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chaoticallysapphic · 3 years

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the great trial part six

summary: This was meant to be the easy part. The part filled with brightness and love. The war was over and you had the love of your life all to yourself. No more Baatar, no more secrecy and no more lies. But with the calm comes the realization as all the adrenaline finally leaves you. Now you know, this is the hard part.

a/n: you can really tell I needed to be held while writing this. Thank you @medeliadracon for being the best editor/beta reader ever

word count: 7.9k

3. Tell your partner why you love them.

Spring is near its end, the days have grown hotter as the sun beats down on the metal city. And with the end of spring comes a special day, your birthday. In the last few years, it was nothing big, Kuvira would usually promise you something great one day like an elegant necklace or first edition books. Those three birthdays spent with her felt strange and hollow. You knew each time she got so caught up in it all that she forgot. Two days before your last birthday you even heard Bolin remind her.

And whilst she's no longer constantly busy with the task of uniting the Empire, you didn’t think she’d remember. You also didn’t expect the guests that arrived later that fateful day.

When you wake up, feeling slightly excited about the day, you wake to an empty bed. At first, that familiar feeling of panic (smaller than any of the others before) tightens around your chest until your gaze drifts to the open door. The morning light shines through the sheer curtains you had installed in the living room and casts Kuvira in an angelic glow.

Her dark hair has been braided, the style reminds you of the day you met. She’s sporting a pair of shorts and a large sleep shirt of yours (it used to be your dad's) along with a pair of the knitted socks you got for Winter Solstice. You bite your lip at the sight as your heart slowly begins to beat at its normal pace again.

Slowly sitting up you stay in bed with the blankets covering your lower half as you grab her pillow and hug it. Your chin rests on top of it as you watch your lover make you breakfast. Even if she doesn’t remember, this is already better than your last three birthdays.

You don’t know how long you sit there and dreamily watch her but you do know that when she finally catches your gaze, most of whatever she’s prepared has been set on a tray. “You're meant to be asleep,” she says in defeat.

You bite your lip as your smile widens at her words. She grabs the glass of mango juice she was in the middle of filling when she finally felt your eyes drilling holes into her backside and places it on the tray with everything else.

Kuvira grabs the metal tray by the handles and carefully walks over to your bed. You place her pillow down and scoot over until your back hits the headboard. You help her set the tray down, not wanting to stain the sheets if anything were to spill. Spirits, you want to cry, not because of anything bad, but simply because you can tell how much effort and time was put into the meal at hand.

There’s a stack of apple pancakes with a cinnamon mixture drizzled on top, the pad of butter is half melted and you notice the little pitcher of syrup set beside it. There’s a small bowl of chopped fruit along with a few pieces of perfectly cooked crispy bacon. “I wanted to surprise you.”

Gulping you look into her eyes and say “you surprised me.” Slowly, afraid of knocking over the tray you pull her close so you can softly kiss her. Your hand is on her shoulder as hers are holding her up on either side of your legs. She’s leaning over the tray as she kisses you back with such gentleness that it makes your heart clench at the love you're currently feeling.

Kuvira reluctantly pulls away, ever since that night a month ago that ended with you sobbing she’s tried to keep either of you from getting carried away. She wants you so bad, but it’s not time, and she won’t risk the delicate balance that the two of you have recently found.

“Happy birthday.” Tears well up at her words as you let out a wet chuckle. Every little problem has momentarily vanished in this sweet moment. She reaches her hand up to gently wipe at the tears, if not for your smile she’d be worried that you were upset.

“Thank you….” You look down at the meal before you as you pick up the fork laid out on a napkin. “This looks amazing, Kuvira.”

You eat in peaceful silence and Kuvira moves around so she’s sitting beside you and has her chin resting on your shoulder with her arms wrapped around you, your back pressed against her chest. The pancakes are heavenly and you thank whatever force compelled Kuvira to start cooking because this is the best thing you’ve ever eaten.

“Do you want a bite?” You cut a piece off for her and lift your fork. She shakes her head.

“It’s for you.”

“But have you eaten anything yet?”

“No, but I’ll eat something after.” You raise your fork to her lips anyways, and she sighs before opening her mouth. It’s weird feeding her but you kind of like it, once she bites the piece off you lower the fork you watch her reaction. You smirk when she groans at the taste and before you know it she’s reaching for your fork again. “Hey wait!”

“That’s amazing and I made it, so I deserve more!”

“It’s my birthday breakfast!” You're both grinning from ear to ear as she tries to take the fork from you. There’s a dip in the bed as you both continue to struggle over it, she’s beginning to win and there’s this smug look on her features.

Suddenly her eyes widen as she looks behind you but before either of you can stop whatever it is she sees the sound of Lily gobbling said pancakes up fills the room. Turning slightly so you’re no longer facing Kuvira you see that the plate has been licked clean as Lily stares at you both, her tail viciously wagging back and forth.

“Well it looks like neither of us is gonna eat them,” you say, it’s still for a moment before you laugh and Kuvira joins you. Perhaps some other day you would have scolded her but right now you're too happy to care.

You split the bowl of fruit and bacon between the two of you and make Lily lay on the ground to keep her from stealing anything else. Her long snout is raised in the air as she sniffs the bacon that you feed Kuvira.

“What do you want to do today?” She leans back a bit and loosens her hold around your waist. You bite your lip as you try to think something up, growing up your parents would make a picnic and take you across the street to your favorite place on earth where you’d eat amongst the flowers and spend the day basking in the sun.

Unfortunately with your house arrest that isn’t possible. Someday you’d like to spend it that way again but with Kuvira there as well and Lily napping in the sun beside you all. But today, after everything, you just want it to be as peaceful and relaxing as it possibly can.

“I just wanna listen to the radio and cuddle you.” Kuvira warms at your words, that’s a plan she can get behind. So you both force yourselves out of bed and place the tray in the kitchen. You turn the radio on as Kuvira lays down on the couch, turning the dial so the volume is lowered a few notches you climb onto the couch and lay between her legs. Resting your head on her chest, you sigh happily when her arms wrap around you.

The afternoon is peaceful and sometimes one of you breaks the silence to say something in hushed voices. The windows and garden door are open, which allows a cool breeze to flow through the room and graze your skin. You're just about to fall asleep when someone repeatedly knocks on your door.

“The fuck?” Kuvira groans out. She had fallen asleep some time ago and is being rudely awoken to the knocking. Your parents aren’t meant to come over until dinner time like Kuvira and your father planned, and from what she can tell it’s only midday.

Reluctantly you extract yourself from Kuvira’s hold and head over to the front door, by now the knocking has thankfully stopped. Sleepily rubbing your eye with one hand and you open the door with the other. Once the person on the other side catches who is greeting him he pulls you into a hug so tight it causes you to wheeze.

“Happy birthday!” Bolin lets go of you, causing you to stumble back two steps. Kuvira’s eyes widen as she sits up and watches him place his hands on your shoulders with a grin. “You’re one year older!”

“You… Remembered?” Your brows are raised in surprise as you notice the large gift bag behind him on the floor. Meanwhile, Kuvira is debating going to hide away in your room, not because she’s scared of Bolin but because this is your day and last time they spoke he didn’t hold back his hatred for her.

“Of course, how could I forget one of my best friends' birthdays?” You step aside to let him in, so he grabs the bag and makes himself at home by placing it on your coffee table. Kuvira stands so she can swiftly excuse herself but stops when Bolin sends a forced smile her way. “I thought I’d come to visit Zaofu and see you, plus I missed Opal.”

“How is she?” You’re not a massive fan of Opal ever since Kuvira told you about how she acted during her brief time away, but you know she means the world to Bolin just as Kuvira does to you. You walk over to Kuvira as you notice her eyeing the bedroom door and snuggle into her side, wrapping an arm around her waist.

Bolin seems surprised at the open display, to be fair he found out about the two of you right before he escaped and has never witnessed the two of you share so much as a hug. “She’s doing pretty good, she’s really happy to have her family all back together again.”

You know that’s a slight dig at Kuvira but try to ignore it, at some point you’ll pull him aside and ask him to ease up on her, for you. “Are you… Do you wanna stay for lunch?”

To be honest the both of you probably would have slept through lunch but with the arrival of Bolin you may as well eat, three bites of pancakes with some bacon and fruit doesn’t last as long as one would think.

“Totally! We have so much catching up to do anyway.” You help Kuvira heat up some of last night's dinner along with sprucing it up with spices and some homemade bread that she made the other day. Bolin sits at the table and watches the two of you move throughout the kitchen peacefully.

You both are so used to this that by now you know when to hand the other a utensil or keep from bumping into each other while moving around. He never thought he’d see the great uniter in a kitchen, especially in pajamas no less. Kuvira’s hair is a bit of a mess from the nap and is half out of her braid, not that she notices and you're wearing her white tank top with light blue pajama shorts. Both of you are sporting socks and are the picture of domesticity.

He notices how healthy you look. Those years on the train were slowly killing you, your lack of appetite and resigned demeanor had made you gradually disappear, it seems like he watched your soul float out of your body sometime after the engagement.

But now you’ve gained back the weight you lost, your cheeks are full again, hair shiny and you’re… Smiling. He’s seen you smile a lot, but he realizes now they must have all been fake because this one is so obviously genuine and nothing like the others. When Kuvira passes by you, a hand grazing your back to let you know of her presence you peek at her with a look so full of love. He wonders if Kuvira knows just how much you love her. It must be a lot by the way you seem so relaxed beside her.

Lily trots in from the garden where she was most likely barking at anyone passing by and immediately decides that she must sniff this new person. She shoves her cold snout against his arm and Bolin jumps in shock, a yelp escaping him.

Both of you look up at the sound and when you see Lily inspecting Bolin you snort. “That’s Lily,” you begin to plate the now warm kebabs while Kuvira scoops the Papaya salad into three bowls. “She likes if you rub the backs of her ears.”

“You got a dog?” Bolin eyes the two of you, more so Kuvira than you. Kuvira has a dog? He must be having some kind of fever dream because nothing seems correct right now.

“Yes…” That’s the first thing Kuvira has said to Bolin since he stepped through that door. To be fair her heart is pounding as she waits to see his response. You mean too much to her to mess up right now. She can’t ruin another one of your birthdays by starting a fight with your best friend.

“Well, that’s cool! Y’know I might need to use Lily as an excuse to get one myself, but maybe a smaller one because I’m not home a lot and I could carry a small one around. I don’t think I told you but I work for Zhu Li now.” You bring the plates over to the table and help Kuvira with the bowls.

The last of Bolin’s words perplexes you. For the most part, you’ve been sheltered from the outside world and its news since the hospital. The last you heard about Zhu Li was her marriage to Varrick.

She sent you a letter letting you know and saying she wished you could have made it, but she understood that you couldn’t. “What do you mean? She isn’t Varrick's assistant anymore?”

“Oh wow you’ve really-” Bolin takes a bite of his kebab and his eyes widen at the explosion of flavor in that one bite of meat, “been left out of the loop huh? Also, this is really good.”

“Thanks,” Kuvira says softly. Another shocker for poor Bolin, she made this? What other weird things has she been getting up to ever since she tried to enslave them?

“Well,” Bolin brushes off Kuvira’s words, and you sigh to yourself. “Zhu Li ran for president of Republic City and won.”

“What?!” Your eyes widen, you drop your fork back into your bowl and stare at Bolin. “Really?”

“Yeah, and she’s ten times better than Raiko. I’m… Well, I guess I’m her assistant now, so I don’t really have much time for myself anymore, but it’s a fulfilling job.”

You reach under the table and search for Kuvira’s hand. Your fingers brush against hers before wrapping them around hers and softly squeezing. You know she must be uncomfortable right and you’re so grateful. This can’t be easy for her.

“How did you manage to sneak away to Zaofu then?”

“Oh she gave me the time off when she heard it was your birthday, even gave me a gift to give to you from her and Varrick.” Oh wow, if it’s from the both of them it will probably be something fancy, but knowing Zhu Li it won’t be too over the top whereas if Varrick was in control of it you’d probably have something that could be seen from a mile away.

“I hope I can see her again sometime, Varrick too.”

“I’m sure if you ask she’ll find some time off. You mean a lot to her after everything.” After helping her escape, is what he doesn’t say but it’s what everyone knows. Escape from Kuvira.

“So what are they like as a couple? It shocked me when I got that letter.” And so Bolin goes on one of his tangents about everything regarding the couple.

Apparently, they both knew about their soulmate bond from day one but Varrick had assumed it’d be one of those rare cases where the love they felt was platonic instead of romantic. But he was just shoving his feelings for her aside, and she had assumed it was platonic as well seeing as he was her boss.

Little did either know how wrong they were and spent all of those years together slowly, inch by inch, falling in love with one another. It’s actually kind of romantic, they were if anything, friends before lovers. Sometimes you wonder if that's how it should be.

After everything you feel like just jumping into a relationship with someone you don’t know because of words on your skin seems a bit hasty and rushed. To become friends first, to slowly get to know another allows them to learn if they are right for each other.

Just because the universe has chosen you as soulmates doesn’t mean you have to date them, many people, those who don’t feel romantic attraction towards others, form deep friendships with their soulmate. And others leave their soulmate because, even though their bond is deeper, the other may still be bad for them. You wonder if you would have left Kuvira if you weren’t so stubborn.

You understand that at times the universe doesn’t choose correctly but you think it did for you. Perhaps at first, she wasn’t good for you but the woman she’s grown into these last few months (almost a year) is thoughtful, caring, and handles you with the utmost gentleness as if you're porcelain. It’s a transformation unlike any other. After that first kiss, it was almost always rough and fast, you had gone further into the physical aspects of your relationship far before you even knew the basics about each other. She was all-consuming in a way that slowly sucked the life out of you but now she’s slowly filling you back up and replacing the cracked pieces of your heart. Pieces she broke.

“I’m so happy for them, I know Zhu Li seemed worried about Varrick’s reaction to her return,” you reply after he’s done regaling you of everything regarding the couple. It makes sense now that you think about it.

You think back to the day you helped her escape as you handed her the battle plans for Republic City and how you asked her if you thought a soulmate could forgive the other over a great betrayal.

“Do you think, what with the deeper bond and all, someone can forgive their soulmate if they betray them?”

“I hope so.”

Whilst you were panicking over Kuvira, she was probably panicking over Varrick. Then you think about now, about the therapy sessions and the months of not talking, of not touching. The fighting and tears. There wasn’t much for Kuvira to forgive but there was so much for you to forgive. How do you answer your own question when you still aren’t so sure?

“Oh, the trip back to Republic City whipped him into shape, it made him realize how much he loved her.” By now you’ve all finished your food and Kuvira gets up to collect all the plates. When she passes by you gently grab her wrist to slowly pull her down and leave a quick peck on her cheek.

She can’t help the slight flush that dusts her cheeks as she stands back up after the kiss and heads to the sink. You just want to try and let her know how much you appreciate her right now, how you see the work she’s putting in.

Bolin gets up at the display and heads over to the coffee table where he left the big, dark blue bag. He brings it over to you and sets it down on the table with an excited grin.

“Okay, so this-” he pulls out a perfectly wrapped medium-sized box, “is from Zhu Li. I thought you could open it first and then open mine.”

He's like an over-excited toddler as he sits down beside you. Kuvira watches from the kitchen as you tear into the wrapping paper, it falls to the floor in small heaps that she knows Lily will try to chew.

You rip off the last piece of paper to find a black box staring back at you, sliding it onto the table you gently pull the lid off. The first thing that catches your eye is a thin metal bookmark that resembles a flower with its stem. There're words engraved onto the side that read ‘Bravery is often found in the quiet ones’.

You think back on last year, it was a terrifying time but the two of you, the quiet ones, were braver than anyone could imagine when it came down to it. That night helping her escape made you feel like a hero in a novel, well up until the adrenaline wore off on the ride back to Zaofu.

Together you took out a general and six guards. She destroyed the mecha suits and you destroyed the weapons. At the moment you didn’t think of yourself as brave or courageous. You were simply trying to right the wrongs of your past, trying to finally be the person you hoped to be.

Biting your lip to keep from crying you lift the bookmark to show Kuvira “now you can stop yelling at me about our books.”

“You practically mutilate them with that awful dog-earring,” she retorts. She can see the glisten in your eyes, but she’s too far away to see the words engraved. Kuvira doesn’t comment on it as you blink a few times to wash them away before carefully setting the bookmark onto the table.

Pulling your gaze away from the bookmark you look towards the box to see what else is inside. There’s something wrapped up in silver tissue paper so you swiftly pull it off and are met with a sight that has you giggling. In your hands is a book titled ‘Communication for Dummies’. There’s a card that slips out of it, it’s small and white, and when you open it up you're met with Zhu Li’s neat handwriting.

The bookmark is to help remind you of your success,

The book is to hopefully help you find peace.

I miss you and hope you’re having a very happy birthday.

Thank you for everything,

Zhu Li Moon.

You gently place the card on top of the book and put all three items back into the small black box before placing the lid back on. By now Kuvira has walked over to help you pick up the wrapping paper, which you pull yourself away from the box to do. When you hand her the fist full of paper in your hand, Bolin slides the bag your way.

“I can’t wait to see your reaction,” he places his chin in his hands as he leans forward in his seat. He’s practically vibrating with excitement so to help calm him down you happily open up the bag and pull out all the tissue paper he stuffed inside.

Your fingers graze across the smooth fabric and you gently grip the material to pull it out of the bag. In your hand is a mint green halter top made of stretchy fabric, with furrowed brows you pull out the other item inside that’s a pair of matching mint green pants made of the same material.

“For when you start dancing again,” Bolin happily explains. You look down at the clothes, before you’d always just wear a tank top and sweatpants like most of the girls there but some of them, the ones who had been doing it most of their life had special outfits for practice. “I thought the best dancer I know should have something to practice in.”

“Bolin…” You want to remind him that you aren’t a dancer and haven’t practiced with a teacher in four years. Looking at the top in one hand and pants in the other reminds you of that first day sparring with him on the train, how he believed in you and your dream.

“There’s one more thing in there.” You bite your lip and gently set the clothes down, at the bottom of the bag is a silver shoebox. Using both of your hands you carefully pull the box out of the bag and set it on the table, Bolin sets the bag on the floor for you and watches as you carefully lift the lid.

Inside is probably the nicest pair of dance shoes you’ve ever seen. Made of soft black leather with laces down the center they have a strong grip on the soles and you run your hand over the bottom of them before looking back up at Bolin.

“The lady at the shop said those are best for the flying stuff, that’s what you wanna do right?”

Flying stuff, a wet laugh leaves your lips as you vigorously nod. Unshed tears glisten in your eyes as you think about how sentimental this all is. For the last few years, you’ve felt forgotten and unimportant, like if the wind finally carried you away no one would notice. Today feels slightly overwhelming all of a sudden as your grip on the shoes tightens.

“Are they not the right kind?” Bolin’s voice drips with concern and all you can do is shake your head as you try to calm yourself down. A few tears trickle out from the corners of your eyes and you let out a deep, shaky sigh.

“No these are perfect, thank you.” He stands from his chair and pulls you into his arms, the shoes get squished between the two of you but you don’t care. Neither of you notice as Kuvira slips into the bedroom, this feels deeply private. She suddenly feels like an intruder in her own home and sits cross-legged on the bed with her sketchbook in front of her as she waits for him to leave.

When Bolin pulls away from you, he notices the absences of your lover and lets out a sigh of relief, sitting back down in the chair he helps you put all the gifts back in the bag for now.

“Are you happy, Y/n?”

“Huh?” You furrow your brows as you wipe away the last of your tears, you feel slightly silly for crying but you know he doesn’t mind. He witnessed you cry a lot on the train.

“I mean it’s not like before? You’re happy, and she’s finally treating you right?” Oh. You think back on the times you’d start to cry during sparring sessions, he’d always ask if you wanted to stop but you’d simply press on. It felt better to punch away the tears than wallow in them.

It is better, you think. You’ve known for some time that you both have made vast improvements and it makes you so happy to know that your relationship won’t remain such a toxic void, slowly sucking the life out of you. There was still so much left to do though.

“I am and…” you smile, “she is. She’s been really amazing these last few months.” Bolin feels a sense of relief in your words. You were like a sister to him and it made him feel so much better to be returning to Republic City knowing you were alright.

“Y’know I expect you to start writing to me, I can’t just come up to Zaofu every few months to make sure you're still alive.”

You laugh at that. Grinning you playfully let out a dramatic sigh “I guess I can fit that into my busy schedule.” Both of you talk for a while, he tells you more about his job and you inform him of the thrilling development of your plants which has him laughing with how hard you try to make it sound interesting.

Eventually, though he has to go. Apparently, he and Opal have a dinner date that he has to go get gussied up for. When you lead him to the front door he pulls you into a tight hug just like the last one, only this time, you’re able to wrap your arms around him too. You stand like that for a minute before he finally pulls away from you, opening the door for himself he looks at you one last time.

“If you ever need someone, I’ll come as fast as I can, okay?” You nod, to be honest, you had momentarily forgotten about how much Bolin cared for you. It's comforting to know he still cares about you after this year apart during which you’ve stayed with someone he hates.

“I know, thank you, Bolin.” He offers you one last smile before leaving, the door softly shuts behind him, and once more it’s simply the three of you in the apartment. Lily is napping on the couch and the bedroom door is shut, you know Kuvira snuck off at some point so you leisurely walk over. Upon opening the door you find her sitting at the center of the bed, hunched over with her charcoal pencil in hand.

“Hey,” you lean against the doorway with your arms comfortably crossed over your chest. She looks up from her sketchbook at the sound of your voice, a soft smile creeps its way onto her lips. “How’s the sketch going?”

“I’m almost done, ‘started working on it yesterday, so I’m mainly shading right now.” She sets the pencil down and pushes some loose strands of hair behind her ear. “How was your time with him?”

You slowly walk over and climb onto the bed, you steer clear of the book and make sure not to look down at it as you sit beside Kuvira. Your fingers run through her hair, from her nap most of it is out of the braid and she hasn’t tried to fix it. You love her like this, when she looks so relaxed and happy. “It was nice, we mainly just chatted about our lives since we last saw each other. I missed talking to him.”

“Those were some nice things you got.” Kuvira looks down at her sketchbook and picks up the pencil to twirl between her fingers.

“They were, I wasn’t expecting that though.”

Kuvira sighs, raking a hand through her hair she looks at you out of the corner of her eye. “I’m sorry I can’t get something like that for you today.” Or have ever given you something like that, she thinks in a self-deprecating manner.

She thinks of all the empty promises on all your other birthdays, the way she’d mention one day showering you in jewelry once it was all over. You’d always tell her you didn’t need fine jewels, just her, but she still feels like a bad girlfriend for not having all of that and more to hand to you on a silver platter.

“Kuvira…” You inch closer to her until your knees are touching the side of her leg, one of your hands helps tilt her head towards you so you can look into her eyes. “You could hand me a wilted flower and I’d love it.”

She rolls her eyes at your words, but you pull her face closer until your noses are touching. “I’m serious, I’m really happy with how today has gone, I don’t need anything. All I want is to spend the rest of the day relaxing with you.”

“I do have something…” She replies softly. You tilt your head in question and watch as she slowly extracts herself from your hold before moving over to her nightstand. She fishes a stack of papers out of her drawer, with her back turned to you, she rearranges them and makes sure none of them have been bent or smudged.

Kuvira is nervous, which shocks her because she’s never really been nervous. The few times she has, she realizes it’s been about you. With a final exhale Kuvira turns around and sits in front of you. Your knees are touching, you can’t see what's on the papers as she holds them close to her chest.

“It isn’t a ruby necklace or golden ring but…” Kuvira thickly swallows as she slowly lowers the papers, you bring your hands up to carefully take them from her. “It’s all I have to give to you.”

A gasp escapes you at the sight before you, the first paper is of a panda lily, the lines are uniformed and perfected, there’s not a single flaw in sight, not even the shading is shoddy. “These are from the past couple of months, it starts with my first few drawings and ends with the more recent ones.” You’ve never heard her sound so nervous before. She tucks her hands between her thighs, her whole body tense as she watches you silently inspect the first drawing.

Biting your lip you carefully set the first drawing down, afraid of ripping it. The next three are all of different kinds of flowers, you realize they are flowers your dad often brings over to the house. Each one is as perfect as the last, these can’t be her first few because this looks amazing, then again it seems everything Kuvira does is amazing.

The fifth one is a bit different, it’s of you, sort of. You can tell she had a harder time with this one, instead of having the sharp defining lines and perfect strokes it’s a bit softer, you can see some smudge marks around the hair but it’s still you. You’re looking down with your hair pushed behind your ears, it’s a side profile.

“That’s not the best of them,” she admits. You shake your head, delicately as if scared you’ll break it your fingers graze across it.

“I love it.” The lump in your throat slowly grows as you sift through the stack. Slowly it’s less perfect, less inanimate and lifeless, and rawer. There’s a drawing of Lily on her back with her tail wagging that you know you’ll have to frame.

There’s one of your parents, it looks like something similar to Winter Solstice as they sit next to each other with glasses of wine in their hands. Your dad has his arm slung over your mom's shoulder as both are laughing. There are finger smudges on the corner of it and you can see the happiness in their expressions.

Next is you and your father filling dumplings, he’s staring down at you. You're grinning from ear to ear as you stare at the half pinched dumpling in your hands.

Then it’s you and Lily with her sitting on your lap, your arms are wrapped around her body with your eyes close, head resting against hers. The drawing makes you feel cozy and loved like you're experiencing the moment she captured on the piece of paper.

There’s two left. The second to last one stuns you, your grips on the papers tighten just a fraction as you stare at yourself sleeping. Your hair is sprawled across the pillow, you have a hand tucked under your head with the other outstretched, most likely trying to reach for her. There’s this content look on your face, a slight smile and a scrunch of the nose. Your shirt has ridden up and bunched just under your breasts, the curve of your body on display as the blanket rests at your hips.

“When did-”

“Three weeks ago.”

You nod, wetting your lips, you feel tears well up in your eyes, you can’t tear your gaze away from the drawing. Your heart swells with love for this talented woman sitting across from you. Is this what you look like in your sleep? Is this what Kuvira sees when she wakes up in the morning?

“You just looked so peaceful,” she admits anxiously. She keeps looking at you and then the paper, there’s one left, it’s recent but it’s different from the rest. This is based on an old memory, and she doesn’t know what you’ll think of it,

“It’s beautiful,” you breathe out, your voice shaky. This is too intimate to frame, you’ll have to get some kind of book or folder to hold this and any future ones for safekeeping. You aggressively wipe at your eyes, afraid of the tears dripping onto the paper. Carefully Kuvira extracts her hands from her thighs and brings them up to pull your hands away from your eyes, gently she wipes the tears away for you. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay, you’re not sad right?” You shake your head in her hands, and she lets out a sigh of relief. “Well, there’s one left.”

Thickly swallowing you nod before cautiously setting that drawing on top of the rest. Her hands move to run through your hair as you look down at the last one. You still in her hold at the image in front of you. Unlike the rest, which are clearly drawn from memory in house arrest, this one goes far back. It’s something you haven’t thought about in years, it’s of you dancing in the studio with the metal flower underneath you, petals open to reveal you mid twirl.

You look different, younger, and stress-free with a determined expression. You vaguely remember doing this, it wasn’t part of the routine but something you sometimes did when you thought you were alone. Clearly, at some point, you weren’t as discreet as you thought with your private practices.

Eager as ever you’d come to the studio an hour early sometimes to warm up before everyone else slowly trickled in. You’d run through the stretches Suyin taught you then practice any moves you felt insecure about, which was honestly all of them. The metal flower makes you flush as you remember your night with Kuvira, you wonder if you’ll ever be able to look at it without feeling slightly scandalized.

That was your first time, first kiss too. It was overwhelming but also so perfect, she cradled you between her hands like you were a delicate spring flower and watched you come undone so many times before deciding to show you how to pleasure her. You were exhausted when you both finally collapsed in a tangled heap and finally knew why everyone seemed obsessed with sex.

“Y/n?” This time tears do fall onto the paper and you mentally scold yourself, you offer a weak smile as you let her wipe away the tears.

“These,” you place one hand on top of the pile, your other delicately holding the last drawing, “are the best gifts I have ever received.” They beat everything you could ever think of. These are things you’ll hold onto for the rest of your life and will show your grandkids.

You’ll cherish them for the rest of your life, even the less personal ones because it’s something she made, something she deemed beautiful enough to share with you.

Kuvira doesn’t believe you. She’s sure your parents have spoiled you with amazing gifts growing up and can’t help but believe these drawings to be some kind of a cheap cop-out. But that smile of yours as you continue to softly cry has that self-deprecating voice quieting down.

“I wanted to talk to you about something, it’s one of the things on Dr. Hanika’s list.”

You hum in acknowledgment of her words as you pick up the stack from the bed and carefully clutch them to your chest. It seems stupid but these drawings make you feel more loved than you’ve ever felt before.

“I know you can’t say it to me yet and I don’t want to pressure you.” I do wish you’d say it back, she thinks. “But I wanted to tell you some reasons I love you.”

Your eyes widen in surprise at her words, but she presses on. “I know we’ve had a rough start and I know I’m to blame for it but I do mean it when I say it to you. Because…” she takes a deep breath, “you are so sweet and caring, you treat everyone kindly but aren’t afraid to fight back when necessary. I watched you stand up for what you believed in last year and you did it so fiercely, without a doubt in your mind it seemed.”

“You take care of those plants like they are newborn babies, so delicately that at one point in time I was jealous of the attention you gave them,” you can’t help but giggle at that, and she smiles. ”I used to get so excited when I thought about you growing up, I wondered what you’d be like, would you love me back? And then when I was sent here I gave up on the idea. It didn’t seem like I was meant to be loved by someone like that.”

You move one of your hands away from the stack of papers and gently cup her cheek, she leans into your touch. Her heart swells when she feels your thumb gently graze her cheekbone.

“I didn’t make anything easy and I think that was partly because I believed you were too good for me. I felt like a fraud at times but you’d always pull me out of my thoughts.”

“You’re the only person who can do that. I think I’ve remained sane for so long because of you and I know if you weren’t there I would have gone through with my plan. I don’t know what would have happened but I know it wouldn’t have been anything good.”

She wets her lips. “I love you even though you over-salt your food, even if you snore into my ear at night.-” You flush in embarrassment, your face tilting down, but she needs to look into your eyes for this, they help calm her. So she gently places her finger under your chins and lifts your head back up.

“You might be a bit messy or destroy our books, turn the music up too loud at times or drag mud through the kitchen but those are the kinds of things that make you who you are. Even if they drive me up the wall at times I still love them because you wouldn’t be the woman you are if you didn’t…. Take up most of the couch when we’re sitting together.”

You can’t help how nice it feels to stretch your legs out, you think. By now there is a stream of tears racing down your cheeks and dripping off your chin.

“I love you because for some reason, despite me pushing you away all those years you’ve stayed. Everyone else ran away when it got tough but you didn’t even though you should have.”

“I don’t think I’ve mentioned how grateful I am that you’re giving me a second chance and I hope you know that I really am trying. Not because I want things to go back to the way they were or because I want specific things from you,” like sex,” but because I love you.”

You can’t speak right away, that lump in your throat keeps you from forming any words as you continue to quietly cry. You know your face is probably red from crying and that you are such a mess. Reluctantly you set the stack of paper down to wipe away the tears. You take a deep breath to try and calm down, it works, sort of.

“I know you can’t say it yet and that’s okay, but I wanted to tell you this and…'' one of Kuvira’s hands slid down to yours, she laced her fingers through yours and offered a gentle squeeze. “I’m sorry for being a piece of shit for so long, and I’m sorry it’s taken me four years to give you a decent birthday.”

“It’s okay…” you choke out.

“No it’s not,” she quickly replies. Kuvira knows how you don’t like to hurt other people’s feelings, including her own. Sometimes you’ll swallow your own feelings down for other people, she’s witnessed it far too many times.

You guys sit like that for a few minutes while you calm down, spirits you’ll have to put a cold towel on your face after this. She breathes in time with you in hopes of helping you calm down, it helps as she exhales with you then inhales. You could have used this all those years ago during one of your breakdowns on the train.

“I do…” love you, ”and one day I’m gonna say it back but right now just know that I do.”

It’s all you can offer, your voice is scratchy since your throat hurts from crying so much and it makes you cringe a bit to hear. Kuvira nods, she understands. That selfish, impatient part of her is internally yelling to finally hear it again, but she squashes it down.

The rest of the afternoon is spent in each other’s arms, you fall asleep at some point and awaken to Kuvira gently cupping your cheek. When she tells you your parents are in the living room it surprises you, she lets you slowly get dressed as she leaves the room to go back to cooking with your father. When you look in the floor-length mirror in the bedroom you let out a content sigh as you brush your hand over the sundress you’ve chosen. Your hair is a bit frizzy, but it’s nothing your parents haven’t seen.

When you finally leave the bedroom your parents cheerfully greet you with bone-crushing hugs as they rejoice at your presence. Both of your parents immediately keep up the tradition by retelling the story of your birth which has Kuvira awkwardly staring at the cutting board as she tries to bite down a chuckle at the funny parts.

Wine glasses are pulled out, bottles popped and when the food is finally ready you move to the dining room table. It’s loud and boisterous and very similar to Winter Solstice except now the topic is solely you. It has you blushing, your head in your hands as Kuvira gets to find out about all of your embarrassing toddler stories.

“How old was she?”

“Four.”

“She was four when she got a toilet seat stuck around her neck.” Spirits, you gulp down some wine. You can’t be too mad though because Kuvira is laughing, there’s a massive grin on her face. She loves this and hopes your parents never run out of stories to tell her.

As they begin to tell the story of your first day at school your eyes meet from across the table. Their voices slowly fade away as Kuvira offers you a loving smile that you easily return.

One day you’ll say it back, it’ll just take a bit more time. And at this moment you have a hard time not mouthing the words to her, but you’re not ready. You won’t push yourself again, so instead, you simply enjoy this moment, this quiet bubble you’ve momentarily created.

Today has been so perfect, it feels like one of Kuvira’s drawings, like it can’t be real. If you blink it’ll be gone, so you simply enjoy the moment with all three of your favorite people surrounding you.

She may have messed up your past birthdays, but today might just be the best day of your life and you didn’t even have to leave the house for it. All you can do is hope for more mornings spent laughing in each other's arms and days where you can simply be lazy, especially as a major change comes barreling towards you.

#kuvira x reader #kuvira/reader #kuvira #kuvira fanfic #lok #lok fanfic #legend of korra #tgt #the great trial

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fun-with-colors · 3 years

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Persona 5 Royal and “Poe’s Masquerade”

I recently (read: a few minutes ago) saw a post about how Beneath the Mask is a brilliant and tragic character study of Joker, and I felt compelled to talk about some of the awesome references in Persona 5 Royal (not sure if they’re all in the vanilla game, never played it.)

So, in Beneath the Mask, there’s the line “I’m a shapeshifter, at Poe’s Masquerade,” right? Which is a reference to Edgar Allan Poe’s The Masque of the Red Death. Seems like a pretty cut-and-dry thing, it ties into the theme of there not being anything beneath the mask, as was the case in Poe’s Masque. Well, I am here to tell you that that particular reference is anything but simple. It’s brilliant.

Fair warning: this is gonna be a long post.

First off, some context on The Masque of the Red Death. It’s a short story where, basically, there’s this plague going on. It’s called the Red Death, it makes you sweat blood and die in less than an hour. Terribly contagious, the Red Death. So this rich guy gathers up all of his friends and allies to hole up in his abbey, and locks the gates behind them. A few months in, they decide to throw a rocking masquerade party.

The party is structured as such:

There are 7 rooms in order, each color-coded. Blue, then purple, then green, then orange, and then violet. The last room is black, and lit up by red lights. There’s a big imposing clock in the last room, and whenever it chimes the hour everyone stops partying until the clock is done, and then resumes.

Everything’s going great while people are dying outside until midnight, when this new guy shows up in a gaudy red costume that looks like a corpse killed by the red death. The host chases this guy down with a dagger. They go through all the rooms, and once they reach the last room the host finally looks the mysterious stranger in the face, and instantly dies. The guests panic and remove the mask to see who it was, only to find that there was nothing there. The guests then all also die to the Red Death.

Grim, right? Well, it also has a lot of striking similarities to Shido’s palace.

The basic premise of some rich asshole trying to save only his friends from the plague on the land, only this time the plague is one that he himself has orchestrated: the mental shutdowns. Those on his ship are safe from being permanently cancelled, while those who aren’t (like the Shujin principal) are not.

The letters of introduction parallel the 7 rooms, since all of that preparation is in the eventual goal of unlocking the final room.

The guests on the ship are all wearing masks that look a heck of a lot like masquerade masks.

The intruder, ie: the thieves.

as a last-ditch effort to kill the thieves, Shido takes a pill that will temporarily kill him, mirroring the moment when the host dies in The Masque of the Red Death.

But wait! We’re not done!

That is just the first layer of references

This is why I said that it was gonna get super long. Strap in folks, because those references aren’t even an original choice that the game made. They’re INHERITED references. Also I have a lot to say, and am bad at being succinct. Well, they say that if you can’t be concise, you can at least be interesting, and I hope that I’ve managed that.

Some more context:

Akechi is based off of the famous Japanese detective Akechi Kogoro. The author of the Akechi Kogoro stories is a man by the pen name of Edogawa Ranpo. If that name sounds familiar, it should. It is, as wikipedia puts it, “A rendering of [Edgar Allan] Poe’s name.”

There is one Akechi Kogoro story, called Gold Mask (Or The Gold Mask, or The Golden Mask), that is especially relevant here. In it, Akechi goes up against the mysterious Gold Mask, who turns out to be none other than Arsene Lupin.

It should not be surprising how many similarities there are, but I am somehow surprised nonetheless.

These are some insane connections, y’all. I’m basically just gonna retell the events of the story because it’s mostly relevant anyways. It’s not even all about the red death thing. Also I just really like this section of the story. This is gonna get rambly, but bear with me here.

Ok so first plot twist: this book also references The Masque of the Red Death. Big time. Like, there is a chapter titled “The Masque of the Red Death.”

The setting: a masquerade ball put on by the French Ambassador (The Count de Rouzieres). The ball takes place in seven chambers, in the same color order as in the original story. This time, however, they are set up so that one can only see one room at a time. Do note that the final room is described as making things look as though they are “somehow not of this world.”

The inevitable twist

Guess who shows up unannounced at the moment the clock strikes midnight? Ding ding ding! That’s right, it’s the Gold Mask.

(The next chapter is called “The Gold Death”)

The investigator who had been Akechi’s sidekick (more on that later) chases after the Gold Mask, along with the Count and one other dude.

I’m just gonna quote the book’s description of the third man.

“It was impossible to identify the man on account of his eccentric costume. [...] He wore a form-fitting black shirt and trousers, black shoes, black socks, a black cloth on his head, the ends of which rose sharply into two long horns, and, of course a face mask.”

...Yeah. I was way more surprised to find out that that design is straight out of the source material than to find out who that mysterious third man was. (more on why akechi was disguised in a bit)

The Count is the first into the final room with the Gold Mask. No sooner does he enter than the other two men hear a gunshot. They run in, fearing the worst.

Turns out it’s the Gold Mask who’s been shot by the Count. They pull off the mask and discover... the Count’s interpreter. One of the investigators declares that the interpreter must be the gold mask, and this all can be called off. The guy’s dying, everything’s fine.

Suddenly, the man with the black mask starts laughing. They demand he removes his mask, he does so and reveals himself as Akechi Kogoro. Akechi insists that this man cannot be the Gold Mask, because Arsene Lupin is the gold mask.

Everyone else thinks he’s ridiculous, until he gets the dying interpreter to confess that yes, he was working for Arsene Lupin.

Now. The part that makes this all really funny is that as the interpreter is dying, he points out to Akechi who Arsene Lupin is (since Lupin has so many disguises as to not fundamentally have a true identity). The interpreter points to (dun dun duhDUH) The Count of Rouzieres, the French Ambassador to Japan.

Obviously the police commissioner is finding that hard to believe, but when Akechi produces an envelope that he claims is evidence, he orders that the rest of the investigators and guests leave the room, so that it’s only him, the POV character, Akechi, and the Count.

The letter is apparently from another well-known detective familiar with Arsene Lupin, full of evidence that proves that the Count of Rouzieres is actually Arsene Lupin. Incriminating stuff, blah blah blah.

Arsene admits to being, well, arsene, and then proceeds to have a superficially amicable conversation with Akechi. He then pulls his gun out of nowhere and threatens to shoot akechi. Suddenly, the detective who supplied Akechi with the note (his name is Weber) jumps out of the clock mechanism behind Arsene and confiscates his gun. Arsene Lupin is about to be arrested, with no way out. One of the investigators pulls out his own gun on Arsene, and both Akechi and the police commissioner are very experienced in making arrests. Even beyond that, there’s an entire crowd of investigators waiting outside the only door.

We cut to the aforementioned crowd of investigators, who have just noticed that the voices from inside the room have gotten very quiet. After knocking and hearing only silence, they decide to open the door.

The room is empty.

We cut back to Arsene, who is acting very confident despite his precarious circumstances. He says that he has the power to create such a catastrophe as to make it impossible for them to arrest him, before calmly walking out of the only door in the room.

The detectives call for the police officers outside to arrest Arsene, but... there doesn’t seem to be anyone there to do it. He locks the door to the room from the outside, and flees out of an open glass window and down a fire escape to his waiting allies. (very similar to the way Joker attempts to escape from the Casino, and VERY similar to how he ultimately escapes from the interrogation room.)

It turns out that the “black-velvet room” was actually a cleverly disguised elevator, with the mechanism in the clock. Arsene used the elevator to separate the detectives from the rest of the investigators, and to make his escape for real. It is SHOCKING to me that of all the things in persona 5, the interrogation room escape is ENTIRELY true to the source material. It’s wild.

Anyways, I’ll stop there. I’ll probably make another post with all of the miscellaneous connections between the Gold Mask and Persona 5, since there are a lot. I’ve had this topic sitting in my brain for a while.

Edit: I forgot to get to why Akechi was disguised. Well, it turns out that’s another connection: Akechi had been presumed dead. Everybody thought he had been shot. Turns out it was just a fake version of himself, a trick taken from Sherlock Holmes. (and one that shows up in Persona 5 Royal). He was taking advantage of the fact that everyone thought he was dead to get more info without being suspected.

#persona 5 #persona 5 royal #persona 5 spoilers #persona 5 royal spoilers #original oat #fun with rambles #arsene lupin #akechi kogoro #goro akechi #akechi goro #akira kurusu #ren amamiya

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melforbes · 3 years

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seaglass blue annotations

hello! i just posted the last chapter and thought i’d put together some ~fun context~ for that fic. it got way way more attention than i ever expected and for something i feel i didn’t put that much effort into i think i did in the end put a lot of effort into it so i might as well talk about it and answer some potential questions.

my favorite book of all time is the sunlit night by rebecca dinerstein (yes, that one) and something i find really compelling about that book is how sparing the prose is, forcing the reader to fill in certain gaps, and i think having to fill in those gaps makes the book a really acquired taste with which either you love it or hate it and there’s not really an in-between

i also really adore how in that book the natural world backdrop comes to life, something i find really challenging to write. recently i even read into thin air, the book about the 1996 mount everest disaster, and even though the writing was superb, i still had to google what the hillary step was because i couldn’t picture it on my own. i don’t know how people write nature because to me it feels damn near impossible, but this sparing approach really worked, so i thought i might try it out. i tend to be longwinded (gestures vaguely at this post) and wanted to have certain parts of this be a lot smaller and more contained without negating impact. whether or not i made it work is anyone’s guess. definitely not my normal style, so to speak

based on the comments i’ve received i think this might be everyone’s favorite part. in my mind age of consent by new order was playing in the background. in pretty much every fic i have a scene like this one and all of them are based on the poem first base gold by rh*annon mcg*vin from her book branches (censored because she has a tumblr and i don’t want her seeing this haha)

i absolutely can’t do the poem justice by describing what it’s about, but the simplest, most basic interpretation of the poem is that there is no better place to kiss than right here, right now, because of the past. i really like that imagery and tend to use it a lot. she as a writer has been a big inspiration for me and if you’ve read my fic true minds i should add that the nonfiction inspiration for that was directly as a result of one of her youtube videos. i particularly love how the last paragraph (stanza? im not a poet) is one big run-on sentence that’s jovial and tongue-in-cheek and colloquial and straightforward. it feels triumphant in a quiet way to me and i love how it’s done. obviously my attempts at something similar are nowhere near as insightful, but still, the most basic image of this is that there is no better place to kiss, and that’s how i felt about the two of them finding pudding in the supermarket

this part is autobiographical; while writing this last year, i went through six months of intravenous drug treatment, a month and a half of which involved long days of doctor visits on every weekday. when you’re on stuff like that for a long time you end up with a central line for better access (potential plot hole in all of this: scully never had one) but for a month and a half i got poked almost every day and strangely enough it got harder over time. the first couple you never feel, but a week or two later you start flinching, and if the needle goes in the same vein each time, it hurts the more it gets prodded. i reached a point toward the end of the in-office visits in which i would bleed a lot every time i got poked, and i can’t watch anything like that happen to me so i was looking away each time, and when i felt that the nurse was done, i would look back over, and sometimes i would be looking down at a pool of blood that i hadn’t expected to see. it’s weird, you don’t actually feel yourself bleeding, i would’ve expected a hot bloody feeling but instead it felt like nothing. and when i say a pool i mean that it would drip down beneath my elbow, stain the sheet they’d put underneath, and i wouldn’t get all of it off until i showered. i didn’t necessarily find it scary, but it was surreal and kind of pulled me out of normalizing the experience i was having. for a very long time needing iv drugs was my greatest fear and i was surrounded by that then and fine, and then, there was blood all over my arm, and like, haha, this is actually not fine. you’d think something else would’ve been scarier, but it wasn’t. and now looking back at this paragraph i wish i’d edited it differently but hey that’s life

i’d never really understood the purpose of religion as a self-driven part of life until i took anatomy in college. i was raised catholic and though culturally i understand having a religion and being raised with one, i’ve never really reached for religion when i wanted answers, and i haven’t personally understood why that’s someone’s first option. and i know there’s been plenty of commentary on the hypocrisy of dana scully as a catholic who believes in science, yada yada yada, i think everyone has read all of that by now. but what struck me while learning anatomy is that there is a kind of neuron we don’t know the function of. there are four kinds of neurons, and one of them is still a mystery to us. and then, there’s all of these different parts of human bodies that exist in a certain perfect way, but why do they exist like that? to support life, yes, but why is it that we can make comparisons? why were irises not the same color? and we name valves of the heart after religious figures. we are so hell-bent on meaning that something literal will never be enough. and all of that made me think that dana scully has god to fill in what science won’t answer, at least not yet. and there’s definitely a bigger conversation about science as denial of indigenous cultures that i am nowhere near qualified to start. after taking those classes, i think i would be more shocked if she wasn’t religious. you can ignore pretty much all of the paragraph above but it was important to me that at some point in this fic she willingly conceded that she didn’t know what would happen and that she didn’t have answers. with illness, there is no logic, there’s no thinking your way out of it, and i think that would plague her for a long time. to me, she only would accept her death when she could say she had no idea what would happen, she has no answers, there’s nothing filling in her gaps anymore, and she’s comfortable with that. and i put all of that in a paragraph about my thoughts on god because it made sense to me. there are times that just feel like you’re in a movie and there’s no one else you can say caused them. it’s not enough to build belief on but it’s enough to bring a certain kind of wonder. also one time my parents insisted on watching stripes because it was so funny and when watching it none of us found it funny at all and my parents grimaced and were like what were we on that made that good back in the day so that’s in here now haha

and now, the biggest question: does she die at the end? when i came up with the idea for this fic, i knew the beginning and ending but not the middle, and i posted this as a smaller project (ie: chapters below 3,000 words) while illness made my bigger projects harder to work on and essentially flew by the seat of my pants the whole time. i wrote the last line a long long time ago and have always seen the ending as written as the concrete ending. when i started writing this, i never intended for there to be a definitive answer to whether or not she dies. i like premature endings (the ending of girls burn brighter comes to mind) and i think that this works better without saying whether or not she lives. and i also have a hard time with giving a definitive answer because this fic very much is about death and having her die would, of course, be traumatic, but showing her living instead i think ruins any takeaways people could have. i’ve never had cancer but as a chronically ill person i think i can speak to how you never actually win with illness; the best you can do is tie, and sometimes, no matter how much effort you put in, you “lose” anyway, you lose spectacularly, and all of your effort was for nothing. i wholeheartedly believe that humans can’t emotionally or logically process natural disasters or illness, hence why much of the talk about illness in this is from mulder’s perspective as he experiences her terminal illness secondhand; that way, he doesn’t need to (but still likely will) find logic or reason or meaning for death from a terminal illness, so his discoveries and his coping mechanisms aren’t as urgently needed. had i written a chapter that describes how she lives, i think that the discussion of death in this would be voided altogether. and i also don’t believe the ending would be much different whether she lives or dies; there’s still the need for death acceptance and talking about dying, whether or not she lives, and none of the story in this fic would have happened had the characters known she would live. the whole point is not knowing.

for a little while i toyed with writing an unofficial sequel of sorts in which i spelled out what i think happens after the ending, but after realizing that that would end up being longer than the original fic and would also have some massive plot holes, i decided against it. i do have my own version and i don’t want to share that version because i never really intended for my version to be some kind of genuine sequel in which every question gets answered and everything is wrapped up and happy ever after and whatnot. it was just where my brain wandered in the same way it wanders when i watch an open-ended movie. all of that to say, if you think she lives, then she lives. if you think she dies, then she dies. it’s your decision. i’d much rather you choose than me. i never marked this as “major character” death on ao3 because, well, she doesn’t die in this fic. whether or not she dies after the fic ends, that’s for you to decide.

thank you for taking the time to read my writing. i never expected this to blow up (it blew up for me at least, for a while it was my most popular fic ever, with i think thousands more hits than anything else i’d written) and the response has been mind-boggling and wonderful. i don’t respond to comments often because it makes me feel like a pompous jerk (”thank you for enjoying this! i, too, enjoy this thing i have written! oh ho ho!” is how it sounds to me in my head, whereas when other writers respond to comments to me it just looks like thanks man have a good day, feel free to call me a weenie) but i’ve appreciated all of them very much. THANK YOU! i hope your new year is a Whole Lot Less Shit than 2020. i don’t plan on writing more msr because i don’t really have any ideas for them. thank you for making my last time special <3

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ravs6709 · 3 years

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Our Very Own Melody- Kam

Alrighty. This is my contribution for @kam-week-2020! The original plan was to have it out like last week, but well... This was for day 2, Soulmates/Flowers. It’s a human au, because I felt like it. In this case, the soulmates thing is that soulmates have a mental bond that develops once you’re close to them (it’s like telepathy and empathy combined kinda).

This fic is a lot different than my normal ones. 1- It accidentally ended up being like 5k words long. This was because the ending was my original idea for this, but I got super invested in the backstory so now the ending is more of a very short bonus. 2- since the beginning-turned-super-long part was the backstory, the tensing might be a little confusing, but it is linear and I was too lazy to edit. Also, music kinda has a large focus, but really, all you need is a very basic understanding as to how a violin works, as I didn’t use as much music terms.

At the moment, I’m really proud of this one, so enjoy! Someone please tell me if the cut decided to break on this, ik it would be hard to scroll through 5k+ words.

Last thing, but this universe feels like it can be explored more, so if asked I can add more from different POVs

•~•~•~•~•~•

Keefe Sencen loved having a soulmate. He loved having someone who could just understand him. He'd grown up deprived of the love that he so desperately needed. All he had wanted was someone he could talk to without having to hide himself.

Then came his soulmate. He'd met Tam Song in high school, he was a boy who either sat alone or stuck by the side of his sister. He always wore earbuds, and that, combined with his less than stellar attitude made him less than approachable.

Though despite the fact that he kept himself distant, the black haired boy had joined a club. The club was the strings ensemble, which also happened to be one of the clubs that Keefe was in. It was there he learned that Tam played the violin just like him, and he played it passionately. He was also incredibly skilled, but Keefe would have never told him that.

Being the two best violin players in the ensemble, they'd interacted a lot. It lead to them clashing constantly, a competition to see who could learn a song faster, or who would make less mistakes. Anyone around them would have admired their enthusiasm to play, and when they had to play a duet, they were always mindful of each other, never trying to drown the other out.

Their competition didn't end there though, it had started to extend to outside of the club too. The both of them had went out of their way to learn a variety of new songs, just so they could play it to each other. They would bask in the feeling of seeing the other in awe of their playing skills. And when it was their turn to listen, listen they did, admiring the fluidity of the of the bow's movements. Or just the sound of each individual note, politely offering constructive criticism whenever there was an improvement that could be made.

"Keefe," Fitz said. "Do you like Tam?"

"Bangs Boy?" He had scoffed. "You think I like him?"

"You spend a lot of time with him," Fitz pointed out. "You're what... serenading him every month?"

"S- serenade?" He spluttered. "I am not serenading and trying to woo him!"

"Then what is going on?"

"It's a competition," Keefe explained. "I'm proving that I'm the superior violinist. I'm just trying to get him to acknowledge it."

Fitz raised an eyebrow. "Why does it matter if he says that you're better?"

For once, Keefe had been unable to reply. Because it didn't matter, did it?

All this had happened in their first year of high school. Even after, they continued to learn new songs, ready to play with for the other. In their third year of high school, they ended up in the same strings class. Their class had received a project where they would have to create a song and perform it in front of class. Everybody had to work in a pair, and their teacher had assigned them as a pair.

Neither of them would have admitted it at the time, but they had worked together as if they had shared the same mind. Their ideas always seemed to mesh well with the other's, and always managed to work through the flaws of the other's idea. When one of them was stuck trying to figure out how the next part of the song would go, the other was able to figure out the answer that was exactly what the other had needed. When it was time to present, the entire class, including the teacher had been speechless at the way they so effortlessly played with each other, their dynamic perfect.

Neither of them had realized it at the time, but it was the beginning of the bond that they would have.

Towards the end of their third year, Keefe's father had begun to be more strict than usual. The pressure to get high grades was becoming overwhelming. It had started to be harder to crack jokes.

Surprisingly, it was Tam that was the first to notice his change in demeanor.

"Are you doing okay?"

Keefe had froze, unsure of what to do. So he gave a nonchalant shrug. "Yeah, I'm fine, why?"

"You're a lot less obnoxious than usual," Tam told him. "It would be a shame if your playing were to be affected."

Well, that was something he didn't expect to hear. But it was a good way to distract. "Aww Bangs Boy, you care?"

He had rolled his eyes, but the look on him seemed less irritated than usual. "We can't just let the competition end so easily. It would be no fun if I win only because you weren't able to play at your best."

"I'm fine though, really." The blonde boy wasn't sure why he kept lying, but he didn't want to vent to Bangs Boy, of all people.

"Well hypothetically," Tam began, not making eye contact. "If something were to be wrong, I would listen. I'm not good with words, but I think it would be better than nothing."

"Well hypothetically," Keefe continued. "If something were to be wrong, I might come to you. But I'm fine."

He nodded, then pointed to a bench by the empty park. "Let's sit."

Keefe smiled. This was usually Tam's way of saying that he had a song that he was ready to play. He followed and sat at the bench, watching as Tam pulled out his violin from the case.

With that, Tam began to play Keefe's favourite song. He wasn't even sure when he had told the black haired boy what his comfort song was, or how he had remembered, but he didn't question it. Not when there was someone in front of him, someone who had noticed. And that Tam had done his best to comfort him despite not being good at that sort of thing.

It was that fact that had compelled him to stare, he had been sure of it at the time. Keefe had sat there, eyes drifting to the fingers changing positions, then doing a vibrato. Then he looked towards the bow arm, moving up and down elegantly. And then to his face, mouth set in a determined line, eyes narrowed as he focused on only his playing.

And if Tam had accidentally played the wrong note, he didn't mind it at all, grateful that this moment was even happening at all.

"I only started learning it a week ago," Tam had told him, after he finished.

"It was beautiful," he murmured, the words spilling out before he could control them. 'Thank you."

For the first time, Tam had blushed. His skin had turned a light pink, but still noticeable compared to how pale it had been before.

"I'll play it for you again when I've improved," he offered, which had been his way of saying that he was there.

It was such a nice offer, almost unlike what he was used to hearing. "Sure."

It had been about a week later when Keefe had approached Tam to take him up on his offer. His father had yelled at him for getting a 93 on an English assignment. The back haired boy had nodded, and pulled out his violin.

The original plan was to lay down and enjoy the music, to let himself drift off, even if for a few minutes. But there was something about the way Tam played, the melody of those high notes- starting off slow before speeding up in a crescendo that made him lose control of himself.

The tears were flowing before he was able to realize it, his breaths erratic. The one thing that had kept him grounded was his fingers tapping to the tune against the wooden bench. The song had ended with a whole note, emotion packed into that one long note.

"It's your family, isn't it?" Tam asked.

Keefe gazed up at him. "Wha- what do you mean?"

"Most of us talk fondly about our families. I've heard Fitz and Sophie and Dex talk about theirs. You never mention your own, and you've never invited your friends to your home. You look at your schoolwork with a distant expression, as if you would want to he anywhere else except at school."

There was more to it, Keefe thought. But he wasn't able to question it, not when Tam had admitted that he observed him. He opened his mouth to make a teasing remark, but all that came out was.

"Yeah. I... my father's super strict. I got a 93 on an English assignment, and he yelled at me. Said I was too busy playing my violin. It's just... I know in my head that I'm getting good marks, but no matter how hard I try, I'm just not good enough?"

"You are good enough. Better than good," Tam said, surprising him yet again. "I don't want to make this about me, but my dad was also crappy, but Linh and I got taken in by someone else a few years ago. I know how it is, to feel that way, and I know that no one deserves to be treated like that. And you've shown me time and time again that you not only deserve basic respect, but more than that."

He was sure that that was the most that Tam had ever spoken at once. And that he was so sincere about it. There were no false praises, just facts. You deserve respect.

The weeks had gone by, and Tam had always been there when he needed it most. He wasn't sure why he had told Tam all of this, considering that it was Fitz who was his best friend. But also... he didn't want to bother Fitz, and he didn't quite understand the feeling.

Usually, Tam would just play, and occasionally Keefe would talk. There was no pressure from Tam, and he was able to work through his emotions at his own pace. The pressure from his father also started to ease a little bit, going back to how it normally was.

"You're a lot more enthusiastic," Tam said without preamble.

"That's what happens when you don't get yelled at. Anyways, thanks... for all of that, for caring that much."

"I'm just trying to be a decent human being," Tam replied. "Besides, our competition isn't over yet." Despite the words, his tone was softer, and he didn't make eye contact.

Another month passed by, and finally, Keefe admitted to himself that he liked having Tam at his side. There was just something about the boy was that relieving, that distracted him from the outside world. With him, it was only the two of them.

"He's a lot happier," Linh told him one day. "He's usually happy when he's with you."

"Wait what?"

"I'm not sure how much you know about how we were treated in the past, but he used to rarely smile, but now, he often comes up smiling. He never tells me why, but I know it's because he was with you."

"Maybe," he guessed.

"I just wanted to say thank you," she said with a smile, and then walked off to join Sophie and Biana.

After that, Keefe caught himself looking for more of those smiles that Linh talked about. She was right, his scowl was unusually soft, his silvery blue eyes gleaming with emotion. He also seemed more polite, snapping at people less than he had two years ago.

So when that smile had faded, Keefe had immediately noticed. There were other things off with Tam, like the way he walked slower, or the earbuds that looked hastily shoved in his ears. He was quieter, and had snapped at someone.

Every time he tried to talk to him in private, something would happen. Whether it was Linh talking to Tam, or Biana wanting to talk to Keefe, or a school bell ringing and that they has different classes.

It was after school when Keefe finally found him again. He was in the park again, playing his violin. But the song he was playing was different than he normally would be playing. Usually, Tam played more gentle songs, and most of the time they would require the higher strings.

This one was low and sharp, echoing with dread, much like the music that he would listen to. The notes were fast, the bow arm moving so sharply it had to have hurt his shoulder. Then the bow slipped from his hand, but he didn't bother picking it up.

Keefe stood there in shock at the careless behaviour, bows were supposed to be treated with care. Tam then started plucking at the strings, a lot less loud but still holding that tension. The notes went higher and higher, and Keefe winced. The high notes were harder to pluck because the strings were so thin.

Upon closer instruction, his posture wasn't good either, forcing his movements to be less smooth. If it were possible, Tam started playing even faster, and Keefe knew that this wasn't going to end well.

When he got close enough, he gently pried the violin from the boy's arms despite his protests. Setting it aside, Keefe held his hands, looking to see how bad the damage was. There was a small cut on his right hand- not that bad, but if he hadn't intervened it would have gotten worse.

They sat on the bench in silence, Keefe gently rubbing his fingers over Tam's hands in a soothing motion.

"Tam," he whispered. "What happened?"

Tam closed his eyes and took a deep breath, his entire body shaking. He looked sad and defeated, like Keefe had felt earlier, but there was something else to it. His dramatic playing, along with the hard line of his mouth made it look like he was angry.

"What did he do?" He wasn't sure where the thought had come from, where he got the idea that Tam's biological father had done something, but based on the way Tam looked at him afterwards, he knew that he had guessed right.

"Linh and I... we had gone out to get some tea and we saw him. We tried to get away, but he saw us. He called for us in that fake caring tone, and that along with us looking like him prevented us from getting away."

It must have been awful. Keefe could imagine the scene, Tam and Linh with distressed looks on their faces, the way their father had acted, the way it would humiliate them, force them into listening.

One thing seemed off. Tam had told him how he deserved basic respect, as if he'd gotten out of the toxic mindset. It was almost as if he didn't care about what his father had thought of him. Why would he be so angry then?

Another image had flashed through his mind. It was of Tam and Linh, the latter holding back her tears. If there was one thing that Tam loved the most, it was Linh. If his 'father' had told Linh something, then he would be a lot ore angry. Like he was currently.

"What did he say to Linh?"

"I don't want to repeat it," Tam mumbled. "I don't want to think about it anymore."

"Then don't."

Keefe bent down and picked up the bow that had fallen, and looked at the violin. Him and Tam were relatively the same size, so their arms would he of similar lengths. There was no blood on the fingerboard. Deeming it fine, he held Tam's violin and begun to play.

Tam often listened to more dark songs but once Keefe had heard him humming to a song that sounded a lot different. Not quite upbeat, but it wasn't somber either. Almost as if it were about finding hope. But then he would hear the humming more often, and Keefe had grown familiar. He still had to look at the sheet notes- playing by ear was hard- but it was easy to play, as he could hear it in his head.

He sought out that familiar tune as he played, long, drawn out notes. The song was somewhat slow, until it would pick up a little, the melody a little happier. He focused solely on the playing, not daring to look at Tam until he was finished. He didn't want any distraction.

So once he had finished, he finally looked. His mouth was open, eyes wide.

"I see I've managed to leave you awestruck, Tam," He said with a smirk.

The black haired boy blinked, his face flushing pink before he recovered. "Yeah- well... you played my favourite song! I never even told you what it was!"

"You've hummed it so many times in the past month! And then..." he trailed off, because something didn't make sense.

"Even if you heard the song, how would you know what it was?" Tam asked.

"I just recognized the song? I've heard it before." That was a lie, he had never heard the song before. But how did he know it then?

"And I haven't hummed it. At least, not when there were people around. Unless you're stalking me on the way home, you shouldn't have been able to hear it."

"I've heard the song so many times, its almost like it's a part of you."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"I don't know."

"Then why did you say it?" He was actually smiling, instead of giving him that irritated look he usually would. Keefe wanted to see that smile more often.

"I don't know."

He rolled his eyes, but was still smiling.

Later that day, Linh had called him. She'd told him that Tam no longer looked like he wanted to hurt someone, and looked more relieved. She said that she knew he was the reason why and thanked him once more.

Their third year had quickly ended after that, and it ended quite nicely. And as much as Keefe didn't quite like school, it was weird not being there, not being able to see his friends every day. So when he wasn't with his friends, he played his violin, often playing the song that he had played for Tam.

"Apparently, Linh has two soulmates," Tam said to him one day, closer to the end of vacation.

"Really?" Because having two soulmates was rare. "Wait, is it Sophie and Biana?"

He nodded. "Yeah. She was telling me some stuff about the soulmate bond that's been going on."

But based on the way Tam looked, it almost felt like he was the one asking.

"And what'd she say?"

"She said some of the usual things that people normally say. The reading of minds, and having to work on not invading each other's privacy. But she was telling me about before she knew and..."

"What?"

"She was telling me how she didn't know why she was able to trust them so easily. And she focused on the friendship bond that had started, while most people jump straight to the romance part."

"Bangs Boy, do you think you've met your soulmate?"

Apparently he seriously lacked a filter, because how many times had he suddenly just asked a question without realizing? But as he thought about it, he kind of hoped that the answer was a no.

"I'm not sure. If I have, our friendship isn't strong enough yet."

The answer was really optimistic, as if he couldn't wait to see his soulmate. But Keefe didn't want that to happen just yet. Tam had spent most of his time around him... he didn't want someone else occupying that time too.

Wait, was that what he thought it meant? There was no way that he... sure, he liked being around Tam, being able to play music for each other, but...

His shoulders slumped as he sighed. Keefe was crushing on Tam.

If Tam had noticed his change in attitude, the way he went quiet, and fidgeted with his fingers, he didn't say anything.

Their next meeting was back at school. He'd managed to get a slightly better control of his emotions, but after that revelation, he felt self-conscious about every interaction he had. And when Tam would play, Keefe would notice every little detail.

The most surprising part was that deep down, he'd already noticed those details. The emotions hidden away in those blue eyes. A foot very lightly tapping to a beat. So he sat there, admiring everything that was happening.

And then he had an idea. He'd scoured the Internet for some good songs that would work as a duet. Finally he found one, and printed the music sheets.

The next day during lunch, he went up to Tam.

"So Bangs Boy, I have an offer."

Tam raised an eyebrow, but took a look at the sheet anyway. The hand that was laying by his side twitched, mimicking a bow as he mouthed the melody.

"You want to play this... with me?"

"I don't see why not."

"It's almost if you're acknowledging that my playing us good and you're asking me for help."

"When did I ever say that you were bad?" Because he wasn't, Tam had always been spectacular. "All I said that I was better." Which was something he'd been beginning to doubt.

"I didn't say that. Besides, your playing is also nice."

"An actual compliment? Wow, it only took like 3 years." Keefe said with a smirk.

He sighed, shaking his head, but fondly. "Shut up."

The song they played likely was the best song that they had played, other than the one that they created in class. Despite the early mistakes that had been made, they were always in sync, there was never a timing problem, only a note one.

Fitz had stumbled upon one of their better practices, and was astounded.

"You two... you two play so well, what the heck? Biana and I have tried to play songs for months and we're just..." his hands flailed wildly. "All over the place. And I don't even see either of you tapping your foot to keep track of time!"

"Practice," was all Tam said.

"Tam, I play piano."

"Wonderboy's just jealous he doesn't have the skills that we do." Keefe said, adopting the nickname that Dex often used.

He shrugged. "I'll be honest, you two remind me of how Biana acts with Sophie and Linh. They're like always in sync, but they usually use it to gang up on me. Which I think is rude."

Keefe grinned. "What a wonderful idea! When I find my soulmate, I'm going to make them tease you."

"Rude!" Fitz ended up leaving them alone again.

Neither of them did much practicing after that. He had said when he finds his soulmate, but he wanted them to be Tam. And well... Fitz had acknowledged that they were in sync. But he didn't know if that was just natural chemistry, or the work of the soulmate bond.

Tam had been quiet for unknown reason, and hardly every looked in Keefe's direction. He didn't seem upset or angry, but as if he had remembered something and was mulling it over.

But just in case... "You doing alright?"

His head jerked towards him. "Just thinking."

"About what?"

"The future, I guess," he said.

It seemed like the truth, but he was sure there was more to it. But neither of them had spoken after that, the silence too delicate.

Fitz's words still hadn't left his brain though. What if they were soulmates? What if they weren't? He shook his head quickly to clear it. Not all soulmates were romantic, so even if they weren't, he still could have a chance. Then there was what Linh had said all those months ago.

He's a lot happier. He's usually happy when he's with you.

It made him rethink a lot of their interactions, thinking about all of those times that Tam had let himself smile. Always when they were in private. Then he remembered when he had comforted Tam, when he had blurted out something cheesy related to the song. What did that mean?

Another week later, he had an answer.

"Hey Bangs Boy, remember when I said you were like that song you liked?" Keefe had asked while they were walking.

Tam had frozen midstep, turning to face him. "Yeah, what about it?"

"I have an answer to it."

He raised an eyebrow, and continued to walk again. "Do tell."

"The song... it starts off really somber, it's almost dreadful, except for those few lines that didn't fit the tone. It's like your past, you went through tough times, but you had Linh with you, so it wasn't hopeless. Those few lines start repeating more often, like when you got adopted by Tiergan.

"There's still that sadness leftover, but you kept reaching for that sliver of hope, until your situation became a lot better. With that, your melody is happier. It well... it describes your life in a way. And I wouldn't be surprised if you became so attached to the song for a similar reason."

You helped me through the last of my darkness.

The voice was uncharacteristically emotional, but still very like Tam.

"What?"

Tam turned back to him, a confused expression on his face. "I didn't say anything."

"Yeah you did... 'You helped me through the last of my darkness'."

His eyes widened. "I didn't say that though."

That made no sense. How would he have known that then unless...

We're soulmates.

Relief washed over him in waves. They really were soulmates. They'd gone through over three years together, and this was the bond they shared.

But then there was shock. It didn't quite feel like his own, but it felt real enough.

"Soulmates?" Tam echoed. "We..."

What he saw and what he felt were two different things. Tam still looked shocked, almost panicking. But what he felt was another wave of relief, and then joy.

"You like me too," Keefe breathed.

He'd expected either a happy reply, or a 'yeah you dumb*ss, but what he heard surprised him.

"Oh my God you can feel all my emotions."

"Is it... not okay?"

"No! I mean- yes! It's... it's always been there, your emotions, I think. But this... it's weird. I wanted to tell you that I liked you towards the end of the year, and ask if you wanted to share a dorm with me or something. But like... you can f*cking feel my emotions!"

"So it's a privacy thing then? Not a problem with me?" He was ready to panic at first, but this made a lot more sense. Tam wasn't a fan of oversharing, and was likely used to having to keep his emotions hidden.

"Yeah," he said with a sigh. "I know Linh described it, but I never properly thought about it until now. And you said... you liked me?"

Keefe nodded. "Yeah. I have for a bit actually. You think we should discuss more of how this works?"

"Yes, please."

They continued their walk, setting some basic boundaries. Like no trying to actively invade the other's privacy, or if one of them learned something, it was better to keep quiet and pretend that nothing had happened. Unless that something was something major that required help.

By the end of their walk, they had arrived at Tam's house. Before Tam could walk away, Keefe pulled on his arm.

"Can I... can I kiss you?"

The black haired boy gave a soft smile, before planting a soft kiss. It was light, and his shoes were nearly stepped on, but it was absolutely sweet.

Keefe had ended the day feeling giddy, and no amount of questioning from his father was able to get rid of it.

Does this work? He thought, pushing it out of his mind.

You just scared the crap out of me, but yes. Oh great, I think Linh just figured it out.

Already?

She says I did the exact same thing she did.

Okay, I was just testing this out. It's a little tiring, actually.

Good night, Keefe.

Good night, Tam.

Keefe then sent a hasty text to Fitz, saying that he had found his soulmate. There was an immediate reply of guessing Tam. He supposed that in a way, it wouldn't be that surprised since they were constantly with each other. The night had ended with pure bliss.

•~•~•~•~•~•

Tam enough with the homicidal thoughts. You're so loud I can hear them without trying. I'm about to play, and I have a bow in my hand. I could poke someone and it won't be my fault.

Keefe. My coworkers are idiots.

Tell me when I get home. Not during this interview.

Keefe took a deep breath to sort out the emotions. Once he grabbed a hold of his own, he made eye contact with the interviewer.

"Keefe Sencen, right?"

"That is me."

"How long have you been playing the violin for?"

"Seventeen years now."

There was more mild chatting, each answer harder to reply to because someone was still trying to plot his coworkers murder. Keefe was just trying to get hired for playing the violin, while Tam was at his part time job until he found a new one.

"Can you show me what you have?"

He nodded. He thought of the melody he wanted to play, and started the song.

This one's for you, Tam.

It was different than what he'd intended to play, but in his opinion, he liked this song a lot better. It also happened to be a song that Tam had helped him write. The notes were graceful and soothing, not energetic and not depressing. His fingers practically moved on instinct alone, and the dark feeling was reduced to nothing.

You... you played that to calm me down, didn't you? Tam asked.

Is that not how it works?

It's been a while since that happened.

Yeah, but I don't want to get charged for assault.

I wasn't that angry.

You were plotting murders. Very detailed ones.

"A soulmate?" The interviewer asked.

Oh crap, he didn't mean to zone out that much.

"I think it's lovely, actually. Music requires emotion, and I think that they evoke a lot of it from you. Your playing was lovely too. Are they a fan of music?"

That was unexpected. "He plays the violin too."

The interviewed raised an eyebrow. "Does he now?"

Bangs Boy, I think my interviewer might want to hire you too. You're welcome.

•~•~•~•~•~•

Taglist: @linhamon-roll, @impostertamsong

If you wanna join the taglist, just let me know!

#keefe sencen #tam song #linh song #kam #fanfiction #kotlc #kotlc fanfiction #ravi writes a thing #keeper of the lost cities #kam week 2020 #sjsjska when copy pasting from wattpad to here i panicked because it tried to tell me i hit a max word count #but it worked after

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letterboxd · 3 years

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Dream Chasers.

Mark Harris and Alicia Malone—two of the hosts of this month’s TCM Film Festival—tell Jack Moulton about Nichols and May, West Side Story, classic lockdown discoveries, and the films that make you feel like everything has changed when you walk out of that cinema.

For a second year in a row due to the Covid-19 pandemic, the TCM Classic Film Festival is being hosted virtually. Its program screens across TCM and HBO Max from May 6 to May 9. The festival, which began in 2010, was held at Grauman’s Chinese Theater and the nearby Egyptian Theater in Hollywood, a move designed to allow classic movie fans to retread the footsteps of glitzy premieres from the glamorous past.

Ahead of Steven Spielberg’s upcoming remake, the festival opens with West Side Story’s 60th anniversary screening, featuring new and exclusive interviews by living legends Rita Moreno, George Chakiris and Russ Tamblyn. The complete festival lineup includes classic programming and talent highlights, from Michael Douglas introducing his Best Picture-winning One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest to Scorsese on Goodfellas, to a comedian-heavy table read of Edward D. Wood Jr.’s infamously bad Plan 9 From Outer Space.

Journalist and author Mark Harris, who published the biography Mike Nichols: A Life earlier this year, is presenting the 1996 American Masters documentary Nichols and May: Take Two, covering the Oscar-winning director’s legendary comic partnership with Elaine May. It features iconic sketches that will recontextualize the way you think about Nichols if you thought his career started with Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf? and The Graduate.

TCM host, feminist cinema expert, Australian expat and Letterboxd member Alicia Malone is also a presenter at this year’s festival. (She admits she’s slacking on her Letterboxd logging this year, but used it to track her viewings over lockdown, topping over 500 films.) Neither Harris nor Malone have been able to go to the cinema since they closed over a year ago, but both are eager to return to their local arthouses in Maine and the Upper West Side of Manhattan as soon as they’re ready.

We caught up with Harris and Malone shortly before the festival commenced for a classic edition of the Letterboxd Life in Film.

‘The Poseidon Adventure’ (1972).

What’s your fondest memory of seeing a film in the cinema? Mark Harris: This is embarrassing, but for me it’s The Poseidon Adventure. At the time, my parents were a bit stricter than other parents so the other kids were already getting to see so-called ‘adult’ movies. The Poseidon Adventure was the first ‘not-kids’ movie that I ever got to see in a theater and at the age of eight, I immediately thought ‘well, clearly this is the best movie of all-time’. Everything in it was new information to me, such as how adults talked to each other and Stella Stevens playing a prostitute—I had no idea what that was. I found it so scary, I believed everything I saw on the screen. The joy of taking in something I hadn’t seen before has never left me.

Alicia Malone: It would probably be seeing Amélie. I was living in Canberra but my older sister had moved to Sydney, which to me was the big smoke, I really wanted to live there when I grew up. I got to visit her by myself and stay in her flat which she was renting by herself and it seemed so cool. She took me to the local arthouse cinema where Amélie was playing and I was so swept away. I know that film gets a bad rap now for being overly sentimental and quirky, but I just felt like I was being seen. I had such a kinship with the character of Amélie because she’s a dreamer, always in her own head and that’s how I was. I was always comparing my life to movies and playing movie scenes in my head. I remember walking out of that cinema and it felt like everything had changed—the color was brighter, it was special.

MH: We have to talk Turner into an Amélie-Poseidon Adventure double-feature!

AM: What a double! That would be amazing.

John Garfield and Ida Lupino in ‘The Sea Wolf’ (1941).

Which classic films that you discovered during lockdown had a major impact on you? MH: I wanted to dive into some directors that I really didn’t know well so I started watching all the Luchino Visconti movies, because Italian cinema is not my strongest area. That was an incredibly rewarding experience. I also saw the big seven-hour Russian War and Peace, which completely blew my mind. Those were probably my big pandemic discoveries.

AM: Something I really loved was getting to do the TCM Star of the Month for John Garfield because he’s such an interesting character and was a pre-cursor to Marlon Brando, Robert De Niro and those types of method actors. I’d seen him in various films—such as The Postman Always Rings Twice—but I’d never sat down to watch a lot of his filmography and learn more about his personal story. To see films like The Sea Wolf and Body and Soul, I really gained a newfound respect for him as an actor. You can see some of the beginnings of that kind of tough-guy, everyday-man archetype with a brilliant actor putting his emotions right there on his sleeve.

MH: I should also say that the Women Make Movies Festival was huge for me. All those movies are on my DVR and I’m still going through them and discovering them. I recorded everything and that was and continues to be a gigantic education for me.

AM: Yes! Thanks for that reminder. That was such a fulfilling experience to get to be one of the hosts on that with Jacqueline Stewart. What was so brilliant about Mark Cousins’ documentary is that there are so many clips of films that you think how have we not seen this? How are we not studying this film? How do we not know about this particular filmmaker?

Meryl Streep and Jack Nicholson in ‘Heartburn’ (1986).

If you could only pick one, which is the most overlooked film by Mike Nichols? MH: The most under-appreciated film to me is Heartburn. That was a real rediscovery when I was working on the book. I remember liking it, but I didn’t remember how sharp the performances were, how funny the comedy was, and the really acute social observations. I was so surprised when I was coming across the reviews—almost all of which were by men—and all of them said some version of “Why is he wasting his time with this? Why would he tell this woman’s story? Why doesn’t he tell the other half of the story?” Surely no-one would leave this character unless she gave him a good reason to leave! It was really shocking to me how dismissive and contemptuous a lot of the critical reaction was. I’m so happy that I’ve gotten to stick Heartburn under a lot of people’s noses because it’s a movie they seem to be really liking once they find it.

AM: I’m obviously not as deep into his filmography as Mark is, but I have to agree that Heartburn is a film that I can’t believe has been so overlooked. I came to that movie through Nora Ephron, who I just adore. [Heartburn is adapted from a semi-autobiographical novel by Ephron.] I rewatched it recently and I was blown away by it. Of course, Meryl Streep is amazing, but just getting to be in those characters’ worlds again and watching it after I had listened to the audiobook—which features the voice of Meryl Streep—about a year ago added a whole new experience. I loved how in her book how she has all these recipes dotted through it that you see in the movie as well.

MH: That’s one of the great audiobook readings of all time. It’s great to listen to [Streep] do that.

John Cassavetes and Peter Falk in ‘Mikey and Nicky’ (1976).

Where do you recommend film lovers start with Elaine May? MH: It’s only a four-movie body of work as a director so I think it’s perfectly fine to go in chronological order. A New Leaf is fantastic and feels 100 percent her. You really get a great deal of her sensibility in that movie. I would just start there and go to The Heartbreak Kid and then to Mikey and Nicky, which is not the place to start but is a fascinating movie, and then you’ll be ready for Ishtar.

AM: See, I would say Mikey and Nicky straight out of the gate.

MH: Really?

AM: I love subverting expectations of what a female director can do and that is such a masculine movie. It’s a film that you wouldn’t expect for a female director to make. I love the back and forth, the rapport between [Cassavetes and Falk]. I find it really compelling and exciting every time I see it. So I say, go hard, go in with Mikey and Nicky then, yeah, A New Leaf and The Heartbreak Kid, but maybe skip Ishtar.

Iconic comedy duo Elaine May and Mike Nichols.

Thinking of Nichols fleeing to New York City from Germany, and Alicia moving to Hollywood from Australia, which ‘American Dream’ film resonates with you the most? AM: This answer is going to sound quite cheesy since it was a recent film: La La Land. I understand all the criticism about it, I agree with it, but I don’t care. I feel like it was made for me as a redhead in Hollywood, chasing her dream, and coming up against all the obstacles. I also love Singin’ in the Rain, which I know is not necessarily strictly about the American Dream but is about Hollywood in general. That is a film that really started the idea of moving to Hollywood as a young kid. It’s the idea of a magical place where you could do anything and make your dreams come true and have dignity—always dignity.

MH: This time I’m going to go hard and dark and say the first title that occurred to me, which is The Godfather: Part II. It’s a great immigrant story, though it’s a strange version of the American Dream. The whole saga is about coming to America, becoming an American, and deciding what American values are.

AM: I should say that during our TCM Film Festival on HBO Max, we have a section on immigrant stories. We have America, America, which is a great one by Elia Kazan, and Stranger Than Paradise, which I would recommend as well. It’s a warped view of the American Dream but I love the way they think they get rich and all their dreams can come true. Also Black Legion, which is a darker version of the immigrant story with Humphrey Bogart going to the darker side of ‘foreigners should not take American jobs’.

MH: I’ll just throw in a plug for another Mike Nichols movie, Working Girl. He really saw that as an immigrant story—the first shot is of the Statue of Liberty, even though they’re [emigrating] from Staten Island! I think Mike thought it was as distant of a land as the old country, I’m not sure he spent a lot of time on Staten Island.

Katharine Hepburn in ‘Woman of the Year’ (1942).

What are some of your other problematic faves? The classics we acknowledge have not aged well, but you love anyway. AM: I think My Fair Lady is one of those. I’m a sucker for make-over movies despite all of their problematic ways of showing how women need to change if you don’t fit into the mold and you should sand down all your edges. But I get worked up in the whole transformation myth and making your life better. Even though it’s got Audrey Hepburn and you want to see Julie Andrews in that role, My Fair Lady is still one that I enjoy and I can see all of the problems with it.

Another one, that we featured during our Reframed series on TCM, was Woman of the Year, which is a great example of one of those women’s pictures that, as Professor Jeanine Basinger has pointed out, is so empowering for most of the movie and then in the last five minutes it undoes everything. It’s still a great film to watch when you want to get ahead of feminism and see Katharine Hepburn in a wonderful role, but you just have to ignore the breakfast scene at the end.

MH: I was just talking the other day to some people about the movie Network, which is one of my all-time favorite movies, but if you look hard at Network, it’s very possible to read that as a story about a woman who can’t be a professional in a workplace without hollowing herself out and becoming sort of less-than-human. [Diana Christensen] is talked about terribly by the other characters and you’re supposed to learn a hard lesson about what a monster an ambitious woman can become and that does not hold up well. It’s also a movie that features some of the wittiest dialogue and some of the greatest performances of any movie of the 1970s and I’m always going to love it for that.

AM: That’s such a trope, isn’t it? The ice-cold career woman.

MH: Right, and whoever did it better than…

AM, MH: Faye Dunaway!

Alicia Malone, Mark Harris.

Which coming-of-age movie character did you find the most relatable? AM: For me, it’s Velvet Brown played by Elizabeth Taylor in National Velvet. I watched that over and over as a child when I was obsessed with horses. It was so inspiring as a young girl to see another young girl chasing her dreams—pretending she’s a boy that doesn’t speak English to win the Grand National—particularly at the time when I grew up in the 1980s, when so many of those films for kids were about young boys achieving their dreams.

MH: Haven’t seen it in a long time, but the Peter Yates movie Breaking Away meant a lot to me when I was a kid. The idea of chasing something that means something to you but trying to reconcile what your parents thought about it, and how to balance your own dreams with the expectations other people had for you. I think that’s a really lovely movie.

I still think about those performances by Dennis Christopher, Dennis Quaid, Daniel Stern and Jackie Earl Haley, and of course Barbara Barrie and Paul Dooley as the parents. That movie landed right in my heart the first time I saw it. I’m almost afraid to go back now, I don’t want it to have turned into one of my problematic faves! I want it to be one of my faves.

If we could gift every Letterboxd member two hours of HBO Max to discover one film from this year’s TCM Classic Film Festival lineup, which film would you want it to be? (My pick is Bless Their Little Hearts.) AM: A film that I just adore is Cléo From 5 to 7 by Agnès Varda. She was working in the French New Wave and arguably made the first movie ever in the French New Wave. It’s one of those great movies that is close to real time as possible—it should be Cléo From 5 to 6:30 really, because it’s an hour and a half. It’s so inventively shot and edited. I’ve done the walk that she did in Paris, I’ve tried to map that out and copy Cléo. I want more people to see it and discover it.

MH: My husband [playwright and screenwriter Tony Kushner] recently finished writing a new version of West Side Story for Steven Spielberg that’s going to come out at the end of the year. I think I would like to gift everybody the first version of West Side Story, which opens the festival, because you have to start there. It’s a beautiful movie and I think it’s a really instructive thing to see how this story was told in 1961 versus how it’s going to be told in 2021. Also, it’s two-and-a-half hours so if we’re only gifting people two hours… they’re not going to see the ending and they’re going to have to go to the new one to find out what happens!

Related content

Follow Mark Harris, Alicia Malone and TCM on Twitter for updates on TCM Classic Film Festival 2021

Watch the TCMFF West Side Story cast reunion, May 6 at 6pm ET

A Letterboxd list of all the films mentioned in this interview

Follow Festiville for all Letterboxd festival coverage

Follow Jack on Letterboxd

#tcm #tcmff #tcm film festival #hbo max #alicia malone #mark harris #tony kushner #elaine may #mike nichols #nora ephron #steven spielberg #west side story #letterboxd #letterboxd life in film #classic film #classic movies #old hollywood #hollywood glamour #hollywood glamor

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keepcopinghoe · 3 years

Text

catch up pt.1

quick rundown of what’s been going on with me

ramo is the first guy that i’ve consistently and personally interacted with since about 2018 and definitely the first guy who actually around my age that i’ve formed a relatively close bond with. i think it’s for this reason that i’m so attached to him. he frequently described himself as an incel (ironically tho) and i think his last actually non-paid-for sexual relationship was back in 2017. so i stupidly assumed that i was the only girl in his life that he was actually close with and this delusion i think in many ways also is what build the foundation behind the inexplicable quasi-infatuation that i have now.

on 06th june he told me about some girl that was part of his i***c*** discord which i already knew he was a part of since ages ago. i asked about her and he said she was from lithuania and that he was pissed off because some other guy was orbiting her which immediately set off alarm bells to me since there’s legit no reason to get pissy that someone else is orbiting a girl unless you like her yourself. he also said some shit to me which i think was unintentionally (or maybe intentionally?) hurtful, about how he could easily afford my prices and that i sell myself way below the market rate (both true but still). i think it’s both these things happening at the same time which particularly stung: ramo orbiting some e-girl who is involved in the same interests and hobbies to a greater extent than i am and also the emphasis that i’m a whore (and a cheap one at that) who no one would ever really consider as a serious dating prospect if they knew anything about my history.

i told him shortly after than i didn’t want to see him for a month or so, making up the excuse that it was because i was gonna be too busy. this is partially true cus i did initially have the plan to work every single day until the date of my breast augmentation/lift surgery which would be 25th june, earning like £700 a day in profit if i worked very hard. that didn’t quite come to fruition because there was some guy who booked with me that left a negative review on UKP which led to a fussilade of criticism from various users about me being a power-tripping time waster who frequently ghosted clients. this is kinda true except the power-tripping part; my timewasting is a direct result of substance abuse problems which is a direct result of whoring myself out to men that i often find unattractive. all in the preceding week (i met ramo on a sunday and this shit happened the following week).

two separate people passive aggressively threatened to send me another negative review over text, i have to provide a discounted rate to two of my regulars due to consistantly missing bookings, someone left me a negative review under my AW profile (which they did through sending a booking request that i didn’t confirm) saying that my service had declined massively over the last few months and that it was like ‘fucking a zombie’ and the final night of working on thursday (10/06), i saw this guy who has followed me under various aliases i’ve had in the past (jade/sana/etc.) and that i last meant at kingston premier inn in like june 2019. would have been a nice blast from the past in some respect but i made a stupid retarded decision to do coke with him - i then sniffed poppers which was retarded as well because poppers are a stimulant and speeds the heart up even further which i didn’t really know at the time. i then got super paranoid that i was gonna have a heart attack and kept telling the client in question to ensure that he call an ambulance if i collapsed, which i’m sure really got him in the mood. his name was james and i stupidly told him my real name. he couldn’t come and i felt like shit because i knew he didn’t enjoy himself - he told me in his mind that he had kind of ‘built’ the meeting up and i suppose it must have fallen massively short of his expectations. it is what it is.

i couldn’t sleep really at all due to the coke. i had several meetings arranged for the next day on friday with regulars all of which i cancelled. i just couldn’t continue on with the same routine of waking up in the morning feeling disgusting because i keep eating junk food delivery, doing an enema, getting drunk and just getting fucked until bedtime even though it was really good money.

i fucked around and went to chinatown on saturday evening and was feeling really happy and relieved about not having to work. i’ve figured that i can just make money after my surgeries and start again under a new profile where i don’t have any negative reviews attached to it and maybe rent out an actual apartment on a monthly basis, since it’d be cheaper than air BnB and i can set things up the way i want. i ate sweet and sour fish and egg fried rice, it was taste (ramo always says that lol).

idk what compelled me to do it but on 14th june, i looked through ramo’s likes on twitter. i think it was because i recalled seeing an obvious girl account in his likes previously - this is something i didn’t really think about at all previously but with the new information he had told me the sunday before, i ended up browsing her account which kind of led to a personal crisis. i found out fairly quickly that this girl was the same one he had referred to on discord (m** on discord, j**** on twitter) simply because there were screencaps on her media referring to the same discord and she was definitely from lithuania. i always assumed that women in these circles were lame and bland tradthots who lacked any kind of constitution beyond mindless pandering to irony poisoned scrotes and genuinely retarded wignats but i was suprised at how immediately endearing this girl appeared even to me, through the internet and as someone i have every reason to feel petty resentment towards.

her shitposts were funny and while she is edgy, she has an underlying sweet and kind disposition. her art is shit but cool in its own scrambled way. she’s also apparently only 16 so it’s understandable - i was a lot more cringe at her age and just as shit at art.

the feeling of inadequacy was overwhelming since in addition to being an actual whore, i’m super cringe, lame and normie compared to her. it made completely sense that ramo would orbit a girl like this and i’ve since completely re-evaluated my position and meaning in his life. it’s a good thing that my cope of feelings of intense inadequacy is to launch myself into a phase of hyper-productivity - i kept practicing drawing (apeing her in a way ig since i recently had kind of given up on drawing), fasting, reading, etc. to try and overcome how worthless and self-loathing i felt at being the unwitting basis of comparison to a young girl who was better than me in every conceivable manner. i even listened to msg 3.

i was in so much pain over this that i couldn’t listen to songs which reminded me of ramo (any i****c*** but specifically drug approved and also temptation) and when i did, i just felt anger at my position and a weird resentment towards him. worth mentioning than ramo had sent me a weird bootycall kind of text sometime before then which came across as really crash, so that made me feel even more devalued.

this is already super long so i’m gonna follow up with a pt. 2 later or maybe edit.

#catch-up #from may 2021 ig #a lot has happened and it would be amiss to just start where things are now without any context especially since it's still quite recent

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miss-choco-chips · 4 years

Text

Soul Shards part 4

I have nothing to say for myself. Don’t kill me? I tried to edit this, but it’s longer than what I’m used to, so I probably fucked up somewhere along the way.

This... will probably need another part. Or should I leave it like this? I dunno.

Enjoy!

~~~.~~~.~~~

Timothy’s eyes shone hatefully. It was the most beautiful shade of icy blue he had ever seen. Even if the emotion was such a dark one, they weren’t empty anymore.

-It’ll be over soon -he shushed, slowly sinking to his knees and bringing the man into his lap, almost engulfing him between arms and firm chest, as if to protect him from the pain that was coming from deep inside; distantly, he heard Kon and Jon’s voices as they approached, their concern obvious but unimportant at the moment-, you just have… a lot of emotional catching up to do.

~~~.~~~.~~~

16 - 21

The young man raised his eyes from the documents he was revising, merely glancing over Damian’s case files.

-Zsasz -was all he said, before going back to his own thing.

Damian a year ago might have gotten mad, thinking Timothy was sprouting spur of the moment lies to get him to stop nagging him. He knew better now, that the man didn’t need more than a second of looking at his carefully collected evidence to make a verdict.

It didn’t mean he wasn’t curious, though.

-How? -was all he asked, giving the file a closer look, trying and failing to see what the other could- He was at Arkham at the time of the crimes, there’s witnesses and video evidence.

Timothy didn’t seem to be paying attention to him any longer, answering by rote but not taking his empty eyes from his own work.

-Not Zsasz himself, but not a copycat either. This is the work of a lover, or someone romantically interested in the bastard. Could be a courting gift, a mean to attract his attention, or both. Look deeply into any woman…

-Or man, or both, or neither -he felt compelled to add. Timothy shrugged, but his soul gave an approving humm.

-... or man, or both, or neither -the detective conceded, dropping his papers in favor of his coffee cup and tablet-, visiting him this last few months, or that could have benefited from any of Zsasz murders; maybe he unknowingly saved someone by killing their abuser or something like that, and they fell for him. Think Misa Amane from Death Note.

As he did any time Drake dropped a reference, Damian made a mental note to check this out. At least, “Death note” sounded more his style than the time he had to watch both Mean Girls movies.

-How do you know it’s a love interest and not, say, an apprentice?

Without dropping his cup, and balancing the tablet against his legs where he was sitting on the couch, Timothy raised his other hand and pushed one of Damian’s papers across the coffee table towards him. One of the autopsy’s photos.

-The cuts. Zsasz usually makes them all across the body, picking certain places that would make his victims bleed to death as slowly and painfully as he feels like. These, instead, are focused on the chest area, almost circling the person’s heart. In this one, a victim that was murdered specifically on Valentine's day, the cuts are even closer to it, almost framing the heart.

-...I can see it -he muttered, eyes widening. After two weeks of useless tumbling around this case, it was only when he caved and went to Timothy for help that he finally had some possible lead on it. And, as every time he did this before, a few minutes was all he needed to figure it out and to point him in the right direction.

-I’d hurry, if I were you. The least thing Gotham needs is a new villian power couple, a “Harley and Joker” take two. It was just too good when she left him for Ivy, so don’t allow anyone else to take their places as the criminal lovers of the city.

Damian nodded and went back to his files on Zsasz, energies and will renewed. Timothy ignored him once again in favor of his own things, and silence enveloped them. He didn’t mind; the icy blue soul’s warm encouragement was all he needed.

----.----

-It has grown -commented the older of the two, watching from the corner of his eye the souls on Damian’s lap. They had to fight some sea monsters at the beach, and sand had gotten into his pouch, so he stopped at the earliest chance to clean it up.

It was the first time Timothy saw his soul in years. Damian had being careful to not take it out around him, scared it might spook the man into leaving.

If anything, he seemed curious.

-It has? -he asked, dropping his own back on its hiding place and rising the other to eye level- It still fits in my palm the same way it always did.

Timothy rolled his eyes.

-Yeah, and your hand is the exact size it was when you were twelve? Brat, you are already taller than me -wipe that smile off your face, we both knew this day would come. You grew, and if it still fits the same, it’s only logical that it did as well. You probably didn’t notice because you see it all the time, and since your soul has also grown, there’s no sure way for you to compare them and realize it.

Amazed, and more than a little happy, Damian examined it closer. He was right, of course; now that it was brought to his attention, he couldn’t unsee it.

-A soul grows and thrives on multiple things -kept going the other, shaking his head to get as much sand as possible off his hair-, both positive or negative.

Damian knew this, has seen the sheer size of the Joker’s rotten soul, doubled after his latest killing spree: it fed on the pain of his victims. It was a disgusting sight, but one that proved just how different the psychopaths they fought saw life, and how unlikely it was they’d ever stop.

-And in this case? -he asked, refraining himself from saying ‘your’ instead of ‘this’.

A shrug- If I had to guess, love, like most people’s. It was what always healed me, time and time again, growing up; love for my friends, parents, family, people I liked… It started to shrunk when half the people I cared for died, and the other half didn’t seem to want my feelings nor return them. Poor, past-me’s soul was starved to death. You seem to have it well fed, tough.

It was said tonelessly, but Damian felt two sizes taller all the same. The soul at hand seemed to shine in front of his eyes (although it was probably just the sun’s reflection), and a quick succession of images flashed across his eyes.

Kon El, Bart Allen, Cassie Sandsmark and a few other heroes he recognized from Drake’s old Young Justice photos, going out of their way to seek him out and keep him company in his self imposed soulless exile.

Grayson, Father and Todd sitting quietly at the Cave’s Red Robin memorial (with cracked glass; The Red Hood hadn’t reacted well the first time he saw it), sharing stories of the man as they knew him: brother, son, childhood friend.

Cain and Brown, sitting back to back, holding the other’s soul shard; Brown delightedly absorbing the love Timothy had put in Cain’s icy blue compass, and the other carefully caressing the almost black locket, cocooning it in her hands, as if trying to breath emotions back into the almost empty thing.

Himself, tirelessly looking for information on the man years ago, following him around more recently. Taking hits for him during the times they worked together, doing his best to keep Grandfather away, sneakily replacing his coffee for decaf.

(taking care of his body)

Holding the precious icy blue orb in his palms, cradling it against his chest when sleeping or fondling with it between his fingers when troubled or distracted. Constant, tender touch. Never damaging it. Never leaving it alone. Never ignoring the feelings it sent his way.

(taking care of his soul)

Timothy looks indifferent, typing away at his new phone (he changed them almost every day, no doubt to keep Oracle or Father from finding him), but his soul reacts beautifully to Damian’s thoughts.

Fed by love, indeed.

-----.----

17 - 22

After he saved some children and comforted them during patrol, when he had (briefly) the upper hand against Cain in a spar, when he successfully talked Todd down from blowing up a building, when he stood firm against father in order to protect Jon, Colin and the rest of his friends from a scolding, when he tried (and failed) to help Alfred bake Grayson a cake for his birthday… each time, he would feel a tug from the not-so-little-anymore orb, and when he took it out of his pouch to inspect it, he’d always see a new, beautiful green and gold spot slowly dying the area surrounding the core.

Little specks of his colours, appearing here and there at times that seemed random to him, but evidently were appreciated by Drake’s soul.

It scared him so badly he could barely sleep without nightmares. Because, even if it meant tentatively good things (he was leaving a mark on Timothy where not even Todd had reached, was securing himself a way into his heart), it also meant a change.

What if, after all his efforts, this made impossible for Drake's soul to fit into his body after all?

After the soulless man had pointed it out for him, he begun to notice things. Not only the suddenly appearing, breathtaking looking spots on the icy blue sea of his soul, but how it seemed to shine more with each passing moment, how the feelings it gave off were more intense (it had come as a surprise; he would never had guessed they were muted before, until he was almost blown away by the soul’s rage after an encounter with Deathstroke left Nightwing at death’s doors), how the small little bumps and dents in it were filled out as the soul grew, healthier and prettier.

It had grown so full of feelings, so strong, he feared. What if, even if he got Timothy to take it back, his body couldn't accept it due to its changes? Or what if the accumulated feelings were too much for him to take, to process? He certainly had some emotional baggage to catch up to, and he had little to no information on soulless people accepting their core back to properly predict what outcome they might face.

He was scared by the changes. He was excited about his colours slowly taking space into Timothy’s soul. He couldn’t rest properly anymore.

The soul was a faithful companion on his long, sleepless nights. It spoke to him, in a language of feelings and abstract-like images he had come to learn with the years. It returned his love and care tenfold, in a way he knew only Drake, with his seemingly unending flow of emotions, could do.

A part of him (Wayne, hero, martyr) didn’t believe himself deserving of it. None on his family, with maybe Cain and Pennyworth as the exceptions, were worth the unconditional trust and loyalty Timothy bestowed upon them.

The part that was purely Al Ghul (proud, selfish, greedy) asked for moremoremore, and only himhimhim.

That didn’t help his insomnia.

Neither did Timothy’s warm comfort.

The feelings, on both ends, only grew.

-------.-------

When he finally gathered courage and went to the source, Timothy himself, to show him the changes on the orb, the man only hummed, undeterred in his task of cleaning the kitchennet of this small place he was using for the week. They were somewhere in Singapore, and Damian could see the sea from the living room window.

-It’s such a shame, really -he spoke, as his hands worked steadily and with the ease of familiarity on making both coffee and Damian’s favorite tea. Never let it be said he didn’t know how to host. Another muscle memory skill, no doubt.

-What is it?

-You fell victim to Robin’s Third Law. I thought you might have been excepted from it, but obviously not. So sad. If I had an Alexa, I’d have her play sad violin tunes.

Ignoring the last bit, he took his eyes from where he was comparing the blue and green souls (his and Drake’s), and glanced in his direction.

-Third Law?

He never heard of it before. He would remember if Father or Grayson told him about it.

-Hmm -he nodded, brining a tray with the beverages and cookies to the low table, taking his seat in front of Damian, back to the window (whether this was trust in him to watch out for him in case they were attacked, or he simply didn’t care, he didn’t know)-. It’s a theory I developed while Stephanie was Robin, and you only confirmed it for me. First Law: Each Robin shall have his or her Batgirl. Dick and Jason had Barbara, me and Steph (though very briefly on her case) had Cass, and you currently have Steph. Second Law: Each Robin will have either a Super, a Speedster, or both, as his or her friend and teammate. Dick had Wally, Jason Bizzarro, I had both Kon and Bart, Steph teamed up with Kara for a while there, and you have Jon.

Blinking rapidly, he nodded. It- it was too much of a coincidence. Timothy’s claims, as always, had their merit, no matter how far fetched it seemed to have three unescapable facts following the wearer of the Robin mantle.

-And the Third Law?

-Each Robin will fall in love with their predecessor, without a happy ending.

That stopped him cold, tea cup halfway to his mouth.

He knew?

It must have shown on his face, because the man rolled his eyes.

-Just because I don’t have feelings of my own any longer doesn’t mean I can’t recognize them on someone else. I told you, the soul that belonged to me -he nods in the direction of Damian’s lap, where he had placed the soul while they eat- thrived in love. It’s almost the size it was back then, when I was young, idealistic and stupid.

A sip of coffee. Timothy’s soul reached out tentatively, it’s metaphorical touch brushing Damian’s own, a wave of lamenting and corresponding. He didn’t want to focus on what it meant.

-Dick loved the boy he was, the little Robin his parents raised, that flew on the trapeze without a care on the world. That kid died the night his parents fell. Jason most likely had a crush on Dick back when he was Robin, though the way he was treated by him back then killed that tentative love. I know, because I studied him for years, until I learned everything there was to learn about my predecessor and friend.

Damian listened, but half his mind was on the unrelenting wave of feelings Timothy’s soul was sending his. There was a message there, but he was way too overwhelmed to understand it.

-Myself, well, since you have that thing -he pointed to Damian’s lap, then shrugged-, you must know about my hopeless, tortuous love for the bastard. You know, even though past me trained himself with a flight or fight response to him, it still took me some battle time to go for the fight one? My body couldn’t seem to settle into the idea of hurting him -he sighed, shaking his head- Stupid little brat.

-Th-then… What about… Brown did have you. Her... her love didn’t have a tragedy following.

TImothy merely raised an eyebrow.

-Even before she faked her death, I was kind of an asshole with her, always demanding she hang up the cape. Then, when she came back, I was so pissed and betrayed, I couldn’t even look in her direction as much as I couldn’t take my eyes away; from what I remember, it was hell. I’m pretty sure a part of her will always love past me, just like him would always love her a bit, but they’re never getting back to what they were. There’s just too much polluted water under the bridge.

-Her shard is almost completely black and empty -he muttered, eyes dragged against his will to the Icy blue (and green and gold, now) soul.

Timothy laded his head- Doesn’t surprise me. Kon, Bart and Cassie all have theirs in almost perfect shape, though some spots here and there are losing their colours. They were absolutely freaked out when it started to happen, came straight to me to yell about friendship, bonds and shit like that. I’m guessing both Cass and Alfred’s pieces are the same -at Damian’s reluctant nod, he smirked- about time, too.

Damian didn’t comment on it, because he was well aware of how much Drake wished for all his soul shards to go completely null. When that happened, his soul would have definitely died, no take backs.

There was also the matter of the soul core, in Damian’s possession, that kept on thriving and growing, but Drake didn’t seem too worried about it, which scared Damian in turn.

-And, lastly, young current Robin. In love -he smirked-, ah, no, corresponded love, judging by the green spots, with his predecessor. Tough luck. The soul might have feelings for you, but the body certainly doesn’t (muscle memory from back then is a bitch, isn’t it?), and those by themselves are not enough, are they? Such a tragedy.

He smirked while talking, empty eyes not really caring about Damian’s crushed heart.

He hated him, a little, just then. Not nearly as much as he loved him, sadly.

-------.-------

Watching him through the monitors of the cave was such a normal thing for him to do, it no longer called to the attention of his family members. They just accepted it as one more of Damian’s oddities and moved on.

Sometimes, Grayson or Todd would stop by. They would comment on some sparring mistake he made, or marvel at the mission report when Drake’s explanation on the thought process that drove him to solve it was beyond amazing, longing and pain lacing their words.

Cain and Brown rarely accompanied him, but when they did, it was their choice on what to watch, and more often than not it was some funny, endearing thing, like Drake’s comm quips, or mask recordings on the cheesy puns he threw to his enemies.

Father never stayed, once Damian took a seat by the Batcomputer. It was beyond frustrating, his decision to pretend his son was dead, from the memorial to avoiding all talk of him unless forced. Timothy was out there, and Damian held in his pouch the answer to his predicament, but no, Father would sooner think him dead than deal with the emotional rollercoaster Damian was currently riding.

Timothy defied death itself when everyone else thought Father dead. He went toe to toe with a devil like his Grandfather, and came out on top, for him. It angered him, not seeing such devotion returned. Todd’s death and later criminal career had undoubtedly messed with his emotional bonds with all his children, but this was just ridiculous. They fought over it, often. They fought a lot, these days; his older siblings said it was a rite of passage, to reach that moment when Robin was just done with Batman’s shit.

-Master Damian, you never showed up for supper. I took the liberty of bringing some leftovers for you to snack on here.

Lost as he was, both in thought and in footage of Timothy reaching a compromise with Poison Ivy, he had to repress a startled jump; it would be unbecoming of him, with all his training. Though, Pennyworth probably knew anyway. He always did.

-Thank you -he nodded, accepting the plate stacked with sandwiches. The old butler left a cool glass of water by the computer’s keyboard, and his eyes went up to the image of Timothy returning home after another successful mission. His tired eyes seemed to soften.

-How is Master Timothy fearing, young sir?

As sure as he was that everyone suspected him, only Alfred directly addressed the fact that Damian went to his old charge, time and time again. Even so, when he asked for “Master Timothy”, he always referred to the same.

Wordlessly, one hand holding a sandwich, he retrieved the soul next to his from the pouch. The spots weren’t bigger than last time, but more numerous.

One finger softly caressed the orb. He wouldn’t feel it, but Damian could, and it always warmed him the way Timothy’s soul reacted to the old butler’s touch.

-To think I let a young man under my care to go starved... -muttered the man. He hadn’t taken well when Damian confied on him the reason why the blue orb used to be so little.

-It was a shared mistake, Pennyworth. If anything -he nodded towards the man’s bowtie, where the small icy blue shard still shone- it’s evident how you -and Cain- were far from the worst perpetrators. The fault lies on the rest of us.

The man sighed- It’s such a shame, truly. Master Timothy was such a bright, full of life young man… his heart might have been naive, but it rarely steered him wrong.

While he spoke, the man went around Damian, reaching for the keyboard. A few clicks later, and a video file he never saw before was brought forth. Timothy’s young face appeared on the screen, and Damian paused, softly putting his glass back down.

On screen, his predecessor, down to his old Robin pants and no shirt, was finishing a training routine on the mats.This one, he didn’t recognize.

-I searched every bit of information on Drake, how…?

As he asked, another figure appeared on screen, this time… an odd version of Nightwing. He started needling Timothy (the file lacked audio), seemingly asking for something the other kid wasn’t willing to provide. He kept shaking his head.

-I have every bit of photographic evidence of Master Richard’s… most questionable clothing choices password protected, least he finds a way to get rid of all of it. It’s for posterity’s sake, you understand? And to maybe help refrain him from trying his hand at “improvising a new suit” ever again.

Looking at his mentor’s mullet hair and deep v-neck, he can’t exactly bedrugde Alfred his counter measures. He’s feeling shame just by looking at a video, can’t even imagine what living through that must have been for the poor butler.

-Grayson’s fashion sense is sadly lacking, isn’t it?

-I wouldn’t call that fashion, Master Damian, nor sense. One could forgive and forget the first Robin suit, a circus child in need of colour and reminders of home. But this? -a stiff nod to the screen- This makes me worry for any children he might have.

-I’ve been keeping him away from orphanages -he assures the old man, because at this point, it was a two on two battle, him and Pennyworth against Father and Grayson and their inability to keep their greedy paternal paws off of possible new family members.

-Good lad.

In silence, they watch as Nightwing goes off screen, returning later in civies. One would think anything would have been less of an eye sore, but the bright green pants, red sneakers and yellow shirt aren’t so much better than glitter and feathers in a skintight suit.

Shockingly, though, Timothy-on-screen seems to disagree. Graysons’ renewed efforts at convincing him of whatever he wanted bore fruits, and soon enough, both vigilantes left the scene. Automatically, the video started to reproduce again, on a loop.

Alfred hummed, taking back the empty tray- I would highly recommend you went upstairs to try and sleep, young Master. Your eyebags are two thirds the size Master Tim’s used to be, and that’s worrying on its own.

He wanted to protest, but the look on the old man’s face made him reconsider. There was very little any of them could do to repay Alfred for everything he did for the family. Easing his concern was just a start.

Silently, he closed the files he was revising and walked side by side with the butler.

-I wonder what was what Grayson said, to make Timothy concede -he commented, while they slowly hailed back to the Manor.

-Nothing of great importance -was his answer-. Master Timothy’s will is a force to reckon, but he always found Robin to be his Achilles’ heel. The moment Master Dick changed into civies the colour of his first suit, poor lad had lost the battle.

The words kept spinning in his head, even after he went to bed.

It wasn’t a plan, not even the beginnings of one, and it lacked all the finesse and detail attention one of Timothy’s would have, but it was more than he had yesterday.

A start.

------.------

He went to Kent with his idea. Conner. Kon El.

(Not Superboy. Not his Superboy, at least; just like he wasn’t his Robin)

He choose him, because he could fly them somewhere away from his Grandfather's ears. Because he was better at lying than the Impulse, and less noble and forthcoming than Wonder Girl. He trusted him more than he did Timothy’s other Young Justice old teammates.

But, more importantly, he knew Kent would be ready and willing to do whatever it took to get Drake back.

-You know it’s gonna hurt him -the clone pointed out, face serious and stony. He was already preparing himself mentally for the backslash of what they were going to do. His hand had raised up to the Icy blue earring. Out of everyone else, Cain and Pennyworth included, his soul shard was the brightest; his love and loyalty to Timothy never once wavered.

The soul in his pouch gave a warm wave of fondness. He suspects that, during Drake’s darkest hours, his best friend’s love was what kept the little orb fed. Even now, he felt it strengthen under Kent’s undying devotion.

-I know.

There was no question it would. If they succeeded, the onslaught of feelings would be far too much for anyone to handle. Timothy, awesome as he was in every other field, would not be the exception.

-He’s probably gonna hate me.

-No -he shakes his head, echoing on Timothy’s soul sentiments- He never could. You and the others… he’s weak to you. That’s why I’m asking for your help. I need you there first, to soften him up to the idea. Make him more… receptive.

A pause. Then:

-It’s me he’s going to hate.

-At first, for sure- the easy admission, from the mouth of someone as well (or better) versed in the mysteries and wonders of one Timothy Drake, hurt; then, the man continued- but I can promise you, it won’t stay in the way of your little love story for long. He will cave soon enough.

Startled, he looked into the meta’s eyes; mischief, but a shade of seriousness. He wasn’t lying.

-There is no love story. Only redemption for me, and a chance at happiness for him.

-Yeah, yeah, I know, you bats are all for ‘what’s right’ and ‘emotions and personal life are for the weak’. I’m just calling it like I see it, dude, and anyone can see how you look when you talk about him. And, honestly? It’s a little creepy, Edward Cullen style, the way you spent your entire teenagedhood pining after someone without actually interacting with him for almost half of it.

Multiple reactions raced through his mind. Embarrassment, denial, rage…

...resignation.

-I’m not worthy of his affections, not after everything. And even if I was, who’s to say the feelings his soul has now will be the same once it’s back with its rightful owner?

Kon El just sighed, something that sounded like ‘emotionally stunted bats’, and carefully placed a hand on Damian’s shoulder. It was striking, realizing they were not so far in height now. He would never bulk up the way Superman’s clone had, but his body was closer to it than Timothy’s, or Grayson’s.

-I’ll let you in a secret. There’s one easy shortcut, straight to Tim’s heart. Though, maybe ‘straight’ isn’t the right word in this case.

-Shut up.

A smile- Trust me on this one. You’re already using that way, even if you don’t realize it -he clasped his hand tighter, and then released him- Well, gotta go. Showtime is in two days, right? Have to be ready.

He was already taking off, when Damian’s brain to mouth filter seemed to break and he blurted out.

-What is this shortcut?

Still flying, the meta spin in place to face him, moving backwards. His smile was one part wistful, two parts sad.

-The fastest way for Tim to love you? Love him back. He’s a sucker for people giving him the barest scraps of affection, it would be impossible for him to resist someone wholeheartedly loving him.

-----.-----

18 - 23

All fell into place on Damian’s birthday.

The morning, he couldn’t escape his family. Grayson cried, of course, and Father had his constipated-emotionally confused face on. Todd and Brown promised to take him to a bar, careful to make that claim where Pennyworth couldn’t hear them. Him and Cain were in charge of the cake (Cassandra’s latest focus of attention had been bakery, and she wanted to participate), and Damian spent half the day surrounded by their love and support.

As promised, Jon came by mid afternoon to take him to ‘celebrate together’. He asked his family to wait for him awake, even if he came past the time patrol usually started. An odd request, but since he had asked for so little for his birthday, they couldn’t help but agree, Barbara going so far as to have The Birds of Prey ready to cover for them.

It was a long flight to Uruguay, but it was needed. He had taken note on how Drake was, more often than not, found on some seaside location. According to Grayson (and the multiple mission reports he had read on the subject), the tiniest Robin always seemed to like and take comfort on the beach. It had become a small compulsion, probably one he wasn’t even aware of, to stray to places surrounded by water.

The only stop they made, was for Damian to change civies for his suit. The Robin suit.

They found him sitting on the sand overlooking the calm afternoon waters, at La Pedrera Beach. Just where Damian asked him to met, where Kon had undoubtedly brought him a few minutes before.

No one was around, thankfully. The less witnesses, the better.

Jon touched ground softly, smiling at Damian and taking off again, to wait with the older Superboy as planned. His friend’s eyes betrayed no nervousness, but he didn’t need to; Damian was nervous enough for both of them.

Steeling himself, he walked towards the smaller man and stood by his side. Silently, they both watched as the sun slowly sunk into the horizon. In ten more minutes, it’d be completely hidden. Damian wanted for everything to be done before then, as if the beauty of the sunset would counter the pain of what was to follow.

-Okay, Baby Bat, lay it on me. Why ask me to come here, all the way from Italy? I was having a blast, you know, catching those mafias one by one.

Even as he spoke, he didn’t look particularly bothered. Soulless as he was, he had no qualms on showing his displeasure. Right now, though, he looked as satisfied as he ever did since losing his soul. The morning catching criminals, noon with his best friend and afternoon at the beach seemed to have worked like a charm. He was at ease, no longer waiting for Damian to attack him, and when he looked up at him and saw him wearing his colors (for once his more muted pants having a green tint to it, resembling more his predecessor's old costume), surprise gave quick way to trust.

Alfred was right, as always. Robin seemed to be the key past Timothy’s defenses.

-It’s my birthday today -he informed the man, doing his best to not be so stiff- And I want my gift.

A sharp laugh, devoid of feeling but humorous all the same, and Timothy stood, face to face with him, tilting his head to look him into the eye.

-My, my, what a spoiled prince. But whatever, I’m here already, and I already indulged you these last two years, letting you stay around and helping you with cases. What’s one more? I won’t take the soul back, though.

Damian shook his head.

-I don’t intend to return something of yours. I want to give something mine, for you to carry with yourself.

The smirk on his face turned utterly devious, and Timothy’s pale hands found perch on his shoulders.

-Such a daring man you have turned into -slowly, he leaned closer, standing on his tiptoes to reach Damian’s ear- What do you want to give me, baby bat? -his warm breath caressed his face, and he had to shut his eyes tightly when he felt Timothy’s face getting even closer- Maybe a kiss? It’ll be free of charge, even, just because I’m in such a good mood. I’ll still let you have the gift you had in mind, too.

Startled, he held the other man’s hips. The want that pushed viciously against his restrain left him dizzy, but his heart twisted and the pain brought him back to his senses, just before his lips -that he hadn’t even be aware he was parting- touched the other’s.

Carefully, because he didn’t mean any harm and because of how hard it was, he pushed the man away.

-No.

-No? Despite how desperately you clearly want it?

He clenched his fists, before slowly opening his hands and dragging them away from Timothy’s body. He opened his eyes again, looking down at the beautiful face, at those empty eyes. That sealed his decision.

-Not like this. Never like this.

He both regreted and was relieved by his words the moment he had uttered them.

A huff, and slim arms crossed over his chest. It helped a little, once the temptation was over.

-Okay then, boring. What’s this gift you want? Wanna give me a necklace or something? You seem the possessive type.

Damian breathed in, deeply. This was the moment.

-Open your hand, please.

Eyes rolling over the drama, one hand on his hip, he stretched out the other one, palm up.

Bracing himself, Damian retrieved something from his pouch. Before he could second guess himself, he softly placed it on Timothy’s hand.

Deep, rich green. Shinning gold. A sea of those colors, with specks of icy blue floating around.

His own soul.

Timothy’s eyes went to the soul, the one that wasn’t his, and widened a little. Reflexively, he closed his fingers around the orb as much as he could. He was still being moved by the muscle memory, the compulsion of pleasing Robin.

A second later, tears started to endlessly flow, and he was screaming in pain.

-----.----

For months, years, Damian had looked over him and saw two separate pieces of the same puzzle. Soul and body, beautiful on their own, but absolutely breathtaking if he only could put them together.

Now, the full picture stood in front of him. Despite its beauty, there were visible cracks where Damian had forced their ragged ends together, where he had to put his own soul as a filler between them.

Effective as it was, meshing two pieces, despite they belonging to the same puzzle, wasn’t the most gentle way to mend them.

They were bound to break a little, in order to fit.

-What have you done to me?! -demanded Timothy, hand clutching desperately at his chest (the other one still holding the gifted soul core), knees failing him. He would have crashed into the ground, if not for Damian’s firm arm around his waist.

He looked completely miserable, scared and shocked, which sent waves of both guilt and elation through him, because his Beloved was hurting because of him, but he was feeling.

Timothy’s eyes shone hatefully. It was the most beautiful shade of icy blue he had ever seen. Even if the emotion was such a dark one, they weren’t empty anymore.

-What is happening to me?! How?! This isn’t my soul! I shouldn’t be feeling my own emotions! -he shrieked, his entire body shaking, and it was obvious he would have attacked Damian if not so focused on his own pain. Tears fell seemingly without his notice, and flickers of different emotions crossed his face. Guilt, anger, joy, sadness, rage, fondness, pain, guilt, anger, joy… Too quick to properly categorize, too sudden for Timothy to process them. Those were the emotions his soul had been storing this past few years, and it was all crashing down around him.

-I’m well connected to the soul you gave me. As thus, by using my own as a conduit and bonding us together, yours finally has a way to reach out to you, to do its job and make you feel. It’s muted, not as strong as it’d be if you had accepted your own soul back in the first place. I’m afraid that would have killed you.

-I feel like I’m dying now.

There was screaming. Then laughter. Panic and crying. Puking. Timothy’s hand left his chest to tug at his hair, plucking off strand, then going to his naked arms and leaving red indents with his nails. Softly, he took his fingers between his, Timothy’s back to his chest, if only to keep him from hurting himself any longer.

-I can’t breath. I can’t think. Why did you do this to me? I love you. No, I don’t. Fuck, I’m going crazy -Daman tightened his arms around the man, shushing him, rocking back and forth on the ground, wishing desperately he could sooth his pain.

-It’ll pass.

Timothy whined, and cried, and smiled, and puked on the sand.

-I hate you right now. I love you. I’m scared. I hate you again. I/

-I know, love. I know.

When he passed out, still caught between tears and smiles, Damian couldn’t help but feel relief.

#My writing #soul shards #soul shards au #Tim Drake #Damian wayne #damitim #bruce wayne #dick grayson #alfred pennyworth #jason todd #Stephanie Brown #Cassandra Cain Wayne #kon el kent #Conner kent #Jon kent #ra's al ghul mentioned #young justice is mentioned

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sheliesshattered · 3 years

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I’ve been feeling like I want to write lately, while also feeling completely stalled out on all my current projects, so the last few days I’ve taken some time to just read back over all my many many WIPs. There are a few that are higher on my list to get finished and posted -- the next part of For As Long As We Get, in particular, but I would also love to finish up Chameleons and Bowties, and figure out what the third act of The Woman Who Died is meant to be. I’m still utterly in love with the concept and world-building for Home The Long Way ‘Round, but the last few chapters need a serious re-working, and there’s quite a lot left to tell the story after that, too, so that continues to be more of a long-haul project.

I dug up some of the WIPs that haven’t made my top five projects list recently, too, and tonight I ended up adding a little over 1000 words to The Comfort Partner of all things. For that one, I have the beginning written and the ending sketched in, but only the vaguest idea of what happens in the middle, lol. The first two scenes were done and I’d left it with a start on the third scene, and everything I added tonight was in that scene. That story is so out of my wheelhouse -- it’s only the second non-canon AU I’ve ever even started for Whouffaldi, it features more fanfic tropes than I usually play with, and the scene I just wrote is what might even technically qualify as a meetcute, I suppose -- so I don’t know if I’m going to end up devoting much concerted attention to it any time soon. But it felt good to have words flowing, at least.

And I think I’ve figured out what’s been stalling me out on Chameleons and Bowties, and I think it may also come into play with getting myself jazzed up about working on For As Long As We Get again. As I’ve written more in this fandom in particular, I’ve come to realize that the stories of mine that I feel like start out the strongest pretty much always launch right into dialogue. There are a few exceptions to that, but even then, the first line is sharp and pithy in a way that makes me, at least, want to read (and thus write!) more. This Isn’t A Ghost Story is one of those exceptions, but the first line of the story was also the very first thing I wrote for it -- There was a certain amount of irony, Clara reflected, that her first reaction was I’m going to kill him. -- and that was really the springboard for the entire project.

But I have a bad habit, when I’m starting a new story, of sort of meandering through a few paragraphs of prose to set the scene. Last fall when I was trying to get Time And Relative Dimension ready to post, it definitely had that problem, and Jack helped me rework it so that all of the scene-setting information was instead sprinkled in between the dialogue. The finished version of that starts right out with a line from Clara, and I think it’s a much stronger beginning than what I had originally.

The beginning of Chameleons and Bowties is suffering from a similar situation right now. And as much as I really love where that story goes once it gets going, the first ~350 words is such a slog of prose that it makes me not want to re-read it, which makes actually finishing the story a bit difficult. So even though I theoretically have everything up through the big climax of the story finished, I think my first step for working on that one is going to be chopping up the prologue and reworking it to hit the ground running.

And I might even end up doing a similar re-write to the beginning of The Impossible Soldier, even though I posted it more than 14 months ago now. When it was a stand-alone one-shot, the prose at the beginning didn’t bother me (or maybe it’s just that my taste has shifted or my skill has improved since I posted it?), but now that it’s got To Steal A Kiss as a prequel that leads into it, that clunky first ~200 words really jumps out at me, and not in a good way.

I don’t think that’s what’s been stalling me out on working on the next part for that series (currently tentatively titled Strangely Compelling, but I’m betting that’ll change), but it’s certainly made me less interested in doing a re-read, which makes it harder to sink my brain back into that AU setting. I generally don’t go back and edit a story significantly once it’s been posted, but in this case I might make an exception, so that it flows better with the prequel, and starts out as strongly as the other parts in the series.

I have made some progress with For As Long As We Get recently, both in Strangely Compelling as well as the next part that would follow after First Christmas. I still have only a vague idea of where I want to take the portion of this that would parallel s9. I have a good idea of where I want to end the series, and even ~2600 words written for that final part, but there are a couple of larger plot bits that I’m still toying with, and I need to figure those out before I write the part that parallels Dark Water/Death In Heaven at the very least, and it might be useful for writing Strangely Compelling, too.

So I think I may start out with a re-write of The Impossible Soldier and then finally do the full series re-read I’ve been putting off, and then same deal for Chameleons and Bowties. No ETA on any of these stories, but even just getting this far towards un-stuck feels good.

#process thoughts #my writing #For As Long As We Get #To Steal A Kiss #The Impossible Soldier #Time And Relative Dimension #First Christmas #Strangely Compelling #This Isn't A Ghost Story #Chameleons and Bowties #The Woman Who Died #Home The Long Way 'Round #The Comfort Partner #so many WIPs #plotbunnies. plotbunnies everywhere.#but for now I should sleep #I have been up since 7am with only a little dozing along the way #and now I am le tired

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allgirlsareprincesses · 4 years

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Lucas and the Lost Bride: Swan Maidens in Star Wars

Five posts into my Folktale Types in Star Wars series, and I’ve finally hit the one that just breaks my heart: The Swan Maiden. Popular podcast What The Force made a splash in the Reylo community a few weeks ago when they posed a theory that used this common folktale as a basis for the idea that Palpatine as the “evil magician” would seek to turn Swan Maiden Rey for her feminine power, possibly even as a sort of romantic rival for Prince Ben Solo. Having delved a bit into the Swan Maiden tale type as part of my Orpheus and Eurydice post, I was intrigued by this idea and wanted to dive deeper to see if there were any further insights to be found. Not only did I find more, but…. I now believe that the Swan Maiden, or rather the universal psychology behind its enduring appeal, was the basis for Star Wars from the very beginning.

Trigger Warnings and Disclaimers: There will be discussion of infertility, miscarriage, divorce, domestic violence, and loss. I’m also going to be indulging in some armchair amateur psychoanalysis here, so take it with a grain of Crait salt since this is not my area of expertise at all. On a related note, some of my arguments are not terribly complimentary to Mr. Lucas, so if you’re sensitive to that, be forewarned.

For this analysis, I relied almost exclusively on In Search of the Swan Maiden: A Narrative on Folklore and Gender, by Barbara Fass Leavy. While her chapter on Orpheus’ Quest was extremely helpful in my first meta of this type, I found the full text of her book even more illuminating, as she gives a great overview of other scholarship on the subject by folklorists and anthropologists alike. Further, she approaches the subject from a self-described feminist perspective, deliberately seeking to provide a perspective that she believes is lacking in prior analyses of Swan Maiden folktales. Her thesis is basically that Swan Maiden tales are not romances at all, but stories of Woman as Other, and therefore of how she must always be either separated from or subjugated by Man. I don’t always agree with her take (which I find somewhat dated), but it’s a great starting point for discussion.

The Swan Maiden Folktale

The basic structure of Swan Maiden stories is as follows: A mortal man is the central character, and at some point in his adventures, he happens upon a beautiful maiden (often surrounded by sisters or other female companionship) who comes from an otherworld or fairy realm. She might be enchanted to appear as a swan, seal, mermaid, or another [water] creature, or she might be a nymph or goddess. Traditionally, the hero “captures” the maiden by taking something from her that is the source of her power or her link to the fairy realm. This stolen item might be her animal skin, or the pattern may be inverted as her captor places a mortal, domestic robe on her. She is then compelled to become his bride, sometimes willingly but often with much weeping and protest.

They live together for some time, and the couple may be happy but there is frequently a suggestion of the fairy wife’s wistfulness and longing for her home, for freedom. Even after she bears his children, there is a sense of the husband’s fear that she will flee if she is able. Eventually, the husband breaks a taboo, such as showing his nakedness to his wife, becoming violent toward her, or otherwise disrespecting her with his behavior. This may also coincide with the fairy wife retrieving the magical item that was stolen from her at her capture. The bond of trust thus broken, she flees back to the otherworld, abandoning her husband and usually her children as well.

Sometimes the story ends here and the fairy wife is lost forever, and other times it continues as the husband “quests” for his lost bride. However, the most common pattern by far is the permanent loss of the fairy wife. In the rare instances that she is recovered, this happens only by two means: either the husband reenacts his wife’s original abduction by recapturing her, which suggests it is not her choice to return with him and that she will be forever under his power, OR as I mentioned in my original Orpheus post, the perspective shifts from husband to wife and the story becomes a Search for the Lost Husband tale, which traditionally ends in the successful reunion of the couple.

Within this basic framework, there are a number of variations and motifs that commonly appear. As I mentioned above, the wife is often classified as an animal bride, which speaks to the bestial nature of woman feared by man. Further, she sometimes has two suitors: one her mortal husband, and the other her demon lover or incubus from the otherworld, her union with whom may in fact predate her capture. Because the loss of the fairy wife is usually final, it can be difficult to tell which husband the narrative intends to be the right match for her, and she usually doesn’t have the agency to choose, anyhow. If she stays with the demon lover, it’s because her bestial nature is her true form, and if she returns to her mortal husband, her flight still stands as an example of how she needs to be dominated and controlled. This stands in stark contrast to the beastly hero of Animal Bridegroom tales, where the assumption is that his human form is his true self and that his transformation is civilizing, emancipatory, and permanent.

Given this universal pattern for the Swan Maiden folktale, we can already see some elements of it emerging in the narrative of the Skywalker Saga. Before we get into that, however, I want to spend some time on the original swan maiden of the Galaxy Far, Far Away: George Lucas’ first wife, Marcia.

Marcia Lucas as the Swan Maiden

Marcia Griffin was a promising young film editor when she got a job mentoring a young George Lucas when they were both assistants to famed editor Verna Fields. Though George was painfully shy and introverted, the two spent enough time together on their work that love blossomed, and they started dating and eventually moved in together. George introduced Marcia to his friend Francis Coppola, who hired her to edit one of his early films, Rain People. Between that and editing another feature film, Medium Cool, Marcia’s career in Los Angeles was just beginning to take off when George proposed to her and convinced her to move to San Francisco with him so he could start his own independent filmmaking career.

Immediately, there are aspects of the Swan Maiden to Marcia. Firstly, the classic folktale bride often comes from a history of female companionship: she is usually surrounded by sisters, other maidens, or a matriarchal group of women. Marcia Griffin was the daughter of a single mother, and she had one sister. Her father, who had divorced their mother when Marcia was only two, was not a part of her life. In LA, she was beginning to succeed in film editing with the support and mentorship of other female film professionals. Part of the fairy bride’s “abduction” from her home world is that she is removed from this sisterhood, separated from the feminine influences in her life. This certainly seems to have been the case with Marcia.

Second, while I certainly don’t mean literally that George Lucas “captured” Marcia, the nature of that motif in the folktale is simply that the swan maiden leaves her own familiar world and enters her husband’s world, which is inherently foreign to her. Even in Cupid and Psyche or Beauty and the Beast variations, the bride’s choice to join her bridegroom in his world and be apart from her family is framed as a sacrifice, something that is not her ideal but is the best option under the circumstances. The few sources that are available suggest that George may have somewhat manipulated Marcia, asking her if she really loved him and wanted to be with him. In any case, moving to San Francisco was great for George’s career but effectively ended Marcia’s for a time. For some months after the move, she had no editing work and basically became a housewife, trying to support George by fixing him meals and encouraging him in his work. She was homesick, too, which is also a common trait of captured fairy wives. Many of the folktale brides chafe in their domestic roles, eventually resenting the mundane existence that they exchanged for their otherworldly former lives.

Another aspect of Marcia that made her like the swan maiden, if only from her husband’s point of view, was the fact that he felt she was somewhat “out of his league” at times. She was very beautiful, and already a successful professional when he was still a student. While George was so introverted and emotionless that it was often off-putting, Marcia was an optimistic extrovert who thrived in social situations and openly expressed her emotions. Even George’s friends expressed surprise that he had found such a wife: “‘She was a knock-out,’ John Milius remembers. ‘We all wondered how little George got this great looking girl. And smart too, obsessed with films. And she was a better editor than he was.’” The fairy wife’s otherworldly beauty and skill often contribute to her mortal husband’s feeling of unease, as he fears that she may recognize the imbalance and leave him.

When George’s first film THX 1138 bombed, Marcia encouraged him to try something the emotionally engaged the audience more. His somewhat cynical response was to film American Graffiti, which his wife helped to edit. The movie was both a crowd-pleaser and a critical success, making the struggling Lucases into overnight millionaires and gaining both of them Oscar nominations. Marcia began to gain more attention for her professional skills, and soon Martin Scorsese asked her to edit his first feature film, Alice Doesn’t Live Here Anymore. After a fruitful collaboration, Scorsese invited her back to be the supervising editor on his next film as well, Taxi Driver. While working on these films, Marcia frequently had to be away from home, and George, who was holed up writing his first draft of The Star Wars at the time, was less than thrilled.

His frustration with their separation seemed to be twofold: for one thing, his conservative upbringing had not prepared him for marriage to a successful career woman. “The Lucas family tradition had never allowed a woman to have an independent career--Gloria Katz notes, ‘That was actually a very big step for George; it was consciousness raising.’ George hated cooking and cleaning, and hired a housekeeper while Marcia was away.” And the other reason he didn’t seem to care for Marcia’s work was Scorsese himself, who had a terrible social reputation, especially with women: "’For George the whole thing was that Marcia was going off to this den of iniquity,’ Willard Huyck explains. ‘Marty was wild and he took a lot of drugs and he stayed up all night, had lots of girlfriends. George was a family homebody. He couldn't believe the stories that Marcia told him. George would fume because Marcia was running with these people. She loved being with Marty.’" Some sources say that Scorsese was flirtatious with Marcia, or at least that George thought so. Given this account, I’d argue that Scorsese is the first candidate for the role of demon lover to Marcia’s swan maiden (again, at least from her husband’s perspective). George saw his wife leaving to return to the otherworld, her home in LA, and there she would supposedly cavort with an unscrupulous lecher.

Marcia helped her husband write the final draft of Star Wars, then endured yet more separation as George traveled to Tunisia and England for filming. When the first editor on the film was a dismal disappointment, Marcia took over and along with two other editors, created the final theatrical cut. She is credited in particular with convincing George to keep several small character touches that charmed the audience, for extending emotional scenes for maximum impact, and especially for editing the final Death Star attack that is so iconic today. Despite a difficult production, Star Wars went on to become the most successful movie of all time at that point, and it garnered eleven Oscar nominations. Marcia won for her editing, which was a massive achievement, but George unfortunately did not win for writer or director.

After the exhausting schedule and runaway success of Star Wars, George and Marcia had planned to settle down and have a baby, but they were sadly plagued by infertility. Given that it’s an intensely painful and personal subject that people don’t even talk much about today much less in the 70s, it’s not surprising that the historical record is unclear on exactly what happened. However, the best that I can put together goes something like this: when George and Marcia married in 1969, she was ready to have kids right away, but he was not. It seems they may have waited for a while, but were trying by 1975, when Marcia was editing Taxi Driver. It sounds as though she had a pregnancy then that ended in a miscarriage. Some time after Star Wars was released, around 1978, the couple received the news that George was sterile, and they would never be able to have biological children together.

Every single account I’ve found about Marcia Lucas is written by a man, so I suspect they have no idea what this might have felt like, but I imagine a woman who had been ready for a baby for nearly a decade, had been trying for at least three years, and had experienced at least one miscarriage and maybe more, only to learn that she would never be able to have children with her husband. On top of all the other stresses the couple experienced, that must have been absolutely agonizing. With regards to the Swan Maiden tale, this sad fact relates in a particularly devastating way: in historic folklore, miscarriages were often thought to be caused by the wife’s unfaithfulness to her mortal husband in a tryst with the incubus or demon lover. In fact, the term “incubation” stems from this idea, when people had the superstitious belief that infertility could be cured by the incubus impregnating a woman. I certainly don’t think George Lucas had any such conscious thought to blame his wife and I’m sure he experienced as much pain as she did, especially knowing that it was he who was sterile, but as we will see, he certainly thought his marriage was threatened by a rival.

Around this time, the cracks in the Lucas marriage began to widen. George had always been dismissive and even derogatory toward Marcia, particularly impugning her emotionalism. She stated while they were still married: “But George just said to me, I was stupid and knew nothing. Because I was just a Valley Girl. He was the intellectual." Some time after their marriage ended, she shared more: “I was the more emotional person who came from the heart, and George was the more intellectual and visual, and I thought that provided a nice balance. But George would never acknowledge that to me. I think he resented my criticisms, felt that all I ever did was put him down. In his mind, I always stayed the stupid Valley girl. He never felt I had any talent, he never felt I was very smart and he never gave me much credit. When we were finishing Jedi, George told me he thought I was a pretty good editor. In the sixteen years of our being together I think that was the only time he complimented me." In folktales, this would represent a breaking of a taboo, as harsh treatment of her might cause a cruel husband’s fairy wife to flee.

Further, George never took the break that he promised his wife he would take. Instead, he kept working on the Star Wars sequels, often to such a point of exhaustion that he had to be hospitalized. He was also working on Indiana Jones with his friend Steven Spielberg, and on building Skywalker Ranch. Though the couple finally adopted a daughter in 1981, George would still be away for many weeks at a time working on various projects, leaving Marcia to manage both their daughter and the final stages of design and construction on the Ranch. This is how she met Tom Rodrigues, an artist with whom she developed an attraction. Marcia is open about this fact, but insists she was never physically unfaithful to George. She suggested to marriage counseling to him, which he refused, then suggested a trial separation, which he also refused.

Marcia complained that George was emotionally closed-off, cold, and struggled with intimacy. “[A friend] saw the Lucases at a party… just before the divorce and recalls: ‘I ended up in the corner with Marcia, chatting with her, and what she told me underscored a sense I'd always had that [intimacy] was not a gigantic part of George's life...She just sort of blurted it out that it was extremely isolating; it was like Fortress Lucas. I'd heard this from people who worked with him at that time. They would say, 'I can't stand it. He's brilliant, but it's so cold. I feel like I'm suffocating. I've got to get out of here.' Marcia told me she 'just couldn't stand the darkness any longer.’” For context, Marcia is quoted as making some recommendations during production on Star Wars to emphasize Han Solo’s “virility.” This suggests that sexuality was important to her, so it was likely another stressor in her marriage. In her book, Leavy suggests that many Swan Maiden tales express the husband’s anxiety that his wife will leave him because she is dissatisfied with his sexual performance. This is thought to be the origin of many sexually-coded taboos that are imposed upon the fairy wife, such as the idea that she may not see her husband naked, or that she may not see him in daylight.

In mid-1983, the Lucases finally announced their plans to divorce. They soon decided they would share equal custody of two-year-old daughter Amanda, but George somehow always characterized it as him raising her on his own. From the Empire of Dreams Making of Star Wars documentary: “I ended up getting divorced right as the film Jedi was finished, and I was left to raise my daughter.” This is significant in that it is consistent with one of the most distinctive motifs of the Swan Maiden: she frequently leaves her children behind when she flees her marriage back to the otherworld. While this is clearly not what happened, the fact that George viewed it that way demonstrates where he was psychologically following the divorce. To say that he was devastated is an understatement. Spielberg used the term “pulverized” and their next joint project, Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom, featured men having their still-beating hearts ripped out of their chests in one of the most famously-gruesome scenes of that era. George admits that the metaphor was a deliberate reaction to the divorce, and Hollywood legend has it that the scene was the origin of the PG-13 rating, so shocking was the imagery.

As an equal business partner, Marcia also took half of Lucasfilm in the divorce, costing George well over the price of another film and effectively halving his filmmaking empire overnight. He would claim in years to come that he did not see the divorce coming, would blame it on the “other man,” and would insist that his overworking was done for his family, but his later filmmaking efforts betray a good deal of guilt. I tend to agree with Michael Kaminski’s conclusion: “At the same time, the separation has a circular irony to it; George emotionally neglected Marcia for years in the hopes of securing his private empire, yet in the end this pushed her away completely, and when she left she took away the private empire that had instigated the process in the first place. His greed cost him his wife, and his empire. It is my opinion that Lucas chose to shape Anakin Skywalker's arc in the prequels in a similar manner because of his reflections on his own self-created loss.”

Like the tragic hero of the Swan Maiden folktales, George Lucas never recovered his lost bride after her flight. And I argue that he wrote their story with rather shocking fidelity in the Prequel Trilogy, featuring the most distinctive Swan Maiden in all of Star Wars: Padme Amidala.

Padme Amidala as Swan Maiden

As I mentioned in my Orpheus and Eurydice post, Padme is first recognizable as the fairy bride when Anakin says to her “Are you an angel?” Immediately, he has identified her as an otherworldly creature, a royal beauty who is clearly out of his league (notwithstanding that he’s a nine-year-old and all). In the films, Padme is idealized to the point that she seems a bit flat, a problem remedied in much of the animated and written content which has been released since then. But at least from George Lucas’ perspective, Padme was the ideal wife. Not the sassy, titillating, tough girl that Leia was in the Original Trilogy, but a sublime, ethereal, motherly figure. She was perfect bride for a tragic hero.

Padme hails from the lush, heavenly, water-soaked world of Naboo. Swan Maidens are nearly always water creatures and their capture often takes place by a body of water like a lake or stream. Naboo not only has such large oceans as to have an entire amphibious culture under the waves, but even the surface-dwellers live among massive waterfalls. Like Padme, but very unlike most of the other planets we’ve seen in the galaxy, Naboo is presented as the image of perfection, a dreamy landscape that reminds the audience that this is, after all, a fantasy. In this way, it is exactly like the fairy world from which the swan maiden comes.

One of the main parallels between Queen Amidala and the swan maiden is her bevy of handmaidens…. While I sadly have not yet read Queen’s Shadow, I understand it delves deeper into the culture of this unique sisterhood. In any case, Padme is consistently surrounded by female companionship when she is on Naboo or representing her homeworld on Coruscant. The queen feels a sense of kinship with and responsibility to her handmaidens, as they do to her. Compare this to one of the most famous examples of swan maiden tales, the ballet Swan Lake, in which Prince Seigfried first spots Odette among a group of swans who are also transformed maidens. When she agrees to marry the prince, Odette is thinking not just of herself, but of gaining freedom for all of her companions. This is why she takes the prince’s mistake so hard later - she feels she has failed the other maidens.

The capture motif starts almost immediately for Padme, with her first being taken captive by the Trade Federation during their attack. Soon, however, she is rescued by the Jedi, but as she has no option but to flee with them to beg help from the Senate, it is as though she is still a captive. This is also where the false bride motif first appears, as I mentioned in my Orpheus post. The queen’s decoy Sabe is dressed in a towering black-feathered gown, almost the precise image of the Black Swan. Later during the finale of The Phantom Menace, we see the real Queen Amidala in a white gown of soft layers, the visual counterpart to her double.

We come to realize that the villain of the saga, Palpatine, also comes from Naboo and exercises a level of manipulative influence over Padme. In this sense, he is the demon lover, the first husband of the swan maiden who often recaptures her from her mortal husband after the taboo is broken. I understand that in Queen’s Shadow, Palpatine’s malicious influence is much clearer, and yet it is far too late when Padme realizes it. While his relationship with Anakin’s bride was never depicted as romantic, Palpatine still qualifies as a demon lover character because his association with the swan maiden is always one of control, a power struggle. He offers her free rein of her heart’s desires if only she will remain under his power. Padme so desires to protect her people, to abolish slavery, and to be with Anakin that she remains blinded to what Palpatine takes in exchange, recognizing how he used her to gain power only when the Republic had already fallen.

On the shores of a secluded lake on Naboo, Anakin woos his reluctant bride, eventually taking her with him to Tatooine to search for his mother. This is another moment of “capture,” for even though Padme comes with him willingly, she is leaving her fairy world to enter the mundane sphere of her husband, where she is painfully out of place. On Naboo, she resisted Anakin on ethical grounds (“We’d be living a lie”), but on Tatooine and then Geonosis (dead planets), she fails to hold him accountable for his violent actions, in a sense losing herself. Notably, her wedding is the last time we see Padme on Naboo before she returns in death, which tracks precisely with the swan maiden tale. The fairy wife’s marriage marks her departure from the otherworld, just as her flight from the mortal world back to her home is often depicted as a literal or metaphorical death.

When Padme becomes pregnant, Anakin’s trauma from losing his mother (twice) resurfaces, and his anxiety over the possibility of losing his wife leads him to become ever more violent throughout Revenge of the Sith. This is extremely common in swan maiden stories, as the flight of the fairy wife frequently occurs right after she gives birth, usually expressing the historical fear of death in childbirth. Some readings even suggest that the husband’s anxiety is less about his wife’s physical safety and more about the loss of the life they had before children, and his fear about the unknowns of parenthood. Naturally, Star Wars takes a more literal approach, as Anakin is literally tormented by dreams of Padme’s death in childbirth.

Eventually, Anakin travels so far down the dark path that he comes to the inevitable breaking of the taboo. As mentioned above, this can take many forms, but in swan maiden tales it is most frequently the husband leaving his wife’s animal skin unattended, OR some direct mistreatment of her. Any form of domestic violence against the fairy wife, for instance, is almost guaranteed to result in her flight. And so it happens with Anakin: he Force-strangles his wife (which parallels the most common form of DV in the real world, manual strangulation), and the betrayal causes her death. Padme leaves behind her children and is interred back on the fairy world of Naboo, eternally separated from her husband. As I mentioned in my original Lost Bride post, this story type typically ends in tragedy like this: the swan maiden is not recovered, and the hero mourns her loss for the rest of his days.

Padme is by far the clearest swan maiden in Star Wars, and her story is sadly an almost exact expression of the tragedy of George and Marcia Lucas. She was an extraordinary woman tied to a mortal man whose fear overcame his love. Fortunately, Padme’s successors were poised to have greater success than she did in love and in folklore….

Leia Organa as the Swan Maiden

Leia is probably the least like the swan maiden of all the Star Wars leading ladies, but interestingly, she is also the one to most frequently experience the main motif of the folktale: the capture. The princess is captured or imprisoned so frequently throughout her story, it’s almost a little jarring when considered with her image as the modern emancipated woman. Still, there are certain motifs that are constant throughout her story, the most notable of which are the capture and the demon lover.

Princess Leia begins her story as another ethereal maiden from a lush and vibrant planet, Alderaan. Almost immediately, she is captured by this story’s demon lover, Darth Vader. Though he is later revealed to be her father, at the time of A New Hope, both the characters and the audience believe there is no relationship between any of the characters, so their roles as folktale archetypes may be different from their eventual position in the story. In any case, Vader takes Leia to the story’s underworld, the aptly-named Death Star. Remember that the capture can go either way: from the otherworld to the mortal world (like Padme), or the mortal world to the otherworld (Leia). There she is tortured with a device holding a needle, which in folklore is always a metaphor for sexual initiation. As I mentioned my Sleeping Beauty post, this tale is a subtype of the Quest for the Lost Bride, so the story is clearly framed this way from the beginning.

Meanwhile, mortal husband Luke (again, their sibling relationship won’t be known for two movies yet) learns of Leia’s capture and sets out on a journey to the underworld/Death Star to reclaim her. He brings with him Han Solo (who will of course turn out to be another mortal husband), and together they work to free the princess from Vader’s clutches. They return her to Yavin IV, yet another life-filled moon, which is an interesting contrast to the false moon of the Death Star. Moons in folklore are a feminine symbol, and in the swan maiden tale, they are usually associated with a transformation or revelation. While Leia never appears as a false bride version of herself, the light and dark “moons” of her story do appear to tell the story of feminine duality. In fact, the motif appears a second time in Return of the Jedi, with the second Death Star and the forest moon of Endor in the roles of dark and light moons, or underworld and mortal world, respectively.

In The Empire Strikes Back, Leia again experiences capture as Han Solo pushes her aboard the Millenium Falcon to escape Vader once again. With Han in the role of mortal husband by this time, the story more closely resembles the traditional swan maiden tale, with the fairy wife falling for her mortal husband and choosing to remain with him of her own free will. On Bespin, she is finally recaptured by the demon lover, as Vader lays his trap for Luke. However, this is where the story changes perspectives from husband to wife, as tends to happen in folktales when the destination is a happy ending. Instead of Leia being lost to the underworld forever like Eurydice, her husband Han is transformed and dragged to the underworld of Jabba’s palace, similar to the Eros and Psyche tale. Now, it is Leia who must pursue him and revive him from his enchanted slumber, a motif I discussed in detail in yet another folktale post.

Of course, the rescue of Han Solo appears to go somewhat awry at first, and Leia is yet again captured, this time by Jabba the Hutt. This time, we see a hint of the stolen garment motif, as the lecherous Jabba takes away her clothes and chains her to him. Getting in touch with her dark side, Leia is able to destroy this particular demon lover (ew), and escapes with Luke and Han. On Endor, Leia appears to have been captured by the Ewoks, though of course we know she went with them willingly (and the clothes change again, although with different intent). And finally, the princess is briefly captured by Stormtroopers before the Ewoks come to the rescue.

There is one more capture of Princess Leia which is an important part of the story, but which never actually occurs on screen, and this is the threat Vader makes when trying to turn Luke at the end of Return of the Jedi. At the thought of his sister recaptured and transformed into a dark version of herself (the false bride), Luke breaks and very nearly kills his father, choosing only at the last moment to turn fully into the light even at the cost of his own life. This scene, though beautiful and poignant, reminds us that the story is told from a masculine perspective, and that the fairy wife is a character who helps tell the male protagonist’s story of maturing into manhood. Return of the Jedi is my favorite Star Wars film, so I have no complaints about this, but it does make me glad that the final trilogy of the Skywalker saga tells the tale from a woman’s perspective….

Rey as the Swan Maiden

The story of Rey of Jakku is fascinating to me because it flips the swan maiden folktale on its head, “subverting expectations” long before Rian Johnson threw our heroine headfirst into a womb-like cave. Since The Force Awakens starts much the same as the previous trilogies, told first from Poe’s perspective and then from Finn’s, respectively, there’s no indication yet that the majority of the tale will center around a heroine’s journey. At first blush, Rey doesn’t seem much the swan maiden at all: she has no female companions, she occupies no magical otherworld, and she doesn’t seem the type to be captured, since she can clearly defend herself handily. She has somewhat of a chaste flirtatious banter with Finn, but he doesn’t quite fit the mortal or beastly husband, either. One could argue that her escape in the Falcon constitutes a kind of capture, but at no time does Rey seem to lack agency or the means of exercising her will.

Until, that is, she meets Maz, whom as I’ve said before is the Oracle in this story. Coming on the heels of her discovery of the Skywalker lightsaber and subsequent Force vision, her encounter with Maz makes it clear to Rey and the audience that her story is not one of rediscovering her lost family, but of finding a new sense of belonging ahead of her. This suggests that she will leave the world of the mundane and enter the otherworld, which is the pattern that the fairy wife takes in the Eros and Psyche variation of the swan maiden folktale. Suddenly, the familiar motifs appear in rapid succession: Rey is at a castle by a lake in a forest, just as most swan maidens are when they are discovered by the hero. She is pursued as the quarry in a hunt, with Kylo Ren in the role of the hunter, a common type for the captor of the fairy bride (Prince Seigfried was hunting when he discovered Odette). And finally, he captures her, sweeping her away in a distinctive bridal carry to his underworld lair. Kylo Ren is not, as it turns out, the mortal husband of this story; he is the demon lover.

The fairy husband or otherworldly lover can take many forms, just as the fairy wife can. He might be a true demon lover, in which case he is understood to be wrong for the heroine and dangerous to her (and to the interests of his mortal rival). He might also be an animal bridegroom, or the beastly husband to the heroine’s beauty, which usually indicates that he will be transformed back to his true princely form by the story’s end. He may be the heroine’s incubus, or the nightmare lover who represents all her dark sexual fantasies. And finally, he might even be a star, as the star-husband or star-bride is a common pattern in North American folktales. Demonic, celestial, or somewhere in between, the fairy husband is often a sure sign that the story focuses on the heroine’s journey rather than the hero’s.

On the underworld of Starkiller Base, Rey awakens from sleep and encounters her monstrous captor, immediately labeling him “creature.” Of course, he then removes his helmet, and Rey finds a handsome prince beneath the beastly skin. In the novelization, she recognized him when he chased her in the woods on Takodana: “She had seen this man before, in a daydream. In a nightmare.” There are other hints that Rey has seen Kylo in dreams before, and when he intrudes on her mind, he finds more dreams there of an ocean and island. Later, in The Last Jedi, their first Force Bond occurs just as Rey is again waking from sleep, and all of the bond scenes have a dreamlike quality to them. In fact, they often take place at night, and are visually coded with clear sexual imagery. All of this sleeping and waking and dreaming of both man and monster makes Kylo Ren a clear folktale figure: Rey’s incubus.

As mentioned above, the incubus is the dream lover of the heroine’s sexual fantasies. While those fantasies might be perfectly natural and healthy for a woman, female sexual appetites have usually been presented in folklore as dangerous, so the man who can satisfy those appetites is often presented as a demonic figure. Often, an incubus is blamed when a fairy wife begins to withdraw from her family, the suggestion being that she has placed her own base desires above the good of the community. If the woman is to retake her place as the good and pure bride of the tale, she must be recaptured from her incubus or he must be destroyed, to cleanse her of her deviant fantasies. If I may editorialize for a moment, I believe this is the dynamic at play in some of the fan arguments that Kylo Ren should die at the end of the trilogy: he is evil and Rey desires him, therefore if she is to remain the heroine of the story, he must die.

Of course, Kylo may not be JUST an incubus. He is, after all, also Ben Solo, which means that he has two forms: the beast and the man. When this is true in folktales, it is understood that the man is the true form concealed by the animal skin, which must be burned away or otherwise destroyed. However, this removal of the beastly skin to reveal the man underneath can also constitute the breaking of the taboo which leads to the separation of the couple. A common taboo is seeing the husband naked, which Rey very nearly does when the Force connects her to a shirtless Ben Solo. While it seems obvious that this was a deliberate choice on Rian Johnson’s part to indicate that Ben shows Rey his true self, we now know that Chris Terrio intends to continue this theme in The Rise of Skywalker: “When Ren takes off his mask, there’s a nakedness about him with Rey that he doesn’t express to anyone else.”

After Ben Solo extends a (naked) hand to her, Rey pursues him to the Supremacy, where the capture motif reappears as she is escorted to Snoke in restraints. Continuing the theme of revealing the true form, Rey calls Ben by his given name, yet another common folktale taboo that the heroine is forbidden to break. There are now so many broken taboos that the flight of the fairy bride is inevitable, and sure enough, when princely Ben proposes to Rey as the demon Kylo Ren, she flees his underworld back to the relative safety of the Resistance. As the story stands at the end of The Last Jedi, the fairy bride has left her animal bridegroom in his otherworld, choosing for now to live in the mortal world of the mundane. However, if the folktale pattern holds, she will not be satisfied there, and will soon begin to long for the otherworld again.

The Swan Maiden in The Rise of Skywalker

So this brings us to the theory raised by What The Force, that the appearance of Palpatine and Dark Rey in the trailers indicate that the final film of the saga will follow something of a Swan Lake pattern, with Palpatine enticing Rey to the Dark Side such that she must be retrieved by a redeemed Ben Solo. It’s definitely a solid idea, but I think that the variants of swan maiden folktales can offer us some surprisingly specific clues as to the path of this last film. First, let’s explore the folklore tradition behind the image of Dark Rey that appeared in the D23 sizzle reel:

Swan maidens are usually presented as beautiful, pure creatures, but there is also something inherently dangerous about them. The dominant capture motif alone speaks to the idea that woman must be possessed and subjugated, and the prevalence of sexual taboos indicate that her unbridled sexuality is fearful to the storyteller. The unmarried maiden is a target of the hero’s hunt for a bride, but the unmarried older woman is an evil witch. This is the “wild woman,” or the projection of the unrepressed feminine.These women are often the false brides of the swan maiden tale: a loathly hag, troll, or succubus who disguises herself as the swan maiden and fools the hero into marrying her. She is usually a male storyteller’s projection that splits the female image into the virginal bride and the man-eating witch. This is true even when the false bride appears in Search for the Lost Husband tales as the heroine’s rival for the prince’s affections.

It is difficult to trace the history of oral tales and whether they vary when passed down by women versus men. However, available evidence suggests that women have often told swan maiden tales not as a warning, but as a fantasy of escape, emancipation, and personal fulfillment. The escape from the mortal husband and his mundane world IS the whole point for women throughout history who have been sold into unhappy marriages, so there is little reason to have the heroine seek out her captor again. Notably, searching wives rarely pursue mortal husbands, but usually are seeking their lost animal bridegrooms instead. For men, on the other hand, the swan maiden story stands as a warning not to neglect or mistreat their wives, lest she run away and thereby cause the breakdown of the family unit. The false bride, therefore, is likely to appear to the hero as a contrast to his pure, true bride, but is unlikely to appear to the fairy wife herself. Then again, you could argue that the swan maiden’s story is one of transforming into the dark and liberated creature that will be truly free of her captor, so the false bride could represent the fairy wife’s temptation to flee her domestic life.

As applied to Rey, this suggests a few possibilities about her dark alter ego: if she appears, whether as vision, clone, or truth to Ben Solo, then she is indeed the classic false bride, the succubus, the Black Swan meant to draw him away from his true bride. In this case, Ben will need to be able to recognize light-side Rey as the real one, and will then be rewarded for his discernment. He could even recognize the true Rey within the Dark version. However, this centers so much of the story around Ben that it leaves almost no character growth for Rey herself, so I think it’s the less likely option.

If, on the other hand, Dark Rey appears in some form to light-side Rey, she will represent less a warning than a temptation to the power she could have if only she would let go of the affection and responsibility she feels toward her mythical husband. Given some of the cast comments about how “everyone has a dark side,” this seems much more probable to me. Seeing an emancipated version of herself, free of all attachments and therefore (so she thinks) free of the pain of rejection, could be a tantalizing concept for Rey, whom we know is positively drowning in her loneliness after her parents, mentors, and would-be lover all failed her. Resisting this temptation and willing herself to remain vulnerable, to keep her heart open to love and hope, would be the ultimate challenge for this character and a fitting ending for a saga of lonely Jedi falling to the Dark Side to protect their shattered hearts.

All of that said, it is a bit of a stretch to say that Dark Rey appears in the tradition of the false bride when she’s potentially not a bride at all, if she’s not specifically meant for Ben Solo’s character arc. In that sense, I don’t really think the Odette/Odile comparison is as apt as it seems based on the aesthetics. I could certainly be wrong and Lucasfilm may choose to have Dark Rey factor into the journeys of BOTH Rey and Ben, which would honestly be a masterstroke of folklore reference and archetypal psychology.

What about Palpatine as the “evil magician” and potential rival for Rey’s heart? Is there merit to this theory based on the folktale motifs? Well, we’ve already discussed the concept of the demon lover, whose relationship with the heroine frequently predates her original capture into the mortal world, and in this sense I do think the Emperor fits the bill. There are a lot of links between Rey and Palpatine buried in the films and expanded lore, most notably her origin on Jakku, which was the site of the Emperor’s “backup plan” if his Empire should fall, as well as possibly his lab which was tasked with seeking the key to immortality. The other distinct tie is in her musical theme, which is in fact a variation on the Emperor’s theme from the original trilogy. Further, if Rey turns out to be the mirror image of Ben Solo, who arose from the Light but fell to the Dark, then she may have her origins in the Dark Side and came the the Light. If so, there could be some kind of historical link between her and Palpatine, much as the swan maiden maintains a tie to her demon lover even after she has married another.

As I mentioned before, Kylo Ren too is a demon lover, specifically an incubus. Palpatine, on the other hand, might be classified as a revenant, or a dark lover that is returned from the dead. The revenant differs from the other enchanted husbands in that he holds no potential to transform into the loving spouse, but only to trick the fairy wife into leaving with him, thereby dragging her into death with him. Swan maidens are often lured from their mortal husbands in the belief that the revenant is a long-dead lover returned to the land of the living, and that her true place is with him. These fairy wives are fooled into following the revenant into Hell, and all of the characters suffer in their eternal separation and abandonment.

It seems very likely that Palpatine may make an offer to Rey which mirrors the ones Kylo made in the previous two films. Though it may or may not be darkly romantic in nature, Darth Sidious’ proposal may be very enticing to Rey if she is at an emotionally fragile moment. Her only hope in that scenario would be to keep faith in Ben Solo, and for him to show himself worthy of that faith by shedding his beastly skin and reclaiming his true identity. By recognizing and pursuing her true husband, Rey would in effect forget the revenant, and he would cease to exist.

The last point I want to make about some likely imagery in The Rise of Skywalker based on the trailers is a reference to a swan maiden tale subtype known as “The Orange Maiden” or “The Love for the Three Oranges.” In this story type, a man cuts into an orange, and a beautiful maiden emerges. She is desperately thirsty and begs him for water, but the man refuses, and she dies. The man cuts open a second orange and the same thing happens. Finally, he cuts open a third orange, and this time he offers her a drink, and the woman agrees to marry him. However, when he leaves her alone by a lake, she is impersonated by a false bride, who fools the bridegroom into marrying her instead. The heroine must then pursue the hero in a classic Search for the Lost Husband tale.

The cutting of the orange is typically a metaphor for sexual initiation, as the mythical husband penetrates the ripe fruit to discover the woman inside. Similarly, Kylo Ren enters Rey’s mind twice in The Force Awakens, and then continues to have sexually-coded encounters with her throughout their onscreen relationship. While I reject the idea that this was a deliberate rape metaphor, the allusion to him taking what was not offered freely is unmistakable.

As many have pointed out before, Rey’s element in the production design of the sequel trilogy is water, which is offered to her in progressively greater amounts throughout the films: Her first appearance in The Force Awakens shows her thirsting, drinking the last few drops from her canteen in the arid desert before rushing away to seek more sustenance. She next finds herself by a lake, and then in a vision in the pouring rain, facing none other than Kylo Ren. Later, Rey is surrounded by snow, another form of water (though not ideal for quenching thirst) as Kylo makes his first offer to her, which of course she cannot accept. In The Last Jedi, Rey is on an island surrounded by water, standing in the rain as she encounters Kylo yet again. Eventually, her association with water is so complete that she is submerged in it as she falls into the cave and emerges dripping. She fights Luke in the rain, then fights alongside Ben Solo on the Supremacy, afterward dripping with sweat and tears. At this point, Kylo makes his second proposal to her, which she again refuses.

If there’s one thing we know for certain, it’s that Rey will be completely DRENCHED in the final film of the saga, surrounded as she is by a raging ocean during her duel with Kylo/Ben. This seems like a likely place for a third proposal to take place, one that will hopefully finally quench Rey’s thirst which it seems has yet to be satisfied through the previous two movies. The folktale suggests that the man must learn to care about and give the woman what she needs before she will consent to marry him; and so Ben Solo must learn what it is that Rey truly wants from him in order to make her an offer that she will accept.

However, if Ben and Rey come to some kind of understanding at the end of their Death Star battle, there must still be conflict to resolve. It is for this reason that I think one or both of them may flee the other in a moment of panic or regression, not yet ready to embrace their true self and unite with their soulmate. This would also be the logical moment for Dark Rey to appear in some form, to tempt our heroine and hero in their moment of greatest weakness, when they have been divided. Then one or both mythical spouses would need to pursue the other in order to overcome the lie that separates them.

Conclusion: Triumph of the Swan Maiden

Swan maiden tales represent the feminine ideal of both men and women, but with vastly different aspects. The Quest for the Lost Bride variation of the story is characterized by a deep anxiety that the fairy wife will leave her husband forever, and that he will never be able to retrieve her. To avoid this fate, he overcompensates by capturing and imprisoning her, but this in itself is a broken taboo which will eventually lead to the exact loss that the mythical husband fears. Feminine freedom is a fearful thing, so the masculine must possess and control it, with terrible consequences for both his family and society as a whole.

Meanwhile, the Search for the Lost Husband version of the tale is characterized by the feminine fantasy of freedom, of the agency to make one’s own choices about what she will do and who shall have her heart. As such, she does not shy away from the beast, nor from the demon lover. Instead, she embraces him and pursues her husband’s true form hidden underneath. But, she does these only from a position of freedom and independence: her pursuit of her desires must always follow her escape from her original capture.

The Skywalker Saga tells both of these stories, and the ninth film will show their natural conclusion: The matured masculine will accept the liberated feminine, and the two will unite to ultimately defeat death itself.

Given that swan maiden tales usually end in tragedy, why am I so confident for a happy ending? It’s very simple, really: just as it was natural for George Lucas to tell his story of loss, it will be natural for JJ Abrams to tell his story of unity and balance. Abrams has been married to public relations executive Katie McGrath for almost 24 years, and they have three children together. Further, they are accustomed to working through their differences, as theirs is an interfaith marriage: JJ is Jewish while Katie is Catholic. And finally, Abrams does not appear to be insecure or threatened by his wife, despite her achievements and the fact that she’s taller than him (and even more so in heels, he laughs). While of course we cannot know what their relationship is like behind closed doors, it seems likely that Abrams’ view of romance is much more mature and hopeful than Lucas’ would have been at the time he directed the prequel trilogy. To the extent that the artist’s perspective is expressed through their art, I would expect JJ’s final installment in the Skywalker Saga to be a charming and idealistic romance.

I realize this is a really long way to say “they’re right,” but I thought this deserved a deep dive, so I hope you liked it, dear reader, if you made it this far. If you have not checked out my other entries in this Folktale Types in Star Wars series, you can find those here:

The Search for the Lost Husband: Reylo as Eros and Psyche

More Search for the Lost Husband: The Burning of the Beast’s Skin in Star Wars

The Quest for the Lost Bride: Anidala (and Reylo) as Orpheus and Eurydice

More Quest for the Lost Bride: Sleeping Beauty in Star Wars

Still More Search for the Lost Husband: The Revival of the Prince in Star Wars

…. And if you REALLY liked my ramblings, please consider sharing them! I also deeply appreciate comments, if you have any. Thank you so much, lovely Reylos (and Reylo-curious newbies)!

Oh and by the way, George Lucas remarried in 2013 and seems very happy. <3

Edit: I know the WTForce ladies hate Tumblr but I’m tagging them anyway since this was really all about Marie-Claire’s idea: @theforcerevisited Sorry Twitter isn’t my thing, lovelies!

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sherlollydramoine · 4 years

Text

If You Only Knew

This is a request by @breadnbutternips thank you for recommending about six million songs before this one stuck and the ideas started flowing. You are my favorite music lady… and I seriously can’t thank you enough for the recommendations.

This is a song fic based on Shinedown’s “If You Only Knew”.. fic title taken from the song! :)

This immediately follows the song fic I wrote called Eyes Closed so I’d recommend you read that one first if you haven’t already. Just like in the other piece the text messages are in bold and the song lyrics are in italics.

Thank you to @xmxisxforxmaybe for your suggestions and edits. :) Love you! You have really been an incredible cheerleader for this piece and I don’t know if I have enough words to truly thank you!!

Warnings: ANGST ANGST ANGST ANGST ANGST, sad Rami, alcohol consumption, cigarette smoking, depression, insomnia, and language.

Word Count: 3,445

If you only knew I’m hanging by a thread, the web I spin for you. If you only knew I’d sacrifice my beating heart before I’d lose you. I still hold onto the letters you returned. I swear I lived and learned.

It’s 4:03 and I can’t sleep. Without you next to me I toss and turn like the sea. If I drown tonight, bring me back to life. Breathe your breath in me. The only thing I still believe in is you, if you only knew.

Laying in bed staring at the ceiling again. It’s another one of those nights, the kind where sleep remains elusive and the brain can’t slow down. I can’t help it really but I wish she was here right now because I’m still not understanding why she walked away four months ago and never returned. It wasn’t like we’d never fought before because we had, or did, and often. No matter what had ever happened though she’d never just disappeared after an argument because we’d never had a problem working through everything together. Sure things were never perfect with us but we’d always managed to navigate our way through all of the hurts.

I find it increasingly difficult to manage my feelings about this entire situation. She’d not only left us behind, but also everything she owned, which left me trapped in a living breathing memory. Some days or nights depending on my work schedule I awake barely able to breathe and even now, on the worst nights, I still find myself reaching out for her. I hate the fact that I’m still so irrevocably in love with her and I’m barely hanging on. I miss her so badly the ache in my chest is always unbearable.

I’ve barely been able to sleep since she left, all I can do is toss and turn in a way that reminds me of the sea during a storm. Oddly, that’s exactly what I feel like emotionally, physically, and mentally. Some days I feel like with just the slightest provocation I lash out at those closest to me with the anger and rage bubbling just beneath the surface. Other times I am constantly on the verge of tears, ready to break down and let all the hurt leave my body through my eyes.

People in my life keep trying to tell me to move on, to let her and us go but I can’t. I often tell them that I’d rather carve out my own heart than allow myself to give up on her. I’m drowning without her. Absolutely drowning, and she isn’t here to save me. With a deep sigh I decide to get out of bed since there is no point trying to sleep when my mind is like this.

I stand up and stretch my aching muscles as it had been a long and physically demanding day at work, before I drop to my knees beside the bed and reach under it to pull out the box that I keep hidden there. It mostly just contains all the letters that I’ve written her over the last four months that all ended up being returned to me. I know she is still here in New York somewhere but her friends won’t tell me how to find her. I only wish she’d have kept these letters, the written words that were partially angry, partially sad, and mostly just pleading for her to come home. I want her to know that I’ve learned from my mistakes and how deeply I miss her.

Taking the box with me I find myself in the kitchen where I locate a random bottle of liquor. At this point I don’t care what it is so long as I can feel the burn as it makes its way down my esophagus and into my stomach.

If you only knew how many times I counted all the words that went wrong. If you only knew how I refuse to let you go, even when you’re gone. I don’t regret any days I spent, nights we shared or letters that I sent.

After a while I realize that I’ve probably consumed way too much of whatever the clear liquid was, because the tears start forming at the corners of my eyes. Lifting the bottle of the counter I take a long pull directly from the bottle because I couldn’t be fucked with finding a glass. Taking the lid off the box that contained all the letters I’d written her that had all come back to me. Return to sender in big bold letters, stamped on the front of it.

I don’t think she knows how often I replay the events of that night in my head. It’s like a bad song stuck on repeat-I’ll never forget it.

I can’t bring myself to let go of her and the memories of our years together. Why would I? But then again, why can’t I let go? Who wants to live in a cycle of never ending pain?

I pull the first letter out of the box. Even if the date wasn’t stamped on the front of it, I’d still know the exact order of each letter I sent. Resisting the urge to tear it open and read it because I don’t want to relive those words. I know what each letter says. Every word. The first letter contains exactly five hundred words. The second letter has exactly six hundred and eighty-seven, the third letter has four hundred and eleven, and the fourth letter contains nine hundred and forty-five words, but the fifth and final letter only one has nine. I only know this because I counted every word I wrote. I’m not sure why I felt compelled to do it, but how does one say they are sorry? How many words does it take? In my case, two thousand five hundred and fifty-two words.

Two thousand five hundred and fifty-two words she’ll never read, she’ll never know about, and words that I so badly want her to hear.

Finding myself desperately trying to hold back the tears that I know are coming and I pick up my now almost empty bottle of liquor swallowing down the last bit of it. Releasing another sigh into the quietness of the apartment before I toss the shiny glass bottle into the sink. It lands with a loud clinking noise but thankfully doesn’t shatter. I doubt I would have cared if it did, it would have looked just how I imagine my heart does.

If you only knew I still hold onto the letters you returned. You help me live and learn.

It’s 4:03 and I can’t sleep without you next to me. I toss and turn like the sea. If i drown tonight, bring me back to life, breathe your breath in me. The only thing that I still believe in is you. I still believe in you. Oh, if you only knew.

Glancing at the clock on the stove, I realize that it’s just after four am and I really should try and get to sleep but I’m drowning - in pain,anger, love; I don’t even know anymore. It kills me that she’ll never know how I feel but drunken anger begins bubbling to the surface and I pick up the first letter that I ever sent her. This one was part love letter, part apology, and part angry ranting. Moving slowly to the kitchen sink and picking up my lighter that was sitting next to my cigarettes on the counter I bitterly smile as the crinkled edge of the paper catches the flame.

I stand there mesmerized as I watch the flames dance up one side of the paper before it quickly spread to the rest of the envelope. My words now nothing but ash, falling away into the sink as if they never existed. Continuing to watch bitterly I suddenly find myself filled with panic and I drop the flaming mess into the wet sink. No! I can’t give up on her just yet. Not yet.

Suddenly my phone pings with a notification and the screen lights up and I feel like I did four months ago; hopeful. There was no fighting the urge to check my phone and I was unable to resist picking it up. Looking down at the screen my breath catches in my throat and I have to fight back a sob. It was her!

The text that I’d been waiting for, for too long was now staring at me.

“I’m sorry. I miss you.”

Five words. That’s all it took to completely wreck my already fragile and unstable emotional state. The alcohol takes over my body and with trembling hands I quickly type out a reply.

“Me too. I love you YN. Can we talk?”

Nine words. Simple right? Effective? Can those nine words really convey everything that I’m feeling?

I don’t wait for her to respond because I find myself listening to a dial tone, holding my phone to my ear with shaking hands and my head still reeling. I’m not even sure I’m fully comprehending exactly what is happening at this moment.

“Hello,” I hear her say. Her voice sounds quiet but there is a slight hopefulness to it.

“Hey,” I manage to say. I bury my face in my hands and try to stifle a groan. Real fucking smooth Rami, real smooth.

“Soooo, how are you?” She asks this time, and now she sounds nervous. It was hard to hear what she was saying because there was some kind of commotion in the background.

I wanted to tell her, but I found myself unable to find the words, mumbling, “Not that great, Y/N.”

“Why?”she asks, sounding distracted and distant, and I couldn’t help but to scoff.

“Are you fucking serious?” I ask.

“Yeah. But I-” she stops herself. The speaker of my phone makes a loud and strange crackling noise followed by what sounds like a car door slamming shut. Hushed voices are muttering something unintelligible in the background as I stand in the middle of my kitchen feeling crazy. What is she doing? Who is she talking to?

Did she completely forget she was on the phone with me?

“YN-I- “ I try to speak, but again am unable to form anything comprehensible at the point.

“Rami, I’m sorry. I- look. How was your day?” she inquires, though her voice sounds strained.

“It was the same shit, different day like always. Today was a tough one physically, mentally and emotionally,” I mutter. I’m not sure she’s even listening and this conversation feels so weird to me. I thought that when we finally spoke again, it would be easy like it had almost always been.

“I’m sorry your day was so rough, mine wasn’t all that great either. They usually never are,” she says with a tone that is tinged with a sort of resigned sadness.

“If there is one thing I understand YN, it’s how it feels to have some not great days. Do you want to talk about it?” I bravely offer, even though I’m not so sure I really want to hear it at this point.

“Not really Rami, not really,” she says again.

“It’s alright. You know you can talk to me about whatever is bothering you.

She softly giggles for a few seconds before she speaks up and this time her voice belies the fact that she’d just been giggling, “I know Rami.”

Her small little chuckle is music to my ears and I could swear I just died and went to heaven.

“Rami, why have you not been great?” she asks again, this time her tone is one of curiosity and all I can think to myself is “Is she really fucking serious right now?”

“YN. I-I-I just.” I try to say but trip and stumble over my own words. I’m floundering and I’ve barely been able to speak to her. Do I tell her the truth?

I take a deep breath before allowing myself to start saying what I’ve wanted to say since she asked me this question only a few moments ago.

“I’ve been fucking drowning, forcing myself to live in a fucking memory because I can’t escape you and–” I couldn’t help but to look down at the floor and I could feel my cheeks heating with embarrassment.

“And?” her tense voice cuts in.

“And I don’t want to. All I ever wanted was you. I can’t sleep for shit and I can barely focus, even at work. Baby, I’m barely living. Nothing-nothing that happened that night made any fucking sense and I haven’t been able to bring myself to move anything or change anything here since you walked away.”

My eyes scan the dark living room and take in the blanket still draped over the back of the couch as she’d left it. A pile of outdated women’s fashion magazines on the side table, along with her well worn copy of Pride & Prejudice with her favorite tattered green book mark wedged between the well worn pages.

I can hear her sharp intake of breath and I know I’ve hit a sore spot.I try to keep myself from crying because I know those words have stunned her into silence. Hating the fact that I’m drunk right now, and hell she might be too, but hating even more that I am no longer in control and cannot stop the word vomit caused by all of these overwhelming feelings.

All I hear is white noise. The kind of buzz that comes from being in a car while it’s driving, or walking on the street while the traffic rushes by. This is New York City where the noise is never ending especially on a Friday or Saturday night.

“Are you still there?” I ask, afraid I’ve said too much but angry she isn’t saying more at this moment. I know I’m the one that called her, but she texted me first, so that has to mean something right?

“I’m here,” she says, a little out of breath. “Rami, I-” she starts but gives up, and all I can hear is a sad sigh on the other end, and for some reason it causes the burning anger to resurface. I know I should quit while I’m ahead, but I can’t do that, I’ve never been able to do that with her.

“If you’ve got nothing to say baby, that’s alright. I’ve got a lot to say,” I deadpan. I can only hear her breathing now and it nearly sounds as if she’s crying. My heart breaks a little more but I continue.

"My world crashed and burned when you left and I’m so angry. YN, so angry with you! ”

“I-I-understand. I guess it’s what I deserve. I up and left you. I just- fuck,” she stammers, and she sounds hesitant. Like she wants to say something more but she doesn’t know what.

“I am mad and hurt Y/N, but all I want is you. And I don’t care if that’s selfish-all I want is you here with me. Just for one Goddamn night so that I can find some peace again,” I say as I rub my face with my free hand. My hands feel fidgety and I hate the uneasy feeling in the pit of my stomach when the anxiety begins to claim its hold on me.

In my irritation, I swipe at the box on the counter that contains the letters and watch as the papers flutters to the floor and the box lands with a soft thud on the hardwood. The act was childish and didn’t serve any real purpose in the relief of my emotional crisis, but I took a small delight in it. My next move is as definitely more adult as I reach across the counter for my cigarettes, plucking one from the carton and lighting it up.

Still nothing but silence on her end and now I’m worried I’ve really gone and fucked this up. I take a deep pull from the cigarette before exhaling the grey smoke into the darkness of the kitchen. If she isn’t going to speak, I’ve got more to say.

“YN, baby, I just want to hear your laughter again, see your smile. You-you haunt me. My dreams are filled with you and us, our memories. Sometimes my dreams of you are just fantasies or a hope for-” I cut myself off again.

I feel so foolish right now as I’m spilling my guts, leaving myself open and bare for her to do with as she pleases and she hasn’t given me much. I’m stupidly clinging to a hope that was so easily triggered by five little words and a phone call that I initiated.

“Rami I-. I’m sad too but I love you,” she says so quietly I can barely hear her. I don’t even know that I was supposed to.

There is so much more that I want to say but suddenly I find that I can’t. My chest aches at her quiet confession and my head swirls with thoughts of what ifs, maybes, and whys.

The quiet between us is tense, and if not for all the background noise blaring through the tiny phone speaker, I would have thought that she had hung up on me.

Exhaling more smoke into the air,I lean towards the sink as I rid my cigarette of the excess ash. I want to say something to her but I hesitate with my hand halfway to my mouth. I stare at my hand for a moment before I put the cigarette to my lips and I take another deep pull then exhale; repeat.

I can hear her take a breath and it sounds as if she is trying to breathe through sobs as she begins to speak.

“Rami I’m so sorry. Baby I’m so fucking sorry. I-I-I love. I’m so fucking sorry.”

Leaning against the counter in the kitchen, glowing cigarette in my hand, I glance up at the clock on the stove again, the glowing numbers read 4:25 am. She probably just accidentally drunk texted me after being out with friends tonight and the last thing she was expecting was to have this conversation.

Finishing my cigarette I toss it in the sink and turn on the water for a few seconds before I let out another sigh and pinch the bridge of my nose in frustration. Why is she unable to say anything? I feel like I’ve bared my soul and she has still given me very little in return though she has uttered the word love.

Honestly, opening my mouth is the last thing I should have done at this moment but apparently I have no impulse control tonight. I start to feel an overwhelming sadness due to feeling as if this conversation was futile and I’ve got my brain telling me I’ve likely ruined any chance of a reconciliation.

My voice almost breaks as I find the words I was searching for. I’m near tearfully scolding her now but I’m also ripping myself to pieces. I’m not an innocent party in all of this; I’m just trying to place blame because I’ve had a difficult time accepting my new reality.

Loneliness.

“You should be, but I-I’m to blame for this mess as well baby. I wasn’t listening to you and all you were trying to do was communicate how you were feeling. God baby, how could we have fucked this up so badly? How? Fucking five years together and it all came tumbling down over one stupid fucking moment. All because-”

My speech is interrupted by a loud knocking on the door. My head snaps up and my mouth snaps shut as I glare at my door, the rhythmic sound unrelenting and only furthering my agitation.

“Who the fuck would-” I complain as I make my way to the front door. Turning the lock and swinging the door open, I’m ready to give whoever it is a piece of my mind, but instead, my jaw goes slack and my phone clatters to the floor.

There she is in all her glory, at nearly 4:30 am, wearing one of my old hoodies; the one she’d been wearing the night she left me.

Tag List: @txmel @free-rami @warmommy @mrhoemazzello @itsme690 @ramimedley @safinsscar @ladyr0b0t @youthtea @ramisgirl512 @hissom1933 @spacedustmazzello @sassystrawberryk @ramimalekpan @doing-all-write @itslula1991 @imnottiredofgettingoveryou @alottanothing @mezzomercury @theultraviolencefan @the-real-ramimalekpeen @hazeleyedbeth @w0lfglrl17 @adoremalek @rawmemalek @lunasasylum @lablanchett @diasimar @zodiyack @sasha–1996 @rami-malek-trash @seven-seas-of-ham-on-rhye

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mystic-kitten-writer · 4 years

Note

Can you drop a teaser for Flutter my sweetest dearest most awesome writer in the universe 😍 (yes Im trying to use flattery. I have no shame). But i hope all is well with you i love you tons 💜💜

A teaser you say...👀👀

I’m not above flattery - and your flattery has earned you a teaser 😂

I’m going to be releasing an update plan for my stories sometime soon - but Flutter should be dropping within the month (fingers crossed!). My computer crashed, and I lost the majority of my edits a few weeks ago (also why I’m behind on my other stories too), but I finally got an external hard drive so I’m less fearful of losing all my edits!

But I hope you like the teaser, love you, babe~! 💜

Pairing: Kim Seokjin x Reader

AU: Greek Mythology (mini-series - 3rd installment)

Genre: Romance/smut

Rating: SFW

Notes: A small teaser for waiting so patiently while my life is a chaotic mess.

Flutter [M] ︳Final

“Did you see Kitten this morning? It’s like she wanted to get ruined again.”

“Give our sweet Princess a break – she’s only human after all…”

“Hmm, we both know there’s not a single thing that our sweet Kitten can’t handle.”

Your eyelashes battled innocently, cheeks reddening the more you listened. A harmonious mixture of disbelief and embarrassment painting your face.

It was impossible to strip your gaze away from them - the way Taehyung and Jimin moved their plump lips, lustful words dancing off the tips of their tongues. The way they spoke, one would have thought they were talking about their wines, not their sexual rendezvous.

What a way to start the day.

“Kitten? Princess?” You spoke with a perfectly raised brow, fingers tapping on the armrest of the couch you sat upon. An easy thing, designed by the one and only, Taehyung, himself. But the newest addition of furniture was the last thing on your mind, especially knowing that Jimin and Taehyung were utterly love-struck.

As if Eros shot them with one of his arrows.

It wasn’t that you thought Taehyung or Jimin was incapable of loving someone; you just didn’t think they would share, let alone with a mere mortal.

Your smooth voice reminded them of your presence, and they smirked to each other - leaning back into the couches they sat on. You could only imagine the filth coursing through those corrupt minds of theirs – was their mother really a human? They seem more like direct offspring of Aphrodite and Dionysus...

Taehyung’s arms rested along the back of the couch, his fingers drumming as he crossed his legs, “She’s a beauty, y/n. But more importantly-”

“She loves us, both of us.” Jimin finished, manspreading as his hands brushed through his hair, a sweet but devilish smile on his face. And just like that, you could see it; love.

It twinkled in their eyes, and despite their shameless talks and the physical attractions, they genuinely loved her.

Seeing them sporting the broadest smiles on their faces, in utter bliss, made your heart swell with happiness. “And to think that just a moment ago, you were cute, awkward, teenagers.” you giggled, brushing your curtain of hair behind your ears, smiling.

You’ve seen them grow, all six of them, ever since you began a courtship with the eldest brother, Seokjin. To see them now, grown men, handsome and wise, and smitten, was the best thing that could have happened to you. Strangely, you felt like all of the brothers were your children, and it made sense since you’ve known them all from the very beginning.

“Have the others met her? I would love to meet her.” You smiled, leaning forward with excitement, and Taehyung let his long fingers tap against the couch, “Almost everyone, except Yoongi…but, you know him…”

You pouted, nodding knowingly.

He had his own worries, his own love troubles, and seeing people madly in love would most likely dampen his mood even more.

“We actually came to visit because we have a favour to ask…” Jimin beamed, his voice light as he leaned forward, elbows on his knees. With a tilted head, you nodded, eager to hear what the great Gods of Wines could possibly want from just a butterfly nymph-like yourself.

And the moment they spoke, you felt your heart stop, face dropping that stunning smile to a forced one.

“We want to make her ours - officially. And there’s no one else we could trust with planning such an event than yourself.” Taehyung spoke, his eyes hazing over as he smiled to himself. Your breath hitched at his words, he couldn’t possibly mean what you think he does.

“Y-you’re talking about marriage?” You muttered under your breath, and Jimin grinned.

“Who would’ve thought we would be settling down already?” Taehyung and Jimin chuckled to themselves, nodding in unison at the thought, utterly oblivious of the sound of your involuntary giggle, hands intertwined on your lap.

Your nails dug into your skin, bottom lip trembling as you thought about it – marriage.

You loved Jimin and Taehyung, but not that way. You were happy that they were happy, glad that they found the one. The twisting of your stomach, the lump that built up in your throat, was caused by an entirely different meaning.

You’ve been with Jin for God knows how long, and yet, he never did propose or make any move that would suggest he was thinking of it. And while they were plenty of happy couples in Olympus, unmarried and with no desire to do so, marriage was something the both of you expressed a desire for and valued.

How long has it been? Five hundred, maybe even six hundred years in mortal time?

That gut-wrenching feeling, skin-crawling - you were jealous.

Jimin and Taehyung were ready to propose to a woman, whom they’ve known for less than a quarter than how long you and Jin have been dating.

“I’m happy for you two.” You spoke slowly, compelling a smile to stay on your face as you gazed over at the two boys.

It wasn’t like you fantasized about being a wife since you were little, but it still hurt. It was something you both cherished, and you didn’t think the relationship was failing, so what was it? If only you could pop the question, you totally would; but given his status, that was a no-go.

Were you wasting your time?

Asking too much from a God?

Was he… was he in love with someone else? It wasn’t uncommon for the Gods to stray away…only a handful of them stay faithful – the brothers being prime examples. But Jin isn’t that type of man. He’s committed, that was never a realistic fear…unless it should?

Your heart was pounding vigorously, as if someone stuffed a waterfall inside of your body. The soft mummers from the boys were lost to the thrashing in your head – oblivious to the confused looks they shared with one another.

Was Jin just content?

Maybe he does value marriage, just not with you.

Now that you’re thinking about it…

The more you thought, the more you realized the odd things that started to happen in your relationship…like how Jin kept freezing up every time you hugged him or gave him a peck. Or how awkward he seemed at times at your presence, like he was uncomfortable or stress.

It was like Jin was there with you but not at the same time…was our relationship falling apart right under your nose, and you just never noticed?

And just like that, you felt it; hands resting over yours, causing your eyes to flutter open – not realizing you had even shut them. Jimin was kneeling in front of you, his hands grasping yours.

“What’s wrong…? Are you mad at us?” Jimin questioned, voice strained.

“N-no, sorry, I was just thinking and- sorry. I’m fine, Jimin, don’t worry-” you cooed desperately, cupping his hands and pressing a bright smile. But Jimin sulked, shaking his head at the words you spoke.

“What’s wrong y/n…we know you just as well as you know us.” Taehyung huffed. He leaned over his knees, eagerly awaiting your answer.

Your mouth opened and closed, unsure of what to say.

What do you say? That you’re jealous of some woman you never even met? That you want to marry their brother?

“I-it’s nothing, I promise. I’ll gladly help you two with your wedding.”

“It’s Seokjin…isn’t it?” Taehyung muttered under his breath. With that statement alone, he clicked his tongue, head shaking as he straightened his back and gazed away. You couldn’t stop your breath from hitching, surprised that he guessed as fast as he did, but also not since it would be the only answer that would make sense.

Jimin glowered, the grip on your hand tightening tenfold, forcing your eyes to fall back on the man kneeling before you. “J-Jimin, sit up. You know it’s shunned upon for a God to kneel before anyone less than a God.”

“But you’re not just anyone. You’re practically our mother.” He grumbled.

His small hand untangled themselves with yours, dusting his stunning black silks as he stood. A sad smile painted your pink lips – they viewed you as a mother figure, and that meant tons.

“I’m not sure what Seokjin did, but you know how he is. He can be so aloof.” Taehyung grumbled under his breath, and you couldn’t help but laugh breathlessly. He had a point…although Taehyung isn’t one to talk – aloofness was, more often than not, his middle name at times.

But it wasn’t that Jin was unwise, he just proved…oblivious in certain areas.

For someone who was such a family man, a man who valued tradition and customs, he was unusually slow to picking up specific hints. There was a reason why you had to initiate the first kiss, the hand-holding…what a frustrating man he can be.

Was it aloofness?

No…it was more so his fear of pushing you – hurting you.

“You’re my butterfly – and I never want to be the reason why you no longer flutter as beautifully as you do.” You smiled sheepishly, remembering his romantic words – what a goof.

“Does…Seokjin wish to marry me?” you muttered under your breath, more so a question for yourself than for your boys to hear.

Jimin’s eyes widen, his jaw almost dropping as he huffed angrily to himself, “That’s it, I’m going to talk with him. What’s wrong with that man? He’s beyond self-conceited and prides himself in being the most handsome God that he’s forgetting to pay some attention to you.”

You blushed at Jimin’s words, hearing the anger in his voice.

There was one thing you learned about these boys – it was that Jimin was a sweetheart, but if pushed, he could make Zeus himself fearful. Standing tall, he raged internally, his jaw clenched as he brushed back his hair messily – a habit of his that often-had men and women swooning.

“Jimin, no need to get so worked up-”

“But it’s utterly pathetic. He’s our older brother, yet Taehyung and I are set to wed before him! How embarrassing on his part. Can you even call yourself a God at that point?”

He nailed it.

“M-maybe Seokjin isn’t interested-”

“Now, you’re starting to anger me, y/n.” Taehyung growled under his breath, his hazel eyes glaring at you with venom. Tones of exasperation and annoyance were unfamiliar, let alone having it directed towards yourself.

#bts smut #bts fanfic #kim seokjin x reader #kim seokjin #BTS jin #Flutter #Greek Mythology #ask me anything #anon answered

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alonely-dreamer · 5 years

Text

Dangerous Creatures | Chapter 22: Bittersweet Creature

Summary: Mackenzie Alemaund is an unlucky 18 year old teenager whose life changes drastically after she gets kidnapped by two vampires and learns, in the same day, that she is not human.

Pairing: Elijah x OC

Words: 4829

A/N: Please, note that I am French so there might be some mistakes here and there, besides I couldn’t have it edited! I hope you’ll like it!

Masterlist

New Series: The Valuable Sun

Heidi and Alexander were as inseparable as they were different. They loved each other, it was clear, even if Heidi never smiled and he never stopped laughing. Mackenzie watched them live together, like they were two pieces of the same puzzle, so different and yet, they made sense, they completed each other. They needed one another. Alexander always managed to make her smile at least once a day. It was almost his life’s mission. She needed him to relax and he needed her to keep his feet on the ground.

Living with them was entertaining and never boring. Heidi was determined to teach Mackenzie everything she should know if she were to live in this world alone. Alexander helped her train physically. It always ended with blood and bruises, but he always healed her at the end of the day. She learnt more in two weeks than she had in the past six months. She had grown stronger and more confident.

They had asked her several times if she wanted to go to the Forest, but she always declined. They had left Mystic Falls, but the town was still a two-hour drive away. She refused to walk away even though she never answered any calls from her former friends. Not Elena’s, not Bonnie’s and not Rebekah’s. She didn’t want to talk to them. She was still angry at the doppelganger and the witch and she figured she always will be. Heidi had told her that the fire inside her would make her spiteful and revenge hungry. She had been right about that. Even though Mackenzie wasn’t actively trying to kill them, she didn’t feel anything but anger towards them. They weren’t her friends. They had never been her friends.

Not answering Rebekah’s calls was more difficult, especially since the blonde had no idea where Mackenzie was. But the elemental didn’t want to talk to the Original. She didn’t want to talk to any Original but one. The one who never called. She had had two weeks to think about it, about what he said, and though she understood why he did it, she wished she had had the chance to give him a piece of her mind. She wasn’t a fragile doll that needed to be kept in a box. If she wanted to use her powers to protect the people that she loved, she would, and she wouldn’t apologize for it. She wished he knew he hadn’t changed her for the worst. She wished she could tell him he had changed her for the better.

And she wished he could see her right now. She was standing in the backyard of the house they had been living in for the past two weeks. Alexander had compelled the owner to let them in. The old man didn’t live there anymore, he lived across the street with his daughter who took care of him. Alexander, Heidi and Mackenzie had the house to themselves. It was a big yellow house, newly built, enclosed within four brick walls painted in the same color as the house. Nobody could see what was happening inside. And that was for the better. Because they would have seen a nineteen-year-old girl on fire, standing in the rain, with a dark cloud above her head which flashed with lightening, surrounded by a circle of strong wind with snowflakes twirling inside. It was a sight to behold. Heidi made her do that at least once a day because it made the elemental use every element at one. The trick was staying on fire while the rain poured down on her, keeping the snowflakes alive near the heat and controlling the lightning so that it would stay within the cloud. Not burning her clothes was also a difficult exercise that she had mastered in two days.

Alexander laughed as he applauded. He was standing near Heidi, on the wet brick terrace. Mackenzie let go of her magic, making all of it disappear in less than a minute. She was panting, exhausted by the amount of power she had just used. Heidi said nothing but Mackenzie had learnt to recognize the pride on her face.

“This shouldn’t be difficult,” the witch said coldly as she noticed Mackenzie pant. “We will do this until it takes you no effort,” she told her before she stepped back inside the house.

Alexander chuckled. “You did great.”

She smiled back at him before taking a deep breath. She felt as exhausted as she looked.

“By the way,” he said, “your phone keeps ringing.”

Mackenzie caught the smartphone he had just thrown at her. She wondered who could be calling her again. Elena and Rebekah had stopped calling about a week ago. Her heart tightened when she saw his name on the screen.

“Are you gonna pick it up?” he asked.

She didn’t know. Why was he calling? She wasn’t sure she wanted to talk to him. She was still angry at him for leaving her the way he did.

Seeing as she gave him no answer, Alexander took it upon himself to answer for her. He took the phone from her hands, so fast she didn’t see him coming.

“Mackenzie’s phone!” he answered.

“Alex!” she breathed out. “Give it back!”

“Oh, so you want to talk to him now?”

She tried taking her phone back, but he was taller and faster than her. The only way she could get it back was if she used her magic. She used wind to make it slip off his hand, but he caught it before it could even reach the ground.

“Nice try, angel,” he winked at her with a smirk. “Hang on a moment, will you?” he told Elijah over the phone.

“Give it back!”

She used wind to make him fall this time and he laughed as his back hit the ground.

“Ouch!”

She bent over to take the phone, but in less than a second she was the one lying on her back, in the wet grass, with Alexander on top of her.

“You have to be smarter than that, angel.”

She growled, using wind again to remove him from her. He landed on his feet and before he could move again, roots rapidly came out of the ground and whirled around his ankles, his legs, his entire body.

“Oh, crap,” he said before he fell forward.

Mackenzie let a laugh escape her as she stood up. “Was that smart enough for you?” she said as she reached for her phone.

“You’re a fast learner,” he grunted as he tried to free himself from the roots.

Mackenzie ignored him and brought the phone to her ear. “Hello?”

“Mackenzie, are you okay? What happened?” Elijah asked with worry.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” she breathed out, trying to catch her breath. “What do you want?” she said, a little bit more coldly than she intended.

“I…” he paused, then cleared his throat. “Nobody’s heard from you in two weeks.”

“Yeah? Wasn’t that the point? You never wanted to see me again.”

Elijah didn’t reply. Mackenzie started to regret her words. She sounded bitter and childish.

“I’m in Mystic Falls and I… Elena asked if you were with me. Rebekah said you left when I did.”

“Yeah, so? What are you doing back in Mystic Falls anyway?”

She heard him sigh. “Bonnie Bennett managed to trap Niklaus with a spell. I’m here to retrieve my brother.”

Mackenzie wasn’t surprised that Elena and Bonnie hadn’t given up on getting rid of Klaus.

“And what? You need a witch to free him from the spell?”

“No, I…” he paused again. She knew her harsh words were getting to him. Good. “I gave my word to Elena I wouldn’t set him free for a few centuries.”

She scoffed. Of course, he did.

“So what do you want?”

“I called because nobody could tell me where you were. I was worried.”

“You wanna know what I think? I think you worry too much, Elijah.”

“Harsh,” Alexander said from where he laid on the muddy ground, still prisoner of the roots. Mackenzie shot him a dark look.

“Where are you?” he asked, ignoring Alexander’s laughter in the background.

“What? You care now?”

“I never said I didn’t care.”

“No, you just decided what was best for me without even asking me what I wanted!”

“I was trying to protect you.”

“Maybe I don’t need protection, Elijah. Maybe all I needed was you!”

He didn’t reply. The silence was unbearable. Even Alex had stopped laughing. She was kicking herself mentally. What had gotten into her? She hadn’t realized what she was saying until it was too late. She felt tears form in her eyes.

“Where are you?” he asked again.

“In a small town… two hours away,” she said with a small lump in her throat.

“Rebekah’s on her way to a storage room to get Niklaus. Will you meet her there?”

“Why?”

“Because she could use your help. Alaric will be coming after her and… she could use some help.”

“Alaric?” Mackenzie frowned. What did Alaric have to do with any of it?

“My mother returned and turned the professor into a vampire before she died. She made a weapon that can kill my siblings and me. His life is linked to Elena’s. We will be leaving the country as soon as we get Niklaus back.”

The air disappeared from her lungs. He was leaving her again and he hadn’t even come back.

“I was thinking Germany,” he said which brought the air back to her chest. “I heard there was a Forest there where we would be safe.”

She chuckled, letting a tear fall down her cheek.

“And you don’t mind me facing Alaric?”

“Like you said. You don’t need protection.” Besides, Alaric wasn’t going after her. He was going after them. “What should I tell Rebekah?”

Mackenzie looked around. Alexander was still on the ground, waiting for her to answer, even though he already knew what she was going to say. Heidi was standing in the doorway, her arms crossed over her chest, with a raised eyebrow.

“Tell her I’m on my way.”

***

When she got to the storage room, night had already come. Damon and Rebekah were already there. So was Alaric. She looked at Alexander and Heidi who were dropping her off before heading to Mystic Falls where they had planned to meet later that night.

“Do you want us to come with you?” he asked from the driver’s seat.

“I’ll be fine,” she shook her head. After all, the past two weeks had made her ready for this type of situation. “I’ll see you later.”

“Be careful,” Heidi said as the elemental closed her car door.

They drove away before she entered the maze that was the storage room. As soon as the elevator doors opened, she heard both Rebekah and Damon shout. She was in front of Damon’s black SUV and hurried around it to find Alaric leaning over Klaus’ desiccated body with a stake in his hand. Mackenzie didn’t get the time to appreciate the irony of Klaus lying dead in a coffin as Alaric was more than ready to kill him.

“No!” Rebekah cried from where she sat on the ground.

Mackenzie waved her hand. She used wind to send the stake away from Alaric’s hands and witchcraft to break his neck. It was the first time she was trying it and Heidi would have been proud of the results. Alaric collapsed to the ground.

“Mackenzie,” the blonde breathed out.

“Looks like I arrived just in time.”

“Let’s go before he wakes up,” Damon told them, not bothering to ask what she was doing there. She guessed he wouldn’t complain about it.

He closed the coffin and Rebekah helped him get it in the trunk. Damon took the stake before he took the wheel and he drove away faster than he could run.

“Nice to see you’re still alive,” Rebekah told Mackenzie coldly.

“Sorry… I was busy.”

“Busy at the witch academy? When did you start kicking ass?” Damon asked.

“I’m motivated.”

“Well, thank you for saving my brother. You did arrive just in time.”

“You’re welcome.”

Mackenzie was sitting in the back seats, looking at the back, making sure Alaric wasn’t following them.

“How long ‘til we get there?” Rebekah asked Damon.

“Too long. He’ll wake up before we even get close.”

“That’s fine,” Mackenzie said, more for herself than for them. “I’ll deal with him.”

“Where did you get all this confidence from?” the vampire asked but she ignored him.

Half an hour passed without an incident. But the knot in her stomach didn’t go away. She knew Alaric was coming and when he did, she’d have to find another way to stop him. They couldn’t kill him with his own weapon because he was linked to Elena, and if he died, so did she.

“Do you see anything?” Rebekah asked after an hour, finding it weird that Alaric hadn’t reached them yet.

“No,” Mackenzie replied, she didn’t see him, nor did she feel him.

“Let’s keep our eyes open,” Damon said. “He’ll get to us at some point.”

“Wait,” Mackenzie breathed out. “He’s here.”

“How do you know? I don’t see him!” Rebekah said.

“I just kn-”

But before she could finish her sentence, Damon stepped on the brakes. Mackenzie put her hands on the seats before her, trying not to fall over. The glass of the rear windshield shattered, making her scream. She saw Alaric trying to get inside the car.

“Drive!” she shouted at Damon as she pushed the vampire hunter away with a strong wind.

Damon obliged.

“We can’t go back to Mystic Falls, Elijah is there, he’ll kill all of us!”

“No, he won’t,” Mackenzie snarled as she made sure Alaric wouldn’t be able to follow them. She used nature to create obstacles in the road. She tried to have roots trap him, but he was too fast, he was getting very close. “What the hell happened to him?! I thought you two were friends!”

“His ring made him go nuts!” Damon replied. “He’s not my friend anymore!”

Mackenzie breathed out of relief as a root finally caught Alaric. The closer he got and the easier it was for her to use her magic on him. He was stuck on the road, the roots whirling around him, almost breaking his bones. If Alexander couldn’t get out of that, he wouldn’t either.

“How did you do that?” the vampire asked as he looked in the rear-view mirror.

“Magic,” she told him as she leaned back against her seat, trying to catch her breath.

But her reprieve was short as Alaric was now right in front of their car. Damon tried to stop, but he was too late and he hit the hunter. They all shouted at the impact. Mackenzie was stunned and didn’t realize right away that Alaric had broken the window on Damon’s side.

“Where’s the stake?” he growled

Mackenzie shook her head, trying to recollect herself. How the hell did he free himself? She saw the stake between the two seats in front of her and took it. She tried to burn it, but fire didn’t work on it, it was spelled. She knew what she needed to do, but it would take time.

“Buy me some time, Rebekah,” she whispered to the blonde.

The Original didn’t ask questions and just nodded. Damon and Alaric were fighting outside but the hunter was trying to get inside to get to his weapon. Mackenzie started to focus. If she took the magic away from the stake, then it would be destroyable. She felt her magic blend with the stake’s, but unlike what she did to bring back Kol and Elijah, this time, she had to take the magic, not give it away. She felt it filling her veins, mixing with her own magic. Esther’s witchcraft was becoming hers. It was powerful and hot. It felt so good to feel the spell crumble away. Heidi would have been proud.

“Mackenzie!”

The elemental heard Rebekah before she saw it. Alaric tore the car door apart and grabbed her. He threw her at the side of the road. She screamed before her back met a tree, the impact taking her breath away. She didn’t even get the time to open her eyes as Alaric was already there, taking the stake from her hands. She wasn’t done with it, she couldn’t destroy it.

“What are you?” he growled.

She didn’t reply. Instead, she brought him to his knees. She used water to fill his lungs and she watched him as he choked at her feet.

“You’re not a witch, are you?” Damon said, out of breath, as he approached.

Mackenzie looked up at him but didn’t reply. Pain was traveling across her back.

“What are we going to do?” Rebekah asked. “We can’t have him follow us to Mystic Falls.”

Mackenzie took the stake from the ground, resuming her work. “He can’t kill you if he doesn’t have a weapon.”

“Well, good luck destroying it,” the eldest Salvatore said, knowing there was no way to get rid of it.

Mackenzie smiled as she felt the last drop of magic leave the stake. It rolled out of her hand, burning with hot flames. Only ashes reached the ground.

“No problem,” she shrugged at the two vampires who were looking at her with opened mouths and wild eyes.

“If my brother doesn’t marry you,” the blonde said. “He’s a fucking idiot.”

Mackenzie chuckled before she rolled her eyes. She looked down, however, when she felt herself blush. “Yeah, you might want to tell him that…”

“What?” Damon scoffed. “Trouble in paradise?”

“My brother’s an idiot and he knows it because I already said so when he told me what he said to you two weeks ago.”

“What are you doing?” Damon shouted suddenly, startling them. “Stop it!”

“What?” Mackenzie asked, worried by his tone. “I’m not doing anything!”

“You’re killing him!”

“No, I’m not! I’m not doing anything!” she repeated.

“No, no, no, no!”

The vampire kneeled near the former history professor who was collapsing to the ground, though not because of Mackenzie. His body was turning grey. He was dying.

“Oh my God!” she breathed out as she understood what it meant. “Elena’s dead.”

“Ric!”

Rebekah gestured for Mackenzie to follow her, leaving Damon alone for his friend’s final moment. The blonde leaned against the car as Mackenzie couldn’t stop looking at her former professor’s dead body. Tears formed in her eyes and she let them fall on her cheeks. He was a good man, and he didn’t deserve to die like this.

“What do you think happened?” she asked with a lump in her throat.

“I don’t have to think,” the blonde said.

Mackenzie frowned as she looked up at her friend. The Original gave her her phone. The screen showed her messages with Kol. The last thing he sent her was this: “I’m not running anymore.”

“I couldn’t have stopped him even I wanted to.”

“I know,” Mackenzie said in a whisper as another tear made its way to her face.

Against the original family, they never stood a chance.

***

Damon left without saying a word, leaving his friend’s body on the side of the road.

“Running to Elena,” Rebekah had said, “even dead.”

Mackenzie wanted to take Alaric’s body with them, but Rebekah insisted that Damon would come back for him and that they didn’t have time to drop him off anywhere anyway as Stefan and Damon would probably come after Kol for killing Elena, with or without a weapon. She gave the history professor a last look before Rebekah drove away.

“Elijah’s not going to be happy with your brother.”

“I doubt Kol stuck around long enough for Elijah to scold him.”

“You know it’s going to sound horrible but… I’m glad you don’t have to run.”

“Personally, I don’t care if it sounds horrible. I’m glad Elena’s dead and the fact that I don’t have to run is just a bonus.”

Mackenzie stared at the vampire in silence for a moment. She wasn’t surprised by her lack of emotions and decency. After all, Elena had tried to kill her and her siblings several times. Plus, she was a thousand-year-old vampire who killed people every time she was hungry. No, she wasn’t surprised, because that was who Rebekah was. Who her friend was. And even though Mackenzie had been mad at Elena, she wasn’t happy about her death. Someone’s death was nothing to be happy about. Never. Elena had family and friends. And a life. She was a high school student. She had a future. But not anymore. Because of Kol. Because of Klaus. Because of the Mikaelsons. And maybe Elijah was right, maybe she should stay away from them. But, for some reason, she didn’t want to.

She brought a hand to her neck, to Elijah’s necklace. She had just realized that the ‘M’ wasn’t for Mackenzie. “You are a friend of my family, Mackenzie. Maybe the only person we can trust here. Our only ally. A true friend.

No. The ‘M’ wasn’t for Mackenzie.

She smiled.

“We’re here,” Rebekah finally said after an hour.

Mackenzie sighed. It was too dark outside to see anything. The vampire had stopped the car near the forest at the entrance of Mystic Falls. She got out of the car, wondering if Heidi and Alexander were around. But as she tried to see if she could sense them, all she found was two original vampires. She walked around the car to where Rebekah was standing near the trunk.

“Elena’s dead?” Elijah repeated his sister’s words.

“We don’t have to run, ‘lijah. It’s over.”

The eldest Mikaelson looked up at the elemental as she appeared from behind the black SUV. She had her hands in her jeans’ pockets. She was happy to see him, but she felt nervous. Nervous because of what he said when they last saw each other. Nervous because of what she said when they last spoke.

“’lijah,” she chuckled uncomfortably as she took a step forward.

He didn’t look unhappy to see her, but she couldn’t tell what he was thinking. His eyes travelled on her body, looking for injuries, no doubt. They then laid on his sister who took the hint and walked away.

“I’d ask you if you’re okay but I’m afraid you’d say I worry too much.”

Mackenzie winced at his words, then rolled her eyes.

“You wanna go there?” she asked. “Okay. How about we talk about you leaving me behind without even giving me a chance to response?” After everything she had gone through to get him back, he had been the one to leave her. That had hurt more than she could have ever imagined.

“What would you have said? I can’t give you a good life…”

“I told you!” she cut him off. “I don’t need anything…” she paused. She couldn’t find the courage to say it again. She looked down, trying to blink the tears away. “I’m old enough to make my own choices,” she continued as she looked back up at him. “I’m strong enough to decide who I want to be with. That night you said what I did to Stefan was unlike me, but it’s not! I’m an ultimate, there’s a fire in me that gives me anger issues,” she admitted, “and it makes me spiteful and mean. But that’s who I am. You didn’t do that to me. And I would’ve told you that if you hadn’t left so fast! Yeah, I can also be calm and compassionate like you said but so can you! We’re not just one thing, Elijah. And you know what, maybe you think that what you did that day to save your family makes you a bad person, but I disagree! You did what you had to do to make sure they were okay. Your family is what you should value most, and I should know because I have none. I have no one but you. You and Rebekah. And I won’t just stand there and stay behind while people are trying to kill you! And the fact that you won’t either is why…” she paused again, then cleared her throat. “You’re strong, and you’re brave and you’d do anything to save your family and that’s why you’re a good person, Elijah. You’re not a monster. We’re not just one thing. We’re capable of a lot of things but at the end of the day, if we have people that we love, if we have people we’d do anything to protect… we can’t be that bad.”

Elijah didn’t reply. Maybe he was looking for what to say, but Mackenzie didn’t give him the time to answer. She stepped forward and took his hand, making him look at her.

“You’re the best thing that ever happened to me, Elijah. I meant what I said. You saved me. And maybe, now that I can control my powers, now that I’ve changed, you don’t like who I’ve become, and…”

She stopped and gasped as he seized her by the arms and pushed her against the car. Her back met the vehicle and she looked up at him with wild eyes, confused, unable to tell what he was thinking.

“Stop,” he said so low she almost didn’t hear him. “Stop,” he repeated a little louder. There were tears in his eyes, pain on his face. She didn’t’ understand what was going on in his head. “Your blood can’t be on my hands,” he told her with an unsteady voice.

She didn’t know what to say. She knew it was the reason why he had left. She knew he would feel guilty if something bad ever happened to her. That was just how good a person he was.

“It can’t be,” she whispered. “I’m stronger than you now.”

He gave her surprised look before he chuckled.

“I am, actually, I can kill you, and I know you know that,” she continued. “So, if anything, if something bad happened to you, then it would be my fault, because, well, I’m the only one who can really hurt you…” she joked.

He shook his head. She could see he was trying not to laugh. She gave him a smile that he returned.

“You worry too much, ‘lijah,” she told him again.

“Maybe you’re right,” he nodded as he tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “I’m sorry I left.”

“I’m sorry I was mean to you…”

He laughed. “I deserved it.”

“Promise me you’ll never leave me again.”

He smiled. He took her face in his hands and trapped her brown eyes in his. “I promise.”

She felt a surge of courage go through her, and before it had the chance to disappear, she tiptoed, slid her hands up his chest to the back of his neck, and kissed him. He responded immediately, kissing her back, his hands falling on her waist. She wasn’t sure what to do, she had never kissed a man before. But Elijah knew that. He was gentle, he was slow, he didn’t ask too much of her. He released her from the embrace but kept her close to him. There was no space between them. It was just them, standing there, as one.

“I’ll never leave you again,” he said, and she smiled.

He was about to kiss her again when he heard two people approach. He turned around, keeping Mackenzie behind him. Rebekah was by his side in an instant.

“Who are you?” she asked.

Alexander laughed. “We’re friends.”

“Um,” Mackenzie cleared her throat as she stepped out from behind the original vampire. “This is, uh… my godparents,” she explained. “Alexander and Heidi.”

“Nice to meet you,” Alexander grinned at both of them. Heidi said nothing.

“These are the people you were with for the past two weeks?” Elijah asked and she nodded.

“We have plane tickets for Germany, and we’re going to be late if we don’t leave now,” Alexander told them.

“I thought you said you had a private plane?”

“We do,” Alex nodded.

“It’s rude to make people wait,” Heidi finally spoke up.

“They uh… they’ve agreed to take us to the Forest… if you still want to go,” she informed Elijah.

He gave a look to his sister, who shrugged, then looked back at the elemental. “I’ll follow you anywhere.”

“Then we have to leave, now,” the witch said. “Margo will be waiting for us.”

Elijah raised his eyebrows. He knew of a Margo. He wondered if it was the same person he had read about, the Queen of the Forest. He silently questioned Mackenzie, who nodded, giving him his answer.

“I think there’s a lot of things you haven’t told me.”

She chuckled. “You have no idea.”

***********

Thank you for reading!!

Next chapter will be posted on November 4!

Tags: @thepoet1975 @nerdysandwichqueen @catchmeupimgettingoutofhere @raegan-hale @captainam-erika-trash @silver424 @monetfatalia @vaniileiinkeks @valeria-winchester @favimag @colie87 @hamiltonmadesomemistakes @s0nh4dorasblog @poemfreak306 @white-chocolate-mocha-fan @thegingerthatwaited @therealwatermelon @dark-night-sky-99@aubri1313 @jardinsecos @gymnastgal1997-blog @thearaviagrace77blog @caelst13 @casedoina

#vampire diaries #the vampire diaries #tvd #the originals #elijah mikaelson #fanfiction #fanfic #oc #elijah x oc #elijah mikaelson x oc #rebekah mikaelson #klaus mikaelson #elena gilbert #damon salvatore #imagine #reader #elijah x reader

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joecial-distancing · 4 years

Text

2019 in review in review:

A few years ago I started tracking yearly goals, books read, movies watched etc in a year, along with overview blurbs, in private posts. End of 2019/beginning of 2020 I was really frazzled/burned out about a lot of stuff and just never finished up making the thing. 8 months later, got the urge to read back what I’d got done, then figured I’d maybe go ahead and see about finishing.

Media tracking below the break. thoughts/blurbs written in 2020 italicized, 2019 not.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~_____________________________~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Didn’t do so hot on explicit personal goals, but had a lot of stuff go ok around them this year.

School’s been fine/better than fine.

Job’s probably the biggest failing. Still with same job, haven’t made the firm moves to jump off, dragging my feet too much on exploring stuff w/ Columbia/NASA GISS.

Did not get better with covid, lol

Dating life still non-existent, but I’ve registered on apps, gotten more comfortable with selfies, improved general social life dramatically, been flirted with, updated my wardrobe, and generally started to get comfortable accepting that I’m a hot person.

Somehow got extremely better during covid.

Books

Grant (finished)

We stan a taurus legend

Guy was good at exactly one job, and was fortunate enough to have been in the right place/right time to get to do it.

Mort (discworld)

Definitely best discworld I’ve gotten to so far.

Don Quixote p. II

Really entertaining in a way that part 1 wasn’t; I was shocked how much the meta element landed for me.

Consider the Lobster (DFW collection)

had zero context on who DFW is/was when I read, and still don’t exactly tbh. Wanted to wait for a pause in The Discourse before diving into more of him, but dunno if I’m ever going to get that.

Crime and Punishment (revisited)

Weirdly didn’t get much more out of this than I did the first time I’d read it

Better Than Sex (HST Gonzo papers)

Xerox/widespread fax accessibility opening citizen access to mass media in a manner really reminiscent of what social media would go on to do at a much larger scale. Has a much more deliberate narrative arc than the other gonzo papers collections, also has that excellent HST richard nixon eulogy

The Brothers Karamazov

SPQR

Slouching Towards Bethlehem (Didion collection)

Pet Sematary

Not my favorite King, but not bad

Sourcery (discworld)

still funny/charming, but Mort really made clear/reminded me how much the hapless sadsack Rincewind mold of protagonist wears on me after a while.

The Devil's Teeth

My Year of Rest and Relaxation

Liked it a lot more once I realized it was doing a Fear and Loathing thing.

Homage to Catalonia

This should be the Orwell that gets taught in schools. Make it a followup to All Quiet on the Western Front or something, jeez.

Lyndon Johnson I

Having now finished all of them, this one’s probably the least-interesting but sets up a bunch of important context that the others still then feel the need to retread.

The Razor's Edge

Recommended to me as a “white guy discovers eastern mysticism” book, but also is more interesting in its treatment of that than I’d expected (helps it was written in the 40s).

Cat's Cradle

There’s a part in this where Vonnegut’s making fun of people who try to bond with strangers over being Hoosiers, and my dumbass immediate thought was “ooh, Vonnegut’s a hoosier? Me too!”

Lyndon Johnson II

Robert Caro felt compelled to apologize for spending so much words lionizing Coke Stevens, segregationist opponent to Johnson’s senate run. His goal was pretty clearly to show lbj’s lack of campaign charisma by contrast, definitely definitely overcommitted in his own narrativising.

Libra

I want to go back to this after reading some more De Lillo.

Gravity's Rainbow

This book absolutely kicked my ass

Overstuffed and referential in a specific way that really keeps me hooked in instead of put off. When I learn about some piece of cultural context that I retroactively recognize as being referenced in this, I want to go back and reread the entire thing.

From Caligari to Hitler

Kind of fails both as film criticism and cultural analysis, but absolutely made me want to run for the hills when considering current relationship between mainstream movies and demands of pop culture.

I took a class on Weimar cinema in undergrad that I now realize was probably biting pretty heavily from this and never once referenced it.

Movies

Venom

Movie itself is not as fun as the Tom Hardy hype coverage. PG13 was the absolute worst space to aim for, PG- or R- versions of this could have been a blast.

Harryhauser Argonauts

Was tripping when I put this on, and it was all kinds of fun.

2001: a Space Oddyssey

First time seeing this, all-time classic for a reason!

A Good American (the NSA doc)

Dr. Strangelove

Mel Brooks History of the World p. I

Not my favorite Brooks, best joke was at the beginning.

In Bruges

Had been a while since I saw a proper dark comedy.

Spiderverse

Fukkin awesome!

Visually great, and extremely better than usual superhero stuff for being aimed at PG instead of PG-13.

You Only Live Twice

Highlander (Revisited)

I watched The Old Guard on netflix recently and it mostly just made me wish I was watching Highlander instead, because at least Highlander knows exactly how goofy it is

Moonraker

The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly

Much like The Shining, I though this would have been 100% spoiled for me by cultural osmosis, but turns out it wasn’t, and even the scenes I had seen *totally landed* in-context still.

Kung Fu Hustle

Ichi the Killer

Really gross, really fun

Matrix Reloaded (watched thru highway scene) (Revisited)

The highway scene was not nearly as cool as I remembered it being.

John Wick 3*

Probably dumbest plot of all of them, best choreography. I like how every single fight had its own distinct flavor. “Knife museum fight” “horse fight” “halle berry dogs fight”

Akira

A classic

Pet Sematary * (ugh, bad)

Why can’t john lithgow be in good movies anymore

The Revenant

MCU Spiderman

Fuck this was awful.

MCU Spiderman 2*

Really weird, complete Rorschach Test of a movie: it’d be totally valid to read into this that global warming is Fake News, for instance.

Lmao this was completely awful

Rites

Dredd (non-stallone)

oh hey Lena Headey’s in this

For All Mankind!

Watched in honor of moon landing anniversary

Lion King *

Watched it way too stoned, was like dark side of the moon + wizard of oz except instead it’s a lion king script reading + nature footage edited for lip syncing.

Once Upon a Time in Hollywood *

Many scenes of very long setups for really stupid shaggy dog jokes, which sometimes worked and sometimes didn’t. I do kinda want to rewatch now knowing more about manson, which I knew pretty much nothing about beforehand

Blowout

A good john lithgow movie

also I think I like travolta in things.

Lord of War

A Good cage movie

I like when Eamon Walker shows up in stuff.

Taxi Driver

A classic

Snowpiercer

Watched in a bar with only one speaker working, which is the correct way to watch. Weirder and funnier than I thought it was going to be, which still doesn’t make it good, but,

dbz big green dub

Exorcist III

Brad Dourif just tearing it apart

Deep Red (argento)

Suspiria (1977)

Watched the remake in 2020, which was ok, but nothing tops the Goblin score.

Elf Bowling

Thanks, Gnome

Parasite *

Interesting to me that this one seems poised to hang around people’s good esteem for a while

FMA: B

Rick & Morty

Saw some episodes, generally pretty funny, some misanthropy that’s probably appealing to a certain type of teen al a something like House, but ultimately I don’t totally Get the intensity of discourse about it.

Leterkenny

Mob Psycho 100

One Punch Man

Deadwood

Watchmen

Only watched like half of it. Was playing around with a lot of hefty imagery/thematics, but didn’t really seem ready to rise above playing (tho also I feel like it’s weird on some level to *expect* them to rise above that in the first place)

Music

New Avantasia

HEALTH/ show

lol remember concerts

King Gizzard and the Lizard Wizard/ show

Just learned about King Gizz in 2019 and got completely obsessed with them. I don’t tend to expand my music selection very readily, and a lot of what I currently *do* know is old/inactive stuff, so it was/is incredibly exciting to have an active group with good momentum just immediately win me over like that.

Mistimed the edibles and ended up with a really good finale and a really long subway ride home.

New Yeasayer

Sad they split up

Steve Wilson Tull remixes

Aqualung’s a good album and the sound mixing’s kinda bad, so I liked this project.

Stonefield

Opened for Gizzard. Really good as studying music

Video Games

Civ VI: Gathering Storm

Hades

Turns out Supergiant’s design proclivities all work *extremely well* on a roguelike

Baba is You

Untitled Goose Game

Cute, if maybe a bit overhyped

finally fucking finished Pillars of Eternity

Had fun with it, but too long, and really dour for how long it is.

Pillars II

Kinda drifted off it eventually, but I do genuinely like that the flavor of the fantasy is colonial era rather than medieval.

There’s a Balancing Bastard Factions element where it’s like the writers are just being smartasses after a while. Having to go extremely out of their way to make siding with colonizers seem like a competitive option.

Pokemon shield

Cuphead

pisses me off, which was a nice outlet when I was stranded by flight cancellations during thanksgiving

Celeste

Also very difficult, but really easy to stay patient with, which is nice.

Disco Elysium

None of the discourse made me want to play this, but people talking about the mechanical stuff it did got me extremely interested. Mostly Delivered IMO.

Breath of the Wild

You can approach the nodes of the main quest in the order you choose, and the second one I chose made ninjas start fucking spawning everywhere when I’m just trying to explore, and there’s no way to make it stop. May go back to it one day.

Podcasts

Relentless Picnic Patreon feed

The treats really helped me start distinguishing individual personalities, compared to the regular eps.

Picnic Discord!

FatT Counterweight

Fun, but also I think Mechs are not my shit.

FatT Spring in Hieron/ end of that particular world

8 months since I’ve last tuned into FatT. ah well.

Law School

He’s in everythiiiing!

You Must Remember This: Manson family

*There’s* the context

Misc.

Kindle train guy

Times Square sleeping guy + kids taking selfies w/ him

toddler singing along after Psycho killer (a, ya, ya ya, ya)

drunk and dragged to a drag show

Central park football family

Soft Steel Drum Subway Busker

Weird old lady going to grand central for oysters

2018 in review (cards):

MySelf (CC)

Self: Tower

Blocked: 10 Cups

Ethereal/subconscious: 8 Swords

Material: 3 Swords

Past: Justice

Future: Page Wands

Attitude: Sun

External: King Swords

Hopes/Fears: 5 Coins

Trajectory: High Priestess

Also Self:

Hierophant

7 Cups

7 Coins

Blind Spot:

(self & others): 5 cups || (others not self): High Priestess

(self not others): Moon || (nobody): 3 Cups

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