#However it is not the same as walking along the river especially | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

pretty-little-mind33 · 20 days

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Call It What You Want

Tangerine x fem!reader

Summary: After accidentally killing your kidnappers, the twins—especially Tangerine—seem determined to keep you away from harm.

Genre: Fluff, hurt & comfort

Warnings: protiective!Tangerine, innocent!civilian!reader, kidnapping, swearing, mentions of injury and blood, canon violence, plot diverts from canon, No Ladybug—the other assassin is supposed to be Carver (since i felt the characterization would have been too off otherwise!)

Thanks for requesting! I hope you like this hehe <3 @kpopgirlbtssvt

So far, the mission was running smoothly.

Lemon and Tangerine had killed all the men in the warehouse and were now making their way out with the White Death's son. Approaching their car, Tangerine throws his bloodied poncho into the trunk as Lemon stuffs the son's passed out body in the backseat.

"Shit, bruv, I dropped my knife in the warehouse," Lemon suddenly whines with a grimace.

His brother sends him an annoyed look, "Fuckin' cry me a river will ya? It's just a knife."

Lemon narrows his eyes at Tangerine and slams the car door shut. He deadpans, "It's not just a knife. It's Willa. You'know she's my fav."

"Shouldn't have dropped 'er then, yeah?" Tangerine snaps.

Lemon ignores him and walks back into the warehouse. He's gone for a while and Tangerine wonders if perhaps he'd been hurt. Just as his annoyance turns to worry, he sees Lemon emerge from the warehouse, looking incredibly concerned.

"Tangerine, come here," Lemon calls him over and based on the seriousness of his voice, Tangerine reluctantly follows him. His nose scrunches as they walk around the dead bodies they are responsible for. Lemon pulls at a filthy white sheet that hangs in the corner and it falls to reveal a makeshift room with old, beaten, boxes.

However, Tangerine's blood runs cold when he sees you splayed across the mattress in the opposite corner.

Lemon sends him a look. "Heard 'er shift. I think she's asleep," he says.

Cautiously, they move closer and Tangerine hears the occasional quiet whimper escape your lips. He kneels beside you, brows furrowing heavily, as with a gentle hand he pulls on your shoulder so you shift from your side onto your back. Your arm falls limp over the mattress and your head rolls to face him, causing Tangerine to inhale sharply.

Your eyes are shut and your hair is messily splayed around and across your face. You're dressed in a pair of pajama shorts, worn out sneakers, and a tank top, the flimsy bedsheet the bastard that had done this to you had provided you with barely covers your bruised and exposed skin.

Tangerine's jaw clenches when he sees the fingerprints on your thighs and arms. He looks at Lemon, who shrugs his shoulders and then leans over you to take your wrist and check your pulse.

"Sleeping," he repeats.

"Drugged," Tangerine argues and runs a hand over his face. Part of him wants to leave you here. You aren't his responsibility. He has a job to finish and anyway, he'd already killed the men who took you—probably? Hopefully? Fuck. He glances at Lemon, who seems debating the same thing and then Lemon catches his eye, as usual, his brother reads his fucking mind.

"We have to take 'er," Lemon whispers, "She's innocent."

Tangerine looks at you again and his frown remains. Innocent. For all they know you could be the fucking evil mastermind behind it all. Maybe this was your plan all along and they're the fools who have fallen for the trick.

Only, his eyes soften when he watches your chest lift and fall a little harshly. You look so strangely delicate and it's making Tangerine lose his mind.

No, you couldn't be anything other than pure innocence.

Without another word, Tangerine shifts and hooks his arms under you. Your dead weight leans against his chest as the sheet falls from the curve of your foot and his hands tighten around you in fear you'll shiver from the sudden cold.

Lemon watches his brother for a moment, a small smirk tugging at his lips. As much as he wants to, he doesn't comment on the scene in front of him.

* * *

Your head feels like it's spinning. The man you learned is named Lemon is yapping your ear off as you squeeze through the train aisle. You almost bump into him as he struggles with the poor man they'd told you bumped his head, and then the second man who'd introduced himself as Tangerine almost bumps into you.

You squeal, almost tripping, but Tangerine grunts and wraps his arm around your stomach so you don't fall.

Quickly, as Lemon finds a booth and pushes the third man to lean against the window, Tangerine removes his arm and pretends like he didn't feel how badly you tensed under his touch. Raw anger simmers inside him at the mere idea of what your kidnappers had put you through.

You watch as Lemon disappears with the silver briefcase for a moment and you wrap Tangerine's checkered coat closer around you. It's cool in the train and your exposed thighs and arms prickle with goosebumps. You don't dare complain. Tangerine sits next to you and he sends you a look.

"Ya cold, luv?" he asks seriously.

You look up at him, eyes widened innocently, and hesitate before you nod. Tangerine hums, happy you're communicating in some way, and he looks around. He stands and disappears down the aisle.

Lemon obscures your view for a moment when he sits across from you and when Tangerine returns, he's holding a sweatshirt over his arm. He hands it to you without a word and when Lemon gives his brother a confused look. Tangerine rolls his eyes and says, "What? I nicked it for 'er. She's cold."

Lemon hides a smirk as he holds up his arm in surrender and doesn't say much more. You slowly let Tangerine's coat fall from your shoulders as you slip on the sweatshirt. It's large enough to cover up to your mid-thigh and you feel less uneasy.

"So, ya really don't remember what those men wanted with ya?" Lemon interrupts.

You shrink in your seat. You wish you could remember more of your kidnapping so you could tell them. When you came to, you were already in the Twins car and they'd informed you you had been drugged and most likely kidnapped. You couldn't remember why.

While the Twins had been nothing but kind to you, you still can't shake the feeling that they aren't the knights in shining armor you want them to be. You peer at Tangerine as he plucks a pack of snacks from the passing trolley. Without hesitation, he turns and hands them to you.

You sit up a little and look at the snacks, eyes round. Tangerine nods silently as if to say, "It's okay," and then turns his attention to his brother, his blue eyes sharp. "She said she doesn't remember. Will ya lay off her?" he snaps.

You open the snacks and eat them up quickly. You hiss as your split lip opens from your carelessness but you continue to eat anyway.

Lemon and Tangerine bicker again but you're too focused on the food in your palms to care. Lemon sends you a sympathetic look as Tangerine calms down and the third man, who is sitting in a booth across from you all, starts to stir.

* * *

"I am not leaving 'her alone with 'im!" Tangerine exclaims as he stares at Lemon like he's lost his mind. Lemon throws his hands up in the air and glares at his brother. "I don't trust 'im. If he's anything like his Daddy then he's bad fuckin' news," Tangerine reasons.

"So, what's your plan then? You gonna keep her safe by your side, hm? Someone took our case and I can guarantee they aren't gonna play nicely, bruv! She's a fuckin' liability, that's what she is!"

Lemon raises good points but Tangerine ignores him completely.

"She's our responsibility now, Lemon," he says sternly but he's distracted by the doors to the cabin sliding open and your frame slamming into his chest. Surprised, he tenses as your hands grasp helplessly at his suit and hide behind him. Lemon looks as puzzled as his brother when he sees how scared you look.

However, unlike Lemon, Tangerine is in a panic. He spins around and holds onto your shoulders. He leans down as you hyperventilate, his heart beating so loudly. "Hey, hey, luv, what happened? Are ya hurt? What's wrong? Tell me," he says. His large hands move up to cup your tear-stained cheeks as he tries to calm you down.

You make small gasping sounds and point to the now shut doors you just came from. "T-the man! H-he w-was poisoned! I saw the person in the costume prick him with something and now there's blood coming out of his eyes. I think he's dead!" you sound completely horrified and Tangerine can't help himself when he wraps you in his arms and holds you closer.

Lemon paces behind him, clearly alarmed that the white death's son was murdered under their care, but Tangerine is only focused on you.

"Hey, darlin', can you look at me," he whispers as he tries to ground you. "You're fine. Shh, you're okay now. You did the right thing running to us, hmm?" you nod, still clutching onto Tangerine. Lemon scoffs from behind you and his brother sends him a dark look. "She's staying with me," Tangerine says.

"Your funeral mate," Lemon says and unlocks his gun. He looks at you and his eyes soften for a moment before they land on Tangerine. "You've gone completely sweet for 'er," he says in a whisper, almost like he can't believe he's saying those words out loud, "be careful."

You look up at Tangerine and see his jaw clench for a moment. Something flickers in his eyes—denial perhaps—but he just ignores Lemon's warning and guides you back into the train compartment to make a plan.

* * *

Your head is throbbing as it hits the wall of the train. You hear ringing in your ears as Tangerine's shouts become hazy. You feel a hand curl around the hood of your sweatshirt as you're yanked up and thrown to the opposite side of the room again. You crash into the cupboards as foods from the shelves fall onto you.

"Fuckin' bastard," Tangerine seethes, recovering from a punch the man had landed in his stomach. He lunges and hits the man in the nose, the crack audible, as the man crumbles to the ground. Tangerine sees red as he straddles the man and punches him repeatedly. "Ya don't fuckin' touch 'er! Ya hear me? I see one fuckin' bruise from your fingerprints on her again and I'll break all your fuckin' bones!"

You struggle to stand, shards of glass stuck in your palms as you watch the scene with a scared expression. The man slams a glass onto Tangerine's head and taunts cruelly, "What's she to you, hm? One of your little bitches? Your reputation betrays you, Tangerine." You wince at this man's words and when he stares at you, your breath hitches.

"Huh, you one of his bitches, girl? A stunner like you shouldn't be involved with men like him, you know—but, I can see why he keeps you around, I mean you're—"

Tangerine interrupts him with a hard punch in the jaw and his sentence falls short. Without hesitation, Tangerine takes your wrist in his hand and speed-walks away from the scene. You stumble after him as he grunts in pain from the blows he'd taken. When he finds an empty bathroom, he pushes you inside as he crams into the small space.

Tangerine's hip is digging into the sink as he holds up your palm. "Shit, look at your hand," he mutters and then looks up at you more closely, "You aren't too hurt, are ya? I'm sorry, darlin'."

You stare at him, your adrenaline pumping, and blurt out the first thing you think of as you look at the cuts and bruises across his face, and at how disheveled and bloody his suit has become. "You look like shit," you say with concern, and with your other hand, you push some curls away from his forehead. Your fingers dance across his skin delicately, too worried for him to realize what exactly you're doing

Tangerine's eyebrows raise in surprise and he laughs. You pull your hand away and stare up at him, your wounds obvious from the blows that the other assassin had landed on you. However, he just smirks. "Atta girl," he whispers, and almost as if on instinct he moves to press his knuckles to your cheek. You feel the warmth spread across them.

Clearing his throat, he pulls his arm away and looks down to unlock his gun. "We gotta find Lemon and we need to get off this god-forsaken train—job be damned. I'm not putting you at risk anymore." You nod, wiping some blood from the corner of your mouth with your sleeve.

"You stay behind me and listen closely. If I say jump, you jump, understand?" he says and slides the door to the bathroom open.

* * *

Tangerine feels his eyes hang heavy as he tries to erase the memory of Lemon's dead body. His heart is pounding as he feels your hands clutch around his arm. He hadn't let you see Lemon, not fully, but you'd cried from the situation anyway (and in fear of his anger he assumes).

After all, he is furious.

"Fuckin' diesel bitch," he mutters, his gun pointed at the girl dressed in pink.

The young girl snarls and stares at him defiantly. She doesn't seem scared of him. However, as soon as the third assassin—the brown-haired man from earlier—enters, she screams. Tangerine senses you tense beside him and he quickly moves to shield you as the man points his gun at you and him.

Tangerine fires his gun sloppily and it hits the man in his neck. However, he's too slow to prevent the man's bullet from hitting you in the shoulder.

You shriek and the pain is excruciating as you fall to the ground. Tangerine spins around, catching you in time as he holds you close and applies pressure to your wound. He holds up your head as he looks into your teary eyes.

"Shit, fuck, fuck, hey–shh, you're okay," he promises, his voice strained. You're not trained for the pain and as much as Tangerine tries to prevent you from looking, your eyes move to your shoulder.

There's blood everywhere.

Tangerine can see that you're in shock as your eyelids flutter. He holds you up but he can't think as you lose consciousness. He wants to scream and he slams his hand onto the ground next to you, desperately holding you to him.

He needs to help you.

Somehow.

* * *

When you wake, you hear Tangerine's voice loud and clear— "You told me you weren't wearing yer fuckin' vest!" he snaps, pacing around the small motel room. Your eyelids flutter and you see Lemon—Lemon!— sitting on the second queen bed, his head in his hands. Tangerine's pendant still hangs from his neck.

"Will ya stop screaming at me!?" Lemon hisses, pinching his nose.

"I though' ya'd died!!"

From where you lay you can see how furious Tangerine looks. His suit is still bloody and he looks as disheveled as he did on the train. You can hear how pained he sounds and your heart sinks.

Lemon is silent for a moment and then he stands. Without any smart comment or argument, he walks over to his brother and wraps his arm around Tangerine's shoulders. Instantly, Tangerine's body seems to melt into Lemon and you hear a choked sob as they hug—you aren't entirely sure who it's from.

After a moment, Lemon pulls away first but puts his hand on the back of Tangerine's nape. "I see ya managed to keep 'er safe," he says, amusement in his voice as he turns to you and you shut your eyes so they'll think you're still asleep.

"Barely," Tangerine's voice is strained, "She's hurt. I tried'a stitch her up as best I could but I ain't no fuckin' doctor. She was passed out the entire time—hope she didn't feel a thing."

You hadn't.

"You care about 'er," Lemon states and you hold your breath.

"I don't," Tangerine insists quickly. "She's just a responsibility. Nothin' more, nothin' less."

Your chest tightens at his words and you feel very stupid. Why would he care more than that? You're still strangers. You don't even know his favorite color. All you know is that you care.

He'd saved you. He was your savior. How could you move on and pretend he wasn't? How could you move on and just not see him anymore?

Lemon sighs sadly, "Why is it so hard for you to admit you care about someone?"

"Because everything I care about dies. Gone. Just like that, Lemon," you hear Tangerine snap his fingers and you flinch, "I don' want 'er to die because of me. Because I cared too much to let her go and live a normal fuckin' life!"

You bite down on your lip—hard.

"I–fuck, you don't understand Lemon," Tangerine says and you wish you could open your eyes to see him. You want to see him so badly but you can't so you stay still, listening in. "I almost lost you and you're a trained assassin! She's just a girl. I can't protect her. I couldn't even protect her tonight."

You want to tell him that he's wrong. He can! He had! Without him, you'd still be kidnapped or worse, dead.

"Mate, you're too hard on yourself," Lemon reasons.

"No. I'm not. I can't fuck up. Fuckin' up means death," Tangerine says sternly, his tone ending the conversation.

You hear faint footsteps and then the mattress dips as someone's nimble fingers find your hairline and push away some stray hairs. Is it weird that you recognize his touch already? You stir unconsciously and shift onto your back, your eyes opening.

You're unaware that as they flutter, all Tangerine is picturing as his blue ones staring back at you is the way you looked when they'd found you—hair messy and spilled across the dirty mattress, skin bruised and bloody. His stomach churns and he feels sick.

"Hi, darlin'," he mutters, and then his fingers, slow and deliberate, move to pull down the blanket so he can access your bound shoulder. You tilt your head and wince when you see the blood seeping through the plaster.

"May I?" Tangerine asks as his hand hovers over your shoulder. You nod, staring up at him with widened eyes as he checks over your wound.

As he works, you're overwhelmed and you have to look away. When you do, your eyes fall on Lemon. "Lemon," you say, "you're alive!"

Lemon cracks a smile and runs a hand over his face, "I am. Were ya sad, bird?"

It's meant to be teasing but you nod instantly and Lemon's eyebrows crease. He looks at Tangerine, who stands up and pulls the covers over you again. "She's a sweet bird, ain't she?" Lemon says as he smiles fondly. Tangerine nods and moves some hair behind his ear as the strands fall messily.

"Yeah," is all he answers and then he tells you, "Rest up now, luv. Your stitches are solid and you need sleep. It's been a long day." You wonder if he knows you'd overheard his conversation with Lemon or if he's blissfully unaware. You try and sit up but Tangerine scowls, "Hey, now, none of that," he reprimands.

"Don't leave me," you say seriously and Tangerine's eyes round.

"Pardon?"

"I don't want to be alone—" you whisper and settle into the pillows again, looking up at him.

"Lemon and I will just be over," Tangerine starts to explain but you reach out and grasp his wrist. You stare up at him silently and Lemon chuckles.

"Think she wants ya to sleep with 'er," he says and Tangerine's cheeks turn pink at the double meaning. He sends Lemon a glare but sits back down beside you. He lets you hold onto his wrist as he thinks of a plan.

You wonder if asking him to lay next to you is too much. You would understand if he refuses.

"I'm gonna clean up a little," Tangerine finally says, "and then Lemon can take the other bed and I'll—I'll sit here, on the floor, and hold your hand so you can sleep?"

His voice has a slight tremble you wonder if he's suppressing, and you can't help but wish he'd just hold you.

"You'll be uncomfortable," you try persuading him as he stands and his wrist slips from your hand.

"I want to keep watch tonight anyways," Tangerine says and smiles. It isn't a smirk—no it's a real smile. You don't argue as you nod.

Your arm dangles from the bed as you try and stay awake long enough to know Tangerine will actually hold your hand. You feel your body slip in and out of sleep as you catch only fragments of Tangerine's conversation with Lemon through the open bathroom door.

"We'll call Billy tomorrow morning and she can call 'er family—tell'em she's safe."

"Ya know, ya could just sleep in the bed—next to her—it's really not that odd,"

"Shut up,"

You're so close to sleep your eyelids feel so heavy that when you hear quiet shuffling near your ear, you can't even open your eyes. Your hand twitches and a soft sound escapes your lips when you feel Tangerine's fingers interlock with yours.

"I'm here," he whispers, the sound so quiet if you weren't so close to him you'd miss it. You hear the sound of his head hitting the bedside table and with an exhausted wince, you shift closer, your hand squeezing his.

"Thank you f-for everything," you manage to mumble, your eyes remaining shut. You aren't sure your thanks escaped your lips audibly because he doesn't answer. You slip into sleep, unaware of Tangerine's mind racing as his hand remains in yours.

Don't thank me, he thinks, please.

His drowsy eyes are trained on the motel door as Lemon washes up in the bathroom. He refuses to shut them. While his back is already aching from sitting on the floor and his arm is tired from being in such an awkward position to hold your hand, he doesn't move.

Instead, he listens to your calm breathing as you sleep. It's so different from when he'd found you—you'd been so scared and, even drugged, your body had been on edge.

Now, you sound so calm and secure and as silly as it sounds, Tangerine's chest tightens. As long as he can help it he'll make sure you're never that scared and vulnerable again.

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juniefruit · 3 months

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-{ model bf hyunjin }-

I had writer's block for a bit, but I have written this! ((Also, happy almost friday))

Word Count: 955

Sometimes he takes you along with him to events & photoshoots. For most shoots he can’t take you on set, but just having you in the same city calms his nerves a bit. Paris is one of his favorite cities to visit.

One of his favorite moments to indulge in is the quiet calmness found in the morning. Sun rays shine through the luxurious hotel blinds and cover the room in a staggered array of beauty. You two lay, a tangle of limbs, within the pristine white sheets. Hyunjin tries not to make a sound as he admires your effortless beauty before you wake. Your cheek is squished against the pillow, which he thinks is cute.

On his free day between shooting, He invties you to a walk on the riverside. In a world that is so fast-paced, he has learned to appreciate the seemingly ordinary. You hold his hand as the light breeze passes by. The emerald green leaves flutter up in the branches of the trees that line the walkway. As you walk, A swan meanders through the slow current of the river. It catches your eye, with its elegant white feathers and curved neck. With your free hand, you point to it. Hyunjin comments, ‘It’s not as beautiful as you, though.’ Always jinnie and his cheesy compliments.

Sometimes, he will send you concept photos or videos of a shoot he’s on for your thoughts. Honestly, he just needed an excuse to text you. He’ll ask, ‘Do I look good here? What about this one?’ In what universe does he ever not look good??

He loves taking you to the fanciest, most elegant restaurants. Even if it’s not really your vibe, he’ll try to persuade you. He’ll pay for everything, help you pick an outfit, whatever it takes. He wants you to be comfortable and safe in your own skin.

He is your #1 supporter when you’re going shopping. If you thought your best friend persuaded you to buy more than you need, you haven’t met Hyunjin. He gives out compliments like crazy. They don’t have your size? He will find an employee to order it for you. He will never hesitate to get you what you deserve. Window shopping is nonexistent, because he will drag you into the store instead of just peering through the window.

Hyunjin doesn’t get jealous for every little thing, but he does notice when someone crosses a line, and he’ll step in. He is an expert at reading body language. It’s something you’ve always loved about him; he is observant and notices the small details. He can tell when you need him a little more than usual, or if you need some space to think.

In public, he puts on his ‘business’ persona, which is classy, cool, calm, and collected. The aura he radiates is astonishing. He exudes elegance. However, in the comfort of your own home/hotel room, he has a tendency to be clingy and sugary sweet. There’s a reason he’s the drama llama! He’ll pout, whine, make random noises too. Sometimes when he’s bored he’ll strike a model pose or two in the living room just for fun. He constantly has to be touching you in some way; back hugs, shoulder/neck/waist rubs, anything :(

This is especially escalated when he can smell your presence. He loves the smell of you. With perfume, without, or just your regular shower gel has him go crazy. He’ll nuzzle his face into your neck, and play around with the collar of your shirt.

Your high rise penthouse is chic, with the perfect mix of modern yet ‘old money’ vibes. White and black with accents of warm gold. Kkami has definitely made himself feel at home, too. With no concept of personal space, that dog will leap into your lap at any given chance. Particularly while you’re lounging on the couch or on the bed. Hyunjin jokes that Kkami might like you more than he does. Especially since Kkami does growl when Jinnie gets too close.

He lives in those designer shirts, like the white ones that simply say Gucci, Versace, etc. on the front. Just a simple house shirt and sweats when he wants to be comfy. His shoulder-lenth hair is slightly disheveled, and small strands lay across his forehead and fall into his eyes. His lips are so glossy and pouty, just begging to be kissed. So you do. His head is resting against your shoulder, so you have to do some maneuvering. His response? A small hum and the most delicate smile gracing his face.

After going shopping, he makes you do a ‘fashion show’ in your living room with all the stuff you bought. It’s silly, but he loves it as a couple’s activity.

He loves to create matching couple outfits. Not that cliche cringry kind though. His vision is that your outfits complement eachother in aesthetic ways. Spending as much time as he does with the fashion industry means that he’s picked up a style tip or two. In no way does he see you as incompetent, he will always let you wear whatever you want or say no. But, he just can’t help but try to elevate your style and maybe put his own touch on the things you wear. It’s like his own type of love language. And it’s not like his advice is bad, either. At this point, both of your closets have influences from each other’s styles, and maybe some stolen pieces as well. It goes back to the part where he loves your scent. Scarves especially, because they hold your perfume so well. He will hold it up to his face and it instantly fills him with thoughts of you.

If you liked this, see my masterlist !

#stray kids #stray kids x reader #stray kids drabbles #stray kids imagines #stray kids oneshot #skz x reader #hyunjin #hyunjin x reader #hyunjin x you #hyunjin x y/n #skz imagines #skz thoughts #stray kids thoughts #hwang hyunjin imagines #hyunjin imagines

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armins-main-hoe · 1 month

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Purple Petals of Velaris

Ever wonder what it would be like if Rhysand had another younger sister, one who had not even been able to fly the day his mother and sister got killed? A baby who got spared by Tamlin who could not find it in himself to kill a such a young soul who looked up at him and gave him a toothless smile. So before his father and brothers could find the youngest child of the night, he hid her away, giving her a sweet flower to suckle on so she's keep quiet, walking over to his brothers and father, trying to avoid stepping in the pool of blood on the floor, saying that their job is done.

His father took the heads of the two women, putting them into a box which were then sent down a river towards the nearest camp while cutting their illryian wings off to keep as a trophy. However, one of Tamlin's brothers remembered that there was a third child of the night court. They began asking Tamlin where that child would be, to which Tamlin faked his lack of knowledge. However, before they could go and search, they picked up on distant shouts coming from the illyrian camp a few miles away.

The high lord of the Spring court saw no desperate need to kill a baby, much less a female baby who doesn't hold that strong of a threat to his power over the urgency to leave the night court before they are found. So he left. When Illryian soldiers flew along the river they saw no signs of the bastards who sent them the heads of their high lord's lady and child. Nothing apart from the remains of their bodies and the blood soaked snow.

Rhysand did not know what to feel yet he felt so much at the same time when he was told of the murder. His father was in an even worse state. Did not help that no one knew what happened to the baby. So when his father came to him, telling him of his plan to kill Tamlin's family. Rhysand did little to think twice and joined him.

Only to come back as the new high lord of the night court.

He had winnowed into his room, his chest heaving. He did not get even a wink of sleep that night. His mind was far to busy going on with what happened over the course of a few hours to even think of laying down on his bed. As the sun began to rise, he sat on the rooftop of his home. The home he now owned. There was this anxiety sitting right on top of his chest that he couldn't get rid of no matter how much he drank.

He was lucky that only Cassian and Azriel were the ones to see him in such a state first. The night court right now was vulnerable since Rhysand had yet to prove to everyone that he was a worthy high lord. If anyone, especially the spies of the other courts that would always be there, saw him like this right now, Cassian only shuddered at the thought.

So Cassian walked his friend downstairs to either sleep off the alcohol or wait it out. Anything just not out in the open. Azriel followed close behind, holding a bundle of a blanket in his hands.

Rhysand woke the next afternoon with probably the worst hangover he had ever experienced. Though his two friends had stayed with him the night and were there when he woke up, helping him ease off his headache.

"Rhys, about you're sister-" Azriel started but Rhysand cut him off.

"I don't want to talk about it."

Cassian stepped forward, putting a hand on his shoulder. "The baby Rhys, he's talking about the baby."

Rhysand looked at him then at Azriel. No one knew where his baby sister was after the murder that yesterday. His father had sent out soldiers of all sorts to find her but no one could. When Rhysand went to the Spring Court last night, he had killed Tamlin's brothers but also had been looking for his baby sister, to see if they had taken her. However, she was nowhere to be seen or scented.

Azriel started again. "We found her last night-"

Rhysand's eyes widened, his body tensed as he quickly walked over to Azriel. "Is she... She's not..?"

"Alive. Rhys, she is alive. She's in her room right now." Cassian told him.

He did not waste a second longer to winnow to the child's room. He opened the door, immediately looking over the cot. He let out a breath he hadn't even realised he was holding when he saw her, playing with purple petals of a flower in her small hands.

"Oh, mother.." He fell to his knees, his hands on the edge of the cot as he sobbed. He had been so sure that he had lost all of his family. All within the span of a few hours but there she was. The most vulnerable of his family, the youngest and weakest, she had survived to stay with him. He isn't alone. He'd never be alone.

He would never lose her. Not in the way he lost his mother and sister, not in any way. He'd never let it happen.

He heard her squeal and coo over his tears. Wiping his wet cheeks, he stood back up. Looking at her again before picking her up. She babbles and reaches out to touch his face, the petals that were in her hands fell to the floor. Putting his forehead against hers, he closed his eyes as more tears fell. The baby simply put her little hands on his face, fingers feeling his stubble, brows furrowing at the feeling. She doesn't know what happened, too young to realise her entire family is gone. Too young to realise she only has her older brother left to rely on.

But that does not matter. He swears to keep her safe. He'll raise her. He'll protect her. He'll do it at any cost, but she can not leave him. She can't leave him in this cruel world alone.

Should I turn this into a fic?

#acotar #a court of thorns and roses #rhysand #rhys acotar #high lord rhysand #cassian #acosf #azriel #rhysand's sister #new fic #night court #spring court #tamlin #tamlin acotar

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half-deadmagicperson · 25 days

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Phic Phight '24 Phic 2

Title: Summoning Shenanigans

Words: 767

For @phicphight

Prompt by @five-rivers : For centuries, the cult has anticipated the glorious rise and return of Lord Phantom. That time is at hand. All they need to bring him fully into the mortal world is the perfect sacrifice: Danny Fenton.

Rating: G

Warning: One (1) cuss word

AO3

Low chanting filled a dark hall. People disguised in cloaks circled around the chalk markings on the floor. Ancient runes were spelled out to call for their lord. The head of the cult ordered for the sacrifice to be brought.

A black-haired teenager writhed around in the arms of two of their members. He was trying and failing to escape. Upon spotting the leader of the cult, the entire teenager’s demeanor shifted. Members who were close enough could see the boy’s calculating glare. When they arrived at the circle, the leader raised their hands to stop the chanting.

“The time is nigh for the return of our lord. For centuries we have waited to see signs of his presence. History tells of the mighty acts of the supreme, and there have been signs of his return near Amity Park, Illinois.”

The crowd murmured before the leader raised their hand again.

“However, in order for our supreme to ascend to the mortal plane, a sacrifice must be made! And who better a sacrifice than the son of those who want to hurt the supreme! Therefore, we are sacrificing Daniel James Fenton, son of ghost hunters, to be used as the conduit for our supreme leader, Lord Phantom of the Infinite Realms!” Their heavily modulated voice echoed, as cultists began to cheer.

Daniel’s eyes widened as the chanting and fire began. He scuffed his feet along the ground as the members dragged him into the circle. A small grin flashed on his face before smoke hid him from everyone’s view.

The ground split with green cracks of light. The sound of electricity crackling echoed off the walls. The cultists shook in fear as a bright halo of light appeared among the unearthly smoke. The leader screamed and disappeared into the smoke. Several members ran away from the spectacle, others were frozen in place.

Frost coated the ground as the smoke turned into snowflakes. As members scrambled and tripped over each other, one figure stood calmly in the middle of the circle.

Danny Fenton, in his tattered NASA hoodie and ripped jeans, watched the chaos unfolding around him. However, this was not the same person they sacrificed. A grin too wide to be human split the teenager’s face in two. His ears were pointed, and his eyes were glowing an acidic green.

Next to him, sat the leader trying to scramble away. Daniel, no, Phantom looked down at the person and ripped off their hood. A teenager with a bright mop of red hair quickly went to try and put his hood back up.

“Really, Wes? You went through all this trouble trying to prove your theories?” Fenton’s voice came out with static pops.

“Well, yeah? I thought you’d, like, use your powers before we did the actual sacrificing bit,” the voice was quiet and no longer modulated. The other cultists murmured to each other.

“You know, since I am an ‘immortal being your cult has been waiting centuries for’ it seems highly impossible for me to be a lowly highschooler, especially a low-life son of ghost hunters,” he turned towards the crowd,”Alright everyone! The show’s over, you should go home now.”

“But wait! What if he somehow time travels! What if that’s why he’s in different artifacts!” Wes pleaded, but everyone ignored him and started walking away. Once they all left, Fenton patted Weston on the shoulder.

“It’s okay Wes, I believe you,” he said with shit-eating grin before disappearing. Wes scowled.

“FENTON!”

A laugh echoed in the hall before fading, and Wes knew he was alone again. He sighed and started cleaning up. He worked really hard on that plan! Does Fenton know how hard it is to form a large congregation of believers?

He finishes cleaning before exiting the venue he rented. After making sure the door was locked, Wes started his car and went home.

~~~~~~~~~~

A confused college student popped out of the bathroom and walked into the main hall. The room was empty in sharp contrast to the large number of people gathered before. The student noticed a small device on the floor next to him. It looked like a voice modulator, like what their leader had. He grabbed the small box and tucked it into their cloak.

He knew what he had to do, he needed to find a better sacrifice for Lord Phantom, one that the entity will approve of.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Sir there has been a development. A teenager has imitated our organization, but even worse, they actually summoned our lord."

"Well, well, well, we may have to pay this teen a visit."

#danny phantom #dp #wes weston #phicphight #phic phight 2024

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frodo-with-glasses · 7 months

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The Ring and Invisibility

Indulge me for a second as I contemplate this little piece of Ring Lore that I've often overlooked: "And if [a mortal] often uses the Ring to make himself invisible, he fades: he becomes in the end invisible permanently, and walks in the twilight under the eye of the Dark Power that rules the Rings."

I've read a fair bit of debate, on this site and others, about just what the Ring's powers are and what it can do. Some claim that the Ring just enhances the "power" that its bearer already has; for instance, the reason it makes hobbits invisible is because they're already nearly undetectable to the Big Folk—the book is rather coy about whether or not this is a "magical" ability, because of course the hobbits wouldn't consider it magical if it's normal to them—and the Ring merely amplifies this power. By this logic, the movies making Isildur turn invisible when he put the Ring on is actually an error, because the race of Man doesn't naturally have the "power" of being undetectable.

However! In this paragraph, Gandalf isn't talking about a Hobbit, but a mortal (as opposed to the Elven smiths who first forged the Great Rings). He isn't even talking about the One Ring specifically, but one of the Great Rings in general. To me, this implies that anyone who possesses any Ring of Power can use it to "make himself invisible", with the catch 22 being that this is especially perilous for mortals because they're not strong enough to deal with Prolonged Exposure to Invisibility Spells.

(To back up the point, we have this passage from later in the chapter: "For Isildur was marching north along the east banks of the River, and near the Gladden Fields he was waylaid by the Orcs of the Mountains, and almost all his folk were slain. He leaped into the waters, but the Ring slipped from his finger as he swam, and then the Orcs saw him and killed him with arrows." This would imply that the orcs didn't see him until the Ring fell off; which suggests to me that Isildur was, in fact, invisible.)

This adds to the side effect we're already well familiar with: the "stretching". To an immortal elf, continuing to exist indefinitely would be no problem. They were doing that anyway. But it's terribly strenuous on mortals, whose bodies have a shelf life. Likewise, the peril of turning invisible too many times seems to only apply to mortals; perhaps an elf could use a Great Ring to turn invisible as often as they want and suffer no ill side effects.

(Sort of like how most people can eat as much cheese as they want no problem, while I can only have a little bit of dairy or I'll risk a major sinus headache. But that's neither here nor there.)

Frodo's conversation with Galadriel will delve more deeply into the clairvoyant and controlling powers of the Ring, so I'll table that discussion until we reach Lothlorien. But as a writer myself—who's trying to build her own fictional world and magic system—I find it's a fun and useful exercise to pluck a single rule out of the magic system and think about the logical extremes and plot possibilities that can come out of it. The invisibility rule is a fantastic example; there are so many different ways you could play with it, if the story had allowed for it.

Could the old elven smiths make themselves invisible with their Rings? Would they suffer the same compounding side effects, or not? Can Galadriel make herself invisible? Can Gandalf? For the One Ring, just putting it on will turn anyone but Tom Bombadil invisible; if that power is accessible to Galadriel and Gandalf, I'd have to assume they have the power to toggle it on and off, because they're wearing their Rings all the time. If being more easily detected by the Enemy when invisible wasn't such a problem, how might that ability have been used to their advantage in the story?

How many times does a mortal have to turn himself invisible to get stuck that way? Is the change gradual, or sudden? Even with all the times Gollum used the Ring, he still was very visible; Gandalf calls him "thin and tough", as if stubbornness alone overcame the fading effects. Frodo is more than once described as being "slightly translucent" or "like a clear glass", but that probably has more to do with the wound he received on Weathertop than it has anything to do with the Ring. Obviously the Ringwraiths are the final product of this hideous process—existing, but having no visible form or shape—but what do the in-between stages look like? Can you imagine what the story would be like if the invisibility laid hold of its victims sooner, and Gollum was partially invisible?? It's simultaneously cool and horrifying. And to think Frodo himself was almost a wraith, a ghost, an apparition, shuffling formlessly around the halls of Bag End...chills, man. Chills.

Obviously I don't claim to be an expert on this topic. I'm no Tolkien scholar, just an enthusiastic fan. So if any truly eggheaded Tolkien nerds out there would care to share their insight in the notes, please do so! I'm always eager to learn more. And if I misunderstood the Professor's choice of words here, feel free to correct me. This line just caught my eye, and I figured it'd be fun to dig into it.

I don't know how to end this essay. Uh. Don't do rings, kids. Your face will get stuck that way.

#my writing #lord of the rings #lotr #rambles and conjecture

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the-slasher-files · 2 years

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SLASHER FLIES' BLOOD FEST: WEEK TWO

GIVE IN [Michael x fem!reader x Corey]

prompts: GORE. TOYS. FLUFF. CNC.

keywords: COLD. RAPTURE

"oh come on, it will be fun! Kind of like that movie It,"

"You mean with that weird shapeshifting clown monster?"

"Haha, yes, the weird shapeshifting clown monster"

You held hands with your boyfriend, playfully shoving each other and the natural banter always seemed to flow with you two. You were both glad just to have the day off to spend together, although this wasn't his idea of a fun date but the rumours and stories drew you in, especially so close to Halloween. Traversing down the dried-out river bank and through the broken trees you finally came to what you had been looking for; The open sewers of Haddonfield.

"Oh my god, yes!" You excitedly exclaimed, turning on your phone flashlight, already stepping foot into the tunnel before you felt a tug on your arm.

"You cannot be serious" He looked at you with the same look a stern father might give you but that was simply ignored and you pulled him into the dark.

"Yes. I brought you all the way here to just look at the sewers and not go in," You sarcastically snarked back "Now let's go, I just want to see if the rumours were true"

Lighting up the dreary sewers the walls were concrete with cracked bricks, pipes dripped above you and cobwebs shimmered in the low light along with the small stream of water beneath your feet. Slowly it began to open up with a maze of tunnels, some blocked off with metal grates and others leading into an endless pit of darkness.

"Those stories you've been texting me about when I'm trying to be sleeping?" He teased, brushing his shoulder against yours and instinctively he pulled you a little closer as you two walked.

"You know that's always when my brain thinks about weird things," The corner of your lips twitched in a sassy smirk "But yes. Apparently, a bunch of satanic shit happens down here and rituals and I don't know some story about a girl being murdered but I honestly couldn't find much on that one" You rambled on a little, passing a tunnel that turned off to the right

"Wait, wait, wait. What?" Your boyfriend asked with a furrowed brow and he paused, jerking your hand a little so you would look at him. "Babe, yo-"

Suddenly he was cut off by the sound of wet squelching and his eyes went wide in terror and pain. His lips opened to say something but only a trickle of blood began to flow and he gurgled, sputtering words at you that sounded like jibberish as his eyes faded. Reaching out to you, his body jerked back and in one movement a blade came out of the shadows, slitting your boyfriends throat almost to the bones. White cartilage peaked from the strings of muscle that had been forced apart, his head hung back allowing a river of crimson so deep it looked black cascading down his body and meeting another wound; The initial wound where something had been plunged through his stomach and you screamed. An echoing barrage through the sewers made something stir in the shadows but all you were focused on was your boyfriend bleeding out in front of you.

"OH MY GODDDDD!!" You wailed, dropping your phone into the growing puddle of blood and his body collapsed revealing the cold smile of the killer.

"Ssshhhh... You'll wake him" The man whispered and began to laugh quietly, stalking forward.

It was him. It was Corey Cunningham. You two had been talking for about a month now and things were only getting more and more heated between you two, especially recently at the Halloween party thrown by some friends. You stuck to your word however, you had a boyfriend and needed to end it with him first before jumping into something else, and that would be hard with his painted reputation. He was labeled as the boogeyman as the town needed someone to blame for everything that went wrong after the true boogeyman of Haddonfield had disappeared into a blood-drenched night. You never really believed the towns talk about him but the sight in front of you told the truth; Dark navy mechanics jumpsuit splattered in viscera, large butched knife in his right hand, curly waves hanging down on his bruised forehead and his eyes were black with a deep thrill.

Stepping back, your breath was heavy "C-Corey, Corey please. What the fuck are you doing?"

Your question only made him laugh louder, licking the corner of his lips where some blood drops landed "We can finally be together now. I promised you I would light that match for you... Watch the world burn," he paused, opening his arms in a way for trying to get you to see he was no threat as he stayed quiet until the word that followed was in a yell "REMEMBER?!"

It made you flinch, not just by the way his voice reverberated through the tunnels but there was something in him now like a poison, and you couldn't help but be drawn to it.

"Cor—" Unexpectedly your words had been cut short in your throat as something bigger, stronger and with a dark destructive energy hit your back when you were walking backwards.

"Don't be afraid," Corey whispered, coming face to face with you now he brushed some hairs out of your face with bloody fingers "Don't you feel this between us? Feel that we are the only ones for each other?"

His questions were in a desperate ask, searching your eyes for the need to have him. The look in his brown eyes made you sick but God, there was that sweetness like a soft puppy behind them and you leaned a little forward, his nose brushing against yours.

"...Give in"

Heavy breaths fell out of your open lips unsure of where this whole thing was going, not only were Corey's hands on you but now a set of larger hands were too. You didn't speak for no words could even come out. Lost in a haze and shock that held you frozen in place only feeling what the two men were doing; Groping, pulling, pushing adjusting their hips, sliding hands up and down your body like a new toy they got for Christmas. One was more gentle than the other and your eyes fluttered once the man behind you adjusted his leg to be between yours and you looked back seeing the burnt, chipped and greying mask. His eyes were black but burning into your skull like a predator reborn. Instantly the fear bubbled up inside you and your instincts kicked in, RUN. However, the shape behind you felt that instinct, sensed it and was one step ahead, roughly grabbing your throat in one hand and the other held your hip in place, even pulling you back further to be straight against him feeling all that you were doing to the beast.

Corey's cheek rubbed against yours softly, beginning to sweetly kiss along your hairline with a small chuckle, "Baby, I wouldn't do that... I promise he won't hurt you, especially when you're being such a good girl for us,"

That praise was honey coated but dripped in a lie, knowing he could never control the man behind you, "You're so fucking sexy like this,"

Slowly, Corey's warm and soft hands wet with blood slipped into your jeans. He was so gentle with you that it was almost disturbing against the roughness of Michael squeezing your throat and bruising your hip but you couldn't help yourself from rolling your hips back on the shape's leg.

"That's it, babygirl. That's it" Corey's fingers circled and rubbed softly your pussy "Aw, you're so wet already, huh? Aching for us? Being such a needy girl?"

Like those words were a cue, the hand that was on your hip disappeared and you heard the dragging of a metal zipper. What you were feeling came free, pressing along your back there was a small whimper in your throat signally Corey to unbutton your jeans and he tugged them down along with your soaked panties. Michael adjusted his legs, shifting your hips so his cock was rubbing your sex.

"Give in, pretty girl... Give in" Corey trailed kisses down your body before getting on his knees in front of you.

Brown eyes looked up at you, pulling your shirt up and licking small trails along your stomach whispering over and over "Give in"

Slowly you did just that, allowing your head to fall back and one of your hands drifted into Corey's curly locks as Michael shifted, pushing himself inside you. A choked gasp fell into a moan echoing through the hidden tunnels. He was so big, filling and stretching you like you had never experienced and mixing with Corey finally giving one lick made your legs weak.

"Ffffuck, you taste so good" He growled as Michael began to move faster, finding his own rhythm. "Such perfect little pussy getting stretched so good, huh?... Let me hear those moans, baby"

Sweet words met deep guttural groans behind you feeling your body get lost in the rapture, being served on a platter to two wolves that needed you in many different ways; One just for necessity and the other for deep need to have someone. An orchestra of moans, whimpers, growls, groans and praise could be heard through the night in blood and need. You were now in the monster's hell that was just lying beneath the ground.

#ok seriously i love this fic #also VERY excited to write for corey #my writing #horror #slasher #slashers #corey cunningham #Michael Myers #halloween ends #x you #slasher x reader #slasher x s/o #corey x michael x reader #slasher fandom #slasher fanfiction #SFBF

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hauntingcryptids · 1 year

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I’m Not Him

Ganger!Doctor x Reader

Summary - You liked The Doctor, but he didn’t feel the same way about you. What will happen when you meet his Ganger again?

Based On This Request -

Warnings - references to character death, sadness

Word Count - 1772

A/n - Gender Neutral Reader. I posted this request over on my old Tumblr account and I just wanted to repost it on here.

------------------------------------------------------------

You walked, curiously and trepidatiously, around the halls and corners of The TARDIS. For the past couple of days, you heard The Doctor rummaging around the ship, and you finally decided to investigate. He would do stuff like this often, rummaging and making tons of noise, but not for this long of a time. He was definitely up to something.

The Doctor had avoided everyone since the events of Demon’s Run and it was beginning to scare you, more than the fact that he was secretly planning something behind your back. You had heard stories from Madame Vastra and River that The Doctor had a history of shutting down after extremely eye-opening or sorrowful events, but you had never seen him act like this yourself. You didn’t know how to react to him acting like this.

You had been left behind at Demon’s Run along with Amy, Rory, and River, and River eventually took all of you home with her vortex manipulator. Soon after you were getting used to being at home, though, The Doctor showed up at your doorstep. He said that it had been a while since he had seen you and he was excited for you to see what he had planned. You were excited, too, at the moment, but now you were just scared.

The Doctor Had not picked up Amy and Rory yet, but River invited herself into the TARDIS constantly. She added to The Doctor’s rummaging and whispering around the ship. You wondered what they were doing, but then you figured that you might not want to know.

However, one thought continued to plague your mind, and that was why The Doctor brought you back onto The TARDIS in the first place, especially without Amy and Rory. You had joined the couple after The Doctor ran into you on one of his private adventures that he would go on when he couldn’t sleep and stayed ever since. Your life on The TARDIS was much more exciting than your life on Earth and you didn’t want to stay on that planet any longer. But everything that led up to today was making you worried that your time exploring the Universe was ending.

The Doctor randomly jumped out from a corridor with his spacey wacey goggles hanging around his neck. You jumped and shrieked from the shock while The Doctor profusely apologised. He placed both of his hands on your shoulders and squeezed them reassuringly.

“Y/n, I have something very exciting to show you!” You barely mumbled a still shocked “okay” before The Doctor quickly grabbed your hand and lead you towards a room you had never seen before. It was dark, with only a couple of dim, orangy-yellowy lights glowing on the walls, making the whole situation stranger. You could see through the dim lighting that there was a mechanised tub similar to the machine you saw at Saint John's Base. You remembered that trip well, it was shocking and emotional, but you could not put the pieces The Doctor was feeding you together.

“Doctor, I don’t understand. What is all of this?”

“What does it look like? I’m fulfilling my promise and proving my theory correct.” The Doctor moved to fiddle with a few wires and tubes, making sure that they were all set.

“Your Ganger?” You questioned The Doctor, still confused.

“John Smith, yes!” The alien before you briefly stopped what he was doing to exclaim what he thought was obvious. Before getting back to checking to see if everything was in order.

“You’re bringing him back? Why?” The Doctor finally stopped fiddling with the machine to look at you confused.

“For you, of course!” You questioned what he meant by that.

“I saw how the two of you became very close that day. I thought that I might bring him back for you.” The Doctor looked slightly sad, and you didn’t know why.

“I thought he was you back then.” You weren’t lying, but you did like The Doctor’s Ganger, he seemed to care about you more than The Doctor, who seemed to only have eyes for Amy and River.

“After you found out, the two of you still became very close. I just don’t like you being alone, Y/n.” You were shocked by The Doctor’s reveal and didn’t know what to say to all of this information. You were going to tell The Doctor to wait, give you time to think if this is actually what you wanted, but he already started the machine.

The tub filled itself with a formula, and then the liquid moulded and formed into The Doctor’s Ganger. Both of you and The Doctor watched curiously as all of this was happening. Suddenly, The Ganger!Doctor’s eyes popped open, and he screamed loudly in pain. He curled into a fetal position while clutching his head. The Doctor went to check if everything was okay on the scans and computers in the corner monitoring everything.

You joined The Doctor to watch the computers as well, but then out of the corner of your eye, you saw The Ganger!Doctor jumping up out of the tub. He seemed perfectly fine despite the pain he was in a moment ago.

“Ah! I’m back!” He stated cheerfully, adjusting his red bowtie.

Your mouth fell open in shock after looking at The Ganger!Doctor in the eye. You didn’t know what to do or say. Your breath began to quicken, and your head started to hurt. So, you quickly turned to walk back to your room.

You were so confused. A jumble of emotions ran through your head, and you couldn’t really focus on any of them for a long time. You liked The Doctor, you had for a long time, but you never let yourself love him. You were well aware of The Doctor’s relationship with River, and you were happy for them both, but it did sting your heart a bit because you had no one. The Doctor and River had each other and Amy and Rory had each other, and you wanted someone, too. Now The Doctor was giving you his Ganger. The possibility of not being alone was right before you, but you couldn’t help but run away.

It was true, you did like the Ganger!Doctor when you first met him. But it felt as if you were being pawned off by The Doctor. You were now angry. You couldn’t help but feel like this “gift” was bittersweet because even though The Doctor was being kind, he would never understand why it hurt. And you felt so sad for The Ganger!Doctor. He never did anything wrong and kept getting hurt in the process. You didn’t really know what feeling to prioritise and you just needed to be alone.

After spending a couple of hours doing everything but thinking about what just happened, you finally accepted that The Ganger!Doctor was back, and he was here for you. You were grateful that The Doctor thought of you, despite the questionable act. And you really did want to get to know The Ganger!Doctor on a personal level and outside of an adventure. You considered going out and trying to talk to the Ganger!Doctor, but a sudden knock on your door drew you out of your thoughts. You spoke a quiet “come in” and readjusted the work you were doing off of your lap.

“Hello …” It was the Ganger!Doctor, lingering in the doorway. Normally you probably wouldn’t be able to tell, but he was wearing the same thing he was wearing before, and you didn’t think that The Doctor would clean all of The TARDIS grease off of his clothes and face that quickly.

“Hello,” You responded bittersweetly.

“Hello …” The Ganger!Doctor repeated himself, and you could tell that he cursed himself in his head because of the disgruntled face he made.

“May I come in?” You nodded and motioned for him to join you on the floor where you were sitting. You would always sit on the floor when you needed to think hard about something. The two of you sat there for a long time in silence. There was a weird tension that you couldn’t really describe. But the pair of you continued to catch each other's eyes and then quickly look away. The Ganger!Doctor began patting his knees with his hands anxiously.

“I’m not really him, you know.” The Ganger!Doctor suddenly spoke up quietly, with his voice tinted with sadness.

“What do you mean?” You finally looked into The Ganger!Doctor’s eyes for longer than a couple of seconds.

“I have all of The Doctor’s memories and I obviously look like him, but I’m my own person with my own thoughts and opinions. I don’t see you the same way he does.” You could see how sad he was and how much he just wanted to be seen as himself.

“I’m sorry for assuming that you were, especially after the events of Saint John’s Base. I guess it was just the shock of everything.” The Ganger!Doctor nodded at your statement, but you could see how solemn he still was.

“I’ll try to be better.” You tried to smile, but it was still bittersweet. So, you reached out to hold The Ganger!Doctor’s hand. He squeezed your hand tightly as if he was shocked that you were actually touching him and worried that you would let go too soon.

“I don’t want you to be better, I just want you to be yourself.” You nodded in understanding and both of you fell back into silence, but you continued to hold each other's hands.

“What do you want to be called?” You asked suddenly. The Ganger!Doctor quirked his head to the side in thought and fiddled with his bowtie with his free hand.

“John Smith is a decent name, at least until I come up with a more unique name. Does John Smith sound like a good name to be paired with a Stetson?”

“Yeah, I think it does!” You laughed at his cute question and genuinely smiled at the now John Smith.

“I’ll stick with John Smith then!” He smiled back at you widely causing you to giggle. You really did like seeing him smile so happily.

Far into the night, the pair of you continued to talk and giggle and laugh. You told wide stories about your adventures and you both told interesting facts about yourselves. Unbeknownst to you, The Doctor grinned bittersweetly from your open door frame, happy that you were finally happy and not alone.

#ghost's posts #my writing #fanfiction #x reader #anon #doctor who #doctor who x reader #ganger!doctor #ganger!doctor x reader

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the-king-andthe-lionheart · 2 years

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The rains did not let up. They rode through woods and fields, fording swollen streams where the rushing water came up to the bellies of their horses. Arya pulled up the hood of her cloak and hunched down, sodden and shivering but determined not to falter. Merrit and Mudge were soon coughing as bad as Watty, and poor Ned seemed to grow more miserable with every mile. "When I wear my helm, the rain beats against the steel and gives me headaches," he complained. "But when I take it off, my hair gets soaked and sticks to my face and in my mouth."

"You have a knife," Gendry suggested. "If your hair annoys you so much, shave your bloody head."

He doesn't like Ned. The squire seemed nice enough to Arya; maybe a little shy, but good-natured. She had always heard that Dornishmen were small and swarthy, with black hair and small black eyes, but Ned had big blue eyes, so dark that they looked almost purple. And his hair was a pale blond, more ash than honey. (Arya VIII ASOS)

So I just realized that the scene above has an earlier paralleling scene:

The rains came and went, but there was more grey sky than blue, and all the streams were running high. On the morning of the third day, Arya noticed that the moss was growing mostly on the wrong side of the trees. "We're going the wrong way," she said to Gendry, as they rode past an especially mossy elm. "We're going south. See how the moss is growing on the trunk?"

He pushed thick black hair from eyes and said, "We're following the road, that's all. The road goes south here."

We've been going south all day, she wanted to tell him. And yesterday too, when we were riding along that streambed. But she hadn't been paying close attention yesterday, so she couldn't be certain. "I think we're lost," she said in a low voice. "We shouldn't have left the river. All we had to do was follow it."

"The river bends and loops," said Gendry. "This is just a shorter way, I bet. Some secret outlaw way. Lem and Tom and them have been living here for years."

That was true. Arya bit her lip. "But the moss . . ."

"The way it's raining, we'll have moss growing from our ears before long," Gendry complained.

"Only from our south ear," Arya declared stubbornly. There was no use trying to convince the Bull of anything. Still, he was the only true friend she had, now that Hot Pie had left them. (Arya III ASOS)

I just find this really amusing. In the top quote it’s raining and everyone is wet, Edric Dayne is getting ill, and he complains, and Gendry scoffs and is rude. However, in an earlier scene Gendry is also complaining about the rain! But what makes this even better is this parallel:

The next day they rode to a place called High Heart, a hill so lofty that from atop it Arya felt as though she could see half the world. Around its brow stood a ring of huge pale stumps, all that remained of a circle of once-mighty weirwoods. Arya and Gendry walked around the hill to count them. There were thirty-one, some so wide that she could have used them for a bed. (Arya IV ASOS)

By sunset they were at the top, making camp where no harm could come to them. Arya walked around the circle of weirwood stumps with Lord Beric's squire Ned, and they stood on top of one watching the last light fade in the west. From up here she could see a storm raging to the north, but High Heart stood above the rain. It wasn't above the wind, though; the gusts were blowing so strongly that it felt like someone was behind her, yanking on her cloak. Only when she turned, no one was there. (Arya VIII ASOS)

I just find it funny how obviously jealous Gendry is. And in my opinion this whole Gendry/Arya/Edric triangle is meant to be a tamer mirror to the Robert/Lyanna/Rhaegar triangle. Arya even looks and acts like Lyanna. And Gendry looks like a young Robert. And Edric has the same coloring as Rhaegar with the ash blonde (a dull sort of silver color) and they roughly have the same color of eyes. Rhaegar’s eyes are a deep purple, almost indigo, while Edric’s eyes are a dark blue that look almost purple. Of course, I feel this is just an innocent mirror and Gendry wouldn’t hurt Edric, and I also believe that Edric is just one Rhaegar parallel out of a couple of others in the story, but I do find this fascinating, and funny. Poor Gendry is so jealous! LOL

#arya stark #gendry waters #gendry baratheon #edric dayne #gendrya #canonarya #asoiaf

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keeganhogan · 7 days

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Spirited Away

Having been so long since I last saw this movie, I had not only forgotten a good amount of the story, but I also had not appreciated it as much as I do now when I first saw it. I remember much about the fantastical world that this film brings to life, like Haku the dragon, No-Face, the train that treks along the surface of the water, but it’s nice to now understand at least some of the intent behind the creation of this world.

Obviously, capitalism and industrialized society is a big theme in this film. It has become so prevalent that it seems to even have permeated the spiritual realm. There is a nice shot of the bath house when Chihiro first sees it while her parents scarf down food, with a beautiful, bright green tree on the right of the building, and a tall, dark gray smokestack on the left. This shot exemplifies the nature of not only this spiritual world, but the real world as well. Haku, the spirit of the Kohaku river, is being controlled by a black slug to serve Yubaba’s capitalist endeavors. The other river spirit that we see comes in extremely polluted by modern industrial society. Bikes, fishing lines, metal debris, etc. can all be seen coming out of him when Chihiro is helping him. The people in the bathhouse assume him to be some sort of stink spirit and ignore that his existence as this sludge monster is a direct consequence of their own lifestyle. No one would have helped him like Chihiro did, and in fact they try to turn him away at the door, purposefully trying to ignore the problem that they created. This is especially ironic given that it is a bathhouse, a place where people are meant to become clean and refresh themselves, but the bathhouse itself is run by Kamaji, Lin, and the soot sprites, beings all enslaved to the system to work in horrible conditions with little to no hope of escape. This is also a nice commentary on the nature of working conditions in a hyper-industrialized society and how those at the bottom work endlessly in cruel conditions, e.g. having to walk right up to the fire to throw a piece of coal in, so that those at the top, Yubaba, can live in luxury.

Another important aspect of this critique is the transformative nature of the bathhouse, or capitalist society. Because the name of the game is money and wealth at the expensive of nature and of others, those inside the bathhouse are changed for the worst in this pursuit. Most obviously, No-Face, who changes from a silent, distant figure, to an insatiable monster who literally consumes other people, much like the exploitation of others in pursuit of personal wealth in a capitalist society, and also continues to attempt to satiate his hunger with more and more gold. In the end however, he truly wants Sen, and when he cannot buy her with gold, tries to consume her instead. Sen/Chihiro in this film has the power to exorcise this “demon” of capitalism, first healing the river spirit, and then using the ball given to her by the spirit to force No-Face and Haku to throw up the things causing them to feed into the system.

In this film, there is no one “bad guy”. While it is true that Yubaba would be considered thus, there is a reason that she has a twin sister. Chihiro referring to both of them as Granny shows that she knows that they are truly two sides of the same person – Yubaba being the embodiment of capitalist greed, not realizing that her own child has been replaced, and Zeniba as the kindhearted, mother figure that truly cares for her children. In reality, good people can become corrupted by this system and become completely different people, like we see with Yubaba and also No-Face, who at the end of the film reveals his skill with sewing and his timid, kindhearted nature. Even Haku, who Lin is extremely opposed to fundamentally, carried out the “dirty work” of Yubaba as a result of being plagued by Yubaba’s system and in reality, was a kind river spirit that saved Chihiro as a young girl. No one character is bad, and every character has a complex relationship with life, existing in between the worlds of the industrial and the natural.

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ihathbenobiwankenobied · 2 years

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Double Mullet Single Stache: The Roller Skating Incident

Inspired by art (and Teacher Codywan/Mustache Cody AU ideas) from journen and sunflowersinheaven!

My gift to y’all for this delightful AU @journen @sunflowersinheaven

Summary:

Cody bumps into Obi-Wan while roller skating in the park– literally.

High School Teachers AU! where Cody and Obi-Wan are on summer break and find each other regardless.

Word count: 2,292

Ten days.

It was down to ten days before he would be back at school with all of the high school brats that he equally loved and hated. Every year the same feeling returned, the simultaneous dread and excitement that came with the beginning of a new school year.

Cody had walked to the park from his job at the coffee shop in town where he spent his slow summer days as a barista, and as he walked, a bit of anxiety tugged at his stomach.

Of course, he had been planning for the upcoming school year all summer with his notepad and laptop tucked into an empty space on the counter when there were slow days at the shop, but he couldn’t help but feel unprepared. Each year brought new challenges, new kids, and an endless supply of phone calls with angry parents who were convinced he wasn’t doing his job right.

With a sigh, Cody tried to clear his head and sat heavily on an empty park bench that overlooked the sidewalk.

It was a hot day, but not hot enough to keep people inside their houses. The sidewalk was filled with bikers, teenage skateboarders, and families watching the ducks swim around in the river.

Cody planned to join them.

Fingers trembling a bit as he wished away the remnants of anxiety, Cody pulled his socks and orange roller skates. A small smile crept onto his face as he put them on and stood on wobbly feet to straighten his matching orange shorts.

Here we go Cody, no more stress today.

Tossing his bag behind a bush, hoping no one would think to steal an old, dirty gym bag, Cody set out onto the busy sidewalk and pushed to the edge closest to the river away from most of the crowd.

Though he skated once a week, if not more, his first few minutes were always unbalanced and Cody held his arms stiffly at his sides as he propelled himself slowly along the edge of the river.

After a few minutes, he felt himself finally start to relax. His muscles untightened and the tightness in his chest seemed to loosen just a little, especially as he began to watch a group of swans float along the very edge of the water.

He had taken his eyes off the sidewalk for just a second, but that was already too long and he heard a man’s voice ring out from right in front of him–

“Watch out!”

Cody barely had time to rip his eyes away from the swans before he saw a flash of auburn hair and yellow and suddenly he collided with something– someone.

Toppling backwards to the side and landing with a loud thud, he thanked his lucky stars that his head had just missed colliding with the pavement, and instead bounced against the grass. His calves and elbows, however, met a somewhat worse fate and scraped against the sidewalk.

That will hurt tomorrow.

Taking a moment to collect himself and catch his breath, Cody stayed on his back, eyes trained on some oddly shaped cloud in the sky. He blinked a few times, pressing a hand against the back of his head to find that it just felt a bit sore; the hit likely hadn’t been bad enough to cause a concussion.

Suddenly, just as he was about to sit up and make sure he hadn’t caused too much damage to the other skater, a head appeared in front of his eyes hovering just above him. Well– at least he thought it was a head; his eyes produced a blurry image of something floating above him and he tried to focus his eyes.

For a moment he started to think he might have a concussion after all.

“Are you–?” The image above him became clear just as the man above him began to speak in a English drawl that sounded so very similar to–

“O-Obi-Wan?” He asked as his eyes widened. The man leaning over him certainly looked like Obi-Wan, and sounded like him too, but his hair was styled as a mullet– a goddamn mullet, and his facial hair was a little bit less well-kept than he usually left it. Not to mention, Obi-Wan usually wore glasses, and the man above him had no glasses but those same ocean blue eyes.

“Mr. Fett– I mean– Cody!” His hunch had been correct judging by Obi-Wan’s raised eyebrows and the concern– then shock– that curled over every feature of his face. He had always been so expressive. “I-I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean…” Obi-Wan looked nervous, especially when his cheeks slowly developed into a pronounced red and he shut his open mouth with a snap.

“That’s okay– could I sit up?” Cody asked awkwardly under Obi-Wan’s piercing gaze; he felt his own blush begin to stain his cheeks.

For a moment, Obi-Wan stared at him and Cody could not help the pit that settled into his stomach. Obi-Wan looked… good. Stunning.

His lips were the same rosy red that had always been, and his beard almost looked better unkempt, but the mullet– the mullet suited him better than the side-parted, neatly organized look he had taken to wearing for the past year at school. It lined his face and jaw so perfectly and made him look much more– well… hot.

To put it simply. Not that he didn’t look hot in his button-ups and khaki pants and goddamn sweaters; Cody loved Obi-Wan’s sense of style. Perhaps it was the contrast from his usual attire that made Cody’s heart beat just a little bit faster.

Normally kept his athletic form hidden beneath a well-tailored pair of slacks, but now, it was all on show.

Cody swallowed as Obi-Wan extended a hand to him to help him to his feet.

Cody was surprised by how strong his grip was and how easily Obi-Wan seemed to pull him onto his unsteady feet. Cody wobbled on his skates, barely maintaining his balance, but Obi-Wan caught him with an arm curled around his side and smiled gently as Cody finally seemed to stop rolling out of control.

It was certainly Cody’s turn to be embarrassed.

“Sorry, I should be better at this.” He murmured before catching sight of Obi-Wan’s yellow, half-zip top. The zipper had been pulled down far enough that the red curls of Obi-Wan’s chest hair were peaking out– chest hair that Cody had no idea Obi-Wan possessed, but it made the entire situation that much worse.

Fuck him and his hot fucking chest hair and stupid fucking mullet.

Cody wanted to say that, but instead, he tore his eyes away and tried to blink away the image.

“Oh– oh… Cody you’re bleeding.” Obi-Wan’s English accent rang out again and Cody looked back up at him, not noticing any blood himself, “Here on your elbow– I think on your leg too.”

Cody twisted around to find that indeed, blood seemed to be dripping down onto his forearm and down the back of his leg. Shit.

Cody was about to say goodbye and head back to his old gym bag with a hope that it contained some sort of bandage when–

“I’ve got some plasters in my bag just over there. It’s my fault we bumped into each other anyway– at least let me bandage you up.” Obi-Wan stared at him expectantly, eyes soft and lips curled into a slightly guilty smile.

Who was Cody to say no to that face?

So he agreed, notably without hesitation, to go with him.

He let Obi-Wan guide him across the busy sidewalk and up the hill until they reached an old oak tree where Obi-Wan had left his own ratty gym bag. Next to the old tree was the edge of the road where Obi-Wan told Cody to sit while he rummaged through his bag.

“Here they are.” He murmured as he knelt in front of Cody, shorts riding up on his markedly well-muscled legs as he ripped open the packaging of the first bandage with his teeth.

Fucking hell–

“I didn’t know you were a skater, Cody.” Obi-Wan said, concentration painted across his features. "I would have invited you to gym class when we started that unit. The kids could always use a little extra instruction."

“Oh– I’m really a beginner. I only started this summer– it gives me something to do.” Cody said, realizing it made him sound slightly more lonesome than he meant it to. Not that he hadn’t been just a little bit… well– lonely, he just didn’t want to give Obi-Wan that impression.

He followed up with a big smile and then a little frown as Obi-Wan’s shoulder nudged against a bruise on the inside of his knee as he tilted Cody’s calf to an angle where he could reach the small, bleeding cut.

The little wrinkle that formed between Obi-Wan’s eyebrows as he concentrated on placing the bandage on Cody’s calf was unhealthily attractive– Cody could barely tear his eyes away.

Before Cody could say something he would regret later, Obi-Wan had already sat up a bit and was beginning to search through the small first-aid kit for another bandage.

“Looks like we had the same idea then.” Obi-Wan said as he pointed a finger to Cody’s head after a moment of sifting through his supplies. For a moment, Cody was confused, before he realized, embarrassment leaking into his cheeks, that he had also chosen to grow a mullet over the summer. He had figured it would match the mustache he had managed to maintain during the last half of the school year.

The same mustache Obi-Wan had complimented. Twice.

“I think it looks better on you.” Obi-Wan said with a hint of an embarrassed smile, “I was planning to cut my hair again for the new school year anyhow.”

“No!” Cody said much too quickly, “Sorry– I just meant… It looks good on you. I think you should keep it– the students will probably love it.” That made Obi-Wan smile widely, the blush on his cheeks ever-present and so adorable that it made Cody want to reach out and caress his face with the pad of his thumb.

Instead, he kept his fist clenched at his side.

“Oh I’m sure they would. I can hear it now– ‘Look! Mr. Kenobi’s trying to be fashionable!’” Obi-Wan said with another large grin as he placed another bandage across Cody’s elbow and moved upward to sit next to him on the curb.

“At least the two of us together will single-handedly stop the kids from latching onto this trend. We can keep it to ourselves.” Cody said with a shrug and attempted but failed to avert his eyes from the skin of Obi-Wan’s thighs that were left exposed to the ungodly shortness of his shorts.

And Cody had thought his own shorts were short.

“I suppose you’re right, Cody.” Obi-Wan said with a hearty chuckle and absently stroked a hand through the longer hair on the back of his head.

There was a momentary pause in conversation, though it wasn’t quite awkward, just filled with a familiar tension that Cody swore he could feel in the air. It was the same tension he felt every time he passed by Obi-Wan in the teacher’s lounge.

Cody cleared his throat.

“Um– thank you for the bandaging Obi-Wan.” Cody murmured and suddenly noticed he was copying Obi-Wan as he ran a hand across the curls on the back of his own head.

“My pleasure– again, it was my fault, really. At least I have a lot of practice bandaging up arms and legs. Gym class can get a little rowdy sometimes!” He smiled brightly and Cody allowed himself a nervous chuckle.

“Are you ready for the school year?” Cody asked, “I’m sure as hell not.” He added for good measure.

Obi-Wan nodded enthusiastically, much to Cody’s surprise.

“Don’t get me wrong, teaching can be exhausting, but this summer has been rather… boring.” Obi-Wan shrugged and played with the zipper of his top with nimble fingers.

Cody resonated with him; his own summer hadn’t quite been one for the books. The thought was accompanied by an immediate urge to say something– anything really– to ask Obi-Wan out on a date.

Would that take it too far? Was it a good idea to do that just before the school year began? Would it be awkward if Obi-Wan said no?

Cody tried to think.

“I can’t say my summer was much more interesting.” Cody said with a lopsided smile that he meant to look much more natural, “I became a barista– just for something to do.” He added with a shrug and Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow.

“Really? That’s quite impressive. Have you perfected your latte art?” Obi-Wan asked with a touch of sarcasm in his tone and a wide grin that simply lit up his entire face.

“I have– I make a pretty damn good heart.” Cody drew a heart in the air with the tips of his index fingers.

Then an idea– one more natural than asking Obi-Wan out on a lousy half-assed dinner date– struck him.

“Hey– what if you stopped by the coffee shop sometime? I owe you a free latte– foam art included– after this one. Maybe we can go for a skate after?” Cody’s heart pounded loudly in his ribcage as he watched Obi-Wan’s facial expression for any indication of his feelings.

Please for the love of god, let him say yes.

Obi-Wan’s grin grew even wider, “How about tomorrow? Say– ten?”

Cody could have cried.

“It’s a date.”

Don’t forget the booty shorts, Cody wanted to add, but he figured it was better to save special requests for the second date.

#well Im in mustache cody hell I guess #Im not mad about it #so come on in the water is fine #anyway please enjoy this fic that I wrote after witnessing the beautiful roller skating art from journen and sunflowersinheaven #I was floored #so here I am #mullets may or may not be involved fair warning #codywan #mustache cody #mulletwan #obi wan kenobi #cc-2224 #commander cody #teacher au #math teacher cody #gym teacher obi wan #codywan hell

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fleurcareil · 7 months

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Central Ontario: Manitoulin Island & Bruce Peninsula - going home!

1.5hrs after leaving the motel at Thessalon, I veered south towards Manitoulin Island, the largest freshwater island in the world which is so big that it has itself over 100 interior lakes. This route is only a 20-minutes further drive than around Georgian Bay, however that excludes the ferry needed to get off the island and cross the lake to Tobermory... But I love islands & ferries and also wanted to revisit the journey I did with my parents in 2010 so this was a no-brainer. 😊

Enroute to the island, I saw a beautiful display of fall colours so I did a "U-ey" to drive back to the trees to snap a pic. 😄

A little down the road, I had a more serious moment when I visited the MMIWG monument at Whitefish River First Nation. MMIWG stands for Missing and Murdered Indigenous Women and Girls, which is a recognition of the systemic abuse of Indigenous women and lack of action/care by the police. My awareness of the MMIWG plight started when I saw the red dresses hung by the REDress Project early on after arriving in Canada, and I've progressively learnt more about it over the years. When I read an article in June that a new monument was unveiled in Ontario, I added it to the places to visit on my trip.

The monument consists of a round stone symbolizing the circle of life, broken by a gap to recognize the missing people who their families desperately want closure on in order to heal. I cannot imagine how I would feel if a family member or any of my friends would go missing, especially if that then would be grossly ignored by the authorities...this is still a very current issue that needs to be addressed if we ever want to get close to reconciliation.

Nearby, I crossed the bridge to the town of Little Current on Manitoulin Island, just in time 😁 to avoid being stuck in traffic as the bridge swung a full 180 degrees to let a sailboat pass. In winter, this is the only access to the island as the ferry on the south side stops from mid-October.

I walked a bit along the Little Current marina boardwalk, during which I was asked by a jolly man to push his nearby brother into the water; they were fishing off the harbour and the other had caught two more fish than he had. 🤣

On my drive south, I stopped at Ten Mile Point which has a gorgeous view over the North Channel, one of the main shipping routes to Lake Superior. With blue skies, the view couldn't be any better! 🤩 There's also an Indigenous arts shop that had been recommended to me, so I bought a little dreamcatcher and birch canoe for my Christmas tree collection. 😊

Arriving at the Kicking Mule Guest Ranch was quite an experience as I was met by a large collie and a collection of 20+ hens & roosters (plus the sheep in a corner made for quite a spectacle!). Jeff who runs the place was a great guy and showed me my adorable "blacksmith bunkie" which above all has a sky roof so that I would see the stars while lying in bed! 😍 After dinner, the guests gathered around the campfire, and although I think we preferred chatting, we did sing along with Jeff's guitar songs... needless to say that I got in bed later than expected! 😉

In the morning, the small electric heater managed to burn off the worst of the cold, so that I had a perfect lazy morning lying in bed and then without any rush making breakfast & taking a shower...this being at the end of the trip, I knew that there was still a lot of beauty to be explored, but at the same time I really relished in taking it easy!

Finally, after 12pm, I made my way through the island roads along some interior lakes that were astonishing in their size, before I got to the famous Cup and Saucer trail hike up & along bluffs.

The Indigenous name Michigiwadinong actually refers to the bluffs as a spearhead and spear handle, left behind by a giant trickster trying to defend himself against the Mohawks... I always like to read the stories told to explain the natural features of an area!

Although the Niagara Escarpment is typically said to run from Niagara Falls to Tobermory, it's clear that these are the same rocks, continuing at the other side of the lake on Manitoulin Island... I've hiked so many sections of the Bruce Trail along the escarpment in the last 14 years that it made me nostalgic to see these cliffs and large boulders. 😍

The first 5k wound itself through the forest, but then the Niagara Escarpment truly showed itself with a massive drop-off and stunning views of trees and lakes. Something I could look at over and over again! 🤩

I was standing on the cup/spear handle (the upper bluffs), and then once I turned the corner, I could see the saucer/spearhead (the lower bluffs) - neither names are very convincing though. 😂

On the way back, I saw these big birds in a field; over 50 sandhill cranes which were making a pitstop on their flight south. They had no problem with the car being on the road quite close to them, but as soon as I got out to take a picture, they started cackling and walking further into the field. The birds clearly understand the saying; "it's not cars that hurt/kill, it's the drivers". 😆

In the evening, I had for one last time my favourite smoked cheddar sausages & roasted veggies on the BBQ, and then a few bevvies & laughter at the campfire. Was a great stay!

Next day, I arrived early at the ferry terminal and chatted with a woman whose daughter is looking to buy a Nissan so perhaps I'll get a call one of these days... it motivated me to send my friend a write-up on the car, which she posted on her social media & quickly created a storm; so far 6 people have shown interest and I got one concrete offer already so it looks promising that I'll get it sold within a week at a reasonable price! 🤞 I do feel sad about parting with my drive as it was exactly what I had wanted when I went to buy it, and 6 years later, even after this lengthy road trip I still love everything about it! 🥰

The ferry is decorated with Indigenous themes and colourful chairs so despite the clouds I sat most of the 2 hours on deck looking over vast Georgian Bay... getting myself sunburned as I found out at night! 🙃

Upon arrival in Tobermory, I wasn't sure what I felt like doing... this was the 5th time I've been here, so I've already visited all the must-dos (the flowerpots, the wrecks & the grotto) several times over, and it was surprisingly busy hence hard to find parking. I first walked around the little harbour and ate a tasty Tobermory Fish Taco (which is apparently a thing) on a bench, watching people go by, never boring!

Only a short walk away, is the starting point of the 800-km Bruce Trail along the escarpment, so I visited that (nothing special really), and then did a short hike to a lookout over Little Dunks Bay. I met there some Belgians who were on holiday and together with the Dutch-born man I had met on the ferry, I ended up talking quite a bit in Dutch that day! 😄

On the way back, I scaled the old fire tower for one last view of the endless forest... true Canadian scenery!

I had hoped to score an icecream before jumping into the car, but then completely forgot 😅 so instead I snacked on healthier tomatoes & radish on the drive over to my B&B in Pike Bay. Sat for a glorious hour in the sun and then had deliciously grilled Georgian Bay whitefish for dinner, a treat for the last night of the road trip! 🤗

In the morning, it rained and after a hearty breakfast, it was time for the final stretch back to the GTA. The forest gave way to the rolling green fields of southwest Ontario (so different than the prairies I now know!) and traffic was steadily picking up the further south I went... I'm quite certain that I saw more cars in the last hour than in the totality of the last two weeks!! 😂😫 I'm definitely no longer used to the more agressive Ontario style of driving so will need to readjust to that for the few remaining days.

When I arrived in Dundas, I first met my friend Heather who I had given my car papers & 2nd key for safekeeping (handy to sell the car 😄) and then happily arrived at my friends Navneet & Arpita to hug them, sit down on the couch & do nothing! 🥰

I'll write one last recap of the entire trip soon, after which I'll take a little break to sort myself out before I head to Europe on the 30th September.

Wildlife: 51 sandhill cranes

SUPs: none

Hikes: one at Manitoulin Island, one at Tobermory

Distance driven from last map: 706 km

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destielshippingnews · 2 years

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Edvard's Supernatural Guide: 2x02 Everybody Loves a Clown

Supernatural’s twenty fourth episode is another one which I remembered dimly from my first watch between Christmas and New Year 2008. Dean and Sam walking along the road after ditching the car, the killer clown, and even Harvelle’s Roadhouse and the carnival were all familiar when I rejoined the show in 2015. What I did not remember, however, was how insufferable Sam is in this episode. I never cared at all for Sam even in 2008, but my indifference turned to hostility with this episode in 2015. It was only the second episode I watched as I got back into the show in London, but that was all it took for me to want to reach through the screen and slap Sam in the face with a fish. Things have only got worse in the seven years since, but beginnings are usually a prudent place to begin, ergo...

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2x02 Everybody Loves a Clown begins at a carnival in Medford, Wisconsin (the same state 1x03 Dead in the Water and 1x18 Something Wicked were set in, and just across the river from Stillwater, Minnesota, where Donna lives and works. People who care about Swedish literature might also recognise Stillwater from The Emigrants series). The cold open begins with a red balloon bursting in front of the camera, and then a few shots of performers and clowns. It was not until rewatching this episode last night that I realised the very obvious reference to Stephen Kings IT which features red balloons associated with a killer clown prominently.

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Of course, the ’clown’ in IT is not a clown at all, but an entity from the primordial chaos (The Prim) which existed before the universe who can adopt the disguise of a clown to lure in prey. Its true form is beyond our human capacity to perceive and understand, but its closest representative is a giant spider (almost definitely inspired by Ungoliantë and Shelob from Tolkien’s work). If we were to see its real form, we would be driven mad by it (in case you missed it, Stephen King is indeed a fan of Lovecraft. As was Tolkien, funnily enough). This is not especially relevant to this episode of Supernatural, but what is is the trauma It inflicted on the protagonists in the 1950s when they were children (I believe the years were changed in the recent remake with the Bill Skarsgård brother as Pennywise, but in the original novel from 1986 the adults are in the 1980s and the children in the 1950s).

The relevance I see IT having with this episode of Supernatural is both cosmetic but also thematic. Childhood trauma plays a significant role in IT, so much so that one of the adults dies by suicide rather than go back to Derry to face It. In the cold open of 2x02, a monster in clown form kills a child’s parents in front of her.

Not the most important or necessary reference to Stephen King we could have had, but let me repeat: a child sees her parents killed in front of her in the episode following John’s death in 2x01 In My Time of Dying. As if to drive this point home, the title card is immediately followed by John’s funeral pyre. As with the connection between Dean and Francis Dolarhyde/The Great Red Dragon I discussed in my analysis of 1x06 Skin, the show has made a connection between Dean, Sam, and the protagonists in IT who are dealing with fear and mental wounds left by experiences with monsters in childhood. I read the novel a decade ago when I could still read 1,400 pages in less than a month, but it still took me all this time to make the link.

The clown in this episode is not a clown at all, but rather a demon from India. Had Sam not told the viewer the rakshasa was Indian, I would have had no idea whatsoever because it had no Indian aesthetics at all. Even the man playing the rakshasa was white-skinned (though if American carnies are anything like their British and Irish peers, there is a chance a man looking like him had some Roma ancestry not too long ago). Episode 1x11 Scarecrow also suffered the same problem with its ’Scandinavian’ deity who had no Scandinavian aesthetics at all, but could instead have been anything from any mythos or any part of the world. Even though the townsfolk were supposed to be descendants of Scandinavian immigrants, there was not a single Dannebrog, Dalahäst, or Marius jumper to be seen. It really was to the episode’s detriment that the Indian vibes were conspicuous by their absence.

Also to the shows detriment was that it did not explore the nature of how the rakshasa lures in children in order to get to their parents. I eventually came to the conclusion that it must be enacting some variety of mind-control or subconscious suggestion on the children. When the girl is lying in bed, she is roused by a faint noise from outside which was barely audible. If we compare this to the girl in the cold open of 1x18 Something Wicked who filled her knickers with shepherd’s pie when she heard the shtriga outside at night, it appears more is going on than meets the eye. I had to come to this conclusion because no child is so stupid as to open the door to a homeless-looking clown at god knows what time of the night. Surely not.

Something Paula R. Stiles raises in her own analysis of this episode is the fact that Dean makes friends with the monster before he realises it is a monster. He will go on to do the same in 2x03 Bloodlust, and it must be alienating and deeply unsettling for him to befriend and form bonds with people who turn out to be monsters. What does that say about him? See above RE: Francis Dolarhyde.

My own view of that is Dean definitely has the potential to be a terrible person. A wish I had for the show was that Dean become the villain at some point, and by Dean I do not mean Dean posessed by an angel or Dean as a demon, but just normal Dean. People are not good because they are born good: they are good because they choose to be good. And vice versa. So what if Dean had chosen at some point to give in to the demons of his worse nature, perhaps in order to avoid dealing with his trauma and accepting that he was the victim of other people’s horrendous actions.

Dean is shown throughout the show having relationships of various kinds with monsters, demons, and ’bad’ people. This ’darkness’ is a part of him, and for years I hoped he would be allowed to release it and eventually be forced to fight against it. For those of you who have watched Buffy, this sounds a lot like Faith. Dean is both the Buffy and the Faith of Supernatural, but not for the first time and most definitely not for the last I am forced to sigh and say: Such potential, Supernatural. Such potential.

Also interesting is the fact that the rakshasa is very keen on not hitting Dean with its throwing knives, even when it has a clear shot. It also appears very keen on making sure Dean sees it gank Sam. Other than that, I have little to say about the rakshasa, but the way Dean and Sam worked together to kill it was believable and realistic. Neither of them was overpowered, but rather their coöperation in the funhouse saved the day. If their relationship were more like this, I would enjoy their brotherhood much more. They could and should have been the next Mulder and Scully (Dean was right, by the way: Sam is Scully, Dean is Mulder, though Sam could never even hold a candle to Scully).

Regarding Mulder and Scully, this episode brought to mind episode 2x20 Humbug of The X-Files, an episode directed by Kim Manners (producer and director of Supernatural) which centred on a murdered ’Alligator Man’ from a travelling circus. Like this episode of Supernatural, that episode features a final fight in a funhouse.

Perhaps more interesting is a comment made by the owner of the circus who says that his dad used to own a travelling freak show, until freak shows were made illegal and the ’freaks’ were sent to asylums. I cannot be the only person whose mind went to 1x10 Asylum and the ghosts of Dr Ellicot’s torture victims. American Horror Story – Freak Show also came to mind, as well as the fact that one or two characters seen in the freak show were also in American Horror Story – Asylum which was set a decade or two after Freak Show.

Moving swiftly on, this episode also introduced the Harvelles. I did not especially care about them when I first watched the show, nor upon rewatch in 2015 (or re-rewatch in 2015), and I have to unfortunately say I still do not care too much about them in 2022, even after watching the whole show four or five times. The biggest reason is the fact that they are not in prominent roles, and barely appear after episode 2x06 No Exit. Kripke has admitted on various occasions that he only included the Harvelles because the producers wanted the brothers to have a fixed location as a base of operations, a bit like the library in Buffy. He resented their presence on the show and could not think of anything to do with them.

This is a shame. At this point in the story, Dean and Sam are very familiar to the viewer, and other ancillary characters have been undeveloped and scarce. John is dead, Meg is exorcised, and Bobby is yet to become a recurring character. While Dean and Jensen’s acting can more than carry this show, having extra characters makes the world bigger and more vibrant, even if the characters in question are not especially important or heavily-featured.

Guinan in Star Trek: The Next Generation has very little plot relevance (at least in the episodes I have seen so far). She could be cut from the story and very little would change, but she provides wit and sage advice, a respite for the crew and audience from the main drama, and adds another voice to the story. Likewise, Lorne in Angel had very little to do with Angel Investigations for quite a while, but his presence livened up the show and made it all the richer.

My point is that the characters do not need to be essential to the plot to be included as more than a side-note. For example, Ash and Dean clearly bounce off each other in a way that begs to be explored more, and I would love to see more of Ellen. Jo is presented (unsuccessfully) as a potential love interest for Dean (as is Ash, but much more subtly), but her sisterly chemistry with the boys could be developed to great effect. If all we have is the essential plot and infrequent side notes, we have melody but no chords or embellishment.

Unfortunately, Jo was not written well as a potential love interest for Dean, and some of the female fans hated Jo with Dean. Even Jensen has referred to this in an oblique manner. At a Jus in Bello convention panel, somebody asked him whether he could see Dean settling down with somebody at any point. His response was that ’If there were ever a huntress... you would all kill her.’

One of the problems I have with Jo is that she is not introduced in a positive light. Rather, she reminds me too much of a character who is supposed to be a Bad Ass Bitch, but who is actually a douchenozzle.

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She clearly does not know how to use a gun properly as Dean points out, and because she has the barrel jammed into his back

Dean’s line ’Oh, please let that be a gun’ also raised question marks, especially given the show’s subtle hints that Dean was forced into something akin to prostitution, and the likelihood he was almost date-raped at one point when very much underage. It could have been simply a joke, but it makes one wonder what else Dean has had jammed into his back against his will.

I am so happy John is burning in Hell. Burn, motherfrakker, burn!

Of course, right after Dean disarms Jo, she punches him in the face, which is not surprising considering she made the assumption he was...what, an intruder? A murderer? A rapist? I have no idea, nobody ever says why Ellen and Jo were so suspicious. Dean and Sam hardly made a secret of their being in the Harvelles’ pub, nor were they acting shifty. Was this just more manufactured drama? Probably. Anyway, Jo smacks Dean in the face hard enough to hurt him, because a tiny slip of a girl can easily punch a tall man in the face hard enough to hurt and phase him like that. At least she can take a punch, though, showing the viewer that she actually is on an equal footing with the male characters around her. She punched Dean in the face, and he punched her right back.

Oh wait, no he did not. Why? What reason is there for Dean to not hit her back afterwards, especially considering she took the gun back (how?)? Is this a chivalrry thing? Is this because Jo’s a girl and boys cannot hit girls or something? Is that what this is? Because the only other reason I can think of is that the writer did not want Dean decking his potential love interest at first meeting? If he had done that, it would have reset her brain back to factory settings, but it would also have shown the viewer that not only can Jo punch like a man, she can also take a hit like a man and keep going, just like Meg.

But of course we cannot have women being treated as men’s equals on television. Sure we can have them disarming a 6”1’ squirrel whose life has revolved around fighting, but actually having them able to take a man’s punches would just be too too damn much. They are only girls after all, we cannot expect them to be able to take that kind of treatment.

So let us take a brief look at Big Sky.

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The two lead characters Jenny and Cassie are both women, and neither of them is ever treated as less competent or dangerous than the men around them. They definitely not male characters in women’s bodies, but they can absolutely fire a gun, take a punch, and put their lives in danger to save others. They never do anything stupid (unlike Jo in 2x06 No Exit), and I am completely behind them as characters. The show does sort of have a problem with almost all of the bad guys being men and almost all the victims being women. Beau’s (Jensen’s character’s) old-fashioned assumptions about women not knowing cars and Jenny getting uppity when he called her ’darlin’ was a little on-the-nose and unrealistic, but it was not too distracting.

Anyway, speaking of ’on-the-nose’, Jo offers no apology for assaulting Dean based on false assumptions, but rather proceeds to look smug as he sits with an ice pack pressed against his head. Was I supposed to laugh at the ice pack? Was I supposed to think ’haha, big muscly man got hit by a girl’? And was I also supposed to think that Jo was strong, capable, and dangerous?

If it is funny that she hit him, then it cannot be true that she is strong, otherwise what is there to laugh about? It cannot be funny that she hurt Dean, otherwise her strength is undermined.

This is one of the oxymorons and contradictions I was very aware of growing up with a penis. Girls are super and can do anything boys can do. They can do it better, in fact, because boys are stupid and you should throw rocks at them. The girl power of the 1990s was all about female chauvinism, as I discussed in my essay about Max kicking Alec in Dark Angel. But at the same time, boys should not hit girls because boys are stronger than girls, and only gays and wife-beaters hit girls. So are girls on an equal footing with boys? Or are they delicate little flowers to be shielded and protected from us? Make your choice and stick with it.

Having grown up with five sisters, one of whom set fire to the girls’ toilets at secondary school, one of whom managed to piss on the floor while sitting on the toilet, and one who sometimes did not flush the toilet after menstruating, I have no illusions about them being precious, delicate flowers.

Taking a step away from the lavotory for a moment, why was this Dean-bashing in the episode following John’s death? Jo hits Dean, the carnies have fun at Dean’s expense (with Sam letting them do it), Sam’s a douche. Tell me Dean is supposed to be the sidekick character without telling me he was supposed to be the sidekick character. About half the new characters in this episode specifically target Dean for ’jokes’ and jibes, whereas none of this is aimed at Sam. The more I write these analyses, the less I feel inclined to apologise for hyperfocusing on Dean and giving Sam short shrift: the show treated Dean like something it stepped in, and I want to redress the balance.

Jo also tries hitting on Dean (a completely tactless move given his dad has only just died), but it comes across more as a ’I am so hot and everybody wants to get in my knickers’ brag than ’Sorry I hit you in the face, would you like me to give you a massage to relieve your tension?’ She seems boastful, especially her claim that every hunter who comes through the door tries to get into her knickers with beer, pizza, and Led Zeppelin. I think I can see what the writer of this episode (and the writers in general) were trying to do with Jo, but it did not work. She seemed more like a try-hard and an amateur than a competent hunter-in-training who would be a romantic match for Dean. She is more like a sister, and even Dean realises this quite early on in this episode. He says ’wrong time, wrong place’, but his heart does not seem to be in any of his flirtations. This is most probably a mix of acting out of habit, being recently bereaved, and there being nothing between them.

Apropos Led Zeppelin, if Dean tried beer, pizza, and Zep with me, we would be upside-down and halfway to Happyland within five minutes.

Please note also, Dear Reader, that Ellen said John ’was like family once’. Whatever could that mean? Well, John has one confirmed illigitimate child named Adam: is Jo John’s daughter and Dean and Sam’s half-sister? Perhaps.

As for Ash, if you stop assuming Dean is straight unless proven 100% otherwise, the interactions between him and Ash are unmistakably flirty. They compliment each other (calling Ash a Skynyrd roadie is a big compliment from Dean), Dean gives him flirt-face, and there is even a wink involved. Ash makes a reference to ‘being all over it like Divine on dog dookie’, this being a reference to drag queen Divine who ate dog poo in the gay cult film Pink Flamingos. Why would he make this reference if he was not sure Dean would get it?

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Dean enters Harvelle’s Roadhouse and has both Jo and Ash wrapped around his finger in minutes. That kind of power should be illegal.

Moving on, John’s funeral pyre scene at the beginning of the episode shows how like chalk and cheese Dean and Sam are. Sam is more obvious with his bereavement, his tears flowing freely and his grief plain to see on his face (why did we have none of this after Jess died?). Dean, however, is stony, stoic silence. He will receive a lot of bother from Sam for this ’strong, silent’ act, but even knowing what John told him and where Dean goes in the next few episodes, neither brother’s reaction here seems out of the ordinary. Crying about your dad’s death is normal, as is not crying about it. Sam’s inability to understand other people’s grief does not negate that.

Apropos Sam’s inability to understand expressions of grief that are not obvious, this is the source of the conflict between him and Dean in this episode, and it is the thing which caused my detestation-induced tumescence to reach full-mast. Sam stans, gird your loins and come at me.

Dean reticence and Sam’s mainstream, easily-digested expression of grief contrast sharply. Sam is supposed to be the general viewer’s gateway into the Winchesters’ parallel world, and he is used as a tool by the writers to give information about Dean that Dean would not reveal of his own volition, e.g. that he loved Cassie in 1x13 Route 666.

This is all well and good from a Doyle (extra-textual) perspective, but from a Watson (from inside the story) perspective, Sam’s behaviour when trying to get Dean to talk about his feelings is controlling, manipulative and downright disrespectful. That it is also self-absorbed goes without saying. I understand John Shiban who wrote this episode wanted to draw attention to the fact Dean was not talking about his feelings, but what he accomplished is creating a character who behaves as though he wants to dictate how others should process their bereavement and grief.

According to Dean, Sam had been asking him repetitively whether or not he was alright to the point of pestering him. On the one hand, Sam was grieving too and likely needed to share it with Dean, but as far as we know, he did not do this. Had he sat down near Dean while Dean fixed the car and said something along the lines of ‘Can I just sit here, maybe talk sometimes if I need to? I don’t want to be alone’, things would have been very different. Had Dean’s response been a snarky comment (which it almost certainly would not have been if he could sense Sam was serious), then Sam would be justified in being pissy.

Perhaps this happened and the viewer never saw it, but what we did see was Sam not respecting that the person he was speaking to was an adult and had no obligation to behave in a way comfortable or convenient to Sam. Dean made it clear he did not want to talk, as is his prerogative. Had Sam backed down then, I would have less of a quarrel with him. He is, after all, very young to be burdened with bereavement, especially so soon after his possibly-pregnant girlfriend died, and he is permitted an ounce of stupidity. However, rather than giving his brother space, he (in true Sam fashion) escalated the situation by turning it into a shouting match. I was considering giving him some lenience, but in the blink of an eye he was a sanctimonious fishwife. I wanted to rip my ears off and ram them down his throat. Was this in the script or was it Jared’s acting choices? Either way, I want to speak to the manager.

Their first argument in the episode is understandable, and the conflict forgivable. They are both young and suffering an immense loss. Nobody in that situation is going to act rationally, sensibly, or indeed decently all the time. In times like that, the facade that life means something falls away, as do our pretences that anything we do matters, and we are left facing the indifference of the universe. It takes its toll to skirt that close to the void, so Sam’s irritating behaviour and Dean’s prickly but reasonable withdrawal are not to be held against them. Had Sam kept his mouth shut after Dean shut it for him at the beginning of the episode, I would not have much quarrel with Sam.

But not only did he refuse to let up, he once again escalated the situation halfway through the episode by outright demanding Dean process his loss in a way Sam believes is appropriate.

For those of you who have forgotten, this happens after Dean and Sam stake out the young family’s home and hilariously blast the rakshasa through the glass door with a rock salt round. They ditch the ‘soccer mom’ minivan in some trees somewhere and walk back to the Harvelles’ (which is apparently located in Nebraska, a whole two states away from Wisconsin). Whilst walking down a dirt road, Sam gets all misty eyed and cringey about ‘doing what Dad would have wanted’. Dean does not really respond to this, instead falling silent in what anybody with more empathy that a teaspoon could tell is a declaration that he does not want to talk about it.

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Sam, of course, being the small yappy-type dog he is, yips and yaps at Dean for this. ‘Don’t go all maudlin on me, man.’

I am not a violent man, but there is just something about Sam’s behaviour which brings the violence to the fore. My response to Sam’s ’maudlin’ comment involved a certain curse word which one is not allowed to say in Canada. He is a yapping chihuahua who has not learnt that yapping at a German Shepherd is a sure way to get a giant paw in your face. I wish Dean had decked Sam in the middle of the road and left him in the dirt for that. Dean’s dad just died and Sam has the audacity to call him ’maudlin’ when Dean is the one keeping himself in check and not bringing John up all the time.

Far be it from me to bring gendered behaviour into these analyses, but I think one of the big issues here is that Sam does not understand how men tend to deal with emotions. He is far from being alone in this, as contrary to popular belief, many experiences and behaviours exclusive or most common among men are not portrayed as the norm or the default. I have had to learn a lot about men and men’s psychology as an adult because I plainly did not have any exposure to it in childhood. I am cissexual, but this is something my trans friend and I share: we had to learn this for ourselves because nobody taught us it. Perhaps because I had to learn this like a second language, I can recognise a lot in Dean which is typical of men, or rather masculine people (because man =/= masculine and masculine =/=man).

Dean insists on multiple occasions in this episode that he is ‘okay’, and many people take this to be a clear lie, or a man repressing his emotions, or a man not being able to understand or process his emotions. What I hear him say, though, is ‘I’m coping’, and that is a very different thing. Of course he is not ‘alright’ if by ‘alright’ one means he is not suffering immensely after the loss of one of the most important people in his life. He is (or believes he is) managing to keep his head above water.

There is, however, an aspect of pretending to be ‘okay’ because he does not want people to pry. This is nothing unusual, but is normal behaviour for men. It is a truism that women do not want to have sex before they are ready, otherwise they feel cheapened; likewise men do not want to talk about our emotions before we are ready, otherwise we feel cheapened. Even when we do talk, most people are not listening anyway, and some are looking for things they can use as weapons against us. It takes a lot for a man to trust a person enough to talk openly to him or her (or whatever variation thereupon takes your fancy), and do let us not forget that Sam has given Dean little reason to believe he can be trusted with Dean’s vulnerability.

Not only has Sam been physically aggressive without provocation (1x08 Bugs), shot at him twice without ever offering real apology (1x10 Asylum), and belittled Dean’s bereavement at Mary’s death (1x11 Scarecrow), but he acts like an overgrown teenager. Worse, he attacked Dean after Dean refused to share his grief with Sam, a sure-fire sign that Sam does not have Dean’s best interests at heart or in mind, but rather wants something for himself. He is not able to offer Dean the surety, calmness, and reliability he would need in order to allow himself to be vulnerable and confide in his brother, any more than I would lean on my teenage nephew for emotional support whilst newly orphaned.

Something which sprang to mind when thinking of Dean’s bereavement was Men’s Sheds, an international organisation which arranges spaces for men (usually exclusively men).

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The point of this is to give mainly older and elderly men whose support network of friends and family is gone due to death, divorce, or whatever else a community of other men in similar positions a time and space to get together and work on DIY projects, fix cars, or just have a cup of tea and watch football with other men. It is usually specifically for men for the same reasons women have female-specific groups: straight, gay, bi, cis, and trans men can be more comfortable and communicate easier in single-sex company because they are around people who speak the same language as them and share the same experiences. Men’s Sheds are built around the idea that men talk shoulder to shoulder, not face to face. What this means is that men form bonds with other men by working on things with them, and eventually will start talking when sufficiently comfortable.

Crying is also something which comes harder to most men than it seems to for women. Our tear ducts are longer and wider, our tear glands smaller, and our bodies do not produce as much of the hormone which induces the crying reaction. The aforementioned trans friend was shocked at how much harder it was for him to cry once he had been on testosterone for a while. Trying to cry was like trying to defecate whilst constipated. I cry, but only once or twice a year, and when I do there are usually very few tears. Emotions have to be relieved elsewise.

Anger is one of the most common ways men relieve these emotions. People are scared of anger, particularly men’s anger, but anger is neither good nor bad: it just is. Anger is the body’s way of helping you focus and on finding a solution to a problem, using physical force if necessary. A solution to dealing with these negative emotions is finding something to focus energy on, such as gardening, building a model railway, fixing the roof, or fixing a car.

Fixing the car is exactly what Dean is doing as the episode proper begins. As he himself states:

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...You got any leads on where the demon is? Making heads or tails of any of Dad's research? Because I sure ain't. But you know, if we do finally find it - oh. No, wait, like you said. The Colt's gone. But I'm sure you've figured out another way to kill it. We've got nothing, Sam. Nothing, okay? So you know the only thing I can do? Is I can work on the car.

Doing something like this can make a person feel capable, needed, and strong enough to keep going. Jordan Peterson gives the example of a young man who lost his father; Jordan’s advice to the son was to be the strongest, most reliable person at his father’s funeral. In being a support for other people, the son felt needed and had something to focus on. This helped him more than any amount of crying or chick-flick moments, and this is – generally speaking – true of men. We do not really want to talk about our emotions for talking’s sake. We want to find ways to solve the problems our emotions are telling us we are having. Or, failing that, find a way to make us feel strong enough to shoulder our burden and carry on.

This accounts for part of the silent, stoic act Sam gets angry about. Dean does not want to fall apart under the weight of his grief: he wants to keep himself and his inner workings in check so he can either find a solution to his problems or find the strength to carry on. Add to this the fact Dean cannot rely on anybody to pick him back up if he falls apart – definitely not Sam – and it is reasonable and frankly admirable that Dean manages to screw his testicles on every morning and keep going at near full capacity. I will try to emulate his strength the day I have to carry my dad’s coffin to his grave.

Dean’s way of coping is a traditionally masculine way of managing difficult emotions: keep control and keep going. Being able to do this generally helps men many orders of magnitude more than talking, because it makes us feel strong. This is, however, officially pathologised in American psychiatric circles, and ideas of ‘toxic masculinity’ have been leaking out into the mainstream for years. If people spoke instead of ‘men and women’s poisonous expectations and demands of men’, then we would suddenly be on the same page. But I see nothing ‘poisonous’ or ‘toxic’ in Dean not falling apart and weeping like a helpless damsel who just needs the right man’s penis to solve all her problems. Rather, it is a different but equally valid way of doing things.

That said, everybody needs an environment in which talking, crying, and relying on others is possible, acceptable, and encouraged if needed and wanted. I speak from experience. Dean does not have this: he cannot rely on or trust Sam. It is all well and good saying ‘you need to talk’, but to whom can Dean talk to and trust to be able to cope with what he has to say?

Nobody.

In this very episode, Sam showed Dean clearly that he does not have his back when the carnies started making fun of him in front of Sam. I was supposed to laugh at this, but after Dean had just lost his father?!?! Frak you, Show. Frak you with something hard and sand-papery.

By the way, if you want funny, this is funny!

In my opinion, Dean’s method is much healthier than Sam’s manipulative grief-policing, at least in the short term. Sam displays no sympathy or understanding of Dean, and is clearly not in control of himself. He lacks control of himself to such a degree that he tries to control other people instead. Sometimes Sam appears to genuinely love and care for Dean, but too often he treats his older brother like an embarrassing irritation he wishes he could control.

That being said, Dean is clearly not okay, but nothing about his behaviour in this episodes is untoward or unusual for a man who has just come back from the dead and whose father has just died. We will have to wait until episode 2x03 Bloodlust and 2x04 Children Shouldn’t Play with Dead Things to see that there is more than ‘normal’ bereavement at play, and do let us not forget 2x09 Croatoan.

The episode ends with a scene where Sam almost apologises to Dean for being a rectal irrigation implement and admitting how much he is struggling with John’s death.

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Were it not for his douchey behaviour earlier in the episode, I might have been willing to give him a pass after this, but I still have his screechy fishwife act ringing in my ears. Perhaps I sound as though I am taking this personally, but I have been in a situation like Dean where I was ‘okay’ but somebody kept pestering me to talk in spite of my clearly not wanting to. Said person then got angry at me, shouted at me, and bitched about me in front of other people, all because s/he would not leave me be and could not accept not being in control of me. I recognise a lot of poisonous behaviour and attitudes in Sam which I have dealt with in my real life, and I am not here for them.

Something else I recognised was Sam’s attempt at control at the end. He said ‘I’m not okay’, which would have been all well and good, but he had to finish it with a ‘But neither are you. That much I know.’ Good for you, Captain Obvious, you are Big Smart. Unfortunately what you lack is empathy and wisdom. It is hard enough keeping oneself together and carrying on, but having other people see right through that, prying and poking, makes the whole ordeal a bigger challenge. Letting people maintain their illusion of structural integrity is sometimes the wise choice.

At the end of the episode, Dean watches Sam leave, then smashes the window of a nearby car with a hammer. Once that seal is broken, it is impossible to turn back the tide, and Dean inflicts serious damage on the car he has spent so long repairing. Why exactly he does this is uncertain, but a combination of grief and anger is obvious. The car is a lot of things to Dean: it is his prized possession, his home, and a representation of the burden John placed on him. Paula R. Stiles notes also that he focuses his attention on smashing the boot where all the hunting implements are kept, suggesting anger and a host of other emotions relating to being forced into the hunting life. She also mentioned that he stared after Sam before smashing his car up, but this could just have been him making sure his brother was out of sight and earshot.

The closing shot of the episode is of the blank death-stare Jensen is so good at doing. Forgive the cliché, but the best word I can summon to mind to describe his expression is ‘empty’: he has too many thoughts in his mind for any of them to be coherent. He has lost all hope, and the burden of becoming a fratricide when his identity has been formed around protecting and providing for others is tearing him apart. He is also likely aware as early as this that John traded his life and the colt for Dean, and Dean has already been living with survivor’s guilt since 1x12 Faith. He believes he should suffer for others, but others are suffering for him, and he believes he will have to kill those he wanted to protect. He cannot express any of this in words, not even conceptualise it. so all that remains is a blank, thousand-mile stare.

Dean’s structural integrity is compromised, and the centre cannot hold. Watch it unravel over the course of series two. But before you go and forget everything you just read, I have enough gifs remaining to share this:

Look at his wee little outfit!

#Youtube #edvard's supernatural guide #spn meta #spn rewatch #spn 2x02 #jo harvelle #dean winchester #supernatural #sam winchester #IT #stephen king #rakshasa #male psychology #s02e02 #2x02 everybody loves a clown #dean is bi #bi!dean

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