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mollymauk-teafleak · 4 years ago

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The Problem with Magic Markers

Soooo Critical Role campaign 2 just ended, I've got major brain rot over it and my wonderful gf gave me a wonderful idea for a fic so! This happened! A gift to @spiky-lesbian who came up with this adorable concept and is just generally an all round wonderful person who deserves the world. Also huge thanks to my ever patient, ever helpful beta reader @minky-for-short

If you liked it too, please reblog and leave a comment over on Ao3!

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Mollymauk is so proud of Caleb in so many ways and, now they have their lovely lives with their wonderful children, he finds more reasons to be every day.

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Mollymauk Tealeaf had learned many things since he’d become a parent, now five years ago. A short amount of time, he’d used to think, but plenty of time to obtain a lot of knowledge you never thought you were ever going to need in your life.

Like how sandwiches cut into triangles were disgusting but sandwiches cut into squares could be eaten by the hundreds. Like how to make a bath appealing to a toddler with the liberal addition of bubble bath and a willingness to get absolutely soaked playing Sharks with them. Like how a scraped knee and bumped forehead could be cured with his cuddles and kisses alone, like how a promise from him that everything was going to be okay was enough to make it so.

And how silence was very, very worrying.

So when Mollymauk walked past his son and daughter’s room and heard only silence, when he knew for a fact they were in there, he stopped dead. He put any thoughts of getting to go and spend some time with his sewing kit out of his mind. Because he’d been a parent long enough to know that something was up, two five year olds weren’t that silent unless some game was afoot, something they didn’t want their parents to know about. Which meant he should probably at least poke his nose in.

So he knocked lightly on their door, the one covered in whichever drawings they were most proud of that week and a hand painted sign Jester had made for them the day they were born, prettily proclaiming ‘Trinket and Una’s Room!’ amongst a flock of miniature unicorns.

“Sweetlings?” he called gently, “Mind if I come in?”

There was a sudden scrabbling from behind the door and he heard a muffled grunt from Una before Trinket answered hurriedly, “Um...yes! Okay daddy!”

Raising a curious eyebrow, Molly pushed the door back, disturbing the usual scattering of toys left on the floor like the aftermath of a felt based battle. Although it did seem like there was more mess than usual…

Trinket stood in the middle of the room between their two little beds, his backpack at his feet and an expression of perfect innocence on his face that was just a little too polished to be anything but an act. Molly had to admit he’d probably learned that from him.

“Well hello there, little man,” he leaned in the doorway, smiling crookedly, “What game are we playing today?”

Trinket shuffled his feet, “Um...packing?”

“That sounds like a fun game,” Molly’s gentle concern upgraded to full blown wariness, “And where’s your sister?”

Trinket turned a deeper shade of purple, looking down at his fidgety feet that were poking more holes in his innocence by the second, “Um...she...um…”

Which was the point Una helpfully chose to poke her little head out of the backpack, dark eyes blinking curiously and ears flapping, trilling, “Here daddy!”

Trinket flushed guiltily, frowning at her, “Una! I said you had to stay shh!”

Molly took a breath, wandering over to sit down on Trinket’s bed. As his eyes swept around the room, he noted a great deal more chaos in the room. Almost like someone had been going through the toy box and the drawers and bookshelves, hurriedly pulling things out, making quick decisions about what to abandon and what to stuff into a little blue, dinosaur patterned backpack. Molly supposed he should at least be grateful that Trinket saw his sister as worth taking.

“Why don’t you talk to me, babies?” he offered gently.

Trinket swallowed, eyes darting around nervously before the last of the fight went out of his narrow little shoulders and he mumbled, “Daddy...can I tell you a secret?”

Molly had to smile. This was almost a running joke between the three of them, his kids running up excitedly to tell him they had a secret for him before whispering into his ear about some apparently very cool bug they’d seen or that Uncle Caddy had snuck them an extra cookie or that he was the best daddy ever. He loved being brought into their world where everything was brighter and more exciting and there was fun to be found in the smallest things. And where everything was felt so much more keenly.

“Of course you can, sweetling,” he murmured gently, patting the bed beside him, “You can always tell me secrets. Whatever it is, I promise we can make it better together.”

As Una rolled out of the backpack, apparently unconcerned and rather enjoying herself, Trinket clambered up beside him and stood so he could whisper into his ear. Molly tucked his purple curls behind one ear, smiling encouragingly.

Voice already trembling, Trinket leaned in and murmured, “I messed up Papa’s coat.”

Molly absorbed that in silence, feeling his son’s anxious red eyes on him. He leaned back, keeping his face carefully neutral before taking a long, deep breath through his nose, marshalling his thoughts.

“Trinket, I’m not going to lie to you here. We might be in trouble.”

His opinion didn’t change when he actually saw the coat. The coat his husband had been wearing as long as he’d known him and refused to be regularly seen without, no matter how many attempts Molly had made to buy him a newer, less ragged, less musty smelling version. It was more a comfort blanket than just clothing, stained and scorched from numerous spells and spills, old leather worn shiny from overuse. He hadn’t said so in so many words but it didn’t take a genius to guess that Caleb had worn it since before he came to the city. Which meant it had probably come from his parents. And though it was old and faded and stained today, it must have been new when he got it, a costly garment for people like the Ermendruds. The sort of gift that would only be given if your only son was leaving home to join the Academy and wanted to show him how proud you were.

A lot of Caleb’s life was like that. Even as his husband, Molly found himself having to piece things together from passing comments and turns of phrase, things that dulled his love’s eyes and tightened his jaw. Molly had about a quilt and a half’s worth of assumptions and semi-finished anecdotes by this point, telling of a sad and fractured timeline.

But he knew enough to see what the coat meant to Caleb and the place it held in his husband’s black and white, yes or no, yours and mine way of thinking.

The coat that now had a minor gallery’s worth of doodles and drawings scribbled in magic marker across the sleeves and all the way down the back. And if he wasn’t comfortable with Molly washing the thing, he wasn’t going to be okay with this.

Trinket had been fretfully watching his daddy since he’d first pulled the coat out from where he’d guiltily stashed it under his bed. As Molly’s mutely horrified silence dragged on, he only became more and more anguished until he was barely in tears, wringing his tail between his pudgy fists.

“I only wanted to make it pretty,” he whimpered, “Papa will hate me. I won’t be his special boy any more.”

Molly looked up at him, reaching out and putting his hand on Trinket’s shoulder, “Oh sweetling, your papa loves you a lot, you know this isn’t going to change that.”

But he couldn’t stop thinking about the times he’d picked up a pen from Caleb’s desk without thinking much of it, doodling with it until he’d looked up to see his husband gaping at him in scandalised horror. Or the times he’d stolen sips from Caleb’s drink when they were at the cafe, the same way he’d do to any of his friends, but Caleb would frown if he caught him, unable to understand why Molly was taking his coffee?

It was just part of the way his brain functioned, the rules it spat out after absorbing years of poverty and trauma, along with some different wiring that had simply occurred naturally. Mollymauk had learned a long time ago how to fondly work with these Caleb-isms, making concessions where it was best to and encouraging his wizard to gentle the restrictions his brain built when he needed to. It was like tending some kind of creeping vine in a garden, the way he saw it. Sometimes things needed moving aside so it could flourish and sometimes it needed pruning so it didn’t strangle the flowers around it. Caleb had been as brave as Mollymauk could have wished in managing his idiosyncrasies and sometimes he just had to sit back and admire how different the Caleb he lived with today was from the anxious, mumbling wizard he’d first met.

But how much patience he’d be able to muster when it was one of his favourite things in the world, Molly couldn’t say. But he wasn’t looking forward to telling him about it.

“Should I go?” Trinket’s lower lip wobbled, glancing back at his half packed bag, which Una was back inside, the front half this time as she munched away on some snack he must have stashed in there.

“Absolutely not, your papa would never want that,” Molly squeezed his shoulder gently, “We’re going to put the coat in to soak so we can get all this ink out and then we’re going to find him and I’ll tell him what’s happened. But you need to be the one who says sorry, okay?”

Trinket nodded frantically, still clinging onto his tail for comfort, “I am sorry. I’m really, really sorry.”

“I know, buddy,” Molly drew him close and hugged him tight, hating to see him so upset, “But we’ll be laughing about this before long, you’ll see.”

Maybe if he said it confidently enough, he’d start to believe it too.

Caleb wasn’t hard to find for a number of reasons. For one, their apartment was very small and there were only a handful of rooms to look in. But more importantly, it was late afternoon on a day where Caleb didn’t have any reason to go down to the Academy and fulfill his duties as an adjunct professor and when his bookshop was closed, as it was once a week. Which meant there was only one place he would be, in his half of their spare room, either playing one of his video games or reading.

Molly wasn’t quite sure what they’d do when one of their kids decided they wanted their own room and were tired of sharing, meaning Caleb would have to store his books and he’d have to store his sewing somewhere else. Or if they had another kid. He’d been toying with that idea in the back of his mind lately.

Maybe best not to float that idea with Caleb right after this.

Mollymauk could feel Trinket in his arms, his offer to pick him up and carry him having been immediately, breathlessly accepted. He could sense him getting more tense, more anxious, growing heavier against him as Molly knocked lightly on the door.

“Ja, come in,” Caleb’s response was immediate, not even needing to ask who it was or having to pause over whether he wanted to see them.

When Molly went in, Caleb was in the old, ratty wingback chair they’d liberated from some sidewalk when they’d first moved in, Molly announcing teasingly that a future professor needed some grand leather throne from which to smoke a pipe and pontificate. Caleb had blushed and rolled his eyes, not even believing back then that one day he would get the job he’d always dreamed of having, thinking trauma and past hurts had stolen it from him.

So now Molly always got a small flush of pride when he saw his Caleb sitting in that chair.

His hair was getting a little longer these days, it’s auburn tangles pulled into a small knot at the crown of his head so it wouldn’t fall in his eyes. His beard was growing a little thicker too, more than the usual rusty shadow that dusted his jawline. Molly absolutely was not going to be complaining about any of that, he liked his husband looking a little more rough around the edges like when they’d first met.

As soon as he saw them, Molly with Trinket balanced on one hip, Caleb’s face lit up with a smile. His smiles had been rare once upon a time but now just the sight of his family was enough.

“Hello,” he set the book he’d been reading to one side, already expecting Trinket to want to sit on his lap like always, “How are my loves?”

Near Molly’s ear, Trinket whimpered mournfully and pressed his face against his daddy’s neck. It was more than an ache to listen to, Trinket idolised his papa, following him around whenever he could, listening devotedly as he explained his work even when it wandered far off the track that his little mind could understand. Molly had no doubt the attempt to brighten up his coat had been a genuine attempt to make him smile and he couldn’t imagine how much it was hurting his little boy, to think he’d upset the man he looked up to more than anyone.

Caleb’s smile dulled a little, seeing Trinket hesitate, immediately realising they weren’t here for playtime, “What’s wrong?”

Molly exhaled slowly, carefully keeping his voice calm and level, “It’s okay babe, Trinket just...did something he wants to apologise for.”

“Oh?” Caleb frowned a little, eyes still fixed on Trinket, arms still open.

Molly opened his mouth, ready to do the hard part but before he could, Trinket bolted upright and tearfully burst out, “I wanted to make your coat pretty because you always like my pictures and I thought you could take them everywhere not just in your pockets but I made a mess and I’m so sorry papa! I’m really sorry!”

For a moment both of his parents were a little stunned, not quite sure what to say as his rambles tapered off into spluttery sobs. Molly warily glanced at Caleb, looking for any change in his blank, closed off expression, any flicker of discomfort, even anger.

After a few beats, ones that felt longer than usual, Caleb only nodded, getting to his feet. Gently, he reached over and put a gentle hand on his son’s face, catching some of the tears dribbling down his cheek on his thumb.

“Little Kätzchen, it’s alright,” he murmured softly, “Please don’t cry.”

Trinket sniffled, blinking blearily, “You’re not angry? Don’t want me to go away?”

Caleb’s eyebrows shot up in alarm, “No! Oh, Trinkie, absolutely not. I’d never want that.”

“But…” Trinket’s eyes were wide, hopeful, wanting to take this relief being offered but hesitant to, “It’s your favourite thing in the whole wide world…”

Caleb chuckled quietly, his smile back with all it’s warmth as he leaned in and kissed his forehead.

“Kätzchen, you and your sister are my favourite thing in the whole wide world.”

Molly nearly yelped in panic as he felt the weight of Trinket suddenly leave his arms before realising his son had thrown himself at Caleb, locking his arms around him tightly. He didn’t doubt for a moment that his husband would catch him, only smiling fondly as he gathered Trinket close and buried his face in his hair.

“It’s all okay,” Caleb whispered against the rust red curls he’d given their son, “It’s okay, little one.”

Molly let them have their moment, letting Trinket cry the last of his tears out happily against his papa’s chest, hanging back and feeling his heart thudding warmly against his ribs. Eventually he was their beaming, bright little boy again, if a little damp, wriggling down from Caleb’s arms determinedly after one last little kiss against his papa’s cheek.

“I’m gonna make you a sorry card. The best sorry card ever,” he promised Caleb, already toddling towards the door, “It’s gonna have glitter.”

“Wow, that kid is definitely my son,” Molly observed wryly once his little lavender tail had disappeared around the corner.

“Then you can clean up the mess he’s definitely about to make,” Caleb chuckled, moving into his husband’s arms.

“Hey,” Molly kissed the crown of his head gently, “Well done. I know that must have been hard for you and...I’m really proud of you.”

He couldn’t see it but he could hear the coy smile in his voice, “Well...I meant what I said. Some coat is never going to be more important to me than my kids.”

Molly smiled knowingly, “I know baby….but you know, if you want to scream into that cushion for a little while, that’s okay too?”

There was a short pause before he felt Caleb’s shoulders drop in relief.

“Thank you, Katze…”

“Is it done yet?”

Molly had to fight a smile. He’d explained to Caleb that soaking his coat would take exactly thirty minutes, knowing his husband fixated on time easily, but still he asked every five minutes on the dot. He’d expected nothing less.

“Not just yet, babe,” he repeated, as he had all of those other times, looking up from the laundry they’d been folding so Caleb would have an excuse to hover anxiously in the laundry room, over the tub of hot soapy water and a little rubbing alcohol his coat was submerged in, “Soon though.”

Caleb gave a small grunt, poking a finger into the water curiously like it was some potion he was working over. After a moment, before Molly could turn back to folding the clothes, he frowned.

“This sleeve isn’t in the water…”

Molly’s smile turned crooked, coming over and putting a hand on Caleb’s before he could move the one sleeve into the tub, “I thought maybe you’d want to look at it...decide if you want to keep that one.”

Caleb blinked, not understanding until he turned it a little and saw the drawing his Trinket had chosen to adorn the sleeve with. It was done in bright red, standing clearly against the dark fabric, unmistakable a child’s drawing. There were four figures there, two taller and two smaller. The first had a set of horns drawn a little too large for it’s head, as well as a tail. The second had a long scarf and a scrawled head of shoulder length hair. The next was much smaller, with another set of horns and a tail but the same scribbled hair. And the last was tiny, with voluminous ears and spikes on the end of it’s fingers. All of them had immense smiles and held hands, a lopsided love heart hovering above them.

As the other scribbles and swirls turned into formless ink in the water, Caleb held this one like it was the most precious thing he’d ever seen in his life.

“Yeah,” he murmured, smiling softly, “I think this one can stay.”

#critical role #modern au #caleb widogast #mollymauk tealeaf #widomauk #una #trinket #please reblog and comment!

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sunsetsintandem · 4 years ago

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TUA Thanksgiving Headcanons (Domestic Hargreeves #1)

It's their first Thanksgiving back home as a family. No apocalypses, screwed up timelines or assassins behind their backs + 1 ex-dead brother and the girl whose mother threatened to kill them all. Overall, could be worse.

It gets better instead.

For instance, Patrick had suggested they spend Thanksgiving together, and Allison had jumped at the opportunity to have Claire meet her uncles and aunts.

It would figure, though, that between 8 emotionally stunted adults raised by morally incompetent parents, only one of them knew about the holiday.

Knew, loosely, because Allison had mostly follow her in-laws instructions and her Hollywood friends' advices. So really, they were all at a disadvantage.

But hey, that's what Google's for.

They set everything up a week before Thanksgiving.

Diego still ends up forgetting the turkey, and he and Luther stumble their way through 8 different stores the morning of.

"Can't we just replace it with a chicken? I don't think we've ever had turkey. "

Klaus is surprisingly capable in the kitchen.

"Are those pies? Since when can you bake?"

Bakers and chefs are good with their hands (which wasn't suppose to be dirty, goodness, Allison, get your head out of the gutter) although, for some reason, they always tried to Hansel and Gretel-ed him (it's because you are built like a twig, Klaus; you activate my fight or flight response).

Allison and Klaus aren't too worried about Ben and Lila helping out.

Until Allison catches them measuring an obscene amount of sugar, and she is violently reminded that Ben has a sweet tooth, and the ex-Sparrow version of him was not different on that regard.

Vanya, maker of peanut butter and marshmallow sandwiches, is appalled.

Five does not cackled at watching two physical adults wallow in self-pity at the dinner table.

He also doesn't offer any help, but he still taste tests Allison's dishes, and blinks to the supermarket for whatever forgotten ingredient Vanya had asked to retrieve.

And then, he finds Diego and Luther wrestling an older woman for the last turkey. He records the whole thing.

When he returns, breath hitched and face pulled, his siblings are easily worried.

He shows them the video.

Suffice to say they end up having a 45 minute impromptu break. They don't tell 1&2 of their new development.

Vanya's mostly relegated to more "simple" dishes like mashed potatoes and roasting veggies, not that she's complaining, specially after the monster thing Diego and Luther brought back home (That doesn't even look like a bird!)

Allison lets Lila cut the "turkey" for fun.

"Ally, I love you, but have you considered replacing that thing with... I don't know... tofu?"

"At this point, I might."

Klaus teaches Ben how to make stuffing. It takes them three tries to get it right, none of them speak about the first two attempts.

Five saves those dishes because they are still good, and they can't be worse than an expired Twinkie (He hopes).

Somehow, by the time the bell rings, they are all done.

Claire barrels in, straight into Luther's arms. "Spaceboy! Spaceboy!" If he tears up, yes, he did.

Claire loves Luther from the getaway, even if he is a little awkward. She immediately asks him about space and the moon, and throws in some things she learned in school.

Patrick is understandably worried about what's going to happen in the next 3 days (A whole weekend! They are staying a whole weekend!) which in turn makes Allison anxious.

It doesn't get better once Klaus steers Patrick away from them. She is half-tempted to follow, but then Claire tugs at her sleeve.

Lila and Claire get unsurprisingly well. Lila braids her hair, teaches her some cool moves, none of which involves a lethal weapon. Allison is grateful.

When the family makes their way back to the kitchen, she isn't expecting Klaus and Patrick cracking up like a pair of madmen.

There's no alcohol in the table, not even on the sink.

"I guess this is something we can be grateful for."

"Vanya, I think our brother broke my ex."

They stuffed themselves full. Ben had claimed an entire pumpkin pie by himself, and Vanya, sweet little Vanya, had almost fought him for it.

10 minutes after Luther had taken the first bite of the turkey, the rest of them eventually picked some up (He never thought one day he would be relegated to meal taster, but there they were).

Diego had attempted to cut mashed potatoes with his knives because he missed them.

Unthinkingly, they had left an open space for Pogo and Mom, as if they were both coming down at any given point.

They have a sleep over, Diego, Ben and Five building the world's biggest blanket fort for all of them.

And even though there's plenty of space left, they cuddle next to each other, pointy limbs and tickling hair. Ben settles down with a book, reading it loudly for Claire, Diego pressed at his side, and Lila draped over both of them.

Generally speaking, Five doesn't like to be touched, but if he curls up at Klaus' side because his brother has vivid nightmares and Five is the lightest sleeper of them, no one has to point it out (maybe it's just because he's feeling soft, and Klaus is the less likely to question him about any sort of physical manifestation of affection Five is willing to throw out).

Luther can't reach all of them, but he tries. He ends up just hugging Vanya and Allison, though.

It's good enough.

For their first Thanksgiving back, Allison thinks it's a success.

#the umbrella academy #klaus hargreeves #allison hargreeves #diego hargreeves #ben hargreeves #vanya hargreeves #luther hargreeves #five hargreeves #claire #tua claire #theumbrellaacademy #klaus and ben #tua patrick #headcanon #thanksgiving #domestic hargreeves #hargreeves siblings #team zero

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jack-is-lost · 4 years ago

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Warning: this is David x Michael pairing. Expect the vampire gayness. Had a random story idea, and I'm not entirely sure if it has been done or not. If so someone link me cause I want to read it! Even if it isn’t e x a c t l y the same premise but somewhat close.

Anyway, a mid-twenty female character from our world (where TLB is a movie), wakes up one day in the TLB universe reincarnated as Michael Emerson. I'm talking right from the baby stage. Of course, going by some logic here, they don’t know much of anything clearly till probably around the age of six. Up till then the original female character is somewhat aware that they are a boy and that’s about it. Which, that alone takes some getting used to. Once reaching the age where they are past the fuzzy toddler brain stage is when they put two and two together. Especially when they realize their baby brother is Sam, and that their last name is Emerson. Sure, it could all be a coincidence, but the older they get the more ‘this’ version of Michael is just trying to fool himself.

Now, with a complete understanding what world they live in — that vampires do exist and probably other supernatural creatures do too, Michael starts to learn more about lore and such from a kid age. Constantly reading books and watching horror movies. Treating it pretty similar to the Frog Bros but less obsessively preparing for a battle, and more wanting knowledge for protection and understanding. Their old life also helping with that. This Michael knows that if things keep going the way they are, he will eventually end up in Santa Carla. And with his dad picking up the habit of drinking more and losing jobs, it really seems like it will. The day comes, the divorce happens, and Michael internally prepares himself to walk right into vampire territory. The old life within him, the lady who had probably died too young and magically teleported into a different alternate world/timeline, is entirely too aware of how things are unfolding. At first it feels like a 3D experience of the movie — life like, too surreal, and straight from the perspective of Michael. Except they have been living his life, their new life, since day one now. This is their life and their choices. Michael ignores Star the night his brother drags him off to the concert. It isn’t because she’s not pretty. Especially when the light of a bonfire nearby danced upon her feminine frame. A part of him just wants to ignore that moment, the potential building connection between such characters. The other part just doesn’t.. exactly have the sudden desire to trail after her swishing broom skirt. It might be because he isn’t the ‘original’ Michael anyway. Or it might be his old life inside his brain that doesn’t have that sexual attraction to her. Still, he knows his mother will catch the eye of a certain nerdy-looking old vampire if he didn’t intervene. So he drags his brother off to the VHS rental store. Only to be a couple minutes too late and walking into a room full of vampires and unexpected customers. Michael reached for his mother’s arm, to gain her attention and maybe coax her to leave early without seeming to weird and suspicious. Yet, at the same time, bright cool eyes lock onto his and something within Michael’s gut flares. It turns and sinks and thrashes like a beast trying to claw its way out. Maybe it is fear, awareness of what everyone in this small movie store is, but Michael can’t look away. Just as Max can’t look away from Lucy, David’s gaze tares into him. It isn’t Star that leads him on with soft words and equally gentle dark eyes. Quite the opposite. The movie would diverge from this point on, lasting longer than a weeks time frame. It is David that seems to coax him further into the fray, a genuine interest in him joining the fun. At least it would seem that way but Michael knows it has to do with Lucy — with Max’s orders. That is why he declined the bottle at first, playing it off as a complete disinterest in ‘wine’. So David had to try a different way, a more blatant way. Of course, it doesn’t come up again, surprising Michael the longer their fun goes on, until a noticeable connection between David and him. It is obvious there is chemistry going on. Michael blushing when David swings his arm across his shoulders, pulling him in closer to his side, is a dead give away. Eventually shit goes down hill when somehow Sam turns into a half-vamp, and there is legit fear Lucy might be tricked by Max soon. Michael tries to help Sam, roles almost entirely reversing in this scenario. He ends up protecting him from the Frog Bro’s who catch on a little too quick to his little brothers change. The Lost Boys are not too far behind on helping too, surprised Max did some of the dirty work. It was unusual for their Sire to do something and not just delegate. In the end, Michael takes blood directly from David, avoiding being sired by Max — breaking the power the older vampire would have hold of him, so he can beat the dudes ass without issue! Rest assured, at this point, the end of the movie never truly happens. Not exactly, anyway. Instead a whole battle at Max’s place ensues instead, causing enough damage the place is on fire at the end. It was necessary, like a card up a sleeve, for Michael to be free from Max’s power. The old vampires words causing all the lost boys to freeze when they attempted to attack, and Michael being the final blow to him. Star, Laddie, and Sam become all human again. Which equals out to a pretty happy ending, and of course Lucy becomes aware of things in the midst of all this. Especially with Sam’s odd behavior. The last one still half is Michael and he can’t turn back without killing David, and at this point he doesn’t want to kill the vampire. Their bond is too strong, their growing love well established. It is without some issues, but Michael decides to fight against fully changing for as long as possible. Eventually he cannot and thus he takes the final plunge to internal darkness. His family still loves him and understand Michael’s choice. Overall it is a pretty happy ending with a side dish of angst. Through out the final chapters, Michael entirely forgets he was once a woman in another life. That past life almost a foggy, distant dream at this point. He is Michael Emerson and as David pulls him into a bloody heated kiss, it feels like he was born for this. Now, who wants to help flesh this story out??? =D

#my writing #random story idea #the lost boys #david x michael

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holyhellpod · 4 years ago

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Holy Hell: 3. Metanarrativity: Who’s the Deleuze and who’s the Guattari in your relationship? aka the analysis no one asked for.

In this ep, we delve into authorship, narrative, fandom and narrative meaning. And somehow, as always, bring it back to Cas and Misha Collins.

(Note: the reason I didn’t talk about Billie’s authorship and library is because I completely forgot it existed until I watched season 13 “Advanced Thanatology” again, while waiting for this episode to upload. I’ll find a way to work her into later episodes tho!)

I had to upload it as a new podcast to Spotify so if you could just re-subscribe that would be great! Or listen to it at these other links.

Please listen to the bit at the beginning about monetisation and if you have any questions don’t hesitate to message me here.

Apple | Spotify | Google

Transcript under the cut!

Warnings: discussions of incest, date rape, rpf, war, 9/11, the bush administration, abuse, mental health, addiction, homelessness. Most of these are just one off comments, they’re not full discussions.

Meta-Textuality: Who’s the Deleuze and who’s the Guattari in your relationship?

In the third episode of Season 6, “The Third Man,” Balthazar says to Cas, “you tore up the whole script and burned the pages.” That is the fundamental idea the writers of the first five seasons were trying to sell us: whatever grand plan the biblical God had cooking up is worth nothing in face of the love these men have—for each other and the world. Sam, Bobby, Cas and Dean will go to any lengths to protect one another and keep people safe. What’s real? What’s worth saving? People are real. Families are worth saving.

This show plugs free will as the most important thing a person, angel, demon or otherwise can have. The fact of the matter is that Dean was always going to fight against the status quo, Sam was always going to go his own way, and Bobby was always going to do his best for his boys. The only uncertainty in the entire narrative is Cas. He was never meant to rebel. He was never meant to fall from Heaven. He was supposed to fall in line, be a good soldier, and help bring on the apocalypse, but Cas was the first agent of free will in the show’s timeline. Sam followed Lucifer, Dean followed Michael, and John gave himself up for the sins of his children, at once both a God and Jesus figure. But Cas wasn’t modelled off anyone else. He is original. There are definitely some parallels to Ruby, but I would argue those are largely unintentional. Cas broke the mold.

That’s to say nothing of the impact he’s had on the fanbase, and the show itself, which would not have reached 15 seasons and be able to end the way they wanted it to without Cas and Misha Collins. His back must be breaking from carrying the entire show.

But what the holy hell are we doing here today? Not just talking about Cas. We’re talking about metanarrativity: as I define it, and for purposes of this episode, the story within a story, and the act of storytelling. We’re going to go through a select few episodes which I think exemplify the best of what this show has to offer in terms of framing the narrative. We’ll talk about characters like Chuck and Becky and the baby dykes in season 10. And most importantly we’ll talk about the audience’s role, our role, in the reciprocal relationship of storytelling. After all, a tv show is nothing without the viewer.

I was in fact introduced to the concept of metanarrativity by Supernatural, so the fact that I’m revisiting it six years after I finished my degree to talk about the show is one of life’s little jokes.

I’m brushing off my degree and bringing out the big guns (aka literary theorists) to examine this concept. This will be yet another piece of analysis that would’ve gone well in my English Lit degree, but I’ll try not to make it dry as dog shit.

First off, I’m going to argue that the relationship between the creators of Supernatural and the fans has always been a dialogue, albeit with a power imbalance. Throughout the series, even before explicitly metanarrative episodes like season 10 “Fan Fiction” and season 4 “the monster at the end of this book,” the creators have always engaged in conversations with the fans through the show. This includes but is not limited to fan conventions, where the creators have actual, live conversations with the fans. Misha Collins admitted at a con that he’d read fanfiction of Cas while he was filming season 4, but it’s pretty clear even from the first season that the creators, at the very least Eric Kripke, were engaging with fans. The show aired around the same time as Twitter and Tumblr were created, both of which opened up new passageways for fans to interact with each other, and for Twitter and Facebook especially, new passageways for fans to interact with creators and celebrities.

But being the creators, they have ultimate control over what is written, filmed and aired, while we can only speculate and make our own transformative interpretations. But at least since s4, they have engaged in meta narrative construction that at once speaks to fans as well as expands the universe in fun and creative ways. My favourite episodes are the ones where we see the Winchesters through the lens of other characters, such as the season 3 episode “Jus In Bello,” in which Sam and Dean are arrested by Victor Henriksen, and the season 7 episode “Slash Fiction” in which Dean and Sam’s dopplegangers rob banks and kill a bunch of people, loathe as I am to admit that season 7 had an effect on any part of me except my upchuck reflex. My second favourite episodes are the meta episodes, and for this episode of Holy Hell, we’ll be discussing a few: The French Mistake, he Monster at the end of this book, the real ghostbusters, Fan Fiction, Metafiction, and Don’t Call Me Shurley. I’ll also discuss Becky more broadly, because, like, of course I’ll be discussing Becky, she died for our sins.

Let’s take it back. The Monster At The End Of This Book — written by Julie Siege and Nancy Weiner and directed by Mike Rohl. Inarguably one of the better episodes in the first five seasons. Not only is Cas in it, looking so beautiful, but Sam gets something to do, thank god, and it introduces the character of Chuck, who becomes a source of comic relief over the next two seasons. The episode starts with Chuck Shurley, pen named Carver Edlund after my besties, having a vision while passed out drunk. He dreams of Sam and Dean larping as Feds and finding a series of books based on their lives that Chuck has written. They eventually track Chuck down, interrogate him, and realise that he’s a prophet of the lord, tasked with writing the Winchester Gospels. The B plot is Sam plotting to kill Lilith while Dean fails to get them out of the town to escape her. The C plot is Dean and Cas having a moment that strengthens their friendship and leads further into Cas’s eventual disobedience for Dean. Like the movie Disobedience. Exactly like the movie Disobedience. Cas definitely spits in Dean’s mouth, it’s kinda gross to be honest. Maybe I’m just not allo enough to appreciate art.

When Eric Kripke was showrunner of the first five seasons of Supernatural, he conceptualised the character of Chuck. Kripke as the author-god introduced the character of the author-prophet who would later become in Jeremy Carver’s showrun seasons the biblical God. Judith May Fathallah writes in “I’m A God: The Author and the Writing Fan in Supernatural” that Kripke writes himself both into and out of the text, ending his era with Chuck winking at the camera, saying, “nothing really ends,” and disappearing. Kripke stayed on as producer, continuing to write episodes through Sera Gamble’s era, and was even inserted in text in the season 6 episode “The French Mistake”. So nothing really does end, not Kripke’s grip on the show he created, not even the show itself, which fans have jokingly referred to as continuing into its 16th season. Except we’re not joking. It will die when all of us are dead, when there is no one left to remember it. According to W R Fisher, humans are homo narrans, natural storytellers. The Supernatural fandom is telling a fidelitous narrative, one which matches our own beliefs, values and experiences instead of that of canon. Instead of, at Fathallah says, “the Greek tradition, that we should struggle to do the right thing simply because it is right, though we will suffer and be punished anyway,” the fans have created an ending for the characters that satisfies each and every one of our desires, because we each create our own endings. It’s better because we get to share them with each other, in the tradition of campfire stories, each telling our own version and building upon the others. If that’s not the epitome of mythmaking then I don’t know. It’s just great. Dean and Cas are married, Eileen and Sam are married, Jack is sometimes a baby who Claire and Kaia are forced to babysit, Jody and Donna are gonna get hitched soon. It’s season 17, time for many weddings, and Kevin Tran is alive. Kripke, you have no control over this anymore, you crusty hag.

Chuck is introduced as someone with power, but not influence over the story, only how the story is told through the medium of the novels. It’s basically a very badly written, non authorised biography, and Charlie reading literally every book and referencing things she should have no knowledge of is so damn creepy and funny. At first Chuck is surprised by his characters coming to life, despite having written it already, and when shown the intimidating array of weapons in Baby’s trunk he gets real scared. Which is the appropriate response for a skinny 5-foot-8 white guy in a bathrobe who writes terrible fantasy novels for a living.

As far as I can remember, this is the first explicitly metanarrative episode in the series, or at least the first one with in world consequences. It builds upon the lore of Christianity, angels, and God, while teasing what’s to come. Chuck and Sam have a conversation about how the rest of the season is going to play out, and Sam comes away with the impression that he’ll go down with the ship. They touch on Sam’s addiction to demon blood, which Chuck admits he didn’t write into the books, because in the world of supernatural, addiction should be demonised ha ha at every opportunity, except for Dean’s alcoholism which is cool and manly and should never be analysed as an unhealthy trauma coping mechanism.

Chuck is mostly impotent in the story of Sam and Dean, but his very presence presents an element of good luck that turns quickly into a force of antagonism in the series four finale, “Lucifer Rising”, when the archangel Raphael who defeats Lilith in this episode also kills Cas in the finale. It’s Cas’s quick thinking and Dean’s quick doing that resolve the episode and save them from Lilith, once again proving that free will is the greatest force in the universe. Cas is already tearing up pages and burning scripts. The fandom does the same, acting as gods of their own making in taking canon and transforming it into fan art. The fans aren’t impotent like Chuck, but neither do we have sway over the story in the way that Cas and Dean do. Sam isn’t interested in changing the story in the same way—he wants to kill Lilith and save the world, but in doing so continues the story in the way it was always supposed to go, the way the angels and the demons and even God wanted him to.

Neither of them are author-gods in the way that God is. We find out later that Chuck is in fact the real biblical god, and he engineers everything. The one thing he doesn’t engineer, however, is Castiel, and I’ll get to that in a minute.

The Real Ghostbusters

Season 5’s “The real ghostbusters,” written by Nancy Weiner and Erik Kripke, and directed by James L Conway, situates the Winchesters at a fan convention for the Supernatural books. While there, they are confronted by a slew of fans cosplaying as Sam, Dean, Bobby, the scarecrow, Azazel, and more. They happen to stumble upon a case, in the midst of the game where the fans pretend to be on a case, and with the help of two fans cosplaying as Sam and Dean, they put to rest a group of homicidal ghost children and save the day. Chuck as the special guest of the con has a hero moment that spurs Becky on to return his affections. And at the end, we learn that the Colt, which they’ve been hunting down to kill the devil, was given to a demon named Crowley. It’s a fun episode, but ultimately skippable. This episode isn’t so much metanarrative as it is metatextual—metatextual meaning more than one layer of text but not necessarily about the storytelling in those texts—but let’s take a look at it anyway.

The metanarrative element of a show about a series of books about the brothers the show is based on is dope and expands upon what we saw in “the monster at the end of this book”. But the episode tells a tale about about the show itself, and the fandom that surrounds it.

Where “The Monster At The End Of This Book” and the season 5 premiere “Sympathy For The Devil” poked at the coiled snake of fans and the concept of fandom, “the real ghostbusters” drags them into the harsh light of an enclosure and antagonises them in front of an audience. The metanarrative element revolves around not only the books themselves, but the stories concocted within the episode: namely Barnes and Demian the cosplayers and the story of the ghosts. The Winchester brothers’s history that we’ve seen throughout the first five seasons of the show is bared in a tongue in cheek way: while we cried with them when Sam and Dean fought with John, now the story is thrown out in such a way as to mock both the story and the fans’ relationship to it. Let me tell you, there is a lot to be made fun of on this show, but the fans’ relationship to the story of Sam, Dean and everyone they encounter along the way isn’t part of it. I don’t mean to be like, wow you can’t make fun of us ever because we’re special little snowflakes and we take everything so seriously, because you are welcome to make fun of us, but when the creators do it, I can’t help but notice a hint of malice. And I think that’s understandable in a way. Like The relationship between creator and fan is both layered and symbiotic. While Kripke and co no doubt owe the show’s popularity to the fans, especially as the fandom has grown and evolved over time, we’re not exactly free of sin. And don’t get me wrong, no fandom is. But the bad apples always seem to outweigh the good ones, and bad experiences can stick with us long past their due.

However, portraying us as losers with no lives who get too obsessed with this show — well, you know, actually, maybe they’re right. I am a loser with no life and I am too obsessed with this show. So maybe they have a point. But they’re so harsh about it. From wincestie Becky who they paint as a desperate shrew to these cosplayers who threaten Dean’s very perception of himself, we’re not painted in a very good light.

Dean says to Demian and Barnes, “It must be nice to get out of your mom’s basement.” He’s judging them for deriving pleasure from dressing up and pretending to be someone else for a night. He doesn’t seem to get the irony that he does that for a living. As the seasons wore on, the creators made sure to include episodes where Dean’s inner geek could run rampant, often in the form of dressing up like a cowboy, such as season six “Frontierland” and season 13 “Tombstone”. I had to take a break from writing this to laugh for five minutes because Dean is so funny. He’s a car gay but he only likes one car. He doesn’t follow sports. His echolalia causes him to blurt out lines from his favourite movies. He’s a posse magnet. And he loves cosplay. But he will continually degrade and insult anyone who expresses interest in role play, fandom, or interests in general. Maybe that’s why Sam is such a boring person, because Dean as his mother didn’t allow him to have any interests outside of hunting. And when Sam does express interests, Dean insults him too. What a dick. He’s my soulmate, but I am not going to stop listening to hair metal for him. That’s where I draw the line.

Where “the monster at the end of this book” is concerned with narrative and authorship, “the real ghostbusters” is concerned with fandom and fan reactions to the show. It’s not really the best example to talk about in an episode about metanarrativity, but I wanted to include it anyway. It veers from talk of narrative by focusing on the people in the periphery of the narrative—the fans and the author. In season 9 “Metafiction,” Metatron asks the question, who gives the story meaning? The text would have you believe it’s the characters. The angels think it’s God. The fandom think it’s us. The creators think it’s them. Perhaps we will never come to a consensus or even a satisfactory answer to this question. Perhaps that’s the point.

The ultimate takeaway from this episode is that ordinary people, the people Sam and Dean save, the people they save the world for, the people they die for again and again, are what give their story meaning. Chuck defeats a ghost and saves the people in the conference room from being murdered. Demian and Barnes, don’t ask me which is which, burn the bodies of the ghost children and lay their spirits to rest. The text says that ordinary, every day people can rise to the challenge of becoming extraordinary. It’s not a bad note to end on, by any means. And then we find out that Demian and Barnes are a couple, which of course Dean is surprised at, because he lacks object permanence.

This is no doubt influenced by how a good portion of the transformative fandom are queer, and also a nod to the wincesties and RPF writers like Becky who continue to bottom feed off the wrong message of this show. But then, the creators encourage that sort of thing, so who are the real clowns here? Everyone. Everyone involved with this show in any way is a clown, except for the crew, who were able to feed their families for more than a decade.

Okay side note… over the past year or so I’ve been in process of realising that even in fandom queers are in the minority. I know the statistic is that 10% of the world population is queer, but that doesn’t seem right to me? Maybe because 4/5 closest friends are queer and I hang around queers online, but I also think I lack object permanence when it comes to straight people. Like I just do not interact with straight people on a regular basis outside of my best friend and parents and school. So when I hear that someone in fandom is straight I’m like, what the fuck… can you keep that to yourself please? Like if I saw Misha Collins coming out as straight I would be like, I didn’t ask and you didn’t have to tell. Okay I’m mostly joking, but I do forget straight people exist. Mostly I don’t think about whether people are gay or trans or cis or straight unless they’ve explicitly said it and then yes it does colour my perception of them, because of course it would. If they’re part of the queer community, they’re my people. And if they’re straight and cis, then they could very well pose a threat to me and my wellbeing. But I never ask people because it’s not my business to ask. If they feel comfortable enough to tell me, that’s awesome. I think Dean feels the same way. Towards the later seasons at least, he has a good reaction when it’s revealed that someone is queer, even if it is mostly played off as a joke. It’s just that he doesn’t have a frame of reference in his own life to having a gay relationship, either his or someone he’s close to. He says to Cesar and Jesse in season 11 “The Critters” that they fight like brothers, because that’s the only way he knows how to conceptualise it. He doesn’t have a way to categorise his and Cas’s relationship, which is in many ways, long before season 15 “Despair,” harking back even to the parallels between Ruby and Cas in season 3 and 4, a romantic one, aside from that Cas is like a brother to him. Because he’s never had anyone in his life care for him the way Cas does that wasn’t Sam and Bobby, and he doesn’t recognise the romantic element of their relationship until literally Cas says it to him in the third last episode, he just—doesn’t know what his and Cas’s relationship is. He just really doesn’t know. And he grew up with a father who despised him for taking the mom and wife role in their family, the role that John placed him in, for being subservient to John’s wishes where Sam was more rebellious, so of course he wouldn’t understand either his own desires or those of anyone around him who isn’t explicitly shoving their tits in his face. He moulded his entire personality around what he thought John wanted of him, and John says to him explicitly in season 14 “Lebanon”, “I thought you’d have a family,” meaning, like him, wife and two rugrats. And then, dear god, Dean says, thinking of Sam, Cas, Jack, Claire, and Mary, “I have a family.” God that hurts so much. But since for most of his life he hasn’t been himself, he’s been the man he thought his father wanted him to be, he’s never been able to examine his own desires, wants and goals. So even though he’s really good at reading people, he is not good at reading other people’s desires unless they have nefarious intentions. Because he doesn’t recognise what he feels is attraction to men, he doesn’t recognise that in anyone else.

Okay that’s completely off topic, wow. Getting back to metanarrativity in “The Real Ghostbusters,” I’ll just cap it off by saying that the books in this episode are more a frame for the events than the events themselves. However, there are some good outtakes where Chuck answers some questions, and I’m not sure how much of that is scripted and how much is Rob Benedict just going for it, but it lends another element to the idea of Kripke as author-god. The idea of a fan convention is really cool, because at this point Supernatural conventions had been running for about 4 years, since 2006. It’s definitely a tribute to the fans, but also to their own self importance. So it’s a mixed bag, considering there were plenty of elements in there that show the good side of fandom and fans, but ultimately the Winchesters want nothing to do with it, consider it weird, and threaten Chuck when he says he’ll start releasing books again, which as far as they know is his only source of income. But it’s a fun episode and Dean is a grouchy bitch, so who the holy hell cares?

Season 10 episode “fanfiction” written by my close personal friend Robbie Thompson and directed by Phil Sgriccia is one of the funniest episodes this show has ever done. Not only is it full of metatextual and metanarrative jokes, the entire premise revolves around fanservice, but in like a fun and interesting way, not fanservice like killing the band Kansas so that Dean can listen to “Carry On My Wayward Son” in heaven twice. Twice. One version after another. Like I would watch this musical seven times in theatre, I would buy the soundtrack, I would listen to it on repeat and make all my friends listen to it when they attend my online Jitsi birthday party. This musical is my Hamilton. Top ten episodes of this show for sure. The only way it could be better is if Cas was there. And he deserved to be there. He deserved to watch little dyke Castiel make out with her girlfriend with her cute little wings, after which he and Dean share uncomfortable eye contact. Dean himself is forever coming to terms with the fact that gay people exist, but Cas should get every opportunity he can to hear that it’s super cool and great and awesome to be queer. But really he should be in every episode, all of them, all 300 plus episodes including the ones before angels were introduced. I’m going to commission the guy who edits Paddington into every movie to superimpose Cas standing on the highway into every episode at least once.

“Fan Fiction” starts with a tv script and the words “Supernatural pilot created by Eric Kripke”. This Immediately sets up the idea that it’s toying with narrative. Blah blah blah, some people go missing, they stumble into a scene from their worst nightmares: the school is putting on a musical production of a show inspired by the Supernatural books. It’s a comedy of errors. When people continue to go missing, Sam and Dean have to convince the girls that something supernatural is happening, while retaining their dignity and respect. They reveal that they are the real Sam and Dean, and Dean gives the director Marie a summary of their lives over the last five seasons, but they aren’t taken seriously. Because, like, of course they aren’t. Even when the girls realise that something supernatural is happening, they don’t actually believe that the musical they’ve made and the series of books they’re basing it on are real. Despite how Sam and Dean Winchester were literal fugitives for many years at many different times, and this was on the news, and they were wanted by the FBI, despite how they pretend to be FBI, and no one mentions it??? Did any of the staffwriters do the required reading or just do what I used to do for my 40 plus page readings of Baudrillard and just skim the first sentence of every paragraph? Neat hack for you: paragraphs are set up in a logical order of Topic, Example, Elaboration, Linking sentence. Do you have to read 60 pages of some crusty French dude waxing poetic about how his best friend Pierre wants to shag his wife and making that your problem? Read the first and last sentence of every paragraph. Boom, done. Just cut your work in half.

The musical highlights a lot of the important moments of the show so far. The brothers have, as Charlie Bradbury says, their “broment,” and as Marie says, their “boy melodrama scene,” while she insinuates that there is a sexual element to their relationship. This show never passed up an opportunity to mention incest. It’s like: mentioning incest 5000 km, not being disgusting 1 km, what a hard decision. Actually, they do have to walk on their knees for 100 miles through the desert repenting. But there are other moments—such as Mary burning on the ceiling, a classic, Castiel waiting for Dean at the side of the highway, and Azazel poisoning Sam. With the help of the high schoolers, Sam and Dean overcome Calliope, the muse and bad guy of the episode, and save the day. What began as their lives reinterpreted and told back to them turns into a story they have some agency over.

In this episode, as opposed to “The Monster At The End Of This Book,” The storytelling has transferred from an alcoholic in a bathrobe into the hands of an overbearing and overachieving teenage girl, and honestly why not. Transformative fiction is by and large run by women, and queer women, so Marie and her stage manager slash Jody Mills’s understudy Maeve are just following in the footsteps of legends. This kind of really succinctly summarises the difference between curative fandom and transformative fandom, the former of which is populated mostly by men, and the latter mostly by women. As defined by LordByronic in 2015, Curative fandom is more like enjoying the text, collecting the merchandise, organising the knowledge — basically Reddit in terms of fandom curation. Transformative fandom is transforming the source text in some way — making fanart, fanfic, mvs, or a musical — basically Tumblr in general, and Archive of our own specifically. Like what do non fandom people even do on Tumblr? It is a complete mystery to me. Whereas Chuck literally writes himself into the narrative he receives through visions, Marie and co have agency and control over the narrative by writing it themselves.

Chuck does appear in the episode towards the end, his first appearance after five seasons. The theory that he killed those lesbian theatre girls makes me wanna curl up and die, so I don’t subscribe to it. Chuck watched the musical and he liked it and he gave unwarranted notes and then he left, the end.

The Supernatural creative team is explicitly acknowledging the fandom’s efforts by making this episode. They’re writing us in again, with more obsessive fans, but with lethbians this time, which makes it infinitely better. And instead of showing us as potential date rapists, we’re just cool chicks who like to make art. And that’s fucken awesome.

I just have to note that the characters literally say the word Destiel after Dean sees the actors playing Dean and Cas making out. He storms off and tells Sam to shut the fuck up when Sam makes fun of him, because Dean’s sexuality is NOT threatened he just needs to assert his dominance as a straight hetero man who has NEVER looked at another man’s lips and licked his own. He just… forgets that gay people exist until someone reminds him. BUT THEN, after a rousing speech that is stolen from Rent or Wicked or something, he echoes Marie’s words back, saying “put as much sub into that text as you possibly can.” What does Dean know about subbing, I wonder. Okay I’m suddenly reminded that he did literally go to a kink bar and get hit on by a leather daddy. Oh Dean, the experiences you have as a broad-shouldered, pixie-faced man with cowboy legs. You were born for this role.

Metatron is my favourite villain. As one tumblr user pointed out, he is an evil English literature major, which is just a normal English literature major. The season nine episode “Meta Fiction” written by my main man robbie thompson and directed by thomas j wright, happens within a curious season. Castiel, once again, becomes the leader of a portion of the heavenly host to take down Metatron, and Dean is affected by the Mark Of Cain. Sam was recently possessed by Gadreel, who killed Kevin in Sam’s body and then decided to run off with Metatron. Metatron himself is recruiting angels to join him, in the hopes that he can become the new God. It’s the first introduction of Hannah, who encourages Cas to recruit angels himself to take on Metatron. Also, we get to see Gabriel again, who is always a delight.

This episode is a lot of fun. Metatron poses questions like, who tells a story and who is the most important person in the telling? Is it the writer? The audience? He starts off staring over his typewriter to address the camera, like a pompous dickhead. No longer content with consuming stories, he’s started to write his own. And they are hubristic ones about becoming God, a better god than Chuck ever was, but to do it he needs to kill a bunch of people and blame it on Cas. So really, he’s actually exactly like Chuck who blamed everything on Lucifer.

But I think the most apt analogy we can use for this in terms of who is the creator is to think of Metatron as a fanfiction writer. He consumes the media—the Winchester Gospels—and starts to write his own version of events—leading an army to become God and kill Cas. Nevermind that no one has been able to kill Cas in a way that matters or a way that sticks. Which is canon, and what Metatron is trying to do is—well not fanon because it actually does impact the Winchesters’ storyline. It would be like if one of the writers of Supernatural began writing Supernatural fanfiction before they got a job on the show. Which as my generation and the generations coming after me get more comfortable with fanfiction and fandom, is going to be the case for a lot of shows. I think it’s already the case for Riverdale. Correct me if I’m wrong, but didn’t the woman who wrote the bi Dean essay go to work on Riverdale? Or something? I dunno, I have the post saved in my tumblr likes but that is quagmire of epic proportions that I will easily get lost in if I try to find it.

Okay let me flex my literary degree. As Englund and Leach say in “Ethnography and the metanarratives of modernity,” “The influential “literary turn,” in which the problems of ethnography were seen as largely textual and their solutions as lying in experimental writing seems to have lost its impetus.” This can be taken to mean, in the context of Supernatural, that while Metatron’s writings seek to forge a new path in history, forgoing fate for a new kind of divine intervention, the problem with Metatron is that he’s too caught up in the textual, too caught up in the writing, to be effectual. And this as we see throughout seasons 9, 10 and 11, has no lasting effect. Cas gets his grace back, Dean survives, and Metatron becomes a powerless human. In this case, the impetus is his grace, which he loses when Cas cuts it out of him, a mirror to Metatron cutting out Cas’s grace.

However, I realise that the concept of ethnography in Supernatural is a flawed one, ethnography being the observation of another culture: a lot of the angels observe humanity and seem to fit in. However, Cas has to slowly acclimatise to the Winchesters as they tame him, but he never quite fit in—missing cues, not understanding jokes or Dean’s personal space, the scene where he says, “We have a guinea pig? Where?” Show him the guinea pig Sam!!! He wants to see it!!! At most he passes as a human with autism. Cas doesn’t really observe humanity—he observes nature, as seen in season 7 “reading is fundamental” and “survival of the fittest”. Even the human acts he talks about in season 6 “the man who would be king” are from hundreds or thousands of years ago. He certainly doesn’t observe popular culture, which puts him at odds with Dean, who is made up of 90 per cent pop culture references and 10 per cent flannel. Metatron doesn’t seek to blend in with humanity so much as control it, which actually is the most apt example of ethnography for white people in the last—you know, forever. But of course the writers didn’t seek to make this analogy. It is purely by chance, and maybe I’m the only person insane enough to realise it. But probably not. There are a lot of cookies much smarter than me in the Supernatural fandom and they’ve like me have grown up and gone to university and gotten real jobs in the real world and real haircuts. I’m probably the only person to apply Englund and Leach to it though.

And yes, as I read this paper I did need to have one tab open on Google, with the word “define” in the search bar.

Metatron has a few lines in this that I really like. He says:

“The universe is made up of stories, not atoms.”

“You’re going to have to follow my script.”

“I’m an entity of my word.”

It’s really obvious, but they’re pushing the idea that Metatron has become an agent of authorship instead of just a consumer of media. He even throws a Supernatural book into his fire — a symbolic act of burning the script and flipping the writer off, much like Cas did to God and the angels in season 5. He’s not a Kripke figure so much as maybe a Gamble, Carver or Dabb figure, in that he usurps Chuck and becomes the author-god. This would be extremely postmodern of him if he didn’t just do exactly what Chuck was doing, except worse somehow. In fact, it’s postmodern of Cas to reject heaven’s narrative and fall for Dean. As one tumblr user points out, Cas really said “What’s fate compared to Dean Winchester?”

Okay this transcript is almost 8000 words already, and I still have two more episodes to review, and more things to say, so I’ll leave you with this. Metatron says to Cas, “Out of all of God’s wind up toys, you’re the only one with any spunk.” Why Cas has captured his attention comes down more than anything to a process of elimination. Most angels fucking suck. They follow the rules of whoever puts themselves in charge, and they either love Cas or hate him, or just plainly wanna fuck him, and there have been few angels who stood out. Balthazar was awesome, even though I hated him the first time I watched season 6. He UNSUNK the Titanic. Legend status. And Gabriel was of course the OG who loves to fuck shit up. But they’re gone at this stage in the narrative, and Cas survives. Cas always survives. He does have spunk. And everyone wants to fuck him.

Season 11 episode 20 “Don’t Call Me Shurley,” the last episode written by the Christ like figure of Robbie Thompson — are we sensing a theme here? — and directed by my divine enemy Robert Singer, starts with Metatron dumpster diving for food. I’m not even going to bother commenting on this because like… it’s supernatural and it treats complex issues like homelessness and poverty with zero nuance. Like the Winchesters live in poverty but it’s fun and cool because they always scrape by but Metatron lives in poverty and it’s funny. Cas was homeless and it was hard but he needed to do it to atone for his sins, and Metatron is homeless and it’s funny because he brought it on himself by being a murderous dick. Fucking hell. Robbie, come on. The plot focuses on God, also known as Chuck Shurley, making himself known to Metatron and asking for Metatron’s opinion on his memoir. Meanwhile, the Winchesters battle another bout of infectious serial killer fog sent by Amara. At the end of the episode, Chuck heals everyone affected by the fog and reveals himself to Sam and Dean.

Chuck says that he didn’t foresee Metatron trying to become god, but the idea of Season 15 is that Chuck has been writing the Winchesters’ story all their lives. When Metatron tries, he fails miserably, is locked up in prison, tortured by Dean, then rendered useless as a human and thrown into the world without a safety net. His authorship is reduced to nothing, and he is reduced to dumpster diving for food. He does actually attempt to live his life as someone who records tragedies as they happen and sells the footage to news stations, which is honestly hilarious and amazing and completely unsurprising because Metatron is, at the heart of it, an English Literature major. In true bastard style, he insults Chuck’s work and complains about the bar, but slips into his old role of editor when Chuck asks him to.

The theory I’m consulting for this uses the term metanarrative in a different way than I am. They consider it an overarching narrative, a grand narrative like religion. Chuck’s biography is in a sense most loyal to Middleton and Walsh’s view of metanarrative: “the universal story of the world from arche to telos, a grand narrative encompassing world history from beginning to end.” Except instead of world history, it’s God’s history, and since God is construed in Supernatural as just some guy with some powers who is as fallible as the next some guy with some powers, his story has biases and agendas. Okay so in the analysis I’m getting Middleton and Walsh’s quotes from, James K A Smith’s “A little story about metanarratives,” Smith dunks on them pretty bad, but for Supernatural purposes their words ring true. Think of them as the BuckLeming of Lyotard’s postmodern metanarrative analysis: a stopped clock right twice a day. Is anyone except me understanding the sequence of words I’m saying right now. Do I just have the most specific case of brain worms ever found in human history. I’m currently wearing my oversized Keith Haring shirt and dipping pretzels into peanut butter because it’s 3.18 in the morning and the homosexuals got to me. The total claims a comprehensive metanarrative of world history make do indeed, as Middleton and Walsh claim, lead to violence, stay with me here, because Chuck’s legacy is violence, and so is Metatron’s, and in trying to reject the metanarrative, Sam and Dean enact violence. Mostly Dean, because in season 15 he sacrifices his own son twice to defeat Chuck. But that means literally fighting violence with violence. Violence is, after all, all they know. Violence is the lens through which they interact with the world. If the writers wanted to do literally anything else, they could have continued Dean’s natural character progression into someone who eschews the violence that stems from intergeneration trauma — yes I will continue to use the phrase intergenerational trauma whenever I refer to Dean — and becomes a loving father and husband. Sam could eschew violence and start a monster rehabilitation centre with Eileen.

This episode of Holy Hell is me frantically grabbing at straws to make sense of a narrative that actively hates me and wants to kick me to death. But the violence Sam and Dean enact is not at a metanarrative level, because they are not author-gods of their own narrative. In season 15 “Atomic Monsters,” Becky points out that the ending of the Supernatural book series is bad because the brothers die, and then, in a shocking twist of fate, Dean does die, and the narrative is bad. The writers set themselves a goal post to kick through and instead just slammed their heat into the bars. They set up the dartboard and were like, let’s aim the darts at ourselves. Wouldn’t that be fun. Season 15’s writing is so grossly incompetent that I believe every single conspiracy theory that’s come out of the finale since November, because it’s so much more compelling than whatever the fuck happened on the road so far. Carry on? Why yes, I think I will carry on, carry on like a pork chop, screaming at the bars of my enclosure until I crack my voice open like an egg and spill out all my rage and frustration. The world will never know peace again. It’s now 3.29 and I’ve written over 9000 words of this transcript. And I’m not done.

Middleton and Walsh claim that metanarratives are merely social constructions masquerading as universal truths. Which is, exactly, Supernatural. The creators have constructed this elaborate web of narrative that they want to sell us as the be all and end all. They won’t let the actors discuss how they really feel about the finale. They won’t let Misha Collins talk about Destiel. They want us to believe it was good, actually, that Dean, a recovering alcoholic with a 30 year old infant son and a husband who loves him, deserved to die by getting NAILED, while Sam, who spent the last four seasons, the entirety of Andrew Dabb’s run as showrunner, excelling at creating a hunter network and romancing both the queen of hell and his deaf hunter girlfriend, should have lived a normie life with a normie faceless wife. Am I done? Not even close. I started this episode and I’m going to finish it.

When we find out that Chuck is God in the episode of season 11, it turns everything we knew about Chuck on its head. We find out in Season 15 that Chuck has been writing the Winchesters’ story all along, that everything that happened to them is his doing. The one thing he couldn’t control was Cas’s choice to rebel. If we take him at his word, Cas is the only true force of free will in the entire universe, and more specifically, the love that Cas had for Dean which caused him to rebel and fall from heaven. — This theory has holes of course. Why would Lucifer torture Lilith into becoming the first demon if he didn’t have free will? Did Chuck make him do that? And why? So that Chuck could be the hero and Lucifer the bad guy, like Lucifer claimed all along? That’s to say nothing of Adam and Eve, both characters the show introduced in different ways, one as an antagonist and the other as the narrative foil to Dean and Cas’s romance. Thinking about it makes my head hurt, so I’m just not gunna.

So Chuck was doing the writing all along. And as Becky claims in “Atomic Monsters,” it’s bad writing. The writers explicitly said, the ending Chuck wrote is bad because there’s no Cas and everyone dies, and then they wrote an ending where there is no Cas and everyone dies. So talk about self-fulfilling prophecies. Talk about giant craters in the earth you could see from 800 kilometres away but you still fell into. Meanwhile fan writers have the opportunity to write a million different endings, all of which satisfy at least one person. The fandom is a hydra, prolific and unstoppable, and we’ll keep rewriting the ending a million more times.

And all this is not even talking about the fact that Chuck is a man, Metatron is a man, Sam and Dean and Cas are men, and the writers and directors of the show are, by an overwhelming majority, men. Most of them are white, straight, cis men. Feminist scholarship has done a lot to unpack the damage done by paternalistic approaches to theory, sociology, ethnography, all the -ys, but I propose we go a step further with these men. Kill them. Metanarratively, of course. Amara, the Darkness, God’s sister, had a chance to write her own story without Chuck, after killing everything in the universe, and I think she had the right idea. Knock it all down to build it from the ground up. Billie also had the opportunity to write a narrative, but her folly was, of course, putting any kind of faith in the Winchesters who are also grossly incompetent and often fail up. She is, as all author-gods on this show are, undone by Castiel. The only one with any spunk, the only one who exists outside of his own narrative confines, the only one the author-gods don’t have any control over. The one who died for love, and in dying, gave life.

The French Mistake

Let’s change the channel. Let’s calm ourselves and cleanse our libras. Let’s commune with nature and chug some sage bongs.

“The French Mistake” is a song from the Mel Brooks film Blazing Saddles. In the iconic second last scene of the film, as the cowboys fight amongst themselves, the camera pans back to reveal a studio lot and a door through which a chorus of gay dancersingers perform “the French Mistake”. The lyrics go, “Throw out your hands, stick out your tush, hands on your hips, give ‘em a push. You’ll be surprised you’re doing the French Mistake.”

I’m not sure what went through the heads of the Supernatural creators when they came up with the season 6 episode, “The French Mistake,” written by the love of my life Ben Edlund and directed by some guy Charles Beeson. Just reading the Wikipedia summary is so batshit incomprehensible. In short: Balthazar sends Sam and Dean to an alternate universe where they are the actors Jared Padalecki and Jensen Ackles, who play Sam and Dean on the tv show Supernatural. I don’t think this had ever been done in television history before. The first seven seasons of this show are certifiable. Like this was ten years ago. Think about the things that have happened in the last 10 slutty, slutty years. We have lived through atrocities and upheaval and the entire world stopping to mourn, but also we had twitter throughout that entire time, which makes it infinitely worse.

In this universe, Sam and Dean wear makeup, Cas is played by attractive crying man Misha Collins, and Genevieve Padalecki nee Cortese makes an appearance. Magic doesn’t exist, Serge has good ideas, and the two leads have to act in order to get through the day. Sorry man I do not know how to pronounce your name.

Sidenote: I don’t know if me being attracted aesthetically to Misha Collins is because he’s attractive, because this show has gaslighted me into thinking he’s attractive, or because Castiel’s iconic entrance in 2008 hit my developing mind like a torpedo full of spaghetti and blew my fucking brains all over the place. It’s one of life’s little mysteries and God’s little gifts.

Let’s talk about therapy. More specifically, “Agency and purpose in narrative therapy: questioning the postmodern rejection of metanarrative” by Cameron Lee. In this paper, Lee outlines four key ideas as proposed by Freedman and Combs:

Realities are socially constructed

Realities are constituted through language

Realities are organised and maintained through narrative

And there are no essential truths.

Let’s break this down in the case of this episode. Realities are socially constructed: the reality of Sam and Dean arose from the Bush era. Do I even need to elaborate? From what I understand with my limited Australian perception, and being a child at the time, 9/11 really was a prominent shifting point in the last twenty years. As Americans describe it, sometimes jokingly, it was the last time they were really truly innocent. That means to me that until they saw the repercussions of their government’s actions in funding turf wars throughout the middle east for a good chunk of the 20th Century, they allowed themselves to be hindered by their own ignorance. The threat of terrorism ran rampant throughout the States, spurred on by right wing nationalists and gun-toting NRA supporters, so it’s really no surprise that the show Supernatural started with the premise of killing everything in sight and driving around with only your closest kin and a trunk full of guns. Kripke constructed that reality from the social-political climate of the time, and it has wrought untold horrors on the minds of lesbians who lived through the noughties, in that we are now attracted to Misha Collins.

Number two: Realities are constituted through language. Before a show can become a show, it needs to be a script. It’s written down, typed up, and given to actors who say the lines out loud. In this respect, they are using the language of speech and words to convey meaning. But tv shows are not all about words, and they’re barely about scripts. From what I understand of being raised by television, they are about action, visuals, imagery, and behaviours. All of the work that goes into them—the scripts, the lighting, the audio, the sound mixing, the cameras, the extras, the ADs, the gaffing, the props, the stunts, everything—is about conveying a story through the medium of images. In that way, images are the language. The reality of the show Supernatural, inside the show Supernatural, is constituted through words: the script, the journalists talking to Sam, the makeup artist taking off Dean’s makeup, the conversations between the creators, the tweets Misha sends. But also through imagery: the fish tank in Jensen’s trailer, the model poses on the front cover of the magazine, the opulence of Jared’s house, Misha’s iconic sweater. Words and images are the language that constitutes both of these realities. Okay for real, I feel like I’ve only seen this episode max three times, including when I watched it for research for this episode, but I remember so much about it.

Number three: realities are organised and maintained through narrative. In this universe of the French Mistake, their lives are structured around two narratives: the internal narrative of the show within the show, in which they are two actors on a tv set; and the episode narrative in which they need to keep the key safe and return to their own universe. This is made difficult by the revelation that magic doesn’t work in this universe, however, they find a way. Before they can get back, though, an avenging angel by the name of Virgil guns down author-god Eric Kripke and tries to kill the Winchesters. However, they are saved by Balthazar and the freeze frame and brought back into their own world, the world of Supernatural the show, not Supernatural the show within the show within the nesting doll. And then that reality is done with, never to be revisited or even mentioned, but with an impact that has lasted longer than the second Bush administration.

And number four: there are no essential truths. This one is a bit tricky because I can’t find what Lee means by essential truths, so I’m just going to interpret that. To me, essential truths means what lies beneath the narratives we tell ourselves. Supernatural was a show that ran for 15 years. Supernatural had actors. Supernatural was showrun by four different writers. In the show within a show, there is nothing, because that ceases to exist for longer than the forty two minute episode “The French Mistake”. And since Supernatural no longer exists except in our computers, it is nothing too. It is only the narratives we tell ourselves to sleep better at night, to wake up in the morning with a smile, to get through the day, to connect with other people, to understand ourselves better. It’s not even the narrative that the showrunners told, because they have no agency over it as soon as it shows up on our screens. The essential truth of the show is lost in the translation from creating to consuming. Who gives the story meaning? The people watching it and the people creating it. We all do.

Lee says that humans are predisposed to construct narratives in order to make sense of the world. We see this in cultures from all over the world: from cave paintings to vases, from The Dreaming to Beowulf, humans have always constructed stories. The way you think about yourself is a story that you’ve constructed. The way you interact with your loved ones and the furries you rightfully cyberbully on Twitter is influenced by the narratives you tell yourself about them. And these narratives are intricate, expansive, personalised, and can colour our perceptions completely, so that we turn into a different person when we interact with one person as opposed to another.

Whatever happened in season 6, most of which I want to forget, doesn’t interest me in the way I’m telling myself the writers intended. For me, the entirety of season 6 was based around the premise of Cas being in love with Dean, and the complete impotence of this love. He turns up when Dean calls, he agonises as he watches Dean rake leaves and live his apple pie life with Lisa, and Dean is the person he feels most horribly about betraying. He says, verbatim, to Sam, “Dean and I do share a more profound bond.” And Balthazar says, “You’re confusing me with the other angel, the one in the dirty trenchcoat who’s in love with you.” He says this in season 6, and we couldn’t do a fucken thing about it.

The song “The French Mistake” shines a light on the hidden scene of gay men performing a gay narrative, in the midst of a scene about the manliest profession you can have: professional horse wrangler, poncho wearer, and rodeo meister, the cowboy. If this isn’t a perfect encapsulation of the lovestory between Dean and Cas, which Ben Edlund has been championing from day fucking one of Misha Collins walking onto that set with his sex hair and chapped lips, then I don’t know what the fuck we’re even doing here. What in the hell else could it possibly mean. The layers to this. The intricacy. The agendas. The subtextual AND blatant queerness. The micro aggressions Crowley aimed at Car in “The Man Who Would Be King,” another Bedlund special. Bed Edlund is a fucking genius. Bed Edlund is cool girl. Ben Edlund is the missing link. Bed Edlund IS wikileaks. Ben Edlund is a cool breeze on a humid summer day. Ben Edlund is the stop loading button on a browser tab. Ben Edlund is the perfect cross between Spotify and Apple Music, in which you can search for good playlists, but without having to be on Spotify. He can take my keys and fuck my wife. You best believe I’m doing an entire episode of Holy Hell on Bedlund’s top five. He is the reason I want to get into staffwriting on a tv show. I saw season 4 episode “On the head of a pin” when my brain was still torpedoed spaghetti mush from the premiere, and it nestled its way deep into my exposed bones, so that when I finally recovered from that, I was a changed person. My god, this transcript is 11,000 words, and I haven’t even finished the Becky section. Which is a good transition.

Oh, Becky. She is an incarnation of how the writers, or at least Kripke, view the fans. Watching season 5 “Sympathy for the Devil” live in 2009 was a whole fucking trip that I as a baby gay was not prepared for. Figuring out my sexuality was a journey that started with the Supernatural fandom and is in some aspects still raging against the dying of the light today. Add to that, this conception of the audience was this, like, personification of the librarian cellist from Juno, but also completely without boundaries, common sense, or shame. It made me wonder about my position in the narrative as a consumer consuming. Is that how Kripke saw me, specifically? Was I like Becky? Did my forays into DeanCasNatural on El Jay dot com make me a fucking loser whose only claim to fame is writing some nasty fanfiction that I’ve since deleted all traces of? Don’t get me wrong, me and my unhinged Casgirl friends loved Becky. I can’t remember if I ever wrote any fanfiction with her in it because I was mostly writing smut, which is extremely Becky coded of me, but I read some and my friends and I would always chat about her when she came up. She was great entertainment value before season 7. But in the eyes of the powers that be, Becky, like the fans themselves, are expendable. First they turned her into a desperate bride wannabe who drugs Sam so that he’ll be with her, then Chuck waves his hand and she disappears. We’re seeing now with regards to Destiel, Cas, and Misha Collins this erasure of them from the narrative. Becky says in season 15 “Atomic Monsters” that the ending Chuck writes is bad because, for one, there’s no Cas, and that’s exactly what’s happening to the text post-finale. It literally makes me insane akin to the throes of mania to think about the layers of this. They literally said, “No Cas = bad” and now Misha isn’t even allowed to talk in his Cassona voice—at least at the time I wrote that—to the detriment of the fans who care about him. It’s the same shit over and over. They introduce something we like, they realise they have no control over how much we like it, and then they pretend they never introduced it in the first place. Season 7, my god. The only reason Gamble brought back Cas was because the ratings were tanking the show. I didn’t even bother watching most of it live, and would just hear from my friends whether Cas was in the episodes or not. And then Sera, dear Sera, had the gall to say it was a Homer’s Odyssey narrative. I’m rusty on Homer aka I’ve never read it but apparently Odysseus goes away, ends up with a wife on an island somewhere, and then comes back to Terabithia like it never happened. How convenient. But since Sera Gamble loves to bury her gays, we can all guess why Cas was written out of the show: Cas being gay is a threat to the toxic heteronormativity spouted by both the show and the characters themselves. In season 15, after Becky gets her life together, has kids, gets married, and starts a business, she is outgrowing the narrative and Chuck kills her. The fans got Destiel Wedding trending on Twitter, and now the creators are acting like he doesn’t exist. New liver, same eagles.

I have to add an adendum: as of this morning, Sunday 11th, don’t ask me what time that is in Americaland, Misha Collins did an online con/Q&A thing and answered a bunch of questions about Cas and Dean, which goes to show that he cannot be silenced. So the narrative wants to be told. It’s continuing well into it’s 16th or 17th season. It’s going to keep happening and they have no recourse to stop it. So fuck you, Supernatural.

I did write the start of a speech about representation but, who the holy hell cares. I also read some disappointing Masters theses that I hope didn’t take them longer to research and write than this episode of a podcast I’m making for funsies took me, considering it’s the same number of pages. Then again I have the last four months and another 8 years of fandom fuelling my obsession, and when I don’t sleep I write, hence the 4,000 words I knocked out in the last 12 hours.

Some final words. Lyotard defines postmodernism, the age we live in, as an incredulity towards metanarratives. Modernism was obsessed with order and meaning, but postmodernism seeks to disrupt that. Modernists lived within the frame of the narrative of their society, but postmodernists seek to destroy the frame and live within our own self-written contexts. Okay I love postmodernist theory so this has been a real treat for me. Yoghurt, Sam? Postmodernist theory? Could I BE more gay?

Middleton and Walsh in their analysis of postmodernism claim that biblical faith is grounded in metanarrative, and explore how this intersects with an era that rejects metanarrative. This is one of the fundamental ideas Supernatural is getting at throughout definitely the last season, but other seasons as well. The narratives of Good vs Evil, Michael vs Lucifer, Dean vs Sam, were encoded into the overarching story of the show from season 1, and since then Sam and Dean have sought to break free of them. Sam broke free of John’s narrative, which was the hunting life, and revenge, and this moralistic machismo that they wrapped themselves up in. If they’re killing the evil, then they’re not the evil. That’s the story they told, and the impetus of the show that Sam was sucked back into. But this thread unravelled in later seasons when Dean became friends with Benny and the idea that all supernatural creatures are inherently evil unravelled as well. While they never completely broke free of John’s hold over them, welcoming Jack into their lives meant confronting a bias that had been ingrained in them since Dean was 4 years old and Sam 6 months. In the face of the question, “are all monsters monstrous?” the narrative loosens its control. Even by questioning it, it throws into doubt the overarching narrative of John’s plan, which is usurped at the end of season 2 when they kill Azazel by Dean’s demon deal and a new narrative unfolds. John as author-god is usurped by the actual God in season 4, who has his own narrative that controls the lives of Sam, Dean and Cas.

Okay like for real, I do actually think the metanarrativity in Supernatural is something that should be studied by someone other than me, unless you wanna pay me for it and then shit yeah. It is extremely cool to introduce a biographical narrative about the fictional narrative it’s in. It’s cool that the characters are constantly calling this narrative into focus by fighting against it, struggling to break free from their textual confines to live a life outside of the external forces that control them. And the thing is? The really real, honest thing? They have. Sam, Dean and Cas have broken free of the narrative that Kripke, Carver, Gamble and Dabb wrote for them. The very fact that the textual confession of love that Cas has for Dean ushered in a resurgence of fans, fandom and activity that has kept the show trending for five months after it ended, is just phenomenal. People have pointed out that fans stopped caring about Game of Thrones as soon as it ended. Despite the hold they had over tv watchers everywhere, their cultural currency has been spent. The opposite is true for Supernatural. Despite how the finale of the show angered and confused people, it gains more momentum every day. More fanworks, more videos, more fics, more art, more ire, more merch is being generated by the fans still. The Supernatural subreddit, which was averaging a few posts a week by season 15, has been incensed by the finale. And yours truly happily traipsed back into the fandom snake pit after 8 years with a smile on my face and a skip in my step ready to pump that dopamine straight into my veins babeeeeeeyyyyy. It’s been WILD. I recently reconnected with one of my mutuals from 2010 and it’s like nothing’s changed. We’re both still unhinged and we both still simp for Supernatural. Even before season 15, I was obsessed with the podcast Ride Or Die, which I started listening to in late 2019, and Supernatural was always in the back of my mind. You just don’t get over your first fandom. Actually, Danny Phantom was my first fandom, and I remember being 12 talking on Danny Phantom forums to people much too old to be the target audience of the show. So I guess that hasn’t left me either. And the fondest memories I have of Supernatural is how the characters have usurped their creators to become mythic, long past the point they were supposed to die a quiet death. The myth weaving that the Supernatural fandom is doing right now is the legacy that will endure.

References

I got all of these for free from Google Scholar!

Judith May Fathallah, “I’m A God: The Author and the Writing Fan in Supernatural.”

James K A Smith, “A Little Story About Metanarratives: Lyotard, Religion and Postmodernism Revisited.” 2001.

Cameron Lee, “Agency and Purpose in Narrative Therapy: Questioning the Postmodern Rejection of Metanarrative.” 2004.

Harri Englund and James Leach, “Ethnography and the Meta Narratives of Modernity.” 2000.

https://uproxx.com/filmdrunk/mel-brooks-explains-french-mistake-blazing-saddles-blu-ray/

#transcripts #supernatural #supernatural podcast #<60mins #this is first and foremost a podcast about cas and misha collins

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tarajenkins · 5 years ago

Text

Please no more Square, I am at my (character) limit lmao

"The Light will not be denied!"

I really do still wonder how anyone who played through ShB could reach the conclusion that a child with no Blessing Of Light ever stood a chance against the will of a Lightwarden. And not just any child--a child the Ascians intended to use as a doorstop to prevent the First from being destroyed before the Rejoining could happen, a child whose own trusted parental figure was willing to gaslight and manipulate them for the sake of their own power. A child whose behavior would absolutely need to fit a certain mold to achieve their ends.

The Light corruption of a Sin Eater is confirmed by Halric's arc to be a lot like Tempering. Repeatedly Tempering someone, like Loonh Gah's mother in the Amalj'aa questchain, destroys their sanity. Emet-Selch's own dialogue up there confirms that the Warden essences in the WoL would not only drive them to madness, but violence. Vauthry had the essence of a Lightwarden forced into him before he was even born, and he had no higher power to protect him.

Selch puts it plainly: the corruption of a Lightwarden is absolute in time, even for the WoL. I have yet to hear a good reason why Vauthry’s corruption would have been the sole exception to this rule. The “half Sin Eater” bit is brought up sometimes, but that is just buying into the lies his father told. Vauthry was already an entirely Hume infant. He was never “half” anything. He was already complete. He was corrupted. Tempered, according to Halric’s arc--blaming him for not fighting it is like blaming Thancred for the Waking Sands. It’s not a thing anyone can fight.

There’s also Yoshi-P asking players to ask themselves if Vauthry was really a friend of the Sin Eaters, or was he being controlled by someone.

(On a side note, I could have sworn it was stated the Ascians can't handle Light well, or at all? How did Emet-Selch even do that in the first place? Bad Writing(tm) \o/)

Silence Is Golden:

In a world where everyone rightfully fears Sin Eaters, a world where Eulmorans had fought them and died to them for decades, where those corrupted by fallen Sin Eaters have to be put to death before turning themselves--how would the mayor of Eulmore even explain his son's "gift"? Explain his son having a second, Sin Eater face in his chest? Explain that he allowed his child to be corrupted by a rando in a cloak, with no input from his wife? How did he keep her silent? Besides Square not bothering to give her dialogue, of course.

(Also, there was at least one other Minifilia in Vauthry's lifetime. The Minis all fought for Eulmore, as per Moren's book. How did they miss the Lightwarden now residing in Mr. Mayor's child? Did Hydaelyn know?)

It's such poor writing on Square's part to have left the disturbing Echo of how Emet-Selch “made” Vauthry as a footnote, and even moreso to have Wrenden claim in the hilariously contradictory patch 5.1 that Vauthry's father was the "good old days" of Eulmore. A man that would agree to let that be done to his own wife and child, a man who vocalized such disregard for his own peoples' lives, that was the good old days, really? The mayor who had "unrest" and detractors "stirring up the citizenry"? THAT mayor?

This is how far the writers were willing to go to dehumanize a fat man who had absolutely no consent or control in his “destiny”. And, speaking of dehumanizing--

--Square couldn't be arsed to treat Vauthry's mother like a character and not a convenient and silent womb, so we have no idea what happened to her. (My money is still on the Obscenity theory.) But since Vauthry only mentioned "Father", it sounds like the mayor raised him alone.

What did Former Mayor do when his son had challenging questions about his father’s plans for him, or when the child balked at the answers given? How did he explain whatever happened to his wife? Just how much did "Father" have to manipulate that child's world to maintain the lies?

It’s strongly implied Former Mayor kept his son in a state of isolation where neither his word nor the Ascians' will could be questioned until the child was thoroughly brainwashed to believe, and there would be no questions then. Whether intended by Square or not, Vauthry does display many signs of an adult who suffered extreme isolation as a child.

An entire childhood, with his likely only trusted source of knowledge and solace being someone who was grooming him for a power grab--and all the while, he can’t escape the presence of a creature inside him that drives mortals mad.

One of “Father’s” directives stands out in particular between the lines during ShB, though we don’t know how it came about originally:

Don’t tell anyone what you really are.

Even though Vauthry was given a good reason “why he was born as man and sin eater both", it still leaves the impression he was born because Sin Eaters are bad, and Vauthry needed to stop them from doing bad things--plus hush, don’t tell, people would find his existence bad if they knew the truth of it. Kids ask questions. Kids wonder. Feeling like an outsider hurts, let alone an outsider made of the same stuff that everyone fears. If Sin Eaters are monsters, then what was he?

The fact Vauthry asked his father why was he born that way in the first place indicates the child instinctively felt there was something wrong.

The in-game dialogues appear to back this up. Although Vauthry's "heritage" was supposed to be this amazing thing, the true nature of it was instead lied about and kept hidden his entire life. Seems unusual for a guy supposedly convinced that he is “perfection”, doesn’t it? The fact that Eulmorans never once referred to Vauthry as "half Sin Eater" or a "God" during twenty years of his rule, the fact he only mentioned it himself before the Warden was about to claim him entirely; all well and good his father obviously invented some lie to placate the masses (“born with miraculous and convenient power” was all it took), but how did maintaining that lie, hiding who he really was, read to Vauthry all those years?

During ShB, he still seemed to keep to the isolation he likely always knew. He never left that room. The citizens came to him when they wanted something, but it was never implied or shown he sought social contact on his own. Nothing was scaled to him, utensils, glasses, plates, etc.--as though he refused to single himself out as different from everyone else.

He called the Lightwarden’s awakening a “trial” to be embraced during Crown Of The Immaculate. Odd that someone supposedly convinced of his godhood would ever think he needed testing--but it makes perfect sense in the context of someone who always felt they needed to prove that they were worthwhile.

He was proud of his power to protect his people, and proud of the paradise he built for them, but he didn’t want Alphinaud to paint a picture of him, he wanted a painting of the city. There were zero paintings or other monuments to himself in Eulmore. Lot of people in the fanbase speak of him being vain, yet he seemed to not want to be seen unless he had to be--almost as though, even toward the end, even through all the bluster, he still read being “half Sin Eater” as wrong.

With that in mind, there didn’t seem to be much evidence to even tell Vauthry he was born because he was wanted. He was born because his ability was needed. If not for his father’s ambition, however sweetly that may have been disguised, then to defend Eulmore against the monsters he was a part of. His ability was needed, not even him specifically--and the Eulmorans, with all their wishes and dreams to be fulfilled, could easily enforce the belief on the child that who he was didn’t matter, what he may want did not matter, only what he could do for others mattered. And what he did for them wouldn’t matter if they knew the truth of him. What a terrible, conditional ”love”. It could explain why he was so cynical about human nature. (Even though his predictions about human nature in the face of a dying world 110% came to pass in the Black Rose timeline. 6_9 gg G’raha)

Yet despite all this, Vauthry needed to be convinced he was doing good for the shattered world. He needed to be convinced what he was doing was right, despite having power enough to not care. If Amaurot was Utopia, then Eulmore reminded me very much of Ursula K. LeGuin’s Omelas--a paradise, at the cost of one child’s eternal suffering.

Food For Thought (and Bad Writing(tm)):

A lot of people have a boner for the cannibalism implications of meol despite the bad math behind it, but fucking meol, how does it work?

Sin eating historically was to cleanse one who has passed on of their earthly sins that they may find peace in the afterlife--this was done in different ways by different people, but one of the best known methods was ritualistically baking the sins of the dead into bread or cakes and consuming it. Yoshi-P has even said he thought of meol as a sweet bread. Quest text from the Unfulfilled Forager in Gate Town further backs up that meol is not meat-based:

(By the way, nothing was keeping this man from hunting a shit-ton of meat that was literally within walking distance.)

It suggests Vauthry could have been taught that by eating the sins of the world, a.k.a. Sin Eaters, a.k.a. meol (which in the Japanese version, was something he was apparently afraid of doing?) --he was saving someone’s soul.

“And for thy peace I pawn my own soul. Amen.”

In reality, there would be a point Mr. Mayor would not know how to feed the Warden forced on his child. Humes don't have a natural method of feeding on "living aether", yet the Warden would not reach its full potency without it. Making meol could either involve an instinctive act on the Warden’s part, or it was taught--and that seems very much beyond his father’s area of expertise, OR Vauthry himself, so I’d almost wonder if the Ascians had a part in it. But like mixing medicine in a favorite food, theoretically, the aether provided by meol would slowly build up. And as the Warden grew in power, it would need more, and more. It would explain that final “powerup” before Mt. Gulg.

Provided Sin Eaters have any living aether left. They never explained that bit. Sin Eaters have no bones, no blood, no meat, nothing but Light. We saw enough of them dissipate into the air, including in cutscenes. Even Tesleen, very recently turned, faded. There is nothing else to them but Light...and there should be nothing left but that “blank perfection”, the Eater would have ate the rest? So where is the “living aether” they require to survive?

Fresh-sliced sneater wing, empty as the plotholes of this arc.

I could buy him turning people into Eaters directly, but then what was the point of the bread?

That’s right folks, meol still doesn't make sense, surprise! Also: so many people in one city allegedly being "disappeared" over twenty years, from a stagnant population, to “feed” everyone every day--yet no panic, not so much as a hushed whisper about it? Eulmore is supposed to be the safest place anywhere -- no idea how it could gain that reputation with that theory. Square wrote Eulmore like it existed in a vacuum, no one knowing no one. The lack of depth is still jarring, three playthroughs later. Only one unreliable narrator of an NPC (Thoarich) even hinted this theory, to boot.

Side note I thought was strange: you never see any of the normal food in Vauthry’s chamber actually eaten, it’s all untouched. I wonder if the Warden somehow eventually affected his ability to tolerate the food a Hume would normally eat.

That said, his “mind control” of the populace was laughably ineffective, so I wonder what even was the point of feeding them meol. Perhaps it was again the Lightwarden instinct to create more of its own kind. Nothing else seems to fit. “Oh no, this Eulmoran is staggering randomly around, muttering about Vauthry! How can we survive this onslaught?” Yyyyeah no, lol. Alphinaud confirmed the Eulmorans were acting of their own free will until that final showdown, so the mind control seemed to be a panic move--I wonder if it was even took conscious effort at that point, or just another instinctive SOS from the Warden. Given his father’s trouble with the smallfolk, I have to wonder if it was Former Mayor’s idea, if there was a real reason behind it. Not a reason that would make good sense, but nothing in this arc does make good sense, so.

The thing is, meol was an optional dish. No one was forced to eat it. So Vauthry must not have been relying on controlling or turning anyone.

But despite the fact meol defies their own game logic, Square really did seem to relish hinting at the dehumanizing, Austin Powers “haha fat guy eats people” trope anyway, and seriously. They could do better than that--I hoped they’d BE better than that. But here we are, the company that is supposed to go so hard against harassment takes an easy target and encourages a very specific negative response to it. This is the reason I believe Eulmore was such an inconsistent arc--they almost entirely depended on Vauthry’s appearance to carry the weak narrative, explaining very lttle of his actual motivations because that would ruin their weak-ass “gotcha” that he was the Lightwarden of Kholusia. Of course he’d be evil, just look at him! Right guys? Look! He’s fat!

Just as they used nothing but thicc’qotes in the trailer to try establishing the evils in Eulmore. Thicc’qotes eating fresh fruit whilst having pleasant conversation is the root of it all in Square’s eye; not a noblewoman who tried to have her maidservant murdered, not the nobleman who pushed his bodyguard over the rails, or even that asshole on the balcony laughing about splitting someone’s head like a melon. No, fatness is the real wickedness. Square was full of shit for this one and it shows when looked at with even a little critical thought. I don’t know what I expected of someone who requested a human “Jabba The Hutt” to be the last-minute midboss, someone who looked at a heavier Lakshmi and said “that’s not cute”, or a jackass who told a cosplayer they needed to lose weight onstage at FanFest 2014.

Even more disappointing? All these questions here, all these inconsistencies? For the majority of the playerbase, “he’s fat” was good enough. The Ascians get a million thoughtful theories. One of their victims? The playerbase thinks he manifested from the womb as you see him in game. They don’t stop to think of what it implied, to be born corrupted and groomed as a tool not only for Ascians, but his own father. They avoid the fact the fandom darling directly violated a woman and child’s bodily autonomy even as they insist on Vauthry taking absolute 100% responsibility for everything he was made specifically to do. And there’s just one difference between him and literally every other villain in this game, aside from the fact he had no choice. Yeah. As much as some players hate to hear it, if Vauthry had swapped models with the fandom darling, we wouldn’t be hearing justifications for mass murder/dictatorships/skeevy noncon. We would definitely be hearing how Vauthry was used, though--and how tragic his story is.

Some players bring up Dulia-Chai as though she somehow counters all the bodyshaming bullshit elsewhere. It doesn’t. She was still in place along with all the other thicc’qotes as Square’s fucked-up shorthand for excess and indolence. I had to learn she kept books for the Stoneworks in optional dialogue. Maybe if she didn’t talk about cakes and such so much, but I mean, that’s what fat people do, right?

So if you’re laughing at fat men, we fat women know you’re actually laughing at us, too. Git gud or stop embarrassing yourselves.

“Tyranny”, aka you keep using that word, I don’t think it means what you think it means:

Whatever the Ascians did to make sure Vauthry’s "Ascension" was a time-release event, the "madness and fury" clearly had taken him when we met him in Shadowbringers. Punishments for those having broken the laws of the city changed from exile into vicious death sentences. Suddenly the God talk, where not even Alphinaud had heard that. It really makes a case that Vauthry was slowly declining into madness the longer he was exposed to the Warden--in fact, Thancred sort of confirms it, during the trailer: “This town certainly has changed, but not at all for the better.” He was only on The First for five years.

Vauthry likely had no introspective dialogues because much of who he actually had been was already gone, and the player is left with his remaining drive to do “good” and “justify your existence” wrapped around the instincts of a Lightwarden.

Yet a lot of things remain that really contradict the "bones of the poor" narrative the writers were trying to push about the city, and many times I felt a real disconnect between what our party was saying and what Eulmore was actually doing. A lot of it implies that, despite the Warden utterly subverting Vauthry as per the hard rules of Tempering, there was benevolence at work, once. The Minstreling Wanderer said that he could not say whether Vauthry was wicked in his youth, and I take this as a sign he was not.

First off, let’s just get this out of the way: The Crystarium also expected you to work for the city in some form if you were expecting to stay there.

”Layabouts”: a people who were the main line of defense against the Sin Eaters for all The First for eighty years, until the futility of it, and all the loss, broke their spirits entirely. Just another sample of how Square intended Eulmore be shown as fat=lazy, despite their own lore--until Square was lazy themselves and didn’t finish the thicc’qote models so Eulmore would be exclusively fat bodies as shown in the trailer.

The narrative often fudged with writer omnipotence regarding the protagonists, pressing to cast Eulmore in a negative light because they’d given up hope, even though loss is so important in excusing the Ascians’ actions. Our party had the WoL, whom they knew not only had a good chance of defeating Lightwardens, but G’raha seemed to know the WoL could contain them. Your average native inhabitant of the First would not be far off the mark feeling hopeless about the world, though, because they didn’t know about these extraordinary circumstances. Most of their oceans were lost in the Flood, and that in itself, realistically, is a death sentence. It’s all well and good G’raha was so perky and hopeful, and all well and good the game contrived a convenient deus ex machina to fix the issue (they never really addressed the issue anyway), but none of the locals could know any of this. I can see why Eulmore would think the Scions were full of shit, because for 80 years after the Flood, Eulmore tried to stop the Sin Eaters and could not. Honestly, I expected more sympathy for the Eulmorans, because they had been the front line for so long and lost so much. But lol fatties amirite?

Now, Square tried to dabble in many other Enlightened Social Commentaries with Eulmore, but immediately contradicted themselves so many times I was constantly asking myself why Alphinaud was being so goddamn extra dramatic. Gate Town/The Derelicts:

Not at Eulmore’s hand, Alphinaud honey, you can’t solo farms or communities. The people who remained behind were borked over by the ones who left. What are you even trying to say here, Square, help me out. Generosity--”largesse”-- is bad? Abandoning what you have, all others be damned, for something you were never given a promise of receiving....good? Sympathetic? Seriously, what is your point here, Square? How does this equal Eulmore being malicious? How does this not make the bulk of Gate Town hopefuls a bunch of dipshits? Wright is in sight from Gate Town, but no one ever thought going there might be better?

If Square meant for Eulmore to seem a prison for the “poor”, they did a shitty job of that, considering: 1) A big point about Gate Town was that the people staying there left viable homes, farms, and communities for a chance at getting in, a chance that was never guaranteed by anyone, and they refused any alternatives Alphinaud offered them, plus

2) No one was keeping anyone from leaving if they wanted to. No guards, no masked vigilantes, no rando singing Hotel California in your ear.

So ruthless a prison, there were not only invisible guards holding you against your will, there was an Amarokeep waiting in the Derelicts to whisk you away for 70 gil so you can pretend to make a daring escape, straight to the freebie Amaro that will take you to The Crystarium. Tell your friends! Tell Alphinaud! He will literally buy anything this expac.

- “Young Kai-Shirr” getting into Eulmore was never a “matter of life or death”, and I can’t tell if that was Alphinaud being pretentious again or the writing was just that bad. Kai-Shirr was offered work at the Crystarium and he refused it, “it has to be Eulmore”. How is that on anyone but him? (Plus why does no one ever question Kai-Shirr’s complete lack of caring for why Alphinaud wanted in, if that was true? Was Kai-Shirr then not dooming Alph to “death” instead when he robbed him? That’s not very cash money of him.)

This isn’t “life or death” either.

Neither is this.

Nnnno.

Considering Stilltide reported they have fish for all, and Wright’s trouble was not enough people, this is not only not “life or death”, but fucking creepy. Hopefully this better illustrates my confusion of what we were being told vs. what we were being shown in Gate Town/The Derelicts. d( ᐖ )

- The citizens In Gate Town/The Derelicts were not at the mercy of a "contest" to be let in. It was shown to be literally a help wanted board with jesters, and the “contest” was “do you have this certain skill someone is looking to hire”. I guess the Crystarium will hire a fishmonger to do the work of a chirurgeon or something?

The jongleurs were otherwise just "rule of cool", I guess--although the significant look the Red gave us, followed soon after by Emet-Selch’s lurking outside the Offer, made me wonder if they were not acting as monitors on Vauthry for the Ascians.

- There was at least one person in the Derelicts from the Crystarium, looking to make a quick gil on the extravagant “refuse” of the city, and several locals were doing the same. I guess those “layabouts” inside the city had their uses after all, Katliss.

- Meol was not the only food given to those outside the city. Produce and such that was not “pretty” enough for the fussy free citizenry was distributed to those camping the outskirts.

I’d have expected a “tyrant” to let that produce rot. Catty in Stilltide confirmed there was enough fish for everyone living there, and Zia-Bostt above seems to back that up. Game in the field was also aplenty even in terms of map mechanics--this was not some form of forced famine to hold the smallfolk in a state of dependence. Eulmore was still paying the villages for produce.

So much for the exploitation of big, bad Eulmore!

Again, Alphinaud himself bemoaned how the people were there of their own choice, and how they refused any and all alternatives he presented them with. The people in Gate Town wanted to wait for Eulmore, they left their own homes and farms freely for Eulmore, screwing over their neighbors in the process--and that is not Vauthry’s fault, that is on them?

Hurricane Florence left my husband and I homeless a while. You do not fucking pass up sure shelter and work and food to wait instead for a nebulous chance at Hollywood or Las Vegas--and if you do, that’s all your own tomfoolery, that’s not “injustice”, no BONES OF THE POOR required. It’s common sense, Square, goddamn lol

The Free Citizenry:

- The rich would not be permitted into the city if they did not give up their wealth for the benefit of all living there. This was a condition for the rich only. There is zero indication those funds were being put into Vauthry's pocket; it ran the city, and both free and bonded enjoyed the results (there seemed far more bonded residents in Eulmore than free, to boot.). There's a policy that would never fly in at least two allied citystates, lol.

It raises the question, if Wrenden and Former Mayor were so damn equitable, how were there even rich to begin with? There’s an old noble in Vauthry’s Eulmore who apparently does not know how to tie his shoes without a servant--a.k.a., the idle rich existed before Vauthry even came into power. The dialogue of Vauthry’s father also made it seem that these were systems in place long before he his son was even born -- except Vauthry’s system did not allow their hoarding of wealth, and distributed it instead to the benefit of everyone in the city. It was also a system that was so satisfactory, both free and bonded citizens became loudly dissatisfied after he was gone.

- The rich were the only ones guaranteed “Ascension”, and if you want to call that a perk I’m going to assume it’s because the entire system relied on their dosh--technically, they already did their “work” for the city. (”Buying a stairway to Heaven”, as it were.) So much for those "bones of the poor", Alph. Statistically, if bones built Eulmore, it was the bones of the rich.

Until Gaia, Ascension was only mentioned twice, but again, no real context was given. (jfc Square, we shouldn't have to buy an overpriced lorebook for this.) First time was the Weeping Warbler chain. Going by the quest dialogue, it sounded very much like something offered as mercy to terminal illness or otherwise impending death, as the Warbler's creepy patron lamented how he almost wished he could hasten his own to join her (btw, the right answer to that poor girl's fear that she'd be a burden more than a treasure was "YOU ARE MORE THAN YOUR VOICE”, asshole. >:| ). Players at the time were legit “oh that poor old man, she’s like his daughter :CCCCC” Ahahaha oh my sweet summer children

Either way, "Ascension” was definitely implied to be entirely voluntary. It was implied there were even rules and conditions to be granted it. And Vauthry did not seem to push anyone towards the idea, it was just there. (If it was for terminal illness, though, consider the following: Thoarich seemed confident the Warbler would live, but may lose her voice. If you have to be terminal to be Ascended, ironically Vauthry may have refused her patron's request.) The second mention was from Vauthry himself, for his “trial” when the Lightwarden awakened--so he certainly, tragically, believed what he claimed it was. The Bonded Residents:

- Even at his worst, there is no indication that the free citizens were encouraged by Vauthry to abuse their workers; in fact, the Amiable Maiden and her Ardent Attendant implied heavily that appreciation and respect for one's bonded was the ideal that was pushed by Eulmore, that "love for one's fellow man".

At no time were the bonded residents “slaves” (a new accusation from Twitter). They were “bonded” to the patrons who hired them by a work contract, and they sought those jobs willingly. No one kept them from leaving Gate Town, only kept them from getting in without a work arrangement--again, a prerequisite the Crystarium also had according to Katliss. The bonded residents were paid, and apparently paid well.

As the WoL, we were also bonded to the Chais, and were able to come and go later. It was like the writers knew they needed to sit the fence so the free citizens would be redeemable enough to help with the immersion-breaking giant Talos plot later, and so never pushed Eulmore to the evils they talked about but never showed--leaving behind the most disconnected, self-sabotaging arc I’ve ever seen from this MMO.

An evil slaveowner at work.

Alphinaud rewarded for being an agreeable yet melodramatic young boy.

- The bonded we met who fled Eulmore had fled their patrons, not Vauthry himself--even the Warbler thought Vauthry a “great man”. No one in Eulmore feared him.

- Tristol’s “grave sin” to be patronless and penniless was contradicted by Fathana, whose patron had died some time ago, and yet she remained in the city without one to help new workers--because her patron had been so kind to her. The clerk whom you first speak to upon entering Eulmore even says that if you are “fired” or otherwise lose your patronage, you can try to find another patron to remain in the city or work as a general laborer like Fathana until, presumably, you do find another patron. Or maybe you don’t even need a patron, and you are allowed to stay as your own boss at that point, she certainly was.

Since the Chais helped us leave the city, I’m not at all sure why they didn’t do the same for Tristol, especially if Vauthry’s violence was a well-known thing. It’s almost like violence from Vauthry wasn’t expected, and they’d never think that would happen. I mean, some recent time ago, Vauthry only exiled thieves from Eulmore.

(Hell, Square may have even fudged Tristol’s punishment, implying Vauthry had ordered him tossed off the balustrade of The Offer. Vauthry’s balcony appears to be the one directly above The Path To Glory, right above the gates into Eulmore. There doesn’t seem to be ocean nearby at any realistic distance or angle from that balcony. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯)

- Laws that we saw in effect were for the benefit of patrons and bonded citizens alike. There was nothing to suggest those laws were unreasonable, either. The punishment became fuck no unreasonable (though as I pointed out earlier, the punishments seemed to ramp up in violence the longer the warden was part of him, from exile to a literal pound of flesh, much like Titania went from a benevolent ruler to Jumpscare Prime). But fraud being a crime is sort of expected anywhere, and creeps at the Beehive should not touch dancers unless dancers consent, lest they get the bouncer. ( another strangely thoughtful law for a “tyrant”. )

- The bonded residents inside seemed much happier with their lot than Alphinaud’s dramatic assessment, which was also confusing as hell.

- Entire families were allowed to enter if one member was hired. Alphinaud was able to drag us along with a minimum of fuss as his “assistant”. Vauthry’s definition of how one “gives” to Eulmore was not based solely on traditional work.

- Bonded residents were not afraid at all to speak of bending rules for perfect strangers when offering drinks to us, so Vauthry wasn't out prowling for blood 24/7 like an Inquisitor trying to fill their heretic quota. Not only was Dulia-Chai not afraid to go calm him down at the height of his rage, Chai-Nuzz didn't freak out at the idea she'd do it. Nuzz. Wasn’t nervous. Yeah, let that one sink in 9_6

The only time Vauthry acted seemed to be when an issue was brought forward directly to him. Otherwise, it seemed like standard Lightwarden behavior: stasis, until presented with a real and immediate threat to itself, which in Vauthry’s case was a threat to the order of his city, or the ones killing Lightwardens.

For allegedly being aggressive against Kholusia's neighbors, Vauthry seemed to have taken the Crystarium's refusal of his offer to lead them back in the day really well, as in, he did jack shit in retaliation and accepted it. In fact, he was so warlike, Emet-Selch was surprised Vauthry would move that army, even for a very clear threat against fulfilling the false destiny Emet-Selch forced on him.

While on the subject of aggression, the people in Amity have dialogue indicating they feared Vauthry would send the army after them--which he obviously never did, in all 20 years of his reign.

- “No one leaves” except hey whoa there hi, Lue-Reeq, who comes and goes as he pleases. Plus that bonded resident who came to Wright looking for ale. Plus us, also bonded residents, because Dulia-Chai once again had nothing to fear from Vauthry.

Also anyone who was exiled previously. For supposedly wanting to keep people inside Eulmore, Vauthry sure was terrible at doing it lmao

GCBTW: I'd really love to see Square and Alphinaud be similarly vocal and insistent with the actual horrors our own Allied city-states commit without the corruption of a Lightwarden in play. The selective outrage/pearl-clutching is really immersion-breaking.

Ishgard: “Highborn” genuinely exploiting the “lowborn” every other sidequest to this day. Genocide of the Au Ra. At least two FATEs, one job quest, one lorebook entry, and one dungeon indicate Ishgard has fucking disgusting levels of rape carried out by figures of authority. Rent is being charged for people from the Brume--the homeless, destitute people in the Brume--to live in the Firmament, but they can arrange payment plans! And this was all talked about while one of them was shivering in the cold nearby. What, can't the highborn be arsed to share what they have? Eulmore is the height of wickedness because they couldn't cram an island full of people into one tower, but Ishgard's our pal even though they can't manage to make space in their mansions for one small area of one city. My God, Vauthry had FOOD in his chamber, shame!--but that's okay, Aymeric, you rock that extravagant dinner spread in the dating sim cutscene. Maybe the Brume can fight over the Ishgardian Muffin crumbs.

(Yes, I know, Vauthry had more food than that in his chamber. He’s also approaching fifteen-plus feet tall. Proportionally, the food in his chamber would be the equivalent of you or me living on cocktail peanuts and thimbles of water. Once more, Square was so fixated on fatphobia they didn’t do the fucking math.)

Doma: “Hey yeah look guys I know child trafficking is bad but let’s just smile and nod at this guy who did it to Yotsuyu and give him a different post, okay? Okay. Remember to be polite. We will never speak of this again.”

“Let me laugh about your beliefs and call them bullshit while I angle you into a war that isn’t even yours, Xaela tribes.” Gridania: Lets people straight up die if the “elements” tell them it’s okay. Exiling a child for stealing a bag of flower seeds is normal and totally not at all fucked up. Open and accepted racism against the Duskwights with no sign of Kan-E-Senna saying fucking stop that shit.

Ul’dah: Human trafficking. Child trafficking. Human lab rats. Using prisoners for blood sports. The Syndicate living it up in finery, giving exactly nothing to people living in the streets. Notoriously corrupt Brass Blades. More implications of fucking disgusting levels of rape. Turning away the Doman refugees when they literally had nowhere else to go and nothing left. We smiled and nodded when Godbert said people mustn’t be given charity, they must work for their own good.

Limsa Lominsa: Fucks over the “beast tribes” at every opportunity, then complains they summon Primals.

But remember, folks, it was Vauthry’s Eulmore that was the real evil we had to desperately move against. Not the newer, capitalist Eulmore that didn’t feed two guys from Wright because they couldn’t afford it, shoosh those “bones of the poor” don’t count. The writers tried to retcon a lot in 5.1, it seemed--suddenly, it was implied people were forced to leave villages, conscripted, etc. Except the people were still there to tell us otherwise in 5.0, and there was still no sign of any Eulmoran forces keeping them in Gate Town. We went from Alphinaud demanding the free citizens take responsibility for what they’d done in Eulmore to posthumously blaming Vauthry’s “bad influence” for everything up to and including a noblewoman’s attempted murder of her maidservant, because the noblewoman’s husband was creeping on the girl.

Which leads us to another of my biggest peeves--all the while, despite “the truth” being so important when it came to Emet-Selch, the sins of Vauthry’s father and the suffering his wife and child endured because of Emet-Selch’s direct hand are left unspoken. We smile and nod silently to Eulmorans and then offer them up Vauthry and his “bad influence” as an excuse for their own misdeeds. I’ve never felt less a “hero” in this game as I did then. Yet Emet-Selch, who committed this atrocity on a child, was called a HERO because fandom darling, while the child is vilified and thoroughly dehumanized.

It’s really telling how much blind condemnation the fanbase dealt to Vauthry for reasons that were completely inaccurate, while the fandom darling of this expansion was 100% the founder of not one, but two civilizations based on domination, the most recent being a nation whose canon creed is "No lands must remain beyond our grasp. Go forth. Conquer. Rule.", a nation whose people have a habit of calling all the “lesser races” they conscript “savages”. Fandom Darling was also hype af for Black Rose and called it worthy of his bloodline! ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ

It’s really telling that the fanbase will randomly accuse Vauthry of being a sexual predator with Sin Eaters based on exactly zero evidence (but a lot of projection on their part), while the fandom darling 100% canonly used the actual Solus zos Galvus’ enthralled body to sire a child with Galvus’ unwitting wife, and going by the dialogue--

--he’s done that before. No wonder consent was no big deal when he made that offer to Former Mayor. But this was played for sympathy because fandom darling and what do you know, the fandom bought it.

Square “both sided” actual authoritarian characters--actual colonizers, actual mass murderers of entire worlds, actual skeevy-ass characters who don’t care about consent because “not really alive”--called it “heroic”, even (the latter was called “moral relativism”, and it’s genuinely unnerving how many players pushed that as absolution or relatable)--but throughout the course of the main expansion and two subsequent patches,Square went all-in that the fat guy who had his agency and sanity stolen from him in utero to be used as a tool of destruction was the real tyrant. We the player were encouraged to buddy up with E-S while we were never once given the option to wonder if something was terribly amiss with Vauthry, if he may need help. They didn’t even spare us a “jfc that poor man, the Eaters got to him” when he blindly twisted his neck 180 to neither see nor hear us. He was still “evil” because reasons, a.k.a., he was fat.

TL;DR, the playerbase:

I remain unconvinced the Ancients were not clever enough to suspect summoning the “Will Of The Star” may have an effect on their own wills, as their wishes for Zodiark carried an unspoken need for the Elder Primal to be granted control to achieve its end. Emet-Selch stated that Tempering was to be “expected”, even “natural”, though his appearance towards the end of 5.3 seems to contradict Tempering: has there ever been another instance that a Tempered being was able to act directly against the best interests of the primal that holds them in thrall? Elidibus sure couldn’t.

Disclaimer: I actually have no issue with liking the Ascians, be it shipping, writing, art, porn mods, whatever. But if you come into my yard with nothing but shit talk for Vauthry on reblogs of my art, yet have all the praise for the one who made him, you’re going to hear in my personal space about why you’re a hypocrite. Often. With receipts.

The End.

First off, it’s popular in the fandom to say the Lightwarden was Vauthry’s real body because it’s just so damn inconvenient to the dating sim mentality that the fat guy was the default. Thing is:

That is Innocence’s head and its wings inside Vauthry’s split-open back during the pre-phase two “transformation”. Between that and the second face that appeared to cave in most of Vauthry’s chest (on the heart side, interestingly enough), the face whose eyes opened and glowed upon the Warden’s “awakening”:

It doesn’t look at all like it was a “transformation”. It looks like the Lightwarden emerged and absorbed what was left of its host’s physical form while still retaining Vauthry’s broken mind. (Notice the nose, much longer than Vauthry’s actual nose, eye spacing, the bit of smile. That second face was the Warden.)

Before his death, Vauthry did not say "well dang, the Ascians promised I would be all-powerful so I could be evil! Curse them for cheating me!"

He said "Father told me...that I am hope. That I am righteousness. That I am...a god... That is why I was born...as man and sin eater both...I kept the people safe!"

Those lines make no sense if Vauthry interpreted Father’s manipulations as "haha I'm a spoiled evil brat I can do what I want". A spoiled evil brat wouldn't need to be convinced what they were doing was GOOD, would they? Why would that even have been a thing, wouldn't they just not care? He had the power to not give a shit. Instead, he would see his peoples’ “dreams fulfilled, their wishes granted.” EDIT - Canon as of 5.3 appears to support this analysis! \o/

Spoken at the end by G’raha Tia on the subject of enduring hope, and additionally supported by the Minstreling Wander, who told us in the Immaculate EX unlock he could not say if Vauthry was wicked in his youth. ”Vindicate his existence”. Vauthry was never in this for the evil selfish lulz. He believed he needed to prove the “half Sin Eater” heritage forced on him did not make him a monster, that it was good, that he was good, and he did it by doing everything he was gaslighted to believe was good by his father--until the Warden finally broke him entirely. To the people who debated so strongly he was just evil because reasons, or refused to hold other characters to the same standards of damnation they set for him because reasons, hope your shoe tastes good. Your reasons were always really clear, btw.

This remains the story of a child who needed a hero that never came, and players choose to discard it, like the free citizens snub produce, because Vauthry isn’t pretty enough for them. A fat character’s stolen life simply isn’t worth the effort of contemplation because the one who made him makes players horny on main.

What happened to this character, with just the little information the game gave us, was straight-up abuse. Yet too many in the fanbase thought no further than juvenile fat jokes (so cool) or unquestioning contempt for a character who was clearly in a state of mental breakdown (unless it was the fandom darling, he’s allowed, even if it destroys worlds) --while Square readily had their characters ace detective enough to detect his weight, but not his unnatural height, his pointed ears, his fogged over eyes, his bendy-straw neck, his second freaking face. Oh, and he can control Sin Eaters. Wait, you mean the Lightwarden was in him the whole time!? Seems legit gais, what an unexpected turn of events!

ᐠ( ᐛ )ᐟ

#FFXIV #long post #Vauthry #character analysis #Lord Vauthry #Eulmore #Shadowbringers

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shotsbyshae · 5 years ago

Text

Power Over Me

Prompt: “Wait, I’m confused. Are you the villain?”

Warnings: 18+ Smut, Angst

Words: 7k

Pairing: Loki x Witch!Reader

Summary: Loki has the Tesseract and can literally go anywhere he wants, so why does he keep getting drawn back to the broken little witch Steve Rogers abandoned? You saved him once, although you’re not aware of it, maybe he can return the favor.

A/N: This is for @sherrybaby14 Fall Into You Challenge. Little drabble turned into more.

I wanna be king in your story,

I wanna know who you are.

New York, 2012

“Join me,” the words are dripping with malice and the Cheshire Cat grin on his face unsettles you as he grips the front of your suit tighter with one hand, pulling you closer to him.

Standing your ground, you stare down the god, whose face is so close his nose almost brushes against yours. You can see the beads of sweat trailing along his temples, “Not a chance.”

“Such a waste,” he gives a shake of his head before he releases his grip on you, shoving his palm into your chest, pushing you off the ledge of the building. Loki turns from the ledge and starts to walk back into the interior of Stark Tower when the familiar sound of Stark’s suit has him glance back over his shoulder.

“Leave some of him for the rest of us,” Tony orders, dropping you back on your feet before flying off after a rogue Chitauri.

“Did you change your mind?” The sarcasm in his voice is short lived as you fling him back, sending him tumbling down the steps in front of the stocked bar with just a flick of your wrist. He pushes up from the floor, leaning back against the bar, a look of intrigue on his features as he watches you.

You’re down the stairs and on him – straddling him – your hips pinning him to the tile floor. Your mind can barely catch up with your basic survival instincts, as your hand wraps around his neck, squeezing tightly, while shoving him against the bar.

“That’s it,” Loki’s enjoying this, his words vicious, “own the darkness.” You hesitate, jaw clenching and he prods, “What’s the matter, little witch? Not strong enough?”

Raising your free hand, you begin to move your fingers delicately as the man’s mouth opens against his will and his life force flows from his lips in blue waves. You unclench your jaw – after all, you've never tasted a god before. The power within him is unlike anything you've ever consumed, as an icy chill spreads throughout your body – clashing with the fire in your veins – the chaos is euphoric. With a malicious grin, Loki opens his mouth wider for you, seeing the pure ecstasy spread across your features as a darkness flashes in your eyes before you shut them tightly.

You don’t feel the large arm slip around your waist, only the swift movement as Thor jerks you away from his brother, “Loki, enough!”

“You were always no fun brother,” the trickster’s words echo as you blink rapidly, trying to bring your surroundings back into focus.

Glancing at Thor’s massive hand on your shoulder, you wonder if he’s always been this large – he’s a giant compared to you.

“Hey,” the words sound far off, but another set of strong hands are on your face. “Look at me.” Your head is being tilted upward and Steve’s blue eyes are bearing down on your, full of concern, “Are you okay?”

The sheer bliss you were experiencing is now subsiding and your breathing quickens as realization hits you, “Yea, I’m sorry.” Clinging to his arm for support, you glance from Loki back up to Steve, “He threw me off the building – I lost control.”

Rogers pulls you into his side protectively as he lightly kisses your temple, speaking softly, “It’s okay.”

The interaction between the two of you repulses Loki and he rolls his eyes as Thor grabs his arm, jerking him to his feet.

2023

He hadn’t planned on ending up in this year, much less in this city, but once he had, his first thoughts were of you. After obtaining the Tesseract, Loki had followed his own timeline, to see where his future would lead and saw the man he would become. He had managed to go from the villain, to standing alongside his brother to fight Hela and save the people of Asgard, only to die at the hands of Thanos, never giving him the chance to tell you that you had played a part in that transformation. He had tried to kill you once, then you had become a friend, but in truth all Loki really wanted was for you to look at him with the same adoration you had shown for Steve Rogers. You were an extraordinary witch, gifted with dark magic, but you didn’t let it consume you, which he found fascinating. Maybe that’s part of whatever it is that keeps drawing him back to you.

The place is the epitome of dive bars and under any other circumstance, he wouldn’t be caught dead near an establishment such as this, yet he finds himself here more and more frequently because this is your hunting grounds. He always sits in the darkest corner of the bar, watching you dance with a stranger – some nights it’s men, others it’s women – grinding your hips against theirs to the music, a half-empty high ball glass in one hand. Your eye make-up always darker than you used to wear it and he wonders what you’re trying to hide – sadness. You’ve always been so strong, but now, he hardly recognizes the woman before him, because now, you’re broken. Your righteous Captain America is gone - abandoned you for another.

He watches as your other hand pulls the stranger’s face to yours, and no one else notices the waves of blue coursing from the man’s mouth as you suck at his life force. You never take enough for your victim to notice, just enough for you to get a rush. He is amazed with your self-control, but slightly disturbed, the version of you he’s seen never uses dark magic. Under any other circumstance, this would be of no concern to Loki, but he is aware of the toll dark magic can have on a witch’s soul. At one time it was your darkness that drew him in, but now he’s seen the future, and it’s your light he admires the most. He’ll be damned if he’s going to sit idly by and watch you diminish it because of some stupid mortal.

***

As soon as you open the door to your apartment, you get the overwhelming sensation that you are not alone. It’s pitch black inside and you know you left the lamp in the hallway on. You close the door behind you carefully before reaching for the light switch. As you flip the switch, you spin quickly, shoving the man behind you against the wall, holding the blade of your dagger against his throat.

“Easy, little witch,” Loki holds his hands up defenseless, glancing at the dagger. “Did I teach you that?”

You look at him curiously, knowing this isn’t the same man you saw last, “Not this version of you. When are you from?”

“Hard to say,” he replies. “We only recently met in my timeline.”

You take a step back, keeping the blade pointed at him, “Great, so the dick version?” He gives a slow smile as you continue, “What do you want?”

“To see how you are.”

You furrow your brow in disbelief, “You tried to kill me.”

“True,” Loki responds, adjusting the jacket of his suit, “but, I’ve seen the future version of us, and we were dare I say – friends – before my untimely death.”

You look him up and down closely before responding coldly, “Well, you’re not him.”

“And you’re not her either,” he retorts, causing you to clench your jaw. “The version of you I saw would never use dark magic so frivolously.”

“You should leave,” you turn, walking away.

He begins following along behind you, “I can imagine what that must feel like, being abandoned by everyone you love.”

His words are like a knife in your heart, but the worst part is, he’s right. You’ve been living with this pain for the last few months. First with Natasha and Tony’s sacrifice, then with Steve choosing to go live with her after everything the two of you had been through, and Thor couldn’t even stay on the same fucking planet as you.

“The pain you must feel…” he sympathizes, “I’m not here to judge for how you are dealing with that.”

“What do you want then Loki?” You fight the lump rising in your throat, grabbing the edge of your kitchen counter to steady yourself.

“Nothing,” his tone is slightly colder than before, “but I do have a proposition for you.”

You close your eyes as the trickster moves to lean against the counter across from you. A proposition, you think to yourself, of course. Loki had tried to recruit you during his attack on New York because of your abilities and when you refused, he threw you off a building. He’s only ever been fascinated with your powers, even when the two of you were friends, there was an underlying sense of dread that at any time he might stab you in the back.

“I’m not interested in another one of your propositions,” you flick your eyes up at him.

“Not like that,” he says sincerely, “I’m offering you – an escape – albeit, healthier than your current one. I won’t ask you to use your powers – ever.”

Your eyes narrow at him curiously, “What kind of escape?”

“Come travel with me.”

You look at him in disbelief as you try to gauge the situation, seeing the seriousness in his face, “What? Where would we travel?”

The corners of his mouth turn up in a mischievous smile and for a second you swear his eyes flash a little brighter blue, “Wherever – whenever – you want my dear.”

Los Angeles, 1981

Loki adjusts the black leather jacket he’s wearing over an emerald green pocket tee. He abhors the ripped denim jeans you insisted he wear, but you were the expert on mortal fashion, so he had agreed.

You’re wearing a red and black plaid skirt with fishnet stockings and a black tank top layered with a denim jacket. Your hair is teased, and your make-up is still dark, but there’s a smile on your lips as you stare over the balcony, watching the fight break out on the floor below the two of you. The joy on your face is an improvement from how he’d found you.

“All of time and space,” Loki leans close, and his breath on your ear sends an unwelcomed shiver down your spine, “and you choose this.”

You don’t look away from the bar brawl below as you speak to the man beside you, “This was the very first concert Motley Crue played together. This is a historic moment.”

The trickster rolls his eyes before leaning against the rail beside you, not impressed with your choice. Below, the fighting has broken up and the band is setting back up to continue with their set. You glance over at the completely uninterested look on Loki’s face as he stares down at the men moving around below you.

A small laugh escapes your lips and it surprises you. It feels like forever since you’ve had a reason to smile, much less laugh, and the sound is foreign to you, “You really hate this, don’t you?”

Loki cuts his eyes over to you, “Whatever makes you happy my dear.”

“Why the concern with my happiness?” You prop your elbow on the rail, resting your chin on the heel of your hand, your fingers curled against your lips.

“I’ve seen what you've done,” the response is slow, “for everyone else on your so-called team. You shouldn’t be having to resort to what you were doing to get away from the pain.”

You glance back down as the band starts to play, knowing his words are true. You weren’t proud of how you’d been dealing with your grief. Feeding on someone’s life force was the only way to numb the pain, it was an ecstasy rush unlike anything you’d ever felt before. You only wished mortals gave you the same sense of euphoria the god beside you had given, but you quickly push that thought out of your mind. The only issue was everytime you used dark magic, it felt as if it left a tiny mark on your soul and you often wondered how many marks were too many?

“I could help you,” Loki’s voice is soft, genuine, almost, “if you ever want to forget. I could do that for you.”

You shake your head quickly, bringing your eyes back to meet his, “No, thank you though.”

Later, Loki grabs your wrist harshly as he stops you from using an unsuspecting man with shaggy blonde hair as your drug of choice for the night. You look up at him in embarrassment, his fingers still clutching your wrist tightly.

“You’re better than this,” he says sternly, “No more – understood – that’s my only request, or I will take the pain away, without your permission.”

“Thought you wanted me to own my darkness,” the words are a bit seductive and surprise even you as they come out of your mouth.

“Not like that,” Loki responds glaring down at you, carefully releasing your wrist.

You hold his gaze defiantly for a moment before giving him a small nod of understanding.

Spain, 1902

Your pace quickens as you rush down the sidewalk, the book tucked carefully inside the black robes you’re wearing. Glancing back over your shoulder at the monastery, you make sure no one is following, but your foot lands on one of the cobblestones wrong, causing you to lose your balance. An arm snakes its way around your waist, saving you from toppling over into the street.

“Hi,” Loki keeps you balanced as he takes in your appearance, “where were you and why are you dressed like a nun?”

You raise an eyebrow at his reference, “How do you know what nuns dress like?”

“I’ve been to Midgard more than once,” he retorts. “I’m not an imbecile. What are you up to?”

“Nothing,” you say innocently enough.

“Not nothing,” Loki smiles, “you’re scheming – I can tell.” He pauses as he releases you, turning to walk away, “It’s brilliant.”

You take a couple quick steps to catch up with him before you say, “So, you’re not mad?”

You hadn’t told him about your plan to steal the Book of the Damned, after all, he had never met Charlie Bradbury. You knew you couldn’t save Tony or Natasha, but maybe this was one death you could prevent.

“Of course not,” he says nonchalantly, “you’re rather cute when you scheme.”

Clarius

“Loki...” you don’t look away from the night sky as you take in the billions of brightly shining stars above you. “This is…wow.”

“You wanted stars,” the trickster replies casually, before he climbs up onto the rock formation behind you. You turn to look at him and he offers you a hand, which you accept and join him on top of the stone.

You sit down first, still enamored with the view above you, and he sits as you say, “They feel so much closer than back home.”

“There’s no better place in the galaxy for star-gazing,” Loki comments.

The smirk on your lips can’t be hidden as you glance over at him, “So, there is more than just tricks and dramatic flair under there.”

“I’m not dramatic,” his look is defensive.

The narrow-eyed expression you give him gains an eye roll and you lie back against the rock. He joins you, and after a few moments, begins pointing out constellations you’ve never even heard of. If someone had told you a few years ago that you would spend a couple hours star gazing with the god of mischief, you would have laughed in their face. However, this isn’t the same man who had tried to kill you all those years ago – he’s different now – in a way that you’re unsure about.

New York, 1946

“I just want to see,” you say calmly, “the life she’s supposed to have without him.”

“I don’t know if that’s the best idea,” his response is hesitant, looking across to the woman sitting on the park bench, but before he can look back to you, you’re already halfway to her.

The god of mischief watches as you sit beside the woman on the bench and begin to make small talk with her. Your ability to touch someone and see their entire future is another one of your dark talents. He watches as you take the woman’s hand in yours sweetly and even from the bench across the path, he can see the bright blue flash in your eyes as well as Peggy Carter’s.

****

“Are you sure?” Loki's tone is apprehensive, as he stands beside possibly the largest tree in the park.

“It’s not about me,” you reply, “this is for her. It was selfish of him to just take away the happiness she found once she had let him go. He was the one telling everyone to move on, but he never did and to go back and wreck her timeline – “

Your tone is venomous, and Loki has never seen you this angry before. He’s curious what future you saw for Peggy as you pace back and forth in front of him on the grass.

“This will alter his timeline.”

“I don’t give a shit,” you reply, “he abandoned everyone and it’s not fair to her.”

“He will never forgive you for this,” Loki steps in front of you, to halt your pacing, touching your arm gently. “As much as I would love that – are you certain?”

“I don’t care,” he can see the sadness in your eyes as you look up at him, “I already lost him.”

Loki watches from across the street as you talk with Agent Carter and he sees the small waves of blue light which begin to manifest from your fingertips as you speak. The dark-haired woman in an apparent trance and oblivious to the magic you’re weaving around her. Even with the power you possess, you’re more concerned with another person’s happiness than you are your own. He’d give you the universe on a gold platter if you’d let him.

Asgard

“Is that her?” You question, looking across the garden at a woman who is walking with a young boy with jet black hair.

Loki gives a nod of his head, a sad, reminiscent look in his eye as he watches the events unfold before him. He’s wearing his usually black and green, while your dress is a bright blue color with a silver breast plate and wrist guards.

“Look how adorable you were,” you say jokingly, shoving his arm with your hand, “it’s always the cute ones you have to watch out for – they’ll try to take over the world.”

“Funny,” he remarks, “come, let’s go this way.”

He starts down an opposite path in the garden, away from the path Frigga and young Loki are walking. You follow along beside him quietly watching as he examines the different flowers and plants. “Take me somewhere you want to see.” Those had been your words to him after the last trip to 1946. You hadn’t expected for him to bring you to his home, although you had heard Thor tell stories of how beautiful it was, his words could never do Asgard justice.

“She seems like a wonderful person,” you comment, noticing as he glances back across the large garden to the woman.

“She was,” he replies, “she always showed me nothing but kindness and love. She saw the good in me, even when I refused to believe it was there.”

There is a moment of silence as you continue along the cobblestone walkway and you finally speak up, “Well, the first time I met you…”

“I tried to kill you,” Loki interrupts, glancing down at you.

“True,” you reply, “but given the circumstances…”

Your words are interrupted again as someone taps gently on one of your wrist guards, causing you to stop walking and turn to look down at the dark-haired child standing behind you. Loki stands frozen as he stares down at his younger self, not saying a word as the child doesn’t even acknowledge his presence, but speaks to you instead, “Excuse me miss.”

“Hi,” you squat down to be eye level with the young boy and you notice the bright blue flower in his hand.

“I couldn’t help it,” he begins shyly, “but I could feel your sadness.”

Your eyes widen in shock at the revelation and you glance up at the man standing beside you in disbelief before looking back at the child. He offers you the flower from his hand and you take it offering him a warm smile.

“Thank you.”

“I don’t know what someone as pretty as you could possibly be sad about,” the little boy states, his blue eyes staring into yours innocently.

“Well,” you begin slowly, glancing down at the flower for a moment, “I lost a friend.”

“I’m sorry,” he says, offering his hand to you, “My name’s Loki – I could be your friend, if you’d like?”

You take his small hand in yours, “I’d like that very much.” You cut your eyes up to see a smile on Loki’s face as he watches you interact with his younger self.

“Loki,” Frigga’s voice calls from across the garden.

“I have to go,” the little boy says, “I’ll see you again soon?”

You nod enthusiastically as the boy smiles before running off down the path.

You stand back up, twirling the flower between your fingers, as you stare at the trickster, “I think we just changed your timeline.”

“How so?” Loki questions.

“Because now, you might have a crush,” you smirk, glancing back to the little boy running across the garden.

“Unlikely,” he responds coolly, before you loop your arm through his and the two of you continue to walk down the path.

London 1970

Loki sits outside the small café waiting on you, a smile on his face as he watches a young couple a few tables away. It’s obvious to anyone nearby that they are very much in love. They exude it, with small touches and playful kisses. The girl moves closer to her boyfriend on the bench they share as she leans into him, resting her head against his shoulder for a moment. The action reminds Loki of the night before and your terrible movie choices, although the scary movie you had picked out was the reason you ended up practically buried into his side on the couch, so it wasn’t that bad after all. You had fallen asleep there on his shoulder and he wouldn’t admit it to anyone else, but he had started the movie over once it went off, just as an excuse to hold you for a little while longer.

He’s calmly sipping a cup of coffee when he notices you running down the sidewalk towards him, an old leather-bound book tucked under one arm and a hatchet in your opposite hand. He jumps up quickly, rushing to you as you come to a frantic stop.

“Bad news,” you say, out of breath, “we have to skip the museum tour.”

“What did you do?”

“I had to pick something up,” you reply, “and the previous owners weren’t happy about it.”

“Why do you have a hatchet?”

“Because they tried to stop me,” you say matter-of-factly.

“You’re a witch,” Loki looks at you in confusion, “you had other options.”

“I didn’t want to hurt them.”

“It’s a hatchet!”

“It was only to scare them,” you reply before tossing the weapon across the bushes beside you.

“You said you were going shopping,” he narrows his eyes at you.

“Technically,” you smirk, “I was.”

“Technically,” his smile is just as mischievous, “you’re scheming.”

“You love it,” you quip, grabbing his arm and turning him to walk down the sidewalk with you.

“You have no idea.”

Kansas, 2012

“This place looks abandoned,” Loki states looking up at the dilapidated building.

“It is,” you reply, pulling a key from your pocket, “but it won’t be in another year.”

You open the door to the bunker and Loki follows you down the staircase as you flip the power switch to illuminate the inside.

“Whose place is this?” He questions, walking along the expansive bookshelves as you fumble in a drawer for a pen and paper.

“Friend of a friend,” you reply as you begin to write on the paper.

“You’re scheming again,” Loki smiles as he approaches, looking over your shoulder at the note.

Dear Winchesters,

This is The Book of the Damned, you’re welcome. This other book is the Black Grimoire, so keep it locked away please.

“You’re not slightly curious what’s in that book?” Loki questions as he leans down, his face beside yours as he flips the grimoire open with one hand.

“No,” you glance over at him, closing the book, “I’m powerful enough without it. That’s equivalent to witch steroids – I have enough dark magic in me without juicing.”

“You really are quite astonishing,” Loki cuts his eyes over to you, “just how powerful are you?”

Maintaining eye contact with the man, you begin slowly, “Tell me one of your greatest fears,”

“Being loved,” the response comes without hesitation, almost robotically, “because I don’t deserve it.” He blinks in realization of his answer, knowing you forced the truth from his mouth.

“That’s dark,” you respond sadly, placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “Everyone deserves to be loved.”

“What other surprises are you hiding?” He questions quietly, enamored with you.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” You smirk before stepping away from the table.

“Oh, would I.”

Paris, 1890

He stands outside the building waiting for you, dressed much like the rest of the men who are entering the doors behind him, in a black tuxedo with a white undershirt. The trickster spots you through the small crowd of people as you glance around for him and he notes your eye make-up is not as dark it’s been. The emerald green dress you’re wearing is unlike anything he’s ever seen you in, the corset top clings to your waist while pushing your breasts together, and he suddenly has a new fascination with this Midgard fashion. There are no sleeves and you have your hair pinned up, leaving your shoulders and neck bare. Gloves the same color green run up the length of your arms, stopping at your elbows, and he watches as one hand gathers the length of the dress up as you start to move towards him.

“Hi,” Loki greets, finally meeting your gaze, noting the small smile on your lips, “you look…” He pauses, words elude him, and he knits his brows together as he licks his lips nervously.

“Are you speechless?” You joke as you reach up to straighten his tie.

“You look…ravishing,” he finally says quietly, taking one of your hands in his.

“And to think,” you flash him a smirk, “you didn’t want to come.”

“I can be a fool sometimes,” Loki says as if still entranced by your presence.

“Come on,” you tug on the hand you’re still holding, “we’ll miss the show.”

The two of you turn and head toward the entrance below the giant windmill and the signage reading: Moulin Rouge.

***

“Dance with me,” the request is innocent, your intention is not. You’ve been watching an older sleaze ball harass one of the younger dancers for several minutes now.

“I doubt you can keep up,” he stands from the table, offering you his hand, “but if the lady insists.”

You place your hand in his, following him into the mass of people and your surprised when he twirls you quickly into his chest. He smirks as you regain your composure, moving your left hand to his shoulder while he expertly takes your right hand in his.

“Everything alright?” His whispers his question after he watches your body tense up. His hand on your waist, pulling you closer into him is more intimate than the two of you have been since starting this little adventure.

You try to steady your breathing, remembering the reason behind this whole idea, however, his hands on you were giving you a new reason for it.

“Yea,” your response is a little more breathless than you want it to sound and his smile isn’t lost on you, but you smile back, your body defying the confusion reigning in your mind. After a moment, you look past Loki to the sleaze ball who was your original target and the god follows your gaze, watching as the man runs a greedy hand up the young dancer’s thigh. The disgust and embarrassment evident on her face as she tries to pull away. Loki feels your left hand leave his shoulder momentarily, and suddenly the old man begins to grab at his throat, his face panic stricken as he falls to the floor. Other patrons rush to his side to help him as he chokes, giving the young girl a chance to escape and make her way backstage.

The god of mischief slowly turns back to look at you curiously, “Was that you?”

You glance up at him, wide-eyed and innocent, a smile playing at the corners of your lips, “Whatever do you mean?”

A laugh escapes his lips before he begins to skillfully move with you through the mass of dancing bodies, the two of you cheek to cheek. His breath warm against your ear, “You are a goddess.”

The words give you goosebumps and you pull back slightly to meet his gaze, “That’s quite a compliment from a god.”

“It shouldn’t take a god,” he says quietly, and you can see the sincerity in his eyes. “If the mortal couldn’t see all that you are – it’s his loss.”

You lean back into him, placing your cheek against his, feeling more comfortable in his arms than you know you should.

2023

Sleep eludes you, after your evening of dancing, so you make your way down the hall, heading for your kitchen, when the sight of the trickster on your couch makes you stop in your tracks. He’s sleeping peacefully and you wonder what it is he’s dreaming of as you make your way to sit on the coffee table across from him. The thought alone is wrong, but Loki’s not exactly an open book, so maybe getting inside his head would give you a little more insight into what his plans are. Dream walking isn’t something you like to do, it’s an invasion of privacy, but there are exceptions. You focus on the man before you as you close your eyes.

It takes a moment for you to realize what’s happening. Loki stands with his back to you, and you watch as he forcefully lifts the person in front of him up and takes a step forward, setting her atop the kitchen counter as her hands move to rest just above his hips. Is this a full-blown make-out session? Suddenly you feel a little bad for being here, but that doesn’t stop you from quietly taking a few steps to the side in order to get a better view of his partner. Your breath catches in your throat when you finally recognize the girl: it’s you. Loki’s mouth is on yours, slow and soft kisses, as his tongue teases yours – darting inside your mouth. One of your hands moves to the nape of his neck, pulling him closer to you, while his hands jerk your hips greedily to him. A sudden thrust from him and you watch as your head falls back against the cabinet, while his teeth nip at your collarbone. Another thrust, and the moan that escapes your lips sends a shiver down your spine. Seeing this play out, almost in slow motion before you, causes your body to react faster than your mind can function, and you feel the heat pooling between your thighs. Knowing how he tastes, the euphoric feeling only he can give you, suddenly makes you feel empty and deprived, wondering what he would also feel like inside you – the feel of his body against yours – how his lips feel as they devour you.

You pull yourself from the dream quickly and stumble to your feet, staring down at the person below you. The trickster, who at one time had wanted you for the darkness you possess, to cause chaos with him in taking over the world. You thought he was past saving when he flung you from the roof in New York, this was that same version of Loki you have to remind yourself – not the version you became friends with later on. He’s seen the future though, so there’s a chance he’s not the villain he was then, he’s not committed any crimes since you’ve been with him – no tricks.

You reach down slowly to touch his cheek but stop yourself. The way you’re feeling right now is wrong – or is it? You deserve the chance to be happy again. Loki does make you smile, laugh, with no expectations, and he seems genuine. These thoughts aren’t your own though, they’re his – or are they?

The next morning you’re pacing the length of the kitchen after your third cup of coffee and no sleep, when Loki makes his appearance.

“Finally,” you state, pointing a finger at him, stopping long enough to take another sip of your coffee.

“Good morning,” he greets, moving to grab an empty mug from the shelf.

“So,” you begin, rather frantically, “you know when sometimes, out of the blue you just want some ice cream, but it’s okay, because it’s your decision. Then other times, you might see someone eating ice cream and think, ‘oh hey, I want ice cream.’ Only because you saw someone else eating ice cream, so it’s not really your decision, it was influenced by someone else.”

“You’re rambling,” Loki remarks nonchalantly pouring himself a cup of coffee.

You take a deep breath, “I fucked up.”

He turns from the coffee pot and raises an eyebrow curiously, “Did you eat ice cream?”

“No,” you shake your head, “I couldn’t sleep last night and I – I got inside your head.”

The trickster’s expression falls as he begins to realize what you were implying with your previous statement and he interrupts you, “No.”

“Yes,” you look at him sheepishly, “and now I want ice cream, and I wasn’t fully aware I wanted ice cream before I saw you have ice cream and –”

“How do you feel about ice cream?” His question catches you off guard and you can feel your heart beating erratically in your chest. Loki places his coffee mug on the counter, turning to watch you with an intense gaze.

“I think I’ve wanted it since I tasted you that day in New York,” your response is timid as he closes the distance between you. “Which scares the hell out of me.”

“Why does it frighten you?” His blue eyes hold your gaze as he stands over you.

“Because,” you continue nervously, “everything I’ve experienced, I’m still recovering, and I don’t trust myself with you, not yet anyway. I need to forget – about the ice cream.”

“You do know,” he tests the water, his tone slightly sinister as he brushes your hair behind your ear, “what this means? Giving me control of your mind like that, I can erase whatever memory I choose – twist and turn your thoughts if I want – oh, the havoc we could wreak.”

Glancing up at him then, you see the small glint in his eyes as he contemplates the idea, and his hand moves to cup the side of your cheek as he continues, “Still want me inside your mind?”

You move your hand to rest on top of his, squeezing slightly as you say without hesitation, “I trust you.”

Loki falters at your words, and you catch the slight sadness in his eyes as he moves his fingers along to your temple as he whispers, “You’re the first.”

As he works his magic, your eyes flash green briefly before you close them tightly, and after a moment the trickster pulls his hand away from your temple allowing you to open your eyes slowly.

“Now, stay out of my mind,” the man glares down at you as he speaks, and you raise a curious eyebrow.

Slowly you realize where you are and the last thing you remember is going to bed last night, you narrow your eyes at the man, “Did you just do a Vulcan mind-meld on me?”

“I have no idea what that means,” he replies, stepping backwards to lean against the counter, picking up his coffee mug, “but you asked, and I delivered. So, where to today, little witch?”

Suddenly a bright orange orb begins to fizzle in the center of the room, slowly expanding into a larger circle. Loki's eyes cut from the spectacle over to you and he catches the look of panic cross your features.

“You should go,” you say quickly, turning your gaze to him, “now!”

The trickster vanishes in a puff a smoke as the orb fully opens to reveal the inside of what appears to be a conference room. A man dressed in a blue robe steps through the opening, a dark red cloak floating along behind him. It appears to be attached to his shoulders but moves as if it has a mind of its own.

Stephen cocks his head at your with a slight know-it-all smirk, “Someone’s been messing with time.”

Your hands fly to your chest in mock astonishment, “Who? Me?”

“The Director will see you now,” Strange states, waving his arm toward the portal, waiting on you to enter.

You make your way through the portal and enter the conference room to see Nick Fury standing at the head of the table. A small lump forms in your throat as you see Steve sitting directly to the right of him, the look on his face indicates he’s both sad and pissed off. Wilson and Barnes are also sitting at the large table, as is Peter Parker. The youngest Avenger gives you a small smile as you sit down beside him.

“Hey,” he says quietly to you.

You smile back before turning a glare toward Fury, “Does Parker need to be here?”

The young man glances between the two of you curiously as the man at the head of the table speaks, “Yes. He needs to know what you’ve been up to.”

You clench your jaw while Parker shifts uncomfortably in the seat beside you as Strange moves to sit at the front of the table opposite of Rogers.

“You disobeyed a direct order,” Fury states glaring down the table at you.

“And?” You challenge him. “Who at this table hasn’t?”

Your words cause the tension in the room to shift as a noise from outside gains Fury’s attention and suddenly the door the conference room opens, and Thor enters. He gives a nod of acknowledgement to everyone at the table, “Sorry I’m late, wasn’t aware there was a party.”

“When did you get back?” Fury questions him.

“Earlier today,” he responds with a smile before moving to sit beside Steve, “please, continue.”

“You’ve been using your magic,” Stephen comments.

“And that’s a crime?” You question him.

“Dark magic is,” he responds.

“Dark magic?” Wilson interrupts, “like black magic – voodoo stuff?”

Barnes shakes his head at Sam and his inappropriate timing to start questioning you about your abilities.

“Wait, I’m confused. Are you the villain?” Peter turns to question you.

“We’re all villains in someone’s story,” you respond quickly to him, before you glance over to Barnes who gives you a small nod of understanding. Steve clenches his jaw at your words as he looks down at the table in front of him.

Fury looks annoyed, “I specifically told you not to mess with the timeline.”

“Oh,” you lean forward on the table, your expression changing as you point an angry finger toward Rogers, “but he can.”

“Where’s Loki?” Steve’s words are sharp as he stares at you with distrust.

“Why would I tell you?” You glare at the man who knows you more intimately than anyone in the room.

“He tried to kill you,” he responds in disbelief. “Or did you forget?”

“Yea, and then he saved me,” you snap back. “Where were you?”

Rogers’ gaze drops as Thor looks from the man beside him back over to you in disbelief, “You know where my brother is?”

“Not exactly,” you respond, glancing over to the god.

“She’s been running around with him for the last few months,” Fury states, “traveling through time and space, her mission was to bring him, and the Black Grimoire, in.”

“Speaking of which…” Strange interrupts Fury, looking towards you, “where is the book?”

You smirk, “Like I’m giving that to S.H.I.E.L.D…don’t worry Strange, it’s safe.”

“There will be repercussions to your actions,” Fury states, “you know that, right?”

You shrug your shoulders, “Lock me up Director, throw away the key – doesn’t matter to me. I’m not giving you Loki and I’m not giving you the book. Now, if you need my help saving the world, I’m in, but I won’t be a pawn in whatever game you’re trying to play.”

“Leave us,” Fury states to everyone else in the room, causing the rest of the men to slowly stand up and make their way out the door.

Once Fury releases you, with strict instructions to inform him if Loki contacts you again, you exit the conference room, intent on finding Wilson or Barnes to drive you back home.

“Can we talk?” Steve questions from the wall he’s leaning against as you walk past him.

“Yes,” you don’t slow down, “but not today.”

“When?”

You stop then, turning to face him, seeing the look of remorse on his face, “I don’t know.”

“I’m sorry,” he takes a step towards you and you shake your head.

“I’m not,” you say before descending the stairs.

You’re down the stairs and across the lobby when you hear Thor’s voice, “Wait up.”

“I’m not telling you where your brother is,” you state as the man falls in step with you.

“I understand,” he replies, “if he wants to see me, I’m sure he’ll find a way. So, you and Loki are – close?”

“Yes,” you glance up at the god of thunder, “he really is a good man Thor.”

“I know,” he smiles warmly. “Where are you headed?”

“To grab a few of my things, then home. I’d ask you to drive me, but…”

“Right, no experience there,” Thor comments as you reach the door to your room. You open the door and walk inside, not paying attention to the fact the Asgardian checks to see if anyone is watching before he follows you inside and shuts the door, quickly turning the lock on the knob.

Hearing the door shut, you turn, “Thor, what are you…”

Thor no longer stands behind you, Loki’s eyes glare across the small room at you as he says quietly, “All this time, you were playing me, but you were really playing them.”

“No,” you fold your arms across your chest, “I was doing what was right.”

“When?” He questions you, seeing the confused look on your face. “When did they assign you?”

“Strange came to see me after you stopped by that first night,” you reply, “told me about the grimoire and that Fury wanted me to bring you in.”

“So that’s why you went with me?” His tone is challenging, but there’s a sadness in his eyes and you see it.

“No, I went with you, because – you came for me,” you reply quietly. “I felt like you actually cared and that was more than I had felt in months.” His eyes brighten up again and he sees the look of adoration on your face.

“Why even get the book?” He questions, leaning back against the desk.

“Because S.H.I.E.L.D. knew where it was – now they don’t.”

A wide smile crosses his face, “Clever girl.”

“You know they won’t stop looking for you.”

“I know – I may need to go away for a while,” Loki says, his eyes watching you intently, “come with me.”

Closing the distance between the two of you, a sigh escapes your lips, “I would love that.”

“Then why do I feel a ‘but’ coming?”

“But,” he mirrors the smirk you give him as you continue, “I have a few things I need to square away here first, give me a few months, then –”

“Scheming.”

“Lots of scheming,” you cup the side of his cheek.

A sudden knock at the door interrupts you and Sam’s voice is slightly muffled from the other side.

“Hey, sorry…Fury said something about an open-door policy…that you can’t be trusted,” his tone is hesitant, “I’m just the messenger.”

“You should go,” you whisper, flicking your eyes up to Loki.

He gives a slight nod, then lightly kisses your forehead, “I’ll see you soon.”

With a cloud of smoke, he disappears, and you smile to yourself as you move to open the door to your room.

***

“Hey Barnes,” you announce, making your way into the common room. The dark-haired man glances up at you expectantly as you continue, “can you give me a lift back to my place?”

“Sure thing,” he responds, standing up from his place on the couch.

“Hey,” Peter pops up with a nervous smile, “can I come? Maybe have a movie night, like old times?”

You narrow your eyes at him, “Movie night?”

Parker swallows visibly as he gives a nod, but you continue, “Or is Fury sending you to babysit? Make sure I don’t run off with the god of mischief.”

“That too,” he gives you a half-smile, relieved he’s not having to lie to you.

“Sure,” you roll your eyes as you turn to follow Barnes, “you can sleepover Parker.”

“Great,” he jumps over the back of the couch, shooting a web from his palm out across the room to snatch his duffel bag from beside the kitchen counter.

***

“Where else did you go?” Peter questions excitedly as you unlock the door to your apartment.

“Parker,” you look at him in exhaustion, his questions haven’t stopped since you left the compound. “We have all night.”

“Right – sorry.”

You push the door open and the fragrant smell overtakes your senses as you slowly enter. Your mouth falls open at the sight before you as Peter drops his duffel to the floor, closing the door behind you.

“Holy shit,” he says as he walks past you, looking around, “that’s a lot of flowers.”

Every surface in your apartment has a crystal vase brimming with blue Asgardian flowers. The same flower young Loki had given you in the garden the day you met him. There has to be hundreds of them, if not more. Peter takes off down the hall and into your bedroom, “They’re in here too!”

You shake your head as you approach and see a small white note tucked into vase on the coffee table.

“And in your bathroom!” Parker calls from the other room, as you pull the note from the vase, “They’re literally everywhere!”

Unfolding the note, you see the wispy, perfectly written words:

You saved me first little witch; you just didn’t know it.

P.S. I might have a crush.

Part 2

#sherry's fall into you challenge #writting challenge #fanfiction #avengers fanfiction #loki x reader #loki #fanfic #tumblr game #loki fanfiction #loki fanfic #avengers fanfic #marvel #mcu #avengers

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colderthancoldest · 4 years ago

Photo

((Thanks anon! I picked 13 and Dhawan!Master of course lol))

The Master's Tardis had traced the call seven minutes in advance to this exact time and location. He pushed open his Tardis door to find himself in front of some no name bar with graffiti scrawled on the side, situated in front of an empty ravine. He was on Earth, and there was probably a similarly ramshackled city around him, but he didn't so much as spare it a glance.

The Master's steps were determined, his jaw clenched, and his hands shaking despite his signature device in hand.

He had been on the other side of the universe, licking his wounds like any old villain would when disappointed by their least nemesis showdown. It all made his blood boil to have caved so soon. To come back and HELP the Doctor.

The Doctor still had O's number and her call was scheduled to be made in exactly seven minutes. A hysterical, agonizing call that begged the Master to intervene. He wasn't sure what was worse, hearing the Doctor in so much despair, or the disappointment that hearing her in such agony somehow didn't lessen his own.

Seven minutes, which quickly turned into six by the time he made his way to the bar. Why the Doctor would ever be here- let alone with her 'companions'- was beyond him. He could only assume that her and her little fake family of humans were investigating yet another 'alien disturbance' before everything went wrong.

He glanced inside the window. He could see the Doctor grinning away, telling some kind of story to a curious crowd. Judging from her smiling face, there was still time yet to fix things.

Graham was there with the Doctor, but there was no sign of Yaz or Ryan inside.

The Master found a frustrated growl caught in his throat.

Five minutes now.

"We just want to ask you some questions-" the Master spun his head around to pinpoint the location of Yaz's voice. She was behind the building, out of his line of sight, but close by, "you clearly know something you're not telling us."

"Yeah," a voice added whom the Master could only assume was Ryan, "an' we can't help until you tell us what you're scared of."

The Master raced over the overgrown lot and skidded across the loose gravel as his eyes finally landed on the pair of humans. They were questioning what looked like a young lady- but the Master wasn't so naive. In under five minutes both humans would be dead if the Master didn't do something.

The Master reached out his arm and aimed the device at the lady. Her lips curled into an evil smile, but the Master's ray hit her before she could transform into whatever disgusting monster was undoubtedly underneath.

Yaz and Ryan's mouths fell open in shock as the lady suddenly shrank into a figurine and subsequently tumbled down the ravine. They scrambled back from the ledge and turned their heads to find the Master responsible.

The Master glanced over Yaz and Ryan for a moment, looked down at the tiny item tumbling away- half-transformed into a disgusting monster of black goo- and then glared at the Doctor's companions once more.

The Master shouted with such intensity that the back windows of the nearby buildings shook in their frames.

"You two. Come with me. Now." he demanded.

"Wait! Why did you-"

"Now! Or you'll die right on schedule."

The Master's forceful voice twisted his words into a threat, even though his actions suggested nothing of the sort. He was saving them, but he didn't have the time nor patience to explain why. He wasn't even sure he could explain why even if he wanted to.

The Master returned his device to his pocket, his hands shaking terribly as he fought himself for control.

"Come on," he said flatly. Then he turned, and led the pair into the pathetic excuse of a building.

The Master easily kicked through the lock of the emergency exit and let himself in, via the staff room. He heard the humans asking him questions as they followed, but blatantly ignored them.

The Master made his way through the small room, through the kitchen, and zapped some random soul playing darts as he entered the main room before the drunken fool accidentally hit someone.

Some garbage song from the 1980′s drifted through the dimly lit room as the Master approached the Doctor and grabbed her hand.

"Lovely to meet you all," the Master gave the various humans around the table a false smile, "Dearest, I think we'll be leaving," he hissed into the Doctor's ear.

He tightened his grip on her hand, making her sharply aware that this was not optional.

He only had four minutes after all. Four minutes to fix everything.

The Doctor looked up at him, her eyes not fully realizing it was him for a moment.

"You!" He heard Graham gasp.

The Master shook his head sharply, his anger swelling up into every tense muscle in his body. He hated these humans. He didn't understand why the Doctor would care so much for such fragile play things.

And yet here he was. The LEAST they could do was cooperate.

"Theta," the Master hissed through his teeth so quietly no one else could make out the word, "time to run."

The Doctor looked him over, her expression cold for a long moment, before she seemed to recognize the Master's desperation for her to comply. Finally, finally, she stood up. Her fingers clamped down on the Master's hand equally as tight, as if it was some sort of competition.

"Right, let's go fam," the Doctor happily said with a false sense of security.

Immediately, the Master led her out of the rundown bar, hand in hand. He broke into a run once they were out the doors and didn't stop. Just over three minutes. Three minutes to keep everyone alive. That was the deal.

Save them, just this once.

He didn't slow down for a single moment. Not even to see if the others were catching up. He just ran, down the street, around corners, through the park, and he didn't stop until the seconds ticked down and his full seven minutes were up.

When he finally stopped, he found himself- and the others of course- on a bridge overlooking a stream.

Only then, did he let go of the Doctor's hand.

The Master leaned over the edge, breathing heavily as he tried to catch his breath.

There was just one last thing to do.

"Give me your phone!" He demanded, pulling out his own phone from his pocket.

"What? Why?" The Doctor protested, "And why are we-"

"Phone... or the paradox breaks," the Master demanded.

The Doctor glared at him, but she did give up her phone.

The Master impatiently snatched it from her hand.

He opened it up and dialed his own number.

"Everyone cover your ears!" He huffed.

He checked the time. Just seconds to go.

There was some groaning from the humans, but the Doctor told them something about the dangers of paradoxes and so they complied.

The Master held his thumb over the dial icon, looking back to the Doctor once more.

"You too, dear," he said softer than he had ever said anything to this version of the Doctor.

Reluctantly, the Doctor put her hands over her ears.

The Master dialed his own number in one hand, and pulled up the recording of the Doctor's message on his own phone in the other.

He hit play on the Doctor's message, the message that had brought him here, and held the phones up to each other.

It was still a paradox, but at least this would lessen the damage. The Master winced to hear the message, the pain of it refusing to dull even after a second listen.

"Master- Koschei-" the Doctor's voice broke over the recording, "I- I messed up. My fam... my-" she sniffed, audibly crying, "Master, I messed up. They're... they're dead. They only stepped out for a minute I didn't-I didn't even realize-"

The Master grimaced as she paused to catch her breath, the sobs clearly evident from her quivering words and the way her words occasionally caught in her throat.

"I can't- I can't fix it. The timelines- the- I really messed up. Just... please." Another pause.

"Master, please. I need you to help me. They can't die like this, not them. I can't- I can't do this without them. I can't lose them like this- just- please, just this once- I-I can't cross my timeline-" the Doctor in the recording sniffled, "I can't cross my timeline, you understand why... but you can. You're not part of the events so... please. I know you said you would never save them but I- I can't let them die like this. I can't let it be my fault so please, please save them. Just this once."

Another pause. The Master pictured the Doctor, probably all curled up on the Tardis floor as she finally said, "What am I even doing. You're probably dead."

More sobbing. It hurt the Master like knives being dug into his chest. And to think. The Doctor crying over him.

Two more words,

"I'm alone."

And then the message ends.

The Master took a deep breath and hung up both phones.

He stared out over the water, composed himself, and then turned back to the gang.

The Master relinquished the Doctor's phone to her and gave a nod, a sign that he was done and it was all over.

She seemed to have complied with his demand for once, because the Doctor's eyes betrayed no sign she had heard the message that she would no longer have to send him.

Still, her eyes looked over the Master's heavy hearts with something distant as she lowered her hands, took the phone, and shoved it into her coat pocket once more.

"So what was that about?" she asked somberly.

The Master turned to face her and sat himself up on the ledge of the small bridge. He still wasn't a big fan of the running, but at least it was over now. He hoped he would never have to intervene like this again.

"You don't want to know, but it was for your own good," the Master snapped.

"He did sorta save us I think," Ryan interjected.

The humans had all lowered their hands when the Doctor had done so.

"You're sure?" The Doctor looked to him, slightly confused because the Master saving anyone didn't sound right at all to her ears.

"I hate to admit it, but yeah," Yaz vouched.

"No. You would never," the Doctor stepped closer to the Master, eyeing him skeptically, "Would you? No, not unless it helped you in some way. What are you planning?"

The Master sighed, exhausted by all this.

Helped him in some way? Plans? The only thing doing this /helped/ was making sure the Doctor didn't fling herself into the sun after thinking everyone she cared out was dead because of her.

Was keeping his best enemy in tip top condition for their next showdown not a selfish reason enough?

"You prefer them alive, don't you? Let's just leave it at that," he refused to elaborate.

"And yeah, I'm still alive too," he then added through his teeth, "I can't believe there was ever any doubt."

The Doctor shortened the distance between them until her face was close enough for their breaths to mingle in the cool, evening air.

"In that case, I'm not sure if I want to kiss you, or shove you off this bridge."

The Master's full lips pulled into an overwhelming smile.

"Can I pick?" he hummed warmly.

The Doctor considered this for a moment, her face so close they were practically touching.

"No," the Doctor smiled.

Her lips pressed against his, soft but firm against the Master's full lips. The scruff of his beard tickled her face just enough to make her smile.

More than anything, the Master was relieved. He much preferred the Doctor's grin to her mournful begging.

Then all at once, he lost his balance and fell back over the edge.

He hit the water with a loud splash and fell through the deep pocket of water until his back finally settled against the river bed. He wondered if the Doctor would jump in after him if he waited there long enough. He should have pulled her in along with him, but the Master hadn't realized he was going to be kissed and shoved in. Not that he was surprised.

He watched the blurry patches of color through the water as the Doctor and her gang make their way to the shore, clearly put off by the fact that the Master hadn't resurfaced yet.

He waited until the Doctor leaned over the edge to look for him before leaping up. In one swift motion, he grabbed her arm and pulled her into the water as well.

The Master chuckled as he dragged himself up onto shore, the weight of his soaked clothes pulling him down but his sweet revenge well worth the price.

The Doctor soon resurfaced as well with a surprised gasp and climbed up onto the land, now thoroughly soaked as well.

The Doctor began to laugh at having fallen prey to such a childish prank. A full, cheerful laugh, the likes of which had yet to grace this Master's ears.

It made the Master smile just a little.

"Is that it?" The Doctor finally asked, ringing the water out of the edge of her coat.

The Master nodded. His work here was done and he hoped he would never have to play 'damage control' again.

"It'd better be. Keep a better eye on your pets," the Master grumbled as he made his way back to the path.

It was time for him to go.

"We're not-" Graham began to defend the group against the Master's use of the word 'pets'.

The Master simply glared over each of them.

"You're welcome," he said gravely.

He could hear the humans question the Doctor about all this, but the Master couldn't care less.

He hated everything about this. He hated being weak like this.

And yet, he was thankful that he could return to his scheming knowing the Doctor would be alive and well for their next inevitable confrontation. That simple fact was worth everything to him.

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embarrassingresultofmyfreetime · 4 years ago

Text

2020 Masterlist

Here’s a list of all the fics I’ve posted this year! (Listed by category, then chronologically:)

Link to my ao3 where you can read all of these: embarrassingresultofmyfreetime

Currents wips:

And They Were Quarantine Mates

An old disease has resurfaced on Earth- one which most humans recover from but is permanently lethal to Time Lords.

Because of this, the Doctor stays on Earth to make sure her humans make it through okay.

And because of the Doctor, the Master- against his better judgement- also chooses to stay.

Reluctant to leave the safety of the Doctor's Tardis, the Doctor and the Master find plenty of ways to pass the time but it can be difficult to enjoy each other's company with so many things left unsaid.

Good thing they have plenty of time in isolation to work it out.

Word Count: Currently 88,172

Spyfall: Battle For Humanity

This is a little number I like to call: Roleswap AU with Dhawan!Doctor and Whittaker!Master

It's sort of a rewrite of Spyfall p2 but it's better.

Word Count: Currently 5,688 (will be about 12k when finished)

~~~

Main fics (completed):

Please Tell Me Why Do We Worry

Summary: After learning about the final loss of Gallifrey, the Doctor takes some time to grieve and finds herself with surprisingly mixed feelings about the whole ordeal.

To her surprise, a knock at her Tardis door soon reveals the Master not only alive, but in uncontrollable mental agony as he reveals that the Doctor's suffering has been amplifying his own emotions via their telepathic bond.

Note: (After so many kind and positive comments on this fic, I finally gained the confidence to start posting more! A huge thank you to so many people it means so, so much to me!)

Word Count: 5,068

Second Chances

When Graham finds a teleportation cube offering an all-expenses-paid vacation, he, Ryan, and Yaz take up the offer and give the seemingly-distant Doctor some time to herself.

After the events of Skyfall 1&2, the trust between the trio and a certain timelord is shaken. However, when their vacation quickly becomes a nightmare, it's up to the Doctor to bring about peace on an upsettingly familiar planet.

Note: (A rewrite/fix it of S11 episode Orphan 55)

Word Count: 7,130

All’s Fair In Love And War

Having escaped alive and alone, the Master dwells on his failure and uncertainty at what to do next.

Purely by accident, he runs into a version of the Doctor he's never met before and she gives him a much needed perspective on their relationship.

Word Count: 4,653

Truth and Reconciliation

“I... I destroyed a lot of things, but not this... trove of secrets. This is what started it all.”

Missing Scene where the Master goes to Gallifrey and discovers the truth of the timeless child for the first time + alternate ending to The Timeless Children episode

Word Count: 7,563

The Doctor Finally Gets Some Rest

(Ch2 update Missy pov)

The Doctor promised to guard Missy for 1000 years, but Missy doesn't mind returning the favor.

Word Count: 5,671

I Wouldn’t Wish It On My Best Enemy

"Just deserts appeared to finally be served for the Doctor. All her running had come to an end, all the lives she's taken or caused had finally been assigned a numerical value, and all the morals she had once believed in seemed to crumble to dust right before her eyes.

A life sentence.

She had JUST BEEN TOLD she would never die, and the first thing the universe does is give her a life sentence.

What kind of cruel joke is that?"

Basically: The Doctor reflects on herself while in prison, the Master rescues the Doctor and actually helps her, and idk read the tags

Word Count: 4,629

Brand New Reality

In an alternate timeline: The Master is killed in the Time War but the Doctor finds a way to salvage his oldest friend's mind by binding it to his Tardis and building him an android vessel as a way to interact with the physical world.

The Doctor also manages to save the Time Lords from their war- but he is still a renegade in their eyes. As punishment, the High Council uses the Doctor- and by extension the Master- as their personal diplomats/field agents.

The Master isn't too happy about being trapped on the Doctor's Tardis, the Doctor is fed up with being the equivalent of a dog on a leash to the Time Lords, so in a moment of anger and also pure luck- they break out from their world and end up on a parallel one with a very different version of their universe and very different versions of themselves.

(Shalka!Universe Doctor and Master meet their modern counterparts- the Thirteenth Doctor and Dhawan!Master)

Word Count: 10,148

The Imposter(s) Among Us

The Doctor has been searching the universe for the Master, but it's only when she takes a break to help a damaged space vessel that she runs directly into him!

The Doctor has a hundred and one things to ask him, but there's no time for any of that now. The ship is barely functional and if the mysterious murderer doesn't get to the Doctor first, then the trigger-happy crewmates might throw her out the airlock before the killer gets a chance.

Word Count: 12,655

My Dear, Doctor…

The Doctor investigates an anomaly to find that her previous self has stood up their oldest friend for the umpteenth time.

Confused as to why the Doctor can't recall ever receiving Missy's invitation in the first place, the Doctor goes searching for answers and ends up finding far more letters than just one…

Word Count: 6,657

~~~

Series:

And They Were Happy Au Parts 1-4:

Part 1: Dinner and a Show

All his lives, the Master had always believed that he and the Doctor could hold on for about the same amount of time. He always imagined that when they reached their last lives, they would both give all this up and spend their retirement years bickering and raising bees or whatever. The Master didn't particularly like bees, but he had always imagined that the Doctor did and as long as they were together, that was enough to satisfy him.

What he had discovered in the Matrix had proved his ideal endgame impossible.

The revelation that the Doctor was The Timeless Child meant that the Doctor would always live on. They would always evolve and survive no matter what happened. The Doctor would always race to people in need; and now, they would never have any reason to stop.

(AU where the reason the Master wanted the Doctor to kill them both in The Timeless Child is bc he's on his last life)

Word Count: 5,120

Part 2: Dinner and a Show One-Offs

"The Doctor did her best to space out her visits with O. For every couple adventures she had with her 'fam', she would stop by his home once or so. Sometimes she let months slip by, because she knew that the longer she waited, the less of O's limited time she used up.

She felt guilty to calculate it, but if O was already in his mid-thirties and he lived a full human life...

Suffice it to say, she wanted it to last for as long as possible. She had never had a situation as stable nor as safe as she now had with O. After everything they had both been through to get to this point, she refused to jeopardize a single moment.

For all the pain the Master had caused her, O was well worth the wait."

(By popular demand, a continuation of 'Dinner and a Show')

Word Count: 10,926

Part 3: Unjustifiable

O- having no recollection of his actions as 'The Master'- returns to being Earth's Horizon Watcher.

O is proud of his work and he cherishes the Doctor's frequent visits, but it's becoming increasingly apparent that she's been keeping more secrets about his past than he had theorized.

To make matters worse, the arrival of an advanced species of aliens on his doorstep brings with it a whole new plethora of problems. Something terrifying resurfaces when O hears they're searching for a Tardis and things go terribly wrong.

Word Count: 23,870

Part 4: Found Family

The Master finally gets around to seeing the universe in a more peaceful way and runs into a young woman looking for her father.

Word Count: 3,663 (Will possibly be updated at a later date, but complete for now)

~~~

Oneshots Inspired by others (specific inspiration in the beginning notes of each):

All Alone In The Dark

While heading back to Earth, the Doctor hears someone calling for her help.

She tracks it back to the Master- injured yet alive- and finds him trapped in his own head, reliving his last confrontation with The Time Lord Council before the destruction of Gallifrey.

Word Count: 1,926

You Again

The 10th Doctor and Missy each escape their last canon appearances believing that the other is dead for good.

So imagine their surprise when they run into each other at a party in the 1920's.

Word Count: 6,943

Sick Day

The Master has everything set up for his latest evil scheme but when he tracks down the Doctor, he realizes his best enemy is in no condition to fight. So the Master does what any good nemesis does and takes care of him.

Desperate Times, Desperate Measures

Word Count: 2,807

Prompt: "Right now, I don't know if I want to kiss you or shove you off a bridge!" "Can I pick?"

The Master’s Tardis had traced the call seven minutes in advance to this exact time and location. He pushed open his Tardis door to find himself in front of some no name bar with graffiti scrawled on the side, situated in front of an empty ravine. He was on Earth, and there was probably a similarly ramshackled city around him, but he didn’t so much as spare it a glance.

The Master’s steps were determined, his jaw clenched, and his hands shaking despite his signature device in hand.

He had been on the other side of the universe, licking his wounds like any old villain would when disappointed by their latest nemesis showdown. It all made his blood boil to have caved so soon. To come back and HELP the Doctor.

The Doctor still had O’s number and her call was scheduled to be made in exactly seven minutes. A hysterical, agonizing call that begged the Master to intervene. He wasn’t sure what was worse, hearing the Doctor in so much despair, or the disappointment that hearing her in such agony somehow didn’t lessen his own.

Word Count: 2,410

The Beginning and The End

Prompt: First Doctor, Dhawan!Master, Gallifrey, and the dialogue: "I know my words mean close to nothing for you. But I do, in fact, love you very much."

Basically Theta (Academy Era Doctor) accidentally runs into the Master on a burning Gallifrey

Word Count: 4,499

Kisses Like That

The Doctor's never understood why humans enjoy kissing so much- but a certain, somewhat familiar woman piques his interest.

(Missy goes back in time to give 10 a lil kiss)

Word Count: 1,885

Spyvember 2020

Collection of short fics I did inspired by Spyvember prompts (from Tumblr)

Word Count: 15,506 (6 separate chapters)

~~~

Thank you to everyone who has inspired me, commented on my work, read any of my writing, and overall has just supported me in any way this year!! Thank you for keeping me motivated and helping me improve as a writer!

My best wishes to you in the new year! <3

#here's a version w a break for mobile users lol #otherwise its the same #doctor who #dw #doctor who fic #doctor who fanfic #thirteenth doctor #dhawan!master #dhawan master #yasmin khan #ryan sinclair #graham obrien #thoschei #spydoc

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neuxue · 4 years ago

Text

Wheel of Time liveblogging: Towers of Midnight ch 8

Mat goes bar-hopping and contemplates obligations

Chapter 8: The Seven-Striped Lass

Oh it’s Mat. Well, enough people have told me Mat is better in this book than last, so if nothing else, confirmation bias alone should see me through.

(Though my indifference towards Mat extends further back than just last book, so… who knows).

He’s in a tavern, which should surprise absolutely no one, and thinking about how Aes Sedai are the bane of his existence, which… also should surprise absolutely no one.

Hey, now he and Thom can fidget with their Aes Sedai letters together. Safer than juggling knives in a world that doesn’t seem to have invented stress balls yet.

‘Master Crimson’? What is this, Cluedo?

And of course he’s not looking at women any more, definitely not noticing any of their, ahem, assets or anything, at least not for himself, you know, just keeping an eye out for his friends of course.

He’s also asking tavernkeepers for advice, because sometimes you just need a sounding board to convince yourself of what you already know. In this case, what to do about Verin’s letter and the conditions set on it. Which, to be fair, is a rather infuriating dilemma. When Verin plays games, she doesn’t fuck around.

“I could open it,” she continued to Mat, “and could tell you what’s inside.”

Bloody ashes! If she did that, he would have to do what it said. Whatever it bloody said. All he had to do was wait a few weeks, and he would be free. He could wait that long. Really, he could.

“It wouldn’t do,” Mat said

Aw, but wouldn’t it? I mean, Verin of all people would appreciate that kind of loophole.

“The woman who gave it to me was Aes Sedai, Melli. You don’t want to anger an Aes Sedai, do you?”

“Aes Sedai?” Melli suddenly looked eager. “I’ve always fancied going to Tar Valon, to see if they’ll let me join them.” She looked at the letter, as if more curious about its contents.

Light! The woman was daft.

Nah, she’s one of the rare sensible ones! Seriously, if I lived in a world with magic, in which there was a chance I could learn to do it, I would give approximately zero fucks about the reputation of the organisation that would enable me to learn it. (Yes, I know, it makes sense in this world that people are wary of Aes Sedai, but to me it’s one of those things like… oh, I don’t know, characters who decide they’re not actually interested in immortality because it would mean outliving their loved ones. Like okay, yeah, there’s a price, but magic. Immortality. I will never understand some fictional characters. Or maybe this just says something about me and which side I’d be on in these fictional worlds… but then, are we really surprised?)

“Can I trust you to keep your word?”

He gave her an exasperated look. “What was this whole bloody conversation about, Melli?”

‘Can I trust you to keep your word’ is kind of a… tautological question, though. And one that always amuses me, along with variations like ‘how can I trust you’ ‘I give you my word’. Because ultimately you’re still just left with the decision of whether or not you trust that person’s word. And no real way of knowing whether or not you should. Once again, I am perhaps exposing myself as not ideal hero material here.

I will say I’m impressed by Mat’s ability to not open the letter. Though I hope at some point we get to see what it says; Verin’s so good at this kind of thing it would be a shame not to see what game she set up here.

The bouncer doesn’t like Mat, which is kind of not surprising given that a bouncer’s job is to stop shit and the purpose of Mat’s entire existence is to start shit.

The paving stones were damp from a recent shower, though those clouds had passed by and—remarkably—left the sky open to the air.

I see what you did there.

Also I’m now trying to place this against everyone else’s timeline and it’s hurting my brain a little. The weather would suggest this is post-Dragonmount but I feel like Mat still had a bit of catch-up to do… ah well, I’m sure we’ll find out. For whatever reason timelines are something of an exception to my usual ability to retain details, probably because, weirdly enough, I often just… don’t care that much? In the sense that usually, when you actually need to know (or when it would be interesting or add something to the story to know), you’ll know.

Mat was not about any specific task tonight

Oh, wandering about at random are we? Which, if you’re Mat, means that regardless of how you started the night, you’ll almost certainly be about a certain task before you finish it. The Pattern has plans, after all.

Getting a feel for Caemlyn. A lot had changed since he had been here last.

Wow, okay, yeah, as the reader we’ve been in Caemlyn plenty over the past several books, but Mat was last here in book three. Damn.

A lot has changed since then. In Caemlyn, yes, but also Mat has changed quite a lot since then. It’s interesting, even in real life, going back to a place you either visited or knew well in the past. The sense of familiarity but at a slight distance, along with the memory of when you were there last, which can then serve to highlight how you’ve changed. And then all the things that aren’t familiar, though you can’t always be certain if that’s just because you’re seeing them differently…

Light, he had heard of paving stones attacking people.

What is this, the French Revolution?

Mat’s found a better tavern, by which I mean a worse tavern, but it’s all a matter of perspective and perspective is a funny thing at the tail end of a pub crawl, so let’s just not think too hard about it.

I’m suddenly very interested in the story of this woman with breeches and short hair dicing in a dodgy tavern with three dudes and not responding to any of Mat’s smiles, ahem. Yes I’m being pandered to, no I don’t care.

But Mat did not smile at girls that way anymore. Besides, she had not responded to any of his smiles anyway.

Alright, that’s much closer to Jordan’s Mat. The absolute lack of self-awareness in being able to think those sentences side-by-side, because hey, Mat, if you don’t smile at girls that way anymore, how do you know she’s not responding to them? (Plus the fact that Mat’s ‘best smile’ has, I’m pretty sure, not actually worked once this series when he’s actually thought about it).

From these first few pages in general, Mat does sound somewhat more how I would expect him to—the way his thoughts and actions contradict themselves, his tendency towards an absolute lack of self-awareness, the running joke of his ‘best smile’… though it also feels like it’s being laid on a little thick? Almost as if Sanderson has picked out a handful of things that work, or that have appeared elsewhere, and is studiously applying them and avoiding adding in too much else or deviating too much from those narrow bounds.

But that’s almost certainly me nitpicking and also looking specifically for this; it’s not really a complaint and at first glance this does seem better than the writing of Mat last book, so… fair enough. Point is, this is definitely not as jarring to read as that first chapter last book was. Still different, sure, but more within the parameters of the rest of the differences.

Mat’s more interested in the local gossip, which—ah.

“They found him dead this morning. Throat ripped clean out. Body was drained of blood, like a wineskin full of holes.”

The gholam’s back in town, then.

Well, in town, anyway; I suppose it hasn’t actually been to Caemlyn before, that we’ve seen. Hey, Elayne? Maybe listen to Birgitte and your bodyguards for a bit and actually take a break from your errands and adventures into the city alone for a bit.

Dice are landing on their corners and also starting up in Mat’s head, so looks like your night of aimless fun and tourism is coming to an end, Mat. Don’t forget to sign the guestbook on your way out.

It seemed impossible that [the gholam] could have gotten here this quickly. Of course, Mat had seen it squeeze through a hole not two handspans wide. The thing did not seem to have a right sense of what was possible and what was not possible.

Oh, well, in that case you two have something in common! Good, you won’t run out of things to say on your next date encounter.

Though on a less flippant note, I’m pretty sure I’ve talked about this before, but I like how Mat gets paired against or linked with opponents or entities who fall into the larger umbrella archetype of ‘trickster figure’ but in different or darker ways: the gholam, the Eelfinn and Aelfinn, arguably Fain/Mordeth… and then there’s Perrin, who is set against Trollocs (the darker side of a mix between animal and human) and Whitecloaks (who exist to force questions of morality). As if they’re both sometimes set against those who reflect a darker or warped version of some aspect of who they are.

It’s not a perfect like-to-like matching; they have other opponents who don’t fit that kind of classification quite as well (though I would still argue that just about any enemy they—and quite a few other characters—face highlight some aspect of themselves via contrast or by presenting a warped kind of mirror), but it’s just a little… random thing I quite like. Particularly Mat set against other types of trickster, because it fits with the very definition or idea of what a trickster figure is in the first place. This idea of looking into a kaleidoscope of mirrors and seeing theme and variation until they flicker at the edges.

He had sent word to [Elayne], but had not gotten a reply. How was that for gratitude? By his count, he had saved her life twice.

Sigh. I sort of thought they had reached an understanding as far as the accounting between them last time they spoke, but I guess we’re still doing this. Which, okay, before everyone comes for me on this, yes he has saved her life multiple times, and no she has not always responded immediately with gratitude, but specifically in the last instance she very much did, and it was a rather lovely moment where they both saw more in each other than they had before. Where they each realised that their previous (first) impressions were not necessarily the full truth, and that there was someone to like beneath that. A friend, even.

And I liked that; I absolutely have a soft spot for the friendship between Mat and Elayne, in part because they’re actually quite similar in a lot of ways. And so for both of them to start to see beneath the surface, to see more than just what they expect to see, was a nice moment of character growth for both of them.

Anyway, leaving the gratitude thing aside, it’s a shame Elayne hasn’t replied, if only because I wouldn’t mind seeing those two interact again. I just like their weird relationship. I like weird friendships between characters in general, really; it’s a good way to get to see a character from an ever-so-slightly different angle, or throw them into a slightly different kind of light. (In all honesty there’s a small part of me that would have been very open to an Elayne/Mat relationship rather than Elayne/Rand and Mat/Tuon, but mostly I just like them as friends who sort of… force each other to take a second look at things, and in doing so to realise some things about themselves).

For once, there had been a battle and he had missed it. Remembering that lightened his mood somewhat. An entire war had been fought over the Lion Throne, and not one arrow, blade, or spear had entered the conflict seeking Matrim Cauthon’s heart.

Yeah, well, don’t jinx it.

Also Mat you were sort of in the middle of some of your own battles and while you’re pretty good, you’re not quite good enough to be in two places at once. Still, can’t fault him for looking on the bright side, I suppose. Especially because there’s a rather large battle headed his way any day now.

Three inns in one night. Making a proper pub crawl of it, I see.

Though Thom’s more in the mood to play sad flute music, presumably over Moiraine. I mean fair; I, too, would probably play several laments for her sake. Bring her back already.

Caemlyn was seen as one of the few places where one could be safe from both the Seanchan and the Dragon.

Oh no doubt it’ll stay that way. What could possibly go wrong in this beautiful Camelot that’s been held up since Book 1 as an example of beauty and (relative) stability?

I’m pretty sure one of the first things I said upon seeing Caemlyn back in EotW was ‘that’s a nice city you have there. It’d be a shame if something happened to it’ and, twelve books later, I stand by that.

Mat tries to get Thom’s attention by snagging his coins, and Thom just tosses a knife through his sleeve without interrupting his playing. Respect.

***

Oh hey a mid-chapter break without a POV change. That’s unusual.

It’s something of a location change, though, because Mat’s back at the Band’s camp now, considering the pros and cons of horse meat. Well, mostly cons in his opinion but I would like to state for the record that horse is actually quite tasty. No of course I don’t know this from experience what are you talking about.

The gholam of course has an even less discriminating palate—or I suppose technically more discriminating, just less socially acceptable.

But Mat and Thom have moved on to planning for their fieldtrip to the Tower of Ghenjei, because, you know, these characters have it easy: just one thing at a time, all easily dealt with, no piling on of way too many problems and decisions and things or people out to kill them…

“Maybe Verin will come back and release me from this bloody oath.”

Unfortunately she had to take some rather drastic measures to release herself from a different bloody oath, so uh… sorry, Mat, you’re out of luck on that one.

“Best that one stays away,” Thom said. “I don’t trust her. There’s something off about that one.”

I mean, you’re not wrong. But you’re also not exactly right. Man, I’m going to miss Verin. She’s one I very much look forward to seeing on a reread: there was always something about her and it was great fun to speculate and try to work out exactly what her deal was, but it’s different when you know. And we got so very little time with her once that was revealed—it was a hell of a way to go out, of course, but I’m definitely excited to see how she reads when you know from the beginning.

“Either way,” Thom said, “we should probably start sending guards with you when you visit the city.”

“Guards won’t help against the gholam.”

“No, but what of the thugs who jumped you on your way back to camp three nights back?”

You know what this reminds me of? Birgitte scolding Elayne when Elayne tries to go out on her own. It’s far from the only thing Elayne and Mat have in common, but it does amuse me.

Talking to that clerk meant Elayne knew Mat was here. She had to. But she had sent no greetings, no acknowledgement that she owed Mat her skin.

Maybe because she acknowledged it last time the two of you spoke? Or have you forgotten? I think that’s what irks me here: they’ve already had that conversation. It made sense (more or less) for Mat to be annoyed about Tear, before Elayne and Nynaeve gave him their thanks and apologies, but after that fight with the gholam in the Rahad, Elayne and Mat seemed to clear the air between them, so it’s just… kind of weird and a bit annoying to have this dragged out again. It seems like it would make more sense at this stage for him to just be annoyed at her for ignoring him, rather than for not thanking him for… something she’s already thanked him for.

He does shift after that to wondering how to get her to set all her foundries to making Aludra’s dragons, which is a much more pertinent question. I now kind of want Elayne and Aludra to meet. I feel like that could be entertaining.

Teslyn Baradon was not a pretty woman, though she might have made a passable paperbark tree

This should sound insulting but for whatever reason I find it hilarious. Why is this so funny.

Maybe this is why we were getting Mat’s grumbling about Elayne not thanking him (again) for saving her life: because thanks are the first thing Teslyn, an Aes Sedai of the Red Ajah, offers Mat unprompted. That would more or less fit with how these things are usually set up in Mat’s narrative, I suppose.

Though Sanderson doesn’t quite seem to have the hang of the Illian dialect; it’s close but some of the phrasing is just a bit off. But that’s me nitpicking again.

“It do be important to maintain some illusions with yourself, would you not say?”

Wiser words than you may even realise, Teslyn, given who you’re talking to. Though I think she does realise this; she’s quite perceptive, and she’s spent a fair bit of time with Mat now, and I think she very likely does see his tendency towards… perhaps not quite denial anymore, at least not as strong as it once was, but a degree of self-deception (and total lack of self-awareness, of course).

She nodded to him. A respectful nod. Almost a bow. Mat released her hand, feeling as unsettled as if someone had kicked his legs out from underneath him.

Yeah, this is what you’d expect from Mat. This is what he does: grumbles to himself about lack of gratitude, or Aes Sedai causing problems and having no respect… but then as soon as that gratitude or respect is shown, he doesn’t quite know how to deal with it. Because he’s not actually arrogant enough to accept it with haughty disdain, but nor is he self-effacing enough to truly not care about getting praise and credit. So you end up in this awkward in-between state that is, I think, actually quite common amongst people in general. It’s definitely something I see play out in the workplace, at least.

And so he offers her the horses that, last book, he refused Joline. Because she’s shown him respect and so he will return the favour. Because they’re treating each other as people, and Mat may push for what he feels is his due, but he won’t just take it without giving something in return. He’s better than he likes to think he is, as Thom once pointed out.

“I did not come to you tonight to manipulate you into giving me horses,” Teslyn said. “I do be sincere.”

“So I figured,” Mat said, turning and lifting up the flap to his tent. “That’s why I made the offer.”

And that’s it, really. It’s amazing what open and honest communication can get you, sometimes. It’s almost like that’s a running thing in this series.

There, he froze. That scent…

Blood.

Mmmm, dinner.

Next (ToM ch 9) Previous (ToM ch 7)

#open! the! letter!#wheel of time #neuxue liveblogs WoT #Towers of Midnight

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damianwaynerocks · 5 years ago

Text

Ghosts in Gotham

Danny Phantom / DC Comics

Dedicated To: @psychovigilantewrites

Description: The Batfamily has been through their fair share of the supernatural. That’s why they originally weren’t worried whenever ghosts started showing up in Gotham City. Until one day, something happens; Batman is captured and taken into the Ghost Zone. With no way to go in there themselves, with no way to fight the ghosts inside, the bats decide to call the person who can; Danny Phantom. Together, Danny takes Tim Drake, Stephanie Brown and Damian Wayne into the Ghost Zone before the Batman is lost forever.

Word Count: 3523

Ch 1 Ch 2 Masterlist

Chapter 3:

Danny could deal with a lot.

He'd dealt with dying. He'd dealt with becoming a ghost. He'd dealt with ghosts trying to kill him. He'd dealt with finding out that his dad's best friend wasn't only a halfa like him, but that he wanted to get with his mom. He'd dealt with ghost prison. He'd dealt with finding out he'd been cloned. He'd dealt with finding a future in which everyone he loved was dead and he himself was evil. He'd even dealt with girls.

He thought he could deal with anything.

But being stuck a small space with Damian Wayne and Tim Drake?

He wasn't so sure he could deal with that.

"You incompetent creature, why on earth are you listening to a C-average oaf instead of me?"

"Because the 'oaf' has been here before. We haven't."

"I possessed more intelligence than you and Fenton combined whenever I was four years old, and I have memorized the Infi-map. I am completely capable of commanding this voyage."

Danny's eye twitched at the arguing. It was worse than he and Jasmine. "Does it ever end?" he asked Stephanie through gritted teeth. The blonde sighed.

"Damian feels like he has to prove that he's superior to Tim," she explained. "It's not my place to tell you exactly why, but it's true. And he knows exactly how to get under Tim's skin."

"So.. no?"

"No."

Danny groaned. "It's giving me a headache." He perked up as he saw the island in front of him. "Hey, guys," he said, "We're here."

They had reached the lair of Clockwork. Clockwork was the master of time and could see into any timeline and all of the possible outcomes. Danny had the idea of asking him if he could show them the moment in which Bruce Wayne had disappeared, in the hopes that they could see which ghost it was.

It was a long shot, but it was the only idea Danny could think of.

Tim and Damian had stopped their arguing, unbuckling their seat belts as Danny landed the Speeder on the grounds of the lair.

"So this guy can tell us who took Bruce?" Stephanie asked as she opened the door, stepping on to the ground. Danny nodded.

"Yeah. I can't promise he'll help, but it's our best bet."

The foursome walked towards the massive clocktower, Damian walking in step with Danny as he gripped his sword. Danny knocked on the door, and it opened with a creak.

"Hello, Danny," a voice said. "And hello, Bats." Clockwork floated down. He was a small ghost, purple in color with a darker purple cloak.

"Whaddup, Clockwork," Danny greeted. "Long time no see." He heard Stephanie laugh at the pun behind him and then heard her grunt as Damian elbowed her.

"It has not been long to me, Danny," Clockwork replied. His eyes drifted over the group. "What do you want?"

"I assume that you know, Time Master," Damian answered before Danny could open his mouth, stepping forward until he was right beside a swirling vortex, although his eyes remained on the ghost. "We are looking for my Father, and Phantom says you can help."

"Damian Wayne," Clockwork said curtly. "Son of Bruce Wayne and Talia al’ Ghul. I understand that you are worried about your father, but I would suggest you step back before you see something you don't want to."

Danny was surprised to see that Damian obeyed. He narrowed his eyes. Clockwork almost seemed... nervous? "What aren't you telling us?"

"You are indeed a smart boy," Clockwork chuckled, "I hope you also can deduce that you were not brought here on accident. I was originally going to go and tell you myself, however, I have seen that it would be better for you to have Stephanie Brown, Tim Drake and Damian Wayne at your side."

"What's wrong?"

"Something has happened," Clockwork turned around, clasping his hands behind on his back as he floated further off. "The Observants have underestimated your power," he turned back around, locking his gaze with Danny's. "The power you have not yet gained."

Danny's face paled. "You don't mean-"

"That is all I can say," the ghost interrupted. "Leave now. I have work to do. I have to stop a little boy with a powerful watch from destroying his timeline."

Danny, however, couldn't move. He was frozen, his eyes wide. There was no way. He was locked in a thermos, with no possible way for a ghost to escape.

Although, that ghost wasn't just any ghost.

"What do you mean by that?" Damian demanded. "Tell us more. Now."

Clockwork looked at the boy with humor in his eyes. "Mr. Wayne, you should not threaten me." He waved his hand. "Now go. You do not have much... time."

Danny shook his head and turned around, walking towards the exit in a trance-like state. With a glance at Clockwork, the others followed, with Damian at the rear. Before he could leave, Clockwork called his name.

"Damian, listen closely," he said, shifting into an older ghost as he spoke. "You will one day get an offer. It will be a tempting offer, one that you will not want to refuse," his eyes darkened. "Do not accept it."

Damian blinked, before strutting outside to follow the others, not responding to Clockwork's warning.

Tim, Stephanie, and Danny were already on the ship as Damian walked out. As he opened the door to step in, he tuned into the conversation.

"So, you're telling us that an evil version of you exists outside of time, and it has Bruce," Tim said slowly. Danny nodded.

"We call him Dark Danny. In the alternate timeline, he- or, I, I guess -watched our family die. He couldn't handle the pain and guilt, so he had Vlad Masters- bad guy, by the way, deck him if you ever see him at a rich-person party -turn him into a full ghost, getting rid of the human side completely. It drove him mad, and without his human side, he was the most powerful ghost in the Ghost Zone. He destroyed the world."

"How did you defeat him?" Damian asked, pulling a capri-sun out of his cooler as he listened. Danny ran a hand through his hair.

"I don't know. Dumb luck, honestly. I guess I have a power that he didn't get until years later, and it knocked him off his game so I could take him down." He grimaced. "I probably wouldn't have beat him if I hadn't surprised him. He took down all of the other ghosts in the Ghost Zone by that point,"

"He must've taken out the Justice League, too," Stephanie mused, crossing her arms. "You said you didn't see them anywhere, right? The only reason they wouldn't have been fighting him is if..." she trailed off.

"We can defeat him," Damian said, crushing the capri-sun in his hand as he finished. "If Phantom can defeat him, then with our help, we can, too."

"Yeah, but like I said, it was only because I surprised him," Danny pointed out.

"Then let's surprise him again," Tim said. He took out the Infi-map. "Danny, who's your worst enemy here? If we can get them to help, and that might knock Dark Danny off his game."

"Pariah Dark," Danny answered instantly. "But that's a terrible idea, trust me," he paused, thinking. "We do need backup, and I know of at least two who could help." He turned his body intangible before Tim could respond, and flew out of the Speeder. He landed in front of it, and putting both of his fingers in his mouth, he whistled. "Come here, Cujo!"

It took a few seconds, but a small green dog zipped in front of Danny, jumping in his arms and knocking him over. Danny smiled widely as he scratched behind Cujo's ears.

"Hey, little guy!" he laughed as the dog licked his face. "I missed you too! You down for an adventure?" Cujo barked, wagging his tail. "I'll take that as a yes," Danny said, phasing back into the Speeder.

"Guys," he said, setting the dog down. "I'd like you to meet Cujo, the best boy in the entire Ghost Zone."

Damian's eyes lit up behind his mask, kneeling down and hugging Cujo as the dog barreled into him, not paying attention as Tim spoke.

"Don't get me wrong, he's adorable, but he doesn't look like he can pack a punch," he said, watching the dog fondly.

"Trust me, he's a fighter," Danny assured him. Tim nodded.

"If you say so, but man, I wish I had a dog," He walked over to where Damian was, scratching Cujo's back. Damian scowled, pulling the dog closer.

"Get back, Drake, Cujo clearly prefers me over you."

"Damian, come on, you have so many pets and I don't have any-"

"You have Bart."

"Bart is not my pet-"

"He is the human version of an Australian Shepherd minus the intelligence-"

As the two bickered, Danny looked at Stephanie. "Damian likes animals?" Stephanie laughed.

"Oh you have no idea, he has a dog, a cat, a cow-"

"A cow?"

"His name is Bat-Cow!" Damian snapped from where he had begrudgingly let Tim hold the dog.

"I love everything about that," Danny laughed. "That's the best name." Damian looked at Tim with a smug look on his face.

"See, Drake? Bat-Cow is a great name."

"I never said it wasn't!"

Danny started to ask Stephanie a question before he heard a crash and the Speeder lurched to the side.

"We've been hit!" Tim yelled, jumping off of the floor and grabbing the Speeder's controls, trying to steady the craft. Danny merged out of the Speeder and narrowed his eyes as he saw the culprit.

A gray ghost in black armor with flaming hair sneered, his arm smoking from where he had shot the Speeder. "Whelp," he growled.

"Nice to see you too, Shorty!" Danny said in a mock-cheerful tone. "Here to kill me? Because you didn't have to shoot the ship, you could've just yelled 'I am Skulker, and you are my prey! Prepare to die!'" he lowered his voice as he imitated the bounty hunter. "And then I would say something witty back, and I would pound you into the ground."

"You aren't the only prey this time, Ghost Child." Skulker answered with a menacing grin.

"You after the Bats?" Danny asked with a raised eyebrow. "If you were trying to kill them, you did a crappy job of it. That blast didn't kill anyone."

"That's the point. I think it'd be fun to beat the proteges of Batman, so they need to be alive and able to fight." he pointed downwards, and Danny followed his gaze, before swooping down to follow.

Somehow, he hadn't noticed that the Speeder was plummeting down to the island below. While the Specter Speeder was durable enough to keep from dying on impact, he didn't want them to crash.

He hurled himself in front of the Speeder, and crossing his arms, made a force field that surrounding the Speeder. Danny grunted at the exertion, gritting his teeth as he tried to keep the force field surrounding the heavy ship.

The ship still crashed with a loud bang, leaving a large crater around it, but the ship itself was intact. Danny dropped his arms and fell to his knees, exhausted.

The door opened, and his three companions stepped out. "Nice one!" Stephanie praised, and Danny gave her a thumbs-up as he tried to catch his breath. He felt somebody nudge his shoulder, and he saw Damian standing above him with a capri-sun in his hand.

"Drink this," he said, handing Danny the drink. "Do not waste it. I can destroy you."

"Thanks," Danny panted as he poked the straw into the pouch. Damian nodded stiffly.

"Hate to interrupt," Tim said, helping Danny to his feet. "But that that Iron Man wannabe is headed this way."

Danny finished his drink and threw it over his shoulder as his fists lit up with a green aura, ignoring Damian's huff of protest at the littering.

Skulker chuckled as he cracked his knuckles. "Well, look at that," he sneered, "Not a scratch on you! I'm impressed."

"You? Impressed? Who would've thought," Danny said, narrowing his eyes.

Tim pulled out a bo-staff, twirling it around as Damian unsheathed his sword. Stephanie moved to stand beside Danny as she gripped her eskrima sticks.

"Oh, you will soon be impressed yourself," Skulker said as his arms morphed into guns. "You see, I-" he was cut off with a grunt as Danny rushed forward and sent a strong right-hook into his face.

Skulker flew back a few yards before finding his feet again. He glared at Danny. "That was low even for you Ghost Boy. Interrupting me I monologue."

Danny shrugged. "What can I say? It’s the same reason why I’m failing Chemistry; I have a short attention span.” He grinned. "But he doesn't!"

While they had been talking, Damian had managed to get behind Skulker. He jumped into the air, drop-kicking the ghost, sending him to the ground with a thud. Danny picked Skulker up and gave him an uppercut, launching him into the sky.

Skulker shook his head, steadying himself, and shot a barrage of ectoblasts at the four heroes below. Danny made his body intangible while the others, used to being shot at, dodged the blasts with ease. Tim shot his grappling hook at Skulker, wrapping the cord around his leg and pulling him back to the ground.

Tim swung the cord, launching Skulker to the side where his body was met by two hits of Stephanie's eskrima sticks. Skulker merged through the cord and landed on the ground, his teeth grinding together in fury.

"Enough!" he shouted, and sent a shock wave from his arms that blew them back. "I am sick of your pathetic attempts at besting me, whelp! When will you learn that you cannot best the Ghost Hunter!"

"Uh, kind of hard to learn that after I've beaten you, like, every single time we've fought," Danny retorted, putting his hands on his hips with a smirk.

Skulker's eye twitched. "My employer said to bring you in alive, but I don't think he'd mind you all missing a few limbs." His arms morphed into missile launchers, and he held them out at the four.

"Phantom, you possess electrokinesis, correct?" Damian asked quietly, tensing his muscles. Danny nodded.

"Yeah." He met Damian's eyes and smirked as he realized what the younger boy had in mind.

Damian grabbed on to Danny's arm, and, turning them both intangible and invisible, Danny carried Damian into the air, right above Skulker. One of Danny's hands crackled with electricity, and the tip of his fingers brushed against Damian's sword. The blade lit up like a taser. Damian and Danny exchanged a glance and, using Danny's shoulder for leverage, Damian jumped, free-falling towards Skulker.

By the time Skulker saw Damian, it was too late. Damian jabbed his electrified sword into Skulker's armor.

"Oh, crud," Skulker muttered as his armor crackled with electricity, before short-circuiting and launching him into the sky and out of sight.

"Nice one, Damian!" Danny floated to the ground, a wide smile on his face. He raised his hand for a high five. "Up top!"

"Tt. The act of high-fiving is such a ridiculous notion," Damian muttered, but he smacked his hand against the other's anyways. "You did quite well yourself."

"That guy-" Tim popped his shoulder back into place, wincing. "-does not pass the vibe check."

Stephanie snorted. "That guy is the vibe check, Timbers."

Damian sheathed his sword. "I assume that we all have gathered that his employer was Dark Danny?" It was more a statement than a question.

"Oh, for sure," Danny said, before stumbling as Cujo barreled into him. Danny huffed as he lifted the dog to his face. "Where were you, big guy?"

"Are you sure this dog can help us take Future-You down?" Stephanie asked with a raised eyebrow. "A fat lot of help he just was."

"I think he was just sleeping," Danny said as he sat the dog down. "I promise he'll be useful."

"Ship looks pretty good, considering," Tim said from where he was looking at the Specter Speeder. "I think whatever he hit us with just killed the engine. It should start back up."

Danny frowned, a finger on his chin as he pondered aloud. "So if Future-Me has employed Skulker, then he's gotta be somewhere that Skulker has access to. His lair, maybe? But I doubt it. They'd need to be somewhere with some pretty high-tech stuff if they're keeping Batman hostage."

"Are there any technology-related ghosts?" Stephanie asked. Danny didn't answer at first as he watched Tim switch the Speeder on.

"Yes," Danny finally answered. "There is, but I doubt he knows who he's working for. Skulker probably doesn't know either." Danny paused, and the smallest hint of a smile ghosted across his face as another thought struck him. "And I bet Skulker's girlfriend knows even less than that."

"So you're tellin' me Skulker's working for Future You? Who took away my voice and my beauty?" A ghost with pink, flaming hair in a high ponytail asked. "Now why the heck would you do that for? I thought we were cool."

"We are. This guy is me from another timeline. He isn't me." Danny explained to Skulker's girlfriend. Ember McLain, the Ghost of Song, crossed her arms, her lips turning into a frown.

"No way he would work with someone who wronged me like that. He would never."

"He doesn't know," Tim spoke up. "He probably just offered him money, or whatever currency you use, in exchange for taking Danny and us."

The Infi-map had taken the four to Ember's lair. If anybody could convince Skulker to stop, Danny had reasoned, it would be her.

"With you, Skulker, Cujo and Wulf on our side, we can beat him," Danny said. "Seeing Skulker and I work together might trip him up," he paused. "You do want to beat this guy, right? I mean, he will end up destroying your voice." Even though Ember might not care about the human world being obliterated, she would definitely care about the same thing happening to her voice.

Stephanie and Damian had stayed in the Speeder with Damian. Stephanie's eyes were wide behind her cowl. "Damian, that's Ember McLain," she whispered. "Remember that song Remember from a couple of years ago? The one Jason wouldn't stop singing on patrol? She sang it! And she's a ghost!"

"Of course she is a supernatural being, Brown, I told you she had the voice of a siren," Damian whispered back.

"I'll talk to him," Ember agreed. "He'll listen to me. You guys go find Wulf, and we'll meet you at Technus' place."

"Great." Danny smiled. "Thanks, Ember. I owe you one."

"Well, I might just take you up on that sometime, Ghost Kid."

"So, Wulf," Tim began as the two walked back towards the ship. "He's like a werewolf? You said?"

"He isn't a werewolf, but he looks like what you'd expect a werewolf to look like," Danny explained. "He's a beast, literally and figuratively. And his claws can tear open a portal to our world, so once we get Batman, we can get out of the Ghost Zone fast."

"Great. Where is he?"

"That's the fun part," Danny replied as he got into the Specter Speeder. "We have to break him out of prison. And the people who own it do not like me.”

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yuvon-writes-letters · 3 years ago

Note

To all,

In the few hours of planning, I have witnessed a letter appear in our shared mailbox, on a Tuesday.

For the record, I do not believe any of this nonsense, you could very easily be lying, both Yu, and whoever that “entity” is.

But Rai insists that it is all true, and despite his fragility, he always had this uncanny ability to tell when someone is spreading falsehoods or not, a knack for feeling if something is going wrong. The fact that he hasn’t quit sending these letters means that he wholeheartedly believes this, sci-fi narrative.

I trust him, so I’ll play along for now.

Trust me, this does not mean I trust you. For the time being, Rai will not be sending any letters, because he has apparently made himself a target, I cannot have that.

My name is. Actually, you don’t get to know my full name, it’s bad enough that you know my first anyways.

To, the entity, the letter that that was sent was matted in dirt, the words “I see you” were written in what is most likely blood, it was stuffed in an envelope along with the lily.

To Yu, Yuvon, thank you for being there for Rai these past few weeks, and fuck you, for making his life so much harder than it needs to be. He should be worried about portioning his time right to get more sleep, and doing his best to earn a living, not trying to keep a cursed pen-pal alive. Unfortunately, if what you do say is true, then I cannot blame you for his woes, you reached out, and like the hero he is, he takes the call for help.

I am currently in the process of reading the letters that were sent between you all, but, if you want to be in my good graces, a summary would help much more than hours of reading, I will not take kindly to secrets (Jake).

I will await a response.

Skie

Skie,

Most of the evidence I'd usually offer to assure people I'm not lying doesn't apply to you. It'll be a little more clear why when I get into the summary later, but I'm reeling a bit and I'm trying to take things one thing at a time.

Yeah. It's probably best if Rai at least isn't the first one to open these letters for a while. Please be careful too. I seriously don't know what this thing is capable of or what it wants, but it's very clearly violent. And entities (that's what we call these things, for lack of a better word) getting violent ends very, very poorly.

Best if we don't do full names, I agree. We've all sort of set a precedent where we use nicknames or screen names instead of our actual names.

(The ink turns dark enough that it seems to suck in the light around it.) My thanks for the description.

...Right. That just happened. I'm never going to get used to that.

You're welcome and I'm sorry. Truthfully, I've been pretty worried about Rai as well, and I sincerely apologize for any and all parts I played in Rai's problems.

Alright. Recap. This is gonna be long.

One day before I sent my first letter, I woke up in a clearing in a forest, with a note that told me that I could send letters to alternate universes with other people in the same situation I had left before arriving to the clearing on the ground in front of me. I marked the direction I was facing when I appeared and arbitrarily declared it "north". I did some exploring, and discovered that there was an invisible barrier all around the clearing, and that there were trees as far as the eye could see when I climbed a tree inside the barrier. After the first day, I sent my first letter.

Rai, though he went by Rainer then, was actually the first person to write to me, two days later. He was doubtful, obviously, but I shared specific details of the shared experiences that connect us across universes, and so did he, so we believed each other. We talked metaphysics and theories about what was going on for a bit, and Rai asked for details about my circumstances. I learned there were eight rooms off the central clearing, but five disturbed me so much that I lied and said that only three existed: a library (south), a game room (east), and a "comfy room" (west) with pillows and mattresses and blankets, etc.

Eventually, I realized there was an anomaly we've tentatively been calling the stasis over my version of the Duskwood group, where they went on with their lives but nothing actually changed. They didn't start to come to terms with emotional events that happened, they made no progress in their investigations, they didn't talk about anything important. Things were happening, but nothing HAPPENED, if that makes sense.

Rai encouraged me to tell one particular person from the Duskwood group I trust whole-heartedly, Jake, about my circumstances. That broke the stasis on him, and from then on, he and I started to work together.

We determined that the trees around my clearing are elder trees (symbolic of life/death/rebirth cycle) and completely generic trees. I theorized that I was stuck between a symbolic "death" and "rebirth", in a stasis of my own. I remain convinced of this theory.

On Father's Day, I spoke to the Duskwood group and lied to them in the process of cancelling an event I'd planned on that day for fear of giving myself away. Unbeknownst to me, that began to shake them out of their stasis slowly.

Someone named Liska contacted me then, informing me that they were sort of in an inverse situation as my own: They had normal contact with their friends and family outside of Duskwood, and they hadn't been kidnapped like I was, but Duskwood itself was almost completely frozen. There was some other weird stuff happening with the stasis, but that's not so relevant.

Lis started to get threatening calls from the perpetrator in the Duskwood case, worrying pretty much everyone, plus she didn't trust me, though I cleared the distrust up fairly quickly.

This is about when Rai started having issues, and warned us he wouldn't be able to write letters as often.

I sorta got stuck for a while, and Lis kept getting threatened. I figured out that someone would eventually join me in the clearing, but not who, how, or when, so I was obsessing over that. About then, Lis pointed out a small detail that showed I was lying about something, and that turned into a confession about the other five rooms. In brief:

North: A room with a countdown to when I can leave

Northwest: Another clearing where everything was dead with a silver goblet at the end, whole area gave off a magical sense of dread, I left without investigating further

Southeast: Altar w/ bloodstains, symbolism and text suggesting I could sacrifice my life to kill the ass terrorizing my version of the group (an alternate version of the asshole stalking Lis)

Northeast: Knife in the middle of a glade, can cut almost anything in here but the invisible barrier.

Southwest: 3 upside-down torches, one on each wall that wasn't an entrance, floor was a field of white lilies. Refused to enter initially due to overdose of symbols of death.

I discovered that my old family and my few non-Duskwood friends had all completely forgotten who I was. They still haven't remembered, but that's besides the point. I'm not just whining here, this becomes important later.

Anyhow, I started getting really worried about Rai, because he mentioned his head feeling fuzzy, he was having trouble understanding things, and his writing was disjointed. You probably know about when that was on the recent timeline.

Lis's next letter was concerning, and I asked in a cipher I won't disclose because at least one entity can't seem to understand it whether she was alright and offered a code for her to tell us if she was being watched.

Lis then sent two letters back to back: one where she used the code, and one when she wasn't being watched: she had been kidnapped by the stalker. We also made first contact with an entity we're calling "Goldie" or "Aur" (first few letters of their name) who is benevolent and has done their utmost to help Lis.

In addition, her Jake spoke to her over Tumblr, promising to help find her, and I got print-outs of the screenshots in an envelope. I contacted him as well, offering what advice I could, especially as we'd begun to theorize there was an entity working against Lis as well.

It wasn't enough. Lis was shot. And died.

And then her entity sent her back in time, alive, and with her Jake freed from the stasis much earlier.

As Lis started recovering mentally from that, I started messing on this plane again. Lis convinced me to test out the death symbol room and see if it was actually dangerous, so I first tried cutting my way out of the barrier with the knife (it failed) and then I started sorta using the Robin Crusoe method of testing the room for death, which meant I went very slowly.

During this, Rai finally admitted he hadn't been sleeping enough, and I tried to encourage him to actually fucking sleep and not worry so much about writing the damn letters.

Then

Okay, I'm not proud of this bit. Behind one of the torches in the room with the lilies and torches I'd been testing, there was a sheet of paper with a blood ritual on it. It promised an end result I'd like, and none of the other schmuck baits up to that point had actually hurt me, so I gave it a try. Imagine my shock when Jake appeared in the clearing. He's still here, by the way, we don't know how to get him back any more than me.

Rai brought up a theory (later confirmed) that the ritual brought Jake because he was what I most wanted to have with me right then. I began to work on trying to deconstruct the ritual and understand how it worked so I could confirm or deny, but was interrupted when I discovered that the Duskwood group had broken out of stasis, and I had to play damage control. They also became semi-aware the stasis had happened.

Lis sent another letter, and Jake came to the conclusion that her workplace is unsafe, and urged her to take a vacation, especially in the wake of further threats from the kidnapper. Also, Lis's stasis started to weaken, and she began passing messages between my version of Jake and her's. They proved to be surprisingly different.

At that point, someone named Jessy sent a letter in, who is one of the Duskwood crew. She was from a year in my future, shortly after her version of me, named Matt, was killed by the kidnapper and Jake was framed for it.

At this point, Jake raised the theory that Rai, Lis, Matt, myself, and all other counterparts across universes are somehow cursed, or gain more attention than we should from entities, and that's why so many horrible things happen to us. It... makes a lot of sense, honestly.

About here is when I started getting together a plan to get out. I was worried I might be mindread, though, so I went to slightly extreme measures to make sure my thoughts wouldn't give me away.

Then Jessy wrote again, and tried to convince Lis and I to run away from our respective Jakes out of concern. Along the way, she accidentally implied that her universe's Jake was being tortured in his incarceration, and I admittedly lashed out at her a bit in my response to her letter. It made me furious, obviously, and scared and upset, so I used those emotions to focus.

Lis grew concerned when I denied I had a plan. Repeatedly. And unconvincingly. Okay, it was more of a mantra. I sort of wrote "I have no plan" all over the paper and then didn't erase well enough, so you can see why she was concerned.

Now, I don't know everything that went down right there, but I'll take a guess. The entity, unable to interpret the ciphered messages I'd sent to Lis explaining why I was so insistent that I had no plan, asked Lis what my plan was, pretending to be benevolent like Goldie. Lis didn't believe it, and annoyed the entity in the process. It taunted her, claiming that Jake and I would be hurt because of her noncompliance, which was bullshit because the entity would've done what it did anyhow. Lis tried to send us warnings, but the entity blocked them and taunted her more publicly.

Unless it's essential, I'd rather not go into detail about what exactly happened when I tried to execute my plan. There's a letter that describes most of it somewhere in the past two weeks or more. Suffice it to say, I fell into a probably magic-induced coma for a few days, my face is still scarred to hell, and there's a small chunk missing from my right arm, though that's filling in because enhanced/faster healing here.

After the incident, while I was unconscious, everyone wrote in letters asking after me or offering advice, including Lis's Jake and Jessy, and Jake pretended to be me to keep the Duskwood group from suspecting anything. One of them figured it out, but she was sympathetic to both Jake and myself, so she kept the secret. In the meantime, Lis took a vacation and got out of danger, hopefully.

When I woke up, I was able to just... know a few minor facts about the entity. I still don't know how or why.

Anyway, I just sorta recovered and caught up for a bit.

Max contacted us to basically let us know that Lis was doing better (she was really torn up with guilt over the incident :( )

Very recently, Jessy contacted my parents, trying to determine if I was alright, and discovered that they didn't know who I was. That spawned a confession from me when I was confronted; that whole group is now in the know. Jake is still not entirely pleased with my decision, but I think he's mostly over it.

Then that new entity apparently sent out the letter, you contacted us for the first time, and now we’re back to the present moment.

Oh. One more thing that seems pretty important in hindsight. Rai sent me a crayon as an experiment. It arrived three different colors in one crayon: brown, green, and white. Take a wild guess what it was called.

Yep. White lily.

This is sort of reminding me of a character I made a million years ago, but the powers don't match up. It doesn't sound like the M.O. does either. Still, that character was a nasty piece of work. I hope it's all just a coincidence.

Anyhow. That's all for now. Talk to you later. Write to you later. Whatever.

—Yuvon

(The letter tucks itself in the paper clip with the others.)

#duskwood letter game #yuvon writes letters #duskwood #duskwood game #duskwood everbyte #duskwood jake #duskwood jessy #rai #skie #lis #lis's jake #lis's entity #jessy #the entity #lily #recap

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twelverose · 5 years ago

Text

i once believed love would be black and white, but it’s golden.

One year together measured in the memories lit by golden haze.

Rating: Teen (Implied sexual content)

Paring: Tentoo/Rose Tyler

WC: 6k

Tw: panic/anxiety attacks & drinking/smoking

A/N: a light plot. more of a character study than anything. but like, it was fun to write so. (angst & fluff)

Song: Daylight by Taylor Swift

Read on Ao3

Maybe you ran with the wolves and refused to settle down Maybe I've stormed out of every single room in this town Threw out our cloaks and our daggers because it's morning now It's brighter now, now

__________________________________________________

“He needs you. That’s very me.” echoed through her mind as she watched him sleep.

They were driving back to the zeppelin. Pete driving with her mum in the front seat. They were trying to give them as much privacy as possible. Not that it mattered. The moment they made it to the main roadway, he fell asleep.

He fell asleep holding her hand. Like he was holding onto his promise.

When Jackie realized he was asleep, she went on about Tony. Which morphed into why Pete needed to finish some project that had been sitting in the garden for a month now. Rose pointed out why it had been abandoned. Her mum gave her no mind. Explaining you need to finish what you start. Rose scoffed. Quiet enough to avoid a scolding from her mother.

It took about an hour to get there.

Once they woke up the Doctor- which took a lot more effort than it used to- and made it onto the airship, Rose found herself exhausted. The last 72 hours catching up to her.

72 hours of fixing timelines and finding her universe and saving all of them. An emotional roller-coaster stuffed in for good fun. She wasn’t sure how she felt right now. Everything was foggy- including her vision.

She made her way to her usual seat. The Doctor not trailing far behind. They were pressed together in the seat. Not that they had to be, but it was a subconscious thing. Something they did before everything could give her butterflies all over again.

They listened to Pete’s call to Torchwood. Well, he did more than Rose. The drone of his voice forced her eyes shut. She started to drift off, resting her head on the Doctor’s shoulder.

She was half asleep when he asked, “It’s gonna be us?” in a low voice.

She reached for his new, new, new, hand, “Yeah.”

They were lucky. Lucky to have each other. Rose reminded herself that everyday. But falling into things- things they never did before- was beginning to look more difficult than they thought.

Days full of new aliens and old tropes. Meetings that sounded exciting in theory but when given context, Rose couldn’t process correctly. The Doctor trying to fit into the routine of work and home. Old jealous feelings and new conflicting ones falling out of each other’s mouths. Learning to communicate truthfully.

But they made it work. Just like they always have and always will. Although time decided it would move slow.

It was a hell of a day repairing a fleet of fly-sized spaceships and giving the captains directions to Bangladesh. That’s what the Doctor did. Rose was granted the honour of detailing her most recent experience with the “Original Doctor” and how they saved universes.

There was a heavy dread in the back of her mind. Thinking of all the versions of the people she knew that she failed to save. She never got used to detailing what happened when she jumped. But the dread had become something new now. It was thinking of the day they drag the Doctor into an interview room and drill him on how he’s different. She already was holding a grudge against the stoic people she knew would question him.

She didn’t like them in the first place.

Rose came home late. Annoyed and brain dead by the ten hours of redundant questions. Why had they waited two weeks to ask? She didn’t know. But the thought only annoyed her a little bit more. The Doctor was lying on the couch, watching some documentary. Probably about the universe. She couldn’t really focus on anything either way.

“Rose!” His head popped up when the front door closed. Hair adorably mussed and a bright smile on his face.

She gave him a small smile, “Hey.”

He looked like he was about to ask her questions about her day. But bit his tongue when she gave him a pointed look, “Tired?”

She nodded and fell onto the couch next to him. She didn’t want to explain. She could probably ask Pete for the tapes or documents if he was so desperate for an explanation. But he looked at her with those puppy dog eyes and she caved. Giving him a brief explanation of what she had to say and why it was stupid. It wasn’t much but it was what she had to offer.

“I was stuck on Earth working for U.N.I.T. for five years. Reminded me that I wasn’t a desk jockey or meant to live a linear timeline.” He said matter-of-factly.

Rose snorted, “You’re stuck with both for the time being.”

“Not so bad when I’ve got you.”

The words echoed memories she still considered precious. They happened more often now. Soft moments laced in a golden haze replaying in her mind. They changed her moods completely.

This time, she couldn’t help but lean up and kiss him. Something they were trying to find the natural for. He still let himself go lovesick. Like now, as Rose pulled back with a tongue in tooth grin at his small sound.

He wasn’t entirely ruffled. But definitely dopey eyed when he mumbled, “I love it when you grin like that.”

She hopped up to grab her phone, much to his dismay. And people thought they were attached before.

“Rose, wh-”

“I need to call mum. And order a pizza. You can look for a movie in the meantime.”

“That’ll be at least an hour! What am I supposed to do after I find the movie?”

Rose raised her eyebrows, “Last time it took you almost two hours because ‘Films aren’t the same here!’”

The Doctor opened his mouth to defend himself but couldn’t quite find a good defense. She was happy that he didn’t. Because she was right. he found a movie right before the pizza showed up. It was some sci-fi fantasy that didn’t really interest Rose but she doubted she’d stay up until he found another one.

For a man who was so used to letting things happen, he was picky over the media he consumed.

It was a pretty movie, she would give it that. The colors and framing were nice. But nothing else really appealed to her. After eating and curling into his side, she found herself drifting to sleep. Only opening her eyes when the light was bright enough to wake her up. Or when the Doctor moved because his arm was falling asleep or the dialogue pulled him into the story.

Part of her wished she wasn’t so tired. She loved watching him react to new things. Now they lived in a universe of brand new. It normally included having to hear him complain that she should at least try and enjoy the story. He didn’t protest too much. Just enough to remind her that you could find good in every story. So in return, she’d read a book.

Reading gave her a better advantage of watching him. His eyebrows and lips would twitch, as if he was replying. Or maybe criticizing the character’s choices. His fingers would twiddle and feet would tap. It was almost childish, how much he immersed himself.

She loved it. But she was also happy with where she was- option number two. It was also twice as comfortable.

Before she knew it, she was being lifted off the couch. Rose could feel him strain slightly as he carried her. She tried to hide her smile but couldn’t help but let a small one ghost her face. He tapped the bedroom door open with his foot. Moving as gently and quietly as possible, as if she wasn’t a deep sleeper. He knew that well.

Maybe he didn’t know when she was pretending. It made something catch in her throat. All the times she would pretend to be asleep- most of the time because she was already halfway there- just to spend time close to him. Did he never really know?

When he tucked her into bed she realized that he had yet to spend a night in the bedroom. Sure, he needed a little less sleep than the average human- because he wasn’t average. They shared a bed several times before, but he never stayed with her now. Granted, her bedroom wasn’t an alien jail cell or an archaic guest room.

It was an intimacy they never had without barriers and boundaries. Before, they were too aware of what time and space can do. Well he was. When he kissed her forehead, Rose realized it was something they could throw into the wind.

She grabbed his arm before he moved away, “Stay.”

There was a company party at Torchwood. The Doctor had been around long enough- two months and three days- for people to know who he was. Which meant he and Rose ended up staying for an afterparty. And then found a few.

In theory, it was Jake’s fault. He was the one who wanted to test the Doctor’s limits. They were greater than Rose expected. And unlike previous times, he wasn’t afraid to let it show. They ran around the streets of London. Jake showing them holes in the wall, where to get anything and everything. He broke up around 1 in the morning. Leaving them to laugh when one of them stumbled and hide from her father’s paparazzi in dark alleys. It didn’t do much but make them look worse in the morning.

They didn’t care. Too busy having a good time. There’s no doubt in that. They danced and flirted and had way more than one too many. Stumbled home and…

Rose woke up to a pounding headache. Maybe she was getting too old to have that type of fun. But the moment she had the thought, she decided the hangover was worth the fun. Even if the bed was empty when she woke up.

She got out of bed with a groan and grabbed the first shirt within arms’ reach. Which happened to be the Doctor’s button down from the night before. She brushed her teeth and took a few painkillers before walking out into the living room.

The stereo system was playing music that Rose wasn’t familiar with. But she heard him humming along.

She stopped and smiled as she caught sight of him. Clad only in a pair of briefs, the Doctor was swaying side to side as he chopped something. He was light. Not the tense and straight-backed man who needed to prove he was still worth his title. Hair beautifully messy, a blush spreading over the freckles of his back, and remnants of them from the night before.

He was beautiful. Especially when he let the weight off his shoulders.

She couldn’t help wrapping her arms around him when he was within reach. Pressing a kiss against his spine as he chuckled. Appreciating the heat his body left against her cheek.

“Good morning.” The vibration of his voice made her feel light as well.

She hummed in response. Appreciating the feeling of it all.

“I figured I could make us some breakfast.” He said, his voice slightly hoarse.

“Have you made any tea yet?”

“No.” A tinge of pink gathered on his cheeks, “I waited because it’s better when you make it.”

She let go with an exaggerated sigh and a smack of his bum. Smirking to herself at his quip, which was exactly as she always thought. She made their tea in their respective mugs. Her’s was one her mum painted with Tony, his was the one Tony made for him as a surprise. It was lumpy and chipped and colorful. Rose knew it was the few things that would expand into the sentimental collection he’d grow. It would probably remain one of his favorites.

She sat on the counter next to where he was making their omelettes once the tea was ready. She watched his focus intense when he went to flip them. Tongue daring to peek out the side of his mouth.

“Since when did you learn to cook?” She asked suddenly.

He placed his omelette on a plate before giving an explanation.”

“Oh, er,” His hand went to rub the back of his head, “When you have meetings or something during lunch, Jake has been showing me some stuff. He gets a kick out of it. Finally found something he’s better at than me.”

Rose laughed, “You found yourself a drinking buddy!”

“Oi!” He scowled, she noticed how he barely kept his finger from pointing, “I have not become that domestic, Rose Tyler!”

She couldn’t keep but laughing even more. The image of a Doctor disheveled and only in his pants, making breakfast and trying to defend that he still had an edge. The only thing that could make it any better was a “Kiss the Cook” apron.

Rose made note to get him one for the next holiday.

“Rose!” He whined, “Please, will you let off it?”

She found herself saying, “Make me.”

The Doctor wasn’t having any of that taken lightly, he took the two steps to invade her personal space with zero hesitation. The next laugh got caught in her chest. The smile remained though.

He smirked when the only sounds were their breathing and the music.

“Didn’t have to do much to do that.”

“You wish.” She mumbled, trying not to show how much she wanted him to kiss her.

“You’re wearing my shirt.” It came from deep in his chest.

He kept close to her. Close enough to where she could feel his breath against her lips. She was seconds from giving in. Letting him win until-

“Food’s getting cold!” He made a dramatic spin to grab their plate.

Rose kept in the groan. Feeding his ego was the last thing she wanted to do in the moment.

Which was fruitless. Because he still had sharper hearing. Thus, he easily made out the “Tease.” she let out underneath a loud sigh.

“You can wait, we’ve got the rest of our lives.”

She followed him to the table, “You wouldn’t say the same if I did it to you.”

He set the plates down and turned to face her, an offended look on his face.

“As if.”

She smiled, “As if you haven’t thought the same way.”

“Like…?” He did a poor job of hiding the way he looked at her.

“Well, we could stay inside all day. Just the two of us.” She took a step closer.

“I thought that was already planned.”

She ignored him. Standing on her toes and whispering, “Or the rest of the weekend.” before pulling him into a kiss. Only to push him away when it became a little more than chaste.

“Minx.”

The day she had been dreading came two weeks later. Rose’s ears had been ringing ever since she went by the Doctor’s lab to see if he was ready to go. Only to find a few of his coworkers and to hear that he got taken up for an interview. Jake said he didn’t see him during their breaks.

She called her mum everyday. It was habitual. But today it seemed like Jackie knew what was happening. Maybe Pete told her. Rose didn’t really care. She might later.

Why didn’t they deserve a heads up?

Jackie tried her best to soothe Rose. She could hear her daughter pacing the flat, rummaging through things. Half-heartedly listening to Jackie’s story about Tony and dinner. She was halfway out the door when Rose said,

“He’s home. Talk to you later.”

And he was a mess. Hair messy but not in the way Rose liked. Shirt untucked and blazer unbuttoned. His jaw set. He looked angry. The type of anger that would hide behind his eyes. That made deep brown shine gold if you knew him. She wondered if this was going to be a different anger than before. She heard stories of Donna Noble’s emotional and passionate rants and rages. She saw Donna close to falling apart when she sent her back to fix the timeline.

He looked a lot like both right now. A mix of a wildfire and a downpour.

“Doctor?”

He looked afraid.

“Hey, c’mere.”

His fist clenched.

“Talk to me.”

She reached for his hand and led him to the sofa.

She couldn’t read him. All tempestuous thoughts couldn’t translate the way she was used to. He saw that. So instead he tried to put on the facade of someone who has it together. One that only told her it was worse. Something terrible tugged at something deep within him.

“I didn’t think it’d be that bad.” He cleared his voice, “It actually didn’t bother me until I got home.”

It was exactly what she expected. Everything that made her heart hurt for him.

“It does that, doesn’t it?” She wasn’t sure what to say.

Her mum had always been better at this. She always knew how to get through, to tell people it was okay to say what they needed. Rose was better at feeling the same as them without the words. But she sat in front of a silent rambling man.

“Yeah. It’s a blow to the chest.”

She reached for his hand, interlocking their pinky fingers. There was a static shock when she did. And that seemed to be the tipping point. The shock that told him to let go.

“I need you now.” His voice broke at his attempt to hold back tears, “I don’t know. Before I could go on. I could keep going. But it’s different, isn’t it?”

Rose nodded. Still unsure of what to say, how to help. She understood. Understood so clearly she wondered if he had tapped into her mind.

“Do you think they realize what they say?”

“Yeah.” Rose looked down, “They’ve done it to me and mum several times. Well, mostly me.”

“How did you deal with it?” His eyes were wide. He looked lost trying to navigate what he was feeling.

“I knew I had to get back to you.” It came out simple. Like it was clear. Like she never spent days in bed after these interrogations sometimes.

He shook his head, “I’m not the me that you were trying to get back to. They know that. You know that.”

“I know you’re the same man. One less heart and hair that’s got a streak he always wanted.”

“Now I’ve got a last name and pay rent. Not exactly the man you met.”

“It’s been eight years since we met, for me. We change. I don’t mind, Doctor.”

He grabbed her hand, not taking his eyes off of it, “Some people do.”

“To hell with them. We’re going to live lives they can only dream of.”

A silence settled over them. Rose heard her phone vibrating in the kitchen, but didn’t care. She watched as his eyes traced her face. Curious and willing. Unsure and timid.

“I’m not sure what else is going to happen. I don’t really care,” He took a shaky breath, “All I know is that it’s you.”

Her mum and Pete asked for them to look after Tony for an evening. There was some publicity event or whatever. Jackie couldn’t remember what exactly. Rose never minded. Her little brother was easier to take care of than most would think. Raised just as she was plus a little more expense. He deserved it. The miracle child who kept her company at her worst times. He knows it too.

He also adored the Doctor. For one, he looked super cool and was super cool because he saved the universe and worlds with his sister. Two, Tony could ask him any question and he’d have the answer, the Doctor never dulled it down either. He just would answer the questions that followed. Tony’s favorite thing though, was that they could get into messes and out of them without too much consequence. Rose was sure that if he knew the words, he’d already be calling him a brother-in-law.

As much as they were two peas in a pod, it took an hour of debate between the boys for them to figure out what they were going to do. In the midst of the Doctor arguing the pros of his idea, Rose announced that they would be going to the park.

After a walk around, they settled on a hill. The Doctor laid out his trenchcoat for him and Rose to rest on. Tony left for a few minutes before coming back with a handful of flowers. Handing them to Rose and asking her to make him a crown. Before taking off to find more, so they could all have one.

“Since when could you do that?” The Doctor asked, pulling out a prototype of his sonic.

Rose shrugged, “I taught myself when I’d babysit my little cousins. Muscle memory at this point.”

“You’ve never mentioned it.”

Rose looked up from the braided weeds with a smile and raised eyebrow, “‘Cause you’re not a six year old who needs to be kept busy. At least, most of the time.”

“I’m six months and fourteen days.” He puffed his chest.

Rose rolled her eyes, “Always have to bring yourself into it, don’t ya?”

Before he had the chance to reply, Tony came running up with another boy in tow. Quickly dropping a few handfuls of flowers at Rose’s knees before steering toward the Doctor. People who appeared to be parents a few yards behind. Rose waved, making sure it was alright as the boys focused on the Doctor.

“This is Dr. Noble! He’s my sister’s boyfriend.”

Rose chuckled at Tony’s explanation of him. But the boy held out his hand to shake in a grand gesture. The Doctor took it with the same enthusiasm.

“And what’s your name?”

“Jackson. I’m Tony’s second best friend.”

The Doctor raised an eyebrow, “Well who’s the first?”

Tony looked shocked, “You are, Silly!”

“Of course I am, Tony.”

Something overtook the playful gleam in his eyes, something softer and touched. Rose noticed that there may have been a tear in his eye. She smiled at the ground, glancing up every so often.

Tony started asking the Doctor to tell his favorite story. The one about what happened at Krop Tor. She listened as closely as the boys, he had never let her hear it in entirety before. Most of it was as it happened, granted, not as grave. There was something he didn’t know, which wasn’t normal. And they got trapped when they went to figure it out. So it goes.

But he changed his tone at the end of it. Lowering his voice when he asked, “Do you want to know the best part?”

To which the boys nodded eagerly.

“Well, I wouldn’t be here to tell you this if it weren’t for someone.” He nodded his head at Rose, “I was just fighting the body. Which is scary but nothing compared to the soul of the Devil.”

“C’mon!!” Tony bounced on his knees.

“She was the one who made the final move. Ready to sacrifice herself and who she loved for the better of the universe,” He started to whisper, “I knew that she was the best. But this is when she became the very best.”

He explained how she shot the window of the rocket. Dramatizing it to make her sound more impressive. Throwing his hands around while talking about the Tardis. Dedicated to giving the happiest ending for the boys.

He did it with a breeze, leaving them whooping and cheering.

They were once again antsy to run around and burn off energy. Rose handed them both a crown, trying to keep Tony’s attention.

“When do you have to be back here, Anthony?”

He scowled at the use of his full name, “Before the sky turns all dark blue.”

“You��re good to go.” Rose laughed.

Tony pulled his friend away. They only managed to get just out of ear’s reach before Jackson came bounding back up.

The Doctor looked up from where he was fiddling with his sonic, “Yes sir?”

“What’s your first name?”

“Doctor,” He grinned mischievously.

“Your last?”

“Noble.” He said it with pride.

Jackson gave him a questioning look but shrugged and ran back to Tony, who was poking at something with a stick.

Rose left the rest of the flowers on the ground and turned her attention to the sunset. Listening to everything going on around them. The phantom breeze in the trees. All the kids calling for each other. Passing conversations.

“What about when we get married?”

It came out of nowhere. She tried not to let her surprise show, “What about it?”

“Our last names.” He looked at her, the wind in his hair reminded her of their time on New Earth, “I quite like Noble and I don’t think you should give up Tyler.”

“What if I want to?” She raised her eyebrows at him.

“Well, I mean-”

“I’m joking, Doctor,” She looked at him, lost in thought, “We could hyphenate them.”

He shook his head in thought, “Hm, but who would go first?”

She shrugged, returning her focus to the sky. Listening as he rolled “Noble-Tyler” and “Tyler-Noble” off his tongue while it turned a brighter and brighter pink.

She swatted at him with the back of her hand when Tony ran back to them. Trying to avoid any conversations that aren't necessary. He asked the Doctor to come play with him because Jackson had to leave. Before he started to drag him away, the Doctor managed to give Rose a peck on the cheek. The six year old was too impatient. Leaving him to yell “I love you!” at her.

Her eye roll was followed with her own shout, “I love you too!”

The Doctor was wearing a tuxedo similar to the one he wore the first time they were here. This time it wasn’t to gain information but to give it. He was to give a lecture on something he figured out in the eight months he’d been here. He argued that it wasn’t that important. That he didn’t need to do it. Pete reminded him that the other scientists working on it eight spent years. Not months.

The Doctor and Donna’s personality had always been intertwined in him. Rose knew it. She first noticed because he was quick to reply to her mum’s quips and actually started to enjoy spending time with her.

He said it was because he’s half the alien he used to be. But both Rose and Jackie beg to differ.

But this was the first time she’s seen the personality merge work against him. He couldn’t just brush off the idea of speaking in front of people who are there to question him. Speculate how he did it. Insecurities bubbled to the surface and crawled into his nerves.

Rose found out through Jake, who had to pull her from talking to people before the seminar. She wasn’t the one resisting. She was tired of questions about this “mystery man” who was “quick to put a ring on her finger.”

Although, the reactions to the fact that she was the one who got down on one knee humored her. But led her to explaining that he got her ring later.

“He’s been pacin’ the room like an animal that hasn’t got enough enrichment.” Jake said while walking Rose to where the Doctor was, “I couldn’t get through to him but we all know you can.”

She entered the room to a speaker being in pieces across the floor. The Doctor sitting in the middle of all the pieces, trying to rig something together. She wasn’t sure if it was supposed to be a DADA sculpture or a new invention. Either way, his new anxieties were making him manic.

“Doctor?”

His head snapped up and he gave her a tense grin, “Rose! I was just thinking of you.”

“I don’t think you stop doing that.”

He shrugged and started sweeping all the pieces into a small pile in front of him.

“Doctor,” Rose said it softer than before, “What’s going on?”

“I’m about to talk to a room full of people and I can’t suppress hormones like I used to be able to.”

He said it with a straight face. Leaving Rose to hold her breath to keep from causing him anymore anxiety. She wasn’t sure if her urge to laugh was caused by the point-blank approach of explanation or the fact that he was clearly lying. She didn’t think on it too much. She tried to think about what her mum said and did all the times she was at a breaking point.

The first thing she noticed was how disheveled he was. Only half dressed, though he’d never admit it. Then it clicked.

“Presentation is the most important thing. That’s what I’ve learned from Pete. So let's tidy you back up.” She held her hand out to lift him back up.

She talked about everything except what his mind was so desperate to be focused on. Coaxing the dopey smile and puppy-dog eyes out of him. In the end, it was more flirting than discussing. But it worked the way she needed to either way.

Rose couldn’t help but notice how he focused on her hands when she buttoned his shirt.

“I’ll unbutton them later if you don’t have a heart attack on stage.” She said with his favorite grin.

She couldn’t help but let it slip. And the mischievous look she got in return was worth it. Now that he was dressed, it was time to move onto his hair. Which would only take so long due to the fact he was overprotective and particular with it. This was where she planned to dig back in.

He gave her a sheepish smile as he sat down in front of the mirror, watching her hands start to tease his hair.

“What had you so worked up earlier?” She asked, watching his eyes dart from her to anywhere else in the mirror.

“I started thinking too much. Or- I focused on one thing and wouldn’t think of anything else.” He looked like a schoolboy. Embarrassed to feel things.

Rose thinks this is the most human moment he’s had yet. His superior biology not quite what it used to be.

“What was it?”

“Well, uh,” She swatted the hand that went for the back of his head as he spoke, “I didn’t want to disappoint Pete. or Jackie. Or you.”

His eyes met with hers in the mirror and she gave him a sweet smile, “My mum and I don’t care. You know that. Pete? He’s got PR on standby if necessary.”

“I know,” The Doctor shrugged, “But you’re the ones who let me get here.”

Jake knocked on the door, “He’s got five minutes!”

His spine went rigid again. Rose ran her hand over it in response. She pressed a kiss to the back of his neck, where no one would notice if a lipstick stain was left.

“Just talk to ‘em like you’d talk to Tony, yeah? Go on your big monologue and worry about what’s going on in their heads later.”

When he stood up she fixed the lock of red in his hair to flow with the rest.

“I love you. You know that?”

“Absolutely.” She straightened his bowtie one last time, “You know, you have nothing to prove to me.”

Rose blew air out like a cigarette, watching a cloud too hazy and heavy form. Those days were long gone. She realized they had gone before she met the Doctor. A long memory now, where she lived in a parallel universe with a new half-human, half-timelord Doctor. She didn’t mind, though. That’s life isn’t it?

It was this line of thought that led her into sleepless nights. Comparing lives. Wondering how her old Doctor was doing. Wondering if her Doctor was really, truly, happy. If they’d ever get back the life that they belong in. All this what-ifs and open-ended question that she’d never get an answer for until the moment came. They ran rampant through her head. Like a skipping record.

Sometimes it was tempting to pick up old habits when she got like this. She knew why she didn’t when the door behind her slid open, revealing a shirtless, groggy Doctor.

“Rose, it’s 3 am.”

“I know,” She turned to face him completely, “I couldn’t sleep.”

He hummed in understanding and sat next to her. Looking up at the sky full of stars he’s yet to map. It made a sharp pang go through her chest. To see him like this. So bare in a universe he was ready to make a mark on. Then Rose noticed the goosebumps rise on his arms with a gust of wind. He’s yet to admit that he’s been cold. Even when it’s written all over his face and hands.

She also noticed the way his eyebrows furrowed. As if he was counting each and every star.

“Why couldn’t you sleep?”

She shrugged, “Thinking ‘bout what you said.”

“We’re at the halfway mark. Now is time for her to grow on her own.”

Rose thought back to the shed on Pete’s estate that they spent every free day they had at for the past month. Which meant one of them pulled the other out of bed. Because they had their very own Tardis growing inside, waiting to learn of new skys.

“But will we make it that long?” She felt the fear bubble over into tears, “It scares me. To not know when. Which is ridiculous but I’ve waited so long and I know you’re just as restless.”

He sat there for a second, gathering the right words.

“Rose, you did the impossible once. All on your own. Yeah, you had Jackie and Clive and Pete, but-”

“Now I have you.”

The words hung heavy in the air. Like it was some confession. Admitting something she always wished for had come true. But it wasn’t made up of the dreams she once had. It was messy and real but even worth more than what once was the only thing that let her sleep at night.

“I told you a year ago, it’s gonna be us. I could care less about what else there is.”

Maybe that was the catharsis. The unholy amounts of emotion came pouring out of her. She fell into his arms as she broke into tears.

She had no clue where it came from. Maybe it was stress from work. The clutter starting to build in their tiny flat. Or knowing they were so close. Her heart begging to be reminded of what showed her love in the first place.

“Rose, you golden girl. You did it. You got back to me- or well, I came back with you. Besides the point. You’ve done it once. What’s a second time with the impossible holding your hand?”

He rocked her slightly as she started to calm down. Brushing her hair out of her face and wiping her tears. Pressing kisses against her forehead. Mumbling things she normally didn’t hear.

He pulled her back with a wide grin, “Hey, we still have to get married before leaving. I don’t want another slap from your mother.”

“I think we should do it Vegas style.” it came out as a snotty laugh. And in the back of her mind she wondered if he ever saw her like this before now.

“I don’t care as long as it’s you.” He smiled, “You said it a while ago, ‘Better with two.’”

She giggled, rubbing her eyes one last time, “The stuff of legends, us.”

“Especially in a few months' time.” He said, looking back up at the sky.

“We’re gonna be alright,” Rose pulled him into a tight embrace, “We’re okay.”

#timepetals #tenrose #tentoo x rose #rose tyler #ten x rose #.txt #tenth doctor #tenth doctor x rose tyler #doctor who #dw #dw fanfic #tentoo #metacrisis doctor #vincent writes

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