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wowbright · 2 years

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Fic: Your Heart’s Been Aching

Klaine/CC Valentine's Challenge: Day 14 prompt song, Never Gonna Give You Up by Rick Astley

Words: ~10,600 words

Rating: Mature

Summary: Kurt has an explicit dream, Blaine gets sick, and new converts just keep coming their way.

A vignette in my Mormon!Klaine universe. This one takes place right after Flat Tire.

My Mormon!Klaine Masterpost. (Start with that if you’re new, not this.)

Notes: (1) Thanks to @gleefulpoppet for the beautiful mockup of Kurt’s consecrated oil vial! (2) Thank to everyone who answered my question about where Holly Holliday attended college! (3) I included a reference to every single line of the prompt. Some of the references are exact quotes, some of them are close, and in a few cases … you’ll see. (4) Mature because sexual fantasies, self-exploration, and shame. (5) Warning: a character gets sick to his stomach. (6) As always, I welcome questions, typo identification, feedback on German spelling/grammar, and encouragement!

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Kurt’s blessings just kept multiplying. At the bike shop, they got to talking with the mechanic, a French guy with prosthetic thumbs. He tolerated Kurt’s attempts to practice French with him, and was intrigued by the fact that kids their age were tooling around Ingolstadt in full suits—which opened the door to talking about the church.

Henri St. Pierre, as his name turned out to be, had somehow never met a Mormon missionary before. But he was intrigued by the idea that they had scriptures in addition to the Bible, and was stoked when they offered to leave him a copy of the Book of Mormon.

“Do they have this in French, too? I can read German, but it’s not as natural to me.” Henri asked, flipping through the pages. Kurt had marked the story about the Anti-Nephi-Lehis burying their weapons of war when Henri had mentioned his pacifist leanings, and the part about the Nephites and Lamanites sharing all things in common because of his socialist ones.

“Of course!” Elder Anderson said excitedly. “We have some French copies back in our apartment. We could drop one off your next shift?”

Henri genuinely lit up at the offer.

God truly didn't care what Kurt got up to in the shower, apparently.

“And here, for your bikes.” Henri jogged over to a large wooden workbench and opened up a drawer from the plastic hardware chest, withdrawing two small slips of paper. “You wouldn’t get this from any other guy at the shop.” He handed one slip to each of the missionaries. Kurt realized they weren't paper; they were stickers of bulbous-nosed characters from a comic book that he'd seen on newsstands: one short man with yellow hair and a winged helmet, and an enormous shirtless man in blue-and-white striped pants and orange braids.

“Who are these guys?” Elder Anderson asked.

“You don't know Asterix and Obelix?” asked Henri in horror.

“I've seen them around. But—” Kurt thought about how to phrase this. It didn't make for good proselytizing to tell people that you weren't allowed to read anything but scriptures and church publications. He'd made that mistake early in his mission, and it tended to freak investigators out. Their next question usually was Are you a cult? “I've never seen this comic in the United States.”

“What childhoods Americans must have,” Henri said. Kurt couldn't tell if he was joking or sincere. “It’s just silly stories about Gauls fighting against the Roman Empire with the help of magic. Read it, and you will understand Europe.”

Elder Anderson literally skipped next to his bike as they made their way back to the path. “Three new investigators already this afternoon! I never knew a tire blowout could be such a blessing. What do you think we should do with those stickers, though? I don't want to disappoint Henri and not put them on the bikes, because then he might notice the next time we come to see him. But we are supposed to keep them looking professional.”

“I'm not saying I condone this behavior, but I knew a missionary once who had an entire collection of vinyl stickers on the underside of his bicycle crossbeam,” Kurt said. “None of us even knew they were there until it was time for him to go back to the States and he had to spend the evening peeling them off one by one so he could sell it to the next missionary coming along.”

Elder Anderson grinned. “I like that. Like making your own private museum collection that only you know about. Everyone should be allowed to have a harmless secret like that.”

Kurt was glad Elder Anderson thought so, and when it came time to shower that night, Kurt was tempted to once again enjoy the benefits afforded by his companion’s blithe endorsement of personal privacy. But he had told himself, prior to his successful experiment, that he couldn’t immediately jump into doing it every single day. The act should be functional, not self-indulgent. And though this type of restraint might not keep every wet dream away—he'd been averaging five a week lately, which was just insane—he wanted to err on the side of caution.

His caution was not rewarded. By Murphy’s Law, Kurt had another wet dream that night. It started out benignly. The skylight was stuck and Elder Anderson, instead of standing on the bed, got the idea that Kurt should hoist him up. Only he didn't let Kurt hoist him. He started climbing him like a tree, wrapping his legs around Kurt and shimmying up with full body thrusts.

“This isn’t working,” Kurt said.

“Yes, it is,” said Elder Anderson, thrusting again.

“It’s not.”

“Don’t tell me you’re too blind to see.”

Suddenly, Kurt saw.

And then they were kissing, hard and desperate, and they were in Elder Anderson's bed, his warm body moving beneath Kurt’s, his legs wrapped tight around Kurt’s waist, his mouth murmuring sweet words, his pelvis thrusting, thrusting, thrusting.

Kurt was thrusting, too, but he couldn't tell whether he was thrusting against Elder Anderson or inside him. Not that it mattered. Elder Anderson was moaning and begging and dragging his fingernails down Kurt’s back and telling him how good he felt, his body and his cock and his everything. “I’ve gotta make you understand, Elder Hummel,” and with a sharp thrust Kurt was definitely inside him, everything so tight and hot, and Elder Anderson falling apart beneath him—“My heart’s aching, my heart’s been aching for you, Kurt, fix it, please”—and now they were somehow upright again, reaching for the skylight, and kissing, kissing, with teeth and tongue, and Elder Anderson spearing himself desperately onto Kurt’s erection. “Harder,” he murmured. “Harder, Kurt. Then we’ll reach the light.”

At least Kurt had been sleeping on his back when he came. His sheet didn't get wet, just his garments, which he stripped off and washed in the bathroom sink at 2 a.m.

Kurt’s priesthood leaders had always reassured him that he should never feel guilty for those dreams. And he didn’t, necessarily. The problem came when they seeped into his waking hours, when Kurt was standing in the bathroom with his soiled garments and still thinking about his companion's legs wrapped tightly around him and the bliss of being inside his body.

Kurt woke up groggy and crabby in the morning, and the day went downhill from there. If one were to judge proselytizing success on a scale of zero to ten, their morning felt like a negative seven. Their first appointment was with an itinerant investigator whose progress had been slow, but always forward. Today, however, before they even got to the prayer, he'd presented the missionaries with a ten-page handout on his investigations into church history. “I've decided not to get baptized, and this is why,” he said. “It's not personal. You've always been very kind to me, and I hope this information will help you the way it's helped me.”

After leaving, Kurt dropped it into the first recycling bin he could find.

“Elder Hummel, he worked hard on that!”

“And I've worked hard on my testimony. I won’t let some random investigator destroy it.”

“‘If we have the truth, it cannot be harmed by investigation. If we have not the truth, it ought to be harmed.’ J. Reuben Clark, apostle and first counselor.”

“Prophets sometimes speak as men,” Kurt answered crankily. He didn't have the energy to deal with new truth right now. He'd already been served up way too much of it in his dream the previous night. Sometimes a person just needed a break, an opportunity to float in their existing understanding before they reached for their next revelation.

They decided to do some dooring on the way to Henri’s bike shop. Somewhere around the second block, long before any missionary had a right to start wearing out, Elder Anderson began complaining about a “a mild stomachache” and kept wistfully declaring how a piece of gum would be the perfect thing to settle it.

“It might be,” Kurt snapped at the fourth mention of gum—possibly because he had been craving it on and off for almost twice as long as Elder Anderson had been a missionary. “But you know the rules and so do I. No gum.”

Instead of getting upset, Elder Anderson looked grateful for the reminder. “You're right. There's no point in lamenting about it. I'll grab some ginger ale on our way home if it's still bugging me by then.”

They were just half a block from the bike shop when Elder Anderson looked into his bag and went pale. “I grabbed the wrong one.”

“Wrong what?”

Elder Anderson pulled a Book of Mormon out of his bag. “I grabbed an Italian one, not a French one.”

Kurt let out a huff of annoyance. The day had been a complete waste so far, and now they had to waste more time by going back to the apartment to get the right scriptures for Henri. At least he wasn't expecting them at a specific hour.

“I’m so sorry, Elder Hummel.” Elder Anderson’s expression was like that of a puppy who had been scolded. “I never want to let you down.”

Kurt softened. “We’ve all made mistakes, Elder Anderson. We’ll just hurry as fast as we can back to the apartment and then come back here.”

Kurt tried to set a speedy pace, but Elder Anderson was dragging. The paleness that had washed over him when he’d realized he had the wrong Book of Mormon never quite left him. His skin looked sallow and ashen, even at the end of their ten-minute ride home and a walk up five flights of stairs. “It’s okay, Elder Anderson. Really. It's just a little more running around than we planned to do. But we're still fairly on schedule. We haven’t deserted Henri.”

“It’s not that,” Elder Anderson said, his voice barely above a whisper. “I think I have food poisoning.”

Blaine ran to the bathroom just in time for the entire contents of his stomach to land in the toilet.

“Elder Anderson? Elder Anderson!” Elder Hummel appeared in the doorway, his face wrinkled in concern.

“No,” Blaine muttered. Elder Hummel couldn't see him this way. He couldn't see what Blaine had just emptied into the toilet. He reached for the handle, but his arm suddenly felt like jelly and collapsed next to him before he could manage to flush the toilet.

It was so embarrassing. He was sitting on the bathroom floor with puke and tears on his face—because throwing up never didn’t make Blaine cry for some weird reason—and Elder Hummel was looking right at the whole mess.

Elder Hummel flushed the toilet without inspecting too closely, thank goodness. “I'm not going to ask you if you're okay, because clearly you're not—”

Oh, no. There was more. How could there be more? Blaine couldn’t tell Elder Hummel to go away because his esophagus was pressing too hard into his windpipe and—

He puked again.

“Oh, honey.” Elder Hummel kneeled next to Blaine on the floor and rubbed his back. “It’s okay. Get it out.”

Blaine could only nod his head and pitch forward again for one final hurrah. He heaved until nothing else came out. It was so gross. He was so gross. “I’m sorry,” he sobbed, trying to crawl away from his companion.

Elder Hummel grabbed him and reeled him in, offering his shoulder as a place for Blaine to rest his head. “Don’t say that, please. you're sick. Here, can you sit up on your own for a second?”

“I think so?”

Elder Hummel guided Blaine to lean against the wall, then got up and reached into the IKEA shelf unit under the sink for a washcloth. He wetted it under the faucet. “Let’s get you cleaned up,” he said, lowering himself to one knee and pressing the washcloth to Blaine’s face, wiping his disgusting mouth clean.

Apparently, Blaine must have muttered something to that effect, because, “There’s nothing to be embarrassed about, elder,” were the next words out of Elder Hummel's mouth. “If anyone should be embarrassed, it's me. I clearly wasn't reading the signs. I should have been paying closer attention to you.”

“I didn't think it was this bad. Not until we were almost home.”

“Well, now we both know what’s been going on with you today. Next time you pine after gum three times in a row, I'll know it's an emergency.”

Blaine let out a weak laugh.

It was a struggle getting Elder Anderson to bed. He was woozy and needed to be half-dragged, half-carried to the bedroom, and he barely had the strength to undress himself. Kurt had to help with his jacket and tie and even the buttons on his shirt—though, fortunately, he was able to manage his own pants, which he wriggled out of unceremoniously and dropped to the floor.

Now he was in nothing but his garments, which were damp with sweat. At least they were the wicking kind and would dry out on their own soon enough, so they wouldn't give Elder Anderson chills. The last thing Kurt wanted to worry about was helping his companion change his garments. Things were already bad enough. His companion was sick and weak, and Kurt nonetheless had to remind himself not to look at the bulge in the shorts and compare it to what he had felt sometimes in in his dreams, or the dark patch of private hair made visible by sweat.

“I should have let you have that gum,” Kurt lamented as he tucked Elder Anderson into bed. It was a relief to have the garments covered up.

“I don't think it would have helped.”

“Still.” Kurt patted the sheets snugly around his companion’s chest. “I shouldn't have snapped at you. You never complain. I should have known something was wrong.”

“Don’t beat yourself up about it.” Elder Anderson took Kurt’s hand and clasped it gently to his chest. “If there's anything to forgive, I've already forgiven you.”

With his free hand, Kurt stroked his companion’s hair back from his forehead. It was damp from sweat, but Elder Anderson didn't feel feverish. “How are you feeling now, anyway?”

“I think whatever was bothering my stomach is gone now. My digestion doesn't feel weird anymore. I'm just tired. And maybe a little thirsty.”

“I'll get you some water. Or diluted apple juice. Do you like that?”

Elder Anderson nodded solemnly. “That would be nice.”

Kurt moved to get up, but Elder Anderson held tight to his hand. “Kurt?”

Kurt should really tell Blaine not to call him that. It wasn’t P-day. But Blaine was sick and vulnerable, and Kurt didn't have the heart to correct him. “Yeah?”

Elder Anderson looked shyly at their joined hands. “Could I get a blessing, too?”

Something in Kurt’s chest went all fluttery and soft. “Of course.”

Kurt couldn't have been gone for more than a few minutes, but Blaine had already started to drift off by the time he returned. He blinked his eyes open at the sound of his companion’s familiar footsteps and smiled. “It’s you.”

“Who else would it be?” said Kurt, his voice as gentle and sweet as if he were singing a lullaby.

“I'm just glad it's you.” Blaine had felt so awful earlier, but now his heart felt warm. Kurt was so kind. Blaine should still feel embarrassed and like he was a burden for being sick, but Kurt made him feel like he was good and special and deserved to be taken care of.

“Here, let's see if you can sit up a little and have a sip, and then I'll give you your blessing.” Kurt sat down on the bed next to Blaine and propped him up, letting Blaine use him as a backrest, and held the cup to his lips. The cold, watered-down apple juice and the solidity of Kurt’s body felt like a balm.

A blessing of healing wasn't the same as a blessing of comfort and counsel. It had a more singular focus. But it still felt personal, being dabbed with the oil and with Kurt’s hands resting on his head. Blaine wished Kurt would put his hands there more often, not just when Blaine was getting a blessing or when Spinnenkatze moved back next door.

Kurt blessed Blaine with vigor and strength, with patience to heal, with wisdom to listen to his own body.

There was something about those words: “wisdom to listen to your own body.” They felt much bigger than this one illness. Blaine hadn't listened well to his own queasy stomach this afternoon; if he'd been paying better attention, he would have known it was bad as soon as he'd started whining for gum. And it felt to Blaine like maybe this was a pattern, though he couldn't put his finger on why. He just got the sense that ignoring himself, ignoring his discomfort, ignoring what his body was trying to tell him—these were old habits of his, so ingrained that he didn't even recognize them.

Patience, too—everyone thought Blaine was patient, but it wasn't true. He could be patient with cats and investigators and little children, but when it came to himself, he got so frustrated sometimes. He hated to disappoint other people, and when he failed them, he got so angry at himself for not being the man he ought to be, for not having progressed as far in the gospel as he would need to by the time he got to heaven. It was silly. He was only nineteen. He couldn't be perfect. But for some reason, he felt like he was supposed to be, that any failure meant he wasn't working hard enough or being valiant enough. He didn't give himself the same grace that he extended to others, and that he knew in his heart of hearts his Savior was willing to extend to him.

“In the name of Jesus Christ, amen,” Kurt said, and lifted his hands from Blaine’s head.

God had spoken to Blaine so perfectly through his companion. His perfect, worthy companion, so in tune with the Spirit and helping Blaine feel closer to it every day. “I love you, Kurt.”

Kurt smiled—that special smile he saved for when they were alone together, in private, in the presence of the Spirit. It was sweet, compassionate, and vulnerable, and it was only for Blaine. “I love you, too, Blaine.” He held Blaine’s gaze for a long moment, then patted his shoulder and stood up to go.

That was wrong. Kurt shouldn't go away. Kurt had blessed Blaine to listen to his body, and Blaine was listening, and what his body wanted now was warmth and security and comfort—the warmth of that smile made tangible. “Wait.”

“What, honey?”

Blaine’s heart warmed. Maybe he should be sick more often. Kurt had only ever called him that once before today, but today he had said it twice. It made Blaine feel all squishy inside and a little woozy, but not bad woozy like he got from throwing up. Good woozy, like you got from being on a tilt-a-whirl or rolling down a hill. “I haven’t gotten my bedtime hug yet.”

Kurt turned slowly around. “It’s not bedtime.” He pointed at the sunbeam streaming in through the skylight.

“It is for me.”

Kurt scowled at Blaine, but he didn't really seem annoyed. He returned to the bed, sitting down on its edge and leaning over to take Blaine into his arms. He tucked his chin over Blaine’s shoulder and his hands made soothing motions over the back of Blaine’s ribcage.

But Blaine had a hard time enjoying it. He kept worrying about the moment Kurt would pull away and say goodbye. I bless you with the wisdom to listen to your own body. “Stay?” Blaine said.

It was the wrong thing to say, because Kurt pulled away, his back ramrod straight. “Do you want me to sit with you?”

Blaine shook his head. He felt too shy to say it. He tugged the edge of his comforter, lifting it up. “I’m cold,” he said. “Keep me warm?”

Kurt gave him a worried look. “I should take your temperature.” And then he did the absolute worst thing possible, which was get up from the bed altogether and leave the room.

He was back half a minute later, but still. Blaine felt Kurt’s absence as surely as he felt the ache in his head.

“Open your mouth.”

Blaine obliged.

“Thirty-seven point five,” Kurt read the thermometer after the beeper went off. “You’re a little feverish. Not terrible, though. Do you want a Tylenol?”

Blaine shook his head pitifully. “I'd have to swallow it.”

Kurt looked at Blaine, and then at the thermometer, and then at the blanket that was still ruffled from Blaine having lifted it up earlier. “Oh, fine.”

He kicked off his shoes and took off his jacket and undid his tie. Blaine thought he saw a little blush form on Kurt’s cheeks, but it was probably because he was sitting directly in the path of the sunbeam coming in through the skylight.

Blaine turned on his side so they could both fit in the tiny twin bed. He felt the mattress sink under Kurt’s weight when he sat down on it. He reached behind him to take Kurt’s hand, guiding him to lie down, pulling his arm over him like a blanket, tucking their hands over his chest. He could feel his heart beating against Kurt’s loose fist.

Kurt’s breath was on the back of his ear; his long, warm body finding its place against Blaine’s, wriggling and then settling into stillness, warming his back and his butt and the back of his legs.

But it wasn’t enough. Blaine wanted to be safe in his companion’s arms. But he wanted something else, too. Something just on the edge of his imagination, something he was too groggy to think of.

As he geared closer to sleep, Blaine’s body thought of it for him. He moved his foot back and teased it between Kurt’s ankles. Kurt seemed stiff and unsure at first, but Blaine kept rubbing his toes against Kurt’s calf to let him know it was okay, to coax Kurt’s upper leg to where it needed to be: hooked over Blaine’s hip and thigh, embracing his lower body the way Kurt’s arms embraced Blaine up above.

Yes, this is what Blaine’s body wanted. Not just to be wrapped up in Kurt’s arms, but to be wrapped up in him. He was safe here. Everything was as it was meant to be.

There was hair in Kurt’s nose, tickling the opening of his nostril like a fine thread.

He should pick up Spinnenkatze and move her. He was spoiling her too much, letting her sleep on his pillow. All her little cat-fur oils couldn't possibly be good for his skin.

He didn't, though. He just wrinkled his nose and adjusted his position so the hair was no longer tormenting him. Maybe if he kept his eyes closed, he could fall back asleep. His hand was on his belly, rising and falling with each breath, his fingertip resting on the horizontal line that marked the navel of the garment. He reflexively ran his index finger over that line, back and forth, the repetition of the strokes soothing the anxiety running just under his skin. Constant nourishment to body and spirit, he thought, and that was soothing, too. God would give him what he needed.

Only … this was strange, wasn't it? Kurt could feel the warmth of muscle and belly through the garment. But his belly couldn’t feel his finger.

What time was it, anyway? Why could he see the sun through his eyelids?

Kurt blinked open his eyes to find himself exactly where he had been when he had fallen asleep: wrapped around his companion.

Beneath Kurt’s hand, Blaine’s stomach rose and fell with the steady breath of sleep. Kurt’s thigh was splayed over Blaine’s hip, the arch of foot tucked neatly against Blaine’s knee. Kurt’s penis was snug against Blaine’s buttcrack, so close to where it had been in his dream the previous night.

Time to disentangle himself.

Blaine fussed a little as Kurt did so, but never fully awakened. His coloring was already starting to look better. Kurt touched his forehead. He didn't think Blaine’s fever was going up, at least.

How had Kurt fallen asleep? His heart had started hammering as soon as he’s started taking off his suit jacket, and Kurt didn't remember it ever slowing down. But it must have at some point. After all, it wasn't like Kurt could think too many sexy thoughts about Blaine when his companion was sick as a dog. But still, it had been thrilling—the rightness of holding Blaine in his arms, the frightening intimacy of twining their legs together. If Kurt could never have sex, this would be enough.

Kurt walked quietly into the front room and checked the time. He'd only been asleep for an hour, though he felt much groggier than that. He checked his phone. There was a message from Henri, who Kurt had texted earlier to let him know Elder Anderson was sick and they would have to come by a different day. The message consisted entirely of a thumbs up emoji; Kurt wondered if it was supposed to be ironic.

Kurt sent a message to Elder Clarington and then called the mission president’s wife to let them know Blaine was sick, but it probably wasn't anything that would require medical attention. Elder Clarington immediately shot back with a text telling Kurt that just because its companion was sick didn't mean he could slack off, to which Kurt simply replied, I have no plans to.

Early in his mission, Kurt would have felt imprisoned by a companion’s illness—like Satan himself had thrown that specific obstacle in Kurt’s way for the sole purpose of preventing Kurt from reaching potential converts and earning his redemption. Now, it was an opportunity to serve.

Kurt looked through the cabinets and refrigerator for things that Blaine might be able to eat when he started to feel better. He got out rice and quick-set gelatin, and texted Dani to see if she had any bananas or ginger ale in her apartment.

Kurt was gone. How was Kurt gone? Blaine had only been asleep for a few minutes, and Kurt’s body had been so warm and wonderful, like a heavy blanket on a cold night. How could Blaine have missed his companion getting up out of bed?

Blaine’s stomach growled. Not the bad kind of growling, but the kind you got when you were hungry. He reached over to the side table and took a sip from the cup Kurt had left there.

Kurt appeared in the doorway. “You’re awake.”

“Of course I'm awake. I never really fell asleep.”

“Um, no.” Kurt sat down on Blaine’s bed, where he belonged. He turned the alarm clock around so Blaine could see the numbers on its face. But they didn’t make sense. It couldn’t be past nineteen hours already.

“No,” said Blaine, wondering if his vision had gotten messed up from dehydration or something. Or maybe he just couldn't remember how to read German clocks anymore?

“Yup,” said Kurt.

Blaine rubbed his eyes. “I guess that explains why my appetite is back already.”

“Yeah?” Kurt put his hand to Blaine’s forehead. “You feel a little cooler too. Let me take your temperature again.”

“You don’t need to do that. If you ask me how I’m feeling, I can just tell you that I am one-hundred percent better.”

Kurt studied Blaine’s face. “Sister Steele is going to ask about it, though. And I would feel better knowing.”

Blaine didn't protest further. It was kind of nice having Kurt dote on him like this, to be reminded how much Kurt cared about his well-being. It was even nicer to see the way Kurt smiled and did a little bounce on the edge of the mattress when he read out the results: “Thirty-seven!”

“It must have been the blessing,” Blaine said sanguinely.

“Maybe,” Kurt said.

Blaine really did feel a lot better. He could sit up in bed all by himself, and now he felt ready to jump out of it. Plus, he was hungry. He even felt a little horny, which was always a sign that he was on the mend.

“Can you dress yourself?” Kurt asked.

Blaine looked down and realized he was only in his garments. Had only been in his garments for the last several hours, including when Kurt had been lying next with him in bed and acting as his security blanket. He was as naked as Kurt had ever seen him. And somehow that felt a little exciting, which was stupid, because Blaine really needed to stop caring about whether or not gay guys were into his body, and also because Blaine in garments was not hot, and Blaine in his sweat-soaked, sick-person-smelling garments was objectively disgusting—which was why Kurt was clearly not eager to help Blaine peel them off and replace them with fresh ones.

But maybe that was okay, because Blaine was sporting a pretty significant erection, and it would be rude to expose his companion to that. “Yeah. I can get dressed.”

Fully clothed and half and hour later, Blaine clacked his spoon against the inside of his empty Jell-O bowl, as if more might magically appear. “I’m still hungry.”

“Do you feel ready for a little rice?” asked Kurt sympathetically.

Blaine shrugged. “Maybe. But I don't feel like making any.”

“You don’t have to. I already did.” Kurt stood up from his chair and walked to the refrigerator. “I made some plain and some with bouillon. I wasn't sure what you would want after being sick. I don't really know your comfort food repertoire.”

Blaine's heart warmed. “You didn't have to.”

“Rice not your thing when you've been sick?”

“No, it is. I just …” Blaine felt on the verge of tearing up. First the Jell-O, now this? Most missionaries would have handed him a box of crackers and let him fend for himself. But Kurt treated him like somebody important, somebody worth pampering and coddling back into health. “I'm grateful, that's all.”

Kurt warmed a quarter cup of rice in the microwave and set it on the table in front of Blaine. “Eat slowly,” he said, after Blaine scarfed down the first spoonful.

That was the downside to having Kurt as a nurse. You couldn't get away with anything.

“I wonder if I should have more,” Blaine said when he was done. This whole listening to your body thing was confusing. Was he supposed to be listening to the part of him that was hungry or the part of him that had thrown up a few hours ago?

“How do you feel?”

Blaine thought about it. His erection was distracting him more than his hunger now, so he could probably wait. “We should play a game.”

“Dictionary? Scripture Hunt?” Kurt asked. They didn't have any board games in the apartment.

Scripture Hunt might work. Reading scriptures was supposed to be a good way to drive away arousal, though in Blaine’s case, it didn't always work. But something spiritual—that was a good idea. “No, Hymn Feud. You know the game.”

“‘Hymn Feud?’ That sounds like an oxymoron. And a way to stir up contention.”

“No, it’s not. Maybe you don't know it by that name, but you must have played it before, and we're gonna play it now. You start.”

“How?”

“Sing a hymn. Any hymn.”

Kurt rolled his eyes but complied. “The spirit of God like a fire is burning, the latter-day glory begins to come forth. The visions and blessings of old are returning, and angels are coming to visit the earth.”

Blaine was so taken in by Kurt’s rendition that he momentarily forgot the aim of the game was to jump in as soon as possible with a related hymn, and not just sit there bathing in your competitor’s voice. If he’d been paying attention, he could have started right after the first line with any of a hundred hymns that mention the Holy Spirit, but now he should probably do something with angels … “Angels we have heard on high, singing sweetly o’er the plains—”

“Oh! Hymn Hoedown!” Kurt clapped his hands excitedly. “An angel came to Joseph Smith, and from the ground he took a sacred record hidden there, a precious, holy book—”

“Book of Mormon stories that my teacher tells to me are about the Lamanites in ancient history. Long ago their fathers came from far across the sea—”

“It may not be on the mountain height or over the stormy sea …”

Ten minutes later, they were still going, without a single hitch—unless you counted the times Blaine got distracted by Kurt’s voice and took a while to think of something to jump in with.

Like right now, when Blaine had let Kurt go through an entire verse of I Feel My Savior’s Love because he was lost in the lyrics and the sound, and now, on the chorus, “He knows I will follow him, give all my life to him,” it felt like some long-buried longing was being coaxed out of Blaine, like it wasn't just about the Savior, but something else, too.

It was like that feeling Blaine used to get when he'd watch romantic movies, where he’d feel this ache in his heart, and he wanted nothing more than to find someone he could give his full commitment to.

It felt like that with Kurt sometimes—like the Holy Ghost was calling Blaine to surrender himself completely to this friendship and everything it would teach him.

Kurt watched Blaine’s face curiously as he moved on to the second verse, about the gentleness of the Savior’s love enfolding Blaine, about his heart being filled with peace, and launched into the chorus again with “He knows I will follow him, give all my life to him…”

Blaine needed to sing something now or never. He couldn’t expect Kurt to sit here serenading him in the kitchen all night, even if that’s what he wanted. Life. Life. Life. Blaine sang the first thing he could think of that had the word life in it: “Before you met me, I was all right. But things were kind of heavy. You brought me to life—”

Kurt burst out laughing. “That’s not a hymn, Elder Anderson.”

Blaine felt his cheeks going warm. “It is if you change the words a little.”

Kurt raised an eyebrow in that exquisite way he had of showing he could not be fooled. “Oh?”

Blaine could do this. Back when Joe showed up and was trying to get Blaine to be his friend as well as Sam, he taught them a game you could play to make any pop song wholesome: just add Jesus. It had been a while since Blaine had done it, but he figured he could carry it off now, even if the sugar high from the Jell-O was starting to fade.

Before I met you, Jesus, I was alright.

But things were kind of heavy, you brought me to life.

Now every Easter, Easter, you'll be the one sacrifice, sacrifice.

Let's go all the way down the

Covenant path, it’s love.

We can dance until we die

then resurrect, we'll be young forever!

“I can’t believe you,” Kurt said, his hand pressed against his stomach because he kept bending over the table in fits of laughter, and his cheeks flushing that most handsome pink.

“This is serious stuff,” said Blaine, and Kurt laughed harder.

Blaine decided Joe maybe hadn't been as bad as Blaine had made him out to be, after all.

“If you have enough energy to be that ridiculous,” said Kurt, wiping tears from his eyes, “you probably have it in you to eat a little more. More rice? Or can you handle something with a little more flavor and electrolytes?”

“Like what?”

“Dani has provided us with bananas.”

Blaine clapped his hands. “Thank you, Dani!” Bananas were hands-down his favorite comfort food next to saltines, but you couldn't expect to find proper saltines in Germany. Bananas, on the other hand—the one that Kurt held out to him was very proper, plump and bright yellow with a slight tinge of green on the ends. Blaine actually moaned when he bit into it. It was like manna from heaven—or, wait, did manna actually taste good?

“So clearly, your appetite is back,” said Kurt. His cheeks were still pink from the laughing. Or maybe—

Blaine slid the banana back into his mouth. Back in high school, Tina used to do this thing at lunch where she would be pretending to give a banana a blowjob. It was funny and a little bit sexy. Blaine couldn't help but get at least half hard. It wasn't Tina’s mouth in particular that got him going, and he prayed to God she didn't want to do that to him. But the abstract concept of mouths on penises was hot.

Blaine wondered if Kurt thought so, too.

If anyone had ever played the banana game with Kurt.

If Kurt was thinking about mouths on penises right now.

Because Blaine was, and he was getting even harder than he’d already been.

“Are you going to eat that, or just hold it there?” Kurt asked.

It was almost exactly what Blaine used to say to Tina. And then she would answer, What, you’re not enjoying the show? Blaine knew better than to say that to Kurt, though. He reluctantly took a bite.

Apparently, he wasn't as sexy sucking on bananas as Tina had been.

Blaine’s face planted into the table almost as soon as he was done with his second banana. Which, thank goodness. Because he had eaten them so slowly and lovingly and with such gustatory relish that Kurt’s erection from earlier in the afternoon had returned with a vengeance.

Seriously. Was Kurt that far gone? That just watching his companion do something as innocent as eat food made Kurt think devious thoughts? Not that they had been thoughts, exactly. Kurt hadn't gone so far as to picture any sexual acts. But he felt them, almost, like shadows on his body—hints of warmth and pleasure that Kurt avoided entertaining outside his dreams.

Kurt coaxed Blaine awake and to the bathroom to brush his teeth. His companion insisted on taking a shower, too. Kurt worried Blaine was too weak and would fall over, but Blaine said he felt too gross to fall asleep, and despite Kurt’s logical protestations that Blaine had fallen asleep already at the kitchen table, Blaine won the argument. At least he let Kurt get out a clean set of garments and pajamas for him and hand it through the bathroom door.

Blaine survived the shower and prayers and hugs and being tucked back into bed by Kurt.

“You're not ready for bed yet,” Blaine said with a pout. “How will I fall asleep if you're not in here too?”

“I’m sure you will,” Kurt said, stroking the top of Blaine’s head. “And if you don't, I won't be that long. I just need to clean up and shower and stuff.” Kurt felt a little guilty about the “and stuff.” It wasn’t just some vague to-dos he wanted to accomplish. He wanted to touch himself. Had wanted to since Blaine had started going gangbusters on that banana. Since he'd woken up entwined with him. Since that hot, vulnerable dream of the night before. And since he had touched himself two days ago and it had been glorious.

And Kurt was determined to do it. If last night’s soiling of his garments and today’s utter failure at proselytizing had taught him anything, it was that excessive self-restraint in that area did not bear spiritual fruit.

“Do you want my MP3 player?” Kurt said, to assuage his conscience.

Blaine lit up in a groggy sort of way. He was going to be asleep within five minutes, no question.

And he was. Almost as soon as the earplugs were in and Kurt had selected his most calming playlist, Blaine let out his first snore.

Kurt went into the kitchen and cleaned up. He washed the dishes and thought about Fast Sunday, his and Blaine’s hands covered in suds, the reassuring warmth of Blaine’s wrist in his palm. It shouldn't have been an arousing image, just like lying with an ill Blaine shouldn't have been arousing, either. But those touches were intimate. When Kurt was close to Blaine that way, he felt like windows were opening all around him, letting light into his darkest recesses. That these unsettling parts of Kurt, in the bright light of Blaine’s affection, turned out to be no longer frightening, but beautiful.

Maybe Kurt’s desires were beautiful, too. Maybe the things he dreamed about, the erotic touch he wanted, were outgrowths of that feeling Kurt got when he held Blaine close.

It had been a long time since Kurt had consciously allowed his imagination to explore the deeper intimacies. And the act he had dreamt of the previous night—even during the early days of his adolescence, when Kurt had existed in that liminal space where the need to explore his fantasies outweighed any guilt he felt over doing so, he had rarely let himself travel there.

He’d known the act existed, of course. He’d first heard about it in elementary school through generic slurs, and later in middle school in ones directly aimed at him. Throughout those years, he’d thought the whole thing sounded repulsive, and also completely made up.

But later, in high school, he’d started to hear it spoken of casually and without shame by some of his peers. He’d heard straight Christian kids contemplating whether they could preserve their virginity by doing it that way instead of the other way, and Brittany extolling its unparalleled pleasures, and Puck wondering out loud if the fact that he liked Lauren to stick her finger up his ass and wanted her to do him with a strap-on made him a little gay—and if it did, then he guessed he was okay with being a little gay, because he really wanted it.

By that point in his life, Kurt understood the inclination to want to plunge into anything warm and tight, even if he was too righteous to actually do so. The act no longer seemed unquestionably gross to him. He liked thinking about the fact that Jacob Black had a penis that got erect like his, that responded to touch and attention, that would feel warm and heavy in Kurt’s hand. The idea of Jacob being inside of him, or him being inside of Jacob, became appealing, at least on a theoretical level, because penises and arousal and pleasure were appealing. But if Kurt thought about it too hard, he wondered how such a large thing could possibly fit inside such a small hole.

He gave into his curiosity and looked up “gay anal porn” on the internet. Okay. So it really could fit. And it didn't even seem like much of a struggle to get it in, after a little warm up. The guys on the receiving end sure looked like they were enjoying it, and Kurt guiltily got off on it, despite being appalled at their tattoos and worrying what their mothers might think, but still—even as it moved in and out and the receivers begged for more, more, more, it looked way too big for that tight space.

So then Kurt looked up “does anyone actually enjoy anal sex” and learned about anal nerve endings and prostates. It sounded intriguing enough that, after resisting the temptation for almost a month past his first reading, he had, in a fit of passion, pushed a spit-soaked finger into his own hole and gone searching around for his prostate. He wasn't sure if it felt weird and uncomfortable for physical reasons or because he kept thinking about the prohibition on arousing sexual feelings in your own body. Because if that prohibition was right, which it must be, because it was printed in a church pamphlet, then stroking your own prostate must be the worst thing you could possibly do, because it was an act that existed for the sole purpose of arousing a new kind of sexual feeling that his body had never yet experienced and never would experience on its own, even in wet dreams.

After that, Kurt had felt too guilty to try much more experimentation with his backside. And soon after, he tried to stop thinking about sex at all. Even his fantasies involving nothing but hands, rubbing, and Jacob Black in a field of lilacs started feeling too risqué.

But now, everything in Kurt’s life was turning upside down. So much of what Kurt had built his faith on was false. Brigham Young being a racist, Joseph Smith practicing polygamy, masturbation not driving the Spirit away—Kurt had always given lip service to the fact that leaders could be fallible, but with this new evidence, he had to give more than lip service. He had to admit it was true.

Kurt had built his faith on a scaffolding of weak assumptions. And now that scaffolding was starting collapse. He had to build a new one. But he wasn’t sure how.

All Kurt knew was that the cause-and-effect relationships he’d been taught throughout his life weren't real. That not everything labeled a sin was, in fact, a sin. Kurt had touched himself two nights ago, and had been rewarded with one of the most fruitful days of his mission. And if enjoying his own touch hadn’t harm his relationship with God, maybe enjoying thoughts of sex wouldn’t, either. Even if he could never partake in sexual relations with another person, was it necessarily wrong to imagine them? It wasn't sinful to daydream about being a dog or flying like a superhero or living on another planet, even though those things were impossible. Maybe fantasizing about sex, for Kurt, wasn't sinful, either.

Yes. That’s what he was going to do tonight. He was going to imagine the things he hadn’t let himself imagine in years.

Kurt felt a buzz of excitement as he undressed for the shower. His hairs were standing on end. He shivered at his own touch. He looked at his erection in the mirror and palmed it gently, as if it was something to be handled with love and care.

He felt like he was seducing himself, and was unashamed.

Under the steady thrum of water, Kurt rubbed soap over his shoulders and down his chest, letting the fingers of his right hand trail slowly down his belly and toward his erection. He closed his eyes and let himself imagine that it was another man's hand on his body, another man stroking him, another man desiring his pleasure and release. He thought back to his dream last night, of the way the imaginary man who’d looked so much like Blaine had wanted him, freely and without shame. How he had given himself over to his desires and Kurt’s passion, how he had opened himself to be loved.

Kurt imagined himself giving back the same way, here in the shower, under the warm stream of water, running his fingers through that imaginary man's wet curls, kissing his damp shoulders, and then down, down, to his nipples and his belly and then further down, taking him into his mouth, licking him and sucking him with glorious abandon, making this imaginary man feels so wanted, so adored.

He heard the imaginary man pleading the way he had in Kurt’s dream last night—for more, for healing, for love. Kurt couldn’t refuse. He took his lover into his arms and pressed him up against the wall of the shower, kissing the soft mounds of his buttocks and up to his shoulder blades, his neck, his mouth. He ran his hands over the imaginary man’s chest, his stiff nipples, the soft hairs on his belly, eliciting soft, needy moans. He held his lover’s hips firmly and guided him to the right place.

Kurt entered him slowly, surely, right where they both needed.

His imaginary lover pushed back onto him, begging to have all of it, to feel Kurt fully in him, for Kurt to know him.

Kurt wouldn’t refuse. He would give his lover his full length, but also more. He would give him his heart. He would hold him to his chest and whisper sweet promises into his ear. I’ll never give you up, honey. I'll never say goodbye. You have me. You have all of me.

He would touch this imaginary man’s most sacred parts, inside and out, stroking and loving him, running his hands over his chest and his leaking erection, kissing his neck, timing his thrusts for his lover’s pleasure more than for his own.

You feel so good, Kurt. I want you so bad. I’ll never hurt you. He would kiss Kurt sloppily, because that would be a sloppy position to kiss in, so maybe then he would turn around and Kurt would hoist him up around his waist like he had in the dream last night, and his imaginary lover would smile ecstatically and say You always know exactly how I want it. Now show me how much you love me. Make me come.

And they would kiss and thrust and grind, so in sync that Kurt wouldn't be able to tell who was initiating each movement—because neither of them was. Every breath, every stroke, every thrust was born of both of them, their bodies speaking to each other, their hearts as one.

I want to tell you how I'm feeling, but I can't, his lover would say, now desperate, panting, rising into ecstasy. So let me show you. And his brown eyes would roll back and he would gasp and from that most sacred part, held reverently in Kurt’s hand, the evidence of his desire would flow tangibly over Kurt’s fingers.

“I love you,” Kurt mouthed under the water. “I love you so much.”

Kurt came.

Kurt felt a little guilty the next morning when Blaine walked into the kitchen full of bright energy and gave him an ecstatic smile not unlike the one Kurt’s imaginary lover had directed toward him the previous night.

Kurt reminded himself that he hadn't been imagining Blaine, but the man from his dreams. He hadn’t violated the person standing in front of him. Not really.

Also, Kurt should probably stop thinking of his companion as Blaine. The name was Elder Anderson. They were colleagues. Professionals.

“I feel amazing this morning!” Elder Anderson said.

“Good. Perhaps that portends an amazing day,” Kurt said hopefully. If self-given orgasms correlated to high missionary productivity, the day should be record breaking.

But if the remorse Kurt was feeling right now was any measure, it was going to be a terrible day.

As soon as they hit the streets, the day seemed determined to defeat Kurt’s self-punishing predictions. Some random teenager walked up to them and asked for a Book of Mormon for a report she was writing for religion class—it wasn't a request for baptism, but it opened a door. Then her group of friends, catching up with her, were all struck by what a brilliant idea this was and decided maybe they could do their reports on the Mormons, as well. Kurt and Elder Anderson ended up leading an abbreviated version of the first discussion right there, and invited them to sacrament meeting so that they could see true religion in practice.

“I think they might actually show up,” Elder Anderson said with a bounce as the kids walked away.

“I get that sense too,” said Kurt, but tried not to get too carried away with the feeling. Intellectual curiosity wasn't the best basis for conversion.

At the bike shop, Henri seemed delighted to see them, greeting them with a hearty “Salut!” and waving them toward the maintenance counter as soon as they walked into the store. “I was telling my friend Howard here about you guys,” Henri said, patting a fellow mechanic on the back. Howard was at a bike stand, fiddling with the spokes on a street cruiser.

“Hello,” Howard said with a wave and a frown, then turned to Henri and asked him where some unintelligible word in German could be found.

Not as excited to see them as Henri, clearly.

Elder Anderson’s eyes lit up, though. “Oh my gosh, I think he’s Pinoy!” he whispered excitedly to Kurt as Henri and Howard went fishing through the hardware chest for the unintelligible German word. “I’m going to ask him.”

“We’re not supposed to ask people about their ethnicities like that,” Kurt whispered back.

“You’re not. But I can,” Elder Anderson answered with a wink.

Elder Anderson was right, and Howard revealed himself to be capable of smiling as they discussed their familial origins and where to ingredients for Filipino foods around there. They gave him a Book of Mormon, too.

“This is such a weird day. When is the other shoe going to drop?” Kurt asked after they left the shop.

“Did a first shoe ever drop?” Elder Anderson asked.

“Not today, but … never mind, I'm being negative. I'm just not used to things going so well. We've given out five books of Mormon already and it's not even lunch time yet.”

Elder Anderson patted Kurt’s shoulder. “It's because you're so righteous, Elder Hummel.”

Oh, the things Elder Anderson didn't know.

They were scheduled to meet with Andrea Carmichael and her husband that afternoon. They were staying with a friend from the States while they waited for their furniture arrive, so she would be there too.

“You must be the missionaries!” said the skinny blonde woman who answered the door. She looked an awful lot like Gwyneth Paltrow. “Oh my God, you guys look just like the ones in The Book of Mormon musical. Have you seen it? It’s so good.”

Ah. Here was Kurt’s punishment, finally.

“Anyway, I'm so excited to meet you!” the blonde woman thrust her hand out for shaking. “Holly Holliday. I used to live in Ohio, too. Andrea tells me one of you is from Lima?”

“That would be me,” Elder Hummel said, a fake smile plastered on his face. (Blaine was doing his best to think of Kurt as Elder Hummel again, now that they were out of the apartment.)

Holly scrutinized his face. “You’re probably too young to have ever met me. I was a substitute teacher, but I mostly did high school and I left ten years ago. I felt like I was getting too much consistency in my life, ya know? I became a substitute teacher so that I wouldn't have to see the same faces every day, but after a while in the same handful of school districts, you end up seeing the same faces over and over again, anyway, and then you start feeling attached, and I don't like feeling attached. But then I realized, ‘International schools! Kids rotate in and out of those faster than bread through one of those conveyor belt toasters, and if I become a substitute teacher there, it will be almost impossible to build relationships with the kids or their families!’”

Blaine was contemplating how he could possibly turn Holly’s desire for inconsistency into a pitch for the church when Andrea came to the rescue. “Holly, I told you not to answer the door. You'll scare them away!”

Blaine and Elder Hummel were ushered into the living room, and Holly disappeared to take a phone call, leaving the missionaries alone with Andrea and her husband, Dalton Rumba, who Elder Hummel also recognized. Apparently Dalton had directed a show choir for the deaf that competed against Elder Hummel’s glee club in his sophomore year, and lost. Dalton appeared to still hold a grudge about it, which Blaine could sympathize with. It was hard to spend life as the perpetual underdog.

But it was best to avoid contention. And Blaine had an idea of how to steer the conversation in a more positive direction. “So,” he said, crossing his legs and interlacing his fingers over his knees, “tell us a little about yourselves. You're newlyweds? How did you meet?”

“You know, we've known each other for so long, I’m not sure either of us remember the exact moment,” Dalton said.

“We met in kindergarten,” said Andrea, patting Dalton’s hand. “And we dated for a little in high school. But then we went our separate ways, and I got caught up in the glamour of television news, and I ended up in a string of affairs with pompous newscasters, and then I married the last newscaster, which was just insane, and he cheated on me, and I divorced him, and then Dalton and I reconnected at a support group for recent divorcees and … well. I finally found out what it was like to be in love for the first time.” Dalton squeezed her hand, and Blaine felt a pleasant squeeze around his heart. He loved when people were in love.

“Both of us have been through a lot,” Dalton said. “And frankly, I wasn't sure I wanted to risk having another relationship. But on our first date, Andrea said to me, she said, ‘I can’t promise you much, Dalton. I don’t know if this will turn into something or not. But I can promise you this: I’m never going to tell you a lie or intentionally hurt you. I'll always try to be as honest as I can be, and as kind as I know how.’ And I thought, ‘Well, I’ve got to give this woman a chance.’ And I’m so glad I did.”

“Oh, that’s so sweet.” Blaine thought his heart might melt into a puddle right there. He glanced over at Elder Hummel and wondered what his heart was doing. “Well, I suppose If you've spoken to the missionaries before, you know what the church teaches about marriage, right? Other Christian churches say we can’t know if marriage continues in heaven, or they teach that it definitely doesn't. But we believe married couples don't have to part at death. You can be together in heaven, also, married for time and all eternity.”

“Of course,” said Andrea. “That's one of the reasons we want to get baptized. So we can eventually go to the temple and be sealed to each other there.”

She beamed. Dalton beamed. Blaine beamed.

They talked a bit more about what Andrea and Dalton already knew about the church, how much of the Book of Mormon they had read, and any questions they had. It was wonderful. Blaine felt the presence of the Holy Spirit so strongly, and from the few looks he shared with Elder Hummel, he thought his companion felt it, too.

And then Holly Holiday came tornadoing back into the living room. “Sorry about that. Hope you didn't miss me too much. One of the jobs I applied to. I realized I have a problem with commitment, and maybe running Incessantly around the world isn't exactly a lifestyle I'm choosing, but just a sign that I'm avoiding deeper things. So I'm trying to get a permanent teaching job somewhere. It's weird.”

Huh. That was unexpected. The thing she’d said at the door wasn't the thing she believed now. Maybe her desire for baptism wasn't as bizarre as it had first sounded.

Elder Hummel had noticed this discrepancy too, judging by the way his eyebrow quirked in interest. “How did you become interested in the Mormons, Holly?” Elder Hummel asked.

“Oh!” she said, her face lighting up as she plunged down onto the couch next to Andrea. “It was when I saw The Book of Mormon musical in London. I mean, I know all those songs were supposed to be making fun of the Mormons, but that stuff about God living on a planet—well, that makes so much sense! I was raised Catholic and they're always talking about how God lives in heaven, but nobody can tell you where or what heaven is. Is it a physical place? Do people there walk on the ground or swim through the clouds? But a planet? I can wrap my head around that. Also, the garden of Eden being in Jackson, Missouri, makes way more sense than it being in the Middle East, because it actually rains in Jackson, Missouri. Like, way better conditions for growing a garden, am I right? But the thing that really got me was when Elder Price—wait, have you seen it?”

Blaine and Elder Hummel both shook their heads.

“Oh, well, you must. Because there's this part where one of the missionaries, Elder Price, decides to risk his life and go preach the gospeI to a bunch of warlords. And the moment I saw that—it was like a punch to the gut. Because, you see, my whole life, my motto has been to grab life by the balls. But when I saw Elder Price walk into that guerrilla camp—well, that was such a ballsy move! And I realized I've never come close to that. I've been spending my entire life running away from stuff I was afraid of, not toward it. Like the whole commitment thing. Why am I afraid to see the same faces year after year? That's a little weird.”

Huh. Blaine had worried Holly was trolling them with the planet and garden of Eden stuff. But that last thing … maybe she was for real. Blaine looked over at Elder Hummel to gauge his reaction. But Elder Hummel had his missionary face on, not his home face, and he was inscrutable.

Elder Hummel leaned forward in his chair. “Have you reached out to the missionaries before?”

“No. This only happened a few months ago. But I’ve read the Book of Mormon! And then Andrea called me and told me she was moving out here, and she'd been reading the Book of Mormon too, and, well, I was like, it’s a sign! And I went on the Internet and read all about the cool temple stuff and more about Kolob, and then mother in heaven—which rocks, by the way.” She shared a fist bump with Andrea. “I mean, I'm not crazy about the gay stuff, because I slept with plenty of women in college, or the law of chastity stuff, because, well, I'm no stranger to love on either side of the fence, but it's really all kind of hypothetical at this point, anyway, because I had my ovaries removed a few years ago and let me tell you, not a lot going on down there these days. But the Word of Wisdom? I can get down with that. Alcohol has gotten me in a lot of trouble, and clearly I don't need caffeine for energy, ’cause I'm not on it now. Plus, common consent and continuing revelation. And Relief Society just sounds so fun! So—basically, what I'm saying, is that as far as the church goes, a full commitment’s what I’m thinking of. Dunk me, give me the Holy Ghost, and teach me how to live a good life without constantly running away from everyone and everything.”

“Do you think she’s for real?” Kurt asked as they left Holly’s house.

Elder Anderson seemed to consider. “Yeah, I think she is.”

“Yeah, me too.” She was definitely weird, but she seemed sincere. “A little eccentric, though.”

“True. But I think the church needs a little more eccentricity, don't you?”

Kurt smiled at his companion. “I do.”

#klaineccvalentines2022 #klaine fanfiction #klaine fanfic #wowbright writes fic #mormon!klaine #my klaineccvalentines2022 #holly holliday #it's a rollercoaster

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jjofalltrades · 2 years

Note

In honor of Thirsty Thursday, any head canons you want to share about Arya and Gendry's sex life in Wolf Hunt, Hello or The Art of War?

Hola, Anon!

Late, once again, to the party 😅 I had to come to terms with the fact it was, indeed, Thursday. And I had slept through all of Wednesday.

I do love this request because it’s given me a chance to really look at the different dynamics this couple has throughout 3 different AUs.

Thank you, dear Anon!

WOLF HUNT:

They’re both going to be awful at foreplay and sex for the first few times. Simply because neither has really opened up and made themselves vulnerable to what gets them going from other partners. I’ll try to make it as sexy as possible but they’re basically living out teenager fantasies from their daydreams and it doesn’t always go according to plan 🤣

A lot of their time is going to be quick, dirty, and the equivalent of macking in the school supply closet. I know Gendry loves to work Arya into a frenzy while they’re at the office together. He enjoys when she is finally able to let go; show him exactly what she’s been picturing all day.

Arya wears pencil skirts to work after she finds out it’s what distracts Gendry the most. A pair of pumps, a tight skirt, and a pencil hanging out of the corner of her mouth. There will be a lot of cat-and-mouth (stag and wolf??) play.

Also, Gendry likes to play caveman and just throw Arya over his shoulder and put her where he wants her. She can be more stubborn than he and sometimes he just needs to make sure they can both get to the point, ya know?

HELLO:

Since Gendry has all of his memories in the present, he basically has a chest code to Arya’s body. Makes him the perfect lover, at first. But a girl starts to wonder how he knows all these things & another part wants to start spicing things up. What do you do when your partner anticipated your every move?

They’ll have more of the honeymoon, slow and tender, type of loving. Taking their time with the physical aspect of their relationship since they’ve covered everything else during their friendship over the years.

Gendry says he’s worshipping her. Arya thinks he’s into edging. Eventually, they’ll have to figure out how to compromise in the middle. They do have a string of murders to solve after all.

THE ART OF WAR:

You know that meme of Snape where it’s captioned “my body is ready”? That’s Professor Waters. Dude is the proverbial boy-next-door who is ready for whatever Professor Stark wants. She’s in the lead and gets to steer this ship. She wants a slow burn? Done. She wants friends-with-benefits? Lock and loaded. Unrequited love? That hurts but he respects her choice.

But don’t get him wrong, this guy isn’t going to keep his feelings hidden. Gendry puts it out there and let’s her decide what to do with it. She’s obviously got some baggage to deal with but he’ll be there whenever.

It only gets hot and heavy once or twice, though. More of a heat of the moment. Their foreplay is argumentative and competitive. Gods, are they competitive 🤦🏻‍♀️😩 Which might be the reason why things get so steamy before Arya knows if she’s ready for anything more.

Apples.

Apples are gonna be a thing between those two. And rain. Wait until spring. Apples, rain, tea, and the smell of books.

Maybe a ruler in there somewhere. The slap of a ruler on a desk…a chalkboard….and…😏

Got to touch base with all the classics.

#gendrya #arya x gendry #gendry x arya #arya stark #gendry baratheon #gendry waters #gendrya fics #thirstythursday #wolf hunt #hello #the art of war #modern au

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whitexwingedxdoves · 3 years

Text

waterfall [request]

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader Pronouns: She/Her Warnings: babe its just fluffy as heck. Summary: Now he had a ring, Daryl Dixon needed the perfect way to propose to you and after many dead ends, he finally cooks up the perfect plan. A/N: Requested by @witch-of-letters . Erm this is just the cutest request ever though. My heart is so full. (this has fully let me live out my Mrs Daryl Dixon fantasy) Tags: @chloe-skywalker

Marriage had never even been a passing thought in Daryl’s mind before, though with Negan behind bars now and the fact you were carrying his child something seemed to switch in his mind. He spent a good week searching for the perfect ring for you despite the limited options, he even considered mugging a walker for one at some point. He found a lucky escape one day when Carol, who was also searching for the perfect ring for you in between her time at the kingdom, found a perfect silver band with a singular diamond that glistened in the sun. She managed to disguise the delivery to Daryl as a visit and you thought nothing of it, soaking up most of her time talking about how hard you found the first trimester of your pregnancy and how everything seemed so much easier in your second.

Cursing under his voice as he sat on the porch of your home, Daryl caressed the ring in-between his fingers. Now he had the ring he would have to come up with the perfect way to propose to you, feeling you deserved so much more than a kitchen floor proposal. The advice he managed to pull from Carol before she left was nothing other than ‘as long as it comes from the heart’ which was no help to him. The sound of the front door opening almost made him drop the ring, he scrambled to tuck it away into his vest turning to face you. His eyes landed on the bump that had finally formed on your stomach, a smile cracking his face. You gave him a small smile, rubbing your bump before looking outwards to the street, letting a small sigh pass your lips. “I’m gonna go see if the infirmary has any more vitamins left” you finally spoke, the man just nodding your direction, chewing on the corner of his mouth. “I won't be long” with that, Daryl scrambled to be by your side and planted a soft kiss on your cheek before waving you goodbye.

Daryl was sure his brain was fried after straining to come up with a proposal idea, not understanding why it was so hard, he had come up with plans for tracking and war on the spot but this was the first time he encountered a block. He knew it was time to pull in some reinforcements and who better than Michonne. When he found her, he just pulled the ring from his pocket and showed it to her. Michonne could barely hide her wide smile as she saw the band, not that she wanted to hide it.

“Are you asking me to marry you?” she joked as her eyes finally met his, a soft grunt left Daryl’s lips as he placed the ring back into his pocket. “So, when you asking her?” Her grin resembled that of a girl who had just witnessed her friend get asked to prom by their crush, it made the archer a little uncomfortable as he shifted on his feet.

“tha’s the problem” a sigh filled his words “Dono how ‘m gonna do it” his brow cocked at the sound of Michonne’s teasing laughter

“You know you don’t need to make a big deal out of it!” Finally making her way around the kitchen, cleaning up what was left of Judith’s lunch, Michonne just shook her head at the man. “She’ll say yes, whatever you do” even though her words were confident, it didn’t convince Daryl.

“Na, she deserves a big gesture” he argued, Michonne shot him a look but chose not to argue with the man as she placed plates into the sink. “Don’t go tellin’ e’ryone!” he added before turning on his feet to leave the house.

“Your secret is safe with me”

With the lack of help from Michonne, Daryl sort out other people for ideas – all having the same results, Nothing! Aaron was far to giddy to even think of anything on the spot, Gabriel just spoke about the beauty of marriage and the ceremony, not really answering any of Daryl’s questions and Rosita... well Rosita suggested he propose over a hog’s carcass, even going as far as telling him to hide the ring on one of the ribs – of course she was joking but even Daryl couldn’t deny that you loved hunting just as much as he did. He only had one person left he could ask and he scolded himself for not thinking of it first, Rick.

Of course Rick was at your home, talking to you when he found him, Daryl just waited and waited for the conversation to come to an end, shifting on his feet throughout Rick’s visit. He never caught the sly looks Rick would send Daryl’s way every so often when you weren’t looking, he was too focused on the task at hand to notice much of anything. When Rick finally announced he was leaving, Daryl followed after him making sure the front door was closed before he started to talk.

“Hey, can I ask ya somethin’” Daryl shouted after the sheriff, making him turn on the bottom steps to your porch.

“Is this about askin’ Y/N to marry ya?” Rick teased, sending Daryl a knowing look which only caused the archers' brows to furrow slightly “Michonne told me!” he admitted with a small laugh.

“I told ‘er not to tell anyone!” Rick shook his head at the angry tone in Daryl’s voice, the smile never leaving his features.

“She’s right, ya dont need no fancy candle lit dinner – just ask her. She’ll say yes” The advice offered to Daryl only made him roll his eyes, Rick didn’t stay long and left with barely another word leaving Daryl with no new ideas and just as confused as he had started the day.

The next day he woke up with an extra spring in his step, he finally had an idea. You couldn’t help but be baffled by his sudden mood change, yesterday he spent all day on edge and every time you brought it up he would just brush it off as if nothing was the matter or when he massaged your feet while you read a book, he seemed to press a little harder than usual and jump every time you spoke to him. Today though, he told you to spend the full day relaxing and gave you a soft kiss before he went out on a hunt, which you did, you spent half the day reminiscing on the hunts you’d go on together, how he always seemed impressed with how skilful you were with a knife or how he’d comment on how much of a magpie you were when you’d come home on a run with the most impressive treasures. It wasn’t long until Daryl showed up again, he wasn’t the usual messy Daryl that you’d encounter after a hunt, nor did he have a belt full of squirrels. You didn’t question him, scared to make him just as jumpy as he was yesterday and just offered him a kiss when he walked through the door.

You noticed how proud he looked as he set his cross bow on the kitchen counter “M goin back out, just wanted to know if ya wanna join?” he questioned you which confused you even more. Since the day you found out that you were pregnant, he had practically wrapped you in bubble wrap, arguing with you every time you wanted to leave the gates.

“You want me to go on a hunt with you?” Your hands naturally settled on your stomach as you cocked your brow at the man.

“It’s safe, made sure before I got ya.” His tone was convincing but you still questioned his motives “Figured ya’d wanna get out for a bit” he finally added and you accepted his invitation. He was right, you needed to get out of Alexandria badly, you loved it there but every day it seemed to get smaller.

He took you in a spare car, refusing to let you get on the back of his bike while you were carrying his ‘son’. It wasn’t long until he had parked up at the side of a road, and led you into the forest. You watched his movements carefully and questioned every step he took, not seeming to follow the same formula he used every time he tracked.

“What are you doing?” you questioned, noticing the obvious tracks in the ground that he ignored.

“Trackin’” he argued, mimicking his past actions to seem more convincing as he led you further into the woods. You figured it was best not to question him anymore, despite your knowledge of tracking, it was nothing in comparison to Daryl’s. He finally stopped at a waterfall, one you didn’t even know existed, it was small but god it was beautiful you could barely peel your eyes from the view. You stood there for a moment, allowing the tranquil energy to take over.

When you finally turned to Daryl, he seemed to be fumbling in his pocket for something which only made you laugh a little. He took a few steps closer to you with something buried in his fist, you weren't sure what it was but your heart seemed to race a little at the possibilities. He looked around at the waterfall only confirming this was the best place to propose to you; the sun now had a golden hue as it fought with the leaves on the trees to find the ground. His eyes finally met you as he took your hand in his.

“I aint ever done this shit before” he whispered which only made your giggle reappear. “Ya the most importan’ person in my life. Fer god sake, ya carryin’ ma son” you rolled your eyes at his assumption but couldn’t wipe the smile from your face as you watched him awkwardly try to find the right words to say. “ a love you” he finished which only made your smile widen, you opened your mouth to respond to his loving words but nothing left as he knelt down on one knee in front of you. Your heart seemed to beat harder than it ever had done in your life, your eyes filling with tears as you watched the scene unfold, secretly wishing someone would capture the perfect moment on film for you to watch forever. “Y/N Will ya marry me?” he held out his palm to show you the perfect ring, you couldn’t believe something so beautiful existed in this world let alone the fact you’d get to wear it.

You stood speechless for a moment, the only sound you managed to get out was a squeak of some kind, you nodded your head a little too vigorously holding out your hand for the man to squeeze the ring on, it was a little small but with enough pressure it fit. Before he could find his way back to his feet, you managed to knock him onto the ground, his arms wrapping around you as you attacked his face with small, sweet kisses. “I love you, Daryl Dixon” you whispered in between the kisses, only making the southerner laugh.

You sat there watching the waterfall between Daryl’s legs, his back providing the perfect back rest, only turning away to glance at your ring, not sure what was more beautiful. Finally you looked up behind you to find his eyes had been on you the entire time. He lent down to place one of his tender kisses on your lips as you reached your hand to his face. You sighed on his lips before he pulled away, your eyes remaining close as you let the feeling linger. “Mrs Y/N Dixon, I like how it sounds”

“Me too”

#daryl dixon #norman reedus #twd daryl #daryl dixon fanfiction #the walking dead fanfiction #twd fanfiction #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon x female reader #daryl dixon x you #daryl dixon x y/n

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sheikah · 3 years

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Do u have any book series recommendations? Or standalone books? Preferably fantasy w good romance

I do! I am not as well-read in fantasy or romance books as I'd like to be. I read a lot in my youth, completely abandoned "reading for pleasure" throughout college and grad school because I was working the whole time, and then for the first few years of teaching was too overwhelmed with grading to read on the side. I'm FINALLY getting back into it. But here are some book recs I've checked out recently that have fantasy, romance, or both :)

I feel like if you're on my blog at all that you're at least aware of Leigh Bardugo's work and the Grishaverse, so I won't recommend those. But I will be comparing some of the pairings to Darklina, so I hope you have that frame of reference. And of course, if you haven't read those, get on it!

First off is the Ember in the Ashes series by Sabaa Tahir. It's a fantasy that follows three main characters--Laia, Elias, and Helene--and the war they're involved in. It's got lots of high fantasy goodies and at least two really good ships. I loved it and cried many times reading it. It hasn't even been a year since I finished and I'm already considering a reread. Definitely my favorite thing I've read in the last couple years!

Right now I'm reading Uprooted by Naomi Novik. It's a standalone fantasy where a young girl is sent to live with an immortal sorcerer as payment for his protection of her village. A fun fantasy atmosphere and slow-burn enemies-to-lovers romance. I'm absolutely loving it. The ship really reminds me of Darklina so I'm completely sold.

The Invisible Life of Addie LaRue by VE Schwab. This is a standalone fantasy about a woman who is cursed to be forgotten by everyone she meets. It has a dark romance in it and is a really fun and original concept. I liked this book but did find it really slowed down after the opening. Give it time, though! I think the author's style is really beautiful and when I was put on the spot to recommend a book to Ben Barnes, I picked this one lmao.

Normal People by Sally Rooney is not a fantasy but IS a really realistic and heartfelt romance that just enthralled me and broke my heart. I read it in a day and instantly binged the Hulu series. Highly recommend.

From Blood and Ash by Jennifer Armentrout. Ok so my recommendation of this one has some caveats. I'm absolutely obsessed with the first book. Like it's just amazing and so addictive and sexy. The second book is also good. But by the third book I've found her writing to be unbearably repetitive. I haven't been able to finish the third book and it's planned as a six-book series. Idk how to feel about that. But her characters and world are really interesting and the smut is delicious. The first book at least is absolutely worth a read.

The Folk of the Air series by Holly Black. Another fun fantasy romance with enemies-to-lovers goodness. It's set in a faerie world and combines the modern world with a fantasy world, which is a trope I really like. The characters are great--especially the POV heroine--and the romance is really cute and intriguing.

A Thousand Pieces of You by Claudia Gray. This one is definitely more of a teen/YA (though a few others on this list are, too. This one just really FEELS like it) but I really liked it. It's not fantasy so much as sci-fi, with an enemies-to-lovers romance. The MC's parents develop the technology to jump between different dimensions. When her parents are murdered, she has to chase the suspect from dimension to dimension but along the way she starts to see him differently and fall in love with him. It's a trilogy. I'm also gonna tell you what I have on my TBR because these are things that have been highly recommended to me by people whose taste I trust haha. Every one of these is either a fantasy or sci-fi romance series or standalone:

The Winternight Trilogy by Katherine Arden (this is what I'm reading next. Came highly recommended when I asked for something like Darklina but with a better ending haha).

The Winner's Trilogy by Marie Rutkowski

Spinning Silver by Naomi Novik (standalone)

These Violent Delights by Chloe Gong (currently two books are out)

The Night Circus by Erin Morgenstern (standalone)

Defy the Stars by Claudia Gray (trilogy)

Blood Heir by Amélie Wen Zhao (currently two books are out, will be a trilogy)

Deathless by Catherynne Valente (standalone)

Hope you like some of these!

#book recs #answered

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turtle-paced · 3 years

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A:tLA Re-Watch: Fine-Toothed Comb Edition

First two-part episode of the series, and a very important one for the structure of the series going forwards too!

Book 1, Chapter 7 - The Spirit World (Winter Solstice, Part 1)

(0:55) Previously, on Avatar, Aang realised he was ready to hear whatever it was his previous incarnation Roku had to say to him. Katara lost her necklace and Zuko picked it up. Aang’s duty is to restore balance to the world by defeating Ozai, who got tipped off to Aang’s re-emergence by his own spiritual authorities.

(2:05) Airbenders think differently about heights. When Sokka suggests Katara jump off Appa and check out the fluffy clouds below them, she scoffs - but Aang gleefully says he’ll give it a go and launches himself into the air.

(2:17) Aang reports that clouds are made of water. The party will remember this.

(2:31) In this pre-flight era, where there are very few airbenders, the party has an unusual view of the devastation the Fire Nation has caused to the natural environment of the Earth Kingdom right from the beginning of their journey. As Sokka says, it’s like a scar. Attention to detail strikes again - the devastation is on one side of the river, which clearly halted some of the fire’s progress.

(2:37) When the group lands to check it out, the blackened area of the forest is more a burned-out area of the forest. There’s no wildlife around. Katara and Sokka’s differing concerns show up again. Katara checks in on a very upset Aang, while Sokka looks around for the causes of the fire (the Fire Nation).

(2:59) Aang with the heavy questions. “Why would anyone do this? How could I let this happen?” There aren’t any answers yet. Aang knows the world has changed, but he doesn’t understand how (and won’t until well into season three). As for ‘how could I let this happen?’, that requires some self-reflection. When Aang decided to run away the first time, he didn’t have the faintest idea that this, or this sort of thing, would be the outcome. The important thing here is his realisation that he doesn’t know how to be the Avatar.

(3:16) Aang draws a distinction between learning the styles of bending and learning his job. This shows us that Aang thinks of being the Avatar as more than the cool powers. He’s very much aware that being the Avatar comes with responsibilities he’s currently not at all prepared to handle.

(3:35) Fittingly, Zuko makes his re-entrance by wandering into a scene shouting for people (in this case, Iroh) to go places and do things.

(3:47) Once again Iroh advises Zuko to slow down, rest, and maybe practice some self-care. Alas, Zuko’s troubles cannot be soaked away.

(4:10) I think this might be the first time we’ve seen a variation on Iroh’s breath of fire, exhaling steam through his nose to heat the water.

(4:16) And another instance of Iroh refusing to let Zuko bully him, with a bit of malicious compliance. Zuko wants Iroh to leave the springs now? Okay! What, it was hardly as if Iroh was going to get in the water fully clothed. It’s saying no to Zuko and giving him some self-inflicted consequences of his own poor behaviour, without hurting him.

(4:30) “Are you ready to be cheered up?” Seriously, love Katara. This implies some time passing between the end of the last scene and the start of this one, in which she’s backed off to let Aang work through his emotions on his own. But she’s also not going to let Aang wallow in his problems, and she’s used the time to find something that might help Aang feel better about the problem at hand. She’s proactively dealing with the emotional issues here.

(4:47) What Katara found is acorns. Katara’s not just sitting back and saying “I have hope”, she’s going out and finding things that give her hope, and then sharing them. (And important for her to do, in an episode where she doesn’t have much of a role.) It’s also an important reminder for the group and the viewer - despite the destruction, things can regrow.

(5:11) Yet another person who sees airbending tattoos and thinks ‘aha! This must be the Avatar! Definitely not a descendant of surviving airbenders!’ It’s phrased as “are you the Avatar?”, which leads to an understated exchange between Aang and Katara where Aang looks to her, she nods, and Aang nods at the elder in an affirmative. The message between them being that it’s okay for Aang to call himself the Avatar even though he feels like he’s failed.

(5:22) Shot of another Earth Kingdom village. Those walls. No matter how small the village is, they have walls. Because it’s easy for earthbenders to make them. There has, however, been a recent fire. Several houses are burned.

(5:37) Rumours of the Avatar’s return have reached this tiny village who-knows-where in the Earth Kingdom.

(5:58) The problem the villagers are seeking help with is not the Fire Nation, however. It’s a spirit monster, Hei Bai. Up till now, the protagonists have been dealing with wartime dangers (and Bumi). This brings in one of the more solidly fantasy elements of the story. The spirit has been taking people from the village for the last few nights.

(6:20) It’s established here that the solstices are significant dates, as the natural world and the spirit world are closest at these points.

(7:08) This is one of those places where Aang is completely unequipped to handle Avatar duties. He knows next to nothing about the spirit world. This also lets the audience learn along with Aang.

(7:16) When Katara asks if Aang can help, Aang says, “I have to try, don’t I? Maybe whatever I have to do will just come to me!” Aang’s good points and bad points in a single line. Not helping doesn’t even occur to him, to the point where he sees helping others as his obligation. But there’s not much proactivity on a personal level there either, his first instinct being to hope that the solution will come to him, rather than ‘let’s go out and find this solution’.

(7:25) Love Sokka, too. “Yeah…we’re all gonna get eaten by a spirit monster.”

(8:04) It’s an important thing to remember about Iroh - he’s clever and he’s powerful, but he’s not infallible. As we see here when he’s effectively ambushed. Note how unconcerned he is about missing Zuko’s deadline, by the way.

(8:15) The incident gives the writers a chance to reiterate Iroh’s background. Fire Lord’s brother, famous general. It also gives us a title for him: “The Dragon of the West.” Iroh being captured here and addressed by a title additional to whatever he might have by virtue of being related to the Fire Lord shows us his Earth Kingdom notoriety.

(8:35) This is half-comical given Aang’s actual words, but the music and his solitude on the streets of the village are a reminder that Aang, who is not yet thirteen and who doesn’t know the spirit world ins and outs of his job, is heading out alone to confront a spirit who’s been attacking a village.

(8:44) Sokka is the first to object to letting Aang do this alone. This shows us something about Sokka’s relationship with Aang. We’ve seen Sokka reluctant to help strangers - just last episode, in fact - and we’ve also seen Sokka willing to face down an entire warship by himself to help his community. He hasn’t said it like Katara has, but Sokka’s actions show that he’s come to consider Aang as part of his family.

(9:21) Hei Bai appears and definitely fits the description of ‘spirit monster’.

(9:37) While I’m appreciating characters, love Aang, whose first reaction to a giant and quite possibly hostile spirit monster towering over him is to smile, bow, and politely introduce himself.

(9:47) Of course, the flaw in Aang’s approach is shown when his words do nothing. Hei Bai, enraged by the destruction of their forest by humans, starts rampaging around the nearest human settlement. Aang continues to try and talk even while Hei Bai is smashing buildings. We know that Aang’s pretty adaptable; he just doesn’t want to switch tactics to violence. Admirable, but not always effective, and Aang is slow to recognise and engage with situations where he has to fight.

(10:37) Sokka charges out to fight Hei Bai while Katara hangs back. On Katara’s part, I wonder if this is partially her not trusting her own ability to help in a fight.

(10:55) Aang’s just in the middle of saying “I don’t want to fight [Hei Bai] unless I have to” when Sokka gets snatched.

(11:09) It’s nighttime, and Zuko’s out looking for his uncle. Seems he didn’t leave after ten minutes, in the end. All bark and not a whole lot of bite.

(11:16) When a soldier suggests that perhaps Iroh left, under the impression that Zuko would have left, Zuko doesn’t even consider it. Even if Zuko takes it a bit for granted at this point, this relationship is so important to his character development. Zuko’s father hates him. Zuko’s mother loved him, but also left him, and he’s not privy to her reasons for going. And Zuko can still trust absolutely that Iroh loves him and wouldn’t willingly leave. He just doesn’t think about the implications for another season and a half.

(11:22) Zuko also using his brain here as he spots the reverse landslide. Another important thing to show, given that so much of Zuko’s arc involves him dealing with some realisations that are immediately obvious to the viewer. (He’s on the wrong side of the war, his dad’s a piece of shit, things like that.)

(11:37) Seriously skilful flying from Aang - he’s moving fast, through a forest, after sunset.

(12:00) Sokka gets taken into the spirit world, and Aang crash lands in front of Hei Bai’s shrine.

(12:11) Aang wakes up, and the animators do the heavy lifting in partially concealing how Aang’s been taken to the spirit world (or has partially shifted to that plane? The mechanics are unclear). The orange and yellow of Aang’s clothes are washed out in the nighttime scene, further than they were in the twilight scene immediately before the commercial break cut.

In character terms, Aang is struggling hard with feelings of failure. This is even worse because they’re justified feelings of failure and important things he’s failed at. It’s not fair he has the responsibilities, it’s true he’s a kid. There are mitigating factors here. But having tried and failed to stop the damage to the village and rescue Sokka, Aang’s feelings are valid, and deeper than can be resolved in just the one episode. This goes hand in hand with Aang’s knowledge of his responsibilities as the Avatar. He’s well aware of the expectations and where he falls short. We’ll be coming back to Aang’s self-blame and good/bad responses to failure in future episodes.

(12:23) In this establishing shot of the Earth Kingdom soldiers escorting Iroh, note that they’re barefoot.

(12:32) “We’re taking you to face justice.” Another important thing to remember with Iroh. He spent most of his career trying to conquer the Earth Kingdom. With the exception of the one flashback, the viewer sees the kindly old man who’s trying to help his nephew and, later, free the Earth Kingdom. Not everyone in-universe shares this perspective.

(12:44) As we get from the soldiers continuing to helpfully exposit. First mention of Ba Sing Se, here, and the great siege of the backstory.

(12:59) “After six hundred days away from home, my men were tired and I was tired, and I’m still tired.” With what we later learn about Lu Ten, it very much appears to me that Iroh says ‘tired’ but means ‘grieving’, and this line is a G-rated indication that there were a lot of deaths during this particular siege.

Oh, and also it’s a good lead-in to his ruse. Just as Zuko trusts that Iroh wouldn’t up and ditch him, Iroh trusts that Zuko will be looking for him.

(13:32) Gotta feel so bad for Katara, here. Aside from her own backstory of dead and absent parents, she’s just watched her brother and her best friend vanish in a fight with a spirit, leaving her alone in a foreign country.

(13:38) Katara’s holding on to Sokka’s boomerang.

(13:49) As the sun rises, it’s now clear that Aang’s clothes aren’t just washed out, he’s entirely blue-shaded. With his inability to interact with Katara and the elder, not to mention being translucent, the penny drops and Aang realises he’s in the spirit world.

(14:20) Voice acting! It’s just the one line, but on his own, Zuko is a lot less growly and shouty.

(15:06) After a low-key miserable scene of Aang, Katara, and Appa being utterly unable to comfort each other, Aang shouts at the sky that he needs to talk to Avatar Roku.

(15:17) The introduction of the no-bending-in-the-spirit-world rule.

(15:32) We get a good look at the mysterious light chasing Aang. It’s a dragon (Fang). This is quickly followed by our first look at Roku.

(16:28) Interestingly, Iroh is able to see Aang even when he’s travelling in the spirit world. Much like other things in Iroh’s backstory, this is never fully explained.

(16:44) Iroh might have left his sandal behind in faith that Zuko would be following, but he’s still going to attempt to free himself with some quality briar-patching. Of course his captors are willing to chain him tighter.

(17:06) Here we see Iroh heat his cuffs red-hot the same way he heated the springs he was bathing in. He’s showing us combat application of what he was trying to teach Zuko in the first episode - firebending comes from the breath, not the muscles. So he can still firebend effectively when he’s chained up and unable to use his muscles to their fullest extent. I feel pretty bad for this corporal, whose entire palm and fingers were pressed to red-hot metal for a few seconds. If anything, he’s not screaming enough. Iroh follows that up by startling the soldiers’ ostrich-horses and making a break for it, rather than attempting anything more lethal.

(17:18) Aang and Fang approach a volcanic island and a temple. The temple is five storeys. A lot of stonework and tiling, a lot of gold.

(17:40) So while we’re looking at this heavily gilded statue, I just want to raise one question - who ordered this temple built? Or, at the very least, who commissioned this statue of Roku, the dimensions of which must have been calculated with the uppermost room in mind?

Think about it. Roku was a known opponent of Fire Nation expansionism. Would the Fire Sages spend this much money or place a very expensive statue of the Fire Lord’s political opponent in a temple without the Fire Lord’s okay? As we’ll see in future episodes, they’re pretty involved with the state. Could Roku’s surviving family afford this? Would Azulon or Ozai fork out the cash? I also note that the statue is an accurate depiction of Roku in his latter years, so aside from this being done by a skilled artisan (and hence a $$$ artisan), someone who knew Roku well was involved in the design phase.

I think this temple might be a product of Sozin’s guilty conscience. I don’t think this conclusion was intended, but the show’s later depiction of Roku and Sozin’s relationship makes it an appealing post-hoc explanation.

(17:47) Fang spiritually transfers a bit more knowledge. In this case, Sozin’s Comet, bereft of context. It’s clearly bad, though!

(18:00) Bringing back the point about the solstice from earlier, we see a spot of sunlight approaching the face of the Roku statue. Fits with the exposition!

(18:50) Iroh is quickly recaptured, because he’s one chained-up guy trying to escape over dirt without killing anyone (let’s be real, Iroh could easily kill these guys), being followed by three earthbenders.

(19:07) Katara goes out looking for Aang and Sokka. Mostly, this is an excuse for -

(19:16) - Zuko to spot Appa. He knows that means the Avatar. But Appa’s flying one way, the tracks of the ostrich-horses are leading another, and Zuko has to choose.

(20:18) This week in “it’s really freaking hard to humanely contain benders”, the Earth Kingdom soldiers decide to crush Iroh’s hands. Given that Iroh barely used his hands and that the most significant injury he caused in that escape attempt was to someone’s hands...I’m thinking this is more retaliatory than anything.

(20:25) Zuko arrives to save the day, having chosen his love for his uncle over his quest (and, implictly, over his love for his father). It makes it easier to support Zuko and Iroh in this fight, especially after the hand-crushing thing. Unfortunately, as Azula will prove in season two, this isn’t a one-and-done decision.

Also, off to the right - is that a female Earth Kingdom soldier? I think it might be! The show is welcome to continue proving me wrong about female earthbenders in the background! (I mean, they’re still a tiny and voiceless minority, but there are more than I thought!)

(20:42) “You are clearly outnumbered!” “Ah, that’s true…but you are clearly outmatched.” Damn that’s a line. Especially since the fight bears that out. Iroh doesn’t even firebend, instead using his chains.

In one particularly noticeable shot, he uses the chains to redirect the momentum of a rock flying towards him. From what we’ve seen of Zuko and Zhao, this isn’t a technique firebenders use much. Even before we’re told Iroh learned from watching waterbenders, we’re shown that Iroh learned from watching waterbenders. This series knows how to do fight scenes - not just how to make them tense, but how to make them show character.

(21:23) After failing the previous evening, Aang is trying again. Good on him.

(22:07) Aang touches Hei Bai and learns/confirms that Hei Bai is the spirit of the forest, and says that now he understands. Hei Bai is angry because his home was burned down. So the war can have effects on the spirit world as well. It’s a two-way relationship.

(22:22) Aang offers Hei Bai an acorn. Hei Bai accepts it, and is appeased. So in the end, Aang didn’t have to fight after all. He could resolve the situation using his words. But that was only possible after he understood what was going on, and only after he had some real help to offer. The series is anti-war, but it doesn’t treat talking as a magical cure-all to conflict.

(22:58) “If only there were a way we could repay you for what you’ve done.” “You could give us some supplies and some money.” Ah, practicality. But again the sort of thing that helps to explain how the group are getting by day to day.

(23:24) We leave off with the hook for next episode, part two. Contacting Roku has to be done ASAP, but they have to go to the Fire Nation to do it. Sounds dangerous!

#a:tla #cw: violence #fine toothed comb edition

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stonesparrow · 3 years

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Bird’s Writing Ideas

Summaries of some of the dcst AUs and other fanfic concepts I’m “working on,” or at least just have a google doc going for. Feel free to send me an ask if you want to hear more about any of them :P

No Stone Wars AU

Terrible name, yes, so sometimes I call this the “Delayed Lions AU.” I am not good at titling things. It’s an AU where Yuzuriha was successfully brought back to camp and revived instead of Tsukasa, and then the lions show up. Working together though, our heroes do manage to scare the lions away for the time being, and Tsukasa doesn’t end up getting revived until way later. Essentially it’s an excuse for me to write a civilization-building story where Senku carries out his plans as he intended before the whole Stone Wars shenanigans happened. Senku does still find Ishigami Village (he has to go to Hakone eventually to collect sulfur) but he’s not nearly as concerned about, ya know, getting murdered. Could be really boring for some people, but like I’ve said I LOVE the civilization building parts of DCST and this is my jam. I did way too much math for this one.

Fem! Senku AU

Exactly what it says on the tin. Tentatively titled “Ishigami Senku: Girl Genius.” I’ve left it ambiguous so far whether Senku is cis or trans, but either way this one is great for exploring how Senku’s decisions and character (and those around her) might be affected by Senku being a girl. For instance, this Senku is more used to being underestimated and patronized than canon Senku and has a slight compulsion to wanting to prove herself, which is in conflict with her desire to surge ahead without caring about what others think of her. Her hair also obeys gravity a little more and she wears it in a ponytail, and she’s a little closer to Yuzuriha than in canon (though Taiju is still her oldest and best friend). I’ve had a few problems with hashing out the plot for this one since I don’t want it to perfectly match canon but I also want it to keep some key story nodes, and the butterfly effect makes it tend to veer wildly off into various directions.

Mermaids AU(s)

I have like, three of these because I couldn’t decide how to go about it and just wanted to write something with mermaids. I like fantasy.

Senku and Taiju are young mermen living in an underwater kingdom, and Senku’s fascinated with the above world, spending his days studying humans and their inventions and trying to come up with something that could allow him to go on land. But then one day something turns the whole Sea Kingdom into stone statues, and it’s up to Senku to venture out into the human world in search of a cure. Lower on my interest scale because most of the story wouldn’t take place among the mermaids.

Inspired by ao3 user Luki’s story Flock where soon after revival petrified humans sprout wings. In this case though, Senku realizes that he’s somehow becoming partially aquatic, only instead of being full on mermanified he ends up more like...mermaids in the Sims 3? Where he has to stay constantly hydrated to survive and his legs turn into a tail when submerged in water. I like this one a lot, actually.

H2O: Just Add Water AU. There was this Australian tv show I used to watch at my friend’s house when we were like...seven, about these three girls who after a strange encounter realized that ten seconds after coming in contact with water, they would turn into mermaids. I’ve tweaked that concept a lot but basically this AU is Senku, Taiju, and Yuzuriha taking the place of the three main characters, and also they’re in Japan instead of Australia, for obvious reasons.

A Single Act of Kindness

AU where 12 year old Tsukasa is rescued from the old man on the beach by another, friendlier old man, one with grey hair with dark tips and red eyes. That’s it, that’s the whole concept. Probably gonna be a oneshot.

Future/Next Gen

Not an AU, but basically a bunch of (very theoretical and self indulgent) ideas I have about the Kingdom of Science post defeating Why-man. All of them stem from a concept I had where Senku finds a protege in Taiju and Yuzuriha’s third oldest child, a girl named Yurika (which is a legitimate girls’ name but Senku was the one who named her and meant it to sound like Eureka! on purpose, as if saying he wished for her to have a life full of discovery. He’ll deny thinking that much about it though). Most of the stories I have in this concept are about Yurika’s teen years, with Senku in his forties.

Suika in Wonderland

Just a funny idea I had where Suika falls asleep to Ukyo telling her an “old British children’s story,” one summer afternoon and finds herself in a strange world where a lot of the bizarre individuals she meets look oddly like some of her friends.

ATLA AU

Recently I did a little speculative thing for this in this post, and I liked it enough to write it down into a more fully fleshed out concept. Story 1 is going to be about Ryusui growing up in the Northern Water Tribe and him meeting the Gaang when they arrive at the end of Book 1, while Story 2 is going to be about Senku and his friends uncovering the Dai Li conspiracy in Ba Sing Se and teaming up with the Gang when they arrive in Book 2. Story 3...well I’d like to do something regarding the Fire Nation characters, so maybe something to do with Amaryllis.

#dcst #dr stone #dr. stone #dcst au #aus #alternate universes #writing ideas #my writing ideas #dcst spoilers #dunno what to tag yet

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themadlostgirl · 3 years

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When It’s Cold (3)

*It’s the mutual pining for me*

~~~

A few weeks had passed of Felix and I living together and trying to find our way back to Neverland. So far all our ideas and plans lead to nothing and I was starting to get disheartened. It felt like we were never going to get back to Neverland at this rate.

Life in the mansion was pretty nice though. We were a little worried during the first week, paranoid that someone was going to return and throw us out into the cold but no one even came near the house. I was starting to wonder if anyone besides us even knew it was here.

Over the course of our stay I learned how to do laundry and bought a bike so I could get to and from town quicker. Felix and I had discussed stealing a car but seeing as how neither of us knew how to drive and stealing a car would put us under investigation we didn’t. Felix on the other hand turned out to be quite adept at cooking. He found a recipe book in one of the drawers of the kitchen and seemed to enjoy figuring out how to make certain dishes. Aside from a few burned casseroles and a very unfortunate miscommunication involving spaghetti he was doing really well. Almost every evening he had some new dish ready for dinner. I started baking again so we always had warm brownies or chocolate chip cookies in the house.

Life was good. When we weren’t looking into ways back to Neverland we were lounging around the house. We found a record player in one of the rooms and played it when it was too quiet. A few times I had caught Felix dancing around the kitchen while cooking dinner at which point he immediately stopped and pretended he wasn’t. It made him a whole lot less intimidating seeing that he was secretly a bit of a dork underneath the hard exterior.

I think that was the best part of being stuck here together. We were learning more about each other. Felix was really closed off from conversations at first but after a few days his tongue loosened up. I learned that he got the scar on his face as a result of an incident before he came to Neverland though he couldn’t remember what exactly. He preferred sweet over salty and loved chocolate covered pretzels. On Neverland he used to collect sand dollars until the other boys found his collection and smashed them all. It was nice learning these little things about him. It made me feel like we were closer.

When the idle days became too much to bear we turned to sparring to keep the boredom away. We turned the ballroom into a sparring arena so we wouldn’t lose our edge. So far we’ve only broken one vase!

One such day we were in the ballroom again fighting and I had finally got a leg up on Felix and pinned him to the ground. “Gotcha!” We were both breathing hard and I was sat right on top of him with my arms pinning his wrists against the floor. I froze as the position we were in rocketed into my mind. Felix took the moment of hesitation to break free from my hold and rolled us over so I was pinned under him. I could have argued that this position was even worse.

I swear I tried not to stare at his lips. I really did but one quick flicker down his face and I couldn’t stop looking no matter how many times I forced my eyes to look back up at his eyes.

He let me go when he saw I had completely checked out of the fight and left, leaving me reeling on the floor as to what just happened.

For as friendly as things between Felix and I got there was a problem running parallel to it. I had hoped that the last of my dirty thoughts and weird feelings for Felix would have gone away after that first day but it seemed to be having the opposite effect. The closer Felix and I got as friends the more I was pining after him and it was torture!

At some point I stopped trying to deny my body the release it craved when my mind created lewd fantasies of Felix. There was nothing wrong if it was all in my head. No one would have to know and our relationship as roommates, partners, and friends would be untarnished.

I had everything under control. That is until the night the electric went out.

There had been a huge snow storm and it knocked out power to the whole town. Huddled under a bunch of blankets and thick warm layers of clothes helped keep out any chill but it didn’t keep me warm enough. I had left the warmth of my room to start a fire in the fireplace and noticed that it was already lit. Felix was sitting in front of it with a blanket wrapped around him.

“Cold got to you too?” I asked as I sat down next to him.

“Didn’t realize how much I hated being cold until the heat turned off.” He sighed.

We sat in companionable silence for a while, listening to the fire crackle.

“Felix,” I finally said, “Do you think we’re ever gonna find a way out of here and back to Neverland? It’s been over a month and we haven’t made any headway.”

“I know.” Felix turned to look at me, “It gets a little harder everyday to keep up the flimsy hope that we’ll get back home.”

“I’m sorry I made come here.” I told him, “You would be back on Neverland without a worry in the world if I hadn’t asked you to come with me.”

“My decisions are my own. No use blaming yourself for them.” Felix ruffled my hair, the only form of affection he willingly showed.

“So why then?” I asked, “Why did you come to Storybrooke with me?”

“Why did you ask me to come?” He countered.

I took a deep breath. This same old impasse. He wouldn’t answer me unless I answered him first.

“I wanted to have someone I knew I could rely on.” I answered, “The boys that left on the ship with the adults couldn’t be relied on. They wanted families and lives away from Neverland. They wouldn’t help me get revenge for what those bastards did to Pan. But you were always loyal and I knew that you would help me if it meant avenging him.”

“You could have asked any of the other boys that chose to stay. They were also loyal. Why not ask one of them? Or was it that you had and I turned out to be the only one who said yes?” Felix said, drawing the blanket in closer around him.

“I didn’t ask anyone else. I asked you because I knew you were the only one I could trust. The only one I wanted to come with me.”

This caught Felix’s attention. He opened and closed his mouth as if searching for something to say but came up short.

“So now you have to answer my question.” I turned towards him fully, “Why did you come with me?”

His mouth snapped shut and he looked away from me. I feared he may leave without giving me an answer but he stayed seated. An internal war dueling inside his mind as he mulled over what to tell me.

Finally he exhaled and searched my eyes. There was something softer about the way he gazed at me that had me holding my breath. When he spoke it was barely a whisper and had me leaning closer to hear.

“I came with you because...because I…” He swallowed, “I came with you because I didn’t want to be on Neverland without you. We never hung out but I was never ignorant of you. You brought so much life to those around you and I...”

“Felix,” I exhaled. I reached to touch him but he pulled away just as I did. He started to stand up but I grabbed the blanket around him halting his actions.

Felix stared down at me, eyes wide and panicked. He looked like a rabbit caught in a trap.

“Please don’t go!” I blurted out. “You don’t have to run from me.”

“What makes you think I’m running?” He asked, his voice low.

“What else would you call this?” I stood up as well. “It’s just us here, Felix. No one else can hear or see what we do. You don’t need to act tough and stoic for the sake of your reputation. I’ve already seen you dance around the kitchen while cooking soup. I think the masks can come off now.”

“I’m not wearing a mask, little girl.” He spat.

“Keep telling yourself that.” I turned to leave. Why had I said anything? I completely ruined any and all progress we had been making up to this point. If I thought he might have been distant before he was sure to keep away from me now. Stupid feelings and hormones making me say things I shouldn’t be saying!

“Wait!” Felix caught me at the staircase. I wasn’t in the mood to deal with this anymore and it must have been evident in my eyes as he turned me around to look at him. “Just wait a moment.”

“Felix, I’m tired in more ways than one. Just let me go.” I tried to shrug his arms off me.

“Please,” The word bled from his lips. I don’t think I’ve ever heard Felix say please in my life. “Please just give me a moment.”

“A moment for what?”

“To think.”

“Think of what?” I demanded. “Whatever it is you want to say just say it.”

“I--I--” He stammered. “Damn it,” he hissed before slamming his lips to mine.

The sheer force of the kiss nearly knocked me backwards. The ferocity of which he kissed me was hungry and passionate. Like he was drowning and looking for air. The blanket around me dropped to the floor as I clung onto him to keep balanced. My lips moved against his with similar excitement. My heart was hammering so loud in my chest it was all I could hear.

When the need for air became too much we pulled back. Felix rested his head against mine. Eyes screwed shut. I was still trying to wrap my mind around what had just happened when he cursed under his breath and shot past me on the stairs. The sound of a door slamming shut broke me out of my haze.

Felix kissed me.

Not a quick kiss either.

Felix kissed me like I had been dreaming about for the past several weeks. I tentatively touched my lips, savoring the memory of the way his mouth felt against mine. I quickly doused the fire in the living room and rushed up the stairs. I hovered outside of Felix’s door trying to find the courage to knock.

“I know you’re out there,” Felix’s muffled voice came from within startling me. “I suggest you save whatever you have to say and take it with you back to your own room.”

“Felix,” I sighed, “I think we need to talk about what happened on the stairs.”

“Forget about it.” He snapped, “I don’t know what I was thinking.”

“I think you do. I think you know exactly what you were doing and that scares you more than if you were just reacting out of hormones.” I snapped back. “So how about you stop running and hiding from me and give me a straight answer for once!”

“I said to go away!”

“Fine!” I shouted, banging my fist against the door, “But you should know that I didn’t mind it at all you insufferable ass! I actually quite enjoyed it but, of course, you don’t care about that. Goodnight Felix.”

I stormed off back to my room and slammed the door shut behind me. I rolled into bed but sleep did not come easily. My feelings before were only more confused now after Felix had kissed me. How could he just kiss me after saying something unexpectedly sweet and then abandon me without a single word of explanation?

How is it even possible to like someone you hate so much?

~~~

Felix is a fucking idiot.

That’s it. That’s all it was. He was an idiot and he had proven that more than well enough tonight when he kissed you. Oh god above he actually broke and kissed you. He told you why he had been so willing to follow you away from Neverland and then he kissed you.

In the moment he couldn’t get the words he knew he owed you out. They were there scrambled in his brain but unable to get past his tongue. So he put his mouth to a better use.

He nearly moaned when he got a taste of you. Your breath was minty. Your lips so soft against his. He hadn’t meant to get so lost in it. But he finally had you in his arms and he didn’t want to let the sensation go.

Then you were kissing him back. Your hands tangled in his hair pulling him closer. Urging him on as he pressed your bodies together. He could have gone on forever kissing you if reality and common sense hadn’t come back to him in the moment you both were catching your breath.

He was supposed to be finding a way back to Neverland, not making out with you! But it felt so good to kiss you. You had been so perfect and warm in his arms. Thoughts of picking you up carrying you back to his room had entered his mind but were just as quickly dashed away. He couldn’t afford to be distracted. Not even by you.

You came pounding on his door yelling at him about his rude treatment towards you. Screaming about how you enjoyed the kiss as well. That almost had him running to unlock the door but the sound of your door slamming down the hall left him sat on the floor in frustration. How could he fix this? Was there anyway that he could? Would you even want anything to do with him after tonight?

Your words came back to him in that moment of contemplation. “It’s just us here, Felix. No one else can hear or see what we do.”

You were right. Of course you were right. No one else’s opinions mattered. There was no reputation to protect or people to disappoint here. He was not here for anyone to gossip about around a bonfire. It was just the two of you in this big mansion alone. There was no need to be embarrassed.

If only he had come to that realization before he shut you out for good.

There was one thing he could do to make this right. It could also backfire on him horribly but he’d rather try and fail then lose you forever because of one careless night. He would need electricity to do it but hopefully it would be back on in the morning. Restless but determined Felix crawled into bed. Plans of how to fix this mess so he could have your soft lips on his again dancing in his head.

---

(Previous) (Next)

#felix imagine #felix x reader #ouat felix #ouat #neverland #peter pan ouat #roommate au

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holyhellpod · 3 years

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Holy Hell: 3. Metanarrativity: Who’s the Deleuze and who’s the Guattari in your relationship? aka the analysis no one asked for.

In this ep, we delve into authorship, narrative, fandom and narrative meaning. And somehow, as always, bring it back to Cas and Misha Collins.

(Note: the reason I didn’t talk about Billie’s authorship and library is because I completely forgot it existed until I watched season 13 “Advanced Thanatology” again, while waiting for this episode to upload. I’ll find a way to work her into later episodes tho!)

I had to upload it as a new podcast to Spotify so if you could just re-subscribe that would be great! Or listen to it at these other links.

Please listen to the bit at the beginning about monetisation and if you have any questions don’t hesitate to message me here.

Apple | Spotify | Google

Transcript under the cut!

Warnings: discussions of incest, date rape, rpf, war, 9/11, the bush administration, abuse, mental health, addiction, homelessness. Most of these are just one off comments, they’re not full discussions.

Meta-Textuality: Who’s the Deleuze and who’s the Guattari in your relationship?

In the third episode of Season 6, “The Third Man,” Balthazar says to Cas, “you tore up the whole script and burned the pages.” That is the fundamental idea the writers of the first five seasons were trying to sell us: whatever grand plan the biblical God had cooking up is worth nothing in face of the love these men have—for each other and the world. Sam, Bobby, Cas and Dean will go to any lengths to protect one another and keep people safe. What’s real? What’s worth saving? People are real. Families are worth saving.

This show plugs free will as the most important thing a person, angel, demon or otherwise can have. The fact of the matter is that Dean was always going to fight against the status quo, Sam was always going to go his own way, and Bobby was always going to do his best for his boys. The only uncertainty in the entire narrative is Cas. He was never meant to rebel. He was never meant to fall from Heaven. He was supposed to fall in line, be a good soldier, and help bring on the apocalypse, but Cas was the first agent of free will in the show’s timeline. Sam followed Lucifer, Dean followed Michael, and John gave himself up for the sins of his children, at once both a God and Jesus figure. But Cas wasn’t modelled off anyone else. He is original. There are definitely some parallels to Ruby, but I would argue those are largely unintentional. Cas broke the mold.

That’s to say nothing of the impact he’s had on the fanbase, and the show itself, which would not have reached 15 seasons and be able to end the way they wanted it to without Cas and Misha Collins. His back must be breaking from carrying the entire show.

But what the holy hell are we doing here today? Not just talking about Cas. We’re talking about metanarrativity: as I define it, and for purposes of this episode, the story within a story, and the act of storytelling. We’re going to go through a select few episodes which I think exemplify the best of what this show has to offer in terms of framing the narrative. We’ll talk about characters like Chuck and Becky and the baby dykes in season 10. And most importantly we’ll talk about the audience’s role, our role, in the reciprocal relationship of storytelling. After all, a tv show is nothing without the viewer.

I was in fact introduced to the concept of metanarrativity by Supernatural, so the fact that I’m revisiting it six years after I finished my degree to talk about the show is one of life’s little jokes.

I’m brushing off my degree and bringing out the big guns (aka literary theorists) to examine this concept. This will be yet another piece of analysis that would’ve gone well in my English Lit degree, but I’ll try not to make it dry as dog shit.

First off, I’m going to argue that the relationship between the creators of Supernatural and the fans has always been a dialogue, albeit with a power imbalance. Throughout the series, even before explicitly metanarrative episodes like season 10 “Fan Fiction” and season 4 “the monster at the end of this book,” the creators have always engaged in conversations with the fans through the show. This includes but is not limited to fan conventions, where the creators have actual, live conversations with the fans. Misha Collins admitted at a con that he’d read fanfiction of Cas while he was filming season 4, but it’s pretty clear even from the first season that the creators, at the very least Eric Kripke, were engaging with fans. The show aired around the same time as Twitter and Tumblr were created, both of which opened up new passageways for fans to interact with each other, and for Twitter and Facebook especially, new passageways for fans to interact with creators and celebrities.

But being the creators, they have ultimate control over what is written, filmed and aired, while we can only speculate and make our own transformative interpretations. But at least since s4, they have engaged in meta narrative construction that at once speaks to fans as well as expands the universe in fun and creative ways. My favourite episodes are the ones where we see the Winchesters through the lens of other characters, such as the season 3 episode “Jus In Bello,” in which Sam and Dean are arrested by Victor Henriksen, and the season 7 episode “Slash Fiction” in which Dean and Sam’s dopplegangers rob banks and kill a bunch of people, loathe as I am to admit that season 7 had an effect on any part of me except my upchuck reflex. My second favourite episodes are the meta episodes, and for this episode of Holy Hell, we’ll be discussing a few: The French Mistake, he Monster at the end of this book, the real ghostbusters, Fan Fiction, Metafiction, and Don’t Call Me Shurley. I’ll also discuss Becky more broadly, because, like, of course I’ll be discussing Becky, she died for our sins.

Let’s take it back. The Monster At The End Of This Book — written by Julie Siege and Nancy Weiner and directed by Mike Rohl. Inarguably one of the better episodes in the first five seasons. Not only is Cas in it, looking so beautiful, but Sam gets something to do, thank god, and it introduces the character of Chuck, who becomes a source of comic relief over the next two seasons. The episode starts with Chuck Shurley, pen named Carver Edlund after my besties, having a vision while passed out drunk. He dreams of Sam and Dean larping as Feds and finding a series of books based on their lives that Chuck has written. They eventually track Chuck down, interrogate him, and realise that he’s a prophet of the lord, tasked with writing the Winchester Gospels. The B plot is Sam plotting to kill Lilith while Dean fails to get them out of the town to escape her. The C plot is Dean and Cas having a moment that strengthens their friendship and leads further into Cas’s eventual disobedience for Dean. Like the movie Disobedience. Exactly like the movie Disobedience. Cas definitely spits in Dean’s mouth, it’s kinda gross to be honest. Maybe I’m just not allo enough to appreciate art.

When Eric Kripke was showrunner of the first five seasons of Supernatural, he conceptualised the character of Chuck. Kripke as the author-god introduced the character of the author-prophet who would later become in Jeremy Carver’s showrun seasons the biblical God. Judith May Fathallah writes in “I’m A God: The Author and the Writing Fan in Supernatural” that Kripke writes himself both into and out of the text, ending his era with Chuck winking at the camera, saying, “nothing really ends,” and disappearing. Kripke stayed on as producer, continuing to write episodes through Sera Gamble’s era, and was even inserted in text in the season 6 episode “The French Mistake”. So nothing really does end, not Kripke’s grip on the show he created, not even the show itself, which fans have jokingly referred to as continuing into its 16th season. Except we’re not joking. It will die when all of us are dead, when there is no one left to remember it. According to W R Fisher, humans are homo narrans, natural storytellers. The Supernatural fandom is telling a fidelitous narrative, one which matches our own beliefs, values and experiences instead of that of canon. Instead of, at Fathallah says, “the Greek tradition, that we should struggle to do the right thing simply because it is right, though we will suffer and be punished anyway,” the fans have created an ending for the characters that satisfies each and every one of our desires, because we each create our own endings. It’s better because we get to share them with each other, in the tradition of campfire stories, each telling our own version and building upon the others. If that’s not the epitome of mythmaking then I don’t know. It’s just great. Dean and Cas are married, Eileen and Sam are married, Jack is sometimes a baby who Claire and Kaia are forced to babysit, Jody and Donna are gonna get hitched soon. It’s season 17, time for many weddings, and Kevin Tran is alive. Kripke, you have no control over this anymore, you crusty hag.

Chuck is introduced as someone with power, but not influence over the story, only how the story is told through the medium of the novels. It’s basically a very badly written, non authorised biography, and Charlie reading literally every book and referencing things she should have no knowledge of is so damn creepy and funny. At first Chuck is surprised by his characters coming to life, despite having written it already, and when shown the intimidating array of weapons in Baby’s trunk he gets real scared. Which is the appropriate response for a skinny 5-foot-8 white guy in a bathrobe who writes terrible fantasy novels for a living.

As far as I can remember, this is the first explicitly metanarrative episode in the series, or at least the first one with in world consequences. It builds upon the lore of Christianity, angels, and God, while teasing what’s to come. Chuck and Sam have a conversation about how the rest of the season is going to play out, and Sam comes away with the impression that he’ll go down with the ship. They touch on Sam’s addiction to demon blood, which Chuck admits he didn’t write into the books, because in the world of supernatural, addiction should be demonised ha ha at every opportunity, except for Dean’s alcoholism which is cool and manly and should never be analysed as an unhealthy trauma coping mechanism.

Chuck is mostly impotent in the story of Sam and Dean, but his very presence presents an element of good luck that turns quickly into a force of antagonism in the series four finale, “Lucifer Rising”, when the archangel Raphael who defeats Lilith in this episode also kills Cas in the finale. It’s Cas’s quick thinking and Dean’s quick doing that resolve the episode and save them from Lilith, once again proving that free will is the greatest force in the universe. Cas is already tearing up pages and burning scripts. The fandom does the same, acting as gods of their own making in taking canon and transforming it into fan art. The fans aren’t impotent like Chuck, but neither do we have sway over the story in the way that Cas and Dean do. Sam isn’t interested in changing the story in the same way—he wants to kill Lilith and save the world, but in doing so continues the story in the way it was always supposed to go, the way the angels and the demons and even God wanted him to.

Neither of them are author-gods in the way that God is. We find out later that Chuck is in fact the real biblical god, and he engineers everything. The one thing he doesn’t engineer, however, is Castiel, and I’ll get to that in a minute.

The Real Ghostbusters

Season 5’s “The real ghostbusters,” written by Nancy Weiner and Erik Kripke, and directed by James L Conway, situates the Winchesters at a fan convention for the Supernatural books. While there, they are confronted by a slew of fans cosplaying as Sam, Dean, Bobby, the scarecrow, Azazel, and more. They happen to stumble upon a case, in the midst of the game where the fans pretend to be on a case, and with the help of two fans cosplaying as Sam and Dean, they put to rest a group of homicidal ghost children and save the day. Chuck as the special guest of the con has a hero moment that spurs Becky on to return his affections. And at the end, we learn that the Colt, which they’ve been hunting down to kill the devil, was given to a demon named Crowley. It’s a fun episode, but ultimately skippable. This episode isn’t so much metanarrative as it is metatextual—metatextual meaning more than one layer of text but not necessarily about the storytelling in those texts—but let’s take a look at it anyway.

The metanarrative element of a show about a series of books about the brothers the show is based on is dope and expands upon what we saw in “the monster at the end of this book”. But the episode tells a tale about about the show itself, and the fandom that surrounds it.

Where “The Monster At The End Of This Book” and the season 5 premiere “Sympathy For The Devil” poked at the coiled snake of fans and the concept of fandom, “the real ghostbusters” drags them into the harsh light of an enclosure and antagonises them in front of an audience. The metanarrative element revolves around not only the books themselves, but the stories concocted within the episode: namely Barnes and Demian the cosplayers and the story of the ghosts. The Winchester brothers’s history that we’ve seen throughout the first five seasons of the show is bared in a tongue in cheek way: while we cried with them when Sam and Dean fought with John, now the story is thrown out in such a way as to mock both the story and the fans’ relationship to it. Let me tell you, there is a lot to be made fun of on this show, but the fans’ relationship to the story of Sam, Dean and everyone they encounter along the way isn’t part of it. I don’t mean to be like, wow you can’t make fun of us ever because we’re special little snowflakes and we take everything so seriously, because you are welcome to make fun of us, but when the creators do it, I can’t help but notice a hint of malice. And I think that’s understandable in a way. Like The relationship between creator and fan is both layered and symbiotic. While Kripke and co no doubt owe the show’s popularity to the fans, especially as the fandom has grown and evolved over time, we’re not exactly free of sin. And don’t get me wrong, no fandom is. But the bad apples always seem to outweigh the good ones, and bad experiences can stick with us long past their due.

However, portraying us as losers with no lives who get too obsessed with this show — well, you know, actually, maybe they’re right. I am a loser with no life and I am too obsessed with this show. So maybe they have a point. But they’re so harsh about it. From wincestie Becky who they paint as a desperate shrew to these cosplayers who threaten Dean’s very perception of himself, we’re not painted in a very good light.

Dean says to Demian and Barnes, “It must be nice to get out of your mom’s basement.” He’s judging them for deriving pleasure from dressing up and pretending to be someone else for a night. He doesn’t seem to get the irony that he does that for a living. As the seasons wore on, the creators made sure to include episodes where Dean’s inner geek could run rampant, often in the form of dressing up like a cowboy, such as season six “Frontierland” and season 13 “Tombstone”. I had to take a break from writing this to laugh for five minutes because Dean is so funny. He’s a car gay but he only likes one car. He doesn’t follow sports. His echolalia causes him to blurt out lines from his favourite movies. He’s a posse magnet. And he loves cosplay. But he will continually degrade and insult anyone who expresses interest in role play, fandom, or interests in general. Maybe that’s why Sam is such a boring person, because Dean as his mother didn’t allow him to have any interests outside of hunting. And when Sam does express interests, Dean insults him too. What a dick. He’s my soulmate, but I am not going to stop listening to hair metal for him. That’s where I draw the line.

Where “the monster at the end of this book” is concerned with narrative and authorship, “the real ghostbusters” is concerned with fandom and fan reactions to the show. It’s not really the best example to talk about in an episode about metanarrativity, but I wanted to include it anyway. It veers from talk of narrative by focusing on the people in the periphery of the narrative—the fans and the author. In season 9 “Metafiction,” Metatron asks the question, who gives the story meaning? The text would have you believe it’s the characters. The angels think it’s God. The fandom think it’s us. The creators think it’s them. Perhaps we will never come to a consensus or even a satisfactory answer to this question. Perhaps that’s the point.

The ultimate takeaway from this episode is that ordinary people, the people Sam and Dean save, the people they save the world for, the people they die for again and again, are what give their story meaning. Chuck defeats a ghost and saves the people in the conference room from being murdered. Demian and Barnes, don’t ask me which is which, burn the bodies of the ghost children and lay their spirits to rest. The text says that ordinary, every day people can rise to the challenge of becoming extraordinary. It’s not a bad note to end on, by any means. And then we find out that Demian and Barnes are a couple, which of course Dean is surprised at, because he lacks object permanence.

This is no doubt influenced by how a good portion of the transformative fandom are queer, and also a nod to the wincesties and RPF writers like Becky who continue to bottom feed off the wrong message of this show. But then, the creators encourage that sort of thing, so who are the real clowns here? Everyone. Everyone involved with this show in any way is a clown, except for the crew, who were able to feed their families for more than a decade.

Okay side note… over the past year or so I’ve been in process of realising that even in fandom queers are in the minority. I know the statistic is that 10% of the world population is queer, but that doesn’t seem right to me? Maybe because 4/5 closest friends are queer and I hang around queers online, but I also think I lack object permanence when it comes to straight people. Like I just do not interact with straight people on a regular basis outside of my best friend and parents and school. So when I hear that someone in fandom is straight I’m like, what the fuck… can you keep that to yourself please? Like if I saw Misha Collins coming out as straight I would be like, I didn’t ask and you didn’t have to tell. Okay I’m mostly joking, but I do forget straight people exist. Mostly I don’t think about whether people are gay or trans or cis or straight unless they’ve explicitly said it and then yes it does colour my perception of them, because of course it would. If they’re part of the queer community, they’re my people. And if they’re straight and cis, then they could very well pose a threat to me and my wellbeing. But I never ask people because it’s not my business to ask. If they feel comfortable enough to tell me, that’s awesome. I think Dean feels the same way. Towards the later seasons at least, he has a good reaction when it’s revealed that someone is queer, even if it is mostly played off as a joke. It’s just that he doesn’t have a frame of reference in his own life to having a gay relationship, either his or someone he’s close to. He says to Cesar and Jesse in season 11 “The Critters” that they fight like brothers, because that’s the only way he knows how to conceptualise it. He doesn’t have a way to categorise his and Cas’s relationship, which is in many ways, long before season 15 “Despair,” harking back even to the parallels between Ruby and Cas in season 3 and 4, a romantic one, aside from that Cas is like a brother to him. Because he’s never had anyone in his life care for him the way Cas does that wasn’t Sam and Bobby, and he doesn’t recognise the romantic element of their relationship until literally Cas says it to him in the third last episode, he just—doesn’t know what his and Cas’s relationship is. He just really doesn’t know. And he grew up with a father who despised him for taking the mom and wife role in their family, the role that John placed him in, for being subservient to John’s wishes where Sam was more rebellious, so of course he wouldn’t understand either his own desires or those of anyone around him who isn’t explicitly shoving their tits in his face. He moulded his entire personality around what he thought John wanted of him, and John says to him explicitly in season 14 “Lebanon”, “I thought you’d have a family,” meaning, like him, wife and two rugrats. And then, dear god, Dean says, thinking of Sam, Cas, Jack, Claire, and Mary, “I have a family.” God that hurts so much. But since for most of his life he hasn’t been himself, he’s been the man he thought his father wanted him to be, he’s never been able to examine his own desires, wants and goals. So even though he’s really good at reading people, he is not good at reading other people’s desires unless they have nefarious intentions. Because he doesn’t recognise what he feels is attraction to men, he doesn’t recognise that in anyone else.

Okay that’s completely off topic, wow. Getting back to metanarrativity in “The Real Ghostbusters,” I’ll just cap it off by saying that the books in this episode are more a frame for the events than the events themselves. However, there are some good outtakes where Chuck answers some questions, and I’m not sure how much of that is scripted and how much is Rob Benedict just going for it, but it lends another element to the idea of Kripke as author-god. The idea of a fan convention is really cool, because at this point Supernatural conventions had been running for about 4 years, since 2006. It’s definitely a tribute to the fans, but also to their own self importance. So it’s a mixed bag, considering there were plenty of elements in there that show the good side of fandom and fans, but ultimately the Winchesters want nothing to do with it, consider it weird, and threaten Chuck when he says he’ll start releasing books again, which as far as they know is his only source of income. But it’s a fun episode and Dean is a grouchy bitch, so who the holy hell cares?

Season 10 episode “fanfiction” written by my close personal friend Robbie Thompson and directed by Phil Sgriccia is one of the funniest episodes this show has ever done. Not only is it full of metatextual and metanarrative jokes, the entire premise revolves around fanservice, but in like a fun and interesting way, not fanservice like killing the band Kansas so that Dean can listen to “Carry On My Wayward Son” in heaven twice. Twice. One version after another. Like I would watch this musical seven times in theatre, I would buy the soundtrack, I would listen to it on repeat and make all my friends listen to it when they attend my online Jitsi birthday party. This musical is my Hamilton. Top ten episodes of this show for sure. The only way it could be better is if Cas was there. And he deserved to be there. He deserved to watch little dyke Castiel make out with her girlfriend with her cute little wings, after which he and Dean share uncomfortable eye contact. Dean himself is forever coming to terms with the fact that gay people exist, but Cas should get every opportunity he can to hear that it’s super cool and great and awesome to be queer. But really he should be in every episode, all of them, all 300 plus episodes including the ones before angels were introduced. I’m going to commission the guy who edits Paddington into every movie to superimpose Cas standing on the highway into every episode at least once.

“Fan Fiction” starts with a tv script and the words “Supernatural pilot created by Eric Kripke”. This Immediately sets up the idea that it’s toying with narrative. Blah blah blah, some people go missing, they stumble into a scene from their worst nightmares: the school is putting on a musical production of a show inspired by the Supernatural books. It’s a comedy of errors. When people continue to go missing, Sam and Dean have to convince the girls that something supernatural is happening, while retaining their dignity and respect. They reveal that they are the real Sam and Dean, and Dean gives the director Marie a summary of their lives over the last five seasons, but they aren’t taken seriously. Because, like, of course they aren’t. Even when the girls realise that something supernatural is happening, they don’t actually believe that the musical they’ve made and the series of books they’re basing it on are real. Despite how Sam and Dean Winchester were literal fugitives for many years at many different times, and this was on the news, and they were wanted by the FBI, despite how they pretend to be FBI, and no one mentions it??? Did any of the staffwriters do the required reading or just do what I used to do for my 40 plus page readings of Baudrillard and just skim the first sentence of every paragraph? Neat hack for you: paragraphs are set up in a logical order of Topic, Example, Elaboration, Linking sentence. Do you have to read 60 pages of some crusty French dude waxing poetic about how his best friend Pierre wants to shag his wife and making that your problem? Read the first and last sentence of every paragraph. Boom, done. Just cut your work in half.

The musical highlights a lot of the important moments of the show so far. The brothers have, as Charlie Bradbury says, their “broment,” and as Marie says, their “boy melodrama scene,” while she insinuates that there is a sexual element to their relationship. This show never passed up an opportunity to mention incest. It’s like: mentioning incest 5000 km, not being disgusting 1 km, what a hard decision. Actually, they do have to walk on their knees for 100 miles through the desert repenting. But there are other moments—such as Mary burning on the ceiling, a classic, Castiel waiting for Dean at the side of the highway, and Azazel poisoning Sam. With the help of the high schoolers, Sam and Dean overcome Calliope, the muse and bad guy of the episode, and save the day. What began as their lives reinterpreted and told back to them turns into a story they have some agency over.

In this episode, as opposed to “The Monster At The End Of This Book,” The storytelling has transferred from an alcoholic in a bathrobe into the hands of an overbearing and overachieving teenage girl, and honestly why not. Transformative fiction is by and large run by women, and queer women, so Marie and her stage manager slash Jody Mills’s understudy Maeve are just following in the footsteps of legends. This kind of really succinctly summarises the difference between curative fandom and transformative fandom, the former of which is populated mostly by men, and the latter mostly by women. As defined by LordByronic in 2015, Curative fandom is more like enjoying the text, collecting the merchandise, organising the knowledge — basically Reddit in terms of fandom curation. Transformative fandom is transforming the source text in some way — making fanart, fanfic, mvs, or a musical — basically Tumblr in general, and Archive of our own specifically. Like what do non fandom people even do on Tumblr? It is a complete mystery to me. Whereas Chuck literally writes himself into the narrative he receives through visions, Marie and co have agency and control over the narrative by writing it themselves.

Chuck does appear in the episode towards the end, his first appearance after five seasons. The theory that he killed those lesbian theatre girls makes me wanna curl up and die, so I don’t subscribe to it. Chuck watched the musical and he liked it and he gave unwarranted notes and then he left, the end.

The Supernatural creative team is explicitly acknowledging the fandom’s efforts by making this episode. They’re writing us in again, with more obsessive fans, but with lethbians this time, which makes it infinitely better. And instead of showing us as potential date rapists, we’re just cool chicks who like to make art. And that’s fucken awesome.

I just have to note that the characters literally say the word Destiel after Dean sees the actors playing Dean and Cas making out. He storms off and tells Sam to shut the fuck up when Sam makes fun of him, because Dean’s sexuality is NOT threatened he just needs to assert his dominance as a straight hetero man who has NEVER looked at another man’s lips and licked his own. He just… forgets that gay people exist until someone reminds him. BUT THEN, after a rousing speech that is stolen from Rent or Wicked or something, he echoes Marie’s words back, saying “put as much sub into that text as you possibly can.” What does Dean know about subbing, I wonder. Okay I’m suddenly reminded that he did literally go to a kink bar and get hit on by a leather daddy. Oh Dean, the experiences you have as a broad-shouldered, pixie-faced man with cowboy legs. You were born for this role.

Metatron is my favourite villain. As one tumblr user pointed out, he is an evil English literature major, which is just a normal English literature major. The season nine episode “Meta Fiction” written by my main man robbie thompson and directed by thomas j wright, happens within a curious season. Castiel, once again, becomes the leader of a portion of the heavenly host to take down Metatron, and Dean is affected by the Mark Of Cain. Sam was recently possessed by Gadreel, who killed Kevin in Sam’s body and then decided to run off with Metatron. Metatron himself is recruiting angels to join him, in the hopes that he can become the new God. It’s the first introduction of Hannah, who encourages Cas to recruit angels himself to take on Metatron. Also, we get to see Gabriel again, who is always a delight.

This episode is a lot of fun. Metatron poses questions like, who tells a story and who is the most important person in the telling? Is it the writer? The audience? He starts off staring over his typewriter to address the camera, like a pompous dickhead. No longer content with consuming stories, he’s started to write his own. And they are hubristic ones about becoming God, a better god than Chuck ever was, but to do it he needs to kill a bunch of people and blame it on Cas. So really, he’s actually exactly like Chuck who blamed everything on Lucifer.

But I think the most apt analogy we can use for this in terms of who is the creator is to think of Metatron as a fanfiction writer. He consumes the media—the Winchester Gospels—and starts to write his own version of events—leading an army to become God and kill Cas. Nevermind that no one has been able to kill Cas in a way that matters or a way that sticks. Which is canon, and what Metatron is trying to do is—well not fanon because it actually does impact the Winchesters’ storyline. It would be like if one of the writers of Supernatural began writing Supernatural fanfiction before they got a job on the show. Which as my generation and the generations coming after me get more comfortable with fanfiction and fandom, is going to be the case for a lot of shows. I think it’s already the case for Riverdale. Correct me if I’m wrong, but didn’t the woman who wrote the bi Dean essay go to work on Riverdale? Or something? I dunno, I have the post saved in my tumblr likes but that is quagmire of epic proportions that I will easily get lost in if I try to find it.

Okay let me flex my literary degree. As Englund and Leach say in “Ethnography and the metanarratives of modernity,” “The influential “literary turn,” in which the problems of ethnography were seen as largely textual and their solutions as lying in experimental writing seems to have lost its impetus.” This can be taken to mean, in the context of Supernatural, that while Metatron’s writings seek to forge a new path in history, forgoing fate for a new kind of divine intervention, the problem with Metatron is that he’s too caught up in the textual, too caught up in the writing, to be effectual. And this as we see throughout seasons 9, 10 and 11, has no lasting effect. Cas gets his grace back, Dean survives, and Metatron becomes a powerless human. In this case, the impetus is his grace, which he loses when Cas cuts it out of him, a mirror to Metatron cutting out Cas’s grace.

However, I realise that the concept of ethnography in Supernatural is a flawed one, ethnography being the observation of another culture: a lot of the angels observe humanity and seem to fit in. However, Cas has to slowly acclimatise to the Winchesters as they tame him, but he never quite fit in—missing cues, not understanding jokes or Dean’s personal space, the scene where he says, “We have a guinea pig? Where?” Show him the guinea pig Sam!!! He wants to see it!!! At most he passes as a human with autism. Cas doesn’t really observe humanity—he observes nature, as seen in season 7 “reading is fundamental” and “survival of the fittest”. Even the human acts he talks about in season 6 “the man who would be king” are from hundreds or thousands of years ago. He certainly doesn’t observe popular culture, which puts him at odds with Dean, who is made up of 90 per cent pop culture references and 10 per cent flannel. Metatron doesn’t seek to blend in with humanity so much as control it, which actually is the most apt example of ethnography for white people in the last—you know, forever. But of course the writers didn’t seek to make this analogy. It is purely by chance, and maybe I’m the only person insane enough to realise it. But probably not. There are a lot of cookies much smarter than me in the Supernatural fandom and they’ve like me have grown up and gone to university and gotten real jobs in the real world and real haircuts. I’m probably the only person to apply Englund and Leach to it though.

And yes, as I read this paper I did need to have one tab open on Google, with the word “define” in the search bar.

Metatron has a few lines in this that I really like. He says:

“The universe is made up of stories, not atoms.”

“You’re going to have to follow my script.”

“I’m an entity of my word.”

It’s really obvious, but they’re pushing the idea that Metatron has become an agent of authorship instead of just a consumer of media. He even throws a Supernatural book into his fire — a symbolic act of burning the script and flipping the writer off, much like Cas did to God and the angels in season 5. He’s not a Kripke figure so much as maybe a Gamble, Carver or Dabb figure, in that he usurps Chuck and becomes the author-god. This would be extremely postmodern of him if he didn’t just do exactly what Chuck was doing, except worse somehow. In fact, it’s postmodern of Cas to reject heaven’s narrative and fall for Dean. As one tumblr user points out, Cas really said “What’s fate compared to Dean Winchester?”

Okay this transcript is almost 8000 words already, and I still have two more episodes to review, and more things to say, so I’ll leave you with this. Metatron says to Cas, “Out of all of God’s wind up toys, you’re the only one with any spunk.” Why Cas has captured his attention comes down more than anything to a process of elimination. Most angels fucking suck. They follow the rules of whoever puts themselves in charge, and they either love Cas or hate him, or just plainly wanna fuck him, and there have been few angels who stood out. Balthazar was awesome, even though I hated him the first time I watched season 6. He UNSUNK the Titanic. Legend status. And Gabriel was of course the OG who loves to fuck shit up. But they’re gone at this stage in the narrative, and Cas survives. Cas always survives. He does have spunk. And everyone wants to fuck him.

Season 11 episode 20 “Don’t Call Me Shurley,” the last episode written by the Christ like figure of Robbie Thompson — are we sensing a theme here? — and directed by my divine enemy Robert Singer, starts with Metatron dumpster diving for food. I’m not even going to bother commenting on this because like… it’s supernatural and it treats complex issues like homelessness and poverty with zero nuance. Like the Winchesters live in poverty but it’s fun and cool because they always scrape by but Metatron lives in poverty and it’s funny. Cas was homeless and it was hard but he needed to do it to atone for his sins, and Metatron is homeless and it’s funny because he brought it on himself by being a murderous dick. Fucking hell. Robbie, come on. The plot focuses on God, also known as Chuck Shurley, making himself known to Metatron and asking for Metatron’s opinion on his memoir. Meanwhile, the Winchesters battle another bout of infectious serial killer fog sent by Amara. At the end of the episode, Chuck heals everyone affected by the fog and reveals himself to Sam and Dean.

Chuck says that he didn’t foresee Metatron trying to become god, but the idea of Season 15 is that Chuck has been writing the Winchesters’ story all their lives. When Metatron tries, he fails miserably, is locked up in prison, tortured by Dean, then rendered useless as a human and thrown into the world without a safety net. His authorship is reduced to nothing, and he is reduced to dumpster diving for food. He does actually attempt to live his life as someone who records tragedies as they happen and sells the footage to news stations, which is honestly hilarious and amazing and completely unsurprising because Metatron is, at the heart of it, an English Literature major. In true bastard style, he insults Chuck’s work and complains about the bar, but slips into his old role of editor when Chuck asks him to.

The theory I’m consulting for this uses the term metanarrative in a different way than I am. They consider it an overarching narrative, a grand narrative like religion. Chuck’s biography is in a sense most loyal to Middleton and Walsh’s view of metanarrative: “the universal story of the world from arche to telos, a grand narrative encompassing world history from beginning to end.” Except instead of world history, it’s God’s history, and since God is construed in Supernatural as just some guy with some powers who is as fallible as the next some guy with some powers, his story has biases and agendas. Okay so in the analysis I’m getting Middleton and Walsh’s quotes from, James K A Smith’s “A little story about metanarratives,” Smith dunks on them pretty bad, but for Supernatural purposes their words ring true. Think of them as the BuckLeming of Lyotard’s postmodern metanarrative analysis: a stopped clock right twice a day. Is anyone except me understanding the sequence of words I’m saying right now. Do I just have the most specific case of brain worms ever found in human history. I’m currently wearing my oversized Keith Haring shirt and dipping pretzels into peanut butter because it’s 3.18 in the morning and the homosexuals got to me. The total claims a comprehensive metanarrative of world history make do indeed, as Middleton and Walsh claim, lead to violence, stay with me here, because Chuck’s legacy is violence, and so is Metatron’s, and in trying to reject the metanarrative, Sam and Dean enact violence. Mostly Dean, because in season 15 he sacrifices his own son twice to defeat Chuck. But that means literally fighting violence with violence. Violence is, after all, all they know. Violence is the lens through which they interact with the world. If the writers wanted to do literally anything else, they could have continued Dean’s natural character progression into someone who eschews the violence that stems from intergeneration trauma — yes I will continue to use the phrase intergenerational trauma whenever I refer to Dean — and becomes a loving father and husband. Sam could eschew violence and start a monster rehabilitation centre with Eileen.

This episode of Holy Hell is me frantically grabbing at straws to make sense of a narrative that actively hates me and wants to kick me to death. But the violence Sam and Dean enact is not at a metanarrative level, because they are not author-gods of their own narrative. In season 15 “Atomic Monsters,” Becky points out that the ending of the Supernatural book series is bad because the brothers die, and then, in a shocking twist of fate, Dean does die, and the narrative is bad. The writers set themselves a goal post to kick through and instead just slammed their heat into the bars. They set up the dartboard and were like, let’s aim the darts at ourselves. Wouldn’t that be fun. Season 15’s writing is so grossly incompetent that I believe every single conspiracy theory that’s come out of the finale since November, because it’s so much more compelling than whatever the fuck happened on the road so far. Carry on? Why yes, I think I will carry on, carry on like a pork chop, screaming at the bars of my enclosure until I crack my voice open like an egg and spill out all my rage and frustration. The world will never know peace again. It’s now 3.29 and I’ve written over 9000 words of this transcript. And I’m not done.

Middleton and Walsh claim that metanarratives are merely social constructions masquerading as universal truths. Which is, exactly, Supernatural. The creators have constructed this elaborate web of narrative that they want to sell us as the be all and end all. They won’t let the actors discuss how they really feel about the finale. They won’t let Misha Collins talk about Destiel. They want us to believe it was good, actually, that Dean, a recovering alcoholic with a 30 year old infant son and a husband who loves him, deserved to die by getting NAILED, while Sam, who spent the last four seasons, the entirety of Andrew Dabb’s run as showrunner, excelling at creating a hunter network and romancing both the queen of hell and his deaf hunter girlfriend, should have lived a normie life with a normie faceless wife. Am I done? Not even close. I started this episode and I’m going to finish it.

When we find out that Chuck is God in the episode of season 11, it turns everything we knew about Chuck on its head. We find out in Season 15 that Chuck has been writing the Winchesters’ story all along, that everything that happened to them is his doing. The one thing he couldn’t control was Cas’s choice to rebel. If we take him at his word, Cas is the only true force of free will in the entire universe, and more specifically, the love that Cas had for Dean which caused him to rebel and fall from heaven. — This theory has holes of course. Why would Lucifer torture Lilith into becoming the first demon if he didn’t have free will? Did Chuck make him do that? And why? So that Chuck could be the hero and Lucifer the bad guy, like Lucifer claimed all along? That’s to say nothing of Adam and Eve, both characters the show introduced in different ways, one as an antagonist and the other as the narrative foil to Dean and Cas’s romance. Thinking about it makes my head hurt, so I’m just not gunna.

So Chuck was doing the writing all along. And as Becky claims in “Atomic Monsters,” it’s bad writing. The writers explicitly said, the ending Chuck wrote is bad because there’s no Cas and everyone dies, and then they wrote an ending where there is no Cas and everyone dies. So talk about self-fulfilling prophecies. Talk about giant craters in the earth you could see from 800 kilometres away but you still fell into. Meanwhile fan writers have the opportunity to write a million different endings, all of which satisfy at least one person. The fandom is a hydra, prolific and unstoppable, and we’ll keep rewriting the ending a million more times.

And all this is not even talking about the fact that Chuck is a man, Metatron is a man, Sam and Dean and Cas are men, and the writers and directors of the show are, by an overwhelming majority, men. Most of them are white, straight, cis men. Feminist scholarship has done a lot to unpack the damage done by paternalistic approaches to theory, sociology, ethnography, all the -ys, but I propose we go a step further with these men. Kill them. Metanarratively, of course. Amara, the Darkness, God’s sister, had a chance to write her own story without Chuck, after killing everything in the universe, and I think she had the right idea. Knock it all down to build it from the ground up. Billie also had the opportunity to write a narrative, but her folly was, of course, putting any kind of faith in the Winchesters who are also grossly incompetent and often fail up. She is, as all author-gods on this show are, undone by Castiel. The only one with any spunk, the only one who exists outside of his own narrative confines, the only one the author-gods don’t have any control over. The one who died for love, and in dying, gave life.

The French Mistake

Let’s change the channel. Let’s calm ourselves and cleanse our libras. Let’s commune with nature and chug some sage bongs.

“The French Mistake” is a song from the Mel Brooks film Blazing Saddles. In the iconic second last scene of the film, as the cowboys fight amongst themselves, the camera pans back to reveal a studio lot and a door through which a chorus of gay dancersingers perform “the French Mistake”. The lyrics go, “Throw out your hands, stick out your tush, hands on your hips, give ‘em a push. You’ll be surprised you’re doing the French Mistake.”

I’m not sure what went through the heads of the Supernatural creators when they came up with the season 6 episode, “The French Mistake,” written by the love of my life Ben Edlund and directed by some guy Charles Beeson. Just reading the Wikipedia summary is so batshit incomprehensible. In short: Balthazar sends Sam and Dean to an alternate universe where they are the actors Jared Padalecki and Jensen Ackles, who play Sam and Dean on the tv show Supernatural. I don’t think this had ever been done in television history before. The first seven seasons of this show are certifiable. Like this was ten years ago. Think about the things that have happened in the last 10 slutty, slutty years. We have lived through atrocities and upheaval and the entire world stopping to mourn, but also we had twitter throughout that entire time, which makes it infinitely worse.

In this universe, Sam and Dean wear makeup, Cas is played by attractive crying man Misha Collins, and Genevieve Padalecki nee Cortese makes an appearance. Magic doesn’t exist, Serge has good ideas, and the two leads have to act in order to get through the day. Sorry man I do not know how to pronounce your name.

Sidenote: I don’t know if me being attracted aesthetically to Misha Collins is because he’s attractive, because this show has gaslighted me into thinking he’s attractive, or because Castiel’s iconic entrance in 2008 hit my developing mind like a torpedo full of spaghetti and blew my fucking brains all over the place. It’s one of life’s little mysteries and God’s little gifts.

Let’s talk about therapy. More specifically, “Agency and purpose in narrative therapy: questioning the postmodern rejection of metanarrative” by Cameron Lee. In this paper, Lee outlines four key ideas as proposed by Freedman and Combs:

Realities are socially constructed

Realities are constituted through language

Realities are organised and maintained through narrative

And there are no essential truths.

Let’s break this down in the case of this episode. Realities are socially constructed: the reality of Sam and Dean arose from the Bush era. Do I even need to elaborate? From what I understand with my limited Australian perception, and being a child at the time, 9/11 really was a prominent shifting point in the last twenty years. As Americans describe it, sometimes jokingly, it was the last time they were really truly innocent. That means to me that until they saw the repercussions of their government’s actions in funding turf wars throughout the middle east for a good chunk of the 20th Century, they allowed themselves to be hindered by their own ignorance. The threat of terrorism ran rampant throughout the States, spurred on by right wing nationalists and gun-toting NRA supporters, so it’s really no surprise that the show Supernatural started with the premise of killing everything in sight and driving around with only your closest kin and a trunk full of guns. Kripke constructed that reality from the social-political climate of the time, and it has wrought untold horrors on the minds of lesbians who lived through the noughties, in that we are now attracted to Misha Collins.

Number two: Realities are constituted through language. Before a show can become a show, it needs to be a script. It’s written down, typed up, and given to actors who say the lines out loud. In this respect, they are using the language of speech and words to convey meaning. But tv shows are not all about words, and they’re barely about scripts. From what I understand of being raised by television, they are about action, visuals, imagery, and behaviours. All of the work that goes into them—the scripts, the lighting, the audio, the sound mixing, the cameras, the extras, the ADs, the gaffing, the props, the stunts, everything—is about conveying a story through the medium of images. In that way, images are the language. The reality of the show Supernatural, inside the show Supernatural, is constituted through words: the script, the journalists talking to Sam, the makeup artist taking off Dean’s makeup, the conversations between the creators, the tweets Misha sends. But also through imagery: the fish tank in Jensen’s trailer, the model poses on the front cover of the magazine, the opulence of Jared’s house, Misha’s iconic sweater. Words and images are the language that constitutes both of these realities. Okay for real, I feel like I’ve only seen this episode max three times, including when I watched it for research for this episode, but I remember so much about it.

Number three: realities are organised and maintained through narrative. In this universe of the French Mistake, their lives are structured around two narratives: the internal narrative of the show within the show, in which they are two actors on a tv set; and the episode narrative in which they need to keep the key safe and return to their own universe. This is made difficult by the revelation that magic doesn’t work in this universe, however, they find a way. Before they can get back, though, an avenging angel by the name of Virgil guns down author-god Eric Kripke and tries to kill the Winchesters. However, they are saved by Balthazar and the freeze frame and brought back into their own world, the world of Supernatural the show, not Supernatural the show within the show within the nesting doll. And then that reality is done with, never to be revisited or even mentioned, but with an impact that has lasted longer than the second Bush administration.

And number four: there are no essential truths. This one is a bit tricky because I can’t find what Lee means by essential truths, so I’m just going to interpret that. To me, essential truths means what lies beneath the narratives we tell ourselves. Supernatural was a show that ran for 15 years. Supernatural had actors. Supernatural was showrun by four different writers. In the show within a show, there is nothing, because that ceases to exist for longer than the forty two minute episode “The French Mistake”. And since Supernatural no longer exists except in our computers, it is nothing too. It is only the narratives we tell ourselves to sleep better at night, to wake up in the morning with a smile, to get through the day, to connect with other people, to understand ourselves better. It’s not even the narrative that the showrunners told, because they have no agency over it as soon as it shows up on our screens. The essential truth of the show is lost in the translation from creating to consuming. Who gives the story meaning? The people watching it and the people creating it. We all do.

Lee says that humans are predisposed to construct narratives in order to make sense of the world. We see this in cultures from all over the world: from cave paintings to vases, from The Dreaming to Beowulf, humans have always constructed stories. The way you think about yourself is a story that you’ve constructed. The way you interact with your loved ones and the furries you rightfully cyberbully on Twitter is influenced by the narratives you tell yourself about them. And these narratives are intricate, expansive, personalised, and can colour our perceptions completely, so that we turn into a different person when we interact with one person as opposed to another.

Whatever happened in season 6, most of which I want to forget, doesn’t interest me in the way I’m telling myself the writers intended. For me, the entirety of season 6 was based around the premise of Cas being in love with Dean, and the complete impotence of this love. He turns up when Dean calls, he agonises as he watches Dean rake leaves and live his apple pie life with Lisa, and Dean is the person he feels most horribly about betraying. He says, verbatim, to Sam, “Dean and I do share a more profound bond.” And Balthazar says, “You’re confusing me with the other angel, the one in the dirty trenchcoat who’s in love with you.” He says this in season 6, and we couldn’t do a fucken thing about it.

The song “The French Mistake” shines a light on the hidden scene of gay men performing a gay narrative, in the midst of a scene about the manliest profession you can have: professional horse wrangler, poncho wearer, and rodeo meister, the cowboy. If this isn’t a perfect encapsulation of the lovestory between Dean and Cas, which Ben Edlund has been championing from day fucking one of Misha Collins walking onto that set with his sex hair and chapped lips, then I don’t know what the fuck we’re even doing here. What in the hell else could it possibly mean. The layers to this. The intricacy. The agendas. The subtextual AND blatant queerness. The micro aggressions Crowley aimed at Car in “The Man Who Would Be King,” another Bedlund special. Bed Edlund is a fucking genius. Bed Edlund is cool girl. Ben Edlund is the missing link. Bed Edlund IS wikileaks. Ben Edlund is a cool breeze on a humid summer day. Ben Edlund is the stop loading button on a browser tab. Ben Edlund is the perfect cross between Spotify and Apple Music, in which you can search for good playlists, but without having to be on Spotify. He can take my keys and fuck my wife. You best believe I’m doing an entire episode of Holy Hell on Bedlund’s top five. He is the reason I want to get into staffwriting on a tv show. I saw season 4 episode “On the head of a pin” when my brain was still torpedoed spaghetti mush from the premiere, and it nestled its way deep into my exposed bones, so that when I finally recovered from that, I was a changed person. My god, this transcript is 11,000 words, and I haven’t even finished the Becky section. Which is a good transition.

Oh, Becky. She is an incarnation of how the writers, or at least Kripke, view the fans. Watching season 5 “Sympathy for the Devil” live in 2009 was a whole fucking trip that I as a baby gay was not prepared for. Figuring out my sexuality was a journey that started with the Supernatural fandom and is in some aspects still raging against the dying of the light today. Add to that, this conception of the audience was this, like, personification of the librarian cellist from Juno, but also completely without boundaries, common sense, or shame. It made me wonder about my position in the narrative as a consumer consuming. Is that how Kripke saw me, specifically? Was I like Becky? Did my forays into DeanCasNatural on El Jay dot com make me a fucking loser whose only claim to fame is writing some nasty fanfiction that I’ve since deleted all traces of? Don’t get me wrong, me and my unhinged Casgirl friends loved Becky. I can’t remember if I ever wrote any fanfiction with her in it because I was mostly writing smut, which is extremely Becky coded of me, but I read some and my friends and I would always chat about her when she came up. She was great entertainment value before season 7. But in the eyes of the powers that be, Becky, like the fans themselves, are expendable. First they turned her into a desperate bride wannabe who drugs Sam so that he’ll be with her, then Chuck waves his hand and she disappears. We’re seeing now with regards to Destiel, Cas, and Misha Collins this erasure of them from the narrative. Becky says in season 15 “Atomic Monsters” that the ending Chuck writes is bad because, for one, there’s no Cas, and that’s exactly what’s happening to the text post-finale. It literally makes me insane akin to the throes of mania to think about the layers of this. They literally said, “No Cas = bad” and now Misha isn’t even allowed to talk in his Cassona voice—at least at the time I wrote that—to the detriment of the fans who care about him. It’s the same shit over and over. They introduce something we like, they realise they have no control over how much we like it, and then they pretend they never introduced it in the first place. Season 7, my god. The only reason Gamble brought back Cas was because the ratings were tanking the show. I didn’t even bother watching most of it live, and would just hear from my friends whether Cas was in the episodes or not. And then Sera, dear Sera, had the gall to say it was a Homer’s Odyssey narrative. I’m rusty on Homer aka I’ve never read it but apparently Odysseus goes away, ends up with a wife on an island somewhere, and then comes back to Terabithia like it never happened. How convenient. But since Sera Gamble loves to bury her gays, we can all guess why Cas was written out of the show: Cas being gay is a threat to the toxic heteronormativity spouted by both the show and the characters themselves. In season 15, after Becky gets her life together, has kids, gets married, and starts a business, she is outgrowing the narrative and Chuck kills her. The fans got Destiel Wedding trending on Twitter, and now the creators are acting like he doesn’t exist. New liver, same eagles.

I have to add an adendum: as of this morning, Sunday 11th, don’t ask me what time that is in Americaland, Misha Collins did an online con/Q&A thing and answered a bunch of questions about Cas and Dean, which goes to show that he cannot be silenced. So the narrative wants to be told. It’s continuing well into it’s 16th or 17th season. It’s going to keep happening and they have no recourse to stop it. So fuck you, Supernatural.

I did write the start of a speech about representation but, who the holy hell cares. I also read some disappointing Masters theses that I hope didn’t take them longer to research and write than this episode of a podcast I’m making for funsies took me, considering it’s the same number of pages. Then again I have the last four months and another 8 years of fandom fuelling my obsession, and when I don’t sleep I write, hence the 4,000 words I knocked out in the last 12 hours.

Some final words. Lyotard defines postmodernism, the age we live in, as an incredulity towards metanarratives. Modernism was obsessed with order and meaning, but postmodernism seeks to disrupt that. Modernists lived within the frame of the narrative of their society, but postmodernists seek to destroy the frame and live within our own self-written contexts. Okay I love postmodernist theory so this has been a real treat for me. Yoghurt, Sam? Postmodernist theory? Could I BE more gay?

Middleton and Walsh in their analysis of postmodernism claim that biblical faith is grounded in metanarrative, and explore how this intersects with an era that rejects metanarrative. This is one of the fundamental ideas Supernatural is getting at throughout definitely the last season, but other seasons as well. The narratives of Good vs Evil, Michael vs Lucifer, Dean vs Sam, were encoded into the overarching story of the show from season 1, and since then Sam and Dean have sought to break free of them. Sam broke free of John’s narrative, which was the hunting life, and revenge, and this moralistic machismo that they wrapped themselves up in. If they’re killing the evil, then they’re not the evil. That’s the story they told, and the impetus of the show that Sam was sucked back into. But this thread unravelled in later seasons when Dean became friends with Benny and the idea that all supernatural creatures are inherently evil unravelled as well. While they never completely broke free of John’s hold over them, welcoming Jack into their lives meant confronting a bias that had been ingrained in them since Dean was 4 years old and Sam 6 months. In the face of the question, “are all monsters monstrous?” the narrative loosens its control. Even by questioning it, it throws into doubt the overarching narrative of John’s plan, which is usurped at the end of season 2 when they kill Azazel by Dean’s demon deal and a new narrative unfolds. John as author-god is usurped by the actual God in season 4, who has his own narrative that controls the lives of Sam, Dean and Cas.

Okay like for real, I do actually think the metanarrativity in Supernatural is something that should be studied by someone other than me, unless you wanna pay me for it and then shit yeah. It is extremely cool to introduce a biographical narrative about the fictional narrative it’s in. It’s cool that the characters are constantly calling this narrative into focus by fighting against it, struggling to break free from their textual confines to live a life outside of the external forces that control them. And the thing is? The really real, honest thing? They have. Sam, Dean and Cas have broken free of the narrative that Kripke, Carver, Gamble and Dabb wrote for them. The very fact that the textual confession of love that Cas has for Dean ushered in a resurgence of fans, fandom and activity that has kept the show trending for five months after it ended, is just phenomenal. People have pointed out that fans stopped caring about Game of Thrones as soon as it ended. Despite the hold they had over tv watchers everywhere, their cultural currency has been spent. The opposite is true for Supernatural. Despite how the finale of the show angered and confused people, it gains more momentum every day. More fanworks, more videos, more fics, more art, more ire, more merch is being generated by the fans still. The Supernatural subreddit, which was averaging a few posts a week by season 15, has been incensed by the finale. And yours truly happily traipsed back into the fandom snake pit after 8 years with a smile on my face and a skip in my step ready to pump that dopamine straight into my veins babeeeeeeyyyyy. It’s been WILD. I recently reconnected with one of my mutuals from 2010 and it’s like nothing’s changed. We’re both still unhinged and we both still simp for Supernatural. Even before season 15, I was obsessed with the podcast Ride Or Die, which I started listening to in late 2019, and Supernatural was always in the back of my mind. You just don’t get over your first fandom. Actually, Danny Phantom was my first fandom, and I remember being 12 talking on Danny Phantom forums to people much too old to be the target audience of the show. So I guess that hasn’t left me either. And the fondest memories I have of Supernatural is how the characters have usurped their creators to become mythic, long past the point they were supposed to die a quiet death. The myth weaving that the Supernatural fandom is doing right now is the legacy that will endure.

References

I got all of these for free from Google Scholar!

Judith May Fathallah, “I’m A God: The Author and the Writing Fan in Supernatural.”

James K A Smith, “A Little Story About Metanarratives: Lyotard, Religion and Postmodernism Revisited.” 2001.

Cameron Lee, “Agency and Purpose in Narrative Therapy: Questioning the Postmodern Rejection of Metanarrative.” 2004.

Harri Englund and James Leach, “Ethnography and the Meta Narratives of Modernity.” 2000.

https://uproxx.com/filmdrunk/mel-brooks-explains-french-mistake-blazing-saddles-blu-ray/

#transcripts #supernatural #supernatural podcast #<60mins #this is first and foremost a podcast about cas and misha collins

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clockworkouroboros · 4 years

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hey this must seem like a really slime brain question, but how do you start/where do you start/where can you start reading the edas? i’ve been meaning to ask someone for a while you just seemed the least threatening

Not slime brain at all! Tbh you must have read my mind, anon, because I was just thinking about putting together a bit of a guide to the EDAs recently. I’m super excited about anyone reading these books because I do so love them, so I definitely was excited to get this ask!

As to the “where” of reading the EDAs, I’m not going to share a link to download PDFs in a post like this, but I am definitely willing to share such a link privately. While some of the books are definitely worth buying physical copies (in my opinion), it gets expensive. I mean, there are over 70 books in the series. (Especially with a lot of the really good books; I spent something like $50USD to get Interference Books I and II.) I think literally anyone on this website who talks about the EDAs has a link to PDFs, so asking literally anyone would be a safe bet. The rest of this post is going to be under a cut, because this is gonna get lengthy.

So. Reading the EDAs. There are a few questions to keep in mind: are you a completionist? Are you interested only in specific companions or specific story arcs? Do you just really want to see why everyone is talking about this Fitz dude and why he’s so in love with the Doctor? Do you just want to know which books aren’t really worth your time? Do you just want pretty Paul McGann? (which is totally valid, by the way.)

So, uh. I’m just going to go through the EDAs and make notes, which is why this is gonna get long real quick.

The Eight Doctors: I know it’s the first book in the series, but it’s more than okay to skip it. There’s basically no plot, it’s weirdly sexist, and although it introduces a companion, it fails to actually, y’know, introduce her as a character very well.

Vampire Science: Yes! Good book! Properly introduces Sam, the companion. Has a lot of things, including Eight with kittens, Eight baby-talking to bats, butterflies!, and great characters.

The Bodysnatchers: Not...that...great. If you’re a huge Litefoot stan, go for it. Otherwise, feel free to skip.

Genocide: Would recommend. The beginning of some good character development for Sam, a fairly short book, and again, interesting characters.

War of the Daleks: Well. Uh. Imagine Journey to the Centre of the TARDIS, but boring. And there’s a sleazy guy who tries to hit on the Doctor’s underage companion. And Daleks. If that’s your cup of tea, go for it.

Alien Bodies: First of all, this is a great book. Fantastic. Showing just how good experimental Doctor Who can be. It’s also the start of a very big arc that doesn’t fully resolve until The Ancestor Cell. Would recommend, and if you’re interested in the War in Heaven/Faction Paradox arc, this is your starting point! I have a physical copy of this one.

Kursaal: Unpopular opinion, but I enjoyed Kursaal. It’s not objectively great, but it’s fun. Featuring pretty Paul McGann, insulting people in Latin, and truly impressive displays of gardening. And, uh, gore. There’s some nasty gore. Not important in terms of arcs, so feel free to skip.

Option Lock: Listen, I love Justin Richards as much as the next person, but this book isn’t that great, nor is it all that important in the grand scheme of things. Not terrible, but probably not your time if you just want the highlights.

Longest Day: Okay, uh, I kind of detest this book, but it’s also the beginning of a mini arc that goes through Seeing I. All you need to know is the Doctor and Sam get separated. I wouldn’t really recommend.

Legacy of the Daleks: Not worth it.

Dreamstone Moon: A good read! One of those solid but not spectacular stories. Just good Doctor Who.

Seeing I: definitely would recommend. Featuring some much-needed Sam character development and an important thing for Eight (*cries*) that will come back in a bunch of other novels. Also refers back to some of the events of Alien Bodies. I have a physical copy of this one.

You can skip both Placebo Effect and Vanderdeken’s Children.

The Scarlet Empress: Yessss, it’s really good. Standalone and a mix of sci-fi and fantasy, plus it introduces Iris Wildthyme, who is amazing and I love her. I have a physical copy of this one.

The Janus Conjunction: Unpopular opinion, but I liked it. It’s not amazing or anything, but it’s solid sci-fi pulp. Featuring pretty Eight. And a lot of gore. It’s by Trevor Baxendale. He kind of specializes in great descriptions and lots of gore.

Beltempest: If you’re into experimental Doctor Who, try this. If not, it’s not arc-important to anything, and it’s really, really weird, so feel free to skip it. I like it, though.

The Face-Eater: Kind of gross. Not that memorable.

The Taint: This book isn’t objectively good, but it introduces a new companion, and that new companion is Fitz Kreiner, so I still have to recommend it. I just love Fitz so much. What a loser.

Demontage: A good story, and another good look at Fitz as a character! Standalone.

Revolution Man: Very important Fitz character development. And a good story. I have a physical copy of this one.

Dominion: There’s one scene that’s kind of gross, but beyond that, I believe it’s important for Sam. And it isn’t a terrible book, either.

Unnatural History: Yes. Yes yes yes. This is one of my all-time favorite Doctor Who stories. It’s important to the arc begun in Alien Bodies, so you’ll want that and Seeing I as prior reading. It’s. So good. I have a physical copy of this one.

Autumn Mist: Autumn Mist isn’t bad, but I’d say it’s skippable. Addresses some of the hanging threads in Unnatural History.

Interference (Books I and II): So uh. Interference comes in two books, both written by the same person. The story is fantastic. There’s a lot of torture, especially in the first book. Sam leaves. Fitz, uh, has some important character things. It introduces Compassion, a new companion. Resolves some of the arc begun in Alien Bodies and expands on it. I have physical copies of both books.

Most of Compassion’s novels are really good. I would feel awful about telling someone to skip The Blue Angel, The Taking of Planet 5, Frontier Worlds, Parallel 59, The Shadows of Avalon, The Fall of Yquatine, and Coldheart. Of that whole group, I’d say Parallel 59 is the most skippable? Maybe?? But the long and short of it is that all these books are really good. The Taking of Planet 5, The Shadows of Avalon, and The Fall of Yquatine are all important to the War in Heaven arc.

The Space Age and The Banquo Legacy are skippable. I know a lot of people who like the latter, though so maybe give it a try! I personally didn’t like it, but that’s only my opinion, which is very subjective!

The Ancestor Cell: Uh. Resolves the story arc that’s been going on since Alien Bodies. So if you’ve been following that arc, yeah, it’s important. Do I like the book? Well, that’s a different question. I like parts of it. It also has a few very big very important Spoiler-y things that are important to the rest of the series.

The next five books are all part of a new arc, usually called the Earth arc. The Doctor (SPOILERS, but it’s Eight, so is it really?) has amnesia, and he’s stuck on Earth. I’d say four of the five books aren’t really bad, but some are more worth reading than others. They’re all interesting in that they examine an amnesiac Doctor really well.

The Burning: skippable. I don’t remember most of the plot. I vaguely recall the Doctor being really, uh, violent? (Part of the whole amnesiac thing.)

Casualties of War: super gory. Not terrible, but not a favorite of mine. I have friends who enjoyed it, though!

The Turing Test: yes pleasereadityesit’ssogoodplease - uh. A great queer novel, actually? Featuring Eight and Alan Turing? Made me cry, but like, it’s good?? I still haven’t bought a physical copy but I’ve been meaning to.

Endgame: Terrance Dicks, who’s an old hand at Doctor Who and also wrote the first EDA, the one I said not to read? He wrote this. And it’s amazing. Pretty standard Doctor Who fare, with characters that Dicks created but only he ever used, but it’s real good. Real real good. I loved his characterization of amnesiac Eight.

Father Time: warning: I kind of hate this book. It’s in my three least-favorite EDAs. I have...a lot of issues with it. That being said, it’s apparently a fan favorite. A lot of people like Father Time, and that’s okay! It’s a highly rated EDA that I just so happen to detest! If you want to try it, go for it, just know that I personally wouldn’t recommend it.

Escape Velocity: This book ends the earth arc, brings back Fitz, and introduces the new companion, Anji. It’s also not that great of a book, but hey, it’s important because it gives a lot of background for Anji’s character that will be instrumental in her character development.

EarthWorld: a lot of these upcoming books are standalone, and a lot of them are pretty good. EarthWorld is no exception. Would recommend. Lots of great hijinks.

Vanishing Point: Not a bad book, not a favorite. I’m not recommending it, but I’m also not trying to dissuade anyone from reading it.

Eater of Wasps: Uh. As the title suggests, maybe don’t read the book if you have a bee/wasp/stinging insect phobia. No, I definitely don’t know this from personal experience. :)))))) Other than that, though, a good book.

The Year of Intelligent Tigers: Yes. 100%. Read this book. Please. You won’t regret it. Eight has a composer boyfriend named Karl, there are giant tigers, this kind of solidifies Eight/Fitz/Anji as a favorite TARDIS team for me.

I’d say that The Slow Empire and Dark Progeny are both skippable. Not that they’re bad, but they’re not on the same level as a lot of the other books being put out in the series at this time.

City of the Dead: so good. I don’t know if you’re an Eight audio fan, anon, but Lloyd Rose also wrote the audio Caerdroia, and she brings the same kind of humor to this novel. Gosh. It’s so good.

Grimm Reality: very dense, but enjoyable. It takes most people forever and a day to finish, though, just because there’s so much going on.

Adventuress of Henrietta Street: this is where the new arc begins. :) It won’t hurt you at all. :) If you’re interested in any of the Sabbath-related arcs, this is the starting point. :) There are various ending points for this arc, alternatively at Camera Obscura, Timeless, and Sometime Never.

Mad Dogs and Englishmen: ridiculous and good. If you just read Adventuress, you need a book like this. And it’s good, anyway. Talking poodles. From outer space. Standalone.

Hope: important character development for Anji!

Arachnophobia: A bit scary. Still would recommend. Standalone.

Trading Futures: it’s really telling how good the books are at this point that this is the weakest one in my opinion. I just have a chip on my shoulder about Lance Parkin EDAs, apparently. (He wrote Father Time, as well.) It’s not bad, but if there’s one in this whole sequence that I would consider skippable, it’s this one.

The Book of the Still: Yes. Please. Heck. The best description of Eight I’ve ever read, and there are a lot of good ones across the 74 or so books I’ve read featuring Eight. Also, if you’re a huge Eight/Fitz shipper, this is the book for you! I spent like $30USD on a physical copy it’s definitely worth every penny.

The Crooked World: Yes. Ridiculous and goofy and silly and also surprisingly deep. Try to imagine the Doctor and co. landing on a cartoon world, with cartoon physics. Now imagine that, but it’s got an interesting and heartfelt plot underneath the cartoon hijinks.

History 101: A good book, and important to the Sabbath arc started in Adventuress! Would rec.

Camera Obscura: Another Lloyd Rose book, one that kind of ends a large part of the Sabbath arc, and just really good. Heck. So good.

Time Zero: this one will rip your heart out in the first few pages and you’ll thank Justin Richards for it. Also begins a new arc, but of all the arcs you could read, I’d recommend this one the least. Each book after this through Timeless is part of this arc. It gets pretty depressing.

The Infinity Race: Not bad, not good. Take it or leave it.

The Domino Effect: Wouldn’t recommend. Seriously.

Reckless Engineering: Not...terrible. But depressing.

The Last Resort: Super confusing, very arc-heavy. Not that it’s bad, just that it’s not good.

Timeless: ends the arc started in Time Zero and has some good bits. Anji’s last EDA, so if you like her, I’d recommend it. Also introduces Trix, the new companion! (Sort of...)

Emotional Chemistry: If you like Fitz, read this book. There’s other plot, but a large part of it is Fitz character study. And I love it.

Sometime Never...: One of my favorite Justin Richards EDAs. Great character work. Fun story. Ends the Sabbath arc.

Halflife: If you ship Eight/Fitz, read this book. Otherwise, it’s not a bad book, but you could do better things with your time. I vaguely recall some Trix character development, but the Eight/Fitz is what really sticks with you.

The Tomorrow Windows: Douglas Adams Lite. Not as funny as Douglas Adams. Overall impression: meh.

The Sleep of Reason: Wouldn’t recommend. Trix is referred to as “the blonde bitch” 90% of the time, the Doctor and co don’t even make any appearances until nearly 100 pages in, and it’s just kind of disappointing. Martin Day, the author, has this weird fascination with mental institutions? Weird and kinda yikes.

The Deadstone Memorial: It’s Baxendale, so it’s gory. But it’s not bad! One of the better late EDAs, imo. And for the subject matter, it’s surprisingly wholesome.

To The Slaughter: Now this, this is what I’m talking about. One of my top Eight/Fitz/Trix stories, alongside Emotional Chemistry and Sometime Never. (And what the hell, Halflife. What can I say: I love Eight/Fitz.) It’s got some great Fitz characterization, I love Trix, and I love Eight. Really the half-a-brain-cell-at-best team. We stan.

The Gallifrey Chronicles: Nah. Don’t bother. Not really worth your time. Unless you want to read it and cry about the vore with me.

So there you have it! A ridiculously in-depth look at my EDAs recommendations! Uh. You can always start from the beginning, or you can go based on recommendations or what looks like it will suit your fancy, or you can pick an arc and read it through to the end. There’s really no perfect way to read them. Please, please dm me or something if you want a link to PDFs of the books, I’m happy to share it, and I hope you enjoy the EDAs!!

#asks #anon #edas #doctor who eu #eighth doctor #fitz kreiner #sam jones #compassion #anji kapoor #trix macmillan

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