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letterboxd · 4 years ago

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In Focus: The Truman Show.

Inspired by Letterboxd data that revealed it to be a lockdown favorite, editor-at-large Dominic Corry looks at the ever-evolving importance of contemporary masterpiece The Truman Show.

It has long been apparent that The Truman Show is an unnervingly prescient film. The story of a man who becomes aware that his superficially idyllic life is, in fact, a live-streamed television show has gone from being high-concept to every-day.

Thanks to the three Ps—the prevalence of mass urban surveillance, the proliferation of reality television and the pervasiveness of video in social media—the notion of cameras filming our every move is no longer a paranoid fantasy, but real life. The twist being that, for the most part, we all willingly signed up for it, and did all the filming ourselves. As Yi Jian saliently observes in his review: “Not to get all ‘we live in a society’ on Letterboxd but I know a person or two in real life that would actually give anything to trade lives with Truman, it do be like that sometimes”. It indeed do, Yi Jian.

So it’s something of a cliché at this stage to point out how we are all living in some version of the The Truman Show, and you don’t have to be a member of the royal family to feel that way. Yet, somehow, the film has become even more pertinent over the last eighteen months. And it’s a pertinence reflected in the massive uptick in viewership for the film as seen in Letterboxd activity.

During the month of February 2020, the last moment of the Before Times, The Truman Show had a modest 1,235 diary entries. That number tripled in April of that year, by which time the seriousness of the pandemic had become clear. And by July, deep in the worst of the pandemic, Truman fervor peaked, with a further 178 percent leap over April’s numbers, firmly placing it in the top 200 films watched by our members in a year of lockdown. (By the way, ‘diary entries’ mean activity where the member has added a watched date; many thousands more also marked Truman as ‘watched’ in those dark months, but didn’t specify a date.)

It’s not difficult to imagine why we might become more interested in revisiting this eminently re-visitable film. During lockdown, social media—including Letterboxd—took on a greater presence in terms of how we communicated with each other. We got used to seeing footage of faces more than actual faces. We were all the stars of our own ‘Truman Show’, and simultaneously the audience of everyone else’s ‘Truman Show’.

Christian Torres boiled it down effectively when he wrote: “Now every movie I see seems to be related to my life in quarantine. I am Truman and I want to escape.” And Sonya Sandra eloquently captured the film’s increased contemporary significance in her review: “This is a real-life daylight horror film. The best kind. Even more relevant in 2021 than ever. We are all Truman, we all want to find what is real in our fake lives filled with media, capitalism and ideology. And it’s our job to fight the storm and get to the truth of it all. Nothing is real, everything is for profit, and everyone is selfish. Go out and find what is real, because it’s definitely not here.”

With its deft, dazzling blending of the profound and the humorous, the optimistic and the cynical, it’s difficult to think of anything released since The Truman Show that comes as close as it does to being a modern-day Frank Capra movie. It’s hopeful, but has its eyes wide open. There’s a darkness in the themes of the film that is never replicated in the colors on display.

While everyone involved delivers career-best work, we must principally credit the triumvirate of talent at the center of the film: director Peter Weir, screenwriter Andrew Niccol and star Jim Carrey.

Star Jim Carrey and director Peter Weir on the set of ‘The Truman Show’ (1998).

Weir is a director who inspires much online love whenever his name is mentioned, but he isn’t really mentioned all that often. Or at least as often as he should be. The Australian filmmaker has delivered masterpieces across multiple genres, and it’s extremely sad that he hasn’t directed a movie since 2010’s not-quite-true World War II drama The Way Back, arguably one of his lesser works. That’s also, insanely, one of only two movies he’s made since Truman, the other being Master and Commander: The Far Side of the World, the wide and rabid affection for which regularly kicks up on Twitter (not to mention demand for a sequel).

Weir doesn’t do many interviews, and while this 2018 Vanity Fair article marking Truman’s twentieth anniversary has many quotes about the film’s modern relevance, Weir doesn’t offer any commentary to that effect, presumably preferring to let the work speak for itself—though in this 1998 interview he did talk about the relationship between the media, the general public and the people we become fascinated with, as a “complex situation”.

The Vanity Fair article does, however, reveal a fascinating ‘what if’ scenario relating to Christof, the god-like director of the in-movie TV show played by Ed Harris, who offers up a pile of pretentious auteur clichés: mononymous, beret, etc. (beyond the whole god thing, that is). When Dennis Hopper, originally cast in the role, wasn’t working out, Weir considered playing the role himself, which would’ve added yet another meta layer. It brings to mind how George Miller styled Immortan Joe (played by Hugh Keays-Byrne) after himself in Mad Max: Fury Road, or how Christopher Nolan’s haircut shows up in most of his films.

Ed Harris as Christof in ‘The Truman Show’ (1998).

And, at one point, it could have gone mega-meta. Weir, in the 1998 interview, talked about a “crazy idea” he had, a technical impossibility back then but easily achievable with live-streaming now. “I would have loved to have had a video camera installed in every theater the film was to be seen [in]. At one point, the projectionist would … cut to the viewers in the cinema and then back to the movie. But I thought it was best to leave that idea untested.” Imagine.

Weir also played a role in helping to shape the originally much more overtly dark screenplay into the cheerier (on the surface at least) shooting script, which is solely credited to fellow antipodean, New Zealand-born Niccol, also a producer on the film. Both men have done the majority of their work in America, but it’s tempting to credit the film’s tone-perfect sense of heightened Americana to the degree of separation offered by their foreign provenance. In any case, it’s clear that open-air mall designers were paying attention.

Niccol’s original screenplay made his name in Hollywood, and revealed a storyteller excited by big ideas. He moved into directing with the smaller-scale Gattaca, released a year prior to Truman (itself delayed to meet Carrey’s availability). Niccol’s subsequent filmography includes several legit bangers (Lord of War hive step up!), and his endearing dedication to lofty allegories in a genre setting makes him an increasingly rare breed in Hollywood.

Like Weir, he is not the greatest fan of giving interviews, but the Vanity Fair piece quotes him making an interesting point: “When you know there is a camera, there is no reality,” thereby making Truman “the only genuine reality star.”

It’s a sentiment echoed by MusicMoviesMe, who writes that “‘Truman Show’ beats all other reality shows out there like Bachelors, Survivors and Kardashians. Come on, when you know there’s a camera at your tail, there’s no reality. So yes, Truman beats all reality shows out there bar none!”

The role was perfectly suited to Jim Carrey’s affected mannerisms, and his status as one of the world’s biggest stars meant he could relate to Truman more than most people. Then, at least. Nowadays, of course, we are all Truman.

“It is always incredible to see how far The Truman Show was ahead of [its] time,” observes The Closer79. “In a world where celebs are monitored 24/7 and we are showered with unnecessary private information on the web, where talent-free wannabes become famous and where you sometimes [wonder] what kind of surreal show society you are in—Truman and his fake show life cleverly have anticipated all of this. Only Truman knew nothing of his luck and he was granted an escape from his glass prison. We don’t really have this possibility… Aren’t we all Truman? Sometimes even voluntarily…”

Austin Burke concurs: “I have always known that I really enjoyed this film, but I had no clue that it would hold up so well years later… Could this be because the strange world that he finds himself in is far more similar to our world today? Possibly, but the idea and themes are so much more relevant now compared to when this originally released.” And while DallasFrance is conscious of piling on about the film’s prescience, his review highlights how there really is no limit to the film’s meta qualities:

“Instead of writing a review about how this film predicted social media, or how we’re all Truman, or yadda yadda yadda, I’ll instead fixate on the miraculous fact that two absolute legends were cast as primary viewers of the Truman Show:

1. The old lady from The Running Man who starts betting on Ben Richards (Arnold Schwarzenegger). ‘He’s one bad motherf*cker!’

2. The villain from The Karate Kid Part II:

‘Live or die, man?!’ ‘Die!’ ‘Wrong!’ *hooooonnnkkk*

I’ve never seen either of these actors in any other roles. With the second one, I felt like I was watching a character from my childhood watch a character from his childhood come to realizations about the characters in his childhood. So actually… the movie’s really about me.”

Never change, LB membership.

We are all generally pretty aware of how ahead of its time The Truman Show was, but that doesn’t lessen its impact. Maddie’s review shows that there’s always some new angle to consider: “Imagine being an extra in this movie… You would be an extra, playing an actor, playing an extra. Think about that long enough and tell me that doesn’t make you want to walk into the ocean.”

Kev goes even further: “Watching other people watch somebody else while also watching that person while also watching the person watching over that person is a great reminder that watching is weird, and to be watched is to not own yourself. Don’t watch, don’t try to be watched. Just live.”

Or perhaps Will encapsulates the film’s ability to present an ever-evolving message best, writing that, “clearly, this is video proof that we live in a simulation.” Beyond mere prescience, The Truman Show is a telling mirror to whatever era it is viewed in. Its message will continue to evolve.

Now that we’re finally (touch wood) emerging from the pandemic, it will be fascinating to see what The Truman Show has to say about its audience and the world they live in, in years to come. Rest assured, it will be well-documented by you, the Letterboxd audience.

Also: can Peter Weir please make another movie? Like, seriously.

Related content

A Meta-Reality: Robert’s list of layers of film in life and life in film

Follow Dom on Letterboxd

#the truman show #truman #peter weir #jim carrey #andrew niccol #letterboxd #lockdown #quarantine #coronavirus #pandemic #movies #comfort films #comedy #truman show

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doyelikehaggis · 4 years ago

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do you have a favourite crack ship that you secretly think could be just a good ship

Oh anon, I adore you. Thank you for asking me this, I love to talk (well, type) and especially when it's about my favourite ships. Now, I checked, and by definition, a crackship is one involving characters that have never interacted/they have next to no chemistry/very unlikely to ever become canon. I feel like for certain fandoms, we may have to ignore the never likely become canon due to the abundance of homophobic authors/networks. So, I'm going to be delightfully predictable and give you my favourite crack ships from each of my main fandoms that I can name at the moment.

Harry Potter (Marauders Era): I can give you two, because why not? And those two would be Regulus Black x Pandora Lovegood and Petunia Evans x Alice Longbottom. Regulus/Pandora probably never met each other, we know practically nothing about either of them, and they certainly were never likely to become canon. But I just loving giving them a tragic tale, you know? And, it could have helped give a little more insight into Pandora's death, not to mention the horcrux plotline. Petunia x Alice honestly came out of absolutely nowhere, but I just kept thinking about a way to show Petunia that not all witches and wizards and bad, and she meets Alice because of Lily, and the idea of Neville and Dudley growing up together? Neville and Harry as cousins? It just intrigues me.

I also feel the need to add a slightly less Crackship one on: James/Peter. Because I am still convinced that Peter was in love with James, and it could absolutely have been one-sided, but I think there's something much more interesting there if James liked him back, but his feelings for him just weren't as strong as the ones he had for Lily. It would add to Peter's betrayal by quite a bit.

Harry Potter (Golden Trio Era): So many to choose from, but one of my favourites is Fred/Cedric. No clue if it's a popular ship or not, but it certainly feels like a crackship since they 1) had about two scenes together in the books and none in the movies which results in 2) barely any chemistry together, aside from Fred "hating" Cedric. But I just love a good childhood-friends to enemies to lovers plot, and they could achieve because they grew up in the same place! In the same year! And I would like to add on Pansy/Parvati for the same reasons as above.

MCU: I don't have too many ships for the mcu in general, and the ones that I do like tend to be quite popular. But a good crack ship that won me over is Darcy/Monica. They have interacted in the show, and they do have chemistry, but the chances of them being canon are so incredibly slim, so even though they're not a Total crackship (like my other personal favourite, Thor/Darcy), I think they get to be here.

NMCU: I still class the Netflix Marvel show as part of the MCU (because they are, canonically) BUT a lot of people tend to separate them so I feel like I get to do the same for this. In which I am incredibly curious about a Foggy/Billy pairing. Billy is a terrible person, but that man has so much charm, and even Foggy could be wrapped up in it. I'm feeling a similar situation to Billy/Dinah, to be honest, and I'm Curious.

Life With Derek: Trevor got one episode and I for some reason decided he and Derek should've been allowed a love story. Again, not a total crackship because they do interact, and there's some chemistry, but it's definitely not popular and definitely would never have happened in the show. But I think they should have because it could have been really interesting even if they didn't last!

Girl Meets World: Riley/Zay, which I know! They obviously interact and have chemistry, but there's barely any characters in that show who don't have at least one scene together. And with these two, they probably interact the least and don't really have the same on-screen closeness that a lot of the others do. But with that said, I really think there's something there between them. Their personalities are similar in their kindness and unconditional loyalty, but Zay's just a little more of a realist than Riley is, which is something both of them need from the other (a sort of grounding neutral). See, this is where I question if I just like their friendship or if I actually do ship them, but I think I do.

DCTV: A real crackship this time with Brainy/Constantine. They would loathe each other. At first. They'd bicker. A lot. But I can also imagine a really good dynamic building from that. A close second is Joe West/Martin Stein.

Roswell, New Mexico: Not at all impossible but imagine for me if you will, Max and Kyle. I'm sure many of you have imagined that already, which delights me. They're honestly about the closest to a crackship that I ship in this show, so it's what we're going with.

Lucifer: I will always stand by Lucifer/Ella, I have to.

The Vampire Diaries: Rebekah/Tatia because can you imagine the angst?

Legacies: I still say that Sebastian/Josie could've had a more compelling storyline than what we got, because Sebastian was entering right as Josie was about to go off the rails on dark magic, and with an unhinged, bloodthirsty, old-fashioned vampire around? I wanted it so bad!

Teen Wolf: *chanting* Allison/Malia, Allison/Malia, Allison/Malia.

I think that may be all of them, I'm probably wrong. But they are the crackships I usually think of first, so here they are! If there's a specific fandom that I left off the list, feel free to send another ask! This was really fun.

#oh look a wild anonymoose #ask away earthlings!#crackships #oh this was so fun #and yes I do genuinely think all of these could be good ships

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coffeebeannate · 5 years ago

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50 Cliche Tropes and Prompts

@bi-leigh-bi requested “48. I called you at 2 am because I need you.”

They could handle being apart. It was not as though they spend every moment non-functional when not in the immediate space of the other, quite the opposite. Over the centuries there had been plenty of times where they’d been apart for time. It could vary and really, the worst bit about it was that they had trouble sleeping solo.

Still-not insufferable to the point of non-functional or anything.

Except that wasn’t always the case.

Like most things in life, sometimes things just happened. And it was impossible to predict how one would react when taken by surprise.

So to speak.

They had been split up for around four days when Joe’s phone wakes him from his doze, the pillow he’s molded around a very bad mockery of Nicky’s solid weight, scrambling in the dark for the obnoxious thing, fumbling with it.

He doesn’t have to look at the screen to know who it is that is calling, sleep fogged brain getting online enough to accept the call.

“Nicky?”

On the other end is the sound of something that Joe can’t distinguish, but he can register heavy, broken breathing and something clattering. It sounds like glass i the distance, and it wakes Joe up fully.

“Nico? Are you there?”

“Yusuf.” Nicky breathes into the thing, “Sorry, I don’t want..fuck.”

He’s speaking Italian, fast and stressed, and Joe’s already rolling out of bed, fumbling for the lamp and his pants at the same time, “Where are you?” He doesn’t bother to ask what it is that’s happened. He can hear the hitching through the speaker, as if Nicky’s trying to figure that out himself.

He gives him as best of a location as he can, and Joe inquires about his phone battery and where the nearest safe zone is. Nicky assures him nobody is nearby, and he’s around his sniper.

The sniper gives Joe pause, frowning into the phone as he tugs his boots on. “Are you safe?”

“Just..get here.” Nicky says, the call ending.

Joe tends to obey things called speed limits, lights, stop signs.

Not so much now.

It’s dark, pitch black, and the location Nicky gave him is a dense one. He can see the issue soon enough, though and he braces himself steadily, wishing he could risk calling Nicky to confirm his location.

He’s on alert, the scimitar sheathed, but ready to be unsheathed the second it’s needed. However, that’s proven to be unnecessary.

There’s nothing there.

No people, no blood, there is just..nothing. Maybe it’s the dark, maybe it’s the fact that the location is as dense as it is. But as Joe continues to comb through, he see’s only the abandoned expanse, gates and empty lots.

Confused, Joe looks up, looking around for where Nicky might’ve chosen to perch, and soon enough spots a tall building overlooking the parking lot.

It’s a scary thing, all one or two windows and straight up, almost too thin looking to be a building.

He finds Nicky huddled up in position at the top floor. If he saw Joe there in the lot, he doesn’t say.

Joe steps into the room, Nicky hears him and slowly sets the sniper aside. “Yusuf.”

Joe moves to his side, Nicky’s covered in sweat, shaking and trembling. “There was nothing here.” Before Joe can ask, Nicky’s tactical gear is clean, but he’s shaking so hard. As if he’s cold. “And yet..”

Something else occurs to Joe.

‘Nicky..you weren’t meant to snipe this.” They’d been told to get intel, Nicky sniping without Joe spotting was not only abnormal, but incredibly dangerous.

His husband’s brow furrows, and Nicky turns to glance at him, looking guilty. “No, but I thought I had something, I thought maybe..but there was nothing, Joe, there was nothing. There was nobody..”

“How long have you been out here?” Joe asks, his hand carding through Nicky’s sweaty brow.

‘I don’t know.”

“Come on” Joe helps him to his feet, “Let’s go.”

---

Nicky accepts a bath, though the most he does is sit there looking dazed and confused, glassy-eyed and far away. But when Joe goes to dry him off, Nicky lets out a noise that borders a strangled wail, thudding his head into Joe’s chest, accepting the arms that instantly go around him.

“It was the first time I’ve worked without you since..”

He doesn’t say it, doesn’t have to, his hand finds the back of his own head, as if he’s meant to find a hole in there. Joe steadies himself, firmly palming the back of his skull to reassure him that no, it’s fine.

It’s far from fine, but he’s not..he’s solid. Together.

“I don’t know what happened.’ Nicky continues, ‘But for..I was distracted, maybe? I don’t know. Everything had gotten dark and I thought I heard people talking and I thought I’d seen something but I hadn’t. I sat in that lot..and maybe I dozed off, dreamed..but something had me convinced, something had me..”

He shakes himself, Joe thumbing the base of his neck. “I’m not..I think I did doze off, yes.” He tries. ‘And you weren’t there when I woke up and it was dark and my head was cold and everything felt so wrong and out of order and I thought perhaps they’d taken you and-”

And by the time Joe found him there he was, trying to snipe a non-existent enemy. “And at some point..I got the idea to call you..I guess.”

It doesn’t make logical sense. It can’t make logical sense. The brain is something that has sort of been beyond the both of them. Even with all their experiences, knowledge, discoveries, it still takes time. It still takes them by surprise.

“I’m right here.” Joe promises, keeping the anger to a low simmer in his chest. The memories, compounded with Nicky suffering are enough to bring him to instant fuming.

And while Nicky would understand, and join him within it, it would not help.

“You’re safe.” Joe says, carefully, “My heart, I’m right here.”

Nicky nods. “Feels so stupid now, whatever it was.”

“No.” Joe’s tone is firm as he says it. “Never. There is nothing stupid about you, or this.” A chaste kiss finding Nicky’s forehead. “Come, to bed.”

--- In the morning, Joe tells Andy through a quick text that he and Nicky are taking themselves off the mission, temporarily. Because Nicky would never allow for anything long-term.

“We do good, Joe.” He tells him, endlessly, effectively. A belief that roots him to his core and keeps them both going in this direction.

But that doesn’t mean that for now, Joe can drape himself back over Nicky’s sleeping back, drag him into his chest, and protect them both from the world a little while longer.

#the old guard #kaysanova #angst and trauma #i have no idea where this went but my dash kinda derailed and yeah #no it's not one of my better ones but i tried #honestly it kinda escaped aksjnddak i am sorry #id' redo it but #fanfic #fic #prompt fic #nate does writing #happy ending because i'm me to the core but akjsndkasj #i am sorry idk what happened #i can HEAR leigh yelling at me i can I AM SORRY LEIGH #and all but it's NOT AS BAD AS THESE TAGS SOUND I PROMISE #it just thinged #bi-leigh-bi

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spacejamuniverse · 4 years ago

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YOU (SEASON 3) || ADAPTATION REVIEW:

Warning: If you want to avoid spoilers, make sure you've seen season 3 of You before reading this review.

The Netflix Series, based on Carolina Kepnes' novel Hidden Bodies, follows Joe Goldberg, who is constantly trying to escape his past. In doing so, Joe maintains his hope that one day he will meet "the one." With whom he will, in some way, put his serial killing urges to rest. Joe, on the other hand, has succeeded in his failure. However, by the end of season two, it appeared Joe had found his ideal qualities in Love Quinn. Unfortunately, her own violent actions against people who get in her way prove to be too much for Joe to handle. Everyone was wondering the same thing at the end of Season 2: who is Joe's mysterious neighbor? Will Joe and Love be able to live happily ever after with their son? The first question is immediately answered in Episode 1: she is a stranger with whom Joe becomes obsessed.

I know, I know – I'm a little disappointed! I assumed it would be his mother or someone he knew. But nope – it’s just a random woman he wants, despite being married to Love. However, on the end of S2 made it pretty clear Joe wasn’t really in love with Love anymore, after finding out she’s kind of a psycho. Which is hilarious and ironic since Joe is a literal serial killer. Joe and Love are both massive hypocrites, though I find Love to be more unbearable and unstable. So, it's pretty much clear right away that there is no Joe and Love end game– something bad is about to happen.

The season follows Joe as he struggles to control his obsession with other women. He wants to love Love, but it's nearly impossible to do so because Love isn't the person, he thought she was. Joe decides to volunteer at the local library in addition to taking care of his child and stalking women. Love, on the other hand, opens a bakery in town. She, too, begins to stray from her marriage, becoming interested in a college student. She also has to deal with the obnoxious locals and struggles to make friends with them.

Season 3 was a letdown to watch simply because it was so predictable. Joe and Love were the ideal partners in crime, and their only flaw was a lack of trust in their relationship. They're both clever and insane, but one is always worse than the other. With YOU being Joe's show, it is obvious to the viewer who is the victorious one when he is pitted against someone else. The difference between them is that Joe tries to be good, whereas Love appears to be separate from his actions and only becomes aware of them when she is forced to confront those associated with the potential victim.

I'm curious to see where S4 will take us. Joe tried hard in Season 3 to 'be a better guy.' Other than killing Merienne's ex, Love was the one making messes – Joe even saved Theo instead of killing the child. (People think Theo is Joe's half-brother, which I'm not sure about...) I wonder if Joe will try to be the better guy next season. And which characters will return in Season 3? I have no idea where the story is going, but I'm obviously a fan for life, so you can bet I'll be watching it. In any case, I'll keep watching because YOU is a bingeable mess.

#YOU #YOUSEASON3 JOEGOLDBERG

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madeofitzits · 5 years ago

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In honor of the impending return of Brooklyn 99, here are 99 reasons that...

1. He was precocious enough to know, at 5 years old, that he wanted to change his name (x)

2. He has a bunch of nicknames: Sandy Amberg, Young Sandwich, etc. but the most endearing one is 'Droidy', his family's name for him (x)

3. He is still super close friends with people he's known since: Elementary School (Chelsea Peretti) (x)...

4. Junior High/High School (Kiv and Jorm) (x)

5. … Summer Camp (Irene Neuwirth) (x)

7. ...and Film School (Chester Tam) (x)

8. Before he met Joanna, he dated other famous ladies but - out of respect - he never discussed it/them (x)

9. He loves turtles and tortoises. When he was a kid, he had a pet turtle that he named 'Squirt' because the first time he held it, it peed on him. His Mom, Margie, accidentally killed Squirt when Andy was at Summer camp... (x)

10. … Maybe this is why, when shooting 'Popstar', Andy fell hard for Maximus (Conner 4 Real's turtle). He says they "had a good thing going" and that he wanted to adopt him. In the end, he decided against it because there are a bunch of coyotes in his neighborhood and he was worried the little guy wouldn't be safe. (Popstar: DVD Commentary)

11. Speaking of his Mom, despite being a super private person, he appeared on 'Finding your Roots' so that he could help her track down her birth family (x)

12. When he succeeded he cried (although we never got to see it on camera) (x)

13. That's because, like all good boys, he loves his Mama which is why - as part of the same episode - he said "My mom is basically the kindest person I know… and many people would corroborate that" (x)

14. Andy's Sisters, Hannie (Johanna) and Darrow, used to make him wear diapers and put his hair in pigtails until he was 5 years old. He says he didn't mind because he just liked that they were paying attention to him (x)

15. That's why he sees his identity in comedy as being 'America's kid brother'. When he was young, he would annoy his sisters until they laughed and he claims to have been replicating that approach to entertainment ever since

16. Although a bunch of his characters have 'Daddy Issues', Andy definitely doesn't. He's super close with his Papa (Joe) and has said "he's a good man" and "the best Dad in the world" (x)

17. Joe was Andy's youth soccer coach and in one scene in 'Hot Rod', Joe's favorite photograph can be seen in the background. It shows a very young Andy posing with a soccer ball, after "scoring the winning goal against Mersey" (x)

18. He's been a loyal Golden State Warriors fan since he was a little kid, living in Oakland (then Berkeley) and, in 2010, he correctly predicted that they would "win a Championship in my lifetime" (x)

19. The proceeds from his Umami Burger ('The Samburger') went to a deafness early detection program in Berkeley. This cause is close to his heart because Margie uses hearing aids and used to work in the special needs program, teaching deaf kids (x)

20. He, Kiv, and Jorm have made multiple donations to their old school district, including $250 000 to its theater program (x)

21. On the subject of The Lonely Island; Andy always goes out of his way to make sure that everyone knows how much he owes to his buddies. For instance, he told Marc Maron, during his WTF appearance, that "I get a lot of credit for what Kiv and Jorm have done" (x)

22. He makes this face when he knows he’s said something naughty…

(Gif credit: @andrewsambags)

23. During his 'Wild Horses' appearance, he said that he can't watch scary movies because they freak him out too much. He told 'Complex' that he's still scared of 'The Shining' (x)...

24. … Similarly, when he was at UC Santa Cruz he worked at the Del Mar movie theater and he had a hard time coping with screenings of 'Species 2' (x)

25. He fell in love with Joanna, the moment he met her, when she greeted him by addressing him as 'Steve the C**t' (x)

26. He listened to 'Ys', everyday for a year, before he and Joanna started dating (x)

27. He bought the original portrait that was used as the basis of the cover art for 'Ys' and gave it to Joanna as a Christmas present, so that she could hang it in her music room (x)

28. He loves birds and goes hiking and birding with Joanna (x)

29. Every new comment he makes about Joanna becomes an instant contender for 'most beautiful thing a person has ever said about their spouse' (x)

30. For example, he readily admits that Jake's iconic heart eyes are the result of him thinking about his amazing wife (x)

31. There are many stories about how incredibly romantic Andy and Joanna's wedding was and Jorm has said that it featured "the most magical vows I've ever heard" (x)

32. The Newsombergs now live in Charlie Chaplin's old house (x)

33. On the Emmys Red Carpet (2015), the year he hosted, they took a momentary break from posing for the world's press to whisper 'I love you' to each other (x)

34. At last year's Vanity Fair party, Andy carried Joanna's purse for her so she could grab a snack (x)

35. He was a semi-permanent fixture in the audience for her recent run of shows for the 'Strings/Keys Incident' tour, even officially confirming his status as the 'President of her Fan Club' (x)

36. He used his Golden Globes monologue to call out the government for framing and murdering the Black Panthers (x)

37. On the Carpet for the Guy's Choice Awards, he called the event "a ridiculous farce", adding that "men already have it so easy - it's insane that there's a show that celebrates them". That makes sense when you consider that he, Kiv and Jorm have made an entire career out of parodying toxic masculinity (x)

38. He once said that only "idiot-ass men" think that women aren't funny (x)

39. He’s been wearing glasses since 7th Grade and he has the most heartbreakingly cute habit of nudging them up his nose, (especially when he wears his Sol Moscot frames) (x)...

40. ... and of rubbing his eyes under them (x)

41. He barely ever wears glasses for roles but he also avoids contacts (because he doesn't like touching his eyeballs) which means he's almost always 'acting blind' (x)

42. He has worn his glasses in character a few times - as 'himself' ('Lady Dynamite'), as 'Paul' ('I Think You Should Leave') and during a very small number of SNL sketches (e.g. during his one appearance in a 'Gilly' with Kristen Wiig) (x)

43. He can't tolerate glare and when that makes him squint it's a sight that's too cute for words (x)

44. He owns about six outfits and has been rotating them for well over a decade (x)

45. He barely ever breaks during shooting/while performing, so when he does it's aggressively adorable. (x), (x)

46. He's a grown ass man who persuades people to come with him to the bathroom because if he goes by himself he'll get lonely (x)

47. He didn't announce he was leaving SNL, until after his last appearance, selflessly choosing not to detract from Kirsten Wiig's huge and emotional send-off (x)

48. He undertook a quest to smell like Lorne Michaels (x)

49. He's ageing like a fine wine (x)

50. To protect their daughter's privacy, Andy and Joanna never announced that they were expecting. They've never released their little girl's name or date of birth and most news outlets still report that they became parents in August 2017 (even though that's inaccurate) (x)

51. Although he's careful not to talk about his daughter often, sometimes he can't keep from gushing about her. For example, when asked about his first year of fatherhood he said: "It’s been the best thing that’s ever happened to me. Just like a beautiful, incredible dream. It has surpassed every expectation I ever had. It’s definitely been very blissful" (x)

52. After their daughter was born, Andy and Joanna spent the first 40 days at home with her (in a practice known as 'confinement'). He's described it as being "a really special time". (x)

53. Andy is famously mild-mannered but, when asked about what triggers his 'Dad claws', he admitted that if anyone attempted to touch his daughter, without permission, he'd "probably sock them hard in the face"…

54. ...Characteristically, he went on to add that he hopes that never happens, since he hasn't been in a fight since 6th Grade (x)

55. Cyndi Lauper was his first celebrity crush and he plays her record ('She's so unusual') for his daughter all the time. (x)

56. His is the very definition of a precious laugh (x)...

57. It's made even more wonderful by the way it makes his voice go high-pitched (x)

58. … and the way it causes his eyebrow to rise involuntarily

59. It's impossible not to smile at his impression of his Mom (x)

60. And laugh at his impression of John Mulaney (x)

61. He was so convinced he wouldn't win the Golden Globe for Best Actor in a Comedy or Musical, that he didn't prepare a speech. Instead, as he explained to David Letterman, he "just went… and started drinking". The resulting list of improvised 'thank yous' was perfect in every way (x)

62. As producers, Andy, Kiv and Jorm have given life to some amazing projects ('Alone Together', 'Brigsby Bear', 'I Think You Should Leave')...

63. … and gone out of their way to support women in comedy ('Party Over Here', 'PEN15') (x)

64. As well as being a comedy legend, he's a super-talented dramatic actor, who gave the performance of a lifetime in 'Celeste and Jesse Forever' but, after the movie wrapped, and it was time to do press for it, he was straight back to goofing around (x)

65. His lip bite should be illegal (x)

66. Even though he wears the same vanishingly small number of outfits, over and over, he has a vast collection of the most excellent socks (x)

67. He always gives 'editing notes' during his own interviews (x)

68. He has a super sweet and sincere way of thanking interviewers when they compliment him (x)

69. He adjusts his hoodie constantly (x)

70. The two most perfect Jake laughs in b99 are actually real Andy laughs 'https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=W38A_xuXaeg https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=sVm9nYrTWRQ

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71. Virtually everyone who has ever worked with Andy has talked about what a wonderful person he is. This explains why so many of them have been involved with more than one of his projects (x)

72. It's not only his colleagues who talk about what a delight he is (x), (x)

73. This lovestruck fool wore his own wife's merch when he went out to dinner (x)

74. No one else uses the word 'dinky' quite like Andy (x). The same goes for 'snacky' (see point 70)

75. He does this with his tongue (x)

76. He still likes to play soccer but his eyesight is so bad that he has to keep his glasses on for it

77. When he lets his gorgeous floofy hair grow a little it sits perfectly over the arms of his glasses (x)

78. He gifted the world with Jakey's little curl (x)

79. At the James Franco Roast, he couldn't bring himself to be mean to anyone except himself (and Jeff Ross, a little!) (x)

80. In fact, he's always been willing to laugh at himself (x) and he still is (x)

81. He changes b99 scripts to make them more feminist (x)

82. Despite their humble insistence that they just benefited from 'good timing', the reality is that Andy, Kiv and Jorm (along with Chris Parnell) revolutionized digital media, when 'Lazy Sunday' popularized YouTube, increasing its traffic by 85% overnight (x)

83. He once attended the Vanity Fair party because his Mom told him to (x)

84. He has an amazing way of subtly but firmly shutting down inappropriate questions, like when this interviewer suggested that Holt being gay was something that could have been played for laughs https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=idQsYQfkR5o

85. He auditioned for SNL at the same time as Bill Hader. Hader thought he'd blown it because Andy had a bunch of props and Bill had none. In the meantime, Andy thought he'd blown it when he saw Hader and realized 'this guy doesn't need any props' (x)

86. His bromance with Seth Meyers is one for the ages (x)

87. Every single second of this video is proof of why Andy, Kiv and Jorm deserve the world (x)

88. He once dragged Mulaney up on stage for SNL Goodnights, even though writers weren't allowed to join in (x)

89. He has a hilarious phobia of pooping anywhere except his own bathroom (x)

90. His beautiful, beautiful, face: His smile (radiant), his eyes (caramel - hella disarming), his ears (adorably asymmetrical), his nose (perfect), His chin (the dimple… *swoon*), his jaw (could cut glass), The 'Sambeard' (another amazing layer of pretty) (x)

91. His body: His butt (x), his thighs, (x) his soft lil tummy (The ‘Sambelly’) (x), his hands. (x), his arms (x), his hips…

(Gif credit: @amystiago /@badpostandy on Twitter)

92. All signs point to the fact that, like Jake, Andy uses his glasses case as a wallet (x)

93. Jake's "cool-cool-cool-cool-cool-cool" is an irl Andy-ism that the writers worked into b99 scripts. What's even better is that Joanna does it, too (x)

94. He has a really good arm and is low key competitive, which is super hot https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=e32K_nBDy3Q

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95. He's one half of the cutest Red Carpet pose of all time (x)

96. He barely ever seems to get mad but if angry Jake is anything to go by, maybe he should... (x)

97. He's a huge nerd, who geeks out over GOT, LOTR, 'Star Wars', 'Alien(s)' and anything relating to time travel (x), (x)

98. He has a gorgeous speaking voice, especially when he’s tired or a little sick. (Bonus points for any time he uses the word ‘correct’. See point 30) (x)

99. He’s still so committed to his b99 fans and fam, even after all this time and is as excited as the rest of us that...

#99 reasons to love #andy samberg #brooklyn nine nine #b99 #a masterpost for the best boy there is

431 notes · View notes

musedblues · 5 years ago

Text

Born To Love You [Part: 4]

summary: When Gwilym ropes you into a lie, the truth becomes painfully obvious. When Joe makes things harder, there’s no telling if he even has a clue.

a/n: Have I mentioned how much I love you lot? Because it's true! I do! 💖 Here is chapter 4 in all 'er glory. Feedback/ predictions/ and thoughts of any kind are always intensely appreciated of course! Stay well darlings 💞

w/c: 5k

Part 5

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

"Hello, my darling, my dear!" A familiar lilt floated past the door of your rented flat. Gwilym's mother was here.

You weren't entirely surprised to see her, she usually found some excuse to visit her son on whatever film set he used to occupy his time through the years. But she was terrible at surprises, and always let you know when she was planning on popping round. So why hadn't you heard from Mrs. Lee till now?

Before you had time to ask or even greet her properly, her arms were wrapped around your shoulders like a vice. Gwil's mother had always loved you- the first night you met, she assigned you a designated spot at the family dinner table. She never questioned your situation with her son. She always went out of her way to invite you to holiday parties and spontaneous family gatherings. And the times you had to miss out for one reason or another, and Gwil still brought Olive along, he'd bring her back to you with a message from his mother; how she'd missed you.

"What are you doing here?" You laughed into the woman's hair. Before Mrs. Lee answered, as you pulled away from the embrace, you noticed the look on Gwilym's face. You could tell there was something he'd been waiting longer than a couple of minutes to say.

"I invited her to stay for the weekend." Gwil grinned, sauntering closer to greet his mother with warm grandeur. To both of you, Gwil's mother's presence in the Airbnb was like a breath of fresh air. Olive was perhaps the most pleased of all, clamoring with laughter toward Mrs. Lee. She scooped up your daughter in a big hug and went on explaining her surprise visit...

"There's a show here in the city on Monday. I'm meeting some coworkers there, we've been planning for months! Anyway, I called Gwil to ask him to lunch and he doubled the offer! I'll be glad to watch Olive for a night, but before you leave we have to catch up."

"Leave? Where are we going?" You turned to Gwil as everyone settled further into the room. He seemed to already be waiting to tell you what he'd had up his sleeve.

"Lucy planned a party, tomorrow night. Rented a place to stay and everything."

"Oh...oh no-" You'd nearly forgotten. It was Joe's birthday.

"And I knew you'd try and get out of it. So, mum will stay here with Olive and when we get back on Sunday I'll blow my paycheck on taking her to a big fancy dinner as thanks." Gwil looked to his mother as she eased onto the sofa with a smile and a shrug, unopposed to being pampered.

"Gwilym!" You worried, trying to contain your panic but make yourself clear all the same. "I don't think I should go." You implored.

"It would be stranger if you didn't, don't you think?" Gwilym looked to you with a raised brow, his firm voice stirring the worry in your gut.

"Why are you two so on edge?" Mrs. Lee piped up from the sofa, where she sat unbothered by Olive yanking at the necklaces layered across her chest.

Neither of you could lie to her. So you and Gwil heaved a matching sigh and spun to sit on opposite sides of the room. And just like when James demanded to know what was up, Gwil took initiative in telling the story you'd been engulfed in for a while now- sparing a few details about arguments and longing gazes. His mother listened, showing little to no favor for which side she might have been on; hardly giving a single sign this situation shocked the woman to any degree.

"So, tomorrow is Joe's birthday. And we'll spend all night together in the thick of it." Gwilym rose a hand your way, almost like he was asking you what to do next. But he'd already planned everything out, hadn't he?

"Well," Gwilym's mother straightened. "That's the best time to work things out, without Olive around. Surely you can sit your friends down and explain things like adults, right?" She pointed a look to Gwil, one you imagined sent a chill down his spine as a boy, and maybe even still now.

"Right." He looked from her to you. And you knew he wasn't done scheming. You knew you were stuck between the promise you made to Lucy to be prepared to party, and whatever Gwil was up to now.

///

"Mama?" Olive grabbed the hem of your shirt in her fists as you flung your purse over your shoulder. Somehow, it sucked even harder every new time you had to leave her behind. She'd mastered the art of puppy dog eyes, her tears pooling, her lip quivering.

You promised her that you'd be back before she knew it. That she was in safe, fun-loving hands. But when the girl looked to Gwil who was toting your overnight bag to the front door, she was done for. Not even his excitable transaction of Olive's beloved one red-eyed bat stopped her tears.

And even though it felt impossible to walk out the door to the sound of her pleading cries, you knew she'd be okay. You wondered of your fate, though.

You left the rented car at the flat for Mrs. Lee, whose stories over homemade dinner and chatter over morning coffee lifted your spirits tenfold. Her excitement for spending a little more time doing just the same when you got back would likely keep you from drowning in your own worried thoughts. Off you went, all the while...

Lucy had rented some cottage in the hills. Apparently, she'd overheard Joe muttering about wanting to spend some time in the countryside before the production came to an end. The usual lot of you were invited to come ready to spend a night of fun, a night to celebrate Joe. He deserved that and more. But you certainly weren't worthy or prepared to join in such a celebration.

While your uber headed out of the city, you and Gwilym talked about how hard it was to leave Olive, how you couldn't wait for her to be a little older, easier to sneak in on the action. How you wished she'd stay small all the same. How Gwil stayed with you and your roommates the first week you brought Olive home, and how he hated to leave by the end of then. About the first day you left her with Gwilym when you went back to work, and how it seemed so easy because you knew how happy Gwilym was and that everything was fine.

As the forests of trees grew denser along the roadside, the ride became coated in a silence you mistook for shared reminiscence. But then Gwilym spoke up with a question you hadn't expected.

"If... if I hadn't roped you into being 'Mrs. Lee'..." He hesitated, almost afraid to ask. You, afraid to wonder.

"If I wasn't around when you met Joe..."

"If you weren't around, I wouldn't have met any of your lovely friends, honey." You gave your fake husband's hand a squeeze hoping he would take a hint.

By then, the uber was creeping up a gravel path to a cottage in the midst of pines and maples. The dull blue sky framed the quaint old home made up of worn brick and curtain shielded windows. Near the tri-colored brick chimney, Ben was stood smoking. His eyes (even from your view behind the tinted car window) somehow greener than the leaves that threatened to envelop your shelter for the evening.

Your conversation with Gwilym was officially cast aside, but you didn't miss his somber smile. The fact he felt for you muted the ache of adoration you felt for Joe at the mention of his name. You shook all those thoughts away on your clamor to solid ground.

Ben greeted the pair of you cheerily and led the way inside. No one else had made it yet. Ben said you and Gwilym were lucky to be early enough to choose the best room in the house. There were enough for everyone, around tight paint chipped corners. If you had to be locked in with everyone for an evening, at least it got to be in such a charming little space.

You and Gwil wordlessly abandoned your things on a small quilt covered bed and went to find Ben in the kitchen, proudly setting out all the liquor he managed to bring along. Rami and Lucy were in charge of bringing Joe, and a boatload of snacks. Gwilym must have been in charge of bringing you.

You knew it was important not to let a single crack split between your bond tonight, with no baby to hide behind. It wasn't hard to seem content, settling into a big comfy sofa as there three of you waited around. Beams of grey sun shot through the massive windows on the doors that lead outback. As you lost yourself to admiring the space, the others burst in.

Rami and Lucy carried a comical amount of bags in after Joe who was clearly ready to party. You couldn't help but laugh, out of all the ways he could have celebrated, he was delighted to stick himself in the middle of nowhere with the same group of people he was always stuck with anyway.

And just like that, you were all back together again like you'd been forever, like an afterschool special. It was easy to mix yourself in, just as easy as it might have been to stay in a far off corner. No one could focus on one thing long while they scattered off to explore the floor plan. After everyone had their share of admiring the nooks and crannies of the home, the fun began.

In the garden past the rickety steps of the porch, there was a tattered net already set up. Near the shed, Gwilym found a trunk full of dirty old sporting goods, and a tarnished blue volleyball was the only thing sturdy enough to play with. You teamed up and went wild like kids, like you all had at the play place outside Ben's favorite cafe. Except now you all relied on each other to play the same honest game.

Morale drifted from teasing banter to grunting curses as your scores were tied. You spiked the ball and won the first game. Celebration hardly lasted as chatter of a second round was on the rise. But when Lucy trodded of to catch her breath, you quickly decided to join her, riding your winning high.

She motioned you inside, making a b-line for the kitchen while the sun turned the world golden. Lucy appointed you to help her start making dinner as the boys continued playing volleyball to the death.

As their shouting at each other rattled the kitchen windows, Lucy unveiled ingredients for a homemade pizza. She'd heard Joe craving it the week before, and tonight was all about him.

"You're good at this." You pointed out, helping her set out ingredients along the counter space that wasn't crowded with booze.

"What?" Lucy laughed, cheeks still flushed from running around out back. Hair still windblown. Still so flawless. And kind, to top it off.

"Going out of your way to make people feel like they belong." You made clear. When you met, she'd gifted you the perfect handbag. Now she planned out Joe's birthday evening like her own, plotting for things he brought up in passing- things he probably hadn't realized anyone might have heard at all.

"I guess it's my love language or whatever." Lucy shrugged, moving about the kitchen. "My uncle married a hopelessly out of touch woman when I was thirteen. She heard I liked to read. So, for every holiday or birthday, this woman would alway buy me those dreadful penny novels from the market. The kind that are basically porn about pirates and vampires," Lucy laughed, and you did too. Those novels were definitely guilty pleasures. Who would think to gift them? Let alone to a teenaged girl who was probably just as wise beyond her years back then, too.

"I vowed to be a better gift-giver. But... I did always read those books." Lucy snorted a laugh. As you helped chop veggies and mix spices, she told you all the horrifically cheesy one liners from the novels she never wanted.

Soon your laughter drowned out the boys shouts from outside, and Ben rushed to join the party. He cranked music and danced around the kitchen while you prepared dinner, mixing drinks to test out the bevy of alcohol he’d purchased.

Rami joined in, while Joe and Gwil shared some kind of chat in the living room. You could see them past the wave of Rami's hand as he told a story. And no matter what they might have been talking about, the way Joe and Gwil kept stealing glances in your direction made your nerves stand on end. Luckily, you had enough vodka to stir up a different, much more manageable buzz.

It was picture-perfect organized chaos. You felt like you had back when you moved in with James and Andy, when they would throw parties just to celebrate random Saturdays. Back when you only knew Gwilym as the guy from down the road with a nice house and a pretty face. He still had those things, but now there was so much more that made up the tall man you willingly wrote your future off too. You missed Olive. But you knew she was happy and safe, and so were you. You took another shot to prove so.

"Come now." Lucy wheezed, a glass of wine and three shots of whiskey deep. She was still quoting the best of the worst lines she could remember from all those horrible romance novels she'd been gifted. "You're fighting your feelings for this man with all the strength of the Confederate Army."

"I'm sorry, what?" Joe gasped a laugh as he passed by, freezing in place. You and Lucy laughed too hard to explain why on earth she'd just said that. And when she caught her breath, Lucy only quoted something else,

"He tore open her blouse like a Publisher’s Clearing House letter."

"That's not real." You pointed, the ache in your gut finally from laughing too hard.

"Whatever you two are having, I'd like some." Joe decided, reaching past you to grab the bottle at your side. His arm brushing against your waist would have been enough to send you into a total blackout, but he just had to look right at you, too. As Joe grabbed the liquor and Lucy kept laughing, you noted that time seemed to stop; even on your second glass of rum. All because Joe dared to look right at you, like he so often did, like no one else ever had before.

Another drink, you decided. It had worked so far, and everyone else was on the quick path to getting wasted before dinner was finished cooking. Luckily, the smell of fresh sauce alerted everyone to gather around and conduct themselves to share a meal together.

The homemade pizza was better than you expected, and your hopes had grown very high as you helped make it. Everyone was in agreeance, scattered about the living room, paper plates in their laps, music still blasting from Ben's phone somewhere in the kitchen. But no one was happier than Joe. He raved over Lucy's thoughtfulness, and over the very tasty dinner that resulted. Rami poured everyone another drink as Ben insisted it was time for Joe to open his presents.

You all raced to collect the gifts you brought and made a very big deal out of making Joe take his time unveiling each. What more did you have to do than make an event out of every last minute together? To make sure Joe realized just how dearly he was cared for?

Ben had gotten Joe tickets to a rugby game, and some of his favorite English chocolates- Joe broke off pieces to share with every one of you. Lucy and Rami gave him an expensive-looking box of tea, alongside a clay mug decorated with stamps of delicate-looking dinosaurs.

Gwil got him a portable record player and said it was from the both of you. Gwil had taken notice that Joe was buying a bunch of vinyl on days off, and leaving the discs to collect in his suitcase for when he got back to New York. But he wouldn't be going home for a while still, so it seemed fitting to offer Joe a way to fill his drab Airbnb with some music until then. The auburn-haired lad lit up, and gave a heartfelt thanks to his extremely generous friends, insisting that an allnighter in this comfortable cottage was already more than enough.

"Oh wait, there's one last thing." You gave Gwil a sly smirk as you stood to pass a sealed envelope to Joe. Everyone leaned in close while Joe curiously unveiled a powder blue card with the words happy birthday simply scrawled on the front. It was blank inside, besides the harsh scribbles of crayon that Olive spent a long time jabbing into the paper. The 'drawing' was meant to be her birthday wish. You and Gwil singed your names at the bottom in pen, but you wrote Olive's name in the same pink crayon to match her efforts. You missed her.

"That is the cutest shit I've ever fucking seen." Ben cursed. It was your idea. Joe looked like he wanted to cry, but he only cracked up laughing for a very charming moment. Then he hugged you and Gwilym at the same time, repeating his thanks over and over again.

///

The drinks kept coming as night fell. You got tired of mixing your vodka and just went for it, because it really did kind of taste like blueberries. You all took turns in the only bathroom with a shower and eventually, Rami had roped everyone into some kind of drunk history type storytelling session.

Ben took a turn, jumping to his feet, anxious to tell the story of Frankenstein. The only problem being that he was hammered, and his efforts in recounting the details were hazy. So he started over from the beginning...

"Okay, pay attention everybody. Now," Ben slurred, spinning in the middle of the room to face where you sat on the opposite end of the sofa from Gwilym.

"So like, you and Gwil are Mary and Percy." Ben pointed. Gwilym looked your way as if he'd just realized you were on the other side of the couch. "And uh, Joe can be Byron! Everyone wants to sleep with him... I think," Ben decided, hazily looking back to you. "Okay so just pretend you really want to for the sake of this story. It's very important-"

"Why can't Lucy and Rami be the Shelleys?" You blurted out in wonder, uncomfortable with this drunken imaginary scenario. Gwil rolled his eyes and reached for his drink.

"Because you're the married lot," Ben pointed. Gwilym honest to God nearly choked on his liquor.

"Oh yeah. Hey, why don't you guys wear rings?" Rami pipped up from across the way, gesturing between you and Gwil.

"You don't wanna know the answer to that." Gwil chuckled. Three shots of vodka and four glasses of rum were no excuse to be so flippant. You shot the guy a glare, hardly caring if anyone else saw the warning in your eye so long as Gwilym did.

"Moving on, who will you be, Ben?" Gwyilm conducted everyone's attention to the man in the middle of the room. Ben propped one foot on the coffee table, swaying in place as he declared,

"I'm the bloody doctor!"

As the blonde stumbled through his story, Lucy passed out in Rami's arms. Joe seemed to be the only one laughing along with Ben, as his narrative progressed. Every time Ben pointed to you and Gwil, the tension between the pair of you boiled dangerous fiercer. Warning looks meant to keep each other quite turned into something darker, glares more bittered than pitying.

When Ben lost his place long enough for silence to fall over the lot of you, Rami carried Lucy down the hall, shouting pleasant goodnights to the rest of the gang. You decided it was a sign, and stood to call it a night as well. Ben moved slowly to collect empty bottles while Joe started to collect his thoughtful gifts.

"I hope you've had a happy birthday, mate." Ben smiled to Joe before the blonde moved to help Gwil pick up a few of the discarded plates and cups. Joe was gathering his mess of presents, stalling to admire the card you thought to give him.

"Thank you for this." Joe grinned in your direction, scanning the card again, and opening it to examine the scribbles of crayon meant to be Olive's well wishes. The man with fossils for eyes beamed like a fool and you couldn't help but do the same; moving by his side to glance over the scratched greeting from your daughter, to Joe.

"You guys made one cute kid," Ben spoke up across the room. You blinked up, catching Gwilym's nod of appreciation toward Ben. "Do you think you'll ever have any more?" He wondered, casually.

You gave an automatic, tipsy shrug, not opposed to the idea, just not with Gwil of course. But they didn't need to know that.

"No, actually." Gwil glared at you, like he was upset you weren’t playing along or keeping a low enough profile. Like he hadn't been just as dangerously close to giving yourselves away.

"Are you guys alright?" Ben timidly wondered after a beat. Gwil just clenched his jaw shut and spun around toward the kitchen to finish cleaning up. You didn't know the answer to Ben's question, either.

So you hurried after Gwilym, your vision blurred, but your intention clear as day. You found him throwing his rubbish out with a sigh.

"Why are you acting like this?" You hissed, stepping close so no one else could hear.

"Blame it on the rum, dear." Gwilym shrugged but shot you a look that let you know he knew exactly what he was doing. He turned further into the room as you shot back,

"Drunk isn't a synonym for stupid. You should know to keep your mouth shut, you're the one who started this."

"Then shouldn't I end it?"

"It will never end!" You'd always be trading school pick-ups and planning birthday parties together. You knew Gwilym knew that.

"But this has to end. You won't tell, and you won't let me tell, so we're gonna break up the old fashioned way, got it?"

"What are you talking about?" You wondered, exhausted.

"I don't want to be married to you anymore! If I had a ring I would throw it on the ground." He spoke, loud and clear enough to get you to see a little straighter.

"Gwilym, what the fuck?" You let out a stunned laugh. You knew what he must have meant, but the tone of his voice and the look in his eye hit you right where it hurt most. You weren't married, but you might as well have been. Gwilym agreed with that sentiment through laughter most of the time. Because he was your friend. But it suddenly seemed like he didn't want to be anything at all, with you.

The thick silence was back when Joe sauntered into the kitchen like he might have been breaking the rules. You couldn't be sure if he'd heard or not, but when you turned away from Gwilym's glare, you saw Joe stood looking at you like his heart was broken.

You made yourself turn from his troubled gaze, turning out of the kitchen.

Gwilym was reluctantly hot on your trail, offering a hurried goodnight to his friend before meeting where you'd run off to. The bedroom was suffocatingly small, when Gwilym shut the both of you in, it felt like the walls were closing in.

"I get that this is fucked. We're fucked. But no one was around to hear that, Gwil. We've always been on the same team."

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean... I just..." Gwil deflated as you floated onto the side of the little bed in the corner.

"Just what?" You worried, bracing for impact, preparing for this night to end on the sour note that rang in your ears now.

"I thought by shutting you out... pushing you away, that... God, it sounds dumb to say out loud. I'm just sick of watching you pretend. You deserve so much better, y/n." Gwilym explained, heavy eyes screwing shut in frustration.

"Well don't fucking do that! You're all I've got." You plead in a sorry whimper. You knew that Gwilym was drunk. And you knew he felt bad for what he said and was trying to make it better, now, by hanging his head before you.

Why did this keep happening? There wasn't anything to say anymore, was there? How about the truth, for a change?

"I think I must love him." You gave a sad little shrug, eyes fixed on the wall ahead of you. "And I'm really afraid that it won't matter if we 'break up' or not."

Gwil made his way to where you sat, slumping to join your side. He wrapped a sorry arm around your shoulder and you leaned in. There was a dangerous rumble of tears bubbling far below your surface, distant enough to curse away.

"We should get some sleep." Gwilym gently moved you to lay back till your head hit the pillow. You watched on as he relaxed at your side without a second thought. Hardly a courtesy, just a routine. It brought you a faint glow of comfort either way.

"Thanks, Gwil." You hoped he registered your tone, and all the things you were grateful for in the moment. You laid in silence as Gwil drifted off at your side. Even if you wanted to close your eyes you couldn't, not with the way your mind raced.

"I'll always be here for you, ya know?" Gwilym mumbled from his sleepy state, eye closed. "I'm sorry for what I said."

You hummed after a beat, watching him sleep. Still, you just kept staring up at the ceiling while your fake husband drifted off at your side. Try as you might, you couldn't keep your eyes shut.

Once the patterns on the wall stopped spinning, you made a very quiet escape, padding out into the hall as softly as you could.

The cottage was dark and quiet, save for the fire still flickering in the chimney from the living room. You were drawn to it like a moth, but you stalled in the shadows at the edge of the light cast among the furniture. Someone else was up. Actually, it looked like Joe had never gone to bed.

"Couldn't sleep?" Joe asked quietly, noting your presence. He was standing near the large fog-covered picture windows, slowly shuffling toward the middle of the room. Your feet moved in the same direction, as you shrugged in indecision.

"What about you?" You wondered, meeting Joe in the middle of the living area. He looked at you for a beat before easing to the floor, where he crossed his legs and leaned against the sofa behind him.

"My parents called. I miss them." Joe admitted softly. You decided to sit next to him, but not too close. You brought your knees to your chest and admired how Joe's profile looked illuminated by flickering firelight. You hummed in understanding, and Joe took that as the sign to say more. He started talking about New York and his tenth birthday- one he spent in the mountains of the desert. He was disappointed to find out it was still chilly there, this time of year. Then he asked you why you were still awake- like he knew there was more to the story.

And too much time passed while you wracked your brain for an excuse that didn't point in the direction of the truth. Why was it so easy to be with Gwilym, but so hard to act like you wanted to be? Joe lowered his eyes and after a while of quiet, he spoke up again...

"I wish we met differently."

"I don't. You didn't say anything wrong, then." You snapped a little too quickly. He couldn't possibly take that moment away from you. It was all you had. And even though you should have known better than to allude to that fact that you clung to Joe’s fist words to you, it was probably obvious you did, anyway.

"I wouldn't change what I said." Joe pointed quietly, yet assured. It was as if the flames flickering before you jumped into your belly when Joe's eyes locked onto yours, again. Holy shit pull it together. You knew if you didn't leave the room very soon that you would make a royal fool of yourself.

"Happy birthday. I should head back." You sighed reluctantly, stretching your legs in front of you, wishing Joe might stop you from going. And then he did speak up again, but he didn't say what you wanted to hear...

"Sweet dreams, Mrs. Lee."

"Please don't call me that." You replied without thinking. Because you were still a little buzzed. Because you couldn't think around Joe anyway. You registered his slowly twisting expression as if he was wondering why you seemed so upset. As if, maybe, he knew...

"It's far too proper. We're friends right?" You lamented in a pathetic hurry, feeling a pit open in your chest all the while. Joe focused on you, and you knew he could tell you were grasping at straws. As you held your breath and Joe's gaze, you noticed a look in his eye, as if he were making a decision.

"Yeah... we're friends, y/n." Joe softly expressed. The leather sofa quietly crunched as Joe stood and turned toward the dark hallway.

"Goodnight." His voice sounded heavy, even as it floated away from you. You were left against the sofa with a broken heart and a killer headache.

///

The next afternoon, you watched Joe turn his head away from you on his way down the rickety porch steps, sullen. You tried to pass the moment off as a hurry, when you noticed Lucy and Rami practically jogging out of the place to catch the shared ride. Tomorrow was another early day on set. No more time to waste.

But then your heart was practically shattered when Joe offered you a pitiful one-armed hug and a flat generic farewell before disappearing in the back of an uber with his friends. Lucy and Rami both had time for a few parting sentiments. Joe hadn't even really looked at you all morning. He was even a little distant from Gwilym as they shared a brief goodbye.

Ben shared your uber back into London, and ten minutes into your hour-long commute, the sweet guy asked if you were feeling alright.

"Too much to drink." You passed off the easy excuse and couldn't help but rest your head on Gwilym's shoulder. You wanted comfort. You knew he would give it to you, no questions asked, just like always.

He'd woken up last night when you came back to the tiny bed feeling much worse than you had before leaving there. You didn't know it, but Gwilym heard Joe tell you goodnight before you came back into the room. Since then Gwil was aching to know what happened- if anything. Something had to have by the way he monitored Joe's rushed goodbyes today and your sulking. If Ben would just, put headphones in, or something...

But you were perfectly content leaning against Gwilym and letting your stare gloss over. You started to convince yourself things were supposed to be this way. You tried to focus on heading back to Olive and Gwil's mother, the fun you were likely to have with the kind woman while she was still in town. But then she'd leave, and you'd be back to simply convincing yourself, like now. Ben caught your sulking stare, and you caught him studying you. The blonde's gaze lingered on you as if he knew something was very wrong... as if he knew you were lying. But what about, this time?

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

taglist: @sonic-volcano @imtheinvisiblequeen @redspecialty @itscale @stardust-killer-queen @joemazzelo @dancetohotspace @kiwi-hardy @joeneslee @borhapqueen92 @im-an-adult-ish @johndeaconshands @seven-seas-of-ham-on-rhye @beepbeephardy @slutforbritdick @joemazzmatazz @almightygwil @sadhwstudent @freakibanana

#joe mazzello #joe mazello x reader #joe mazzello fanfic #joe mazzello imagine #gwilym lee #gwilym lee x reader #gwilym lee fanfic #gwilym lee imagine

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enzo-zzz · 4 years ago

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YTTD 3B SPOILER + RANDOM THOUGHTS

NGL, if yttd gonna make canon ending is on reko/kanna route, Then I'll say this: ---------------------------------------

Its "Your Brother's Turn To Die" lol. Everytime they give us the choice to spare someone lives, it always between brother and sister. 2 times already. So if that route gives happy ending, then maybe its unfortunate for every brother here lol. Or also can be "Men's Turn to Die" Since there is like 12 characters that has been alive at the very start of the game, then i'll count those . The other chara that died early has been fated to be dead from the start and player dont really get to interact with them or get attached to them (including kugie). From those 12 ,there are 8 males & 4 females Excluding sacrifice/non candidate : 4 victims. All 4 of the dead one is male. Mishima, alice,sou and qtaro. Including non candidates: 7 victims. 6 males (+Joe, kai) & 1 female (nao) Based on the stats, its as if the male (especially adult) chara is kinda.. easy to kill?? (Ngl i've been reading many manga and many of them are really reluctant to kill fem chara compared to how many men (important chara too) are dead in their series.) Its too early to speculate that yttd will have "happy" endings, nankidai can turn things around, but the way kanna/reko route gives off, maybe they will escape? Either all of them alive or atleast there's one more death. And the one who didnt faced death (as a route) yet is only sara, keiji, and gin. So i think final part, they will be in danger. If they really gonna give happy endings with more survivors, i dont really think they will kill the mc, sara. Kanna and reko is already dead in the other route, so given that how positve that route is, i'm unsure if they really want to kill them again. So whats left is keiji or gin. (Male again, if thats it, maybe it can be a bit predictable on this part). Unless nankidai want to make it equal chance for every chara to be dead (not impossible since 3 dummies can be alive). Idk if keiji can be dead, but if keiji died, then all of the casts that left as the survivors, is kinda underwhelming. (Reko,kanna,sara,gin) Despite the least number of living participants is female, most of the survivor is also female at this point. The alternate route sou/alice left sara as the only female there lol. And this route is also where every sister die. (Oh well sou/reko is still the same tho) Looking at real sou behaves in the game, he panicked/frustrated when gin or keiji almost die. Yes, not only gin. When meister said he will execute keiji, this is his reaction: "No! he cant die like this!... I have to...."

He have something in mind that he can do to save him. Maybe with collar things. He also shows that he get really frustrated when reko/alice dies for a moment, too.

He should've been satisfied, or atleast dont show any behaviour that will interfere with their execution since it benefit him, but he did, while being panicked even though he consistently tried to show cold or indifferent treatment to everyone the whole time. I dont see any reason why he dont want them to die because he want to kill them by his own hand or he want to kill sara first before everyone else. There is not much to gain if he want to make sure if everyone else live before sara dies, his real personality is not like that.

He might actually have time to make the plans compared to when he got executed at chapter 2. His opinion on sara is unknown since he contradict himself on keiji (he said he will kill anyone who killed kanna), but maybe he still hates her or she is the one he least care about from all of them. If you play sou route, you'll get the feeling that the main antagonist is not him anymore, but more like sara. We dont know if she'll managed to get sane back again or not, so the obstacle is sara + less one survivor. I think if people gonna get killed anyway, maybe the one who will likely kill everyone, directly or indirectly, subsconciously or not, reluctant or not, is not sou anymore, but sara, unless she really snapped out of it. Or the less one survivor might affect what will happen.

And please dont confidently said this one will never have anything good, this is impossible, there is not even tiny bit of positive events in this route game etc. You are forcing your own mentality into this. The one who decide that is nankidai, if you can never anticipate the plot twists in the game, how can you be so confident in other things? But still, i dont really have much faith if this route will lead to happy ending either. There might be good things happening, but as a player i cannot see the lights whether its a good ending either. Both route has ups and downs. Unless they DR3 it. Either way, we dont know if this game even have a truly happy endings, given the theme itself.

#yttd #yttd shin #3b spoilers

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habibialkaysani · 5 years ago

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Touch (Laurel/Nyssa; T) - earth-44

Ships: Laurel/Nyssa

Summary: Laurel and Nyssa. Dinah and Amina. Green Arrow and the Black Canary. Daredevil and the Black Sky. The Flash and Vibe.

Across the multiverse, they go by many names, surrounded by different people at different times in their lives. But there is one golden link between the Dinah Laurel Lances and Nyssa Raatkos across the infinite earths - that they always find each other. And every time, their story starts with a single touch.

A/N: As I recently watched The Old Guard, I was inspired by the dynamic between Joe and Nicky and immediately dreamed up (as I so often do) a Lauryssa AU for those characters. So here is a little bit of it - and then there will be an expansion of that story as a separate fic, to come sometime soon I hope as it’s half-finished.

Read at AO3

Earth-44

(In which Laurel and Nyssa are immortals who have been together for a thousand years fighting righteous battles side by side as part of an army, a la Nicolo di Genova and Yusuf al-Kaysani in The Old Guard.)

The chains cut coldly on Laurel's wrists, drawing blood, but she barely noticed as she continued to struggle against them. She had eyes only for Nyssa. Even after an eternity of witnessing the love of her life die and come back, Laurel could not bear to even contemplate a world without Nyssa in it.

There were questions, vague and half-formed in her mind, about why they were taken, where the others were, particularly their newest recruit, Sarah Diggle, for whom Laurel and Nyssa already felt responsible.

Laurel wanted to know who these soldiers around them were, where they were going - and, of course, the age-old question about whether they had finally been caught, and if they would be put in a cage as a lab experiment.

But at the forefront of Laurel's thoughts was what lay before her, and that was her beloved, her partner, and her soulmate. Nyssa was sprawled on her front, having been shot when attempting to escape her restraints, and even now as Laurel's eyes moved down further, she winced at the sight of Nyssa’s lifeless body.

This was always the worst part. While Laurel and Nyssa were hardly strangers to immortality and its secrets, no amount of dying could make Laurel used to the agonising seconds and minutes before Nyssa finally gasped back to life. And the hard truth was that despite Nyssa's words that she would always come back, they both knew this was impossible to predict. Their immortality would run out one day, and every time they got caught in the crosshairs of another enemy, Laurel wondered if today was it.

"Nyssa," she whispered, feeling a surge of anger not at the tears that stung in her eyes but that one of the soldiers - a square-jawed blond man - was eyeing her closely. "Nyssa, habibti - wake up."

But Nyssa was still motionless in the armoured van. The soldiers had shot her squarely in the back, but that had been minutes ago, surely. She should have awakened by now. Unless…

"Ya Nyssa!" Laurel cried, louder this time, and the blond soldier grabbed her by the shoulders roughly.

"Oi. Shut up!"

Laurel just ignored him, reaching out despite her restraints to touch Nyssa's cheek. "Nyssa, please. It's me, habibti. Wake up!"

"I just told you to shut the fuck up!" the soldier barked.

"Or what?" Laurel shot back. "You can kill me too if you want. I’ll just come back, and make no mistake - I'll be angrier." The guard spluttered at that, unable to form anything coherent in reply, and Laurel went back to shaking Nyssa in an effort to rouse her. "Come back to me, my love. Please." For good measure, Laurel blessed herself and said a silent prayer, and somehow, miraculously, someone upstairs seemed to have heard her, because Nyssa then started coughing.

Automatically Laurel looked up at the heavens above - obscured, of course, by the armoured ceiling of the van, which should have made it less poetic - and thanked every deity she could name in her head. There was blood in Nyssa's hair as Laurel stroked it tenderly, leaning forward so her forehead touched the crown of her beloved.

"Are you okay?" Laurel asked softly in Arabic.

"I think so," Nyssa replied, also in Arabic, before switching loudly to English. "Very pissed off, though."

"As am I," Laurel said, glowering at the blond soldier. She softened, though, in an instant when Nyssa squeezed Laurel’s hand. "I'm just glad I didn't lose you. They shot you."

"You will never lose me, hayati. And I'm fine." Nyssa groaned in pain as she lifted her shirt and the two bullets that had temporarily stymied Nyssa popped out and rolled onto the floor. Laurel could see the exit wound knitting, just under Nyssa's ribcage, and she winced. As she did so, though, she could sense the blond soldier's leer before she saw it.

"Aw, are you two together or something? Is she your girlfriend?"

Nyssa just rolled her eyes, letting out a faint sigh of fatigue and exasperation as another soldier then joined in. They knew what was going to come next - Laurel and Nyssa had been together for over a thousand years, but one thing that had worsened, rather than gotten better, was the way the world saw them.

"Feel free to make out in front of us. Always found that hot."

"To call you childish would be an insult - " Laurel snapped, "- to children, that is. You speak like prepubescent boys guided by nothing but the pathetic newfound stirring of your loins. You could not even begin to fathom with your simple mind the depths of love I have for this woman. You lack the maturity to understand how her very breath awakens my faith and her smile strengthens my soul, that even after centuries together I fall in love with her more every single day. She is not my girlfriend, little boy. She is my moral compass, my north star, my guiding light when I am lost."

"And your wife," Nyssa added helpfully and Laurel almost forgot her anger for a moment as she automatically smiled. Nyssa had a way of doing that, of tempering the storm of emotions raging in Laurel's head at the best of times.

“Yes,” Laurel said. “And she is my wife.”

Slowly, the soldier crouched down so his face was uncomfortably close to Laurel’s. “So you’ve joined the twenty-first century. Congratulations. Why the fuck should I care about that?”

Laurel did not even flinch. "Because if you so much as touch a hair on her head, you will find out just how much." For good measure, she headbutted the man, with such force that he was knocked onto his back, his head hitting the van floor with a satisfying thump.

"Ralph!" one of the other soldiers yelped, immediately going to his aid.

"He does look like a Ralph, doesn't he?" Laurel observed.

“Yeah. I think he does,” Nyssa said after a moment. “That was nice, though.”

Laurel smiled. “Yeah?”

"Indeed, my love. Romance and stamina?” Nyssa said teasingly, her chained hand going behind Laurel’s neck to pull her wife towards her. “You must save some for the rest of us, dearest." And despite their circumstances Laurel laughed.

"What do you think, Nyssa?" Laurel asked quietly. "Do you think this could be like Marrakech in '67?"

Nyssa smiled back. "You read my mind." She waited, then leaned in as if to kiss Laurel, but at the last second they both moved so quickly the soldiers didn't even have a chance to think, let alone raise their guns. With her chained hands Laurel got a hold of the two soldiers nearest her while kneeing a third between the legs. She knew from the crunching sound she heard that Nyssa had probably broken some bones, and as Laurel caught sight of Ralph feebly stirring a few feet away, she kicked his face for good measure.

Then and only then did Laurel pull Nyssa towards her for a kiss, and she sighed contentedly in her wife's mouth.

"Keys?" Laurel asked, and Nyssa shook her head. The two of them rifled through the soldiers' pockets just to be sure, but they came up with nothing. "Shit.”

“It seems we are out of luck. They must have locked us in from the inside. We must simply await our fate, habibti."

“I hate doing that,” Laurel muttered.

"I know you do, hayati, but we are out of options."

Laurel looked up, met her wife's eyes. "How are you always able to stay so enduringly patient?"

Nyssa smiled back. "Why, from centuries of practice, of course."

As if on cue, the van ground to a halt, and when the doors opened by yet more soldiers, Ralph’s unconscious body rolled out with a thump.

Laurel cleared her throat. “Any chance you motherfuckers can get these chains off us?”

"Perhaps don't lead with that, my heart," Nyssa said, but it wasn't with a lot of conviction and she was unsurprised when the soldiers ignored her words and dragged her to her feet. Next to her, they were doing the same with Laurel.

"Habibti, I love you, but you know playing nice isn't going to get us anywhere," Laurel said, annoyance laced into her tone from how the men were gripping her shoulders with far more force than necessary.

"True. We are usually better judges of character," Nyssa said, speaking now to the woman who had orchestrated this whole fiasco - Amanda Waller.

Waller didn't reply, just glowered back at Nyssa.

"It's a nice plane, Amanda," Laurel said, as Nyssa was frogmarched onto the plane waiting for them.

"There's a TV, Laurel!" Nyssa called over her shoulder, and Laurel couldn't suppress her laugh if she wanted to.

"Ooh! Any champagne?" Laurel asked, her heart soaring when the words elicited a laugh from her love.

Her smile was short-lived, though, as Waller brought up the rear and the plane door closed behind them. This was Laurel's second worst fear come true, of capture and inevitable experimentation, and she wondered if it would lead to her greatest fear of all - that she would be separated eternally from her beloved.

She closed her eyes, as she was being strapped onto the seat of the plane next to her wife. The restraints around her ankles were unnecessarily tight and Laurel could barely move her wrists, but in that moment she felt the gentle press of a single finger hooking around one of hers. It was Nyssa, reassuring her through the tiniest touch that she was there, that she was okay, that they would be, and Laurel wanted so badly to seize Nyssa's hand and kiss it, but she couldn't.

So instead, she squeezed her wife's finger in return, and then murmured the prayer that she hoped was sent up to the heavens, for the two of them to emerge from this intact and together.

Tagging: @skydisneylover @stungunmilly2 @mewis-sisters @therewas-a-girl @bulbasaurfan93 @nyssalance @istanlena @abbyscameron @nyxxyn22 @ineedhelp25fan @theolivekiddo @me-and-sweatpants @rainboisland

#laurel x nyssa #lauryssa #black assassin #laurel lance #nyssa al ghul #arrow #the old guard au #the old guard #arrow fanfiction #mine #my fic #homophobia tw #fic: touch

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akathecentimetre · 5 years ago

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So here’s the thing.

Of course I love The Old Guard. Like, of COURSE I do. It is everything I like and everything you all have gotten used to knowing I like, from found family to unconditional love to the yummy yummy historical tidbits. It’s going to have a truly Great fandom.

But watching it was not, for me, some huge revelatory experience in media because - well, I’ve written it before. Many times, in scattered pieces, across a lot of my fic. And what made me cry last night when I finally watched it was that it’s the spitting image of an epic vampire story that I wrote, over a decade ago, with Rio (@aumerle-that-was).

Who is now dead. Recently dead. [I wrote a post about her here.]

The Barrens will most likely never make it to publication. It’s huge, and unwieldy, and full of unnecessary crack because I was an 18-19-20-year-old virgin when we were spending the most time on it. But it’s 232,761 words of memories, of laughter, of love, and, as I mentioned in my previous post, of me learning how to write at all.

I miss her. I wish she was still here, to see The Old Guard and love it (GOD she would have loved it). I wish she was here so she could write the most beautiful, unbearable, Italianate fic of Joe & Nicky that anyone could have ever imagined. They deserve a gifset set to her Coldplay “roman cavalry choirs” singing.

Here’s some tiny images of what we wrote, focusing on various characters (including one called Rio, of no relation; this epic started, if you can believe, as a football/soccer RPF AU). I’ve picked out some character moments rather than historical bits, but fair warning that there’s mention of some nasty/upsetting stuff.

It was the need to eat, and the need to live, and the need to go on, and it was, as the last sliver of sun splintered on the deep blue of Capri's sea, utterly unendurable, because he knew that he would, he would get up, he would go on, he would feed, and he would keep living. He would keep living, and the grief and anguish in his mind would keep on with him, the raw, still-bleeding edges of the severed bond breathing with him, and the new fear and hatred he had learned keeping him company with them.

He would just refuse to think, that was all. That couldn't be so hard.

It couldn't.

He closed his eyes, and swallowed, shutting down memories and envy and misery at once, and drew a deep, unnecessary breath before he looked out at the Mouth of Truth again. He walked over to it slowly, and put his hand in. "I don't miss you," he said. "And you needed to die." Robin whined sadly behind him. The Mouth stayed open.

Things were shutting down, blowing out like lamps at night, and all he could think was thank God, because he didn't want this anymore, couldn't stand it, and he thought it might be his life that was guttering out like a candle, and it was really too much effort to care, because peace.

...but as bad as dying was, it was nothing compared to waking up again.

Fingers were tapping him sharply on one cheek. "'Ey. 'Ey, come on, wake up."

He opened his eyes. And immediately shouted out in a mix of pain, terror, and absolutely overwhelming confusion, because his head hurt so badly he thought he just might have been brained with an axe, and when he struggled into a sitting position it was to the realization that his clothes were soaked with blood, and that just couldn't be good at all. His hands shot to his throat, but when he found that there was nothing there - no torn flesh, no blood, no wound, no nothing - all he could let out was a horrified sort of squeak.

There was the odd laugh again, and it didn't help at all to realize he could feel it now, as if he was tapped into the other man's amusement like some barrel of watered beer left running.

"Very good," the man's voice rumbled, making him jump again, because he didn't just hear it, it was like it was in his ear. "Now then. Follow these regles" - a piece of crumpled paper was thrust into his bloody palm - "and you shall be just fine, yes? Yes. I think you shall be fine." And then the man stood, stepped over him, and opened the door, pushing Rio's nerveless legs aside as it swung on its hinges. "I think I had better go. Too much - commotion. Bonsoir!"

"And fuck you," Rio managed to croak with some vehemence, feeling the amusement fade out and vanish, as though it had never been there at all. If it weren't for the way his head felt and the state of his hands and clothes, he'd have thought he'd dreamed it - got coshed, maybe, and dreamed it. The crumpled piece of paper was telling him otherwise. The slightly-mangled syntax was bad enough without it apparently being straight out of a child's fairy tale.

Never kill when you drink. Never go out in the sun unless you have strength enough. If it is possible, no churches. NEVER TOUCH SILVER. Run from Hunters, do not fight. Be polite when you use your mind, otherwise it will hurt.

Bonds of love are forever.

He had got as far as the steps when the world began to shatter, as though cacophony could be made into feeling, sending him in a kind of sideways fall against the stone balustrade, and wondering how he had never known there was this much pain in the world, because it was worse even than the night he had been left to bleed his life out on a London street, worse than silver, worse than anything he could begin to think of as comparison. It was the utter definition of agony, and all he could think was that he needed it to stop, it had to stop, before his mind fragmented and splintered along with it.

It came to him, distant and heartwrenching, that this was what Cruyff had meant by letting go, that he had to withdraw or risk going irrevocably mad, but - fuck, fuck, how could he let go of everything, Cruyff was everything, it was impossible that he should be - imposs -

He fell against the wall, toppled onto his knees, and screamed.

“And if you want immortality for someone, the last thing you want is to find yourself becoming a murderer. Unless you're Marco..." he trailed off with a sigh, and shook his head. "Marco seduced a girl in Babylon --"

"Babylon --!" Rio gaped. Babylon didn't even exist any more, God, what sort of timescale were they talking about here?

"He went with Alexander," Gullit said patiently, "and if you want to know more about that, read a book."

Gullit bristled and snarled without actually saying anything, giving Rio the distinct impression that the master vampire was more of a real wolf than Robin would ever be. "Go on then," he snapped. "Tell me to my face that you will be able to wake up tomorrow night and do what you have to do. That is all the time I will allow you - and I will know if you are lying."

Rio swallowed. He thought of silver, and the way it burned even when it wasn't a knife, thought of how it tainted everything, how the thought even of being there one more second alongside that pain was almost impossible. He thought of how it was now his knife, how he had earned the pain and the ability both, and owned them by name and by right.

He thought, deliberately, of the scars on Ed's body, of the look in his eyes that first night at Stevie's, as though the world were a place of ash and horror and nothing good could even be imagined.

He thought of Gullit, whose sons were dead and had no-one to lay claim to him or who he could be part of but Marco, and who carried on, scarred and limping and casting his damn spells, trying to earn something Rio thought just might be the forgiveness of the twice-dead.

"Yeah," he said then, looking straight into Gullit's dark, hot eyes. "I could."

"Could you really," Gullit said thoughtfully. It wasn't, terrifyingly, anywhere near a question.

I can make no predictions, so consider this an indefinite promise: you are not going back.

Rio's mind turned into a perfect, careful blank of pure incomprehension.

Back here? he ventured, because if that was it, he really didn't understand, since how not coming back here was anything but good was absolutely and completely beyond him. How he was supposed to feel anything but thank-you-God about even the idea of never coming back here was apparently a mental leap he was incapable of making.

There was a snort of derision, the horrid sound failing to arouse even a twitch of amusement from anyone. No, Rio, Gullit whispered. He had to live with the possibility of never - that his pain would never end. And now you’re going to live with it too. You’re going to live with the thought that you might never kill Marco... and, due to the extremes of unpredictability this world - and especially Marco - goes to, you’re going to live with the idea that you might never see, or be able to love, Edwin ever again.

He wasn't sure if he was being manipulated, or if it was real, but the sense of something that wasn't even grief – that was beyond grief, was nothing as human as grief – was shocking and immediate and all-consuming. It was the knowledge that the last memories he might ever be able to make that were his own – even now, as his brain stuttered in a void, he knew that what he had seen here was not his for the taking – the last memories he could truly take for himself would be the look of joy in Ed's eyes, and the clean-cut Roman profile of the vampire who had been able to give and be all he had ever wanted. The last memory he might ever be able to bring out of his mind in all the days that were his to pass from now until the end of some infinite horror was one of loss.

It was devastation, wilderness, wasteland, the barrens.

It was exile, and eternity, and Christ! Laurent had given him no such thing as a gift of life, he had given him a curse.

Bonds of love are forever.

And without the ability to love, with only the bonds, with only shackles for his heart and soul worse than those that lay open in front of his mind's eye – with the only thing he had always known suddenly ripped from him and held up to the clear light of unforgiving truth, and shown as worthless, forever didn't seem like any kind of promise at all.

He had only recently started getting used to the concept of communicating with his mind, and what glimpses he had gotten of Ruud's had only convinced him that there was more in there than he could ever possibly hope to understand - so he didn't try. But he did know that London was important, and that something was going to happen, so he finished packing very carefully before moving on to Ruud's things, which were still scattered carelessly around the room (a rarity, because normally the captain was as neat as a pin). "You don't deserve this," he heard Ruud say quietly, and he shrugged without looking over his shoulder. "Well. I'm alive, sir." "No you're not," Ruud said - not unkindly.

"I'm here?"

"Yes," Ruud said. He sounded exhausted. "You are. Hooray for you."

"Give me one solitary fucking reason why I shouldn't throw you through this wall."

Ruud didn't have the energy to come up with something honest. "Goodwill towards your fellow man?"

He ended up flat on his back in the remains of what had been a parked cab instead, but he was pretty sure it hurt the same amount.

"Fellow man? You don't count," Rio said, sounding horrible and raspy from somewhere off to the side, as Ruud blinked away some interestingly-coloured sparkles and waited for his leg to heal up the nerve-endings enough for things to start being excruciating. "I'm not sure you count as a fucking vampire, you shit."

"No," Ruud grunted, swaying up to a seated position just in time to get punched in the face and fall back again with a broken nose, and the sparkles deciding to take up permanent residence behind his eyelids. "I don't. Tell me how he is."

Rio's skull-face didn't look any better in lamplight and through floating small pinpricks of fake stars. "Sorry, was that you asking for something?"

"Yes," he ground out, lifting a weary hand to his mouth and shoving a crooked incisor back into its place. "And you're going to tell me. I don't care if you feel like disembowelling me, though don't get any ideas - you're going to."

"I'm off disembowelling for the next century, don't worry yourself," Rio growled, and that was the nastiest way Ruud had ever got an answer in his life, and knowing he'd deserved it didn't help at all. "Fuck's sake. How do you think? You left." Right, so apparently git stood for Great Incompetent Tosser.

"Like you what?" the man said, getting right to the heart of Rio's inadequacy in the same death-warmed-up voice, and put a shaking hand down against the floor to try and pull his rag-covered body out of the bunk. "He said it would save me. Are you saved?"

Maybe he would just use the hook on Laurent, instead. "Um. Not - really, no." He hoped like hell the man wasn't talking about in the sight of God, because that was one can of worms Rio was never going anywhere near. "He made me, though, too. Just like he did you. So we don't die....yet." Life, Laurent had told him, and hadn't that been a terrifyingly unfunny joke? Rio didn't want to have to use the word 'vampire' among all these living corpses, but he was getting a nasty feeling that between necessary obliquity and whatever arsing terrible explanation Laurent had buggered off after giving, he was going to have to.

He straightened up without the help of Rio's hands, and for the first time Rio could put a face to the voice - he was Rio's height, and big, or should have been were it not for the thinness of his limbs, wrists and forearms Rio could have encircled with two fingers end-to-end, and a broad, now-pinched face which spoke of a starvation perhaps beyond all else Rio had seen, because he knew without even asking this man had not known, at least not consciously, to drink, and yet the strength of the vampire would have kept him from expiring even had he begged for it.

Laurent would have fed him, though. Laurent would have let him know at least what it took to keep going - wouldn't he? Perhaps not, any kind of feeding here was a death sentence to the donor, willing or not, and considering Laurent's one and only set of instructions, Rio guessed that the bastard had just been hoping for the best to work itself out - and in the meantime, what the fuck was he going to do? "Means you're my brother," he said at last, because that was what mattered, in the end, wasn't it, that was why he was here, why he'd ended up in a kind of Hell no-one had even thought of until now, not even the living dead. "An' I'm Rio." He'd first introduced himself as who and what he was so many lifetimes ago that he was amazed it still struck a chord of memory inside him, hearing his voice in the little hut as though he were back in the room in London, wondering why he'd saved a vamp who didn't even have the sense not to kill. "It's - we're gonna be all right. Honest."

#the old guard #writing #the barrens #Rio #RIP <3 #@aumerle-that-was #vampires #long post #written by Caz

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dweemeister · 5 years ago

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Movie Odyssey Retrospective

Fantasia (1940)

With production on Bambi postponed, Walt Disney dedicated himself to Pinocchio (1940) and a film featuring animated segments accompanying classical music. Walt’s demands for innovation saw Pinocchio’s budget skyrocket, and the film left Walt Disney Productions (today called Walt Disney Animation Studios) on unstable financial grounds. This laid impossible financial expectations for the latter film – tentatively entitled The Concert Feature – to meet. War halted the possibility of cross-Atlantic distribution as Walt continued to emphasize innovation for each of his features and workplace tensions rose among his animators. What was planned as a glorified Mickey Mouse short set to Paul Dukas’ The Sorcerer’s Apprentice – Mickey’s popularity was flagging by the mid-1930s, trailing other Disney counterparts and Fleischer Studios/Paramount’s Popeye the Sailor – grew to include seven other segments. The film that became known as Fantasia remains the studio’s most audacious work. Though it built off the visual precedents of Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs (1937), the volume of artistry for artistry’s sake contained in Fantasia, eighty years later, remains unsurpassed.

After the Philadelphia Orchestra’s conductor/music director Leopold Stokowski offered to record The Sorcerer’s Apprentice for free (he did so with a collection of Hollywood musicians; the English-Polish conductor, a rare conductor who spurned the baton, was among the best of his day), cost overruns on The Sorcerer’s Apprentice led to its expansion as a feature. To provide commentary as Fantasia’s Master of Ceremonies, the studio sought composer and music critic Deems Taylor – who came to Disney and Stokowski’s attention in his role as intermission commentator for radio broadcasts of New York Philharmonic concerts. But both Disney and Stokowski were too busy during the summer of 1938 to brief Taylor on their plans. Stokowski spent that summer in Europe seeking permission for the rights to use certain pieces from various composers’ families (this included visits to Claude Debussy’s widow and Maurice Ravel’s brother); Disney was occupied with the construction of the Burbank studio. After Stokowski returned from Europe in September, Disney asked Taylor to come to Los Angeles to formally discuss Fantasia. Taylor agreed, arriving one day after Stokowski and Disney began their meetings, staying in Southern California for a month.

Over several weeks that September, Disney, Stokowski, and Taylor made the final selections for pieces – suggested by story directors Joe Grant and Dick Huemer (both worked on 1941’s Dumbo and 1951’s Alice in Wonderland) – to be featured in Fantasia. Hours were spent listening to classical music recordings, followed by brainstorming potential visualizations. The meetings were recorded by stenographers, with transcripts (housed at the Walt Disney Archives in Burbank) provided to all three participants. During these meetings, Walt mostly listened to Stokowski and Taylor consider every suggestion by Grant and Huemer:

DISNEY: Look, I really don’t know beans about music. TAYLOR: That’s all right, Walt. When I first started, I thought Bach wrote love stuff – like Romeo and Juliet. You know, I thought maybe Toccata was in love with Fugue.

During these meetings, an admiring Walt – in addition to gifting a potential last hurrah for Mickey Mouse and to create a film unrestrained by commercial demands – realized he wanted to create a gateway to classical music for those who might not otherwise give such music a chance. Always leading his writing staff in developing stories, Walt felt relieved that he could share this responsibility with Stokowski and Taylor. Free of the storytelling stresses plaguing the Pinocchio and Bambi productions at the time, these tripartite meetings were not beholden to narrative cohesion, allowing the participants to suggest anything that their imaginations conjured. Without the constraints of narrative logic or predictions about what an audience wanted to see, Fantasia became the center of Walt Disney’s passion until its completion.

Nine selections were made by the trio, with one piece later being dropped entirely (Gabriel Pierné’s Cydalise and the Satyr) and another being replaced after its completion. A completed segment for Debussy’s Clair de Lune* was substituted out for Ludwig van Beethoven’s Symphony No. 6 (the mythological scenario Walt envisioned for the Pierné reverted to the Beethoven, but more on this later). Over the next few years, Disney’s animators would complete the artwork; Stokowski would study, arrange, and record the selections with the Philadelphia Orchestra (except for The Sorcerer’s Apprentice, which had already been recorded); Taylor would write his introductions to be filmed at the Disney studios.

In almost all of cinema, music accompanies and strengthens dramatic or comedic visuals. Fantasia is the reverse of this relationship. The animation provides greater emotional power to the music – an arrangement that may be startling to viewers unfamiliar with or disinclined to classical music or cinematic abstraction. Fantasia’s opening scenes and piece introductions feature the affable Taylor, who outlines the film’s conceits:

TAYLOR: Now there are three kinds of music on this Fantasia program. First, there’s the kind that tells a definite story. Then there’s the kind that, while it has no specific plot, does paint a series of more or less definite pictures. And then there’s a third kind, music that exists simply for its own sake.

That last kind, also known as “absolute music”, opens Fantasia with Johann Sebastian Bach’s Toccata and Fugue in D Minor, an organ piece arranged for orchestra (“Toccata” and “Fugue” refer to the musical forms of the piece’s two halves). As James Wong Howe’s (1934’s The Thin Man, 1963’s Hud) gorgeous live-action cinematography of the orchestra (the Toccata) transitions to animation (the Fugue), the audience witnesses Walt Disney Animation’s first, and arguably only, foray into abstract animation – as opposed to abstract stylizations to bolster a macro-narrative – for a feature film. The Toccata and Fugue is a pure visualization of listening to music, as if the animation was improvised. The sequence involves, among other things, string instrument bridges and bows flying in indeterminate space, figures and lines rolling across the screen, and beams of light and obscured shapes timed to Bach’s piece. In these opening minutes, Fantasia announces itself as a bold hybrid of artistic expression in atypical fashion for Disney’s animators.

Next is The Nutcracker Suite by Pyotr Ilyich Tchaikovsky, which is subdivided into six dances (“Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy”, “Chinese Dance”, “Arabian Dance”, “Trepak”, “Dance of the Reed Flutes”, “Waltz of the Flowers” – these dances are placed out of order, and the “Miniature Overture” and “Marche” which open the suite are not present). Disney, Stokowski, and Taylor made this selection decades before Tchaikovsky’s now-most famous ballet became a Christmas cliché in the United States – it was barely performed in the early twentieth century and is usually regarded, among classical music experts and by the composer himself, as a lesser Tchaikovsky ballet.

History aside, this animated treatment of The Nutcracker utilizes an astonishing array of different animation techniques across all six dances. With The Nutcracker, the Disney animators, for the first time, take a piece with a preexisting story, animate sequences adhering to the music’s essence, yet producing images that have nothing to do with the original material. In Fantasia, The Nutcracker remains a ballet – the sugar plum fairies, racially insensitive mushrooms, fish, and flowers move as if they are on a ballet stage. But there is nothing, in the sense of a narrative through line, to connect all six dances. Set to the changing of the seasons, The Nutcracker contains gorgeously-animated fairies and intricate fish (Cleo from Pinocchio was a testing run for the “Arabian Dance”), climaxing with fractal flurries that look like an antique Christmas card brought to life. Even the racist “Chinese Dance” exemplifies masterful character design – simplicity does not preclude expressiveness. The Nutcracker’s spectacular inclusion improved Tchaikovsky’s standing and his least acclaimed ballet among casual classical music fans.

Based on Johann Wolfgang von Goethe’s poem of the same, Paul Dukas’ The Sorcerer’s Apprentice ushers in the Mickey Mouse short that overshadows all others. With the animators’ adaptation closely following Goethe’s poem, Dukas’ original piece is impossible to listen to without imagining Mickey, rogue anthropomorphic broomsticks, and thousands of gallons of water. The Sorcerer’s Apprentice marked the cinematic debut of Mickey Mouse with pupils, as designed by Fred Moore (the dwarfs on Snow White, the mermaids in 1953’s Peter Pan) – Mickey was first drawn with pupils on a program to an infamous, booze-filled party Walt Disney threw in 1938. With pupils, Mickey’s gaze provides a sense of direction that black ovals make ambiguous. The additional personality – not to say Mickey Mouse’s original character design lacked personality – thanks to the pupils strengthens Mickey’s expressions of jollity, shock, submissiveness. A lanky, stern sorcerer is Mickey’s brilliant foil. Their physical differences and reactions imbue The Sorcerer’s Apprentice with a troublemaking charm recalling Mickey’s earliest short films, sans the slapstick that defined those appearances. These decisions heralded a new era for how the Walt Disney Studios’ mascot would be animated and portrayed in his upcoming shorts.

This segment’s chiaroscuro sets a pensive atmosphere, enclosing Mickey in a black and brown gloom as he – a nominal apprentice – is tasked with menial duties, not magic. The indefinite shape of the sorcerer’s chambers owes to German Expressionism (as does the penultimate piece in Fantasia), with its impossibly curved angles and architectural fantasy hiding secrets that no sorcerer’s apprentice assigned to carry buckets of water could understand. The Sorcerer’s Apprentice tonal shifts always feel justified, rooted in the sequence’s character and production design – although, in this regard, the sequence is surpassed later in Fantasia.

Immediately following a mutual congratulations between Mickey (voiced by Disney) and Stokowski is Igor Stravinsky’s The Rite of Spring. Stravinsky’s brief one-act ballet/piece debuted in 1913 to an audience riot because of its musical radicalism – The Rite of Spring liberally partakes in polytonality (using two or more key signatures simultaneously), polyrhythms, constant meter changes, unorthodox accenting of offbeats, chromaticism, and piercing dissonance. Concert hall attendees had heard nothing like The Rite of Spring before and, even in 1940, Stravinsky’s composition divided audiences. The Rite of Spring – precipitating the concert hall’s philosophical battles of the late twentieth and twenty-first century over whether melody and coherent rhythm still has a role to play in contemporary classical music – is a gutsy choice to present to general audiences.

At fifty-eight years old when Fantasia was released, the Russian-born, French-naturalized (and soon-to-be American citizen) Stravinsky is the only composer to have lived to see one of his pieces adapted for a Fantasia movie. Stravinsky despised Stokowski’s interpretation and cutting of his music (all musical cuts were Stokowski’s decisions, reasoning that an audience of classical music neophytes might not be comfortable in a theater for too long during Fantasia), but applauded the animated interpretation of his work. As a ballet, The Rite of Spring is about primitivism. The Disney animators sheared the piece of its human element to liberate themselves from the ballet’s narrative (and believers of creationism). Instead of portraying primitive humans, they elected to depict an account of Earth’s early natural history – its primeval violence, the beginning of life, the reign and extinction of the dinosaurs. Astronomer Edwin Hubble, English biologist Julian Huxley, and paleontologist Barnum Brown served as scientific consultants on The Rite of Spring, imparting to the animators the most widely-accepted theories within their respective scientific fields at the time.

As the camera moves towards the young Earth, Stravinsky’s piece clangs with orchestral hits emboldened by the volcanic violence on-screen – the animated flow of the lava and realistic bubble effects (studied by the animators using high-speed photography on oatmeal, mud, and coffee bubbles inflated by air hoses) are technical masterstrokes. Giving way to single-celled organisms and later the dinosaurs, the camera’s perspective keeps low, emphasizing the height of these prehistoric creatures. The suggestion of weight to the dinosaurs distinguish them from comic, cartoonish depictions in American animation up to that point. The Rite of Spring is the only Fantasia segment where I can imagine viewers unversed in classical music, but making an honest attempt to appreciate the music, being repelled for the entire passage because of the music itself. Otherwise, so ends Fantasia’s immaculate first half.

After the intermission, we meet the Soundtrack, a visual representation of the standard optical soundtrack, with Deems Taylor. It is an entertaining diversion before Beethoven’s Symphony No. 6 (“The Pastoral Symphony”) – accompanied by scenes of winged horses, centaurs, pans, and gods from classical mythology. These characters and backgrounds, and clear story were intended for Pierné’s Cydalise and the Satyr before its deletion from the program. Seeking a replacement piece, Disney chose Beethoven’s Pastoral over Stokowski’s objections. Stokowski, who largely dismissed potential criticisms from diehard classical music fans and encouraged Walt’s experimentation in their meetings, noted that Symphony No. 6 – the unidentical twin of Beethoven’s Symphony No. 5; both were composed simultaneously and debuted to the public on the same evening in 1808 – was Beethoven’s tribute to the Viennese countryside and that, according to Beethoven’s program notes from that 1808 concert, represented, “more an expression of feeling than painting.” Beethoven’s long summer walks amid babbling brooks, verdant forests, and wildlife provided solace from his increasing deafness. Deems Taylor, acknowledging Stokowski’s citations of the symphony’s history, thought the decision a brilliant one. By simple majority, Walt’s repurposed idea for the mythological setting for the Pastoral was produced.

For the entirety of the Pastoral’s second movement, we see cupids assisting in centaur courtship. These hackneyed scenes are glacially paced, overly dependent on Fred Moore’s risqué good girl art. Fantasia’s most objectionable content also appears in the second movement in the form of crude racial caricatures of black women – though the worst example will almost certainly not be in any available modern print of Fantasia, as the Walt Disney Company has consistently cut the footage and essentially denies it ever existed. The story’s tone almost trivializes Beethoven’s Pastoral, making the seond movement a tiresome Silly Symphony. Arguably the weakest of the original Fantasia numbers (Stokowski’s criticisms justified by the final product), the Pastoral nevertheless contains an eye-catching palate of color that makes it unmissable. Encouraged by the supervising animators on the Pastoral to use as much color as possible, the throngs of artists assigned to this were up to the task. Rarely does Technicolor, in full saturation, look brighter than when the young flying horses take to the sky, centaurs and centaurettes partake in mating rituals, and an ever-inebriated Bacchus stumbles into the centaurs’ party.

From the closing ballet of Act III of Amilcare Ponichelli’s opera La Gioconda, the Dance of the Hours is the penultimate piece in Fantasia. Dance of the Hours suffers from its placement in the film. After Bacchus’ simpleminded, jolly antics in the Pastoral, this whole segment is the one that most resembles Disney’s Silly Symphony short films. Presented as a comic ballet with ostriches, elephants, hippopotamuses, and alligators, the Dance of the Hours has the ideal supervising animators assigned to it – caricaturist “T.” (Thornton) Hee and Pluto/Big Bad Wolf animator Norm Ferguson. Dancer Marge Champion (the model for Snow White’s dancing), ballerina Tatiana Riabouchinska and her husband David Lichine served as models for the balletic motions, endowing the segment with choreographic – though perhaps not biological – accuracy. As long as the viewer basks in the Dance of the Hours’ unadulterated silliness and does not mind the fact it is the least innovative piece in terms of its animation, it is an enjoyable several minutes of Fantasia.

Fantasia concludes with a staggering pairing: Modest Mussorgsky’s‡ tone poem Night on Bald Mountain (partial cuts) and Franz Schubert’s Ave Maria (with English lyrics). After an inconsistent second half to Fantasia, the film ends with two selections so remarkably contrasting in musical form and texture and animation. Night on Bald Mountain, like Dance of the Hours, is the responsibility of an ideal supervising animator in Wilfred Jackson (1937’s The Old Mill, Alice in Wonderland) and one of the finest character animators in Bill Tytla (Stromboli in Pinocchio, Dumbo in Dumbo). Using Mussorgsky’s written descriptions for the piece, the animators closely adhere to the composer’s imagined narrative. On Walpurgisnacht, a towering demon atop a mountain unfurls his wings and summons an infernal procession from the earthly and watery graves below. This demon, the Slavic deity Chernabog, is Tytla’s greatest triumph as a character animator and for all animated cinema. With movements modeled by Béla Lugosi of Dracula (1931) fame – one could not ask for a better model – and Jackson himself, Tytla captures Chernabog’s enormity, the torso’s muscular details, and graceful arm and hand movements that never falter frame-by-frame. Chernabog moves more realistically than any Disney character – in shorts and features, Rotoscoped or not – and would retain that distinction until the advent of computerized animation. In Tytla’s mastery, one forgets that Chernabog is nothing but dark paints.

Jackson’s use of contrasting styles to demarcate Chernabog from the ghosts and spirits summoned to the mountain’s summit further contributes to Night on Bald Mountain’s satanic atmosphere. The shades answering Chernabog’s call appear as either rough white pencil sketches that one might expect in a concept drawing or translucent, wavy figures animated with rippling effects that required a curved tin to complete. That rippling, wafting effect – lasting only several seconds in Night on Bald Mountain – was among the most labor-intensive parts of Fantasia, requiring animators to be present at work in multiple shifts across twenty-four hours to photograph the movements for each frame. The Walt Disney Animation Studios would not delve into such darkness again until The Black Cauldron (1985).

Night on Bald Mountain benefits from being followed immediately – without a Deems Taylor introduction (he introduces both pieces prior to the Mussorgsky) – by Schubert’s Ave Maria, and vice versa. As Chernabog and the spirits romp, an Angelus bell tolls just before the dawn, signalling the end of their nocturnal merriment. Stokowski arranged Night on Bald Mountain’s final bars to fade away as a vocalizing chorus precedes the beginning of the Ave Maria. Where Night on Bald Mountain incorporated numerous styles in a disorderly frolic, the Ave Maria is rigid and structured by design (the camera only moves horizontally from left to right or zooms forward). In twos, robed monks walk through a forest bearing torches – their figures obscured behind trees, their reflections gleaming in the water. As the camera zooms forward for the first time, darkness envelops the screen. Using English lyrics by Rachel Field that do not adapt Schubert’s German lyrics, soprano Julietta Novis sings the final stanza of the Ave Maria (Field’s first two stanzas were unused) as the multiplane camera gradually glides through a still bower. The Ave Maria features some of the smallest individually-animated pieces (the monks) ever brought to screen. And with the multiplane camera (when the monks are onscreen, the multiplane camera – which was created to provide depth to animated backgrounds – is utilized, for the first time in its existence, to evoke flatness), it also contains what may be the longest uncut sequence in animation history.

The Ave Maria’s beauty sharpens the contrast between itself and Night on Bald Mountain – the sacred and the profane. Their spiritual and musical pairing is cinematic transcendence. Yet, the Ave Maria was almost cut entirely from the film at the last moment, as it was spliced into the final cut four hours before Fantasia’s world premiere – all thanks to an earthquake that struck Southern California a few days earlier. How fortunate for those worked on the segment, the preceding Night on Bald Mountain, for Fantasia, and cinema that the Ave Maria was included in the end.

Some of the pieces considered by Disney, Stokowski, and Taylor that did not make the final cut appeared in Fantasia 2000 – most notably Igor Stravinsky’s Firebird Suite (1919 version), which Walt initially preferred over The Rite of Spring until convinced by Taylor otherwise. In contrast to his company’s contemporary attitude, Walt Disney himself was disapproving towards proposing sequels, with Fantasia proving the only exception. Walt imagined sequels to Fantasia to be released every several years, with newer Fantasia sequences starring alongside one or two reruns. Other pieces Disney, Stokowski, and Taylor (who wrote additional introductions in anticipation of future Fantasia films; I am looking into whether these introductions still exist) contemplated remain unadapted as Fantasia segments. The notes and preliminary sketches of some of these proposed segments – including a fascinating consideration to adapt selections from Richard Wagner’s Der Ring des Nibelungen (the Ring cycle) to J.R.R. Tolkien’s then-newly-published children’s book The Hobbit – most likely reside in the Walt Disney Archives for reference if and when the company’s executives approve a third Fantasia movie.

Walt Disney’s dream of Fantasia sequels was quickly dashed. His proposal to add Fantasound – the studio’s prototypical variant of a stereo sound system – proved extravagantly expensive for all but a dozen movie theaters in the United States. Released as a roadshow (a limited national tour of major American cities followed by a general release), the inflated ticket prices due to the roadshow’s Fantasound system harmed Fantasia’s box office. Though a vast majority of film critics and some within classical music circles hailed Fantasia, the vocal and vehement division was inescapable. Some cultural and film critics, citing solely that Walt Disney had bothered to touch classical music, castigated Walt and Fantasia as pretentious (classical music’s negative reputation of being dated, inaccessible, and snobby was not nearly as widespread in the 1940s as it is today; musical appreciation and education has receded in the U.S. in the last several decades). Intransigent classical music purists – usually noting Stokowski’s frequent cutting of the music – lambasted Fantasia as debasing the compositions (I dislike Stokowski’s cutting, certain stretches of the Bach and Stravinsky recordings, and much of the Pastoral’s story, but this is a reactionary overreach). The negativity from both spheres stole the headlines, eroding interest from North American audiences. With the European box office non-existent, Pinocchio and Fantasia stood no chance of turning a profit on their initial releases. Their combined commercial failure sent the studio in a financial tailspin – a crisis that a comparatively low-budget Dumbo single-handedly averted.

Rankled by the criticism directed towards Fantasia, Walt Disney’s anger turned inwards, fostering a personal and corporate disdain of intellectuals that marked the rest of his career. One sees it in his irritation towards critics decrying the handling of race in Song of the South (1946); it is also there in his dismissive treatment of P.L. Travers over an adaptation of her novel Mary Poppins.

Mounting tension among Disney’s animators over credits, favoritism towards veteran animators over the studio’s pay scale and workplace amenities, the announcement of future layoffs due to the studio’s financial crisis, the unionization of animators at all of Disney’s rival studios, and Walt’s political naïveté in heeding the words of Gunther Lessing (the studio’s anti-communist legal counsel) threatened to explode into public view. On May 28, 1941, unionized Disney animators began what is known – and downplayed to this day by the Walt Disney Company – as the Disney animators’ strike. The strike, which lasted for two months, shredded friendships between strikers and non-strikers. Walt Disney, who surveyed the striking animators and filed away names in his deep memory, is said to have repeatedly referred to the strikers as, “commie sons of bitches”. More than once at the studio’s entrance, Walt slammed on his car’s accelerator towards the strikers and hit the brakes before making contact.

Under pressure from lenders, Walt recognized the union in late July but nevertheless fired numerous striking (and non-striking) animators in the months afterwards. Many of those terminated by Disney joined cross-Hollywood rivals or founded the upstart United Productions of America (UPA; Mr. Magoo series, 1962’s Gay Purr-ee). An embittered Walt would never again feel the sense of family among his studio’s staff as he did in the 1920s and ‘30s at the Hyperion studio, despite his public persona and statements to the contrary.

A wonder of filmmaking, Fantasia arrived in movie theaters as Disney’s Golden Age began to fracture. If not for war or Walt Disney’s obstinance, this era might have lasted longer. In the decades since, the contemptuous responses to Fantasia from classical music elites have cooled – for classical music lovers with not nearly as much institutional power, Fantasia has indeed become a beloved gateway into the genre. Its irrepressible beauty, invention, and bravery as a visual concert cannot be overstated.

My rating: 10/10

^ Based on my personal imdb rating.

This is the sixteenth Movie Odyssey Retrospective. Movie Odyssey Retrospectives are reviews on films I had seen in their entirety before this blog’s creation or films I failed to give a full-length write-up to following the blog’s creation. Previous Retrospectives include The Wizard of Oz (1939), Dumbo (1941), and Godzilla (1954).

For more of my reviews, check out the “My Movie Odyssey” tag on my blog.

* The completed Clair de Lune segment was re-edited and integrated into Make Mine Music (1946).

‡ Mussorgsky’s original score for Night on Bald Mountain – which was not performed again during his lifetime following the piece’s premiere – went missing after his death in 1881. In 1886, fellow composer and colleague Nikolai Rimsky-Korsakov, controversially began editing Mussorgsky’s partially missing scores using his “musical conscience” (including the opera Boris Godunov). Rimsky-Korsakov wanted to preserve and retain his colleague’s music among aficionados of Russian classical music. The version of Night on Bald Mountain heard in Fantasia is Rimsky-Korsakov’s arrangement of the piece. Mussorgsky’s original score to Night on Bald Mountain was found in 1968, but the Rimsky-Korsakov arrangement is more frequently performed today.

#Fantasia #Walt Disney #Leopold Stokowski #Deems Taylor #Mickey Mouse #Philadelphia Orchestra #Joe Grant #Dick Huemer #James Wong Howe #Fred Moore #T. Hee #Norm Ferguson #Wilfred Jackson #Bill Tytla #My Movie Odyssey

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hellzyeahthewebwieldingavenger · 6 years ago

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ASM v5 #33/834 Thoughts

I er...I kind of hated this actually...

Let me get the positives out of the way. The art is nice, in fact it’s an improvement over the last issue.

The moment of Teresa blowing apart Silver Sable’s head was suitably shocking.

The future predicting software is intriguing in general and as a plot element building towards the 2099 event.

Seeing Spencer again mine old continuity by bringing in the obscure and generic villain Hitman in an organic way was nice.

Seeing Betty rise to foreign correspondent and in particular in connection to Latveria (whom she has history with) was also nice.

Everything else...sigh.

Okay, let me start off with some of the more petty gripes with this story.

On principle, seeing Zdarsky and Slott era continuity come into play irks me. Teresa’s mere existence in fact irks me as I’ve been vocal about before. Calling back to the shitfests that were the Osborn Identity and Ends of the Earth was maybe even worse. Not to mention the story encouraging me to actually read Slott’s current stuff on F4, which MAYBE I will do if I need context for this story but frankly I’m not paying for the displeasure.

Also, these are nitpicks, but I noticed not one but two spelling mistakes along with a questionable editorial box. It advises readers to check out ASM Worlwide volume 6, the trade that I presume is relevant to the plot elements referenced. Wouldn’t it have just been more accurate for future customers to have listed the individual issues? That trade won’t be available forever.

Let’s move onto the more serious stuff.

So Spider-Man’s sister might be a straight up killer and he isn’t concerned about this? At least with Kaine he presumed he was on a redemption tour, Kaine was trying to STOP killing people. Spider-Man isn’t sure if his SISTER meant to blast a hole in a woman’s head or not, and it’s treated as incidental and nonchalant.

The Foreigner’s characterization is seriously, seriously questionable.

The Foreigner is a really, really, really bad dude and there is really bad blood between him and Spider-Man. This guy was not only (knowingly) having an affair with Black Cat when she was also dating Peter, not only working with Felicia to frame him and ruin his life so Spidey would become one of his agents, but was also directly responsible for murdering his friend Ned Leeds! Not to mention he’s an assassin and a mercenary and Spider-Man has typically held such people in notable disdain.

Spider-Man’s nonchalance towards him and letting him go are extremely questionable to say the least.

But that wasn’t even what raised my eyebrow the most about him. It was the fact that he’s practically cooing over his ‘love’ Silver Sable. Frankly as originally depicted the Foreigner was implied as far from the romantic type. He was essentially an evil James Bond, except in charge of his own particular organization. The notion he felt deep feelings of romance towards women is again very questionable, especially given how he’s tried to MURDER his ex-wife Silver Sable at least once or twice.

It’s not IMPOSSIBLE for him to have transitioned into who he is in this story, but Spencer doesn’t depict that transition, it’s played as though he’d always be like that. Maybe I’m just missing developments from Coates’ Captain America run and people need to inform me, but that’s no the Foreigner of the 1980s-1990s.

In fact ‘maybe I’m missing something from these stories’ sums up a lot of my attitude towards this book.

I skimmed at best the Osborn Identity arc because fuck that shit is why. So to see in come back in full force, to see this story about Spider-Man illegally invading a foreign nation with his G.I. Joe Spider Army is just bad and I thought we’d moved past this shit.

As I didn’t pay close attention to that run and paid 0 attention to the Silver Sable ongoing series it set up I can’t speak to whether or not revealing the Silver Sable of both was an LMD hold up to scrutiny. My gut tells me it doesn’t.

It’s also kind of just...lame.

I love Silver Sable. I think most readers at worst are indifferent to her, so bringing her down like this and making her reliant upon the kindness and care of her ex husband who’s tried to kill her plays as very insulting to her character in my eyes.

I also don’t see the point of it narratively. From what I understood Latveria is making aggressive moves into Symkaria’s territory. Okay. And Silver Sable’s rival for the sovereignty of Symkaria (who’s under house arrest) is growing in power and so Sable needed the LMD to fool her people into thinking she was fit to rule. Ummm...And now the Countess is hiring Chameleon to assassinate Doctor Doom...Um....

Why does any of this demand Sable be disabled (if you pardon the pun)?

Couldn’t you just have Symkarian extremists decide to take out Doom for the sake of their country against Silver Sable’s wishes?

Why retcon Slott’s retcon of Slott’s own story to say Silver Sable didn’t die but when she showed back up all healthy that was just an LMD?

I get Spencer might dislike Slott’s run and wish to subtly tear it down, but we don’t need to tear down all of it just for the sake of it.

I also simply don’t care for seeing so much international intrigue in Spider-Man stories. It worked in Assassin Nation Plot back in the 1980s because back then such things hadn’t been done all that much in Spider-Man stories in recent years. In 2019 though Globe Trotting Parker Industries crap is a very recent raw wound and it WAS the status quo for a very long time, a toxic one at that.*

It doesn’t help when there are scenes of Peter at ESU side by side with the former mentioned scenes. The juxtaposition brings home how this is atypical for Spider-Man and best avoided.

Speaking of which let’s talk about the ESU stuff. I said the technology to see into the future was intriguing, and it is, but I do very much question the relative realism of it. It’s not that I can’t believe that someone in the Marvel Universe could invent such a thing. I just question some random grad student using university resources and a busted Apple Watch from over a year ago could tap into the infinite possibilities of the multiverse, even on a small scale.

By the way, have you noticed anything about this post?

Oh yeah? I’ve barely mentioned the guy on the goddam cover!

And that’s mainly because he’s only in three pages!

In fact between these two issues (that’s 44 pages total btw) Spider-Man 2099 is only in them for seven!

7/44 pages for the character reintroduced 8-9 issues ago, who’s a centrepiece of the event this is all leading to, who’s referenced and featured on the covers and solicits of this whole story?

That’s pathetic.

They’re not even 7 good pages either.

Miguel shows up disorientated and weak and just kind of flails around in an attempt to escape.

That’s it!?

*shakes head*

Pathetic.

Maybe these last two issues will be super duper important, but frankly I’d recommend reading them for free or even reading summaries rather than actually picking them up yourself.

*Not to mention I question in the Marvel Universe if Chameleon could just walk into the UN in disguise, especially considering he’s been caught out at this before in Ends of the Earth.

#Amazing Spider-Man #Spider-Man #Spider-Man 2099 #Nick Spencer #patrick gleason #Miguel O'Hara #Peter Parker #Marvel 2099 #Doctor Doom #Victor Von Doom #Silver Sable #silver sablinova #the foreigner #Chip Zdarsky #Dan Slott #Chameleon #The Hitman

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smallblueandloud · 5 years ago

Text

in blackwater woods

pairings: eleven/rose, amy & rose, amy & eleven, amy/rory

summary: there's a normal-looking blonde woman in the doctor's room, and amy really has no idea what's going on. but she's going to figure it out. (a rewrite of doctor who 6x11, the god complex)

notes: i only started plotting this after @doctorroseprompts prompted episode rewrites with rose literal years ago. this fic has been in the works for... a long time, and thank you so much to those who kept being enthusiastic and excited about it <3 the title is from the mary oliver poem of the same name. i kept her line breaks, just added a few more of my own

read it on ao3 | more of my doctor who writing | more of my writing

Look, the trees

are turning

their own bodies

into pillars

of light,

are giving off the rich

fragrance of cinnamon

and fulfillment,

Amy opens the door of the TARDIS and steps out, breathing deep. Behind her, inside, the Doctor and Rory are discussing medical politics of the 23rd century - a conversation that’s lasted on and off for several weeks now. She’s reasonably interested in medicine, but only when Rory’s the one doing the explaining, and that’s mostly because she gets to see him being passionate about his favorite subject.

She has no trouble, then, with tuning them out in favor of paying attention to where they’ve landed. Landing in a new place and experiencing it for the first time is her favorite part of travelling.

She looks around. Then she frowns.

“Doctor?” she calls, turning back to let her voice carry.

The two inside don’t stop arguing. It’s not surprising, she supposes, given that they’re both interested in what they’re talking about. But it makes her feel suddenly and powerfully alone. “Rory?” she calls, a little louder.

They stop. “Amy? What’s wrong, love?” asks her husband.

He and the Doctor are suddenly at her shoulders. At her right, Rory puts a hand on her shoulder. On her left, the Doctor says, “What’s wrong, Amy?”

Her loneliness vanishes, just as quickly as it had appeared, and the familiar exasperation takes its place. “The people are six hundred feet tall, he says. You have to talk to them in hot air balloons and the Tourist Information Centre is made of one of their hats, he says. I don’t see any hats, Doctor.”

Here’s the issue: they’re indoors. Amy was promised Ravan-Skala’s sky festival, an event that only happens once a year, on the planet with no buildings. But the corridor they’ve landed in is definitely in a building - not to mention carpeted, sort of dim, and rather like any cheap hotel you could find at home.

“There’s something creepy about this place,” says Rory, his hand tightening on her shoulder. She reaches up and squeezes it.

“Exactly,” says the Doctor, moving forward as he clasps his hands together. He spins around to face them, pointing at both her and Rory. “Why is that?”

Amy frowns, looking at him as she tries to figure out what feels so off about wherever they are. This is a familiar game, though she’s never been very good at it.

“Where are we?” asks Rory.

“Great question!” he says. “Not on Earth, that’s for sure. The air tastes slightly different - can you tell?”

“Yeah,” says Amy, sniffing. There it is. There’s a vague hint of... something in the air, nothing she’d ever smelled before. “And if we’re not on Earth, but this place looks exactly like a cheap hotel on Earth-”

“Exactly!” exclaims the Doctor, waving his hands in tight circles in front of him. “Who would go to all the trouble? Why?”

“Let’s figure it out, then,” says Amy, starting to grin. The Doctor smiles at her and spins around, pointing forwards. “Onwards!”

the long tapers

of cattails

are bursting and floating away over

the blue shoulders

of the ponds,

“I don’t understand,” says the Doctor, pacing back and forth. He waves a pad of paper as he passes her. Amy exchanges a skeptical glance with Rita, the practical medical student, as Rory frowns at Joe’s dead body. “Lucy Hayward saw what she used to be scared of. Joe saw the dolls - bloody creepy buggers - which he didn’t seem bothered by at all. But what do they have to-”

“I don’t-” starts the nervous guy. The Doctor stops pacing abruptly, turning and moving in one smooth movement until he’s directly in his personal space with a finger in his face. “What is it, Howie?”

“I don’t think it’s just what she used to be scared of,” he says. “I don’t- I mean- I saw my room,” he says, in a rush. The Doctor nods, moving away, as if finally grasping how unnerving it is to have a half-mad alien in your face.

“I saw my room and it’s what I’m scared of now,” Howie gets out. “My worst fear, I guess.”

“And it wasn’t the CIA covering up aliens?” asks Amy, realizing a second too late how insensitive that sounds. Rory shoots her a sharp look from his seat across the aisle, next to the man himself, and she winces.

“No,” says Howie, looking straight into her eyes. Before she can muster up the ability to apologize, he continues: “I don’t want to talk about it, and I don’t think I need to. But- Doctor, I think- we see our worst fears in there.”

“Yeah,” says Rita, suddenly. Everyone jumps. “I saw mine too.”

Amy frowns. From what she’s seen in the hour since they lost the TARDIS, Rita has struck her as incredibly competent, practical, and able to take everything in stride. If she succumbed to temptation and looked in her room, the rest of them don’t stand a chance of resisting.

She sneaks a glance at the Doctor, who seem to be doing a quick mental calculation. As she watches, he seems to add two and two and end up with something unpleasant - he pales considerably, and then turns so she can’t see his eyes any more.

“Don’t look at me like that,” says Rita, to the room at large. “It’s impossible to avoid. And it’s-”

She hesitates, which only makes Amy more nervous. She hasn’t hesitated once, even with the alien revelation, since they got here.

“It’s terrifying,” she says, finally. “I mean, obviously, but you don’t realize how bad it’s going to be. It’s like that woman said. You have no idea what it’s going to be, but when you see it-”

“-you realize it could never be anything else,” finishes Gibbis. Amy glances at him, and sees that he’s avoiding eye contact.

“You saw it too,” she realizes.

The Doctor turns back, wagging his finger at the three strangers. “All of you have. We’re the only ones that haven’t, so far.” It doesn’t sound like a question, but she knows he’s fishing for a response, making sure he has all the data.

“Right,” says Rory. Amy nods.

“But we will end up seeing it,” says the Doctor. He still looks pale. “Eventually. Right, Rita?”

“Yes.”

“But you can’t plan for it,” says Howie. “I don’t- I don’t think anyone can predict what it will be for them.”

“I can’t,” agrees Amy, surprising even herself. She doesn’t usually like sharing excessively personal things - but it’s true. She’s noticed, though, that people thrust into situations like these tend to make generalizations or assume rules in order to have some semblance of control, so it probably isn’t always the case. She glances at Rory.

Sure enough, he shakes his head. “I think some can,” he says. “I can.”

The Doctor wiggles his hands, but doesn’t say anything.

No one says anything, in fact. Amy considers going across the aisle to sit with Rory, but doesn’t want to step over the dead body, so instead she watches the Doctor, who seems to be getting stiller and stiller as he considers something. Finally, he says, “Would you say-”

He swallows. “Would you say that they-”

He’s watching the wall. Amy has a bad feeling about this.

“Would you say that the fears acted as they should’ve?”

“What?” says Howie.

The Doctor turns around. “Oh, come on. You know what I mean. If your fear was a person, did the thing in the hotel room know everything that the person should have? Was their personality the same?”

Gibbis shakes his head. Howie shrugs.

“Yes,” says Rita.

The Doctor turns to look at her. “You’re sure? Think carefully. This is important.”

“I’m sure,” she says.

“Would you say,” he says, “that it acted out of your control? Knew things you don’t know? Acted in ways you couldn’t predict?”

“Yeah,” says Howie. Gibbis is still silent. “I mean, I’ve pictured that scene a thousand times. But I’m not creative like that. I couldn’t have come up with what they said.”

“Right,” says the Doctor, exhaling. “Right.”

Amy knows, suddenly, what he’s planning on doing. Not why - god knows why he does half the stupid things he does - but that’s a question for later.

“I know how to figure this out,” he says. “I mean- I don’t know how. That’s the whole point. I’m using my phone-a-friend lifeline. Rita, how long did Joe have before he started being all-” He hesitates. “Joe-like?”

“A few hours, at least,” says Rita. She seems to have calmed down a bit. Amy admires her for that, and wishes she could have some of that serenity for herself. “We have a few hours before we go crazy. What do you need us to do?”

“Right,” says the Doctor, pointing at her. “Excellent. Good thinking. Except I don’t need you, Rita, for this part. I don’t need any of you, except-”

He hesitates, turning slightly towards Amy before aborting the movement.

He’s her best friend.

She takes pity on him, or maybe she decides to make his life harder. She meets Rory’s eye, and he nods at her. Go.

“You’re not going alone,” she says. “I’m going with you.”

The Doctor stares at her. “You don’t even know what my plan is,” he says.

She stares at him. Don’t make me say it, she thinks.

“You said it yourself,” adds Rory, helping him save face. “Make sure someone else can see you at all times. Amy should go with you.”

Amy closes her eyes, briefly, and thanks whoever’s in charge of Earth that Rory exists. Then she reopens her eyes and levels a look at the Doctor.

Time stretches out between them as she cows her favorite alien into submission.

Finally, he looks away, clapping his hands. “Fine. Pond with go with me, to my- to where I’m going, while her husband and the rest of you stay here. Rory,” he says, pointing at the husband in question, “you’re in charge, since you’ll be the only one who hasn’t seen their room. Don’t be cruel, don’t be irrational, but whatever you do, don’t let them leave. Got it?”

Rory gives him a thumb’s up, shooting a small, private smile at Amy. “Got it. Same to you, love.”

“Yeah,” says Amy.

“We can talk shop,” says Rita, giving them a smile of her own. Amy’s got to hand it to her - she’s holding up remarkably well, at least compared to Howie, who’s looking slightly green at the prospect of the Doctor leaving, and Gibbis, who is on his knees and seems to be praying.

“Awesome,” says Amy. She turns to the Doctor and offers him her arm. “Lead the way,” she says, because she’s not sure he’ll ever start moving if she doesn’t.

He slips his arm through hers. “Thank you, Pond,” he says, quietly enough that no one else can hear.

He starts to walk, seemingly without any doubt as to the direction. He seems confident, like this is just another normal day, but Amy knows better. His hand is shaking.

and every pond,

no matter what its

name is, is

nameless now.

It seems like they’ve been walking for hours. Logically, it’s been more like ten minutes, but Amy’s well aware that they’re on the clock, and the Doctor seems to be, too. He keeps getting slower as they get closer to where they’re going, though, which only makes it feel like they’ve been walking for longer.

His hand is still trembling, more violently than ever. She hates seeing him like this - when he’s scared, the stakes are bad, and she doesn’t want to think about that right now - so she casts about for a question to ask him. When he goes into lecture mode, he detaches himself from the situation, and it always calms him down.

After a few minutes, one hits her.

“Doctor?”

He startles violently, having been lost in his own thoughts. “Wh- Yes, Pond?”

“How do they determine the room numbers?”

“What?” he says.

She gestures around with the arm that he’s not holding. “I mean. No one knew we were coming, but you still have a room. That means everyone in the universe has a room, right?”

The Doctor makes a doubtful noise, but he at least seems to be considering her question. She continues: “Then what basis do the numbers have? Do the numerals have a significance or something? But then you’d need a number unique to every being.”

“Yes,” says the Doctor. “Good question. I don’t know.”

She frowns. The chase is the best part for him - he loves considering and discarding possible explanations, usually out loud where she has to hear them. For him to give up so easily...

It’s concerning, but she doesn’t say anything. If a good question like that one won’t bring him out of it, nothing will.

They make another left, and then another right, go straight through a four-way intersection, make another right, and suddenly the Doctor stops in front of a door.

Neither of them say anything. Amy’s usually the one to push the Doctor to do something difficult, but she can’t bring herself to make him go inside. Instead, she watches his face as he considers what’s in front of them.

Sure, it’s the room housing his worst fear. But what is he thinking? Why are they here?

Finally, he says, “Birth order.”

“What?” she says. He disentangles his arm from hers.

“The room numbers. They’re based on birth order, must be.”

“How do you know?” He doesn’t answer, but she barely notices, too busy examining the numbers of the doors in front of them.

They’ve arrived at number 436535.11. To the left, there’s 436535.10.2, 436535.10, 436535.9, and so on. She frowns.

“How can people have decimal places?” she asks. “If it’s birth order?”

“Different fears,” he says. “Different stages of life, so to speak.” He gestures at 10.2. “In there, I think there’s probably a dead body. Either that, or rejection.”

“How can there be a room filled with rejection?”

The Doctor shakes his head. She’s surprised to see that he’s smiling, a little. “Never mind.” He shrugs. “Chances are just as good that it’s Jackie in there, anyway.”

She decides not to ask as he turns back to his door, number whatever point 11. The discussion of the other doors seems to have calmed him down enough that he’s ready to go inside, and she doesn’t want to cause more delay.

He takes a deep breath and reaches out, turning the handle and opening the door just enough for him to see inside without letting her see anything. His smile grows into something almost... almost...

Fond?

“Of course,” he says, quietly enough that she can barely hear him. “Did you really think it would be anything else?”

“Doctor?” she asks. He ignores her, pulling the door open fully and walking inside.

Amy knows the Doctor is brave. Things that still make her wake in cold sweats barely make him pause when they’re right in front of him. Whatever his worst fear is, then, is probably going to instantly turn up in her own room, wherever it is in this cursed hotel.

She doesn’t want to go inside. But he’s her best friend, and he’s already taken the plunge, so she takes a deep breath and follows him into the unknown.

Every year

everything

I have ever learned

in my lifetime

leads back to this: the fires

and the black river of loss

whose other side

is salvation,

whose meaning

none of us will ever know.

There’s a blonde woman in a blue leather jacket standing at the window, facing away from them.

She seems mostly harmless - doesn’t even turn around, making Amy think that she didn’t hear the door open at all. But the Doctor stops as soon as he catches a glimpse of her.

Amy sneaks a glance at him. His hands are shaking, worse than before, and he’s paled again.

She looks back at the woman, but doesn’t see anything particularly fear-worthy. She turns back at the Doctor.

He takes a deep, shuddering breath, and runs his hands over his face. When he exhales and pulls them away, he seems reasonably collected, but Amy stops herself from relaxing too much.

This is his worst fear, Amy reminds herself. Whatever she is, it’s worse than anything else he’s ever come up against.

“Doctor,” she whispers. He doesn’t respond, so she looks over at him. He doesn’t seem to have heard her - all of his attention is focused on the woman in front of them. He barely looks like he’s breathing.

“Doctor!” she whispers, again. “Snap out of it!”

Thankfully, this time he hears her, blinking rapidly as he’s pulled out of his trance. “What is it?”

“What are we dealing with here?”

She doesn’t mean to rush him, but she’s only now realizing that they should have planned some kind of course of action for confronting this apparition, and it’s making her panicky. She’d spent the entire walk so worried about him that she’d forgotten they were about to confront a monster, and she needs to make up for lost time. Fast.

He blinks, again, and finally tears his eyes away from the woman. “What?”

“What kind of alien is she?” asks Amy, urgently. “What did she do? How many people has she killed? Is she going to sprout a plunger and start saying exterminate? Wh-”

She’d only said that last part because she tends to get wittier when lives are on the line - it’s not out of any real expectation that he’ll actually appreciate her joke. He’s facing his worst fear and all.

To her surprise, though, the Doctor interrupts her by chuckling. “Amy,” he says, fondly. “What are you talking about?”

Amy shoots another nervous glance at the woman, who still doesn’t seem to have heard them.

“This is your worst fear,” says Amy. “It’s for a reason. I would have guessed the Daleks, or maybe my daughter - your goddaughter - getting into the stash of booze, so she has to be worse.”

“Amy,” says the Doctor. He looks at her, then back at the woman, then back at her. His mouth is moving, but he isn’t making any noise. His hands start to move - seemingly of their own accord - but he still doesn’t make a sound. Her suggestion was apparently insane enough as to render him speechless.

She considers hitting him to snap him out of it, but is distracted by movement on the other side of the room. The woman’s shoulders are tenser than they were when they walked in, and her head is slightly cocked - she’s listening to them. Amy resolves her initial impression of her. Clearly she pays attention, and is restrained enough to not attack them outright.

She turns back to the Doctor, who is still waving his arms about like a madman. Amy understands the urge to laugh hysterically when faced with terrifying situations, but this is really too much. She pokes him in the shoulder.

“Doctor,” she says, and nods at the woman.

The Doctor straightens, the smile slipping off his face. “Of course,” he says, suddenly deadly serious. Amy feels butterflies in her stomach and quashes them determinedly.

“Amy,” he says, formally, gesturing to the other woman like they’re at a ball of some kind. “Let me introduce you to Rose Tyler.”

On cue, the woman turns around. Everything about her posture screams military, or at least, well trained by a serious organization. Her arms are crossed, her hair is pulled out of her face, and she’s wearing a no-nonsense expression. Amy can see how she would be a threat.

She strides towards them and stops in front of the Doctor. He closes his eyes and allows her into his personal space, closer than anyone’s ever tried to get before. Amy’s hand makes an abortive movement to stop her - but the Doctor would say something, if he didn’t want her so close.

Right?

Or is he that scared?

“Doctor,” greets Rose Tyler. She’s significantly shorter than him, but it still feels like she’s in his face. “Nice to see you.”

She turns towards Amy. It’s not particularly sudden, but she jumps anyway.

“You’re the one travelling with him these days, I take it?”

Amy glances at the Doctor, who opens his eyes and nods at her. She takes a deep breath. “Yeah. Me and my husband, and sometimes our daughter.”

“Wow,” says Rose. Strangely, it doesn’t sound sarcastic, the way Amy would expect someone evil to say it. It just sounds... normal.

She turns back to the Doctor, dropping her arms to her sides. “You’ve gone completely domestic, haven’t you?”

Scratch that. She sounds teasing.

The Doctor takes a deep breath and then- he-

wraps his arms around Rose, lifting her up with the force of his hug. Amy can’t catch much of what he says, except that there’s a missed you in there as he gently swings her from side to side.

Rose laughs, bright and sunny, and says, “Put me down!”

“Never,” says the Doctor, swaying her back and forth before he does in fact put her down. He’s grinning, wide, and Amy has never seen him this excited. It still seems off, somehow - but there’s no way he would hug an enemy.

As Rose straightens her jacket, Amy tries to get the Doctor’s attention without it being too obvious, but he’s too caught up in staring at Rose to notice anything she tries. She abandons her frantic hand waving and considers. This information changes everything. When the Doctor had been so nervous- when he hadn’t been able to tear his eyes away from Rose- it wasn’t fear.

The Doctor is enamoured with this woman.

Amy almost laughs. Of course his worst fear is an ex girlfriend. Facing the consequences of his actions, and all.

Rose finishes rearranging herself and looks back up at the Doctor, grinning wide. The Doctor smiles at her, although his face has lost all the joy of their reunion. It seems like he’s remembered where they are, suddenly, and it’s hit him like a bucket of cold water to the face.

He reaches down to cup the side of her head.

“Rose Tyler,” he says, his voice quiet. “What do you remember?”

Rose narrows her eyes at him. “What?”

“You are a projection of this hotel created for me,” says the Doctor, his voice turning cold, more or less. It’s still wavering. Amy can see how he’s struggling, but she’s not sure Rose can. “And I need your help.”

Her suspicions are confirmed when Rose steps back, out of his grasp. “Really?” she asks, the smile leaving her face. “Okay, we can do that.” Suddenly her expression is as frosty as his. “I don’t know how long I’ve been here. I was created from your memories, so the last thing I remember is watching the TARDIS leave me- leave us on that bloody beach.” She laughs, bitter. “That’s because that’s the last thing you remember about me.”

“Rose-” he says. “I didn’t-”

“No,” she says. “You’re right.” She sighs. “I shouldn’t- I’m not-”

She opens her mouth as if to ask a question, but he interrupts her. “I need you to focus.”

He’s looking over Rose’s head. Amy shifts, slightly, and sees the expression on his face. He’s torn, the way he gets sometimes when he’s looking at someone who’s going to die and there’s nothing he can do to stop it. “We need your help to figure out what’s going on here.”

Rose can’t see his face, though. She flinches. “That’s what you think of us, isn’t it?” she says. “I’d forgotten. But we’re nothing but apes to you, right? Apes with creativity. It’s what I am to you. A good problem solver.”

There it is, thinks Amy. Worst fear - a fight with an ex. Granted, it’s a pretty ugly fight already. Both of them are trying to hurt each other, now, and when you love someone that feeling is more painful than anything else in the world.

And she knows his treatment of his friends is a sore spot for him.

“We’re not doing this,” he says, his voice hard. Obviously Rose is rehashing an old argument. “We’re not- you’re not real. Rose Tyler doesn’t exist in this universe. All I need from you is her brain. So use it to help us.”

Rose adjusts her stance, crossing her arms again. “I don’t know what’s going on,” she says, in the same tone. “You need to give me some information before I can.”

The Doctor summarizes their findings in a few sentences, getting less cold and more animated as the story goes on. “And so we have four humans, one Tivolian, and one Time Lord, none of whom know what is going on and four of whom are going to go absolutely bonkers in worship to some Him in the next few hours-”

“How does this place know their worst fears?” asks Rose. “How am I here? Was it planning on you?”

“I don’t know,” says the Doctor. “Ditto. And no. We were planning on going to Ravan-Skala. Do you remember? I told you about it, once. We were going to...”

Rose ignores him, her posture shifting into something more tense, even as his voice trails away. “You say one person’s already died?”

“Yes,” says the Doctor, looking away from her. He seems hurt, and Amy’s hackles go up, even though it’s probably understandable for Rose to shy away from more friendly conversation, since their last one devolved so quickly. “Rory - that’s Amy’s husband, he’s a nurse - and Rita - she’s a new one, a medical student - are probably looking at the body now.”

“Ah,” says Rose. Amy realizes what seems so familiar about her posture: it’s military, again. She’s slipped back into the mission mode she was in when they first walked in.

It hits her that she should probably wonder what kind of organization Rose was in. Because it seems like the argument’s already over, and all of his fear - because it was fear, at least when he was standing outside the door - can’t have been for something that short. Anyway, the Doctor’s worst fear wouldn’t be- it wouldn’t be a three-minute argument, right? It has to be deeper.

What can it be?

“How did they die?” asks Rose. The Doctor frowns. Amy thinks back and realizes they hadn’t bothered to figure it out.

“I mean,” says Rose. “Knowing how they died has to give us some clue of what happened.”

“That’s... right,” says the Doctor. His face drops and suddenly he looks terrified.

Amy blinks. What the hell happened?

She’s not sure, but he looks like he’s on the urge of hyperventilating. He looks, somehow, like all of his worst fears were just fulfilled, and she realizes he hasn’t looked like this since they came into the room.

This, then, is why Rose is here. Whatever this is.

She makes a quick decision. She needs to get him out of here, if anything to give him some breathing room and ask him a few questions. If he’s this worked up from a single sentence... And they have a lead to follow up on, besides.

“We need to go and ask Rory and Rita, then,” she says. Both the Doctor and Rose jump, as if they’d forgotten she was in the room with them. As they turn to face her, Amy shrugs, feeling see-through. She compensates with extra bravado. “We’re running low on time, aren’t we?”

“Yes,” says the Doctor, his expression changing from fear into confidence. Amy hates it when that happens - it means he’s figured something out, gotten ahead of her. “But we need to figure out what’s going on, too, or at least come up with a viable theory. Amy, you need to stay here.”

“What?” asks Amy. There’s no way she’s letting him go out there on his own, not as his time runs out. Plus, she doesn’t want to be left alone with-

“We need to keep working on this problem,” says the Doctor, becoming more animated as the idea becomes more viable. “We have a lead, but that doesn’t mean we know anything. You and Rose can figure it out together, I know it, and she can’t- you can’t leave the room, right, Rose? So you have to stay here with her, Amy. It’s going to be- it’ll-”

He pauses.

“Why are you making that face at me, Amelia Pond?”

Amy wrinkles her nose at the sound of her full name.

Rose glances at her, then looks away. “She doesn’t want to be alone with me,” she says. “I turned up here, after all.”

“Ah,” says the Doctor. He turns to Amy, takes a deep breath, and looks her straight in the eyes. “It’s going to be fine,” he says, running his knuckles across her cheek - almost paternally. “I trust Rose. She’s not going to hurt you.”

Then why is she your worst fear?, Amy wants to ask, but now that he’s closer she can see the look in his eyes. He’s only a few feet from the breaking point, and she doesn’t want to push him further.

“Anyways,” he says, quietly. “I’m the only one who can find my way back. Otherwise I’d send you.”

“Yeah,” she whispers, trying not to worry too much. He’s a pseudo-immortal Time Lord - he’ll be fine. “Okay. Go ahead. We’ll be here.”

The Doctor pulls back, a manic look slipping onto his face. “Excellent!” he says, clapping his hands together. “I’ll be back! No one wander off!”

“Right,” says Amy, glancing at Rose.

Rose looks around. “Couldn’t even if I wanted to.”

“Precisely!” say the Doctor, giving them both finger guns as he backs out the door. Then he closes it, and Amy is left alone with Rose Tyler.

“Right,” she repeats.

To live in this world

you must be able

to do three things:

Amy turns to Rose.

She’s not sure what she’s expecting. Rose doesn’t seem to be evil, or particularly harmful, even inadvertently. She seems to be important to the Doctor, yes, but that doesn’t mean anything. Daleks are important to the Doctor. So are bananas, for that matter.

“So,” she says, trying (and probably failing) to sound casual. “Any ideas?”

If anything, Rose has good problem solving skills. She’d said it herself, earlier. Of course, the one time she’d demonstrated them, the Doctor had nearly had a panic attack, but Amy’s sure it’s fine. And Amy’s own reasoning skills aren’t half bad, either. They just need to use them.

By working together.

Amy’s not particularly known for her cooperative nature. Bloody hell, are they screwed.

Rose frowns. “Did you notice anything odd about the other people in the hotel? The Doctor doesn’t usually think to check this, or at least the him I knew didn’t, but if someone’s faking it- or planning on-”

“Sorry,” interrupts Amy. “You knew a different regeneration of him?”

Sue her. It was practically an invitation to ask about Rose’s past with the Doctor. Amy knows they’re low on time, but she has a feeling that the key to this is getting more information.

“Two, actually,” says Rose, absently. She still looks thoughtful. “Or possibly there’s a clue in how they talk when they go crazy? Are they being controlled? Are they acting out of character? Or are they speaking of their own volition? Do they want it?”

“I dunno,” says Amy. “I mean, I haven’t really seen any of them being controlled. By the time we got here, Joe was already crazy-”

“No video footage?”

“No,” says Amy. “Listen- I need you to pay attention to me.”

Rose instantly turns to Amy, her gaze sharpening. “Yes?” Amy half expects her to finish with soldier?, but apparently Rose can still talk to civilians.

“I don’t have enough information,” says Amy. “You have to tell me: why are you in the Doctor’s room?”

Rose stares at her for a second. Then she frowns. “I don’t see why that matters.”

“It does,” insists Amy. “Look, I know you still have questions, but take my word for it: I don’t have any other information about the victims. The only other lead we have is the hotel itself, and you’re a primary source. So-”

She sits down on the bed and pats the coverlet next to her.

“What’s your story?”

Rose sits down next to her, slowly. She’s still staring at her.

“Well?” prompts Amy.

Rose sighs and looks up at the ceiling.

“I used to travel with him,” she says, slowly. “I- I got lost. I was trapped in a parallel universe for a few years. I got back in time to help him save the multiverse, and then he dumped me right back at-”

She sighs. Her voice had gotten louder, but she takes a deep breath and gets it back under control. Her posture stays relaxed, though - fallen from the military posture she’s had since her confrontation with the Doctor.

She’s Amy’s age. It’s an odd thing to realize, because she seemed so much older, like she’s on the Doctor’s level. But she looks about 21 or 22, maybe 25 at a stretch.

“I don’t think I’m his worst fear,” says Rose, eventually. “I mean- I don’t- I love him, you know, and he loves me, or at least he used to, enough to break all of his rules. And I think he might still-”

Her hands close over the coverlet.

“It isn’t me,” she says, after a pause, sounding sure of it. “It’s- I think he’s terrified of losing me, the way he already did. And not- I mean- he’s done it on purpose. He’s chosen to lose me three times, now, at least, and he does the same to everyone else. So it’s not just that. It’s-”

She hesitates. Amy finds herself feeling curious about what the answer is, and not just because it will help her understand something about her famously private best friend. There’s something intriguing about this woman who claims the Doctor likes her best, made sadder by the fact that he refuses to acknowledge who she is. She’s obviously unique in some sense, if she’s in his room, and she seems as real as any other-

She isn’t the real Rose, though, argues part of her brain, and Amy flushes in remembered shame. She’d listened to that voice when encountered by the Flesh clone of the Doctor, and then it turned out that Amy herself was a clone, too. She’s spent enough sleepless nights feeling guilty over her treatment of him - and her hypocrisy - to know better now.

Speaking of which, though: it’s odd that the Doctor didn’t make the connection, too. He’d been so insistent that the Flesh Doctor was real and everything. He’d make the same argument for this Rose, right?

Unless it isn’t about his principles. Which, okay, yeah, probably pretty obvious, but it’s still important. He’s denying that Rose is real for another reason.

What is it? It should have to do with his fear... right?

“How long did it take him to come here?” asks Rose, suddenly. “I mean, once he realized-”

Amy thinks back. “About four minutes.”

Rose nods. “There is is. It’s- he- he’s always going to do that, I think, and that’s what scares him. Once he knows he can see me, he’s going to, and damn the consequences.” She stops, and frowns. “Huh. I don’t think I understood him this well before.”

“But now you do?”

Why would the room’s creation have extra knowledge? Is it to somehow make them scarier?

“Yeah,” says Rose, frowning again. “I think- it’s because of his expectations. He imagines that I must know him pretty well by now, because of my husband.”

Amy decides they’ve gone far enough down the rabbit hole and doesn’t ask. “So you think his worst fear is you? But not you, specifically, but his dependence on you?”

“Yes,” says Rose.

“Because he has faith in you,” she says. “He always thinks you’re going to help him save the day.” It reminds Amy of Gibbis. When they’d left, he had been on his knees, praying to the god of benevolent conquerors or whatever.

And now that she’s thinking about it, the others had been doing similar things. Howie had been talking about the X-Files, or something, to reassure himself that problems like this are solvable. Rita had kept anxiously putting her hands next to each other, palms up, as if her subconscious had already started praying. The Doctor’s immediate running to Rose isn’t so unexpected, in retrospect.

“Yes,” says Rose.

Of course it makes sense. Religion exists to reassure people when they don’t know what’s going on (basically all the time, for everyone, but oh well). But if everyone copes in approximately the same way, and the victims all end up praising Him-

Could it be connected? Does the hotel want them to pray, or at least fall back on faith?

Why would something want that?, thinks Amy, and wanders back into her mental archive of Doctor-related conversations for an answer. He’d mentioned, once, something about something like-

Oh, yeah. He was telling her all of the times that the Earth was saved with no one the wiser - initially a ploy to show her the necessity of waking up early, somehow - but after about ten minutes he’d gotten quiet and said, “And then there was the Year That Never Was.”

Amy hadn’t had any idea of what he was talking about (which was expected, considering the conversation topic), but even she had heard the capital letters. “What?”

“The Earth was saved by a singular, spectacular woman,” the Doctor had said. “And the power of belief.”

Belief is powerful.

Amy blinks. Joe had just- he’d just dropped dead, like a string was cut. But if the power of his belief, all that kept him alive and kicking, had been seized, somehow...

“Rose,” she says. “I’m not very good at medicine, but I am very good at figuring out mysteries.”

“The Doctor only takes the best,” agrees Rose.

“Of course,” says Amy, even too distracted to make a joke, or possibly take a bow. “What if the hotel is harvesting their belief?”

Rose frowns. “What?”

Amy stands and turns to face her. “Think about it. The Doctor came straight to you because he has faith in you, right? The others who are still alive also turned to whatever they believe in. The hotel has to have planned on that. And before the victims died, they kept saying ‘Praise him’, like they were worshipping something.”

“So faith is involved. Obviously, if people are seeing what they fear the most.”

“Yes,” says Amy. “Obviously.” She uses air quotes. “Not everyone’s para-military, or whatever organization you come from, you know.”

She grins at Rose, to show there’s no hard feelings, and keeps talking. “But why show people their worst fears and cause that belief?”

“This could be a prison of some kind,” says Rose. “The Doctor’s no saint. I mean, you and your husband haven’t even been drawn to your rooms - if you were brought here by accident, just because they wanted him, it would make sense.”

Amy shakes her head. “I don’t think it is. Why would the people die, then?”

“Torture and then execution?”

“Stop poking holes in my theory!”

Rose smiles, holding her hands up in surrender. “I’m only playing devil’s advocate!”

“Sure,” says Amy, looking at her mock-doubtfully, before moving on. “Anyway, why would they keep saying ‘Praise him’?”

“That’s true.”

“And you’re right,” says Amy. “It’s just a theory. But the Doctor mentioned something about the power of belief, once, and how it saved the world. If it’s that powerful, can’t it be used as a- a power source, or something?”

Rose’s smile melts away. She’s left with an expression of regret and pain. She looks like she’s remembering something - that, and she just realized something about their current situation. “Yes,” she says, quietly. “That’s true.”

Amy’s curious, and anyway, they can’t do much else without getting the Doctor’s information. “Were you there? What happened?”

Rose takes a deep breath and looks away from her. “Someone took over the world with a paradox,” she says, quickly, “and trapped the Doctor, powerless, on an aircraft carrier, forcing him to watch as he wiped out the human race. His companion at the time - a medical student named Martha, smarter than he was, usually - walked the Earth, trying to stay alive and pass on his story, so that when the time came the concentrated power of our belief would free him and then paradox could be undone, destroying that timeline.”

She’s gone back to mission mode. Amy realizes she does it to take a mental step back from what she’s describing.

“Are you... are you from that timeline?” she asks. It would make sense for a tough military person like Rose to be from an apocalyptic Earth.

Rose shakes her head, grinning a little. “Nah. I’m from London, same as any other regular person. I was- I was travelling around on my own at the time, trying to find the Doctor, and I ran into Martha. I helped her out for a few weeks, kept watch while she slept so she would be alert enough for her stories. I slept while she told them. I didn’t think it was Earth - didn’t think something so horrible could happen to my planet - and the details she’d mentioned just made me miss the Doctor even more. If I’d stayed awake, I might have-”

She inhales sharply, then closes her eyes and exhales.

“It’s past that time now. But her stories must have worked. Which means- yes, your theory is definitely possible.”

“It depends on how the people died,” says Amy. “There must be some way to tell if their belief was somehow harvested. We’ll just have to wait for the Doctor to-”

On cue, the door bursts open.

to love what is mortal;

“Amy!” says the Doctor, striding inside. He closes the door behind him, smiling wide. “Rose Tyler!”

There’s something off about his eyes. Amy realizes she’s not sure how long it’s been since he went back to the others. How much time does he have left?

“Hi,” she says.

“Hello, Doctor,” says Rose. She smiles at the Doctor, but it’s muted. “Did you get back to the others?”

“Yes!” says the Doctor, looking thrilled. “We found out how they died! Well, I didn’t really, it was mostly Rory and Rita-”

Here we go, thinks Amy. She’s worried to death about this man, but can he please shut up for even five minutes at a time?

“-have I mentioned how incredible she is? Of course, Rory is great, but Rita’s only a few involuntary statements away from going crazy, and she’s never been off-planet or in a life-threatening situation before, and she’s solving mysteries about alien causes of death-”

Amy shoots him a look, crossing her arms. He clears his throat. “Anyways. Joe died of... Get this, Amy! Nothing was wrong with him.”

She frowns. She’s not a medical expert, but it seems-

She looks over at Rose, who shrugs.

“What?”

The Doctor flaps his hands excitedly. “Exactly! He just stopped functioning, like he ran out of energy, or something.”

Amy has to resist the ridiculous urge to smile. It’s a terrible situation, but she may just be right about what’s causing it, and she’s proud of her ability to figure these things out. “You mean if he’d had a protein shake, he’d still be alive?”

The Doctor shrugs. “Probably not. Rita said he’d mentioned eating about an hour before getting here, so he probably wasn’t hungry. Rory says - he’s got more experience with this sort of thing, Rose - it’s likely his energy was sucked out of him on purpose. Since Joe was acting so weird, he thinks whatever made him Joe was taken, somehow. If we truly have souls, taking them would kill us, pretty quickly. Rita’s seen heart attack victims at her hospital, and she says the symptoms are similar, and that it seems like defibrillation would’ve had a positive reaction, and it’s fascinating, really, I could-”

Amy turns to Rose, arms crossed. Without looking at him, she says to the Doctor, “So what you’re saying is that something sucked out their energy and possibly their soul for their own uses-”

Rose throws up her hands. She’s grinning, slightly, and Amy knows it’s only out of worry for the Doctor that she’s not full-out laughing. “Fine, Amy!”

The Doctor frowns at both of them, half upset at being interrupted and half at missing the joke. “What?”

“We’ve figured it out,” says Amy. “The last thing we needed was the medical evidence. The hotel is harvesting people’s energy, somehow.”

“Ah,” says the Doctor, the smile dropping off his face. “That- that would make sense.”

“Yeah,” says Amy, inclining her head at Rose. “Pretty obvious, in retrospect.”

“How- how would it do that?” asks the Doctor. He’s starting to look nervous, and it scares Amy. His real superpower is hiding his emotions: when he gets too anxious to do that, they’re really in trouble. “I can feel it coming. I’m not sure how, but it is. Keeping busy seems to help the others, but for me - the more frantic I get, the faster it comes.”

He shrugs, trying and failing to seem nonchalant as he looks away from them. “I suppose I’ll provide a lot of energy.”

Rose walks up to him, slowly, and puts her hand on his shoulder, facing away from Amy. It’s the first time she’s touched him this whole time, and Amy doesn’t miss the small tremor that runs through him.

She’s figured it out, Amy realizes. If they’re being killed by their faith, the Doctor-

“You will,” says Rose, quietly. Amy feels like she should turn around or something. He’s never like this with her - even when he’s sure they’re going to die, he’s manic and hopeful until the end. It’s Rose’s presence that’s made him this delicate, and it feels wrong that she’s watching.

She doesn’t turn away, though.

“You will provide a lot of energy. But not for the reason you’re thinking.”

The Doctor furrows his brow and looks at her.

“It’s belief, Doctor.”

He swallows, his Adam’s apple working. “What?”

“Showing people their worst fears makes them think of what they believe in,” says Rose. “When they focus on their belief, they have more energy, and that energy is easier to harness. You’ve done it before, although to a much smaller extent. Remember-”

“-Martha?” finishes the Doctor. He looks up, away from Rose’s face. “Of course I do. I could never for- I will always remember.”

“Good,” says Rose. “She deserves it. But- Doctor, you’re a prime candidate. Do you see why?”

The Doctor looks back to her face. Something must click, because the confused lines on his forehead clear. “Oh.”

“Yes,” says Rose. “You came- love, I’m sorry, but you came running straight to me. The source of your fear was your faith and the hotel only made you believe in me more and-”

“But I've seen a lot of this universe,” says the Doctor, quietly. It sounds like he’s quoting something. “I've seen fake gods and bad gods and demi-gods and would-be gods, and out of all that, out of that whole pantheon, if I believe in one thing, just one thing, I believe in-”

“Stop it,” says Rose, her voice shaking. “Don’t do that.”

“I will always do this,” says the Doctor, his voice going faint with horror. His worst fear, thinks Amy. “I will always-”

“You need to stop it!” says Rose, her voice getting louder. She still sounds shaken. “It puts you in danger! You’re about to die, Doctor! You can’t keep running towards me when you spot the barest hint of a chance-”

The Doctor raises his voice to match her volume. “Tough luck, Rose Tyler!” he shouts. He steps backwards, away from her. “Because I will always need you! I need you enough that I saw you when I had to make the hardest choice of my lives! The only reason I was able to make that decision was because you were there. I hadn’t even met you yet, but the worst weapon my people had ever made knew that your face was its best chance to convince me not to commit geno-”

Rose takes her own step back. She shakes her head, like she understands what he’s saying but doesn’t want to believe him. “What?”

“Yes,” he says. “You were there.”

She turns around to look at Amy as if she can’t handle what he’s saying. Amy has no idea what he’s talking about, but she nods at her. Keep going. It’s a good, important thing she’s telling him - he seems unable to find closure for anyone he loses, just locks it up inside. If Rose can convince him to let go of her-

Rose turns back to the Doctor. “You didn’t need me,” she says. “You could have done it.”

“You don’t know that,” says the Doctor.

“Yes, I do,” she says. “I believe in you. You would have done it because it was the right thing to do, no matter how much it hurt you.”

The Doctor stays silent. Rose sighs. “Doctor, I mean it. You don’t need me. You need to let me go.”

“No,” he says. “My worst fear is the fact that I’ll always come running, and that I will never be able to do anything without you. But- Rose, I can’t just kick you out of my life. Ten tried. It didn’t go well for him, emotionally.”

“I’m not telling you to,” she says. “Lord knows, I never want you to forget about me, and I definitely don’t want you to repeat what he did. But you didn’t need me for this. Amy figured it all out on her own. All she asked me for was our history, and you could have given her that. Doctor-”

She sighs.

“You need closure. You’ve been doing just fine without me for so long, and this- this open wound, it can hurt you when you least expect it.”

It reminds Amy of times he’s frozen at the wrong moment, reminded of someone he’d lost centuries ago. Rose is right.

“Or someone could manipulate it,” says Rose. The Doctor looks hurt, like what she’s saying is a betrayal of everything he’s known about her. Amy isn’t sure if it’s the general betrayal of you’re making me deal with my emotions or if it’s a deeper issue. “You need to heal.”

The Doctor frowns at her, opening his mouth to argue before hesitating.

Oh, thinks Amy, realizing what’s happening. Rose is breaking his faith in her - and at the same time, his fear of her - in the most loving way she can manage, both by making him realize he needs to move on and making it easy for him to do so.

She’s probably been planning it since they figured out what was going on in this hotel. It’s why she’s looked so nervous - nervous and sad - this entire time.

It makes Amy want to cry. It’s a good thing, and the right thing to do, but it feels like the end of something that has defined him.

“Of course Amy figured it out,” says the Doctor, eventually. “Amy’s spectacular.” Warmth blooms in Amy’s chest, the way it always does when he compliments her.

Rose sighs.

He shrugs. “And that’s why I take companions. I can’t do this alone, Rose.”

“Of course,” she says. “But you don’t need me.”

“No. Not like I did. I got so used to needing you that when I stopped-”

He brushes a strand of Rose’s hair out of her eyes. She laughs a little. The sound is wet.

“You have a point,” he says. “About the letting-go thing. I suppose. I guess- I only need-”

With his hand still in her hair, he leans down and whispers something into her ear. When he pulls back, Rose is crying, fully and openly, loud enough that even Amy can hear it.

“Do you think that’ll do it?” she says, eventually. “Is that- is that all you needed to tell me?”

The Doctor looks down, taking Rose’s hands in his own. “Just this more,” he says. “I will always miss you. I will never forget.”

“Good,” she says. “I’m sure the real me knows that too.”

Then she reaches up and flattens his hair. “Go on, then,” she says. “Go fix this. Save the others and get out of here.”

“Will do,” says the Doctor, smiling at her one last time. He grabs Amy’s hand on the way out.

Just before they leave the room, Amy glances back. Rose is smiling at them, still crying. As Amy watches, she wipes her eyes, winks at them, and then closes the door behind them.

to hold it

against your bones knowing

your own life depends on it;

Later, in the TARDIS, after they’ve set the Minotaur free (via death) and taken everyone home (all alive), Amy walks into the library holding a steaming cup of tea. She’s in her pajamas and looking forward to a book - a common late-night custom of hers, when Rory has already gone to sleep and she’s waiting for her internal clock to realize the hour - and is surprised to find the Doctor sitting on the couch. He almost never goes into the library.

“Hey,” she says, sitting on the loveseat, adjacent to him. “I never see you here.”

“Yes, well,” he says, closing his book. It’s an old, dog-eared copy of Pride and Prejudice. “Rose and I used to spend almost every evening in here. I thought- I thought it would be fitting to come back. Make some new memories, and all.”

“Yeah,” she says, reaching out to grab his book. He doesn’t stop her, so she flips open to the cover page.

Rose Tyler is written in the top left corner. Amy traces the loops of the letters and looks back up at the Doctor, who’s watching her with a fond smile.

“Tell me about her,” she says. Now that they’re finally out of danger, she can finally ask all the questions she wants without having to relate them back to the mystery. “She wasn’t always military, was she? What was she like?”

“Oh, Amy,” says the Doctor. He grins at her. “She was wonderful.”

and, when the time comes to let it

go,

to let it go.

#doctor who #eleven x rose #doctorroseprompts #ficandchips #the god complex #fic: in blackwater woods #sb and l writes #dwfic #I DID IT!!#for those of you just seeing this: this fic is 9k #I AM SO SORRY FOR THIS MONSTER OF A POST

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