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ruiniel · 8 months

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Fandom: The Silmarillion

Characters: Glorfindel, Aegnor, Finrod, Argon, Turgon, Idril, Original Elf Character(s), more to be added

Relationship(s): Glorfindel/Original Female Character

Rating: M

Chapter count: 2k

Additional tags: Drama, The Helcaraxë, Middle-earth, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, The Silmarillion References, Beleriand, Canon-Typical Violence, Blood and Injury, Depictions of death, a pinch of cosmic horror, Glorfindel POV, POV alternating, Gore, Hurt/Comfort, Slow Burn, Moral Ambiguity, Hope vs. Despair, POV Original Character, more to be added

Summary: An older story I’ve been rewriting, centered around a young Glorfindel and primarily written from his POV. Set on the background of the events of the First Age, it begins with the Flight of the Ñoldor from Aman to Middle-earth and focuses on the host crossing the Ice along their eventual destinations.

Also on ao3

Part I

AN: Last rewritten chapter. Next update will have new developments.

IV. The Ice - Boundaries

They sit huddled close to the tent, around a small fire. The evening meal, or what would have been such, had been frugal and now quiet conversation streams among the gathering.

Aranye smiles briefly at her father. She feels Arakáno close, silent at her side, his legs crossed beneath him. There is a frown on his youthful face, and she follows the direction of his gaze. He is staring at the golden-haired Elf—Laurefindil, she corrects herself—who had saved her from certain bodily death. He is immersed in discussion with her father, and looks weak and drained, grimacing from his wound. A measure of guilt brims for having indirectly caused this strife. She had not asked for his aid, but her gratitude for his presence during the recent ordeal now knows no bounds.

She leans closer to Arakáno, her voice lowered amid the hum of conversation. “You found us in time.”

The son of Ñolofinwë starts, his light eyes cutting to hers, his expression unchanged. “I found nothing. And I was too hasty.”

“You were,” Aranye admits, placing a gloved hand over his. “But I thank you.” She puzzles for a moment. “He holds no grudge; he hardly seems the type, if I am honest,” she says with a swift glance towards Laurefindil.

Arakáno smiles, a dry thing. “I will make amends.” His grip tightens on her hand.

Aranye nods, about to speak, when a flurry of gold rushes between them.

“Itarillë! My lady, what in Eru’s name are you doing away from your mother?” Aranye grouses, her face lit as the form of a child wedges between herself and Arakáno. A shining braid brushes her shoulder.

“I’ve come for uncle Arakáno,” Itarillë chimes, her face solemn. The others cast smiling glances her way. A glowing child amid the Ice, no matter their woes, is a welcome presence.

Itarillë turns her little head and pulls at Arakáno’s cloak. “Grandfather and uncle Findekáno have asked for you. They heard there was trouble and wanted to make certain you were unharmed! I am so glad you are!”

Arakáno shifts, his arm slung around Itarillë, who giggles as the prince slowly rises with her in his grasp. “Here I am, whole and unspoiled. And you ought to be resting.”

Itarillë pouts, gazing down at Aranye. “Is he so tiresome with you, too?”

Aranye places a hand to her mouth, her eyes narrowed in mirth. She glances briefly across from them, and her gaze locks on Laurefindil. He had been watching her, his eyes like gems as he nods her way, then stares back into the fire. “Not all the time, but worry not,” Aranye says as Arakáno turns small Itarillë so she rests in his arms, her hands locked around his neck. “Between the two of us,” she winks, “we’ll set this prince on the right path.”

“All right, enough of that,” Arakáno mutters, half a smile on his lips as he eyes Aranye, “You’re teaching her the wrong things. Whose side are you on, again?”

“Mine!” Itarillë chirps as Arakáno sets her down, grinning.

“Fine, let’s be off then,” he says and takes his farewells, then returns to Aranye, who had taken to rebraiding the child’s unruly hair. He kneels and removes his glove, stiff fingers grazing her cheek. “I will find you before our hunt.”

“Be careful, Káno.” She grips his arm.

“Strange words coming from you,” the prince teases, though his features are cold, his eyes holding his true meaning.

“I still mean them!” Aranye retorts, a frown creasing her forehead.

“I know you do,” Arakáno sighs, his icy fingers cupping her cheek.

“Of course, I did not mean to worry you or anyone else. It’s this place. I only wanted… I want Father to allow me to help. Everyone else risks their lives. He must see this. But I… I was so angry, and ... witless, I see that now—”

“Why do you speak this way?” Arakáno says, his eyes sad. “Listen to me. I know there will come a time when we will need everyone. There is a long road ahead of us, and our wares are dwindling besides.”

Aranye wets her lips, drawing a hand over her face. “Are you agreeing with Father, then?”

“I want you to be safe.” He speaks in that strange tone of his, which Aranye knows can sway hearts and turn minds; a family trait, from what she had learned. “Selfishly,” Arakáno adds, looking down between them. “But whatever my sentiments, I’m not confident this adventure gained you any favors,” he states plainly, and his voice holds no censure.

Aranye shakes her head, stares at her hands. She smiles. “Do seek me out before you leave.”

“Are we going?!” Itarillë asks tiredly from behind them, having spent her own regards with the others in the group. Their exchange is a mystery beyond the patience of children.

“Coming, you little wasp,” Arakáno sighs, lips twisting upward.

The prince rises to his feet, then with a last glance towards Aranye, walks away holding Itarillë by the hand, who explains in no uncertain terms that she is sorry, but she promised she’d return with him and no one else, and they barely let her come by herself so she must do this right; this is how bargains evolve, surely he knows this, it’s politics …

Aranye follows them with her gaze as the pair walk to the cluster of tents where their close family dwells not too far away. Her attention returns to their gathering, and her eyes fall on Laurefindil again; he looks even worse than before. His hood is drawn over his head, his sunken features framed by the spill of bright hair. He no longer gazes her way, entranced by whatever matter her father is weaving.

A strange one, but hearty; brave—as most of them. There comes a flare of sadness for him, knowing the Elf was bereft of kin in this place. His grief is plain to see, his manner restrained, but Aranye knows his kindness and care firsthand now. Her cheeks grow warm when recalling the tension in his back, his grip on her legs, the way he steadied her against himself. He smelled of crushed petals and summers forgotten. Aranye swallows; shuns the undesirable thought, focusing instead on the dark shades beneath his eyes.

“Mother,” she calls to Narye, now gathering their wares as others rise to retire. They depart, stiff and hunched together, some leaning against each other.

Narye kneels beside her daughter and smoothens her hood.

“Laurefindil looks unwell,” Aranye says, and Narye turns her head, her eyes assessing the injured Elf.

“He does indeed,” she concludes. “Mírimo,” she calls, drawing the other’s attention. “It is late, and I believe our guest is weary. Should we withdraw?”

“Of course,” Mírimo replies, then adds for Laurefindil, “Come see me about it once you are better.”

Laurefindil nods but says nothing else, rising to his feet. His movement is still sluggish from Narye’s medicine, features scrunching when Mírimo aids his way inside the tent.

Mírimo returns and lifts Aranye in his arms. “I know we all agreed, but do you mind his staying here?”

Aranye shakes her head. “It is fine, father. Truly. Besides,” she smirks, “Being crammed for warmth in strange places is becoming a habit for us.” That earns her an eye-roll.

“Make no mistake, I am beyond relieved you are hale. But…” he pauses before the tent flap, gazing down at her. “Please, daughter.”

Aranye holds him tighter, eyes beseeching. “It will not happen again.”

Mírimo hums as they pass inside, hiding from the ice winds that grow stronger and moan through the encampment.

She cannot rest, as many a time since their host came upon this lightless wasteland. Aranye listens to the soft breathing of her parents, resting in one corner of the tent; heartbeats signalling their minds and spirits are lost amid the boughs of Irmo’s gardens.

Her savior—Aranye refers to him as such with both a sense of mirth and an odd grain of tenderness she can’t be bothered to dwell upon—reclined not too far, his lithe form still, his rich hair spilled about him like a halo. His face is turned away from her, and the sharp tip of an ear pokes through the fall of bright strands. He turns his head as she watches, his eyes glossed over and wincing at the poorly bandaged shoulder.

When she saw this Elf that first night around the fire, it nearly broke her song; the brightness of those eyes and the grief mirrored in them had cut into her voice. She wants to know who he had been, what his mettle is, what had him take the path of exile. There had been a flash of something familiar about him, but it faded the moment he turned away.

A sudden gasp tears into her thoughts. Reality swerves into place. Aranye hears struggling, an increased heartbeat—his—and sees his hands clamping over his ears. His movements do not aid his wound.

Uncertain and cautious, Aranye crawls over to him. “Laurefindil?” she asks, worry spiking at the sight of his eyes pressed tightly shut, the crinkle of his brows and sheen of sweat on his skin.

There comes no answer; he turns his head left and right, hands over his ears as though shielding his hearing. His pale lips part in soundless gasps, and his chest heaves with troubled breathing.

Aranye nears his side, hovering above him. “Are you awake?” she whispers, reaching for his face.

Pain flares as fingers like iron clasp around her wrist. His eyes snap wide and confused, the dark depths of swollen pupils staring at her with remnants of horror.

Aranye squirms, her other hand pressed against his chest, feeling the heart thundering beneath her palm. “Easy,” she murmurs, struggling to maintain her nerve.

“The shadows,” he says, blinking dazedly, his eyes darkened behind his lowered lashes. He is fevered, again. “Do you hear them?”

Aranye struggles, but his hold on her wrist stays firm. He is frightened, but she hears no sound aside from his breathing and the howling winds snapping at the tent. “I hear nothing. It is only us here,” she soothes, keeping her voice low to not rouse the others. This is unsettling, to say the least. He tugs on her wrist, pulling her down, closer.

“Are you... certain?” he slurs. “They are so close, so-so loud...” He tries moving on his side, fails.

At a loss, Aranye reaches and runs a long, trembling hand through his hair; it tangles around her fingers like soft silk. “It is only us here,” she repeats. “Nothing else.”

His eyes press shut at the touch; the grip on her hand loosens. “The wastes… we cannot linger,” he mumbles.

Aranye breathes in relief, but black dread swells and consumes her when seeing his delirious expression, the unseen torment on his drawn, sickly features. She recalls his recent questions, and a weight settles on her mind. Did you hear or see anything out of place?

A part of her wants to know more about what it was he heard, or thought he heard, especially now, but he’s in no condition for such. Aranye bends over him and without a second thought takes his face in her palms, lowering her head to his; her lips ghost his ear. “Only us,” she assures, smoothing his hair as before. It takes a while, but late he mellows, the tension in his body draining like blood from a wound, and his limbs slump lifeless and depleted on the ground.

At first, Aranye considers waking Narye to tell her about the disturbing event, then thinks better of it.

His eyes are again open, glazed as in sleep. He needs much of it, from what she can tell. Carefully she straightens, watching the slow rise of his chest. Aranye drags herself back to her spot and draws one knee to her chest, watching his still form for any changes; wondering how and when to broach this with him, and why she burns to do so in the first place.

#ruiniel:fanfiction

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goldheartedsky · 3 years

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I told myself I wasn’t going to make a post like this—that I wasn’t going to stoop to the level of making call-out posts—but I really can’t stay silent after what has happened in the last day or so.

The TOG fandom has a serious issue with excusing antisemitism and allowing people who have painfully hurt marginalized groups to continue to ignore, dismiss, and refuse to acknowledge their limits of intersectionality in regards to social justice. I have seen it myself, been on the receiving end of it, and have talked to other Jews in this fandom about what’s been going on and it needs to start being addressed.

Now, I’m not going to name names or tag people (mainly because I have been blocked by almost all of them for this very issue) but if you message me I will gladly tell you the users involved in this. Also, if you have doubts of any of this’s validity and would like screenshots, feel free to reach out to me here or via Discord and I will share them.

A lot of this started when a member of the All&More server had brought up the scientific and medical “discoveries” during the torture and medical experimentation that took place during the Third Reich and how a lot of the origin of it isn’t taught. LR made a comment saying that “we are three-dimensional creatures who are stuck moving forward in time and can’t go back” and added that not using the research won’t make past horrors not happen. When the original user added that there has been a movement in medicine for removing Nazi scientists names off discoveries and that progress was slow moving, she deflected the conversation onto herself, saying “Not using research won’t make my family not harmed by the Japanese” and then immediately pivoted into admitting that, from what she understood, there weren’t any particularly valid scientific discoveries made by them. She then said, in regards to said Nazi atrocities, “Take it, learn about it, put it in context, and then own it and transform it.”

A Jewish member of A&M voiced their discomfort about possibly taking medicine that was a direct result of the murder of their grandparents and other relatives, to which LR said, “Still stuck in the 3rd dimension, still moving forward in time.” I brought up the fact that medicine was built on antisemitism and racism and that starting over would be better than a lot of the procedures we have now. There is a longstanding issue in medicine of disregarding black pain and so much of what we have now is created by eugenicists—including Nazi scientists. There is still a lot of Jewish trauma due to medical experimentation and that is oftentimes dismissed.

LR then made a flippant comment about “Does this count as Godwin’s Law?”—which is about how all internet discussions lead to someone being compared to Nazis/Hitler. When called out on the inappropriateness of the comment, she did not respond and was backed up by one of the mods of the server. There was no apology made nor an acknowledgment about the casual antisemitism of the comments she made and the dismissal of Jewish trauma/pain.

Now, fast forward a couple months when I was contacted by a third party who had not been in the server at the time but had joined and heard about what LR had said there. H said they were friends with LR and had concerns about antisemitism and would like my perspective. I explained what had happened and offered screenshots if they would like them, which they did. They thanked me and apologized that it got to a point that I felt unsafe in the server and had to leave, which I appreciated.

A couple weeks later they reached out to me again and offered to broker a conversation between LR and myself because the situation wasn’t sitting well with them. I was skeptical (because I had been blocked at that point) and didn’t have a lot of hope that this conversation would actually take place but I felt a responsibility to try and be the bigger person and deal with what had been said head on, so I agreed to sit down and have a discussion with her as long as there was a third party in the chat as well—given our history.

After a couple weeks of back and forth with H and hearing that LR had said that she would “think about it”, she finally agreed. I was asked for a time and date and I gave my availability and was told she would be asked for the same. A couple days later, I was suddenly told LR would only be comfortable with this conversation if H acted as a “literal go-between” with us copy-pasting our responses in their DMs so we can “sit with the message and everyone can get to them when they can” rather than it being a session with an actual back and forth and was asked if I was okay with that. I honestly said no, because this was supposed to be a situation where she and I sat down and discussed what she said in the server, not a back and forth message relay where the conversation got dragged out for days or weeks or however long it was going to take. I said if she was serious about meeting me halfway on this, she needed to be able to sit down and actually talk.

H copy-pasted my response to LR and came back that she had backed out of the conversation, which part of me had expected from the beginning—even though all I wanted from this sit down was for her to understand how hurtful the antisemitic comments were and an apology.

These comments that were made in the server are not a secret. It’s pretty well known what was said and again, these were all on record, not privately made in some DM. She has still not owned up to the comments she said, nor has she ever apologized for them. She has ignored message after message about them and blocked more people than I can count. Many of the people defending her when the discourse begins have also been messaged about the comments she’s said and also either block people or ignore the messages completely and refuse to acknowledge them.

Now, this being said, in the most recent conversation about fandom racism, someone brought up the post that was made reducing users on ao3 to faceless, nameless numbers without saying who they were, what they had done, and how they were specifically contributing to the problem of racism in this fandom. They made the comparison of other situations like HR looking at pay stats to see how to fire and included “Nazis, capitalists, and colonizers.”

This is not an invalid argument. There have been other Jews in the fandom who specifically voiced feeling uncomfortable for the exact same reason. However, another person, LT, decided to specifically make a post calling the OP out and drag them for having the audacity to liken it to the Shoah (which, mind you, this person is not Jewish nor did they decide to capitalize Shoah or the Holocaust as they should have). She received a reply saying, “you’re offended by antisemitism? Here’s LR’s (someone LT has agreed with multiple times over racism in fandom) track record of antisemitic comments” which outlined everything I delved into previously.

LT said that they were “unaware of this incident until a couple days ago” but agreed that it was an upsetting display of casual dismissal of Jewish pain and hoped that LR had apologized. She was then called out for being aware of it and still continuing to reblog LR’s posts even after knowing about the comments and was linked to my post clarifying that LR had not apologized and refused a discussion about it, to which LT said that she had gotten “quite a different version outlined in the post linked and corroborated by a third party” and “felt uncomfortable” making a value judgement, insinuating that I was not being truthful about my side of the story.

I messaged LT off-anon and said that I was not lying nor over-exaggerating about what had happened in the server or about the following discussion about trying to broker a conversation with LR, and was immediately blocked by her. I am also not the only Jew who has sent her messages about this topic, only to have their messages ignored.

Now, am I surprised that I was immediately blocked after voicing my issues with what LT had said in that post? No.

She has a history of making antisemitic comments, most of which happened during the brunt of the Israel/Palestine discussion happening, which included statements such as “You cannot be considered indigenous if you hold a position of power”, that, despite having been displaced for 2,000 years, the Jewish diaspora was “integrated” into their respective communities (a wholly untrue statement), as well as linked to and promoted a website with extremely antisemitic articles including one about “Spartan Jews” and how Israeli Jews are violent to “send messages to their deprived self-esteem” that they won’t be victims again. Half of the comments on the site’s front page included such hits as “Death to all Jews” and “Wow, I had no idea this was happening—I guess it is true that Jews control the world and the mass media.” This website was repeated in multiple posts as “unbiased” and “a good resource” for other people to truly know what was going on.

Jewish dissent on the content of some posts and that website went unacknowledged and dismissed.

Being that LT is a relatively big user in the TOG fandom, her posts got circulated frequently. Seeing things like that touted as unbiased was extremely triggering for me and multiple Jews in this fandom that I’ve spoken to.

Now, the reason I made this post in particular was because I have seen a lot of echoing of the sentiment: “no matter how much you disagree with their sentiment, aligning yourself with racists is...well aligning yourself with racists.”

This statement NEEDS to become intersectional. If we are criticizing the work of people because of who they hold company with, why does that end at racism? If we are going to have a discussion about racism in this fandom, why are we letting it come from people who have openly said antisemitic things, people who have stood by them and supported them in silence, and people who have silenced Jewish voices speaking up about this issue.

These are not separate issues. This is a really good post regarding the white washing of Jews in social justice discussion and it comes full circle into the medical experimentation discussion. Jews were not seen as white during the Holocaust. The Nazis were trying to cleanse the Aryan race because they did not view Jews as white. They experimented on them because they did not view them as white and, thus, disposable.

Every Jewish diasporic community is still vulnerable. Even though the US has half the world’s Jews, over 50% of the religiously based hate crimes are consistently anti-Jewish even though Jews make up 2% of the population. Chinese Jews are still holding their holiday celebrations in secret due to government crackdowns. The attempted genocide of Beta Israel was less than 50 years ago. Across the Middle East and North Africa, Jewish communities are barely hanging on after centuries of attempted destruction. These are not just Jewish issues but racial issues as well because when people make the sweeping generalization of “Jew” and they only mean white-passing Ashkenazi Jews, it erases so much of our community.

I absolutely agree that this fandom needs to have a discussion about race and portrayal in fic and what we can do better moving forward—and I want to see that done—but we also need to acknowledge what so many people starting this discussion have said and the marginalized groups they have hurt along the way. I see these posts come across my dashboard and know exactly who they're coming from and what they think of people like me. If we are going to say, “No matter how much you disagree with their sentiment, aligning yourself with racists is aligning yourself with racists,” then we NEED to be saying, “If you are aligning yourself with antisemites, you’re aligning yourself with antisemites.”

We all need to move forward. But that means moving forward together. Jews included.

#i just really needed to get this off my chest #I really don’t want to start shit but some of this has been bothering me for months and I can’t stay quiet anymore #I’m just so tired #intersectionality includes Jews pass it on

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omegapausestuck · 3 years

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So you killed Homestuck². Let’s talk

Hello, hello.

It’s me; 5ider.

Now, I know that you all don’t care about me, and maybe you shouldn’t, but I have been one of Homestuck’s most stalwart supporters. I’m one of the old guard, from back when the MSPA forums were still up and running — when "Karkat steals hands” was still considered the peak of comedy... and I have waded through Andrew’s knee-deep bullshit through hell to high water, patiently waiting for the pay-off that will surely someday come. I do this because I believe that there is something pure, and genuinely wonderful, buried beneath all the self-effacing and irony and melodramatics; and I wanted to make sure, that as long as there is one more person out there with any level of investment with this fandom, I would be there to show them that we care.

Through all the pauses and retcons and hiatuses and everything, I have remained steadfast. Even during the godawful GIGAPAUSE, where I watched in horror as hundreds of my friends wandered away to greener pastures, I made a promise to post something wholly original EVERY DAY!—just to keep the fires of fandom burning even a little bit longer—and when it turned out that the thing lasted more than the three weeks I feared it would, I never relented. 365 days gave 365 new pieces of content; despite the inexplicable strain it put on my mind, my body, and my spirit. I wound up in the hospital for overwork, and I never even mentioned it. The posts still flowed nevertheless.

Now, like I said, I have been a part of this community for a very long time, and I have, indeed, born witness to all manner of malice, and childish savagery. Of course, I’m nowhere near happy with the stories I’ve been given. I’ve been very vocal about my reservations, and my dissatisfaction, along the way; but I have always been a staunch believer in the respect of your fellow peers. You can only expect to be heard when you take the time to listen to others! No belittling, no bullying, no exposing, no.. no fuckeries!!! As such, I made a specific choice not to lend credence to these people, and neither respond nor denounce their behavior, because it’s not my job to be your babysitter, and it’s not my responsibility to educate other thoughtful, intelligent people in how to carry themselves. I just figured that eventually people will figure it out, and those who can’t play nice will eventually burn out all their own goodwill. I wanted to magnify what is good, and uplifting about us. By spotlighting the best of us, those with intent to spark wildfires of confusion and rancor might see that there were other ways to express their feelings. Powerful ways. Maybe even forms that are Objectively Beautiful.

But I can’t keep quiet any longer. I fear that my silence has allowed others with more short-term, violent ambitions to fester forth, and grow, unchecked, with time. I’ve seen hosts descend on misinformed, ignorant, and even innocent parties; with ruthless ferocity, unquenchable in their bloodlust and fervor. I’ve watched you bully, and gaslight, and purge, and raze through people; using them up like they’re no more than firewood to be cast into the pyre of this never-ending witch hunt for “equality,” and ..what’s that other one? “Employee benefits of the what pumpkin team?”

What a load of bullshit.

Many of you just want an excuse to go vent your frustrations at someone, and you’ll use any hot buzz word you can get behind to lash out with your venemous tongue. Thousands of people descended on Hussie at one point because of some weird “Narrative Rights” meme, and once those ides were thankfully depleted, you doubled down and kept deluging his account with more and more words, “for the joke.” What purpose does it serve to send a windfall of pustulant notifications in a volume so grand that you can be absolutely certain that he won’t be able to apprehend it all?! All he can do is ignore you. Perhaps if a couple hundred meaningful messages were sent his way in a non-confrontational matter, he might be able to process them. Maybe he might even consider them, and eventually come to an understanding. But the way that we spearhead monolithic campaigns against people like an orchestral carpet-bombing of these people’s inboxes and notification feed! IS NOT CONSTRUCTIVE! A person drawing a picture of a he/him John Egbert IS NOT RECPTIVE! A writer involved in a fandom they are highly passionate about IS NOT VINDICTIVE! These are human BEINGS, you guys! They are people! Just like you or me! No one deserves to be crucified in this way! It doesn’t matter how much you dislike the thing that they’ve done, It doesn’t matter how inspired by emotions or opinions or trauma or sorrow, or any other such justification you dream up! You cannot talk to people in a way that is designed to crush their spirit, and bury them under a bottomless deluge of vitriolic malevolence. Every hour of every day. Twenty-four/seven. Day in, day out. Without ceasing.

You are not their Executioner.

You have no right to cast judgement on these people you have never met, and know nothing about. Very few of you have tried to initiate a genuine conversation with any of these people you are so consumed with resentment towards. Very few of you care. It needs to stop. I’m sick of seeing it. I’m sick of hearing about it. I’m sick of fearing it. You’ve harassed your way into your own detriment, and the bad faith of a few hundred-thousand has forced all the millions of us to suffer. MAYBE YOU DON’T CARE ABOUT HOMESTUCK^2. MAYBE YOU DON’T CARE ABOUT HIVESWAP. MAYBE YOU DON’T CARE ABOUT PESTERQUEST. MAYBE YOU DON’T CARE ABOUT PSYCHOLONIALS. BUT MANY OF US DO. AND IT IS NOT YOUR RIGHT TO SPEAK FOR ALL OF US. GROW UP. SIT DOWN. LISTEN.

that’s all

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littlemisspascal · 3 years

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The Last Mandalorian

Chapter One: The Warrior in Carbonite Part 2

Fandom: The Mandalorian / Pedro Pascal

Eventual Pairing: Din x Togruta!Female!Reader

Word Count: 3,400

Rating: G

Summary: A series that is a mixture of Mandalorian, Star Wars, ATLA, and my own imagination. The Imps have seized control of the majority of the galaxy, including your homeworld Shili. You and your sister Ahsoka have developed a daily routine despite the stormtroopers keeping your village imprisoned. One morning you make a startling discovery that will change the course of your lives forever.

Warnings: plot plot plot, mild descriptions of violence, worldbuilding, dialogue heavy, sloooooooooooooow burn – seriously, we’re just getting started so it’s gonna be a bit before feelings are involved, reader is 17 and Din is 19 so I’m going to warn this as underage even though nothing sexual or even vaguely romantic happens in this chapter.

Author Note: The plan right now is for there to be 3 parts of Chapter 1. Tumblr isn’t doing a good job notifying my taglist, so I apologize if I bother anyone reblogging this a few times trying to get it to work. Thank you everyone out there for each like, comment, ask and reblog! The support means the world to me 🥰

Part 1 Part 3

Cross-posted on AO3

The village is a small community with less than a hundred citizens living there total, yet it is visible from miles away due to the bright paints used to decorate the houses. Murals depicting the village’s history and its residents adorn every house with details added by each new generation so that no one is ever forgotten. Back when visitors would pass through, they would always compliment the village’s beauty, but there is nothing beautiful at all about the electric fence the Imps erected shortly after seizing control, emitting shocks harsh enough to kill.

Originally the stormtroopers said it was to protect the village from threats, but nobody believed the lie. The only threat to the community was the Empire. They don’t bother making up excuses anymore, now they like to remind everyone the whole village is their prisoner, usually by a show of violence so unbelievably malicious it stuns everyone into compliance.

There are some horrors time will never erase from your mind.

Juni trees grow beside the fence outside the perimeter, the only species of tree amongst the shrubbery and turu-grass, and they are tall enough for their thick orange branches to extend over the uppermost wire. In the mornings, Ahsoka climbs out your bedroom window, slides down the sloped roof of the house and leaps onto a nearby branch. You follow after her, trusting that she won’t let you fall when you stretch out your hand for her to catch you and lift you up using a bit of Force to give you a boost. The two of you sneak back inside the village using the same tree, only instead of leaping at the house, you drop the short fall onto the ground beneath. Five years and the stormtroopers haven’t caught onto your trick yet.

Except now the tree isn’t an option. Not when you both are half-carrying, half-dragging two-hundred pounds of flesh and metal.

Hiding behind a clump of coyal bushes, you and Ahsoka scout the entrance booth where a pair of stormtroopers dressed in their characteristic white armor stand guard, holding blaster rifles. There are others on patrol, walking along the fence and checking its integrity, gradually stepping further and further out of view, but they will be back eventually. Your window of opportunity is limited.

You adjust the warrior’s arm over your shoulders, quietly groaning when your muscles protest the heaviness. “What are we going to do? Stormies might share one brain cell, but they’re definitely going to notice this heap of metal we’re carrying. And as soon as they find out we don’t have passes, they’re going to start shooting.”

Passes are only given to a handful of the community’s traders each week. It is a three day ride on a repulsorlift speeder to the capital where they have a short span of time to sell their goods and then return home within the week with essential supplies. To ensure no one tries to run away, the Imps set up strict rules. If the traders are late, even if only by a few minutes or due to reasons outside their control, the rest of the villagers pay the price. Usually the punishment is a public beating, but sometimes the stormtroopers get creative and tie their chosen victims to a pole overnight by their head-tails.

Nobody, not even the younglings, sleep those nights.

“We’ll be fine,” Ahsoka answers, firm and confident, gaze fixed upon the gate. “Just follow my lead. I’ve got an idea.”

She doesn’t spare you a second to protest, stepping out into the open and forcing you to follow or else drop the warrior’s body.

The stormtroopers spot the three of you immediately, relaxed postures stiffening with alarm, and you have to remind yourself over and over to breathe, to not let them see any hint of the anxiety buzzing beneath your skin.

“Hold it right there!” One of the stormtroopers orders when the distance between you and them has shortened to a mere three feet. You freeze at once, heart pounding as fast as a thimiar’s seconds away from being eaten. A quick glance at Ahsoka reveals no fear in her expression. She stares at them indifferently, as if she is about to talk about the weather.

“Explain yourselves.” It is not a request.

You squirm, nearly knocking your head against the warrior’s bowed head, on the verge of losing your composure, when you notice Ahsoka lifting her arm.

“You will let us pass,” she says, adopting a suggestive tone while waving her hand in front of their visors.

They respond in unison, seemingly entranced. “We will let you pass.”

You bite your lip as you and Ahsoka pass between the stormtroopers and through the gate, not wanting to break the spell by letting loose the barrage of questions forming on your tongue. What your sister had done was as amazing as it was frightening. She had manipulated them with such confident ease you are certain this isn’t the first time she has performed the trick on someone.

“When did Aunt Shaak teach you that?”

“She didn’t,” Ahsoka replies lowly, casting a quick glance around. “I taught myself.”

Your skin prickles as you also become aware of the increasing number of eyes staring at you. With the sun fully awake and bringing morning light with it, several villagers are carrying on with their daily routines outside of their homes. Most of them seem a mixture of confused and concerned about the stranger, but you spy the Elders looking displeased by the new addition amongst their ranks.

You are not looking forward to being inevitably summoned and interrogated by them.

“How?” you ask, copying her hushed cadence. Then, a pulse of panic blooms in your chest. “Have you ever—?”

“No, I haven’t messed with your mind before. Never even considered it,” Ahsoka interrupts, sensing your worries. “I don’t practice often, but when I do it’s just harmless little suggestions. Like convincing Huno to give the younglings an extra sugar biscuit when he has some to spare or persuading Jaelee to go to bed early when I know she’s been overworking herself. To tell you the truth, I wasn’t really sure the trick would work on those bucket heads since I’ve never tried it on two minds at once before. Lucky us, right?”

You nearly trip over your own feet. “What?”

Is she being serious right now? They would be dead right now if her gamble hadn’t paid off.

Ahsoka pretends not to hear you, nodding her head towards the blue-painted house up ahead. “C’mon, Maar probably already knows we’re coming.”

Maar Vashee has been the village’s healer for a little over fifty years. The purple-skinned Togruta helped deliver you and Ahsoka, and was considered by your mother when she was still living to be a dear friend. Her connection to the Force is especially sensitive due to her intricate relationship with the flora of the planet, using various herbs and plants to create remedies, and as such she developed a type of sixth sense where she instinctively knows when her skills are needed.

Entering her home that doubles as her clinic, you find Maar had indeed anticipated your arrival and set up a cot to place the warrior upon. Once he is laid down, you roll your aching shoulders, biting back a wince as the movement irritates the headache lingering at the back of your head.

The warrior hadn’t made one noise the entirety of the trip bringing him here. Even now as he rests on the cot, his breaths are so quiet you would fear he wasn’t breathing at all if not for his chest moving. You touch his hand impulsively, laying yours over his gloved one. There is no response, not a twitch or spasm.

A sharp gasp of surprise has you whirling around, eyes landing upon Maar standing in the doorway between the clinic and her living quarters. She clutches a glass jar of spotted red herbs labeled nysillin against her chest, staring at the warrior like she is looking at a ghost.

“Maar,” Ahsoka calls out softly, coming to stand by your side. A long moment of silence passes before the older Togruta manages to drag her gaze away to focus on you and Ahsoka, green eyes a bit too wide-eyed and haunted. Your sister’s gentle tone remains when she inquires, “What’s wrong? Do you...do you know him?”

Maar chokes out a brittle noise sounding like a cross between a dry laugh and a derisive scoff. “Personally? No.” She moves closer to the cot, the white circular markings around her eyes softening with what you confusingly identify as sympathy. “I’ve heard stories of his kind though. Years ago, many considered the Mandalorians the only ones capable of defeating the Imperials.”

“Holy frak,” you gasp before you can stop yourself.

As a youngling, your mother used to tell you stories about the fiercest fighters in the galaxy known as Mandalorians. They lived on Mandalore and had a special connection with their weapons, a bond nobody else could understand or mimic, trained to handle guns and knives as soon as they could walk. They defended the galaxy from unlawful rulers and the threat of enslavement, unafraid to spill blood when they knew peace would follow. Your mother told you they never lost a battle. Defeat was a word unknown to them.

At least until—

“Mandalorians were wiped out during the Decimation of Alderaan,” Ahsoka interrupts your thoughts, voice pitched high with disbelief. “And the few who lived were hunted down shortly after. The Imps made sure there weren’t any left to challenge them.”

As if triggered, you recall a detail from your brain glitch, a thought that had crossed your mind when you were flying through the storm. You had been looking for Aldera, the capital of Alderaan.

It’s just a coincidence, you think. But a voice in the back of your head that sounds suspiciously like your Aunt Shaak counters, there are no coincidences.

And as much as you loathe admitting it, that voice is right. Having the image of a mudhorn slip into your brain shortly before you find a warrior—no, a karking Mandalorian of all people—with the same creature on his armor? It is too precise to be a coincidence. Your paths were meant to cross each other.

If only you had the slightest clue as to why.

Maar sets the jar down on a nearby table, then picks up the Mandalorian’s wrist to check his pulse. “That is what we all thought,” she agrees after a minute of counting has passed, dropping his hand. “His armor is characteristic of their kind. Nothing in the galaxy is as strong or valuable as their beskar. Let’s pray to Ai our beliefs about the Mandalorians’ extinction are mistaken,” she nods towards the unconscious warrior, “especially for his sake.”

Realization creates a sickening pit in your stomach.

Regardless of the status of his kind, when he wakes up his whole world is going to be flipped upside down.

Three hours later, not much has changed except the room is brighter, afternoon sunlight pouring in through the window, and smells sweet due to the bowl of herbs Maar left simmering on the table near the Mandalorian’s head, explaining the aroma will cure him of his hibernation sickness as he breathes it in.

“He’ll wake up when the marg sabls open tomorrow,” Maar told you with a gesture towards the potted red-and-pink flowers in the windowsill. They grow all over Shili, popular because they open their petals in a sunburst shape every morning.

Ahsoka comes and goes, blessedly not criticizing your decision to sit at the warrior’s bedside when you have a list of chores to complete—doubled now that you lost your bet with Ahsoka earlier. She intercepts curious younglings hoping to sneak a glimpse of the Mandalorian whose presence has become known throughout the village. Nothing stays a secret long in the community. Gossip spreads as quickly as colds and takes twice as long to get over.

If the stormtroopers catch on, the consequences will be disastrous. For once, Ahsoka shares your fears, admitting she isn’t capable of tricking a whole platoon.

“The Elders aren’t happy,” Ahsoka says in-between sips of bone broth. “They think it’s too dangerous having him here.”

You swallow your mouthful, shaking your head. “I think it’s the opposite.”

“What do you mean?”

Averting your gaze towards your lap, you scratch at an imaginary stain on your leggings. “Just a feeling I have.”

Ahsoka leans forward in her seat, pointing an accusing finger at you, causing your head to jerk back up. “The Force connected with you again, didn’t it? I knew you were acting weird before we found him.” She frowns, hurt flickering in her eyes. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because I never wanted to be special, Ahsoka,” you reply honestly. “I never wished or prayed to have visions, to have these random details pop into my head, to feel others’ emotions so strongly it’s like I’m trapped inside their bodies. There is nothing cool or entertaining about it. It’s…” Your voice cracks embarrassingly, forcing you to take a pause. You inhale a shaky breath. “It’s terrifying.”

“I had no idea you were struggling so much,” your sister murmurs, voice soft with contrition.

“How could you when I didn’t even want myself to acknowledge that I was?” you counter, feeling as if a weight has been lifted from your shoulders as the truth sinks in. “I tried to ignore it all as best as I could. If not for meeting our friend over here,” you tilt your head in the Mandalorian’s direction, “I’d probably still be in denial. But I can’t ignore the Force this time. Not when the message is this important.”

“What is it?”

“We were meant to find him. To bring him back with us. I think—I believe he’s important. Remember what Maar said? About how people used to believe Mandalorians would beat the Empire?”

Ahsoka’s brow furrows incredulously. “You really think one warrior can defeat Emperor Gideon’s army? The rebels have been trying for years and the Emperor is always one step ahead.”

You can’t help deflating a bit, shoulders slumping. “Well when you put it like that…”

“Have you considered an alternative reason why he’s important?” she asks. When you don’t answer right away, she takes it as a cue to continue, “Maybe you’re right and he is going to change the galaxy for the better. But he could also be a warning. The Imps wiped out his kind, what if they plan to do the same to us?”

Your lips part to respond, only to close again wordlessly. You thought by accepting your brain glitches as messages from the Force they would become clearer, easier to understand. A lantern guiding you through this maze of darkness epitomizing your life.

But you have never felt more lost.

Falling asleep is a mistake.

You didn’t know this when you rejected Maar’s suggestion to head home and sleep in your comfortable bed instead of curling up on her spare cot that squeaks whenever you move. The prideful side of you believed it was best if you were the first face the Mandalorian saw when he woke up because he would remember you and the promise you swore. He would trust you to explain everything to him.

Within a second of waking up, you realize how naive you were to think you had even a shred of influence over him.

The sound of something shattering has you nearly tumbling off the side of the cot, jerking awake with a sudden burst of fear. You blink rapidly to clear the haziness of sleep from your vision, struggling to make sense of what you are seeing.

Pieces of Maar’s ceramic bowl litter the floor along with bits of charcoal and ash. Ahsoka and the Mandalorian stand on opposite sides of the room, staring each other down, poised to fight. The Mandalorian has a vibroblade clenched in his hand, while your sister crouches low, fists raised. You know Ahsoka can hold her own in a fight, even without the advantage of a weapon, but fear winds its way down your spine, cold and slimy, when you can’t help but notice how small she looks compared to him. Not only because he is a few inches taller, but because he also exudes an undeniable aura of intimidation: his unwavering silence, the skilled manner he wields his knife, even the sharp gleam of his beskar pieces reflecting the pale morning light has your chest tightening with dread.

The clinic’s lights flick on right as Maar announces her presence by cocking a blaster pistol. It is the Mandalorian’s own weapon, removed from his holster when Maar examined him earlier. “Alright,” she says to the room at large as she fully enters, dressed in her sleeping robe. “Let’s all settle down. Blood isn’t an easy stain to clean and I’d prefer it if none was spilt.”

You see the moment the Mandalorian decides to comply, shoulders loosening beneath the pauldrons and stance shifting from defensive to neutral, as he processes he doesn’t need to fight his way out of here. The vibroblade is sheathed within his right boot in one fluid motion and it is startling, truly, how quick he transforms from a dangerous threat to a potentially dangerous threat.

Ahsoka is reluctant to yield, staring him up and down for a drawn out moment that does little to soothe your frayed nerves. Only when Maar pointedly clears her throat does your sister finally obey, straightening to full height with a hand propped on her hip, the picture perfect image of nonchalance. In another life she would have made a fantastic actress in a holovid drama.

“That’s better.” Maar nods, satisfied. “Now why don’t we—”

The Mandalorian moves so quickly that you jerk in anticipation of attack, eyes widening to the size of moons as you watch the pistol fly out of Maar’s hand and straight into his outstretched one. Your lungs seize up, a single thought flashing through your mind. This is it, the moment we all die.

Except instead of shooting, he re-engages the safety mechanism and promptly holsters the gun at his side where it belonged. Without saying anything.

Ahsoka’s slack-jawed expression would have been comical if it hadn’t matched your own stunned face. Even Maar, who has witnessed over fifty years worth of shocking spectacles, looks awed by the unexpected display.

You recover first, somehow managing to piece together the right words to ask a coherent question. “Are you a Jedi?”

It is only because you are staring directly at him that you notice the virtually imperceptible tilting of his head. “I’m a Mandalorian,” he answers bluntly, oblivious to how your heart skips a beat. “Weapons are part of my religion. It’s important to earn their trust.” He addresses Maar then, adding, “Especially if they’re stolen from us.”

His baritone voice has changed from when he spoke on the ship. Without the exhaustion wrapped around his vocal chords you are able to hear his normal timbre. Due to the modulator in his helmet, it has a husky quality, an intriguing mix of smoke and honey. But that is not what has your montrals prickling and your spine straightening.

“I disarm all my patients,” Maar replies, back to being her cool, calm, and collected self. “I would have given it back—”

“How old are you?”

You don’t realize you have spoken until two pairs of eyes and an expressionless visor look at you.

The Mandalorian’s fingers curl and uncurl at his sides once, twice. “Nineteen,” he answers after a few seconds of lapsing silence.

“Oh Ai,” Maar murmurs, vocalizing your own thoughts.

All this time you have been thinking of the Mandalorian as a man beneath the amor. A hardened and seasoned fighter who has seen a lifetime of bloodshed and violence. But the reality is he is only two years older than you. Standing right on that thin, blurry line between being seen as a teenager and being considered an adult.

“Who are you?” the Mandalorian asks, glancing first at you then your sister and back to Maar. Frustration and wariness blend together, sharpening his voice. “Why am I here? What happened?”

Ahsoka meets your eye with a question in her gaze, one you don’t have the answer for: where do we even begin?

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maxwell-grant · 3 years

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Any thoughts on Darkman, the Liam Neeson movie? I heard it was originally going to be a Shadow movie.

I love Darkman very much, but I've realized recently that this love comes with some pretty bittersweet feelings at the story behind it.

Michael Uslan: I was going to produce a Shadow feature film with Sam Raimi, but Sam got consumed by back-to-back movies and we ran out of time. We were headed in a good, period piece direction and managed to do so without relying on yet another bout with Shiwan Khan. I later had another major director passionate to do The Shadow, but a person at the company wanted to do a modern day TV series instead, which ultimately did not go... - comment saved from a post in The Shadow Knows Facebook group

For those of you who only now got into The Shadow or don't remember, for much of the early 00s, when The Shadow basically had no current projects and Conde Nast was taking down webpages and fan content left and right, the only things that kept this "fandom" alive were occasional fanfics (many of which are gone now), and the dim light in the horizon that was the rumors that Sam Raimi was finally going to make his Shadow film. Dig back on The Wayback Machine for Shadow web page and you're gonna see this as consistently the only thing they had to look forward to in regards to the character. These rumors floated around for over a decade, at one point Tarantino was even supposed to direct it, but he confirmed in 2013 that it wasn't going to happen. At least, not with him at the helm.

The project has been dead for a while now, and Conde Nast seems to be shuffling around plans for the character, and I deleted my Facebook months ago so I haven't kept up with any news, although it seems the James Patterson novel wasn't received too well, so I'm not sure what other plans they have in the pipeline.

Back in the 1970s, after the release of Richard Donner's Superman and in line with The Shadow's pop culture resurgence, thanks to the paperback reprints and the 70s DC run, there were plans to make a Shadow feature film, and there were quite a handful of scripts being tossed around for the following years (Will Murray states most of them were horrible), several names attached to the project at one point or another. The plans died down a bit following Gibson's death and only really picked up again after the 90s, and of course we all know that the 1994 movie came out with spectacularly bad timing. From what I recall, it seems Sam Raimi wanted to make his Shadow film in the 80s, was unable to secure the rights, and then just made his own version, which would go on to be his first major motion picture.

Even after making Darkman, Sam Raimi still wanted to make The Shadow. I guess that's ultimately the bittersweet part for me. I imagine the current state of Shadow media would be significantly better if Sam Raimi, who was a fan of the character and the pulp version (and even knows of The Shadow's connection to Houdini and stage magic), got to make his Shadow film, years before Blood & Judgment, years before Burton's Batman made it impossible for a Shadow film not to be compared to it, in a time period where it wouldn't have had to compete with The Lion King and The Mask for box office. And second, I have been drawing up my plans for Shadow projects for, what, 5 years now? And I have just barely got my foot off the door as a filmmaker. Sam Raimi had a decade-long career as a cult filmmaker before he got turned down, and decades later, after becoming a household name in charge of Marvel's biggest icon, the project still fell through. It doesn't exactly get my hopes up, y'know.

I love Darkman, it's the best Shadow film that doesn't technically star the real Shadow, and it works pretty well on it's own regardless of that association, but I do get pretty sad looking at it from the outside, because I just can't help but think on what it could have been.

In some aspects I do think the film benefits from not being about The Shadow proper, because it means Raimi got the freedom to do whatever the hell he wanted. The character of Darkman already existed separately from Sam Raimi's plans for a Shadow film, already carrying off the Phantom / Universal Monster influence, and what Raimi did was basically combine the two ideas together.

He took the basic iconography of The Shadow, a terrifying urban crimefighter in coat and slouch hat, and add in other Shadow traits like his mastery of disguise, his disfigurement, and that wonderful scene where he's invisibly running circles around a panicky triggerman while laughing maniacally, a moment which definitely feels like Raimi taking a second to indulge himself to do what you can call The Classic Shadow Scene with a character he's, for the most part, succesfully convinced us (and Conde Nast's lawyers, most importantly) isn't supposed to be The Shadow.

But then he filters these through his own influences and style to make him a new character, so instead of a mysterious mastermind with lots of resources and a enigmatic background, instead he's a disfigured and psychotic scientist with a vengeance against those who made him that way. He's like Night Raven, in the sense that he's built off traits that The Shadow has, but develops them differently to the point he stands on his own as a character. It's The Shadow combined with The Phantom of the Opera, filtered through a 1930s Universal Horror lens, played for greater tragedy and a dash of Evil Dead 2 wackyness.

He hides away in trashed up ruins and bickers with a cat, he has fits of rage that make him endanger innocents, he has a doomed love affair, and sometimes he gets so batshit he gives us hilarious moments like "TAKE THE FUCKING ELEPHANT" and "SEE THE DANCING FREAK! PAY - FIVE - BUCKS! TO SEE THE DANCING FREAK!". Moments that really show why he was such a good fit for Spider-Man despite the liberties he took with the source material.

I think the big thing that helps to make Darkman works as a property in it's own right is also that, ultimately, these influences are ultimately at the forefront of it, and the core of it works on it's own. Darkman is a believable, engaging character in his own right, one who tells a story that would be more at odds with The Shadow proper.

In some aspects, Darkman tries to be The Shadow, he is forced to become The Shadow by literally picking the clothes off a dumpster after he escapes the hospital, and it's a miserable, wretched existence, in a way rather befitting his status as a legally safe knock-off. He is a creature of nightmare who lost his face and takes on a dozen others to fight crime by turning terror against them, except he is still just a man in the end, and no man was ever supposed to live like this.

Raimi was also inspired by the Universal horror films of the 1930s and 1940s because "they made me fear the hideous nature of the hero and at the same time drew me to him. I went back to that idea of the man who is noble and turns into a monster".

He originally wrote a 30-page short story, titled "The Darkman", and then developed into a 40-page treatment. At this point, according to Raimi, "it became the story of a man who had lost his face and had to take on other faces, a man who battled criminals using this power"

A non-superpowered man who, here, is a hideous thing who fights crime. As he became that hideous thing, it became more like The Phantom of the Opera, the creature who wants the girl but who was too much of a beast to have her

I decided to explore a man's soul. In the beginning, a sympathetic, sincere man. In the middle, a vengeful man committing heinous acts against his enemies. And in the end, a man full of self-hatred for what he's become, who must drift off into the night, into a world apart from everyone he knows and all the things he loves.

For the role, Raimi was looking for someone who could suggest "a monster with the soul of a man"

It's the fact that Darkman is ultimately played for vulnerability and tragedy that really sets him apart. While I wouldn't go far enough to say The Shadow is a man with the soul of a monster, still, the difference in presentation is still there when it comes to these two. The Shadow is The Other, Darkman is You. Darkman is the victim of extraordinary circumstance that affects his life, The Shadow is the extraordinary circumstance that affects the lives of others. People react to The Shadow, Darkman reacts to people (and rather poorly).

One is the man who takes off his skin (or yours, staring back at you) to reveal the weird creature of the night ready to prowl and pounce and cackle at those who think they hold power over it's domain, and the other is the monster who falls apart bit by bit until you are left staring at the broken man within who has no choice but to be something he was never supposed to be.

The Shadow is The Master of Darkness. Darkman weaponizes the dark, but in the end, he's still just a man, lost within it. Not everyone can be The Shadow, and you would most likely turn into Darkman if you tried.

#replies tag #darkman #sam raimi #the shadow #pulp heroes #universal monsters

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nadohunter · 3 years

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kind of disappointing to see you supporting something like H*talia, I liked your art a lot but you support one of the most racist anime out there....

Okay. Lets talk about this. I’m actually going to copy and paste something I already wrote on my main blog about Hetalia then I’ll add a few notes... Yes. Hetalia the show is problematic. I garentee most sane Hetalia fans will agree, the fandom is probably going to go down in fandom culture history as one of the first disaster fandoms way before the fandoms that surrounded voltron or Steven Universe. Again, most Hetalia fans will also probably agree with that. There’s certain bits from the comic and show that are absolutely not okay- however for those of you making a ton of assumptions about ppl who were in that fandom or are excited about the possibility of it coming back-> let me just explain a few things.

1. Hetalia made massive history nerds out of a lot us, it’s not that didn’t have some problematic results and of course it’s very euro-centric. But I’d argue because of this show It made a lot of people interested in the world and history way more than they ever would have and educated themselves further as a result

ADDED NOTE: The fandom, while small, I’d say has grown up a LOT. The people in it are a lot more informed and aware - The abbreviation was changed pretty damn quick as people started coming back with the new season announced from “APH” (Axis Powers Hetalia - We can all know what’s wrong with that) to “HWS” (Hetalia World Stars).

2. If you were a fan of Hetalia…. that honestly actually meant you were more a fan of the fandom than the actual show. Hetalia has more AUs than probably any fandom I’ve EVER seen: these people made a ton of content Off of characters that appeared in episodes less than 5 minutes long. It got to the point where a lot of people’s interpretations of the characters were SO far removed from the original show they may as well just be entirely new characters. I’m not going to sit here and argue like the fandom couldn’t get toxic, I was there, I remember. This is absolutely a piece of media you SHOULD ABSOLUTELY still be critical of and many many many many many people since the day Hetalia showed it’s face and the ended up getting a creepy pasta story made out of it already have. We’ve been here. Fans have used these characters as an easy way to inform and educate, even more so now than there used to be. So any new fans coming in as well may actually learn a lot about history and other cultures. Which can be really important when done right. It CAN aND HAS been done responsibly. So at the very least if you see a few current or ex Hetalians on your radar just don’t automatically assume shit. It’s way more complicated, we’ve all been through this shit before. Us oldies have seen and understood many a fandom through aaaaaallll the highs and lows. We were there. We know both the bad and the good that can come from this, as is the case with literally any fandom ever. All of them can be great, creative, and create friendships and community (I have my long term best friend in large part due to Hetalia) … and they can also be latched on to by people who aren’t gonna have others best interests at heart, and are gonna try and use something for bigotry or being just gross. That’s why you stay I n f o r m e d above all else. If you weren’t there for this whole rodeo before, just… at least get the idea that this ain’t a cut and dry situation FURTHER ADDITION: “One of The most racist anime” is a pretty bold claim. Shows like Attack on Titan I would argue have way more damaging mixed messaging around the holocast and nazism. However I wouldn’t go so far to call fans of it racist. Because either A. People aren’t focusing on that aspect of the anime and just like the cool action or B. They know but they’re consuming and reacting to it critically and making informed choices about where they put their money and time. Naruto and Once Peice - two of THE MOST POPULAR ANIME for a LONG time out there, have characters that are EXTREMELY racist charactures of black people but no one talked about that for a long time. I would also argue that yes, the Hetalia dub has some very racist and problematic things with it, we should all get on funimation’s ASS about that, however, the original sub is mostly harmless outside of just plain not acknowledging the horrors of the holocost - which I think since the show is supposed to stay a comedy is why the author steered away from having things set in the 1940s because at a certain point and most modern Hetalia strips don’t touch it - you either make a mockery of a serious topic (cough cough the musical in a lot of ways) , OR you don’t touch WWII and just keep the setting modern and you can continue making fun of Europeans especially all you want.

Point being, If I draw Hetalia fanart... that is not me putting a stamp of approval on everything in the show. If you see a Hetalia fan drawing a character in a Nazi uniform, or putting the pasty-ass character for America in a Native American headdress of course! Call them the fuck out! We are too! Report and block them! So... yeah. And look, I get it, from an outside perspective where the only thing you’ve heard about Hetalia is the absolutely WORST of it, of course you would feel that way, that’s how most Fandoms get a bad reputation. It IS good to talk about this. And if you or anyone still wants to disagree with me, look I’ll still hear you out... but I think we have to get out of this headspace in any fandom of EITHER YOU STAN EVERYTHING ABOUT SOMETHING AND SUPPORT EVERYTHING ABOUT IT OR YOU MUST HATE AND DESPISE IT. Life... human thoughts... just don’t work like that.

#long post #hws #hetalia #tw #tw discussions of racism and anti semitism #thoughts #response

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thetravelerwrites · 3 years

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Courtship of the Headless King: Chapter One

Rating: General Audiences Fandoms: 忘却の首と姫 | Boukyaku no Shirushi to Hime | The Princess and The Forgotten Head Relationship: Female Human/Male Headless King Additional Tags: Slow Burn, Political Marriage, Power Dynamic, Headless King Words: 4366

This is not my original work!

This is a fan retelling of one of my favorite mangas, Boukyaki no Shirushi to Hime, whose original mangaka sadly passed away in 2014, leaving the series unfinished. I will start at the beginning of the manga and go through the entire story that has already been written. Once I reach chapter 20, which is the end of the published chapters, I will have to start extrapolating and imagining how the story may have played out. I hope I can do the original story justice and not disgrace the original author.

I will say that I will be fixing a few things that made me uncomfortable about the original manga, in that the female protagonist was 15, which I didn't like. Otherwise I will try to stick as close to the original story as possible, though I will be arranging it so that it's a bit more linear.

I hope you enjoy!

“Blessings to you, my lady,” The visitor said, bowing deeply in greeting. “My name is Aquamarine. I am a servant of the high king of Banfarie and a chosen attendant to the future queen.”

The summons wasn’t necessarily a shock, but it was definitely a surprise. Lilya, the third princess of the former kingdom of Tritsia, had come of age during a bloody war between kingdoms to either side, and her small, impoverished land had been caught in the crossfire. Tritsia had been absorbed by the victorious kingdom to the east, Couliea, and was now a vassal state. As such, the royal family of Tritsia were now hardly more than paupers in their own kingdom.

Lilya assumed that she would no longer be eligible for the marriage interviews that were famously, or perhaps infamously, conducted five times every month in the largest empire in the continent, Banfarie. The interviews had been happening since before she had even been born, but as of yet, no queen had been selected. Or rather, no woman had accepted.

The rules for who would be chosen for the interviews was standard for most monarchs looking for a queen: a woman of royal or noble blood with proof of lineage, at least eighteen years old but no older that twenty five, no previous marriages or engagements, no children, and… well… consent.

Lilya met most of the criteria… except for one thing: she wasn’t a high born woman anymore. Her family’s royal status had ended when the kingdom was absorbed into another. Besides, even when her father had been king, they had never exactly been what anyone would consider proper royalty. Her father worked in the fields with his people, doing the same back-breaking labor as his subjects. Back then, she could hardly be called princess, but now she was nothing more than a peasant farm girl, more suited to feeding chickens and mucking out stables than attending grand balls and high teas.

So there had been quite a stir when their unusual guest came to deliver the summons. She was a woman who appeared very young in age, no more than perhaps sixteen, though she spoke as if she were a far older creature. She had a short bob haircut and a thick fringe, but it wasn’t enough to hide her pointed ears, her sharp eyes, and her upswept eyebrows, belying a nature that wasn’t human.

Her cloak was plain, but well-made and of fine cloth, likely silk or satin. She had all the hallmarks of a servant of a wealthy, prosperous nation. She had been given entrance to the house by the only servant Lilya’s family employed, Sebastian, and was standing in the receiving room with Lilya’s mother and aunt.

“I come with greetings from my Lord King, to relay a question and to present a gift to you, beloved princess.”

Lilya tilted her head. “A gift? His Majesty didn’t need to send a gift.”

Aquamarine simply chuckled and bowed. “From his Majesty, with his kindest regards.” From her cloak, she produced a velveteen box and opened it, revealing a tiara of breathtaking beauty. Sizable diamonds and sapphires lined the circlet and rose up to create a lovely sloped and winding style like that of wind on water. It was a crown that would suit any head it rested upon.

“Oh!” Lilya breathed. “It’s breathtaking!” She rushed to her mother in delight. “This is the answer to the famine on the outskirts in the south! If we sell the tiara at the biggest market in the neighboring kingdom, we could feed the farmers for months, maybe a year!”

“Lilya!” Her aunt exclaimed in horror. “How could you suggest such a thing? This was a gift from a king, for goodness sake, you can’t just sell it!”

“But, Auntie, I can’t hoard something like this when people are starving!”

“You would not wear it?” Aquamarine asked, her face shrewdly assessing. “Is it not to your liking?”

“Oh, no, that’s not it at all!” Lilya insisted earnestly. “It’s lovely, more so than anything I’ve ever seen. I’ve never worn anything so extravagant. But… truly, for me to wear it would be like putting silk ribbons on a pig. It would be far less useful as a trinket in my wardrobe and better as a tool to feed the hungry. I’m afraid that Couliea doesn’t pay much attention to our struggles, so we have to fend for ourselves. This,” Lilya gently took the box from Aquamarine and turned it so that she could see the tiara properly. “This is indeed a kingly gift. This will save lives. There is no more noble a gift as that.” She bowed her head and handed the box back gingerly. “If his Majesty would not be pleased with my conduct, I understand, but I would hope he would see the sense in my actions.”

Aquamarine laughed a little. “I do not think his Majesty will be displeased. Quite the opposite. Even still,” Aquamarine set the box down on the table and carefully pried a dangling jewel from the very center, threading it through a silver chain she had worn around her own neck, and placed it on Lilya. “His Majesty will want confirmation that his gift was received. This will suffice.”

“Then I shall wear it to the marriage interview,” Lilya said, patting it fondly.

Aquamarine’s head cocked back in surprise. “I had not even had the chance to ask you, and yet you’re agreeing to go?”

“Well, yes,” Lilya said. “That’s why you’ve come to call on me, isn’t it?”

“Of course,” Aquamarine said with a smirk. “But usually it takes much more convincing on my part. I don’t believe I’ve ever met someone so… eager.”

“At the very least, I have to thank him for his generosity,” Lilya said. “Even if he decides I’m not a good match for him, I have to express my gratitude in person.”

“You’re not scared? I’m certain you’ve heard the rumors about my Lord King.”

“Well… yes,” Lilya admitted. “I won’t lie and say I’m not apprehensive, but kindness like this can’t go unacknowledged. It’s only right that I meet with him.”

Where Aquamarine’s smile had been playful and mischievous before, it was now wide and warm. “I will happily go now and inform his Majesty of your decision. My sisters and I will return in a fortnight to collect you for your interview. You may bring a guest with you, if you wish, though I assure you that you’ll be quite safe in our care.”

“I have no doubt that’s true,” Lilya said, bowing. “Would you like some refreshments to take with you on your trip back?”

“How kind of you, dear, but that won’t be necessary,” Aquamarine said, patting Lilya’s cheek. “We shall return in two weeks. You make sure you take care now. Our Lord King would be much distressed should something happen to you in the meantime.”

Aquamarine snapped her fingers, and there was a flash of light from which everyone in the room had to shield their eyes. When they blinked, the young woman was gone.

“Witch...” Sebastian said in horror. “My Lady, you can’t meet with this monster! What kind of king employs such demons?”

“Likely someone who understands that people like them also need to earn a living, I’d imagine,” Lilya said reasonably. “Besides, I’ve already agreed and accept his gift. I can’t go back on my word.”

“I can’t believe you’d actually sell such a treasure,” Your aunt said disapprovingly. “You’re so like your father.”

She didn’t mean that in a good way. Lilya’s mother’s sister, Kiya, had always disliked her father and resented him for being too weak a king, unable to protect his people during the war. She had also resented Lilya ever since she had been born. There was worry that Sophie would not be able to carry another child at her age, and that the royal line would end as there would be no male heir to Tritsia.

The birth of Lilya’s little brother shortly before her father’s death was not enough to warm Kiya to Lilya. In fact, it seemed to drive the wedge even further, as Sophie and her brother were both terribly weak afterward and there was concern they wouldn’t survive. Kiya had gone so far as to blame Lilya, telling her that it would have been her fault if they died. As a nine year old, she couldn’t imagine what she’d have done to cause such a terrible thing, but now she understood it was just her aunt lashing out.

Perhaps it was because Lilya resembled her father the most out of all her siblings, or because she was most like him in temperament, but she doubted Kiya would ever view her favorably. She was still family, though, and Lilya tried not to take her criticism to heart, though her aunt’s cutting eyes often wore into her painfully.

“I’m doing this for our country, even if it no longer exists,” Lilya said, determinedly putting the box away in a case so that Sebastian could take it to the neighboring kingdom for appraisal. “The king has called for me. The least I can do is answer.”

“Lilya’s right, Kiya,” Lilya’s mother, Sophie, said reluctantly. “It would be improper for us to take his gift and ignore him. Though I can’t say that I’m pleased with the idea of this.” Sophie sighed unhappily. “Lilya would have been expected to marry soon as it is. I supposed we couldn’t hope for better than a king.” Sophie took her daughter’s hands in her own. “Still, I’m very worried. I should come with you.”

“No, Mama, they need you here. You’ll have to be the one to make sure that the tiara gets a fair price and oversee the distribution of the food to the needy. I’ll be fine on my own, and besides, Aquamarine said that she and her sisters were part of the Queen’s guard, and I liked her very much. I couldn’t be any safer.”

Lilya’s mother grimaced. “That doesn’t make me feel better. You have many lovely qualities, my sweet child, but being a good judge of character is not among them. All anyone needs to do is tell you a sad story for you to want to take them under your wing, regardless of their true intentions.” She smiled fondly. “You’re much like your father in that respect.”

Lilya smiled in return. “Father was not a good king,” She said sadly. “But he was a good man.”

“With that, I cannot argue,” Sophie said, but she frowned in distress. “You’re elder sisters had married before they got the summons, so I’ve never met with the king. Your father met with him only once, during a conference of kings, but he never told us anything about him other than he found him to be… striking. I think he didn’t tell us more because he want to frighten us.”

“Have you heard much about him?” Lilya asked anxiously.

“Reports are varied and hard to believe; that the king is a headless monster, thousands of years old, ten feet tall, winged and hulking, who eats the women who refused him. I’m not sure I believed any of that, but the rumors are still enough to make me trepidatious.”

Sebastian grumbled, his mustache shuddering. “It is the rumors that could be true that make me uneasy.”

“How do you mean?”

“I am an old man now,” Sebastian said. “Well into my seventies, so I remember when the interviews began sixty years ago. In all that time, and no queen of Banfarie has been chosen. It concerns me. The king himself may now be an old man.”

“Is that why he’s being turned down?” Lilya asked.

“No, young madam,” He said. “You see, even before the interviews began, Banfarie had no queen in nearly one hundred years. In fact, since that time, no new kings had been crowned, either. The king from one hundred years ago was an elusive man who few had ever met, and those who did were terrified of him. If the current king is that man’s successor, it’s certainly distressing. But if he is the same man, then he is a creature of deeply evil magic, and Lady Lilya should stay far away from him.”

“Even if he were the same man, which should be impossible, his reputation is less than ideal,” Sophie said pensively. “The house of Banfarie is known historically for it’s cruelty and harsh punishments, even of neighboring kingdoms. It instituted a law that allowed Banfarie to make judgments on the conduct of royals, indict them criminally, and even sentence retribution against them, up to and including execution. The neighboring kingdoms pushed back against this, of course, but eventually they all fell in line and wrote it into their countries’ laws. I don’t trust any man who could wield that level of power over others.”

“But think of what that level of influence could do for Tritsia!” Kiya said. “A king with that kind of power could protect us and provide for us!”

Sophie shivered. “I don’t want to know what he would want in return for that protection.”

“Well, I would think that’s be obvious,” Kiya said, looking pointedly at Lilya.

Sophie, normally a mild, even-tempered woman, grew angry. “And you’re alright with that, are you? You’re willing to sell my youngest daughter to a monster if it benefits you?”

“Sophie, don’t be sentimental,” Kiya said, folding her arms. “Political marriages are common for royalty. If we had been a stronger country, this would be completely normal, even for a third daughter.”

“We’re not royalty anymore,” Sophie said firmly.

“But we could be, that’s the point!”

“Please, don’t fight,” Lilya said, getting between the two sisters. “I’ve already made the decision. Kiya is right; if I were to marry His Majesty of Banfarie, our kingdom would then be his responsibility rather than that of Couliea. However he treats that responsibility, it can’t be worse than the wanton destruction from the war or the indifferent cruelty of Couliea. If he accepts me, even if it is only a political marriage and nothing more, it would greatly benefit us both. He would at last gain the queen he’s been searching for and our country will be protected. I will meet him. Perhaps the rumors are wrong.”

“I can only hope,” Sophie remarked grimly. After throwing an angry look at her sister, she pulled Lilya away from Kiya and spoke in an undertone. “But… is this what you really want?”

“I want my family and people safe and well above all,” Lilya said. “If this king can offer that, then I can ask for nothing more.”

“If this is what you wish,” Her mother said slowly. “Then I will respect it. But… it is not what I would wish for you.”

“I know, Mama,” Lilia said. “We don’t always get what we truly wish for. But this is as close as I can get.”

“If the king accepts you,” Lilya’s mother remarked sadly. “We may never see you again.”

“That may not be true. I would hope that his Majesty wouldn’t prevent me from seeing my family once I settle in.”

“Just be careful, my love,” Her mother said, pulling her into a hug. “Be careful.”

As promised, Aquamarine returned in a fortnight to collect Lilya to take her to the capitol of Banfarie, Rukruf. A carriage had come with them for Lilya’s comfort.

“Couldn’t you transport me like you did the day you first came?”

“I’m afraid that’s a rather disorienting way to travel for humans, My Lady,” Aquamarine said, taking Lilya’s luggage. “It would require some degree of acclamation, and I don’t think his Majesty would want you to be sick during your interview.” She lifted Lilya’s bag up with one hand. “Is this all you’re bringing with you?”

“This is all I have,” Lilya replied simply. “You admit that you’re not human?”

“I was never attempting to hide it. I’m a spirit, specifically an stone spirit, as are my sisters. There they are now.”

She jerked her head toward the carriage. There were two more women identical to Aquamarine near the carriage, one in the driver’s box and another holding open the door to the carriage. All three women had short, pale lavender colored hair and large, glittering eyes. They wore identical uniforms similar to that of an attendant, but the skirts were rather short, stopping just below the knee, giving them a freer rang of movement. Each one had a dagger hanging from their hip.

Both new sisters bowed deeply as Lilya approached.

“My lady,” They said in unison.

“Garnet,” Aquamarine said, pointing to the driver,and then to the coach-woman. “And Peridot.”

“I don’t doubt the three of you are sisters; I can’t tell you apart,” Lilya said.

“Ah, but see?” Peridot said, pointing to a white bow on the right side of her hair in the shape of a butterfly. She then pointed to Garnet, who wore a black butterfly bow on her left side, and to Aquamarine, who wore no bow at all. “Even people who know us well have trouble distinguishing us from the other, so we’ve taken to wearing these. Only his Majesty can tell us apart without them.”

“Here, my Lady,” Peridot said, swinging a beautiful, fur-lined, snow-white cloak around Lilya’s shoulders. “We’ll be going through the mountains and it’s likely to get cold. His Majesty had this made for you.”

“Oh, it’s lovely,” Lilya said, petting the soft, veltvety collar that ruffed around her neck. “I’m starting to get anxious about meeting him.”

“In a good way or a bad way?” Peridot asked ash she helped Lilya up into the carriage.

“I can’t tell,” Lilya replied, laughing nervously.

“Don’t be nervous,” Peridot said as she came in and closed the door behind her, rapping sharply on the roof before settling. “His Majesty is only a threat to humans.”

Lilya looked at Peridot in alarm.

“It was a joke,” Peridot assured her, giggling. “…mostly.”

The carriage lurched forward and Aquamarine put a hand out to steady Lilya before she fell out of her seat.

“When will we arrive?”

“Around sunset tomorrow,” Aquamarine replied. “We’ll continue on through the night rather than stop at an inn. His Majesty is eager to meet you.”

“Won’t you be tired?” Lilya asked.

“Not to worry,” Aquamarine said. “Spirits like us don’t need much sleep, only a few hours a week. We’re all rested up.”

“That’s amazing. I wish I could do that.”

“Yes, it is awfully handy,” Peridot said rather smugly. “Are you hungry? We’ve brought things for you to eat.”

The two days passed pleasantly and Lilya spent the time having long, friendly conversations with all three sisters. Lilya had never had lady friends her age, and though the women were spirits and likely far older than she was, they seemed to enjoy her company and asked her many questions.

“Oh, Lady, come and see!” Garnet said, pointing out of the window. “You can see the capitol city from this vantage!”

Delighted, Lilya looked out of the window where Garnet was pointing. “It’s huge!” She exclaimed. “I can’t even see the end of it! It must be as large as my entire country!”

“Your country is larger by about fifty miles, in fact,” Aquamarine said. “It’s the smallest country on the continent.”

“Yes, that sounds right,” She sighed. “I mean, I didn’t know that for sure, but I’m not surprised.”

“Are you sad to be from such a small country?”

“No,” She replied. “My country is beautiful and my people are good. I just wish we were better able to defend ourselves.”

“Well, you may not have that problem anymore,” Aquamarine said. “We’re nearly there.”

“Will I meet his Majesty today?”

“No, you will be tired from the trip and will rest for tonight. He will conduct your interview tomorrow after you have your breakfast. His Majesty has instructed us to see to your every comfort.”

“That’s just going to make me more anxious,” Lilya said.

“The best things are worth waiting for,” Peridot said.

That evening, they arrived at the castle, which was every bit as colossal as described. Over it was a cloud of purple, blue, and pink particles, as if it were perpetual sunset over the castle.

“What is that?”

“It’s called the Aurora,” Garnet said. “It’s a magical field that has existed over the castle for hundreds of years and is the source of the royal family’s magical power. It ascends and descends over the castle, depending on how the king feels. It’s highly reactive to his emotional state.”

“Oh, goodness,” Lilya said. “It’s rather low right now. What does that mean?”

“Hmm…” Garnet said. “I believe he may be feeling rather withdrawn.”

“I wonder why that would be,” Lilya mused.

Standing at the front steps of the castle as they pulled up were two young men in uniform, one blond and one dark haired. The blond wore glasses and seemed to be the junior of the two. They bowed as Lilya exited the carriage.

“Miss Lilya, these are the King’s personal attendants, Larima,” She gestured at the dark haired one first, and then to the blond. “And Raba. They are meeting you in place of his Majesty today.”

“Does that mean his Majesty is watching?” Lilya asked, looking up at the windows.

“Whether he is or is not,” Larima said as he straightened. “We are pleased to meet you, My Lady. Please allow us to show you to your room.”

“Yes, thank you,” Lilya replied. Curiously, she noticed as they turned that there appeared to be leaves growing out of their hair.

The sisters were following behind her at a short distance. “Are they spirits, too?” Lilya asked them in an undertone.

“Yes,” Peridot said. “They’re tree spirits. All of the staff employed at his Majesty’s main castle are not human.”

“Why?”

“His Majesty distrusts humans,” Aquamarine replied.

“But isn’t his Majesty human?” Lilya asked in confusion.

“Yes,” Peridot responded.

“And no,” Garnet said.

Lilya made a noise of uncertainty under her breath.

“Don’t worry, my Lady,” Garnet said. “You’ll understand tomorrow.”

“This is all very ominous,” Lilya said uncertainly.

“Yes!” Peridot said. “Isn’t it exciting?”

Before she could answer, she was lead to an opulent guestroom, far larger than any of the rooms in her home, filled with luxurious furniture and carefully crafted decorations.

“This can’t be my room,” Lilya said with a laugh. “What would I do with all this space?”

Raba and Larima exchanged looks. “Do you dislike it? We have a number of other rooms. You’re free to choose any one of them.”

“Oh, it’s not like that,” Lilya said hastily. “It’s beautiful, I adore it. Please, it’s not that I’m ungrateful, I just feel like… I don’t know… isn’t it wasted on me?”

The triplets sighed sadly, having become used to Lilya’s unusual behavior, but the men continued to look confused.

“You do realize that if his Majesty chooses you and you accept, you’ll be queen?” Raba asked. “This,” He gestured at the room. “Is nothing compared to the queen’s suite.”

“Oh…” Lilya replied, a little disconcerted. “This will take some getting used to.”

“I understand,” Larima said. “You’re the princess from Tritsia, correct? The smallest, poorest kingdom on the continent, now a captured vassal state of Couliea. I suppose you must not be accustomed to living so resplendently.”

“Larima!” Aquamarine hissed. “Don’t be so tactless!”

Lilya laughed a little, relieved. “No, it’s alright. I’m not used to this at all, that’s true. Will that bother his Majesty?”

Larima smiled and shook his head. “No, I shouldn’t think so. Don’t worry so much about what’s appropriate and just enjoy your time here. Come.” He lead Lilya inside and showed her two cords right next to the bed, a small blue cord and a larger red cord. “The blue cord is attached to a bell in the queen’s attendants’ quarters. If you need for anything, just ring it and one of the triplets will be here in an instant. The red one is an alarm. If you pull it, bells will go off all throughout the castle. Ring it only if it’s an emergency.”

“I understand,” Lilya said. “Thank you for your hospitality.”

Raba and Larima bowed and left, and the triplets ushered Lilya into an adjacent dining room to have dinner.

After a restless night of sleep and a breakfast she barely touched, Lilya was dressed in a lovely blue gown that complimented her hair, which was pulled back with matching ribbons. The bodice was tight but comfortable, the cut of the dress was simple but elegant, and for the first time, Lilya felt like a proper grown woman.

A knock on the door revealed Raba.

“His Majesty is ready for you and is waiting in his office,” He said.

Lilya stood and clenched her hands to stop them from shaking and followed Raba out of her quarters with Garnet and Aquamarine following behind her.

“Don’t worry, my Lady,” Garnet said. “I think the king will like you very much.”

“You do?”

“Oh yes,” Aquamarine replied. “We’re more concerned whether or not you’ll like him.”

“Why wouldn’t I like him?” She asked.

“Well…” Garnet began regretfully, but then stopped.

“Here we are,” Raba said, gesturing to a set of large double doors. “One moment please.” Raba knocked on the door. “Your Majesty, I have retrieved Lady Lilya for her interview. Are you ready?”

There was silence, though Raba tilted his head as if he were listening.

“Yes, Your Majesty.” Raba opened one of the doors and stood aside. “You may enter.”

Gulping, checking that the pendant was in place, and taking a deep breath, Lilya stepped inside.

There, standing rail-straight behind a desk, was a tall, thin man wearing elaborate garments in keeping with his status as a king and emperor, as well as a sash and badges of his station. Almost immediately, one of the many rumors about the king was confirmed with Lilya’s own eyes.

His Imperial Majesty, the king of Banfarie, had no head.

Since my work is no longer searchable, please do me a favor and reblog this story if you enjoyed it. Help me reach a wider audience! To help me continue creating, please consider becoming a Patron or donating directly to my PayPal!

Thanks for reading!

My Masterlist

The Exophilia Creator’s Masterlist

#Boukyaki no Shirushi to Hime #The Princess and the Forgotten Head #Manga #Fanfic #Fanfiction #Manga Fanfic #Manga Fanfiction #Exophilia #Headless King

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lilydalexf · 3 years

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Old School X is a project interviewing X-Files fanfic authors who were posting fic during the original run of the show. New interviews are posted every Tuesday.

Interview with MustangSally

MustangSally has 33 stories at Gossamer. Even if you haven’t read it, you’ve probably heard of at least one of them, Iolokus, since it’s an X-Files fanfic classic. All her fics hit big and are well worth your time. I’ve recced some of my favorites here before, including And Dance by the Light of the Moon, All the Children are Insane, and Iolokus. Big thanks to MustangSally for doing this interview.

What's the story behind your pen name?

I could tell you but then I would have to kill you.

Does it surprise you that people are still interested in reading your X-Files fanfics and others that were posted during the original run of the show (1993-2002)?

Yes and no. Yes, because life has moved on since the early nineties and the characters and the fans are in vastly different places now. Our current tech would make the premise of the X-Files impossible. No, because of the longevity of some of the Star Trek TOS work (there’s an archive of hard copy fanzines at the University of Iowa). Top-drawer authors started out in TOS fandom.

I’m just greatly saddened that my physical body is showing wear and tear while the fic doesn’t. Fic gets to stay smooth-skinned and muscular, captured at the peak of perfection.

What do you think of when you think about your X-Files fandom experience? What did you take away from it?

At the risk of sounding atrociously trite, I think of the friends I made. I met some very remarkable women that I’ve been able to stay friends with online for over twenty-five years. We may have moved to Facebook and post entirely too much about our pets and which of our body parts has sagged this week, but we’re friends. It’s a furiously funny, feminist, and well-educated group of women with jobs in the highest levels of academia, finance, communications, and media. I’m amused by the fact that if I have a question about how a virus replicates, I can ask a PhD I’ve been drunk with in Las Vegas.

Back in the day, I had a job that sent me traveling around major cities in the US and UK. I could post on a message board and within ten minutes there were people I could go out for dinner and drinks with. We already knew we had something we could talk about for at least a couple of hours. Additionally, most of these people were women so there was an added level of security. Social media didn't really exist during the show's original run. How were you most involved with the X-Files online (atxc, message board, email mailing list, etc.)?

Well, it was mostly atxc and the Yahoo! groups mailing lists that spiraled out into Geocities sites and, eventually, LiveJournal. The amusing thing is that getting in on the ground floor of social media and the Internet has helped me get jobs! When I look at a new piece of software, I think, ‘this is hella easier than uploading to Geocities.’ We had to walk uphill both ways, in the snow, on dial-up, fighting off dinosaurs with our AOL CDs while writing HTML code. What did you take away from your experience with X-Files fic or with the fandom in general?

DO NOT FEED THE TROLLS.

The past four years in politics have basically been the ugliest online kerfuffle the world has ever seen. I survived the Shipper Wars of ’96 and I thought those were brutal, but that was NOTHING. The only way to win an argument online is to not have the argument at all. Arguing with a troll is like mudwrestling a pig: You both get filthy and only the pig is happy.

Also, READ THE FUCKING TERMS OF SERVICE.

What was it that got you hooked on the X-Files as a show?

I had the most terrible straight-girl crush on Scully. I wanted to be her best friend, I wanted to BE her. I wanted to order Chinese food and paint each other’s nails and talk about bones. Scully and Princess Leia and I could all just hang out poolside with hot and cold running waiters and poolboys, drink margaritas, and bitch about how unfair it all was – if the stupid men would just get OUT OF THE WAY AND LET US DO OUR JOBS, the world would be so much better. What got you involved with X-Files fanfic?

This question is really about Iolokus, isn’t it? You can’t fool me. [Lilydale note: I can neither confirm nor deny the motivation for this question, but I cannot complain about the answer.]

Simply put, I was enraged. The moment it was revealed that Scully’s ova had been used in experimentation, I lost my feminist mind. It was the most obscene defilement imaginable. Scully wasn’t nearly as angry as I was. What I thought needed to happen was for Scully to become a fiery force of vengeance against the MEN who had done this to her. Clearly, I was not going to get that level of satisfaction from the show, as I was imagining Kali-like carnage on a global scale. I emailed RivkaT (whom I did not know well at that point) with a proposition that we work together. Strangely enough, we didn’t meet face to face until we were well into the project, but we did talk on the phone quite a bit. The rules were simple – everyone had to be punished in truly horrific ways, and at some point, we had to see if we could write a car chase (only because that seemed impossible). Then it basically turned into a very twisted game of chicken to see who could be the most outrageous in terms of killing people off or writing really horrific things that fit within the structure of the narrative. I did, in the end, write the car chase, but RivkaT one-upped me by throwing in a helicopter (a FOX News helicopter, at that).

Really, RivkaT? A helicopter? What is your relationship like now to X-Files fandom? I am terribly proud of what I wrote, pleased that it brought pain and pleasure in equal amount to people, and, again, thrilled by the people I became friends with. I admit that I stopped watching the show when Scully announced her pregnancy. I could only see a long jump over a shark tank for the rest of the series. I haven’t watched the new episodes, either. It is complete in my mind and doesn’t need to be continued. I wouldn’t say no to having a reunion with some of my fic friends, although we’re still chatting online like everyone does. Were you involved with any fandoms after the X-Files? If so, what was it like compared to X-Files?

Rivka and I wrote in the Buffy fandom for a few years, but then we moved on to real adult jobs that left absolutely no time for me to write. I’m in education, and I regularly sweat blood for fear that someone is going to find my old fic. The Buffy people were fun; there was a certain *shininess* to them that I really enjoyed. The X-men authors were just batshit and delightful, and some amazing stuff came out of Marvel fandom, particularly in the Thor/Loki and Steve/Bucky subgenres. I’ve learned to appreciate a good coffee shop AU and one famous Erik/Charles fic where all the main characters are crabs. Seriously, crabs—it’s hysterical. [Lilydale note: Other Crabs Cannot Be Trusted by groovyphilia currently has almost 2,500 kudos at AO3.]

Every few years, I’ll have a student try to explain to me what fandom is and I just smirk. Do you ever still watch The X-Files or think about Mulder and Scully? No. Not really. Do you ever still read X-Files fic? Fic in another fandom? I fell into an X-Men hole a few years back and had a great old time wallowing in the Cherik muck, and there was a flirtation with BBC Sherlock as well. Strangely enough, I became interested in A/B/O fics only because of what they were saying about the role of women in our society. The limitations on the male omegas seem absurd and then you realize those are the same limitations put on women all. the. time.

Is there a place online (tumblr, twitter, AO3, etc.) where people can find you and/or your stories now?

RivkaT very nicely formatted everything and put it up on AO3. What is your favorite of your own fics, X-Files and/or otherwise?

I will always be stupidly proud of how shocked and horrified people were by Iolokus. The truth of the matter is that Iolokus has Greek drama at its core. Scully is Medea, and the entire story is lousy with “blood on the threshing floor” and Dionysian rites. The everyday is subverted into horror, and wives and daughters will tear men limb from limb like the Maenads. Since I was ultimately disappointed with what Chris Carter did with the entire show, that approach seemed appropriate.

At a certain level, all fic is corrective fic. Like critic Anne Jamison said, “Irritated fans produce fanfic like irritated oysters produce pearls.” And because fic has fallen so much into women’s sphere, a pure form of correction is not just the death of the author but the MURDER, a new creation springing up from the spilled blood like Cadmus sowing dragon’s teeth.

Okay, that’s a bit much. Maybe I should just take myself back to the isle of Goth Amazons or something. Do you still write fic now? Or other creative work?

I had to write a self-evaluation and a reflection on pedagogy today. If that’s not fiction, I don’t know what the fuck is.

All my creativity is caught up in trying to pretend to be a normal middle-aged white woman so no one knows I am really a lizard.

Is there anything else you'd like to share with fans of X-Files fic?

Keep writing, keep reading, keep fighting the commercialization of narratives. As things grow more and more commodified, all our dreams and desires reduced to tchotchkes made in China, it’s a revolutionary act to separate your work from the marketplace. Be bold, take chances, turn the trope on its ear and kick it in the ass. Take everything the creators have done to make a work palatable to the unwashed masses and set it on fire.

Be subversive.

Be mean.

Have a great fucking time.

(Posted by Lilydale on March 2, 2021)

#old school x #xfiles fanfic #xf fanfic #xf fanfic author interviews #mustangsally

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absent-angel · 3 years

Text

Writing on the Wall

Chapter 29: Body and Soul

Fandom: Inuyasha

Summary: Inuyasha doesn’t believe in haunted houses—until he actually buys one. Figures. A story told in drabbles. [Ghost AU] [InuKag]

Read it on ff.net

AN: Hope you all enjoy this chapter (because I've been dying to get to it)! ;D

In other news! If you like my writing and enjoy paranormal romances, my original novel Everlong is now available in ebook and paperback on Amazon. :DDDDDDD

Word Count: 1519

Warnings: Inuyasha’s potty mouth and, uh, character death. Because, you know, ghost story.

Chapter 29: Body and Soul

Inuyasha goes back. He has to. Kaede’s words are phantoms in his ears, clamoring voices in his head demanding answers. He has to know the truth, and Kagome is the only one who can give it.

The first thing he sees when he opens the front door is the writing he had left, unread and forgotten, the night he ran away from her. She must have been rushing, because it takes him more than a minute to make out the shaky symbols.

‘Please. Let me show you. Please.’ The last word is underlined five times; as if the once wasn't enough.

“Show me?” he scoffs, but the sound is weak. It’s hard to hate her, and it’s exhausting trying to remind himself of why he should. At the foot of the stairs, the cat sits and watches him with luminescent eyes—it’s tail twitching against the tread. “What the fuck does that even mean?” he mutters.

There’s no warning. It’s like being submerged in water, only it’s colder than what should be possible—like he’s swimming through ice. The blood in his veins is freezing and sending shock waves through his entire body. He tries to hold his breath, but the scream rips through him, ice fills his lungs and he thinks he’s a dead man.

Then it's gone.

He can breathe again.

The shock of it pitches him forward, and he gulps the air down greedily and with a desperation he’s never known. Beneath his curling fingers are wooden planks he doesn't recognize, and when he calms his racing heart enough to look up, he almost wishes he didn't. There are walls all around him, a roof above him, and—in front of him—a well. Somehow he knows he is in the same well house that's locked and boarded on his property. The same one Kagome told him never to open.

The hairs on his neck rise, the once gasping breaths are now burning in his lungs as he holds it in, because there’s the sound of footsteps on the other side of the door and—

The door opens. With the adrenaline still stampeding through his chest, it takes him a moment to realize who he's seeing. Her face is fuller—younger—than in the photograph. The green and white school uniform is one he recognizes as belonging to the junior high a few blocks from the shrine.

Impossible. It’s so fucking impossible, but there she is—blue eyes scanning over him as if he doesn’t even exist—and part of him wonders if he’s dead.

Kagome shakes her head, tucking her hair behind an ear and speaking over her shoulder as she steps in. “Are you sure, Souta?”

A young boy peeks his head from around the door, eyes flitting across the room. He doesn’t share his sister’s striking eye color, but there are other similarities—the nose, the cheekbones. Even if Kagome had never shared his name, Inuyasha suspects he would recognize the relation between them. “I’m telling you! I heard something! It was creepy!”

She rolls her eyes with a brand of impatience that seems reserved for siblings. “It was probably just Buyo,” she grumbles, even as she checks the other side of the well. Inuyasha steps out of her way, heartbeat hammering in his ears as he stares. She’s close enough he could reach out and touch her, but he doesn’t dare try. “There’s nothing here.”

“Gramps says people used to call it the bone eaters well!” Souta whines, eyes fixed on the well in question anxiously. “What if there’re demons in there!”

“He also sells fake Shikon no Tama on keychains and tells people they're real,” she scoffs. “There’re no demons. Look, I'll show you.”

Something in Inuyasha’s stomach sours, churning until he feels legitimately nauseous. He thinks about all of Kagome’s warnings; of the words still carved, nail-deep, into the dirt outside the well house. Her fingers slip under the wooden edge of the lid, and a jolt of panic prompts him to step forward.

Don’t!

He says it, can feel the word rattle his lungs and fly off his tongue, but no sound comes. He tries to say her name, screams warnings into the air, but nothing works and he watches in silent horror as the lid lifts.

Kagome looks over her shoulder, equal parts fond and exasperated. “See? Just an old well.”

Souta edges closer. Inuyasha tries to remember how to breathe. “Are you sure,” the younger boy asks, peering over the edge and into the shadowed depths. “I was sure I heard something...”

Kagome shrugs, lowering the lid. “Maybe it was just a—ow!” The well lid slams onto the ancient stones; Kagome snatching her hand away and hissing under breath.

Inuyasha jerks forward. The words that leave him, soundless, are the same as her younger brother’s.

“Are you ok?!”

She nods, cringing, and opens her hand for inspection. There is a gash across her palm, blood dripping off her wrist and onto the floor. “Yeah, I must have caught a nail...” She groans, lower lip pouting as her fingers close over the wound. “I hope I don’t need a tetanus shot.”

Inuyasha can’t take his eyes off the beads of blood seeping between the floorboards; a feeling—dread, fear, and horror all rolled into one—chokes him. And then the floor is moving beneath his feet, and when he looks up, he’s staring at his kitchen—his old kitchen, only it’s clean and new. Beneath the ringing in his ears, he can hear an echoed chorus of off key voices behind him. He turns around.

There are fifteen candles in her cake and an honest smile on her face when she closes her eyes and makes a wish. Then she blows out the candles, her family laughing and clapping around her, and suddenly it’s like he’s watching through a skip reel on fast forward. It’s dizzying and it makes his stomach lurch, but he forces himself to watch as another seven birthdays pass before his eyes in a matter of seconds. Kagome’s face gets thinner, her brother gets taller, on her mother he sees the beginnings of gray hair sprouting from her temples, and her grandfather’s wrinkles become deeper and his skin more transparent.

Then she’s blowing out twenty-two candles, and everything goes dark. Inuyasha waits, pulse thrumming, for someone to turn on the lights, but it never comes. A groan of old iron hinges and Kagome is silhouetted in the doorway with the full moon illuminating her face, and Inuyasha understands.

They’re back at the well house.

She pauses at the threshold, head tilting as she listens, and suddenly he hears it too. There is a scratching noise coming from behind him. Inuyasha doesn’t need to look to know that it’s coming from the inside the well.

Kagome shakes her head; blind to the horror rattling his bones and deaf to the warnings springing from his lips. “Buyo, did you get yourself stuck in there again?”

She lifts the lid. Shadows climb up the wall, thick and poignant—like oil spilling over silk.

Things go black, and when light returns she is staring down at her body—throat slit and blood still pooling over the floor. Soaking into the pink carpet. In her hand is the knife responsible.

There’s blood everywhere. It coats her fingers like crimson gloves and there’re splatters of it on her face and the white summer dress she decided to wear for her birthday. It itches against her skin, and she stares with confusion at the bloody footprints leading from the stairs to her room—to her. When she looks, the bottoms of her feet are red.

Panic swells, choking.

Somehow she knows, even though she doesn't remember, but she tells herself that it can't be right. Her family—her—they can’t be dead. She would never—

Then her body, bloodied and battered, rises—a puppet on strings. The head lolls forward and then back, as a laugh shakes the thing’s shoulders. It meets her horrified stare, and its lips pull back into a red-stained smile.

Inuyasha feels his spirit jolt, his eyes snapping open and a ragged breath entering his lungs. It’s worse than waking from a nightmare. The image of bloodied teeth still cast phantoms over his eyes despite knowing that he’s back where he belongs. He screws his eyes shut, counts his shaky breaths and wills the trembling in his hands to stop already. Then he opens his eyes, and he has to remind himself to breathe all over again.

Instead of seeing an empty room, he sees her. He sees Kagome. Her hands are on either side of his face, fingers cold against his temple. There are tears rolling down her cheeks and dripping off her chin. His lips part around a question he can’t even begin to communicate. He’s too entranced that he can see her—that he can feel her.

“I woke up the demon in the well,” she whispers, face crumpling. “It’s my fault my family is dead. It's my fault I'm still here.”

#Inuyasha fanfiction #inukag fanfiction #inukag #writing on the wall #my fanfiction #my writing

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radiosandrecordings · 3 years

Text

I wrote a big long post, and I’m not quite sure what my point is and also it’s 2am so by the end it’s pretty much nonsensical but I just wanted to get some feelings out in words, it’s more of a For Me thing really but idk, someone else might feel similar so:

Been thinking about Stuff recently and as I am want to do with every thought that rattles through my hollow little head, I’ve tried sifting it through a jmart lens. This originally came from a discussion I was having yesterday about how the fan base has changed a lot since jmart became canon, especially in terms of new people listening. But it was more in the context of it... I think there’s a tendency when people listen, specifically ones who came because they’ve seen fan art or they heard ‘omg canon gays!’ (It’s really becoming the new Night Vale and I have Thoughts on that but that’s for a separate post) to listen through the show as a means to get to them being ‘a canon couple’.

And I suppose there’s a route I could go down here where I talk about how that’s kinda derisive to the show to treat this whole complex story as only a vehicle to get you to the concept of boys kissing, but to me it’s more like... I mean ‘fandoms’ as they are now, really do have a tendency to put an emphasis on romance as the main thing to be focused on, even in media where it isn’t found, that’s old hat. But I Don’t Like That. I mean, obviously I love romance stuff, I read as many fluffy jmart fics with 0 bearing on canon as the next person, I’ve been writing those since season 3 when we had no idea this was coming, when it was still ‘the dinghy’ to a lot of people.

But the whole kind of overview of it is reductive not just to the show but to other forms of relationships I think? Again this isn’t TMA exclusive, this is a common thing, I’m just filtering through one specific thing here. One of my favourite quotes from Jonny was from the S4 Q&A, when he was explaining why Daisy and Basira aren’t a romantic couple, which is a whole OTHER thing and people’s ignoring of his whole logic for that has made me kind of prickly against the ship now, but that’s another topic. Anyway, he says “So, with each relationship within the series there is a specific thing that I’m trying to explore. A specific dynamic that I feel is- is the core of the relationship in something that I am really interested in exploring.” And I adore seeing TMA through this lens. With each character Jon meets, trying to figure out what it is that their specific dynamic with him is supposed to convey. How the whole show is about how people interact with each other and that’s why to me when you boil Jon down to his only relationship being his romantic one is just feels off.

Like I adore jmart, I truly do, and I get why they’re the most common. Romance is easy and fun to write about, and they’re the two main characters, they’re the ones we lock onto because we spend so much time with them. But if you sat me down and told me to make a list of my favourite dynamics in TMA, personally I would have them ranked third. I would rather talk about Jon and Georgie all day firstly, and then after that Jon and Gerry. Maybe there’s not as much to say for those two dynamics as their is for jmart due to the sheer amount of jmart interaction and content we have in canon, but I think the dynamics that are being explored there are more appealing to me personally to look at.

Another thing is this notion that relationships only really start when they’re agreed upon to be a reciprocated romantic partnership, and I think that’s something often missed when people rush forward to get to S5 and see them act all coupley. This idea that their interactions only matter if they’re in service to a ship. I don’t think people ignore them interacting before that, but more that people have a tendency to hone in on the parts they think they can point at and go ‘See, see, that’s where he has a crush on him!’. As if their dynamic wasn’t interesting in itself before it became romantic, and only holds worth once they have feelings for each other in a romantic manner rather than simply caring about each other, or even how they might not care at the start. Like, if you are friends with someone for five years, and then get a crush on them for one year, and then start dating, you have had a relationship with this person for six years but the one year of your feelings being romantic doesn’t change the five years to be un-platonic, you were just friends then even if feelings came later.

Side note - Obviously the romance gives it obvious appeal and reason for acclaim because if you come to TMA from out of an audio drama sphere, you are likely starving for healthy gay content and so of course you want to focus on that bit of rep. But there’s better media for that, audio is full of it, just because TMA is the popular show doesn’t mean it’s what you’re looking for if you genuinely don’t like horror or the story it’s telling and are only there for the romance. You can shop around a bit until you find the story you want, I promise you it’s out there if you go looking.

Back from the side note - I think what I mean to say is. This is probably me venting my frustration at allonormativity a little in pushing romance as The Superior Dynamic and all other relationships a character has as side notes. Though obviously there’s the caveat that Martin is Jon’s most important relationship to him, hell he called him his reason! But maybe I’m just a little frustrated at their romance being treated as a crux of the show instead of one important thread in a whole woven tapestry of themes and relationships. Again this isn’t dunking on anyone for making fluffy content because I will be sitting here gobbling that up, it’s just more of a... Vent at the way relationships are viewed in general? A bit of a “Funny, you criticise the prioritising of romantic relationships over all other kinds but yet you partake in the writing of non-relevant fluff fics!” I know, but there’s absolutely a place for them because they’re Good I think I just feel like they shouldn’t be the overwhelm if that makes sense? Even some of the stuff I’ve said here now that I look back doesn’t even really apply to jmart specifically so it’s more just. throwing my thoughts at a wall and using jmart to understand some of it I guess.

#My Post #I am unsure what im saying really. i need sleep perhaps #when i read this tomorrow it'll be NONSENSE wont it

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zodiyack · 4 years

Text

Baby’s First Bully (800+ Follower Special)

Pairing: Shelby & Gray Family + Female!reader + Elizabeth Shelby (no romance)

Warnings: Slight angst, fluff, possibly pure, heart-melting, cuteness?

Words: 1,407

Summary: It’s a wonder what a grown man would do for a child, let alone what 3 grown men with a gang of other adult men would do for a child that isn’t even theirs.

Note: 1, I’ve started putting a summary? I dunno, I’m toying around for right now. 2, THANK YOU GUYS SO MUCH! As usual, I’m at a loss for words, but it means so so so much to me. I love you all. Thank you. Oh also, Ellie is a nickname for Elizabeth!

Taglist: @matth1w, @redspaceace, @simonsbluee, @peakysputain, @fandom-puff, @darling-i-read-it

Masterlist | Peaky Blinders Masterlist

Elizabeth Shelby Origin

The morning Elizabeth trudged through the front door with watery eyes was the morning the boys had snapped. Polly was the first to notice, as she was waiting for Elizabeth to arrive from her walk home from school.

“Hello Elizabeth! How was- ...What’s wrong?” The smile dropped from her face and she began to inspect her great-niece. “What happened?”

“It’s...it’s nothing.” Elizabeth tried to sneak past her great-aunt, but the grown woman sighed and turned, picking Elizabeth up easily and plopping her down on a chair.

“Nothing is usually something. What. Happened.” When Elizabeth still didn’t respond, Polly shook her head and looked at her with a pleading face, “If you won’t tell me...will you tell one of your uncles?”

Thinking for a second, Elizabeth nodded. “Uncle Finn. He’s a good secret keeper!”

Polly couldn’t help but smile a little, the little girl sitting in front of her convinced by many things, a world of imagination in her little head, had so much to learn. To be young and innocent, Polly bit her lip before trailing off to find Finn, the memories made her heart ache with sorrow, rage, and joy all at the same time.

She watched from the doorway as Finn sat his niece upon his lap, making funny expressions as she whispered into his ear, hand making a tunnel between it and her mouth.

After Finn thanked her and got up, he walked to the kitchen, meeting Polly and sitting with her. “So, what did she say?”

Concern laced the boy’s brows, “She said she didn’t tell you because it’d be tattling and tattling is rude and she doesn’t want to be rude.”

“Bless her soul.” Polly put a hand over her heart, “Alright. What did she say happened?”

“A boy. He was teasing her, pulling on her hair. Laughing at her. Saying rude things to her-”

“She’s being bullied?” The two at the table turned their heads so fast, it was a wonder how they didn’t snap right off their necks. John and Arthur were standing at the doorframe, Tommy arriving just a few seconds afterwards.

“What’s going on? Why are you blocking the door?” He observed the expression on both Polly and Finn’s faces, taking note of their attitudes. “What happened?”

Finn was ready to tell his older brother to bug off, try to keep his promise of secrecy between his aunt and niece, but Polly beat him too it, ready to tell the man of the house what had been going on. “Ellie’s being bullied.”

“What?”

“She’s being b-”

“I heard what you said!” Tommy pushed his brothers aside and sat beside his aunt, taking out a cigarette and lighting it, only for it to be snatched by Pol before he could place it between his lips. “What are we gonna tell Y/n?”

“We aren’t going to tell her anything. If Ellie would like to tell her mother, then she can be the one to tell her mother, but for now, I think she’d like to keep it on the downlow.”

“She told you.”

Finn rolled his eyes, “Yeah, because she trusts me. It was meant to be for me and Pol to know, not you or John or Arthur!” A bang came from the other door, Johnny Dogs falling forward and causing Finn to roll his eyes yet again. “Or Johnny.”

“Yeah about that...I kinda told the others already. They’ll be here any moment.”

“Goddamnit Johnny.” Tommy groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose and squeezing his eyes shut. “Fine. But we ask Ellie what we should do beforehand. We will not be initiating any acts of revenge without her consent.”

“Good idea Tom.” The man smirked before rushing out of the room, fearing Tommy would have a worse reaction had he stayed.

Soon enough, the rest of the Peaky Blinders had arrived, gathering in the kitchen with Tommy and his brothers. Polly walked in with Elizabeth on her hip, smiling nervously. She set the minor down and nodded to the people in their infamous caps.

“Ahem...” Johnny stepped forward and kneeled, taking off his cap and brushing a hand over his forehead, “Miss Elizabeth? We hear you’ve been bullied. Would you like us to teach him a lesson?”

The little girl furrowed her eyebrows and tilted her head, blinking a few times. Then she looked to her aunt and back to Johnny before speaking, “What kind of lesson? Like numbers?”

“No, no. Not that kind of lesson. Like...give him a taste of his own medicine.”

“Oh no! Is he sick?” Some chuckles rang through the room, the people in front of Elizabeth finding humor her naïve responses.

Johnny sighed. “He’s not sick either-”

“That’s good.” Elizabeth smiled again, “ I don’t want him to be sick.”

“We’re asking if you’d like us to make him stop being mean. As in, be mean back to him, tell him to back off.”

A look of horror took place on her face as her eyes widened and she shook her head violently. “No! No! That’s mean! That’s mean, and we’re not supposed to be mean!”

The men next to Johnny looked at each other, Johnny exchanging looks with them as well, with confusion and cluelessness in what they were to do. “Uhm... Well, if you don’t want us to be mean...what do you want us to do?”

Elizabeth thought for a second, frowning as her brows reknitted themselves and her eyes darted around the room. Then, as if an imaginary lightbulb had lit up above her head, she smiled widely.

“I can read! My teacher tells me I’m an excellent reader, and that I’d be an even better writer...” She paused. “That’s when he told me girls can’t write. But that’s okay! I’m gonna prove him wrong one day.”

The men watched as Elizabeth walked to the family room, seemingly unphased by the comment the boy at her school had made to her. A part of Polly and her family felt proud, while the other felt somewhat shocked.

It was like the little girl was unbreakable, shrugging off the bullying as every day occurrences; like if an earthquake just happened every hour or so while she just sat in her chair and continued going along with her life as if the earth wasn’t shaking.

Blinking their surprise away, the group followed Elizabeth where they sat down on sofas and chairs, some even on the floor, around her. She pulled out a book and laid it on her lap, beginning the page with excitement in her voice.

Their expressions were no different; the room practically full of grown men and a little girl, all of the adults watching and/or listening with awe and intrigue, as if she were the adult and they the children.

Y/n walked into her family’s home, looking around with unease in the unusual silence. She heard her daughter’s voice and began walking to it, only to be stopped by her aunt. Y/n opened her mouth, preparing to ask what had been going on while she was out, but Polly clasped a hand over her mouth and held a finger up to her own.

Pol led Y/n to the room, showing her the chair occupied by her daughter, as well as the men around it, all either drifting off or already passed out. Despite their states, Elizabeth continued to read until she got to the last page, closing the heavy book when she had finished.

She hopped out of the chair and set the book where she had been sitting. Walking to Johnny Dogs, she pressed a kiss to his forehead and told him goodnight before hopping over the men who’d already fallen asleep on the floor.

Approaching the door, a smile relit her face. “Mommy!” She hugged her mother tightly, nuzzling her face into her, then pulling away. “I’m not ready for bed yet. I know it’s late, but I was reading uncle Tommy’s friends a bedtime story. I’m sorry for staying up, it won’t happen again!” Without giving her mother time to respond, she darted past her and up the stairs to get ready for bed.

“She’s too innocent to be a Shelby.”

“That’s true for now, aunt Pol.” Y/n shook her head as a lopsided grin graced her face. “But, to be honest, she’s one of the best things to have happened to this family. To have happened to me.”

Polly chuckled, “You can say that again.”

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wannabesewcrafty · 3 years

Text

Cold Comfort

Fandom: Debris (TV)

Summary: Set after 1.13 with some spoilers present. Fill for “11. Giving them a cold rag to put on their head because they have a migraine.”From this list by @emswritingprompts More notes at the end.

Finola squeezed her eyes shut against the harsh fluorescent lighting in the mobile laboratory that Orbital had set up. She had taken painkillers over an hour ago. They hadn’t made a dent in this headache of hers.

She cracked her eyes open again, trying to focus on her tablet screen and the fields she had to fill out for her latest report to Orbital. Under her black tablet, the lab’s silver metal table seemed to wink at her in the light. Why did Orbital have to use metal? It was so bright, like the lighting, like her screen…

Focus.

She managed to mark one box on the report before pain lanced through her head again, making her moan and put a hand to her forehead. She closed her eyes again, feeling tears well up behind her eyelids. The pain was excruciating now. It felt like a never-ending throbbing.

Push past it, she told herself.

The residual light bleeding through behind her closed eyes disappeared, and she realized that someone had turned off the lights in the lab.

There was a brief touch on her shoulder, followed by something cool, soft, and wet being pressed to her temple. She peered up and to her left, the glow from the tablet’s screen allowing her to make out Bryan at her side. He nodded at her encouragingly, and she took the wet cloth he had placed against her head, repositioning it where she needed it most.

“Thank you,” she whispered in the dark as he leaned against the side of the table and picked up her tablet to read it.

He didn’t reply, just tapped at the tablet every now and again, and when Finola felt the heat from her body had warmed the cloth too much for it to be effective, she somewhat sheepishly handed it back to Bryan, who crossed over to the trailer’s sink and wet it again before giving it back to her.

“Migraine,” she said when she felt well enough to speak at a normal volume again. “How did you know?”

He gave a shrug. “Some of the guys I knew in the service had them.”

“I don’t usually get headaches,” Finola felt compelled to add, removing the cloth from her forehead for the last time. “Maybe it’s a side effect from when I headbutted that INFLUX agent…a delayed reaction or something.”

Bryan didn’t laugh at her suggestion. He didn’t even smile.

“I was there when you were cleared,” he pointed out. “Now, I might chalk it up to stress or overwork,” he continued, “but then you wouldn’t be here. You would have washed out a long time ago.” He paused a beat before adding, “We need to consider the timing here.”

She swallowed, knowing what he was driving at. She had already considered the possibility that the Debris she had touched back at the quarry, or the piece that INFLUX had forced her to swallow, could be doing damage to her body. Hadn’t Maddox said as much when he had called Bryan and relayed how Ash had had Debris fused to his organs? Hadn’t Bryan said as much when he had told her that he himself had been injured in a Debris event with other agents? Not to mention the other horror stories she had heard and read about after joining Orbital…

“I’ve asked Ferris to start you on injections of your own,” Bryan said, breaking into her thoughts. “April’s already working on a formula. Get some sleep. Or eat something. Maybe both. I’ll write up the report.”

She opened her mouth to object, but the former Marine only looked at her steadily. He was serious.

Finola looked down at the rag she still clutched in one hand, trying to draw comfort from its cool dampness.

“Sleep sounds like a good idea,” she admitted. She stood and handed the cloth back to him. “I’ll be in our trailer.”

Bryan nodded and watched his partner walk away from him. Only when he was alone in the lab did he release the breath he had been holding.

-fin-

Notes: Originally, this was just going to be something nice and sweet but it took a turn because if Finola’s migraine was caused by stress or overwork, I think she’d have one every day with her job!

#my fic #bryan x finola #debris nbc spoilers

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nanoland · 3 years

Text

Title: Besyd the scarcety of bread amowngst us

Fandom: Supernatural

Pairing: Crowley/Dean Winchester

Summary: In which Dean asks a question.

Warnings: Crowley being Extremely traumatized and kind of oblivious to that fact + SPN demons being SPN demons (i.e. remorseless bodysnatchers) + Dean being his casually misogynistic self + graphic descriptions of starvation + exhibitionism (sorta?) + sexually explicit content because this was MEANT to be straightforward smut and then Crowley happened, the prick.

Also on AO3!

“So how come you aren’t a hot chick?”

The glass stills an inch from Crowley’s pale lips. “I humbly beg your pardon?”

It’s late. The bar’s quiet. He doesn’t need Dean to repeat himself. Just a moment to decide on a response.

Well on the way to utterly shit-faced, Dean gestures vaguely, meaninglessly. “You offer people stuff. Then, ten years later, you drag ‘em to Hell. And – and they know that’s what’s gonna happen if they make a deal with you. Which means that you gotta be real fuckin’ persuasive. Which you are. Grade A Bullshit Artist and don’t I know it. But... uh, what was I gonna… yeah, wouldn’t it be easier, right, just way easier if you were a hot chick?”

Crowley can tell he’s not done, so he keeps his silver tongue behind his faintly yellowed teeth for the moment.

While Dean is usually delightful company, in his surly, macho way, this evening there’s an uncommonly obnoxious edge to everything he says. That almost certainly means his insecurities over what he’s been letting Crowley do to his arse lately are acting up.

Understandable. Still annoying.

So Crowley’s more than willing to let his favourite human dig himself a wee bit deeper before pouring boiling tar into the pit.

After quickly throwing back the last of his drink, Dean goes on: “Now, I didn’t go to some dickslurp business school. I ain’t that brand of asshole. But I’ve seen enough beer ads in my time to have an idea of how marketing works. You got something you want people to buy? Fastest way is to get a hot chick in a bikini to hold it up. Because guys have most of the money in this shitty world of ours and guys think with their dicks. I know I do. So why did you decide to possess someone who looks like a balding, middle-aged banker going through a stressful divorce? That ain’t enticing. That ain’t capturing anyone’s interest. Y’know?”

“Mm,” says Crowley, and stands up.

“Fuck’re you doing?” Dean slurs, watching him take off his tie.

“Ever heard of the Seven Ill Years, Squirrel?”

“Nope. Seriously, what’re you doing?”

Draping his overcoat over the back of his chair along with his tie, Crowley sets about taking off his jacket. “‘The Seven Ill Years’ refers to a particularly shitty time in early modern Scotland; the 1690s.”

He tugs off his costly leather shoes and places them side-by-side under his chair. “I was in my… early thirties at the time, I think. Thirty-two? Maybe thirty-one. Whatever.”

Dean is gaping now. He’s never seen Crowley without his outer layers, much less the growing slice of exposed chest as Crowley unbuttons his shirt.

“For a lot of complicated reasons relating to oceanic thermohaline circulation, solar activity, and a few ill-timed volcanos, the weather turned rotten. These days, it’s called the Little Ice Age. Us pigshit stupid peasants who lived through it didn’t know anything about all that. All we knew was that it was freezing bloody cold and the crops kept dying.”

“Dude,” Dean hisses, red-faced as Crowley sets his shirt alongside his jacket and overcoat. “Stop it! We’re going to be thrown out!”

“No. Look around. Is anyone paying attention to us? Precisely. We’re invisible to them at the moment, Squirrel. One of my little tricks.”

“Oh. Okay, that’s good. But that’s still not an excuse to take your fucking pants off in public oh my God oh my God!”

They’re expensive pants and Crowley takes care to fold them before putting them down. “To cut a long story short; famine struck. And famine, it’s…”

Crowley pauses, thinking, ignoring Dean’s pathetic attempts not to gawk at his dick.

“It’s hard to describe famine to someone who hasn’t lived through one,” he says eventually. “Language – English, at least – isn’t equipped to convey what it feels like to be so hungry you’ll try to boil and eat someone else’s shoes. Then someone else’s children. Then your own children. There are no words for it. Or, if in some distant corner of our monstrous universe there are, then they’re words that would drive a human raving mad to speak them.”

Naked now but for his black socks, Crowley scratches his stubble. “Sometimes I think that’s why I got on so well in Hell.”

He sits back in his chair. Folds his legs. Taps his fingers on the side of his empty glass. “Don’t get me wrong; having someone cut open your lungs, fill them with scorpions, and sew them up again isn’t fun. But – how can I put this? – you can process it. You can grapple with it. You know why you’re suffering; because you’re in Hell, and that’s what Hell is for. It makes sense. What doesn’t make sense is going about your everyday life and watching all the people around you – the baker, the priest, the prettiest girl in the village – go about theirs while they turn into walking skeletons. And knowing they didn’t do anything to deserve it. Couldn’t have done anything to deserve it, because no crime, no matter how vile, warrants that kind of punishment.”

Dean says nothing.

After a moment, Crowley pulls himself from the dark, sucking well of memory to add, “Anyway, to answer your question; I don’t want to be a hot chick because a. I’m a man and b. hot chicks are skinny, and I will cheerfully burn this world to the ground before I endure living in a hungry body ever again.”

He glances down at his unclothed meat suit and smiles proudly, running a hand up one of its thick thighs. “Also – y’know – I personally think this long-deceased lad of mine is sexy as Hell.”

Gazing at his shoulder, Dean says roughly, “Didn’t know you had tattoos.”

“Oh. Those. Yeah. Can’t stand them. Worst decision the stupid bastard ever made.”

“I think they’re kinda cool.”

“Do you? Well, you do have incredibly bad taste so perhaps that’s not surprising. Now, are you going to get over here and put that erection to good use?”

Oh, bless him; he’s adorable when he squirms.

“Here?” Dean asks, eyes wide.

“Here.”

He says it like a challenge, for Dean can never resist one of those. Immediately, those wide eyes become narrow and determined.

The boy stands. Looms over Crowley, who casually flicks both their glasses to the floor and moves to sit on the cool wooden table. It’s clean, more or less, thanks to Dean (for once) agreeing to follow Crowley to a semi-respectable establishment.

“These hands,” Crowley murmurs, running them across Dean’s broad chest, “don’t have a single callous or scar. See? Soft as butter. Not a single day’s honest work, either of them.”

Dean swallows. Leans in to kiss him, hesitant and gentle.

Contrary to popular belief, Crowley likes gentle. Or, more accurately, Crowley likes being pampered.

He goes on: “And these legs…”

A groan escapes Dean’s lips as one presses up against his crotch.

“…these legs haven’t walked more than ten miles, collectively, since I moved in. No muscles. No blisters on the undersides of their feet. Not so much as a splinter.”

“Jesus,” Dean mumbles, drawing him in and latching onto his neck.

“And this stomach is never empty. Never even close. Never once forced to digest anything that isn’t purely, perfectly delicious. I treat my meat suits better than most people treat their family heirlooms.”

“Crowley. Fuck.”

He squeezes Dean’s arse and growls, “Because this is my reward, Dean. I won this. This softness, this safety. This nurtured, nourished flesh. I endured the seventeenth century and all humanity’s horrors. Endured my mother. Endured Hell. Built myself a reputation and a kingdom. All for this. And isn’t it wonderful? Say that it is, Dean.”

“Yeah,” Dean moans, even though he can’t understand a word; Crowley slipped into Gaelic a while ago.

(The things Crowley wants to tell Dean and the things Crowley wants Dean to know are categories that rarely overlap.)

Crowley takes Dean’s leaking cock in hand.

“Say I’m beautiful.”

Dean’s knees buckle as he whimpers, so Crowley wraps an arm around his narrow, underfed waist.

“Say you love me.”

Dean comes in his palm, gasping and cursing.

“Say you love me more than anyone else.”

“I’m guessing that was all Scottish dirty talk?” says Dean when he has his breath back. “You were – what? Calling me your bitch?”

Crowley smirks, licks the sweat off Dean’s jaw, and gives his backside a pat before reaching for his clothes. “None of your business. Go get me another drink, would you? Ta.”

the end

NOTES: The title is taken from a quote found in Karen Cullen’s ‘Famine in Scotland: the ‘Ill Years’ of the 1690s’ (you can find extracts via googlebooks). Yes, canonically Crowley WOULD have been about thirty when this happened. Just in case his origin story wasn’t horrific enough wheee :D

#drowley #dean winchester #crowley #supernatural #spn crowley #my fic

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padawanlost · 3 years

Note

Hey love your content.

Just wanted to ask you something. There's a claim I've seen coming up in fandom a few times now that Obi Wan knew Luke would bring his father back to the light and redeem him. That he even planned as much and this is supposedly evidenced by his not killing Vader in A New Hope and telling Luke to face Vader but not kill him in Return of the Jedi

I'm not convinced, but can you offer a more conclusive answer rebuttal or whatever.

I’ll be honest with you, this is the first time I’ve ever heard such theory so I’ve no idea where it came from or what arguments are being used to support it. All I can show you is the OT itself. The movies make pretty clear that Obi-wan and Yoda were preparing Luke to kill Darth Vader, and that Anakin’s return was something considered impossible until that point.

Because I don’t keep track of DisneySW, all the evidence I provided is strictly based on the original canon, as developed by George Lucas. So if Disney retconned something, I won’t be able to help :)

That being said, that theory doesn’t make much sense to me, sorry. For Anakin’s redemption to be part of some Obi-wan’s master plan, the character would have to have an impossible foresight into everyone’s involved past and future. For Obi-wan to be able to manipulate people and events to push Anakin’s into going back to light, he would first have to understand why Anakin fell in the first place. And if there’s one thing Episode III makes painfully obvious is that Obi-wan was nowhere near Coruscant when Anakin made his fatal decision, nor was he aware of the circumstances that led him to it. Everyone who knew what truly went down were either dead or his new worst enemies.

With that in mind, let’s take a look at Obi-wan’s (alleged) ‘master plan’:

In Episode IV, we have Obi-wan openly lying to Luke about where he came from and dueling Vader (literary to the death). Not exactly the actions of a man who wants the son to save the father’s life.

In Episode V Obi-wan tells Luke not even Yoda had the power or skill required to see into the future of Han and Leia. Considering they were captured by one of the most even being in the galaxy, it wouldn’t be that hard to guess their future did not look pretty.

Luke: But, Han and Leia will die if I don't. Obi-Wan: You don't know that. Even Yoda cannot see their fate.

The idea here is tied to an important concept in SW: free will. The characters are fundamentally free to make their own choices. Anakin, despite being manipulated by Palpatine, ultimately made his own bed. This is true to all of them. Palpatine’s ‘master plan’ wasn’t about controlling people into doing what he wanted, it was using their own nature against them. He nudged them into the making poor decisions, he never stripped them of their agency.

Obi-Wan: It is you and your abilities the Emperor wants. That is why your friends are made to suffer. Luke: That's why I have to go. Obi-Wan: Luke. I don't want to lose you to the Emperor, the way I lost Vader. Luke: You won't. Yoda: Stopped, they must be. On this, all depends. Only a fully trained Jedi Knight, with the Force as his ally, will conquer Vader and his Emperor. If you end your training now, if you choose the quick and easy path as Vader did, you will become an agent of evil. Obi-Wan: Patience. [...] Obi-Wan: If you choose to face Vader, you will do it alone. I cannot interfere.

Unless you see Obi-wan as a manipulative, cruel person who wants an untrained Luke to face two of the most powerful beings in the galaxy alone for his own personal, secret plan, I’d say the movie is pretty clear in showing us that neither Yoda nor Obi-wan want Luke to face Vader at that point. If the plan was to get Luke to going, wouldn’t have been easier to just let him go instead of creating an huge argument about it? Hell, they are willing throw Han and Leia under the bus to keep Luke from leaving. If that wasn’t shady enough now we are supposed to believe that was part of an even worst scheme involving pretty much everyone?

Yoda: Told you I did. Reckless, is he. Now... matters are worse. Obi-Wan: That boy is our last hope. Yoda: No. There is another.

Yeah, it doesn’t sound like using Luke to redeem Vader was their ultimate goal here.

There are some pretty big holes in that theory in terms of character development and narrative structure. I know everyone loves the idea of Vader and Obi-wan having some badass duel in ANH but the truth is Vader had spent the last 20 years training and killing pretty much all kinds of enemies imagine while Obi-wan mediated on Tatooine as grew shockingly old for his age.

As proven on Mustafar, raw power only takes you so far. Anakin has always been much, much more powerful than Obi-wan but in the end Obi-wan won because of skill, training and discipline. Unfortunately, for Obi-wan, he didn’t get much training in his isolation. He couldn’t have because he was in hiding! If that wasn’t enough, the EU confirms that Obi-wan sacrificed himself to allow Luke to scape. There was no secret plan.

Obi-Wan risked a glance through the hangar’s open doorway and saw four stormtroopers guarding the Falcon. He also sensed that Luke was nearby. Hoping to cause a distraction that would allow Luke to board the Falcon, he attacked Vader more vigorously. The noise of clashing lightsabers echoed into the hangar, attracting the stormtroopers’ attention. With his peripheral vision, Obi-Wan saw the stormtroopers leave their stations beside the Falcon and run toward him and Vader. He continued his attack on Vader, and several exchanges later, he sensed Luke’s movement and knew his plan had worked. He risked another glance into the hangar to see several figures racing for the Falcon’s landing ramp: the droids, Chewbacca, Han Solo, Luke, and — Leia! Obi-Wan hadn’t known that Princess Leia was on the battle station, but he recognized the girl in the white dress from the hologram that R2-D2 had displayed. Obi-Wan did not believe in luck or coincidences, and seeing Luke unwittingly reunited with his twin sister, he knew that it was not a tractor beam that had brought him to the battle station, but the will of the Force. His fleeting glance also registered that Luke had paused behind his friends. Luke stood a short distance from the landing ramp and was staring straight at him, gaping. Obi-Wan realized there was only one way Luke, Leia, and the others would escape the battle station alive. He smiled as he looked away from Luke, then closed his eyes and raised his lightsaber up before him. Darth Vader did not hesitate to strike. [Ryder Windham. The Life and Legend of Obi-Wan Kenobi]

Imo, this theory ruins the character of Obi-wan by making him pretty much omniscient and way more powerful and manipulative than he was in canon. Obi-wan wasn’t perfect, but he wasn’t palpatine level of manipulative either. He had no ‘grand plan’ beyond using Luke to kill vader and save the galaxy in a desperate attempt to save the galaxy.

On top of that, let’s remember that Obi-wan had no hope left for Anakin. He did not believe Anakin could be redeemed after Mustafar. If you do not believe md, believe George Lucas.

After the first complete take, Lucas and McGregor discuss when he should say each line: “As you watch Anakin slide down, how about if you take one step forward,” Lucas Suggests. “For a moment, you think about it. Your first impulse is to save him – but then you realize you can’t”. As the takes multiply and the actors find their rhythm and emotions, the scene becomes more and more powerful. Christensen yells “I hate you!”. McGregor says, “I love you. But I will not help you”. Lucas explains that what Obi-wan’s really saying to Anakin is: “Your were our only hope and you blew it. Now we don’t have any hope”. Take. After Anakin implores Obi-wan to save him, George asks Ewan to say “I will not…” softer, almost to himself. Take. “After he burst into flames,” Lucas directs, “it’s as if you’re talking to a dead person. To a piece of toast”. He suggests, to drive home this point, that McGregor change the words in the script to the past tense, “I loved you.” The actor acquiesces, but points out that his subsequent line would have to change to “But I could not help you.” Lucas agrees, and Tenggren alters the script accordingly.[ The Making of ROTS]

Another thing that George is very clear about is that Luke is the one who redeems Anakin.

It really has to do with learning. Children teach you compassion. They teach you to love unconditionally. Anakin can’t be redeemed for all the pain and suffering he’s caused. He doesn’t right the wrongs, but he stops the horror. The end of the saga is simply Anakin saying, I care about this person [Luke], regardless of what it means to me. I will throw away everything that I have, everything that I’ve grown to love - primarily the Emperor - and throw away my life, to save this person. And I’m doing it because he has faith in me; he loves me despite all the horrible things I’ve done. I broke his mother’s heart, but he still cares about me, and I can’t let that die. Anakin is very different in the end. The thing of it is: the prophecy was right. Anakin was the chosen one, and he does bring balance to the Force. He takes the ounce of good still left in him and destroys the Emperor out of compassion for his son. [ GEORGE LUCAS - THE MAKING OF REVENGE OF THE SITH; PAGE 221.]

This brings us back about what I said earlier about narrative structure. This is Luke’s story. Obi-wan is the mentor, that’s it. It’s Luke’s actions, Luke’s choices. To suddenly reveal that everything happened was the result of Obi-wan’s plan would be narrative equivalent of a slap in the face. We watched Luke’s hero journey only to find out his journey was a lie and his choices weren’t really his own. How disappointing!

Not only that but redemption comes from within. Even if Obi-wan had planned for everything, Anakin would need to WANT to change. and knowing it was Luke’s selfless actions that drove Anakin into killing Palpatine, suddenly finding out an ulterior motive behind Luke’s actions (beyond the character’s own goodness) would diminish the weight of Anakin own choices.

But, again, Obi-wan couldn’t have planned for Anakin to return to the light because he didn’t even believe one could be redeemed after such evils.

Obi-Wan’s spirit was invisible but present when Luke arrived in the Endor system, where the Empire had constructed a new Death Star battle station. When Luke surrendered to Darth Vader on the Endor forest moon, he listened as Luke maintained his belief that a remnant of Anakin Skywalker remained within Vader and had not been entirely consumed by evil. Luke urged his father to let go of his hate. Vader said, “It is too late for me, son.” Then he signaled to two stormtroopers to escort Luke to a waiting shuttle that would carry them to the Death Star. As the stormtroopers moved up behind Luke, Vader added, “The Emperor will show you the true nature of the Force. He is your Master now.” Luke stared at Vader for a moment before he said, “Then my father is truly dead.” Obi-Wan’s spirit wished he had convinced Luke of this fact earlier. [Ryder Windham. The Life and Legend of Obi-Wan Kenobi]

Even as they fought, Obi-wan didn’t believe Luke could save Anakin. It was only after witnessing Palpatine’s demise he started to realize what it meant.

Obi-Wan knew that Vader would never help, and he felt almost overwhelmed by a sense of dread. Luke would soon be dead, and Vader would remain the Emperor’s puppet. In fact, Obi-Wan was so convinced of Vader’s nature that he was stunned by what happened next. Vader grabbed the Emperor and lifted him off his feet. [Ryder Windham. The Life and Legend of Obi-Wan Kenobi]

Had Obi-Wan’s spirit not witnessed Vader’s action, he never would have believed it. Vader, the same monster that Obi-Wan had left to die on Mustafar, had sacrificed himself to save his son. And suddenly Obi-Wan realized where he had failed. For unlike Luke, Obi-Wan had not only believed that Anakin was completely consumed by the dark side, but had actually refused to believe that any goodness could have remained within Vader. [Ryder Windham. The Life and Legend of Obi-Wan Kenobi]

Btw, in ROTJ, Obi-wan doesn’t try to talk Luke out of killing Vader. In fact, the oppositve of that happens:

Luke Skywalker: There is still good in him. Obi-Wan: He's more machine now than man. Twisted and evil. Luke Skywalker: I can't do it, Ben. Obi-Wan: You cannot escape your destiny. You must face Darth Vader again. Luke Skywalker: I can't kill my own father. Obi-Wan: Then the Emperor has already won. You were our only hope.

Star Wars, at its core, has a very simple message about love and the power it has over people. in the end, the good guys won because they were good, not because they were being guided there by some powerful guy. In the end, it was love that won the war and saved the day. Everyone’s love. Luke’s love for Anakin, Anakin’s love for Luke, Han’s love for Leia, etc. Selfless love makes better people and good people do good things. It’s not about manipulating actions, people or even knowing everything. In fact, I’d say it’s the appositive.

Luke didn’t know he could save Vader, but he tried anyway and that’s what makes him a hero. It’s the not knowing but having faith in someone out of love, faith they can be better than they are. That’s what saves the world. It’s not knowing everything and still acting out love and compassion.

Anyway, I honestly don’t know where this idea of Obi-wan knowing Anakin’s future and planning for it came from. But I do know it’s not supported by the movies, the EU or George himself.

#ask #englishlady #what if #obi wan kenobi #sw meta #meta: fandom #txt #meta: anakin #meta: obi wan

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nat-20s · 3 years

Text

MEDIA THAT I RECOMMEND YOU CONSUME INSTEAD OF SUPERNATURAL FOR BOTH HEART AND HEALTH BROKEN DOWN BY TYPE OF MEDIA AND WHY YOU MIGHT LIKE IT IF AT ANY POINT YOU, LIKE MY POOR POOR SEVENTEEN YEAR OLD SELF, WERE INVESTED IN THIS ABSOLUTE GARBAGE FIRE OF A SHOW

with apologies to anyone on mobile who’s readmore function APPARENTLY doesn’t work

(I haven’t watched supernatural for at least five years and, given any sort of luck, I will never do so again, do not @ me)

hello babes. I am talking to you know bc I keep seeing supernatural, unironically, on my dash, and I think we can all do better. I see what’s happening and I think: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hU3i_o5Xd4g

Supernatural is fudge stripes. You are Megan. We can fix this.

So a list of alternate things that I think are overall better written/characterized/just generally more enjoyable that might scratch some of those itches:

TV SHOWS

Good Omens

okay look if u were on tumblr last year u probably already watched this show but like. If u haven’t, it’s only six episodes babe and there’s a large enough fandom that u can go down a fanart hole for days on end

Basic summary: the antichrist has reached that lovely young age where he’s supposed to bring about the apocalypse. An angel and a demon who have decided that actually they like the world as is, thank you very much, try to stop the end times. They’re not very good at it though, which makes for a comedy of errors.

Shared elements with supernatural that you might Vibe with: theologic (mostly christian) exploration/parody/imagery without inherently being a religious show. Fighting off the apocalypse narrative, which I think pretty much always goes hard as hell, but that’s just me. There’s a gay angel who’s socially awkward. There’s a fun very British demon. Touches on the hierarchies of heaven and hell, with framing Heaven as a bureaucracy and blurs the differences between angels and demons. Pining. Tenderness. A deep nostalgia for 80s music, though in this case it’s specifically queen, and who doesn’t love queen. Main character has a weirdly strong bond with his black vintage car. Satan is (sort of) fought.

Gravity Falls

sometimes...things that are kids shows...with a set story and a predetermined ending...are better

(also this isn’t relevant to any of what I’m talking about but I really appreciate that Gravity Falls specifically went against the thing that most begged me about ATLA aka that a 15 year old girl would be like yeah I’m into a 12 year old boy because the 12 year old boy has a crush on me and I apparently don’t get to really have a say in this. How does that make sense.)

Basic Summary: Twelve year old twins Dipper and Mabel go to stay with their Grunkle Stan for the summer in a small Oregon town called Gravity Falls. Turns out this town is filled with all sorts of strange phenomena that they often have to confront, work around, learn about, or befriend!

Shared elements with supernatural that you might Vibe with: The core focus of the show is a close sibling duo, but like It’s obvious that the siblings actually like and love each other and while they have their spats it’s still incredibly clear that they deeply care about each other even with their differences LIKE SORRY SUPERNATURAL YOU CAN’T JUST TELL ME THAT SIBLINGS CARE ABOUT EACH OTHER AND THEN THEY SPEND ALL THEIR TIME FIGHTING AND LYING TO EACH OTHER AND GENERALLY ACTING LIKE THEY CAN’T STAND EACH OTHER’S COMPANY BUT THEN OOOHHH YOU CRY ON TOP OF THE HOOD OF A CAR EVERY THREE EPISODE AND SUDDENLY THEY’RE SOULMATES OR WHATEVER

Anyway. Yeah. GF has a solid sibling dynamic. Monster of the week that builds up to greater over-arching plot. A little bit of body horror, you know, for humor. Fair amount of meta humor playing with the tropes of the genre. A Good Ol Big Bad that tries to pit the siblings against each other. Have to fight the apocalypse (you’ll see this point on like a good half of these recs, I really like ‘what are we gonna do about Armageddon’ media). Interesting creature design. Planned, satisfying ending (which supernatural absolutely does not have, but I still think if it had ended with the season 5 finale like it uhh pretty obviously was supposed to, that would sort of counted. Don’t revive shows that have clearly already told their stories kids.) Tie in media that gives you some fun extra stories when you miss the characters. (yes I read some of the supernatural novels when I was a c h i l d, yes I’m pretty sure there’s one or two of them still buried somewhere on my laptop, no I don’t wanna talk about it.) Older father figure (?) who owns a tbh kind of shitty shop. Both already in place and found family.

It’s a good show, and it’s two seasons. John Mulaney Voice: I dunno it’s 40 episodes

MINI REC ALERT! (mini recs are basically things that I’m not gonna go into detail about for whatever reason [probably either due to i’m not familiar enough with it OR I just don’t like. Have a bunch to say about it in regards to how it will scratch the itches presented to u by spn] but still seem like a Good Watch)

Mini Rec: Over The Garden Wall. Spooky Kids Media! Episodic! Miniseries so you can watch it in like 2 hours! Cool ass Animation! About two brothers encountering said spooky stuff! Big Bad tries to pit brothers against each other! Might haunt you for the rest of your life! Check it out!

The Haunting of Bly Manor

I think about this show every goddamn day of my life. (Also not relevant but Greg Sestero makes a brief cameo in it and I was like hi greg my friend greg!)

Basic Summary: An girl named Dani, while staying in London, decides to take on an Au Pair job for two young children, an older brother named Miles (age 10) and the younger sister Flora (age 8) at the spoooooky and mysteeerious Bly Manor, and she gets far more than she bargained for.

Shared elements with supernatural that you might Vibe with: Okay so supernatural doesn’t actually do this but I know I KNOW why we let ourselves be queerbaited in 2012. Four words for you: CENTRAL! GAY! TRAGIC! ROMANCE! You want some pining? Some tenderness? Some LOVE? Some dealing with internalized homophobia but no, like, actual violent onscreen homophobia? HAVE I GOT THE SHOW FOR YOU. If ur favorite episodes where the ones that make you sob (for me it was kevin’s death on god), I recommend this show. If you wished that supernatural literally ever had consequences or perma deaths or didn’t retcon major plot events like every five goddamn episodes so that there could be some exploration of like grief and trauma through the lens of/ higher stakes of horror, I recommend this show. If you really do stay up at night picturing a supernatural that wasn’t made by dumbass cishettie white men hack writers but was actually allowed to have Dean and Cas be in love over the course of the show so they could have like actual development and not the most homophobic gay reveal of all time, I recommend this show. Hell, if you just want a banger ghost story in general, I recommend this show.

As for what they actually have in common: horror setting/aesthetic without actually being all that scary most of the time. A strong sibling duo, though they’re not nearly as much of the focus of Bly Manor. Found family. Strong themes of grief. Questions of what turns someone into a monster (and done much better) An actual, much better noble sacrifice done out of love. Escalation of stakes until there’s a big final confrontation. Semi-big bad trying to tear this family apart. Found and pre-installed family. Sad orphans.

Watch this show. Vibe with me. Cry with me. Yell at me about Owen Sharma

MINI REC ALERT!

Haunting of Hill House- spiritual predecessor to Haunting of Bly Manor, though they’re not actually the same universe/story. However, it’s made by the same dude and has a shared aesthetic/sensibilities/some of the cast. This is only a mini rec bc I haven’t actually seen it, but I’ve heard good things and that it, while much more heavily leaning into family dynamics, has similar themes of exploring Grief and Trauma through ghooossstttsss.

Community

Okay I know that this may seem like a Wild rec considering community is a school sitcom with basically Zero paranormal elements but just like. Hear me out. And no this isn’t just because I think it’s a realy good show and I want more people to watch it, though that is a factor. If I was just recommending comedies that I think are good and more people should watch regardless of them serving as a replacement for supernatural I would demand you all go watch Galavant and Crazy Ex-Girlfriend. I’m gonna demand it anyway. Everyone go watch Galavant and Crazy Ex-Girlfriend. Now back to your original program:

Basic Summary: A group of students at Greendale Community College form a Spanish study group, and things quickly go Off The Fucking Rails in the best way possible.

Shared elements with supernatural that you might Vibe with: All right I’m gonna be real honest this rec is for all of my (correct) bitches who’s favorite episodes of Supernatural were French Mistake, Changing Channels, and/or Mystery Spot. You think if Supernatural would’ve been fucking fantastic if it had been a committed comedy instead of a CW melodrama that occasionally landed some admittedly really fucking funny episodes/concepts, Community (and the movies on this list) will gently take you into its loving arms and give you everything you desire. It’s about the Meta comedy. It’s about the discussion, exploration, and subversion of common tropes within the format. It’s about the grand use of group/ found family dynamics in order to max both the goofs and the heart. It’s about fantastic callbacks. It’s about having one of the few “asshole with a heart of gold” leads I can actually stand because. You know. Growth. It’s about the INCREDIBLE genre and pop culture parody. Which genre do they parody, you ask. All of them. They parody all the genres. The glee parody episode is a fucking masterpiece of television. If you don’t want to watch a show that features a Halloween party where everyone turns into zombies and the ABBA discography blasts in the background, you can stop reading right now, because I can guarantee you won’t be interested in a damn thing I have to say.

MINI REC ALERT: The X-Files. I’ve also never seen this but a: everything I’ve seen out of context has been fantastically weird and delightful b: it appears that there’s a general consensus that Scully and Mulder are one of the only valid straight couples so it’s probably pretty fun and c: let’s all be honest. Supernatural was already basically an x-files rip off, it had like half of their original writers swiped from the x-files crew, I’m pretty sure if you liked especially the first couple of seasons of supernatural, you’re gonna like the X-files.

Subcategory: TV SHOWS ( A WHOLE TWO OF ‘EM, OR MORE LIKE ONE AND HALF IF YOU WANNA GET TECHNICAL) I’M SPECIFICALLY RECOMMENDING FOR THAT COCAINE HIT OF PURE UNADULTERATED UNCUT 2012 TUMBLR NOSTALGIA

BBC Merlin

Yes, I know the show ended in 2010. Yes, it still provides that 2012 Tumblr nostalgia. 2012 Tumblr is a feeling, not an actual time period.

I love this stupid show. I plan on rewatching it all over the month of January. I harbor a deep amount of fondness for it. It’s why every time I see literally any depiction of Merlin I get just so fucking excited, and why I’ve consumed as many ridiculous Arthurian adaptations as I have (side note: my two favorite other ridiculous Arthurian legend adaptation are Avalon High, a DEEPLY silly DCOM that is required viewing to level up friendship with me, and The Kid Who Would Be King, which is the only movie that I think truly understands the comedic potential of playing a King Arthur Adaptation mostly straight but everyone in it is 12. I’m not sure it intended to be as fucking funny as it was, but again, they’re all middle schoolers. I have never been more jealous of an actor than I was of the 22 year old that got to play a 16 year old dumbass Merlin who was sometimes also Patrick Stewart and did all of his magic with ridiculous hand gestures That should’ve been me that should’ve been me that should’ve been me. Also Sword in the Stone by TH White is pretty good, because Merlin knows germ theory in the fantasy 400’s and he just uses it to be petty mostly. Also listen to High Noon Over Camelot by The Mechanisms. Also Also I tend to prefer family friendly adaptations because they don’t have the uhhh. You know. Incest and sexual violence of the original legend. Love to Not have that shit!) Whether you watched it initially and are due for a rewatch, or you’re intrigued enough by the concept of the show to watch it for the first time, you should join me on this wild wild ride.

Basic Summary: You know who Guinevere, Arthur, and Merlin are, come on. BBC said let’s make em all YOUNG let’s make em SEXY let’s make em FAMILY FRIENDLY and let’s make magic REALLY SEEM LIKE A THINLY VEILED ALLEGORY FOR BEING GAY BUT TO THIS DAY IM NOT SURE IF THAT WAS INTENTIONAL OR NOT BUT IT SURE SEEMS LIKE IT WAS. @ THE BBC MERLIN CREATORS WHAT IS THE TRUTH BECAUSE THERE WAS SOME INTERVI-

Basic Summary but like a bit more helpful: A BABY version of Merlin (and by baby I mean like 20 year old.) is sent from his small town to the big city the Kingdom of Camelot to find his destiny. Staying with the town physician and friend of his mom’s, Gaius, he ends up as both his assistant and personal manservant to Prince Arthur. But in a kingdom where magic is punished with death and the prince seems hell bent on getting himself into situations that are going to kill him, the young sorcerer has his more than his share of work cut out for him.

Shared elements with supernatural that you might Vibe with: Primo supremo queerbaiting. Like, yeah, okay, it’s queerbaiting, you know it’s queerbaiting, but you watch some of the scenes and ur like okay. I know why I let this bait me. Obviously with a modern show, I would expect more, I would expect better, I would raise my standards, but I gotta admit. Some of these scenes are fuckin compelling as hell, and the subtext is like barely sub. Monster of the week shenanigans. Some awful CGI creatures but like a charming awful. Like the kind of awful that tells you their very limited budget was more focused on cool swords than realistic creatures. Episodic stories build into a more overarching plot, with things getting darker in season 4/5. Shitty father that end up eating shit and while the son of said father is rightfully conflicted and upset over the death it’s cathartic and victorious as all hell for the audience. Multiple hot evil women, and I love hot evil women. There’s also nice hot women, which is a bonus. These women don’t all immediately stupidly die, so that’s a nice change. Also like a LOT of sarcastic humor and shenanigans if u like Sass Merlin is there for u personally name a more iconic line than “Oh I’m sorry, how long have you been training to be a prat, my lord?” AND THAT’S IN THE FIRST FUCKIN EPISODE brilliant amazing fantastic show stopping. Also you know those like dumb hijink episodes where like Dean was possessed by the spirit of a dog or some shit? You bet your bottom fuckin dollar BBC Merlin has those kinds of storylines. Also I know some people go to spn bc it had that HUGE fanbase and like BBC Merlin’s fanbase is still SURPRISINGLY poppin even though it’s been a decade since there was new content so like. Have fun!

Doctor Who but Specifically the RTD Era

Look I’m not here to say that the first four seasons of reboot doctor who are the only good doctor who or inherently better than all the rest (though the RTD era is my favorite personally) BUT when ur seekin that sweet sweet superwholock frenzy nostalgia, this is the ‘who’ that is being referred to. Also like. Stan 9. We should all collectively stan the ninth doctor. Chris Eccleston, the Objectively Best Famous Chris, deserved better.

Basic Summary: An immortal alien that goes by “The Doctor” travels across time and space with a variety of different companions, often to try and save the day or fix a (sometimes self created) mess. It’s distilled campy sci-fi with a family friendly tone that has made me cry on several occasions.

Shared elements with supernatural that you might Vibe with: Monster of the week that, you guessed it, builds into bigger overarching plot style narrative. Fighting off the apocalypse, but like every couple of weeks because worlds are in danger a LOT. A semi-tragic romance that made people go absolutely buck fuckin wild bc pining n shit. Wamen, but they aren’t fridged. (actually for real though none of the main women die and I just think that’s really fun and flirty even though I could go on a COMPLETELY SEPARATE rant about the injustice of one of the character’s ending YES season 4 is my favorite season and one of my favorite pieces of media ever and I am currently actively recommending it to you YES im still fucking pissed over how it ended YES we exist) Specifically, a Wonderful and Very Excellent woman named Donna who goes on a spa trip that doesn’t end up going very well. That seems like a highly specific example, and it is, but it did happen in both shows. (Also, to anyone that continued watching SPN after like idk season 9 what happened to Donna? I always liked her and I know she became a recurring character so like DM whatever probably injustice was the end of her story line pls and thank you) I’m also extra specifically recommending for Supernatural Fans and also The World At Large: Season Four of Reboot Who. I rewatched it last year and it still goes so fucking hard. Donna Noble is the best character in existence. In regards to the appeal for SPN, personally I think the best part of SPN was when people who are soulmates went on adventures and tried to save the day and it was a good mix of banter and sincerity AND GUESS WHAT’S BASICALLY THE ENTIRETY OF SEASON 4 OF DOCTOR WHO. It’s so good y’all I wish Everything was about soulmates going on adventures and trying to save the day.

OKAY TV SHOWS DONE TIME FOR M O V I E S which I don’t have nearly as many recs for but uhh here goes

What We Do In The Shadows/ Shaun of the Dead

I’m lumping these two together bc my reasons for recommending them are largely the same, and I would call them tonally similar enough that if you like one you’ll probably like the other

Basic Summary (Shaun of The Dead): Uh-oh! London’s had a break out of some of that good ol’ zombieism. Shaun and friends decide to hunker down in a local bar, but they have to get there first. Will they survive? Will they fuck up some zom zoms? Who’s to say?

Basic Summary (What We Do In The Shadows): Some vampire roommates dick around. I think there’s technically, like, a plot, but it’s really just about some vampires Doin Their Thing. Vibin.

Shared elements with supernatural that you might Vibe with: This is kind of similar to the Community recommendation, in that supernatural had the opportunity to be one of those things that was both a parody of a genre but also just a really good example of the genre. WWDITS and SotD are both those things for vampire and zombly movies, respectively. Have the aesthetic and some of the themes of a horror but is not actually all that scary. Horror Comedy is a god tier genre and I don’t know why it’s not more widespread. Fun monsters/cast of characters in general, so at least one person in it is probably going to make you go “oh gender” ya know? With SotD you have the fantasy power trip that comes with like any piece of media that involves hunting monsters. With WWDITS I go “yep that’s how bisexuals dress” and I Will Not Clarify which character I’m talking about.

MINI REC ALERT: All of Taika Watiti’s filmography. Thor:Ragnarok is one of like 3 marvel movies that I consider genuinely fucking fantastic completely independent of the MCU and my own tendency to be like “hurr bdurr I love. Superheros”. For the one that is most tonally like Supernatural But Significantly Better and Written By Someone Competent I think I would say try out Hunt For The Wilderpeople. It’s got a reluctant curmudgeonly father figure and I KNOW some of you motherfuckers were so invested in spn when you were like 16 bc you had daddy issues. This is a callout post for my friend [REDACTED], who I should text to watch Hunt for the Wilderpeople, actually.

MINI REC ALERT X2!!!: Bram Stoker’s Dracula. I’ve never seen it but it has both Winona Ryder AND Keanu Reaves so like. Goth bi rights.

Happy Death Day (and Happy Death Day 2 U)

happy death day was one of those movies that I saw the trailer, went “eh”, heard other people say it was great, watched, and went holy fuck this slaps. Not nearly as much of a slasher film as the trailers implied if im remembering the trailer correctly

Basic Summary: Our main character Tree keeps waking up on the day she was murdered. The day resets every time that she dies. That’s right, it’s a time loop storey babey!!!!!!!!!!!

Shared elements with supernatural that you might Vibe with: If you were anything like me you were foolishly lulled into supernatural for way longer than you should’ve been on the promise that the characters would idk like grow and change and become better and learn lessons and some of that would be through the power of receiving love and kindness. You know. Like how good writers would do it especially if their main characters are kind of dicks that really should make some changes. Well, Happy Death Day fucking delivers on that promise in SPADES. It’s about growth! It’s about change! It’s about making the active decision to become a better person and putting effort into doing so! There’s heavy themes of like grief and trauma and acknowledging them and facing them head on in order to move on and the negative consequences of refusing to do so and just trying avoid it until it goes away. There’s a romance that makes my dumb little self do the pleading face emoji. Tree is also one of the only good asshole with a heart of gold characters. I also think media is improved by having at least one character that is a Good Good Boy (note: Good Good Boy character does not have to be a man.) and Happy Death Day has Carter. Oh on that note: Tree Voice: I’ve only had character for (the same repeating over and over) a day but if anything happens to him I’ll kill everyone here and then myself. Also the movie is funny so like hell yeah.

that’s all I got for relevant movies right now

BOOK RECS

jk i’m illiterate. Everyone should feel free to go ahead and add their own suggestions for this section The best I can do is uhhhh I think y’all would probably like Mira Grant’s novels, particularly the Newsflesh stories, bc sibling dynamics. Also the book The Haunting of Hill House is really good. Ballad of Black Tom slaps? There’s of course the Good Omens novel that the show was based on. I’m about to recommend some podcasts after this section which will include to Welcome to Nightvale because of course it will and the tie in novels for that slap, especially It Devours!, and I’m pretty sure they work as stories even if you know nothing about the podcast. Also also I think you should read “The Long Way to A Small, Angry Planet” by Becky Chambers It’s not thematically similar to supernatural at all but it’s one of my all time favorite sci fi novels and only like four people have read it which is a goddamn TRAVESTY.

Anyway yeah that’s it that’s all there is. Onto the medium that is like books but I can fold laundry or cook while consuming their narratives.

PODCAST RECS

Okay so this is getting uhhh wicked long so I’m gonna limit myself to only three full blown recs and a

mini rec

Alice Isn’t Dead

Fuck me running this show is so good. Literally hands down my all time favorite (and scariest!) horror podcast. Mamma mia, that’s a good fuckin story. The Book version is also good and has fewer Weird events but some further character development so I recommend them both.

Basic Summary: After her wife Alice disappears mysteriously, Keisha takes up a job as a long haul trucker, traveling all across America in order to find her, but ends up finding so much. Pursued by a deadly creature she calls The Thistle Man, the stakes of her journey are raised.

Shared elements with supernatural that you might Vibe with: okay so I have a lost of bullet points of things that appealed to me specifically about supernatural and how no other shows covers all of them which sucks bc it means I basically Yearn for a show that’s supernatural but good. Alice isn’t Dead, however, hits the most of these bullet points AND is so fucking good. It has monster hunting. It has stopping a cataclysmic event BUT also discussion of the cyclical nature of events such as these and how the fight never truly ends but you can make some fucking progress nonetheless. It has a central gay romance that’s actually a central gay romance. It’s the ONLY show on this list that really hits that the weird and dark underside of americana vibe but specifically the americana of not like suburbs and shit but that eerie haunted feeling you get when you’re hours into a late night drive on open roads with no civilization around and an expansive sky and it just Seems like something should be watching you. Have you ever been out for a walk at midnight and encountered a deer and you looked into each other’s eyes and it felt like it was telling you a message that you couldn’t possibly hope to parse? Have you ever felt an incredible sense of deja vu eating in a restaurant you couldn’t have possibly been in before, because you’ve been to a thousand diners a thousand times just like one, and there’s an incredibly sense of homogeneity even though you’re 2000 miles away from anyone and anything that could possibly know you? Have you ever traveled to an area that seems to be stuck in a bubble of time, the only thing that shows any evidence of having aged past 2006 being yourself, and you wonder how your cell phone even works around here? THAT’S the spooky americana I’m fuckin talking about! Messed up road trips! Too much goddamn space! America is scary because it’s big and Filled With Things but also Not Enough Things! Fuck yeah!!!!! That time bubble fuckin EXISTS in Wyoming the most recent song on the radio I heard was fuckin Hey Soul Sister!

Also has a thing where like are there even good guys and bad guys in a conflict or is it all just one umbrella nightmare that you’re trying to stand against in anyway possible (u kno..like how the overarching structures of both heaven and hell were kinda fucked in spn? No spoilers but similar shit be happenin in Alice Isn’t Dead). Exploration of what makes someone into a monster, like how do you go down that path? Also this is the only show on this whole damn list that southern gothic music really suits it so points for that.

The Magnus Archives

You know I had to do it to ‘em.

Basic Summary: Jonathan Sims has just become the Head Archivist at the Magnus Institute, a “research” “facility” that looks into paranormal/esoteric/unexplained phenomena.

John Mulaney Voice, Again: Nobody knows what the archivist is going to do next, least of all the archivist. He’s never been in an archives before, he’s just as confused as you are.

Shared elements with supernatural that you might Vibe with: Oh fuck this document is over 5k long I said I wasn’t gonna do this hhhhh so lipton lightning round: Slowburn Gay Romance but Actually Canon, Monster Hunting but Hey What Even Is A Monster Anyway, Acts Somewhat like a Loosely Connected Horror Anthology until it DOESNT, Little Things Build to Bigger Narrative, Characters Be Goin Through It (On God These People Need Therapy), Trying to Prevent/Fix The Apocalypse (X2!!!), Smug Asshole Big Bad, Horror as a Metaphor For Various Shit, Basically if you thought that the Men of Letter concept slapped and you think it should’ve been the whole damn show including being Deeply British you would probably really fuckin like TMA. Also if ur like the ideal piece of media is a horror tragedy but also like it’s a wacky sitcom but also also fuck cops. U will like tma.

Welcome to Nightvale

IF ANY 2012 TUMBLR FANDOM DESERVES TO MAKE A MASSIVE COMEBACK AND BE EVERYWHERE AGAIN AND ABSOLUTELY FLOOD MY DASH IT’S WELCOME TO NIGHTVALE WHY DID WE ABANDON THE SHOW THAT TREATED US THE MOST KINDLY DID YOU KNOW THAT EPISODES 108-110 ARE THE BEST FUCKING BUILT UP NARRATIVE REVEAL THAT I HAVE WITNESSED IN MY LIFE DID YOU KNOW THAT IT CONTINUED TO BE REALLY FUCKING GOOD AFTER MOST PEOPLE STOPPED LISTENING DID YOU KNOW CECIL AND CARLOS ARE MARRIED AND THEY HAVE A DOG AND A TODDLER NOW BECAUSE OF ALL THE GAY PODCAST PROTAGONISTS CECIL GERSHWIN PALMER LOVE OF MY LIFE ELDRITCHIAN CHEERLEADER AND CERTIFIED BIMBO KEEPS FUCKIN WINNIN BABY. DID YOU KNOW THAT CECIL THINKS PEANUT BUTTER IS A ROCK.

Basic Summary: Welcome to the sleepy desert town of Ņ̶̏ight V̶͚̰̮͗̔̊̊ale! Community radio how host Cé̵̟͚͕̗̞̙͂͑̽̄́c̵̤̼̞͈̪͓̍̽̋̚̕͜il Pǎ̵̧̨̢͚̻̈̂̄̇͐̇̊̀̆ͅl̶͚͎͕͉͖̬͓͑́̐̒̍̿̈́͢͜͝ͅm̸̧͙̟̖̠̳̬͋́͋́͌̚̚ͅȩ̙̖͎̖͂́̒͐͜͞r̢̢̛̰̻̮̺̩͙̼̈́͋̀͘ is here to k̠̠̰̦͙̯̥̎̄̆͌̎̀̿̔̌̚ê̷̢̬̥̞̩̯̘͒̽̈̓͐̂̔̍e̶̡̝̗̺̫̪̜͆̓̿̈͌͌̆͒͞ͅp̵̹̗̬̼̠̬͙̏͐͐̉̅͊͊́͟͞ͅͅ ỷ̛͙̞̦̦͖̑̉̌̎͞͡͡͝ͅo̧̧̥͎̻̥̲͇͋́́̔̈͌͞ǔ̸̬̯̫͇̦̮͕̤̲̯̽̔̀̔͆͋̈́͘̚ up to date all the local happenings, including w̸̢̢̢̧̡̡͍͖̻̳̹̼̼̰̬̭̱͔̲͙͍̰̠̥̺̝͖̺̖̼̮̼̞̳̞̜͉̤̯͇̖̳͖̠̙̺̲̤͇͈͚͓̮̭̱̭̩͚̟̥̬̟̻̝̼̖͚̘͐̆̅̂̃̈́͆͊̉̏͒́̈́̋͗͑̄̉́̐̌́̿̌͛̾̎̊̾̃̈́̉̔̍̐͛̕͘̚͜͜͠͠é̵̢̡̧̨̨̡̧̨̡̛̹̥̥̞̮̯͙͈̻̝͓͖͙̦̰͍̖̜̲̰̞͎͈̭̯̳͕̗͓͈̭̫̼̯̪̞̯̰̲̘̭͎̪̱̗̝̝̞̤̱͉͙̯͎̬͎̙̜̗͉̩̦͕̪̳͇͙̺̙̰̠͚͎̜̠͔̬͎̺̣͕̜̊̓̃̐̂́͂̎̐̾̔̽̀̉́̍̊̂̿̎͂͐̎̐̄̍̔̋̐̃͗̈́͂̀̒̊̎͘͘̕̚̕͜͝͝͝͠ͅͅa̸̡̧̡̡̨̡̨̛̛͙̣̘̳͎͖̥̝̟̱̩̥͙͉̝̲̙̮̩̩̹̱͔͎̥̹̻̜͚̭̬̳͚̤̙̖̯͎̱̫̞̪̻͖̱̞͔̭̻̺͚͚̯̬͓͓̳͇̳̦͓̞͈̮̤̭̣͉̲̞͚̘͗̆̃͌̅̍͊̓̈̇̌̒͊͑̊̏̊͌̈̓̿͗̒̏̒͊͒̏̃̎̒̀̅̾̍̀͘͘͜͝͠ͅt̵̢̡̨̧̧̛̛̛̯̤͓̘̻̤͓̪̰͔̪̝̫͎̻͔͈͎͔͙͕͈̰͓͍̀̏͒̆͋̈́̈́͂̔͋͆͂̅͗̍̆̍̆̔̑͊̏̈͒́̽͊́̿͂́̓͛̽͐͌̌̐̈̇̃̓̆̍̅̃̔̚̕͜͝͝͝ͅͅh̸̨̨̡̢̢̡̢̧̡̧̢̡̨̡̭̜̬̬̙͕̗̙̻̯̠̘͙̻̥͉͚̼̗͚͇͉̰͍̥͉̗͎̬̫͖͉͔̼̮̯̞̫̬̟̻͉̖̙̥̫͖̬͚̟̜̭͇͎̭̘̝̲̤͕͎̰̭̗̯̮̤̙̙̯͍̞̭͚͔͎̞̹̲̟͉̩̭̖̱̠͍̺͈̟̩̋̆̈́͆̍̆̄̏͜ͅͅȇ̸̢̢̨̨̧̛̜͍̺͎̬̪͙̻̝̣͓͈̺̩̳̟̲̠̣͈͎͎͈͉̙̪͖̳̺͇̹̊̍͊͑̿͊̌͛̿̓͊̾̀͂͛̉͆̾̽͆̈̏͛̊͛̍̈́̇͋̔͂̑͐̂̿͊̽͑͘̚͘͝͝͠͝ͅͅŕ̵̨̡̨̨̢̧̡̧̨̘̟͙̦̲̲̪̦̙̼̠̳͚̞̦̞͖͚͇̳͖̲̭͕̜̫̳̖̙͖͉͎̘̘̤̠͈̬͕̝̻͚̥͍͕̠̥͙̙̪̖̯͍̘̘̲̣̹̜̪̲̭̟̮̫̖̤̰͔̩̩͉̲͚̟̝̦̬̪̘̬̮̱͔̻̦̼̃̐̂͋̐̅̋͒̉͛́̅̈́̒̒͆̑̆͊̒͒̀̍̈́̍͌̍̏̔͋͌̒̍̌͛̓̈̂̐̕͘͘͜͜͝͝͝ͅͅͅ ̶̢̡̨̛̠͇̹̯͕͍̻̟̼̼̗̩̱̗̙̱̥̜̬̫̜͎͉̺̣͓̟̯̱͖̣̞̠̝̥͍̲̳̙̠͔̹̘̲̲̻̖̈́̊͋͜͜ą̵̡̧̟͕̬̳̜͈͈̳̝̜̣̬͔͈͈͎͉͍̯̟̞̺͎̝͇̰̥͖̬̯͙̤̬̼̲̦̯̭͓̠̺̳̱̰̮̎͋͆̈́͌͆̎̉̓̇̐͋͋́̃̉̈̄̏̓̉̿̅̒̉̒̉͂͛̄̀̇̒͊͛́͊̎́͆̌̆́̌͂̈́̽̋͛͗̑̊̀́̍͊̌͆͊͐͆̅̒̊̉̾̄͛̑̕͘͘͘͘͝͝͝͝͠͠͝n̸̡̛̛̛̛̛̙͎̬̦̠̼͓͈̝̾̍͑͛̅̒̾́̌̍͛̇̋̇̓̏͛̔͛̈́͆̿̌͐̿͊̿́͒̍̃̀̈͐̐̆͐̉̒̂̉̀̅̇̾͋̍͒̋̈̌̿͒͐̍́͗̀̌̌̚̕̕̕͘̚͘͘̚͜͠͝͝͝d̴̡̢̢̛̛̛̺̠̳̬͎̞̲̣̲̱̳̪̹͉̝̠̱̗̙̫̠̹̼̙̝͉̲̟̮̙̙̮̻̹͈̦̙̞͚̜̙̖̞͓̙̭͉̃̽̌̅̔̾̈́̒̽͑́̒͋̓̈́͆͋̽̒̃̽̋̐͌͂̍͑́̽̋̍͗̋͗͂̅̽̈̈̾͐̄̃̕̕͜͠͠͝͠͝ͅͅ ̵̡̡̢̛̛̗͚͍̺͇̲̳̯͓̰͍̙̮̙̜̟̞̣̼͕̝͔͙̺̫͈͈̠̻̘̱͍̦̭͔͈̤̺̗̮͕̦̞̘͍̯̻̝͓̤̳̫͔̩͉̬̈́͋̈́̐͒́̔́́̿̓̆͐̎͆̇͒̄̈̿̓̑̾̏̔̿͊̌͆͒̒͊̓̅̓́̔̅̀̀̀̃̿̂̑͂͆̅̎̾̏̓̂̈́͛͌̇̾͌͐̈̂̆͐̅̓̍̓̃̆͗̃͛̏̒̌̀̅͊́̽̐̆̿́̌͘͘̚̕͘̕̕͜͜͜͠͝͠͝͠t̷̢̥͓̄͗̾̄̅̚͜r̵̨̡̨̧̧̢̛̛̛̛̛͍͙͚̥̱̞̜̦̜̼̺͉̠̬͎̰̻̜̼̫̤͓͖͖̤͇̞̥̖̈́͊̆̓͊̑̑̋̒̈́̔̆͆́̐͛͑͊͋̇̈́̓̑̍̏͐͛̽̋̎͑̃̈́͒̇̂̇̌͂̀̍̊̇̓̋̈́̌̏̕͘̚̕̚͝͝͠ǎ̴̡͓͓̯̘̥̱̱͖̦̺͓̘͉͖̞̟̦͈̜̥̰̘̞͈̦̠̼̯̙̭̼͚̟̖̲̠̝̜̐̅͆̏̈́̍́͂̃̾͑̓͋̽̄̾́̾̆̾͒͋̎͂̈́͘̕̕̚͜ͅͅf̷́͋̓̅̀͋͐̀̄̊̆̉̒̐͒̀̏̈̇̊̉̆̐̏̾̀̀̓͛͆̍̾͗͌̀̄̔͒̀̍̈́͆̔̒̑̏̍̏̚̕͘̕͠͝͝͠͠��̢̡̡̧̢̨̡̧̢̢̧̡̧̫͖̖͇̲̫̮͕͉͓̩̪̳̹̩͎̖̟̤̤̲̟̪̫̻̻̖̟̦͉̼͎͖̭͍͖͎̖̳̳͙̜͉̝̘̺̖͚̙͉͕͙̯͖̞͚̮̲̻͉͙̺̭͓͎̤͙̦̦̺̯͕̜̰͍̳̙̦͉̪̥͆́̾̐̂͋̂̔̂́̓̓̌͌̉͛́̒̐̽̏́̑͊́̌̆̂̑͋̇̈́͌̑̿̅͗͜f̴̨̨̛̹͌̂̓͌͛̀͑̾̓̍͗̽͆̉̊͗̇́̍͌̊͐̔̈́̊̇͆̄̃̑̕̕͘͘͘͠͝͝͝͠i̴̧̡̢̢̧̢̨̨̧̧̧̛̛͎̗̳̦̘̙͓̦̙͔̜̼̘͇͇̺̭͉̠̩̟̤̥̘͙̤̩͔̪̱̻͈̪̼̼̞̠͎̟̹͕̻̭̤̪̲͕̟̺̻̻͖͕͚̣͇̖̰̝̩͈̤͕͇͕̝͙̙̪͔̗̫͇͎̙̲̲͖̗̘͉̲̣̤͎̔̐̆͒̄̈́̀̎̃̃̅͆̌̈́̽̈́̅̈́̑̄̇͒͐̀̐̀̒̍̀̓͌͗̓̽́͗̓̎͂͛̅̑̔̀͛̈́̽̾̃̊͊͆̄̍͑̍̆̌̾͗̄̊̽̉̅̆̀̎̀͑̿̎̋̄̆̃͐̾̏͛͒̍̋̅͘̕̚̕̕͜͜͝͝͝͝͠ͅͅc̷̛̛͚̝̻̣̞̓́̃́̀̃̓͗͌̂͛́̒̊͑̓͆̇̈́͑̏̆̀͌̑͂͂̄͌̉̔̋́̎͒̿͗͒͛̇͛̿̎̍̕̕̕͝͝͝͝͝ ̴̢̧̢̡̨̢̡̨̡̢̢̛̺̘̹̯̤̩̘̯͔̞̟̬̠̣̟̻̥̜̤͔̥͕̠̥̞͎̗̩̱̮͉͔͎̲̯̱̙̜̥̳̮͔̦̣͖͔̜͉̗̪̳̹̦̤͇̣̙͕̯̫̖̝̼̹͍̠͎͓̗͎̦͓̲̯̱̠̰͇̮̹͔̝͉͙̹̜̹͈̹̥͖̣̳̲͖̓́͌̈́̈́̀͌̄͂̌̾́̍̔̊̓̿͋͂͋̈́̋́́̒̓̀̒̃͂̀͑̐͛̆̆͒̈́̅̿͊͌̍͗̌̌͆̂͌́̉̏̒̓͊̾̒̓̋̽͐̏̾͘̕͜͝͠͝ͅͅr̸̨̢̛̪̞̬͓͔̥̤̣͔̭̥̙͉̦̗̠̳̩͙̂̈́͑͑̿̋̓̀͋͆̋̕͝͝ë̴̢̡̨̬͈͉̖̞͔͎͓͖̼̘̬͕̰͈̥͈̝̩͎͉͉̫̜͚͕̤͔̟̯͓͎̟͙̜̭̩̗̮͎̗̤͇̝̩͎̜̺̯͕͇̝͎̯͙̖͙̮̗̮̘́̑͑͛̂̅̄̌̽̓̒̾̿͆̏̏͐͛̾̂̃͑͆̅̄̿͋̅͂̈́̽͋͒̎͐̒̓͆̌̉͑͊́̀̈̾͛̋͑̋̎̈̀̽̀͊̏͘͝͝͝͝͠͝ͅp̴̧̧̡̢̢̢̛̛̛͚̟͓̖̭̪̻̪̲̬̥̙̥̰̼̹͎͕̪̞̮̺̰̬̘̫̤͉̦͙̮̖̙̹̻͔̖̮̲̞̣̻̜̠͇̬͚̱̦̼̲̮̀̂͌̍̈̒̍̋̌̏͐̓͛̉̂̈̀͑̈́͊͗͋͗́̂̎̎̃͆͒̅̑̇́̈͐̾̀̔̒̉͑͒̅̓̈́̋͋̀̍̄̿̌̀̉͆̇̔̈́͗̋̄̓̇͗̎̉̆͊̒͗̚̕͘͘̕̕̚͜͜͝͝͠͠͠͠͠ͅͅͅơ̶̢̡̧̨̡̛̛͔̦̼̰̠̯̰̟̲̣̜͙̲͙̪̱̱͕̺̪͈͉̺̻̙̥̲̩̲̩͔̠͚̩͓̞̠̯̟̫̣̗̦̰͉͚͙̺͎̼͖̥̙͈̯̲̝̞͎̻͕̮͔̰̖͔̭͙̩̼͔̫̹̘͓͔̜̘͍̍̅̄͋͑̋̍̊̉̄̈̽̈͐̀͌͐̆͊͂̐̋̃̎͆͛̐̀̂̿̈́͂́̈̌͐̇̀̒͋͑͐́͌̐̇̊͆̀͂͋̏́͋͆̏͗͂͑̂̓̽͘͘̚̕̕̕̕̚͘͜͜͠͝͝ͅͅͅr̴̨̨̨̧̨̛̘͕͈͔͙̠̬̯̩̗̰̗̬̦͈̗̝̣͓͓̟͕͙͈̠̘̻͓̭̝̘̦̦͓̭̘͙̻̙̼̩̰̝͈̱̝̱̬͉͙̣̖̮̲͈̙̱̩̣͕̦̰̮͔͈͓̙̮͍̳̟̠̞͎̱̣̰͕̩̝̲̝͐́́̍̈͐͋̐̑̌͋̓̈́̈͗̿̈̈́͗̑̚͜͜͜͜͜͝ͅͅţ̴̢̨̧͇͉͎̣̬̣̝̗̬̹͇̮̞̈́̐̌̇̈́̌͊̐̅̂̌̂͒͌́̈͌̂̊͗̍̿͑͋̎̓͂̀̎̎͒̾̏̒͌̃̄͋̌̾̍̈́̐̏͑̊̍͑͆̉̓́̆̌̾̓͊̊̈̑͘̚̕͘͘̕͝͝͝͝͝s̴̢̢̡̛̬̹͚̻͉̦̦̣̦̠̜͕̤̳͓͙̟̬͕̘̦̿͗̉̏̒͆̓̄͊͌͛͂͑̒̃͛͘͜͝͝!

Shared elements with supernatural that you might Vibe with: Honestly, probably bc Nightvale and Alice are by the Same Dudes, a lot of these points are the same as Alice Isn’t Dead, but it’s less scawy and more funney. Also hits the “horror, but make it kind of a sitcom” vibes. Doesn’t have the same road trip vibes, but DOES capture the exact weirdness of South Western USA, so I’m still giving it “fucked up americana” credit. If you’ve never been to New Mexico ur like this is an exaggeration clearly no desert town is subject to like ACTUAL cosmic horror and unexplainable sights but I’m telling you New Mexico is just Like That. (I highly recommend visiting the land of enchantment if you ever get the oppurtunity it is a deeply odd and wonderfully unsettling experience.) Look man it’s gay it’s a horror comedy cecil has a wonderfully soothing voice and it hates capitalism so fucking much like oh my god so much what more could you want.

MINI REC ALERT: Wolf 359! I have nothing deep to say about this I just like it and my gut tells me that y’all would enjoy it too I know there isnt much for physical descriptions in the show but I know in my heart that the main character is so so pretty and so so stupid. I KNOW yall like some himbos that experience character growth.

Okay since It’s my party and I’ll speak if I want to rapid fire list of podcasts I just like and want more people to listen to even though I’m behind on like all of them shhhhh: The Penumbra Podcast, BomBARDed, Dungeons and Daddies, Stellar Firma, Wonderful!

SONG RECS

okay these aren’t like replacement recs or anything they’re just really good and I almost certainly would have put them on some sort of supernatural playlist in 2013 but I don’t, like, have a good playlist for them now so I’m subjecting y’all to them also they all have the youtube link for ease of access

Woah There Kimmy- Felix Hagan & the Family

Devil’s Backbone- The Civil Wars

Blood On My Name- The Brothers Bright

Awake O Sleeper- The Brothers Bright

The Bottom of the River- Delta Rae

Old Number 7- The Devil Makes Three

The Bullet- The Devil Makes Three

In Hell I’ll Be In Good Company- The Dead South

Bartholomew- The Silent Comedy

Pomegranate Seeds- Julian Moon

Curses- The Crane Wives

Tongues & Teeth -The Crane Wives

OKAY THAT’S IT! THAT’S ALL FOLKS! FUCK!

#long post #if you didn't want this blame of-mice-and-mentality for enabling me posting #supernatural

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