#like the plot very much just went off the rails none of that made any sense lmfao

[aahsoka]

thinking about how i saw a vid about destined with you where someone was like can anyone explain this plot point to me and every reply was a completely different interpretation and i think those people need to accept that the plot of that show was kind of nonsensical and poorly thought out but the chemistry was off the charts and rowoon has phenomenal comedic timing + is hot and thats why you liked it

[eldritchamy]

read your tags and. (probably) not a girl but anything else you'd recommend rn?

....How do you feel about telekinesis-based witches in very violent Korean supernatural action horror? If this sounds interesting to you, you might enjoy The Witch Part 1: Subversion and The Witch Part 2: The Other One

How about a claustrophobic, tense, atmospheric suspense horror in the vein of Alien but at the bottom of the ocean instead of deep space? Does Kristen Stewart with a butch haircut work for you? If so, watch Underwater.

While we're on the subject, Alien and Aliens. If you've never seen them, change that immediately. Alien is correctly regarded as one of the best horror films ever made, and the (imo superior) sequel Aliens is in my extremely correct opinion the best sequel ever made and one of the best movies of all time. Ellen Ripley in Aliens is my GOLD STANDARD for character arcs. Just masterful writing. Fuck Alien 3. Alien Resurrection is hot trash and VERY OBVIOUSLY a prototype for what became Firefly if you squint, but apart from a few VERY WHEDON lines it's better than Alien 3 honestly. This is not saying enough to count as a compliment. FUCK ALIEN 3. The new films (Prometheus and Alien: Covenant) are OKAY, but a completely different vibe and generally most people either only like the old movies or only like the new ones. Covenant is better than Prometheus imo. And I will say that Covenant has some of the most interesting/inventive xenomorph kills in the series. They do NOT have the same feel as the old movies, though. The design fails HARD to capture the essence of that 80s junk retro-future vibe that makes the old movies so timeless. They're supposed to be PREQUELS but the tech is way more advanced for no reason, which imo was a bad choice.

Supernatural action drama with an interesting plot that will make you wanna read the graphic novel it was based on? The Old Guard.

Wanna see the best and most underrated animated film of the last decade? I CANNOT STRESS ENOUGH how much Kubo and the Two Strings was ROBBED during awards season.

Like robots smashing each other with an unexpectedly solid plot? The Bumblebee movie from a couple years ago was shockingly good, in stark contrast to every other Transformers movie.

Want some really well done scifi with a PHENOMENAL concept behind it, framed in a different way than any other first contact style movie, that will make you think about the nature of consciousness? Arrival is a masterpiece.

What We Do In The Shadows remains the best thing in the vampire genre. If you haven't seen it yet, fix that. The movie is great but the show absolutely blows it away.

Star Trek is a good evergreen choice. I don't have as much experience with it as I'd like, but I very much enjoyed TNG up until it hit writers' strike territory and things went really off the rails (mid season 5). Started DS9 but my progress got interrupted pretty hard when my dad was in the hospital for the last time. The different series have different feels to them. Not liking one show doesn't mean you won't like another one. There's plenty of Star Trek to choose from.

I am tearing through The Vampire Diaries at an impressive rate. Is it revolutionary? Not remotely. You can tell a LOT of the character archetypes were pulled from Buffy. But to be fair, it does a lot of those character archetypes better. I got into it partly for a specific character (Katherine Pierce) who is like Evil Girlboss incarnate, and partly as backstory for the world so I can eventually progress to Legacies for ANOTHER supernatural superpowered character (Hope Mikaelson). So far I'm very pleasantly surprised by how much I'm enjoying it. It's actually a good show. VERY straight, but at least the straight vampire drama is better than Buffy's (even if it's very obvious that Stefan and Damon are basically rehashed Angel and Spike).

Have you seen Shin Godzilla? It is, bar none, the best monster movie ever made. An absolute MASTERPIECE of atmospheric, slow terror as the world fails to comprehend and respond to the physical and emotional impact of a nuclear catastrophe on Japanese soil. Absolutely PHENOMENAL movie. The version with all the deleted scenes in it is even better. Incredible film.

Do you like speculative fiction about artificial intelligence, and also think Alicia Vikander is pretty (who doesn't?). Ex Machina is really interesting and good.

Like the classic stuff? John Carpenter's The Thing and the 70s Invasion of the Body Snatchers definitely live up to their reputations.

Want to turn your brain off with a comedy about morons who are in over their head? The Three Amigos is pretty good and has one of my favorite jokes in any comedy movie. (It involves a veranda).

Wanna turn your brain off with goofy kaiju bullshit? The old Toho Godzilla movies are very fun. Be mindful of the older ones, though. If it was made before 1970 and features an island setting, there's usually some outlandish degrees of racism. King Kong vs Godzilla is the worst offender, but a BUNCH from that era had very severe colorism and "primative island culture" vibes. Also probably avoid Godzilla vs Megalon, which even manages to beat King Kong as hands down the worst film in the entire series. It was filmed in under two weeks and Godzilla is only in it for the last forty seconds because it wasn't even supposed to be a Godzilla movie at all. I'm a big fan of the Heisei era movies (1985-1995) personally, with the Millennium series (1999-2004) being a close second. But if you want maximum goofy kaiju cheese, you want Showa (1954-1974). It's all rubber suit bullshit and it's a good time.

The Maleficent movies are fantastic, if you haven't seen them.

The Mummy and The Mummy Returns are cinematic masterpieces. Do not watch The Mummy 3: The Tomb of the Dragon Emperor. I mean it doesn't even have Rachel Weisz, what's the point.

The Resident Evil movies are very bad. But they're a guilty pleasure if you're into really bad 2000s cheesy action. If you're into it, they're fun.

The Underworld movies are kinda like that but with vampires (and werewolves) instead of zombies. They're awful movies, but they DO have Kate Beckinsdale in a corset so you win some you lose some.

Want action cheese but more 80s? Demolition Man is fun. The original Judge Dredd is also better than it has any right to be. The NEW Dredd is genuinely a good and cool movie.

Want to watch a shitpost? Romancing the Stone and the sequel, Jewel of the Nile. Very fun to watch with friends because of how batshit insane they are.

GUNPOWDER MILKSHAKE. I can't believe the post got this long before I thought of it. It's a great story about a female assassin and a polycule of librarians with guns. Sometimes a family is a little girl, the woman who shot her dad, and 4 gay aunts that love books guns and each other. Great music, too.

For turn your brain off but cute, charming, and low stakes/drama, Kiki's Delivery Service is one of my favorite Ghibli movies. It's about equal to Totoro with how gentle the world and story are. Also has some anti-capitalist vibes and a lesbian artist who lives in the woods. Plus it's about a witch, and who's not a sucker for decent witch movies?

Person of Interest is a really interesting show if you haven't seen it. It's about a national security algorithm that gains sentience and a small team of independent ex-spec ops agents use it to save people because its creator refused to let the government have access to it.

Do you want to absolutely lose your goddamn mind wondering how something ever got made? Try watching Zardoz. Holy fucking shit I've never been more confused.

Do you want that feeling but good instead of bad? Kung Fury.

Terminator: Dark Fate is the best film in the series THERE I SAID IT. It does every single thing the series NEEDED it to do to be good and relevant and fresh for a modern audience. The series has been stagnating for a long time and Dark Fate is EXACTLY the direction the Terminator franchise needed to go.

[iamanartichoke]

I wasn't sure if I was going to post this, but I may as well.

I keep starting to reply to things and then stopping bc the words just aren't there, and I suppose I figured out the core of what bothers me so much (and is making me have such a rollercoaster of a fan experience) about the show.

(cut for length)

It's not well-written. My opinion is my opinion, so I'm saying this subjectively, take it or leave it, but ... I feel that it's not well-written. The overall story is fine, and the plot is fine, but I don't know if it's because of the limited number of episodes not being enough to house the story, or because of the relative inexperience of the writer/showrunner+director, or both, or something else, but -

In an earlier reaction post to episode 4, I mentioned really wanting to sink my teeth into all of the subtext I picked up on. That was what made me initially enjoy the episode so much - there were a lot of little moments that I initially felt revealed so much about the characters and about Loki, and I wanted to analyze them. But at some point, as I gathered more information, my perspective changed and now I no longer want to analyze the subtext bc ... subtext = good. Subtext w/out payoff = not as good.

I'll go into more detail in a moment, but I think the tl;dr of it is that I feel like the narrative requires the audience to work way too hard to put together all of the moving pieces here and, like, I kinda just don't want to do that work? Not so much of it, and not in vain. A lot of the enjoyment of Loki's characterization is coming from fans who are rationalizing why he's behaving as he is, but the narrative never actually confirms those rationalizations. It's asking us to figure it out and maybe our conclusions will be correct but maybe they won't, though. At some point, subtext isn't enough without explicit follow-through.

I thought my issue was with the lack of character development - that is, not having enough narrative space to really earn the big things that are happening now, like Loki/Sylvie or Mobius turning against the TVA. And that's still true, to an extent; I still feel like the pacing is all very off and it seems like most of these things kinda came out of nowhere (but are not unbelievable - just undeveloped).

But, yknow, it is what it is, it's a limited series, and I can excuse some things. Ultimately, my issue isn't a problem with what the narrative isn't doing, it's a problem with what the narrative already failed to do and probably cannot recover from at this point.

The narrative has left out significant details that should at least help us do some of the work here. If a person turned on Loki and started episode 1 and had no background knowledge of the character besides that he tried to take over New York - how would that person interpret Loki? Would that person say, oh, well, he's been through X, Y, and Z, and plus A happened, not to mention B, C, and D, so really, it makes sense that he seems off-the-rails, or that he'd want to get ridiculously drunk at the worst time ever.

Maybe we'd like to believe they would, but how would they be getting to that conclusion? The narrative hasn't led them in that direction so, no, they would not say well we have to consider this, this, and that. It would be impossible to really understand Loki as a character from just what we've gotten in the series. The general audience would probably interpret Loki as being out of his element and so it becomes, I wonder how this character is going to get the upper hand here. And, while that's not wrong, it's just so limited.

The narrative at face value does not address Loki's identity crisis from Thor 2011. It does not address his hurt and devastation at being lied to, nor does it address how complicated his self-image is (bc it sucked to begin with and that was before he found out he was part of a race of "monsters," as he'd been taught his entire life). It does not reference Loki being so broken at the end of Thor 2011 that he deliberately let himself fall into the void of space (aka tried to kill himself). It does not reference that he was tortured by Thanos or even that he went through a seriously dark time in between Thor and Avengers, and it absolutely does not reference or address any influence or control of the mind stone.

These are all things that we, the fan audience, know because we've already invested our time into this character's story. But tons of people, the general audience, wouldn't know these things. Or if they did, bc they saw Thor and Avengers, they wouldn't be thinking about them as deeply as we would, nor contextualizing them with how Loki is behaving now, or why it would make sense that he needed to get drunk, or why it's understandable that he needs to keep going-going-going in order to not have a spare second to think or feel.

They'd probably look at Loki, again, as a character who was a villain and is now getting his comeuppance in a place where he has no power or control, and no literal powers, and even when he manages to escape and catch up to the variant, he proceeds to fuck up their plan for seemingly no real reason except that he wanted to get drunk bc he's hedonistic. Which Sylvie even berates him for! I mean. This is not exactly a complex character breakdown, nor a very flattering one, but that's what the narrative has given us.

(If the narrative has addressed Loki's mind control, his torture, his mental breakdown, his suicide attempt, and his general shitty self-esteem as a result of his upbringing, please point it out to me. If the narrative has explicitly acknowledged and referenced these things anywhere and I am missing it, please show me where. Please explain to me how the casual viewer would know any of these things that they need to know in order to actually understand what's happening in this story.)

So I mean, okay, we have a narrative that doesn't paint a full, accurate picture of Loki. Fine, sure. But because the general audience starts out on the wrong footing, they're not going to get out of the overall story what the writers probably intended them to. For example, in episode 3, a lot of us theorized that Loki had some kind of plan - that he broke the timepad on purpose, for some reason, bc otherwise it wasn't believable that he'd be such a failure. But episode 4 revealed that no, there was no bigger plan, Loki just plain old messed up. Which is fine if, again, one is only considering the surface-level portrayal here, but it's not true to Loki's actual characterization.

I mean. Loki is not perfect and Loki actually fails a lot, this is true. He fails for a lot of reasons, but incompetence has never been one of them. Usually it's that either things grew beyond his control, or there ended up being too many moving parts, or he had to change his plan at the last minute due to some roadblock or another being thrown his way, or even that he got in his own way - whatever the case may be for his plans' failures, he was always at least shown to know what he was doing.

That wasn't the case here. The "plan" to fix the Timepad failed as a direct result of Loki's actions, which were careless and made him seem incompetent, like he couldn't even handle this mission. "You had one job," etc. And there were pretty big consequences for this; they were not able to get off-world in time and would have been killed had the TVA not shown up at the last second.

And maybe none of these things matter bc the writers never intended any of this to be a reflection on Loki's character, positive or negative. The situation exists solely because the writers needed to put Loki and Sylvie together in some kind of hopeless scenario so that they could get closer, and thus the narrative could set up their romance. I get that - but, there were other ways to do it that didn't require Loki to look foolish.

Furthermore, the whole reason they needed to set up the romance is to show Loki eventually learning to love himself (like, figuratively but also literally). The audience is supposed to gather that Loki and Sylvie fell for one another, possibly due to the high emotional aspect of, yknow, being about to die (in addition to the variant-bond). The intent is clear: Loki and Sylvie almost die but get rescued at the last minute, having now created an emotional bond --> Loki and Sylvie team up and the narrative further establishes that Loki, at least, has caught feelings --> Loki might confess them but is pruned before he gets the chance --> he somehow survives, he and Sylvie are reunited and don't want to lose one another again, and the combined power of their love is enough to break the sacred timeline and spawn the multiverse, and the reason that the power of their love is so, well, powerful is because it's about self-love and self-acceptance as much as it is about having the capacity to love someone else. The end.

I get all that. The writers more or less said all that. And, I mean, it's certainly not the way I would have chosen to go about it, but it's a fair enough arc to explore. I don't really have an issue with the intent - but my question, however, is this: if the narrative has so far not addressed Loki's background issues (as outlined above), and has furthermore kinda gone out of its way to portray Loki as hedonistic and narcissistic, among other things (like kinda incompetent), and the context the audience starts with is that Loki's this villain who deserves what he gets -

- my question is 1, why should the audience care whether or not Loki gets to a point of loving and accepting himself (thus to make the theme of self-love, via the romance, hold weight) if they don't know that he hates himself to begin with and 2, why should the audience root for Loki to reach that point when so far the perception of him is that he's "kind of an asshole"? if he's a hedonistic narcissist, he probably already has a pretty inflated sense of himself, right? A misplaced inflated sense of himself, at that, because, again, the narrative has made him out to be not that capable of much of anything. (And it didn't start out that way! It seemed to start out with Loki being capable and intelligent but it's like episode 3, in trying to set up the romance, just jumbled it all up somewhere. I think this is why I'm harping on the Loki/Sylvie aspect so much - it's frustrating bc it kinda messes up the whole story and can't even accomplish what it's supposed to anyway.)

Anyway, that's beside the point. What I'm ultimately getting at is, at what point is the audience supposed to get invested in Loki's personal growth journey?

They can't, not really. Without understanding and having the context of everything Loki has been through up until now, and why he hates himself, and why it's so important that he learn to love himself, then the "payoff" becomes kinda pointless bc the significance of it is lost in translation. So suddenly we're left with this romance that comes off as either "Loki loves Sylvie bc of Reasons" (best-case scenario) or "Loki loves Sylvie bc he's vain, narcissistic, and kinda twisted" (worst-case scenario). Neither of these conclusions are what the writers intended or were going for, I'm positive, but there we are, regardless.

In order for the writers' intent in these storylines to land, they need to address the context of what makes these particular stakes high for Loki. So far, they haven't done that. They're asking the audience to pick up on all of these things, and they're showing things that subtextually make sense and are relatively in-character - but only if you realize there's subtext in the first place.

But you can't expect the audience to do all of the work for you. If you don't want the audience to think that Loki is a narcissistic asshole and instead you are trying to convey that, worst-case scenario, he thinks he's a narcissist but is an unreliable narrator, then you have to address that. If you need the audience to understand why you're going the selfcest route and why it's important to explore Loki's capacity to love himself and others, you have to address where that exploration is starting from and why it matters. Etc etc etc.

The narrative isn't doing any of that. And it isn't like it'd be that hard to do it. They don't need to reinvent the wheel here; a lot of the pieces are already there. A few lines of dialogue for context, a brief scene here or there addressing the issues, a little more care and consistency in how Loki handles things - these are all little things that could go a long fucking way in making the narrative stronger.

I'm rambling. My basic point is that my rollercoaster of emotions with this show is because

- as a part of the fan audience, not the general one, I can contextualize and analyze the subtext and come to the conclusions the show wants me to, and thus find the story and the characters more or less enjoyable,

- but I am also going to be using the subtext to come to conclusions that aren't there but probably should be (I think it would be a better story, for example, for Loki to confuse platonic love with romantic love bc it would pave the way to explore just how fucked up Loki's understanding of love - whether of other people or of himself, and the different forms it can take - actually is)

- and when they're ultimately not there, then I think, okay why am I bothering doing all this work just to ultimately feel very unfulfilled? They don't even have to write it the way I would, I'm not saying that, but they do have to do something to make the story feel rewarding.

If we don't get some confirmation of what Loki's been through, and where his headspace is, and why it matters for him to love himself, then the story remains pretty shallow and, for me, it's not fulfilling enough. It's not engaging enough. There isn't actually anything to sink my teeth into, so it becomes kind of boring. Maybe it's rewarding to other people, and that's great for them, but like - I need more than whatever this is.

So I'm just like - well, I had a lot of worries about this show, but my being bored wasn't one of them and now there's only two episodes left and am I really not going to get anything out of this, in the long run? No new canons, no new depths or layers, no new information on Loki's experiences? This is it?

I don't dislike it. I didn't start out disliking it, and I probably wont end up disliking it. I mean, there are a lot of good moments, and good things, and fan service-y things that I appreciate. As far as inspiration for fic goes, it's a goldmine, both plot-wise as well as aesthetic-wise. All of that is great. I don't dislike this show.

But I am disappointed in it, and I feel like I'll be watching the next two episodes lacking the sense of anticipation that would make it exciting. I'll still enjoy them, probably, if for nothing else just the sheer Loki content, but whatever it was I felt watching episodes 1 and 2 is gone and I'm sad about that, too. Because I really wanted to feel fulfilled by this series; I wanted it to fill up the void that Loki's death in IW created three years ago. And I just ... don't feel it. Maybe, maybe that'll change over the course of episodes 5 and 6. I don't know.

Everything that I end up enjoying long-term, I think, will come about as a result of my own interpretations and analysis and while theoretically there's nothing wrong with that, if I had known all I'd get out of this series was more headcanons or support for my current headcanons then, well - that's fine, I suppose, but I'll definitely a little bit robbed.

[roger-that-cap]

meet me in the gardens

knight!natasha x noble!fem!reader

summary: being the widow of a decently wealthy lord and sitting on a large plot of land automatically meant that you were a candidate for the program that you couldn’t say not to; the hosting. you had to sponsor a knight and keep them in your home for an entire year, which was troublesome enough on its own. but you never expected yoru knight to be a woman, and you certainly didn’t expect to have a full on illegal love affair with her, either. 

warnings: actually none but a misunderstanding and the lack of editing that i think u guys may or may not be used to at this point

word count: 5.3k

part two!!

The knight before you was the opposite of a man. She was so opposite in fact, that you had to actively make yourself not appear like you were shocked. You knew that the twins were having to try even harder to keep composure.

She was without a doubt, one of the prettiest people you had ever seen before. Being a lady, you had seen so many handsome young men and gorgeous young women, but there wasn’t one who’s fairness struck you like this woman’s. Her eyes were an unfamiliar shade of blue, and you knew that they were the kind of eyes that were made for surveillance and observation, and if you looked hard enough, maybe a window to her thoughts. She had pink lips that were set into a genuine yet thin smile, almost like she wasn’t used to wordless pleasantries at all. Her hair was cropped just above her shoulders and it shined a brilliant red that you had rarely ever seen. Despite the powerful and extremely potent energy that she was giving off, she was short, shorter than you, but something told you that she was strong. Stronger than anyone knew quite yet, but you could feel it. But, you were still confused, regardless of how she had rendered you breathless for the quickest of seconds.

The problem wasn’t that she was a woman. There wasn’t even really a problem at all. It was just the fact that a woman was a knight. You had never seen anything like it in your entire life, and you had never even thought of the possibility of that happening. At all. You had to fight tooth and nail to keep property that you hardly even wanted, all because you were a woman. Because you weren’t pregnant with a son who could carry his hypothetical father’s name. Because you were a woman without the heir to your late husband’s fortunes, you were seen as nothing, for a long time. And now, there were women who were becoming knights?

You were more impressed than confused.

You felt another pinch from Pietro, this time a little harder. You breathed in through your nose, a welcoming smile on your face as you grappled for words.

“Hello,” you said, public voice still working hard as you internally scrambled for words. You were looking the red headed woman right in her eyes, the eyes that were so intense that if you hadn’t been in rooms where extreme business had gone down, you would have melted. You tried to remember the standard greeting. “Welcome to my keep. I hope that I can accommodate you during your stay, and that you are successful in your search for what it is that you are looking for.” You knew the words were off by a bit, but you saw the coachman nod in approval that you didn’t really care to have.

The knight took a step forward, and the sound of a heavy footstep crashing against your well-kept grass made you shiver. The trampled grass had nothing on the way that you reacted to hearing her voice. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Lady Mirellis. I sincerely thank you for allowing me into your home.”

It was hardly your home, and you could tell that the two of you had already gotten off on the wrong foot. You knew it was because of your shameless staring. “May I be graced with knowing your name?”

If possible, she stood up a little straighter. “I am Natasha Romanoff, My Lady.”

If you were hearing correctly, you heard the slight awkwardness in her last two words. Only people with titles of their own called other lords and ladies “my lady”, and lower born people were to call them “milady”. She must have been lowborn, just like you. “It is my deepest pleasure to meet you, Natasha. May I show you around my keep?”

“Typically,” the coachman cut in, and you furrowed your brows at the way he interrupted the stop-and-start flow of the conversation. “It isn’t the lord—sorry—lady of the house’s job to do that.”

Wanda opened her mouth, highly defensive of you and ready to go because it was a fight she could afford to pick. A servant and a coachman were on the same level. She would face no punishment for talking back to the man. However, you reached to your right and squeezed her hand twice.

“Well, I am the lady of the house, and I would like to show my new guest her accommodations.” The man narrowed his eyes slightly at you, and it became obvious to everyone that he clearly wasn’t expecting back talk from you.

You knew that everyone thought widows were these gentle, sad women. The type that cried themselves to sleep and wished to meet their husbands again in the afterlife. The type that listened at anything that a man uttered simply because he was a man, or because they didn’t have the energy to entertain an arguement or to correct them. Especially ladies. But you were not supposed to be a lady. You wore fancy dresses and had gold and had a small castle to yourself, but part of you would always be that girl who beat up the boys who lived a few acres away for talking about your hair and then rolled in mud with them, laughing about it the very next day.

Even through the glances that were thrown between the five of you standing there, you continued. “My staff has worked so hard on making sure it was nice for her. I’d like to show off their diligence now.” It wasn’t a question.

“Do as you please, milady.”

You resisted the urge to nod smugly. “Thank you.” You watched him climb back onto his chair and quirked a brow. The coachman always stayed for dinner. It was considered offensive if they did not, both to the knight and to the lord or lady. “Did you not want to stay for the meal, good sir?”

“I must get back, milady. If that is alright with you.”

You knew you should utter something lengthy that you didn’t mean at all, but the most you could get out after his blatant rudeness was a quick “safe travels.” There was a long stretch of awkward silence as you watched him leave, arms hanging at your sides as the trotting sound of horses carried him away.

“Goodness, was he rude.”

“Pietro.” Wanda hissed, and you bit the inside of your cheek to keep from laughing. You whirled around to look at the knight— Natasha— and saw that she was already looking at you with blatant curiosity.

“Would it be alright with you if I took you around myself?” You asked, and she nodded her head. “Well, I’m sure you’re hungry. Would you like to eat first?”

You were beginning to realize very quickly that the woman was the staring type. Her eyes, no, her entire face and persona was so demanding and intense. It was hard to even be provoked by her shameless staring and possible judgement, because at least she was open with it. The more you looked at her, though, the more you knew that you would never understand what was happening behind her eyes. “I would like to see.”

“Then you will see,” you stated, and gave Wanda a look. She knew immediately what it meant, and she walked off to tell the chefs to expect you in an hour or so. “We can start with the outside area and make our way in.”

She was very much the staring type. Not even just at faces or people in general, but with everything. You noticed that when anything caught her eye, she looked at it for a few seconds in silence and then moved on, like she heard them speak something unknown to everyone else and took the time to listen.

“These are the training grounds,” you said after walking to the back half of the castle, where the grass was still trained to grow with strength and hardly a thing was out of place. The training grounds were for young squires in the area or kids that just wanted to play fight. You had made the area yourself, and it was one of your favorite parts of your home. You liked being able to look outside and see children playing freely, and the sound of laughter was something that everyone needed in life. “You’re free to use them in any way you see fit, of course.”

“That’s very kind of you.”

“You’ll run into aspiring knights here and there, but they are good children.” Your voice was fond as you spoke of them, and then took a right. “And just down here, we have the gardens.”

And gardens, they were. They were the only thing in the castle that was actually yours while your husband was alive. When you had arrived, the patch of land was so disgraced that it would have been insulting to call it a garden. The flowers were droopy, the soil was dry, and the vibrant colors that were once there had been sucked away. Your husband didn’t care about the area, and neither did anyone else, so you adopted it. You had built it from the ground up and made it into what it was; a huge and gorgeous garden full of colors, with ivy hanging from rails in what looked like an unruly manner and bushes full of roses and begonias and everything in between. It was caged off by golden rails, but the rails were hardly binding. They were so wrapped with leaves that it looked like they grew with the garden.

“This is my favorite part of the keep,” you stated softly, walking down it. You had expanded it so that it went down and into the forest, the rails forming a path. You walked down it every so often yourself, deep into the woods where no one would bother you, where you could look at the stars above in peace.

“Is it yours?”

“What?” You asked, tearing your eyes from a particular bush to see her looking up at the ivy.

“This garden,” she said, and you realized that you were strolling closer and closer to the woods. You stopped walking, but didn’t make any move to go and meet her. “Do you tend to it?”

“It’s mine,” you answered, not even bothering to take the subtle pride out of your voice. “It’s my project. I started it when I got here, and now it’s flourishing.”

“Where did you learn how to garden?”

It was no secret that typically, ladies did not get their hands dirty, even if the activity was simple planting. They were supposed to stay inside and knit or something like that. Ladies could go outside to look at gardens, but they had staff to plant for them. So, did Natasha not know that you weren’t born with a title? “When I was a girl,” you answered vaguely.

“Your Lord Father allowed you?”

My father was no lord. “Yours allowed you to wield a sword?” The sound of armor clanking brought you out of your slight hostility, and you sighed. “I apologize.”

“It’s quite alright.” The harshness in her voice told you that she was offended by what you said, and she turned around once she realized that the two of you were nearing the tree line.

You walked around with Natasha, giving her the rest of the tour halfheartedly and only speaking when absolutely necessary. It was clear that the two of you clearly weren’t clicking as well as you hoped to, and while that was tragic, you weren’t going to kiss anyone’s feet to get in their good graces.

“I’m sure you’re hungry by now.” The second you stepped on the wood floors of the inside of your keep, the warmth hit you. Your shoes clicked on the material as you walked ahead of her, not looking back or waiting for an answer. “I’ll show you the kitchens, and then the dining hall.”

The dining hall was known for its size. It was huge, and the ceiling was high. Everything that was said echoed, and the lighting provided by strategically placed candles made the hall have an elegant, almost eerie feeling to it. The staff was already bustling around, plating food and pouring wine. Wanda and Pietro were already there, their harsh and bickering whispers hitting your ears until they heard you approaching.

“Oh, please, sit.” Wanda did so immediately, and Pietro walked around the table to pull out your chair, which sat at the head of it.

You cringed when Pietro sat down. He had been dethroned from his seat at your left hand, because it was courteous of you to give up that seat for your new night. That was one tradition that you wouldn’t break, simply because it would be seen as disrespectful. “You can sit right there, Lady Natasha.” You saw her lip twitch.

In all honesty, you had no idea what to call her formally. You two certainly weren’t close enough to address each other by first name, and you doubted she even knew it. But she wasn’t a man, and male knights were called “Sir”. She wasn’t a “Sir”. You didn’t want to offend her further by calling her it.

The first half of the dinner was in awkward silence. Wanda kept giving you glances, and you frowned at the way she was looking at you- like you had clearly messed something up. You sighed through your nose when you heard Pietro clear his throat, a sound that meant that he was about to run his mouth.

“So, my lady knight, what do you think of the castle?”

The red head didn't even realize she was being addressed until she looked up and saw you and everyone else looking at her expectantly. “It’s very nice.” You waited a bit, listening to hear whatever empty compliments that she would give for the sake of being polite. Ten seconds passed, and there was nothing.

You chuckled. “Thank you,” you answered just as shortly, holding back the urge to laugh much louder than was appropriate.

“So, where are you from?”

“The slums.” You nod in acknowledgment, and guilt. Sometimes you repressed the images of people living from coin to coin. But silly you, silly everyone. For there to have been people on the top, there had to be people at the bottom. And those who lived at the bottom lived in what were called “the slums”. “I don’t know if you would know anything about that, My Lady.”

Wanda made a noise that told you that the bold knight’s words were clearly meant to wound you, and Pietro’s brows shot upwards so quickly that you barely saw the movement happen. You stared at your plate, jaw dropped open in surprise and mortification.

You were fuming on the inside. How the hell would she know who you were? What you dealt with? How your husband was as cruel as he was disgusting? How you grew up a poor farmer’s daughter? She didn’t know, and that was what kept you grounded. How could she have known?

Before you could get in your right mind to utter a threat that you were sure that your late husband had said in your presence at least once, you nodded your head and took it in stride. You stood up from the table and didn’t look at her or the confused look she shot you after looking at your painfully unfinished plate.

“Wanda will show you to your chambers, Lady Natasha. I hope you enjoy your first dinner of many here at my castle, and I hope that tonight begins your yearlong journey to wisdom.” And with that, you turned on your heels after taking your plate shamelessly, heels clacking against the polished floor once again, silence filling the hall until long after you left.

§§

By the third day Natasha was there and the second that you had been blatantly avoiding her, you were starting to feel bad for fueling the fire between you two. She was to stay under your roof and do what she had to for a full year, and you antagonized her. You gave the sacred act of showing a knight to their room to someone else, and you understood Natasha’s lack of speech towards you to be a consequence of that.

But that was fine. You certainly didn’t need for the girl to like you. It would have made things much easier and smoother, but it wasn’t a necessity. Your job was to give her food, water, shelter, and time to find herself and her purpose as a knight. Nothing said that the two of you had to be as thick as thieves.

But that also didn’t mean that you would actively pass on befriending her. You decided after a long time of sitting at the polished wooden desk that had become yours that you would be her friend should fate allow it, and if not, there was no harm to it. But you weren’t going to chase her, no matter how wonderfully her bright hair would work as an object to follow.

A soft calling of your name happened seconds before Wanda opened the door. You greeted her informally and grinned at her, until you saw the look on her face and the sealed paper in her hand. Immediately, your joyful expression left and you sighed.

“Who is it this time?” Wanda shut the door behind her after your question, and you gave her a look. “It can’t be Lord Rumlow again.”

Brock Rumlow was not a good man. No man who had power was a good man, but he was one of the worst. He had gone through two wives in the past three years, and the second one was found with stab wounds in the forest. How he had gotten out of being tried for her murder was beyond you, and it made you sick to your stomach every time you thought about it. Now, he set his sights on you, a widow sitting on plenty of money and land. He had been sending you letters, flowers, gold, dresses, anything that a narcissistic man would think that another human being would like simply because the things were tangible. And the letters always said the same old thing; to marry him. And he wasn’t ever really asking.

“It’s him,” Wanda confirmed, her tone telling you that she felt the same way you did towards the vile man.

“I want to burn it,” you said, and immediately, Wanda crossed the room to put the note in the fire, waiting for your final say. “Let me read what this imbecile has asked for now. I wonder what beautiful horse or jewel he’ll offer for my hand, this time.”

You took the letter from Wanda gently and gave her a small smile, and she urged you to open it, just as nervous to see what was inside as you were. You stared at his seal for a few seconds, eyeing the red wax with a three headed serpent engraved with disdain before tearing it right open. You did the rest without ceremony, your eyes narrowed as you found the messy and unbothered handwriting that you would recognize from anywhere.

Lady of Riverstone,

I take it that my other letters may have been lost to the wind. I apologize for not reaching you earlier. But, if you have been getting my letters, then my main offer stands the same. I would be honored for you to take my name and stand under my veil, and for you to become my wife. Marriage to me would give you a great deal of benefits, and I have listed them down below. I would like an answer within two fortnights, and if I don’t get one, I’ll send another letter.

It was all more of the same, more of the same offers and then a little more, vague threats, and monotonous language that he hardly knew how to use correctly. You read with a neutral expression, even though Wanda was shocked reading all of the things he was offering. He signed it off like he did every other letter.

Lord Rumlow, of Serpent’s Keep.

“He offered you two tons of gold to send your father?”

“Do you notice how he’s never called me Lady Mirellis?” You asked, sipping the chalice of water that constantly sat at your desk, and got refilled whenever someone walked by and saw it nearing empty. “Or by my name?”

“I have.”

“It’s always ‘Lady of Riverstone’,” you sighed, shaking your head. “If he wants the land, he should just go on and say that. It’s much more respectable for him to be honest with me. Maybe I would have said yes already.”

Wanda made a face. “You’re lying, now.”

“Well, of course I am. I've never seen him, and all he wants is a woman to beat around. I’m not that woman, no woman is. Do you think I want to find myself dead within a half year of being wed?” There was a sharp knock on your door.

“He wouldn’t kill you. He wouldn’t gain these assets after your death,” Wanda said softly, understanding that you were about to finish the conversation. “He must be truly desperate to pay ou two tons of gold. That could help nearly anyone out of a pickle, and it would certainly pay off some things back at the farm.”

You knew that. But the truth was… you held a certain amount of irrational and rational disdain for your family. You knew that some of it was warranted just off of the way humans worked in general, but others weren’t. You knew for a fact that a part of you would always be bitter about the way that no one fought hard enough for you not to be taken from your home. You knew that a part of you would be bitter because they took the money that your late husband had offered them, like you were the fattest, most desirable pig in the pen. And there would forever, and ever, be a part of you—if not all of you— that would be angry about your wedding night.

Half of your family showed. The other half came, took you to a back room, and cried. They cried on your night of terror, and you comforted them. It was the one time where you truly needed your mother and her maternal instincts, the one time you needed your brother to teach you some moves that could hurt a man if you needed them. And they either weren’t where you needed them, or weren’t what you needed them. Both truths hurt the same.

“My family doesn’t need money,” you settled on saying, swallowing the burning that came with thinking about the people you shared blood with. “If they needed it, they would ask.”

“Your father is a proud man, he wouldn’t set that pride aside. Especially not to ask one of his own daughters for money.”

“Well, let that be their problem,” you said, although your harsh words weren’t as impactful because of the tremor in them. “I won’t marry Lord Rumlow.”

Wanda leaned forward a bit, and she took both of your hands in hers as the knocking grew louder. She looked you in the eyes, just the way one true friend looked at another. With the same ferocity in her voice as the time when she assured you that no one was going to force you to give up your rights to ladyship, her next words were no louder than a whisper. “And no one will make you.”

Your eyes almost grew watery as you held her hands, feeling the purity of the bond you shared with her surging. “Thank you.” You looked towards the door and let her hands go, uttering a soft command.

Pietro stood there with his arms crossed and a flushed look on his face. He cocked his head to the side at the sight of you and Wanda hovering over a broken open letter, and took a few steps forward. It was upside down, so you turned it his way so that he could read it easier, and the second he recognized the handwriting, he groaned.

“I think I can assume what this is,” he rolled his eyes, and he picked it up and walked over to the fire. When you’d said nothing, he tossed it in and the three of you watched it burn. “I came to tell you that our little knight is strange.”

“How so?”

“Well, she's writing.”

You furrowed your brows. “Writing?” You repeated, remembering her saying that she grew up poor. Most commoners had no idea how to read or write. You only learned because you had to learn when you married a lord. And even if knights had the ability to read and write, they hardly did. Words had very little value to a man who could wield a sword.

But Natasha Romanoff was no man.

“What on earth would she be writing about?” Wanda asked, leaning against the desk. “I wonder if she’s required to write a review on her treatment.”

Pietro gave a short but genuine laugh. “She’s probably writing down terrible things about you to give to the king after she returns home,” he joked, and Wanda cracked a smile, but you couldn’t find it in you to laugh.

“I couldn’t care less about a review of my hospitality or lack therefore of,” you drawled.

Wanda rolled her eyes. “Yes, you do, because you’re a kind person.”

“But she is not.” You felt bad for saying the words that you said not even seconds after.

“We don’t know that,” Wanda reasoned softly. “Actually, I happen to know that she’s quite nice. And she’s level headed and very smart, from what I can see. She’s no man with a little praise under his belt, that’s for sure.”

“So, she’s not boastful.” You said. “That’s good. But I don’t see her and I sharing more interactions than what we need to.”

“With all due respect, Lady Y/N,” Pietro said, leaning forward with that characteristic smirk of his plastered over his face. “You are very dramatic. You always have been.”

You could hardly even pretend to be offended. “That’s not true.”

“It is,” Wanda said quietly, though not fearfully at all. “You are always dramatic, and then things work out.”

Wanda was right. She very much was, actually. Things like the river nearly drying up and crops rotting too quickly and other things that were completely out of your hands terrified you. The things that you couldn’t control made you irrational and erratic, and that was probably your worst fault. You did the same with things you could change, only with worrying. Something as simple as an apology could fix something, but you would sit on giving the apology for hours, sometimes even days.

That night, when it seemed like everyone else was fast asleep and dreaming sweet little images, you put on slippers and walked right outsides, your guards not even asking you where you were going. You walked right out of the side doors and into the garden, humming quietly to yourself as you walked through the entrance of it with your pails of water.

It was quiet besides the noise of bugs chirping, and the occasional flap of wings from birds above. Even your humming had tapered off, and it felt like you could have been able to hear things from miles away. You smiled in the crisp air as you bent over to water a rose bush, a soft affirmation towards the red flowers when you saw how pretty they looked in the moonlight. When you stood back up and turned your head around, you gasped in fright and tumbled towards the ground.

“Shit,” a hand caught your arm and the other was on your shoulder as your chest heaved, adrenaline rushing from being so frightened. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you. I thought you saw me.” It took you a second to see the face of the woman speaking in the moonlight, but when you saw it was the knight, you sighed.

You were set back on two feet, and then Natasha took a step backwards. “Why are you out here?”

She shrugged. “It’s pretty.” There was a stretch of silence as you waited for her to say something, anything else. “It’s safe.”

A part of you was angered by that statement. Yes, the gardens were safe. Of course they were, they were your safety! They were your place that you went to when you felt like nothing was in your control, like your own decisions weren’t yours. Nothing could hurt you in the gardens, and plants couldn’t talk. They held every secret that you could ever tell, they held every tear that you never shed in front of another, and they saw every emotion that you were too stoic to show in front of others. They were the one place that you could get peace. And now the knight has ruined it.

But on the other hand, you were proud of yourself for creating something that someone else can admire. You created something that someone else could be free in, and in a way, that was amazing. And that hand was outweighing the other.

So, you said, “I’m glad it feels that way.” You cleared your throat softly when you realized that you were speaking to her the way you spoke to the twins. “I created it as my own safe space, so I’m glad someone else thinks of it that way, too.”

There was a short yet heavy silence between you and Natasha, and then you saw her turn to face you, her eyes burning a hole into the side of your face. “I know you’re not very excited to have me here, but I’m here. So we can at least try to be cordial.”

“Is that not what we’re being?” You asked, not even taking your eyes off of the moon. “I thought we were even being a little friendly.”

“It would be nice if it lasted.” Natasha muttered, and you nodded your head.

“I don’t know if I offended you with the question about whether or not your father approved your knighthood,” you said, sighing. “I assume that I did. And if you carry around that offense, then I apologize. I don’t like talking about my own father, but you couldn’t have known that.”

“You do not need to be forgiven,” she states. “I apologize, as well.”

“And it’s not that I don’t want you here,” you started, already cursing yourself for going into what she had said not even a full minute earlier. You were tense as she waited for you to continue, but you just shrugged and sighed. “Just know that that’s not it.” Something reached toward you out of the corner of your eye, and you finally turned your head to look at her.

She was… she was nothing short of gorgeous. You were taller than her, so you looked down at her just a little bit. Her red hair looked more brown than anything, and her blue eyes were pale and still as beautiful as they were during the day. There was the smallest hint of a smile on her face, nervous almost, as you looked down at the arm that was reached out your way. The moon was shedding you both its white light, and it primarily rested right where her arm was extended, her palm lord and turned to the side.

She wanted to shake hands with you. Shaking hands was seen as archaic, and knights certainly didn’t touch ladies unless they were assisting them. But, you knew by now that Natasha was not the typical knight. One of her fingers twitched, and you realized that she was just waiting there, her hand hanging in the air, like a gavel ready to drop at any moment. And quickly, almost enough to make the other woman startle, you took her right hand in your own and shook it twice, keeping your eyes right on hers.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

                                                       ******

hiiii guys! still establishing things here with this chapter, but when things kick off, they are going full speed. i already love this fic, and i can’t wait to put all my ideas down for it as the finished product! i hope you guys liked it, and if you did, please show her some love! i have a little taglist building up, so here it goes!

@normanijauregui​ @fayhar​ @8plasma​ @procrastinatingsapphictrash​ 

@slut-for-nat​ @dontmindmejustreading @swords-are-cool​

@200605chaeng​ @thescottishavenger @antidaytime​ @jenny-song​ @madamevirgo​ @natasha-danvers​ @drdarcy-lewis​ @blackxwidowsxwife​ 

[twdmusicboxmystery]

11x02: Acheron, Part 2 - Analysis

Okay, let’s talk 11x02. And 11x01. Because it’s a two-part episode, it’s important to consider them together. I have a LOT to say about what’s going on in these two episodes, so I’ll have plenty to post all week. Let’s dive in!

***As always, spoilers abound below for TWD 11x02. Don’t read until you’ve watched! You’ve been warned!***

Maggie

The first thing we see is a point of view from under the train car. The instant I saw that, I knew how things would go. I never thought Maggie would die (if nothing else, there are scenes with her in the trailer we haven’t seen yet) but I was curious as to how she would survive. When I saw this POV, I knew she’d end up crawling under the train. Just as Glenn crawled under the dumpster. Massive parallels to Glenn. Which by extension, massive parallels to Beth. Major resurrection theme.

It's also important that when she reappears, she comes from underneath the car. Obviously, that’s logical given that she crawled underneath the car, but they make a point of asking if the pounding is coming from the roof. Gabriel says no and then they open the bottom hatch for her. Her coming up from the ground like that is a visual representation of a resurrection.

So we see Gabriel, Negan and the others enter the train car. The spatial details here are important, and I had to watch the episode twice to get them all straight. It’s a little confusing the first time. So, the group jumps down into the train car through a hatch in the roof because they couldn’t get the door open in the last episode. The thing is, if you watch closely, you come to realize they’re not in the train car on the end. They must have walked along the roof for two or three cars before finding a hatch that let them in.

So, when Gauge shows up, he comes behind them, and that confused me because I was thinking they came from that direction. And they did, but they entered through the roof, not the door. Anyway, they can’t get the door open. So honestly, even if they’d tried harder, I’m not sure they could have saved him.

This scene accomplished a lot of things, character-wise, that we need to touch on. It’s important to note that Gauge’s death happened due to his own choices. Does that mean he “deserved” to die or that they shouldn’t have tried to save him if they could have? Of course not. No on both counts. But that doesn’t change the fact that his choices sealed his fate.

It's especially interesting that he called Maggie a Liar. Not only is that a throwback to the Governor, but it’s a particular type of mentality they’re showing here. Even the fact that he didn’t shut the door behind him is really interesting. My first thought was to be annoyed with him. Why WOULDN’T you shut the door. You live in this world. You know better. But it’s all ego. He can’t imagine something bad will happen. He just assumes if it does, someone will save him.

But the most telling thing was how angry he got before saying Liar. It just shows very much how he approaches life. When he messes up, he doesn’t feel bad, and accept that it was his fault, and try to learn from it. No, instead he gets pissed and blames everyone but himself and his own actions.

If this had been Daryl or Gabriel or Alden or any of our other heroes, they would have recognized that opening the door would have gotten their friends and family killed and would have sacrificed themselves. Especially if they realized they’d screwed up. But Gauge became angry and defiant, even killing himself.

Anyway, I’m rambling. This really has nothing to do with Beth or TD other than perhaps being a future template for something. But I thought it was a really fascinating character sketch.

The thing is, this isn’t really a matter of Gauge being wrong and everyone else being right.

Maggie is…not doing so well either. As I told my fellow theorists, Paola Lazaro said in TTD last week that Maggie was kind of off the rails. I think she said that a little prematurely, because we really didn’t understand Maggie’s state of mind just by watching 10x17 and 11x01.

It's not until she tells that messed up story about the house she found and the people in it that we understand that her state of mind really isn’t at its healthiest. Even saying she wanted to kill Negan before is…understandable given their past. But it makes more sense now why Negan is so nervous. He’s sensing her state of mind that her moral conscience isn’t as strong as it once was, so of course he’s fearful for his life.

I don’t know where they’re going with this Maggie story line, but I have a feeling this attitude of hers will cause conflict down the road. Several of my fellow theorists believe it will cause a rift between her and Daryl. And we can see that somewhat through Alden. At first, he was very much defending Maggie, especially against Negan. He has a lot of loyalty to her. But he didn’t like her abandoning Gauge, and you can see his loyalties starting to waver.

At the very least, what she said about not feeling anything about it is the opposite of what Beth always stood for. Daryl was trying hard not to feel things during Still, in the wake of the prison going down. She made him feel things because that’s the only way a person is truly living, rather than just surviving. Now Maggie is in that state of mind.

And I’m gonna argue that makes it a prime time for Beth to return to help her. But of course I’m completely objective over here. ;D

Maggie’s Story:

Maggie’s story was definitely dark and horrible, but interesting to analyze. I’m assuming there was cannibalism going on there. That’s why the missing limbs. The men in the house were eating the female prisoners. No only a callback to Terminus, but remember that Bob’s leg was taken for food, so I’m sure that’s what we’re supposed to infer here.

She talked about no eyes, no tongue, no limbs, vocal cords ripped out. So definitely the see no evil, speak no evil themes. With the limbs, it’s also a matter of not being able to escape or save themselves.

In terms of the plot, I do have one question about this that I think may be significant. Maggie first talks about three deformed people (she says, “I wouldn’t call them men”) coming toward her. She kills them, and only after that hears the noise from the attic.

My question is, why were they deformed? If they’re “men,” then they must be at least Maggie’s age, if not older, which means they’ve been around since before the apocalypse began. Even eating human flesh doesn’t cause one to become deformed, so why the deformities? I have no idea, but I wondered if there is a radiation theme going on here. Something they’re hinting at, but not saying. Just thought that was intriguing.

After that, things go sideways and everyone almost dies until Daryl arrives to save the day. So, let’s skip to his story.

Daryl:

We first see him bust through a wall with Dog. So, dog took off in the last episode, but the first time we see Daryl, he’s already found Dog again. At least, the first time. This is where he sees the murals on the wall, the walker with the handcuff and the suitcase of money, etc. I already talked about most of that in great detail HERE, so I won’t rehash it, though it’s very important.

One thing I will say about the mural is that thematically, it’s a match to Still. So, in the golf club, we had lots of rich people who clearly hid there when the world first went bad. And I don’t remember this particularly, but several of my fellow theorists have told me they remember the TTD after Still and that the writers talked about how the golf club was a statement about the class system. You have these very rich people, but their wealth couldn’t save them. Death, walkers, the apocalypse…none of these things discriminate based on wealth or position.

On the wall, we see people with crowns standing at the top, but below, they are homeless, and one of them is being attacked and torn apart. Meanwhile, Daryl sees a line of text that says, “it comes for us all,” probably meaning death.

Well, guess what? Angela Kang, in talking about the murals, said that this, too, was a statement about the class system. So thematically, this is meant to be a parallel to Still.

It’s just interesting to contemplate because if you think about it, most of our heros—Rick, Daryl, the Greene family, etc—weren’t at all wealthy. Rick was humble and well-grounded. Hershel worked hard his whole life and never had any glory or fanfare. And then there’s Daryl, who was “nothing. No one.” They all survived.

So of course it’s a socioeconomic statement, but it’s also one about mindset. It takes not only grit to survive this world, but a certain amount of humility. Ego always gets you killed eventually, as it did with Gauge.

I’ll also mention that I thought the guy with the crown who was being torn apart was being set upon by walkers, but AK says they’re specifically not walkers. They’re people.

So, it’s not a coincidence that we see this juxtaposed with the Gauge situation. His ego gets him killed and we literally see him being torn apart because of it.

Moving on.

Daryl finds a bag with a $100 bill with a letter written on it. This is a massive TD clue from start to finish. 100 is an important number. The hundred dollar bill features Benjamin Franklin on the front and Independence Hall on the back. Look either of those up and you’ll find lots of fun parallels we could point to. I won’t go into all that today except to say it’s definitely part of the Revolution theme.

This is what’s written on the bill Daryl finds:

“Dear Dad, you always said if you don’t come back in a week to move on. Mom didn’t listen and went looking. It’s been three weeks, so we’re going next. I’ll watch Jesse and turn on the radio every day at 10. See you both soon. Love Tom and Jesse.”

He also finds a picture of two kids. So, the “three weeks” jumps out because of Rick’s line in 5x10, “it’s been three weeks since Atlanta.” It’s also about missing family members, going searching for them, etc. Possibly important that the mom is also missing. I can’t help but think of the song from Still. “Our mother has been absent, every since we founded Rome…”

There is a 10 in there, which is an important number. The turning the radio on every day is both the radio/airwaves theme (also a line from the song) but a callback to Rick and Morgan and their walkie talkies. So, really interesting symbols here.

The two kids immediately reminded me of Noah’s twin brothers. I don’t think these two are supposed to be twins. I’m assuming the brother is older. But still obviously siblings. And it hearkens back to the last episode Beth was technically in. Which also had a lot of the CRM/Revolution theme in it. (X, X).

AK says this family probably didn’t make it, so I’m not expecting these kids to show up in the narrative. But it’s also important to note that the little girl is carrying the toy rabbit Maggie found earlier. So the rabbit also ties into all this symbolism. (P.S. I didn’t get to my rabbit post last week. I planned on it, but time got away from me. I should get it posted later this week.)

So, this is massive in terms of TD symbolism. I’ll talk about it fits into the bigger narrative in a minute.

Then Daryl kills the sleeping bag walker. I wasn’t sure the significance of this at first, but I think it ties to the tents and sleeping bags we saw in Atlanta in 5x06, Consumed. Daryl and Carol passed them while looking for Beth. So, this just shows us that this is tied to her storyline and Daryl searching for her.

You could also argue that the walker was “hidden” at first, and it’s significant that Dog found it/realized it was there before Daryl did. 

The other thing is that as he’s looking at the sleeping bag walker, there’s a random shoe on the ground next to it. Missing Shoe/Foot theory, which is also indicative of Beth. 

They hear another roaring sound and Dog takes off, running into the dark tunnel.

Here’s the thing. I think most people will assume the roar he heard was just more air being forced through the tunnels by the storm, as Alden explained it in ep 1. But I always watch with the subtitles on and I noticed at this part, the subtitles said, “Man Roaring.” So they actually did hear someone screaming. And that’s probably why Dog ran toward it.

After watching it again, I realized it’s probably supposed to be Roy. He’s the white-haired guy, played by C. Thomas Howell, who Daryl finds wounded after he emerges from the Tunnel. I think whatever happened to him when he went topside but then got attacked by walkers is what Dog heard and went running toward.

Maybe not terribly significant in the plot, but it’s important symbolically. Because once again we have something Daryl hears from a distance but doesn’t see. Dog (a proxy for Beth) runs toward it, and Daryl follows. When he does, he find someone who had previously separated from the group. They’re hurt, but alive. See the parallels?

I will say the Roy situation confuses me just a little. He’s clearly hurt, and when Daryl tries to bandage him, he refuses, saying, “just tell my kids I didn’t die a coward.” But then later he’s with the group, all bandaged up, and seems to be okay. (He dies when they reach the Reapers by taking an arrow to the head, so he still dies overall.) But it’s just weird that it seemed he would die, then seemed he was fine again.

It may well be something that foreshadows a future situation, and that’s why it’s not making tons of sense right now. Only time will tell.

Anyway, I kind of glossed over Daryl crawling through the dark tunnel. I don’t have much else to say about it except that it’s a SUPER potent symbol for Beth’s arc and very important that he emerges on the other side and finds this person. Annnd then goes to save TF. (Dark Tunnel Symbolism).

So, he hears the gunshots and finds the train they’re on. He comes up behind the walkers attacking them from the front, kills them, moves the bench blocking the door, and lets everyone through. Then he uses a grenade to blow up all the walkers. (Ew.)

After that they all get out of the tunnels and go topside. The next scene is also super important. We see the stars above. That’s partly to show that the storm has passed now, but also constellations = Sirius.

Maggie asks what he has and he tells her about it. There is one weird moment in this scene. When she tells them about the supply depot she wants to stop at, she says Georgie (from S8) set it up for emergencies, for people on the outside to use. When it says this, the camera focuses on Daryl for a LONG moment, and he looks almost sad. I’m not sure what they’re trying to tell us there.

Anyway, they all head out. Unfortunately, when they reach the right neighborhood, the Reapers are there to meet/kill them. And Roy is the first to go.

So, a couple of things here. I’ll probably do a details post because I’m leaving out MOST of the background details throughout the episode, and there are a lot of them. Lots of details to be gleaned in this scene.

But the second time I watched it, I was struck by the people hanging upside down. Obviously a grim sight, but it occurred to me that these people hanging this way look a LOT like the deer diagrams from Scars. Let me show you some pictures:

Top pick is 11x02. Middle and bottom one are from Scars.

See what I mean? So, chances are something about Scars foreshadowed the Reapers, which is interesting. They clearly see human beings in a certain way (as animals to be strung up and…perhaps eaten?) And that makes me think that what Maggie found in that house may tie into the Reapers as well. Just kind of interesting foreshadows of coming plots.

Eugene:

Let’s talk Eugene and then I’ll shut up for today. Eugene’s stuff was very intriguing. First thing you need to know. And understand, I didn’t know this. @wdway​ pointed it out. Some months ago, the actress cast as “Stephanie” was announced. This is her:

And that’s clearly not the woman who steps into the train car at the end. Which means this isn’t really Stephanie. She’s a decoy. In fact, the actress from this episode is billed on IMDb as “woman 2,” not as “Stephanie.”

Knowing that, if you go back and re-watch the parts with Eugene’s group, they mean something very different.

On the surface, it seems that Zeke, Yumiko and Princess are taken away in a sinister fashion. Then Eugene melts down and tells his story. (Note: while he focuses on his feelings for Stephanie and I think most of that is true, he still says he lied both to her and to his friends about being from a large settlement. So, he’s still keeping large chunks of the truth from them.)

Again, on the surface it seems that they accept his explanation and just decide to allow them all in. All the stuff with the other three is just a misunderstanding.

But if “Stephanie” is a decoy, that can’t possibly be the case. I think Zeke and the others told Eugene the truth as they know it, but they’re all still being manipulated.

After Princess left to pee, the guy told Eugene no one was in the room and acted like he had no idea who Princess was. They were definitely using psychological torture on him, trying to break him.

I think they know very well that Eugene's group is still lying about their settlement, and they're using a decoy "Stephanie" to find out the truth.

My point is that it goes back to the hallucination, making-someone-think-they're-crazy theme. It will be really interesting to see how this unfolds, because there's all kinds of psychological shenanigans going on here.

@galadrieljones​ made a really interesting connection some time ago. She noticed that back in 10x18, at Leah’s cabin, there is a metal, heart-shaped chair. The same chairs show up in the Commonwealth’s sales video from the trailer. So there’s some kind of link between Leah, Daryl’s memory of her, and the Commonwealth. We don’t know what it is yet, but all of this gives credence to the idea that she is either an outright hallucination, or Daryl is just remembering things wrong.

It also might mean that the Reapers are connected to the Commonwealth in some way. We don’t really know yet, but I’m having tons of fun trying to figure it out.

I want to touch briefly on the train car theme. Once again, there’s a parallel in both story lines (Terminus, and this one at the Commonwealth). Daryl’s group is in train cars this episode. And while Eugene’s group has been at a different compound, they started in the train yard and end in it here. But what I noticed is that Eugene enters the train car at the end, which is furnished inside, and finds his friends there. They all have a happy reunion.

It made me think of the fact that when Rick, Daryl, Michonne, and Carl enter the train cars at Terminus, there is also a family reunion. What happened beyond that was not good or easy. Clearly, Terminus was not a good place. Many of them almost died at the trough and they had to fight their way out through a walker blood bath.

I’m just saying that, while it obviously won’t play out exactly the same way, something similar is probably waiting for Eugene’s group outside that train car. Not good.

Acheron Overall:

Okay, let’s get to the big cheese, here. The overall narrative. The template.

These two episodes are called Acheron part 1 and part 2. So here’s the skinny:

Acheron = Underworld. Daryl’s group going into the subway tunnels (dark, underground) is what constitutes Acheron and why the episodes are called that. That’s why, at the end of this episode, they emerge from the tunnels onto the surface (i.e. the living world).

Given all the death, cemetery, and dark tunnel symbolism around Beth, given that she ventured into the land of the dead by being shot, maybe clinically dying for a time, and being thought dead for so long, what this tells me is that everything that happens in these tunnels is a foreshadow and template for what will happen this season.

I maintain that Dog = Beth and we will soon see something where Daryl hears something (not necessarily her; it was a man screaming so I still think it will be Rick he hears word of) and goes chasing after it. While searching for it, he stumbles across Beth. Then the two of them (both Dog and Daryl returned to the train car) go back in time to save TF from something.

This is most likely why the Roy thing is weird. In a super understated way, he represents Rick in the template. Daryl will find him, but only after he finds Beth. Even consider what Roy says. He says, “tell my kids I didn’t die a coward.” And that’s all well and good, but did we even know Roy had kids? No. Have we met them? No. But who has kids that Daryl IS concerned with? That would be Rick.

So I’m thinking that maybe when Daryl finds Rick, Rick will think he’s dying for some reason, and that’s why the dialogue here. But he won’t, which is why we see Roy with the group later.

And no, I’m not thinking that Roy dying via the Reapers will extend to Rick. It’s more like what they’ve done with countless characters that have been Beth proxies. Eventually, they kill them off. He’s a minor character they were using as a proxy, and when they are done with him in the narrative, he becomes walker chow. Or, in this case, Reaper fodder.

Anyway, I think everything will end up being a foreshadow for something. Maggie and Negan. The Gauge situation. All of it. I’ll try to keep coming back to this as the story progresses to show what everything foreshadows. I’ll stop there for today.

[make-me-imagine]

Red Roses: “I Love You” - Bruce Banner Ending

Valentines Special: Day Nine

Day One: Morning Glories  //  Day Two: Blue Salvias Day Three: Sunflowers  //  Day Four: Pink Camellias Day Five: Yellow Tulips   // Day Six: Violets Day Seven: Lisianthus  //  Day Eight: Daffodils (Post with rest of the character endings)

Plot: It’s finally Valentines Day, the day the reader will finally learn who it is that had been leaving them flowers and notes expressing their secret feelings.

Pairing: Gen!Neutral Reader x Bruce Banner

Note: Thank you @trashywritestrash​ for helping me out with this ending when I ran out of ideas! <3 Also, since this technically takes place after End Game and such, in this, Bruce is still Bruce, and is not combined with the Hulk.

Triggers: None        Words: 1,573

Requested Taglist: @aquariuslavenderhoney​, @thebookbakery​, @fablesrose​, @kitkatd7​, @thefallenbibliophilequote​, @beksib​, @destynelseclipsa​, @criminaly-supernatural​, @tammythompson-singslikea-muppet, @belloangelus​, @snarky--starky​, @saintbootlegloras​, @wecallhimbrowneyess​, @empath-bunny​, @okkulta​, @katinthemoon,  @ravennight41​, @youcancallme-rae , @radhumandragonclam, @unfortunateidiotinadilemma, @past3l-w1ngs​ ,  @goinggoinggonzo​, @mxxnmocha​, @hulkswitch​, @groovyfluxie​

February 14th

As you walked through the tower, you watched as various decorators and caterers bustled around working to finish for the party this evening. Your anxiety grew as you thought more about what was to come. 

You knew that today was the day you would learn who it was leaving you the beautiful messages and flowers. But you still didn’t know when exactly they would do it. You only assumed it would be during the party but it really could be at any moment. 

Because of this exact reason, any time one of the others spoke to you, or even approached you, your heart about burst out of your chest, waiting for the moment they might say “Its me.” But it didn’t happen. Not when you saw Natasha and Clint. Not when you passed Bucky in the hall. Not when Thor showed up, copious amount of coffee and pastries in hand. 

And each time you found that you were relieved in a way. You only felt real disappointment, when you went and saw Bruce in his lab. 

You greeted him with coffee and a danish courtesy of Thor, offered to help him with any work, and even sat and talked to him for about an hour as you helped him run some tests. And the entire time, you were hoping that he might hint, or just admit that it was him behind the flowers and the notes. But after two hours of nothing but idle conversation, you gave up. Maybe it wasn’t him. No matter how much you wanted it to be.

Finally leaving him and going about your day, you found yourself avoiding the others. And now you sat in your room, thinking of who it could be and what you would do. You convinced yourself that, no matter who it was, you already knew them and loved them in some way. So maybe, you could fall for them the same way they fell for you. 

- - -

You had managed to avoid the others the rest of the day, staying in your room most of the time. You distracted yourself as much as you could by doing some work on your computer. When you glanced at the clock and saw that it was an hour until the party, you felt confident, that no matter who it would turn out to be, you would give them and yourself a chance.

You gradually got ready over the next hour, psyching yourself up the entire time. And as you made your way down to the party, you felt your confidence slowly diminish as it was replaced with the now familiar anxiety. 

Walking into the main room, you looked over the crowd that had arrived early or just on time, seeing various Avengers littered throughout the room. Seeing Sam and Rhodey talking in the corner you approached them. Two people you knew weren’t involved in the flowers. At least you could have a conversation with them without panicking the whole time. 

As the night went on, you seemed to develop a sense of excitement as you began to accept the inevitable and thought more about the positives. Now, whenever someone spoke to you, you were waiting impatiently for the moment when it would happen. 

But then an hour passed, and then another, and nothing happened. And you feared that maybe they changed their mind all together. Or maybe the whole thing was a joke? You leaned against the wall at the back of the crown, wondering if it was all for nothing. 

Your eye caught on someone walking around the crowd Bruce. You watched him closely, seeing that he seemed overwhelmed. You straightened up a bit as you watched him fiddling with his hands. Did something happened? Was this all to stressful? Was hulk getting restless?

Seeing him exit the room, you followed. You needed to make sure he was okay, that he wasn’t losing control. Following into the hallway, you saw that he was gone. You walked down the hallway checking the doors, and finding them all locked. Finally, when you walked a little further, you saw that he had went out onto and empty balcony. 

You cautiously opened the door, gaining his attention. “Bruce? Are you alright?”

When he saw that you had followed him, that you were checking on him, Bruce felt a sense of relief and comfort wash over him followed closely by anxiety. Out of all the others, you knew best how to calm him down. But at this moment, you were the exact reason he was feeling overwhelmed. But he knew you didn’t know that.

“Hey Y/n.” he greeted as you slowly approached him “I’m alright, uh, it’s just, there’s a lot of people in there, asking questions, I don’t even know any of them.” he chuckled, though those were not helping with his emotions, it was mostly a lie. 

You smiled at him as you stopped beside him “I get it. And I’m sure Tony would understand if you wanted to leave.”

Bruce nodded but remained silent, he couldn’t leave. He needed to tell you. he could have earlier, when you were alone in his lab. God why didn’t he? He couldn’t stop overthinking it, he did earlier and he was now. He brought his hand to his chest, feeling the rose he had placed in his jacket pocket. 

“Do you want me to get you anything?”

He smiled at you, you were always so caring towards him. “No, no I think I just need a minute, you can stay, how are you? Are you alright?” 

You leaned against the railing “I’m...fine.” you smiled at him. 

“That didn’t seem very confident.”

You opened your mouth to talk but closed it, unsure of what to say “I just...tonight, whoever it was leaving me the notes and the flowers said they would tell me who they were today. But...the night’s almost gone, and...nothing’s happened. I just, I think they may have changed their mind.” 

As Bruce was listening he felt a pang of guilt. All this time he was thinking about his own anxiety tonight, he forgot to think how you must feel. And now you were thinking that he wasn’t going to tell you at all. “No.” 

You looked over at him “No?” 

He took a breath before he reached into his pocket “I didn’t change my mind.” you watched as he pulled out a red rose and turned fully towards you “I was just lost in my thoughts, and couldn’t find the courage to tell you, that, it’s me.” You stood and turned towards him as he started to talk again “I just, I felt more confident with the note and the flowers, and I thought it would be easier to to, uh, tell you how I felt, but I just, I got scared the more I thought about talking to you about it face to face, thinking that maybe you, wouldn’t want it to be me, and I-”

Bruce was caught off guard as you threw your arms around him in a hug “It’s alright Bruce.” he began to prepare himself for your rejection “I did want it to be you, more than anyone.”

He felt his breath hitch in his throat for a moment “Y-you did?”.

You pulled away from him and smiled at him, letting out a small chuckle “Yes, I did.”

He felt a grin spread across his face as he stared at you, his hear hammering in his chest. “Oh, here” he handed you the rose, which you took with a smile that made his heart almost stop. 

“I loved all of the flowers, and the notes. I uh, I began pressing them, so I could save them.” you admitted, suddenly feeling much more bashful. 

Bruce let out a small chuckle “You’ve always been a sentimental person.”

You shrugged and smiled “I can’t help it.”

“I’m glad. It’s one of the many things I..love about you.” 

You stared at each other for a moment before you cleared your throat “Uh, out of curiosity. Was it Vision that delivered the flowers that day I received the Camellias? I went in and asked him and he denied it.” 

“Uh, yeah, I asked him to since you were staying in your room for so long. He felt bad about lying but understood why I asked him too.”

You nodded before smiling at him, moving just a bit closer to him “You know, your a much better liar than I gave you credit. Or at least, much better at hiding things.” 

He chuckled “Well, it was really hard. I uh, really hate lying to you.” 

“Well it was definitely the best and most creative...confession, I’ve ever received.” 

He rubbed the back of his neck as he chuckled again “Yeah, I uh, I always wanted to be a romantic.” 

“It was definitely that.” 

He met your eyes for a few moments before taking a deep breath “Can I kiss you? I really want to kiss you.” he blurted out.

You laughed at this before you nodded your head “Yes Bruce, you can kiss me.”

Almost immediately he took a step closer to you, wrapping one arm around your waist, and bringing one hand to the back of your head as he met you in a slow kiss. Both of your hearts were beating heavily in your chest, your mutual anxiety about tonight being replaced by simple and pure happiness. 

xx xx xx xx xx

Hope you liked this ending! I always like writing for Bruce, he is so cute lol. I know he doesn’t straight up say “I love you” but I like the way this came out it seemed a bit more “him” 

If you liked it please consider reblogging, and checking out the other endings!~ :)

[danishmiilk]

dedication - na jaemin

genre || crack, fluff

pairing || na jaemin x reader; mentioned one-sided markhyuck

fic type || drabble; short fic?

word count || 1.4k

au || hogwarts!au, best friends to lovers!au

summary || na jaemin dedicated his quidditch win to you for no obvious reason. at least, not until he asks you “do you trust me?” and well, do you?

note || when did writing 1.4k become a normal thing for me? i remember the early days of this blog *sob* 1k was so hard to churn out istg- but anyway its not even a fic it’s a drabble just imagine!! oh and im super sorry for the very very rushed plot and everything that doesn’t make sense i’m high. this was supposed to be a timestamp but it spiralled out of hand so ok

“aaaaand what’s that? slytherin seeker na jaemin’s pulling his firebolt down into a nosedive - could he have seen the snitch?” the boy beside you hollered into the megaphone. you slammed your gloveless hands onto the cold metal railing and leaned out of your seat to look at one of your best friends barrelling toward the ground like he was suicidal. you trusted him and knew he was a good enough flier not to crash, of course, but it still worried you to see seeker!jaemin in a vertical dive down to the ground. “ugh, no, he hasn’t gotten it. HEY, NA JAEMIN, YOU SUCK!” professor mcgonagall turned and shouted in hyuck’s ear, “LEE DONGHYUCK, YOU BEHAVE, OR I’LL GET MISS L/N TO REPLACE YOU!” “sorry, professor, just some kindhearted encouragement, you know, but sure! y/n can replace me!” your best friend grinned impishly and held the megaphone out to you, offering you the chance to commentate. you shook your head firmly. the one and only reason you were sitting in the commentator’s box with hyuck was because it could only fit two people and professor mcgonagall wasn’t about to sit there and control the scoreboard next to her least favourite student of all time. it could also be partly to prevent hyuck from cheating, you supposed, though you had no idea how anyone expected you to be the one stopping him. if anything, you’d have come up with the idea. 

donghyuck had resumed commentating at the side, making snide comments every now and then. it was thirty minutes into the slytherin versus gryffindor game, and it showed no signs of stopping yet. the seekers were still circling above the pitch, gryffindor’s seeker zhong chenle (another one of your friends) trying his best to climb onto jaemin’s broom. you were pretty sure that was dangerous and against the rules, but whatever. “and slytherin chaser kim doyoung passes the quaffle to, well, another gryffindor, i mean slytherin chaser- what was his name? nokomota yuto? right, nakamoto yuta, sorry hyung- and yuta SHOOTS!” 

your head snapped back toward the game, squinting at the gryffindor goalpost. “oh, he misses, wait no he doesn’t miss! keeper mark lee saved it, excellent save there mork! you know, mark is such an awesome person, if only he’d go out with me, i’ve been pining after him for the past three years but he still won’t say yes. ah well, he’s in denial, one day he’ll realise how much he loves m-” “HYUCK,” you screamed, shaking his arm madly, “LOOK AT JAEMIN. STOP GIVING US DETAILS OF YOUR LOVE LIFE AND FOCUS ON THE GAME.” professor mcgonagall had given up on him long ago, but you were, of course, compelled to at least get him to stop waxing lyrical about mark lee.

“huh? oh yeah- uhm- slytherin must win! ah yes jaemin’s diving again but honestly who cares he’s coming up without the snitch again, stop giving me false hope na jaemin. yes, anyway, what was i saying? right, the tea. so siStErS if you would look in the corner there gryffindor beater lee taeyong’s… beating the bludgers away from slytherin chaser kim doyoung? what is this i see, people! i am scandalized! doyoung, i see you blushing! yes, i can see you blushing because i charmed my glasses! you are fraternizing with the enemy! have babies later! play the game nOOOOOOOW! oh but he’s the one giving you protection. okay. EVERYBODY LET’S CHEER ON THEIR BLOSSOMING LOVE IN THE MIDDLE OF WINTER! SAY WOOOOOOOOO.” screams from the crowd. the hufflepuffs and ravenclaws had all come to watch the quidditch match - something only half of them would’ve turned up for if not for the commentary. which brings you to another point. it’s clear to everyone, you’d think, that lee donghyuck is the person most unsuited to be the commentator, like, ever. he doesn’t focus on the quidditch match at all, instead choosing to provide a detailed oral report on the latest gossip around campus. professor mcgonagall had tried to take him off the role before, of course, but she had no choice but to put him back on after 90% of the school signed a petition for “best commentator lee donghyuck” to return to the pitch. hyuck’s the dispatch of hogwarts, and he’s annoying, but he’s also funny, friendly, and sure as hell caught up on the latest tea. what’s not to like?

“right, so then i walked in to the girls’ bathroom, on accident i swear i’m not a pervert, and i saw irene and seulgi kissing in the corner and i was like what?? did not expect that. but i’d always kinda expected it because i can see couples in the future you know you can call me up anytime to predict your chances with your crush slight self promo but my rates are cheap af. where are seulrene? oh, there? i see your friends waving, congratulations guys, and oh wait jaemin has the snitch i think he’s holding something in his hand. oh. okay. 450-380 to slytherin, and slytherin win! tune in next quidditch match for another episode of Haechan’s Finest Tea Brewery!”

jaemin flew toward the commentator’s box, gesturing wildly with his hands. you stared at him, not comprehending, while hyuck chose to shout “HUH?? HUH??” repeatedly into the megaphone. jaemin rolled his eyes in annoyance that you could feel from a long distance away, pointed his wand at his throat and murmured sonorous. 

“i’d like to dedicate this win to y/n l/n over here. speaking of which, she’s my motivation to win for every match,” jaemin went on with a shy smile. you felt your eyes widen and your earlier excitement for slytherin winning slipping off your face. what was he talking about? “i understand if you see me as just a friend, but i still think i’ve got to show the whole school i love you.” jaemin flew closer to the box, hovering at the side of it. “do you want to be my girlfriend? do you trust me? if the answer is yes, mount this broom with me.”

hyuck had apparently also been startled into silence, not having made any snarky remarks about the scene very obviously plagiarised from aladdin. you gasped softly, getting up to move closer to the railing, your body deciding for you instead of your mind. jaemin’s smile widened, “do you trust me?”

did you love na jaemin? up until ten minutes ago, you were sure you didn’t. he hadn’t even been a candidate for being your love interest romantically. you were taken aback by the confession, but you weren’t upset by it either. you felt slightly fuzzy inside, like you were a stuffed teddy bear, and even on a winter day as cold as it was, you felt warmth spread throughout your entire body. what did hyuck always say about love? he said that love means you’d do the best you could to make them happy. that love’s about giving, not about receiving. that you’d always put them before yourself, and you’d pay extra attention to them, always. and that you’d be ready to carry them off on a bed of roses and bear their children, but then again, you supposed that was just one of hyuck’s strange fantasies about mark. reflecting on all the years you’d been friends, you’d always been staring at jaemin to see if he laughed at a joke before you did too. you rushed to the hospital wing at 3am, not caring about the three months’ worth of detention you could potentially (and later did) get, only wanting to check on him and see that his injured leg was alright. you’d done everything reasonable (like let him copy your homework) and everything unreasonable (like stealing telescopes from the astronomy tower with hyuck to feed the giant squid) just to see a smile on his face. and that smile could warm the harshest winters. 

maybe you were in love with na jaemin.

you walked up closer, and put your hand into his waiting one. the school, who’d been waiting with bated breath, exploded into cheers, but you heard none of it. there was only you and him. and the 30km drop to the ground.

jaemin’s grin looked like it was about to split his face into half. he pressed your cold hand to his lips, pretending to be a gentleman. pulling you onto his broom in front of him, he put his arms on both sides of you. un-amplifying his voice, he leaned forward, pressing himself into your back. “are you ready?” you nodded, fingers clutching tight onto the wood.

“i can show you the world.”

©danishmiilk, 2020.

[miceenscene]

Star-Crossed

din djarin/female oc | soulmate AU | pre-canon wc: 2.6k summary: The Way was not supposed to be a solitary one. People, house, clan. And when all else failed, your Match. “Fits like a Mandalorian Match” was the old saying. Though it wasn’t so long ago that it stopped making sense. But what's a lost Match to a man like Din Djarin? warnings: canon-typical violence an: first go at mandalorian fanfic. we'll see how this goes :D Masterpost | ao3

Chapter One: The Urge

Din Djarin has been alone for a very long time.

Din Djarin has been alone for a very long time.

And somewhere along in being alone, he decided he liked it. He preferred it.

People were pushy. Demanding. Rude.

They took one look at his armor and assumed the man underneath.

At least that’s what he decided was the reason he preferred solitude.

There was an unacknowledged truth, however, that perhaps choosing to prefer loneliness dulled its edge ever so slightly. Just enough to be ignorable most nights.

But some nights, deep in the slip of hyperspace, when it was just him in his tiny bunk on The Razor Crest, it wasn’t ignorable. It sat high in his chest, occupying the space between his lungs, filling it with an emptiness so big it threatened to squeeze the breath out to make room.

On nights like that, the helmet usually went back on.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

The Way was not supposed to be a solitary one.

People, house, clan.

And when all else failed, your Match.

“Fits like a Mandalorian Match” was the old saying. Though it wasn’t so long ago that it stopped making sense.

So many lamentable things were lost in the Great Purge.

The beskar, their homeworld…

Lose enough people, break enough pairs, does it even matter if the Matches still exist?

Or don’t, as the case might be.

So much of what the Mandalorians once had is lost. What’s one more thing?

What’s a lost Match to a man like Din Djarin?

He knew his stars. The constellation that outlined the path of his life.

Every Mandalorian had one.

The elders had been very keen to identify his when he first was found. They did eventually.

Tal’onidir. Blood struggle.

Or ‘blood, sweat, and tears’ as the Alderaanians would have said.

Though in the time before the Purge, both halves of a Match’s stars would have been consulted for a clearer picture.

But all he had was his half. All most everyone had was their half.

Very few of the old myths still applied in a galaxy barely free of an Imperial yoke. But even Din had to admit that his stars felt more right than he wanted them to be.

Life was a constant struggle.

Struggle to survive, struggle to continue, struggle to carve out some semblance of contentment with his lot.

He felt he was doing as well as any could.

And then, out of the clear night sky, everything changed.

He was in his ship when he first noticed something off.

Four fresh pucks from Karga, plotting the most fuel-efficient map between his quarries and Nevarro. When he found himself putting in coordinates for Tatooine.

None of the quarries were on Tatooine this time. He stopped, shook his head, and punched in for Jakku.

Desert planets were bound to blur together.

He brushed it off, deciding to get as much sleep as he could in hyperspace.

It was a helmet-on kind of sleep, though.

It came up again as he was leaving Corellia.

He’d actually locked in the coordinates that time and was halfway through atmo before he noticed.

And then it was when he set foot back on Nevarro, four carbonite platters ready for delivery later, that he felt it again.

He didn’t want to be here.

But it was in the middle of Karga offering up new pucks when Din really damned himself.

“Do you have any on Tatooine?” slipped out before he could stop it.

Karga did. Just the one, and a risky venture at that. A Captain in one of the Hutts palaces.

Din took it. He wasn’t even sure why he took it, but it was too late. He was half-way to the ship when he realized he hadn’t taken any other bounties.

Still some part of him unclenched as he finally made the jump to hyperspace.

He’d thought that this odd urge would evaporate as he landed.

It didn’t.

That way it said, gesturing metaphorically for the Dune Sea.

Even if his quarry was technically that direction, this whole journey seemed foolish. And he might have given up if not for that old saying his Armorer was so fond of,

‘Instincts can be misled, but they never lie.’

Peli was her usual self--some combination of persnickety and jovial that landed right in charming. But she did lend a speeder bike.

Finally Din was off, racing through the searing sands.

It was less than a day’s journey, however, when he felt the urge again.

Stop.

He did, scoping all around him, trying to figure out how this gulley between dunes was different from all the others.

Pulling out his pocket scope, gave him a clue. The Hutt palace warbled in the far distance. Now just to figure out how to get inside, kill and/or remove one of the better trained guards without alerting the whole palace.

He watched the palace for the rest of the evening, noting guard rotations, possible alternate entrances.

After the suns set, things began to get a little tense

Dark was the obvious option for trying a covert entrance to the compound. But the urge was rather adamant.

Wait.

“Wait for what?” he asked an empty desert before immediately feeling foolish

His answer came a few hours before sunrise.

A small barge left the palace, floating just a hundred yards north of him. There weren’t many people on board. A few guards, perhaps a slave--

And his quarry.

Well. Rarely did events turn out so damn convenient.

Follow.

Even better.

Back on the speeder bike, he kept pace with the barge, keeping a few dunes between them. Trying to log as much information as he could before striking.

Four guards. One slave. One quarry. No one appeared to be below deck. This wouldn’t be too difficult.

Then the slave kicked one of the guards off the barge.

Another immediately fired a shot at the slave, only to be gruffly stopped by the quarry with the flat of an axe blade.

Din watched on thermal as the quarry pulled something out of his jacket, and then the slave dropped.

An armor piercing scream echoed through the desert, settling high in his chest and constricting.

Now.

Speeder bike surged forward, and one shot with his grappling cable, he managed to land feet first on the side of the barge.

It dipped under his added weight. One guard leaning over to inspect and getting a blaster shot between the eyes for his trouble.

Two more leaned over, but Din ran along the side to get momentum and swing himself up on deck.

The quarry bum-rushed him, axe out. Beskar took most of the brunt, and Din knocked him back, nearly off the side but he gripped the railing, sending a small device skittering to the deck floor.

The slave stopped screaming and that tightness in his chest immediately relaxed, though it didn't evaporate.

Danger.

Yes, obviously.

Din shot one guard as the slave, a human woman in some sort of flowy very impractical clothing, got to her feet and knocked another one off into the sand.

“Duck,” he yelled to her, before shooting the last guard behind her, as she dropped to the deck.

The quarry got back on deck and instead of going after Din, or the woman, he ran for the device near the front of the ship.

“NOOO–” the woman yelled as Din ran after the quarry. But the quarry arrived first, smashing the butt of his axe into the device and destroying it.

Her cry cut off abruptly, but Din focused on getting a single shot to the back of the quarry’s head first. He succeeded.

The post-battle quiet rushed in, cut only by the sound of the barge motor still going and his own breathing.

Save.

He turned back to examine The Woman, who was prone on the deck, not moving. The tightness returned.

Civilian casualties were… an unfortunate reality. He did his very best to avoid them whenever possible. But there had been instances before.

Though those times didn’t make his hands shake as he turned on thermal again.

The shake ebbed as he confirmed she was still alive. Just unconscious. A breath cut out of him.

Save, the urge repeated.

Well, he couldn’t fly a stolen Hutt barge as the way back to Mos Eisley. Hopefully the speeder bike was where he left it.

It was. Though it wasn’t meant to hold three people. The quarry was strapped to the back like so much cargo, and since The Woman didn’t seem to be waking anytime soon, he had no choice but to hold her.

It was more awkward than anything else, her head flopped on his pauldron and her perfume filling his nose

He didn’t know the scent, but it was rich and sweet, and lingered in the back of his throat

They arrived at Mos Eisley as the suns broke free of the horizon.

Peli gave him a strange look when he asked for bolt cutters, but even if the woman was unconscious, Din wasn’t going to leave that collar on her.

Though now came the most important question: what was he going to do with her?

She seemed stable, no wounds that he’d noticed at all. Though she still hadn’t regained consciousness.

It was probably a fairly safe bet that an escaped slave wouldn’t want to stay planetside.

And if she did, he’d bring her right back after getting paid.

He tucked her into the only bed on The Razor Crest –though bed was a generous definition– and found every blanket to drape on top of her. Space was cold and the fabric of her dress was nearly translucent.

Save.

“I’m trying,” he muttered, heading to the cockpit for take off.

The Woman didn’t wake up before Nevarro.

Two and a half full days unconscious was not a good sign. Even for someone like him.

Thermal said she wasn’t running a temperature. At the end of the second day, he gave her a bacta shot for good measure.

Nothing changed.

Fix.

For all the time he spent on Nevarro, Din realized very quickly that he actually knew precious little outside of the covert. Which left him with Karga as his only source of guidance.

“Is there a hospital here? Or a doctor?” he asked, as soon as money had changed hands.

“Are you hurt, Mando?” Karga gave him a once over, as if checking for missing limbs.

“Not for me.”

“Well, we do have a clinic. But it’s run by a healing droid.”

“No droids,” Din responded with a fervency usually reserved for his ship.

Karga held up his hands in surrender. “Then I’m afraid you’re out of luck.”

Fix.

Resisting the urge to sigh, Din asked, “Where’s the clinic?”

A Mandalorian carrying a blanketed bundle the size of a grown woman though the marketplace was bound to get a few strange looks.

Luckily, there wasn’t a line at the clinic.

Unluckily, the droid was still there.

The Woman looked concerningly pale on the table as the droid ran scan after scan. Her hair, dark and curly, didn’t shine like it had under the Tatooine double sun rise. It was limp and lifeless.

Like her.

Fix!

“How many more scans are you going to run??” Din snapped.

The droid was unfazed, finished its test before turning to face him.

“I have found the problem.” A projection appeared of The Woman’s head in profile. A small white square at the base of her skull. “She appears to have a chip implanted between her third and fourth cervical vertebrae.”

“Removing that will fix her?”

“All signs point to this being the root of the problem.”

“Can you remove it here?”

“Yes, but you cannot be present for the procedure.”

Though the idea of trusting her care into the hands of a droid made his palms itch, Din nodded.

He was allowed a moment to say good-bye, which felt both strange as he didn’t even know her name and yet not long enough all at the same time.

He touched a gloved hand to her shoulder, promising that this would fix it.

Though he wasn’t sure who he was promising that too.

A full hour crawled by as Din waited in the dingy clinic waiting room. The urge very insistent

Fix. Return. Fix. Return.

He was about ready to go ask what was taking so long again when the droid returned.

“The procedure was a success. She may be confused for a few days. But her mind will heal with time. Your wife is sleeping now, but can leave by the end of the day. ”

Side-stepping the presumption, he asked, “Do you have the chip?”

“Yes. Would you like to keep it?”

“Yes.” Mainly to find out where it came from in the first place. Implanted chips were rare and few, if any, were legal. Especially not ones capable of this sort of… control.

Given that The Woman was still sleeping, Din decided to take the chip to get some answers.

The urge was not happy.

Return. Return. Return.

But really, when she woke, the droid's face would be more expressive than his own.

From this side of the city, he took the southern entrance to the covert.

There was a tension shift as soon as he stepped down into the subterranean tunnels. The oddity of a Mandalorian was stripped away, thankfully.

At the heart of the covert was the armory and more importantly the Armorer. He sat before her forge and waited to be addressed.

“I see no defects in your armor,” she said, not stopping her smelting.

“I seek answers, not repairs.”

“Answers to what?”

He placed the chip down. She picked it up to examine it silently before setting it back down and returning to her work.

“Where did you find this?”

“Tatooine. Inside a slave from a Hutt palace.”

“Is the slave alive?”

“Yes.”

“They may provide more answers than I can.”

“She’s not conscious,” he explained, taking the chip back. “And–”

The Armorer waited for him to continue.

“I was… led to her.”

“How?”

He paused for a long moment, trying to find a way to explain. “Instinct.”

Danger, the urge suddenly said.

A slight commotion out in the hall behind him interrupted their conversation. Raised voices echoed down stone walls.

The Armorer’s comm link came to life. “Outsider at the southern entrance.”

Danger! Go.

Din was up on his feet before he made the choice to do so. And he was halfway down the hall by the time he’d realized he’d left.

A few other Mandalorians were also moving to the southern entrance, back up if there was an invading force.

Danger! Danger!

The urge pulled him into a sprint for the last corner.

Coming around it, something high in his chest resounded in fear.

The Woman was standing at the end of the hall, dressed in his dark shirt he’d pulled over her dress before taking her to the clinic, with at least six Mandalorian blasters pointed at her.

Save!

“STOP. WAIT.” Din ran down towards the stand off. “DON’T SHOOT.”

A few blasters turned his direction before their owners saw who he was. He could hear quite a few more Mandalorians also approaching from behind.

The Woman, however, did not seem bothered by the guns or the platoon of armored warriors surrounding her. She calmly walked forward, gaze focused somewhere ahead of her.

On him.

Return.

Her eyes were a soft grey, yet distant. Foggy.

Din drifted towards her. The urge now palpable under his skin.

Return.

However, it was only when she reached out and took one gloved hand in hers that it finally relaxed, disappeared.

“Outsiders are not permitted inside the covert,” one of the guards snapped.

“She’s not an outsider,” the Armorer replied.

Her voice seemed very far away to Din who felt it was more important to study this woman’s face than listen.

“She’s a Match.”

That cut through the gentle reverie of grey eyes.

A what?

Chapter Two: The Question

taglist: @kelenloth ; @keeper0fthestars ; @loversandantiheroes

[masterjedilenawrites]

Blueberries and Cowboys: Chapter 2

A choose-your-own-adventure style fic. First, 2 platonic chapters for set-up/build-up. And then, the story will split into 2 paths depending on your romantic pairing preference: You and Thrawn, or You and Eli.

Chapter Masterlist

Chapter 2: The Plan

Pairing: None...yet...

Chapter Warnings: Mentions of bullying

Length: 2k

AO3 Link (In case you like it better over there, it’s okay, no judgement)

The rest of the week saw the three of you using every bit of free time outside your classes and studies to gather information for Thrawn to build a solid plan.

Eli tailed his pesky classmate Arden everywhere, even skipping a class one day to break into his dorm, trying to learn anything about the guy that could be useful to get him involved in the plot. Thrawn analyzed the simulation software and protocols that would be used to administer the tests, mapping out every possible way Commander Burdick could hijack it. And you were the one spying on the Burdick himself. Since the commander didn't seem too interested in your grades, you were able to shadow him without suspicion, and had been able to slip a bug into his offices to eavesdrop on any potential conversations about his plans for sabotage.

Your classmates and the staff were none the wiser. That was the advantage of being social outcasts. Half of them avoided you all like the plague, and the other half already thought you were weird people doing weird things. So it wasn't long before you'd all gotten enough intel to work with.

It was late in the evening at the end of the week. You found yourself in Thrawn and Eli's shared dorm, which looked identical to your own in the opposite wing, because the Empire couldn't bother with things like individuality or comfort. Eli sat on the edge of his top bunk, his legs swinging casually, and his coat unbuttoned to reveal a wrinkled undershirt you knew he hadn't bothered to wash all week. Thrawn paced about in the middle of the room, his long strides only allowing him about four good steps before he had to turn around. He still had his uniform on, boots and badges and all.

You leaned against the railing of the bed, watching Thrawn as he went back and forth. Sometimes he sat still when he was scheming, with his fingers steepled and his gaze seemingly reaching into some unknown dimension beyond your comprehension. That usually happened when he was running through variables that didn't concern you, at least from his perspective. You and Eli had accepted long ago there would always be parts of his plans he would never share with you. He was kind of a control freak like that.

But tonight, he seemed to be more welcoming of collaboration, hence his steady rhythm of pacing in front of you.

"Only one variable remains, as I see it," he was saying. "We understand how the commander will manipulate the system to cause a redundancy in the simulation, thus rendering the test impossible to finish successfully."

You and Eli shared a glance; the only person who truly understood how that was going to happen was Thrawn. He'd tried explaining numerous times but when it came to codes and tech, the two of you weren't able to fully keep up.

"We also know through your investigating," Thrawn motioned to you with what you thought was an impressed look, causing you to feel a little pride, "that the commander plans to only sabotage my test, believing it will be too suspicious if Eli also fails. He will also manipulate his false code to originate from the computer of his former lover Eva Carroway, who currently works in HR. So if an investigation does ensue, it will be traced to her and not him."

You and Eli chuckled under your breaths. It had been a little amusing when you'd discovered Commander Burdick was using this plan to not only undermine Thrawn, but also get revenge on his ex-girlfriend. But even more hilarious was how awkward Thrawn treated the subject. He had been quite perplexed to learn people could be so vindictive after a break-up. And any time he explained that detail of the plan, like he was doing now, he hesitated over his word choice. You couldn't tell if he only pretended to be confused about romantic relations, or if that was truly an area he found himself lost in.

If Thrawn noticed your snickering, he didn't respond to it, only continued to recap the plan. "We have also determined how we will expose the altered code naturally, so it does not cast suspicion on us... What was the word you used?"

"Backfire," said Eli.

"Yes. It would not due to have anyone suspect that we altered the test ourselves, or to have our concerns disregarded altogether. Thus, arranging for the maintenance crew to get a mild case of food poisoning so their performance checks are postponed to occur right before the tests will take care of that variable. At the least, they will fix the altered code and I will take the test as normal. At the most, they will report it and the commander faces expulsion."

"So..." said Eli through a yawn as he stretched. "What's left to work out, then?"

Now it was time for you and Thrawn to share a look.

"Were you not interested in involving your classmate, Arden Fey?" asked Thrawn in his soft, contemplative voice.

Eli shrugged. "Yeah. But Burdick's already got his scapegoat, his ex. So it'll be easier to keep him out of it. Whatever."

You could tell he was trying to be nonchalant. But just this morning, he had spent the entire walk between classes ranting about some new insults Arden had come up with, and how badly he wanted to show the guy up once and for all. You knew your friend wasn't feeling "whatever" about it.

"It's not a matter of ease or difficulty," Thrawn stated plainly. He had stopped pacing and was standing with hands behind his back, highlighting the broadness of his shoulders and the height of his stance. His presence seemed to fill up the whole room, and not for the first time, you were glad to be his friend and not his enemy.

"Yeah," you added in encouragement. "We just have to get creative. Find a way to make Arden a more appealing scapegoat than Burdick's ex. In fact...."

You trailed off as an idea occurred to you. You darted out of the room, surely leaving your two friends perplexed, but you would only be a second. You sprinted down the corridor toward the lifts, where a bulletin hung against the wall with fliers and pamphlets. One notice was a bit larger than the others, a promotion of an upcoming gala event to celebrate the Academy's anniversary. You ripped it off and went racing back to the boys' dorm room.

Eli had come down from the bunk and held a concerned look, probably prepared to follow you if you hadn't returned so quickly. Thrawn was still standing composed, but there was a curiosity in his eyes that made you smile.

You held up the poster in front of your chest. "What do you think the likelihood is of us playing successful matchmakers this week?"

Thrawn understood your idea almost immediately, looking down on you with a pleased smirk. It made you flush a little, to know the Chiss was impressed. You rarely had a chance to contribute good ideas when his mind worked so much faster than yours.

Eli caught on next, and he started to grin, the happiest you'd seen him in a while. His smile was infectious and you grinned back. Happy looked good on him.

"We know Eva's not shy with younger guys," you explained. "Before Burdick, she was fooling around with some intern in the med bay."

"And Arden's vain enough," added Eli. "If he thinks anyone's interested, he'll go for 'em."

"So we get him to ask her to the gala as his date...." you said.

"Burdick sees the two of them together...." said Eli.

"And realizes he can get back at his lover in another way, by pinning the sabotage on another student...." joined Thrawn.

The three of you stood together, proud and satisfied that yet another plan had finally worked out. It was almost worth the stressful studying and petty bullying and all the other unpleasant things you had to endure at this god-forsaken school, just to have fun moments like this with trusted friends.

"We should attend this gala as well," Thrawn said eventually, holding out a hand for the poster. He inspected it thoughtfully. "It is only a few days before the tests, so I hadn't planned to pay it any mind. But now...."

"Yeah, we should make sure Burdick's as jealous as we want 'im," nodded Eli.

You were secretly pleased. The plan was already a win-win, but now you would be able to go to the event yourself, too. You hadn't mentioned your desire to go to either of them before, figuring they weren't interested and not wanting to sound silly if you suggested it. But you did love dancing, and it was so very rare you got a chance to wear something other than your Imperial uniform.

"It's a dance," you noted, in case they couldn't tell by the details on the poster. "We'll need to go in pairs."

"I suppose it would make the most sense for you and Eli to go together," said Thrawn quietly.

You looked between the two, realizing both of them were flushed slightly. Eli's cheeks were dotted with pink, standing out amongst his dark brown features, while Thrawn had more of a purple tint to his face now, a color you'd never seen there before. You could feel yourself growing warm and uncomfortable as well. It was only a dance... only a way for you to enact a much more important plan... but it was the first time your trio had had to engage in anything other than platonic friendship. The balance of your group seemed to be shifting ever so slightly in this moment, and you had no way of knowing if it was for good or ill.

You cleared your throat, pushing away any feelings that might have been brewing in your chest, and instead calling focus back to the mission at hand.

"Actually, I think I'd better go with Thrawn. Whoever doesn't go with me would have to find their own date, and no offense Thrawn, but I think Eli has the better chance of asking someone else."

You hoped they hadn't noticed how hollow your voice sounded, how hard you were trying to keep yourself emotionless.

Eli was pinker than ever. "Uh, I highly doubt that..."

"You're not completely hated around here, you know," you said quickly. "Definitely not with the girls. You're not bad looking, you can be charming if you try, and you're... you know, human." You glanced at Thrawn and added again quietly, "No offense."

Thrawn shook his head. His color and demeanor had already slipped back into his usual neutral self. "No, I agree. Those are the dynamics of our peers and we must work with it. I will take you to the gala, Eli will find his own date, and all three of us will push Arden and Eva together as well. It's a good plan."

You all nodded in agreement. But there was a knot in your stomach, a nervousness you didn't quite understand. You cared very much for both Thrawn and Eli. They were your best friends, your only friends. As a group, you were bonded by your ostracism, protecting and supporting each other on your journey out of this hell-hole.

And separately, you had something special with each, too. You and Eli came from similar backgrounds, and had the same need to disconnect from your surroundings and just have a bit of fun every once in a while. The two of you had spent many late nights together, either hopping between bars, exploring the city, making each other laugh uncontrollably, or quietly sharing the honest thoughts you both buried far too deeply inside. Some nights you'd done all of the above, and returned to your dorm feeling both exhausted and renewed.

But Eli didn't always appreciate the finer things in life, and that's where you connected with Thrawn. He wasn't necessarily an optimist, but he had this way of noticing the beauty that existed everywhere around you, even in the most simple or mundane of moments. Everything had the potential to be interesting. His calm but strong presence had kept you grounded and sane throughout your studies here so far. Sometimes you would talk, other times you would simply be in the same space. And either way, you felt better about life.

You didn't exactly want your relationship with them to change. But you couldn't help but feel this gala would do just that....

Next Chapter: The Preparation >

Blueberry Path | Thrawn x reader

Cowboy Path | Eli x reader

[kinsey3furry300]

A very confused Star Wars Fan desperately tries to justify their belief that “Caravan of Courage” shows the way forward for the franchise. No, really.

Ever since I was a little kid, I’ve loved Star Wars. And I mean, all of it. The books, the games, the Lego, the spin-offs: I even enjoy the Holiday Special in a The Room so-bad-you-just-need-to-see-it sort of way.  But particularly the films. But here is when we run into the big problem: I’m just the wrong age. The original trilogy launched before I was born, the prequel trilogy hit cinemas when I was already a teen and while I went and saw them and enjoyed them, I was at that age where I was self-conscious about seeing a “kids” film, and hyper-aware of how silly and cringy those films were in parts. So my indoctrination, my inoculation with the Star Wars bug didn’t happen in the cinema, and it didn’t happen with any of the main franchise works. It happened on home video, on a skiing trip in the French Alps in the early 90’s. I’d have been about 6, and this was the first time I’d ever been abroad other than to see relatives in Ireland.  And I loved it: to this day I love skiing, but more than that, I have very, very fond childhood memories of this trip. This was shortly before I lost my biological mother to cancer, she’d have received her diagnosis just after we got back from the trip. This was when my younger sister stopped being an annoying screaming thing and became and became an actual person I could talk and play and share ideas with, this was before the combination my mothers long illness and my father having just launched his own IT start up meant I didn’t see him or her any more, despite the fact they were in the same house as me. This was this wonderful, nostalgic child-hood bubble when my family was intact, and nothing could ever go wrong. I skied all day with mum and dad, and would come back to the chalet in the evening. It was an English speaking chalet, I met my first real-life American there, and having grown up in the 90’s in the UK nothing was cooler than making friends with an actual American my own age. He had a hulk Hogan action figure with springs in the legs so if you put him on a hard surface and punched his head down, when you let go he’d jump really high in the air. We used to play with it together in the bath, back in that weird 90’s time-bubble when it was possible to convince two sets of parents that this kid you’d just met was you best friend in the world and of course shared bath time was, somehow, normal and appropriate. And fresh from bath time, tired from the day, the parents would give us some hot coco, dump us kids in front of the tv and grab the first shitty low-budget VHS they could find to keep us distracted while they went to the bar. In this particular time, in this particular place, that shitty low budget cartoon was the  complete set of the 1985 Lucasfilm/ABC Ewoks cartoon, plus the two spin off movies, and to this day that cheap, kitschy, kind of bad series has a special warm and cosy place in my heart. I remember being enthralled by the world, in love with the characters, applied by the bad guys and the injustice they caused (to this day I’m still irate about that time Wicket lost his set of beads documenting his progress towards becoming a full warrior and the older Ewoks basically said, tough, you need to re-earn all those merit badges from scratch. This struck me as exactly the sort of bullshit an adult would pull, and pissed me off) and on tenterhooks about what would happen to the characters.

It was also, by a coincidence, the first ever Star Wars media I was exposed to, and the above combination of events probably explains a lot about me.

So I was surprised, the other day, when scrolling Disney+, to find they’d added Caravan of Courage AND Battle for Endor to the roster in my region. Surely Disney wouldn’t want their slick, cool brand associated with this old trash? Surely there could be no place for this in the post-Mandalorian Star Wars cannon? Surely this is a horrible mistake some intern made, right?

Unless…. What if I’ve miss-remembered? What if it’s not just rose-tinted nostalgia goggles, and it’s, in fact, secretly really, really good?

I rushed to my comfy chair, got a blanket, dimmed the lights, made some coco (with rum in it, because why the hell not?) and sat down to re-examine this lost gem.

And wow: it’s every bit as shit as you’d expect.

It has aged exactly as poorly as you’d expect a cheap, mid 80’s direct to video spin-off to age. Caravan of Courage? More like Caravan of Garbage, am I right?

And yet… I still enjoyed every moment.

And it was sitting there, in my pyjamas, watching a cheaply made direct to video cash-grab from just before I was born, seeing it again for the first time in nearly 30 years, and I realised something.

It doesn’t really matter if this film is bad, so long as I enjoy it. And if it doesn’t really mater if this is bad, then I, like many Star Wars fans, wasted a huge amount of time and emotional effort on being butthurt about stuff I didn’t like about the Rise of Skywalker and it’s ilk. Because somewhere, right now, a tired and frustrated parent is putting Disney+ on to keep their kids quiet for two hours. And they won’t think too hard about what they put on, so long as it keeps little Timmy busy for a bit. Somewhere, right now, a kid is watching Rise of Skywalker, and it’s the first Star Wars media they’ve ever seen.

And that’s okay. Because we don’t know what that kids home life is like. We don’t know if it’s good or bad. Maybe it’s great, maybe it’s about to take a dramatic plunge like mine did, and this moment here will be the cosy, warm memory they look back on in 30 years time, and that’s beautiful.  They’re getting introduced to a fun, wonderful fantasy world that could be with them all their lives, through good times and bad, and as fans we should be happy about that.

Star Wars will never, die: it’s too darn profitable, Disney will never let it. And while I hope they learn from their mistakes and make sure every future Star Wars is a timeless gem of story-telling, statistically, if you keep making enough films, some of them will be bad. And while I’d like them all to be great, it’s still okay if they’re bad.

Because nothing can take away my memories of that week in that chalet. Nothing can take-away my memories of when they put the original trilogy on in cinemas for the special edition and I had my jaw hit the floor with how good it was on the big screen, not knowing or caring who shot first. Nothing can take away you memories of the Original Trilogy, the Prequels, or the Clone Wars. Nothing can tarnish the bits of the sequil trilogy that you like, and there are good bits in there.

But wait, what about continuity? What about the sacred, perfect written time-line that used to exist?

Well, what about it? Have you seen any other big, epic fantasy universe before? They’re all a mess. A work of fiction, particularly fantasy, can be extensive, or tightly written, but not both. Harry Potter is only seven books, and the last two feel, tonally, like they’re from an entirely different series. I love them, but the grim-dark kicked in so fast you’ll get whiplash. The Hobbit is a perfect written self-contained novel, and LOTR is *The* big boy high-fantasy trilogy: fast forward 50 years, and Christopher Tolkien is desperately squeezing every last drop of money out of his father’s corpse by finishing and publishing every unfinished note JRR ever wrote right down to his shopping lists. Even Dune goes of the rails with sequels. I can only think of four fantasy works that are both extensive and consistently tightly written, Song of Ice and Fire, Wheel of Time, Malazan: Book of the Fallen and Brandon Sanderson’s Cosmere universe. And even then, the prequels and spin-offs mess with the timelines: the Dunk and Egg novella’s change some character’s canonical ages and timelines, Wheel of Time was going slowly off the rails even before the Jordan died, Forge of Darkness made what was a good metaphor for the creation of it’s world into a literal war deep in the past, and Sanderson’s first Novel Elantris got a re-write to bring it more in line with the rest of the shared universe. The MCU, oft held up as the modern example of tightly planned, well thought out ongoing storytelling, is a lie: it was never as pre-planned out as Disney wants us to think; the first Iron Man, apparently, barely had a script, with Downey ad-lib-ing most of his scenes. None of the MCU films are direct sequels to each-other other than Infinity war and Endgame. There are three Iron Man films, and Three Thor films, and none continue an ongoing story line across multiple films, and the Cap films barely continue an arc, but only where Cap’s relationship with Natasha and Bucky is involved.  Much like these, Star War’s cannon is a complete, nightmarish, confusing, tangled, illogical mess. And it has been since 1984, as Caravan of Courage proves. It was never consistent and well planned.

And that’s okay.

I used to care about plot holes. I used to care about which works were cannon in Star Wars lore. I’m over that now. I’m happy to imagine the books, films and games not as a blow-by-blow historical account of a galaxy far far away, but as campfire stories from within this fun, imaginative world that we’re all invited to listen to. Stories that are in-universe myth and folklore, that we can all snuggle up and listen to while drinking highly alcoholic rum and remembering better times, knowing that wherever the future throws at us, no matter how the world goes to hell around us, we’ll still have the memories, and the ability to make our own new stories in the wonderful Star Wars world we all share.

And that’s okay. No, more than that: that’s beautiful.

Also Star Wars is completely unambiguous on the fact we’re allowed to kill fascists no matter how many times they keep coming back with a new logo, so that’s timely I guess.

So, there’s my hot take two-years after everyone else stopped caring about this stuff, as per bloody usual. Tell me why I’m wrong below, and does anyone else have any truly awful spin-off shows that they kind of have a nostalgic soft spot for?

[virgil-writes]

ash & soot

Long before the Winters come into play, a monster stalks the Forbidden Forest that surrounds the Village. Karl Heisenberg is sent to investigate, and heads deeper into darkness to find his prey, a thorn on his side and someone just like him. (Heisenberg x OC)

on AO3: chapter one | chapter two | chapter three | chapter four | chapter five | chapter six | chapter seven (ao3 only) | chapter eight | chapter nine | chapter ten | chapter eleven | chapter twelve | chapter thirteen (ao3 only, smut)

chapter 12 - cabin fever

SFW, around 5K words.

chapter 13 - liebchen (ao3 only, smut)

The sheets underneath him were worn but comfortable, ancient-looking in design but well taken care of. The bed frame is barely there, mattress a well-placed lattice away from being on the floor. He can’t remember the last time he’s been on a bed, the last time he’d laid his body down at all, for any reason. His back complains every other second, not because of the comfort of the bedding, but because it had gone without for so long. A wonderfully comfortable blanket covers him up to the hips, the soft mattress almost makes him feel like he is floating. Fuck, he really missed having a proper bed now.

He inspects himself carefully, still not fully convinced this is not a fever-induced hallucination. His hand is where it should be, and so is his leg, and every other part of his body that he recalled having before. There are half a dozen new scars that he can count, all healed over perfectly like they’d opened years ago instead of hours, forming a map of stories he would rather not tell. He is shirtless but is wearing pants now, his trench coat and hat nowhere to be found. He pushes the blanket aside to find the damn woolen slippers waiting for him on a woven rug. It doesn’t take him long to realize where he is, but nothing resembles her, no personal belongings on the nightstand, no desk or mirror or even a dresser. It looked as if the room was rarely visited, kept clean but empty, and he wondered if sleep was a foreign concept to her, too.

Hesitant, tentative movements take him down the ladder and into the living room, and he expects to find her hard at work at something or another, humming a tune while she cooks, petting the goat and telling it asinine, cutesy things in a soft voice. But the house is silent and she is nowhere to be found, the dog sits in front of the closed front door and watches his every move. It is not aggressive but watchful, like it had been given the task of keeping an eye on the ailing man and alerting his owner in case anything was amiss.

“I’m fine, fleabag.” He laughs at the dog and gets a huff in response, an acknowledgment, and the shepherd moves from its post at the door to give him passage if he so desires. Heisenberg gives it a well deserved pat on the head as it passes by, tail wagging hesitantly as it tried to make friends with him. He is glad to be alone - if anyone ever used this against him, he would deny it.

A plate awaits him at the dinner table, and despite his intentions of running out of there before she could see him again, breakfast is an offer he cannot bring himself to refuse. Bread and jam, a robust omelet served with sprinkles of cheese and herbs. He can almost see the aroma the coffee has left behind, and finds the pot on the side of the wood stove, cup and saucer set for him nearby.

He eats slowly and in silence, chews thoroughly before swallowing, as if he fears some abrupt movement would rip reality apart and throw him back into the pit of suffering he found himself in the night before. There is no blood, no pain; no sign of the madness he had come so close to drowning in. He is safe and comfortable, there is good food in his belly and a warm hearth to keep the cold at bay. His problems are far and cannot catch him, and maybe if he keeps stalling to finish breakfast he can stay in this bliss forever. The world is quiet outside, and so are his thoughts, for once in his life.

A shirt and sweater are neatly folded and arranged as to call attention on the couch, no doubt to replace his blood-stained, ragged trench coat. He feels naked without it, he muses as he pulls the moss-colored shirt over his head, and it feels awkward not to wear the hat and the glasses. It would be unpleasant if she were to catch him now, free of his usual regalia; he felt that she would see right through him, stare deep into his eyes and find out all he had worked so hard to hide.

He did not feel like Karl Heisenberg, Lord of the Village, powerful mutant capable of unspeakable acts of violence. He was… Karl, middle-aged immortal man who enjoyed tinkering, was a big fan of meat an potatoes and didn’t know what to do when he had time to waste in his hands. Karl, of German origin but Romanian by birth, come from a long line of miners and steel workers. People of few words and fewer luxuries, hardy of constitution and blunt to a fault. He had been content to be those things and nothing more, to carry on what the Heisenbergs had done for centuries, until life dumped him on his head and led him to where he is today.

But not today, because maybe just today he can forget, and let his gracious host distract him with her mystery and the delicate curves of her buttocks. Perhaps tomorrow he would go back to treating her like a tool he would use and discard, but today she would be none the wiser, and neither would he. The fresh air of the mountain and distance from the cramped confines of the factory would do him good, he decided, help reinvigorate his spirit and refresh his ideas, spark some inspiration. And if not, well, the food was excellent and she was easy on the eyes.

A pair of boots that didn’t belong to him were by the door, just the right size to fit him. He had walked all the way up barefoot, he remembers, but he would very much like to know how she seemed to have everything that he needed readily available. Was she clairvoyant alongside being a healer? Did she bleed money that she could buy information on him from the Duke and the apparel to go with it? He opened the door to find her outside, looking like the cat that ate the canary, a couple meters away from the gate that separated her plot of land from the heart of the forest. She had just emerged from amongst the trees, heavy coat over her shoulders and leather boots to keep the ice off her feet. Her hands were free, no basket for foraging or firewood in her arms. No sign of a knife or any other kind of weapon, but judging by the look on her face, he could swear she had just committed murder. Her eyes told him she would not speak of it.

“Good morning, pumpkin,” he began, leaning against the door frame, arms crossed over his chest, at least trying to fish an explanation out of her. Instead she pretended to forget the suspicious circumstances and focused on him instead, her face lighting up at the sight of him up and about, like she didn’t expect to see him anytime soon. Had it been that bad?

“Good morning, my lord. Are you well?” Shame and madness aside, he thought, things were going swimmingly. “I hope the accommodations were to your liking.” Once again with the pleasantries, with the caring for what he thought of her hospitality. Did she get a kick out of being so kind? That was the most foolish thing he had ever heard. He tried to come up with a witty response that would catch her off guard, but the night had been long and there was too much tiredness swamping his mind, and all he got was honesty:

“Quite. Hadn’t slept in a bed in decades.” As if to validate his words, he stretched and grunted in approval, pains he did not even realize he’d had gone like magic.

“Well, it remains at your disposal,” was her response as she chuckled, wiping her hands on the embroidered apron before gesturing an invitation. There was dirt on her palms. “It may not be much, but it’ll give you a good night’s rest.” She motioned for him to follow, something he would grow accustomed to.

“You know,” he began, following her into the shed, accepting the shallow basket she handed him. “I bet it’d be even better if you were there with me.” She hummed in approval, a smile as devious as his on her face. The damn woman would always catch him off guard; Heisenberg was not used to being flirted with, words thrown about only half-seriously, only to make the villagers blush and Alcina mad. He had never followed up on any of it, because it was always meant to annoy, and the fact that she not only took him seriously but fired back pulled the rug right from under him. And boy did he like it.

They laughed but spoke no more of it, tension like static in the air, both fully aware the joke had more than a few nuggets of truth to it. A dozen different scenarios ran through his mind, on ways he could take her, mark her, ruin her. Inside the shed, behind the stables, propped on the porch railing. Standing, face pressed against the floor, legs tightly wrapped around his waist. She smirked as she passed by him, smirked like she could tell every image that went through his mind. Smirked like she knew he would not do any of it, that his flirting was just a front and he had never found the courage to take the plunge, not even once. Her wink was the cherry on the cake, the challenge that made his cheeks flush at just the right moment so that she wouldn’t see it.

The morning was spent tending to the animals and the garden, and she instructed him on how to feed the chickens and keep the tiny goat happy. Its name was Prince and it demanded to be treated like royalty, lest the puny humans faced his wrath and for now adorable headbutts. The thing followed him around the whole time, demanded his attention when he collected the eggs from the coop, when he let the horse out of the stable to let it stretch its legs. Only when the weather took a turn for the worse did it scurry off to hide in the pens with its mom, settling down on a nice and dry bundle of hay.

He was put in charge of firewood while she tended the garden. The innuendos were kept to a minimum, but the static never left, and he felt her eyes heavy on him as he brought the axe down, muscles flexing and veins showing on his forearms with the effort. Maybe he ought to do more housework around her, and she’d come around and do his bidding without hesitation.

When the wind blew away his hat, Heisenberg realized there would be no going back to the factory unless he hurried. The storm had been mounting for days now, but he had never been one to pay much attention to the tells of weather; he rarely left his hideout, and with the factory being mostly underground, he would be trapped inside for a few days at best. He had perhaps half an hour for a journey that would take him one or two under such bad weather, and he would have to be lucky for the bridge to hold if it got too bad. She wasted little time paying attention to his inner turmoil, and went about securing the animals instead, making sure they had food, water and a warm place to spend the night. Snow was falling fast by the time she was done, and she ushered him in when he’d stood there too long, snow coming up to his shins already. They brushed off as much as they could on the porch before heading inside, water dripping down their shoulders. There was a long pause as they both watched the storm come down through the living room window, a knowing silence that the day would be long, and the night longer, and neither would be leaving that cabin for at least the next day.

“Well, it seems the bed is yours for the night again, my lord,” were her words as she bolted the door, a hint of joy in her voice. He imagined it was a lonely existence, secluded in the mountains and feared by all, not part of any community and especially not theirs. She always seemed so happy to see him, to see another human whose first instinct wasn’t to attack her. He would pity her if he cared, if his existence wasn’t equally as lonesome, if he hadn’t fashioned it to be exactly what he wished. He’d never needed anyone yapping about everything and nothing in his ears, interrupting his work and diverting his attention from what really mattered. Alcina was insane to have taken in the girls, really; children sounded like an exhausting chore that never ended. He never understood why she always looked so content in spite of it all. His mother always told him one day he would understand, he would want to keep someone close, and then he would want someone else just like them to cherish and love, to teach and share the good and bad moments. He would turn a hundred soon and never quite felt like it; maybe in another hundred years?

His only answer was a lopsided smile, tired and sad, and he tried to brace for the barrage of questions and comments that were certain to come. She was trapped inside her living space with the stranger who emerged from the guts of the forest, come from a village rife with death, where he was sovereign save for Mother dearest. He was the favorite son and the most powerful, gifted with strength and wits and influence and power. Those he could not talk down he could easily buy out, and those he could not buy out he could easily destroy. He was a fabled recluse and rumors ran rampant of the work he’d conduct in his factory, of treasures he kept deep underground. It would be a long day, the first in forever that he would spend so close to another breathing, talking human, and he did not know what to expect aside from a lot of chit-chat and a mounting headache. Surely she would like to know all about him, now that he couldn’t run away from her. Surely she would pry into his motives, pepper in questions about his siblings and the village. A thousand smug answers he conjured in his mind, each snappier than the other, every retort a question thrown back at her. It was only fair, of course; she had thrown much at him, bits and pieces of improbabilities that he couldn’t put together, and if she intended on digging deep, he would do the same.

To his surprise, all she did was leave her boots behind next to him and proceed to ignore him, going about her daily life like he was of no consequence. He found himself stunned, rooted in front of the door with a puzzled expression on his face. She looked at him as if to say well, this is it, make yourself at home and enjoy the day, and once again the domesticity of it all broke him more than words could ever have. He felt weird as he reached for the papers he had brought with him the night before, tucked next to the myriad of books on her shelf. They remained silent when he took a seat at the table and pushed open the schematics to get a better look at them, the potted plant centerpiece serving as a paper weight so he could work properly.

First, she dusted the shelves, reorganized her herb cabinet and found a place for his hat. The curtains were drawn and she took a peek outside, checking on the pens and the stable to make sure the animals would have a comfortable enough day. Then she bound off to a corner of the living room, producing a basket with threads and fabric, yarn and needles that she brought over to the couch. She sat cross-legged, close to the fire, and only spared him a brief glance before tending to her needlework. He felt weird as he reached for the papers he had brought with him the night before, tucked next to the myriad of books on her shelf. They remained silent when he took a seat at the table and pushed open the schematics to get a better look at them, the potted plant centerpiece serving as a paper weight so he could work properly. The first few minutes were nerve-racking, his paranoia telling him he would look away and find her peering curiously over his shoulder, trying to steal away his secrets to use against him as leverage. He read the same words again and again only to realize he hadn’t understood them, eyes turning to her every minute to make sure she still hadn’t moved. She caught him eventually, eyebrow raised in his direction as she tried to make sense of the situation, mouth turning into an “oh” as she jumped off the couch and stood on the tips of her toes to reach the very top of the bookshelf. A minute later and she had brought him a candle and holder, a half-empty box of matches in her other hand. She stood at the other end of the table and pushed it in his direction, still not curious regarding his work, but figuring that, even in daylight, the cabin was dark and he likely was not used to doing things by candlelight. It took him a moment to process and bring the light closer, shocked as he was to see that she intended to leave him to his own devices but cared about his comfort.

The hours were a blur then, when he convinced himself she would not surprise him, and his suspicions were correct; a change of environment had done wonders for his creativity, solutions jumping at him paper after paper, a multitude of new projects and ideas for him to try once he was back at the factory. He can’t remember the last time he had been so productive, the last time he had folded everything in and told himself he was done for the day, because he had done more than enough. She had brought him tea and bread at some point and he had eaten absentmindedly, crumbs and drops of jam staining the papers, but he could not bring himself to care. After tea she had brought him coffee, and then a jug of water, and while he felt a bit like a caged animal being fed periodically, it did wonders to keep his work flowing.

Night had already fallen when he finally took a break, got up to stretch his legs and look around to see just what she had been doing this whole time. Her crafts basket was back in its place, a sock taking shape on the needles. A book abandoned where she was sitting instead, the little witch nowhere near it. Instead she was busy preparing dinner, swaying her hips to a tune but quiet as a mouse, like she was going out of her way to give him peace and quiet. He appreciated it, try as he might to deny it, how she cared without meddling, made herself present but not intruding.

Maybe he should hire her to be his assistant, help him organize the half-done office he had begun building on the upper floors of the factory. She certainly would be great at helping him keep his affairs in order - and by that he meant she would keep him fed, mostly, the one thing he kept forgetting to do and that always set him back. He could provide her with something better than this, surely, her very own quarters with modern wonders such as electricity and proper plumbing, a bathroom of her own, maybe even a fridge. Had she ever seen a fridge before? He imagined she would decorate the place with all manner of silly things that would only serve to gather dust, knickknacks and wreaths and woven things, and that it would smell of flowers and fresh-baked bread. Her responsibilities would include housekeeping and Heisenkeeping - organizing his papers so he wouldn’t lose them, keeping track of all of the family meetings he had to attend, dealing with the Duke for supplies so he wouldn’t have to. He’d reward her handsomely, give her days off, be a good employer unlike his parents had been. Not a bad plan, if he did say so himself.

He had only forgotten to factor in that she was, still, a powerful, self-described blood witch. He had been entertaining himself with the thoughts of having her around as he watched her prepare dinner; she’d gone hunting in the morning, he realized, two hares hanging upside down from an iron ring. She took one down to place it at the cutting board, its insides clean but pelt still intact. He had no doubt she would be skilled at skinning it; when one lives as long as she has with no contact with the outside world, such skills are necessary for survival. What he did not expect was the way she’d go about it: a firm hand grabbed a handful of fur, gave it a gentle twist and pulled, effortlessly, the entire thing coming off in her hand, no cuts and no tears, neck and head and all. He could see the knife from where he was sitting, placed blade down into the ceramic jug.

Heisenberg bent forward to see better when she did it the second time around, and it was as unexplainable and horrifying as the first. Gross but humane, like she simply coaxed the skin to slide right off the flesh. If the thing had been alive, he imagined it would have been quite painful, a whole human suit in her hand and living flesh left behind. The thought almost makes him gag, a disgusted sound escaping his lips and making her realize she’s not alone. She slowly turns to face him with a sheepish smile, like a child caught red-handed. “Pretend you didn’t see that?” She offers, but he shakes his head no. Not in a million years he would forget the sheer brutality of it. He waits but she doesn’t explain it, goes back to making dinner like nothing had happened.

“Could you do that to something… Bigger, darling?” He approaches her slowly, like a predator carefully stalking its prey, though he feels far from a position of power at the moment. She nods her head yes. “Like, say, a good ole’ human?” He whispers in her ear, a shiver running down her spine at the sudden intrusion and hot breath against her skin, flirting his go-to attempt at getting back the reigns of any situation.

“Want me to test it on you, my lord?” She quips in the same whisper tone, and he is wise enough to back off for now.

“Think I’ll pass.” Before he can run back to his seat, she hands him the smaller, bone-bladed knife and pushes a bowl of potatoes towards him, the sudden motion startling him and eliciting a chuckle out of her. Looks like he’ll have to earn his keep. For a while they work shoulder to shoulder in peaceful silence, save for his grunts of frustration at not being able to peel a potato successfully. It’s been a long time. “You ought to show me what you can do one of these days. I’m awful curious.” She considers it for a second, head moving left and right, knife following the movement.

“I’ll show you mine if you show me yours,” and she doesn’t mean metal bending and knife juggling, he knows. He can’t think of a reason why she would want to see him, truly see him, monstrous appearance and all, but if that’s the price to pay, he’ll gladly do it. It would be good for his ego, too, that priceless look on her face as he shifts into the stuff of nightmares.

There are no more gruesome sneak peeks for the night and soon the stew is ready, he helps set the table and she finds a bottle of wine she’d stashed away for a rainy day. She explains over dinner that he was quite feverish when he arrived, and it’s a wonder he made it through the night. He truly was sturdy, no ifs or buts about it, she said in appreciation. There were cuts and bruises all over him, all shapes and sizes, like he’d fallen through glass. Did he have an accident at the factory? There was genuine concern in her voice, though they both knew that she knew better.

His curiosity gets the better of him and he experiments with a few questions, each answer leaving him further in the dark. How old was she? Somewhere around a hundred and thirty. She remembers being old enough to read around 1902, when she saw the date on a newspaper she fished out of the gutter, but beyond that time was either a blur or she’d been too young to remember. Where did she come from? Not a clue, but she’s been around: she’s seen Italian castles, been to centuries old British pubs. She’s seen the Brandenburg Gate and visited Chateau de Versailles. She’s bathed in the beautiful waters of the Greek coast, made a pilgrimage to the volcanic beaches of Iceland. She’s never made it past the ocean to the Americas or down to the warmer climates of Africa, but time has never been an issue, and she figures she’ll get to it eventually. He asks her why all the wandering, is someone after her? Her breath hitches and her eyes lower, shoulders slump, a deep breath before the replies. Something like that, and he understands maybe it’s best if he doesn’t push.

They returned to the topic of his feverish display once dinner was over, with her cautioning that he had been lucky this time around, lucky that she was home, lucky that he even made it across the bridge and found his way home. Home, her use of the word is deliberate and strokes something warm and fuzzy within him. Disgusting. There was the matter of the shard, he took a sit on the couch as she reached into a drawer to pull out a bundle of clean cloth, and he feigns confusion when she unwraps it to reveal a piece of metal shaped similar to an arrowhead. He recognized it, the shavings of a project he had worked on… Maybe a year ago? It’d been sticking out through his ribs when he arrived, she said, and it looked anything but recent; infection had taken around it, skin red and swollen. She could see that it was agonizingly painful - had he not noticed it at all?

“Ah, so that’s what it was.” He blurted without really meaning to, a humorless chuckle that left her confused. “I’d been feeling this weird poke in my ribs for the longest time - thought I’d broken something.” He shrugs and she nods, clearly aware of their peculiar situations, perhaps now beginning to comprehend just how many layers of fucked up he was made of. “You’re a miracle worker, doll.” His fingers instinctively trace over the spot where the shard had been, nothing there but a scar that had healed remarkably well. “How can I ever repay you?”

Money, gems, jewelry? She didn’t strike him as the materialistic kind. No, she was all about the meaningful gestures, the showing of kindness. There were a few ways he could think of showing his appreciation - slamming her body against the wall to press a hard kiss on her lips, a nice, firm tug on her hair as he nibbled on her neck. Or maybe something softer if she was so inclined, more romantic even, like a well-placed, resounding slap on her ass cheek. “I’ll be sure to think of something, my lord.” Was the answer she gave, though he was sure she meant something else entirely judging by the way she let her coat slide off to reveal her bare shoulders as she set about getting ready for bed. Her hands gathered more and more of her skirt until it’d reached the middle of her thighs, delicate lace adorning the band of her stockings, tiny suspenders disappearing from sight but serving to peak his curiosity. She undid the hooks that kept it in place, fingers threatening to roll the garment down agonizingly slow. Instead she turned to look at her enraptured audience, the pose propping her ass up and so close to his hands. He had thought it had all been an act, carefully orchestrated to put him on edge, but the gasp of surprise she let out told him otherwise. “I am so sorry, my lord.” She quickly let go of it all and stood up straight, a flush running across her face. “I am not used to having visitors.”

“You needn’t stop on account of little ole’ me, darling.” He is quick to say, rich laughter that filled the room with mischief. Heisenberg sprawls further onto the couch, legs parting like an invitation. Best seat in the house, in the whole village even. “I did enjoy it.”

When it was time to say goodnight, he kept his composure and even helped her move one of the pillows and blanket down the ladder. If his mother were alive she would chastise him for not being a gentleman, for not refusing vehemently to let her sleep on an uncomfortable couch instead of her own bed. But the day was over and so were the pleasantries, and he would have to take the time to cleanse her off his mind, ease himself back into his usual mindset. She was impossibly alluring, impossibly annoying, impossibly loving. There was no figuring her out and it seemed there would be no delving deeper in. Playtime was over and it was back to work tomorrow as soon as she storm had passed. He needed to shed away her kindness before it managed to ooze under his skin, but she had no intention of making it any easier on him.

“Here you go,” Heisenberg had no time to stand on ceremony, shoved the pillow in her direction and flashed her a smile to keep up appearances, mind wandering somewhere else, somewhere where he did not care about her. It was better this way. “Good night, sweetheart.”

Even though he tried, he never truly reached that fabled place where she was of no importance. Not that he would ever acknowledge it.

[soldierswar]

Feel Something

Bucky X Reader 

Pt 1 of 5

Plot: You’re new to working in a unit that works alongside The Avengers. Due to your troubled past, you're having a hard time adjusting to your new life. As you try to go about this new life as smoothly as possible, the presence of the infamous yet intriguing Bucky Barnes begins to complicate that very task.

Warnings: Angst, Fluff, (eventual smut)

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Saying that getting used to your new life working alongside some of the world’s most important and well-regarded people on the planet was a “challenge” was a big understatement. But getting used to being at a party with all of them would be a task that seemed almost more difficult than the former. More and more people walked through the door or Steve’s Brooklyn apartment. They greeted each other, laughed, joked, settled in, and seemed to be having a great time. You had no idea why you were actually there, or why you agreed to even go in the first place. You didn’t feel like you had the right to even deserve their hospitality towards you.  So, you stayed in a corner and tried to go unnoticed while sipping on your, (what was it), third drink?   “I see you too are an observer?” acknowledged someone next to you. It was Natasha. As much as all the Avengers and company adored her, she too was one to stay on the sidelines when she felt like it. If she was being conversational, it was going to be with one or two people in a quiet corner, or when she was acting as bartender. She just liked to play it off as being too cool for big groups at once, and honestly, it worked for her. But now for whatever reason, you seemed to be her target of interest. “Remind me your name? Y/N, right?” You knew that she knew your name. But that was just her way of striking conversation with the likes of someone as quiet as you. “Good to see you, Natasha,” you greeted attempting to show a kind smile before taking another big sip of your drink. “Not really your scene, I gather?” she inquired. You shrugged nonchalantly and smiled attempting to play it as cool as her. Unfortunately, you knew that your efforts at masking feelings in front of her while on the verge of being drunk were in vain.   “Steve!” you greeted cheerfully as he approached you for a hug. You tried to pretend that maybe he didn’t hear the overcompensation in your voice. “Y/N it’s great to have you here. I’d say make yourself at home and have a drink but I see that you already--” You raised your red cup in his direction and tipsily croaked in a high pitched voice, “Cheers!”   He chuckled and bumped his plastic red cup with yours. Suddenly your efforts to seem cheerful failed you as a familiar face entered the room. You could feel all of the color leave your face, and numbness began to overtake your occupied hand. Luckily, it wasn’t enough to make you drop your cup. In fact, you looked down to realize that you were actually gripping onto it even harder. Steve turned around and saw what or who the culprit was.  

He turned back to you. 

“Y/N, I’m sorry I should have told you. It was last min—” 

“Why are you apologizing?” you reassured in hushed tones. “He’s your best friend. It would be stupid for me not to think that he wouldn’t be here.” It’s not that you thought it was strange that Bucky Barnes would be at the party…You were just too bubbleheaded to even think about it as a possibility in the first place. Steve set a sympathetic hand on your shoulder and said goodbye before making his way over to Bucky. You decided that you needed to be distracted, and resolved that it was time to allow yourself to have fun and get to know more people; especially the ones you were working within your unit. So you struck up a conversation with Natasha and began to familiarize yourself with each other. Eventually, others joined you, and you surprisingly began to enjoy yourself. For the first time in a long time, you finally started to feel your true personality start to pop out, and it felt good. But one thing that you couldn’t help doing was glancing across the room at none other and Bucky himself. Or as you had once known him as ‘The Winter Soldier’. It was weird for you to see him as a normal human being doing exactly what you were doing with a calm demeanor. He stood in the open kitchen leaning against the counter talking to Sam and Wanda. He too seemed to be enjoying himself. But if you didn’t know any better, it seemed as though he’d sneak a glance at you too. “Y/N,” said one of the agents across from you in the little 5 person circle you were in. “You knew him back in the day, right? Back when you were with Hyd—’ “Aaron,” snapped the girl next to him. He raised his hands in surrender and apologized. “It’s cool,” you reassured in hushed tones. It seemed to be something that you had to do a lot that night. “I wouldn’t say I knew him. But I did work with him.” Everyone around you went quiet for a moment, and the tension began to be too much for you. It wasn’t like it was awkward that he mentioned you having been with Hydra before. It was the whole reason you were there. It was the whole reason that most of the people circulating around you were there. That small faction of you were valuable because you knew how Hydra worked, and what they could possibly be doing next. And your methods for the past 6 months were effective. But no matter how much you did to help eliminate them as much as they possibly could be, there was no pretending that none of you came out of that dark organization without crippling guilt and both literal and emotional scars that would never heal. And you all had your own unique set of triggers. Sometimes yours was the thought of seeing a familiar face. And the only familiar face that you knew just happened to be Steve Rogers’s best friend. “I don’t know about you guys,” you sighed trying to sound chipper. “But I’m gonna get me another drink. Anyone want one?” Everyone shook their head as you walked off toward the kitchen to where the booze was. You noticed that Bucky wasn’t around there anymore. Maybe he left? You disregarded it, grabbed your drink, and decided that you needed air. So once your cup was full of  “mystery punch” as Sam liked to call it, you headed to the balcony. The fresh, cool autumn air felt nice as you inhaled and exhaled your worries away. You centered yourself and decided that you weren’t going to let anything bother you. You were going to have to face other aspects of your past that didn’t involve planning operations. Sure, there were other people like you in your unit, but none were familiar faces. And they certainly weren’t someone as significant as the Winter Soldier. Or rather, Bucky Barnes. Speaking of… You felt a quiet presence near you. To be honest, you wouldn’t have even noticed had it not been for the click of a lighter followed by the faint smell of cigarette smoke across the balcony. It was him. Was he there the whole time? “You didn’t strike me as the smoker type,” you said. He snapped his head in your direction seeming just as surprised as you were that you were on the balcony, much less strike up a conversation with him. He pulled the cigarette out of his mouth and look down at it for a second. “I’m not,” he shrugged. “Well…If I’m at something like this. Force of habit I guess.” You raised an eyebrow. “You go to these a lot?” He shook his head. “No, I meant back…you know.” You felt like an idiot. “Sorry, I’m being stupid,” you stuttered reaching your nervous hand out to shake his. “I’m Y/N.” He looked at you, tilted his head for a split second before putting the cigarette back in his mouth to shake yours with his warm flesh hand. “Bucky,” he answered taking the cigarette out of his mouth with the other hand. Not that he had to. He had to know that you knew who he was. “I believe I’ve heard about you, Y/N.” You were relieved that he didn’t continue his introduction with ‘I remember you’. From what you understood he remembered a lot from his dark past. So much so that he worked on the sidelines of the unit that you worked with. He was very different from, well…the other times that you had interacted with him. There was a softness in his voice when he wasn’t speaking in Russian. His eyes were kind, and he was gentle when he took your hand to squeeze it. It was like meeting an entirely new person, but with the same face. You wondered what was going on in his mind. Was he introducing himself to you because you were a completely new person to him? Or was he being polite and trying not to acknowledge the fact that you had worked together during the darkest times of your lives? And if it was the former, why did it seem as though he was taking an occasional glance in your direction before your mutual retreat from the crowd? “Are you enjoying yourself?” you asked nervously. He took a long seemingly anxious drag and exhaled to the side before answering. “It’s a nice party. Not as bad as I thought it would be I guess.” He seemed to be holding back from what he really wanted to say. But who were you to pry? And it wasn’t like you didn’t understand, or weren’t in pretty much the same situation. He was just probably feeling the same way a grander scale than you could ever imagine. “Is this your first one?” he asked. You nodded. “Well, everyone seems to like you. From a distance, you seem to fit right in.” So he did notice you. “One could say the same for you too,” you replied. He gave you another soft smile. A smile that made you feel more and more at ease by the second. You returned it hoping you made him feel the same way. He offered you a cigarette, and you politely accepted. As you stepped forward to lean against the railing of the balcony you tentatively took the first drag which was followed immediately by an involuntary coughing fit. “I’m sorry,” you gasped as you watched the orange glow of the end of the cigarette drop all the way to the sidewalk. “You didn’t strike me as the smoker type,” he snorted. You turned to him and rolled your eyes as you chuckled at his amused expression. “Okay, I see you have jokes now,” I huffed playfully. He shrugged. For the next hour or so, you both stayed on the porch and talked. He was funny in a sarcastic sort of way. He talked about Steve and so many of the shenanigans that he would get himself and Bucky into from the time that they were children up until their adulthood. You talked about how some had to talk Steve off the ledge from doing something stupid, and Bucky responded by rolling his eyes unsurprised about what you had to say. You even talked about some of your own blunders. (Of course, only recent blunders). And for that time, you completely forgot about his and your past. You forgot that he may or may not have remembered you, and it didn’t matter. You were nothing more than two people who had just met. Two people who enjoyed each other’s company. “Y/N! You still want a ride home?” asked Natasha noticing when she realized who you were with on the balcony with a seemingly surprised expression. “Or are you good?” You had totally forgotten that you asked Nat for a ride home on her new motorcycle. “No, I’m coming,” you replied before turning to Bucky to say goodbye. “I guess I’ll see you around, maybe?” He gave you that same soft heart-melting smile. “Yeah. You will.”

[glitterge1pen]

Duke Thomas Rings The Bells

Ch.1 , synopsis ; Moving to an elite boarding school Duke struggles to find his footing. But he clumsily stumbles his way into some friends, and soon his friends turn into comrades and allies. Duke knows his friends won't fall, and he doesn't plan on falling either. How long can people keep secrets? And what secrets are worth anything at all? Maybe Jason is right, and this is all just some really dramatic Dead Poets Society shit. But Duke liked that movie.

Duke's locker was articulate in it's decoration. There was the usual magazine cut outs, the stray polaroid, and the magnets he had made from postage labels. The organization of said locker was lacking a bit.

He didn't mean to just throw things into the metal cabinet but he was still adjusting to the ways of his new home. The locker also reeked of marker ink and the alcohol of his hand sanitizer. Duke learned early on in his young artists career that hand sanitizer killed ink.

Duke switched out his math textbook for the book they were currently reading in English, On The Road by Jack Kerouac. The cover was new, no finger printers or stray penned obscenities. Duke hadn't gotten a chance to read most of it yet but he got an extension from Mr.Farlane.

Transferring a week into school meant that Duke had missed most of the "Welcome Back To School" activities, part of him chided himself for being relieved about having avoided such crowds, but the other half dreaded his lack of basic information about the school. He didn't know the whole layout by heart yet, the schedule felt awkward and clunky, and of course he knew no one.

Despite the school's prestige the extra curricular art courses and clubs were lacking. On top of that most kids Duke had deemed assholes were in said clubs. Duke's current list of assholes was growing. In his throw up book, which was what he called his sketchbook, there were doodles of people he thought were noteworthy.

In his classes he tried to match names to makeshift seating charts on his pages. Not wanting to be caught in some embarrassing slip up of not knowing someone's name. Next to these names were things to pin them to a person. Ones who had bumped into him without apologizing, ones who said weird things in class, had been late or walked funny.

In his second period bio med class was a boy named Tim. Next to his name was a brash doodle Duke had done of the boy along with the phrase 'This is bullshit, the woman obviously died because of her diabetes! Look at the blood splatter you absolute fool! ’ which is what he had said to his lab partner.

Tim had been scolded for disturbing the class and Duke was surprised when his own lab partner also scolded Tim instead of finding the situation funny or amusing at least.

Even though they hadn't officially met yet, Tim so far was the only boy on the 'not asshole' list Duke had formulated. Duke wished there were girls around. They were always so much nicer, and they made guys less defensive.

Blue River Academy For Boys was an all boys boarding school that Duke would compare to a hell on a trust funds budget. Not to mention that so far Duke was the only black kid in sight. Beyond that he was the only not white person on campus he had seen so far.

With nothing but rich white boys surrounding him Duke was already feeling out of his element. Top that off with a new school, a new home, and his general positive attitude was taking a beating.

Duke sighed a heavy breath as he prepared to enter his AP English class. Only four days into Mr.Farlane’s dry, boring lectures were enough to have Duke dreading the class, he still had the whole semester ahead of him.

Fortunately Duke had managed to snag a window seat in the back, as it was the only desk left when he had arrived. Outside was the main courtyard, where most boys went during their study period. There was a stone fountain, several garden benches, and rose bushes that littered the grassy yard below.

Duke couldn't decide if it was cliche, pretentious, or both. All the architecture of the place was overly grand like this. Gray stone walls, silver railings, blue and white mosaic tile floor. None of it felt real. It made Duke miss his neighborhood, his home.

"Today we will be covering chapters ten through fifteen,"

Mr.Farlane’s voice was robotic and empty as he spoke to the class. Mr.Farlane had several conversations with himself about the themes of the book, the overarching plot, and how Jack Kerouac was an exemplary writer.

This was when the boy in front of Duke raised his hand. Mr.Farlane didn't notice him at first but the boy slammed his other hand onto the wooden desk to grab the teachers attention.

Mr.Farlane only let out an annoyed huff of air, Duke noticed the other boys in class had perked up as well. It felt like the moments before a great battle in a movie, like two unstoppable armies had come to face each other on a hill.

"Yes Jason,"

Mr.Farlane’s voice at least wasn't terribly dull anymore, Duke thought.

"Kerouac was not a good writer, he drones on and on, he deals in drivel-"

Mr.Farlane cut Jason off with the palm of his hand.

"That's subjective Jason-"

Jason cut him off in return.

"It's not subjective, he was high as shit when he wrote On The Road , and apparently even being intoxicated wasn't enough to get his ass to write anything good"

"Mr.Todd-"

"I'm Mr.Todd now?"

Jason asked, raising his voice with a snarl.

"Mr.Todd," Mr.Farlane said slowly repeating himself, "Please go to the office if you're going to act like this"

Jason, who was a tall boy with dark hair and icy blue eyes, a streak of white running down his bangs, didn't look handsome as he stormed out of the room, he looked pissed off. The other boys in class also stared at Jason as he moved through the room, knocking or bumping into desks not seeming to care who or what he intruded on.

Mr.Farlane continued speaking once Jason had left like nothing had transpired at all. Duke then deduced that Jason must be one of those moody brooding types who was prone to getting in trouble. A person who sat quietly until they exploded with rage. Which in this case was induced by bad literary opinion.

While Mr.Farlane’s hollow lesson went on, Duke drew. He drew Jason in a loose cartoon style. Putting emphasis on the boy's odd hair color, his angry scrunched up face which Duke only got a few glimpses of because he had been sitting behind him. Duke in scratchy bubble letters drew the words Jason had spoken as well. When it came time to put Jason's name on the asshole list Duke couldn't bring himself to do it.

Because yeah, yelling at the teacher, throwing around curse words, having tantrums in class, that definitely wasn't cool. It made Duke wonder if Jason was putting on some sort of bad boy act. But even this seemed pretty dramatic for something that was just an act. Regardless of the right or wrong of the situation Duke hesitated, because Jason was right. Jack Kerouac couldn't write for shit.

⊱ ────── {⋅. ✯ .⋅} ────── ⊰

That night Duke looked at the two boxes that he still had left to unpack. The school had confiscated their phones, so Duke had the radio on low. The radio had been his mothers, and it used to sit on their kitchen window sill, but it hasn't had any CD’s fed to it for years. It had been a long time since he had used the radio at all, and the stations were different out here. Eventually he settled on the ‘Rockin 80’s’ station that was playing that Easy Lover song.

Duke’s room was the same as all the other rooms in the dorms. One bed, one desk, a chair, a closet, and one small window that overlooked the empty fields beyond the school grounds. Duke had almost skipped dinner today like he had yesterday but had forced himself to go to the cafeteria. He didn't want himself to get stuck moping here. Even if he did very badly want to mope about.

His casual clothes were tucked into the back of the closet, while the pieces of his uniform took up most of the closet. The two sweaters vests, one blue with white stripes running along the bottom, the other an inverted version of the first. His black slacks, the gray ones, and the two pairs of khakis. Of course the variety of collared button ups and polos, then the singular school jacket. The crest was embroidered and intricate. The silver string shone even the dim light of his room.

Duke took the jacket off and hung it with the rest of his clothes. He used the key to his dorm to cut the tape off the last boxes. In the first box were posters, photos, pieces of paper he had tacked up on his walls at home, the halloween lights he strung around his room back home and his lava lamp. It took Duke longer than he thought it would to hang all the contents of the box on the walls. But when he was finished and flicked the lava lamp on, he did feel better. Like some sort of normalcy was placed back into his palms.

The second box was one he had been careful to keep from his mother, and one he had made sure to label school supplies. Because Blue River had rules about everything. The length of your pants, scented candles, music, and even books. But more hated than the list of curated books that had been banned from the school curriculum and hence the school grounds, was an even simpler rule and instruction that Duke had not only broken, but disregarded entirely.

In the school handbook, on page ten, was a list of contraband. Underneath the incredibly long list of banned books, was rule 15. No comic books. Duke appreciated his mothers sentiments of good education, he appreciated the scholarship that the school had offered. But Duke, like always, had his own plans.

☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

A/N: These chapters are also up on ao3 if that is your preferred reading space, and of course The Duke Thomas Playlist 

LINK TO NEXT CHAPTER 

[theoriginalcarnivorousmuffin]

What inspired you to write in the first place? That, and where the hell did the idea of "Lily and the Art of Being Sisyphus" come from?

Oh man, I feel like you should have asked me this a few years ago as then I’d have better than vague remembrances of where this all began.

Well, first, as for writing I can’t say I really know.

I’ve always loved writing, even before I got my fanfiction account at the Dawn of Time I was writing. It was either strange short stories or essentially fanfiction (I can’t remember my exact age, I think I might have been eight or something, but I essentially wrote a fanfiction screen play of what should happen after The Lord of the Rings. It has been purged from every computer ever as I shortly after realized it was hot garbage and its very existence haunts me to this day.) Eventually I was introduced to fanfiction by a friend and, well, I’ve been stuck here ever since.

It’s the same for me with reading/movies, I can’t remember a time when I wasn’t in love with the world of fiction.

As for “Lily”, as you can imagine, it’s kind of a weird story that still won’t explain where the hell that out of nowhere AU came from. I like to think it’s interesting though.

So, this was when I was first getting serious into writing HP fanfiction. Before that I was mired in the Death Note fandom and I can’t say that Harry Potter really interested me. Then I realized I could chuck Harry out the window and make it all about Tom Riddle. “Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep?” had picked up both a fair amount of steam and also a fair amount of notice and my mind started to wander (as one’s mind does). 

I wanted to write a Master of Death fic. I’d seen a lot around but none really went where I wanted. Harry the god was usually too young and far too human, at best he’d be sort of cynical and jaded and try to convince you this was wisdom. I wanted a god Harry who really was a god and slowly had to come to accept it. So, the vague idea that was “Lily” before “Lily” was born was that it’d be a Master of Death story focusing on a millennia old Harry who then returns to his human origins in one desperate attempt to reclaim his humanity.

Only he’s so old, weird, and inhuman that it immediately goes off the rails. He warps the very reality around him when he returns, things stop making any real sense, and the more he tries to cling to being Just Harry the more things fall apart.

Early on in the story he was going to unconsciously make this... I guess we’ll call it a construct. It’d look human but it wouldn’t really be, but instead would be this thing he’d created to essentially deal with all of his problems for him and be Harry Potter (chosen one, boy who lived, person who has to deal with Tom Riddle for him) in his place. This was actually Lily. The reason she’d be the spitting image of Harry’s mother, calling herself Lily, in this version was because Harry’s so weirdly hung up on his mom that he makes this artificial clone of her to be his best friend he can be all weird about. 

As the story would progress “Lily” would become more and more of a person, has to deal with horrifically traumatic garbage in Harry’s stead in a world where she doesn’t even really exist, and would slowly start pressuring Harry to admit he’s a goddamn God already and stop putting her through this horror show. Harry, naturally, wouldn’t as he has convinced himself he’s not responsible for this madness.

Probably sometime around Goblet of Fire, and getting her name thrown in the goblet, “Lily” would have enough and have a giant meltdown and go AWOL in order to force Harry to man up already. Lily would eventually die/be deconstructed as Harry’s forced to admit she’s something that sprung from Mummy Issues and his own personal hang ups on his human life. The story would  eventually end with Harry manning up already, admitting this is all a farce he’s set up, and gracefully exiting stage left. 

And that’s about as far as I got with the planning of the “Lily and the Art of Being Sisyphus” that never happened.

The trouble was, the more I thought about it, the more I realized that “Lily” was the far more interesting and engaging character. Harry as he was, while severely flawed, didn’t drive the plot on his own or in all that interesting of a way. He’s there to mostly be in denial and be a catalyst, it was Lily’s trials and tribulations that I actually cared about. (Though in retrospect the vague outline of the original is still pretty damn good, if bleak.)

And so the story started to morph into something else completely. What if we still had that Master of Death Harry (only kinder and less of an asshole) but instead “Lily” really is a Harry Potter. She’s an alternate Harry Potter of a world that’s mostly the same, but a little different here and there, and for whatever reason is closer to the source of what Harry Potter really is.

So, Lily’s story began to form, in which she’s navigating the strange destiny of Harry Potter with friends in all the wrong places and trying to figure out the meaning of this often cruel, cold, world we live in. I debated for a while making her another Harry (male character) but I chose not to for a few reasons.

1) Lily’s personality comes off as more abrasive and strange as a little girl than a little boy. She doesn’t fit societal expectations of what a little girl should be like and I very much wanted that.

2) The prophecy in Lily’s universe is inherently wrong. It provides the wrong gender which has very important implications for The End of the World that Rabbit keeps bringing up.

3) It allows me to be very up front that this Harry Potter is not at all the same as the one we know. Yes, I’ve seen similar things done with male alternate!Harrys but I feel like it’s a fast short hand to swap the gender for me to make really really large changes to characterizations without people blinking. Lily is a Harry, not the Harry.

4) The Lily Evans and Lily mistaken identity thing was vital to the plot. 

I then made her Eleanor rather than Harriet as I, again, wanted to be very clear that she’s not Harry. She encompasses Harry’s role in life but they are extremely different characters.

Anyways, from the very beginning it was always about “the meaning of life” more than anything else (hence the title) and so pretty soon after the Lily centered story began to form Wizard Lenin, Rabbit, and the whole overarching plot was born. 

And here we are, years later, in which I knew it was an epic but I had no idea it’d be this damn long.

[starrysupercell]

Heavily based off of @aroacenita's headcanon post, about Belle and Byron's sibling status and background. In honor of the Gold Arm Gang Season starting today, and Belle's debut.

Warning: slightly heavier than what I've written before. But not much detail, just implications really.

--------

"If you don't shape up, young lady, what future will you even have?" A male voice scolded.

"Anything I want, I guess." She said, off handedly.

"Oh, why can't you behave more like your brother?" That was their mother, she sounded so distraught. "Why can't you be well-mannered like he is?

A scoff, "Oh that'd be perfect, wouldn't it? A flawless replica of you."

"What's with you and thinking we're just controlling you-?"

"Because that's exactly what you're doing!" She exclaimed, "Why do you think I don't want to dress up, and go out to social gatherings and 'leave a nice impression for the gentlemen?'" She air-quoted. "You've always dragged me along, and I'm sick of it!"

"Now don't be ridiculous, Belle." Their mother said. "When you were little, you loved dressing up and coming along with me to places."

"You forced me when I was little, and you're still trying to now! And now you're forcing him too! Do you honestly believe this is okay!?"

"We aren't forcing anything on you two. Studying is a must. You're only being dramatic, Belle."

"This more than just the damned studying! I'm talking about everything! I'm not stupid. I know your tricks--!"

Byron heard a smack, and he flinched where he stood outside the closed door, eavesdropping.

"You watch how you talk to your mother." Came the stern, simple command.

There was a stunned silence, and then hurried steps to the door. Byron ducked away further down the hall out of sight.

Belle passed by, a hand on her cheek. Her long black hair trailed behind her as she hurried away, and stomped up the stairs to retreat to her room.

"God, what are we going to do with her?" Byron overheard. "I have no clue.... she's beyond all reason."

"...Do you think that school will be able to handle her? What an embarrassment it's be if she's expelled from there...."

"...." The younger kid frowned, unsure of what to make of what he was hearing, and then slunk away.

_________

The tears shed were anger more than anything. Humiliation and outrage made her bury her face in the pillow she hugged now.

She could just hear their criticism. 'How unbecoming. Dry your face. You look highly unpresentable.'

They've been trying to mold them into perfect cookie cutter shapes since they were little. She hated it, and fought it because that wasn't her.

But sometimes... she miserably wracked her brain over what else she could pursue. She's been corralled into this lifestyle against her will, Maybe... her parents were right..? She should just... accept it?

She would just conform to this sense of defeat.

There was a knock on the door.

"Leave!" She barked, not caring if it was a serviceman, definitely either of her parents, or...

"It's me." Byron.

She paused. "What do you want?"

"May I enter?"

She sat up, annoyed. "For what? Go away, you brat."

"I brought chips."

"...." Belle wiped her face, and compromised to herself that if Byron even mentioned her red eyes, he was being kicked out. She stood, and walked over to the door. He was leaning against it, and stumbled at the sudden entrance, but quickly fixed himself.

'Nosy,' she thought, and snatched the bag he offered. "You sneak," she commented, looking over the bag. "They don't allow junk food like this."

"It's great for bribery." He smiled, walking past Belle. Case in point.

Belle opened the bag, and grabbed a handful. She smirked and rose her voice into the 'proper speak' she was taught. "Oh! Preposterous! How greasy! This will smear the walls and fatten one up in a mere hour!" She snickered and bit into the chips, making some crumble and fall onto the carpeted floor.

Byron thought the mess itself was quite distasteful, but decided that it was well deserved. Besides... that did sound like their mother. He also laughed along.

---

She hated her hair. It was waist length, got in the way, tangled easy, and when it was loose, windy days were the worst.

Like right now. She couldn't even sit on the roof without it going wild.

'But proper women have long hair.' Oh, whatever. Proper women have it shitty then.

Belle sighed. There was around a month left before she'd be shipped off like the porcelain doll they wanted her to be. A month until her 18th birthday. A month until...

"Are you going to jump?" She heard. She looked up with irritation to the balcony outside of Byron's room, where he stood.

"No, dumbass." She told him.

Byron's look of concern turned to a very offended one. "Mom says cursing isn't becom..."

"Mom says cursing isn't becoming," she interrupted him to mock. "Yeah, I know. I've heard it before, you wuss." She looked back out to their vast yard, hoping he'd either leave or shut up.

Byron frowned, glaring at the top of her head.

"Being angry only hinders your thoughts," she snarked again, just as insulting a tone. "Since you can only have one at a time, you should listen to that." Byron narrowed his eyes down at her and he went back to his room.

About time.... Belle lost herself back in her thoughts. The sun was starting to set. A month left to plan. Unless her parents suddenly began to care, nobody was none the wiser to her plot. She was going to get out of here.

Unbeknownst to her, Byron walked back out quietly with a beaker filled with some concoction from his chemistry set at hand. It was harmless, but he had gloves on and his nose covered with his other hand for a reason. He leaned over the balcony and tipped out the contents over his jerkish sister. "Ugh! You little shit!! What even is this!?" She exclaimed in disgust.

"Oh, sorry. I didn't know you were still out here." Byron said with a shrug. "I guess you didn't know that rooftops aren't for people to lay on. Dunce." He said, stepping back now as Belle angrily scaled the tiles. He miscalculated her speed, because she managed to reach him and grabbed his sleeve. He pulled back. "Let go of me!" He struggled to get away. There was a ripping sound and he stumbled back in surprise. Belle nearly fell forward too, but she clung to the railing. Byron ducked back inside to the safety of his room, sticking out his tongue at her.

Belle fumed, using the sleeve to wipe at least some of the disgusting-smelling chemical off, and then chucked it at his glass door.

____________

The week of her birthday, Belle feigned innocence. She apologized, and dressed well and "came to terms" with their final decision.

"I'm so happy that you're finally listening to reason." Her mother fawned over her, stroking the cheek that had been struck some time ago. "It makes me feel proud to have a daughter."

"Hmm," their father said. "It's about time."

Byron stayed quiet. Something was off, but it was rude to speak out of turn, and unwise to fling unproven accusations.

The night before she was set to get on the plane, Belle was ready. She packed everything she could into a single backpack. She didn't want to take too much. It would slow her down and she needed to get as far away as she could in a few hours.

The last thing she wanted to do was leave a written message. Not for her parents- they deserved no goodbye. No, it was for... Byron.

The problem was, she didn't know how to say it. She read over what she's written so far.

*Sorry for leaving you with them. I just couldn't bear it any longer. You need to wise up too, Byron. Don't let them brainwash you, okay? Get out of here when you can. Later.*

...It didn't feel right. He wouldn't agree with what she had to say. He would see it as an insult. This was somehow a lot more difficult than deciding to leave. ...She didn't 'have' to leave a note, did she? Belle sighed in frustration.

She tore the paper to remove the message and was left with a scrap piece. She balled up the message and shoved it in her pocket. Using the smaller piece, she scrawled out her message and got up. All she had to do was drop this off, and then leave. She stepped out of her room.

The house was dark and quiet. She stepped lightly toward Byron's room. Sound asleep. She was simply going to leave the note, but then spotted that treasure pile of snacks. Darn it. It wasn't a part of her plan, but she couldn't resist. She lifted a bag of chips very carefully, and a twin pack of sweets for the road. She placed her little note down in place of those with held laughter, then left to return to her room.

She opened her window, and hoisted her pack over her shoulders. Next she picked up the fashioned rope she made of quality cloths to tie to her heavy bed.

Typical, sure, but this would make a lot less noise than stairs and doors. Plus, in this way she could ruin the many precious dresses and skirts she was made to wear on her way out.

She threw the long cord out and climbed out as it rolled down the slope and then over the edge. She treaded carefully over and stared down at the yard.

Almost there. Belle began to climb down. As she made her way down, the heavy anticipation she felt at her chest alleviated. She was doing this. She'd be free.

As her feet hit the ground, she had already decided. Come morning, the first thing she would do was get a haircut. Chop it as short as she always wanted it to be.

---

Byron always woke up early. This time around, he was awoken by the surprised exclamations of his parents.

"She's gone!"

"Really? Are you sure?"

"I went to make sure she was getting ready, and there was a rope of clothes out the window!"

Gone. She left.

He stayed awake, staring up at the ceiling in deep thought. Why didn't... she just listen? And stay... He would never understand her fighting at every turn.. nor his parents' subtle shift in their attitude toward him after that, like they almost expected him to do the same.

It'd be around two weeks later when he'd get a craving for a treat. They were intent on making sure he didn't even step out of line- he was ticked off.

The last package of his favorite dessert was gone, along with a bag of chips. Just a torn piece of paper was in its place.

"thanks, dumbass." was all it said.

Byron.... didn't know what to feel.

[dannypuro]

So I just binged Something Telling and it’s just, so amazing? Like, your characterization is so on point and I just have nothing but nice things to say about it. Can I make a list? I’m gonna make one cause I have Emotions™️ about every one of these dweebs.

1. Grantaire is just, so nice and kind and smart, and not an alcoholic! Like, I love the fics where he deals with that, but it’s nice to see him being a semi-functional adult person. (Was he an alcoholic in this universe at one point?) Plus, he’s still enough of an emotional disaster otherwise. Love him ❤️

2. ENJ VS TECHNOLOGY. I could read about that forever. Swearing in an elevator? Iconic. Never using the space bar? Perfect. Also now I refer to movies as “movings” in my head so there’s that.

3. Combeferre is the sane man of this family and I love it so much. Also I never thought of vaccines for time travel AUs and I genuinely cackled when Ferre brought it up. Like, yeah, that’s a good point.

4. Jehan is always chaotic and I love them for it. Also, I know R doesn’t want to hear about it, but I absolutely want to know what their sex talk consisted of. I’m curious.

5. Baz and Feuilly. Yes. Good. Lovely boys. So glad they got their shit together.

6. “I am wanted by the government for high treason.” Honestly Enj has so many golden moments/lines. He is trying his best and I love him.

7. The PTSD our boy has and how he’ll have to work through it, but he has Friends and Boyfriend to help. (Side note: I live in the US, so I don’t know how much of a thing it might be in Paris, but do they set off a lot of fireworks on New Years? Cause I feel like that would be a thing that Enj would have to deal with, especially if no one tells him about it beforehand)

8. The research you would have had to do for this is just, incredible. And I think you captured how someone would really be if they just got yeeted into the future with no tech experience whatsoever. Like, I’ve been living here since 1994 and I’m overwhelmed by stuff sometimes.

9. Slightly unrelated but I also saw that you did the AU where Grantaire is a baker and Enj is totally not in the mafia (the name escapes me) and I also love that fic.

Hopefully that was somewhat coherent! Seriously though your work is great and I can’t wait for more!

(Also, if you want and it’s not a plot point of the next one, what is Enjolras’s reaction to musicals? I know the boy loves his opera, but someone had to have shown him something on YouTube and I just crave knowledge about this universe) Thanks! 🥰

GUH thank you!!!!!!! thank you thank you!!! and thank you for taking the time to make a list because i thrive off of validation alone and it made my day 🥺. SO.

grantaire is a total sweetheart. like, genuinely a nice person who is trying his best despite the fact that he has a hard time. baby. of course, the funniest part about him is the fact that he has NO idea that he’s actually just like... nice. he’s like... oh man it sure sucks that i’m the worst person possible to help someone in need... sucks that i’m the only one here... sorry dude i’m sorry i’m not combeferre... and then he proceeds to just like. make beef stew and be so careful and kind and thoughtful and try his very best and let enjolras go to sleep on his shoulder during a moving. like... sir. ok. also, yes, i tend to write him a little more... with his shit together, especially in this fic. you mentioned that you read And If I See You In The Daylight (the bakery fic)--i kind of wrote this assuming a similar character arc (minus the bakery, of course. like, grantaire used to be much, much more of a mess in a lot of ways, and drinking too much was a part of that, and he’s slowly been working on it. and now he’s 29, and he’s doing his best, and his friends love him. he’s doing a little better in this fic than in the bakery fic--maybe he’s a little older? maybe because combeferre is a little harsher than jbm and gets on his case when he starts to slip back into old habits? yeah.

ENJ VS TECHNOLOGY. sweetie. baby. the first time combeferre vacuums his apartment when enj is around he’s like “hey man, do you mind if i do the vacuuming?” and enj (has NO idea what that word is, is falling asleep while reading on the couch in the sun) is like “do what you will” and then ferre turns the vacuum on and enjy does that thing when a cat is startled and it jumps like three feet up in the air and puffs up like a squirrel. he’s awake now.

combeferre. baby. he’s genuinely, genuinely trying his best, but it’s fucking hard when you’re tired and overworked and also none of your friends use their brains more than 30% of the time and also your new best friend is a spiky little revolutionary from EIGHTEEN THIRTY TWO. so. um. he’s a little stressed. but he loves enjy so much and doesn’t even mind when he’s dramatic and annoying because he’s such a sweet dude and they’re FRIENDS. sometimes he comes home from a long day of work and enj has come over and washed all of his dishes and brought over takeout but also rearranged all of his books and also eaten like three mangoes. listen. friendship is about gently tormenting your BFF because you are COMFORTABLE AROUND EACH OTHER.

jehan. baby. instagram influencer supreme. i’ve gotten like a bazillion asks about their sex talk--i SWEAR i will write it eventually because the concept of it just cracks me up. jehan is like. “ok. enjy. tell me what you know about sex” and enj is like... “i understand that..... it occurs?” and jehan is like :^/ and enj is like “one must be careful not to contract syphilis from unseemly sources?” and jehan is like “TIme For A Conversation Before Grantaire Messes This Up”

baz and feuilly. babies. they’re just such a sweet, casual couple and they  like each other so much. also, first date 3 am kebabs? after they FINALLY communicated? and then baz gets railed like he deserves? they deserve it.

enj has a secret little sense of humor and it’s just a little hidden by the fact that he is 1) repressed 2) awkward. but it’s there! he’s just so smart and secretly funny and grantaire thinks he’s fucking hilarious. except when he jokes about the fact that he’s technically dead. it makes grantaire sad. he’s like YOU’RE NOT DEAD THOUGH BABE YOU’RE EATING JAPCHAE RIGHT NOW and enj is like. “i believe that if you observe my wicky encyclopaedia you shall learn otherwise 🤷” and grantaire is like 😰BABE

yeah. yeah. listen. he’s got a lot of shit to deal with. it’s gonna take a while. like... that is some SERIOUS trauma, and he didn’t even have any time in his own century to process it. he went straight from a very violent event--LITERALLY about to be executed 😰--to being zapped to a time where he recognizes NOTHING. that... didn’t help. and he can’t really go to a therapist (which causes combeferre no shortage of distress) since like... he wouldn’t be able to explain anything about the barricades or the source of his trauma to begin with. so... yeah. but yes! he has friends and a boyfriend who love and support him so much! and it’s the framework he needs to begin to work through stuff at his own pace 🥺 (also, yes, fireworks are a big thing. they’re also big for the 14 juillet, which i... kind of forgot to address. i might go back and write a scene somewhere around ch. 5 for it and post it on here. we’ll see.)

i’m so glad you appreciated the research! 🥺🥺🥺 legit i... kind of spent a stupid amount of time on it. i really tried to make it as realistic as possible (barring, like, the whole time-zap thing, and also the whole “characters from les mis” thing) since the whole POINT is the differences between their two times, so... i’m glad it paid off. it means a lot to hear that u vibed with it.

thank you thank you! again-- And If I See You In The Daylight is the name of the bakery fic, and i also love it 🥺🥺🥺 . to everyone else... READ IT!

enjolras does not like musicals. like... yes, there was a natural progression from 20th century opera to early musicals, but enjolras missed all of that. and 21st century musicals are pretty fucking different from 1820s/30s opera. he can’t quite understand the music. the plotlines don’t make sense. the plots aren’t stupid enough for his taste. they take themselves too seriously. not enough miscommunication. orchestral parts not nice enough. cosette tries to show him a musical on youtube and enjy is like. who is that. why are they all dressed the same. what is going on. why do they not use their Pocket Fones? why does it sound like this. hellp. (she gives up and shows him a Puccini opera instead.)

anyways. THANK YOU! and to everyone else--send me asks! send me prompts! send me questions! i WILL respond to them and i treasure them all i just tend to be kind of slow! but i love to receive them! thank you!!!