#same reason I don’t really like self-inserts at all. there’s no room for me in this narrative | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ovenproofowl · 1 year

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a lot of people have said it, but I’m throwing in my two cents just to get it off my chest.

Picard season 3 was . Bad . For a LOT of reasons . It felt like - as many before me have expressed - a self-insert fanfic with the dullest self-insert in history.

Jack Crusher wasn’t much of a character but he could have had some promise if they hadn’t spent an aggravating amount of time having him decree how different he always felt, you guys. Did you get that part? He’d always felt different. That sort of dialogue might have flown if we were dealing with Picard’s adolescent son, but instead we’re dealing with a 24 year old played by a 35 year old who looks every bit his age. (It was a hard 24 years, we must assume.)

The reason that Jack Crusher didn’t work for me personally, though, wasn’t because of how cliché his character was. I would have let that pass much easier if it wasn’t for the big ol’ elephant in the room. And that is simply that :

JACK CRUSHER WAS NEVER NECESSARY

Jack may have served a purpose to the storyline that was presented if only because he was the sole reason there was a Big Bad to be defeated in the first place. Everyone wanted to kidnap him, he brought the old gang back together just to protect him and then later save him from said Big Bad which was also actually .. him. Everything Was About Jack. But I’m not talking about the main plot. I Really Don’t Want to Talk About the Main Plot. Ever. What I want to talk about is what Jack represented that made him so unnecessary:

He was intended to represent Jean-Luc Picard’s only reason to start living.

Personally, that really, really offended me. Picard didn’t need to have a biological kid to have a purpose. In fact, it’s been established time and time again that he wasn’t ever really dad material. More of a... weirdly intense uncle. For a while, he wasn’t a fan of kids at all. Eventually, though, Picard is seen to warm to the idea of letting children within his general vicinity. This starts in TNG and continues on in season 1 of Picard. The Only Categorically Good Season of this whole. show.

In season 1, we see flashbacks of Jean-Luc’s relationship with a young Elnor, how he would read him stories and have sword fights with him. He was an absent father to an adopted child he hadn’t even realised he’d adopted and yet Elnor still fought for his hopeless cause. In much the same way, Picard meets Dahj and then later, Soji. He feels a kinship with these androids because of their connection to Data. He wants to protect Soji becase he couldn’t protect Dahj and Soji even canonically questions whether she should allow Picard to act as her father figure before she begins to remember where she came from. Both of these dynamics were infinitely more interesting and a lot deeper rooted. Soji and Elnor were both young twenty-somethings without parental guidance but found that guidance through Picard. Soji had her connection to Jurati, too, and Elnor had his with Seven and Raffi and that’s what made the whole group so intriguing to follow. They all had interesting connections to each other that had so many avenues to explore.

Unfortunately, the show decided to more or less write Soji and Elnor out of the story come season 2. Elnor was killed off for the majority of the season and only brought back by Q intervention in the last episode. Soji wasn’t even a part of the story at all. And do you know what’s sad about that? What’s really sad? Season 2 was trying to sell us the exact same message as season 3. That Picard needed a reason to live. But, like, not that reason. Not the reasons he’d already been given in the form of his found family with his Romulan and android adopted children, or even the rest of the La Sirena crew. No no no, we can’t have that, better get rid of them. This time, Laris is the focal point. Picard had been avoiding a romantic relationship with her because of a never before mentioned dark history surrounding his mother’s suicide. Because, sure, at this point, why not? While we’re at it, let’s also kill off Rios in the most slap-in-the-face out of character way possible and fling Jurati at the Borg for good measure just so she won’t be around for season 3. Her character development into the Borg Queen was pretty intriguing, but we’ll totally ignore that they even exist post her departure, just for funsies. Oh, and Soji and Elnor? Best not mention them at all come that third and final season. Otherwise, people might get the crazy notion that Picard already had a reason not to hunker down and die at the vinyard at the tender age of 104.

Season 3 picks up where season 2 leaves off in that Picard is now in that aforementioned romantic relationship with Laris. Except, no he isn’t because he immediately gets an emergency call from his ex and literally never sees or talks to Laris ever again. There wasn’t even a throw-away line or implied reference to her, but by now I’m sure you know the reason for that.

That’s right, folks. Because if we were allowed to remember Laris and what she meant to Picard, then we might just remember that other thing. Say it with me now!!

JACK CRUSHER WAS NEVER NECESSARY!!

In summary, there were so many brilliant options to give Picard for signficant found family dynamics, but the show just wasn’t interested in any of them. Season 3 wanted a Picard who had given it all up, who was ready to die because he’d never had a family to pass on his legacy. They wanted him at his lowest so that we’d all rejoice to see him return to the TNG crew. Don’t get me wrong, I’m a massive TNG fan and I could rave about the fan service and nostalgia porn for hours on end. If season 3 had stood alone as a singular unconnected event, it might even have been passable as a warm hug from old and beloved characters with some fun new spins to their stories along the way, juust so long as you didn’t squint too hard at the actual attempt at plot writing going on in the background.

But the fact of the matter is, Picard season 3 came far too late into the game. Season 1 held the building blocks to something new and interesting. By the end of season 2, it was becoming clear we were never going to see those blocks stand. By season 3, those blocks were just scattered headstones in a graveyard.

They teased us with the potential new show of Captain Seven and her Number One Raffi Musiker and that might have just been okay. . .

. . .If the La Sirena Crew had been allowed to be a part of that future.

In closing: Picard season 3? Too little, too late, mate. 👎🏻

#star trek picard #picard spoilers #anti picard #jean luc picard #jack crusher #anti jack crusher #soji asha #elnor #raffi musiker #seven of nine #i didn't mention everything i didn't like here or in fact everything I DID like #because if we ignore the plot and just focus on seeing the crew back then yes I did in fact enjoy quite a bit of it #and also vadic was the best goddamn villain and they should have done more with her oh my god #but i had to get this off my chest #and also yes i acknowledge that elnor was very much seven and raffi's adopted kid as much as picard's #but this has to focus on picard because.. well.. that's the name of the show right?#could've fooled me. i thought it was the jack crusher show #ok ok i'm done bitterness out #it's said and i'm moving on

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reaveries · 2 years

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▬ an admiration for perennials

summary: arthur meets a woman with an affinity for cliff maids

pairings: high honor!arthur morgan pov x female!reader

warnings: sad introspective arthur, sh*t word (:o), mention of mary, dying from flu, pollen (?? this thing is so fluffy, i'm grasping for straws here)

word count: 6.2k (estimated 26-minute reading time)

a/n: i have proofread this piece so.. many.... times... i'm so ready to finally publish it and get it the eff away from me. i hope y'all like it, i'm really happy with how it turned out! (i think, i can't tell anymore). i have a part two outline in the works so if you'd like to see that, please let me know by interacting w/ the post! also, this is categorized as a reader/self-insert but at one point there is very brief character description. i try to keep that to an absolute minimum and leave it generally gray enough to remain a self-insert fic. if that bothers you, i'm sorry, just overlook it! anyways, njoy, pardners <3

masterlist archive of our own

Revised for clarity 1/5/2024.

He takes a long drag from the cigarette between his lips, letting the harshness of the warm smoke enter his chest with ease. The cigarette had nearly met its end, so he knew it was getting to be that time. He jabs it into the ashtray along with the ashes from all the other bargoers and bids the barkeep a good night, leaving some change for his good company.

Unfortunately, Arthur hadn't found the solace he was searching for in the homely saloon. He’d filled himself to the brim with watered-down beer and a few shots of whiskey when he felt especially plagued by his thoughts. But as he pushes open the swinging doors and steps into the cool night air, his head still swarms with a myriad of upsetting things.

His life is a complicated mess, though part of him knew it always had been. It just wasn’t until recently that he realized how unnecessary it was for it to be such. On the same street where he currently stands, he’d been responsible for putting lead in the heads of countless men a few weeks prior. He didn't even know their names, and he surely doesn't remember their faces. It was a wholly avoidable disaster. Not to say he’s bothered by the act of killing, for when he finds it justified to end a man’s life, there’s often no reason to dawdle. No, the mess of it all perturbed him the most.

Undeniably, the land he calls home is becoming a different entity than the one he was born into, a land of law and structure that spits upon his way of life. The West is becoming a docile place, its wildness broken by the cracking whip of civilization. And if the West can’t survive, then all hope is lost for men like him. The only logical step to ensure that he, and the people he cares for, won’t meet their fates at the end of a rope is to adapt to this changing world. This meant mess would have to be a thing of the past. No more massacres over stolen oil wagons and certainly not wiping out an entire town to free a man he didn’t care for from a cell he belonged in. No more innocent bystanders gruesomely losing their lives over foolishly shallow plans like the botched ferry job in Blackwater. No more lives need to be taken for his benefit or the ambitions of the man who guided him. Somehow though, that man didn’t see things the way he did.

Whenever he brought up these concerns, Dutch always told him, “Don’t be so simple-minded, Arthur. Look at the bigger picture.”

But the bigger picture was all he could see, and it was a terrifying sight.

His heels sink into the damp earth as he makes his way to Saint’s Hotel, crossing his fingers that a room is available for the night. He made the mistake of riding his horse with a stomach full of liquor before, and somehow it almost ended up with him drowning. How he ended up sopping wet and his horse dry as a bone is still a mystery to him. So, a room at Saint's is in order since he doesn’t particularly care to die tonight, even despite the pervasive thoughts that plague him.

Just as he’s about to step onto the hotel’s wooden porch, he hears a loud banging noise come from behind him. He turns around and, in the darkness of night, sees a woman knocking on the front door of the general store across the street. She raps her knuckles a second time against the door, just as loud as the first. The door opens and out steps the store owner, looking irritated.

“Hi, I know you’re about to close, but I’ll just be a second, I promise!” She says this with her hands clasped together.

“Alright, alright. Come on in,” the man says, stepping aside so she can enter.

As the woman moves past the older man, light from inside the store hits her, and he can see her more clearly. She’s dressed simply with her hair loosely pulled back into a plait that falls past her shoulders. These things are ordinary enough, but then the light catches on a dainty pink flower tucked behind her ear on the left side.

He stops in his tracks.

It looks identical to the one he keeps at his bedside, a memento of his mother. However, those flowers, cliff maids, he thinks they’re called, only grow out west in the rocky terrain bordering Oregon and California. He’s a long way from California and possibly even further from a level head, so he dismisses the possibility, chalking it up to the delusions of a drunken old man.

He heads into the hotel, and thankfully a room is available, the same one as always. He closes the door behind him and starts fumbling with his gear, letting it hit the floor haphazardly in a heap. As he stumbles over to the bed, he regretfully catches a glimpse of his reflection in a mirror. He usually tries to avoid looking at himself unless it’s absolutely necessary. Simply put, he doesn’t like the look of the man who stares back at him. There’s a residual yellow blotch fading away on his cheekbone from a dust-up he’d been in a few days prior. He doesn’t even remember the reason. His shoulder-length hair has tangles he’s had no energy to comb through, and his eyes are lidded for want of sleep. They have a far-out look even when he’s staring right at himself.

“Maybe it’s you that’s the mess,” he mumbles, then gives way to his exhaustion and collapses against the mattress. His boots, spurs and all, remain on his feet. So remain his worn trousers and unbuttoned maroon shirt, and so does the dirt caked beneath his nails that never seems to leave.

He checks out of his room early the following day and rides out beneath a sky as golden as dandelions. His mind feels clearer after a night’s rest, and he thankfully doesn’t feel as dreadful as he did when his head hit the pillows. Dew hangs in the chilled air and mists his face as he takes the beaten winding path leading back to Clemen’s Point, this new place his people called home. As he rides, he passes by some cottages and homesteads a ways off the path. He can recall the inside layout of a few of them, and even which ones filled his pockets the most back when he first arrived in the Heartlands.

Tall, thick-bodied oak trees loom over him and dance in the morning breeze. The way the sunlight flickers through them is beautiful but unfamiliar. It quickly becomes apparent that he’s taken the wrong path somewhere along the way, but just when he’s about to wheel his horse around and turn back, there lies a cottage beyond the tree line.

It’s a quaint wooden home with a thin stream of smoke rising from the chimney. In the window of the cottage sits a vase of pink flowers. The closer he rides, the more confident he is that they’re cliff maids. There must be at least twenty stems in that one vase.

“I’ll be damned….” He says under his breath.

Suddenly, he hears the sound of a woman grunting coming from the side of the home. He presses his heels to his horse’s belly and trots toward the noise source. When he turns the corner of the house, he sees her, the woman he saw last night, pushing a wheelbarrow spilling over with dirt. She attempts to use her weight against the handle, but it hardly makes a difference, and the wheelbarrow doesn’t budge.

He clears his throat to make his presence known to the woman.

“Jesus Christ!” She yelps and turns to face him, shocked to see she has company.

“Didn’t mean to frighten ya. D’ya need any help, ma’am?” He asks.

She looks him over with caution.

“Uh, I’m alright, thanks,” she says slowly, her brows warily drawn together.

Arthur nods his head with a tight-lipped smile and pulls the reins to head back to where he came from. He considers asking her about the flowers in the window but disregards it seeing as she doesn’t seem to care for company. As he begins back down the path, he hears a clattering noise and the sound of the woman cursing.

“Hey, mister!” She shouts. He looks over his shoulder and sees her standing with her hands on her hips and the wheelbarrow completely turned over, the dark soil spilling out onto the ground.

“I take that back.” She says with her head cocked to the side and a bashful smile.

He lightly chuckles at the sight and rides over, swiftly dismounting from his horse a few feet from the mild disaster.

“Could you help me scoop it back in?” She asks as she goes to the front of the wheelbarrow and picks up the dirt with yellow gloves.

“Sure,” he says, kneeling beside her. His hands are perpetually dirty as it is, so a little more filth couldn’t hurt. As he helps her pile the dirt back into the cart, he notices she smells earthy and sweet, reminiscent of the air before a storm.

“Alright,” she says, standing up and brushing her dirty gloves against her smock. “Would you mind wheelin’ it for me?”

He moves to grab the handles and pushes them down with ease so that the wheelbarrow can roll properly.

“What’s all this dirt for anyways?” He asks the woman walking beside him.

“Just a project I’m working on. It’s back behind here, mister.” She points to the rear of the cottage, which quickly becomes dense with plant life the further they step.

She crosses her arms over her chest as they enter the more secluded area.

“Don’t get any funny ideas, alright?” She says, looking up at him out of the corner of her eye.

He furrows his brows at the slight, but he can’t deny it makes sense she’s thinking that way. He looks the part of someone with foul intentions. The brim of his hat darkens his eyes, which would normally obscure them from anyone else. But, given that he's a head taller than the woman, she sees their darkness fine. He internally curses himself when he remembers he's wearing the one jacket stained with animal blood. It's still smeared dark brown across his shoulder. Of course, he looks like a damn menace. To top it all off, the rifle slung on his back casts a long shadow across her cheek like some twisted reminder of who he is, lest a single act of kindness threatens he forgets.

He glances at her with a small smile that raises up on one side more than the other.

“Most of my ideas are funny, ma’am. But I ain’t gonna hurt you if that’s what you mean.”

Her shoulders drop from their tense position as she lets out a half-hearted laugh.

“I’ll take your word for it, mister,” she says, slightly more relaxed than before.

The grass starts to reach his knees, and all along the path are bushes and fruit-bearing shrubs with dangling under-ripe berries. Various species of flowers grow throughout the backyard in no organized manner, like they’d been living here long before anyone else. White bark trees stand tall amidst the entropic garden. Dark moss creeps up their trunks, and instead of leaves, canopies of draping blossoms erupt from the branches like something out of a storybook. They hang limply in the air, and when the wind tugs on them, they sway in synchronization while their blossoms flutter away in the breeze. It’s all so beautiful. He’s never seen an abundance of such natural beauty in all his life.

“Is this all yours?” He asks, turning to the lady with a near slack-jawed expression.

“It is now,” she says, nodding her head. “My mama used to care for it, as did her mama before her. But uh- well, the flu took my mama a few years back, and as fate would have it, now my grandma’s flame is startin’ to flicker too. So it’s left to me to care for all this.”

“Oh. I’m sorry to hear that,” he responds. Her voice sounds sad, and it reminds him somewhat of Ms. Adler, the widow staying with them for the time being.

“It’s okay,” she says, waving him off. “Sometimes in the darkness, there’s light, and this is definitely the light. I get to care for this thing, and in a way, it cares for me too. Gives me purpose, ya know?”

“S’Good to have somethin’ that makes you feel that way. Lord knows most people don’t.”

“Yes, I’ve noticed that. Oh! I’ll hold the door open for ya.” She leaves his side and jogs ahead of him.

“Door? What door?” Arthur looks around, but he sees nothing but trees and plants.

Suddenly, she reveals an entrance blocked by the tall grass, and he realizes that a small building made entirely of glass is right before him. It camouflaged against the greenery and the vines that drape across it. Now that the door is ajar, he sees inside plants of all kinds strewn about in terracotta pots and deep soil beds.

“What in the….” He begins to say but trails off, caught off guard by the unexpected reveal.

A sort of giddiness takes her when she sees his expression, and she waves her hand excitedly to usher him inside.

“Come in! Come in!”

He rolls the wheelbarrow inside the structure, and once again, he’s greeted by the humble beauty of the natural world. Leaves spill out of pots hanging from the rafters, creating curtains that brush against him as he passes through. She gently closes the door behind him, and the air starts to feel thicker, heavier, like he’s being swaddled in a damp blanket.

The pots each have their own label, but the writing is so messy that he can hardly make out the names. Of the ones he can read, he recognizes names such as Sparrow’s Egg, Clamshell, and Dragon’s Mouth. They’re exotic flowers that the corset man in Saint Denis once asked him to collect, but he never got around to doing it. If only he had enough time to frolic through fields and pluck orchids. He’d prefer that over the menial errands he’s been consumed by as of late.

“Back here!” The woman shouts.

He can’t see her behind the tall plant-filled shelves that take up the center of the room, so he pushes past the vines and turns the corner to see her standing next to an empty plant bed. She looks at him expectantly because his task is clearly to dump the soil. But his mind is elsewhere. Behind her is another plant bed. This one is full and brimming with cliff maids so densely packed that he can hardly see the soil they’re in. He’s never seen so many of these flowers in one place. Whenever he found one in the wild, it was usually nestled between two rocks and sprouted three or four blooms. They weren’t nearly as impressive as the ones infront of him.

“What is it?” She asks when he remains in his spot. She follows his gaze and gasps.

“Why, are you a gardener too, mister?” Her voice gets high with excitement.

“Who, me?” He laughs. “No, ma’am. I’m no gardener. I’d make for a pretty awful one seein’ as I’m not too good at keepin’ things alive.”

“Oh, forgive me. I just- you seemed interested in the perennials. Most people aren’t, considerin’ how unassuming they look. Pretty things but nothing outwardly special about ‘em.” She moves towards the tall blossoms and reaches out her hand to stroke the petals.

“You know, they don’t like it here,” she continues. “They like the sun, which would be easy enough if they liked the heat that came with it, but no, it’s the cool shade of cliffs and rocks they like. These little blooms aren’t easy to care for, but if you can figure it out, they’ll live all through the years. That’s what perennial means, after all. Anyways, these guys are my favorite. I think it’s cause they give me such a hard time.”

She twiddled with the petals between her fingers as she rambled about the flowers. When she finally looks back at him, it’s like she has stars twinkling in her eyes. There’s a new liveliness about her, something that sparked when she was given room to air out her affinity for the pink blossoms. Arthur stands there, attempting to wrap his mind around the unlikely chance of finding someone who holds this particular flower as close to their heart as he does. He doesn't notice his aforementioned heart beating a little faster in his chest.

“I- I like ‘em too.” The words clumsily stumble from his mouth when he realizes she’s waiting for him to speak. He quickly gathers himself.

“I mean, it was my ma that liked ‘em, but I guess she sorta rubbed off on me. They're pretty little things.”

“You’re kiddin’... what are the odds?”

He can tell she’s thinking about something during the half-beat of silence that follows, but he can’t find any hint of what it is when he searches her face.

“I never got your name, mister,” she says abruptly.

“Arthur,” he says. “Just Arthur.”

“What, you ain’t got a last name, Just Arthur?” She laughs.

He considers telling her his real name but quickly dismisses it. On the off-chance she recognizes it from the bounty posters, it would mean that whatever was happening here would come to an unfortunate end. Of course, no harm would befall her, but he’d have to leave and go right back to his mess of a life. He’d rather stay here, in the sanctity of the greenhouse, with this person he strangely feels like he was meant to meet.

“Oh, I didn’t realize we were on a full name basis, ma’am,” he says flippantly, but he can’t help the smile that forms when she raises her eyebrows at him.

“Well, Arthur, you have good taste,” she says playfully, but her gaze falls to the wheelbarrow he’s still holding, and her eyes widen. “Oh, that must be heavy. I talked so long, I forgot you still had that. Go ahead and pour it into that empty bed right there.” She gestures with a quick wave of her hand.

He looks down at the wheelbarrow he also forgot he was holding and does as she says, tilting the lip of it into the wooden frame and letting the soil spill out.

She smiles at him and pats his shoulder before leading him out of the greenhouse. They step back outside, and the cool air is a welcome feeling. He props the wheelbarrow against the wall of the structure while she shuts the door behind her.

“Thank you again. I would’ve had a much harder time without you there,” she says.

He wipes his soiled hands on the front of his jeans and opens his mouth to speak, but when he looks at her, she’s already looking at him with a gaze sweet as honey. It makes his breath catch in his chest. Not many women have looked at him like that before, and hardly any were as easy on the eyes as her. A thread of sunlight catches her eyes and reveals faint traces of amber, like sap spilling from the source. Her long lashes flutter when she blinks, and they rest against the soft edge of her brow as she looks up at him. Her hair, woven into a braid, is loose, disheveled like she’d slept in it. Stray strands feather around her jaw and frame the angles of her face, not unlike ornate golden borders that surround paintings in a gallery.

He clears his throat upon realizing he’s been gawking at the poor woman like some boyish fool.

“Ah, it was nothin',” he says, directing his attention elsewhere as heat creeps up his cheeks.

A dragonfly jitters down from above and lands on the stem of some thyme growing over a narrow creek. Water trickles over smooth stones into a basin where leaves float along the surface. Some of them sprout delicate white flowers that open up to the sky. A thought comes to him as he looks at them.

“If it’s not too much trouble, would it be alright if I draw a picture of this place?” He asks. He’s never had to ask anyone permission for this sort of thing before; it felt unnatural. But it certainly would’ve been more so if he’d asked her what he really wanted, which was to draw her alongside it.

She tilts her head and looks up at him curiously.

“How charming…” She says, then ponders it for a second. “I don’t mind as long as you let me see it after.”

He chuckles, “Alright, just don’t make fun of it.”

“I would never!” She says, feigning indignance. “My mama taught me manners, Arthur! That means if it’s bad, I’ll just make fun of it in my head. Now go do your thing. I also have some work to do.”

She waves him off with a smile and steps back inside the greenhouse, closing the door behind her. He lets out a sigh, the tight feeling in his chest relinquishing now that he’s finally alone. He walks over to a bench along the path and sits down, taking his journal from his satchel and flipping to a new blank page. Before him, tall pink flowers that smell of vanilla cast long, dark shadows over the smaller flowering shrubs surrounding them. If they weren’t so dainty looking, their height and the size of their leaves would give the impression they own the place. He gives them the most detail in his drawing. Then he starts to etch the dirt path, adding the indentation the wheel of the wheelbarrow had left behind and the imprint of the woman’s footprints next to his. Just as he finishes up the sketch, adding minute details in the leaves, he hears light footfall behind him.

On instinct, his hand moves to hover above his holster, but once he sees what’s behind him, he feels ridiculous for it.

“Hey,” she says quietly, a sheepish smile on her face. She holds nearly a dozen cliff maids in her hands, stems clipped and bound together with a thread of twine.

“I thought you might like to have these.”

He looks at her for a moment, unsure what to do or say. She’s giving him flowers. No one has ever given him flowers before. That was usually something a man might do if he were sweet on a lady, a gesture shared between lovers. But maybe for a woman who spends all day surrounded by them, it must not have the same romantic meaning he knows it does.

“Those are for me?” He asks. His hands hang loosely at his sides. He doesn’t quite know what to do with himself.

She nods. “If you want.”

The talkative woman from earlier seems to have been replaced by someone different entirely, her sentences suddenly simple and sweet. He also struggles to find the right words.

“That’s too kind of you. Truly.” He reaches out to take them, and she places the bundle gingerly in his hands.

His hold is gentle for fear he’d snap the stems if not careful. He knows he has to look a little silly. A man as rough around the edges as himself, with ammunition draped across his chest and pistols hanging at his hips, holding an overflowing bouquet of pink blossoms as a gift from a lady. If Dutch could see him now, he’d tell him he lost his edge. But if this is what it feels like to have gone soft, then he doesn't mind that much. The warmth in his chest is too comforting a feeling to let go of.

Her sudden gasp brings him out of his head.

“Is that the drawing?!” She points at the journal lying open on the bench. There’s no time to answer before she reaches over the seat to hold the leatherbound book in her hands.

“Wow… I- you captured it perfectly,” she says, her mouth slightly hanging in awe. “I didn’t expect anything like this.”

“You’re just minding your manners.”

She lightly thwacks him on the arm.

“You’d know if I was, I’m not a good liar. No, this is something special.”

He hardly knows a thing about this woman, and yet for some reason, her songs of praise feel so good that he wants to make ten more drawings. Hell, he’ll move as much dirt as she wants if it means she’ll look at him the way she is now each time. As her eyes flit between him and the sketch, he feels a fondness growing that he could’ve never anticipated when he first laid eyes on her. God, he almost feels like a boy again. It’s a feeling he hasn’t experienced in ages since he was last with Mary. Though, admittedly those feelings were guided by something less innocent than what he feels right now. What’s happening to him?

She clasps her hands together and takes a sharp intake of breath.

“Arthur, would you, um- would you like something to drink before you head out?” She asks. “I have just about anything.”

Without giving it much thought, he opens his mouth to answer, but a ringing noise sounds before the words can come out. It’s a clear jingling sound of a bell, and it’s coming from the house.

“Oh, never mind. It seems like my grandmother needs me,” she sighs and hands back his journal. “Maybe another time?”

“Another time,” he agrees with a thin smile, deflating slightly at the abrupt goodbye.

She walks briskly to the back door and slips inside the house, the door swinging shut loudly behind her. He approaches his horse he’d left hitched to the woman’s front porch and goes to find a place to secure the flowers. As he’s slipping them through a notch on the saddle, the front door flies open.

She steps out, looking grateful he hasn’t left yet.

“Hey!” She calls out to him. She stands at the edge of the top step with one hand on her hip and the other shading her eyes from the sun.

“I’m sure you know already, but those can only last so long now that they’re cut. Perennials live all through the years but only when they’re planted,” she says, shifting her weight on the step.

Arthur’s mouth parts slightly as he searches for the words to respond.

“Oh. Alright.”

She sighs and brings her hand to her forehead in an exasperated motion.

“Okay- what I’m trying to say but failing at, is that when those flowers start to wilt, you come and find me.”

He tilts his head down, so the brim of his hat hides the smile forcing its way onto his lips. He hadn’t been sure if she was just being polite before, if every word was mere courtesy. But now, part of him felt that maybe some of it was more than that. He could at least tell for certain that she liked him, and that was enough.

“I’ll do that, miss. You take care of yourself, now.”

She then waves him goodbye before heading back inside.

The sun has risen high above his head by the time he returns to camp. Everything seems to be just as he left it a few days ago. Dutch is sitting outside his tent with a book in his hands, a finger pensively to his lips. Some men are sharpening their weapons or cleaning their guns and talking to one another while they work. Over by the campfire, Micah gestures wildly to Bill and Javier, who sit on the log by his feet.

“If we leave at dusk, they should be sittin’ pretty at the station a while before leaving for town. So once things get movin’, I say Javier handles the lockbox, I’ll deal with Walton and his lady wife, and Bill, you hang back in case anyone else shows up.”

Javier looks up from polishing his pistol, “You don’t think Walton’s going to have any extra protection? He’s carrying a lot of goods, it’d be stupid for him not to.”

“Well, that’s what Bill’s for. Ain’t that right, Bill?”

Bill nods his head with a serious expression. “Damn right.”

As Arthur listens to this conversation, it’s as if he can see a dark thread spinning and tangling itself into a knot. A knot on top of a knot, on top of another. Soon enough, the thread will become one giant, twisted mess so tightly entwined it’ll be nearly impossible to unravel. The way things are headed, this seems like the only plausible ending for his people. But before that happens, the Pinkertons will likely find them again, and they’ll be packing their things again, only prolonging this mess of things a little bit longer, letting it become bigger than it ever needed to be. People will keep dying for nothing like they always have, and maybe he’ll be one of them, an unfortunate tally added to their death toll, necessary for the bigger picture.

The young woman had the right of it. Her words still echo in his head even now.

Perennials live all through the years, but only when they’re planted. Only when they’re planted.

The world won’t open its arms to drifters, even with a pistol pressed to its head. It’s past time they grow some roots, start living like people, and stop living like wild animals backed into a corner. Sure, there’s no glory in honest work but there sure as hell isn’t any in dying. Arthur had given this idea some thought before. He wouldn’t mind settling, living a simple life working odd jobs, or even finding work on a ranch somewhere. A peaceful life, a predictable one; it sounded just fine in his head.

He passes by Mary Beth and Tilly, scrubbing clothes on a washboard and laughing. Tilly looks up from her busy hands and waves at him.

“Hey, Arthur!”

“Hey there, Miss Jackson,” he says with a friendly nod.

He finds his tent and sets the bundle of flowers down on the cot before reaching into his satchel.

“Are those flowers, Arthur Morgan?”

He jumps as Tilly’s voice is suddenly right behind him.

“What the hell! Don’t sneak up on me like that, girl,” he says, turning to face her and Mary Beth standing just outside his tent.

“My goodness, they are!” Mary Beth says, her hand flying to her mouth. “Where did you find those?”

“A lady,” he responds, biting his cheek to force away a smile he doesn't want them to see. He doesn't want to be stuck rattling off every detail to the excitement-starved women.

“Like, you purchased them from a lady?” Mary Beth leans forward and raises her eyebrows.

“They were… given to me,” he reluctantly admits as he places the stems inside a gin bottle on the table. He moves a few of them around so they look nice.

“Don’t tell us they’re from Mary, Arthur.” Tilly's voice goes low with disappointment, no longer seeming excited.

He grimaces at the thought. “No! No, they’re not from Mary. I met a woman earlier today, and she gave them to me, that’s all.”

The two women quickly glance at each other and share an enthusiastic look.

“Arthur Morgan, you’re in love!” Mary Beth nearly squeals.

He scoffs loudly, “I am not in love. I hardly know the woman!”

“Well, she’s surely in love then. What kind of person just gives someone flowers if they ain’t sweet on’em?” Tilly says matter-of-factly.

“Exactly! So when are you gonna see her again?” Mary Beth asks.

“I don’t know,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. He should’ve known this conversation would happen. He should’ve sucked up his pride and said he purchased the flowers for himself to have avoided it entirely. “She told me to come back when they start to die, so whenever that is, I guess.”

Mary Beth hums and looks past him at the flowers in their makeshift vase.

“Hmm… well, they look a little limp if you ask me. Dare I say… dead even? What do ya think, Tilly?”

Tilly nods her head dismally, but even she can’t hide her smile, “Yeah, look at ‘em. They’re all sad-lookin’. Seems like you’ll need to head over first thing in the morning. Just to be sure.”

He shakes his head and laughs, “Alright, out. Both of ya. I can’t take it no more.”

He takes both women by their shoulders and guides them away from his tent despite their protests.

“We just want you to be happy, Arthur! Is that so bad?” Tilly cries out.

“I know, I know. Thank you, ladies. But I’m happiest when people ain't meddlin’ in my private business. Now go on.”

“This ain’t the end of it, Arthur!” Mary Beth calls out as they both walk away. They start talking animatedly as they return to work and keep throwing glances that he can only shake his head at.

Later that night, Arthur sits alone at one of the tables, eating his stew and staring off into the water. Most everyone else is off doing their own things, evening chores, and such. He's in the middle of bringing the bowl to his lips to get the last bit of broth when Mary Beth sits down beside him.

She keeps her word, not letting him hear the end of her numerous questions. Some of them he entertains, like when she asks what the garden looked like, and if she can see his drawing to get a better idea. He can practically see the story forming behind her eyes.

"What's she look like?" She asks, leaning against her hand on the table. "I'm picturing a sort of Isabelle Standish type in my head."

"Ah, come on now. You can't ask those sorts of things."

"Oh, Arthur! Please! This is the most exciting thing I've heard in so long. Just give me something to work with!" She gives him a pleading look, to which he dramatically rolls his eyes at.

"Alright. Well, she gives them girls on cigarette cards a run for their money, I'll tell you that."

She giggles, and asks him, "So when are you gonna see her again?"

He shrugs his shoulders, "I don't know yet."

“You don’t want to keep her waiting too long,” she says, in warning.

“Nah, I think she’ll be plenty busy without me. I’ll give it a few days.”

“A few days? But what if tomorrow another man comes by and sweeps her off her feet? What if she gives him flowers and forgets all about you because you took too long?” Her voice gets higher as she spitfires these potential events.

“Mary Beth. If I visit her tomorrow, I’ll look like an idiot.” His face scrunches up, cringing at the thought. "And if that's really what happens then I can't do nothin' about that."

“Well, if I were her, I’d find it romantic,” she says and pats his hand on the table.

“Yeah, well, you find a lotta odd things romantic,” he chuckles, thinking back on the strange things in her novellas that have made her kick her feet.

For a second, it looks like she can’t tell if she should be offended. But then she joins him in laughter, giggling at herself.

“You might be right about that!”

Following his talk with Mary Beth, he retreats to his tent and slumps in his cot. He closes his eyes and turns to face the side of the wagon, but sleep doesn't come easy. The cot creaks beneath him as he shifts, trying to get comfortable. He groans and rolls over, opening his eyes to stare into the darkness. Against the dark canvas of his tent, he can make out the silhouette of the cliff maids standing tall in their bottle. He traces the outline of their leaves and thinks back to the woman and her garden, the tranquility of her home, and the opposing restlessness of his heart whenever she looked at him. Before he’s ushered into unconsciousness, a strange thought enters his head that he can only explain away as the delirium of drowsiness. It was that in the distant future, he could see himself settling down, working odd jobs, or finding work on a ranch, sure. But maybe, the preposterous idea of taking care of flowers wasn't so bad neither.

#red dead redemption 2 #red dead redemption 2 x reader #rdr2 #rdr2 fic #rdr2 x reader #arthur morgan #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x female reader #im so down bad for this man #sigh #that just means more fics for yall #also i made the flower text break!#ik its hard to tell but i did use a cliff maid as reference for the flower

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nightcolorz · 23 days

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Hiii. I love your acc and the analyses you've made of TVC characters; reading your posts has expanded and helped me articulate the ideas I already had. Anne Rice as an author was very revealing, I mean, by reading her books and analyzing the characters and their dynamics, you get a lot of information about her as a person. That's very interesting. I think all authors put a bit of themselves into their works, but with Anne Rice it feels more personal, maybe because there are quite a few books following the same characters. What do you think?

omg thank you so much 🥹❤️ the makes me so happy. I agree wholeheartedly with ur take on Anne rice. The books are suuuper personal, sometimes to the point where I almost feel like I shouldn’t have access to them 😭 like I’m reading someone’s weird diary. I think this was because her writing functioned as her only outlet. like iwtv was so visceral and sad bcus it was such a raw unfiltered expression of her grief, and the rest of the books all follow the same format (to varying degrees of quality lol).

When it comes to the characters, she was open about how every character is in some way representative of a part of her (especially Lestat and Louis). U can analyze for days how Louis and lestats evolutions r akin to witnessing evolutions of Anne rices mental health, Louis her former self insert created during probably the darkest time in her life later becoming a representation of what she considers the worst parts of herself that she is ashamed of and being basically cut from the series, and Lestat going from an embodiment of her fraught relationship with her husband in iwtv to in tvl a power fantasy who she wishes she was like to at the same time a mouth piece for her existential dread and loneliness and anxieties

The way that lestats religious crisis and manic breakdown from Memnoch to blood canticle aligns perfectly with Anne rice’s own religious crisis and sudden shift in her work is so crazy to me😭 and then there’s Anne rice literally using Lestat as a blatant mouth piece to scream at the audience in the iconic blood canticle opening monologue of course, how could we forget. A lot of the time the personal nature of these books makes the technical quality of them worse, but even still it is one of the major reasons why I love them so much. Part of it is that reading something so personal and unfiltered, where u get the impression that the author wasn’t thinking at all about how it would come off to people while writing it, makes it feel almost more real to me? Or more authentic? Reading tvc sometimes makes me feel like I’m reading actual history or personal accounts from real people. And the bad writing and offensiveness and heaps of bullshit and the pages of unrelated tangents adds to this in a way 😭. Like yeah this is exactly what reading a biography by a hundreds of years old vampire would be like lmao.

I love interpreting themes in these books so much because I often feel like Anne rice didn’t place them there on purpose. She had a very “I’ll just write whatever is in my mind and the themes will happen on there own” approach, and they did! and for someone like me analyzing it is super rewarding. Figuring stuff out that the author wasn’t even aware of, basically. Tvc are rich with meaning in a way that only these books are, and the personal nature and the lack of thought into meaning or themes is I think majorly responsible. For me when it comes to fiction, I like to do the work. And Anne rice throwing her personal as hell freak sex vampire yaoi with the most agonizing portrayals of trauma and mental illness ever no editing no forethought out into the world definitely gives me room to do the work 😭

Also, I tend to really only enjoy art if I feel like it is a messy reflection of the creator. I’m not sure why but I can never really get into something unless I can see some of the creators flaws or baggage reflected in the work 😭 I feel like art isn’t rlly art to me if I don’t feel like a know the person who made it a little too well after seeing it. There’s something really special about finding out the worst parts of someone in a book, honestly. I love reading these and being like there is so much wrong with this woman and I know way too much about it 😭 she’s horrible but I’ve lived in her mind and I don’t wanna leave.

I admire in a way Anne rices unhinged abandon with how blatantly vent-like and unfiltered her books were (literally unedited 😭). She got extremely lucky making a career from it, typing out all her insane thoughts and feelings into gay vampires and becoming rich and famous. A girl can only dream for that life, I do that shit for free on a03. I don’t think I’ve ever encountered anything published that has the same energy as tvc in this way. The only thing that comes close would be like, a quotev fan fiction I read for laughs written by a ten year old in 2010 who is unintentionally revealing way too much to me about their semi concerning home life 😭. It’s wonderful! Thank u Anne rice for ur beautiful scary lack of shame u have given me so many things to write about on tumblr

#Thank u sm for the ask u r so sweet I’m so happy u like my blog sm #I’m sorry this response is a little jumbled I hope it was interesting to u #tvc #the vampire chronicles #vampire chronicles #vc #iwtv #interview with the vampire #Anne rice

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syoish · 15 days

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[Eren Jaeger x Reader]

A highly self indulgent commission for my fic Ten Seconds! The art is by itsrigel on Instagram, inspired by chapter 5 of the fic❤️❤️❤️

I'm going to be using this as the cover art for the fic bind I'm working on for the fic 🥰

Chapter 5 excerpt:

((CW: conversation regarding past sexual abuse))

You’ve never been in Eren’s room before.

Which is strange, considering that he’s probably your best friend at the moment.

But you hadn’t been in there until now.

Your eyes move around the room, taking everything in. Like the rest of the house, it’s clean, but there are tiny bits of it that remind you Eren’s still a glorified teenager. His laundry basket is overflowing. There are weights in the corner. Ribbons for his basketball playing days hanging on the wall. The inside of his closet is a mess.

It smells like him.

And that’s the first time you realize that you know what Eren smells like.

That he has a smell.

You really can’t describe it other than that it’s “Eren”. And it’s all around you.

He has a queen size bed with two memory foam inserts. You figure that makes sense and try not to think too hard about why it makes sense. How it makes sense. What makes it make sense.

And in trying hard not to think about it, suddenly it’s all you can think about.

You wonder who the last person he had in here was. Did they have fun? Did they stay the night? Did they know what Eren smelled like?

They probably did.

You’re normally close enough to someone to know what they smell like when they’re fucking you.

You realize you haven’t stopped staring at the bed when Eren suddenly comes up behind you, walks past you, and takes a seat.

Your eyes meet.

Does he often sit on the edge of his bed and wait for someone to join him?

You assume he does.

Maybe he notices your apprehension. “We can talk in the living room, if you want.” He offers. But you shake your head. Something about the living room feels too exposed for what you want to tell him. To… familiar. You don’t want familiar right now. For some reason.

Finally, you join him on the bed.

You notice that your knees are almost touching, so you put a little more space between the two of you.

You don’t know how long the silence lasts, all you know is when you finally break it, your voice wavers: “I um… I can’t sleep in the same bed as someone else anymore.” You begin, unprompted.

“Do you want me to-”

“No, it’s fine.”

You elaborate: “We’re sitting so… sitting is okay.”

But you can’t look at him. You look at your lap instead.

“At night he used to- I-… I’d wake up and he’d be… he’d be touching me. Touching me or fully-… fully…” You can’t finish the sentence. You hope he knows what you mean. “I used to tell him to stop. Either… when he was doing it or the morning after. If I told him to stop at night, he’d tell me to go back to sleep. That it was no big deal. If I told him when we woke up, he’d… he’d say he didn’t remember doing it. That he—he couldn’t control what he did in his sleep, so it wasn’t his fault. Eventually I stopped asking him to stop. It was easier to just let it happen.”

“That’s… fucked up.”

“Yeah.” You reply through a dry, pathetic, laugh. “It was, I guess.” You’re silent for a while, unsure how else to continue. Unsure what else to say because Eren’s right, it was fucked up. You hate how fucked up it was. How wrong it was. Except…

Except…

You take a quick breath and then suddenly all you can do is talk:

“Except when it was happening, I didn’t know it was fucked up. I mean, maybe a small part of me did, but for the most part I thought it was just-… that I shouldn’t make a big deal out of it. I thought if I did that it would be some sort of… betrayal. That if I said I didn’t like it when he fucked me, that I never told him he could; I would be labeling him as something he wasn’t. If I told someone about it, they’d be mad. They’d be mad at him for being someone like that. I’d be turning everyone against him and that would make me even worse than him… I’d—I’d ruin his life.”

You move your toes together out of a sudden desire to move. To feel Eren’s carpet against the bottom of your feet and make sure that this was reality. That this was where you were.

“By the time I got that far I was just… stuck, I guess. It wasn’t just when we were asleep now. It was always. He’d say he wanted sex, and I was his girlfriend so… so we’d have sex. I never wanted it though, but if I just let it happen then it would be over, and he wouldn’t be mad. I could go back to doing what I was doing before. I just needed to give him like—like half an hour. Maybe an hour. Then he’d leave me alone.”

Your hands clench into fists against your thighs.

“I tried to tell him no a few times. Just flat-out no. I remember one time I said, ‘I don’t want to do this, so if you want to have sex, you’ll have to rape me’. I told him that and I have no idea how, but we still ended up having sex. I told him it would be rape, and I ended up doing it anyway. And even after that I— that was—it happened three years before I left him. Three years and I told myself it wasn’t- that he hadn’t—He was my boyfriend so it didn’t count. I was over reacting and it didn’t count.”

Your vision blurs. Your press your palms into your eyes because you’re not going to cry about this again. You’re tired of crying about this. Of not being able to move past it.

Of being fucking broken.

“The day I left. He told me- He said… He said I wasn’t brave enough to leave him. He said that even if I walked out, it was just an act and I’d be back because I—because I’m not brave."

Those were his words.

His exact words.

‘This is just an act, you’re not brave.’

Fuck.

Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck.

“B-But I did it. I left and I fucking—I missed him so much. Every second of every day, all I could do was miss him. I missed him and I thought about how selfish I was for leaving h-how I should just- just go back and every ten seconds I—I couldn’t even count ten seconds without missing him- Sometimes I think he’s right and that I’m just going to end up back-”

“Please don’t go back.”

Eren had never touched you without warning. You always had a feeling he knew how scared it made you. He could guess, probably. Even though you hadn’t explicitly told him what was wrong, maybe he could just tell.

Normally, a sudden touch would have scared you. But maybe right now you were too worked up about everything else to care.

Suddenly his arms are around you and your face is buried against his shoulder.

“Please don’t go back.” He tells you. “Please don’t ever go back. You can’t go back.” He says it over and over as you tremble in his arms. “You are brave.” He tells you. “You’re brave, and he’s a liar.” You weakly clutched his shirt, not wanting him to pull away.

He felt so safe.

After everything you’d done, were you even allowed to feel this safe?

You don’t think you are.

At least not with Eren.

But you allow yourself ten seconds.

1…

You feel the rise and fall of his chest.

2…

His pulse where your forehead rests in the crook of his neck.

3…

The way his soft shirt feels, tightly curled into your fingers.

4…

The comforting whirling of the fan in the corner.

5…

His memory foam inserts below you.

6…

His hair tickles your forehead.

7…

The way he smells.

8…

When had you started to recognize his smell?

9…

It was so safe.

10…

So safe and warm.

And then you let go.

Just ten seconds. You let yourself have him for ten seconds. Any longer than that and it would be too much.

“Hey.” Eren tells you as you meet his eyes. “Thanks for telling me, that was probably some real shit to relive.”

“Yeah.” You answer with a pathetic laugh.

He wipes your face with his sleeve, gross snot and all.

“I think maybe dating apps aren’t a good idea right now.” You joke.

Eren answers this with his own soft laugh. “Yeah. Maybe not yet.”

“I should probably go to therapy.”

He smiles at you. His eyes are so beautiful. “Might be a good idea.”

#eren x reader #eren jaeger x reader #aot x reader #attack on titan x reader #ten seconds

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papaver-decervicatus · 8 months

Text

July Showers, August Flowers

Angst, barely any comfort, AU Mouse?/Konig? mentions of child death, unplanned pregnancy, etc. More info below

So, a couple times I had mentioned how Mouse became sort of an OC to me, and for whatever reason, the angst was really hitting me last night so I whipped out this. Brief timeline/overview

Lucretia "Mouse" Jehnnings- US Marine Sniper Scout and Clandestine Insertions specialist gets partnered up with Julius "König" Doss, insertions specialist for the Austrian Special Forces in 2014. The two work well together, slow burn, they fall in love, you get the idea. In 2015, Mouse gets shot in the field and her comrade, the newly promoted Captain Price, tells Hans "Golem" Blaustein that Mouse died in combat (so she can assume an espionage role.) Hans relays this info to König, who abandons his plans of retirement and eventually works for KorTac under the assumption that Mouse is dead. König pulls a similar stunt and 'dies' legally to continue his work. Mouse is told that he is dead as well. They both live under the assumption that the other has died. In 2023, Mouse joins SpecGru under the insistence of Captain Price. She recognizes König in the field and this is the first meeting in years. They're like. Late 30s here, but they met at mid 20s.

Sorry for the long explanation! I promise it makes more sense in my head. Anyways, very self indulgent and has no bearing on C/M/D, but, functionally, Mouse and König are the same characters, just with identities explored.

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

She shuts the door behind her with a characteristic quietness, and she doesn’t so much as turn to the entryway as she redoes the locks behind her.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Mouse lies.

König knows it’s a lie. This is how Lucretia lies. With her eyes cast down, her lip bloody in her teeth, her elegant shoulders collapsing in on her small frame. All these years later she doesn’t look all that much different, perhaps it’s his own age talking but there’s something so effortlessly charming in her smile lines and crow's feet. The red light leaking down onto her in the dim room creates a shadowy contrast on her face. He can still count her freckles. She never got her nose corrected, it’s still slightly crooked. Her lip scar, the one he tasted when it was fresh, has healed itself into a satisfying silver sliver.

But for every similarity to his Maus, this Mouse carries a difference. Her hair is a little thinner, it’s certainly longer than he ever knew it to be. She has a much larger scar that strikes through her right, but still unharmed, eye. She has more ear piercings and tattoos littered about what little skin he’s had the privilege to see.

She’s dressed to the nines in her combat uniform, it’s unlike any he’d have known her in a near decade ago. It’s dark, it’s stylized, she’s littered it with little insignias of herself. A dagger symbol rests on her tac-vest guarding her heart. His own heart wonders what look her face would make if she were to see the dagger he got on his own sternum, a sullen memorial to a long-dead lover complete with edelweiss insignia and her favorite poppies.

This is Mouse. Not Maus. Not Lucretia. He tries to separate them in his mind.

He fails, he just wants the woman in front of him in his arms again, no matter if she’s different than how he knew her. She’s still Mouse the Sniper, she’s still the muse of every late-night memory that haunts him, still what he fights for, still what he wants.

“Price told me,” König warns. His body starts to shake. He doesn’t know what answer, if any, he wants.

“Yeah well. He told me you were dead.” Her wonderful, honey-brown eyes pierce daggers into his. In this light, she looks like some chthonic succubus, ready to steal his soul and spit his discarded body out, bloody, but still alive.

“Hans told me the same of you.” He says. What he means is I died when they told me as much. I haven’t been alive since I found out Lucretia Jehnnings died from a gunshot to the abdomen. Krueger had to peel me off the floor. I bought a ring for you. I was going to ask you to be Lucretia or Jenny Doss, it didn’t even matter if you took my last name as long as you were mine. I haven’t felt that way since you died, hell I haven’t been a person since you left, just this monster. I want to kill Hans and put his body at your feet. He lied to me, you’re alive but I’ll never forgive myself for our time apart.

She shudders and unwraps her make-shift gause face mask from her hands and re-wraps it in an idly attempt at comfort. He remembers when she used to do the same with her bandana. So much is different, but nothing’s really changed, now has it?

“How did he tell you I went?” She asks, eyes still trained on their target. He swallows the bile rising in his throat. She is breaking apart at the seams, but he will not let her think he is too fragile to hold her together. “Abdomen. Gunshot.” He clips out, short and breathless. A humorless laugh escapes her lips in return.

“Someone died from that all right,” she says, through tears and hiccuping laughter. She slips her sniper’s cowl off her shoulder, exposing her right forearm. She steps closer to him and, just like all those years ago, he lets her approach him, all too weary to scare such a lovely prey animal off.

She exposes the arm to him. Between the scarring, intentional and otherwise, pure black flowers curl in between themselves. Edelweiss, poppies, morning glories, forget-me-nots, and baby’s breath tangle around a name and date. Augusta.

When he looks into her now overflowing eyes for permission, he slips his hood off when she nods yes. He expects confusion, ire, resentment, disgust, and a million other things to cross her face when she sees him again, the monster that he’s been without her.

Instead, she silently cries harder and shudders when he presses a few sad kisses to the tattoo. He breathes in her smell and soaks in her warmth as if to remind himself that she really is here and this isn’t just his deepest fantasy played out in the night again. She still smells like cinnamon and mint. She’s still warm to the touch.

“Would you have told me if you knew I was alive?” Anger rises in his stomach, at Price, at Hans, at the US and Austrian governments for perpetrating such a lie, but not at her, never at her. He pushes it down, resolved to know that he will make all the conspirators pay in due time. Right now, he focuses on the bittersweet joy of having his own life back in arm’s reach.

“No, I-” she shivers and digs her nails into her arm so fiercely he worries she will draw blood. “I couldn’t face you.” She backs away from him and he lets her retreat. It pains him to lose contact but he knows chasing her will only compound the hurt.

Still, his mind reels in confusion. What reason could she possibly give to have him be upset? He wants to twine her in his arms somewhere far away, to never let her go, to shield her from every future injustice dished out by a world that has already battered her so badly.

“Why?”

“Because I failed, Julius!” She shouts, body shaking and voice trembling. “First I failed as a soldier, I put myself into some stupid fucking situation and got shot. Then I failed as a woman because I didn’t even recognize- who wouldn’t fucking know? How could any woman miss that?” Her loud voice dips into quiet pain and she sinks to her knees in front of him. “And lastly, I failed you.” He follows her onto the floor and sits in front of her, listening to her line of reasoning, no matter how badly he wants to shout at her about how wrong she is. “Lucre-” “No, Julius, I did. I failed you, I thought, this is awful, but I thought-” She takes in a shuddering breath and her words find a steadier cadence. “I thought to myself, ‘at least Julius is dead. At least I don’t have to tell him how badly I fucked up. At least it’s all my fault, at least they’re alr-” she chokes and takes a moment to collect herself. “At least, you could hold her when I couldn’t. At least you could take care of her when I clearly couldn’t and didn’t deserve to.”

He cannot hold himself back anymore and he lunges at her to grab her in his arms. She knocks over and he pins both her hands above her head and steadies her gaze to his with his other hand guiding her chin. “Don’t ever say that again!” He shouts, some new angry passion thrashing at his ribs to be let out into the world. “You did not fail, I am the only failure here. If I had known, I never would have let you suffer alone!” He hisses. She closes her eyes and more tears squeeze onto her cheeks. “But you didn’t know-” “And neither did you!” His chest heaves and his heavy heart hits the floor and shatters when she opens her eyes back to his. Now it’s his turn to fall apart, he lets her wrists go and he lays down on his side, maneuvering her body to lay with him the same way.

She still fits perfectly in his arms after all this time.

He cradles the back of her head into the juncture of his heart and jaw. One of her hands finds his cheek and strokes it. “I am sorry,” he prays into the cold room. She nuzzles closer to him and whispers it back.

Once her trembling stutters to a stop, she unwinds herself ever-so-slightly from his grip and traces his sightline to the exposed tattoo.

“I’m sorry, I had no clue what you would have wanted. It was August 1st and I thought, well Julius Caesar, Caesar Augustus, and…” She trails off and her gaze falls to somewhere on the floor. He strokes her cheek as he turns her eyes back to his.

“Augusta Doss is a perfect name.” He whispers, arms embracing her closer to him yet again.

“She was perfect,” Mouse sobs into his chest, shaking like a boat battered by a summer storm.

He never liked Price and was always at least a little weary of Hans. At this moment, König can think of only one thing he wants more than to rip them apart with his bare hands for what their lies have kept him from and done to his love, and it's to keep holding her until she stops crying.

“Just like her mother,” König responds, holding her steady like a rock holds steady in the sea.

#char: julius doss #mouse/konig #char: lucretia jehnnings #anyways #yeah this is so fucking sad I am already sorry for writing it :)

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heyclickadee · 6 months

Text

Yeah, okay, here goes:

I think some fandom infighting would be less toxic if we a really understood that all of us are here for different reasons.

And I don’t just mean that different kinds of stories are going to be helpful for some and hurtful for others and vis-a-versa, or that different people are going to tell different stories, you know, differently, and that should do our best to let people enjoy things. I mean that, at the end of the day, there’s a spectrum of the parts of fandom people enjoy.

For example, I have a sibling who’s in some fandoms strictly for the transformative aspect of fandom. Canon is more like a jumping off point and, to some extent, an afterthought. Their primary interaction with whatever a fandom is centered on might be fanfiction and other fan works. The characters and world they interact with in those fandoms are often completely unrecognizable from canon. The goal is often to create characters—self-inserts or otherwise—to exist in completely new stories that are (vaguely) informed by canon, but not beholden to it in any way. Most everyone in that fandom has a self-insert OC or a Y/N. The whole point is taking something you like, or wanted to like, and shaping it to fit you better. That’s fandom for them. And that’s great!

And then there’s me, who’s almost the exact opposite. Canon is more of a focal point. I love seeing fanfiction and fanworks that completely veer away from canon events and characterization, I appreciate them, but I don’t like making them myself. I love to write, but I have a hard time writing fanfiction, I couldn’t write a fic-it-fix to save my life (no, not even in the highly unlikely hypothetical scenario where it turns out a lot of us are wrong and Tech is dead for real). The closest I get to fanfiction are either short little half analysis/half story blurb posts, or doodley fanart that’s either a theory for something I think could happen in the future in disguise, or silly drawings about scarves. I compartmentalize fanon, my headcanons, and actual canon a lot. And I love seeing people’s OC’s, including the self-insert ones, but I dont want to make one myself. I don’t want to be in the story, because it isn’t about me; one of the things I love most about interacting with fiction I didn’t write is that it helps me get outside my own head and see things from a different point of view. I write a lot of metas and theories, but my favorite thing is being able to look a story that’s completely told and done, and getting to tease it apart. And that’s also okay.

Now, the two points I’m using as examples aren’t really opposites; there’s a ton (A TON) of very good character analysis and interpretation in fanfiction, and there’s often (maybe even usually) transformative aspect to analysis/intepretation. And I’m betting that most people in fandom fall somewhere in the middle of the range between transformative and interpretive when it comes to what they like about fandom. A lot of people write great fanfiction and equally great meta posts, and honestly, I think being good at the one makes you better than the other. But they are different approaches to enjoying and interacting with fiction, and I think at least a little of the friction in fandom can come from not recognizing that we all often have different approaches to this fandom thing.

Edit: I need to also mention that when it comes to interpretation and analysis, there’s a lot of wiggle room for contradictory conclusions that are all equally valid. Do I think that interpretive conclusions not supported at all by the text exist? Oh boy howdy, yes. But I also think there’s a lot of space before you get there, and a lot of ways for even one person to interpret the same thing, let alone an entire fandom.

Edit 02; I should probably also acknowledge that, as a lifelong Darkwing Duck fan, I also really enjoy shows or even books where ‘canon’ is more like a loose set of guidelines or a basis premise and the whole idea of the show is to do wacky things with that premise. I’m way more likely to get involved in the transformative side of things when this is the case.

#does this make sense?#I don’t know this has been on my mind lately

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ulabewriting · 9 days

Text

Harryo Duncan.

he/him.

TW : mention of bullying, (cuteness overload)! ! !

• "Ah, welcome back ! I was actually thinking about you ! ... Not like– wait, not like that– I was– like, I found a book you might like so, uh–"

• hides behind the shelves when people he doesn't know enter the library.

• the biggest studio ghibli fan. owns tons of goodies.

• always wearing dr. martens because he thinks it makes him look cool :) (still a cutie patootie)

• for the longest time, you thought his name was "Duncan" because that's what's on his little library card. When you two get close, he tells you his actual name— he plays nervously with the fabric of his shirt, a blushing mess when he whispers : ".....Harryo. My, uh... You can call me Harryo. I– I'd like it if you called me by my name. Please."

• gets along with Angela, the actual official librarian, his supervisor. They're very close. (he still calls her Mrs. Pierce, though.)

• addicted to cinnamon rolls. One day, you brought him some to thank him for all the help he gives you and he pretty much melted on the spot. You swear you saw him stare at the baked goods with stars in his eyes and honestly, he looked at you the same way the whole day too–

• talented violinist. He's very shy (no shit) about it though; you only learn about this when he invites you to his place for the first time. You see a violin in a corner of his room and suddenly, he's blushing again, rubbing his neck awkwardly and telling you about the numerous competitions he won when he was younger. He started playing when he was 9.

• 6'4 and all limbs, basically. You started calling him "slenderman" at some point and it always makes him grin like an idiot. <3

• despite being so tall, he feels very petite somehow? He's just so delicate and sweet, he's just– Must protect at all costs! ! !

• his body is always cold, especially his hands, no matter the weather and season. He gets a bit worried when you hold his hand for this reason; what if it's uncomfortable for you? what if HE makes you cold? When you hold his hand in yours though, he gets all flustered and cute.

• "Would you mind staying like that a little longer ? I like your warmth... a lot."

• so soft-spoken, it's insane.

• reads whenever he's free. He likes any kind of book but, his favorites will always be love stories and poetry.

• very studious. He was a straight A student.

• takes medication for his (social) anxiety. Getting this place as an intern and interacting with people all day... it's a big deal. Even though he doesn't have the best self-esteem, he knows he's doing good. doing better.

• used to be bullied in middle school. (hahaha awkward introverts are so ridiculous (ew))

• cries very easily when he's happy. Absolutely stoic when he's sad, upset.

• has a terrible handwriting, but still leaves you cute little notes here and there. (like "i think you'll like this one!" on a piece of paper glued to the book he slides to you in silence or "see you later, pretty" on your mirror after he spent the night at your place and left early in the morning to go to work.)

• gets distracted pretty easily.

• "Sorry... uh... sorry, you were saying ? I just– I was looking at your eyes and like, they're really like this one semi-precious stone. You know, the beautiful one, how's it called–"

• a big fan of vinyls. Has a huge collection at his place. He regularly goes to thrift stores to buy old, rare ones.

• One day, you say you want to accompany him and he just. he just loses his cool. suddenly, he doesn't know how to act anymore, and he's blushing so much, and his heart his racing, and he bites on his bottom lip and–

• hides his flustered face in his palms when you call him cute. ;)

• “I’ll be the love interest of your romance for as long as you’ll let me be. I wouldn’t know how to exist outside of your book anymore… I don’t want to.”

• very timid and nervous about physical touch but, once it's inserted in your relationship, he's sooooo down for it. He's definitely a hugger. always wants to hold hands too though he's too shy to say it; you often catch him staring at your palms.

• his glasses slide on his nose all the time, and it's absolutely adorable.

• talks with his hands.

• favorite color : beige. His eyes get so soft whenever you wear this color; he looks at you like you're the most comforting thing he's ever seen... because you are.

• very humble about it, but is an amazing cook! He likes to feed you to show his love. He'll prepare you some hot tea in your favorite mug, a heart-shaped pizza for dinner, pack your lunch before you guys go out for the day.

• kind of awkward with pda. Like he won't french kiss you in public, but if you ever manage to steal a little kiss before you part ways in front of the library, his skin will go crimson and he'll whisper a high-pitched "love you, bye", then run to hide in the nearest aisle.

• likes to be the little spoon.

• whimpers and whines. like, a lot.

• super super close to his mom. He calls her every day! She's his bestie. He doesn't talk to his dad; he hasn't been around since he was born.

• talks about you ALL THE TIME when you're not around. His mom and Mrs. Pierce know everything about you before they even meet you.

• could sleep anywhere. Some stairs, a public bench, the floor, against a shelf... Sometimes, he starts falling asleep, his head lowering, then he suddenly snaps his eyes back open. He looks left and right, embarrassed as hell, praying that nobody saw him.

• hates horror movies. He hates them.

• Yep, you guessed it, he's... a scaredy-cat.

• the only person you know who actually wears a tie every day.

• too handsome for his own good. There are always some people admiring and whispering about him and he has absolutely NO CLUE.

• doesn't like talking to people, really... you're the only exception. He loves talking to you.

• likes to drink, but very much a lightweight.

• becomes extroverted when he's drunk lmao.

• has dimples. They're so powerful– they go crazy when he's chewing, almost like flashing lights.

• love language? making playlists. (quality time - just sitting in silence with you honestly; he’ll be so happy he won’t stop smiling to himself. gift giving - but it’s like…. books, cute rocks he found on his way to work, flowers, weird little drawings, pretty sea shells. . .)

• probably the most awkward guy you'll ever meet, but he's twice as charming.

• "Hey, I hope our book never knows an end. I want to write sweet nothings with you forever."

#oc headcanons #oc hcs #oc stuff #oc x reader #male oc #male oc x reader #headcanon #oc #gn reader #my ocs <3 #my oc stuff #my ocs #x reader #harryo duncan

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ciaossu-imagines · 2 months

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hiii! nix here! i saw that you opened your ask box, but i don’t have any requests just yet, so i thought i’d just chat with you instead. i did mention before how your match-up made me consider self-shipping (and you’re so great at promoting it, too). since you are sho-chan and i’s biggest shipper so far, i’ve decided to share some of the self-shipping headcanons i’ve come up with over time, just to supplement the headcanons you did for me. feel free to ignore this if you find this tedious, but here they are:

i’m actually a night owl, so there might have been some misinterpretations of a piece of information i previously gave you (which is totally fine!). whenever i go out with my friends at night, i tend to head home early, but then i spend the rest of the night lying in bed, glued to my phone, until it’s 3 or 4 a.m.—or until the sun starts to rise. like shoichi, i can get myself up early if i have to, so i’m used to getting only 2 to 4 hours of sleep whenever i have morning classes. not gonna lie, i’m a little scared that it will eventually take a toll on my body. shoichi’s also concerned about that, but i suppose he doesn’t have much room to comment since he’s also a night person himself 🤣 we’re both the same in a way that we find joy in the peacefulness of doing our own things while everyone else in the world is asleep.

my mom can basically whip up anything in the kitchen, and i wouldn’t trade her homemade dishes for any restaurant food. i could see her letting shoichi try most of her culinary creations, and she’d always invite him to any of our family occasions where her food was served. on the other hand, my dad is also a huge guitar enthusiast, so i can envision him and shoichi finding common ground and enjoying conversations, despite being quite different in many other aspects.

shoichi doesn’t really hang out with my two best friends. sure, they do get along well, and my friends have a high regard for him—after all, they know sho-chan fits my ideal type and support him as my boyfriend. however, whenever i’m with them, shoichi understands that i need my time with my girls. he wouldn’t be bothering me at all or demanding my attention, but i still make sure to let him know where i’d be and what i’d be up to with my friends so that he wouldn’t get worried.

i’m quite a picky eater (i don’t know why i forgot to mention that), so whenever sho-chan and i go out to eat, i’ll mostly end up passing the stuff i don’t like (e.g., pickles, tomatoes, eggs) from my food to his plate, and i think that’s something he’s gonna put up with for the rest of his life. sorry, sho-chan.

whenever i’m being introduced to a new board game, i struggle to pay attention during the instructions part (and those board games that involve using strategy? god, i’m so dumb at them!). you mentioned sho-chan being into dungeons & dragons, but i had no idea about the game itself, so when i looked it up on the internet and saw some pictures, i immediately thought, “oh my god, that looks complicated.” 🤣 but for shoichi, i’ll definitely give it a try. i hope he doesn’t mind me looking at him with bedroom eyes while he’s explaining the rules because he’s just so nerdy and enthusiastic about it that i find it cute 🙈

i tend to suffer from hyperacidity, which is triggered when i skip meals or indulge too much in carbonated drinks. it’s quite a hassle, but i never seem to learn my lesson. i could be stubborn as hell, so shoichi sometimes scolds me if he catches me holding my second can of cola. that’s also the reason why he brings travel-size tums in his bag whenever he’s with me because he knows it’s my lifeline sdfhjksdafk

my college course sometimes requires us to perform return demonstrations for specific medical procedures—for example, intramuscular injections, inserting intravenous lines, and such—and shoichi lets me practice on him for those because my brothers flat-out refused (those poor things chose to miss out on the opportunity of becoming my lab rats ☹️). sho-chan does his best to play the role of a patient, even though he’s so awkward and tense, and we often end up stealing kisses from each other in the middle of it. but i’m truly grateful to him. one day, if things go well for me, he’ll be one of the reasons i make it through this hell of a degree (especially since i’ll be graduating next year, and nothing could make me happier).

of course, it goes without saying i’ll do my best to support him with his studies if he requires my help, even if my knowledge is mostly limited to general or medical-related topics rather than those specific to his courses.

i can see sho-chan being roped into my hobbies. occasionally, in the dead of night, i have this thing of trying on some not-so-modest dresses from my closet that i’d probably never wear out and playing around with makeup just to snap a few photos before wiping it all off. shoichi, albeit reluctantly, becomes my makeup practice dummy (he's only cooperative when i promise not to share his photos with akiko). i’m a woman of my word, of course 😉

i actually got my driver’s license last month, so i’m looking forward to having road trips with him as we sing our hearts out to our favorite songs, and then maybe we could hit the beach or go on a camping trip. i see it as a brief escape from our academic obligations for even just a couple of days.

i’m sorry that it’s long, and thanks for taking the time to read it 🧸🧁⭐️

Yay! Hey Nix! It’s always such a treat to see you in the ask box and thank you for stopping by to chat with me 😊 It makes me really happy and I’m so glad that you’ve been having fun with the self-shipping. It’s really flattering that you think I’m great at promoting it too; I really do try hard to promote anything considered too ‘cringe’ in fandom, since I really feel very passionate about fandom being a safe place where you can be happy doing whatever, without having to worry about whether you’re being ‘cool’ enough to fit into the fandom spaces or if you’ll be teased for this or that. ‘Cringe’ is dead to me, as is gatekeeping or anything else that actively keeps people from fully enjoying something that is meant to be relaxing and fun for everyone. I definitely was so happy to read these to because I am for sure such a fan of this ship! I love all of my reader’s ship, but you and Sho-chan? Just perfect together! These weren’t tedious at all!

I love the idea of you and Shoichi both being night hours and him being worried about you not sleeping enough, but not being able to say anything because like…he’s the same. I can see late night texts to each other definitely being a thing between the two of you, haha, though Mama Bear on this side encourages both of you to get some sleep! Sleep is essential (this is definitely a do as I say, not as I do, but my Zopiclone got taken away because it interferes with another of my pills and that was the only surefire thing that helped my insomnia) and you both deserve it! Though I definitely relate to feeling at peace because the rest of the world is off and sleeping so everything’s quiet and lovely and you get to feel like you’re the only one in the world for a little bit so like, that sentence very much resonated with me.

Your mom is amazing to me, honestly! So much kudos to her because I am not the best chef and I think Shoichi would love getting all that homecooked food. While he loves his mom, cooking was never her real strong suit, so your mom might actually succeed in fattening up a bit. Despite you saying they’re really different in a lot of aspects, I can definitely see him and your dad bonding over guitars and music and general and Shoichi makes friends with your dad, for sure! He might actually really look forward to visiting your home (of course because he loves you and every chance to spend time with you is precious to him) but also just to talk to and chill with your dad! I also fully agree that Sho gives you all the space you need to hang out with your friends and I can see him hanging out with the friends that you’re not really super-close to and you being the same with him. He really would appreciate the fact that you even think to let him know where you are and what you’re up to though, just so he doesn’t worry about you.

Sho would actually be super into the fact that you try so hard to learn D&D for him but he’s quick to realize that you have trouble with the really complicated rules of the game, so I think he convinces the group he plays with (him, Spanner, Gokudera, Byakuran, Chikusa, Haru, Longchamp, Fran, Reborn, and sometimes Dino) to run a one-night more simple, one page tabletop rpg campaign that will be a lot easier for you. I’m thinking something like Himbo Treasure Hunt or something silly and fun like that. (Also, yeah, D&D can definitely be complicated, especially depending on how strict your DM is about all the rules and such…the only game I’ve met that was worse in terms of all the rules you have to learn and all the things you have to keep track of was Magic: The Gathering).

Sho not only carries travel-sized Tums with him everywhere, but when your hyperacidity acts up really bad, I think he eventually starts sharing his stomach pills with you because I definitely believe that boy has stomach pills and definitely has a bleeding ulcer by the time Choice rolls around in the future arc. Note because I work in pharmaceuticals and feel it must be said– please don’t share your prescriptions with people. He’s also more than happy to eat all the food you don’t like for you, especially the eggs. (Side note but you don’t know how happy it made me to learn someone else out there hates eggs too because I get treated like a freak for hating them.) Him being treated as your patient for your demonstrations…that he had to get used to at first but he’s so happy to be able to do something to support you and he’s getting paid in kisses, so he actually might feel like he’s winning there. Same with being used as a guinea pig for you playing around with make-up. He gets to see you in those not so modest dresses after all, so who’s really winning there? Him. He feels it’s definitely him, though please never, ever share those photos, the poor boy would die!

Aww, I just honestly loved everything you typed and shared and just, it put a huge smile on my face so thanks again for sharing!!

#i ship this so hard #sho/nix #ah you don't know how happy my friend's self-ships make me #thank you so much

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wet-towel-socrates · 2 years

Text

Not Worth It: Part 2

This part focuses on confronting Sebek after the events of Part 1. I know that I tied this up rather positively, but I really wanted this to be a form of catharsis both for Yuu and the readers. Real r*cism doesn't go away in a week.

TW: mentions of human r*cism, trauma dumping, arguing, confrontation, angst

Note: Reader insert is referred to as "Yuu" and gn (featuring Sebek and Silver)

Tag: @anonima-2

Diasomnia was silenced the week following Malleus’ episode. Their normally attentive and proud demeanor was gone, and no one took note of it more than Yuu.

They saw the clouds and heard the thunder and felt the rain. Yuu stood at the mirror, watching the dark clouds swirl over the dorm. It felt like the ground they stood on would be torn asunder any minute, but Yuu waited. With one hand on the rim of the mirror and body turned towards the stone castle, they stared intently. The air was thick and stuffy, but not in the oppressive way they’ve experienced with overblots.

This wasn’t an overblot, they thought. So, this must be what happens when he’s just angry…

That realization, rather than the fierce winds, sent a chill up Yuu’s spine. And so reluctantly, they entered the mirror and hoped that was the right choice not only for Malleus, but for themselves.

But now watching the few Diasomnia students in their classes made it clear that perhaps intervening was the right choice. Or maybe Yuu would’ve been a casualty; it was hard for them to make the call even in hindsight. The boys’ eyes all seem to glaze over, as if replaying the incident over and over again in their head. Yuu couldn’t help but feel sorry, but they knew that standing up for themselves and putting their mental well-being first was the right choice.

Another thing the prefect noticed was that Malleus no longer visited their dorm. From what they heard, unless he had urgent housewarden duties to do, the fae prince refused to leave his room. In fact, Silver and Sebek’s jobs had never been easier.

As for Sebek, he avoided all contact with Yuu. While he remained his usual loud self, he uncharacteristically would cut himself off every time he used “human” to address a fellow classmate. It didn’t curb his distasteful comments however, and the one time Yuu made eye contact with the boy, he held his gaze with a look Yuu was unable to recognize. Regret? Pity? Scorn? It was hard to say as the boy turned away and carried on with his duties.

At the end of the week, Yuu trudged their way towards Ramshackle, catching the same solemn sickness that plagued Diasomnia. There was no closure, no apology, not even an acknowledgement that anything wrong had happened, yet Yuu still felt like they had so much to get off their chest. It was then that Yuu spotted Silver and Sebek waiting outside Ramshackle’s front gate. Sebek tapped Silver’s arm and stared at Yuu as they slowly made their way home.

Yuu couldn’t bear to look them in the eyes and so kept their gaze to the stone path. The prefect reached for the gate before Sebek swiftly moved his arm in front of them, blocking them from entering.

“Don’t pretend you don’t see us hu—er, ahem.”

“What do you two want?” Yuu asked softly.

Before Sebek could reply, Silver placed his hand on the freshman’s shoulder and answered, “we’re here to apologize… and to ask for your assistance.” Yuu turned to Silver with a slightly inquisitorial expression. “You see, Lord Malleus has been in a dour mood lately, and know this is much to ask—”

“You’re making demands of me when nobody has even apologized to me?”

Sebek roared, “THE NERVE OF YOU! We came here to make amends and here you are, antagonizing us as if you weren’t the reason Lord Malleus won’t leave his room!”

“Are you serious?” Yuu glared at Sebek, not believing he was trying to pin everything on them. “You are the one constantly harassing me just for existing! You’re over here trying to spin this like I’m the bad guy for just wanting to be friends with Malleus!”

Sebek scoffed, “why else would want to worm your way into his life?” Yuu’s breath faltered as a single tear fell down their cheek.

“Do you have any idea how it feels to be dropped into a world that isn’t yours, Sebek? Where you don’t know anybody nor how the world works, and yet everyone you meet tries to take advantage of you because they know it's a matter of life or death if you say no?! I AM MAGICLESS SEBEK! I CAN’T DEFEND MYSELF!” The outburst was coupled with a cascade of warm tears pooling down their face. Both Sebek and Silver remained silent, almost stunned to see Yuu so vulnerable.

“Do you have any idea how many times I almost died trying to deal with all these overblots?! There isn’t a moment where this god forsaken school isn’t trying to kill me, but Malleus is the only person who’s consistently been there for me! Even before I knew who he was, he NEVER took advantage of me and never made me feel unsafe even when he’s had every opportunity to do so! He’s shown me nothing but kindness in a world that’s filled with awful, miserable people like you! Why wouldn’t I want to be friends with him?!” Yuu took a breath and wiped their face on their sleeve.

“And now whenever I just want to hang out with Malleus, I have to deal with you constantly shouting slurs and berating me for something I can’t change! That's literally the ONLY reason I cut off Malleus—because of YOU! Do you know how it makes me feel Sebek, when you say those things?” Yuu’s gaze remained fixed on Sebek, never leaving his face yet Sebek found it difficult to continue the same with Yuu. Their eyes and face were red with a trembling lip as they tried not to break into incoherent sobs and hiccups.

Sebek softened his expression, now feeling the ping of guilt and regret. Yuu’s heavy breathing became contagious as Sebek now felt suffocated in their presence, now on the verge of tears.

Yuu continued, “Never have I had someone say racist shit like that to me the way you did. I don’t care if you think that’s normal where you come from, I’m not tolerating it anymore! THE LAST THING I NEED IS SOMEONE TRYING TO BREAK ME DOWN WHILE I’M JUST TRYING TO STAY AFLOAT!” From behind the freshman, Silver stepped forward and placed his hand on Yuu’s shoulder. For the first time since they met, Silver looked at them not with stoicism, but of heartfelt empathy. He slowly brought Yuu into an embrace, letting the prefect find some stability in his arms.

“I’m sorry.” Silver stroked Yuu’s back as they closed their eyes and sobbed quietly into his shoulder. “If not for myself, I should’ve at least stood up for you.” He paused, “I know it must be difficult to survive in a place like this without any help, but I assure you, I will help you however I can. No one should have to endure hatred on top of everything else.”

Before Yuu pulled away, Yuu swore they felt a droplet fall onto their shoulder as they wiped their nose and uttered, “thank you Silver. I appreciate it. Really.” He nodded and gave the prefect a lopsided smile.

Beside Silver, Sebek stood upright trying to fight back his urge to cry, refusing to make eye contact with Yuu.

Silver called Sebek and waited until the freshman returned his blurry gaze to Yuu.

“If you’re not going to apologize, then leave already.”

Yuu’s stern tone despite their trembling body made Sebek avert his eyes towards the sky. To be brought to tears by a whimpering, magicless human was by far the most humbling experience Sebek had ever lived through. Here he was, stiff as a board, hands behind his back as if lining up for morning drills and crying because he hurt some human.

Yet he felt so ashamed.

He held such pride in his heart for himself, his parents, his upbringing, his masters, and his race—or at least half of it. He had to, lest the words slung his way due to his half human nature would haunt him. The way those people made him feel, is that how Yuu feels? he wondered. Of course it is.

He bowed and cried, “I’m sorry, Prefect!” His tears littered the ground while he stayed in that position. He waited patiently for Yuu to forgive him. He couldn’t stand feeling so shameful, so vulnerable in front of the two humans who were the most frequent victims to his comments. “I… I have no qualms with you and Malleus spending time together!”

“Are you sorry for what you said or are you just saying that so I can help you get Malleus back to normal?” Sebek opened his eyes and swung back up, somewhat taken aback. Mostly because Yuu was right.

“B-Both,” he admitted. Heaving out a sigh, Silver shook his head.

“He’s genuinely sorry, I know that for sure,” Silver said. “Should you decide to come back to Diasomnia, we’ll make sure to make you feel safe there. It’s the least we can do after everything you’ve been through.” Yuu thanked him and assured the boys that they will pay him a visit tomorrow morning, to which they responded with sighs of relief.

After Yuu bid them farewell, the duo walked back to the mirror. Silver took note of Sebek coughing and sniffling his tears away. It must have broken his ego to apologize earnestly to someone who wasn’t Malleus, he thought, but he knew that was just him in the heat of the moment. He too had been subject to Sebek’s bigotted comments for years and knew it would be an uphill battle to overcome this learned nature, but he held hope that if he could truly see how Yuu brought out the best in his master, then maybe he’d learn to overcome his own self hatred.

#twisted wonderland #twst yuu #twst #disney twisted wonderland #twst wonderland #read at your own risk #angst #silver twisted wonderland #sebek zigvolt #reader insert

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panda-noosh · 10 months

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my battle with creative joy

hi everyone!

so here i am actually making a blog post. not a fic (sorry...) but an actual, real life blog post where i will just ramble and probably make no sense. i hope you guys don’t mind. i would also like to think you’re used to it by now.

i’ve had a lot on my mind recently when it comes to my creative process, and my creative life in general. from the age i could pick up a pen, i have used writing as an escape, and it has always been a fun thing for me to do (obviously). i remember spending the entire night working on a fic, or having pieces that were over 200k long because i just got in these moments where i couldn’t stop myself from saying more, writing more, creating more. it was an addiction. a good one, but an addiction nonetheless.

the thing that has been playing on my mind, however, is how sad i am that i’ve lost that side of myself.

there are many reasons for this that i cannot beat myself up over; work, life, being an adult. i now have a fiance, and a dog, and a house i have to take care of, because it is my own. i now have a full time job in health care, where the hours are endless and the stress is endless, and it really leaves no room whatsoever to process anything but what you have just seen, or endured, or had to deal with. these are all things out of my control, because as hard as it is to come to terms with it, life is more than just. . . doing what you want.

trust me, i cried over this too. many times.

i get asks on the daily about whether i’m still active, or if i plan on writing anymore (insert fandom here) fics, and i always, always say yes, because i think speaking it into existence will potentially benefit me in the long run. saying no just feels like i’m giving in, and i don’t want to do that, because i would genuinely love to revive this blog, run it the way i used to, interact with you guys in the way i used to. but it’s difficult. it’s impossible some days, because life doesn’t accommodate. it just. . . throws you tasks that you have to deal with whilst keeping yourself sane at the same time.

creative joy is something i’ve been trying to find again for a while now, and it definitely is a work in progress. i still love writing - i know that. but in the same breath, i’m at that age now where i want to make writing my full time job, and that means the dynamic between myself and my creative joy has changed drastically. i no longer sit at my computer with a burst of inspiration and ideas flooding to my head. i sit at my computer now because i have a future in mind that i need to reach. that means word count goals, and schedules, and self doubt. that means getting frustrated with my own capabilities. that means writing for thirty minutes before getting worn down - such a change from the teenager who could sit at her laptop all night without even batting an eye.

it’s sad to think about sometimes, and sometimes i do beat myself up over it. that’s why i’m trying to find that joy again. i’m not being difficult on myself any more - if i want to ditch a project and write something else, that’s what i’ll do. if i want to flesh out a character that has no story to fit into, i’ll do that. if work has exhausted me, i’m going to go to bed without stressing about how behind i’ll be on this imaginary deadline for a novel i’ve set in my head. i’m going to chill out.

i’ve actually really started focusing on self care in this way for a few months now, and it has left me feeling very enlightened, i won’t lie. you don’t realise how harsh you are to yourself until you actually start putting the measures in place to be kind to your mind and body. just putting yourself first, really, and knowing that you should always be your own first priority - for your sake, and everybody else’s.

i don’t know. i just had a lot on my mind in regards to this topic, and i wanted to share it somewhere. i’ll probably do more of these, even if nobody cares to read them lol. they’re just therapeutic to me, so if you’ve read this far, thank you. i’d love to hear your thoughts on this whole thing, and maybe we can help each other out. make a little self-improvement, self-care thing here at case de aticus.

love you all!

#writeblr #self care #self development #blog #blog post #random thoughts

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fandomandfuntimes · 11 months

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Self Shipping Obey Me Fan with an active imagination 18+SFW/NSFW Account

I don’t comment a lot so here’s a bit about me/my MC and what to expect.

Allison Outside of Devildom (IRL)

Call me Allison (They/Them), I'm a 28 years old pansexual self shipper and I'm a huge simp for Obey Me. Most, if not all, of my content revolves around it in some way. My major contributions to the fanning community are Audioscapes and fan fiction. I tend to be socially awkward and recently found out that I may be autistic so I apologize In advance if I come off wrong. My main goal is to share my passion and connect with others who are doing the same in a positive safe space.

Important Notes & Boundaries

I'm super into kink and kinky things. I think there's a lot to be learned and discovered through it. With that being said I'm super against kink shaming and will not put up with it. I don't care what your kink is, does it make you happy? Cool. Is it hurting anyone? No? awesome! That's my only two rules. As I like to say; Don't kink same, no shame.

I don't care what your ship is. I'm a believer that there are many reasons and desires to ship. Those reasons can be complicated and can really only be known based on the person's personal view of their ship. For those reasons, I don't care what your favorite ship is and I'm not here to decide the morality of it or judge it.

I do, however, care if you use your ship to justify unjust acts. For example liking Joker and Harley Quinn but trying to say the abuse is healthy (I like these characters btw). I prefer to interact with people who hold the "this shit is totally unhealthy and I'm living for it." View, it's in reality. Hell, even real relationships we want to be in aren't always healthy, it's the reality of relationships. No need to sugar coat it.

About Allison (Obey Me MC-insert)

Allison is a cheerfully hotheaded human exchange student with a heavy background in occult sciences. She was anointed as a witch at the age of 18 and is well versed in Elemental & Charming magic. They try to only use their magic to assist, and they feel guilty about abusing their pacts.

What is the Relationship Dynamic Like?

Allison is in a poly relationship with the 7 Demon brothers, Diavolo and Barbatos. The relationship is open with the boundaries of letting each other know and talking. Allison is Solomon's apprentice, friend and sometimes fuck buddy.

Below are the individual dynamics Allison has with each of the dateables.

Lucifer

Allison's workaholic and perfectionist ways rubs Lucifer in all the right ways though he does sometimes wish they would take a break (how ironic). At times these two are a bit too much alike which causes a lot of friction. Sometimes Allison's stubbornness makes Lucifer wonder which one of them is the avatar of Pride.

Mammon

A bad influence. Mammon brings out the wild side of Allison. They get into the most trouble and have the most trouble. Lucifer has never quite trusted these two together since Allison hid cards under their skirt during the last casino visit.

Leviathan

Two peas in a pod. These two are constantly having video game and cosplay nights. They cook anime themed meals together in the kitchen and Allison plans launch parties for most of Levi's anticipated releases, complete with video game themed menus. It's not uncommon for Levi and Allison to sneak off at events to de-stim. They once were caught playing 1-2 Switch in the bathroom, Diavolo joined.

Satan

Cat lovers, book readers, and hopeless romantics. Allison and Satan are like Romeo and Juliet, if they were both hot headed and kinky. These two can cool each other off or rile each other up. They are perfect at defusing each other's anger, when they aren't both in rage.

Asmodeus

Hyper sexual & outspoken. Allison is a bad influence on Asmodeus. Get these two in a room together and they are playing slap ass in 5 seconds. They play off each other's sex jokes & finish each other's sentences. They hate to argue & love having Asmo-night sleepovers with Solomon. Self care is at the top of both their lists.

Beelzebub

Beel & Allison both see each other's hardships. They take time to comfort each other, and sometimes at night Beel checks Mc's room to make sure they're safe. Beelzebubs laid back attitude and Allison's hot temper pairs well together. When she gets too hot to handle he carries them out over his shoulder. Piece of cake.

Belphegor

How can two individuals be at each other's throat and cuddling? Well, that's Allison & Belphie. These two love to tease each other. They slap each other a little too hard in playful fights and kick each other under the table. Yet they cuddle together, go to one another for nightmares and explore the world of dreams together. They talk about their pasts and bond on feelings of loss.

Diavolo

Coming Soon...

Barbatos

Coming Soon...

Solomon

Allison never expected things between them and Solomon to be anything more than platonic. It was a quiet night and Allison was helping Solomon with his latest magical experiment. Not unusual considering their his apprentice. What was unusual, however, was Allison’s extensive knowledge on occult sciences. It was one of the few times he felt normal again; he was laughing, with a human at that, about the world of magic, How charming. And that’s when it happened, Allison went to grab the final ingredient to pour into the mix and Solomon, placing his hand against Allison’s face, guided them into a kiss they didn’t resist.

#obeymemc #obey me self insert #fandom #this game is such a comfort #obeyme #obey me #smut #18+#Allison MC #The Devildom Poly Bunch

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adultswim2021 · 7 months

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Robot Chicken: Star Wars Episode II | November 16, 2008 - 11:30PM | Special

Time for more re-re comedy for gay nerds. Hey--HEY! That wasn’t very nice. Don’t say stuff like that! Okay. I am sorry. I forgive you. Thanks.

Robot Chicken Star Wars! It’s one of my least favorite things. I ain’t never seen this stuff, and I wish I didn’t decide I had to watch it for a blog that no one reads. I wonder if I will do an exhaustive breakdown of each sketch? Um… HOW ABOUT NO. This shit sucks and just because it’s segmented doesn’t mean I have to be! Segmented, I mean.

Okay, so here’s what I’m gonna do. I’m gonna rank my top three and bottom three sketches. This is going to be very hard, because I don’t like any of them, really. And, because I don’t like any of them, really, I will likely just be picking stuff borderline at random. Also, I skipped over some real short ones for consideration cuz who cares. Here, both lists are worst to best.

BOTTOM THREE (WORST TO LEAST-WORST)

Luke's Lack of Perspective. This is the one where Leia scolds Luke for being sad about Obi-wan dying because her whole planet was vaporized. The premise is lame, and also they cast the real Carrie Fisher, who has old lady voice and sounds nothing like her younger self. You can tell they pitched her up a little to try and make up for it. It’s just distracting, and the sketch isn’t even worth recasting.

AT-AT Drag Race. I couldn’t even really make much sense of this one. There’s a weird edit in it that I remember thinking implied that it was a dream? Which it wasn’t, obviously, it just was edited awkwardly and the joke is just “wouldn’t it be funny if guys raced AT-ATs?" and who gives a fuck. I did like the visual of the AT-AT clicking it’s heels, though.

Going Out Like a Punk. This is the one where Uhh. I forgot his name, no really. I almost typed “Cowboy Bebop.” The bounty hunter guy that everyone loves just because he has a cool name that I forget what it even is. Bop-Bop Peranu, I think it is. Anyway, he’s in the Sarlac pit (I remembered that no prob) and talking about how he didn’t go out like a chump. This one seems like it’s aimed squarely at annoying dorks who think they’re clever for making the same observation. I watch television to get away from shitheads like this! Cartoons, mostly, but still!

[EVERY OTHER SKETCH IS TIED FOR THE MIDDLE]

TOP THREE (WORST TO FIRST)

Palpatine's Trip. Depicting Palpatine's annoying travels to the Deathstar, paralleling the annoyances of regular Earthly air travel. He gets annoyed by the chair placement in the throne room, and as indignities mount he says, to some one, “here, watch me tempt fate. (mock exasperation) could this day get any worse? (casually) I think I’m safe, because I said that ironically.” The punchline is he gets tossed by Vader, like at the end of Star Wars: The Last Crusade. I just really like the tempting fate/irony joke!

Anakin's Happy Place. Decent premise depicting Anakin slaying children at the end of Episode III. It's the darkest scene in all of Star Wars, and I was fine with what they did with it here. The joke at the end is a little dumb, but it’s fine. It’s Robot Chicken.

Mouse Droid. My favorite, because I could imagine making a fan-edit of the original Star Wars with zero changes except you add the insert shots of the little mouse guy driving the droid. I like when mice drive stuff. That's basically the only reason I liked this.

This has an “extended” version available, but I just watched the version on HBOMax. This is probably worse than the first special, but I don’t want to think about it too long. All of these sketches are dumb as shit and for dorks, which I DEFINITELY am not one of. Go to hell!

EPHEMERA CORNER

Clerks: The Animated Series (November 14, 2008 - 11:00PM)

This could very easily be a whole goddamn thing. It will probably be longer than other EPHEMERA CORNERs, but I’ll still try to be concise. Clerks the Animated Series was an animated spin-off of Clerks, the scrappy, vulgar, independent comedy from Kevin Smith. It’s cult success lead to him inexplicably having a career, including two direct movie sequels to clerks. This cartoon only lasted six episodes, two of which aired on ABC. They came out on DVD shortly after, with a racist audio commentary track for every episode.

I literally taped the Super Bowl because a website reported that the Clerks Cartoon was going to get a commercial during it. I diligently taped the two episodes that did air. ABC decided to air the fourth episode, which was a parody of courtroom dramas (and had a very funny non-sequitur ending allegedly completed by the Korean animators without any input from the American writers). After that they decided to air the second episode, which heavily referenced the first episode. It’s main concept was that it was a clip show, and Dante and Randal spent a significant portion of the episode flashing back only to the first episode, which hadn’t actually aired.

The show was a fairly typical animated comedy of it’s time. The vulgarity was tamped down in favor of absurdist gags and cultural references. Mostly, it worked. There were some really funny ideas, and the commentary tracks had some really fun tidbits about planned episodes that never happened. Honestly, if I weren’t already privy to the doomed nature of the show, or we lived in the alternate dimension where this was allowed to continue for multiple seasons, I would probably aspire to write for this thing. With a few exceptions, the humor was even more on my wavelength than Kevin Smith’s movies.

Weirdly, I don’t think I ever actually watched this show on Adult Swim. I remembered it as a Comedy Central acquisition. When Adult Swim first aired, I really admired the fact that one could watch Fox’s Sunday Night cartoon line-up, switch to Adult Swim, and then when Adult Swim was over you could switch to Comedy Central and watch reruns of South Park, Duckman, and this. It was a real special time to have cable. Hot damn.

I really do wish this lasted longer. Deserved at least half the success of Family Guy. In my ideal world, this show takes off and Kevin Smith stops making movies. He only revisits the "canon" View Askewinverse in occasional comic book mini-series. You ever read his comics? His writing style comes off better in those, I think.

PLEDGE: The currently-ignored Adult Swim 2022 blog will return on some kind of non-daily schedule. I’ll finish out Baby Blues, and then do this. Happy, KON??

MAIL BAG

Time for some mail. Good lord.

you gotten the adult swim 2021 group dm all riled up about xtacles. are you gonna do anything to fan these flames???

I dropped some bombs Hulk style, and things seem to be under control. You are right, they were out of line and it pissed me off!

dino and scott are excellent as mr burns would say. i forgive anything in their problematic past as long as they become the banner, ta ta for now

Despite the fact that one of them was nice to me once, and the other one made out with my friend (which is arguably also nice), I simply can’t. I like racist stuff, so I’m keeping the Minor Guys or whatever that show was called. Bye!

cahpo

so far it seems the only shows you like are space ghost, assy mcgee, and xtacles. i guess venture bros and morel orel made you cry, if that's a good thing. Anyway, just a like observation from this looky loo. Bye!

It is sorta fucked up that a TV show can make people cry. Should be illegal. But, hey, look out for the end of the year when I rerank all the Adult Swim shows. BYE!

and we say bye bye now

Bye bye!

Goodbye.

#adult swim #adultswim2021 #robot chicken

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construingseacats · 8 months

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Umireread: Legend of the Golden Witch - Chapter 4: Dining Room

Sat, Oct 4 1986 - 1:30PM

The following contains spoilers for the entirety of Umineko. Please do not read if you are yet to finish it.

Starting out with some new character information in the menu!

You don’t really get to see it in the main game, but man, what is with Shannon’s dress gap? I suppose it’s so we can see the tattoo of the One Winged Eagle, but it’s such an awkward way to show it off. Probably shouldn’t worry too much about this kind of stuff this early into the story - we haven’t even got to the leotard army yet.

There’s a line here about Krauss and Natsuhi thinking that Genji is a spy for Kinzo - which is a pretty astonishing thing to see, since it means we’re just straight up allowed to lie in this section. It’s unreliable narrators all the way down.

I suppose it necessarily has to be lying for Kinzo though, I suppose. Talking about designs again, it’s pretty neat how Kinzo is basically wearing the same fit as Battler, going with the white suit and red undershirt. Reflections etcetera etcetera

Anyway - I’m excited for this chapter, but hoo boy, do I remember it being rough the first time round. It’s one of those ones where the inheritance discussion is important, but I remember my eyes glazing over due to how long it was taking to get to the point.

Speaking of taking too long to get to the point - god we’re still going with the intros huh? It feels kind of weird since we’ve now met all these characters already, but I guess I should be grateful that we didn’t have these all frontloaded earlier.

Kinzo beat his children and raised them with an iron fist, eh? Well, at least we know Rosa is a true Ushiromiya then.

Oh I remember none of this. Turns out my memories of being bored numb by this chapter were hiding even more stuff that I’d buried deep.

I honestly do like how much of the early information regarding Kinzo and his actions are done to paint him as crazy and illogical, to drive you towards the “mad dark sorcerer” angle rather than make you stop and consider why he would do something like this. I don’t think anyone would necessarily be able to piece together all the information regarding the war and his acquisitions afterwards, but you could probably make good headway towards a theory regarding it if you managed to look past what the text was driving you towards. There’s just so much misdirection here, you really need to grab that the story is intentionally trying to point you towards falsehoods at every opportunity, you can’t just sit back and enjoy the ride. I love it.

This is our one allotted Magical Godha Chef. I’m making no promises on limiting later mentions of Gohdatrice.

This is another scene that didn’t stick with me from the first read, and man, is this dinner scene gratuitous in a bad way. There’s just so much detail… Sure, it’s letting you see how people interact with one another, but couldn’t we have done that in a more interesting way?

Yasu continues to be down bad. Extensively.

God, we really are just describing a boring meal here, huh? At least Gohda is happy. That makes one of us.

I’d forgotten how hard they pushed Natsuhi’s headaches this early on. She feels a little too one-note, but I suppose that’s intentional - reflecting her inferior position in the family and all that.

You heard it here first folks, self-insert Mary Yasue is flawless at everything else.

And here we go! The real meat and potatoes of this chapter!

Rudolf shushing Kyrie is neat to see. We’ve already basically shown that she’s the real brains behind the operation, but the Ushiromiya caste system overrides all sensibility. There’s really no reason Rudolf would even want to be doing the talking here over Kyrie, but it’s what we’re getting regardless.

It’s really interesting seeing the different tells that each character has for lying. Jessica tries to cope with snark, Nanjo just sighs. Part of me wants to actively keep track of various tells and see if they show up at any particular illuminatory points.

woah mega episode 8 foreshadowing confirmed

I honestly wonder how many of the adults are suspecting that Kinzo is already dead at this point. There was a point in the previous chapter where Krauss offered Rudolf the chance to go and knock for him, but Rudolf declined, so I’m wondering whether that’s a case of Rudolf not knowing the truth, knowing the truth but wanting to keep the facade, or another case of this tale being penned with a near miss that would have potentially unravelled the plot.

Natsuhi is really not holding her own in this scene. Poor girl being constantly stressed through the wazoo.

You know, they made a point about how Kinzo’s wife had normal, black hair, and Kinzo had silver hair even in his youth, so I wonder whether Krauss being light-haired and Jessica being blonde lent credence to the idea that Beatrice was some kind of mistress for Kinzo. The fact that my immediate thoughts are about Krauss’ hair colour are probably a good indicator of how much my attention is drifting in this scene.

Don’t get me wrong, I like the character dynamics on show here, and the inheritance discussion is a crucial part of the story. In fact, I like how everyone is getting pretty balanced screen time, with everyone getting something to say without being overshadowed by someone else (unless that’s done narratively, a la Natsuhi and Rosa). But there’s an awful lot of skirting around the point for what can be summed up pretty succinctly as “Krauss is funnelling funds”.

Eva swinging with some major Beatrice vibes right now. I’m looking forward to digging into the Evatrice stuff in Episode 3.

Very quick follow up on the earlier line about Eva’s weapons being her lower body, going as far as to have George to get a leg up on her siblings. Although, let’s be real, her real weapon has to be her mouth at this point - frighteningly effective at arguing.

Even if Kumasawa is talking about Natsuhi here, she’s sure doing this a lot, isn’t she? You could apply this line and sentiment fairly readily to Yasu as well.

Oh wow, we end the chapter here? I’m kind of glad that the inheritance discussion got split in half, because I don’t want to think about how long this one segment would be without a breather in the middle. I suppose we'll see how part 2 compares to part 1.

#umireread #umineko #umineko spoilers

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destielshippingnews · 1 year

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Edvard's Supernatural Guide: 2x10 Hunted

This episode is Raelle Tucker’s second solo script for the show, and while it is not terrible, it is not her best work. Miles better than her erstwhile co-writer Sera Gamble’s lamentable soap-opera offering 2x17 Heart, but falling far short of 2x20 What Is and What Should Never Be. Funnily enough, the thing I like most about Raelle Tucker’s scripts seems to be the weak point of this episode: she is a Dean girl. Her portrayal of Dean in this episode is spot on, but the way she wrote Sam made him seem like an utter dunderhead.

Let us begin near the beginning of the episode with Dean’s revelation to Sam that John told him he might have to kill Sam. Sam’s reaction to this news is exactly what I would expect from him. As has been eloquently displayed, Sam is a master at making everything about himself and whining about it, so of course he would not even see the fact that Dean’s own father has burdened him with not only murder, but fratricide – one of the gravest sins in almost all cultures. This is all in character for Sam, a guy who likes to think he is doing good but forgets that the road to Hell is paved with ignoring Dean good intentions. Sam himself knows that there is something ‘wrong’ with him, that his visions are portents of something much worse, and he still shoots the messenger. Fine, whatever, nothing new here.

youtube

Sam abandoning Dean and running away in the middle of the night ‘to find answers about himself’ was similarly stupid, especially considering he knows at this point that people like Gordon are after him, as are Azazel and co. What could have happened here to make Sam seem much more mature, thoughtful, and actually respectful of his brother, would have been for him to say to Dean:

‘I don’t want to be around you at the moment. I know this is hard for you, and I know how much you’ve always done for me, but knowing what Dad told you has made me wonder whether I’m safe being near you. I’ve been watching you getting more violent and scary for months, and a few days ago you seemed to have no problem killing people who might have been infected. You’ve already killed innocents: remember Meg and her brother’s hosts? I do. I hate having to leave you, but I don’t know how much longer I’ll be safe around you. If I go to sleep in the same room as you, am I going to wake up with your gun pointed at me? I can’t take that risk, Dean. And I don’t think seeing the man Dad told you to kill every day is doing you any good. I’m sorry. Go to Bobby, or Ellen. But I can’t be around you at the moment.’

That would have been respectable and adult. It would have been like Buffy choosing to not have Angel in her life rather than continuing with their messy, doomed relationship. Given Dean’s behaviour and Sam’s fear of and for him over the last ten episodes, this would be perfectly understandable. What we got, however, was something quite different. Sam simply left Dean, and gave his reason to Ellen as ‘I have to find out about myself and Dean can’t protect me from that.’ In other words, since Dean cannot protect Sam in Sam’s estimations, Dean is useless and Sam does not need him. Paula R. Stiles worded it thusly:

When Ellen tells him she has to call Dean, Sam whines that he has “to find answers” and Dean can’t “protect” him from that. The self-centered, utilitarian view Sam has of Dean in this episode (He only wants Dean around when he needs him for something) is stunning. I’d forgotten how far into the episode it went.

Sam is supposed to be intelligent, caring, and heroic. This is what The Show tells us over and over again, but Kripke’s self-insert really is just an overgrown teenager. Please do not misunderstand: he is young and even if he were not, people are allowed to make mistakes and occasionally be selfish, silly, and stupid. The problem with Sam is that it is a good day if he is not any of those things. His motivation for leaving Dean had nothing to do with Dean’s recent behaviour and everything to do with 'finding out who he is'.

But even given Dean’s behaviour, I felt so sad for him. He is the one burdened with his entire moral framework being shattered after losing his father and being resurrected. He is the one showing serious signs of being driven towards ‘evil’. And he is the one abandoned, rejected, yet struggling with all his might to not become the monster he has to become.

As if Sam’s self-centred nocturnal abandonment of him were not enough, his instantaneous reaction to hearing that Dean might have to kill him is to attack Dean. Constant Readers may well remember my referring to Dean as John and Sam’s ’cat’ (and Missouri Moseley’s dog whom she would not stop kicking): people will sometimes kick the family cat in anger instead of lashing out at the person who angered them, and they do so because they know the cat cannot kick back. John did this to Dean in 1x20 Dead Man’s Blood, and Sam does it to Dean whenever he gets the chance. 1x08 Bugs, for example, with his ’cum ’n ’av a go if ye fink ye’re ’ard enuff’ act when Dean took issue with Sam bitching about him to strangers. Sam’s behaviour in this scene with his blatant aggression towards Dean, and his threat that ’you might have to waste me [because otherwise I’m gonna batter you]’ smacked of knowing full well he can treat Dean as badly as he likes with impunity.

Worse still, Dean allows it. He wastes no time whatsoever in taking all the blame and guilt Sam hurls at him, and confesses he ’deserves it’. Even this early in the show, it makes me very sad to see this because this is 100% true to life codependent behaviour. If you want evidence of a child who has been treated horrifically, here is some right here. If Dean can absolve others of any blame by taking it all on himself, then he can perhaps avoid punishments such as being shouted at or beaten: if he abases himself and crawls in the muck for other people, they might let him be. Clearly he has learnt that such behaviour is necessary in maintaining relationships with John and Sam. Only with Cas does he refuse to take on all guilt (at least all of the time), but that does not stop Cas ultimately letting Dean take all the blame for their fall out between 14x18 Absence and 15x10 The Trap.

This never stops with Dean, and it makes me sad. In this scene, he is clearly trying his hardest to maintain the only relationship he has with anybody, but to do so he must allow himself to be attacked and blame himself for it.

As much as I write this, I am aware that some readers will not ’see this’, and all I can say is: I am glad it is invisible to you. The thing about abusive behaviour and poisonous relationships is that they are often invisible to people who have no experience of them. They are the real-world equivalent of monsters: the fact you cannot see them does not mean people are not fighting them.

It is understandable that Sam be angry, but not that he direct it at Dean. I would have been over the moon if Dean had punched Sam in the face and pushed him into the river for acting like that. Especially galling was Sam’s ’Take some responsibility for yourself, Dean’, which stank of an immature little boy trying to talk big but exposing his own arse by doing so. Think of all the responsibility Sam has not taken for himself, like for example him being to blame for Dean’s taking the fall for shifter!Dean’s crimes in 1x06 Skin, or electro!Sam shooting Dean in 1x10 Asylum because it was much easier to blame Den for all his problems that to admit the fact Sam chose to travel across America with Dean. And then there is 1x11 Scarecrow when Sam ran his mouth off to a stranger about his life... Ironic, really.

All of this would be forgivable, mind you, if the show were not so adamant of absolving Sam of all responsibility, of having other characters treat him like a good boy (Ellen, Bobby, Missouri), and denying Dean the opportunity to get angry at Sam on more than one or two occasions over the whole fifteen year run. The end result is that it looks as though I am supposed to think Sam’s actions are generally good and justified while Dean is in the wrong. Even when Sam is responsible for raising Lucifer, he still tries to pass off the blame to Dean for ’being too controlling and pushing him towards Ruby’, (5x05 Fallen Idols) a claim the show makes no effort to disprove and which Dean humbly accepts.

I just want somebody to give Dean a hug and a big mug of hot chocolate. I think he will have to wait until 15x14 Last Holiday before anything even close to that happens.

Moving swiftly on before series seven Sam’s sideburns distract me too much, this episode shows that though Dean’s overblown, exaggerated archetypical masculine side as represented by Gordon in 2x03 Bloodlust was wounded and momentarily defeated, it is still alive and trying to take over Dean.

Gordon is once again the antagonist in this episode. ’Baddie’ would probably be a more fitting word, but the show ends up proving Gordon to not be completely wrong. It shows Gordon to be pathological in his willingness to believe what one demon told him about somebody he conveniently knows, and his willingness to kill people for what the might one day commit (according to a random demon because demons never lie). He also has a hate on for Sam for turning Dean against him in 2x03 Bloodlust, which likely added to his willingness to believe anything which could justify his killing Sam. Gordon seemed to believe Dean could be a companion for him, but he wanted Dean’s complete, undivided loyalty. For that reason, he sought to turn Dean against Sam and cut him off from his brother in the way that abusive, manipulative, controlling boyfriends and girlfriends do.

Gordon even attempts to convince Dean of the rightfulness and necessity of killing Sam, and apparently believes Dean will see his side and not torture and kill him afterwards.

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It is strange, then, that the show almost proves Gordon’s point right later on, given Sam’s dalliance with Ruby and the apocalyptic consequences thereof. Two things can be true at once, though: Sam is a potential threat at this point in the show, but killing somebody for an innate part of themselves or something they might do is unjustified.

Scott in the cold open is an innocent being tormented by Azazel in order for him to develop his psychic powers and become a ’soldier in the coming war’, a line which sounds nice but had about as much as pay-off as Soldier Boy in The Boys. By which I mean there is none: the Stephen King-adjacent storyline of psykids comes to nothing since all of them bar Sam die by the end of series two, and later revelations of Dean and Sam being the divinely-pedigreed vessels for Michael and Lucifer make that whole plot redundant. Scott, however, was destined to be one of the young people (who are all American because Azazel lacks a passport) forced to fight for a chance to open the gates of Hell and release Satan.

We meet Scott at a counselling session where he reveals he is one of the psychic children with a similar story to Sam: nightmares which began roughly a year ago followed by some kind of power. The counsellor seems unsure whether he believes Scott or not, given he refused to shake his hand, and afterwards Scott gets killed like a gutted fish in a car park. The killer is Gordon, but this is revealed later.

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This happens a month prior to the episode, so perhaps sometimes around episode 2x06 No Exit if we assume that there is roughly a week or so between episodes. Unlike other cold opens involving ESPkids, this one does not turn out to be a vision of Sam’s, and he does not find out about it until after he abandons his brother in the night instead of doing the clever thing and waiting and planning with Dean. His first stop seems to be Harvelle’s Roadhouse in Nebraska, quite a drive away from Oregon (where presumably Dean and Sam had their discussion after 2x09 Croatoan took place there). Here, he is essentially welcomed with open arms and firmly absolved of any wrongdoing or guilt in running away from home like a dumb teenager. The show wants us to think Sam is in danger of becoming evil, but everybody is intent on acting like the sun shines out of his arse and ignoring his bad behaviour.

A prime example of this is presented in this episode as Sam wanders in through the door of Harvelle’s Roadhouse: rather than giving him the excoriation he so sorely deserves after going AWOL whilst Big Things Regarding Kids Like Sam are in motion, Ellen acts almost exactly as she would if the writer (or script editor) thought Sam’s behaviour was good and justified. She gives him a warm smile and speaks in a quiet, soft voice as if she is a mother welcoming her son back home. Ellen enquires as to the nature of the schism between Dean and Sam which Sam deftly deflects, and rather than pushing him on the subject, she conveniently goes along with Sam’s conversation, allowing Sam to refrain from giving an accounting of himself.

Would she have done this if things were the other way around and Dean had abandoned Sam? Almost definitely not, and I am having flashbacks to Missouri Mosely in 1x09 Home. Dean would have been flayed alive, but Sam is practically welcomed with open arms and commiseration. Even after Sam shifts the topic to Jo (whom Sam had a pivotal role in getting into the hunting life. Remember: Sam also neglected to call Ellen and inform her Jo was with them, yet only Dean got the reprimanding), none of the anger she directed at the brothers (one of them in particular) is apparent.

That would have been acceptable to an extent, since he is not her teenage son and it is not her place to reprimand him, but even if his scarpering from the one person most able to protect him from Azazel did not put himself and everybody around him in danger, he has still run away without explanation and let the people in his life fear the worst. In spite of that, he gets not a single sharp word.

As if that were not bad enough, Ellen even gives Sam what amounts to an almost-apology for her behaviour at the end of 2x06 No Exit. Sam is the one in the wrong here, and not only does he get called ’Sweetie’, but he gets the almost-apology which by rights should be Dean’s almost-apology, since he seemed to be the one both Ellen and Jo specifically rejected and drove away at the end of that episode, even though Sam AND Jo were equally to blame for what happened.

Anyway, Sam went to Ellen to get help with finding other psychics like him. Ash searches for people in certain criteria: born in 1983, mother died in a house fire, etc, and manages to call up four results, two of which are dead (Max from 1x14 Nightmare and Scott from the cold open) as well as Andy from 2x05 Simon Said whose adopted mother died in a housefire. Sam decides that since Scott’s death is the most recent (one month prior), he should go to where he died to try to find answers. ...An idea which makes exactly the kind of sense that’s not, but whatever, Sam. I would have gone to find Andy since he is still alive and a possible next target, but Sam is Big Smart so my idea is clearly stupid.

Upon leaving, Ellen tells Sam she will have to call Dean to tell him where Sam is, but Sam requests she not do so. Apparently Sam is going to find out the truth about himself and Dean cannot protect him from that, which makes exactly the kind of sense that’s not, but whatever, Sam. Is this one of those déjà thingies? Anyway, Ellen is apparently a sucker for Sam’s ’puppy dog’ act because she agrees to acquiesce to his request. Personally, I want to cut his fringe off and tell him to stop shaving so closely whenever he tries that face.

Why Ellen did not ring Dean while Ash was doing his thing is beyond me. Sam would not have been happy, but what would he have done to stop her? Assaulted her in a bar full of other hunters? Good luck. Sam would have had to wait around if he wanted his information anyway, so that would have been a smart move. Why she did not ring Dean directly after Sam departed is also beyond my ken: if she is supposed to be a mother hen character, she should do some mother henning and make sure her hens are safe. Sam is safer with Dean than without, whatever Sam’s misgivings may be, so wherefore the lack of henning?

Plot convenience. And treating Sam like Mummy’s Special Little Boy. What else would be appropriate for Kripke’s s Oh-So-Sensitive self-insert? Gross. Sam’s a perfect example of spare the rod, spoil the child.

But speaking of children, Sam’s tendency to run away is likely connected to his need for control over other people, particularly Dean. If he is in control he feels he can minimise potential risk to himself, a trait apparently common among people whose childhoods were characterised by instability, neglect, and abuse. It is a truism that abused children may come to embody the worst aspects of their parents, but such is the nature of trauma: it is often passed from one person to the next like a disease. John abused his children, mainly Dean, but Sam was there too and he suffered instability, neglect, and a lack of control and direction. In order to give himself a feeling of stability and control over his life, he appears to try his hardest to exert control over those nearest to him – namely Dean. If he cannot do this, his instinct seems to be to run away.

People call Dean emotionally repressed because he does not talk about his feelings and ’lies about being ’fine’, but Dean’s problem is that while he mostly understands what he is feeling, he does not have the support or tools to process things properly, wherefor his reliance on hunting as catharsis and alcohol as a painkiller. However, he does not run from his issues (mostly): he just locks them in the room next door. Sam on the other hand talks about other people’s emotions but rarely talks about his own, and appears to be much worse at running from them than Dean is.

Apropos running, Sam’s flight from Dean leads him to Lafayette, Indiana where Scott is buried. Sam interviews Scott’s father and investigates Scott’s bedroom which is home to video tapes, cassette tapes, and novels which look like they were probably taken from Eric Kripke’s bedroom in the 1980s or early 1990s. Further investigation reveals that the wall of Scott’s closet is plastered with pictures of yellow eyes taken from magazines.

Following this, Sam receives company at his motel in the form of Ava, a psychic who had a vision of Sam exploding. She explains that she had visions of Scott’s death but thought they were just dreams until she saw a report of his death in the newspaper. After that, she tracked Sam down by searching for the name of the motel she saw on the notepad Sam used. Clever girl. Shame she will not be around for long, but still.

The actress Katherine Isabelle played Margot Verger in Hannibal (2013), as well as one of the leads in Ginger Snaps (2000) alongside Emily Perkins who will appear several times in Supernatural as Becky Rosen, the fangirl who essentially roofied Sam, tried to marry him, then tied him to a bed when the spell stopped working. Oh, and we were probably supposed to be laughing at that. At least her final appearance in 15x04 Atomic Monsters is much more grown up and socially conscious.

Returning to the episode at hand, Paula R. Stiles concluded that Azazel sent Ava the vision in order for her to prevent Sam getting killed (or at least, that is her interpretation of what the episode must be about to make sense), but if that was the case, why did Azazel not just kill Gordon? Unless it was a test or whether Sam would kill Gordon, or whether Dean would kill Gordon. That is getting into the realm of speculation once again, though, so I will leave it there.

Ellen eventually decides to call Dean, though it is unclear how much time has passed since Sam left. If the Roadhouse is in Nebraska and Sam is in Indiana, that would take a fair few hours of driving. 650 miles by road separate the state capitals of Lincoln and Indianapolis, but the location of the Roadhouse in Nebraska is not clarified, so it could be a few hundred miles farther if the Roadhouse is in the west of the state. However it may be, it appears the journey would take something like ten hours, so it must be the next day at least when Ellen rings Dean. Some pseudophilosophical preamble about ’not always being able to protect your loved ones’ is followed by Ellen spilling Sam’s whereabouts to Dean.

And speaking of Dean, I noticed Jensen’s unusual pronunciation of s while watching 1x15 The Benders last year. I had seen people mocking the way he talks before and never understood what they were talking about, but now I have actually noticed it, I am seriously casting negative judgement on people for making fun of it.

It is not a speech impediment because his speech is fine, but there is something about his s sounds at the end of a word in particular which strikes me as unusual in English. It is definitely not a sh sound, but it is a bit thicker sounding than a usual s. It is almost a palatalised sound like in Estonian, Karelian, or Russian. As well as that, he often does not turn his s into a z at the end of words like native English speakers usually do with words like dogs (normally pronounced dogz) and please (usually pronounced pleaz). Jensen’s please often rhymes with fleece, and his dogs is often pronounced with his unusual s, not a normal z. He also says cars with an s at the end, not a z. I have no idea whether this is an idiosyncracy of his, the remnants of a speech impediment, or a feature of the English spoken in his region of Texas. Now I have pinpointed it, I can hear it everywhere ranging from his work on Days of Our Lives and Dark Angel to the voiceover on The Winchesters and his performance in Big Sky. Valentine’s Day is approaching, and with it my yearly ritual of watching My Bloody Valentine 3D, so I will be listening out for it then.

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Hello, I have been studying languages and linguistics for almost two decades, pleased to make your acquaintance. And now back to our regularly-scheduled broadcast...

Sam enlists Ava’s help in getting hold of Scott’s file from his counsellor (which involves Ava squirming as she tries to act like she belongs there and Sam being an idiot and climbing around on the side of what looks like quite a tall building). They later listen to the recording of Scott’s final session together in the motel room, and this raises the topic of Azazel and psychic children. Sam tries to explain the Yellow-Eyed Demon, psychic children, and ’the coming war’ to Ava, but she understandably thinks he is a weirdo talking a load of codswallop.

Returning to the subject of ambiguous passage of time, it is unclear how long it took Dean to reach Indiana, but he rolls up outside in his noisy, rumbling car which Sam appears not to notice at all. Dean sees his brother and Ava through the window, but rather than going into the room and giving Sam the stern talking to he deserves for being a melodramatic pantaloon, he is content to sit outside in the car assuming that Sam and Ava have engaged in coitus, or are soon to do so.

This makes sense, of course, because Sam in no way deserves a stiff reprimand for his behaviour in this episode. Even the man Sam hurt the most with his actions is not allowed to to be angry at him in this episode. Raelle Tucker, I am surprised. Or was this a script editor decision? Raelle did so well with 2x20 What Is and What Should Never Be.

Enter Gordon and the beginning of a fight scene which in all honesty is a bit naff. Other than Alec X5-494 once more momentarily taking control of Jensen to reset Gordon’s brain with a nasty-looking kick to the head, it is a little silly.

Nobody in the motel seems to hear either the motel window shattering, the gunshots (which were not that quiet), or two grown men whaling on each other across the street.

Dean’s Alec’s kick to Gordon’s head should have done some serious damage and put him at a considerable disadvantage in his fight with Dean Alec, but apparently his head is so thick that Dean’s Alec’s kick did not stun him at all. Neither does Dean Alec punching him in the head following said kick do much more than make his mouth bleed a bit. Luckily for Gordon, Dean and Alec’s vessel’s skull is much more fragile than his, meaning that a blow to the head with the butt of Gordon’s rifle is enough to knock it out cold.

Alas, that meant that Alec was once more driven back to the recesses of Dean’s vessel’s consciousness where, alack, he shall remain for a long while. I love Firefly to bits, but the reason series three of Dark Angel was cancelled three days after it got greenlit was because Fox decided to go with Firefly instead, so thrilled were they to have a Joss Whedon project on their network.

Have I told you about my best friend Alec, by the way? I miss him...

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Rather than finishing his job and killing Sam, Gordon inexplicably leaves the scene with Dean and Alec’s vessel in tow without being seen and with what must be considerable head trauma quick enough that neither Sam nor Ava saw hide nor hair of him. Upon investigating the source of the bullets which nearly perforated him and Ava, Sam discovers a round and concludes somebody used a muffled rifle, much to Ava’s amusing bemusement.

Alec is alas in absentia, but Sam receives a phone call from Dean in which his vessel appears to have taken no damage whatsoever from being once more knocked unconscious with a blunt object, even though a blow to the head hard enough to cause unconsciousness is hard enough to cause serious brain damage or death. Dean is tied to a chair in what looks like an abandoned motel room, and with Gordon’s gun pointed at him he tells Sam to meet him at a certain location, but not without first informing Sam via a code that somebody has a gun on him.

What follows is probably the best scene of the episode for many reasons. Gordon attempts to justify his need to kill Sam to Dean in what sounds very much like trying to recruit Dean to his cause. He sees Dean as somebody who could be very much like him, something which shows Gordon sees all too clearly Dean’s propensity for violence and his homicidal, psychopathic potential. Why else would Gordon leave Dean alive after his phone call to Sam if he did not believe he could talk Dean around to his way of thinking? He could have shot Dean in the chest, cleaned up any blood off his face, and made it look as though Dean were unconscious if he wanted to lure Sam in, but he chose not to. Perhaps the thought of sitting in a room with a dead body which would empty its bowels soon after death was off-putting...

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Dean for his part is still tethered to ’sanity’ by his moral compass, something Gordon appears to misunderstand. Dean would kill him, as indeed he intended to after Sam untied him, and nothing Gordon could say or do would prevent Dean making him sleep with the fishes. Whilst Gordon is busy talking about how it is necessary to kill the psychic kids to save the world (’necessary evil’, ’for the greater good’ and all that) Dean’s bravado slowly fades as he realises Gordon might just be able to kill Sam (the second tripwire wipes the smile off his face) but he almost never looks scared of Gordon. Though he is tied to a chair and eventually gagged, he gives Gordon looks which say ’you are so fraking stupid’ and ’oh my god, you’re an idiot’ and I cannot help being amused. Dean has no overt power in that situation, but he seems inconvenienced rather than weak and vulnerable. Gordon on the other hand has no idea what thin ice he is skating on. He should have ganked Dean while he had the chance, but he was clearly just too sweet on him.

Yes, I am aware not everybody is gay, but neither is everybody heterosexual.

Besides that, Gordon’s seeming belief that Dean will reciprocate his lust join him on the dark side of the force after realising the necessity and rightfulness of his killing people like Sam proves that his mentis is very far from compos.

Back to Sam, he tells Ava to leave town and go back to her fiancé, then goes to the address Dean gave him. He sneaks around the back of the abandoned motel and into the room. There is an explosion and Dean roaring like an angry bull through his gag, but Gordon is not so easily fooled. A second explosion soon follows, but it turns out Sam is alive and he pulls his gun out on Gordon… and then immediately proves he really is the stupidest child in remedial English by NOT PULLING THE DAMN TRIGGER!

Have I already had this rant in this analysis, or was it the previous one? Sam’s hesitancy to pull the trigger on bad guys might have been understandable near the beginning of series one, and even in 1x21 Salvation it was understandable he missed the first shot at Azazel. Even not shooting Azazel!John was relatable, but at that point he should have learnt that trying to have a clear conscience and not harm anybody is selfish, self-indulgent, and GETS PEOPLE KILLED! This is a lesson he should have learnt multiple times, with 2x09 Croatoan being the latest, but he seems incapable of learning form his mistakes. People think Sam is the intelligent one why?

Gordon had shown his true colours in 2x03 Bloodlust, and in this very episode he had beaten Dean with a gun, tied him up, then used him as bait to lure in Sam, not to mention the two explosions which were intended specifically to kill Sam. What part of this says ‘not shooting this man the first opportunity I get’ is a good idea in this context? Gordon might believe he is justified in what he is doing, but most people would call him ‘evil’ without hesitation. Even Sam would, but Sam lets him get away with a little bit of unconsciousness. Pull the ever-loving trigger, Sam, you floppy-haired prat. A clear conscience is a luxury he can ill afford, and one which endangers himself, Dean, and all the other kids like him.

Sam unties Dean, whereupon the latter wastes no time in going to dispatch Gordon, but Sam stops him and – for some unknown reason – Dean leaves Gordon be, taking Sam’s word that Gordon has been taken care of. Once more, people are doing what Sam wants in this episode to avoid conflict, even though Sam was the reason all of this happened in the first place.

As if to prove me right, Gordon wakes up in no time and comes after Dean and Sam as they walk to the car, trying to kill them with his pistol. They run and hide behind a grassy mound, at which point the police arrive and apprehend Gordon. They find lots of weapons in Gordon’s van, and we are left to conclude Gordon will be going to prison for a long time.

Here is my problem with the scene, and it is similar to Sam risking Dean’s life at the end of 1x13 Route 666. The police arriving was not guaranteed to happen at a certain time, and if they had arrived a moment later, Gordon could well have murdered both Sam AND Dean (although he might have spared Dean death). Had Sam arrived later, Gordon might have heard or seen them and run, possibly killing Dean beforehand, or else kidnapping him again. Sam might well have been thinking of the police when he refused to kill Gordon, but his plan was too dependent on contingencies and risked Dean’s life on numerous counts.

There is also the inconvenient fact that Dean is a wanted murderer after Sam made him take the fall for Shifter!Dean’s murders in 1x06 Skin. Had the police turned up whilst Dean was still tied to the chair, things would have gone badly for him.

Stupid, stupid Sam. Even Dean praises him at the end of the episode, for which I have to roll my eyes.

After this, Dean rings Ellen, assuming she must have had something to do with Gordon finding out Sam’s whereabouts. Ellen understands Dean’s assumption, but asserts that she did not tell anybody. Any of the hunters in the Roadhouse could have overheard, and according to her many of them would have easily been able to track Sam and the psychics down.

Anyway, the penultimate scene of the episode is Dean and Sam talking in the car. Ava will not answer phone and Sam is getting concerned, and after making a comment about marital infidelity and carnal pleasure as a reward for saving the world, Dean says ‘If you ever take off like that again…’ which is the extent of the anger he shows Sam in this episode. Sam’s response to this is a laugh, as though a microbe has just started getting lippy with him.

So those people who think Dean has a history of violently abusing Sam… take a look at how little Sam cares about Dean’s threats of repercussions. He does not, not in the slightest. Does that sound like the actions of a man being ‘threatened with violence’ by his abuser? Not to me.

Bismillah give me strength...

Oh, and Dean made a men-being-raped-in-prison joke, because that is hilarious apparently. I mean, those men deserve it, after all. Sam deserved a slap in the face after his behaviour in this episode, but Dean gets a time out. Why do the writers keep giving the characters stupid lines like that? Still, at least he does not make a joke about the man who is actually raped repeatedly in 2x15 Tall Tales, but more on that sometime in March when I get to it.

Ava’s radio silence worries Sam enough that he gets Dean to drive him to Peoria, Illinois (the state next door to Indiana). At Ava’s home, they find her fiancé dead and sulphur in the window: a demon was recently there, but the exact circumstances of Ava’s disappearance and her dead fiancé are anybody’s guess. Did the demon kill the fiancé and then kidnap Ava, or did it possess Ava, kill the fiancé, and then leave? Was the demon already possessing Ava when she met Sam?

Sam finds Ava’s engagement ring on the floor, and then the end credits roll.

Not the best episode, but not the worst either. The mollycoddling of Sam irked and vexed me, as did the writer not allowing Dean or anybody else (but especially Dean) to get angry with Sam. This might be a script editor decision rather than writer decision, but I am still miffed. In hindsight, the psychic kids plot is mostly redundant and never leads anywhere. It could have done, as Lucifer could easily have used the psychics in his army to fight the ‘war’ we never actually see but hear a lot about (probably a budget problem, just like the black contact lenses etc). Dean is struggling with his ‘dark side’ or his ‘exaggerated masculine’ which is trying to deaden him to killing Sam. Dean is, however, in a better position to fight his own corner, and unless I am very much mistaken there is no point in series two after this where it looks conceivable Dean would kill Sam. Although after Sam’s gallivanting off on a jolly jaunt this episode, Dean would only have my deepest sympathies is he chose to do so.

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