#Arc 1 of Beyond Reach!

[delicioustarong]

They feared for their lives as they hear the screams of another.

Arc I : Betrayal

Post- Movie 1

Click for better quality, my notes about this art is under the cut 👇

Finally got to show you all art about Arc 1! YAY!! This Au has 3 Arcs in total, the first one is Post Movie 1, the second one is basically a retelling of Movie 1 but with a twist, and the last arc is a combination of the second and third movie :3

I have mixed feelings about this art cause I think everything blends together but at the same time not?? It's not really my favorite (._.). I do like the concept of it though, I really want to capture the fear and I don't really think I did that well...so meh-- I might redraw this next time. Idk maybe 👀. Hope you all like it!

For context on what is happening, check this post!

Here's the sketch version:

[thebardbullseye]

On the Purpose and Appreciation of Compelling Recaps: “Of the Reaching Green” (WWW Episode 10)

From the desk of TheBardBullseye

“Previously on “The Wizard, The Witch, and The Wild One.” Naram, spirit of the gentle sea, lies bound at the base of the Calabel Nautomantic Apparatus by Guild Mage Morrow of the Scepter’s Chorus. Our heroes stand divided. Having re-established contact with The Citadel, a castigated Suvi now has direct orders to do nothing until Steel arrives in Port Talon three days hence. Eursulon, having returned to the Ace of Wands alone, once again wields Wavebreaker, the sword that legend says belonged to Naram himself, with the power to break the spells and curses of his foes. And Ame, with just such a curse still clouding her mind and concealing crucial memories of Grandmother Wren and her most important lessons, now rushes forth to find her fox familiar, chasing him beyond the walls of Port Talon into the wasteland of witch fire and ash that stand between the city and the wrath of creeping kudzu beyond. We now return to Port Talon in the wee hours, as a tall and tipsy traveler ambles contentedly down a cobblestone street, a gleaming sword swinging at his side. [music swells] (0:00:18-0:01:30)”*

tl;dr below the fold- I’m captivated by the "Previously On" at the start of episode 10, and I wrote a whole damn essay discussing it. The recap is a brilliant piece of writing and a fascinating snapshot showcasing why this particular actual play podcast is So. Damn. Good. They didn’t have to go this hard!

// Spoilers (both direct and indirect) for Arc 1 // (but honestly I think if you don't already listen to this show, then hopefully this essay convinces you to.)

I’ve been relistening to “The Wizard, the Witch, and the Wild One” (WWW) from the beginning (starting with the Children’s Adventure). My work life has gotten super crazy in the last month (yay promotion!), and I’ve found the first arc (and firesides) to be a great boon during a stressful time. As I already know the story, I’m less concerned about missing something and will listen to it whenever I need to—note that when I listen to a new episode, I allocate free time to listen and do only that (and play solitaire so I don’t scroll social media). Anyways, when I got around to episode 10, I was reminded by how much I loved the “Previously On” recap at the start. I don’t know if it was written separately or improvised, and although I suspect the former, I wouldn’t be surprised if it was the latter (1).

Before I get into it, y’all, this podcast is so fucking good. I’ve said it before, and I’ll keep saying it. There have been numerous moments, developments, episodes, etc. that have grabbed me by the shoulders and shouted in my face, “HEY! STUFF IS HAPPENNING! PAY ATTENTION TO THIS! MAKE THE HAPPY BRAIN CHEMICALS!” (in the Fox’s cadence and voice, of course). And sometimes, that voice compels me, perhaps as a Geas, to Do Something creatively (much like what you’re reading now). Early on, this was mostly a ramble to a friend, or word dump in a doc or group chat. Then, I wrote some music and some lyrics and some poetry, and then a full-length academic essay (…5k words long), and then designed a magazine cover, and on and on. (I don’t know why this podcast has my brain in a vice, but also, I sort of do, which is another essay in the drafts.) Regardless, the first instance of Creative Compulsion that manifested in a more structured manner was when episode 10 debuted and is in fact this very essay (that has since been rewritten and fleshed out). I didn’t have a Tumblr at that time, so my thoughts on this recap have just been collecting dust in my documents folder for more than a year. But, upon my relisten, I realized this episode introduction was significant and that there was more I wanted to say and praise, since I haven’t heard another one like it since.

When the episode first aired, I heard the first 90 seconds (2) of “Of the Reaching Green” and instantly replayed it three times before moving on to the rest of the episode because I was so captivated. After I finished the episode, I listened to it again. The episode had just come out, so the transcript was not yet available, and I wanted to see the recap as well as hear it. *Above, you will find my transcript of the recap, preserved as it was on that day, so my apologies for any unintentional spelling or grammar mistakes (3). Then, I stared at it and reread it, and started to piece together my thoughts on why the hell I’m so enamored by this. It’s 90 seconds of an hour and twenty-minute podcast, and not only that, it’s not even technically part of the diegetic episode, since it’s a recap! (What the hell, Brennan?!)

I promise I’ll get to those specific thoughts soon, but I think it’s important to alight briefly on the nature and necessity of recaps. In serialized storytelling mediums, most notably television shows, the audience often requires a recap of the previous events to refresh one’s memory since it’s been a week (or more) since the previous episode (TV Tropes). I think these may have fallen out of favor as of late, especially in the advent of prestige television, DVRs, and streaming—most producers probably assume that their audience is either binge-watching the show, has access to the previous episode, or can just look up a summary. Or if not done well, it may further confuse the viewer if too much or too little information is included (4). Further, recaps are NOT synopses of the previous episode—they serve to highlight the main points of the previous episode/storyline and specifically underscore what the audience needs to know for this episode. Additionally, these don’t necessarily show up before every episode; for some shows, these only happen for mid or end of season finales, when major storylines conclude. These are not just for returning viewers- in the bygone age of broadcast tv (I jest, kind of), people didn’t always catch every episode every week, so recaps also needed to be compelling. They needed give any random channel surfer the general gist so that they could watch the episode and convince them to not change the channel. Recaps don't need to execute on these all of these elements, nor do them perfectly, but a good recap communicates all of these things well in a very short time frame (usually around 1 minute). Essentially, "Previously On" segments say, 'pay attention to this.'

For actual play shows (a catch-all term for recorded or streamed TTRPG games), recaps serve this same purpose of reminding the audience of previous events, but these also do the additional duty of reminding the player characters themselves at time of recording of what is important in the story they’re telling and game they're playing. Often, the GM will recap the previous session so that everyone’s on the same page, and this is often improvised (as most things are). Needless to say these aren’t usually the most compelling part of the episode (though they don't have to be), and often devolve into synopses of the previous session (i.e., “Last time you guys did XYZ, Timmy fell down a well, ok let’s start…”). Or, if the GM does recap the most important points to know, it’s not usually that compelling to listen to—and honestly, why would one spend extra effort on something that insignificant anyway? Moreover, recaps in most actual plays serve the purpose of recapping for the players first and the audience second (5). The GM can remind, and players can ask questions, so the burden of this segment is lessened.

Ok, so back to our regularly scheduled essay about WWW. I mentioned earlier that I thought that the recap in episode 10 was not improvised at the start of the session and instead was written and recorded separately. While (to my knowledge) this hasn't been discussed publicly, there is some evidence in the structure, cadence, and delivery that lends credence to this assertion. On the whole, I don't think it particularly matters whether it was written or improvised; I merely mention it because the choice to script is significant when every other introduction is improvised (just look at much people love the "Fire" introduction for Calamity). This creative choice makes a lot of sense both in narrative and in production.

WWW first debuted in March 2023, releasing biweekly, so episode 10 aired in early July 2023. I would wager that most listeners don’t relisten to each episode in the intervening weeks, so most episodes start with an informal recap or general scene setting. However by this point, the story had just reached its major turning point at the end of episode 9—the recovery of Wavebreaker. This sword is the MacGuffin of the first arc, and each character is connected to it in some way—it breaks curses (one of which Ame is under), Eursulon was the last one with it but parted with it years ago in Port Talon (he also needs a weapon), and Suvi was the one that gave it to him in childhood. The previous episode also focused on Naram, a great spirit trapped in the harbor of Port Talon, who up until then seemed tangential to the protagonists—but then Ame discovered on her own that Wavebreaker originally belonged to Naram. This pivotal moment is what propels the story to the conclusion of the first arc, thus the need arose for a moment to remind the audience of the stakes and current landscape.

From a production standpoint, this podcast has a lot of love and care poured into it, especially with the marriage of masterful improv and immersive sound design. It’s clear (and has been explicitly stated) that this crew prioritizes the quality of the final episode through little details and extra effort. So, whereas with other APs, fewer resources would be allocated to a recap simply because it’s not necessary, Worlds Beyond Number finds the use-case where it becomes necessary to put a little extra mustard on it.

That said, it’s a really good recap, excellent even. It contains everything a good recap should have: it paints the big picture, snapshots the major players, flows perfectly into the opening scene of the episode, and above all, is compelling. To further support the theory that this was written and recorded separately, it also lacks the filler words, pauses, and direct address to the players (i.e., Suvi, you did X, and Ame, you did Y) that are typical of an improvised introduction and recap—and thus it has the tone akin to the opening crawl of Star Wars. It is eloquently written, with so much information communicated by inference in just seven sentences, so let’s analyze line by line:

“Previously on “The Wizard, The Witch, and The Wild One.” Naram, spirit of the gentle sea, lies bound at the base of the Calabel Nautomantic Apparatus by Guild Mage Morrow of the Scepter’s Chorus. Our heroes stand divided.”

Translation: It all starts with Naram. Naram is a gentle spirit held captive by another wizard and his fancy machine. “Our heroes stand divided”—they had an argument in the last episode about whether or not to free Naram (and how). Needless to say, the situation with Naram is more complicated, but those four words express that succinctly.

NB: Naram is alone.

In the context of the previous episode, the listener is reminded of this quandary—what to do about Naram. But, there is an ingenious double meaning here. That last line not only alludes to the philosophical division amongst the party, but a physical one as well.

“Having re-established contact with The Citadel, a castigated Suvi now has direct orders to do nothing until Steel arrives in Port Talon three days hence.”

Translation: Suvi has been reprimanded by Steel after unintentionally going AWOL (“re-established contact”) and now she has to keep the situation with Naram locked down until Steel arrives. The audience is reminded that Port Talon is remote from The Citadel since it will take three days to get there.

NB: Suvi is alone.

Steel, Suvi’s adoptive mother, is flying by airship because the travelling door is broken, but since this is extraneous information to the immediate situation, it is left unsaid. As Suvi is the party member with the least connection (relatively speaking) to Wavebreaker and Naram, I think it makes sense that Suvi is mentioned first and has the least airtime in the recap.

“Eursulon, having returned to the Ace of Wands alone, once again wields Wavebreaker, the sword that legend says belonged to Naram himself, with the power to break the spells and curses of his foes.”

Translation: Eursulon ran off to see Will Gallows (proprietor of the Ace of Wands) but got his sword back (“once again” wields Wavebreaker), and it is a legendary sword belonging to Naram that can break curses.

NB: Eursulon is alone.

This section is also brief but sets up the pattern for a clever sequence that subtly shows the movement of the sword over time. First, Naram (who owns the sword), Suvi (who gave Eursulon the sword), Eursulon (who got the sword back), and then finally Ame (who needs the sword). The last phrase, “with the power to break the spells and curse of his foes,” neatly sets up the next line.

“And Ame, with just such a curse still clouding her mind and concealing crucial memories of Grandmother Wren and her most important lessons, now rushes forth to find her fox familiar, chasing him beyond the walls of Port Talon into the wasteland of witch fire and ash that stand between the city and the wrath of creeping kudzu beyond.”

Translation: Ame is cursed and because of that, she is lacking crucial knowledge (but the sword can break the curse). Now, she has left Port Talon and is chasing after her fox into the dangerous wasteland choked with smoke and treacherous forest outside the city.

NB: Ame is alone (do you see the through-line?).

Now, with the major characters introduced and with the stakes increasing, the segment concludes as it introduces the present moment and establishes the opening scene:

“We now return to Port Talon in the wee hours, as a tall and tipsy traveler ambles contentedly down a cobblestone street, a gleaming sword swinging at his side.”

Translation: It’s the middle of the night and Eursulon is triumphantly (and drunkenly) wandering the streets of Port Talon.

It’s notable that Eursulon is not mentioned by name at the end but trusts the listener to have been paying attention, though the next spoken word as the recap fades is “Eursulon.” The opening scene transitions seamlessly to him arriving at the Chantry—now we've come full circle. (This is Morrow's HQ, who trapped Naram in the first place).

Thus, it’s clear that this recap is descriptive yet not needlessly verbose or rambling (unlike this essay), due to its well-formed sentences and syntax.

But beyond that, it’s pleasing to the ear. There is ample use of consonance throughout (e.g., “bound at the base,” “wields Wavebreaker,” “curse… clouding… concealing crucial,” “rushes forth to find her fox familiar,” "walls... wasteland... witch fire," "creeping kudzu," and “tall and tipsy traveler ambles contentedly down a cobblestone street, a sword swinging at his side”). There’s also an interesting alternating alliterative and rhythmic pattern of k and s sounds with “contact with the Citadel, a castigated Suvi”. There's just enough to be noticeable but not too much to become annoying, and the brevity certainly helps. It's poetic.

In the sound quality and design, there’s an air and cadence in Brennan’s voice of being read a bedtime story, and he speaks clearly and with purpose. Further, the musical motifs of the chorus signifying the spirit world at the start transitions to a carefree, plucky tune during the last line that embodies Eursulon’s mood and instills it in the listener. As it ends, this musical transition is reminiscent of waking up and slowly starting to hear the ambient noise around.

When analyzing any kind of creative choice in any medium, I tend to remind myself that the creator(s) could have simply chosen to not make that choice, for any number of reasons or limitations (6). The "Previously On" in episode 10 could have been unremarkable, rambling and verbose, it could have had no music or sound effects, it could have been written and structured in an entirely different way, or it could have simply not existed at all. But it does exist, so I look at what is there. Now, this analysis is not intended to be prescriptive for future recaps in WWW or other APs. As is evident, this recap is one-of-a-kind and serves a greater purpose overall in the first arc of the story. In writing this, I spot-checked a handful of other opening moments of WWW, and while those introductions were improvised, Brennan is so adept at it that I would not expect to hear another a written recap unless the narrative and production calls for it again.

These seven sentences are truly brilliant. There are plenty of moments that have stuck with me since WWW started in March 2023, but it speaks volumes that something this insignificant spawned a ~3000-word analytical essay (7). Damn.

Footnotes:

(1) I elaborate on this later in the essay, but I suspect it was written and recorded separately solely because of how concise it is, both in word choice and in delivery (the lack of filler words or pauses), as well as the difference in tenor/tone as it transitions to the opening scene. We’ve also heard plenty a recap from Brennan in WWW and other shows, and I have yet to hear one as crafted and, dare I say, perfect as this one. Not to knock other improvised (or otherwise) recaps of course, as those fulfill their purpose well and fine. I just appreciate the extra mustard on this one (no shit, I just wrote a whole damn essay with footnotes). I suppose I could submit a Fireside question and ask (lol) but I think that (sky)ship has sailed, since we're now on episode 35. (If for some godforsaken reason someone involved with WBN reads this... let me know if I'm right, I guess? If I'm wrong, I don't want to know /j)

(2) I refer to the recap as 90 seconds as shorthand throughout, but it technically just ends at 90 seconds. And I think that’s neat. It's also easier to just say 90 seconds—a nice, distinct chunk of time—than its true length, which is 72 seconds (due to the WBN theme).

(3) Formatting the quote in this way also neatly organizes my analysis of it later in the essay, which is not exactly reflected in the transcript (but that’s because it’s for readability).

(4) Complete tangent to the podcast discussed here is that I’ve seen DougDoug (internet streamer) do a blind reaction to just the “Previously On” recaps for "One Tree Hill" and "24" (without knowing the plot of either show) to hilarious and baffling results. It further demonstrates my point that recaps are not synopses, and you can’t fully grasp the plot of something through these. Because that’s not their purpose—which is to make clear to the audience what they need to know for that next episode-- not necessarily explain what happened in the last episode (and clips can be from earlier episodes as well).

(5) Something that I think is often discussed by WBN et al. (among others) is the distinction between an actual play and a home game. In a home game of D&D, the sole audience is the people playing the game. In actual play, the audience is BOTH the players and the viewer, and (good) actual play has to balance the two—you want to make sure the people playing are having a good time but also that it makes for a good viewing/listening experience. This tension between the two audiences can be balanced for- either in the moment of recording or in post-production, and I think WBN does an excellent job at this balance. However, I make the point that players come first and audience comes second specifically for recaps, because if your players don’t know what’s going on beforehand, then the whole shoot/recording could be in jeopardy, and it may simply not be worth the time, effort, or resources to craft an outstanding recap. So, there’s fundamentally going to be less effort put into the recap from viewer’s perspective in actual plays, and they just don’t matter that much, since players can just ask questions/GM can remind players of things.

(6) Might be a hot take, but I find it counterproductive and uninteresting to engage in editorializing player and DM choice in APs when it is presented as critique or literary analysis (i.e., "they should/could have done this instead" or "XYZ would have made for a more interesting story"). I've noticed this sentiment crop up in AP spaces/fandoms, but there isn't a writer's room to edit and revise the story being told (well there is one, and it's happening in the moment). To me, it's more interesting to look at the story that is being told and the choices made, and ask, why? Which is the point of this whole essay—to look at those seven sentences and go, "why is this here and what does it mean?"

(7) Or I'm just a nerd. Or both. Don't mind me, I'm just over here building my donut house. (I reblogged a post about fandom and donuts recently—it makes sense in context I promise.)

[shitpostingsapphic]

Why I don't feel disappointed by Vi's arc, but you might

I usually have pretty strong and polarizing opinions when it comes to my takes on Arcane, but this is one where I wanna open up the discussion a bit more and invite people to my perspective, and it's fine if you don't see it this way.

I think there are two primary reasons why people feel disappointed by the arc of s2 Vi. The first, being that Vi had stronger voiced concerns about the state of Zaun in the first season. The second, being that she spent the whole show wanting to be with her sister and she didn't end up getting that.

Why I actually feel fulfilled in Vi's arc has to do with these two points, and I invite you to sit with what I have to say next.

Both of these parts of Vi have to do with her fatal flaw: her neglect of self.

We know two things based on what the creators have said about the show: the theme of Arcane is the cycle of violence, and the entire show was written together, instead of season 2 being written after season 1 production. From this, I can then ask: what do the creators want to tell their audience about this message, knowing they wrote it all out together, knowing the events of season 2 were very purposeful, using Vi as a conduit for that message?

If violence is a cycle, can one person defy it? No, of course not. At the start of Vi's arc, she wants to be a person that breaks it, though. She wants to change things in Zaun, wants a better life for her sister. As season 1 continues on, she wants to pick up where she left off with Powder without truly processing the gravity of the years between them. She thinks she can hold the world on her shoulders and fix any problem that comes her way. She thinks she can use her fists to make progress, thinks she can physically reach out and create change, but it only contributes to the cycle. And that's not because she's morally in the wrong when she does so, but she doesn't grasp yet that her fists can't fix everything. Vander tries to tell her as such in act 1, and it's a lesson that goes beyond just the literal application.

Vi's tendency to try and fix everything around her leads to her neglect of self. Inevitably, when you try to change things you have no control over, it leaves wounds. It leaves a person feeling like something is deeply wrong with them. And we watch Vi go down this spiral. I actually find myself really brokenhearted watching Vi in the first 2 acts, because I think she represents a lot of us: we see pain and devastation around us, but we don't know what the right thing to do is. We try different tactics and try to fix things and are left wondering why things feel worse than how they started.

I think that's something a lot of viewers could benefit to reflect on: I think in watching a show with strong political messaging, we yearn for a message that tells us the answers to these big problems. Truthfully, most of us don't have a fucking clue what we're doing. We want change but don't know how to see it through. That includes the writers. This isn't a show about the solution to political strife. It's about the cycle of violence. It's about not knowing how to change something that's been continuous throughout history in some form.

If we put ourselves in Vi's shoes, it would eventually take a toll on us to try and change something that isn't within our ability to change. Vi can't fix the problems in Zaun. Vi can't change the way time and distance and pain has warped her sister into someone else. In season 2 act 1, she's still trying to take responsibility for things that are outside of her control. She blames herself for the way Jinx has changed and has to tell herself that the only way to fix it is to end the cycle with her own fists. She teams up with Caitlyn because she's convinced herself it's the only way she can help. She sees how violence has devastated not only Zaun but innocents in Piltover as well, and she feels responsible for it.

BUT SHE IS NOT AT FAULT. And she cannot fix it any more than she could have created it.

Perhaps people may feel Vi's arc is lacking because they wanted to see more of her involvement in the revolution of Zaun. They wanted to see her be able to change the situation with her sister and for them to live happily together. But because of the circumstances surrounding both, for Vi to do so, she would inevitably lean into her fatal flaw. She cannot do either of those things without neglecting herself. That's not who she is.

The whole point of a character arc is for someone to be a changed person from beginning to end. If Vi starts out as someone passionate about enacting change to the point of self-destruction, what would a resolution for a character like that look like?

Vi needs to choose herself. Vi needs to release herself of the responsibility of changing the world. She can't do it. There are ways to contribute to positive change that don't involve putting the world on your shoulders, and Vi has yet to put herself first in any situation. Vi choosing love is how she does it.

Amanda Overton, one of the main writers that contributed to Vi's character and the Caitlyn and Vi dynamic and relationship, said about Vi: "If she has no one left to protect, she would fall in love". If Vi finally lets go of this crutch of hers to protect, to fight, to take responsibility for things that aren't her burden to bear, she would fall in love. She would finally be able to choose something for herself.

This is why I find her arc fulfilling. I feel like it's not an arc we really see a lot. It's not every day we have a character that starts out like the classic anime slash marvel protagonist, and instead of being the person that saves the world, they accept they're not a superhero and it's okay to choose love and personal happiness.

If it applies, and you're reading this, I want you to ask yourself: are you perhaps disappointed with her arc because you expected her to be the superhero? And would you be okay with accepting that she isn't and doesn't need to be? That it would be better for her to choose herself?

[earthnashes]

SOOOOOOOO. Arcane season 2, huh? Now that a couple of days have passed for me to marinate I think I'm ready to share my thoughts on the season. This WILL contain spoilers though so if you haven't seen it, I highly recommend watching for yourself first!

So! Overall, as a standalone season I feel like there are things Arcane excelled at and things that have lost its way a bit. For starters and easily the best part of the show: it's visuals. I've heard some complaints about how much the show cost but like. Brother. When I think of super expensive shows, THIS is what I think it should look like. At no point did I question the budget because it's made abundantly clear every penny is used to best use it could possibly get. And it resulted in what I've been calling a modern greek statue: a marvel, an incredible tapestry of just about every art medium you can think of woven into something so beyond anything I've seen in animation I have a hard time finding the appropriate words to express exactly how much I'm taken by it. This is a clear example of what art IS man and jesus christ. It's mindblowing. I can't praise the show enough for that, like it's literally the best looking thing I've ever seen in media.

Same with the sound design and music, particularly in the battle scenes. Something about the energy behind the sounds, like the clacking of Vi's gloves as shes revving up for a punch, or the reverb of metal clashing, the sound of how blows connect. Even the little things, like the distinct difference between footsteps, or the glitch-like sound that spiders in the backround before shimmer or the arcane is utilized? Like CHEF'S KISS BRO. God almighty it tickles a part in my head.

Just the visuals and sound design is fuckin tasty bro. A solid 1000000000/10

So now Characters. Season 2 managed to take the existing characters and really built off of what was already there. In my opinion the characters, particularly the main players, received additional depth and evolution in a way that made sense in the long run, and the conclusions they reached in their arcs felt like a correct conclusion. However, it's how they got there and how fast they get there being one of my complaints.

For starters: the love triangle between Jinx, Vi, and Caitlyn. I didn't appreciate how, for the most part, it felt like it took a backseat in this season when it was one of the driving forces of season 1. It's not JUST them though: the relationships of every character kinda fell away to the wayside for the sake of getting through as much of the plot as possible, but we're on these three right now so:

-I feel like a PROPER recouncil between Vi and Jinx was sorely needed. There were hints to it, particularly in Act 2, but we were kinda left guessing and having to fill the majority of the gaps ourselves. One of Vi's driving factors as a character is her relationship with Jinx/Powder; her unable to accept that she's changed in her absence. Act 2 opened the door in allowing Vi to learn about Jinx as she is and come to terms that, even if she's changed, she's still her sister and there's a chance to bridge that gap. Vice versa to Jinx, particularly because of Isha's presence; I have to assume by becoming an older sister herself, she begins to get an understanding of Vi she previously lacked and that really could've been a stronger catalyst in her recounciling with her. Had the sisters actually got more on-screen time together and really let the hope between them breath, I feel like the ending would've had a much stronger impact.

-Cait/Vi, as much as I enjoy the pairing, felt a little too disjointed. Act 1 was the strongest showcase of their relationship; a sudden escalation driven by mutual grief and attraction and genuine care only to be torn apart immediately after because of Cait's blind rage. Cinema. Beautiful. But immediately after, we don't really see either character work off that much in my opinion. Vi does have a spiral that was very well shown, though I do wish we saw more of Pit Vi and her descent.

As far as Cait goes I would've preferred seeing her spiraling in her own way; with how the third episode of Act 1 ended, I felt like the show was gearing up to showcase how much she allows her hunt for vengeance cloud her mind and take over her life, to do things her mother would have not approved of. Like bro she was so SURE she wouldn't miss (immediately after missing every shot she took up to that point) that she was willing to potentially kill a child for it. Ain't no way she wasn't constantly frothing at the mouth for some time, wallowing in Vi's apparent "betrayal" and in the grief of her mother's death. I DO like how she is seen questioning her actions but it just feels like a tiny snapshot. Had they continued with showing her questioning what, exactly, the hell she's doing (while continuing to go on with her reign), then seeing not just Vi but also how her actions has widened the rift between Piltover and Zaun, her finally being able to break herself off would've felt more weighty.

"What are you shooting for, young Kiramman?" Grayson once asked. I can't help but feel like that line could have had some very strong carry-through into this season; not only giving a proper callback to Grayson as Cait's mentor(?) but also cement Cait's inner turmoil between blinded by revenge, but growing to dislike what she's turned into to get it.

And the sex scene. Particularly WHERE the sex scene occurred, immediately after Jinx heavily implied offing herself to "break the cycle". Vi isn't stupid. I felt like it was extremely clear what Jinx was alluding to, and it seemed like Vi understood that with how she asked "What are you gonna do?" She sounded terrified and desperate. She has SEEN Jinx be suicidal in this season first hand, was all but directly asked by Jinx to put her out of her misery herself. You're telling me she immediately bones the shit outta Cait right after Jinx scampers off and seems to forget it?? I dunno man. :/ I wouldn't remove the fuckfest, but in my opinion there were better places to put it.

And overall in terms of the characters as a whole, there was just too many gaps and too little time. Vander felt like he was underutilized, particularly his clear fight in trying to get a hold of his humanity; could've really used him to push the running theme of people can change, but they're still the same person at their very core.

Heimerdinger got shafted I feel like. He had such a strong impact in S1, only for his death to be... well. Forgotten.

Mel's storyline was way too fucking short. Love the powers she got but they ultimately felt unearned; I feel like we could've spent way more time on her learning to control it to some extent. Her whole shtick in being cunning and one step ahead of everyone (much like her mother) could've played a stronger part here too, particularly because I don't remember the Black Rose being explained much, so it would've been nice to see Mel put her strengths into play to find out for herself and give her a more active role in her ability to fight back.

Ambessa was anticlimactic and I didn't appreciate how she ultimately perished. I wanted her to die, don't get me wrong, but the war in general felt waaaaay too short and her death too easy. I appreciate they didn't go full evil with her, and made her an embodiment of Singe's quote of "doing horrendous things in the name of love", but it kinda felt like her initial plot of using hextech to fight the Black Rose (I could be wrong here but that is what it felt like she ultimately wanted) kinda got... forgotten?

Victor's progression is the only one that felt mostly natural in it's pacing. But again, with how unstoppable his robot pawns were, I felt like they really robbed the final battle of any significant weight to it; Zaun and Piltover, fighting as one against a common enemy. One of the biggest payoffs in the show... felt underwheming and, again, unearned.

And the new characters didn't really get much chance to do much of anything. Loris felt like an important parallel to Vander given how many times he was shown to look and sorta act like him. I felt like he had a bigger role to fill but just ended up bodied. Maddie, at least, had somethin interesting goin on but I feel like she could've been made more impactful in her betrayal.

Overall, a mid 5/10. It wasn't terrible, but it definitely needed more time to really flesh everything out.

And finally, the plot. I personally really enjoyed the overall plot and it's opposing themes to season 1. Whereas s1 felt like "love is undoing" and veered into tragedy, s2 felt like "love is healing" and veered into hope; the sisters learning to accept one another, Vi and Cait mending the rift between each other, Victor and Jayce finding their way back to one another. Isha giving Jinx purpose and a new perspective on life, Vander returning and, even if briefly, managing to regain his humanity for his daughters, the list goes on. It's such a beautiful contrast to season 1, but that is part of why I strongly feel like Arcane NEEDED one more season.

Season 2 was too focused on getting as much story out as possible that it didn't allow the characters themselves to push it forward, and it was weakened for it. Had there been three seasons, Act 1 and Act 2 could have been the entirety of season 2, and Act 3 could have been the whole of a season 3, where we get to see the total climax of everything that occurred. Given the rumors of there being a strong interest for an animated movie (and I have a theory that it might be to continue the story of Arcane in some way), that might help with some of the contingencies if it's true, but that's only if the movie actually comes to fruition.

As it currently stands, my biggest critique of Season 2 was switching focus on making the plot drive the story, when instead it really should've continued the trend from Season 1 in letting the characters drives the story forward.

_______

My meds is beginning to kick in and I'm getting drowsy from it so I'll leave it here for now! TLDR: Arcane Season 2 was mostly good. I have my fair bit of complaints and thoughts on how I'd personally structure everything, but a a whole, pretty good! It's one of those shows where I would personally recommend everyone watch from start to finish to at least experience it in its entirety yourself.

Season 2 Rating: 7.5/10

[infamous-light]

You Belong to Me Ch. 9

Alcina Dimitrescu x F! Reader

Ch. 1 Ch. 2 Ch. 3 Ch. 4 Ch. 5 Ch. 6 Ch. 7 Ch. 8

AO3: You Belong to Me

Summary: Lady Dimitrescu's obsession knows no bounds as she becomes increasingly possessive over you. Will you succumb to her dark embrace, or find a way to break free before it's too late?

Word Count: 3.2K

Warnings: Yandere, possessive/obsessive behavior

You pushed through the thick underbrush, heart pounding in your chest.

The forest around you was eerily still. No birds chirped, no insects buzzed – only the sound of your labored breathing and the squelch of slush beneath your feet filled the silence. It was unnatural, this quietness, and it pressed down on you, making the weight of your fear heavier with each step.

The trees seemed to close in on you, their twisted branches reaching out like skeletal fingers, as if to ensnare you and keep you trapped here. A cold, dampness clung to the air, seeping into your skin, and with it came an overwhelming sense of dread. Goosebumps prickled across your flesh despite the adrenaline surging through your veins. You couldn't shake the feeling that something was watching you, lurking just beyond the veil of trees, waiting for the moment you would falter. But you pressed on, driven by the need to escape. To get far away from that wretched castle.

Then, through the dense weave of trunks and branches, you glimpsed a clearing up ahead.

Relief flooded through you as the forest began to thin and you could finally see the open sky beyond the tree line. The cool, crisp air felt less suffocating now, and the oppressive silence began to lift.

In the clearing sat a small, weathered house on the outskirts of your home village, its stone chimney puffing out light wisps of smoke that curled lazily into the blue afternoon sky. At the front of the house stood an older man, his worn face partially obscured by the shadow of his wide-brimmed hat. His shirt sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, revealing strong, sinewy forearms as he swung his axe in a steady, rhythmic arc. Each strike landed with a deep, satisfying thud, splitting the logs on the chopping block cleanly in two. Nearby, a woman stood beside a clothesline, pinning up a white bedsheet.

As you came into view, their eyes snapped onto you.

Confusion flickered across their faces before swiftly morphing into alarm. The man’s swing faltered, his grip loosening on the handle as if it suddenly weighed too much. The heavy axe slipped from his fingers and thudded into the dirt, forgotten. The woman froze mid-motion, her hands hovering over the clothesline, the pins dangling uselessly in her grip. Both stared at you, their mouths slightly parted, wide-eyed and silent. The color drained from their faces, as though seeing you was something beyond unexpected – something wrong.

You tore your gaze away, the weight of their stares pressing heavily against your back as you bolted past them.

You soon caught the scent of smoke – thick and sharp, laced with the earthy richness of soil and burning wood. You were close now. The village chimneys had to be just beyond the next hill. The ache in your legs barely registered anymore as the familiar rooftops of your home village finally came into view.

You slowed to a normal pace as you entered the village center.

The cobblestone path beneath your feet was just as you remembered it, worn smooth from years of footfall, with tufts of grass sprouting between the cracks like stubborn survivors. The familiar cottages lined the road, their thatched roofs and weathered wooden walls still standing strong against the passage of time. Despite everything you had been through, this place was untouched, like it’s been frozen in time since the day you were taken three months ago.

Your eyes flickered from house to house, catching glimpses of villagers going about their daily lives. Everything appeared normal: a young woman scrubbed clothes in a wooden basin, her hands working rigorously, though they paused mid-scrub as she caught sight of you. Her mouth parted in silent surprise, eyes widening as if she couldn't quite believe what she was seeing. Further down, an elderly man who had been tending to his small garden straightened, his wrinkled face going slack with shock as his eyes met yours. Children playing and chasing one another in the center stopped their game once they saw you as well, their laughter dying as they stood frozen, wide-eyed, and confused.

One by one, they all turned to stare at you.

The rhythm of the village came to a standstill. The clatter of daily life – the scrape of tools, the splash of water, the murmur of voices – faded into an eerie silence. Whispered conversations replaced them, soft and hushed.

You could feel their disbelief, their fear – how could you be here?

You, who had been dragged away in the dead of night, taken to Castle Dimitrescu, a place no one returned from. And yet here you were, standing in front of them, unmistakably alive.

Their eyes burned through you. It wasn’t just your face they studied, but the clothes you wore. The servant’s uniform clung to your skin like a foreign presence, its fine, embroidered fabric so out of place in your home village. It would be the most luxurious thing these people had ever seen. It only heightened the gap between you and them. You were one of them once, but now? Now you were something else, something apart.

The whispers grew louder, more frantic, the air thick with suspicion and curiosity.

You had to get a move on.

Your heart pounded in your chest as you pushed through the narrow roads, heading toward your parents' home. You kept your head down, the uniform pulling tighter with each movement.

Your footsteps echoed dully on the cobblestones as the sight of your home grew closer. It was just as you remembered it: the sturdy wooden walls, worn with age, still bore the same cracks from long-forgotten storms. Even the shutters hung slightly askew, paint peeling just like they had years ago.

You stopped for a moment, swallowing hard as you gazed at your home.

How will your parents react to seeing you?

You had been gone for so long, they must have feared the worst. The thought gnawed at you, twisting your stomach with worry, but you needed to see them again. You needed them to know that you were still alive; the guilt of missing this chance would haunt you if you didn't take it.

With a deep breath, you squared your shoulders and approached the front door. You raised a trembling hand, feeling the cold metal of the door handle underneath your fingertips. You pushed the door open. The familiar creak of the hinges sent a wave of bittersweet nostalgia through you. You paused for a moment just inside, listening to the quiet rustle of movement in the next room.

Then you heard it – a voice. Your mother’s voice, soft and soothing, humming one of the many lullabies she used to sing to you as a child. The sound was so achingly familiar that it almost brought tears to your eyes. You let out a heavy exhale and closed the door behind you. Slowly, you made your way to the back of the house. As you reached the kitchen, you saw her. Your mother, standing at the table, her hands covered in flour as she kneaded dough. Her hair was streaked greyer than you remember, but her face was the same – kind and full of warmth.

When she looked up and her eyes met yours, a look of shock and disbelief crossed her face. The dough slipped from her fingers, falling forgotten onto the table as she took in the sight of you standing there. For a long, breathless moment, the world seemed to stop spinning.

Then, without a word, she stumbled forward, her arms reaching out in an urgent, desperate motion. When she finally closed the distance between you, she enveloped you in a fierce embrace. Her arms wrapped around you with such intensity that it was almost painful, but you didn’t care. You clung to her as if she was the only thing anchoring you to this world.

“I thought I’d lost you forever.” Your mother whispered, her voice cracking with emotion.

You couldn’t find the words to reply. All you could do was hold your mother close.

You buried your face into her shoulder, inhaling her comforting scent, a blend of lavender and vanilla. Her hands shook as she stroked your hair, still murmuring words you could barely make out. You’re not even sure what she’s saying – just that it was full of relief.

Suddenly, a creak echoed from down the hallway. You both turned toward the sound. Your father stepped into view, rubbing sleep from his eyes.

“What’s going on? I thought I heard-”

His voice trailed off as he took in the sight of the two of you huddled together. For a moment, he simply stared, as if he couldn’t trust what he was seeing. His brows knit together in confusion, his mouth parting slightly as he struggled to grasp the reality before him. Your mother quickly wiped away the tears that glistened on her cheeks, trying to regain her composure.

“It’s alright,” she said, her voice steadier now but still thick with emotion. “She’s here. She’s really here.”

Your father’s gaze remained locked on you, but his voice cracked, barely above a whisper. “Is it…?” He took a tentative step closer, his hand gripping the doorframe for support, as if he might collapse if he let go. “It can’t be.”

“It’s me, papa,” you managed to say, your voice wavering despite your best efforts to stay strong. “I’m here.”

Your father’s resolve crumbled at your words. He immediately closed the distance and before you knew it, he wrapped you in his arms. The hug was tight, more desperate than your mother’s, as if he feared that if he let go, you might vanish again. His chest shook against yours, and you could feel the warmth of his tears seeping into your shoulder.

“I missed you so much.” He choked on the words.

Your mother, still hovering close, reached out to take your hand. “We never stopped thinking about you, not for a single day. We always hoped that you would come back to us.”

You couldn’t hold back anymore. All the fear, the pain, the darkness that’s haunted you since you were brought to the castle, it all welled up and spilled over in a flood of tears. You leaned into them both, letting the weight of everything you’ve carried finally lift, even if just for a moment. It’s not gone – not by a long shot – but standing here between your parents, you felt something you haven’t felt since the day you were forcibly taken; love.

Your father pulled back slightly, his hands gripping your shoulders. His brows furrowed deeply, concern and confusion etched into every line of his face.

“How did you even manage to escape?”

You took a shaky breath, your heart still racing from the memory.

“I had some help,” you murmured, swallowing the lump in your throat. The faces of Catalina and the maid who gave you the note flashed in your mind briefly. “One of the staff slipped me a note... told me where the main house key was hidden. I just had to wait for the right moment when I didn't have the Lady's or her daughter’s attention on me.”

Your father leaned forward, his voice low and edged with worry. “Will they come looking for you?”

A cold shiver slithered down your spine as you knew the answer to that question all too well. You nodded slowly.

“They will.” You admitted, swallowing against the tightness in your throat.

Your father's face darkened as he clenched his jaw with determination. “We’ll protect you. Whatever it takes, we’ll keep you safe here. We could hide you.”

You knew he meant it – he would stand between you and any threat – but you also knew what Lady Dimitrescu and her daughters were capable of. The lengths the lady would go to in order to retrieve what she considered “hers” were beyond their understanding. The thought of her daughters descending on your village, tearing through homes and lives, made your stomach churn.

Your fists clenched, nails digging into your palms as you stared at the worn floorboards beneath your feet. Every ounce of your being longed to stay with your parents, to hold onto the comfort and safety of home, but you knew, deep down, that staying here would only invite more danger. You finally shook your head.

“No, I can’t let you do that.” You said, your voice firmer than you expected.

Your father’s stern expression softened, though his resolve remained unshaken. “We’re not giving up on you. You just came back to us.” His voice wavered slightly near the end.

Your mother's hand tightened around your own. “We can’t stand by and watch you face this alone.”

“I know,” you said solemnly. “But if I stay here, you’ll all be in danger, including the others, and I can’t risk that. It’s the only way to keep you safe.” You could feel the burn of tears welling up behind your eyes, but you blinked them back. “I just needed to see you two again.”

Your parents exchanged worried glances with each other, a silent conversation passing between them. For a moment, you thought your father might try to stop you, pull you into an embrace, and refuse to let you go. But instead, his hand slowly dropped, defeated. “Okay,” he sighed, his voice heavy with resignation. “You know we’ll always be here for you.”

You offered a tight smile, one that barely masked the knot tightening in your chest. You hugged them both again, lingering a bit longer, memorizing their warmth as if it might be the last time you’d feel it. As you stepped back, you noticed the fear in your mother’s eyes.

“Please stay safe.” Your mother pleaded.

“I’ll be careful.” You promised, squeezing her hand tightly in yours.

She gave a small nod, her eyes still clouded with worry. “Let me at least pack you some extra layers and food before you go.” She insisted.

Without waiting for a response, she was already walking down the hallway. You turned your attention back to your father. His gaze was heavy with all the unsaid things hanging between you: warnings, well-meaning advice, and unspoken fears. He then turned and moved to a drawer near the living room. He pulled out a worn, steel revolver, its cold metal reflecting the soft light. The gun had seen better days, its surface scarred by time and use.

With a solemn expression, he walked back over to you.

“Take this,” he said, holding the revolver out to you. “Just… make sure you don’t take unnecessary risks. And remember, no matter what happens, we’re here for you.”

You could see the pain in his eyes, the fear of losing you that he struggled to hide.

“I promise, papa.” You replied as you accepted the revolver, tucking it under your waistband. You wished you could offer your father more comfort.

Your mother returned a minute later, carrying a large duffel bag and your thick jacket. Her eyes were red-rimmed and glistening. The sight made your heart ache even more.

“Everything you might need is in here,” she said softly, her voice trembling despite her efforts to stay strong. “Clothes, some food, and a few personal items. I put in that quilt too. I know it’s bulky, but-” Her voice broke slightly, and she bit her lip so hard that it turned a stark, painful white.

You reached for the thick jacket, feeling its comforting weight as you pulled it on. You then took the duffel bag from her and slung it over your shoulder.

“Thank you, mama.” You said, trying to keep your voice steady despite the lump forming in your throat.

She reached out with trembling fingers, brushing a stray lock of hair from your face. You stepped forward and hugged them one last time, your arms wrapping around them as tightly as you could. When you finally pulled away, the heaviness in your chest felt like a leaden anchor, dragging you down even as you turned to leave.

“I love you.” Your voice cracked.

“We love you too.” Your father said softly.

He wrapped an arm around your mother’s shoulder and drew her in close. His eyes shone with unshed tears, mirroring the anguish in your mother’s gaze.

You finally stepped out of the house, the cool evening air brushing against your skin. The sky above was a deepening shade of indigo, with the first stars starting to pierce through the twilight.

With one final, lingering glance back, you saw your parents standing by the doorway, watching you wander off. The sight was almost too much to bear. You fought to hold back the tears that threatened to spill over. You took a deep breath and began to make your way toward the tree line.

Most villagers had retreated indoors by now. Only a few remained outside, giving you odd stares as you passed them. You quickened your pace, feeling the weight of their gazes on the back of your head.

The trees ahead loomed larger with every step. The air was crisp, tinged with the scent of pine and frost, each breath forming fleeting clouds that dissipated almost immediately.

As you trudged through the forest, the idea of leaving the village altogether flickered in your mind. You imagined escaping to somewhere far from the horrors of Castle Dimitrescu. Yet, that thought was immediately squashed down. You knew that was too risky due to the Lycans that prowled around the outskirts of the forest.

No one had ever made it past them. Stories told of those who had tried over the past few decades had vanished without a trace. Never to be seen again. Their fates were as much a part of the forest’s lore as the whispering wind through the trees.

A deep sigh escaped your lips, mingling with the cold air. The darkness was creeping in, casting an ominous veil over the forest. Finding shelter had to be your foremost concern now.

***

You wandered on in a daze, your sense of time slipping away like sand through your fingers.

As the trees seemed to blur together, you spotted an old, gnarled tree standing apart from the others.

In the shadow of the tree, you noticed something strange – a faint outline, a hollow space nestled within the roots and vines. The entrance was partially obscured, concealed by the overgrowth that clung to the ancient bark, yet it was wide enough for you to slip through. With a cautious glance around, you crouched low and carefully maneuvered your way inside. The air within was musty but cool. You found a relatively clean patch of earth amidst the clutter of roots and twigs and settled yourself down.

With a sigh of relief, you placed your bag on the ground and leaned back against the rough bark of the tree. Its coarse texture against your back was oddly grounding. You tilted your head backward and exhaled slowly, allowing your eyes to flutter closed.

A sense of peace settled over you as you allowed yourself to rest, even if just for a little while.

[justagalwhowrites]

Yearling - Ch. 36: Severed

Joel, Tommy and Ellie search for you. A continuation of Yearling ch. 1-35 found on Tumblr here.

I'm sorry I couldn't resist.

Pairing: Joel Miller x Female Reader

Warnings: Canon-typical violence and a step beyond. Torture. Mention of past sexual assault (not described). No use of Y/N. Minors DNI 18+ Only 

Length: 8.2k

A/N: I want to state, real quick, that Bambi is NOT going to be sexually assaulted again. This is a highly triggering subject and, given the situation she's in, I understand if folks are bracing for it. That's not going to happen. The threat of it is there but it's not going to happen.

We are into the final arc of Yearling and we are going to see some TLOU 2 OVERLAP again. There isn't any this chapter but there will be in this arc and here's how: a character from that game will be mentioned as will the spoiler-y incident from a few chapters ago. What happens plot wise in this arc is completely separate from the game and entirely original content BUT there is that character overlap and more specific mentions of the incident and the motives behind it. This character returns NEXT CHAPTER. If you're trying to go in blind to season 2, it might be wise to step back. Feel free to send me a DM, I'm happy to answer any and all questions!

AO3 | Chapter One | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Joel had rarely paid much mind to how long it took to get out of Jackson before. 

“Tommy,” Maria was stalking after her husband as he, Joel and Ellie headed for the stable. “Be reasonable, you can’t just take off…” 

“Sorry, babe, but I can’t just sit here and let ‘em have a piece of her,” Tommy said as they went to the stable. There were the two horses Tommy and Joel had just returned on, the three that had carried the kids back, and some horses you’d been working with. You’d been telling Joel about their progress, how one was nearing well broke and you wanted him to go with you to the shooting range with her soon to get her accustomed to the sound of gunfire. 

“Do you have some kind of death wish you haven’t bothered to tell me about?” Maria planted herself in front of her husband, her arms crossed, defiant. “You have responsibilities here, Tommy! People who depend on you, people like me and our fucking son! You don’t get to just take off at your brother’s command anymore!” 

Joel stiffened at that. He and Maria had gotten to a good place in their relationship over the years, her moving past the thought that he’d been the driving force behind all her husband’s misdeeds. They’d settled into a mutual respect and eventual affection since he’d come to Jackson, Maria seeming to appreciate what he did for the community and the way he loved her son and Joel admiring her leadership and the way she was a partner to his little brother. He thought they were past this. 

Maybe he was wrong. 

Tommy took his wife’s shoulders in his hands, his thumbs rubbing little circles against her. 

“If it were you, he’d be going with me,” he said gently. “That’s my baby sister out there, Maria. Can’t live with myself if something happens to her and I didn’t do everything I can to stop it. I’m goin’. You can either help and hope we get back soon or you can be pissed while I’m gone but I’m goin’, you can’t stop me.” 

He pressed a kiss to her forehead and went and stood beside Joel, looking over the horses. 

“What’s better,” he asked. “Tired mounts or ones that might spook?” 

Joel looked at his brother for a moment, thankful that he had him to rely on, and ground his teeth. He didn’t know the answer. 

“They’re on foot,” Ellie said, joining them. “Tired is probably better, we’re still going to catch them. But I don’t expect this to be quiet and if we’re on horses that spook, well…” 

Joel gave her a stiff nod and went to get the horses ready to leave. He was moving as quickly as he could but it felt slow, everything felt so slow. It felt like he should be running, pushing himself to the brink so he could reach you sooner. Every second you were away from him hurt. It was worse than when you’d left Jackson to search for Savvy in the blizzard. That had been bad enough but at least then he could believe that you were in one piece, that you could take care of yourself. 

That wasn’t the case now. He knew you weren’t safe. He knew you weren’t OK. He knew he’d vowed to protect you, the night the two of you made promises to each other in his bed he had sworn to keep you safe and never let anything happen to you. 

He’d failed at that. 

He’d failed and now he was here, doing what he had to do to make sure he could reach you. It just didn’t feel like enough. Nothing would, not until he held you again. 

Tommy and Maria talked in low, harsh voices until they had things situated. Food, water, ammunition, medical kit.

“Tommy,” Joel said, jerking his head toward the horses, voice sharper than he’d meant it to be. His brother jogged over to him, taking the reins of his horse from him. 

“The guys who brought the kids back are going to wait here until a few more crews come in,” Tommy said. “Then they’re coming out after us. We can mark a path. With fresher horses, they’ll catch us quick.” 

Joel nodded stiffly and the three of them led their horses to the gate, Maria following with her arms crossed over her stomach. In another situation, Joel would have taken the time to talk with her and reassure her. He didn’t have the luxury of time now. 

He mounted up as the gates opened, Ellie and Tommy following suit, the three of them riding through the gate the moment there was room. 

“Joel!” Maria called after a moment. He looked back at her. “Bring my husband home.�� 

He watched her for a moment, at the fear on her face and in her wide eyes, a mirror of what he was feeling now. But she was still letting him go. He wasn’t sure he could do the same in her position.

“I will.”

 Ellie took the lead, pointing out the spot in the fence where kids left town. Joel ground his teeth and resisted the urge to yell yet again. What good would it do? What was done was done and this lesson was one he doubted Ellie would forget. She didn’t need to be taught it again.

They rode for nearly two hours when they came upon a small clearing and Ellie jumped off her horse before it had even come to a stop. 

“We were here,” she said, looking around, almost panicky. “We were here, I know we were, they had us behind that tree…” 

She ran over to it, walking around it until Joel couldn’t see her anymore. 

“Ellie!” He called. He couldn’t have her out of sight, not right now. 

“I was right,” she called back, coming around the tree. “I took a chunk of bark off of it, this is where we were but they’re gone, completely fucking gone, I don’t…” 

Joel was less surprised than Ellie. 

“They weren’t about to sit and wait for us to find ‘em,” he said. “We need to track ‘em. We’ll find them.” 

He, Tommy and Ellie circled the clearing on foot, looking for signs of a trail. It didn’t take them long to find one. Unfortunately, they found more than one. 

“The fuckers split up,” Tommy kicked a plant in frustration. “Any way to tell which group had her?” 

“Smaller boot prints, maybe,” Joel said, looking closely at the ground. 

“But there were other women,” Ellie said. Joel’s head snapped toward her. “They had a few women. I didn’t talk to them but… She wouldn’t be the only one.” 

“We can’t split up,” Tommy said. “It’s too goddamn risky, there are too fuckin’ many of ‘em, we have to stick together…” 

Joel nodded, trying to think. He tried to keep his shit together but he could feel it happening, the panic setting into his bones. He could hear the blood in his ears, his heart pounding a frantic rhythm against his ribs. He was having a hard time taking a full breath, his head spun. He reached out, his hand finding a tree trunk, giving him something to root him to the ground. 

“Joel?” Ellie’s hand appeared at his back. “Hey, you can’t die on us right now, we have to get her back, you can’t do this now, you gotta keep it together, you hear me?” 

He nodded quickly, closing his eyes for a moment. His mind scrambled for something - anything - to hold him here, something to make him push past the fear and do what he had to do. 

He thought of you. 

He thought of the first time he’d felt your body against him, on the back of a horse in the snow-covered forest. The first time he’d held you because you wanted him to, how you’d sought comfort in him. The first time he’d kissed you, how your lips had fit softly against his, the quick little breaths you’d made, the way you’d felt so close to him. The first time he’d touched you as his wife, how your body was so familiar to him but was brand new, too, with this new context. You were his, he was yours and he needed to keep himself together long enough to get you home. 

He took a deep, shaky breath. 

“We follow one trail,” he said. “We either find her or we find the people at the end of it. If she ain’t with ‘em, we get ‘em to tell us where she is.” 

“You really think they’re just going to, what, tell you whatever you want to know?” Ellie gaped at him. “They’re not going to just answer your fucking questions, Joel!”

“Wasn’t plannin’ on askin’ nice,” Joel said, stalking back toward the horses. “We follow the middle track. See where it leads.” 

Joel knew he should feel some kind of shame about what he was about to do. What he wanted to do, how he wanted to hurt them. He’d never told Ellie the finer points of what he and Tommy used to do - still did, when the need arose. He’d never told her what he did to find her when David had her and he was desperate. She knew he used to kill people, he thought she had some idea of just what that entailed but he’d protected her from the worst of it, the most shameful parts. 

Now, he was hungry for it. If he were a dog, he’d be salivating for it, aching to get his jaws around the throat of the man who had taken you from him. He didn’t want to just kill him, that wasn’t enough. It hadn’t been enough the year before when he’d sent him away from Jackson and it wasn’t enough now when he was doing who knows what to you. He was going to enjoy pulling him apart, piece by fucking piece. He almost hoped that Cody wasn’t with the men they were tracking, that he’d find you and have the chance to take every ounce of pain from them before finding Cody and taking it from him, too. He couldn’t even regret the drive to do it or the fact that he knew he could do it and do it well. His only concern, after finding you, was exposing Ellie to that. 

But they lived in a harsh world. Maybe it was good for her to know the harsher parts of it. 

Joel led the way, slower going now that they were beyond where Ellie knew the group to be. They were carefully tracking a group of what looked like seven people - including two women - for hours. It was dusk when Tommy noticed the signs of people first, giving a low whistle that sounded something like a bird. Joel looked over his shoulder and Tommy nodded toward a patch of sky he could see through the trees. Joel looked up. There was smoke. 

He dismounted and tied his horse off, Ellie and Tommy doing the same, before the three of them prowled, quiet and slow, toward the smoke. It wasn’t long before they could smell it, hear the quiet laughs of men. Joel tightened his jaw and his grip on his gun. His heart raced. 

The group they came upon largely had their guard down. Joel spotted someone through the trees, beyond the fire, looking like they were patrolling. Otherwise, they weren’t paying any attention. Joel gestured to Tommy and Ellie, sending them behind larger trees, Joel going to one himself. He peered around the thick trunk to find them there, make sure these weren’t just innocents passing through and seeing if he could catch a glimpse of you. 

But they weren’t innocents, a woman with her hands bound sitting beside one of the men at the fire, another one - also tied - with her back against a tree. There was no sign of you or Cody. 

Tommy met Joel’s gaze, his face set and determined. Joel gave him a stiff nod before turning to Ellie, her own expression hardened with barely controlled rage. She didn’t even look at Joel, too busy watching the men around the tree. 

Joel took a deep breath and raised his gun, stepping around the tree and firing, catching the man with his back to them in his head. He fell forward with a thud. 

There was a moment of stunned silence, the only sound birds fleeing the crack of the gun. Then, it was chaos, the men scrambling for weapons. One of the women screamed. 

“Need two alive!” Joel yelled to his brother and daughter, pressing closer and firing again, felling another man. 

Tommy shot next, a third man going down. A bullet whizzed past Joel’s head, close enough that he felt the heat of it on his skin, the shot clipping his ear. He ignored the sharp pain of it, watching as the shot Ellie got off dropped a fourth man. The fact that they’d caught the men when they’d stopped for the night was to their advantage. They were clearly used to traveling in a larger group and running unchallenged, only watching for infected who often made themselves known with crackling breaths, the sound of crunching through the brush and sharp clicks. They weren’t expecting a small group to come in, guns blazing. They were slow getting their weapons, rifles on the ground and out of reach, making picking them off like shooting fish in a barrel. Joel shot the man on watch as he came running toward the fire, his gun raised and aimed at Joel. 

Tommy charged forward and grabbed a man who was just getting to his feet, his back toward the three of them. He was just raising his gun when Tommy swung the butt of his rifle at his head, catching the man in the temple and knocking him off balance. He took advantage of the moment and ripped the weapon out of the man’s hands, casting it aside before shoving him to the ground and putting his boot in his chest. Tommy leveled his rifle at his head, holding the man in place. 

“Got one!” He yelled to Joel. 

There were two men left standing now, one reaching for a gun. Ellie shot him in the shoulder before Joel got a chance to react, sending him sprawling on the ground. The other was smarter. He grabbed the nearest woman and pulled her in front of him as she screamed, pressing a gun to her head, his eyes darting between Joel and Ellie. 

“Keep coming and I kill ‘er,” he panted. 

“Joel,” Ellie’s eyes darted toward him. “What do we do?” 

“Let me go,” the man said, the woman in his grip trembling. “Him too, and I leave her alive.” 

Joel didn’t have time for this. He moved quickly, raising his gun and firing, hitting the man in the middle of his forehead. The woman screamed again, covered in his blood and stumbling forward as his body went limp on of her. 

“Shit,” Ellie lowered her gun, looking at Joel. “I thought we needed two.” 

“Think we got two,” he stalked over to the man Ellie had hit in the shoulder. He was whimpering on the ground, clutching the hole that was gushing blood. 

“Please,” he said, eyes wide. Joel ignored him, grabbing a fistful of his shirt and dragging him to the man Tommy still had at gun point. He dropped the man there with a pained groan and he looked to the women, the one who had been a hostage sitting up next to the body of the man who’d had her. 

“C’mere,” Joel said. They looked at each other quickly but stayed still. Joel, again, resisted the urge to yell. He didn’t have time for this. “Ellie, cut ‘em loose, tell ‘em how to get to Jackson if they want. Give ‘em whatever they need. See what they know.”

Joel turned his attention back to the man on the ground, going down on one knee beside him. He grabbed his hair in his fist, forcing his eyes to meet his own. 

“You’re gonna tell me what I wanna know,” Joel said. “And you’re gonna do it quick. Understand?” 

“Why would we tell you a goddamn thing?” The man below Tommy asked, watching Joel. His words were quick, panicky. Joel looked back at him for a moment before he ripped the injured man’s hand away from his wound with one hand and thrust his thumb inside the bullet hole, pressing up into the tendon below his skin. The man thrashed and screamed, the shrill sound sharp and cutting. Joel left his thumb jammed inside him until the other man spoke again, his eyes wide. “Fuck, OK! OK! What do you want to know, we’ll tell you! We’ll tell you, please!” 

Joel pulled his thumb free of the man’s body and wiped the blood on a clean spot on his shirt, turning his full attention back to the man below him. 

“Should get one thing straight now,” Joel said. His voice was flat. “I don’t mind hurtin’ you. In fact, I like it. Like gettin’ justice for everything you’ve done wrong in this life. I can promise you’ve done a lot wrong and I can promise I can make you pay for every goddamn ounce of it in blood. I know how to make it last. But I’m in a hurry and I want this over quick. It’s in your best interest to give me what I want. Got it?” 

The man gave a shaky nod. 

“Your boss has got my wife,” Joel said. “You split up. I need to know where he’s takin’ her.” 

“He gave us a meet up point,” he said, voice shaking. “We were afraid of someone coming after her, he had us split up, he’s got her not us, I swear…” 

Joel ground his teeth. 

“Where.” 

“I don’t know where he’s taking her,” he said quickly. “I know where we’re supposed to meet him tomorrow, that’s all! I swear, I don’t know where he’s going.” 

Joel thrust his thumb inside the gunshot wound again, plunging it deeper, pulling harder at the structure of him as he screamed and writhed. 

“No, stop!” The man below Tommy begged. “We don’t know, we don’t know! We just know he was taking her to trade, that’s all we know!” 

Joel froze before pulling his thumb from his body. He grabbed the man’s hair again, forcing him to look at him. 

“Trade?” His heart was pounding. “Trade for what.” 

“Territory,” the man panted. “Please, there’s a guy who wants ‘er, promised us territory if we got her for him, that’s all I know. He was going to try and meet with him, see if they can cut a deal. If he couldn’t find him or couldn’t get what he wanted, he’s meeting us in the morning.” 

Joel looked to Tommy, his face hard. Tommy just gave him a nod. It seemed like the truth. Joel turned back to the man. 

“You’re gonna tell me where the rendezvous point is,” he said. “And you’re gonna keep it real quiet and then we’re gonna ask your friend the same question and he’d better say the same place as you. Got it?” 

Joel leaned in close, the rattle of the man’s pained breaths hot and wet on his ear. 

“North, ten miles,” he said. “Where the rivers meet.” 

Joel sat back from him and looked to the other man. 

“Now you,” he said. “Better say the same damn thing as your fuckin’ friend.” 

The man’s eyes darted toward Tommy, who pressed the gun closer. 

“Don’t look at me,” Tommy said. “I ain’t savin’ ya. You wanted to live? Shouldn’t have taken my brother’s girl. Answer the question.” 

“North of here,” he said, looking back to Joel. “Said they’d be there in the morning, we were just stopping to rest for a bit, that’s all…” 

“Where north of here.” 

The man’s eyes darted to his friend before looking back at Joel. 

“Ten miles or so,” he said. “There’s a spot where two rivers meet…” 

Joel nodded slowly and looked to Tommy before getting his knife out. 

“No,” the man below him shook his head. “No, I told you what you wanted to know, I didn’t lie, it was the truth I swear it was the truth!” 

“Oh, I know it was,” Joel said, adjusting his grip on the knife. “But you took my daughters, took my wife. Not about to just let you live.” 

He thrust the knife into the man’s stomach and he gasped, his eyes and mouth gaping wide in a silent scream. Joel angled the blade up, forcing it towards his lungs before twisting it and pulling it free with a harsh tear. He wiped the weapon on the man’s pants before getting to his feet, watching as he tried to hold himself together, not able to take a full breath. He’d drown in his own blood before too long and Joel wanted to watch him do it. This man had taken everything from him. He was owed his suffering. 

“Joel,” Tommy said, nodding down at the remaining man at the end of his gun, one who was clearly about to make a run for it. He knew he was done for, he was desperate. “What are we doin’?” 

“Shoot ‘im,” Joel said. “Not worth the risk.” 

Tommy obeyed, the man dead even had a chance to flinch. Joel went back to watching the the first man gasp and gargle, fighting to breathe and failing. He should feel something, he knew that. He should feel guilt or some kind of pity. He didn’t. He barely even felt satisfaction. You were gone. He was hollow of everything beyond pain and fear and rage. 

“Joel,” Ellie’s voice was quiet behind him. He turned to face her, her eyes wide as she looked between him and the dying man. He’d almost forgotten she was there. 

“Get the women out?” Joel asked, shifting instinctively to block her view of the man suffering at his feet. She peered around him, anyway. 

“Yeah,” she said. “They didn’t know anything. Gave them directions back to Jackson and some guns from these assholes. I don’t know that they’ll end up there but…” 

She looked at the man again for a long moment before looking up at Joel. 

“Did you get an answer?” She asked. “Do we know where Mom is?” 

His chest got tight, hearing Ellie call you that, knowing that he shared children with you and you were gone. 

“We know where Cody’s headed,” Joel said. “Let’s get what we can from here and head out.” 

The three of them took ammunition and weapons and food from the dead before mounting up, Joel taking the lead again. 

It only took a few hours to reach the place the men indicated. The group had stopped here before, Joel could tell. There were signs of fire pits, places where fallen logs had been dragged over for places to sit, cleared brush. 

“What do we do now?” Ellie asked. 

“We wait,” Joel said, not happy about his answer. How was he supposed to just sit here when you were out there, with them? But he didn’t have another choice. 

They got the horses settled and found places to watch and wait where they should see people coming and have the advantage. Joel settled in, Ellie sitting beside him while Tommy kept watch. 

“Where’d you learn how to do that?” She asked eventually, quietly into the dark. 

“Do what,” he asked, even though he knew. 

“Hurt someone like that,” she said. “Make them give you information.” 

Joel was quiet for a moment, twisting his wedding band over and over on his finger. 

“You know some of what me ’n Tommy did after the outbreak,” he said. “Did some of that, too.” 

She nodded slowly.

“You never talk about it.”

Joel shrugged. The sound of crickets seemed loud, louder than they should be. 

“Not exactly somethin’ I’m proud of, baby girl.”

“But it’s useful,” she said pointedly. 

He sighed. 

“I’ve used it a few times since, when it’s important,” he said. “When it’s to protect you or her. It’s not somethin’ that’s good to know how to do.” 

“I want to know how to protect people, too,” she said, her voice dark. “I have shit to protect, too, Dad. I want to know how.” 

Joel sighed, looking over at her, the outline of her barely visible in the light of the moon as it filtered down through the trees. 

He wanted to tell her that she didn’t need to know this stuff. That he would always be there to look after her, to do these ugly things that needed doing. But he knew that wasn’t true. 

He’d doomed her to this life, in a way. One where she wanted to know how to pull answers out of someone with pain, how to turn the love you carried for the most important people in the world into a deadly weapon. There was no other way to be in this reality, one with infected and raiders and the last gasp of human kind struggling to continue on. If he’d left the doctor alive, at least, maybe things would be different. Maybe he’d have succeeded without Ellie, maybe the world would have been better for her eventually. 

But he would have come after her and there was no point in fixing the world if it had to continue on without her in it. Good, bad, indifferent, there was no point to any of it if the price was her life. Hers or yours or Savvy’s, the three of you were all that mattered. And he liked knowing he had skills he could fall back on if he needed them. 

“We’ll take care of what needs doin’ now,” Joel said. “Then we can talk.” 

The three of them took turns keeping watch. Joel wasn’t able to sleep. Instead, he thought of you. How he’d had to coax you into life in Jackson, how you’d come to find your place there, how you’d chosen to do all that with him at your side. 

There was a lot in this life he knew he didn’t deserve. He’d never deserved Sarah, that was for damn sure. The world hadn’t deserved her, either. He’d squandered the gift that was her existence, let her down when she’d needed him the most and he’d bourn that weight the rest of his life. He didn’t deserve Ellie, either. He certainly didn’t deserve you, something so strong but soft, vibrant but centering. You were meant for something more than him but you’d chosen him, anyway. He remembered when your fingers first brushed his, when he first heard you play guitar, when he first saw how you loved his daughter like she was your own. He wasn’t sure how he was meant to keep going if he didn’t get you back. What would be the point? Ellie was grown now. Savvy had survived all on her own for years and Ellie had taken her under her wing. They didn’t need him. But he needed you. 

Dawn was just beginning on the horizon when Joel heard it, the sound of people coming in from the north. He roused Ellie and Tommy and the three of them stood, lying in wait amongst the trees, rifles at the ready. 

Joel wanted to come out guns blazing but then he saw Cody, riding on horseback with just two other men. 

They weren’t outnumbered. You weren’t with them. 

Joel readied to step out from the trees, rifle raised. 

“Joel,” Tommy hissed.

“Go around the side,” he said, voice low. “Kill the others. But he’s mine.” 

He moved from behind shelter then, weapon leveled at Cody’s chest.

“Cody!” Joel called, watching as the men’s heads all whipped around to focus on him, scrambling for rifles. “You have what’s mine.” 

Cody lifted a hand to his henchmen and they lowered their weapons as he smirked at Joel. 

“Think she was mine before she was yours,” he sneered. “Seems to me I just took back what got away.” 

“Where is she,” Joel said, prowling closer, straining to keep his voice calm. 

“Back where she belongs,” he said, fishing in his pocket for something. He found it, pulling it out, unwrapping it from a kerchief and throwing it onto the leaves at Joel’s feet. “But you can have the part of her you laid claim to.” 

Joel looked down and his vision narrowed to a sharp, bloody point. He could hear his heart pounding in his ears, the soreness of his legs and back and the pain at his ear that had been nagging at him suddenly gone. His hands shook as he dropped the rifle and lowered himself, slowly, to the ground. Lying there were two fingers. Your fingers. The wedding band that had been there since Joel had slipped it onto you was bloody, ragged flesh dangling from the ring he’d made you. 

Something inside of Joel snapped then. It was a sharp, clean break, one that he could he could feel deep at the core of him. A severing of his humanity, a setting aside of the things that made him who he was. The love he held for his family, the care he had for the place he called home, the remaining parts of him that were gentle and good - those things were closed to him now. Joel Miller had been called monster many times in his life but he knew he’d never become one. Not truly. He knew it because this had always been there, lurking below the surface, brought forward when he needed it most but always controlled, always contained. It wasn’t contained now. It couldn’t be. 

Joel left the gun on the ground, gently picking up your fingers - sticky and cool - and putting them delicately in his pocket before getting to his feet.

“Thought about sending you back with her whole hand but,” Cody shrugged. “Mitchum has use for it. Nothing she can’t do down a few fingers, though.” 

Joel didn’t even see Ellie and Tommy getting into position when he roared and lunged for Cody, ready to kill him with his bare hands. 

***

The Day Before 

“Move.” 

You glared at Cody, your wrists chained in front of you. 

“Not telling you again,” he said. “They’re still close enough, we could run ‘em down if you want to try me.” 

Your stomach got tight. 

“Fine,” you said. “Let’s go.” 

He split his men into three groups, hauling the man you’d killed to the brush and leaving his body behind. There were three women you hadn’t seen yet, one going with one of the groups, two with another. You didn’t get a chance to say anything to either of them, just sharing a look of desperation before you were led away. 

“You’re going to regret this,” you said as he shoved you forward. 

“Why, because you’re fucking guard dog is going to run me down?” He sneered. “Think we’ll handle him just fine. Besides, by the time he finds us, you’ll be long gone.” 

You followed his command, trudging through the forest and trying to find some way to leave a trail to follow. Joel would come for you. It would likely be hours yet before he was back from patrol, hopefully long after Ellie and Savvy made it back to town. You knew he’d come looking for you the moment he discovered you were gone, that he’d do anything to get to you. You just needed to make sure he could find you and that you were in one piece when he did. 

“Why are you doing this?” You asked once you’d been walking for hours, looking at Cody. “You said you knew it was wrong, you helped me. Now you’re doin’ this? Takin’ me and other women?”

“Let’s just say I learned my lesson with you, Doll,” he said. “Could try to be a ‘good’ man all I wanted, try to do the ‘right’ thing but it wouldn’t get me anywhere. Not like there’s much left here to live for, right? I should just take what I want while I can, no one is going to give it to me, even if I deserve it.” 

“Deserve it?” You stopped and turned to face him. “You think you deserved something from me? You held me prisoner, you fucking raped me, you…” 

His backhand caught you off guard, sending you sprawling to the ground, unable to catch yourself with your bound hands. He stood astride over you, grabbing your face sharply and forcing you to look at him. 

“Don’t fucking call it that,” he hissed. “That’s not what it was.” 

You spat in his face. 

“Fuck you.” 

He squared his jaw, like he was considering doing something more to you before he straightened, wiping your spit from his cheek. 

“Get her up,” he said. “We’ll stop here for a bit, take a break. Make her take a piss, get her cleaned up a little. Maybe we’ll have some fun before we hand her over.” 

You hoped the fear didn’t show on your face, that the way your stomach dropped and heart stuttered wasn’t obvious. 

It’s not like you didn’t know, consciously, what this was all leading to, what you were going back to. You’d been there for long enough before, you knew what it was and what this meant. 

But you weren’t sure you could survive it again. It had nearly killed you before. If you hadn’t escaped when you had, you weren’t sure how much longer you would have really lasted living that way and now you were going back to it. It would be worth it to protect your children but the fear of it was still there, the claws of it sharp and harsh inside you. 

Cody smirked. 

“Maybe I’ll show you just how nice I was before,” he said. “Show you what you took for-granted.” 

Two men pulled you roughly to your feet and shoved you into the trees, off the trail you’d been walking. Your chest got tight and your stomach turned and you found yourself flexing your fingers, clenching and unclenching your hands into fists as you tried to focus. Your vision threatened to narrow but you forced yourself to see beyond your own body, think beyond the fact that your lungs couldn’t seem to fill and your head was getting light. 

The men pushed you for a few minutes away from the rest, toward a stream. One stayed further back, watching the forest for signs of infected or someone who might come to take you. 

“Alright,” the other said, nodding to you. “You heard ‘im. Piss, get cleaned up.” 

“You think I’m gonna just do that with you watching?” You sneered, brows raised. 

He stalked forward, drawing his gun and pressing it to your chin. 

“You really think I won’t blow your goddamn head off?” He asked, his breath reeking of rot and liquor. 

“No,” you smirked back. “Your boss has you by the balls. You can’t do shit to me.” 

He stepped back and you saw the strike coming that time, dodging it enough that he caught your cheekbone more than your chin and you stayed standing. 

“I can do that,” he snapped. “And I’ll do it again.” 

“Go ahead,” you said. “Because you’re a little bitch. I’ve had good sex that hurt worse than that.” 

He bared his teeth and he went for you again. 

But he was stupid and big and slow and you knew where he was going to be now. You dodged him, not fully thinking and with no real plan. He stumbled where you’d been standing and you stepped behind him, looping your arms around his neck and pulling back so the chain constricted on his throat. 

He choked and gasped, dropping his gun on instinct as he clawed at your arms, trying rip himself free and trying to make a sound but you were pulling too hard, the other man too far to hear or see what was happening. 

The weight of him thrashing against you sent you off balance and you fell, taking him down with you, his body heavy on top of yours. But you didn’t give in, keeping the chain tight over his throat as he kicked and flailed. You held it there until he went limp and you released him, shoving his body off yourself and panting for breath as you did. You didn’t have time to get the feeling back in your body or to ease the panic, though. It was sheer fucking luck the other man who was standing just out of sight hadn’t heard something and you had to take care of this now. 

You found the gun where the man you’d killed - thought you’d killed, at least, you weren’t about to risk shooting him - had dropped it and took a guess at what direction to run in. 

You didn’t make it far. 

“Hey!” You heard the crush of leaves, someone moving for you. “Fuck, she’s running!” 

You turned and shot, the first bullet going wide as your hands shook but you were able to keep it together enough to get off another shot, this one hitting him square in the chest and he dropped like a stone. 

You kept running. 

You weren’t sure how long you ran for when you heard them, the men closing in on you. You couldn’t afford to look back and take the time to shoot, you had to keep moving, even as the sound pressed closer and your head was swimming. And then a hand closed on the collar of your shirt - Joel’s shirt - and ripped you back and down. You twisted on the ground, trying to aim the gun but it was kicked away from you. 

“You’re gonna regret that you little bitch,” the man panted over you. “We could’ve made this easy on you. We ain’t now.” 

He hauled you to your feet by your bound hands and forced you back to where the group had stopped, finding the two other men who had been sent after you on the way. Cody was standing where you’d stopped before, a small fire built on a patch of dirt in the middle of the trail. 

“You really think that was the smartest thing you could have done?” He asked, his voice almost eerily calm. 

“Did you really think I was just gonna let you hand me over?” You replied. “That I’d just go quietly into being a prisoner?” 

“I guess that’s why Mitchum’s so obsessed with you, isn’t it?” He asked, prowling closer. You wanted to shrink away but you couldn’t, not with the man at your back. “Because you just keep that fight in you. You didn’t give up like the others and he’s a man who likes a little fight.” 

He nodded toward the stump of a tree and the man at your back shoved you to it, forcing you to your knees beside it. 

“Thing is,” Cody said, pulling his knife free of its sheath at his belt. “You don’t need to be… intact for the shit he likes best about you.” 

Your eyes darted. You were surrounded, there was nowhere you could go and nothing you could reach. 

“Don’t be too worried about it,” he continued, kneeling on the other side of the stump. “Think he’d be pretty pissed if we took your whole hand, for example. But I don’t think he’ll miss a few fingers.” 

Your heart raced, the blood pounding in your ears. 

“That a risk you want to take?” You fought to keep your voice calm as you clutched your hands tightly to your body. “You really want to go through all this trouble for nothing?” 

He shrugged. 

“Think we’ll be fine.” 

The man at your back took your wrist in his grasp and shoved your arms down to the jagged wood of the stump, your hands clenched in tight fists. Cody took your left one and pulled at your fingers, trying to pry it open as you grimaced and fought him on it. After a moment, he gave up. 

“Fine,” he said. “Don’t want to cooperate?” 

He took the knife and slammed it through your forearm, on the side of it so it missed bone, making you scream as the blade went through the muscle and skin and into the wood on the other side. Your hand went limp on instinct and Cody spread your fingers with one hand, holding the other out. Another man handed him a knife and he lined it up with the base of your ring and pinky finger, smirking a little as he did. 

“Would you look at that,” he traced your wedding band and you tried to look at your hand through the blur of pain and tears. “The feral woman got hitched. You marry that animal of yours, that it?” 

You considered begging. If you thought it had even a chance at working, you’d have done it. But it didn’t.

“Fuck you,” you said instead. 

“Think this’ll make for a nice keepsake of you, if he ever comes looking,” he said, pressing the knife in just enough that you could feel it, even through the pain of the blade still lodged in your arm. “Wedding ring won’t mean much where you’re going, anyway.” 

He started cutting then, the automatic response your body had to pull away ripping and tearing against the knife holding you to the wood. You couldn’t look away from it, even though what little there was in your stomach was threatening to come up and the pain had deafened all the sound around you. You weren’t sure if you were screaming or not but you couldn’t breathe and couldn’t think as you watched part of your body be cut away. 

Cody finished, wiping the knife on your shirt - Joel’s shirt - before passing it back to one of his men. He held your bloody, jagged fingers up, turning them slowly in front of his face. You could hear again, the ragged sound of your breath and the rustle of leaves on the trees, the breeze moving through as though you weren’t being dismantled on the forest floor. 

“Think your guard dog will even still want you now?” He asked, holding them in front of you. Your blood dropped from them onto the sleeve of the shirt. “Not sure he’ll be interested in such… damaged goods.” 

You stared at the fingers in his grip in disbelief. It didn’t seem real, the things you’d used to play guitar and grip the reins of your horse and hold your husband’s hand were separate from you now. You remembered, for a moment, marrying Joel. The clarity of it was almost visceral, how he’d taken the ring that was now slick with your blood and slipped it onto the finger that was dangling before your eyes. It was a part of you then. It wasn’t now. 

Cody held his empty hand out and the man he’d given the knife to returned it. 

“No,” you shook your head, your voice wet and raspy. “Please, I…” 

“Not taking anything else,” he said, his tone almost kind. “Just going to make sure you don’t bleed out on us.” 

With that, he pressed the blade to the place he’d cut part of you away and you screamed, the metal scalding hot. You realized they must have put it in the fire, using the heat to cauterize the wound. Without warning, one of the men pulled the knife that was still in your arm free and the heated blade moved there, too. You could smell your skin burning, the man at your back holding you still as your body fought to escape the pain of it. They moved you around like a rag doll, cauterizing the other side of your arm, too, before stepping back from you. 

“There,” Cody stood, handing the knife off and taking a kerchief from his pocket, wrapping your bloody fingers in it before stashing them away. “Now you should know I’m not fucking around. Get up. We’ve wasted enough time on this shit and Mitchum won’t wait on us forever.” 

The man behind you pulled you to your feet by your shoulders and you swayed on your feet for a moment, your head swimming before you doubled over, vomiting mostly bile before your legs gave out, the man catching you before you hit the ground. 

“Shit,” Cody’s voice sounded far away. “We’ll have to find a way to move her…” 

You passed out. 

When you woke up, it was dark, a hand around your jaw. 

“There she is,” Cody said, releasing you and patting your cheek twice. “Need you up and walking, can’t trade you half dead. Move.” 

You tried to orient yourself, get some kind of understanding. You weren’t where you’d been when you’d passed out. You were on some kind of makeshift litter, your left arm and hand throbbing dully. Your hand was bandaged. Cody grabbed a fistful of your shirt, pulling you upright and you all but collapsed against him, stumbling as you tried to find your footing. The second you did, you pulled away from him. You couldn’t bear to touch him, even if that meant you ended up on the ground again. 

“Just gotta make it about 100 yards,” he nodded toward a flickering glow in the distance. “Then you’re not my problem anymore.” 

He nudged you in that direction and you moved, almost mindlessly. You weren’t strong enough to fight it. You were barely strong enough to walk. You cradled your injured arm to your body as best you could, watching as the glow of the fire drew closer. 

“Stop right there,” an unfamiliar voice said, a man coming through the trees with his rifle raised. But he lowered it as he drew closer, looking the group you were with up and down. “Cody. Starting to wonder if you weren’t going to make it.” 

“Got held up,” he said. “But I got what he’s after, if he still wants to meet.” 

The guard just jerked his head toward the fire and led the way, you trailing along behind him with Cody and his men at your back. 

The fire was in the middle of a large clearing, one with a cluster of about 20 men around it, the man you feared more than any other sitting at the back of it. 

A wide smile came over his face when he saw you, the spread of it sinister and slow. 

“Well well,” Mitchum said, getting to his feet and walking closer. He was still so much bigger than you, tall and broad and you knew just how well he could force you to do what he wanted. “The prodigal son returns, with my favorite toy no less.” 

“Told you I could get her,” Cody said, pushing you toward him. “And I believe we had an agreement.” 

“Sure, sure,” Mitchum waved him off before looking you up and down, just feet away from you now. Your head spun. “Jackson is yours when we take it down, as is anyone who survives. S’long as you remember who gave it to you.” 

Mitchum reached out, grabbing your injured hand roughly and you cried out with it as he pulled your arm toward him. 

“The fuck is this?” He held it up. “Thought I told you I wanted her intact, there’s no deal if you fucking maimed her.” 

Cody shrugged. 

“She killed two of my men,” he said.

Mitchum dropped your hand and clenched his jaw before snatching his gun from its holster and shooting Cody’s man who was at your side, making you flinch away from the sound. 

“You think I give a fuck how many of your men make it?” He asked. “You think their lives matter? Got fuckin’ news for you, theirs don’t and neither does yours so you better do a damn good job of explaining why you brought her to me damaged.” 

“She tried to take off,” Cody said, eyes darting down to the man who was dead  on the ground. “Had to do something to keep her under control. Figured you’d want her at all, even if that meant damaged.” 

Mitchum holstered the gun with a huff and pulled you away from Cody, your skin crawling where he touched you. 

“Well, she’s back where she belongs now,” he passed you off to one of his men before turning back to Cody. “Jackson’s yours, when we take it.” 

“And I want horses,” Cody said. “For my trouble.” 

Mitchum seemed to think for a moment before giving him a stiff nod. 

“Fine, three horses,” he said, waving them forward. “Take ‘em and go. Don’t want to see you again for a while or else I might change my mind.” 

“Pleasure doing business with you,” Cody smirked before looking to you. “Told you you should have given me what I deserved.” 

You didn’t say anything. Instead you just stood there, in the hold of one of Mitchum’s henchmen, watching as the man who’d stolen your freedom rode off into the night. 

Next Chapter

Taglist: @ashleymsnodgrass@planet-marz1@kalea-bane @juneswonderlust @ilovepedro @h-annahayy @starstruckmusiciansartghost @beccerjune @mumma-moonchild @netonetoneto @mellymbee @purplelye @n7cje @flugazi @evyiione @randomhoex @aliengirl99 @orcasoul @reds-ramblings @pedropascalsbbg @fupoola @tinypotatothing @knopes-waffles @lilmizmoz @ayamenimthiriel @jenispunk @panda-pascal @sarap-77 @flugazi @your-slutty-gf @daniegraceg @partyofone3413 @cumberpegg @noisynightmarepoetry. @fifia-writes @grumpygrumperton @srmacaroni @txlady37 @bigboiseason123 @ashleyfilm @arizonadreamingg

A/N: I know it's a rough chapter but... feral!Joel?

We've only seen the beginning of him, he's about to go on a rampage like no other I can promise you that.

Also, I'm sorry for making this chapter quite so brutal. I really didn't want them to get off easy in this situation, I wanted to make sure we know that there are going to be some long term repercussions from all this - in this case, Bambi's missing fingers. They live in a brutal world and they're facing brutal things and I wanted this to be reflective of that.

Thanks for sticking with the story. I really do love you all!

[sapphiresaphics]

Here’s the thing. Arcane season 2 was finished being written back in 2020. It was completed before the first season of Arcane even aired on Netflix in the first place. Before they even knew if it was going to be a hit or not. Before any of the fans had hot takes about the characters.

Which means that all of these “new subplots” (such as the black rose) weren’t just added in on a whim. They have an intentional purpose in the story they’re trying to tell.

It also means that the pacing was always going to increase and become faster as the two seasons went on.

I think a lot of fans are coming at this show from the perspective of a lot of live action shows where the writers see how fans respond to certain things so they add them into the story or focus on fan favorites to grab your attention and keep you engaged. And live action shows can do this because they’re filmed relatively close to when the series airs and so they’re aware of what the reactions are on social media (for good or ill).

But this is animation. Very TIME CONSUMING animation at that. It took 4 years to finish animating the 9 episodes of Season 2. If you include the 6 years of development and production of Season 1, that’s almost a full DECADE of working on this show.

My point is that they literally (and logistically) can’t respond to fan input and make changes in the show based on the way it was received on social media. Like it or not, these specific characters beats and storylines were always the plan from the start.

This is a long winded way of trying to say… if you have problems with the way certain characters are behaving, or certain plot points feeling rushed, or feel overwhelmed by the number of added subplots that need to get resolved before the end of the show… I strongly suggest rather than saying the writing is “bad” or that the writers “don’t know what they’re doing” or just complain about anything really… I suggest you take a step back and ask yourself “why are these the stories and actions they chose for this 2 season arc?”

I think that’s a far more productive thing to do than to go online and whine about things you didn’t like. I find it’s better to try and understand WHY they chose to do these things rather than write them off. More often than not when you look into the why, or try to come up with reasons why the writers would take certain characters down the paths they do, you end up coming out appreciating the media more. Even if you still don’t were with their narrative choices, learning and understanding the WHY is far more rewarding I think.

I’ll give you an example of something I don’t like, but that I understand why. Isha. I don’t like that Isha was introduced and then killed off in the latest episode. If I were to look at it just from a surface level reading, it seems pointless to add this cute mute kid character only to take her away a few episodes later. But NARRATIVELY she’s extraordinarily important. She is what Jinx needed to become more empathetic to her sister and reach out to fix their family. She helps push Jinx into the role of Vander for season 2. And her heroically framed sacrifice is probably going to be the push Jinx needs to stop trying to commit suicide.

Would I have liked to see more of her and Jinx’s relationship? Yes. Would I liked to have learned more about where she came from and why she’s mute? Yes. But at the end of the day, this is not a show about Isha. Isha is a narrative device to help forward the character development of Jinx. And so, while I do not like that she sacrificed herself… I understand it. And that understanding helps me appreciate the writing and the level of depth the writers are willing to go to push their characters around where they need to be by the end of the series.

At the end of the day, Arcane is just another show on Netflix. It is not beyond criticism. There are a lot of legitimate criticisms you can have against the show. But I’ve found that recently the number of bad takes and people refusing to engage with the narrative has resulted in a bit of a backlash against the show and I do not think that’s ultimately very productive. Please… if you’re going to criticize the show, please try to do better than just write off anything you don’t like as “the writers just suck” or “they changed X character for no reason!”

Because I guarantee you, there IS a reason for everything in this show. No matter how small and trivial it might be, this show was put together with love and an extraordinary attention to detail. There are reasons for why characters do and say the things they say. The writers often make these into intentional parallels, foreshadowing, and callbacks.

Please… take the time to actually stop and dissect what you see. Even something upsets you. I implore you… try to understand why. Try to understand what the writers are saying. Try to understand how certain plot points and events could have a bearing on different characters.

Please just…. Try?

[affogato-analysis]

Caitlyn as a symptom of Piltover’s violence

No because i need to throw hands with both her haters and lovers.

Mass spoilers for Arcane, season 1 & 2, for every characters.

(post is like 2k words)

(small edit it's been five hours and you guys are so kind and positive?? i love you so much, the conversations are so fun! the reblogs i see u and ily, my ego is soaring! i got more arcane rants coming if u wanna tag along idk lmao)

(thanks a lot is all i mean to say)

Was what Caitlyn did in season 2 act 1 terrible? yes. Does that make her a terrible person? debatable. Is she the best girl ever and above any criticism? also no what the fuck.

What happens to Caitlyn, essentially, is that she loses her mother and burns for justice and vengeance, and is willing to do all she can to reach her goal. Which is not an uncommon arc in Arcane, to be willing to burn it all for your family and getting overwhelmed by anger and loss.

The main difference is the scale and power dynamics. Because the chembarons have their shimmer, Vi has her gauntlets, Powder and Jinx have bombs, Silco and Vander have allies but they quite match each other when it comes to power until the very end.

So why is Caitlyn’s case so apart from the others? Here’s the thesis: Caitlyn is a symptom and the harm she causes is a consequence of Piltover’s domination over Zaun. I will argue for it thank you.

The main characteristic of Caitlyn, in the context of Piltover leading a targeted assault on Zaun, is that she is the one with power. Caitlyn is, first and foremost, a Kiramman. The show’s explicit about the power of the name, because with the name comes respectability, status, wealth. The Kiramman family is a powerful one, that’s why Ambessa chooses her above Salo. Both Cait and Salo have enough hatred for the Undercity to follow her lead if she plays her cards right, but Caitlyn, even if not officially appointed, has the power to exist in the Council’s room. Salo is nothing beyond the Council — and while it gives him power, his own family or personal entreprises are irrelevant enough that we do not know of them — while Caitlyn is powerful even without the Council — she does bypass every standard enforcers recruitment procedures to get Vi in, and thus we are told that she is one of the most important if not the main funder of the enforcers. In a state holding its peace through sheer violence and constant repression (especially after Jinx’s rocket), if one private actor owns your police force, you are at that actor’s mercy (which, yes, does turn on Cait when Ambessa’s soldiers take over).

Most importantly for us, the Kiramman hold one monopoly of power over Zaun. A vital need of Zaun they are the only ones to answer. Yes, we’re talking about the vent system. Caitlyn, in her anger and in her determination to do whatever it takes to get to Jinx, is willing to use every power she has. That includes her rifle and her aim, when she takes the shot at Jinx despite Isha and Vi standing in between, but also the vent system.

And as we’ve said, Caitlyn is going through a fairly usual character arc in Arcane of becoming a monster for love, for family, only to be brought back by love and family (Vander i’m looking at you) (and then that culminated into nothing to serve Viktor’s character arc tihi) (i mean it when i say Caitlyn has an amazing arc). It just so happens that Caitlyn owns Zaunites’ right to breathe. Is it immoral to weaponize it? Absolutely, and we can deplore the lack of political repercussions on the Kiramman in the show but that’s a more general criticism: the audience and the Zaunites are expected to just forgive Piltover to ally against Noxus. We can have sincere grievances about that (i do, and a lot of caitlyn hate comes from there from what i’ve seen) but it’s not a Caitlyn exclusive problem.

The thing is, Caitlyn’s weaponizing of the vent system isn’t the root of Piltover’s oppression or of enforcers’ violence. It’s a symptom of this violence. Cait can weaponize the vents because she owns them, because Zaun’s clean air is her possession. Because Zaun’s vital needs are dependent on Piltover. Cait doesn’t even realize just how much she’s hurting Zaun. She knows she’s gassing them but, and to her credit, it’s a fairly targeted assault (what Cait is doing isn’t terrorism!) but she is a reminder that whatever little fresh air they have, it’s still a mercy from Piltover. Piltover engineers a problem and a solution and holds that solution above Zaun’s head to silence their protest. This is domination, this is the root of that vent system being oppression still: the Kiramman hold Zaun’s air hostage and it took two mourning girls for that hand to cut off the air flow.

Caitlyn makes herself an enforcer of that violence in her grief, and that’s the symptom of a deeply ingrained disease. The root of that disease is always, always the inequalities between Piltover and Zaun.

The violence is the symptom of a system that is critically failing, repression means your governing body is illegitimate, weaponizing clean air is oppression to its finest.

To argue this point a bit further, we’re gonna circle back to Silco and Vander and how their power dynamic influences their behaviors and how their power struggle drives the entire undercity.

Vander and Silco both benefit from powerful allies. Vander has Grayson, Benzo and his position as bartender of the Last Drop makes him a valued member of the Undercity for Zaunites. Silco has Singed, Sevika and an entire network himself. They are two pillars of Zaun, creating a status quo that they work to maintain (at least their own position of domination) while furthering their own goals: Vander wants to raise his kids, Silco wants the independence of Zaun. Two vastly different sets of goals admittedly and that’s what leads them to reach out to vastly different individuals to help maintain it. Vander seeks out Grayson with whom he strikes a deal, while Silco allies with Singed for shimmer.

And when power suddenly shifts, when the right conditions appear, when the status quo is shaken, that’s when Silco asserts his power over Vander and his domination over the Undercity. Vander is put in a vulnerable position (his deal with Grayson isn’t enough anymore and he’s arrested) and Silco seizes the opportunity, deploys a power he has a monopoly over (shimmer). And after Silco wins against Vander, he can deploy his power over all of Zaun.

The status quo between Piltover and Zaun is constantly imbalanced. Piltover has already won at the beginning of the show and has been asserting, over and over again, through violence and in an abusive fashion, its domination on the Undercity. Caitlyn is like Silco in that comparison, she uses a power over which she has a monopoly (vent instead shimmer), in an unbalanced situation that puts her in the situation of the oppressor.

(And facing her, there is someone who is willing to turn that power against her. Just like Vander using Shimmer to protect his children, Sevika and Jinx using the vents for their own colorful clouds.)

Cait isn’t a poor innocent victim of circumstances but you have to acknowledge context and, in a show where parallels are so frequent, you can’t pretend she’s a completely unique character going through a completely unique arc completely unrelated to anyone else. If you hate her, hate a lot of other people too!

And, as is typical in Arcane, characters are monsters for love, and brought back by love.

And Caitlyn’s arc shows that! Past arc 1, she was lost. Vi had left, Jayce was missing, her mother was still dead even if after all she did, her father was a shadow of himself, the only one she had was Ambessa who was fueling her vendetta to further her own colonialist agenda. Suddenly she was alone, serving as a puppet on top of a pile of gold and too much power she couldn’t control. She can’t call back the gas once it’s out after all, she can’t call back the martial law Ambessa installed now that the resentment is growing in Zaun and that Ambessa is the one holding the reins of enforcers.

That’s why her switching sides was so immediate: when Vi calls her cupcake, she brings the girl forth, before the monster. She gives her love and Cait latches onto it, and uses it to pull herself away from that trap she walked right in. “Why does anyone commit acts others deem unspeakable? For love” & “Is there anything as undoing as a daughter?”: love is forever the way in and out of hate.

I am very disappointed that we never got a proper conclusion to the tensions between Zaun and Piltover. I wish we had witnessed negotiations between Ekko/Sevika/Jinx/a representative of Zaun and the Council, I wish they had gotten control of the vent system, promises of fair trade, independence, something. I wish Caitlyn had been made to apologize and deliver herself the keys to the vent system to Zaunites. I wish for a lot of things about the political resolution in season 2 and the show did not go how i wanted it to. Does deviating from what I wanted inherently make the show bad? No, although I do think it wasn’t the greatest this time around.

I however can not talk shit about the character arcs. Not all are as well crafted as Caitlyn but i will take no more Caitlyn slander on the basis of “she’s a fascist!”. 1- that’s not what fascism is, although she did walk a line close by; 2- she’s a symptom of oppression, and by reproducing she makes herself an agent of it. She weaponises Zaun’s air because she can because she’s in power because she’s the heiress to the Kiramman. Doesn’t make what she’s doing less harmful, but it has to be treated in context. Caitlyn is still a twenty something grieving girl with her entire world shaken up, she just so happens to also be the heiress to an extremely wealthy and powerful family in an oppressive system and every path that opens to her, in the midst of her hatred, brings her to reproduce that domination in the most efficient way she has access to: the vents and the enforcers.

And, yes, by reproducing domination she is also an engineer of it. It’s important to acknowledge that what she's done is bad to put it simply, but do not denature her character to fit a conception of her that is easy to hate. I will put part of the blame on internalized misogyny too, as it pushes us to have less leniency and tolerance for women’s mistakes. No because I haven’t seen half that much hate towards Silco who, reminder, made the Undercity kneel by giving them severe shimmer addiction (engineering an issue and making himself the sole owner of the solution while maintaining it as a form of domination, everyone see where i’m going with this?).

Again, do I wish we’d seen more of the political consequences on Caitlyn of that? Yep, absolutely. But I will not blindly hate on her while ignoring the global context of her actions and I invite you to do the same.

Tell me, do you hate Jinx for her so-called terrorist acts or do you see them as part of resistance against Piltover? You can not see the context when you like it only i’m afraid, and, in an unprecedented show of nuance for the internet, we can understand context and acknowledge moral complexity and still hate someone.

Hate Caitlyn if you want, but do it in a constructed way so we can argue together please! I need to talk about this show so badly, please hate the enforcers and the change in Cait’s character but do so in a well-argued fashion, i beg of you.

[knight-dwx-09]

First Player

1. New Admin

After hours of thinking, Jaune was debating between Trivia Vanilla, Pyrrha Nikos, and Ruby Rose. Why those three? To be honest, he just chose random since the floating words won’t help him at all. And finally, he had chosen one.

Jaune: Okay, first option have never failed me before so I choose Ruby Rose.

[Picking Ruby Rose]

[Waiting for the user to reply…]

The only thing Jaune could do at that moment was sitting on his bed and wait when he noticed from the window that it was already dark.

Jaune: Hmmm, should I go to sleep? I don’t even know if this person is awake or not.

[Congratulations]

[Player: “Ruby Rose” had accepted to become your first Player]

Jaune: YES!

A blue screen appeared with a name in front of him, giving some detail to the person he chose.

Name: Ruby Rose

Title: Red Riding Hood

Gender: Female

Age: 4

Race: Human (Silver-Eyed Warrior)

Level: 5

HP: 250

MP: (Locked)

AP: (Locked)

STR: 6

VIT: 3

DEX: 13

INT: 9

WIS: 7

CHA: 10

LUK: 120

Jaune: Oh wow, she is really young. I wonder how she react to a blue screen show up in her face, asking her to become a player.

As he read the detail of her information, he saw something that catch his eyes.

Jaune: Silver-eyed warrior? What is that?

[System level is too low to provide the answer]

Jaune: Come on! Aren’t you supposed to help me to become a hero?

[System could only help the Developer within its authority at the moment. Trying to give aids beyond of the current capability are impossible]

Jaune: Fine… but can you at least call me Jaune instead of Developer?

[Of course Jaune]

He smiled a bit after it listen to his request as he continue reading Ruby Rose’s information. he know what the number and stat represent, he didn’t being called a gamer master by her family for nothing.

Jaune: Wait, if I can see her stat, could I see my?

[Correct]

Jaune: Then I want to see it.

A screen with his name materialize in the thin air.

Name: Jaune Arc

Title: Coward Hero (Jaune: Hey!), The Admin

Age: 7

Race: Human

HP: 520

MP: 100

AP: 1700

STR: 23

VIT: 30

DEX: 17

INT: 3 (Jaune: COME ON!)

WIS: 5

CHA: 5 (Jaune:… I hate you…)

LUK: 1 (Locked) (Jaune: *Sulking*)

[Point System: 47]

Jaune: why most of my stat are so low compared to Ruby?

[Because Jaune love to sleep through the class, read comic book in most of the free time, and have a very low-self esteem]

Jaune: No I don’t!

[…]

Jaune: It just my family and people around me are much better than me…

[…]

Jaune: And the class are so boring, why should I learn about math when I can use my brain to become a hero!

[…]

Jaune: Fine… I may have low self esteem and don’t like studied…

[Wisdom has increased by 1]

Jaune: Jerk

[Realizing one’s flaw is a great first step to reaching one’s desired]

Jaune: You are still a jerk

[System level up!]

Jaune: Huh? Already? Does that mean you could finally answer me some of my questions like what is a silver-eyed warrior?

[System level is too low to provide the answer]

Then something snap in him as he let out a loud scream the revert throughout the household of Arc.

Somewhere

A young rose in his beowolf onesie slam open her bedroom door with a loud noise, scaring Tai Xiao Long as he jumped in his chair.

Ruby: Dad! There’s blue screen floating in the air!

Tai head snap toward his second sweet daughter, Summer’s cookies in hand as he was about to eat it but stop like a deer caught in headlights.

Tai: Huh… Where?

Ruby: Right there! It is saying that I have become the first Gamer! It’s like the RPG game I player this morning!

Tai just stares at the empty air where Ruby was pointing for a moment, then to her sparkling eyes, and back to the cookies in his hold as Yang, in her pajamas, come out of her room while rubbing her tired eyes.

Tai: Just what did Summer put in this cookies?

[miss-musings]

"Can't You See They're Using You?": The Parallels Between Cid and The Empire as Exploitative Employers in "The Bad Batch"

In rewatching "Star Wars: The Bad Batch" after the series finale, I've realized just how many similarities there are between Cid and the Empire as employers for the Bad Batch and Crosshair, respectively.

I know I'm not the first person to point out how badly Cid used and abused the Batch, even from their very first meeting in 1.05 "Rampage." In fact, @xylionet has a great post summarizing just how much Cid took advantage of the Batch's -- mostly Hunter's -- desperation and inexperience dealing with the galaxy's shadier people.

But, beyond that, the show ultimately drew a lot of parallels between Cid and the Empire as employers, from their attitude toward clones to their manipulative personalities. Even the timelines for the Batch's and Crosshair's employment align very well, down to the conditions at which they start working for them and why they ultimately reach their breaking points.

Before we dive in, a few clarifications:

I'll mostly be focusing on Cid in this analysis, as I think the Empire's faults are pretty clear.

And, when I say "the Empire," I mean the Imperial officials Crosshair interacts with and/or takes orders from -- mostly Rampart and Nolan, but to a lesser degree, Hemlock and Tarkin as well.

SHARED TRAITS

Manipulative personalities

From the beginning, Cid did whatever it took to leverage the Batch into working for her.

Once she realizes that they're 1) desperate for information/money and 2) inexperienced/gullible/etc., she very quickly works to get them on her side.

She offers an exchange of information and money if the Batch bring in Muchi, but she neglects to tell them Muchi is a Rancor, probably because she figured they wouldn't have accepted the job if they knew.

As she gives Hunter the information and 30% of the cut, she says that with a bounty hunter after the Batch, they'll need "friends and money -- mostly money." It's objectively not an incorrect assessment, and she offers them more work. Hunter says he'll think about it, and that's when she pulls out the blackmail card. She knows how valuable they are and knows people are after them. If they cross her, she can turn them in.

Cid ultimately uses whatever tactics she has to get the Batch to do what she needs, whether that's sweet-talking or strong-arming or leveraging them (either financially or via blackmail).

Likewise, Rampart especially gets on Crosshair's good side by initially praising him as an experienced clone and elevating him to commander of an elite non-clone squad. He also seems to give Crosshair plenty of clone troopers as well when needed. However, once we get to the Ryloth arc, we see that Rampart is more than willing to threaten Crosshair when he feels like he's underperforming.

Even in Season 2, Rampart continues to play this game with Crosshair by praising him just enough that he still feels valued, while also demoting him and then insinuating that Crosshair needs to continue proving his worth or risk losing his position.

Assigning morally questionable jobs/missions

While this is obvious for the Empire, it's something I don't see talked about much regarding Cid.

Her clients are shady people, and she either doesn't ask her clients a lot of questions or doesn't provide that information to the Batch.

After she strong-arms them into working for her in 1.06 "Decommissioned," she sends them after a tactical droid. The information it has could be useful against the Empire, but it could also lead to the deaths of thousands of clone troopers -- the Batch's reg brothers.

This is something the Martez sisters point out to the Batch, and Hunter says they're "being paid to acquire and deliver," admitting that who the client is or why they want the information isn't a priority. The Martez sisters argue that it should be.

Granted, a lot of the jobs we actually see the Batch doing for Cid are later hand-waved as being a good thing. They deliver arms to freedom fighters on Ryloth, they reunite Ruby with her owner, they free Muchi from slavery, etc. But, there are plenty of jobs we partially see them do or hear about them doing, which could easily have been "bad" things, especially given how shady Cid's clients are.

Arguably, if Cid ever gave them information or the Batch guessed that a given job was a "bad" thing, they could just not do it for her. But, again, she has leverage over them, so I don't know whether they have much of an option.

Dislike of clones

Basically all the Imperials we meet in the show don't like clones.

Rampart pretended well enough in Season 1, but we know from later episodes that he hates them. Nolan is very brazen in telling Crosshair how much he abhors working with clone troopers, saying he "doesn't like used equipment" and that the clones are ultimately expendable. And, obviously we know of Tarkin and Hemlock's hatred for clones.

But, Cid inexplicably hates them as well.

I think she was willing to bring the Batch on because she felt she could use them, but she's very rude Rex in 1.07 "Battle Scars" and apparently didn't like hosting Gregor in 1.15 "Return to Kamino."

She tells Rex and the Batch that she's "done taking in strays," that she's not running a charity, and that her parlor "isn't a clone clubhouse."

She could feasibly have concerns that, if enough clones start hanging out at her parlor, they'd get on the Empire's radar. But, if that was her concern, there were 100 better ways to say that.

We don't get to see her interactions with Gregor, but I don't understand why she was immediately so hostile to Rex. For all she knew, he could've been there to pay her for information or hire the Batch for a job -- something where she would've gotten paid. Shouldn't she have been trying to get on his good side and at least see what he wanted first? But, instead, she immediately and very rudely dismisses him.

Also, Cid has a clone trooper helmet on the wall in her office. (It's on the lefthand side as you look at her desk.) Considering she used to be an informant for the Jedi, I wonder how she got that helmet. Was it a gift? Why would a clone trooper give her a helmet? It seems more likely that it was a trophy of some kind. She seems to have a lot of strange items around her office, but a clone trooper helmet should've been a red flag for the Batch.

Asking a lot & giving little in return

Cid ultimately had the Batch risking their lives for her and her clients, and was apparently only giving them 30% of the payout.

By 1.07 "Battle Scars," they're also in debt to her despite doing at least 10-12 jobs for her. In 1.10, Cid tells them that the Batch needs "a big score for us to be square," and Omega ultimately pays off the debt by hustling people at the strategy game.

So, even if after 1.10, the Batch renegotiated off-screen so that Cid started covering their expenses and that their standard 30% is pure profit, that still seems incredibly low to me. I would think 40-40-20, with the 20% going to cover expenses would be a decent starting point.

But, apparently, they're still doing jobs for her in Season 2 and still only getting 30% -- their standard rate. We're not sure what their success rate is, but they've been able to complete some big jobs for her. They definitely should've renegotiated up to at least 50% or something, especially considering how frequently they were endangering themselves and Omega on these jobs.

With Crosshair and the Empire, he doesn't really have much in the way of benefits, because the Empire ultimately considers all the clones their property.

They were never given a choice on whether they wanted to serve the Empire once it replaced the Republic. They're assigned these dangerous and morally questionable/reprehensible missions. If they question their orders or refuse, they're labeled traitors and arrested; and if they leave, they're branded deserters.

Crosshair at least gets room and board, but he probably isn't getting paid much or at all. Once Senator Chuchi's bill passes in 2.08 "Truth and Consequences," he might be eligible for a retirement/severance package like we see the clones talking about in 2.12 "The Outpost," but he likely wouldn't have a say on when he gets to retire/leave.

Meanwhile, Crosshair and the other clones are risking their lives for the Empire. We see in 2.03 "The Solitary Clone," that the clone troopers are sent in to complete the most dangerous work -- securing Desix and freeing the Imperial governor. But, once it comes to actually occupying the planet, the Empire assigns stormtroopers.

I also always found it interesting that the clone troopers bothered to get Crosshair medical attention in 1.08 "Reunion," but Nolan doesn't in 2.12 "The Outpost." I feel like the clones, at minimum, cared about each other even under Imperial command. But as more non-clones started taking command, they basically said, "Why bother? Clone troopers are a relic of the past, and we have millions of TK troopers who can take their place."

Lack of intel/resources to complete missions

Speaking of 2.12 "The Outpost," we hear about Mayday's predicament: The Empire doesn't provide enough men to defend the oh-so-valuable cargo at the Outpost and doesn't provide the equipment needed to keep their troopers safe. They have to wrap their armor to stay warm; the conditions degrade the sensors; they don't have the tools needed to disarm mines; and so on.

Similarly, the Batch bring up several times in Seasons 1 and 2 that Cid withholds information about their jobs.

Wrecker in 2.11 "Metamorphosis": Limited intel. Huh. There's a surprise.

Maybe sometimes her clients or sources don't give her information as we see in 2.11 "Metamorphosis," but there are plenty of times where she purposely withholds information, like Muchi being a Rancor in 1.05 "Rampage."

Cid was either accepting jobs without much intel because she was getting overconfident in the Batch's abilities, or -- more likely -- she was getting greedy and sending them on as many jobs as possible regardless of the conditions.

The latter seems more likely, especially with how it aligns with how the Empire treats the clones. They're more than ready to put money into the TK trooper program -- and we know from the Original Trilogy that TK troopers are also essentially treated as expendable -- but the Empire clearly doesn't give a crap about the clones, especially after 2.08 "Truth and Consequences."

Ultimately, both the Batch and Crosshair and the other Imperial clone troopers have to make do with the little they’re given, despite putting so much on the line for their employers.

“All you’ll ever be to them is a number”

Something I haven't talked about much yet is how Hunter is so prescient about Crosshair being used by the Empire, but doesn't see how Cid is using him and his family to a similar degree.

This is something @xylionet pointed out too:

It’s rather ironic that Crosshair and Hunter are both able to see each other’s situations for what they are, but not their own.

One of the things that hit me during my rewatch of 1.15/16 was Hunter telling Crosshair: "All you'll ever be to them is a number" referring to the Empire.

Admittedly, Hunter isn't wrong. As we see, all the Imperial officials Crosshair interacts with only call him by his CT number, never by his name. (The only exceptions are fellow clones like Cody, Mayday and Emerie.)

And, in 2.03 "The Solitary Clone," when Crosshair asks Rampart about Commander Cody, Rampart acts like he's never heard the name Cody before in his life. He ONLY knows Cody -- one of the most famous commanders in the entire Galactic Army of the Republic -- by his number. Hell, even EMPEROR PALPATINE knew Commander Cody's name in "Revenge of the Sith."

But, while the Empire being a bunch of assholes makes sense, what gets me is that Cid is the exact same way:

She ONLY ever called the Bad Batch members by her little nicknames.

Cid absolutely knew their names. She would have to if she was ever planning to turn them in, as she eventually does. Maybe she didn't know their clone numbers, but she definitely knew what they called each other.

Yet, even in those moments where they came through for her like in 1.13 "Infested" and 2.04 "Faster," she never uses their names as a sign of respect or gratitude. Hell, even after Tech dies, she still only called him "Goggles."

Now, I'm not saying that nicknames are inherently bad. I have plenty of nicknames for people, and vice versa. But, I think there has to be an established relationship first, and then the nickname should be a sign of affection rather than a way to demean someone.

Cid calls the Batch mostly by their outward appearances or accessories -- Tiny, Muscles, Goggles, Bandana, Dark & Broody. (Note: she uses "Dark and Broody" for both Echo and Hunter on different occasions.) It just indicates how she sees them -- not as people but as objects. She's only looking on the surface because that's all she cares about.

“Blind allegiance makes you a pawn”

It's obvious to see that Crosshair's misplaced loyalty to the Empire ultimately made him one of its pawns, to be used and abused.

But, as I've outlined, the Batch was in a similar position with Cid.

Hunter definitely sees that their "mutually beneficial arrangement" with Cid isn't great, but he doesn't really have much choice. They're on their own; they're deserters/traitors; and now they're in charge of a kid and being pursued by bounty hunters.

However, as I'll talk about more in a second, the Batch had several opportunities to walk away from her and try to find some other ways of "making a living." Yet, they continue to work for her despite all the red flags that they definitely see but choose to ignore. This is partly why Echo eventually leaves, because he disagrees with Hunter's decision to maintain this lifestyle rather than fighting for their fellow clones.

While Hunter is arguably the most at fault for letting Cid use and abuse them as long as she does, Cid takes advantage of Omega's loyalty the most.

Even as Omega is trying to convince Hunter and the others to -- and I can't believe I'm about to say this -- pit two crime syndicates against each other just to get Cid's parlor back ... all Cid can say is, "You tell 'em, tiny!"

Twice she asks/convinces her family to stick their necks out for Cid despite all the risks involved, and yet they get little to nothing in return -- including respect.

Despite all the risks they take for her and all the money they bring in, Cid doesn't give a crap when the Marauder gets stolen and the Batch are stranded on the mining planet in 2.09 "The Crossing." That's when the Batch -- particularly Omega -- finally reach their breaking point.

By 2.11 "Metamorphosis," Tech suggests that they only do this last job for her to ensure they leave her on good terms, because she knows so much about them. But, it's clear Omega and Hunter are fed up with how badly Cid used them, which happens to coincide nicely with Crosshair coming to the same realization about the Empire.

Which segues into the timeline analysis:

THE SIMILAR TIMELINES BETWEEN THE BAD BATCH/CID, CROSSHAIR/THE EMPIRE

Reluctant employees (early S1)

As mentioned, the Batch and Crosshair start working for their respective employers because they don’t have a lot of other options.

Crosshair is, of course, practically abducted by the Empire and forced to do its bidding under the effects of the inhibitor chip. This starts in 1.01 "Aftermath."

Meanwhile, the Batch do the initial job for Cid in 1.05 "Rampage." They do a one-off job to get intel on the bounty hunter(s) after Omega, as well as earn some much-needed cash. The Batch didn't really have much of a choice in either finding or working for Cid, because Cid was the only Jedi informant Echo knew how to find, and they were desperate for the intel.

Then, as mentioned, she subsequently uses strong-arming and blackmailing as needed to get them to work for her in 1.06 and beyond.

Falling into a routine (mid-S1)

By 1.07 "Battle Scars," we can see the Batch has fallen into a routine of doing jobs for Cid. As she said, they need friends and money with bounty hunters after them, and they don't really have any other ready sources of income (as demonstrated in 1.04 "Cornered').

Yet, despite all the jobs they've done for her, they're also in debt to her. Meaning, they can't easily walk away without giving her even MORE reason to turn them in, so they have to continue doing jobs for her in hopes of paying off the debt.

Meanwhile, Crosshair and his ES troopers have been continuing to operate under Rampart, presumably carrying out missions under his command. Granted, we don't see any of these except the Onderon mission in 1.03 "The Replacements," but based on how effective they seemed to be in 1.08 "Reunion," I imagine they were doing missions together off-screen.

The first possible turnaround point (late S1)

If we accept the fan theory that Crosshair's chip was removed or deactivated/damaged around 1.08 "Reunion," then Crosshair has regained his free will by the next time we see him in 1.11 "Devil's Deal."

Yet, despite the Empire hijacking his mind and body and forcing him to do all sorts of terrible things, he continues to work for them of his own free will. He has an opportunity to walk away, but he doesn't.

Likewise, the Batch have an opportunity in 1.13 "Infested," after Cid's parlor gets taken over by Roland Durand.

But, thanks to Omega's misplaced loyalty, Cid's blackmailing and other factors, Hunter decides to pit two crime syndicates against each other to get Cid's parlor back and continue working for her. (I cannot emphasize how stupid of a decision this was!!)

Even after Cid's schemes get the Batch in trouble with the Pykes to the point that Omega is taken hostage, the Batch continue to work for Cid. They're lucky this was a "family show," or the Pykes would've definitely killed them or injured Omega or something else just as bad.

If ever there was a time for the Batch to walk away from Cid, this would've been it -- either before the job or after. But, like Crosshair, they don't take the opportunity to walk away.

The second possible turnaround point (S1 finale)

Crosshair had another opportunity to leave the Empire and rejoin his brothers at the end of 1.16 "Kamino Lost." But, instead he decides once again to double-down and stay with the Empire for a myriad of reasons that might have to be its own meta some day. (I touched on it a bit in my S1 Crosshair/loyalty meta.)

But what might be overlooked is that the fall of Kamino was another opportunity for the Batch to leave Cid.

Again, the reason they sought her out and one of the reasons they started/kept working for her was because bounty hunters were after Omega. The bounty was active through 1.09 "Bounty Lost.” At that point, the Batch learn that Lama Su put the bounty on Omega because she's crucial to their cloning operation.

But, as the Batch see for themselves, Tipoca City is decommissioned and destroyed. The Kaminoan cloning facilities are gone. The Kaminoans aren't in a place where they need Omega anymore, because the Empire has effectively ended cloning (at least for military purposes).

So, they could've left Cid after the events of Season 1. Maybe they could've even left her on good terms after saving her ass in 1.13 "Infested." But, they don't.

Starting to second-guess (early S2)

Admittedly, Hunter was never super-comfortable about their arrangement with Cid, but he persisted because he didn't see a lot of alternatives.

But, Omega (and Tech and Wrecker) clearly start to have doubts about working for Cid during 2.04 "Faster." They once again stick their necks out for Cid by offering to clear her debt with Millegi. And, while Cid is grateful at the time, we see later that her gratitude is short-lived.

Based on what Millegi tells them, especially at the end of the episode, it's clear Omega (and the others) are beginning to doubt whether Cid is someone worthy of their loyalty.

Likewise, Crosshair's experiences in 2.03 "The Solitary Clone" start to plant doubts in his mind. He was stranded on Kamino for a month and comes back only to get demoted and sent on a dangerous and morally questionable mission. And while Crosshair and his squad complete the mission, and Rampart even praises Crosshair for it, we also see that Rampart really doubts Crosshair and the other clones' loyalty.

Ultimately, after his experiences with Cody and their mission on Desix, it's clear that Crosshair is beginning to doubt whether the Empire is worthy of his loyalty.

The breaking point (mid/late S2)

As I've pointed out in another post:

Both the Batch and Crosshair fell into a routine that provided them security and stability in an otherwise chaotic time in the galaxy; and both only reached their breaking points when their employers left them for dead.

For the Batch, this is a combination of 2.09-2.11. The Marauder gets stolen while they're on a job for Cid. They ask for her help, and she doesn't readily or easily commit any kind of assistance. They get the Marauder back on their own, and Cid is more than happy to give them another job, framing it as: "Do you wanna make money?"

It's become clear to them that she views them as tools -- only useful to her, not the other way around.

Meanwhile, at the start of 2.12 "The Outpost," Crosshair sees that the Empire has started to retire clones, but at least he's still getting missions.

But, Barton IV ultimately becomes his breaking point when he sees just how expendable he and all clones are. Based on what he said in 1.15 "Return to Kamino," he thought he was "superior" to the other clones, but as Nolan proves, the Empire didn't care either way.

As Mayday points out, the clones sacrificed everything for the Empire while getting nothing in return. Crosshair and Mayday are essentially left for dead, and when they come back looking like absolute hell, Nolan first yells at them for not retrieving the cargo and then tells them to get to work.

As Nolan blatantly tells Crosshair, he and all the other clones are expendable -- only worth keeping around as long as they're useful.

Not out quite yet (late S2)

By 2.13 "Pabu," we can see the Batch has completely cut ties with Cid and are working with Phee instead. Cid leaves them a message, saying that their absence has cost her a lot of money and she once again threatens to turn them in.

Despite emotionally cutting ties with her, they're still physically at her mercy to a degree. Plus, even once they made it clear they didn't want to work for her anymore, she still wants something from them and she's willing to hurt them if they don't cooperate.

Thankfully, Phee comes through for the Batch and introduces them to Pabu -- their future forever home.

Crosshair, meanwhile, is imprisoned at Tantiss. Despite emotionally cutting ties with the Empire, he's still physically at its mercy.

Hemlock offers him a deal: his freedom in exchange for helping him find Clone Force 99. Crosshair refuses to give up his family, even under torture.

Just like the Batch, despite Crosshair's attempt to "walk away" from the Empire, they still want something from him and they're willing to hurt him if he doesn't cooperate.

The fallout (S2 finale and beyond)

Of course, everything falls together in 2.16 "Plan 99," as Cid sells out the Batch to the Empire. The Batch's and Crosshair's former employers temporarily join forces to screw everyone over in the worst ways possible.

Although it was clear to us from the get-go that Crosshair was wrong to trust the Empire, 2.16 confirms to us the audience just how wrong the Batch was to trust Cid. They came to her in a moment of need, and she betrayed them.

Granted, I think this was mostly Hunter's failing, as they never should've gone back to Ord Mantell. I understand they were hurt and desperate to have AZI heal Omega, but Cid told them multiple times she was willing to turn them in. Plus, they just showed on her doorstep after striking a high-level Imperial compound. They knew -- or at least suspected -- that they were already being targeted based on Crosshair's message, but after hitting Eriadu, they would've been on the Empire's "most wanted list."

Jumping to Season 3, Cid's nature is made even clearer as she gives up the Batch a second time.

It's unclear whether CX-2 bribed or tortured Cid -- probably the latter -- but Cid also sold out Phee. And Cid told the Batch she considered Phee a friend. (Although based on Phee's comments in 2.13 "Pabu," that feeling wasn't mutual.)

For all Cid knew, CX-2 could've tortured or killed Phee to find the Batch, and she still gave up the information.

Once again, the Batch's and Crosshair's former employers work together to screw them over.

One last thing I'll add is how the show gave us glimpses of Crosshair and Cid's true colors around the same time. Crosshair is first bribed and then tortured for information about his family, but he doesn't give them up; meanwhile, Cid sells them out after everything they did for her. And, if CX-2 really tortured Cid in Season 3, it just proves how little she cared about the Batch (or even Phee) compared to how much Crosshair cared about them despite everything that happened in S1.

IN CONCLUSION

I want to state for the record that, as frustrating as it is to see our favorite characters allow themselves to be used and abused by their employers, I don't hate any of them.

These characters are human. They're not perfect, and hindsight is 20/20.

I know several people who were hoping that Cid would come through for the Batch, that she would be a true ally even if she was grumpy and rude (and that's putting it mildly).

If anything, I think this all shows just how similar Hunter, Crosshair and Omega are. They share a lot of the same strengths and weaknesses. Hunter and Crosshair see just how terrible the other's situation is, but not their own; and Crosshair and Omega are loyal to a fault.

They all just wanted some security and stability in what was a very chaotic time for the galaxy and their family. I can understand, to an extent, why they made the decisions they did even if I find them frustrating.

If you want to take any of this meta and apply it to your own lives, by all means. Despite what some folks might think, Star Wars has always been political, and I don't want any of you to end up like our favorite Bad Batch characters.

At the end of the day, "The Bad Batch" is a family show with a lot of morals and lessons about the importance of love, hope and family -- whether blood relatives, adopted or 'found.'

But, it's also a show about the evils of political systems and corporate greed, and how the forces around us will profit off our blood, sweat and tears while giving us little to nothing in return.

[fantasyescapes17]

Scandal (Part 1)

The Viscount's sister with an enormous dowry, beauty and unmistakable talent- you began the London season as the most desired woman in any room. But Jeon Wonwoo (a man who would rather hide in the library than dance at a ball) is beyond your comprehension. Curiosity might have killed the cat, but it embroiled you into a scandal with a man you could never love.

Genre: Wonwoo x Female!reader. Regency!AU (It's sort of Bridgerton-esque in the sense that I give zero attention to historical accuracy and prioritize aesthetics lmao) You are Joshua's sibling so your last name is Hong but the reader has no other physical characteristics. Note: Certain main characters may initially seem unlikeable in this story. Redemption arcs will come.

Word Count: 6.8k+

Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

Series Masterlist [Reading Candle and Manners, the earlier installments in this series first is strongly recommended as main character dynamics are introduced there.]

The sheer cacophony being produced from Miss Brooke’s fingers prodding at your pianoforte was unbearable. 

You suffered silently through the onset of a headache as Miss Brooke continued to perform (the piece was not even recognizable to your ears although she was using your sheet music). The remaining occupants of the parlour conversed awkwardly over her uninspiring performance. 

Your mother- the Dowager Viscountess Hong-  derived great enjoyment from hosting other elite families for tea. Her tea parties were renowned not only for the wide array of cakes, biscuits and other delicacies served, but also her remarkable skills as a hostess. 

Presently, the evening's guests consisted of two of the ton's most elite families: the Brookes and the Jeons. Both families had eligible young women of marriageable age which factored into your mother's decision to host them. She was hoping your brother would marry by the end of the season. 

Your brother- the Viscount Joshua Hong- was seated near Miss Jeon. They chatted politely about something. The specifics of their conversation were prevented from reaching your ears by the ruckus Miss Brooke was creating on the piano. Miss Jeon was the season's promising young debutante, but it was evident that she had no particular attraction to Joshua. And Joshua's heart was already engaged elsewhere. 

That left only one other marriageable bachelor in the room. 

Mr. Jeon Wonwoo. 

He was a strange one, you decided. Mr Jeon was exceedingly handsome and always had a calm, peaceful demeanour. He spoke very little. Even now, he sat across from you and sipped his tea quietly without making any attempt at conversation. Your initial subtle attempts at flirtation had fallen quite flat.  

You had to admit that you found him rather mysterious. 

Still, you had never met a man that was completely immune to your charms. Mr. Jeon was simply a bit of a challenge. You enjoyed a challenge. 

Miss Brooke's piece at the piano finally drew to an excruciatingly slow end. Seizing the opportunity, you rose from your seat and clapped politely with a smile on your face as you approached her. 

"Thank you so much, Miss Brooke. We are so grateful to have been able to experience your playing this evening. Truly a remarkable performance," you told her graciously. 

Miss Brooke blushed. "Thank you, Miss Hong. I was considering what to play next-"

"Oh! No, I won't hear of it! You must be very tired already. I insist that you sit down and try these lemon cakes. I would be happy to continue the music in your stead," you offered. 

Miss Brooke looked put out but you firmly and politely ushered her away from the piano. You sat at your beloved instrument and let your fingers lovingly stroke the keys that Miss Brooke had abused mere moments ago. 

You never tired of showing off your performances. Your musical talents were undisputed among the members of the ton, and you were confident that there was no young woman in London who could ever rival your skill at the piano.

Surely, you thought, a display of my exquisite musical talent will be enough to gain a little attention from Mr. Jeon Wonwoo? 

You chose to perform an incredibly difficult piece that you had recently mastered. The entire room immediately ceased conversation to turn their attention to your performance. You could tell from the corner of your eye that even Mr. Jeon Wonwoo's sharp gaze was fixed on you. He was watching you intensely.

When you finished, you were treated to an enthusiastic round of applause from the entire room. Your mother spoke up to praise you. 

"Wonderful, dear. That was beautifully done," the Dowager Viscountess told you proudly. 

"That was quite delightful!" Miss Jeon was equally quick to praise your performance once you returned to your seat. "I have heard so much about your musical talents, Miss Hong, but to hear you perform in person is quite something else entirely. How much time and effort you must have put in to reach that level of skill! Was it not lovely, Wonwoo?"

You smiled to yourself, awaiting the praise that was surely to come from Mr. Jeon. You were accustomed to general admiration of your music. The young gentlemen of the ton were among your most ardent admirers.

You batted your eyelashes at him and spoke in a sweet tone. "Yes, Mr. Jeon. I am very eager to hear what you thought of my performance."

Mr. Jeon Wonwoo sipped his tea calmly. His dark eyes flickered to you and he gave you a polite, tight-lipped smile. 

"You possess great potential, Miss Hong," he replied simply.  

You could not have been more shocked if Mr. Jeon Wonwoo had chosen to throw his unfinished tea in your face. 

Potential? What on earth did he mean by that? You had been learning to play the piano since you were a small child of seven. That was a decade and a half of uninterrupted learning, of your parents hiring the best tutors and dedicating all your free time to the practice and perfection of the art. Your late father had bought you the priceless pianoforte for your twelfth birthday, and it was your most prized possession. You were undisputably the most skilled young lady in all of London and this rude, conceited, tasteless man had the audacity to tell you that you had potential?

As though you were a child? 

You had never been so affronted. 

"I have dedicated myself to learning how to play the pianoforte for over fifteen years now, Mr. Jeon," you informed him coldly. "I am certain that I have already realised my full potential. Perhaps you may wish to reserve your critical judgement in the future."

Mr. Jeon's handsome face did not flinch.  

"You asked me for my thoughts, Miss Hong," he replied in his calm, deep voice. His eyebrow was raised. "Am I to understand, then, that my criticism holds no value while my praise does? One might call that vanity."

Your cheeks turned hot in anger. How dare this tasteless man not only insult you publicly, but also accuse you of being vain and fishing for compliments?

How dare he? 

"One hardly needs to be a music aficionado to pay basic respect to the quality of a performance, Mr. Jeon. I believe even my dog knows good music when he hears it-"

Viscount Hong interrupted the rapidly escalating conversation with a laugh and made a tangential comment about a hunting expedition that he planned to undertake with some other gentlemen. You leaned back in your seat and fumed silently for the rest of the evening until the Jeons and Brookes finally took their leave. 

"Joshua," you told your elder brother once the guests had departed. "I hope you have not developed any affection towards Miss Jeon because I forbid that family from being invited to our home again. I have never been so insulted in my life!"

Joshua raised an eyebrow. "Your performance was lovely, sister. You should not let the opinion of others affect you."

You turned to your mother. 

"Mother! Was Mr. Jeon not excessively rude to me earlier?" you demanded validation. "Have you ever known someone to openly insult my performance- as a guest in our home, no less?"

Your mother gave you a sympathetic smile. "It does not appear that Mr. Jeon has a discerning ear for music, my darling. But do not fret. If you do not wish to see him again then we need not host the Jeons any more this season. There are plenty of other young gentlemen among the ton who would suit you much better."

You smiled and embraced your mother. 

"You are so good to me, mother. Shall I play you another piece before dinner?"

"I would love that, my dear."

—-------------------------------------------------------

True to her word, your mother did not attempt to host the Jeons again. Any formal invitations to tea were restricted to the female members of the Jeon family- among whom Miss Jeon, you discovered, was a polite and friendly young woman.

You were fortunate to see very little of Mr. Jeon Wonwoo over the next few weeks. While his sister made a splash upon her entrance in society with her pretty manners and success at balls, Mr. Jeon himself was not easy to spot at social events. He would indulge in one or two dances at most and not be seen for the rest of the evening.  

It was for the best, since the passage of time had not diminished your anger towards him in the slightest. 

"Your post has arrived, Miss Hong," the maid told you as she came in with a tray of letters while you were at breakfast with your mother and brother. 

The Dowager Viscountess raised an eyebrow. 

"That is a lot of correspondence, my dear," your mother commented as you carelessly opened the letters one-by-one and glanced at them briefly before tossing them aside. "Who are you writing to?"

"I am not writing to anyone. These are from some gentlemen I danced with at the Hessington's ball last week. Mr. Carter writes to me regularly and of late I've received correspondence from Baron Wright, the Park brothers, and a few others…."

"So many admirers!"

You rolled your eyes. It was not surprising. These men were only interested in your status and fortune, though one would not think so from the romantic prose and lavish gifts they sent you on a regular basis. One of the envelopes contained a gift of expensive silk ribbon. Another contained an exquisitely carved handheld mirror. 

You gestured to your maid to take the gifts away before continuing to open the envelopes. 

"Oh, look- Mr. Carter has written a lovely little poem. You should use that, Joshua. It might help you woo Miss Lee."

Joshua did not look at the letter you passed him. 

"I am capable of drafting my own correspondence with Miss Lee, sister, thank you," he told you firmly. 

You were not convinced. "If you had written her a few poems like this before you raced off to her home to ask for her hand in marriage…"

Joshua sighed."Yes, yes, all right. That is enough."

"Oh dear," you mumbled as you opened the last letter. "Baron Wright says he intends to call upon me today. He is quite unbearable. I must not be at home- Minnie! It is lovely weather for a walk in the park. Will you help me find that pretty blue summer dress? And we shall take Snowball with us."

Your maid nodded. "Of course, miss."

You enjoyed the fresh air. Since you spent hours every day in front of the piano, it was rare to have a chance to promenade in the park with your furry companion. Snowball- your adorable fluffy white Pomeranian- trotted alongside you cheerfully on her leash and your ladies’ maids followed you at a polite distance. 

"Miss, you must walk in the shade," your maid insisted. "It is very bright outside and the direct sun may burn your skin…"

You conceded, teetering a little off the path so that you and your maids could walk in the shade of the trees lining the park. You paused suddenly when you noticed a gentleman and lady strolling in your direction. 

You recognised them both.

The man was Mr. Jeon Wonwoo. The mere sight of his handsome, unsmiling face was enough to make your blood boil. Wonwoo had no business looking so deceptively charming in a dark brown riding coat that emphasised his broad shoulders- the uncultured swine. 

You would have walked past him without acknowledging his presence if it had been up to you. But unfortunately, you were not afforded this option. The lady accompanying him was your cousin-Miss Ella Williams- and she smiled and waved as soon as she recognised you. 

"Cousin!" Ella called out cheerfully as she hurried down the path to greet you. Mr. Jeon followed her. His long legs allowed him to cover the distance in casual, effortless strides. 

"Ella," you greeted your cousin warily. You were forced to acknowledge her walking companion. "And Mr. Jeon Wonwoo, if I remember correctly? I see you are out for a stroll."

Ella smiled. "Indeed. I was on a walk with Miss Jeon but we were joined by Mr. Jeon and Mr. Yoon. The path is narrow so I am afraid that the others have fallen a little behind. Mr. Jeon- please allow me to introduce you to my cousin, Miss Hong."

Wonwoo’s expression was emotionless as always. 

“We are already acquainted,” he replied shortly. 

"I see you and Snowball have come to promenade as well. Is the weather not perfectly lovely? It is a wonderful sunny day," Ella gushed.

"It was when I arrived. But there seems to be a rather ugly dark cloud crossing my path at the moment," you quipped with a sharp glance at Mr. Jeon. 

The sky was clear and blue.  

Mr. Jeon fixed his dark eyes upon you. He seemed annoyed. "Perhaps a dark cloud now and then is inevitable in life, Miss Hong. The sky cannot cater to your personal desires," he remarked. 

You scoffed. "So long as the cloud learns its place and does not rain down upon those of us attempting to enjoy our day; I shall have no objections to the existence of the cloud."

Ella looked bewildered. "What cloud-"

She was interrupted by a sharp tug on your leash. Snowball had grown impatient while standing in one place and darted forwards to sniff at Mr. Jeon's shoes. 

Mr. Jeon looked surprised. It was the closest thing to an emotion you had seen on his serious face- but he did not move away from the dog.

"Snowball, no!" you cried. Snowball was beginning to wag his tail and you could not imagine the mortification you would feel if your dog expressed any affection towards the man you were clearly attempting to snub. 

You reached down and picked Snowball up quickly before he could embarrass you. He let out a small whine but relaxed in your arms. 

Ella laughed. “Oh, that is all right, cousin! I am sure Mr. Jeon does not mind dogs- do you, Mr. Jeon?” 

“I consider them to be excellent companions,” Mr. Jeon replied simply. 

"And I think he is adorable," Ella insisted as she reached forward to pat Snowball's head. "I wish my mother would allow me to have a dog, but she insists that the fur makes her ill. Will you allow me to walk him sometime?"

"Anytime you like, dear cousin."

Ella's eyes suddenly widened as she remembered something. "Oh, but cousin, you must tell me- I have heard that the Viscount is courting Miss Lee! I was quite surprised. Can it be true? Will they be married?"

You stiffened. You were aware of Joshua's affections for Miss Lee; their courtship was the hottest gossip among the ton at the moment, largely because Miss Lee was from a humble background and did not possess either status or dowry to match your family's. 

You had spoken to Miss Lee at the Hessington's ball. She was kind-hearted and a perfect choice for Joshua, but did not seem confident in her ability to become a Viscountess. You were not certain that she would accept your brother's proposal. 

"It remains to be seen," you replied lightly. You did not want to confirm rumours until the success or failure of their courtship was more evident to you.

"You do not think she is a good match for Joshua?" Ella wondered. 

"We shall have to see," you said vaguely. "Decisions such as these should not be made in haste. Not everyone is suited to become a Viscountess."

Mr. Jeon's dark eyes were still on you. His jaw was clenched; he looked displeased. 

"Do you disagree, Mr. Jeon?" you demanded. 

"I do not think it is your place to assess who is suited to become the Viscountess," he replied stiffly. "I am sure your brother is more than capable of making such decisions on his own."

You laughed. Your brother had made plenty of poor choices in Miss Lee's case- including springing a proposal on the poor girl without giving her any hint of his affections for her and failing to realise how she would be affected by the gossip.

"You overestimate my brother, Mr. Jeon. He is perfectly capable of making mistakes, like any other gentleman," you replied. 

"A gentleman will deal with the consequences of his own actions- whether they be mistakes or otherwise," Mr. Jeon retorted. 

You stared at him, bewildered. What was he going on about? You had no idea why Jeon Wonwoo was so invested in Joshua's courtship with Miss Lee, but you refused to let this odious man have the last word.

"It seems you have a high opinion of my brother," you snapped. "But I am sorry to inform you that the decisions made by a Viscount do not impact him alone. Forgive me if I do not want my brother to make mistakes that would cause pain to those around him."

Ella looked distressed at the turn the conversation was taking. 

"Cousin, I am sure there is no question of the Viscount making any mistakes. Let us speak of something else," she pressed. 

"Yes, of course. Men must never be questioned by women when they make mistakes," you replied drily while glaring at Mr. Jeon. "How foolish of me to think otherwise."

Mr. Jeon raised an eyebrow. "Miss Hong, it was never my intention to suggest that-"

"Frankly, Mr. Jeon, I have no interest in what you intended to suggest. I did not ask for your opinion; I shall certainly not make that mistake twice. You may rest knowing that your silence pleases me well enough. Please do not trouble yourself with speech."

Ella was shocked. "Cousin!"

"Snowball is quite tired and we must be returning home now. I will take your leave.  Good day, Ella. Mr. Jeon."

You walked away, your cheeks hot with anger. Who did Mr. Jeon Wonwoo think he was? It is not your place to assess who is suited to be a Viscountess? As though a sister being concerned for her brother's marriage was overstepping her bounds? How dare he speak to you that way? 

One thing was certain. You were not as kind and forgiving as your brother. 

Jeon Wonwoo would regret making an enemy of you.

—-------------------------------------------

"Miss Hong, you have the most exquisite taste in fashion! These gowns are so striking!" Miss Brooke cried. 

You were having tea with some of the other young ladies of the ton when your latest shipment from the modiste arrived- a large collection of custom-made ball gowns, hats, and shoes that you had ordered recently. 

"This one is my own personal design," you boasted as Miss Brooke admired a particularly gorgeous lavender gown with a delicately embroidered skirt. "I ordered it specially for my brother's wedding and I am having a pair of shoes custom-made to match."

“It is a masterpiece!” 

You sipped your tea and leaned back as Miss Brooke, Miss Hessington and Miss Jeon continued to compliment and admire your new gowns. You had spent a considerable amount of time preparing the designs and discussing them with the modiste. The admiration of the other young ladies was sufficient recompense for your efforts. 

Let it never be said that Miss Hong was not the best-dressed young lady in the room.

Just as Miss Brooke pulled out an exquisite handmade silk shawl from the boxes stacked on the tea table, your brother appeared at the doorway of the tea parlour. 

"Ladies," Viscount Hong greeted the other young women in the room with a handsome smile before turning to you. "I apologise for interrupting your tea. Sister- if I could have a word in the hall?"

You followed him into the hallway outside. 

"Joshua? Is there a problem?"

Joshua had a small stack of papers in his hand. He showed them to you calmly. "These are the bills I have received from the modiste, the shoemaker and the jeweller," he informed you. 

You blinked at him. "All right. What is the problem? Send the clerk to pay them."

"Do you not think some of these are a little extravagant, sister? This single ball-gown of yours costs as much as the Arabian horse I had shipped from overseas," Joshua pointed out. 

"It is custom-made. The silk is imported from India so it has travelled the same distance. If we can afford the horse, then I fail to see the problem with the dress," you replied defensively.

Joshua shook his head and sighed. "Do not mistake me, sister. I am not angry. I only want to be sure that you are conscious of your spending habits."

"Are my gowns putting a dent in the Hong family fortune?" you asked with a laugh. 

"You know they are not."

"Then what do you want from me?"

"I would like you to acknowledge that regardless of our ability to pay for them, perhaps it is not necessary to spend so much money on a dress that you shall only wear on a single occasion. I ask you to exercise a little restraint.”

“Yes, yes, all right," you told him dismissively. "The season is nearing an end so this was my final order. We shall be returning to the countryside after your wedding, in any case."

"Glad to hear it."

"Have you ordered your wedding things? You know the modiste takes over a week for wedding orders- particularly the wedding gowns."

Joshua blinked. "Wedding gown?"

You gasped. "Joshua! Your wedding is in less than a fortnight, are you telling me that an order has not been placed for Miss Lee's wedding gown? What on earth is the matter with you?"

Joshua looked flustered. "I-I assumed Miss Lee would arrange her own wedding gown-"

"Miss Lee's family cannot afford a wedding gown fit for a Viscountess! And she is so humble she would never ask you for such a thing- it was your responsibility to offer! You must place a deposit with the modiste immediately and I will take Miss Lee there myself to select the design this evening. You are fortunate that I am the modiste's valued customer."

Joshua nodded, rubbing the back of his neck. "Yes-yes, I will do that…"

"And none of that restraint, please. Sell one of the Arabians if you must," you added with a giggle. 

Your brother hurried away and you re-entered the parlour where the young ladies were still discussing your silk shawls.

You re-seated yourself in an armchair. 

"Is everything all right, Miss Hong?" Miss Jeon asked politely. 

"Yes- my brother needed some help with the arrangements for his wedding. Gentlemen are very lucky to have sisters to rely on in certain matters," you said lightly before glancing at Miss Jeon. "Would you not agree, Miss Jeon?"

Miss Jeon shook her head. "I am sure I rely on my brother far more than he relies on me."

"But of course. Mr Jeon Wonwoo is a different case altogether. I gather he does not need your help in matters of the heart, since he openly refuses to court anyone," you quipped.

Miss Jeon did not seem worried. "I am sure he will find a young lady he is interested in someday."

"I hope that the young lady is not too fond of polite conversation, then, since Mr. Jeon will surely not indulge in any," you replied. "Was it not just last week, Miss Brooke, that you told me Mr. Jeon danced with you and did not speak a single word for the entire duration of the dance?"

Miss Brooke smiled awkwardly. "Yes…"

"And Miss Hessington, did you not tell me that you attempted to converse with him at the assembly rooms and he did not even look up from the book he was reading to greet you?"

Miss Hessington nodded. 

"Wonwoo does not speak much," Miss Jeon admitted with an awkward laugh. 

"Perhaps that is for the best," you replied airily. "I am quite offended by what little he has spoken to me thus far. If he spoke more often, I imagine he would soon gain many enemies among the ton."

"I apologise for his actions, Miss Hong-"

You brushed her off kindly. "Not at all, Miss Jeon; you are a dear friend. I would not dream of holding you responsible for your brother's behaviour. He shall carry that burden entirely on his own."

"Are there any gentlemen among the ton that have caught your eye, Miss Hong?" Miss Brooke wondered. "I notice that Baron Wright seems to be quite set on you. You often dance with Mr. Carter as well."

"We shall see," you replied lightly. "Since the season is coming to an end and I will be returning to the countryside soon, it is a perfect time to test a man's so-called affections. Only those who maintain their correspondence with me over the winter will remain candidates for my hand next season."

Miss Jeon giggled. "Then may we expect to see another wedding in the Hong family next season?"

"... Perhaps so."

—----------------------------------------------------------

Viscount Joshua Hong's wedding was a grand success, in no small part thanks to you.

The bride's wedding gown was greatly admired by the entire ton and Miss Lee thanked you for your efforts toward ensuring they had a smooth ceremony. The happily married couple left for their honeymoon immediately after. You returned with your mother to the Hongs' countryside estate for the winter. 

It was a quiet winter without your brother at home. You spent most evenings practising music by the fireplace and reading and writing your correspondence. Baron Wright and Mr. Carter were both quite serious about their affections for you, and you wondered if perhaps one of them would approach the Viscount for your hand as soon as your family was back in London for the next season.

You could not decide if you cared enough to marry either of them. But you were already in your third season, and now with your brother married too, the clock was ticking. Luckily, you had the entire ton to choose from. You doubted there was a single unattached man who would not welcome your affections if you chose to bestow them upon him. 

Except perhaps Mr. Jeon Wonwoo. 

But as always, he was the exception to the rule. 

You were pleased to return to London after the end of winter. Your sister-in-law, the new Viscountess, was equally excited. She had fully embraced her new role as your brother’s wife, and seemed much happier and brighter by his side than she had ever appeared before.

It almost made you envious of their marital bliss. 

“I hope you will find someone who makes you as happy as Joshua makes me,” the Viscountess gushed as the servants hurried to unpack your belongings and set up your London home for the new season. “Marriage really is quite wonderful and I would love for you to experience it, sister.” 

“Well, I must find the right man,” you reminded her. “And more importantly, I must find the right dress for the ball that the Duchess of Graham is hosting tomorrow. It is going to be the most spectacular event of the season and I cannot afford to look anything but my best.”

“You always look beautiful.” 

“Your words flatter me, sister; but it is your first public appearance as the Viscountess and you must be equally careful. Perhaps a trip to the modiste is in order?” 

The Viscountess smiled. “Perhaps it is.”

—------------------------------------------------

It was not easy to be the centre of attention at the Duchess of Graham’s ball.

The beginning of a new season came with so much fresh gossip and juicy rumours that it was impossible to keep track of it all. Whispers abounded from the moment you descended your carriage and entered the Duchess’ palatial London manor. 

“The youngest Miss Yoon is the most awaited debutante of the season,” your cousin Ella Williams informed you as you both took a turn about the beautiful ballroom. The dancing had not yet begun. You were taking the opportunity to admire the sheer magnificence of the Duchess’ manor.

It was beyond anything you had seen before. 

“Miss Yoon?” you asked. “Mr. Yoon Jeonghan’s younger sister?”

“She is rumoured to be a great beauty. And now that the messy issue of her dowry is resolved and her fortune restored, I expect she will be receiving her fair share of offers.” 

You nodded. “I would like to meet this young woman. But first, Ella, tell me about the Duchess. I knew she was rich and had connections to the royal family but… the extravagance of this manor! It is at least three times the size of any other home I have seen in London, including my own.” 

Ella nodded eagerly as you both admired an enormous marble statue in the entryway to the ball room. 

“Of course. The Grahams have historically been very intimate with the royal family and their fortune is beyond comparison. But the Duke of Graham left no male heirs. When he died last year, the title should have died with him- but the Queen herself decreed as a special exception that the title would continue through his only daughter.” 

Your eyes widened. “Fascinating. I am sure this has never happened before."

“Indeed. It was quite the controversy. Much of the nobility was displeased with a woman being able to hold a title without the support of a man. They insisted that she produce a male heir at the soonest. It is rumoured that the Duchess intends to marry soon. Perhaps this season.`` 

You sighed. “I wish she wouldn’t. It is quite nice to have a Duchess in her own right.” 

“I agree. But she has not shown any interest in the gentlemen of the ton, so perhaps she will marry someone from the royal family instead. A Prince? Anything is possible, really,” Ella gushed excitedly. “As for the manor, it has been in the Graham family for many generations. Much of the furniture is antique and gifted by the royal family. I have heard the library has an antique pianoforte which was gifted hundreds of years ago by the King himself.” 

Your eyes sparkled. “A pianoforte, you say?”

“Perhaps the oldest still in existence in London.” 

Your interest was piqued. 

“Ella- I must see this pianoforte,” you decided.  

Ella laughed. “Unfortunately, cousin, I am not entirely sure where it is. The library is upstairs but I have never been to this manor before. I have heard that your brother is acquainted with the Duchess. Perhaps if you ask her permission…” 

You shook your head. “Ask her? She is the hostess of the ball, we should never have a chance to speak to her tonight. Look at the size of this event! Nobody would notice if we slipped upstairs in between a few dances. The staircase is not even blocked.” 

Ella was startled. “We?”

“I cannot go alone!” you cried. 

“But-but…” 

“I will grant you any wish within my power, Ella,” you promised your cousin as you seized her hand and pressed it tightly. “You may choose any dress from my wardrobe- even the ones I have not yet worn. Take your pick from my jewellery box. I simply must be able to lay my fingers on this historical piano.” 

Ella laughed and removed her hand from your grasp. “All right. You are lucky that this is the first ball of the season and all the attention is focused on the Duchess and the new debutantes.”

“Show me your dance card,” you insisted, seizing the little card tied to your cousin’s wrist. “You are unoccupied for the third dance, as am I. We will meet near those stairs at the beginning of the third dance and slip upstairs. I am promised to dance with Baron Wright for the fourth- so we must find the piano and return to the ballroom by then.” 

Ella giggled. “All right, cousin. But keep your promise. I intend to take the lavender dress you wore to the Viscount’s wedding.” 

“It is yours.” 

—--------------------------------------------------------------

You danced the first two dances of the evening with Mr. Carter and Mr. Hessington. Both of whom were very vocal about their admiration for you. You accepted their advances with your usual coolness and light flirtation.

You were still deciding which of your admirers to properly encourage. For now, you would keep your options open. 

The moment the second dance ended, you hurried to the foot of the grand marble staircase. Ella was nowhere to be seen. You waited impatiently for your younger cousin, but the enormous grandfather clock in the foyer continued to tick and after a few minutes, you could hear the opening notes of the third dance beginning in the ballroom.

You were running out of time. Where was Ella? 

You made a quick decision- surely there would be nobody upstairs except for a servant or two? The ball was in full swing here anyway. You could be up and back down in a matter of minutes. 

It would be fine. 

You lifted your skirts and ran up the stairs. At the top was an enormous landing and, as you expected, not a single person in sight. You walked down a hallway of enormous, studded half-open doors until you finally found the library. The high walls were lined with shelf after shelf of books rising into the air. 

In the centre of the room- an enormous white pianoforte. 

You walked towards the instrument and sat down before it with your heartbeat thudding. You were no stranger to expensive instruments but this was undoubtedly the most beautiful one that you had ever seen in your life. It was delicately hand-carved and the quality was evident from the moment you gently brushed your fingers over the keys. 

“Beautiful,” you whispered to yourself before pressing your fingers down to play a chord. The noise was strange and jarring. 

“That is disappointing,” a voice said from behind you.

You almost screamed in shock. You had not realised that there was anyone else in the room with you. You jumped up from the piano and whirled around to see Mr. Jeon Wonwoo was standing in the shadow of one of the bookshelves, leaning against it with a book in his hand. 

“Mr. Jeon?” you demanded. 

He stepped forward from the shadow. Mr. Jeon looked as handsome as ever-  his dark hair fell forward barely brushing his eyes and he looked less… serious than he normally did. The corner of his lips were turned up in an almost-smile. 

“Miss Hong,” he greeted. 

“I-I did not see that you were already in the room,” you stammered quickly. “You should have announced your presence to me. What are you doing up here?” 

Mr. Jeon held up the book in his hand. “Reading.” 

“And avoiding the ball, I see, as always. I suppose you consider yourself far too superior to the young ladies here to bestow them with the gift of your presence,” you replied snidely. “Shall I thank you for deigning to speak to me today?” 

He blinked. “No thanks is necessary.” 

“Excellent. Then I shall ask you to please leave. It is quite improper for us to be alone together here.” 

Mr. Jeon smirked lightly. “Leave? Miss Hong, I am afraid that I was here long before you. By the common rules of courtesy, if you do not wish to be in my presence then you are very welcome to leave yourself. The door is open.”

This infuriating man simply would not let you be.  

You glanced at the enormous grandfather clock in the corner of the room. You could still hear the faint notes of music coming from the ballroom below, but time was running out. You had no idea when you would have another chance to experience this instrument. Mr. Jeon would not ruin this for you. 

“I am sure you have been to hundreds of libraries, Mr. Jeon, but this instrument is one of the oldest antique pianofortes in London. I only wanted a few moments alone with it, if you would be so kind.” 

Mr. Jeon’s eyes flickered towards the instrument. 

“It looks antique but the noise it made just now was quite awful,” he remarked.   

You huffed and pressed some of the keys again. The noise was still awkward. “It is simply not tuned. Evidently nobody has played it in a long time. The fact that you could not tell leads me to believe that your knowledge and appreciation for music is much lower than I originally imagined.”

He raised an eyebrow. 

“Why? Because I would not compliment your performance last year?” he demanded.

“It was an excellent performance,” you said defensively, anger rising. “Regardless of whether you are willing to accept it or not, Mr. Jeon. I can allow for differences in personal taste, but there is some objectivity in the field that deems me more than a mere child with potential.” 

 Mr. Jeon closed the book in his hands and stepped closer to you. “The problem was not your performance.” 

“Oh?” you demanded. 

“No. Your performance was masterful. I am afraid what you failed to realise is that your self-indulgent display of talent left your friend, Miss Brooke, almost in tears,” Mr. Jeon replied. His dark eyes narrowed and he crossed the library towards you in long, effortless strides. You felt your heart constrict in your chest. 

“What?” you demanded, confused.

“You are evidently the better musician. But what I found distasteful, Miss Hong, is how you felt the need to make a spectacle of Miss Brooke by showing the entire room just how superior you were to her. That was a selfish, vain, tactless thing to do to a young lady who believes herself to be your friend.” 

“Miss Brooke made a spectacle of herself,” you snapped. “She should have known better than to perform for company when she can barely produce a recognizable nursery rhyme from the piano!” 

Mr. Jeon shook his head. “You could have ended it there. Perhaps even closed the instrument for the evening. But you had to outperform her by playing your most difficult piece. You used her to satisfy your vanity.” 

You could not help it- you laughed. You could not believe the audacity of this man, after all this time, to defend his actions in this manner. You were becoming angrier and angrier.

Your cheeks felt hot and your fists clenched. 

“Are you telling me, Mr. Jeon,” you asked as you laughed in disbelief. “That your blatant public insult of my performance while you were a guest in my home was an act of chivalry in defence of a slight you perceived against Miss Brooke? You are mad. Really, you must be quite mad to think that is even remotely an appropriate defence for your actions-”

“And you must be very proud indeed, to allow such a minor slight to make you so angry after all these months” Mr. Jeon replied with a smirk.

He was standing in front of the instrument now, mere feet away from you. 

You scoffed as you stepped forward again. You would not back down from this man. 

“Yes, of course. Yes, please, Mr. Jeon, I would love to hear more about my pride from the man who infamously hides in libraries during balls and snubs every young lady that crosses his path. Do you consider women beneath your notice? But of course- why should Mr. Jeon Wonwoo bother with polite conversation with stupid young ladies when he is evidently so superior in intellect and manner to our entire sex,” you hissed. 

His eyes looked wild for a moment; you had never seen so much emotion in Mr. Jeon’s eyes and you could hear your own blood pumping in your ears from anger as you stared back at him. You were barely a foot apart and you could see the way his chest heaved up and down underneath his black coat. 

The room was filled with a complete silence. 

Silence. 

The faint music from the ballroom below had stopped. 

Suddenly, a number of things occurred in the flash of a single moment. 

You realised that the third dance had ended and you had spent too long upstairs. There was the sound of footsteps outside the partially open library door. Jeon Wonwoo looked startled- he suddenly took a step back to put some distance between you, but his foot caught on the leg of the pianoforte and his arm came down upon the keys to steady himself. 

You darted forward to steady him but it was too late. His palm had already hit the keys by the time you seized his arm and the loud, jarring piano noise was released into the silent room with no chance of concealment. 

The door to the library burst open. 

Oh no. Oh no no no no. 

You were ruined. 

—-------------------------------------------------------------

[writingquestionsanswered]

I love planing out my ideas in great detail but when it comes to actually writing the story it’s like pulling teeth. It goes from being fun and interesting to being nothing more than a dull chore. I’ve tried planning less to see if having some things unknown might help, but that didn’t work. I could spend forever writing and rewriting my ideas and making changes to them. But when I try to write an actual story it’s like I physically can’t. What should I do?

Details Planned But Unable to Write

If you have the details of your story planned out but still aren't able to write it, it's probable that one of the following things is happening. See if any of these strike a chord with you...

1 - Details and Plot Are Not the Same - Sometimes writers say they have all the details in their story planned out, but what they actually mean is they've fleshed out character and setting details, maybe even backstory and some general scene ideas, but they couldn't tell you what the story's conflict is, what the inciting incident is, what goal the protagonist is pursuing and why, what's at stake, or what the major plot points of the story are. No matter how detailed your story is in terms of characters, setting, backstory, and even general ideas about scenes, if you don't have a conflict to tie them all together, you don't really have a story. You just have details. A plot can't be moved forward if it doesn't exist, and if you don't have a conflict, goals and motivation, stakes, an antagonistic force and obstacles, etc., you don't have a plot. Solution: take some time learning about Goals and Conflict, Plot Driven vs Character Driven Stories, Basic Story Structure, and How to Move a Story Forward.

2 - You Lost Interest in the Story - If you have your story properly plotted in addition to having the details fleshed out, and you're still unable to write, it could be that you've simply lost interest in the story. This can happen when we spend a lot of time on a story, especially if we spend a lot of time fleshing things out. Solution: Guide: How to Rekindle Your Motivation to Write, Getting Unstuck: Motivation Beyond Mood Boards & Playlists, Getting Excited About Your Story Again

3 - Something in the Story Isn't Working - Imagine someone riding a horse and they come to a rickety old bridge, but the horse balks and refuses to cross. The horse may just be stubborn, but it's quite possible it's picking up sensory information its rider can't... creaks and groans the rider can't hear, a worrisome tilt or sway the rider can't perceive... If you sit down to write your well planned out story and can't, the same thing could be happening with your gut instinct. Like the horse that doesn't want to cross the bridge because it senses danger, something inside you is saying "this story doesn't work" and isn't excited to get involved. Solution: Read through your outline or plan and see if you can spot the problem. Maybe the character's goal doesn't make sense with the events of the story. Maybe the antagonistic force isn't doing enough to oppose the protagonist. Maybe the character arc is out-of-sync with the events of the story. If nothing else, talk it through with a trusted writer friend to see if they have any thoughts. Sometimes just hearing the questions they have about the story can be enough to highlight what isn't working.

4 - Life Stuff Is Getting in the Way - Even if your story is well fleshed out and thoroughly plotted, and everything works and you're excited about writing, there can be other things going on in your life that stand in your way. If you're putting too much pressure on yourself to write or reach certain writing goals, it makes writing feel stressful and our brains are wired to avoid stressful things. It could be that you're not feeling well physically or mentally. You could be distracted by other things you want to write or do. You could just be too busy with other things to really get into it. Or you could just be not in the mood to write. Solution: Try to pinpoint what's getting in the way and see if there's a work around. For example, if you think writing has become stressful and that's why you're avoiding it, figure out what you can do to make it fun again. Or, if you think you're just not in the mood to write, figure out some things you could do that would put you in the mood to write.

5 - Fear Is Getting in the Way - Details are easy, writing is hard. No matter how much planning and plotting you've done, actually putting those details into coherent words in a way that is compelling and well-paced--that's not so easy. And, the tough reality is that until you've had a lot of writing experience, your writing probably isn't as good as you want it to be. You want it to be good, and you know what would qualify as good, but you're just not able to produce that quality yet. And the only way to get your writing quality to that level is to let yourself write things that aren't as good as you want them to be. You have to write a lot of "just okay" stuff before you can write "really great" stuff. AND THAT'S SCARY!!! And--that's not even the only thing that can cause fear for writers. Maybe you have written a lot and your writing is where you want it to be, but maybe your fear is with the next step... sharing it with others. Maybe you're afraid others won't enjoy it as much as you want them to. Solution: figure out what's causing the fear, whether it's quality-related or next step related, then try to push through it. Remind yourself that writing not great stuff is part of the process. Remind yourself that sharing with others is part of the process (usually, unless you're writing for yourself.) Have a spin through the bottom half of my Motivation master list for other fears and solutions.

I hope that helps!

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

I’ve been writing seriously for over 30 years and love to share what I’ve learned. Have a writing question? My inbox is always open!

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[mikkeneko]

Samwise Gamgee and the song at the end of the world

I first read LOTR at a young age, continued to read it when I became an adult, but it's really only with some critical context that I can go back and finally see some parts of the story for the first time. When I was younger, while I loved the books, there were parts I always found baffling. The Tom Bombadil interlude is one. The conversation between Galadriel and Frodo at the Mirror is another. That conversation at time seems kind of baffling, and in the moment leads nowhere -- until Frodo enters Mordor, and starts testing the limits of his mastery of the Ring, which culminates in his confrontation with Gollum. The conversation with Galadriel in Book 1 was a direct set-up for that moment in book 3. And the interlude with Tom Bombadil in Book 1 is a direct set-up for this moment, in book 3, in Cirith Ungol.

You see, Tom Bombadil -- as @astronicht pointed out in their wonderful LOTR liveblog -- is very clearly a scop, a bard from the old anglic tradition that Tolkien was writing from. He uses galdor, spells made of song, to work his will on the world. Tolkien is spelling it out very clearly for us here: yes, this world runs on the same rules as the old traditions. Yes, in this world, spells can be made of song. And two books later in the tower of Cirith Ungol, in his moment of darkest despair, Sam... sings.

"....weary and feeling finally defeated, he sat on a step below the level of the passage-floor and bowed his head into his hands. It was quiet, horribly quiet. The torch, that was already burning low when he arrived, sputtered and went out; and he felt the darkness cover him like a tide. And then softly, to his own surprise, there at the vain end of his long journey and his grief, moved by what thought in his heart he could not tell, Sam began to sing.

In some ways this feels like the turning point of the whole Quest, of the whole book, as much as the moment in the heart of Mount Doom or the Battle of Pelennor fields; this feels like the culmination of Sam's character arc, as much as the choice to go on after Frodo's death or the moment he shakes off the Ring's thrall.

Frodo is a scholar; he's well-read and speaks several languages, he knows more of Middle-Earth than almost any hobbit alive save perhaps Bilbo. (And arguably a kind of seer, though I won't go into that now.) But it's Sam who is heir to Bilbo's love of poetry. It's been Sam, throughout the whole journey, who is the most interested in poetry and song. He wrote the song about the Trolls; he is thrilled by the dwarven song of Khazad-dum; he wrote a new verse on the spot for Gandalf's eulogy; he recites the Oliphaunt. Sam has been enamored of poetry and song as much as he has been enamored of Elves, of the old legends and songs of heroism. Sam, like Tom Bombadil, is a scop, one who can weave spells through song. And now, in the darkest night in the heart of the Enemy's lair, Sam weaves a song.

His voice sounded thin and quavering in the cold dark tower: the voice of a forlorn and weary hobbit that no listening orc could possibly mistake for the clear song of an Elven-lord. He murmured old childish tunes out of the Shire, and snatches of Mr. Bilbo's rhymes that came into his mind like fleeting glimpses of the country of his home. And then suddenly new strength rose in him, and his voice rang out, while words of his own came unbidden to fit the simple tune:

In this moment Sam reaches out for help, and something reaches back. Someone answers. Another voice joins his, and lifts his quavering song to something high and clear and strong, and Sam finds the strength to rise from his despair. And most of all, the song allows Sam to find Frodo in the dark.

 Though here at journey's end I lie in darkness buried deep, beyond all towers strong and high, beyond all mountains steep, above all shadows rides the Sun and Stars for ever dwell: I will not say the Day is done, nor bid the Stars farewell.

Who answered? Or perhaps the question should be, Who answered? I'm personally inclined to think that it is themselves the great elven heroes of old, the ones who have been through this darkness before and come out the other side through their own song, whom Sam always idolized and did not dare to dream that one day he might be counted among them, who reach back to Sam in that moment. It's already foreshadowed in his ascent through the Tower, where his form is overlaid by that of a greater power, one that makes the Orcs he encounters believe him to be an elf-lord. His tale is their tale, and their power, in this moment, becomes his power.

But one can't forget that this very world was created by a song, by the Lord of song, who exists in a place beyond all towers strong and high, a remote and clear power untainted by darkness. Did Tolkien's letters say that there was only one time, during Lord of the Rings, that this distant power interfered directly in the events of the War of the Rings? This has sometimes been proposed to be interference in Frodo and Gollum's struggle in Mount Doom, which led to Gollum's fall, but I never believed that; the geas accounts for that sequence well enough by itself. Maybe it wasn't in a battle at all. Maybe it was here, in darkness and despair, lending a little bit of his Song to his smallest singer.

[staycalmandhugaclone]

Fool's Errand Pt 1

Part (1) of Fool's Errand, the next arc of Doc's Misadventures! If you're new, start at the beginning with Touch Starved!

Warnings: Back to some good, ol' whump here. Minor ptsd, blood, broken nose, needles, profanity

WC: 3,183

“Damn it, get down!!”

“I am! Any lower and I'll need a kriffing shovel!” I snapped back, tempted to mute him just to hear myself think.

“I’ve got eyes on her, Cross; just focus on finding us a way in!” Even Echo's voice held the faintest rush of unease.

We'd known this wouldn't be easy. They'd caught someone – some big-name politician I hadn't made much effort to remember, but the Republic deemed them important enough to send us behind enemy lines to get them back.

The Marauder lay hidden nearly a dozen klicks away, nestled amidst brambles and fallen logs until even I struggled to notice it. We’d stolen a pair of Separatist transports to approach the black ops site without raising much suspicion and split up to search the compound faster. Tech and Wrecker infiltrated the northern side, Echo and I came in from the south, and Hunter was on his own along the crumbling remains of the eastern wall with Crosshair posted in the nearby tree line. He’d violently opposed my going in, but we had no means of knowing what kind of state our target would be in when we found them.

The politician was the least of my concerns, though. I’d been on edge since entering those transports. The ping of the metal walkways against our boots, the hum of the engine, even the color of the walls… it was just too similar. But were weren't on Agamar, and I hated how softly the others were stepping around me. I hated even more the undeniable knowledge that I needed them to.

That tension hadn’t lessened as we reached the Separatist black site. It looked abandoned; scarce buildings in such a perfect state of intentional disarray as to almost promise nothing but ancient debris and decades of dust lay within, but Tech's scans confirmed massive power fluctuations underground. It wasn't a huge compound, but it didn't need to be. Barely a half dozen structures remained standing, skeletal framework partially hidden by an overgrowth we now used to our own advantage as we crawled through the dense brush, thorns somehow numerous enough and sharp enough to occasionally find purchase in the slim crescents of skin left unprotected between sections of armor.

Echo and I had just finished sweeping through the second building in search of an entrance to the lower level when the site’s defenses suddenly roared to life. Numerous turrets burst from the soil that, mere seconds prior has shown no trace of anything beyond untouched wilds, and we’d just managed to hide behind a partially caved-in room before being noticed.

I could hear dozens of gears whirring to life just beyond our dilapidated shelter, the harsh crunch of leaves and branches breaking beneath heavy, metallic feet. Droids were flooding the site. We were pinned down by the turrets. And Hunter wasn’t answering his com.

“Can we make it to the next structure?” Echo asked, voice forced into a whisper.

“Not yet.” There was a long moment of silence, and I could feel myself tensing more with each passing second, legs coiled beneath me. “Now!” We were moving before the hushed order fell silent, both crouched so low that we were practically crawling, one hand occasionally darting to the ground in a gate more natural to some forest dwelling beast, but our awkward appearance didn't matter. The half dozen droids mere meters to our right posed little threat in and of themselves, but revealing our presence now might cause untold numbers to swarm. If they had Hunter, our only hope to free him was to keep ourselves hidden.

My legs burned from the effort of keeping up with Echo. He moved as though he’d been born for such things, body stalking preternaturally through tall grass and biting bramble effortlessly, but I still found myself watching him, worried I'd note some hint of a falter in his stride, but whatever strain the motion surely wrought upon his residual limbs was a torture to which he was far too accustomed to show amidst the threat lingering over us.

“Down!” We dropped harshly to the ground, and my every instinct balked at the helpless position. Mere seconds passed before the almost musical chorus of shifting counterweights and metallic limbs raced through the foliage just feet ahead of us. Droidekas. The nervous tension dancing beneath my skin turned to dread in an instant, ice bursting through my chest in a rush of panic. I didn't want to notice the way Echo glanced back toward me, the depth of concern that tiny movement conveyed. The droid presence was no longer a simple annoyance. We were in danger.

Was Crosshair switching between com channels to warn Tech and Wrecker lest their chatter create a lethal distraction? Were they balancing the risk of striking first versus continuing what felt like a doomed plight to remain unnoticed? My lungs ached from the effort of controlling each breath, body eager to fall into the too tempting frenzy of fear.

Echo’s hand flared out, signaling me to move around his left flank before readying his pistol, attention trained toward the sound of machinery falling into formation. I knew at least fifteen meters still lay between us and the next building; knew that he was purposefully placing himself between me and the enemy units; that, even among this squad of elites, Echo was the most capable soldier I could hope to have guarding my back, but, still, I had to grind my teeth against useless objections, abhorred at the very thought of letting him act either as distraction or delay if we were seen.

That fear surged anew at every shuffle of leaves and snap of twigs as I crawled forward, stealing one final glance just as I passed him. He couldn’t see the plea in my eyes, the order begging to scream from lips carefully trapped between ground teeth that he not put himself in danger, but he didn’t have to. With the smallest movement, he looked toward me in kind and offered the faintest nod, and that tiny gesture was enough to push me on.

He waited until several feet separated us before he started after me, and something about that, about knowing he was following just behind me granted me a confidence I had no right feeling, determination numbing me to the burn in my arms as I hauled myself through an undergrowth that showed no sign of the wear it ought to have from the abuse of concealing a Separatist base.

When the ridge of a tattered roof finally jutted above the line of greenery, I couldn’t restrain the deep sigh of relief, but I had to remind myself that any façade of safety feigned by the crumbling walls granted only a fool’s comfort and forced myself to pause just shy of the entrance. Echo didn’t stop until he was nearly flush against my side, and we both waited with bated breath.

“Tech and Wrecker found an entrance. If you don’t find one in there, stay hidden until they report back.” Crosshair’s voice fell into a carefully detached hum. I wanted to respond, to offer some reassurance, but we couldn’t risk even that, so I merely watched in silence as Echo took point once more, waiting for his signal before following him into the derelict structure.

Once, it stood a couple stories high, brick walls more akin to a school than a prison, but there was no sign of such possibilities within any longer. Nature had reclaimed the half-dozen rooms and interconnecting hallways long ago. Ferns draped through shattered windows, and mounds of dirt collected in the corners reached halfway to the ceilings. There was no broken furniture nor remnants of belongings hidden amidst the rubble, and I found myself wondering if it had ever been anything more than this. Had the Separatists built it solely to be abandoned; its fate preordained to ruin from the start purely to act as camouflage for what horrors lay below? I wanted to hate them for it but knew it was fueled by naivety; knew that far more had been wasted for less in this war on both sides and that even more would be lost before there would be any hope of armistice.

Only after Echo stood did I move to regain my footing as well, body still hunched forward in that instinctive drive to hide as we searched each room in turn. When he paused in what must have been the central chamber, attention trained in the corner just to the right of the doorway, I stepped back toward the hall, carefully watching for any signs of encroaching danger, my own pistols at the ready.

“We’re heading in.” Echo stated seconds before the hiss of an airlock screamed through the tense silence.

“Copy.” Crosshair replied shortly. He hated this. I knew he hated this: being forced to wait behind as we tread beyond his sight, beyond his reach should something go wrong, and my heart ached knowing there was no comfort I could offer as I turned to follow his brother down the narrow porthole into what was surely a maze of identical passages designed to be inescapable.

No veneer of color was granted to bare metal walls and exposed purlins overhead, and what few lights flickered within granted only fleeting glimpses of the lifeless passageways. This place was not created for comfort. Every detail was made through cruel intent to rob those trapped here of even the thought of warmth, and I couldn’t force the memory of that filth-stained cell from my mind; the scent of stale moisture and blood and rot.

My stride must have faltered; my pace slowed or breath hitched. Something drew Echo’s attention back to me, and shame sank into my gut like something rancid and squirming, and I couldn’t find the strength to push it back in time to dismiss it entirely.

“You alright?” He whispered it, body leaning carefully over mine as though he could hide me from the nightmare surrounding us, and I hated the fact that I couldn’t bring myself to answer him directly.

“Let’s just get Hunter and the damn politician, and get out of here.” I nearly growled. He hesitated a moment longer, and I wanted to yell; to shout that there wasn’t time for this, to berate myself for causing even this short delay, shoulders pulling back with a determination fueled by the rage I felt toward myself for my weakness. He drew a slow breath before wrenching his focus back toward the long hallway, and a shaky sigh of relief escaped me.

I wouldn’t have noticed the port had Echo not stopped suddenly beside it, needing only to shoot a quick look for me to take watch as he plugged himself in. There was no cover here, nowhere we could hide if a patrol came upon us, and each second we lingered stoked the anxious certainty that we were moments from being found, but I didn’t waver, attention shifting between the direction we’d come from and the path ahead.

“Tech, Wrecker; looks like the target’s in the far west corner. Are you guys near there?”

“We are.” Tech responded quickly. “Have you located Hunter?”

“No, but we’ll head east and see what we can find.” My heart dropped at Echo’s response, and I fought to convince myself that that didn’t mean they didn’t have him; that didn’t mean he was…

Echo disconnected from the port, and I forced myself back to attention. He didn’t say anything more before continuing forward at a quick trot, weapon held loosely before him. Our footsteps boomed around us, mocking our every attempt at quiet. We slowed at every intersection, carefully searching down each hall before crossing. It was a perfect grid, an even number of paces separating each corner for what felt like eternity.

I heard it first. It was wet. An occasional crunch of metal against meat. I knew that sound. I knew the heat of abused flesh swelling beneath the assault; knew they would kill him long before he talked.

My hand was reaching for him before consciously acknowledging the movement; a quick tap on Echo’s shoulder singling him to stop. He needed only to pause before he heard it, too, and I watched his body tense as he reached the same conclusion I had, breath quickening beneath a flare of rage and dread. Without a word, we took off toward the wretched sound. There was a rhythm to it. Two strikes and a pause. Two strikes. Pause. I couldn’t hear what they asked in those fleeting seconds between, but my mind wouldn’t let it remain quiet long enough to wonder.

Who ordered the hit?

I swallowed back the bile that tasted too akin to rancid water.

We barely slowed at crossings now, nearly sprinting through the underground base.

Who placed the bombs?

Two strikes. I could hear him cough in the brief silence that followed, heard the splatter of liquid against metal and knew it was blood.

Echo looked over his shoulder to catch my gaze, to make sure I was ready, before tearing through the door. An alarm blared. The lights flashed a deep red that paled beneath the blue of our blaster fire filling the small cell. His armor was gone, blacks torn where they’d snagged on metal fists. I didn’t count them, nor did I need my overlay’s targeting system as Echo and I stormed the room, both strafing the enemy units in a frenzied rush.

I vaguely noticed the lethal elegance of the man beside me as he dove between a pair of B2s, rolling to his feet behind them, pistol already raised and firing before he’d come to a stop. I ducked to the side just as another droid raised its arm, the wall behind me hissing as metal melted beneath the powerful, crimson shots. It didn’t get the chance to fire again, and I watched with eager satisfaction as the towering machine fell heavily to the floor.

It took mere seconds. I didn’t have time to find a new target before Echo felled the few remaining enemies, sparing only a fleeting thought toward a figure among the metal corpses that was far too soft to belong among the droids, nor did I pause to wonder if it had been my shot or Echo’s that claimed their life. Whoever they were, I was too happy to leave them to rot among the destruction they sowed, attention training instead on Hunter.

Already, Echo was working to sever the bounds securing his wrists to the metal slab behind him, and I rushed forward to catch him as his first arm fell free, wincing at the stifled groan my touch drew from him.

“T… took yuh… long ‘nough.” He slurred, jaw barely moving around the strained words.

“Not our fault you let yourself get caught at a kriffing black site.” Echo retorted, already working on his other wrist.

“S… st’nned m…” His reply broke into an agonizing flurry of coughs, thick drops of crimson smearing across my chest plate.

“Alright, enough – you can make all the excuses you want after I patch you up,” I interrupted, a gentle warning in my hushed voice, “For now, just try to slow your breathing and stay awake, alright?” His head shifted toward me in silent consent, and my worry spiked. He was barely recognizable from the sickeningly wrong angle of his nose, and already his eyes were nearly swollen shut. His ribs were far worse off, however. I could see the heavy bruising through tears in his shirt, could hear the rattle in his every hitched, shallow breath.

“I presume the alarm indicates that you’ve found Hunter?” Tech asked just as the other shackle clicked open. Hunter fell against me with a choked grunt, and I tried not to imagine the pain shooting through his torso.

“Easy; just sit back.” I murmured softly, carefully guiding him to the ground.

“Yeah. He’s hurt, but Doc’s with him.” Echo responded, already treading back toward the door to watch for incoming troops. He paused briefly at the figure lying amongst the droids, but I didn’t see what he did, attention devoted to helping the wheezing man before me.

“Hunter, I want you to focus on me for a bit, okay?” My voice left in a whisper void of the urgency with which I dug through my bag. He hummed some manner of a reply, but I couldn’t make out anything akin to actual speech.

“We located the prisoner, but… it seems we were only given a portion of the information regarding this mission.” I had to stifle a surge of frustration that I could hear mirrored in Tech’s clipped statement as my scanner buzzed to life.

“Great.” Echo groaned.

“We’ll rendezvous at the Marauder and discuss how to proceed. Crosshair, is-” He was interrupted by a violent shockwave tearing through the base.

“That… wasn’t me.” Wrecker said hesitantly after a moment of tense silence.

“All clear.” I nearly scoffed at the haughty pride in Crosshair’s voice before returning my attention to the scan results, stomach twisting as I read over his injuries.

“Looks like you’re gonna live, Sarg.” I managed to tease softly despite my own dread, earning a groan heavy with mock disappointment. “You’re going to be pissing blood for a week, though.” He let out an even less thrilled grunt that drew a quiet chuckle from me. “How about I get some pain killers in you, and you let me help you back to the ship?” His eyelids shifted but weren’t able to fully open. Still, he offered no objection when I laid an autoinjector against his neck, and my worry grew at how quickly his body went limp.

“How is he?” Echo asked, voice tense as he walked back toward us. My gaze caught on a sack thrown over his shoulder. “His armor.” He explained, much to my relief. They hadn’t had him long, so it shouldn’t have surprised me that they wouldn’t have had time to dispose of it, but it was still a stroke of luck that he was able to find it so easily.

“He’ll be alright… but we should hurry.” Even through our opaque visors, I knew he felt the intensity with which I held his gaze, that he understood the truth behind my carefully even reply. He gave a small nod and dropped to a knee at Hunter’s other side.

“Hey, brother, think you can hold on to me?” My lips pulled into a small smile at the gentleness of Echo’s deep voice, the care in his movements as he eased Hunter’s arm over his shoulders. I threw my bag back on and followed suit with his other arm.

“Mmm… m’alri’.” His dismissal faded into a barely audible mumble as we pulled him upright, head slumping toward his chest.

“Those drugs won’t last long.” I warned quietly. Again, Echo responded with a short nod, and, together, we began the lock trek back toward an exit I doubted I’d ever find without him.

Next Chapter

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[nanowrimo]

Beyond the Word Count: A Book Editor's Guide to Writing a First Draft

Every year, we’re lucky to have great sponsors for our nonprofit events. First Draft Pro, a 2023 NaNoWriMo sponsor, is a beautifully designed writing app for fiction writers. Today, they've partnered with Kelly Norwood-Young, former book editor for Pan Macmillan and Penguin Random House, to bring you some pro tips on writing your first draft:

In my career as a book editor, I’ve reviewed hundreds of manuscripts. I've seen the joy of authors creating compelling tales, but also how disheartening it can be to rewrite a disjointed story. I’m here to give you some strategies to address common pitfalls so that you not only reach your NaNoWriMo goal, but also lay the groundwork for a manuscript that truly deserves to be called a gripping novel.

1. Have a plan.

Even if you’re more of a ‘pantser’ than a ‘planner’, it's really helpful to have an outline. I have two favourite approaches for this: the structure-first approach, and what I call the ‘Phoebe Waller-Bridge approach’.  

The structure-first approach

There are a lot of narrative frameworks for story structure, but the most foundational in Western fiction is the three-act structure. Here’s a handy guide that breaks each of the classical three acts into a day-by-day guide to NaNoWriMo: 

8-day guide to Act 1

14-day guide to Act 2

8-day guide to Act 3

The Phoebe Waller-Bridge approach

I love this quote from Phoebe Waller-Bridge: ‘I’ve never thought structure first. I’ve always thought material first, jokes first, character first ... But knowing the end really helps. Then you just go as far away from the end emotionally as you possibly can.’  

Sketch out your major story arcs, your character’s desires and conflicts, and the world they inhabit. The more you know your story's world and inhabitants, the less you'll stray into scenes that lack purpose or create plot and character inconsistencies. 

2. Keep the story moving.

Each word needs to propel your story forward. Superfluous details or tangents that don’t serve the narrative stall the momentum you’re trying to generate for your reader. 

There’s a trick you can use to move your story forward, called the question of reversibility. Ask yourself: How difficult would it be for my character to reverse their decision? The harder it would be for them to turn back, the more you’ve moved the plot forward. 

3. Plant clues carefully.

Plant important elements early and make sure every element, however subtle, serves a purpose (i.e. Chekhov’s Gun). 

Be sure to set up necessary components for your climax so that you can steer clear of Deus ex Machina (having that strong outline will help you here), and avoid red herrings unless they serve a clear, meaningful purpose (e.g. you’re writing a mystery and your readers expect some false leads). Misleading your readers without a payoff can erode their trust.

4. Write for the reader, not yourself.

‘There is only one thing you write for yourself, and that is a shopping list,’ insists Umberto Eco in On Literature. Even if writing, for you, is a therapeutic outlet, a form of self-expression, or a way to leave a legacy, you’re still writing to say something to someone else. Your story simply won’t be as strong if you forget your reader’s perspective. 

5. Keep daily editorial notes for your future self.

While editing should wait until at least December, end each day with a brief reflection, noting any off-course deviations, potential inconsistencies, areas to research further, or moments of inspiration to revisit when you start editing. 

These daily notes will be invaluable during the editing process, helping you to remember insights that are no longer fresh when you come back to the manuscript later.

6. Embrace the first-draft mentality.

There’s a lot you can do to ensure that your first draft is the best it can be before the end of November—but just as important is to understand that all first drafts have flaws.

As a book editor, I've witnessed manuscripts transform, sometimes unrecognizably, from their first drafts. Embrace the uncertainty and creative detours—because it's from this beautiful chaos that your story will find its true voice. 

Kelly Norwood-Young is a seasoned book editor and proofreader with comprehensive experience across various facets of manuscript editing. Her background includes roles at Pan Macmillan and Penguin Books, extending into a successful freelance career working with award-winning authors. Kelly's work, known for its precision and sensitivity to the author's voice, has been integral to the success of both new and established writers globally.

Try out First Draft Pro: All NaNoWriMo participants can use the discount code NANOWRIMO2023 for 20% off a premium subscription to First Draft Pro! Offer expires January 31, 2024.

[corviiids]

the armour of achilles is kind of like a death note and this is going to sound crazy but hear me out. everyone who ever wears achilles’ armour dies. achilles (duh), patroclus (book 16 goes crazy) and hector. the armour of achilles also (at least imo) notably alters the behaviour of the people who wear it — achilles’ anger is literally his defining trait and when patroclus puts it on he begins behaving erratically eg taunting aeneas, mocking cebriones’ death. hector also begins to behave much more brashly, eg yelling at polydamas in book 18 for daring to suggest that perhaps going back into the citadel is a good idea. SIMILARLY the use of a death note 1) dooms the user to being killed by their shinigami and 2) seems to alter in some way light’s behaviour — he has the same ideals before and after he picks it up but the light we see at the start of the series and the light in the yotsuba arc has absolutely no interest in killing people and is deeply offended by the notion he could do so.

like obviously achilles’ armour does not kill people but like. it kinda kills people. like hear me out

ok no you're cooking though. like, i think the thing about the death note is not that it has a supernatural power to alter behaviour, i think what it does is present its user with power on a new scope beyond what they previously considered possible and the overwhelm of that is so dizzying and perspective-changing that it alters your perception of what matters and what's possible. it literally is hubris, thinking yourself totally above consequences, thinking purely in ideals, getting that big picture vision that obscures the danger of the means in favour of walking towards that bright and shiny end

i really LIKE your vision of achilles' armour as being somehow symbolic of that capacity achilles has for inhuman rage and vengeance like, you're kidding about it having supernatural powers but even if we look at it in a purely symbolic way and not supernatural, that's fun as hell. we can even take this further and apply it to the second set of armour too (the one thetis brings achilles after patroclus' death) and change the conditions not even to wearing the armour but simply contemplating owning it, because that ends up being the subject of the feud between odysseus and ajax, and ajax goes so mad with righteous grief and fury that he turns bloodthirsty, and then he kills himself over the resulting shame. how excellent is this armour as a symbol of the same rage and pride that killed achilles!! reaching for something you think you want and deserve, losing aspects of yourself to achieve it, and going mad with the injustice when you don't reach it

and then odysseus wins the armour and survives his journey........ but like, he doesn't keep the armour. he gives it to achilles' son.