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catslvrr · 11 months ago

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you know all my dreams (you were one)

danielle marsh x fem!reader | one shot

Synopsis: Being a superhero involves a lot of saving, like saving people from burning buildings, saving cats stuck in trees, and even saving yourself from being evicted from your apartment. There’s one thing that you haven’t saved yet, and that’s your relationship with Danielle.

Contains: cursing, blood, violence, death, cliche hero stuff

You would like to believe that you are a good roommate.

But when you come tumbling through the window, landing with a raucous thud, all you have the strength to do is squeeze your eyes shut and pray to the heavens that your roommate graciously ignores you. Again.

This is the fourth time in a week that you have managed to enter your room in such a manner. You rely on the fact that your roommate is abnormally nocturnal and is most likely asleep by now.

You grimace as you remember that one time you accidentally crashed through her window, blacked out, and woke up to her grim face as she poked you with her foot. It wasn’t that far off from how she originally found out you were Spider-Woman two years ago.

It had been a rough day. You didn’t leave exactly scot-free after fending off the attempted escape of some maximum security prisoners at the Raft.

This attempt may have been catalyzed by the recent blackout that you may have caused by fighting off another escape attempt, but who’s to say that’s the case?

Regardless, all escapees were given a scenic swing, free of charge, straight back to prison—a temporary one anyway. Now all you had to worry about was making it home in one piece.

By the time you reach home, the muscles in your arms giving in from the endless web-slinging, you don’t have enough energy in you to ease your landing (which really just meant trying to land on cool superhero poses). You swoop right onto the floor, face-down and limbs sprawled out like a measly bug helplessly trapped in a web.

You’re not entirely sure of the full extent of your injuries in the moment—mostly because of the way your whole body is burning, reminiscent of the building you were thrown into, but you’re pretty confident you have at least multiple bruised ribs, a black eye, and a mild concussion.

“So, all things considered,” you say half-heartedly to no one in particular. “Not too bad.”

(Future note: You actually also had one fractured toe.)

You’re happily drifting off into unconsciousness, with nothing but the belated, slightly panicked thought of whether you locked your door or not, when three sudden strikes at your door jolt you awake.

Suppressing a groan, you roll over and pull yourself up as best as possible, ignoring the way your ribs scream at you. God, you were in so much pain. You let out a breathy exhale and even muster a crooked smile, even though you know your roommate can’t see you.

“Roomie! What’s up?”

A pause.

You cringe. Seriously, ‘Roomie’? You should’ve gone with the name you saw on the leasing contract.

(When you first saw it, you thought that the lease was some sort of scam, because your roommate’s signature looked like someone trying to draw Australia from memory. Upon further questioning of the landlord, you were left with the information that your new roommate, Haerin, was indeed real.)

Before you can even apologize for your lame attempt at a greeting, Haerin’s response comes curtly.

“There was a crash.”

You pick up on a slight inflection of curiosity in Haerin’s tone—is glad that despite her nosiness, she didn’t decide to barge in and see you in your full Spider-suit glory. You force out a chuckle, hoping your roommate doesn’t notice the strain.

“Oh—right. I just fell. Tripped over my own feet. I mean, while dancing. Well. Trying to, you know?”

Your embarrassment grows with every word that bumbles out of your mouth, and when the heat in your cheeks is too much to bear, you manage out a simple:

“Yep,” to eloquently finish it all off. You cross your fingers and hope your roommate doesn’t question the fact that there is no music playing at all.

You barely hear a non-committal hum over the pounding in your ears, and only release your breath when you hear the familiar obnoxious typing of keys, finding your heartbeat in tandem with its rhythm.

There are some things you can always depend on, and one of those things is Haerin’s perpetual typing as she attempts to finish her journalism assignments at the last minute. The incessant clicking of the keyboard gradually becomes soothing, almost therapeutic. You pass out before you can even register any sliver of drowsiness.

And then you wake up to a deafening bang and splinters of your doors ricocheting toward you.

Reflexively, you flick your wrist, effectively webbing any stray pieces of your door to the ceiling. But you also web your roommate’s face. There are a few seconds of silence as you both just stare at each other.

“Funny how you find me in my Spider-Woman cosplay,” you chuckle awkwardly. “Because I’m not, you know, Spider-Woman.”

Haerin slowly peels the web off her face, face wholly impassive, still menacingly holding the ax. “I’m hungry. Buy me Wingstop.”

It takes you an hour to get the Wingstop back home. Ten minutes was dedicated to a mini meet-and-greet.

“What the fuck, Haerin,” you say with a mouth full of lemon pepper fries. “You broke my door down with an ax.”

“I was hungry,” she replies matter-of-factly, as if that’s a reasonable justification for the insane property damage she just inflicted. “But you were also not responding for sixteen hours.”

“I was out for sixteen hours?”

“A bit of an exaggeration. Maybe around 10.”

“Why do you even have an ax anyway?”

“Look at where we live,” Haerin clicks her tongue. “And you being Spider-Woman just slaps a big target on our backs.”

“Pause,” you raise your hand and stop chewing. “I’m not Spider-Woman. I’m just… a huge fan.”

Haerin’s exasperated eyes flicker to yours.

“I’m serious!”

“Yeah right,” she scoffs. “You make way too many spider puns.”

“Like what?”

“Like ‘I’ll swing by’, or ‘I’m kinda tangled up in something right now’,” she explains with air quotes.

You noisily take a sip of a lemonade you bought from a random stall. “Huh.”

“So,” you chew thoughtfully. “Hypothetically, if I was Spider-Woman, how would you react? Would you tell anyone?”

Haerin scans you, still wearing the Spider-suit, sitting cross-legged on the sofa, ungracefully shoving chicken tenders in your mouth with ranch dribbling down your chin. “I’ve known for, like, three months.”

You almost knock the ranch cup over in shock. “What?”

You swallow the chicken tender too quickly, and have to take a breather because you almost choke on it. “How—I mean, why would you think that?”

“You discarded one of your broken web-shooters in my room.”

“Oh. That’s where it went,” you scratch your cheek. “So… you won’t tell anyone, right?”

Haerin smiles. “Only if you pay for the door.”

You hear the screeching of a chair against the floor, hear the imposing footsteps headed toward your room. You feel something poke you. It’s probably the handle of that stupid ax she’s so attached to.

“You good?”

You respond with an unintelligible noise.

Another poke. “Rent’s due soon, you know.”

You roll over with a groan and pull off your mask. “Spare me some sympathy, I’m dying.”

“No you’re not. You’ve had worse.”

Haerin squats down to your level and dabs a cut on your forehead, leaving a burning sting. “Ow!”

You stay mum as Haerin wipes your face free of grime and blood. It’s rare, but when Haerin patches you up, there’s a tinge of gratefulness that twists your heart, and you know it’s better to leave it unspoken. That’s just how you two are.

You break the silence after a while. “I really need to find a job, don’t I?”

“I’ve been thinking about that,” Haerin replies. “I think you should start your own business: Spider-Eats.”

“Like… Uber Eats?”

“Exactly,” Haerin nods proudly. “But you don’t need to pay for gas, because you just swing over. And I’m sure people will tip you because you’re Spider-Woman.”

“Huh. That’s actually a really good idea.”

As you shuffle out of your Spider-suit and wince at the way your bloody clothes stick to yourself, you make a mental note to start designing and coding a Spider-Eats app. And to also do laundry again. You languidly stretch your limbs, trying to ignore the aches and pains.

“Thanks, doc,” you grin at Haerin. “I feel better already.”

Haerin nods and walks out to the living room. You hear some faint rustling, and the smell reaches you first: pepperoni pizza. You can practically hear an orchestra of trumpets and horns and trombones sing as Haerin re-enters your room, like an angel from heaven, holding three boxes of pizza. It’s even from the same parlor joint the two of you always loiter around.

“Wait,” you pull a can of grape Fanta out of her hand and toward you with a web. “I’ve always wanted to try something.”

Haerin watches as you dangle from the ceiling upside-down and crack open the can. You bring it to your mouth and attempt to drink it, only for you to choke and spill it on your floor.

“Oops.”

After that sad display, you both find yourselves in a familiar position: sitting cross-legged on the floor across from each other, absolutely devouring the food you’ve chosen to be a victim to your outrageous appetite. It comes with being a superhero.

“Seriously, Haerin,” you sigh in satisfaction. “I love you so much.”

You and Haerin mostly eat in silence and scroll on your phones until all three boxes are demolished. You pack up all the boxes and push them to the side, flopping into a starfish position and feeling bloated already.

“You know,” Haerin starts, her voice surprisingly sincere. “Tomorrow’s the day.”

You slowly exhale. “Yeah.”

She flops down beside you. The two of you stare at the LED strips (set to red and blue) that you both went to hell and back trying to tape on the edges of the ceiling.

“Do you want me to come with you?”

You offer a small smile. “Nah. You know how it is.”

The two of you lie there for a while until you both fall asleep.

Unfortunately, being a superhero is not all glitz and glamor. You find yourself to be quite the average Joe, living an ordinary life. At the end of the day, you’re just an engineering college student with no job. Well, besides the occasional side gig of being a masked vigilante.

You tend to relish the mundane moments these days, and maybe it’s the age. (Haerin would roll her eyes if she heard you say this.) Those fleeting moments where you can bask in the serenity of a night without any pings from the local police database you hacked into, although often only lasting several minutes, are valuable to you. Sitting on rooftops and indulging in the view that is the city skyline at night—you never get sick of it.

You used to hate this—being human, that is. After the bite all those years ago, being Spider-Woman was riveting. The novelty of your superpowers made you feel competent. Made you feel like someone. (Only after you persevered through the beginner's clumsiness.) Of course, there are the not so great parts of still being human. Like attending mandatory labs, dealing with group project partners who go M.I.A., and the exorbitant rental rates. Regardless, you believe the good still outweighs the bad.

But like most good things in your life, they never stay. How foolish of you, to think that your newfound powers could somehow transcend the inevitability of pain and loss. If anything, you face it more now.

That youthful naivety led to more trouble than you can handle. That night when you swung past that robbery at the bodega, without a care in the world, unwittingly sealing the fate of your aunt. Any last connection you had to your family was violently torn from your grasp.

It was your fault. And nothing can change that. It haunts you every waking hour of the day, manifests itself as a wicked virus, and its suffocating tendrils latch onto you on the nights when you’ve delved too deep into your own thoughts.

You try to block it out now, but the best you can do is repeat to yourself that it’s a reminder. A reminder of who Spider-Woman has to be and what she means to the city. An unwavering hero who stands for justice and protects everyone. A hero who does the right thing.

You hum to yourself as you push the door open with your shoulder, exiting the shop with a bouquet of pale purple forget-me-nots. You shove your hands into the front pocket of your hoodie after adjusting your backpack, slightly shivering at the crisp chill of the early morning.

You greet the local store owners as you pass by, even giving a hand in moving crates or supplies to help set up shop. It would be so much easier to just swing to the cemetery, but there’s a sense of reverence you feel you need to uphold, and the only way to do that is just to visit as yourself. No mask, no secret identity. Just you.

You’ve just crossed the threshold to the cemetery with one step when there’s a prickling sensation on your skin. As you get closer to her grave, the discomfort only grows, and so you swing to the nearest tree and perch yourself there.

And then you see her. In the flesh.

“Danielle?” You whisper to yourself, dumbfounded. What was she doing back here, after all these years?

Danielle stills for a moment, and so do you. She turns around and eyes the surroundings as if she heard your voice. You duck and burrow yourself deeper within the leaves.

You observe her quietly, donning her own bouquet of roses, and you smile wryly at the sight of them. Of course, she remembers her favorite flowers. Danielle sits at the grave for a while, her lips moving as if talking, but the music blasting in your headphones blocks it out. You don’t try to eavesdrop.

She’s dyed her hair blonde now, and you didn’t think it possible, but she stands out even more. The color suits her—it matches her personality, akin to a warm and inviting sunflower. Seeing her treat the grave with such care and tenderness makes your heart pang. You grip the tree branches tighter to try to steel yourself, swallowing the guilt and heartache that arises. You don’t expect anything less from her. She’s still so kind and loving even after what you did.

She takes out a small pouch, eventually settling down and crocheting. You’re surprised for some reason, but you also make yourself comfortable in the tree. Even though you’re a hundred feet apart, being in the same vicinity of her fills your body with a sense of repose. You allow yourself to believe that you’re sitting next to each other, still friends, grieving together, and you think that helps you heal a bit.

Half an hour passes before you feel a droplet hit your face. And then another. You and Danielle look up at the same time, only to see the billowing clouds roll in.

Without a second thought, you slip your mask on and shimmy out of your clothes, fishing an umbrella out of your backpack before webbing it to the tree. You clear your throat as you land behind her, as gently as possible so as to not scare her.

“Need this, Miss?” You forcefully deepen your voice, holding out the umbrella above Danielle’s head.

She turns around, lips slightly parted in shock, and it takes all your willpower to not visibly tremble.

“Thank you,” she smiles sweetly. You wonder if she would greet you like this if she knew who you really were. “Let me give you something in return.”

Danielle hands you a crochet ribbed beanie, a bright red just like the roses she brought, with a white pom pom on top.

“This one took me a few days.”

It’s incredibly endearing, but you’re panicking at her presence so you can only express your gratitude with an awkward, “Thanks!”, voice crack included, before slinging to the nearest building.

You make sure to wear it on the way home.

Haerin notices it as soon as you return.

“What’s with the new look?” She asks, not looking away from her laptop.

You set an iced Americano for her on the coffee table, and then proceed to drape yourself on the sofa, feet nudging Haerin’s side to annoy her. She chooses to ignore you rather than resort to violence only because you bought her coffee. She also chooses to ignore how your suit is still wet from the rain outside, droplets of water permeating the sofa. You take off the beanie, making sure to gently lay it on the table before slipping your mask off.

You rest your head against the arm of the sofa and close your eyes, but all you can think about is Danielle. The sincerity in her eyes as she gifted you the beanie and her saccharine voice rings out in your mind. You lay there and reminisce in silence for a while. You end up falling asleep for a few minutes.

Then Haerin wakes you up.

“Hey.” She slaps your foot. “Answer my question.”

“What—oh.” You mumble in confusion, trying to regain your senses. “I saw… someone at the cemetery.”

She finally turns to give you a deadpan expression. “Be more specific. A ghost? One of your many archnemeses?”

“Worse,” you rub your face tiredly. “Danielle.”

Her typing pauses. “Wait, the childhood best friend you told me about?”

“Yeah.”

“The one you ghosted?”

You sigh. “Yeah.”

“The one you pitifully pine over?”

“Well—yeah.”

Haerin lets out a low whistle. “She gave you that?”

“Yeah,” you murmur. “She didn’t know it was me.”

“You should keep it that way,” Haerin says. “It’d suck to open up old wounds after so long.”

“I know.” You puff your cheeks out. “And that’s not even the end of it. I spent forty bucks on flowers just to leave it to rot in a backpack in a tree.”

She glances at the wet puddle you created on the couch. “We can go back tomorrow and get it?”

“It’s okay,” you reply, opening your eyes to the pouring rain outside. You hope Danielle made it home okay. “I’m gonna wait for the rain to die out a bit and then head out again to investigate that weird case. I’ll put the flowers where they belong on the way there.”

“Is there a new lead?” You can practically hear Haerin’s ears perk up.

“Yeah, all the reports of the disappearances seem to pop up in the same area. I just checked for a location that shares an equal distance to all of them and came up with an abandoned warehouse.”

Haerin sits in thought for a second before asking, “Can I come with? You know how the college blog always relies on me for Spider-Woman content.”

“Fine.” You begrudgingly acquiesce. “Only if you get a cool shot of me.”

Haerin takes out her camera and snaps a quick photo of you.

“How about this?” She turns the camera around to show you the result.

You scoff in offense. “Seriously?”

“Is it not flattering enough?” Haerin teases, wrestling the camera away from you.

“I look like a wet dog!”

You web the camera to yourself and delete the photo.

“Stop abusing your powers.” Haerin clicks her tongue. “Go web a towel to clean this mess up.”

“What a coincidence,” you cheerfully ignore her. “The rain’s stopped.”

Like a miracle, the rain has cleared out, the darker clouds making way for the sun. You web a towel to dry your suit (but not the couch or floor) and slip your mask back on again.

“Alright,” you step out onto the balcony and turn to Haerin. “You want a ride there? Uber? Spuber…?”

“Let’s just stick to Spider-Eats.”

“Yeah.”

“And, no thanks,” she winces. “You almost swung into a pole last time.”

“Oops,” you say with no sign of regret. “Anyway, I texted you the coords. Meet you there.”

You hop on the balcony railing and salute Haerin before proceeding to fall backwards with your hands behind your head. The rush as you swing through the city is unmatchable. You savor the wind rushing against you, the boisterous noise of cars honking and mindless chatter zooming in and out of your ears.

You’re back at the cemetery in no time, and after checking if anyone’s around, you stand before your aunt’s grave once again. Danielle’s roses are still lying there. You wipe some raindrops off the headstone before laying your bouquet down. Then, you’re off again. There’ll be time for that later.

The abandoned warehouse is not too far from the docks, a very typical location for people who are up to no good. You perch on the roof of a building opposite it, where Haerin is already squatting and taking photos. You can spot her motorcycle stationed in the parking lot behind the building. She barely flinches as you tap her shoulder.

“How did you get up here?”

“A good journalist never reveals her secrets.”

“Isn’t it ‘sources’?”

Haerin shrugs. “Same thing.”

You squat next to her. “So… did you notice anything before I came?”

“I did some research. Think this warehouse is registered under the name of just Jace.”

“Just Jace? That’s such a sick name.”

Haerin doesn’t bother to correct you.

“Name doesn’t ring a bell though.” You squint and scan the seemingly innocuous warehouse. “And I’m not picking up any heat signals… looks like nobody’s home.”

“How are we getting in?”

“This is a job for Spider-Woman!”

You leap off the roof and swing around the warehouse, sweeping the perimeter to search for a way in.

“There’s always an entrance when you can climb walls,” you muse to yourself.

You open up a voice channel as you crawl up the side of the warehouse, eventually reaching the roof where there is a conveniently open skylight. “Bingo!”

“Psst, Haerin,” you say. “There’s an open window on the roof.”

“Awesome,” she replies, although you note that her tone lacks excitement. “Can you get in and open the door for me?”

“The door?” You peer inside the open skylight. “You mean the gigantic sliding doors?”

“Don’t tell me you’re too weak to open those.”

“No,” you huff. “It’s just that… wouldn’t it be too loud?”

Haerin’s response is reluctant. “I guess.”

“You know what that means,” you sing-song. “It’s time for a Spuber ride!”

There’s some silence followed by a long sigh.

“I thought we agreed to not use that anymore,” she grumbles. “Hurry up and get back here.”

Haerin’s pick up and drop off is quick and easy, much to both of your satisfaction. You asked her to give you a five star rating, to which she replied, “That took literally less than thirty seconds.”

Inside the warehouse is dark, with only some dim flickering lights providing you with a shadowed view of the interior. The warehouse is stocked with looming cargo containers.

“Seems pretty filled for an abandoned warehouse,” Haerin muses, her voice echoing in the void. The silence feels foreboding, which makes you glad that Haerin asked to come, not that you would ever admit that.

“There’s gotta be something here,” you run your hand over the undulating surface of the steel containers. “A secret room, or some complicated contraption.”

“What about that?” Haerin points at a scrape mark on the floor in front of one of the containers, which coincidentally matches the circumference of a quarter circle.

“Oh. That was fast.”

You walk over and tug on the latch, before pulling the door open.

“No worries,” you strain out. It’s heavier than you thought. “Leave it all to me.”

“If you say so,” Haerin says with a smug smile on her face, standing there with no care in the world.

Once you finally get it open, inside the container is a set of stairs that lead downwards to an ominous tunnel.

“Totally not creepy,” you laugh nervously and gesture to Haerin. “Ladies first?”

She rolls her eyes before making her way down. The tunnel is fairly well-kept and it’s not long before you find yourselves in the secret room. It’s a lab, wires running hazardously on the ground, bits and pieces of machinery scattered on tables and filling up boxes, and computer screens displaying complex data and research.

“Okay,” you drawl. “Kinda getting evil mastermind vibes.”

You ruffle through some papers lying around. It seems to be sketches of some cylinder machine with cogs and complicated wiring in it. After inspecting the lab for a bit longer, you both come to the same conclusion.

“He’s trying to time travel,” Haerin notes as she snaps some shots of the lab.

You nod. “His experiments are probably what’s causing all those people to disappear into thin air.”

“What were the statements of the witnesses again?”

“Like the victims were just sucked into an invisible portal.”

Haerin pulls up some files on one of the computers. “It makes sense. It looks like he’s trying to time travel to the year his daughter died.”

You both are silent at this information. Until that silence is broken by a screeching sound outside, one that oddly sounds like the gigantic sliding doors opening.

The two of you immediately break out into a sprint and up the stairs. You don’t hesitate to scoop up Haerin once you’re out of the container and soar up to the roof with a web.

“He’ll know someone was here,” Haerin whispers.

“I know,” you sigh. “Hopefully it won’t lead to anything. We’ll have to come back later.”

Like the true neighborhood-friendly Spider-Woman you are, you give Haerin a Spuber ride back to her motorcycle. She revs the engine once to get your attention, then bids you farewell with a teasing “Race you home!” as she accelerates into the distance.

“So not fair!” You shout out at her retreating figure, swinging to catch up. You’re straining your arms to keep up with Haerin’s motorcycle, but a police car passes by with sirens on, and you know what you need to do. At the last second, you snap your left wrist to make a breakneck turn. Haerin will understand.

You can barely keep your eyes open as Minji nudges you with her elbow.

“Late nights playing 2K again?” The image of her stupid grin floats by in your mind.

“Something like that,” you whine, flicking your head up so your lab goggles fall on your nose. “I should’ve skipped today.”

Minji pulls up the DXF files you made for the project and resumes with the task of readjusting the ratio of some gears. “You don’t even need your lab goggles for today.”

“I look smarter with them on.”

“Yeah, right.” Minji peeks at your rough outlines of the gearbox transmission on paper. Some edges are ripped and it’s crinkled under your folded arms. “Damn. When are you gonna digitize that and render it?”

You slump back in your chair and close your eyes. “When I get a good night’s rest.”

“So, never.”

“Yeah.”

“The assignment’s due next week.”

“Yeah.”

“I hate you.” But she doesn’t. Because the two of you have been lab partners ever since you tripped on her lab coat in class a year ago and knocked over a bunch of her circuits and wires, which, to this day, she still blames you for, which is ridiculous, because who on earth owns a lab coat long enough to the point where it spills on the floor? But, you digress. Her lab coat is now properly tailored.

You’re half a second from drooling and snoring when there’s that prickling sensation on your skin again, and the hairs on the back of your neck shoot up, leaving you with that sinking feeling in your stomach. You sit up so abruptly that you almost slam your forehead onto the table.

Minji’s arm flies in front of your chest to steady you. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” you stammer. “I just… need to go to the bathroom.”

You grab your backpack and sprint out of the lab, navigating yourself to the nearest exit. You’re on the roof of the building in no time, in your suit, and you immediately see what’s wrong. There’s a man in the middle of campus, floating above the ground, and whatever objects are around seem to be gravitating toward him. The objects begin to orbit around him, creating a mini tornado.

You try to call Haerin, but she doesn’t pick up. You try to call Minji too, but no luck. Your stomach coils with anxiety. You don’t have long to dwell on it though.

As objects slam into one another, students begin to file out of class and understandably panic. Campus security is screaming and directing people to emergency exits, but the whirlwind only gets worse and things are smashing into windows and buildings.

“This isn’t good,” you mutter, immediately diving into action. You web benches, bicycles, poles, and trees in all sorts of directions to disrupt their trajectory toward anyone. Out of the corner of your eye, you see a blur of orange amidst green, and hear a very distinct meow.

“Tiko!”

You hurtle yourself toward the flying tree and narrowly shoot through the branches, successfully grabbing Tiko. You were going to plop him down somewhere safe, but it seems he had other plans, because he crawls into your backpack and nestles inside it, sticking his head out.

“Hang tight, Tiko,” you scream, swinging toward the mystery man. “I’m going to stop this!”

The man now stands on a rooftop, the debris around him thrashing against the building which is threatening to fall apart. You land not too far from him.

“Hi!” You yell over the deafening winds.

He whips his head around, raising his palm to hurl a rock at you. “Stay away!”

“Wait!” It narrowly misses you as you skillfully duck just in time. “You’re Just Jace, right?”

“How do you know my name?” He falters for a second, taking a step back. “…And it’s just Jace.”

“Isn’t that what I just said?” You mumble to yourself in confusion.

You shake your head to focus on the situation at hand. “Please stop this, Just Jace. You’re hurting others!”

“I… I know!” Jace’s hands tightly grip his hair in frustration. “I don’t know why it’s not working.”

As his ire flames up, so do the winds, dust and small rocks starting to obscure your vision.

“Please, calm down!” You desperately yell, slowly making your way toward him with arms raised as a sign of peace. “Let me help you!”

The sound of police sirens grows louder, and you can hear the whirring of helicopter blades behind you. The police helicopter sways in the midst of the tornado, and you fear for both Jace and the police.

“No, no, no!” You try to wave the police away, knowing their presence would only distress Jace more.

“Police! Hands in the air!”

Police officers begin to rappel down from the helicopter, guns aimed at Jace. He scrambles in fear, sending rubble hurling at them in defense. Bullets fly out immediately after.

The sound of gunshots rings through your ear as you expertly maneuver through the ricochets and try to keep everyone safe. You burst through the combat and tackle Jace whilst he’s busy with the officers, trying to Spuber him to somewhere safe.

He wrestles in your grasp, screaming at you to let him go. Tiko gives him a few smacks in response. As you swing through a window, you release your hold on him, both of you rolling over to catch your balance.

You lean against the wall, taking a moment to catch your breath. You’re rubbing your head that’s throbbing in pain, not noticing Jace’s sudden silence.

“The police really have the worst timing, am I right?” You awkwardly laugh.

You look up to see Jace stalking toward you, like a predator to prey, a dark intensity in his eyes. Any trace of the Jace you encountered before is gone. You bounce on your feet immediately.

“Jace?” You say hesitantly, walking backward. “We can talk about this…”

“You broke it,” he snarls. That’s when you notice what he’s clasping onto so stiffly. It looks awfully similar to those sketches you and Haerin saw in that secret lab. He lets it go and it clatters on the floor.

“I didn’t mean to,” you try to ameliorate the situation. “I was trying to save you.”

Your pleas don’t seem to reach his ears. He just simply repeats, “You broke it.”

“No need to get so upset,” you laugh sheepishly, hands in the air, discreetly scanning for the nearest exit. “I know a really good tech support guy.”

Your skin tingles. Jace then lunges at you, and out of instinct, you web onto the broken device and you swing it around to slam it into the space between you and him. The device makes contact with the concrete and shatters into pieces, shards of glass flying everywhere. For a moment, you feel as if time has slowed down, and everything sounds muffled, like you’re sinking deeper and deeper into the ocean.

And then everything goes black.

You wake up with a gasp, cold sweat sticking to your body. Haerin steps back, surprised. She’s holding her beloved ax, its handle hovering dangerously close to your cheek.

“You’re awake.”

“What?” You look around frantically, hands squeezing the sofa. “How am I back here?”

“What do you mean?” Haerin frowns. “You fell asleep.”

You stand up and squish your face against the window. The college campus is untouched. “What happened to Just Jace? Is Tiko alright?”

Her eyebrow furrows. “Who’s Just Jace? And Tiko the campus cat?”

You don’t respond, still lost in your own thoughts.

“Did you get a concussion on the way to the cemetery?”

You stop pacing and look down, and sure enough, you’re still in your suit, wet from the rain just like two days ago, and the beanie Danielle crocheted is lying on the table.

Then it dawns on you.

“Oh my god, Haerin.” Your jaw is slack. “I just traveled back in time.”

“What.”

It takes you fifteen minutes to sum everything up.

“But the weird thing is that the device didn’t seem to be done when we were in the secret lab.” You bite your cheek in thought. “I don’t know how he would’ve been able to get it working in the next two days.”

“He probably knew someone was onto him when we left the door open,” Haerin says, searching up ‘If you travel back in time, will you break time and space if you get into contact with someone?’ on Google. Most of the results are fruitless.

“That makes sense,” you nod. “But I wonder why he would end up at our college campus out of all places.”

“Maybe it’s the college his daughter went to?”

“Right,” you nod again. You prop your laptop on your lap as you start scouring through the map of the area around the college. “I need to know where he first appears so I can stop him before he gets to campus.”

Haerin ponders for a second. “You mentioned that there was some research on nuclear fusion, right?”

“Yeah… hold on.” You zoom into a nuclear power plant just a few miles from the college. “The device must need a lot of energy to work. He probably got it from here.”

“So,” Haerin hums. “What’s the plan?”

“Don’t worry about it.”

Haerin’s voice is unimpressed over the static. “This was your plan?”

“You know me,” you quip ironically while weaving in between the blasts of energy that Jace is throwing at you. “My plan was to come up with a plan now.”

“And have you thought of one?”

“Not really!” You coolly avoid his punches and slide in between his legs. “I’ll call you back!”

When you manage to catch Jace off guard with a roundhouse kick, he stumbles and you use the opportunity to swoop into a vent to hide. You did not expect this alternate version of Jace to be so hostile. You tried to talk to him, really.

(You lower your web bit by bit as you dangle upside-down behind Jace. His back is facing you, clearly focused on wiring his device to the generator.

You tap his back. “Hey.”

He swivels around so fast he almost loses his balance, but immediately regains it and squares up. “Stay away!”

“No, no.” You plop on the floor. “I’m not here to hurt you. I know you’re trying to time travel. I’m from the future, actually.”

There’s an air of hope in Jace’s voice. “The device worked?”

“About that,” you rub your nape and flash an embarrassed smile under the mask. “I kinda had to smash it onto the ground for it to work. You were kind of trying to kill me. But no biggie, I forgive easily!”

Jace narrows his eyes. You stiffen as you feel dread trickle into your stomach. His fist jerks out and you jump back just in time, feeling the wind from the blow brush against your face.

“What the hell, man?” You pout. “I literally just forgave you.”

He doesn’t waste time and continues with a flurry of punches. “I must’ve been attacking you for a reason.”

You shake your head as you roll to the side. “Don’t say I didn’t try to be nice.”)

“Come out and face me!” Jace yells, his voice reverberating throughout the power plant. “You’re nothing but a pest.”

You silently crawl out of the vent and onto a supporting beam. Once you’re positioned right above him, you web him up, landing a nasty uppercut. You don’t have time to celebrate though, because on the way down, he grabs your ankles and pulls you down back to Earth.

“Oof!”

“This ends now.” He hisses, blood dripping from his mouth. He charges toward you, bearing a metal rod in his hand.

“Really getting into the villain role now, huh?” You joke, voice strained as you leap off the ground and kick him square in the face. “Give me some time to think of a name for you.”

You side step another one of his tackle attempts. “Oh! How about Prime Time?”

The only response you get is Jace surging forward with more punches and kicks. “You could just say you don’t like it!”

Jace doesn’t deign you with an answer. He unexpectedly throws a crate toward you, and just as you duck to avoid it, he gets his revenge with a successful blow to your chest with the metal rod.

You slam against the wall, slumping as the wind is knocked out of you.

“Like I said,” Jace says with heavy breaths, towering over you and looking down with a sneer. “This ends now.”

You can only see his silhouette because of the light shining through from the entrance to the power plant behind him, and this gives you an idea. You muster up any remaining willpower and web onto two pillars, pulling yourself toward it and using the momentum to swing kick Jace.

You both fly through the air and outside the power plant, crashing on the roof of a passing car. You wince as you feel the dent in the car. Jace rolls down to the hood of the car. Logically, the driver starts steering off course because the windshield is blocked and they’re probably freaking out at the fact that there are two injured people on their car.

Your body moves before your mind processes what’s going on—you’re webbing people out of the way of the speeding car, even though you’re still lying on your side. But the car spins out of control too fast for you to react. It ends up ramming into the front of a cafe. The impact of the crash sends you flying into the glass wall and into the cafe. You’re getting deja vu: glass is shattered and people start screaming and running away.

“Oh no,” you groan, trying to ignore the burning pain. “This will not look good in the press release.”

What’s also burning is the car that you’re pinned under—the heat from the crackling fire licking at you, so hot that you can feel it through the spandex. All you can see is the thick smoke that blankets the cafe. From the shadows emerges Jace.

“Please,” you wheeze, feeling like you’ve been hit by a train. Which actually happened once, an experience you wouldn’t recommend to anyone. “This isn’t what your daughter would’ve wanted.”

“Don’t mention her again.” He digs his boot into the car, forcing pressure on you, and you’re exerting all your muscles in your arms to hold the car up. “And some superhero you are. Look at what’s left of this place.”

You strain your neck to stare at the inside of the cafe, and the sight horrifies you. It’s a complete wreckage. Your eyes zero on blonde hair that peeks out under a table that’s been flipped over. Your blood runs cold and there’s a sharp pain in your gut, like a knife sickly twisting itself over and over again.

Jace chuckles cruelly at your silence. “What, no more snarky remarks?”

She can’t be dead. It’s all your fault—you were too busy slinging people out of the way to notice where the car was headed. How did she not get out in time?

“No,” you choke out. Your lip trembles pathetically. “Turn back time. Please.”

He follows your gaze and smirks. “See someone you know? I guess now you know how it feels.”

Any empathy you felt for him is overridden by the sheer anger that engulfs you. Your body shakes with rage. What comes out next is guttural and raw.

“I’ll kill you,” you spit. “I’ll fucking kill you.”

Jace turns around and cackles, and you wonder how everything went to hell so fast. You wonder how he changed so fast. He’s walking out of the cafe, to the college campus probably, and as much as you want to grab him and beat him until he’s blue, there’s something more important. Or rather, someone.

The adrenaline from the rage earlier is still coursing through your veins and you use your remaining strength to push the car off you. (You wanted to hurl it at him too but your arms were failing). You know exactly what you need to do. You sling a web to the device he’s holding loosely, then repeat that same swinging motion that you did the other timeline, slamming it so hard on the ground you almost feel like your arm will rip off.

Time slows again, and you find yourself in a familiar position, deep in the abyss. The world goes black.

It takes you three times before you realize you’re stuck in a time loop. You don’t know why, but you only get sent back a few hours to the nuclear power plant. You try everything, anything to keep Danielle safe. You know it’s selfish, that you should be caring about everyone else too, but you can’t stand the thought of her dying. You’ve already lost her once, back then when you left her. You can’t be the reason for the world losing her.

In the first loop, you spray the wheels of the car with webs to prevent it from crashing in the first place, but the car stopping in the middle of the road only causes another car to veer off the streets and into the cafe. In the second loop, Jace hurls a boulder mid fight and despite you redirecting it to the building next to the cafe, that building ends up collapsing… on top of the cafe. Everytime, you saving other people leads to Danielle dying in some way.

It’s the third loop. You’re at the nuclear power plant again, head in your hands, and Jace hasn’t noticed your presence yet. You want to cry. Nothing is working. Maybe this is karma for ghosting Danielle all those years ago. Being a superhero is all about sacrifices—is this the sacrifice you have to make? You thought you would be better at letting go by now.

Haerin’s voice is soft in your ear. “Have we had this conversation before?”

“Yeah,” you sigh. “This is the fourth time.”

“I’m sorry I can’t remember. And that our solutions didn’t work out.”

“Don’t apologize. You’re the only thing keeping me sane right now.” You bite your lip. “And it’s my fault anyway.”

There’s some faint rustling of paper and typing.

“Nuclear fusion,” Haerin says after a while. “Have you tried slamming the device into the generator? The sheer energy might just break the loop.”

“I might as well.” Your voice is thick with fatigue. “I have nothing else to lose.”

You don’t even bother to greet Jace this time, just immediately pulling the device toward you and slamming it onto the generator. The reaction is instantaneous—the device explodes and the generator rumbles, sparks flying. Waves of energy start pulsing out in irregular patterns. It’s so strong that you’re knocked off your feet and your back hits a railing.

You’re knocked out again. Maybe you’re setting a new world record.

Hidden under the knitted quilt, you stir, the thin web of strands barely stifling the bite of the morning cold. Someone is sweetly humming a melody that’s on the tip of your tongue. The constant hum finds its way into you, it softens your bones and eases your heart. The constant hum sings, enveloping you, lulling you back into the solace of the darkness.

This tranquility is swiftly broken by you remembering. You launch out of bed, blinking your eyes to gain a hold of your surroundings. You’re in a campervan. Nostalgia washes over you as you realize that this is the campervan Danielle’s family used to take on road trips. You wearily eye the photo frame stuck to the rustic fridge. Gleeful smiles and sand-covered faces adorn the frame, reminding you of what you left behind.

You were known as that quiet kid who had no parents. Any attention you received would consist of pitied stares and hushed whispers. You didn’t mind the loneliness—you were used to it. And your aunt took care of you and showed you love. That was enough. You didn’t think you needed any more love until Danielle moved in next door and changed your life.

She was the first to approach you, holding out a four-leaf clover with a bright smile, saying “Hi! I’m Danielle, you look like you need some good luck!”. It only took you a few months to warm up to her, not that it was hard, because she was so understanding and cheery. She never cared about what other people said at school. She cared about what you had to say, and that’s something you never thought you needed, let alone deserved, until her.

Danielle’s family is equally as sweet, and they welcomed you with open arms. Every few months, they would go on a road trip and you and Danielle would always say farewell with teary eyes and lingering hugs. Until Danielle insisted you tag along, and that’s how it became a tradition.

Lightly caressing miscellaneous decorations as you make your way outside, you take it all in. The gentle twinkle of fairy lights shyly shines through the tinted windows that are littered with stickers and magnets. This caravan was your second home. Inextricably imbued with memories with Danielle, the two of you left no inch of this van unexplored and untouched. Outside, the fresh smell of subdued smoke (bacon and eggs) wafts to you, beckoning you. Your stomach growls. You forget about the ravenous appetite of a superhero.

But you’re not a superhero right now. You’re twelve, not yet bitten, meant to be blissfully unaware of the terrors that await you as you grow up. You run outside to find Danielle. She’s preparing a plate of breakfast for you.

“Danielle!” You rush toward her and tackle her in a hug, tears subconsciously spilling onto your cheeks. She steadies herself so that the plate of food isn’t knocked over.

She gasps out your name, concern etched in her eyebrows. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” you shake your head and nuzzle her neck, sniffling like a baby. “I’m just glad you’re my best friend.”

Your voice is so high and prepubescent, which makes you burst into laughter out of nowhere. Danielle laughs with you. “I’m glad you’re mine, too.”

“Where’s your parents?”

You lean back as she tilts her head to the barbeque grill a few yards away. “Cooking up their breakfast.”

You eventually let go, quite reluctantly, and take a moment to admire her. You’re smitten. Her hair is brown, bangs slightly ruffled, and she’s sporting a toothy grin. You’re so overwhelmed with love you can’t even speak, but this is soon overshadowed by guilt. This is the girl whose heart you broke.

Nothing about you gets past Danielle, so she immediately notices your wavering.

“You okay?” She intertwines your fingers together “Let’s eat breakfast.”

‘I don’t know,” you mumble, feeling a wave of nausea hit you. “I feel a bit dizzy.”

She quickly sets down the plate of bacon and eggs, her hands instantly finding their place on your waist.

“Maybe you should get some more rest,” she pouts, gently squeezing your waist. You try to suppress the shiver that this causes.

“Yeah,” you agree without a sliver of resistance. “Come with me?”

Danielle sends you a knowing smile. “Okay.”

You both make your way back into the van, ditching breakfast. You climb into the comfort of the bed, lifting the same knitted quilt so that it hugs both of you. Your body relaxes, for the first time in a very long time, and you bask in the heat radiating off Danielle.

As your eyes involuntarily close, you can hear the faint sound of ticking. You’re unsure of what is to come, but the curl in your stomach unfolds and pardons you, allowing you to feel Danielle’s love. For just one more time.

–

There’s a brief moment where you regain a shred of consciousness at the nuclear power plant, but everything is too bright and you have to squeeze your eyes shut. You only feel another wave of energy vibrate against your skin before your vision’s black again. Definitely a world record.

Someone’s playing with your hair. Deft fingers weave through strands of your hair and twirl it, lightly pulling on it before letting go and repeating. You blink your eyes open and are met with Danielle already staring at you. She’s older than the last time-travel episode, but younger than the current her. You’re still smitten.

You’re laying in her bed, in her room, in her house. You surmise it’s probably a sleepover night. She’s wearing those glasses with a clear frame, so it must be midway through senior year. You smile to yourself as you remember that she breaks it just before graduation by sitting on it. (She forgot that she put it on her seat.)

“What are you smiling about?” Danielle pokes your nose. “Are you thinking about how that one kid fell off his chair while falling asleep in class?”

“No,” you giggle as you sit up, nostalgia pervading your chest. “But that was funny though. Thanks for reminding me.”

She’s playing with your fingers now, head tilted with that starry look in her eyes that always leaves you dumbfounded. Your smile slowly fades. You feel like a kid again, even though this was only the two of you from three years ago.

“Danielle,” you say shakily, eyes locked onto your entwined fingers. “Would you believe me if I said I’m from the future?”

She considers your question for a second. “What happens in the future?”

You swallow a lump. Where do you even start? ‘Well, I’m actually gonna ghost you in a few months and we’ll never speak again, but then we meet, well not really—it’s more like I see you, and then you die in a cafe because of me. Oh, and I’m Spider-Woman.’

“You dye your hair blonde,” you continue, voice barely above a whisper. You’re holding back tears. “And you go to college overseas to study.”

Danielle’s face shifts into something sadder, half sympathetic. “That doesn’t sound too far-fetched.”

“I’m… I’m sorry,” your voice cracks. “I do some really bad things in the future, and I’m really sorry.”

“It can’t be that bad,” Danielle tries to lift the mood. “Can’t be worse than the time when you spilled orange juice all over my biology assignment the morning it was due.”

Your rambling teeters on the line of coherence. “I push you away—and I’m such an asshole. But I had to, you have to believe me. I can’t tell you why because it hasn’t happened yet and it will probably break some rule of time-traveling, but I just want you to know that I’m so–”

“Hey,” she cradles your face like you're something delicate. Like you’re not the person who will leave her behind with no explanation. “It’s okay.”

“I miss you so much, Danielle.” It’s all you can say. “I miss you so much.”

Her thumb tenderly swipes away any tears that fall. “I’m right here.”

But she’s not.

You’re sobbing pathetically into her hand. You can’t remember the last time you cried. It must’ve been at your aunt’s funeral. Your head is pounding and even though you’re in the body of your younger self, you can still feel the phantom repercussions of fights with Jace. Danielle continues softly, “I could never hate you, no matter what. All you need to do is talk to me—the me in your world.”

“I love you,” you hiccup, lip quivering. “I never got to say it in my timeline. I hope you know that.”

“You know I do too,” Danielle smiles, bitter-sweet. “Promise me you’ll say it to the other me.”

You nod, looping your pinky finger with hers.

She seems satisfied. “You’ve been through a lot. Let’s get some rest.” She guides you back onto the pillow and onto your side, nestling behind you, arms wrapped around your waist and clasped on your stomach.

The ticking sounds again, and it slowly floods your mind as your vision fades to black.

“Please tell me it’s over,” you plead weakly as you wake up to the sight of peeling plaster on the ceiling. You force your body up, and you see an unconscious Jace collapsed against the wall. The broken device is just a fingertip away from you. This is the room you Spubered him into while distancing him from the police. You’re back.

“Thank you,” you breathe out. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

Tiko hops out of your backpack and rubs his face against yours.

“Hey, buddy,” you coo, scratching his chin. “Thanks for the help. I’ll see you around campus.”

You pick yourself up, shaking stray shards of glass off you. You web Jace against the wall, and make sure to add extra to ensure he doesn’t escape. You briefly notice the wrinkles on his face and his calloused hands.

“Some things we have to let go,” you say softly to him, even though he can’t hear you. “I need to take this to find the missing victims.”

You leave a space in your heart to mourn for Jace’s daughter, and genuinely wish the best for him. Tiko’s already run off somewhere. You take the device and stretch your limbs, preparing for the long journey home.

Actually, you have two stops before you go home. First stop is a safe place to change out of your suit and temporarily hide the device.

Second stop. You run to find Danielle. You think that this has been a long time coming, considering that you’ve been running away from her for the past three years.

You’re standing like an idiot outside the cafe, hands in your pockets, just staring at Danielle through the glass wall. She seems to feel the weight of your gaze though, because she eventually looks up and her eyes widen at the sight of you. You wave awkwardly, to which she starts packing up her things in a hurry.

You breath hitches as she says your name. It rolls off her tongue in a way that is so familiar.

“Care to join me on a walk?” You rock back and forth on your heels, avoiding eye contact with her.

Her face is passive. It scares you more than it should. But she complies without any questions. “Okay.”

It takes around twenty minutes to reach your aunt’s grave. You pat the space in front of you as a gesture for Danielle to sit down, and she does.

“Before I start,” you say. “I just wanted to say thank you for visiting my aunt. You didn’t have to.”

But she did. Because that’s what she always does—go above and beyond. You take a deep breath before releasing it. “I’m sorry.”

She nods, showing that she’s listening, but doesn’t respond.

“I… was an asshole,” you clench your jaw and close your eyes. “I said some hurtful things.”

(“Are you avoiding me?” Danielle asks, eyebrows furrowed.

It’s another morning of a school day.

“No,” you exhale deeply. You don’t spare her a glance. “I’ve just been really busy.”

“We’ve both been busy for a while,” she counters, frustration laced in her voice. “But the difference is that we still made time for each other.”

You slam your locker door shut. The spider bite thrums with pain. “Take the hint. I don’t have space for you in my life anymore.”)

“And even after I said those things, you still tried to reach out to me.”

(More unread texts from Danielle. Can we talk? I’m sorry about the other day.

Hey, I’ve been trying to give you space, but I just wanted to check in.

Why are you ignoring me?)

“There’s a reason I ghosted you. Not that I’m trying to justify it, but I just wanted to let you know it wasn’t because of you or anything.”

The other Danielle’s words flash through your mind.

“I love you,” you finally say, and it feels as though there’s this weight lifted off your chest. “I have, for a long time. And I needed to leave you because I love you. Because I was scared.”

Her eyebrows crease in thought. “Because you were scared I didn’t love you back?”

“No—well, not no! Of course I care about that. But that wasn’t my main concern.”

“How do I say this,” you scratch your head. “Oh. You gifted me a beanie the other day. Crocheted by you, red with a white pom pom.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah,” you say. “Oh.”

You fiddle with the grass that you’re sitting on. “I accepted a long time ago that anyone close to me will be in danger because of, well, who I am. And being Spider-Woman… it’s a responsibility that I have to commit to. I can’t just fall in love.”

A pause. “Who said you can’t?”

“Well,” you stutter. “It’ll put you in danger. And I have to put my Spider responsibilities first.”

She shifts closer to you. “And what if I’m okay with that?”

“You’d… you’d have to actually like me back anyway.”

Danielle punches you on the shoulder.

“Ow!” You frown. “What was that for?”

“For being an asshole.”

“Oh.”

“You should’ve just talked to me.”

“I know,” you admit. “But I just felt like I couldn’t.”

“I never stopped thinking about you all these years,” Danielle shakes her head. “I was a mess. I wanted to hate you so much, but I just couldn’t. And I hated that even more.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I know,” Danielle says, and the look in her eyes tells you that she really does mean it.

You hesitantly reach out toward her. She grabs your hand and moves it to her face. It’s your turn to cradle her, making sure that she’s really here and that this is real. Her smile is teary.

“I love you,” you breathe out. And that’s the only thing you want to say for the rest of your life. To make up for all the times that you didn’t.

“I love you, too.” Her smile is so enchanting and you want to lean in and kiss her.

But gunshots ring out nearby and there’s shouting. You turn to Danielle, distraught. She grabs your phone from your pocket and adds herself as a contact.

“Go,” she nods softly, handing you back your phone. “Call me when you’re done. I’ll tend to your wounds.”

Your eyes flit over to your aunt’s grave. You hope you’ve become a hero she can be proud of. And you thank her for everything. You slip on your mask and stuff your clothes in a backpack.

Being a superhero isn’t all that easy, but you’re glad you have people you love to lean on to relieve the burden. You leap off the ground with confidence, swinging toward the chaos.

Dedicated to user phamphamz... happy early birthday!

Title is from Autumn by Niki :]

#newjeans x reader #newjeans fanfic #newjeans fic #danielle marsh x reader #mo jihye x reader

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myrsinemezzo · 3 months ago

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Haladriel Positivity Post #3

This fandom has so many wonderful outlets and expressions for our ship from edits to fic to meta to art. And it’s the art and edits that fascinate me the most because my god how do you do it?? So much skill and time and talent goes into them. In comparison, I offer you This!!

J/k 😩 but seriously, that is the limit of my art endeavors when it comes to this fandom so today I’m rounding up links to just a few (seriously just a FEW) of the truly spectacular artists and pieces of art in this fandom. Please link your own favorites if you’d like and spread the love because there is no way I can capture how many people are putting their hearts and souls into what they do <3

I’ll start with the newest art post I’ve seen by @esvvel because holy wow. NSFW behind a cut and truly truly beautiful. Heart-wrenching in its tenderness.

Next up is a recent piece from the lovely @tindu who ripped my heart straight out of my chest with their teeth because this one is so heartbreaking

There’s something so delightful about this one by @artist-alyona-kopnina in the look they manage to capture in his eyes and the subtleties of the crown rising from his brow. Perfection!

Smooches!

This series of smooches fuels me and gives me serious heart eyes. Including this one by @dokkvi that is a quiet moment post-battle. If only!!

And this is one of the most delightful Halbrand/Galadriel ones you can have. It’s all thanks to a deactivated account by artist jesrika. (I weep that I can’t seem to find them on IG or other platforms I’m on.) If anyone knows the artist, please send them my love!

I’ll admit that it took me a while to glom onto Annatar as a facet of my blorbo where Halbrand and Lowden Sauron got me pretty much from the get-go. But this piece of art by @artesdaterramediaby-kithkerulin entrapped me with the pure joy and passion of this epic smooch. Yes please. Love it. (No clue why you have to click through on iOS)

I want to include a few solo portraits that I came across recently of both Galadriel and Annatar because they’re so lovely.

This one fills me with awe just like @samiaescorcio15 always does. Just beautiful.

Galadriel is the queen of my heart, and I have quite a soft spot for this one by @perseruna

And I can scarcely look away from this recent one featuring the piercing eyes and the beloved braid crown by @a-litt1e-emo

I haven’t even gotten into the art I know of inspired by fics but that can be its whole different post sometime soon.

Alright, we’ve moved through the different ages with different facets of the characters and I had to throw on one that captures the humor of this fandom perfectly. So, many thanks to @thegreendragoninn for this piece that made me laugh aloud in public!

Please do feel free to repost artworks you also love (with links only please unless you’re the artist themselves so they get the proper credit) or drop names in comments because we love you guys and you deserve each and every ounce of attention and praise for what you do!!

#haladriel positivity post #haladriel #saurondriel #galadriel #halbrand #annatar #haladriel art #saurondriel art #trop art #rings of power

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robobarbie · 1 year ago

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Hello hellooooooo! We recently had a banner contest in the discord server, and I wanted to show y'all the awesome entries that didn't win. They're all really cool in their own ways, so I wanted to give them each a lil moment.

(by @/jestie)

Love the focus on xyx!! He reminds me almost of what I'd think teenage him would look like. Very chill, sporty, and out with friends on a beautiful spring day. The linework in this feels really soft as well -- especially on those hat details. AND THERE'S CAT!! CAT!!!

All other submissions under the cut!

(by @/hunddenseje)

I like the details in the flowers a lot for this one. The way people draw roses and how they choose those inner patterns is always neat. And the little plants and mushrooms on his shoulders are fun!! They go well with that striped shirt pattern!!!

(by @/stintsy)

The way this artist circled the boys with that pink rosy pattern will stick in my brain for a while. It's v pretty, and it's like they opened a bush and found us in there for some reason. "Hello! Happy Spring!" Thanks boys please close it back up!!! It's my cry hour in the bush!!!!

(by @/emmascient)

This person's artstyle is so unique and full of life. The little spots of light coming through the trees just adds to whole thing, too. And I really like seeing fanart of owl with textured hair!!! Also check out xyx's fucking biceps holy fucking sh-

(by @/.mewo.)

Just a bunch of bros on their lunch break bayBEEEEEEEEEE!!! I like the detail of toast's coat tied around their waist and the fucking anti-societyboy shirt quest is wearing LMFAO. Also cat is ADORABLE in this. God. More cat art. Always need more cat art!!

(by @/c1nnadoll)

Every time nightowl is drawn in a croptop, two months is added to my life. I just know it's true. God bless that cute ass flower crown and the perfect little peace sign. Man looks so stable and happy. I hope he had a nice day after this picture!!!

(by @/fluffydeer21)

Toast and Quest look so content and cute with their flowers. And there's another neat rose with a lil interior pattern! Held, of course, by this artist's fave LI. Xyx looks pretty good with gold jewelry, I cannot lie. I have no idea why I made them green in game. LMFAO

(by @/noneivly)

I like how this feels like a painting. Like those brush strokes and even the palette choice just look like something you'd see hung on a wall? It's really cool. Also the little detail of the chibi picnic boys in the background makes me giggle. Small!!!!! So fucking small!!!

(by @/kiki_221)

The energy in this is excellent. You can almost hear them laughing together at Toast's expense (deserved I'm sure). I'd like to imagine they're all relaxing at a park after a big lunch. I hope they got to discuss all the good things that happened to them this week.

(by @/01noxxie10)

Another excellent chillin in the grass pic! Purple actually looks really good on Quest. I don't think I've ever drawn him in that color before? So this image made me think about that a LOT. Also look at fuckin chill ass xyx. Calm beautiful motherfucker. Fuck you!!! Fuck you!!!

--------------

There's two more images, but those are the discord banner winner and the one I chose for my twitter! If you want to see those excellent drawings, check out my twitter here or join the discord server here!

Thank you everyone for all the submissions! I treasure them deeply!!

#fanart #xyx #quest #nightowl #nakedtoaster

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pedge-page · 11 months ago

Note

You know how Romana recently did a fic where guarddog!Joel met puppy!reader? Would you ever do a little drabble where himbo!Joel meets plushie!reader? 🥹💖

I love Guard!Dog and PuppyReader from @romana-after-dark !!!! And I know exactly what you are talking about (because I may have been the anon who requested it 🫢.)

Here we go!

Plush-Bo: Himbo!Joel x Plushies!Reader Crossover

Warnings: im writing this at work on my phone and mentally cannot compute. There's sex. Inappropriate stuff. Language. MOMMY. Plushies. Oral. The weird ass freaky shit you expect from me.

Notes: Everything is written in 3rd person to not confuse reader!characters. plushies!Reader, Himbo!Joel/Himbo, plushies!Joel, and Mommy/Himbo Joel's reader.

18+ ONLY

- - - -

Himbo!Joel would be rutting into her like a rabbit In heat. Exactly how Plushies!Reader likes it, the horny little fucks they are.

"Mommy," he gasps, his voice wrecked. "Mommy Shes so...so s-soft--uuggghhaaaahhhh!" He buries his face into plushies!reader hair to cover his groan.

Pleasure fills his stomach, twisting in ways he's not quite used to. Having something so so so incredible sweet, cottony and pliant, from the scent of her shampoo to the silken draw of her skin. Stuffed animals toppling all over only further the stimulation. Soft,soft,soft, all of her softness tickles his brain in just the right way to have him pounding her sopping pussy deep, flush into the matress with no intuition to slow down.

"Yeah? You like soft things?" Himbo's Mommy coos, stroking his sweaty locks that are covering his beautiful eyes from all that exercise.

He hums with a shy nod. "Not as much as Mommy's pussy--!"

She laugh. "Its okay, it's okay to like other things. Especially something as soft as this." She glides her knuckles across plushies!reader skin, admiring the glow. Especially how himbo!Joel doesn't know what to do with all that softness. All delicate to the touch, when he likes to get his nails in and mark up his Mommy, unintentionally of course. He can't hold back most times. But this? Its laughable how much he just doesn't know what to do with himself except fuck like it's his only directive in life.

Plushies!Reader can barely see straight. Though her Joel is a rough fuck, he's pretty calculated about his sex. But this? Himbo is driving into her at such an incessant, sloppy, high energy rate that her vision is blurring in the back of her skill. She's unable to do anything but drool and moan into the sheets.

It's shocking when he finally howls he's gonna cum, despite plushies!reader had already done so 12 times.

"I-inside!" she squeaks from below. His hands are etched into her pretty hips with his body draped over , low hanging tummy smashed against the curve of her back.

"I-ca-cant" he huffs, managing to pull free of her sweet, dripping pussy. He grips the base of his cock harshly to edge himself. "My cum is only for Mommy." He smirks over to her. "We're gonna breed and have another baby soon."

"How adorable!" Plushies gal beams, catching her breath and hugging her stuffed badger in her arms to cool her heart rate. "Joel. When are you gonna put a baby in me?"

Plushies!Joel wipes the precum from his leaking cock on his jeans. "When ya get on that teddy and show me what a good breeding slut you can be."

Plushies!Reader guides Himbo!Joel excitedly to show off her giant Teddy Plushie. She knows a humper when she sees one. Despite the tough activity, both of them are immediately ready for more cums.

Mounting Teddy's Face with her messy cunt, Himbo!Joel straddles it's lower belly. He whimpers when he cock is suffocated by a wave of cottony fluff.

"Isn't he nice?" She hums, rolling her hips into the button nose of Teddy. She gasps, doing it again to catch her Plushies!Joel ramping up his pervertedness and jerking off to the scene before him.

Himbo!Joel nods, wide eyed and smiling below. God. Everything in this ROOM is soft and cuddly and humpable and...

Plushies!gal giggles and leans forward to kiss Himbo, and the two of them start rocking with spread legs on the shared Bear.

Himbo Joel hesitates for a moment, looking back towards his lady.

She nods encouragingly. "Go ahead! Have fun with your new toy. Mommy's pussy will be here when you need it."

He nods, tossing all worry out the window and fucking his cock against the Bear's crotch. Himbo can't help but sniff the remnants of Plushie!readers remnants pussy juices that seemed to have permanently permeated the stuffed Teddy's fluff. His balls ache: sooooooo much softness he wants to make even prettier with his seed.

Eventually the two of them fall forward in a heap of panting, griding messes. With their cheek smashed into Teddy's chest, arms wrapped desperately around it's thick body, they sloppily make our between breaths. Tightly drawn brows and sounds of endless cumming fills the walls of the Plushies room.

Mommy and Plushies!Joel sit back and watch their little horny babies have at it together.

Himbo!Joel cums, splattered and sticky between his and Teddy's Belly. He gasps when Plushie! reader leans forward with her tongue out, happily lapping at the creamy mess off Teddy's fur and then from Joel's slightly hairy tummy. He groans, covering his mouth and watching her work contently. So used to cleaning up his own mess from Mommy, he doesn't know how to react when someone else cleans his mess for him. It's OK if she's just eating his cum right? She won't get pregnant from that. Only Mommy can get pregnant from his precious cum. This is okay.

When Himbo Joel and Plushies reader are spent, they curling up against one another surrounded by her stuffies, steadily breathing in each breath and sleeping after an exhausting but fun day.

Mommy!reader quietly finishes swallowing Plushies!Joel's load from the corner of the room. He sighs heavily, closing his eyes in bliss.

"Got your dog on a pretty loose leash, huh Mommy?" He teases.

Like clockwork, the two of them switch places, with Joel on his knees in front of her spread legs. He wastes no time sucking her pearly clit, tongue darking between her folds.

"He's defensive. Probably would break your jaw right now if he saw."

Joel shrugs, kissing the inside of her thigh.

She twirls his hair between her fingers as he gets to work, staring at the bed. "She's pretty, though."

She feels him grin proudly between her pussy lips. "She is."

.While her Himbo!Joel isnt very skilled, he makes up for it in eagerness. Plushies!Joel on the other hand knows how to draw things out, speed it up, edge and push you over exactly when he desires it. She cums hard, shaking on his expert tongue.

He sucks the juices off his fingers and gestures towards the bed, where Himbo!Joel and Plushies!Reader snuggle in their warm nest.

"I wouldn't mind a play date again with them."

"I think that would be great for them."

- - - -

@harriedandharassed @lola8888673 @its-nebuleuse @zliteraturehoe @merz-8 @joeldjarin @pascalscoffin @pedroshotwifey @ghostslillady @innerpersonunknown @missladym1981 @mrsoharaxx @survivingandenduring @milla-frenchy @cockykookiee @fairytale07 @daddy-din @pedropascalsbbg @spookyxsam @somehopeatlast @millercontracting @pedrostories @mishala005 @theoraekenslover @animez96 @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @puduvallee @cassiecasluciluce @loohoop @himboelover @callsignwidow @wintersquirrel

#joel miller fan fiction #joel miller x reader #pedro pascal smut #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfiction #last of us fanfiction #joel miller smut #joel miller fic #last of us smut #the last of us fanfiction #joel miller fan fic #tlou smut #tlou fanfiction #tlou fic #last of us fic #the last of us smut #the last of us fic #plushies!Joel #himbo!Joel

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lil-tachyon · 2 years ago

Text

For the last couple weeks I've been drawing logos / designs for local-ish (mostly NJ, some PA and NY) bands as warmups in the morning. Here's what I've come up with! Massive post below the break explaining each logo + where to find each band and listen to their music.

Teenage Halloween- a staple of New Jersey basements for probably about a decade now and finally getting wider recognition in the last couple years. Pop punk / power pop with a killer horn section. First time I saw them was in New Brunswick playing with Walter Etc. and Blowout. They played a killer cover "Build Me Up Buttercup" and my wife got a black eye in the pit. Recommended tracks: "Brain Song," "666," "Clarity." Their first EP is on a separate bandcamp page btw, check it out here it's great.

Sweet Pill - They will call themselves a Philly band but in my heart they'll always be from Glassboro. Definitely one of the more recognizable names on this list. Emo revival - early stuff is more twinkly, more recent stuff is heavier. All of it's great. Recommended tracks "Nephew," "High Hopes."

Shark Club - Central Jersey's finest. I'm very biased because I actually know these dudes and they did the music for my wedding. Some of the best pop punk you'll hear and the nicest people you'll meet. Recommended tracks: "Game Theory," "Bill Murray," "Heavens to Betsy."

Rest Ashore - My favorite band for the last (oh God I'm old now) eight years. From gut-wrenching emo ballads to virtuoso math-rock instrumentals they do it all. One time I got to sing vocals on "Lucy's Theme" at a house show- thank you Erica! Recommended tracks: "Hjarta," "Chinese Opera," "Devotion," "Soyuz Sweetheart." Too many bangers to name honestly, just deep dive their discography.

Morus Alba - First band I ever went to see at a house show and still one of my absolute favorites. Their music feels like the bridge between the best pitchfork, /mu/ alt rock bands and high energy basement emo. I mean that as a compliment and I hope it comes off as one lol. I should note that since 2019 Morus Alba has morphed from a band into an experimental hip-hop project so later releases sound radically different and basically disconnected from the earlier stuff. Also my favorite release from them, Live at Isabelle's, has been scrubbed from the internet but if you'd like the files just email me. Recommended tracks: "Skyscraper," "Human Resources," "The Goodnight Waltz."

Have a Good Season - another Jersey mainstay that's still going strong. Emo revival in their earlier releases, now with more 70s power pop influences in their newer stuff. See them live, they put on a fantastic show and usually play some great covers in addition to their original music. HaGS guys if you're reading this, please put your version of "Since You've Been Gone" online, I'm begging you. Recommended tracks: "Joseph / Shel Silverstein," (you have to listen to them together for the drop, so good) , "Gum, "Gleaux / Scab." Also, frontman Nic Palermo interviewed me once.

Elephant Jake - If you see any of these bands live make it EJ, they put on such a damn good show. Electrifying indie punk from the Empire State. Recommended tracks: "F.D.C." "Sarah Moyer," "Goodness to Honest," and of course you gotta learn "Sebastien Bauer" for the singalongs.

Blind Lion - Sadly one of the greats that we lost along the way. Defunct since about 2017. I only got to see them once but it was a great performance. Alongside their own stuff they played some killer covers of "Bad Moon Rising" and "Moonage Daydream." I had trouble doing a logo design for them because I actually really like the composition, if not the "Ed Hardy-ness," of their existing logo so what you see here are two separate attempts, neither of which feels entirely satisfying to me. Frontperson Larry Flately currently plays in Nematode and also handled production of Bradley Gardens joke hiphop group The Breakfast Boiz under the moniker "DJ Ova EZ." Recommended tracks: "Brumous," "Dinner."

Fighting Seasons - A band that I sadly found out about too late (via a sticker under the bridge in my town which has since been painted over). 2010s pop punk that packs a helluva punch, especially considering that I'm pretty sure the members were high schoolers for most of the band's existence. I think some members may have gone on to form Sawce (FFO Chon, Polyphia, that type of music) but I can't remember where I read/heard that so ¯\_(ツ)_/¯. Recommended tracks: "Fighting Seasons," "Oil on Canvas"

Milkmen- Another fallen giant, officially disbanded in 2019. Like Morus Alba, they played the very first house show I attended and their few releases remain on constant rotation in my home. Used to put on a great show and were one of the bands I always thought would make it big until suddenly they weren't around anymore. Frontman Ben Thieberger contributed guitar and vocals to Covid quarantine project Kin if you're looking for a bit of an extra fix but beyond that I don't know what these guys are up to these days, sadly. Recommended tracks: "Ramus," "Johnny Dangerously," "how sieves catch breeze," "K.O.T.H."

Stand and Wave - New York (now Philly) pop punkers delivering instant dopamine hits with every track. Another great live act, see them with EJ if you can! They often play shows together. Recommended tracks: "Convos," "Mrs. Dash," "Splashton Kutcher," "Michael Collins."

My Chemical Romance - You know who they are. While I was drawing all these other logos I ran a poll on Patreon to decide which famous New Jersey band should also be graced with a drawing from me. MCR won the poll by a hefty margin so unfortunately you won't get to see me do an illegible black metal take on Hoboken's Yo La Tengo. I ended up doing two versions: the one with the halo is the first, the one with the bats was the second. I tried to do something kind of thin and elegant with the first one and I don't think it's terrible but I also wasn't quite satisfied with it. For the 2nd attempt I tried to lean into the kind of pulpy, almost horror punk aesthetic of early MCR and I think that one looks better even if it's less original.

Anyway if you took the time to read through all this, thank you very much! And please support these bands! Also If any of the links aren't working please let me know.

-Logan

#emo #pop punk #new jersey #band logo #logo design #punk #my chemical romance #mcr #emo revival

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jadelotusflower · 10 months ago

Text

Rewatch: Return to Oz (1985)

I've been on a bit of an Oz kick recently, revisiting the original Baum books and of course anticipating Wicked coming out later this year (which I'm managing expectations for to avoid disappointment).

Return to Oz was a staple (and nightmare fuel) for many a millennial childhood, at the tail end of the "dark fantasy" era popularised by The Neverending Story and The Dark Crystal, the antithesis of the Technicolour, musical world of MGM's The Wizard of Oz - a dystopian future that reflects the fracturing of Dorothy's mind and her inability to reconcile the trauma of her previous Kansas-Oz journey.

Return lives in a sort of mirror world to the 1939 film, taking elements such as the ruby slippers (for which Disney had to pay MGM a hefty fee), but returning to the original illustrations for the character designs, and drawing inspiration from Baum's novels but not explicitly adapting them. It also returns Dorothy to a child rather than Garland's quasi-teenager, which is important as I feel Baum (an advocate of women's suffrage) had a keen interest in the empowerment of girls as the heroes of their own stories.

To evoke that other turn of the century fantasy classic, Dorothy is to early modern American folklore as Alice is to English, and if The Wizard of Oz is Wonderland, Return to Oz is Through the Looking Glass. In fact Return relies heavily on the mirror motif, not only literally, in the mirror that entraps Ozma, but Ozma herself as a mirror to Dorothy. Return also takes the Kansas/Oz dichotomy from the film in reflecting people Dorothy knows in Kansas to characters of Oz (a concept not found in the books), but while in Wizard it’s Dorothy’s trio of friends that are personified in the Scarecrow, Tinman, and Cowardly Lion, in Return it is her trio of antagonists from Kansas who appear in Oz - the Dr Worley/The Nome King, Nurse Wilson/Mombi, and the Orderly/Wheeler.

Her Oz friends in Return are instead pulled from inanimate objects - Ozma gives her a pumpkin that personifies in Jack Pumpkinhead, Tik-Tok resembles the "Electrical Therapy" machine with the face, and the gump...well, I guess they forgot about that one.

But I'm getting ahead of myself.

Fairuza Balk was just 11 but has a compelling screen presence - her Dorothy is troubled and serious, befitting the overall darker tone of the film. While she would go on to embody "witchy" energy in later roles, here there's a world-weariness yet innate strength to her Dorothy.

Aunt Em helpfully tells us it's been six months since the tornado and Dorothy can't sleep. Her body may be back in Kansas, but her mind remains in Oz.

The film doesn't really pick a lane between the "it was all a dream" of the 1939 film and the "Oz is an actual place" of the books, leaving it for the viewer to decide. We are told the old house was "lost" but that can suit either interpretation, same with the OZ key being either delivered by shooting star or the key to the old house (as Em posits). Dorothy's inability to sleep is either unresolved trauma from the tornado, or longing to return to her friends in Oz and/or sensing that there is trouble in Oz.

I'm much more sympathetic to Em as an adult - she has a husband unable or unwilling to finish building the new house, Dorothy won't stop rabbiting on about nonsense rather than helping with chores, and she has to borrow money from her sister to pay for medical treatment to try and cure Dorothy's insomnia.

Justice for Aunt Em! Played with grace by three-time Oscar nominee Piper Laurie (for The Hustler, Carrie, and Children of a Lesser God respectively).

Poor Toto doesn't get to come on this adventure, but hey, he's still around, guess Mrs Gulch didn't make good on her threat to have him destroyed (or she died in the tornado, which is probably likely given the Witch's fate).

Just a guy patronizing a child that the machine intended to surge electricity through her brain is perfectly safe because it has a face.

But there is a face in the machine - Ozma, stuck in the glass.

Nicol Williamson is our villain, with a fantastic voice. Mostly known for theatre and Shakespeare, you may remember him as Merlin from that other dark fantasy classic Excalibur, or as Little John from Robin and Marian.

Jean Marsh is our witch, complete with black gown and pointed sleeves - to continue our fantasy bingo she was Queen Bavmorda in Willow (which I've actually never seen) and Rose in the original Upstairs Downstairs (which I've never seen either). She'll always be creepy Mombi to me.

We see Ozma in the glass again before she appears in Dorothy's room, ethereal barefoot child gifting her a carved pumpkin because "it's Halloween soon". Okay, whatever you have to do to get there.

On that note, the screenplay was written by Gill Dennis (who would go on to co-write Walk the Line) and Walter Murch, who also directed. Murch was film school friends with George Lucas, and they wrote THX-1138 together - Lucas has a "special thanks" credit on this film. Murch worked steadily in sound design and editing (nominated for 10 Oscars with 4 wins), but after Return was a box office failure he never directed another film, which is a real shame.

Dorothy "combs" the pumpkins hair, which I find very charming.

The growing tension of Dorothy's isolation, being strapped to the gurney, the squeaking wheels, the far-off screaming: this is a horror film for children.

My sister and I used to re-create Ozma and Dorothy's escape on our grandmother's porch all the time.

Because we’re in a mirror, the streaming river of Kansas becomes the deadly desert of Oz - water, of course, also being a mirror and common pathway/doorway between worlds.

Billina the hen also appears, because Dorothy needs an animal companion, who can now talk because she is in Oz. The question is whether Toto could also talk, as all animals can in Oz, and simply chose not to (iirc in the books he didn't because he could "make himself understood" without words or something). The chicken puppetry is really quite good, I'll always prefer puppets/animatronics over cgi.

The voice of Billina is provided by Denise Bryer, who was the "junk lady" in Labyrinth (have we got that bingo yet?).

Another reflection - the packed lunch that was taken from Dorothy at the sanitarium in Kansas is returned to her in the form of a lunch pail tree in Oz, which leans towards the reading that Oz is a projection of Dorothy's mind as a way to cope and resolve/repair the traumas of her Kansas life.

Dorothy comes across her old house that is seemingly not in Munchkinland, the broken remains of the yellow brick road nearby. How much time has passed in Oz? Since everyone was turned to stone it could be hundreds of years and we're in a Narnia situation - at least long enough for a forest to grow where there once was a munchkin town square.

Glinda is conspicuous by her absence - probably because the plot couldn't happen if she was around.

Also absent are any stone munchkins which has very dark implications - the Emerald City still has ruins and stone inhabitants, but Munchkinland has been completely obliterated.

lol, Dorothy runs to the Emerald City in literally minutes, a journey that previously took half a film.

Sleep well, kids!

If we go with the interpretation that Oz is a manifestation of Dorothy's mind (maladaptive daydreaming?), it is interesting how she projects people and objects from her real life into her fantasy life - obviously her threats in the sanitarium become the villains, but the Electric Shock machine becomes Tik-Tok, her erstwhile protector. In this, she transforms a threat into an ally, and yet much is made that he isn't, and cannot be, "alive."

Many of the elements of this film - Billina, the Wheelers, Tik-Tok, the Nome King, and the princess with a hundred heads - came from Ozma of Oz, while Ozma herself, Jack Pumpkinhead, and the witch Mombi (combined in this film with Princess Langwidere) originate in the earlier The Marvellous Land of Oz, with a different backstory.

Oh to be a wicked witch, playing a mandolin, in a gilded, mirrored palace.

I enjoy this costume! Reflective of the high structured sleeves of nurse but sharp to emphasise the danger Mombi poses, and with the same mechanical accents/coloiur scheme as the Wheelers

Those cabinets full of heads are still so creepy. The way they watch Dorothy - are they alive and aware the whole time? Horrifying.

Jack Pumpkinhead was voiced by a young Brian Henson (who also acted as puppeteer).

I always used to fast-forward the scene where Dorothy steals the key and gets chased by headless Mombi as a kid, it was just too tense.

I mean maybe this isn't scary to kids today, but it sure freaked the fuck out of me. Especially with all of those heads screaming in their cabinets.

But how exactly was zombie Mombi snoring without a head?

Interesting that the cabinet with Mombi's original head is the only one without transparent glass, but instead has a mirror. Her original head is also kept in cabinet 31, which was Dorothy's room in the sanitarium. As a kid I was always dead set that Oz was real and Dorothy really went there, but now I'm leaning more towards Oz as a manifestation, or at least a world directly influenced and constantly adapting based on Dorothy's experiences. Was she unable to sleep in Kansas because she knew Oz was in trouble, or was Oz in trouble because of her mental discord?

"If his brain's run down, how can he talk?" "It happens to people all the time Jack!" is a nice callback to "Some people without brains do an awful lot of talking don't they?"

In which we strain the metaphor.

But all these mirrors also serve a story purpose as well as a metaphorical one - the mirror world is where Mombi has trapped Ozma, so she can look on every surface and see her victory. The mirror is also a connection with the real world, and how Ozma can reach Dorothy and draw her back to Oz. Mirrors are reflections, but they are also doorways, as we see in this very scene as Ozma directs Dorothy to the right passage to get back up to the tower.

We also get another Dorothy/Ozma parallel, in which she becomes a surrogate mother to Jack in place of Ozma, his creator.

There's almost some social commentary in the Nome King's grievances: "All the previous stones in the world are made here in my underground dominions...so imagine how I feel when someone from the world above digs down and steals my treasures? All those emeralds in the Emerald City really belong to me. I was just taking back what was mine to begin with." But of course he didn't just take back the emeralds, he turned the populace to stone or into inanimate objects so that does undercut his point a bit.

Her descent visually recalls (deliberate or not) Alice's fall down the rabbit hole in Wonderland. The VFX are pretty rough though.

Dorothy points out that he has so much, implying perhaps he could share, and the Nome King retorts "that's not the point." It is the point in later books, where under Ozma's leadership the Emerald City is essentially a utopian communal living society.

She also points out that the Scarecrow didn't take the emeralds rather they were there when he was made king, but the film is uninterested in exploring the culpability around generational wealth and repatriation of cultural property.

But it's interesting how much the Oz story revolves around powerful objects and theft and/or appropriation of them. Glinda steals the Witch of the East's ruby slippers and gives them to Dorothy, who then steals the Witch of the West's broom to give to the Wizard, Mombi steals Ozma, someone stole the emeralds from the Nome King, who steals them back, Mombi steals heads, Dorothy steals the Powder of Life, etc etc

At this point the Nome King is merely a face in the stone, but when he comforts Dorothy he starts to takes a more humanoid rock form, with a hand to reach out to her.

Is his sympathy genuine or feigned? I'm going with the latter, since he manipulates her into playing the "guessing game" to try and get the Scarecrow back.

Worst production of Starlight Express ever.

When I was a kid I always wanted to try the limestone pie and hot silver drink, but now it looks super gross.

The Gump chose…poorly.

The Nome King making points again - Dorothy and co didn't ask what would happen if they got it wrong, even Tik-Tok only brings it up after the Gump has already gone in. But they press on in order of most expendable, Jack (with Billina hiding in his head) and then Tik-Tok.

As each get turned into ornaments, we see the Nome King become more and more humanised in his rock form - a nice subtle indication that his motives aren't purely spite and he gains power from turning living (or living-adjacent) things into inanimate objects, the opposite (mirror) of Dorothy's power in turning inanimate objects into living things in the journey from Kansas to Oz. If Dorothy had chosen wrong too, he says he would have become completely human - would he have been able to access the path to the human world? Was his goal to eliminate Oz, the fantasy world, in favour of the human world, much like Worley was obsessed with harnessing electricity and the "modern" world?

It's revealed that Chekhov's ruby slippers that Dorothy earlier told Dr Worley had fallen off on her way back to Kansas the first time were found by the Nome King, and their power enabled him to conquer the Emerald City.

It's unclear whether the rubies were first mined from the Nome King's caverns, but Dorothy really can't complain given the shoes were magicked off the feet of a dead woman and onto her own.

I'm actually surprised that they kept the ruby slippers in given the license fee they had to pay, since nothing really turns on their inclusion, other than the Nome King's offer to send her home with them, allowing Dorothy the choice between her own safety and the lives of her friends, of course the parallel to Worley offering the ECT to wipe her mind of Oz. I do like the callback, but it didn't need to be the ruby slippers rather than some other power the Nome King had.

Hee, the Nome King's little stone feet kicking out of his stone robe with the ruby slippers is so camp.

It is interesting through to think about the chain of events - Dorothy, eager to get back home, lets go of the ruby slippers, they fall into the Nome King's hands, he uses them to conquer Oz and install Mombi, who has imprisoned Ozma in the mirror (at some point long in the past). The fracturing of Oz influences Dorothy's mental state which drives her to Worley, where Ozma is able to contact her through the mirror world and bring her back to Oz, depose the Nome King/Mombi, and restore Ozma to her throne. It's quite neat writing.

There's an interesting green/red dichotomy - red seems to represent the witch's power, the ruby slippers that originally belonged to the Witch of the East, Mombi's ruby key, fire/red smoke being used by the Witch of the West, and even pink was the colour associated with Glinda in the 1939 film, while green represents Oz in the ornaments they turn into, the Emerald City, the Gump is green, etc. Both rubies and emeralds are present in the Nome King's costuming, perhaps indicating that the raw items did come from his dominions.

When Dorothy chooses correctly, the Nome King reverts to his claymation rock form, and the room turns red. I don't think it's explicitly green=good and red=bad (the Witch of the West had green screen after all), but both are associated with power.

I always used to fast forward this sequence as well. The Nomes coming out of the walls? *shudder*

The Nome King, felled by a classic egg poisoning.

Dorothy liberates the ruby slippers from another dead body, lol.

At the celebration in Oz, the costuming does lean heavily into either red or green - so maybe that was just standard complementary colour palette and I'm reading too much into things.

We get a nice long pan over the mirrored ceiling of the parade, just to really hit the point home.

Oh hey, the Wheelers are here too! All is forgiven I guess? Except Mombi, she gets to be paraded about in her cage by the woman whose heads she stole. Hey, at least she's able to smirk about her villainy.

Dorothy turns down queenship of Oz but wishes she "could be in both places at the same time" - the ruby slippers grant her wish and Ozma is released from the mirror.

Ozma's backstory: "Her father was king of Oz before the Wizard came. Ozma grew up as Mombi's slave, but when the Nome King promised Mombi thirty beautiful heads if she kept Ozma a secret, she enchanted her into the mirror." The first part is the much the same in the book, although there we get some interesting gender-bending stuff where Mombi transforms her into a boy name Tip and she doesn't discover her true nature until much later.

Dorothy gives Ozma the ruby slippers, combining the power of green and red (I'm just going with it now), therefore healing the kingdom of Oz from the discord first created when the Wizard arrived (in the book he was the one who gave baby Ozma to Mombi), and drawing Ozma's real world counterpart Dorothy to fix it by deposing the Wicked Witches and then the Nome King. But with Ozma returned, there is no need for Dorothy to remain in Oz, the two sides of herself are split and no longer warring inside her.

Billina however remains, to be Ozma's animal counterpart to Dorothy's Toto.

As a kid I coveted this gown, and I still kind of dig the headdress. Well, the OZ circlet anyway.

I also acted out the pulling Ozma from the mirror scene many times.

Although kind of a bitch move on Ozma's part to send Dorothy back before she could give her proper goodbyes. It's like, off you pop, thanks for freeing me but this is my kingdom now.

Dorothy wakes up beside the river (with a close up of a reflective pool of water/Dorothy's eye), and again, this could either be her actually returned by Ozma, or her simply waking from her delirium.

But the real world counterparts have met the same fate as their Oz reflections - Worley died in the fire and Wilson is carried off in a police cart.

Henry, after the shock of almost losing Dorothy, is motivated to finish building the house, and Dorothy is able to look back fondly at Oz through her reflection, but has learned to keep it a secret and not let it consume her life.

Her trauma is resolved, Oz is at peace; Dorothy and Ozma can live contentedly in parallel, with a connection between both worlds.

This is also a nice callback to the books, where Ozma would check in on Dorothy once a day through her magic mirror to see if she needed her assistance.

Maybe it's just my nostalgia goggles, but this film really holds up for me! Yes the effects are a little dated and it's on the darker side for kid's fare, but overall the story and acting is strong, there's meaty subtext around the importance - but necessary limits - of fantasy as escapism, it unequivocally centers girls/women as the heart of the story with their own agency and harnessing their own power. It's well worth the rewatch.

What do you think? Am I blinded by nostalgia? Reading way too much into a kids movie? Am I just rambling into the void here?

#jlf watches #return to oz #jlf's nostalgia rewatch #the wizard of oz #l frank baum #80's movies #dark fantasy #meta #film analysis #long post

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preheville · 1 month ago

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like 2 months ago @dis-agreeable tagged me in a tag game and i've had it in my drafts since then so! today is the day it goes live MWAH

what's the origin of your username? it's a slightly edited version of the town prehevil from fear and hunger 2 :-) because i love this gaaame. before that folkdances was in reference to this song which is a me staple

otps + ships this is a question i would have answered with great vigour back in grade 7 when i was still looking at harry potter and pjo fanart on google+... halcyon days... i will say i am an emaziska & franmaya & faraskye truther 5everrrrr but these days i've been pondering the samarinas...

fav colour i genuinely hate this question because I LOVE COLOURS. ok fine if i had to pick i'd say red and most shades of green and blue and purple and yellow and orange and and and.

song stuck in head for like a week there it was real love by big thief but now it's gravitating towards infinite waters by the blasting company... :-)

weirdest habit i'm sure i have a lot that i can't think of right now but does spending most of my mental energy imagining the world around me is some kind of fantasyland count

hobbies reading and writing and knitting and drawing and coding and various paper crafts and recently baking ..! and seasonally camping and hiking :-)

if you work, what's your profession? my horrible customer service job....... U_U, i say it's horrible but it's pretty nice because i listen to youtube and books the whole time LOL

if you could have any job what would it be? human rights lawyer! and novelist :-)

something you're good at judging books really really hard like really hard

something you hate waking up in the morning i'm sorry 😭 not in an emo way (it is that sometimes though) i just hate everything associated because i'm tired and groggy and my mood's always bad and i have to eat BREAKFAST 🤢

something you collect pens!!!!!!! i have a lot :-) i also want to collect dolls when i'm older and have my own place heehee

something you forget oh god like everything 😓 usually it's inconsequential stuff like chores i need to do though

love langauge gracing people with my swagful existence

fav movie/show (prev shoutout for the wtnv ment...!!!) i don't watch a lot of tv but for show i'll say revolutionary girl utena and for movies for now it's httyd and lake mungo and lancelot du lac and lotr ^_^ and in the mood for love and thoroughbreds and revenge of the sith and pacific rim

fav food i genuinely cannot pick. spins my wheel. butter chicken

fav animal BARN OWLS and blue whales :D!

what were you like as a child? very shy o_o; and very very bookish and very very loud !!! ^_^ i was a LOUD CHILD if i was happy i needed everyone to know about it and likewise if i was mad or sad

fav school subject i'm a loser.... english class.... and history class :-)

least fav subject gym because i was very self-conscious as a preteen/teen and math because i was bad at it :-(

best character trait i like to think i'm funny! and if not then i think i am kind most of the time ^_^

worst character trait frigid cunts will inherit the earth

if you could travel in time, who would you like to meet? this question is asking a question very easily answered by my "GIVE ME A GUN AND A TIME MACHINE AND I WILL ASSASSINATE EVERY MEMBER OF NIXON'S OFFICE" shirt. a bit less serious but j.r.r. tolkien of course as well as toni morrisson :]

& anypony who wants to can say i tagged them in this if you wanna do it tooooo :-)

#txt #sorry that that took so long.

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transgenderenkidu · 1 year ago

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ok since i posted about it last night, i might as well finally debut my comicaurora sentinel au, even if my drawings for it are. not fully realized

in this chimerae are a localized disaster event that can spring up anywhere, draining the life energy for a mile around. in response (in accordance with the rule of cool), cities built the sentinel corps, giant robots to fight off chimerae before they destroy the city.

more under the cut

kendal is one of these sentinels, a relatively recently developed mark III whose pilot is vash fairblade, captain of the sentinels. there aren't any city gods in this au, so vash is just a guy. why does he have the same name as the city? bc i didnt want to change it. anyway. after a while, kendal develops something of an active mind instead of just being a giant robot¹, mimicking vash's own mind. and then a wave of chimerae attack the city, destroying it, killing vash, and leaving kendal the only remaining sentinel. in the midst of the destruction, though, he could have sworn he saw a woman, unruffled, just... watching.

the sun is on its way down when alinua finds the corpse. or, more accurately, she finds the sentinel. the pilot is still tangled in the cockpit, sentinel curled around him like it was trying to protect him. the corpse is of course vash, and the sentinel is kendal.

alinua still has the 'chimeric plague' (here hypothesized to be the cause of chimera events), and the only reason she goes with him is that a. hes inorganic (can't be affected by the life outburst) and b. if she does cause a chimera event, hes literally a giant robot designed for the specific purpose of fighting chimerae. and besides, vash the city is destroyed. there won't be any collateral damage.

sidebar, alinua can pilot kendal. it's a team effort - now that ive watched pacific rim, i think its a little like drifting if your jaeger also could think. tbh i also think canon kendal and alinua are drift compatible, but thats another post for another time

dainix is another mech pilot, though not willingly - zuurith's sentinel corps is not Exclusively prison labor, but what does it matter if a few prisoners die of brain hemmhorages while piloting? dainix, piloting the sentinel "champion", is the longest lasting prisoner pilot they've had, and he's brutally effective. there are murmurings that he'll be released and placed in the sentinel corps as a citizen, but if he is ever released he'd fuck off in a heartbeat, so he's still in prison, sentence artificially extended for as long as he's useful.

i'm still a little uncertain as to what kind of roles erin, tess, and falst play, so if anyone's got any ideas i'd be delighted to hear them!!

#art #comic aurora #aurora comic #comicaurora #kendal aurora #vash aurora #tarren's a sentinel engineer loaned to argist by the aseran corps for their understanding of the oceans effects on sentinels #mine #aurora sentinel au #PLEAAAAASE ask questions and chat with me about this btw i wanna talk about it so bad

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adziedoodle · 9 days ago

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Hi Adzie, I've followed your art blog since ... oh God like 2014? Maybe 13. We've never spoken outside of one time i commissioned something from you in 2015 and that piece meant/still means a lot to me! I just recently logged back into my tumblr for the first time in years and I was so happy to see you're still making art. You don't have to post this but I wanted to let you know how much I love and appreciate your art and that it still brings me so much joy even 10 years later

Thank you so much for this message, anon 🥹 I’ve kept it in my inbox since April as a lil keepsake and I just really appreciate you not only sticking around for so long but also just your support with commissioning me back then !!! and especially of course, returning to tumblr! It’s nice to see you again and I’m super grateful for your love and support towards me and my art! ♡

I still can’t believe it’s been like 10 years since I first started properly drawing and posting art here 😭 I defo had a brief period of time where I rarely found the time or energy to draw, but after losing my job in July last year, and being re-inspired by Dan & Phil back when I saw them live in January… it’s been so fun to focus on drawing doodles again and to know people like you still enjoy my stuff means a lot ♡ Messages like this really fight the depression fog I get from job hunting and such and remind me about what I love doing ♡ Thank you so so much for your message!! Wishing you all the best! 🥹

#for real i think i saved this bc the day you sent it i was so sad about stuff and it just brightened my day #i really am very grateful #answered #anonymous #lovelyanon #fav

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zelphin124 · 3 months ago

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Beyond the Bound Pages: Homer

Chapter 6: So You Smell?

I was going to change her name, but this interaction implanted in my head as canon, so here we are. We finally get to meet Odysseus crew, wooooo~ Masterpost Chapter 5 <--> Chapter 7

Chilling whispers spun upon the air as it tickled Saga's neck, provoking a shiver she couldn't suppress. It was a strange experience—her fresh-cut short hair gave no quarter against the biting cold, something with which she had yet to adapt. Her teeth set hard, her hand falling away with reluctance from the shattered points of her cut. All the decisions over recent days appeared to be war, every one laden with the magnitude of things yet to unfold.

Her fingers briefly lingered on the leather grip of her xiphos before securing it at her belt. The blade's weight was comforting, a cord to purpose in this strange place. Around her, the improvised campsite spoke of its need—scattered coals, the acrid scent of burned wood blending with the saltiness of the sea air, and the damp scratch of the chalyms she pulled from the ground.

Inside the tent, she found the book, its weathered cover a sensory recollection of her previous life. This has to guide me, surely. Holding it fast under her chalyms, Saga's gaze landed on the bow beside the corner. Having tested its draw power ahead of time, she'd deemed it less than perfect, but with practice, it would serve. The quiver on her shoulder felt strange—another hindrance that she hoped would bring its payoff.

Her mind was snagged on the shield she'd had to leave behind, its heaviness measuring cost against feasibility. Without it, she was vulnerable, but she knew her limits. The pieces of bronze armor she'd retrieved spoke in the same language of compromise. The abbreviated chest plate and guards slowed her down; every step was slower and more laborious than the last. But, she reasoned, they were better than bare exposure. This was war, not some getaway gang task in the backstreets of Italy. Her fingers brushed against the curved brim of a bronze helmet, its elaborate embossing tempting her with beauty. Saga growled, muttering, "Not a chance," and threw it away. She had her pride.

The sea's siren call grew stronger, calling to her westward. Her boots crunched gravel and sand, each step measured, each breath more strained in the growing cold. The wave slap was more even now, a rhythm that fell in line with her growing determination. Questions flew through her brain, filling up her mind with unwanted visitors. Was this the right ocean? Could she ever navigate these waters? But the moment her eyes fell on the strip of coastline where a vessel had once been, her dreads receded. The answers she sought seemed to reveal themselves in the absence of that vessel, the loss of which was a whispered path she had to follow.

She didn't need to follow when her eyes found him—a lone man standing at the water's edge, his back to her, commanding attention easily. His chestnut hair curled and blew in the rough wind, every lock catching the sunlight like burnished bronze. It framed shoulders wide and unyielding, chiseled with strength that appeared to transcend the boundaries of mortality.

At the very first look, he was a tall and dramatic figure—a man who overshadowed the men who had bled and perished before him. There was a ferocious strength to his shape, the way his furled chest swelled with each deep breath, the slow tremble of his arms as he stood rigid. His legs, planted far into the sand, stood firm under the body of a warrior who carried not just weapons but the weight of fate itself.

Unlike the limp bodies of the dead army, he possessed an energy that set him apart from any Greek soldier Saga had ever encountered. His body told a story for itself—one of victories claimed, gods defied, and a legacy that breathed fear into the hearts of his foes before they even ventured to cross paths with him. His armor was much nicer than the rest, in better quality and shape, signifying his importance. It shone as if it was made by Hephaestus himself.

Saga's boots betrayed her advance, the sand grinding against them loud enough to be picked up by the wind. The warrior shifted, tilting his head in a manner that caused him to appear as though he'd heard her hours before the noise reached him. When he moved, his gaze landed on her like a physical impact—a cross of seriousness and savagery that caught her off-beat.

His golden-sun-lit face was as if hewn from marble but animated with life. Forceful eyebrows framed eyes that had the weight of countless wars etched in their invisible lines below the surface. His lips, finely chiseled but taut, possessed a secret control, as if once words poured from them like fire but now smoldered silently.

His complexion was as white as a dawn that had been kissed by the sun, but it had a strength that was at odds with vulnerability. There was joy there too—a quasi-incongruous glow in his face, the smile of a man who had experienced greatness and had endured it well. But it was fleeting, overcast by a shadow that descended on his face like a cloud. Anger, hot and unyielding, serpentine with animosity coiled beneath the surface—a betrayal so intimate it left an unhealed rift in his heart.

Saga could not but be awed and afraid of his presence. He was no man; he was a living legend, and to stand before him was to stand at the edge of a storm. Saga recognized at once who he was. She didn't need an introduction after the books that she had read. So he hasn't left the waterside after talking with his mother… The book presented you as marvelous, but they clearly have fallen short of your might. "Captain Achilles," Saga began, clearing her throat before she bowed to him in deference. "I—"

"Go, soldier." The warrior stood with his back turned, rage burning in his heart as he looked out across the sea. "My heart is darkened and my patience is worn. I have no desire for words nor for the company of wandering spirits."

Saga paused before standing up straight again. Despite the logical speeches she'd read and seen, his tone caught her off guard by how casually he spoke. She scratched at her neck. At least this disguise works. How do I…? "Excuse me for going on, captain. I am confused—perplexed, so to speak. I cannot locate where my commander has left nor where his camp is."

Achilles’ gaze bore into her, sharp and probing as if peeling back layers of her very soul. He took deliberate steps toward her. “Which god claims your loyalty, soldier?” he asked again, his voice was low and unwavering. His fingers shifted subtly on the hilt of his great iron sword, a gesture both deliberate and threatening, as though daring her to give the wrong answer.

Saga hesitated, the weight of his question settling on her like a boulder against her breasts. She could not afford to make a mistake here—not with him. Her eyes flashed to the sand beneath her feet, and her mind wrestled to remember Hermes' domains. What was he the god of? Guiding the dead? Is it even wise to claim him as someone I serve? "Hermes," she stated, her voice steady but soft. "God of… guiding the deceased to the underworld." It was a guess, but the only one she could make.

Achilles tilted his head, his mask of a face, though the storm in his eyes grew darker. "A convenient decision," he said, his voice dripping with skepticism. "Travelers carry news—and secrets. Tell me, are you with the kings of Troy?"

Saga's breath caught; her fists clenched on either side of her. Her heart pounded, and she shook her head anxiously. "No, Captain Achilles," she answered quickly, trying to cover the tension with a cloak of determination. "I owe allegiance elsewhere. I am simply seeking to find my commander's camp." Her words were a balance of truth and falsity, but she felt the force of his gaze. Please believe me, I don’t wish you any harm; I just need directions.

He regarded her silently, his fingers clenching infinitesimally tighter on the sword. There was no misunderstanding the tension in his posture, the clench of his jaw as though wrestling with words unsaid. She had read about his rage and his pride; she knew of his strength and his authority, but the man before her was more nuanced than anything put to paper could express. He exuded danger, yes, but beneath the cold metal of his attitude was something else—a spark of curiosity, of warmth, buried deep. A moment of silence was shared as she gazed at the legend.

"Your armor," Achilles finally spoke, nodding slightly toward her worn-out protection. "Not one of the servants of Odysseus would wear. He is cunning, indeed, but his soldiers are not so… tattered."

Saga straightened her spine, heat rising to her cheeks. She opened her mouth to respond, but he continued, stepping closer, his imposing frame blocking out the sea’s horizon. “You’re not like them,” he said quietly, his voice dipping into something softer. “Or is it merely a disguise?” His lips curved faintly, not quite a smile but something just as unsettling. “I’ve seen enough betrayal to know it often wears an innocent face.”

The term betrayal created a new spark in his eyes—anger that boiled in them like a seething fire that could not be extinguished. Saga swallowed. "I don't wish to lie to you," she spoke hesitantly, tilting her chin up so that their eyes could meet. "I am lost, as I've told you. I am seeking Odysseus' camp. That's all."

Achilles stood gazing at her for another moment, his face impassive. Then, with a faintly perceptible sigh, he turned back to the sea. "Be swift in finding your commander," he said, his voice cold once more. "And pray your path does not cross mine again." He raised his hand and pointed toward the enclosed camp toward the left before turning away from her once more.

Saga couldn’t deem Achilles as a cold figure who disliked her; there was enough interaction to deem otherwise. However, remembering the recent matter at hand, the soldier seemed to have not taken lightly that his favorite plaything was stripped from him. It made her blood boil at the thought, but there was nothing she could do. It would be one thing to ask him to guide her and another to ask him to fight again. She couldn’t, she reasoned. She did not know the man well enough to try and tell him to lift his sword for the victory of his comrades. As far as she knew, he just asked the gods to make the Greeks lose the war. She chose the smart action, bowed, and left him, reasoning that there would be another time to converse with him when he was in a calmer state of mind.

Arriving at the camp was a far more disorienting experience than Saga had imagined. It teemed with movement, noise, and raw power. Men's groans pierced the circle of metal on metal, a din of battle preparation. Soldiers sharpened blades, the rhythm of metal on stone merging into the far-off chorus of voices yelling commands.

The cries of the animals pierced through the din, shrill and persistent—a murmured shout of goats and oxen bound near the tents, to be slain or consumed. The fire roared fiercely on pyre torches, their dancing flames casting lurid shadows across the expanses of piled-up canvas tents. The smell of smoke and perspiration and cooked meat clung heavy and close, blended with the earthy odor of trampled ground under the innumerable feet that paced and waited.

Saga walked among them, her footsteps deliberate and cautious. Is this… state they are in normal? Do men live like this in all wars? It’s disgusting. She wrinkled her nose at the horrible smells and interesting sights. The air seemed to get hotter and thicker as she did so. She couldn't help but feel she was intruding; she was, but the warriors barely registered her presence. Their focus was consumed by tasks—some lounging outside their tents with nut bowls and fruit, enjoying fleeting moments of peaceful relaxation, while others sprinted back and forth between racks of weapons, shouting orders as if the foe already stood on their threshold.

There was a rhythm to the anarchy, a warped harmony amid the chaos. Shields were stacked in tidy piles, spears stood upright like a thorny forest, and provision carts creaked under the weight. Saga noticed smaller groups of men playing dice games, laughter cutting through the tension like a soothing balm to raw nerves. At least they still find ways to enjoy themselves, I suppose.

The camp was a sprawling spiral, with the outer edges lined by small, worn tents that appeared hastily pitched. As Saga moved inward, the tents grew larger and sturdier, leading toward a grand tent at the center, reserved for captains of the various kingdoms. Around this hub, the soldiers were grouped by their commanders, their sections marked by distinct armor styles, weaponry, and traces of unique cultures. It was a surprise Saga could get across the outer ditch so easily without being questioned, but assuming the best, the Greek clothes she stole were helping her stay unnoticed.

While this outward display of preparedness, she felt the tension beneath. Speech was muttered when not yelled, and glances were cast out toward the horizon, where Troy's city lay hidden behind the ridges. Saga swallowed thickly, folding her chalyms tighter around her. Every step through the camp made her more sensitive—sensitive to danger, to being seen, to wanting to remain invisible.

As Saga progressed deeper into the camp, its magnitude overwhelmed her. The dense spiral of tents and movement was difficult to distinguish from where she had to proceed next. She chewed her lip, peering between groups of soldiers, some marching briskly, others in subdued chat. She stepped aside for a couple of tall warriors to pass by, their laughter accompanying them, but her attempt to be unobtrusive accidentally placed her in the path of another man.

The soldier carrying wooden crates suddenly shifted, his footing wavering before he had it stabilized. "Woah, watch where you're going, lad!" He laughed, chuckling softly. "Could've knocked me over with that one."

Saga’s heart lurched in embarrassment. She raised her hand in a hurried gesture of apology, her voice fumbling as she spoke. “Sorry! I’m awfully lost…”

The man turned to face her, revealing a cheerful disposition rare among the hardened warriors she had seen. His curly brown hair fell in spirals across his forehead, brushing against a reddish-pink band tied snugly around his head. His tunic was plain, its fabric slightly frayed but immaculate, draped over his chest and down his legs and baring his shoulders. Plain as his attire was, there was a real warmth emanating from him that tightened Saga's nerves at once. Her mind reeled as she tried to assess whether he would see beyond her disguise, but his warm smile showed no sign of mistrust.

"Lost, are you?" The man said, setting the boxes down effortlessly. His tone was easygoing, but there was something in what he was saying that seemed to be asking for conversation. "What are you looking for?"

Saga hesitated for a moment, his gaze drinking in the smiling face of the man and his aura of tension-scented camp. He didn't bear the set faces of warriors gearing up for combat, and for a moment she couldn't help but wonder if this was a person she could trust. But she kept quiet, dreading speaking too much. "I seek…" she began, her eyes darting towards the center tent of the camp. She stiffened slightly, attempting to keep her voice even. "My commander's camp. I don't know where to go."

The man rested his head, his eyes furrowing slightly as if considering her words. "Your commander, eh?" he mused, stroking his chin with his finger. "Not a very good soldier if you can't even locate your own camp, are you?" He laughed, the jab softened by his friendly tone.

Saga bit the inside of her cheek, unsure whether to laugh or feel defensive. “I’ve only just arrived,” she replied quickly, trying to sound convincing. “I’ve been disoriented, and I’m very tired...” Her pulse quickened, her nerves buzzing as she waited for the man—a soldier with a rare smile—to respond.

“You’re carrying your armor around; of course, you’d be tired,” he replied effortlessly, his smile remaining as steady as his footing. His eyes scanned her from head to toe, not in judgment but with a curious glint. Then, with an easy grace, he placed a hand on his chest and bowed slightly, the gesture was respectful but lighthearted. “Perhaps I can guide you. Just be sure to remember the way next time. What’s your name, soldier?”

Saga opened her mouth but stumbled. “Od—” she started, only to falter as she realized he meant her name, not her captain’s. Panic flared in her chest. I can’t say Odysseus, but what do I even call myself? It’s too late to go back now… Her thoughts raced before she blurted, “…ious. Odious. That is my name.”

The soldier’s grin widened, his brown eyes gleaming with amusement. “Odious, like the odor. So you smell?” His voice dipped into a teasing lilt, the words accompanied by a chuckle that bubbled up freely.

Saga’s face flushed red, her embarrassment was immediate and tangible. “What? No! I don’t smell—” she spluttered, the indignation in her voice matching the crimson creeping across her cheeks. She crossed her arms defensively, unsure whether to argue or shrink away from his infectious humor.

Polites shook his head slightly, his laughter softening but still lingering in the air like a melody. “Relax, lad. I’m only jesting. You newcomers are always wound tighter than a bowstring.” He gestured toward her armor and gear before hoisting the wooden boxes back into his arms with practiced ease. The effort seemed second nature; his movements were fluid and unbothered. “Come, tell me where you need to be—I promise I won’t get you lost.” His words carried an unexpected warmth, a rarity amid the tense preparations for war. “Who is your captain?”

Saga hesitated before following him, her steps small and unsure as she scratched her neck nervously. The camp seemed even more alive now that she was walking alongside him. Men shouted orders to one another, carts creaked as they rolled over uneven ground, and fires burned steadily in raised pits, their smoke curling into the air. Saga kept her eyes low, careful not to draw unwanted attention. “I’m looking for Captain Odysseus,” she finally admitted, her voice soft, as though the name itself might betray her.

“That’s my captain.” The soldier replied without hesitation, his smile widening into something impossibly bright. He paused for a moment, recollecting his thoughts. “But… I haven’t seen you around before. Surely I should’ve spotted a strawberry head like yours sometime during the nine years we’ve been fighting Troy.”

Saga’s breath hitched, heat rising to her cheeks. I… need to come up with a story on how I got here. She adjusted her chalyms instinctively, the fabric settling closer to her scalp. “I… am new,” she stammered, searching for a believable answer as her pulse quickened. “I was recently sent from… uhm…”

He glanced at her; the boxes balanced easily against his chest as he walked with a tune under his breath, a cheerful counterpoint to the tension hanging in the air. “I didn’t realize Ithaca was sending reinforcements,” he said, his tone light, though curiosity flickered behind his words. “Where’s the rest of your crew?”

Saga froze inwardly, her mind racing for an explanation. What do I even say to that? Her grip tightened on her belt as she forced herself to respond, her voice quieter than she intended. “…I was the only survivor.”

The soldier slowed for just a moment, his expression softening as he turned his head slightly toward her. “I’m sorry to hear that,” he said sincerely, his cheerful tone fading into something more somber. Though brief, his compassion hung in the space between them, and Saga struggled to maintain her composure, her disguise feeling more fragile with each passing second.

The silence between them lingered as they continued down the crowded camp, the soldier noises all around them filling the air. Saga gazed at the ground, her boots scraping against the dirt with each step. The man didn't mind the quiet; his boxes hung just so in his arms as he whistled a soft tune to himself, one Saga couldn't place but that seemed strangely reassuring.

She could sense the weight of the conversation hanging awkwardly between them. I have to do something—anything, she thought frantically, giving the soldier a sidelong glance. "I didn't catch your name, soldier," she spoke out quickly, her voice a little higher than she would have liked.

He turned his attention away, his smile lighting up his face again as if he was relieved by the change of topic. "Oh! Polites," he said with a warm smile, his voice friendly and inviting. His smile grew wider, with a catching energy that Saga found reassuringly familiar. It was clear he had no intention of going back to the serious subject they'd dropped.

"Ah, Polites," Saga said, practicing the name on her lips as her gaze flashed toward the cluster of tents before her. "Thanks for your help. The camp appears… bigger than I expected."

Polites smiled wryly, his steps unhurried as he navigated the maze of tents with practiced ease. "You get used to it after a while. Once you know where all the things are, it's just another labyrinth you're accustomed to." He adjusted one of the boxes in his arms, shifting its weight effortlessly, and nodded toward the path ahead. “We are almost there. The captain should be returning on his ship soon. He had to go return a maiden to her father to regain Apollo’s favor.”

“So I’ve heard,” Saga muttered, the grimace on her face betraying the frustration she barely managed to conceal. The story of the maiden weighed heavily on her mind, but she forced herself to suppress her thoughts. This wasn’t the time to dwell on the injustice of it all.

They fell into silence, the din of the camp filling the gap between their words. Saga followed Polites as he weaved through the narrow paths, deftly dodging oncoming soldiers and stepping over the occasional slumbering form sprawled on the ground. The smell of sweat, smoke, and the faint tang of sea air lingered in the heat, the sun above them relentless and unforgiving. Saga could feel its rays pressing against her back, her skin prickling beneath the stifling layers of her chalyms.

Her exhaustion began to claw at her resolve, each step heavier than the last. The lack of sleep from the past days finally began to take its toll, her vision blurring slightly as she rubbed her eyes to stay alert. Polites glanced back over his shoulder, his grin undeterred by the sweltering sun. “They sent you with the wrong armor, too,” he teased, his voice tinged with the same lightheartedness that seemed to follow him everywhere. “We’ll get you suited up properly. Can’t have you looking like a stray out here.”

Saga jogged forward to catch up, her cheeks warm with a mix of embarrassment and gratitude. I would hope there’s better armor than this… I can barely hold all of this up. “Here, let me help,” she offered, reaching out to take one of the smaller boxes from Polites’ load.

He arched a brow before handing it over with a shrug. The weight of it nearly pulled her arms downward, much heavier than she had anticipated. It toppled into her hands and fell to the ground, scraping her arms. Saga stumbled slightly but regained her footing, picking up the box quickly with a grunt of effort.

She earned a chuckle from Polites. “Careful there,” he said, his grin widening. “You don’t want to topple over again.”

Saga clenched her jaw and hoisted the box higher, determined not to show weakness despite the ache already building in her arms. “I’m fine,” she muttered, her voice firm despite the strain.

Polites emerged with his mouth agape, as though to speak, but paused, cocking his head that fraction and squinting forward, as though checking their destination. His pace slowed for a moment, and his eyes were elsewhere for a moment. In a few minutes of making his way through the tent labyrinth, his face brightened, and he dropped the box he had been carrying with a practiced thud. Taking no pause, he moved to Saga, his smile spreading as he gently pulled the small box from her stiff arms. He hefted it easily, as if its weight was that of a loaf of bread, and set it atop his own in a tidy stack.

"Eurylochus!" Polites shouted, his voice resonating with a boyish and warm enthusiasm that traveled through the busy camp. "We received a new arrival from Ithaca!" His smile broadened as he pointed toward Saga, his excitement sufficient to catch the eye of a couple of soldiers nearby.

Saga stood up a bit taller, her breathing quickening with the scrutiny. She cinched the straps on her armor tighter and tried to steady her panicky breathing, her exhaustion creeping at the corners of her vision. Though Polites' amiability was reassuring, her senses prickled at the thought that she might be unwelcome. She shifted her weight from foot to foot and looked off in the direction in which Polites was pointing.

The sound of creaking wood accompanied the gentle sway of the recently hoisted boat as a man stepped into view atop its deck. His skin, dark as the rich earth, stood out in stark contrast to the pale complexions of the soldiers surrounding the camp, their gazes instinctively drawn to him. He carried himself with a calm authority, his presence cutting through the din of the camp with a weight that demanded attention.

His square jawline lent his face an unyielding strength, as though it had been carved from stone, a testament to the resilience he exuded. Broad shoulders framed his powerful build—muscles that rippled beneath the loose folds of his tunic with every deliberate movement. His chest and arms spoke of a lifetime forged through war and hardship, each line and sinew a reflection of his capability.

His eyes, at first appearing black from the reflection of the midday sun on the water, gleamed as he turned his attention toward Saga and Polites. Something was piercing in his gaze—an unreadable mix of quiet wisdom and hard-earned wariness that only deepened the air of command he carried. A breeze caught the edges of his tunic, and the faint scent of the sea seemed to linger around him, as though he carried the very essence of the ocean wherever he went.

Saga cleared her throat, adjusting her attire. Huh. I wasn’t sure where… uhm… darker people stood in this day and age. Glad to see he is an equal.

Eurylochus gripped one of the boat’s sturdy ropes with ease, the muscles in his arms flexing as he slid down with practiced precision. He landed on the shore in a fluid motion, his boots kicking up a faint cloud of sand before he broke into a steady jog toward Polites. Each step carried an air of effortless power, his presence demanding attention without the need for words.

As he approached, his sharp gaze drifted to Saga, who instinctively straightened her posture and bowed low, her movements stiff yet respectful. Eurylochus’ eyes lingered for a moment before flicking past her toward the empty horizon behind. His brow furrowed, and a frown darkened his features. “Just one?” he asked, his voice steady but edged with incredulity. “What’s one soldier going to do in terms of assistance?”

Polites, unfazed, flattened his face but kept his tone calm. “He was the only survivor of the storms on the way here,” he replied simply, his words carrying the weight of both explanation and defense.

Eurylochus exhaled through his nose, his lips pressing together in a thoughtful line that made his broad features seem smaller for a moment. Finally, he turned toward Saga, bowing slightly with a gesture that was both formal and genuine. “My apologies, soldier. What is your name? We are happy to have you, regardless of the circumstances.”

Polites’ expression shifted, a snicker slipping through as he chimed in before Saga could answer. “It’s Odious.”

Eurylochus straightened, his frown melting into something far more mischievous. A grin tugged at the corners of his mouth, and the air seemed lighter as he smirked at Saga. “Odious?” he echoed, his tone laced with amusement. “Quite a name for a soldier.” His eyes held hers for a moment longer, the teasing expression paired with a flicker of curiosity that Saga couldn’t quite decipher. “Come, Smelly, let’s get you out of the heavy equipment and into something more practical.”

Saga felt her cheeks flush, the weight of their gazes making her acutely aware of the lie she had spun. But she kept her stance firm, nodding curtly as she fought to maintain composure. “Yes,” she replied, her voice steady despite the heat rising to her face. “Let’s… do so.” She lowered her head as she followed the man, Polites bounding quickly behind her. Ugh… I’m going to regret choosing this name, aren’t I?

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