#like yes yes i get it its a metaphor its a escalation what else where they gonan do but like idk man i can still not like that turn!! | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

bigskydreaming · 3 years ago

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Okay, so you know “Justice League meets Batman’s kids, who they’d previously been unaware existed” AUs?

So picture that.....but this time, instead of them just having no knowledge of any of these other Gotham vigilantes at all....the Batkids all migrate to various cities as they get older and become known as their protectors - Dick in Bludhaven, Tim in San Francisco, Cass in Hong Kong, etc....

Meaning they’re all established figures, the Justice League are aware of them as solo local heroes who stick to their cities and so they just don’t interact with them much if at all, or else some are members of team lineups but are particularly vague about their histories or life outside of the team’s adventures....

So the big reveal isn’t that they become aware of all these other Gotham vigilantes all at once....its that some big conflict or whatever requires a huge team up of all available heroes, and in the aftermath, they figure out that like.....despite being known as solo heroes who work alone or loners outside of their team settings, 80% of these heroes all not only seem to already know each other, they seem to be related.

And so naturally they all turn to Batman, who has profiles on every known hero and they thus figure had researched these individuals too and just never mentioned this little detail, and they’re like, “Did you know about this?”

And then Nightwing turns to him too, arms crossed and is like, “Yeah Dad, did you know about this?”

And the infamous Red Hood is all: “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I have never met any of these people before in my life. Lives? Whatever.”

And then Red Robin moodily grates out “I have no siblings.” Since he’s nursing a grudge since Dick and Jason broke into his apartment the night before and replaced all his custom Red Robin gear with Darkwing Duck merchandise and his vengeance will be swift and also totally disproportionate because things escalate quickly in this family, that’s true in every universe.

Cass meanwhile has deftly skewered Jason’s lie by walking over to him and brazenly patting down the man with many many guns with no fear whatsoever. He squawks and futilely attempts to bat her hands away as she riffles through his many pockets, but he doesn’t seem shocked, just annoyed. Eventually, she pulls away and triumphantly reveals a box of Hello Kitty themed band-aids.

“So these are yours then? Just for you?” Black Bat asks smugly. Red Hood squints at the box.

“What the fuck? How long have those been in my jacket? Why are those in my jacket? Did you freaking plant them in my jacket just on the offchance you could at some point in the distant future use them at my expense?”

Black Bat frowns, puzzled. “Yes?”

“Oh come on, Dead Hood,” Spoiler says with an exaggerated toss of her head meant to convey she’s rolling her eyes beneath her own mask. She skips her way across the room to Black Bat and then drapes herself languidly all over the smaller woman. Who in turn doesn’t so much as twitch beneath the sudden added mass as Spoiler holds out her hand towards the box of band-aids.

“One please. I have a boo-boo,” she says with easy familiarity straight into the intimidating cowl of Black Bat. Only then does she deign to finish her train of thought with Red Hood.

“I mean seriously, are you saying you don’t have potential blackmail set-ups, pre-rigged releases of incriminating material, and a random assortment of traps, pratfalls and mortifying scenarios in place for the express purpose of being able to humiliate any and all of your siblings at any given moment, without any need for additional prep time?”

“Is this true, Little Wing?” Nightwing whirls on the larger Red Hood with a faux-scandalized gasp. The founder and leader of the Titans, formerly the Teen Titans, renowned for his stratagems and calm competence when directing squads of supers in the heat of battle while he keeps pace with nothing more than naturally acquired acrobatics and a utility belt that apparently uses the same technology as Wonder Woman’s invisible jet....now appears to be....staggering with the back of his hand pressed to his forehead, moaning about how he felt....faint?

What is happening right now, several dozen superheroes want to know. Is this a drill? Are they supposed to be checking for signs of a mental ambush from undetected psychic saboteurs? Did they all hit their heads at the exact same time and are now experiencing some kind of shared mass concussion?

Look, that wouldn’t be the weirdest thing to ever happen on the Watchtower.

“Have I failed you so utterly?” The veteran child hero bemoans with a dramatic twirl - that when contrasted with his stern demeanor of a mere ten minutes ago - makes the fears of telepathic infiltration seem less paranoia and more....concerningly probable. “Did you learn nothing from me? Did you learn nothing from B?”

He stops and jabs a finger up at the sky. “Quick, everyone! What is the very first rule of Living While Batty?”

As if by rote, over a half a dozen voices chime in from all over the room, causing various heroes to jump. Spooked by yet more and more vigilantes joining in some kind of mass recitation like they and they alone have some kind of clue what the hell is going on and everyone else just hadn’t been invited to the party. Which is just rude, honestly. Nobody likes feeling like they weren’t invited to the party. Not even superheroes.

“If you’re not going to bother preparing for every possible contingency and at least six impossible ones, you might as well just stay in bed.”

Even the Red Hood joins in the Illuminati chant or Cub Scout pledge or demonic ritual or whatever the fuck that just was, though his slumped and exasperated posture gives away every hint of sulkiness his headgear otherwise would have kept safely hidden. He’s surprisingly more...expressive, than most who’d only known of him by reputation had expected him to be. The day continues to yield surprises.

“Of fucking course I do,” he growls out, snatching the box from Black Bat. She doesn’t even fight to hold onto it, just lets it go with a knowing smirk. “I wasn’t surprised by the idea of it, I was just surprised she bothered with such a weak effort. Like yeah whatever, actually those could be mine. I use those all the time at home. So what?”

He aggressively yanks one of the band-aids out of the box, fumbles with the peel-off strips with one hand and he roughly rolls up the sleeve of his jacket with the other. Then just slaps it on his forearm and raises said appendage high, showing it off this way and that. “See?”

“Oh yeah, for sure,” Signal drawls from the other side of the room, nodding his head approvingly. “Totally convincing. Nice job walking that one back, you really showed them.”

Red Hood’s head snaps in his direction with ominous intent. “Watch it, Day-Glo.”

Signal just snorts.

“Yeah, like I’m gonna take constructive criticism on my name and costume from a dude who’s spent the last several years calling himself Red HOOD while running around in a freaking HELMET.”

“Its not meant to be literal, you fucking pedant.”

“So wait, its not literally a helmet? Huh, does it at least protect your head literally, or just like...symbolically? Like if Bane were to clock you across the head, would your concussion just be a metaphor? What’s the treatment protocol for a metaphorical concussion? Fluids, bedrest and a philosophical prescription of two chapters of Chicken Soup for the Soul as needed?”

“Laugh it up, KC and the Sunshine Band,” Red Hood bats back. “You just got yourself disinvited from Thursday night’s poker game.”

Signal just grins and folds his arms over his chest cockily. “Please. You’ve been looking for an excuse to ban me for weeks, cuz you know until you can prove I’m using my ghost vision to cheat, you can’t actually bring suit against me for it in Family Court.”

“That, and also Family Court isn’t a real thing, you toddler. Stop validating Wing-a-ding-ding’s obsession with Shitty TV Nostalgia and just call it that thing where Oracle traps us all in a room until we settle our latest fight without anyone getting stabbed.”

“Yeah, but like, say that five times fast,” Spoiler pipes up. “Its just not practical. Family Court’s way easier.”

“Says the one who’s not even in our fucking family.”

“And yet I grace you all with my sublime presence anyway,” she blows a kiss at him, beatifically unbothered. “You’re welcome.”

The Red Hood scoffs and rounds on his heel, zeroing in on Batwoman in the far corner.

“Hey Auntie B, my siblings are all dead to me and I just helped stop an alien invasion so I deserve nice things like a fun Saturday night. Can you get me into Dad’s fundraiser so I can crash it? He won’t put me back on the list until I promise not to bring any C-4 with me and I won’t promise not to bring any C-4 because he should just trust me that I won’t when I say I’m not gonna and he won’t trust me that I won’t until I admit I shouldn’t have brought any to that sting last month where three tiny little yachts blew up through barely any fault of my own, and I’m just not gonna do that ever because I have convictions and I feel I shouldn’t have to be punished for that. Y’know?”

Batwoman blinks at him. “Kid, I’m not gonna lie to you. You’re my nephew and I love you, but I stopped listening three seconds into all that.”

“Ugh, fine. Can you help me crash Dad’s event tonight so I can teach him a lesson about why he should just trust me not to make a scene so I don’t have to always make a scene to make a point.”

“Tempting as you make that sound,” she says wryly, “I have a strict policy for dealing with you lot and your......everything. I only worry about tolerating one of you at a time, and there’s seven of you, and seven days in the week. You each get your own. You know perfectly well its Robin’s day today. You get me on Tuesday, just like always.”

“Auntie B, we’re not like other families, are we?” Red Robin’s delivery is sarcastically childish and his question clearly rhetorical. Most of his attention is fixated on whatever it is he’s doing with his wrist-mounted computer.

“No sweetie, we’re all severely fucked in the head and a little bit too comfortable with that.”

“Just checking. Oh hey, Hood, I just emailed you a patch for the hole in your firewall I exploited when replacing all my shit using your accounts just now.”

“You did what?”

“Used your accounts to pay to replace all my stuff that you fucked with last night?” Red Robin says slowly. “Did you not realize that I’ve been sticking within ten feet of you for the past five minutes just so I could clone your devices and do all that while BB and Spoiler kept you distracted? I gotta say, bro, I feel like that’s on you then.”

Red Hood swivels his helmeted head in the direction of the aforementioned two. Black Bat waves. Spoiler shoots him an utterly unrepentant thumbs up.

“You’d side with your ex over me? That’s what its come to?”

“My only allegiance is to chaos,” Spoiler says brightly. Black Bat shrugs.

“Plus he bribes better.”

“Hateful,” Red Hood points at Black Bat, moving on to level the same finger at Spoiler, who curtsies in acknowledgment: “Hateful-er.”

Then the finger rounds the bases to aim judgmentally at Red Robin. “Hateful-est. And that was all Nightwing’s idea anyway, not mine.”

“Oh, I assumed as much,” he says casually. “Your idea of a prank tends to have more of a Carrie vibe. Or be a literal literary reenactment.”

“Its called an homage, 4chan.”

“Whatever, plagiarist. And anyway, I couldn’t go after ‘Wing for payback on this one. He used an Immunity card. If you didn’t want me getting back at you, you should have used one too."

Red Hood looms aggressively. Red Robin ignores willfully. Round and round they go. Superheroes who can survive excessive G-Forces are getting dizzy just watching them have a largely motionless stand-off. That shouldn’t be how that works, but whatever. All the most infamously reclusive and isolated heroes in all hero-dom are apparently part of the same one big reclusive and isolated family of fucked up weirdos and they’re all officially bonkers. Nothing makes sense anymore. Reality broke. Try another stall.

“Okay, but see, in order to have an Immunity card, I would have to participate in one of you losers’ stupid Immunity challenges,” the Red Hood drags out with exaggerated patience. “And I’m just not going to do that, on account of those all being fucking stupid. You see the problem there?”

Red Robin just shrugs. “I don’t know what to tell you, bro. You can have principles or you can have an Immunity card. You can’t have both.”

Meanwhile, on another side of....the same room.....look, its like, an octagonal room, probably. It has a lot of sides. Robin fends off questions from an aggrieved looking Superboy.

“You never told me you had a bajillion brothers and sisters!”

“Yes but I never said I didn’t either.”

Superboy rolls his eyes. “Oh yeah, so I should just assume everyone I meet has a bajillion secret brothers and sisters?”

“Well clearly it would have worked out in your favor in this instance if you had, now wouldn’t it?”

“Assuming of course that you can trust what has been said or implied here today and I am actually related to any of those numbskulls. Which I am not actually admitting to,” Robin tacks on hastily.

Superboy eyes him dubiously. “You joined in the same creepy chant all the others did and then got super self-conscious and looked around to see if anyone had noticed. Which uh. I did.”

“First off, your interpretation of body language is abyssmal. I do not get self-conscious,” Robin says with a delivery that probably could have benefited from being a little less self-conscious. “And second....that proves nothing. I guessed what they were going to say.”

“Word for word,” Superboy says super-skeptically.

“I’m very good at guessing things. You know this.”

“Okay. Guess how much I believe you right now then.”

Robin glares and folds his arms grumpily across his chest.

“And what was that anyway? Was that like....you guys’ family motto or something like that?”

“Oh no,” Spoiler pipes up. “That’s much shorter.”

Superboy balks at that. “Wait, you guys actually have one of those for real?”

“Yup,” Steph says, counting out the words with her fingers. “He who laughs last....probably works for the Joker. So tranq him just to be safe. See? Only sixteen words. The first rule of Living While Batty is way longer, and what we said was just the abridged version. You should hear the original, before Black Bat put her foot down and refused to memorize it unless sizable edits were made.”

Superboy hovers between her and Robin now, both in mid-air and on the verge of taking Spoiler’s words as an invitation to hear just that. A low growl arises from Robin’s direction.

“Must you?” He asks the older vigilante, with a most put upon expression.

She looks at him pityingly. “Do you actually need me to answer that? Like, we’ve met, right? Hi, I’m Spoiler.”

“Wait, so Robin said that I just never specifically asked him if he had a bajillion brothers and sisters, and that’s why he didn’t tell me, so that means he wouldn’t have just lied and there’s not some code of secrecy that flat out forbids telling other people stuff, right?” Superboy realizes excitedly.

“Yes, excellent direction. Go on,” Spoiler says, steepling her fingers. Robin buries his face in the palm of one hand.

“Soooo, what other stuff could you tell me about Robin’s super top secret family that I wouldn’t think to ask about but that he would tell me about if I knew what questions to ask?”

She claps once, lightly but with emphasis. “Well done. You’ve passed the first barrier. Untold secrets await you behind just a few more.”

“I’ll get you for this,” Robin vows calmly. She waves a hand at him.

“Yeah, yeah. Just make sure you do it before January 1st, remember? You’ve promised retribution like ten times already this year and those don’t roll over, y’know. Rules are rules.”

“Enough!” Thunders a voice then, from the front of the room. Well one of the fronts anyway. Like sides, it has a lot of them, but this is the one where Batman’s standing. All eyes snap to him. Which is kinda just what eyes do when Batman says stuff like that. Its like his superpower, except he doesn’t actually have superpowers, which is what makes it scary. But where the snapping of the eyes (directional) is usually followed by Batman saying something else besides just “hey look at me,” here he pauses in the wake of his own call to attention’s waning reverberations. Uncharacteristically silent.

Not that, y’know, he’s normally Mr. Talkity Talk, but usually his silences feel like he has the words to fill them, he’s just withholding them. This though, this feels more like he doesn’t have any words at all. And he’s as confused by it as any of them, and most everyone else is confused by Batman being confused, and its this whole trickle down economy of confusion and its wrecking havoc on the value of the golden silence standard.

Of course, not everyone present is rendered spellbound with confusion.

“C’mon B,” Nightwing cajoles, leaning forward and practically radiating delight. “I think you know what you have to do now. This is a once in a lifetime opportunity. Its not likely to come around again.”

Red Hood snickers beneath his helmet and chimes in. “Yeah Pops, go ahead. You do this and you’ll actually have my respect for a whole twenty four hours. No, wait. Sixteen. No! Eight. Yeah, eight. Still a good deal.”

“Carpe diem, B,” Red Robin grins, leaning back as if to enjoy the show.

“Hey! Infringe on my trademark one more time, dude,” Signal throws a faux-glare at the former. Red Robin just quirks an eyebrow.

“And what, you’ll start saying Yum every time you eat a burger? Oh no. I’m hoist by my own petard.”

Signal flips him off with a grin and then redirects his attention back to Batman. “Yeah seriously though B, you kinda gotta do it now. Because if you don’t do it, then you’ll forever be the guy who didn’t do it, and you don’t want to be that guy, do you?”

“Yeah you really don’t want to be that guy,” Spoiler shouts out. “Nobody likes that guy. He’s the worst.”

“Do it, do it,” Black Bat starts chanting beside her, steadily picking up speed and volume. Several others start joining in. Even Robin appears to be slightly anticipatory, albeit trying very hard to hide it.

Batman sighs, and somehow everyone manages to hear it. Stills. Waits for....something? Nobody but them seems to have any clue what, but the air is thick and heavy with portentiousness. Something is about to happen, and all most of the heroes present could say for sure is it was something they never would have in a million years seen coming.

Finally, Batman straightens with the resigned air of a man about to have oh so many regrets. He crosses his arms, shakes his head, and in an absolute deadpan monotone, says:

“You are awful children. You know you’re killing me. You’re killing your father.”

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noteguk · 4 years ago

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bad attitude | jjk | m

[ ! ] this is part of the bad influence collection. You can read it as a stand-alone though!

— summary; in which Jungkook finally learns how to behave. Kind of.

— contents and warnings; pwp, smut, badboy!jk x goodgirl!reader, enemies with benefits/enemies to lovers, brattysub!kook x dom!reader, actually more of a switch!kook/switch!reader, the oc is kind of a demon with teasing because payback is a bitch, bondage, edging, dirty talk, begging, oral (m receiving), female masturbation, cockwarming, unprotected sex (don’t be dumb), creampie, stuffing, Taehyung makes a cameo, terrible use of the two wolves meme I’m so sorry

— words; 7,2k

— author’s note; yes I started this with a meme and no I’m not okay. This is kind of chaotic tbh but I wanted to write something a bit more unhinged and lighthearted after all that drama from the third part of the series. This happens some time after bad reputation.

Also! Take a look at the text messages that brought them to this moment ;)

Probably one of the dumbest things that Jungkook had ever heard came from his roommate and childhood friend, Taehyung, after a few hours scrolling through Facebook with a blunt hanging from the corner of his lips. Taehyung was in the deep web equivalent of social media: entrepreneur pages, where young, overly-dressed men with obviously rented convertibles promised to teach gullible people how to become millionaires by working at home (if you only pay for their courses). Nevertheless, what started as an ironic scroll through shallow motivational quotes quickly escalated into a semi-believable, mostly high rant about the importance of controlling your inner demons, which Jungkook sadly had to endure, since he was the only person around and, therefore, his roommate's sole target.

Taehyung was high out of his mind, but it seemed as if he would be the last to get that memo: in his twisted conception, he was spilling the hottest of truths (and not the incoherent ramble that it really was). Fighting through Jungkook’s complaints and eye rolls, he simply went on and on about how the page “Alpha Billionaire 101” wasn’t really that off beat when they said that you do, in fact, have two wolves inside you — and the one you feed is the one that wins. Jungkook was basically disassociating by the point that Taehyung started drawing some graphs, looking fixedly at the two wolves on the screen of his computer (one written “success and drive” and the other one representing “failure and procrastination”) and wishing that the gods above would strike him down once and for all.

And why is that important? Well, because eventually Taehyung fell asleep and moved on with his life, only casually mentioning the other stuff he saw on that page, but his words stuck around, glued to the back of Jungkook’s head. Not because they held any sort of meaning, but because the wolf metaphor was just too stupid to forget. And that eventually caught up to Jungkook in the strangest, most unexpected of ways: with you and bondage being involved.

Now, Jungkook had two wolves inside of him: one was extremely laid back and barely cared about most things that happened, as long as he was having a good time. The second wolf was a bitter, prideful, egocentric, mean little thing that simply wouldn’t fold no matter how much the world wanted it to. And it was that second wolf that took him to that position: because Jungkook told you that he was positive, certain, a hundred percent sure that he’d never be like you and beg for something during sex.

Which made both of your wolves absolutely pissed.

“What the fuck…” he mumbled, looking up at your agile hands moving like wasps around his wrists. The room was dark, barely illuminated by the moonlight that came from the window, but that wasn’t really the reason why his pupils were so blown-out. “Where did you learn to tie knots like this?”

You smiled, giving a last pull on the ropes to make sure they would stay still. Jungkook had been elated when you finally told him that you’d be willing to try it out bondage. One thing he didn’t expect, though, was that he would be the one getting tied up. “I was in the Girl Scouts,” you told him, sitting back against his thighs.

Jungkook scoffed, tugging at the ropes. They weren’t too tight, yet they burned his skin a bit — not an unwelcome feeling, but his mind wasn’t too focused on it. He had to live up to his own words. “Of course you were in the fucking Girl Scouts.” He rolled his eyes. “So, how long is this gonna take?”

His gaze followed as your hands unclasped your bra. Jungkook, who had already been stripped down to his boxers, could barely disguise the twitching of his eyebrows when your breasts finally came into view. The bra collapsed somewhere on the floor. “Depends on how long it takes for you to say it,” you reminded him.

Jungkook shifted around, gaze following the rise and fall of your chest. His hands struggled against the ropes, aching to touch your breasts, and you could notice the frustration blossoming at the back of his throat when he spoke up. “I’m not gonna say it.”

With a pout, you leaned back in, placing your hands on his broad chest for leverage. “Then it’s probably going to take a long time.” You blinked up at him, and there was a devilish glint in your eyes that he didn’t remember seeing before. He was doomed. “Comfortable?”

“Not at all,” he complained.

The smile you gifted him made his knees weak for a second. “Perfect.” Your hands traveled to the back of his neck, fingers playing with his hair and eyes zeroing in on his mouth. “Now, be good and kiss me like you mean it, okay?”

Be good?

Jungkook didn’t get any time to digest your words before your mouth was pressing against his, enveloping him in your warmth — and suddenly he didn’t want to think about anything else. How could he? When you had your hands caressing his neck, with a soft sigh against his lips, there was nothing else in the world that could rob his attention.

In the end, past his brooding, unshakable persona, Jungkook was still a weak man when it came to you, he really was. It had become a natural, well-rehearsed reaction of his to explore your mouth with his tongue at every chance that he got; your lips slapping together as he groaned against you. The skin of his wrists was tingling, pressing hard against the ropes that held his hands back from exploring your body; from pulling you closer like he wanted to. Instead, he was at your mercy, following your own pace as you leaned your head to the side, fingers tugging on his hair as you sighed happily into the kiss.

It was exactly the way he liked: sensual, slow, messy; made his head spin when you rolled your clothed center on his erection before sucking on his tongue. Jungkook was sure that you were doing all that on purpose, riling him up as much as possible before finally touching him where he needed so much, and that was definitely going to be a problem.

In the back of his head, Jungkook was currently trying to decide if he hated Taehyung or not: the fact that his roommate had compulsively chosen to attend a party three hours away was the reason that you were there, kissing him like he was the air that you breathed, but also the reason why Jungkook had gotten tied up in the first place. If he had had a bit more time between texting you that he would never beg in sex (a very dumb, very unthought action), and the moment that you actually tried to make it happen, perhaps he would be able to convince you to step down from it. Perhaps he would realize that his prideful side was also really, really fucking stupid when it came to predicting his own limits.

Truth was: Jungkook was pretty much panicking when you moaned against his lips, because his cock was unbearably hard inside his underwear and he just knew that he would fold after some time. Especially when you were acting like that, like a demon trying to seduce him into selling his soul; a siren about to drag him to the abyssal depths of the ocean. He could barely follow what was happening.

Because of his dominating tendencies, Jungkook had never seen you showing your typical neurotic, controlling self during your sexual adventures — which was something he endlessly teased you for, but never thought it would actually have any sort of backlash. It seemed that both of you liked the usual dynamic (of Jungkook taking over) well enough and, yet, as he watched that sadistic expression monopolizing your features, he realized that maybe it was for the best. Maybe you had been training your whole life to perfect the masterful art of having things happening the way you wanted it, and maybe giving you the lead was one of the worst decisions he had made in some time.

As you pulled away, Jungkook chased after your mouth, managing to place another small kiss on your lips before the ropes held him back. “More,” he groaned.

The curve of your mouth was a wicked little thing, almost making him lose his composure for a second. “No, no more,” you were firm in your words. “Be patient.”

He huffed. “You only got an attitude because my hands are tied up.”

“I always have an attitude,” you were fast to correct, getting out of his lap. The lack of your warmth was instantly felt, made his chest heave in frustration as you sat down next to him. There was an embarrassingly large wet spot on his underwear that he was hoping you wouldn’t notice. “But, yeah, maybe I’m a little braver because of it.” Before he could muster up a response, one of your hands traveled between his thighs, faintly tracing its way up his skin. “And what are you going to do about it?”

Jungkook clenched his jaw — it was embarrassing how sensitive he was, goosebumps spreading through his legs. “Don’t tease."

“Or what?” A squeeze of his bulge was everything you need to make him shut up, his hips buckling up to meet your palm. Jungkook was hard and leaking, pulsating as you gave him a few, half-assed pumps through his underwear. A few seconds were more than enough to let him have his fun, it seemed, because you were soon removing your hand from his erection. “Now, stay still unless you want me to tie your feet too.”

He hissed at the lack of contact, but refused to complain about it out loud. You smiled at his reaction: Jungkook was so stubborn when it came to things like that, would never show you his weak, needy side so easily. But you were patient and, from what you had been told, you had all night to get your way.

Call it revenge, call it whatever: there was nothing that you wanted more than to see Jungkook bite back his own words and beg for you. It was an ego thing, perhaps, the mission to leave him just as overwhelmed and desperate as he had made you so many times in the past. Maybe you were a bit mean about it. But it was well deserved.

You took your time pulling one of his legs towards you, watching as his cock throbbed when you placed your body between his thighs. Jungkook could only think about how soft your mouth felt as you kissed up his thigh before, at last, you were nuzzling your face against his erection, placing kisses on his clothed member as your thumb pressed down on his sensitive tip. His breath grew irregular at the feeling, his tongue poking out to wet his lips as you looked up at him with that demonic smirk of yours, those big doe eyes that wiped his thoughts clean. Jungkook was absolutely fucked.

Luckily, he didn’t have to urge you further because, soon enough, you were pulling his underwear down, making it join your bra on his bedroom floor. Jungkook could’ve cried when you rolled your thumb over his crown, spreading his precum all over him, a delighted hum dripping past your throat. “You’re leaking,” you commented, eyes following the glistening of his reddened tip. He could only muster a raggedy, short sigh before you were talking again. “I can clean you up, don’t worry.”

Jungkook moaned out when you wrapped your lips around his cock, not hesitating much before you sank down on him. His head fell back when you started sucking, your cheeks hollowing out and tongue pressed flat against him. “God, your mouth feels so fucking perfect.” His hips thrusted up, but you had enough of a reflex to pull away before he managed to hit the back of your throat. “Take it deeper, baby, do it for me.”

But you did the opposite, removing him from your mouth. You glanced up at him with a disinterested look plastered all over your face, lips glossy with a beautiful mixture of your saliva and his wetness. Jungkook made a mental note to never forget that sight. “I don’t know if you understand what’s going on here, Jungkook.” You wrapped one hand around his cock, pumping it twice. It felt good, but nothing compared to your mouth. “But it’s really not your place to tell me what to do right now. That’s not how it works.”

“Yeah?” He chuckled, eyebrows raised in a silent dare. “And what are you going to do about it?”

Poor decisions: Jungkook’s week was filled with poor decisions. Blame that unshakable arrogant side of his, blame his terribly constructed defense mechanisms; blame whatever it was that didn’t allow him to think clearly when you were so beautifully placed between his legs, but it seemed that he really thought it would be a good call to provoke you when you were already 1) deadset on making him embarrass himself 2) probably the best Girl Scout to ever tie a knot in history.

Jungkook was completely helpless: he knew that, you knew that. So the reason why he mocked you in such a position would forever be another mystery that science could never answer.

And the payback arrived soon enough. Jungkook only earned a few seconds of relaxation, staring at your impassive face, before your mouth was sinking back down around his member.

If Jungkook thought that you were teasing him before, now you were sucking him like you wanted him to cum in two seconds — hands pumping his length, playing with his balls, tip hitting your throat, tongue dragging against his slit: the four horsemen of your apocalyptic blowjob technique that got him seeing stars in no time. “Fuck, that’s my girl,” he moaned. He was sure his wrists would be all red in the following morning from the way he was mindlessly moving his arms around, his mind just so hyper-focused on the need to touch you, to pull your hair when you were wrapping around his cock so well. “Feels so fucking perfect.”

Then, as he was just about to tip over, you pulled away.

“No, what the fuck,” Jungkook’s eyes snapped open, still unfocused and glazed-over. His body flinched at the interruption of his pleasure, and his cock throbbing against his pelvis, angry for attention. “Fuck, why did you stop?”

“That’s what I’m going to do about it.” You smiled, and Jungkook noticed that he was really playing a very dangerous game. In a span of two seconds, he asked himself if he was that mean to you, realized that he probably was, and came to terms with the fact that he wouldn’t change anything about it. “Are you going to behave now, Jungkook?”

He groaned, fighting against the frustrated waves that overtook his body. His orgasm, before so close, had now been washed away, leaving him with a pulsating feeling inside his guts. “You’re pissing me off.”

“Likewise.” You tilted your head to the side, placing one hand on his thigh. “Now, stay still and do what I tell you to do. That’s the last time I’m asking.”

He frowned. “Or what?”

You blinked, pausing for a second. “Isn’t it obvious? Or I’m leaving you like this.”

Jungkook’s brain finally seemed to comprehend the fact that, sometimes, it’s better to keep your mouth shut. So, instead of saying something, he simply watched as you removed your underwear before sitting between his legs, your thighs over his.

Because you absolutely hated him, you had opened your legs wide, pussy on full display, as you used one hand to lean back against the mattress. His eyes almost jumped out of their sockets when you used two fingers to spread your folds apart. “Look,” you said, your breathy voice making something inside his chest switch. “I’m so wet.”

And wet you were. Jungkook exhaled, nostrils flaring. His mouth salivated at the thought of licking you clean, fingers growing white around the ropes. He never hated an object so hard in his life. “I can… I can see that.”

You giggled at the grogginess of his tone, dove into the satisfaction that came from his focused eyes on your soaked folds. A gentle suspire left you as your digits slipped up, covering your clit with your arousal before pressing down on it. You were acting up a bit, whining loudly at the feeling because you knew that it drove him crazy to hear you make sounds for him. “Jungkook…” you trailed off. You had to bite back a laugh when his stare snapped up at you, looking so overwhelmingly horny and pissed off at the same time — the duality of men. “Want to have you inside me.”

He exhaled heavily. “Do it,” he said and you allowed him to think that it was his order (and not your decision) that made you move.

Jungkook’s pupils were blown out in sheer desire, wanting to absorb every light that bounced off your soft skin when you lined yourself with his cock, covering his tip with your warm wetness, allowing it to rub between your folds. By the time that you sat down on him, he was dangerously close to cracking.

“Oh fuck.” His hips thrusted up, wanting to feel more of your tight walls around him. It was heaven and hell, just the way he loved it, but his delight wouldn’t last long. “Fuck, baby, that feels so good.”

“It does,” you agreed, but there was a teasing inflection in your tone that he did not miss. Soon, your fingers were back where they were before, circling your clit. “And I happen to know how to make it even better. For myself, at least.”

It took him a few moments to understand what was going on, but, once it clicked inside his head, he could’ve cried from frustration. “What are you doing?”

“Getting myself off.” You smiled — oh you were such a fucking demon, he thought, a trickster spirit that wouldn’t rest until he was begging you to let him cum. Worst part? He might as well do it. “You don’t mind, do you? I know you love to keep your cock inside me like this.”

They say that revenge is sweet and, as you saw the flash of desperation that crossed Jungkook’s face, you couldn’t agree more. “Aren’t… aren’t you going to move?” He tried.

You could tell that he was holding back from just thrusting up inside you, which was equally satisfying and arousing: maybe, just maybe, he was starting to learn one thing or two about following your orders. “Hmmm… not at all.” You smirked, a tiny gasp leaving your lips as you circled your sensitive spot just the right way. Jungkook followed the movement of your lips as if they were writing the secrets of the universe. “Not if you keep that attitude up.”

He frowned, the corners of his mouth twitching in frustration. From your peripheral vision, you could see his wrists vaguely struggling against your knots — humbly speaking, you were a great Girl Scout, the typical overachiever, and you were positive that they would hold up.

“You’re going to regret this later,” Jungkook warned, but his words didn’t even have the chance to affect you. One clenching of your walls around him was all that it took for his head to roll back, a deep grunt dripping from his mouth at the sensation. It was just enough to keep him dangling over the edge, but not even close to making him cum. “Your pussy is so fucking tight, baby. Feels so fucking good.”

“I’m almost there, that’s why.” Your other hand slithered up your waist, cupping one of your breasts. Being a bit more theatrical than necessary (because you wanted to provoke him as much as you could), you gasped out his name as you rolled one nipple between your fingers, arching your back at the sensation. You swore you saw Jungkook’s eye twitch. “Gonna cum just like this. And you’re gonna be good and watch me.”

Again with that be good bullshit, again not giving him enough time to process it before you were timidly rolling your hips. “Baby,” he gasped. “This isn’t fair.”

“It isn’t,” you agreed, slightly breathless, your hand moving to play with your other breast. Jungkook followed the action like every part of you was magnetic, calling for his attention. “You do that to me all the time, though.”

He frowned. “But I let you fucking touch me.”

“How nice of you,” you sarcastically remarked. Another small roll of your hips made you gasp, fingers working faster around your clit. Teasing Jungkook got you shamefully turned on, it seemed, because you were just about to tip over the edge. “Fuck, feels so good.”

“It would feel so much better if you just— God, you’re so fucking wet,” his mind was barely functioning at that point, the heavenly feeling of your walls clenching around him was making him go insane. “Just ride my cock, baby.”

“No,” that simple word was like an arrow, shooting all his hopes down. Jungkook closed his eyes and threw his head back, trying to fight against the claustrophobic nature of his position. There was no way he could hold himself back, he thought, he would beg you as many times as he needed it that was what it took for him to finally cum. “I’m close, Kook.”

That whimpery, needy tone of yours would be the death of him one of those days. “I can fucking feel it,” he cursed. Jungkook just wanted to thrust inside your dripping pussy, make you cream his cock like you were made for it, but he knew that you would just stop everything again if he did so, and he seriously didn’t think he could take that. “S-Shit, baby, you don’t know what you’re doing to me.”

But you had a good idea of how you were affecting him. Through parted lids, you watched as his face contorted in pleasure when you squeezed particularly tightly around him; a muffled sob perishing on his throat when you vaguely raised your hips. Jungkook was filling you up so perfectly, like he always did, and it was that amazing stretch of his cock inside you, combined with the clear hunger that covered his features, that pulled your climax towards you.

The orgasm that washed over you was abrupt, overbearing, just blinding enough so you didn’t notice the weak little moans that Jungkook let out at the throbbing of your walls around his aching length. You tried to prolong it for as long as possible, rubbing yourself, crying out his name for theatrical reasons, but eventually sensitivity got the best of you and you stopped.

What you found when you did, however, was a glorious sight. Jungkook was a perfect picture of lust and desperation, his chest rising and falling rapidly and eyes locked on where your two bodies joined. There was a thin coat of sweat all over his skin, the small sound of the ropes pulling on the headboard. When he noticed you were staring, he found your gaze. “I- I stood still,” he said.

“I know, you did so good.” You placed one hand on his cheek, leveling your face with his so you could kiss him. Jungkook melted under your touch, a deep sigh leaving his mouth as you pulled away, his cock still deep inside you. “I’m proud of you.”

As if something had magically changed, Jungkook tried to fight against his immobilized hands, only to find out that he was still unable to free himself. “Wanna touch you so bad, baby. You look so fucking hot sitting on my cock like this.” Jungkook was spoiled, you realized, because it didn’t take him two seconds of good behavior to revert back to what he wanted to happen. It was a terrible habit, you realized, one that you probably helped enable. “Fuck, just let me cum, baby. Take these off and I’ll fuck you just the way you like it.”

And maybe if you weren’t so high up in your power rush, you would’ve at least considered his offer. However, having Jungkook turned into a pliant mess beneath you was worth more than anything else at that moment. “I’ll think about it if you say the magic word.”

He frowned, his charm melting away. Jungkook was so adamant on having it his way that it bordered on a joke. “Not gonna do it.”

You kissed him once again before speaking up. “Then we don’t have a deal.” You shook your head, moving away from him. Jungkook searched after your mouth, but your stupid Girl Scouts knots didn’t allow him to go much further. He collapsed back against the headboard with a frustrated groan. “You’re a terrible sub.”

“Maybe because I’m not a fucking sub— Shit.” All his thoughts were wiped clean when you slowly raised your hips, only leaving his engorged tip inside, before, finally, sitting back down. The drag of your velvety walls against his sensitive cock was driving Jungkook up the wall, his tied-up wrists mindlessly knocking against each other. “Fuck. I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.” You pouted, repeating the movement. You watched as his jaw clenched, a sharp exhale leaving his nostrils as Jungkook both fought against and searched for his pleasure. “Sure you don’t wanna say it?”

A deliciously slow roll of your hips got him gasping out. “I’m not gonna — fuck — not gonna say it.”

You leaned your head to the side, stopping your movements. Jungkook’s abdomen was caving in with every small brush of your pussy around him, the illumination from the streets making the drops of sweat on his skin look like small diamonds. It was an erotic sight, from the falling of his dark hair over his hooded eyes, to the beautiful inked drawings on his arms. Unfortunately, you had other things to do other than to admire him endlessly.

With a sigh, you got up from his lap. “Too bad.”

“Baby,” Jungkook whined — actually whined — when he felt his cock slip out of your perfect heat, collapsing against his abdomen. The sensation got him flinching, made him bite his lip for a second in an attempt to compose himself. “Baby, don’t leave me like this, come on.”

You frowned, faking annoyance. “How can I not leave you like this, Jungkook?” Your palms slithered around his shoulders, pulling your body closer to his. “You’re being horrible right now.”

“S-Sorry.” His breath caught in his throat when your mouth met the skin of his neck, tongue prodding out to lick a small trail up his skin. Your heat was unbearable, suffocating him and drowning out his thoughts to the point that he had really apologized for his poor demeanor. If your predictions were correct, it wouldn’t take long before he folded the way you wanted him to. “Just, come on, you can’t just— I’m just so hard right now.”

You giggled, fingertips moving down on his chest until you found what you were looking for. “Aw. Poor thing,” you teased, feeling as he grew stiff when you started to play with his nipples. A few weeks back, you had made the wonderful and unexpected discovery that Jungkook was really sensitive there, but you never really had a chance to explore that side of him before he flipped you over and had you his way. But the universe always searched for balance, and that moment was the karmic payback you were looking for. “What’s the problem, Kook?”

“Wanna cum.” He winced away from your faint caresses, but he really didn’t have anywhere else to go. A smirk curled up on your lips as you watched Jungkook fight against the knots, a frail, airy moan leaving his chest as you rolled his nipples between your fingers. He sounded so perfect: so needy and desperate that you could feel another gush of arousal accumulating between your folds. “Just wanna cum so bad, baby.”

“I’m not gonna be mean and hold it off,” you told him, moving back so you could place a kiss against his pouty, swollen lips. Jungkook looked so beautifully messy, so on edge, that you almost cried out at the sight of it. “You just have to say it,” you told him, lowering your hips until you were straddling his cock.

With a roll of your pussy against him, his cock brushed between your wet folds, tearing a broken sob from his throat. “Fuck,” Jungkook cursed. He was never in a position like that: edged for so long that he couldn’t even control the grunts that left his throat. “You’re so fucking evil.”

“You love it.” Another grind of your pussy had him throwing his head back, a loud moan ripping itself from his heaving chest. Jungkook was sensitive, responsive to the tiniest of your touches and, most of all: he was desperate, seconds away from cracking. “You know, if you say it, I’ll let you cum.”

His cock throbbed against you when you finally stopped your movements, raising your hips so your center moved away from his. Jungkook complained at the lack of sensation, practically on the limit of throwing a tantrum, and his pelvis mindlessly buckling up in search of your warmth. Instead, he found nothing, and his member simply collapsed back against his abdomen, aching for its release.

“This— This is torture,” he groaned. You giggled at his distress, taking one hand to brush away the sweaty hair from his forehead. Jungkook leaned into your touch. “Please, baby, just fuck me.”

Your ears perked up at that, a pool of arousal starting to grow between your legs. That sounded even better than you had predicted. “Sorry, what was that?” You teased.

Jungkook closed his eyes, clenching his jaw. “Don’t make me say it again.”

Slowly, you lowered your hips again, pressing your pussy against his cock. Jungkook reacted instantly, taking in a sharp inhale. “Didn’t hear you,” you said.

“God, baby, just fuck me, please,” he finally broke down, his dazed-out gaze seemed to have some trouble focusing on your face. Desperation was plastered all over him, staring at you like a beautiful, shimmering trophy. “Please, just let me cum. Please.”

You hummed, leaning away so you could sit on his thighs, facing his erection. You were a woman of your word: you said you wouldn’t hold it back, and you wouldn’t. “Since you asked so nicely…” you trailed off, one hand wrapping around his base, pumping him a few times. Jungkook throbbed in your hands, his abdomen sinking as your thumb grazed his sensitive crown. “Where do you wanna cum?”

It looked like you had truly broken the poor boy down because, for the first time in his life, Jungkook didn’t have any idea on how to answer that question. “I- I don’t know,” he struggled to speak when your hand was still caressing his member: just enough for him to feel something, but too slow and light for him to actually cum. “Anywhere. Just wanna cum.”

You pouted, letting his cock go. It bounced on his pelvis, tore a painful cry from his throat as he felt his pleasure wash away once again. “I need an answer, Kook.”

And he said the first thing that came into his mind. “Your pussy, baby, please.”

A smile tugged on your lips — it seemed as if that word wasn’t so hard to say anymore. “Of course, you’ve been so good.” You moved around until you were sinking down on him, feeling that fantastic stretch all over again, and earning a shaky moan from his part. You only spoke up again after you were sure he couldn’t go any deeper. “Kook?” You called. His pleading eyes shot up at you. “Wanna fuck me?”

He breathed out, just a tremulous gush of air that he could barely get ahold of. “Y-Yes, yes, please.”

You hummed, wiggling your ass around just so you could watch his face contort in despair, crumbling under the delicious drag of your plump walls around his cock. Jungkook almost looked cute, you dared to think, even if you were sure he would fold you in half the second that he got those ropes off. It was like teasing a tiger in a zoo: people only felt brave enough to do it because there was a thick glass between them. “You better do it, then,” you told him.

After everything you had put him through, Jungkook seemed almost hesitant to do so. “C-Can I move?” He asked, just to be sure. Last thing he needed was to do something wrong and have you walking out on him. His cock was so hard, leaking inside you, and he didn’t believe that he could handle being left like that.

“Of course,” you told him, the tenderness of your voice so different from what you sounded like all night. Jungkook was still on the palm of your hand, but your victory when it came to making him beg had already been achieved. So you could relax and let him do the heavy lifting for once. Being active was exhausting sometimes. “Come on, Kook,” you egged him on, leaning forward so you could find support on his chest. You knew what was coming. “Fuck me.”

That seemed to be the last spark he needed to ignite his fire because, soon enough, he was placing both feet on the mattress and thrusting upwards, your body collapsing forward under the force of his movements. Jungkook barely gave you any time to breathe: he fucked you fast and deep, helped by the gravity of your weight above him; shallow breaths and noisy whines leaving his mouth in a beautiful cacophony of sounds. It wasn’t long before he was making you bounce on his cock, pretty moans melting upon your lips as you fought to keep your balance over him.

“B-Baby,” Jungkook stammered, an airy, high-pitched moan sounding from his parted mouth. His brain was utterly bewildered by the movement of your body above his own, the bouncing of your breasts and the wild fluttering of your eyelashes. And those moans, those gorgeous, ethereal little sounds that you reserved just for him. “S-So perfect. All mine.”

“All yours,” you said promptly, struggling to meet his gaze. No matter how much you tried, you could not follow the speed of his thrusts, so you simply kept your body in place as he used it as he pleased. “Is this what you wanted?”

He nodded, mouth falling open. His lips were pouty and swollen, slightly red from the way he had bitten them before. “Wanna cum,” he breathed out, “inside you.”

No pretty please, you realized. Perhaps it wasn’t your best call to ask him to fuck you, because it dawned on you that you had just handed Jungkook his esteemed control back on a silver platter. That started simply as a doubt in the corners of your mind, however, you were sure that you had lost that battle once his needy whimpers started to wash away, instead replaced by the guttural, rough groans that he usually presented to you.

Not that you truly cared about it: you had already proven your point.

His head leaned to the side, pressing against his elevated arm. Jungkook was hypnotized by the way that your bodies met, the way you held yourself up so he could fuck himself inside you. You were always so good for him. “Your pussy feels so fucking amazing, baby,” Jungkook moaned out, hips snapping up against yours. A hiss dripped from his mouth when he felt you clench around him, signaling that you were close once again. “Look so pretty. Made for my cock.”

“Y-Yes,” you stammered, head falling back. You could feel that familiar tingling at the bottom of your stomach, your orgasm ready to snap once more. Jungkook always fucked you so well, even when his hands were tied up, always left your brain scrambling after the most basic of words. “I’m c-close.”

Jungkook tried once more to pull at his restraints, but it simply wouldn’t bulge. The contrast between the red ropes and the dark ink decorating his skin was beautiful, the veins of his hands getting thicker as tugged again and again. Jungkook was beyond the realms of reason by that point, struggling like a caged animal because there was nothing else in the world that he wanted more than to touch; to suck your breasts and to fuck you the way he wanted to. “Gonna cum too, baby,” his voice was almost a roar, deep and frustrated. It shot straight up to your core, made you tip over the edge and come down spasming around his cock, your high washing over you. “That’s it, cream my cock,” he praised. In the background of your overwhelmed state, you could feel as his member throbbed inside you, ready to release. “Take everything for me, alright? Wanna fill you up.”

You barely had any time to nod before he was spilling himself inside you, a long, throaty moan dripping like sin from his lips. Jungkook tried to keep his movements up for a bit longer, delighting himself in the way you winced at the feeling, but even he had grown too tired to continue it. So, at last, he collapsed back against the mattress, sweaty hair falling over his eyes.

“Get up,” he commanded, breathless. “Let me see it.”

With shaky movements, you did as he requested, planting one hand on his thigh so you could raise your body. His cock slipped out at the motion, already softening, but his gaze was stuck on the gradual dripping of his cum between your pussy lips. As much as you were used to that specific request, it always made your legs weak when you looked at him during that part — no matter what happened before, Jungkook always had that maniac expression plastered all over his face, like the mere image of his cum slipping out of you was enough to send him into a frenzy all over again. And, most times, it was.

“Good girl,” his dark stare slowly navigated towards your eyes. His arms were surprisingly still, no longer battling against the ropes, and there was something ominous about that. “Push it back in.”

Because you didn’t want to anger him any further, you agreed. It was almost impressive how quickly Jungkook was able to take back his control: even with him being immobilized, you were still folding and following his wishes like it was your second nature. “Like this?” You asked, using two of your fingers to stuff his cum back inside.

“Yeah, just like that.” He breathed out, the final seconds of his exhale morphing into a low growl. “Now, ___,” he called, eyes still glued to your pussy. “Untie me.”

You almost wanted to go against that, given the way he was about to break you in half, but that wasn’t probably the brightest of ideas. A bit nervous, you moved off his lap and sat down next to him, hands flying to undo the knots. “Hang on,” you requested. From the corners of his vision, you could see Jungkook staring you down, his piercing eyes focused on your face, silently watching you through the curtain of his black hair. At last, you managed to undo the ropes, the thick material falling beside you as Jungkook lowered his arms and started to massage his wrists. “How are your hands? I hope it wasn’t—“

“Lay down.” He interrupted, dry. Your mouth fell shut — none of your usual sarcastic remarks finding their way past the lump in your throat.

The softness of the pillow was a welcomed sensation, but your body could not relax, not when Jungkook was still looking at the pink marks on his inked skin, thinking about what he was going to do to you. You waited for what seemed like hours until he finally moved around, arms on either side of your head and chest pressed flush against yours. Jungkook’s heat was asphyxiating, his nose bumping against yours as he placed a small, tender kiss on your lips. He was being too calm, you noticed that instantly; still waters with sharks swimming underneath.

“Silly girl,” he mumbled against your mouth, fingers pressing on either side of your jaw. Jungkook pulled your mouth open, thumb caressing your lower lip as he stared down at you like an arrogant monarch. You felt terribly small, shrinking under his presence. “It’s not my hands that you should be worrying about.” He smirked, and his thumb paused its tender motions on your lip. He sighed. “Now that you had your fun, I’m gonna have mine.”

Jungkook was right: his wrists were red the next day. He naively thought that no one would be able to see it through his tattoos, but Taehyung, even in his hungover stupor, had his detective eye ready and noticed the marks right away. There was absolutely no way all his crime documentaries made him such an expert, Jungkook thought, but couldn’t really be sure of it.

“You know… things like this only make me more curious,” Taehyung said after Jungkook had refused to tell him who had come over the previous night. He was munching on his sandwich like his life depended on it, brows furrowed into a perfect picture of concentration. There was jelly all over his mouth, pulling up the corners of his lips and making Taehyung look like a terrible, discount copy of the joker. “Like, a chick tied you up? Come on, I have to meet someone like that. It’s a matter of, like, survival, some alpha wolf bullshit—“

“Fuck off,” Jungkook cut him short, burying his face on his hands. He was too tired to deal with any of that. “I never want to hear about you or your wolves ever again.”

check out the rest of the bad influence collection!

taglist > @minyoongiboongi @bvrrym0re @marcoazam2 @shojotae @youurkryptonite @fan-ati--c @btstrasht @crazy4myself @ft-multi @kooafraid @dianaaviny @ggukkieland @cryinginmypromdress @kissestothesky @imluckybitches @gyukult @jinsalpaca @0901-1230 @we8joon @gamerkooks

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rawbins-undertale-blog · 3 years ago

Note

hey there again!!!

might i slide in this fine ask box with another HC request?

if yes, then could you please write some HCs where uf and ht sanses and papyruses (seperate of course) s/o gets put in a hospital for a lil bit? you can decide what happened to s/o. maybe a bad heatstroke cuz its summer or something (totally not because its a bad heatwave where im living rn haha nope). idk, i just crave angst or hurt/comfort again from my fave skeletons.

if you're not up for this, its totally fine!!

thank you, have a chill day/night B)

- 🌌 anon whos sunburns arent stinging that much anymore B)

*Evil cackling* OH-HO-HO, yOU HAVE NO IDEA WHAT MONSTER YOU HAVE UNLEASHED…… I am an evil being who feeds off of angst and pain, and you’ve given me ample opportunity to make some of that sweet sweet angst >:-)))))))))

I tried to keep it ambiguous as to what you’re in for, mostly because I want you to be able to imagine heatstroke and me to be able to think “hahahah stab stab”! ^^

Also!!! The healthcare system in some other countries is fucking insane (like??? You guys have to pay to not die??????) so I’ll be going off of what I know about the healthcare system in Sweden where it’s free. (At least I’m 99% sure it’s free, except for like. Small things. For example, my antidepressants. I had to buy those myself when I was still on them.)

UF + HT BROS WHEN S/O IS IN THE HOSPITAL

Red (Underfell Sans):

He’s panicking so so bad, he’s terrified. What if you die?

Curses out anybody who tries to keep him from you, including the poor nurse who’s just doing their job

Actually he just. curses in general. He’s just spewing cuss words to seem angry instead of scared because That’s Definitely Better

Most likely out of all four to physically lash out at… well, anybody (except you obviously) lol

Red hates hospitals too, to make matters worse. He doesn’t know why, but they make him feel uncomfortable.

If somebody did this to you purposely and he’s not allowed by your side, he’s going out to find the person and kick their ass during that time lol

If nobody did this to you, he’s pacing and cursing and jfc Red, you do realise there are other people here right enjdjdjdjsjsk

This fucker tries to pull a “pfff nah i was never worried” but like. Red. Darling. Light of my life. Stars in my sky. Center of my universe. Bitch of my heart. Everyone can see right through your “anger” and literally your shaking voice is so not convincing. Get a better poker face and voice.

With some prodding, admits that finehewasscaredyou’ddieandhethoughthisheartstoppedforasecondwhichisweird’causehedoes’tevenhaveaheartanywaysthat’sovernowsowhocares

(He’s not great at expressing himself but it’s still progress)

WILL be staying right by you as you recover. You’ve no choice. (You do actually, he respects you and will back off if you tell him to)

Edge (Underfell Papyrus):

Oh no. Oh no.

Edge is trying his very best not to show any emotions but he’s not good at it because like. It doesn’t take a genius to see that him screeching angrily at people and demanding for the doctors to fix this is actually him poorly masking his fear. Edge doesn’t have the best poker face lol

He’s so pissed if he can’t stay right next to you the whole time. You’re his S/O!! What kind of bullshit is this?!

If you do need to be left alone with doctors and such things, Edge will do one or two things depending on why you're in the hospital, how bad what you’re in for is and for how long he can’t see you.

If you’re here for something like heatstroke - AKA something not brought on by somebody else - he’ll call friends and such while pacing and somewhat frantically share your current condition.

However, if anybody did this to you; and you’re in bad shape… Well, even fucking Satan will cower at the brutality of Edge’s revenge.

When he’s allowed to be, he’s by your side and - depending on why you’re in and for what - he might nag you for being careless, reassure you it wasn’t your fault, reassure you in general, and/or just stay silent.

It’s barely noticeable, but just noticeable enough, that you can tell that he’s shaking.

All it takes is a “are you okay?” For him to break and confess how scared he was.

For a moment he was back Underground and it was horrible and he felt so powerless and he hates that. He’s so, so happy you’re okay and he- he swears he’ll be with you on your way to recovery. Please just never get hurt again.

Dusk (Horrortale Sans):

If you thought Red and Edge were scared, just know it’s nothing compared to the absolute terror he feels.

Dusk knows how fragile the human body can be. He’s seen horrific things happen to humans and monsters alike and he’s always hyper-aware of just how easy it’d be to kill and/or hurt you.

Logically, he knows you won’t die, he knows human anatomy well enough to know this is something you’ll bounce back from, but his instincts are going haywire and all he can think of are the mangled corpses back Underground. It doesn’t matter whether your condition has anything to do with broken limbs or not, because those pictures are what his mind is forcing onto him.

He refuses to leave your side. If he’s forced away from you by nurses/doctors/staff, he’ll protest but if he really can’t be by you for your safety, he’ll be anxiously hovering as close by as he possibly can. Whenever he’s allowed to touch you, he’s practically glued onto you.

If he’s sure it’s just the two of you, and you’re unconscious, he’ll probably cry.

He… He hates being reminded of your mortality. He hates the idea that any day could be your last. He doesn’t know what he’d do if you were gone.

(He’d dust, probably.)

If somebody else got your purposely hurt, he’s going to hunt them down after a while (after you’ve recovered enough for him to be comfortable leaving you alone for a bit). He’s not going to kill them, but he might rough them up a bit -- but most likely, he’ll just intimidate them and/or threaten them. (It’d be a different story if you were murdered.)

Whenever you’re conscious, he’ll do pretty much anything you say, so long as it won’t get you anymore hurt or risk stunting your recovery.

When you’re released from the hospital, he’ll be by your side nearly 24/7 because he hates the idea of you getting hurt again just because he wasn’t there to protect you.

Aster (Horrortale Papyrus):

Tries to look calm and composed, but he does about as poor of a job as his brother. He does better in that he doesn’t act out or get in the way of the nurses, but he’s also crying and shaking and sobbing and can’t stop.

You getting injured triggers him pretty badly. If you’re not bleeding, it’ll probably be “only” a bad anxiety attack, but if there’s any blood involved it’s escalating into a full-blown panic attack.

He’s a nurse himself, but I doubt he’d be allowed to work with the other nurses when it comes to you because of how unsteady he is. He’s not sure whether he’s thankful for it or not, because he doesn’t trust himself to do a good job but he also wants to be there for you. He trusts his colleagues, but it’s still nerve-wracking.

Just like the others, he’s glued to your side when he’s allowed to be. Very metaphorically. He’s the best of them all at giving you space, partially because he’s just more respectful lol and partially because he’s a nurse so he knows not to smother you with physical affection until you’re in the clear.

If somebody caused you to go into this state, he will just like Dusk go and find them. He won’t do anything physical, but he does intimidate the person very effectively. He’s a terrifying giant and he knows how to use that to his advantage.

When you’re fine again, he’ll be acting anxious and protective for a while. He feels really guilty about it (because he should be comforting you - plus, he’s a nurse! He’s seen way worse things on his job) but you’ll have to give him comfort. This whole thing didn’t inspire much positive feelings in him and it stressed him out a lot, it may honestly take more of a toll on him than it does you.

#imagines tag #undertale imagines #undertale headcanons #undertale au #horrortale sans #y/n x sans #reader x sans #sans #sans x y/n #sans x reader #uf papyrus #y/n x papyrus #papyrus x y/n #reader x papyrus #papyrus #papyrus x reader #underfell #horrortale #🌌 anon

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verycleverboy · 3 years ago

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A song at twilight...

(A barely coherent rant about the past twelve months)

I took a large part of 2021 off. Not just from unpaid current events blogging, but from political news in general. It wasn’t me being part of the smug, self-satisfied “I’m sure glad that’s over with” vibe that the corporate news outlets were falling into. It was from the dawning dread that if anything, the anti-democracy wing of the Republican party was escalating its dismantling of the American system. Every time I looked up, new nightmares were picking up speed.

The January 6th riots were only the beginning, not the end of Trump, and definitely not the end of reality-denying Trumpism. If anything, the Big Lie is gaining traction, and yes, the terrorists are winning.

Here’s where I lose some of you, though, because I’ve resigned myself to the idea that the end result of this is going to be civil war. Not a metaphor for the usual Twitter slap fights, but large-scale political violence from a “conservative” movement that believes political violence is not only inevitable, but necessary to “save” the country for the “patriots”. Another poll showed that a pretty good portion of Trump voters have decided that maybe they’d be better off not being Americans at all.

I seriously hope that there’s nobody reading this who has to be told this, but there’s no legal path to secession from the Union. The only way out, even temporarily, is through war. Unfortunately, these are the same people who buy all the guns when times get weird. So why shouldn’t I think that a lot of people are going to be willing to murder and die in the name of a vanity project from Clowny McClownface from Queens, a man who was told “no” by the system, and it burned his ass so badly that he decided to burn everything down on his way out?

When I bring these concerns up with anyone left-leaning in my circle, they think it’s absolutely hilarious. “Dude,” they tell me, “you’re severely underestimating the fundamental laziness of the average American.” Because that’s what we do in this country, right? We complain loudly on the Internet about the way things should be done, and then sit on our asses and wait for someone else to do it. It’s the American way.

The problem is that’s the same line of thought that allowed them to think Trump 2015 was an impossibility, that the Tea Party would blow over, and that QAnon would stay an Internet-based jerk-off fantasy. All of these things developed and thrived based on the same premise: If a person believes in the correctness of something, and that the implications of what they believe in require action, then in their minds they are morally required to act. Otherwise, they don’t genuinely believe in anything.

Never mind whether that “something” has any basis in objective reality. After all, we’re talking about a political moment set into motion by birtherism. Truth doesn’t figure into it. Faith is about belief in defiance of any and all evidence to the contrary.

In this respect, QAnon is starting to take on all the trimmings of a full-fledged apocalypse cult. Far from fading out when absolutely none of their psychotic predictions came true, QAnon members are going deeper into their delusions, one man recently going so far as killing his own family in cold blood because Q convinced him it was the only way to save civilization. They’ve got a Jonestown moment coming somewhere down the line, and I’m not looking forward to it, if for no other reason than someone loves those brain-broken people.

As far as something more earthbound like voter suppression, in nearly a dozen states that “someone else” is already doing it, and that impulse is picking up steam among state-level Republicans nationwide. Using long-discredited evidence pointing at a non-existent election “steal”, the ultimate goal is to be able to throw out inconvenient results (and voters, obviously) at will. Again, the terrorists win.

If these things are allowed to stand, get used to the idea of this being the final generation of the American Experiment. Or at the very least, say hello to the Republic of Texas.

Anyway, so long to 2021, and as for what’s ahead, God have mercy on us all.

#end of year ramble #who am i kidding #you didn't read this #things are not okay #it's barricades time

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ignitification · 4 years ago

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Cold Flame

A brief explanation of how Rei and Shouto's evolution have to do with the return of Touya Todoroki.

tw: mentions of violence, mentions of suicide, mental illness

1.) I think these two panels tell a whole story of its own.Touya mentions how “The only thing he taught me was how to turn up the heat” referring to Endeavour. This sentence blatantly refers to the accident where Touya’s flames could not be stopped, because his strive to show his father that he is indeed someone to be proud of, has been ignited and then never shut down. Endeavour took Touya, lighted up the flames in Touya (both metaphorically, in his drive and strive to be a hero, and be his father’s hero - and literally, to bring out his fire quirk out while training), and then tossed Touya aside. Rei, on the other hand was not capable to stop him: whether this references to his training regimen, or to him chasing Endeavour, or even his dream is highly unclear - but the sole fact that Touya blames them both (because he feels like he has been bred for this goal, and Rei agreed to it, and then had not enough power to actually put an end to this nightmare) and he is partly right, because this has hurt more people than it was supposed to and that it was necessary. Rei does not know how to stop his kid from getting hurt, which is getting her hurt in return. In this panel, she looks frightened, offended, desperate to grab at Touya (who is silently and slowly slipping further away from her and her grasp) but she cannot. Now, I am not going to go further in this, because Rei not saving Touya is a partially incorrect statement, as yes, she could have done something if herself was not in a very bad place in the first place and if actually everything that happened between Endeavour and Touya did not hinder not only the relationship between Touya and Enji, but as well the one between Rei and Touya (as he see him rejecting her, because Touya knows why he had been born and probably has been influenced into thinking that his mother is weak, as she cannot fend for herself and just blindly accepted whatever Endeavour put in front of her, and not because she did not know any better, but because she did not know how).

2.) The jealousy an older sibling feels towards the newborn is completely normal, because the span of attention given to older siblings usually decreases. But here we are talking about two kids, breaded and raised to be vessels of their’s father dreams. This is an extreme scenario, where the competition between sibling is not about skills or quirk, but instead Touya sees it as a way to regain the lost affections/attention, which since Shouto has been born have never been sent towards him. And the fact that the birth of Shouto triggers in Touya’s the abysmal feeling of being a mistake, tells us that the parents did nothing to let him feel better, or to understand that it was not that way (even if arguably, Endeavour had other kids just because he wanted a perfect kid, which means that at the end of the day, he did consider Touya a mistake). And the fact that Touya was been willing to go this far, as far as to injure himself, as to emotionally condition himself into turning his flames from red to blue, is not only a sign of the mental pressure he put on himself and his emotions (always fuelled by that grating feeling of feeling less, worse, not right), but as well of the constant disappointment he felt when his father paid attention to him while scolding him, being angry at him, scowling and not making any effort. This angry, dark face is what shapes Dabi’s memories of Endeavour - an expression he wants to wipe out of his mind because it reminds him of not being the victim of shitty parenting, but of being considered a failure, worthy to burn to death, alone.

And these two.

2.5.) The ‘If only..’ hurts. Because this means not only that there was a chance that Touya did think about it, but he considered it then and there - because it was too much. Because even now, it is too much for him. Rethinking about all this moments is crucial for both Endeavour (who’s memory is definitely triggered into remembering gruelling details of his behaviour towards his children of when he was younger) and Dabi, who instead wonders whether the path he took, the decision he made all those years ago and that brought him there, was actually worth it. Because when Touya died, and Dabi was born on that hill when he was 13, he made the decision to take revenge and actually prove to his father that he is not a failure. He instead, is such a big mistake that Endeavour cannot cancel him anymore. Touya wanted desperately to be noticed for being right. Dabi wants desperately to be noticed because he is wrong, and a big mistake (which is also the result of Endeavour being his father and whatnot).

2.6.) And this. It’s the realisation that Endeavour is sowing the grief and pain of his oldest son, but it is also a realisation for Dabi: he took a decision, which he is sowing now (along with all the murders and the pain he himself inflicted). Memories which are more painful, and the fact that Dabi’s only comments on the accident is actually that it was scorching hot and that he couldn’t stop is very alarming and sad. He says nothing about how he felt. He just admits to the consequences of that gesture. He is not thinking of how much pain it was, or how sad he was, or anything else but just that this event was what made him into the person he is now, and there is no going back. He maybe thinks that things might have come out better if he actually had died that day. But he never talks of what is happening inside himself, because Dabi cannot allow himself such a weakness. And so, he feels nothing.

2.7.) These two panels (below) give me chills.They are so similar in the feeling they give up: desperation, realisation, hope, terrifying anger and sadness, elatedness in knowing that there is something to hang off, that maybe now the right moment has come. And it’s a sort of revival, a feeling brewing for so long and finally exploding in the hate, and the will to drag his father down in the mud with him.

3.) Rei's involvement, in Touya’s upbringing is a problematic topic for two reasons: she feels guilty about it, and her mental state which has been deteriorated by her family and her husband, does not allow her to even look for an excuse, as Endeavour did. Instead, Rei has been driven to a point where she just wants to let go.

I think that here, Rei, plays a very big role: she is stuck between a husband she cannot take on by herself, and a child who wants nothing to do with her because of her actions (which are inherently caused by Endeavour). And her mental health further deteriorates. Rei looks distraught. I would say even fatigued, and weighted down by everything that is happening, and how she cannot and does not want to deal with it.

In the hospital room, in Chapter 300, when she comes back and tells Endeavour that he is not the only to have suffered, she is not only referring to Touya, but to herself as well. I think it is important to note how the change happened. For both Shouto and Rei, Touya is a central button: after the accident, things escalated so much for Rei that she ended up in the hospital, Endeavour instead got the full time he wanted with Shouto (reversing his negative feelings, guilt, remorse and strive for his broken dream) into training.

And the fact that in this moment, she chooses to let Touya go (metaphorically) is not only heartbreaking, but also reflects the anger in Endeavour’’s eyes who’s thinking line has to go along the lines of: ffs, I have to do everything around here (which I do not want to sound rude, comes off as misogynist, but as well disrespectful and just right arrogant). However, the fact that Rei here is weak, does not define her character and instead Touya coming back is exactly what she needs to step on her feet again, and transform this

into ‘I’m here now’ and I’m going to solve this situation. Because Rei is tired of the situation, of Endeavour and wallowing in Endeavour’s shadow. It is time for her to actually intervene like she should have done years ago, and save her kid (or at least, give Touya a forgiveness sort of goodbye, and maybe tell him that notwithstanding their mistakes, and the fact that he was born because of a Quirk Marriage, Touya was still loved).

4.) But then, Shouto's has always been aware of how bad the situation in his own home is. Him protecting his mom is greatly telling in this sense: Shouto, despite being as traumatised by his father’s behaviour as Natsuo and Fuyumi (who are older than him, and are also crying in this panel - because Endeavour is a very tall, and build man and he is the Head of the family, which is also probably why they know what is going on, and no matter how many times this happened, if one or twenty but there is no excuse for Endeavour scaring his children so much they feel the need to retract in themselves (as shown by Fuyumi’s position on the floor, and Natsuo trying to be shielded by his bigger sister) and to cry as silently as possible with the hope that the angry person does not notice them. Shouto, on the other hand, while also crying actually stands up to his father (as he continued doing til today) and despite the shouts, angry stare and all the burden that comes with parent’s argument, he still tries to protect his mother, because he knows that the dominance of Endeavour’ character is too much for Rei to take. Because Rei is tired. Look at her face. Look at her eyes and her general exhaustion. The panel of point 3 stands to identify that she cannot take anymore. And instead, Shouto plays the bigger person. Notwithstanding all the obstacles he has overcome (the hellish training manu, his father’s expectations, the burden left by Touya’s disappearance, his father’s ego and anger, his mum burning him, Rei’s hospitalisation, the scattered relationship with his siblings, his empty childhood), Shouto stands tall and proud, knowing what he has to do.

I think that Shouto’s being the Hero of his own family, is a very important ‘part’ of not only the story, but as well for Shouto, who is evolving in character and setting the foundations for an individual whose past prejudices his future, and he has to resolve the plethora of things that he carries involuntarily with him, before possibly saying that he has achieved something, and that he became a Hero. I like how Horikoshi pointed slightly out that this whole drama, even if the protagonists are Touya and Endeavour, is not only the shaping path of Shouto, but as well his stepping stone for being a real hero (through the pits of fire which once again he has to do, in order to let go of the past, and instead his future, depicted in fire and ice).

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raevenlywrites · 4 years ago

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The Ties That Bind 7 of ???

Two chapters? TWO CHAPTERS??? *nods* Two chapters

Kneeling before Zane and promising to find a way was one thing. Getting back up off the floor and actually doing it was quite another.

So we compromised, staying on the floor but moving the lean up against the bed. It was surprisingly easier to talk to him this way; yes, we were touching, a bit of leg here, shoulder there, but I didn’t have to look at him, and that made all the difference. I suddenly realized that part of what made talking to Andreios in those late nights was that I put my back to him. Leaning into the solid warmth of his chest and talking into the dark made confessing my heart so much easier.

I don’t think it was my heart I was confessing to Zane, but it was still made easier by facing a neutral tapestry covered wall instead of my would-be king.

Shouldn’t that be a sign that this was a bad idea? That I could only talk to him if I didn’t look at him.

But then, he hadn’t tried to meet my eyes either. Maybe we just weren’t that sort of couple.

Couple. The thought took my breath away, and I struggled to release it, to keep from that trembling tension that I knew Zane would misconstrue.

“I’m alright,” I breathed before he could ask. “Just... adjusting. Overthinking.”

“Your thoughts might do us more good out here in the open.”

A surprised hiccup of laughter escaped me. “I don’t think telling you that the thought of us being a couple makes my limbs seize up with fear is helpful.”

“On the contrary.” Zane’s voice was soft enough it made me want to look at him, to see the kind of expression that went with that face. But I kept my eyes on the tapestry, wandering its warp and weft without seeing more than the colors.

“I think it’s extremely productive to talk about exactly how we feel with one another. My people will have a hard enough time embracing an avian queen. One that hides behind her haughty mask of reserve will never be tolerated.”

“And mine won’t like you no matter what face you show them.”

“Do you dance, Danica?”

The question caught me so off guard that I did turn to look at him then, staring in incredulity.

He gestured to the tapestry I’d been staring at without seeing.

It’s threads wove the tale of the first hawk, the golden queen Alasdair. The center was a radiant riot of gold, the hawk queen framed in triumphant flight against the sun. But the borders showed more subdued scenes, of brown and dying earth, of an infant in a feathered nest, of a young woman dancing among the clouds and then the fields, grown green at her feet’s touch.

“It’s just a metaphor,” I murmured. “Avian magic comes through song, not dance. But how do you weave a song?”

My gaze lingered on a corner piece, the queen Alasdair raised in supplication, stretched out long from the tips of her toes to her delicatedly embroidered fingers, raised high overhead with her wrists crossed. The details doublestitched over the base weaving made her pop, standing out in radiant golden threads on the more humbly woven green.

I was focusing on nonsense details again, remembering the technical skills that went into this piece rather than thinking about its deeper meaning.

“I just wondered,” Zane said casually, though this moment was anything but. “She’s woven against a backdrop of the Ahnleh, which is the sign of the dancers’ nests among my people.”

I tried to pick out the sign he’d indicated, but all I saw was the seal of Alasdair, a glyph as common to my eye as any. All coins, contracts, and sigils of protection bore some incarnation of that mark, a single line stretched from heaven to earth, with delicate branching wings meeting in the middle. It was mostly obscured by Alasdair herself on this work, but I knew it well.

“I’m sure there are differences we just can’t see because she’s in the way,” I said, not really knowing what else to say. Was he just trying to distract me, til I calmed down and could speak more rationally?

“I’m sure there are similarities, too.” His voice had gone all tender and soft again, and I couldn’t resist turning to look at him. “Enough so that I recognized it.”

Our faces were unspeakably close, a breath way from touching. I knew that wasn’t objectively true, but... I’d never let my face linger so close to a man’s before. The thought of that beautifully cruel mouth so close to mine...

“I never kissed anyone before.”

The words came out on a breath unbidden, my mind tumbling from lips too preoccupied to hold anything back. They wanted nothing more than to press themselves against the hard softness of Zane’s, to see if those lips so clever and cruel could also be gentle and tender.

But Zane had jerked back at my soft declaration, utterly shocked.

“You’re joking.”

The heat of desire flared into outrage. I felt my eyes harden and my lips thin out in a narrow, tightly pressed line.

“Why would I joke about something like that?” My words were cold, measured, precise. “Why would I admit to such a weakeness in a moment of vulnerability where we are trying to be truthful with one another? You said anything to make this work, yet you’re mocking me for keeping chaste? It’s the way of my people, Zane. We don’t sneak into each other’s bedrooms in the middle of the night--“

My words caught on the jumble of anger, and the memory of Elanor sneaking him into my room so he could propse to me while I was not even awake to recieve it.

”--and propose mad fancies as if that will solve anything! There is no easy way out of this, Zane Cobriana. We either have to work together, or make enmity anew with this pointless conversation!”

I’d crossed my arms over my middle, holding my own ribs in that way of my most intimate of comforts. It was what I did when Rei was not there to hold so. I did it now to keep from flailing about, letting my hands speak the aggression my tone would not. I would not scream at him. I would not escalate.

I would not be the reason the guards poured into the room and broke us apart.

But I would also not sit here and be insulted.

He was quiet for far too long, face turned away, hiding from me as surely as he accused me of doing with my ‘haughty avian reserve’. How dare he? How dare he! He was such a hypocrite, coming to me with this mad scheme, making grand gestures and pretty speeches and never once suggesting how this mad thing migth be done.

I was so caught up stewing in my own fury that I almost missed his softly spoken answer.

“I never said proposing marriage would be easy.”

“But you never said anything more about how such a thing would be done, either, did you Zane?”

It was all I could do to keep my voice quiet, to contain my outrage in harhly whispered tones.

“You just dumped this problem in my lap as if I’d have any more luck solving it than you did. What am I supposed to do with this, Zane? If I say no, your feelings are hurt and we’re still without a solution. But if I say yes, we still haven’t really solved anything, have we? We’ve just made a complicated scenario more messy and entangled and vulnerable--“

The rest of my words were cut off by his face suddenly in mine. I jerked back so quickly, I didn’t immediately process that he’d been attempting to kiss me.

Fury burned, hot on my cheeks and in my eyes, and in my fiercely whispered words.

“How dare you. How dare you! You think this can all be solved with an uninvited kiss?”

“I thought that’s what you wanted!”

He cut off my tirade with an equall fierce whisper, eyes dark with hurt and frustration. “Why else would you have brought it up, if not in invitation? I don’t know how you do things in the Keep, Danica, but I am trying my best. I know you expect me to persue you, to be the active party, so that your avian virtue remains intact, but what am I supposed to do when that isn’t the right answer either?”

I just stared. He’d caught me so completely off guard, I had no idea what to do with him. My shock kept me from monitoring my words, kept me from doing anything but pour out the honest truth of my whirling thoughts.

“You know--you know, do you? Well tell me, Zane, how am I supposed to act according to your serpiente morals? Because while you think you know everything there is to know about avian pairbonds, I don’t know a thing about serpiente--” I paused, groping for a word I didn’t have. “Skies above, Zane, I don’t even know what your people call it! You don’t have pairbonds, do you even marry?”

“Would I have asked you to marry me if we didn’t have such traditions?”

“I dont’ know!” I hated the emotion that crept into my voice. “I don’t know anything about what I’m getting myself into. I dont’ know the first thing about your people or your expectation and you’re asking me to marry you. Don’t you understand how absurd it is?”

“Yes!” He met my fire with his own, both of us growing ever louder. “Gods, yes, I do, but I’m really out of ideas. I thought spending time with your people would help me understand them better, but I really have no idea--“

“What do you mean, spending time with my people?”

Zane looked away, eyes fixed on the floor. He was quiet long enough I almost thought I’d have to ask again, but he finally admited, “This isn’t my first time visiting Elanor’s aunts.”

Again, I just stared at him. What on earth could I possibly say to that revelation?

But he carried on, eyes drifting up to the tapestry, as if searching it for inspiration. Or apparently, memory.

“I knew this tapestry becasue I spent a full night and a day staring at it, as I fought to work through a delirious fever brought on by that damnable falcon poison. Adelina brought me here, to the first shelter she’d found, and demanded a place to keep me safe while I healed. All I can say was that it must have been the will of Fate to bring me here, to a house sympathetic to true peace, with a wound minor enough that the am’haj didn’t just kill me outright.”

I thought of Elanor’s retelling of his dramatic ride, of declaring it the will of Fate that he find her--and had to wonder if my dearest friend had lied to me. But Zane continued, sweeping me away with his dramatic story.

“I stared at this tapestry and tried to keep my grip on reality as she sang to me of peace, a halluciantion to be sure. But when I heard of what you did for Gregory, I couldn’t help but remember that fevered dream, and hope...”

“Hope for what?”

“Hope that maybe it was a sign. That maybe things really could get better. That maybe hawks could dance with cobras, and peace could rise from bloody fields.”

“Alright,” I said again, with less conviction than before, but more of an idea of how to proceed.

“Alright?” Zane echoed with a raised eyebrow. I nodded.

“I’ll sing you back to health. We send messengers to both palaces that you were injured on your return journey from the Mistari lands, and I’m attending your bedside to give you what healing aide I have. It will give us time to brainstorm, and maybe come up with a less ludicrous idea than a marriage neither of us actually want.”

Zane just stared. I shrugged.

“It’s the best idea I have. It buys us time. I just... I just need some time. To do what, I don’t know yet. But I didn’t have this plan until just now, so maybe, with a few more days...”

“And what’s to stop the Keep from scouring the fields to find me and finish me off?”

“My word,” I said firmly. “I’ve commanded the generals twice to stand down, and if they cannot obey me in this I’ll... I’ll,” I shook my head, trying to shake off some of the fury that had been building over the past several days. “I’ll discharge each and every one of them. I’ll discharge the entire army if I have to. I am done fighting. This ends here.”

“Or they overthrow you,” Zane said with a dry wryness that was anything but humorous.

“They can try,” I said through gritted teeth. “Shardae magic holds the key to the hidden fields on the far side of the mountain. If they want a civil war, we’ll see how long it lasts when their soldiers are starving.”

Zane gave me wide eyes, but they were marked with approval. “Wisely put, my most bloodthirsty queen.”

“I’m not--” But I cut off as I realized he was teasing me. I wasn’t used to people laughing at me. I was going to have to learn how to turn it into Zane laughing with me, as it was clear that was how he intended it. I was too accustomed to taking myself seriously. Even if it seemed no one else did.

I realized with a bit of a start that I liked Zane laughing at me--with me. I liked that it felt like he was honestly trying to engage me, not just manage me. I liked the thought that he, of all people, might actually see me. The thought brought color to my cheeks, and again, I felt the urge to get up and move.

Which was why I made myself stay put, and even found the courage to lean back against Zane, to close the distance our fight had put between us.

“I need an ally in this,” I said madly, hopefully, absurdly. “I don’t think I need a husband, but...”

I let myself lay my head over against his shoulder, to show my serpiente counterpart that I was willing to try. Maybe not something as absurd as becoming lover, but at least co-conspirators. Maybe friends.

“I certainly need an ally.”

The Ties That Bind Tag list: @thehellinsideyourhead @therecouldbecolorsandlove @adventuresofacreesty

Raev’s Gen Tag List (should I tag you guys in this? It IS a thing I wrote. I’m gonna say yes unless you guys are like “no of course not we’re sick of hearing about your stupid fic for a twenty year old book XD)

List is currently: @lordkingsmith @writinglyra @drbibliophile @mperialscribe @adie-dee @adie-dee @lexiklecksi @writinginslowmotion @raenawrites @apollon-arium @anika-writes

#raev does fic #the ties that bind #hawksong fic

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apparitionism · 4 years ago

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Decalogue 2

This is a belated continuation of my Bering-and-Wells tenth-anniversary piece: a listing of “commandments,” one issued by each year of their association. I did the first five years in part 1. The ensuing years are of course both easier (I get to make up what happened!) and harder (oh lord, I have to make up what happened...). So this second five years’ worth of commandments—this second pentalogue?—will probably be both worse and better than the first. As always, I’m in it for the talking, but also for the idea that Myka and Helena would get things right, and wrong, and right again. I testify regularly that it’s hard work to sustain a long-term relationship. You have to want to do that work, and it isn’t always pleasant. But I’m absolutely certain that B&W would power through. Anyway I meant to do the ensuing five years as a single part, but I decided instead to fake myself into thinking I’m accomplishing things if I do them one or two at a time. I’m taking wins where I can find them right now.

Decalogue 2

Year six: Thou shalt not damage.

This commandment, which Myka would have been overjoyed to be able to keep in its absolute form, worked out in practice to something more like “You’re going to do some damage. Fix it as best you can.”

Distinguishing between where it was and was not safe to step was one of Myka’s most confounding challenges. So many years ago, at the start, the literal gunpointings had made the hazards very clear, but now, instead, Myka encountered metaphorical landmines, buried in places stranger than she had expected: she knew to step around guns and guilt; she knew not to mention Christina, unless Helena was in a mood to think about her. But how was Myka supposed to have anticipated that on any given day, a particular word would be a sensitive plate?

She had been complaining, expressing general resentment on the topic of her parents and Tracy and the grandchild. She concluded with, “And that’s my family for you.”

“They are your family,” Helena said, a flat statement that Myka could not parse. Then she stopped talking to Myka. Entirely.

Myka tried to ask, tried to find out what was the matter; then she tried just talking to Helena, pretending nothing was wrong, hoping it was some sort of circuit-breaker problem and that acting normal would throw the switch; then she offered a general apology for everything she might ever have done wrong; but in the end she had to give up. Helena with an idea in her head—whatever the idea was—couldn’t be reasoned with.

They slept in the same bed. No words. No contact either, but that was because Myka avoided it. She could deal, for a while, with being verbally ignored, but she didn’t think she could handle even one instance of Helena coldly refusing to escalate touch into intimacy.

Claudia couldn’t save them this time. Not that she didn’t try: “Talk to Myka!” she bellowed at Helena, but no talking ensued. “I guess you gotta keep trying,” she told Myka with a shrug. “Send her flowers?”

Well, flowers never hurt anything, did they? So Myka had an arrangement of peonies delivered to the B&B, because Helena had once been very “these belong in an English garden” about peonies, softer than Myka would ever have expected her to be.

Helena read the card—and Myka had to admit that the “I love you” message wasn’t very creatively written, even in terms of penmanship, but she was running on desperate fumes at that point—then very pointedly placed it and the peonies into the kitchen trash can.

So Myka’s best version of tenderness was in the garbage... clearly tenderness was not sufficient to fix anything. It was necessary, she was fairly sure, but not sufficient.

After much additional analytical thought, she developed a hypothesis. “I think I get it. Your family’s gone,” she offered to Helena, who barely twitched in response. But she did twitch, so maybe Myka had got it right? She continued, “And I’m being insufficiently grateful that mine isn’t.”

No response other than a very loud absence of anything resembling a twitch.

Back to the analytical drawing board... at which Myka now drew nothing but a blank.

It took an entire week for Helena to budge at all, but: prompted perhaps by Myka rescuing one of the peonies from the trash and putting it in a vase on the nightstand on Helena’s side of the bed, or maybe by Pete endlessly complaining “I hate when Mom and Mom fight,” or alternatively by Steve handing her cup after cup of tea and noting (just as endlessly) that it was “to soothe your laryngitis,” or possibly by the phase of the moon or a conspicuous mote of dust or something else that even Helena herself probably couldn’t or wouldn’t ever articulate, she interrupted Myka’s weeklong insomniac ceiling-staring session at two in the morning by pushing at her shoulder, hard, and saying, “I thought you might be moved to describe me as your family. But I see I have not been promoted to that exalted level.”

Helena was vocally doing “stoic” and “offhand,” insofar as anyone could really pull off either of those after a week of administering the silent treatment. Which meant that she wasn’t pulling them off at all, which in turn meant that Myka could hear the wound: a fault line sending a bleak rumble through the substrate of that voice in the dark.

“Exalted,” Myka said, herself trying to pull off “no, I never really thought you’d refuse to speak to me for the rest of our lives.” She was also trying to hide her embarrassment at being so analytically obtuse, as well as her shame at having inflicted pain in the first place. “Do you want me to not get along with you, too? Complain about you all the time?”

“You do complain about me all the time,” Helena pointed out, and Myka had to concede, at least internally, that that was probably more than a little bit true. She had to concede, too, that she had not in any way put Helena in her mental dictionary to illustrate the word “family.” The pictures of an endlessly troubling group of people from whom she could not really escape, about whom she complained all the time, had seemed to be a permanently closed set. Any additions, she had thought, would be similes: Pete was like a brother (and thank god that was once again true), Claudia like a sister (though a different sort than the one Myka actually had).

She should have known that Helena’s role in her life was literal, not figurative. And she should have known that Helena, in all her literal intensity, would have expected words to be applied.

Family. She complained about Helena all the time; Helena was endlessly troubling; and Myka certainly could not escape from her, as five-years-unto-six had shown. But the difference was that she didn’t want to escape Helena... apparently she’d mistaken that for a disqualifying factor, family-wise.

“You have sequestered me from those who are so exalted,” Helena said then. “Ideationally, but physically as well.”

“In my defense,” Myka began, but she faltered. “I know it isn’t much of one. But you haven’t been here for very long. I mean... you were, but then you weren’t. Physically. Since you brought that up. And we’ve been together for real for less than a year.”

Silence again, but this time it was an audible challenge.

“So I guess I’m taking you to Colorado Springs pretty soon to show you off.”

Myka realized, while she was searching for reasonably priced plane tickets for the trip, that this was the first time she’d hurt Helena in a way in which she might have been similarly likely to hurt anyone. She’d been so busy working on not making Helena-centric mistakes, those to do with guns and guilt and grief, that she hadn’t thought much at all about this relationship in a broader sense. It was singular, yes (obviously yes), but it was also two people in love with each other, trying to live with each other. Buying “meet the parents” plane tickets forced her to confront how pedestrian they were, as people in love with each other. It was both a minor disappointment and an enormous relief.

Arriving at her childhood home with Helena in tow was even more surreal than she’d imagined... despite the fact that she’d imagined it out, scenario after scenario.

It was also even more awkward than she’d imagined. “Mom, Dad,” she began, as her parents and Helena did nothing but look at each other, wary, as if a hostage exchange were about to occur, “I told you about Helena.” No one said anything. Yes, awkward. She had indeed told them, but that been... what it had been. Myka still wasn’t sure how to think about what it had been.

She’d called them, determined to tell it all—well, not all—but before she’d finished clearing her throat in preparation for launching into her prepared remarks, she was subjected to the usual enthusiastic recounting of grandchild activities. That was fine, though, for she did take a little schadenfreudic satisfaction in how quickly grandchild-centric material had replaced Tracy-centric information in these bulletins.

“I have a little news,” she said as the child-related hosannas began at last to run out of steam.

She took a breath. “I’minaseriousrelationship.”

One more breath. “WithsomeonefromworkhernameisHelena.”

After a pause, but not much of one, her father said, “How do you want us to respond?”

Myka had braced herself for questions, certainly, but not that one. “By being happy for me?” she offered, and she wished she had sounded decisive.

“Then we’re happy for you,” her mother said, and when had her mother ever sounded that decisive?

Myka could easily imagine them at the kitchen table, both leaning toward the phone that her father would have propped against the lazy Susan, for he’d always seemed to believe that placing a phone flat on its back rendered it helpless, like a turtle. That picture was very clear, very familiar. But she could not envision how those two people, addressing that upright phone, would look if they were happy for her. “Just like that?” she asked, because her inability to see it suggested that she shouldn’t believe it.

“If that’s what you want,” said her father.

Had he come up with that on his own? Had her mother kicked him under the table? Who were these people? Myka groped for words to address this strange moment in which she wanted to believe what her parents were saying. All she could come up with was a slow, “It... is.”

You were promised endless wonder, she reminded herself, and you do seem to be in the bonus lately. She’d heard Pete say “in the bonus” about something sports-related, and even though she hadn’t bothered to find out what the phrase really meant, it felt solidly descriptive of the way the past couple of years had been resolving.

Speaking of wonder, though, she did wonder, in the moment, whether what she had really wanted was to have to argue passionately for her reasons and right to be with Helena... to have to make that case. She probably wouldn’t have done it, not out loud to her parents; they were her parents, so she would have just resented them, adolescently, for not respecting her choices.

But now there was nothing big to resent. Was this adulthood?

Ignore it, she told herself, and she managed, mostly, to do what she was told. Her parents acted like she’d told the same thing to them; they didn’t bring up someonefromworkhernameisHelena when they spoke with Myka. Myka didn’t either.

But now here they all were, face to face in the doorway of her childhood home, her parents and Helena and her own instantly re-teenaged self, refracted by the bizarre temporal displacements that had worked together to stand them here, scaled strangely, like dolls from different playsets.

A few very formal words, such as “how do you do” and “pleased to meet you,” ensued, and Myka had genuinely never been so happy to see her sister when Tracy finally showed up. She did so sans grandchild, which Myka had requested; she tried to tell herself she’d asked for that because inflicting a child on Helena would be cruel, but in all honesty, she selfishly wanted her parents to focus not on that child, for once, but on Helena—no matter how contradictory it was of her to have tried for so long to avoid directing their attention to Helena at all.

“Myka talked about you like you weren’t even real,” Tracy greeted Helena.

“For some time I was not,” Helena greeted back.

As if Helena’s response had been the epitome of etiquette, Tracy nodded and said, “I’m going to pretend out loud that I understand that.”

Helena said, as a stage whisper to Myka, “I like your sister. She functions.”

“That may be the nicest thing anybody’s ever said about me,” said Tracy.

Myka said, “Helena can be very nice when she feels like it.”

Tracy made a face that reminded Myka she wasn’t the only one who reteenaged around their parents. “You probably can too, Myka, but I’ve never seen you feel like it.”

“I, on the other hand, have seen her feel like it,” Helena informed Tracy. “So you may have hope.”

Tracy said, as a stage whisper to Myka, “I like your girlfriend. She functions too.”

And Myka didn’t in the end care if it was Tracy’s imprimatur that made the difference: the fog of overpropriety lifted, leaving Myka free to sit back and witness Helena returning her father’s interrogative serves with H.G. Wells–related volleys—more of them than Myka had imagined could be worked into conversation. “Oh, I think my friend Edward Prendick expressed it best,” Helena began one anecdote, and she ended another, “...which brought home to me that we all feel invisible now and again.”

“You made a game of it,” Myka accused her later that night, when they had escaped to their hotel room.

Helena smiled an indulgent smile at her across the snowy-white acre of king-sized hotel bed that separated them. “Of course I did. How many points would you say I accrued?”

“I stopped keeping score,” Myka said, and she wasn’t sure if she herself was being indulgent or just grumpy.

“Quitter...” Helena began, a drag of amused accusation. But then she paused, got on hands and knees, and initiated a trek to Myka’s side of the bed. She could have done it catlike, teasing, but this was a common human crawl. “No, that’s wrong,” Helena said as she moved. She was taking her time, but it really was a very large bed. “You’re no quitter,” she announced, answering Myka’s unvoiced “huh?” with, “You feared that initial interaction.”

“That’s unfortunately true.”

“But you did in the end ensure that it occurred.”

“Because you wanted me to.”

“And here we are,” Helena said, reaching her destination. She leaned to kiss Myka, a slow melt in which Myka felt gratitude, and also softness, the sort that was always a surprise (see: peonies). Just as there were unexpected sensitive plates, there were surprisingly graceful bays of yield and give. This kiss was one of them. Gratitude, grace; and Myka felt too the future: this kiss was happening here, now, but this kind of kiss could (should) happen tomorrow, next week, years from now. Here, somewhere else, anywhere.

This is why we came here, Myka thought. Because we kiss like this. Someone you kissed like this was who you were supposed to bring home to meet your parents—and again Myka felt the sad slight press of disappointment at, but also the knee-buckling relief of, being exactly like everyone else. “Here we are,” Myka agreed. “In a hotel room in Colorado Springs. I have never in my life spent the night in a hotel room in this town.”

“Interesting.” Helena gave her a look that included a little aggressive chin-jut. “And how do you feel about that?”

“Don’t Abigail me,” Myka warned.

The chin retracted, minimally. “All right, I’ll rephrase: And what do you intend to do about that?”

But Myka felt not quite ready for what she intended to do about that. “Look, you aren’t them,” she said.

“Correct.”

“So you see my category error.”

“I do.” Helena said it soft, and Myka chose to hear it as an apology for, or at least an expression of some regret about, that wordless week. “You see my...” Helena stopped. She sighed. “My emotional error.”

A straightforward statement from Helena about having got something wrong.... Myka really was in the “endless wonder” bonus. “I do see,” Myka said. “We’re both pretty bad at this.”

“Also correct. How do you feel about that?”

Myka rolled her eyes, but other than that she didn’t bother.

Helena pursed her lips, which sometimes signaled frustration, but this time she coupled it with playful eyebrow movement. “What do you intend to do about that?”

They were bad at this so much of the time, but here they were in Colorado Springs, being better at it... good at it, even. “Ignore it for now and get back to kissing somebody. Something else that I have never done in a hotel room in this town.”

“I would think not, given that—”

“Listen, don’t make me explain what other kids did on prom night.”

Helena smiled a beautifully familiar smile. Lascivious, but only to the degree that Myka liked. So: respectful. Her tone was further along on the lascivious scale (and Myka was fine with that) as she said, “I don’t know what ‘prom night’ is, but perhaps you should explain. In detail. If I understand your implication correctly.” The word “implication” was accompanied by a placing of her body atop Myka’s that she also knew Myka liked. “Correctly” was accompanied by an application of pressure, one that she further knew Myka loved.

And that was how Myka came to enjoy what she would forever after remember as her very own personal—personalized—prom night.

During which she may have accidentally caused some bruising... but no damage.

Per the commandment. Which was difficult, but not impossible, to keep.

TBC

My non-tag essay on this one is very simple, and it is basically a version of the next “commandment,” which I had already formulated, but which the past few weeks have really made clear to me: “Thou shalt take nothing for granted.” In fact my original first ideated line of that seventh-commandment bit was going to be “Because if you take any given thing for granted, it will explode in your face. Guaranteed.” I am here to tell you that is true. Prize each and every minute of the life you consider “normal,” if that normal feels good to you. My wife was in a serious accident very recently. She’s going to be okay eventually, with luck and hard work, but change to your everyday, which you may undervalue as I did mine, comes as a whip-crack.

#bering and wells #Warehouse 13 #fanfic #Decalogue #part 2 #(although it deals with the sixth commandment)#(apologies for how weird the numbering of all of this will end up looking)

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yeocult · 5 years ago

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ateez film diary analysis

ok i am currently typing with tears in my eyes but that’s cool!!!! gonna talk about ateez diary film for a moment. btw if you’re here for theories, this might not be for you, my brain is not capable of that critical thinking lmao. although, i will be rambling/analyzing the cinematography and overall admiring the film!! under the cut because this happened to be 1.5k words oops.

man, first of all, 16 minutes?? thank you for the food kq!! i think their concept is super cool. it’s unpredictable, refreshing, and just gives me a lot of high hopes for this comeback. ateez never disappoints, they come back each time stronger and better.

“this is the story where their dimensions are split into eight pieces again.” that kinds hurt me. throughout the film we see clips of them being happy and joyful with each other, but we also see scenes where they’re all alone. they didn’t get separated by losing contacts or whatever, literally dimensions.

phew okay, when the man with the black fedora approaching hongjoong like that was soooo dskjdj ugh i love it when they have a bright light in the back, capturing the silhouette perfectly. sorry i’m such a sucker for those types of shoots!! now hongjoong’s dream. “the world inside a television cannot be reached. the world they live in and the world that i live in is blocked.” yea.. they’re separated from dimensions. isn’t that so heartbreaking?? separated by time and space.

um this might be a huge stretch, plus i’m horrible at science. i’ve read a lot of articles on where, ‘if time stopped would gravity still apply?’ and i thought of this because of the items floating up around hongjoong. without time, gravity, acceleration, speed and force are simply meaningless, so i guess that’s why it’s floating? as if we’re going back in time. there’s a lot of consequences and weird things on going back in time/time travelling (most famously the ��bootstrap paradox’) because time is not an object and cannot ‘go’ anywhere at all, not forward, not backward, nor can it stop. so i expected some not so happy events to occur.

anyways moving on to seonghwa’s memory. i loved this. “i thought i lacked in many areas and have much to learn.” then we see a bunch of to-do lists and i guess they’re kinda like goals to accomplish or things he wants to learn. the somewhat long shot of him sitting on this table and the camera moving away from him gave me a sense of isolation (i also don’t know why yeo in the smn box is on the tv but it could mean he’s trapped). we also see him walking straight, kinda like following a straightforward path with a lot of control, hence the to-do lists. then he hits stops. now the girl is the total opposite of seonghwa. she’s dancing, moving, and overall carefree i would say. everything seonghwa is lacking. she’s freedom. i don’t have much to say about this scene but i really like how when he was walking one step at a time, it was completely dark. but as soon as it hits stops and sees her, there were lights.

now my favourite, wooyoung’s choice. that transition to seonghwa’s little emo time to wooyoung’s hyped underground music and dancing was the serotonin boost i needed. let’s talk about his ponytail because it made me a whole simp for him. plus he’s so fucking cool?? if i become a wooyoung biased soon, you know why. he talks about stage fright and the scene where people were looking down at the camera was perfect, low camera shots show dominance or superiority. when you have stage fright, you’re worried and insecure about your abilities (at least that’s how i feel) and with people look down at you is almost like they’re judging and aren’t expecting much from you. ateez brings him courage and reassurance, they give him strength. the last scene with the rain and the flickering light so chilling. its almost like the rain washed away his everything.

yeosang’s time giving me slight dark academia vibes and i’m here for it!!! also bird metaphors?? yes please! “limited freedom. like a bird in a cage.” we see yeosang in a room surrounded by other musicians but he isn’t playing his instrument. almost like he doesn’t wanna be there or has no real passion for this field. hence him talking about ‘expanding his dreams’. we get a close shot at his face looking forward to the right, i feel as if he’s daydreaming or reaching out. taking back to say my name, we have yeosang trapped inside that box, almost like the birds with limited freedom. he drops his violin and suddenly the birds (they symbolize peace, transformation, freedom and power) are free, giving us a scene with his friends. he’s free.

san’s resolution might just be my favourite in terms of cinematography. can we just talk about the long amount of time san has the stay put for the timelapse to work?? the scene wins my heart. now we see the classroom in a mess, meaning school was never enjoyable to san. always moving and no friends. the way he’s moving seems like there’s not much he can do in his life. the escalator scenes kinda look like the one in wonderland. time is always moving, the escalator moving, and san runs back up despite it moving in the opposite direction. im not sure where i was going with this but i thought i was kinda cool, how he’s running back up to be with his friends.

next, we have yunho and his brother. in a matter of seconds, all the light in the studio flicker and turns off. this is quite similar to the flicker lights in wooyoung’s last scene. there’s a pattern here with flickering lights and how it means lost and loneliness. we don’t know what 5:07 mean, maybe its completely relevant but knowing kq and their team, almost everything seems intentional. also i saw on twt (not my analysis) but seonghwa’s to-do list includes a task of learning how to drive, then we get yunho getting hit by a car. not sure where i got from this but i thought i would include it.

actor jongho!!!! he’s so good i love him. ok so we get that basketball was his dreams but due to his broken leg, it seems impossible for him to pursue that dream. we him sitting at a distance, admiring the game and the people who are able to play. but when he’s in the court, he’s all alone (might just be because he can’t go in court when other people are playing but just let me be deep for a second oki). the burning basketball means he cannot play again. then the fight scene between him and mingi. i want to talk about the camera work for a second. it’s unstable, harsh and a little unfocused (because it’s handheld) and it makes it seem like another member’s pov, pushing the realism on us. hmm this might be kinda dumb but the loud bang when mingi got pushed was a little unexpected hence every scene with the boys was all very calm and had music in the back, no sounds. idk just a noticed. ohmygod another silhouette scene with beautiful lighting in the back!!!! the camera is moving away from him, moving away shows weakness. i loveee this so much along with the smoke. his dreams are burning up, literally.

last we have mingi’s diary. “earphones in my ears, the world is mine for now.” again, similar to seonghwa in the dark walking, mingi is isolating himself from the world. he’s using music to escape from reality. mingi looks trapped by the way its shot, cutting off his forehead and lips only showcasing his eyes and nose. this could be his facial features are more important than anything else right now. the camera angle is below mingi, again with the dominance and superiority… because he literally kicked someone. but still the same camera angle except this time mingi is looking up at the sky or forward, not looking down. with that, mingi no longer looks intimidating, he seems slightly vulnerable. and i think that’s really powerful how quickly he transitions despite the same angle. so we know mingi uses music as an escape, “i would rather be alone than encounter the world.” then we see yeosang (by his flannel) taking off his earphones. bringing him back to reality with the boys, and everything seems a lot more peaceful. its kinda like, without his friends, he would rather be isolated. now i want to point how the loud bang from jongho’s shot. it’s literally the same shot but the noise isn’t there indicating that mingi has earphones in (i think even when they’re not literally in, he still shuts out noise), shutting off the noise. i think the little details were so well done. we also get a match cut of mingi blinking, back to the darkness. i think it shows how quickly things can be taken away from you.

MAN THE SCENE WHERE THEY ALL GATHER TOWARDS HONGJOONG JAKJDSJKSDJKSD I CANNOT BREATHE IT GAVE ME SO MUCH CHILLS MYGODDOO !!!!!! like that scene in say my name. gotta love the build up of the song then it drops when the members all show up UGH I LOVED THAT SOO MUCH!! “the memories of short happiness. and dreams broken into pieces” brb gonna cry. the hourglass is finished,, what does this mean? ;o also i cant help but to notice the lighting on how one side is dark and the other has light. this could just be for aesthetics but idkkkk just another notice.

hehe sorry this made no sense,,, anyways that’s all i have to say, i’m so excited for their comeback <33

#h.txt #pHEW #haha dont clown me i know nothing about film #also send me your thought?#i would love to talk about cinematography!!#ateez #might add on to this later!!#moon talks

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travllingbunny · 5 years ago

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The 100 rewatch: 5x01 Eden

One of my favorite episodes of the show. It’s incredible how much I enjoy it every time I watch it. Clarke being my favorite character certainly helps, but the episode is so well done in terms of cinematography, music, acting, direction, and 95% of the writing. (The only thing that makes it less than perfect are 80 seconds towards the end that are very, very badly written.)

The fandom is split on whether the time jump was good or bad for the show, but I think it brought more good than bad, overall (especially since it was necessary, so the actors wouldn’t still be trying to pass as teenagers well into their 30s). If nothing else, then for Octavia’s storyline and this epic beginning of the season - the first 3-4 episodes of season 5 - probably the strongest of all seasons of the show.

Full disclosure: I already rewatched season 5 and season 6 while waiting for season 7, so this entire season is pretty fresh in my mind, but season 5 is still the only one that I haven’t covered in my episode reviews (since I wrote season 6 reviews week by week as it was airing), and I want to get that done. And then I also wanted to rewatch Eden after 7x02 The Garden, because of the parallels and contrasts between the two episodes which I mentioned in my review of The Garden. (Review of 7x03 is coming soon.)

In light of season 7, when the main characters are also separated and the timeline is very weird, it’s also interesting to see how this season 5 premiere is structured:

The opening shot is the Rings seen from space, then we see the Earth from space, before zooming in and seeing Clarke coming out of the ruins of Becca’s lab, 42 days after Praimfaya. ^^^

Almost 25 minutes of this episode are a Clarke flashback, and most of it is just her, fighting against the nature and her own despair and isolation, until she finds Eden and meets Madi, almost two months after Praimfaya. This is the show’s first full uninterrupted flashback that lasts longer than a couple of minutes, but it’s also the first time the show has covered a time jump in a flashback - its previous biggest time jump was 86 days, rather than 2199 days. (And the next time jump will be 125 years. Things have really escalated.)

Then we go “6 years later” (actually 5 years and about 10 months later) and the remaining 16-17 minutes are all set in the present. And even though this is a very Clarke-centric episode, it actually manages to feature all the main characters. First we see Clarke and Madi in the present, then it goes back to the Ring, but this time we see Bellamy and the Spacekru for the first time this season, to check in with them and see how they have or haven’t changed in 6 years.

We see them noticing Eligius,, then we go back to replay the present days scenes from the end of the season 4 finale, where Clarke was expecting Bellamy and kru in the pod, and instead saw the Gagarin transport ship coming down.

We meet Diyoza, McCreary and Shaw for the first time. There’s a few more minutes of Clarke and Madi trying to defend themselves against the prisoners, and killing two of them, but also alerting Diyoza to their existence. Then we go back to the Ring to see Spacekru preparing to board Eligius 4, and, almost at the end of the episode, we get the “OMG look at this twist! You didn’t expect these two to be together, did you? Or maybe you did because you saw the clumsy hints in the season 4 finale, I mean if you stop someone from committing suicide and then you happen to fall right next to each other that counts as setup for romance. right?” twist-reveal of Becho in a 1 minute 20 second scene.

But - that’s not the last scene (you need something actually dramatic for the last scene), because - right after Bellamy says the ironic-foreshadowing line “Octavia is the least of our worries”. we get a cliffhanger-teaser ending - our first look at the fighting pit, with Miller, Indra and Gaia looking on (yes, they’re all credited for this episode, alongside Marie/Octavia, though they all appear for about a second or two), until the winner of the gladiator fight turns to Octavia, and we see her for the first time with her new Blodreina persona. Leading into 5x02 Red Queen (which I hope to rewatch and review soon, too) - unlike this episode, fully set in one place, in the bunker, and most of it is the longest uninterrupted flashback the show has ever done. It only jumps back to the present at the very end, with another teaser-cliffhanger that’s again set in the fighting pit (this time, the twist is that Kane is one of the fighters), setting up a “how the heck did they get there?” question for 5x04 and flashbacks from 5x11 to explain.

(I wouldn’t be surprised if in season 7 we get more of such cliffhanger-teasers where a character or set of characters only appears in an episode for a minute or two, setting up their longer storyline in another episode. I don’t think all episodes will be like 7x02 and 7x04, fully set in one place and with all other characters fully missing.)

So, the first 2 episodes of season 5 had the task of showing us what happened to the three set of characters in three completely different locations over the time jump - with the focus on Clarke, Bellamy and Octavia. But we got almost 25 minutes of Clarke flashbacks (about the time that was the hardest and most eventful for her - trying to survive on the ruined Earth in the first few months after Praimfaya, meeting Madi), a full episode plus later flashbacks in another episode (about 50 minutes?) of flashbacks of the bunker; and.... 0 flashbacks of Spacekru on the Ring. And that says a lot about what the writers considered important to show. The boring, everyday, humdrum life is what you skip in fiction. So, the show told us right from the start that there was nothing of note that happened on the Ring. While Clarke in this episode - after her “death”, goes through her 40 16 days in the desert before she finds Eden (literally paradise!), and the bunker is clearly Hell on Earth, the Ring is basically just 7 people being stuck in quarantine for 6 years and trying not to get too bored.

The cinematography on this show since season 5 has been so good! Here, the sepia, grey and pale yellow tones help make Earth look desolate and ruined, and like a real desert. Until Clarke finds Eden, which is in normal colors. (This contrast in the color scheme between Eden and the rest of the Earth is there throughout season 5. Later we get the almost too colorful Sanctum, and the soft light and blue-green tones of Skyring.)

With how often TV does the Beauty is Never Tarnished trope - where female characters have to look as gorgeous as possible even when their circumstances are such that it doesn’t make any sense - I love the fact that the show let Clarke have radiation burns on her face and wear a dirty top for half of this episode. This shouldn’t be an exceptional thing in TV shows, but sadly it is.

42 days after Praimfaya - that’s how long Clarke was in Becca’s lab, until she either ran out of food, or judged it was safe to go outside because the death wave had passed, or both.

Oh hi, Rover, maybe the most memorable inanimate “character”. It got a lot of memorable screentime in this ep. The sea is no more - the one good thing is that Clarke has an easier time travelling from the island. First stop Polis - back when Clarke was hoping to reunite with her mom and the rest of the people in the bunker. How much would things change if she had? That shot of the destroyed Tower in Polis is such a memorable symbol of not just the physical destruction that happened in Praimfaya, but the end of the old way of life. Even though season 5 will then weirdly try to resurrect the position of Commander.

I love the opening titles! I can’t believe I have never paid attention to them before the hiatus between seasons 6 and 7. Starting with the title shot of the desolate Earth with the ruins of the Tower, the opening sequence is showing the death wave as it’s happening in the area where the first 4 seasons took place, going from Polis when the tower was still there, to Arkadia burning (where the death wave came before it got to Becca’s lab and Polis), to various other shots including the one that’s clearly the remains of the Statue of Liberty, presumably already broken during the first nuclear apocalypse, to shots of sea and forest burning, to a shot of Earth from space with a green spot, to the really cool animation of most of the Tower disappearing. (The shot of Eligius landing is the only one that doesn’t fit.)

The temple collapsed 46 days after Praimfaya (according to 5x02 - I’ve written that down before). Clarke was trying to dig out the entrance to the bunker for quite a while, stopping occasionally to get some rest and eat. That moment when she desperately pounds at the bunker door and yells “I’m here! Mom!” is one we see from Abby’s POV as she hears the sounds and learns her daughter she’s out there and not in space.

While unsuccessfully trying to clear the path to the entrance, Clarke notices the remnants of Lexa’s throne in the other rubble. A broken throne, another symbol of the past. The Clexa theme starts playing for a moment as Clarke notices it and take out one branch - probably just as a remembrance, because I’m not sure it looked that useful for her current task. And that somehow (however unlikely) seems to cause the rest of the Temple to collapse (a moment we also see replayed in 5x02) - meaning that Clarke loses her chance of being with her mother and other people during the 5 years, and the people in the bunker lose the hope they’ll be able to get out after these 6 years (or maybe ever).

The branch does prove useful later when Clarke uses it as a walking stick as she’s walking through the desert when she’s at the end of her strength.... And... this could all be seen as a metaphor? She met Lexa at the time when she was desperate to save her people, then she became isolated from them, then in her traumatized state, her relationship with Lexa became a crutch but was also isolating her further from her family and her people.

Back to the ruined Arkadia, where Clarke says she was looking for food or water but only found ghosts. One of the most emotional moment of the episode when Clarke cries after finding a chest with Jasper’s goggles, Maya’s music player he had kept after her death, and his letter to Monty. Clarke probably learned about Jasper staying behind to commit suicide off-screen from Bellamy some time at the end of 4x09, and learned about his when she reunited with Monty and Harper, but we didn’t see her react to his death in season 4. (This scene would later be a flashback in 6x07 Nevermind, where Clarke used that same chest in her mindspace to hide her memory in the Dark Place.)

(Maya had really good music taste! And it’s a neat way to hear some good songs and for Clarke to be able to listen to them while driving her rover.)

The hardships Clarke undergoes here and the way she fights shows her strong she is - one of her main character traits is that she does not give up, no matter how desperate the circumstances are. Clarke’s way of fighting despair was to talk to Bellamy on the radio. Sometimes she told him very meaningful things - as when she thought she might die: “If this is the last time I ever do that, I just want to say... Don’t feel bad about leaving me here. You did what you had to. I’m proud of you”. (This reminds me of the time in 2x05 when Bellamy told her he knew she had to leave him and Finn outside to save the others when she closed the dropship door.) Other times she’s telling him about her current problems, musing about her life, chatting about Monty and Raven and all sort of things, imagining he could hear her, even though it must have become obvious to her pretty early on that he can’t reply, and probably can’t even hear her. She wasn’t at this point even sure if he was alive. As she says at one point: “God, this would be so much easier if I knew you were alive, that I will see you again.” But it’s in Clarke’s nature to hope. She was also refusing to believe he and Finn were dead after the Ring of Fire, she refused to believe Bellamy could be dead or captured even while she was worrying about him all the time while he was in Mount Weather. At one point right after getting out of Becca’s lab, she is trying to encourage herself: “You got this” - the way she sometimes tries to encourage others and also the way Bellamy sometimes does it. And other times, she definitely was channelling Bellamy, gently mocking her: “Positive thoughts, Clarke”. He was the one who told her they had hope as long as they were breathing.

And I must say I’m impressed that Clarke had Jasper’s letter to Monty for 6 years and never succumbed to the temptation of opening and reading it. But to do that, would have meant she was giving up hope that she would see her friends again and give it to Monty.

But it would be far less realistic if she hadn’t had a moment of complete despair. (Another character known for being a survivor, Murphy, had that moment after 86 days of sitting in a bunker alone.) Long isolation is a torture in itself and can drive you mad, as it was emphasized in 7x02. It’s not the first time Clarke has been isolated - she was in solitary for a year on the Ark when she was 16-17 (she only had the walls and her drawings to distract herself with), she isolated herself because of her trauma for 3 months, and now she was again forced into isolation. This time she was also losing hope due to the terrible conditions she had to fight, and the way everything seemed to be getting worse. “I’ve done! I’ve lost everything! My friends, my parents. I have nothing!” As Buffy would say - she still had something left, herself. But this is the first of the three times we see Clarke almost lose all hope and the will to live - but the other two times were under the influence of a psychosis, and when she had been bodysnatched. This time it was the tiny hope that there could be a place to live, with basic living conditions, that made her change her mind.

Who was Clarke talking to when she said “You think you can kill me? Have at it” and later when was yelling that at the sky? Nature? Gods or gods? (There has never been any indication that she was religious. Probably not.) It’s the only times during in her solitary moments when Clarke isn’t talking to Bellamy, or, occasionally, to herself.

Finding Eden saved Clarke from despair, at least for a while, I don’t think she would have been able to keep her sanity and her hopefor 6 years if she hadn’t met Madi, almost two months after Praimfaya. Having someone for company, having someone to take care of, is very different from being all alone. Still, even after meeting Madi and became her surrogate mom, Clarke still needed to keep talking to Bellamy every day, for 2199 days in total, to keep herself sane, to have something to look forward to.

These people from the Shallow Valley clan seem so cool, they’re already my favorite Grounder clan from the little we see of their way of life (at least this community - I wonder who the 100 chosen for the bunker were), and most importantly, from the fact that Madi’s parents must have had support from their community in keeping her from the Conclave and all that garbage. Of course they didn’t want to give their child away, so she would be forced to fight and kill other children, probably die at 12, or at best become Heda and be separated from her family tor the rest of her life, because ‘love is weakness’ etc.

The shot of the dead boy is so sad. But he and the other dead people look far too peaceful for radiation victims?

Poor Madi - 6 years old and already she saw her family and everyone she’s ever known die. Her mother died in her arms, and she was left alone. And even before that, she had to hide and learn to fight and lay traps to avoid Flamekeepers, whom she saw as her archenemies. She was another girl who had to hide from birth, like Octavia. No surprise she was a “child from Hell” when Clarke first met her.

Clarke’s world view has gotten so dark. Her old moral certainty from season 1 has been chipped away gradually, and, at this point, she has accepted the moral relativism idea that “everyone does things for their people” and there is no right or wrong - which so many of her enemies or temporary allies have tried to install in her. She’s started to see herself as the “Commander of Death”, too, believing fighting is all she does and can do. “I used to think that life was about more than just surviving… I’m not sure anymore. Animals don’t feel guilty when they kill. It’s kill or be killed.” Interesting - this is the same thing Pike said in season 3a. Clarke has more empathy for her enemies “ I told myself that every life I took was for a reason, but the other side had reasons, too", but the end result is now the same, as we see later...

“There are no good guys” - this line has been said in so many versions and contexts throughout the show, and many people seem to think it’s the show’s motto. But it’s more complicated than that. Those words have changed their meaning and been challenged and opposed. When Abby told Clarke “Remember that we’re the good guys” in season 2, she was telling her: don’t lose yourself, don’t become as ruthless as your enemy in order to beat them. When Clarke said “I tried... I tried to be a good guy” and Abby replied: “Maybe there are no good guys”, she meant that it may not be possible to keep your hands clean in a world like that. (Mind you, neither of them ever said there were no bad guys, or that Mountain Men weren’t that.) When Clarke said to same to Bellamy when he was wondering “What do you do when you realize you may not be the good guy?” in season 3, she was comforting him and telling him she knows what it’s like to hate yourself because of the things you’ve done, in a grey world where it’s often hard to see right and wrong. But Abby in 4x12 told Clarke something different: “I told you there were no good guys. But there are. You are.” Clarke needed to be reassured, so she wouldn’t hate herself, that she was a hero, because her motives were good and she was trying her best under the circumstances, where, as they both agreed, they were no good choices. Sadly, Clarke obviously didn’t take that to heart. In season 5, she does not consider herself a hero. And when Madi says “I think he may be a good guy” about one of the prisoners, the one who argued against killing a child, unlike his buddy - Clarke’s reply “There are no good guys” before she kills him, has a darker meaning: she has lost her faith in humanity (with a few exceptions, at this point), and this a different Clarke, one that isn’t ready to give people the benefit of a doubt. She as at her most murderous in season 5 - because she’s now ready to kill even when it’s not absolutely necessary and when she can’t see another choice, as pre-Praimfaya Clarke. It would take her the whole season to start coming back from that - and decide to try to be a good guy, as Monty asked her to.

First introduction of Diyoza, McCreary and Shaw. Diyoza has changed so much since. Her similarities to Octavia have been emphasized much more because they were the opposing sides in season 5 and because of the relationship they develop later, but she also has similarities to Clarke. She also used to fight for what she believed in against who she saw as bad guys, went through a lot, killed a lot of people, was considered a monster, started to fear she was one, became jaded, and finally decided to find peace and happiness and leave violence behind.

“We’re not alone”. Season 5 is really going for the callbacks to season 1. And I’m still not sure how I feel about this comparison between the Delinquents and the Eligius prisoners. Because there are two ways to look at it. If it’s a part of the “let’s see the humanity of these people rather than see them as one-dimensional villains” thing, I’m all for it. But it makes no sense to see it as an exact parallel. Because in one corner, we have the level of threat posed by 100 unskilled and (at first) unarmed teenagers who just went about, vs thousands of people who had hundreds and hundreds of armed and experienced warriors and who saw fit to immediately almost kill one of these teenagers and start terrorizing them... and in the other, a bunch of adult murderers with all sorts of powerful weapons and a military strategist at the helm, immediately moving in to take over a valley, and the threat they pose to a lone woman and a child...

Before we meet the Eligius prisoners, we get some sweet mother/daughter moments between Clarke and Madi. We learn that Clarke is telling her stories about her friends (Octavia is Madi’s favorite) and drawing events from her past (as they sit by the fire and look through her sketchbook, we see portraits of Octavia in the Conclave, Bellamy and Clarke looking as her friends are leaving her on Earth). Clarke says she doesn’t regret staying, because she met Madi. But she still yearns for them to come back and gives a longing look - and we get this transition:

Spacekru

When we see Spacekru after 6 years, we get the updates on what has changed and what hasn’t, and what the time on the Ring has meant for each of them:

Raven has been unsuccessfully trying to get them back to Earth for a year - which Bellamy, in particular, isn’t happy about. He has no idea that Clarke is alive, but he is eager to see his sister again.

Monty has been keeping everyone alive with his algae farm, although we get a lot of jokes and complaining about their taste (which seems so out of place after you have seen what was going in in the bunker in the meantime).

Emori has been learning to pilot.

Memori have broken up at some point (and Raven has had Emori as roommate since) and Murphy is the one person in the group who has been negative and bitter, to the point they have “exiled” him (history repeating, but in a much more benign way?) to another part of the station. It seems realistic that at least one person and one relationship would crack under the pressure of peace and boredom and being forced to spend time with the same people every day. According to Bellamy, Murphy needs to feel like a hero in order not to feel useless - and without dangers and conflicts, he can’t save anyone and feel like one. According to what Emori says later in season 5, their relationship is one that works better when there is some kind of danger they can face, and Murphy as a fighter and survivor is the version of him she loves.

Bellamy is the obvious leader, in spite of the easy camaraderie between the group - this will become more obvious when they start planning to board the ship and go to the ground, but even here, he is the one who gives pep talks and tries to inspire others - like Murphy, telling him he is not useless. This friendship has certainly developed in those 6 years - before Praimfaya, Bellamy still wasn’t even ready to trust Murphy and was constantly questioning his motives. And they have certainly come a long way from season 1...

Bellamy’s calmed and lighter manner has been discussed a lot. I’d say it made sense 90% of the time - it was simply a result of 6 years of peace, something he had never really had before. It doesn’t mean he was super happy - but simply that, for a change, he didn’t have to constantly fight and he under stress.

Two people who definitely were happy on the Ring are Monty and Harper. Monty is the only one who is even reluctant to go to the ground - scared that he will be pulled again in the world where he will have to fight and kill again. Earth has bad memories for him, from having to kill his mother - twice - to save others, to his best friend’s suicide. The Marper scene is the best of all the Spacekru scenes here. And when Harper tells him his strength - which he showed in all the hard things he had to do - is why she loves him, he has the best line in the episode: “No one should have to be that strong”.

Echo is friendly with everyone and has been teaching them to fight Azgeda-style. And oh, yeah, did we mention she’s been dating Bellamy for a while? Here’s a brief confirmation through a kiss and a conversation where we only learn that Becho is a thing, we don’t know how long it’s been a thing but it’s at least less than 3 years, since he took 3 years to even forgive her (and I don’t think it necessarily means immediately starting to date).; and Echo is worried if it’s still going to be a thing after they go to the ground.

Here’s a thing with Spacekru: the time jump worked much better with Octavia and Wonkru and with Clarke and Madi, because we saw flashbacks, and because we got a good idea what those 6 years were for them, even for things we didn’t see. But the complete lack of flashbacks for Spacekru means that the audience won’t be able to relate to their new “family” unit, because Show, Don’t Tell is the main TV storytelling principle. Even when viewers learn about something in dialogue (like the Farm Station’s tragic backstory since they landed on Earth), they don’t care because they haven’t seen it.

But with Spacekru, there is an additional problem: the show keeps giving us contradictory info about what those 6 years on the Ring were even like. Or rather, most of what we know is consistent with the idea that their biggest problems were boredom and lack of tasty food. *OK, the first batch of algae apparently put Murphy in a coma, but that’s the only traumatic event we hear about.) There were no other people, no one who could be a threat - and while they could have, in theory, had some malfunctions they had to deal with, we never hear anything about it. But the show also has characters saying things like “we kept each other alive” or that Echo has “proven herself on the Ring”, which makes it sound like there was something much more dramatic going on, but they never explain why.

As a result, the idea of Spacekru as a tightly knit family unit - comparable to what the Delinquents were like in season 1 - just doesn’t work so well. The relationships that work the best and are the most compelling are those that had already existed before - Marper, Memori, the friendship between the former 100+2. The Emori/Raven/Murphy trio works because we saw them already interacting in season 4. But Echo is the character who gets the short end of the stick, because all the development she was supposed to have, including her friendships and romantic relationship, happened off-screen. And with the way the show positioned her as a villain in seasons 3 and almost all of season 4, threw her pretty much accidentally (and because she had no other choice and the others accepted her) with the group, and then said “here, she’s one of the good guys now”. That’s really crappy writing. And it set up Echo to be hated, or at least irritate a large part of the audience. Imagine if there had been a time jump in mid-season 2 where Murphy went from being barely tolerated by everyone, to being everyone’s best friend and dating Raven. That’s pretty much that.

Most of these problems are concentrated in the Bellamy/Echo scene at the end. So much bad writing in those 80 seconds. Now, I’m not one of the people who say that this relationship makes no sense. It does make sense for what is it - two people got stuck for 6 years in the same place, with just 5 other people, 4 of which were coupled up. After so much time forced to spend together, you either have to start tolerating and forgiving someone, or your life will become unbearable. There’s a force of habit, the closeness that comes from seeing someone every day, and the lack of other options. There’s also the fact that Bellamy had mourned Clarke and was convinced she was dead. They are both physically attractive people, I’m sure they trained when she taught him Azgeda fighting and he taught her shooting. I have no problem with it as a placeholder relationship that the show is very obviously using as a plot device. And it’s not even subtle about it. Here we learn about the existence of that relationship as a surprise twist at the end of an episode that was focused on Clarke, Clarke being left alone on Earth and struggling, Clarke talking to Bellamy for 6 years and waiting for him to return. (And later episodes will keep making B.E scenes always about Clarke or connected to Clarke, in even more obvious ways.) There is no attempt to show what exactly it is that these two people like about each other, what drew them to each other, how they went from enemies to friends to a couple off-screen, anything apart from the mere fact that the relationship exists. Here, they are kissing, therefore you know they are in love. Maybe. As if the show is saying: no, it doesn’t matter and you don’t have to see it. Yes, you can conclude that it’s just a relationship of convenience and circumstance.

This kind of relationship and love triangle has been done to death in many TV shows. But even for what it is, it’s remarkable how little the show even tries to make this relationship compelling, compared to just about any other relationship in the show, including those of minor characters. I gotta say, as a Bellarke shipper, I kind of enjoy all the B/E scenes, because they are so devoid of chemistry, so forced, so empty. But as someone who appreciates good storytelling, they are pretty painful. When the show tires to focus a little bit on this ship, we get terrible dialogue like this:

"Wouldn't it be easier to just walk outside? This is Bellamy's callback to what he told Echo in 4x13 when he talked her down from suicide. He says it in a lighthearted way and she smiles.Her suicide attempt is a cute remembrance they joke about?! Really? Also, it;s been 6 years for them. Do they joke about that often? Or does he think going to the ground is a cool opportunity to remind her of her suicide attempt? Which is a cute memory for her, apparently?! I’m pretty sure this is not how human beings interact. This line may be even worse than the infamous "We found each other in cages".

."We kept each other alive". How? Unless it's just about that half an hour while they were getting to the Ring, they were never in danger of dying during those 6 years. Bellamy even tells Murphy "Up here, there are no heroes." Monty is the only one who kept them alive, with food. They may have kept each other sane, maybe. However, that goes for all 7 of them. And Bellamy does say “We are family”. Which extends to all of Spacekru and doesn’t really say anything about whether he and Echo will continue being a romantic couple. (Or maybe that was the whole point?)

Bellamy again, making light of the fact that Echo tried to kill Octavia and telling Echo that Octavia will not be a problem and will understand and forgive her easily - even though it took him 3 years. “I’m more stubborn than she is”. Oh come on, Bellamy! You know Octavia better than that! You know more than anyone that this is not true! Is he simply lying to calm Echo’s mind? I like season 5 Bellamy 90% of the time, but he just comes off so fake and weird in this scene - even if “Nothing will change on the ground” and “Octavia is the least of our problems” are enjoyable for their irony.

Body count: Two Eligius prisoners – the bad one (Baines) shot by Madi, the possibly “good” one (Janson) shot by Clarke

Two Wonkru members killed in the fighting pit

Rating: 9.5/10 (half a point knocked off for the B/E scene)

#the 100 #the 100 season 5 #the 100 rewatch #the 100 5x01 #eden #clarke griffin #madi griffin #belamy blake #monty green #john murphy #maroer #emori

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avinrydarchive · 4 years ago

Text

hallow’s eve, saint’s day

Author: AvinRyd Fandom: The Bartimaeus Sequence Rating: G Pairing: Gen Word Count: ~8500 words

When in Prague...

Some lighthearted spooky shenanigans for you this October.

Written for the Bartimaeus Fic Exchange 2020. Check out the collection on AO3 to see everyone else’s awesome fics!

Read on AO3

Chapter 1: Somewhere: Sometime

22,643

“...”

“Hello, glad to see you’re awake.”

“Um, hello. Where am I? How long was I...asleep?”

“Well, twenty-two thousand, six hundred and forty three spirits have passed by since you arrived, so I’d assume about five days on the mortal plane? Hard to say exactly, but I’ve had a while to put a model together. “As to where you are? Stuck.”

“Stuck?”

“Stuck. I have many theories as to where and how, but the fact is that we’re stuck here between the two dimensions known to my people—and yours, I’m assuming, since you came from the same direction I did.”

“Oh…

“You said you’ve been here for a while? Is it permanent, then? This being stuck?”

“In theory? No. I believe it’s possible for us to leave, should the right situation arise. However, in practice? I’ve yet to see a situation that would afford an exit so...it might be permanent, yes.”

“...”

“How long have you been here?”

“I lost count a few centuries ago.”

1,962,573

“Hey, the gates haven’t done that before.”

“Oh, that usually means someone on the mortal plane came up with something interesting. What… Oh. That’s very interesting. I wonder…”

“What? No. No, stop—whatever you’re ‘wondering’ it’s a bad idea.”

“Hmmm, doubtful.”

4,747,821

“...”

“Finally! That was way too long, don’t do it again.”

“How long?”

“Thirty thousand, six hundred and fifty seven. I didn’t think you were going to form back up that time.”

“I was so close though. It closed just a fraction of a second too soon. Next time—”

“Next time?! Did you hear how long I said you were gone? You’re going to get yourself dispelled at this rate, and there’s no guarantee it’ll work!”

“It will.”

“Oh, so when I say stuff like that, it’s arrogant, but when you do it’s just fact?”

“It’s not arrogance when my previous hypotheses have all been correct. It’s based off the same knowledge, there’s every chance I’m right. I know I’m right. I—

“Wait, there’s another one.”

“Ah, no. Hold on—”

“I’m going to do it. This time for sure.”

“Wait! What if it doesn’t work? What if it does? Will you— That is, I’ll be…”

“Don’t worry. I’ll work out the method, then come back for you. I promise, my friend.”

“Friends? Is that what we are? I—wait, no!”

“...”

“I didn’t even ask his name…”

Chapter 2: Prague: Hallow's Eve

“—so there’s no need to worry about it. Piper and Harold can badger me all they want, send all the nastily worded imp messages they like—it’s not like I’ll run out of 'fuck,no's. I’ve got an unlimited supply.” Kitty sighed and shifted, trying to ease the ache in her back without smudging chalk lines. Sitting on the hardwood floor was murder on her over-taxed body, sending sharp spikes of discomfort up the curve of her spine and into her creaking hip joints, but this circle was so fragile she didn’t dare risk throwing a chair into the mix. The ringing at the base of her skull wasn’t terribly comfortable either, but it was a side effect of this spell they’d been unable to mitigate. Over the slight resonance, Bartimaeus’s voice replied, “Alright, alright. And since you’ve left Bruges they’ll probably have a time finding you for a while, at least. How’s Prague?” “Beautiful. Old. Rainy. A bit spooky, but I suppose that’s to be expected.” The laugh ringing through their connection wasn’t just one voice, but many. That was the interesting thing about this; she was speaking to Bartimaeus, but he was only separated from the Other Place just enough to exist as “Bartimaeus”—the rest of the Other Place was nearly an equal part of their conversation, which had taken some getting used to. “See, that’s the appropriate response. Certain modern magicians I’ve known—particularly young, bratty, British ones—have no appreciation for the old magic that city is steeped in. And speaking of magical detritus from a thousand failed spells, you did bring your instruments with you when you left Belgium, right? This is the longest we’ve ever had the portal open, and—” Kitty sighed again, much put-upon. “Yes, Bartimaeus. I have them and they’re set up and everything is stable. There was a tiny spike a few minutes ago, but everything is normal otherwise. I left Bruges to get away from the hovering protective people, you know. Please don’t you start being one now.” Bartimaeus scoffed, but the humming presence behind him was at least half on Kitty’s side, she was sure. “Fine, far be it from me to care about silly humans doing insane experimental magic with minimal education. I place full faith in your absolute knowledge and will immediately cease worrying that the portal will explode in your face and leave a Kitty-sized crater in one of the oldest standing magical cities of the mortal realm. I wash my metaphorical hands of it.” It was Kitty’s turn to laugh, bright and clear in a way it’d taken years for her to get to. “You do that. Anything in particular I should know about the city: places I should go, things to avoid?” “Eh, just keep your wits.” Kitty got a strong, almost visual impression that, had Bartimaeus been in a material form, he’d be looking on with an unimpressed twist to his mouth. This was such a weird spell. “If you’ve got that aura-viewing skill on tap still, keep a sharp eye out. Avoid any bridges without auras—they’re most likely falling apart internally. And costumed men with ‘distinctive’ candles!” “O-o-okay? That’s highly specific, should I be concerned?” The suggestion of a shrug and his words came through crackled with interference. “Not really, he was just a bit creepy by human standards, and that candle… Not a thing for polite company. Thought you’d prefer to steer clear of anyone similar. Don’t go to graveyards tonight, either.” The ringing at the back of Kitty’s mind was escalating to a high whine and she reached up to massage the base of her skull. One of the glass phials outside the circle, sealed and full of swirling gas, was starting to pulse with a faint glow. “Alright Bartimaeus, we’ve got to stop. The spell’s starting to break up. I’ll try again after I’ve spoken with the print master, okay?” “Good, this was probably too much strain on you anyway. Have fun bullying old men into changing books!” The djinni’s voice sounded further away than before, and before Kitty could reply, the connection snapped off. There was a sharp pop and a flash of sparks in the air above her as the spell collapsed—another issue to work on. She’d love to reach out to Button for ideas on a fix, but that would invite more pleas to return to London and Kitty was so, so tired of those. Government was not for her, not even a little bit. Even her drive for activism had waned, though she suspected it was simply burnout—and as Bartimaeus and Jakob and everyone else had said, this was some well deserved burnout indeed. Standing up was a process for Kitty these days: gingerly uncross legs; wait for the shriek of pain to stop; get knees under herself with careful movements; press up using stiff wrists to stand with popping knees; roll slowly upright, feeling every sore vertebrate slot into place. Painkillers. She had a couple left from the drugstore in Burges, right? She hoped so. She was far too tired to be exploring the city for a drugstore—or an apothecary? Who knew what this place had. Her travel bag lay on the bed, flap sagging open to reveal her essentials. The white plastic of a drugstore bottle peeked out from under the sweater Mrs. Hyrnek had made for her, and she’d just reached for it when— “Did you know that, when a djinni is dismissed, the gates between our world and the Other Place are open for precisely eight-point-five-two seconds?” Kitty whipped around. The room was empty; the disembodied—familiar?—voice already just an echo bouncing off the window panes. Light from streetlamps flickered strangely through wavy glass and water droplets. Somewhere, thunder rolled. “Second—” There it was again, but there was nothing to see, no matter how hard Kitty looked. “—and you must know some of this, having visited the Other Place yourself—but did you know that a human soul is, pardon the pun, in essence the same composition as any spirit? Though with a deep affinity for the earth element that other spirits abhor. And that, if sufficiently stimulated and accustomed to the act, a soul can exit the body—voluntarily or not—and bridge the worlds; even following another spirit on its way away from our earthly plane?” The voice was familiar, and yet...not. Kitty could swear she’d never heard this person speak—a boy with an absolutely unfamiliar accent. And yet? And yet, in her mind she heard an echo… What do you presume…? “And thirdly: did you know that your absolutely ingenious bit of spellwork holds the Elemental Gates open longer and with more stability than any spell used in the last two thousand years? And that, if a spirit were somehow stuck in a crevice of those gates, your spell provides an opportunity for escape not given in those same two thousand years?" The voice came from behind her now, and this time Kitty turned slowly—mindful of the crick in her neck her last turn had caused, and also not near as fearful. She knew now that there was nothing to fear from this voice. On her bed—or rather, floating slightly above it—sat a teenage boy, visible at last. Yellow lamp light and the watery orange glow of the street lights did not bring up warm highlights on his dark skin as they should have. He was nearly transparent and so washed out the ends of his curly hair faded out of sight. Seemingly unbothered by this, he grinned up at her, flush with the satisfaction of solving a millenia-old conundrum and shining with an emotion Kitty suspected might be gratitude. Cautiously, she returned the smile and—in a very steady voice, thank you very much—quipped, "Ptolemy. Are you aware you're floating three inches above the bedspread?"

Chapter 3: Prague: Hallow's Eve

“Ptolemy. Are you aware you’re floating three inches above the bedspread?” Ptolemy’s face twisted. “Am I? Irritating. Rekyt made this material form business look so much easier than it is.” “Well,” Kitty said reasonably, moving to sit on the bed as well, “he has had quite a bit more time to practice. And human souls aren’t terribly used to having to keep themselves in a form, are they?” Brows drawn in concentration, Ptolemy drifted downwards about an inch and muttered a distracted, “I suppose so,” before managing to drop the remaining space. Now he was flush with the worn bed quilt, but didn’t make so much as a wrinkle in the fabric. Kitty watched in fascination as, with experimental movements, Ptolemy brought his hand to the bedspread, then pushed it into the bedspread, then waved it in and out a few times. In a sudden flash of mischievous inspiration, she grabbed the drugstore bottle she’d reached for earlier and turned to Ptolemy, lobbing the rattling object with a quip of “Catch!” The boy’s reflexes were not quick—even in the best of circumstances he would have ended up bonked in the nose—but it didn’t matter. The bottle phased through his fingertips, then through his face and chest to land with a clatter on the pillows behind him. Kitty met his unamused stare with a grin, absolutely unrepentant. “Had to check. Scientific method and all that.” Still looking a bit miffed, Ptolemy pulled his foot up to “rest” on the bed and wrapped his arms around the bent-up knee. “If you hadn’t built that spell, I’d be tempted to say you’re the least scientific person I’ve ever known.” Kitty rolled her eyes and leaned back to reach around Ptolemy for the bottle she’d thrown—her joints really did ache after that long conversation’s worth of sitting on the floor. Pulling herself back upright after the extension wasn’t exactly painless either, but she was very sure it would be rude to reach through her visitor to grab something, especially since she’d been the one to throw it through him in the first place. Deftly, she twisted open the puzzle cap and tapped two tablets into her hand before closing it and trading it for a waterbottle in her travel bag. When she’d done, she met Ptolemy’s interested stare with grin. “You’ve only just met me, but you are pretty close to the truth. I didn’t do much with the technicalities of inventing that spell. It was my idea, and I know how it works and how to monitor it, of course, but the construction was a collaboration between Bartimaeus and two magicians I know back in London. They did most of the actual science.” The water tasted strongly of mineral and metal, filled at the last petrol station her bus had stopped at, but it wasn’t awful and got the job done. The moment also gave her time to consider how the hell to move on from here. There was a boy dead more than two thousand years sitting in her boarding room, and she had no idea how he’d gotten there. He seemed to have minimal purpose other than just...arriving—not indicating he had any message or any particular reason for not being able to move on. If his opening remarks were to be believed, he was back on the mortal plane because of a magical glitch in the system. He’d gotten sucked away before death had fully taken hold. Her musings were interrupted by Ptolemy moving, reaching to pull a book from her bag, then huffing when his fingers slipped right through the corner. “This is not going to work,” he muttered, focus completely on the stubbornly stationary book. He made two more swipes at it before giving up that approach and staring intently at it instead. Nothing happened and he flopped back dramatically to stare at the ceiling, hair falling right through the bed. “This is not at all workable. Kitty, I think I need your help.” “I don’t know why. You seemed to be doing quite well on your own.” “Are you always like this?” Kitty snorted in a very unladylike fashion. “Pretty much. Why do you think Bartimaeus likes me so much?” A moment of contemplation, then: “That does make an unfortunate amount of sense. Still, I really would appreciate a moment of sincerity, this is a matter of utmost importance.” “Utmost importance, huh?” Kitty laid back on the bed with a groan. “What’s that, then?” Ptolemy’s face was solemn as he looked over at her. “There’s someone else who’s stuck, and I promised I’d get them out.” “They can’t just...fall through? Same as you did?” Ptolemy snorted a laugh, serious moment broken. “They could, but they won’t. Too unsure of the results. If we’d had physical forms, I’m pretty sure they would have tackled me to keep me from doing something this reckless.” A day’s hard travel and spellwork dragged Kitty’s eyelids down—an inexorable pull. She hummed in exhausted consideration, then said through a yawn, “I don’t suppose a normal summoning would do the trick, would it?” Her jaw cracked mid-yawn, nearly drowning Ptolemy’s reply of, “Probably not…” Then, “I sense we may need to continue this conversation in the morning?” “Mmhm…” She’d given up the fight to keep her eyes open. “Well then.” His laugh was softer, almost fond. “Until the morning, Kitty.” She tugged her feed up onto the bed and shifted a bit, trying to find a comfortable spot on the lumpy mattress. “G’night, Ptolemy.” Kitty’s last thought before slumber was a deep confusion as to if this was not all just some elaborate dream, caused by magical backlash-induced unconsciousness. Quietly, she hoped not.

Chapter 4: Prague: Saint's Day

Early morning sunlight cutting across her eyes pulled Kitty to consciousness. She’d forgotten to close the curtain before going to bed. Odd. She was usually quite conscientious about that—woe betide wherever woke her up too early, up to and including the sun itself. Still, last night had been quite strange, hadn’t it? Her fuzzy brain struggled to remember. Movement in the room drew her gaze. A boy, crouched next to the circle she’d forgotten to clean up. Habit moved her mouth before her brain caught up; she mumbled, “Bartimaeus, we don’t do magic science early in the morning, remember?” His face turned, familiar in shape but not in expression, and everything clicked back into place. Ptolemy looked rather bemused. “Does Rekyt take my form often? Or are you just so unused to any company other than his?” Oh. Right. “...both.” Kitty scrubbed at her eyes and pushed messy bedhead from her face as she sat up, the last night’s events reordering themselves in her mind. Two thousand years’ death seemed to have little effect on the boy sitting on the dusty floor of her sleepy, second-floor boarding room in the middle of Prague. He looked at her expectantly, fingers sketching circles on the floor and making no trace in the scuffed dust. With a groan, she flopped back onto the bed. Ptolemy’s intent gaze was still trained on her, she could feel it, but her too-tired brain wasn’t up to meeting it and thinking through the morning’s problems at the same time. She stared at the cracked plaster ceiling for long moments before sighing heavily. “Alright then. We’ve got your business of ‘utmost importance’ to get to, right?” An affirmative sound, so she continued. “Well, I’ve got some business of importance to get to today as well. You’ve obviously been awake, thinking about this. What do you want to do?” A glance over at Ptolemy proved Kitty’s suspicions—the boy was practically shaking with the effort of not simply spilling all the plans he’d made overnight. Ghosts, apparently, didn’t sleep. She quirked an eyebrow and he immediately began: “We need to summon Rekyt. You said he helped design this circle, and I want to use it as the basis for mine, but I don’t understand a good third of how it’s build. Magic has moved on and—oh, but Kitty this is fascinating, I never could have dreamed—” He stopped, catching Kitty’s second raised eyebrow and pulling himself back on track. “Right. Between us and Rekyt and some intensive research, I think I can put together a spell that will do the trick. So. First: Rekyt; second: library.” Pushing upright once more, Kitty shook her head. “Other way around. Library first, Bartimaeus second.” She continued ahead before he could interrupt. “A summoning, a real one like that? That isn’t a small undertaking for me. I’ll be knackered for the rest of the day afterwards so—unless you figured out how to conduct an entire summoning while insubstantial last night?—we’ll go to the library and printers’ first, then come back with your research and summon Bartimaeus. Agreed?” Ptolemy studied her closely, quietly, and she felt a blush threatening to flood her cheeks. Ridiculous, really. He’d barely been able to stand after his trip to the Other Place; she had no business being embarrassed by her trip’s cost of physical stamina in front of him. A long, long staredown later, he nodded. “Agreed.” Good. She stretched and swung her legs off the bed to stand at last. There was a washroom just down the hall, communal for the boarders but Kitty was the only guest at present. She was glad of it—sharing washing up space with strangers was not something she wanted on top of everything else. After digging out her toothbrush, she turned to Ptolemy. “Stay here. We don’t know if anyone can see you yet. I’ll be back in a second.” Ptolemy looked just the slightest bit abashed. “Actually, I do know. A little after midnight I may have...taken a stroll? No one else can see me, or hear me.” “Oh. Well then. That’s good to know. I’ll...still be back in a second.” And she stepped briskly into the hall.

***

Ten minutes later—longer than her usual habit but hell if she didn’t need a good five minutes of overwhelmed solitude—Kitty returned to her room to find Ptolemy floating cross-legged a foot off the bedspread, exactly level with the windowsill so he could look out. At the creak of the door, he didn’t turn so much as roll backwards, ending upside down with curls falling to and fading through the bed. Inane as it was, she couldn’t help but grin. Bartimaeus held such a reverence for the memory of his old friend; Kitty wondered if that was the source of his gravitas in the guise, or if the new freedom of insubstantial spirithood was breathing new mischief into an otherwise solemn boy. The grin stayed as she moved to pack up her travel sack once more. She saw the grey chill outside the window around Ptolemy’s inverted form and tugged her jumper from the side of the bag where it’d gotten jammed. It was grey-blue wool and knitted by Jakob’s mother—a gift. She saw Ptolemy’s eyes catch on the textured fabric as she finished tugging it on and offered her arm. “Have you figured out how to touch things yet?” He shook his head but reached out anyway. As expected, his fingers swiped right through it. Less expected was the world-wringing sensation of his fingertips passing through her wrist. Early on in their experiments with the communication spell, Kitty had directly touched their “spectral conduit” to the Other Place, as Mr. Button had called it. Before Bartimaeus had snatched her back, she’d felt her self, her essence, tenuously bound to her body at the best of times, begin to be siphoned out and up and away. It felt like that, except in reverse. Connection was made and into the vacuum of her not-quite-full body flowed another gust of person. She felt him for a moment, entranced and inexorably drawn to the lure of earthen control once again before she was able to batten down all hatches and shove the presence away. With a jerk, Kitty yanked her arm back. She could feel her eyes popped wide in panic as she stared at Ptolemy, who was also wide-eyed but in fascinated joy. “Kitty,” he breathed, wonder under his words, “Kitty, let me try that again. That. It was… I could have— we could have—” “No!” Her voice was too loud in the quiet room and Ptolemy flinched. “What? Why? I just want to try it. If we were a bit more careful, I might be able to—” “You might be able to do quite a lot! And you won’t be trying, thank you very much.” His brows furrowed in consternation. “Alright, then. I can try it with someone else, I suppose. I wonder if you need their true name to—” “No, Ptolemy.” She didn’t yell that time—her voice was as flat and cold as London pavement. She cut off Ptolemy’s next attempt at speech with a harsh, chopping motion of her hand. “No. That is an invasion of self no commoner can even attempt to consent to, even if you did ask, which it sounds like you weren’t going to do.” Hideous silhouettes danced behind her eyes, though she tried to push them back. Glowing, demonic eyes in the faces of helpless puppets that haunted her nightmares. Breathe. She just had to breathe through it, just like she did all the other times. Through sheer force of will, her heart rate slowed down to something resembling healthy and she was able to bring her vision back into focus. Ptolemy was staring at her—very human, but also not quite. She forced down a shudder. “Come on. We’re going to the library. I’ll explain why you can never, ever do that, but I’ve only got it in me to do it once, so you’ll have to hear it along with the master printer.” She didn’t wait for an answer, just turned, snatched up her satchel, and headed out the door, closing and locking it behind her. Ptolemy was a ghost, he’d be able to follow just fine. He did. She couldn’t hear him coming behind her, but she now had a disturbingly unerring sense of his location that she hadn’t possessed a moment ago. Possessed. With a shudder, she rubbed the skin of her wrist under the jumper, trying to scrub off the sensation even as she mentally tracked Ptolemy’s progress behind her back. They went in silence like that—Kitty walking at a brisk pace with Ptolemy trailing behind—for nearly ten minutes of winding through dreary streets. Kitty had a map, and directions from the proprietor of the boarding house, which she trusted more. Concentrating on the confusing tangle of twists and turns busied her nervous mind into calm—calm enough that when Ptolemy cleared his throat, her quiet “hmm?” was genuinely amicable once more. “Where is this?” His voice was soft, awed. “I know I’ve...been gone a while, but I’m fairly sure this not Alexandria.” Kitty snorted and replied, “Prague,” before snapping her mouth shut. The street wasn’t busy by any means, but there were still people about who might look sideways at the out-of-place British girl talking to thin air. Quickly, she stepped from the sidewalk to stand under the awning of a cafe. The map made crisp sounds as she unfolded it and brought it up to her face, hiding the movement of her lips as she whispered, “We’re north of Alexandria, by a lot. Across the sea, past Rome, up where we call Eastern Europe, now. I’ll find you a map when we get to the library, yeah? For now, I can’t be talking to myself all the way across the district.” “Right.” He agreed with a quick nod, already distracted by the pastries displayed in the cafe window. Rolling her eyes, Kitty folded the map once more and headed off. The grey above threatened more rain and she quickened her pace. It wasn’t a short walk to the Holy Roman Archive and she’d rather not have to make the last third of the trek getting dripped on. Ptolemy was at her side now, gasping and exclaiming every other second at some new thing he’d glimpsed, and she had to actively suppress a wide smile. Grinning inanely at nothing wasn’t a look she wanted to project either. As they began to emerge from Old Town’s winding alleys, though, the city’s mood began to pick up and match Ptolemy’s joy. They stepped onto the larger, more toured streets around the great Charles Bridge, where tourists and business people alike made their way on foot regardless of the weather. Ahead, the bridge’s towers loomed and, just off to the left, Kitty saw the large buildings of the Klementinum. She made straight for it. The tourist traffic was, thankfully, a bit dimmed by the unpleasant weather and it was only another few minutes walk through ornate, baroque halls and courtyards blanketed in autumn-hued ivy before they reached the Holy Roman Archive. Home of what was left of Prague’s magical lore, it was also adjacent to the most influential of the Czech Publishing Guild’s members: Petřín Printers. They handled all of the magical texts to come out of Prague; all of the magical knowledge of Eastern Europe flowed through this print house and into the Archive. Kitty stepped past the enticing hush of the Archive, hoping Ptolemy would follow since she couldn’t physically drag him like she was afraid might be necessary. A glance to the side showed the boy’s feet were indeed dragging, eyes gazing with longing at the doors. “Soon. We’ll go there next.” He followed with an insubstantial sigh. “Yes, alright.” Kitty blinked. She hadn’t meant to say that aloud. It was so quiet in these halls, anyone could hear. The lobby of Petřín’s was unassumingly quiet, but Kitty wasn’t fooled. The walls hummed with the aura of a spell, most likely a silencing charm to keep the workings of the printers from disturbing the immediately nearby library. At a desk just inside, a man sat scribbling in a ledger with a fountain pen but he looked up at Kitty’s approach. His cheerful greeting was in Czech—thankfully one of the phrases she’d picked up staying with Jakob and his family. She replied in kind, following up with a somewhat abashed, “English? That was about all the Czech I know.” The man laughed and nodded. “How can I help you?” “I need to speak with Mr. Pavel Vlastislav? I’m here on rather urgent magician’s business, as well as with a delivery from Karel Hyrnek, of Hyrnek and Sons. I think he sent word ahead that I was coming?” “Hmmm, let me take a look.” The clerk flipped through his ledger, then ducked behind his desk to grab another book. As he did, Kitty looked around and saw Ptolemy studying a world map to the left, artistically rendered and nearly as large as the wall it was painted on. She couldn’t see his face, but she had an idea as to what it might look like, and what he was going to sound like in three…two...one… Right on cue, as the clerk popped back up into view, Ptolemy’s voice flooded into her ear as if he were standing right next to her and not ten feet away. “Kitty. Kitty this is— Is this the whole world? The entire globe? Have people truly been to all of these places?” The clerk was chatting at her as he flipped through his notes with Kitty nodding along distractedly, trying to pay attention as Ptolemy continued, “—and this map! It’s nearly as good as the cartographers of Alexandria’s work! Rekyt described many of these places to me, but they were not all in places I could plot on an available map… You said we’re in...Europe? To the east—oh! Yes, this must be it! You’re right, we are much, much further north. I wonder—” “Ptolemy! A minute? I need to focus,” was what Kitty thought to herself in a moment of irritation, mouth clamped tight over the words, but the boy stopped rambling immediately. “Ah, my apologies.” Well, that was fun. Maybe that mishap back at the room had been good for something after all? It was the only thing she could think of that might have caused such a strange phenomenon… Distracted, she had to once again refocus on what the clerk, Radim, was saying. Frankly, she’d missed what he’d last said, but then he was standing and ushering her through a door on the right and chattering about the privilege of being able to see inside the prestigious print house and Kitty was tuning him right back out. She was here on business, not to see the inner workings of yet another magical publishing shop. This was her third one in the past year; they all sort of looked the same at this point. Pavel was in his office when they arrived, Radim knocking a quick rap on the doorway before entering. The man inside stood, head still tilted towards a jet black sparrow perched on his shoulder—the imp’s presence explained ease with which he greeted her, a heavily accented but cheerful “Ms. Jones!” before Radim even had time to speak. He and Radim had a quick exchange in Czech too fast to catch, then Radim stepped out and Pavel gestured her to enter. “Come in, come in, Ms. Jones. You have news and a package from old Karel in London, hm? Please, sit down and tell me why he needs send such a lovely lady friend, rather than this news in the post.” Kitty swallowed. This was the hardest part, always the hardest part, and she’d already done it twice. Out of her bag she pulled a plain book, bound in brown cloth and printed on scrap: a manuscript printed by Mr. Hyrnek. There was also a pamphlet. Assuming today went well and Pavel accepted her request, she would need write her friends back in London and request him to send her another copy before she left Prague. Hands shaking, she set the book on Pavel’s desk and took a deep breath. Ptolemy perched on the edge of the desk, invisible to Pavel and watching her intently. Another deep breath, trying to dislodge the shaking behind her breastbone. Her trimmed down, bare bones narrative of the London Disaster was practically recited by rote now. Only by keeping it clipped, clinical, and precise was she able to get through the worst of the story without stuttering, but she’d told the story before and she’d tell it now. Unfortunately, the shuddering terror of the hybrids needed to be the focus of the tale—that’s why she was here. Magicians, the humans who practiced the enslavement of spirits, needed to know what happened from a first-hand source, told with compassion and urgency, or they would simply take the whole incident as either fairytale, or use it as a way to further demonize both the British Empire and the spirits themselves. If this came out wrong, the enslavement of spirits would worsen, not move closer to eradication. When she’d finished, wrapping up with a quick note of the Interim Council’s formalization of an integrated Parliament and the supposed plans for the country, both members of her audience were silent. Staring. This was a normal reaction, she’d gotten it from the print masters in both Paris and Madrid, and she didn’t blame them or Pavel. It was a lot to hear. It’d been a lot more to live through. Eventually, Pavel spoke. “That is...a harrowing tale. We’d heard of some horror from across the channel when the empire broke two years ago, but to think…” He swallowed. “Yes, this needs to be recorded. I assume this manuscript is the account?” Kitty nodded. “Yes, originally published by Hyrnek and Sons, but we all agreed that something like this should be shared. If nothing else, please, we request you bring this to the Archivist and have it included in the archive. If you are willing to print and distribute it, that is for the best, but I understand—” “I will, of course, do my best to ensure it is placed in the archives. And we will see what can be done about distribution.” Reaching out—just missing Ptolemy, who jumped away before his arm could be brushed—Pavel picked up the pamphlet. “And this?” “A list of the spirits who perished in the disaster, to update the newest editions.” And maybe a few others, but who was to know? Pavel flipped through it and Kitty stood, scooping up her satchel once more. Alarmed, Pavel stood as well. “Ms. Jones! Surely you don’t mean to leave so soon?” Exhaustion weighed her voice, two haunted years dogging her steps. “I’m sorry, Mr. Vlastislav, but I need to be going. I’ll leave the address I’m staying at with Radim and I’ll be in town for a few weeks. Find me there if you need anything.” That was the nice thing about her situation—after all the horrors and all the insanity and quite literally visiting another plane of existence, social niceties were near the bottom of her priority list. With a parting nod, she let herself out of the office without another word. Ptolemy was silent as she retraced their steps back to the lobby, still silent as she left her contact information with Radim, silent all the way until they’d reached the Archive once more. He didn’t suggest a book to start with, so Kitty made her way to one of the study tables and pulled another book from her satchel, rather than any of the shelves. Delicate pages with scorched edges crinkled as she turned them, scanning the handwritten translations in the margins. She’d been offered a fresh copy of Ptolemy’s Apocrypha with an English translation printed in, but Button’s book was special, and translating it with Bartimaeus’s help was a good memory. Credit to his perturbation, when Ptolemy finally spoke it wasn’t about the book she held. “I’m sorry. What happened… I can’t imagine. I didn’t realize the kind of trauma what I did would cause you.” “You couldn’t have,” Kitty replied diffidently, blithe tone slicking her thoughts to icy smoothness. “Like I said, it’s something no commoner would be able to understand, and most magicians too. The only ones who could come close are those of us who were there, and even then… The one who would best understand the bond you were trying to attempt is— Well, he’s dead.” Silence again, then: “And you? Would that make you the closest living authority?” “Actually, no.” She was able to look up and smile. “That would be Bartimaeus, so let’s hit the books and then you can ask him yourself, yeah?”

Chapter 5: Somewhere: Sometime

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Dread emptiness pressed in around him. Is this how his friend had felt, all those years alone? When the spirits passed—back and forth and back and forth—he could sense their movement, know their passing, but there was no sound to hear, no sight to see. Even this place he was stuck, a place he felt should have something of substance to perceive was just...nothing. To stave back the madness, he began to study the passing spirits with whatever senses were available to him. Thousands upon thousands passed before his examination, and on every few he focused his attention. Going one way, they seemed to mournfully coalesce from liquid freedom into a speeding, aerodynamic form to rocket through the other side of the gate; coming the other, solid misery flared and flittered out in joyous reaching for the far bank. Nowhere did the strange, fluid channel appear again. Only cold, clinical, slippery-walled openings to pull the beings to and from. He’d reached out to one once, only to find himself sliding off, lacking whatever was needed to be included in the transference. Probably for the best. Once the temporary madness left him, his logic reasserting itself over the crushing loneliness, he drew away from the traffic in fear. To be loosed in the fearful current without anchor or guide? No, he couldn’t… Or at least he thought that. And thought that. And thought that until he came to the point—singular and horrifying—that he could. His watching took on a new edge: analytical, searching. Time barely existed here, but some amount of it had passed before something caught his attention. Another direct stretch, calling for a specific being, but something about it was...softer. It was inviting but wary, familiar but fearful, like a stranger singing a long-buried song from childhood. Carefully, not flinging himself with abandon like someone had, he approached. It was tenuous, as all of these were—temporal and not meant to last long, unlike the fluid path they’d seen before—and this one was even more ephemeral than most. Holes in the weave, it could have been described. From one end, movement came, barrelling closer and closer and...familiar. Yes, the being speeding down was definitely a construction of substance he recognized but couldn’t put a name to. Names were hard here. Names were hard, but suddenly decisions were not. As the spirit sped past, he impressed some effort upon the pulling force, imposing himself on the construct until he fell through in a flurry of movement that he could suddenly feel, not just perceive in an abstract sort of way. He could feel it and he still felt it as he tumbled through. The portal did exactly as all the others did. He felt himself being compacted and compressed, separate from the being it was actually meant for thankfully, as he’d hopped in a good moment past it, but the bonds were ill-fitting. A familiar word that wasn’t his word. And so, when both he and the other tumbled out the other side, he felt himself spinning and drifting, formless and dazed as his traveling partner took form in a circle.

Chapter 6: Prague: Saint's Day

In a brilliant bit of foresight, the first thing Kitty asked Bartimaeus to do once he’d arrived was cast a nexus about her room to silence all noise coming from within. A good move, as her explanation of the situation first garnered her a bemused “what?” Followed by some silence. Then some contemplation of the figure who was making a concentrated effort to appear on the mortal plane to more than just Kitty. Then followed by a roar of the same word that had come before. There was a lot of yelling for a short time. Possibly some crying as well, not that Kitty would ever tell. But when it was done, and all explained and settled and understood, she might have asked Bartimaeus to remove the nexus. Absentmindedly, she forgot. This turned out to be a good thing as, five hours later, both she and Bartimaeus stared at Ptolemy over their sketches of runes, figures, and half-circle diagrams in consternation. Together, their query was definitely loud enough to have been heard by the good matron downstairs. “You don’t have their name?! ” Kitty groaned and set her pencil aside. They’d been at this for hours, and only now did Ptolemy mention he was lacking this key piece of their puzzle? Bartimaeus looked just as crestfallen in his guise of a young, dark skinned man, wearing a traditional desert kilt and bedecked with a necklace of amethyst, but also not terribly surprised. “Ptolemy, my friend. I always knew your disinclination for names would come back to bite us in inconvenient places. Admittedly, this is the furthest situation from what I could have imagined, but still.” The ghostly boy in question was not meeting either of their gazes. He was staring at the bedspread he sat on, stunned silent. Then quietly, obviously not in reaction to what either of them had said, he breathed a word Kitty had never heard in her life. Bartimaeus, however, choked on his non-existent spit, indicating that it was probably something foul. After a few more moments of unintelligible invective that had Bartimaeus’s jaw on the floor, Ptolemy muttered, “I can’t believe I forgot. We were there for what must have been years, how did I not ask? I promised. I’m a magician, I know how important names are. How could I have forgotten?” Kitty winced. They had maybe been a bit harsh. “It’s alright, I’m sure we can figure something out…” Ptolemy stood up and began to pace, making circuit after circuit of the tiny room. Amusingly, every time he turned a corner, he also stepped upwards about an inch, beginning to spiral upwards as he muttered to himself. Kitty glanced over at Bartimaeus, who shrugged, leaned over and whispered, “Don’t look at me, this is new. He didn’t used to pace.” “Hmm…” A ghost pacing was a strange phenomenon in that you couldn’t hear them, the fact that they were pacing of above your head at this point notwithstanding. It was painfully quiet. Kitty and Bartimaeus went back to fiddling with their designs, pencil and quill scratching loudly in the silence, but still working around a glaringly blank space where, in all of them, a name had to be placed. “I need a calendar!” Ptolemy’s voice, loud in the room, had Kitty jumping nearly a foot out of her chair. He was suddenly right next to her, face intent and determined. “I had a formula, I just need to do the calculations and we can figure out when my friend arrived. From there— Well, only a few specific circumstances could cause this, so maybe someone will have heard about it happening?” “Well, it’s somewhere to start…” Bartimaeus hedged, and Kitty agreed with the hesitant tone. How on earth were they going to sus out a single death of magical happenstance, even if they could narrow it down to an exact date? Kitty caught Ptolemy’s gaze again. There was a light, one she felt mirrored in her own past. Hope. And hell if she could ignore that. She’d wrestled demons, ransacked governments, and crossed dimensions for a hope like that, and well—Ptolemy had been the source of a lot of that hopeful vision. It was the least she could do to try and help him in turn. As Ptolemy still hadn’t managed enough substance to actually touch anything, Kitty was the one to walk to her duffel and dig out yet another book. She was becoming quite the librarian herself, these days. This one was worn, thick, full of cramped handwriting with a ribbon bookmark between the last few pages. Returning to the small table, she set it down. “Not a calendar, but close. My journal goes back two years, almost. Think your friend showed up in about that timeframe?” Ptolemy nodded firmly. “It couldn’t have been longer than that. Now, let me just…” He trailed off, fingers tracing invisible numbers on the table. With his brows drawn together in a focused frown, Kitty thought privately that he’d never looked less like Bartimaeus’s replication. Similarly, the fond expression Bartimaeus watched him with was a brand new thing to see on the spirit’s face, and something warmed in her. For the span of about an hour, a long time ago, Kitty had cared about a djinni and a boy more than anyone else in her probably-about-to-end life. This wasn’t the same, couldn’t ever be the same, but she liked it anyway. Across the table, Ptolemy was now rattling off numbers to Bartimaeus, who flipped through the journal pages—first in large swaths, then fewer and fewer at a time. Closer and closer to the front cover until— “That’s the end of it.” Both of them were staring down at the first entry on the first page of Kitty’s journal—a date, five words, and a tiny shard of glass taped to the paper. Bartimaeus continued, “How much further back?” “Two days.” Kitty looked at them blankly. They both looked back—Ptolemy glowing with the triumph of a puzzle solved, Bartimaeus with...something. Probably the same something building somewhere in the pit of Kitty’s stomach. “There’s no way,” she managed eventually, voice hoarse, throat suddenly dust dry. Bartimaeus’s reply was just a nervous chuckle while Ptolemy glanced between them, his high fading into confusion. “What’s the matter?” It took Kitty two tries to clear the lump from her throat. “Erm, well. You remember what I said about the only person who would understand possession by a spirit being dead? And what Bartimaeus said about the Glass Palace?” “Yes?” “That all happened two days before my first journal entry. I didn’t think to start recording events until— I was a right mess, basically, until then.” Understanding dawned on Ptolemy’s face and brought a smile to his face. The smile grew, bit by bit as he looked between his two friends. “Well then, shall we try? It’s our best guess, and the worst that will happen is it doesn’t work.” They both watched as he breezed over to where Kitty and Bartimaeus had left their sketches. A moment of careful study, then he pointed to Bartimaeus’s page—the djinni smirked at Kitty, who stuck out her tongue. “This one. Let’s try this one.” He bounced on his toes, each bounce taking him higher into the air. “Come on! I still can’t hold the chalk, help me draw this!” So they did. The dingy, dusty boarding room was a flurry of activity for long minutes. Bartimaeus did most of the kneeling and drawing while Kitty held the string guides and lit the few candles they needed for the spell. Ptolemy supervised, directing them in drawing a half-circle diagram. Lines stretched out from it in rays, similar to Kitty’s communication spell, but with a few slight adjustments. More geometric than ornate, the completed spell was chalked innocuously on the floor as Bartimaeus scratched out the last few runes. At the apex of the arch, a blank space had been left. Almost reverently they all knelt, Bartimaeus handing Kitty the chalk as she regarded the bare patch of floorboards before bringing the chalk down. Her handwriting was nowhere near as calligraphic as Bartimaeus’s—her chicken scratch legible but not beautiful as she spelled the name out: Nathaniel Chalk still in hand, she traced under the letters with a finger, the spell still cold and not yet activated. Together, Ptolemy and Bartimaeus reached out as well—and then another transparent finger traced along the top of the word. Glancing up, her gaze met with blue eyes, happy and calm in a way she’d never seen them while he was alive. “That’s what it was. I guess I just needed someone to write it down before I could form up properly. Took your time about it, didn’t you?” Surprise jerked her hand and brought her in contact with all three of the other beings in the room. Her vision spun and everything was very mixed up for a very confusing moment. Kitty was, for seconds or hours, not just Kitty anymore. Four souls rushed around and around in a feedback loop, bringing nausea to a body that wasn’t even really hers to experience it. It was like being back in the Other Place. Actually, it felt exactly like that, and the similarities echoed through their loop loud enough to bring the chaos to a balance. Carefully, they all extracted themselves from the morass—all but Nathaniel at least understanding the mechanics of the feat—and another moment brought Kitty solitude in her mind once more. She had fallen onto her backside, legs twisted awkwardly, and three beings of unearthly substance lay sprawled nearby. On seeing their mess, pushed up on her elbows, a giggle bubbled up from her throat. Then another, and another, until she couldn’t hold them back and collapsed onto the dusty floor, laughing until their was no more breath in her body. Around her, Ptolemy joined in first, then Nathaniel, then Bartimaeus, until they were all cackling like maniacs for long minutes. Good thing the silencing nexus is still still up, Kitty thought faintly, which sent her and her friends off into more gales of laughter. They laughed until all their surprised energy had been spent in joy. Jittery adrenaline rush settled to a wondrous warmth in Kitty’s chest as she looked at her friends. There was no telling what they would need to do now. But as far as she was concerned, it didn’t matter. They were together, no one was dead in the traditional sense of the word, and the world hadn’t tried to end for two whole years. She didn’t get sappy often, but today seemed like the day to try—the most pleasant Hallows Eve and Saints’ Day she’d ever experienced, by far.

#the bartimaeus trilogy #the bartimaeus sequence #bartseq #bartimaeus #bartimaeus trilogy #kitty jones #ptolemy #Nathaniel Underwood #fics of ryd

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jenomark · 5 years ago

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Chapter 2

↳Main Characters of Chapter 1: Reader (F), YangYang, Kun, Taeil, Doyoung, Mark, & Jaehyun ↳Warnings: Death, Cursing, Character death mention (Renjun), Dead bodies & Drowning. It’s a horror story dealing with life, death and souls. If you’re easily scared, this might not be for you! ↳Word Count: 6,083

↠Summary: You and YangYang have been best friends forever. Where one goes, the other follows. On the night of Halloween, in your 19th year, you attend a party that changes the course of your lives, and your deaths.

“YangYang,” you said. “I don’t want to be here anymore.”

“Silence.” the man said.

You closed your lips and could feel the metaphorical zipper keeping it shut. You watched the man approach YangYang, who had spun around and kept his back to you. He looked like a kindergartner waiting for their teachers instructions, his undivided attention on the stranger in the nice suit. You stood up. Immediately, the man leaning against the tree moved so that he was on your left side, blocking your pathway out. You could feel them all spreading out to close up the circle around you and YangYang.

“Your homecoming wasn’t supposed to be like this,” the man said. “There are times for everything in our lives, times when we relish ideal moments. This should have been different. This should have been beautiful.”

The man moved until he was in front of YangYang. He introduced himself as Kun and held out his hand for YangYang to take. It was unusual for your best friend to take a strangers hand, even more unusual because he was smiling. Graceful on the pads of his feet, YangYang stood. You looked down and noticed you were no longer holding your shoes.

“Thank you.” YangYang said.

YangYang backed away, putting distance between Kun and himself. He came beside you, his pinky touching yours. You felt safer, more calm. Kun looked at you like you were a minor inconvenience in his big plan, like something stuck to the bottom of his expensive shoe.

“How do you know my name?” YangYang asked. “I don’t recognize your face. Do you live in the city?”

Kun smiled briskly. He had a fatherly air surrounding him that made YangYang feel comforted. He always wanted to be the son his father wanted, so he tried hard to find that approval in the male figures in his life. You observed the way his shoulders relaxed with every word Kun spoke. You looked at your best friend and wondered if he had been drugged in the short time you’ve walked through the gates. On the opposite end, you felt uneasy. Your whole body was aware whenever Kun shifted his weight from one foot to the other.

“Is this a Halloween prank?” you asked. “If it is, let us go and we won’t tell anyone what you’re doing.”

You felt stupid and childish when the man next to you laughed. Kun snapped his fingers and the man was silent, his face turning stony immediately.

“Mark,” Kun said. “She doesn’t understand. She’s going to ask questions.”

As the man called Mark took a seat on top of a head stone, another man came from the shadows. His hands were behind his back, and on his face he wore a wily smile. He stood tall and too proud, his eyes darting back and forth between each person. Kun address him as Doyoung. You could feel Doyoung’s presence, it was much heavier than Mark’s.

“It would be much easier if we disposed of her now,” Doyoung said. “But it’s just a suggestion.”

“You know we can’t do that,” Kun said. “That is not what we do.”

“No one is disposing of anyone,” YangYang said. “If you hurt her, you go through me first. I will kick all of your asses to hell and back.”

Doyoung shrugged. “We could work out a deal. I can see that is what type of leader you will be.”

“She’s innocent.” Kun said.

Kun’s word was final. Doyoung opened his mouth to say something else but decided against it. Instead, Mark spoke, his voice tiny, “For now.”

You could feel the way they wanted to talk over each other, each personality fighting for dominance. Judging by the glances between members, the group of people each felt differently about the situation. You were confused by what situation exactly, and why it involved either of you.

“Please let us go,” you pleaded. “I don’t know who you are, or why any of us are here. If you let us go, I won’t tell a soul.”

“All the souls know.” Kun said.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, sir.” you said.

Kun’s expression was sad. He walked until he was in front of you, his height rising over yours. You shrank back from him, stumbling back a few steps until the back of your knees hit a head stone. You felt the urge to strike him with your closed fist. There was something about the way he looked at you that made you believe he could read your thoughts. Kun held out his hand for you to take.

“Don’t be afraid,” he said. “I can’t hurt you.”

“Can’t or won’t?” YangYang asked.

Kun spared a sympathetic look for YangYang. He glanced over at Mark and then back at Doyoung. His eyes scanned the others before coming back to you. Kun didn’t realize, but your hand was already in his, the softness of your fingers laying on top of his. He looked down ruefully. He took your hand and pulled you back into place so that you were with YangYang again. You hooked pinkies and watched as Kun went back to his starting point.

“I need you both to pay attention,” Kun said. “I shouldn’t be showing either of you this, but, as things have escalated far beyond my control tonight, it needs to happen now.”

“Kun, you’re a fool.” Doyoung said.

“Even fools get things done.” Mark added.

Doyoung gave Mark a nasty look. You gave each man one of your own sour looks and pulled your attention back to Kun. You could feel YangYang’s hands trembling in yours. You gave him a small squeeze with your pinky.

“Are you both looking?” Kun asked.

“Yes.” you said.

YangYang looked at you first, as if asking if it was okay for him to look. You nodded, so YangYang looked at Kun. There was a worried look on Kun’s face as he watched the exchange. If there was any constant in your world, it was your best friend. He would fight for you, and you for him. You would do it together, or not at all.

“Don’t look away,” Kun said. “It’s important that you keep looking.”

Kun watched a mound of dirt in front of him. You looked at the ground, too, your eyes so wide they were watering. There was no grass where Kun looked, just mud and a bit of rock. Just when you thought nothing would happen, and you were all wasting time, a white mist rose up. At first, it looked like smoke, but as it grew, its coils turned more corporeal. You couldn't look away, even if you wanted to. You felt like you were dreaming what was happening before you. A white, human-shaped figure formed in front of your eyes. Though transparent and glowing, it was definitely a woman. She was stout, about five inches shorter than Kun, and she wore a dress that came to her knees. The only thing that set her apart from everyone else around you was the serene smile on her face.

“Hello.” Kun said. “I hope you had a wonderful life.”

The woman nodded. She couldn’t stop smiling and it bothered you. She clasped her hands out in front of her and looked at Kun lovingly. The world was an awful place. You didn’t understand what she was so happy about.

“Do you know why you’re here, darling?” Kun asked.

Again, she nodded.

“Can you speak and tell me?” he asked. “We have people watching.”

“I am dead,” she said. “Are you an angel?”

“No, I’m afraid not.”

The woman’s smile never faltered. Kun offered his hand and she took it, shaking it like they had just made a deal. You could see Kun’s hand through hers, but where she touched him glowed the exact shade of YangYang’s orange hair.

“Do you know what happens next?” she asked. “What happens to me? To my family?”

“I know some things,” he said.

“Will you tell me?”

“I can only show you.”

When Kun opened his arms wide, her hand disappeared, the white stream flying through the air. He tilted his head back, stretching his arms as far as they would go. The woman watched hi , watched the rest of her body disperse into whiteness until that is all that she was. She flew around Kun’s body like a storm, with him as the eye. He opened his mouth, and she went down his throat, settling into his chest with a rumble. If you blinked, you would have missed the way he swallowed her soul, how she melted into his body for all eternity.

“What the fuck,” YangYang said. “What the fuck was that?”

As soon as Kun was done, he closed his mouth, put his arms down, and looked straight at YangYang. His gaze looked like it fell through YangYang into the world beyond. What he said next made you wish you could wake up from the bad dream. You let go of YangYang’s hand and pinched your arm, begging your body to wake up.

“You might not understand, “ Kun said. “What we are, but you don’t need to be afraid. We are the light.”

“I want to go home.” YangYang said.

“You are home.”

“Now!” YangYang yelled.

YangYang let go of your pinky and bolted. He ran around the circle looking for a way through. Bored out of his mind, Mark stood to block his path. The circle closed more tightly, leaving the energy seeping out of YangYang, like sand through an hourglass.

“Please don’t kill us,” YangYang said. “I don’t want to turn to dust. I will do anything. Do you want my babysitting money? It’s not much, but you can have it. I don’t know what kind of witch-y shit you’re doing here, but leave me out of it.”

“YangYang.” you said, quietly.

Your eyes were trained on Doyoung. He wouldn’t stop sneering at you. Looking around at all of them made you feel angry inside. The whole situation made you want to explode, your shrapnel hitting all of them in the jugular. You imagined a hand coming out of your mouth, and that hand wrapping around Kun’s delicate throat. He was nice enough to you so far, but one wrong move and you would squeeze the life from his body.

“Did you see that?” YangYang asked. “He fucking ate her.”

“I didn’t eat-” Kun began.

“-he ate her like a four-course meal,” YangYang continued. “Just swallowed her whole. I want to go home. Do you hear me? I’m going home. Please move out of my way so I can call my mom and tell her to come pick me up.”

“You can’t,” Mark said. “Everything has changed.”

“YangYang, stop moving,” you said through gritted teeth. “It’s pointless.”

YangYang paused. He was breathing like he had run a marathon. He came up beside you and tried to calm down.

“That’s a problem,” Doyoung said to Kun.” He’s a little dog, her little dog.”

“Silence.” Kun said.

“I want to know what is going on,” you said. “I feel it. This whole town can feel it, fuck, the whole city can. Ever since I can remember, everything has been different. Whatever just happened, that isn’t normal. I know you’re all a part of this, somehow. The party, the pool, I can remember it now. You did that to me, didn’t you?”

YangYang’s face fell. “The pool. Did they try to kill you? Was it them?”

“I didn’t try and kill anyone,” Kun said, his voice so irritatingly soft. “I don’t kill people.”

“Did you kill that woman?” you asked Kun. “Are you death?”

“I am not death,” he said. “Death isn’t a person. Even if it was, it wouldn’t be me. I don’t kill people.”

“Then, what are you?” you asked. “If you don’t kill people, Kun, what do you do?”

“Kun,” Doyoung said. “This isn’t wise. Before it happens, they shouldn’t know too much.”

“She’s an innocent,” Kun said. “She walked through those gates untainted, so, for now, she gets the truth. It’s the least we can give her.”

“What are you? Answer her.” YangYang said, his voice growing stronger. He was back to protecting you, leading you. He stepped in front of you and puffed out his chest.

“I’m a door,” Kun said. “A door to the other side. Souls come through us to cross over. It’s simple, really. In the game of life and death, we're like gatekeepers.“

“Okay. That was not the answer I was expecting,” YangYang said. “ You know, I really think I’m hallucinating all of this, I think I was drugged at the party.”

“All of you are doors?” you asked.

Kun nodded. “All of us,” he said. He shot an impatient look at Doyoung. “Some have been for longer than others.”

“So you’re all.... dead?”

“Something like that,” Kun said. “None of us were ever meant to live for long. You could say our lives were always promised to the dead, through life.”

“I think I remember you,” you turned to Mark. “You’re that boy who died in the car accident when I was a kid. You were on every paper for weeks while they tried to find out who was on the other end of that accident. It was the biggest mystery in town. I used to dream about you.”

“They never did find out who did it,” YangYang said. “Tire tracks but no car.”

“They wouldn’t have,” Mark said. “Because there was never a car. “

“That doesn’t make sense,” YangYang said. “You were in a car accident.”

“When it’s our time, we’re taken from our first lives by any means,” Kun said. “ Sometimes, we drag others with us. Most of the time, we want a quiet exit. For Mark, there was no other driver. Mark came to us on his own, made completely for this purpose.”

“This is fucking crazy.” YangYang said. He put his hands on his forehead and brushed his hair back. It flopped back into place, his fried ends stiff.

“It is,” Mark agreed. “We’ve all been through the entry exam, sat for the pop quiz. Kun gives great lectures, but it’s boring hearing the same thing every few months. Do you know how weird it is living in a cemetery, waiting for dead people to come through? Not being able to see your family because you can’t leave?”

“You can’t leave? you asked. “Why can’t you leave?”

“We’re stuck here, and have been for some time,” Kun said. “We’re waiting for someone to set us free. When that happens, the gates open for good and we can walk into the town, into your cities. We can get the souls that couldn’t find us.”

“Well, who are you waiting for?” YangYang asked. “It feels stupid to wait for someone in here.“

Kun raised his eyebrows. “You both walked through the gates. Our waiting is done.”

“What does that mean?” you asked.

YangYang covered his mouth with his hand. He looked over at you in shock, using his other hand to point at you. “Dude, I think it’s you. I think you’re the chosen one.”

“Shut up, “ you said. “This isn’t a movie.”

“No,” he said. “But it makes sense. You’ve always been more special than anyone I’ve ever known. If someone is chosen to walk through the gates, I think it’s you.”

“It’s not her.” Doyoung said.

“Doyoung.” Kun said.

“She’s not like us.”

Doyoung.” Kun said, the second time sounding more menacing than the first.

“What?” Doyoung barked. “Since we’re being honest, we might as well tell her everything. That’s what you wanted.”

“Tell me what?” you asked.

“Nothing,” Kun said. “Don’t listen to him. Don’t let him scare you. There are things both of you don’t need to know, and for now-”

“-for now,” Doyoung interrupted. “For now, little girl, you should be very afraid of the man in the mans-”

Kun ran across the cemetery, jumped over a headstone, grabbed YangYang’s hand, then yours. The dreariness of the cemetery warped into vibrant pinks and greens, swirling left and right. You felt nauseous, like you were being hung upside down, and then stretched like taffy. There was one last pinhole-like glance at the cemetery before you closed your eyes. It felt like you were being suck through a vacuum hose, traveling through the tubes. When you opened your eyes again, you were back in the house where the party took place. No one was there. YangYang kicked a paper cup left on the floor and looked around. You bent over and dry heaved.

“What man?” you asked Kun. “Man in a what? Man in a mansion? Who am I supposed to be afraid of, if not you?”

“Forget what Doyoung said,” Kun said. He speaks without thinking.”

“Did we just teleport?” YangYang asked.

“Something like that,” Kun said. “That was the first time I ever did that. I’m glad we made it all in one piece.”

Kun looked around like he had never seen a house before. He wiped his finger across a coffee table, poked a few picture frames, and let his eyes soak in everything. You wondered if he had ever attended a party when he was alive, or if he was as boring as he seemed. YangYang made you peel your eyes away from Kun. He went over to the pretzel bowl from earlier and stuffed a few into his mouth.

“We’re not asleep for real, are we?” you asked. “This is actually happening.”

“You know the answer to that,” Kun said. “If you don’t, I would have seriously misjudged your intelligence.”

“How is any of this real?” YangYang asked. “This chosen one business, it isn’t that thrilling of a plot.”

You and Kun looked at YangYang, at the same time. YangYang lowered his handful of pretzel, slowly. In that moment, he seemed younger than nineteen. Kun smacked the snacks out of YangYang’s hand before he could eat them and scanned the back door. Past him, you could see a crowd outside. Their backs were turned to you, and all of them were looking at something on the ground. Before you could see what it was, Kun blocked your line of sight. You made eye contact and his eyes softened.

“I’m not supposed to be doing any of this,” he began.” You have to understand that this wasn’t in the plan. Doyoung is...we don’t see eye to eye. To me, you’re still-”

“-who are those people?” YangYang asked.

He looked out of the window. Kun snapped his fingers once. YangYang came over as if he didn’t have a mind of his own. For the first time, you could see true anger in Kun’s eyes.

“We don’t have a lot of time, “ Kun said. “ I need you to listen to me. Can you do that, YangYang? Can you sit still for one moment, please?”

“Fine,” YangYang said. “But I don’t appreciate the snapping thing. I am not a dog, hers or yours.”

“I need to show you something,” Kun said, ignoring him. Kun was looking at you, and only you. “But you can’t scream. If you scream, he’ll hear you and he’ll come faster for you. He listens all of the time.”

“Who listens?” YangYang asked.

“Shh!” you and Kun said, at the same time.

“I hate this so much.” YangYang said.

“Show me.” you said.

Kun turned abruptly and walked towards the back door. You and YangYang followed behind, both of you nipping at his heel. As you crossed the threshold, time slowed again, just like it did when you were under water. You saw the police tape first. A police woman walked in front of Kun, but she didn’t acknowledge him. You could see the blue and red lights flashing up against the white of the house, could hear the sobs cutting through the air, like a guillotine. People in business suits were standing around a body at the edge of the pool, its limbs twisted, its red dress torn. They parted just in time for you to see yourself lying lifeless on the ground, your eyes open and staring. You didn’t scream, but YangYang did. You bent over, silent cries on your lips. Kun didn’t rush to you, didn’t comfort you. YangYang ran to your body and knelt down, his head on your lap. None of the people around made a movement, because they couldn’t see him. That is when you noticed your mother crying inconsolable in the corner, your father with his arms around her. You used to beg your father to hug your mother when you were younger, but you didn’t want it like this. You started running for them. You just wanted to talk to them, to tell them how much you loved them one last time. Before you could, you felt an arm on your wrist, saw the pink and green swirls again, and you were whipped away. When you were set down again, it was at the lake.

“Why are we here?” YangYang asked.

He was bent over a rock, and he looked sick. His eyes were red-rimmed and tears were streaming down his face. It all felt like a bad nightmare. You expected Renjun to come out of the lake, his eyes sunken in, his lips blue, but there was no one coming out of the water tonight.

“I had to show you,” Kun said. “It wasn’t supposed to happen like that. You weren’t supposed to die tonight. He came. I’ve never seen him before, but I know he works for him. He’s a free walker, a mercenary, or whatever you want to call him. He pushed you into that pool and he killed you.”

“I’m dead.” you said. “I died.”

“You're not dead,” YangYang said. “You’re right here. I am looking at you.”

“YangYang. “ Kun said softly.

“I died, “ you said. “I never left the pool. All of this is fake. Am I the chosen one? Is my death why the gates opened?”

“Yes and no, “ Kun said. He looked regretful that he had to be the one to say it. He was speaking too slow, being too kind. You wanted to beat the truth out of him, beat the kindness in his eyes. He continued, “The gates opened because of your death, but not because of you. You are not the chosen one, but you know the chosen one very well. He’s been by your side your whole life, protecting you, loving you.”

You understood. All of tonight played in your head, starting from the very beginning when you placed those devil horns on top. You looked at YangYang and could see that he understood, too. He threw up on the side of the rock. When he was done, he wiped his mouth. You had never seen him look so frail, so vulnerable.

“What the fuck does that mean?” YangYang asked. “I know you expect me to be stupid. I do understand, but I want to hear you say it.”

“You’re a door,” Kun said. “Like me. Like Doyoung and Mark. You bring souls through to the other side. You save them from being left behind, from vanishing into nothing.”

“If you think I’m bringing my best friend to the other side,” YangYang said. “You’re fucked in the head.”

Kun hung his head. When he raised it, he looked across the lake for a long time. The watch on his wrist ticked, and he checked the time. After sucking in the crisp air, he spoke. “I don’t know what happens now.”

“I’m not taking her,” YangYang said. “No one is taking her.”

“She is not ours to take.” Kun said.

You were beside Kun looking out across the lake. There was something almost too calm about the way you were starting to feel. An acceptance. You took a deep breath to match Kun’s When you spoke again, your voice was stable, “ I want to know everything.”

“We all have a destiny,” Kun said. “Some are more easily fulfilled than others. Some think their destiny is important, some thing their destiny is right. We don’t all agree. My destiny is to take the souls of this place when they die in this world and guide them home. Not to heaven or wherever you think they might go afterwards, just home. Truthfully, it doesn’t matter where they go, just that I do my job. You were right about this town in that it has never been normal. Any fool within miles can feel how different it is when they pass through to the city. Your hair stands on end before you can make it to the welcome sign.”

“Skip to the point, old man.” YangYang said.

Kun cleared his throat. Though he evoked power, there was still nothing more grating than being teased by a teenage boy. He continued, “Something happened a long time ago and we all got trapped in the cemetery. We could save the ones that came to us, but the ones that couldn’t reach us, they roamed the streets until they vanished.”

“Into nothing,” you whispered. “Where do they go?”

“Where we can’t save them.” Kun said.

“I don’t understand what this has to do with me,” YangYang said. “I’m just an idiot.”

“I thought you said you weren’t stupid?” Kun asked.

“Being stupid and being an idiot are two different things, “YangYang said. “Being an idiot means I’m not special, nor important. Being stupid means wearing a turtleneck with a suit jacket.”

Ignoring the insult, Kun spoke, “To use your words, you’re chosen. We knew salvation would come in the form of a boy, after he turned nineteen. We didn’t know which boy, we didn’t know when. Every year, we hoped the gates would open and he would stroll through and that he would be strong. There was a time when we thought it might be Mark, but it wasn’t. It was about being patient. It wasn’t going to be easy.”

“So this is a prophecy?” you asked.

“Of sorts, yes,” Kun said. He turned to YangYang whose face had gone pale. “YangYang, you’re the last piece of the puzzle. You are the one that freed us from that prison. You’ll bring forth the souls to their rightful place. In our town, in our cities, in our countries, we’ll know peace.”

YangYang stepped out from beside the rock. His foot caught on a stone and he tripped, but he kept walking. He walked towards you, his arms outstretched like Kun’s, and his mouth open wide.

“What are you doing?” you asked.

“Go towards the light.” YangYang said.

“Stop it.”

“You need to go towards the light. It’s okay, “ he said. “ I can let you go.”

“YangYang, “ Kun said. “It doesn’t work like that.”

YangYang stopped. He was visibly crying. He wiped away his tears. When he could see properly, he looked at your body and said, “That’s right! She can’t be dead because she isn’t glowing.”

You felt a glimmer of hope begin to burn in your chest. Maybe you weren’t dead. Maybe Kun created an illusion with you to help YangYang accept his true destiny. Kun watched you from the side, his eyes unblinking.

“I’m sorry, “ he said. “As much as I wish that were true, you have died. Your body is on its way to the morgue. Your mother is calling your family to let them know. I know this isn’t what either of you want to hear.”

Hope deflated like a balloon. You fought back bitter tears but they spilled anyway. Angrily, you wiped them away. You could feel a rush of aggravation coming back to you. You wanted to take Kun and drown him in the lake water.

“You have to fight it,” Kun said. When you realized he was talking to you, you let the rest of the tears fall. “Fight how you feel.”

“How do you know how I feel?” you asked. “You don’t know anything about me.”

The longer you looked at him the more you could feel hurt boiling over. YangYang stepped closer to you, but you didn’t have the patience for him. Your eyes shot daggers and he backed away. Seeing how soft his face looked, how messy his orange hair was, you tried pulling yourself out of the anger.

“The other souls,” YangYang said. “They’ll come to me now, too?”

“Yes.” Kun said.

“And the rest of them?”

“The rest of whom?”

“The rest of the souls,” YangYang said. “Where do they go? The ones we can’t save? We can’t save everyone, right? Where do the rest of them go?”

“Tell him,” you said. “Don’t lie.”

Kun’s eyes never left yours as he spoke to YangYang. “They go to the other side.”

“Our ‘other side’?”

“No.”

“Like, an evil side?”

“Something like that.”

“Look at me when I’m talking to you, “YangYang said. “Why do you keep looking at her?”

Though the tears were flowing, they dried up almost as soon as they dripped from your eye. You felt drained of all energy. “Is that where I go? To the evil side?”

Kun tried avoiding the answer. Over and over again, he kept telling you how sorry he was.

“That’s why we’re here, “ you said. “That’s why you brought me all the way out here, to kill me.”

“You’re already dead.” Kun said.

“But I have a soul,” you said. “Is the grim reaper coming for me?”

You looked all around you. You felt paranoid. You were terrified to see someone coming out of the lake. You looked around. The wind was picking up, the trees whistling through the silence. YangYang. When you looked at him, his tears wouldn’t stop spilling. You looked at Kun. He looked sad, but dutiful.

“No,” Kun said. “There is no such thing.”

“Are you lying to me?” you asked. “I deserve to know. I am dead. If you can’t take me, where do I go?”

“I’ve said too much.” Kun said. “I shouldn’t...”

“But you will,” you said. “I am innocent. Isn’t that what you keep saying? Where do I go, Kun? Am I stuck here for all eternity? I’m not evil.”

“Tell her.” YangYang said.

Kun sighed. For the first time, you could see his age showing on the lines on his face. He said, “When YangYang was born, he was born with the intention of setting us free. A month after he was planned, another was born. We never knew. I suppose we should have seen it coming. We weren’t the only ones imprisoned. You have to know that the line between light and dark has always been very thin. All of us walk it constantly, even the most innocent. But babies, babies are so innocent. You see, babies don’t even see what is right in front of them. Not because they don’t want to, but because they can’t. That’s all I can say. The other side, the side you should be afraid of, they want a life to exist that shouldn’t be. If you take anything away from this, know that things should not be like this.”

“You’re predictable, Kun.”

Doyoung appeared out of thin air, followed by Mark. They both stood behind YangYang, like bodyguards. You couldn’t help but think how right it felt to look and see him standing between those men like he had always belonged.

“A prophecy....” you whispered.

“...one that was never meant to be written.” Kun finished.

“You weren’t supposed to make friends with her, Kun,” Doyoung said. “You were supposed to destroy her.”

“She’s a child, Doyoung.”

“She’s not, “Doyoung said. “And you know it in your heart. You know what she is.”

“What am I?”

“An abomination.” Doyoung said.

“Don’t listen to him, “ Kun spoke up. He took your hand but you yanked it away. “You were born in response. You always born to die. Your death is the turning point of everything. That doesn’t make you an abomination. You’re a catalyst.”

“He puts it so nicely,” Doyoung said. “Our savior was meant to get here first, but the other side, they broke the prophecy in half. Even their destiny doesn’t matter to them. They killed you three weeks shy of your nineteenth birthday, jump starting the end of the fucking world. When things are disrupted, when time shifts, everything changes. People meant to live will die, and those that die will walk through the door, or suffer the consequences. If they want a city of death, we’ll give it to them, but that death won’t be ours.”

Doyoung made a run for you, but Kun stepped in front of him. You were trying to wrap your head around all the new information. You wanted to burst out into laughter. Surely, this was one big theater production. The absurdity of it all made you question everything. But you had seen your body, and you had seen the way your mother cried. Your mother never cried for anyone. You made eye contact with YangYang and could feel him thinking the same thing.

“She has a choice,” Kun said. “Up until that choice, she is still an innocent.”

“I don’t care.” Doyoung said.

“And I do,” Kun said. “You kill her and I’ll kill you.”

“Hey,” YangYang said. “That’s my line.”

“Maybe you should just kill me,” you said. “I don’t want to be a part of any side. I want to be with YangYang.”

“Jesus,” Mark said. “This isn’t going to end well for any of us. Kun, what have you done?”

“How it ends is not my job,” Kun said. “It will play out how it must, how the new prophecy sees fit.”

All five of you fell silent. You could hear the rushing of the water, could hear it growing louder like it did when you were in the bathroom. You closed your eyes tightly to stave off whatever you were feeling. You didn’t want to see your own reflection staring back at you. When you opened your eyes, Kun looked concerned.

“Taeil knows she is here,” Kun said. “We have to go.”

“We can’t go yet.” Mark said. He looked at YangYang.

“I’m not going anywhere without her.” YangYang said.

“YangYang,” Kun said. “This is your destiny. If you turn your back on it, her death is in vain. Is that what you want?”

“I’m not even dead,” YangYang said. “How am I supposed to help people if I can’t eat them? I’m still huma-”

With that, Mark grabbed YangYang’s neck and snapped it. Kun held you back, his arm around your middle. You dug your fingernails into the flesh of his arm, until he yelped and switched arms. You heard Kun whisper his apology in your ear before he let you go. You ran for YangYang’s body and hurled yourself on top of him. What you were met with was mud and sand. YangYang, Kun, Mark and Doyoung, were gone.

Taeil took off his shoes and walked into the water until he was ankle deep. A curious, orange fish swam around his legs, zooming in and out like it was playing with him. Taeil bent down to touch the fish. It swam against his fingers like it loved his touch.

“You with the sad eyes.” he whispered.

The water rippled and splashed. A pair of boots disrupted the serenity and the fish swam away.

“Jaehyun,” Taeil said. “Do you have to be so heavy-footed? My friend is gone.”

Taeil looked up at the big figure standing next to him. He was handsome, his face looking like it had been frozen for a hundred years. He was wearing all black, like a soldier, and his deep red hair was slicked back.

“ He wants us back as soon as possible.” Jaehyun said.

“I don’t take orders from him.” Taeil said.

Jaehyun didn’t argue, just let Taeil do his thing. Taeil looked over his shoulder and watched Jaehyun haul the girls body over his shoulder. She had passed out in the mud, her body small and fragile. Taeil liked the way she looked and didn’t want to disturb her, but everyone was so restless. He hadn’t been outside in so long and he just wanted to feel and see everything.

“Taeil.” Jaehyun called.

“I’m coming,” Taeil said. “We’re all coming.”

Taeil walked away. Behind him, bodies started walking out of the water. All of them were in various stages of decay, all trudging forward like they didn’t have minds of their own.

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gay-dragon · 5 years ago

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On the iconic Skam elevator scene

Not that anyone asked but I think Skam and some of its remakes are really well crafted shows, and I have a lot of thoughts about a lot of clips. So I’m going to go ahead and have a little rant about some of them and why I think they work so well. Might make a little series of this, but right now I want to talk about the final clip of episode 8 of Skam season 3 (in which Isak and Even go to a hotel), and why I think it’s one of the strongest clips in the whole show. Specifically, I’d like to unpack the metaphor of the elevator, and what it means for the season overall.

So let’s jump right in: this scene, and Isak and Even’s kiss in the elevator, has often been talked about as a metaphor for Even’s manic episode, which I think is incredibly interesting. However I’d like to propose the theory that it also represents a major turning point in Isak’s attitude towards his relationship with Even.

It’s important to note that this clip is the first time we see Isak and Even properly spend time together as a couple outside of the domestic, intimate space of their bedrooms/apartments. And Isak is very clearly made uncomfortable by this: we see him pull away when Even tries to kiss him in front of the café, for example, and he is awkward during the interaction with the receptionist to whom Even introduces him as his boyfriend.

This is very consistent with Isak’s behaviour throughout the season up to this point: when he is alone with Even he is more relaxed than we have ever seen him, but as soon as his relationship is taken into the public, he panics. We see this when he comes out to Jonas and doesn’t know how to respond to Jonas calling Even good looking, when he kicks out the boys at the end of episode 7 to be alone with Even, and in his visible awkwardness when Even first meets the boys at school, to name a few examples.

However something I noticed is that I can’t think of a single moment after episode 8 where we see this discomfort in Isak. Even when things are going badly and he thinks Even doesn’t love him, he’s very open with the boys about how upset he is, and after the O Helga Natt reunion we see him be much more open about and comfortable with his relationship.

It’s true that when he talks to his father on the phone in episode 9 he does try to lie by saying he was joking when he said he had a boyfriend, and although he admits it was real before hanging up he does maintain that he’s okay even though he’s not. But to me, his lie about being okay has less to do with his relationship with Even and more to do with the difficulty Isak experiences in letting his father in and being vulnerable. What matters is that he is unwilling to lie about having been in a relationship with Even.

This means that the last time we see him be uncomfortable with being public about his relationship is in the interaction with the receptionist. So, what changed? This bit of dialogue with her may seem quite casual and random (and I read somewhere that part of the reason it was there was to give a shout-out to the Danish fans, which is amazing), but I think it’s actually absolutely crucial to the plot of the season. So far, the only people that Isak has been open to about his relationship have been people he was very close to (his friends, his parents, his flatmate…). These have all be positive, but all of the interactions he’s had with strangers (or people he wasn’t close to) on this subject have been awkward at best and incredibly distressing at worst. I’m thinking for example of his disastrous Grindr attempt, of the casual homophobic comments he’s heard throughout the seasons, of Vilde’s awkward (if well intentioned) ‘I love gays’ text, or even of Emma’s ‘it’s 2016 get out of the closet’ speech, among others.

This woman, then, is the very first stranger not only who Isak is open about his relationship to, but also who has a positive reaction. And not just positive: it’s completely casual. Isak needs this so much, at this point. He’s desperate to be with Even, and he’s out to everyone who matters to him, but when it comes to outsiders it’s been the source of a lot of distress. So this very normal, very casual interaction with this woman is a huge deal for him. And despite his slightly awkward attitude throughout this interaction, you can clearly see on his face the joy, giddiness and even the relief that being introduced as Even’s boyfriend (and this being met with “how nice”) brings him.

This interaction is so crucial, therefore, because at this point he’s still afraid of what his relationship with Even will mean for the outside world, and this interaction is what allows Isak to finally let go of that fear. He’s been getting closer, he’s been making efforts to be more open, but this is the confirmation he needed that, yes, he can be with Even and have a normal life (and we all know how much being normal is important to Isak).

So to me, the elevator scene marks a major turning point in Isak’s relationship to his relationship with Even. When you think about it, a hotel is simultaneously a public and a very intimate place. Therefore Isak and Even’s kiss in the glass elevator that is rising up to their hotel room is a beautiful visual metaphor for Isak’s acceptance of his relationship, and the passage/rise of it in his mind from something he feels the need to keep to the private sphere, into something that can be both public and private.

They are having an intimate moment, but unlike their other kisses (underwater, in Isak’s room, etc.) the glass wall of the elevator which permits this beautiful backdrop of the city is also a reminder of the outside world, a reminder that they are a part of that world, that their relationship and their intimacy have a place in it. The motion of the elevator is therefore a visual representation of the moment where in Isak’s mind his relationship with Even transitions from a ‘thing’ (he doesn’t seem to find a better word for it when he talks about it to his friends a few clips ago) and ascends into a proper relationship.

I think this transition is absolutely essential, at this point in the show. It serves to escalate the stakes of their relationship (and by extension of the story), and is what allows the impact of the heartbreaking scene we see at the end of the clip to be so much stronger. It’s one thing to be sad because the ‘thing’ you were starting to have with someone is complicated or even ending. It’s entirely something else to deal with (what you view as) the end of a real relationship. But this also means that after this heartbreak, where previously Isak would probably have given up, he is now more willing than ever to fight for his relationship.

This ties in nicely with something that @evakuality has gone into in her series of posts about the difference between Isak and Matteo, in which she unpicks Isak’s very passive approach to his relationship with Even. You can read this analysis here (and you definitely should if you haven’t already, it’s brilliant!) so I won’t go into it, but I will say that I think this scene marks the moment when Even stops being mythical and enchanting and instead their relationship becomes real, thus allowing Isak to be much more active in it. Again, this is essential to escalating the stakes of the season, because if Even had remained a mythical figure the heartbreak in this scene would have been redundant after the heartbreak pre-episode 7.

I also think that the image of the elevator being simultaneously representative of this shift for Isak and of Even’s manic episode is incredibly interesting, but I’m not going to go into this now as this post has already gotten very long. (Also just to be clear, the reason I’m not going into more detail about the manic episode metaphor is because I am no expert on mental illness and am not bipolar myself, and also because many people far more qualified than me have gone into detail about this aspect already.)

But there you have it, this is why in my opinion the elevator metaphor is one of the strongest in this show. Like I said, I may or may not make this into a series (do I miss writing essays? Quite possibly!), because there’s loads of scenes in Skam and in some of the remakes that I think have this kind of traction too. Not sure if I will, but I also wanted to talk about the build-up of tension throughout this clip, so if I do make a series of this I will probably talk about that too, in a later post!

#skam #evak #isak valtersen #even bech næsheim #skam meta #skam analysis #mine #my skam meta #txt #long post #my metas

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legobiwan · 5 years ago

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Whumptober #4 (human shield)

TW: child death, somewhat grisly descriptors, hurt/no comfort, I’M SORRY

Fandom: Good Omens (Crowley, Aziraphale, Hastur)

Notes: uhhhh, I’m totally intimidated to try out writing in the Gomens fandom but here we are. Angst, as always. Lightly edited because I’m trying to let go and I don’t got no time for that. Yes, I’m a day behind on these and that will likely be the case until next weekend SORRY GUYS.

-----

“So let me get this straight. Hell - “ Crowley peered over the rim of his sunglasses. “And we are talking about the same Hell, right? Bad plumbing, worse health plan, bunch of ugly faces - “

Hastur scowled in Crowley’s direction, the frog perched on his head mirroring the expression.

“Present company excluded, of course,” Crowley swallowed, smothering the lie with a wide, toothy smile. Wouldn’t do to piss off Hastur this early in the morning. “But, I mean, it’s a bit odd, don’t you think? Hell wants me to tempt some tin-pot dictator into releasing a bunch of kids from imprisonment?”

Not that Crowley would mind. (And not that he would ever admit that to anyone, except maybe the angel.) The kids didn’t deserve it, were being used as pawns (or worse) by the latest in an ever-revolving door of loathsome excuses of humanity looking to get their kicks. So no, he’d be more than happy to let the kids go.

But it was weird and Hell didn’t do weird.

It was a trap, it had to be, the way Hastur was doing that thing where he curved his lips upward just enough to be creepy. The man in question, Crowley didn’t bother with his name, already had one-way ticket stamped to downstairs, so why throw this wrench into things?

Crowley shrugged, trying to exude indifference. In another thirty minutes, the sun would rise, speeding to its overhead post where it broiled every living thing in this dusty, sand-ridden part of the world.

“Seems like a waste of effort, if you ask me.”

“Well then it’s a good I didn’t,” Hastur growled, surly as ever. “Unless you’re not demon enough for the job.”

Nice one, Hastur. Crowley rolled his eyes behind his glasses. Not.

“I’m more than demon, enough, Duke Hastur. Come on!” Crowley spread his arms wide in dramatic fashion, something he know Hastur hated. “I am damn well - damn bad - ugh, you know what I mean. Ask Dagon, they’ve got my personnel file. Long list of commendations.”

Crowley, against all instinct and good taste, leaned towards Hastur, waggling his eyebrows. “Bet mine’s bigger than yours. Wanna compare?”

A sharp shove sent Crowley hurtling away from Hastur’s none-too-aromatic personal space.

“Just get it done, Crawly.”

——-

There had been no way to finesse this one, no loophole Crowley could find to finagle his way out actually doing what he was told. But what was the harm, really? He was freeing kids from the grasp of some power-hungry asshole with a vendetta and laundry list of psychological issues. It was probably the best assignment Hell had given him in centuries, one he might not even mind taking credit for.

With little else to do, he traveled to the makeshift headquarters of the revolutionary leader. Sidled up to him, whispered in his ear. Told him the kids had a better purpose. (They did. To be kids. Alive kids.) Told him to let them go, that they would prosper under a far better sun, that the ruler would reap benefits he couldn’t possibly imagine if he just let them go. The squat man thought about it, brushing his beard with his hand, legs splayed out from his would-be throne. And then he smiled, blade-like, a kind of look that made Crowley uneasy, even though he was a demon.

“I think I will take your advice, young man.”

Crowley bid a hasty retreat from the compound.

The seed had been planted. He did what he was supposed to, Hell would be placated, and the children would be safe.

Almost too easy…

So easy, in fact, it shouldn’t have surprised him when Hastur showed up at tavern. Four wines in, Crowley’s features had softened, his head spinning with thoughts of a certain blonde-haired angel back in London.

Hastur clapped him on the shoulder, taking a seat on the wooden bench.

“Didn’t think you had it in you, Crawly.”

Crowley recoiled, picking Hastur’s hand off his shoulder as he would a soggy, used tissue.

“What, tempting a stupid dictator?” The wine allowed him to be brave, to ignore the fact that demons don’t touch, unless it’s to inflict pain. “Could do it in my sleep, Hastur.”

Of course, Hastur did that thing with his mouth again, the same aborted attempt of a smile from the other day. Worse yet, the Duke of Hell brought his hand back Crowley’s shoulder, this time digging his torn fingernails past fabric, into his actual muscle in a way that would leave a mortal without an arm.

“Demons don’t sleep.”

Crowley didn’t yelp when Hastur tightened his fingers further, but it was a near thing.

“Figure of speech,” he hissed.

Hastur, for his part, regarded Crowley as he would an animal in a lab experiment, coal-black eyes trained on the other demon’s expression as he used no small amount of his powers to all but press his fingers past skin, into the actual sinews of Crowley’s shoulder.

And then, all at once, he let go, crossing his arms over his chest.

Fucker, Crowley spat.

“You haven’t read the papers, then?”

And there it was, the other shoe dropping, plummeting, really, Crowley’s gut along with it. It was a rhetorical question - not that Hastur would know what that even meant - filled with gleeful, malicious anticipation.

Crowley managed to squeak out a somewhat breathless “no.”

“I mean,” he added, willing himself not to stutter, “I had…other thingsss to do.”

Hasted shoved a crumpled newspaper in his face.

Crowley’s eyes were sulfur-colored, a permanent mark of Hell’s claim on his soul. It was often assumed Crowley’s eyes belied his original serpent form, a testament to his role in the creation of Original Sin.

This assumption would be correct.

Partially.

Sulfur is a funny thing, though. Normally found as a solid, when burned at a high enough temperature, it melts to a blood-red liquid emitting a blue flame.

Crowley’s eyes are weeping crimson, glowing with a pure azure matched only by the Angels above.

In a single, furious movement, Crowley stormed from the tavern, Hastur cackling in his wake.

——

(Soho, London)

“…had reported the use of children as human shields in the latest violence between the two sides. Investigators say the children, ranging in age from 6 to 15, had been taken as prisoners during last week’s attack on the capital city. This had been seen by experts as the first step in a widening strategy to destabilize the region, courting further retaliation with no end in sight.

With the surprise execution of the leader and his closest circle of advisors, the fate of the region seems to be in question. NATO soldiers reported a gruesome scene in the capital city, bodies cleaved partially in two, eviscerated corpses hanging from their feet in the public square.

To date, no group has come forward to claim responsibility for the sudden execution of the splinter group leadership…”

Aziraphale’s brow furrowed with each paragraph, every new description of the horrors of the article punctuated by a sharp intake of breath, a small “oh my.”

A terrible picture, one he knew had been sanitized for publication.

Humming absently, Aziraphale set the newspaper on his lap and closed his eyes, casting his metaphysical sight - hundred of eyes watching just beyond the threshold of this world and other-world, peering past the walls of his shop, pupils, cornea, irises (as much as Aziraphale’s true form had eyes that resembled the human eye.)

Aziraphale’s real eyes were golden, solid, yet malleable, able to travel through the smallest pinholes between dimensions. His gaze, his true gaze flew, from England to France, burrowing through middle Europe, sprinting through Turkey, landing on a dusty plain in a forgotten part of the world.

He steps into the dusty amphitheater, bodies still hanging from their toes, sawed partially in half from their…oh dear. Most of the corpses have had their inner organs ripped from their body cavity, seemingly by hand, red staining the sand beneath their lifeless bodies. As for the organs, it’s…it’s, well a right mess, parts where they shouldn’t be, used as rope, stuffed into pockets, or in the case of one, shoved into his mouth.

While Aziraphale can’t quite make himself feel sorry for the men - they had set their own fate far before this unfortunate event - the presence of demonic rage, the pure, unfettered evil of the other side is undeniable, even with Aziraphale projecting himself from thousands of kilometers away. While oft times humans needed little provocation from Below to commit the most heinous of acts, this one had certainly been helped along by some foul agent of Hell, one so corrupted they would desecrate human lives - even these humans, in such a way.

There’s a knock on the door. It’s muffled and Aziraphale feels it more as a metaphor than reality, but he draws inwards, leaving behind the dusty, bloodshed streets, soaring above continental Europe, a comet, a shooting star. He feels the wishes of the humans, the ones who wake late, who watch the cosmos, yearning for the undefinable, for the ineffable, for a bit of hope to be found in an old mythology. He blesses them on his return to Soho, needing this small bit of Grace, this bolster, before confronting the presence he now realizes is committed to tearing down his antique front door.

A presence that was entirely demonic, and entirely familiar.

“AAAAAAANGEEEEEELL!”

Oh good lord.

The knocking escalated, a series of thick, violent thuds as the entire room shuddered with Crowley’s exertion. It seemed the demon had forgotten he could overcome the simple hurdle of a door with a simple snap of fingers.

Knowing he would be in for a long night, Aziraphale polished off the glass of wine sitting on his table in a single gulp, steeling himself for an armful of drunken, distraught demon.

(If he was lucky, it wouldn’t be as bad as the 14th century. To date, nothing had been quite as bad as the epic bender of 1378.)

“A-zi-ra-PHAAAAALE!”

Pulling one last time at his waistcoat, straightening his bowtie, Aziraphale headed to the front door. (And if that was not an act of faith, nothing else was. He knew full well his meticulous clothing would be rumpled, pulled at and thrown askew within minutes of allowing the demon inside.)

“ZIIIRRRAAAAAA!”

He should leave Crowley out there, as a lesson. The caterwauling really was getting to be a bit too much, and Aziraphale could’t imagine what had gotten Crowley into this state to begin with.

“Come on out, Angel! Smite the Evil One! Or have you grown soft?”

Perhaps this would be as bad as 1378.

Casting a glance upwards for strength (or something. He wasn’t certain Heaven would be all that thrilled to be called on in aid of a demon), Aziraphale huffed out the last of his annoyance, opening the front door with a singular flourish, plastering on his best angelic look of Unending Patience.

“It’s about damn time, Angel. Let me in, gotta do this prop - prop - the right way.”

Crowley was - there was no other word - a disaster, black shirt halfway unbuttoned, vest hanging off one arm, bottle held between his long fingers. The red stains under his fingernails didn’t go unnoticed by the angel, nor did the brown, viscous smudge of something he’d rather not identify smeared across his right cheek.

“Crowley, what happened? What the Hell is going on?” Aziraphale snapped.

So much for Unending Patience. The demon stared at him, uncomprehending, before tilting his head back with a maniacal, desperate cackle.

“That’s a good one, angel. In fact, Hell is exactly what is going on. Right here, in your bookshop.” Crowley popped the p, weaving inside the front room. “A real demon? Can you believe it?”

The door shut with a wave of Aziraphale’s hand.

“Yes, you are a demon,” Aziraphale began carefully, knowing the topic was dangerous ground even during the best of times. “I believe we ascertained that fact quite some time ago.”

Crowley leered at the books piled haphazardly on the front table. After a moment of contemplation, Crowley pushed at the stack with a single finger, sending the masterworks toppling to the ground.

“Crowley!”

The demon responded with a withering look from above the rims of his sunglasses.

“A real demon, angel. Come on, I know you lost that sword at the start, but you’ve got to have something else, right?” Crowley threw his hands out to the side, sending the bottle crashing to the floor, breaking into a million pieces. He eyed Aziraphale expectantly.

The angel gaped, twisting his hands together in front of his stomach. “What, you come crashing in here at who-knows-what time of the night, destroying my property, making a mess, demanding that I - that I - “

Aziraphale stomped his foot. Not what one would call appropriate behavior for one of the Heavenly Host, but they had never had to deal with a drunk, self-destructive demon on their doorstep at three in the morning.

“Crowley…no! Sober up and sit the fu - just sit down.”

“Nah, don’t feel like it.” Crowley swayed towards the red leather armchair Aziraphale had so peacefully been occupying not minutes before.

“Really, I must insist.” Aziraphale went to take the demon by the shoulders, stopping halfway. It would only escalate matters, Aziraphale making any kind of physical contact with the demon, the way he was itching for a fight, trying to provoke Aziraphale.

Crowley’s gaze flitted about the room, perhaps calculating where he could cause the most amount of chaos, before landing on the newspaper Aziraphale had left open on the table. Crowley lurched, grabbing the periodical, waving it like a revolutionary on the front lines.

“Did you read about this one, angel?”

“Dreadful, I know.” Aziraphale shuffled closer to the demon, skeptical as to where the conversation was going.

“That’s the work of a real demon. Pure Evil, capital E.”

“Yes, I imagine so. And I’m glad you were nowhere near that scene, Crowley."

Crowley laughed. It was a terrible empty sound, a nothing that somehow echoed throughout the bookshop, a heavy void, as if the gates of Pandemonium itself had opened on Earth. In that moment, something truly demonic, truly evil had invaded Aziraphale’s Earthly sanctum.

Instinct kicked in, the air crackling around Aziraphale’s form, which had begun to shed its corporeal skin, the tell-tale tang of ozone a warning, much in the way a a snake rears upwards, or a canine bares its teeth.

“That’s the stuff, Angel, come on!” Crowley taunted, shouting above the growing din of righteousness.

Aziaphale froze, aghast. Crowley was square to him, having pulled his shirt open, bare chest exposed, long scars criss-crossing his abdomen and where had those even come from?

Aziraphale backed away, shaking.

“Crowley, I’m sor - I didn’t - I mean - “

But the demon advanced, shedding a bit of his own corporeality, red scales manifesting down his arms, broken halo rising from his red hair. The room darkened, turning oppressive, clautroophoic and sweat beaded on Aziraphale’s forehead despite it being the middle of February in London.

“Come. On. Angel.” Crowley took a menacing step forward, his arms open to the side, head thrown back, neck exposed, chest thrust forward. The demon was panting, bony chest flush, heaving.

“Crowley.” Aziraphale’s voice cracked. He swallowed over the lump of anxiety in his throat, mustering his inner strength. “Crowley, please stop this at once. I am not going to smite you.”

Crowley met his gaze, mask slipping, eyes round and red-rimmed.

And then Aziraphale was slammed against a bookcase, long, sharp fingers gripping at the lapels of his jacket. Crowley’s sharp teeth snapped near his lips, yellow eyes boring into Aziraphale.

Never had his friend looked so…demonic.

“You sssshould, Principality Aziraphale, Angel of the Eassstern Gate,” Crowley growled like a wild creature.

Never before had Aziraphale actually feared Crowley.

“I think you should go.”

Crowley glared, rearing at the polite, reserved request. Something shifted in his face. Azirphale felt the grip loosening on his jacket, cool air whisking into the space between angel and demon. Crowley made a dissatisfied grunt, lightly shoving Aziraphle back for good measure, stuffing his hands into his pockets.

“You should have done it, Angel. It’s what I deserve.” Crowley nodded towards the paper. Aziraphale felt the sudden urge to vomit.

There was no - he couldn’t have, not Crowley. He must have been coerced, or blackmailed, or -

“No mistake, angel. All me.”

And Crowley stared at the ground, silently begging for his punishment, for what he’s due and Aziraphale just couldn’t wrap his head around that fact that Crowley, of all beings -

“Please leave, Crowley.”

The demon jerked his head up, just long enough for the flash of hurt to illuminate all over his face.

“Yeah. Good. I’ll just, uh. Right. See you in a couple hundred years.”

Crowley stepped out the door, barely making a sound.

Azirpahale slithered to the floor, back still to the bookcase. He summoned a bottle of wine, not bothering with a glass, not even bothering to look at the vintage. The dreadful photo of the execution site stared back at him. With a snarl, Aziraphale waved the paper away, sending the offending item into the ether, where it was ripped into atoms.

He drank late into the night, until the rose-colored fingers of dawn peeked above the horizon, thinking of nothing at all.

legobiwan does whumptober

#writing #whumptober #whumptober 4 #good omens #good omens spam #aziraphale #crowley #hastur #WHAT IS THIS #oh lord #i #look i just want to explore crowley's relationship to hell and just how demonic he gets #because angst #YA KNOW #anyway #I'M GOING TO BE GOOD NIGHT TUMBLR I'LL SEND YOU MORE HIKING PICS LATER TOMORROW #(can't wait for the gomens merch to be available so crowley can join the hiking gang)

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elizabethrobertajones · 6 years ago

Text

14x08 watching notes

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

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

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

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

(*curls up in agony*)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

OH NO IT IS A RECORD PLAYER NOT A BOX

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oof.

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

Also robbed Cas of watching him go.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

please

I beg you

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

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

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

They had him for like a WEEK this SUCKS.

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

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

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

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

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

Dean this answerphone message huuuurts

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

Your brother is storming off and Cas is broken.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

you have four bears???

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

3 Dads Wake is a great name for a whiskey

God, Cas is drinking.

CAS.

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

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

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

Officially worse than bobby and the goddamn licorice conversation

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

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

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

Cas is offficially wobbly! We have Cas tipsyness!!

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

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

Did Dean seriously outdrink Cas.

Well that's... something.

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

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

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

I'm...

*walks further out into the ocean*

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Let The Boy Say Fork.

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

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

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

Unless Jack finds him and is adopted on sight today.

Sam looks way too healthy.

Invigorated by having a Plan

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

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

Men stealing fuckin everything

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

HAVEN'T WE?

WE HAVEN'T

THEY HAVE BEEN THERE

FIVE

FUCKING

YEARS

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

and the show says

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

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

did Meredith hear me screeching

because I screeched very very loud after 13x14

13x13 sorry

that was Bucklemming handing her the wrong fucking tablet

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

Glynn is a fucking gift.

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

I can't deal with a Glockeybo combo

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

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

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

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

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

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

where are my cas reaction shots

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

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

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

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

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

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

Er, imminent ghostpocalypse issues aside.

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

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

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

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

HEY, ANUBIS.

Don't tell him about what they did to Osiris

Unless that would amuse him

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

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

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

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

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

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

IT IS KELLY

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Hi mom you're dead"

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

Owwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww

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

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

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

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

And Cas shows up like shiiiiiiiiiiiiiit something worse going on guys

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

DUMA LIVES

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

OH NO NAOMI

NOT LIKE THIIIIIS

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Into Dean if you stick with it like Crowley did

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

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

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

Oh deeear, Lily.

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

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

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

CAS LAUGHED

ugh this episode should be banned.

If you hug Kelly I'm rioting.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"HE'S OUR KID" Sam snaps

I hate it, thanks

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

Dean DIRECTLY EQUATES Jack and May

Hold me

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

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

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

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

DUMAS IS SO GOOD AT BEING CREEPY!!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

CAS NO DON'T SAY THAT

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

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

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

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

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

Duma survived!!

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

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

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

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

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

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

Nope, she just dieded.

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

It's Anubis' office!!!

Wow, that's a noisy annoying place to work

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

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

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

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

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

"I'm here to thank you"

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

*double checks*

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

Wheee unlocked new plot for altrusim!

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

not

okay.

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

I bet Dean made the burger

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

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

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

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

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

Gyah.

#14x08 #season 14 spoilers #I am angry about how in the last 3 seasons multiple episodes have wandered around like hi I am the new best episode of the series #make up your MIND #remember when Baby felt weird like it was the first in years that had smashed the season 5 barrier of where all the Best Episodes were #and like aside from 6x11 and 7x10 we'd long passed the episodes that were utter stand outs in their field?#and now you have a like 50:50 gamble you're just going to walk into the Best Episode of the Show #it's fucking annoying #my stuff

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