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postmodernmulticoloredcloak · 4 years ago

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The shifting narrative of God’s interventism and how it reflects on the narrative on John

This post will ignore the issue authorial intent entirely because I can, but it’s also about authorial intent in a way, but I also don’t like to talk about things as happening “accidentally” because a) a serialized story like Supernatural, especially one that got renewed for much longer than anyone could possibly expect or hope in their wildest ambitions, structurally relies on serendipity, because that’s how stories work when they’re work in progress, b) a television show is an extremely multi-authored text and the chance that something happens out of the intent of any of the multiple layers of creators is kind of... statistically negligible. So, yeah, that’s my stance on the topic. Anyway.

The shifting narrative about God is simultaneously something that hangs on fortunate storytelling clicks on an essentially programmed narrative. At first, we don’t know where the fuck God is. Cas starts looking for him with little success. Raphael says he’s dead, Cas doesn’t believe it. Dean relates to his struggle because he knows the feeling of not knowing where the fuck your father is and going looking for him with little success, not knowing if he’s even alive. Then the theory that gets assumed as the truth is that God has left. He fucked off who knows where, who knows why, leaving his creation to struggle alone. Also essentially how Dean had felt after John had died; in that case there was guilt for his demon deal and everything, but the most cruel weight on Dean’s shoulder was that John left him alone to struggle with his devastatingly horrific instructions he doesn’t understand. The angels are also left with horrific instructions they don’t understand. No wonder Cas does his own ‘demon deal’ in season 6, as he desperately tries to do what he assumes his father wants from him, but he doesn’t actually know what that is.

“God has left” is maddening, and everyone is angry about it, but it has its own dignity. God has left us without clear instructions, we are confused and in pain and evil runs amock but at least, we suppose, the evil of it is our own doing. We are alone and we do our best, our best is simply not enough. We wish he gave us guidance, but he won’t. He wants us to figure it out ourselves, possibly. We don’t actually know what he wants. But maybe that’s the point. It’s possible he doesn’t even know what’s happening, he just has left the building entirely.

But then Chuck reveals himself. We find out that he never actually left. He was there. “I like front row seats. You know, I figured I’d hide out in plain sight”. He simply chooses not to intervene. He chooses not to answer. He chooses to be hands-off. He presents himself as a laissez-faire parent, because, he says, it’s better for his children to have the responsibility they need to grow up. He’s absent, but in a different way than we thought! It’s not that he doesn’t know what’s happening or isn’t interested in knowing what’s happening. He’s here, he knows what’s happening, he just stays there and watches as you stumble and struggle and scream. It’s worse, and it pains Dean so much he isn’t even afraid to yell at God. You know we’re suffering and you just don’t give us any support, any comfort.

You’re frustrated. I get it. Believe me, I was hands-on, real hands-on, for, wow, ages. I was so sure if I kept stepping in, teaching, punishing, that these beautiful creatures that I created... would grow up. But it only stayed the same. And I saw that I needed to step away and let my baby find its way. Being overinvolved is no longer parenting. It’s enabling.

But it didn’t get better.

Well, I’ve been mulling it over. And from where I sit, I think it has.

Well, from where I sit, it feels like you left us and you’re trying to justify it.

I know you had a complicated upbringing, Dean, but don’t confuse me with your dad.

At that point of the show, the writing team almost certainly didn’t have the s14-15 twist in mind. So this was probably intended to be Chuck’s truth. Later it gets twisted (retconned?) into a lie, but about that later.

Here, Chuck is really good at manipulating the conversation. Dean has a perfectly valid point, because there IS a middle ground between being overinvolved and not being involved at all. There is a middle ground between enabling your children and abandoning them completely. But Chuck hits Dean where it hurts, plays the emotional card, basically tells him that he’s too emotional to understand, too emotional to think rationally about it, because he mixes his feelings about his father to the issue and thus cannot see it clearly. He basically tells him he’s too close to it to get it. You don’t understand parenting, Dean, because you’re too blinded by your emotions about your own little life and cannot see the big picture.

It doesn’t really matter here if he’s telling the truth or lying, it already says a lot about Chuck that he’s emotionally manipulating Dean, silencing him by hitting the painful spot.

But the thing is, 11.20 immediately presents Chuck as a liar. He makes Metatron read his autobiography and the very first line is a lie (“In the beginning, there was me. Boom – detail. And what a grabber. I mean, I’m hooked, and I was there.” “I’m hooked too, and yet... details. You weren’t alone in the beginning. Your sister was with you.”) and the stuff he talks about his experience as Chuck is not exactly truthful about anything (“That, you know, makes you seem like a really grounded, likable person.” “Yeah, what’s wrong with that?” “You are neither grounded nor a person!”). Metatron calls him out (“Okay. There are two types of memoir. One is honest... the other, not so much. Truth and fairy tale. Now, do you want to write Life by Keith Richards? Or do you want to write Wouldn’t It Be Nice by Brian Wilson?”). Chuck SAYS he chooses truth and gives Metatron a different manuscript, supposedly containing the truth, to which Metatron reacts positively. Metatron believes it, and we believe it with him.

Oh! Oh, this! This is what I was talking about. Chapter Ten “Why I Never Answer Prayers, and You Should Be Glad I Don’t”, and Chapter Eleven “The Truth About Divine Intervention and Why I Avoid It At All Costs”.

Nature? Divine. Human nature – toxic.

They do like blowing stuff up.

Yeah. And the worst part – they do it in my name. And then they come crying to me, asking me to forgive, to fix things. Never taking any responsibility.

What about your responsibility?

I took responsibility... by leaving. At a certain point, training wheels got to come off. No one likes a helicopter parent.

This is sort of what he later says to Dean, except that to Dean he talks about “beautiful creatures” “my baby”, talks about helping, none of the harsh tone he’s using here. When Metatron accuses him of hiding from Amara, he retorts “I am not hiding. I am just done watching my experiments’ failures”. What a different language, uh? Then Metatron asks him why he abandoned them, and Chuck answers “Because you disappointed me. You all disappointed me”. Then, he admits he lied about “learning” to play the guitar and so on, because he just gave himself the ability, and then appears to Dean and Sam, after Metatron’s passionate speech about humanity.

So, no matter the authorial intent at the time - the truthiness of Chuck’s words was already ambiguous. He kept lying and being called out, or silencing the conversation with some good ol’ gaslighting.

The season 14 finale introduces the big twist: it was, indeed, all a lie. The whole of it. Chuck didn’t abandon shit. It was all him, minutely controlling the narrative of the universe, putting the characters through all the pain and struggles for his own amusement.

The “absent father” narrative was a lie.

What does this tell us about John? Nothing, according to the authorial intent that shines through Dabb’s Lebanon. But we don’t give a crap about Dabb’s authorial intent about John! He’s just one dude and plenty of other authors have painted a different picture. So I’m going to read the narrative the way I want, because I can, and the narrative allows me to. It’s all there.

I’m suggesting that the fact that Chuck lied when he talked about being a hands-off/absentee father parallels how Dean and Sam prefer to think of their father as an “absent father” when that’s not exactly a reflection of the truth.

You left us. Alone. ‘Cause Dad was just a shell. [...] And I-I had to be more than just a brother. I had to be a father and I had to be a mother, to keep him safe.

Setting aside how “I had to be a father and I had to be a mother” sort of retcons and cleans up the Winchester family picture painted by ealier seasons, the fact that John didn’t really count as a functional father figure and Dean and Sam were essentually alone is not incorrect or anything. It is true that John would leave them to their own devices a lot, thus the long stays in motels, the hunger, the food-stealing, and all. But John wasn’t always absent, at all. He trained them as soldiers, he disciplined them, he was around enough for them to be intimately familiar with what happened when he drank. He drove them around.

It’s almost like it’s preferable to Dean and Sam to spin their own “absent father” narrative, putting the accent on the time they spent alone, painting their childhood as a time they had to grow up on their own, rather than acknowledge they grew up under the thumb of a controlling, looming figure they would regularly live in fear of, even when he was not physically present.

The “absent father” narrative is what Dean and Sam need to use to avoid confronting the reality of the father figure whose moods and whims they had to dance around. “I know things got dicey... you know, with Dad... the way he was. And I just... I didn’t always look out for you the way that I should have. I mean, I had my own stuff, you know. In order to keep the peace, probably looked like I took his side quite a bit.”

John shaped their lives. He shaped their identities. Even in the episodes where he abandons Dean or both children somewhere, he’s portrayed as the figure who drives the car. He symbolically drives the car, you know? John shaped Dean and Sam’s relationship with each other, both on a surface level (the conflicts) and on a deeper level (the parental dynamic).

Heck. The entire first season of the show plays on John’s disappearance as the “elephant in the room”. John is there by not being there, you know? And after he dies, his death - his absence - is again the elephant in the room for Dean, the weight on his psyche that he shatters under.

It is not wrong that Dean and Sam had to spend long periods of time without John. But John structured their lives in quite minute detail. Where they needed to be, what they needed to do, what they must not do, everything had to follow John’s instructions. A drill sergeant, the narrative called him, ordering how his sons needed to live their lives. That’s no absence, except on a level where Chuck not showing himself and pretending he’s not there can be considered absent. That’s a presence, not necessarily always physical, but semiotical and psychological.

John is an absent father as much as Chuck is a hands-off god. He even writes himself into the story around the time Cas has the “season 1” phase (let’s go look for dad/let’s go look for god), which is when John actually was alive and appeared. Then he was no longer physically there, but he was still shaping his characters’ lives, just like he’d always done.

The “absent father” narrative on John is that - a narrative. Spun by the characters themselves because it’s easier and actually kinder on John. Or, better, it allows them not to be crushed by the psychological implications of having to accept that their father was such a looming, minutely formative figure in their lives. They know, but they can wave the “absent father” idea around to avoid thinking about it.

“I had to be a father and I had to be a mother” is something easier to tell yourself. I was the one who did it all. But he wasn’t, and that’s the problem. The fact that John was their father - Dean’s and Sam’s - is the problem. But ironically, blaming himself for every failure is a better option for Dean than fully acknowledging John’s abuse. As long as he blames himself, he has control over it. The moment he acknowledges the extent of John’s influence, he loses control over the entire narrative of his own identity and the family identity, the family dynamics. That’s scarier, just like realizing that God manipulated everything is much scarier than the alternative. “God abandoned us” was indeed a better option, and “John left us alone” was a better option. But neither was true, and the characters faced the implications of the cosmic level, but never got to face the implication of the familial level, because the narrative always danced around it and then Dabb’s apologist version “won”.

But what’s been put in the show is still there. The narrative of John’s abuse is still there. Nothing can take it out of the story.

#my spn thoughts #spn meta #dean and john #dean and sam and john #dean and chuck #dean and god #spn 11x20 #spn 11x21 #spn 14x20 #spn 12x22 #et alii #spn #long post

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prospektsghost · 3 years ago

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a little 2doc ficlet i was thinking about and decided to write, i have left tumblr and this blog for a while but this is something i came up with?? my first time writting in english since its not my first language

anywas HBD ya filthy old man

Cold. He always feels cold.

He tries to warm his hands, but he never can, and only assumes that he is trapped with this cold all his life.

"Do you ever regret it? Selling your soul I mean".

He had forgotten that 2D was by his side, somehow 2D... Stuart was always there.

Murdoc thinks about what the singer has just said, but his whole life has been a lot of horrible situations and after selling his soul... well.

He has his band, he has Noodle, who is like a daughter to him

He never imagined himself as a family man, but he had that weakness for her.

Russel! Russel was more like his father, since Noodle was little, Russel had taken more care of her than he had.

But she turned out to be... more like him.

Just like him.

What a role model he was.

And then there was 2D, dents, faceache, "D", Stu.

Stuart

He takes a long drag on his cigarette.

"No".

He finally responds after thinking about it for a long time, and realizes that his cigarette had been consumed, he clicks his tongue.

2D approaches him and Murdoc has to look up to see the expression on the keyboard player's face.

"You can have mine."

He says and goes closer to give him the cigarette, the blue-haired man has a smile on his face and Murdoc remembers how 2D is always at his disposal, he watches the boy ... no. The middle-aged man he sees in front of him, and for once in his life, really reads the expression on his companion's face.

And he doesn't like it.

But… he takes the offered object anyway.

"Got a light? left mine inside the house" he asks, raising the cigar to his lips.

"Sure"

2D takes the lighter out of his jacket bag, and as soon as he reaches for his hand to light the cigarette that is now between the bassist's lips, he feels the difference in temperatures between his hands when they have contact due to the proximity.

"Murdoc, you're freezing," he says as he lights the cigarette. "Why don't we go in with the others?"

After the cigarette is lit, Murdoc quietly mutters a "thank you" so slowly that he has 2D thinking about if he had imagined it, but as soon as he listens to the younger’s suggestion, his expression changes and after taking another drag he responds.

"No, no. I'm fine here. You go if you want" Murdoc pats him on the shoulder, but 2D is a stubborn son of...

"Come on, there must still be pizza in the fridge..." 2D persuades, grabbing his wrist and walking towards the entrance of the house, and at that the bass player tries to get away.

"Oi, no!" He makes a sharp pull that gets the singer to release him, but then he does not know if the pull or 2D's face hurts more when he turns to see him.

"Ok Mudz," says the boy, Murdoc will never stop seeing him as such, he realizes. As if they were still in old Kong. "I'll go".

2D stays until he nods, and turns to go inside the warm interior of the house.

Murdoc should be with them, he would like to but ... he still hasn't allowed himself to forget what he'd done to them.

He thinks about 2D's question before.

"Do you ever regret it?"

All the time.

He stays outside, in the cold, that he thinks is a representation of his whole being, since he was a child he has been cold, Sebastian never took good care of them, they had a house, yes, but this fell from dirt and debris, they had no food, the money was spent by his father on drugs and alcohol and Murdoc could not even protect himself from the cold that always entered through the window of his room.

And he realizes that he has become like his dad.

The front door opens and the sound frightens him a bit, loud noises always remind him of the old Niccals home despite all these years, causing Murdoc to drop the cigarette in the snow and it instantly goes out.

“Russel told me that if you were going to be here outside the path of a jacket, but all the ones you have in your room are made of leather and I don't think they are very good at working against the cold Murdoc…”

2D begins to ramble on and Murdoc no longer hears what he's saying why he suddenly feels warm, and not just because of the jacket the singer puts on his shoulders and smells like butter sugar candy.

“... so you can have mine”.

Unconsciously he smells 2D’s scent that now surrounds him, completely changing his, which he had inadvertently tried to replicate from his father.

2D fixes the jacket and smiles when Murdoc decides to put it on precisely.

“Shut up”.

2D's smile widens.

“I didn’t say anything”

Murdoc is surprised when 2D helps him to raise the zipper and looks at the singer, who now is watching him too, but he has to bow his head to do it and despite the calm face of the minor, Murdoc feels anger.

He doesn't like them to see from a higher place than him.

And 2D was that, taller, more handsome, his voice sounded like an angel's, talented, but he was stupid as shit.

Yes, and whose fault is it?

He feels his hands that had been at his side being taken, and 2D rubs them with his own, completely changing his line of thought.

"You're still cold," he says, and Murdoc doesn't process what Stuart wants to do and stops him when he brings his hands together to his mouth to blow warm breath against them.

Murdoc jerks them away, but 2D holds them tight against his so that Murdoc won't do something like... hit him.

"W-what the hell ...?!

“Murdoc …”

2D still doesn't let go of his hands and Murdoc gets tired of fighting, he's old now, too old.

And he's tired, tired of not enjoying himself and always running away from the things that make him feel good.

Of the things that make him feel loved.

2D's hands release his and Murdoc misses the contact immediately.

“How can you be so tender with me when I …”

“I do not know.”

He doesn't know? He doesn’t know?!

“I don't know why I put up with you” although his tone is calm, Murdoc knows that he's half joking half telling the truth.

Murdoc thinks that the minor has reconsidered and thought about how all these years he has made his life impossible, why he is insane, Murdoc is obsessed with him.

Stuart can no longer see Murdoc's face, since at his confession the older man has lowered his head, avoiding his gaze.

He looks ... vulnerable.

Like every night, when Murdoc no longer had to put on a show in front of everyone, he drank all his worries and he was there for him, Murdoc an open book of all bad decisions and violent childhood before him.

Like in Plastic Beach.

Stuart doesn't remember Plastic Beach with much appreciation, but he had seen the real Murdoc there.

He gets closer to the dark-haired man, who keeps his head down, thinking about how brilliant he is, how he used to admire him and although he doesn't really tell him how he feels, his songs are the ones that speak for him.

He has tried to change, but in the meantime he is also moving away from them.

He knows that Murdoc is sick, he is twisted inside, his father and brother may be the cause of that, because he is also afraid of being abandoned.

But they are not like the Niccals.

He will not abandon you.

"You are very complicated for me," he grabs the elder's hips, and Murdoc does not fight when he approaches him slowly. “But I am a renegade when it comes to you”.

Murdoc opens his eyes, remembering the song Stuart is quoting.

He had been in jail when “the now now” ... 2D creation came out, but when he escaped and traveled with them again, the giant screen with his face behind him had stunned him.

“Why do you look so beautiful when you are so sad?”

"Stuart..." Murdoc says with a warning tone, but he has used his real name, the one he always uses when he is serious and neither has he moved away from him or pushed him away.

Then Stuart continues humming the song, but now crouched so that he can whisper it in the brunette's ear and he feels how he shudders to hear his voice so close.

And he knows what his voice produces for Murdoc, he has always been in love with his voice.

When he feels the bassist lay his head on his shoulder, he smiles.

“Stuart, I'm not cold anymore”.

2D laughs, knows what that means and better walks away from him, Murdoc needs his space right now, but maintains a grip on the eldest forearms.

He doesn't know what causes him to say his real name, but he and Murdoc have known each other for years, long before Russel and Noodle.

Murdoc knows him too well and knows what contact is for Stuart.

He is interrupted from staring at the man in front of him when the door opens for the umpteenth time that night and Stu does not miss the way he shudders at the noise.

"If a couple of addicts don't come in, you'll catch a cold and I'm not going to take care of you!" Russel leans out and the two can see Noodle behind him, chuckling and gesturing for them to come in and the drummer wouldn’t get angry at them for staying outside.

Stuart turns his head to look at Murdoc, who is still looking at the door where the others went, but is smiling and his face looks calmer compared to earlier.

But he comes to his senses and when he notices 2D's hands on his forearms and the way he's looking at him, his throat clears.

"L-let's go before he gets all… you know" Murdoc makes some gestures with his hands and Stuart smiles.

Cute. I would never describe a person like Murdoc that way, but when the man grabs part of his sleeve to pull him in, that's what he thinks.

#2doc

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morningstar-descended · 4 years ago

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Mammon was an accomplished soldier in the Celestial Realm

Belphie used to be a little Lucifer Mini-Me when he was a young Angel

Lucifer would sing his siblings to sleep, Before

He didn’t tell his brothers about Lilith because he didn’t want them to interfere with her new life. It was hard enough for him not to.

Diavolo’s older brother, Beleth, has a scar covering the left side of his face from where Dia ground him into the dirt to try and get him to yield.

Their formal fight for the crown lasted three days.

Diavolo’s younger brother, Amaymon, is Asmo’s sugar daddy.

Diavolo’s Mom is also still alive, she has her own estate in another part of the Devildom. She can suplex him.

Lucifer will absently neaten up his brother’s clothes for them while he’s lecturing them.

Lucifer has fed demons and unruly Witches to Cerberus before.

Mammon has never had a partner in any sense of the word.

Satan was ‘born’ as a baby.

Asmo used to dress Satan up in little outfits when he was small.

Satan can repeat almost everything he’s read verbatim.

Lucifer has to double check that he knows where all of his brothers are before he can rest at night, unless he passes out.

All the brothers wore their hair long as angels. Lucifer’s the only one who’s never grown it back out since their fall.

It took Lucifer around six hundred years to develop proper feelings for Diavolo.

Lucifer is deathly afraid of Diavolo’s father.

Barbatos is possibly--not counting Diavolo--Lucifer’s only friend.

The Sport Beel plays is a type of Wrestling mixed with MMA and Capture the Flag. It’s played topless.

Lucifer will occasionally ask Levi to explain the plot of an anime or game to him if he wants to zone out for a while. He’s listening, but because following what Levi is talking about takes a lot of concentration, it’s almost like meditating.

Lucifer’s hair got its white / gray streaks when they lost Lilith.

Lucifer actually does have some wrinkles, he just hides them most of the time.

No matter how hard he tries, Lucifer just can’t get good at video games.

Lucifer will write out bits of sheet music when he’s bored.

Lucifer has more demon markings on his body than just the diamond on his forehead.

Lucifer’s hands are very scarred, mostly from dealing with small child Satan.

Beel’s sport is unnamed because in Infernal, it literally just is called “The Sport” since there’s only one.

Almost all of the siblings have physically torn an opponent to shreds and or consumed them. Asmo and Mammon are notable exceptions.

Satan went through a phase where he spoke solely in riddles.

Levi was hardcore into theater before animation became more of a thing. he still has a lot of opinions about it.

Belphie spent most of their early fallen years either half asleep, or completely asleep.

Beel is incapable of chewing gum or sucking on a jaw breaker properly. He impulsively swallows whatever goes in his mouth.

Lucifer has been summoned to the human world successfully only twice in his existence. He killed both summoners for the audacity.

The entire garden around the house of lamentation was of Lucifer’s design.

Mammon has the best control over his shape-shifting--able to stay in a false form for longer, and able to retain his humanoid form despite high emotions.

The brothers are, quite literally, Devildom Celebrities.

Diavolo has never kept a pet before.

Lucifer is ambidextrous, but prefers his left hand.

Mammon is left handed.

Gluttony demons tithe to Lord Beelzebub on his birthday in the form of whatever food they fixate on.

The first angel Lucifer killed after his fall was one he didn’t actually recognize.

The first angel Mammon killed was one of his friends from the Celestial Guard.

Lucifer will never forgive the other Archangels for turning their back on him.

Lucifer has only ever had two partners in any sense of the term in his entire life.

Beel used to be the smallest, before he hit his growth spurt and overshot all of them.

Lucifer swears almost exclusively in celestial, when he’s pissed off enough to actually swear.

Satan doesn’t really have any of Lucifer’s memories, but he retained the emotions based around them. It’s confusing.

Lucifer can cook just fine, but he can’t bake to save his life.

The Longest Lucifer has stayed awake without any rest was about a month. It wasn’t pretty.

Half of the time Lucifer says something funny it’s unintentional.

Most of the Devildom’s current infrastructure was pioneered by Diavolo’s father.

King Diavolo’s real name is Ba’al.

Lucifer can play basically any instrument that’s been invented, apart from electronic only ones.

Levi’s skill in painting could put any of the great masters to shame.

Lucifer isn’t a fan of a poultry, ironically.

The fact that they can get Belphie to wear his complicated RAD uniform everyday while being the Cardinal Sin of Sloth is a point towards how well Belphie controls his sin.

Being a shutin used to be cool and mysterious-- Levi mourns that social shift often.

Lucifer considers Levi the easiest brother to handle because he doesn’t really leave his room.

Mammon, while definitely being guilty of lots of grifts and get rich quick schemes, actually has at least five jobs on top of his stipend for being a Sin.

Lucifer has been trying to figure out how to kill those three witches for causing him problems by proxy, but he hasn’t figured out a legal way to justify it yet.

Amaymon is Diavolo’s youngest sibling. Lucifer can’t stand him.

Flower arranging is one of Asmo’s hobbies.

Asmo also has the best eye for interior design aesthetics, even if he uses them to make a room look... Like That.

For Centuries Lucifer couldn’t even begin to talk about his interests without Diavolo flooding him with related gifts. He’s gotten better about it since.

Lucifer and Diavolo’s relationship was purely physical at first.

Beel often uses the fact that his brothers think he’s stupid for his own gain. Most of the time it’s to get more food, but whatever works works.

Lucifer is completely fire proof now as a demon, inside and out.

He has nightmares of fire, though.

In one of the battles of the Celestial war, The Archangel Michael did his Signature “Step on Lucifer’s face/head trick” And Lucifer nearly took his leg off for it.

All demons can both purr and growl.

Lucifer’s back is heavily scarred from his fall and Satan’s creation both.

Mammon physically regenerates the fastest, and Belphie the slowest.

Levi, due to Envy’s ability to constantly and unintentionally buff the demons around him, is always helping his brothers in some small way whether he means to or not.

Beel still has specific nightmares of Lilith’s death, and will often crawl into Belphie’s bed to hold him after.

Satan never knew Lilith, but he’s emotionally attached to her because of the vague memories he inherited from Lucifer.

Asmo’s hair, if he grew it out, would be loosely curly.

All Lust type demons are Incubi / Succubi / Concubi.

Wrath type demons are the ones who cause classic hauntings.

All sleep paralysis demons are Sloth demons, though.

Pride type demons are the most prone to possessing humans in power, despite Lucifer having never possessed a human before.

Barbatos is actually a little bit older than Diavolo, but not by much.

Luke is basically Michael’s son.

Simeon is the younger brother of the Archangel Jophiel (the Angel of Beauty).

Asmo, if given the chance to defect back to the Celestial Realm, would seriously consider it.

Mammon acts like a fool, but isn’t one himself.

Belphie and Beel aren’t quite telepathic, but they always know where the other is, or if they’re in trouble.

The Cardinal sin of Wrath traditionally writes all of the punitive legislation in the devildom, so Satan is the one who writes out what crime gets what punishment.

The Devildom’s economy has never flourished so much before Mammon became the sin of Greed.

A good 60% of the work Lucifer does is paperwork that should actually be handled by one of his brothers.

Asmo’s painted his nails with his own venom before, and then used it to kill people who piss him off.

The only person Lucifer can accept losing to is Diavolo.

Lucifer isn’t a functional person until around 2 hours after he’s woken up. Luckily he tends to get up around 4:30a.m. / 5a.m. so when normal people have to interact with him, he’s mostly aware.

Mammon likes to over-saturate his foods with toppings and sauces, which is why Beel can’t stand his cooking.

Asmo likes the taste of straight vodka.

Lucifer once slapped another demon’s head clean off when they spoke back to him while he was addressing Diavolo’s court.

Lucifer and Diavolo’s first real “Date” was in the Royal Garden.

Any part of an Archdemon is worth a small fortune, as they’re rather potent spell ingredients.

If you talk shit about Mammon near a Greed type demon they WILL beat your ass.

Diavolo loved Lucifer on sight. Or, well, he loved the look of him.

#{ Mun Post }#Ask Meme #{ fuck you. never challenge me again ghdhghsdhg }#Anonymous #long post #dialuci

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poopunderstander · 3 years ago

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i am probably the 5000th person to write Dean teaching Cas to drive but i did it anyway and i'm here to make it your problem

"Cas, who is living after death in the body of a man so devout he offered his whole self to the possession of God’s soldier, knows that the machine he’s sitting in is a part of the strange, ardent little faith Dean practices, a religion with three apostles, a virgin, and no god. Sitting here with Dean’s hand on his own, sweating and shaking at the helm of this unholy ark, he feels blasphemous."

2.4k words, destiel, PG/teen&up, no warnings except for a lot of geology talk at the start

link on ao3

Approximately 550 million years before what Castiel currently knows as the present day, two enormous sheets of earth collided in a dying ocean. The continent of Laurentia met with an arc of volcanic islands, and, finding itself unequal to their fury, folded downward beneath the sapping crust of the Iapetus Ocean. Over millennia, as Heaven watched, the earth and water consumed each other, leaving a thick scar of mountains, to be worn away in turn by new millennia of wind and ice and fire.

That was the Age of Fishes. Later, much later, humans climbed into the valleys in between the hills, to fish and hunt and build, and when they buried their dead they painted the graves with red earth, infinitesimal new scars over the old tectonic suture.

Castiel remembers all this—can feel it in the ground under his vessel’s feet, here in what Dean Winchester calls central Maine. They’re standing on glacial till deposited in the last ice age, and below them are the grains of sand from the Iapetus Ocean that became mudstone and siltstone, then pelite and shale and Silurodevonian granite. Twenty-five miles beneath Castiel lies a layer of Precambrian gneiss, a sheet of ancient dust pressed into solid stone nearly four billion years ago, when the ocean was wide and God himself wasn’t that old. That stone, Castiel knows, is Earth’s oldest shield: the last solid barrier between humanity and the planet’s molten core. He thinks about this as he watches Dean load guns into the trunk of his car, his boots planted in soft red earth carried here 10,000 years ago by a river of ice.

“Ready?” Dean says, turning back to face Cas.

Castiel thinks about the God who watched the continents form, who watched the planet eat itself a thousand times and heal a thousand more, the God who Castiel knows once wasn’t dead. He looks at Dean, who knows none of this and came with him anyway to trap an archangel on earth, and thinks: How could I be?

“Yes,” he says.

“Wait,” Dean says. “Let me get this right. You can fly, right—you can teleport—but you can’t drive a car?”

They’re sitting in the empty parking lot of an ice cream shop, across the road from St. Peter’s Hospital. Dean drove them here after they left the house of prostitution, to wait for the sun to rise and the meeting with Raphael to “go down.” Castiel, still caught up in the pangs of regret and panic he brought away from the bar, has spent his last hours on earth contemplating the profound and mundane limits of his earthly knowledge.

“I thought she would appreciate the information,” he told Dean, trying to create in words a world in which he didn’t ruin Dean’s terrifying act of kindness, and Dean laughed and said, “Oh, dude, big mistake.”

“I don’t think I understand women,” Castiel said then, and Dean threw back his head and laughed, and Castiel felt a portion of the darkness inside him evaporate.

Dean started quizzing him after that, asking about things he’s done, talking about something he calls a “bucket list.” Castiel doesn’t know what the bucket is for, but Dean’s apparently contains people and places and food: a musician named Springsteen in Concert, the Chevrolet Hall of Fame in Decatur, the 1,800 pound burger at Mallie’s Sports. He asks Castiel if he’s ever been to the Grand Canyon, and Castiel tells him he witnessed its creation. Dean says okay, but did you ever hike it, and Castiel has to shake his head.

It’s in this way that Dean learns that Castiel has never driven a car—a fact which Cas thinks shouldn’t surprise him, but it does. They’re sitting on the hood of the car together, gazing out across Highwood Avenue at the glowing windows of the hospital, and Dean twists his whole body around to face Cas, telegraphing his shock.

“Why would I,” Cas points out. “I’ve never had the need.”

“Yeah,” Dean says, “but—dude, what if somebody, like, zaps your wings? What’re you gonna do, huh, take a bus?”

Cas shrugs. “Probably. I think it’s far more likely that Raphael will kill me outright.”

He sees a flicker of pain cross Dean’s face; this conversation made him uncomfortable before. Castiel wonders about that. “I’m not talking about that,” he says. “I just meant—hypothetically. In a hypothetical world where you get your angel mojo un-mojoed, or whatever, you’d just—buy a bus ticket?”

Castiel isn’t sure what he’s admitting to, here. He thought bus travel was common. “I suppose.”

“Jesus,” Dean says, turning back to face the hospital. “That’s just wrong.”

They’re silent for a moment, spinning in their own private worlds. The lights are off inside the ice cream shop—it’s nearly dawn, and nobody buys ice cream at dawn—but the lamps above the Dairy Queen sign are blazing, and Castiel is watching the yellow light flow over Dean’s head and shoulders as he leans back on the hood of his car, still warm from the engine’s labor. Even now, looking at Dean’s body is like looking at a miracle. Castiel wonders if he’s aware that he’s the only thing in Waterville, Maine born entirely of God’s will.

“Listen,” Dean says suddenly, breaking the silence. “I don’t know what it’s gonna be like in there. I know you said—well, I know what you said. But I think,” he says, puffing up with that bizarre confidence he always seems to pull from nowhere, “I think we’re gonna make it. And if I’m right, if we do—” He turns to look at Cas again, a grin dawning across his face. “If we do, I’m gonna teach an angel of the lord to drive stick.”

Castiel has no idea why—he’s not quite sure what those words in that order mean—but this thought seems to give Dean hope. Castiel doesn’t feel it. He doesn’t have a human soul, that thing that seems to trap hope so unfailingly it feels like a flaw in the design.

The sun is feet from the eastern horizon.

“Okay,” he tells Dean.

Twenty-five miles north of Waterville is a town called Canaan. When colonists first settled on the banks of the Kennebec, they used the native word for the place they built: Wesserunsett. Not long after, though, deciding that that long name was not worth the labor of speaking or writing it, they looked at the bright green fields laid all around their stolen home, imagined a similarly verdant place of rest waiting for them at life’s end, and named the new town after the Promised Land.

Canaan, of course, looks nothing like Heaven, really. Heaven is vast and multidimensional; Canaan is a ten-room motel, two grocery stores, and two churches along the length of US Highway 2. But outside Canaan, between the highway and the lake, is a wide field of grass and purple violets, which Dean pronounces “perfect.” He pulls off the road into the field, and Castiel feels the solid, assuring weight of asphalt give way to the uncertainty of earth.

“Okay,” Dean says. He gets out of the car, and motions for Castiel to do the same. Cas does, turning cautiously to scan the field around them.

“There’s no road here,” he points out. He’s never tried it before, but he always assumed that a road was essential to driving.

“That’s the point,” Dean says. “You can’t start on the road, you’re gonna get yourself killed. Gotta start where there’s nothing to run into.” He gestures at the expanse around them. “Like so. That’s how my dad taught me.”

Dean doesn’t talk about his father. Castiel has noticed. He’s never seen John Winchester; tries to imagine Dean as a child, standing in a field like this with the man who withstood one hundred years of Hell. He can’t picture it. But then, imagination has never come easily to him.

“Come on,” Dean says, waving a hand for Cas to come around the car. Castiel obeys, walking around to the open driver’s seat as Dean circles to where Cas just was. They both sit down inside, pulling the doors shut, and Dean says, “Okay. So. Let’s start at the beginning.”

He talks Cas through the controls of the car, laying his hand on the dashboard as he talks, identifying the levers and pedals and dials with gentle, nearly reverent touches, watching Castiel’s face to make sure that he’s taking it all in. Castiel tries to concentrate, thinks he understands what he’s being told, but he has no place to anchor this information. That’s the clutch, Dean says, and Castiel nods and thinks, clutch, and thinks about gripping Dean tight. The clutch.

“You got it?” Dean asks. Castiel doesn’t feel he has anything.

“Of course.”

Dean beams. Cas can’t find it in himself to regret the lie.

“Go ahead and put your hands on the wheel,” Dean says. This turns out to be more complicated than Castiel anticipated. He does it wrong, apparently, the first time, because Dean frowns and says, “No, you gotta—ten o’clock and two o’clock, Cas,” and when Cas asks what that means Dean says to picture a clock, and Castiel doesn’t see what relevance that has to driving a car. In the end, Dean takes Castiel’s hands in both of his, and puts them onto the steering wheel in the right position. He sits back in satisfaction, nodding.

“Okay. Okay.” Castiel’s heart is pounding like a hummingbird’s. It’s not the same fear he felt last night. He doesn’t know what it is. Dean tells him where to put his feet, says okay, clutch first, keep it in neutral, and Cas pushes down with what was once Jimmy Novak’s left foot and then his right, feels the engine rumble to life, and lets go when Dean says okay, now.

He breaks the car. Or, that’s what it feels like at first: a heavy, surely cataclysmic crash of machinery that throws both of them back against the seat. He sees Dean grimace and gets ready to apologize, but Dean just says, “Okay, kind of rough start, but that’s fine—try it again.”

“I’m not sure I should,” Cas says. It sounded like the engine cracked. He thinks Dean may have underestimated his ignorance here. But Dean says no, try again, so Cas puts his feet back on the pedals and focuses every particle of his celestial consciousness on easing the pressure on and off in perfect unison the way Dean tells him, hands rigid at ten and two on the clock-wheel, and the four thousand pounds of steel beneath them roll approximately ten inches over the grass before Castiel’s focus falters, and the engine grinds to another explosive, neck-wrenching halt.

“You suck at this,” Dean says. His patience as an instructor, apparently, has been exhausted.

“Of course I suck at this,” Cas says, hearing the panic in his own voice. “I’m an angel.”

He expects the lesson to be over then—clearly, he isn’t going to learn this—but Dean just chuckles instead, caught up in another burst of unearned optimism, and says, “Try it again, little slower this time.”

For half an hour, Cas jolts the car in short, violent circles around the field, struggling to follow Dean’s directions and feeling sweat build up on his palms and the back of his shirt. The longest he’s able to drive in one smooth line lasts about one minute and forty-five seconds, long enough for Dean to lose his look of consternation and break out in a grin, raising his hands in celebration just as Cas accidentally pushes down on the wrong pedal and sends them screeching to a halt.

“Hey,” Dean says, once he’s recovered from the physical shock, “at least you’re getting better.”

“I’m not,” Cas tells him. He can feel an odd, nauseous constriction at the back of his throat; he wonders if it’s possible for a being that doesn’t eat or digest to vomit. “I’m not good at this, Dean. I won’t be good at this.”

“Listen,” Dean says, “if Sam could learn, so can you.”

“Sam’s very intelligent.”

“And you’re not?”

“Sam’s human.”

“Since when does that matter?” Dean asks.

Cas stares at him. Of course it matters. It’s always mattered. “I don’t know how,” he says. His hands are shaking.

“Hey,” Dean says, “hey.” He reaches over and lays his hand over Castiel’s, still on the steering wheel. His skin is warm and callused. Castiel feels the blood vessels in his cheeks and neck dilating.

“I’m sorry,” he tells Dean. He knows, without quite understanding, that what they’re doing is important to Dean, somehow, and he’s fucked it up. He did the same last night, with the woman whose name wasn’t Chastity, whose father loved her in the same unknowable way that Dean’s father loved him. He didn’t want to do it again. Cas, who is living after death in the body of a man so devout he offered his whole self to the possession of God’s soldier, knows that the machine he’s sitting in is a part of the strange, ardent little faith Dean practices, a religion with three apostles, a virgin, and no god. Sitting here with Dean’s hand on his own, sweating and shaking at the helm of this unholy ark, he feels blasphemous.

“I’m sorry,” he says again.

“You can do this, Cas,” Dean says. “Look, I get you’re, like, superpowered, or whatever, I know you don’t need to. But did you ever think—maybe it’s just been a really long time since you learned something new?” He pauses, frowning, searching for the right words. “I don’t care if you can’t drive, man,” he says finally. “But I know you can learn. Right? I believe in you, Cas.”

Twelve hours ago, Dean stood side by side with Cas in the light of Raphael’s wings and heard him say that God died centuries ago. Dean heard it, and told Cas to go looking anyway.

Cas looks at him, at the freckles scattered over his nose, the serious little pinch between his brows, the soft ghost of a smile on his face even though Cas has surely damaged his car by now, even though God is dead and his neck must hurt and Sam’s taking a vacation from being Dean’s brother, the other half of his world. Dean looks back at him, raises his eyebrows, and grins.

“One more time?”

#destiel #deancas #destiel fic #deancas fic #castiel

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crowley-fe11 · 4 years ago

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You both like ineffable husbands.

Stranger: [Soulmate AU: Aziraphale saw in Heaven's archives that his soulmate was Raphael. But Gabriel made him believe Raphael was his actual name.] Why was Gabriel to your bookshop? Are you in troubles, angel? C

You: Oh, no trouble at all. Quite the opposite, actually. A

Stranger: Which means? Heaven gaves you a better title? C

Stranger: (*gave oops)

You: Well, in the archives upstairs, it lists that Raphael is my soulmate. A And Gabriel just told me that happens to be his actual name. A

Stranger: [Delay] That sheming little bastard. C // Gabriel is just Gabriel, Aziraphale. Nobody else, not Raphael. He lied. C

You: What makes you so sure? A

Stranger: I just know it, angel. C

You: Why would he lie about something like that? A

Stranger: Because he's a bastard, and that he makes to manipulate you! C

You: But even if he is just Gabriel, he'd have a different soulmate, right? A

Stranger: I suppose. What's your point here? C

You: Wouldn't he be with them instead? A

Stranger: Maybe Gabriel's soulmate fell. C

You: You think that's really the case? A It seems impossible, just looking at all the other pairs... A

Stranger: Yeah, I think that's really the case. His soulmate fell, and knowing him, he'd rather manipulate you that accepting this fact. C // Aren't you relieved? Your one isn't Gabriel. C

You: I suppose a bit. A But I don't suppose you know if Raphael fell? Where he might be now? A

Stranger: [Long Delay] He fell. He's Downstairs, I'm sorry, Aziraphale. Your soulmate is a demon. C

You: Well, if he's anything like you are, then that wouldn't be so bad... A

Stranger: As if, not a heartless beast? Yeah. He's not. He's closer to me than to Lord Beelzebub, be reassured. C

You: That's a relief. A What else do you know? A

Stranger: He was the Starmaker, so after he fell and saw soothing stars for the first time... He thought She was throwing his creations out as a punishment. C // He would adore you, I'm certain of it. C

You: He sounds lovely... A Maybe you could introduce me at some point? A

Stranger: Are you sure? I mean, he's still a demon. And even if She decided for you, you don't have to accept Her choice. C

You: I think it would be worth at least meeting him. A

Stranger: ...I can give you his number so the both of you can talk first. C

You: That would be splendid! A I would greatly appreciate that, dear. A

Stranger: [Attached Number - still Crowley's but an another phone.] Yeah, sure. Wonderful. C

You: Thank you, Crowley! I'll let you know how it goes. A

You: [...] Would this number happen to belong to Raphael? A

Stranger: It does, indeed. You are? R

You: My name is Aziraphale. A mutual friend gave me your number. A According to the Heavenly Archive of Soulmates, we appear to be a match. A

Stranger: Ah, I see. Didn't ever think that old legend about matches would reach me eventually. I'm quite busy, I fear, and I'm rather certain you wouldn't like me nearly as much as you hope. R

You: I mean, I know it unheard of for angels to have a fallen soulmate, and I understand if it's seen as taboo on your side as well. A But I was hoping if you ever had the time to talk, if you want to, I could learn a bit more about you. A I've found myself admiring the stars more than once over the millennia, and it seems rather touching that it was your work... A

Stranger: The matches have been made by Her before the Rebellion, and since so many angels fell during it, it isn't surprising an angel can discover he has a fallen soulmate. Not that they could be blamed if they preferred ignoring this bit of information forever. My side doesn't see it as a taboo, more as some holy nonsense they don't want to interact with. R // Thank you. I'd be arrogant to say it was all mine, but almost all of them are my doing, especially the ones you can see from Earth. Got inspired by a pretty special angel for a few. R

You: Well, considering an angel I know just claimed to be you, I thought it might be worth knowing who you really are. A But I'd like to think I'm open-minded. My best friend is a demon, and he spoke well of you. And he's been fairly honest about most everything. A Though I am curious if that angel was anyone in particular... A

Stranger: [Delay] It was you. Aziraphale, still a Cherub back then. You don't remember, most angels don't have any memories of anything happening before Time was made. Only Archangels still have pieces of memories of that time, since they had been created first. You were radiant, Aziraphale. Shining of joy, of curiosity. I even made... Ha. Alpha Centauri thinking about you. R

You: I'll definitely look for that system more closely from now on, then. A But I wish I remember you better. You seem absolutely lovely. A Perhaps if you ever have the time, we could meet up for lunch or something? A

Stranger: ...No. Won't be possible. You wouldn't like me, trust me. R // I'm hurt. Burned. Yes, that's it, I've been seriously burned during my fall. R

You: I mean, if there's anything I can do to help, I'd be more than willing. A Besides, if She made us a match, I'm sure that would transcend anything. A

Stranger: Don't you want to use your free will instead, angel? Instead of following her idea, why don't you find yourself someone you love? R

You: In a way, I used my free will to reach out to you, didn't I? A It was her decision to cast you out after the Rebellion, so it weren't for the connections I have, I would have never known what happened to you. A

Stranger: Such a fortunate event, isn't it? That you know Crowley too. He's a bit annoying sometimes, don't you think? R // I suppose you're right, you're using your free will to contact me. Howewer, you wouldn't be interested in me if it wasn't for that match. R

You: Oh, I wouldn't say that. He's been wonderful company to me. A Well, I'm at least curious what She had in mind for me. You and I could end up becoming friends, or maybe something more, or you might wish not to speak to me after this, but in the very least, I might learn something from it, right? A

Stranger: C'me on, it's just us, here. Crowley is not terrible but he is quite flawed. I bet you're relieved to have anyone but him as your fallen soulmate. R // From what I understood, this system is one of a partners for eternity. It goes beyond friendship or romantic features, it should make you say: 'I trust them with my life, and I know they'll always be here.' A never leaving shadow, I'd say. R

You: I mean, to put it quite simply, I'm not exactly a perfect angel either. And I think most everyone has their flaws. A But that is an interesting take on it. It's comforting, and maybe a bit familiar... Or maybe I've been yearning for something like that all these years. A

Stranger: A bit familiar? What do you mean? You have lived something like this already? R // It's the most incredible feeling one could dream of. This is truly a gift from Her, and the fact fallen ones are allowed to still feel it... I must say, it's great. R

You: Or maybe I've just imagined it. I've been told more than once I'm far too hopeful and optimistic. A Wait, have we crossed paths on earth? A

Stranger: [...] Oh, yeah. We have, a few times. I'm fairly often on Earth, so we certaintly saw each other, from a distance. I won't blame you if you forgot me. R

You: I wish I knew who you were. I'm sorry, dear. A Another question that comes to mind- if you don't mind answering it, that is. Does every demon just address angels as 'angel'? A Crowley does that quite a lot, and you happened to do that earlier, too. A

Stranger: Don't worry and don't apologize. Even if you think you don't know me, a part of you does and it's what matters. Furthermore, you only learned of my existence recently and we have all time in the world. R // ...Your name is complicated to remember, it's an angelic one. Potential holy one, it'd sting. It's just easier to give you that nickname. R

You: That's rather interesting, still. A But I'm rather looking forward to getting to know you better. Just talking to you, it feels like I've known you all along. A

Stranger: [Long Delay] I lied. Your name isn't complicated nor painful to say, Aziraphale. It's just me, I can not stop calling you angel. R // Fuck, you must think I'm awful and cruel. R

Stranger: (Sorry, my Wifi glitched. Did you receive my reply?)

You: (Yeah, I got it :) )

Stranger: (Great, thanks!))

You: Darling, it's fine, please don't worry. A I also realise this was all out of the blue, so I understand if it's a lot right now. A

Stranger: I panicked. You wanted to talk to Raphael, and I made all this up. That's pathetic. Not the part about the stars, this is real. And you having met Raphael before Eden, it was true too. R

You: Then could you tell me the truth? A

Stranger: I'm Raphael. I mean, I was before I fell. C

You: My dear, why didn't you just tell me? A I was already rather hoping it might be you on the other end, to be honest. A

Stranger: I was afraid you'd feel forced to stay around me because it's what She decided. I didn't want you to. If you are around me, I'd rather if it was your choice, because you enjoy my presence. C

You: Crowley, soulmate or not, I'd always want you around. You mean the entire world to me. A

Stranger: And you mean the entiere universe to me, angel. C

You: Would you be able to come by? A I was thinking we could share bottle of wine or two, maybe begin making up for the last six thousand years of not realising we're soulmates... A

Technical error: Server was unreachable for too long and your connection was lost. Sorry. :( Omegle understands if you hate it now, but Omegle still loves you.

GAHHHHHHH I WANT TO KEEP GOING

#ineffable husbands #ineffable partners #crowley #azirafell #good omens #good omens rp #soulmate au #omegle roleplay #omegle rp #lost rp #please message me

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c-is-for-circinate · 5 years ago

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I’m so ready to be intrigued and fascinated by Raphael-as-Crowley headcanons, and I keep just not finding what I’m looking for--not because what’s out there isn’t perfectly lovely, but because none of it is quite the Crowley I want out of the story.

There’s an awful lot that focuses on all I ever did was ask questions, and I keep feeling like it loses some of the sauntered vaguely downwards. The Crowley who didn’t fall all at once, in some great big argument or terrible trauma, but just...kept going along a certain path until it hit an inevitable conclusion he really should have seen coming and yet somehow assumed wouldn’t hit him until it did.

This is a Raphael!Crowley I’d believe:

He asks questions from the very Beginning. Some of them, he asks to God, and They answer, or They don’t, as it suits their ineffable mood in the moment. Some of them he asks to Michael or to Gabriel, and they have no answers, but it doesn’t bother them not to, and when Raphael goes they think on it no more. Some of them he asks to his brightest, oldest brother, who tells him to love God and worry less, and when Raphael goes, he thinks about it all a great deal.

When the oldest, brightest archangel, the glittering Morning Star and his followers go to war against Michael and Gabriel and all the other angels, it doesn’t happen all at once. Time doesn’t quite exist yet, not properly--things more or less happen one after the other, but how long it takes one thing to move on to the next is still very much a question. It is both an instant and several billion years between Lucifer’s first shouted challenge and his blazing, plummeting fall to the Bottomless Pit below the depths of the Earth.

It is a war, yes, but there has never been a war before, and nobody quite knows what it means. Raphael rolls his eyes, millions of them all fiery and blazing, and tends to every angel to cross his path injured from the spat, and invents waiting as he waits for it to be over. He creates a handful of nebulas in an eyeblink or over the course of somebody else’s battle or in an eon. He asks the various angels involved just what, exactly, they think they’re accomplishing here. He asks God how long They intend for this mess to go on. He asks Michael and Gabriel if they really think this whole invention of conflict was really The Ineffable’s best idea, really. He asks his oldest brightest brother to come invent some new animals with him rather than sulking about the latest spat. It’ll all blow over sooner or later.

The Morning Star Falls, but there has never been a Fall before, and still, with all the heavenly hosts assembled and all of creation poised on this moment, nobody knows what it means.

There is a Bottomless Pit in Creation now, and nobody can remember the first and brightest archangel’s name. They know he was Lucifer the bright-shining one, but his true name, the divine one that held the Name of God within it, is lost from all time and space and knowledge. He is not an angel any more. He is a new thing now, a thing called a demon, that nobody has ever seen before and nobody entirely understands. Just as he was the very first of all the angels, he is the first of these new demon-things. He is not the last.

The angels that fought at Lucifer’s side plummet down one by one to join him, with grand dramatic declarations and enormous swan-dives into pain and fire. The angels that fought against them watch in wonderment. There aren’t exactly rules yet, about Heaven and Hell, with Hell only just starting to exist for the very first time ever. The war might be over, or it might still be going on. Heaven invents another brand new thing called a wall, and with it a gate, which is a way of passing through a wall, and angels and demons both use it with caution and confusion.

Raphael visits both sides, and tends to wounds, and asks questions.

He asks, when can Lucifer come back home? He asks, why did you have to push Them so hard and bring this upon yourself, anyway? He asks, why did you let all this business go on so long in the first place? He asks, did you know what They would do to you? He asks, did we really need to go through all this trouble just to invent this ‘wall’ thing?

He asks, If you didn’t want me going out there and coming back in, why did you invent a gate?

It isn’t entirely a surprise when the-thing-that-was-once-the-archangel-Raphael returns to the Gates of Heaven to find them locked and barred against him. It is only mostly a surprise. It is a feeling he couldn’t describe to any other angel, who stands on the entire Universe as their own solid ground, or any other demon, who has plummeted down the entire length of said Universe in one fast Fall. A human sometime in the future might be able to relate to the sensation of tripping somewhere in the middle of a staircase, the sudden feeling of panic and vertigo and feeling all the wind rush out of them even without hitting the ground, but staircases haven’t been invented yet.

It shouldn’t have been a surprise at all, not with all the questions he’s asked, not with the way the Walls of Heaven have been getting thicker and taller and the lines between angels and demons have been firming up and all of the cosmic uncertainties have been turning more and more certain. And yet. He hadn’t rebelled. He hadn’t fought. He’d thought, deep in his optimist’s soul, that sooner or later the whole thing would blow over and Lucifer and his lot would end up back where they belonged. He’d thought, of course there’s a plan, I’d just like to see it. Just to be ready.

(And perhaps he ignored the warning signs, and perhaps that was the sin: not optimism, but pride. The sin of Lucifer’s fall. The archangel vanity Michael and Gabriel still swear they do not possess. He sauntered out of the gate and down, and sauntered back up to Heaven again, so very sure that of course it would be fine. He was filled with God’s grace and love and blessing. He was the Archangel Raphael. He couldn’t do wrong.)

He thinks, now: of course there’s a plan, and probably this is part of it. He thinks, Heaven is the place for those that follow every order without ever asking questions, so Hell must have been invented to test every order they can. That’s his job now. Hell is for doubt. Hell is for questions.

It hurts, walking into Hell, feeling all his Divine grace and certainty burn away bit by bit. It’s been hurting little by little for eons now, a growing ache that began as a throb and wracked his whole being when he stood in front of the closed gate and realized what it meant. He really shouldn’t have been surprised to find himself at the bottom of a Fall. He still isn’t clear on the purpose of suffering.

So: he remakes himself for doubt-sowing, for temptation to question and break divine orders, for this thing that must be his new purpose, probably. He thinks, if this is the Ineffable Divine Plan, that it’s cruel and complicated in a way that does not feel either just or comprehensible from this end of it. He’s got several more questions he’d like to have answered. The rest of Hell remakes itself for cruelty and suffering, which must be their new purpose. They have all suffered so much. It must be what they’re for. He thinks that if questions are what he’s for now, and if suffering leads to his asking questions, well, that’s tidily done then on the Ineffable’s side, isn’t it.

The Morning Star has begun calling himself The Adversary, turning Satan from a description into a name. The demon that once called itself Raphael takes the shape of an animal he once built with his brother that likes to keep low to the ground, long and unseen by those above, and describes himself as The One Who Creeps. English won’t be invented for another five thousand years, but one might translate the thing he’s calling himself into Crawly just the same.

He leaves Raphael up in Heaven with all things that belong directly to the angels. He doesn’t miss it, exactly. The name was his to use while he wore it, and now it’s Heaven’s to discard or reuse however they like. There are other things he misses so much more.

There are gates in the wall around the Garden of Eden, the sort that were invented to let things pass through, but only in exactly the right way. The angel guarding the one in the East is named a thing that would sound like Aziraphale if English had been invented yet, but because it hasn’t, Crawly hears Israfael. Filling the gaps in the ranks, one way or another.

Crawly wonders, but doesn’t ask, if the angel knows exactly what became of the archangel he was so clearly created to partially replace. Time is firm, now, minutes moving past one after another, and he can only ask so many questions at once.

Right now, standing on the wall of the Garden overlooking a gate, he is wondering and he is asking: if it is a demon’s job to go against the will of God, but that job was given by God, then is doing that job in accordance with God’s will or not? If God has given an order and a demon who was tasked by the ineffable design to countermand Them has convinced a pair of humans to go against that order, then has that demon in fact carried out a good deed under the auspices of God after all? What happens to a demon if the other demons, who may also be doing jobs that were assigned by God but don’t believe that they are, decide that the first demon is acting too closely in line with God’s plans after all?

If an angel, who is explicitly tasked to follow the will of God, does a thing with a flaming sword that was very specifically not ordered by God, but they’re an angel and were tasked with a general sort of kindness to begin with, and were more or less attempting to act according to that general order by going against the spirit but not technically the letter of a more specific order vis-a-vis said sword, then just exactly how ineffable is the damned plan, anyway?

The angel who’s got the majority of Raphael’s name and no longer has a flaming sword clearly has a mind for loopholes. Crawly wonders if that’s part of the job of being basically-Raphael, too.

Time passes. Humans propagate. Hell is cruel. Humans are, too. Crawly teaches them to be. It’s his job, to make sure humans understand what cruelty is like, to make sure they have the whole picture. He thinks maybe he’s got some of it figured out by now. It’s something like a test.

The business with Noah is cruel, and it’s not Crawly’s doing at all. Seeing it feels a little like an old echo of falling, the surprise-that-isn’t-a-surprise-at-all.

He does his job. He asks the angel questions. He tries to sow doubt. He doesn’t save anybody, not even the unicorn.

(One of these things is wrong, is against everything that Crawly is supposed to be: that he stands by and lets them all suffer and drown, or that he regrets it. He doesn’t know which it is, but he thinks he ought to.)

The business with Jesus is cruel, too. He doesn’t flinch this time. It’s too familiar by now, the miseries the Divine is so generous in handing out to sinners and innocent alike.

The boy comes back, because of course he does, and his followers spread, because of course they do, and the world--

It doesn’t change. Not in any way that matters. Crowley doesn’t know what he was expecting.

He puts on glasses, hides his eyes and his nature from Rome and everyone else, and doesn’t ask himself what he’d thought would happen, after all. Doesn’t ask why he’d bothered hoping for anything.

He stops trying to lead the angel into asking unanswerable questions, after that. They eat oysters. Nobody talks about Christianity.

(One of these things would infuriate all the hosts of heaven if they ever knew: that he can’t bring himself to seriously tempt Aziraphale towards doubt any more, or that he ever really tried. He thinks, perhaps, that it might be both.)

He thinks about being Raphael, sometimes, highest on high, welcomed into the presence of God Themself, crowned in grace and glory. Usually he thinks about it right after humans have thought up something that’s sure to get him a commendation when he reports it down Below, right before he gets himself blind drunk enough to forget again.

The thing of it is, there was no getting blind drunk in Heaven to protect yourself from pain. There wasn’t meant to be any suffering in Heaven to begin with.

Raphael was made to be a healer, and so he was, once, when Heaven needed a healer, before it invented the idea of a wall to keep all the newly-invented pain out. It all seems more or less inevitable after that, really.

Aziraphale is a little bit Raphael’s replacement and Aziraphale is entirely himself, and the fact that he’s been both of those things at once has kept Crowley intrigued and unwillingly charmed ever since the Garden. He’s not just a healer, but he’s good at healing miracles. Crowley’s seen him at them, the happy grin that spreads across his face when he can relieve a random human of a little pain, so similar to the grin he gets over a good oyster. It only makes sense that he’s down here on Earth, really. Individuals belong in Heaven as much as healers do.

The thing of it is, there was no suffering in Heaven, and nor was there sin. There was no gluttony or sloth or lust. There was Grace and Blessing and capital-L Love, but Crowley doesn’t remember if Raphael ever loved anything the greedy, prideful, possessive, satisfying way he might just privately admit to loving his Bentley.

The thing of it is, Crowley has had this job for as long as time has been real, which is by definition both infinitesimally and infinitely longer than he was ever an archangel. The thing of it is, Crowley is good at it.

(The thing of it is, tempting and sowing doubt and inspiring sin is no crueler than Heaven’s righteous wrath. It might, sometimes, be kinder. It might, sometimes, be Good.)

(The thing of it is that Crowley still believes, somewhere deep in the glowing core of himself, that this is all still according to the Ineffable Plan, and deep down, he’s never managed to forgive God for any of it.)

One of these things is unforgivable: that even now Crowley the demon, creator of Original Sin, tempter and exactly as the Almighty made him, for brief and passing moments, yearns desperately to be forgiven. That even now Crowley the demon, who was once an archangel and gifted with the very highest blessings of God’s grace, would choose to reject any forgiveness he was offered and stay exactly as he is. He doesn’t know which it is.

(He hopes--he fears--he thinks, deep in his soul, that it might be neither. That it might be both.)

Here’s the truth: nowhere in Crowley’s six-thousand-plus-year existence as a demon does it really matter who he used to be. Rank in Hell has nothing to do with rank in Heaven. It never really did.

Satan, who was once Lucifer, who was once the brightest and most shining of them all, doesn’t love him in exactly the same way Satan doesn’t love any of his hordes of demons. Satan once loved everyone and everything and God above all, and now doesn’t love anything, not even himself.

There’s nothing left in Crowley for Michael or Gabriel to recognize, and on the whole he prefers it that way. They know, he presumes, that Raphael their brother is gone. They grieve the Morning Star and they hate the Adversary with equal intensity, according to Aziraphale, and Crowley remembers both well enough. Easy enough to extend the same to him.

Michael and Gabriel were always the worst of Heaven, anyway. That’s the problem in standing with the surety of the entire Universe beneath your feet. Stone statues don’t exactly take pleasure in being cruel, but that doesn’t make them any more forgiving.

And yet...

“I wonder sometimes,” Crowley says, on a sun-drenched afternoon in the South Downs, sitting on a porch next to Aziraphale, looking out over a garden with no walls.

(It doesn’t need any. No daring rabbit or unwary neighborhood child who’d venture too close would make that mistake twice. Anyway, Crowley figured, any wall with a gate is just as easy to get through as not having a wall at all, and any wall without a gate is just a prison anyway.)

He stops himself, because he’d stopped trying to tempt the angel to doubt two thousand years ago, and there are some questions even he doesn’t quite know how to ask out loud.

“Wonder what, my dear?” Aziraphale asks.

“It never makes you furious, the idea that They planned it all like this from the beginning?” Crowley asks. “That Satan and every last one of the rest of us demons was created already doomed to fall. That humans were created to eat the apple and to be punished for it before they even existed. That you were made--for me, or to replace me, or whatever the hel--the heaven they did or said about it, and they send you down here with me and me up here with you and six thousand years later there's us and the Antichrist, not a trumpet to blow between us, standing at the threshold of Armageddon and refusing to see it off. It never bothers you, that all of this was part of the plan from the beginning, you and me and the house and the garden and all of it.”

“I find it deeply comforting, to be entirely honest,” Aziraphale admits. “I do rather like where we’ve ended up, after all. But what’s all this about replacing you?”

“Weeeeeeeell,” said Crowley. He’d felt it was rather unfair at this point to go on having, if not precisely knowledge, then at least some well-supported hypotheses about the angel’s particular origins. He still did not fancy having this conversation in the least. “ ‘S not like you go creating an angel Israfael five minutes after a certain demon with the same basic name, you know, once upon a time, gets locked out of Heaven for asking too many questions without it being fairly obvious what you’re trying to do. At least. To the demon in question.”

Aziraphale gapes. Crowley keeps his head very carefully inclined so he can keep looking casually out over the extremely lush back garden, and also not reveal his eyes in that gap between his sunglasses and his face.

“Raphael?” Aziraphale asks. Crowley winces.

“Really, you did a much better job with the whole thing than I would’ve done,” he said. “I mean, obviously. If I’d been any good at the whole archangel thing, never would have ended up a demon to begin with, right?”

“Well, I--and I mean--the entire time?” he demands. “Since the Garden?”

“Been a demon since well before the Garden, angel,” Crowley says, a bit of warning in the tone, six millennia of being forsaken behind him.

“But you knew about me,” Aziraphale says. “And you.”

Crowley stretches his legs out ahead, and leans back on his elbows, long and lean and snake-like. He doesn’t say, between the two of us, I think we’ve done the entire job Raphael was ever made to do, and I don’t think any archangel sitting up there in Heaven could’ve done it alone. I think Raphael was always supposed to be just like this, and I’m so damned grateful, and I hate it.

“Not like this,” he says. “Don’t think anyone without ‘ineffable’ in their title could’ve figured on it going like this.”

“Well,” says Aziraphale, who’s always been the other half of him after all, anyway. “Considering all the other ways it could have gone...that is, if anyone was going to be an archangel and then vacate their post and need a replacement and then come back and dog my heels for six thousand years...oh, what I mean to say is, I’m glad it was you.”

“Yeah,” says Crowley, who figures that, at least, is a sentiment he can get behind. “Me too.”

#C writes stuff #good omens #welp that happened #not-quite-fic as a list of bullet points #apparently I have been really wanting a very particular take on this story #go figure #crowley

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ineffable-endearments · 5 years ago

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Crowley and Aziraphale, 3 loyalties, and existential anxiety

I’ve been thinking about the tension between Crowley and Aziraphale.

I could not type that with a straight face because the truth of the matter is that I am always thinking about the tension between Crowley and Aziraphale.

But really, there is even another tension besides Heaven vs. Hell. It’s Earth vs. Alpha Centauri. Fighting vs. running.

The world vs. Crowley.

Aziraphale had some inkling that Crowley was sort of…giving up a bit, I think, at the time that he found Agnes Nutter’s prophecies. They’d just had a very interesting day which had culminated in Crowley shutting down a couple of Aziraphale’s ideas for trying to neutralize the Antichrist (without requiring either of them to do the killing, if it came to that).

But Aziraphale was still completely shocked when Crowley mentioned just fleeing the planet entirely. You could tell he thought about it. He was tempted. Perhaps was amazed that Crowley actually felt that kind of dedication to him.

But it also terrified him. Crowley was essentially separating from Earth, splitting Aziraphale’s already-tortured loyalties again. It’s the thing that pushed him from “you can’t leave. there’s nowhere to go.” to “there is no ‘our side’! not anymore!”

As someone who is maybe a bit of a slacker but DOES fundamentally feel a sense of responsibility, Aziraphale is set on staying here to see through whatever happens with the Earth. It’s easy for me to decide that this sense of responsibility is built-in simply because the Earth and its people have intrinsic value, and I'm sure that’s part of it. But also, Aziraphale existed before the Earth, and would theoretically exist afterwards; he wasn’t even really counting on growing this attached. His responsibility started with the job he was given by Heaven, and his affection became deeper as he spent time here bonding with Crowley. I think Earth was a place where existence all came together for Aziraphale, in a way, where his God-given purpose united him with his favorite being (Crowley) and the first experiences that ever brought real joy (human society). So it’s not just about how much he likes Earth, although he certainly does. It’s an existential issue. To dismantle that is to dismantle himself.

And what about the fact that this means Crowley was willing to just instantly choose Aziraphale over everything else? Everything in creation? When things got bad he didn’t want to take any chances; he just wanted to take off with the person who mattered to him the most. I think it started when Crowley gave up on his job; he likes being a troublemaker, in a way, but he’s not like…committed to the destruction of humanity. In fact, he doesn’t WANT to see that happen. But he’s never been cast in the role of a guardian, and probably doesn’t think he really can be. God kicked him out and Hell sucks (and Heaven also sucks anyway), so Crowley is floating around with relatively little meaning aside from what he gets from his...just plain experiences. He’s very human, in that way. And those experiences, like Aziraphale’s, are centered on Earth, but he allows himself to recognize that Aziraphale is the common thread holding those experiences together. He’s willing to accept the end of everything but that thread.

Aziraphale, on the other hand, has NOT given up on his job yet. He thinks he’s still a servant of the Great Plan, Guardian of the Eastern Gate. He’s suspicious of Heaven but hasn’t yet been unmoored from what he thought was his original purpose. Aziraphale cares as much about Crowley as Crowley cares about him; if he didn’t, there wouldn’t be a thermos of holy water in Crowley’s flat. Frankly, the Arrangement would likely never have come to be at all. Crowley is the common thread for Aziraphale, too, but things are inherently more complicated for Aziraphale. He can’t pick up and run away.

Because of all this, Aziraphale really, really wants Crowley to see Armageddon through with him, but he also doesn’t want to put Crowley in danger. And as long as Crowley is here on Earth, still technically aligned with Hell as far as Hell is concerned, Aziraphale is dangerous to him. In that case, it’s easier to just break up - remove himself, the Dangerous Thing, from Crowley’s life entirely, and do not encourage him to get involved any further.

(A slight aside: this is evidence that Aziraphale still does not comprehend how much he actually means to Crowley. Given how much Heaven tends to crush the individuality out of its subjects, he probably doesn’t believe he’s allowed to want to be wanted that much, certainly not by someone who could interfere with Heaven’s plans.)

It’s also easier for Aziraphale to say no to Crowley’s proposal if he himself believes that their separation is final. Crowley is wonderful at convincing Aziraphale to do things; it’s one of the many qualities Aziraphale appreciates about Crowley, really, his brilliant wiles. Crowley can rules-lawyer Heaven until it’s okay for Aziraphale to do whatever he wants. But breaking arbitrary rules is one thing. Abandoning Earth, the place that made them who they are, is another. Aziraphale doesn’t want that temptation looming over him - because it is a real temptation.

The crux of the issue is that Aziraphale had thought he and Crowley had a common goal - to keep the world turning. That was their “side”. By suggesting they run away together, Crowley defected from that “side”. This is the deeper meaning of “there is no ‘our side.’” And by offering to leave the planet, it probably felt a bit like Crowley was willing to unravel the very thing that had brought him to Aziraphale in the first place. It’s why the suggestion that they should run away hurt Aziraphale even though it was a demonstration of love, and it seems like it should have been a nice thing. It was a rejection of two things that were central to who Aziraphale is: Heaven and Earth, although Crowley didn’t think of it as a rejection (just like suggesting that Crowley could come back to Heaven was a rejection, in a way, although Aziraphale didn’t think of it as such).

This is why “I lost my best friend.” “I’m so sorry to hear it.” is so painfully stilted. Aziraphale is genuinely sorry that Crowley is in pain, but he’s confused. There are about eight layers of meaning to sift through, even if you assume that Aziraphale knew Crowley was talking about him (which I don’t think we do know for certain).

At this point, Aziraphale doesn’t know that Crowley thinks he’s dead. He knows Crowley took Aziraphale’s breakup seriously, but then Crowley, like, double-broke-up with Aziraphale loudly and in public, so what’s up with that now? And what exactly does Crowley mean by ‘lost’ his best friend? THAT sounds a bit like a death. But he’s not dead! And how could Crowley know Aziraphale got discorporated? There’s a bit of joy in the fact that Crowley is still here, but there’s also danger, and did Crowley just admit he gave up on living because Aziraphale wouldn’t leave Earth? That’s heavy. Is Aziraphale’s rejection going to literally kill Crowley? But how was Aziraphale supposed to know that when he was trying to save the world and Crowley said he was going to leave him behind and forget about him?

We don’t, as the kids say, have time to unpack all that.

Anyway, they’re both here now. Saving the world becomes saving each other again. The Armageddon stuff happens; Crowley is proven right about Heaven, Aziraphale is proven right about humans. Crowley faces up to Hell like Aziraphale had to face up to Heaven. Aziraphale decides once and for all that he’s not Crowley’s hereditary enemy. And he asks Crowley to choose the role of a guardian, and Crowley chooses to have faith - not in God, but in a human boy.

Now they share a bench (the same one that had been occupied before by two happy lovers). The artifacts of Armageddon sit between them, but the human delivery man takes those artifacts away. And they have to figure out where to go from here. Quite literally where to go - the bus is coming. By suggesting a return to the bookshop, Aziraphale brings up the possibility of maintaining the status quo. We know he doesn’t really want to be aligned with Heaven anymore - he made clear his frustration with their behavior and embraced the Bad Angel identity - but does he have a choice? Your headcanon may vary, but I would say that by suggesting the return to the bookshop, he was consciously asking whether he still had a choice.

Not whether he had a choice between Heaven and Earth (he’d already made that one), but whether being on Crowley’s Side was still “on the table,” so to speak. After all, they’ve been through a lot just now, including a couple of decisions that were forced by Aziraphale, and before that, they’d had a huge fight. Aziraphale had always meant to come back to Crowley, but after all that, he needs to see if Crowley will still have him the way he’d suggested in 1967.

This version of Crowley doesn’t have an intrinsic sense of hope, per se. That was probably taken from him long ago, with the fall, and that’s why he was willing first to flee and then to lie down and die when the odds started looking bad. But he is gentle, not so deep down, and positively brimming with love and forgiveness. And imagination! With all of these in his heart, he extends the invitation to be on Their Own Side once again.

And Aziraphale accepts. I think he knows Crowley has agreed to stay with him as much as he’s agreed to stay with Crowley. It’s a choice they’ve been working toward for centuries.

#good omens #good omens spoilers #ineffable husbands #aziraphale #anthony j crowley #ineffable partners #mine

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scarlet--wiccan · 5 years ago

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America, Nico, and/or Xavin for hcs?

America Chavez

Major coffee drinker. She pretends not to have a caffeine dependency, but she drinks as much coffee as Kate. The two of them hoarded coffee beans on Noh’s ship, and they had to form a coffee resource alliance against David and Billy.

Gets along better with Tommy than Billy, which isn’t really surprising– they more in common with each other than they do any of the other Young Avengers. They both have a habit of “stretching their legs” and ending up in different countries (or planets, in America’s case.) Sometimes when America takes a day trip to a foreign city, she’ll sit down at a park or cafe, tag her location, and wait for Tommy to show up.

Kate introduced her to Nico and Karolina when she moved to LA. America actually tried really hard to be friends with Karolina, which is unlike her, but it’s not every day you meet another refugee lesbian alien orphan in your age group. Unfortunately, their personalities really don’t mesh and America is a little shocked by how sheltered and privelaged Karolina can come off.

America saw through Kid Loki’s lies better than anyone, save Leah, and she could tell that part of him really was a scared and lonely child. She was secretly really sad about Loki’s transformation, and was the most upset that he disappeared without resolving any of their problems.

America’s powers are actually magic, even though most people don’t think of her as a magician. Fuertona and the Utopian Parallel are both rich in ambient magic and mystical traditions.

Billy has offered to help her learn more about her powers, when he realized they’re magical. He even asked Wanda for advice, since she knows way more about magic than he does. America politely turned them down– she’s determined not to view Billy as the Demiurge or allow his future to interfere with her present.

Billy still doesn’t know that the “demiurge moment” is going to be the creation of America’s homeworld- she’s kept it a secret from everybody except Loki.

Minoru Nico

Nico was apparently raised Christian, but this was probably a ruse on her parents’ part. At least one side of her family practices a form of hereditary magic that likely predates Japan’s introduction to Western culture… which makes it hard for me to believe that they’re actually Christian. Cultivating the image of a church-going family was just a tactic to hide their “dark magic” practices.

Outside of the Runaways, Nico’s closest friend is Billy Kaplan. Teen witches stick together! Billy is probably the only person Nico could talk to about magic for a number of years, and they used to email a lot- this was before the superhero forums and networks were well established, and Nico herself was never much for social media, especially when she was a renegade minor.

They fell out of touch for a while – Billy was in a pretty bad place after Children’s Crusade, and Nico was even worse off after Avengers Arena and A-Force. She has reached out again, now that her life is more stable.

Billy has definitely been Nico’s go-to when she needs to talk about her sexuality and her feelings for Karolina. He’s probably her closest, if not only, gay friend besides Karolina herself.

One of Nico and Karolina’s earliest dates was actually a night out with Billy and Kate! He came out to LA to visit his former teammates, and insisted on getting Nico out of the Hostel to live a little.

Although she is reluctant, and cautious, Nico is trying to figure out how to be a proper witch. The Staff trick is great, but it’s basically a magic cheat code, and now more than ever she has to be wary of relying on it.

Having said that, the Staff itself is a powerful conduit, and wands in general are useful tools. If Nico can master some basic elemental conjuring or energy calling, it would be a great weapon even without relying on the One.

Nico would probably eschew her parents’ style of of sorcery. The Minorus practiced blood magic, the kind that always costs a pound of flesh… yours, or someone else’s.

Sympathetic magic, on the other hand, operates on similar principles, but it requires a lot less sacrifice. Nico finds this style of spellcasting lends itself much better to protecting her home and loved ones… which is exactly what she needs.

Nico was invited to teach at the Strange Academy, but it’s more like a work-study program. Jericho, Wanda, and Ilyana will be able to mentor her while she leads the kids in training excersizes.

Xavin

There’s very little information about gender in Skrull society, but I think it’s safe to assume that Skrull military training discourages individuality, to make their soldiers into better spies and infiltrators. Kids like Xavin probably don’t have a clear gender identity.

Although Xavin appears to be very confident in their ideas about genderfluidity when they first come to Earth, they’ve probably never been in a situation where they get to determine their own gender presentation. Having a rudimentary grasp of human gender and sex might explain why they swing between two very polar ends of the spectrum.

Given the opportunity, Xavin might prefer taking a more neutral or androgynous form and focusing their energy on variable gender expressions, rather than shifting between variable bodies. It seems like it more grounding and maybe a gentler way for Xavin to build a sense of self.

Even though we don’t know much about Skrull gender, I do think it’s important to note that Xavin was pretty clearly assigned male at birth. Even thought I never see it framed this way, I think that Xavin’s exploration of gender on Earth does qualify as a trans feminine experience, and that informs a lot of the tension in their relationship with Karolina. There are a lot of unique complications to unpack when you’re a trans or nonbinary person dating a cisgender gay person, and I definitely see that reflected in the pressure that Karolina puts on Xavin to maintain an unambiguously female form.

I want to believe that Xavin was able to escape the Light Brigade without much trouble. It’s got to be hard keeping a Super Skrull locked down, even if you’re prepared for it, but the Light Brigade had no idea they were jetting off with a shapeshifter who can also turn invisible and generate forcefields. If they really wanted to, Xavin could probably fake their own death.

So, where would they go? They probably wouldn’t return to the Empire, and the only place they have to call home is planet Earth.

If they are on Earth, they clearly aren’t in Los Angeles. Xavin likely would have gotten back to Earth when the Runaways were at their lowest– Chase and Nico missing, Gert dead, Victor dead, Molly and Klara in foster care. Karolina is still alive and well… with Julie.

So Xavin gets out of California without making contact, and instead reaches out to the only other Skrull they know– Teddy Altman.

Teddy, at this point, is still working for AIM and living, most the time, on the island base, so he puts Xavin in contact with his other alien buddy Noh-Varr.

Noh-Varr and Xavin are roommates in Noh-Varr’s spaceship and now they’re both music nerds. #kreeskrullunity

Xavin and Noh are going to be Teddy’s right hand men in Empyre. #alienbros

#long post #America Chavez #nico minoru #xavin #bee text #robintext

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freyjawriter24 · 5 years ago

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Advent Omens: Wish

It might be a couple of months late, but here’s my response to Day 19 of @drawlight‘s advent prompt list from last year. Enjoy!

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The night was bitterly cold, his breath freezing into clouds as soon as it left the haven of his corporation, and Aziraphale was wrapped up in as many layers of warmth as possible. Thick coat, tartan scarf and matching mittens, even a hat to keep his ears warm.

He wasn’t entirely sure why he’d left the bookshop at all, but he’d felt he needed a walk, so he had. It was late – or rather early – enough that even in the middle of London, there was pretty much nobody else around. Perfect for walking and thinking.

There was... a lot to think about, if he was honest with himself. A lot that he hardly dared think about, and yet now couldn’t avoid for much longer. A lot that he didn’t ever want to deal with, and that he was scared he would never have to. A lot of complications, in short. A lot of conflict.

He walked the streets of Soho first, past the corner he had waited on for Crowley to finish planning his obliteration-trap of a mission, past the bakery they’d both had croissants at together when it first opened, past the place where he’d bumped into a red-faced Crowley once, the demon holding flowers and chocolates like he had over a century prior, muttering something about missing the anniversary but still wanting to celebrate, if you’ll have me. The result had been a quiet night in at the bookshop, and then Crowley had left, and he hadn’t seen him again for a decade (off in New York, apparently, making the most of the flapper dresses and prohibition), and then they’d met up in St James’ Park to update one another on human affairs from the last seventy years, and then he hadn’t seen him again until the church.

Aziraphale swallowed, his mind automatically wanting to skip over that particular memory, but he wouldn’t let it. Not right now.

The church. Crowley had walked on consecrated ground for him, to save him the fuss and bother of being discorporated and having to acquire a new body. He’d come to distract and bomb the Nazis �� and they’d known who he was, which was a detail he hadn’t fully appreciated at the time – and he did so, and he’d asked Aziraphale to save them, and then he’d remembered the books...

It was cold and clear out, and the water running down his cheeks caught the breeze and made him shiver, so he wiped it away. He saved the books. That was what Aziraphale couldn’t get over, that was the moment he’d been suddenly dropped into a void and realised the truth, that was the instant his entire world changed and there was no going back now, not ever.

That night recontextualised so much of their relationship – his own reaction to Crowley’s request for holy water, for one – and it was terrifying in a way that he, even with all his books and words and knowledge of the entire history of language, couldn’t fully articulate.

It had taken him twenty-six years to go from that realisation to giving Crowley what he’d asked for all that time ago, and it felt like he was strapped to the side of a rocket, bulleting through the atmosphere faster than should be possible, faster than the grip of gravity.

I love you, Aziraphale had said, though not in so many words, and I’m sorry.

I’ll wait for you, the demon had replied, without actually saying so. As long as it takes, angel. As long as you need.

And that was why he loved him.

Aziraphale hadn’t really been paying much attention to his surroundings for a while, and had somehow ended up in Hyde Park. It was strange, seeing a place so usually full of life – families with children, dogs, teenagers messing around together, elderly couples sharing a quiet moment – so completely, utterly still. It was silent, and the moonlight made the frosted grass shine silver, and it was beautiful, so beautiful.

He wished Crowley could see it, too. He always wished that, whenever he saw a scene as wonderful as this. He liked having someone to share the memory with.

Aziraphale hadn’t seen the demon in months, after he’d given him the holy water – until yesterday, when he’d arrived, chipper as anything, and offered to take him out for lunch. And that was why the angel needed to think so hard now.

He’d been scared. Scared that the unthinkable had happened without him knowing. Scared that he’d somehow irrevocably broken their relationship by his refusal to go further now. Maybe he’d misinterpreted that look, those words, everything he’d imagined was between them. He’d been terrified.

And then Crowley had appeared at the bookshop door, smiling and tempting him to lunch and acting like everything was normal, like nothing had happened, and Aziraphale had been relieved, so deeply, deeply relieved, and he’d been swept up in the afternoon’s events and the joy of Crowley being alive, and then the demon had said his goodbyes and left. And Aziraphale was left shaking.

He hadn’t understood his own reaction, at first. He had sat heavily on the sofa, in Crowley’s spot, still warm from the demon lounging there a matter of minutes beforehand, and he’d tried to convince his hammering heart that Crowley was still alive. He’s okay, it’s okay, what are you panicking about? He’s fine. You’re fine. We’re fine. Why are you so scared?

The problem was, any confirmation that Crowley was currently fine was rendered void as soon as he was out of sight. The problem was, Aziraphale didn’t know where the holy water was, and couldn’t take it back. The problem was, everything was out of his control, and he couldn’t protect him, and anything could happen, and that was terrifying.

Even looking at these thoughts from a distance, after the panic attack was over, was exhausting. Aziraphale chose a patch of grass in the centre of the park and sank slowly to sit amongst the frozen blades, breathing heavily.

You’re okay. It’s fine. Just breathe.

The angel sat on the cold ground in the middle of a silent London, and focused on trying to slow his heartbeat down to a reasonable pace. Never could control the heart right, could you? You ridiculous angel. Just breathe.

When eventually the shaking stopped and the clouds his lungs were making in the air had time to fade between each new breath, he dared look up. Up, up, far up, until he was leaning back on the grass and staring up into the abyss of the sky above.

This was terrifying in its own way. For a moment, he could feel the vastness of the Earth beneath him, and the impossibly, infinitely greater vastness of the universe above and around them both. Huge, colossal, unfathomable.

No. You are not a human – you are an angel. You could fill this universe, if you wanted to – choose to fly to the moon, live among the stars, feel the nebulae through your feathers, if you wanted to. You are as impossible as anything else in creation. It has no right to scare you. You should scare it.

He focused on the stars. Crowley had helped craft these, once upon a time. He’d told him once, under a sky like this. He’d pointed to constellations, and Aziraphale had listened in spellbound silence. The demon had listed their names, told little stories about their existence, lit up with the memory of how it felt to have the stars in the palms of his hands.

“Which one is nearest? Which is most interesting? Which one is your favourite?”

Crowley looked at him, and he felt the colour rise in his cheeks. Hopefully it was dark enough that the demon wouldn’t notice.

“That’s all the same answer,” he said, yellow eyes wide and almost glowing in the night. He pointed at a bright spot high above them. “Alpha Centauri.”

He told the angel about the binary star, how the two orbs of light perfectly balanced one another, how it had felt to spin them around one another and know they were intended to be together forever, how it had felt to be enacting the wonder of God’s Plan.

One of them had cried. Maybe both. Aziraphale couldn’t remember.

He lay there, staring up at the slowly revolving sky, remembering Crowley and trying to forget his worries about him. He certainly wasn’t crying now. No, definitely not.

A tune came to him, and he hummed it. It was apt, he supposed, and yet not really at all. Wishes were a strange thing to consider for an angel. Weren’t they just prayers, wished on stars instead of spoken to God?

He considered it for a while, and then decided on the difference, at least for him. Prayers were for other people – you were supposed to use them for important things like asking for someone to be forgiven, asking for someone to be kept safe, asking for someone to be blessed with a good life. Wishes were more selfish – they were for yourself, the things not worth addressing to God, because they were only about you.

He prayed for Crowley. Softly, unofficially, as it were – he didn’t use the circle that had been chalked under the rug in the bookshop since it opened, he didn’t request any official acknowledgment for his words to God, he wasn’t even sure if they were received. But he thought the words anyway, and had done for a long while, now. Please, let him have a good life. Please, keep him safe. Please, forgive him. He never got an answer.

But wishes... wishes weren’t told to anyone. That was the point – they were secret, private, just for you. There was even a superstition that if you ever told anyone what you’d wished for, it wouldn’t come true. That was the difference.

Aziraphale closed his eyes and wished. He wished for a better life, for a world where Heaven and Hell didn’t care what they did together, where they were free to live on and look after the Earth without interference, where they could do the things he’d said he’d wanted to in the Bentley, without fear. He wished that Crowley was here, now, and understood, and would be gentle with him and not push, and he knew that he didn’t even need to wish for that part, because it would be true regardless. Crowley never pushed him, not really. He was kind and patient and gentle, and that was right at the heart of the whole thing.

He sighed, and opened his eyes, and sat up. Wishes didn’t come true, either, even if you didn’t tell anyone. Prayers did, sometimes. But wishes only came true by coincidence. Side effect of them not being addressed to a Higher Authority, probably.

The angel sat there for a while longer, looking up at the stars, waiting for them to fade and the dawn to come.

And then he heard someone move, off to the side, somewhere a long way behind him.

The person hesitated, then began to walk slowly towards him. Aziraphale could hear the footsteps as the being crunched over the icy grass, and recognised the gait. He closed his eyes for a moment. Then turned to greet the demon as he arrived just beside his left shoulder.

“Hello, my dear.”

“Uh, hi, angel. Err... Not interrupting, am I?”

“No, my dear. Not at all.”

Crowley sank down to the ground beside him, legs drawn up to his chest and arms around them, his silhouette oddly small, even as the angles were sharp and familiar.

“You okay, angel?”

“Mmm. Just thinking.”

Crowley nodded, and followed his gaze upwards.

“We could sit here forever, if you wanted to.”

“No, we couldn’t, my dear. Don’t be ridiculous.”

“I could freeze time. We could make our home here, in this one moment, in this night.”

He didn’t dare get his hopes up. “We couldn’t. They’d find us.”

Crowley looked at him for a long moment. Then his golden eyes flicked away, upwards, and he nodded. “Yeah, you’re right. Sorry.”

“Don’t be,” he said, suddenly brave, suddenly determined. “It was a lovely idea.”

Now, Crowley didn’t look at him. His eyes were covered with those ever-present sunglasses. But he spoke all the same.

“I’m sorry, angel. I should have called, I should have let you know I was okay. I just... didn’t want to intrude. Wanted to give you space, you know? But I’m sorry if I upset you because of that.”

Aziraphale nodded up at the stars, and didn’t look at the demon even as the demon dared a glance at him. “Thank you, my dear.”

“For what? Apologising?”

“For understanding.”

They stayed like that a while longer, a frozen moment in the darkness of the winter night. That tune came back to him again, and Aziraphale hummed it into the night air.

When you wish upon a star, Makes no difference who you are...

When you wish upon a star, Your dreams come true.

#advent omens #31 days of ineffables #wish #good omens #My writing #drawlight #Aziraphale #crowley #when you wish upon a star #the night sky #stars #alpha centauri #i'm really pleased with this one #hope you like it

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realm-sweet-realm · 5 years ago

Text

What have I done?

This is chapter two of the body swap to the death au. I really like this one and hope you do, too.

---

It was day two, and now was Henry’s time to begin implementing his plan. As far as confidence went, he felt good. Physically, he felt as weak as a man thirty years older; like his legs were struggling to handle his weight. He’d felt kind of off the day before, but not like this. Joey’s note hadn’t mentioned anything about physical illness.

Well, hopefully it wasn’t anything that would need attention. Henry burst into the recording studio and announced, “Good morning, everyone! I trust that you’re all doing an efficient job? Well, that’s great, because I have lots of changes to make and they need to be made by the deadline. Essentially, scrap the whole episode. We’re doing the next episode in our queue instead this week!”

An almost goofily large on his face, Henry approached Jack, trying not to limp, and trying to read everyone’s expressions. “Jack, we’re going to need you to write a new song. Something... 4th of July based.” The puffy-faced pout was very Bertrum Piedmont-like, but that could have just been because they had somewhat similar faces.

“Sammy, you’ll be collaborating with Jack,” Henry had expected at least a little annoyance that Sammy, an award-winning and (in Sammy’s mind, at least) chronically under-appreciated composer, was being treated as less important than Jack. Instead, Sammy just nodded indifferently. Not much of a hint.

“Allison, you can stay where you are. The new lines are ready for you to start recording, and I’m sure the song won’t take long.” Indifference. No hints. Darn.

“And Alice? Well, there’s no bit parts for you in the new episode, so I’ve put your shows and meet-and-greets back on the table. Your first show is this afternoon.”

Oh, Thomas did not like the sound of that. “Oh, I’m sorry,” he cooed in an exaggeratedly girly voice. “I’m going to have to go home sick. I could handle recording some lines, but shows are just too much for me right now. I have a fever.” Goddamnit, of all illnesses to fake, he had to go with the body producing too much heat. Still, he walked out, keeping his temper under control until he was just outside their view and could finally slip out of this idiotic persona. Maybe he’d stay home for the rest of the week. He sure as hell wasn’t singing. Even disregarding his desires, Susie seemed like a nice girl and it would probably ruin Susie’s reputation.

“And if anyone thinks there will be any trouble meeting the deadline, arrange to meet in my office,” “Joey” finished. Of course, they all would. And then Henry could test them further.

One person even took him up on the offer that day: “Sammy,” who had asked to meet him in his last available time slot that day.

When “Sammy” entered, he closed the door and smiled as though he’d barricaded them in. Henry’s pulse quickened.

“Alright, I’ll make this quick. I’m not here about the deadline, and I’m not here to figure out your identity, either. In fact, I’ll tell you mine if you can do one little thing for me.” Sammy walked over and sat on Joey desk.

Henry was flustered. “What? What do you want?”

“Take me to “your” home. I know “you” have secrets you’re hiding.”

Henry had some ideas, but didn’t feel sure of a single identity yet. He needed that identity to stay alive. “Sure,” he answered.

“Sammy” smiled. “Wonderful. But no identity until I’m satisfied, understood?” Allison leaned over and stroked “Joey” under the chin. She loved this. She was getting high on this. Getting the upper hand on Joey, flustering him by letting her seductive side out to play, and getting to learn his secrets? Impulsive and stupid this might be, but she must have been dreaming.

“Please don’t touch me,” Henry said, brushing her hand away. “I suppose we can leave now, since you’re the last one I’m meeting with.”

They set off. On the way there, Allison was tempted to make fun of Joey’s limp, as she’d wanted to do for ages. She figured she ought to dial back the meanness, though. As fun as this was, this wasn’t actually Joey. For all she knew, she could have been bullying Jack, or Susie, or Tom. Yes, from then on, she’d be kind to “Joey.”

Joey lived in the penthouse of one of the apartment buildings downtown, and surprisingly enough, Henry hadn’t found anything out of the ordinary there. Then again, he hadn’t exactly been looking, let alone hunting like “Sammy” was. The first thing he did was to go through every room, quickly checking every door until he came upon one that was locked. “Your keys,” she demanded, putting out her hand for them. Henry handed them over. After every key had been tried, “Sammy” handed them back and immediately marched to Joey’s bedroom and began going through the drawers.

“Uh... can you have a little respect for his privacy?” Henry requested.

“Sorry. Not until I have a key.”

Resigned, Henry obeyed his aching legs and sat down on the bed as “Sammy” continued to turn the room inside out.

“Aha! This drawer has a false bottom! Lemme just unscrew this, and...”

How on earth was Henry going to explain to Joey why his furniture was dismantled? He was pretty sure that “Sammy” had either lost it or was up to something, but he was too tired to stop him.

Allison lifted up the plank, which had been held in place by a single screw. It was a lighter colour than the rest of the desk, and underneath it was a bottom that matched the rest of it. Slowly, she turned the board over to reveal exactly what she’d hoped for: a taped-on key.

The key fit the lock perfectly. What was on the other side of that door was enough that she was almost scared to go in alone. “Joey, you need to come see this!” she called before entering.

The room was about the size of a guest bedroom, and in fact did have a bed shoved into a corner, with a lamp and a few other items of furniture piled onto it. In the other corner, the carpet had been pulled back almost halfway across the room to reveal concrete floor with three pentagrams drawn on it and a few smaller symbols in between them. There was a bookshelf as well, halfway filled with big, black, unlabelled books. The other half of it was occupied by jars, containing dried plants, unidentifiable red and black fluids, and other items that Allison couldn’t identify. On a nearby desk was a cage filled with at least a dozen live rats, many of which were currently feeding on a dead rat. The desk also contained several more jars of indeterminate contents, and a diary with the words “ritual log,” written on the front in Joey’s extravagant handwriting.

“Oh, Joey, what have you been doing...?” “Joey’s” voice came from behind her.

“Sure you don’t want to back out now?” Allison asked, eyes trained forwards. This was more than she ever dreamed of finding.

“No.” Henry said. The note hadn’t said anything about pets, or, as the rats seemed to be, specimens. Henry had heard them squeak, but he’d just assumed that the place had a pest problem. Whatever Joey was hiding, he was willing to let them go without care for a week to keep it hidden.

“Alright. Then let’s find out,” Allison said, making a beeline for the ritual log. “Interesting. It seems like he uses the same spell every day or two.”

“Which one?” Henry asked, but Allison was engrossed, flipping back, looking for a specific date. When she got to it, well, its entry didn’t shock her, but it was upsetting. And it needed to be shared.

“I’m taking this home,” Allison stated, and made her way to the door.

“Sammy, I can’t let you do that! I don’t even know who you are!”

“Are you strong enough to stop me?” Allison nearly snapped, attempting to push her way past him. As it turned out, he was. Barely.

“Can’t you just tell me what this is about?”

“No. I don’t know who you are.”

“It seems to me that this is more important than that. I’m Henry Stein. And you are?”

“Susie Campbell,” Allison replied. Allison had planned on saying that since the walk over. This way, she was not only protecting herself, but as a bonus, she was protecting Susie, should Henry try to find her. Plus, after the fool she’d made of herself in his office, well, no one else would have been believable.

“Can I see the book now?” Henry asked.

Allison opened it to the proper page.

April 20th, 1941.

Ritual: creation of ink creature (soul in forefront, failure)

Details: Sammy Lawrence and I had Susie Campbell meet us in the studio after hours. She had consented beforehand and is a skilled actress, so instead of burying her soul under the essence of a cartoon character like in previous rituals like this, I decided to let her essentially be an ink-skin actress. We used chloroform to get her unconscious and began the ritual in book 3, page 219. However, she woke up before we could complete the ritual as Sammy and I wasted too much time arguing. (Note: next time make much stronger chloroform. Susie is very light, and even she wasn’t out very long.) We had already begun the chant and could not stop until the ritual was complete, so we had to slit her throat while she was awake.

There were further complications when a bit of film was twisted in the machine, and Susie came out as a nondescript ink blob. Her level of consciousness in this form is unclear. I think that the trapped demon in the machine must have had its will entirely extinguished at this point- if it were still conscious, it might have asked what I wanted when the reel made it unclear. It’s just a cog in the machine now, just as planned.

Allison turned the page.

April 20th, 1941.

Ritual: creation of an ink creature (soul in forefront, success.)

After I had fixed the film reel, we repeated the ritual described on the last page. She emerged from the ink machine a perfect Alice Angel, and physically unharmed. Her corpse was embalmed and then disposed of in the sewer. This was highly successful: she should be doing shows within a matter of days. Unfortunately, I cannot foresee anyone else consenting to this ritual, so I will have to continue with the older variant of the spell.

“Oh my God,” was all Henry could think to say. “I mean, I knew he’d killed-“ his eyes fell on “Sammy” with absolute pity for a moment, then fell to the ground, “but I didn’t know that he was killing people who hadn’t agreed to it. The way he’s writing, you’re not the first or the last.”

“You see? We have to turn this in.” Allison forced a tearful tone into her voice, as Susie might have if she were reading about her murder. “We have to give it to the police.”

“Absolutely. But... can we do it at the end of the week? I mean, if they arrest me, I’m going to die. I need to find at least one more identity. But I promise, I’ll hand him over, Susie.”

“Thank you,” she croaked before turning to leave.

“Oh, uh, one more thing-“

“Yes?”

Henry gently stroked Susie’s arm. “This is only if it won’t be emotionally hard for you. But since you’re in Sammy’s body, could you bring me that picture of your dead body? You know, as evidence?”

“Of course,” Allison said. She was happy to get out of there. To think that just a couple hours ago, she’d been engrossed the mystery of all of the secrets that she’d just sensed beneath Joey’s skin. But none of it was worth it. Not if it required hurting people. But... what if not all of those spells did require hurting people? What if there were some simpler, less violent, but still fantastic spells that she’d just missed her chance at finding? She tried to block out the thought, and the hunger it aroused in her. It was a struggle, at least she had her special revenge plan for Sammy to look forward to.

Henry stayed in Joey’s dungeon for quite a while after “Sammy” had left. The first thing he did was to look for a specific date in the book: the day that he and the others had been forced to watch the memories. He found it:

March 24th, 1941.

Ritual: summoning of a benevolent demon. (failed disastrously) (success?) (status unknown)

I used the spell found in book five, page 34. According to it, a benevolent demon is easier to control than a malicious one, but can only fulfill tasks that don’t require hurting others. Their purpose is apparently to be a more approachable lure into the occult than malicious demons- a gateway drug of sorts. They are not in any way actually benevolent. The demon appeared as a small, purple blob. Thinking up a task for him was difficult, as I am well on my way to having most of what I could want through my own doing. I thought of having it make Bendy cartoons more popular, but that seemed too big and risky. Perhaps when I have had more experience with benevolent demons. I asked him to reignite my friendship with Henry. (It’s not as though he could have made it worse, so it was relatively riskless.) It nodded, then squeezed through this tiny scratch in the pentagram that was meant to contain it, and disappeared. It escaped before I could bind it to me. I can only hope that it leaves me alone, now. It was supposed to just be a trial.

Update: I think it did what I asked. Maybe I did bind it to me? I hope so- that would mean it’s back in Hell.

Henry put down the book, feeling exhausted. He should have felt shocked. He should have felt... well, anything. But it was as though that part of him was used up.

He got up and performed that one spell that Joey was apparently performing every other day. It was a strength spell, and it involved spilling a few drops of his own blood on a rune drawn onto the floor. Henry could feel strength return to his legs, and a fair amount of energy flow into him. So, Joey was sick, and self-medicating with satanic magic. Why not?

Apparently, it hadn’t been a mistake that the rats had been eating a dead rat: that was a planned part of their diet, and many were being kept preserved in a jar. Henry dropped another one in along with some rat food.

Henry just wanted to go to bed after that. His body felt so... wrong. Foreign. He didn’t even want to think about Joey, and he was seeing him every time he looked down at his own, scarred hands.

Maybe he’d feel better once the lights were out.

Henry didn’t sleep at all that night. His mind was too full, mostly of the thought that the whole reason he was back in New York was because of a trick pulled by a demon. Henry had had to fight Linda to get her to agree to moving back to here. The kids were already settled in with their current school, the whole family had friends in Florida, Henry had a good job, and so on. She’d accused him of a mental breakdown for wanting to leave that all behind to work with Joey Drew. But that was after he’d seen those memories that he and Joey had shared, and how he’d almost needed him back then. That was after he and Joey had had their talk, and had offered to make him the co-owner of Joey Drew Studios. “We could even change its name!” he’d said. Most importantly, he’d promised that this time would be different.

Had it been different? Well, Henry wasn’t being overworked like he had been in the 30s, and he wasn’t hearing as many complaints about Joey anymore (Though that was partially because he was the head of a company with hundreds of employees, not the two dozen they’d had in the beginning, he figured). He hadn’t been given any actual management tasks yet, but Henry had only been there for a couple weeks and wasn’t in any rush with that anyhow. He might’ve pressed the issue if it had gone on much longer. Their relationship was also a lot more equal now that Henry was older and more self-assured. And yet, his first thought when doing a Joey impression had been to make an idiotic, selfish, unreasonable decision with a big smile on his face.

Had things really changed? Well, now he supposed it didn’t matter. At the end of the week, he’d take the evidence to the police, and try to keep his own thoughts away from the question.

He hoped that whoever was in his body was doing well by Linda. After all he’d put her through by moving here, their relationship definitely didn’t need more weirdness. She probably really did think he was breaking down right now, unless whoever was playing the role was doing an incredible job of it. Five days. Five days, and hopefully he’d be able to patch things up with her. Hopefully he’d at least get the chance.

#Bendy and the Ink Machine #body swap to the death au #my fanfiction #Henry Stein #joey drew #allison pendle

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the-blueish-trashcan · 5 years ago

Text

He’s in Charge; Chapter Five

Pairing: Henry/Bertrum

Warnings: Minor violence, homophobia, transphobia

A/N: Finally introducing miss Susie Campbell herself! Unfortunately, Henry lets it slip to her what the nature of his relationship is with his mystery poet. She doesn’t exactly take it well, and neither does Joey when he finds out. It leads to another altercation between the two, this one a little more physical than the last. Also, a quick side note; It’s mentioned in this chapter that Henry binds his chest. This being said, the options today are much different than they were back then. Please, only use binding options from a reputable manufacturer.

Chapter word count: 2,160

{First part} {Previous part} {Next part}

Chapter Five; The Angel

Henry arrived on time on Monday morning. He was more well-rested than he had been for the past week. Some lights on the first floor were already on, save for by his desk. Those he turned on himself and slid into his chair, setting his mug down to one side. Only then did he notice a paper in the middle, folded, with his name on it. He quickly recognized the script as Bertrum's, since it couldn't possibly anyone else. As if afraid to touch it, he hesitantly unfolded the paper. Another poem, much sadder-sounding than the last one he’d been given.

“Oh gosh…” Henry bit his lip and sat back, reading the words over a second time. There was no doubt in his mind anymore that he'd hurt Bertrum by running out. For a moment, his mind was blank. He didn't know if he should go see him and make amends or not. Partly, he worried that may just make things worse and if he understood the words, Bertrum did want to stay friends. Shaking his head, he set it to the side as well, deciding that for the time being, he could distract himself with drawing.

*****

For practice, and partially for fun, Henry had decided to draw expressions with his toons, starting with Bendy, of course. He had a full range of emotions scattered across several pages. He started to work on a few with Boris, as well, but his attention quickly drifted to one of his newest creations, Alice Angel. He was able to draw a smile and a frown before he sat back and examined the drawing. Seeing the expressions in his mind was one thing, but transferring them to the paper was another story without a reference. He thought for a moment, then got up from his chair and made his way through the first floor of the studio, then down the stairs to the music department.

The main floor was alive with musicians and voice actors alike, all rushing to be somewhere. Coming out of the orchestra hall was just the person he was looking for, her wavy blond hair lightly pinned back with a couple clips. She wore a pale blue blouse with lace trim, tucked into a dark blue knee-length skirt. As Henry got closer and caught her attention, Susie waved.

“Morning, Mister Stein.” She greeted, smiling.

“Hello, Miss Campbell. Do you have a few minutes? I'm doing some sketches upstairs, I could use a model.”

At the request, she perked up. “Sure, I've got some time between sessions. Whatcha working on?”

Henry started to go back upstairs, Susie just behind him. “I'm working on some sketches of Alice, actually! I figured you'd be the right person to come to for it.”

“Of course!” She giggled. “I'm Alice Angel~!” She sang, causing Henry to laugh as well. It didn't take long to reach Henry's desk, but as Susie plopped herself down in the extra chair, she spoke up again. “So I heard down the grapevine that you've been having girl trouble.”

Henry froze partway sitting down, a stack of blank paper in his hands. He quickly recovered, though, shifting his chair to face the actress with the paper on his lap. “I- well, sort of, it's… it's complicated. Could you do this for me?” He faked a shocked expression and so did Susie for a few moments.

“I just remember hearing about a poem and you saying you couldn't figure out who wrote it.” When she wasn't talking, she held the expression.

“Yeah, well… it doesn't really matter now, miss.”

“Why not? You seem so lonely, having a girl around might be good for you!”

Henry glanced up. “Wow, gee, thanks.”

“Oh- no, I'm sorry, I didn't mean it like that… You always work alone, you live alone… you can't be totally happy like that, are you?” She shrugged. “Having someone there might just help you, that's all.”

“I mean…” Henry considered it. “I suppose you have a point…” Henry looked up and made an exaggerated pouting face, which Susie copied. “I just don't think it's going to work out with… the one that wrote the poems.”

“More than one?”

The animator sighed. “Yeah… I messed things up pretty majorly the other night-”

“Oh my God, did you go on a date?!” She leaned forward, placing a hand lightly on his knee. “What'd you do?”

“Well… I think… Well, first off, I… haven't really been on a lot if dates. I didn't really know what I was doing, it took me a while to figure out it even really was a date-”

Susie rolled her eyes. “You're hopeless.”

“Yeah… But I think… I think we were about to kiss, so I panicked and left. I found another poem on my desk this morning, I think it's saying that we should still be friends.”

Susie leaned back in her chair, thinking for a moment. “Is that what you want?”

“I… really don't know.”

“Maybe try getting her flowers, then. Apologize, tell her you're a goof and were just intimidated by how pretty she is! That might help.”

“I don't think flowers are the way to go on this one…” He looked up and made another face, Susie following his lead.

“Okay, look. Do you care about this girl?” She did her best to hold the look.

“...I do.” He nodded.

“And you want to spend time with her?”

He considered the dates he and Bertrum had been on, how nice they were. Bertrum had a way of making him smile he didn't really understand. “Yes.”

“Are you in love with her?”

Henry bit his lip. “How would I tell?”

“How does she make you feel?”

Henry tilted his head. “He makes me feel… good. Like I deserve more than I have. He makes me feel like my ideas matter, that I matter. He makes me feel like… I'm more than just what I can make, he knows there's more to my life than this place, and he cares about that part of me too. He's so tall and so good-looking, but he's so kind to me, I don't really get it, but being around him is so nice…” When he looked up, both of Susie's thin eyebrows were raised, the expressions she'd been making before given way to a genuine one of surprise.

“Don’t you mean she?” Was all she said.

Henry flushed, his heart suddenly pounding in his chest. He did his best to keep his breathing steady, as little as it did. “I- Well, you know, I- uhm…” He scrambled for words, but couldn't find any.

“Wow. Alright then.” Susie shifted in her seat, then stood up. “You know, they're probably gonna be needing me downstairs soon. Have fun with your sketching.” She gave a small wave and moved off, the short heels of her shoes clicking quickly on the floor as she went.

Forcing a deep breath in, Henry turned back to his desk. He had no idea how Susie was going to handle the information he'd accidentally given her, let alone who she would tell about it. It didn't help the situation with Joey, either… He tangled his hands in his hair, hunching over to rest his elbows on the desk. He could not have made more of a mess.

*****

Despite her leaving under strange or even uncomfortable circumstances, Henry's conversation with Susie stuck in his mind until late that evening. He'd already clocked out for the night, but paused on the stairs out of the breakroom. He enjoyed his time with Bertrum, more than he would if they were just friends and based on the way Bertrum had written, it was easy to tell he thought may have lost his chance with Henry. The animator did not want this to be the case. He nodded to himself, then started on his way down to the prototype park, hoping Bertrum hadn't gone home for the night just yet.

*****

Henry was nearly to the planning room when he spotted someone else coming up the hall towards him. As he got closer, he saw the familiar outfit of a beige button-up, dark red tie and brown suspenders; It was Joey, and though he looked upset at first, his face changed when his eyes fell on Henry, that fake, dangerous smile surfacing. A chill went all the way up Henry's spine.

“Well look who's still here! What a surprise.” Joey's voice dripped with sarcasm.

“Hi, Joey…” Henry's voice came out more hesitant than he meant it to.

“Going to visit ol’ Bertie, are we?” He asked, chuckling. Henry could hear the alarm bells sounding in his mind, but didn't get the chance to do anything about it. Joey reached out and grabbed him by the collar with both hands, pulling their faces closer together. Henry's hands clamped down on Joey's wrists. From that distance, it was easy to see the discoloration still left under his eyes, as well as the ridge in his nose where it was starting to heal. “I know what's going on here. I know what you two have been doing behind my back and I'll tell you this, it's going to stop. He's a public figure. If word gets around that he's been going around with a male lover, who happens to be my animator, we're through. He's through. The company's toast. So you've got a choice to make here, Henry. You keep seeing him, I let out your little secret. Suddenly it's a woman he's been seeing, but oh no! Joey Drew Studios’s only animator was a woman the whole time! That won't do for anyone, will it? So your other option is to just fuck off and let everything go back to normal, hm? Am I clear?”

Choking on the lump in his throat, Henry nodded frantically. He could feel Joey's skin break under his nails where he was digging them in, but neither man reacted.

“Are you sure?” He snarled.

“Yes.” Henry squeaked, and he let go. Without saying another word, Joey walked away. Not towards the stairs back up, but to some other depth of the studio. Henry didn't much care where he'd gone, though. He looked at his hands. Blood stuck under the short nails of his index and middle fingers, and they were both shaking hard. He was suddenly very aware of himself, the way he shook all over and how small he really was in such a large hallway. Joey had made it clear that only one option would be good for him, even if it wasn't exactly what he wanted. He scuffed back upstairs before he could think on it more, only stopping briefly in a bathroom to get the blood off of himself. When he was finished, he rushed to his car, barely holding his emotions in check by then.

*****

Henry did not make it to the studio the next day, at least not on time. He just couldn't. Between Susie- who had probably told Joey about his slip-up- and Joey himself, plus the possibility of having to see Bertrum again, he couldn't handle it. Just one day, he told himself, to try and get himself back together, whatever that meant.

He'd hardly slept the night before, far more concerned about everything Joey had said, and where he could possibly be getting all the things he had about Henry recently. He paced around his room as the sun started to show through the far window, dressed in a tank top and a pair of gray sweatpants. A fairly large length of ACE bandage lay not far from the door, as well as his work shirt and pants. His tie was just next to the foot of his bed. The mess was not one of his priorities, though.

He ran a hand through his hair for the hundredth time, mumbling to himself. One thing Joey had been right about was he had to be careful who he trusted, a mistake he wouldn't be able to make again. He sighed deeply. The only other person in the studio he remotely trusted was Wally, but he couldn’t he could even confide in the janitor anymore.

He found his mind wandering to something Bertrum had said about taking Joey to court. At the time, he’d dismissed the idea quickly, too afraid of the repercussions. Not to mention, even if Bertrum did pay for him, he’d have to pay him back somehow. He removed his hand from his hair and bit down on the nail of his index finger. He didn’t have many other options, really; He was tired of Joey pushing him around and ignoring him, really, and knew the man was just using fear to keep him where he wanted, but it was working. He sighed again, Starting to gather himself together to get dressed.

He needed to talk to Bertrum as soon as possible, despite what Joey had threatened to do.

#long post #fanfic #fanfiction #writing #writers on tumblr #batim #batim fanfic #batim au #bendy and the ink machine #bendy and the ink machine au #bendy and the ink machine fanfic #Henry Stein #susie campbell #joey drew #oh look I'm updating anyway #got nothin better to do so

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nerdylittleshit · 6 years ago

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Thoughts about Spn 14x17

SPOILERS AHEAD! BEWARE!

Sooooooooooooooooo. Admittedly I wasn’t looking forward that much to this episode, because both Donatello and Nick (and his Lucifer obsession) are characters/storylines I’m not that interested in. However it seems like Jack will be the character all storylines will evolve around now, and that has me sucked in. I’m concerned about Mary and her fate and I hope that Supernatural has learned from their past and doesn’t sacrifice a beloved character in order to create man-pain.

But, as always, let’s have a closer look.

Lady in Red

(Random observation: loved Danneel’s look). In this week’s subplot we have Cas enlisting Anael to help him find God, in order to restore Jack’s soul. Anael is yet another angel who has become disillusioned with God and his creation. She can’t understand how God has created earth and humanity, his so called perfect people, but allows hatred and pain, because he doesn’t meddle. We do know that God at times does meddle (Cas specifically mentions his resurrections) but that of course in creating humans he also gave them free will. And that’s kind of the point (and in many ways what this show is about: we are our choices). Mary reminds Sam that what Nick did is not his fault, because they were Nick’s choices. There will always be evil in the world because there will always be people who make that choice. But there will also be goodness; Sam’s choice to give Nick a second chance was an act of kindness. As Mary said it shows the kind of man he is: a good man.

Anael, like many other angels, can’t grasp the concept of free will. She uses her powers to meddle, to make a difference. On the surface it looks like she does it for money, but as she told Cas, if you think that is the only reason you haven’t paid attention.

I feel a lot of Cas and Anael’s interactions were there to contrast the two characters and to show once again how different Cas is from all the other angels, how human he has become (it is a pattern and knowing the show will come to an end it feels like he has to make a choice eventually). In the waffle house we saw him ordering food, whereas Anael denied even a cup of coffee. Anael says that they are all alone, but Cas disagrees. Anael has lost her faith in heaven, in her angelic family, in God. Cas says it doesn’t matter if God cares about them or not because they still have each other; Cas has found a new family. And Anael of course was right in her assumption that Cas is currently hiding from Sam and Dean, that he is afraid to tell them the truth. His priorities are with his family and no longer with his mission.

The other repeated theme is of course God himself and how often he had been mentioned this season, especially calling out his absence and that he doesn’t seem to care. We heard that before from Michael, who because of God’s absence took it upon himself to become the new God. God of course is also always seen as a parallel to John (the way Michael and Lucifer work as a parallel for Dean and Sam). God isn’t the only absent father. However John did return this season and it gave his sons a chance for closure, to make their peace with how he raised them, and to reflect on their own lives and realize that they no longer need their father, that they no longer have to carry around the ghost of John. Cas saying that it doesn’t matter if God is around is similar to that. It is possible he will make another appearance after he has been mentioned that much, and because he might be the only one powerful enough to either save or stop Jack. Emotionally it might lead to another sort of closure, both for the Winchesters and the angels.

We need to talk about Jack

First of all, the main discourse after this episode, and my opinion about it: PINEAPPLE DOES NOT BELONG ON PIZZA. DEAN IS RIGHT, IT IS AN ABOMINATION.

That being said I loved the five seconds of domestic Winchesters we got this week (why do you have to be so cruel show). Dean playing Mouse Trap is of course a foretelling of Nick and his complicated trap to get what he wants: Lucifer. I honestly don’t care about Donatello as a character (sorry dude), but it pained me to realize that Nick was right about something: the Winchesters don’t have many friends left he can use as bait. Of course there was a very specific reason why Nick needed Donatello: as a prophet he could use him to communicate to Lucifer. I wonder though if you can simply inject angel grace to a human? We know that not every human is capable to contain an angel, but it was just a little grace. It might have also something to do with Donatello’s special status as prophet or the fact that he is soulless that his body seemed unaffected by the grace.

The whole Nick storyline was… well I’m glad it is over. Nick has gone to a point where he identified himself so much with Lucifer that he feels incomplete without him, that he even referred to Jack as his own son. Of course he needed Jack for a very specific reason, or rather his blood. This might be the reason why Lucifer could come back: because a part of him is still tied to this world. Jack is his blood. Which is quite similar to how ghosts are created in the world of Supernatural: they can only stay because something of them still ties them to our world (their body, a certain possession etc). It also seemed to me that Nick was especially interested in Sam and that he was jealous of Sam’s status as the perfect vessel for Lucifer. I’m not sure if Nick’s speech to Dean, how being a vessel for an archangel changes you, was just there to provoke Dean or if we will see some change in Dean after all. So far he seems to be his old self again.

So let’s talk about Jack. We start the episode with Mary expressing her concern and Jack being annoyed by it, before he puts on a face to reassure Mary that he is alright. Mary of course knows Jack well enough to see right through it (in the time they spent together in the Apocalypse-World he became another son to her, perhaps more than Sam and Dean, because he still needs a mother to guide him). We see how utterly terrified Jack is by the thought that he might no longer has a soul. He wants to be ok, he wants to be all right, he doesn’t want to worry his family. Part of Jack’s behaviour read to me as a metaphor for depression. The absence of his soul, the emptiness he feels because of it, how he wants to be right again, how he doesn’t want to hurt his family but at the same is annoyed by their concern for him.

Jack repeatedly asks Mary for moral guidance. He asks for her permission to use his powers in order to find Nick. He needs her to tell him that it was okay that he killed Nick, and when she doesn’t he becomes upset, and is afraid she tells Sam and Dean about it and what their reaction might be. @mittensmorgul already pointed out that Jack misinterprets “Something is wrong” into “You are wrong”. Jack wants to be right, he wants to make the right choices, but he can no longer tell what is right and what is wrong (which brings us back to ‘we are our choices’). If they set up Jack as a villain (and I’m not 100% sold on that) it would make an interesting difference because for once we would have a bad guy who desperately doesn’t want to be a bad guy. And it might come back to Sam (and Dean), to good man, who give second chances, who try to save him instead of killing him.

At last I want to talk about Mary and potential death. I’m not saying she is but it is a possibility. We saw her giving two speeches to her sons, that should ring any alarm bell because they looked like goodbyes. She told Dean that is grateful for the time she spent together with her sons (after apologizing for being closed off and hard, which reminded me why I love her so much as a character: she is not the traditional mother, but rather a complicated complex female character). She tells Sam that he is a good man and proud of him. It is possible that they will kill of Mary (again), that they will use her death as the point of no return for Jack and to show us how much of a danger he is, that he is perhaps past saving.

However I really hope that won’t be the direction where they go. I love Mary as a character, I love that they brought back the original fridged character and that is why her death would be so problematic for me. Killing off a beloved character to get the plot in a certain direction is something Supernatural has done so many times and it never works and I sincerely hope they have learned from their mistakes. And surprisingly it is Nick who gives me hope here. Because after all nobody stays dead anymore.

Until next week <3

#supernatural #spn 14x17 #game night #spn meta #my meta #spoilers

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rayonfrozenwings · 6 years ago

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The Interconnection of ACOTAR and TOG and what this means for Kingdom of Ash

Welcome to Renee’s theory on how its all connected!

Masterlist to my official theories here. (aka the ones I spent time writing up)

Preface: Now it’s important to note that over time, as new ideas emerge - older theories may become less relevant. Before I start writing - I go in with the perspective that each new theory is on its own. I don’t require the information from other posts/ideas unless explicitly stated in the new theory.

So for this theory, I may refer to other theories I have already written, I may explain them here in a new context, and change my thoughts on them. I even have different paths available for the direction SJM can go. I’m pretty open to everything being a possibility until it is dis-proven in Canon. I paraphrased a fair bit. But if you know TOG well i’m sure you will remember the parts I’m talking about, and if possible I have put in brackets what book said what. CONTAINS REFERENCES TO BOTH TOG AND ACOTAR BOOKS. Also warning - I don't want to accidentally spoil anyone if I actually end up being right about anything, so maybe don’t read this until after KoA. haha. Well you can. But if I manage to get something right, I feel like I have warned you. :P Please Understand that I am trying to take things back to their simplest form, and there are links to wiki articles if you want to do your own reading for better understanding. Hellenistic philosophy for example makes my brain hurt, but if you want more I have linked it. I refer a bit to ancient Greek myth etc too. Tagging: @miladyaelin @bookofmirth @paperbacktrash @therapeuticrambling @lady-katkat @illyrianbeauty @photofeesh @slytherclaw713 @nephelle-warrior-scribe (I just tagged people who might be interested, I will not be offended if you don’t want to read it. :D)

So to start I’m going to propose that the Worlds of Acotar and Prythian are connected.

That they are linked. How? They are not the “same world” but neither are they different. A year ago I wrote a post called “Erilea” (here). Through discourse and discussion with other people in the fandom on this post, we came up with some cool ideas on why Prythian and Erilea look similar in terms of geography.

Ice age - Change in the Sea Levels. Making Erilea and Prythian the same world at different times. Either Prythian came first or Erilea. Either was an option.

Parallel worlds - multi-world theory, They are the same place with small differences in their history that changed the make up of those worlds (a sliders reference). These worlds can be connected to each other through a Wyrdgate or wormhole.

But now I have a third theory. A theory about Why Prythian looks a lot like Erilea. And it’s a little Fantastical and I love it. I will be happy if this is not the case too - but it’s always nice to try and solve a puzzle. I believe if the worlds are linked we will find out in Kingdom of Ash. So BEWARE : IF MY THEORY IS RIGHT THEN THERE MAY BE KOA SPOILERS. Of course - i’m just a fan of these books who loves theory - so it’s possible I just have an overactive imagination as well. :D

But First I need to take a step back.

I need to look at how the Universe for these books is made. (I have written 4000 words in a separate document and its too complicated with lots of open ends and possibilities so I’m trying to simplify here and provide the details that make the most sense. - warning I failed to make it shorter, but at least its in bullet points).

The origins of the Throne of Glass Universe.

There are gods. (all books reference at least one)

Aelin and co. are in the “third movement” of an unfinished game between these gods. (QOS) The gods guide people to make certain decisions and take certain actions. (EOS)

The Gods do not have physical form but are trapped - At this point in the story anyway. (EOS)

There are mortals in the story - fae, humans, shapeshifters, people who have a vested interest in the material world in which they live. (all books)

There is the idea that the worshiped gods change over time - or who is worshiped changes over time. There are 36 gods in the Southern Continent (TOD) and the Khaganate says that they never eradicate old gods but rather assimilate them into their own religion.

Could this mean that we have three sets of 12? 12 Gods. Perhaps the same 12 gods at each new re-incarnation (since we have three movements in the unfinished game) or a new scion or mortal to speak through for each of these gods.

But we know that there are 9 on the Pantheon at Mistward (HOF) - So what happened to the other three gods?

In the “lock” / “witchmirror” Elena is looked over at the obsidian passes by 12 Gods and Goddesses! I think Maeve has been re-writing some history in Wendyln, or not all 12 are worshiped. Time forgets those that aren't seen as important. Which is true of our own histories. The Greek Olympians changed over time and Dionysus was seen more in later pantheon’s for example.

Creation of the universe

Neoplatonism is the idea that the universe is made from an initial thought - The One. There is void and nothing and then necessity/ fate/ the One comes into being. From this point the universe expands out. Creating more and more. Beings that make up essence and soul - I like to think of them as primordial gods/goddesses, life and death gods. Then there is a creator from this - someone who is used as a tool by necessity to craft creation, a physical artisan. Do not confuse the creator with God. The creator is merely an artisan, with the skills and the tools needed to do the work of the necessity. And then more specific Gods form from this.

It is called the Celestial Hierarchy. - see below and link to more info here.

((Celestial hierarchy[edit]

Later neoplatonic philosophers, especially Iamblichus, added hundreds of intermediate beings such as gods, angels, demons, and other beings as mediators between the One and humanity. The neoplatonist gods are omni-perfect beings and do not display the usual amoral behaviour associated with their representations in the myths.

The One: God, The Good. Transcendent and ineffable.

The Hypercosmic Gods: those that make Essence, Life, and Soul

The Demiurge: the Creator

The Cosmic Gods: those who make Being, Nature, and Matter—including the gods known to us from classical religion. ))

Source: wiki: neoplatonism

So What does this mean? I think that this means that Erilea was created by a artisan or creator, and since then there has been a war going on between the “cosmic gods” - So the god of Storms, The goddess of Light, the god of Wild things. These gods had a kind of civil war - either with themselves, or with higher beings. I am ever hopeful that when SJM releases the book “The world of throne of glass” that it shall have all the mythology and story behind how this works because it is complicated to decipher. I’ve been pulling my hair out trying to nail down these influences in her books (jewish bible/ christian bible/greek myth/welsh myth/slavic myth - seriously, i’m going crazy here).

Thanks to the Bone Carver (acowar) we know that there are multiple worlds and that his world turned to dust a long time ago and he cannot return (this might be Erilea, it might not). The Celestial Hierarchy idea above can have more than one creator, the cycle can continue over and over again as long as necessity is guiding something to happen. I believe the reason Prythian is so diverse in its populations is because it’s a combination of things to do with its creation. But that's for me to explain a little further along (I was going to come back to this point - but it’s already super long, and I don't want to head down another path - basically, more than one world, feeding into tartarus = lots of different beings from multiple worlds, and all the worlds could now be dust. Like Angels - aka Amren)

(Also if you love this idea of being guided by necessity and doing the ultimate good then check out David Eddings Belgariad and Mallorean series, because its got those elements fine tuned).

Multiple planes of existence

Another Idea that has been floating around is the idea of multiple planes of existence. Kind of like a Olympus / Earth / The Underworld / Tartarus type of scenario if I use greek myth as an example. There are these realms or planes of existence that exist independently of each other but you are able to access them via certain avenues - like dying, becoming a god, secret passageways, ascending Olympus. This one is pretty cool. Because it means that creatures who find their way into Erilea (think Wyverns through the ferrian gap, Valg creatures in Morath and that monster/serpent under the lake/Mountain in Heir of fire.) They either accidentally or on purpose find their way into Erilea through the darkest places in the world. Dark Tunnels. Gaps in the fabric of Creation. Similar to how it was thought humans could travel to the underworld if they knew how - and still be living. Like Orpheus (ovid’s metamorphosis) traveling to the underworld through a dark tunnel to get back his wife Eurydice. Or Hercules for his various tasks.

The idea of the underworld being a physical place isn’t uncommon. We also get certain days in TOG where the absence of light means that the spirit world is closer to Erilea. Samhain is one such day, and the day of a solar eclipse also has Mort talking in a voice that is not his own or Elena’s. So who’s is it? with the veil between worlds so thin? There are many possibilities - maybe it is even necessity itself. So it is possible that Prythian is a “Underworld”. In fact with the quote “everything tastes better above the wall”- ACOMAF. I would even say that the seven courts of Prythian could be the Elysian fields. I feel like this idea isn’t new, or at least it has been rattling around in my head for a long time so I feel like I’ve heard it before. The Prison in Acotar has always appeared as Tartarus to me. A place deep deep under the earth, even deeper than the underworld, but the entry is in the underworld. This place is a prison to the worst kind of creatures. The creatures that go against the natural order. Tartarus (wiki link for those wanting more) is believed to be the abyss, the darkest place. I believe Tartarus and “The Prison” are the same. Interestingly enough Tartarus is said to be a god in its own right often dwelling in Tartarus. The third primordial Deity, preceding Eros (love/desire) That is why Feyre and the others are to be scared of those that dwell there. It is even said that “the watchers” - fallen Angels were imprisoned in Tartarus, and with Amren’s “Angel-ness” coming to light in ACOWAR and the fact we know that she escaped the Prison, makes me even more keen to think that the prison is in actuality Tartarus, and therefore Prythian - the underworld. OK So all that is the background I have tried to decipher - for a very very very long time. I have a lot of other theories and ways things might interconnect but I’m just going to leave that for now because - I don't want to get confused. So My next step is Kingdom of Ash and what I think might happen.

What does this mean for KoA?

I suspect that we have an amalgamation of ideas here and that The void and land of cold, ice and Darkness where the Valg come from is actually Prythian (simply known as the Abyss containing Tartarus before Kingdom of Ash’s events.) and Prythian gets a makeover thanks to Aelin. Prythian exists but not as we know it, before the events of Kingdom of Ash. So not only are Prythian and Erilea not the same world but they also do not occur at the same time.

To be honest - we can get a split here as well.

Aelin makes prythian from scratch

Aelin re-forges Prythian, using what is already there and re-shapes it.

More Kingdom of Ash Spoilers ahead - if I’m right.

Forging of the Lock.

So how is Kingdom of Ash going to tell me about the creation of Prythian? Well there is a mural in ACOTAR that Feyre finds and describes for us - Chapter 13 of ACOTAR. Here are some quotes from that:

“It told a story with the way the colours and shapes and light flowed, the way the tone shifted across the mural. The story of… Prythian.”

“It began with a Cauldron.”

“A mighty black Cauldron held by glowing, slender female hands in a starry, endless night.

Those hands tipped it over, golden sparkling liquid poured out over the lip. No - not sparkling, but … effervescent with small symbols, perhaps of some ancient faerie language. Whatever was written there whatever it was, the contents of the cauldron were dumped into the void below, pooling on the earth to form our world …” “The map spanned the entirety of our world - not just the land on which we stood, but also the seas and larger continents beyond. Each territory was marked and coloured, some with intricate, ornate depictions of the beings who had once ruled over lands that now belonged to the humans. All of it, i remembered with a shudder, all of the world had once been theirs - at least as far as they believed, crafted for them by the bearer of the cauldron. There were no mention of humans - no sign of us here. I supposed we’d been as low as pigs to them.”

“In the centre of the land, as if it were the core around which everything else had spread, or perhaps the place where the cauldrons liquid had first touched. Was a small, snowy mountain range. From it arose a mammoth, solitary peak. Bald of snow, bald of life - as if the elements refused to touch it. There was no more clues about what it might be; nothing to indicate its importance, and I supposed that the viewers were already supposed to know. This was not a mural for human eyes” - acotar.

A lot of people (myself included) have thought that this mural was the key to linking the worlds. And I think this is the Key to what is going to happen in Kingdom of Ash. Aelin is the creator - the artisan - the wielder of the cauldron. There are two ways/reasons I can see this happening.

Aelin Erupts and has managed to destroy the “darkness” in Erilea, through the creation of the Lock But Light creates darkness simply by being present. Casting a shadow, and because of this if your remove one then you must also remove the other - like calls to like, made and unmade, a never ending cycle. Rules of balance in the universe etc. She has “unmade” something if she destroys all the Darkness in the world. If this happens, and light is removed then Erilea will cease to exist (think about acowar - near the end with some Cauldron destroying the world type stuff ;) Feyre(light) and Rhys(darkness) work together to save creation). And Aelin either by accident or not - will need to find a solution to this destruction, a solution to “unmaking” something, to the end of the world as they know it. So she creates prythian to evacuate to, to save the people she can. The void exists on the other side of the Wyrd gate and she uses this as a place to “create” prythian.

OR The battle is over and Aelin needs to send back all the monstrosities into the void through the Wyrd Gate. She doesn't try to destroy them - only contain them. But as their land has nothing but Darkness, Ice and wind, Aelin needs to create a place for the creatures to live. Not all who have Valg in them are evil - the witches being the perfect example. A cross-breed of darkness and light (Fae and Valg). To banish ALL Valg - surely the witches would need to be vanished too? That seems like a pretty awful alliance, if you help out the saviour and then they banish you!

Note that this does not mean ERILEA and PRYTHIAN are the same - simply that you might be able to reach one through a Wyrd gate if you wanted to. So with those two worrying thoughts. How does she do it?

We know you cannot UNMAKE something that is MADE. And like calls to like, as is said in ACOTAR. Essentially - you cannot have good without evil or light without Darkness. So Aelin needs to find a way to contain and not destroy, because she doesn't want to destroy the entirety of creation.

Now, Aelin is the first to raise her hand for a wild plan that saves the day - and the gods have said that they will take the dark king with them (EOS) when they are returned home from the eternity stuck in an astral plane. But Aelin has to give up her mortality to do that - she has to give up Rowan - Her life - Her future. Aelin ain't going to do that. She hates being told what to do, if she can find a way out - she will.

Aelin needs to make sure the natural order is restored. So using the Acotar mural as reference - She forges a Cauldron using her powers from Mala Firebringer acting as the forge, using iron from the ironteeth witches as they evolve and change.

The last Crochan queen (Manon) melts the iron inside her as she yields, giving all the iron to the cauldron. Manon is the only being who has inside her - The LIGHT and the DARK. She is an IRONTEETH witch and a CROCHAN witch. She is both good and Evil. She is the Bridge between Aelin (the light) and Dorian (the darkness).

Iron also contains magic in Erilea, it prevents it from working. The iron doors and iron coffin, stifle magic, so the iron of the cauldron would act to ground the magic, to bind it to the mortal world. The raw magic from the realm of darkness (Dorian) combines with that of the realm of light (Aelin). Together the three of them create a cauldron to hold the wyrd keys and fill it full of glittering liquid that is the liquid of creation. And a female with Slender pale arms becomes the Creator of Prythian (I’m assuming it's Aelin because she is the “saviour”, making the sacrifice and is also “nameless in my price” and no-one remembers the creator’s name in Prythian).

Then with the cauldron, Aelin creates Prythian.

She either goes through the gate and pours the liquid (or pours the liquid through the gate) out of the cauldron and into the darkness of the void, landing on the top of a sacred mountain.

Tartarus (underworld) is already there, drifting in the abyss, but she makes the Elysian fields - she makes the underworld, she makes the promised land, Prythian.

From the Darkness Aelin creates a new land in the image of her home land.

In an image or Erilea.

Her thoughts - her words become the essence of creation.

Aelin hasn’t traveled far, but the places she has been to she pours forth from herself into this new place. Using the magic of the cauldron to shape creation - she remakes what has been made before. She pours Xandria and the Desert (Hybern), a place she only reached by sea, now an isolated island. She pours the Omega and her sacred forest (Oakwald), she pours in the mountain ranges, and the coast in s familiar shape, she includes Wendlyn and the sights she saw there. She pours her heart and soul forth as she includes Terrasen, the library of Orynth and the mountain home from which those gods and goddesses once looked over Erilea, the Staghorn mountains in the distance (night court). And the constellation that always guides her home - the Stag of the North, to look over the people and guide them. Always looking over Terrasen and now their new home.

She knows she can’t replicate everything as she hasn't seen the entirety of the world.

But she tries her best.

She makes Prythian as best she can.

A reflection of the World she knows - a reflection of Erilea.

Then she finds ways to trap and bind Maeve and Erawan (Death Gods - Styrga and Koschei) who she must send there too.

Because Aelin won’t make a deal with the gods, she is forging her own path.

Ensuring her own survival.

She binds the primordial gods to a location so they may not harm the inhabitants. So they may not repeat what they did in Erilea.

Here there is a split - Either point 1 or point 2 from above (depending on whether the entire world is turning to ash - or she is just banishing the valg).

(Point 1 - Erilea turned to ash)

She takes a part of the death god’s essence back into the cauldron, diminishing their power.

As many as possible are sent through the gate to save them.

She Banishes Maeve to a forest, to be watched by the little folk who choose to guard her.

She banishes Erawan to a Lake/”silver” on the Continent.

When it is over - she has drained all her magic.

All the godly essence given to her from Mala is gone.

The gods are gone. Released from their eternal torment (if Erilea is destroyed).

Dorian has used all his raw magic and Manon has used all the power her body once contained. Manon no longer has any iron and is a true Crochan witch, no ironteeth remaining.

They open the gate to all who wish to step through, to a new world, made in the image of the first. As their own world turns to dust. They cross over into Prythian on the Sacred Mountain where the Cauldron’s glittering liquid first touched the land.

(Point 2 - Banishing valg)

She takes a part of the death god’s essence back into the cauldron, diminishing their power.

As many as possible are sent through the gate.

She Banishes Maeve to a forest, to be watched by the little folk who choose to guard her.

She banishes Erawan to a Lake/silver on the Continent.

When it is over - she has drained all her magic.

All the godly essence given to her from Mala is gone.

Aelin can choose to trap the gods in Tartarus or the Prison forever - a kind of payback.

Dorian has used all his raw magic and Manon has used all the power her body once contained. Manon no longer has any iron and is a true Crochan witch, no ironteeth remaining.

They go back to their kingdoms and castles and try to live in a world without Valg.

They put the Cauldron back in the Abyss, never to be used again. The wyrd keys hidden inside it’s feet.

Then we have the story of ACOTAR - A story set in this new world. With the gods having vanished or have been “redistributed” throughout creation. Re-emerged into new people, new bloodlines, getting a second chance.

If point 1 comes to pass then we get our happy endings. Fresh starts made by the saviours. The living beings are what matter, not the land itself. And Erilea has long ago turned to dust and the survivors are in Prythian - living their happily ever afters and facing new challenges. Their bloodlines continuing through generations. Feyre Archeron having the blood of that fae warrior who saved all - long ago, imbued with light. Joins with the darkness (Rhysand) to save Prythian (in ACOWAR). A darkness that soothes, and isn’t evil. Creating a perfect balance of light and dark in Prythian. A fresh start.

“There are different kinds of darkness,” Rhys said. I kept my eyes shut. “There is the darkness that frightens, the darkness that soothes, the darkness that is restful.” I pictured each. “There is the darkness of lovers, and the darkness of assassins. It becomes what the bearer wishes it to be, needs it to be. It is not wholly bad or good.” ACOMAF.

The Acheron Line is human I hear your say - Is that because Aelin gave up her immortality to live? Her power transferred to the cauldron and as a gift she was able to live a mortal life? I could speculate on who is descendant from who, but I’m not going to do that here. I’m going to wait and see if this theory has any validity once Kingdom of Ash comes out. If not. That’s fine, I look forward to being surprised. Either way I am going to love this book.

So why would SJM say the worlds aren't linked? Because she doesn't want to give away the ending for Kingdom of Ash. She doesn't want to spoil us! And here I am doing my digging and making my stories. (by the way if I’m wrong - That's cool, I love to be surprised! I think this would make an amazing story though - anyone want to write an AU? :P haha).

If Point 2 comes to pass, then there is a lot of rebuilding. Prythian can still be created by Aelin, but what happens to our Favorites is still up in the air. And some things - like Feyre’s ancestry don’t appear to make much sense, when it is implied that she came from the “ancient fae warrior[s]” blood line. Maybe some people get stuck in Prythian but not all, and Erilea doesn't turn to ash. That’s cool. Not sure how the book will finish happily ever after though. (not that it needs to). Will we get split perspective of the two sides of the Wyrd gate or just loose contact with those not in Erilea anymore?

The problem with me is this - I get more questions than answers... it happens when I think up a theory.

Great - This is cool. But what about this and this? questions come unasked to the forefront and I pull out my hair.

For example - What about what the Stygian spiders and Brannon said in Tower of Dawn and Empire of Storms? Both are secondary sources of information. Stories. And while I think each has an element of truth, they are flawed as they come from a person/creature that is mortal. It is important to note that in neoplatonism there are different tiers of beings. Brannon, The stygian spider, Aelin and co. are all on the same tier. They are all mortals stuck trying to so the best with the reality they are given - with the information that they are given at the time. The only direct contact we have with a Goddesses is Deanna losing her cool and possessing Aelin in empire of storms and telling Aelin to find the lock and therefore - see the truth. And then those memories from the Witch mirror.

And then SJM does a fade to black! What the HELL! So the reader doesn't get the FULL truth from a source that would have all the information - these beings that are not limited by time or space!! (Renee gives SJM the side eyes and takes a deep breath).

So here are some Questions my digging has thrown up for Me:

Question 1: Why did Brannon not like Gavin?

Is is because Gavin has an association with the Sin Eater (Who I think is Erawan’s brother that later gets banished by Maeve (maybe leaves himself? I’m still re-reading so I might be missing something here) - and also possibly the Bone Carver by another name).

If it is because of this association then what does this mean for Gavin and Gavin’s bloodline? Did he trade something to become king? A no-name human, was it for a sword to defeat Erawan? but he couldn’t wield it against Erawan as he destroyed his hand at the obsidian passes? The reason I ask this is because the description of Damaris in COM is strangely familiar. “Damaris. The legendary sword of Gavin. Its hilt was silvery gold and had little ornamentation, save for a pommel in the shape of an eye. No Jewel lay in its socket; it was only an empty ring of gold. Some legends claimed that when Gavin wielded Damaris, He would only see the truth, and that was why he had been crowned king. Or some nonsense like that..” The Scabbard is also decorated with Wyrd marks. Yes eye imagery is common in SJM’s books and it could mean nothing. But we Know Gavin was at the Sin Eater’s temple because of Queen of Shadows scene. Does the bone Carver and the prison have some sort of link to the night court? The night court heir’s blood is keyed to the lock. Feyre has an eye tattoo on her hand that allows Rhys to connect with her. On the cover of ACOWAR Feyre has an eye on her belt - meaning that the eye has a lot of symbolism for the ACOTAR universe. Is that because certain characters are linked to this eye, or is the eye something more?

I could jump to a conclusion about bloodlines and that The Night Court is descended from Manon and Dorian. Raw magic and Fae (a witch without her iron). Later splitting into fragments - Their heirs - like The Morrigan, being connected to “truth” just as Dorian is. The eye- being a symbol of the night court and also of Gavin’s sword. Dorians powers of darkness, ice, cold - Just like Rhysand’s. The crowns in ACOWAR - one being a crown of stars and the moon, similar to how the blueblood heir wore a crown of stars herself. I’m not sure of this as they would be presiding over the land that was once Terrasen - but maybe this happens when the saviour of the world fades from memory? And if there is a link between the Night court and the Bone Carver, then there would also be a link to Stryga (the bone carvers sister).

Which Leads into this Question 2: Why is Dorian as important as Aelin?

(I touched on it above but I feel like I need to justify him as having more than just the power he wields).

In Queen of Shadows, when Aelin and Co are in the Shadow Market - it talks about how Brannon is Blessed By Mala- he and his sword, Goldryn. Then there is this quote “What if there was a god of truth—a Sin-Eater? What if he blessed Gavin, and this sword?” -QOS.

So If Gavin was Blessed by the Sin Eater just as Brannon was blessed by Mala, then it would make sense that some of his descendants (Just like Brannon’s) are also Blessed. So Dorian’s power is that of the Sin Eater - The God of Truth.

Truth is often associated with the first thought in some mythologies as well. Aelin is the bringer of light - the heir of Mala light bringer / Mala Fire bringer. She embodies the first light in the universe. So we have two beings - blessed by Light and Dark, between Darkness of the Void - and initial thought and the Fire from Creation.

When Aelin is Holding Damaris in the Sin Eater’s temple, she has to drop it as it turns cold. Damaris is not her weapon (Which we know since the events following Queen of shadows). Damaris is for Dorian - heir of Truth and the Sin Eater, Just as Aelin is heir of fire and light. And Aelin wields Goldryn the sword blessed my Mala for her heir.

Dorian and Aelin Fusing their power

The power displayed in Queen of Shadows when Aelin rescues Dorian is amazing but destructive. These two have the ability to create the world.

“there was fire and light and darkness and ice” is how Dorian describes the ring destroying the Valg inside him -QOS.

And then in chapter 77 I think we have a pretty big piece of foreshadowing for Kingdom of Ash

“They joined hands. So the world ended. And the next one began.” QOS.

“They were infinite. They were the beginning and the ending; they were eternity.” - QOS.

They are one with creation. They are one with all of the realms.

This next quote helps solidify my idea of at least three realms being present at this time.

“But they held tighter to each other, past and present and future; flickering between an ancient hall in a mountain castle perched above Orynth, a bridge suspended between glass towers, and another place, perfect and strange, where they had been crafted from stardust and light. A wall of night knocked them back. But they could not be contained. The darkness paused for breath. They erupted.”

Past - The realm of the gods, the Past. Like Olympus or a sacred mountain, the gods/goddesses watching over their people.

Present - The Glass Castle - This moment.

Future - Stardust and light. This could mean Erilea turns to dust and all that remains is stardust and light. Or it could mean their future is in this third place, created from stardust and light. Or it could even be Dorian and Aelin ascending to the stars like those spirits the Night court watch on Starfall. It really depends on whether Fate is predetermined. At this point in time, the future could still be written? Or is the only answer to have a world that turns to dust? Or is it nothing and again I am looking too closely at something.

Their power - while amazing is also fairly contained. Yes Aelin wasn’t at full strength and neither was Dorian when they destroyed the Glass Castle. So will they erupt - and have it be felt across worlds - just like Amren said of Nesta. Or will they use their power to find a way to create something new.

Question 3: If Prythian is formed from Erilea and Aelin, then how come Iron has no power in Prythian when it does in Erilea?

I think because the cauldron is made of iron and contains the essence of Prythian’s creation, it has become a part of creation. It has merged with magic. So it no longer holds any power over it.

And I’m going to stop there- because this slightly organised mess is as far as I have gotten. I tried to group Ideas together, but for the sake of Flow, I have put some ideas at the end under those questions.

Basically in summary - multiple planes of existence. Step through a Wyrd Gate. Dorian, Manon and Aelin Forge the Cauldron. Aelin makes Prythian. (My belief next) Aelin turns Erilea to Ash, they escape into Prythian. Aelin is made mortal.

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jinniesxlamp · 6 years ago

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The Tables Have Turned - Chapter 12 (Finale)

A/N: I just wanted to express my deepest gratitude to each and everyone of you who made The Tables Have Turned a meaningful creation. Without all your love and support, the story would not have come to life at all. From the bottom of my heart, Thank you! 😊❤

Warnings: Long chapter ahead. Heavy angst in between. Slight smut.

LIST OF CHAPTERS –> Masterlist

Y/N’s POV

I came to work the next day fighting the same battle I had with myself the night before. The whole day yesterday, I was hoping to get some rest which I failed relentlessly. Jin having the day off and being around me the entire time only made it more difficult for me to survive. He prepared all our meals, all of which I politely declined, wanting to throw up every after five minutes.

Needless to say, I wasn’t myself; during conversations, my responses would somehow go off topic or sometimes I wouldn’t even answer at all. At lunch I barely touched the lunchbox Jin had made for me. Out of all the times he decided to be so good, it had to be now. I stared into the colorful lunchbox with all my favorites on top of the rice--pork tonkatsu cut into strips, pressed neatly on the center, surrounding it in a clockwise manner were seasoned mushrooms, spinach, bean sprouts, carrots and napa cabbage kimchi.

Eun Bi was starting to notice, staring at me while she ate her gimbap.

“You know, he’ll get over it soon” I turned to her, confused.

“Hm?”

“Judging by the look on your face and how you almost cut your finger earlier, I’m thinking your husband got upset with how drunk you were last night.” she continued while chewing.

I made no further comments not wanting to open up the real reason why I’ve been acting weird.

“If he really loves you, he will understand. No matter what it is.—

It’s his job as your spouse; marrying your past, present and future whether it’s success or failure, all the right and all the wrong that comes with who you are—he married them. Therefore, he will accept them.”

My eyes kept themselves observing her as she chewed on the last roll, placing the lid on her own lunchbox.

“I’m not even sure if what I did was wrong in his eyes but I still feel guilty” I sighed talking quietly.

“So he doesn’t know it yet, does he?”

I shook my head weakly, looking down onto my lunchbox again.

She sighed.

“You know, you wouldn’t actually feel guilty if you knew it didn’t matter to him”

Jin’s POV

Looking back at the events from weeks, and even months ago made me think hard about the things I’m willing to change with myself. With Y/N, with us.

Allowing myself to see the circumstances clearly impeled me to do the things I should’ve done a long time ago; breaking up with Irene wasn’t as damaging as I thought it would be compared to seeing Y/N with Mark.

I also started doing little gestures like sending her flowers on random days, cooking her favorite meals. I even thought about sending her daily written love letters but then I remembered—she didn’t know about how I felt yet. In fact, she didn’t know anything.

Leaving her to be with Mark was something I considered for a long time. He was a good man after all, I know this because I’ve seen him prove himself in ways I haven’t, countless times. But there was this longing in my heart, whispering, giving me the tiniest sign of hope that maybe if she knew, she would come running back into my arms.

I wanted her to know that I love her. That I needed her to come back to me. I didn’t want to make anymore excuses, not anymore. I’ve made up my mind. I’m taking her back—

Today.

I started exploring the kitchen from the fridge to the cabinets, gathering all the ingredients I could find to decide what to make for dinner.

We’re always eating Korean food. We never had any of her native food which I knew she missed a whole lot. Y/N still belonged to an Asian denomination which was good since the flavoring didn’t differ too much. I searched several recipies on Naver, leaning my back on the kitchen counter by the sink. Soon after, the site gave me an entire list of names which were slightly familiar to me. Sadly, I lacked a few ingredients for most of them except the pork broth soup. She made this for me one time, it was good but Jin at that time being Jin complained why she hadn’t made Korean food. She ended up eating it alone as I walked out, leaving her hurt and discouraged. That was the last time she ever made something she liked.

“Pabo.” I whispered, sighing to myself.

My attention was caught by the sound of the doorbell ringing.

“Nugu sijyo?” I yelled, walking to the door.

“Kim Seokjin?” asked the delivery man who seemed a bit younger than I was. He was about Jungkook’s age.

“Ne” I confirmed which led him to hand me a suspiciously large envelope. It wasn’t that big, but it wasn’t as small as normal letter envelopes. It was one of those yellowish-brown ones used to carry important not-to-be-folded documents.

“Ige mwoji?” I questioned myself not expecting a delivery, especially not something of this kind.

This can’t be from the company either. They never send us anything through mail. I took a few minutes to stare at it then finally deciding to rip it open, carefully.

“Muo ya? Pictures?” I searched for my glasses, bringing the entire envelope with me to the living room, sitting down on the sofa before taking a look at the poor quality pictures. They seemed to be taken with a CCTV camera from how unclear they were. I stared closely at the first picture, furrowing my brows, trying to figure out what it was.

This can’t be.

I scanned through the other pictures, only to find worse and worst.

I felt my right hand shake, unconsciously crumpling the edges of the last piece of paper. It was then when I felt the ground beneath me crumble. Every thing else around me fell apart as I tried to catch my breath. Feeling every warm tear that fell down my cheeks.

I was inconsoluble.

Y/N’s POV

“You have one thing to do on your part, Y/N the rest is up to him”

“That is?”

“Be honest to him.”

The last conversation I had with Eun Bi shed light to the dilemma I felt. She was right. I need Jin to know simply because I want him to know. I just want to get this heavy, pulling feeling off my chest. But there was something I needed to do before I went home to Jin.

Immediately after work, I texted Jin letting him know I was going to be a bit late, but not too late for dinner. He didn’t reply, something that wasn’t quite shocking. I stood quietly under a very familiar tree in front of the Han River, waiting. I couldn’t help but smile at the beautiful memories this mere tree brought into my life.

I heard footsteps disturbing the grass, telling me I was no longer alone. He stood beside me in silence. His presence still comforts me in a very specific way. It wasn’t something I could find in anyone—not even Jin. Even after what had happened, I almost thought I’d become afraid to be near him. But how could I be afraid of the one man who took care of me with pure sincerity? How he gave me his jacket in the midst of snowfall, wiped my tears when I was to weak to do so.

I could never fear the one person who showed me the real meaning of love.

“Do you remember this place?” I started gently, staring into the steady waters.

“ ‘Ahh. This is the saddest birthday I ever spent my whole life’ was what I kept telling myself that night. I was devastated, I really was. I felt so worthless at that time. Asking myself ‘how can someone mean so little—almost nothing to the world?’ I cried endlessly to the stars, wishing, pleading for something to help me get through that horrible evening—

He turned to me with those same glistering eyes he had that night

Do you want to know what I wished for?—

A weak smile curved from his lips.

I wished for an angel. I said to the heavens, If you can hear the cries of my heart....please. Send me an angel; a friend who will help me get through this night without breaking.—

Then it started to snow. I ran and I ran to this tree, the only visible shelter I could find. And then you were there. Exactly as I asked; An angel; A friend who will help me get through the night without breaking”

I slowly walked towards him, taking his right hand and holding it tight as I looked into his loving eyes

“You showed me the real meaning of love, Mark. And I will forever hold that within my heart. No matter how troubled this is, know that you belong in the only peaceful place here—

I took his hand, making him feel every beat of it.

You gave me sanity in this complicated life, Mark.”

Releasing your hand, I dried my own tears and continued

“I tried to reciprocate your feelings, every day I kept trying. But the more I did, the more I saw Jin instead of you. You always came to me, always waited even when you’re tired or hopeless.

Even after spending an entire day filled with happiness beside you, the feeling of emptiness still came to me at night. That’s when I realized; no matter what you did, no matter how you made me feel, you still weren’t the missing piece I was looking for—you still weren’t Jin.”

Mark’s POV

My heart twisted mercilessly as I stood there listening to Y/N, watching her dry her own tears.

“I can’t keep doing this to you, Mark. Not when I know you deserve a better love. One that doesn’t require you to wait. Someone who can give their whole heart to you and not merely half. You deserve that kind of love.”

Gently, I dried your eyes one last time, holding you for the very last time, telling you not to worry; letting you know that I will be okay.

“You belong in his arms. It’s time for you to go back.”

I stayed a little bit more, allowing the sight of the River to distract me after watching you walk away. The peace it brought didn’t want me to pick up the phone that kept ringing inside my pocket.

“You’re on your own. I let her go.” The hint of pain in my voice wasn’t something I tried to hide as I spoke to answer.

I heard the woman grunt evilly on the other side of the line.

“Oh, Mark. I can’t say I’m disappointed. We both knew from the beginning you weren’t capable of hurting poor Y/N”

Something about the enthusiasm in her devilish voice gave me a very bad feeling.

“I told you didn’t I? Just stick to the plan and I’ll take care of the rest”

The next thing I knew she was no longer on the line. What was she planning to do? Think, Mark. What was the plan?

You didn’t know.

The only thing Irene instructed me to do was to find a place where I could bring you for a night. Somewhere only the two of us knew. I told her about the secret house I bought for my family which we decided to use.

“Take her there tomorrow night while I take care of Jin.” Was what she said. You getting drunk on that same night wasn’t helping at all. It made it so easy for me to push through with the plan.

But what didn’t make sense to me was she insisted I give her the passcode. Why? What did she need it for? Unless—

My eyes widened as I ran as fast as I could towards my car, hitting the steering wheel in frustration with every stop I had to make.

Wasting no time upon arriving, I entered the same code I wrote for Irene on that same piece of paper, bolting the door open and searching the house. My gaze shifted towards the room you spent the night in. Swallowing whatever there was to swallow, I opened the door hoping to be wrong. I eyed all the possible places she could possibly attach that thing.

Then to my horror, there it was, standing in front of the TV. It was so small anyone could easily miss it. The way it was positioned gave a perfect view of the bed.

I’m so sorry, Y/N.

Y/N’s POV

Now that I have settled things with Mark, it was time I did the same with Jin. Although most part of me was scared, the remaining part was determined to be freed, and the only way that was possible was to tell Jin. Every thing. From how I’ve been feeling emptier the day we stopped talking, to how I wished he had said something during the times he saw me leave to see Mark. There was no hidding anymore. Whether he chose me or not, I was ready to tell him I still loved him with all that I am and all that I have.

I entered the house which was rather darker than usual.

“I’m ho—

J-Jin”

I said. The way he sat in the middle of the sofa with his arms leaning on his thighs and hands held together, slouching and looking down made me tremendously nervous.

“I’m only going to ask you once. Where were you that night?”

His voice was cold and angry, he almost sounded hurt.

I felt my throat run dry, and my tongue hidding as I spoke.

“I-I was with my co-workers” I blurted out.

“Co-workers?” He grunted. The displeasure in his voice only grew worse.

“Then how do you explain this?!” His rageful voice made me jump in surprise as he picked what looked like photographs from the coffee table in front of him.

I composed myself, wanting to see what he was talking about. Grabbing the photos which were evidently crumpled by the side, my heart started to race as I scanned from one print out to the other.

“Jin. I can explain” I said sternly, remembering my reason for coming home today. He was going to hear the truth no matter what.

“Explain what Y/N? That picture says it all” standing up from the couch, he started walking in front of me, back and forth answering me with pure sarcasm.

“You need to hear the truth, Jin” I said again.

“What truth? That you slept with another man, doing corrupt acts even when you’re lawfully married? Ha! Give me a break Y/N. You even had the audacity to record it on camera? Disgusting”

Not knowing how or what to feel, Jin was starting to let irrational things slip out his mouth. Things he didn’t mean but Y/N didn’t know that.

The last word he said felt like a big, hollow blade ripped through my chest, making me say things I never thought would come out of my mouth.

“That’s interesting knowing you’ve been sleeping with another woman since the day we got married.” I huffed with the same amount of sarcasm.

“Don’t you dare bring her into this!” He snared.

“Why? I like knowing there’s another disgusting woman besides me who would dare share a bed with a married man” My hands trembled in a fist, I wasn’t going to let him defend her again.

“Hah. At least we had the decency not to film our lewd acts on camera”

Slap.

It felt unreal that I brought my hand swinging across Jin’s face.

That was just really unfair.

Mark and I barely kissed. No actually, he kissed me. I never returned it. We never had sex, which I’m sure they’ve had. Not once, not twice. Judging by the countless times I caught her scent on him, they must’ve done it half the time we had been married. It wasn’t silent between us, I was breathing heavily in anger.

“Do you want a divorce?”

Jin’s POV

My whole being had been crushed at the though of his hands on her. How he must’ve touched her in several places. Thinking of the sounds she must’ve made drove me insanely crazy. I wanted to find him, throw him onto the ground and beat him up. When she didn’t deny it, my anger only flared more causing me to say things without thinking.

I felt her hand swing across my face, signaling defeat.

She no longer found herself in my arms.

As if trying to break my heart some more until I no longer felt it, I asked her the question I never thought would come out of my mouth.

“Do you want a divorce?” I said helplessly.

Her eyes started to water, sending my knees weak.

Wasn’t this what she wanted?

“Of course....of course you would ask for a divorce.—

She whispered to herself.

It’s always the easy way out for you, Jin. You always want the easy way where you won’t have to fight for anything. Where you won’t have anything to lose. Why do I feel like you just waited for me to make one big mistake so you can leave me for good? Why?—

My eyes looked at hers, wanting to tell her the truth. That I thought that’s what she wanted; to be free with him. Was I wrong?

It would have been easier if you had just left without saying goodbye. In that way I could still think you would come back to me on days when you fought. On days when she would make you feel lonely. It would have been easier for me if you just did what you used to do, love her while you let me love you, even when I know you didn’t feel the same way—

I’d much rather catch her perfume on your skin than not smell your presence at all—

But to have me make a mistake and make it as a reason to run, you’re taking the one thing I treasure most in this world. You’re taking you away from me, Jin.”

My eyes widened as her voice began to break, slowly walking towards her, trembling. But she walked backwards with every step I took.

“Y-y/N”

“The truth is, Jin. I didn’t mind waiting for you even if it meant forever. No matter how much you insult the dishes I made that didn’t satisfy you, no matter how much you despised seeing me sleeping on the same bed as you. You could tell me I looked stupid while trying to dress nicely for you all you want, I wouldn’t mind. I can swallow all that.—

I tried to come closer, but you continued to move away with every step I took

“Y/N, please...listen to me” I pleaded.

The truth is, I kept making the purpose of our marriage as an excuse to keep you from running away from me. But now, seeing how you’re using it to leave made me realize I should stop.”

“If that’s what’s going to make you completely, genuinely and absolutely happy. Then okay—

Tears started to form in my own eyes, begging her to stop walking away from me so I could hold her and tell her how much I loved her. How I can no longer live my life if she leaves me again.

If you want a divorce, Jin—then okay”

Before I could watch her turn her back on me again, before she could leave me and never comeback, I grabbed her arms, forcing her to look into my eyes as we both shed tears.

“Hit me” I said weakly, puppeting her arms to hit my chest.

“A-are you crazy?” She whined, struggling to get away from my grip

“Hit me. Hit me again and again until I learn how to tell you how I feel.—

From the day you walked out that door after I said you meant nothing to me, I wanted to tear down every part of Seoul. Every single alley, and every street just to know where you had gone. Seeing you leave knowing you might have had enough. That you might not be coming back scared me. And when I saw you with Mark I wanted to grab you when you didn’t hold on to my arm.—

“S-stop it Jin” you said, not wanting to hear anymore from me as you continued to squirm out of my grip

Gah. From the very first day I saw him smiling at you at the awards night, I didn’t like how uneasy he made me feel; like he was going to take you away from me—

“J-Jin s-stop” you cried this time but I wanted you to hear every thing.

When he ran after you at the Charity Concert, I almost lost it. When he had told me he might lose his decency towards our marriage, had it not been in public, I would not have thought twice about throwing him into a wall.—

A weak smile started to curve up my lips, my tears falling down a little more.

Since the day you stopped sleeping by my side, my nights had become excruciatingly cold. I kept picturing your beautiful face bidding me good night.—

The day you stopping running into my arms and forcing a kiss into my lips, which I always denied, left my day incomplete.”

“I-I don’t want to hear this, Jin” you shook your head from side to side while I continued to speak.

“Baby, please” I pleaded once more, asking you to stop and listen while I held your face.

Finally, you calmed down. Looking at me straight, allowing yourself to cry

“Taking you for granted because I knew you were always going to be there, and having tasted the feeling of having you being taken away from me made me realize—if you had not loved me the way you did, and left—it would have been the biggest regret I’d have to live for the rest of my life.”

Being able to say all the things I’ve kept from you, very gently, I pulled your face closer to mine, closing the gap between our lips.

I felt your hand rest on my chest, returning the kiss with your sweet, cherry lips I missed so much. Licking your bottom lip, you immediately allowed entrance allowing our tongues to dance with each other while our bodies moved as the kiss intensifies.

Suddenly, her back was pressed onto the door of our bedroom. Without breaking the kiss, I twisted the knob open, causing her to gasp and pull on my shirt. Her hands started to tug on my chest, separating our lips in the process. I gave her one last peck before sliding off my coffee colored sweater above my head. My lips found itself on hers again, slowly pushing her onto the bed with her chest halfway exposed as she unbuttoned her work uniform while I was removing my sweater. I continued to kiss her lips for awhile before traveling towards her jaw then her neck. I started to nibble on it at first while I was busy undoing the rest of the buttons of her tight blouse. The first moan came out her mouth as I started to suck on her neck, just below her right jaw. I couldn’t help but smirk. Her skin tasted too sweet.

“Hmm J-Jin” she threw her head back as another moan escaped her throat while my lips traveled lower to her plump breasts, getting rid of her bra rather quickly. Her fingers tangled around my hair as I started sucking on her right nipple, my hands massaging the other. Switching roles, I started moaning on her left nipple causing her to moan a little louder. I felt a tight sensation starting to build up in my lower region. Abandoning her breasts, and moving down her stomach, I frowned at the sight of her short skirt.

“What is it?” she asked, worried.

“Don’t you think this is too short to be worn at work?” I said earning an eye roll.

She began unzipping it by herself, letting it slide down her legs, revealing her black lingerie that matched her bra from earlier. I began unbuckling my belt, getting rid of everything else before ripping of her last piece of clothing.

“Jin!” She yelled, smacking my shoulders.

“I’ll buy you new ones” was all I said, bending down, giving all my attention to her wet woman hood.

Her moans echoed throughout the bedroom, her back arching in pleasure giving me more access for my tongue.

Placing her hips down, I was about to insert one finger inside her when I noticed something—she was untouched.

I stopped to look at her, not wanting to do anything deliberate without her full permission. She nodded slowly, signaling me to proceed.

Tonight, we didn’t only engage ourselves in slow, romantic sex. It was more than that. Something deeper.

We made love.

She snuggled closer to my chest, wrapped around the navy blue sheets, tracing patterns on my skin. I took her hand, placing it on my cheek after kissing it. She began to move higher up the bed, revealing the love marks I made on her neck as she stared into my eyes.

“What’s wrong?” She asked.

Y/N’s POV

I was busy admiring his chest, shoulders and the rest of what he was until he took my hand, planting a kiss on it before resting it on his face. Something was bothering him so I asked.

“I’m sorry” he said.

“Shhh” I replied, my thumb massaging his lips.

“You and Mark...What happened?” There was doubt within himself as to whether or not he should ask but I’m glad he did.

“I was drunk and he took me to this house” Jin suddenly moved, brows furrowed.

“Did he take advantage of you?” He tried to ask calmly but I knew him to well to know what his reddened ears meant. I shook my head slowly, answering a ‘no’

“He kissed me. I didn’t stop him, but I didn’t return the favor. I couldn’t let him touch me like that. Not while I thought of you”

I felt him pull me closer, kissing me deeply.

Like an unwanted wake up call, my phone beeped. I pulled away from Jin who was annoyed at the sudden interruption.

I opened the message learning it was from Mark.

“Who is it?” He asked as he placed a kiss on my left shoulder.

Instead of telling him and giving him enough time to nag before I could show him the message, I passed my phone to him so he could read it himself.

“Y/N. I’m sorry. Irene wired my room.”

I heard Jin groan in annoyance although I wasn’t sure towards who.

“Jin. Since you know the truth about Mark and I, I just wanted to know....regardless of how I’m going to feel about it, I want you to tell me the truth.”

He stared at me, placing the the phone down.

“What is it?”

“Did you u-um...d-did you and Irene..”

I didn’t have to finish my question. From the look on his face, he already knew. He cleared his throat before speaking.

“Yes and no—

Yes, I touched her. And no, she never touched me. We never went that far. I respected Hitman Bang too much for that.”

I frowned remembering what she told me the night I slapped her.

“But she said you were good in bed” I pouted, making him pull me even closer.

“What do you need to believe her for? You’re the only one who can attest to that” I felt myself blush as he smirked, whispering into my ear.

“Besides, you won’t have to worry about her”

Pushing his chest slightly, I tilted my head giving him a confused look.

“I told her I wanted to be with you and not see her anymore”

I smiled, watching him close his eyes as he laid flat on his back.

“I love you” he said.

“I love you too, Jin” I replied, resting my head on his chest.

Almost a year had gone by and here I was, sweating profusely in front of three boiling pots. After two months of being away, Jin, and the rest of the boys were coming home from tour. I was carefully tasting on each of the pots when I heard the door shut.

He’s home!

Quickly turning the stove off, I ran towards the front door only to be met with a pair of pulpy lips at the kitchen entrance.

“I missed you. So much.” He said, cupping my face as he pressed his nose agaisnt mine.

“I missed you too, Jin” I replied.

“I have something for you” he said, taking a huge bouquet of flowers from the livingroom.

Ever since we decided to be together again, he started buying me the most beautiful bouquets at random days, all of different flowers. He asked me what my favorite flowers were and I told him I didn’t really have one. Since then, he decided to buy me different bouquets of flowers until I knew which one I loved the most.

“They’re beautiful. Thank you baby” I said, giving him a peck on the lips

“Go take a shower before the boys get here” pushing him towards the bedroom, I went back to go set up the table. We were celebrating my birthday early today instead of tomorrow since Jin wanted it to be just the both of us. After countless begs from the three maknaes, I convinced Jin to invite all of them over for dinner.

I was leaning on the counter, facing the sink, biting my lip, enjoying the conversation I was having with this person when I felt a pair of arms wrap around my waist.

“That was fast” I giggled, still typing on my phone while he rested his head on my shoulder

“Who are you texting?” He asked, annoyed with a bit of jealousy.

Jin had become a somewhat jealous and possessive husband. In his defense, he said he wasn’t taking anymore chances not after Mark.

“It’s GD oppa. He thought it was already my birthday so he greeted. Look. His girl friend is beautiful”

Jin quickly peeked at the picture, quite curious to see the face of the woman behind GD’s sensational new album called ‘I Found Her’

“Wah. She really is beautiful”

We continued to exchange messages, not really minding Jin for now until I felt his grip tighten around me and hot, soft lips nipping on my skin.

“Jagiya” he whispered

“Hmm?” I replied, typing the last three words of my message

“Baby” he moaned softly.

At that point you knew what he wanted. He only ever called you baby during two circumstances; when he had done something wrong or when he pleaded for something he wanted so bad—sex.

Although you wanted to let him take you right there on the kitchen floor, you just couldn’t have your house smelling like sex, traumatized with the one time you invited Jin’s brother and his girl friend over and having Jin tell you before bed how his brother had teased him about the stain he saw on the couch where you had two rounds of sex before they arrived.

“Not now, baby. The boys are going to be here soon” I said, declining, stretching my neck to the side to allow him more access. That’s when I noticed he was actually shirtless!

“It’s been too long, baby. Just once?” He continued to moan onto my skin, making me soaking wet down there but it was still a no.

“No can do baby. Later after dinner” I said, facing him. He didn’t seem very happy at all with me refusing all his attempts.

“How about this, if you can wait until dinner is over we can go as many times as you want.”

His irritation began fading, considering the deal I just made with him.

“Put on a shirt, they’re going to be here soon” I said, leaning in to give him a kiss.

The next thing I knew, my living room was now being occupied by yelling men on the floor, cursing as they tried to kill each other off the screen. Namjoon and Yoongi sat on the sofa, watching them go for another match after Jin’s third win. Hoseok had just walked out from the kitchen, bringing the bag of rice crispies I handed to him earlier. He liked those things.

“Noonaaaa we need a little help” whined Taehyung, not wanting to lose to Jin again. I giggled softly, gently planting a kiss on the right side of Jin’s lips.

“Ya! Ya! Ya!”

“Yes!!!!!” Taehyung rejoiced, throwing the controller up into the air while Jin whined how unfair that was.

“Dinner is ready everyone” I said, leading all of them towards the kitchen.

I watched at the scene happening before me. The way we laughed at Jin and Jungkook’s bickering. Jimin’s sparkling eyes as he enjoyed the meal I prepared. Namjoon’s stories from tour and Yoongi and Hoseok inspecting the soup I made, trying to pin point an exact wayto describe it aside from ‘good.’

“Mas-issneun” whispered Jin, planting a soft kiss on my cheek.

I couldn’t possibly ask for anything more. This was what happiness meant to me. This was home.

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plumbobpost · 6 years ago

Text

Fan(fic) Friday: Spotlight on Peni Griffin

Sul sul!

Today, I have a special treat for you guys. I had the chance to ask the very delightful @penig a few questions about Widespot and The Sims in general. For those of you who aren’t familiar with her work, she has created two widely popular hoods for The Sims 2: Land Grant University and the aforementioned Widespot. It’s longer than usual, and Peni expressed the concern that it would needed to be edited down, but in all honesty, her responses were such a wealth of information, deleting any of it seemed wrong.

I’ll stop teasing you, and let Peni speak for herself:

What inspired you to create Widespot?

“I’m always in story creation mode. This has been a large part of the appeal of The Sims 2 for me, as it allows me to tell a particular kind of story that I will never, ever be able to write for publication, and have always wanted to: the story of a community in which we see every character as the hero of her own story, and how all the stories intertwine (often without the protagonists recognizing it) and affect each other as they all go about their business.”

“At the time I started Widespot, I was in a situation in which my normal professional outlets were not available to me. You will excuse me from going into detail on the subject, which can be summed up as Health Crap. For our purposes, the important thing was that I needed a project, I couldn’t work on a book, I had been thinking for some time about the potential of my favorite game as a storytelling medium, and enough discussion of the matter had been generated over at MTS that I found/was directed to the late lamented Mootilda’s thread on creating a clean, safe, populated neighborhood for sharing. ( http://modthesims.info/t/455403)”

“I actually went into some detail about the process on my writing blog at the time.”

( https://penigriffin.blogspot.com/2013/02/so-you-want-to-share.html )

Did you take inspiration from the Maxis neighborhoods?

“To a certain extent, yes. I decided that what I wanted to create was a neighborhood that would feel and play as if it had shipped with the game, but with less mess. No dead people without full character data, no memories that outright contradict each other, no hints in the bios that can’t be fully explored in the game.”

In your neighborhood, you included different story elements for each family that interconnect. What is your process in developing this story?

“Somewhere around here, I have the notebook in which I first started working it out, but I’d have to dig to find it. I remember starting with the admonition to myself to keep it simple, as your first attempt at publishing in a medium should be simple - you have enough to do mastering the new medium without trying to make something complicated with it. I knew my genre was soap opera, and though I’ve never been much of a soap watcher, my mother and husband are, so that set my parameters. I listed the tools at my disposal - the five base game aspirations, the jealousy mechanics, and the generational play. The question I asked myself at the start of the process was: “How do I create the most Drama for the least amount of effort?”

“Probably the notion of having five aspiration-themed households came almost at once, possibly as I started making name lists. I wanted to give elders a big role, because I had noticed that a lot of people thought elders were “boring,” and I knew they were wrong! I’ve always felt that Maxis missed a big trick by not having a Scheming Matriarch in Pleasantview. I wanted to shake up some stereotypes and have sims who didn’t obviously “belong” in their aspirations - shy Romance sims, outgoing Knowledge sims, lazy Fortune sims. I wanted all the households intimately connected to each other, which meant that for simplicity’s sake the story (story being defined as “person with a problem”) should center around one particular event that triggered events in all the households, a cascade of consequence. At which point I wrote down “It is a truth universally acknowledged that a single man in possession of a fortune must be in want of a wife,” and decided that the wealthy Mann family coming to town with a highly marriageable son and a Dark Secret was a good place to start.”

“That turned out not to be the trigger, but you have to start somewhere.”

Aside from your official captions, how did you set out to convey plot to those who play Widespot?

“I tried to take pictures of enough key moments that the players could inspect the albums for clues. By playing out the development I had ensured that some important information already existed in the memories and relationship panels, but I also went in and inserted memories that seemed to me significant. I had specific meanings in mind when I gave Mary memories of potty-training her younger siblings that extend all the way back to teenhood and manipulated some of her relationship scores with the testing cheats, but I wanted the players to be free to interpret those memories and relationships according to their own ideas, so I tried to background my own opinions as much as possible.”

“The plot, after all, is the players’ job, not mine!”

As far as literal world building goes, how did you factor in your characters’ surroundings to both their plotlines and their characterization?

“The smallness of the town, necessitated by the decision to keep things as simple as possible, gave me the starting point and the town’s name - it’s just a wide spot in the road, hardly a town at all. Rural areas have a certain vibe; certain types of people grow up there, and certain kinds of people wind up there, so this was on my mind as I designed the characters, built their homes, and decided what order they should be created in CAS and moved in. Each house has a history, not all of which is necessarily made explicit to the player, and some of which really, really made me long for something more than BG Maxis content! But I think most people get that the Land cabin was built piecemeal over time, that a lot of Skye’s house was DIY, that the Beech house is Daytona’s house and the rest of her family just lives there, etc. Skye only got educational toys for his kids, but the Lands have a teddy and a dollhouse as well. The Mann’s house is the only one with a fence, and Rich ensures his privacy with stained glass windows in certain rooms. He also has that ominous closet full of aspiration rewards. (I hate that I couldn’t get him a counterfeiting machine - he clearly needs one.)”

“Some details were dictated by the game mechanics. Penny needed a double bed to get pregnant in, but there’s no particular reason for one to exist on her lot; so the heck with it, everybody in that house gets a double bed and I don’t even try to explain it. The lowest-numbered playable in the hood is always the telescope slapper, so I had to create the Mann family first in order for the guy with the Dark Secret to be the one who was incensed at the possibility of being spied on. But who would beard Rich in his own den when he, Lana, or Junior used the telescope in the daytime? That would be the local cop, wouldn’t it? This is why the Land house (with the nubile Land daughters) is right behind the Mann house and the Mann telescope is pointed straight at it. I also used the house to train the Manns - especially Junior - into wanting to buy things by furnishing it minimally to start with, and then adding items as wants were rolled for expensive artwork, games, etc.”

“When I gave characters their starting skill points, I assigned them partly at random, partly according to the implied backstory and role, and partly according to what would be possible in the game. If logic or a random roll indicated that someone in a household had a skill, I made sure that suitable skilling items existed in that household. Woody has an easel because it’s a solitary tool for gaining creativity points; the other families have the more sociable piano. Neither family is much concerned about the impression they make on the outside world, so they are not oversupplied with mirrors, unlike the other families, where Charisma matters.”

“This all works back and forth; the character or situation requires something in the setting, and then I realize that having this thing here means that I also need this and that means I should improve the relationship between these two characters, or whatever. My first and best playtester insisted to me that Goldie needed a teddy bear, and made a good case for it based on Goldie’s characterization, both in the bios and as played; and she was right, so I added it almost at the last minute. (Which is why, so often, the first thing Rhett does it pick it up and try to talk to someone through it.)”

“One thing that I was aware of during development, but am a little reluctant to discuss, is the possible implications for the setting of the racial makeup of the neighborhood. At the time I was born, in the state where I was born, the Land and Beech marriages would have been illegal; and I had that in mind when I mentioned familial disapproval in the Land bios. Some people pick that up and run with it, most people ignore it. Most people look at the Hart’s Spanish-style house and decide (despite the name) that the family has a Mediterranean or Mexican background, but others have decided that Valentine is black/white biracial and all the Spanish influence comes from Angel. I have no desire to dictate anybody’s interpretation or play style, but I do want to enable as many interpretations and play styles as possible, and this variety is an indication of success to me.”

In a lot of ways, fans have come to regard Widespot as highly as they regard the original three Maxis neighborhoods. Did you envision the neighborhood being this popular?

“I beat my “expectations” about the reception of any particular work to death years ago. While I was building Widespot, I told myself that if the only person who liked it was Aegagropilon (my first playtester), that would be good enough and anybody else’s approval would be gravy. Well, Aegagropilon loved it; and I’ve lapped up quite a bit of gravy since then. I don’t have much of a grasp of how popular it actually is, and that’s not the important thing. The important thing is that I know some people are playing it, and enjoying it, and using it in different ways. How many there are, and how it stacks up next to the many other (and in some cases far more sophisticated) fan made hoods out there, is out of my hands. I’m better off not dwelling on that.”

How did Widespot evolve after you started? Were there any massive deviations from your original plan?

“Development was an alternating process of playing (including building, character design, and actual play) and working things out on paper in illegible notes, which is always how I work. I haven’t properly thought anything till I’ve written it down, but I’m a “pantser” rather than a “plotter” - i.e. I tend to fly by the seat of my pants when creating. Too much planning kills the story for me. So once all the preliminary work had been set up, and the broad strokes of the storyline determined, the rest was done directly in the game, with a little help from the testing cheats, Tombstone of Life and Death, and so on.”

“I knew I needed to wind up with a baby for every adult woman, but I didn’t always know who specifically would be the father of each baby until I saw how characters interacted. I knew one of the households would have a ghost, but for awhile I thought it might be Lana. I assumed Candy would have two lovers but I thought one of them would be Hamilton until she informed me otherwise. As mentioned earlier, I thought the Manns would be the central, triggering household rather than the Harts. I had no plans for the teens or children at all, and they took care of their own storylines”.

On a different note, what was your inspiration for the dynamic between the Harts and the rest of Widespot’s inhabitants? How did you develop the idea for these entanglements?

“As a family of Romance sims, their job was to wreak havoc. And boy, howdy, did they! But only after I realized Angel had to be the town ghost. The family ran much too smoothly when she was in charge - she and Valentine constantly smooching it up, Rhett being Mama’s boy, Candy being Goldie’s social support. Kill Angel, and everybody falls apart and starts making bad decisions. I designed Valentine as a Dirty Old Man; but he refused to be only that. I designed Rhett as a heartless jerk, and he can be that - but he’s also the only one of the immature Mama’s boys in the hood who has lost his Mama. I designed Candy as a golddigger, and yeah, she is - but she also made friends with Daytona and Goldie without any prompting from me, and she put herself in the middle of what turned out to be the hardest knot to untie in the whole hood, the Mann Triangle.”

“And Goldie - well, Goldie was a darling who autonomously put the rest of her family ahead of herself repeatedly, could never finish her homework, and never once brought anyone home from school or came home with anyone else.”

“TL;DR: I didn’t develop the Harts. They did.”

You’ve been very active on both Mod the Sims and Tumblr for a while now. How has The Sims community evolved since you first got involved? Why do you think there is still such a strong following of the series?

“It’s hard for me to speak to how it’s evolved, since I was never part of the Age of LJ and only started playing Sims 2 since after Sims 3 was already out. Also, having been on the fringes of a lot of subcultures in my life, I have become adept at keeping away from the stuff that stresses me out. So I’ve never hung out at SimSecret. I block tags on tumblr. I avoid anything smacking of edition wars, don’t allow anonymous communication, and back out of controversies as fast as I can - with an apology if necessary, because face it, everybody’s a jerk on the internet sometimes, and the most you can hope for is to not be one any more often than you can help.”

“So I have no idea how the Sims community as a whole is going on, and I only have a limited knowledge of the portion of the Sims 2 fandom that hangs around specifically at MTS and attracts my attention on Tumblr (often by tagging Widespot). Within this limited sphere, I have noticed a few changes. I used to see it assumed as common consensus that all Maxis premades were “ugly” and that “ugly” is a bad thing; moreover, that certain sims - Goopy Gilscarbo and Sandy Bruty in particular - are more “ugly” than most and are to be avoided at all costs. Now people are shipping Goopy and Sandy (that’s largely @holleyberry’s doing, I believe) and embracing the cartooniness of sims with enthusiasm.”

“On older websites I often see “realistic” (i.e., modeled on airbrushed photos in fashion magazines) sims that, as far as I can tell, are identical to each other and to the ones on the other old websites they link to. With current websites, however, I can not only tell the sims from each other, I can tell Person A’s versions of the premades from Person B’s at a glance. This is especially marked on tumblr, where I often know who originally posted the pics I’m looking at regardless of the attached avatar.”

“And there has been such a flowering of creativity in so many directions in the last eight years it’s overwhelming, though I don’t know how that compares to the days before I started participating. I like to think of Widespot as the vanguard of a Golden Age of hood-sharing. Nobody moans about the lack of clean fan made neighborhoods anymore; they’re agonizing over whether to play Europa or Widespot or Emerald Heights or Polgannon. And suddenly people are making new face sliders. Neighborhood deco lights up at night now. There’s mods for parking on the street, taking toddlers and pets on vacation, hunting, foraging, beekeeping, on and on and on.”

“I think the main difference between now and eight years ago is, that people were defensive about still playing Sims 2, and a general air of playing a “dying game” hung over us all. Now we are joyous and defiant and declaring that Our Game is the Best and Will Never Die.”

“Or maybe that’s just the people I self-select to see. How would I know?”

As a writer by trade, did you find many similarities between creating Widespot and writing a novel?

“My experience has always been that there’s an underlying unity among all kinds of creation, and in particular that storytelling is storytelling, whether it’s the language of text, sound, line and color, or whatever. My writing habits and skills translated seamlessly into the medium of the game. The chief difference, once you factor out technical matters, is that in most forms of storytelling, you need to provide a discrete unit of Story and give the reader the pleasures of closure and narrative structure, pruning out everything that disrupts that weakens the sense of completeness.”

“When making a sims neighborhood, though, you need to be as open-ended as possible, and you need to discern the optimum moment to turn the hood over to the player, while it’s still bristling with plot hooks and unresolved situations. You don’t need, as I did, to deliberately choose the moment at which a bunch of hard choices must be made immediately; but you need to put the player into a situation in which the choices he makes will matter and shape how the neighborhood develops from that point.”

You often play neighborhoods like Pleasantview and Strangetown. Do you prefer playing your own sims or those created by Maxis?

“That’s like asking if I prefer to read Diana Wynne Jones or Megan Whelan Turner. (And if you aren’t familiar with those authors, boy do you have some great reading ahead of you!) The answer is “both.” I enjoy playing characters I’m engaged with, regardless of who made them. Sometimes I wonder what’s going on with Vidcund and want to play Strangetown; sometimes I want to reconnect with the sims in Drama Acres, my personal custom neighborhood; sometimes I want to play with some of my own plot hooks from Widespot. It’s all good.”

If you had to pick between Widespot and Land Grant University, which would you choose?

“I’d attach LGU to Widespot and play them both. I don’t do either/or choices.”

(She just defeated the Kobayashi Maru.)

Do you intend on creating more neighborhoods?

“I actually have three on hand right now: a downtown called Bigg City (an empty version of which is available on SFS http://simfileshare.net/download/207580/ ); a Seasons/Pets neighborhood I call Knotthole County; and an AL neighborhood called Port Cochere. The populated Bigg City got real complicated, real fast and when Health Crap is in a certain state I can’t work on it. Knotthole County is almost completely built but got interrupted while I was designing the characters; and Port Cochere is an SC4 map and a bunch of illegible notes. And at the moment I can’t work on any of them because I need two disk drives in order to use AGS, and one of them has gone wonky. However, I should be able to replace that soon, and then - well, maybe I’ll finally get that last week of work done on Bigg City. Or maybe I’ll decide (again) that if I’m organized enough to work on that, I should seize the moment and get queries out instead.”

Your content is themed around The Sims 2; have you played other titles in the series?, If so, which installment in The Sims is your favorite to play? For storytelling? For building? For creating sims?

“I’m a late adopter by nature. I started with the original The Sims and played it till I felt I didn’t have anything more to discover in it, at which time I started looking into the Sims 2, assuming that I’d eventually plumb its depths, too, and move on to Sims 3 about the time Sims 4 came along. Then I discovered that Sims 2’s depths are unplumbable, and that it was the perfect vehicle for that all-community storytelling I’d always longed to do.”

“The more I learn about the later iterations, the more certain I am that I will never play them. I’m sure they’re fun in their own ways, and I certainly don’t look down on anyone who chooses to play them; but I don’t like the way they look, I don’t like the lack of a storytelling tool, and most of all, the mechanics and structure of the game don’t enable my style of neighborhood play. The Sims series consists of four distinct games with four distinct sets of strengths and weaknesses; and the first two are the only ones I feel any call to play.”

Lastly, why do you still continue to play The Sims? Do you feel that the games provide a positive creative outlet?

“It still gives me pleasure. And I still have Health Crap and need projects, and have a computer that will play it. The Sims 2 is as much a part of my life as reading and playing tabletop RPGs and board games with my friends. So why would I stop?”

“The game is a positive creative outlet - it has nothing to do with my feelings on the subject. One of the most rewarding things about having made Widespot and LGU is seeing people use them as springboards for developing and experimenting with their own creative capacities. Also, a lot of simmers are deliberately using the game to control or relieve some condition or other. Depression, OCD, chronic pain from which they need distraction - I’m not the only one with Health Crap, and I am honored whenever anyone uses something I made to deal with theirs.”

“They could have done these things without me, of course - but they didn’t. They used something I made for their own benefit, and I can feel good about that.”

Any parting comments, teasers, spoilers, public service announcements, etc.?

“One of the core concepts by which I live my life is that creativity is the quality that defines humanity best, and that it is the birthright of every single one of us. But we’ve been educated to think that it’s something special and separate, accessible only to certain special “talented” people; and brainwashed to think that personal creativity that can’t be monetized is a trivial use of time. On the contrary, creativity is to a large extent what time is for. Whether it’s a book, or a game, or a prom dress, the process of making is fulfilling and enriching, and sharing what we make is nourishing to us and to those we share with. So whatever your medium is, whatever resources are available to you, whatever ideas are quickening in your brain and hands - go for it.”

“It is not a silly waste of time.”

To those of you who haven’t played Widespot, go check it out; you won’t regret it. Thanks again to Peni Griffin for allowing me to pick her brain, and I hope you all enjoyed reading it. I certainly found a new favorite word in “pantser.”

If you have any questions, comments, or suggestions, feel free to visit my ask box. If you are interested, give Plumbob Post a follow, and reblog for anyone else who you think would enjoy this blog. Stay tuned for upcoming posts!

Dag dag!

#the sims #the sims 2 #fanfic friday #widespot #peni griffin

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