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satan-chillin · 5 years

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The Path to Redemption is a Winding One

Summary: Rowena dies at the hands of Sam Winchester in all accordance with their entwined destiny. Let it be said that her afterlife is neither Heaven nor Hell, but rather back in the year 2004 where the first Apocalypse is on the works, and with all her previous memories intact.

Warnings: Trigger warning for graphic description of torture.

Notes:

It’s a time-travel fix-it fic, dearies.

It’s a 20k words fic, so yes, it’s a long ass read.

The fic is also written long before the 15x03 “The Rupture” episode so don’t expect it to be 100% canon-compliant.

Also, this is a Gabriel/Rowena fanfic with mentions of SamWitch/Samwena that’s why it’s posted under the SamWena/SamWitch tag. It ain’t a Sabriwena, nor is it a triangle. Sorry, chiefs, but I do hope you enjoy this for the Rowena content alone. :)

Don’t worry, I’m planning to write a SamWena/SamWitch time-travel fix-it too.

Also available in Ao3 & FF.net

Rowena was no stranger to death.

She had had her encounters throughout the centuries, but there were only three deaths she deemed significant. This was the third; an expected one, in fact, since two years ago when she was told who would have done her for good. It hardly came as a surprise that it would be Sam because a witch dying by the hands of either Winchester wasn’t exactly news. Rowena took comfort knowing who would it be, and she supposed there could be worse candidates (i.e., Lucifer in whatever vessel). A girl couldn’t really choose who would kill her, but, morbidly it might sound, she lucked out that it would be by Sam Winchester’s hands.

What she wasn’t expecting, however, was the bond that formed between the two of them, how their shared trauma paved a way for the tentative understanding that in turn formed an occasional alliance. The trust came in last, brought by desperation and necessity that had her make decisions she would hardly consider a year ago. Rowena hated it, at first, that this huge lumbering man could make her uncharacteristic. She blamed it at her prolonged exposure to the brothers that she likened to letting a wound fester bare to infection until she was forced to live with it, to live with the knowledge that she was inching closer to the Winchesters’ inner circle.

Rowena had kept her distance when she came to understand how Fergus had become lapdog to the brothers. Rowena never felt the need to justify her actions before, and yet there was something satisfying to be in the side of good—at least, the Winchester brand of ‘good’ that was primarily concerned with the safety of many. For all her claims that the brothers owed her, Rowena liked the feeling of giving her natural talents as an aid. It had felt like an accomplishment.

She remembered Sam’s knowing look, and he understood.

Rowena pretended to be reluctant, but she was always there. She was there when there was an alternate universe with people that needed saving; she was there when Dean was ridden by an archangel equally as terrible as Lucifer; she was there when Jack was close to dying; she was there when Jack lost his soul; she was there when God left the world to ruin. Rowena was there until the end that brought pretty much everyone together.

And against her better judgment allowed herself to grow close to the Winchesters Bunch who was bad news.

Rowena observed how the dynamic of the Winchester brothers worked with their resident angel and noted that each shared varying degrees of relationship with each other. She learned that Castiel, while he treated himself as the guardian of the brothers, was more prone to exchange his life for Dean than Sam. She hadn’t been privy to the exact nature of the connection between the older Winchester and the angel, though she had noticed the subtle—blatant, in her opinion—signs that hinted stronger affections that surpassed that of mere friendship. What was ridiculous that it went both ways that had the person in the nearest vicinity of the two, usually the younger Winchester, painfully overwhelmed at all the unrepentant eyesex.

While the exchange had been around for an uncomfortably long time, it had an unforeseen consequence of Sam drawing nearer to the first person also left out of the Dean-Castiel loop: her.

Unlike his brother, Sam found it mandatory to connect with the people in their side, and often Rowena was his target, thinking that she might not have fitted in a group largely composed of hunters who would have hunted her kind if not for the present end of times then. Rowena didn’t indulge him with the knowledge that he assumed right, instead reveled on the unspoken sort of protection that came with being a trusted and proven ally of the Winchesters for some years, reluctant or otherwise.

The thing was, Rowena wasn’t expecting the small talks and sharing of secrets during sleepless nights, where there was also a point in time that talking about Lucifer included making fun of him. Sam was a naturally curious lad who asked several things about the 17th century on some evenings, and there were questions about how Rowena maneuvered through the witch trials, the subject which usually led to memorable anecdotes and informal lectures on little tricks that someone of Sam’s skill could manage when in a tight spot.

During the small spaces of free time when they weren’t both poring over thick volumes, Sam had the irrational habit to take her words personally, always under the notion that Rowena was telling him her deepest secrets and feelings; they weren’t, or at least, she thought they were not. Sam must have noticed the sincere fondness in her expression when recounting about Fergus in his wee age, when she spoke of her eagerness to learn and prove herself to be the strongest witch in her youth, when she told him what made her immortality worth it, and when she shared about the places in the world she would like to see again after all this, if she survived this.

Rowena remembered how Sam’s large hand gently squeezed her small ones and promised her that she would, that they would. Together.

And the fool that she was for a strong and honest man who liked making promises, Rowena believed. She relished in the fact that Sam told her numerous experiences in and out of hunting, of his encounters with various women who usually met unfortunate ends as if talking to Sam alone sealed their fates. She heard about a special woman named Jessica that Sam still held dearly in his heart and whose passing was dulled with time and the deaths of the demons responsible for her death. Rowena knew of this; after all, she had read Chuck’s books and had muddled through the terrible writing to get information before, but hearing the words came from Sam himself was quite different, especially when hearing bits and pieces that weren’t included in those Chuck-forsaken books.

She caught herself wondering one night if Chuck would write her as a rather disposable character whose intelligence and a strong sense of self-preservation she used to have pride in decayed overtime after allowing herself to grow close to the person she should have avoided in the first place. Mayhap she was finally the vapid heroine that starred in cheesy novels.

Though if Rowena was to be a character in a book, she would like to think it was in a work of tragedy of epic proportions, especially when the last passage of her story was about her and a killing blow delivered by none other than Sam Winchester.

Personally, Rowena approved of the choice: a knife in the heart was the most intimate manner of death by a man that she could think of, and trust Samuel Winchester to make the affair poignant and, pun intended, very close to the heart.

What ruined it was Sam’s profuse whispers of apologies, cradling her close and his face hovering over her as he spilled ungodly manly tears. The old her would have found such display irksome, that she wasn’t someone worth mourning over, but she was that woman no longer, was she? Enough that something affectionate in her regretted that Sam Winchester ended up with another blood on his hands, that she would be leaving him like this, emotionally vulnerable and raw. Belatedly, Rowena thought that maybe she should have kept up the evil, bitter, and petty skank image, just so Sam wouldn’t blame his lonesome self for finishing who he now considered a friend that he promised he would bend his fate for.

Rowena wasn’t stranger to death, but this wasn’t as simple as the previous two, was it? It wasn’t about the finality of it at all but rather on the person who was on the other side of it.

Touching his cheek was a chore after the immense bleeding, but Rowena hated that Sam would cry over this, over her, a less significant character compared to Chuck’s protagonists. For all they knew, Chuck could be writing the scene with the need to finish a character that overstayed its welcome; or probably for additional angst; or perhaps he didn’t know what to do with Rowena’s role in the story; it could be out of keeping tradition of killing off the female who connected with Sam Winchester; it could have been plain boredom while Chuck watched his story unfold.

If Rowena was truly subjected to Chuck’s will, then it wouldn’t be incongruous of a dramatic woman that she was if she told Sam that it was alright and had to be done, that she was thankful that it was him who would put her at peace.

Rowena’s life ended with a final kiss to one of the big bloody heroes of the story.

Rowena sat up, gasping, with the sharp pain of being stabbed in the chest ebbing away.

She rubbed on her skin, and there was nary a trace of the wound there, not even a scar. Faintly, she recalled that she must be in what passed as limbo temporarily while the whole Chuck ordeal resolved itself to bring back the order in Heaven, Hell, and Purgatory. Frankly, she was amused that she wasn’t delivered straight to the pits of Hell just yet.

In a world with varying sets of beliefs and only one true creator, Rowena guessed this was what encompassed as a limbo: a familiar place to the person in it. It was pretty underwhelming for an afterlife; it wasn’t even a particular memory she held fondly.

Rowena sighed. She would have to get used to having a long stay at this three-star hotel in Scotland.

Or was she?

There was something that nagged inside her mind aside from the familiarity of her surroundings. She had been here before, yes, but more than that, it felt lived in.

Tentatively, Rowena pulled the drapes aside and saw the city’s roads with a couple of vehicles and a few people out in the early morning Scotland weather. Alright, so it was quite detailed for nitpicking.

She backed away from the window and believed that she was thinking too much about this when she should be having her peace for Chuck’s sake. She would think that this included plenty of beauty sleep she had neglected.

There was ringing coming from the nightstand. Rowena raised an eyebrow at the flipped phone and picked it up to answer.

A harsh exhale could be heard before a tirade passed through the speakers.

Rowena pulled the phone away with a grimace, muffling the irritating sound. Amidst her growing annoyance and confusion, the nagging returned in a manner that she recognized.

Rowena knew she’d been here before; she’d been here in this exact moment in time years ago that seemed distant.

And it came back to her in increments: the angry woman on the phone was someone who accused her of fraudulence, a person who had insulted her capabilities after Rowena purposefully gave her a love potion that failed to work. Rowena remembered the handsome man intended to receive the potion and how she greatly desired the man for herself. The woman she conned was wrong—Rowena’s creation did work, only that it served its purpose to its creator instead.

Blearily, Rowena cut the call and focused on the displayed date.

2004.

Bullocks.

By some twist of fate, she traveled back in time.

Trust her to interpret it as a wrench thrown in the works than a second chance that shouldn’t be possible for a person like her.

It shouldn’t be possible for anyone, certainly not after the creator of the world decided to leave it all to shambles and discarded his creation like his old used toys that a child overgrew. Chuck wouldn’t be this generous to bring someone back in the past with the memories of the future intact.

Angels could, but as far as Rowena knew, Castiel was the only angel left on their side, not to mention fallen and with hardly any grace left. He wasn’t even around when she died.

And she did die. That wasn’t some dream or a scrying session, of that she was sure. She couldn’t have imagined Samuel’s weeping over her body. She couldn’t…

Oh, god. Samuel.

He was young around this time, not that seasoned hunter that she got to know better. He was practically a child compared to her. He was free of the burden of Lucifer. And if her calculation was correct, he wasn’t even back on hunting just yet, enjoying his respite from that life and thinking he completely escaped it for the mundane and normal pursuits.

Her mind reeled at the possibilities in her hands, the changes she could make not only for herself but for those that she cared for. She didn’t know whether to take the situation as a gift or a curse to relive all her terrible choices once more.

But by Morgana, this was something she wasn’t aware she needed until now.

Innocent Oskar was alive, and with all her power she would keep him away from her. What happened to that kind boy was all on her and no one else’s.

Her son was alive in Hell, not yet the King of the Damned, but a King nonetheless. Fergus could bloody well be a low-level salesman of Hell and she wouldn’t care. She could see him again, the person she once thought a remembrance of her greatest mistake. She could do it right this time.

Rowena crumpled on the floor in a torrent of sentiments, a mess in every sense of the word.

She put aside the planning for the meantime. For now, she allowed herself a moment to wallow in a curious mix of grief and elation.

Rowena was onboard the first flight to States by evening.

Fortunately, the travel time gave her some quiet time to carefully plan the moves she intended to make once she landed. She had been sorely tempted to prepare a summoning ritual for Fergus the minute she started to keep it all together; the ritual was, after all, a walk in the park for a witch of her caliber. But a more rational introspective reminded her that Fergus around this time wasn’t the same Fergus she reconnected with after three centuries.

There was more Crowley in Fergus now, wired closely to a callous demon than a humanized one. There was no love lost between them that would allow a semblance of affection from Crowley.

If she had attempted to summon Fergus, he would kill her quickly, at best.

It was difficult to sleep by the time she was settled in, her mind brimming with ideas on how to best make use of the situation. Was she alone in this venture? If not, then she has to find them soon. Working alone was ideal in most cases but not on this. Hopefully, if she did manage to find someone, it was a person previously on the Winchesters’ side, else it would pose as a huge hurdle she would have to deal with as well.

Rowena gave up on rest, getting a pen and paper instead to write down a temporary outline that followed a chronological flow. She disliked having to rely solely on her memory of Chuck’s books in regards to the major events that happened since the year 2005 onwards, but then again, having a single Supernatural book at hand would make things a bit easier, and she wasn’t under the illusion it would be so.

There was always the option to approach the Winchesters in person and explain the circumstances. Rowena scratched the idea away. Knowing them and their former black and white moral compass most especially to witches, it was the riskiest move. Not to mention, the notorious John Winchester who she wasn’t keen on meeting.

If she was truly well and alone, then she would make do.

The Crossroads Demon that greeted her was a woman with full lips curled into a sly smirk, appraising Rowena and humming in appreciation at what she saw.

“A witch,” the demon purred. “To what do I owe the pleasure of meeting such a pretty little thing?”

“I’m sure you already know, dearie,” Rowena replied with a saccharine smile.

“Perhaps,” the demon agreed, circling Rowena and trailing a finger across her shoulders. Rowena shivered. “But witches don’t usually come first to our branch. They prefer the direct approach than through a mediator, which, as they say, is faster, but I’d say they tend to forget the risk.” She sighed wistfully, twirling a lock of Rowena’s red curls. “Nonetheless, I’m here to provide you the best service. You may borrow from a demon and remain bound to my contract that guarantees security against an untimely death before ten years. What do you say, darling?”

Rowena has no time for petty sales talk, though she couldn’t help but mock. “I’m sure you’re not blind, dear girl, and you can see that borrowing a meager amount of power from a demon is the least of my needs.”

The demon’s smile faltered slightly and then twitched back to amusement. “Interesting. A strong, immortal witch. Old too,” she drawled. “Pray tell what you desire, madam. Is it eternal youth?” She cupped Rowena’s face, sharp nails grazing her cheeks. “Perhaps not. Neat work on the beauty spell.”

Rowena didn’t bother to hide rolling her eyes. Eternal youth for a ten-year contract? Please.

“Oh.” The demon’s look turned predatory as if it found what it was looking for while she searched Rowena’s face. “A man. Had the potions not worked?” She grinned knowingly. “No matter. He’ll be worshipping the ground you walk on, and he shall pour all his unconditional love for you.” Her eyes trailed lower with unadulterated desire. “As early as tonight he’ll make love to you like he hadn’t known passion, yearn only for you and no one else. He’ll know no greater beauty and derive pleasure only for you and from you.”

“Aye. It is a man,” Rowena said, swallowing thickly. She hated that she had been neglecting her needs. No matter; two could play this game. “And you might have known him by the name of Crowley.”

The demon tensed, pulling away in surprise at hearing the name directly coming from a human.

“Your boss, dearie. The King of the Crossroads.”

“I see that you know him,” the demon said once she recovered. “Left you used and empty?” She snorted derisively. “I must say, I didn’t know he got involved with witches. The others don’t know it, but I’ve noticed his strong dislike for your kind. You must be special.”

“Very,” Rowena said dryly.

“Unfortunately, I can’t give you the boss. Protocol and all that. I admire your gall, though.”

“Och. Nothing drastic like that. I simply want to give him something.” Rowena pulled out an ornate envelope.

“A love letter?” The demon kept her hand from plucking the letter from Rowena’s hands. She noted how guarded the demon became. “Charming. And you want me as your glorified mail courier? As unexciting this is, this is a first in my career.”

“Far from a love letter, but a letter written in love.” Rowena handed her the envelope. “Now don’t go be stupid to take a peek. It’s enchanted to be opened only by the person intended for,” she advised playfully.

Rowena could see how it irked the demon, though she relented, and with a snap, the letter was gone. “Done. Delivered to the boss’s pile.”

Well, who would have thought it would be this quick? Rowena grinned in satisfaction. “Now come here and let me pay you for the job well done, dearie.”

The demon was enthusiastic to get into Rowena’s space, latching a firm hand on her hip. Rowena ran her palms on the demon’s waist and slowly crept from her breasts to shoulders, lips making feathery touches from the jaw to an earlobe.

“Thank you. You have no idea how much I’ve been missing my son,” Rowena whispered breathlessly, slipping an inconspicuous ball of cloth before abruptly pulling away.

The demon let out an inhuman screech, violently coughing out black ooze as she doubled over. “You!” It seethed, wailing in pain. “What is—How did you—”

“Consider it a treat, darling.” Rowena flipped her hair. “Give a kiss to my son for me, will you?” She watched as the demon writhed in utter suffering on the ground for several seconds, cursing Rowena and her entire bloodline, before slumping lifelessly. “Or not.”

Rowena blinked, and with a pang of pity for the poor vessel, she crouched down to gingerly shut her eyes. She murmured a quick spell and the hex bag and the body burst into a bright flame, engulfing Rowena with heat that seeped to her bones.

Out of respect for the dead, Rowena lingered until the body was no more.

Rowena caught herself staring in front of the mirror and noticed a younger face in the reflection.

It was an odd thing to take note of given her age that was nowhere near youthfulness, but the subtle differences were there, like the laugh lines and small crow’s feet that she gained in the last five years were gone, replaced with smoother and firmer skin. She closely resembled the person she used to be, the proud witch untouched by time that never had the pleasure of meeting Lucifer.

If there was something else she took comfort in her newfound situation, it was that Lucifer remained locked up in a cage. She would’ve hoped for eternity, though with the amount of Apocalypse that happened in the previous years of her time, it was probably asking for too much.

Rowena frowned in the sudden realization that with her foreknowledge, she could stop that herself.

As quick as the idea formed, there came in the numerous issues she could already see. First, the Apocalypse was a divine concerto planned for several millennia, with both sides actively working towards the same goal. Second, Heaven and Hell were both in their peak, the former with its garrisons of angels and the latter with its generals loyal to Lucifer. Third, Rowena was working alone with neither the Book of the Damned and the Black Grimoire, which the lack of either shouldn’t pose much of a problem with her intimate knowledge of the contents of both.

Unfortunately, unbound magic or not, Rowena wasn’t suicidal enough to risk facing both Heaven and Hell, and most certainly not without a card up her sleeve.

Or she could let it all play out the same way it did before; the Winchesters would surely put a stop on the end of the world anyway, with or without her aid. Except that choice was making her strangely guilty like she owed the boys this. Hell, Sam himself admitted that they unknowingly caused the first Apocalypse, and Rowena had been occupied with skipping cities and conning desperate women to even know the world was ending.

But no Apocalypse also meant no Lucifer not only for Sam but also for her, and Rowena could see the appeal in that despite the stack of odds. Besides, it wasn’t like she wasn’t there when it was God and The Darkness duking it out, though there were allies back then and God was on their side.

Bloody hell, this was the main reason she was a pagan in the first place.

The initial plan was to indirectly give Sam Winchester an ample protection a witch could provide, until a serious reconsideration forced her to try a different approach that she wasn’t looking forward to try.

Mildly miffed, Rowena took a sip at the stale tea that dared call itself herbal; it did nothing but worsen her ire on the terribly rowdy surroundings and the gaudy shade of green and pink all over the place.

“That bad, huh?” said a male voice. She looked up to the barista who served her earlier. At her raised eyebrow, the young man elaborated, “The hangover.”

No, it was the bloody temporal displacement and the baggage that came along with it, Rowena was close to saying. “Not a hangover,” she muttered in disinterest.

“Not that I’m judging,” the boy said, raising his empty hands slightly. “So where’s the renaissance fair?”

She vaguely wondered why the boy won’t sod off already. “The fair,” she repeated testily.

“You look like you came from one.” The boy smiled impishly. “Or going to.”

If that was supposed to be endearing, then he was failing miserably. “Is there something wrong with what I’m wearing, dearie?” Rowena asked sweetly.

The boy shrugged. “Hey, you’re rocking them. Just saying you don’t fit with the elements, is all.”

Rowena wrinkled her nose at the gaggle of loud whippersnappers that came in. “Then pray tell how do pajamas in afternoon fit in.”

The barista followed Rowena’s line of sight. “Uh, because this is a university campus and that’s a college student wearing one? And this place is literally named Coffee Beans and Tea Leaves,” he answered like it was the most obvious thing.

“Ah, yes, I forgot I’m blending in with a bunch of hippies.”

The boy chuckled. “First time?”

“What gave it away?”

The tone earned her another huff of laughter. “So will I be seeing you around here often?” He seemed delighted at the prospect. The boy was sorely lacking in propriety.

Kids.

Rowena gazed up at him, found that the boy’s name was Louis, and simpered. “No.”

Rowena stalked the hallways of the campus, getting a few attentions here and there that she ignored for the purpose of finding the damned library of the building, her best bet in finding Sam Winchester and be done with this place.

The clicking of her heels reverberated through the corridor barren of any students except the lone janitor mopping the marble floors. The man looked up as she passed him, and she paid the man no heed as he stopped working and stared.

Rowena slowed once she could see the end of the hall with an opened door. Pausing, she let out an exhale and—

The surroundings changed abruptly to a warehouse.

Whirling around in alarm, Rowena found the janitor behind, observing her with a frown.

He might have done something with her vision as well—she could see his face shifting without a fixed set of features as if its face was scrambling to maintain its looks.

“What are you?” she demanded, fingers twitching in preparation.

“Okay, hear me out, lady,” the man—creature or whatever—suddenly said in a voice that sounded distantly familiar. “If I’m wrong, I’ll remove this encounter from your memory, but if I’m right… You’re here for Sam Winchester too, aren’t you?”

Rowena was immediately on high alert, raising her right hand. Was somebody following her movements? “Again. What. Are. You?”

It let out a sigh that resembled relief of all things. It snapped before Rowena could react, and its face began righting itself in a recognizable one.

Rowena’s eyes widened. “You—What are you doing here?”

Gabriel shrugged, eyes lit up amusedly. “I could ask you the same thing, lady.”

“Same circumstances, huh?”

“Except you missed out on the next two years.”

“No regrets here. Don’t want to see Dad wrathful.”

“Only on humans, Jack, and Castiel.”

Gabriel shook his head. “Dad doesn’t do things by halves. He was probably mad at everyone.”

“Are you here long?” Rowena asked.

“Last I remember was dying in the Apocalypse World, then I woke up a month ago,” he said. “You?”

That was roughly the same time she arrived, give or take a few days. “Same.”

“I’d say this is the Winchesters last-ditched attempt to fix everything, but I doubt it if neither of them knows anything.”

“You mean it’s not you?” Rowena rolled her eyes when Gabriel looked nonplused. “You’re the one who likes faking his own death and with enough mojo to pull it off.”

“That was one time,” Gabriel retorted. “I did die for real, and, no, my grace back then was too low for this.” He gestured vaguely between the two of them. “Actually, I believe it’s Jack.”

“That boy is dead,” Rowena told him somberly. She quite liked the kid and how little of Lucifer there was in him despite being soulless. His heart had been in the right place.

“Sure, but he could be awake where he ended up to, and I don’t know either whether it’s the Empty or Heaven.”

It wasn’t Gabriel, the Winchesters, and they have no proof that it was Jack. And if it really wasn’t the latter, Rowena couldn’t think of anyone else who would trouble themselves and strong enough to hide her and Gabriel’s situation from Chuck.

“Do you think He knows?”

Gabriel took a while to answer. “I won’t be surprised if Dad does.” He then smiled wryly. “As of now, trust me when I said he won’t bother us.”

Rowena wasn’t assured by Gabriel’s nonchalance and certainty. “Why won’t He? He knows about the future we came from, and from mine where his favorite characters pissed him off. I’ll understand if he won’t write off a son of his, but I’m not really held in the same regard.”

“But you are now, one of his important characters, I mean,” Gabriel said with a slight grin. “Dad is a writer—a shitty one, admittedly—who’s damn proud of his magnum opus. The two of us are his greatest plot twists in the story at this very moment, and if there’s one thing writers like the most, it’s creating a major revelation that’ll go down in history.”

When Gabriel put it like that… Rowena couldn’t really speak for Chuck, and if there was anyone who knew him better, it would be an archangel of his. “What do you propose we do?” she asked for the principle of it, knowing the inevitability of how to proceed from then on.

“I may have a few ideas,” Gabriel replied noncommittally, rubbing his chin in thought. “Honestly, I haven’t thought out this far.”

Rowena wasn’t fooled by the mischievous grin that widened almost imperceptibly.

Almost.

She has a bad feeling about this.

When Gabriel suggested they actively participate in the game on board named the Apocalypse 1.0, Rowena wasn’t told that it involved integrating themselves on the university population.

“If Hell already placed one of its agents near Sam, then so should we,” was Gabriel’s excuse.

“Then replicate yourself,” Rowena countered.

“Where’s the fun in that?”

An instructor in World History had apparently been given a grant by a rather generous (and mysterious) organization to pursue his research on the fallen civilization of Greece, promptly making him leave his post at Stanford within the second month of the semester. The faculty was sad to see an esteemed colleague go, while the students were pretty indifferent to the news, mostly claiming that they took part in the class for easy addition of units.

There was a distinctive change in opinion among the student body when Professor Gabe Shurley came in.

Prof. Shurley was a man in his early thirties with a charming personality and a love of puns and innuendos, who knew his stuff though he tended to make outrageous claims out of vague facts, such as insisting that Alexander the Great and Hephaestion’s favorite activity was swordplay, in more ways than one, which his students learned to take in jests. He was creative in his exams and papers, and so was in punishing cheaters that any attempt to commit the act was intentionally causing oneself grievous harm.

Prof. Shurley was a known sweet-tooth in his adorable 5’8’’ glory, with an infamous oral fixation and a notorious crush on the new nurse from the annex building.

Nurse MacLeod was of Scottish descent with a sexy accent, wildfire hair, milky-white skin, and a dancer’s physique that must have meant she was flexible, as per Prof. Shurley’s exact words. She was, more often than not, found with a perpetual scowl as if seemingly displeased with life in general. It intimidated quite a few male students who have no business to be staying in the clinic other than to check out how skimpy Ms. MacLeod’s skirt was for that day, while Prof. Shurley only found the attitude incredibly attractive, occasionally referring to her as ‘Firecracker’ or ‘Tigress’ in his long, wistful waxing of poetic in between lectures.

“I wanna be that stick up her ass,” Prof. Shurley let slip once.

Unbeknownst to everybody else, Prof. Shurley and Ms. MacLeod were living under one roof, occasionally enjoying kinky sex that made Casa Erotica a nursery rhyme video in comparison, though often out of working out some frustrations and clearing their heads. They were, after all, two major players on the replay of the first try at the end of the world.

For two people whose first interaction was a hook up in a library some distant past-future ago, they’ve easily fallen in a routine of keeping up appearances throughout the day, with Rowena taking up to reading volumes upon volumes that Gabriel would give her during the empty clinic. Sometimes with sex included, sometimes they schemed, and sometimes they did both simultaneously (you would be surprised at how ideas sprang during such moments). Gabriel, meanwhile, would pop in and out of town between breaks, bringing her with him on occasions, off to the other side of the globe on multiple occasions for something as simple as a unique ice cream flavor or doing his other job (exacting discipline to those he deemed needed it the trickster way), though frequently for gathering the rare ingredients that Rowena would need for usually modified spells she had taken a particular in, claiming they would be useful for worst-case scenarios.

“I saw some of Azazel’s minions today,” Gabriel said one evening, idly playing with a curl of red hair when Rowena didn’t bat his hand away.

“And?”

“They can’t get in the perimeter,” he answered. “The experiment worked.”

They had drabbled with an experimental spell that consisted of defensive Norse runes and a strong containment curse from the Book of the Damned that Rowena had memorized and repurposed to a repellant hex, which they then tested on the outer walls of the campus. The first layer was done, and all that was left was to weed out the demons within the campus grounds.

“I still don’t understand why you can’t just smite the rest,” Rowena muttered. “Clear them all in one sweep.”

“I would, but, well, I’ll be earning some attention using that much grace, and I’m hiding not only from my original family,” he sounded sheepish.

“Oh?” Rowena leaned on an elbow with interest.

Gabriel blinked, turning. “Right. You don’t know the story.” He glanced away briefly, though his eyes remained distant even when they met hers.

What passed as pillow talk consisted of Gabriel sharing about his time mingling with the pagan deities, making a deal with the actual Loki of Norse Mythology, and of Lucifer’s escape and Odin’s death by his hands that Loki had solely blamed on Gabriel, that in retaliation had him sold to Asmodeus.

Gabriel stopped speaking, and by then Rowena had pieced the bits and pieces she knew from Sam. “I won’t ask if you don’t want to tell,” she said carefully, realizing they fell on a touchy subject.

There was a minute shift in Gabriel’s features that Rowena mistook as a trick of the eye, and he began talking again, though of his early adventures in serving just desserts that caught the Winchesters’ attention, and of shacking up with porn stars in between. Gabriel spoke of much earlier times with the rise of great empires and cities that eventually fall; of the species that once roamed the Earth until it was the time for humans; and of the birth of stars and constellations that Gabriel witnessed himself and tremendously admired.

Rowena didn’t remember falling asleep, though she couldn’t be blamed if it was to the voice of God’s messenger and his fingers carding her hair.

Gabriel left the next day, claiming a sudden business he has to take care of.

Rowena didn’t pry, sending him away with a dismissive hand, chiding him to be quick since, for all their planning, they were yet to make direct contact with Sam Winchester who was an important factor to the sodding Apocalypse and their primary reason in mingling with the college children in the first place.

Gabriel left with a smile that didn’t reach the eyes, and whatever his business was, Rowena thought it must have been personal.

She wasn’t imagining the storm of fury brewing behind his eyes.

A week of Gabriel’s absence, Crowley materialized one evening in the middle of the room.

“Cozy,” he commented, idly looking around. He was thinner and younger, but it was the same vessel she came to know. He raised an eyebrow at a hanging green bathrobe. “Not interrupting, am I?”

Gabriel’s leave was an awfully convenient thing, and it was a stroke of luck that Crowley didn’t appear at the room where she conducted her work. “Took you long enough to drop by,” Rowena said in greeting, cautiously making a move to stand.

“Well, places to be about and paperwork to be done,” Crowley answered, approaching a wall and trailing a hand. “I’ll be honest. I’ve only decided to visit to avoid a… caterwauling group of fanatics situated near my department. One can only hear so much of the untimely death of their dear prince.”

Rowena pretended not to perk in interest at the offhanded remark. She didn’t know the princes of hell aside from Azazel and Asmodeus, and there was one that briefly kept Kelly Kline during her pregnancy. One of the princes died, and if it was one of the three that shouldn’t have prematurely, it only meant that something already changed in this timeline.

“Imagine my surprise when a letter made its way to my desk, delivered by an absent employee when I came looking.” Crowley regarded her fully after checking behind the drapes. “The years have been kind to you.”

“They’re not, my dear,” she disagreed ruefully. “But that is flattering of you.”

“I assume this is related as to why you asked for me,” Crowley said flippantly, stepping closer towards her. “What can I do for you, mother?”

“Have you not read the letter? I only wish to—”

“See me, yes, share a cuppa and trade gossips, yadda, yadda, yadda,” he drawled, producing the letter out of thin air. “Forgive me, Mum, if it all sounds so bogus.”

“Yet you’re here anyway.”

“Color me intrigued when a half-done contract contained my mother’s name,” Crowley said. “All that trouble to earn my attention. For once, I feel the motherly affection.”

Rowena sighed though completely expecting this flair for the dramatics. She was fortunate that he was yet to make a move to hurt her. “Would you like a cup of tea?”

“No,” Crowley said shortly. “What I’d like is to get to the point and tell me what the Hell you want.”

“Then I have nothing to say, Fergus,” said Rowena patiently.

Crowley raised a finger. “Actually, I think there is one more thing you can tell me.” He crowded Rowena, drawing up to his full stature and stopped by mere inches. “You’ve asked my employee for her boss specifically, meaning you knew where and what I am now after all those years. I would have known if you made a contract with another to come by this information, but I do believe you have a certain aversion to demons and those who deal with them.”

Rowena hesitated. Should she tell the truth? She would, and while she was confident that Fergus would wisely make use of what she knew of the future, it would also mean telling about Gabriel who was in hiding. It wasn’t a matter of Gabriel handling a horde of opposition but rather his confidence in her and the mutual understanding they’ve reached.

“I wish I could tell you, Fergus—”

Crowley’s hand found Rowena’s throat. “I could snap your neck like a twig,” he spoke. “Always wanted that—dreamt of it in the racks.”

Rowena’s lips pursed. “Not that I expect any less. I would have done the same to the mother who had as good as abandoned me in a ditch to pursue her career. I’m glad you inherited my sensibilities, that there’s more of me in you than your father.”

“So I do have a father,” he muttered, despondent.

“Witchcraft can’t stand for a substitute, unfortunately.” Rowena walked away when the fingers loosened, putting a distance. “Also because your dear mother was weak and made a dire mistake.”

Crowley snorted. “Ah, yes, yours truly.”

“I thought so too,” she acquiesced softly. “Learned otherwise the hard way,” she murmured.

Rowena heard a light hum. She hazarded turning her back once she got the intuition that Crowley wasn’t there to kill her. Not yet anyway. She could see him frowning, gauging her critically.

When she turned around, Crowley was gone.

“Hey.” Gabriel was leaning against the doorway when he appeared without a sound by midnight. “Started without me. I’m hurt.”

“I’m sure you can make more.” Rowena watched the red swirl on the wine glass. At the current lighting, it resembled blood. “Salud.”

“Vintage,” he observed, frowning at the taste. “But not old enough.”

An hour of Indian-sitting on the floor and passing bottles after bottles back and forth without speaking, Rowena began feeling the signs of intoxication.

Huh. That answered what her limits were under a sobriety charm. “There’s tingling in my fingers.”

“Okay, that’s it, Legolas.” In swish of his index finger, Gabriel cleared the floor. “We can drown ourselves in a pool of red when all this is over.”

“When will that be, another century?”

“I hope not. Can’t stomach another millennia of family feud.”

“Makes sense, with you picking off Princes of Hell who’s not supposed to die yet.”

Gabriel’s face went stony. “Doesn’t matter if you’re getting all friendly with a demon. The future King of Hell at that,” he shot back sardonically.

Rowena scoffed. “I can’t reconnect with my son now?”

“Except that’s not the same person you knew and died before you. That, what, just because he’s your son he won’t use what you told him?” He laughed humorlessly. “Like, c’mon. You should know him well.”

“You think I don’t?” Rowena challenged. “I do, and that’s why I didn’t say anything. I’ve turned soft and depressingly moral, but I’m not an idiot, you bampot.”

Gabriel huffed. He believed her words, surprisingly, that had him look terribly chastised afterwards.

He slumped heavily next to her, their backs against the side of the bed. “How did we even get here?” he asked after a while.

“I thought we already established that we don’t know.” Rowena sounded defeated.

“Nah. I mean, why are we even here? And that’s not an existential question.”

Rowena’s gaze flickered. She didn’t really have the energy to think at the moment, though she could pinpoint where it all started going shit. “Because your Daddy felt threatened by his dear ‘ol grandson.”

Gabriel seemed like he wanted to defend his father and yet not finding the strength for it. “Sounds about right,” he muttered listlessly. “Frankly, I don’t see the logic. A Nephilim is made up of both his first and favorite creations. Doesn’t that mean it’s two specials in one? And they’re called abominations.”

“Because one with an archangel father can rip the world a new one,” she pointed out. She wasn’t siding in Chuck’s defense, but she could understand how that would be problematic among a bunch of normal humans.

“Please, that one’s on Lucifer for not using a condom,” Gabriel argued, annoyed. “We lucked out with Jack’s good other half and the influence by his three better dads.”

“I’m surprised Michael didn’t do the same to another poor girl. I’m surprised nobody in Heaven thought to use Nephilim as weapons in the Apocalypse.”

“Michael and Raphael are known stickler for rules, but they’re not so—not that heartless, lady.” Gabriel frowned, reconsidering when he realized he used the wrong word. “But angels are no different from men when driven to desperation, so, yeah, I could sorta see them using that as Plan X.”

Rowena let out a delicate snort. “That’s reassuring.”

“Mmhm. They won’t, though. They’re too proud to lay with those they consider beneath them.” Gabriel playfully nudged her shoulder with his. “I’d say they’re missing out a lot.”

That has to be the worst come-on Rowena received from him. She rolled her eyes. “I’m pleased you never bothered lecturing your brethren.”

“Lecture them? Please.” Gabriel jutted his chin in thought. “Though it did enter my mind. Siring one, I mean. But it wouldn’t have been a Nephilim. There’s no word for it.”

“An offspring of an archangel and?”

“A Hindu Goddess,” he said with a toothy grin. “Kali, specifically. Think what a ferocious little beast our kid’s gonna be. His Mum’s a war goddess, his Dad’s the best-looking trickster angel there is. He’ll be getting good genes.”

“Aye. Or he could be short with ten heads, ten arms and legs. Ferocious little beast, indeed.”

Gabriel mock-pouted. “You wound me. What about ours though? If I don’t love Dad enough to fuck him over, I’d suggest we make a Nephilim. Can you imagine one born from a natural witch and an archangel?”

And unlike Kelly Kline, Rowena would make sure not to die from childbirth. “Better a girl to inherit my abilities,” she added, sliding on Gabriel’s lap easily.

“A witch Nephilim.” Gabriel’s grin was stretched too wide at the prospect. “Dad will hate her more than Jack, and not only because of her mojo. The sass that kid’s gonna have.”

“Imagine the mouth she’ll have,” Rowena murmured against Gabriel’s neck.

“I think I can,” he said, patting the side of Rowena’s head when she nibbled on his earlobe. “The mother’s, ah, proof of it.”

Rowena pulled away, chuckling a little. “Bit too sweet, dear,” she said slyly, standing to disappear to the bathroom, leaving him ambling around for the better part of three minutes until the bathroom door went ajar.

Gabriel didn’t need any prompting to take it as an invitation.

Autumn break rolled in without much fanfare and any difficult encounters; Sam Winchester included. After finishing the layers of defense that theoretically should resist both angels and demons alike, it was tremendously dull, the days dragging and with hardly anything to distract Rowena.

The peak of the month was when Gabriel had enlisted her assistance the week previous on a project that Rowena didn’t get many details on aside from setting a special ‘surprise’ for someone, which Gabriel worded with utter enthusiasm and a glint of mischief. With the specific warding he asked of her and upon discovering the abundance of sulfur and salt on the ingredients he had fetched for her, Rowena concluded that the someone was a demon.

While she knew Gabriel wouldn’t keep it from her if she asked, Rowena didn’t want to indulge him. She was happy to be occupied in the meantime.

Rowena should know better than to trust a trickster.

Apparently, Prof. Shurley was well-liked by practically everybody that when he instigated a Halloween party and handed out an invitation by word of mouth, double the amount of students of a single class appeared at the front steps of his bloody frat house conjured out of the blue for catering to a single party that Gabriel deemed special.

Rowena wouldn’t have been there, with the drunk and children in garish costumes exchanging spits left and right, if she didn’t read more into his giddiness belying a hidden agenda that Gabriel didn’t deem necessary to say outright.

Perhaps it was for the best, seeing as not an hour in, Gabriel sought her with his arm wrapped around familiarly to a tall boy who he introduced from his class.

“Ro, I want you to meet Sam Wesson, the finest student of World History 101,” Gabriel eagerly introduced.

While the flannel was a familiar sight, Rowena first noticed the long hair that extended above Sam’s eyes, then made an observation that answered the question of whether a younger Sam was already a tall drink of water. She imagined quite a few scenarios before how her meeting with a young Sam would go down.

Sam reminding Rowena of a cattle breed from Scotland wasn’t one of them.

“Sam, this is Ms. MacLeod which I’m sure you’ve heard of from me every day,” Gabriel told Sam in turn, winking saucily. “Who is now a muse of mine after my own heart.”

Sam looked abashed to be within the proximity of Gabriel’s hyperbolized flirting. “Hello, ma’am,” he greeted politely.

“Aren’t you a little shy for your own good, Samuel?” Rowena couldn’t resist teasing, making Sam flinch a bit at the name. “It is Samuel, isn’t it?”

“Uh, yeah.” Sam smiled tightly, a tad sadly. “If you’ll excuse me. I think I just saw my friend stumble and hit his head.”

“You scared the kid,” Gabriel said, watching with Rowena Sam’s retreating back after a hasty exit.

“I’m not the one who’s acting like his long-time friend,” she retorted.

“Technically, that’s right,” he replied cheekily. “’sides, that’s Prof. Shurley for you. He’s friends with everyone, to the reluctant or otherwise.” Gabriel jerked his red solo cup to the direction Sam disappeared to. “Also, I don’t think Samsquatch’s lying. I did see someone about to hurl his guts out.”

“What in the world are you giving these kids?” Not that Rowena could care less; she simply wasn’t looking forward to a couple of mewling children complaining about the most massive hangover of their lives tomorrow.

“Nothing harmful, trust me,” Gabriel said before tipping the contents of his cup in one gulp. “To humans, that is.”

A boy was making his way to the door in a stumble, unnoticed, and as if ran over by a truck, sweaty and disheveled. Sensing eyed on him, the boy whirled, his eyes unfocused and furious like a cornered wild animal.

When his eyes zeroed on Gabriel’s steady ones, the boy’s face drained of what little color it had.

Brady almost tore the door off its hinges in his hurry. He would have if every fiber of his self-preservation weren’t screaming for him to flee this deathtrap of a house.

He couldn’t believe he was caught off-guard after his instincts already picked up a weak thrum of protective magic surrounding the place, the kind that he chalked up to the house being old and previously in possession of a religious family. Brady would have been suspicious, but that meant putting credit to this hedonistic dunce of a man who called himself a teacher. See, this was the kind of humans Hell profited on.

Brady took comfort on the human stupidity, particularly those of people around Sam Winchester. It made his job easier, albeit dull and mawkish when keeping up appearances as Winchester’s close friend. Still, a job well-done to Lord Azazel was a job without any form of hindrance.

That was until a small dose of holy water inexplicably made its way to his drink.

Brady had felt the liquid burn his throat and esophagus first before it burned his mouth, making him rush to the restroom and vomited what he could heave out. What he excreted was a mix of red chunks and black phlegm that had him forcing two more fingers down his throat in order to remove the contaminant out of his system before it killed the vessel from the inside.

The regeneration of the portion of his tongue and lips was slow, and for a second, he feared that the concoction—he refused to believe it was as simple as holy water at this point—did lasting harm to his vessel. He couldn’t afford a change now, not when the vessel was personally given to him by Lord Azazel. His vessel’s death meant death for him as well.

Brady left the restroom, deliriously looking around every face in the cramped living room. Was it a hunter? He knew of the restlessness among the lower ranks. Rumors had been floating around that Lord Azazel’s foot soldiers were being put down one by one, and judging by the skill and how precise the tracks were covered, it was a seasoned hunter that, much to his surprise, wasn’t John Winchester. That was the last news Brady had heard from Hell.

No, it couldn’t be that hunter. Only Lord Azazel and he were aware of his mission, the main reason why Brady couldn’t risk an attempt to investigate on his own the sudden disruption in his connection, not to mention the lack of reachable henchmen he could order.

Then who the fuck was it? Who was stupid enough to dare obstruct—

Brady chanced to turn around and he realized too late that he got his answer.

A fucking archangel.

No, no, no—it was supposed to be only Michael and it would be years before they deal with him! The Apocalypse would officially start when Lord Lucifer was finally freed, and only then would Michael and the Heavenly Host in his back would make their opposing move. Nobody said that Heaven would send out an agent to foil the plan.

With Raphael known to be on the side of bringing the Apocalypse to fruition, there was only one archangel left who remained neutral on the matter and who hadn’t been seen for thousands of years.

Gabriel’s divinity was obscured by the pagan entity he was wearing, though it wasn’t enough to completely dim the intensity of his grace. He could wear layers upon layers of pagan entities and they wouldn’t suppress his true identity.

Or maybe that was exactly what Gabriel wanted him to see.

Brady should have known there was something fishy with the little weasel shit.

“Brady!” He heard Sam called from behind before running towards him. “Are you—what’s wrong? Do you need help—”

“Don’t touch me!” Brady seethed when Sam turned him by the shoulder. Sam looked surprised at his reaction, and Brady didn’t really need the added problem of Sam suspecting him; the oaf was too fucking perceptive. “I’m sorry, Sam. I just—I feel sick after starting too early.” He gave a wry chuckle. “But I’ll be fine going back.” He smacked Sam’s arm lightly. “Go on and get wasted. All study and no play makes you a dull boy.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “Seriously, though. If you need anything, call me. Or Jess. We’ll be there.”

How awfully kind and ridiculously soft. It was in situations like this when Brady doubted this kid was truly Lord Lucifer’s true vessel. “Thanks, Sam.”

The more time Sam took to watch him go, the more pathetic Brady looked for not being able to escape somewhere in a blink. Brady cursed Sam Winchester and his abominable family under his breath until he reached the other side of the street.

With a gesture, Brady escaped under the darkness of the night.

And fell.

The drop was a sudden thing; one moment he was standing, and next the back of his meatsuit was slamming the ground. Every bone of his vessel was broken in five ways, and when he looked up he was outdoors, in an open pit of freshly-dug earth.

A silhouette above took shape, peering below at him.

“Get me out of here. Now,” Brady demanded but what left his mouth was a pitiful set of squeaks no better than a rat’s.

The figure clicked its tongue. “Look at that,” it said. “Another victim. Poor lad.”

“I said, get me out of here!” A gurgle came out in place of his yell.

The figure didn’t appear to hear any sound, starting to shovel back the earth on the pit.

Brady’s attempts at movement were fruitless and at best a writhing gesture that made him seem like a worm convulsing underneath the soil that began piling up quickly until the earth was on his eyes, inside his ears, nose, and mouth.

He let out a noise that went unheard six feet under.

Rowena murmured, hovering her hands above the young man’s chest and forehead. “He’s still there. Weak,” she confirmed.

“Good. That’s good,” Gabriel muttered distractedly, pacing. “Oh, man. This demon sucks at obstacle challenge.”

Rowena ignored him for the meantime in favor of saving the vessel and communicating with the person that remained inside while keeping the demon possessing him unaware.

She would have preferred it if the body was lying down on its back instead of sitting and roped tightly against the chair carved with demon traps. She tipped his chin and tore his shirt. Rowena wrote swiftly with a brush dipped in a special concoction. She wasn’t sure how long Gabriel could keep the demon occupied; probably for as long as Gabriel was entertained, but the quicker Rowena move, the greater the chance to pull out the young man back safely.

“Dico vobis levate manum, eo cui corporis huius,” Rowena chanted. “Sequimini me, et audi vocem meam. Imperium accipere gratiam immundos fugare templum tuum, qui aues…”

It took her two repetitions for the body to respond by convulsing on the chair before a sharp gasp broke through and wide, terrified eyes unfocused as he took in his surroundings in panic. “W-Where—”

“Hush now, lad. You have to calm down,” Rowena told him, clicking her fingers in front of his face to get his attention. “Brady. Brady Wilson,” she called firmly. “Look at me and me alone.”

Brady Wilson’s attention snapped to her as his face crumpled in fear and agony. “Help me. P-Please, help me.”

“I will help you with the demon expulsion, but you have to calm down or you’ll alert it.”

Brady shook his head frantically. “No. Help me. Let it end. Please.”

Rowena froze at the request, and before she could form a reply he spoke again, pleading as he gripped her hand on what little movement he could make against the ropes.

“I know what they’ll do. They’ll kill me, you, my family, my friends Sam and Jess. They don’t know what happened to me. Kill me and the demon.”

And that was the fastest way to finish it, wasn’t it? Gabriel told him that this mole was an integral part of Azazel’s scheme, and irreplaceable unlike the rest of his followers. Killing him early would at least hinder Jessica’s death and in turn Sam’s immediate return to hunting. The boy was asking for it, and not only it would be saving them the time, effort, and resources, it would be mercy.

Had it been some time ago, Rowena wouldn’t have hesitated.

She cut the ropes, propping him on the chair properly while she methodically let the blood flow back to his wrists. She was conscious of him blearily looking at her and leaning to her touch on his forehead and hair. She could no longer feel Gabriel’s presence behind her, and she knew he was in that crafted world of his, personally taking care of the vermin because Gabriel always wanted to have fun with those that actually deserved the trickster experience.

“I don’t want to hear that again from you, you hear me?” Rowena said, mildly reprimanding. “I won’t let you, young man, and the angel won’t either.”

Rowena didn’t let him get a word in edgewise and began the exorcism.

It was a peculiar thing to see Gabriel use the door, Rowena thought idly.

“Done,” he said. “He won’t remember getting possessed, and his memories of the past year will be fuzzy once he wakes up tomorrow, but that’ll be better for him.”

“And the demon?”

“Killed in a trial by combat in Westeros.” At Rowena’s confused frown, he waved his hand. Gabriel jumped on the bed, unwrapping a bar of chocolate and tossing another to her. “Good job on the exorcism.”

Rowena wasn’t a fan of sweets, but she would rather have something that wasn’t alcoholic right then. She scooted beside him and tore a small piece of the Swiss dark chocolate. “The lad wanted to die, you know,” she said absently, careful not to spill any bits on the comforter.

Gabriel was looking at her silently.

“I don’t know him,” she continued. “It would be nothing personal, and he would thank me for it.”

She saw numerous times demons getting killed while inside their meatsuit—she had killed a couple—and perhaps that would make any forget about the living person within. It wasn’t a particular issue she and the Winchesters dwell on, but what happened earlier made her rethink her approach and outlook on a few things.

He was still watching her, and whatever he saw, it was enough to make him smile genuinely. “You did good today, Rowena.”

She did, didn’t she? In a relatively general sense of ‘good’.

Rowena wanted to huff a denial, to insist on maintaining an image within the morally gray area, but it wasn’t often that she got something of an acknowledgment for a deed.

It was… nice.

Rowena met Sam Winchester again the next day.

He didn’t pose a flattering sight, propped by a tall blonde girl who helped the giant to the clinic. Taking pity, Rowena assisted her in lugging Sam to the cot.

“I’m sorry for barging in this way, Miss MacLeod, but you’re the only nurse on duty I know during the holidays,” the girl said immediately. “He’s been feeling under the weather since yesterday, and I thought it was just a hangover since he never really drank heavily. But then he got a mild fever this morning. I did my best lowering it down, but—” She sighed glumly. “It’s out of season but I think it’s flu.”

Rowena felt mildly guilty for the girl’s apparent concern. “He’ll be fine, dearie. I’ll give him mefenamic for the migraine he’ll surely have when he wakes up. Just let him rest here for a few hours if you have somewhere to be.”

The girl appeared slightly hesitant to leave but grateful nonetheless. “Alright. Thank you, miss. I’ll leave Sam to you for a bit. I might as well get him lunch.”

“A meal with hot soup will do nicely,” Rowena suggested. The girl politely bid her goodbye and was already at the door when Rowena called her. “What’s your name again?”

“Jessica. Jessica Moore,” she said with a bright smile. “I’ll see you later, Miss MacLeod.”

Rowena remained staring at the closed door. So the sweet and caring pretty lass was Jessica. Rowena wondered why she hadn’t piece it together the moment she saw her enter.

But maybe it was the years knowing Sam Winchester too; she was a little familiar with his taste in women in the later years.

“I don’t know what happened to your standards, Samuel,” she muttered.

“Tastes change, you know,” Gabriel said, appearing closely behind her. He grinned at her jolt of surprise. “Also, can you fault him for liking dangerous women?”

“The good lot they did to him,” she scoffed. “No wonder he thought he was cursed, with the women he got involved with dying left and right.”

Gabriel rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “If I remember the books correctly, only those he slept with, then some.” He paused. “Wait. Does that mean you and him—”

“Och. No.”

Gabriel looked skeptical.

Rowena rubbed her temple and shooed Gabriel away with her free hand. “Do your bloody thing, you angel.”

It was anticlimactic watching him touch Sam’s forehead and chirping it was done. “Did what Castiel placed on him and his brother before. Enochian carvings on the ribs. Pretty ingenious, actually. I put back his anti-possession as well. Should hold up against demons with a class as high as a Prince.”

“And the malady you gave him?”

“Squashed like a bug.” Gabriel grinned impishly. Rowena didn’t share the same appreciation for the pun.

“You mean to say you could have done that months ago in less than two minutes,” Rowena said lowly. “What the Hell, Gabriel.”

“What? I like roleplaying. I’ve been a janitor in another uni for six years last time. I get to be a professor this time. Maybe I’ll be a student next.”

“I wasn’t told you’re the angel of universities.”

“It’s not the university itself, lady. It’s the people,” Gabriel reasoned. “Why the ungratefulness? You get to see Sam again.”

“Frankly, I’d rather didn’t.”

“Yeesh. Trouble in paradise before the time travel?”

Rowena fixed him a look. “No.”

She moved past him, leaving no room for argument. Gabriel remained by Sam’s bed, squinting his eyes down on the unconscious man. He dropped the subject, or so she thought.

“Is it the height?”

“Gabriel!” she hissed in irritation. Any louder, Sam could possibly wake.

Gabriel shrugged. “Not that I blame you. It might have occurred to me once to climb that tree.”

“What?”

“What?” he asked.

Rowena blinked.

“I’m not blind, and I can appreciate both kinds of Dad’s creations.” He definitely sounded defiant.

“Of course, dear.”

“Right.”

Jessica returned not long later, unknowingly stumbling on the awkward silence when she checked on her boyfriend. She recognized Gabriel and the two were engaged in an animated talk that led to him seeing her out of the clinic.

“Hope you didn’t mind I stole your coin,” Gabriel said when he returned inside. “That girl’s a walking target, if you remember.”

Hard to forget, though admittedly Jessica’s importance had been trumped by prioritizing Sam. “I’ll keep her protected,” Rowena promised.

As long as Azazel and his fellow Lucifer fanatics were alive, Jessica was yet to be out of the clear.

Rowena was just as unprepared as the first when Crowley visited the second time the following week.

By some luck, Gabriel was absent once more when it happened, sauntering somewhere off the coast, he said with a worried frown. Either he was away to check on something concerning or it was an absurdly good coincidence that probably wasn’t at all. A thought for later.

She watched him survey the walls all over again. Somewhat amused, she quietly let him look under the drapes before he decided there was nothing out of the ordinary. Crowley considered her as if trying to figure out a puzzle. Rowena was fine with getting used to this routine if Crowley were to visit her again.

Rowena busied herself with a nightcap, and for a minute, she thought he was gone, until he asked to be poured one.

Crowley grunted appreciatively after taking a sniff. “Developed a fine taste, I see.”

“Hard not to when you have a man who can give them to you in a snap.”

“Who’s the poor rich lad?”

“Loki,” answered Rowena, sitting across her son. “That’s what he likes to be called. In his homemade movies, I mean.”

“If I didn’t know better, I would have thought you’re cohabiting with a porn star,” Crowley said. Rowena enjoyed the disgust that fleeted across his face. “But I did know better. Say, why’s a pagan god—what’s that term? Putting his finger in the pie?”

Rowena made no reply to refute the discovery. “And the pie is?”

Crowley sat back, seemingly challenging that Rowena tell him herself.

Rowena feigned nonchalance. “We enjoy each other’s company enough without being upfront with each other’s business. It’s a decent arrangement.”

“For sure,” Crowley agreed patronizingly. “A witch in the guise of a nurse. The outfit alone. My, how scandalous.”

Rowena could see what he was trying to do. She would bite; she was curious how he happened with the information after supposedly cutting off the communication between demons in and out of Stanford. “How did you find out?”

“I have my sources.” His tone was noncommittal. “What piqued my curiosity was the choice of location. While I didn’t know what possessed you to moonlight as Florence Nightingale, I wonder if there’s a specific reason why Stanford. It just so happens that a very important person, to the Netherworld, is attending there. Then there’s also the sudden demise of a secret field agent that I only found out about recently. Ironically, Hell’s been having several consecutive deaths recently.”

“Sounds like a lot of funerals in your workplace, Fergus.”

“Good riddance on some, though. That department isn’t known for their competency. The losses are not that impactful.” Crowley frowned. “I’m getting sidetracked. My little birdies also told me you’ve been hooking up with a college professor with an interesting name of Gabriel.”

“What can I say, his father is deeply religious.”

“Yes, that’s one way to put it,” he said dryly. “They said that the Messenger of the Lord has been missing for a while now. Nobody claims he’s dead, though some speculated he went native. What I think is that he has migrated to another pantheon, mingling with the indigenous tribe. They’re lesser than him in terms of divinity, but I heard they’re more fun compared to the prudes upstairs. Being a pagan deity is less conspicuous if you’re hiding from the Family, though it makes one think how he believes he can stay hidden while messing with some grand plans that involved the said family.” Crowley inclined his head. “The pie that I’m talking about, mother, is the Apocalypse itself.”

With Crowley intently watching her reaction, Rowena smoothly schooled her reaction to that of intrigue and surprise. Suffice to say, Crowley wasn’t happy with what he found, which made Rowena wanting to ask why.

If he believed her lie, was he displeased to be proven that she didn’t know any? If he was aware she was lying, was he displeased that Rowena was involved? Rowena knew of Crowley’s stand on the Apocalypse based from the previous timeline, and the sole reason he wouldn’t like Rowena’s complicity against the end of the world was that she would throw a wrench on Crowley’s own schemes.

“What are you really doing here, mother?”

Rowena wanted to laugh. “An oft-asked question to myself, Fergus,” she replied, languidly pushing herself back on the armchair.

“A question for next time then.” Crowley began to look impatient when he couldn’t gather what he sought. Funny that he wasn’t resorting to force if he was in dire need of information. It should be the easiest to employ the method to her, of all people. He stood, flicking nonexistent lint off his suit. “Something to keep in mind: a certain faction in Hell is outsourcing a rather efficient team to look into the mysterious deaths. Not only that, a cavalry is bound to arrive soon to express their displeasure on the turn of events.” His mouth pursed, too quick for Rowena to discern whether from d. “Farvel.”

He vanished, leaving Rowena startled at his parting words.

She wasn’t under the illusion that Fergus cared, but she would take the ‘next time’ at face value.

“We have a problem,” Gabriel said, the grimmest Rowena had seen him.

“Great. We’re having a shortage on surplus at the moment,” Rowena replied sarcastically. She turned to him, suddenly concerned when she was met with uncharacteristic silence. “Gabriel, what is it?”

“A Devil’s Gate is opened earlier than anticipated,” he said, running a hand on his hair. “Something’s wrong.”

“The Devil’s Gate?” Rowena repeated confusedly. “I thought the gate to Hell has always been opened. You do know that Fergus can visit me after all.”

“There are a few other doorways to Hell, and very few know of them. Crossroads Demons can go to the human plane since they can technically be summoned here, and because your son is the King of the Crossroads, he gets to move freely in between whenever he wanted,” he explained. “This gate I’m talking about is the main one where multiple hordes can exit all at once.” He looked up to her. “That’s where Lilith will come out per Azazel’s arrangement.”

“Then we kill her too!”

“No, you won’t like that. Her death is the final seal of Lucifer’s cage. The best we can do for her is to trap her for eternity. But, no, that’s not really the issue at hand. We forget another important person we should be keeping an eye on.” Gabriel smiled wryly. “Dean Winchester.”

Of course. Of course, they neglected Dean who was another vessel, albeit for the lesser of the two evils. “If Heaven already made its first move to rally Michael’s vessel, you’ll speak of it. Pray tell how does forgetting about the older Winchester factor in this timeline.”

“With the Devil’s Gate opened, Lilith will possibly be out within the week. That can only mean one thing: they’re pushing ahead of the schedule, probably because of our interference. All that’s left are to break the rest of the 65 seals.”

“You said killing Lilith is the last, then that means there are still 65 seals before her and those are plenty which should buy us enough time.”

“Not enough if they’re moving in an organized manner and with Azazel alive helping her.” Gabriel worried his lip. “The first seal is the righteous man spilling blood in Hell. Dean was the one to do so in the original timeline. He was there after he made a deal to save Sam’s life.”

“But Sam should be safe now. We put every bit of protection on him. He has you protecting him.”

Rowena didn’t want to think it would be all for naught. Gabriel, seemingly reading her mind, reached over to squeeze her hand reassuringly.

“We are, and that puts them in a bind. They can’t take a step that involves Sam. Not yet, at least. But they can switch up a couple of things. They killed Jessica before to push Sam back to hunting—they needed him in top shape for Lucifer—and on the road where Sam discovered about his abilities. Hence, the addiction to demon blood. Sam might be away from Dean as of now, but you do know those two love each other to death no matter the distance that if something were to happen to the other, they will do everything in their power to save one another.”

Rowena was starting to see where Dean would factor in. She let Gabriel continue.

“An accident befalling Dean will be enough to push Sam back to hunting,” Gabriel said. “As to sending Dean to Hell, it’ll be easy with John Winchester around and hunting with him. I imagine that it won’t be a difficult choice for Dean to sell his soul if, say, John mysteriously died or if they gullibly get baited with a piece of information about Yellow Eyes.”

“Targeting Dean now means killing two birds with one stone,” she concluded. “Or three, counting the death of his father.”

Gabriel nodded. “That about sums it up.”

Rowena sighed. “Then we protect him too. Now, without all the role-playing nonsense we did.”

He chuckled. “We can, but that means springing it all on him, who we are, what we are, and when we came from. Here’s to hoping that he’ll simply take them in a stride and will be reasonable to talk to.” Absently, he fiddled with her fingers. Rowena completely forgot she was holding hands with him. Huh. “Actually, I think you should let me handle this. I’m telling you so you know what we’re dealing with and who might be after you and me. I’d rather you’re prepared in case—”

“No.”

“… No?”

Rowena smiled sweetly. “No, dear. Let me take care of Dean.” She shushed him when he was clearly about to protest. “If Hell is already getting hints who’s working against them, don’t you think they’re ready to strike in the open who it is? Now, I won’t put it past them to not know a way to at least put you out of commission for a short while. They’re bound to know a trick or two, and remember that you’re only one angel against most of Hell’s faction.”

“I’m just one archangel!” Gabriel protested. At Rowena’s raised eyebrow, he grumbled, “Fine. I can see your point.”

“My point, darling, is you need to lay low a bit and let me be less conspicuous.”

“Not to offend, quite the opposite, but you enter a room and you can get everyone’s attention on you.”

“Why thank you.” Rowena preened. “And that should work nicely. I do need to get Dean’s attention, and there’s only one way I can think of how without raising his suspicion.”

As expected, Dean was by his lonesome self, nursing a bottle of beer by the bar. He was eyeing the bartender, a short-haired brunette with striking blue eyes that showed a mutual appreciation directed to her admirer.

Well, interesting to know Dean started young with a certain type.

When it was clear that Dean was about to ask the bartender when her shift would end, Rowena actually felt bad for intervening. She quietly slid to the empty stool to the left of Dean, ordering a top-shelf bourbon and flicking her hair daintily in the process.

There were several variables that could possibly catch Dean’s attention: the shock of red hair that streaked across his peripheral vision; or the scent of lavender and raspberries that was proven to work like a charm; or the slinky black and purple dress that showed skin around the shoulders; or the sound of her manicured fingers tapping against the mahogany top as she waited; or maybe her gall to sit directly next to the person who was sending an obvious signal that he wanted to be left alone.

It could be any of those, but the fact remained that Rowena could feel Dean’s eyes on her that lingered heavily.

Rowena turned to him, her own eyes bright with coy and red lips turned up coquettishly at the ends, and found Dean Winchester staring at her as if he had seen a ghost.

That wasn’t what she expected.

Dean blinked at her once… twice unbelievingly, his jaw fixed and face draining of color, and under the lighting, he appeared as old as when she last saw him.

“Rowena.”

It barely registered that Dean called her by name without uttering any word so far, and, oh. Oh.

Dean was like her.

The inside of the Impala was the same as ever: it smelled of manly sweat and stale pine fresh, and the car seat with unexplainable bumps. With how worn the backrest, Rowena would hazard a guess that the vehicle was more often slept in than before.

For once, she was at the passenger’s seat, a blanket of silence between her and Dean that wasn’t pierced by his cacophonous choice of music. Oddly enough, they were both fine with the quiet.

“Where are we going?” Rowena asked after Dean made a turn on the road.

“A different motel. Dad is there where I’m staying. We need to talk somewhere.”

That was just as well. Rowena wasn’t excited meeting the Daddy Winchester. Within five minutes, Dean pulled over a 24-hour motel and parked on the almost empty parking.

Rowena exited once Dean killed the engine and waited out on her side of the car, and to her utter surprise, Dean enveloped her in an embrace.

Dean was no less short younger. She knew he was the more emotionally constipated Winchester, and the fact that he initiated a hug meant he was in dire need of it, of this. Rowena let him, squeezing him briefly before he pulled away hurriedly, awkwardly, probably thinking it cheesy to do so.

Rowena rolled her eyes fondly at him. “I missed you too, you big lug.”

“Yeah, you’re the only witch I missed.”

After the check-in at the front desk with the attendant tossing them a weird look that they pretty much ignored, they made way with to the room, each taking different parts of the room and sitting heavily.

“How long have you been back?” Dean asked, breaking the stillness that yet again settled on them.

“I’ve been here since June last year. You?”

“January last year.”

“You’re early. Earlier than us,” she commented. “I forgot to tell you that Gabriel is also the same.”

Dean’s mouth hanged open before a bark of laughter escaped him. “Why am I not even surprised that he’s also here?”

Rowena smirked. “He was the one who suggested that we seek you out. For your own protection.”

“My protection?”

It was going to be a long story, Rowena decided as she got comfortable beside Dean. She told him of what she and Gabriel had been up to since their return. She mentioned disposing of Brady, and while Dean didn’t interrupt her retelling of events, Rowena could see his gratefulness.

“We took Sam under our protection—well, Gabriel’s, specifically, and I took Jessica under mine. The entirety of that school of his while we were at it. We managed to eliminate a few from within and those waiting outside by cutting their communication. It was apparently vital to the mole disguising as giant’s friend,” Rowena said, not bothering to hide her smugness.

There was an imperceptible softness in Dean’s eyes at the mention of Sam. “Did you tell him? Did you tell Sam about the… the situation?”

“No. And if you’re asking me, that means you don’t as well,” she said wryly. “Then we both try to keep him away from his fate for as long as we could.” There was a note of wistfulness in her tone.

“’The things we do for love’,” Dean said. Rowena quirked a brow, and he shook his head. “I’m quoting someone. I did want to tell Sam, you know, because he’s the only person I know who will believe me and be at my back no matter what. I figured you were tempted to tell him with the same reason, especially with,” Dean shifted slightly, choosing his words carefully, “the thing between you and him.”

“Do you mean him killing me or something else?”

He sighed. “Both? I don’t know. There is something else there that you’ve danced around, right? I’m not blind, Rowena.”

Ironic thing to say when he and his angel had their fair share of ‘dancing around’. “Maybe there was, or maybe none,” she said noncommittally. “All of it are in the past now. He’s not that Samuel anymore, and with the rate we’re trying to change to change it for the better, he’ll never be the person we knew. We can tell him who we are, and he could sympathize, but he’ll never understand.”

“But he’ll be happy to be free of what would be in store for his future self,” Dean said. “We’ll be strangers to each other, but it’s a price I’m willing to pay.”

It seemed rather selfish of them to decide what was best of Sam, but Rowena couldn’t find it in her to disagree.

“Anyway, you were telling me something about my protection?” Dean abruptly asked, a change in topic that Rowena was thankful for.

She told him of the sound theory that Gabriel formed before he sent her after Dean. Dean took it quietly, nodding grimly in agreement for the most part. In turn, he told her of his escapades as well, of trying to stop known followers of Azazel, for example, his children.

“I don’t understand why can’t we kill Lilith ahead before the first seal is broken. Her death will be out of order, hence should be useless.”

“Not saying it’s impossible, but they’ll just find a way to resurrect her until she served her purpose. Also, it’s kind of difficult ganking demons in one strike now without a demon or angel blade,” Dean admitted. “I had to resort with quick exorcism, which is preferable since the person inside can be saved, but it’s a slow process.”

“Don’t you have those at your mancave?”

“Sadly, we won’t have the bunker until 2013. The key’s still with our grandfather and Abaddon won’t be—it’s a long story for later.”

“Fine. Gabriel then. He’ll be happy to provide you with them. The demon blade, at least,” she said. “Would you like me to call him now?”

Dean looked hesitant. “I’d like to see Gabriel too, but I don’t think I can handle another reunion with a familiar face tonight.”

Rowena relented with a tired nod. “I understand, but tomorrow morning I have to. For your Enochian warding and reinforced anti-possession tattoo.”

“Do you have those too?”

“No. I never asked for them.” Dean’s face was disapproving. “Oh, don’t look at me like that. Bold of you to assume I don’t have ample protection on my own. Witch, remember?”

Dean snorted. “It’s not a jab on your pride, Rowena. But don’t you think you’re much safer with Gabriel’s protection? Dude’s an archangel, for Christ’s sake. That’s a lot of firepower on our side.”

“It’s not like the subject often comes out. We were occupied enough as it is without thinking of the Apocalypse.” Rowena crossed her arms haughtily.

Dean’s expression was sour. “I don’t want to know.” He made his way to the other bed and dumped himself face-first.

“That bad?”

Dean grunted against the pillow. He turned his face to the side without moving his body. “You have an idea.”

“I can still sleep if that’s what you mean, and it’s not as if I have too many ghosts of the past. I avoid them aside from Fergus.”

“Crowley? You met with him?”

“Twice, and it’s him fishing out information from me and the mysterious beau of mine who he believes is Loki. Technically, I’m not lying.”

“Does Crowley know?”

Rowena scoffed. “Be stupid to tell him when there’s not an ounce of humanity in him. He’s still my son, but he’s an opportunist without a shred of conscience.”

Dean smirked. “That’s him, alright.” He glanced away. “And he’s not a friend. Not yet. The thing about this time travel, you see a lot of people from the past who died a different person than what they are now. You can change them again, but it’s a gamble whether for better or worse.”

“Aye. We’re gifted with foreknowledge, but we lost the friends we gained in the past.”

“Yeah. It’s lucky that she brought you and Gabriel too. When she spoke to me and said she’ll bring me back, I thought—”

“She?” Rowena repeated numbly. “You know who brought us back.”

Dean sat up slowly before answering, “It’s Amara. She appeared to me when I died because I did die for real. With Sam.” He exhaled sharply. “When she told me she’d bring me back, I expected Sam would be here with me. He wasn’t, and in the long run, as much as I hate to admit it, it’s for the best that he didn’t.”

“Why?” she asked. “Why bring us back?”

“I don’t know,” he said. “Honestly, I give up trying to figure what these fucking bigwigs are thinking. Amara brought me back, and yeah, I guess I should be glad for the chance, but part of me keeps thinking too that you, me, and Gabriel are just another pawns, only to a different entity.”

“What choice do we have, Dean, but play on their board? Because I am playing no matter how insignificant I am compared to you and your brother and an archangel. What am I? A wee witch who has a few tricks up her sleeves and who died because she had to. I didn’t ask to return, but I don’t doubt that my end will be the same sad end as a footnote in an epic novel.”

“But your death wasn’t for nothing,” Dean insisted. “Not for me, and definitely not for Sam. For someone who’s too proud of what she is, you sure give yourself so little credit. You went out as part of us. You were family, Rowena. You came back, and you still are.”

“You certainly learned how to sweet talk,” Rowena said, unable to stop herself from giving Dean a good ribbing. “You should have—” she suddenly stopped speaking, cocking her head with a frown. “Do you hear that?”

“I don’t hear anything.” Dean was immediately on alert, his back straightening. “Rowena, what’s wrong?”

There was an incessant buzzing ringing in her ears that turned louder and louder and rang inside her head. Rowena’s head began to hurt that she hardly noticed Dean rushing to her and kneeling, shaking her by the shoulders in both fear and concern.

Amidst the sharp stab of pain in her head was a sudden realization that something was approaching them at fast speed.

There was already the sound of breaking glass the moment Rowena forcefully pushed Dean down on the floor.

Great flames swarmed them a matter of seconds, and they burned.

The walls, the ceiling, the drapes, the blankets, the pillows—the whole room was enveloped by the heat that intended to devour her and Dean. Knowing it wouldn’t let on unless both of them were charred crisps, Rowena had to think. Fast.

“Rowena?” Dean coughed and wheezed. “Are you—”

She held Dean firmly under her, and in quick successes snatched a knife from Dean’s waist and sliced her palm. She did a simple pentagram on the carpet by Dean’s head and muttered an incantation.

Despite the smoke, Rowena persisted with the spell, occasionally breaking mid-chant to heave a lungful of breaths. Dean watched her from below, his face covered by his forearm, though his eyes watering from the amount of smoke were stubbornly kept open, wide with unwavering resolute.

Dean firmly believed that she could and would tame the demonic flames, and Rowena did.

A strong gust of wind whirled in and sucked the fire in large increments through the broken window. The smoke within was cleared as the fire was smothered out by magic. Faintly, they could hear the fire alarm that set off outside the room.

Rowena staggered backward from Dean, drawing her breath with great effort and hissed at the stabs of searing pain making themselves known all at once, mostly coming from her back that she could feel from her neck through the arms and legs. Dean was about to scramble on his feet when a force suddenly knocked him aside.

“Dean!”

Rowena collided with a hard body behind her. She whirled and grimaced in pain at the sudden jerky movement, and found a strange man with ashen skin and yellow eyes towering over her within arm’s reach. She tested her right wrist and fingers, and albeit the aching, she could flick them to hurl the demon out.

“I won’t do that if I were you,” the demon warned in its raspy voice. He cocked his head at Dean’s direction and raised a closed fist. “You chant, I snap Dean’s neck here.”

Dean was telekinetically lifted up the ceiling, his throat closing from within, and worrying choking noises were coming from him the longer Rowena stood idle.

Fuck it.

“Abite!”

While it was satisfying to watch the strike of purple lightning hit the demon squarely in the chest and throw him back with a crack, Rowena had to catch Dean as he rapidly slid down, fortunately against the wall, once he was freed from the demon’s hold.

“Dean, wake up,” Rowena called him urgently, shaking him. “We have to go, and I can’t carry you!”

But Dean refused to budge even as a presence loomed heavily behind her. Before Rowena could react, the demon pulled her up on her feet by her hair, twisting and tugging at her scalp.

“As expected of an angel’s bitch,” the demon sneered, voice grating on her ear. “There’s more magic in you than you look.”

Azazel, Rowena’s mind supplied. It was bloody Azazel.

Gabriel.

It was the last thought in her head before blackness completely overtook her.

There was a trickle of water.

Rowena woke to the acrid smell of sulfur that was palpable in the air. What she believed to be water falling in droplets against her face seemed sticky and thick. Rowena blinked her eyes open and regretted that she did.

Above her was a body of a man hanging limply and whose blood was dripping down on her. Rowena had seen revolting sights in her years, and while this hardly churned her stomach, it was the familiar stature, blond hair, and the drab flannel that had her let out a muffled scream against the gag.

Rowena turned away, struggling on her bound arms and legs on the metal table. Her eyes darted wildly in the dark and found nothing. Once her vision adjusted, the place turned out to be bare like the inside of an abandoned warehouse.

It wasn’t Hell.

Rowena calmed her breathing with deep inhales and exhales, turning her attention back to the body hanging above.

It wasn’t Dean.

In hindsight, it was ludicrous to think Dean could be killed this easy; death was infamously evasive of the Winchester brothers after all. Not to mention, Dean should be considerably experienced when it came to demonkind in his second life.

Dean could have escaped, or Gabriel could have arrived in the nick of time. Rowena might be tied down in some dank hole, but she took comfort that she was alone for now.

She tested her hands. Iron. Figures.

There was a loud clang of heavy doors before a shuffling of feet could be heard approaching her. It was no use pretending to sleep when a faint light shone once the lifeless body above was casually set aside. A figure hovered over her, reeking of sulfur and the smell of blood and rotten flesh. He was thin and bony, with a sallow complexion.

The unfamiliar demon watched Rowena with scrutiny and the total focus of a boffin studying a specimen. He didn’t react at the glower Rowena was sending him, merely humming and mentally taking notes of his observations.

Rowena could hear the same buzzing from before when they were assaulted in the motel, and it wouldn’t be farfetched to think it was some sort of a signal of impending danger.

Something cold settled in her stomach.

“Fascinating,” the demon muttered in rapt attention. “Your body has experienced numerous deaths and yet retains its form.” His eyes darted on her right thigh. “An embedded resurrection seal. Brilliant.”

He rounded the table, producing a scalpel that gleamed under the dim lighting. He addressed her directly. “I expect your threshold is higher than most I’ve laid here on the table. Such a shame. It would have been preferable if we’re in my office downstairs.”

The cold blade dug lightly near the crook of Rowena’s left arm, and she writhed in pain when it cut down and peeled a portion of her skin.

“Shh,” the demon shushed, unperturbed at her futile attempts to twist away from the blade where a small, thin slice of flesh was sitting atop it. To her horror, the demon brought it to his mouth and ate the bit of her skin.

Rowena turned away from the sight, wanting to puke against the gag.

The demon hummed, seemingly satisfied at the taste. “Not bad,” he said, and proceeded to calmly incised on sections of Rowena’s left arm.

Rowena screamed.

Eventually, Rowena passed out against her will once the demon practically peeled most of her upper arm, and one could only see so much of their skin getting eaten and savored right in front of them.

When she came to, her mouth was freed from the binding though her jaw ached. She hadn’t been unconscious that long, it seemed, once she could feel her own magic struggling to mend her broken skin in gradual surges.

The demon didn’t miss the healing raw flesh, and in an expression of disapproval, he dipped the end of his blade at the tip of her pinky finger and flayed the top half.

Rowena’s howl of agony came out unhindered that rang loudly even to her own ears. The demon didn’t flinch at the sound and was in fact rather delighted if his triumphant smirk was anything to go by.

“What do you want?” she demanded, gritting her teeth in spite of the torn nerve endings that she could feel in her whole body.

She would not beg.

“Lord Azazel had asked for my service. He intends to conduct an inquiry about a mysterious party working behind the scenes,” the demon replied matter-of-factly, more interested with working on Rowena’s fingers one by one. She bit her lip to stop the cry from escaping her lips when a nail was pried off.

She would not beg.

“I was told that you’re working with an angel to stop Lord Azazel’s plans to free our Dark Father, and the quickest way to get answers is through the Grand Inquisitor.” The demon made a show of bowing. “Alastair, at your service.”

As expected of Hell, giving out fancy titles to a lowly profession of torturer. Just her luck that it was apparently one of Hell’s finest that was sicced on her.

She had had worse, she kept reminding herself. Rowena had been at Lucifer’s mercy once. Alastair couldn’t have been worse than the Devil himself.

Rowena’s teeth sunk on her bottom lip while tips of her fingers and toes were being skinned to expose the muscles underneath. By the time Alastair was done, her lip was bleeding, blood and spit mingling down her chin.

“Within ten minutes, you’ll ask for them to get cut off, and I will for every piece of information you can give me. I only need three: a name, a reason, and hm—other names, I suppose?”

Rowena would not beg.

“The countdown starts now.”

She bit back her tongue.

Rowena didn’t beg.

Somewhere in her addled mind, Rowena registered one thing: Alastair kept referring to Gabriel as an angel.

They didn’t even know what he was.

In the middle of Alastair hammering down a nail on a knee, Rowena laughed.

In her experience with tortures and torturers, it was entertaining to see them arriving at the brink of desperation when they couldn’t pry from her what they wanted.

Alastair was a different case.

He never tired of asking the same questions, and instead becoming more and more methodical and endlessly inventive with his ways. Rowena’s sense of time has faded, and she wondered how long she had been there with only the company of his demon. Had the situation was different, she would have admired his dedication and ingenuity.

It was exhausting, with her body continuously agonizing over the torment, and on one hand her innate magic was doing its best to repair her in its own way. She might not felt the strength to build it in a ball in her palm, bound by wards etched on the iron that was keeping her down, but her magic was there still and wouldn’t let her just die.

Rowena held on nonetheless.

She knew she could handle it once she found a footing by imagining in turn how she would inflict the same kind of cruelty on Alastair the moment she was freed.

Calmly, Alastair humored her ideas, until Rowena became more vocal than he expected and he changed his tactics.

Rowena couldn’t see them, though she did sense when three hellhounds came in with their inhuman growling and heavy steps.

She wasn’t detached enough to not react in terror when the hellhounds mauled her to bits.

“A name?”

Rowena spat on his face.

It earned her a throaty chuckle.

Alastair left her eyesight for last.

She blinked, painstakingly and lasting for more than a millisecond, and wished that she hadn’t dared to do so.

Her father stood there where Alastair had been, his face the same as she remembered as a girl, when her father was done after a hard day’s labor but wouldn’t forget cooking her dinner and putting her to sleep at night.

“Rowena,” he said, tender and soft as he brushed her hair and kissed her temple. “My child.”

It hurt when he gutted what currently remained of her, and it began to hurt where Alastair’s tools couldn’t reach before.

With only her eyes intact and voice box and tongue ripped out, Rowena cried noiselessly when her father pierced her cheek.

It was Fergus next.

She almost didn’t recognize him, her one good eye aside. It was the nose, the mouth, the ears that resembled Gavin’s—but not quite—that clued her in.

Fergus was taller and thinner compared to Crowley’s meatsuit, and the fact that Rowena didn’t get to see this version of her son when he was alive was a testament on the kind of mother that she had been.

The Fergus that was staring back at her bore no recognition in his face, and when he sat down to gouge her eye out, Rowena knew she deserved it.

Rowena woke to the shrill sound of an infant’s cries. Exhaustion seeped to her bones, and with utter difficulty held the fussing bairn to her chest until he calmed down.

She was tired, with sleep close to lull her back to its arms. She didn’t notice the makeshift bed dipping with additional weight until he spoke, leaning over to her and their son.

“He got your nose,” Roderick said fondly, his index finger reaching out to touch the baby’s small nose that twitched adorably.

Rowena didn’t answer, though she wasn’t out of it yet to not smile at him affectionately.

“I have to go, my dear,” Roderick said. “You still need blankets and food to replenish your strength. Oh, and hot water. I’ll be back, my love. Don’t wait up for me.”

She hummed distractedly, quite taken with the baby to pay attention to what he said. She knew he understood.

“I’ll give him your name,” she said when Roderick was almost by the exit.

It took him a moment to turn around, and when he did the meager lamplight wasn’t able to illuminate his face. “Yes, I’d like that,” he said, sounding oddly distant and so very far away.

With Fergus garnering all of her attention, Rowena didn’t care.

They grew up fast, Fergus and Oskar, as quick as a blink of an eye.

It was a swirl of haze how they came to be whenever Rowena tried to think and remember. It didn’t matter a bit; Rowena loved her sons dearly that she would gladly give up her life for them, as any mother should.

That was why she couldn’t understand why and how her hands found themselves around Oskar’s delicate neck and twisting it cruelly as if breaking a twig.

She turned to Fergus who froze after seeing the incident, and Rowena stomped on the poor boy with all her strength until the white showed. Unlike Oskar, Fergus remained alive long enough to cry. Rowena burned him while he pleaded for his mother for mercy.

“It’s okay.” It was Roderick who appeared beside her when she crumpled on the ground once she got back a semblance of control. “You did good, Rowena.”

But there was nothing good in it. There was nothing good in killing her sons.

There had been nothing good in Rowena’s entire life, with only regret and several mistakes for company.

She was her own making, what she was now.

“It’s okay,” Roderick said again, with a handsome smile that used to twist her stomach pleasantly, except now she detested that particular look that reminded her of someone she struggled to recall. “You were amazing, Red.”

Red. It was only the Devil who called her that.

“Lucifer.”

Roderick caressed her face, causing Rowena to flinch at the touch. His hold was strong and his tenderness jarring.

Rowena would not beg.

“Even better,” Lucifer said, in Roderick’s voice and face, and without preamble kissed her lips. “I’ve returned, my dear.”

She didn’t fight when Lucifer sent her ablaze.

Rowena had drowned once.

Afloat in a void that she unknowingly fell into felt like it—the oppressive nothingness that weighed heavily on her lungs and the lack of foothold and to grab on to pull herself up.

There was no choice but to drift or fall down, whichever direction she was being directed to.

And would she know it, it actually gave her a sense of peace.

“Rowena.”

Oh, it was Sam.

Not the young one she met recently but the one she knew longer, who had those wrinkles and laugh lines on his face that showed his age.

Sam looked well, and Rowena had a burning hatred to Lucifer and to that demon capable of playing with her mind like this.

Sam shook his head. “No. I’m not—you’re not there at the moment.”

Lucifer has to be more convincing than that.

Sam’s expression was patient, contrite and concerned rolled in one. “I’m sorry that you haven’t quite found your peace yet. After.”

“I suppose you know of that too.” Rowena snorted in derision. It was a surprise they were only using the knowledge now against her.

“Why shouldn’t I? I am you. I am a part of you, you know.”

“I wasn’t aware my conscience looks like Samuel.”

“The appearance is all on you, I’m afraid.” Sam grinned impishly. “And, no, I’m not your conscience.”

Rowena bit, getting frustrated with the uncalled for mystery. “What are you then? The part of me that has been keen to die because I never really asked for a second try? It’s not surprising given that you look like the person who killed me. Terribly unoriginal.”

Sam hardly looked offended. “I’m the part of you that believes you deserve a second chance.”

And if it was true of course it would have Sam’s face because the giant was the first person to saw her merit. It was probably appropriate to laugh; she didn’t, though, finding the metaphor stupid.

“The mind works like that,” Sam said sagely. “It’s fascinating.”

On any other occasion, she would have agreed. It was a confounding thing, in her present opinion, that tried to fill up the gaps she hadn’t noticed, like the surroundings and what she and Sam were wearing. If it was her unconsciously doing so, then it was a strange choice to put them both in white, situated among the fields of the highlands from her childhood.

Rowena began walking, with Sam following beside her wordlessly. He wouldn’t speak if she didn’t want him to.

Yarrow beset them on both sides, and Rowena could think of a couple of spells she could do with a single ingredient. There was one for servitude that tended to boil the person’s brain; there was a charm for the home’s safety; and there were two for either good or bad luck.

She wondered idly if there was any for a swift getaway.

“You don’t have to use any to get out of here,” Sam said. “This is your domain.”

Rowena could sense a ‘but’ despite the wistful tone. “What is it?”

“You still have to call him. Gabriel.”

Well, Rowena felt sort of bad that she had completely forgotten about him, though caring about someone who was vastly more powerful than her and the demons who had gotten her seemed a useless notion.

“He wasn’t asking you to,” Sam said, reading her mind—the concept was funny seeing as where they were. “He respects your own power, and he trusts your strength, but like you he’s also someone who believes in having a fail-safe plan. You two are in-tuned with each other in little aspects like that.” Sam gestured at himself; white suited him, Rowena noted, though it wasn’t in character of the Sam she knew. “He’s the reason why I’m here with you, how I can insist that you put yourself back out there again. It’s not too late yet.”

Sam had to do better if this was him trying to persuade her. “What if I don’t want to go back?” she asked. “What if I simply want to be here, on my own and away from everything else?”

“If that’s really what you feel, then you could banish me anytime. I told you: this is your domain. You have power here. And should you want it, I can stay here with you for as long as you want me and for as long as we’re allowed.”

Rowena wouldn’t have minded. She missed him, and she was in favor of spending the rest of the time with Sam.

But who was she fooling? This wasn’t Sam. He was nothing but an idea of the real person, of the man Rowena had formed a genuine connection with since Roderick. This Sam was nothing but a chaste memory of the man who cared enough to weep for her death in his hands.

This Sam was but her version of what-if should she had survived with him and lived out the rest of their days together.

It was a piss-poor way to remind her that she had wanted that, once.

“It’s okay,” Sam said, wrapped around her like a friend that he had been, and Rowena latched on to him equally tight. “You have to let it go, Rowena.”

Rowena let go and called.

Behind the closed eyelids, Rowena could make out the harsh white light.

In contrast was the gentle fingers cradling her head and brushing her hair. Rowena couldn’t find the strength to open her eyes yet, burrowing on the comfort that came with the kind gestures and the delicate lifting.

Rowena didn’t have to look to know who the balmy presence belonged to.

She knew.

It was a messy bedroom that greeted her when she came to, with half-peeled wallpapers yellowing and wooden ceiling and foundations with chipped-off light-green paint.

When she maneuvered herself on the bed, there were springs in the mattress poking her back uncomfortably, not to mention the scratchy comforter above her.

It might be the most unflattering situation Rowena had been, but the regularity was unmistakable. There was a quality of rightness—at the lack of better term—from the dusty smell of stacked books and the pile of clothes on a chair in the corner.

Rowena was finally out and in a place that felt safe.

Or at least, what she kept telling herself, rubbing on her arms barren of any scar from the misery she underwent, and murmuring repeatedly that she was fine, that the phantom pains would pass and she would be right as rain again.

Rowena slumped down against the side of the bed and let out a choked sob.

A quiet swish of air came and so was Gabriel who pulled her up and guided her back to the bed protectively. He never promised that it would be alright because he understood firsthand that it wouldn’t be the same after that kind of trauma no matter how short the experience.

Gabriel held her close until her cries died down to hiccups, ruining his shirt with her tears and snot. Not that he cared, carding his fingers through her hair and wrapping the itchy comforter around them both.

Against her better judgment, Rowena fell into a dreamless sleep.

Gabriel was always silent whenever he stayed with her, and Rowena allowed the silence to settle over them like a newfound routine, along with him holding her to sleep until waking up the following day.

He didn’t prod when Rowena refused to eat, and she supposed he had something to do with her lack of the pang of hunger. Rowena took her time to think of eating food without fighting down bile.

For an entity who couldn’t possibly stay long-term in one location, Gabriel was patient with her, surprising her even with a book at hand when she was woken up once in the middle of the night by thirst. Since then, she would found him occupied with trinkets in between her waking moments; sometimes Gabriel was playing with a Rubik’s Cube, though often he was playing a low tune on small wind instruments like a kazoo and harmonica.

By the estimation of the slow drag s of daylights and evenings, Rowena guessed that it has been already a week.

“Where are we?” was the first thing she asked since the rescue. Her throat was dry, her voice raspy from being unused.

Gabriel snapped her a glass of water, eager to answer. “Bobby Singer’s house. It’s the most warded aside from Stanford, courtesy of Dean-o and Roberto, and, well, the uni became a known location to the demons.”

“What happened, Gabriel?”

Gabriel recounted from the night she was with Dean. Azazel had attacked the motel they were at, with an intent to capture her and Dean both. Dean had narrowly avoided becoming a bargaining chip to lure John Winchester after Gabriel arrived at the motel in the nick of time, but not soon enough to get her from Azazel who had hidden her from angels and demons alike, with only he and Alastair aware of the location they were keeping her. He told her of bringing Sam and Jessica to the Singer’s Salvage Yard after Lilith let loose a horde of demons after them in order to capture Sam and to kill Jessica in front of him. Gabriel told Rowena how she steadfastly didn’t break under Alastair’s hands, and that when he finally heard her call, Azazel and Lilith’s combined force bunked topside was unprepared for the assault of an archangel with two seasoned hunters—Dean and Bobby armed with the appropriate weapons.

“Your son had been helpful,” Gabriel said.

Rowena perked up at the mention of Fergus.

“Crafty, that one. He kept Lilith from escaping before I could get to her,” Gabriel told her with a wicked grin. “He got a few tricks from you, I noticed.”

When what felt like pride came over her, Rowena gave a little smile. Maybe it wasn’t too late for her and Fergus.

Gabriel continued, telling of a short trip to an alternate universe where the Winchester brothers existed as actors with different names and whose roles were Sam and Dean Winchesters in a show called Supernatural. Gabriel was particularly impressed at the very minute existence of magic in that world, making it the most ideal place to trap Lilith in their deepest ocean trench. Meanwhile, Rowena was just fairly impressed that somebody deigned to think of adapting Chuck’s awful books into a show.

Rowena started taking in food by afternoon, starting with a croissant that came directly from Paris. She wasn’t a fan of sweets, and Gabriel showered her with plenty, but the sugary and milky taste was a welcoming change in her bland pallet. The strawberries dipped in chocolate syrup were a blessing.

The hours moved faster that day compared to the days Rowena spent in the bed recently. By evening, Dean knocked to check on her.

“Huh. So that’s what you look like without the heavy make-up,” Dean said gruffly in greeting.

“Yes, because seeing my face bare is as bad as seeing me naked,” Rowena said flatly. “Not that I care with the latter.”

Dean huffed out a chuckle. “Damn it, I thought Gabe was lying when he said he has the best bedside manner.”

“Well, it’s not like that’s his only use…”

“Oh, c’mon. TMI.”

Rowena didn’t suppress the smirk. It was entertaining to make fun of Dean. “There’s strawberries involved if you’re curious to know.”

“I’m not!” Dean’s expression went aghast when his gaze landed on the bedsheets. “Bobby’s gonna kill me. Then he’ll kill you and Gabe. Just saying.”

“Noted, dear. By the time he finds out, we’re already gone and Robert will get nice silk sheets and a new mattress. He’s in badly need of one.”

“I’m telling you, he’ll appreciate those less than a simple ‘thank you’,” Dean said dryly. He observed her briefly before taking on a more somber note. “How are you doing, Rowena?”

“I’ve been better,” she said as nonchalantly as possible. Dean wasn’t deceived by it, looking sympathetic without saying anything else. Rowena was drained to bother wiping the look from his face. “Is that concern I see?”

Dean seemingly caught himself, glancing away. “Kinda.” He tilted his head to the side, adding, “Alastair got what he deserved.”

“I know,” she said, though Gabriel didn’t mention personally smiting Alastair. ”And you? How are you feeling, Dean?”

“Fine. Like always.” Dean seemed like he wanted to believe that. “I mean, I’ve had better days.”

“I never asked, but have you tried reaching Castiel?”

Dean seemed perplexed at the abrupt change of subject. “What for? As far as I know, Gabe’s the only angel who got back with us.”

“How do you know? Maybe he’s like you, the same way you purposely don’t involve yourself with Sam despite knowing what you know.”

“Assuming that’s true, there’s still the technicalities between Heaven and down here.”

She snorted. “That never stopped you before.”

Dean was miffed at the topic, and something told Rowena that he thought of the same thing before but kept making excuses otherwise. “Yeah, but judging from Sam’s reaction when I told him, it’ll probably take Cas centuries for that to sink in.” At Rowena’s astonishment, Dean smirked. “I told Sam yesterday.”

“Oh.”

“He doesn’t like that I put it off this long, but he’s glad that I told him. Better late than never, I guess.” Dean’s mouth twitched. “He asks a lot of things, and sometimes it’s a bit tricky to give him a straightforward answer, but what’s more difficult is when he looks at me and he tries not to see a stranger.” He shrugged, as casual as he could muster for the sake of appearance. “Could be worse, all things considered.”

Rowena decided that the last thing Dean needed was an assurance that they would be alright.

Rowena was startled to see Sam ambling outside the room not an hour later after Dean’s leave.

“Uh, hi, Ms. MacLeod,” Sam fumbled shyly in an adorable kind of way that Rowena would have teased the older Sam for. Instead, she was fairly stunned that Sam approached her first. “Can I come in?”

“Come in, Samuel.”

He was carrying a pot of tea, setting it down on the bedside like a peace offering. He stood there awkwardly as if waiting for permission to sit.

Rowena smiled and gestured at the foot of the bed. The mattress was beginning to grow on her if she must say so herself.

“It’s probably not a good time to ask, and it’s fine if you want to kick me out, but can I just—” He ran his hand through his hair.

“Ask away.” She took pity on the boy. “Dean told me that he told you.”

“Uh, yeah. He told me a lot. He also tells me about Prof. Shu—I mean, Gabriel, who’s an archangel.” Sam furrowed his brows at that. “And you. He said you’re a witch.”

“That I am.”

“And that you’re friends with us—well, Dean and the future me—after a rocky start.” Sam fiddled with his fingers like he didn’t know what to do with his hands. “It’s not that I’m against it, but thinking about getting involved with angels and demons alone… it’s insane. Time travel aside, it’s already insane.”

Rowena wondered how he would react to alternate words, but that was clearly a topic for another day. “You’re right; those are a lot to take in one sitting.” She sat back. “What do you want to ask me, Samuel?”

“Right. I’m—It’s not really a question, per se.” Sam shifted properly to face her. “Dean also mentioned to me about the supposed deaths. Jessica, first and foremost. I just want to say thank you for saving her, and by extension, me.”

“Och. It’s but a wee role in my part,” Rowena said, flattered, nonetheless. “I’m afraid Gabriel gets most of the credit with his creativity,” she admitted reluctantly, not that she would openly tell Gabriel that his idea of infiltrating Stanford was actually effective.

Sam shook his head. “We owe you just as much. Even Brady.” Sam glanced downwards. “I know I’m not the Sam that you know and grew close with, but I’m sure he’s proud of you.”

It should be strange that Sam referred to his older self as another person, and yet it wasn’t. Not really. At this point, Rowena no longer saw this young Sam becoming her Sam.

This Sam wouldn’t know of most hardships his other version experienced, and he would be happier and more liberated for it.

And seeing this untainted boy full of earnestness and optimism, Rowena thought that perhaps it was for the best.

They left the next day.

Of course, not without expressing their gratitude to their gracious host, Bobby Singer, who might have taken Gabriel’s leave as thanks of its own after the archangel-slash-trickster was said to have fooled around the salvage yard by changing it to different sceneries that Bobby didn’t particularly like.

While Rowena wasn’t a fan of the redneck appearance and Bobby didn’t appreciate her criticism on his mattress, she liked Bobby’s straightforwardness and literary knowledge. They formed a tentative association, with both lines kept open in case Bobby would be in need of advice on dealing with witchcraft.

“And I’m one pray away, Dean-o,” was Gabriel’s farewell to Dean.

Gabriel then popped them both back to their shared unit, and upon their arrival, Rowena was swept off her feet and was tucked to bed like a child. She huffed out an annoyed sigh, knowing she was bound for coddling by an angel, no less, though in the end the desire for a softer bed and familiar sheets eventually won her over.

These days, she just wanted to lie down and rest like an old person, which technically wasn’t wrong on normal circumstances.

Oh, well.

Gabriel jumped on the space next to her, sidling close with Rowena turning him to a makeshift pillow which was nice in a cozy way. Rowena wasn’t the cuddling type, though she supposed it was too late to assert that now after practically hogging Gabriel to herself in the past few days.

“We should take a vacation,” Gabriel suggested. “Niagara Falls is the perfect spot at this time of the year.”

Rowena could name at least three issues in taking a holiday dab smack in the middle of three waterfalls, but she humored him anyway. “Perfect for what exactly?”

“Skinny-dipping.”

She snorted. “Of course, dear. We’ll see in about a week.”

“Nah, no rush, Ro. Just putting the suggestion on the table. Take your time, Niagara could wait.”

Rowena lifted her head and setting her chin on his chest. Gabriel raised an eyebrow at her, and Rowena couldn’t resist taking his face in her hands tenderly. “What if it takes me years to fully recover?”

“Then I’m with you,” Gabriel said firmly. “It’s not time-wasting, Rowena, when it’s us walking together every step of the way to get better.”

Goodness, he could be romantic if he wanted to. “Thank you,” she said, leaning down to place a chaste kiss on his cheek.

“I should be saying that,” he said humbly, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. “But you’re welcome.”

Rowena was lulled by Gabriel stroking her arm and carding her hair, and it wasn’t long until her eyes became heavy and she fell in an unbroken sleep at a place she started calling home.

“Good night, Rowena,” Gabriel whispered.

For once, he joined her in her dreams.

fin

…

English translation for the Latin exorcism incantation:

I beckon you, the person who owns this body. Hear me and follow my voice. Take control and expel who fouls your temple.

#supernatural fanfiction #supernatural #rowena macleod #rowena #gabriel #gabriel x rowena #gabriwena #spn fanfiction #spn fanfic #destiel #sam winchester #jessica moore #dean winchester #time travel #fix it au #samwena #samwitch

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itsbenedict · 4 years

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Kingdoms and Koopas: Ep. 10

K&K is a Fate Accelerated campaign set in the Mario universe, which I’m running for three players:

Bee @thebeeskneesocks, playing Kandace Koopa

Jovian @jovian12, playing Cozmo Naut

Malky @sleepdepravity, playing Dr. Chevy Chain

Last time | Archive | Next time

Previously on Kingdoms and Koopas, the party went and heroically crashed a spaceship into the ocean! They snagged a macguffin and a good time was had by all. Now, though, they find themselves on the roof of Kam Ekademy, amidst a brewing underground war between the two rival magic schools.

Which they promptly ignore to go shoot a movie with Zip Toad!

So the party, once again, falls out of the cloud of Ted, the Storm God, the location to which Kandace’s teleportation circle goes. Before anything else happens, Princess Opal, uh, has some business to attend to in the Magic Kingdom what with the alien invasion that was happening, so she leaves right away and I totally didn’t forget that she came through the portal with them for the entire session and this isn’t a retcon shut up.

So they see the unconscious body of Waluigi lying there, and pretty much ignore that, because who cares about that. What they take notice of is Ted the Storm God, who seems pretty dejected for some reason.

Apparently, Ted is feeling left out, because Kam Ekademy and Kammy Koopa’s Academy for Young Witches and Wizards have, y’know, gone to war in the secret tunnel system connecting the schools underground, but the other students at Kam Ekademy thought he’d just be a liability and wouldn’t let him come. (Kandace is briefly shocked, not by the war, but by how there were secret tunnels underneath the school and no one told her.)

As they’re debating getting involved, Chevy does what she does best whenever anyone proposes getting involved in anything, and just sort of rolls away. Off the roof of the castle. And crashes through a ceiling.

She falls into a classroom somewhere in Kam Ekademy, and notices the door leading out has a can of green paint precariously balanced on top, waiting to spill on whoever opens it. It was probably meant to fall on someone coming in from the outside, but since she took an... alternative entrance, the trap isn’t much to worry about. She knocks it down and proceeds outside.

...Where the hallway appears to be filled with swinging blade traps except instead of blades it’s big versions of those toy sticky hands.

She barely manages to dodge, when from behind her, the result of a failed spot check she made earlier begins to berate her. Iggy Koopa, who was lurking in wait in the classroom to ambush his would-be victim, is super upset that she ruined his ambush, and begins to attack! He also sounds the alarm, and more Koopalings come running.

Chevy attempts to escape, but here’s the thing: Chevy successfully escaping would be at odds with anything actually happening. Her driving motivation is to get out of all this nonsense and just go home, and splitting the party is no fun. So... this isn’t going to go her way. But in what way is it not going to go her way? That depends on what the rest of the party decides to do.

Let’s go check in on them.

Back up on the roof, another Lakitu arrives, having spotted them on the roof of Kam Ekademy from a distance with his camera. He tells them that shooting is going to start soon on Zip Toad’s new movie, the one Cozmo was hired to act in. So, Kandace and Cozmo have a choice to make: they can go investigate this underground magic war and be late for shooting, or they can go shoot a movie and let this underground magic war sort itself out.

Obviously they go for the movie. They get Ted’s phone number and promise to help him get involved in magic war later, and then they’re off- Kandace ferrying Cozmo on her broom.

So, that choice made, we can resolve what happens when Chevy tries to escape. What happens is that Larry, Lemmy, and Iggy all combine their magic to create a giant explosion, which blasts Chevy into the sky- directly in the direction of the party, as luck/contrivance would have it!

So Chevy gracefully lands on the broom, and the three of them-

-wait, no, that doesn’t happen. Chevy is a chain chomp who’s just been launched by an explosion. She’s basically a cannonball right now, and this is really not what anyone wants to have flying directly at them while balanced on a broom.

So Kandace tries to fire off her spell, the one she’s used before that makes things all puffy and lightweight, so Chevy’s bulk is reduced and they can catch her out of the air. She, uh, whiffs. So Chevy hits them and knocks them off the broom. But all is not yet lost! Chevy rolls to try to chomp onto the broom in a last-ditch effort to grab hold, and rolls a 6! So she chomps down extremely hard on the broom. Which, uh, almost breaks it in half, like you might expect. The broom is pretty badly damaged, now, and that in combination with Chevy’s additional weight, and the weight of her two compatriots who managed to grab onto her chain, means that the broom is now slowly sinking to the ground.

...Sorry, did I say ground? Let’s double-check something. They started at Kam Ekademy, they’re about halfway to the shooting location, and the shooting location is World 8-1, The Part That’s Supposed To Stop Mario But Doesn’t- a twisty bridge over lava leading to Bowser’s Castle. Let me take a look at the map...

Okay, yes, the broom is now slowly sinking to the lava. That’s a more accurate way to put it.

Thankfully, they’re not alone- there’s the Lakitu cameraman there with them! Now, he’s got his fishing line, which he could use to haul them up and slow their descent enough to glide to safety up on the bridge, but... well, it’s got a big expensive film camera attached. Someone’s going to need to hold onto the camera and hold on to Chevy’s chain while dangling over lava, which sounds difficult. Plus, the natural Approach to use for such a feat would be Careful, a stat which neither Kandace nor Cozmo (the only party members with hands) have in abundance. In fact, I think it might literally be 0 for both of them. ...Yep.

So this would likely end in disaster, except that they have an advantage: the GM is weak to puns.

Cozmo, see, has a very high Flashy stat. And the object in question is a camera.

So he rolls Flashy, he does well, he doesn’t drop the camera into the lava, and they actually make it to the set for Zip Toad’s new movie! And, given that I didn’t exactly plan this option out in detail (my pages of notes for the underground magic war will need to be adapted), I let them decide how this movie was going to go.

The basic outline: it's a fast and furious type racing movie. Cozmo is the gruff and stuck-up career street racer, while Zip Toad is the fresh-faced rookie trying to prove himself. But when a giant chain chomp (played by some toads in a papier-mache prop) starts chewing up the other racers, they have to work together to put it down and save street racing!

Everything else? Up to them.

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youtube

The racetrack. Under the ash-choked skies of the Lava Kingdom, the Outrageous Racing League carries on their sacred mission: to totally shred. Blargg’s Oven, the most dangerous course in the league, is the site of the Outrageous Championship- and there’s only one man intense enough to take home the cup.

Racer X, the mysterious masked daredevil on his tricked-out ebon dirtbike, refuses to lose. It seems as though he’s falling behind- but then, with a burst of speed, he zooms forward and bumps another racer off the edge of track into the burning abyss below. Surely that was an accident, right? Where’s the ref to make the call?

Ref? What ref?! This is the Outrageous Championship! Racer X smashes three more racers off the edge to their fiery dooms. He’s going to win... at any cost.

This scene reflects off the cool shades of another racer. An extreme closeup of his determined expression fills the screen.

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Kandace is wearing a lot of hats today- she’s part of the crew running special effects, using her magic, but she’s also got a brief speaking role. And now, she’s filling in for the safety crew, as one of the Stunt Guys plunges towards the lava and the Lakitu trying to catch them fumbles their rod. She telekinetically saves the stunt biker, and now has a little blackmail on that Lakitu. No one has to know they messed up, right?

...Also, there’s the sound of an explosion from over by the schools in the distance. It’s, um, probably fine.

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It’s after the qualifying race, and finally, our hero is here. Ace McQueen Junior Jr. (don’t blame me, I let them name the characters) is sussing out this Racer X. He starts by trying flattery, asking how X pulled those cool stunts- and then smoothly transitions into questioning. He didn’t mean to knock those racers to their deaths, right?

“Tch.”

X claims he didn’t even notice he bumped anyone. They’re just that far beneath him- he isn’t about to take stock of each and every greenhorn he spots when his eyes are on the prize. Pure focus.

We see Ace McQueen Junior Jr.’s eyes narrow behind his shades. Racer X is a liar, and he’s clearly more than willing to fight dirty to win. He tosses off a cool one-liner and heads off to prepare for the next race.

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Filming is interrupted by a sound from the direction of the school. This time, it’s not an explosion- it’s the sound of music. Kandace, actually, recognizes the tune, though not its full significance. She remembers one of her teachers, Professor Wizzerd, humming a few bars of it while teaching one of the basic spells in a Magikoopa’s arsenal. The spell in question was the Invocation of So’nee- a useful cantrip that calls on the power of the ancient sealed horror So’nee, a being anathema to this world. The Invocation of So’nee fires a magical structure shaped like So’nee’s unholy symbols (the Cross, the Halo, the Plane, and the Mountain, shaped like an X, O, ◻, and ◁), which serve as a base for all manner of other magical effects that can be stacked on top of it.

Why a song invoking So’nee is coming from the direction of the schools... is unknown. And probably fine! They have a movie to shoot!

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An indistinct shape beneath bandages lies on a bed in the infirmary. This poor soul is being treated for his horrible burn wounds, and we see a crying figure leave the room.

Racer X is suddenly slapped across the face- a koopa in a pit crew outfit has struck him. It’s confusing- he’s not racing right now, there’s no prize to win. What idiot would waste their chance to strike outside of battle? She’s crying, she’s telling him that her brother will never recover, never walk again, and how could he be so horrible?

He blows her off. Who cares if he destroyed her brother’s life? He was in the way of Racer X- and anyone who does the same will suffer the same fate. He stalks away, unconcerned. She’s not one of his opponents.

The camera pans over and around a corner. Ace McQueen Junior Jr. heard everything.

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Chevy, meanwhile, is waiting down by the trailers, at the base of the bridge supports out of sight of the cameras. She’s waiting for this to be over- since no one’s actually gotten injured yet, thanks to Kandace’s quick thinking, this impromptu set medic gig has been pretty boring. There’s a brief earthquake from the direction of the schools, but that’s probably fine.

Then someone in a nearby trailer starts demanding things from her, like she’s some kind of errand boy. He wants three full buckets of garlic, and he wants them NOW!

Chevy doesn’t care. Chevy ignores him. He won’t be ignored, and escalates his verbal abuse. Chevy responds by bodily ramming into and knocking over his stupid trailer.

The man who, furious, climbs out of the trailer... is a short, heavyset fellow with a big pink nose and motorcycle gear, who- holy cow, picks up and swings the entire trailer at her and knocks her into the lava. Chevy is, however, made of metal, so it’ll take at least ten minutes in the lava before she begins to melt. She swims back to shore, uncomfortably hot and glowing red for her trouble. She keeps her distance from the freaky-strong trailer man.

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It’s the semifinals, and Ace McQueen Junior Jr. and Racer X are neck-and-neck. It’s almost a dead heat- and then Racer X makes his move. We zoom in on his handlebars, and we see his wheels kick up dirt as he veers sharply to the side. They’re approaching a dangerously thin stretch of track, and as they do so, Racer X closes in, meaning to ram Ace McQueen Junior Jr. off the edge.

And then Ace McQueen Junior Jr. does, to Racer X, the unthinkable: he slams on the brakes. He slows down, on purpose- an impossible maneuver which leads to Racer X throwing himself off the edge of the course.

Just as he goes over the edge, we see one impeccably-manicured hand shoot over the edge and grab Racer X’s glove, saving his life. But not so for his chances of winning- the ebon dirtbike calls into the lava and melts, in a visual callback to the first Metal Mario movie. It’s unclear how they’re going to edit in the bike giving a thumbs-up in post.

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Then there is a sound. The inhuman, robotic singing voice in the distance halts, and a deep, magically amplified voice bellows “HATSU, HATSU, HATSU”. Dead silence falls- the rumbling is over, the music is over, the probably-apocalyptic situation has been probably-resolved. Or something,

Finally, it’s time to film the big climax. The giant chain chomp needs to show up- and first, the producer- well, the "production assistant", but the real producer, as opposed to Zip Toad who just puts his name on everything, Mauve the Goomba- begs Chevy to be in the film, because the papier-mache chomp looks terrible and she really wants this to be a hit. Chevy agrees (taking her Rich up to 5), on the condition that they add a scene showing that the monster chomp used to be a normal person. She films a brief scene in the FX trailer, where the unnamed chomp scientist (breaking stereotypes!) suffers a lab accident with radioactive chemicals or something, with some camera trickery to imply that as she falls unconscious, she is beginning to grow. Soon, there’ll be a giant rampaging dog-beast destroying everything (un-breaking stereotypes! whew, close one.)

There's a problem, though: the prop chomp had a special compartment for actors who were "eaten" to hide in, but no such compartment exists inside a real one. Enter Kandace with an idea: hey, she can teleport people, right? So she scribes a teleport circle on Chevy's tongue, and then Chevy eats a Mega Mushroom, growing her and the circle such that the devoured stunt guys are harmlessly teleported away when she eats them alive.

Problem, though: wouldn't that alarm Ted? So they call him up, promising to explain why this random-crap-portal stuff has been happening to him. Kandace lies through her teeth, claiming that it's just stuff that this giant chain chomp eats getting teleported to his digestive system and coming out his mouth, because of magic stomach stuff. He's like, what? It doesn't come out my mouth, it comes out my cloud. And she explains, no, it's your magic digestive system, y'know. Ted is not smart- he has a clever of -1, actually- but it’s not a very good lie, so it’s not hard. Maybe he'll get a good roll!

He believes this harder than anyone has ever believed any lie, ever.

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“We need to stop this thing! If we don’t...!”

“...Illegal street racing... could be done for!”

Ace McQueen Junior Jr. and Racer X, both on standard-issue bikes, are speeding down the hill as the giant monster chain chomp pursues them. Teeth snap at their back tires, and they just barely manage to keep ahead. But as they flee, they see a gap in the course, where the giant chomp previously emerged from the lava.

“...Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

“I don’t think. I do.”

Ace McQueen Junior Jr. and Racer X speed towards the gap at high speed, then fork in two different directions, going straight up a couple of natural ramps and backflipping into the sky. They come down on top of the giant chain chomp- and now, as it rolls onward, large enough to clear the gap, they’re right on top. Their engines rev as they match pace with the chomp’s rotation, keeping their balance on the monster’s head.

“...X, watch out!”

The chomp’s mouth is coming around as it rolls, and they need to jump it! They pull it off once, but the second time Racer X seems to stumble, his bike slipping and flying off the side. He gets snagged on a tooth, cutting his arm open a bit, but Ace McQueen Junior Jr. reaches down a hand and pulls him up. This was definitely in the script, and not the actor messing up. Luckily, good camerawork captures this inspiring moment.

Racer X gets on Ace McQueen Junior Jr.‘s bike, and the two of them work together to do one last sick stunt! They fly up into the air, there’s an inspiring slow-mo closeup, and then... the camera spins and wheels around, obscuring exactly what it is that just happened that led to their stunt causing the chain chomp to go flying into the lava. But it happens! And it’s incredibly rad!

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Now for a problem: when Chevy does her stunt fall into the lava, she, oops, gets a bunch of lava in her mouth. And into the portal in her mouth. So that a bunch of lava sprays out of the portal.

Ted subsequently proclaims himself the Volcano God and nearly incinerates some Stunt Guys, until Chevy spits out the lava and ends his fun. Booooo. With that, and some medical attention for the Guys, the movie is over!

...so, anyway, I’m about to spring a moderately apocalyptic situation on everyone, when I realize: Kandace still has the Music Key taken from the Orbital Doom Casa. She never handed it in to Kammy Koopa. So... as was the case prior to the filming of this movie, Kammy Koopa does not possess all four Music Keys. And so... nothing bad happens. Yet.

So after they wrap filming, Chevy pays to fix Kandace's broom out of her stunt wages, and then they're off to the school war to investigate the aftermath. (Cozmo’s going to have to miss the afterparty, sorry.)

Next time: something big happened while Chain Chomp Run was being filmed, and now it’s time to figure out what it was and what to do about it.

Last time | Archive | Next time

#zip toad #just to be perfectly clear: zip toad is not some sort of flying superhero in this movie #it's mostly bike stunts #he just uses that tagline on half his movies because he thinks it's cool #kingdoms and koopas

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randomfandomimagine · 5 years

Text

Fate Is Sealed. Chapter 7

Fandom: John Wick

Ship: John x Elizabeth (OC)

Previous Chapter - Chapter Index - Next Chapter

Read it on AO3!!

Aurelio put his jacket over my shoulders, stopping to comfortingly rub my back.

“Fuck” He muttered, passing a hand over his mouth, after John was done explaining. “No wonder she’s such a wreck”

“Yeah” John walked through the garage, offering me a glass of a thick liquid and peering at me with worried eyes. “Can you think of anyone who-?”

After little consideration, I snatched the glass from his hand and downed it in one gulp. It burned like hell and it made me cough, but it helped me numb all the overwhelming sensations that were taking over my mind and body. The crawling in my skin, the fuzziness in my brain… Just… everything.

“Holy shit, Elizabeth...” Aurelio uttered, heaving a deep sigh. There was a loud silence in which I felt them intently watching me. When I rolled my eyes, my friend continued speaking, directing his words at John. “To answer your question, yeah. I don’t know the details, but she's in trouble with this guy, Gaige Stoakes”

“Smiling Gaige?”

“That’s him. I think he’s the one who sent her to kill you”

“He is”

“So whatcha gonna do about it?”

“Take care of it” Retrieving a gun from his belt, he adamantly cocked it.

“No” Every fiber of my being felt unstable, but I still spoke up. “You’re not doing that, I don’t want your charity”

“It’s not charity” John frowned, watching me gravely. “I owe you a debt; you’re involved in this because of me”

“I didn’t help you because I wanted you to owe me” I stood up, ignoring how weak and shaky I felt and how my legs seemed made out of jelly.

With the corner of my eye, I caught Aurelio tensing up at my sudden movement, but I completely ignored him and faced John. He observed me in silence; his eyes were piercing as though he was trying to read my mind.

“I just helped you, John, because it was the right thing to do” I said to fill the silence, sitting back down when I felt myself swaying. “Because I wanted to”

Even as he towered over me, holding a gun in his hand, his gaze was stern yet somehow soft at the same time. His head slightly fell forward, forcing the curtain of dark hair over his features to hide them.

“Fine” John budged, saving his weapon. “But this isn’t over”

“Maybe, but it’s my problem, not yours” I wrapped myself with Aurelio’s jacket, averting my gaze under John’s attentive stare. “And I don’t work like you do”

“I’m going home” He paused, sending me a significant glance with his following words. “It’s safe there”

I averted my gaze, flustered by the invitation. While a part of me was glad that I had somewhere else to go, somewhere where I wouldn’t feel on edge given the circumstances, the other part of me was too conflicted to even admit it.

My relationship with John was itself too strange and complex. I knew there was some kind of connection, he had to feel it too. When we were together there was a different atmosphere now, electric almost. My thoughts inevitably evoked those moments in which I treated his wounds, and I became rattled at the memory of that intimate closeness.

Footsteps claimed my attention, although I repressed the urge to look up. I knew John was leaving, slowly, giving me the chance to call him back. I didn’t.

“You good?” Aurelio rested a hand on my shoulder, patiently awaiting a response.

I sighed, quickly lifting my glance just in time to see John’s tall figure disappear outside.

“Yeah” I locked eyes with my friend, forcing out a smile. “I’m fine”

“You were lucky John was there” Aurelio let out an awkward chuckle, allegedly to relief the tension. However, I scowled at him.

He was right, but he didn’t have to say it. It made me feel helpless, like a damsel in distress. Like I had no power, like I never fought for myself. And I was done with that.

When Aurelio stepped away from me, I stood up. I took his jacket off me, placing it on the chair instead. He was already a few meters away, but turned around with the unexpected movement.

“Hey, where you going?” He asked me, giving me a wary look.

“John’s” I only replied, exiting the garage with determination.

I didn’t really like lying to Aurelio. We had been friends for a long time and I appreciated his support. But I needed to do that alone. If I told him my plans, it would have complicated everything. And he might have involved John again.

Standing before Gaige’s place, I took a deep breath. It was insane, but there wasn’t much else I could do other than pull a John Wick and kill everyone. And that wasn’t really my style.

I came in, trying to remember the things I mentally planned to say while I walked all the way there. The sight of that place that I had been in so many times was strange. It was probably the first time ever I was willingly there and not being threatened. Or tied up. Or serving as a punching bag.

The building still gave me the creeps. I could feel the evil there floating in the air. None of these people were up to any good.

Once inside, a blonde woman with wild brown eyes and a ponytail watched me half amused and half disgusted. I did my best not to even glance at Simone as I went straight to Gaige’s office.

The adrenaline once again made an appearance as I lifted my fist to knock. My knuckles made contact with the door, and I opened it immediately after as not to get cold feet.

Inside the room I was received with a nasty sight. I used to think that Gaige’s lively face was bad enough because of the fake nature of it. That was until I read a clear anger in his features.

“Elizabeth Dawson” Gaige only said, setting his wide brown eyes on me.

“I want to make a deal” I valiantly said, making myself loud and clear. “Let’s end this bullshit. I’ll do anything to settle it”

“I gave you a chance” There was a dangerous edge to his usually falsely cordial voice. “But you didn’t kill John Wick. In fact, you sent him to me and he killed many of my men”

I took a step back, closing my hands into fists when the realization hit. This was a terrible idea, obviously. That I wanted to act on it didn’t mean I thought it was smart. It clearly wasn’t. But I had to go and do it anyway. I had to do something.

“Then you two kill two of my closest, most loyal men” My heart hammered inside my ribcage with the mental image of Delfino and Dominic’s dead bodies. “And now you expect me to forgive you just like that?”

“I’ll do anything” My voice shook, aware of what I was promising.

“It’s too late for that” He clapped his hands twice, making me jolt up in alarm.

I jumped up again when the door to the office opened behind me and a certain woman walked in. There was a tense pause in which the three of us waited for the other to act. Until I did, trying to gain the upper hand.

First shielding my face with my arm just in case, I advanced towards Simone and shoved the hard part of my palm against her nose. I heard gunshots as I made a run for it.

The scene was all too familiar when the goons outside stood prepared to intercept me. This time I ran for the window instead. It was a few stories up, but I went for it and accepted my fate.

I screamed as I fell, landing on my feet but losing my balance. My ankle twisted, but I was sure I had only sprained it slightly. My knees received the true impact as I fell forward, painfully breaking my fall first with them and then with my hands and my arms.

I looked up, stopping for a second to catch my breath and analyze the situation. I had forgotten with the rush of the moment, but just then I realized I had walked there from the car shop. I literally had no way of making a quick escape. I should have thought about that before. I was fucked.

I was too into deep in that shit and I could not think straight. I had just wanted it all to end once for all. Stupid! I had to go and do that reckless bullshit. I just made everything ten times worse.

Standing there alone in the middle of the street I probably looked like a fool. I frantically thought what my options were, but there wasn’t much to do.

A pair of wedge heels resonated near me, so I slowly turned around to face her. I was surprised she came alone, but she could probably take me on her own.

I could clearly read the contempt in Simone’s brown eyes, more intense than ever. I never really thought she was close to those two, but apparently she was. Like she needed another reason to hate me.

She pulled out a dagger and walked towards me at a too calm pace. I gulped, forcing my mind to focus on the scene that was about to develop.

All I had was my trustworthy knife and gun, my fists and the medium amount of self-defense knowledge I had. I didn’t know if it would be enough to survive an actual confrontation like that. Especially if she was that pissed at me, more than ever.

I pulled out my gun from my belt and pointed it at her. Simone didn’t bat an eye and continued to close the distance between us, the fire in her eyes only growing more intense by the second.

Watching the tattoo that peeked from under my sleeve, I gathered the courage necessary to cock the weapon and set my finger on the trigger, ready to pull it.

Before I could, she moved at the speed of light and drew a revolver, not hesitating not one second to shoot. The bullet barely graced my wrist, but it burned my skin as it peeled some off and caused me to drop my weapon.

“You’re gonna pay, Lizzie” She scowled at me, not lowering her gun. “And now you don’t have your dear Boogeyman to protect you”

I wished I had told John what my plans were. Or even Aurelio. They might not have helped, but at least they probably would have stopped me from this madness.

I knelt on the ground, clutching my raw skin to my chest. Watching her point the gun to my head was when the adrenaline once again came to the rescue, triggering all my instincts and self-defense abilities.

Throwing myself backwards so my back slammed against the ground, I sent her a high kick that deflected the bullet. The gunshot echoed around the empty streets and the projectile got lost above me.

Lunging forward and desperately holding on to her wrists, I pulled myself to my feet as I forced her gun up and away from me. Simone grunted in frustration, struggling against my grip. Our forces were almost equally matched, but knowing that I would eventually lose, I changed my strategy.

I twisted her arm over my head and forced her in a lock, pressing her back against my front and taking ahold of all my strengths to keep her in that position. That way, the gun was aimed away from me entirely.

Simone shot a couple more times as she wriggled in my grip, now screaming in fury. I grit my teeth, trying not to listen to my heart pounding in my chest and ears.

I loudly cried out when I suddenly felt an excruciating pain in my upper arm, subsequently making me let go of her. My head began spinning when I saw the hilt of a dagger sticking out of it. It took all the self-restrain within me not to pass out at the harrowing sight.

My heart thumping inside my ribcage, faster than before, reminded me that I still needed to focus. It must have been just two seconds but to me it felt like several minutes before I recovered.

Simone was ready to retaliate, but all I could do to stop her was kick her in the stomach, yet that only bought me a couple of seconds as she caught her breath again.

I took a step closer to face her, but I stopped in my tracks when a gasp left my throat. A gunshot had sounded, and I had felt the impact. My eyes widened and my throat instantly dried as I cautiously looked down to myself.

My side was gushing blood, and I got so light-headed for it that I fell to my knees once more. My entire body had gone completely numb, including my brain since it could not comprehend the fact that I had been shot, except for the acute burning sensation in my left side. It felt like the bullet had been on fire and was consuming me from the inside.

My hands moved on their own as they clutched the bullet wound, staining my fingers with a sickening crimson. Helpless squeaks escaped my lips in anguish.

“Oh, how I hate to see you suffer like that” Her voice was overly sweet, in a clear fake tone that made my blood boil. “Maybe I’ll stretch it out before I kill you”

Her venomous words gave me enough strength to stand up to her. I rapidly pulled out my knife and slashed it against her wrist. I felt nauseous when I felt it deeply cut through skin and tendon. Simone groaned and her fingers automatically lost the strength to keep wielding the gun.

When the weapon hit the floor, I kicked it hard, sending it as far away from me as possible. The damage was done, but at least she wouldn’t be able to finish me off with it.

“You pathetic little girl” I yelped when her fist made contact with my temple, causing me to literally see stars as I lost balance and landed sideways on the floor. I heard the metallic sound of my knife landing close to me.

Taking advantage that I was down, Simone punched me right over the eye. As she threw her arm back, I weakly pushed her shoulders to get her away from me. It didn’t do much and she unleashed her fist against my face again.

Not knowing what else to do, I wrapped my hands around her neck as tightly as I could. She immediately gasped for breath and reached out to hit me again, but I pushed my knees against her to create some distance.

Her face was becoming blurry, but I couldn’t tell if it was because of the blood loss or the tears that were starting to form on my eyes.

I grimaced when her long nails managed to scratch at my face, painfully digging in my cheek and causing me to inevitable let go of her as they dug deeper into my skin.

As soon as she was freed, she pulled out the dagger from my arm. It had felt so numb after I was shot that I had forgotten it was still lodged in there. The action was so quick and ruthless that it literally blinded me from pain, and I shrieked in response. I couldn’t breathe, I couldn’t see, I couldn’t function. For several seconds, there was only pain. That also got rid of my numbness and made every other wound to join in a collective wave of agony.

“You think you can get away with it?” I felt her blade, warm with my blood, against my throat. “You worthless, insignificant piece of-“

I was barely aware of what I was doing as I stretched out my arm and took hold of my knife to blindly sink it in her. Not aiming, just wherever I could reach, whichever body part was the closest.

It gave me enough time to get her off me as she struggled to breathe with a knife to her chest, and stumble to my feet. I watched her for a few seconds, ready to strike back.

I had never felt so alert before, somehow managing to ignore all the pain I was going through and how so many places in my body throbbed. I felt like an animal, pure instinct and adrenaline that took over my conscious self and moved without warning.

As soon as her eyes directed towards me, pulling the knife out of her chest, I acted without thinking. I tiredly punched her on the jaw, knocking her out cold. She limply fell backwards onto the ground.

I made it. I had no idea how, but I had made it out alive and dodged her. I was –allegedly –safe then. For the time being. My mind seemed to work on autopilot as my feet tiredly dragged across the ground, moving in a direction I wasn’t entirely sure about. I couldn’t focus; every thought that popped up in my head vanished before I could grasp it. Everything was hazy and distant; the whole world spun around me and challenged me to keep my balance.

A somewhat lucid thought stayed in my mind long enough for me to realize where I was going. I smiled, hopeful, when I was received with a warm comforting sensation at the thought of him.

Turned out I didn’t technically lie to Aurelio, I just took a detour. A long, torturous and traumatic detour. I would have gone to him in the garage, but I didn’t really want to get him in trouble. Besides, I felt safer there with John. It was that stupid connection I felt with him, like I was drawn to him. So I kept walking to his house, glad that I remembered his address from back when I investigated him. But overall, relieved it wasn’t too far from there.

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#fanfiction #john wick fanfiction #john wick fanfic #series #john wick series #john wick x reader #john wick x oc #john wick x original character #original character #no reader insert #suspense #action #romance #drama #enemies to lovers #fate is sealed #fis

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jonlovessansa · 6 years

Text

ON JON BENDING THE KNEE: THE BOAT SCENE

I already talked about it a bit here, but this is one of those moments in SEASON 7 that got me screaming joyfully, so I’d like to try to explain to you why.

It begins with a very meaningful parallel with Ned and Cersei: in S01E06 Ned wakes up injured in bed with Cersei’s face staring at him. This is the first time Ned meets her after he found out about Robert’s bastards, and we know that the secret TRUTH OF WHO IS JOFFREY’S REAL FATHER is hanging between them, her role as his antagonist sealed.

From now on every decision Ned takes will be the wrong one: Cersei tells him “IN THE GAME OF THRONES YOU WIN OR YOU DIE. THERE'S NO MIDDLE GROUND” but the MADNESS OF his MERCY gives her the upper hand to win; he refuses her advances and openly defies her, like a not POLITICALNED; he doesn’t listen to Renly who suggests the not honorable but efficient route and relies on Littlefinger, who he trusts; he doesn’t trust Sansa enough to tell her the TRUTH; he doesn’t at least PRETEND to bend the knee to Joffrey while he can, he waits till he’s forced to, his fate already determined and a public display required.

As you can see, Jon and Ned’s paths are very similar, only their decisions are the opposite: while Ned plays Ned and loses, Jon politically watches, learns and acts… and wins a ticket back home!

So, what happens on the boat? To be concise, Jon wakes up and says to Daenerys "I’M SORRY, I’M SO SORRY" and takes her hand, she gives her word to help with the NK and he calls her “DANY” and then “MY QUEEN”. It could seem an intimate moment between two people destined to come together and save the world… but of course there’s more, and the parallel we’ve been introduced with should be enough to anticipate it:

- “DANY”: this is not a term of endearment to her, so much so that she remembers that it was her not so loving brother who called her that, adding: "NOT THE COMPANY YOU WANT TO KEEP". This is a warning for us;

-“MY QUEEN”: Let’s not overlook the obvious, he doesn’t really call her that, he only asks “HOW ABOUT MY QUEEN?” It’s not the same. This is no pledge whatsoever;

- "I'D BEND THE KNEE BUT ...": to follow up on the previous point, Jon does not actually bend the knee! By now “EVERYTHING BEFORE THE WORD BUT IS HORSESHIT” has become such a mantra that we all understand how important that BUT is, and we can’t ignore either that his knee doesn’t bend especially after the numerous times we’ve been shown what a solemn moment that is, this season too with Sansa and Jon miniatures;

- “WE’RE GOING TO DESTROY THE KNIGHT KING AND HIS ARMY, WE’LL DO IT TOGETHER”: because she has already promised her help, some of you say this is the biggest clue that Jon is not lying, that he doesn't need to. But is it so? He saw how much she wants the IT, don’t you think there’s a possibility she said that just because she’s hurting for her loss? Jon said to Sansa “IF YOU HAD SEEN THE NK YOU’D THINK OF LITTLE ELSE”, Dany says “YOU HAVE TOO SEE IT TO KNOW”. So now she knows the danger. But if she does intend to go help the North why are they sailing to KL? It necessarily means that her help is still conditional on the ceasefire, right? So, let’s say that Cersei in the Pit refuses, what would happen next? Actually I think Jon has really no hope for the truce, how could he when Sansa talked to him about Cersei and he’s already observed Dany’s pride and volatility? It’s true, in this precise moment she isn’t asking him to bend the knee, but is she done expecting it? There are too many incognita to be sure of anything, so it makes sense that Jon decides to go with the clever plan: if he pretends only to bend the knee, with no witness, without actually swearing an oath, without physically bending, when she’s not asking, while she is emotionally distressed and he's stuck in bed, doesn’t he have a better chance to pull it off? If she believes he’s surrendered the North to her, which she’s being demanding forever, plus her feelings for him which he’s aware of by now, doesn’t he have more chances to keep her invested even if they will be “fucked” in the Pit? Maybe prevent her from DRACARYS OMNIA too? And look how touched she is. I’d say he nailed it one episode early…;

-“AND THOSE WHO SWORE ALLEGIANCE TO YOU?”: and we’re immediately reminded that there should be a swearing. But nobody SWORE here! And to twist the knife further, this happens only few minutes after Brienne says to Sansa “I SWORE AN OATH TO PROTECT YOU AND YOUR SISTER”. Still, no swearing on the boat… at least not an oath;

- “YOU DO”: both the actor and the director seem to point out that Jon is lying, not only because this moment is a nice remainder of Bran in the pilot, but because in cinematography this is how you film someone who has something to hide or who’s lying;

- “THEY’LL COME TO SEE YOU FOR WHAT YOU ARE”: it becomes almost ominous with the song “WHAT YOU ARE” as background music, and you find yourself wondering WHAT she is;

- THE HAND HOLDING: As much as it’s true that Jon is the first to take her hand, the point is not what he does (though it’s worth noting that when Sansa did this he couldn’t say no to her) but what she does, which is to let go of his hand only to take it back later. In storytelling this is a way to show a TRUST SHIFT: when she first takes her hand away it means she doesn’t feel comfortable, she still doesn’t trust him completely and wants to keep control. Remember that in the show, even more in the books, she’s been warned more than once not to trust people, “BECAUSE DRAGONS ARE FIRE MADE FLESH AND FIRE IS POWER”. But after “MY QUEEN” she is the one to hold his hand saying “TOGETHER”, and you realize she’s just gave in and let herself go. CHECK AND MATE!

- JON PRETENDS TO SLEEP: when he closes his eyes and she goes out, you cannot help but thinking about “THE COMPANY YOU WANT TO KEEP”;

- THE BREATHING: As soon as she is out, Jon breathes deeply, feeling the weight of what's just happened, and probably the guilt too. But he also looks upwards.

KH is very attentive to these little things, particularly this season (which is significant in itself, if you then read his interviews I’d say it’s all very transparent), which means he’s telling us something more, and I believe it’s the plainest: he’s thinking about Ned, probably asking forgiveness for not being honorable like he taught him. Jon is pretending to do something that de facto he doesn't do. He's very consciously misleading her, walking that fine line between what you say and what you mean. Clever, but not exactly honorable.

That’s it for the analysis, but let’s clutch at straws and say we're still not convinced... Well, I've saved my favorite part for the end, namely the reason for my screaming in the first place.

We need to look back at the previous scene between Arya and Sansa because D&D often handle consecutive scenes purposefully linking them to add meaning, and right here we have one of the best examples.

In Arya's room in search of the scroll, Sansa finds her faces and asks her about it. Arya says: “THERE WAS A GAME I USED TO PLAY. THE GAME OF FACES. IT’S SIMPLE. I ASK A QUESTION ABOUT YOURSELF AND YOU TRY TO MAKE A LIE SOUND LIKE THE TRUTH. IF YOU FOOL ME, YOU WIN. IF I CATCH A LIE, YOU LOSE. LET’S PLAY… ALL I NEED TO FIND OUT IS YOUR FACE”

Following shot:

BINGO!

Why should they give us a close-up on Jon’s face if not so we can ask ourselves what face he is wearing? Is he wearing one at all? Why would he wear one? Does he need to? But if Jon is not wearing any face, why should we wonder if he's wearing a face? Then why giving us this hint? Only to trick us? But if they only want to play tricksy with us, why didn’t they let us be oblivious to the trick without tying the two scenes?

BECAUSE JON IS WEARING NOT HIS TRUE FACE! That’s why!

JON WINS THE GAME OF FACES!

Thank you for listening!

#jonsa #political jon #jon snow #game of thrones #got7 #got #my meta #mine #TO MAKE A LIE SOUND LIKE THE TRUTH #SOUND LIKE THE TRUTH

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distant-rose · 6 years

Text

Seal of Fate Ch. 6 (7/8)

Notes: Okay, okay, okay, there’s a lot of stuff in this chapter, including graphic violence, some mutilation, nonconsensual drugging and attempted murder. All the fun stuff. I ask you to be patient with the craziness that happens particularly with the boat scene. I spent a lot of time going over emergency radios and whatnot and unfortunately, there just wasn’t a lot of information though I did find out a lot of modern boats have locators on them, which allow officials to track your boat in the case of emergency. I would also like to make a quick apology for not updating last week. A lot was going on and there was just no way I was going to do it without losing my mind. This fic has been quite the roller coaster and I can’t believe it’s almost over. I hope you enjoy it. Anyway, a special thanks to @shireness-says and @katie-dub for being awesome. A thank you as well to the mods of @cssns and to @drowned-dreamer for creating art for me. And most of all, thank you to @aerica13 for being the most amazing beta ever. Summary: Emma Swan is looking for only one thing - answers. Abandoned outside a police station in Menemsha, Martha’s Vineyard, Emma has dedicated her life to finding out where she comes from and why she was given away. She finds an unlikely partner in Killian, a selkie she inadvertently summons in a fit of frustration over her cold case. Word Count: 5,400+ AO3: [LINK] Chapters: Prologue | One | Two | Three | Four | Five | Six | Epilogue Rating: T+

Emma awoke, head throbbing, a taste of cotton in her mouth and her cheek pressed against a rough cold surface. The pain wasn’t sharp but dull and constant, poking at the edge of her awareness. She felt a little fuzzy and not in the normal way she felt when she usually awoke. It was like her brain was made of cotton; thoughts flighty and less concrete.

Like she had been drugged on top of being knocked out.

The next thing that hit her was the smell of sharp chemical cleaner and decay. Both smells were something she had become familiar with in her runaway days, when she had stayed in an assortment of places from seedy unclean motel rooms to abandoned buildings with dead animals in them. It brought back memories of a hollow stomach, frozen toes and never-ending loneliness. She opened her eyes. Almost instantly she regretted the decision. She was on the set of American Horror Story.

That was the first thing that popped into her head as she surveyed her surroundings. She was laying on the concrete floor of an unfinished basement with no windows, wall beams and insulation exposed. Different types of knives and tools were hanging from the various nails on the beams. Directly across from her face was a rack of sealskin that looks freshly cut. Nausea churned inside of her at the sight but that wasn’t the worst of it. In the corner of the room, there was a large tub, surrounded with various types of chemicals and dark stains on the floor. The tub itself was filled with a churning pinkish mixture that was bubbling and fumes were rising from it. There was something large floating in it but Emma didn’t dare to investigate further. She didn’t want to know. What she wanted was to get the hell out of there. To her surprise, she was not bound or chained to anything but rather than critique the kidnapping skills of her abductor, she stood and stretched. She was alone aside from whatever was in the tub, no sign whatsoever of the person who had taken her from Stop & Shop. Immediately she began looking for a window or a door. From the looks of it, the only way in and out was the stairway. Tentatively, she ascended and pressed on the door. Again, to her surprise, she found it was unlocked. She opened it slowly, trying not to make a sound and alert whoever was around. Despite her efforts, it creaked loudly and she stopped pushing it almost immediately. She strained to hear if there was any activity on the other side, barely able to make out anything aside from the thundering of her heart. There was nothing. No sound or movement came from the other side. She let out a shuddering breath as she pushed the door a little farther, just enough to slip through. Moving as quietly as she could, she inched herself through and into an immaculate looking kitchen. The place was spotless and it was hard to believe that she was still in the same house that contained the horror downstairs. Her phone was on the counter.

Immediately, she grabbed it, noting the time. She had been out for at least four hours. Killian had blown up her phone. She didn’t bother looking at the messages. She hit the call button. It rang twice.

“Swan!”

“Killian,” she spoke softly, moving through the house in hopes of finding a quick exit. She had no idea where her abductor was and she didn’t necessarily want to come face-to-face with them.

“Where are you? I’ve been calling and calling!”

“I was taken somewhere,” she whispered as she entered an expensive-looking living room. “Someone hit me and then I work up on the set of the Friday the Thirteenth.”

“Now is not the time for your nonsensical references! Where are you?”

That’s when she saw it. On the cherry wood mantle. It was the only thing sitting there. No photos, no baubles or no knick-knacks. Only a large mason jar full of teeth. Her stomach dropped.

“Gold,” she whispered.

“Get the hell out of there! Swan, you need to get out of there now!”

She opened her mouth to speak but before she could get the words out, she was grabbed from behind and a cloth was placed over her mouth, muffling her scream of surprise. The noxious smell of chemicals hit her nose and almost immediately she was hit with a sense of drowsiness. Her phone fell out of her grasp as her body went limp and the last thing she remembered was high-pitched laughter ringing in her ears.

The floor wasn’t so smooth the next time she awoke, feeling just as hazy as she had the last time, though this time her hands were bound with duct tape. The floor was now cold, wet and rocking. Nausea returned and this time, she couldn’t hold it back. She got up in a sitting position so she could vomit without getting it in her hair. “Rohypnol doesn’t work well on you, dearie, does it?” Emma lifted her head, finally taking in her new surroundings. She was on what she could only describe as a generously large boat. Gold wasn’t looking at her but rather looking out at the ocean from the captain’s seat. He seemed normal, calm, as if he was going for a night cruise rather than abducting someone. His nonchalant attitude made her blood boil. “You roofied me? You son of a bitch!” He ignored her outburst, still scanning the horizon. “You should have been out for hours yet. How curious.”

“You’re psychotic!” She hissed. He turned to face her. Emma expected anger or at least annoyance. There was nothing. It was as if she hadn’t said anything at all. He merely stared at her with the same curiosity that person had when observing an insect, detached and only vaguely interested. “You have fire,” he said conversationally. “I wonder how long it will last.” He moved away from the captain’s seat, stalking in her direction. Emma immediately scooted backwards, trying to keep as much distance from him as possible. He snorted in laughter, passing her to drop an anchor over the rail. “Going somewhere?” “Anywhere away from you.” “Afraid your options are quite limited, dearie. We’re a mile from shore. Nothing but you, me and the open ocean. Now, let’s chat.” “I make a point not to talk to people who kidnap me,” Emma replied through clenched teeth. Gold looked down at her for a long moment. This time Emma stared back into his eyes, which she know noticed were as cold and emotionless as those of a reptile. She remembered her first impression of him in Granny’s diner and how he reminded her of a crocodile. The same look he had given Killian was now aimed in her direction. It caused a shiver to go down her spine. It was then Emma remembered exactly who she was dealing with. She was dealing with the man who murdered her parents, a man who had slaughtered and killed selkies and, more importantly, a man who believed he was above the law. She was stuck on a boat in the middle of the ocean with a serial killer.

He opened a cooler that had been sitting alongside the benches that lined the craft. At first all she saw was blood and ice. He plunged his hand into it, barely even flinching at the cold temperature and pulled out a large fish head.

“There are two ways this conversation can go,” Gold said, still in that nonchalant tone of his. “This could be a nice conversation where it’s just you and me or I could bring some...friends along and you can go for a swim. The choice is yours.”

He gave her a significant look as he tossed the fish head over the side of the boat.

“I think you plan to kill me whether or not we chat,” Emma replied.

Gold chuckled, pulling out another bloody severed fish head and throwing it over. “Nothing gets past you, does it?”

“I’m not a moron. You allowed me to see your face and I’m not bound to the island so you can’t keep my silence. You don’t plan on me living.”

“It’s strange how history repeats itself,” he said, still laughing. “I’ve had this conversation before, you see. About thirty years ago, now that I think about it. Young man who thought he was brave. Brave only gets you so far…”

“David Nolan?”

“My, someone has been doing their research. David, David, David. Everyone used to say how smart he was but he wasn’t so smart in the end,” he mused, a wicked smile contorting across his thin lips. Emma felt sick. “You see, like you, he got himself involved with a selkie and well, hunters don’t appreciate those who stand in the way of their prey. I wonder how smart you’re going to be.”

“I don’t think smart has anything to do with it if I’m going to die either way.”

“Oh but it does. You see, if you’re smart, I kill you nice and clean before I throw you overboard. No fuss. No pain. The sharks won’t be as kind.”

Emma swallowed. She could feel her knees rattling against the deck. She couldn’t tell what was causing her to shake more, the chill in the air or the fact that there was no way she was getting off this boat alive.

“I’ll say one thing, you’re stronger than most. You haven’t started begging or crying yet. No bargaining, no pleading for your life.”

“Sorry to disappoint.”

He moved, crouching in front of her. She flinched when he touched her face, gripping her jaw and forcing her to look at him.

“Who did you call when you were in my house? It wasn’t the police. They would have said.”

“The FBI.”

“Doubtful,” he tutted as he smacked her cheek. “I would have known. I have contacts there as well. I’m more valuable to them than you could ever be. No. You were talking to someone you want to protect...the diner lady? Her harlot granddaughter? Or was it your selkie?”

Emma said nothing, merely glared at him. She had never hated another human being more than she did in this moment. Even during her worst nights in prison, she didn’t hate Neal as much as she hated Gold.

“It was, wasn’t it?” The smile grew more cruel. “You thought he would rescue you, didn’t you?”

Again she remained silent, visualizing what how his face would look after she had bashed it in with her fists. He treated this as a confirmation as well, crowing with sick delight and laughing more.

“Don’t you know? There’s no one more selfish than a selkie. They never think about anyone but themselves. They don’t care about the hearts they’ve stolen or the families they’ve destroyed. All they care about is pleasure and freedom. He won’t come for you.”

“What makes you so sure he’s a selkie?”

“Oh dearie, dearie, dearie. I know them better than they know themselves. I’ve been hunting them since before you even born. I know a selkie when I see one. Dark, beautiful, selfish and vicious. They always reveal themselves in the end. I saw him for the beast he was the moment I set eyes on him.”

The cynical and jaded part of Emma wanted nothing more than to laugh in his face. Here he was bragging about how well he knew selkies while there was one right in front of his very nose and he didn’t seem to realize it.

“If he’s the one you want, then what do you want with me?”

“Information.”

“I thought you knew everything there was to know about selkies.”

“I do, which is why if anyone knows the key to finding him it’s you. They’re chatty creatures when they’re trying to impress their latest victim.”

“You mean victims like your wife?” She didn’t know why she was baiting him but she couldn’t help but ask the question.

His eyes bulged in surprise for a brief moment, clearly caught off guard. It wasn’t long before they narrowed anything, the cold emotionless look replaced with something akin to fury. It was the first time Emma felt like she was seeing a genuine emotion from him.

“And what do you know about my wife?”

“She left you for a selkie man and you couldn’t handle it.”

“Is that what you think?”

“That’s what I know.”

“Which is absolutely nothing!” he snarled. “My wife was no victim. She was selfish and had little regard for anyone, including our son. I gave her everything. A home. Money. Clothes. A beautiful boy to take care of. All I wanted was her to be my wife and what did she do to show her gratitude? Returned to the ocean at her first chance.”

She felt her jaw drop as she realized exactly what he was saying.

“Your wife was a selkie,” she whispered in horror.

“And a vicious one at that. Heartless. Milah took from me what I desperately desired so I took away what she desired the most,” he replied, fiddling with charms of the crude necklace around his neck. “And now, she’ll never leave me.”

Emma stared in horror as she realized that charms he was playing with weren’t actually charms, but rather very human-looking teeth, canines if her elementary health classes had taught her correctly. Given the context of their rather gruesome conversation, Emma could only assume that they had belonged to his wife, which is why they were around his neck rather than in the mason jar on his mantle back in the house. Bile rose in her throat.

An even sicker realization hit her.

Milah. It took her a few moments to place the name but when she did, it felt like someone had dumped an ice bucket over her head. Gold’s wife had been Killian’s Milah, the selkie woman who had become his rock in a new and unforgiving environment. The man who had killed her parents had also killed the woman Killian had loved. She didn’t know why she was surprised. This man seemed to thrive on destroying the lives of those around him.

“You killed her because she wanted to go home.”

“She killed herself when she decided to abandon her family.”

“You couldn’t stand her saying ‘no’ to you. You’re like a child who destroys his toys when they don’t work the way he wants!” She shouted back at him.

Gold’s face flashed with fury. He lunged forward, grabbing a handful of her hair and slamming her facedown against the deck. The blow was sudden and disorientating, pain shooting through her skull. She could already feel the massive bruise beginning to form on her cheek.

“That will teach you to be mouthy. You will be silent unless I tell you otherwise,” he hissed into her ear.

“No.”

“Excuse me?”

“I said no,” she repeated bitingly, her head still swimming. “I will not be silent. I will not cooperate with you. You will get nothing you want from me. I refuse. You might as well throw me overboard now.”

“That is a request I will happily grant,” Gold snarled, tightening his hold on her hair and proceeding to drag her across the boat.

Emma screamed, thrashing her body and waving her bound arms in hopes of hitting or loosening his hold. She wasn’t going to go down without a fight. She landed a few good hits, causing Gold to swear violently at her but she paid no attention to his words. In the course of her struggle, she managed to kick over the chum cooler, sending ice, blood and fish parts sliding across the deck.

As Gold attempted to drag her towards the ledge, something happened. A black mass burst from the water and jumped onto the boat, sending both Emma and Gold backwards. Emma let out a yelp of pain as she smacked her elbow hard against the deck. The boat rocked violently, seesawing back and forth in a fashion that made her wonder if the boat was going to flip over. Gold screamed as he fell, red flashing across her vision.

Initially, Emma thought it was some sort of shark that jumped aboard. It has been incredibly large and powerful enough to nearly capsize the boat. But as she got her bearings, she realised that she was seriously mistaken.

It was a seal.

A large black furred seal, larger than any animal that Emma had ever encountered before in her life. It was easily six to seven feet in length and looked like it weighed a few hundred pounds, more than capable of crushing both her and Gold. It looked more dangerous than any wild animal had the right to be, baring sharp teeth and barking noisily. She flattened herself against the deck, hoping that it wouldn’t take notice of her.

Gold had no such fears. He stood up on shaky legs, yanking Emma up by the arm. When she resisted, he pulled a switchblade from his pocket. She went still as he brought it against her neck.

“Yield.”

At first, Emma thought he was talking to her but Gold wasn’t looking at her. His eyes were trained on the still snarling animal. It was then that Emma really studied the creature. When she first caught sight of it, all she had noted was that it was large and terrifying but now it was familiar. Its sleek pelt had taken on a distant pattern that she had seen before but she didn’t make the connection until she saw the unnatural intelligence in its eyes.

Killian.

“Yield, beast.” Gold held the knife higher on her neck. “Take off the pelt and we will talk like men. Do anything rash and dear Emma gets a bloody necktie.”

The low growl emitted from Killian’s throat, lips raising to show off more sharp teeth. Gold didn’t so much as flinch - if anything, he pressed the knife closer to Emma’s skin. A few moments passed where nothing happened and Emma felt each second pass slowly as adrenaline pumped through her veins, heart beating a tattoo against her ribcage.

The seal shifted, rolling its shoulders followed by.a clicking noise. Emma watched, oddly fascinated, as bones began to shift beneath the skin. It was almost grotesque to watch it but she couldn’t look away as a flipper became more like an arm and the fat seemed to melt away from its torso, the pelt falling loose. She sucked in a breath as the face of the seal was pulled away to reveal a more familiar human one. The removal of the pelt was followed by an awkward squelching noise and it was then that she realised that his human skin was covered a thin layer of disgusting gunk. Faintly she mused that this was why selkies needed to dazzle humans into accepting them, watching the transformation from seal to human was pretty gross.

“You know, I’m hunted your kind for decades and I can count on a single hand how many times you lot have come back for humans. Not the smartest seal, are you?”

“You shouldn’t have brought her into this,” Killian said in a quiet tone. Despite his calmness, Emma could hear the anger in his voice.

“You’re the one who brought her into this, dearie.”

“Let her go.”

“And why would I do that?” Gold taunted.

Killian didn’t answer his question. His lips formed a tight thin line as his eyes cut away from Gold and met Emma’s. His demeanour changed, from furious to desperate. He seemed to be silently pleading with her but over what, she didn’t know.

“Tell you what, you hand over your pelt and the girl goes free.”

“No!” The word escaped her throat before she could stop it.

“Quiet,” Gold hissed, fingers digging into the skin of her arm. “That’s my deal for you. The pelt for the girl.”

“I’m not worth it,” Emma whispered, shaking her head, heedless of the knife at her throat.

“No…” Killian swallowed. “You’re worth everything.”

He stepped forward, pelt in his hands. Emma wanted to scream at him for being so foolish and so reckless and for choosing this moment, the worst moment in the history of bad moments, to be romantic. He was an idiot. Gold had no intentions of letting either of them go and he was surrendering the most fundamental part of him in a desperate, useless measure that everyone on this boat knew would amount to nothing. This was unacceptable.

She refused to accept this. She wasn’t going to.

An eerie sense of calm overtook her as she came to a decision. There was a sudden disconnect between her mind and her body, as if she was just watching a movie rather than experiencing it firsthand. The only thing she knew was that she wasn’t going to allow Killian to do this, not while she was living and breathing.

Over the course of her career as a private investigator, Emma had watched her fair share of shitty romantic comedies, including Sandra Bullock’s “Miss Congeniality.” It wasn’t the best film in the world and there were parts that Emma found more irritating than endearing but there was one scene that seemed to be burned into her memory and that was the scene where Gracie Hart taught the audience how to SING and not in the entertaining way.

Bracing slightly, Emma brought her elbow up and swung backwards as hard as she could. She made contact with his solar plexus, catching him off guard and causing him to stumble. The knife came down against her collarbone, cutting into her skin but Emma paid it no mind as she slammed her foot against his instep and pivoted back to hit him with her elbow again. Gold fell backwards and she moved to finish the job but Killian shoved her out of the way, getting in on the action by hitting him with a bodyslam. Gold went over the side of the boat with a loud shout, pulling on Killian’s arm in desperate attempt to stay onboard. Killian stumbled, clawing at the railing to keep from falling over as well.

“Fuck!” Killian screamed, trying to pull his arm back. “You’re going to pull my bloody arm off!”

“I’m going to do quite a bit more than that once I get back on board!”

“I’m going to run you over with your own goddamn-“ He didn’t finish his sentence. Emma watched in horror as the boat shook from a sudden collision with a large force. Killian went flying over the edge with a yelp and into the water, bringing Gold with him.

Emma scrambled to her feet, a fresh sense of panic taking over. There were only two things that could have hit the boat like that, a whale or a shark, and neither of them were good.

Red.

All she could see bubbles and blood spreading. No sign of Killian and Gold. She had never been more terrified in her life, not even when Gold had put the knife to her neck.

“Killian!” Her eyes searched the water desperately, looking for a sign.

Suddenly a dark head arose from the churning sea, gasping for breath and splashing frantically. It was Killian and he looked positively terrified.

“Emma!”

Her relief was short lived as she noticed the dark shape in the water and an all-too-familiar triangular shape breaking the surface as it moved towards where Killian was barely keeping afloat. She had seen enough Jaws movies to know what it was.

“Killian! You have to get out of the water!”

She searched frantically, looking for something to help him. She found portable boat ladder leaning casually against the side and immediately placed it over the rail. Killian began to swim towards it but his movements were sluggish and slow.

He wasn’t going to make it in time.

“No, no, no, no,” Emma chanted under her breath as she began ripping at the duct tape around her wrists with her teeth. It took her a few moments to break it but when she did, she didn’t bother to take all of it off. Instead she looked around wildly for something that she could throw or distract the shark with. All she could find was buoys, life jackets and things for boat maintenance. She highly doubted throwing a can of WD40 was going to do much.

The only thing that looked remotely useful was a long thin metal pole with a small hook at the end of it. She had no idea what it was for and she didn’t care. She just needed to figure out how help Killian.

Armed with her weapon, Emma returned to the side of the boat to survey the situation. The shark was nearly on top of Killian who only a few feet away from the ladder. She didn’t think, smacking the pole against the water in hopes of warding the shark off. It swerved to avoid the pole but wasn’t deterred from its course. She continued to violently stab at the water in hopes of keeping it away from the boat, hitting it at times along the top of the head and nose. It reared back when Emma managed to get a nasty shot at its gills. She let out of a shout of victory as Killian clambered onto the deck, unhindered by the shark.

Or so she thought.

As soon as he made it over the side, he collapsed. Breathing heavy and white faced, he cradled his left arm against his chest. Blood and water pooled around him and that’s when Emma noticed his hand.

Or lack of it.

It was gone, leaving an gnarled wrist in its wake. Blood and shredded tendoned curling around the stump. Emma fought back the urge to scream and recoil. Freaking out would solve nothing. Killian needed help and he needed help fast.

It was a vague memory from her middle school health class but Emma tore off her shirt and immediately wrapped it around Killian’s wrist in hopes of creating a makeshift tourniquet. Her hands shook violently as she tightened the cloth around his ravaged wrist.

“What are you doing, love?” He asked weakly.

“Stopping the blood flow,” she answered shortly, taking off her belt so she could keep the shirt in place. Red quickly spread through the fabric and Emma didn’t like how fast he seemed to be losing blood. “I’m going to need you to keep this elevated while I try to figure out how to get you help…Can you do that?”

“Whatever you want, love.”

As much as she didn’t want to, she left his side and began searching through Gold’s stuff again, looking for something, anything really, that could help them get help. She had no clue how to drive a boat, especially one of this caliber and she was almost positive that any attempt to drive it back to Menemsha would be detrimental to Killian.

She nearly sobbed when she found an almost ancient emergency radio and a pack of flare gun. She picked up the radio, unsure if it was on the correct channel or even if she was transmitting correctly and spoke.

“Help! Help! Help! Is anyone out there! I need help!”

There was no response. She shifted the channel, repeating the same desperate plea and waiting thirty seconds for a response before changing it. Only the third shift, someone finally replied.

“Ma’am, is this mayday?” A man’s voice crackled over the radio.

“Mayday, help, what, I need someone and I need them now!” Emma shouted back. “I’m in the middle of fucking ocean, someone dead and my friend is dying! I need help!”

“Ma’am, what is the condition of your craft?”

“It’s fine but my friend isn’t! Send the Water Ambulance, the Coast Guard, the Avengers, someone! He’s been attacked by a shark and is bleeding out and I don’t know how to drive this thing! The guy who did is dead!”

“Ma’am, calm down, this is the US Coast Guard based in Chilmark that you’re speaking to. Do you know where you are?”

“No fucking clue,” she said, letting out a hysterical laugh. Just her luck. She could get the Coast Guard on her first attempt of radioing for help but she had no idea where she was. “All I know is that we came from Memensha.”

“Do you know the name of the craft, ma’am?”

“No,” she replied shortly.

“Listen to me carefully. I need you to look find the name of the craft you’re on. It should be on the side or near the back of the craft. Can you do that for me?”

Before he had even finished, she had moved to crane her head over side to get a look. There was a name inscribed in large gold lettering and a bunch of black vinyl numbers underneath it that Emma could only assume was a serial number.

“Ma’am? Ma’am? Are you there, ma’am?”

“Yeah?”

“Did you find the name of your craft?”

“The Spinning Wheel,” she replied. “And I think, serial code...RU3PL3ST1K?”

“Thank you, ma’am. Your craft has a locator on it. We should be able to get to you in about 30 minutes to an hour depending on the accuracy of your locator. In the meantime, keep your radio on and tend to your friend. We’re sending a helicopter to get you. Look for any flares aboard your craft and set them off. They will help our responders find you.”

“Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you.” She couldn’t stop saying the words.

As soon as she was off the comm with the Coast Guard, she immediately shot off the flare gun. She watched in brief fascination as the flare flew up; red smoke bursting through the air, thick and vivid. It reminded her slightly of fireworks.

She returned to Killian’s side. He was propped up against the side of the boat, cradling his injured arm against his chest and looking as white as bone. Emma immediately wrapped her arms around him, pulling him to her.

“Someone is coming,” she murmured into his hair. “You gotta hang on because someone is coming and they’re going to help us.”

Killian nodded weakly, seeming to barely register her words.

“So much for a dashing rescue,” he said faintly.

“What can I say, the only person who saves me is me,” she replied shakily, attempting to smile.

He chuckled a bit at that, the corners of his lips lifting faintly. “You’re brilliant, Swan.”

“And you’re going to be okay...you have to be okay…you said you weren’t going to leave me…”

“I’m not sure I have much of a choice in this…”

“You’re right, you don’t. I’m not going to allow you. I won’t let you. I refuse god fucking damn it!” Hot tears leaked out of the corners of her eyes as she clutched him tighter, afraid that he would slip through her fingers. She ran her fingers down his back in attempt to comfort him, placing fleeting kisses against his crown.

She couldn’t lose him.

Killian had become important. In the past few weeks, he had wormed his way past her walls, through her rib cage and straight into her heart. She didn’t know what they were or what they would be but she knew that she wanted him alive and in her life. He was her person in a way that no one else had been.

Despite her insistence that he wasn’t allowed to die, she had held her breath; fully aware that neither of them had control of the situation. Emma had done her best to stop the bleeding but there was no telling how much blood he had lost before she had even applied the tourniquet. She watched his color, growing increasingly more panicked as he got paler and paler.

She nearly burst into tears when she heard the beating sound of the helicopter’s wings cutting through the air.

They were going to make it.

#captain swan #cs ff #cs fic #cs fanfic #cs fanfiction #cssns #seal of fate #my fic #my shit

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miamaroo · 6 years

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Northern Migration- Chapter 22 (Notes + Preview)

Here it is! The ever fated next chapter of Northern Migration. Through some twist of fate, it manages to actually not be a really bad anime filler episode despite the fact that it’s all just me trying to finish up a plot point my hubris accidentally created. If I had only outlined this story, then maybe I would’ve seen all of this happening. If only.

Anyway, make sure to read the new chapter before giving this a check out. Or, if you have never read this fic before, read these notes for an out-of-context idea of what you’re missing out on. Whatever floats your boat on this wild Friday night.

Spoilers Ahead!

I feel like I’m at a bit of a crossroads with some of my Taako subplots, but the one about him getting used to his body again in particular. On one hand, it’s more than logical to presume that three years without any physical touch is enough to mess someone up. On the other, he’s an elf. Three years doesn’t feel like that long to him. I don’t know. I think I read a fic once where a similar idea had to be done, and I remember thinking that all of the angst in it was voyeuristic. If you think I’m underplaying Taako getting used to his senses again, that’s why. One bad fic experience, and I can’t get it out of my head whenever I want to acknowledge Taako and touch anymore.

By the way, none of anything I said right there is meant to be a diss. I just have very specific tastes in fanfiction and it ruins my life on a daily basis.

I ran into a quagmire with the Magnus and Julia reunion scene here. They need to have a fulfilling moment where Julia’s injuries and sacrifices are acknowledged. But Lucretia is also dying, so I had to make it much shorter than I wanted. I definitely kinda skimmed over Magnus learning about Davenport as well, so I agree that those areas are definitely the weakest parts of this chapter. If it’s any comfort to you, I’m not done with either plotline yet. I still have a couple of character moments planned for Davenport and Julia in this upcoming interlude surrounding their sacrifices.

Remember that Stevie and Taako scrap I posted a while ago, and I said that I was most likely not going to ever put it back into the fic. I hope you can now see why I had to cut it. Honestly, shame on me for writing it all out in the first place before realizing that Lucretia was just lying there, almost dead,

One last apology for not jumping right into Taako’s emotional arc like I wanted to. Again, accidental plot point happened and I had to solve it ASAP. I did my best to leave little crumbs of what’s to come though, including Taako’s feelings of estrangement from the rest of the crew.

If you haven’t been able to tell by now, the accidental plot point itself was the fact that Lucretia needed a healer and Merle wasn’t there. When I had realized that, everything spiraled as I realized how Neverwinter was going to be like towards the ship and all that good stuff. There was a point of time where I almost just wrote a loose summary of having to sneak into Neverwinter, but in the end I think this chapter proved to actually be something the story needed. Merle running off to Barry now has more consequences, we can immediately see how the public opinion plot is developing, I can fulfill the sprinklings of a plot thread Magnus meeting Bane a bunch of chapters back started, and I also got Stevie to the emotional place I want her to be at before the next John scene. So in the end, this chapter is honest to god a blessing, and I really have to pat myself on the back for accidentally fixing a bunch of potential hiccups this story was going to have.

I had the misfortune of having to debate how to handle Garyl’s first scene in this fic. I’m personally not that big of a fan of him, but I know a lot of people are. It really wasn’t until I was proofing this chapter that it occurred to me that there’s probably going to be more than a few people peeved that I skimmed over the coolest phantom steed like that. And to those people: I’m sorry. I should really know better.

The orc woman is hands down the best character in this fic.

Magnus and Stevie versus the militia is the highlight of this chapter. I was really excited to write it, and I’m happy with how it turned out. It hit a lot of writing tricks that I just love to use, including the repetition and inevitable inversion of a phrase or idea (this one being the sentence “she’s ten). There’s a lot more about this I could probably say, but I’m just going to leave it there.

I tried to use Magnus’s speech to Stevie afterwards as an in-story hey look at this thing moment, but in case that wasn’t clear enough: Stevie saying that her parents fighting Kalen is her inspiration for wanting to be an adventurer is a significant marker of her growth because when we first meet her, one of the first things we learn about her is that the Power Bear is her favorite story. Stevie’s arc is 100% a coming of age story, and as I get older, I realize more and more how much I love those things.

This Isaak scene is interesting because the first part with Noelle’s family was actually written months ago. It’s actually a draft of his introductory scene that I had scraped in favorite of writing him discovering Phandalin instead. I never thought I was ever gonna get to put it back in, so I’m really happy that it just so turned out that now became a good time to throw it back in (in no short part due to the fact that he disses the militia and this chapter has a lot of Militia Doing Bad Stuff).

Another reason why I’m so happy we got to see Noelle’s family is because of chapter 4. That chapter starts with a long sequence of various side characters who will become important to the plot seeing the Hunger’s spies and reacting accordingly. It mentions Angus, Hurley and Sloane, and Noelle’s family. After I trashed their scene the first time around, it really bugged me that they only got that one mention, especially since that mention was placed in there in the first place to serve as an entryway for Isaak. But now order is restored and I can be at peace.

I also adored writing that rowdy bar scene. If you haven’t been able to tell by now: I love rowdy bar scenes and people being drunk.

Also I finally got Carey and Isaak where I want them. First interlude chapter, and I already got the first part of the next relic arc set up…

As I mentioned in the chapter notes, this is going to be the last of the long chapters for a while. I really don’t want to spend a month between updates again, so I’m going to go back to the 2-7k word count limits. That will most likely mean that not every chapter will have both major character and major plot developments. There might be times when there’s going to be a chapter where there’s only going to be one of them, or even just minor developments. That’s going to be infuriating for a while, but I ultimately think that doing the smaller chunks will be better for the health of this story and myself.

Thank you. And without further ado, here’s the preview for the next (short) chapter:

The Hammerhead base is on fire. Militia tape already seals off the street, a combination of battlewagons and sheer manpower pushing back the crowd of spectators. Wizards cast dampening spells over the warehouses as none-magic users rush water from the canal by the bucket-load. The stench of smoke makes Taako gag and, despite the hot weather, he pulls his scarf up and over his nose.

“How the hell did Merle manage to do this?” Magnus asks. He has Stevie on his shoulders, holding her calves in place as she scans the crowd. When his eyes finally reach Taako, a brow arches. “You doing okay?” The amount of care on his face is disgusting, especially when he and his wife are still in the middle of some kind of argument.

Taako doesn’t get it. He was there when it all went down yesterday, with the healer situation and all. Somehow this version of Magnus is still furious. At least, Taako thinks he is. Between getting his first proper night’s sleep in three years and having to trek across Goldcliff with Magnus, he’s hasn’t had enough time to scout out all the details of this marriage-arrangement-thing. But he knows that he’s already caught Magnus sleeping on the couch, which makes Julia a bad person in his books.

“Taako,” Magnus says, as if he didn’t brush away every word his wife sent his way before taking their daughter with him into this jaunt into Goldcliff.

“Peachy,” Taako finally grumbles back, rocking onto the tips of his toes to peer over the crowd’s shoulders. “Why the fuck can’t that old perv just answer his stanking stone for once?”

“Found him!” In her excitement, Stevie almost falls off Magnus’s shoulders. She grabs his hair, causing his to shout in pain as she pulls herself upright again. “Hey! Merle!” She waves her hands high in the air. “Over here! Uncle Merle!”

“Uncle,” Taako says, craning his neck for any sign of the dwarf.

He can hear the light smile flit across Magnus’s face. “Technically, you’re her uncle too.”

He glowers. “Fantastic.”

Between the legs of two spectating orcs, Merle weaves through. He looks ripe as rain, a cup of coffee in one hand as he throws a wave up to Magnus and Stevie. “Hey, you two.”

“Uncle Merle!” Stevie jumps off Magnus’s shoulders, causing him to swear and grab the back of her shirt before she can hit the ground. The moment he places her down safely, she throws her arms around the dwarf and squeezes.

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penniesforthestorm · 6 years

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On Jane, Part 2

Actually I Mostly Talk About Rochester in This One

Greetings, pals! Today's chunk lends itself a bit more naturally to analysis, because it's primarily concerned with the development of the relationship between Jane and Rochester, concurrent with the deepening of the mystery surrounding Thornfield Hall (those 'bumps in the night' I mentioned in yesterday's post). Again, if you haven't read the book, you will probably be confused by a lot of what follows here—if you have read the book and you're still confused, I apologize. With that in mind, let's get to it.

First of all, let's talk about this Rochester fellow. By the time he actually physically enters the picture, we know very little about him. He's not a titled peer, but he's evidently wealthy enough to spend most of his time traveling around Europe. He's apparently well-liked by his tenants and employees, though Mrs. Fairfax (so far, the chief source of information for both Jane and the audience) makes a reference to his eccentric personality. Beyond that, he's an unknown quantity.

When Jane first sees him charging down the icy lane on his black horse, she thinks of a mystical creature, the Gytrash, known to haunt solitary lanes at nightfall. During their first real conversations, Rochester teasingly accuses Jane of bewitching his horse, asking if he had broken through a fairy-circle. These particular scenes are some of my favorites, because they give such a clear idea of both characters. For his part, Rochester addresses Jane as a person, with thoughts and opinions worth hearing. And Jane rises to the occasion, frankly and innocently answering his questions. In the second conversation, when Rochester asks if Jane finds him handsome, she answers ‘no’, not out of any intent to insult, but out of simple honesty. Rochester pretends to be piqued, but given the way the rest of the conversation proceeds, it’s clear that he finds her candor admirable, even as he pokes fun at her naïveté.

For a while, not much happens. Winter thaws into spring, and Rochester and Jane’s conversations deepen. He tells her the rather Romantic story of Adele’s parentage—himself, the young wastrel, seduced by the feckless showgirl Celine Varens. But the anecdote is revealing. Despite his professed lack of enthusiasm for the company of children and his rather dismissive attitude toward Adele herself, he nevertheless rescued her from a probable grim fate. In Paris, Adele was the illegitimate daughter of a woman who was about one rung up the ladder from a prostitute. In England, she is being raised in a comfortable home, and educated as a member of the upper classes, no doubt with an eye toward a future advantageous marriage, as long as nobody asks too many questions. One could argue that Rochester’s actions in this case constitute the most basic level of human decency, but within the context of the story, wherein children are either spoiled rotten or cast off and starved, Rochester comes off looking like quite the benefactor.

(I could derail this into a Whole Thing about the trend of novels in the 19th Century still functioning largely as allegory and not precisely meant to represent the Real World—Dickens, Thackeray, Hardy to an extent, and of course Wuthering Heights, but I feel like that deserves further and better research than what I’m going for here. Still, I think it’s another thing that often gets missed in discussions of this novel, and thus, the more melodramatic elements of the work seem incongruous with its overall ‘realistic’ tone.)

Now, a bit more on those bumps in the night. Ever since Jane’s earliest days at Thornfield, she’s been aware of an eerie laugh issuing from some rooms on the third story of the house. There is a servant who stays there, rarely venturing down to the rest of the house, and her name is given as Grace Poole. Everybody seems rather vague on the subject of what Grace actually does, and Jane, being observant, begins to suspect that there is something going on with Grace, despite her thoroughly ordinary appearance and taciturn manner.

These suspicions come quite literally roaring to life one night, when Jane hears that laugh in the hall outside her bedroom, and ventures outside to discover that Rochester’s room has been set on fire. Jane runs in and douses him with water, and once he is aware of the situation, he dashes off, telling her to stay there and wait until he returns. The bit that follows his return is an interesting one—Rochester urges Jane’s silence, and confirms Grace Poole as the owner of the laugh, terming her a ‘singular’ (here meaning odd) person. Jane begins to leave, but Rochester detains her for a second, sincerely thanking her for saving his life, and speaking to her in his fondest tone yet. This instant marks another significant step in Jane’s ascension—she is not just Rochester’s ‘paid subordinate’, she is his confidante and quite literally his savior. The incident has bound them together in a way neither of them understands just yet.

And this closeness is seemingly dashed the next morning, when Jane is informed that Rochester has gone off to visit some friends, and will likely not return for several weeks. When he does come back, he is accompanied by a full complement of guests, including the imposing, imperious Miss Blanche Ingram, who Rochester is rumored to be courting as a future bride. At first, Jane is crushed—Blanche has money, beauty, accomplishments, and power. Again, this could be a jumping-off point for a discussion about how marriage among the upper classes at that period of time still hewed fairly close to its feudal roots, more as a way of securing finances than as an expression of emotional attachment. But you can read Jane Austen for that. In this case, Blanche wanting to marry Rochester for his money isn’t quite as much of a stain on her character as it might seem to a modern reader. Her vanity and coldness, however, serve as kindling for Jane’s feisty side—at one point, she dismisses Blanche as ‘a mark beneath jealousy’.

Another strange incident occurs after the guests have been staying at Thornfield for quite some time. Mr. Rochester leaves on some errand, and in his absence, a stranger shows up at the house, claiming to be a friend of Rochester’s. He is described as around thirty-five, dark-haired and handsome, but somehow deficient. Jane gives particular attention to his ‘wandering eye’ and his peculiar accent. We soon learn that his name is Richard Mason, and he has come all the way from Jamaica to pay a visit to his ‘old friend’.

In the interest of keeping things moving, I’m not going to discuss the business with Rochester in disguise as the fortune-teller. Once he unmasks himself before Jane, and she informs him of Mason’s arrival, we see a reaction in him we haven’t seen before: fear. He begs Jane for comfort, asking her what she would do if the assembled company suddenly turned against him. Assured of her fidelity, he rejoins his friends and apparently greets Mason calmly enough.

Once again, however, Jane is awakened by noises in the dark—screams, this time, from the regions where Grace Poole keeps her dark vigils. In due course, Rochester summons her. The newly-arrived Mr. Mason is lying injured in an upstairs room, and Rochester enlists Jane to keep watch while he fetches the doctor. He orders Mason not to speak to Jane, which, considering that the guy’s barely conscious, doesn’t seem like a difficult request to fulfill.

Rochester and the doctor return, and it’s revealed that Mason was bitten, as well as being stabbed with a knife. Once Mason is fixed up enough to leave, Rochester sends him on his way, but not before a brief, fraught conversation, in which Mason begs him to take care of Her—that mysterious inhabitant of the upstairs room. Rochester tersely replies that he has done his best, and will continue to do it.

Rochester then summons Jane into a garden, and attempts to unburden himself to her. He alludes to his past misdeeds, without giving much in the way of satisfactory detail, and testifies to his sincere wish for his own redemption. He tells her, finally, that he thinks he has found it… in Miss Ingram. He calls her his ‘lovely one’, and suddenly becomes cheerful and jocular. Neither Jane, nor the reader, is satisfied by this.

This brings us nearly to the end of the book’s actual first volume, and (more to the point) near the end of this installment of my…whatever this is. I also think I’m going to need to do two more of these, rather than just one, like I’d originally planned. I’m assuming that if you’ve gotten this far, you’re just as invested as I am.

There is one more major occurrence: the illness and death of Jane’s Aunt Reed. Bessie, Jane’s old nurse, comes to inform her that Mrs. Reed has suffered a stroke, but has been asking for Jane. Jane pays one last visit to her former childhood home, to find it greatly changed: her cousin John has committed suicide, Eliza has become a religious obsessive, and Georgiana is a hapless social climber (though it’s worth noting that she treats the adult Jane with a certain friendliness). And what of Aunt Reed? Before she slips off her mortal coil, she passes Jane a vital piece of information—Jane has a rich uncle from her father’s side, a wine-merchant in Madeira, who has asked for information on Jane’s whereabouts, with a view toward making her his heir. Jane, for her part, offers her aunt her forgiveness, and in this way, seals off that portion of her past.

In tomorrow’s recap, we’ll get to the really juicy stuff. For anyone who’s reading along, thanks a bunch, and feel free to come tell me your thoughts. For anyone who missed yesterday’s, Part 1 is here: http://penniesforthestorm.tumblr.com/post/176721452934

#prose #Jane Eyre #Part 2 of ?#views my own

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celiabbott · 3 years

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introspective on miss cecelia “celia” abbott .

birthday: born in the early morning hours of september 27th, just as dawn was breaking, cecelia abbott falls under the zodiac sign of libra. with a libra sun, celia’s desire for fairness and justice is solidified. she possesses a generous relativism that allows her to see both sides of every situation, evidenced further in her gift as a legilimens, although her sheltered upbringing paired with recent, traumatic events have certainly forced her hand in bending to the will of one rather than the other. prompting fears that eat ever away at her when reflecting back on those final, few words with booker. haunted by just how… indecisive she must have looked to him in that moment, how insecure, when confronted by such a decision as to pick between her family, her duty and the one she loved. such as the scales that represent her zodiac, cecelia wishes for nothing more than to bring balance to her life. to find balance between what her father asks and expects of her and doing what would bring smiles to faces of those whom she’s lost and so dearly misses. embodying her sun sign further, celia’s fond of harmony, going out of her way to avoid conflict where she can, particularly when her father’s involved, possesses a gentle touch like no other healer in her ward and is a little social butterfly when she wants to be, known of course for her larger than life friend group who’ve followed her all throughout their hogwarts years and in navigating adult life since. ruled by venus too, cecelia is a lover. the abbott’s last hope, she possesses a big heart, made even more so by her desire and ability to find beauty in even the simplest things in life, even in hardship… as she has so suffered since october’s end.

wand: the morning at ollivander’s is perhaps, the first memory following her mother’s death that shimmers with the golden hues of her childhood… a young celia clings to her father’s arm, quite afraid to let go of him in fear that he may fall apart and she, in turn, will lose the only parent she has left. a nervous energy about the air, in spite of how celia had been groomed for this very moment. it’s several wands in, ten minutes or so later that her father gives ollivander a firm, indicative nod that prompts the elder wizard to pull from behind his desk an ornate wand box, bearing the abbott family crest. with extreme care but a child’s eagerness, cecelia opened up the box to uncover her mother’s wand laying amongst the satin lining. the sight alone prompts her lips to fall agape, gaze shifting upward from the beloved wand to her father’s face, able to feel the tempest of emotions that whirled on within him. wiping stray tears from her warm, rosy cheeks, she’s grips the wand as just as she had her father’s arm, its delicate, sentimental nature not lost on her. maria’s wand, passed down to her daughter, celia’s wand is of a rarer white river monster spine core, made of the highly prized aspen wood, known for its fine grain and stylish resemblance to ivory, as well as its outstanding charmwork and stands at just 10″ long with a considerably flexible nature. the smaller size suits cecelia’s petite stature well, and she was greatly appreciative of how it adapted to its new owner. the wand itself is refined and elegant, much like her mother was, with swirling patterns that celia would often find herself tracing during days at hogwarts, lost in her thoughts… or in those of others, the wand in her hand serving as a lasting reminder of her mother. something she only wishes to use for good.

amortentia: she’d been squirrelled away inside one of hogwarts’ greenhouses the first time she brewed the infamous love potion. celia usually stuck to what she knew best, sampling healing potions and going as far as to scour the library in search of new recipes to test and try out. it’s out of idle curiosity however that she assembles the ingredients for amortentia, quietly charmed by the idea that it could reveal what was most attractive in her eyes. leaning inward to the pearlescent liquid, the scent that arises from the steam is one of sweet indulgence. the aroma of freshly baked iced buns, topped with sugary, glacé cherries was one plucked straight from her youth. sat about with abigail and gus, enjoying a couple each, regardless of whether they’d been shop bought just that morning or a creation of their mother’s handiwork. it strikes celia as poignant, the memory shrouded in nostalgia as she attempts to not read too far into how dearly it might have been that she wanted her childhood back. what follows is a newer scent, warm and familiar, one she recognises instantaneously as white carnations. it hadn’t been long ago at all, fairly recently in fact, that she’d gifted booker a white carnation that she’d hand pressed herself. having read of its significance, known as a symbol of innocence, pure love and a women’s good luck gift, she’d insisted, if a little bashfully, that he take it as a token, a book mark to use during his days sat about in the library researching magical creatures and to think of her when he held it. taking in its spicy, floral scent, clove-like in its bright and vivid nature, there’s a relief that comes with smelling something of booker. confirmation perhaps, that whatever was blossoming between the two was in fact, real. the last fragrance is that of honey. homemade and organic. it’s an unmistakable scent, one she associates with her late mother alone. there had certainly been a day and age in which cecelia had thought of beekeeping as the… least cool thing her parents could have taken up in their married life however her mother, adored it. they kept a group of hives in the back garden of their cambridge home and celia, particularly in the sun-soaked summers, would sit on the lawn watching as her mother tended to them with such care, the very same tender and loving hands that tended to her. the young witch was fascinated to say the least, captivated the subtle art. even more so when maria would produce jars of fresh honey at the breakfast table the morning after. bright green eyes would grow wide, prompting smiles from the rest of the kitchen’s inhabitants. it was a constant throughout the years celia had her mother. a tradition that came to be of their little abbott family. one lost to the past, but one she hopes to revive.

boggart: celia had been told not to fear… for the worst thing that could have possibly happened to her had already happened. had already come to pass. that, perhaps, in their eyes, she was a braver soul for it. stood face to face with the shape-shifting being however, the shape it takes on is one cecelia could have well predicated. lying just a way away from her feet, is the corpse of her late mother, maria. thick, viscous, red blood spilling from a wound in her neck, shaped like the bite of a vampire. she’s still and unmoving as celia’s imagination takes hold, for she had never seen what’d truly happened to her mother. instead she’d been shielded from it, left only to wallow in the distress of her father. his thoughts becoming her own. she remains frozen in place, watching the horrifying scene unfold before her teary eyes a moment before throwing herself towards what she sees to be, her mother — wanting so desperately to hold her in her arms once more… to save her if she could. it’s then that boggart is put away, class stood in stunned silence as their classmate sobs, comforted only by the arms of her friends, wrapped around her like some protective seal. celia hasn’t come into contact with a boggart since booker’s murder, but she knows deep down, of the likelihood that his mangled corpse would materialise before her eyes if she were ever to step foot in front of one again.

patronus: soft, green eyes are alight with excitement as she holds her wand outward, waiting a moment with bated breath, to cast the illustrious patronus charm. it’s as she does so, with well-practised flourish, that the swirling, silvery light bursts free before her. swift and serene as the animal the luminescence begins to take the form of… a swallow, flying about, flitting its small wings ahead of her. much like cecelia, at her core, swallows are associated with love and happiness. as well as protection and curiously enough, summer. they’re decisive little birds, full of hope. that, in spite of their smaller size, are extremely powerful patronuses to have. graceful and charming, not unlike its holder, birds, much like celia, are greatly admired because of their ability to reach amazing heights. the world is wide, aspirations big and potential strong. if she were to open her mind and navigate a way to embrace all that holds her back, she is certain she can do great things. she strives to do them. hoping to make a change in this world in any way she can. most notably however, in the past, swallows are believed to have been the representation of the soul of someone who has died.

mirror of erised: cecelia’s reflection, is one that puzzles even her, though she knows, in her heart of hearts that it’s undisputedly correct. mirrored back at her, is essentially, the very same image of celia stood all on her own. subtle signs point to time having passed, hair longer, clothes different, skin losing its youthful, rosy glow… she can certainly say she looks more mature. truly grown up, as her father might say… but nothing holds her back anymore. she’s a woman, changed. transformed even. no longer under the thumb of anyone else, not shaped to the desires of any on person. no… what is reflected in erised’s mirror is, from what she understands, who she’ll become if she finds the balance in her life that she so desperately desires. a compromise to a life of rigidity and refinement, her father’s presence and fate of their family’s reputation looming over her with the life her mother, and booker would readily encourage. a world in which she can, and will do both. the courage finally mustered to set aside blood purist ideals that kept her from what she truly wanted in life. it’s something she ponders over constantly… spurred on by fear of what is happening around her but aware of the potential she holds. the change at hand, and in the air, if only she had the determination to embrace it.

#◞ ✿ HEADCANONS .#◞ ✿ CHARACTER STUDY .#middle name(s) incoming

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keepersreprise · 7 years

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“From Hell” Review

31 Days of Tarot Halloween - Day One

“Journey”

In this blog I will be discussing my own personal insights into the popular movie From Hell, its dark story and origins, tantamount themes, and then discussing the theme as presented in the Major Arcana Tarot Card “Journey” pulled from my Dreams of Gaia deck.

OVERVIEW

From Hell is a gorgeous piece of symbolism, that tells the familiar tale of famous serial killer Jack the Ripper, in London of 1888, from the months of August to November.

Jack the Ripper targeted, tortured, and disemboweled a total of five victims - all prostitutes - within that time, before suddenly disappearing. Many theories in the last one hundred-twenty-nine years have arisen regarding who this man was, and what his motives may have been.

Loosely based off the graphic novel by Alan Moore and Eddie Campbell, From Hell is a dark and gritty tale that primarily follows respected and swarthy inspector Frederick Adderline (Johnny Depp) and struggling, sweet-hearted prostitute Mary Kelley (Heather Graham), as they face the terrifying silhouette that was Jack the Ripper.

This film’s vision itself was based off of a theory that the women were targeted as part of a conspiracy to cover the fact that Prince Albert Victor married a common girl name Annie Cook. However, although popular, the theory has been widely discredited.

THEMES

Social Class

Much of the film is cast in a dark and dreary era of London, shortly before the turn of the century. In a time where there was still a great division between the working-class, and well-educated socialites. In fact, many influential men beat it over Inspector Adderline’s head (and the watchers’) that no “well-bred” or respectable man would commit such atrocities.

When Adderline states that he believes the murders were committed with the precision and knowledge of anatomy of a professional surgeon, it is suggested instead that the murders are nothing more than the work of a butcher. Or even a rich tradesman.

The series of events that lead to the murders revolves around the Prince Albert’s secret marriage to commoner and prostitute Ann Cook, and the subsequent birth of their child. As a result, Ann is kidnapped and questioned, then lobotomized and sequestered in an asylum. The Queen Alexandra of Denmark herself sets trusted Freemason Sir William Gull the task of eliminating the witnesses without any conscious regard to the women’s lives, nor the mass hysteria the killings stir amongst her subjects. And perhaps more telling, is that William Gull - the Ripper - is lobotomized and sealed away himself once he has completed this task.

COLOR SCHEMES

The color red is a prominent theme, often starkly contrasting or complimenting the gloom and dreariness that rests like a translucent veil over London during this time. The color is not solely present in the scenes of grisly murder. It can also be found in other significant scenes and moments throughout the film.

Most notably Mary Kelly has vibrant red hair and alluring green eyes. While all the prostitutes wear brighter clothing than most people we see - setting them apart as women of character and diversity - Mary Kelly’s hair is a physical representation of who she herself is. Red is often associated with fiery temperaments, passion, lust, anger, and violence.

In a scene where Adderline is in the tub after drinking absinthe and is taking a clairvoyant journey, there is a red phonograph playing a sonorous tune. The film then switches to another scene where the serial killer is cutting into a raw piece of meat, with a black phonograph playing in the room as well; symbolizing a connection between the two men. In this instance however, the red phonograph represents Adderline’s passion and love as he uses his clairvoyance to relive a memory with his wife, wherein she tells him she’s pregnant. The transition to Gull enjoying a bloody meal with a black phonograph instead depicts the man’s cold-hearted and meticulous nature.

Green is also a prominent color in the film. A few select scenes take place outside or in parts of London where the pall of doom is pushed back for a time. Yet, even in the first instance, when the women are present at the first victim, Martha’s funeral, the watcher is reminded to not allow the moment of beauty to disillusion them. The breaking of the coffin as its lowered and reveal of Martha’s waxy face, is followed by the ravaging laugh of a crow. The second instance of greenery is when Adderline reveals the tragic fates of his wife and child to Mary Kelley on a park bench, while gazing into Mary’s attentively sympathetic green eyes. The last instance in the film shows a happy Mary Kelly raising the throne’s heir in a beautiful cottage by the sea. Yet there is a sadness in her eyes, even as Adderline is using opium far away, to watch the woman he loves waiting for him, just before he dies.

Just as with the color red, there is a balance to green as well. It is prominently present in scenes with Jack the Ripper; highlighting the wall beyond his silhouette. The lanterns of his carriage burn a sickly pulsing green rather than the normal orange-red of fire. Historically, Mary Kelly was the last of Ripper’s victims. The presence of green - the color of comfort, of life, but also of envy and magic - may have been alluding to her presumed fate.

"JOURNEY"

The Major Arcana card Journey is the representation of a path tread; of ourselves, not just physically. It signifies personal growth and strength of conviction. I will discuss each character’s personal journey throughout the film.

Ann Cook: I wanted to begin with Ann Cook, because although her presence in the movie is brief, it was her transformation from simple prostitute to the secret wife and mother of the throne’s heir that began Jack the Ripper’s rampage at the Queen’s behest.

Ann was a sweet and young girl, whose talents and innocence (despite her reviled profession) attracted the attentions of Prince Albert Victor. Within a short time, Albert and Ann were married in a little church with her friends as witness, and although a couple of them envied her newfound easy lifestyle, it is clear that Ann’s charm could make most anyone love her.

She is unexpectedly kidnapped by the Freemasons under the royal family’s orders and questioned. However, she either never knew her husband was the heir, or lied in hopes of protecting herself and her child. She is lobotomized by Dr. Ferral and locked away. Adderline and Mary visit her, where she is found with glassy blue eyes, proclaiming herself a queen. We never hear any more of poor Ann Cook.

What I found interesting about Ann is that part of me wondered if perhaps she in fact, DID know who Albert was the entire time. We only see the two together while having sex in bed, and the prince has the saucer eyes of a man hypnotized by lust. The prince is also revealed to have syphilis. Considering the detrimental effects it can have on the brain, this may attribute to why he married a commoner in secret.

Frederick Adderline: A renown inspector that is called into Whitechapel after the grotesque murder of Martha. While efficient and respected, Adderline’s methods and acceptance of the belief that any man is capable of anything, in a time where the poor and the Juwes are always the villains, isolate him as an aberrant eccentric. Adderline uses his intelligence and astute eye for detail to wriggle out the secrets of the case like prying worms out from beneath a rock.

At the beginning of the film he is standoffish, and even his sarcastic comments are delivered in a dry tone. Although he uses opium to gain visions of his cases, Frederick never tries to explain why or how this happens. Rather, he is a man that accepts things as they come. However, he does seem to hold to some superstitious beliefs, such as when he pressed two coins over the prostitute Dark Annie’s eyes to pay death’s ferryman so that her soul would find rest.

As the film progresses and he progressively fails to solve the case, the watcher sees the man’s frustration at his inability to protect these women manifest. And as he develops an emotionally charged bond with the resilient prostitute Mary Kelly, we see the inspector’s stark demeanor fold in on itself. We learn of his wife, and in the moment where Mary Kelly becomes defensive after he rejects her, Adderline presses her to the wall in his own passion. From here Frederick’s course begins to steer from the paved road of a law up-keeping, prim man, to a bumpy back alley of shadowy movements. When he is suspended from the case for wanting to preserve elegant words scrawled by Jack the Ripper that hints at his identity, he pieced together the mystery with the diligence of a man ruled by his own morals, and confronts the suspect himself. Going so far even, as to draw a gun on the man. He is, however, incapacitated. Yet even when the inspector is faced with what is presumed to be Mary Kelly’s horrifically mutilated corpse, his strength never falters. He doesn’t shy away, showing us that he is not, in fact, broken. Just heartbroken. Once the killings are complete, Frederick decides he can never risk leading the Freemasons to Mary Kelly and Alice’s location. In the end we see that he has returned to his opium addiction. But now he has been using it for years to watch the woman he loves raise a child not her own, in a little cottage by the sea, waiting for him. He is found dead by the sergeant, with two coins in his hand to pay the ferryman.

Mary Kelly: The moment we meet Mary, we see her sweet and compassionate side; almost entirely at odds with what we may expect of someone with such fiery red hair. Even as a prostitute, she is a strong woman of self-worth, that recognizes that she is, in fact, still a woman despite her profession, with needs of her own.

Mary Kelly is a dual-natured character, much like the others. While kind and sweet, caring for and raising Ann’s child, she is also hot-tempered and challenges other people’s views of who she is. Not much is revealed of her past, except that after her mother died when she was eight in Ireland, her family fled to London, where they were “Starving. Starving, but in fresh air”. She dreams languidly of living in a little cottage by the sea, becoming an old plump woman with a skinny husband and many children. Although Mary is obviously a dreamer, she never speaks of how she means to obtain these dreams. This indicates that she may realize just how unlikely they are.

Mary Kelly begins her story trying to raise enough money to pay a local gang. When Ann Cook offers to get her friends the money from her husband, she is bears witness to Ann’s kidnapping. As her friends are murdered one by one, Mary decides to place her trust in inspector Frederick Adderline. The two become very close, with Mary Kelly kissing him in an alleyway after he offers her money to keep herself safe. In this moment, if the watcher had any doubts about Mary Kelly (like one of her prostitutes friends did), her motives towards Adderline are clarified with words fueled by a life persecution and judgement.

How long Mary Kelly has been a prostitute is unclear, but she is quick to defer to officials, and even names herself “unfortunate”. At one point she says to Frederick that “Oh, I’m sorry. England doesn’t have whores. Just a great mass of unlucky women.” This shows her derivative opinion of the social class, and a glimpse that, despite her defiance, Mary Kelly may view herself in this negative manner herself. Or even fear that all that’s said about whores is true, and she cannot escape it.

It’s through her trust and love for Frederick Adderline, that Mary Kelly finally DOES escape it though. She takes Alice and lives in her cottage, raising the child as her own. Yet, even as she watches the girl fondly, there is a telling sadness in her eyes and the watcher knows she is waiting for Frederick. And that, unlike her love, who can travel upon an opium cloud to watch her, she will never know what became of him.

Jack the Ripper: The serial killer’s story begins as that of any other in fiction. A shadowy unknown figure that haunts the characters. And our minds. His actions appall us, drive a wedge between our willingness and ability to sympathize with such an atrocious human being.

When Ripper is nothing more than a silhouette against an eerie sky or hunched over the form of his latest victim, he is the boogeyman. The devil. That which we feared cannot be stopped. We imagine him with a horrid snarling face, fangs that drip blood and hands that are never clean. But really, we know he is just a man.

Before his identity is revealed, we are given glimpses into the man’s life and daily activities. We know that he is, in fact, a “well-bred” man, that eats delicately, wears prim suits, takes good care of a traveling amputation kit he uses on his victims, educated and precise; in stark contrast to what Frederick Adderline is persuaded to believe. Ripper even displays the touch of a poetic hand at one point, which results in Adderline being removed from the case.

However, it becomes quickly apparent that there is something more sinister about the man. His operations are ritualistic. Green fire glows in his lanterns. Although this is never addressed, it could simply be a symbolic method used to ring the bell in the watcher’s head to let them know when they’re following the developments of Jack the Ripper.

As the murders continue, Adderline recognizes signs that the acts are being committed in a ritualistic fashion. The bodies are arranged in a pentacle star shape throughout the city, the women’s items arranged near their corpses in a similar fashion, the organs that are removed so precisely and deliberately. At one point a letter accompanies a box with half a kidney, where Ripper proclaims to have eaten the other half.

Jack the Ripper’s true identity is revealed to be that of Sir William Gull; a respected Freemason and surgeon that is working under the orders of the Queen Alexandra to dispose of the witnesses to Albert’s marriage to commoner Ann. Gull expresses obvious love and concern for the Prince Albert, who is suffering from syphilis. When we first meet him, Gull is a small, kindly man in his seventies, that greets inspector Frederick Adderline at a show, and willingly provides crucial information about the killings and weapons used. However, he quickly deters Adderline from suspecting him by revealing he had a stroke that caused tremors (obviously untrue).

As the tale progresses and Adderline confronts Gull, we see a literal transformation overcome him. As he turns around to face the inspector, the man’s twinkly, kind eyes turn as cold and black as two coals. His voice becomes deeper, his shoulders squared, and his back straighter. His prestigious mind and meticulous words become dark, despondent. Frightening. He claims that the mitre and the pentacle are symbols that course with energy and meaning and that HE is that energy and meaning. That he will be remembered for ushering in a new century.

When at last William Gull believes he commits his final murder, he is placed before a jury of Freemasons. The devil is gone from his eyes, the deep bass from his voice, and suddenly he looks small again as we watch the scene flip between his trial, and the Queen discussing the mission she had given him. The watcher realizes then that in a way, Sir William Gull, Jack the Ripper, was also just a victim of circumstance and social hierarchy. Even as he is being judged and sentenced, William Gull believes that his actions were the true actions of a believer, and that it is only the “Great Architect” that can declare judgement on him. The man is then lobotomized in the same fashion as Ann Cook, and locked away alone and naked, with the glassy blue eyes of the forgotten.

#31 days of witchcraft #horror #movie blog #movie review #tarot card readings #tarot deck #tarot cards #dreams of gaia tarot #witch community #witchcraft #pagan wicca #wiccan #wicca #pagan #from hell #johnny depp #heather graham

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tomerasange · 5 years

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Chapter 3: The Town of Rumors

On route to Phandilan, Sildar began to relay the situation at hand. He believed Gundren was the target of the goblin ambush for an item of great importance he had on his person. Gundren held in his possession a parchment that contained the location of Wave Echo Cave, a rich mineral deposit and mana source, sealed off for hundreds of years. The humble town of Phandilan was actually built on the ruins of a town bearing the same name, and this town held major significance in the trade routes. However, orc raiders from the North led on by wizards of malicious intent brought dire consequence to the town, and in effect erased it from history. Only an alliance of dwarves, gnomes, and humans came together to fight off the bandits, and in the ensuing battle Wave Echo Cave was cut off from the outside world. It is unclear if anyone survived, but by some small miracle, Gundren Rockseeker and his two brothers, Nundro and Tharden, had found the entrance recently and were en route to begin the retrieval process. As for the map’s current whereabouts, Sildar believed it to be in the possession of a bugbear who lead the goblin patrol.

We neared the town of Phandilan, whose circumference was so minuscule for an outpost, it could fit within some properties found in Neverwinter’s Upper Districts. Such was the inevitability of my tour, that I would eventually come upon a locale so insignificant. Yet, it was a rest, and I greeted the buildings of the outposts with open and tired arms.

We first held at Barthen’s Provisions, the wagon depot of Phandilan. As Noah parked the vehicle, two young men (no doubt employees) came to greet us and take the wagon safely inside. We took our opportunity to collect our payment from the foreman. A fair wage for wagon delivery. Noah and Snafu decided to stay behind and confirm the safety of the delivery, while Aurora, Urnig, and I took the liberty of preparing for the day that lay in wait. Sildar, for his part, found lodgings at a local tavern called the Stonehill Inn. One of the gentlemen at Barthen’s suggested the Lionshield Company Coster, a local outpost that dealt not only with the Neverwinter<-->Phandilan route, but rather a network of merchants and adventurers for the continent.

We made our way to the coster, emblazoned with a mighty blue lion insignia, and stepped inside the building. The store held a mighty assortment of bits and bobs, various trinkets and tools, as well as several vicious implements of war. From behind the counter, a dwarf woman approached us. “Ah, trravelers! Welcome to the Lionshield Company. What can I do ye far?” Aurora stepped forward and began a chat. “We’re preparing to enter into a rather sticky business - goblin outpost just outside of town - and was wondering what you had in stock.” “Goblins, ye say?” “Quite. We just returned with a supply wagon and rescued Sildar, but believe Gundren to still be in the clutches of the goblins.” “Gundren’s been taken? ‘E’s a good man, so bring him back as best ye can. Come to think of it, I might have a proposition for ye. Shipment of mine never made it to town. If ye find it and bring it back, I can pay ye 50 gold.”

Urnig stepped towards the counter. “Surely the retrieval of this shipment can be aided by your wares. Perhaps a discount for whatever we require.” I slid next to him, no fully aware of his tactic. “Urnig, I like the cut of your jib.” The dwarf woman narrowed her eyes but acquiesced. “A small discount now and a small discount later.” I beamed with a sense of achievement. “Ma’am, we are dearly thankful for this. You shall not regret it. Please, what is your name, dear.” She said with a knowing yet clearly tired voice “It’s Lineen. Anything else I can do ye far?” “I would like to refill my quiver if possible.” “That’ll be 10 gold.”

I paid her in full and was given ten freshly hewn arrows for future application. As the sun began to fade into the horizon, I took this opportunity to head into the town square to hear the latest gossip.

It should be noted my desire to listen in on conversation does not come from a place of malice. Perish the though I start a rumor with ill intent. Rather, it likely came from my time in the Silverymoon gala scene. I so desired to be the center of attention, but my older siblings were always one step ahead. It was always their achievements, tales of travel, and courting that lead our family to such high esteem in the courts of royalty across the continent, while my achievements in the arena seemed paltry. So, in strategic fashion, I kept my stride and listened to every parcel of talk to bring into later conversation. By my siblings, of which I bear no ill will towards, I became a diplomat of the social miasma.

The open air and market atmosphere gave a lift to my spirits, having spent the better half of the day in a dank and vile den, and I kept one ear low to the ground, one ear high in the air to listen in. Invariably, the merchants were discussing the news about town, the daily logs of purchases, the latest health inquisitions. One anecdote did catch my ear, and certainly allowed me to pause.

Earlier in the week, a local woodcarver named Thel Dendrar was in his shop when bandits roamed into his shop. The town had been seeing these individuals for four fortnights, and were being harassed at every level. One of the fellows that day began to antagonize the woodcarver’s wife and children. Thel, sickened by and tired of their actions, stood up to them. For his valor, the cowards cut him down where he stood. His corpse, wife, and children were abducted by the criminals in full view of several townspeople, kowtowed into mandatory pacifism. The town had since not seen respite from their behaviors, and there was very little they could do.

As if by chance, two men entered into the marketplace wearing garments and cloaks of a sinister red. As I watched from afar, hand on my blade’s hilt, they walked towards a fruit stand and greeted a couple selling their merchandise. The eyes of the man and woman betrayed worry, but no bloodshed was evident. Suddenly, one of the bandits proceeded to knock pieces of the produce over, sending the merchants in a spell. It took all in my power to hold my tongue, as I had still yet to recover from the wolf attack and was only one man in the marketplace. If I was to not meet the same fate as Thel, their justice would have to wait another day.

I returned to my compatriots and we set a course to the Stonehill Inn. Our initial presence upon entry was met with stares (naturally, an Air Genasi, Spellscale, and Aasimar wandering into a frontier town tavern will draw some attention), but their business was held elsewhere. We sat at the bar alongside a now healed and refreshed Sildar. His person looked much better, and despite not in full regalia, you could tell this middle-aged man was a feature in local lore. His frame bespoke of long days on the trail, mirroring the many heroes of novels as a child. To me, he was what I truly desired as a person. A mantle of renown and a culture of earned respect.

After he purchased a small meal, he further explained an issue he became aware of before leaving Neverwinter. One of his points of contact, a wizard by the name of Iarno Albreck, had come to Phandilan to institute a permanent state of order alongside the town guard. Sildar claims before escorting the wagon, he made several attempts at correspondence towards Iarno only to find no reply. Iarno had walked into the town of Phandilan merely two months prior and had disappeared. This town had further compounded itself into a state of small matters but massive implications.

As our minds reeled from this, our party of three ordered a humble dinner of stew and beer (I, for the record, do not drink a spirit such as beer, yet I found at the present time it was hearty, and it prevented a long night of regretful choices with stronger spirits). Over the tables of many still discussing the day’s events, three matters of information came to pass via overhearing their words.

A religious sister named Sister Garaele of the local temple had returned from an expedition with injuries, exhausted and downtrodden.

The Triboar Trail had been taken again by orc raiders, and the towns master was looking for individuals to clear the path.

A young halfling found a secret entrance in the woods that led towards an old homestead called Tresendar Manor, where Iarno was last seen.

I spoke with the barmaid in turn. “Excuse me, madam.” I turned over my shoulder with careful glances, and said “What can you tell me of these red cloak wearing fellows in town?” “The Redbrands? Nasty sort. They came in two months ago and started causing a ruckus. The town’s been too scared to move.

As our meals arrived, I paid with a gold piece and was returned several silver and a coin I actually did not recognize. It was ruddy and simple, and when I sniffed at it, it reeked of metallic sanguine. Perhaps a local currency? I deduced it was closest to copper, only to see my fellow travelers receive similar pieces. So this was simply a coin of lesser value in circulation I had never come into contact with in my days as a nobleman. How the aspects and circumstances of one’s birth obfuscate and blind.

As I finished my meal, Sildar addressed me. “Tomera Sange, yes?” “Indeed, that is my name.” “I have a proposition, young man. It seems in recruiting you for this task of transportation, I came into the knowledge you’re a nobleman from Silverymoon. Quite a way from home, are you not?” “I do suppose so. I am currently taking my tour of the continent before my inevitable debut in the aristocracy.” “Well, there was an offer I had that you should consider. I’m looking for a gentleman such as yourself for this position, and you handled the goblins quite well, and looked after my wellbeing in the heat of the moment. Should you complete this task I have set before you in clearing out these goblins, I would consider an invitation to the Lord’s Alliance in order.” The Lord’s Alliance! That might gathering of noblemen who sought to protect those in need and aid in the expansion of unity on the continent! This was an opening, a chance to instill a level of autonomous behavior! Ha ha!

With great reverence, I stood and bowed before SIldar, fervently exclaiming, “Sir, a thousand thanks. I shall accept your offer in stride, and uphold you expectations.” “Good man. Well, must be off to bed. Long day ahead tomorrow,” and he left in measure.

As I retired to my room, I felt an energy in the air. Perhaps indeed my life was ready to begin again. Still, I could not shake the fact that i was going back into the goblin den. A mixture of quiet unknown and swirling anticipation was the emotion I took to bed.

#dnd #air genasi #fighter #dnd log #story #tomera #dungeons and dragons #chapter 3 #lost mine of phandelver

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arisefairsun · 7 years

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What do you think of the way Baz Luhrmann filmed Romeo and Juliet's deaths?

I must confess it’s not my favorite version of the scene. The fact that it takes place inside a church, for instance, may not be half as symbolic as the original setting in Capulet’s tomb. Think of Friar Lawrence’s lines: ‘The earth that’s nature’s mother is her tomb; / What is her burying grave that is her womb.’ This is unconsciously echoed by Romeo in the last scene, when he arrives in the vault: ‘Thou detestable maw, thou womb of death / Gorged with the dearest morsel of the earth’. What has given them life is also what has brought them to death. The Prologue revealed that ‘from forth the fatal loins of these two foes / A pair of star-crossed lovers take their life’. Capulet’s tomb is the stage of ‘love-devouring death'—Capulet, who would not recognize Juliet’s independence, destroying his own daughter by forcing her to succumb to his orders. But symbolically, the fact that Romeo comes back to Verona to die by Juliet’s side in her family’s tomb establishes his rejection of the feud, of the code of honor and masculinity, of all the destructive ideals that impeded him and Juliet from achieving happiness. The vault is a dark place, replete with ugliness, it is a ‘nest / Of death, contagion, and unnatural sleep’. It should be a scary, deathly place, the residence of malign fate and Death, ‘the lean abhorred monster’. It should correspond, in my opinion, to Juliet’s fears from 4.3. The only beauty, the only light that should be discerned in the crypt is that of Juliet herself (‘Her beauty makes / This vault a feasting presence full of light’). Isn’t this far more symbolic than a random church full of pretty candles? Juliet dying in her father’s crypt, in the womb that made her live; Romeo dying away from his duties as a Montague, choosing Juliet’s bosom as his final resting place (‘Thy husband in thy bosom there lies dead’).

I absolutely love the moment when DiCaprio slowly walks toward Juliet’s body, while this marvelous song is playing. I love his childlike, helpless, broken expression, his weariness, his weakness, his inability to endure the weight of the world anymore, the unmeasurable pain that overcomes him as he comes closer to Juliet’s lifeless body:

I love the tenderness of his kisses and touches, the sweet sorrow of his looks as he delivers his last lines. ‘… And shake the yoke of inauspicious stars / From this world-wearied flesh’, I see a mixture between contempt and fear in his face when he says those lines. It is hard not to get emotional while watching his last speech, isn’t it? The slowness of his whispers, the adoration coming from his eyes—all this peacefulness contrasts beautifully with the turbulence of Romeo’s arrival in Verona.

I often think how beautiful it is that Shakespeare took the time to include Tybalt in the scene. Why remove such a significant factor in Romeo’s dying speech? In the crypt he begs Tybalt’s pardon, assures him that his suicide will compensate for Tybalt’s death. However, if Tybalt could actually hear his words, watch his actions, surely he would find it shameful and offensive that this Montague is about to kill himself in Capulet’s vault, that this unworthy Montague loves Juliet to the point that he has come there to die for her and by her side. But Romeo is back to his idealistic thinking, where he believes, maybe foolishly and blindly, that he can talk people out of hate, that he can supplant it with love. I think it was a kind gesture of Shakespeare, to let Romeo apologize to Tybalt himself, to let us know that Romeo seeks absolution, that the violence that he himself practiced was occasioned by external forces (duty, fate, the unbearable yoke of social oppression) rather than by an inherent violence living in his heart. Besides, Romeo’s brief interaction with Tybalt is a turning point in his long, last speech. Before he spotted Tybalt, he thought of the tomb as ‘a feasting presence full of light’, where Juliet lied unconquered and triumphant. But after he finds Tybalt’s ‘bloody sheet’, he suddenly becomes aware of the obscurity of the place. This is when he refers to the tomb as 'this palace of dim night’, where worms have become Juliet’s chambermaids. It is Tybalt who takes Romeo out of the ecstasy of meeting Juliet again and introduces him back to the cruelty of reality.

I know this is an unpopular opinion, but I’m not too fond of Juliet waking up before Romeo’s death. Of course we want to see them interact one last time, but the fact that they don’t, the fact that they die alone, seems to me a much sadder ending. The repressive isolation, the loneliness which their society forced on them, devour them in the end. Even if they die for each other, I think it’s significant that they also die individually, with only each other’s lifeless bodies to talk to. Besides, Romeo dies thinking that death will bring him back to Juliet. That’s why he seals 'with a righteous kiss / A dateless bargain to engrossing death’. Unable to be Juliet’s husband in life, he now becomes her groom in death. Indeed, he finds life in death: 'O true apothecary! Thy drugs are quick’. 'Quick’ also means 'lively’ here. But DiCaprio’s Romeo dies knowing that death will part him from Juliet, so the whole Liebestod trope loses part of its color. His last kiss shouldn’t truly be a farewell kiss, but a 'dateless bargain’. Moreover, if Romeo dies after Juliet’s awakening, it is as if there was something lacking in his speech. I don’t think Shakespeare’s text can mold satisfactorily into this change—if Romeo had indeed seen Juliet come back to life, he would have said something else apart from simply 'Thus with a kiss I die’. It seems to me that Luhrmann was trying to twist the text to make it more dramatic, but didn’t quite work for me.

Where is Friar Lawrence in this scene? Where is that wonderful last line, ‘I dare no longer stay’? This wise, experienced man, who spent the whole play advising the young lovers and who now finds himself in a situation that is too terrific, too ill-fated for him to handle—where is he and his last attempt to save Juliet’s life? In suggesting that she hide at a convent, he offers Juliet a very suitable future insofar as religion is concerned. It would have been such a powerful moment, considering that Luhrmann situated the scene in a church. Juliet rejects the offer, and prefers to stay there and take her own life. Perhaps she is not ready to confine herself to a convent, where she will no longer be able to 'tear the cave where Echo lies / With repetition of my Romeo’. Perhaps she is too weary of restraining herself, of setting limits she is not allowed to surpass.After arising like a fair sun and killing the envious moon, she is no longer willing to go back to the shadows.

I don’t enjoy Juliet’s death, namely because she doesn’t say a word after Romeo’s death. She was cut out her last words, which are actually full of potency again. It saddens me enormously that Luhrmann decided to silence Juliet this way. How unfair! Where is her brave resolution, her boldness? ’Then I’ll be brief’, she says in the play. We don’t truly see the moment she shoots herself—right before she triggers the gun, the camera distances itself from her so that we don’t see the violence of her death. This, I believe, is yet another way of silencing her. When performing the scene in a theater, unless the audience close their eyes, they won’t be able to elude Juliet’s stabbing and the consequent blood that comes out of her breast. I think we have to witness that. It’s both the culmination of all the violence of Verona and the longed freedom that Juliet seeks. Her own father is disturbed by his daughter’s blood: 'O heavens, O wife! Look how our daughter bleeds.’ It makes sense, though, that Luhrmann’s Juliet uses a gun instead. Guns were the beloved weapon of all the men in the movie, and Juliet shooting herself becomes a much bolder death than that of Romeo, who used poison instead—often attributed to women and weakness. But although it makes more sense within the context of the movie, part of the symbolism of the dagger cannot be translated to the gun, i.e. the sexual connotations of Juliet ordering Romeo’s dagger to 'rust’ in her and 'let me die’ ('die’ meaning to reach sexual fulfillment as well as to lose one’s life).

Still, I love the position of the lovers’ bodies. It exposes the grandeur of the Liebestod trope for once. It echoes Romeo and Juliet’s sleeping position the morning after the consummation of their marriage.

I find this resemblance very metaphoric, considering that Juliet’s bed might have actually doubled as Juliet’s grave in the first performances of the play in late 16th-century London. All the links between death and marriage ('my grave is like to be my wedding bed’) culminate in the last scene. As I said, Romeo’s last words resemble the wedding rituals, while the dagger in Juliet’s breast (and the subsequent blood) resembles the 'amorous rites’.

And yet I wish Luhrmann hadn’t ended the scene there. In the play, a lot of characters come inside the vault to find the dead lovers together. It’s the revelation of their love, of their marriage, of their sacrifice. While their society could not know of their marriage in life, this 'death-mark’d’ wedding does become public. The moment when the Prince, the households, and the watch find Romeo and Juliet in the tomb is, to me, the epitome of the lovers’ triumph and downfall—the last oxymoron of the play, the presentation of their 'misadventured, piteous overthrows’ as well as their 'tempering extremities with extreme sweet’. But what’s even more frustrating to me is the absence of the reconciliation between the families. It’s not made explicit by Luhrmann. We only get to see Capulet and Montague stand side by side while the Prince reprehends them, but Capulet does not stretch out his hand to Montague as he does in the play, and Montague does not promise to pay tribute to Juliet. Will they cease the feud? It is not clear. The play does guarantee the end of violence, the final triumph of love over hate. Romeo and Juliet become civic examples made of gold. Juliet gets to shine in all her splendor, finally free from the shadows. She will now be the sun of Verona: '’For I will ray her statue in pure gold; / That while Verona by that name is known, / There shall no figure at such rate be set / As that of true and faithful Juliet.’ Romeo, on the other hand, gets what he has always longed for: to remain next to Juliet. 'As rich shall Romeo’s by his lady’s lie’.

I must say I’m too picky with this scene, because it is my favorite part of the whole play. Luhrmann’s scene is beautiful indeed, but these are the things I would change.

#answered #thoughts #Romeo and Juliet #Romeo and Juliet 1996 #Baz Luhrmann #Romeo + Juliet #Leonardo DiCaprio #Claire Danes #I love this scene to death

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fardell24b · 7 years

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Doctor Who - Complete compilation of Series 10 reviews

Spoilers

Doctor Who 10.01 'The Pilot' Review

The first episode of Series 10. It is an interesting beginning to the new series. It certainly makes me wonder what is going to happen. There are many aspects to the episode that give rise to questions. Questions about what the Doctor has been doing since he had saved New York from Harmony Shoal. Also questions about what makes Bill special, compared to others he had met at the university while he was there. More than 50 years seems to be a long time for him to be in one place, but more on that later.

Nardole isn't much expanded upon, but it is obvious that his body (at least) is mechanical (mechanical enough for parts to fall out of his arm). He is assisting the Doctor with whatever that vault is containing. (Gallifreyian writing is visible on the outside, so something to do with the Time Lords? Is the Doctor's promise to a Time Lord?) In a related note (maybe) the Doctor is seen talking to pictures of River and Susan (Was she lost in the Time War? Would she appear at a later point in the series)

The Doctor seems to be restless in his position, seeming to stay in the one place out of obligation. He is quite eager to leap into the adventure when the liquid spaceship Heather is chasing Bill. (I'm not sure what to make of the Bill/Heather relationship, or the progress it had made before Heather is possessed.) The handling of the situation when the Doctor wanted to wipe Bill's memory is better than when it was Clara on the end of it. (and definitely when it was Donna!) The Doctor's change of mind was quite quick.

Unless it is a future Doctor, which would be interesting in of itself. (Would present!Doctor investigate Bill's vanishing?) The Dalek cameo was handled quite well.The fate of Heather is interesting, and Bill's reaction to it is well handled. I recommend seeing this episode. 9/10.

Doctor Who 10.02 'Smile Review:

The second episode of Series 10, following straight from the end of the previous episode (much like, The End of the World from Rose...) The start is interesting, proving that it isn't a future Doctor, but the mystery of what is in the Vault deepens. What is it that Nardole has to remind him that he is no longer allowed to go off planet? (He also only appears in this scene, clearly not a traditional 'companion'.) Bill's questions regarding how the Doctor drives (or negotiates with) the TARDIS normally are quite well done.

The introduction to the colony planet and the Vardy robots is also quite well done, but there are issues with the excution. I'm not certain how. Is it the writing? (Maybe, but I liked it more than In the Forest of the Night.) Bill is a great character, her interactions with the emoji-bots, and reaction to what happened to the set-up crew, are quite believeable. The way she ignores the Doctor's instruction to stay in the TARDIS after they escape the first time, shows that she is inquisitive, and wants to help the Doctor with what he's doing.

The episode shows that the Doctor is quite fallible (for instance, that he doesn't realise that the ship is a sleeper ship, until Bill alerts him to that fact, although she doesn't fully grasp the significance until he tells her about it.) While finding out about what went wrong with the Vardy's (or Vardies?) is interesting, the resolution seems off. (Surely, it would be better if the Doctor re-programmed the Vardy's so that the deadly error wouldn't crop up again? As soon as someone else dies, or the boy is obviously greiving...) While the concepts are interesting, I have seen them done better in other media.

So, while it is still watchable (and re-watchable), I'm not recommending it that well. The lead-in the to the third episode is more interesting than that resolution. I'm looking forward to see how Bill will react to being in the past, and what that threat under the ice is. To re-interate, not that well recommended. 7/10.

Doctor Who 10.03 'Thin Ice' Review

The third episode of Series 10, following on from the end of the previous episode. (Are all the episodes going to do this this series? With next starting from the scene at the Vault? See below.) The episode is set at the Last Great Frost Fair, held in London in 1814, on the frozen Thame, where there is more to the Fair than what it appears to be.After the Doctor and Bill arrive, the Doctor tries to get back to the university, but the TARDIS isn't letting him. 'Always looking for trouble,' is a perfect description of the TARDIS's behaviour.

Of course, the Doctor and Bill don't stick around long enough to see the 'monster fish' on the scanner, but the story would have proceded quite differently if they had. In any case, the urchins at the Fair are quite well realised, albeit cleaner than they would have been in reality. But the real character development is Bill's. She seems to be horrified that the Doctor doesn't know how many dead bodies he had seen, and wonders what sort of man he is. It is the death of one of the urchins that spurs the Doctor, and Bill, into action. This leads to the discovery of the monster fish

The sound effects of that creature were done quite well, making Bill's comment about it's despair quite impactful emotionally. The following investigation of Lord Sutcliff's operation is also quite well done. The way the Doctor counsells Bill about being rational, but reacting impulsively anyway to Sutcliff's racism towards her is quite well written. Capaldi and Mackie (and Burns) acted quite well here.The Doctor's following speech about the measure of Civilisation being how fellow man is treated, rather than progress, is very well written.

This episode is better than the previous episode (the society of the time is represented accurately, racism and all). I definitely recommend seeing it. The end scenes, back at the university are good too. Bill learns that extraordinary events in the past, don't necessarily have an impact on the present, and we learn some more (albeit not much) about what is in the vault. Someone capable of knocking. 9/10.

Doctor Who 10.04 'Knock Knock' Review

The fourth episode of series 10, about Bill and several friends moving into a strange house. David Suchet sells it as The Landlord. He helped to make it a better episode than it could have been. However the episode is mostly about how Bill and her friends react to the predicament they find themselves in, and how they respond to the Doctor's help. With a large number of characters it is sometimes difficult to keep track. Some are developed more than others, but most of them do have a role to play.

Bill does panic almost as much as her friend, Shireen. But she takes the initiative to investigate the house. Her annoyance with the Doctor insisting he stay, is well done. Her calling him 'Grandfather' though, is that a link to Susan? Once the house starts doing it's thing, Shireen is incredulous at first, but does follow Bill's lead, thus allowing her to survive until the confrontation with the Landlord. It seems that she's interested in Paul, but that's not developed much. Harry gets trapped with the Doctor, in the loungeroom/kitchen.He too is incredulous about what is happening with the house, but follows the Doctor's lead once they are sealed in.

There isn't much development for Felicity, other than that she may be a clustrophobe. She panics, saying that 'I can't get trapped!' I'm uncertain whether the depiction is accurate. There isn't much more she does. Pavel does even less, simply being trapped by the house/'dryads'/alien woodlice. Paul 'comes on' to Bill (being shot down by her, given her orientation), he also is a practical joker (with Bill and Shireen falling for it). There is also the Landlord, and the secret he has been concealing.

The reveal, about the Landlord and his daughter (who actually turns out to be his mother) is quite well done. However the 'everyone lives' moment seems anticlimatic. But the ongoing storyline is continued quite well with the Doctor's interaction with the person in the vault. (It may be obvious who it is, but I'm prepared to be surprised.) The above caveats aside I would recommend this episode alongside those previous in this series. 8/10.

Doctor Who 10.05 'Oxygen' Review

The fifth episode of series 10, where the Doctor, Bill and Nardole arrive at a space station in response to a distress call. There is more going on at the Station than it appears. The intro to the episode does a really good job of setting up the situation, with the Doctor's riffing of the Star Trek intro ('Space, the final frontier. It's final, because it wants to kill you!') and the fate of various characters at the station. The visual design of the station is impressive also, like a much smaller Deep Space Nine.

Each main character is impressive, and undergoes changes in this story. The Doctor's problems get a lot worse. It leaves me wondering how this development would affect his efficacy in the future episodes. Nevertheless, he leads the investigation into the problem on the station in his usual manner, despite Nardole's objections. Although I'm not sure why he would be hiding the problem he gains from Bill at the end. Talking about Bill, she continues to be an interesting character, seemingly supporting the Doctor against Nardole at the beginning.

The way she reacts to the threats are quite believable, anyone would panic at having to go into space with limited are (more on the air situation below). She is also quite shocked at the fact that people had died. Nardole is much the same as before. It is revealed that he is following the Doctor's orders, to stop going off when that Vault needs defending (and whoever it is would know that the Doctor is injured, and given the nature of the Doctor's injury... Uh oh!). However, when problems amount, he is quite helpful in the situation.

That the Doctor is able to 'negotiate' with the TARDIS despite his injury is interesting. But there is the elephant in the room, or rather the Megacorporation that owns the station. Is the story anti-capitalist? That is a high possibility. However, workers deemed expendible is plausible given many historical precedents. Charging for air seems to be an efficient way of doing this. This is a good story despite any caveats above, albeit not as good as any anti-capitalist tales in the classic era (Capaldi doesn't quite match Baker), but still quite well recommended.

8.5/10.

Doctor Who 10.06 'Extremis' Review

The sixth episode of series 10. It is also the first part of a three part story. The Vatican calls the Doctor to come and investigate a mysterious book in their forbidden library, bringing Bill and Nardole along for the ride. That is just the start of their trouble. The blindness which the Doctor had been inflicted by in the previous episode, plays a major role here. The way he navigates with the sonic specs is well done. (my guess, the Specs induce synesthesia to produce a visual field for the Doctor. May, or may not, work only with a Time Lord brain.)

The device from the TARDIS he uses to temporarily regain vision is interesting too (borrowing from his future self? An interesting notion!). His relationship to a previous Pope is an interesting addition to the show's story also. Bill and Nardole play off well against each other. Her characterisation builds upon that established in the previous episodes. She is annoyed when the Doctor interrupts her date via materialising the TARDIS in her bedroom with the Pope (and Cardinals) in tow.

She is incredulous about what the central mystery of the episode entails even after Nardole vanishes (and the previous weirdness at CERN.) And that leads into the central plot of the episode The mystery of the book has an unexpected solution. That is, that most of the episode takes place in a simulation. Some aliens had been running the simulation as a way to predict how the Earth (and any visitors, including the Doctor) would react. It is also a great demonstation of the fact that computers don't produce truly random numbers.

Then there's the other plot. It is Missy in the Vault! (Not really surprising.) The concept of a planet of executioners is interesting (in the Chinese sense. How would a civilisation get that way?) One wonders how they would enforce the oath that the Doctor took. (Other than via Nardole?) Missy's comment about the Daleks knowing about the Doctor's 24 year sojourn on Darillium with River (although she isn't named) is also intreaging.At the end, the real Doctor finds out (via the Sim-Doctor sending a message somehow).

I certainly recommend watching it. 8.5/10.

Doctor Who 10.07 'The Pyramid at the End of the World' Review

The seventh episode of Series 10 and the second in the 'monk trilogy'. An interesting installment. What the Monk aliens want with the Earth isn't revealed (other than that they want to rule it). It also isn't revealed why they need 'consent' to rule the Earth. However, the real 'meat' of the story is with the character interactions (as it should be). (Was the Doctor going to tell Bill about his blindness?) Especially with Bill telling Penny about what had occurred (sort of) in the previous episode. Is that going to lead anywhere?

But I digress. The Doctor is mostly his usual self, even though he is moping in the TARDIS. (The song he is singing when the TARDIS is on the plane is quite downbeat.) However, he is certainly desperate to stop the plan of the Monk aliens, doing what he does best, trying to think of a solution to the situation, right down to the last moments in the lab with Erica. It's not his failure that leads to the cliffhanger ending... Rather it's down to Bill, and her not willing that the Doctor be caught in an explosion.

She;'s willing to sacrifice the planet to save the Doctor. (a good motive, but certainly the wrong group to make such a sacrifice to!) However, this is consistent with what we have seen in the previous episodes. Nardole is his helpful self, there is not much to say here. However, there is Erica, the (little in stature, but not in personality) microbiologist. The establishing moments for her were a rather good setup for her role in the rest of the story. She's willing to help the Doctor in preventing the bacteria from spreading.

(Of course she would be.) However, introducing the Secretary General the same way as the Pope was in the previous episode seems an interesting choice. Is this going to be a running gag, Penny meeting Bill in her flat, and some unexpected, but important person suddenly appears? I'm not sure how many repetitions could be sustained. (If each time is different enough, sure...) The American, Russian and Chinese generals are used quite well. The aliens cencept of consent... I'm not sure what to make of it (Sec-Gen's fear and the Generals' strategy not accepted.)

Even with the identified caveats, I recommend this episode as a good example of Doctor Who. 9/10.

Doctor Who 10.08 'The Lie of the Land' Review

The eighth episode of series 10 and the conclusion of the 'Monks trilogy'. A little bit of 'hit and miss', quite a lot of 'telling' and not a lot of show. However there are still many parts that were good. The introduction sequence for instance, showing that the Monks have set up a totalitarian regeime by rewriting history, was quite well done, as was Bill's method of holding onto the truth, via talking to her Mum as an imaginary friend. Still, a thought was 'the weirdest episode of Doctor Who ever', but that's not true.

There is certainly more than a passing similarity to another New Who story involving the Master, but more on that later. The meeting (after the six months that have passed since the previous story) between Bill and Nardole was done quite well, as was their finding the Doctor by tracing the broadcasts. It was appropriately tense (as with the scene where there is an identity paper spot check). That was resolved very well. If only the episode overall was resolved as well, but more on that later.

The scenes where the Doctor was pretending to be collaborating with the Monks were genuinely tense, the way he was testing Bill was quite genuine. (Capaldi did this really well.) However, I don't think Bill needed to shoot him in that way. A fake out regeneration wasn't really necessary. The scene was tense enough without it. But what was well done, was what followed, with Missy in the Vault. (This does add to the 'telling' problem, but the information Missy gives helps to save the Earth from the Monks.)

There is a parallel between the Monk's memory alteration field (whatever it's called) and the Archangel Network in The Sound of Drums. (Of course, Missy doesn't show the compassion). That said, the scene where the Doctor and the others enter the Pyramid (which is in London for some reason) is quite tense. However the way Bill saves the Earth with the memories of her mother, seems anticlimatic and a cheat. And that the situation seems to have reset via the Monk's self-erasure.

That too seems to be a cheat. Recommendation? Is it the worst episode ever? No that goes to some stinkers in the Classic series. It's not as bad as some from Series 8 either. 7/10.

Monks Trilogy overall review

The 'Monk's Trilogy is interesting as an exercise in science fiction, and as a Doctor Who story, but does it hold up to the first five entries so far in Series 10? As the first part, does Extremis introduce the threat that the Monks pose in an effective manner? It is a good introduction to Missy's situation. The plot thread introduced here does get a good continuation in The Lie of the Land. The fact that the Monks use simulation as a method of assessing their potential victims, and that they gather enough information for those simulations certainly indicates that they are a significant threat,

But do the elements introduced in Extremis carry through to The Pyramid at the End of the World effectively. The Doctor knows that they are coming, certainly. But does he use the information that was sent from the sim-Doctor effectively? Or as if he was going into the situation without any information on the Monks at all? The answer; the former. In my opinion, the situation in Termezistan would have played out differently if he hadn't received that message. But it's difficult to tell how different,

Bill and Penny. Their reactions in Extremis and The Pyramid at the End of the World, to the Pope and the Secretary General respectively, do have some differences, probably to the Doctor telling Bill about the simulation. However, do the characters of the Secretary General, the three generals and Erica (latter whom is the only survivor out of them) contribute to the overall trilogy? Erica doesn't appear in the next episode (should she have). To answer, their role is minor, but Erica could appear again later in the series.

But does The Lie of the Land make a good conclusion? I'm not sure, given the nature of how the Monks are defeated. The motivation behind their regieme wasn't satisfactorily explained. About why they needed love based 'consent' or to manipulate the historical record. If not for the story elements involving Missy, I'm not sure it works. That story thread, involving Missy is more fulfilling than that involving the Monks. So it does work, but only barely. The Black Guardian Trilogy (Maudryn Undead, Terminus, Enlightenment) works a lot better.

(But then, one could consider Davison 'my Doctor'), there was much better plotting in the Classic series than here. And RTD did better with the trilogy that concluded Series 3. So overall it's underwhelming. 8.166/10.

Doctor Who 10.09 'Empress of Mars' Review

A very good episode. One of Gatiss' best. The NASA scene while it does introduce the situation, seems a little unnecessary, although it is as good as the rest of the story. It just seems to be a little superfluous. The arrival on Mars is well done, although it's not clear why the TARDIS left when Nardole went back aboard. The early explorations by the Doctor and Bill of the Martian tunnels were done quite well also. And the confrontation between the Doctor and Friday was well choreographed.

The explanation of how the British troops got into the situation they are in, is believable. That they found the Ice Warrior they named after the Defoe character in a ship on the veldt in South Africa and then helped him repair it. (And then lured them to Mars with promises of riches in the form of gemstomes, or gold.) That's an excellent set up to the situation, and leads into the discovery of the Empress' tomb/hibernation chamber. Each of the soldiers is given a unique personality, but more on that later.

In any case, the Empress is quite well realised, being in shock at the interlopers, the length of time spent in the hibernation, and the state of the surface. Godsacre's backstory is interesting. That he was caught for desertion, and was unscuccessfully hung for it. (There are questions about how he would be able to rejoin the Army after that, but those would detract from below.) In any case, that leads him to be able to work out a deal with the Empress, despite an attempt by his second to gain control.

The resolution that is worked out is quite believable (they wouldn't get back to Earth in any case). The appearance of Alpha Centauri is just icing on the cake (although I yet hadn't seen the Peladon serials). The conclusion with Missy being in the TARDIS, is interesting. There may be more to Missy's question about the Doctor's well being than his concern about her being out of the Vault. Overall this is a very good episode. 9/10.

Doctor Who 10.10 'The Eaters of Light' Review

The Tenth episode of series 10, written by Rona Monroe. (A note that there won't be Survival comparisons here.) The bookends, with the young 21st (?) century lass at the ruins of the cairn, is an interesting plot device. The beginning effectively sets the scene, that there is something on the Moor that the Doctor had been involved in. (The stone image of the TARDIS along the Pictish monster, is very good in this regard.) A very good lead in (more about the concluding scene below.) The TARDIS crew's arrival is quite good also.

The dialogue about the crows speaking, and being in a huff is a little 'on the nose' but it does lead to a satisfying plot development towards the end of the episode, so that's easily forgiven. But what is more interesting, is Bill's interest in the IXth Legion. It is an effective way of setting up her role in the story. (The less said about her explaining her orientation to the Romans the better.) The Doctor and Nardole meeting the Picts is a lot better. The Picts come across better than the Romans as characters here.

(Romans are done better in The Fires of Pompeii.) The Picts' resentment at what the Romans have done to them and their land is quite well articulated. (Rebecca Benson did a very good job as Kar here.) The nature of the monsters ('Light eating locusts' as the Doctor puts it), is a very good idea for an antagonist, but I'm not sure that the resulting CGI is 100% effective. But that is a minor quibble, that doesn't detract from the enjoyment of the episode. Back to the characters: Kar. She's quite remorseful for her mistake in using one of the creatures against the IXth Legion.

(And thus the threat to the universe, see below.) When the Romans and Picts come to gether, the Doctor and Bill have to help them 'bury the hatchet' in order to focus on the problem that the 'light eating locusts' pose. Bill talking about the TARDIS's translation of the languages (English, Latin, Pictish...) helps to resolve the tension, but the Doctor's speech on the threat the creatures pose (that they would eat all the light sources in the universe) is what gets them to reconcile. Then the manner of fighting the creatures makes a good resolution.

(Another reference to Regeneration...) Kar and the remaining soldiers of the IXth sacrificing themselves to fight the creatures (rather than the Doctor) is a satisfying resolution to this story. The fact that the crows are remembering Kar, rather than being in a huff, contributes to that satisfaction. The scene with Missy, where it's revealed that she was maintaining the TARDIS, is just icing on the cake. I would recommend it to anyone to watch. 9/10.

Doctor Who 10.11 'World Enough and Time' Review The 11th episode of Series 10, and the first part of the two part finale. A very interesting episode with a lot of suspense. The pre-titles scene, with the Doctor starting to regenerate certainly adds to that suspense. However, the tale is in the journey, and so that journey starts on this 400 mile long colony ship falling into a black hole. With a twist, Missy pretending to be the Doctor. I'm not sure what to make of her saying 'Doctor Who', but otherwise it was well done. The way she introduces Bill and Nardole was interesting also.

But what really sets up the events of the episode is what happens to Bill. After some things start coming up the elevator (turbolift?) the pilot (who turns out to be the janitor) starts getting very anxious. The slow reveal of what they are is quite effective. But the result of this scene, Bill being shot is the impetus that drives the plot. The flashback, after she is shot, intercutting with her falling, was quite effective. Bill trying to get a promise from the Doctor that she wouldn't get killed, but not really getting one, also adds to the suspense.

The Doctor's “Wait for me,” to Bill is a good line, and it also leads to some resolution at the end of the episode (more on that later). Bill then waking up and exploring the Hospital. This scene is quite atmospheric and creepy. Very suspenseful. She seems to know that there is something not right about the patients. She soon meets Mr. Razor, who is more than he appears (see below), and the Matron).And so she discovers the other end of the ship, and that time is passing much faster there than at the top of the ship.

Of course, it takes time for the Doctor to explain the time dilation to Jorj (Missy and Nardole already have an idea of what is going on). The intercutting, showing time passing for Bill (and Mr. Razor) while the Doctor is explaining what is going on, was rather well done. The scenes outside the hospital, where Razor explains what is going on, that the society is dying and want to change to be strong, were good, both as exposition and as forshadowing for what was to come. The Doctor's explanation of the time dilation was good also.

Of course, it comes down to the last few minutes. And what a last few minutes! A lot is revealed in those few minutes. Bill's betrayal by Mr. Razor was really well done. I didn't expect him to be the Saxon incarnation of the Master in disguise! (I thought he would appear in some other way.) The reveals of Missy discovering that the ship was from Mondas and the Doctor recognising a patient as a Cyberman from that planet were very well done. But the wham at the end come from the reveal that the Cyberman is Bill!

That, and that Missy seems to team up with her past self and CyberBill's line “I waited for you!” combine to make a rather shocklingly great cliffhanger. 9.5/10.

Doctor Who 10.12 'The Doctor Falls' Review

The 12th and final episode of Series 10, and the second half of the series finale. It is certainly an interesting (if a little confronting in parts, see below, regarding Bill) episode. Is it a good episode? A good finale? To begin with, the sequence on the roof of the hospital was rather good, with the two incarnations of the Master trying to interrogate the Doctor, only to find that the Doctor had one-upped them, by altering the parameters for the Cybermen. It makes for a very tense scene. The Doctor being atttacked by a Cyberman only makes it more so.

The introduction to the farming society on Floor 507 was good also. It helped to get a feel for the characters as it were. However it also leads to the most confronting part of the episode. Bill and the effect of what was done to her on her mind (or the lack thereof). Her perplexity at seeing the reflection of a Cyberman in the mirror was done quite well, as was the following discussion with the Doctor regarding what she had become. It was very moving, almost enough to move one to tears.

The young girl is certainly moved to tears by her. That interaction helps to set up the interaction with the Doctor as noted above. However, there is more to the episode than Bill's problem. There is also the two incarnations of the Master, and how they interact with each other. (Gomez and Simm certainly work well together.) They both help the Doctor find the lifts, but Saxon Master is more likely to follow the beat of his own drum (even if the literal drumming had been removed). The planning for the Cybermen attack (what there is of it), is done well.

Of course, the Masters don't stick around for the actual attack, but the final scene where the two Masters kill each other (although Missy is surprised) is done very well. That Missy would induce the regeneration of her previous self to punish him for running away is believable, as is Saxon Master killing his future self! The Doctor's line to them that it's not about being a hero, but rather about being kind, is a very good line. It certainly suits the Doctor, not just this Doctor, but also the Doctor overall.

There is the contrast between the Doctor and Nardole in the heat of the moment. That Nardole is stronger than the Doctor, seems a bit much, but it's a good send off for that character (even if his situation and that of the children he leads to floor 502 is unresolved). The battle between the Doctor and the Cybermen is well choreographed. But the main resolution involves an unexpected element. Heather! This isn't as much as a cop out as it might seem, given the set up in the first episode, but more on that in the overall series review. Bill gets a good ending (and she may come back.)

Far more interesting is that the Doctor is refusing to regenerate. That is certainly an interesting development. The First Doctor appearing makes for a rather good hook for the Christmas special. Overall a well written, if flawed episode. 8.5/10.

Series Finale Two Part review

The season finale, both as an example of science fiction, and as a Doctor Who story works, better than the 'Monks Trilogy'. There are many elements common to both stories within this finale. Overall themes, and character development. For instance, desperation, and the efforts that both individuals and societies go to as a result of that emotion. For instance, the descendents of the Mondasian human crewmembers on Floor 1056 eventually upgrading themselves into Cybermen, and Jorj's reaction to Bill's presence on the Bridge.

This also extends to the inhabitants of Floor 507, as they do what they must against the proto-Cybermen that were coming for their children. It also extends to the Doctor, as he tries to come up with a plan that would stop the Cybermen, and is later desperate to stop the inevitable regeneration. And the Saxon Master is also desperate to stop his future self from becoming good. Bill also is desperate to hold onto her identity despite what happens to her. All of this desperation is very well presented.

There certainly isn't an overload of it, and it obviously isn't the only emotion present. There's also fear. Fear of the Cybermen. Fear of regeneration, fear of what one has become. Anger: Bill's presentation of this was well done. And last but not least, hope. A misplaced hope on the part of the society on Floor 1056, but also the hope that Nardole and the kids from 507 would survive on Floor 502. On to the characters, specifically to the two incarnations of the Master. Missy continued redemption was done very well.

But the more interesting characterisation is that of the Saxon Master. It is consistent with how he was portrayed in Series 3. The way he manipulated the Mondasian society and Bill is reminicent of how he manipulated Britain and the Doctor, Captain Jack and Martha in that previous storyline. His role as Mr. Razor was subtely offputting. In fact the name could be seen as a hint. It's very close to Saxon. The Master must like these two syllable pseudonyms... In any case, Simm did a very good job in both episodes.

The Doctor's development was also done well, even if the development of him not wanting to regenerate seems to come out of nowhere. Him wanting Missy to be good continues and he wants both Masters to help against the Cybermen. That part was done well, as was his reaction to what happened to Bill. Bill's experience was developed well across the episodes. Her reaction to the hospital and the patients therin, is reflected with her reaction to what she had become. More directly, her waking in the barn is like the previous waking in the hospital.

There is not much to say about Nardole's role in the episode that hadn't been said earlier. However, what happens to Jorj isn't stated. (Other than him possibly waking up and then seeing the TARDIS dematerialise as Heather flies it away...) Overall this is an effective conclusion to the series. 9/10.

Overall Series Review

Overall Series 10 was a very good series of stories about the Doctor and the changing circumstances that his meeting with Bill Potts brings about. It isn't a simple story (or series of stories), but there are many repeating themes. And then there are the bookends. As an example, Heather's becoming the Pilot is one of the main plots of the first episode, and she appears to rescue Bill and the Doctor after the defeat of the Cybermen on Floor 507. Her appearance in the latter episode may seem to come out of thin air, but it is set up in the first.

One of these themes is memories... Bill's memories in particular play an important part in various episodes. The Doctor gives her a photo of her mother, and it is that memory of her mother that allows her to defeat the Monks (even if that plot thread was weak). In addition, the strength of mind that allows her to hold out against the Monk's 'fake news' field is what allows her to resist the cyberconversion. A thread through the later part of the series is Missy remembering those she had killed...

Another is the phrase 'Without hope, without witness, without reward'. It appears in Extremis, and also in The Doctor Falls. In the former it is linked to the Doctor rescuing Missy from the executioners because he considers her a friend. In the latter, it helps to swing Missy back to the Doctor's side. It also appeared in some of the other episodes, but these are the most prominent. The development of the various characters through the series was also good. The Doctor is shown to be 'chafing' under the responsibility of guarding Missy.

He is clearly interested in Bill's development, encouraging her to look outside the box, with examples of such occurring throughout the series (even at the end). His weaknesses are also shown, quite well, especially after he's blinded at the space station, and hides it from Bill, with dramatic consequences! (See below for more.) He seems to be desperate for Missy to turn to the good side, and is flat flooted by the appearance of her predecessor on the colony ship. This aspect was also quite well done.

Bill's development was also interesting. She continues to ask questions in every episode (even of 'Razor'). It doesn't get too much. Her savvyness is also well done (except for in Empress of Mars, where it may be a little thick). Overall she was an important part of the storylines, with her mental fortitude helping to defeat the Monks (even if she caused them to take over the planet), and the Cybermen, The former may have seemed like a cheat, but the latter was a lot better done. Nardole was done well aslo.

There was more to him than first met the eye. But it was the storyline involving Missy that was the best aspect of the series. The earlier portions regarding the Vault may have dragged a bit, but after the 'Monk's trilogy' it lead to a very interesting conclusion. Was the Monk's trilogy a mistake? I'm not sure. The Lie of the Land may have been a let down, but the earlier portions involving the Doctor's weakness were done very well, so probably not. Overall, despite this dip in the middle, it was a great series.

8.5/10.

#doctor who #review #series 10

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