#not just that he died the how the tone and framing the baited trap of false hope that still makes me feral about it in a not fun way | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

katsidhe · 4 years ago

Note

could you do 9.10 and 9.13 for episode reviews.

Love your takes btw.

9.10 Final Thoughts

well, well, well, if it isn’t my old friend season 9. God I love season 9. buckle in.

Plenty of what season 9 tries to do with angel drama falls flat, but plenty of it doesn’t. It’s at its strongest when interrogating the ways that the angels are looking for personal purpose, rather than folding themselves into various suit-clad factions. In this episode, we have Gadreel, Abner, and Thaddeus, all with very different takes.

Thaddeus is the most boring of the three—a straightforward narcissist and sadist. (Lucifer will follow in his rockstar-impersonating footsteps in s12. SPN clearly has a dim view of the music industry.) We don’t care when he dies, and we aren’t meant to.

Abner’s found a family, and he’s let go of revenge. He’s clearly found peace and happiness—but it’s stolen. I’m ambivalent about this. I guess I could take his word that his vessel was abusive and therefore deserves to have been permanently body-snatched, and I guess I could believe him when he says his new family loves him, even though they clearly don’t know what he is or what he’s done. His regard for humanity as something other than a project is… uncertain. Even if everything is as sunny as he explains to Gadreel, there is fundamental selfishness and short-sightedness here. Get what you want, Abner says, and never let go.

Gadreel asks Abner if his vessel is happy. This reveals both Abner’s scorn for his vessel, and Gadreel’s uncomfortable awareness of and respect for Sam (and his bartender vessel, who Gadreel stares at, and who accepts Gadreel back easily).

Gadreel! OF COURSE Gadreel’s gotta be the scapegoat for Lucifer’s release, HAHAHAH. I love him to pieces, oml. Seriously, the Sam parallels could not BE more blatant. I’ve talked about this before, that it makes the earned antipathy between them all the more alarming, all the more visceral. The big sticking point is that Gadreel’s years of pointless torture came prior to his “redemption” arc, rather than as a consequence of it. Gadreel has all of s5 Sam’s despair and helpless anger and self-loathing, all of his drive to set things right at any price, and all of it is amplified by his trauma.

Sam and Gadreel’s relationship is defined by its liminal spaces. Gadreel threatens to tear Sam apart, but he does not, even when he is tortured. He locks Sam away in a dream rather than force him to watch him kill, or to suffer. But when Sam forces Gadreel out, Gadreel leaps instantly on telling Sam he is weak, reciting back Sam’s fears and Gadreel’s own. This reads like Gadreel is aiming quite a lot of his own self-pity and self-hatred at Sam.

Cas’s murderous rage at Gadreel when his identity is revealed is fun. It shows that Heaven’s PR team did a good job, for one thing. But Cas is furious because it’s specifically Lucifer. And the Apocalypse, and all the attendant suffering, his and Dean’s and Sam’s. It’s a personal wrath.

“Stupid for the right reasons…” oh, Cas, your scarcity of positive human role models is showing. Also, Cas’s particular brand of reassurance here isn’t actually something Dean has a problem with. He expresses regret over having been tricked—he says he’s stupid, he says he got played—but he’s never in doubt that his intentions were good. He’s never in doubt that he did the righteous thing. He’s never in doubt that he’d do it again.

Dean apologizes to Cas for barring him from the bunker. (Sam will not receive an apology.) Cas compares what Dean did to Sam to what Cas did by trusting Naomi. There’s a key difference here. Cas’s moral compass is not the problem; it’s his critical thinking skills.

Crowley, Cas, and Dean are a hilarious trio. (Also, I really hope that Cas’s pimpmobile got to Heaven too, like the Impala.)

Crowley being genuinely sorry that Kevin’s gone and his willingness to risk his life to help Sam are the best two moments of the generally weak Crowley-has-human-blood plot line. They feel earned. [also Crowley’s ‘I told Kevin he should’ve run!’ is both accurate, funny, and sad.]

Let’s talk 4.21 parallels! I mean, first, the glaringly obvious: Sam locked down to be purged of something supernatural; Sam suffering; Dean unable to bear Sam’s tortured screams; a very atmospheric fan. Dean walking away.

and then, of course, there’s “at least he dies human.” Right off the bat, Dean tells Cas he’s going to kill Gadreel. Cas, concerned, says that this will kill Sam too; Dean, sounding tortured, says he knows. Now, obviously, Dean doesn’t kill Sam. He doesn’t even get particularly close. But it’s really interesting that this is the first thing Dean brings up! He declares unprompted that he’s ready to kill Sam rather than leave him possessed. Which is both a recapitulation of the save-him-or-kill-him mantra, and an ironic twist on the decision Dean made in 9.01. Then, Dean knew Sam would rather die than be possessed, but had him possessed anyway. Now, Dean has decided instead that Sam must die because he is possessed. Obviously Dean’s opinion on the possessing entity has changed in the meantime: Sam’s hasn’t, but Sam’s isn’t what matters.

Dean reaches new levels of PEAK IRONY when he declares that Cas should possess Sam too. Cas has to actually point out that Dean can’t, in fact, volunteer Sam’s permission. Because apparently Dean had forgotten, lmaooo. Crowley, on the other hand, is happy to oblige. Dean directs Cas to burn Sam’s tattoo off.

The language of this entire scene is so sexual. I mean, it’s Crowley, of course it is, double entendre is his first language. But this theme recurs again and again. Here it is just more pointed than usual. It is queasy.

Gadreel has Sam trapped in a Dean-type happy place—a hunt with ghouls and cheerleaders, no organic produce to be found. And I don’t think it’s because Gadreel doesn’t understand what Sam likes. I think it’s because Gadreel’s aim was for Sam to feel comfortable, not blissful. It smacks of Hallucifer, just a bit—using the verisimilitude of Dean’s louder moods rather than trying to appeal directly to Sam’s contentment, because of his always questionable, always a question, sense of reality. If things were too smooth, too cheerful, Sam might just be suspicious. Sam is easier to trick by proxy.

The HORROR of this episode for Sam: Gadreel washing someone’s blood off of Sam’s hands. Crowley pushing needles into his brain. Sam’s body and life as a bargaining chip as Gadreel threatens to kill him, and then as Dean threatens to kill him right back. The quiet heartbreak as Sam remembers Kevin’s death, as he realizes the magnitude of Dean’s betrayal. But the worst part of it, I think, is somehow still Sam’s face when Crowley comes to get him in the dream where Gadreel stashed him. How his expression just crumples as Crowley tells him he is trapped in a lie, that his mindscape is once again a prison, that he truly cannot trust his reality. The sheer devastation of this on top of Sam’s history, plus the knowledge that Dean did this—and he pulls himself together and puts his foot on Gadreel’s neck and casts him OUT anyway. Sam Fucking Winchester.

and then the Bridge Scene. The lighting, the staging… it’s fucking gorgeous. It’s one of those scenes where I knew as I was watching it for the first time, seven years ago, that it was going to be something. I held my breath and still hold my breath. I can’t take my eyes off the way that Sam is shaking slightly, the entire time. The way he can barely meet Dean’s eyes but he does it anyway. He SAYS HIS PIECE, says it clearly, says it with an even tone despite what he’s gone through, despite the holes in his head that were healed seconds ago.

I love the gentleness between Sam and Cas here. I love knowing that 9.11 follows this. I love that there is no question that Cas will leave with Dean—he is staying with Sam, to heal and support him, even after he spent this episode mostly reassuring Dean.

Dean does not start this conversation to apologize. He starts out with the intent to DELIBERATELY egg Sam on: “come on, let’s hear it.” It’s an incitement, because Dean wants Sam to act angry, so that Dean can feel more justified in leaving. Sam does not rise to the bait.

Dean has an excuse for every point Sam has: I had no choice, you were dying, it’s not in me, he saved your life. He says, “I did a bad thing with bad consequences and I would 100% do it again, anyway, bye.”

And then the most infuriating thing: Dean is in the wrong, so he tells the person he’s wronged, ugh, I’m just such an awful poisonous person, I’m going to burn for this. It’s so clearly wrong-headed. Intentional or not, it’s such an obvious invitation for Sam to comfort him that it might well have been embossed. If this were in e.g. season 15, or if the crime he’d committed had been less awful, I can easily hear Sam’s reassurance: no, Dean, I promise you’re a good person, we all make mistakes. It is the most toxic way possible to frame a potential apology.

The textual theme of Dean-as-poison (and, for that matter, the consequence of Kevin’s death vs. the initial crime of the possession) is an intentional muddying of the waters: Crowley, Cas, and Dean himself all bring it up in some fashion, linking some fundamental aspect of Dean himself rather than Dean’s choices to Kevin’s death. Crowley is trying to be cutting; Cas is trying to be supportive; Dean is both excusing himself and camouflaging that fact in his exhausting self-loathing. There is a complicated interplay of what the text says about Dean’s guilt and what it condemns; this pattern continues throughout s9, and reaches its apex in the next several episodes. Dean’s love as a condemning feature rather than a redeeming one is one of my favorite things about SPN, and s9 has it in HIGH gear.

But, here, at least, Sam doesn’t rise to this bait either. “Don’t go thinking that’s the problem, ‘cause it’s not.” The problem is obviously, achingly, exhaustingly clear. Sam’s spelled it out in this very conversation: you tricked me. You lied to me. You got me possessed when I was willing to die. But Dean, and a fair portion of the audience, can’t hear it. So he doesn’t. And they don’t, and they pretend that this line is some sort of puzzle! a cliffhanger on a conversation unfinished! when it was the conclusion, not the beginning.

image that is now inextricable from 9.10

#9.10 #final thoughts #I have even more to say tbh #sam and cas #sam and dean #dean and cas #sam and gadreel #sam and crowley #sam and possession #sam and abuse #dean and self-hatred #sam and forgiveness #sam and mindscapes #sam and trauma #blahdose

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hargrove-mayfields · 3 years ago

Text

Just A Dream Away

Chapter 5/13 read here on ao3!

for @harringrovebigbang

~~~~

Robin gets to the phone first.

Steve was too busy wallowing in his bed to get up and answer, though he figures it might be worth seeing who it is that’s calling. None of the kids call him anymore, but he always considers, even if it’s for just a moment, that it could be an emergency. He’ll know whenever he decides to get up, or if Robin even decides to pick it up.

Its ring echoes shrill and loud in the apartment, the tone making him want to wrap himself in a blanket and never come out, so he slides out of his bed, calling down the stairs in search of a solution to end the noise, “You gonna get that Rob?”

For a moment, he wonders if she’ll even respond. It’s barely been a couple of hours since he made her cry, but she calls back, “Are you expecting a call?”

Relieved to know she at least still tolerates him, Steve answers, “Nope.”

“Then no.” Comes her simple response, and the phone ringing promptly dies out, “Guess it didn’t matter anyways.”

But almost immediately, it starts up again, somehow sounding more sharp than before. Steve tells her just to get it so the ringing will stop, coming down the steps to see for himself who it is calling.

He watches Robin pull the receiver from its base, in the place of a greeting going straight for, “What do you want?”

Steve takes note of the fact that her mood isn’t entirely better yet, though he’s definitely glad she’s taking those feelings out on the telephone and not on him, but, despite her abrasiveness, she still receives no response.

It looks like she’s going to hang up before she hears something, her features closing off as she focuses on whatever comes through the other end, “Hello? I can’t hear you. Who is this?”

There’s a whining static loud enough for even Steve to hear from the other side of the room, getting louder, and then a pop that makes the lights flicker and the phone die out, making Robin shriek and drop it, shaking out her hand.

“Son of a bitch shocked me.” She mumbles, picking up the dead receiver and showing Steve the two burnt ends.

In the moment though, something he’ll perhaps feel bad for another time, Steve isn’t worried about his friend. He isn’t rushing to see what happened and check if she got burnt, he instead just freezes up, filtering through the overwhelming questions filling his head to ask, “Did you hear who it was?”

“No, it just sounded like it was all distorted.”

Her answer is nonchalant, but it makes Steve feel weak and panicky, sitting down at the table as pale as a ghost.

That’s obviously not a normal reaction, and Robin asks, tone more afraid than concerned, which he thinks that’s appropriate for what just happened, “What’s going on Steve?”

Grimly, he explains, “Mrs Byers’ phone did that twice before, blowing up after a call just like that.”

“Okay, well maybe there’s just a storm coming and it’s just a coincidence that happened to her too?” She tries to reason, but Steve already knows, he's felt this dread before. “No, Robs. It happened because Will called her from the Upside Down.”

“But then that means-“ Robin starts, working through the implications, Steve finishing the statement for her, “Someone is trapped over there.”

“Holy shit, but the gate, hasn’t it been closed for a year and a half now?“

“Unless someone else opened it, yeah.”

Stiffly she nods, asking hesitantly, be it because of her questions or the disagreement between them earlier, “Well what do we do?”

A reflection of his lack for anything but pessimistic doomsdaying anymore, Steve worries, “What can we do, Robin? I’ve only ever fought the things that end up in our world, and you’ve never even seen half of the monsters that come from over there. We’re too overpowered here.”

More rational than her friend, Robin suggests, “I think we should get a hold of Eleven. You said she's the one that really understands any of this other dimension stuff. She can help.”

But Steve shakes his head, “Her powers are gone. She might know what to do, but I don’t think she’ll be able to do anything.”

“So you just want to leave whoever it is over there?”

“No, fuck no. That’s not what I mean.”

“Then what should we do?”

“I don’t know..” Steve frowns, thinking hard before he answers determinedly, “But whoever it is, they reached out to us. We have to help them.”

~~~~

The phone doesn’t work.

What is Billy supposed to do? He’s tried everything, and with his last resort at reaching out a dud, he’s not sure what else he even can do.

So, in true Billy Hargrove fashion, he lashes out, cursing and unnecessarily yanking the phone jack out of the wall, the plastic handheld skidding across the kitchen tile into the corner, “Goddamnit!”

The noise may have been a mistake though, because, despite how sure he was the dogs wouldn’t find this place, he hears a chitter, and the click of claws on hardwood floors. The damn thing is in the house, and his machete is by the door.

A recurring theme with these hell beasts, is that there’s never enough time to run, but unless he wants to use decorative mugs or a cookie jar to fight it, he doesn’t have much of a choice but to try.

He makes two mistakes as he runs, the first being that he hesitates, not wanting to leave Steve. Even if he couldn’t find him he had gotten so damn close, but a snarl from the dog puts things into perspective, and, with a heavy feeling of remorse in his chest, he leaves through the backdoor as quietly as he can, bolting down the rotting back steps.

His second mistake is looking over his shoulder. Just as his boots touch brittle grass, he decides just to glance back and see how much space is between him and the hellhound, but the second he sees it, he just freezes up.

Because it’s fucking big, for one thing. It has to force itself through the door frame, meaning it’s wider than he is. It has a lot more teeth than the others. It’s skin is pale and it’s limbs much longer. Something tells him the others he’s seen are immature, and this one is close to its final form, whatever that may be. Either way, he’s decidedly not fucking around with that.

The daunting unfamiliarity of this part of Hawkins, intimidating as it is, isn’t Billy’s main concern right now. He just bolts like a coward, hoping against hope that there’ll be anything along his path he won’t have to corner himself to get that can be used as a weapon, basically his only other option for surviving this that this amped up dog will get bored of him fast.

But, and really, he knew this was the case, he just hadn’t wanted to admit he was prey yet, it easily charges him, going up on its back legs to knock him off his balance. It misses at first, so he thankfully doesn’t get pushed to the ground, but his reflexes, especially when blurred by emotion, are no match to a monster of this size, and before he can even process its next move, it clamps its teeth on his arm.

Now, he’s been here for a while. He’s had scratches and cuts and welts from their tails, but he’d always been quick enough, smart enough, prepared enough to not get bit. Which he really wishes was still something he could still attest to, because it fucking hurts. Razor sharp teeth from too many mouths tear into the muscle, a stinging pain all the way from the point of impact in his wrist up to his shoulder.

It’s his fault, all this stuff with Steve was getting to his head, feeling his presence and hearing his voice again for the first time in god knows how long only to be unable to reach him. It was doing things to his judgement.

But this is still bad. Really fucking bad.

As soon as it lets go, he knows it’s going to latch onto him again, so he does what he does best in a situation where he’s hurt and scared and alone. He cries, for one thing, but he also fights. But where he’d normally just use his fists and his ego to prove his strength, this world is built differently. Even with a pocket knife to stand up for himself that’s not enough to survive, but he’s still going to make it count. If at the end of this he goes down, it won’t be without a fight.

A fight to just get back to the way things were. To prove to himself he could do this and survive. For once in his fucking life, just to overcome hardship and move the hell forward, no cycles of hatred and pain, love and respect drawing him back. Nobody else in control of his body. Nobody else holding him back from being happy.

He just wants to survive this.

There’s blood on his jacket sleeve, but Billy refuses to look at how bad the wound truly is yet. There quite frankly isn’t enough oxygen down here to afford a panic, but from the pain and the blood alone, he knows it’s not going to be good for him.

The fighting isn’t going too well either, with only one arm not weighed down by injury and a knife the size of his palm his last standing lines of defense, it’s mostly him dodging the creature and flailing his limbs to either stop an incoming bite or confuse it, both of them too confident in its ability to tear him to shreds to advance further than that.

But it gets bored of fucking around with him, and it rises to its back legs again, and Billy knows he’s fucked, squeezing his eyes shut and blocking his face, but the attack never comes. There’s a huge crack of lightning in the ever looming storm above, and a chorus of eerie chittering from more dogs at varying degrees of closeness to where they are, and it draws the attention of the big one away.

While the monster is distracted, he uses that opportunity to his advantage, takes charge of his circumstances to give himself a fighting chance. That strategy never worked for him before, only ever got him into deeper shit, but he can’t exactly just stand here and be monster bait either so, though it breaks his heart to put that distance between him and Steve, Billy chooses to run.

#harringrove big bang 2021 #harringrove #steve x billy #billy hargrove #steve harrington #ej writer #story by ej!#tw injury #more tags on ao3 #shortest chapter by far #just filler but the one coming tomorrow is big!

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throwingideasatthewall · 4 years ago

Text

Star Wars Episode 4;

Destroy malevolence

Didn’t we just do that?

I’m assuming this is going to be focusing on the aftermath of the destruction of the malevolence

And the preceding unraveling of general grievous’s net work

[And several acquaintances probably trying to break him out,]

Anyway...

On with It!

Quote;

“A Plan is only as good as those who see it out,”

Odd I’ve Stopped giving much stock into the quotes

Consider ing the last one had a relatively good one

And Is on the lower end of my expectations

My criticism of this Is a Short Plans can be good But People flawed

The narrator sounds a bit more enthusiastic

Weirdly drawn out pause

But it does get the point across

Allows enough time

“ Grievous in retreat,” Honestly Is this where we’re going to start

Like no disrespect- (I have the patience) But are we honestly going to spend the whole entire time watching Obi-Wan fuck up catching Grievous?

That would work with the theme of Jedi Masters

They make it seem a lot less stupid

[Recap

Also I really like the movement on the ship

Much more real istic

Continuing to Hold on it not so much

This is like someone continuously kicking someone when they’re already down

Or like a fire

After a while it just gets sort of boring

Or worrying

And you realize they could just take them into custody

Or that the fire is starting to envelope nearby forest With everyone having a bucket of water

Obi wan, why

Do you torment so?

He can’t even die

If so; He’d be dead

I love how Plo Koon and him are just watching the shit show like “Bitch”

You know they could both take him

But are just that dedicated to being sandry old man

“Commander, how much damage to the enemy ship?”

Have they suffered enough?

Also, geez dude’s been demoted it to commander

I mean I know he’s just Comms Guy But geez. (He probably deserved it)

Oh no, Random dude On The ground

Why?

“ She’s lost primary shields and stabilizers,”

So shooting at it is doing minimal damage

“ It can take all the fire our cannons can manage,”

Okay, time to get you two down there

“ we must summon reinforcements,”

Plo is slowly becoming that we “need reinforcements” guy

Like he can’t do anything by himself

(Except for last episode)

“ That’s why I’m here Master Plo,”

That’s not the right tone

And..... I was kind of hoping we’d get a Master Plo and Obi-Wan episode

This time around

Never mind the fact that Anakin can’t take on grievous

“ what are you able to contact Master (Liam Niara) (That’s how voice text spells it) (I have no idea)

“ Yes, master,”

That’s better

“She’s busy with a bunch of separatist reinforcement’s nearby,”

Bit too much eye movement but otherwise good

“ she won’t be able to give us support till she’s turn ing them away,”

Meanwhile you’ve already pretty much kill ed him

Guess just play poker?

Then we’ll have to do with what we have

Oh now with the teenager around you’re so brave

How’s that going to help?

Burning

On fire

Really, no mercy

Poor droid jerking around

Ex ploding

Perfect balance of kar mic pay back

“We’ve lost our primary weapon,”

Shit just continues to get worse and worse

General grievous is just there with his hands in his head

Not looking too great

“ The hyper drive is dis -abled,”

It’s been disabled since last episode but good repeating

Good to re-iterate

“Argh,”

“ General general,”

The forward engines are shutting down

“ im poss ible,”

Dude, look around

That’s pretty - heavy denial

You should just sur -render

More Sho -oting

This is going to be a sl -ow ep i sode

Ahsoka Managing systems

A not bad role for her

Certain-

“ Admiral Status- Re port,”

Shit’s fucked once again

They’re hyperdrive must be damaged

What you didn’t figure out the first time will Obi won must’ve checked

Compulsively For the 170th time in the last hour

“This our chance”

It wasn’t a few seconds ago?

“all ships target the bridge maximum fire power,”

Dude, what do you think that’ll do

Grievous is made out of pure titanium

It’s like.. a slightly long fall for him..

Generals.. really don’t wanna deal with Grievous’s shit today

Episode is 22:40 Long Left

All they’re doing is shooting at him

Grievous Called Dooku

“Dad I crashed the car,”

Sustained advanced damage

“ I know,”

Just dead panned

“ I have arranged a trap,”

Oohh! Interesting

But Also completely bullshit

Guess this is his punishment

Being used as bait

“To give you an advantage over the Jedi,”

“ I assure you,”

Please no

You’re not compound your failure this day,”

Ah, there’s the chewing out I was looking for

Perfect

Continue

“ war ship to fall,”

Oh so it wasn’t going to be a - get them sent to prison- thing

So how are you planning to unfuck the situation

Cause this looks pretty bad

They will never catch me or this ship

Bless him he’s trying

The expression just says ‘I have no idea how’

Like He knows what’s expected of him but has no idea

How?!

Heading towards you is a very important galactic senat or,”

In the middle of a war zone

Seriously not a good time for a photo op

“ With her as a hostage,”

“call off the attack,”

Ok no one is calling off an attack this important for a senator

Nor should be letting her get captured ....

*Bowing down*

*Assumed authority*

Blue

It looks remarkably better this episode 👍 Also of course it’s Padme Amidala Couldn’t be any of the 4000 other senators we know nothing about

Really getting into the love triangle stuff right away, aren’t we?

Like why couldn’t we slow burn it

(I know she was in the movie) But

I wouldn’t mind “Are you sure the infor mation from the chan cellor Palpatine is reliable?”

Fore shadowing!

Good job authors you get a cookie

“ it was secretly given to him by the leader of the Bank-he Clan, himself!”

Okay Amidala’s tone kinda works

Could use a little more monotone but it works

I gave Anakin like three tries so I’m not gonna be too harsh

There is still time for the minimal improve ment it needs

“ if they leave the separatist alliance it will go along way to shortening this war,”

Er- Okay it makes sense for her character

She’s sup posed to be around the same age as Anakin

“Beep, Beep,”

“ We’re approaching the system now,”

“Oh shit,”

Crud

“ my goodness,”

Best Droid

“This isn’t right,”

Then Move!

That’s a droid warship

“We’re in the middle of a battle!”

Hey, that’s a smart character

Hyper drive out of there

“ we’re scanning a small ship off our bow,”

Get out of there “ Good,”

Yeah, how are you going to get her?

Seeing as how like a million warships are belting your bow?

I know those must be like raindrops to him

But come on

Don’t go into the burn -ing wreckage

And towards enemy fire

Then again she was probably heading towards the Jedi ship

So (as a civilian) that makes sense

“Master I’m picking up a signal near the enemy vessel,”

Tone

Enemy reinforcements

That’s- A Good Call

Respectively

“ it looks like-”

“A Naboo ship”

“Gunners stand day,”

Hey everyone’s competent today!

(Not that there’s anything wrong with enablers being stupid)

This just requires more brain power

“ what in Blazers are they doing out here?”

A valid response

But weren’t they the ones that pledged transport ships?

Like oh yeah stupid going out into a war zone

But not completely out of the question

“ Ahsoka contact that ship,”

Bit too much energy

But still resp ect able

Literally coming from fiery hell

Identify yourself

“Padme what are you doing out here,”

Cringe

That line sounds like boomer. What boomers think high school jocks sound like

And we’re like no

“ I was sent on a special mission,”

Good job Writers

The ‘Bang he Klan Wanted to negotiate a treaty

Good reason

“Get out of there,”

Too Force ful

Better Idea; Have Obi-Wan try to calmly explain the situation to her

Possibly distracting her for general grievous to kidnap

“ Activate the tractor beam,”

Damn we’re going back to old old sci Fi- with tractor beams and shit

�� I was expecting like a hook and chain, a harpoon

Was not expecting that

That made me laugh

WTF

Tell them some nonsense is going on!

“i’m afraid it’s much worse than that,” Gunners Do Something?!

it’s a beam; it can be broken

“ Padme what’s happening?”

A go- decent response

“ i’m being pulled inside the droid cruiser by a tractor beam,”

Good Commun ication

Whelp, Done

So at 22: 40 Rest of the episode is hostage situ ation?

Inter es ting

Much Better Than Just Shooting at it for an hour

“I will not be made a separatist bargaining chip,”

Initiative

Though Less Emo -tion

Should be recited like something she had to read off a paper

Guessing I’m not Padme I’m Padme’s handmaiden thing only works once

Continue your attack

You must continue-

I hope she get some actual action

Nothing too intense because she’s still a kid

But like a surprise attack on General grievous

Destroy this monstrous ship

That’s kind of like-

How-

I saw the next frame

Wtf-

WTF

HIS FACE JUST-

CON-torts

You are not Romeo and Juliet movie

You are two kids reinacting Romeo and Juliet clumsy

Get it right

“Admiral, order our ships to stop firing,”

No one’s gonna stop this

No one‘s gonna comment...

Okay....

Obi-Wan And Plo Koon are just gone

Left when Anakin started acting unchild like

Never mind still there

Nothing suspicious *Rubs beard*

Whelp

It does not look safe out there my lady

Screw with the tractor beam and leave

No one can stop you

Droid Related

“I see now this whole thing was a trap,”

The Bang’he Clan Works With The-

I can’t even make that joke because the bang’he clan are working with the separatists

Good writers you out joked me

“ we walked right into it,”

Pressing buttons isn’t going to help lady

Sir the republic cruisers have halted their attack

Bit too much emotion for a droid but it works

“Jedi are so predictable,”

Hit him with a gun

Get the repair team up here

“ i’m going down to the main hanger,”

The arm motion was a little weird... for ‘I’m going down to the main hanger’

Street Railways?

Are we getting *tour the inside of the ship??

Nice

This ship must be returned to Count Dooku intact

Nice little interaction

Rail ways

There’s no room for failure

Hard Moral

One on fast speed ing train

Moves over to another pad

Don’t think that’s gonna help

“Come on I’ve over loaded the power system,”

THAT’S actually really clever

Good job whoever gave that order

General grievous goes boom

Fighter door opens

Find a Fighter

And fly out

* Anakin walks away*

You know this would be a good idea if Obi-Wan had ordered him to do so when feeling the emotion of ‘love’, miscommunicating the concept of love, and didn’t realize that’s what he was doing - what clues him in

“ where do you think you’re going,”

“ someone’s got to save her,”

Still too much emotion

“I thought you might say that,”

Did you give him that, did you give him an order relevant to that?

There he goes again

Yeah Someone should really check up on that

Or get Obi-Wan to lay off the suicidal orders

“Craving adventures and excitement,”

No, orders

“ You get used to it”

Could be just a response

But too much reaction And Person ality

Oh, Shit’s On Fire

“Come on 3PO hurry,”

Flaming wreck lady

“not sure this is such a good idea,”

Neither is being held captive

You’re made of like solid gold

Timing

[also the announce in the background like a train station - just cracks me up]

Time to get blown up

“ Mind the gap”

“Mind the gap”

Haha

You two come with me

Command

That droid’s-

No, wait- It’s Amidala

And C3PO

He’s trying to help

Looks Inside

Beeping

Timer

Look like the engine- Are Set To -

Timing

“Destroy themselves,”

He really needed them to say that

Get out of my way

“Ow,” You don’t want to die

That’s just rude

So is death

You should get out of there

He’s going to come back around

Geez

Fire squad is a train wreck

They’re Trying

Crud if this gets back to Skywalker and he thinks she’s dead

After That Speech

Who knows what toxic morals of love Obi-Wan taught him could activate

This could become a train wreck

Ahhh!

It got worse

Seriously who made the droids that have to with stand high water pressure Light weights

Oof

Even high water pressure cannot kill him

Even running away cannot save him

Wonder what that attack would’ve done

Sound the alarm

“We have stowaways,”

Or...

She was never on that ship

Seriously no one besides the republic saw her

I’d go with “she isn’t on board,”

Run

Back to the republic ships

Who are doing nothing while grievous rebuilds

Like, The medical station is right there

You might want to get back on moving them

Just Saying

“ i’ve trusted you already formulated a brilliant plan to rescue the Senator,”

“ as a matter of fact I have,”

Umm,

Weird How to Code that

“ what do you have a Plan B Every good plan has a back up,”

Stop forcing his dependence on you

“ I don’t have a back up yet,”

Too much emotion

Really

Questioning

Not really helping his self-esteem

Really “ we’ll sneak behind them and dock at the emergency air lock,”

So I’m guessing this is going to set up Padme going there

“ That’s your plan?” Discouraging

“Fly land,”

That’s literally what all maneuvers rely on

Also it sounds like something out of a fairy book

Which might explain Anakin toxic behavior

“ Walk in the door,”

“Basically,”

Too much emotion

“Oh Brilliant,”

Dick

Firey Wreck

“ Might I suggest we keep moving?”

Bit Loud There It

“ I think I hear battle droids approaching,”

Talking is not helping

“But we also need to contact the fleet,”

Getting out is the prerogative

They don’t know where you are

And you can’t stay in a constant location

If I can just keep this com panel working

Ahhh!

Well just disappeared

“The Damage to the hyper drive was not as bad as we first thought,”

How?!

It’s been damaged for about two episodes

Also, Good for Her

“ We’ll be able to get underway again shortly,”

With this mess of a ship

Hyperdrive would send half of it flying

It’s barely holding together by a string

You’re screwed

I must inform count Dooku

Seems oddly suspic.

Continue the search

Find the stowaway

How does that change anything in Amidala’s eyes

Getting to know the boss isn’t worth it

Just be more careful

Roger, roger

Commander

Intimidating

*Spark*

Oh She Was In A Cabinet

Thought she made it in

C3PO Looks creepy in one frame

Shit’s Constantly on fire

“If they spot us we’ll be pulverized,”

With what guns??

You’ve been doing all the hitting this entire time

They’ve been sitting Geese

“They’re too busy repairing the ship,”

Thank you

[also Obi-Wan complainers rules]

“ They don’t have time to notice us,”

Cocky

Subtlety has never been one of your strong points Anakin

Neither Yours Person who orders him!

“ Everything I know I learned from you master,”

Point Yes Attitude? No

Oh if only that was true

Should Be

Might be a side jab at how he took orders from the Chancellor

There we go

Only Obi-Wan was worried

“Didn’t You Hear It,”

Your circuits are loose

Or maybe you’ve lost your hearing

From the impact

“ No one’s crazy enough to do that,”

Cut

“Anakin”

Perfect

“You’re Crazy,”

You groomed him this way

“ spinning is not flying”

“But it’s a good trick,”

Too much emotion

Do not want to be spotted

Good job

You’re standing more in the doorway than he is

“I knew it it’s them,”

That droid is just having a day

Aww But his friend came down to check with him

That’s adorable

Oh no

They’re backing off peacefully

ASSHOLES!

Obi-wan specifically

You stay here R2

Again why did you bring him

Another bold strategy by -

Say Skywalker

‘Skywalker’

Ordered

“I presume,”

No, Obi-Wan’s

When it’s not Palpatine’s

“That’s my master”

Children don’t show preference for handlers

“ once they rescue the Senator we will need to reinforcement to finish off the enemy

Sounds nonsense but OK

Dude really Likes enforcement’s “ i’m on my way,”

“Master Plo”

“ We’re receiving a transmission,”

Padme

Weird distance to start a conversation at

Running for some reason

“ Master we found the senator,”

Good

“ We’re patching Her through,”

Helpful...?

What is it with Skywalker and becoming a Barking over- animated Puppet Every time senator Amidala gets involved ?

“Anakin where are you,”

Better; where are your coordinates

“ On lower levels,”

Better but where

“I don’t know,”

Give a better location

For how long

Problem with this whole plan

Give Landmarks

Get to the rendezvous point

“Obi won and I are on board too,”

Better; get to the ship on level ____ on your ___ side Optional; Closest landmark ____

We’ll meet you there

What what are you doing?

Not the best point to argue

Ahsoka, how can we get to the senator

Better how can we both get to the escape pad?

In case we both get separated

Taking longer to coordinate that complicated-

How long till they get separated?

Center of the ship

Half way between the two of you

Neither Ahsoka gave neither

Bad instructions

“ we’re on our way

To a very unspecified point on not specified level at a not specified time

Let the hijinks commence

“ Did you hear that Padme?”

You’re on the same com

“ i’ll be there,”

Some-how

The question to my answer was 22:40

When do the Hijinks begin?

Let’s See

Marching Intimidated

“we just detected An unauthorized communication Coming from within the ship,”

Shouldn’t he be making a phone call?

“ what did it say?”

Interesting

Well we don’t know

That’s how encoding works

We didn’t catch it in time

Off

Droid winces

Monitor all internal communications

Like they’ll do it again

I want that senator on this bridge

Good luck with that

You haven’t even saw her

Rail-ways

Nice

Busy

Should be a cakewalk

Is Not a cakewalk

All the way up there

“I do not see her,”

Yeah, that’s the problem-

She’s here master

I sent it

Or you got the wrong port

(So you heard her voice so she’s clearly somewhere on this ship)

He’s probably late again

But we do have company of another sort

Oh She has a gun

And somehow none of that hits her

And of course that gets the attention

I’m honestly glad they didn’t go with miscommunication Causes fake stand up scenario

Even if this is faux Romeo and Juliet

Good job

Lots of jumping

Look Jedi

Good job nice guy

No wait That one guy had common sense

“I knew that was a bad idea,”

Mercy

That you didn’t show on the other guys

Who were far more hesitant

And you took out that one guy

Who didn’t do anything

Just wasn’t as vocal

Dicks

Jump The peashooter isn’t doing the job?

Jump

He tried

Power Thrust

Ana kin

“ There. they are!”

Bull shit

No way

he saw those guys

On all those Packages

Also ‘the i knew It was a bad Idea Guy Got New Friends

“Fire!”

Fuck

The bridge is out

“Jump to me,”

Try it with a little bit more disinterest

“ I’ll use the force”

Even she realizes it’s not that intense

“ You have to trust me,”

Good Luck

OMG

It looks like she just falls

Also Obi-wan’s in the back like it’s none of my business

Like dude came on a rescue mission And has become completely useless never helped once Complained the whole way there

Manages

“Got you,”

“ NICE CATCH,” Obi -Wan from the sidelines

10/10 Hilarious

“ I’ll fetch the droid,”

What??

This isn’t cute

Disgusting

“Oh the things you do to get me alone,”

KIDS don’t-

Ack-

Please no more smoopy-

nope

I’m putting it in the “bad” corner Till it stops trying to ship children

Bad Movie

That’s Not Cute

Obi-wan Sucks

Can’t even levitate A Droid

“Stop me please”

Poor Droid

Blast You’re Weak

“ That’s not good”

Yeah you’re weak

“Anakin I got separated from your droid,” Thank God

I’ll take care of it

Better “ We’ll meet you back at the Twilight”?

“ I overheard grievous,”

Annnnnd

“ They’re hyper-drive is nearly fixed,”

Soooo, He better get you back to the ship so we can start blasting it with Cannon balls again?

“ i’m already headed in that direction,”

Soooooo, don’t do it, Obi-wan?

Or have Anakin and take the extremely important senator And come back for you later?

“ i’ll make sure the hyperdrive stays off line,”

By shooting it with more cannon-balls?

Ha ha Ha ha ha

We’ll see about that

What?! Person who can do nothing!

Like seriously if they just go back to the ship-

That Jedi

“I’m getting you out of here,”

Good decisions

“I need you to help me find 3PO,”

How?

“ I know I know he does,”

Padme’s expression

“And i’ll be there soon,”

That’s almost adorable

Oh like that

‘Someone stop this contraption,”

Careful Words

Yeet

There We Go

Into those boxes

“ I suppose I did ask for that,”

Ha-he

That got a small giggle out of me

Stomping

Bait

Murderous Intent

Get Fucked Obi Wan

Really rolling out all the stops

Hahaha

“ Hello there,”

[Took a pause. a long break]

General Kenobi

“ kill him,”

Straight. To. The. Point.

More in line with the characterization we’ve seen up so far, not that much for conversation

Dude’s just rolling

There went the others

Bowling pins they are

Oh grievous has a gun

And hiding behind the enemy

Thought he sent both those guys flying

Apparently I was wrong

Must’ve Been a Third

Didn’t Work

Yeet

That poor Droid...

Spark*

That was impressive

Nah he ran around things

It really set up your forces for a brawl among them selves

“Argh,”

Dude, how insecure

“ Guard the hyperdrive,”

Oh yeah he did shit to it

Also sending basic level mooks to deal with it

Shooting Things

Again how did Anakin and Padme end up in the situation?

They were at the train station last

Now they’re at??

And have agroed every enemy

Who should be focusing on Obi-Wan because

That was their last order

Grievous has just completely ignored Anakin

Hiding

You aggroed Them!

Why are you calling Obi -Wan

“Come in Obi-wan,”

Get her to the shuttle

“ i’m afraid grievous is onto us,”

“We noticed,”

Hey you guys Aggroed those guys completely on your own don’t blame Grievous for this

“Ack,”

Those are Tanks

You’re peashooter isn’t going to do much

Also, Anakin shouldn’t be able to take them either

This should be a properly terrifying moment

“ We’ll meet you back on the twilight,”

Good plan

“Obi- Wan!”

Writers don’t screw this up

“Come In,”

His communicuff clearly got damaged

What’s wrong?!

They’re jamming all communication

No again it’s far more likely that his communicuff Got Damaged (Especially with Grievous listening in,”

Not everything is jammed communi cations Yeet, yeet Yeet

That should not work Those are tanks

Anakin is a lightweight

His skill set is unspecified

But he shouldn’t be able to cut more than butter with that knife

Light wieght clankers should pose a challenge

Due to the amount of energy

“That might buy us some time

Unlikely

I suppose you have a plan Yeah, Get to the escape pad

Follow Me

...To the escape pod

C3PO I do believe I’m lost

Seriously you haven’t found this guy

Enemy Territory

And all alone

You’re a service droid

Probably wouldn’t notice anything

“Ah,”

Dude, they’d probably just adopt you into the clan

“ I surrender,”

Again I really want to see the C3PO and battle droids conversation

(When not aware of the other side)

It’s a projector... R2 D2

“ you are a sight for old eyes,”

A nice interaction

“ Master Anakin sent you to find me,”

“ what kept you then?”

He does have a point

Dude got thrown off the train about an hour ago

R2′s just been messing with him

“ follow me,”

“ The general is demanding a status report,”

Oh some driod on droid interactions (without the general)

Nice

Is the hyperdrive re-paired Yet

From there?

“ i’ll give him the good news,”

This isn’t the escape pad

Did you take a wrong detour?

Also no one guarding the super important one panel repair

Just Light weight clankers

Also that’s not good news

(Especially considering it’s one panel)

Surprised this goes so well

Also; now there’s tanks

Surprised you think that peashooter can do anything ma’am

Like seriously should’ve grabbed a bigger gun

The droids have some

And you can’t tell me there hasn’t been artillery laying around this entire time

Yeet

That almost- Turned into murder This is why not going to the escape pods immediately was a bad idea

Again this should be a stressful fight

But turning your child soldier Into an all powerful can never lose child soldier

Is bullshit movie

Opened Door

“Ever since I’ve known you you’ve been playing with droids,”

Ack

“I used to put them together,”

Alright...

Now I only take them apart Child soldiering...

It sucks

So, where do we start

GETTING TO THE ESCAPE PAD!

Obi-Wan supposed to be here any minute!

With whole lot of bullshit!

Move!

First we need to get one of these droids so they don’t know we were here

No destroy the thing and go

They’ll figure it out in like five seconds

When they go to start the thing up!

Running is a good option

“I’m gonna hot wire this ship,”

How does this make anything better?

He’s already down and in kicking position

Everyone’s waiting for Amidala

You’re not helping, good sir!

(In fact I’m pretty sure you’d have to fix something To make it go,”

Secondly, This is a HUGE -ass ship

As a reason it has an electrical team

Squeezing two little wires

Isn’t going to do much

It requires continuous effort to different parts of the ship To make a dent

And I truly doubt such a large ship is going to have such a non-complicated Start-up compared to hotwiring a car

Point being; this shouldn’t work

Give Grievous a little surprise

Again if it’s anything less Then a bomb

Dude isn’t gonna have much trouble

And this is a waste of time

I’ll guess I’ll clean up the droids then

LITERally im possible

That’s a tank!

You carry light weaponry!

Back to the fleet

Plo Koon Is doing nothing

Having tea and cookies with Ahsoka

Our ships are in attack position

So... nothings changed

“Master Skywalker,”

No one else either

“No,”

Deadpanned

“ The droids are jamming our transmissions,”

(More likely reason for that on a -damaged ship)

But Ergh-

“We need to give him more time,”

Opinion!

“ i’m sure we can,”

I’ve been sitting on my ass-

[Plo’s Head Moves -Railway]

We’re back here again?

Obi-Wan should be at the station by now

Everything is behind him

Yeet

Make it to the Coms center

Break Some Shit

Oof Those Poor Droids Good Pa rell els

Splat!

Obi won looking back-and-forth

Obi-Wan you are a Jedi master this shouldn’t be hard

Run

Tum ble

I was fully planning on him stacking it

Roof

Also, Obiwan

Stop fecking Around

Get to the place

Woof

How

Did you end up falling over?

Ironically Obi-Wan shows less emotion than Anakin

* Slashing the train*

Okay... what did I do

Snarky little shit

Could be snarkier

“That oughta do it,”

Ana -kin Doing Obi-wan’s Job

Also Oh shit is he plugging in the location of that supposed fight with master-

How’s the house cleaning going-

Im-

That dude made out of -metal

He is FIVE times your bodyweight!

HOW?

Done?

You MOVED a Tank??

HOW-

That’s-

What ever

* Guys coming in*

Oh yeah that’s a door

I guess repairs are finished

Or they went on lunch break

Prepared to charge up the hyperdrive

Right on it

“Roger, Roger,” -famous last words

Sparking

Driving

Are we seriously waiting on these two

“Are you quite sure the ship is in that direction?

He’s basically a GPS

That way looks potentially dangerous

All of them do

“Haz ardous,”

Better Example beeping irritatedly

“I know the whole place is dangerous,”

Thank you R2- D2

“ I suggest we stay here and let master Anakin find us,”

Bad idea

A better idea than anyone in the ‘let’s meet up in an undisclosed location’ came up with

Good idea

3PO

Fecking Irony

“Don’t just stand there,”

See?

“Let’s get back to the ship,”

Irony

Power up the engines R2

You know Obi-Wan’s likely going to screw up your shit right

*obi-Wan comes around the corner,*

Dude you have shit to screw up

Did you forget?

There shouldn’t be an escape pod for you

What

Hold the ship

No, you didn’t do anything...

Then again he could just cannonball it

How’s that-

Okay Very light bullshit

“ i’ll contact the fleet,”

It’s the most you’ve done this entire time

Focus On The chair

Do cking Clamp

There We Go

Off We Go

It’s still Burning

Grievous Off

Why?

He doesn’t know

Obi-Wan’s off the ship

Last saw him on the train...

(Not followed up on directly)

Flighters, Where I thought they all got destroyed?!

All batteries open fire

Again Plo Koon does not give a shit who dies

(Until sitting on his ass gets too boring)

Also this isn’t his fleet

They shouldn’t listen to him

(Especially after he got his last one killed)

More Shooting at the burning wreck

Turb ulence

And Obi-Wan still didn’t do his job

Guns

You can shoot back at any time

“ I wa-”

Obi-wan being completely useless

Anakin having too much emotion

“I got it,”

Shoo ting stuff

Somehow doesn’t go down immediately

Hit

“ She seems to know her way around,”

Gross

Hit Something

The Hyper Drive

-repaired

Also Obi-Wan didn’t fuck up shit

Dis appointed

Also it certainly as frick isn’t now

After they’ve been shooting

Should we retreat to friendly space?

If You can make there it with it in one piece (Which was the qualifications)

Engage the hyperdrive

With me not on it

“Secret base sector four,”

Interesting

“Prepare-”

Enthus iastic

“Yes, Sir,”

Fighters still chasing

Intense

“Nice Shoot,”

Gross

“Beginners luck,”

Beeping

“Pardin-”

“Hyperdrive is activating,”

Obi-Wan

“ Oh-shit Caught in a lie.”

“-what”

-They’re getting hit with cannonballs Anakin what did you do ?!

(What Did I order you to do?)

Coordinates are locked

“Hyperdrives engaging,”

Shit’s about to go-

Ar-

Sp- arking

Glitzy display Base

“ I think there’s a problem,”

“General I think there’s a problem with the hyperdrive,”

Yeah The ship got refired upon it’s probably re broken

Seriously

“ I thought the hyperdrive was fixed,”

And then it got shot again...

The navigate computer is heading a straight into the moon

What ??

Fools reset the Navi computer

“Quick,”

Tech Support

Dooku

Worst time to call

(Don’t think it could’ve gone more sideways)

Also good job Anakin You crash landed them on a planet with significantly larger surface area and resources that they can use to re-build

Aka you made things harder than they needed to be

Obi-Wan, what are you ordering this kid

Narrowed eyes

-No reset it

“General,”

Harsh

But I’m interested in where this is going

Since Grievous has had a lot of shit thrown at him

Doesn’t matter which side of enablers he still enabling

But I suppose over involved positivity Would be kind of a nice change for him

Over over involved negativity

Speeds off

“Trans -mission Has been cut,”

Intentionally

* also smart droid

“ We’re Gonna die

[Explosion]

How?!

Whelp Obi-Wan has to have a sit down talk with Anakin. about the ‘ Drive the ship into the moon,’ order

Also I realized (thanks to Obi-Wan) they know nothing about what just happened Grievous either decided to just end it

or they’re all dead

Obi-Wan

Dick move

“ I imagine you had something to do with that,”

WTF- orders

“ all part of the plan,”

Obi-Wan schooled Anakin in extraterrestrial terrorism

Cheering at least the ion cannon isn’t coming back

Nice shot

...So Destroy Malevolence

I have to say I really like this episode

Despite the plot stretched thin

There was a noticeable increase in the quality of animation

The child characters were good

The other characters were a lot more consistent And a lot smarter

0 notes

writing-anomaly · 6 years ago

Text

Torn

Fandom: Jojolion

Summary: Yasuho's life is tearing at the seams. The volatile Rokakaka trade is catching up to them and when Josuke unravels, Yasuho is pushed to her limit. She's left more vulnerable than ever as she struggles to protect two men who barely know her.

This a story in which the protected must become the protector.

Chapter 1

He'd stripped at his own suggestion.

It was the most strategic course of action rather than having to rewash his clothes, he explained. She could only nod before he tossed his sailor shirt near the door, turning her back toward him to grant the privacy he didn't know he needed. Up till now, Yasuho assumed he had been styling his own hair. It wasn't until she started seeing little 'nicks' in Josuke's hair line that she'd questioned Tsurugi about who had been cutting his hair. To her dismay, Norisuke-san had assigned the task to the disgruntled Joshuu.

An attempt at forcing a brotherly-bond, she bemused.

The nicks became even more apparent after Josuke started asking her to go out with him more often. Josuke, was so honest in the way he dealt with people, she couldn't bare the thought of Joshuu trying to sabotage him under the ruse of helping his adopted brother keep up his appearance. And so she offered to style his hair, which Josuke animatedly agreed to.

"Yasuho-chan!" Avoiding his gaze proved to be in vain as he ducked around her small frame to come face to face with her, in nothing but a pair of navy blue boxers.

"Oh my gosh." She said, feeling heat rush to her cheeks at the state of his undress. His eyes were bright, excitement permeating off him like a child on the first day of school. She could could feel her lips form their own smile as the warmth of his joy lit a spark in her.

Yasuho had him sit in a chair, facing away from the large bathroom mirror.

She grabbed the clippers Josuke had borrowed from his adoptive brother as she prepared to cut his hair.

"Here it goes." The crack in her tone was as unintentional as the shakiness of her hands. She'd be be lying if she said she wasn't nervous. Her heart was beating through her rib cage.

But why worry?

She'd cut her own hair since middle school so she knew her way around a pair of clippers. She'd never doubted her hair styling capabilities before, at least until Mamezuka came along. Overall, he was a courteous man but his flowery hospitality, grew from a dark crevice she was convinced hid monsters her nightmares could only dream of.

She avoided contact with him when at all possible.

Yasuho had been open to the plant appraiser when they first met. They were under threat of attack by an enemy stand and Mamezuka had taken in both her and Josuke to his ski lift abode on the mountain. But in the midst of it all, he saw fit to use her as bait. Josuke had come to her aid after the plant appraiser pushed her down a 20ft drop, but she still had the scars to remind her of how disposable she was. Unfortunately, she couldn't dodge Mamezuka without completely cutting off Josuke. The quest for the rokakaka had the two paired off like a married couple. But when she did have to see the plant appraiser, she spared only a few words.

Hello.

Goodbye.

And not much in between, if she could help it.

Mamezuka seemed to have a dark sense of humor.

He loved small talk.

Correction.

He loved small talk with her.

So much that he would break a extensive conversation with Josuke just to make a random remark she'd be forced to respond to. Lately, he'd taken a liking to doubled-edged comments on her appearance. The plant appraiser's compliments had their own backhand, most of which were aimed toward Yasuho's hair.

'You look like you cut your own bangs.' Yasuho recited the words internally. There was nothing offensive in what he said alone.

What was that supposed to mean anyway?

That man irked her to no end.

She loved the way her pink hair brushed the roofs of her eyelids and framed the sides of her face. She had a feeling that Josuke did too.

The buzzing roar of the clippers in her hand died in an instant when Yasuho realized her first folly. Stopping in her tracks, she instead pulled out a black heart-shaped compact decorated in gold colored roses.

"Woah, Yasuho!" Josuke jumped as he felt her soft form press into his back, Yasuho's arms wrapping around his shoulders and trapping him in a welcomed embrace. She rested her chin over the Joestar mark of his left shoulder as she spoke into his cheek.

"You forgot something." She teased.

His head whipped around so he could face her, a small amount of panic etched into his handsome features as his brows raised in question.

"Oh! I-I did?"

He was so cute, she could hardly stand it.

"Mhmm." She opened the compact mirror in her hand and faced it toward Josuke.

He looked intently at his own reflection.

His bi-colored eyes widened, inspecting his face from every angle as if recongizing himself for the first time. Yasuho almost dropped the mirror when his hand reached up to cover her own. Gently, he angled her hand so that the mirror included both of them within its depths. The heart-shaped black border of the mirror, made their reflection look like one of those lovey-dovey couples photos her friends carried when they wanted to brag about their boyfriends.

If only..

Yasuho averted her gaze, embarrassed about her thoughts.

She bit her lip.

"Yasuho? Was it something important? I'm s-sorry..I can't remember.." She could see the disappointment in his eyes over not being able find the answer.

He was just like the lost puppy she'd loved so much in her childhood.

"Oh, no. It's just...your hat is in the way. I need to get to your hair so i can cut it." She angled her hand up to reflect the white and blue sailor hat he was wearing in the mirror's reflection. His decorative tassle bounced where it hung on the rim of his hat as he titled his head, trying to understand the situation. His dark brows furrowed.

"No worries! I was just teasing you." Yasuho stood up and closed the compact mirror with a soft click before grabbing his left hand in both of hers. She felt a tightness in her chest. She regretted that her teasing had caused him distress. Had she been thinking, she would've remembered how sensitive Josuke was over his memories. It wasn't much but she rubbed the soft skin on the back of his hand, hoping it would be enough to soothe him.

Josuke looked up at her from where he was seated. Slowly his full lips stretched into the gap-toothed smile she loved so much. Promptly, he took off his sailor hat and placed it on the counter behind him. Free from constraint, his hair cascaded to his shoulders. Each strand, a wave in a dark ocean of lustrous hair. It was in stark contrast to his alabaster skin, and plush rose-colored lips.

His mischiveous dark eyes turned to Yasuho.

"What a naughty girl!" In his excitement he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her into a tight hug. It might've been a bit too tight, because Yasuho's knee collided with his, causing her leg to bend as she fell into his lap.

Yasuho squealed.

If it wasn't for his strong arm, she would've been picking teeth off the bathroom floor. Her body weight had completely rocked over his legs, her face halting inches from touching the tile as her legs flailed in the air to counterbalance her weight on Josuke's bare thighs. She knew he would never hurt her, but sometimes she wondered if he realized how strong he actually was.

"Oh, my gosh." Yasuho let out an exasperated breath that turned into a nervous laugh. She allowed her legs to drop as she relaxed. The distribution of her weight put a pressure on her lower abdomen and pelvis that left her slightly breathless.

"What are you laughing at Yasu-chan? Huh?!" Josuke cocked his head to the side as he peered down at Yasuho, a playful glint in his eyes.

Yasuho may be small, but she was never one to back down from a challenge.

She turned her head to look him straight in the eyes.

"I'm laughing at you, Josuke Higashikata!" She attempted to lift herself up from her bent position only to have Josuke tickle her profusely. Her body involuntarily writhed at the feel of his treacherous fingers gliding along the exposed skin, where her shirt had hiked up to expose her belly and back.

"Uh-uh. You're still in time out, you naughty girl!"

Yasohu laughed frantically.

"What was that?" Josuke held his right hand up to his ear, as if he struggled to hear her. He was rubbing it in. Part of her wanted to throw a hissy-fit, and the other half wanted to kiss him.

Though, she could hardly respond for all the giggles that escaped her.

"Josuke, please!"She spoke between breaths.

"Hmm?" The lilt in his voice was full of amusement.

"Please!" Yasuho couldn't take it anymore.

She caved.

Payback was a given.

Josuke Higashikata's day would come.

For now she'd play nice, because he'd won today.

Cheater.

She resisted rolling her eyes and Josuke grabbed her hand to pull her up. Yasuho, who had been face down the whole time, landed in a resting position on her knees as Josuke gently positioned her weight to the lower half of her body.

Yasuho pouted.

She squinted her eyes into the best death glare she could muster, resulting in Josuke wiping tears from his eyes from laughing so hard.

"Yasu-chan, is sooo cute." He never let go of her hand, which he held in his lap as he stared down at her in all his half naked glory. His porcelain skin glistened in the fluorescent light. Not because he was clammy, but because he was born with skin that most girls would strangle a cat for. Both soft and firm.

Yasuho found herself mesmerized, yet again, in the gaze of his bi-colored eyes. He possessed a beauty, that didn't belong in this world. When she looked hard enough she could see the seam that ran along the center of his body. It was easy to forget that at one point Josuke had been two separate people, each with their own hopes and dreams. She wondered if she had gotten to know either Kira Yoshikage or Kuujo Josefumi, would they have been as close as she was with Josuke. She wondered if Josuke was attached to her because he truly liked her, or just because he felt he didn't have anyone else to turn to. She craved his attention. It was undeniable. But sometimes she felt guilty. Was she taking advantage?

She found herself becoming self conscious when she realized Josuke was still holding on to her hand. He turned it, palm side up. Lightly, he began tapping the base of her index finger with the tip of his own. His breathing had become heavier, his broad shoulders rising and falling in a rythmic fashion.

"Umm, Josuke.."

He didn't bother to explain as he intersected their fingers.

Softly, he pushed the tips of his fingers through the divides at the base of her hand, forcing a gap between them. Yasuho's skin tingled as he slowly uncurled the joints of his noticeably larger hand. It felt like thread gliding the eye of a needle, building static as he traced between them, spreading her fingers to match is own. The stretch was gratifying and somehow wider than she'd ever positioned them on her own accord.

It felt strange.

Yet pleasurable like something she was almost too scared to name.

Yasuho could feel her heart begin to race when Josuke bit his lip. His gaze fixated on her slightly trembling fingers. He'd never acted this way before. She was in a bit of a daze. Her mind tried to process what was happening but drew up a blank.

Josuke closed his eyes. His mouth parted as began lift her hand.

'He wouldn't...'

The warm moisture of his steady exhales against her fingers made the cool air of the room all too noticeable in its absence. His mouth parted a little wider, his tongue peaking ever so slightly over the curve of his moist lips.

"J-Josuke?!" Her voice was urgent. Almost pleading. This was not normal behavior for him. It was increasingly difficult to fight back the notion that this Josuke wasn't quite the same guy she picked up from between the wall-eyes.

"What a lovely voice." They were both brought out of the moment by a voice that was neither Josuke's or her own. Josuke released Yasuho's hand as his attention focused on the intruder.

"Ah, Jobin-san. Konnichiwa!" Josuke greeted in a chipper voice. It was as if nothing had transpired between them. The atmospere lightened immensely with his change in demeanor.

"I wish my wife would say my name like that." Jobin sauntered in to the bathroom, amusement rolling off him like a heady perfume. The green hair that swept over his right eye, was held in place by its usual hair clip. A left-over from the Higashikata ritual of dressing the first-born son as a girl in order to ward off misfortune. It was a feminine contrast to his masculine demeanor.

The eldest Higashikata son's presence was overwhelming and Yasuho instinctively retreated ever so slightly behind Josuke's form, hoping to God that she could somehow dissapear.

"Jobin-san, I thought you had gone to Hawaii as well." Josuke turned his body toward the Jobin and the door; Away from where Yasuho kneeled at the side of his chair.

Josuke had told her that his adoptive family had flown to Hawaii as a weekend getaway. She hadn't expected any run-ins. Least of all with Joshuu's older brother. She recalled very little interaction with him despite being his younger brothers childhood friend. He always wore a pleasant smile on his lips despite his predicament of worrying over the possibility of his only son suffering the cruel fate of the rock illness.

'Oh, God...please don't look at me' She begged inwardly.

"I'm still jet-lagged from my business trip to New Zeleand. I'd like to keep my zombie ass here in Morioh for a while." His laugh was unrestricted and warm as a thousand summers. "Don't mind me, I just came to grab an aspirin."

He patted Josuke's shoulder as he passed them both by to open the closet on the far end of the room. There was a series of bangs and clunks until he held up a small white bottle with a red cap that rattled when shook. Pleased with himself, Jobin stepped right over a flustered Yasuho who clung to Josuke's leg like a lost child seeking protection. He didn't acknowledge her in the slightest.

'It's like he doesn't even see me..'

Yasuho's eyes crossed as a translucent bubble floated into her line of sight, settling on the tip of her nose. Relief washed over her as she recognized the barely visible bubbles of Josuke's stand, "Soft and Wet," most of which, settled in the palm of his hand. She never felt more greatful for his ability to remove things selectively, such as sounds and sight.

Josuke was hiding her from Jobin!

Her grip on Josuke's leg loosened, and she couldn't help but smile in gratitude to his reflexive protection. Josuke seemed at peace with Jobin's company. Though her friend's actions made her wonder if the elder Higashikata put him on edge as much as her.

Jobin grabbed the door knob as he began to exit the bathroom. He stepped into the hallway, then paused to turn toward Josuke again.

He lowered his uninterested eyes to where Yasuho was kneeling behind a seated Josuke.

He waved.

"Ya-chan, Yo!" Leaning against the frame of the open bathroom door, Jobin's eyes widened as he feigned shock at Yasuho's compromised position on the floor. He gasped, bringing his hand up to pathetically cover his slackened jaw. "I'm sure Joshuu would be heart broken!"

"We're not dating!" Yasuho sputtered.

"No need to explain to me, missy." He winked at her then regarded Josuke.

"Those are fuckboy problems." And with that, Jobin skipped down the hall muttering words that suggested a little heartbreak might grow Joshuu a few chest hairs..

The door shut with a resounding click.

Yasuho turned to Josuke who appeared just as shocked as she felt.

His eyes were fixated on the door through which Jobin exited.

It was Yasuho who chose to break the silence. "I thought you hid me from him."

"I did." was Josuke's soft reply.

Author's notes: Hey guys, I'm pretty excited about this story. I'm having a lot of fun writing it.

Yasuho needs more love in the fanfic community!

Comments and criticisms are more than welcomed :D

#Jojo’s Bizarre Adventure #josuke 8 #josuke higashikata #Yasuho #kira yoshikage #josefumi kujo #Jojo #jojo no kimyou na bouken #fanfic #fanfiction #stands #jojo stands

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cryptovalid · 7 years ago

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Star Wars Episode VIII: the Last Jedi...

...is not going to go the way you think. Ended better than it started. I honestly can’t tell anyone if they’re going to love or hate the movie. I understand why it’s so divisive, and I’m not even sure how much I do like it, all told. But I appreciate its ability to surprise me, at least. My only concern in this analysis is the story, and making up my mind about it is harder than I want to admit. SPOILERS under the cut.

Ok, here’s a quick synopsis of the plot:

After the events of the last film, the first order have discovered and attacked the last rebel alliance stronghold, prompting Leia, Poe, Finn and all the other survivors to flee in a small number of ships. Their problem is that the first order has technology that can track their fleet even when they jump to hyperspeed. During the chase, the Rebel leadership dies, with the exception of Leia, who uses the Force to FLY UNAIDED IN THE VACUUM OF SPACE, barely surviving.

This causes a rivalry between the new leader (Laura Dern as Admiral Holdo), and Poe Dameron. Holdo insists that the fleet keep moving forward, while Poe begs her to do something more, as their fuel is running out. Ultimately, this leads Poe to conscript Finn and Rose to recruit a codebreaker so they can disable the First Order’s tracking tech. He even stages a mutiny against Holdo to make sure this plan succeeds (it doesn’t. This entire subplot ends in disaster for the Rebellion).

Meanwhile, Rey meets up with Luke Skywalker, who doesn’t want to join the rebellion, stating he can’t save them. Luke refuses to train Rey at first, fearing she will turn out like Kylo Ren. He implies that there is an inevitable hubris in the Jedi, and it must end. We later discover that Luke, suspecting Ben Solo had already turned to the dark side, had to suppress the urge to kill Ben. Seeing his mentor standing over his bed, lightsaber drawn, is apparently what drove Kylo Ren to join the Sith.

Rey discovers that she has an involuntary psychic link with Kylo Ren, through which she feels that he is conflicted about his evil deeds. Failing to convince Luke to join her, Rey seeks out Kylo Ren and allows herself to be captured by him. Supreme Leader Snoke then orders him to execute Rey after interrogating her, but Kylo tricks Snoke and kills him instead.

Rey then attempts to persuade Kylo to return to the light, but he chooses to take Snoke’s place, Rey and Kylo fight to a draw. Rey escapes and Kylo chases the Rebel Fleet to their destination. It is then that we see Admiral Holdo’s plan: to take small, undetectable craft down to a remote rebel base, while their remaining cruiser lures the first order away. And it would have worked if the codebreaker Finn and Rose recruited had not betrayed them. In order to save the Rebel ships, Holdo stays on the cruiser and rams it into the First Order flagship at lightspeed, sacrificing herself.

This only buys them a little time, as the few survivors of the rebellion are now trapped on a planet, assaulted by ground forces. Rey arrives, but is unable to stop their bunkerbusting canon. Finn is ready to sacrifice himself to save the rebellion, but is stopped by Rose. Luke shows up and confronts Kylo, buying Rey enough time to sneak the rebels out of the back of the bunker. In the end, Luke dies. The Rebellion is still on the run, and Kylo Ren is leading the First Order.

First, let’s start with some things I liked, since they are less complicated than the things I disliked.

I like the idea that Luke is disillusioned with the Jedi Order and doesn’t want it to continue. Honestly the movie could have done more to dive in to his criticisms, as I feel they could have made the movie a great deconstruction of the Jedi’s commitment to authority and violence, or their messages about healthy relationships and emotions. It even has the potential to comment on political attitudes toward violence in the real world. As it stands, it seems like the only reason Luke is initially hesitant to join Rey is his fear of her power, fear that she will betray him like Kylo Ren did. Which is not a criticism of the Jedi, but a criticism of his own mistrust of Kylo. It’s not a bad arc, but I would have liked to see a more strident critique of Jedi teachings.

i like that the movie has an egalitarian message at its core: The Jedi aren’t really special, and Rey’s parents are not tied into the history of Star wars at all. I think the idea that the Force is a power passed down through a couple of bloodlines really undercuts the message that it connects all living things. It’s good to change it up and imply that anyone could tap into the Force, that it belongs to everyone.

Leia, Finn, Rose and Poe all survive the movie, even though their deaths seemed almost certain at times. The stakes are up for the entire movie, and anything seemed possible. Deaths are numerous but meaningful.

The climactic battle with Snoke is a nice subversion of the expected ‘Lightsaber duel’, and I really like how it did not redeem Kylo Ren, underscoring his emotional immaturity, alienation and deep need for control instead.I also enjoy how this movie shits all over the First Order’s dignity, without trying to make them look cool.

I really enjoyed the actual plot twists in this movie. Sadly, I spent most of my first viewing frustrated by my own expectations. At times I was convinced that Finn and Leia would die, and that Reylo would become canon. This mercifully did not come to pass.

The plot elements I did not like are a bit more complicated. I was particularly frustrated with the power struggle between admiral Holdo and Poe. It was very convenient from a plot standpoint. From the beginning, it was obvious that Holdo had a plan she was not sharing with Poe. He doesn’t trust her, so he even goes so far as to stage a mutiny against her. Because of the framing, I spent most of the movie frustrated with both characters. Either one could have communicated a little bit better to prevent most of the movie’s drama. The subplot about finding the codebreaker felt useless anyway.

The movie also isolates Finn and Rey from each other completely. Considering how fun their dynamic was in TFA, this is not an improvement. The whole subplot with Finn and Rose meandered around, and didn’t really reflect the urgency and tone of a high stakes death march through space. Ultimately, nothing Finn and Rose did actually had a positive impact on the Rebellion. This isn’t necessarily an objective flaw in the story, I just dislike that Finn has become a secondary character. Also the Kiss from Rose at the end was completely unexpected. Unlike Rey, Rose doesn’t really get a chance to form a bond with Finn, since their subplot doesn’t involve any real choices to define their characters in contrast with each other. Given how much I like the actors and characters, this is a waste. I was sure, given the context, that Finn and/or Rose would die. Small mercies, I guess.

Comparatively, the movie spends a lot of time trying to make Kylo more sympathetic, which really rubs me the wrong way, especially because of the way his character parallels real life bigots and spree killers. He fits into a growing real life trend of white men who become desillusioned with basic decency when they don’t get what they want, and lash out violently in retribution. Episode VII made it crystal clear that Kyle Ron has spent his entire adult life murdering and torturing unarmed people, participating in a explicitly fascist regime that enslaves children and commits genocide. All the while, several people give him ample opportunity to opt out, and he threatens to murder them every time. The only time his supposed ‘conflicted’ nature actually stops him from murdering is when he’s emotionally invested in his victim already. Redeeming a nazi-analog is not impossible, but it is also not cheap. Making minor exceptions to your violent outbursts is not a sign that you’re a good person at heart. It’s typical abuser behavior. How much slack are we supposed cut this asshole? Did he really turn to the dark side simply because Luke thought he already turned, contemplating killing him? Sure, this is traumatic as fuck. Is Rian Johnson aware of what this means for the nazi analogy? Will this be dealt with in more detail in the next movie?

It is no secret that there are many Kylo Ren apologists out there. People downplaying his own agency and the severity of his crimes. Shipping him with Rey, a woman he has kidnapped, threatened, assaulted and violated. It’s hard not to see this movie as vindicating or at least baiting them. It matters, in the end, how Kylo’s arc wraps up. And honestly, I can’t think of a way to redeem Kylo Ren that wouldn’t be gross. How could Kyle realize that murdering people was wrong all along, given the chances he’s been given? What message does that send to victims of abuse? That no matter how many times he’s shown you that he feels entitled to hurting you, you have to keep being compassionate because he will eventually, when things look really bad for you, make a sacrifice to save you, redeeming himself? Is it even possible for a murderer as wilfull and committed as Kylo to make a heel turn, given that he’s already tried to kill everyone he cares about?

I’m also a bit confused about this movie’s message about the Jedi. Luke hems and haws about continuing their traditions, but there’s no actual attempt to get into a discussion about it. Yoda tells Luke to teach Rey, but destroys the texts when Luke hesitates to. And then Luke dies without speaking to Rey. Maybe I shouldn’t expect a thesis statement here, but I think strong opposing arguments would make it clearer what the movie is trying to say.

So it should be clear why The Last Jedi is so polarizing. It doesn’t go the way anyone expected it to, and it deliberately steps away from anything that came before it. Whatever you think Jedi used to be is now obsolete. Anyone can tap into the Force, and it doesn’t come down to special blood. That’s bound to alienate long term fans who are really invested in canon. I actually like this, and the way it sets up future stories to have their own meaning.

On the other side, the movie really focuses on building expectations for Kyle Ron’s redemption and makes Finn, Poe and Rose partially responsible for the death of the rebellion, sidelining them in the process. Again, this isn’t an objective mistake, but I do not like it at all. I really like Finn and in particular, his relationship with Rey, which is absent in the movie.

Kyle Ron is a good villain, but trying to build empathy for him actually backfires. Yeah, discovering your mentor uncle thinks you’re evil and wants to kill you is fucked up. Feeling seperated from your parents sucks. But it doesn’t excuse Kyle’s many crimes. Trying to redeem pseudo-nazis is a bad idea both in-universe and as a story to tell in 2017. It should have something more substantive to say if it wants to go that route.

All in all, this movie was a mixed bag for me. I think it will be for a lot of people, depending on what they’re looking for. If you aren’t really invested in Finnrey, Poe, the Jedi Order and the Skywalker Dynasty, or Kylo Ren being recognized as entitled and awful, you’ll probably enjoy this movie more.

#Star Wars Episode 8 #Star Wars the Last Jedi #anti Kylo Ren #Star Wars Critique #long post #Star wars Spoilers

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supernaturally-writing · 8 years ago

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One Last Night

A/N: This is fulfilling a request for the lovely @marril96 who requested some Rowena comfort and revival after the season finale last Thursday. It got a little long, but I hope you like it, love! :)

Word Count: 5.7K

Warnings: some pretty intense gore, burned bodies, witchcraft and almost dying. f/f, hurt/comfort dynamics, mutual comfort, (season 12 finale spoilers) set just after the season 12 finale. SMUT. F/F SMUT.

Summary: When [y/n] finds a mostly-dead Rowena after Lucifer’s attack during the season 12 finale, she lends a helping hand to speed along the process of her tedious healing. The process costs her, though, and when she finally comes to, both witches must face things they didn’t ever think they’d have to face; when they’ve all come between a rock and a hard place, the only safe place is with each other.

Masterlist

[Y/n] sat in one of the blood-splattered armchairs, fingers pressed against her mouth and nose to block out the smell permeating the air. Burnt hair and flesh, iron and bile. But, more than that, she fought against the sick, suffocating feeling in the back of her throat, pushed and shoved against the rising sensation of vomit. When she’d received the text from the Winchesters with the news of Rowena, she’d completely ignored the fact that Lucifer had a hand in this. That he might be baiting her, skulking around, just waiting for her to come to the rescue. He’d bag another witch, the only other one that could send him straight back to the cage. Truth be told, [y/n] was probably the more dangerous witch out of the pair; since childhood, she’d been gifted with raw magic. Spell books and incantations were nice and all, but they took too much time and sapped too much energy. Using her raw energy was (usually) easy, as natural as breathing, and it allowed her to keep from slipping into the darkness that witches sometimes submitted to when they delved too far into the otherworldly reserves of power. But nevertheless, even though she could cast him into the cage with just a concentrated thought, [y/n] had driven halfway across the country in a little over a day. It had been months since she and Rowena had agreed to the mutual GPS tracking chips, after a too-close call with a particularly ignorant hunter just above the borderline of Canada and the U.S.

She wasn’t sure if she was grateful for that chip, or if she hated. It had brought her here, to this stupid house with its stupidly beautiful architecture and its equally as stupid lush furniture and decoration. But then again. . . Without it, she wouldn’t have known where her corpse lay, and Rowena would have remained trapped in that burned husk for however long it took her soul trap to repair all that damage-- or however long it took for the world to end again.

[Y/n] watched the body quietly, as if her stare alone could undo what was done.

Three long heartbeats passed before she finally twitched into motion, slinking down to the crimson-freckled floor. She tried to ignore the claw marks gouged into the granite-- and the blood smears that accompanied them. Instead, she zeroed in on the face of her lover. It hadn’t burned past recognition; she could still make out the sharp nose, the curve of her cheekbones and the angle of her jaw. As she stared, kneeling on the floor just outside the perimeter of the charred flecks that surrounded Rowena, she slowly reached into the abyss of her power, her mind twisting around the energy as it writhed and thrashed like a living thing. As if it knew it was about to be put to use. It had been so long since she’d went this deep, since she’d drained so much of her power in one sitting, and she was only just aware of the fact that this may very well kill her. Nevertheless, she pushed forward and ripped her magic up from within herself, molding it and shaping it until it was what she needed.

As she watched, the red-purple wisps of energy snaked across the floor, sweeping up pieces of ash and bone on a soft breeze. It swirled, ruffling papers and whipping at [y/n]’s hair, more and more of Rowena coming together, before it all finally began to stitch itself into an ever-growing piece of unmarred flesh. Before long, Rowena’s corpse was looking more and more like a body. Bone and sinew stretched and cracked as it snapped back together, pieces clicking into place like some macabre puzzle. Ripped or burned flesh reached for other pieces of ruined skin, muscle slowly mending together beneath it. And as [y/n]’s magic worked, it also depleted. She slumped back onto her haunches, shoulders heavy and curling forward. As the blue-purple magic of Rowena’s soul trap flared, [y/n]’s eyelids fluttered. Pain lanced through her skull, thumping in time with her struggling heart as it pumped sluggishly. Her skin prickled painfully, goosebumps rising on her skin as her blood ran cold. Just as she swayed towards the floor, the final pieces of Rowena fell into place, the witch’s own magic relieving the pull of [y/n]’s overworked energy.

Light flared, a brilliant amethyst color, and Rowena stirred. As much as she’d done, [y/n] didn’t have the energy to knit her clothes back together, not after reassembling an entire body, right down to her atomic and molecular structure. Undoing the burns of angel-fire, especially that of an archangel, was like trying to pull a train through quicksand. It was heavy, slow, and within a few moments it had drained her to her core. Whatever she had done after those initial, vibrant flares of energy was out of desperation, and in doing so it sapped at her life force itself.

[Y/n] quietly basked in the cool press of the floor beneath her, cold granite pressing against her overheated flesh. As sweat dripped and cooled, she rolled onto her back, every joint protesting with loud cracks and pops. She felt as though she could sleep for days-- maybe weeks, even. . .

“[Y/n],” she heard Rowena croak softly. Worry etched at the tone, until it was quiet and raspy-- almost pleading. The witch rolled over, dragging herself across the floor until she was cupping [y/n]’s too-warm face between smooth, soft palms. [Y/n] focused on the startling rings of green-hazel color that floated above her, framed by pale, makeup-less flesh. She gave a croaking laugh, stifling the groan that squeezed her lungs as pain flared up the length of her body.

“If you’d given me, like, five more minutes,” she paused to draw in a deep breath, the air burning her throat and lungs on the way down before scorching its way back up. “I probably coulda put your eyeshadow back on, y’know.”

Rowena’s laugh had never been so beautiful as it was then, even as quiet as it was. Relief flooded the sound, the soft chuckle breaking off into a quiet whimper. By the time [y/n] lifted a numb hand to cup wild, fire-red hair, Rowena had nuzzled her face into the sweaty crook of her throat.

“Aye, maybe, but it wouldn’t have been nearly as good as what I could’ve done. Best to leave makeup to the professionals, love.” Rowena sniffled as she sat up again, a small smile quirking up the side of her mouth. Despite the fact that [y/n] had been doing her own makeup for several decades, it’d been a running joke between the witches that Rowena was the more artistic one between them when it came to cosmetics. And, in some ways, it was more truth than jest. [Y/n] hummed softly, eyes fluttering closed as soft thumbs traced over her sweaty cheekbones, gently wiping away the moisture there. Even her skin was sensitive, and she nearly hissed at the touch before she sank into it. “[Y/n]. . .” She tensed as Rowena croaked her name, the wobbling emotion again filtering through her voice. “Why would you do that? You could’ve. . .” Died. She flinched at the tone, at the raw grief-- that was laced with anger. Whatever walls that had crumbled down at the thought of Rowena being truly gone were hauled back up again; the effort to steel herself sapped whatever mental energy she had left.

“Rowena--” she groaned thickly as she pushed herself onto her elbows. Her arms and shoulders shook with the effort, the weight of her body suddenly too much, too soon. “If you had seen yourself. . .” She bit her lip, flinching at the pain. Blood welled to the surface, thick and sluggish. She finally swallowed, praying that she hadn’t gulped too loudly. “You would’ve done the same, if you were in my shoes.” I hope. . . Tell me you would’ve. Tell me you’d do whatever you knew how to do to save me, too--

“No, I wouldn’t have.” [Y/n]’s lungs deflated, the air punched out of her. Her struggling heart hammered, thumping much too loudly in the otherwise silent room. “I wouldn’t have tried to kill myself by saving you when I knew you’d be fine, anyway.”

“Rowena, that soul trap wouldn’t’ve done the job--”

“Yes, it would have. It healed me up, right?” Whatever worry that had lined Rowena’s face was gone, then, replaced by heated anger. The fingers that had cupped [y/n]’s face now curled in her shirt, knuckles white against the fabric. “It performed just fine, and now I’m here, right? Sitting in this filthy room, arguin--”

“It only kicked into gear after I put you together, piece by fucking piece.” The sharp echo of [y/n]’s voice snapped around her, softening every time but nevertheless keeping it’s deadly edge. She glanced up at Rowena, surprised with her own tone, and softened her gaze-- a silent apology, her warm fingers finding Rowena’s cool ones and squeezing softly. “I didn’t mean. . .”

“I know. I know-- I get it.” Rowena sat back on her bare haunches, fingers loose where they twined with [y/n]’s. “Still, you shouldn’t have done it. You shouldn’t have risked it--”

“Rowena-”

“I’m not worth it, [y/n]. If one of us dies, for good, then that’s one less witch that can put the devil back in Hell. Losing us both?” She scoffed softly and sat a little higher, a little straighter, a bit of her usual self finally shining through. Arrogance and subdued delight. “Well, I’m sure the whole world would positively-- what is it you say?-- go to shit.” [Y/n] couldn’t help the smile that cracked across her lips, even as the muscles of her face burned with exhaustion. She averted her eyes, her gaze flicking between blood drops and smears of scarlet. “Hey,” Rowena hummed, reaching out and gently-- oh, so gently-- curling her fingers around [y/n]’s chin. She pulled her gaze back to her own, green-hazel eyes blazing with heat. Simmering, scorching heat. Despite it, though, her tone was soft, hardly more than a whisper. “Promise me. . . Promise me you won’t do that kinda thing again, aye?” And there, looking up at Rowena’s open face, [y/n] melted a little, her resolve wilting beneath the imploring gaze and soft fingertips of her centuries old girlfriend.

“Okay,” she finally rasped, heat pricking at the backs of her eyes. “Okay.”

Rowena’s shoulders drooped with relief, and she swooped in suddenly. The soft press of her mouth against [y/n]’s made her shudder and whimper, partly in pain and partly in pleasure. The scratch of fabric and skin against her own was dreadful, but the plush sweeps and slants of Rowena’s lips against her own sent a pleasant warmth curling through her belly, soothing the ache there, too. All too soon, Rowena pulled away, licking her lips. It was then that she seemed to notice her nakedness, and shifted her knees to cover herself-- even though the pair had seen each other nude too many times to count.

[Y/n] cast a weary sweep of her eyes around the disheveled room, another spear of pain lancing through her guts at the thought of what had happened there. She sighed heavily, giving Rowena’s fingers a soft squeeze before she pushed herself into a seated position on shaking, rubbery arms.

“Whaddaya say we blow this Popsicle stand, huh?” When she looked back to Rowena, the witch was smiling-- soft, tentatively, almost as if she were afraid to be so relaxed. [Y/n] couldn’t blame her. Not after being torched just a few hours beforehand. [Y/n] had seen her fair share of deaths, had even experienced a few herself (and escaped just as many), but she’d never been so effected by one as she was this. The image of Rowena’s scorched form flashed across the forefront of her mind, and she clenched and unclenched her fists against the scarred floor below. What was once cool and comforting now soaked into her flesh, making her shiver as the unforgiving stone bit into her bones. She didn’t quite know how Rowena could stand it, sitting naked on the floor like that. When she looked a little closer, [y/n] saw that she was, indeed, shivering.

She pushed herself onto aching feet, bones and muscles protesting the entire time, and held out a shaking, aching hand. She tried not to flinch when Rowena took it-- tried not to groan when she hauled the witch up and pulled her body against her own.

“Aye, sounds good to me.”

The two settled in a hotel room three states over, the furthest [y/n] could drive on two hours of sleep.

By the time they’d pulled into the parking garage, she was falling asleep at the wheel, her head bobbing on a rubbery neck. She’d been too out of it to notice Rowena slipping out of the vehicle to check them in, but when the witch came back and gently opened the door, [y/n] jerked to attention, hands splayed wide. Red-purple energy sparked between her fingers weakly, the last dregs of her power settling over her skin like an electric current. The next thing she knew, Rowena was helping her into bed, pulling her shoes off and sliding her jacket off of her shoulders.

When [y/n] awoke to sunbeams warming her face, she rubbed her eyes and stretched; her entire body groaned and cracked, stiff joints popping loudly and painfully. The space beside her on the bed was empty, the sheets wrinkled but nevertheless pulled up and tidied.

She rolled out of bed, sore feet planting on plush carpet, before she pushed herself out of the room, following the subtle pull of Rowena’s magic through the suit. Rowena lounged on a dark sofa on the opposite side of the spacious room, the leather groaning softly as she turned to face [y/n] as she entered the room. The witch was the image of lazy extravagance, wrapped in a dark silk robe, fiery hair pulled into a loose bun atop her head. A curl or two sprouted from the do, bobbing in the sunlight and sparking like living flame. At some point she’d found the time to redo her makeup; [y/n] couldn’t help but to smile at her as she limped forward.

“Hello, sleeping beauty,” Rowena hummed, taking a sip from the teacup in her hands before she sat it down on the squat mahogany table in front of the sofa.

Of all the things that that [y/n] could’ve said or asked, as she swept her gaze around the room and noticed the obvious use of it-- scattered papers on the desk, an open laptop on the cushion beside Rowena, [y/n]’s bags sitting beside the bedroom door-- she couldn’t help the question that bubbled to the surface instead: “How long’ve I been asleep?”

Her expression darkened, the beaming smile across her lips slowly faltering, until she was looking away, fighting the frown that fought to the surface. “Three days, give or take. . .”

“Three days-- wait, give or take?”

“Aye, on the account of you waking up a few times, flailin’ about and shoutin’ nonsensical things.” She leveled her gaze on [y/n], red brows pulled low. “You don’t remember?” [Y/n] gave a small shake of her head, finally coming up against the back of the sofa. She braced herself against it, the whole room spinning on its axis as she moved.

“No. . . Don’t remember a damn thing after you pullin’ my shoes off.” She worried at her lower lip, gazing out the bank of windows on the far wall. “Must’ve drained myself more than I thought, huh?”

“Driving afterward probably didn’t help, either. . . You should’ve let me drive.”

“You were dead five minutes beforehand.”

“And you were nearly there, yourself.” She sighed, brushing invisible crumbs from her lap. “You should’ve let me drive,” she reiterated, lower, softer. “It would’ve been the least I could’ve done.” [Y/n] leveled her stare on Rowena, then, pain lancing through her chest. Not the breathless, fiery pain that speared through her as her heart nearly failed, but the dull, thudding ache that bloomed behind her sternum when Rowena wilted like that. She circled around the sofa, sinking down onto the cushion opposite the witch. She took her face in her hands, bringing Rowena’s eyes to her own. She wanted to say something. Apologize, maybe, but she didn’t know what for. She wasn’t sorry, not really. She didn’t regret it and she’d do it again without a second thought; screw empty promises. [Y/n] loved this damned woman, and the whole world knew that she had a martyr complex that rivaled even Castiel’s. Before she could say something that would have this whole thing crumbling down around her, she leaned forward and pressed her mouth against Rowena’s. Softly, tentatively. The soft sweep of her tongue against Rowena’s seam speaking volumes about how she felt.

[Y/n] had never been great with words, but with actions? Well, whoever’d said the tongue was the deadliest weapon had never been subject to [y/n]’s fingers, that’s for damn sure.

Just as she deepened the kiss, Rowena pulled away with a soft laugh, the bridge of her nose crinkled as her lips tugged upwards. Her hands had circled [y/n]’s wrists, and she ran her thumbs over her pulse points in soothing circles.

“[Y/n], love. As happy as I am to see you up and moving around and in your right mind this time, you’ve been asleep for three days. . .”

[Y/n] tipped her head away and breathed a laugh, suddenly tasting it on her own tongue.

“Morning breath?”

“The worst,” Rowena confirmed with a small giggle, leaning back a little further. [Y/n] dipped her head, heat coloring her cheeks. She dropped her hands with another huff, before pushing herself up.

“I suppose a shower and a good teeth brushing’s in order, then, isn’t it?”

Rowena hummed lowly, that damn smirk stretching up just a little further. She slid her cup into her hands, sipping at the steaming tea within. A thought bloomed in [y/n]’s mind as she began walking away, and she swiveled around on a heel. “If I brush my teeth before I shower, you think you’d want to. . .” She pointed over her shoulder with her thumb, towards the direction of the bathroom. She’d spotted it on her way out of her room, but hadn’t bothered to register it until now.

Rowena stood with a stretch, her robe (short on a good day, falling to mid-thigh) riding up to reveal that the witch had decided to forgo underwear for the day. Heat pooled between [y/n]’s legs at the sight of Rowena’s bare skin-- and she when looked up, she met the mischievous gaze of a woman that knew what she was doing.

“Thought you’d never ask,” Rowena purred. [Y/n] groaned softly before swiveling around, dashing for the bathroom as fast as her sore legs would carry her. She flicked on the shower, nearly as hot as it would go, before turning towards the mirror and-- dear God, she looked horrible. Hair greasy and matted where she’d tossed and turned, face shining with a lack of washing. She cringed at herself before flicking on the sink and brushing her teeth. By the time she was done, she felt marginally cleaner, the mint on her breath cooling her mouth even as the steam from the shower heated up the whole room.

She was the first in the spacious shower, already well on her way to washing the grossness out of her hair before Rowena finally joined her. She reached for Rowena, all heated intent, before the witch swatted her hands away and moved around her, until she was under the stream of water.

[Y/n]’s eyebrow twitched towards her hairline in surprise as she watched Rowena, tongue passing over her lips and sweeping away the collecting spray. Rowena made sure to accentuate every movement, every curve and sensitive place as her hands traveled over smooth, pale skin, leaving suds in their wakes-- before they were washed away by the steaming current. The soap in her hair made the locks look light red, almost pink, and [y/n] couldn’t help but to giggle at the ridiculousness of her girlfriend as the witch made an effort to spike her hair. This kind of care-free playing, the nonchalant, jovial attitude. . . On any other day, it would’ve been a rarity, carefully hidden behind the mask that Rowena had so carefully constructed. And [y/n] wouldn’t have faulted her for it-- not without being a hypocrite. They both had their own masks to maintain. But after what happened with Lucifer. . . [Y/n] huffed a soft laugh as Rowena turned, the failed spikes of her hair drooping and wilting to the side. She shook the thoughts from her head, determined to make the best of a lazy day.

She stepped forward into the spray, crowding into Rowena’s space, her hands finding the gentle curves of her hips. She trailed her hands northward, fingers splayed to feel as much skin as she could in one swipe. Soap collected, slickening her path, and Rowena hummed softly with subdued delight when [y/n] swept her fingers over the pebbled, rosy buds of her nipples. She didn’t let herself linger, though. She pushed her hands further, momentarily distracted by the soft bounce of unsupported breasts-- but, again, she ripped her attention away, even as she remembered the feel of that flesh between her lips, her tongue laving over stiffened, too-sensitive nipples, the sounds of soft gasps, pale fingers in her hair. . .

“You’re staring, love,” Rowena hummed, the edges of her mouth pulled up in a self-satisfied smile.

“Sorry, sorry.” By the time her fingers made it into Rowena’s hair, her cheeks were aflame with heat and color. She scrubbed languidly, allowing the water to wash away the rest of the soap in her tresses as her fingers worked against her scalp. Emotion bubbled up her throat suddenly, as she took in Rowena’s content expression-- the image of it burnt, crisped and blackened, flashed across her vision. “I thought. . .” She began, croaking softly as she tipped her head forward to touch her forehead against Rowena’s. “Rowena, I thought I’d lost you for good this time.” Rowena’s fingers clasped around [y/n]’s wrists, thumbs repeating their earlier gestures against her pulsepoints. Smooth, slow circles. Clockwise, clockwise, counterclockwise.

“I’m right here,” she sighed, eyes fluttering closed. Basking in this closeness-- even as melancholic as it was. “I’m right here, and I’ll always be here. . . You know that.”

“No, Rowena, I don’t. I don’t know that. With all the big baddies in the picture right now? Lucifer, the Men of Letters, the Nephilim? Whatever sanctuary Crowley might’ve provided is gone--”

“Gone? Why is it gone?” When [y/n] opened her eyes again, she was met with the panic in her lovers. Rowena hadn’t known. . . “What happened to Fergus, [y/n]?”

[Y/n] sucked in a sputtering breath, pressing her forehead just a littler firmer against Rowena’s, before she pulled away to look her square in the face. “Rowena. . . Crowley-- he. During a fight with Lucifer, Crowley uh--” her voice broke as Rowena’s expression began to crumple with realization. She pushed on nevertheless. She deserved to know what happened. “He sacrificed himself. For the Winchesters. For the world. To lock Lucifer away in some inter-galactic rift. . . He’s gone. Gone, gone.” For a long moment, [y/n] didn’t know what to expect. Rowena and Crowley had been feuding since he’d left the womb, but she was still his mother, and motherly bonds weren’t superficial. . . They were soul deep. Even if some chose not to acknowledge those things, or if those bonds were so muddled that they were practically nonexistent-- they were still there. Somewhere. So when Rowena just nodded and squared her shoulders, a streak of bewilderment went through [y/n]’s chest. Until she saw the crinkle in her brow, the subtle downturn of her lips. The pale press of her mouth. Her face screamed grief, even if she tried not to show-- or feel-- it.

The water ran cool, shaking [y/n] and Rowena out of the lock they’d found themselves in. Whatever heat they entered the shower with, they left in the stall when they clambered out and wrapped each other in fluffy, black towels.

When Rowena turned towards the mirror, she gave a shocked laugh at the image that stared back at her: rivulets of water streaking out of her hair and over her mascara lined face. She hadn’t washed her eye makeup off before stepping under the water, and now most of it was streaking down her cheeks. The witch touched the marks with the pads of her fingertips, lips wobbling ever so slightly. “Why didn’t you tell me I looked like a strung out whore?”

“Because that’s not who I saw.”

“Then who did you see, because--” She stopped herself with a shuddering breath, turning away from her reflection just as [y/n] stepped forward and pressed a chaste kiss against her lips.

“I saw the love of my life,” [y/n] murmured as she pulled away. Just far enough for their noses to brush, eyelashes fluttering against cheekbones. They shared breath for three too-loud heartbeats before Rowena leaned in again and clashed her mouth against her lover’s. The two nudged against each other, quietly fighting for dominance, before [y/n] backed the witch up against the granite counter top and caged her in with both arms, her tongue sweeping across the seam of Rowena’s mouth. She nudged her thigh between her knees, slotting herself against Rowena’s body until her thigh was pressed against the older’s pelvis. When they finally surfaced for air, [y/n] pulled back, brows furrowed even as Rowena rocked herself down onto her thigh. “Rowena. . . We don’t have to--”

“Shut up and fuck me.” Shut up and distract me. Shut up and give me something to think about that isn’t Crowley, or Lucifer, or the Winchesters, or the Nephilim. Shut up and don’t let me cry. [Y/n] watched her face, reading the emotions that flickered so close to the surface. She nodded slowly, understanding cutting through the lance of pain that seared through her. Lips clashed once more, and Rowena rocked and rolled her hips downward with a soft whimper.

By the time they made it to the bedroom, the sheets had been changed and the bed made-- a product of Rowena’s magic, no doubt, or of some spell cast over the place-- and they’d littered towels across the hall, skin still damp from the shower. Rowena flopped down on the mattress with a soft huff, her hands skimming down [y/n]’s torso before she fell back onto the down-stuffed comforter. [Y/n] crawled up her body, slotting her knee back between Rowena’s thighs as her mouth latched onto the sensitive point beneath the witch’s jaw. She laved at the flesh with her tongue, teeth scraping over the tender spot as she sucked a dark mark onto it, before she moved to the juncture of her shoulder and repeated the process. By the time she was done, her lips trailing down the slope of her chest to latch around one stiffened nipple, Rowena was smearing her arousal against [y/n]’s thigh with every roll of her hips. Rowena threaded her fingers through [y/n]’s hair, gently tugging at the tresses, crescent nails digging into warm scalp. When [y/n] moved one hand to replace her thigh, her fingers dipping into the shallow, wet heat of the witch’s entrance, she groaned at the pressure of Rowena’s nails as they dug in just a little harder.

After so many years with the same lover, sex became a well-worked machine. Familiar, efficient. [Y/n] released Rowena’s nipple with an obscene pop, teeth marks slowly filling with color outside of her rosy areola, before she nudged her way further south, making sure to hit each of Rowena’s sensitive spots. Navel, hips, the back of her knees, the insides of her thighs. Finally, with a soft bite to each thigh, her cunt. But, even after so many years, so many times going down on her girlfriend, there was one thing [y/n] never got tired of: the taste of Rowena. She groaned against her mound as her tongue laved, slow and flat, before she flicked the tip of her tongue against the bundle of nerves at the apex of the witch’s thighs. Rowena jerked and gasped, the rock of her hips stilling before they rolled again, firmer this time, a low whine crawling its way out of her throat as [y/n] reached up to hold her hips against the mattress. She watched as Rowena rolled feebly, eyeing the way her breasts tightened, her skin prickling with goosebumps as her fingers pressed and groped her own flesh. By the time [y/n] pressed the tip of her tongue past Rowena’s entrance and deeper into her cunt, the witch gave a soft curse and yanked on her tresses. She added a finger in beside her tongue, gently crooking the digit until she hit the sensitive spot towards the back of her channel. Rowena’d never been able to find her own g-spot, but [y/n] always knew where to look; not behind her pubic bone, but further back, towards her cervix, where most wouldn’t aim. She gave another flick of her finger, rolling it gently and pressing it upwards again, her tongue laving and tasting, before Rowena finally came undone with a long, beautiful, breathless moan. [Y/n] drank in all that Rowena gave her, coaxing more and more out of her until Rowena was whimpering and pleading with her to stop. Only then did she surface and roll to the side, panting softly and suckling at her kiss-swollen bottom lip.

The mattress dipped and bounce suddenly, and [y/n] looked over just in time to catch Rowena trifling through one of her suitcases. She pulled a flesh colored toy from the depths of her belongings. When she turned back towards the bed, heat pooled between [y/n]’s legs anew, arousal flushing her skin. She purred softly as Rowena stalked closer, pale hands working the toy in obscene, yet no less sexy, gestures.

“Been awhile since we’ve used that, yeah?”

“Too long,” Rowena hummed in return, before she crawled back onto the bed and positioned herself accordingly. She threw her legs over [y/n]’s hips, pelvises nearly touching with the closeness, before she eased the toy between them. [Y/n] leaned back and relaxed as the tip of the fake cock slipped past her soaked entrance, offering a delicious, subtle burn as Rowena worked it into her cunt. The witch twisted and rocked it slowly until it was seated firmly inside her before she eased the opposite tip into her own depths. She repeated the same with herself until both witches were panting softly and moaning with each movement, taking a moment to adjust to the intrusion. When Rowena began the slow rhythm of rocking and gently thrusting her hips, [y/n]’s breath fluttered in her lungs. Each rock and roll of Rowena’s hips dragged the dildo out and pushed it forward again, until they were both thrusting against each other in time. When [y/n] propped herself up onto her elbows and shifted her hips, the tip of the cock twitched upward and into that sweet spot; Rowena continued the steady rock of her hips, thrusting forward, rolling down, and pulling back again before she repeated. It wasn’t long before [y/n] was collapsing back onto the mattress in a shaking pile of rubbery limbs, a shouted curse flying past flushed lips as she rolled her hips further and further down the length of the cock. When she came down, Rowena was thumbing at her clit, rolling the sensitive bundle beneath the pad of her digit as she watched [y/n] orgasm. [Y/n] held her gaze as the witch finally reached her second climax, her lips parting and eyelids fluttering as a wanton moan filled the sex-scented air between them.

When the two finally separated and crawled up the mattress until they were side-by-side, the sweat and water on their skin had cooled until they were shivering. [Y/n] pulled the sheets over them before she pulled Rowena against her side, her arm cradling her head of mostly-dry red hair. They panted in otherwise companionable silence, eyes searching the ceiling as they worked to calm their racing hearts and shaking hands.

“Y’know,” [y/n] began. But she didn’t get to finish her sentence before Rowena rolled over and sealed her lips over her own, shutting down whatever words might’ve been forming in her half-coherent state of mind.

“Don’t, love. Just. . . Whatever you’re going to say? Don’t. Let’s just have the rest of this day to ourselves, yeah?” [Y/n] considered her words for a moment before she gave a small nod. Rowena laid back down again, throwing her leg of [y/n]’s hips as her cheek came to rest above her sternum.

[Y/n] stared at the ceiling as she walked her fingers up and down the curve of Rowena’s pale shoulder, contemplating the week’s events. If there was anything she did know, it was that this was probably the last time they’d truly be together. At least, if not permanently, then for a good, long while. And that they would be going through a shitstorm-- and soon, if Castiel’s death and the birth of the Nephilim had anything to say about it. She sighed softly before she tipped her head to press a gentle kiss to the back of the witch’s skull. Tonight, she’d leave, hopefully without Rowena knowing, and do whatever it would take to ensure that Rowena had the future she deserved.

Even if that future didn’t include her.

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ecotone99 · 5 years ago

Text

[FN] Sorry Creatures

Victor Winthrop was going to jump; he just needed to prepare.

He closed Tik Tok; dance videos were one of the few things that kept him entertained. He loved to move, and watching others dance gave him an understanding of their humanity.

His feet dangled down, doing their own dance over the edge of the building. It was going to be a long drop.

He was a fairly normal looking boy, but small and slender, with jet black hair and eyes to match, his skin as pale as the moon. He could be 10, he could be 16. He was neither, nor in between.

He sighed, the sigh of a bored, rich kid. He zipped his hoodie up, tighter than it needed to be. It fit well, was shaping. His chest budded, thanks to the small false breasts on the jacket.

She pulled up YouTube and went to her favorite makeup tutorial. It was better to make yourself pretty for this, she reasoned. Not that they tended to care.

She finished, quickly, almost an expert at this point. She even had a few tutorials up herself, as Vicky Winston. Now that she was a pretty girl, too young to be out alone this late, it was time. She shrugged, and pushed off from the building.

The wind felt good in her hair. She didn't fight the fall. Didn't flinch as the ground came rushing towards her. Life was mostly boring, she reasoned, so why should this be exciting?

As she neared the ground the wind resistance went slack, gravity let go, natural forces gave way, and she set her feet, draped in gentle schoolgirl flats, delicately on the downtown sidewalk. It was dark, late, and the night sounded out a booze soaked anger. This city had more cheap dive bars than necessary, to keep the populace distracted. They took ample advantage.

She was hungry, and tired of the numbness. Some rush, any rush, to stop the bored, racing thoughts. The prepackaged food fed one hunger, the roaring stomach, but did nothing for the mind's satisfaction. It was time to set a trap, and take some prey.

She found an appropriate door step, to a large apartment building; Vic probably owned it, but that was hard to be sure of when you had so many. Dimly lit and poorly patrolled by police, like the rest of the city. That's the way she liked it, so the patrol patterns matched. This was the city built by the Winthrop family, after all.

She sat, scrolling through Instagram. Vicky Winston had a good number of followers for a girl in middle school, but not enough to draw unwanted attention. Just enough to finish a disguise, which to be honest was something more. Some of her dms were gross, but none from anyone nearby. She forwarded them off for later research.

Men wandered by; some said she was out too late. Some looked at her, as hungry as she felt, but glanced away quickly, not daring or cruel enough to do anything about it. They weren't bad enough for her to take. One would be, eventually. At least one, on any given night, always was.

"Hey, girl, where's your parents?" came the gruff, not unexpected voice from down the sidewalk. He'd be hard to see in normal night vision. His drunk, sloppy, slovenly look was obvious to Vic. He was grinning, like a man ready to receive a gift.

She grinned back. "I dunno, mister. Just me out here, all alone. They yeeted me right to the curb." replied Vicky, with heavy emphasis on just how alone she was. He jumped at the bait. Rubbing his hands together in anticipation, his pace quickened towards her.

He stopped in front of her, big and unkempt, his clothing a messy mass of folds and wrinkles, hiding his anger and shame. She heard his heartbeat all the same; smelled his blood. She was ready for a taste, for his fear, his desperation, his death.

He lit a cigarette, slowly, turning it. He was going to try to burn her with it, that much was obvious. Vic decided that she'd put it out in his eye, after she rips off his junk. "I guess you're needing a man to look after you, baby. I'll be your daddy." He says, unkindly, a predator, reaching for her.

She skips out of reach, twirls toward the alley. Her skirt spins with her, giving him peeking glaces of her corpse white legs. He follows. "Only if you can catch me." She says with a giggle, and dashes into the darkness.

The drunk, messy man follows, and dies a horrible, bloody death. Once he starts screaming, he doesn't stop, not until he physically cannot. His soul still screams, though. No one calls the police. No one comes to look. Not in this city.

Vic is crouched, wild eyed, monstrous, devouring handfuls of blood scooped from the body, slurping them up in hungry gulps. At least until laughter, the pure, wild, unfiltered kind, the kind that has people wonder at madness, slashes through the air. Victor, all thought of Vicky gone in the hunger, just his wild self, stands, eyes still wide with animalistic urge, his gooey hands going to his ears. She's back. His heart races, pounding with new blood and excitement. Finishing his meal, quickly, like a kid who can't leave the table until he does, he fades into the shadows, and we find him again on a rooftop, clean, pulling a bodysuit over his flesh, deploying protective layers and dark padding along his body. He finishes with a hooded flourish, pulling the mask tight, large bat ears now framing his disguise. His battysuit, the hero fanthems call it. As for him, they've dubbed him Kid Echo. One of the longest surviving heroes in a city that chews them up and spits them out, just another flesh puddle to be cleaned in the morning, like the man in the alley.

He shrieks, a piercing, bat-like sound, and the world exposes itself to him. He jumps from another building this night, a higher jump than humanly possible, and pulls his cape behind him. Gliding towards the sound, the chaos, the fury, the excitement, and yes, that soul stabbing laughter, he soars to see Their Jester, and to continue their dance.

He glides to the source of the childlike laughter; sounds said to be mad coming from adults, a freedom not allowed to them. She's in a grocery store this time. So people inside will be stealing, devouring candy, throwing food, bashing in each other's brains to get to checkout first. The cashier has probably started a fire. Right on cue the fire alarm goes off. Now they'll be giggling as water falls on them, and she'll be there, in the middle, intoxicating, laughing along, laughing at the world, swearing that she didn't make them do it, she just set them free. He jumps, another quick glide to the front of the store. The windows are shattered. He calls his piercing challenge, the sound echoing through the store. He sees them, wild, insane, joyous as they die. She hears him and turns, her own face now joyous. She skips from the store, humming, and they meet again. His heart pounds anew.

She's strong and tall today. Her hair was blonde, so blonde, but she's a mess now. Laughter to the point of tears, her make-up's run away at a panicked pace. Her grin, too wide, too mad, too uncivilized, was angelic in its joy. Her eyes turned to his, as manic in their stare as his when he feeds, and her laughter bubbles from her lips, red and swollen. Her chest heaves with each breath. She's amazing.

"Batty boy's back, babes!" she shouted with a flourish, and madmen and wild women flooded from the store. Some, the ones with unresolved anger and violent designs, sped toward him, brandishing bloody cans and throwing fruit. Not one laid a finger upon him. He dashed through them, breaking ribs and noses, crippling, paralyzing, but never killing. He will ruin them, but not set them to peace. Not at his hand, nor fang. They are dispatched quickly, a pile of brave fools, only done with their assault due to inability to continue. Some are stuck with glue, some bound with rope, some twitching.

Victor Winthrop, Kid Echo by trade, billionaire elder statesman, teen make-up guru, and an old boy with a dozen other lives, steps before his nemesis, his quarry, and his oldest living friend. It's another battle to be had, another to win, and another chance to reach her. "TJ!" he shouts, his voice ragged, his chest tight. He's always unnerved by her presence. Other villains, more dangerous to him by far, are met with nerves of steel. She makes him as much quivering jelly as the organs he spilled in an alley not an hour ago. "Stop this, please! I can help you, I know I can." His tone is pleading. A long held request to help, denied again and again.

She smirks, then turns her head contemplatively to listen. "Oh, my little one, They aren't done tonight. Not yet, we have more fun. They're hungry for a show. They need a good laugh, and what kind of jester am I if I do not provide?" she asks, not unkindly, her tone one of a knowing friend pitying the small mindedness of another. She throws her hands up and laughs maniacally. Her passion intoxicates his blood fueled body. He lunges at her, hands hard and curved to claws, to rend at her.

His hands meet her flesh. She is soft, and warm, so warm, on the outside. It makes him uncomfortable. She does not crumple like the rest, their soft, wet squish, as blood is rung out of the flesh sponge. No, she is hard, strong. She smiles at him, her eyes alluring orbs of insane adventure. So bored with life, he wanted nothing more than to jump in. Then she smashed her head into his face, and he fell back, tingling in excitement, thrilled for the pain. He was alive in battle.

They circled, he a careful predator, pulled taut; she a cornered beast, bucking, breathing heavily, eyes rolling, sweating. He could smell her. Too sweet by far, today. Unusual, but not unique. There has been candy, before.

He would dash at her, taking small cuts, little victories. She swung wildly, stronger but slower, looking to crush. It was hard going, but she cackled merrily along the way, panting, sounding too breathless to continue.

"Take the mask off, kid. Lemme see that cute little face." She taunted, always teasing. Only she ever got to him. There was enough real blood in his body to make him flush, and his cheeks burned red. She could see a bit of that, peeking out from under the mask. She stopped fighting, bouncing and clapping instead. Her breasts heaved. He remained uncomfortable, still a child in some ways. In others he longed for her. "Aww widdle Victor wuvs me," she mocked. He growled in rage, charging her. They slammed to the ground together, he furiously atop her, she below him in mirth.

It was a mistake. He knows not to get too close. Her hands come up, tight around his neck, and she hugs him hard, face smashed to her bosom. "Enjoy yourself, you little pervert." She whispers as she crushes his neck. "I'm sorry," she intones, and might mean it.

She rises, throwing his body aside. Sirens can be heard in the distance. She delights in their music. On the ground, automatic protocols administer a large dose of perfectly crafted synthetic blood, and Victor Winthrop begins to heal, the alchemical numbness already setting in.

The police arrive. They don't belong. Winthrop, through backdoor bribery, owns them. They were a show of force and little more. This was a city for heroes to test their mettle, not for peasants to squabble over scraps. Victor, hero to many, did not possess the kindest heart. Yet he did not want to see these eager rookies die. Better to burn out or sell out than her insanity. He focused on mending.

The other shoppers, those too cowed to face an infamous vigilante, gleefully ran towards the newly arrived cop car. The officers, fresh and afraid, opened fire the moment they emerged. Bullets poured into the shoppers, and they fell in a gooey mess. Victor thought he smelled ice cream. That's new.

TJ sauntered towards the police. Victor watched her hips sway. He struggled to rise.

She paused, cocked, a hand on her hip, the other twirling in the air, tracing out patterns only she sees, only she understands. "Have you come to play, my sweet babies?" She asked, nonchalant. The two men looked ready to run.

"Stop, TJ! Don't hurt them!" He swallowed his pride, said the Magic Word. "Please." He tensed. She didn't always listen.

"Fine. I'm bored. Feed me." She pouted to him, too cute to be mad at. So they went to a diner.

They had a table; no one would turn them away. Dark forces at play through the city's black nights. You didn't resist, you just made way. She was smiling. She looked happy. Her eyes were calm. "Here again, you old romantic?" She made it sound like a date. He fidgeted.

"You always like it." He shrugged. It was a little gesture, the shrug, and the diner. He was a creature of the small things. She lived a bigger life.

The food came. She ate big, gulping mouthfuls, ravenous. He had done the same earlier with his portion of pervert. He never judged her for the things that would bring scorn from him toward any other. He had no scorn for her, only pity.

She laughs, suddenly, the laugh that cuts into his brain, that fuzzes up his connections to reality. He is undone in her unnaturally unnerving aura. He wonders if she knows his thoughts. He wonders many things about her. Little flecks of her food hit his face as she finishes her amusement. The staff looks elsewhere, wisely.

She looks at him, gazes into him, their blackest abyssal natures probing at each other's sins. He shivers. She stirs his only order, black coffee, with her finger. "Drink up, dear." She sucks the coffee from her finger, slowly. He sips. She strokes his face as he goes slack. "I'm sorry, kiddo. Today I just have a message for you, from Them." She gives him a kiss, soft and sweet, on his numb lips. He tastes cake. She didn't order anything sweet.

She stands and leaves. Their waitress raises a knife, giggling, and throws it at a customer, screaming about how tired she is of hearing from him. The cook exclaims "I've always wanted to try this!" and presses his face to the stovetop. His soft laughs are hard to discern over the sounds of sizzling flesh.

Kid Echo doesn't care about any of them; They're lost sheep, and not his responsibility now. He only had eyes for Their Jester. He cannot move, but she positioned him for the show. She is outside, standing in the road. Waving to him, still laughing, always in on the joke. He struggles to move, desperate. A tear of blood falls. He is barely able to manage the softest "No."

A truck plows into her, going well over 100, crashing in the distance with havoc all around it. She herself explodes, cake and ice cream showering the area. The largest piece, erupting from her head, smashed into the diner window. It says, in frosted letters, "Happy Birthday." Damn, he'd forgotten. He was getting old. He missed her already.

Back home. Tired, numb, so often numb, sick of it all. The show, the pretence, the order. He bellowed out for Allen, in the tone only known by children of grand privilege. He scurried in, a humbled, loyal mutt of a man. His father, Al, had mostly raised Victor, until Victor rose again, and since then it had been Allen's task. He met it, though never with pleasure.

Allen was an obedient creature of duty. That suited Vic just fine. He didn't need friends; he had multiple accounts with over 10k followers, some with many more. He was infinitely rich, able to play at any game. What more did a boy need?

"It's my birthday, Allen."

"Yes, sir. 70 wonderful years, hmm?"

"And forever a boy."

Allen began to undress him. Victor was above the drudgery of house work, you see. He peered at the old young man's costume, the neck crumpled and hard to remove. "You were injured. I'll need to..." he trailed off, shock on his face. Victor had never seen the look from him. Grabbing his jaw, the man turned his head for a closer look. "Oh, my. Master, apparently you may not be a boy forevermore, after all. You have a pimple."

Now it was Victor's turn for shock. For horror. He pushed Allen away, only gently, but his strength surged, and the man fell with a bruising descent.

"I do not. I do not!" Shrieked the panicked thing, the lights flickering.

"From a bat boy to a bat man, you'll become. Oh, dear. Calm yourself, sir." Pleaded Allen.

Victor would not. "You aren't my father! Don't you tell me what to do!" He demanded, childishly, kicking at the prone man. He shrieked his awful bat call, and Allen was deaf for the rest of his short life. He welcomed both punishments gladly, if it makes you feel any better.

Allen, forever dutiful, put his hand to his face. He nodded, decisions made. Pulling a wooden stake from his coat, he leapt at his ward, shouting, "I'm sorry I failed you, boy. For my father!"

Victor Winthrop, at the cusp of teenage angst and self-loathing, lashed out. He gave in to rage, and all was red.

Across the city, in a bank, like any other bank, people stood, bored and waiting, to move money from one place to another, to buy things with that money. They sighed, one and all, and madness took hold. Or freedom, if you really listened to Their Jester. The largest of them, a broad, towering man, stopped his check writing, cocking his head to the side, listening to secrets of the universe. Their Jester adjusted his crotch to comfort and personal taste, to the left, and then stood, proud, nodding, as violence and destruction were set loose. Those that died collapsed into piles of gold coins, with pictures of laughing men on the faces. Money was burned, and TJ basked in the fire, his large hands held out to the heat.

Victor watched the security footage; he was connected, he saw it all. Anyway, this was Winthrop First National. That was his money, no matter the names on the accounts. This was personal.

Vic watched TJ's form on the screen. He was huge today. Showy in his size. Magnificent. He traced the image of him on the screen, tenderly.

It wouldn't feel right to try to match him as a man, but he could feel pretty. That would be nice, to be called that. Victorious Vicky would accept this challenge today, Victor's old wartime propaganda persona.

"Stop!" shouted Vicky, righteous and commanding, as befit the role. Vic liked telling others to stop. Liked control. TJ laughed, a deep chuckle, pleased amusement.

"Nice to see you, Vicky!" He approached her, a mighty oak over a quivering rose bush. She raised her fists for battle. He smiled, sweet and a little sad. "Not today, pretty lady." He touched her chin, right on the pimple, caressed it. His thumb was massive, and rough. She leaned into his hand. "You won't need these, soon." And with his free hand he poked one of the padded breasts, laughing.

She knows what it is now, finally, after all these years. She doesn't feel like a monster around him. She feels real. She feels.

"I'm, I'm" she stammered, unsure of how to finish. He did it for her. His thumb moved to her lips, covering them. Silencing her. She resists the absurd, intrusive idea of taking it in her mouth.

"Whatever you want to be, kid." And quickly his hands close tight on her again. He has hurt her this way before. He likes it, she knows that. She doesn't mind. He is twisting her neck, pulling, tearing, ripping, until her head is torn free. He throws the body aside, as garbage. He holds Vic's head softly, with care. His eyes are soft, his face is kind. "I'm sorry, you know. I really can't help it. It's just who I am." The smirk is too knowing.

Their Jester sets Victor Winthrop's head down on the hilltop, under the heavy shade of a great old tree, the place of their first battle, so long ago, under a smaller, younger tree. Vic's eyes are turned toward the city, his city.

"It's your turn to be free." Their Jester leaves, into that city, to set it to chaos.

Over the days, barely healing from such destruction, he watches equivalent destruction tear his city apart. Buildings explode, their adjoining neighborhoods burn, and bands of people rage and riot through the streets, all set free. Winthrop's legacy is dead. He was ruined.

Later still Vic laughs, tears falling from wide, wild eyes. Head now astride a new body. Walking toward the city, they stride comfortably, casually, laughing with real happiness. Somewhere, deep in the city, a booming chuckle replies. Vic follows after TJ, as Vic will always do.

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rickwayneauthor · 6 years ago

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Durance replaced Hugo with a Yorkshire man named Baxter, who got Lucille pregnant. He was powerful and brutish, and she had hopes of arousing Durance’s jealousy. It seems she and Durance had been sleeping together at one time, which I had guessed. I didn’t care in the least. I liked my Frenchman well enough—he was an excellent lover and taught me most of what I know of the art of pleasure—but I was not any more faithful to him than he was to me. But Lucille was convinced we had secretly married and that we were planning to ditch the lot of them and disappear with a horde of cash, which she was sure Durance had failed to share. For that reason as well, she needed Baxter to be her ally in the coming confrontation. But fortune didn’t favor her. When he discovered she was with child, the brutish Baxter beat her severely, as if she’d done it on purpose, and we never saw her again.

Around the same time, on the pretense of expanding our crew, Durance and I began to haunt the city’s numerous opium dens, which were then everywhere in London. Mothers would rub their babies’ lips with it to quiet them. It is sheer irony of fate that we succumbed to the stuff, imported from the orient by the very industrial class we had made a career of robbing. For me, the languor of the poppy was the perfect salve to the anomie of years, and my habit, more than Durance’s, became a serious liability. It not only drained the cash he and I had saved during our years in Paris, it also began to take its toll on my physical appearance. I looked poor and sickly, every bit the sham I truly was, until finally I was refused help by a gentleman, who pretended not to see Baxter assaulting me during our usual charade. Only then it wasn’t a charade. Alone with Baxter in the bushes, I dared the man to rape me for real, suggesting by my tone that perhaps he wasn’t virile enough. I think the idea was to arouse a fight between him and Durance on the hopes of claiming the winner. But honestly, the drug had perverted my mind so greatly that I do not waste time seeking a rational explanation where none is to be found.

Durance, watching from afar, did nothing as Baxter stuck his sausage fingers under my pantaloons. By the time I realized he wasn’t going to intercede, I was barely able to get Baxter off. I used the pin of a brooch to gouge his face repeatedly. Strung-out and afraid and looking to blame anyone but myself, I demanded Durance kill the Englishman for the offense. When he smartly refused a fight that might have killed him, looking at me all the while as if he didn’t know me, or didn’t want to, I called him a coward, questioned his manhood—literally and figuratively—and left.

I awoke later to find I had been taken from the opium den to which I’d retreated and was tied to a chair in the bare A-frame attic of some old house in Whitechapel. My only companion was the blue man, still in his long, high-collared revolutionary coat. I told him in a babbling stream that I was immortal and that killing me would do no good. I told him also that Durance didn’t care for me at all and so I was useless as bait. In one rambling tirade without pause or punctuation, I explained the entire circumstance of our parting, right down to the brooch. But the stranger simply smiled, as if amused, and never spoke.

To my surprise, he knew Durance better than me, for he did come for me despite the obvious trap. Whether it was simply his advancing years and subsequent fear of being alone—by then, it wasn’t quite as easy for him to charm the young ladies as it once had been—or whether he had developed true feelings for me, I couldn’t say, but the blue man knew him well and had taken exactly the thing he most prized. I was stunned, but not nearly as much as when the blue man revealed himself. For he was also Durance. He removed his coat and hat and I saw it was the same man. Not a twin. Not a doppelganger. It was the very same man with whom I had been intimate for years. How or why, I never knew. I knew only that he intended to kill the other version of himself. I watched, gagged and bound to a chair, as the two men argued in a language similar to French, an old mountain dialect perhaps. Argument turned to aggression and so began a breathless struggle at the end of which I knew one of them was sure to die. No sound rose into the attic from the street, and in the quiet, I heard every panicked shuffle of their shoes, every grunt through held breath, every drop of sweat that darkened the wood under their feet—until suddenly it was done. There was no preface to it. No warning. With movement no different than what had preceded it, a blade found its target, and Durance—my Durance—was dead. His blood spread out, thick and red, over the floor before disappearing into the space between the boards.

The blue man left me there. He took his coat and walked out. He was haggard from the kill but at the same time seemed ten stone lighter. I never knew what accident of science or magic had split them. I never knew why Durance Reynard L'Argentière fled his home, nor why he also spent his entire life chasing himself, intent on revenge. But I had a clue. I noticed that the blue man wore a wedding ring on his finger. He looked down at it as he left, as if that ring alone could bear witness to the significance of the killing that had just taken place.

I starved to death in that attic. I screamed for help for hours through my gag until my throat was hoarse and my every swallow stung. I went unconscious and died and rose on the third day, still tied to the chair. Durance’s body had begun to rot. Shivering from withdrawals, I threw up, and the milky vomitus seeped from my gag and covered my chest. Somehow it still tasted of opium. Flies followed the stench to the body. They buzzed in the room. They landed on the vomit. On my face. In my hair. I screamed for help. My skin began to feel like it was crawling with creepy, slimy things. Wriggling maggots ate out Durance’s eyes and I screamed more. I watched them become flies that danced around the room. I talked to them and imagined myself their queen. I died again, came back, and died a third time. And each time I rose, the corpse looked more and more like a ghoul. It stared at me, hollow, with a lopsided grin. Hours and hours and hours turned to days and days and days and I died a fourth time. And then a fifth. I began to earnestly believe the body would rise. I swear I saw it move. It was getting ready, I was certain, and very soon it would struggle to its feet and hobble over to me, mouth agape. I was not the queen of the flies, but it was true that they loved me, for I was their offering to the god that had birthed them, and he was to eat me. I imagined him starting with my feet. With my toes. Or perhaps he would bite into my head like an apple. In some of my visions, he raped me first with a rotting member.

Some part of me knew I was going insane and was all the happier—it would’ve made things easier. I suppose that’s the point of madness. I would’ve surely finished the job, too, if not for Anya. She appeared to me in that attic, just as she had before. She looked so sad. Even now, in my memory, it seems as if she came for just a moment, but honestly, my mind was so far afield that time then seemed less like a river than a boatman’s knot, endlessly twisting. She could’ve been standing there for days, holding my rapt attention. All I know is that finally I blinked and she was gone. In her place, a pair of young urchins slipped cautiously around the corpse to untie me. I was aware then just how emaciated I was, for my dress—the one I had chosen to accentuate the curves of my body—hung loose from my shoulders. I had lost most of my hair as well. My scalp looked like the base of a half-finished wig. When I finally saw my own reflection, I realized I was as much the ghoul as Durance. My skin hugged my skeleton. My pelvis and knee bones protruded. My eyes had sunk. I was too weak even to stand.

After I had recovered enough to walk with the help of a cane, the police gave me a choice: go to prison or be deported, which is how I found myself sailing to India. It seems that I had finally caught the attention of the lords of magic.

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