#its still way more avatar then the movie is

[iseeweirdthings]

Thoughts and Notes on Netflix's 2024 Live Action Avatar the Last Airbender (spoilers!)

Good:

The Casting overall I think is good, I have some problems with characterization but overall everybody looks the part -azula.

The Effects good all the way through actually

Some of the Added Scenes, such where Zuko gets his platoon from

The Score, it's the same score

Bad:

Incredibly Show and Tell, like illude to something, foreshadow something, don't just show me it and explain it right away, not every plot thread has to be on screen.

Pacing, condensing 20 24 minute episodes into 8 one hour long episodes really hurts character moments and overall story progression.

The War!!! 70% of the dialogue is about THE WAR. That's not really what the original story is about, so much focus is about the war and you lose so much of the necessary innocence of the characters

The Live Action why do we doing this.

Nobody seems like friends when the camera is on, the chemistry isn't working sadly, I think it has to do with Dialogue and Pacing of Dialogue, they need to actually talk to each other rather taking turns performing one liners and monologues. There's too much space in between lines.

Every character is playing their trauma as if it's their first card in the deck, and pouring it out to everyone immediately, it's lazy, and unemotional when it should be.

I feel like I just watched 8 episodes of this show and followed this group but I don't know any of them, we're not given time to spend with them.

Character Notes

Avatar (the war) Aang, this isn't a child, he is played by a child but sadly he isn't allowed to be one. He's too weighed down by his trauma and responsibilities that he isn't given the space to have fun, and he does have a nice smile and he does look like Aang but they're playing him as a fucking rock. A Rock who can fly???

Also all the past Avatars give him such shitty advice which he always disagrees with and then when he leaves the spirit world he's like "they're absolutely right!" stand up for your own beliefs baby!

He gets so boiled down to being a hero and having to save everybody that he loses his own essence and appeal.

Katara (the prodigy) It just doesn't feel like the same character, she doesn't feel motherly, she doesn't feel angry, she isn't shown to be hard working, idk she's just there, so much of her original struggle was learning but through some nice words from Aang and Jet she's already a master before she gets to the North Pole.

Sokka (😐 this is the face he's making) I think he just needs to be more expressive and charismatic, I want to like him but he's just too stiff. Get that man high before filming or something idk. Should've been more sexist. it's a plot point.

Appa and Momo aren't characters, they're just there but not even there.

Zuko!! he's cute! I think he might be my favourite casting. He's frustrated and whiney and annoying in all the right ways. He's by far the most rounded character so far and that's helped by more screentime from not only him but Ozai and Azula. But! that's at the cost of their own mystique and characterisation.

He's also not funny enough, like original Zuko's dialogue is 90% "My Honour!!!!" and new Zuko at least to my knowledge doesn't say it one time. Like they're both hyper-fixated on the same task but one is just naturally funnier. idk maybe that's an easier thing to pull off in animation.

And like most people I think adding the platoon he thinks shouldn't be sacrificed as his crew is a good decision, I just wish he made it himself, rather than Ozai gifting/pawning them off to him. would've made it just all that better in my opinion.

Iroh! loved you at first! great casting, but you're allergic to smiling, I get it this first season we're really playing into the RIP Lu Ten but like Zuko is right here and you need to spend time spending time with this kid, show him that war ain't all that. there's joy and love in this world man, and so many amazing wonders. be happy just to live in a world like that. be happy man please. you're too old to not know how to grieve.

I think Azula's casting has yet to prove itself. The young girl playing her just seems like a really nice person, who doesn't at all look crazy enough.

They're also fucking her character, where is her self confidence? where is her unwavering faith in herself? Why is Ozai doubting her?? She's the mother fucking queen? why isn't she acting like it??? She just isn't giving crazy bitch.

Ozai, fine, but why are we seeing ur face??? sit in the chair!!!!

I think overall i want to give this show the benefit of the doubt, you're not doing a terrible job. Just give us more character moments and relaxation, it's not all about the war. it's about kids and growing and friendship and shit. also like write faster dialogue you can get more lines in like always. Especially for Sokka! he's the filler to any dead air. In 50 minute episodes there shouldn't be this much silence.

I'll keep watching, for season 2 I just hope that even as the show gets more serious, they can still create the beautiful moments of quiet and calm and fun. The show needs more fun, and the kids should have more too.

[sylwanin-was-right]

Not at all suprised. Not financially supporting any official media franchise from this point. Terrible look, terrible marketing descision.

[bl00dh0rs3]

.

[mayhemories]

Hi could you possibly write Neteyam x reader?

- Reader is best friends with Kiri and has feelings for Neteyam

- Reader sees herself as ugly, undesirable and believes Neteyam sees her as a little sister

- Yet Neteyam loves her and respects her

- Sexual tension between Neteyam and reader. linger hands and sneaking glances

- Kiri notices and secretly sets them up one night

Best Friend's Brother

Oh Jesus Christ I loved writing every moment of this, but I kinda strayed away from your last point in the request, I'm sorry! I still hope it satisfies <3

Pairing: Neteyam Sully x Reader (James Cameron’s Avatar) 

Requested: Yes | No

Warnings: Just fluff, some lowkey spice. No minors, get outta here! Reader is insecure and self-conscious, Neteyam puts a stop to that rather quickly. 

Words: 3.7k

Author’s Notes: 

Neteyam is 19, reader is 18 but only a few months older than Kiri. Lo’ak and Kiri are roughly 17, moving on to 18. Lil Tuk girl queen is the same age as the movie because I will protect her childhood. How old even is she? 8? Maybe im a fake fan. 

Please note that the reader utilises she/her pronouns. If you’d prefer male or gender-neutral pronouns in fic I’m more than happy to repost a male or gn version of the story, otherwise include any pronoun preferences in the request box!

Read below the cut:

High Camp provided so much warmth, love and safety for its people. You were not old enough to remember Hometree or the destruction of it. But you could not imagine living anywhere else but in the densely protected cave systems of the Hallelujah Mountains. 

Everyone knows everyone, all the kids play together, live together, laugh together. The community that Olo'eyktan Jake Sully, and his mate, Neytiri had fostered here was against all odds. 

Your mother was one of the most talented hunters in the clan, this love of hunting easily transferred to warmongering, alongside the leadership (or maybe the leashing of your mother’s bloodlust) from Neytiri and Toruk Macto. Neytiri and your mother grew up together, so closely. Neytiri never forgets her friends and knows every name and face of the clan. You couldn’t help but admire her for this. Your father, on the other hand, was an irreplaceable healer and herbalist. He worked alongside T’sahik Mo’at, training younger Na’vi who showed promise in interpreting the ways of Eywa’s medicinal signs. With your family’s connection to the Sully’s, it was impossible to avoid them, even if you wanted to. 

You grew up with the Sully kids, being a year younger than Neteyam, their eldest, and only a few months older than Kiri and Lo’ak, the four of you would always be playing. Running through the majestic forests of Pandora, swimming through creeks, lakes and rivers, kissing the dirt as you rolled down hills into meadows of wildflowers. The older you got the closer you got to Kiri. The sister you’ll never have. 

You loved your parents, you did, but they made it clear that one child was enough for them. Your father loved the Sully’s as you did, he thought with his entire heart that Jake was the best for the clan. He was Toruk Macto, after all. Your mother, however, made things harder. She loved Neytiri like a sister, and always wished for her happiness. 

“I remember when Jake was like a baby, you know.” She would say at mealtimes, your father would have a small smile. You could do nothing but roll her eyes. “He was trouble maker, still is.” She was grumpy. You knew that she trusted Jake and saw him as a good Olo’eyktan, but the disdain grew from your friendship with his kids. 

“His boys are the same, no different.” She would always say the same thing, with the same pointed look. 

You and Kiri had just finished your rituals of womanhood the week prior. For the both of you finding a mate was expected. For Kiri, nothing was ever expected in terms of mateship. In fact it was almost the opposite.

“You never have to do something you don’t wanna do, Babygirl” Jake said, smoothing down Kiri’s wild hair. The two of you sat in the middle of the floor in the Sully’s tented home. Braiding beads into your songchords to commemorate the recent transition from child to adult. 

“What about you, (y/n)?” Neytiri asked, watching the two young girls weave their cords, reminiscing on her own bead.  

You sighed, knowing your parents had been pushing the topic for a while:

“What about Tsu-wey? Or, Marek or Teyk’ah?” Your mother said, rattling off the names of warrior boys, flinging her arms around, exasperated. You shook your head, you weren’t really interested in anyone. 

Your father, always taking the approachable, personal angle, sat next to you, tucking your shoulders under his arm. 

“What about Aäna? She’s a lovely girl-” 

“Dad!” You shot up, crossing your arms over your chest, the blood rushing to your cheeks. “It’s not that Dad, I just don’t like anyone like that yet really.” 

“You’ve got to work it out, (y/n),” Your mother said harshly, “Soon.” 

“Uh no, no I haven’t really got anyone in mind.” You replied quietly. 

“Ugh come on, lets scram.” Kiri said grabbing your wrist and practically marching you out of her family home. 

“Ughh Kiri, I only just finished my chord-oof” Your complaints were quickly cut off as Kiri stobbed abruptly, your whole body coming in contact with her back. “You skxwang! What are you doing-” 

“Brother.” Kiri chirps, cutting you off. Neteyam stood in the doorway, leaning against the timber frame, smirking. His braids fell around his face, his high cheekbones and delicate features seemed to play with the soft golden lighting of High Camp, his tail flicked subtly from side to side, amused. 

“Sister, (y/n),” Neteyam replied, sounding almost bored. “Where are you two running off to?” his fingers fiddled with his waistband, running down to his songchord. You knew you were staring, tracking the motion of his large hands, rubbing each bead, shell, and stone in between his thumb and pointer finger. It was embarrassing, you couldn’t look away, and why should you? There was nothing inappropriate about the action. Just his large, capable hands and skilled fingers…

Oh Eywa, that is enough. 

“None of your business, big brother,” Kiri said, teasing as she often did. You swore she only knew how to convey her thoughts through sarcasm and hints. 

Neteyam chuckled, his fingers resting on his crossed arms once, more. Your plain eyes found his warm, deep ones, as he said:

“I think it’s my business where my girls run off to, no?” You knew he did not mean it the way your stupid little brain heard it, you know he meant it as a brother. Nothing more, nothing less. But god, you wished you were his girl. You always had, since you were twelve. All of a sudden, you woke up one day and Neteyam was cute. Cute turned into cool, cool gave way into hot, and hot turned into so incredibly sexy as you got older. And you stayed, well awkward and plain and not much to behold. 

But, you could pretend, that was something you were good at. Rolling your eyes, you broke the contact with Neteyam, shoving Kiri with your shoulder and righting the way of the world, again. 

“The meadow.” You said flatly. 

Kiri wasn’t as much of an airhead as you seemed to think she was. She knew her best friend, and she knew her big brother. Neteyam was a loser, a goody-goody with a desperate need to be the perfect son, the perfect soldier. Around you, he became this swaggering popular guy that Kiri knew him not to be, really. Maybe around his stupid Ikran Rider friends. But never around Kiri, or Lo’ak or Tuk. He never bought that facade into their home, save for when you were in it. 

You, on the other hand, Kiri knew you like the back of her hand. You were shy, sweet and just so obviously and painfully in love with Neteyam. She watched you watch him, and him in turn trying to memorise every freckle, scar and nick on your body. 

Neteyam cleared his throat, embarrassed that Kiri had caught him, once again, stealing glances at her best friend. 

“Just be home for dinner, before eclipse, yeah?” He questioned, the muscle upon his brow bone tilting slightly upward. 

“Of course!” Kiri yelled out as the two of you ran off, hand-in-hand, giggling as you did so. Neteyam watched your retreating figures flee High Camp. Pulling his attention towards his own songchord, his most recent bead was longer than the others, a hollowed-out green gemstone, mottled with white and silver patterning. The one he chose for himself the year prior at his own ceremony, welcoming him into manhood. Neteyam smiled to himself, remembering the bead you had obviously chosen for your own ceremony, made from the same little green stone. 

Neteyam didn’t know how much longer he could go on going like this. He felt like he was walking in circles, orbiting you, waiting for his gamut to eventually crash him into you. Sighing he opened the flap to his tented family home. Maybe it was time to ask Toruk Macto for advice. 

The long grass of the meadow was a deep shade of green, almost the colour of seagrass. Its long strands waved in the breeze, tickling your face as you lay on your back, watching the clouds, birds and everything that called the clearing it’s home. You felt connected to the place, like you were in the lungs of the world, simply floating in the breath of Eywa. 

Kiri sat at your feet in the long grass, facing you, but with her knees drawn close to her chest, playing with the end of her face-framing braids. She was thinking hard, hyperfocused on a thought that was so deep-rooted it took you multiple attempts to get her attention. 

“What’s wrong my Kiri?” You asked, finally catching her eye-line, sitting up to mirror her position. 

“Nothing is wrong, why would anything be wrong?” Kiri responded, trying to act nonchalant. 

“Do not bullshit me, you penis face.” You say, pulling a smile out of her distracted figure while nudging her leg with your foot. 

“You would be my sister if you mated Neteyam, you know that right?” She asked, like she didn’t say the craziest fucking sentence you’ve ever heard in the world. 

All the air left your lungs at once, she may as well have punched you in the stomach. You were going to retch. 

“What are you talking about!” You felt the blood rush to your face, fanning itself over your nose, cheeks, ears and shoulders. Your whole chest felt like Kiri had taken a flare to it. You couldn’t bear it, you felt hot all over. You covered your face with your shaking hands. 

Oh, mother Eywa I will die here, I will die here of embarrassment and pass through to you.

“Don’t be stupid, I know you loooooove him,” She said stretching out her o’s as she so often did when teasing, she poked you a few times too, for good measure. “He obviously is pining for you too, you skxwang.” 

Kiri was a tease, she was sarcastic and blunt and hilarious. But she was not mean. Which, is why you couldn’t work out why she was being mean to you now. About something so personal, too. You felt the hot tears start to form. 

“Why are you being mean?” You asked softly, pulling your hands away from your eyes, to try and read her face. 

Kiri was taken aback by how upset you were. She did not mean it to be mean, she was serious. She quickly took you in her arms, all jokes aside. 

“Ma (y/n) why are you crying?” Kiri asked softly. You sniffled, letting the tears fall freely now. 

“You know I love Neteyam, why would you tease me like that knowing it is like stones in my heart.” You began to ramble, as you so often did when you were emotional. “Neteyam sees me as his little sister, nothing more, nothing less.” You said seriously, vehemently. Lip quivering, you felt stupid and pathetic crying about it. But now that ball of thoughts had started to be unwound in your mind you could not stop, all the words you could not say since you were twelve just fell out of your little mouth. “And besides, if Neteyam didn’t see me as just a little annoying sister, I am ugly Kiri.” Kiri started to shush you, but you did not listen.

 “I am not unique in features like you, I am not as elegant as your mother, I’m not as alluring as Aäna, or as talented as Lor’ät. I’m so fucking boring.” Your tears fell so freely down your face and neck, you felt them fall behind the straps of your breast cover. You hated it. You hated everything about you and you would never be enough for Neteyam. 

You would never be enough for anyone, really. When you thought critically about it. 

Kiri held you close as you sobbed like her mother would, smoothing down your hair like her father would. She was beyond confused about how you could ever think this about yourself. Knowing fair well what a lot of the hunter boys Lo’ak was friends with say about you, what Neteyam’s Riders say in confidence, what the healer girls under Mo’at whisper about during Kiri’s training. Usually it makes her want to gag. But in this moment she wished she told you earlier. Maybe it would’ve given you more self-confidence in a perverse roundabout way. You were so wanted. If it wasn’t for Neteyam’s possessive nature of you, you could have anyone you wanted. Kiri reasoned, that if Neteyam wasn’t going to let anyone else have you, but not move on you himself, Kiri would have to set it up.

You and Kiri came back to High Camp, just before dinner and just after you finally stopped crying. You asked Kiri to never talk about the whole thing, preferring to just shove the whole thing into a little lockbox, throwing it away into the undercurrent of your consciousness. 

You stopped dead in your tracks infront of Kiri’s home, hearing Jake’s laugh and Tuk’s squeals. Neteyam was in there. No, you couldnt it was way to fresh. To have dinner with them would be the last petal in your funerary basket. 

“Come, lets eat.” Kiri whined, pulling on your arm. You stood firm like an island of stone against the tide. 

“I think I will eat with my parents tonight, I’m sorry.” You said in a low voice. “I’ll be back to normal tomorrow I promise.” You quickly added, to appease your headstrong sister. 

“Okay.” Kiri said softly, taking both of your hands into her five-fingered ones. “It’s all going to sort itself out, (y/n). I promise.” 

The usually short walk across High Camp to your family home felt unusually long, cold and dark.

Kiri flopped down on the woven mats around the firepit with a huff. Next to Jake and Neteyam, Kiri was hungry and angry and sad for her friend. 

“Hey , Babygirl.” Jake said, kissing Kiri on her forehead. Jake looked toward the door, confused. “Where’s my other beautiful girl?” Jake asked, confused. (y/n) always joined them for dinner, he couldn’t remember a night her presence had been missed since she was born. 

Kiri sighed, big and deep. “She’s having dinner with her parents.” 

“What has happened?” Neytiri asked, serving dinner on a leaf for little Tuk. 

Kiri felt internally conflicted. It was not her business to share, not her secrets to lay bare. But her best friend was hurting, and the skxwang next to her was the only one who could fix it. But (y/n) never begs for anything, and she begged Kiri the whole walk home to say nothing. 

She could not say nothing, but she did not have to say anything, either. 

“(y/n) was sad, about finding a mate. Her parents are really hard on her about it.” Kiri was not one to lie, and this was not a lie she convinced herself. But not the whole truth either. 

“Bro, that’s so stupid. Literally everyone is asking her mom for courting meetings.” Lo’ak piped up. His sentence muffled due to his full fucking face of food. Kiri screwed her face up.

“Courting meetings? What do you mean?” Neteyam looked panicked. The face he usually reserved for Lo’ak’s antics on the field. 

“I don’t know man, some of the guys were talking about it today during lessons. But her Dad keeps turning them away for now.” Lo’ak answered, shrugging nonchalantly, stuffing his face still, despite the family’s disgust. 

Kiri stared at Neteyam, reading every inch of his face as he calmed down. He was running out of time, she knew it. But, Neteyam looked at Jake. Jake raised his eyebrows at his eldest son, turning his head slightly and shrugging. It was a shared look, Neteyam knew exactly what Jake meant, though Kiri felt left in the lurch. 

The Sully’s did not talk about it for the rest of dinner, thankfully. 

Neytiri was putting Tuk to bed. Jake, in a rare moment was teaching Lo’ak how to properly clean a gun. Kiri sat, next to Neteyam, running her hands up and down her own songchord, anxiously. Neteyam was evidently anxious too, his legs pulled up close to his chest, he stared at the fire pit as if the answers were going to lash out and brand him. 

“She is in love with you, Neteyam.” Kiri said softly. Neteyam felt like he was going to pass out and bleed from his nose. 

“I don’t think so baby sister,” Neteyam ruffled her hair, trying to present himself in a lighthearted way, despite his creeping blush. Kiri smacked his hand away. 

“Listen to me, you idiot.” Kiri’s serious voice felt like a hot knife running through Neteyam’s soul. She never sounded this way, this upset. “She loves you. And, and she thinks that you only think of her as a little sister.” Neteyam chuckled at that, he never treated her the way he treated Kiri and Tuk. Surely, that was obvious, no? “I know. I laughed too.” Kiri said with a small smile. She took Neteyam’s hands into her own, like she did with you only a few hours prior.

“Neteyam, she thinks that she’s ugly, that she will never be enough for you. She thinks she’s not talented.” Kiri’s round eyes filled with empathetic tears for her best friend, thinking back on your small frame sobbing in the long grass. 

Neteyam’s blush soon turned to anger. His heart finding the possessive pit that he reserves only for his feelings for you.  “I do not understand, does she not know that everyone wants her?” Neteyam hissed in a low voice, Eywa forbid, Neytiri heard him talk about how the other boys of the clan view (y/n). Neteyam hated how they spoke of her body, her face, her mind. Her beautiful voice and nimble hands. Only he was allowed to think of you like that. And the Great Mother only knows how they think of you at night, how they think of you when they- 

Neteyam stopped himself before he went any further. He knew how he thought about you at night when he has a hand between his thighs. 

“She does not know.” Kiri said, bringing Neteyam back to the forefront of his mind. “I have never told her.” 

Neteyam’s heart swelled in a terrible way. You were so sweet, so innocent, you did not know that boys rutted into their own hands at the thought of the way your waist dips, or the mound of your breast. He needed to protect you, and Jesus, he thought he had by laying an unofficial possessive claim. But, it seems that the future Olo’eyktan has been ignored. 

A growl fell out of Neteyam’s mouth. To Kiri it looked like a dark light fell over her brother’s features. A man possessed. He stood, cracking his neck and shoulders, like he always did, but this time Kiri flinched. She had never seen Neteyam so…scary. 

“I will fix this tomorrow, sister.” Was all Neteyam said, as he retreated to the sleeping quarters of their home. 

(y/n) did not sleep a wink. All she could see in her mind’s eye was Neteyam. Neteyam laughing with other girls, Neteyam riding with other girls. How they wave to him when he walks past.

Neteyam. Neteyam. Neteyam. 

You felt so guilty, so, so guilty. As the night went on your thoughts went south, went dirty and wrong. You dreamt about kissing Neteyam; How soft his lips would feel against your own. His rough, calloused hands would hold your face in place and he would kiss you like he loved you, kissed you like he meant it. 

Simply, you did not deserve to hold romantic thoughts about Neteyam in your heart like that. He was not yours. He would never be. 

You quick hands made light work of the repair you were currently undertaking. You enjoyed your work as clan seamstress. Fixing, making loin cloths, beading breast covers and threading jewellery. You enjoyed the freedom to create things, but to also be useful to your clan. You could never offer them safety, food, medicine or freedom. But you could make sure they were warm in the cool rains, and protected from the glistening sun in the heat of the day. 

You folded the repaired loincloth, placing it to the side. Ready for its owner to pick it up when they had a moment to spare. 

The flap to the tent flew open, causing you to jump out of your skin. The last person you wanted to see stood in the entry way, ripped loincloth in hand. 

“Good morning, Neteyam.” You said softly, casting your gaze downwards. He quickly sat across from you, legs crossed like a child. 

“Well, it’s good now.” He smiled brightly. You felt all the blood run to your cheeks. “Do you uh, do you mind fixing this for me?” He said, stumbling over his own words, handing over the dark green textile. 

“Of course, easy fix.” Your fingers brushed his and you felt like your hands had been set on fire. Shaking, you began stitching the fabric back together. You knitted your brows together as you worked, not wanting to see his face any longer, the more you stared at your hands, the worse they shook. This tear made no sense, it was cleanly cut with a knife. Neteyam had purposely ripped his own loincloth. “How did this even happen?” You asked. 

“I needed an excuse to come and see you, my (y/n).” Neteyam spoke softly, reaching out to take one of your hands, distracting them from their job. His eyes caught yours, and you knew you were done. So warm, so full of life and love. 

“Neteyam-” You started, but he cut you off. Something of which Neteyam had never done before. 

“I know you do not see yourself how I see you.” He started, his stare holding you to the spot, you sent a brief prayer to Eywa, that this was not some cruel trick. “You are the most beautiful creature that has ever walked these lands. You care so deeply for the people, the forest.” His hand ran the length of your arm, goosebumps rising in his wake. “I see you. I love you. I want you.” Neteyam said vehemently. 

You felt everything, everywhere, all at once. Everything you have ever wanted to hear had fallen out of his mouth like it was always meant to be. It sounded so right. It sounded natural and real. It was so out of character for Neteyam, to be so open, so raw and honest with his feelings. 

So, under the guise of love, you acted out of character too. Like for like. 

Taking his beautiful, soft face between your small, shaking hands, you kissed him. Pulling away for breath, you remembered what needed to be said.

“I have always seen you, Neteyam.” 

[set-wingedwarrior]

My most important sapphic ships post before Pride Month ends

What the title says, studying kept (and still keeps me) busy so we gotta go fast lol

Bumbleby (RWBY)

to the surprise of absolutely no one, they get first place (despite me not going in a particular order) because of reasons. They're perfect. Soulmates. Slowburn of all time. Yin and Yang. Eyes the color of each other's souls. Truest OTP to ever OTP in my book. ∞/10

Konosetsu (Negima!)

I already talked about them in their own post, this scene changed my life leading to my self-discovery and it still lives rent-free in my mind.

Kyosaya (Madoka Magica)

I'd also add MadoHomu but I'm trying to keep it to just one for each fandom. That said, they still make me mentally unwell. I love them, and I did for a long time now. I can't wait for the next movie to come out and suffer.

Ruby and Sapphire (Steven Universe)

These bitches had the first cartoon gay wedding and kiss DO I NEED TO SAY MORE???

Korrsami (Avatar)

Still down the queer cartoons making history path, these two made me insane back in the day because I still didn't understand I was queer and lots of sapphic couple were starting to appear in media, and I remember jokingly say how "lesbian ships were hauting me". All I can say now is "Thank you" lol. Anyway, they were incredibly important and all the people criticizing how little queerness there's in the show will never understand just how massive this scene was.

Catradora (She-Ra and the Princesses of Power)

Friends to Enemies to back to Friends to Lovers. Iconic. I still want a movie with their adventures bringing magic back to the universe.

Hollstein (Carmilla)

My third beloved blonde with a cat gf ship. I miss this web-series every day. Also, Natasha Negovanlis played an immense role in my gay awakening.

Ellie and Riley (The Last of Us: Left Behind)

Ellie and Dina are adorable and I love them, BUT I just will never get over these two. That dlc fucked me up. (also, they're in the same category with Korrasami as "gay ships that hauted me before I realized I was queer" lol)

Lumity (The Owl House)

I remember starting this show feeling it as the successor of Steven Universe, at least to me. We could say that at level of mistreatment from its parent company, it defenitely surpassed it, but at least I'm glad I was right and we got Luz and Amity becoming canon. I love these two and not a day passes without me yelling at Disney for what it did to them.

Bubbline (Adventure Time)

I actually watched Adventure Time fully only recently, but I always loved them even when I watched the show randomly when it appeared in tv back in the day. Getting to see the progression properly just made me love them even more.

Yasammy (Jurassic World: Camp Cretaceous/Chaos Theory)

Incredibly recent addition, but I am so glad that I checked out Camp Cretaceous and got into it. It's a nice show and these two are a really cute couple, their confession and especially Yaz's internal turmoil were just so on point. I was really happy to see them go still strong in Chaos Theory, and I can't wait for next season.

Pricefield (Life is Strange)

These two caused me pain in the best possible way. I felt literal heartbreak at the Bay Ending, and I was just as emotional at the Bae one (Bae > Bay Forever) I hope the new game will respect their relationship OR ELSE.

Wow, this is quite the list. I do have an amazing taste, if I do say so myself, ahah!

Well, I guess this is it for now, glad I could make it before Pride Month was over! Knowing myself I might have actually forgotten some though, so keep an eye out for possible updates (what makes me even think that you'd care? lol).

That would be all, be gay and do crimes! Bye!

[cipheramnesia]

This is the process my brain goes through every time I see anything about Netflix Avatar The Last Airbender.

My first reaction is always: Why? The original, although not without flaws, doesn't leave a lot of room to improve. A good remake or adaptation usually involves an updated context or change in perspective that adds to the original work and gives it new meaning. It's a risky undertaking because it usually involves wanting to take on something established as iconic and make it your own. But Netflix is a corporation and seems very risk averse for the most part. Its only investment is in the name recognition of AtLA. It's hard to visualize Netflix deliberately taking a big risk on an expensive show.

My second reaction is: How? The original series is about 1400 minutes over 61 episodes, and it still had to rush the ending. We're looking at 8 episodes of roughly 45-60 minutes per episode for season 1, which would require Netflix to let it run more than 3 seasons, if the series has similar pacing. Historically however Netflix shows have glacial pacing, and rarely make three seasons. Not really sure how they plan to tell the story if the series is anything like the average Netflix series, meaning it either needs to undercut the story or let the series breathe for at least five seasons. But nothing Netflix has done makes me want to watch anything they make as an ongoing series? Why bother, they cancel everything I enjoy. So I wonder how. What's the hook to say "this will be able to provide something new and interesting compared to the original, and will be allowed to tell the complete story."

Which leads me to think, but you can't judge if something is good without seeing it. Except none of this is about whether it's good, I just find myself wondering what are the odds it's worth the effort? They're low, and it has nothing to do with whether or not it's even any good on its own merits.

Following this, I ask myself, what would a good version of this be. Imagine you are making a live action series with eight hour long episodes per season based on a children's cartoon with 20 thirty minute episodes per season. You are trying to encompass a story which was presented over three seasons as a cartoon, and you do not know if you will have more than those eight episodes. It's made for Netflix which, in terms of a company which will protect the hard earned fruits of your artistic labor, is the fox guarding the henhouse. What do you do?

If you are looking to make something good, that respects your audience investment and your own work, you make radical changes to the story. You change the pacing, the character arcs, the plot arcs. You make sure you deliver a complete story in those episodes with as much respect for the original work and as many new ideas as you can.

Except, at that point, what is even the point of a remake. The only way to work with it is either to trust Netflix allowing you to finish the story (which you'd need to be incredibly naive to do), or tell a story so different it may as well be wholly original. And that's where I always end up. Like, it'll probably be fine, but what's the point of it all? Another vanishing digital property to get canceled because of some undefinable failure to return on investment.

I think about it a lot because the two ends of the spectrum seem to be "dunk on every new piece of information" or "wait and see" but the only conclusion I can ever reach is "why even care?" That's been the lesson to take home from digital streaming in general when it comes to series, but Netflix in particular, and honestly for movie series too. If it can't be self contained, the companies who produce and release these kinds of series just cannot be trusted with it, and there are too many good original stories being put out to care anymore about big budget promises that one day they will definitely for sure deliver a finished story, this time for real.

I care enough to think about why I don't feel anything at all about Netflix Avatar. It'll be fine, whatever else. Just fine.

[simplyycherry]

Since people still like my old Obey me headcanon posts, I decided to completely empty it out. I didn't have the motivation to post more and also quit the game like since the beginning of Nightbringer.

If I add in the ones I posted before accidentally, then srry.

Lucifer ☕

Lucifer’s D.D.D Lock Screen is black but his homescreen is his brothers & Mc:)

• Lucifer has separation anxiety from us?

• Lucifer smells like hmm coffee, idk old cologne?

• Lucifer's head hurts sometimes.

• Lucifer cries at night.

• Lucifer's favorite movie genre is horror because he enjoys paranormal things ig.

• Every once in a while Lucifer will bond with his brothers doing what they like.

• Luci listens to Levi rant sometimes while he does work.

• Luci and Mc has matching necklaces.

• You can call Lucifer Luci when you're not in public together.

• Luci doesn't like PDA but when he is home alone he is very cuddly.

• To Lucifer Mc is the most important thing in his life along with his brothers.

• When Lucifer‘s excited or worried and he‘s alone in his room, he actually jumps around and does a lot a different facial expressions.

• Luci sometimes not all the time but sometimes just randomly pokes his brothers and walks away.

• Lucifer leans on the table with both arms and like his shoulders slightly up iykwim.

• When We Came Back To Devildom Again, You Know How Lucifer “Wasn’t Antsy��� I Bet He Was Squealing Inside, “OMDTHEYREBACKOHMYIGETTOHUGTHEMANDLOVE”.

• Lucifer will hold your waist/pull you close when they see other attractive demons walk by to make it seem like "you're theirs".

• Luci has a photo album of him and his brothers & Mc in his desk so whenever he gets stressed out he looks through it and it helps him relax.

• Lucifer often asks his brothers or Mc to talk about their interests while he works.

• Lucifer's way to relax is to make origami he's particularly good at it.

• Lucifer always keeps a photo of his brothers and Mc with him.

• Lucifer uses the excuse of " punishing Mammon" to spend time with him.

• Luci feels a sense of security when Mc's is on his lap. In some way he believes that as long as he has a comfortable hand around your waist, nothing can take you from him.

• If you drink coffee or tea in the morning Luci would try to make it for you.

• Luci is right handed but can write well with left hand.

• If lucifer catches you looking at a certain sweets or items he would by it for you just to you happy.

• Luci adores it when you fall asleep near him or knowing he’s in the house/room. It shows you trust being that vulnerable around him to keep you safe.

• When you are near Luci when he is working he will glance at you when your not looking.

• Luci plays fetch with Cerberus and cuddles with them.

• I feel like Luci would enjoy going to the human world with you and visiting your favorite tourist attractions.

• I like to think that when he does his little patrol, if he finds your still up Luci will make sure you get to bed. Sometimes even tucking you in.

• If anyone has Lucifer's phone his background and lockscreen will have a picture of you.

• Lucifer have a folder of pictures of you.

• Luci asks you to help him with work as an excuse to spend time with you.

• Luci melts when you bring him coffee :)

• Even though Luci stays up late, he makes sure that everyone goes to bed at a reasonable hour.

• Since Luci has records, he’ll buy vinyls of your favorite bands (even if he’s not a huge fan of them) to listen to with you.

• If you sleep with Luci, he keeps you in his arms the WHOLE night.There is no leaving.

• I feel like if you give Luci small gifts like random doodles he'd put a spell on it so its never damaged and keeps it forever.

• Luci loves to mumble a song while you sleep near him while playing with your hair.

• When Lucifer's drunk and you're nearby, expect to be covered in kisses. It's canon that he gets lovey dovey when he's drunk.

• Since Luci's the avatar of pride i feel like if he sees you admire someone else's skills he'll immediately try to one up them.

• Lucifer definitely enjoys playing board games with you in his spare time, but he always allows you to win because he’d feel guilty if he didn’t.

• Luci loves giving forehead kisses, or if he sees you sitting down as he’s walking by he’ll kiss the top of your head.

• If you fell asleep on the couch, Luci’d carry you to your room and tuck you in (doesn’t matter if ur heavy or not, he’s a demon, he’s stronggg)

• Lucifer takes off his gloves whenever you want to hold hands because he feels it more intimate ☝️& makes him feel close to you.

• I feel like lucifer throughout random times of the day just randomly gets up and starts looking for you because he really misses you.

• Lucifer sometimes let's MC and Levi go to the human world to get new Manga, games, and merch.

• Cerberus became somewhat fond of MC after they made their pact with Lucifer.

• Luci drapes his cloak over you when he finds you sleeping.

• Luci would softly knock twice on every door he goes through.

• Luci shortly meditates everyday to relieve stress.

• Lucifer quite enjoys human world beaches.

[dust-tastic-1983]

Life with Turbo on the Internet (x reader head canons)

A/N: First ever fanfic(if this counts???) I tried to keep it in character lmk how I did.... lots of "probably"s in this one. I'm very unsure.

Genre: (Wreck it ralph) Turbo x reader headcannons, fluff and shenanigans! (Hehe that rhymed!)

Summery: He totally lived guys. He survived and escaped to the Internet guys. He's alive and well and living in a shitty website i promise guys (hcs of what I think living on the internet with post-movie turbo/kc would be like) based on this post I made.

You guys live in a website Turbo made with his trial-and-error-achieved coding skills… so its kinda shitty and cluttered. But its cosy and its yours so its fine. It'll probably improve the more Turbo improves his skills, anyhow.

As you'd assume, you'll be spending alot of time on racing related websites and games. He probably got himself banned from a couple games either by messing with the code to make himself better or for harassing players. He'll to try to bypass the bans and sometimes he succeeds! And gets you both banned again because he said a swear word in a kids game.

Of course he will go with you to places pertaining to your interests, whatever that may be. He might be less enthusiastic about it than his precious car games but he'll still go with you because he likes hanging out with you❤ he almost gets you banned again though

You need to stop him please

He's definitely an Internet troll. Would purposefully start or stirr drama on forums he doesn't like using throwaway accounts.

Lots of marathoning various games and movies/shows. Someone on tumblr said that he probably watches car crash compilations and like. Yeah. He'd binge watch the shit out of car crash videos and nascar fails. (I hc that he would enjoy Its Always Sunny but for the wrong reason.)

Lay next to him in a bundle of blankets and pillows use him as a pillow he is warm and squishy and soft and touch starved eating snacks and watching "8 most disturbing things caught on dashcam footage" on YouTube. He's probably the type to talk during movies and videos, there are so meny opinions in his little body and he will not shut up. Though is a bit more quiet when sleepy.

yeah ofc you guys would play alot of competitive games together, both racing games and other. He passes out after trying too hard on project diva.

Turbo messed with the computer avatar... things idk what they are called. Trips em up, makes peoples websites crash, etc. Until one of the ad blockers punch him. Then he stopped.

You guys are probably on familiar terms with Knowsmore. Probably one of the first people you and Turbo spoke to when you first entered the Internet, and still speak to since he helps you to get around. Turbo probably would find him annoying, though.

Same with Spamley. Turbo probably hangs around the darknet because of course he would... He probably would try the "Make money playing video games" spiel, success varies. Spamley, despite being a boyfailure, still knows his way around the darknet (barely like he did make that virus guy throw him across the room) Would also find spamley annoying but maybe less so.

Speaking of the darknet, he would bring you along whenever he'd go. he'd hold your hand or arm to make sure he doesn't lose you. Of course he does a myriad of illicit activities. Learning more about programming and hacking, plotting revenge, probably released a couple viruses in websites thatve wronged him, and- 🤢 and🤢 film piracy 🤮 /j

Idk if he'd try to take over another game or if he'd try to find fame another way... I'm still mulling over it tbh.

The artist Blackthewolf17 who drew a picture of turbo and y/n sitting on a bench listening to Spotify. Just think about it.

Use one of those relationship compatibility websites. Results depend whats funnier to you ;)

Regardless of wether you fled with him from Litwak's arcade or met him in the online world, if your feeling up to it, spend the rest of eternity bouncing around the interwebs with him until entropy takes you both to oblivion. It might be fun...

Thanks for reading! ^.^ hope you enjoyed!

[quill-and-whetstone]

“The Sniper Problem”

I have a favorite litmus test that I apply to just about everything I write: “Could this entire plotline be resolved by one sufficiently trained sniper?” The hypothetical sniper is there to evaluate the quality of the conflict I’ve set up. If they can resolve the whole thing by taking out their target then I… probably have some rethinking to do, because the test succinctly highlights a few key issues with any story that fails it.

First, the obvious: if the problem your protagonists are facing can be solved this way it’s probably just not as interesting as it could be. A conflict of “big bad evil dude does a big bad evil thing and our hero goes and mercs him about it” can make for a fun blockbuster action film, but the plot of those films are rarely–if ever–the point. Stories with a central villain stand to gain a lot of narrative depth from asking yourself what issues would linger if they were suddenly removed from the picture. What internal struggles might remain in your protagonists? How might the world around them still need to be changed or healed? Which elements or areas of the story just seem empty without the big bad to fill the narrative space, and how can we develop them?

The second facet of the sniper problem is an inverted Occam’s Razor, a call to ensure that there’s a good reason the protagonists aren’t just using a simple and direct route to solve their problems. It’s like how modern horror movies have to cripple the victims’ cell phones to justify everything else that happens, though ideally less contrived. When revising a story through this lens, it’s almost difficult not to improve it. It aids suspension of disbelief, lets your protagonists present as more competent, and gives them more to do outside of biffing people they don’t like which in turn showcases more of their personality.

A great example of all of this is Avatar: The Last Airbender. Throughout the show the bottom line is that our heroes are out to defeat the Firelord to stop the atrocities he’s committing against the rest of the world. So it stands to reason to ask, why not camp outside his house early on with an assassin good enough to score a quick or lucky kill? But the show answers this amply with just its concept, mostly without having to draw direct attention to it. If Firelord Ozai dropped dead in the pilot there would still be a whole Fire Nation pursuing his goals complete with other emotionally unstable royals and military officers. It wouldn’t actually… solve anything. “Defeat the Firelord” is just the mission that sets our heroes on the path they need to take to stop a war that’s destroying the world. The real solution is cultivating friendships across cultures, healing and maturing together, growing spiritually, protecting and empowering victims of generational violence, dismantling fascistic power structures, and ultimately even finding a relatively peaceful / humane solution to the problem of the Firelord. While they do call this out directly in one episode, they didn’t have to, because with the way they structured the narrative it was already evident. As a result of that good planning the characters got to do a lot of interesting, character driven, thematically resonant things and the show isn’t just one long and kind of dry martial arts training montage until they show up at the finale.

So keep the sniper problem in mind as you write! Or even as you read, watch, and analyze other media for what worked and what didn’t. I can’t promise it’ll be relevant to every story, but I can promise that it’s a quick and easy standard that’ll help you layer in a lot of nuance and flavor into your narrative.

[dirtytransmasc]

his ears (and tail in the few scenes it's really visible) help see through his facade of confidence and apathy. it helps us see when he's scared or angry or happy. it helps us understand that he really does love spider, that he is questioning his morals and actions, that he feels fear no matter how strong he attempts to look. the way his ears dip when he smiles at spider compared to just staying sorta neutral when he's just smiling to look charming. the way his ears flick fully back when Neytiri threatens spider and how he immediately relaxes when she lets him go. I could go on forever. his ears add so much complexity to his character.

his whole body language around spider make any heart hurt, he is looser, brighter, visibly happier (and showing off in the way only awkward and embarrassing 'cool' dad's can show off). his smiles are genuine, his whole face is smiling. He is naturally protective of the boy and genuinely enjoys his presence. his instinct to father is all over his face and it makes me so happy, cause all spider wants is a present father. I need to see him say 'I see you' to his boy or I'll riot.

then there's the sad part of this; he looks so conflicted when spider yells at him and when he leaves him after saving him, but he never goes after him (cause he respects spiders space and choice to leave, cause that's what love really is, wanting the best for someone). the whole time his ears are kinda tilted or sagged back, not pointed, like he's both stressed and defeated.

also I'm all for Quaritch redeeming himself, I think it could be in the way of like, he redeems himself enough to not be a villain/antagonist but not enough to really be one of the 'Good Guys'. I want him to connect with Eywa, and find that he's done trying to be the old Quaritch, to be what the RDA wants him to be (especially if it's for spiders sake). I need some sort of moral redemption plot out of this man and I don't care what it takes to get it (If I eat my words on this, I'll lose it)

I’m still here sobbing over Quaritch’s cute little kitty ears and how they lay flat at different times when he speaks or does literally anything at all 😭❤️‍🩹

Like kudos to JC and Co for making them more animal(?) and giving their ears/tails MORE movement like they naturally would 😭❤️‍🩹👌🏽

[cyren-myadd]

This concept art has been living in my head rent free

This concept art of Spider with a kuru literally keeps me up some nights wondering what it means. I got so excited over the new D23 concept art that I went looking through some old Avatar stuff I had saved and came across this again, which reignited all the burning questions I have about it.

Concept art typically leads to two outcomes: either it gets scrapped and removed from the plot or it gets refined and is eventually realized within the story. The same is true for this particular piece of concept art. Its existence means it's either:

A) an old idea that they ended up scrapping, or

B) it's an idea they're going with and will eventually be realized in the movies.

The reason I keep myself up at night wondering whether its A or B is because of the context of this concept art. The art was originally shown on a gigantic screen at some big avatar showcase thing in Los Angeles. There's no way showing this was some oversight or mistake. Unlike the script that was shown on accident, this was shown to avatar fans INTENTIONALLY. Which leaves me with the question of why they would show such a shocking concept on purpose?

If option A is right and this is just an old idea they scrapped, why show people? This isn't a minor change (ie switching the Metkayina eye color from yellow to blue/green) that won't really make an impact on the plot. Spider growing a kuru would be a massive change that would radically effect the story. I think I read somewhere that James Cameron at some point wanted the character Trudy to return as a recombinant like Quaritch, but scrapped the idea because the actress, Michelle Rodriguez, didn't want to reprise her role. Could you imagine if before Avatar 2 released, they showed concept art of Trudy as recom, and everyone got all excited to see how that would play out, only for it to be revealed that it was an old scrapped idea and we were never going to see it on screen? That would be such a confusing and disappointing thing to do. This is how I feel about this concept art. If it's never going to happen, why show it at all? Since intentionally showing concept art for an idea they scrapped doesn't make any sense, that makes me wonder if option B is right, but option B doesn't make a lot of sense either.

If option B is right, once again, why show people? That's a MASSIVE spoiler. Showing this image would be like if they showed concept art of Neteyam's funeral before Avatar 2 released, spoiling the major death of the story. It wouldn't make any more sense to spoil a big death than it would to spoil such a radical change like Spider getting a kuru. I'll admit that when I first saw this image, I accepted it at face value and I made this long post theorizing that Spider will get a kuru and that this will somehow be connected to the leaked script where he gets the ability to breathe the Pandoran air, but since then I've rethought my position. It just doesn't make sense to me that they would show it on purpose if they actually do intend to give Spider a kuru in Avatar 3. But at the same time, it also doesn't make sense that they would show a scrapped idea that's so wildly out of the range of what we know is possible in the avatar universe.

Unless there's some secret third option I'm missing, I'm going to keep wondering and wondering whether this image is just a scrapped idea or a real spoiler of what's to come. I guess I'll get my answer when Avatar 3 finally comes out and this idea happens or not, but I'll still wonder why they showed it.

Do you guys think this concept art is depicting a scrapped idea or a spoiler, and why? And does anyone have any idea why they would show this regardless if its a scrap or a spoiler?

[callsignangel]

screen rant babe - jack champion x interviewer! reader

warnings: none! fluffy but not a ton word count: 1059 requested by @gcidrvsh <3 ↳ "hi!! could you write something for jack champion? like where they meet on the set of scream (cuz they’re friends with jenna ortega) OR whatever you really wanna write its up to you" a/n: hi friends!! sorry this look so long. this fic is the first part of what's going to be a series about jack champion. i gave the reader some background (and a surprise relative) in this fic just to add some substance. i misplaced my list of people to tag, i'm so sorry! i'll be sure to set up a proper tag list for future parts of this series. i hope you enjoy!! reblogs and feedback about my work is deeply appreciated. <3

‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵

it had already been a long press day, having been interviewing the cast of avatar: the way of water for it's upcoming release. it was finally nearing the end of the day - you just had one more interview left with trinity bliss and jack champion. the interviews had been done in pairs, like sam and zoe, sigourney and jim, bailey and jamie, and now trinity and jack.

they had been sitting there when you walked in, patiently waiting as you arrived on time for their next interview. making sure your mic was on properly and working, you greeted them both with handshakes and quick small talk before you all seated yourself in those god awful uncomfortable directors chairs. "okay, it's so great to see you guys!" you began, a big big smile on your face. "my name is y/n and i'm here in partner with screenrant interviewing some of the cast from avatar: the way of water which is in theatres worldwide on december 16th," you finished your introduction, allowing them to begin theirs. "hi, my name is trinity jo-li bliss and i play tuktirey," she smiled directly into the camera and waved."and i'm jack champion and i play spider," he waved quickly and beamed for the camera before quickly returning his attention to you. "awesome, thank you for setting aside the time to meet with me today," you began again, “i’ll just get right into it here, did you learn anything from this movie? what was it?” you kept your formalities on for the camera, but your words were silent in his ears as he tuned out your voice and focused solely on you. your mannerisms, the way you read your questions directly out of the notepad you brought so you didn’t forget them and how eloquent you were when speaking and being spoken to. he was so enchanted by you that he didn't realize it was his turn to answer your question. “jack,” trinity whispered, nudging him softly to tell him it was his turn to answer you. “sorry, what was the question again?” he snapped back to reality and a nervous, breathy laugh escaped him. trinity looked at you and you returned her puzzled face before breaking out into a fit of giggles. “did you learn anything from this movie?” you repeated. “oh yeah, totally. the importance of family is a repeating theme in this movie and because i’m so close to my family, i’ve learned to protect them and make sure to keep them close because nowadays you never know what could happen,” he recovered quickly, and you smiled at him. he was cute, chivalrous and quick on his feet. definitely your type.

the interview continued for another 20 minutes, asking questions regarding working with james cameron, what it was like working with motion capture, how they prepared for their roles and other smaller questions regarding the other cast mates. trinity is a natural born story teller, so she would take charge regarding funny cast moments on set or even in other interviews. jack still kept his attention on you, but this time making sure to listen incase you had another question for him. he didn’t want to embarrass himself in front of you anymore than he had. when the interview ended, you asked them both if you could take a quick picture of them for the article and for screenrant’s socials, both of whom happily obliged. 

as you were getting your mic removed by the camera crew, you were surprised to see jack lingering by. “oh hey, thanks for letting me interview you today!” you spoke up, noticing his newfound nervous nature and trying to ease the awkwardness. he smiled, “i think you were the most fun interview we’ve had this entire press tour,” he admitted sheepishly. you giggled, “well, i’m glad. some people take interviews way too seriously and i think it takes away all of the fun and excitement about being in a big blockbuster movie like this.” you finished, double checking that you had your bag and your waterbottle with you before heading out. but before you could leave, jack stopped you again. “hey, do you live in LA or are you just here for work?” “oh, i’m actually just here for work! i’m originally from new york. i’m leaving in a couple days for the premiere in london actually,” you watched as his face lit up. “are you going to be at the premiere for work too?” he questioned, and you laughed. “not exactly. sigourney’s actually my aunt, and she invited me to come with her!” you declared, “i don’t think she was expecting me to be here for an interview today honestly.” giggling, you watched jack’s mind connect the dots. “oh my god haha that’s so cool, how come i never saw you on set?” he inquired. “never had enough time during school and her filming schedule. i would see her on holidays, or sometimes she would come and visit me while i was working in quebec.” you conversed a little more, talking about how you started working for screenrant, and if you had any plans to become an actor yourself. you hadn’t realized how easy he was to talk to, or how attractive he was now that it was just the two of you speaking in such close proximity. “do you have a date for the premiere?” he blurted, taking you both by surprise. “i mean, besides being there with your family and sigourney, of course.” you shook your head. “i guess i’ve been so busy with work i haven’t been looking for a date,” you responded, watching his shoulders relax as he heard you didn’t have anyone to go with. “i mean, neither do i besides my family. we could go together?” poor man was so nervous. he was scratching his neck as he awaited your response, and you grabbed it to help calm his nerves. “i’ll happily go with you, jack.” you gave his hand a tight squeeze, as if trying to tell him that this wasn’t a dream. “okay, great. that’s awesome,” he sounded relieved. you both giggled quietly, hands still conjoined. “i have a couple of days off before i leave LA, would you want to go out sometime before then?” you asked. “how does disneyland sound?” he grinned. “sounds perfect.”

[januaryembrs]

LAST KNIGHT IN SOHO | Steven Grant x Reader [1]

description: Steven finds his life slowly turning upside down when the man in the mirror starts talking back, he's sleepwalking all the way to the Alps, and the woman he's besotted with from work finds herself more caught up in all of it than he'd ever wanted. [Last Night in Soho inspired]

word count: 11.1k

trigger warnings: gore, blood, swearing, reader has a dark past that will be explored more read at discretion, third person & no use of Y/N, death, reader will become an avatar eventually,

main masterlist | series masterlist

Authors note: I have been in love with this show since I watched it and have finally started the fic I’ve been wanting to since it came out! The chapters are going to be long and readers backstory is dark but this is a piece very personal to me and I hope you enjoy!!!

She felt someone picking up her limp body. The museum lights had long since been shut off, but through the darkness of the exhibition she caught a tall figure standing over her. Her lids were heavy, vision bleary, yet she blinked a few times to try and straighten her mind that still felt like it was pulsing stiffly in her tight skull. Her voice was no better, the only sound she could let out was a guttural whine as the stranger pressed hard on the three deep lacerations on her abdomen that were now gushing blood like a scene from a 90s slasher movie.

They were broad, blocking out the minimal slither of light as they crouched over her and seemed to be yelling something. Probably scolding her for getting copious amounts of thick blood over the freshly mopped floors, she thought numbly. The sound came to her in something akin to static, a muffled string of nonsense. All she knew was they were talking loud and fast. Or maybe she had a concussion too? That thing had thrown her through that glass wall pretty hard. 

She couldn’t see a mouth moving, nor could she actually see their face, just two beams of white blinking down at her. 

This couldn’t be happening, this couldn’t be happening for real. She thought maybe someone had slipped something in her drink when she was at the club, but that was two days ago. There would be no reason for her to be feeling the effects only just now. And when she had been jumped on by one of those things she’d sure as hell felt it. She'd seen it with her own two eyes the way her clothes had been ripped as something plunged its claws deep into her, heard the air whoosh out her lungs as it hurled her through the partition wall. 

She’d felt, still felt, the open wound seeping so harshly that she knew it was going to be fatal. 

There was no coming back from whatever fever dream this was. 

She blinked again up at the mystery guy who seemed to be holding her heavy head gently, but the hot, red wetness on his hands that smeared on her cheek said he also knew how fucked she was. He was muttering something, was there someone else here? Oh god, where was Steven? 

“Stev-” Came her broken murmur, but the metallic taste crawling its way up her throat cut her off as a blob of viscid blood rolled down her chin. 

“He’s here, he’s okay. It’s gonna be okay,” Said the voice back to her, his grasp on her hair tightening as she garbled. The breath, life, was leaving her now. Every time she tried to get air into her lungs, she was met with more of the thick liquid spraying into her mouth, her chest retching for oxygen.

She didn’t have long left, she realised numbly. 

The room was blackening round the edges even more now, sped up by the way she felt her hands grabbing his arm in a panic. She’d thought she would welcome the cold hands of Death, it wasn’t a stranger in her home. Death rooted himself in her very soul, and yet as it dragged her under consciousness, she couldn’t help but feel like a scared little girl and she tried to cling onto the mystery figure as if he could keep her from Death’s greedy clutches. 

It was sweet poetry, knowing she was drowning from the inside out. She had always known her biggest monster lay within her, in her every cell, festering and rotting her, since the moment she was born. There was really no other perfect way to sum up her whole life than it ending this way, choking on her own body. Grabbing onto a stranger, trying to plead for help as a few precious tears wet her face and she realised she was crying. Scared, vulnerable to her own demise like she had always known she would be. 

How do you fight off a monster coming from within? You don't. You can’t. So she didn’t. 

No amount of soft words or desperate touches on the figure helped her, it only made the departure messier, a bigger pool of blood for them to find her in.

The world felt surprisingly calm the moment she was snatched ruthlessly into Death’s open arms.

FOUR DAYS EARLIER

“Come the fuck on, Steven” Cursing under her breath, she cradled the two disposable cups of coffee tightly, her rosewood coloured lipstick surrounding only one of the lids. The London air whipped her coat around her shins, frigid and unwelcoming as it was even on a good day. 

As per usual, Steven was late for work. The two of them had an agreement to meet each other outside the museum every Wednesday and Thursday, which meant his lateness slid in her own time. She could of course just meet the undoubtedly dishevelled man inside, but what kind of a friend would she be then? Leave him to face Donna’s wrath on his own? No, if he was in for a bollocking then so were she.

Friends didn’t exactly come easy to her nowadays, either. So if waiting in the bitterness for another five minutes meant she could keep this one, then so be it.

She had even taken the time on her commute to work to grab him a drink, the thin, black ink on the sticker reading: LATTE, + CARAMEL, -XTRA ESPRESSO SHOT, -XTRA HOT. she had banked on him being late despite the fact she had left him three messages this morning asking if he was awake (he wasn’t) and called him last night before bed to remind him not to sleep in. 

A minute or so before she would have figured he was just calling in sick today, she caught sight of a slouched figure dashing off the bus, the grey knitted cardigan belonging to only one person his age in London. His thatch of messy black curls were a next dead give away, as well as the bags under his eyes that never seemed to budge even if he were to sleep two days in a row. Yet, she couldn’t help but smile at the way he seemed to apologise to a flock of pigeons he nearly trampled on in his haste up the many steps leading to their workplace.

“Donna’s going to serve our heads on sticks to scare away rude customers, you know that right?” She said, handing him his drink, now lukewarm, as he nearly crashed into her own body.

“Thanks, Dove,” He said absently as the two of them headed quickly to the entrance, “Yep, I’m aware I’ve buggered us. Bloody weird dreams again,” Steven shook his head as if to rid himself of the odd thoughts. “Sorry though, love. You must be freezing,”

She was freezing, but the way he was quick to worry over her warmed her insides more than she’d care to admit. The nickname crafted just for her, the bird symbolising ‘Quiet innocence’ in Ancient Egypt, as Steven had once told her. Sure enough, the endearing term had stuck quickly, and it warmed her to know she had a special enough place in his life to have a pet name. 

It was plain to see just by looking at the twenty-five year old she was smitten with her co-worker. No sane person stands outside in Brittain’s April winds for just a friend. But Steven was different, which she knew was what every naive young girl said about their work crush, but he truly was. Steven had a kindness she had never known someone to offer without wanting anything in return, which he didn’t. He was so sweet to her she understood why he loved the sugary caramel syrup in his coffee so much, she thought often it glazed his every word with a honeyed tone. His face was a blend of a greek god and a lost puppy, a combination she never would have banked on being so damn attractive until she met him. 

Even his smell alone of a quiet library, a rain soaked meadow and freshly brewed coffee had her inebriated. 

“It’s fine,” The woman reassured as she cut through the main lobby where it was already lively with school kids. A few queued up at the gift shop to pay for their treasures; she smiled when she saw a girl with an Anubis plushie tucked under her arm. “I’m sure she would have found a reason to snap today anyway,”

She adored her job, she really did. Graduating university with a degree in Ancient Languages, working in London’s heart of archeological texts had been a linguist’s version of Broadway. Sure, her talents were beyond soured working in the gift shop, but anything was better than the life she’d fled to get here. 

No amount of sneers and dry remarks from Donna could ever drag her kicking and screaming back to that time before she left for Soho. 

“What did you dream about this time?” She asked, her black, kitten heels clicking against the freshly polished marble floor. 

A ghost of a smile spread across his face, and her eyes couldn’t help but linger on the way his brows lifted, giving away his amusement at his own head. “It was the weirdest thing. I felt like I was flying over London, but not, like, in an aeroplane or anything, like I was flying. Like, me. No wings or anything. Like I’m bloody superman or something.” Steven shook his head again and she gave a small laugh.

“Certainly beats getting the underground. You know, I saw a rat the size of a dachshund this morning, swear on my life. I thought it was about to ask me for spare change,” Steven smiled at his colleague as they entered the Ancient Egypt area. She took a sip of her own hot latte, sweet cinnamon with whipped cream that had long since melted, the liquid already half devoured when she was waiting for him to show up. 

“Don’t you ever have dreams like that, then? That feel so ridiculous. It's like, how can my head even come up with it?” Steven asked, and her smile wobbled a little as she saw her manager set her predatory gaze on the two of them. The people pleaser in her wanted to cower at Donna’s furious expression. 

In all honesty, she wished for dreams as ludicrous as flying over Piccadilly like a Mary Poppins wannabe. She wished she had Steven’s innocent look on life, that the world around her didn’t terrify her, that it could be as gentle with her as he was. 

But that was not real life. 

Her dreams were not filled with silly fantasies of flying like heroes. They were filled with dark monsters that looked too much like men to be supernatural, that managed to catch her no matter how many times she ran, begged, screamed. They always caught up to her. Always. Leaving her clawing at the duvet, drenched in sweat and a pulse that could challenge a hummingbird’s. 

“Brace yourself,” She ignored his question, muttering the words to him as the blonde came strutting over to them with a daggers look. Ah, Donna. The woman that made her job so joyful, so easy, a delight to be around.

Donna hated her almost as much as she made it clear Steven was on a metaphorical hit list the moment he stepped foot into the museum. 

“You pair better have a good explanation,” Donna snapped, dumping a tower of boxes in Steven’s arms. 

“Bus times-” Steven said at the same time she came out with:

“Road works-” 

They both stopped, hesitating a glance to one another. The blonde looked between them, shaking her head with a furrowed brow and a scornful sigh. 

“It’s like tweedledum and tweedledee having you two together,” She muttered, nudging the younger girl towards the stands in the middle of the gift shop, “Dum, you’re stock shelves today, love,” The term didn’t sound nearly as friendly coming from her mouth, nor did it make her chest flutter like it did when Steven said it. It was condescending, rude. Made to make her feel inferior, which it did. She pointed at the man then, shoving a basket of insect themed sweets to him behind the till, “Dee, you’re selling these.” 

Donna looked between the two of them one last time, her steely blue glare never wavering, as if checking they could be left alone together without wasting company time, before going to set her unforgiving jaws on some other poor creature.

The girl set her bag behind the counter and got to work organising the merchandise, twisting the ceramic scarabs to all be facing the front. 

It was a menial job at best, being stuck stacking shelves as mothers and fathers reached over to inspect the new stock, most of the time messing up the meticulous order she’d put them out in. Kids got their grubby mits all over the glass pyramid paperweights, making her eye twitch since she knew she’d need to polish them up again, only to flash them a smile and ask them kindly if they had the pocket money to pay for it. 

They didn’t, kids just liked to fiddle with priceless things and their parents were too busy on their phones to notice. 

She was half way through showing two young girls to the sarcophagus themed pencil cases when she caught sight of Dylan at the front counter, leaning in to talk to Steven. 

Dylan was a nice woman to work with. She was one of the only people who’d tried to coax conversation out of the greenie the first week she started there, which had been painful for both of them since she had never been known to be sociable. Companionship did not come easy to her and it was only by sheer luck that Steven seemed so similarly awkward in a charming way that she was able to feel comfortable around him. 

It was childish really, a silly work crush that she had no intention of ever letting slip. He was too good for her anyway. He was sweet and kind, gentle, innocent. Everything she was not.

Steven Grant deserved someone who could give him the world. Which is why it shouldn’t have come to too much of a stab to the chest when she heard what the two of them were talking about. 

“We still on for seven tomorrow?” Dylan asked, her hair falling in those beautiful, tight curls over her shoulder. Dylan was the type who showed up to work every day looking effortlessly gorgeous which clawed at the younger girl more than she cared to acknowledge. She liked Dylan, she really did. She was friendly in a way that was genuine, didn’t have her second guessing whether she meant the compliments she gave to anyone. 

Some days she wondered if Dylan pitied her. A plain Jane girl with no family to lean on, trying to make ends meet in a city as extortionate as London and chin deep in university loans. It was enough for any attractive, confident adult woman to kiss their teeth and “Awww”. 

The girl watched the two of them, waiting for the teenagers to decide which stationary sets they wanted. They were looking for ‘different but matching’ they had said, not that she was paying much attention to them. Steven’s face was the picture of lost as he stared at the grown woman, seemingly entranced with her face. And she couldn’t blame him. Dylan flashed him a teasing smile, brilliant white teeth poking out from behind her luscious dark lips. 

“Seven tomorrow?” He asked, despite nodding happily as if he understood what she was talking about. But his friend didn’t miss the confusion blaring on his face, his eyes as brown as the coffee she’d bought him scrunched up slightly in bewilderment. 

“Best steak in town?” Dylan prompted, her smile not faltering though she seemed to also be slightly thrown off that had forgotten. 

Their unknowing audience kept her head down, not wanting to watch for a second more of their conversation. She didn’t need a degree to see the way Dylan had leaned in, her body language turned completely towards him as if to tease him with what could come if their date were to go well, her own almond eyes trailing over him with the air of confidence her younger counterpart lacked. 

“Oh right, yeah. Yeah,” Steven replied. She could tell he still had no clue what Dylan was talking about. 

“Yeah? Okay,” Dylan replied, oblivious to his dilemma, and stepped away from the desk to go tour the new group of school kids waiting in the hallway. 

Steven followed her trail hotly before she could leave, “Sorry but,” He stepped towards her to talk a little quieter, almost embarrassed about how forward he was being, “Are you asking me out?” 

Dylan stopped, reeling slightly in shock before she wagged a finger to him and chuckled. “You’re funny. I’ll see you then.” She seemed unbothered by his ‘joke’ though she could hear in his own voice he was muddled. The woman walked away with a sultry looking smile, her eyes flicking to her where her other coworker silently arranged the pencil sarcophaguses. “Morning, babe,” She gave the girl a friendly squeeze on the upper arm as she passed. It only made it more difficult to writhe in jealousy knowing the woman he was seeing was downright lovely.

“Morning, Dylan,” She returned the smile, though the bitterness festered inside her. She had no claim over him, and she really couldn’t blame the two of them for gravitating towards one another. Not only was she merely twenty-five, a decade under Steven and Dylan’s thirty-five years, but Dylan was sexy, confident, flirty. Knew what she wanted. She was incredibly smart too, not an airhead like some other people trying to live the big dream in London. Dylan was a tour guide at the British Museum, and what was she? A graduate with a dead degree, pun intended, and a job that could be done by any wannabe walking in here.

Taking a moment to rearrange her feelings, shoving down the way her heart wriggled in her chest as the little green monster worked its way through her veins, pumping disappointment around her body like a drug. 

The two young girls seemed to only then decide which pencil boxes they wanted, unbeknownst to her inner turmoil, and she remained silent as she led them over to the till to talk to Steven, more for her own benefit than theirs. 

“I didn’t know you’d asked her out,” She said finally, though it came out as a croak, which she cleared from her throat quickly. Steven scanned their items as the girls both fiddled with ten pound notes, the great Queen Elizabeth staring at the woman from their hands as if she even knew how childish she sounded.

“Neither did I,” Steven replied honestly, printing off the receipts for them, “And you would think for a woman like her there’d be no chance I’d forget a date, you know what I mean?”

Ouch. She smiled tightly, waving the younger girls off as they caught up with Dylan’s tour group. The woman of the hour. Of course he’d be elated at the sound of that, what man with eyes wouldn’t? Anyone would count their stars lucky to be given a chance by a temptress like her. 

“Must have needed that coffee today after all,” She joked, though she couldn’t bring herself to smile properly, instead finding a middle ground between a grimace and a simper. 

Steven chuckled at her, shaking his head. “Must have. What would I ever do without you?” She grinned painfully at him, looking away to try and hide the way her face grew hot at his thoughtless words. “Am I still walking you home tonight?”

Another of their routines. She lived closer to Islington than the lovely apartment Steven had in Whitechapel. Despite paying a lot per month to live so close to the city centre, some areas of London like the borough she lived in was still ridden with some of the highest crime rate in the county. Steven was more thoughtful than anyone she had ever met, a rarity in this place, and on the days they were at work together he would ride the underground home with her before detouring around to his own apartment even further away. 

“Uh, no,” She replied, busying herself with unloading one of the boxes Donna had dumped in Steven’s hands earlier. She loved spending time with Steven, loved it so much that she felt guilty of lusting over him without his knowledge, but she couldn’t bear to hear any more about this date that he would no doubt want to pick her brain apart over. He’d want to ask what to wear, how to style his hair, if he should buy her chocolates and flowers even though she already knew he would. And the whole time she’d be hoarse in the throat from holding back the urge to say Date me instead, I’m begging you.  “No, I have a date of my own tonight,”

Liar. Liar. Liar. 

It was like their monarch Elizabeth was still glaring at her, judging her through her inky lashes and driving the dagger in further at the fact that this kind of behaviour was exactly what made her too immature to be considered for a real date with Steven.

He raised his brows, surprised. It wasn’t uncommon for her to have an occasional fling with a guy every now and then. But none of them really progressed to a date, just a single night of passion to groan over in embarrassment when Steven asked how her weekend went. 

“Oh, who’s the lucky guy?” Steven asked, nudging her shoulder in a tone that was nothing but teasing. 

“No one, just someone I met on tinder,” She brushed off, the lack of excitement making the man stop trying to pry a smile out of her. 

“What’s the matter?” She shrugged at him, not coming up with a response in time. What he took as nerves was in fact guilt and disgust feasting on her insides at the fact she was lying to him. Lying. There was no mystery man, no one coming to save her from this awkward display of what pure jealousy can do to a reasonable person. “You can always cancel if you don’t want to go.”

“I just…” she trailed off, stuck for what to say. He was looking at her with those puppy eyes no grown man should be able to perfect. And yet he was patiently waiting for her to stumble on the right set of words, his entire focus on whatever it was troubling her. That was another thing, for as chatty as a person as Steven was, he was just as good a listener, and she could tell he gave her everything every single time they would talk.  “I just don’t know what to wear, is all,” 

He seemed content with her answer as his eyes trailed down her body. She squirmed under his gaze but hid it well (not at all) by pulling her cardigan sleeves over her hands and balling her fists to fidget with, “Wear what you’re wearing now,” He said simply, as if it were obvious.

She looked down. A large top and casual jeans did not exactly say date worthy, though she wasn’t sure if there were actual rules to hypothetical dating, seeing as her man was fucking imaginary. 

She giggled at him nonetheless, shaking her head, “These are my work clothes, Steven. I can’t go like this.”

“Why not? I think you look lovely,” Steven’s comment was passing, tiny in the scale of things. Yet it sent her heart scrambling for a grip on reality. He was just her friend, complimenting her on her perfectly ordinary clothes. Nothing more. 

It wasn’t until she found herself smiling at a set of metal Pharaohs that she realised she needed to get a date for this evening fast. If Dylan and Steven could find someone in this wide city, surely it couldn’t be too hard for her to.

Sound was the first thing that came back to her. The crappy animated kids show she had been watching out of pure boredom last night was still playing after being left on all night. No doubt running up her already high electric bills. The exaggerated, slapstick bangs blared through the speaker. That caught her attention, drawing her into the awake like a fog horn from shore. The midday sun slipped through the open curtains, flicking over her lids and coaxing her to open them. She did so gently, lashes batting over her cheeks as she tried to make sense of where she was. 

Her sofa. 

The two empty mugs glared back at her from the coffee table, making her eyes wince in confusion. Why was she making tea so late last night?

Then the stench hit her. The smokey yet overwhelmingly powerful smell of a gentleman caller named Jack Daniels wafted up her nose and brought back a panorama of memories flicking through her head; The date. A real date that had been scheduled since Thursday. A completely ordinary blonde named James. The restaurant. Him being almost too charming. Fake laughing at his jokes she had already seen on Twitter weeks ago. Him touching her thigh every chance he could get. Suggesting they go to a club. Dancing. Shots. More dancing. Sharing a beer she pretended not to think was the most horrendous thing she’d ever tasted. More shots. More dancing. Him grabbing her hips. Her waist. Him kissing her neck, cheek, lips. Him grabbing her more, something she would find sleazy if she wasn’t desperate to force Steven out of her intoxicated brain. 

Which led to her apartment. The sofa, as classy as it sounded, was seemingly a better option than her bed. She had been quick to shut him down when he suggested moving it to her room; that was too intimate. That was her space, which would only be tainted by this stranger wanting to bend her over. So the sofa it was. 

Whiskey served in old mugs she got from the gift shop being chugged for Dutch courage. The same mugs she had bought with Steven as part of a set. They had taken two each, promising that they would be used whenever the other visited. 

She had given him Steven’s mug out of spite, even in her vodka riddled brain she was burying her feelings six feet under. 

Her hand shot out when she heard her phone buzzing, not wanting it to wake up her actual gentleman caller. 

The phone was clumsily brought to her ear, not even bothering to check who was calling before she swiped the green icon.

“Hullo?” It came out a horrible croaky mess and had her coughing the second she’d asked. 

“Hi, Dove! Just called to see how your date went.” Steven’s voice blared through the speaker, which only served to have her pulling it away and groaning. “And also to tell you about my dream, I think it was the weirdest one to date!”

“Woah, slow down, Steve-” She tried to say, but the man had clearly a mouthful to tell her and continued on regardless.

“I was in the alps, but it was all so real. There was this group of people taking it in turn to hold hands with this weird American guy, and then I got into a high speed cupcake-van chase with the lot of them because they started saying I’d stolen this little scarab thing from them, I don’t know where I get this stuff from-” Her eyes scrunched together in pain, though she lay in the quiet and tried to gather her bearings. She sat up from the sofa, shivering when she saw it was around midday outside and she had forgotten to close the window. 

“Sounds intense,” She mused to keep him talking, pulling a blanket over her still nude body as she stood to close it and preserve the heating. Her head spun as she stood, a rush of bile rising to her throat dangerously, which she choked back down and looked around the room. Quickly realising she was alone in her flat, she shuffled over to the kitchen in her blanket cocoon to find her purse to see how bad the damage her little excursion had done to her limited stash as any responsible youth did after a night out in London. 

“It was! I swear it was like I could feel the cars smashing into me- Oh right! How was your date?” 

She blanched, head still pounding, “Uh. Yeah it was great.” It was average at best. “He was super funny,” For a Twitter fraud. “So romantic,” If romantic was the new word for ten minutes of missionary and not even making her cum. “He took me wine tasting,” She was sure she’d be tasting the wine she’d bought at the club any second now judging by the way her head spun, “Yeah, he was great,” He wasn’t you, Steven.

“I’m so pleased for you, love!” Her best friend cheered, a part of her writhing in repulsion that she had lied to him again. Though maybe that was the wine begging to make an appearance. She stuck the lever down on the kettle to get the water boiling, sure that a fresh cup of strong tea would be the only thing to pull her through this hangover.

Part of her, the dark, twisted part, wanted him to be jealous. Wanted to make him as frustrated and envious as he had unknowingly made her. But he would never, could never. Steven was tender and good. He was too sweet to ever think a single bitter thought towards her, towards Donna even. Which only served to make her feel even more rotten inside. 

“How was your date with Dylan?” She forced herself to ask. It was selfish for her to think, but she wished more than anything for him to tell her that it went horribly. She hated the part of her inside that sang with glee at the idea of him hating his date. She truly was wicked inside, and the idea only reminded her more of why she would never be asked on a date by him. Maybe he could see it too, how sick she was for wanting the world to suffer if she couldn’t have the one man she’d ever truly wanted. 

“That’s not until tonight, love, remember?” He said casually, as she fumbled around her kitchen for her handbag. She locked eyes on the little black clutch sitting on top of the counter. Her brows furrowed in confusion, she could have sworn Dylan said they were meeting Friday, two full nights ago. Her heart plummeted, maybe it was a second date. 

Ofcourse it was. Ofcourse they hit it off, who wouldn’t. He was as smitten as anything and Dylan wasn’t that kind of woman that was too afraid to tell him exactly what she wanted. If she wanted to see him again, then Steven would give her exactly what she asked for.

“Tonight?” She asked, squeezing the phone between her shoulder and her head as she popped open the clasps to her bag. 

“Yeah. I wouldn’t forget a woman like her twice in a row,” Steven joked. But what should have made her gut curdle in pain only fell on deaf ears. 

Her purse was gone. Her purse that never left her damn bag, that she had stuffed her rent money in as soon as she’d gotten it was missing. 

“I-I’m gonna have to call you back, Steven,” She uttered through the heart sized lump in her throat. Her palms were already clammy with sweat, both from the drink and from her sheer panic, “Good luck on your date,”

“Alright, gators!”

She barely got a chance to murmur their goodbye back before she had thrown her phone down on the plain, white counter and dumped out the contents of her bag. 

Hair ties, the odd two pence, a pen she stole from the bank. But no purse. 

She turned her coat pockets inside out, the blanket falling down her waist and exposing her round breasts to the cold air. But she couldn’t care less. The goosebumps slithering up her arms did nothing to fight the hot panic as the sofa cushions were thrown off their frame, the young girl still turning up empty handed. 

Fuck, Fuck, Fuck, Fuck. 

This could not be happening. She hadn’t opened her bag all night, even when she got out of the taxi she had her phone readily in her hand and the bag tightly closed. Someone could have taken it in the club, sure, but that made no sense seeing as her bag was definitely still heavy with the wallet when she had gotten home, not near empty like it was now. 

Which only meant…

Her date had fucking stolen from her. 

“FUCK!” She yelled, throwing her vacant bag across the room with tears brimming her eyes. 

It seemed life had been digging a trench underneath Rock Bottom reserved for her at a time like this. And she was left clutching at the muddy walls, trying to drag herself to safety and anywhere that wasn’t her shitty situation where she pined over a man she could never have, where she was still walking the line between sane and whatever else was brewing inside her, fighting against tendrils of hatred and chaos, malignance, that wrapped around her organs and reminded her where she came from, what she was. A life where she got mugged by the men she fucked at her expensive pity parties. 

She just hoped Donna wasn’t too hard on her tomorrow after this shit show of a weekend. 

“Late, again,” Came the chiding voice the moment she stepped in the building. 

Sweat dripped down her back from her long trek through London to get to work. 48 minutes of power walking is what she had been reduced to, unable to get the bus or underground for lack of money. 

And she was still late. She was expecting a nice, fat kick to the teeth any time now.

“It’s five minutes, Donna,” You pleaded, yanking an earphone out. Music was the only thing that could block out the thrum of anger and agony she was in from the weekends chaotics. 

“Even Stevie-”

“Steven,”

“-Was on time today and he’s the worst for it,” Donna snapped, and the young girl could do nothing but slump in defeat. 

“I’m sorry, Donna. It won’t happen again.” She promised. She wasn’t sure if she meant it yet with her lack of transport, but she couldn’t lose this job. She didn’t even know how she was going to pay for this month’s rent let alone catch the bus, breakfast itself had been skipped in an attempt to conserve food. Her stomach ached from the exercise, crying out for anything to fill its distressed cavern. “I got robbed yesterday so I walked,” She murmured, avoiding the blue eyes that had narrowed in on her. She hated feeling pitied, feeling as though people were sorry for her. But it was the truth, and the truth sucked sometimes. 

She wasn’t sure what beam of light had shone out of Donna’s ass this morning, or whether she really did look just that pathetic, but the blonde woman just sighed and nudged her towards the gift shop.

In perhaps the nicest tone she’d ever spoken to her, Donna quietly said “Last warning, girl, alright?” The younger woman thanked her quickly, her small voice sheepish. Her boss looked down at her in discontent, “Alright, get going. And you’re on inventory with Steven tonight so best behaviour, I mean it,”

She nodded, turning on her heel to speed towards the gift shop. 

Turning from the main lobby to enter the Ancient Egypt exhibits, she’d not gotten halfway there when she’d caught up to Steven seemingly helping a customer. Odd considering the fact he wasn’t even in the shop yet, but knowing Steven he’d probably stopped to chat the guy’s ear off about something he knew too much about to be just a giftshoppist. 

She went to wave when he looked up and met her gaze, but the forlorn, scared expression she found there had her already negligent smile drop completely. Steven seemed relieved to see her, too nervous to say anything to the man himself as he stood too close for his comfort.

Her eyes fell to where the stranger held Steven’s hands tightly, murmuring something to him that seemed to have her friend freaked out. The whole sight threw her for a loop, and she called his name on instinct, the new man’s head shooting up to stare at her blankly.

Speeding up her pace, she met the two as Steven pulled away from the stranger’s strong grasp. “Steven, are you okay?” She asked gently, looking from her friend to the lithe figure of the man. He wasn’t tall by any means, but his presence, the way he dressed and held an intricately woven cane seemed meant to make himself superior. His hair was long and greying, still young enough to be attractive but probably a bit older than Steven. A neat sort of scruff sat on his chin, and old blue orbs took her in head to toe where she stood. Not out of lust, but out of intrigue.

“We were just talking, weren’t we, Steven?” The man said calmly, seemingly sizing her up himself. She looked over her shaken friend quickly, the alarm written over his face that had near brought him to tears telling her all she needed to know. 

This man was no friend. 

“Sorry, I don’t remember asking you,” She snipped in the cold politeness English people all knew how to enact, bringing her friend’s hand into her soft one for reassurance. Steven had never seen her so infuriated. And perhaps it was the weekend she’d had or the way the man so gentle he refused to kill insects seemed to be trembling beneath her hand, she wasn’t sure, but a fierce frown was deep set into her face that dropped into concern the moment she looked back to him, “Are you alright?” 

“Can we go, please?” His round, nut brown eyes were soft and welled up as he quietly spoke, as if asking for her permission to be away from here despite being the older of the two. Her heart dropped at his sad expression, and she felt him squeeze her hand as if needing to reassure himself someone was there to save him. 

She had no time to note the way the butterflies swelled in her stomach as he did so, focused on getting him away from the strange man. 

“Ofcourse,” She said softly, turning to direct him to their little corner of the museum, hoping that the stranger would get the hint and just leave them be. 

That seemed short lived when a cold hand wrapped itself around her lower arm, a gasp drawing its way from her lungs. She could feel the panic of being grabbed by the unfamiliar man crawling up her spine, her limbs going numb, her hearing dipping in and out of static at the adrenaline flushing through her system. 

She heard Steven say her name as her head snapped to where the man’s strong grip tightened around her wrist. He seemed to stare at her with something calculating, and she wished she hadn’t run her mouth despite the fact she did so to protect the same person who was now behind her, a deeper sense of panic blaring in his eye than before. 

“Let go-” Taking a deep breath to overcome the bubbling fear rising in her chest, her only words were cut off by a much clearer voice. 

“There is a darkness in you,” The stranger said, as if he knew it for a fact. 

Her heart plummeted. 

Was it so obvious? No one had ever been able to see it, she buried it so deep in the hopes no one would ever get a glimpse beneath her kind shell. But it was a facade, and even he knew it. The shock must have read clear on her face as he pushed on, as if to reopen scar tissue with his bare hands.

“And chaos, oh there is chaos.” Her lips quirked between her teeth as she tried to stop them from trembling, “A shadow looms over you, little dove.” She felt Steven pull her closer to him, but this man had her every morsel of attention. How did he know, if he knew then surely Steven knew too. Knew she was born so dead she felt she was living a lie by being here. The man laughed to himself, just a small breath but it was enough to break her spirit, “What is it those witches say about Macbeth? Something wicked this way comes.” He asked though he already knew the answer, as if to entrance her with his own spell, “And I see you are truly something wicked.” 

Her breath left her chest. The voice escaped her throat. Every intention of protecting Steven had practically evaporated out of her body as her co worker tugged her arm hard enough that the stranger let go of her. 

“Leave us alone or I’ll call the police, alright?” Steven murmured with a new sense of courage, “I don’t care if you’re friends with the security here, you leave us alone,”

But the man’s eyes hadn’t left her, as if he knew just how deep his words had struck with her. He wormed his way into her brain even as Steven led her away with a kind hand on her back, his own words of reassurance coming to her as if she were underwater. As if she were being dragged under a current.

“He has no clue what he’s talking about, love. He was trying to get into my head too,” Steven said, but he could tell by the lost look in her eyes it was barely being registered. 

“Who the hell was that?” She asked after a moment, the feeling in her fingertips just about awakening once they were far enough away to be considered safe.

“You won’t believe me if I told you-”

“Steven, please,” She begged, looking up at him with a desperation he had never known from her. That man, Harrow, one of the women in the alps had called him, had truly shaken her up with the near omen he had given her. 

Steven couldn’t understand why, she was possibly the loveliest girl he had ever met. There was no one who so much as held a torch to her light in Steven’s eyes. She was kind. Gentle. Good. This Harrow had no idea what he was talking about saying she was wicked. She was anything but. 

Steven sighed, looking at her gravely. “Remember yesterday when I said I had that dream the other night. When I was in the alps, and those men were chasing me for some scarab I’d stolen,” 

She blinked at him emptily. In her defence, her brain had still been riddled with alcohol when he’d been rambling, and she had gotten caught up in her own personal issues since then to take much notice. But the scenario sounded familiar as she wracked her brain for the information, some light sparking in her eyes when it clicked to their phone conversation the day before. 

She stayed silent, eyebrows furrowing, “You said that was a dream, Steven. That man is very much real,”

“I know, I thought it was a dream,” Steven explained, “But now they’re here, and they keep saying I’ve got this scarab and what not. I don’t understand any of this, love. I’m sorry. I just know he’s dangerous and we need to stay far away from him,” 

The younger woman looked at him sadly. He was clearly in distress himself, and she felt a flash of sympathy run through her at his lost expression, yet his eyes were full of concern for her well being. 

She knew what it was like to struggle to know what was real and what was not. What it was like to feel as though you're barely keeping your head above the waters of reality. Yet she trusted Steven would tell her if he knew what was happening. 

She knew he was more honest than anyone she’d ever known, so she didn’t push. 

“Alright,” She said with a heavy sigh, rubbing her eyes to relieve the pressure building in her frontal lobes, “Alright, let’s just steer clear of him, okay? And if he comes back, we go to the police together.”

Steven seemed relieved, which wasn’t a surprise since he knew it was a big ask to have someone trust such a ludicrous story. Yet he didn’t know why he doubted her. She was loyal and would never dream of ridiculing him like other people might. She just took his word as gospel. 

She was too good to him. 

“Okay, yeah. Good plan,” He said, nodding and checking behind him to see if the guy was still after them when a smaller body pressed its way into his chest. 

She didn’t know why she did it, whether it was for his benefit or hers, but she hugged him. Tightly too, as if she had been holding back for a while (she had). They hugged all the time, when saying goodbye at her train stop, when they saw each other on a morning given they weren’t running late. But it never felt like this, so intimate. So much like she needed him so desperately. 

Perhaps it was childish, but the way he drew her closer, resting a head on top of hers as if he needed the contact as much as she did made her heart flutter even with the strange circumstances. For a moment, they both felt safe, like Harrow couldn’t get in their heads entirely because they had each other to ground them, reassure the other that they were not alone in the web his ominous words had spun them into, and that was enough for now. 

Yet the two of them barely spoke all day. 

Whether it was they were too busy with their actual work, or they were both in their heads thinking just what Harrow had meant by his prophesying. 

It wasn’t until inventory was nearly done that she spoke first. 

“We’re going to be alright, aren’t we?” She asked, his head cutting to hers from where he was scanning some Beefeater Rubber ducks. He seemed to notice the slight glint of fear in her tone, “As in, they don’t know where you live do they? Or me?” 

“No love, of course not,” At least he hoped they didn’t. Steven realistically couldn’t promise anything, he had no idea how far this Harrow’s network of followers ran. But he knew for certain he couldn’t stand to see her so scared. It ran a streak of anger in him that was unusual. Steven never found himself particularly angry, but it had run red hot when he saw the way Harrow had grabbed her and knocked the soul out of her with his words alone. “If you want, you can stay at mine tonight? I’ll take the sofa, you can take my bed,” After he’d swept away the giant ring of sand of course. 

She smiled at him finally, maybe the first proper one she’d shown him all day. And he couldn’t help but feel his chest grow lighter that he had done that. Gods be good, she was pretty when she smiled, he thought. 

“Thanks, Steven,” She said quietly. He was confident the two of them could figure this out together, and if he was sure of her, then how wicked could she truly be? 

She knew it was a cop out, that she hid so much from him that he didn’t know the real her; that if he did he would turn tail and run as far as he could from the monster in front of him. That he would curse himself once he realised Harrow was right; she was polluted down to her marrow.

“I’ve only got this box left to do, love, then we can get out of here,” Steven promised, his eyes flicking over where she collected two half full crates of merchandise and headed out of the gift shop to the stockroom. 

“I’ll take these out and meet you in the lobby?” She called over her shoulder, hearing him agree as she walked away to the area meant for employees only. 

Sighing deeply, she put the crates down gently, sliding them into a bottom shelf out the way of clumsy feet (most likely her own). A thought jumped in her tired brain, and she was quick to turn out her pockets for any spare change she could use for the train fare back to Steven’s apartment. 

Just as she suspected: empty. Because why would she be so lucky as to have anything good happen to her. She could always try and persuade Steven to walk home and save the embarrassment of revealing what actually happened to her Saturday night, but she knew the pitiful look he would give her if she told him the truth of her date. The sad eyes that would flash that neither of them needed after a morning of such anguish. 

They didn’t need another of her pity parties today, and she grimaced at the thought of how horrendously the last one ended. Though she knew Steven was different, that he would never do anything so cruel to a stranger let alone herself. 

It only made her heart yearn for him more.

Sighing, she thought on her feet as to what to tell him as she left the stockroom, locking the door behind her with the key Donna gave them all a copy of. Her heels rhythmically clicked on the freshly polished floor that reflected her frowning face back at her as if to remind her to stop looking so tormented. 

She saw the light of the main exhibit at the end of the darkened hallway, heading towards it at no rush since she figured Steven would likely just about be done himself. Lost in her own head as to what excuse to give the man she called her only friend, she almost missed the deep sound snarling in the shadows behind her. 

Whipping her head around with a wide eyed expression, her eyes flicked around the hallway for any glimpse of what made that sound. 

But she saw nothing. Not in the way shadows were nothing, dark patches of nothing, as in she saw nothing there. Had anything been lingering behind her, she would have at least caught or heard any movement. 

She paused for a second to take another look, only to still come up empty. Her foot warily continued its original path, figuring the sound must have been the cleaners dragging something against the floor. 

“Hey, Steven,” She called upon approaching the lobby where he’d be waiting, “Do you reckon I could owe you a coffee for my train fare? It’s just-”

Her voice cut out when she heard the low growl again, much louder this time. Loud enough to have her wince and stop in her tracks in the centre of the room. 

She caught sight of the navy blue jacket she knew too well walking backwards slowly, his eyes trained on something in the adjacent corridor. 

“Steven-” She whisper yelled, his panicked eyes snapping to hers, “What the hell is that-”

His arm raised out to point at the shadow illuminating the wall. Her gaze fixed on the shadow of a wild dog of sorts, its snout long and open in a fierce grin. She could practically see the outline of the drool dripping from its sharp teeth, at least she hoped it was saliva she thought gravely. 

Her breath left her instantly. What the fuck was that? Her knees felt as if they were about to buckle underneath her, calves going numb as the adrenaline flushed over her body in tidal waves. She was always a dog lover, she’d had two as a kid, but something told her whatever kind of beast this was, it was not nearly as friendly as a tamed canine would be. 

And it seemed Steven realised it too as he was quick to cower behind a display of an ancient relic clutching his bag to his chest tightly. 

His frantic eyes pleaded for her to move, but she seemed frozen to the spot. 

The overhead tannoy rang melodically, as if God was preparing to make the announcement that they were truly fucked, something she didn’t need a bulletin to know. 

“Steven Grant of the gift shop.” The sound of that familiar voice had her heart plummeting into her gut that twisted painfully. Did this guy have attack dogs or something? How had he gotten them past security? They looked huge. “Give me the scarab and the two of you won’t be torn apart,”

The scarab? Everything Steven had said about his dream was true. And if that was true then that meant this guy was a nut job capable of having his entire team hunt her down for so much as associating with poor Steven who looked as lost as she felt. 

The shadow moved, shifting around the corner of the hall to enter the open lobby. A scratch-like sound found her ears, as if someone were running knives over a cold slab, and she realised with a shiver this thing must have claws.  

And they were approaching. 

An open mouthed growl echoed through the room, which only served to confuse her even more. From the volume alone she knew the thing was big, and in the very same room as her. Which meant she surely should be able to see it as she could see the entire length of the room it had to be walking down. 

But that was the thing. There was nothing there. 

“Steven,” She whimpered quietly. It was stupid, making that noise and attracting attention to herself. But she was scared. She wanted to know what to do. Wanted comfort that she wasn't going insane, that maybe this was all a practical joke and there really was nothing there. 

A second set of razor sharp nails entered the room from the same direction, yet again she could only decipher that on sound alone. The chorus of snarls that only got closer did nothing but have her step back on instinct. 

“Steven-” She said again, only to see him standing in a rush. 

“RUN!” He yelled, taking off towards the exit. 

She didn’t need to see the dogs to know they were in the way of her and the same route Steven had taken, so she settled for scrambling back the way she came. The black heels she wore for work to seem professional only proved to be useless when running from wild animals, it seemed. Who’d have thought it? 

Her feet pounded down the maze of exhibits, trying to make it to the exit where Steven had headed towards. But for every one step she took, two paws advanced on her like an apex predator heading for its kill. 

Which she no doubt would be. 

Turning past the Anubis exhibit her stomach dropped when she heard a strong body colliding with the same wall she had practically skidded past. Her lungs burnt with effort, her breaths coming out in wheezes. She had one last turn and before she would be seconds away from the fire exit that she could barricade from the outside. 

The feeling of the dog’s hot breath on the back of her ankles had her pushing herself harder, too scared to look over her shoulder. She was coming up to where the hallway split into two and she headed for the right where she was sure the back exit was. She couldn’t help but wish Steven was able to outrun the mutt on his own heels, having not heard from him since she had taken off in separate directions. 

Taking the turning past a remaining chunk of what was once a Cleopatra statue, her eyes adjusted to the dark corridor. Where were the slab paintings of the sphinx? Where were the memorials to King Tut? They should be here, they’re always next to this exit-

Her chest constricted when she realised her mistake. Her grave mistake.

In the panic of escaping the creature, she had taken the wrong turning. She should have gone left. 

Yet judging by the way the animal grunted with the effort of the chase, she had no option but forward. 

Forward to a dead end. To the Setekh exhibit room. 

The walls were alive with paintings recovered from ancient tombs. The god of Storms, among other things, was feared through all of Egypt in the later dynasty. He was associated with all things evil, mysterious and disordered. The huge altar that held the statue of Set, his long face foreboding and as cold as the stone it was preserved in, looked down at her in almost malice as her feet took her into the one place she had left to go. 

It wasn’t until she felt the walls surrounding her, the penny dropped how fucked she was. There was no way out, no cutting back the way she came as the creature ran into the vast room with her. Dodging one of the plinths containing statues of the demon god, she had barely a second where her pace slowed down as she considered how she was going to turn back before she felt it. 

A force stronger than a freight train hit her from behind. She heard every molecule of air get pushed from her lungs at the sheer weight of it, her throat audibly yelping. Its body collided with hers with a weight that she was sure must be pure muscle, and she was thrown to the hard floor with less effort than a child tossing a ragdoll. 

The impact had her ribs rattling in her chest, brain bouncing against her now bleeding forehead. The cold floor was harsh against her raw skin. Her nose made a loud pop as it smashed against the marble, a hot sting erupting over her entire face.

But the worst was yet to come. 

There was a moment when she was collecting her thoughts, head spinning from the collision. She was sure she’d damaged something in her skull as it pounded, harder than it ever had with any hangover. 

She’d give anything to be back on her sofa feeling sorry for herself. 

She hadn’t the time to pick herself back up when she felt something large do it for her. It must have been eight feet tall with how big its behemoth paws were as the one grabbed her leg and dragged her on her stomach towards itself. Like a cat playing with a mouse. Not ready to devour, not yet. Just playing. Torturing. Tormenting. 

Then came the claws. Her eyes looked down at her ribs, the thin air surrounding them making her cry out in horror - there still wasn’t a fucking soul in sight. No dog, or animal. Or human even. Nothing. Yet her shirt ripped almost too easily as it let out a deep hiss of what she would call a near laugh and sunk its talons into her side. 

That was when she started screaming. 

Her throat hurt from the volume alone, a banshee shriek akin to a horror movie. It reverberated through the museum halls, but she couldn’t find it in herself to care. 

Vision started slipping then. Whether it was panic or her mind protecting her from what was coming next she didn’t know, but all she knew was everything felt weightless for a moment. 

She thought maybe she was dying and ascending at that moment there and then. But she wasn't so lucky. She was still being made this creature's bitch as the God of chaos watched. What beautifully horrible irony.

It was then that it clicked in her stress-addled brain that she was not in fact weightless. That the reason she felt so was because she was now being suspended midair by the thing that had her in its vicious grasp. 

It took shockingly little effort for the creature to throw her through the wall-sized fortified glass surrounding the monolith and for her whole body to crumple to the floor. 

Steven slammed the bathroom door shut with a panting “Oh God”, his coffee brown eyes never leaving the thick metal that shook with the weight of the monster throwing itself at it violently. 

What the fuck was his next move? What even was that thing? He retreated further into the bathroom with a lost expression, clutching his arms for a semblance of comfort. 

“Steven,” The man in the mirror spoke in the same American accent he’d been hearing in his own home. 

Looking at his reflection, he was agog to find the man identical to him moving on his own, as if independent from Steven himself. That was not his reflection, he knew that much, no matter how much it looked like it. “Steven, I can save us,” He said darkly, his eyes and frown much meaner than any expression Steven would ever wear. 

The way he stood was entirely different too, as if he were bigger in stature despite being encased in the exact same body as Steven was. 

“W-What?” Steven whispered, backing away from the door that weakened by the second. 

He thought of Dove. Had she been able to get away, run out the front door and get help from anyone who would believe her? He hated the thought of those adorable little heels she wore clattering against the floor, he wouldn’t be surprised if they’d slowed her down. He always heard women complaining about walking in heels let alone running from fucking monsters in them. 

Where was she?

“But I can’t have you fightin’ me this time,” He had felt like he’d been playing tug-of-war with his body for some time. But against what, he hadn’t known. His own reflection? This man staring back at him in the mirror with a scowl he knew wasn’t plastered on his own expression? “You need to give me control. You understand?”

He swivelled on his heel to see the man in the full length looking glass behind him, who seemed to tower over him in frame. 

“No, what? Control of what? What are you talking about?” Steven bumbled, his eyes looking over the stranger’s shoulder to see the door shaking on its hinges now. Dents were appearing now where the monster was caving its way into the bathroom, and one look at the length of its claws told Steven all he needed to know. He stood no chance against this thing alone. 

“That thing’s about to break through the door. We’re out of time.” The man said, realising their predicament as much as he did. This couldn’t be real. This had to be a dream, the lot of it. The entire day. From that Harrow guy to the idea that he could possibly lose her to some ancient wild dog. 

“No! No!” Steven cried, flinching as the door clattered one more time, the frame whining with the effort at which it held the assailant at bay. 

“All right, hey. Listen to me,” The mirror man tried to reason, but Steven was panicking too much to hear him. 

“Dammit, no! Stop it!” Steven slapped himself around the face a few times, begging with anything listening to wake him up from the worst nightmare he’d had yet. The image of her being chased by that thing wouldn’t leave his welled up eyes. He wanted to run to her, god knows he would have if that thing hadn’t been stood in between the two of them, blocking his way to her. “This is not real! You’re not real!”

“This is real. I’m real.” The man spoke calmly, as if a diametrical opposite to his own mood. He seemed to know more about what was happening, what that thing was, what it could do. Perhaps that was why Harrow had been chasing him in the first place.

Either way, Steven didn’t care. Not now at least. When the only person outside of his parents that he had ever held affection for was in danger. Imminent danger. 

“No! You’re not,” Steven yelled back at his reflection through tears. 

It was then he heard the screaming. A howl of visceral pain enough to rattle his bones at the familiar feminine tone to the voice. 

It was her. 

It was like nothing he’d ever heard, like an animal in a slaughterhouse. He trembled in his place at the thought. She was in danger. Oh god it had her. 

“I’m gonna die- She’s gonna die-” Steven whimpered, the tears rolling down his olive cheeks at the thought. He really was useless. 

“Steven, look at me.” He finally listened to his reflection with a pitied sniff, “You’re not gonna die, I can save us. But she is if you don’t give me control right now. Let me save her, okay?”

That was the straw that broke Steven’s resolve, the idea of her dying. He had never found it so easy to concede.

He just hoped the man using his body got to her in time. 

She felt someone picking up her limp body. The museum lights had long since been shut off, but through the darkness of the exhibition she caught a tall figure standing over her. Her lids were heavy, vision bleary, yet she blinked a few times to try and straighten her mind that still felt like it was pulsing stiffly in her tight skull. Her voice was no better, the only sound she could let out was a guttural whine as the stranger pressed hard on the three deep lacerations on her abdomen that were now gushing blood like a scene from a 90s slasher movie.

They were broad, blocking out the minimal slither of light as they crouched over her and seemed to be yelling something. Probably scolding her for getting copious amounts of thick blood over the freshly mopped floors, she thought numbly. The sound came to her in something akin to static, a muffled string of nonsense. All she knew was they were talking loud and fast. Or maybe she had a concussion too? That thing had thrown her through that glass wall pretty hard. 

She couldn’t see a mouth moving, nor could she actually see their face, just two beams of white blinking down at her. 

This couldn’t be happening, this couldn’t be happening for real. She thought maybe someone had slipped something in her drink when she was at the club, but that was two days ago. There would be no reason for her to be feeling the effects only just now. And when she had been jumped on by one of those things she’d sure as hell felt it. She'd seen it with her own two eyes the way her clothes had been ripped as something plunged its claws deep into her, heard the air whoosh out her lungs as it hurled her through the glass wall. 

She’d felt, still felt, the open wound seeping so harshly that she knew it was going to be fatal. 

There was no coming back from whatever fever dream this was. 

She blinked again up at the mystery guy who seemed to be holding her heavy head gently, but the hot, red wetness on his hands that smeared on her cheek said he also knew how fucked she was. He was muttering something, was there someone else here? Oh god, where was Steven? 

“Steve-” Came her broken murmur, but the metallic taste crawling its way up her throat cut her off as a blob of viscid blood rolled down her chin. 

“He’s here, he’s okay. It’s gonna be okay,” Said the voice back to her, his grasp on her hair tightening as she garbled. The breath, life, was leaving her now. Every time she tried to get air into her lungs, she was met with more of the thick liquid spraying into her mouth, her chest retching for oxygen.

She didn’t have long left, she realised numbly. 

The room was blackening round the edges even more now, sped up by the way she felt her hands grabbing his arm in a panic. She’d thought she would welcome the cold hands of Death, it wasn’t a stranger in her home. Death rooted himself in her very soul, and yet as it dragged her under consciousness, she couldn’t help but feel like a scared little girl and she tried to cling onto the mystery figure as if he could keep her from Death’s greedy clutches. 

It was sweet poetry, knowing she was drowning from the inside out. She had always known her biggest monster lay within her, in her every cell, festering and rotting her, since the moment she was born. There was really no other perfect way to sum up her whole life than it ending this way, choking on her own body. Grabbing onto a stranger, trying to plead for help as a few precious tears wet her face and she realised she was crying. Scared, vulnerable to her own demise like she had always known she would be. 

How do you fight off a monster coming from within? You don't. You can’t. So she didn’t. 

No amount of soft words or desperate touches on the figure helped her, it only made the departure messier, a bigger pool of blood for them to find her in.

The world felt surprisingly calm the moment she was snatched ruthlessly into Death’s open arms.

[communistkenobi]

ok conclave thots (spoilers)

trying very hard to set aside my feelings on the Catholic Church to evaluate this movie. It’s quite beautiful, everything has a very solid physical presence, big wooden doors thunking, columns of stone and marble, thick robes, luxurious physical sets. Really enjoyed the cinematography. The cast was all really enjoyable aside from Stanley Tucci, not bc he’s a bad actor but I could not be sold on him being a cardinal. he seemed generally out of place. Although he was clearly there to be a bit ‘out of place’ as a figure for liberal Catholics, like definitely the type of guy who would think creating an anime girl avatar for the Catholic Church would be a good move to modernise the church. Actually maybe he was good in that movie I change my mind.

He did also demonstrate the complete failure of liberalism to respond to right wing rhetoric - all he says in response to Tedesco’s islamophobic rant about the need for religious intolerance is “you should be ashamed of yourself!”, just totally unable to address Tedesco’s fixation on conducting religious warfare. The film is centred around the church’s need to manage its public image, making multiple references to the recent international outcry over the church’s systemic sexual abuse problems, its homophobia & anti-abortion views that are increasingly falling out of favour, and the general trouble the church has with the press. There is a clear emerging clash between tradcaths and liberal Catholics that are fighting for dominance in the church. The film ultimately finds synthesis between these two poles in Benitez, a man who conducted missions in ‘war torn’ countries such as the Congo and Afghanistan (thus having a more genuine connection to religious intolerance than privileged, out of touch conservatives like Tedesco) but despite that still desires to promote unity and tolerance, and at the last hour is revealed to be an intersex man who was counselled by the pope to get a hysterectomy (and decided against it), as if literally embodying the tension between these two positions within the church. Not sure how I feel about that lol, intersex characters are so rare and he’s not treated as a punchline, they even do the “born this way” thing with it as like god made him intersex. so like props for that I guess.

overall a very goofy person’s idea of power and politics but it was a fun watch and I had a good time. Kinda soured on how ridiculous it is that Benitez would pull a super-majority from a single speech to Tedesco about him not knowing anything about “real war” and the need for unity - like idk I remember learning about Mehmet Ali Acğa’s assassination attempt of the pope and how virulently Islamophobic the response was from the public & media, the idea that there would be a “Muslim terrorist” bombing (they leave it vague in the movie but that’s clearly what’s being evoked) in Rome that damaged the building or church or wherever the cardinals were, and the cardinals didn't all immediately side with Tedesco is pretty mind boggling lmao. Again trying very hard to set aside my thoughts on history and religious politics and just have a fun time with this one, but it’s hard to distance those things when the history being dealt with is so recent.

Ralph Fiennes owns in this movie though, great job from him and just what I wanted out of a Ralph Fiennes character. I really liked this review of it on Letterboxd

[henrysglock]

Finally, More NINA Puzzle Pieces

DISTRESSED NOISES!! WE GOT NINA CRUMBS!! AND IT'S DRIVING ME INSANE!!

IT HAS THE CAMERA!!! AT LEAST ONE VERSION OF REALITY HAS THE CAMERA!!!!!

Okay so remember when I pointed this out about the NINA discrepancies in El's 4.05 entrance, and how there were at least 22 different iterations of events?

Specifically this glaring difference between reality (tapes) and the rest of the 4.05 entrance (labeled 3 and 8)?

The presence of a camera in a UD-ified version of HNL tells us that the bottom row of images straight up cannot physically exist in one cohesive reality.

Which is to say—Anything that does not have the camera is 100%, definitely, concretely not based in the UD's reality/those versions without the camera are either fake or set in a different reality.

If you've been following along this past year and a half, this is not news to you; it's just confirmation of what we already knew.

It does, however, means that none of this was based in reality:

We already kind of knew that, based on the props changing so much within the Rainbow Room each time/Henry's changing hair/etc, but the confirmation goes crazy insane. We love to see it.

After the first entrance to NINA/after we see the footage of the version with the camera, we don't see a non-camera version again. Any non-camera versions seem to disappear. This means whatever simulation El's stuck in, it's adaptive. It learns, with a propensity for making itself immersive by molding itself to to the subject's understanding of reality.

However, what fucks me up is that all of these are, then, set in the same "reality":

Which means the new ST5 UD-ified HNL, the physical camera footage of 1979, Henry's electrocution, Blood Hands El, El running to the Rainbow Room, and Brenner running to the Rainbow Room are all supposedly set in "reality".

That's not possible, though. The electrocution scene cannot have existed in reality/could not possibly be a memory, because 14 year old El is barely tall enough to see in. 1979 El would not have been tall enough to have seen interaction:

This means that none of NINA is reliable. Period. Even the things that appear to be set in reality are unreliable re: what actually happened in 1979.

Whatever NINA runs on, it's adaptive and manipulative. It's like c.ai, if c.ai was actually AI. Whatever it is, it takes El's experiences both in the lab and outside the lab and combines them to form entirely new scenarios that never really happened (see: Blade Runner 2049 and the manipulated/mash-up memories shenanigans). El has been told she's reliving memories. That is not the case. None of what she's seeing is reliable. It's like when a movie says it's based on a true story.

This fits with what I said about the monologue never having existed at all and NINA being an immersive empathogenic drug trip that pulls from El's outside memories. It also fits with my draft about the Mindflayer ties between Shadow-NINA in the VR, TFS, and NINA in ST4, and my speculation in that same draft about a) NINA specifically running on the Mindflayer, and b) the Mindflayer using familiar humanoid avatars to gain sympathy and coerce its target into joining it.

We see this kind of behavior in Patty in her garnering sympathy from Henry and then insisting that she and Henry run away together to find her mother in the Stardust Casino...regardless of the fact that Henry is still flayed. We see it again in our "Couldn't Possibly Exist" Henry as he garners sympathy from El and then tells El to join him. And then we see it again in Shadow Brenner using the NINA-like maze to learn about Henry as a means to try and coerce him into joining him. It's a continuing theme.

Both Patty and "Henry" want Henry and El, respectively, to accept their offer and leave with them. Both Henry and El reject that offer in exactly the same way:

In my speculative opinion, we see a resurgence of this particular dual-yeeting in Billy and Heather.

Henry in the VR, as we know, has a dubious ending re: escaping the simulation.

This exists in contrast to the other version of NINA Henry, who, much like TFS Henry with Patty, is insistent that El run away without him.

When I say that we have multiple guys, this is what I mean. Their motivations are entirely different. One of these men in NINA is not Henry. It's someone or something masquerading as him. If I had to speculate, I would say that it stems from the Mindflayer and its possible presence in NINA...Especially given the similarities between NINA and the Russian prison, wherein they have a trapped form of the Mindflayer:

In short—Every day it seems more likely that whatever El fought in the massacre was not Henry. It's like I said way way back last year: there's someone else in there with her. Multiple someone-elses, even.

It also seems, if I had to speculate, that rejecting the Mindflayer avatar is what gives El her powers back. This means it may also be what "changed" about One, as mentioned in the plinko scene.

This all also backs what I speculated way back in the day about the blood transfusions being related to immunity against the Mindflayer, either finding it, triggering it, or building it. It seems to function like getting a live vaccine: you're given dose of the live virus, and your body fights it off. In fighting off the Mindflayer, it's entirely possible that the process triggers latent powers in those who have them. Those who don't have the basis for latent powers eventually succumb (see: Will, Billy, the Flayed). Brenner, with NINA, may have been giving El the equivalent of a booster shot.

[bookshelf-in-progress]

Having story thoughts about the fourth wall:

It defines the difference between allegory and applicability. An allegorical story leans on our world to find its full meaning. Ideas, characters, settings, all symbolize something else that's in our world, thus obliterating the fourth wall and bringing the two worlds together. This can be useful for a message-forward story, but it has the side effect of making the world and characters seem less real, because it's not a place with its own independent existence--it relies on our world.

In an applicable story, the fourth wall is firmly in place. The character is a character. The setting is its own setting. They have an independent existence within their own little world. We can draw parallels to our world, but even without that meaning, the characters and setting still feel like they exist in a real, independent world.

An applicable story often has more impact and a stronger message, because the message comes out of the story and character, rather than being pulled from our world and pasted on top of the story.

As an example--I was thinking about this because I saw Ratatouille recently. In Remy's situation, there are a lot of parallels that can be drawn between his world and ours--an oppressed subculture, a life of poverty--but instead of trying to map that onto a specific real-world situation, they're still just rats, living in this weird version of Paris where sometimes the worldbuilding elements are just weird. The actual message of the movie is about art, which comes from character, not from the way the world is built. Compare this to something like Elemental, which started out as a way to explore real-world racism and the immigrant experience. Because the message is built into the world, commentators get distracted by the ways it doesn't map onto our world, and have a harder time connecting to the characters.

The fourth wall is also important to romance. The reason so much of the romance genre feels so fake and unreal is because it's so often concerned with the effect the story has on the reader--reaching through the fourth wall to give the reader things the reader finds romantic or arousing, regardless of anything that's specific to the characters or world of the book.

In a well-done romance, the fourth wall is firmly in place. The characters are not avatars for the reader and their romantic ideal, but people with their own independent existence and relationship. They live in a well-built world that has shaped both of their personalities and affects their relationships. The development of their romance is specific to these two people, and would exist independent of any audience reading about it. The story has more impact on the reader, because it's coming from outside our world and gives the reader unique characters to love, instead of just pulling the reader's desires out of our world and pasting them on top of the story.