-aggression and pettiness and southern charm

It’s unsettling just say how you feel god dammit

Jeff kindly tries to remind her that Kent Parson only says what he means an approximate 45.32% of the time

she ignores him entirely 

Also she can tell Kent is 3000% in love with Bitty and if he breaks Kent’s heart Shani will destroy him

She doesn’t really come around until she realizes how genuinely happy Bitty makes Kent and that he’s in this for the long haul like Kent is

They’re never best friends but they can get along just fine

 Shani doesn’t like Jack either but she kind of does

Jack is like the opposite of Bitty in that Shani likes him as a person but has a hard time forgiving what he did to Kent

Jeff kindly tries to remind her that Kent was also a certifiable asshole to Jack on multiple occasions

she ignores him entirely

She has a devastating sense of humor that basically just involves dragging everyone she loves at all times

She’s also super nosy and can and will find out everything about your life

She doesn’t gossip about Important things though

She will absolutely tell the story about the time Kent burned a pot of spaghetti and set off their fire alarm at literally every opportunity but she will take his sexuality to her fucking grave

Has no problems spending Jeff’s money and letting him spoil her but also would never give up her career

It’s not like she thinks something would happen between them but she’s also not stupid and she knows no one thinks their marriage will end in a nasty divorce or–

she doesn’t like to think about the other terrible way marriages can end but she’s prepared for it, is the thing

So she wants to have a career she can support herself and the kids with if she needs to

She also genuinely likes being a nurse even if it runs her into the ground

This is like the one thing she and Bitty bond over

How do you be your own person and feel successful when your partner is literally a millionaire?

Speaking of kids Shani and Jeff have two children and she loves them endlessly

She suffered from a pretty awful bout of postpartum depression after the birth of their first child and went to therapy (outside of her normal counseling) for it

She still carries a lot of shame for that even though she’s trying to forgive herself and accept that it wasn’t her fault

When she was pregnant with her second kid she was terrified she’d go through it again

She almost didn’t want to conceive again and they talked about adoption instead but in the end she decided to get pregnant

She wasn’t clinically depressed after the second pregnancy but didn’t feel great, either

She’s iffy on having a third kid anyway but she’ll definitely adopt this time if they do

She just doesn’t like being pregnant or the aftermath of pregnancy 

She’d rather skip forward to the blowing raspberries on tummies and changing diapers parts 

This got like really long lmao and I still feel like I said way less than I meant to?? Seriously come chat w me about her if you want she’s great.