#the last hours timeline is being held together with thoughts and prayers at this point lmao

[helenofblackthorns]

my favourite useless piece of information I have gained from putting wayyy too much thought into the last hours is that Thomas has canonically been eighteen for nearly 14 months <3

[blissfulalchemist]

💕 self-love time! talk about which one of YOUR creations (edits, artwork, fanfics) you like the most, then send to other creators to do the same 💕

Ohhh Okay. God been a while, I have not revisted FC5 in a while but I do miss some of my better pieces. One of which being this bad timeline with @belorage's boys. It was hastily written at like 2am and then edited and posted a few hours later after I got some sleep. I do not proclaim myself to be an angst writer, nor someone who is well adept at it, however this one and its subsequent sequel piece were just some of my best. Some snippets below the cut for you.

Mother of Sorrows

The edge of the battle field was met with words of comfort and reassurance while trying to stop the inevitable. Bandage after bandage was wrapped around him, her hands still working on placing more when she heard a commotion in the middle of the field. She looked up, there in the center was the Sinner, arms held behind his back by three men. He trashed against them his gold earrings flashing in the afternoon sun, dragged to his fate, forced to join like she was. Even after John’s death, one everyone blamed him for, it was still Joseph’s will to bring him into the fold, a fate worse than death for him. Mercy, swift, given as a falsely loyal follower took it upon themselves to shoot him….point blank. 

Hesitation rooting her to the ground, eyes wide, as his captors half threw him to the side to yell at their fellow member, her scream silent to her ears, rough and rattling her vocal cords. Her heart pulled to bring him back home like he would have done, overpowering any voice to stay with the love of her life. Lungs burning she made it to him, avoiding the blank gaze his hazel eyes held for the sky, she pulled, lifting him to her back.“I’m here. I got you,”repeated like a prayer as gravity from the hill helped her bring the two of them together once more. 

The three of them needed safety and only one place close enough to offer them that. Stretcher attached to her back with Wes lying on it and Rafael clinging to her, his steps faltering holding more of his weight, she walked, leading them to the church. 

Back to where it all began. 

Memories

The memory ended as it always did, feeling like the last time she’d think of it again as their bodies were laid to rest. Mary was no longer that woman, she never would be again. She turned leaving quickly as people approached to throw dirt over them, there was no need for Mary to partake in such traditions, they were already gone. She also didn’t want to face the lingering sympathy some held for Catlina, it should have been obvious by now that she was dead too. 

Mary stayed silent, looking out the window, Lance driving her to the church, radio shut off. It was a rare moment that she missed Lance’s ability to speak to her, maybe see warmth and care in his eyes again. She pushed the thoughts out of her head, it was those kinds of things that brought about Cat’s death, it was a weakness. The church appeared empty, everyone taking shelter from the rain, as the two approached the car being parked in the back of it. Lance stepped out of the car first, grabbing the umbrella to hold over her as he helped Mary out of the car. She gave him a smile, eyes blank through the soaked red ski mask, following dutifully behind her. 

“Mary,” Joseph greeted her, stopping her just outside the doorway, “I didn’t think you’d make it.”

“Why wouldn’t I Joseph,” she responded, wary as he leaned down to hug her, invading the small space under the umbrella.

[icefire149]

An Angel’s Vow

[Dean/Castiel - Season 12 divergence where Cas was the only one with Kelly when she gave birth and he goes on the run/in hiding with baby Jack. He’s trying his hardest to be a good dad.]

Chapter One - (Or Read on AO3)

It was the third car he ditched, and the fourth he’d stolen today. Cas knew that he was being excessive at this point, especially with the erratic out of the way routes and doubling back he’d been doing in case he was being followed. He couldn’t afford a mistake. Not now.

His gaze slid over to the rear-view mirror for probably the thousandth time today. Still, there in his eye line was Jack sleeping in his car seat. The sight unnerved him every time.

Reading books, watching videos, taking online classes were all one thing, but...actually taking care of a child was a completely different experience. Jack wasn’t even twenty-four hours old yet, and Cas had already frozen in panic and broke down crying more times than he’d care to admit.

They crossed over the state line into Washington. Cas’ grip tightened on the steering wheel. What he wanted most was to be going in the opposite direction. To an extent, yes, the Men of Letters Bunker would be safe for Jack, but nowhere was going to offer the protection they needed from Heaven. His body ached to head for Kansas, because after these last several years on Earth, Cas was starting to associate the feeling of home with the Winchesters. And home was something he badly wanted for Jack.

The sun was rising when they drove up to the small cabin in North Cove. Cas parked the car, but he didn’t move from his seat. Guilt was coiling and tightening around his throat for the entire drive, but it was only now with the house looming over him that he desperately felt like clawing for air. It wasn’t fair what happened to Kelly.

The next several weeks were bumpy. Jack was definitely growing faster than human babies his age, but no where near as fast as Amara. Whether any of that was a good or a bad thing, Cas had no idea. The nephilim was an utter mystery to him. At the very least, as far as Cas could tell...Jack was a happy baby.

That was the only thing that kept Cas grounded while he tried to master the finesse of diaper changes, formula, and wrangling wiggling baby limbs. What didn’t help was the disharmonious tune of longing encircling him. Some days it was quiet like a lullaby, but others it was erratic and thunderous. The worse days were the ones where there was nothing at all.

It stung, but he knew that Dean wasn’t intentionally praying to him. He would if he absolutely needed to, but Dean was stubborn. Cas figured that even if Jack was aware of the situation, his reasoning skills were sufficient enough to surmise Dean was angry and that he wanted Cas to return to the bunker just so he could be told exactly so.

Castiel was in no mood to be chastised for doing exactly what Dean would do if the situation was reversed. The man’s double standards were maddening.

Today though was different. Cas was busy at the kitchen sink washing dishes when he heard a whisper. Castiel? Are you there? He dropped the small bowl that was in his hand. It splashed soapy water back up at him. You better be alive.

He stood there waiting for several minutes after that, but there was nothing else to the prayer. That was it. Cas picked up the dish towel on the counter and dried his hands, looking over his shoulder at Jack in his high chair.

Jack’s smile widened when they made eye contact. He started lightly tapping the palms of his hands on the tray part of the chair.

“Is it okay if I make a quick phone call?”

Jack’s head tilted to the side while he babbled.

The soft smile on Cas’ face grew. “I know. I know. We’re supposed to be off the grid hiding.” Cas dug his cell phone out of his coat’s inside pocket. He looked at the black screen before looking back at the baby. “It’ll only be for a minute. And after all this time there’s no way anyone is watching close enough to find us, right?”

Jack continued to babble away while he tried to wave every limb he could. Even his metaphysical wings.

Cas couldn’t help but chuckle at the sight. He knew this was Jack’s way of signaling he would like to be released from the chair’s confinement. “Can you wait until I’m done with my phone call, and then we can sit in the other room? It won’t be long.”

Jack stopped his wiggling and went back to rubbing the palms of his hands all over the chair. Cas took that as a, yes. Sighing, he leaned his back against the edge of the counter and turned his phone on.

It came to life and buzzed erratically for a couple minutes. Cas wasn’t sure what to do other than wait for it to stop. Even Jack was eyeing the phone oddly. Eventually, the buzzing ceased and Cas discovered that he had: over a dozen missed calls, tons of text messages, and a couple voice mails.

He groaned. It was bad enough that he had to keep track of the phone at all times, but what he really hated were the angry, red notification icons. So Cas did what he had to and cleared them out. All the missed calls were from Dean and they were consistent. He never went more than four days without calling. Cas opened the text messages next. The majority were again, from Dean.

Cas opened the ones from Sam first: Hey, I know you’re doing what you think is best but please pick up the phone once in a while.

Hey, is there any chance you can let Dean win the competition for being the most stubborn bastard this time and call him back? He’s driving me insane.

I saw on the news an aerial shot of the blast zone. I hope you and the baby are safe. Send us any kind of sign that you’re okay. Please.

It was too much. Grief battered into him in an unforgiving wave. Cas put the phone down and plucked Jack from his chair. He held the baby close to his chest. “We’re okay,” he whispered. “We’re okay. We’re okay. We’re okay.”

And they were. And so was Sam….and Dean. But not Kelly. It was inevitable. They all knew that, but still….Cas hoped that there would still be something he could try.

For now he was just grateful that he had the foresight to get Kelly far enough away from the cabin before Jack was born. He knew that she wouldn’t survive the birth. He knew that it was likely going to alert every angel, demon, and curious moron in creation, but he still wasn’t prepared for what occurred. The power blast….atomized her and tore apart tons of trees in the wooded area. He couldn’t imagine what the sight was that Sam saw on the news.

The tiny fist pounding into his collarbone finally snapped Cas out of his thoughts. Tilting his head down, he saw Jack’s big blue eyes intently staring into him. “We’re safe,” Cas whispered. He kissed the top of Jack’s head. “Everything’s fine.”

Cas went back to the counter and retrieved his phone. He brought Jack into the living room and they sat in the rocking chair by the window. The moment Jack caught a glimpse of a bird flying by, he was entranced by the window. Cas hung onto him with one hand while he stared at his phone.

There were still messages to read. He opened Dean’s: Where ARE you?

We’re not gonna do anything to the kid, okay? Removing their grace was just an idea.

I DO get it. You know that right?

The ship has sailed stopping the kid from being born. We’re not gonna let anyone go Old Testament on the kid. Besides the bunker has more than enough warding.

We’ll figure something out.

PpiECE o f shit. PICCJ UPP

What did Satan jr do? Tear down the nearest cell tower?

Come on Cas.

Are you even getting any of these?

Call me back NOW.

We’re not dead in case you care.

WHAT HAPPENED?

It looks like a bomb went off. That’s what the news is calling it.

I know you’re not dead. You’re too damn stubborn to die in a blast like that.

Cas.

It took several deep breaths before Cas felt calmer. Knowing Dean, any of that could have been worse. He scrolled back up through the messages again, trying to piece together the timeline of each one. We’re not dead in case you care. That one in particular concerned him most.

Cas ruffled Jack’s sandy brown hair. Jack leaned back and stared up at him making a couple happy noises. He looked back at the phone again. Dean could hate him for the rest of his life and that would be okay, because that meant he was safe enough to live that long. And Castiel could live with that.

He listened to the voice mails next: Cas, buddy, I…...I don’t want to be having this conversation like this. Those British assholes started killing us...the hunters. Everyone we know is fine….as far as I know. But….Cas, I really need to know that they didn’t get you. There was a long pause where Cas assumed the message was over. He held onto Jack tighter. Cas….they trapped Sammy and me in the bunker. Sealed us in...to suffocate. There was another pause, and Cas felt cold. He knew they were fine. They sent messages after this voice mail was made. He felt like he was the one suffocating. I’m sorry.

The next one started on it’s own before Cas could even try to pull himself together. You don’t get to do this. You’re either laying low in hiding right now or you’re in pieces from whatever happened in that blast zone. Did you ever stop to think ho- Cas felt himself lean forward, wondering where the thought was going before Dean cut himself off. He strained to pick up any sound, but there was only silence. Come on, man. Pick up your damn phone. Pick up any phone. And that was it.

Cas felt like he was being held together by one frayed thread. The part of him choking on guilt was begging it to snap, but the baby lightly kicking the heels of his feet into Cas’ thighs gave him enough reason to keep moving forward. He had more responsibilities and worth now than being the Winchester’s bulwark. Castiel hoped that one day they would understand that.

“Okay, Jack.” His voice came out strained while he turned Jack around to look at him easier. He cleared his throat before continuing. “I can’t put off making that phone call anymore. Wish me luck.”

Jack’s big blue eyes stared at him intently.

“Your wish is received. Loud and clear,” Cas said getting up and crossing the room to Jack’s playpen. It was made of rainbow pastel colored panels with star decorations. He placed Jack down in the safety of the pen, and then Jack immediately latched onto the foot of a plush lion doll.

Cas went back into the kitchen. He paced the room, again and again. The whole time his eyes were glued on the name in his contact list. Finally, he tapped the name and the line started ringing. Cas held his breath, worried that he was only going to make things worse.

It rang, and rang, and rang. And then, “Castiel?”

“Hello, Claire.”

[dantexlykos]

Tagging: Dante, Daphne, Saint, Maven, Enzo, and Valkyrie

Timeline: Early September 2021

Location: Temple of Apollo

Notes: Summoning Daddy

Trigger Warning: Blood and sacrifice

@daphneonassis @mavenlockwood @saintcorvin @vclkyric @enzoxcorsetti

Dante

Everything was set. The moon was in the right position and the witching hour was upon them. At the temple of Apollo where the veil was at its thinnest the genasi accompanied by Valkyrie gathered. With painstaking dedication the runes had been etched into the very earth, checked over by any who saw fit, the ritual was set to begin shortly. Their power was charged by blood and sacrifice and to reach Thanatos it would take an offering from each of them, a bit of their own essence would be shed in order for the call to succeed. The ritual was an invitation, designed initially for any spirit or creature on the other side of the veil, the purpose was to create a window so that they six may peer through to their guest without obstruction. Each had their own reasons for this undertaking, some wanted power, others sought redemption, but Dante’s own query was attuned to the preservation of the veil. His heart’s desire burned even deeper, but such a thing would not be possible if he had no magic to speak of. Dante’s runes were etched upon his split of the circle, an old Greek incantation fell from his lips as his power moved to meld with the other’s. Genasi were not known for cooperation, their personalities were the embodiment of their magic and too often there was conflict between them. Earth clashed with air but in this they had to work in synergy while also melding the temperamental power of fire and languid motions of water and shadow. A blade of silver reflected the light of the moon as Dante drew it across his palm and outstretched his hand over the circle, blood dribbled down and pooled through the crevices they’d made in the earth towards the epicenter. “Hear us Thanatos, daimon of peaceful death.”

Daphne

As one of the youngest genasi, Daphne felt great relief in the proximity to the sea and how easy she could harness the power from it. Just far enough in the distance to resemble a blue hue, but close enough to give her peace of mind. It wasn’t necessarily out of fear that she had concerns for it, but just having that added boost would help her greatly in the summoning. Necromancy hadn’t ended up being as natural to the water genasi as she had hoped, though many sleepless nights and advice from the fellow genasi, she managed to find comfort in her version of the spellwork. She held that very version in her left hand as the horizon of the meeting place came into her peripherals, the sea winds causing the corners to crinkle and make it harder to read. At this point, it was overkill to keep reading it and instead she shoved it into the same pocket as her ingredients. Veils of tonics and dried poppies clinked together as Daphne reached the temple, uncloaking herself from the darkness and into the dim street light.[3:28 PM]Boots crunched against loose gravel before emerging onto the familiar sight, noticing Dante had already begun to get things in order. It was fitting that the earth genasi had arrived early to the location and if it wasn’t for the sheer amount of focus, Daphne might actually be a little envious that it hadn’t been herself. Though now wasn’t the time for pettiness, which revealed itself in the water genasi’s expression as she got within the limits of the circle.  “I brought— ,” she began to state after giving a soft wave, then proceeded to pull the jar full of dried red petals and seed pods. There was more within the bag, but the moonlight only showed highlights of the items. A  spare butterfly, just in case, and had been one in which she raised herself. Along with a few swigs of bitter wine, some mandrake root, homemade incense, and snake skins Daphne found while out at the Onassis farmland. But before she could continue, the fellow genasi emerged in her sights and that meant the starting of the ritual. Soon she was repeating after the others, hazel eyes focused on the power surging within each of them as her own blood mixed in, “We are here to offer praise, Lord of Death, and seek your wisdom.”

Saint

It was no idle task, to summon a god. Saint arrived at the temple, guided by the draw of power beginning to swell under the fullness of the moon. The time had come, and it had required preparation on the spirit genasi’s behalf. Clothed in the colour of ink, he was a formidable presence as he stepped onto the dais. While the others were mostly strangers to him, as were their intentions, Saint recognized Dante from across from him, already mouthing the words of the incantation. He stood at full height now, and his pockets were empty of trinkets— a purposeful notion that caused his upper lip lifted in a sneer as he saw the doe-eyed water genasi place her flowers and animal parts as her offering. He saw such things as an insult, curving into his segment of the circle with ease, drawing runes in shadow before bringing forth his own offering. Blood was required, but for his part, he would also gift their god something more. It would be twin witches, one of the element fire and the other water stood behind him, gripped at the scruff of the neck by a scowling werewolf; who stood as dark and sharp as the shadows that bound their arms and covered their mouths. “My offering,” he announced, his voice lifting through the dark, gravelled and commanding. He lead the witches to the edge of the circle, and he murmured the incantation as he drew a long, slender blade along their throats. Pale skin drenched crimson, staining down the front of starched white nightgowns before it pooled at their feet, making its way down to the centre of the circle. Saint tossed them forward, before bringing the tip of the knife along his own palm, squeezing to add his own blood to the garish swirl. “We bring you these offerings, this sacrifice— to beckon you to hear our call.”

Maven

There's still a part of Maven that kind of thinks this idea is batshit insane, trying to reach out to the god that gave them this power without knowing what will happen. But at the same time, Dante had made it clear her magic would be necessary to make it work, and she cannot deny the fact of being curious; of wanting to speak to Thanatos herself. She's one of the last to arrive at the temple, it seems, eyes scanning over the other genasi already around warily. Dante and Daphne are familiar, even if only by acquaintance, but the other is entirely a stranger, and she cannot help but look for Toni. Maven reaches inside the small bag around her waist, pulling out the deep blue enchanted candles she's brought, before setting them around the marked runes and lighting them with her magic. "For communication," she says, in answer to a question no one asked. This magic is still a bit new to her, but hopefully, it'll make the line of communication clearer to reach between the genasi and Thanatos. Blood and candles and runes, just like the night she became a genasi. The thought is of small amusement, as Maven pulls out a blade and cuts along the edge of her palm, allowing her blood to mix with the others. "We your loyal servants, your chosen followers, make this offering and ask for your guidance."

Enzo

Enzo reminded himself why he was doing this. A shot at meeting Thanatos, on his back, over an alter – the air genasi wasn't picky. Brushing off the idea that he would come face to face with a god, he made his way to the temple alongside Dante. The newest genasi was present; the fire witch who'd survived a hell of an ordeal. He'd yet to meet her, though this seemed to be a good time as any. He didn't say much, waiting until Maven was finished before he was rounding out the ritual. It was dangerous and presumptive to call upon a god. Whether or not he would answer would be one thing, and Enzo wasn't exactly confident. It'd get the god's attention, and the spirit witch's offering was a little violent for his own taste, and he wasn't sure what kind of attention that would bring. His own offering was less than, it seemed, as he placed the wood carving down. It acted as a channeler, and he remained silent as he used a knife to cut along the palm of his hand, mixing in his abilities with the other's. The air genasi was unsure of his own goal. Was it immortality to protect a failing heart like his? Perhaps, but there were many problems within the world, and he had little to give. "In you, the end of nature’s works is known, in you, all judgment is absolved alone. No vows revoke the purpose of our souls. Thanatos, regard our ardent prayer."

Freya

Freya was uncertain if this ritual would go over well, or whether it would be successful — a God’s moods were wispy like the wind, and did not so easily bend. But she would be damned if she let the genasi do this on their own. If something went wrong, she could save them. And even if half of them weren’t exactly fond of her, she was ready to do that for any of them. And so she stood still as she watched Dante start the ritual with the earth full of whispers as it reacted to his magic. Then she watched fondly as Daphne continued, with the strength of the sea in her back. The spirit genasi who had come to the stables was next, earning a slight frown from her side, but she did not even bat her lashes as his voice filled the air. A young woman stood in the circle she had not seen before, the fire genasi who looked as if she would go up in flames should anyone come too close. Last was the air genasi, offering his blood to Thanatos. As they worked, Freya’s magic washed over theirs like a blanket, knitting it together, and balancing it out where it was needed. They were strong, and she was the one to bring it all together. She protruded a slim dagger to pull it along her palm, balling her hand into a fist as she turned it around to let her blood drop onto the carved runes. It was the last puzzle piece, and her voice carried on the air as the ritual ended. “Thanatos, I stand here vouching for those worthy of your power. Hear their prayer, and be their guide.”

[sergeant-angels-trashcan]

a good man goes to war

so, in lieu of doing a big long multi-paragraph essay about what was good and bad about “A Good Man Goes To War” I’m just going to bullet point it.

I have....a Lot of thoughts about this episode

the good:

The Last Centurion “I have a message and a question”. The framing of all of this was spectacular. Also, who knows what with the rebooting of the universe, but I’d love it if the Last Centurion was still a legend. I think Amy implies that he still is, which...frankly doesn’t make sense, but Hey! Moffat. Nothing’s going to make sense so I’ll take the fun stuff.

Rory the Roman in general is pretty cool. I mean, I love Rory. Also, now I’m thinking that he’s the one who taught Amy to use swords, since she seems to know what she’s doing in the pirate episode? Unless she was just taking fencing on her own who knows. (i love the headcanon that Rory worshiped/still prays to Fortuna occasionally)

Madam Vastra and Jenny! they might not be as well written as they should be in later episodes, but this introduction to them is fab

“A Sontaran nurse?” God. THAT is great. to be on a field of battle but unable to participate? I can unreservedly say that’s brilliant. Strax is great, like even his bedside manner is good but also keeping in character with a Sontaran soldier?

The light in River’s eyes when she tells her pops it’s her birthday, before she knows it’s Demon’s Run. She’s just!!! A kid!! excited to see her parent!!! not that we know that, of course, but still. This is one of those episodes where Alex Kingston’s talent really shines through.

sidenote: this is one of the few (only?) River episodes I can think of that didn’t revolve around her romantic relationship with the Doctor, and frames her more with Rory and Amy, which is fantastic. You can tell she’s remembering all those times she cried for her mummy and daddy and all she had was Kovarian but now she gets her parents and it’s. Good but awful.

and then the way her face falls when Rory says “they’ve taken Amy and our baby” like!! That’s her mom and River knows what comes next, her fucking terrible childhood and she just maybe wants her dad now? 

“this is the day he finds out who I am” which is why River can’t be there til the end...I’m assuming this is because Moffat is finally observing the basic rules of not interacting with your own time stream (a rule which apparently doesn't apply to Amy?)

the prayer leaf is lovely

“don’t slump, it’s bad for your spine,” Says the Sontaran nurse, whilst holding a gun on you. bless

“good men have no rules. this is not the day to find out why i have so many.” this is a much more sinister version of the Tin Man in the Wizard of Oz, who says that since he hasn’t a heart he must take care to never harm anything or hurt anyone because he wouldn’t feel remorse. I do like this. The Doctor isn’t always Good. The Doctor sometimes has to try very hard to be good, and I’m all right with that

Rory and Amy crying at each other. Nurse Rory checking his daughter to make sure she’s okay

(”let the others die first” is funny, very Amy, and seems like a believable response to everything Amy’s been through)

Honestly....the caliber of acting in this episode is off the charts, particularly in the last ten minutes and specifically with Karen and Arthur. Amy and Rory’s devastation and then numbness is just heartbreaking. And the way they’re almost disgusted with the Doctor--he told them to trust him, and look what happened

The moment with Rory and Strax is just great. Honestly, this episode has a lot of good emotionally-vulnerable-but-not-letting-it-slow-him-down moments for Rory

this is one of the first times the Doctor says he’s so sorry, and you can tell--you can just tell that for Amy, sorry isn’t enough

the bad:

the slightly ambiguous opening where you’re like “ohhhhhh DAMN the baby is the Doctor’s” like. that’s unnecessary.

the headless monks--mostly just the forced volunteering of personnel to join a religious order. paired with the rampant loss of bodily autonomy in this collection of episodes, a gay man being forced into religious reconditioning and bodily harm is...not great. might not be as noticeable in a different context but in this episode? yeah. not good

“the Doctor’s darkest hour” ok so....Moffat just really ignores the Waters of Mars. I remember him downplaying Ten’s struggles in the 50th as well. Am I arguing that this is not a truly terrible moment for the Doctor? No. But he’s not threatening to become the literal worst version of himself by making himself a god, so. 

“this is the day he finds out who I am” also goes here because...did he know who she was when he took her ice skating earlier? I get so confused about when the Doctor knows things and how River knows if he knows and if they know that’s great, but I, as a viewer, would also like to know

the headless monks have robes and laser swords so...they’re sith. they’re literally just headless Sith Lords

this is, I think, the first time we’ve seen the Doctor this cruel to his enemies? We’ve seen hints of it, certainly, with Ten and Harriet Jones and Ten and the spider star lady, but this is, as i’ve said before, a different temperature. Where Ten’s anger was fire, Eleven’s is ice

Amy and Rory haven’t see each other in almost a year....let them hug

ok so...I remember when Martha was cloned, and the clone smelled bad? and the the Doctor smells Melody and Amy...you’d think something like that would. you know, mean something. 

ok, props to the show for reminding us that the Time Lords only became such after millions of years of exposure to the untempered schism, and Madam Vastra brings up good points about how that would affect humans during conception, but like...it’s still a bit eh. Melody being conceived next to the Time Vortex suddenly makes her a Time Lord, or at least mostly-Gallifreyan? Okay, then, so Rose, in swallowing the Time Vortex, is definitely capable of regeneration and Idris might have been if her body had survived. Thanks for the new canon, Moff!

I’d honestly buy Melody being a Time Baby if she’d developed in utero on the TARDIS. More exposure to the vortex. But the implication is basically that they waited for Amy to get pregnant and then immediately kidnapped her. Which also means they were scanning her, waiting for her to get pregnant. Gross.

the moment the Doctor looks at River, realizing who she is is wonderful, it’s heartwarming, but it’s also, for me, undermined by the fact that he’s not just...happy to meet his best friends child, but that she’s his sort-of-girlfriend?

the absolutely appalling:

Amy is a literal hostage of a group of people who literally just wanted her for her babymaking abilities 

repeated use of “guys” by a military commander addressing his troops

The Doctor not remembering Lorna. Bullshit. I suppose this could feed into a greater narrative about how unconcerned the Doctor is with Little People, idk, but it seems fairly out of tune for the Doctor as a whole

The Doctor’s reaction to finding out Melody is River is, to me, weird. Like, when you find out you’ve been dating/making out/??? with your best friend’s kid, wouldn’t that give you pause? For just a moment? 

“I know where to find your daughter, and on my life she will be safe.” Unless he’s talking about adult River in the Stormcage, this makes me incredibly angry. because the next thing we find out is that the Doctor didn’t find her, didn’t make sure she was safe because she was being brainwashed into a child assassin. Again, like with Ganger!Amy, if he knew but didn’t do anything, that’s not okay. that’s worse. 

River says he finds her and keeps her safe but....when? I mean, isn’t the ideal time for that before she tries to kill you and gets jailed for it???? 

he then just leaves his incredibly traumatized best friend all alone in the place she was held hostage, leaving her grown daughter to explain that she’s Amy’s baby....jerk move

also, he supposedly leaves to find River, doesn’t reach out to Amy and Rory, and still doesn’t find River. You can talk, if you want, about how he can’t change his past or River’s past or timelines or what-have-you, except that this is the Doctor and these are his friends, and the only reason Amy and Rory don’t get to raise her is so that she can wind up dating and marrying the Doctor and maybe it’s somehow less weird if he’s not in her life when she’s a child?

There’s really no reason for the Doctor to not be able to rescue River

Except, of course, the idea that what makes a female character “strong” is how much you can make them suffer and still live, I suppose

the surprisingly great:

when River is dressing down the Doctor about what he does, about how he instills fear in people and then those people banded together and kidnapped a child that they’d turn into a weapon just to defeat him, I had the unexpected reaction of DRAG HIM BABE.

because the Doctor only knowing what he knows, he’s right to be angry at this person who he asked for help and who did not give it

but River is also very much in the right since she was kidnapped, brainwashed, probably emotionally abused because people were afraid of him and wanted to kill him. She’s right because he promises her parent’s that she’ll be fine, and yet. And yet she still goes through all of that. She still misses out on being raised in a loving home, surrounded by people who care for her

so yeah

DRAG HIS ASS, RIVER

the music. not surprising, but still fantastic. River’s theme is beautiful and haunting and still my fave

[httpsjournal]

The table is full again. I sit closely to watch how, one by one, the househelps swarmed the table for six on a regular dinner night, with pans and dishes they had probably spent the entire day running to finish. If it were a game of who made it first, the barbecue would’ve won for making it to the first cut. It had probably been the first thing they had to start on, judging by the hours and hours of smoke shrouding their backyard since this morning. Then came in the celebratory staples: bihon for a touch of Filipino, spaghetti for a taste of Filipinized west, fish for the repenting sinners, lechon for the religious pagans who sign their crosses at the sight of hypertension, and fried chicken for the tongues not made out for anything but deep fried. I sit closely to watch how at every dish that lands on the holy table, heads turn to catch a glimpse of the piled-up grubs—drenched in oil, fats, and carbs all together. I chuckle at the sight. I can almost hear them sifting through the dishes they'd try out first. The last dish came in the grandest entrance and marks the end of every grumbling appetite's anticipation. As the freshly steamed rice is set put, vis a vis the array of dishes set before it, everyone rises for thanksgiving. Tita Nene, the wife of my paternal grandfather's eldest brother who lives a block across us, whom by the technicalities of genealogy I should refer to as lola but never got around to doing so, leads the grace for blessing. Dressed in our oddly ridiculous color-coded tops, in which this year involved a deep rummage in my wardrobe to find a red shirt hopefully buried underneath, we gather around, heads on bow, and recites the prayer we’ve been taught at the table at the age of seven.

Reunions are a tradition to our family. We do it every year or two: we take a dip on a summer or gather for dinner on December. Usually, it's a dinner on a summer, when our relatives from the States, to which our family has dubbed the Macandog's Seattle branch, come by to check up on the East Asian department—the main office. These reunions are likely to always involve (over)eating, dancing, singing, drinking, playing, and lots and lots of talking. And in the course of years we gather for, yet another table filled, reunions held different meanings at different points of my life. I remember when I used to love these reunions. I get so giddy at the thought of a gathering. It was like my play in the park after an afternoon of forced nap by my mother who fright me with words like: "’Di ka lalaki kung di ka matutulog ngayon." But I never got around to always loving it. I remember so vividly why I began hating the thought of coming up for dinner, surrounded by relatives whom I've not seen in years. During the era of my consciousness, it became a pit hole of unsolicited judgment and unnecessary opinions. It drained me. So, when I distanced myself, growing apart made reunions a gathering of familial strangers. I sit across people whose faces resemble mine or my father or my tito, but I feel robbed by the very doing of our blood—the culprit of this show. And that moon, streaming through the openness of the night, rendered them, all the more, a stranger.

It’s amazing how things manage to take a 360 degree turn without even realizing it. When I was little, I remember waking up to the chaos in the kitchen when my mother had started preparing her share for tonight's dinner. Outside, the men had gathered around to turbo the skewered lechon, over the makeshift roaster made of charcoal and several dried-out leaves gathered the day before. We live in a neighborhood where our neighbors are my cousins and titos and titas. So I grew up seeing the behind the scenes of every reunion. It was a dramatic stress for everyone, especially to Tita Julie, my father's cousin from his father's younger brother. Their house is, by default, the venue each year. My cousins and I would turn up to play early that day. Taking advantage of the chaos, we escape to play nonstop until we're called in for a brisk cold bath in preparation for dinner. Once dinner consumes the night, we resume the game that had not ended just yet. My cousins and I would join all the program play to win a prize of candies our parents made us repack the night before. We'd run around, eluding the frustrated gazes of our mothers, and bump into a foreign face whom we'd gang up with to join our tactics. And after all had devoured and committed their yearly sin of gluttony, we'd slowly sneak our way out to play a game of tag, patintero, or if we feel bold enough, hide and seek under the dark bed of the night. We’d run and run to our breaths desire, like our hearts running out of life to keep itself pumping. The day would end with our shirts doused in sweat and laughs louder than the animated anecdotes of our parents, who’s sober enough to drink more but intoxicated enough to spare us the reprimand. I remember when reunions were my play at the park. Until such time that it wasn’t anymore.

Like any other high school teen, I grew out of the mold and was exposed to whole different world of self-consciousness. I started getting my period, housing pimples and gaining weight here and there. I never thought it was a big deal until each year, someone would point it out to me.

"Ang rami mo ng pimples ah," a tita, who has been staring long enough, blurt out. This family isn’t a fan of euphemism, you can tell.

Everyone close enough to hear would remove themselves from their own set of conversations to agree and huddle on me. I remember forcing a laugh and etching a face of pretense to ease myself off the growing mass of awkwardness.

"Ah, oo nga po e," I'd respond.

"Gamitan mo ng (a soap unknown to this generation's Korean skincare inventory)."

"O kaya ng (another primitive practice my lola had already ask me to do)."

It's a long list of remedies and a long night of narratives about their own pubescent pimple experience. It's a safe zone of smiling and laughing until they begin asking what I’ve been doing that's making it worse or how it's my fault that I stress too much.

How in the world is it my fault now?

I suddenly became the subject of an interrogation. And my mother, my life saver, my bearer for nine months, and my comfort, joins in to gang up on me as well. In the words of this generation's language of the bird, "I feel attackedt" with a “t”. Ang it would finally conclude with, "Huwag mo nalang galawim, it'll go away on its own" . And at the back of my mind, I have the strongest urge to pull off the most the dramatic eye roll there is.

On the other end of the room, however, I find myself stumbled amongst the topic of the my titos, drunk enough to begin slurring their speeches about life and love. They start asking about my relationship at 13—a topic at which my parents don’t even dare touch. The long lament of the how's of life would come hereafter: get into this college, get into this course, or get into this job. It's a never-ending list of suggestive pressure, that at 13, I never had the intention to fathom.

The next years were a series of de ja vu. As I transformed towards the age of maturity, the playground of reunions I used to know, transformed itself into a pit hole I wouldn't dare cross. So, I drifted.

But growing apart made us live very different lives that reunions became a gathering of familial strangers.

Tita Nene concludes the prayer with the Catholic ratification of “amen,” and we finally line up for the buffet, each one painting a picture of eagerness and hunger on their faces. I serve myself a platter of chicken and rice and begin searching for a table I could sit well on without being bothered by the clamor of conversations. A tita, who, in God’s forgiveness, I do not know, catches my elbow and lures me into the most awaited conversation I’ve been trying to evade. Apparently, they had just landed the plane from Seattle yesterday, unloaded their bags in Naga today, and went directly to this infamous celebration of family. Her face does look like a Macandog. With that distinctive feature of a nose wide enough to pass down from one generation to another, she’s probably one out of the many titas I failed to draw on family trees back in grade school. She asks me how I’ve been, but I keep on wondering how she’s known me all along. And the short 3-meter distance from where I was standing to the array of tables set in the middle of the yard became the longest walk I’ve had in so long. She finally made me sit down and join her children’s party of silence and awkwardness at a table directly up front the stage. For some universal force, I end up sitting across our Seattle branch cousins, gawking at each other's unfamiliarity, sharing a nudge of smile, and uttering a good "hi" and "hello" at its best. Come to think of it, their faces do come out of my Facebook timeline every now and then—at Christmas, at New Year or at the exclusive Penafrancia fiesta they hold each year. They’re my family, but they’re no stranger than the people I sit to mass with at church. I’d say distance is an excuse but even the cousins I used to play with became strangers in the span of years we spent inside our own houses doing school and making friends. We'd only share a smile of greeting when an eye lands on each other before departing off to our own share of spaces, drowned in our better version of reunions on Instagram, Facebook or whatever social media application is set to the market for the year. The titos and titas, who've lost track of our ages, ready their scripts of speeches that they had already asked me the year before. I ready mine as well. Little updates but, for the most parts, the same.

Setting aside the cutleries, I finish my food with another prayer of thanks. Taking caution not to be pulled in a conversation again, I remove myself from the group and safely secure myself a place at a distance, near my tita’s smokehouse, where light seems to shy away. I look at them and thought, this is our reunions now, huh.

I watch as the night closes into another drinking session of grownups. They drink as if their stomachs can’t fill a barrel of beer already. A tito, who had had enough alcohol, removes himself from the table and picks the mic off the karaoke machine rented out for the night. Barely pressing anything but manages anyway. Those sober still laugh to ridicule the drunk but does not miss a chance to sing along to the tune of the national Filipino karaoke song—Frank Sinatra’s My Way. Faking a cough of what seems to be a vocal routine, my tito enters into the beat:

And now, the end is near

And so I face the final curtain

The song then croons its way into the night.

My friend, I'll say it clear

I'll state my case, of which I'm certain

Still hidden behind the lurking dark of this reveling moment, I smile at the thought of their happiness as my eyes well up with salt and water.

I've lived a life that's full

I've traveled each and every highway

Under the light damp of shine from the moon that blessed us full for the night, my mind wanders back to us-- the generations to succeed.

But more, much more than this

I did it my way

I sit still to capture everything—the growing redness on my parents faces, the stretching smiles drawn on their lips, and the amassing joy on each one’s heart. I sit still, shuttering my eyes for a snap, because maybe, this will be my only return ticket to a memory otherwise forgotten.  

Regrets, I've had a few

But then again, too few to mention

[kidcable]

i’m really excited to be playing this version of cable with all of you. i hope you love him just as much as i do!

basics —

FULL NAME: nathan christopher charles summers ALIASES: cable, askani'son, nathan dayspring FACECLAIM: alex fitzalan AGE: 18 TIMELINE PULLED FROM: 41st century SPECIES: mutant UNUSUAL FEATURES: three scars around his right eye, cybernetic left eye, cybernetic left arm, cybernetic left shoulder, MBTI: entj-a OCCUPATION: mechanic, mercenary (formerly) AFFILIATION: x-force, x-men HAIR COLOR: brown with a white streak EYE COLOR: blue HEIGHT: 5’7” RELATIVES: scott summers (father), madelyne pryor (mother), jean grey (mother), alex summers (uncle), gabe summers (uncle), rachel summers (sister), bobby drake (uncle), james howlett (uncle)

powers/special abilities —

TELEPATHY: an ability to read minds and project thoughts into others.

TELEPATHIC ILLUSION: nathan is able to create realistic illusions, and make people experience something that isn’t actually happening.

TELEPATHIC CLOAK: he can mask himself from being detected by someone else, and use this ability to protect others around him if needed as well. his abilities can go undetected, or on the other hand be counteracted by a telepath that’s more powerful than he is.  

TELEPATHIC CAMOUFLAGE: nathan can mask the presence of not just himself, but anyone else around him as well. he can telepathically disguise himself, which means that his appearance would appear different. he can create disguises by changing their clothes to fit in when convenient.

MIND LINK: nathan can create a mental link with someone else or a group of individuals, but that connection will always remain.

PSIONIC SHIELD: the boy can create a psychic shield to protect himself and other people’s minds. he’s very skilled at protecting his mind from mental attacks such as other telepaths attending to read his mind, control him for some reason, or cause him harm. it’s not easy to get inside his head!

PSIONIC BLASTS: these have no physical effects, but do affect one’s mind. they’re psionic force bolts that cause his enemy pain, become unconscious, or even death.

ASTRAL PROJECTION: nathan has the ability to astral travel and communicate astrally. he has mastered this ability, and is able to remain in his own plane of existence or travel to other astral planes. he can create ectoplasmic objects here.

MIND CONTROL: an ability to control minds and bodily functions of other sentient beings.  

MIND TRAP: he can take someone’s mind from their body essentially trapping them within his.

MIND POSSESSION: nathan can possess the mind of someone else, and use their body like it was his own.

MIND ALTERATION: he can alter someone’s mind by a force of will.

MENTAL AMNESIA: there’s an ability to make a group of people or even just one person forget a specific memory.

PRECOGNITION: nathan can foresee events before they happen.

MENTAL DETECTION: he can detect the presence of another mutant in an undefined radius.

TELEKINESIS: he possesses a high-level of telekinesis. some even say that nathan is an omega level telekinetic. he has very fine control over objects, and can manipulate matter with his thoughts. his limit has remained undisclosed. he can levitate hundreds of tons of matter if necessary.

TECHNOACTIVE MANIPULATION: he can manipulate foreign techno-organic substances to a degree.

INTUITIVE APTITUDE: nathan can disassemble complex devices by separating every last component down to the nuts and screws. he can put all of the pieces back together again just as they were. this enabled him to gain awareness and control over individual electrons in an atom. he could detect whether oxygen molecules are present to see if a seal was airtight or not as one example.

MATTER ALTERATION: he can alter molecular and subatomic structures. examples include such as moving oxygen molecules to cause asphyxiation, or changing food into poison. he can also disintegrate objects by discovering their atomic and molecular bonds.

PSIONIC SPIKES: able to create destructive psionic spikes to destroy physical objects.

FORCE FIELDS: he can create protective force shields that can deflect powerful attacks. he can make these take the shape of his body by shaping it precisely.  

CONCUSSIVE BLASTS: nathan can project energy that takes the form of blast beams directed from his brain.

TACTILE TELEKINESIS: can enhance his abilities to superhuman levels.

TELEKINETIC FLIGHT: he’s able to levitate himself across long distances.

TELEKINETIC TELEPORTATION: even without his bodysliding technology, nathan can warp himself place to place.  

TIME TRAVEL: he can displace himself or others at any point in the time-stream with his psionic power. you reemerge anywhere from a few minutes to years.

TECHNO-ORGANIC PHYSIOLOGY: much of his body has been infiltrated and altered by a techno-organic virus. which took the form of cybernetics and bionics. essentially meaning part of nathan is cyborg — primarily his left side. this gave him super strength to  an unknown degree, as well as an increased resistance to harm. his entire skeletal structure has been replaced by porous — a marrow-filled organic metalloid bone replacements that don’t interfere with the creation of red blood cells. his central nervous system has been altered as well down to the atomic level, making his reaction time far better than that of any human.

SUPERHUMAN STRENGTH, ENDURANCE, SPEED, AGILITY, AND DEXTERITY.

CYBERNETIC EYE: his left eye allows him to see into the electro-magnetic spectrum. he’s also able to see through this eye too, and it also glows due to his powers.

CYBERNETIC ARM: his left arm is completely mechanical, and some of his shoulder as well.

OTHER ABILITIES:

MASTER COMBATANT.

GIFTED INTELLIGENCE.

TELEPORTATION: by ‘bodysliding’ he can teleport to virtually any area.

MASTER MARKSMAN.

MASTER SWORDSMAN.

three headcanons —

i. prefers to wield swords when it comes to  weapons being used in any fight or at least have one with him as an option. his reasoning behind this is that big guns were something that the older version of himself would use. he also likes energy weapons that are smaller in size —.although knows that isn’t practical for every mission, and just wishes that he could have a little collection to display in his room.

ii. he used to make sure all of his clothes would cover his metal arm growing up, not wanting to deal with the stares or conversations that would be started because nathan knows that he didn’t owe anyone anything which includes any story or explanation. although the boy has been settling in the city for a few months, forced to try living a new life without any possession of his weapons with only his powers at his disposal. nathan has been trying to be more confident and not covering his metal arm anymore. why should he have to hide?

iii. nathan doesn’t really keep it a secret that scott is his favorite. sometimes wondering if his left eye glows from having his father’s genes. on the other hand though — he prefers jean to madelyne.  the boy never keeps this a secret from anyone when it comes up in conversation. he’s honest about his feelings when it comes to the two of them. he worries about anything happening to his father so when scott has to go away for something important nathan takes half an hour to say his goodbyes.

four personality traits —

+ playful (nathan is more friendly and lighthearted than his older counterpart.)

+ protective (will do anything to protect those that he loves. he is fiercely protective over his family, his father especially. always ready to get in a fight.)

- pragmatic (nathan deals with things realistically. he prefers to look at the facts rather than what could or couldn’t be. which doesn’t sit well with everyone.)

- perfectionist (always wants things to go according to plan in the best way available. he throws a minor tantrum when it doesn’t go the way he wants it to.)

brief history —

nathan summers was still living in the future at the time when the ban went into effect, an eleven year old boy who had very different issues in mind. he was building a rebellion against the new canaanite tyranny which nathan promised to do with aliya and tetherblood. he didn’t know what was going on  in the past, focusing on his own time and becoming a military leader at such a young age. everyone saw him as the prophesied “dayspring” and “askani’son.” everyone held such faith in him to take down apocalypse, and so he founded the clan chosen. which continues the ways of the askani. those beliefs taught him that the past brings hope and how the timeline needed to be preserved. they held a lot of beliefs such as tiny winged wysps who held prayers. they had a ceremonial language, and unique martial art techniques. they also took on symbols of the phoenix and the scarred eye. which is why nathan has three scars around his right eye — three lines forming a look similar to a starburst.

nathan participated in many wars, growing up knowing little else, and having no idea about what was going on in star city.

not until being tasked with going back into the past to accomplish what his older self couldn’t — preserve the timeline. nathan took this very seriously, but while he resolved what was causing a  ripple effect in his reality, restoring it back to the way it should be, something went wrong. his time travel device was broken in the process of his fight. only allowing him to warp a few minutes to a few hours ahead in time or into the past. he was stuck here now, and would need to figure out what that what would mean for him now. everyone here was used to an older cable, but maybe there could be room for him too.

once nathan met his father he finally realized what the benefits are to manipulation the timeline a little. he would express fondness for scott, and was more willing to be friendly and sweet than the older cable would have been. he was at a different point in his life, and maybe this is what he needed. he got close to his father, and has been in star city for several months now working as a mechanic part-time to give himself something to do. it feels weird not to be a mercenary anymore, but misses the thrill of being part of a team so he was placed on the new x-force team.