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surteic · 4 years

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On The Run

Summary: Hydra returns after its final destruction years ago and wants their Winter Soldier back. Meanwhile Bucky and Loki have started forming a tight bond between the two of them and with Hydra being aware of their little project’s new friend, they won’t miss the chance to get their hands on a god too. ATTENTION! This is going to be a sort of Thor:Ragnarok AU! (actually, this will be an MCU!AU pls don’t ask me what that means)

Pairing: Bucky x Loki Genre: idk how to rate this but nothing major, kinda humour Warnings: violence (a bit) Words: 1.868

A/N: Please keep in mind that my native language is not English, so there might be mistakes when it comes to grammar and vocabulary. I haven’t seen the movies in English either but I’m trying my best to get their characters right. I hope it turned out somewhat good lmao if not then I am terribly sorry.

Chapter-Index

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[Gifs are not mine]

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Chapter 1

Somewhere in an underground Hydra base, USA:

“Any news on where the Winter Soldier is, right now?” the general asked, facing the big screen in front of him. His arms crossed over his chest. An analyst, probably a soldier as well, turned around in his chair, grabbing his tablet and walking over to the general whose hate filled eyes pierced through the other man’s. Starting to get nervous as the general raised his chin, threatening, he turned the screen to the older man.

“We located him at the Avengers Compound, Upstate New York.” The soldier answered, scared of how his boss would react to the news that the winter soldier was once again united with his oldest friend, Steve Rogers. And apart from that, probably had his memory back after all. Years, decades of torturing him and forming his mind wasted thanks to a man in spandex. Did he still have that filthy suit? After all it had been years since the fall of Hydra, but they were on the rise again. And they would pay.

“Is captain Rogers with him?” the general asked, finally finished with his inner monologue. “No, sir. The captain and a few others are currently on a mission.” “And they leave the winter soldier behind.” He smiled devilish, grabbing the tablet with his gloved hand. The black leather making a soft squeaking noise every time his hand moved. With a stern face, he looked up again, his smile fading. “Bring me the soldier. We need our weapon back. He belongs to us.”

Pure shock and horror was written all over the soldiers faced as the room suddenly went silent. Gazes were exchanged, panic filled the room. “But, sir. The winter soldier has formed some sort of friendship with Thor’s brother! He’s a god we don’t know anything about.” But suddenly the younger man’s voice changed. He became quiet, trying not to cause a scene. “Sir, this will be a suicide mission.” But the general was not impressed at all. Closing his leather coat and turning to leave, he yelled. “I said get me the soldier! And bring me the god too. With him on our side, the Avengers will fall. As they should have years ago.” Then he vanished, leaving his frightened subjects behind.

Avengers Compound, Upstate New York: “Bucky, I’ve told you before, this is not going to work.” Loki sighed as he watched his friend trying to hack into Stark and Banner’s lab. “Well, it isn’t going to work if you just stand there. Give me a hand and stop complaining.” Bucky was frustrated. He’d tried everything to get into the lab. Every code he could think of, he searched Stark’s room, his belonging, everything, but without success. There was nothing. He turned around, his long hair falling in his face. “Help me please?” he said provocative, a fake smile plastering his face.

“I will not help you and anger Stark. I’ve had enough trouble with him in the past and I’d rather stay out of that.” Bucky stood up from his bend down position and put the strands of hair from his face. He looked at the god with a frown. “And what? Tony tried to kill me once! If it wasn’t for Steve, I’d be dead! So, get over here and do a lil’ magic trick so that I can see what he’s been working on, since he wants to keep it a secret.” Defeated Loki let his arms hang down beside him.

“Okay, fine. I’m going to help you, but it was your idea and if Stark ever gets aware of that we broke into his lab, I will-“before he could even finish Bucky interrupted. “Yeah, okay. I get it, you’re gonna be a snitch. Now do something!”

With a snap, they disappeared, the place they’ve been standing on covered in smoke.

When Bucky opened his eyes, it all happened in a blink of an eye, he had a look around. “The lab!” he yelled excited. “Why are you so surprised? You said you wanted in Stark’s lab and now we’re here. You humans are pathetic.” Ignoring the god’s statement, he went to the desk standing in the middle of the room, covered in high tech things. Bucky didn’t know what any of those things were, but they were fascinating. He’d always had a weakness for technology, even back in the day when he and Steve went to the Stark Expo in 1943. He’d wanted to check out more of the technic stuff that was standing in the lab, but his actions were cut off by an alarm going off. He put everything down and gazed at Loki.

“What’s that?” he asked, sprinting to the door, before he remembered. Ah, yes. It’s locked. “I think it’s the alarm.” Loki answered before a green light wrapped around him and his casual clothing turned into his battle armour. Bucky gave him a weird glance. “Really? You had to change first?” but Loki didn’t answer. He shrugged the soldier’s statement off and looked through the big windows that faced the wide grass area where they’d usually train. The floor, along with the glass, started vibrating; a loud noise, similar to one of a helicopter could be heard from outside.

“What is happening?” Loki was confused. As much as he was aware of everyone was on a mission or had the day off. Stark really threw a big party and let everyone sleep off their hangover, unbelievable.

“I don’t know. We need weapons. Where’s your gun?” Bucky asked as he grabbed the nearest thing he could find in Tony’s lab. The god used his magic skills and let two small knives appear, one in each of his hands. “You really wanna fight with butter knives?” Bucky laughed as he pushed some buttons on the weapon he had found, he assumed it was some sort of a gun. Whilst Loki had changed his small knives into bigger blades, Bucky still did not know how the weapon worked. “Do you even know what you’re doing?” Loki asked worried. “I’ll find out.” Sceptically Loki raised his eyebrows.

Minute by minute the noise started to get louder and louder. It wasn’t until in all black and blue covered people with helmets shot through the window. “Get down!” Bucky yelled as he turned over a table and hid behind it; Loki doing the same. Shooting back Bucky took a glance at their counterparts.

“Shit.” He panicked. “What is it?” Loki asked, getting ready to sprint at the other men and putting his knives in their chests. “You’re not going to run over there, are you mad?! You won’t stand a chance against their guns. Now stay behind that damned table or let some guns appear, Loki.” “This really isn’t the time to argue with me about my choice of weapons, Bucky. Now tell me why they had you so shocked, before we die.”

Putting more bullets in the Hydra soldiers both stood up, making their way to the window. The scene was a mess. Shards of glass everywhere, Stark’s inventions shot and destroyed the lab equalled a battlefield. Well, it kind of was. “There are too many, I can’t keep them all under control!” Bucky yelled, using his metal arm to punch the remaining soldiers in their faces before bringing them to fall. He jerkily turned around, looking for his partner. Bucky could clearly see that he was out of breath as well. They were just too many.

“Do something, Loki!” he yelled, fighting every man that he came across. “What exactly do you want me to do? I am trying my best!” came as an answer right before a blue lightning struck through the room, taking more than half the soldiers down. Breathing heavily, he nodded, pointing with his gun at the god.

“That. That was what I was talking about. Great job.” He laughed. But Loki was less amused. He shook his head and waited for the trouble to come. “That wasn’t me.”

With a final blue lightning and a shield flying threw the crashed windows, every Hydra agent was defeated or driven back. “Brotherrrrr!” yelled a deep and enraged voice, as a tall man with blond hair was carried inside by his flying hammer. The moment his feet hit the ground, a man, hidden behind steel and a bearded brown-haired patriot, along with other people followed. The helmet of the robot-like looking person suddenly disappeared, revealing an angry black-haired man.

“You two! What have you done to my lab?! Everything is destroyed!” Stark yelled, trying to see if any computer he had in there would still be working. To his misfortune nothing worked. He sighed angrily, approaching the couple and pointing threating at their faces. “You better pray that Friday still has all the copies or I’ll have your asses.”

“Tony.” Came a soft voice from behind the angry tin-man but he wouldn’t have any of this. “No, Rogers! They are troublemakers! They are not only getting themselves in danger but us as well! I can’t believe I even agreed to let them stay here.” “Our jobs include taking risks, Tony. We’re in danger every day we’re on a mission.” The captain tried to explain but it only made Tony angrier. “That’s the point, Steve! When we’re on missions! Not at home, where everyone should be safe! What would have happened if Peter was here?”

“Hey!” yelled Bucky, trying to calm everyone down and getting control of what was happening right now. After all there where bigger issues to discuss than them being a danger to everyone, as usual. The room went silent as his voice pierced through the destroyed room but Bucky’s focus only applied to Steve. He’d understand.

“Those soldiers, Steve. Hydra’s back.” He gulped, throwing away his weapon.

“What?” Steve remarked, praying to be misinformed.

“Hydra is back. I don’t know what they want but the symbol, Steve.” The soldier pointed to where one agent lay and turned him around, revealing the Hydra sign imbedded on his chest.

“They’re here to get back their most powerful weapon.” Stark said as he looked down the window.

“How do you know?” Bruce asked as he tried to see what Tony saw but failed as the fear of heights took over his body and he backed off.

Pointing to the ground he rolled his eyes. “I don’t know. Maybe because of the metal arm that’s sticking out of my lawn? Wild guess.” Squinting his eyes, he took a better look at the arm. “Is that a note? Who even writes notes anymore? Is Hydra living in the 20th century? Looks like they downgraded.” using his suit he jumped from the building and got both the note and the metal arm. Holding the tiny piece of paper right in front of his face he read: “The Avengers will fall once the soldier and the god are ours. There will be no mercy.”

Not even showing his concern and keeping his poker face as usual, Stark sighed, handing the note to Steve and looking at both Loki and Bucky he said, “Looks like they’re after both of you. Congratulations on your adoption.”

TBC

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Masterlist

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Taglist: @starscreamloki

#winterfrost #loki x bucky #lokixbucky #loki/bucky #bucky/loki #fanfiction #series #taggingthisasmymasterlistdontmindme #chapter 1 #mcu #marvel #marvel cinematic universe #hydra #avengers #steve rogers #captain america #Tony Stark #iron man #fck this idk how to write action

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valkyriesryde · 5 years

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Friend or Foe - 4

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x enhanced!reader

Summary: Bucky confronts what he’s been feeling and Y/N has another message for him

Warning: violence, depression, anxiety, PTSD, suicidal thoughts, self-harm attempt, angst

Word Count: 2,700ish

A/N: its been a hot minute please don’t hate me lmao. I’ve come to the conclusion I’m physically incapable of not have some form of joke so i apologise thnx luv u

Masterlist

Series Masterlist - Previous - Next

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It had been four days and nothing had happened. Maybe this was her own torture. Maybe this was her punishment because she couldn't take this waiting much longer.

There had been no contact apart from meals three times a day but even then no words were spoken between her and whoever brought her food. It was never him, he never came and saw her. She waited, she thought maybe the soldier would come and at least say hi but no such thing had happened yet.

Bucky sat opposite the two-way mirror where he had been almost the entire past four days. Watching, observing, waiting. He fought with himself constantly. He wanted to go in there, talk to her, yell at her, question her. But Steve had told him to stay put, told him that Fury was in charge of this. So Bucky sat, observed, and waited.

"You always find me," Bucky perked up at the sound of her voice. Y/N sat at the desk twirling the pen through her fingers, her chin leaned against her arm on the desk and she let out a sigh. "I wonder if you're there if you're ever there?" She sat up in the chair and looked at the two-way mirror, it was obvious she was being watched. Could he be the one watching?

Bucky watched her grip the pen in her hand and turn her body towards the mirror. "I don't even know what I would say to you." Wanda walked into the room, she placed a plate of food on the table next to Bucky and then took a seat, shift change, though he very rarely left, the company was nice.

"What's going-" Wanda was shushed quickly by Bucky with a wave of his hand.

Another deep breath. "I guess I would say thank you. Steve Rogers said you were the reason I was found. Suppose it's what I wanted anyway, I was scared you wouldn't find me though." She turned and went back to her position on the desk, spinning the pen. "Absolutely terrified."

"Bucky?" Bucky hummed, leaning back in his seat and picking at his lunch. "What was your relationship with her?"

"We were friends."

Another hour passed and Y/N hadn't spoken again, neither had Wanda or Bucky. She spun the pen in her fingers, tapped it on the desk to a tune that was stuck in her head.

"I've been thinking," she stopped tapping, holding the pen in her fingers as she talked to herself. "I've been thinking about when you found me in the lab the second time." Wanda didn't miss Bucky gulp, she didn't miss his eyes drop to the floor and she could feel sorrow coming off him like fire, she could feel his helplessness. "You were meant to kill me. They sent you in there because I was out of control, another failed experiment for them to throw away." She threw the pen at the wall and stood from the seat sending it crashing to the ground. "There were eight of us left, they could spare to lose another one. Yet you let me live. I thought I was special, I thought maybe after our sparring we had formed a bond." She started slowly pacing the room, arms wrapped around her waist. "I remember hearing you scream when they dragged you out. I remember the panic when everything started to crumble. I remember hearing it was because of you." Her movement stopped and she stood in the middle of the room in front of the mirror with her head down, face hidden.

Bucky leaned forward in his seat, his elbows rested on his knees, his chin in his hands and Wanda watched him. "I got out, when Hydra fell. Everyone was in such a panic they were clearing out the bunker, left me with a group of scientists that were supposed to sedate me before we moved. There wasn't even security." Her hands were shoved into her pockets and she turned to face the mirror directly, eyes narrowed and red. "I got out. I left my mark. I hid for six years waiting. Everyone disappeared and when they came back all of a sudden you were a hero." The word felt like ice and Bucky flinched when she said it. "You'd been out saving the world and left me there. You promised!" Her voice started to rise, her eyes still red and puffy and they threatened to cry. Bucky tried to keep his composure, he tried not to let the guilt slip in, not with Wanda here.

"You promised in that lab that you would always find me. That you were my friend and you knew what that meant! Yet I was alone, you never found me and I doubt you even tried looking." Her voice shifted in volume, she held something in her hands, her knuckles white as they gripped the objects. "One hundred and thirteen died in that lab and because of you, I was not one of them. I'm supposed to be grateful for that, I'm supposed to thank you? But you left me. You left me to die."

Bucky licked his lips, he took a deep breath and shut his eyes for a moment when he felt Wanda's hand on his arm. It wasn't his fault. He tried.

"I left that message on Court on a whim. But I'm not sure I like being found anymore. So have your stupid message back," she threw the small bullet at the mirror and it bounced off and landed on the floor with a thud. "I'm glad you're safe truly. I'm glad you've found yourself." Bucky noticed the pen in her other hand as her grip on it shifted, he hadn't noticed her pick it up, "the Winter Soldier was never my friend I hope you know that. It was you. And I'm sorry I failed you." She sounded small, she felt small. Bucky watched the pen turn in her hand, he watched her click it. "I'm so sick of waiting," she choked out a sob and raised the pen slightly, both Bucky and Wanda stiffened in their seats, "I don't care what punishment they give me. I already know what I deserve. Sergeant, I'm sorry."

Bucky was out of his seat and out the door before Wanda could do anything. She watched him burst through the door to the holding room and without a word he gripped Y/N's wrist as it rose in the air ready to stab the pen into her abdomen. Bucky's eyes didn't leave Y/N's when he pulled the pen out of her hand and threw it out the open door. He dropped her wrist, watched the tears pouring down her face. But he didn't do anything about it.

He took a deep breath, he wanted to yell at her. He wanted to scream how stupid she was. How dare she accuse him of not looking for her! How dare she assume he didn't care! How dare she try and take herself away from him!

Bucky didn't do any of that. He gave her a scowl and then turned and stalked out, slamming the door behind him. Y/N was shocked and Bucky's actions. She dropped to her knees and stared at her hands. She clawed at the device around her neck, chest heaving, sobs broke the silence as she gave up.

Bucky stormed through the halls until he reached the dead-end that was the kitchen. His anger overtook him and the chairs were thrown across the room. The fruit bowl smashed against the wall as Sam stood in the doorway to find the source of the commotion.

Quickly Sam sent a message to the team's group chat to say the kitchen is off-limits for the time being. He waited for Bucky to stop thrashing about before Sam stepped towards him, the door closed quietly behind him.

Bucky slid down the fridge, head in hands as Sam took a seat across from him. Sam didn't say anything, he went on his phone, answering the questions that were coming through on the chat.

Clint: what if I want a snack

Sam: no

Wanda: glad you're with him

Steve: what's going on?

Nat: should we be concerned? Is everyone okay?

Tony: why are we using the chat without buck?

Sam: everything's fine just stay out of the kitchen until I say so. Will explain later.

"Sam?" Sam looked up from his phone at Bucky, he sat with his head leaned back against the fridge, his knees pulled up to his chest. He was in pain, so much emotional pain. Sam could see it in his face, Bucky was trying hard not to fall apart.

"Hey." Sam and Bucky had a special bond that could be turned on and off. Sam was Bucky's counsellor. He helped him with his PTSD and his anxiety, nothing was off topic to be talked about with Sam, he treated Bucky like any other veteran he worked with and Bucky appreciated that. Sam never looked at him as though he was made of glass, Sam had always treated him as a friend...well, after the whole trying to kill him thing but that was in the past.

"She thinks I didn't look for her." He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, "she thinks I left her for dead. Sam, what am I meant to do?" When he repeated her words it stung, actually sting is putting it too lightly, it was a stabbing feeling and the knife was twisting.

"She doesn't have the whole story, maybe you should tell her your side?" Bucky shook his head and pushed his fingers through his hair with frustration.

"I'm not allowed to talk to her, I'm not allowed to even see her and I've already broken that rule!"

"Man, fuck Fury!" Bucky raised his eyebrows at his friend who simply held his hands out, "that guys not taken into consideration the bond you two clearly have. Look, I don't know what exactly happened but you two were obviously close. You had each other's back. If anyone should be talking to her it should be you." Sam shook his head, he'd be telling Steve the exact same thing since they brought her in but Steve was on Fury's side, wanting to keep Bucky away as much as possible. "Fuck this whole making her wait thing it's my shift tonight, talk to her then. I won't tell."

Bucky took a deep breath and licked his lips, mulling over the idea of talking to Y/N. He'd need to plan what he was going to say. He'd need to be able to hold himself together. With a slight groan, Bucky agreed to Sam's plan and they cleaned the mess in the kitchen before Sam gave the all clear to the rest of the gang.

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It was an hour into Sam's shift when Bucky came in apologising about how Steve and Nat wouldn't let him out of their sight. Sam asked if he knew what he was going to say, Bucky shrugged but nodded his head, he had a rough idea.

Now Bucky stood outside the holding room. Y/N was lying on the bed where she'd been most of the day after the incident earlier. She lay on her side picking at the thread when he opened the door and stepped in, walking towards the desk and taking a seat.

"Did they send you in to break the news then?" She sat up but stayed on the bed looking towards the mirror where Sam sat trying not to watch and then to Bucky. He had his head down but his body faced her.

"They don't know I'm here," Bucky straightened in his seat, finally looking her in the eye and it's like his life flashed before his eyes. She looked so torn, torn between being happy he was talking to her and the dread of a reminder as to why he's here.

Bucky wanted to take it away. Just like in that lab when he found her cowering in the cabinet he wanted to take her pain away. He wanted to hurt whoever it was that caused her to shrink into herself until he realised it was him. He's the one that's making her feel like this. He's the one that hurt her.

"You need to know why it took me so long," and so he told her what happened. He told her about how he'd been put back in the chair after his outburst at Court. He told her about his mission to kill Steve, about how Steve had saved him. He told her about the fight with Tony and he hesitated before telling her the reason for it. He told her about Wakanda, about how he'd tried searching for her but there was no trace.

"I thought you were dead, I couldn't find you anywhere," he heard her sniffle and looked up for the first time since he began to see tears falling down her face freely. Apart from that, her face held no emotion.

He kept going. He told her about Thanos, "this big purple alien fucker," and about how he'd lost five years because of it. Then he told her about now.

"Steve's taken a step back, desk work and leading, no more field stuff. He gave the shield to Sam for some stupid reason," Bucky's mouth twitched up slightly as he glanced towards the mirror he knew Sam was behind briefly. "Tony's with his family most of the time, comes in every couple of days." He rubbed his hands over his face and sighed.

Y/N had stopped crying, she sat with her legs crossed on the bed still and she hadn't looked away from Bucky the entire time. It wasn't his fault. He'd tried looking. He thought she was dead.

"Guess I'm the ghost of Christmas past huh?" She gave him a small smirk which he gladly returned. God, it felt so good to be able to actually talk to her. He'd never been able to before.

"I don't know what's going to happen," Bucky whispered and the words sat in the air for a minute, cold and distant as they both took in what it meant. Her fate was still up in the air. "We might not know much about each other, not really, but I - I really think you should stay here, not here here I mean at the compound with us." Us, not me. "If they asked me I'd have you here." Y/N watched him brush the hair back from his face, a nervous tick she'd figured out, "they're not going to ask me."

Another beat passed and Bucky stood from his seat and walked towards the door. He didn't have anything left to tell her.

"What do I call you?" Bucky stopped his movement but made no action to turn around, he thought about it. She'd oy ever called him soldier or Sergeant. She'd never called him Soldat. She'd never called him the Winter Soldier. It was obvious she'd done her research though, she knew who he was, she knew about the rest of the team, or at least what was on public record. But what should she call him?

"Uh, Bucky. I go by Bucky, or James I'll answer to that as well," he looked over her shoulder, saw her speak the names softly to herself before she gave him a small smile.

"I like James," she muttered, more to herself than him and he couldn't help but be taken aback by how graceful his name sounded when she said it. He returned her smile, have her a nod before he walked out the door and shut it behind him.

Bucky walked back into the room Sam was situated in rubbed his face with his sleeve to get rid of the tears that he hadn't realised were there. He looked down at Sam doing the exact same thing.

"Are you crying?" Sam waved his hand at Bucky and picked up a water bottle, throwing it towards him.

"Mate shut up you cried too!"

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Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed it! Requests are open!

Friend or FoeTaglist (OPEN):

@forever-trapped-in-my-dreams @occasionalwritingsofmia @avengemepercy @henderwhore4life @stormi-ames @turquoisekokiri @bethany-z @mcuwillbethedeathofme @kneel-begyourpardon @bells3333 @chubby-dumplin

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Bucky Barnes Taglist (OPEN): @bxrnsfeyson @brilliantbellesoares

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes au #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes fanfiction #marvel au #marvel fanfiction #friend or foe #fof #bucky barnes angst #bucky barnes fluff

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avidfanficwriter · 5 years

Text

Spoken in Silence (Chapter 1)

Characters: Clint Barton x Tony Stark

Rating: Rated M.

Warnings: Cursing, Possible suicide attempt, depression, PTSD, self-doubt, angst, Cheating, Secret life, mentions of torture, romantic interest, one sided attraction (Kinda), bonding over pain, mentions/references towards child abuse not explicitly explained, Spoilers for Endgame in later chapters, (MORE TO COME AS UPDATED)

Summary: Let it be known that nothing happened between Clint Barton and Tony Stark, nothing. Technically, speaking. It was just longing glances and unspoken words but they both know it’s there. They both know there’s a clear line of how far they’re caring towards one another can go without going to far.

READ ON A03

Nick Fury invited Tony Stark to the lab-to be more correct Fury demanded that Tony be present at the lab because he was tired of Tony breathing down his neck asking what was going on, it was easier to give him a taste rather than wait for Stark to discovered everything on his own. It’s a ruse, Tony knows that long before they arrived at SHIELD headquarters, he was sticking his nose somewhere it didn’t belong and Fury was getting antsy. “We show him the basic stuff. Things that won’t get his Stark brain running.” Was the original plan but things quickly went to shit. The damn tesseract, the cube they had spent forever searching for was creating problems conveniently when Tony was around. As Dr. Selvig put it: “She’s misbehaving.” with hidden concern masked in his voice.

“Did you buy her a drink?” Was Tony’s unhelpful response.

Everyone in the room was clueless, it’s a mystery as to what created the power surge even more so was trying to find a way to stop it. The tesseract flickers, blue lights emitting around the room mimicking the way fire acts as the building shifts again. The ceiling is crumbling, falling beneath their feet as Tony finds his way to a computer monitor hoping he can help but also taking the opportunity to insert his own flash drive into their systems. A large deep blue light fills the room, creating a portal behind the cube and Fury knows this day is only going to get worse.

A man appears within the light, long jet black hair with swollen red eyes dressed in a gold and green outfit with a terrifying smile on his face. His hand is tightly holding a spear that only worsens the fear sinking into everyone’s body, the look on his face, the threatening stance, he’s no friend.

Tony is suddenly picking himself up off the floor, his vision blurred and a high pitched ringing sound filling his ears. His memory is vague, the last thing he remembers was Fury shouting, curses spilling from his mouth, the sound of gunshots, blue glow and then darkness. A trail of wet cold blood falls down his forehead that he swipes his fingers at, he doesn’t remember blacking out, hurting himself or being so close to the wall. His body aches, head is pounding and he’s searching for Fury whose focused on another man, Clint. They’d met moments before chaos broke out.

Tony barely knows the man, didn’t remember his last name or his position, just a colorful moniker: “This is the hawk.” The man is trying to fight against the unknown assailant only to fail, he feels his chest constrict and lungs struggle to pull in enough oxygen.

Tony watches the man become a hostage and the pain he feels is unbearable. It’s as if his own heart is being viciously ripped from his chest, rips torn aimlessly and fingers clawing at his flesh to retrieve it. He was helpless, no suit at his dispense, his legs unable to move, he’s forced to watch. The man becomes a victim and soon after a monster.

It’s magic, Tony’s least favorite thing. Magic wasn’t fair, the magician can simple wave their fingers and the fight goes in their favor.

There’s a tinge of deep blue that melts into Clint’s eyes, a startling change in his behavior is evident. He stands straight, arms at his side and gun holstered. Tony should be trying to aid those who tried and failed to take on this villain but he can’t move. His brown eyes are glued to Clint as the man speaks, “I am Loki… of Asgard.” Is all he can make out clearly. He’s to focused on what’s going on with– or the lack of what’s going on with Clint. He’s frozen, oblivious to the anything around him. His eyes glowing and chest raising peacefully as he breathes. He’s been compromised.

Clint stands just a few feet away from everyone who could save him, bodies of the agents before him who tried to take on the villian lay motionless around him. The gun is still in his hand but he can’t move it, he can’t find the strength to make his finger pull the trigger, this spear that’s touching his chest is changing him. His vision blurs, his body changes and his brains fills with thoughts that are no longer his own. A voice echoes through his mind, “You’ll listen to me. Do what I say. What i ask for.” The words are on repeat, filling every orifice of his mind and threatening his very existence. He’s losing his grasp on reality, loosing who he is. He manages one last look around, the faces of his colleagues burn into his brain, it’s bad. The look of fear etched onto each of their faces says what’s happening to him is just as bad to witness as it is to experience it. His eyesight falls to Tony, the billionaire who moonlights as a superhero with over moussed hair and facial hair trimmed to perfection, even his face is morphed into pain.

It’s paralysis, Clint begins to realize, he’s unable to move or speak but his mind is still active. He can hear what Loki demands him to do but he’s not the one responding. He’s not the one controlling his body. Every decision and move is controlled by Loki, even the sounds of his voice is wrong. This voice, the new voice is deeper and dry.

He’s in a prison, he soon realizes, trapped inside of his mind while his body is forced to carry out horrible acts of violence. He can see it all, every order her carries out, every person he victimizes all play like a broken record. The lives he took and the people he hurt, he sees it all and worse, he remembers it all.

It’s Tony alongside his new/old friend, (He’s not entirely sure where they stand as of right now) Natasha that have the hardest time dealing with the events surrounding Clint. Tony can’t sleep or continue his day knowing that man was sacrificed and Fury isn’t doing a damn thing about it. His mind torments him with pleas to rescue Clint. It’s escalated since Tony’s met Loki’s brother, Thor. He’s interacting with this man who grow up with a monster, a being who believes he is the true ruler of man and nothing will stand in his way. “What the hell are we going to do about Clint?” Tony shouts at Fury as he enters his office. Fury seems to be the only person unfazed by Clint’s behavior.

“What does that mean, Stark?”

“Barton, he’s Loki’s bitch.”

Fury sighed with a shrug of his shoulders. “Barton was aware of the risks.”

Fury had pissed Tony off in the past, putting him on house arrest for starters was one time but now, refusing to help one of his own agents was more than irritating. “That’s what we are to you? Expendable assets?”

“Each of you is aware of the risks.” Was all Fury said turning his attention back to his work. “If any of you have a problem, you know where the door is.” It takes all the strength inside of Tony to not lash out on the man. He tries to let it go, tries desperately to forget what he said but he can’t.

Clint’s falling further down the rabbit hole as the days pass, the last remaining pieces of him are starting to betray him. He’s forgetting names and memories, it’s getting harder and harder to recall who people are. There were moments of the day, where suddenly he can’t remember where he is, how he got there or who the person who has his bullet inside of them is. It’s as if he’s sleepwalking. This his worst nightmare comes true, he’s fighting not alongside but against, his friend, his family Natasha Romanoff. Punching, kicking, weapons are involved, anything they can get their hands on is used against the other. He tries to fight it, tries to do everything in his power to prevent this from continuing. That this power Loki has over him can be beat. He can win. He has too. If he doesn’t, he’ll kill her.

It’s luck or an act of God when a metal clang reverberates through his ears and after what seems like years of fighting, he’s free. “Natasha.” He thinks he says but he’s not sure. The severe throbbing in his head is moving around his head like gel, slowly covering all areas of his brain and clouding his hearing. The last thing he sees is Natasha standing before him out of breathe, her fiery red hair glowing in the light and her fist coming straight at him.

The virus inside of his brain is gone, Loki is gone but he’s left with a wrath. A headache so bad, his vision is going in and out, his body feels as though he’s swaying and he can’t seem to focus on one thing for too long. Natasha saved him, “Cognitive recalibration… I hit you really hard in the head.” She explains with a smirk.

Clint’s thankful, more than thankful, he’s indebted to her.

The redhead leaves him with well wishes and small kiss to his forehead, reminding him he’s not responsible for his actions while under Loki’s control. The moment the door closes behind her, the memories haunt him. Screams and pleas to live, Loki’s damned voice demanding orders. He closes his eyes, clenches his jaw and tries to fight the urge to scream. He killed innocent people without a second thought, he become a criminal.

A voice pulls him out of the darkness, Tony Stark’s voice. The genius who graduated M.I.T. at some insanely young age and is in the news every day for some crazy antic as Iron Man is standing before him. He met him earlier, before his brain was shaken and stirred. Stark referred to him as Fury’s underling when they met and shared a few sarcastic jokes. This time, Tony has no wise cracks or comedic tone, it’s conversation he doesn’t know to react to.

“Brought you these.” Tony says handing him a small plastic cup filled with water and two white pills. “Romanoff said she cracked you in the head.” He lets out a small sigh and sits on the chair near the bed. “How are you feeling, Barton?”

No nickname again. It’s just Barton. it feels respectful, the notorious playboy is actually treating him equal. “Like a broken toy.” Clint responds in a groggy voice.

“You good to keep going?”

“Yeah.”

“Do you want to keep going?”

“Of course.”

“Good. We need all hands on deck for this one.” Tony reaches out and rests his palm on Clint’s shoulder, there’s no weight to his touch as if Tony doesn’t want to invade his personal space. Clint meets his eyes, his head still pounding and vision starting to come back. “I’m glad you’re good, Clint.” Clint swears and maybe it’s the pain in his body that is convincing him of this but the next thing Tony does and says has to be imagined. “I’m sorry it took us so long to save you.” He whispers and lets a quick smile across his face.

He nods, brows furrowed and lips pressed tightly together. It’s the drugs, he tells himself or the splitting headache. The painkillers kicking in or the sedative they gave him wearing off. Tony didn’t mean it. Tony probably wasn’t even there. He imagined it… he has to of. It doesn’t make any sense.

It’s the first moment, Tony realized he cared more about Clint than he should have. His heart speed up when he found out Clint was saved and his heart broke at the sight of him strapped to a chair while Natasha takes him off a ledge. His emotions were on high and he wanted to soothe pain that was radiating off of the archer. If Clint was a machine this would be easier, a complete reboot, a new circuit board along with a fresh coat of was, he’d be as good as new but with a person, Tony was clueless. How do you fix a person? How do you fix a person you barely know? How would he even start? They don’t know one another and Tony’s record with people isn’t a highlight reel.

Clint discovers an odd feeling burrowing in his chest for Tony Stark during their battle of New York, their all hands on deck moment. The first time the Avengers are together in battle. It’s a terrifying moment but it told Clint that he cared more about him than he intended on.

A nuke originally sent to save the world from alien destruction was now humanity’s biggest threat. It was a selfless act, one Clint probably would have done if he had the resources too, a one way trip. Certain death with no way out. In a split second, Tony grabs the Nuke and guides it into the wormhole. He was gone. Tony Stark, Iron Man was both the victim and the savior.

“Clost it.” Clint head over the ear piece.

“What about Stark?’ He shouts.

Clint can’t get his emotions under control as he watches the scene play out. A ear piercing, "No!” finds it’s way past his lips. Panic fills his body as the wormhole starts to close and Tony is nowhere to be found. Tony wasn’t flying back to earth, he wasn’t cheering or demanding a beer for his accomplishments, it’s silent. Blue eyes search for Tony’s shining gold and red armour, silently praying he’s safe.

By an act of God, Tony was back.

Clint can recount every detail, down to the last second while he stood helplessly on the roof of a building and watched as Tony plummeted to earth. His breath caught in his throat, his skin crawled and his blood ran cold. The grip he has on his bow tightens threatening to break it as he holds back the tears. He’s going to watch Tony die.

Tony’s lifeless body, the lack of movement, it sends shockwaves through his heart.

He wants to jump off the building. He wants to do something. His brain has came up with hundreds of scenarios of how he can help but they’d both fall to their death. The archer remains on the building shutting his eyes, unable to bare witness to the scene any longer, he waits. Waits for it to be over. Waiting for someone over the line to say Tony had died.

The crack of Tony’s suit hitting the ground never comes, there was no call from other team members, the coms were silent. Until he heard the roar of the Hulk followed by a loud crash, he opened his eyes and saw the Hulk placing Tony onto the ground. “Is Stark okay?’ He asks once Captain America and Thor surround Tony.

The sight is horrendous.

Seconds felt like minutes and minutes felt like hours.

"He’s fine!” Cap says in a rushed tone. Clint lets out a breathy chuckle, ripping out his ear piece and tossing it to the ground with a heavy sigh. Tears fall from his eyes as he struggles to catch his breath, Tony is safe. It’s a strange feeling nestled inside of Clint’s chest when he finally watches Tony rise to his feet and take a few unsteady steps, the Iron Man suit reflects the glimmer of the sun as he grips Captain America’s shoulder. He’s safe. He tells himself, he’s fine. Breathing and okay.

“Worried about me birdman?” Clint hears Tony’s ask over his discarded ear piece.

Clint lets out a quick breathe as he picks his ear piece up off the floor and puts it back on. “Just worried about who’s going to pick up the bill for dinner. I’m feeling like steak.” Clint tries to hide the agony in his voice, the knot formed in his throat is slowly starting to dissipate but the racing of his heart has yet to cease.

“Have you ever tried shawarma? There’s a shawarma joint about two blocks from here. I don’t know what it is, but I wanna try it.” Tony says in an all to happy voice for someone who just nearly died.

Clint laughs, using his free hand to wipe the tears the streak his face. “Ye-yeah. That sounds good, Tin man.”

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the-marvel-gremlin · 5 years

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Trapped feelings• Post infinity war

Warnings

•depression

•suicidal thoughts

•outbursts

•confrontation

•panic attack

~mantis survived for plot reasons~

The fact that Tony and Mantis were the only two beings to arrive back from titan gave them a certain bond none of the other hero's under their roof could understand. They had seen thing the others hadn't.

Their friendship had kept them from falling easily into their dark places, or at least it kept Tony from those places he was all to familiar with. Mantis kept a light attitude towards most things and was one of the happiest of the group of heroes.

They spent most of their days either in Tony's lab while he worked and she talked or at least tried to talk to dum-E who would chirp back at her. Over time during one of mantis's many visits they had discussed her powers and Tony made her swear never to touch him, just because he didn't want to share his feelings with Mantis understood.

Today was an exception to the days Tony spent in the lab. He had been pulled into the living room by a persistent Pepper. Now they sat watching a boring movie with the team.

Tony didn't really care for the movie it seamed boring. When he finally looked up at the screen he noticed it was an action movie the current scene showed two gangsters shooting up a bank. It was all fine until a cop shot one of the gangsters and he fell into the wall.

"Boss I've been hit." He yelled and the older gangster ran to his side. "No come on Jimmy!" Tony almost chuckled it was a little cheesy. "I don't want to go boss I don't want to go."

Something struck a chord and Tony's breath felt cut off. His mind flooded with memories of Peter and Titan. "Sh-shit." He stood quickly brushing off pepper's hand and he leaned against the coffee table.

Steve stood and was by Tony's side. "Tony are you okay?" Tony tried nodding as everyone crowded around him. "Get away give him space" Natasha put an hand on Steve's arm and he stepped back.

Tony put a hand on his chest and doubled over. He tried breathing but his breaths scratched his throat and he could feel tears streaming down his face.

He knew he was in trouble, he hadn't had a panic attack this bad before. "P-Peter." He choked out. The kid always helped him through these.

"Mantis help him calm him down." Steve order but Mantis hesitated. "I can't touch him he doesn't want me to." She frowned.

"It doesn't matter Mantis just help him." Steve said again stepping out of her way. Mantis stepped in his place and put a hand on Tony's back.

Before she could calm his emotions she was hit by all of them full force. She let out a loud sob and tears came to her eyes immediately.

"N-nooo" she cried. "Help him, he no longer wants to be here. He holds on for one person." Mantis kept her hand on Tony's back and tried to take control of her mind again.

"S-sleep." She whispered and her voice shook but Tony took in one breath before falling to the couch. Mantis pulled away and dropped to the ground.

"He's I'm so much pain." Steve and Natasha dropped to mantis' side as Rhodey and Pepper went to Tony. Natasha tilted her head. "What did you feel Mantis?" She questioned her face serious.

"Betrayal! Heartbreak. Loss. He morns for a son." She whimpered. "He feels he has failed you, that their deaths are his fault."

Steve looked up at the unconscious Tony then back at Mantis. "How can he hide that?" "He has for years, only now his fears are real. He has lost everyone in death and betrayal."

Steve was taken aback by Mantis' words and everyone in the room was deathly quiet. The only noise was mantis' cries. They all shared three thoughts. Did we do this? How can we help him? Who is his son?

#iron man #ptsd #ironman #avengers #infinitywar #mantis #marvel #mcu

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dawnkiwi-blog · 7 years

Text

A Beautiful Mind Chapter 2 - Tony Stark fanfiction

A Beautiful Mind - Avengers fanfiction | Iron Man / Tony Stark-centric | #1 in the Wretched Adrenaline series

Summary: 'Prodigious clarity conceived', Tony Stark is the most enlightened mind of this existence. Like an elastic band, his mind expands to encompass all knowledge he comes across. Bands snap.

Genres: Drama/Sci-fi

Word Count: 2,200 Chapters: 02/05 Status: Finished prior to publishing

Trigger warnings: Allusion to schizophrenia / mentions and explorations of mental illness + suicide / familial abuse and trauma / mentions of sexual activity.

Sincerest apologies for this late update! I had this posted on ff.net some days ago but this has been a hectic time for me and I forgot to press ‘post’.. I should probably queue these things..

Chapter 2: Gods

It had been days now. Thousands of minutes in which he had hidden himself from the world and all interaction, with only the precious indulgence of the most artificial mind- his own creation, and thus the safest option, as Tony innately knew that only he and that which he could completely dictate could be trusted.

Days since Tony had found the courage to face them.

He had suspected when he ventured upstairs- to his own kitchen- that it wouldn't go well, but the need for food had won out. And inevitably he had been humiliated. Perhaps they didn't see it that way. In fact, for all Tony knew, neither Steve nor Vision had picked up on how 'out of it' he had been. But the days taken their toll and his sleep deprivation had culminated in one of those dreaded flashbacks.

At least this time it had not been of Afghanistan.

"JARV, can you copy this template and store it on my private server, please."

His lab was washed in a soft natural lighting, creating a calming atmosphere. Controlled chaos reigned in his most precious space; his modus operandi flowed in a maze of questionable ideas. Each time he was struck with another moment of euphoria, it had to be jotted down by hand and plastered up in a string-board flow chart that coated every surface and space available.

Tony worked like a madman, never entirely still. His hands shook and his eyes wavered. Almost wordlessly he spoke to himself, reciting formulas, theories, and mashing the very fringes of theoretical science together in a corroded version of logic.

"Of course, sir."

He snapped his fingers, twirling around to snatch up another hot cup of liquid energy. $60 a cup. Because he's Tony fucking Stark.

"Sir, the synthesized element is now complete."

Tony let out a shaky breath. "Bring her up, JARV."

His beloved AI did as requested and the newly synthesized component emerged like an infant Jesus, or Simba. The steaming mist rose up, slowly evaporating into the air ducts. The theatrics of it all did nothing but exacerbate his irregular heart beat and warm his hands with nervous perspiration.

"Perfect," he murmured, gingerly plucking it from its perch. His latest attempt at recreating one of the many Chitauri 'elements'. Once he'd come to terms with whatever materials the Hoard consisted of essentially being out-of-this-world, he'd set about making his own. PTSD prevented him- no, reminded him of why space travel is a bad thing- a terrible, most dreaded, and utterly anti-human endeavor- so the safest option he had was to simply create it all.

He'd done more difficult tasks before. Like in caves, with a car battery wired into his chest.

Tony repressed a shiver but was unable to stop the frown which settled upon his face like scar tissue. Even during his most poignant moments, the repressive and plagueish feeling gnawed at him, chewing him to pieces and scattering his sanity like dollar bills from a blimp.

His new element glinted in the soft lighting. Iridescent like a polished pearl, it held his hopes, his fears, and his obsessions.

Snatching up his scanner, he let the holographic wave flow across it before processing the data.

Tony stood quietly with shaking hands, lost in the swirling mist of his coffee.

"The element does not match, sir."

Tony cursed, nearly throwing his cup against the wall. Instead he discarded it behind him, unaware of the blistering liquid splashing his bare feet. In a rare moment of ill-restraint, Tony let out a frustrated scream, sweeping his arm across his desk and sending it's contents scattering across the polished floor. Glass shattered and sprayed him with thin, nearly invisible cuts. His chest heaved, pumping out gutturally anguished grunts.

"Sir?"

"Does any of it match?" Tony screamed into his hands, fisting his hair into painfully tight clumps.

His shaking increased with his shoulders hunching and tensing more as he waited for JARVIS to calculate the difference.

"There is a 52% match rate, sir."

"Fifty-two percent," he enunciated to himself quietly, "It's never enough."

Tony straightened up to stare blankly at the mess covering his lab.

Post-it notes dotted the walls, his tables, and even his cars. He didn't need them. In fact he had only ordered them last week thinking perhaps it would ground him, and remind him of the necessity and fruition of such an ambitious dream. But now it slammed into him with a splitting ache, his eyes scrunching up as a blinding pain coursed down his head. It reminded him of how fucking ruined he was.

"Never fucking enough," he muttered.

Fifty two percent means the elements, the material, whatever the fuck he labelled it- it all boiled down to having the same matter which existed for tangible forms, but beyond that, whatever accumulation of atoms formed the mysterious armours, 'flesh', and weapons of the Hoard simply did not exist as an Earthen configuration, and if Tony dared to press his mind into the darkest corners of his intelligence, he would be forced to consider that potentially, the elements he searched so desperately for were beyond his highest form of science.

Beyond science itself and perhaps into the realm of speculation and, he shuddered, magic. The horror.

Horrible potential. One would believe Tony Stark idolized magic. His own creations all embodied the most human form of magic. Technology so advanced he could craft his suit from the air (seemingly) and power his tower from a self-sufficient source. All ideas that scientists had salivated over, but truly, few had the brains capable of processing such advanced theories.

"JARV," he ground out through gritted teeth, "What does the two-percent signify?"

Another moment of silence while JARVIS considered his readings. "I believe, sir, that the two percent is evidence of a nuclear-bonding between the armours of the Chitauri Hoard, and their 'flesh'."

That means their armour is really an exoskeleton..

Which again meant he was no closer to understanding their technology or their ability to breathe in space.

Tony wanted to cry but he settled for sinking to his knees and gasping for air. Imagining space without his suit.. imagining floating in that awful, endless void..

He couldn't breathe.

Grasping at his throat, his vision swam.

"Sir, you are experiencing an anxiety attack. Code Beta. Sir, you are experiencing an anxiety attack. Code Beta. Sir, you are experiencing an anxiety attack. Code Beta..."

Code Beta.

Tony's self determined code word broke through the haze, allowing him enough time to stagger to his feet and slump towards his coach. Barely mustering the strength to pull his suddenly lead filled body onto the expensive leather, he never heard had a chance to fight he sleep which wormed its way into his deprived and demented brain.

Burning cinders drifted through the air lazily. Such beautiful hues of orange and magenta glowed behind the thick, black smoke. They danced like peacocks of death.

Plumes of the smoke filled the skies and suffocated him, working its way down his throat and filling him with trepidation.

Her voice chanted above the carnage, "Cinis praecepto cadunt acie retro.."

Screaming metal cut through his dazed thoughts and he raised his head, vision blurred by red, to see a ship leaning to left. It groaned ominously, straining against gravity, but inevitably, it lost. The dull silver wings tipped downwards and the ship fell headlong into a spiralling descent.

"In acie retro faciens iter sonitu.."

He tried to cry out in pain but the sound lodged in his throat. His entire body ached like he had been beaten for all eternity. He had to press on. Desperation clawed at him.

A spindly hand shot towards him and tightened around his throat. He thrashed violently before regaining his senses. Lifting his hand to fire a propulsion, the being was swept away in with a loud bang, landing sickeningly against a stone wall.

Everything blurred together as he fought them. There were so many. Everywhere. They swarmed like roaches, never ceasing, never lessening in number despite the culling blows they were dealt. Slate coloured skin, red eyes, and horrible, repulsive green mouths like moss and mold.

Somewhere far from his vision the Hulk let out an almighty roar, shaking the earth he lay on with a bellow deeper than he had ever heard.

"Rumpitur sanguine filiorum tuorum implebo tympana.."

They were losing. Vision hovered above one of their mother-ships surrounded by an unearthly red glow. Another mammoth beast fell from the sky with an almighty crack as lightening touched from the heavens and split it's skull from it's monstrous body.

Agony seared from his chest and as he looked down he nearly passed out. Luminous green shards jutted from his reactor like pins in a doll. They leaked a foul odorous discharge and his reactor sparked, sending blinding spots cascading across his vision.

He sent another energy charge at an approaching Chitauri goon, before commanding JARVIS to launch a rocket at the mother-ship closest to him.

"Sir, your arc reactor does not possess the energy needed to fire the rocket and continue to power your suit."

He forced JARVIS to do it.

The air in his lungs left him like a swift punch and he collapsed in the rubble, unable to breathe or scream or think. JARVIS said something but it didn't compute and he felt a blissful numbness encompass his left side. In the back of his head, he registered a stroke.

"Errorem suum pure et crucifigetis.."

Inhuman shrieks filled the air but it barely registered to him. JARVIS continued to bleat in his ear. All he knew was agony. Unfathomable and unnatural pain.

As his eyes slid shut slowly, the last thing he ever saw were the rising forms of those they had so valiantly tried to slaughter. They stood slowly, heads tipping back to join in the unearthly shrieks, bodies convulsing nauseatingly.

Darkness filled his vision.

Tony woke with a scream.

Silence. Then his ragged breath.

Another fucking night terror. It had been so real. So clear. But it was just a dream.

They were usually quite similar. It always featured the Chitauri. Plenty of death. The Avengers, naturally.

And that haunting voice.

It was so familiar that Tony was sure it belonged to a real person he had met before. But for the life of him he couldn't think of who. And that drove him fucking mad. Despite his near perfect memory, whoever possessed that lilting voice escaped his stranglehold grasp. He eventually concluded the voice manifested as a distorted version of a real persons voice. He then banished it from his mind before it sent him raving mad, and falling over his already precarious balance on the edge of sanity.

Tony had defied nature most nights but the fatigue had gone beyond his previously known limits, and once something as mere as a thought had triggered his fears, the need for rest wormed in like a disease and wouldn't let go.

Drenched in sweat Tony had summoned his latest suit models frantically, despite being barely conscious. Nine feet tall each, separately colour coded, they smashed through the concrete walls hiding them from any potential intruder. Ironically, when he had woken to tall and menacing figures looming above him, he had once again descended into a panic attack.

Sometimes Tony wanted to die. To kill himself. But he couldn't.

If space held such terrible things, then death.. death would be unimaginable.

He would suffer, and suffer happily as only the truly mad can.

The latin translation from Tony's dream;

"Commandment of ashes, fall in line behind your maker, march to the sound of their cries, fill your beating drums with the blood of your broken children and crucify the pure for their aberration."

Enjoy.

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preserving-ferretbrain · 5 years

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Epic Dollhouse Review of Doom: Why I Am Calling It Quits

by Dan H

Monday, 22 June 2009

Dan on Dollhouse, The Sopranos, and Slow Builds~

Previously on Ferretbrain: I started watching Joss Whedon's Dollhouse and was doing an episode-by-episode review.

I kind of stalled on it, because I've come to the realisation that part of what the show is trying to do is to make you, the viewer complicit in the activities of the Dollhouse, trying to draw a comparison between you watching the show and the clients hiring the Dolls. Just as the Dollhouse caters to their needs, so this show caters to your needs. Do you see.

Eight episodes in I decided I was no longer going to be complicit in anything. I can take being bored. I can take being annoyed. I can take having Joss Whedon masturbate in my face. What I can't take is being bored and annoyed and having Joss Whedon masturbate in my face all at the same time.

Just to be clear. I did not stop watching Dollhouse because the dolls are all rape victims. I did not stop watching Dollhouse because I was uncomfortable with a television series where human traffickers are sympathetic viewpoint characters. I did not stop watching Dollhouse because its damning insights into the human condition were outside my comfort zone. I stopped watching Dollhouse because it was preachy, inconsistent, condescending, self-aggrandising, clunkily written, boring, exposition-heavy, mcguffin-driven, shit with the intellectual sophistication of a sixteen year old's GCSE essay about how we should totally abolish money, because that would make everybody equal.

So here are my final thoughts:

A Very Specific Level of Evil

One of the “memes” I'm trying to spread around the internet is

A Very Specific Level of Tired

. For those who don't want to read the link, the salient exchange (from a hypothetical D&D game) is this:

“No, you have just enough energy to climb this hill, but not enough energy to go on or look for someplace else to camp.” “That is a very specific level of tired.”

I like to use the phrase “very specific level of [blah]” to describe any situation in a work of fiction where a character or institution is supposed to be sufficiently [blah] to do what the plot demands, but not quite [blah] enough to do all the things that a [blah] person would do that might wreck the plot. Voldemort is a classic example of this. He's evil enough to kill helpless babies if they get in the way of his plans (or at least, fail to kill helpless babies) he's evil enough that he routinely uses torture and violence to get what he wants, but somehow he is not evil enough to – say – round up all of Harry Potter's friends and start killing them until Potter shows himself.

The Dollhouse (the institution rather than the show) has a similar problem. The Dollhouse is evil, it takes people and scrubs their brains and programs them to do things for rich people.

But it's a very specific level of evil. It takes the time and energy to provide its Dolls with comfortable living conditions, even though doing this pretty clearly makes them harder to control. It seems to vet its assignments extremely thoroughly, so that the Dolls only get sent out to do things which are basically okay. It gives the Dolls names – admittedly names based on military callsigns, but they're clearly designed to function like English Proper Names, not codes. They seem to encourage their handlers to form an emotional bond with their actives and if the handler abuses the relationship, that handler is actually killed.

It's the most naïve representation of human trafficking I can possibly imagine.

Now the counter-argument to this is that the Dollhouse is only superficially nice, and that in fact they are just as evil as you would expect from an institution which (as we discover in episode seven) is run by an evil biotech company that does experiments on babies.

There are two problems with that argument. The first is that the “good” parts of the Dollhouse are most assuredly not superficial. They do in fact take genuine care of their actives, they do in fact try to make them as happy and comfortable as possible. They do in fact use them to help people (sometimes, apparently, for free).

The second problem with this argument is that evil institutions do not look superficially attractive because they do not need to. There were no Callisthenics classes in Auschwitz. Josef Mengele didn't have cutesy conversations with his Jewish prisoners before pouring bleach in their eyes. Guantanamo Bay isn't full of happy, smiling Muslims with slightly vacant grins on their faces. The Dollhouse's veneer of respectability is not for the benefit of the staff (who shouldn't care) or the clients (who shouldn't care, and who never see inside the building anyway) but for the benefit of the audience.

It's another incarnation of what the girls at

Boils and Blinding Torment

used to call “the Misdirection Fairy”. Joss Whedon is chronic for having characters in his shows behave in ways which only make sense if you assume they are consciously performing for an audience. Classic examples of this in Buffy include Jonathan deciding to commit suicide by shooting himself with a sniper rifle in a bell tower (almost as if he was deliberately trying to fool the viewing audience into thinking he was about to embark on a killing spree) and several bits in season seven where Buffy persists in acting confused and frightened, even though everything is going exactly according to her plan. The Dollhouse keeps acting “nice” but there's no earthly reason for it to do so.

To put it another way: Joss Whedon fails at Atrocity 101.

If we are to accept that using Dollhouse technology on people is a genuinely atrocious act, then we have to assume that it works the same way all atrocities work. You start by dehumanizing the victim. Giving the Dolls names, making them comfortable, letting them socialise and caring if they get raped are all totally incompatible with wiping their minds and handing them over to the highest bidder. There's a reason that lab rats aren't given names (or, for that matter, toys). The Dollhouse treats the Dolls like people, and they shouldn't. Not if they're supposed to be genuine human traffickers.

There's a bit in Episode Eight (the last episode I saw, and the last I will ever subject myself to) where de Witt explicitly says that the Dolls should be thought of as pets. This is supposed to be chilling, I think. It's supposed to highlight how dehumanizing the Dollhouse really is. But it doesn't work.

Anybody who has ever worked in a laboratory should know that you absolutely, under no circumstances, treat your test subjects as pets. Pets are, in fact, treated as people. They are cared for and protected, they are given names and they are individualised – humanised, in fact. De Witt consistently singles Echo out for special treatment. One cannot treat a person in this fashion and then commit atrocities against them.

Show, Don't Tell, Dickhead

We spend a lot of time in The Dollhouse having people present the cases either for it (it “gives people what they need” and “helps people”) or against it (it is “slavery” and “human trafficking”). We do not ever see the Dollhouse behave in a manner that fits either of these descriptions, or at least not consistently.

In Episode Eight we finally discover that Sierra was wiped against her will (unlike all the other Dolls, who were volunteers) specifically because she turned a millionaire down for sex. De Witt later explains at the end of the episode (in which the Dollhouse arranges for its three primary Dolls to achieve “closure” or something – I was too bored and pissed off to care by this point) that she “needed to confront the man who took her power away.” Now hang on. You can't talk, sympathetically, about how horribly Sierra was mistreated by this guy when you run the organisation that made it possible. Not because it's hypocritical, but because you shouldn't care. The whole sequence seems to be designed to make you realise how awful the Dollhouse is, because of what it did to Sierra, while at the same time making you think that de Witt is an okay person, because she sympathises. It's not subtle, it's not complex, it's just fucking stupid.

A comparison that I've been wanting to make for a while now is with The Sopranos.

Tony Soprano is very seldom called a criminal. People very seldom tell him that what he does is wrong. He seldom justifies his actions, because he seldom needs to. But he does things that are demonstrably, obviously horrific, and we see them in harsh, unflinching detail, and we see the consequences that his choices have on ordinary people. We don't need trembly emotive speeches where people say “the Mafia is bad!” because we already know. We don't need Tony to say “we help people” because it would be completely stupid.

And we certainly aren't asked to question our own complicity in the work of the Cosa Nostra.

Dollhouse is two shows. There's the show Joss Whedon wanted to make, which exists entirely in the exposition, and is all about Big Serious Issues, and the show that Fox wanted to commission, which is an adventure show about a hot girl who wears a series of different outfits. What we are left with is a show about a girl who has crazy kung fu adventures which keeps stopping every five minutes to explain how it's really about human trafficking and free will and shit.

The Slow Build Fallacy

I once met somebody who said that the thing they hated the most about Buffy the Vampire Slayerwas the fact that they kept watching it, and not liking it, and everybody they talked to kept saying “yeah, well that season wasn't so great, but the next season is really good”. They gave up after season three, possibly because nobody could quite bring themselves to say that about Season Four.

People keep saying the same thing about Dollhouse “sure, the first three quarters of the season sucks, but then you see where it's all been going and it's awesome”.

This is bullshit.

Good TV is good TV from the start. No ifs. No buts. No exceptions. A series should not have to waste my time for upwards of eight hours before it starts displaying whatever dubious merits it is supposed to possess.

To put it another way, if you like a television program, and it shows consistent improvement in ambition, complexity of storytelling, and of course acting, you are going to see that as a show which gets better every season. If, like Buffy, there is also a marked change in style every season, you will also mark every season as the point where it really gets into its stride. I know that I've been guilty of identifying pretty much every season of Buffy as “where it starts to get really good” when talking to more sceptical members of my social circle.

Basically this is an elaborate piece of self-deception we engage in, convincing ourselves that our appreciation for a show is based on a slowly developing understanding of its many subtle advantages, when actually we just think it's a cool idea.

If you don't like Buffy Season 1, you will not like Buffy, period. The reason for this is simple: if you don't like Buffy Season 1 it's probably because something fundamental about the show doesn't work for you. Maybe it's the cutesy dialogue. Maybe it's Sarah Michelle Gellar. Maybe it's the whole idea of a cute blonde chick fighting monsters when she transparently doesn't have enough meat on her to open a stubborn jar of pickles. It doesn't matter how complex the arcs get, or how well they handle

the subject of bereavement

the nature of forgiveness

the whole thing is framed in cutesy dialogue and a blonde girl kicking vampires in the face and either you buy that shit or you don't. I personally bought it big time and Buffy the Vampire Slayer remains one of my favourite television shows ever.

I just don't buy Dollhouse. I don't buy the premise, I don't buy the boring, stilted, not-at-all-cutesy and therefore not-at-all witty and therefore not-at-all interesting dialogue. I think the show is heavy handed. I think the show is boring.

Nothing can change in the last four episodes of Season One or the first four episodes of Season Two to change this fact. My issues with Dollhouse are with the root and the core of the show, with the ideas behind it, the way the characters are presented, the way the dialogue is written. No penultimate-episode revelation will change that. Nothing the show can be building towards can change what the show is built on.

Which, from where I'm standing, is Joss Whedon's penis.Themes:

Damage Report

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Arthur B

at 12:47 on 2009-06-22

So what you're saying is that you're fine with Joss jerking off in your face, but you draw the line at him asking you to give him a hand? :P

Seriously though, awesome article. I think a lack of, for want of a better word, psychological realism can absolutely kill any hope shows like

Dollhouse

have of being appreciated on the sort of level Whedon clearly wants

Dollhouse

to be appreciated on. This isn't always true, but I think it's often true, especially if the show hinges on the internal psychological states of the characters, and having your show hinge on a mind control process means the mental states of the characters is

the

most important element of the story.

The Prisoner

did this sort of thing

right

. Even though most interrogation processes are vastly grimier than what Number Six went through in the Village, you still had the impression that people were behaving in the way you would expect them to behave in a paranoid schizophrenic Welsh village where Number Six never knows who's working for Number Two and Number Two isn't sure how much Number Six really knows. What's more, what goes on in the Village is an atrocity with a thin veneer of pleasantness which is

actually

a thin veneer. The various Number Twos and their lackeys were perfectly pleasant most of the time, but behind their kind words there was always a snare, and they never hesitated to knock people on the head and drag them in for a lobotomy if they felt the need.

I think part of the reason that the last episode is so controversial is that it abandons psychological realism for tripped-out 60s allegory, and whilst there's nothing wrong with allegory it does tend to involve unrealistic behaviour on the part of characters for the sake of making a point. I do wonder whether

Dollhouse

would work better approached as social allegory as opposed to a psychologically realistic study of rape and/or slavery, but I suspect not since it certainly sounds as though it were written as the latter, not the former.

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Andy G

at 13:57 on 2009-06-22Blackadder comes to mind as a counterexample to what you say about slow builds ... though I guess you could make the case that that is a slightly unusual case since so much was changed after season 1.

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Andy G

at 14:09 on 2009-06-22

And we certainly aren't asked to question our own complicity in the work of the Cosa Nostra.

I agree that the show isn't making some sort of didactic point, but surely it is very much about the uneasy relationship between mainstream American society and the violence that it either hypocritically condemns while supporting, or simply turns a blind eye to? Especially with the outsider liberal figures like Meadow or Dr Melfi.

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Dan H

at 15:46 on 2009-06-22

True, but there's a difference between making a point about society in general, and making a point about you, the viewer.

The Sopranos doesn't ask you to view the act of watching the Sopranos as making you complicit in the work of the Mafia, if you see what I mean.

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http://sistermagpie.livejournal.com/

at 17:58 on 2009-06-22

Blackadder comes to mind as a counterexample to what you say about slow builds ... though I guess you could make the case that that is a slightly unusual case since so much was changed after season 1.

I'd say with Blackadder it's really the same all the way through. There are major changes b/w season 1 and the later seasons, but the basic idea is the same. I think the biggest tweak is in exactly how Blackadder fits with the world and the other characters. But a lot of the basic ideas are the same. The final episode isn't so much fantastic because it shows you where the show is going; it just applies the same formula to a part of history where it's most powerful imo.

The Sopranos doesn't ask you to view the act of watching the Sopranos as making you complicit in the work of the Mafia, if you see what I mean.

I agree. I just started finally watching

The Wire,

and interestingly, in the commentary for the pilot the creator talks about how the first chapter shouldn't be as good as the series is going to get--he's going for a slow build. But at the same time the first chapter clearly lays out what the series is about. And there too it's about society, but not in an accusatory way. Characters don't explicitly justify or condemn everything about themselves and others.

Also maybe another thing that also applies to the Sopranos and doesn't seem to apply to Dollhouse is that there's little need for characters to justify themselves because the world in which they live makes what they do understandable. We can see why being born a Soprano might encourage you to be Tony or AJ or Meadow, or how someone like Carmela would wind up this kind of wife. Likewise how the characters in The Wire become criminals or cops.

But is there any explanation why these people created and work at the Dollhouse--any human reasons with which a reader can identify? This is partly where the proble of all those nice guys working at the Dollhouse come from. We can see where a nice guy on the Sopranos or the Wire could get pushed to stay in a life that goes against their nature (and so probably slowly kills them) but when I read your descriptions of these characters I still wind up asking why they don't work somewhere else.

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http://sistermagpie.livejournal.com/

at 17:59 on 2009-06-22Sorry about that strange comment--I didn't realize the whole thing was copied in italics!

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Jamie Johnston

at 18:18 on 2009-06-22Haven't finished reading the article yet but I thought I'd mention before I forget: the link to

Boils and Blinding Torment

doesn't work. It looks like it has the same problem I got when I was putting up my last article, namely the process of pasting into the Ferretbrain article editor and saving has somehow added "&8221" to the beginning and end of the URL.

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Jamie Johnston

at 19:04 on 2009-06-22Have now finished reading and very much agree, not specifically in relation to

Dollhouse

because I haven't seen any of it but in relation to your general thinking about how fiction should work and how it goes wrong.

Funnily enough the section on the 'slow-build' made me think of exactly the same bit of commentary on the first episode of

The Wire

that Sister Magpie mentioned. David Simon says several times in that audio commentary (and not without sounding just a little smug and patronizing about it, I'm sorry to say) that the series was very demanding of its audience in following a single complete story at a relatively slow pace across 13 episodes rather than the more usual thing of playing out a long over-all plot over the course of a series of somewhat self-contained one-hour-long stories. But you can get away with that if each episode, whether self-contained or not, is in itself enjoyable (which in the case of

The Wire

it certainly is). You can't use it as an excuse for boring your audience out of its collective skull for twelve weeks on the promise of something exciting happening in week 13.

I'm also put in mind of what Neil Gaiman has often said about

The Kindly Ones

, which is that it was the only sequence in the

Sandman

series that he allowed himself to write not as a series of 24-page monthly episodes but more or less as a single 312-page comic, knowing that the pacing and plotting would not really work very well when it was published in 24-page chunks and would only properly make sense in a trade paperback collection. The point here is that Gaiman knows enough about good writing that he clearly feels rather sheepish about doing this.

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http://skull-bearer.livejournal.com/

at 19:24 on 2009-06-22

osef Mengele didn't have cutesy conversations with his Jewish prisoners before pouring bleach in their eyes.

Sorry to disagree, but that's exactly what he did. But that's a case of reality being more screwed up than fiction, and that guy was an utter nutcase.

Sorry, carry on.

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Rami

at 20:52 on 2009-06-22

process of pasting into the Ferretbrain article editor and saving has somehow added "&8221" to the beginning and end

I'm afraid there's nothing I can do about that -- it's the magic of Microsoft Word.

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https://me.yahoo.com/a/ck5gg.gRlPbLG2WYCqrJ5k2.qjxalTVt0AHQ#14479

at 23:37 on 2009-06-22Dan Hemmens is a man after my own heart.

Okay, enough sucking up.

You make a good point, though about not liking Buffy because something doesn't 'click' with you about it, but I'll go one step further and say Whedon's propensity for not really understanding the underlying psychology of a given situation precedes Dollhouse by a country mile.

I was first totally turned off to the Whedon way of thinking during the "Graduation Day" episode of Buffy when I was insulted a total of three times.

The first was when Buffy was given an umbrella and the title of "Class Protector". First of all, are you kidding? If all the kids in high school knew about the growing vampire population, don't you think there would be a massive exodus of people from the town, not to mention a mass ostracizing of Buffy (in the same way people would avoid Fairuza Balk's character in The Craft)?

Most normal teenagers back away from things that are dangerous, even if there's an overall 'good' associated. Why? Because lots of people believe that if you lie with dogs, you get fleas. Hang out with Buffy, you're taking your life in your hands. Better to turn a blind eye to it also, if you know what's good for you.

The second was that the Scooby gang let same said high schoolers in on the plot to take down the mayor. Are you kidding? Are you seriously telling me that the same group of kids isn't going to stay home that day because they might just end up dead?

And third, and the most final and grating of insults, was that upon reflection of the day's events, Oz says, ponderously, "We survived high school."

I get the fact that Buffy was supposed to have been a metaphor, but seriously? The metaphor works best when you're not being beaten over the head with the fact that it's a metaphor.

Golly!

So, I'm not particularly surprised that Whedon has this odd base in non-reality that quite a few people seem to think is clever. (What can I say, I'm a sucker for sci-fi, even if I hate the creator, and yes, I have daggers for Whedon the same way Dan has for JK Rowling - who I also have daggers for.)

So, I made it a point to watch Dollhouse. Hey, if Adam Sandler can have "The Wedding Singer" in him, surely Whedon could have something interesting (and good!) to say at some point, right?

But only three episodes, two of which after the mythical "game-changer" episode. The first was the pilot. Oddly, I didn't see much difference in between the former and the latter, no matter what the fans say (I think the fans have convinced themselves that they're seeing something that isn't really there...I just thought everything I've seen was unilaterally bad in all the same ways).

What constantly annoys me about Whedon's work is often a complete lack of understanding of how people actually work. And this is the point that Dan makes very well above. There's Dollhouse, which tries to give everyone, no matter how 'evil' a supposedly sympathetic edge, and then there's The Sopranos, where the writing goes so far as to make you understand why the characters do what they do, instead of relying on plot contrivances to masticate pathos out of them.

I certainly wouldn't have, for instance, pegged Topher for 'lonely', and if I did, I would think he'd be sneaking dolls more often than just for his birthday (he being a 'genius' and all). Reminds me of that episode of Firefly where Jayne 'betrays' the crew and Mal threatens to throw him off the ship, or into a turbine or something. The rest of the episodes (of either) don't seem to have a thread that bears out these particular plot contrivances; they merely exist to demonstrate what Whedon wants us to see in the characters.

And Adelle, being Miss Lonelyhearts? Why can't she just be ruthless? Or is it not empowering for women to have blind ambition and nothing else? Or is that too cliche for Whedon? (I'll save my rant on why what Whedon writes isn't feminism for some other time because I'm sure I'm just rambling now.)

But yeah, I totally agree that there's just no "there" there with Dollhouse. It's insulting pseudo-intellectual garbage.

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Dafydd at 00:37 on 2009-06-24

"Dollhouse" is indeed boring, but as for Whedon wanking in our faces?

You need a Klein bottle to turn Whedon through 180 degrees.

http://www.kleinbottle.com/

Whedon's head is stuffed so far up his arse, that he will need to be rotated at right angles to reality before it is anatomically possible for him to wank in our faces.

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Robinson L

at 05:15 on 2009-06-26So, being annoyed, bored, and having Joss Whedon's rather malformed and immature "messages" and "insights" shoved down your throat all at the same time is too much for you? Reasonable. Dunno if I'll ever watch another episode. It ain't going to get any better.

If you don't like

Buffy

Season 1, you will not like

Buffy

, period.

Gonna play Hack's Advocate for a second here and point out the "Growing the Beard" phenomenon. I suppose the counterargument is that people who like, e.g.

The Next Generation

even before it gets good, and people who hate it when its bad will still hate it when it gets good.

the intellectual sophistication of a sixteen year old's GCSE essay

I seriously doubt that. My sister was sixteen last year, and I know she could right more sophisticated stuff that

this

back then.

One of the “memes” I'm trying to spread around the internet is A Very Specific Level of Tired.

Oh yeah. Good one. (

Love

that comic.)

Jonathan deciding to commit suicide by shooting himself with a sniper rifle in a bell tower

I saw this episode long before I began critically engaging with my entertainment media, and even then I knew this sequence was bunk.

True, but there's a difference between making a point about society in general, and making a point about

you, the viewer.

Actually, I've always thought one of the things which could've made

Firefly

much better would've been if Whedon had made his feminist message about how ordinary, well-meaning nonsexist (in their own minds) people (by implication

you, the viewer

) are complicit in systemic sexism, rather than scapegoating it all on the Misogynist-of-the-Week.

Josef Mengele didn't have cutesy conversations with his Jewish prisoners before pouring bleach in their eyes. Sorry to disagree, but that's exactly what he did. But that's a case of reality being more screwed up than fiction, and that guy was an utter nutcase.

very

hostile territory in the middle of the night. Some people, apparently, really

are

that sick. (Or that desperately in need of a real human relationship and that screwed-up about how to go about it. Don't mind me, rosy-tinted ocular sensors filtered by a rose-tinted brain.)

"We survived high school."

Again, watched the episode before I got my critical thinking in gear. At the time, I just thought it was a good joke. (

That's

what you consider the bigger accomplishment?)

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Jamie Johnston

at 19:59 on 2009-06-26Keeping the ever-riveting technical side-discussion alive:

I'm afraid there's nothing I can do about that -- it's the magic of Microsoft Word.

Surprisingly I got it even with Mac TextEdit. But I'm not complaining - it's no trouble to fix as long as one remembers to check for it, and the only reason I mentioned it was to alert people to the need to check.

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Jamie Johnston

at 20:01 on 2009-06-26Actually, having said that, I started writing in Pages rather than TextEdit, so composing

ab initio

in a plain-text programme might well solve it.

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Rami

at 00:33 on 2009-06-27

Surprisingly I got it even with Mac TextEdit.

Word is the most common offender but pretty much any rich-text program will screw up HTML. Starting out plain-text will fix this for sure :-)

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Arthur B

at 02:09 on 2009-06-27

Word is the most common offender but pretty much any rich-text program will screw up HTML. Starting out plain-text will fix this for sure :-)

Wise words for sure. Should there in fact be a note in the article writer's guide - or, indeed on the main article-editing page - strongly suggesting that people use plain text editors such as notepad to compose their articles for best results?

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http://sistermagpie.livejournal.com/

at 15:55 on 2009-06-29

On a somewhat-less-evil (though perhaps only because of opportunity) scale, Bull Connor apparently had a quite friendly and pleasant conversation with a couple of Freedom Riders on his way to dumping them in very hostile territory in the middle of the night. Some people, apparently, really are that sick.

Definitely. Though I think when people show them in fiction that comes through. Like, there'd be a difference in deciding *why* Mengele has these creepy cute conversations that make him even more evil before he hurts a person. What Dan's talking about seems to be more people being portrayed as genuinely normal and well-meaning and nobody seeing any disconnect between that and human trafficking.

Maybe an even better example would be something like slavery where you had a slave owner who was sentimental with some of his slaves, but that just makes the rancidness of the relationship all the more clear. They're not really being nice the way they would be nice to a real person. It seems like Dollhouse thinks you can genuinely have it both ways where the human trafficking genuinely doesn't inform other interactions.

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Robinson L

at 03:30 on 2009-06-30*slaps forehead* You know, I think I'd meant to say something like that and then forgot about it. Thanks for reminding me, Sister Magpie.

While I was pedantically pointing out a minor argumentative error that somebody else had already pointed out like the arrogant little prick that I am, I agree with the general point that the Dollhouse staff do not behave at all realistically for a human trafficking organization. In all these cases the victims are being dehumanized--that's just about a tautology for someone who's a slave or in a concentration camp or even a second class citizen: they are viewed as less than human. Their masters/overseers may still have affection for them, but not the affection you'd have for a fellow human being--an equal.

Despite continually mind-raping their subjects and stifling their free will to almost nothing, the Dollhouse executives still show a distinct tendency to treat their "actives" as human equals, or near-equals.

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http://tabaquis.livejournal.com/

at 03:58 on 2009-06-30

There's a reason that lab rats aren't given names (or, for that matter, toys).

Loved your review as always, but just to nitpick: http://www.nal.usda.gov/awic/pubs/enrich/rodents.htm

Lots of lab rats are in fact given toys, because it stimulates their health and reactions in a positive way so that you get more out of your experiment with them.

Just sayin'! ;)

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http://wemblee.livejournal.com/

at 06:30 on 2009-07-06

Good TV is good TV from the start. No ifs. No buts. No exceptions.

I... what? Star Trek: The Next Generation isn't a good show? Because I thought it was... starting with season 3, because anything before that is a

wasteland of unimaginable suck

. And Deep Space Nine? That was an even better show... except for pretty much the entire first season, which was horrible. And Farscape, which didn't find its way until the end. And Torchwood had a terrible beginning, but found itself in its second season. And Moonlighting's pilot is slow and awful. And pretty much no sitcom, ever, has had a pilot that was as good as the episodes that came later. And and and.

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Robinson L

at 08:06 on 2009-07-10Mm, yes wemblee, although I think what Dan

meant

was that people who enjoy a bad programme will enjoy it even more, but people who don't enjoy a bad programme probably won't like it even when it gets good. I suppose he could be right.

I can enjoy Next Generation and Deep Space Nine even before they got good, and Torchwood, too (although I'll have to see the second season to believe it gets any better), so I'm open to them being good. Maybe people who dislike them do so for reasons more to do with taste than quality.

Although if that is the argument, I agree that particular passage was unfortunate.

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http://sistermagpie.livejournal.com/

at 19:31 on 2009-07-10I thought it was also more like saying that if you don't like the basic idea of a show, that basic idea getting better isn't going to do it for you. Iow, there was always some good fundamentals there, it just took a while for them to be used in the best way. Somebody turned off by those fundamentals isn't going to suddenly like the show when they get used better.

Blackadder I think is a good example since there's such a marked change between S1 and S2-4. I much prefer 2-4. The characters significantly shift their dynamics. But there's still stuff in S1 that I like that sound like the Blackadder of 2-4.

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Dan H

at 22:47 on 2009-07-10

I... what? Star Trek: The Next Generation isn't a good show?

Sister Magpie pretty much sums this up. All the things that are good about Star Trek TNG are things that are part of the show from its inception. All the things that are bad about Star Trek TNG are things that are part of the show from its inception.

Everything that's good about DS9 is in it from the beginning. Everything that's good about TNG is in it from the beginning. You might have thought that the first three seasons of TNG sucked, but you obviously weren't turned off by the premise of the show, you didn't think the idea of flying around in space seeking out strange new worlds was stupid, because if you did you wouldn't have liked series four onwards either.

TV series don't get better they just get better executed.

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Niall

at 23:55 on 2009-07-11

Everything that's good about DS9 is in it from the beginning.

I think I would be prepared to make the case that (a) the Dominion, (b) the Defiant, and (c) Worf are substantial parts of what made DS9 good, and they were grafts onto the original concept, not a part of it.

I would also be prepared to make the case that Torchwood is a counter-example here. Children of Earth is good in large part because it discards or transforms most of what was characteristic about the first two seasons.

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Arthur B

at 00:33 on 2009-07-12

But would the Dominion, the Defiant, and Worf be enough to make you enjoy the show if you couldn't stand the Bajor/Cardassian conflict, Sisko's accidental messiahism, Odo and Quark's frequent run-ins and all the other elements which were important to the show from the start?

Arguably, each of the things you mention is simply something that enhances a pre-existing element of DS9. The Dominion is an added complication to the "interstellar politics" dimension of the show. Worf is an addition to the "ensemble cast with complex interrelationships" element. The Defiant is a plot device for moving subsets of said ensemble cast to off-station locations. They embellish the show, but they don't actually change the premise of it: it's still a show in which an ensemble cast with complex interrelationships have to deal with tricky questions of interstellar politics.

And I'm sure that there's a number of people out there who actually liked the first two seasons and are completely livid about

Children of Earth

, although they may well be in the minority. Major changes to the very premise of the show are an

enormous

gamble, and the BBC is arguably one of the few broadcasters who are really in a position to attempt such a roll of the dice, and even

then

they may still not have considered it if

Torchwood

wasn't a significant part of their grand plans for the

Dr Who

franchise. I suspect 9 out of 10 broadcasters out there would rather scrap a series and commission a new one with a new premise rather than alter an old series to fit a new premise.

It remains to be seen whether Whedon will, in fact, do anything similar with

Dollhouse

, but it would be stupid of Dan to keep watching merely in the

hope

that Whedon will undertake such a drastic retooling.

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http://mary-j-59.livejournal.com/

at 04:08 on 2009-07-12Um - just chiming in as a Niner, to say that shows certainly can develop. But much of what I absolutely loved about DS9 was there from the first season. And that included the Dominion. Yes, they were introduced in the first season! (at least, I'm pretty sure they were - or very early in the second).

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Niall

at 09:01 on 2009-07-12Mary, you're right; I'd remembered "Rules of Acquisition" as being late-S2, not mid. Nor am I saying, actually, that DS9 wasn't good until S3; I have a substantial amount of affection for S1 and S2. But the *perception* exists that DS9 didn't get good until S3, with the appearance of the elements I mentioned. And while Arthur is in a sense correct that the grafts are more organic than I allowed in making my point, I dispute that it's still the same show: it changes complexion radically, from a show about building peace to a show about fighting war. It's as radical as the change in Torchwood, just done more gradually.

Arthur:

And I'm sure that there's a number of people out there who actually liked the first two seasons and are completely livid about Children of Earth

Yes, there are. The arrogant, superior part of me finds them hilarious. But if you're going to make "some people like the early version" your counter-argument, well, that could apply to any TV show. I'm sure plenty of people were pissed off when the Dominion showed up, too (probably pissed off for reasons not a million miles away from those behind my dislike of the recent Trek film, come to think of it: a betrayal of the Trek vision). That said, as it happens I think Children of Earth would have been better as an original production -- the ending is hampered by the need to fit into an ongoing continuity.

but it would be stupid of Dan to keep watching merely in the hope that Whedon will undertake such a drastic retooling.

Indeed, and I wasn't suggesting he should. I was disputing his general argument. Angel is yet another example: later seasons bear very little resemblance to the format they started out with (indeed, you may remember how vocal fans of the initial help-the-helpless-of-the-week concept were when the show moved away from it). But there are plenty of fans who joined the show at S2, or S4, or S5, who don't like seasons earlier than those points because of the ways in which they are different from the version of the show that they like.

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Arthur B

at 15:54 on 2009-07-12

And while Arthur is in a sense correct that the grafts are more organic than I allowed in making my point, I dispute that it's still the same show: it changes complexion radically, from a show about building peace to a show about fighting war.

There I think we just have to disagree - the threat of war was

always

present in DS9, it's just that we were led to expect trouble to break out between Cardassia and Bajor. (If war wasn't

potentially

about to break out at any moment, the whole "building peace" thing would have fallen flat after all.) The fact that the war turned out to be against the Dominion instead was a misdirection, but not one without precedent in the sort of story being told. (In fact, it's a lot like the similar misdirection in

Babylon 5

, where at the beginning we're all expecting shit to kick off between the Centauri and the Narn and the Vorlons to remain steadfastly neutral.

Speaking of B5, in fact, you could equally argue that the early seasons of that are about building peace rather than fighting a war, but the war was still planned from the very beginning.

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http://sistermagpie.livejournal.com/

at 21:03 on 2009-07-12

Angel is yet another example: later seasons bear very little resemblance to the format they started out with (indeed, you may remember how vocal fans of the initial help-the-helpless-of-the-week concept were when the show moved away from it). But there are plenty of fans who joined the show at S2, or S4, or S5, who don't like seasons earlier than those points because of the ways in which they are different from the version of the show that they like.

Supernatural in S4 became a war vs. heaven and hell with the main characters in the middle story. There are fans who don't like this direction and wish they'd go back to MOTW. Others have gotten more interested tihs season.

However, I would never say this is a fundamental change of show. It's still imo a disagreement over the most enjoyable way to deal with the same characters and general idea. I liked the original premise of 2 brothers running around fighting demons. I'm more grabbed by what's going on now. But what's going on now is still dependent on the exact same brother relationship that was always at the center of the show, the family drama played out with supernatural beings is still the central idea. If I'd hated that premise the shift to angels and the apocolypse would not change that. The Wincesters are still the same family. If I like them now I can't help but also like them in S1 (and that would be true even if I hadn't cared for them as much back when S1 was first-run). I'm still expected to care about these characters and what's important to these characters is still their family.

The move from MOTW to a mytharc is pretty common since The X-Files, actually. Many mytharcs basically are MOTWs where it's personal played out over many episodes instead of just one.

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Robinson L

at 18:36 on 2009-07-14

TV series don't get better they just get better executed.

All right Dan,

now

I see what you're saying, but I think you're treading on some tricky linguistic ground, here.

Sure, it might be more accurate to say that tv shows don't get better, it's the

quality

of the shows which gets better. Just as it would be more accurate to say that the Earth revolves so that the sun is more/less in view, rather than "the sun is rising/setting." But who the hell talks like that? It's not even that good a comparison, anyway, because just saying "the earth revolves" doesn't mislead 99% percent of readers, whereas saying "good TV is good TV from the start, no exceptions" can be

very

misleading, as we've just seen ...

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Viorica

at 03:43 on 2009-07-27

The Wincesters

*sniggers*

There are people who were pissed off by

Children of Earth

, but not really because of any change in tone. They're raging because a very popular character/pairing was killed off, and this fandom has some truly deranged 'shippers. However, this is a good example of a series that fundamentally changed when the tone shifted. Torchwood's first two seasons are about a secret alien-fighting organisation that's only slightly less campy than

Xena

, where no one really has to make serious decisions beyond "Who would I rather sleep with?", and death can be reversed with a magical robotic arm.

Children of Earth

is about an alien-fighting organisation that's extremely serious and dark, where agonising choices have to be made, and death can't just be undone. Same premise, very different show.

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http://matthew.wilson.myopenid.com/

at 14:40 on 2009-08-02Buffy had a plan in season 7?

#Ferretbrain #Dollhouse #Joss Whedon #Dan H

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