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wildemaven · 9 months

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fall apart, again : chapter one | joel miller

Pairing: Post Outbreak! Joel Miller x OFC!Genevieve

WC: 5k

Warnings: 18+ Blog; Heavy on the Angst, post-outbreak world, no specific age mentioned but reader is close in age to Joel, minor character death, Ellie and her smart mouth, leaving the rest to read at your own risk to not spoil things, reader has a name but there are zero references to her appearance/she’s a blank slate character, 2nd POV, this is way AU so can be read as Game Joel or TV Joel

A/N: I’ve been so excited and nervous for this series. I don’t have a timeline for posting with this one, just going to take my time with it. Big thank you to @gnpwdrnwhiskey for listening to me wrack my brain over this series and for being my second set of eyes!! Please go check out her new Dieter Series!!!

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Spring was slowly transitioning into the next season.

Bright fragrant blooms wilting away into the dry soil from where they were born— a poetic reminder of the time.

21 Summers.

21 years of surviving.

Enduring.

Remembering— the normal life before the outbreak that you mourn daily.

A giant Bur Oak lends itself to you, branches providing ample shade as you sit resting against its sturdy trunk, the ground cool beneath where you sit.

The harsh sunlight filters through the tree’s canopy, a warm dapple light speckled all around you.

There’s a gentle flicker to your left that catches your attention, a single light-ray hits the small diamond on your dainty gold band where it sits heavy on your ring finger. You hold your hand up, remembering back to when you both had found it, he had immediately dropped to his knee— it wasn’t much, but it was perfect.

“I give you this ring as a reminder that we face this world together. We’re an unbreakable team.”

Even after all these years and the circumstances of the world around you, it’s a vow you stand by.

Branches above rustle and crack as a breeze sweeps through, the edges of the paper that is resting on a book in your lap fold over with each small gust, drawing your attention back to the words you’ve written.

…We passed what looked like it was a small farm at one point. It made me yearn for normalcy. Where we could settle into the small farmhouse, drink our morning coffee on the wraparound porch while we watch the sun rise. Have all the animals that would give a homestead atmosphere. A coup of chickens where we would gather eggs daily, a flock of sheep and goats for milk, and a small herd of cows— because what’s a farm without some cows I can give silly names to.

We’d raise a family in that farmhouse— lots of babies running around to wrangle. Breakfast of pancakes and fresh eggs, all of us together around our table, then tucking them all in at night after we’ve read them several stories.

We’d lay in each other’s arms as the crickets sing their chirping songs. A breeze washing over us through the open windows, the evening air lighter and crisp as the night fades and our worn bodies succumb to sleep.

There wouldn’t be heartache or sadness. No fighting or stressing over jobs. We’d be happy. We’d be together…

“Eve! Let’s get goin’— we only got a few more hours of light left. Should be at the cabin before sundown.” The thick Texas twang breaks through your thoughts.

Steve standing off in the distance, his blonde hair disheveled and wind blown as he looks back to where you’re tucked under the tree.

He’s handsome in his own right, not someone you would have ever found yourself with in different circumstances, but now you wouldn’t know how to function without him.

A chance meeting the day of the outbreak had brought the two of you together.

You were working as a traveling nurse at a hospital 4 hours from where you lived, instantly going into crisis mode as lead of the trauma response team, the ER quickly overwhelmed with patients seeking treatment for bites or flu-like symptoms— it was unlike anything you had ever seen before in all your years as a nurse.

Steve, a retired detective, was on vacation with his wife visiting a friend before the initial outbreak happened. The morning of, he’d gone on a duck hunting trip, while his wife went to breakfast with some girlfriends at a local Waffle House. He had brought her into your ER when he noticed she was acting strangely, similar to the symptoms the news was reporting as a widespread epidemic. Her outcome was not hopeful as you did your best to administer vials of antibiotics and fluids, the infection moving through her was beyond anything you could treat.

It was Steve who made the call to abandon his wife and the hospital and the realization hit fairly quickly that there was less you could actually do to help others.

Fleeing the area, seeking solace in one another as you both navigated through quarantine zones— searching for familiarity in your former hometown, only to be met with decimation and nothingness.

Steve’s way around a gun helped keep you safe when evading FEDRA, the nursing kit you put together came in handy when stitching him up between shootouts and fighting off the infected— this was now your new normal.

As the years progressed, you both found contentment with each other. Security gave way to a sense of comfort and revival, falling into a deeper connection beyond two people surviving a post outbreak apocalypse— if you were going to be in each other’s lives, you might as well be fully committed.

“Eve! Pack your shit up— let’s go!” He spits out a little harsher, no real malice behind his tone— he likes to stick to his schedule.

You don't respond, folding your letter carefully then tucking all of your items into your canvas pack. Standing to your full height, you give your legs a minute to let the blood reacquaint fully, your hands brushing the bits of dust and weeds from your pants.

You hear Steve continue his huffing, as you make your way closer to where he’s standing.

“I thought I told you to knock it off with those pointless letters!” He gruffs, hands secure at his hips and his head cocked to the side, hoping to catch your gaze.

Your letters. They had become a loose journal, your stream of thoughts you needed to get out so you were not plagued by the pain and anxiety that came with them whirling around your brain.

Letters to your past, letters to a new life that awaits you and sometimes to no one at all— you wrote about your travels, things you missed or longed for now, hope for the future.

They were too much to keep, pages and pages filled with your words and stories, some containing memories too painful to read or share, a weight you didn’t want to carry, so you scattered them throughout your travels. In the last 21 years, you’ve written hundreds of them, dropping them in abandoned mailboxes, or tucked away in the abandoned spaces you’d settled into in passing, as if to send them to whomever you were writing to— leaving a trail of your life across cities and states.

“And I thought I told you to stop calling me Eve— guess we don’t always get what we want?” You had asked him multiple times over the years to not call you Eve, that was your former life and you hated the reminder, but you know he doesn’t do it out of spite.

The gravel crunches under your boots as you walk past, not looking to argue with him in the heat of the sun.

Steve’s hand reaches out clasping around yours, halting your movements, his eyes fixed on you, furrowed brows as if he wants to say something.

“Hey— Ya know I love you, right?” He sighs, his fingers toying with the gold band on your ring finger.

You look to where your hands are joined, the twisting of the gold band a small gesture of his when things get tough or tense, you smile when you meet his gaze again.

“I know.” You do know, and you feel it too. “Come on, we’ve only got a few hours of light left.” He shakes his head, but gives you a smile at the way you throw his comment back at him.

It had been close to 2 hours of walking, nearly dark, by the time you both made it to the cabin, nestled among dozens of other abandoned cabins on the hillside of an old ski resort.

You imagine it was a popular spot in its prime, filled with families taking their kids on their first snow trips, friends racing each other down the slopes, non-skiers enjoying warm beverages in the lodge while everyone else enjoyed the snowy weather.

Now desolate and forgotten, a stop for raiders on the hunt for supplies and hostages or survivors seeking refuge in search of a town just north of here, Jackson.

Steve had managed to trade for a hand-held CB radio early on, he kept tabs on chatter that happened among FEDRA, staying one step ahead of their whereabouts. At some point he had stumbled upon private channels used by other survivors, he didn’t talk much about what they discussed with you, it was his realm of expertise and a small thing that was just his, so you didn’t push him to share more than what he was willing to.

It was a year ago he had connected with someone and heard about Jackson. There was an offer for a place for a fresh start, a community of other survivors, somewhere to feel safe and comfortable without fear of being attacked, placed in solitary confinement, killed— or infected. Steve decided it was where you both were meant to be, hashing out a plan and specific route on his tattered map, making sure to stay in constant contact with this person in Jackson as you both traveled.

Venturing further into the resort, you both settled on the lesser marred of the dilapidated cabins.

“I’m gonna check the perimeter, you go on inside— check each room first, I’ll be right in. But remember, if I’m not back in ten minutes, you don’t come looking for me— you wait until morning and you head over that mountain, under no circumstances do you leave that cabin before sunrise.” Steve instructed, his hands on your shoulders reassuring the doubt he can see written all over your face.

“Steve— W-what if, there’s something inside—“ Your voice is barely a whisper, nervousness creeping in as your hands grip onto Steve’s wrists that have moved to cup your face, his thumbs smoothing across the apples of your cheeks.

“We’ve done this a million times before, I know you can do it— I wouldn’t send you in there if I didn’t think you were capable, you’ll be fine. Just think, this is the last time we have to do this. Then it’s you and me, in Jackson, together and safe— ‘kay?” His direct eye contact really drives home the message— together and safe.

“Okay.”

“I love you, go be brave.” Romantic and encouraging as he presses a kiss to your forehead.

“I love you— be safe, please.”

“Always.” He shoots a wink with his mustached smile, a few slow steps backwards then turning to make his way up the backside of the cabin, pulling the butt of his rifle close to his chest, hunched and scanning every inch of the surrounding area.

The cabin would seem warm and inviting if the possibility of a Clicker behind the door wasn’t a high probability.

Armed with the knife Steve insisted you keep on you at all times, your refusal at his request for you to carry a gun, you make your way up the front steps.

Each move was slow and calculated, the wood beneath your boots wobbled and creaked the closer you got to the front door. The handle is cold to the touch as you twist it open, pushing the door with a little extra effort to unstick it from the doorframe.

It’s dark and musty, uninhabited by the living and anything beyond that at first glance. Dust and cobwebs cover every surface, pictures still mounted on the walls slightly hanging uneven. A floral couch with two side chairs still arranged in an inviting way, waiting to be enjoyed during a long conversation. The kitchen was small but large enough that it still would have been possible to whip up a hearty meal over the stove, then gather at the tiny table to enjoy the meal and dessert.

You’re grateful the floor plan is an open space, no immediate threat to you upon entering.

There’s only two doors, which you assume hide a bathroom and a bedroom.

The first door reveals nothing but a sink, toilet and shower-tub combo— you’re looking forward to a hot shower when you get to Jackson.

You stare at the closed remaining door, the handle of the knife twisting in your hand as you prepare yourself, not really feeling like you have it in you to take out anything that might be waiting for you on the other side.

A deep breath in, reaching for the the handle you give it a quick jiggle announcing your presence, twist and a quick swing open— a queen size bed draped in outdated sheets, bedside tables with lamps covered in a layer of dust, a dresser opposite the bed with a giant mirror hanging above it.

Empty.

Relief washing away the dread.

Stepping into the room, you toss your pack and knife onto the dresser before finding a seat at the end of the bed, the mattress shifting under you, the springs groan as you settle into a comfortable spot.

You’re not sure how much time has passed since you entered the house, noting it’s been a while since you had heard or seen anything from Steve, but knowing he likes to be thorough, you’re hoping he makes his way through the front door soon.

The moon has crept into the night sky, shining through the small bedroom window, illuminating the reflection staring back at you.

Sometimes you forget how long it’s been since you’ve seen what you really look like. While it’s you that you’re staring at in the mirror, you feel slightly unrecognizable to yourself— aged by 21 years in every sense, tired and worn down by the state of the world and lack of sleep.

Your fingers lightly trace over your skin, taking in every detail, rediscovering every angle of your appearance— the old characteristics blending into the new ones.

A yawn escapes you, remembering what Steve had said about not leaving, you decide to get yourself comfortable in bed and wait for him.

Kicking your boots off, you crawl up the length of the bed, plopping your head down onto the stack of lumpy pillows, your mind wandering as you run through all the scenarios as to why Steve hasn’t returned yet, debating whether you should go take a look outside or listen and wait for morning— scared of what you might find waiting for you.

Your eyelids begin a heavy blink, struggling to remain open and alert, your breathing evening out as your body relaxes into the mattress, sleep consuming your mind.

Warmth surrounds you, the bed dipping and creaking pulls you from your sleep, immediate panic bursts in your chest as your eyes shoot open, your vision blurred as you seek out the movement of a shadowy figure behind you.

“Hey, hey it’s okay— it’s just me.”

“Steve?!” Turning your body to lay facing him, your hands fisting his shirt, scanning his face for any sign of distress or discomfort. “What took you so long?”

“I’m fine.” Placing a hand over one of yours that’s settled on his chest. “Decided to wait a bit, just to be sure nothin’ was out there— I’m sorry.” His hand moves to the base of your neck, his forehead resting against yours.

“S’okay.”

“No— I’m sorry for callin’ your letters pointless earlier. I know how much they mean to you. I just—“ He releases a heavy sigh, voice quivering as he avoids eye contact with you.

“What— what’s the matter?” You sense there’s something Steve’s not telling you.

“Nothin’s the matter. I just worry about what’s goin’ on in that pretty little head of yours— you shut down on me and I just wish you’d let me help you carry the burden.” His gaze moves back to yours. “Promise me, when we get to Jackson, you don’t let your thoughts weigh you down any longer— promise me you’ll let yourself be happy there.”

“I p-promise.” You say, brushing the blonde strands of hair off of his forehead. “I’m sorry for snapping at you earlier.”

“Nah, I was pushin’ your buttons— I deserved it.” You both laugh at his response.

Steve leans into your space, his lips slotting over yours, it’s angled and slow, his grip on your neck still steady as the kiss begins to deepen. Throwing your leg over his hip, canting against the sturdiness of his thigh, seeking out some sort of friction to relieve the building ache between your legs.

But before things are about progress, Steve’s pulling away from your mouth, slowing the roll of your hips with his hand.

“We should get some sleep— we’ve got close to a 3, maybe 4 hour walk tomorrow, we need to get all the rest we can get.”

“Y-yeah, of course.” Your response is breathy, a slight pang in your chest at his soft rejection, questioning whether you had been too harsh towards him earlier in the day— but your body could use the rest.

Adjusting yourself, you turn away from Steve, his large arm wrapping around and pulling you closer to him. Your back now against his firm chest, each one of your tense muscles slowly relaxing into him and his warmth.

Thoughts of a new start in Jackson flood your mind as you drift off into a deep sleep. A chance at a better life, where Steve and you can settle into normalcy together. Retire from the constant fear and panic of daily survival out in the open. The taste of prosperity and the sense of peace, an almost tangible reality for the two of you.

Steve senses sleep has set in for you, the ease of your regulated breathing paired with your gentle snores. He nestles himself into the crook of your neck, his fingers instinctively migrate to your ring smoothing over the cool metal, his thick whiskers tickle lightly at your skin as he whispers reserved confessions into the balmy. A gentle kiss to your shoulder before allowing himself to fully breathe easy, deciding to keep a watchful eye throughout the night.

“You’ll be happier Genevieve, I promise.”

The sun is in its full glory once you both set out on the last stretch of your journey over the mountain.

Steve had been rather short with you all morning, you chalked it up to his tossing and turning all night, his eyes bloodshot, evident in lacking sleep— he had promised everything was fine, so you believed him.

“How much longer do you think we have?” Not really knowing what to talk about with the uneasiness that’s been going on all morning.

“I don’t know, Eve— they guy said it was about a 3 hour walk from the resort. We’ve been walking close to 2 and a half, so we’re probably close.”

“Please don’t call me—“

“Jesus Christ Genevieve! I’m fucking sorry! But you don’t make it easy for me sometimes— I feel like I’m always at a fucking arms length away from you even after 21 fucking years.” Anger shoots from his mouth like bullets, you’re not sure you’ve ever seen him like this, at least never towards you. “It’s a goddamn name! Gen, Eve, Genevieve— they’re all the fucking same!”

“I-I’m sorry.” Tears prick at your eyes, you try your best to not let them fall— you’ll save them for when you’re alone in the safety of your new home.

“Fuck! No, I’m sorry— shit! C’mere.”

Steve pulls you into him, his face hot against your cheek as he holds you close, the button down he’s wearing is drenched in sweat, there’s a slight tremble to the grip he has on you.

“Are you okay?” You pull back to get a better look at him, beads of sweat glisten across his forehead, his cheeks flushed a bright red.

“Yeah, just really fucking tired.”

*CLICK*

“Hands where we can see them! Slowly, no fast movements!” A woman’s voice echoes through the air.

Steve releases you from his arms, both of you slowly turning, arms raised up as you were told.

There’s 5 of them, all on horses with their guns drawn in your direction. The woman seems to be in charge of the group, her horse placed a few feet in front of the others.

“We don’t mean no harm, we’re just trying to get to the settlement just over this mountain. You must be Maria? I was told you might greet us before we got there.” Steve says, keeping his tone even as explains himself.

“Am I supposed to know who you are?” She asks, her expression still unreadable as she waits for Steve to respond.

“No— you don’t, but I was told you would bring us the rest of the way in.”

Maria takes a minute to decide whether she wants to believe Steve or not.

“Scan them.” Looking back at one of the men behind her, nodding to where Steve and you are still standing with your arms raised. “I don’t care who you talked to, you get scanned before you come in.”

The man grabs a device from his saddle pack, then makes his way towards you, the other 3 men’s guns still aimed, fingers hovering over their triggers.

“Lady’s first.” The man states, placing the device on your neck, there’s a small zap to your skin when the scan is administered.

“Green!” He shouts, holding the device up to show the green screen in Maria’s direction.

You breathe a sigh of relief, even though you knew you were fine.

Turning towards Steve, the man places the scanner on Steve’s neck, Steve’s eyes locking with yours as the man presses the designated button to conduct the virus scan.

The man steps back quickly, a flash of red catches your attention.

“RED!” He holds the device up.

The other men direct their aim to Steve, his head hanging low and no sign of resistance to finding out he’s infected.

“Steve! No— Tell them you’re not infected!” Insisting he speak up. “He’s not infected! Scan him again! Please!” You scream at the group, your voice straining as you plead with them to scan Steve again, convinced it was a bad read.

“Please!! Scan him—“

“Genevieve— it’s not wrong.” Steve says.

You turn to him, chest heaving and your throat burning from yelling, confused by what he’s saying.

“What? What do you mean it’s not wrong? You’re not infected Steve— you’re just tired, they need to scan you again!”

“I was bit.”

You can feel the blood drain from your face as the words leave his mouth. Your brain takes a moment to register what he had said.

Bit.

Infected.

“No— no! No, no no!”

“Genevieve—“

“W-when?”

“Last night, there was a runner that came out of one of the other cabins—“

Steve’s confession hits you like a ton of bricks in slow motion. You hate it and don’t want to believe a single thing he’s saying, because the reality is that this is where it ends for him— for you.

The tears burn as they begin to stream down your face.

“You didn’t say anything though—“

“I needed to get you here— I needed you to be safe.”

Your chest heaves as you try to catch your breath, throwing yourself at him, anchoring your arms around his neck.

“No! I can’t do this without you— I can’t lose you too!”

“Yes, you can. You’re the bravest person I’ve known in a long time. You’re going to get there and you’re going to meet new people and you will be able to help out because that’s what you love— you love helping people and I love that about you. This is your chance to start over, to be happy— do that for me?” His hands cup your face so he can look at you, his eyes filled with tears as well. “Do me a favor, write me one of your letters— I want to know everything.”

You nod, unable to speak, the lump in your throat growing as your remaining time together dwindles away.

“I love you, Genevieve.” His words muffled against your skin, leaving one last kiss on your forehead.

“I love you, too.” You breathe out, your eyes closed savoring his soft touch one last time.

“How long?” Maria asks Steve.

“Probably ‘nother hour left, give or take.”

“Alright Genevieve— you’re riding with me, hand your pack to one of my men. Andrew, you hang back with Steve— you know what to do.” Maria orders everyone.

Wiping your tears before placing a kiss to Steve’s cheek, then turning to where Maria is waiting for you, handing your pack to one of her men. Maria leans down to grab onto your arm, as you hoist yourself up onto the backside of the horse.

“Let’s head back.” Maria says, pulling the reins up and to one side to signal the horse to turn around, a click of her tongue has the horse moving forward in the direction of the settlement.

You can’t bear to look back in Steve’s direction, not trusting yourself to not run back to him.

Leaving him and knowing his fate is like reliving the same pain you endured 21 years ago. The outbreak takes everything from you for a second time.

Your world shatters, crumbling as the horse carries you further and further from him.

*BANG*

The sound ricochets out over the valley, your heart sinks as a new wave of tears silently fall.

You don’t remember the entire ride to the settlement or how you ended up on the porch of a two story house.

Maria had mentioned putting you up in her brother-in-law's converted garage, a small studio bedroom where those new to the settlement would stay while their permanent residence were being cleaned and prepped. She said it wasn’t anything special and you’d have to use the main houses kitchen and bathroom, but you’d have your own space in a few days— so interacting with a few strangers was the least you could do for the hospitality.

You honestly didn’t care where she put you for the time being, the stables would have been enough, you just wanted to be alone.

Glancing over your shoulder you see others moving about freely, children running about in the open, a stark contrast between what you had been so used to.

There’s rows and rows of homes, a small town-like area, a community garden— this place was everything that Steve had described to you, he would have loved it.

The opening of the front door pulls you back to the front porch where you’re standing with Maria.

“We’ve got a newcomer, she’s going to stay here until we get a room ready down the street.” Maria explained to the young girl who is glaring at you.

“Why do you keep bringing them here? This isn’t a shelter— can’t she stay somewhere else?”

“No, she can’t. This is Ellie, her bark is worse than her bite— she’ll grow on you. Ellie, this is Genevieve let’s let her get comfortable and situated— she just lost whom I’m assuming was her husband, so please make her feel welcomed.” Maria coerses Ellie into letting you stay, but you don’t miss the eye rolling throw your way.

The home is spacious and inviting, you decide it’s far more comfortable than the stables would have been.

“Ellie, can you grab Genevieve a glass of water please.” It’s more of a demand than an ask. “Here Genevieve, have a seat here at the table. I’m sure Ellie can make you something to eat if you’re hungry too.”

“So now we’re a shelter and we have room service? Her legs don’t seem broken to me—.”

“Ellie, glass of water!”

The girl grunts something under her breath as she follows through with getting you water, you settle into a chair and try to not let the unwelcome feeling that’s been looming over you since you set foot in the house add to the pain that is still radiating through you.

You wipe a few tears you hadn’t realized had fallen, a new wave of emotions hitting you, another moment of realization of Steve not being here with you like you had both talked about.

“Is there anything else I can get you Genevieve?” Maria cautiously places a hand on your shoulder, you take it as her way of apologizing for your loss.

“Umm, just my bag would be great and a shower would be nice.” You sniffle, ready to lock yourself away for the day, not wanting to be forced to have unwanted conversations with a teenager who already hates your new presence.

“I’ll go grab your bag from the stables, then you can start getting settled.” She gives your shoulder a light squeeze before turning for the front door. “Ellie, be nice.”

A glass of water is placed in front of you, a few cubes of ice float around the clear liquid. You don’t even remember the last time you had enjoyed an ice cold drink.

Ellie situates herself in the chair across from you, looking as if she wants to say something.

“So— your husband is dead?” 14 years old and a great conversationalist.

“No— y-yes.” Your chest aches at the mention of ‘your husband.’

“Well, that’s not confusing. So, did you watch him die?”

“Hmm?”

“Your husband, did you watch your husband die?” She asks again.

“N-no.”

“I’m all out of questions then.” She slinks back into her chair.

You stare at the ice, almost half the size it was when it was placed in front of you. Wishing you could slowly melt away, become the nothingness you feel like.

The front door swings open and closes with a gentle click, the clunking sound of boots makes the presence of whoever stepped into the house known.

“Hey kid, sorry I’m late. Tommy wanted to get drinks after our patrol.”

A deep husky voice permeates the room, its thick syrupy tone seeps into every little crevice of your memory, its familiarity prompting the goosebumps to form across your body.

“I didn’t know we were having guests— this a new friend of yours?” He asks, his foot step getting closer to where you're still seated at the table, your back turned to him.

“Fuck no! It’s one of Maria’s strays. Said she has to stay here until her room is available— which is bullshit if you ask me!” She spouts off, her annoyance very apparent.

“Ellie, manners!” He grits out.

You lift yourself from the chair, steadying your weak state on the table and chair as you turn in his direction.

Your heart nearly stops the moment your eyes land on him— a ruggedness to him, his soft brown eyes filled with a darkness that comes with loss and sorrow, his dark locks and beard sprinkled with tuffs of gray, an overall hardness about him that hides his true self.

“Joel?” Your eyes wide and filled with more tears, the name is barely a whisper as it falls into the air.

“Eve?” A name he never thought he would say again.

#fall apart again series #joel miller tlou #joel miller #joel miller x you #joel miller x ofc #Joel Miller x ofc!genevieve #the last of us #tlou #the last of us au #the last of us game #the last of us hbo #pedro pascal #wildemaven writes

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crimeronan · 2 years

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can you talk about chronic illness themes in greywaren pretty please I’m so curious what you thought about the conclusion or lack therof

i've had this in my inbox for weeks and keep thinking about it and like. on the one hand i want to answer on the other hand i don't enjoy spending a lot of time talking about things i don't like. but i think i've nailed down the broad shape of my grievances wrt chronic illness real quick, so here's this and moving on

i think the first 2/3rds of greywaren were perfectly suited in tone to what dreamer trilogy had set up and there were Really good questions raised about matthew and jordan and declan and ronan and hennessy, i also think hennessy's arc (and the ronanessy culmination) was the only one that felt like it actually followed through on the chronic illness themes that had been set up. i was very very interested in jordan's thing about the act of creation keeping her awake, there's some good metaphors about artist survival there, tho ymmv. i know a lot of people with chronic fatigue aren't fond of it bc making art is Tiring and sometimes you Cannot Do It but tbh what i didn't get from jordan i got fine from hennessy so. that's all fine. then the last few chapters of the book take a hard transition into "now i have to wrap this whole universe up prettily to avoid rude tweets" and that apparently meant not having any messiness on the page, which is a shame because complex nuanced messiness is where stiefvater's writing most thrives.

adam and ronan's resolution was boring they didn't fix any of the things that were a problem wrt ronan's chronic illness and adam's Everything, joining souls in space is stupid, they already KNEW they loved each other, the love was not the PROBLEM, the problem was that they were on fundamentally incompatible life paths and loving each other DOES NOT MAKE THOSE COMPATIBLE.

declan and matthew's resolution was nonexistent, i'm actually Very Okay with the whole "matthew walks home" plotline but i needed his POV of that journey and i needed WAY more on the page from declan at the end there and i needed WAY more than "i can be fine relying on you guys bc bryde told me i should" when declan's treatment of matthew up til then had shown NO indication that matthew can EVER trust him.

bryde is the sickest person in the series and his end was far too ambiguous for my taste, especially when up to that point he and matthew had been interrogating the EXACT themes i'd wanted to see about what it means to be a dream and to be this kind of chronically ill. like we were almost somewhere there and then we just dropped everything about.... everything.

meanwhile adam is torn apart on the astral for days and days and days but wakes up fine and then bam, we flip forward 4 years and he's normal and there's no indication of any potential issues even tho there were themes traced all the way back to cdth about him and hennessy having similar chronic illnesses (thru lace metaphor). the epilogue firmly establishes that everyone is Better and that they all have stuff Figured Out Now and while i like knowing where people end up, i don't like a resolution that boils down to "and now we never need to struggle again."

i did not like greywaren's takes (or lack thereof) on chronic illness because it felt like we can't exist in a "joyful comfort read" because chronic illness is Bad and the author wants to avoid nasty tweets about doing Bad Things to characters.

i want to know what greywaren would have been if its main purpose had been to carry thru the series themes instead of to make trc fandom shut up and feel pleased about their blorbos and move on. stief talked about how she had to do a lot of rewriting with the dreamer trilogy up through greywaren bc she was so angry about being sick and. i want the angry book. i want the drafts that weren't pared down and rearranged and cut apart and spliced together to appease every normie person who's never felt constant pain or fatigue a day in their lives. the first two books were for me and will always have been for me, they are The Most Personal Books I Have Ever Consumed, but in order for greywaren to be for me, it would have had to Not be for certain people, and. well.

greywaren is for everyone.

so. shrug emoji. i guess.

#replies #greywaren #greywaren spoilers #greywaren negativity #another post that is NOT for stief's eyes do not tweet this at her or so help me god #greywaren meta

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painless-innit-colourful · 2 years

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i missed the lore stream 👎 can you summarize

val. darling. I. okay.

so uhhhhh we open with Wilbur reading Ozymandias. y'know. normal c!Wilbur behaviour.

then we flashback to the beginning of L'Manberg and see Wilbur confess to Tommy that he likes the L'Manberg idea because Tommy came up with it. that L'Manberg reminds him of Tommy.

he promises nothing bad will happen to L'Manberg (or Tommy) and swears to protect him with his life. beautiful transition of a flying shot of the camarvan and the lake turning into the L'Manberg crater.

back to now, Tommy and Wilbur are heading for Las Nevadas. Wilbur's looking for Quackity but he's not there. they climb the needle and jump into the fountain, break windows in the tubburger and go by the burger van. they look at the hole left by the ranboo-boner incident room and Wilbur tells Tommy they blew up the horse.

then Wilbur starts talking about going away. I'd really recommend watching this scene because Tommy absolutely does not pull his punches. Wilbur refuses for a while to tell him what he's planning to do but Tommy keeps pushing. eventually when Wilbur is still refusing to tell him, he pulls out a diamond sword and hits Wilbur, who panics and says he'll tell him. Tommy throws the sword away and says "I don't know why I did that."

Wilbur tells Tommy he's going away. Tommy panics and fully asks him if he's going to kill himself. Wilbur says no. I don't remember exactly what was said in this moment because thirty seconds later Wilbur tells him he's going to Utah and my brain promptly shut off.

but anyway Wilbur tells Tommy he's from a gas station in Utah and wanted more so he came to Dream SMP and now it's his time to sail home. he gets in his boat and is about to go when Tommy points out that he never apologised to him, and that he also never apologised to himself. Wilbur explains that his apology to Tommy was the events of Inconsolable Differences (the Dream-prison-discs stuff) without saying it because that way Tommy couldn't reject him.

he then gives Tommy a book which he explains that he's been keeping since the beginning, and though it was about to be about himself and his plans, it became about Tommy? I think? again by this point my brain is totally scrambled.

Tommy reads the book and seems satisfied. Wilbur then gets in the boat and sails into the sea. there's this crazy warping type noise and then we see Wilbur disappear from Tommy's pov. he's crying.

Wilbur, real life Wilbur, appears dressed as his ox in the desert in Utah. he seems happy.

then we go to an animated segment where we seeing Ghostbur crying on the platform in limbo, but then a train pulls up and Friend steps out behind him.

then the stream ended. and I have spent every minute since reeling.

#stream recap! i guess #dream smp #crim speaks #wilbur soot #tommyinnit #love you val i hope you're doing well

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normieexclusive · 4 years

Text

How My MC wins the boys over:

Ah, um, this really went off from the original story line. This was also supposed to be a short simple thing but then I started thinking and two hours later Im left with a bunch of messy notes and thoughts

The first to fall victim is:

Mammon turns out to be easy, literally MC just shows him an ounce of kindness and he takes it and runs.

Unconsciously MC gets much softer around him then the others (A combination of total trust in him and wanting to show how much love he deserves despite his brothers treating him harshly)

hes the one that gets the most kisses, the most hugs, and its great for them at first because they get to make fun of the dumb ass second born getting doted on but some silly little human and (while denying it constantly) loving it.

But then the others start to actually like MC and Mammon can nearly feel the six pairs of eyes glaring him down as his Human showers him with all the affection before going about their day.

(There’s one moment where, while Mammons sitting on the floor and MC is on the bed and he's making fun of one of his brothers that MC just grabs him by the back of his shirt collar- with only a finger- pulls him in between her legs (So his back is to her) and gives him a kiss on the top of his head as she coos "Mammon, be nice to your brothers" and he shuts down for the rest of the day)

Second, but the bestest of friends!:

With Levi its by being a grade A nerd and overthinking.

She reads all of TSL for their big quiz, and watches the movies with Beel and mammon, but on top of that the nerd goes back to the books and starts to annotate everything.

She starts digging for any bit of subtext she can find and jotting down notes in the margins, in her notebook, on sticky notes.

It becomes enough of an issue that she has to buy a new set because the first (Old and used) ones she got off of akuzon are ruined with her messy scrawling.

During the quiz they are evenly matched (if only because shes given such easy questions. Shes pissed but at the same time oh gosh she is really not up to Levis level) and somewhere along the way she just... Goes off about this theory of hers and reading the subtext because she needs to get this out and it seems like Levis the only one that can really keep up with her

(She tried to talk to Mammon and Beel but, honestly, they're as helpful as you'd think)

She forgets about the whole quiz and yanks out her vandalized book in order to debate with Levi about a part. Levi is horrified at the state of her TSL book and nearly goes apeshit right there, but then she shows just how much of a nerd she truly is by showing him the much nicer version she brought along

("And its even signed! Can you believe that! I didn't order a signed one cause they were too expensive but somehow the boxes must have gotten switched up! Ah! Levi! You have a shrine in you're room for them right! You should have these copies, I think you'll take more care of them then I can!")

Whenever they have a conversation its gibberish to everyone around them but they get it and that’s what matters.

(They spend nights just in his room and no one knows what they're doing so they assume the worst. The others always send Levi dirty looks when it happens, and Levi always looks a little more refreshed after every one.

They're having anime/gaming/TSL marathons but Levi lives for the jealousy that rolls off his brothers so hes not telling them anytime soon)

Somewhere starting after her pact with Levi and after the Lucifer/Satan Body switch:

The whole fiasco with Levi actually leads to Satan warming up to her!

He had initially brushed her off as a soon to be Lucifer Lapdog (and also kind of dumb) but now he's interested.

Someone whos capable of dissecting a book like that has to at least have some ability to reason, he just cant figure out if that moment was a fluke or if shes actually smart.

He refuses to start a conversation with her like a normal person and instead resorts to pranking her at every opportunity hoping to see if she’ll think her way out of it (He does leave some hints for when ones about to happen, but gets frustrated when she walks right past them)

It backfires on him tremendously because, somehow, they never seem to work! it goes to the point where it becomes rube goldberg levels of pranks that are always almost-but-not-quite misses because she bent down at just the right time to pick up a shiny rock.

Satan is at his wits end and ready to rip someone apart

his pranks start to extend to the others, it’s only after mammon mentions such that it finally clicks in her...

That same day she willingly walks into a pie in the face and Satan nearly cries.

After he starts to rile her up more often with words. He learns very quickly that she is a fantastic debate partner and, if he can find the right button to push, he’ll get her going for hours as they go back and forth

(And!! Even better!! Not only does she listen to everything he says and waits her turn! But Shes willing to change her opinion when she thinks he has a better point. When she loses She’ll come back hours later to drag more information out of him.

That’s usually not the case though, because Satan finds way too much enjoyment out of playing devils advocate and will simply choose whatever is opposition her POV.

He tried to argue about how she couldn't possibly like a flavor of candy she was eating because he didn't like it and nearly gave her an aneurysm)

(To his complete embarrassment, though, he has gotten hard during one of their debates and nearly lost because she looked fucking amazing as she shouted at him)

A bond that starts right at their first meeting and grows throughout her entire time there:

Beel is scary at first, and Lucifer- for some forsaken reason- made it her job to make sure Beel doesn't clean out the fridge every single day.

Shes scared of the man that seemed more then willing to eat her, but shes more scared of whatever punishment Lucifer would deal if she didn't at least try.

So she goes

It only takes her one run in with Beel and his puppy dog eyes (Because how could she just stop him like that!! How awful of her!!) for her to figure out that

A: this man is harmless and...

B:she knows what hunger pains feel like and the guilt wells up

Still she knows she can let him go so she spends her grimm allowance on buying ingredients to cook with and makes him huge meals as "offerings"

It doesn't always stop him from eating half the fridge, but sometimes it seems like he's willing to actually savor what she makes.

It gives her enough time to save the ingredients for dinner that night. (and If Beel sometimes wanders over to the kitchen while shes watching so shell make something for him, well there’s no harm done

The bastard pavlov dogged her and shes none the wiser)

Slow and steady, the pieces fall into place naturally:

Asmo turns out to be another easy one, to her shock.

Even with MCs jealousy over how stunning Amso looks and how easy it is for him... they just seem to drift to each other

Starts with a comment on Asmos sharp eyeliner one day, and Asmo asking MC what shampoo she uses.

Then the next day the same brand shampoo (And conditioner) will be left outside his door. And after MC will walk into the bathroom first thing in the morning only to wonder whom the fuck applied eyeliner to her in her sleep

It starts with days where they greet each other in the morning, to Stopping to chat for a few moments before heading on with their morning routine, to them walking down together, to Asmo fussing over her disheveled look after just waking up ‘-seriously Asmo not everyone can just roll out of bed like some Demons and look stunning’ - to ‘MC move over a scooch I need more room’ ‘Asmodeus this is my bed’ ‘Well how are we both supposed to fit when its so small!’, to weekly spa days and Gossiping about the others.

Its such an smooth transition that they both feel like it had always been as it was- two friends whispering secrets to each other late at night, pinky promises made over arbitrary things, laying so close that they can feel the others breathing. If maybe he leaned in a little closer they would--

--Oh... She fell asleep again.

And he curls up next to her, blanket wrapped around both of them (That is, until Asmo hogs it later) and sleeps peacefully

A build up of trust, and a moment of venerability that finally knocks down his walls:

Swallows her pride for Lucifer

Its hard to explain in words for her, but she tells him of her family.

A family that is good but dosnt care, that used to leave her alone for hours on end when she was far too young. She says it with a smile too, admits that it helped her become as independent as she was, that she could cook for herself before she was 10.

She tells him of her younger brother. Someone she tried her best to love as much as she could only for him to, one day, just stop talking to her. Years trying to build back an abruptly cut connection only for him to snap one day and change his tune to something much worse. A family that watched as he screamed at her, berated her and never did anything. How she still stood tall, how she swallowed back every tear and tried to talk to him with a steady voice- only for him to become angrier.

How, when he did try to snap at other members, she was always there to stand between them. How she was the one to chase him off or take the yelling despite her family never doing the same for her. How she was the stable rock of the family where no one was for her.

Physical violence was only once, but it was enough for her to know things would never change.

She was like him in a way, same but different.

and She cant bear to see the same thing happen to him.

She wants to help, she knows shes just a little, useless human but please she needs to help. She cant bare leaving another broken family behind without helping. Her life had been stagnate before them, unbearably lonely, and she just wants them to be happy, even if that means without her

even if it means she has to shove her nose where it doesn't belong

So... please... Please... Talk to Belphie. Please. He said he just wants to tal--

(She had earned Lucifer's respect not too long ago, and - to everyone's shock- the revel of what she came upon does not bring upon Lucifer's fury. Instead, he feels a deep understanding that he’ll never say aloud

Shes still going to get lectured, though. But he is too.)

It takes time:

Spends what probably amounted to most of her time in Devildom with that little fu--

(No, No. Belphie needs help, she needs to reel it in for now.)

She gets what it means to be lonely. Despite her distrust of the man who caged up in a place where the bad people are, you know, supposed to be caged up and tutored feels like she needs to do something- if only to make sure he doesn't lose his mind from the isolation.

(Rethinks a lot of her life and how she spent just hiding away from everything. How she would lock her door and never come out unless the sounds of another fight reached her. Thought about how it probably messed her up more then shes willing to admit and refuses to let the same thing happen to him

Oh sweet summer child)

Less trusting of him when its reviled that hes the seventh born, but more willing to help. If only for Beels sake

Brings stuff up to his room, a toy, a fluffy blanket, food that she snagged last minute. He complains hes cold one day and she yanks off her own sweater for him

(It all gets flushed down the toilet when she leaves, he scrubs his skin raw thinking about how his room smells disgustingly like that fucking human now)

And then, one day, it just... changes:

A human stands between him and the fucker that locked him up in there, his brothers that never knew he was there. All of them watching him with such pity in their eyes and he didnt want it- he didnt want their p-

The door was unlocked.

He was free.

Just like that.

it made no sense. He learns that they-- She-- spent hours dancing around Diavolo, deals were made. A room where it was just her and The Prince of Hell, promises not even Lucifer knew (And some part of Belphie relished in the fact that it was eating away at the fucker)

("All those hours shouting at each other paid off” She looks to Satan with a smile. A joke he was not privy to. Lucifer huffed but said nothing.

How much had changed since he was locked up?)

A slow, downward spiral

They're never alone, someone is always with her or with him (Beel sticks to his side like glue. after so long he finally gets to sleep next to his brother again)

He finds food in the fridge with the words “For Beel <3″ in this awful chicken scratch handwriting. Mammon’s screaming interrupts his naps one day and he wakes up to see her smothering the second born in kisses. Her shouting wakes him up as her and Satan pass, her voice becoming high pitched as they argue about... the number of toes humans are supposed to have???? (she sits down next to him and rips off her shoes in a fit of rage, demanding that Belphie count with her because what the fuck-

Satan sneers at her feet and tells the only actual toes are her two big ones, the rest are just digits.)

There’s traces of her everywhere. Layers of clothing haphazardly thrown about after a day at RAD and then neatly placed away. A mention of her name at the dinner table before shes there. Not even his and beels room is safe from her- he can smell her scent on Beels pillow. Faint, but a awful reminder of the human down the hall.

He hates it, he wants to throw it all away. He wants to erase her memory from his home, he wants to ripe her apa--

A blanket is draped over him one day, and he cant bring himself to open his eyes to see who did it...

She talks to him, Or more like at him. The longer he stays freed the harder is it to hide his distaste towards Humanity and- especially- to her. He thinks shes dense, because he knows his brothers sense there’s something wrong (Levis tail wraps around her when hes too close, Lucifer stands between them, Amso pulls her by the waist. Close to him, further from belphie) But she doesn't. She pushes closer. She asks him questions.

She never touches him, one small blessing in Hell.

Beel believes him when he bashfully admits one night that he may start to enjoy his time spent with human. And for a moment he feels guilty about the lie but its all for a greater goal

When its just the three of them, Beel leaves for a moment too long. To get snacks, to grab something from another room, it doesn't matter. This was the moment he waited for.

She smiles at him, all kind and gentle (And the words that leave her lips are unheard through the blood rushing through his ears) and leans forward

He puts his hands around her neck

She goes limp.

He-

He needed to-

He couldn’t squeeze.

Beel comes back with the biggest grin on his face, arms full of snacks (”Here MC I got your favorite”) He sits on the opposite side of Belphie, leaning into him with enough weight that his own shoulder presses against MCs, mushing her against the wall.

Despite her smile he can feel her shaking.

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gffa · 4 years

Note

Always love your recs and appreciate the amount of time you have to put into them on top of all your normal, insanely detailed posts! I was wondering if you had any good starting places for getting into the non-film/video game/TV side of the fandom. Like what books are good? comics? There are so many!

Hi! I’m glad you’re enjoying the fic recs! There’s a ton out there to read, so if I can help point out some gems, I’m very glad to do so!With books and comics, a lot will depend on what you’re interested in (like my favorite era is the prequels, but I’ll read anything good, because I enjoy almost everything of SW), and you can pretty much pick up anything from the last five years or so and it’ll at least not be terrible! Though, I have to admit, the comics have been phenomenal, while the books can’t quite reach the same heights for me.But my favorite places to start are usually:COMICS:

The 2015 Star Wars main comic title by Jason Aaron + the 2015 Darth Vader comic series by Kieron Gillen. They’re meant to be read concurrently (at least for the first dozen issues or so) and they really kicked off an incredible era of SW comics. The explore the time between ANH and ESB, getting into the characters’ heads and having some phenomenal moments. Vader discovering the name of the pilot that blew up the Death Star is an iconic moment for a reason.

The 2017 Darth Vader: Dark Lord of the Sith comic by Charles Soul, which is an intense and beautifully done look at the transition from Anakin Skywalker to Darth Vader in the aftermath of Revenge of the Sith and really goes hard on showing his sunken cost fallacy and how terrible his choices were that he could never admit to, that he’s absolutely a terrifying nightmare while also being entirely human and almost pitiable.

Kanan: The Last Padawan is only 12 issues, but it’s gorgeously drawn and adds so much to Kanan’s story and is great if you’re interested in seeing what the Jedi were like inside their own Temple a bit more. We get to see Caleb Dume become a Padawan, we get some stellar Depa Billaba moments, and a lot of heartbreak as we see Order 66 through Caleb’s eyes, as well as Kanan figuring out his way in the galaxy after all that.

The Age of Republic series (I think there’s 8 or 9 in total?) by Jody Houser are really great. They’re single issue stories, so don’t expect big complex plots, but the character moments in each one of them, including a lot of themes that echo from one issue to another, are absolutely stellar.

Obi-Wan & Anakin by Charles Soule, which is a stunningly beautiful comic (I HAVE NEVER SEEN A PRETTIER COMIC IN MY LIFE) and seems somewhat simple on the first read--Anakin intends to leave the Jedi Order, but goes on one last mission with Obi-Wan, then changes his mind--has a surprising amount of layers and details that you can read into it, making it one I’ve reread like three times now and I’ve loved it more each time.

The Poe Dameron comics by Charles Soule are absolutely incredible. They’re the Poe character exploration for me, the one that really set the foundation imo, as well as they capture Poe’s character and Oscar Isaac’s portrayal of him brilliantly, making him absolutely charming to read. I still think they’re the best sequels tie-in material yet, even when I love love love other stuff, too.

Shattered Empire by Greg Rucka is also a gorgeously illustrated comic and does a lot to explore what happened after the Empire fell and the aftermath and clean up/last days of the war and was just really solidly good.

BOOKS:

From a Certain Point of View by various authors is a series of short stories about the A New Hope characters that really give a lot of cool depths to them or are just funny little moments. While it can be hit-or-miss, the ones I would recommend reading are “Master & Apprentice” (Qui-Gon POV), “Time of Death” (Obi-Wan POV), “There is Another” (Yoda POV), and “An Incident Report” (Motti, and it is the funniest thing I’ve ever read) as they provide some stellar character moments.

Bloodline by Claudia Gray is probably the best book for giving you a sense of how the sequel trilogy happened/what the politics of it are, and it’s a solidly fun Leia book and I think easily Gray’s best work for Star Wars.

Star Wars Propaganda by Pablo Hidalgo is an incredible read if you don’t mind that it’s sort of a reference book and sort of a proper novel, as it’s an in-universe reference book, which tells the story of the politics of the galaxy far, far away as shown through art history and its use for propaganda. It’s an amazing overview of the bigger SW story and how one war flowed into the next and really nails how the governments’ actions (or inactions) lead to so much unrest.

I haven’t finished A New Dawn by John Jackson Miller, but I’ve heard nothing but good about this Kanan backstory (the early days of his and Hera’s first getting to really know each other/working together, as well as Kanan slowly starting to find himself and his path again, or at least think about doing so) that’s interspersed with flashbacks to his time as a Jedi Padawan.

Thrawn by Timothy Zahn is actually a really great book, it introduces the perfect character to be the Watson to Thrawn’s Holmes, where they balance each other really well, so it takes the edges off Thrawn’s more obnoxious behaviors, while also winding it all together with showing what it was like inside the Empire’s earlier days and how the characters all came to be in the places they were in Rebels.

I haven’t finished Lords of the Sith by Paul S. Kemp yet, but what I’ve read of it so far has been really good! It’s an intense one (as would be expected of a Vader-heavy book) but also it has moments of showing the Twi’lek’s pain at all that’s been heaped on them from their point of view, and some really EXTRA AS FUCK moments from Vader, so I’m enjoying it a lot.

If you’re interested in the sequels, I really loved Phasma by Delilah S. Dawson and Cobalt Squadron by Elizabeth Wein, I thought they both did amazing jobs at showing the backstories for Phasma and Rose Tico respectively, that Phasma is utterly batshit Star Wars at its best, that Cobalt Squadron really gave me a ton of Rose and Tico Sisters feelings.

#fic recs #not really #but that's my tag!#winking-owl

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hellzyeahwebwielingessays · 4 years

Text

The Not-So-Amazing Mary Jane Part 6: AMJ #1

Previous Part

Next Part

Master Post

Now we’ve finally established all necessary contexts we can begin diving into the AMJ series proper. My intent is to break down each issue page by page.

Let’s get started.

We open with Mary Jane shooting a sizzle reel for the film’s investors. Evidently she is playing Mysterio’s super powered love interest.

Here we get into our first few problem but I admit it might not actually be a problem.

See, ASM v5 #29 established that MJ has already seen McKnight’s ‘reel’ so why are they filming another sizzle reel?

I admit to being in the dark about Hollywood practices so this might be perfectly normal and therefore not a contradiction. Let me know if that is the case.

This page introduces yet more problems though they too are rather minor.

The smallest of these is depicting Kangaroo as Australian. Last I checked (and I admit I might be mistaken about this) the Kangaroo was in fact NOT Australian. Or at least this version of the character isn’t as he is the second Kangaroo merely inspired by the original.

That’s a tiny nitpick but I thought I’d mention it. And it’s one that’s easily explained away. He could be emulating an Australian accent for effect or something like that.

The more notable problem is that MJ is deriding the script. This contradicts MJ’s statements in ASM v5 #29/830 where she is praiseworthy of the writing after immediately reading through some of it with Peter.

You could argue that perhaps MJ was commenting upon the script in general and not specifically her own part. As in her starring in this movie would be great for her career because the movie in general was looking to be great. Or alternatively the script for the sizzle reel was bad.

But consider that the script is directly based upon Webspinners #1-3, which (again I might be mistaken about this too) I do not recall ever featuring Mysterio’s would be lover as anything like a super heroine.

Again, this is reconcilable. Rewrites happen. Embellishments on the truth happen.

But to me the reality seems be that either Williams was unaware of the movie being based upon Webspinners (which is entirely possible) or that she wanted to go in another direction for the story.

Either way, it’s a weakness of the comic book but not a deal breaker of a problem.

This page also represents one of the problems from an analytical standpoint with this series.

There is a certain amount of ambiguity through the writing and art in regards to what Mary Jane (and other characters) might be thinking and feeling.

Look at MJ’s baffled face when looking at the Spider-Man actor on the above page.

My initial impression was that she could be simply weirded out by seeing an overdramatised version of her lover. In particular when he’s going over a tragic event in his and her own life (Gwen’s death).

It could just be bafflement over why that’d even be in the movie. After all what has Gwen’s death got to do with the life of Mysterio. I guess Spidey’s implication in Gwen’s death was public knowledge but it still has nothing to do with Beck.

Alternatively that facial expression might (and I emphasis this as speculation) represent MJ’s confusion and concern about that being included in a film. That is to say that’s something of a personal cut for Spider-Man and Mary Jane’s life. She could be wondering if someone knows the truth about Peter’s identity?

If the latter is the case it might go some way into alleviating and explaining other problems I have.

But I just don’t know, because the comic is not making it clear-cut. To my eyes that look says ‘this is so surreal’ and doesn’t say ‘This is concerning. Could Peter and I be in danger?’

However if that was the intention it might’ve been intended to then organically transition into the acknowledgment that there are literal super villains on set and the consequent page in which MJ comments that Cage McKnight fleeing is suspicious.

Here is where we’re starting to get into the bigger problems, but let’s start with a smaller one.

The scene implies that McKnight is a an actual person and a respected filmmaker. This is again contradictory to ASM v5 #29. There MJ referred to McKnight as very new, as someone who lacked an agent until very recently. The implication by Spencer was clearly that McKnight was a false identity that Beck invented. Williams/the editors is clearly ignoring that. That’s not a good sign, although it’s not irreconcilable. It’s entirely possible that MJ’s dialogue in ASm v5 #29 in-story was actually true.

Mary Jane comments that there are felons on set. She didn’t question this because Cage McKnight has a reputation for authenticity.

This line can be interpreted one of two ways.

a) MJ didn’t question actual criminals on set and didn’t do anything about it.

b) She phrased herself badly and what she meant was former felons, or that she presumed they were reformed/reforming felons.

The latter is a-okay, the former though....wtf?

MJ’s lived with a man who she knows spent most of his life torturing himself over allowing ONE criminal to walk free. She’s on set with a whole crew of criminals, including super villains and she’s shrugging it off? She’s not even questioning it?

‘Authenticity’ be damned, it’s illegal and potentially dangerous to knowingly harbour criminals, let alone super powered ones.*

But again, I’m willing to give the benefit of the doubt on that line. Between Cage’s reputation and the fact that so many criminals are working out in the open its not unreasonable for MJ to take it on faith that everything was on the up and up (even with the presence of super villains). After all the only confirmed super villain on set is the D (or Z) lister the Kangaroo who has at times been one of the good guys.

Mary Jane though is smart, socially savvy, can get a decent read of people and did study psychology for a time (she never completed the course but still). So she can tell something weird is up and it’s clear the intention is that she’s been growing suspicious for a while now.

In this essay series I don’t plan on praising the issues as that’s not the point. Besides I do that in other posts anyway. Nevertheless it’s worth pointing out that Williams really hits the mark on MJ’s personality here.

Her statements about Cage ‘claiming’ to have written this role for her (where she conveniently plays the love interest to a super person) and simply handing it to her imply MJ is detecting a trap. This touches on what I said above about her facial expression. About how it’s possibly intended to float the idea that she’s concerned that someone’s figured out Peter’s secret.

However, she could just as easily be thinking this is a trap specifically for her. After all, she’s been targeted by stalkers before (like Jonathan Caesar). That interpretation is arguably supported by MJ’s line about being scammed with an empty promise of stardom. Even if she doesn’t think this is some kind of super villain grand scheme of any kind it’d likely ring alarm bells for any young and (by stereotypical standards) attractive person in Hollywood; at least it would nowadays.

As we move onto the next page Cage reveals himself as in fact Mysterio and confesses he engineered this con in order to tell his life story.

He proceeds to inform MJ what is and isn’t real about the film and explain where the real Cage McKnight is. In doing so he admits that the film is happening through fraud, identity theft (sorry I don’t know the correct legal terminology) and the hiring of former felons and active criminals.

More specifically he produces (what he claims to be) a live video feed of the real Cage McKnight’s location on the Falkland Islands where he will be spending around a year on a film project that doesn’t actually exist. He also claims that this project is his last chance to do something good with the ‘time he has left’ (implying he is dying) and that he wanted to give the felons and criminals a similar chance to make something good and meaningful.

After being honest with her, MJ admits this situation is insane, but then agrees to go along with it.

First of all let me get this out of the way. Mysterio has actual active criminals on set but he also wants media attention. Isn’t that counter productive? The media are going to report that (some of the crew are obvious more than human, with green skin no less) and it’s going to cause both unwanted attention from the authorities and problems in general.

With that said let’s talk about the bigger issues with these pages.

Part of the problem in analysing them is that it we have to consider things from the POVs of MJ, Mysterio and our own (which is semi-omniscient).

We know Mysterio:

Is in the employ of the demonic Kindred who’s working a vendetta against Spider-Man.

Faked his own death again back in ASM v5 #24-25

Is doing this movie to make the most out of his time before he is dragged back to Hell

Is aware of Peter’s identity and that it’s highly likely he demanded MJ’s inclusion in the movie (whether of his own volition or on Kindred’s orders) specifically because of her connection to Spider-Man

Essentially we know Mysterio’s reasons for making the movie (including his limited time) are true…but they also omit certain important facts.

In other words…he’s acting.

He has legally (and more often illegally) worked as an actor. He was able to fool executives who literally work in the film industry where actors are basically a prerequisite. He is a massively skilled manipulator.

And here, the context the audience are aware of, conveys that he’s using the truth to get what he wants but is nevertheless withholding the real truth. Maybe this will be addressed later but at the moment it is beyond unlikely that Mysterio truly felt MJ was simply the only person to play his love interest. She is obviously there because of her connection to Peter.

Me personally though, I am not exactly certain Williams wrote this moment with the idea that Beck was being actively deceptive. My personal impression is that she was writing Beck as sincere and simply vulnerable because he knows he'll be returned to Hell soon. This vulnerability would be the reason for his opting for honesty. Now I don’t have any evidence to back that up I will admit, we will have to see as the series progresses.

But the most important thing about this scene isn’t our POV nor Beck’s, but MJ’s.

She is the lead character the person the story revolves around, her actions, decisions and agency is what is paramount in the context of this series.

From that perspective these three pages alone put us several layers into serious mischaracterization.

MJ wouldn’t help Beck because he’s hurt her loved ones

Even if he hadn’t she wouldn’t trust him because of the other horrible things he has done that she knows about

Even if she didn’t know about those things she knows his M.O. and abilities and thus wouldn’t trust him

Even if she sensed sincerity she’d not help him because he’s committed and still committing several serious crimes and unethical actions in this very story

Even if she believed those crimes weren’t so bad and that he was sincere she’d be smart enough to consider the possibility that he’s tricking her and double check what he’s told her

If she presumed (not that there is any evidence of this in the comic) that Beck was out legally and she ignored him obviously engaging in identity theft, she’d still double check those fact and learn that he has in fact escaped.

No matter how you slice this Mysterio is very much in the wrong here and so is Mary Jane. She even admits it’s insane and then agrees to go along with it.

Not only is she out of character to nuclear levels but even if this was a completely new villain MJ had never heard of before the mere fact that he’s clearly committed serious crimes to get to this point and is going to continue to do so (chiefly by impersonating McKnight) should be enough to make her her to bow out.

There is soooooooooo much more I could write about this because it cuts to the heart of the problematic premise as presented by the issue. However I will dive more deeply into that in numerous future instalments once we are done with issue #1.

Moving onto the next few pages, MJ predicates her agreement on the condition that her role be rewritten to improve her character.

This is a fact that she explains will actually improve the film over all. Their discussion occurs as Mysterio gives her a tour of the set and they chat about rewriting her character.**

During the course of this tour Mysterio unveils some of his film techniques and (at least seemingly) confirms what is and is not real about the production. Among the techniques he is using are his incredible holographic technology and his robot duplicates of the X-Men from ASM Annual #1.

This tour also includes a direct reference to Mysterio’s suicide from ‘Guardian Devil’, implying the artist and editor at least are aware of the events of that story. I’d like to imagine Williams is too. Regardless it’s problematic for the comic to acknowledge those events but treat Mysterio sympathetically in light of what he did in that story. And needless to say it’s problematic to write MJ as so chill around Beck in this scene/comic given how she knows about those events because she was in the story!

Anyway, MJ gets excited by the prospect of a spin off sequel. That in turn prompts one of the crewmen to imply she got her job through ‘womanly wiles’.

This enrages ‘Cage’ who assaults the man, an event witnessed and recorded by the surrounding crew. As she witnesses these events her self MJ has a curious facial expression.

Much like her expression seeing the actor playing Spider-Man, MJ’s face here is difficult to interpret.

It could mean any number of things.

Could she be viewing Mysterio as someone she’ll have to play carefully?

Is she thinking she’ll have to do her best to ensure he doesn’t get out of hand, whether it’s for her own protection or others’?

I do not know. It’s kind of vague. Hopefully it’s meaning will become clear in consequent issues, but if I’m supposed to understand clearly what it means in this issue then Williams or Gomez dropped the ball.

Something they didn’t drop the ball on though is Mysterio’s characterization. It’s worth mentioning out of fairness that this emphasis upon Mysterio as a passionate artist is extremely in keeping with his character and Williams handles him expertly on this front.

Beck finishes up his tour with a recreation of a scene from ASM #66-67 and MJ is delighted by the fun she and Mysterio are going to have in making the movie.

Notice that Beck directly references how this set piece is recreating a trap he laid for Spider-Man, how he used psychedelic gas to trick his mind.

In essence this is Mysterio simply stating outright to Mary Jane that he once tried to harm her boyfriend and even drugged him to that effect.

And MJ’s reaction to this is…to giggle with glee.

Really?

She doesn’t even show any hint of apprehension over that? We the readers aren’t even made privy to an internal tensing or recoiling on MJ’s part to this man just casually mentioning a time he sought to end the life of the man she is in love with?

Seriously, what the fuck. You better believe we’ll be talking more about this too.

Even from Mysterio’s point of view it muddies the waters of his motivations. As we extensively examined in prior instalments, it’s very likely that Beck knows Peter is Spider-Man, and thus by extension probably knows that Mary Jane is his lover. So it’s incredibly stupid on his part to blithely mention to MJ a time he drugged Spider-Man and tried to kill him.

Alternatively let’s say Beck’s hiring of MJ was in Kindred’s orders and he is unaware of the exact connection between her and Spider-Man/Peter. It’s still stupid because he’d still be able to deduce she very probably has something to do with Spider-Man because he knows Kindred wants her out of the way as he wages war on the wall-crawler.

The fact that Beck is written this way indicates Williams is unaware of the Spencer ASM issues which set up AMJ and/or doesn’t care and/or the editors aren’t doing their due diligence . Regardless it’s a major weak spot of the story. It either breaks the larger narrative that exists between the two titles or it renders Beck out of character via his stupidity.

The latter would be true even if Beck simply wanted MJ in his movie just because he liked her as an actress. He’d still be throwing out the fact he drugged and tried to kill someone (a former Avenger no less) in his past.

As the story progresses MJ and Peter have a chat on the phone where she makes a point of alleviating any discomfort he might have over making a sympathetic Mysterio biopic, claiming it is the Breaking Bad of super hero films. She continues by pointing out the career opportunities the role presents.

Peter raises concerns for MJ’s safety, suggesting she might find herself surrounded by villains; ironically unaware that Mary Jane is in that exact situation.

MJ assuages his concerns by reminding him of the time she defeated an actual super villain (the Chameleon, though he goes unnamed) with just a baseball bat.

MJ’s statements regarding the movie are arguably contradictory.

Earlier in her conversation with Beck MJ stated that the film empathizes with Mysterio and doesn’t apologise for it.

But then at the end of the story she tells Peter that the film actually isn’t glorifying Mysterio. Rather, it is making the Breaking Bad of super hero movies with an unreliable narrator.

This isn’t necessarily irreconcilable, but it is somewhat poorly communicated on Williams’ part. Breaking Bad’s defining message was that you shouldn’t be like Walter White. That he was in the wrong, even from the very start.

Why would Mysterio ever write a film about himself in that light? It doesn’t make sense and it would contradict MJ’s dialogue about how the movie empathises with Mysterio as a villain and doesn’t apologise for that. Breaking Bad wasn’t empathetic towards Walter White, it showed him very clearly as a monster and its final episode had him admit that fact.

Moreover if the film empathises but never apologises for Beck (and is directed by him personally) then isn’t that tantamount to glorifying him?

Because of this the issue leaves us with three possible interpretations of Mary Jane in this moment.

She is either:

Blinded by the prospect of fame and/or fortune and/or excitement and as such cannot see that the film obviously is glorifying Beck. To an extent we’ll talk more about this in a future instalment. Suffice it to say that’s very out of character

She is outright stupid, which is also out of character

She is deliberately lying to Peter about the artistic nature of the film project. There is a strong case (that we will get to) for MJ lying to Peter about Beck being out of character for her. However, were this a regular film production it might not be an OOC move for her. She wants to make the movie and alleviate her boyfriend’s feelings for the moment. Fibbing to keep their long distance relationship healthy and happy and hopefully being more straight with him when it’s over is not an unreasonable thing to do.

Options 1)-2) don’t exactly paint Mary Jane in a positive light, nor does option 3) necessarily.

MJ just isn’t this stupid, isn’t this capable of being star struck (she’s seen too much serious shit in her time for that) and lying to the love of her life about something like this is questionable. On the latter point it can be argued that there’d be no advantage of her lying to Peter about the project because he’s obviously going to find out when the movie is released.

Personally I suspect Williams never intended to imply any of the above interpretations.

I think she or the editors just didn’t catch that the dialogue at the end of the issue contradicts the dialogue from earlier. Which would be bad writing/editing but not demonstrative of Williams not fundamentally understanding the character. On occasion Stan Lee himself mischaracterized Spider-Man by accident.

Nevertheless a moment that reflects badly upon MJ.

The last moment from this scene involves a ’20 second dance party’ between MJ and Peter.

Its only relevance to this analysis is to exemplify some ways in which Williams nails Mary Jane’s character.

She’s flirtatious, she’s vibrant, she loves to dance, she loves to party, she can get the overly serious and often angst ridden Peter to emerge from his shell. Combined with MJ’s savvy earlier in the story, her tenaciousness and references to old continuity I can absolutely understand why Williams seemed like a good pick for the project.

But it’s moments like these that frustrate me about this comic (and I suspect the series going forward). It’s not that Williams fundamentally misunderstands Mary Jane but she drops the ball in a few places. Unfortunately those include drops that are so huge that they break the entire story. At least that will be the case if she doesn’t fill in the holes in her narrative.

The end result though is an extremely mixed bag wherein you have logic holes and mischaracterization so bad it debatably counts as (unintentional) character assassination but at the same time some of the absolute best Mary Jane or Mysterio moments ever! The 20-second dance party is going to be fondly remembered by every Mary Jane fan and MJ/Peter shipper forevermore, and rightly so.

But equally, unless properly justified in the future, MJ knowingly teaming up with Mysterio deserves to go down as one of the all time worst out of character moments for her ever.

The final relevant thing from the issue to talk about is the last page. It entails the Vulture’s gang of villains (the Savage Six) reading an article about the Mysterio biopic and deciding to head for L.A.

This is only really relevant for two reasons.

The first is the set up it supplies for future issues.

The second is that the article specifically talks about leaked set photos.

This further plays into the confusing nature of Mysterio’s scheme. He wants the media interest to act as a form of publicity (arguably this leak is an example of that) but he also has current villains on his staff. Wouldn’t the press be likely to find out about that and thereby jeopardize the project?

Reputation for authenticity or not, that’s extremely illegal.

With aaaaaaaall that said it’s time to move onto dissecting the status quo set up by this issue.

It’s all subject to change of course. Williams might address each and every problem eloquently at some point. But taking it at face value I am going to dedicate one (or more…) instalment(s) of this essay series to exploring the problems presented by this premise.

*We will talk much more extensively about this in a future instalment I promise you.

**By the way I don’t quite understand what MJ is asking her character to be rewritten into. She asks why she’s fighting without super powers but then says she should already be doing that in the story and that this is how she falls in love with the hero?????????????????????? Maybe I’m being dense but that just wasn’t clearly communicated to the readers).

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Master Post

#Amazing Mary Jane #Leah Williams #mjwatsonedit #mary jane watson #Mary Jane Watson Parker #MJ Watson #Spider-Man #Carlos Gomez #Mysterio #quentin beck #Peter Parker #Savage Six #Adrian Toomes #X-Men #vulture #The Vulture

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so-langdon · 5 years

Text

Innocence Meets Corruption - Michael Langdon x Fem! Reader

Summary: During your interview at the Outpost, Michael takes a peculiar liking to you and isn’t afraid to pry to figure you out and have you to all to himself.

Warnings: Third person POV, a bit lengthy, angst, hella sexual tension, light choking, some swearing

A/N’s: This is my first writing, so pls be gentle with any feedback u might give and thank u for reading if you do!!! <3

Outpost 3 was a safe haven compared to the rest of the world. The Armageddon had become a reality, and only a few select areas had survived the chaos. They resided in survival headquarters underground, the people inside labeled simply as either: the purple’s or grey’s. Purple meaning “royalty” and grey representing the workers of the hive.

The leader of the outpost was Wilhemina Venable, her “co-leader” being Miriam Mead. Together, they had a set of rules to follow, a proper protocol, and a specific order of how things were to be done at the outpost. Things were in order, mostly, aside from the continuous complaints of boredom and a lack of proper food, or food at all.

Until eighteen months into this post-apocalyptic world, where their fence was breached by a newcomer.

On a normal evening, as everyone in the Outpost sits at their seats at the dining table, Venable stands in the center of where her seat is at the end, explaining to everyone how they will learn of the newcomer soon enough. As if on cue, the newcomer walks in, all heads turning and looking at this new person.

This man, with dirty blond hair that’s straightened down just past his shoulders with slight curls on the end, and piercing, dreamy blue eyes, standing at six feet tall, broad and fit. He wears a black cloak with a black Victorian-like vest and shirt, pants and boots to match. He was intimidating and seductive looking all at once. He walked around the room steadily, over to where Venable is with his arms crossed behind his back, a confident, yet elusive stature to him.

The apprehension in Venable is prominent when this man walks over to where she stands in front of the table, invading her personal space. Venable getting the hint, turns away and steps to where Mead is on the side as the man takes over the front and has all eyes on him.

“My name is Langdon and I represent the cooperative,” he speaks, voice articulate, smooth and sensual all at the same time. “I won’t sugarcoat the situation. Humanity is on the brink of failure. My arrival here was crucial to the survival of civilized life on earth,” he continues, everyone focusing on his words carefully but also glancing around a bit. “The three other compounds in Syracuse, New York, Buckley, West Virginia, and San Angelo, Texas have been overrun and destroyed. We’ve had no contact from the six international outposts but we’re assuming that they too have been eliminated.” “What happened to the people inside?” Timothy, a purple at the outpost, asks curiously. “Massacred,” Langdon almost hums, head rolling towards him slightly. “The same fate that will befall on almost all of you.” “Almost all?” Mallory, a grey, asks. “In the knowledge that these very moments might occur, we built a fail safe: The sanctuary,” Langdon smiles hopeful, but there’s a sinister look to it. “The sanctuary?” Coco, an obnoxious purple, asks. “The sanctuary is unique. It has certain security measures that will prevent overrun.” “Excuse me, sir, what measures? Why weren’t we given them?” Mead asks. “That’s classified,” Langdon states, putting a hand up. “All that matters is that the sanctuary will survive so the people populating it will survive so humanity, will survive,” Langdon says in a string of smooth words. “Who are the people that are populating it?” Andre, another purple, asks. “Also classified,” Langdon states, glancing over. “However. I’ve been sent to determine if any of you are worthy and fit to join us.” This causes a small outbreak of chatter among the dinner table with everyone. “The cooperative have developed a particular and rigorous questioning technique we like to call: cooperating.” Venable standing gives a confused look, but remains quiet. “I will then use the information gained to determine if you belong,” Langdon adds. “What is this, The Hunger Games?,” Coco spits. “This is bullshit. I paid my way in here,” she continues, Langdon staring at her like she’s the bullshit. “And that is the only cooperating I plan on doing.” “You don’t have to sit for questioning,” Langdon says, border-lining an obvious and sarcastic tone. “What happens if we choose not to?” Andre asks “Then you stay here and die,” Langdon answers harshly, looking over at him. “I volunteer to go fist,” Mr. Gallant, a bright blond haired hairdresser with pierced ears offers. “And so you shall,” Langdon says, tone sounding like he just set a trap and captured his prey. “Process should only take me a couple of days. So. You won’t be kept in suspense forever. For those of you who don’t make the cut, all is not lost. If the worst should happen and feral cannibals come knocking, down one of these,” he brings out a clear vile, showing several little pills inside. “One minute later you fall asleep and never wake up.” Everyone in the room stays quiet but speaks through their eyes as they take in this news. “I look forward to meeting each and every one of you,” Langdon concludes, eyes gazing around the room, landing and stopping on one girl in particular as she sits at the table beside Coco. The eye contact from Langdon on the girl catches her a bit off guard from how focused his gaze is. The shyness is evident on her face as they look at one another, causing her to divert her eyes away quickly after a second. Langdon walks out of the room, the sound of his heeled boots clacking being the only sound as he leaves everyone to their thoughts.

~~~

The following day, almost everyone sits in the library of the Outpost, talking together about what they think of Langdon as they wait for Gallant to finish his interview. The conversation becomes too dark too quickly when discussing about the questions that will be asked and what would actually happen if not chosen for the sanctuary. The focus of the conversation transitions to Langdon alone, with his handsome looks and the vibes he gives off.

Everyone’s so starved for entertainment, including the hunger for romance, intimacy, and drama. So it’s not a surprise that Coco begins going off about how she’ll obviously be chosen because she can woo Langdon if needed.

The girl, that had made eye contact with Langdon, Y/N, sits on the couch beside Emily and Timothy, other purple members who are close in age and had formed their own friendship since all being stuck together. Though Emily and Timothy had more of a relationship going on.

Y/N sits quietly, not participating in any of the conversation involving Langdon, just listening as she couldn't focus and read the book she had in her lap. Y/N liked reading, as the library had endless books and it was a way for her to escape the world she now lived in. But she couldn’t read when everyone else in the room was constantly blabbering on about Langdon.

The doors leading into the office from the library slide open as Mr. Gallant walks out. The doors slide and close behind him, showing Langdon in the room for a second, fireplace and candles lit. Mr. Gallant walks to the couch Coco is at, sitting by her, eyes registering confusion.

Everyone begins to probe him with questions about the interview and how it went. Wondering if he made the cut, what questions were asked, how Langdon was, etc. He was being mobbed until finally coming to his senses and shutting everyone up to say he would explain if they’d all be quiet.

Y/N didn’t care to hear the details, especially as Mr. Gallant started with his obvious attraction towards Langdon and mentioning something about leather. Y/N had gotten up then, leaving the library to go down the hall to her room. She figures she can read her book in there. She should have been in her room in the first place, but she was curious to know a bit about Langdon, she has to admit. But deciding she couldn’t listen further to Gallant’s talk of leather and sexual tension had her easily rushing off.

As she walks down the hall towards her room, holding the book by her side, she hears laughter coming behind from the library. Rolling her eyes a bit, she turns the corner, getting closer to her room. Just before she gets to her door, someone turns the corner from the other side, causing Y/N to startle as she drops her book from running into them.

Langdon, mysteriously appearing, kneels down, picking up her book, glancing down at it. “Empire of Affliction -- Interesting reading choice,” he points out, handing it towards her. Y/N takes it gently, holding it tightly in her hands. “It’s comforting.” “Comforting,” Langdon repeats curiously, placing his hands behind his back. “You seek comfort?” “In a world like ours now? Yes,” Y/N explains. “What’s wrong with our world now?” Langdon grins, raising his eyes. Y/N gives a look. Langdon drops an arm from his back, putting his free hand out, “I’m Michael Langdon.” Glancing at his hand for a moment, she trades the book from one hand to the other as she shakes his hand. “Y/N L/N.” “I’ll be seeing you soon, Y/N.” Y/N narrows her eyes. “For your interview,” he adds. Y/N nods. “Oh, right,” she mumbles, cheeks flushing. Without another word, she passes by Michael, reaching her door and heading into her room. As she looks out the door before closing it, she notices Michael has disappeared from her view. She never heard his footsteps leave and this confuses her for a moment. Narrowing her eyes, she closes the door and releases a breath she didn’t know she was holding.

~~~

Over the next few days, the interviews go one by one after Mr. Gallant. Timothy, Coco, Mallory, etc. Michael, who comes to share his first name with everyone else too, asks particular questions to each person. He searches for a specific answer, and never seems impressed with anyone he speaks with. Though, from the very beginning no one had impressed or drawn his attention. Except one. Y/N.

She’s been trying to avoid Michael as best as she can. Something about his presence has her feeling all types of nervousness and apprehension, and she’s not sure what any of it means. They’re feelings she hasn’t felt before, each time seeing a glimpse of Michael walking down the hall, or opening the doors after an interview, always causing her heart to begin racing.

Her stomach will jump at the sound of his name, or even from a mumble of his voice somewhere. It confuses her ten times over as she’s hardly had a real conversation with him.

Until her interview now.

She sits in the leather chair in front of the office desk where Michael sits behind. He stares at her quietly, eyes focused intently on her, seeming to be analyzing her everything: Posture, expression, appearance, eyes, aura.

Y/N continues to sit quietly, looking at Michael every once in awhile, but mostly diverts her eyes away after it’s been a few seconds too long of staring at one another.

Though shy and nervous from being around him, can’t help it anymore and finally speaks, “What?” She snaps. Michael cocks his head to the side a bit, slightly grinning. “Are you just going to stare at me for the interview?” Michael grins more. He leans back. Y/N just huffs out, turning her head away. “Does it bother you that I’m only staring?” Y/N looks at him. “Well, it’s not the most comfortable thing.” “Why,” Michael asks, as more of a statement. Y/N pauses and shrugs, “I don’t know. It just isn’t.” Michael grins more, as if in a knowing way. He sits up, and leans over a bit with his elbows. “Let me tell you how this works.” Y/N swallows, her nerves suddenly doubling. “Things you may feel are helpful may be hurtful. Things you may feel will compel rejection may be exactly what I’m looking for,” Michael starts in a string of words. “If you hedge I will know. If you lie I will know. And if you try to trick me I will know and this interview will be over and you will die here. Painfully.” Y/N narrows her eyes. “Are we clear.” Y/N leans forward a bit, “Crystal,” she enunciates mockingly and leans back, crossing her arms. Michael lightly smirks at her behavior. “What is your opinion on the world,” he asks. Y/N pauses. “The state of it before or after the bombs.” “In general.” Y/N thinks a moment. “Well. That’s a bit conflicting to answer.” “Why is that?” “Our world before the bombs was constantly being trashed. From global warming, extinction of animals and the collapse of ecosystems. Not to mention all the hatred in humanity. Humans sure did a shitty job of taking care of everything. But. There’s the tragedy of the good people, my family.. I’m not thrilled about losing them,” she trails off, voicing saddening. “But this current state of the world isn’t any better or ideal either.” Michael leans forward, resting his arms on the desk crossed. “Tell me about your darkness.” “My darkness?” Y/N raises her eyes. “What darkness?” “I want to know the dark parts of your soul,” Michael clarifies. “I... I don’t know what that means,” Y/N replies. Michael leans back again. “You see I have a talent. Call it a kind of night vision of the soul. I can see into the dark places that people desperately try to keep hidden.” Y/N pauses. “So..?” “So.. I sense a darkness in you. It’s confusing, actually. It’s a very rare type of darkness I’ve never encountered before. It’s fascinating,” Michael says, brushing his fingers along his chin. “What if I don’t even know what that dark part of me is?” Y/N asks. “I think you do,” Michael states obviously. Y/N gives a look. “Why would you think that?” “Maybe I have a file that tells me all your secrets. Maybe I’m sensing something. Or maybe I’m just fishing.” He leans forward, “Tell me who you really are.” “I don’t know who I am. That’s what my early to mid-twenties are for,” Y/N answers. “Hmp,” Michael smiles a bit. “You’re fighting it. You don’t want to accept it.” “If you know so much about me, why don’t you tell me yourself what this ‘darkness’ is that I’m supposedly not accepting or giving a confession to,” Y/N snaps lightly. “Confession? I’m not a priest,” Michael says nonchalantly. “I don’t even know if I believe in God. I mean, if there was a God, why would He allow the Armageddon?” He stands up and begins to slowly walk around the desk. “The concept of sin does seem a bit antiquated. Rules for keeping the chaos at bay...” He comes to the front of the desk, sitting on it in front of Y/N. “No need for rules anymore,” he waves off. “Chaos has won.” “Has it,” Y/N questions. “Hasn’t it,” Michael smirks. “Depends on your perspective, I suppose.” Michael leans forward again, “You’re guarded. You have walls built up.” Y/N stays quiet. “You’re weak,” Michael adds. Y/N narrows her eyes, “Weak? I’m weak because I’m reserved and like to keep private about myself?” “You haven’t answered one question truly about yourself since this interview started,” Michael states elusively. “I haven’t hedged. Nor lied. Nor tricked you. Just because I know how to cleverly answer a question without giving away too much information about myself doesn’t mean I’m weak,” she spats. “If anything it means I’m deceptive, manipulative and smart.” Michael leans back, looking at her, almost impressed. “You’re a fighter,” he says playfully cheerful. “I like that about you,” he emphasizes and stands up, walking back around to the seat at his desk. Y/N remains seated, eyes diverted away from Michael. Michael sits down as before, leaning back in his chair, resting his hands together comfortably in his lap and stares at her. Just like in the beginning before the interview even started. Y/N glances at him every once in awhile but will always take her eyes off of him after a few seconds. But Michael’s eyes will stay completely on her. Y/N stays quiet this time, not bothering to call him out about it. When her eyes make contact with his yet again, Michael slightly grins. “Do I intimidate you?” He asks. Y/N blinks, taken aback by this new question. “What?” Michael remains impassively quiet Y/N swallows. She could give a sassy, sarcastic answer, similar to how her answers have been prior. But she gets the idea that if she does, and goes around it, that itself is an answer, and admitting the truth regardless. She looks away for a moment, and then back at him. “Yes.” Michael smiles slowly. “Why?” Y/N’s cheeks suddenly warm up. She shakes her head a bit. “Tell me why.” “You’re in charge of making the sanctuary selections,” she states, feeling that’s a safe answer. “Why wouldn’t that objective of your superiority status intimidate me?” “Didn’t seem like that mattered moments ago when answering me.” “Right, I forgot you know everything about me, even the things I don’t know about myself,” she says sarcastically, her fingers pointing to her head and waving off in a “duh” stance. Michael hmps a chuckle. “I make you nervous.” Y/N’s opens her mouth to reject his statement, but, the no lying bit rushes through her head. So she stops. Closes her mouth and diverts her eyes away. “No comeback,” Michael raises his eyes, smirk growing. “You said you would know if I lie.” “So I do make you nervous.” “Sure,” she says casually. “Why?” “You tell me,” she retorts. Michael grins at her for a moment. “Let’s move on,” Michael starts. “What are you afraid of,” he asks. Y/N stares back at him hard. Michael raises his eyes. Y/N shrugs. “Don’t know if I’m really afraid of anything anymore. Whatever ends up happening, happens.” “I know you’re lying.” “If you know so much about me, then why are you bothering with interviewing me at all?” She rolls her eyes. “Do you use these sarcastic, diverting responses to hide the fact that you’re actually insecure and apprehensive of yourself?” Y/N feels the blood rush in her face prominently over his words. Whether she admits it to herself or not, Michael nailed her right on the dot, and it doesn’t sit well with her that he seems to know her too well while she knows nothing about him. Feeling she’s been emotionally invaded and broken down, she glares at him. “Sure.” “You’re gonna have to start giving me more than just a simple ‘sure,’ sweetheart,” Michael leans back in his chair unimpressed. “Don’t you understand the position I’m in? You act like you’re trying to find out my dirty secrets, it feels like an invasion of privacy. All that I have left in the world is my restraint and reservation.” “And your vulnerability, clearly,” Michael waves off, clasping his hands together on his desk. “I don’t have to understand your position. I’m not the one who’s trying to get into the sanctuary. But I’d start cooperating if I were you because I’m the only thing that stands between your life and your demise.” “Has this threatening tone worked with the others? Because, it’s not doing anything for me now,” Y/N says bravely. Michael’s mouth grows into a gradual smirk. “Do you have any remorse, guilt, or regrets, since before this -- new -- world began?” Michael asks coolly. Y/N pauses, “No.” “You’re lying.” “No I’m not.” “You know I can tell.” Y/N stares. “What do you miss the most?” Michael asks. “Cats,” Y/N answers. ((Or dogs, if you prefer them loll)) “You’re lying, again.” Y/N remains quiet. “And you’re not taking this seriously.” “Look, I don’t care enough about this interview anymore to take it seriously. Either you leave me here to die or you don’t. You know who I am apparently. A five minute interview isn’t going to change that. So,” she shrugs. She sits up, “And I do miss cats, actually,” she sasses and leans back again. “You’ve given up your will to live so easily,” Michael cocks his head slightly. “I’m not giving up my will to live. I’m just not going to answer questions you know the answer to.” Raising his head slowly, he stands up, a grin plastered on his face. Crossing his arms behind his back, he makes his way to the doors of the room. He slides the doors open and faces toward Y/N, his arms falling back to crossing behind him again. “Let’s finish this up later.” “Later?” She narrows her eyes confused. “I’d like to continue this at another time. Consider it a part two to your interview.” “Does anyone else get a part two?” She asks curiously. “No,” Michael simply answers. “Then why do I?” “You tell me,” he mocks. Y/N lightly glares, but it fades away. She stands up, walking over to him. She doesn’t stop as she passes by and leaves the room, making sure to get away from him as soon as she can. She turns to the doors when she hears them slide shut. Though she looked to be rushing out of the room, a breath releasing from her in relief, her heart pounds with an intensity she’s yet to have ever experienced, all the way to the tips of her being. The confusion starts up again as she leaves the library and heads for her room, trying to clear away these new feelings.

~~~

Y/N sits on the end of her bed after undressing and wearing just a lavender silk robe before putting her proper nightwear on, thinking about the day she’s had. Mostly of the interview with Michael. Trying to figure out the new feelings she’s experiencing, trying to figure out if there is a darkness in her, and if there is, what does it mean, why does she have it? She’s never brought harm to anyone, never wished ill on anyone. She can’t imagine what kind of darkness she would have inside her. It almost scares her.

Getting up, she pulls her sheets back to get ready for bed. Her mind races consistently with thoughts of Michael, wanting her mind to just take a rest. These thoughts of Michael are un-welcomed, yet so wanting to be embraced.

“What the fuck is happening to me,” Y/N whispers to herself, sighing, bringing a hand to her head.

Three knocks on the door occur suddenly.

Turning her head to the door, she narrows her eyes. Who would be at her door at this hour, she gaped. She steps over and hesitantly, taking a breath before, opens the door.

Michael, of course, stands there, smug grin on his face.

“Yes,” Y/N greets, breath hitching, caught off guard by his appearance at this time. “Do you have a moment,” he asks, standing confident and sultry. “I was just getting ready to go to bed,” Y/N points out quietly. “This won’t take long,” he informs.

Y/N pauses but steps back, knowing she doesn’t have a choice in this matter and lets Michael in without further complaint. She closes the door after and faces him. She crosses her arms, making sure to keep a distance between them.

“Are you here for the second part of the interview?” Y/N asks. “No,” Michael hums. Narrowing her eyes, she asks, “Then why else would you be here?” “Do I need a reason?” Michael raises his eyes. “Well, shouldn’t you? I don’t suppose you’re showing up to anyone else’s door.” “Maybe I have been.” “Oh,” Y/N mumbles slightly disappointed. “Does that bother you,” Michael eyes her. “No,” Y/N answers a little too quickly. “Don’t lie,” Michael leans forward slightly. Y/N narrows her eyes. “Am I participating in an interview right now?” “No. You just have no reason to be lying around me -- especially when I can sense it.” Y/N breathes out, “Whatever. What can I help you with?”

Michael lets his eyes trail slowly down her body, noticing every curvature, the way he could easily see through her robe if she was in the proper lighting and not just surrounded by a few illuminated candles.

Y/N remains unmoving, apparent of Michael’s focus drifting down her body, making her shift a bit where she stands as his eyes follow back up to meet her eyes again. She feels as if he’s undressing her with his captivating blue eyes, and it causes her to walk past him and around to the far side of her bed to create even more space.

“I wanted to speak to you about a certain matter,” Michael trails off, body turning around to follow her movements fluidly. “And what is this important matter,” Y/N asks, eyes focused on anywhere but on Michael, arms still crossed. He studies her intently, closely paying attention to her mannerisms and energy. He senses how on edge she is, being alone in her room with him, wearing nothing but her robe. The apprehension in her is impossible to miss, and this sparks a theory in him. The corner of his mouth raises, making his way towards her steadily. Standing just at the foot of her bed before where she stands on the side, his hands clasp behind his back as usual. “Tell me why I get the feeling that you are the most nervous I’ve ever sensed in someone before,” Michael starts. Y/N wavers for a moment, “I don’t know why you’re getting that vibe from me.” “I believe you do,” Michael purrs, taking a step further to her. Y/N remains quiet again, eyes diverted away from Michael, hoping that this lack of eye contact will keep her safe from prying questions somehow. “You know,” Michael begins, “Why don’t we get started on the second part of your interview after all.” Y/N looks at him, narrowing her eyes towards him. “Take off your robe,” he calmly demands. Y/N’s mouth drops open, “What? No.” “A physical examination is required,” Michael explains. “You can read my file,” Y/N argues. “That won’t tell me what I really need to know,” Michael smiles. “I’m not taking off anything,” Y/N retorts. “Not now, not ever,” she adds. “Really,” Michael starts. “You’d let something as simple as a physical examination come between your chance at living?” Y/N halts at replying, but eventually says, “Yes. I’d rather die with my dignity than continue living without it.” “Didn’t realize such a small assessment required losing dignity,” Michael grins. Y/N remains silent. “You know, I’m beginning to think that you’re not just scared of me, but of yourself.” “What? That’s ridiculous, you know how crazy that sounds? Scared of myself? What are you, my psychologist,” she glares. Taking another step forward to her, Michael drops his hands from behind his back. “I knew from the very beginning that the darkness in you was a different type of darkness. A rather deeply personal type,” he begins, taking another step forward, reaching his arm out and trailing a finger down her silk covered arm gently. “Now I’m beginning to find that this is a type of darkness that consumes all of you, intimately.” Y/N lightly shivers at the touch of Michael on her, taking a small step backward, causing his hand to drop from her and uncrosses her arms pushing hair behind her ear. “True darkness requires a certain depth of character. Even with Coco, she’s much too shallow for any kind of meaningful negativity,” Michael remarks. “But with you... you afflict the worst to yourself, on your own. Your own darkness revolves around you.” “What does that even mean,” Y/N whispers. “You’re pure,” Michael breathes, smirking. “Not a blemish to be found, you’re uncorrupted -- untouched,” he smirks more. Y/N can’t find any words to say as she can’t feel anything but the pounding in her chest and how shallow her breathing is becoming. “It all makes sense now. Your intimidation of me, the nerves, the innocence you hold. Usually it would be quite sickening, I can practically smell the purity radiating off of you,” he says almost disgusted as he looks her up and down. “But, you’re different. It’s different. You’re genuine, warm-hearted. Your soul is untainted because the only darkness you possess is for yourself, and that’s held you back from ever causing anyone else desolation.” “Wh -- What are you ta--” Y/N starts. “Have you ever been touched, Y/N?” Michael interjects. Y/N’s eyes widen slightly, her breath noticeably heavy now. “Has anyone ever touched you,” Michael reaches his hand out again, trailing a finger, the others following after as his touch feathers over the skin on her shoulder, up to her neck. “Caressed you, made you feel cherished,” his fingers feather slowly down to the curvature of the cleavage that’s exposed through her robe, “felt that carnal pleasure?” Y/N swallows, trying to contain her composure over Michael’s words. They infuriate her while also making her want to run away. But she’s not sure if it’s to run away out of the room or to Michael. “I get the feeling you haven’t,” Michael whispers, smug grin on his face, his fingers pulling down the middle of her robe until it drops, the fabric of her robe having opened a bit loosely from the pull. “Such a shame. You’ve really been missing out.” “You don’t know me, you don’t know anything about me,” Y/N breathes out. “This is insane, just leave.” “I’m not leaving,” Michael states, “And we both know that you don’t want me to either.” “You don’t know me,” Y/N states. “But don’t I,” he questions. “I believe it bothers you more than you’d like to admit that I’ve discovered the guilt and shame you have over yourself.” Y/N turns her head away. What can she say at this point? What possibly could she say to throw him off, to tell him off, to tell him he’s wrong? Especially since he’s been right about everything so far. “Have you ever even kissed someone before,” Michael smugly asks. “What business is it of yours,” Y/N snaps, looking at him. “I’ll take that as a no,” Michael smiles, impossibly more smug. Y/N glares. “Do you want to?” Michael steps again toward her. Y/N looks him up and down as he gets closer to her and crosses her arms again. “Do I what?” “Want to be kissed,” Michael starts smoothly, leaning in a bit. “To be touched,” Michael breathes, his face leaning in to the crook of her neck. “To feel, and be felt,” his lips hover lightly over her skin, his breath hot against her, causing Y/N’s heart to pound impossibly harder, faster, her own breathing transitioning to a tremble. “To feel undeniable pleasure,” he continues, his head lifting to look at her, but a hand raising to her side, resting on her rib cage gently which looks to be covering most of her side with how large his hands are.

His hand trails down slowly, achingly slow, his touch tender against her as it slides effortlessly against the silk of her robe, feeling along her curves. His hand reaches down to her thigh, drifting towards the middle, finding the opening of her robe, and pushing his hand through.

With his hand brushing against her smooth skin softly, he reaches for her hip, grabbing and pulling her into his body. She gasps a bit over the pull, arms coming undone, her body pressing against his, feeling his hardness against her.

Her hands rest flat against his chest comfortably, looking up at him with doe-like eyes and rosy cheeks as he looks down at her with those piercing blue eyes, seeming to be bearing into her soul.

“Do you want to feel good,” Michael breathes alluringly, lips only centimeters apart from hers as his other hand pushes through the opening of her robe while the other hand continues to hold around her waist, holding her in place. His free hand brushes against her thigh, raising up, getting dangerously close to her center.

She breathes out heavily, feeling her body tense and relax all at the same time over Michael’s touch.

“Do you want me to make you feel good?” Michael whispers, leaning in, his lips hovering over hers, lips lightly brushing over the other, until he leans his head into the crook of her neck, slowly pressing his lips against her skin, hot to the touch. She closes her eyes, breathing out shakily, biting her lip, trying to keep herself together. But this one touch alone has her soon coming undone to Michael’s wishes. It takes everything in her, but she pulls away and pushes him to create some space. She holds her robe together tightly, and breathes out deeply. “You’re not playing fair.” “Why do I have to play fair,” Michael smiles. “I think you need to go,” Y/N mumbles out, still trying to regain her composure. “You found me out, fine. I’m ashamed at how I’ve never been with someone before, never even kissed someone because I always felt I wasn’t good enough to be with anyone and was too scared to even try. I’m my own worst critic, you know, now you can go, okay.” “Keep talking all you want,” Michael grins, “but you can’t deny that you want me as much as I want you.” Her cheeks turn an even deeper rosy color than before over his words, not just because of how he can clearly sense her desires for him, but because of him admitting his own desire for her. “I.. I...” she stutters. “I barely know you. This isn’t right, this shouldn’t be happening.” “What does knowing each other have to do with anything? You can’t help when there’s a connection,” Michael states, and suddenly backing Y/N up against the side of the wall, pressing his body back against hers so she can’t move, and grips the side of her throat, his other arm snaking around her waist. “And I think it’s pretty obvious I know you quite well.” Y/N swallows, eyes flickering over his face, landing on his lips multiple times but trying to focus on his eyes. The overwhelming desire to kiss Michael is taking over Y/N’s every thought, not to mention everything else she wants to do with him. “So I’ll ask again, one last time,” Michael hums, smirking. “Do you want me to make you feel good? Show you that you are worthy,” Michael entices, leaning in closer to her face. Y/N wants to fight back, tell him no, tell him to leave. But the temptation Michael Langdon possesses is irresistible and captivating and she can’t deny this any further. “Yes,” she whispers. With one final smug grin, he releases his grip on her neck and waves his hand, all the candles blowing out, coating the room in darkness, as his lips furiously press against hers, lighting a fire ablaze between them.

#Michael Langdon #Michael Langdon x fem reader #Michael Langdon x fem! reader #AHS #American Horror Story #Michael Langdon imagine #michael langdon writing #michael langdon oneshot #michael langdon one shot #outpost! michael #outpost michael #american horror story apocalypse #american horror story: apocalypse #langdon writing #langdon imagine

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whoopsimwritingagain · 5 years

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Can I request a clace fanfic? Maybe when they are married or engaged idk quite a bit into their relationship. Maybe jace gets jealous of clary joking with another boy and you can decide what happens. 💙

A/N: I’m sorry if this is a weird mix of TV/ book universe I’m just kind of going for it and I’ve been re-reading and watching the TV show so my wires are a bit crossed. Also, this is an AU where Simon remembers everything and can be with Izzie and apparently vampires can have children now! There are no rules. Also oops you’re getting a long-ass proposal flashback as well (two for the price of one!) because as stated before, there are no rules. I wrote this in 4.5 hours after midnight in my bed so hopefully, it still has a plotline in the morning. I really hope you like it! Give me notes or criticisms or requests!!!

Category: Fluff with angst peppered in

Warnings: Suggestive humor, angst, rare cursing, and not really adultery but jealousy I suppose???

Word Count: 3706

- 3 years after City of Heavenly Fire -

*Clary’s POV*

The early March snow falls lightly from a grey New York sky. Jace, Isabelle, Simon, and I sit in our regular booth at Taki’s on a double date. Well… it was less of a date and more of a meeting. After all, I had been dubbed Isabelle’s amatuer baby shower planner, and she, my wedding planner. Wedding. that word still sends my head spinning. It isn’t that I’m not ready, or that I don’t want this. I mean, after all, I’m living my dream! I had always known I would marry Jace, but something about this is so surreal and I can’t quite put my finger on it.

Still, a wedding! I try to ground myself as Izzy explains what she had in mind for the floral arrangements, but, as can be expected, I find myself daydreaming instead. Jace popped the question the night of Izzy and Simon’s wedding. We were driving home from the reception as they had portaled to Idris for their honeymoon, and while I napped in the passenger seat Jace had driven us out of the city to Luke’s farm in the countryside. I imagine his grip on the wheel was a little tighter than usual as he ran over his speech in his head and the jewelry box burned a hole in his pocket. He let me sleep until just before sunrise when he started to lightly trace the runes that swirled across my arms. The less-than-comfortable car seat, combined with the introduction of sunlight, and the touch of my love had all awoken me. He told me he had a surprise for me and carried me bridal-style a few hundred yards until I tapped him on the shoulder to signal that I could make it the rest of the way to wherever this “surprise” was on my own. He laid out a blanket on the side of a big hill where I used to play tag with Simon while my mother painted. I had brought him out here the night of her wedding - it is one of my favorite places. He laid down and I laid on his chest as the stars dimmed and the sky transitioned from muted blues into various shades of pastels. After several minutes of laying there in silence, I twisted around and kissed him gently, at first, and then deeper. We stayed like this for a while, until I noticed a dampness on his cheeks. He wasn’t crying per se… but he was teary. I wiped some of the moisture away with my thumb. “Jace, what’s wrong?” He bit his lip and gently shook his head regaining his composure “S’nothin.” He pulled my leg over his torso and I straddled him as we continued to kiss. Things got more heated, though he was moving at a slower pace than I was used to, so I pressed my body closer to him and grinned. “Do you have something in your pocket, or are you excited to see me?” I questioned. Little did I know how intensely my cheesy jibe was going to backfire. My then-boyfriend chuckled, almost sadly, under my weight. “Jace… what’s wrong?” he glanced to the wildflowers scattered about the field next to us. “I’m nervous Clary,” he confessed. Now it was my turn to giggle, “Why would you be nervous silly?” I ran my fingers through his hair and gazed in wonder at the morning sky reflected in his eyes which were just a bit watery now and he flashed his classic smirk. “Well, this isn’t how I had planned on this going at all!” He exclaimed as he ran his hands up and down my sides slowly, “I’m not complaining though… it’s just a little less traditional than I had wanted.” I raised one eyebrow, “Since when have you ever wanted to do anything traditionally?” He smiled up at me knowingly and held both of my hands in his, “Well typically I would ask your father first, but that one seemed out of the question so I asked Jocelyn and Luke. And, well, normally instead of you straddling me I would get down on one knee in front of you. But! Here we are, and I did get one thing right.” He dropped my left hand to dig in his pocket and pulled out a dazzling emerald ring set amongst tiny diamonds and my vision went blurry. “You’re a size six and a half right?” he questioned feigning confidence, but I heard his voice waver. “Isn’t there something else you should ask me?” I struggled to say attempting to match his wit but instead meeting his emotional vulnerability. “Clarissa… Clarissa Fairchild,” he spoke softly now, his eyes locked with mine, “you know beyond a shadow of a doubt how absolutely madly in love with you I am, and somehow you feel the same way,” he was really crying at this point, “to me you are the most important thing in this world and I will never turn my back on you unless you ask me to, so would you do me the pleasure of marrying me?” No words left my mouth so I met him with a small yet unspeakably meaningful kiss instead. When the kiss subsided I nodded gently our faces centimeters apart. “I can’t wait to marry you.”

“Clary!” Isabelle snaps, pulling me out of my daydreams. “I swear to god if you keep on doing this it’s neon Gerber daisies the whole night!” Izzy gripes at me “and I’m allergic!” Simon pipes in eliciting a blushing eye roll from Isabelle. “Sorry” I blush as Jace looks at me quizzically. Before he has a chance to question me Isabelle’s necklace starts to glow red causing the hair on my neck to stand up. “Oh no” Simon whispers. Izzy begins to get up “Well?! Let’s go!” she insists. “Not so fast!” Jace interjects, “Isabelle if you think you are going on a mission anytime in the next year you’re even crazier than I thought you were.” He turns to Simon now “Simon you take her home. Clary and I will take care of this.” Izzy looks like she is going to protest for a split second but instead thinks better of it. As Simon reaches for her wrist to take her away from the danger she puts on hand up to unclasp her necklace and hands it to me. “Clary, I have a feeling you’ll be needing this more than I for the foreseeable future.” I grasp it firmly, “Thank you, Isabelle.” Jace grabs my shoulder and I turn to face him “Let’s go” he suggests “Let’s” I answer.

We run out into the alleyway together where we see a teen girl’s limp body lying against a building about 50 yards away. We run in the direction of the body when we catch sight of the culprit, a possessed young man with light hair, running East. Jace and I communicate nearly telepathically as he runs over a block to try and cut the demonic boy off as I tail him. I had nearly caught up when Jace burst out of an alleyway tackling the boy to the ground and holding his arms behind his back, presenting his chest to me. But it can’t be. I can’t be seeing what I’m seeing. Then again if I’m not seeing what I’m seeing the boy would have been dead. The boy in front of me was the spitting image of Jonathan. But the Jonathan this boy is bringing to my eyes now is not the one who tried to kill all of my loved ones, held me hostage, and had a strange obsession with me. The boy in front of me transforms instantly into the Jonathan who died in my arms, finally freed of his impurities, the only real brother I ever had. “Clary! What are you doing! Kill him he’s strong.” Jace’s yelling interrupts my thoughts, but the boy still seems so innocent. I have an irresistible urge to save him, to set him free. I kneel in front of the boy, the demon admittedly, and I do the unthinkable. I kiss him. Not on his mouth but on his forehead, his cheek, his nose. I’m not in my right mind as I whisper, “please, please come back. Make it alright again.” Jace recoils in disgust and the demon, a lesser one, is set free leaving a gash in my arm as he leaves the boys body and flies off into the night and the boy, now dead, collapses onto the sidewalk. I’m shaking and the world doesn’t feel quite real yet. I feel nothing and everything all at the same time and when I finally look up to my fiance for reassurance Jace is fuming. Oh. Oh my god, what have I done? Why did I do that? I put him at risk, I put myself at risk. I kissed the face of a demon. What am I doing? “Jace -I” I realize my face is wet with tears. “You’re hurt,” he states. He walks over to me and inspects my wound, taking off his jacket to place over my torn one. “I’m taking you back to the institute” but his voice carries no emotion.

In the car his knuckles are white on the steering wheel and though we are three-fourths of the way to the institute he hasn’t said a word to me. “Jace I- I’m so sorry,” I choke out “I don’t know what came over me I really d-” “Stop,” he interrupts. “But I-” I try again. “I can’t do this right now!” he runs a red light and continues driving determinately in the direction of his institute.

As we arrive he asks no one in particular for a medic to accompany me to the infirmary. And then he just… leaves. He walks to the stairwell and I catch my last glimpse of him for the next few hours as the door swings shut. Sitting in the infirmary without him there stings. It stings more than the antiseptic and the stitches the two medics at my bedside work at. Although I’m sure that my actions outside of the diner hurt worse, and shocked him more. As much as I tell myself that it doesn’t lessen my pain, it focuses it. Jace is the love of my life and I can’t believe I hurt him in such a stupid and irrational fashion. It’s been three years since Johnathan died. Since we killed the only part of him strong enough to sustain life. With Jace being promoted to head of the institute a meer six months later after Alec moved to Idris to serve on the council and restart with Magnus life had gotten so inexplicably busy. That’s when I had stopped going to therapy. I truly believed I was over this, but I suppose I proved myself wrong tonight. I would talk to the psychiatrist at the institute in the morning about getting back on the schedule before I have a psychotic break at the altar. Wedding. Oh… wedding, my fiance. betrayal… ouch.

Then Isabelle and Simon walk through the door and Isabelle informs the medics that Jace would like to know if my wounds have any severity to them. Yikes, he won’t even come in here himself to ask about me. God, I hate myself right now. She sends me a sympathetic and intense look as they reassure her I will be fine after a few hours of rest with my treatment and turns assumedly to report back to Jace. Simon, however, leaves her side and walks over to sit on the cot across from me. Tears start to spill out of the corners of my eyes and Simons eyes are almost painfully fill with sympathy as he sees my own. “I don’t know very much,” he says “do you need to talk? Or would you rather be distracted by the story of Passover with my nana meeting my pregnant nineteen-year-old wife?” This is the first thing all night that has lifted my spirits at all. I even giggle a little causing the medics to chastise Simon. “You have to tell me that one soon, but, Simon, I really screwed up.” My voice cracks as the tears start to spill down my cheeks. “My ears are yours Fray,” Simon reassures. So I tell him. I tell him everything that funneled into what happened tonight. And he is maybe the best best-friend/ ex-boyfriend anyone could ask for because he listens, attentively, and actively to all of my hot mess. “Well Clary, It isn’t the most ideal situation you could have gotten yourself into.” I nod as he responds to my ramblings. “But, after the past five years we’ve had, it’s certainly not the worst. If I were Jace I would be hurt. You’re an easy person to get jealous over. But you and Jace have overcome so many odds and you know each other so well. You need to talk this out but I’m sure you’ll be on the other end of this in no time.” The medics ask Simon to leave and explaining to my uninterested ears that I need to sleep for a couple of hours for the salve to take effect. “I need to speak to Jace I don’t have time to sleep right now,” I argue. “The gaping wound on your arm says otherwise Ms. Fairchild, don’t you have a sleeveless wedding gown to put on in a few months?” one medic claps back. At this moment I realize just how exhausted I am from all of this. “Thank you, Simon, I love you,” I state before he closes the door behind him. I lay my head down on the pillow and fall into an uneasy sleep within minutes.

Nearly three hours later I wake up with a single-mindedness to confront Jace and be back in his arms. I don’t wait for the medics to talk to me. I just get up and head to the training room, where I know he’ll be if he needs to burn off steam. I was right, he was there, but when I show up to the training room a young shadowhunter informs me that I’ve just missed him. I run up the stairs to our shared suite, which is probably ill-advised as it makes my arm throb, but I’m far too impatient for the elevator right now. I open and close the door quietly to discover that he’s in the shower. Nothing has ever stopped me from interrupting him there before. However, this is different, I haven’t messed up this badly before. I haven’t hurt him like this before. So instead I pull a barstool out from our counter and wait. Somehow this waiting is worse than the overthinking earlier while I got stitches. I think it has something to do with the fact that he’s right there, in the next room. Additionally, I know he’s thinking about me. I sit there for a few minutes and let more tears fall as they may. But now he’s turned the water off and I know I only have a matter of seconds to regain my composure. I wipe my last tear away and tuck a stray strand of hair back as he opens the door. Steam rolls from the opening and he walks out with a towel tied dangerously low on his waist. It’s nothing I haven’t seen a thousand times before, but it’s still just as mouthwatering, again, this is not the time. He, of course, is unsurprised by my presence with his catlike reflexes. However, he is looking at me with a pain in his eyes I haven’t seen in years. I have never felt this responsible for his pain, and feeling it is horrible.

Finally, the silence is broken. “Hi,” he says after a few beats. Good. It’s good that he wants to talk. That’s step one. I can’t force this on him. “Hello Jace” I respond and I sound like a child confessing to their parents that they did eat the last cookie and the dog didn’t knock over Grandma’s vase. I want normal us so badly right now. “So… “ Jace says. “Yeah” is all I can say. How do I do this? “I’m going to get dressed,” he states. He walks over to his drawer to pull on sweats and a v neck as I stare at the counter. “I know what I did was wrong.” I begin. “I would take it back if I could, I would do almost anything in the world to take it back… but I can’t.” I look up to gauge his reaction, I can’t read him right now but I decide to continue. “I can say that I’m really, really sorry. I’ll never do anything like that again, I promise.” He’s looking me in the eye now which makes this nearly unbearable. I stand up from my barstool but remain across the room. “I know I hurt you,” my voice cracks. Goddammit, I’m crying now “And I know you don’t owe me forgiveness or anything, but I want you to know how very very sorry I am. Because I love you so much, Jace. If I had to set one goal for the rest of my life I would just want to never hurt you again.” After about a minute he breaks his silence. “You shouldn’t want that,” I look up at him confused “What on earth do you mean?” “I don’t want you to not hurt me, screw being hurt, I want you to love me! That’s what’s important here and it bothers me that you don’t see that. That you not only wanted to kiss another guy but then you did yeah that hurts Clary. That lack of love really f*cking hurts.” My jaw drops. How can he question my loyalty? I know I messed up but I can’t believe he said that. That that’s what he’s thought about how I feel for him for the last several hours. A fresh set of hot tears invade my already salty cheeks. “Jace, I’m sorry, I know I messed up but I can’t believe after all we’ve been through that you would ever think even for a second that I ever loved you even slightly less than all that is god damned humanly possible and then some! I mean we chased this demon after a meeting where we were planning our wedding where I couldn’t focus on what Izzy was saying about flowers because you had your hand on my thigh or I was thinking about how much I love you.” He scoffs which sends a salt spray into my metaphorical wound. “I’m sorry,” he says sardonically, “I didn’t realize you wanted to kiss a demon because you’re just so in love with me!” Now it finally clicks. I can’t believe I missed this the whole time! He even said it earlier. “Wait! You think that I wanted to kiss him because I was attracted???? To a demon???” Jace is unwavering, “what other explanation is there?!” I sit back down for this one. “I’m sorry I didn’t explain it earlier,” you sigh, “I didn’t even necessarily want to kiss him. I wanted to save him. I guess that was just how it manifested.” Jace blinks, “Clary you’ve been hunting for five years you know that we can’t save possessed humans. You should be used to this by now? I was sure you were.” I shake my head, “No, not because he was human. Because he… he reminded me so much of Jonathan.” Jace’s whole body stiffens and he stands up from the bed as if he’s trying to securely bodyguard me from across the room.

He gets it! Thank god I just didn’t know how to explain it. Thank god he understands.”I just wanted to save my brother, it was like I was back in that same moment three years ago. I- I’m going to go back to therapy,” I try to elaborate. Everything about Jace softens and he approaches me quickly but cautiously, gauging my reaction to his proximity. He takes me in his warm, strong arms, and everything in the world is fixed. I let out a few residual tears from the stress of tonight’s conversation. But I feel… whole again. He is rubbing my back and calming me and he smells like soap and I love this man. I could stay here forever. But he steps back and holds me away and studies me. “Clary, I owe you an apology.” he starts but instead of letting him continue I close the distance between us and kiss him. He pushes me away and tries again but I hold a finger up to his lips. “You don’t owe me anything! Ever. I’m still sorry for what I did. I put you in danger! And I should have explained.” “But!” he starts to say against my finger. “No! Jace. Thank you. Thank you for listening to me and understanding and still wanting to talk even when you were angry and for being… here” my voice cracks. “I’m so in love with you… and the same way we got through tonight is how we’re going to get through the rest of our lives.” His eyes light up as I say this and my heart does victory hurdles at the glorious sight. He kisses my hand, and up my arm, and my neck - which I giggle at -, finally across my jaw up to the corner of my mouth. “I am so completely addicted to you, Clary Fairchild-Wayland,” he says just before kissing my mouth. “Not quite yet mister!” I object and he smiles back at me. “Fine… Fairchild… for now,” he halfway concedes “but can we please never do that fighting thing again? I hated every second of not being able to think about how madly in love with you I am.” “Deal!” I grin back at him. Jace kisses me and I almost forget to come back up for air, he is so intoxicating. “Come to bed with me,” Jace whispers against my ear. And I am all too happy to oblige.

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writerwritingwritings · 3 years

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Supernatural, or “How I learned to stop worrying and learn to love (or at least not hate) the finale.”

WARNING: ALL THE SPOILERS.

Like many longtime Supernatural viewers, at first I was disappointed by the finale. I found much of it to be lazy and uninspired. Choices felt out of character, there were too many loose ends, and it lacked the connection and heart of so many previous episodes. It was through no fault of the actors; they all knocked it out of the park with the material they had on hand. But something about it was off. I puzzled over what the writers’ intentions could possibly be. I wondered how COVID restrictions may have impacted them. I tried to figure out what the hell they were thinking to make this the end. I wondered if they were trying for an irreverent Vonnegut move, a commentary on the importance of the writer - after all the show, in its previous episode, had stripped away the “writer” avatar so maybe then it stood to reason to them that the subsequent story would have no structure, no arc, no point. Of course, we don’t have any insight into that unless the writers come to some convention in the future (doubtful) or the actors speak to that experience (more likely). But as a lover of good story, I was frustrated and saddened to think that this 15-year journey had ended with such a thud.

But then I remembered Barthes’ death of the author, which posits that the author’s interpretation shouldn’t be calculated into the interpretation of an existing work. So I re-evaluated what they had laid out with open eyes, without trying to read into anything beyond the content they presented in the filmed work.

And then it hit me:

Dean’s dead.

I don’t just mean dead now due to being nailed from behind as we saw it. Obviously that’s the case. At least, that’s the surface story they sold us. But that’s not the whole truth.

No, I mean he was dead at the end of the previous episode, 15x19.

Hear me out. It all comes down to this simple fact:

You can’t win a fist fight with God.

That concept, on the face of it, is fucking ridiculous even for Sam & Dean. Chuck is omniscient and omnipotent. Do you think anyone could “take” any power he wasn’t ready to rescind? Would an omniscient god really allow humans to de-power him and best him?! Do you really think he wouldn’t see that coming? Of course not! Death Book or no Death book, he’s God. Alpha and Omega. He’s got this.

If you reject that notion, Occam's razor says that God killed Dean in the penultimate episode. It’s likely he killed both boys, but definitely he killed Dean. It might have been when he flung them onto the ground, or it could have been in the moments after that, when he killed Michael, or when he was about to snap his fingers. But either way, at the moment when God decided to roll up his sleeves and fight in the most brawling, basic, human way possible, Dean was already dead and we were already in Dean’s Heaven. Everything we saw after that, from the fistfight to the last shot of 15x20 was all from the perspective of Dean’s experiences through his post-mortem consciousness.

How do we know this? Because after the confrontation with God, everything is from Dean’s POV of a “happy ending.”

Driving away victorious after winning the hand-to-hand combat battle against a wrathful but powerless God, free to live their lives off the hamster wheel after a battle they won against the most powerful big bad ever, simply because they always kept fighting? That’s a Dean ending all the way.

We’ve never seen, through a character’s POV, much less through Dean’s POV, what the transition to Heaven is like. Likely, it’s different for each soul. But for Dean, it could be tasting a few last earthly pleasures and saying goodbye so he can move on and give Sam the normal life he always wanted before reaching his own true paradise.

So first, Dean experiences the post-authorial, post-God, post-mortem world, where they’re really free at last, in every way. His consciousness helps him clean up his unfinished business on “Earth.” He spends a last few days with Sam... or at least, that’s how he processes it. He’s in his Heaven already, but the first days of his Heaven look like he’s in the Bunker with Sam so he can take care of Sam one last time. Sam goes for jogs and cooks up bacon for them both without complaint or criticism about cholesterol? Sure. Dean makes the bed but then lets it go, saying to hell with the military corners John undoubtedly ingrained in him. He leaves it a mess on purpose, because he can, because he’s psychologically finally free.

He spends some time hanging out montage-style, bits of life flashing before his eyes. He’s looking up cases with his brother while showing open affection to Miracle (who happens to be a a tan-coated sweet, loyal friend!!)… the same best friend that jumped into bed for snuggles earlier in the day. Note the dog bowls at the foot of the bed. That dog sleeps with Dean. Subconscious processes information in strange ways, and it could be that’s what we’re seeing here. Why wouldn’t Dean code Cas, his loyal friend, as (this) “man’s best friend” and symbolically see Cas as a beloved tan-coated pup he named Miracle, just as Cas was HIS Miracle that saved him from Hell, as his brain is processing his transition to heaven? But I digress...

So, yeah. Pie festivals and a tan-coated pup snuggles and “normal” life hassles with Sam, his baby brother. That’s Dean’s happy place, and spending a little more time with Sam is critical to Dean being able to be “at peace when he is done.” Cas’ death-scene confession helped him finally self-actualize and grow so that he could believe he deserves all of this, any of this. Happiness. Heaven. But to get there, he’s got to wrap up those loose ends.

He goes to a pie festival - is there anything more indicative of this being Heaven for Dean? - and hangs out with Sam. He even lets Sammy get in one last prank for good measure. At the pie event, he gives us more proof that he’s already dead: his advice to Sam to hang up worry about their friends and just keep living, or all of the sacrifice would be for naught. That’s out of character for Dean. Is it just because he finally feels like they deserve this? Is it because they no longer care? No. It’s because he knows he’s leaving Sam soon and he wants that order to “keep living” firmly implanted in Sam’s mind by the time he rambles on.

And speaking of friends: what about Cas? Why didn’t he go searching for him, or even worry about him in the Empty? He knows Cas has come back from there before. So has Jack. Why would he just leave him there and try to live life? Why didn’t he ask Jack to rescue him? Again, this seems so out of character. But it’s not... if he’s already dead. If he’s already in Heaven, he doesn’t look for Cas or fight to bring him back because he doesn’t have to. It wouldn’t occur to him to go try to save Cas from the empty at this juncture because in his post-mortem mind, Cas is okay, safe in Dean’s own Heaven. Time exists differently on the Heavenly plane, as Bobby reminds us later, and we can posit that consciousness and understanding are also fluid and possibly nonlinear. You wouldn’t worry about or try to find someone if you already know they’re okay and they’re with you. Dean believes Cas is already okay. The fact that the entire time we see him, he’s at peace with everything going on shows us that. He simply couldn’t be in peace and be in character if he didn’t know his people were okay. Full stop.

So. Final sweet moments with Sam? Check. Pie festival? Check. Time to check out during one last hunt - his favorite, a vamp nest. He wrote his own departure, and created it in a way to have a good exit to his relationship with Sam that would give Dean’s heart peace: giving Sam a normal life. We already know Dean always believed he’d go out on a Hunt gone wrong, and here he actualizes it: he imagines it happening during his favorite kind of hunt in a simple way that doesn’t give the win to something dark, but still takes him out cleanly without too much suffering and in a way that gives him time to tell Sam all the things that he never could say in real life, in a total chick flick moment no less. This gives them both release and closure and gives him a final chance to give Sam permission to hang it up and live. That’s a Dean-written ending all the way. He even reminded us that he always knew it would end this way. Dean believes that, further cementing this is Dean’s Heavenly transition we’re seeing. None of that would have been present in Sam’s consciousness; that’s just not how he sees the world or his place in it anymore (and hasn’t been since season 8).

Then, Dean gives himself a hunter’s funeral to give himself closure from the Earthly plane and ascends to Heaven to find the rest of his people while Sammy does the “normal life” thing that Dean wants for him. The only way Dean could be at peace would be to move on knowing Sam was okay and had what Dean wants for him and what he thinks Sam wants for himself. So his consciousness concocted that to give him peace in his transition.

Then we see flashes of how Dean imagines Sammy’s life without him. We see Sam grieve him a bit in the Bunker. He’s not fully wrecked, like he was back when Dean died years ago - Dean doesn’t want that level of pain for Sam - but he’s sad. You want your loved ones to be happy, but you want to be missed a bit, too, after all. We see him enter Dean’s room: notice the signed document on his desk; that’s not an accident, either. Heaven!Dean’s mind would have written a narrative that leaves Sam an easy-to-find life insurance policy, after all. Also, notice Dean’s jacket on the chair. That’s the one he died in. Would real-world Sam really have taken his bloody jacket off his brother before putting him in the pyre? Doubtful. And that jacket doesn’t look bloody. But Dean’s subconscious would imagine his room as he last saw it, which probably included his jacket on his chair. And notice that Sam does not actually mess with or pack up Dean’s stuff, because that is what Dean would want Sam to do: “don’t touch my stuff, Sammy” is such a brotherly move it fits in neatly as hardwired into Dean’s psyche, even in death. But he IS wearing Dean’s watch, a sentimental keepsake Dean would want him to have. Sam doesn’t pack him up, but he still takes care of business and looks after the dog, too. The dog in the tan coat that is now watching over Sammy so he won’t be all alone ... the dog who may be symbolic of Dean’s guardian angel in another “vessel”, shepherding him through this and watching over Sam so he could go. Dean wrote this part of his story, too - just as we all write our own Heavens with our own hearts.

Seeing Sam live out a happy life, popping out a kid (that he’d name after Dean, of course), teaching the kid just enough about monsters to be safe but not making him live that Hunter life? Getting up in nerdy books and tossing around a ball? That’s Dean’s fantasy of a “perfect life” for Sam, so that’s what we saw happening. Also, notice his hospice bed at the end didn’t look like a hospital or the kind of house Sam would really have - instead, it looked awfully similar to Bobby’s old house. Because that’s what Dean’s brain would represent as a “happy home.” Note too that Sam’s wife isn’t a specific person, just a blurry background face, like a video game that doesn’t render out the details you don’t need, and the family pics are of Dean and Sam’s nuclear family unit and the “son,” not the wife or any of the new people from his long life. Dean’s brain didn’t extrapolate all that forward or round the story out there. (There’s no Cas or Jack there either, which makes no narrative sense for this theory OR the surface-level story they told, being honest, unless Dean’s subconscious just didn’t think Sam would have any pics of himself with them and he only “knew” about the pic with Bobby and the couple of pics with the parents. A stretch, I know.)

And so Dean ends up on the porch of the roadhouse, sitting with Bobby, drinking the five beers you drink in Heaven (all crummy beer that tastes like his youth). Bobby tells him all his people are okay and present and he can see them again at his leisure, and specifically that Cas is there too in a paradise he deserves. One that Cas helped build. His reaction speaks to the fact that Cas’ love confession really changed him and gave his character arc true growth — he believes he deserves to be there. He’s at peace. He’s loved, and comfortable in that love. And the guy that loves him as the man he really is built a paradise for him. Awesome. Then, Bobby gives him that look. It’s the same kind of look he gave Dean when Dean’s siren got to him and Bobby said, “that it got to you, that’s no reason to feel bad” oh so many episodes ago. Bobby knows, and Heaven!Bobby wants Dean to know he is totally okay with it. (For the record, Earth!Bobby was on to him and chill, too.) This is Dean finding self-acceptance of his own feelings by experiencing the silent approval of the father figure he codes as a masculine role model.

And then there’s Baby, waiting for him. Baby who is always stalwart and ready to ride. So he drives off on his own in his Baby, in his happiest place: the driver’s seat. He’s off to drive for a while and think and process. Then, he’ll undoubtedly go find his people, including Cas, eventually. There’s an eternity of time to explore the future with them.. and they’re there, somewhere waiting for him down his own axis mundi. Does he go find Cas and share his own feelings? Do they end up a cozy pair? Maybe. Maybe not. What matters is that whatever happens between them is something that Dean’s heart is at peace with, and he’s got a version of Cas in Heaven there with him, and you know they’re going to find each other and talk it out.

Finally, after years (which passes in much shorter time — Heaven time is different) he meets up with his brother after a long and happy life… Just like Dean would want. Because it’s not truly his Heaven until all his people are present, but if they arrived at the same time, Dean wouldn’t be at peace because Sam wouldn’t have had the time to have a long, happy, normal life that Dean wanted for him. So missing him is part of his peace process, too.

It’s worth noting that Sam didn’t appear as old-man Sam in Dean’s Heaven, just the way Bobby didn’t appear as old-man Bobby but a de-aged version that aligned with how Dean thinks of each of them. Grown-up Sam was the Sam that was in Dean’s head & heart, whereas a younger Bobby (hence the browner hair) is Dean’s version of Bobby that he probably still carried around with him, the one that imprinted on him as a kid. Because how people are in a pivotal time in your life is kind of how they lock in your consciousness.

Time exists differently in Heaven, and so we can assume that so does existence itself. Can you be truly at peace without all your people okay and present? Can Dean? Unless it was something that serves the person, like Dean wanting on some level to have to wait for Sam to come because he wants him to be busy living life, I think not. So it’s possible the “version” of the person that is in Heaven with him isn’t necessarily the whole, actual soul of the person, but maybe an imprint left on him to help him be at peace. That’s also why the person appears as they were imprinted on you in life, not as they are.

And another note on Cas: There are many fans saying Cas deserved better. Of course, those who “ship” Destiel wanted them to find some resolution to that. I concur simply from a writing standpoint. It’s Chekov’s gun: you don’t tease a gun in act one unless you use it in act three. You don’t have a character give a big love confession and then never have the other character react to it - whatever that reaction is is up for debate, but you don’t just leave it, unaddressed. It’s sloppy writing at best and doesn’t make narrative sense. If it doesn’t move the story or impact your other protagonists, it’s not utilized well, and it leaves a wealth of amazing story threads on the floor. We could have seen Dean break down and admit his own sexuality/feelings - which would have been game-changing, courageous TV, to show such a hyper-masculine character come out of the closet. But that’s not the only avenue; there are other interesting choices they also could have made. We could have seen him admit how uncomfortable he was by it, or confused, or that he didn’t reciprocate. All valid directions that could have made some interesting story paths to follow. We could have had him totally miss the gay thing, intentionally or unintentionally, and tell Sam (or even make it clear he HAD told Sam) about Cas’ self-sacrifice. A simple line, “That dude loved the whole world so much that he flung himself back into the empty for us. That’s some Jesus crap right there. Hard to imagine from a guy who once was all about following Heaven’s rules. It’d be a dishonor to what he did to try to bring him back now.” But we should have seen something. “This happens, and because of that, THAT happens” is writing 101. There was no “that” there, and the omission is a huge disservice to the narrative... unless it’s because that story isn’t over yet.

That being said, for Castiel, I contend that he got the most important thing he needed: Cas’ was able to realize his own worth independent of anything else, and finally felt free to be his whole, honest, true self. His final admission of love, right to Dean’s face, freed him. Whatever comes of that declaration is less important than the fact that he got his freedom and could be fully actualized, fully Castiel, embracing all his feelings and emotions and being secure enough in himself to speak them aloud. In coming out to Dean, he allowed himself the true happiness of self-actualization and self-acceptance. He had character growth, and it was beautiful.

People who argue that they buried their most beloved gay into SuperHell are right, of course. That’s a terrible look and legacy for the show, if this is the end. I don’t think it is, thought - or at least, it doesn’t have to be. Right now, only Dean is actually dead. Maybe Sam, too. I don’t know. They didn’t show us; they only showed us Dean’s “going to Heaven” field trip experience, if my theory is correct.

So of course this episode felt “off.” It’s because it is off. What they’re showing us isn’t the facts. Dean died at the climax of Season 15, episode 19. We’re in Dean’s Heaven right now. Somewhere out there, God is still around. So is Jack. So is the world.

And somewhere out there, too, there’s an angel causing a few sleepless nights for the Empty as he annoys his way out of the void to go grip his people tight and bring them back home where they belong, or meet up with them in Heaven for real. Because family doesn’t give up on each other, and Dean deserves his Heaven, but right now they still have work to do. This ain’t over. At least, it doesn’t have to be.

This might not be what the writers intended to do. It’s possible, likely even, that it wasn’t even on their radar. I have no insight into that and it doesn’t matter, anyway. “The Death of the Author,” remember? In a piece where the literal “author” was the big bad, there’s poetic justice in killing off acknowledgement of the writers’ intent, too. Only what they left on the table matters.

And even if by accident in service of a disappointing script, what they left on the table gives viewers what they need to craft something that makes sense and still rings true and aligns with the mythology and the message of the show. A show that champions chosen family, love, and fighting for the good... and in fully choosing these things, and choosing love, it can teach us we also can choose to accept ourselves, and accept we deserve to be loved and at peace.

They left the pieces behind in the episodes. We can choose to pick those pieces up and assemble them in the way that makes the picture make sense, and in doing so, we can keep the door open for team free will to come back in the future. Maybe in a limited-run series. Or a movie. Nothing ever stays dead on Supernatural, after all. At least this theory gives us a desolate backcountry road to drive down toward a more satisfying conclusion.

Until then, we’ll have to try to find a way to always keep fighting. Raise your voices. Take action. Fight for each other. Fight for representation. Fight your demons and the monsters of this world. Fight injustice. Fight for the truth. Fight to be who you are, surrounded by your chosen family. Fight to tell your own story. We all deserve peace when we are done. So fight for it.

That’s what Sam, Dean, and Cas will would want us to do.

So carry on. And remember: you are not alone.

#Supernatural #SPN #SPNFamily #Destiel #Jensen #Jared #Misha #Supernatural Finale #SPNFinale

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axelsagewrites · 6 years

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Magnus Bane*Butterfly

Magnus Bane X depressed!Lightwood reader

This can either be platonic or romantic, not really specified.

Masterlist HERE

Wattpad HERE

Sometimes you just feel hopeless. Like everything is black and white, good and bad. It's not but it how I see things. Sometimes everything is numb, not even sad. I can pretend it's all fine, put on a fake smile and they’ll buy it. No one helps you till your bleeding. I'm begging for an alley, someone to understand. Little do they know it murdered the person they called a friend, sibling. I'm not who I used to be, but they don’t care, not if I stay quiet. As long as everything looks picture perfect its fine. Izzy is my best friend but cant sees how I'm drowning inside. Its like I've been thrown overboard into a deep sea of nightmares but she doesn’t seem to realise. I can't blame her, I’m a good liar. I have to be. Alec and Jace don’t understand it either. I can't blame them. I shut myself out and put on a mask, a mask showing what they want to see. To them I’m a perfect sibling; I’m extroverted and loud for Izzy, serious and rational for Alec, and energetic and sarcastic for Jace. For mom and dad, I’m a devoted shadowhunter. For Max, I’m a manga lover, comic reader and training enthusiast who can teach him the ways of a shadowhunter. To them, I’m all these and happy. Except I'm not. None of them seems to realise I'm breaking inside. I hate clubbing but go for Iz, I want to take risks but don’t for Alec, I want to be lazy but Jace likes to train, I hate being a shadowhunter and I don’t understand manga. Why can't I read a normal book? Clary and Simon are new, I don’t expect them to see but why can't the rest of them tell. Everything is numb and I cant take it.

I decide to take a walk. Its past midnight but as an insomniac who can't sleep, this isn’t strange. My family lies sleeping in their beds while I laid awake in a bed of emptiness, sadness and anger. I don’t know what at, only that my veins feel like their on fire and my thoughts are drowning me. I like to go for walks through me stuttering kneecaps may give out at any moment. Guess that's what happens when you don’t eat dinner and train for an hour, or three. I somehow end up on a bridge. I walk over to the side of the bridge and lean against it, staring into the water. Will I ever live up? Will I ever outdo myself? Get better? The bar gets higher and higher while the platform I stand on crumbles. I'm so absorbed in my own thoughts I don’t hear the warlock approaching me. I don’t realise he’s even there until he places his hand on my shoulder. I flinch and turn to look at him. Magnus. It's strange seeing him, I barely know him. “What are you doing out this late, butterfly?” “Thinking,” I say it emotionless and staring back into the water. I don’t know why he calls me a butterfly, is more like a moth. His face seems concerned but I don’t turn. “About?” he presses. “Nothing, its fine.” I give a tight-lipped smile and turn to him. I begin to walk away but he grabs my wrist. “I don’t want to be a burden, truly.” I pull my arm away and keep walking. I hear his footsteps follow me but I just look forward. I cant face anyone, I'm too tired to lie, to numb to care. “Everything is temporary,” I hear Magnus call after me. I stop and so did he, though I didn’t turn. “Whatever you’re feeling can end.” I look over my shoulder at him. “Easy for you to say,” I whisper. I walk over to the railing again and he follows. “I cant help if you don’t tell me.” “I don’t want your help!” I explode, causing him to flinch back. “Why do you even care? I'm fine, theirs nothing wrong.” “Really?” He asks. I nod my head with an annoyed look on my face. “You expect me to believe that? What were you thinking about back there?” He challenged me. “What did you mean you don't want to be a burden? What would-“ He kept questioning me and I cant handle it. “you of done if I walked passed you?” “Jumped!” I yell. “I would’ve fucking jumped. Is that what you want to know? That I cant handle it anymore? That I’m sick of wearing a mask? Of pretending? Of lying? Do you want to know I'm still awake because I feel like I don’t deserve sleep and even if I did I cant? Is that what you want to hear? How I'm fucked?” I run my hands through my hair and brush to salty tears from my cheeks. “Is that what you want?” I whimper. “No. I mean yes, I don’t know.” He stumbled over his words. “Its always better to be honest though I wish you didn’t feel like that.” “Why do you care?” I whisper coldly. “Seeing someone who cares so much for others, not caring for themselves isn’t a good thing. I've been where you’ve been and it's not fun. We handle it differently but I get it.” “How do you cope?” I cant look at him. not when I’m like this. He sighed. “At first I drank. I drank it all away and did things I'm not proud of. I would find anything to distract me from it.” He paused and I nodded along to what he said. “But then I realised,” he continued. “That when I was sober it was worse. Drinking was only a distraction, not a solution. And I've learned, through a long life full of mistakes and fuck-ups, that the only way to get over it is to face it head-on.” I furrowed my brows. What the hell does he mean? “You’ve got to ask yourself, why are you letting the depression win?” I flinched at his words. I've always been too scared to be diagnosed, even if I was the shadowhunters wouldn’t care. “and then you’ve got to talk about it. And be honest. You’re not being a burden (Y/N). if you want to get better then you need honesty.” “I cant.” “You can.” He rested his hand, gently on my shoulder. “And you will. I cant make you but I like to think I'm a good judge of character and that you will. Maybe not straight away but I think you’ll be brave enough to face your demons straight on, just like in battle.” “I don’t want to face my demons or any other ones.” Magnus raised his eyebrow at that and I sighed. “I don’t want to be a shadowhunter. It terrifies me. Death is part of the job.” “That’s something you should be talking about, (Y/N). it's not a bad thing, only different.” I sighed but it soon turned into a yawn. “You should get some sleep. It could help.” He suggested. “I-I've got insomnia,” I admitted, looking at the ground. I had always been told to just count some sleep and get over it. “I cant sleep.” “I could get you a potion?” he offered. I sighed. “It's not just that. I-I hate sleeping in that place. Theirs too many bad memories.” He went quiet for a few seconds. “If you would like,” he started slowly. “You could crash in my spare room. if you think it may help.” I stayed silent. “if the institute makes it worse, I'm not letting you go back there. Not when you’re like this. But you need sleep.” I nodded. “I’ll come with you.” He gave me a reassuring smile. “But only for tonight.” “Only tonight.” “I just need a quick nap, then I’ll be fine.” I don’t know who I’m talking to, him or me?

“Do you want to borrow some PJs?” Magnus offered, shutting the door behind him. I nodded. “Take a seat.” He directed me to his sofa. “I’ll be back in a moment.” I sat down and brought my legs to my chest. I rested my head on my knees. Sleep was quickly gaining on me. Probably as I hadn’t slept in 3 days.

3rd Pov Magnus walked back into his living room holding a baggy shirt and shorts only to see (Y/N) already asleep. Magnus sighed and brushed their w=hair of their forehead. “Goodnight.” The warlock whispered. Magnus carried (Y/N) to the spare room and laid them in bed. Magnus didn’t understand why it was the most precious people who were the most broken. The warlock looked at the shadowhunter before he left the room. He’d originally given them the nickname butterfly because he thought it was nice but it was only now he realised how perfect the name was. Thinking back Magnus tried to remember all the things butterflies used to symbolise; Time Soul Growth Elegance Expansion Transition Vulnerability (Y/N) was a vulnerable soul but with time Magnus knew they would transition and grow into an elegant and beautiful soul. (Y/N) really was a butterfly.

#shadowhunters #shadowworld #shadowhunter cast #shadowhunter imagine #shadowhunters imagine #Magnus Bane #MagnusBane #magnus x reader #magnus bane imagine #lightwood reader

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fics-4-all · 6 years

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Pretty Sure Its Me pt 4 (Clean)

NOTE: No smut in this chapter HOWEVER there is death and depression mentioned here

-Y/N POV- I was shocked into silence for the rest of my shift, barely paying attention to what I was doing. It wasn't until later that night, when Bucky was plaiting my hair, that I finally said something.

“Why do you have to go? Why can't just Steve go? He's the one who is genetically engineered!”

His hands slipped from my hair as I turned around

“I'm part of his team, doll. I go wherever he goes. It's my job.”

With a gentle sigh, I buried my face in his shirt and let out a soft sob. His arms were wrapped tightly around me, holding me close and comforting me. He slowly leaned back to be laying down. My breathing slowly returned to normal as my tears subsided.

“I just can't lose you, James. I wouldn't be able to survive.”

“I'll never leave you baby doll. Never in a million years,” he whispered

His rhythmic heartbeat eventually helped to lull me to sleep.

The next few days passed in a blur as we prepared and left for Germany. It seemed that Bucky didn't ever leave my side. I was extremely grateful for his patience with me throughout the transition.

It was our third night in Germany and we were staying in a swanky hotel until we received contact from the new camp. I was curled on the bed reading a recently published medical book when Bucky stood and stretched.

“I'm really looking forward to a nice, hot shower. Care to join me?” He pulled his shirt over his head

“Are you propositioning me, James?” I closed my book and sat up a bit

“Perhaps I am, doll. I've been thinking about you so much lately. And how crazy you drive me. And how badly I want to start a family with you…” he leaned over me and kissed me softly

“We’ve been trying for years, Buck… Perhaps we should give up?”

“Never.” he picked me up and carried me to the bathroom

~~~~~~~~~

After being at the camp for about a week, they finally got a hit on Hydra headquarters. Nothing made me more nervous than knowing that Bucky and Steve were about to go up against a whole army. I stayed with Bucky every single night until it was time for them to march out. I cried heavily as he hugged me goodbye.

“I won't be gone long, doll. I'll be back before you know it.” he kissed the top of my head

“I'm worried about you...I don't want you to go.”

“I have to my love. I'll see you soon” He gently removed my arms from around his waist and took a step back. A sad smile was plastered on his face as he followed Steve out of camp.

Peggy squeezed my shoulder “They won't be gone long. They'll be here with us again soon.”

I hugged her tightly “I'm going to go lay down”

My tent felt empty without Bucky here with me. I changed into warmer bedclothes and climbed under the scratchy blankets, pulling them high up to my chin. My nose nuzzled against Bucky's pillow, breathing in as much of his scent as I could. I closed my eyes tightly to say a quick prayer.

‘Please. Please let both of my boys remain unharmed.’

Eventually, I was able to drift off to sleep, my dreams being hopeful for their safe return.

We didn't hear anything from the squadron for almost two weeks. They had been able to build up an elaborate plan that would start in two days and they should be completed by the third. I was allowed a brief moment to tell both Steve and Bucky to stay safe and protect each other.

After the announcement, everyone was ushered back to their jobs. Peggy walked with me to the nursing tent and she was talking about how she liked Steve a lot but wasn't sure if he felt the same way. I teased her about that being nonsense since Steve Barely stopped talking about her. She blushed brightly before she dismissed herself to go back to the offices.

The days dragged before we got an incoming call from Steve.

“I have the Tesseract. Unfortunately, this plane is going down and if it crashes it could wipe out the whole country. I have to put this bird in the water…”

“No!” Peggy and I both screamed

“What about Bucky and I!” I tried reasoning with him

“Bucky is gone…” he cried “he was thrown from the train…”

I dropped to my knees and hung my head. I was locked in complete shock. Peggy tried convincing him to not drown the plane, but everything she said fell on deaf ears.

Bucky was gone. The love of my life left me too early, even though he said he wouldn't. We hadn't gotten our honeymoon; hadn't gotten to get a pet, or start a family. I didn't get to tell him I loved him, just one last time. I felt the tears on my hands before I even knew I was crying. My chest heaved with sobs and my shoulders shook. Peggy's arms went tight around me as she sobbed into my shoulder.

That's the last full memory I had before everything started to blur together. Days turned to weeks turned to months, and I haven't a single memory. It had been nearly four months before I heard about Stark wanting to run more tests; tests similar to what Steve went through. I rung Peggy and immediately told her to sign me up as a test subject. She nearly refused me but I wouldn't hear of it. Before I knew it we were on our way to Stark's lab slash compound.

“I can't believe you're going to do this. You're absolutely insane.”

“Best case scenario is I get super strength. Worst case scenario is I die. Which is also a best-case scenario.” I muttered without looking up from my lap

“How are you feeling? You've looked to gain a bit of tummy weight since I last saw you.” she tried to change the subject

“I've been fine. A bit ago I got sick with a tummy bug that left me with a very sensitive stomach, but once it passed I was starving.”

We fell into an awkward silence until we arrived on Stark's property. We were escorted inside and I was instructed to change into an itchy cloth dress and to wait until a doctor came in to speak with me. The painting on the wall didn’t hold my interest long enough to distract me the whole wait. I assumed I’d be meeting with just a regular doctor, so I was very thrown off when Howard Stark himself came in in a lab coat.

“Hello, sir.” I blanched

“Hello Y/N. How are you doing?” he put his hand on my shoulder

“Managing, I suppose.”

“Understandable. Mind if I ask you a few health questions?”

I nodded my head and he began listing numerous yes or no questions.

“Now, Y/N, when was your last menstruation?”

I paused for a minute because I had no idea “Ended a few weeks ago I think.”

“You think? You don’t know?”

“My time has all run together since Bucky died, sir. I couldn’t tell you if I ate dinner last night, let alone what it was.” I shook my head

He wrote something down then held his hand to help me stand. We walked down into the lab, where I was to be injected with a hand full of vials of serum and then put into a weird tube machine. I was prepped for injections and they were all done at once. I wince unwillingly feeling the fluid go through me. The steps to the machine seemed very quick and before I knew it they were shutting the door. A warning was shouted through the metal that it may hurt quite a bit.

Loud humming sounds began and a white light shone so brightly that I had no choice but to close my eyes. Then just like that, it was over. I blinked my eyes, stunned as I was helped out. My body felt the same and I couldn't help but frown. They checked my vitals and it was obvious that they were all a little disappointed.

Stark decided that I was to be kept in the compound so that they could continue checking my vitals and in a few days would be able to run more tests. It wasn't until several weeks later that something happened.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tag list: @part-time-patronus @slender--spirit

#pretty sure its me #Bucky Barnes #bucky imagine #bucky x reader

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danschkade · 7 years

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PAGE x PAGE ANALYSIS — ‘THE SHADOW STRIKES!’ #13 (1990)

PUBLISHED: DC Comics, October 1990

SCRIPT: Gerard Jones

PENCILS/INKS: Eduardo Barreto

LETTERS: John Workman

COLORS: Anthony Tollin

EDITORIAL: Brian Augustyn

THE SHADOW STRIKES! is high on my list of favorite ongoing series ever. As far as I’m concerned, of the many four-color iterations of The Shadow, this is the one that truly gets it right. The Shadow of STRIKES! is a lurking, manipulating hybrid of The Phantom of the Opera and John Wick, the action of the series playing out mainly through the perspectives of his agents and his criminal quarry. This book is tight, hard-edged, and restrained; it avoids a lot of hacky pulp comics pitfalls because it understands that the original Walter Gibson Shadow novels weren’t “trying to be pulpy” — they were trying to be lean, lurid action thrillers. This is almost entirely down to writer Gerard Jones, but it works better than anywhere else in the issues drawn by the artist that defined the look and feel of the series — Eduardo Barreto. STRIKES! sometimes suffers from being the type of lower budget 80’s/90’s DC book where the fill-in issues can be sloppy to unreadable and the truly great issues mainly succeed by virtue of being the product of creators who weren’t really being watched that closely, but that doesn’t mean I’m grading on some kind of a curve when I say the truly great issues are truly great.

Today, we’re looking at one of those issues — the second installment of an amazing four-part storyline that sees The Shadow, along with his most trusted agent Margo Lane and the begrudgingly complicit Inspector Cardona, taking his private war on crime from their habitual New York haunts to the streets of Chicago. In this analysis, I’ll be looking at how tightly Barreto’s pencils and inks hew to Jones’ script, and how the diligence of colorist (and Shadow historian) Anthony Tollin actively facilitates the near-seamless transitions between the plot’s many storylines. This is a full comic that never feels crowded, a dense comic that keeps light, and a very comic booky comic book that never loses sight of the emotional reality of what it’s depicting.

THE SHADOW STRIKES! #13 and all characters contained therein are property of DC Comics and/or Conde Nast Publications, reproduced here solely for educational purposes.

COVER

I love how conceptually simple this cover is. Graphic, understated buildings. A mostly obscured main character. Smoke and mist wafting around for a little atmosphere. There’s only one thing that’s clearly rendered — a tommy gun, unfired. The Shadow is usually depicted using handguns, so him holding this universal visual signifier for “MOB STORY” immediately lets you know what you’re in for. And that’s even without the blurb at the top. You wanna see The Shadow fight the Chicago Mob? I know I wanna see The Shadow fight the Chicago Mob.

PAGE ONE

Something THE SHADOW STRIKES! does particularly well is maintaining the balance between mainstream comic book sensibility and HBO subject matter without making either seem out of place. We open with a prime example — the hand acting in panels one through four clearly conveys uncomfortable reality of a woman having sex she doesn’t enjoy with a man she doesn’t like. This transitions to her reaching over to grab a cigarette and light up in panels five and six (along with the barb “what was even quicker than usual” for those in the back). This establishes her as our POV character for the scene, something every scene going forward will have in some form or another. The point of this opening scene is to establish bad guy mobster Anthony ‘Half-Step’ Sbarbarro as a detestable macho prick in his personal as well as professional life. By identifying with this woman, we share her lack of fulfillment and, soon, her ongoing victimization. We quickly learn to hate Half-Step by seeing him through her eyes. We also see a hint of a gun in a shoulder holster, in case you didn’t realize what kind of comic you’re about to read.

PAGE TWO

This page validates the bad feeling we got about Half-Step on the previous page. Not only so we establish the leg injury that gives him his nickname, we show how petty and violent he is. Note how loose his fingers are as he strikes her in panel four — it’s a casual, low-effort act in between tying his tie and pulling on his pants, and it absolutely demolishes her. Half-Step is a powerful man who callously uses that power to abuse those weaker than him. The scene ends on her, leaving us stewing in the emotional trauma Half-Step leaves behind him. Imagine a version of this scene that focuses on him instead of this nameless woman; his hands on the first page instead of hers, him walking out into the hall in this last panel instead of her crying into her pillow. One version of the scene encourages you to identify with Half-Step, or, jesus, maybe even thrill in his violent savoir faire. This other version shows him for the monster he is by humanizing the people around him.

PAGE THREE

Chick Heck — a dynamite name — catches us up on the events of the previous issue and shows us pictures of the main players so we’ll recognize them when we see them later. While Joe O’Hara is mainly just a quippy mannequin to help Chick with the recap, there’s some great staging between him and the showgirl in the first couple panels. She’s way too smart for him, and even though she’s constantly placed in positions of power in her panels (larger than him in panels one and three, walking past/in front of him in panel two) he just keeps checking out her legs with the unearned confidence of a white man with a little hair.

PAGE FOUR

More concise, well-written recapping, which Barreto livens up even further with a variety of camera angels and some cool lighting and drapery. We see Half-Step (who I keep accidentally and only quasi-understandably calling “Johnny Stomp” before correcting myself) near the end of the page, connecting this scene to the last and reminding us how much we would like for somebody to kill him. Chick does us a final narrative solid by setting us up for the next page with a great dramatic line.

PAGE FIVE

And now, after getting to know the distinct personalities and motivations of five characters across four pages, we get our title page. The Shadow stretches out onto the scene, speaking like goddamn Dracula and dressing the part. Between Barreto’s smoky effects* and Tollin’s icy, atmospheric coloring, The Shadow really feels like a different kind creature than anything else in the book. Also worth mentioning is John Workman’s great work on the issue’s title, with the rigid ‘B’ adding extra viciousness to the sketchy, violent ‘UTCHERS.’

*I was curious how exactly Barreto achieved this affect. I consulted with Jesse Hamm and Lukas Ketner, and the consensus is that Barreto probably drew these pages on coquille board, using graphite or lightly-applied colored pencil for the smaller areas of texture and watercolor sponge with white gouache, or possibly even just correction fluid, for the large smokey areas. If any collectors or collaborators of Mr. Barreto know otherwise, please let me know. I’m still curious.

PAGE SIX

This page does a great job of immediately changing the focus of the scene from The Shadow to old man Romanowski. The Shadow is a non-character who will never learn anything new about himself or struggle with a decision, so the drama of the series usually centers around how ‘normal’ people react to him. In this case, it’s the equally resolute Romanowski, whose whole motivation is neatly laid out in the first three panels. “And I will owe NOTHING... to NOBODY...Not even YOU,” Mr. Devil-Man With A Gun.

There’s a nice leftward motion as Romanowski tries to hustle this intruder out of his house, followed up by the overwhelming rightward motion of The Shadow as he silences the old man and makes his final pitch. This panel’s layout, its placement on the page, and even Tollin’s blue coloring all loosely mirror the Half-Step slap on page two; I think this is the first instance in the issue of the creative team setting up parallels between the two men. The Shadow also possesses a frightening degree of physical power, but he uses it carefully. He’s scary, but not dangerous. Or at least less dangerous. He’s not actively a woman-beater, how about that. The two panels in question, so you can draw your own conclusions:

Continuity note: the money on the floor in panel two carries over from the previous issue — Tad came to his father asking for money to pay out his gambling debts, and Romanowski, enraged at his son’s weakness, grabs glass jars containing his savings and smashes them to the floor, yelling “take it! Take it!” He uses jars because he doesn’t trust the banks — having his own money during the stock market crash was what allowed him to grow his business to what it is today. This goes further toward establishing that Romanowski sees himself as a man who doesn’t owe anything to anybody. This scene here doesn’t rely on that information, but it’s useful garnish, no?

PAGE SEVEN

Tad’s brief show of spine on the previous page immediately melts once The Shadow leaves — Barreto keeps him wobbling and weak while his father is still and resolute. The scene transitions from being about Romanowsky the senior to being about Tad, tears in his eyes as he speeds away. The last panel switches it again to the Shadow, watching silently from high above. Note how Barreto makes liberal use of the graphite shading, but leaves The Shadow’s hat and Tad’s car flat, highlighting them by omission. And man, how insane is this angle? We somehow see the train and the car at the same time without it feeling forced. The complexity of the El Tracks The Shadow’s hanging on might at first seem punishingly complicated, but I think it’s actually the parallel beams of that structure that makes the warped perspective visually legible in the first place. Using something difficult to depict something impossible. Eduardo Barreto. I tell ya.

PAGE EIGHT

This page gives us what I like to call ‘an artificial action beat.’ The Shadow catching a ride on this train is hardly a conventional action set piece, but it’s a splashy, physically extraordinary Thing That Is Happening and it breaks up a couple of dialogue-heavy scenes. It also gives us a private moment from The Shadow, helping us like him as our macroprotagonist by seeing him successfully doing something difficult. How do we know it’s difficult? The acting in his face in panel two, plus the fact that he loses his hat. On some level we know he can’t fly or teleport, but seeing him actually have to put effort into getting around helps us identify with him, without sacrificing too much of his mystery.

At the bottom of page: the return of shaky Tad. Jones does a good job of keeping small NPC type characters around, like the singer in panel four, making their Chicago feel full. It’s easy for large-cast crime comics like this to start to feel like the only people in the world are the people involved in the case in question; bizarrely, this can actually serve to make the case seem less important. What’s so bad about bad guys if there’s no society at large to be threatened by them?

PAGE NINE

Georgie Katomeris’ office (containing Georgie, Tad and Half-Step) and Frank Nitty’s drawing room (containing Nitti, Jake Guzik, and Half-Step again after some passage of time) are indistinguishable from each other as Barreto draws them, but are still kept distinct by three things. One is Jones’ dialogue — the ellipsis in that precedes Nitti’s panel three dialogue indicates a jump in time. Another is Nitti’s smoking jacket — he wouldn’t be going out in it, so we must have changed locations from the office to his private residence. The last and most effective is Tollin’s coloring — the grey of George’s office gives way to the green walls of Nitti’s drawing room. I admit this transition felt abrupt to me at first read, but these three clues let me easily find my footing again.

PAGE TEN

We spent the first two pages of the issue showing Half-Step to be detestable; now we show him to be truly dangerous. His patience and planning further draw him into parallel with The Shadow — having him tell a story that essentially ends with “I could have killed the President of the United States but didn’t want to because of my deeply held principles” does a great job of showing us his crazy ego and, more importantly, his ambition. The point of the end of this scene is clear: this is not someone who’ll willingly stay in a subordinate role forever. But he’s not just going to throw his weight around. He’s going to be smart about it. Note how he goes from very small in panel five, cut off by the top of the panel, to large in panel six, crowding Nitti into the corner.

PAGE ELEVEN

Half-Step dominates his half of the page. The heavy shadowing on his face in panel three indicates there’s something dark going on in his mind. The other half of the page is all about The Shadow. We finally have the two of them in the same location here, with the Shadow placed in a position of power — the low angle of his glory shot in panel five, the fact that Half-Step doesn’t know he’s being watched. They’re even sort of almost facing each other down, with Half-Step facing left in panel three and the Shadow creeping in towards the right in panel five. But like Half-Step, The Shadow won’t just smash in guns ablaze— he’s playing a longer game. This page really sets them up as worthy enemies, with a lot of good, or at least better, people caught in the metaphorical crossfire between them.

PAGE TWELVE

Here we finally catch up with Inspector Cardona, Brenda Shield, and Margo Lane, who Chick Heck introduced us to by proxy in his earlier scene. This page has what for my money is the only real misstep this issue makes; although Margo and Cardona are both name-checked on this page, Brenda is not, and it’s been so long since the Heck scene that it’s asking a lot of the readers to remember her by sight — especially since there isn’t really much going on with her design to visually distinguish her, big polka dot bow or not. That said, this page does still somehow manage to give us that cool, spacious three-panel sequence of Cardona walking away from the ladies only to be waylaid by The Shadow while still leaving room for a nice big ‘Identify With This Character Please’ shot of Margo in the penultimate panel. Jones also manages to give us clear ideas of both Margo and Cardona’s characters, their dynamic with each other, AND their individual dynamics with the Shadow while he’s at it. Lastly, I like Tollin’s choice to give Margo a Green color scheme, making her instantly as visually distinct in the issue as the Shadow in his blacks and reds. For a page that makes the issue’s one arguable mistake, it sure does a hell of a lot right.

PAGE THIRTEEN

Half-Step is back, haunting the plot just like the Shadow does. Seems to be a theme of men preying on women in this issue — let’s keep an eye on that going forward. Note how much real estate on the page is given up, letting the panels float around; this is used in the top half to separate Half-Step from the other guys in the car, painting his “Like I’m gonna break this city down” line as an unthinking quasi-crazy utterance, as well as to separate Margo and Brenda from the gossiping nightclub crowd in the bottom half.

PAGE FOURTEEN

Here we explain Brenda’s stakes in this scene. Even if you don’t empathize with her high-society worries, it’s worth noting that Jones has made clear through action and dialogue that every character in every scene has something they want, need, and/or fear, and Brenda is no exception. Tollin draws attention to the dreaded encroachment of gossip in the last panel with a change in background color from a neutral yellow to a threatening orange.

Now, bear in mind, Margo might be genuinely supportive here, but all of what he’s saying about herself is a lie. There is no Dick. She's never met the Hartes. She’s working Brenda as per the Shadow’s orders — she and her fellow agents are basically Ocean’s Eleven if Danny Ocean decided to start dressing like Doctor Sax and fighting crime, and if that means pulling a hustle on a pie-eyed heiress, then I guess that’s just what's on the agenda for the evening.

(Fun personal trivia: This comic came out the month my girlfriend was born. She also sort of has the face Barreto gives most women he draws. Coincidence? One wonders.)

PAGE FIFTEEN

Margo is the only person in this issue who gets an internal monologue, which she uses here to reveal the way her charade chafes, but also the freedom she feels from being anonymous, from being unconnected to her past mistakes. So, of course, enter: the man who knows all her secrets, here to spoil her reverie. This scene takes place in the ladies room — another example of a man trespassing against a woman, except that while our gangsters are doing it for personal gain, the Shadow (here unsexed and dehumanized to the point of being almost a silhouette) does it in service of his theoretically higher calling. He dominates panel four, almost encircling her. Margo’s body language tells it all — not afraid, but very uncomfortable. We keep the scene in her perspective by cutting from the Shadow in panel five to Brenda in panel six, both more or less in her literal point of view. Note again how Barreto employs negative space above and below the final panel to create a zoom-in effect on Brenda’s eyes.

PAGE SIXTEEN

More Big Sister Margo; see how she controls Brenda’s body in panels one through three. Half-Step is inside now — I think we’re supposed to infer that he’s responsible for loosing the rumor that’s upsetting Brenda. A slightly abstract example of a man invading a female space? I might be reaching, there.

Barreto does a great job of changing locations by making panel five a round panel with poor Joe Cardona on the right of the frame, contrasting with Half-Step’s leftward placement in the square panel opposite. Tollin helps with a cold color shift. The last panel might not seem like it does a lot, but it actually sets up two things for later in the issue: One is that it makes for the second time we see The Shadow and Cardona together, so when we see them together again at the end of the issue it benefits from a satisfying ‘rule of threes’ thing. The other is that it sets up one of The Shadow’s later appearances — I’ll touch on why this was necessary when it comes up.

PAGE SEVENTEEN

A great falling line of action as Tad stumbles and falls across the top four panels. Employing steadily lengthening panels like this is something Barreto does so well, and here it has the side benefit of giving Half-Step room to really loom over Tad in panel four. Meanwhile, I’m glad Half-Step’s poor, mistreated girlfriend had a good lay. She deserves it.

PAGE EIGHTEEN

Barreto is so good at clothing and drapery that you start to take it for granted — and then you remember it all over again when he draws a disheveled suit like the one Tad’s stuffed into. As soon as Nitti shuffles Tad out of the apartment, Half-Step’s attention turns to the woman. We get super close to him, the rendering becomes denser, meaner. Tollin even gives him an angry rage-flush. He’s huge in panel four, crowding her to the edge of the frame. His dialogue transverses panel five into panel six, implying he’s following her as she tries to get away from him. The final panel puts us back in her shoes, as Half-Step’s rage is directed straight at us.

PAGE NINETEEN

Panel one to panel two is the kind of cut we don’t see much in comics, despite it being incredible effective. We get the point of her abuse without — man, I guess the phrase I want to use is cheapen it by showing it explicitly on the page. Clearly implying something and then cutting away can be even more effective than showing it outright. If we were to see this scene play out, we’d still know in the backs of our heads that this is, essentially, a superhero comic, and that it’d be possible that when we turned the page, The Shadow might show up to save this woman. When the scene is over and the hero never appears, we might be left wondering, “Christ, then what was the point of seeing all that?” This method here conveys what happened with a haunting finality, but without any creepy exploitation.

On a characterization front, the thread that culminates in this scene is massive. Half-Step treats this woman like an appliance, but claims he’d kill any man who touched her. He actively entraps her into this weird “gotcha” self-cuckold and then punishes her for falling for it. This shows us so much about the depth of his bizarre self-loathing, his warped pride, the outright evil of him. And yet, again, staging these as events in her life keeps her from being just a prop to let us know how super duper bad this story’s bad guy is. She has an internal life outside of him. This all actually makes these displays of his violence more effecting because we’re seeing its effects on a “real person,” not just some Real Doll who doubles as a speedbag.

Note also how well panel two and the butcher hanging up the cow in panel three frames the interaction between Romanowski and his debtor, Karl. Size continues to equal power as we get the huge foregrounded gangster (rendered into one monotone shape by Tollin’s colors) making the bright, full-figured Romanowsky look smaller and more vulnerable than he realizes.

PAGE TWENTY

The empty room in panel one gives us a moment to breathe as we head into a tense scene. At the same time, we know we’re getting close to the end of the issue, so an entire panel dedicated to an empty room makes us slightly nervous — we’re aware we’re running out of time. Which, by design or by happenstance, is the Shadow’s point at the end of the page. Tad is consistently rendered in a clear, clean comic book style, while The Shadow is rendered in planes of light and darkness, making him seem elemental, powerful, spectral.

PAGE TWENTY ONE

This is the best page in this comic. I lost my mind when I saw this page. It’s AWESOME. Look at how well rendered Romanowski is in panel one. The oppressive dark architecture in panel two, drawing the eye to the small, bright Romanowski. That unnecessary but oh so cool-looking graphic black-out in panel three. The hatching on Romanowski in panel four. The callback to Half-Step’s leg injury, set up nearly twenty pages ago. The cascade of action across those last three panels. Tollin’s colors across the whole damn thing. I love this page. This page is why they have comic books.

PAGE TWENTY TWO

Look at Romanowski’s face in panel one, highlighted by the falling glasses. The FURY. The reveal of Half-Step is so pat, so understated. The little throw-away line to himself further cements him as a bona fide evil psycho criminal — one more reason we want to see him go down. The circular panel inside the square field of panel five, a technique I can’t ever remember seeing before, gives the impression that a notable amount of time has passed since the glasses fell — glasses that Barreto made sure to pointedly re-establish as a visual signifier for old man Romanowski in these last few pages.

So, The Shadow shows up late. This is why it was important to set up The Shadow’s intent to see Romanowski in that panel at the end of page sixteen; to have The Shadow appear too late would come off as arbitrary, or even as an intentional delay on his part, if we hadn’t established The Shadow’s intentions beforehand. Or, put more simply: in order to show a character failing at something, you have show they were trying to accomplish that thing in the first place — especially when so much work has gone into conveying that character’s competence.

PAGE TWENTY THREE

The Shadow respects Romanowski’s principles. Of all the characters in this story, the two of them are the most alike in that regard. But while Romanowski was a stubborn old butcher and easy prey for Half-Step and his guys, The Shadow is an unkillable psychic murder man.

Panel two is full of space, both geographic and negative, giving us another much needed moment of breathing room. All the gangsters present have distinctive color cues, easily letting us get a feel for the size of the gathering as opposed to an amorphous clutch of same-colored “GANGSTERS (tm),” which often happens in comic book scenes depicting groups of men in suits. They can become like zebras if you don’t take the time to make him distinct, as they are here. Half-Step’s buggy zooms into panel four from beyond the page, a nice way to emphasize that the vehicle is coming at them from out of nowhere.

PAGE TWENTY FOUR

The tommy gun EXPLODES through panel one, dissolving the panel border itself. Those carefully color-coded mobsters from the previous page all catch bullets, which wouldn’t mean as much to the reader if they weren’t distinct from one another. “A bunch of gangsters got shot” becomes “several men were brutally murdered by machine gun fire.” Said gunfire chases Guzik from left to right in panel three — note the diagonal line that tracks his presence in panels two, three, and four, making his plunge to the ground in panel four seem like an extension of his movement in the other panels, even though the they happen on radically different parts of the page. Barreto keeps the same angle on Guzik in panels four and six, cementing him as the lone survivor of this drive-by and the default POV character for the scene. Or, to put in visually:

This is some seriously solid craft.

PAGE TWENTY FIVE

The Shadow is HUGE on this page. This drawing of him the biggest thing in the entire comic — the same size as he is on the cover. He bookends this story, dominating it. Cardona’s fear and uncertainly help sell the terrifying finals words of his boss, seen here in full on What-If-Hannibal-Lecter-was-Batman mode. This drive-by was easily the biggest act of violence in the issue, and the heavy blacks of The Shadow on this last page emphasizes him as this dark presence bringing doom to the Chicago mob. This page cements what we can expect from the next issue: The Shadow’s done his ground work. He’s ready to start making some moves.

FINAL THOUGHTS

Despite having three more pages than your typical modern comic, the page for page action is always dense and well-paced. Every scene feels necessary and the story never lingers long on any one place or character, and yet it never feels overstuffed or rushed. It takes time for some impressive visuals to break up the action, but never to the point of self-indulgence. There’s always something happening, even in a scene that basically boils down to ‘Two women go a club and a third woman talks shit.’ I talk a lot about Barreto — and I would, he remains one of the best artists of all time — but I don’t think enough can be said for Jones’ masterful pacing and lean yet conversational dialogue. These are two creators at the top of their game, with a solid coloring/lettering/editorial team backing their play. Almost thirty years after its publication, there’s still a lot to learn and even more to admire in these pages. This is definitely the kind of read that makes me want to up my game.

When possible, I’ll be placing links at the end of these so you can buy better copies of the comics I’m analyzing with out my words getting in the way.

Retroactively, here’s Comixology links for the comics I covered in my first two reviews:

BATMAN: GOTHAM ADVENTURES #17

PETER PARKER: SPIDER-MAN #13

As far as I can tell, THE SHADOW STRIKES! has never been collected in print, nor does Comixology doesn’t carry it, so I’ll link to another great Shadow story by someone else who really understands the material: Matt Wagner’s GRENDEL vs THE SHADOW, with Brennan Wagner on colors. I’ll also throw in a link to another Eduardo Barreto DC comic I’ve always dug, written by this issue’s editor, Brian Augustyn: BATMAN: MASTER OF THE FUTURE.

As always, feel free to check me on any mistakes I might have made, add your own commentary, or share similar examples of good comics done well. I’ll be back next week with a different comic to peruse.

#The Shadow #The Shadow Strikes!#Analysis #Educational Purposes #comics #pulp #DC Comics #Eduardo Barreto #Gerard Jones

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