#Yes! Destroy something with your hubris or lack of care

[dailycharacteroption]

Class Feature Friday: Ambition Domain (Pathfinder Second Edition Cleric Domain)

(art by Harpiya on DeviantArt)

Ah yes, ambition, the desire to strive for greater and greater things. Whether it be a new discovery, greater power and/or accolades, and so on. Ambition is what drives us to seek greater things for ourselves and for others.

Ambition can be the perfect driving force, but it can also be the source of a character’s downfall. After all, ambition is the sister of hubris, and close cousins of mercilessness and of a lack of empathy. What’s more, ambition can get you destroyed if your desires threaten the position of someone already at or near the heights you wish to reach.

Worse still, if one is not careful one can be transformed by ambition, willing to cut corners or throw others to the proverbial wolves in order to get what one wants.

So yeah, it’s a double-edged sword, best tempered with wisdom and compassion, but often not. It’s so ubiquitous that it is in the divine domains of gods over every possible moral alignment, because striving for something is a thought that all living beings share in one form or another, no matter their goals or how they choose to pursue them.

Conceptually, the 2nd edition ambition domain is probably analogous to the a combination of 1st edition’s Glory and Nobility domains, though it shares no powers in common. There are certain spells and effects in 1E that compel a subject to treat no others as allies, so it’s not like it’s completely out of the blue either.

In any case, the power of this domain lets one turn a foe’s self-serving attitude against them, while also bolstering their own competitiveness to push themselves to greater heights.

The basic focus spell of this domain fosters negative ambition in a foe, causing them to think of themselves and resent even their allies for holding them back. Depending on how much they succumb, they might be easier to manipulate, or outright be unable to think of anyone but themselves, breaking bonds of camaraderie even when doing so would be harmful.

The second spell instead inspires the caster with the desire to outdo everyone, bolstering their attacks and actions. What’s more, seeing a foe succeed spectacularly only bolsters this fervor, increasing the effects for a short time.

Alternatively, this is also where we introduce “apocryphal” domain spells, which are the equivalent of subdomains (particularly apocryphal subdomains) in Second Edition. Some may be considered heretical in nature, associated with splinter sects within a faith, or even regional variants suited to the needs of the religion in certain parts of the world. In any case, the alternate option for ambition alters the nature of the first ability, severing bonds of trust with others. As such, the affected treat their allies as strangers, particularly when it comes to spells and other magical effects, and in the worst cases, become actively paranoid against them.

With one hand, this domain offers debilitation against foes, with the others, a nice personal buff that gets better when your foes are strong or lucky, which can be quite appealing of you’re going for a support build. The apocryphal ability is particularly useful in cutting off foes from buffs that they would give or receive with their allies around. With this, you could be a buff and debuff focused support or perhaps an ambitious self-buffing warmage.

While the deities that offer this power encourage ambition in their own ways, I feel like the nature of these magics serve as a constant reminder from their deity of the pitfalls of reaching for the stars. How genuine and well-heard these warnings are most likely differs by the nature of the deity, of course. A goodly deity asks their faithful to ponder introspectively on their desires, while a wicked one may be warning them not to dare so highly they threaten to pass their superiors.

The faith of the Naga Empress dictates that those that serve loyally will one day be elevated to mighty true naga under their goddess. As such, Majina has devoted herself to the teachings with utmost sincerity, the young sacred nagaji eagerly awaiting that day. However, her faith has yet to truly be tested, and so setbacks loom on the horizon.

Eagerly devoted to the god of undeath, Vikas the would-be lich has been seeking his immortality for some time. He believes that the secret of his formula for lichdom has some connection to brain fluids. He just needs the right species to make it work. As such, his laboratory sports many undead beheaded as guardians, mostly festering gnashers, as most craniums he examines are good for little else when his experiments are concluded.

Many tyrant champions tap into the ambition domain, for what does Hell promise but a hierarchy where service is rewarded? However, true sages know that this promise is a lie, for devils only give out power when it suits them, and most underlings are better left to chase the carrot, to butcher a metaphor.

[table-top-horror]

I love bad adaptations, I love horrible casting choices, I love misunderstanding the material before adapting it, I love misreading a characters motivation before setting it out, I love attempts to create new material and failing to integrate it, I love dogshit remakes

[firelxdykatara]

What do you really think of Azula? Sometimes I think that you have more hatred for her than you have for Ozai who is the main cause of Zuko's abuse. Because of Ozai Azula abused Zuko, he was the one who damaged the relationship between Azula and Zuko.

I definitely don’t hate Azula more than Ozai, first of all. I don’t actually hate her at all, though I am much more vocally critical of her than I am of Ozai, for one simple reason: (almost) nobody says that Ozai did nothing wrong.

I’m well aware that Ozai was Azula’s abuser just as much as he was Zuko’s, and that he was the primary reason Azula was abusive to Zuko in turn. However, I’ve never seen someone argue, unironically, that Ozai didn’t abuse Zuko, that Zuko was the problem in their relationship, that Ursa was just as culpable for his abusive actions, or that Ozai had done nothing wrong and was being treated unfairly by the fandom.

(Which isn’t to say that these arguments don’t exist. I know that the In Leather Pants crowd exists and I’m sure there are people who woobify Ozai, but they aren’t particularly vocal in the platforms which I frequent, so I haven’t seen any of these arguments, and certainly none of them gain any real traction.)

What I do see a lot of--particularly from the ‘Azula did nothing wrong’ crowd, which exists in large enough numbers that every few days or so I see at least one post which makes me want to throw something--is the argument that Azula couldn’t possibly be an abuser (as if kids can’t abuse each other, which I know from my own experiences as a child they absolutely can, and this abuse can take many forms beyond just physical), or that Zuko was a bad brother for not ‘trying harder’ (whatever the fuck that means, given his own position as one of her victims as a child), or that Ursa is actually responsible for Azula’s actions (I particularly hate the argument that Ursa was abusive, because what we see from her wrt her interactions with Azula is someone who sees a darkness in their child she is trying to steer her away from, and chastising/disciplining your child for bad behavior is not abuse, nor is it indicative of a lack of love for her child), or any number of other reasons why Azula shouldn’t be held accountable for her bad actions during the series.

And it’s funny, because I’ve never actually disagreed that Azula could have a redemption arc. However, it would not have fit in the show--that’s a simple fact. If there had been a fourth season, then there would have been room, but what bothers me is that people claim Azula ‘deserved a happy ending’ in the show proper, and leaving aside my issue with the idea that anyone ‘deserves’ a redemption, there was simply no place for it. There was absolutely no way for the show to go from Azula’s position during the Agni Kai to redeemed and happy by the epilogue, and her downfall during season 3 would have been horrifically butchered if they tried to shove it any earlier in the season. Her arc was meant to be tragic, where Zuko’s was uplifting; she succumbed to and continued the cycle of abuse, where Zuko overcame it; she symbolized everything about the Fire Nation that Zuko was no longer party to, and when he defeated her--and yes, by valuing Katara’s life over his own, he did win that fight, symbolically if not literally--he wasn’t just overcoming his family legacy, he was defeating the lingering specter of the Fire Nation’s mark on the world.

He needed to face Azula in the final act, just as Aang needed to face Ozai, and the Final Agni Kai is often considered the true climax of the show for this reason--the finale would have seemed trite and empty without it.

So, in the end, that is what I think of Azula--a tragic figure, who was an abuse victim and also an abuser, and who clung to her need for power and validation and her father’s love and respect to the point where she was willing to murder her own brother for it long before they faced each other in the finale. I see her as someone who deserved better, but I believe that the focus on her to the point of denying the harm she did to the people she was supposed to love and care about does her a great disservice. I think that a redemption arc would need to take all of this into account if it was implemented, and I don’t think that anyone she hurt has an obligation to forgive her, even if she did become a better person--but I also think there was no room for such an arc in the show proper. (I do prefer to ignore the comics, for many reasons, but I’ll admit they did Azula dirty.)

I like her as a villain, I feel for her as a tragic figure of Fire Nation violence who is eventually defeated by her own hubris and the last waterbender from a nation her people nearly destroyed, but I am very critical of her because I see a lot of apologism for her actions in the fandom which comes with a healthy dose of victim blaming and denial of her bad actions, and it bothers me.

[dragonsateyourtoast]

Special thanks to @owl-in-a-top-hat for their support of social justice! They requested something from the Calliope's Tale universe, and I am happy to oblige. Sorry this took so long - it got a little lengthy, haha! And then I had to rewrite the entire end of it because tumblr decided to delete my edits.

-

Her name was Miyei, and she was the queen of the sea.

No nation could capture her. No navy could break her fleet's formation. There was no ship upon the seas of the world that could - or would - best her.

This was in the old days, before the Midnight Sun and Calliope, before the Crown and their vile trade, before even Buroni Hakir and its law of fealty. This was when those that could conquer the waves were considered strong as the gods themselves, able to tame the water beneath and the wind about.

Her name was Miyei.

A fleet of five hundred ships, she had. A fleet that no coastal village could stand up against. No port could deny them. They could blockade a nation if they wanted, and vanish into the Topaz Islands the next day, invisible amongst the thousands of tiny stones jutting from the sea, the coral reefs that lurked beneath them. The Islands belonged to Miyei and her fleet, and everyone knew it. No one could navigate it like she did. No one had ever mapped its intricate formations.

Inside the islands, Miyei was safe. Until she wasn't.

Perhaps it was her hubris and disrespect that brought Kulari's wrath down upon them, or perhaps it was just chance that coaxed a hurricane from the southeastern waters and sent it roaring to the coast in a day and a half. Whatever the truth, even Miyei's seers did not sense its approach, not until it was too late. The hurricane burst over the Islands like an angry god, ripping the trees from their stones and ripping the fleet apart. She mobilized them as soon as it appeared on the horizon, but they weren't fast enough. Perhaps half the fleet escaped. The other half was too slow to run, or they thought the Islands would shelter them. That was not true - the Islands simply gave the storm something to batter them against.

Miyei's flagship, the Blue Bone, was one of the ones caught behind. When the hurricane came, it tore her ship to shreds beneath her and threw her into the ocean like a ragdoll.

This is it, Miyei realized, as she saw the stormlight fading above her, the water dragging her down. I will be no more.

To her surprise, she awoke some time later, laying atop a flat piece of wood in the water. When she scrubbed the salt from her stinging eyes, she realized she was afloat on half of a ship's deck, in the calm, cloudy blue water of the Islands. She didn't try to stand, just squinted around at the world.

There was something watching her at the edge of the deck.

Miyei scrambled back from a creature with eyes so dark brown they were almost black and skin almost as dark as its eyes, head resting on its crossed forearms. "Stay back!" she shrieked, grabbing for something, anything - a piece of metal tied to the deck, anything. She held it out in front of her like a sword, shaking hands pointing the sharp tip towards the creature.

She'd seen merids before. But never this close. "Stay away from me!" she shouted, and the merid, finally, slid backwards into the water and disappeared.

Miyei took stock of her surroundings. Ship deck, metal piece, and a few of the islands in sight. But she didn't have any way to paddle her raft to them, and she didn't know if she would be able to swim all the way to one of the nearer blots of rock. For several hours, she tried to construct something, all the while well aware of the blistering heat of the sun and the lack of water.

Towards midday she sat down. "I am going to die here," she murmured, and wondered if she ought to just let Zzoriel take her now for the reef.

A laugh came from beside her. She sat upright, eyes wide, and saw again the merid beside her. "Stay-" she started, but the merid interrupted her by pulling a parrotfish out of the water and tossing it onto the deck.

The merid - mermaid, from the looks of it - just watched as Miyei carefully stole forward and touched the fish. It was dead, freshly so. "I..." Merids couldn't speak; that was ridiculous. Still... "Is this... a gift?"

"Is it?" The mermaid said, and disappeared again.

Stunned, Miyei sat down hard on the salt-crusted wood. Xikaal grant me the breath in my body and salt in my tears, what? she thought. But... I've never heard a merid speak before! They, they can't...

No. Now was not the time for pondering. She didn't have a fire to cook it with, but a fish was a fish, and the one thing that hasn't been torn from her in the hurricane was her knife, a coral-handled iron blade that gleamed bright silver in the sun. She stripped as much flesh from the fish as she could and savored it.

By the evening, she still hadn’t found a way to get herself to the nearest island in the chain. She didn’t even know where in the chain she was, though she had a vague idea - she knew the shapes of individual rocks poking above the water. But... she couldn’t reach them.

At nightfall, she waited to see if the mermaid would come back. When she spotted a flash of brown under the water, she went still and silent, until the mermaid’s dark head poked up above the swell.

“Listen,” Miyei said, speaking quickly in case she darted off again. “I am a pirate queen. Anything you want, I can give to you, if you get me back to the islands.”

“A queen,” the mermaid scoffed. “Really? With what nation?”

She can speak! She can really speak! Where did she learn?! Never mind, that doesn’t matter. “I’m powerful enough to build my fleet back up if I can get to an island with enough wood and sticks to build a raft back to one of my strongholds.”

The mermaid watched, leaning on the edge of the raft. It tipped perilously; Miyei swayed to keep her balance. “Sure,” the mermaid drawled. “Whatever.”

And she was gone. Miyei sat down again, frustrated, but she didn’t come back that night.

The pattern repeated the next day. The mermaid gave her a fish; Miyei tried in vain to make some kind of sail, or paddle or something that could get her moving. But one of the things that made the Topaz Islands hers was her wind-magic sailors, the ones that could power the ships through this unnaturally calm area, usually so untouched by Kulari’s breath. There was no breeze to sail by.

That night, the mermaid came back. “You must take me to an island,” Miyei ordered her, rage bubbling in her chest. “You must!”

“Or what?” the mermaid asked. “You’ll kill me? Out here, it’s you who’s in danger. I’m doing fine.”

Miyei seethed, but she was right. “You will take me to one of my strongholds, or I will kill you,” she snapped.

The mermaid stared at her, then shrugged and slid under the water. Miyei this time charged forwards to the edge of the raft, that sharp piece of metal in her hand, and stabbed it down into the water. Nothing. Of course not.

Then the mermaid’s hand closed around the metal and tugged hard, and Miyei overbalanced and was dragged into the sea. The water was cool to the touch, and she automatically shut her mouth and held her breath, trying to right herself - but strong hands grabbed onto her and held her in place, one over her mouth, one around her torso and arms, locking them down. The mermaid was behind her. Miyei knew instantly that she could not escape, but she struggled anyway.

“You’re foolish,” the mermaid told her, voice clear in the water, somehow. She just held Miyei, below the surface. Miyei knew she could hold her breath for four minutes, but she hadn’t been prepared, and she knew the merid could out last her. “Do you want to stay down here with me? Is that it?”

No! Miyei struggled, shaking her head.

“Then get out of my ocean.” The mermaid released her. Miyei flailed, then kicked upwards until she broke the surface, gasping for breath, and pulled herself back up onto the wooden raft.

The next day, at midmorning, she sat down on the planks and called out, “What are you doing?”

No answer. Miyei narrowed her eyes. “I know you can hear me,” she shouted, voice ringing over the waves. “What’s your plot, here? Why are you doing this? What do you want from me?”

The mermaid surfaced next to the ship and leaned on it again. “I want you to stop ruining my islands,” she said, conversationally. “You have cannons and swords. My people do not, except of ocean glass and stone and coral. We can’t beat you in a fight. So we’re forced to negotiate with you, except you people won’t listen unless we make you listen. It’s an opportunity.” She shrugged.

Miyei glared at her. “Well, fine, you have my attention,” she snapped.

“Good. Promise to leave the islands alone forever, and I’ll take you to a stronghold. Then you can clear your people out and leave.”

That... was absurd. But Miyei knew she wouldn’t be getting out unless she did this. Besides, she could just lie. “Deal,” she said.

“That was surprisingly easy,” the mermaid said, watching her face. “Too easy. You’re lying.”

“No, I’m not!”

“And there, too.” The mermaid shook her head. “That’s not a deal if you mean to break it. You just want to get back up on a ship where you’re safe away from me, and then you’ll continue parading around. Well, I’ll tell you this: we asked Kulari for help once, and we can do it again. If she gets tired of helping us, she’ll bother Athu about it. Then what? Then what happens to you, pirate queen?”

Miyei glowered at her. “I can’t leave the Islands,” she said. “They’re where my fleet needs to hide. It’s where we live.”

“I can tell you right now, we were here first,” the mermaid said, shaking her head. “We were here first, and we don’t care for you moving in and saying it’s yours.”

“I can’t just make them leave!”

“Yes, you can. You made them come here. You can make them leave here.”

“It’s not that simple!” Why am I even entertaining this thought? This creature wants me to destroy my entire empire! “You can’t just make people leave.”

“Well, I hope you figure out a way to do that,” the mermaid said. “When you do, I’ll be ready to tow you back to a stronghold, so you can enact your plan. Good luck.” And she disappeared again.

Miyei stamped her foot on the deck and swore several times, loudly. Curse this stupid merid! Curse that stupid storm! None of this was - none of this should have happened! Wretched, horrible merids, lurking underneath the waves and causing problems and now trying to take her Islands from her! No - she couldn’t. She couldn’t leave. She’d just have to - she’d just have to lie better.

She waited several hours, then called out again. “Fine,” she snarled. “I hate it. And I hate you. But I like living better. Do you hear me? I’ll adhere to your horrible conditions if you’ll only let me go!”

A disturbance in the water. Miyei strode over to the edge of the raft and stared down into the water. “Do you hear me?” she again shouted.

A hand shot out and clasped around her ankle, and with a shriek, Miyei was again dragged down into the water. She clawed at the boards, but all she did was get a splinter in one hand before she was dragged into the water.

The mermaid stared at her, holding her by the shoulder. “You just cannot bring yourself to be a good person,” she said, sounding irritated. “So I’ll have to force you to be one. I was really hoping maybe you’d just have the decency to listen and realize there are real people you’ve invaded here, but I should have known from your past habits that you’re not capable of such a thing, so I’ll have to play tour guide and hope my land can speak for itself. You disgust me.” With that, she shook her hair out of her face and sang out a few sharp, clear notes that made Miyei’s vision blur and go black. She felt her body involuntarily breathe in and shrieked - this creature was trying to drown her! - but the water just felt like thick, humid air, rushing into her lungs, and out again, taking her air bubbles with it. It stung, and hurt in her throat and nose, but after a few moments, she was forced to accept that it wasn’t killing her.

The mermaid was watching her when she opened her eyes. “If you climb out of the water, you’ll drown,” the merid said casually. “So I really wouldn’t recommend trying to get away.”

If it had been humans she’d been negotiating with, Miyei would’ve tried to escape. But this was a merid. And she’d done something to Miyei, something magical, and there was no way Miyei could count on her magic not killing her if she tried to break free. So she glowered at her and said nothing.

“Good! Great. Now, come on.” The mermaid grabbed hold of Miyei’s wrist and immediately towed her away from the raft.

There was so much more beneath the Islands than she’d realized. Miyei could swim, of course, and was familiar with reefs, but she’d never been one to go exploring around in them like some folks did. The seabed here went deeper than she expected in caves and crevasses, and the coral covered secret clearings of white sand and green seagrass. Her vision was unexpectedly clear down here, peering through the water, and the sunlight that reached down showed an extraordinary number of fish and corals hiding on and in the rocks.

But more impressive than that were the merids. Miyei had rarely ever seen a merid in the Topaz Islands - she’d assumed they were too shallow for them. But here, she saw them everywhere. Watching from behind rocky outcroppings, cloaked in the green sea-grass sprouting from the sand beds, tucked underneath a spur of coral just peering out at her. They all stared at her, and each had an expression of mixed curiosity and... hatred?

Why do they look at me like that?

“They hate you because they were here first, and you and your fleet moved in and started destroying everything,” the mermaid told her, conversationally. “You drop your anchors on our coral. You catch all the fish and leave none for us. You destroy things we create without even noticing, and you do not listen to us. These are where we raise our children. And you just sail on in and wreck the place. Can you see why we have a problem?”

Miyei tried to speak. To her surprise, she could, though it was hard, forcing water sluggishly through her throat. Her lungs weren’t used to this kind of effort. “Why... didn’t you mention this... before?”

“You don’t think we tried?” the mermaid snapped. “We tried! But nobody listens to sea monsters. I had to learn your horrible language in order to even get you to listen.”

“You could’ve... talked to us before.”

“No, I couldn’t have. You would’ve captured me in a net and put me in a tank for entertainment. Absolutely not.”

That... may have been true. Miyei winced. You don’t use people for entertainment. But I didn’t know they were people, she thought, and grimaced, and said nothing.

“You look uncomfortable,” the mermaid said, with a kind of grim satisfaction. “Good! You should be.”

She continued to drag Miyei after her, downwards, towards a large hollow in the rocks. It led to a soft sandy area, where several mer-matrons carefully watched a few chubby, awkward-looking blobs go floating about. Baby mermaids, Miyei realized, staring at them. They were... very strange looking. Weirdly similar to human children, except for the gills and the heavy, fleshy tail.

“Oh, yes, we have children,” the mermaid commented. “I know, astonishing. It’s almost like we’re people who come from somewhere.”

“I get it,” Miyei grumbled. “I get it.”

“No, you don’t.” The mermaid turned, staring at her. “You don’t get it. We live here. You tried to steal our home from us, and you’ve been succeeding this whole time. You need to leave here.“

“But where... do we go?” Miyei asked.

“That,” the mermaid sniffed, “is not my problem. There are other islands to live on that don’t have our ancestral birthing grounds underneath them. Go use those.”

The mer-matrons had gathered together in a little group, warily watching Miyei and the mermaid. The mermaid sighed and called out something in a searing, hissing language that made Miyei’s ears hurt; the mer-matrons responded, their voices deeper and stronger, and stayed where they were.

“What’s your name?” Miyei asked.

“Ah, finally!” The mermaid turned back to her. “Finally you ask! I was really wondering how long it would take you to realize I probably have a name.”

“I get it, alright?” Miyei snapped. “There’s no reason to keep on me like this. I get it!”

The mermaid glared at her. “You couldn’t pronounce my name if you tried,” she snapped. “It’s Skreshkaiurhsra. You can call me... let’s go with Resh.”

Miyei took a deep breath (of... water. It still unnerved her) and let it out. He crew on the Blue Bone answered to her because she was just and fair to them, and because she punished anyone who broke her rules. If - if - she got out of this mess, she knew, she’d have to adhere to the merids’ demands, or face the same punishment.

And... she didn’t realize there were kids down here. Children.

“Resh,” she said. “Right. I’m Miyei. So to get home, what do you need me to do?”

-

Resh wouldn’t let her go that easily. She casually assured Miyei that the magic wouldn’t wear off any time soon and told her to help out. The storm had ripped some of the reef apart - the merids were trying to repair it as best as they could.

It wasn’t natural, Miyei was told. The reef was cultivated, kept at its most beautiful and healthy, by the merids who lived here. Some were here all year round to maintain it, and others came and went, coming here to give birth to their children, leaving later once they were grown. “Like turtles,” she said, “but, you know, awake in the thoughts.”

Awake in the thoughts. The thing that Miyei had thought merids weren’t.

It was easier to lift stones and coral underwater, but Miyei wasn’t as quick swimming as the merids were. A single flick of their tails, and they were gone; she had to drag herself through the water. She didn’t belong here, and it was obvious. For days, she struggled to keep up with the merids, doing what they asked of her - she had no choice! And by the end of a week, the younger mermaids (not the babies, but the children) were brave enough to whirl around her, taunting her in their weird language.

“Go away,” she snarled at them, a time or two, feeling her face flush. She didn’t like being made fun of.

“Aww, they’re having fun,” Resh said, appearing behind her. “They aren’t faster than the adults. Let them mock you.”

“Why?!”

“Because they’re children, and they’re having fun,” Resh replied. “Honestly. Were you ever a child, or were you born grumpy?”

Miyei was worried about her fleet. The Blue Bone had been destroyed, she knew, and half her fleet with it. Where were they now? Had they chosen a new captain, a new queen? Would they try to find her? Or would they assume she was gone? Where was her life now, all remnants of it sunk beneath the waves? And myself with it, she thought, looking up to the glittering surface far above. I’m down here, too.

No one came looking for her. It was as if the world above the surface ceased to exist. Everything was the ocean: the coral, the merids, the water that she breathed. Everything. The ocean became the only thing that mattered. Two weeks. Three. A month. Two months.

The merids stopped being so afraid and wary of her, after a time. She’d long since lost that piece of metal, and she didn’t use her knife as a weapon - it was a tool, nothing more. They even seemed to be okay with her presence around. Resh almost seemed to like her.

And then the storm.

It was sudden. The first news they got of it was a crack of thunder over the ocean miles away that they could hear, even from the caverns. All the merids started, and looked up; Miyei, who’d picked up a little bit of their language, could understand what they were saying. A storm? Approaching? They hadn’t thought there would be one. Merids could feel when storms came. But they hadn’t felt this one.

She swam out of the cavern and found Resh as quickly as possible. “There’s a storm coming,” she told the mermaid, as if she didn’t know.

“Yes, I’m aware,” Resh said, but her face was more worried than irritated. “That shouldn’t happen. And we didn’t call that.”

“Then who did?”

“I don’t know. Maybe some of your old friends, who knows.”

The storm came. Miyei had never seen a storm from below before. She thought that perhaps the wind would be dulled underwater, that it would simply be a lovely light-show. She couldn’t have been more wrong. The water became her enemy, roaring, twisting, tearing sand and plants up from the seabed. Fish hid inside the rocks and corals, but even those weren’t safe. The water ripped at the reef like a sea serpent.

Resh hauled boulders in front of a cavern where several merid families had fled for refuge. "Bring more!" she bellowed when she saw Miyei. "Seal it up, keep them safe!"

"I will," Miyei called back, and then the storm ripped away any further words she could have said. She had a split second to think before a wave came roaring in. A whirl of water caught a rock and sent it hurtling away towards the mermaid.

The last thing Miyei remembered was trying to warn her. "Resh!" She remembered shouting, and then there was water, and sound, and -

-

Miyei woke on the shore. Wet sand on her cheeks. Air blowing above her. When she raised herself up, she was seized by a fit of coughing and choking; water in her lungs trying to escape, to be replaced with air. Air. I’m alive. I’m on land.

There were voices in the distance. Miyei dragged herself to her knees - she was so heavy, so clumsy here! - and spat up water. It didn’t sting like she thought it would.

Voices drew closer, and Miyei sat back on her heels and turned her face to the sun. She breathed in, deep - deeper than she should have. The air felt like nothing. She breathed too much, and it sent her coughing again.

By the time she recovered, she was surrounded by people. “Queen!” someone shouted. “Queen, Kulari’s breath, you’re alive!“

Those must be from her fleet. Her crew. The ones that made it out before the storm. She tried to breathe lightly - had it always been this easy? No, she was simply used to the water, which resisted her, which supported her, not this place of air and dead sound where she had to drag herself along through nothing - and looked at them.

“Queen,” one of them started, and then the words died in their mouth. They stared at her, eyes wide, faces pale. Miyei paused. Something was wrong. She raised a hand to her face.

She hadn’t noticed it before, not with how heavy she felt freed from the tides, but there was a strange weight to her head. She ran her hand along her face, her cheeks. There was a strange, smooth ridge of hard bone rising from her cheeks, sweeping up above her ears. There, again, alongside her eyebrows - and from her forehead as well.

Miyei staggered to her feet and turned towards the nearest sailor. In one swift movement she lunged forward and grabbed for the hilt of his blade, unsheathing it fully. He yelped and leaped back, but she only raised the sword and stared into the mirror-bright blade.

Coral. It was coral. It split from beneath her skin and surrounded her face like a portrait frame, or a halo, hanging about her head. It was oddly smooth for coral, and solid, but there was no mistaking that intricate patterning or that dull olive green color.

Miyei stared for a moment longer, then dropped her hand and threw the blade into the wet sand. It stuck point-first and hilt-up, quivering where it landed. “Gather everyone,” she rasped, her voice rough with salt and sand. “Every ship. We empty the strongholds. No one remains in the Islands after three days’ time.”

“What?” said one pirate, staring. “Queen, we can’t -”

“We can,” she interrupted him, a low growl. “Every person here leaves. Do you understand me?”

“Queen,” someone started, and she whirled to face them, her black hair flying around her. Sand sprayed onto the ground. The sailor went quiet.

“Good,” she said. “Let’s go. I need a new ship.”

Miyei looked to the water. It glittered so bright it nearly blinded her, but she swore for a moment she caught sight of a dark-haired head vanishing between one swell-peak and the next.

-

The Topaz Islands are a sacred place. They are holy by all of the goddesses of the sea, protected by a living fleet that has held its vow for thousands of years. No nation can capture them. No fleet can break through their waters. There is no ship upon the sea that may enter them and live to tell the tale.

The fleet that guards them is eternal, and its captain, they say, has been alive since its founding. They say that instead of blood she has saltwater and kelp-fiber. They say that she speaks the merids’ tongue. They say that if you intrude into the place she has given her soul to protect, that even Kulari’s blessing could not protect you from her retribution.

Her name is Miyei, and she is the queen of nothing, for the sea itself needs no crown.

[kendrixtermina]

I have often said that a good reveal should add meaning, not destroy it, but I’ve never felt this more keenly than with the timeless child thing. 

UGH I was really getting into this show again and thinking about making new fanworks but now I just feel like grabbing some other book and never caring about it again. 

It could have been good – the Master trying to team up with the cybermen to invade Gallifrey is totally something he might have pulled in the classics, „Your society is secretly founded on exploitation“ is a good twist, and having someone essentially meet a version of themselves from before they became themselves with a wholly different sort of background could be such a good sci-fi concept…

The „your civilization is a lie“ thing immediately loses all its oomph if you‘re immediately absolved from being a member of it or having to confront it.

But not only is the execution super lacking (grating exposition after grating exposition, what‘s the master‘s motivation again? - joker-esque or not they actually had a consistent arc of sorts thus far now it‘s all bent on this twist and basic „go mad from the revelation“, why re-destroy Gallifrey at this point? When has the Doctor ever let someone else do the heroic sacrifice/ugly choice? It‘s such a passive role, a tragic victim not a flawed anti hero), it invalidates so much – all the previous stuff about Rassilon, Omega, the untempered schism, River, the 11ths entire plot line hinging on the limit, every single time a bystander sacrificed themselves, every single sci-fi scan device ever done or plot that depended on them not being immortal…

Not only have you completely exhausted the mystery (yes there‘s a vague before but its a paltry replacement), there‘s a reason they never gave too many explicit answers.

All the choices that supposedly made them who they are lost meaning –  it wasn‘t becoming a scientist, it wasn‘t coming to earth or Ian or Barbara or confronting the Daleks.

Most importantly, they used to be a rebel who chose to be different from their society and value what they didn‘t (and wasn‘t themselves immune to hubris, making an effort to be good). They used to have this scary godlike reputation but behind it was just a dude with guile, wit and duct tape, with the implication that free thinking and ressourcefulness trump raw power.

I‘m actually tearing up now a bit over losing all that, I‘m not sure I‘ll be able to care about this the same way ever again I just feel myself detaching from it.

I hope this will be ignored by future writers like the half human thing.

The saddest part about this is that Whittaker and Dwahan are actually pretty good with their performances, if only they had better scripts.

[bitchwhoreofastorm]

a birthday gift for the much-loved @ayrenn​, who taught me so much about TES over the years. hope you had a good one! 

--

Long long ago, back before Morrowind was even called Morrowind, the land of Resdayn was a great playpen for the Daedra. Very many important spirits sent their champions to the land so that they could all battle it out. Boethiah had her champion, and Mephala had her champion, and Azura had her champion, and Hermaeus Mora his, and Mehrunes Dagon his own, and even dead Lorkhan sent a piece of himself to get in on all the fun. Among Oblivion, it was well-known that anyone who was anyone was involved with the First Council.

So one day Clavicus Vile, the Child-God, began to wonder why he, too, shouldn't have a hand in the First Council. He had never much been interested in Morrowind, and until then had been happy to play cards with Morihaus and meddle with Hircine's Valenwood affairs. But when he glanced to his neighbor Boethiah's realm and saw how much fun she was having, he thought to himself: 'It's not fair that they get to have so much fun!' For Clavicus Vile is a very greedy Prince, and whatever someone else has, he shall start to covet, even if he cared not for it before. 

So it was that covetous Clavicus Vile decided that he’d ruin the fun of the other Princes and, in doing so, have a little fun of his own. These entertaining mortals were yet mortals, and they could easily be lead to cause their own ruin. In particular, the beloveds of Boethiah, Azura and Mephala were full of desire and hubris, and they were right in the thick of things, too, ripe for their own downfall.

So, Clavicus Vile went to Resdayn to destroy the Tribunal.

He appeared first to Almalexia, the Warrior-Queen of the Chimer who Boethiah so doted on. He found Almalexia in Mournhold's gardens surrounded by trees heavy with many colourful fruit. "Greetings, mortal," said he with a courteous bow. "I am Clavicus Vile, Daedric Prince of granting power through invocations and pacts. How would you like to make a deal?"

Almalexia regarded this with healthy suspicion. "I am the wife of the Hortator and the mother of the nation. My children may lack for many things in life, but I give more than I take. Why should I make a deal with you?"

"Your husband is a great man, but you are a greater woman still, and it seems unfair to me, Elf-Queen, that you should waste your life being a prop for a caravan guard. Make a deal with me, mortal, and I can grant you power that would see you alone exalted!"

This caught Almalexia's attention, because Clavicus Vile spoke truly: Almalexia had been a Queen before her marriage, while Nerevar was but a commoner, and for him to be elevated above her greatly hurt her pride. "You have a point," she conceded to the Daedra. "I alone should have the throne, and it is only right for me to have more power than him. But all things come with a cost. What price would you have me pay?"

"Your husband keeps a shrine to Azura in his chambers," said Clavicus Vile. "And on that shrine is a cup. I want you to steal that cup for me! It is a Daedric Artefact and very precious to Azura, and I want it for my own." Now, from a pocket of his flowing toga Clavicus Vile produced three tall columnar candles, with gilded inlays and pristine white wicks. "Take my candles," he bid Almalexia, who did so, "And when you have stolen the cup, use them to invoke me, and I shall make you the most powerful mer in Resdayn!"

With Almalexia so dealt with, Clavicus Vile went next to Sotha Sil, the Mage, that capricious wayward child of Azura whose meddlings in Oblivion were the vexation of all Daedra. He found Sotha Sil in a laboratory deep beneath the ocean, surrounded by all manner of chittering skittering mechanical beings. "Greetings, mortal," said Clavicus Vile with a curtsy, "I am Clavicus Vile, Daedric Prince of granting power through invocations and pacts. How would you like to make a deal?"

Sotha Sil regarded this with a decent amount of intellectual curiosity. "I would be interested in making a deal," said Sotha Sil, "But the Hortator has charged me with inventing new war magics for the good of the nation, and wasting time with Daedric dalliances would set me back in my work. Why should I make a deal with you?"

"Nerevar is a great warrior, but he is a simpleton and a commoner and does not understand the ways of magic. Indeed, you taught him all he knows! How is it fair that you pursue his interests and not yours? You are a great intellect, and you should be free to research whatever you find interesting. Indeed, Nerevar is so ignorant, he would not even know you aren't serving his cause!"

Sotha Sil scratched his bearded chin and contemplated this, for Clavicus Vile spoke truly: Nerevar was a worldly man, without formal education and ignorant in the complex vagaries that captivated Sotha Sil. "I am smarter than he," conceded Sil, "And smart enough to know that such deals come with a great cost. What would you ask of me?"

"In Nerevar's room there is a shrine to Azura, and on that shrine there is a cup. It is an enchanted cup, of no use to mortals but great use to Princes, and I could do a great many things with that cup." With a grand flourish of his arms, Clavicus Vile produced a set of elaborate silken robes, cerulean-blue and shining like glass. "Steal the cup and don my robes, and invoke me, and I shall make you the most knowledgeable mer in Resdayn!"

Now that Sotha Sil was taken care of, Clavicus Vile finally went to Vivec, the roguish plaything of Mephala. He found Vivec perched on a lakeside dock in the wilderness, composing poetry while his feet dangled in the cool waters. "Greetings, mortal!" proclamed Clavicus Vile, doffing a hat he'd conjured for the occasion. "I am Clavicus Vile, Daedric Prince of granting power through invocations and pacts. How would you like to make a deal?"

Vivec met this greeting with a broad grin. "Okay, I'll make a deal. What do you want?"

"Nerevar is greatly beloved by all, but he is crass and without romance, while you are fairer and your tongue sweeter than his. Yet everyone loves him and pay no heed to you. Why should he be beloved by all instead of you? Make a deal with me and--" Clavicus Vile paused. "Wait, did you say yes?"

"Sure. What can I get you? For myself, I want a golden lute, five beautiful lovers and the softest bed in creation."

"Now just you wait a minute!" said Clavicus Vile, a little flustered. "I wasn't going to offer you a bed or a lute or five beautiful lovers. Listen here, you hasty little twerp. In Nerevar's chambers, there is a shrine to Azura, and on that shrine is a golden cup. I want that cup!" Clavicus Vile approached Vivec, leaning close and whispering several secret words in his ear. "Steal that cup for me,” he finished, stepping back, “Then use those words to invoke me, and I shall make you the most beloved mer in all Resdayn!"

With his trap so set, Clavicus Vile returned to Oblivion. Now all he had to do was wait patiently for the Tribunal to unmake themselves. Though he always loved seeing mortals engineer their own ruin, this occasion was particularly exciting for the bother it would cause his fellow Princes; he couldn't wait to see the looks on their faces!

He was waiting a long time, as it turned out. A long, long time. In the meantime the Chimer went to war with the Dwemer over something silly, and the other Daedra got upset over various mortal shenanigans, some drama about 'tools' and 'a heart' and 'heresy', but by that time Clavicus Vile's ever-short attention span had already expired, and he'd moved on to messing about with the Direnni in the West.

Finally, at last, Clavicus Vile awoke from a pleasant dream and felt the familiar tug of invocation. "So they have finally undone themselves!" he thought with glee, donning his nicest toga. "How about that, Boethiah and Azura and Mephala? We'll see who gets the last laugh!"

So Clavicus Vile answered the invocation, appearing at a shrine on the dusty ash-covered slopes of a volcano. And he saw, to his horror, that the Tribunal were standing unharmed and healthy before him-- and on the ground by his feet lay Nerevar, stone-dead, wearing Vile's robes and surrounded by Vile's candles!

"There you are!" said Sotha Sil when Vile appeared. He himself wore plain robes and a single heavy gauntlet on one arm. "We wondered when you'd shown up."

"I thought you'd try to betray us," said Almalexia, who was armoured and carrying a hammer, "But you kept your word. I'm impressed."

"We wanted to thank you," said Vivec, wearing netch-leather and a smile, and holding a Dwemeri dagger. "Thank you, Clavicus Vile, you've helped us immensely."

"YOU FOOLS!" Clavicus Vile cried out, horrified. "What have you done? Those gifts were poisoned! How could you use them on the Hortator!"

"We knew they were poisoned from the moment you gave them to us," said Almalexia, haughty.

"But we realized your words held truth," Vivec added, "Nerevar was holding us back. He needed to be gotten rid of."

"Now we're free," proclaimed Sotha Sil with a smile. "We're going to use Kagrenac's Tools and raise ourselves to godhood. We shall be the most powerful, knowledgeable, and beloved mer in Resdayn, just as you promised us."

"So thank you, Clavicus Vile!" Vivec laughed. "Nerevar made us swear a pact with Azura not to use the tools, but you got us off the hook! By breaking the invocation and pact with Azura, we're going to receive a great deal of power!"  

"But this is all wrong!" protested a horrified Clavicus Vile. "I'm the Prince of power gained through pacts, not by breaking them! You were meant to use the gifts on YOURSELVES! I promised you power ALONE! You were supposed to ruin each other!"

"But you kept your side of the bargain," replied Vivec, "And now we'll keep ours." 

So the three approached Clavicus Vile, and Vivec extended his hands, in which was held a single, polished, golden, cup. "The cup, as you asked!"

Clavicus Vile pulled at his hair. "I never wanted the stupid cup!" he shouted, "IT’S NOT EVEN AN ARTIFACT! It’s just a CUP! There's nothing special about it!"  

But Clavicus Vile, aghast and furious and upset beyond mortal comprehension, snatched the cup from Vivec, not wanting to come away empty-handed. Ranting and raving and hurling every insult he could think of at the arrogant mortals, he disappeared and went off to sulk in his realm.

So the Tribunal attained godhood, and they became the most powerful, knowledgeable, and beloved mer in all Resdayn, just as the Child-God had promised. Clavicus Vile, meanwhile, kept the cup that had been stolen on his behalf, and in time he placed a curse on it and threw it back to Morrowind, where it could vex the children of the three mer who were now his most accursed enemies. Clavicus Vile has never forgiven them for foiling his plans, and the cup has come to be called 'Bitter Cup'.

[dotthings]

Heavily cluttered, as many Bucklemming eps are, but worth the trip. There was a lot of goodness in 15.08 and there were two moments where I shrieked out loud.

My two out loud-shriek moments, let’s get that out of the way: 

Queen Rowena. Caaaaalled it.

Dean and Cas are going back??? To???? Purgatory???? Together?????? And Bobo???? Is???? Writing the episode???????????? *SHRIEKING AND FLAILING*

Okay more orderly and sedate now. Eileen is so damn fierce. She’s a very physical fighter, she’s smart but seems to use a blunt fighting skill. She can punch HARD. I love watching that so so much. I would enjoy female characters on SPN like this regardless, but the fact that this is a hero character with a disability and it’s never a big deal is deeply refreshing and SPN did something really really right bringing her back, amen.

Protective Sam shows up and Eileen is happy to see him but literally pushes him aside so she can make the kill. She doesn’t need his protection, but she also values him as a hunting partner as the ep shows. Also they’re trying to build a relationship here. Eileen seems used to hunting solo and Sam wants to offer backup, and he got worried. 

So the plan is to lock up Chuck like Chuck locked up Amara. The sweet irony of this delights me. He tried to shut away the divine feminine rather than actually stepping up to deal with his sister as, well, a person (well, a divine deity, but still, a being with feelings and thoughts and complexities). Chuck, the arrogant and narcissistic toxic masculinity God, maybe to be locked up now instead as his hubris and his lack of empathy and his petulance is exposed. What if Amara was the more competent deity all along? 

There is no way Dean doesn’t know what an Achilles’ heel is. The random WTF of this is so much it’s not even angering it’s just so bizarre. LOL what even. Look I am really enjoying S15 but I hope the butterfly net tightens on stopping this kind of thing because honestly. I’ll just pretend that scene isn’t there. Luckily I enjoyed the episode overall a lot.

Team Free Will in research mode together in the bunker just really makes me happy. Cas is where he belongs.

Donatello!Chuck threatening Jody, Donna, Eileen, “pretty much everyone on your speed dial” as a deterrent to Sam and Dean is bearing out again my impressions of how Chuck views these characters. I’m still not 100% sure what he thinks of Cas who is right in the room but Chuck doesn’t seem to acknowledge him, except as some sort of right arm to Sam and Dean, as I’ve said in other posts, I think Chuck regards him as a nuisance now, and a deterrent to his miserable endings, and a pawn. Just like Donna, Jody, and Eileen, to him, they’re just pawns. They’re all people Sam and Dean care about, and Chuck will use them to keep his two favorites in line.

See what I did there?

Yeah. Chuck doesn’t care about the characters as people. Everyone except Sam and Dean are expendable and tools to be used so he can control Sam and Dean and that’s it. He’ll destroy them with a snap of his fingers and won’t care. Look at that. Familiar attitude, isn’t it. How interesting.

“If you want to stay here, stay here.” Dean’s gone back to not!listening to Cas I see. While Cas is Dean-avoidant and trying not to look at him throughout the episode. But both of them are thawing just a little.

Like when Cas heals Dean’s cut palm and the way it’s staged looks like he’s going to take Dean’s hand to do it which I don’t think is an accident. That moment was meant to be soft.  Dean didn’t ask. Cas offered. And Dean didn’t jerk his hand away or say no. Then there’s the fact that Cas is going to go with Sam and Dean into Hell despite all his misgivings about Michael and this entire plan. 

Team Free Will, getting all researchy together, and then getting all BAMFY together with their angel blades going into Hell.

We didn’t get any kind of nod back to Dean and Cas’s last visit together to Hell and that’s the second time they have been back to Hell (well the last time was some sort of Hell ante-room, the cage was brought up iirc) and SPN failed to nod to it, WHY AM I CONTINUALLY DENIED THIS.

“Hello, boys.” There it is. My actual shriek of delight. I hope it didn’t alarm the neighbors.

“I took it.”  Yes you did, my red-headed goddess queen of the underworld. You sure did. GET IT ROWENA. Rowena won the game of thrones. Boom.

She’s a little flirty with Sam, still has a soft spot for him I think. 

And then starts playing marriage counselor for Dean and Cas. “What am I picking up with you two? A wee tiff?....So fix it.” Someone called this, I’m fairly certain, that if Rowena saw Dean and Cas again during their divorce she’d size that situation up and down and comment on it. FIX IT. So say we all.

“Family sucks.” Jake Abel did such a fantastic job in this. tbh I didn’t give much thought to Adam all these years, it seemed like SPN was never going back there. I liked Jake’s performances in S5, but it just seemed like a story that was over. But Jake Abel, man. He comes back after all this time and owns the dual roles and made me care. With a performance that was alternately fearsome and vulnerable. 

“That’s adorable.” Dean is SO happy about Sam and Eileen, he looked so soft, and still a bit not okay because his chosen other half is barely looking at him, but mostly Dean’s rooting for Sam to have some happiness. “If it was to work, she gets it, she gets us, she gets the life.” It’s a retreated on Sam’s speech back during “Baby” about someone...something...who understands the life. And Sam has found that with Eileen.

Meanwhile Cas is right there, with Dean, with this great big chasm still open between them but...he’s there. And all the arrows point towards him for Dean. 

Dean and Cas are being magnets again. Not like in S14 where every time there is a crisis they stand very close together and are drawn together, now they’re like magnets that are trying not to feel the pull but they cannot escape each other’s pull nor do they really want to, but they can’t quite figure out how to cross the distance. 

There’s more than one scene where Dean or Cas is out of focus and the other in focus, as if to emphasize how they’re both there but not in phase with each other. Not yet.

I so enjoyed the Cas and Michael stuff. Cas’s prayer to Michael, Michael’s mad on for Cas. “Oh, I didn’t come to beg.” And there’s the ruthless strategic angel.

There’s also something really...fitting about Sam and Dean and Cas all being the ones standing outside the ring of holy fire together to trap an archangel who they effectively hope to bring in from the cold, to their side, in a post S6 era of the show. 

“To paraphrase a friend you had an entire oak tree shoved up your ass.” I see Cas is still quoting Dean, having Dean as a compass point or a North star. Even if he can barely look at Dean right now.

Cas telling Michael his unimportance to God and keeping the upper hand is just...so satisfying. Cas has grown so much. I keep thinking about S5 Cas and how despite how powerful Cas was back then, radiating power in ways he doesn’t quite do the same way now, Cas always seemed so...smol next to the archangels. Punching above his weight class. But now he faces down Michael and tells Michael rawly how it is with their dad Chuck. And when Michael tries to choke him, he fights past it and goes into Michael’s mind to show him everything, to help him see the truth. Cas has grown so much, this felt a lot like a little brother constantly picked on leaves home, grows, and comes back to find big, big brother isn’t quite as big and intimidating as he remembers. 

Which in fact he isn’t, because Michael is capable of insight and change and feelings too. He’s not his father. Despite being the favorite. Despite clinging still to his hero-worship. But Cas worked past that with Chuck long ago.

When Eileen’s friend needs help on a hunt, and Eileen goes to Sam, Sam goes with her, no doubts. Tells Dean he’s going, as Dean recounts to Cas, and Dean seems cool with it. 

Sam and Eileen seem to be growing closer and closer, and while there is something tentative about Sam, he definitely is drawn to her and cares. That tentativeness is from past hurt and loss and maybe he’s scared to enter into this kind of relationship. But they’ve got their own magnetic pull together, they fit. 

Dean and Cas facing each other in that bunker kitchen, the lighting darker and colder than usual. They’re facing each other, and each shift in and out of camera focus, not looking at each other much. Cas can’t look at Dean at all in this scene, while Dean keeps sneaking glances at Cas. In other scenes, Cas does sneak looks at Dean. They are ridiculous and my heart hurts. The blocking here is them facing each other only not--they are a few feet off, so looking past each other.

Cas sitting at that table, hands folded, staring straight ahead and working very hard obviously to Not Look at Dean. 

Dean’s reaction on Cas reporting the words Michael said, “I want you dead, get out.” The things Dean has said to Cas are coming back to haunt him, coming from the words of their once mortal enemy, that’s gotta sting.

Both Dean and Cas have some work to do here, but Dean definitely is already very aware his own words went too far, and has been for a while. 

“God lied to me. I loved him.” Oh wow that hurt, I didn’t expect these feelings. 

A thing about Adam and Michael, both feeling so abandoned by their families, and losing everyone. They offered support to each other. They worked out a time-share in Adam’s body. We’ve seen genuine vessel and angel bonds form before (in Lily Sunder). There’s also a S7 episode by Ben Edlund about the bond between a human and the demon who possessed him. Not sure how healthy Adam and Michael are, but they seem weirdly functional, and don’t despise each other and I kind of have some feelings about Adam and Michael bonding the way they did in The Cage. Perhaps Michael shielded Adam from the worst of it. It’s how Adam is coherent after being down there for so long. Maybe Adam made Michael less lonely. Did I ASK for feelings about Adam and Michael, no I did nOT and yet here we are.

Then there’s Adam. It was interesting that scene where Sam acknowledges maybe they gave up too easily. Because Sam and Dean refuse to accept it when it’s each other they lose, and have gone way over the line to get the other one back. Here Sam is admitting that it shouldn’t be just for them. That Adam was worth saving. Even though they don’t know him well, he still didn’t deserve what happened (as Dean acknowledges at the end of the ep). And Sam and Dean never mentioning him again or giving him another thought apparently, all these seasons...well, that kind of made me assume that was that. Just because someone is blood, doesn’t make you family and they barely knew Adam. 

But if it’s someone who could potentially earn that? Someone basically good? And they just...forgot about him and left him to his torment in Hell? So this did need addressing. There’s not much time to develop a relationship with Adam and TFW this late in the game but there was a start here. 

Dean likewise offers his apology to Adam at the end. “You’re a good man. You didn’t deserve that.”

Right when I was thinking, so many of them don’t get what they deserve, they just keep getting Hell heaped on their heads, Adam says “Since when do we get what we deserve.”

There’s a subtle thing there where Adam looks at Cas, Cas very pointedly still tries to be not looking at Dean, and after Adam leaves Dean turns to Cas looking so...sorrowful for a moment. I keep saying, Dean and Cas deserve each other, and right now they can’t figure how to have each other. 

But Michael left them a strange gift. The Leviathan flower, to seal away Chuck, but the gift has a double meaning (unintentionally on Michael’s part). It’s not just the tool to shut away the villain, Michael opens a door to Purgatory and boom just like that, opens up a whole doorway on Dean and Cas’s story because of the emotional significance of Purgatory for them. What they had there. What happened there. The way that place broke loose some of their feelings. I’m not sure what’s going to happen now, if they both go, as the promo glimpses seem to suggest, does one return and the other gets trapped? Is Dean’s prayer to Cas going to be inside Purgatory, is Cas also still in Purgatory and they get separated? Is being thrown together back into that environment going to help them heal? Or will they be torn apart again but that provides another route to reconciliation?

[mittensmorgul]

Look, I know you've covered this already but I just want to reiterate how AWESOME it is that several lines and scenes of s14 were deliberately drawing our attention to the in‐betweens, to the fact that these guys have lives outside of what we seen and that they have significant moments in those off screen lives. I just fricking *love* that.

Hi hi! I know you sent this like a week ago, but I really wanted to have time to sit down and detail all the moments in s14 where they’ve used this device before replying– both for the sake of completeness in demonstrating just how critical they’ve made these “in between” spaces to the overall narrative, as well as for my own general reference purposes. :P

I’ll start by saying that the show has done this on some level from the start. I mean, the entire series begins with a cold open in 1983 before jumping 22 years into the future to begin in the “present day” of October, 2005. We begin our introduction to the story of Supernatural immediately aware that there’s already a metric fuckton of backstory we’re due to have filled in, and we’re primed to begin looking for more pieces to flesh out that history from the moment the first scene airs.

*clenches fist* STORYTELLING

I’m currently in mid-late s7 in my eternal rewatch, and even s7 uses this device MULTIPLE times. I mean, s6 does this, as well, immediately informing us that a year has passed since the events of 5.22, and gradually filling in the missing events from that gap, using Sam’s soullessness and then post-re-ensoulening amnesia about his soulless time, him “scratching the wall” and beginning to piece his own memories together, as one entry point into this “filling in the blanks of the past for full understanding of the present” storytelling device. The other major expression of this device in s6 is Castiel’s story throughout the season, which doesn’t truly begin to fill in all the blanks and answer all the questions until episode TWENTY.

(I am not defending this storytelling choice, because in s6 it served as a metaphorical “punishment,” which is still so skeevy I struggle to watch the season as a whole… in Gamble Era, characters are “punished” for remembering their past– Sam for his guilt over what he did while soulless, and eventually Cas for his hubris in believing he could devour the souls of purgatory without consequences… and again, what I get from Gamble Era overall is an unkindness to all the characters… this Erasure of Identity. For years now, I’ve read this exchange from 6.09 as a bit of an indictment of the story of that era by Ben Edlund:

SAM: So you’re saying having a soul equals suffering.DEAN: Yes, that’s exactly what I’m saying.SAM: Like, the million times you almost called Lisa. So you’re saying suffering is a good thing.DEAN: I’m saying it’s the only game in town.

but back to the point)

S7 employed this technique in really in-your-face obvious ways, showing us time skips with little montages that cover several weeks in a matter of less than a minute, during which we’re shown the tone of the events of the “missing time” and are being told directly how to fill in those blanks:

7.01 shows this montage through Dean repairing Baby while receiving occasional updates on Sam’s recovery and Cas’s Godstiel rampage.

7.03 gives us a montage of Dean’s healing leg while he’s relegated to the sofa in the cabin watching tv… weeks elapse like this before the action picks up again.

7.10 uses flashbacks as Bobby lays dying to directly show us a fuller snapshot of who he is as a character, and why he’s been so important to Sam and Dean as their adoptive father figure

7.11 uses another “weeks pass” montage to show us Sam and Dean’s grief and their respective ways of handling Bobby’s loss

7.17 uses another flashback montage as Castiel literally rebuilds his identity from these moments… can’t really be more anvilicious than this about the import of filling in the narrative gaps…

But over the years, this has evolved in the narrative from these blatantly obvious tells to something we’re being low-level reminded of in nearly every episode through a constant implicit assumption that these characters have lives outside of what we see on The Magic Rectangle for 42 minutes a week. The show’s gone from literally subtitling these scenes and telling us exactly what we’re seeing to requiring our assumption that all we need to learn how to fill in the blanks is to assume these are actually real people who casually reference things we never knew before from their own lives and assume we know all the characters well enough by now to correctly fill in the blanks they so casually point out to us, or even expand on vast swaths of otherwise “missing time” from what we actively see of their lives from an otherwise minor comment made in passing…

Gosh, ain’t it nice when writers assume their audience is actually intelligent, considerate, engaged, and caring like this? Honestly in this day and age of GOTCHA! oneupsmanship, of authors attempting to demonstrate their intellectual superiority over their audience, it’s rather refreshing.

One more thing before we jump right into s14. Dabb and Company have been “educating” us on how to read these subtextual instructions for years now. We had the Mixtape Revelation in 12.19 that idiotically devolved into fandom arguments over what a mixtape itself was intended to symbolize, with people arguing that the thing itself had no inherent romantic implications (which… wow… but people be dumb sometimes…). I’d argue that regardless of what anyone has convinced themselves the gift meant symbolically (or didn’t mean symbolically for people with their heads shoved so far up their butts they actually made that argument in a public forum with a straight face and actually got mad about folks who actually know better…), what it meant NARRATIVELY was that the original gifting of the tape was something that had happened in the past, that we-the-audience previously had no knowledge of this particular interaction between Dean and Cas, and were being SPECIFICALLY TOLD that even though WE DID NOT SEE IT HAPPEN ON SCREEN, it absolutely, definitely, CANONICALLY ACTUALLY HAPPENED regardless of that fact.

Not only did that unseen exchange canonically happen, it was discussed by Dean and Cas in a casual fashion, as if it was simply one moment in a past filled with moments just like it. In a season where the episodes leading up to this one were filled with comments about Dean and Cas calling each other regularly (conversations that we never see, yet are informed casually happen constantly offscreen), and Dean’s increasing distress over NOT being able to reach Cas for several episodes, it’s impossible NOT to draw the conclusion that this lack of communication is HIGHLY IRREGULAR and therefore SOMETHING WE SHOULD ALL BE CONCERNED ABOUT. We didn’t need to *see* all of this to apply this fact far more broadly to the entire narrative, and understand there were massive gaps between what they could show us in 42 minutes a week versus what the baseline background life is for all of these characters in those between-times.

They doubled down on this in s13, specifically in 13.06, both with the “Dean and Cas regularly watch movies together” comments AND in the casual knowledge Cas shares with Jack about Dean’s sleeping and coffee drinking habits. It’s not just these isolated facts that we’re supposed to take away from these sorts of exchanges, but what they mean in the larger context of their off-camera interactions and relationship as a whole.

So that said, let’s move on to s14, where this has honestly evolved to the next level. The rest of this is going under a cut for now, because the totality of this post is something like 7700 words...

14.01, Stranger in a Strange Land:

The season begins with a montage of Dinkle’s actions over a period of weeks, talking to different people and asking what they want. We don’t see every one of these conversations, but we can extrapolate out from the ones we DO see and infer how all of those experiences guide his subsequent actions (as well as Dean’s subsequent emotional and psychological state later down the road).

But we’re shown one more of those conversations INDIRECTLY, from an offhand comment of another character, where we’re both reminded of Dinkle’s little conversations, AND reminded that they don’t constitute the sum total of those conversations. There is much we haven’t seen (and will NOT see, because this scene renders any additional on-screen time to cover the tone and content of those conversations superfluous and redundant), and yet we still understand the importance and gravity of Dinkle’s entire occupation during those missing weeks:

Kip:You see, recently, I had a revelation. You know, somebody asked me what it was that I wanted. And I realized that after 600 years as a demon walking the planet, destroying, drinking, defiling – you know, the Three D’s – I didn’t know. So, I sat back, and I gave it a good think, and I realized exactly what I wanted.Castiel: And what is it?Kip: Everything.

We also see this from the other side of the narrative– through the progression of events occurring at the Bunker in Dean’s absence. Sam’s despair is conveyed not only in dialogue in his conversation with Mary, it’s conveyed through just how poorly he’s looking after his own wellbeing, not shaving (visual confirmation of his mindset informing us of what his life’s been like over the previous weeks), not eating or sleeping (we’re told, and believe because of how he’s presenting himself, but also emotionally informs us of how he’s been affected by his ordeal), while simultaneously having stepped up to lead the army of AU Hunters– i.e. people from a world where war against Michael has been their lives for more than a decade, and are literally bringing that experience to THIS world, metaphorically going back to the start of their own battle to a world where Michael is only BEGINNING to enact that war on this world, who now have the experience of having survived that war and the knowledge gained while having fought against it, but also a chance to stop it before it can be allowed to start again. Or that is the hope, you know?

We’re also seeing Jack struggle with guilt, with adapting to life without the magical powers he’d been born with, and being forced to confront what is truly important to him, and what his own humanity means to him.

We’re subtly being reminded of VAST quantities of canon upon which the current character developments are resting.

14.02, Gods and Monsters:

There’s a lot of “backtracing” through character arcs in this one, which I’m gonna boil down to the general themes:

Jack seeking out his familial history, seeking out Kelly Kline’s parents to make a personal connection to his mother’s past in order to better understand himself now

Cas relating parts of his own past to Jack (falling and becoming human, not mourning the past he can’t change but finding strength in himself regardless of his current circumstance, and to have patience while his circumstance will change in future) (aside to remind folks that this setup at the beginning of the season is entirely about subverting his words through his own actions throughout the season… with 14.14 being the massive turning point again for both Jack and Cas)

Nick’s setup of beginning to fill in the blanks from his own life after a decade of having lost everything to his possession by Lucifer. He’s got a lot of catching up to do, and a heck of a lot of blanks to fill.

the absolute knowledge that the show is 100% aware of how they’ve trained us to look at the narrative this deeply, using character mirrors, foreshadowing, parallels, etc., and that they’re keen to use this power against us. And it’s up to us to understand the difference between “things being presented to us for the purposes of subversion” and “things being presented to us to fill in narrative blanks.” Like the entirety of Dinkle’s conversations with both Dean and Lydia the vampire. Heck I’m already down to bullet points and I’m gonna need to extrapolate on this one… *sighs*

Let’s start simple, with a couple of quotes:

Michael: Why do you think I dumped your brothers and sisters in plain sight? Why do you think I let you escape?Lydia: You let me escape?Michael: Rule number 1 – you can’t have a trap without bait. That brings us to rule number 2, which says once the trap has been sprung, you don’t need the bait anymore.

and

Dean: Get… out!Michael: I don’t think so.Dean: You can’t!Michael: Oh, but I can. Because, see… I own you. So hang on and enjoy the ride.

Because the first defines and contextualizes the second… Do I really need to elaborate? No? Oh good, then we can move on!

14.03, The Scar:

Again, using the trope of amnesia and memory recovery to illustrate the emotional and psychological impact of “missing time,” if not the entirety of the content of that missing gap. In addition, to Dean recovering his memories and demonstrating his reaction to his own lost time, the two respective cases of the week (Darth Kaia, learning how she came to this universe, and everything she’s endured at Dinkle’s hands also informing further the information we learned in 14.01, and in the bunker Jack and Cas helping heal Lora of a witch’s curse that was literally stealing time from her in the form of her own life energy).

I love demonstrating how “filling narrative gaps from the past” is not only built into the inherent structure of the narrative like this, it’s also the entire purpose of all the character development we’re witnessing, as well as setting the foundation of the entire story going forward.

We had that in spades from Jody, putting in plain words what we all saw happening in 13.10:

Jody: They have a right to know but I can’t. I promised Claire human cases are mine, but anything “monstery” I’d loop her in: this. God. Claire’s been doing so good. I mean anything connected to Kaia, she’s a powder keg. First loves strikes quick, and then to lose it like that. Wow, you two are having a time of it.

Confirming the subtext of Claire and Kaia’s relationship, while simultaneously informing us of what Jody, Claire, et al’s lives have been like since then, filling in a huge narrative gap with just a few innocuous comments. But there’s one more example from within the span of this episode:

Sam: Okay, look, I’m just saying… you said you let Michael in, then, bang you’re back in a blink. But for me? You were gone for weeks. I didn’t know if you were alive. I just need you to talk to me, to slow down so I can catch up.

Sam, defining the narrative gap and begging for information to fill it with. And then at the end of the episode, he gets an answer, but it’s nothing like what he expected or hoped for:

Dean: And it wasn’t a blink, being possessed. I make it sound like that, but it wasn’t. I don’t remember most of what Michael did with me because I was underwater, drowning, and that I remember. I felt every second of it – clawing, fighting for air. I thought I could make it out, but I couldn’t. I wasn’t strong enough. And now he’s gone and he’s out there putting an army of monsters together and he’s hurting people. And its all on me, man. I said yes. It’s my fault.

And it’s still not really an answer.

14.04, Mint Condition:

Narrative gap reshuffle yahtzee. I’m just gonna give a few links to meta already written for this one, because it’s about the journey, and being informed enough to pay attention to all the sights along the roadside as we go:

https://mittensmorgul.tumblr.com/post/179792849870/when-in-doubt-sing-mittensmorgul-i

https://mittensmorgul.tumblr.com/post/181790806615/questions-and-their-empty-spaces

https://mittensmorgul.tumblr.com/post/179742780230/mittens-help-dean-says-he-loves-hatchet-man

https://mittensmorgul.tumblr.com/post/179734411135/i-love-there-wasnt-any-acknowledgement-about-dean

https://mittensmorgul.tumblr.com/post/179724128520/stuarts-my-best-friend-we-watch-movies-and-eat

(gotta throw in at least one destiel reference…)

https://mittensmorgul.tumblr.com/post/179700702490/hey-mittens-just-wondering-if-you-could-help-me

And because this reading list is already getting long, I just want to use this post to point out how the use of narrative mirrors informs our understanding of those one-off characters through our established understanding of the main characters, enabling those mirror characters to serve their function in the story. Davy was not subtle with pointing that out in this episode, and it’s an essential tool in understanding the bigger picture of the narrative. But it’s also a device in filling narrative gaps by recognizing and applying the subtextual lessons being demonstrated:

https://mittensmorgul.tumblr.com/post/179695858820/a-few-observations-on-the-mirror-characters

So this isn’t just about individual lines at this point, but an entire narrative shift that the writers spent the entire first half of s14 laying out for us through these sorts of storytelling lessons hidden just under the surface of the story itself. Brilliant.

Basically, if you’re NOT making these connections and using your brain to flesh out the entire world pointed at in the narrative gaps, you don’t really have a hope of understanding the bigger story.

14.05, Nightmare Logic:

Aah, the superpowered djinn, 3D walking metaphor for filling in gaps from the past to find wholeness in the present. Also, one of Michael’s “monster traps” he laid out in order to lure in and kill unwary hunters, which he believed (and the monsters themselves believed) made them more powerful, but in reality became the vehicle through which the Winchesters were eventually able to gain the upper hand… they survived the encounter and walked away with new knowledge about both themselves AND Michael’s bigger plans that had been evading them before this episode.

Information fills narrative gaps.

The djinn itself has been “enhanced” from djinn we’ve seen in the past, able to create its illusions in reality rather than only within its victims own minds. What was imaginary becomes tangible. Subtext becomes text.

We also get AU!Bobby’s backstory, which demonstrates that this alternate version of Bobby is really nothing like our original version, and the sum of his life experiences have made him who he is.

We also get another “zombie” reference, which the more I think back on this entire season (and Jack’s long obsession with zombies in general) is an interesting metaphor for this sort of viewing, not engaging with the deeper text and instead shuffling across it without looking deeper. Because pretty much every time someone suggested the monster could be a zombie, it’s definitively shown to be something much more complex once they begin to dig for answers.

(we also have Dean discussing his past, his relationship with his father, and talking about how setting that baggage aside and living in the present, and for the future, is something he’s worked long and hard to achieve for himself. And we’ve seen some of that journey for him, but this was a huge step for him, which will become profoundly more evident in 14.10 and 14.13)

14.06, Optimism:

Oh, we wanted zombie references? Well, alrighty, have some zombie references! Via the entirely self-deluded MotW character, masquerading as a person with a sad backstory of being “unlucky in love” while all the while she’s a necromancer who murdered and resurrected her boyfriend as a mindless zombie she enacts a brutal game with for her own personal pleasure: luring in suitors and letting her zombie boyfriend kill and eat them. Worst honey trap ever.

Speaking of honey, the other MotW is a fly dude who couldn’t find love among his species and exiled himself to live alone among a pile of rotting corpses of his victims. I mean… ew.

But back to our necromancer, who is a lonely librarian, who is surrounded by stories and laments that people in her town aren’t interested in stories. All the while she’s not engaging with her own reality, and has decided that her own version of the story is an accurate reflection of reality (while the rest of us shake our heads in horror because whoa no hon…)

We also learn AU!Charlie’s backstory, with the constant reminders that what Sam keeps mistaking on the surface level for “his Charlie” IS NOT HER. Man, I feel that feel, AU!Charlie.

Jack: What's 'courting?'Dean: It's what you do before you start dating.Jack: Oh, and that's the thing you do before the sex.Wanda: Sometimes you just have the sex.

Yes, Wanda. Sometimes you skip all the courting, all the emotional and interpersonal stuff, and just go right to the sex. But then you tend to just walk away after without any sort of deeper connection having been made. One night stands are fine, but they’re very different things from deep interpersonal relationships.

You can absolutely engage with Supernatural like a one night stand. The story’s fun on the surface, but ultimately the courting is what provides the deep payoff.

14.07, Unhuman Nature:

We get back to the twisted story of Nick, and his quest to understand himself. He’s filling in more of those horrific gaps in his history and getting closer to the Worst Possible Conclusions about himself. He ENJOYED being Lucifer’s vessel, and wants that feeling of power back, even if it wasn’t HIS power, just being the vehicle for that power is enough for him, more important to him than even discovering the truth about himself. At the bottom of himself, he’s just an empty douchebag-shaped vessel for pure evil.

What a fucking delight >.>

Nurse: Uh-huh. Family medical history? Let's start with the father.Dean: He's dead.Nurse: Cause of death?Castiel: He was stabbed through the heart, and he exploded.Dean: Okay, you know what? We don't have time for this. All right, he's sick. His name is Jack Kline. His father exploded. There, you've got all the basics. Now what does he need to do to see a doctor?

Well that simplified the whole “filling in the backstory through the narrative negative spaces” thing in this episode, didn’t it?

Jack: Since I've been alive, everyone assumed that I would be this special 'person' who goes on forever. Only now it looks like forever might be a couple of weeks, so--Dean: We don't know that.Jack: What I do know is I'm done being special. Before my life is over, I want to live it. I just want a chance to get a tan or see a hockey game... get a parking ticket... get bored... and when it's all over -- die.

I mean, isn’t that what all of TFW kind of wants? They want to not be “special.” They want the universe to stop picking on them specifically. They want to just live their lives until they’re done.

Jack: You once told me you and your father did the exact same thing. It was your happiest memory of him.Dean: I didn't say that.Jack: It was how you said it. I could tell. I guess my point is that if I don't make it... The stuff I'd miss -- it wouldn't be things like Tahiti. Or the Taj Mahal. I'd miss more time with you. I'm getting that life isn't all these big, amazing moments. It's time together that matters. Like this.Dean: Well, who'd have thought hanging out with me would make you sentimental?

Dude. Dean. Everyone thought this. You are the king of “family is the most important thing in the universe without which I am nothing.” Talk about Jack filling in that particular blank for you.

14.08, Byzantium:

Aka that one where we discover something important to Jack in his own Heaven-- and it’s literally a missing scene from 13.06 and their road trip to Dodge City where they stop for burgers. UNPROBLEMATIC FAMILY BONDING IS JACK’S HEAVEN. And it also fills in a past narrative gap, specifically from an episode that was structured around filling in narrative gaps. WE’RE THROUGH THE LOOKING GLASS, PEOPLE.

We also have the return of Lily Sunder, now grown old since she’d completed her revenge quest against Ishim and the other angels who’d wronged her (including Cas, who literally killed Ishim FOR her). Talk about filling in a lifetime worth of gaps, and her literal near-lack of a soul she “fills in” through one final sacrifice made of love, which earns her redemption and entrance to Heaven.

I mean… those narrative gaps are looking pretty important here right about now.

Also, what’s that other big gap I haven’t mentioned yet? Oh, right! A villain literally known as “The Empty.” I’m sure that’s not meta relevant to the importance of the narrative empty spaces at all...

14.09, The Spear.

Sequel to The Scar (since the spear is what left Dean with the scar in the first place, so we’re back on our Dinkle nonsense again). There’s a lot of blank-filling going on in this episode.

Remember Garth? Well, as he’s reintroduced in this episode it appears as if he’s gone over to the Dark Side, but of course we learn he’s actually there as a deep cover agent for the Winchesters. This tells us they’ve been keeping in close touch with Garth all this time, despite us not having seen him on screen in ages. (FIVE YEARS!)

Remember Ketch? Well, he’s also doing deep cover agency stuff for the Winchesters, but with a level of incompetence that reminds us all that he’s still not one of the good guys, no matter how hard he’s trying, he’s still… falling a bit short. But at least they’re still keeping contact with him. And BOTH of these characters appearing after a while offscreen reminds us that TFW truly aren’t alone in the world, and they DO have this network of people (at varying degrees of competence still ranging from typical bumbling civvie to TFW themselves).

This entire episode was also a massive reference to Die Hard. Just… it was Die Hard: Supernatural. And we know Dean has referenced this movie endlessly. But the funniest thing: Die Hard isn’t actually referenced ONE SINGLE TIME in text in this episode. Nobody points out the similarities between the situation at the Hitomi Plaza at Christmas with Die Hard. Narrative negative space ftw.

And then we have the reveal that Michael had somehow left a “secret back door” open into Dean, and was able to just jump right back into him when it was convenient to do so. I.e., when he was losing the fight to Dean. He had a cheat code at the ready, because his possession of Dean had been operating on cheat code rules since the start in 13.23. His entire possession of Dean was a violation of the “standard rules of angel possession.” Consent of the vessel being primary. Even BAD consent has been enough in the past-- tricking the vessel into saying yes, backing them into a corner. I mean, remember s5 and the horrors Zachariah was willing to go to in order to secure Dean’s yes? Not even manipulation here with this version of Michael. Even if the face of Dean’s abject rejection of his possession, he refused to vacate the premises. Which is an interesting narrative blank to fill in, yes? Angels may have these rules, but for some reason-- is it Michael’s supreme power? Is it the fact Dean is his “destined vessel?” is it a factor of this Michael being from an alternate universe that might operate on different rules? Is it a factor of Dean’s own lack of conviction in his demand that Michael get out? Whatever it is… it is interesting.

We also catch up with Darth Kaia, who after months of balking at the notion, hands over her spear to Dean with the promise that he’ll return it after he kills Michael. It would solve her ongoing problems with the monsters Michael had been relentlessly sending after her. But he also promises to help her find her way back to her own universe. And now we don’t even know if any of that is possible… (aside to say that I’m now crying over the loss of Wayward again, and I feel this lack of resolution here is a damn pointed statement on that from Bobo.)

14.10, Nihilism.

Nihilism being a descriptor of Michael’s basic personality, in this case.

The most long-term relevant narrative negative spaces in this episode are Sam and Cas venturing into Dean’s mind, and literally using what they know about Dean to find where Michael had locked him away. They literally rely on their knowledge of who he is as a person as a map to find him, and then as a codex to actually get through to him and break him out of the illusion Michael had trapped him in. And then they all turn around and weaponize all of that to lock Michael away in Dean’s mind fridge.

Metaphors, anyone?

Meanwhile, Michael literally insists he’s telling everyone the truth about how Dean really feels about them, but it’s all… ALL OF IT… a manipulation and a lie.

(aside to admit that at this point I have been working on this post on and off for the last 12 hours, can barely remember what the point of it even was, and regret everything. I think we were supposed to be discussing Narrative References To Stuff That Happens On Screen, but at this point, that is so deeply intertwined with the narrative structure as a whole that I’m having trouble separating out textual references to offscreen stuff from the actual content of the story as a whole… yes this is already approaching 5k words at this point, and no I don’t care anymore :P)

14.11, Damaged Goods.

Dean is given information (that we have not yet seen) by Billie (again, offscreen) about “the only way to save the universe.”

Disclaimer to note that we STILL haven’t seen exactly what Billie showed Dean in her magical destiny book… which fact in itself can be open to myriad interpretations, because canon itself has shifted from this point in the canonical timeline to what we have actually witnessed unfold, which fundamentally differs between what Billie told Dean and what actually transpired on screen.

This… is major.

Also, Nick, and the effective end of his story… or is it? He’s finally got his personal backstory filled in, and turns out he was just a dick all along! Surprise! Because his “truth” never actually mattered to him. It was all a lie he told himself from the very first moment he was ever introduced on screen back in 5.01. He was never a good person who’d been used by Lucifer and manipulated into doing terrible things. He was always just a bad person who’d been looking for an excuse to do terrible things. Lucifer was just his excuse.

Dean fills in some horrific bits of their childhood for Mary through the metaphor of Winchester Surprise. Apparently delicious to Dean, but yikes… stuff like that’s really not healthy…

14.12, Prophet and Loss:

So, Donatello might not be as brain dead as previously believed! Let’s fill in that backstory, through a broken prophet who can’t be fully realized because Donatello’s technically not dead, so the new guy is getting a distorted message because Donatello’s interrupting the signal.

Dean asked Sam not to tell Cas about his Drama Coffin plan, but of course Sam had immediately told Cas about his drama coffin plan anyway…

CAS: Sam. Maybe if I spoke with Dean…SAM: It wouldn’t matter. Believe me, I-I I’ve never seen him like this. He won’t listen to me. H-He just – No. If we don’t find some way… Dean’s gone.

But then just a little while later, when Dean talks to Cas and learns that Cas knows his entire dumbass plan:

DEAN: Really?SAM: Dean, it’s Cas. I had to tell him.

Well, some time in the previous few hours, when Sam hasn’t been trapped in the car with Dean (which we know he has been canonically), Sam’s first priority was calling Cas to tell him about Dean’s plan. Like… duh… 

14.13, Lebanon:

I love this episode on every possible level. It drops us at the climax of a hunt and just trusts us to understand what’s going on. Someone has been murdered for their collection of supernatural artifacts, and it’s been traced to this shop, where the owner trades in dangerous artifacts… all of that happened offscreen, yet we understand the context if not the specific case itself. Beautiful.

Then we have the cursed pearl that apparently grants a wish. Dean uses it to theoretically wish that Michael was out of his head. In monkey’s paw fashion, instead of just granting the wish through the simplest means, the wish actually attempts to rewrite history (this is the sort of thing that differentiates a “cursed object” from a “magical cure”) in order to remove the root infiltration of Michael into Dean’s life… by literally bringing John Winchester into the present time from 2003, removing him from the entire timeline to this point and changing EVERYTHING.

Talk about filling a narrative negative space. Cas doesn’t know them, Dean never went to Hell. Hell, Dean never even went to collect Sam from Stanford. NOTHING from the entire history of the series as we know it actually happened AT ALL.

D:

At least we got to see Zachariah get stabbed again. Sam deserved a turn, you know? :’)

But we also have the other half of the episode-- the case in Lebanon, and seeing the Winchesters through the eyes of the locals. Talk about a HUGE reminder of the things that happen offscreen. They go to the post office, the local shops, and have a weird reputation around town, despite most of the townsfolk accepting their brand of weirdness. It’s… weirdly refreshing, seeing how they’ve gone from “hunters of urban legends” in s1 to “actual urban legends themselves” in s14. The power of storytelling at its finest.

In this case, so many personal blanks were filled in for Mary, Sam, and Dean just by being able to share a single family dinner with John in the aftermath of everything else. In the end, Sam and Dean CHOSE their own lives, and smashed the pearl with John’s blessing, putting everything back the way it was. The most powerful line in this entire episode, to me:

John: Dean. I, uh -- I never meant for this.Dean: Dad, we pulled you here.John: No, son. My fight. It was supposed to end with me, with Yellow Eyes. But now you -- you are a grown man, and I am incredibly proud of you. I guess that I had hoped, eventually, you would... get yourself a normal life, a peaceful life, a family.Dean: I have a family.

HE HAS A FAMILY. :’)

It might not be what John ever imagined for him. Or even what Mary wanted for him when she rejected the hunting life the first time around. But it’s the family Dean earned for himself. The one he CHOSE for himself. And he wouldn’t trade it for anything-- not even for the family he was born into, or a white picket fence he used to think he should have.

And then after this… everything changes… again…

14.14, Ouroboros:

Right. That one where everything changed. Where everything from Billie’s Books of Certain Prophecy to Jack’s soul to Dean’s certainty about… pretty much everything… went up in a swirling whirlpool of burning grace.

Yes, the episode where they burned the spiral narrative structure and were clearly beginning the inevitable run toward endgame. I mean it had been hinted at as a possibility before this, and 14.13 was certainly a product of the inevitability of endgame, but this episode sealed the deal.

They could’ve technically still gotten away with 14.13 as a one-off product of “very special 300th episode” and still continued down the narrative spiral that they’ve been circling for years now, but in retrospect from beyond the rest of s14, this was the official burn point.

So the story shifts radically in very fundamental ways from this point on, and reference to the past become… different. But what happens offscreen in the context of these episodes going forward takes on so much more weight as a result. We’re now “living in the present” with these characters.

We have Sam’s relationship with Rowena, which has clearly developed to the point of casual intimacy. Rowena confronts Sam in ways we’ve never seen before, demonstrating a confidence in their interactions DESPITE Billie’s assertion that Sam will be the one to “kill” her. That has strangely given her a sense of… comfort… with Sam, that’s demonstrated in the fact that they work together through this entire case-- paired off much the way Dean and Cas are.

Again, like in 14.06 and 14.13, we’re dropped into the middle of their case, and only informed that they’ve been tracing this monster through numerous other towns in this episode, requiring us to extrapolate out their entire hunt from discovering there might be a case, to the point where they’ve even brought Rowena onboard to help give them an advantage of a monster that had repeatedly eluded them.

The monster itself has an advantage in that it can literally see the future and escape before they catch him, until they discover the huge gaping hole in what it can actually see-- Cas and Jack are literally invisible to it. He can’t see THEM coming, specifically. The importance of actually reading what we DON’T see. Because if the monster hadn’t been so confident in what it COULD see, he would’ve understood that he was missing a critical piece of information-- the door literally shut itself in his vision of the future and he didn’t bother to stop and question WHY. And it was his downfall.

The narrative is telling us that missing this key gap-filling information is effectively our downfall as viewers.

14.15, Peace of Mind:

Hooray, we’re back to simple “missing scene” levels of text to latch on to, and I don’t have to swim through the whole of the narrative structure to make a comment. Wheeee! (sorry it’s been like 14 hours since I started writing this reply and I’ve achieved Peak Mental Exhaustion for it) :P

Let’s reflect on how all of the characters managed to delude themselves in this episode, and simultaneously approach their own personal concerns without actually talking to each other directly… and then instead focus on this exchange:

Dean: Oh. Hey! How was Arkansas?Sam: Arkansas was, uh It was weird.Dean: Heard you wore a cardigan.Castiel: Yeah, I told him about the cardigan.Sam: Great. Thanks.Dean: And the wife. He said you were, uh, really happy.

Yep. Proof again of offscreen communication happening, in a way I can yell and point at without having to write paragraphs to explain and defend. :P Aah, just like the simpler days of our past… which hey, is also a narrative theme of this episode! Nostalgia!

14.16, Don’t Go In The Woods:

Or, that one where we discuss why we don’t share everything with the general public, while Jack… behaves poorly with the general public, and then hides that fact from Sam and Dean. Also, we have this confirmation of offscreen conversation:

SAM: You got it. I'll grab Cas.DEAN: Mm. He actually left.SAM: What?DEAN: Early this morning.SAM: Why?DEAN: I don't know. Something about being cooped up in the bunker for a few weeks. We all need to stretch our legs. I get it.

Dean… had a whole conversation with Cas… and didn’t even mention it until Sam specifically asked about Cas. Stuff happened offscreen… big important stuff… and we’re only getting a peek at it now. Not only that-- because this will be VITAL to remember two episodes down the road-- they have been cooped up in the bunker “for a few weeks.” In 14.15 ONE EPISODE EARLIER, Dean complained to Sam that he’d been driving them literally from case to case without a break:

Sam: (Sam was in the map room flashing back to Maggie and the other hunters dying. He looked sad as he went to the kitchen) Found us a case. Arkansas.Dean: We've just done three back-to-back Hunts. I need some rest. At least a night. We both do.Sam: Yeah, well I'm leaving in ten.Dean: Like I said, not good.Castiel: Maybe I should go with him. And you can stay with Jack.

So the events of 14.16 are clearly after a hiatus of several weeks. Again, things have happened offscreen, and we’re only learning about them in the absolute most casual statement-in-passing sorts of ways, but these tiny references are pretty earth-shattering.

14.17, Game Night:

The timeline isn’t concrete, but I’ve written in several places that I believe 14.16, and 14.17 flow one into the other, just based on these subtextual sorts of cues-- Dean’s statement in 14.16 that Cas had been feeling cooped up after several weeks in the bunker, the fact that Cas had only LEFT the bunker at the beginning of 14.16 and we only see him reach his destination of talking with Anael now in 14.17  (and how long do we REALLY think it took him to find her and convince her to meet with him? Especially when the events of 14.17 take place over about 36 hours before bleeding directly into 14.18…). So this timeline that I’ve understood presupposes the gap of “several weeks” of being cooped up in the bunker to have elapsed between 14.15 and 14.16 as suddenly resolved itself into all of them willing to spend time in the bunker as a family… except for Cas, who’s on an as-yet unspecified mission.

This episode reinforces those missing scenes, through showing us the very different mission Cas is on, finally addressing the seriousness of Jack’s condition, but also paralleled through Mary’s growing suspicions of Jack that she’ll be unable to ignore by the end of the episode…

Jack even addresses this “but in that scene you didn’t see play out, this important thing happened!” IN TEXT, TO MARY:

Mary: If Sam and Dean saw what you did, they would be as worried as I am.Jack: Are you gonna tell them?Mary: You need help, we'll help you. We're your family.Jack: You can't.Mary: We care about you, Jack.

And now the things that happen offscreen have been lampshaded as being CRITICAL to understanding the whole of the story. And the divide between the two can be fatal...

14.18, Absence.

Literally, the title itself is telling us to be aware of what’s missing.

But we finally get the payoff on the “missing information” about those several weeks spent cooped up in the bunker-- Sam was literally not there. It was Dean and Cas, alone with Jack.

Sam: You know, after Maggie and the other hunters died... I just left. Just dumped Jack on Cas and left.

That happened in 14.14. The other hunters dying. But we KNOW that Sam had not left on his own at that time. He’d dragged Dean and Cas and Jack on three consecutive hunts in the aftermath of that to avoid going back to the bunker, in the run up to 14.15. THIS was the payoff of that “cooped up for weeks” comment in 14.16… because SAM hadn’t been cooped up with them. He’d dumped Jack on everyone and run off on his own after 14.15…

But this episode doesn’t stop there. It takes each character individually and pushes them through memories of the past, of Mary specifically, but those memories do so much narrative heavy lifting I can’t even begin to yell about them here. I’ll just link a post:

https://mittensmorgul.tumblr.com/post/184195342200/you-know-when-deans-turns-around-after-that

Wait, I found that post while looking for the one I’d set to to find, but it’s in my Narrative Negative Space tag, so yay? Bonus. This is the one I’d meant to find:

https://mittensmorgul.tumblr.com/post/184144189665/drsilverfish-mittensmorgul-mittensmorgul

There. My best thing from s14. And I’ll leave this episode at that.

Oh, and with the reminder that if Dean and Cas had truly still been at odds over Mary’s death, then Dean would not have brought Cas to Mary’s funeral pyre. Period. 

14.19, Jack in the Box.

Aka that one we’d all figured out what the big plot thing was just by the on-the-nose nature of the title, months before it aired.

At least the drama coffin got blowed up good?

14.20, Moriah:

The most meta meta to have ever meta’d. There’s not much happening offscreen in this one aside from the entire setup and premise of the episode as a whole. Again, we’re dropped into a hunt and expected to understand the setup, the legwork that’s already been done. We learn that Dean has been in touch with Cas, but they’re investigating different avenues. We see Chuck FINALLY answer Cas’s prayer for help from 14.17, but Chuck’s idea of “help” isn’t helpful in the least.

We understand the fundamental nature of the extent of the personal little lies Sam and Dean tell each other (Thanks for that one, Jack!), and therefore are being asked to reassess which comments from their past were the full, honest truth, and which were the comfortable performance they put on to maintain their own projected self-identities.

And whoa.

It’s now 3 am, and I’ve been working on this post on and off for the last 16 hours. And I am tired, and officially out of mental steam to keep thinking about it. So I’m gonna post it. All 7700 words of it. I hope this helps... :P

[redorblue]

Tiamat’s Wrath, by James S.A. Corey

It’s been a while since I finished, and I’m still A MESS (and, apparently, not the only one). So this is not going to be coherent in any way, just me rambling about what stood out to me in those 541 pages of pure stress.

I’m tagging it as spoilery, but still: CAREFUL, SPOILERS! (also, long)

Alright. No way around that: the first sentence messed me up badly. I’m pretty sure that’s never happened to me, having a character die on me in the very first sentence of a book (not even the first chapter! The prologue, ffs!). And technically not even that, she’s been dead for a while, I just learned about it now. The thing is, I expected something like this to happen at some point, I was already dead scared for her in Persepolis Rising once it had sunk in that we’d just done a time jump of several decades, but I thought we’d get her death on screen, if only because she’s been such an influential character over the last seven books. It feels odd to just have her gone, without drama and fanfare. My guess is that, besides being really old at this point, she also didn’t have much energy left because of her failure to protect Sol system against the Laconians and the feeling of powerlessness and inevitability that came with Laconian rule. With the political center of the galaxy moving to Laconia, she probably lost most of her influence, and I think that takes a heavy toll on a born politician and decades-long power broker such as Chrisjen Avasarala. So it makes sense that she’d just... die (and it certainly sets the tone for the rest of this bloodbath of a novel).

Once I got over the initial shock, I also came to appreciate the way her death (or rather, her being dead) is written. I liked that we got a tiny peek into her relationship with her granddaughter that doesn’t sentimentalize her, but gives an interesting inside view into her worldview. The quote on her tomb broke my heart:

“If life transcends death, then I will seek for you there. If not, then there too.”

I loved every single word of the tiny snippets of information we got about her relationship with Arjun back in book 5 (or 6?), when it became ever clearer that he’d just disappeared, never to be found again, like millions of others on Earth. So to see that she still misses him, and that the fact that she never even found his body still haunts her... It breaks my heart, but it’s also really sweet. It says a lot about her personality (determination was her second name) and it shows this soft side of her that nobody around her ever got to see. But even though she mostly came of as mean and ruthless to other people, it’s nice to see that she had a positive impact on their lives (and that it’s acknowledged!). It so often happens that once a character is dead, they’re never mentioned again, and certainly never mourned. I appreciate it a lot that this didn’t happen here, that it’s pointed out several times how even in death she’s helping the other characters deal with their situation, especially in the few Holden POV chapters. I’m really grateful that her memory is being honored, especially since it’s honored by characters imagining her bossing them around, which I’m pretty sure she would have liked.

Second, I like the view on humanity that’s presented here, in the series in general but especially explicitly in this book. I’d argue that it’s actually quite positive, despite all the power-hungry,conscience-proof narcissists like Duarte and Inaros and Errinwright and Mao and Cortázar and... Yes, they exist and they naturally have a lot of tools to screw things up, which is only realistic, but they’re presented as outliers. The rest of humanity is messy, and unruly, and sometimes has an impressive ability to ignore paradoxes, but it is also capable of empathy and mercy, and most people can find the strength to stand up for what’s right when it matters. I think the best summary of this philosophy is found in a monologue from Emma:

“Easy to make rules. [...] Easy to make systems with a perfect logic and rigor. All you need to do is leave out the mercy, yeah? Then when you put people into it and they get chewed to nothing, it’s the person’s fault. Not the rules. Everything we do that’s worth shit, we’ve done with people. Flawed, stupid, lying, rules-breaking people. Laconians making the same mistake as ever. Our rules are good, and they’d work perfectly if it were only a different species. [...] I’ll die for that. [...] I’ll die so that people can be fuckups and still find mercy.”

What she’s saying is that our general aversion to rules gets us into a lot of trouble, but it also gives us flexibility, and therefore the capacity for mercy even if we’re perfectly certain that a person screwed up. She’s also saying that it’s important to stand up for that, to not just care about one’s own tiny bubble and put every terrible thing that happens down to “guess they had it coming”. Because it’s not as easy as that.

I also love this quote because it’s one of the strongest statements of what’s actually wrong with Laconia. Several characters, in this book and the last, point out that it’s really hard sometimes to not loose track of why Laconia’s version of authoritarian rule is actually terrible, and I gotta admit that I agree. Sometimes, on paper, the whole organising principle just seems so... sensible. There aren’t any graphic descriptions of bloody massacres like when Eros got infected with the protomolecule or when Inaros dropped the asteroids on Earth. Even the actions that are clearly atrocious, like Trejo destroying Pallas or the protomolecule “production” in the pens, are described in a way that feels very surgical, almost hygienic, so that you loose sight of what’s actually happening. I’m pretty sure that that’s deliberate, that the authors want their audience to slip into this mindset of “are they really that bad?” every now and then in order to make the audience see that authoritarian regimes aren’t only bad when they have obvious bloodstains on their hands. They’re actually bad all the time, and even more dangerous when they’re not that obvious. When the arbitrariness that most of us associate with dictators is replaced by a set of rules so strict that you gotta slip up some time, and once you do there’s no fixing your mistake. Plus, the absolute confidence (read: hubris) in their own decisions that often comes with this specific kind of dictator makes them immune to any kind of outside opinion, which, as this book clearly demonstrates, leads to some astonishingly short-sighted decisions and a whole lot of very dangerous complications. So all in all, I think this book does a pretty good job at exposing the nature of authoritarian regimes, from the system of distributed (read: lack of) responsibility that comes with a strict chain of command and their complete lack of accountability or checking for logical errors, to the treacherous allure that some of them might have.

Third, I love the way the romantic relationships are written. I’m usually not a big fan of romance because I think in most cases the romance is more a necessity that comes with the medium than an actual gain for the plot, but I love these. Probably because at this point, all the romantic relationships have been an established fact in the couple’s lives for a few decades now, and they give me this feeling of being... settled, in all the best ways. It can be exciting to watch a new relationship being formed, and I love slow burns to death, but once the new couple gets together my excitement normally fades away pretty quickly. Apparently there’s only a limited number of ways to introduce conflict in such a situation (and no, it can’t come from the outside and the rest of the plot for... reasons), and usually the new couple is way too busy with sudden attacks of irrational jealousy, a dark secret in the past, the do-they-really-love-me-agony etc. for me to enjoy this relationship that I’ve been rooting for for so long. Especially since it’s usually a problem that the couple could solve by having a long and honest conversation, but for REASONS that’s not an option and... I digress. So I like established relationships because they generally don’t come with that particular brand of drama, which means that there’s space to actually focus on the couple itself or on (gasp) the plot. This whole series does that pretty well - I already mentioned that I adore Chrisjen and Arjun as a couple - and in this book there is a lot of it. Naomi and Holden, obviously, and Elvi and Fayez, and for me also Drummer and Saba, although he doesn’t show up on stage at all and she does so only briefly, so in their case it’s more of an aftereffect of Persepolis Rising that’s exacerbated by him dying.

I don’t know how to put this into words exactly, but I love that these relationships are so stable (and by that I don’t mean boring). The fact that it has been an important part of the characters’ lives for so long doesn’t mean that they don’t express their love anymore, that they don’t think about each other with affection, that they don’t worry about the other or miss them. There’s lots and lots of fluff, if you want to put it that way. But most of all, they provide what a committed relationship is actually supposed to provide: an anchor, a sense of belonging, stability, mutual understanding, acceptance... without taking away the characters’ agency, identity or personal freedom. It’s most visible in Elvi and Fayez, where Elvi is the one with the important job, the long hours and high security clearance, and Fayez just supports her through all of the awfulness. He doesn’t pry, he doesn’t pick a fight with her for never being home, and he doesn’t reproach her for not eloping with him in the end because he can see that this is important for her. And while we don’t get his POV, I’m pretty sure that he’s not just swallowing his anger or feeling unfulfilled in his clearly supporting role - he just has his priorities straight, and No. 1 on that list is Elvi. Which is what a healthy relationship should look like.

And I think the same goes for Naomi and Holden. As painful as it was to watch her mourn him over almost one and a half books, I think it might be good for their relationship. He’s always been the one in the spotlight, not because he wanted it so badly but because he’s naturally good at it, and she was the one in the shadows (of her own volition, I need to add). I think that the events of this book, with her rising to the very top of the resistance movement and putting her logistical brilliance to work, will add a whole new layer to their dynamic. She’s now finally in a position where she might be able to prevent at least some of these situations that trigger his instinct of running head first into danger for the good of others. I don’t think she’d try to pull rank on him, but she has a bit more control over circumstances now so that she’d at least be able to do the whole rushing into danger thing together, and it puts them on more equal footing, hierarchically speaking. That’s never been an issue in their relationship per se, but it has been a factor in the way they interact with others both as a couple and as individuals. He often deferred or at least conferred with her, but Holden was the one other people addressed first, and that’s going to be different in the next book.

In the same vein, this book also made my shipper heart both glad and utterly devastated at the same time because there’s so much Alex-Bobbie-content. I’m not sure if you can actually call it shipping - I never wanted them to be an item romantically, but I think they’re one of the best examples of a queerplatonic relationship that’s out there. It’s canon that they never slept together, probably never even kissed, and it’s still made abundantly clear that they’re each other’s person. Alex stating that he intents to grow old with Bobbie (I think that was book 7? I’m not crying you’re crying); Bobbie worrying all the time about Alex’ safety and that he feels like he’s missing out on things like being with his son because he’s out fighting Laconia with her; the fact that he’s the only one who can get to her when she would have punched anybody else - I don’t know, they do more for me than any of the romantic couples, and I already said how much I love those. Bobbie and Alex share all of the positive traits that the romantic relationships have, but their bond is presented in a much less conventional format. It says that relationships not based on romance and/or sex can be just as lasting, committed and loving as romantic relationships, and I need to hear that more often.

Which, of course, made it all the more devastating when Bobbie died. It made sense for the narrative - with Clarissa dying at the end of Persepolis Rising, and Bobbie now, we’re down to the original Roci crew, and it solves the captaincy confusion that was part of the problem in Persepolis Rising. And I guess it also made sense for her character in that it’s a fitting death for her - it shows off all of her best personality traits from her loyalty to her crew and her convictions to her military genius, and it’s just generally badass. It still makes me very sad, though, because it’s the end of this beautiful bond that my ace ass needed, and watching Alex grieve is heartbreaking. I love Alex to pieces, he has such a caring soul, and those scenes after the battle against the Tempest where he’s working himself half to death over his grief and guilt while knowing perfectly well that he’d have killed the entire crew by trying to save her - those were absolutely awful. But as much as my heart bleeds for him, Bobbie dying also brought me one of my favourite moments for him as a character and for Naomi and Alex as a family, namely when he returns to the Roci and talks to Naomi about what it’s like to have lost Bobbie. It goes like this:

“[Naomi] ‘I am so sorry about Bobbie. I cried for a whole day.’ Alex looked down and away. His smile shifted invisibly into a mask of itself. ‘I still do sometimes. It’ll take me by surprise and it’s like it’s happening again, for the first time,’ he said. ‘Thinking about Jim does that to me.’

This direct comparison between Naomi losing her lover and Alex losing Bobbie is, to me, the ultimate confirmation that their relationship was just as loving and committed as the main romance of the series. Plus, Alex freely admits that he cries a lot, which is, of course, a normal reaction, but also such a good example of a healthy kind of masculinity that he shares with Fayez, for example. Their partners taking point is not presented as a sign of them being incompetent, unimportant or “emasculated” because it doesn’t take away from their personality in any way. It just shows that they have different, equally admirable strengths that form part of their personality - not their gender identity.

[friedesgreatscythe]

Title: Seduction Redux Fandom: Far Cry 5 Ship: John Seed/Kat O’Neill (@deputyoneill​‘s FC5 Deputy~!) Rating: T (fluffy/soft kissing) Summary: John treats Kat to a night under the stars, with a few surprises in store.

For @deputyoneill​! Thank you for commissioning me :)

“Nice view,” Kat said, settling back against John’s chest.

John gently rested his chin on her head. “It is, isn’t it?” he said, drawing her in for a close hug.

She waited. When he said nothing, she continued, “Especially since the YES sign is completely out of view. What an eyesore.”

John chuckled. “I could always turn you around and have you look at it.”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“Is that a dare?”

Fighting off a smile, Kat tilted her head back and peered at the moon. A small sliver of misty gray clouds slid over it like a stain. “Don’t tempt me, Johnny Boy.”

“I don’t tempt, I give.”

Kat chewed on the edge of her lip to hold the smile in. It was putting up a damn good fight. John couldn’t see her struggle to maintain a blank expression, not from his position, but she would certainly know it was there.

“Is that what tonight is?” she asked, her voice oddly strained. “You’re giving something to me?”

“I believe gestures of kindness like this are more accurately referred to as a gift,” he corrected kindly, his voice a low, warm hum. “Or a date.”

“So that’d be a yes.”

“Yes,” he murmured, his lips skimming the top of her head in a light, tender kiss.

Kat closed her eyes and let loose a sigh. They fell into a comfortable silence--silence was always comfortable between them, rare though they were (John loved both the sound of his voice and the sound of Kat’s too much to let things be quiet for long). For a few minutes, the only sound at all was the distant cry of an owl and the faint groan of trucks on the faraway roads--diesel tankers and other supply vehicles lurching through the winding dirt roads to the west.

The sound made her pause. Kat thought about all the deliveries scheduled for arrival at John’s bunker in the next few days: food, clothing, medical supplies--most of which were for infants.

More than half of those shipments had failed.

No, not failed. Kat closed her hands into fists. Say what it is--destroyed.

Kat’s stomach gave a sharp heave. The Resistance had been lucky as of late. Ruthless, relentless. Said cruelty only fed into that luck--as well as any lack of shame or decency--so most of the supplies the Project acquired for the bunker’s children had gone up in literal ash and smoke. She hoped this shipment would arrive safe; supplies were already tight enough as it was.

Attacking supply runs was one thing. She would even understand if they flat out stole from the Project--but the Resistance didn’t steal. They burned what they found, an act of myopic hubris that never failed to set her temper on edge. They were thoughtless with their fury, short-sighted and petty--and worse, they liked being that way.

Nothin’ I can do about that now, she grumbled internally, leaning her full weight into John’s embrace. Or ever.

But she shouldn’t worry about that now. She couldn’t. Not tonight, not here. Not with John. He’d brought her up to the hills overlooking Holland Valley for a reason, and she didn’t want to spend one of their rare dates that were spent out in the open instead of in the ranch, sulking under the moon and stars.

“You really wanna go outside? Where anyone can see us?” she’d asked when he first pitched the idea.

“It’s hardly a secret that we’re together, my dear. And I would be lying if I said I didn’t want to show you off from time to time,” John had replied, his charm as silken and lovely as ever.

“I just meant it’s not… you know, safe.”

“We’ll be careful. And you are worth the occasional risk.”

“Oh, well, as long as it’s only occasional. Wouldn’t want you to give your life for me, John.”

“My life is already yours.”

And so, they’d left the ranch that evening (after dinner, and after a post-dinner liaison in the marble tub in the downstairs bathroom)--trailed by three heavily armored trucks with mounted guns. Not exactly romantic, but it was practical.

And practically necessary. Kat’s spirits couldn’t stay low and leaden for long. She wouldn’t cast aside John’s acts of kindness no matter how miserable her mood, little though she understood his impulse.

But maybe she didn’t have to understand it. Maybe John’s gifts and his ove--as dotingly devoted as they were--wasn’t something she had to pick apart in order to accept.

He loves me. He found me, he accepted me, he forgave me--he loves me. Maybe that’s all I’ll ever need.

“Kat? What’s wrong?”

John’s voice cut through the haze of her thoughts with an ease that made her sigh. She shrugged deeper into her sweater. This time, she didn’t fight off her smile. “Can you do me a favor?” she asked, her voice low.

“Of course.” He didn’t even hesitate.

Kat took a breath. “Do you remember when you first told me you loved me?”

“Yes--and I remember you fighting with me about it,” John replied, suppressing a laugh.

Kat tsked. “Argued,” she corrected gently, shifting his embrace so she could see his face.

John’s expression was brilliant and beautiful, lit up by a beaming smile that gleamed in the moonlight. Said smile was half hidden by his dark, meticulously trimmed beard, but there was no hiding the joy in his bright blue eyes.

God, how she loved him. Every smile John ever gave Kat was true and real, genuine, from the heart. Even before they had called a truce, joined sides--and fell head over heels for the other--John had always been sincere with her.

The two lovers gazed at each other in the warmth of their new silence. John searched her face, saw the strain of her expression, and after a pause, asked, “Like what you’re doing now?”

Kat gently nudged his side with her elbow, her smile slipping outright into a laugh. “It takes two to tango and to bicker,” she pointed out.

“That it does.” John leaned forward and pressed a long, lingering kiss to her shoulder. “Is that why you’ve gone so quiet on me?”

“It’s one of the reasons, yeah,” she admitted.

“Would you like me to tell you now what I said to you then?” he asked, his tone light and sweet. “It could be a seduction redux, if you’d like.”

“Please.” The word came out soft--softer than Kat thought herself capable of being.

John reached for her hands, slowly prying them off the sides of her crossed arms. His touch was warm and firm, and she leaned toward it like the tides heeding the pull of the moon. He was gravity. He was comfort. He was strength and love and warmth. He was home.

“I said to you that true love is a gift with no expectation,” he said, his voice smooth and effortless, as if every word belonged to a song said in free verse. “I said that the love I give to you is a reward I gain by the giving of it, and you need not feel obligated to give me something in return. And I offer love to you now as I did then, with no tricks, no demands, no hidden strings of any kind.”

Kat shut her eyes, savoring the sound of his voice. It drowned out every other sound--the owls, the distant trucks, the thumping of her heart.

John lifted her hands to his lips and kissed her knuckles, one by one by one. The warm caresses sent a tingle of fire along her nerves, burning her, thrilling her straight to her heart. “I said that my love for you was not a choice I made for me, but for you. It was your love, created in me by the simple wonder of you.”

Kat opened her eyes as John fell silent.

“And you said that love was like a hook in the eye, tearing you blind.”

She rolled her eyes. “And I still stand by that--well, kinda. It’s dramatic as all hell, but it came from an honest place. So I stand… somewhat by it.” She paused. “Maybe a few steps to the side of it.”

“It’s only true for you, my dear.”

“Now who’s arguing?”

Kat tried to fight off yet another smile, and once more failed spectacularly. The expression softened not just her face, but the tight tangle coiled around her heart.

Thanks to John, she often failed to maintain her long-ago-learned and steadily maintained habit of a heavily guarded heart. His carefully honed ferocity, so frequently aimed at any threat to what--who--he loved, was also wielded to defend what he loved, even if those threats were self-inflicted.

“Sin and sorrow are pervasive,” he’d whispered to her once, stroking her hair as she lay against his chest. “I will not leave you to suffer them both alone, not when I can take them from you.”

“Teach me to return the favor,” she’d mumbled.

“You already are.”

The clouds once covering the moon drifted away, bathing them both in a silvery soft moonlight. John studied her face once again. He turned her hands over and kissed her palms, then her wrists.

“Did that help at all?” he asked with a smile.

“A bit, yeah.” Kat hesitated, tilting her head.

She hesitated too long. A distant pop-pop-pop of gunfire echoed across the hills. She froze, shoulders drawing up tight. Her stomach plunged as a wave of nausea rolled through her. Kat flexed her hands, her nails catching and clawing on John’s palms as fear closed her in its jaws.

Once again, John did not hesitate. “Kat--Kat, listen to me.” He let go of her hands and held her face instead. “You’re safe here. You’re with me, and nothing can get you. Nothing will get you.”

Safe? Here? In the open? In the shadow of his goddamned ridiculous YES sign? Kat wanted to laugh. It came out like a strangled rasp instead.

John stroked her cheeks with his thumbs, and she could feel the tremble in his hands. He was afraid too--afraid for her. “Repeat what I said, Kat. Let me know you were listening.”

“I’m… I’m safe here,” she whispered, her voice strained. She cleared her throat and tried again, pushing her words through her growing terror. “I’m safe with you.”

John nodded and let out a small sigh of relief. He leaned forward, lightly pressing his lips to her forehead, the bridge of her nose, then the tip of it. “No one will hurt you,” he vowed, his voice firm. “I won’t let them get close enough to even try.”

“Especially up here,” she quipped, trying to refocus her earlier fear about their location. It was a defense tactic, more survival instinct than sarcastic irreverence. Kat turned her head from side to side, undoing the kinks in her neck. “Can’t see anyone wanting to get too close to this eyesore,” she said, tilting her head towards the sign.

John let out a quick, low chuckle. “We’ve been over this. I didn’t bring you here to look at the sign, my dear,” he said. “Nor did I think you’d make it the butt of so many jokes.”

“I’d hope not,” she said, ignoring the last remark.

“I brought you here for the view,” he continued.

John pulled his left hand off of Kat’s face and peered at his watch. “A view that should be coming along any minute now,” he added, his brows knitting as he frowned.

Despite it all--despite her fear, despite the slow-fading nausea--Kat couldn’t help but notice how handsome he was. His every damned expression was nice to look at.

With a considerable effort, Kat tore her gaze from John’s face and shot a glance to the starry sky. It was a crisp, clear night, perfect for stargazing, but John hadn’t called much attention to the sky at all.

“You’re not gonna have the Chosen put on an airshow or something, are you?” she asked.

John laughed. “Don’t be silly,” he chuckled. “They have other duties to fulfill. And pleasing you is my job. No one else’s.”

Kat turned her head to press a quick kiss to his hand. “So what do you wanna show me?”

John traced her lips with his fingertips. “Something special,” he said, his voice soft. “And it’s a surprise worth waiting for, I assure you.”

“How long do we gotta wait, exactly?”

“Not very long. Ten minutes at most.”

Kat processed this, shrugging into her oversized sweater once more. “So what do you wanna do for those ten minutes?” she asked.

They stared at each other for a moment. Kat’s gaze flicked briefly down to John’s lips then back up to his eyes, just in time to see him do the same to her. She leaned forward with a grin, looping her arms around his neck to hold herself steady as she gave him a quick, fierce kiss.

It wasn’t long before she was laying on him, pushing him gently back to the grass. She curled her fingers around the back of his head, mindful not to ruffle his hair as she deepened the kiss.

With every touch of his hand and press of his lips, every shared breath and quiet gasp and low, eager groan, Kat felt herself sinking safely into the shelter of his arms. He curled his arms around her back, running his long, warm hands down to her waist, grinning against her lips as she shivered and arched closer.

Then, much too soon, John turned his head away from her, breaking the kiss.

“Kat, look!” he said, pointing overhead.

She turned with a groan--kissing him was a far better way to occupy her time than staring at the sky. That groan quickly fell silent.

A meteor shower?

Kat was speechless. But John was more than happy to make up for her silence.

“See that one?” he said, tracing his finger across the sky, following the arc of a falling star. “Make a wish.”

“What? Why?”

John laughed. “Too late. Oh, look--there’s another.”

“Come on, John.”

“And another! My dear, you keep missing them.”

“I don’t buy into this wish stuff. They’re just falling rocks.”

“Fine. This one’s mine.”

“You can’t be serious,” Kat said, her eyes wide.

“I wish you will always be this happy,” he said. He kissed her forehead, then lifted his eyes to the sky in time to see another shooting star. “I wish I can always make you this happy.”

Another kiss. Another wish. Wishes for her comfort, wishes for her smiles, wishes that she would continue to trust him the way he worked so hard to earn. Again and again John gave his wishes words, and made sure to punctuate each one with a kiss.

After a few minutes of this, John gently pushed Kat back at arm’s length and sat up. “And don’t you have any wishes to make?” he asked, smiling against her throat.

“You’re taking all the good ones for yourself,” she laughed, shrugging. “And besides, aren’t wishes supposed to be silent?”

“I must say you know quite a bit about the rules of wish-making for someone who doesn’t ‘buy into it.’”

“They’re not actual rules if it’s just stuff people make up,” she said, tapping the end of his nose with her finger.

“My darling, my dearest, my sweetest heart--I’d hate to break it to you, but that’s all rules ever are.”

“And laws, too?”

“Especially laws,” he said, grinning.

“Did you learn that at law school?”

“Among other things.” John brushed a lock of hair off her face and looped it around her ear. “Please humor me, Kat. What would you wish for, if you believed it meant anything?”

Kat grumbled, but there was no heart in her protest. Not when John’s kisses were still warm on her lips, not when her heart still soared with every caress-quickened beat, not when her ears still rang with his hushed, loving words.

John watched her eagerly, utterly riveted, as if there weren’t a once-in-a-few-decades meteor shower going on overhead-as if she were the rare and beautiful sight, seldom seen and meant to be cherished each and every time she came into view. It was this look, his unguarded adoration,  his sweet, secret smile shared only with her, that gave Kat the courage to speak.

“I’d wish to stay here like this, with you,” she said, speaking fast and free. “I’d wish we could stay out here under the stars, in the peace and quiet, with nothing and no one to bother us. I’d also wish it were a little warmer, and maybe have a bag of chips or two with me--”

John sighed.

“But honestly… I don’t think I could wish for anything more than what you’ve given me.” Kat kept her eyes steadily locked onto his face, watching his expression shift as her words sank in. “This night’s pretty much perfect as it is.”

“Lucky for you, the night’s still young,” John murmured.

“Oh?” she quipped, her heart giving a quick thump. “Is that right?”

“It is,” John said, giving Kat a wink and a sly smile. He brushed her hair back over her shoulder and curled his fingers around the back of her neck. He pulled her close, close enough to skim his lips over hers, and whispered, “Now let’s see if you and I can’t improve upon perfection.”

[uomo-accattivante]

With Star Wars: The Force Awakens, director J.J. Abrams sought to prop up and revitalize the most popular film franchise in movie history, to preserve its qualities in amber for a new generation. The Force Awakens was very concerned about what you, the moviegoer and fan, thinks about Star Wars. It wants to please you. It wants to be comfort food. And it’s very, very good at that.

But with Star Wars: The Last Jedi, director Rian Johnson wants to burn Star Wars to the ground. Not because he harbors ill will toward it, but because he loves it. He loves it so much that he wants to cleanse the garden and allow something fresh and new to grow. The Last Jedi is not concerned about what you, the moviegoer and fan, thinks about Star Wars. It wants to challenge you and make you question what Star Wars is and what it can be.

(This post contains major spoilers for Star Wars: The Last Jedi.)

An Answer to the Ellipsis

Star Wars: The Force Awakens concludes with one helluva cliffhanger. The Force-sensitive Rey arrives on the planet Ahch-To, tracks down the elusive Jedi master Luke Skywalker, and offers him his long-lost lightsaber. Luke’s face flashes with a dozen different emotions. You can practically feel the words crawling up his throat. And then the film ends, to be continued in two years. It’s a grand moment. An epic moment. A perfect finale for a film built out of questions and mysteries, a film about legacies and the shadows they leave behind.

And when we return to that scene in Star Wars: The Last Jedi, Luke Skwalker accepts the lightsaber from Rey, examines it for a hot second, and casually tosses it over his shoulder. From its opening scenes, The Last Jedi makes it very clear where it stands – everything you thought this movie was going to be is incorrect. The symbols you hold dear, the symbols that J.J. Abrams held so dear in your stead, are being deliberately stripped of their power. If that shakes you, if that upsets you…well, that’s just Rian Johnson preparing you for what’s next. Abrams left him with an ellipsis, a “to be continued” that felt like a specific path. And Johnson takes a hard left turn in his land speeder, breaks through a fence, and goes off track into the wilderness.

Star Wars has gone off the rails. Either you’re going to be on board for the bumpy ride to a new place or you’re not. But the intentions are made early and they’re made perfectly clear.

Legends Bleed

Mark Hamill famously disagreed with Johnson on the direction of Luke Skywalker when he first read the screenplay for The Last Jedi, and it’s clear why. Luke, the farm boy who became a war hero who became a warrior knight who became his father’s savior, has fallen into disgrace. While The Force Awakens featured a Han Solo falling back into his old scoundrel ways (a position of comfort for those worried about a watered-down take on a character who was at his best when he wasn’t playing nice), The Last Jedi features a Luke Skywalker that is unlike anything we’ve seen before – a broken shell of a man who believes that everything he fought for and achieved was for naught. By telling young Rey that none of this matters, he’s also telling the audience the same thing. The stuff you love? The details that have reshaped pop culture and created a geek language that everyone speaks? Yeah, they’re wonky. Or rather, they’re broken. Your faith was flawed.

Luke’s hopelessness is especially affecting because the film is clearly on his side. This is not a movie where a plucky young Jedi-to-be shows up at the old master’s doorstep and teaches him how to hope again. This is a movie where a flawed old man with a lifetime of victories and regrets informs the decisions of a new generation of young heroes who need to find a new way to hope. Clearly, the old ways didn’t work because darkness rises again and there are still tyrannical man-babies trying to be the next Darth Vader. There’s a flaw in the system, buried too deep for most to see, and the only solution is to burn it all down.

The Last Jedi chooses to make this literal, as Luke Skywalker, wild and enraged, moves to burn down the ancient tree housing the ancient Jedi texts. But he doesn’t get to do it. Instead, the ghost of Yoda, the wizened master who trained him decades earlier, arrives, summons a lightning bolt, and does the job for him. This Yoda (once again depicted with a physical puppet after years of being a CGI creation) is very much the character we first met in The Empire Strikes Back – eccentric and wise and silly and profound in equal measure, the kind of old weirdo who has found grace and power in just letting go.

Johnson is clearly not a fan of the militarized, commanding Yoda of the prequels and the animated Clone Wars TV show. This Yoda cackles as he burns down what remains of the Jedi religion, the court jester whose mischief always carries greater meaning. This Yoda knows what Luke knows – the order to which he dedicated his long life is gone, and trying to recapture it is a fool’s errand. Why resurrect an archaic institution that cannot serve a new generation when you can let that new generation build something new for itself? Even Luke, a noble man who believed in the hidden goodness of Darth Vader, gave into his darkest feelings and considered murdering young Ben Solo in his sleep. The old ways failed Luke. They failed Ben. They will fail the Resistance. Luke knows this through anger and regret. Yoda knows this through wisdom and perspective.

It’s important that Johnson lets Yoda burn it all down and not Luke – the passing of the torch is not just the result of the failure of an old man who learned things the hard way, but it comes with the blessing of the wisest character in Star Wars canon. Luke knows that the Jedi must end, that they do not monopolize the Force, and that evil has flourished on their watch. But where Luke saw despair, Yoda sees a chance for renewal. Where J.J. Abrams saw a warm and comforting blanket that makes you feel really good, Rian Johnson sees that stagnation is the death of all things. Stagnation leads to Empires and First Orders. Hitting the reset button, breaking the machine, leads to revolutions. And after 40 years of circling similar ideas, Star Wars could use a revolution.

That revolution feels especially well-timed, as fans discuss whether or not “Luke would have done that.” Geeky debates will always exist (they’re the reason Star Wars thrives today), but maybe we should hone in on what The Last Jedi is telling us. Maybe it’s dangerous to worship our heroes to the point of idolatry, to convince ourselves that they can never do wrong, never make mistakes, and never let their hubris create monsters that threaten a new generation. Johnson sends Luke out on a high note, allowing him one more showdown with his former pupil in a fight that is pacifistic resistance at its most grand and extreme, but it’s the final gasp of the hero we once knew. Long live Luke Skywalker…but never forget that he erred. That he done fucked up.

Breaking Expectations

It’s easy to imagine Rian Johnson watching The Force Awakens and being thrilled. It’s a thrilling movie. It does that. It’s also easy to imagine Rian Johnson watching The Force Awakens and noting, “This Supreme Leader Snoke guy kinda sucks. I should do something about that.”

Despite being positioned as the Big Bad of the new trilogy, the overlord pulling the strings, Supreme Leader Snoke barely leaves an impression during his appearances in both Star Wars movies. His generic flavor of Almighty Galaxy-Destroying Jerk is something we’ve seen several times in Star Wars and countless times elsewhere. He’s dull. He’s especially dull when compared to the angsty, flawed, and powerfully human Ben Solo/Kylo Ren, played with such intensity and raw pain by Adam Driver.

But The Last Jedi knows our expectations. It knows that we think Snoke will remain a threat through the next movie and that Ben will find redemption. It focuses on Ben’s internal conflict as it showcases Snoke’s incredible power. As the son of Han Solo grows more sympathetic, his leader grows more godlike, revealing a command of the Force that allows him to flick enemies and allies alike around his throne room like gnats. The Last Jedi makes Kylo Ren more vulnerable as it makes Supreme Leader Snoke more unstoppable.

So yes, the death of Snoke is a disarming twist and a beautifully staged one – Snoke’s command of the Force bites him in the ass when he reads Ben’s feelings and intentions but cannot understand where they’re pointed. One little Force push from Ben Solo and Luke Skywalker’s lightsaber is activated, cutting the Supreme Leader in half and ending his reign of terror an entire movie earlier than anyone expected. It’s shocking. It’s hilarious. It’s bound to anger fans who have spent the past two years attempting to discern the identity of Snoke. Quite frankly, The Last Jedi doesn’t care about Snoke and it reacts accordingly – your Snoke theory never mattered because Snoke never mattered.

Part of this reflects Johnson’s interest in Ben Solo and his lack of interest in Snoke (can you blame him?), but it’s also a perfect reflection of the grander ideas at work in The Last Jedi. Luke Skywalker loomed large, but in the end, he was just a bitter old man with a chip on his shoulder. Snoke loomed large, but in the end, he was just an vicious old bastard whose backstory is unimportant and who gets stabbed in the back by his angsty student. In a universe where everything is connected, where we’ve been trained to expect greater meanings and profound truths, this is a punch to the gut. Not everything is connected. The mightiest can fall. And at some point, they probably should.

Snoke probably mattered once upon a time, to someone. But he’s gone now. Luke Skywalker mattered to the galaxy, but his time is over. The future has been yanked from the hands of past masters and the universe will be reshaped by Kylo Ren and Rey, who are both fighting for the same thing from opposite directions: the chance to build a future beyond the command of a generation that failed. Johnson’s decision to bring us even closer to Ben Solo, even allowing him to fight alongside Rey in an incredible lightsaber fight, before doubling down on him being irredeemable may be the best choice in a movie filled with audacious choices. Just because Darth Vader was redeemed doesn’t mean his nephew is going down the same path. And yeah, the motivations of this new villain make a certain amount of sense, don’t they? That should trouble you as much as it troubles Rey.

(As a side note, the sudden demise of Snoke feels akin to General Hux’s transformation into bumbling comedic relief. Some may take issue with him being reduced to a punching bag, but it once again feels like Johnson taking an ill-defined character from The Force Awakens and running wild with him, giving him something to do. The same goes for Maz Kanata, who is funnier and wilder in her brief cameo here than she was in The Force Awakens.)

Save the Things You Love

If the death of Snoke was The Last Jedi bursting a bubble, the revelation about Rey’s parents is…an even bigger bursting of an even bigger bubble. The Last Jedi is a movie about disappointment – your heroes are broken, your allies failed you, and your mystery parents, whose identity has been driving your entire existence so far, aren’t Skywalkers or Solos or Kenobis. They’re just some schmoes who sold you off and left you to rot on a backwater planet. If your last name is Skywalker, you’re destined for greatness. It’s a given. But what does it mean if your name is Rey? Just Rey?

The Last Jedi is full of nobodies brushing shoulders with somebodies. Rey discovers that her parents were drunks, simple traders who didn’t care about her, even as she trains under the legendary Luke Skywalker. Poe Dameron must grapple with the fact that he’s taking orders from General Leia Organa, a woman who has suffered and bled and fought for the Galaxy for 30 years, and therefore knows what’s right more often than him. And poor Rose must come to terms with the fact that Finn, a “hero” of the Resistance, is prepared to desert the moment things get tough. The new men and women of Star Wars (with the notable exception of Kylo Ren) are profoundly ordinary. Or rather, they’re profoundly ordinary people forced to live up to the extraordinary people around them, even as those extraordinary people often let them down.

I imagine we’ll see Star Wars fans upset about Rey not being a secret Skywalker or a Kenobi or a clone of Emperor Palpatine or the reincarnated Anakin Skywalker (the internet is a bad place), but Rey’s origin as just a person is more powerful than even the most shocking twist. Luke Skywalker and Anakin Skywalker emerged from a nothing planet as nobodies and rose to the occasion, stumbling into destinies they could never have imagined. To tie every character of significance to them and their circle of allies and enemies would be to rob them of their power. The beauty of Star Wars, since its earliest days, has been the depiction of heroes coming from every corner and every walk of life. A farm boy. A princess. A smuggler. They have no business saving the galaxy, but damn it, they have to! Who else will?

And now we have an orphaned scavenger abandoned by her completely un-noteworthy parents, a conflicted deserter from a vicious military regime, and a skilled pilot with a lot to learn about leadership. The next generation of Star Warsheroes are born from disappointment, the disappointment of having to live in the shadow of heroes and the disappointment of having to fight the war that those heroes failed to actually win all those years ago. No one should have to do this. No young person should have to go to war. Why should these kids, with no connection to the previous generation beyond being unfortunate enough to exist in the same galaxy as Luke, Han, and Leia, suffer for the sins of the Skywalker family?

They shouldn’t, but this is the hand that was dealt to them. And they’re going to fight because that’s what heroes do, no matter where they come from. Secret parentage that supplies an easily digestible explanation for your superpowers is for chumps…and Jedi masters who spend their final days in self-imposed exile.

A Long Time Ago…

Think back to the original Star Wars, the 1977 film, back before it was subtitled “A New Hope” and before it inspired an entire multimedia franchise. Look at the man who made it: George Lucas, a young hotshot, a proper artist, whose previous brush with science fiction resulted in the grim THX 1138. That film wears its politics, and its anger and frustration, on its sleeve. And while Star Wars is an infinitely more accessible film, it’s still the work of the same man and he’s still speaking the same language. A “fun” movie about a team of freedom fighters battling an oppressive, fascist regime is inherently political. Lucas knew this more than anyone and he even kept it alive in the much-derided prequels, which ended up being an entire trilogy of films about the failure of democracy in the face of a tyrannical despot.

When Lucas conceived Star Wars, it was as fresh and radical as anything else made in the American New Wave of the ’70s. But by Return of the Jedi, the ragtag Rebel alliance felt safer and the Force more of a superpower than a mystical way of life. An already simple premise was made simpler, an undesirable turn after The Empire Strikes Back doubled down on Lucas’ original concepts. It’s telling that The Force Awakens feels like a cinematic adaptation of our nostalgic feelings about Star Wars instead of a Star Wars movie as conceived by George Lucas.

Perhaps that’s why The Last Jedi is such a jarring experience, one that feels specifically built to make audiences work through their feelings about this universe. Rian Johnson is unabashedly political and unafraid to slaughter the sacred cows. The First Order isn’t just a group of guys whose costumes provide cool cosplay opportunities – they are fascists, evil and cold and frightening. The Resistance isn’t a team of plucky heroes – they are a band of fighters who are specifically cast with diverse men and women to reflect the fears and frustrations of millennials who feel trapped and afraid in a world where resistance often feels futile (and who really wouldn’t mind tearing apart a casino city operated by the 1%). The Force isn’t just a cool excuse for heroes to lift rocks – it is something mystical and mysterious that cannot be easily explained and comprehended, something that even Luke Skywalker has a complex relationship with at this point.

Even the Lando surrogate, the unnamed codebreaker played by Benicio del Toro, offers no easy answers as he betrays our heroes and doesn’t even reach for apology or redemption. Even the goofy humor that arrives early and often is a departure from the norm, a case of Johnson making the movie his own rather than following a style guide. The Last Jedifeels like a movie young George Lucas, passionate and bold, would have made. It feels like a proper Star Wars movie by refusing to feel like a Star Wars movie.

The Force Awakens and Rogue One: A Star Wars Story want to please you. They want to hit familiar beats and remind you why you love Star Wars. They are so much fun. But The Last Jedi doesn’t want to remind you of anything. It doesn’t care about your relationship with Star Wars. The only relationship that matters here is Rian Johnson’s relationship with Star Wars, and for the first time in a long time, here is a Star Wars movie with a proper point of view, one delivered by a storyteller who is unafraid to shatter a universe he loves, to break down the heroes that mean so much to him. A wise and noble Luke is easy. A Luke with regrets? That’s hard. That’s tough to swallow. That’s what elevates The Last Jedi beyond a simple retread – it asks you to take these characters seriously in a way that other Star Wars films have not, to acknowledge them as something beyond a vessel for escapism. Star Wars can only matter in the long run if it’s given the room to grow. And right now, it feels like the sky is the limit. Right now, Star Wars feels…unsafe.

And that feels great.

###

I find this to be one of the better thought-provoking reviews out there of “Star Wars: The Last Jedi.” I, personally, am glad that Rian Johnson had the guts to make the movie he wanted to make and not be swayed by public opinion. Truly great movies are born out of a strong point of view, not by appeasing to crowdsourced ideas or demands from moviegoers. Not all viewers may like or agree with a filmmaker’s opinion, but then, there is no way that a film can be everything to everyone - and it shouldn’t be. I applaud Rian Johnson for the courage to make such an unapologetically bold film - it’s stunningly good.

[fatcatsarecats]

That one Reylo scene in The Last Jedi, but with JayTim.

Words: ~2,000ish AN: Tried to make the dialogue similar to the movies in term of syntax. Hopefully it worked!

— Darkness is not unfamiliar to Tim—he’s never been afraid of what lurks behind the darkness. No, it’s the isolation that weighs him down, the implication that nothing and no one else is there. No one is waiting for him. It’s just him, and if he ceases to exist, then so be it. No one else will be affected.

No one else will care.

Tim has been a scavenger his whole life. First, it was food and shelter, then parts and people. Now, he’s searching for answers.

Answers about his past, about where he came from. Answers about the Force, and this restless energy inside of Tim that’s been brewing since ever since he can remember. It’s disconcerting; to feels so foreign in his own body, and he wants to know why him? Why a nobody like Tim—

And why, out of everyone in the whole galaxy, does it pull him towards Jason?

Tim touches the wall of ice in front of him, the tip of his finger kissing the frost fogging his reflection. Behind the cracks that line the wall, a blurred shadow moves.

His heart races as the shadow grows larger.

“Show me,” Tim says quietly. “Show me my parents.”

As if by magic, the fog disperses. The image sharpens into focus until a nose, a mouth, a pair of blue eyes—so familiar it strikes a gut-wrenching note in him—appears and Tim finds himself staring at—

—himself.

All breath rushes out of him, and tears begin pricking out. It feels like he’s falling, even more than he was when he was pulled into the hole. Every time there’s a semblance of hope, of finding the smallest answer for closure, nothing ever comes from it, and he’s left in the dust.

It’s always like this.

At the end, he’s always by himself.

—

“It was stifling, a bit, but small spaces never bothered me that much. I’m used to it now. In front and the back, I could see a line of just…me. Every action I made—I could hear it coming and I can see it going even as the thought of executing the action forms. It was…” Tim breaks off, “…weird.”

Wet hair sticks to his skin, and he’s almost mumbling from the cold. Yet, there’s warmth licking at his skin, partially from the fire crackling in front of him and the cosy atmosphere of rain outside his temporary brick residence.

In front of him, Jason hasn’t taken his eyes off of Tim. Every other noise is muted, as it always is within their connection, and Tim wonders how he went from calling Jason a ‘murderous snake’ to this—to confessing and confiding between quiet whispers in the middle of the night.

Tim breathes out. “I’ve never felt so alone.”

“The past does nothing but weigh you down. The things you’re lacking in becomes more obtrusive and undeniable with each reflection.”

“That’s not true,” Tim denies.

“It is,” Jason says. “Let the past die, and move forward with no hesitation.”

“No.” Tim shakes his head. “One doesn’t have to be obliterated for the other to flourish. That’s how we’re alike isn’t it? We’ve both darkness and light within ourselves, and we’ve seen how they can coexist. Change can still happen while the balance is kept. The past can still be reconciled and carried into the future—”

Jason snorts. “Carried. Like a dead weight.”

Tim stumbles to a stop. He purses his lips and looks down at his hands.

“We are the product of failures,” Jason says, not unkindly. “People who failed to be teachers, people who failed to be parents. People who failed to be both when we needed them to be.”

“The Jedi—”

“Doomed themselves because of their hubris,” Jason interrupts. He leans closer. “They couldn’t see themselves fall, so they did.”

“I don’t agree with what Bruce did,” Tim says. “I won’t disagree that he failed you, but serving under the Supreme Leader?”

Jason’s jaw hardens. “Consider it another way of killing my past.”

“He would never let you reach your true potential in fear of you surpassing and overthrowing him.”

“And Bruce has taught you so much, hasn’t he?”

Tim stops short, once again, because Jason has a point. Bruce has possibly engaged with a rock more than he did Tim.

Glancing up, Tim is caught by the scar running down Jason’s face—the scar slashed into his face by Tim’s own hands. It starts from his cheekbone and travels all the way down to his jaw, and Tim feels the sudden urge to reach out and touch it.

What would it be like to run his finger down Jason’s scar? To give a measure of comfort, for once, instead of hurting each other like they usually devolve to?

Every time they’ve been hurt—either by each other or by the people meant to guide them—they’ve been left to heal by themselves.

But maybe they didn’t have to.

Jason’s eyes flicker down his face, and Tim doesn’t back down with his staring.

“But you’re right about one thing,” Jason says. “You’re not alone.”

“Neither are you,” Tim says.                                        

It was the way that Jason said it—the way his voice dipped into a rasp—that urges Tim holds out his hand. Slowly, he reaches out to Jason. His hands are bare; bandage-free with his all his scars and callouses free for Jason to see.

Jason offers one of his own. Shaky, and a little tentative, his hand uncurls as he gets closer. His reach is careful. Reverent, Tim thinks, of the little orbit they’ve caught each other in. After revolving around each other for so long, maybe they’ll find it here—a place and a sense of belonging in the space between all matters.

In a soft brush of skin against skin.

The moment they touch, his whole body tingles. Tim is assaulted with images—with conviction and surety that blazes a path through his body and summons a vigorous beat in his heart.

He sees Jason and him facing an army of towering beast made of thick steel and lasers. Red rocks, sparkling and small, rises around them despite the lack of draft. They stand side by side, Jason’s red lightsaber glowing to an intensity that matches Tim’s blue.

And Tim knows that he’s not the only one seeing this. Seeing how they’re united in their front, or how they can be.

Together.

This is how it’s meant to be.

“No!”

At Bruce’s yell, rocks crash around them. Tim is slapped out of his vision, and out of his bond, falling backwards as rain begins drenching him awake, and Jason’s image disappears as a rock slashes across his body. Bruce is standing in his doorway, horror escaping with every heavy breath.

“What were you thinking?” Bruce asks. “That’s right, you weren’t! Pack your ship, I want you gone by—”

“Was it true?” Tim asks. He scrambles to a stand. “Did you try to kill him, the night he burnt your school down?”

Bruce snaps his mouth close. He turns around and walks out the doorway, leaving to Tim to chase after him.

“I don’t need this,” Bruce says. “I don’t owe you anything.”

Despite the cold, Tim grows red hot with anger. “Yes, you do!” he says, voice cracking from anger. “You created him. You created Kylo Ren!”

Batman turns around, enraged. “I did no such thing.”  

“You tried to strike him down while he was asleep—while he was your apprentice. I could feel it through the bond, Bruce. He wasn’t lying. Now I want to hear it from you.”

Bruce stays silent, even as his eyes are hard as stone, and Tim searches for any small sign accusing Jason for this deception.

“You’re not denying it,” Tim says in disbelief.

Bruce’s shoulders slump. “Tim—”

“Why?” Tim asks. “Why did you do it? You were—”

My hero.

“You were supposed to guide him,” he tries again. “He was your apprentice, he was given to you because he had no one else.”

All at once, Bruce’s stern countenance crumbles, and his grey hair stands out even though it’s night time.

“It was a moment of weakness and cowardice,” Bruce confesses, exhausted. “A moment I’ve regretted ever since. There was so much darkness in him. So bleak and overwhelming that his descent would be inevitable. It threatened to consume and destroy everyone I loved. My lightsaber called to me, whispered that with just slash, I could end it all. I could save so many…but I couldn’t do it. And shame flooded in me afterwards; at the thought of killing an innocent boy for something he hasn’t even done. By then, it was too late. Jason had already woken up.”

Tim can see it in his mind, the image Jason weaved before. Of the betrayal, fear, and ultimately, anger had twisted Jason’s face before he lifted his hand to bring the roof down around them.

Bruce stares down at his hands. “I haven’t wielded a lightsaber since.”

“He can still be saved.”

Clenching his fist, Bruce turns away from Tim, again, and begins walking towards his house. “You’re believing only in things you want to believe in.”

“I’m believing because I saw it, Bruce,” Tim says. “I had a vision when I touched him, and he was fighting on our side. For us. And I felt it. There is conflict in him. If I can convince to fight for us, we can win the war!”

“Jason is gone,” Bruce says, walking up the stone steps. “He’s too entrenched in the Dark side. The moment you let your guard down, he will sever you in half. I want no part in this madness.”

The door closes on Tim.

“That’s fine,” Tim mutters to himself. “That’s a-okay. It’s not like I need you anyway!” he yells at the door. “At least I’m doing something about this war!”

His voice rings out to no avail. The door stays closed.

—

Admittedly, shipping himself right to Jason in a tomb-like escape pod is a bit much, even when taking a leap of faith.

But there has to be a reason why the connection exists. Jason’s conflict tore at him like a ravenous beast, and his wounds echo off of Tim. He hurts, but he doesn’t have to heal alone. Tim will be there with him.

Having Jason on their side can be the deciding factor of the war. Tim has to try.

Their pod lands, and Tim can see Jason without his helmet. There’s the scar Tim gave him, and his eyes remind Tim of having solid feet on the ground, admiring the sky after long stretches of travel through the galaxy.

But then Jason steps aside, and behind him are two stormtroopers.

One of them holds out a large, blocky handcuff.

—

The blinding white that flickers as the elevator rises is a stark contrast to the comfortable companionship they settled on last night. Behind him stands Jason, face stern and unrelenting.

It’s a little painful to see Jason this way when the image of him in front of the fire is still fresh on his mind.

“You don’t have to do this,” Tim says, turning around, moving forward into Jason’s space with no hesitation. “People won’t accept you when you first start off, but they will when they see you fight for us. It’ll be hard to start again, but you won’t be alone. I can help!”

That’s what Jason wanted right? For Tim to move forward without hesitation. He’s craning his neck, but once again, Tim refuses to back down with his stare. He wants answers because—he thought—

“I’m only doing what we agreed on in our vision,” Jason says carefully.

“Then why are you taking me to the Supreme Leader?” Tim asks, a bit desperate. “Didn’t you see us, standing together, side by side last night?”

“I did.” A slight dip in Jason’s eyebrows. “This is the first step to proving yourself.”

Proving himself?

Tim searches his face, and he looks—Jason looks earnest about what he just said.

Dread starts to build in Tim’s stomach.

Swallowing, Tim asks. “What did you see last night?”

“I saw us standing united as we tore through the battlefields for the Dark side,” Jason says, not letting his eyes stray from Tim’s face even once. “And we were glorious.”

Then he brings his hand up, gloved instead of bare, and hesitates for a second, before brushing the edge of Tim’s jaw with the back of his finger.

“We will be glorious,” Jason corrects.

And for Tim, it’s like the floor has crumbled beneath his feet. It feels like he’s falling again.

Turning around, Tim moves closer to the door and tamps down his panic as he prepares himself to meet the Supreme Leader.

— 

AN: tim, softly, but with feeling: fuck!!!!

[aaluminiumas]

At Ten Paces

        “So, Burr, have the finger on the trigger?”

        Hamilton, as usual, didn’t miss the opportunity to sneer and throw a waspish remark at me. As expected, he wasn’t serious at all, this duel meant merely nothing to him: he didn’t respect this historical moment – just like he didn’t respect me. He made fun of everything he saw – made fun of the situation, made fun of me, that eccentric that would certainly be dished on by newspapers!.. Unbearable, ridiculous! This man turns everything into a farce: once he takes the floor, any session morphs into a mess!

        “Almost pulling it.”

        Hamilton grinned arrogantly – with the schadenfreude so characteristic of him that drives me crazy. Oh, if only I could, I would’ve shot him back then, I would’ve planted a bullet into his sarcastic dirty mouth which is always full of snide remarks! He’s always vaunting of his “service in battle”, but in reality it seems like this filthy little toad lay low somewhere in the tent scribbling his useless plans and botching up senseless essays! Instead of being active in politics he always dilates upon, the only thing he’s doing is writing which is not going to help us on the economic arena. This Caribbean bastard, supercilious parvenu God knows how ingratiated himself with Washington, managed to obtain his cushy job – and now he is not ashamed to use the fruits of his so called providence! What are his achievements exactly? A couple of Federalist articles for the Constitution nobody cares about? This mediocre project of the National Bank which isn’t accepted even by excruciatingly indifferent Jefferson? What’s his cultural impact? What’s his contribute to our country’s development? His constant squabbles in Congress – at any meeting in general? His permanent braggadocio, idiotic ostentation, swelled up conceit? Showing off in front of the delegates and haughty behavior? Voting for the man unable to make a strategically important decision, voting for someone preferring to procrastinate and postpone? The fact that his vote gravely changed the situation during the election of 1800 rose himself in his own eyes and ascribed non-existent accomplishments to him. Hamilton, enough. You can apologize – here and now – and stop marring this beautiful day with your insipid jokes popping out of your carelessly concocted pamphlets. But no, you want to take revenge for your own disrespect – again, posing, giving a performance, trying to prove what a perfect shooter you are. You’ll have to take responsibility for your words, for your exceedingly long tongue, for your everlasting attacks and accusations – and your hubris.

        “Don’t hesitate, sir,” Hamilton drawled in a mocking manner, reluctantly preparing himself for the duel.

        He looked around slowly – slightly narrowed his eyes, he glanced at the boats and the oars; took a gander at me – and, damn it, he obviously noticed I had soaked a bit!.. He muttered something about the fog – and the wonderful day that lay ahead; patted Pendleton on the shoulder, smiled… and started telling us about his plans for the evenings as if he expected to go home in one piece! As if there was not a gun loaded, there were not a second tensed; me, the one capable to determine his fate, did not exist for him!.. He idly adjusted his sleeves as if preening before a date; grabbed the weapon and glanced at the boats again. Hamilton didn’t look nervous at all – on the contrary, he seemed either to be participating in another passionate dispute, or preparing himself for another blow to inflict on the Republicans, especially on Jefferson who had been elected to run afoul of me.

        “At ten paces?” he asked, adjusting a ginger strand at the temple. Hell, is he attending a party?

        Fighting my annoyance, I nodded. Yes, he surprised me here as well – he baffled me with his outstanding impudence.

        “If you say so, Hamilton.”

        “Good to know that at least now you hear me.”

        I clenched my teeth: he simply couldn’t stay silent for a second! Moreover, the closer the moment of truth crawled, the calmer he became – he wasn’t in the least affected by the seriousness of my intentions! Is he that dumb to take everything for a joke, a cheap trick? The only thing he had to do was to issue an apology and admit the inferiority of his judgement – I’d easily relent! This bastard is always turning the world around into a penny-ante play, and unfortunately this duel wasn’t an exception to the rule. On the contrary: it had awakened the honed skills of a third-rate clown.

        “It’s a pity you can’t shut up even on the brink of death.”

        “On the brink of death? For god’s sake, Burr. I bet I’ll outlive you.”

        And again, that brazen grin, this histrionic astonishment of a bad actor – he wouldn’t be accepted even at the wayside travelling show though he was accepted at the Congress abrim with the same prancing fools!.. No, I am not against the idea of reconciliation, I would forget about the affront, but Hamilton somewhat insists on violence. He vexes me even more so, pits himself against me! With every second he’s digging a deeper hole. I feel a growing urge to tell him that a couple of words could alter everything, even my intentions – he doesn’t even care what nonsense to talk, so if he added a few more lines to his stupid monologue of a great length, it wouldn’t play a significant part for him: a sentence more, a sentence less…

        The seconds strained. At the beginning they thought the duel to be a silly caprice of two men with no death happening at the end (at any rate, Hamilton always managed to interject with a long tedious speech full of redundant details, or with a squib). And now they understood the shots were unavoidable. God knows, I didn’t want it to occur – someone had to watch the mouth instead of talking nonsense amplifying it with publications and pamphlets. If Mother Nature created people for a certain purpose, Hamilton had none – he was a startlingly garrulous experiment, ready to take chances. If others consider that to be elocution and talent, then I realize this lack of interest towards my modest person – to any person whatsoever, as this ruffled rooster outshines the most obtuse parrot chattering days on end. Hard to imagine how his family put up with him – I bet his wife and children elude him all the time.  

        “Check the gun: they say it misfires. You sure don’t want to be a poor shot to boot?”

        Pendleton frowned – and Hamilton definitely saw it though didn’t pay any heed to this. Winked and smiled; no control over the situation. Is it possible he is not scared at all? Is it possible he… he intends to shoot? Is it possible he… wants to end it up this way?

        “Not worse than you are.”

        “We’ll see!”

        Just imagine: that smirk, again! I can’t bear it any longer!

        “Ten paces,” came a muffled voice. I cannot even make out to whom it belongs exactly. Dang it, he isn’t kidding. He really is going to kill me.  

        “One…”

        Everything is so foggy – it seems the haze covered the eyes as well. I am no longer certain what is going on.

        “Two.”

        The second’s voice didn’t quiver – but dropped down a notch.

        “Three.”

        Hamilton barely suppressed the desire to toss another wisecrack. He could hardly keep himself from saying something.

        “Four.”

        Making a step, I stumble over wet grass.

        “Five...”

        I can hear Hamilton’s steps behind my back. Slow, steady, made at the word of command.

        “Six.”

        I falter again. For some obscure reason, I am nervous: maybe I should turn back?

        “Seven.”

        He commences to sing a doltish funny song as if it is the right time to dally. Hamilton manages to ruin the most serious moment – we’re an inch from death!

        “Eight… Nine… Ten. Stop.”

        We turn to each other. He shoots first – what have I done to disgruntle him so much that he wants to destroy me? Is he eager to be the most discussed politician of the time? Wasn’t it enough after that Reynolds’ Pamphlet read by the whole country?

        “You know, Burr,” Hamilton smiled, aiming, “I am not a supporter or adherent to Draconian measures. But drastic times…”

        He didn’t finish the sentence. Instead of listening to his monologue, I way too vividly saw his white finger placing on the trigger. I swear, nothing else seemed more natural to me: he knew how to use the gun; you’d think he was born with the weapon in hand; the way he held it, the way he…

        …shot the tree.

        I hear the bullet piercing the air next to my ear; honestly, it was an inch away from me – and it got stuck in the trunk of a spreading willow now shaking its boughs.

        “…call for diplomacy, not violence.”

        I gave a start. He stood opposite me, unusually collected, straightened up – and appeared taller than I remembered; I saw my own reflection in his violet eyes; I was sure there was no shot at all, and if I hadn’t been deafened by it, I wouldn’t have grabbed my own pistol so hastily, I wouldn’t have been so trigger-happy, I wouldn’t have…

        “Burr… damn you. The wound is fatal. You aren’t as bad as I thought.”

        Hamilton’s voice was muffled and cracked – but his lips were still grinning. Out of the corner of the eye I saw him falling – and the seconds running up to him. As for me… I stood there rooted to the spot, staring into space. Duels had seemed different to me… before I shot Alexander Hamilton, the first secretary of Treasure of the United States.

[greed-the-dorkalicious]

Between Life and Death, Chapter I

Fandom: Jojo’s Bizarre Adventure Major characters (thus far): Jonathan Joestar, Dio Brando Pairings: None (DO NOT TAG AS J/ONADI/O PLEASE AND THANK YOU) Word count: 3,890 Warnings: Semi-graphic violence, dark themes, endgame spoilers for Phantom Blood and Stardust Crusaders Notes: There is a playlist that goes along with this fic, designed to sync with the story if listened to while reading the fic. You can find chapters 1 - 5 here, or alternatively here on YouTube. For chapter 1 only, go here.

Read on AO3

Chapter I - Like I Belong To You

Why do you still look at me like I belong to you? It's like you won't let me go no matter what I do You must be a parasite, or some sick disease Your fingers wrapped around my throat, suffocating me

~Crusher-P, “Biohazard”

---

Jonathan Joestar took his first breath in 99 years, and knew that something was wrong.

No, not something. Everything.

Everything was wrong.

He gasped as he was suddenly thrust back into a living body, with a heart, lungs, nerves, and muscles. He first became aware of a dull pain in his neck and throat, and then of something soft underneath him, and a sense of living presences nearby. Slowly, Jonathan opened his eyes.

He lay on a large, ornate wooden canopy bed, with a thick mattress and large pillows, framed by blue sheer curtains. The room appeared to be round, with stone walls, a fireplace to one side, and boarded windows. Though he could see with little trouble, the only sources of light seemed to be two tall candles on either side of the bed.

Looming over him from one side was the last person he’d seen alive, and the last person he wanted to see.

“Dio,” Jonathan whispered breathlessly.

Dio smiled, a slow, devilish grin that sent chills down Jonathan’s spine. (Whose spine, he wondered?)

“Hello, Jojo. Welcome back to the land of the living,” Dio said, his voice as calm and haughty as ever.

“What have you done?” Jonathan gasped quietly as he slowly, shakily sat up, eyes wide with horror. Everything felt so wrong.

“Isn’t it obvious? I’ve given you a second chance,” Dio replied simply. “You died far too young. I’ve given you a chance to live the life you never had.”

“Well if you felt that way maybe you shouldn’t have murdered me in the first place,” Jonathan retorted in anger. “It’s too late for me now, Dio. Everyone I care about is long dead, there’s nothing left for me here. I shouldn’t be here and I don’t want to be here,” he argued. There was fury and hurt in his voice, and his stare was like fire.

Jonathan was so outraged. Everything was wrong. Even after death, he could never escape Dio. He was trapped under Dio’s foot, and Dio would never stop hurting him, each time worse than the last. Dio had torn him from the world of the dead- where he had been perfectly content for the first time- and forced him into a plane of existence where Jonathan was not supposed to be, and destroyed the entire balance of life and death in the process. It hurt.

On top of that, Jonathan knew there was only one way Dio could have accomplished this feat. He felt it, too, and knew it was true- Dio had revived Jonathan as a vampire, a monster, an unholy abomination which could only hurt others. And he had attached Jonathan’s head onto someone else’s body, like Dio had stolen Jonathan’s body all those years ago.

“...We have all the freedom in the world, after all. We could even go back to England if you like, or...” Dio was, apparently, still talking. Absorbed in his indignation and sorrow, Jonathan hadn’t even noticed. He didn’t know how long Dio had been talking, and he didn’t care, interrupting him to carry over his train of thought. Or train of anger, as it were.

“Whose body is this?!” he growled, grabbing Dio by his shirt collar and slamming him into the bedpost. The post snapped behind Dio, and for a brief moment, Dio looked surprised. Jonathan had taken him off guard.

“Y-your great-great-grandson, Jotaro Kujo,” Dio gasped underneath Jonathan’s grip. This answer only served to make Jonathan angrier.

Jonathan threw Dio across the room, too enraged to notice or care about his newfound unnatural strength.

“You bastard!” he snarled. “It wasn’t enough to kill me, or my father, or my dog, now you have to hurt my descendants as well?! Enough is enough, Dio!”

Dio stood up, brushed the rubble from the smashed wall off his clothes, and crossed his arms with a huff. “They were a nuisance,” he explained annoyedly.

“‘A nuisance’?! Oh, what, are you just murdering anyone who irritates you now?!” Jonathan demanded, throwing his hands up in exasperation.

“They were actively trying to kill me,” Dio elaborated.

“And no wonder, if this is what you’ve become,” Jonathan rebutted dryly.

“I don’t see why you’re so upset, really. It’s not as if you knew any of them personally,” Dio said with a shrug.

“That’s not the point, Dio! They’re still my family, and aside from that, you’re still murdering innocent people!”

“That’s the way of this world, is it not? The strong destroy the weak. Your family line is weak. Their deaths were inevitable,” Dio argued, with the same level of emotional detachment that continued to bother Jonathan so much. He spoke as if they were simply discussing the ending of a book.

Jonathan raised an eyebrow at Dio’s philosophy. “Oh? And what does that make me, then?”

Dio paused for a moment, thinking this over.

“...Let me rephrase my statement. The strong destroy the weak, so that the strong may have whatever they desire,” he began. “I desired your companionship, since it gets boring having no true kindred spirits, and since I am strong, I can have that. It’s possible that someday, you might become even stronger than me, and then you can have whatever you want. But knowing your personality, I doubt that will ever happen,” he finished rather condescendingly.

“Yes, and I didn’t think you’d go so far as to become a vampire. I guess we’re both full of surprises,” Jonathan shot back threateningly.

Dio smirked. “We’ll see. For now, allow me to get you up to speed,” he suggested. “You might want to have a seat.”

Jonathan sighed. “Fine,” he muttered reluctantly. He sat down on the bed with a huff, his uncomfortably unfamiliar arms crossed against his chest. He glanced at the broken post for a brief second, feeling a flicker of both embarrassment and irritation, then turned his attention back to Dio, who paced leisurely across the floor as he spoke.

“Thanks to your obnoxious heroics, I had the misfortune to wind up stuck in a box at the bottom of the ocean for a century,” Dio began, scowling at Jonathan for a moment as he recalled the experience. “Luckily for me, I was… kindly rescued by a ship full of fools in search of treasure in the shipwreck.” This time, Dio’s expression was a mischievous grin, with a flash of fangs glinting ominously in the flickering candlelight.

“I take it those men are now dead,” Jonathan guessed.

“Obviously. Anyway, I wound up in Egypt, so I decided to take up residence in Cairo. So much has changed in the world since we last saw each other, Jojo!” Dio exclaimed, turning around and holding up his arms in a wide, sweeping gesture. “Carriages have been replaced with automobiles, humans have achieved vehicular flight and even space travel, there have been multiple global-scale world wars- apparently the Germans committed racial genocide, believe it or not. Long-distance communication has-”

“I know about all of those things, Dio. My son was a pilot in the Great War until one of your zombies murdered him,” Jonathan snarled. “Tell me why you killed my grandson.”

Dio raised an eyebrow what might have been almost some form of mild interest, or perhaps surprise. “Was he? Hm. Anyway…” Dio paused for a minute, considering how to continue his story.

“...Tell me, Jojo, do you know what a stand is?” he began thoughtfully.

“No…” Jonathan answered, feeling suddenly uncertain. The way Dio had spoken made it seem like he was referring to something much more grave than simply an item used to prop something up.

“A stand, as they are known, is a metaphysical manifestation of one’s will to fight. A guardian spirit, if you will,” Dio explained, as if giving a lecture. “Only a small fraction of the world’s population has the potential to develop a stand. They come in a wide variety of appearances and functions, and generally are invisible to all but other stand users. My stand, The World, has incredible speed and power, and… The ability to stop time at my whim, allowing only I, Dio, to move for several seconds. To put it simply, it is the ultimate stand,” he declared proudly.

“Is that so,” Jonathan replied flatly, unimpressed by Dio’s child-like hubris.

Dio paused for a moment, considering Jonathan’s apathetic reaction.

“...I will admit, your descendants and their companions had some quite interesting stands themselves,” Dio commented. “Jotaro’s stand, Star Platinum, was actually rather similar to The World. But as I said, The World is the ultimate stand, and Star Platinum was weak. Killing Jotaro was all too easy,” he bragged. He paused for a moment, and waited for Jonathan to respond to this statement.

Jonathan said nothing, only watching Dio with an irritated expression, waiting for him to finish his explanation.. Seeing Jonathan’s lack of reaction, Dio frowned slightly in disappointment, but continued nonetheless.

“But you see, Jojo… To be frank, it’s boring having this much power. Nothing challenges me, nothing excites me... Everyone is simply so far beneath me. There is no one on this earth who can stand as my equal, intellectually or physically. At least, that is… until now,” he finished slowly, pausing in his pacing to turn and stare at Jonathan with an almost hungry look, one that chilled Jonathan to his core.

“So in other words… You resurrected me because you were bored,” Jonathan translated.

“I suppose you could say that, yes,” Dio replied amusedly.

Jonathan paused, unable to say a word. He seethed with anger as he processed this information, Dio’s casual attitude, the grim reality of the situation, everything.

“...You are truly the most vile person to ever live,” he whispered, voice shaking along with his body as he slowly stood up. He looked around for an exit, and upon spotting a single set of descending stairs, he began walking towards them with heavy, tense steps.

Dio watched Jonathan with detached casualty. “And just where do you think you’re going?” he asked.

“Anywhere but here,” Jonathan growled in response. He startled as Dio suddenly appeared between him and the stairs, causing Jonathan to nearly crash into him.

How had Dio done that..?

Jonathan shook his head, willing himself to ignore the mixture of shock, confusion, intrigue, and fear he felt at the strange occurrence; It wasn’t like he hadn’t seen Dio do weird, unexpected, and mildly terrifying things before. No matter. Jonathan was going to get the hell away from this nightmare, and he wasn’t going to let Dio’s intimidation tactics stop him. And so, he pushed past Dio, unwavering in his advancement towards the exit.

Dio bared his teeth in an unsettling expression that may have been either a grin or a scowl, and suddenly lunged towards Jonathan with startling speed, giving him no time to react. “I don’t think so,” Dio snarled as he grabbed Jonathan’s wrist and roughly yanked him backwards.

Jonathan gasped, stumbling backwards, but managed to at least stop himself from falling to the ground.

“Let me go, Dio!” he demanded, and tried to pull his hand away, only to be shoved against the wall with equal violence.

As Dio attacked him, most of Jonathan’s fighting instincts came roaring back from their century-long nap, and adrenaline coursed through his new body. The deepest reaches of his soul reacted to the danger he was in with an instinct to protect himself, to augment his abilities by tapping into an ancient, primordial power within himself- an instinct he responded to by taking a deep, slow breath and drawing back his arm, a skill he had practiced to the point that it was almost a reflex.

Jonathan’s fist collided with Dio’s face, but to his surprise, that was all that happened; there was no warm tingling in his hand, no ringing sound or sparks of energy, no screaming in pain. He watched with horror as Dio smirked and grabbed his wrist, leaving Jonathan with no free hands left.

“Really now, did you honestly think a vampire could use hamon? How foolishly naive.”

Within seconds, Dio had Jonathan slammed down against the ground. Jonathan let out a grunt of pain as he hit the floor hard, knocking the air out of his lungs (although evidently, it wasn’t like he needed it anyway, with no potential for hamon).

“You useless, useless fool. You’re out of practice. You’re weakened. You don’t even have any special abilities to speak of,” Dio taunted Jonathan- as Jonathan tried to stand up, Dio stepped on his head- “You have no chance of escape. And even if you did, where would you go? You’re in an unfamiliar world, with no money and no allies.”

Jonathan tried to make a reply, but was met with Dio pressing his foot down harder, squishing Jonathan’s cheek and making it impossible to open his mouth. Jonathan’s vision swam, and his neck ached painfully.

“But there’s no need to despair,” Dio continued, speaking just slightly less threateningly. “Believe it or not, I don’t intend to be especially cruel to you. Relax! You’re my companion now, not my enemy,” he declared, which Jonathan thought was the biggest lie he’d heard since… Well, since Dio had tried to convince Jonathan he hadn’t meant to murder their father.

Dio suddenly stepped away from Jonathan. “I understand that you need some time to process things, so I’ll leave you alone for a little while,” he announced.

Jonathan could only watch, astounded and confused, as Dio slowly disappeared down the stairs. He heard Dio’s footsteps continue, getting farther and farther away, and finally heard the sound of a heavy door closing.

...And then, suddenly, it was almost as if a switch was flipped. Jonathan’s fiery, defiant attitude quickly vanished, like body heat sapped by a cold English winter wind.

He was no valiant, courageous hero; He was just a man, young yet old at the same time, lying alone and in pain on the floor of an unfamiliar place in an unfamiliar time. He had been stolen away from his friends and family and imprisoned with no means of escape by the man who had tormented him for so many years, and turned into an unholy, cannibalistic abomination, a twisted replica of Frankenstein’s monster fashioned from the corpse of his own teenage grandson. This was the horrific fate Jonathan had somehow been assigned, with no warning and no means of fighting back. Forever.

Jonathan felt overwhelmed with grief like never before, and then the world went dark.

---

When Jonathan awoke, he had no idea how much time had passed since he’d blacked out. An hour? Five minutes? A day? A few seconds? With no clock and no windows, he had no way of gauging the passage of time.

He listened closely to the room around him, trying to detect any possible signs of Dio or someone else being around, but everything was silent. This was somewhat reassuring to him, and he slowly pushed himself off the ground with stiff, sluggish movements. His body still ached in several places.

Once he’d gotten to his feet, Jonathan decided to investigate his surroundings. Maybe he could find something useful, some small hope for escape.

As he’d observed before, the room was round, and medium in size; Judging by the descending stairs, he suspected it was the top of a tower. It appeared to be made entirely of stone, with a simple, rectangular purple rug covering the middle of the floor. The ceiling was dome-shaped, with a crisscrossing nexus of arches spanning across its diameter, each arch supported on either end by several ornate stone pillars around the room.

In the middle of the room was the canopy bed he’d first woken up on, now broken with one post snapped, causing the canopy to hang down precariously at one corner. The bed was flanked at the head by two large candles in tall, skinny brass candle holders. To the left side of the bed was a round night stand with the same type of design and wood as the bed, though there was nothing on top of it.

The walls were decorated with a variety of framed maps and landscape paintings; There was one world map, along with several more specific maps, some of which were written in Arabic. Jonathan recognized one of the paintings as the Giza necropolis, but the others were unfamiliar, generic-looking locations. He studied them closely as he walked around the room’s perimeter, but failed to recognize any of them. He did, however, notice a cracked dent in the wall where Dio had attacked him.

As he continued around the room, he came to a fireplace- it was only a few feet high, but the mantle was topped by a large, arched mirror that stretched all the way up to the moulding where the wall met the ceiling. (He noted that there was also a small clock on the mantle.) Initially, he intended to keep walking, but found himself… stopping, for a moment, in front of the mirror. One way or another, he couldn’t look away, staring at his reflection with wide eyes and an almost faraway feeling.

He studied his appearance in the mirror, feeling slightly sick as he took it all in. His once-bright blue eyes had turned a deep wine red, and as his mouth hung open slightly in awe, a pair of small fangs glinted in the candlelight. The unnatural paleness of his face ended abruptly at the neck, contrasted by slightly more tan skin from the neck down, and joined by irritated, angry pink scar tissue that stung continually. A few drops of blood ran down his neck, too, staining the too-big white dress shirt and simple purple waistcoat that covered his chest.

He touched a hand to his face, slowly; The contrast in skin tone, though it wasn’t a huge difference, was unsettling. Looking closely, he also noticed that his stolen hand was slightly calloused, and had what looked like burn scars in several places. Why, he wondered?

Eventually, Jonathan forced himself to tear his gaze away from the mirror. There was no time to mourn now; He needed to look for a way out.

Naturally, the best place to start his search would be the windows. He walked over to one of the room’s two windows, hoping to be able to open it somehow, but found that the wooden shutters were covered by a second pair of iron bar shutters, latched and locked with a heavy padlock. He gave the shutters a rattle for good measure, but they seemed solidly attached to the walls. So much for that plan.

It seemed there were no possible escape routes left, other than the stairs, though something told Jonathan he wasn’t going to have much luck there either (though that didn’t mean he wouldn’t try, of course). Feeling somewhat mentally drained and weighed down by the grim reality of the situation, he decided to rest for a bit before venturing downstairs. He sat down on the bed with a heavy sigh, sinking into the thick mattress. He slumped against one of the remaining posts and stared aimlessly at the wall with tired eyes.

He didn’t get to rest for long, though; After only a minute or two, he once again heard the heavy grinding noise of the door at the bottom of the stairs. He sat up abruptly, listening to footsteps- no, two sets of footsteps coming up the stairs, his stolen heart pounding in his chest.

Dio smiled at Jonathan as he entered the room. “Hello again, Jojo. I take it you’ve calmed down by now?”

“Not really, now what do you want?” Jonathan replied with a halfhearted glare.

“There’s someone I want you to meet,” Dio answered.

Dio snapped his fingers, and a man with the strangest and tallest hair Jonathan had ever seen emerged from the stairwell and came to Dio’s side, seemingly hovering across the floor to get there. The man wore clothes that were in a similar strange, outlandish style to Dio’s (albeit less… revealing), and his face had strange blue striped markings.

“This is my servant, d’Arby. Consider him completely at your disposal,” Dio told Jonathan, and then turned towards d’Arby. “Now remember, you are to treat Jojo with the same respect you would show me,” he said commandingly.

“Yes, Lord Dio,” d’Arby said with an obedient nod. To Jonathan’s surprise, he then got down on one knee, bowing deeply towards Jonathan with his eyes closed and his head lowered.

“It is an honor to serve you, Lord Jonathan. Anything you wish of me, I will do in earnest,” he said reverently.

Jonathan glanced from d’Arby to Dio, feeling rather uncomfortable. Of course, it wasn’t like he hadn’t had servants before (to say his childhood had been privileged would be an understatement), but servants were employees- they had always treated Jonathan with fondness, sure, but when it boiled down to it servants were just working to earn their daily bread, like anyone else. This d’Arby person seemed to treat Dio, and indeed Jonathan himself, less like a boss and more like some sort of god. It was disturbing. And on top of that, what kind of person would work as Dio’s servant, anyway? There was something unsettling about d’Arby.

But what could Jonathan do? It had already been established that for the time being, at least, he was trapped at Dio’s mercy. He supposed it would be best to play it safe and try to stay on d’Arby’s good side; If he was evil like Dio, at least maybe Jonathan could avoid starting trouble, and if he had some good in him, maybe there was a chance Jonathan could convince him to give up his loyalty to Dio.

“...It’s nice to meet you, d’Arby,” Jonathan said politely.  “Please, there’s no need to kneel.”

D’Arby remained at Jonathan’s feet, still in the same position. “I must behave with proper etiquette,” he answered quietly.

Jonathan shot Dio an awkward, questioning look, but Dio simply raised an eyebrow. “Well? Are you going to just leave him there all day?” he asked sarcastically.

Jonathan frowned and looked back down at d’Arby. Did he seriously need explicit permission to stop kneeling..?

“Uh. You… you can stand up now?” he told d’Arby tentatively. This seemed to be what d’Arby was waiting for, as he let out a barely-audible sigh of relief and stood up, moving instead to stand obediently by Dio’s side.

Dio smiled in satisfaction. “Excellent. Now then, come; Let me give you a tour of the mansion,” he suggested casually. “It’s as much your home as it is mine, now, so of course you ought to become acquainted with the layout.”

With that, Dio turned on his heel and proceeded leisurely down the stairs, with d’Arby following wordlessly behind him.

Jonathan hesitated for a moment, feeling a bit like he had whiplash, but it wasn’t like he had anything else he could do. The ball was entirely in Dio’s court.

Jonathan took a deep, nervous breath, and followed Dio down the stairs.

[irazel]

for the angsty character asks: 2 12 14 17 25 28 for both Max Silverhammer and Hubris

Hubris:

2. What would break your character beyond repair? Has it happened?

If they gave everything they had to stop something or someone and it still failed. If their allies died to get here and they burned every bridge just to reach the point where they could stop this and… they fail. They lost everything and they couldn’t even complete the task. That would be their limit. Luckily, it hasn’t happened yet. But it probably will one day. They can’t win every time, can they?

12. To what extent would your OC go to survive?

Hubris isn’t going to just lay down and die when put in a dangerous situation, but they’d also sooner die than break their paladin code. They’d kill anyone who was a threat, but never innocents. They’d also never betray their allies.

14. Would your OC let themselves be forced into a loveless marriage?

Yes. Sometimes you have to make sacrifices to keep making progress. Hubris knows this. Marriage is a sacrifice they’re willing to make.

17. What is your OC’s greatest failure?

Hubris’ greatest failure was their last battle as a soldier. Lead their small unit right into an ambush. As bodies fell around them, they never regretted anything more, nor have they since. If they had only been more careful… how many lives would have been saved?

25. What does your OC love most, and what would they do to keep it?

As far as items go, Hubris’ armor is their most valuable possession. Not that they can’t afford new armor if they lose if or it gets damaged beyond repair, but they get stressed without it. They’d definitely resist anyone trying to take it, but they probably wouldn’t kill over it, since they can get another set…. eventually. But really what Hubris loves most are the young dragons they’ve been raising. If anything happened to them… Hubris has killed to protect them and will do so again if necessary.

28. Would your OC ever reject anyone?

Yes, but they’d try to do it gently. Hubris doesn’t want to make it harder than it needs to be, but sometimes they have to reject people. They’ll also do their best to make sure things aren’t awkward afterwards.

Max:

2.

Messing up a contract and being forced to serve another being with no way out is Max’s worst nightmare and would probably break her. Hasn’t happened yet, luckily. She’s surprisingly careful about avoiding that sort of thing.

12.

She’d do just about anything she could, other than risking those she cares for or destroying her hammer.

14. Never. Unless her family was being threatened. Then maybe. But Max is very against ending trapped in bad situations.

17.

Max would never admit it, but she’s pretty embarrassed about running from the final fight with Zephyr. She considers that a pretty big failure, maybe only rivaled by her lack of control at a certain important party that ended with the host’s skull smashed in and Max in chains.

25.

More than anything, Max loves her family. She will do anything in her power to keep them. Including sacrificing her own life and freedom.

28.

Max would, can, has, and will reject anyone for no reason and any reason.

[d-clarence]

'Til the End of the Line: A Samurai Jack Fanfiction

As a disclaimer, the following has no correlation with my previous work. This is how I see the ending battle from another point of view and circumstance. I got some inspiration from a Superhero movie I just re-watched.

- — -

The war was over, but at the same time, it was not.

Aku was dead, slain by the Samurai wielding his magic sword who stepped forth to oppose him. Before the final blow was struck, he summoned his newest toy, his latest minion, his own daughter, Ashi, to try to strike him down.

But he was too late.

If only he kept her by his side rather than using her to lead Aku’s fearsome horde of drones and monsters against Jack’s own cobbled together army of rebels, dissidents, and the inspired, events may have panned out differently. His own hubris led to the eternal demon’s own downfall. He was cut down til the sword pierced his blackened heart, erasing him from existence.

The war was over, but at the same time, it was not.

Aku’s minions turned and fled when the news hit, turning them into easy targets for Jack’s rebel alliance. A new dawn emerged from the ashes of oppression. Freedom for all, regardless of their race, culture, or nationality. The news will reach across the lands, the stars, and the eons to come. They will remember how it took one man to inspire and lead countless individuals to stand strong and stand together against a seemingly immortal tyrant. They will never forget him til the day they died.

But his war wasn’t over yet.

He still had one more life to save. And she was the one who saved his multiple times before. He did likewise for her, too. They both came to admire, respect, and even find love in one another despite either of them not knowing what the feeling meant. They grew closer and closer, until Aku turned her into one of his monsters, using her to his advantage. The Samurai even gave up at the prospect of mercy killing her, even at her request. He couldn’t. He was lucky the Scotsman’s new army saved him and recovered the sword in time before the black demon tried something horrible on Jack.

The fearsome tower fortress crumbled at the loss of it’s master, and was soon to fall. It was just him and her inside now.

“Ashi!” cried Jack. “You can fight it now! Aku is no longer controlling you!”

She still remained in her Corrupted form, blank, white eyes, glowing with Aku’s fire, still fixated on Jack’s death. She lunged at him at a ferocious speed, seeking to end his life. He blocked and dodged her attacks with ease, being careful not to cause her any harm.

It was the most desperate fight in Jack’s life. Nothing else, not even finding a way home mattered this time. Too many innocents have died under Jack, and he wasn’t just about to add another name to that list. Not. One. More. 

 The Samurai swung his sword to deflect a whip-like backhand, but wound up cutting off Ashi’s forearm instead. His heart sunk. 

 “Aah! Jack!” screamed Ashi. Her face tore through the darkness as her arm regenerated the lost limb in a split second. The tower crumbled some more. 

“Ashi!” “I… I can’t control it! Aku’s… still… there!” 

 “You can still make it out of this! Fight, Ashi! Fight!” The darkness seeped around her face again. 

“Please… Kill me…” and she was gone once more, and the fighting resumed.

 — 

The night before the final fight began, Jack stood outside his army’s camp gazing at the night sky before him. While his men sharpened their swords, loaded their rifles, and prayed to whatever deity that was listening, Jack’s preparation was not yet even underway. He couldn’t even rest. He just stood there, gi waving in the wind, sheathed sword clutched in his hand.

“How am I going to save her now?” He wondered. 

While in his thoughts, his closest ally and friend, the Scotsman, appeared in his ghostly self behind him. “Whatcha doing, laddie?” he inquired. 

 “Waiting…” replied Jack, his gaze at the sky unfaltering. 

 “Waiting for what? Ya know what must be done. Just get it ova’ with and hope ‘er spirit will be at peace.” 

 “But she’s just another innocent.” 

 “Innocent?!!” exclaimed the Scotsman. “Are ye mad?!! She’s pure evil now! She cut through 17 of my daughters tryin’ to reach ya!” 

 Jack closed his eyes, bowed his head in sorrow, and said, “No. She’s lost her way.” 

 “Hahahaha!!! And ye know what dat’s like, eh?” 

 “I don’t want to talk about this anymore…” his face cringed as he spoke. 

Realizing his humor wasn’t going to help, the Scotsman tried his attempt​ at reason once more. He places his hand on his friend’s shoulder and said, “Ye know she’ll be there.” 

 “I know.” 

 “Look, whoever the lass used to be, the she-dog she is now, I don’t think she’s the kind you save, but the kind ya stop.” 

 Jack only gave silence, then answered, “I don’t know if I can do that.” 

 “Well, she may not be even able to give you a choice. She doesn’t know you anymore.” 

Jack turned to face his friend and calmly spoke, “She will.” 

Seeing the daybreak over the horizon, Jack knew it was time and gave the order. “Gear up. It’s time.” 

 — 

 Rocks and rubble fell from the ceiling as the foundation shook. The towering stone pillars carved into flames fell apart onto one another as the former couple fought the last fight in this war. 

 “Ashi! You’re being misguided! I’ve seen it! I have been under his influence myself!“ 

Her only response was another flurry of kicks and punches that Jack dodged. 

“When I gave up, you showed me the truth! You made me see there’s so much more to me than I knew existed! You made me way more than what I was!” 

 Still no response, only more fighting. 

 “The hope you gave me saved my life!” He knew he had to change something in what he was doing, and so he dropped his sword at his feet. 

 “I’m not going to fight you. I love you.” his tears fell. 

She tackled him as the tower shook some more. It was not going to take anymore. She straddled him, grabbed his sword, and prepared to drive it down upon her former love.

 “The decisions you make… and the actions that follow… are a reflection of who you really are…” Jack closed his eyes and was ready for whatever comes. 

Nothing happened. She just stayed there in his lap. Thinking. Wondering. Her grip on the sacred blade wavered. The fire on her eyes extinguished, her pupils returned. Tears flowed down her face to her blackened body. 

Then it hit them. 

 The pillar they battled on collapsed from the fall of another and they went through the wall, sending the pair and a mountain of rocky debris outside. Jack fell as Ashi grabbed on to a large piece of rock. 

 “… Jack…” 

He was hit in the head with a stray piece of rock and was losing consciousness. She launched herself from her position towards Jack. She must save him. Before his vision went dark, he faintly saw a shadowy hand reach out and grab his. 

All went black. 

Rain and thunder reverberated throughout. Ashi carried Jack and his sword through The empty battlefield. Aku’s remaining forces were pushed back far away by the rebels. When she reached the edge of the crater where Aku’s fortress stood, she took in the sight before her. 

The war was over, but at the same time, it was not. 

The black demon’s lair lies a smoldering stump and pile of black and red rubble. Scattered pockets of fighting continued. Gunfire, sword clashing, and explosions filled the air and the scene beyond. The storm raged on. She looked down at Jack, whom she laid carefully to the ground and returned his sword back in its sheath. His gi was torn, blood-stained, and muddy in several places. He was unconscious, fast asleep. Ashi looked at her reflection in the puddle of water that formed next to her. A change was occurring. No longer did her body carry the demon-like contours and shape of Aku. The antlers returned to her natural hairstyle. Her limbs and body returned to normal despite still carrying the black essence of her father. He was gone, gone for good, but his taint still lies within her blood. She was somehow able to speak, but lacked a mouth. She was free, but caged at the same time. 

 She needed to run now. Too many have been slain by her hands in her unwilling service to her father. That makes her a wanted criminal and she will be hunted down as one. At least her father’s “gifts” of enhanced speed, stamina, and strength will aid her here. Wherever she went she didn’t care, as long as it was far from where she was. Would anyone ever come to forgive her? Would Jack? 

……. 

Jack awoke, feeling at peace for some reason. He opened his eyes to behold a marvelous sight. He was no longer hurt, his gi was in pristine condition. The sword remained secure on his waist. 

There he lay in a hilly meadow, surrounded by fog. He then stood to witness flowers of many colors filled the landscape as cherry blossom petals filled the calm wind. The fog cleared to reveal a sight that put him to tears instantly.  His home. 

The Empire as it was, peaceful and just, its people happy and military proud. A voice called to him from behind. A very familiar voice. 

“My son…” he echoed. 

Jack turned to see his mother and father standing before him in all awe and glory. He ran to them and gave them both a big hug, crying tears of joy. 

He stopped to face them to ask, “Is… Is this real?” 

His mother spoke first. “No, I’m afraid. We have come to you in spirit to offer you our gratitude.” 

The Samurai’s heart sank as his smile dropped to a frown.

“Do not sorrow for us, my son.” assured his father.

“But… I never came back home to save you all.” he sadly confided. “All the ways home were destroyed.”

“Aku’s victories are not your defeats.” spake his father. He smiled as he placed his hand on his shoulder. “None have fought more bravely than you have.”

His mother chimed in. “You have won many victories, even to the defeat of Aku in the present, securing the future. Your allies and friends have sent their blessing and are forever grateful.”

“Each blessing is a stone to fortify the future and beyond.” His father taught. “And for that, we are eternally grateful.”

“I… understand.” said Jack. “But I’ll never see you again.”

His mother calmly reassured him, saying, “My son, we will be forever here with you.”

“Here, in your heart,” his father pointed to his chest. “Where we and your ancestors will continue to guide and support you, wherever and whenever you go.”

“Now we send you back into your world my beloved son,” Jack fought back tears as his mother confided to him. “For there is… one more life… you have to save…”

“The one you know as Ashi,” Jack’s eyes snapped open at her name. “We know of your love for her, and her mutual feelings for you. This innocent is the last who carries a part of Aku within her. You have to find her, then cleanse her soul of this infection.”

“But how, father? My attacks only harm and endanger her life further.” inquired Jack. He needed to know another way.

To which his parents smiled and said, “You will know when the time comes.”

His father wrapped his arm around his shoulders as his mother cupped his face as the surroundings slowly turned to light. “And remember, with our last thoughts to you in this plane, we love you…”

“I love you, too. All of you.” and with those last words, Jack’s vision went white, and the feelings with it. 

……. 

Jack awoke again, this time in what he perceived to be some kind of hospital. Everything ached. His head hurt. Left arm was in a sling. All he heard at first was the beeping from the machines that monitored his health. As his vision cleared, he realized he wasn’t alone. 

A few of the Daughters of the Scotsman stood guard over Jack as their father glowed a soft blue and floated in place, facing a window to Jack’s left, overseeing the recovery efforts. Flora and another sister of hers were on the couch to the right of Jack trying to find something good to watch on the holographic TV. 

She stopped at a news channel covering their victory of a lifetime. “Ey, dad! Take a look at this!” hollered Flora. 

He only turned his head and cocked his eyebrow to the news that aired. Little did they know Jack was awake watching with them, too. 

The news anchor continued, “… and authorities from around the world and beyond have seized all remaining assets from our former Shogun of Sorrows, Aku. The Interstellar Road to Recovery Summit led by Queen Mira of Andaluvia will speak in a few moments concerning their efforts.“ 

The camera cuts to a live feed from Andaluvia with Queen Mira on the throne, next to others from the Recovery Summit, addressing the crowd of reporters before her. She was still in her blue armor, damaged from her fight against Aku’s forces, but she was as proud as ever, despite her graying hair. She then stood up and gave her opening speech, addressing the reporters and her people. "Time and time again, we were forced to look to an evil, maniacal tyrant to solve all of our problems and we just paid whatever price was asked of us. In doing so, we lost sight of who we all really are and who we can be, the best version of ourselves!” she continued on, reflecting on her noble service. “A leader must be one who can serve his or her subjects well, not a dictator to enslave us! As a people, as a world, as a galaxy and beyond, we have now been given a second chance. We must never forget what we learned, for the cost of that knowledge has been very high indeed.” She fought back tears as she concluded. “None of us know what the future holds, but we will make it together, with full recognition of all that has been lost, and all that we have found again!!!" 

The crowds cheered in approval, Flora and the others rose their fists in admiration, and Jack gave his nod and smile as well. 

The Queen then looked straight into the camera lens again, as if looking at Samurai Jack. "And now, we must pay our utmost respects to the Samurai known as Jack, who gave it all and more to make this monumental day possible. I would be pleased to hear from him again. Were it not for our… previous engagement together… I would have never rethought my life back home, where I should have been there helping my people against Aku’s tyranny. Jack, if you are watching this, I offer you my thanks. If we ever meet again, I owe you a beer.” She smiled as the crowd chuckled.

The broadcast switched back to the news anchor who reported, “In other news today, the last of Aku’s minions, known only as the alias, Ashi, also part of the heretical Cult of Aku remains at large.” Jack’s eyes widened at this report. “She is accused of murdering several individuals of note who fought against Aku, and has attempted to murder the hero, Samurai Jack. Any information leading to her death or capture will be granted a substantial reward. She is to be considered armed and extremely dangerous.”

“A-a-Ashi…” Jack weakly spoke. Everyone in the room took notice.

“Whoa whoa whoa,” exclaimed Flora. “We got a live one ‘ere!”

“Of course he’s alive!” the Scotsman chastised. “I been through a lot with this man, he ain’t dyin’ anytime soon!”

“Ashi. That is not true about Ashi!” yelled Jack. “She’s the one who saved my life! I helped her break through!”

“Since when does the news get anythin’ right?!!” exclaimed Flora.

“No, wait a sec.” the Scotsman doubted. “How do ya know for sure?”

“You know me, Scotsman,” replied Jack. “She was able to break free of Aku’s curse! She wouldn’t have pulled me out of the rubble if otherwise!”

Still suspicious of Ashi’s intent, he eventually relented his antagonism for her because he trusted his friend above all else. “Alright, alright. we need to contact the authorities b’fore they put a bullet in ‘er head.”

“I’ll get a message out,” offered another of his daughters. He nodded and out the door she went.

“So how do ya plan on stopping her, eh?” the Scotsman asked.

“I do not know yet, but I have to reach her!” Jack hoped. “She thinks the world is after her now. That there is no way to return as the woman I loved!”

The news from Jack surprised them all in more ways than one.

“All right, all right, don’t get all mushy on us now.”

Jack stood from his hospital bed, casting aside his arm-sling. His injuries recovered enough for him to walk. He donned his gi, repaired and cleaned for him, with his sword.

Two of Jack’s militiamen came through with the daughter of the Scotsman.

“Sir, while we may doubt the validity of your claims, you have our trust that you can somehow save Ashi.” commented the soldier.

“With respect, do you even know how to save her?” asked the other. “The only thing in existence that can harm anything of Aku is that sword and that may wind up killing her.”

“No.” replied Jack. “It always seems bad at first, but then I find a way.”

“Alrighty, my friend!” The Scotsman said with glee. “Where do we start?”

The war was over, but at the same time, it was not.

As Jack and his allies assembled for a rescue mission, he still had to figure out what his parents meant by “You will know when the time comes.” 

He always found a way, always did.

“I’m coming for you Ashi, my love. I’m coming."

Author’s Notes:

Alrighty then, this idea came as a result of re-watching my favorite movie, Captain America: Winter Soldier. The ending (SPOILER ALERT) goes like this;

The day was won, and Cap’s allies took down Hydra, at the cost of their organization, SHIELD. There was only one thing to take care of. Bucky the Winter Soldier. Cap and him Duke it out in a heavily damaged warship and there isn’t much time before it crashes. Cap hopes that he can somehow get through to him, despite his former best friend being brainwashed by Hydra as an assassin they used for decades. When it seemed Bucky would kill Cap, the latter muttered their childhood saying that got him to stop and reconsider, saving Captain Roger’s life in the process.

Many of you have probably noticed I borrowed dialogue from Episodes XCV (Jack and the Puffball Vision) and XCVII (the Seppuku scene) for Jack’s dialogue with the Scotsman and Ashi, respectively. I’ll leave you to guess what quote I used from XCIV. Dialogue from the Aku Infection episode was used here, too. The news speech by Princess(now Queen) Mira is from the ending to Crysis 3.