#also because a recounted story can get like. rough in the word choice between words you want to use to be descriptive

[brittlebutch]

possibly a niche statement but i feel like writing a character recounting a story is surprisingly difficult to do, like when i’m writing/reading i feel like That aspect of a fic is where accurate characterization consistently seems to breaks down

[90stvshowgoth]

—BREAKING & ENTERING

—ch.1 —ch.2

summary: after dabi was seen leaving your apartment complex last week, the commission has sent a lesser known hero to help guard the building until new cameras are installed. however, no security measures in the world could keep dabi out.

w/c: 5064

tags: dubcon, cuckolding, creampie, voyeurism, humiliation, exhibitionism, arson

a/n: this is the final chapter to this little duology, and the reason why its so much shorter is because the first one was really supposed to stand on its own, but i got so many requests for a sequel i couldn’t help it. so i just took the kinks i didn’t get to use last time and pay off some setup and voila. however, just ‘cause this is the last chapter of this story doesn’t mean i’m not gonna write a fuck ton of other stuff for him. ily burn man. plus i’m working on a huge, multi-chapter fic for him while i post smaller one-shots >:) that being said, enjoy.

The impact Dabi left on your life was far bigger than you thought it would’ve been on the night you snuck him away from the law. As he was running from the cops someone saw him climb through your window, and a different person also saw him climb down the fire escape. With witnesses like that, the other tenants were downright furious.

You almost felt bad for the landlord, it wasn’t his fault you were insane enough to willingly let a villain come inside both you and your apartment.

Your landlord and the police department came up with a solution. The apartment complex would be installing new state-of-the-art locks on all fire-escape adjacent windows free of charge. This wasn’t exactly an issue with seeing Dabi again, since all you had to do was purposefully leave yours unlocked.

It would take two weeks to install all the cameras, but until then, a community-assigned hero would be stationed to guard the complex.

His name was Kao, a middle-ranked hero with bright orange hair and a winning smile framed with dimples. At first you thought he might’ve been one of the better heroes, waving you off to work and walking you there the other day, but recently he’d begun to creep you out. The friendly conversations about a tv show you both enjoyed began to turn into invasive questions about your love life.

A week of lingering glances and uncomfortable prying culminated that Friday as he had flat out asked you to dinner moments prior.

“C’mon, I just— I said that wrong, lemme try again,” He stuttered, keeping pace with you as you marched towards the building.

“No, Kao, look, you’re cool and all, but I’m really not looking to date anyone right now.” You huffed, striding into the doorway and towards the elevator. That might not’ve been the whole truth but you obviously couldn’t tell him that you had the hots for a terrorist.

He groaned, rubbing the back of his neck, “Well you just got off work, right? I remember which room you stay in, maybe I can swing by tonight?”

You whirled on him, your jaw slack in shock at the insensitivity of his words. The reminder that he knew where you lived sending a shiver down your spine, “Kao, this conversation is done. I don’t want you following me around anymore, hero,”

Deep down, your words sounded familiar. If they were raspier and said behind a thin veil of indifference, you might’ve realized that you were talking like Dabi.

“What is that supposed to mean? We’re the good guys!” You slammed your fist down on the close-door button, your mouth a thin line, daring Kao to make a move and stop the doors. He didn’t, and soon the reassuring pull of the elevator set your shaking body at ease.

‘Who does he think he is?’ You were bitter, rightfully so, you think.

You were so frustrated that you had difficulty inserting your keys into the lock, twisting it with a growl and throwing open the door, ready to collapse onto your pillow and vent to whoever was online about your heroic stalker.

When you noticed the scent of cigarettes in the air.

“Hey, doll,” Warmth surged through your chest at the sight of him, the villain’s feet kicked up onto the coffee table.

You were hanging your coat on the hook before moving beside him to the couch, “What took you so long?”

“Not happy to see me? You seem a lot bitchier than I remember,” The crude edge of his humor was a breath of fresh air compared to the stifling niceties of work, and you smiled for what felt like the first time that day.

Shaking your head, you toed out of your boots and made your way to the frayed couch, “I’ll tell you all about him,”

That got his attention, “Him?”

“A hero,” Dabi’s frown worsened, an accusatory look in his eyes, “before you ask, no, you idiot, I hate this guy, there’s not a chance I’d sleep with him.”

The tensity in his shoulders relaxed, bring the half-finished Newport to his lips as you continued, “Since you broke in last week all my neighbors lost their shit. They threatened to sue if my landlord didn’t assign a hero to watch the building for a bit. I thought he was cool, but I’ve just decided that he’s a total prick.”

He hummed, nodding understandingly, “Want me to kill him?”

You gaped, hitting him on the chest, “Wha—No, Dabi, what the hell?”

He just shrugged, the intensity of his words almost funny to you, and as you recounted the last twenty minutes the ashes of Dabi’s cigarette fell to the floor. The dying lights of the sun streamed through your window, the smoke oddly beautiful in the glow as he handed you the last hit of his cheap cigar.

“You know why heroes are like that?” You shook your head, enjoying the numbing calm of tobacco, “It’s cause they’re spoiled. They go their entire lives being praised for everything they do so they don’t know how to take no for a fuckin’ answer,”

Apparently your smoking buddy was feeling talkative, much to your delight. His words made you pause, remembering the relieved faces of your neighbors whenever they’d see the gaudy costume Kao wore as he strode by.

“Shit... guess you’re right,” You mumbled into his side, not minding the ever-present aroma of burnt skin and smoke that clung to Dabi’s coat.

He scoffed, “I’m always right, baby,” His words earning him a pinch on the arm.

“No, you ass, just about the hero stuff,” He grinned, the staples on his dimples taut against his skin as he pulled you closer, his breath hot against your ear.

“Careful, doll, you’re starting to sound like a villain,” The drop in your stomach sent heat down your skin, yet somehow you were still shivering under his predatory gaze.

You shook your head, trying to will away the red that dusted your cheeks, “No way, my quirk isn’t strong enough to be a villain,”

He raised his eyebrow expectantly, broadly gesturing for you to go on.

“Well...” God, why is this embarrassing? “I can give people headaches.”

You didn’t know if he would laugh at you or belittle you for your meaningless quirk, but he did neither.

“Think you could practice it more? Get better at it?” He was serious, staring at you and expecting an answer.

You looked away, unable to hold his gaze, “I mean, maybe? It’s not hard to do, I guess,”

Dabi smirked, pulling you onto his lap. It felt as if the week hadn’t happened at all and you were right back where you started, your face flushing at the memories of that night. He dragged you close, eyes dark as he whispered something into your ear...

“Think you could split someone’s head open with a migraine?”

Your gut wrenched, flinching at the gory idea and making you sit up in Dabi’s lap. The atmosphere in the room hadn’t changed, his stare as menacing as before.

That is, until he started to crack up. Louder than you’d ever heard before, his fit filled the apartment until he had to cup his stomach from laughing too hard; the wheeze in his rough throat echoing around the room as your blush spread all the way down your neck.

“Oh, you asshole!” If anything, your shove against his chest only made him more giddy. The panic-fueled adrenaline was still surging through your body, unwillingly making the wetness between your thighs spread, even as you tried to wrap your head around the fact that Dabi had been fucking with you.

Your legs shook as he held on to you for balance, his cackling dying down but the shit-eating grin never leaving his face, “You were so freaked out, huh?”

“Yeah, no shit!”

He hummed, running a hand through your hair and suddenly yanking you forward, basking in the sharp yelp it brought from you, “You’re cute when you’re scared,”

You’d missed the way his scabbed lips felt on yours more than you’d ever admit. There was something about him that left you breathless, eager and questioning your life choices. Groaning into his mouth before pulling back and laving your slick tongue along his disfigured lower lip, you rolled your aching heat against him to force a truly pornographic moan from his mouth.

“Oh, fuck—” One of his hands slid down your back, grabbing your ass through your jeans, “Fucking hell, you missed me that much?”

You nodded dumbly into his shoulder, pressing chaste kisses along the ragged skin as he slid his finger past the band of your jeans, cupping your dripping sex with wide eyes.

“Goddamn, s’no way you’re this wet for me already,” His eyes were scrutinizing, trying to figure out why you were hiding into his neck, “What’s got you so worked up, doll?”

You couldn’t come up with a good excuse in time, Dabi thinking back to how your thighs had tightened up when he asked if you could kill someone, your eyes were frightened back then, yes, but there was something else. Something you wouldn’t tell him.

When the realization hit him, it hit hard.

“Holy shit, you get off on being scared?” He couldn’t believe his luck, the embarrassed groan you buried into his shoulder confirming his suspicions.

Dabi ran a hand through his hair, a childish wonder over his features, “Aren’t I fuckin’ lucky?” He sneered, pulling you back til you were at eye-level again.

“I’m gonna try something, baby,” there was an edge to his voice as he settled one hand on the small of your back, pressing your tits against his chest as he held your bra strap back with the other.

“What are you… Dabi, what are you doing?” The scent of fire and burning fabric filled the air, the ends of your bralette smoking between his fingertips, embers turning to ash and sprinkling down the couch until it was flimsy enough for Dabi to rip free, teeth sinking into your neck as he held you still to keep your skin safe.

It was jarring and a bit terrifying to be restrained against someone like Dabi without knowing his intentions. But nothing in you could deny the blinding rush of pleasure it ripped down your spine.

“It’s all starting to make sense, doll-face, I guess I was right the first time,” His hands tossed the smoking bra into hallway, reaching between you and torturously pinching and pulling on the rosy blush of your tits, “you do have a thing for villains,”

“Can’t wait to fuck that tight pussy again, doll,” Without warning he shoved your torso forward, your body bouncing against the couch, his hands flying to the button of your jeans.

“—Didn’t have time to take you right last time, didn’t get to taste you,” his words made you whimper in his grasp, keeping your legs somewhat raised as tugged down the tight denim.

You fully expected him to take you rough like before, make you choke on his cock before having his fill, but as he tugged off your black panties he crawled down the trembling body beneath him, slowly moving over your ribs, your stomach, and finally your drooling cunt.

He never broke eye contact with you as he pulled your thighs closer, keeping them spread wide as the hot fan of his breath on your pussy sent a thrill through your neglected nerves.

“I want you to scream my name,” It was an order, not a request. The unhinged tremor in his hands was unsettling, an unspoken threat hanging in the air.

Dabi’s tongue immediately found your clit, mouth wrapping around the glistening bead and sucking all at once, the moan it drew from your lips unholy. He moaned at the taste, hiking up your hips onto his shoulders.

“Christ, you’re sweet, doll, like fuckin’ candy...” He muttered in disbelief, more to himself that to you, licking a wide stripe along your drenched lips, diving into you deep enough to have your limbs spasming around him.

On instinct your hand flew to your mouth to muffle the sharp cry that the villain drew. He didn’t warn you before bringing his hand up high and slapping it into the bare skin of your thigh, a scream echoing through the living room. Distantly, you wondered if your neighbors could hear...

“Don’t you dare hide a single sound from me, slut, or this ends now,” his ultimatum was scary but the insult felt heavy in a way you’d never felt before, and you nodded without a second thought, breathlessly bunching one hand into the arm of the couch above you and the other into the ashy black of his hair.

You nodded down to him, silently saying to continue; the villain fixed on watching as your chest swelled in time with your breathing, a rush of blood going to the heat of his cock.

His pace was hungry, nipping at your thighs whenever he thought you were too comfortable, spinning circles into your clit with his tongue and chuckling at the noises it brought, “You gonna cum, princess?” You could only respond with a scream of his name, the plea music to his ears, but he needed you to be louder if he was to get what he wanted.

“Louder,” Dabi called your name like a prayer, moaning into your cunt as you practically suffocated him between your thighs, “Fuck—Louder, baby, scream it,”

“Dabi!!” Your orgasm was hot against his tongue and he drank in every last drop of your climax until you were wrenching away his greedy mouth, your pussy swollen and red from his care.

Just as you started to compose yourself, a frantic banging sounded on the door. Someone from the hallway was slamming down their fist, screaming your name.

“Hey! Did you just say Dabi?! Are you okay in there?” It was Kao.

Horror clawed away any kind of afterglow as you cupped your hand to your mouth, leaning up on your elbow and whispering, “What do I say?”

Dabi’s voice was just low enough to hide behind the pounding of Kao’s fists, “Do you trust me?”

Before you could answer the hero behind the wall called your name again.

“If you don’t answer me in five seconds I’m breaking this door down!”

Your gaze flickered from the front door to the villain that was wiping your slick from his chin.

“Yes,”

Dabi grinned, grabbing your wrists and holding you against his shirt, one hand wrapped painfully around your tits and the other erupting with blue fire in his palm.

“Come and get her, hero!” You made a confused squeal, thrashing around in his grasp, eyes wide and afraid as Dabi shushed into your ear, trying to calm you down.

‘Like hell if you’d calm down, he’d practically just signed your death sentence!’ you heaved against the fugitive, trying to shake yourself free to no avail.

All you could do was squeeze your eyes shut and imagine you were somewhere else as door was jolted in its hinges, the doorknob falling with a distant clang, and before you could beg Dabi to stop whatever stupid game he was playing, Kao ran into the room, eyes furrowed and fists raised as the door squeaked on the loose hinges behind him, blissfully unaware.

“Where are y—“ Kao’s voice paused mid-sentence, you flinched in Dabi’s hold, the heat of the redhead’s stare washing over you, naked and wet, making you tilt your head down, trying to hide yourself from the world.

“Isn’t she cute, hero?” Dabi rasped against you, the heat of his fire illuminated against the sweaty sheen of your trembling body. Kao didn’t know what to do, flustered and struggling to hide the tent in his latex costume.

You knew fighting back against the villain was pointless, falling limp in the strength of his arms as he chuckled into your neck, looking over at the bump in his pants, “You were right, babe, I think he likes you,”

“Get your filthy hands off of her!” Kao screamed, diving towards the couch with his fist raised back.

Dabi simply grinned, carefully hovering his flame ever closer to your now bare tits, you couldn’t help but scream at the proximity, and whatever plan Kao had in his mind died before his fist could make impact.

His novocaine laced voice spoke calmly beside your ear, “Any closer and she’s dead,” The hot rush down your legs wasn’t due to his flames, as one hand took to rubbing your sensitive sex, the sounds it elicited from you unintentional and mortifying under the presence of Kao in the room.

“What... what do you want, you bastard?” Dabi laughed at that one, tweaking your clit between his fingers and conducting the most beautiful notes from your pillowy lips.

“I think It’s pretty obvious what I want, don’t you think?” Your name on his lips sent you keening against him despite the inferno roaring inches away from your skin. He couldn’t move without Dabi’s flames hovering ever closer to your heaving chest, and to Kao, you were very clearly about to die. Although you didn’t believe Dabi would hurt you, he had asked you to trust him before he got Kao’s attention, after all, the line between foreplay and conflagration was becoming blurry.

Kao backed up into the half wall that separated the living room from the kitchen, barely making an effort to try and hide his erection anymore, “I’ll send you to fucking Tartarus for this, Dabi.”

“Oooo, scary,” His unlit hand trailed down your jawline, tilting you to his side until he could slide his tongue into your open lips, humming into your mouth, “What do you think, doll?

“Dabi, please... wait,“ The strength in your voice wasn’t as heated as before, and even you had to admit it sounded half-assed.

Kao’s quirk must be no good for long range because all he could do was stand there, trying to avert his eyes from your drooling cunt in favor of glaring daggers at the coy villain pulling soft mewls from your lips, “I swear... I’ll see you rot in prison for this. You’ll be fucking executed, you rapist—“

“—woah, woah, that stings, hero. Doll, is that really what I’m doin’?” You groaned, not exactly answering because you couldn’t hear the question, your eyes still shut tight in embarrassment.

The growl in his voice sent another soaking rush towards your pussy, as his hand grabbed you jaw, pulling you up, “Look at me,” Your eyes widened at the sight of Dabi so close to you, his chest warm against your back, the aches of your last orgasm fading into something new.

“Tell me to stop, princess, your call,” Time stood still as Dabi kissed a soft pathway along your neck, weirdly gentle as he listened for your response, his clothed hard-on pressed firmly against your ass.

Too flustered to speak, you merely wrenched your arm free from his grasp, carding you hand through his hair and pulling him to your desperate lips. You could feel him tug into a smirk against you as your hips eagerly ground themselves on him despite the audience.

Kao choked on his own spit, stepping backwards, but stopped when Dabi aimed his ignited hand towards the hero who was having difficulty piecing together your actions in his head. “What,” His voice cracked when he called out your name, “are you...?”

Dabi pulled away, a feral glint in the blue hidden beneath his hair as he licked a disgustingly wet stripe along your cheek, chest rumbling behind you as you squirmed at the gross feeling, “I’m still gonna need you to beg, sweetheart.”

Your dignity was hanging by a thread, hinging on whether or not you followed his lead, but the insane buzz your anxiety had stirred up under Kao’s confused stare and Dabi’s aching cock was impossible to ignore. He rut himself into the dripping curve of your ass, his jeans soaked with your slick as you found the courage to speak.

“Fuh...” Carefully, Dabi pressed a loving kiss to your temple, his stare fixated on Kao’s as you strung the syllables together, “Fuck me, Dabi,”

The hero couldn’t believe his ears. She’d turned him down countless times despite his pursuits, yet she was somehow fine with this? Kao briefly thought that perhaps his crush was a villain this whole time, but that couldn’t make sense with her weak quirk.

You felt Dabi twitch beneath you, the shameless way you showed yourself off was as humiliating as it was hot, and he laughed in lightheaded disbelief against the back of your neck, taking your ass in one hand and slipping the other down his pants, tugging off the painful metal zipper until his boxers were pulled down just enough for his cock to finally be met with the soft warmth of your cunt.

“As the lady commands,” Dabi grinned, reaching around your waist to take his pierced dick in his hand, rubbing and tapping his swollen head deliberately against your clit, pre-cum drenching your pussy as you felt boneless in his arms.

“Ah-! St..S-top tea-sing, Dabi!” You babbled, squirming to try and find an escape from his grasp or maybe trying to force him inside you, but all your struggling did was make him harder. But before you could beg, you froze at the sight of Kao a few feet away, his legs bending into a sprinter’s pose. He was going to run?

Dabi was having none of it, a controlled jet of flame grazing Kao’s knee, scalding the skin beneath the latex. The hero cried out into the bite of his fist, collapsing into the wall a few feet away.

“Nah, hero. You’re not leaving just yet,” The villain rearranged you on his lap, “See, the thought of you jerking off to my girl? It kinda pisses me off, actually,”

The color in Kao’s face drained as he had no choice but to sit and watch as Dabi slowly sunk you down on top of him, one hand drawing soft circles into your stomach as you reveled in the feeling of his piercings hot against every part of you.

“Though, I’m wondering, what did you think about, huh?” Kao sputtered, unable to form words just like you, formless noises falling from your lips.

His scarred hands grasped at the flesh of your thighs, raising you up only to shove you back onto his cock, the flames that still extended to threaten Kao suddenly flared up in time with his thrusts, the weight of him felt so much deeper at this angle and it was hard to breathe, let alone speak.

“I... nothing! I didn’t—“ Another whip of fire cut through the room from Dabi’s fingertips, a cast of blue leaving bubbling skin in its wake, pain flashing across Kao’s face.

“Fuckin’ liar,” You yelped as Dabi shoved you down, moaning into your ear as you squeezed against him, sobbing his name into his chest as he picked up a steady pace in your guts.

Kao cried out, stuttering and gripping along the inflamed line of skin, “I-I thought— thought about her... fuck— I just wanted her to suck me off, alright? There, I said it! Are you happy now?”

He must’ve realized the mistake in his words as soon as he said them, squeezing your eyes shut but having no choice but to smell the stench of burning flesh and hear the sound of muffled screaming as it filled your apartment, “Can’t blame you though, her mouth is God,”

Your hands scrambled for balance against Dabi as the screaming of his victim made him downright feral, filling your tight heat so well it had you crying.

“Damn, you’re soaked for me, doll, I just knew you were a kinky fuck deep down. You’re a slutty little girl for me, aren’t ya?”

As much as it hurt to admit it, he was right. He was painfully right, and you told him so. The unhinged, unstoppable force that was Dabi ignited a passion in you that’d never been fed before. He was torturing the hero you hated all while taking your cunt in deep, harsh thrusts, the metal imbedded into his cock and his chest behind you were blisteringly hot against your skin.

“Tell him, baby,” His question fell on deaf ears, your tongue lolling from your mouth a bit at the pleasure.

It caught you off guard when he drew his hand back and slapped you across the cheek, a blistering red handprint in its wake, saying your name so softly, turning off his quirk to run his hands through your hair, he whispered, “Tell that fucking hero who you belong to,”

The world tipped over as Dabi gripped your shoulders, pushing you onto the wooden coffee table so your ass stuck in the air. In an instant he was on you again, pounding into your cunt with a glazed fervor, your words downright biblical in his ears.

“On-ly... Dabi ca—Ngh, Only Dabi can fuck me this good,” You forced the words from your throat, thankful for the table serving as an impartial shoulder to cry on as Dabi lined himself up with your cunt.

“More, princess,” The snap of his hips had you drooling onto the table, catching sight of Kao’s slumped body in the corner as Dabi’s breath sounded much louder than before.

“Fuck, baby—” You cried, craning your neck back to look at him. Sweat glistened at the crown of his dark hair, steam shading his breath as he took you hard, “Your cock is— shit its so deep in me,”

Your nerves were spent from exhaustion as he railed you, being more vocal than before as he choked at the feeling of your walls tightening around him, his fingernails digging future bruises into your hip dips, “Wanna feel you cum in me, want you to fill me up— Dabi, wanna make you feel good,”

“Fuck, doll, I can’t...” He ground his teeth together, making you squeal as he mounted you from behind, spreading your legs out wide so you had no way to hide yourself, “Gonna fuck’n cum-gonna cum in you- fuck, fuck, fuck—!“

You both hit your highs at the same time, Dabi accidentally digging your face into the wood as he held you as tightly to him as possible, his cum running hot due to his quirk as he pumped you full, that broken cry of yours like music to his ears, humping you a few times to ride out his climax.

You felt warm and safe, Dabi’s weight a comfortable blanket even with your shivering skin pressed naked into the coffee table. However, the quietly groaning hero in the corner made you quickly come back down to earth.

“Dabi... did you kill him?” Your voice was small beneath him, but he just shrugged.

“Nah, not yet, don’t worry,” He kissed your neck one more time, his thumb rubbing circles into your indented stomach, pulling you off the table and back into his arms.

He pulled out of you and grinned at the sight of his release spilling down your thighs, “Damn...” he whispered, taking in the sight with a satisfied whistle, “C’mon Doll, forget about him.”

You were grateful he carried you bridal style to your bedroom, your legs gelatin at this point, and as he laid you down to rest he grabbed one of your discarded shirts that hadn’t made it to the hamper and wiped down the remains of sex from your twitching cunt before leaving the cum-stained top ignored on the ground.

“You doing good, baby? Didn’t go too hard, did I?” His concern was diminished somewhat by the grin on his face, satisfied with the mumbling, love-drunk form he’d reduced you to.

Shaking your head, you burrowed into the warm blankets, peeking your eyes out from beyond the covers in a way that even Dabi couldn’t deny was pretty cute, “No, just... what are you gonna do with Kao?”

His face was unreadable as he leaned closer, “Do you really want to know?”

Truth be told, no, you didn’t, you were just a civilian, far removed from the complex fight between heroes and villains. You were only in this situation because you’d grown to care about Dabi. In some small, sarcastic way, he’d wormed his way into your life, and he hadn’t hurt you so far, only going as close as possible to bring you over the edge again and again.

“No...”

“Good answer,” he stood up, tucking himself back into his jeans as he went back into the living room. You heard a muffled thud and what sounded like Dabi cursing before he reappeared in your bedroom, Kao’s unconscious body slung over his shoulder. For such a wiry guy, Dabi was pretty strong. Moving to the open window he basically threw Kao’s body onto the outside metal grating, his lungs uneven after carrying him.

Just as he swung his leg onto the windowsill you shot up in your bed, hand outstretched, “Wait!”

He turned back to look at you, genuinely confused as to what you could want.

“Kiss me before you go?”

He froze, then grinned, scoffing at the innocent gesture you gave so openly to a murderer like him. There had to be something wrong with his little villain-in-training to make her okay with it, just like him. Dabi ignored that thought for another day, striding forward and finally giving you the goodbye kiss you’d been denied last time, his tongue trying to map out every detail in case he could ever forget before pulling away with a warm softness to his ocean eyes.

“I think I might be starting to like you, Doll,” A feint rush of color fell on his unmarred skin and you’re sure your heart stopped beating for a good three seconds.

His words were a worn record being played over and over in your head long after he crawled down your fire escape, the teasing, sated haze in his voice hidden beneath a rasp of smoke. You weren’t sure how much he meant what he said, but you’re sure that the first thing you said in return was exactly what he wanted to hear; at least judging from the boyish smile that lit up his face when you said it.

“Come back soon, okay?”

“Okay,”

@effmigentlywithachainsaw @touyasfatcock @thicchaikyuuboys @awritersometimes @chey-the-simp

[roger-that-cap]

meet me in the gardens

summary: y’all know the drill

warnings: reader is sort of bitter/cynical because of circumstances, unedited, two girls bonding as they should

word count: 4.5k

this is part four! all other parts are available on my masterlist!

The first time you met with Natasha in your gardens, you felt like you were committing some sort of heinous crime. You constantly checked over your shoulder to make sure that no one was watching you, to make sure that no one was going to see that you were heading to meet someone, and especially that no one knew who you were meeting. 

You were quiet as you rounded the area and saw no one waiting for you, your hopes of meeting with Natasha sparking out with more vigor than they had been sparked with, and before you could make yourself turn around, you sighed and then inhaled, trying to keep your nerves at a minimum. She wasn’t late. She couldn’t be late if she was doing you a favor. Before you could get too far in your thoughts, you heard the soft sound of a footstep coming, a stomp so loud that it almost felt intentional. You turned around and saw Natasha approaching, and for the first time, you saw the woman out of her armor. 

  It was like you were seeing something illegal, at first. You almost shied away, almost averted your eyes, but then you realized that you just… couldn’t. She was too pretty. She wasn’t delicate kind of pretty, and nor did she try to be or not to be, but she was just gorgeous. The moonlight, once again, was her ally as it worked to make her features pop, and illuminate her already bright eyes. Her lips were curved upwards in a hesitant smile, almost as if she didn’t expect for you to be there, let alone before her. And then it dropped, like she expected you to lose nerve and leave her there. The small sliver of vulnerability in her eyes made you take a small step forward and offer her your own awkward smile. 

 So, you spoke. “Thank you,” was all you were able to get out, but for the moment, that was enough. You expected her to playfully milk it, to ask you, “for what?”, and have you play some humbling game that was both passive and aggressive and teasing. But all she did was smile softly, as softly as the light was hitting the dew on the grass, and tell you that you didn’t have to thank her. 

  “Have you tried refuting it?” She asked, her voice a little less soft in the night. 

“I told you, it’s useless.” You stood up straighter and walked past her slowly, implying that you wanted to walk with her through your garden. “The High Priest’s word is practically law.” 

“The King is fond of you,” Natasha said, and you gave her a look. “If you ask him to challenge it, he will.” 

“He may, but I doubt he would think differently than any of the others. They think I should be married. They don’t think that a woman should be in charge of all of the things that I am in charge of.” You kicked a rock. “They think we’re useless.” 

“I know.” 

“That’s why I looked at you like that, you know,” you blurted, and she narrowed her eyes at you as she tried to understand what you were talking about. “When we first met, do you remember how I stared at you?” 

“I thought you were going to turn me away.” 

“No, not at all. And I apologize for my rudeness,” you added, and she gave you that curt knight’s nod, the nod that told the receiver of it that everything was fine. That whatever happened could be considered buried. “But I looked at you like that because… I’ve never seen a woman be a knight before. I’ve never seen a woman with rough hands, nor have I ever seen her natural desire of battle be fulfilled. I’ve seen common women get dirty and scoop fertilizer and gain muscles, but never for themselves. Always for the good of the family, the good of the farm. I had muscles on the farm when I was young because I had to, not by choice. But you… you look the way you do and behave the way you do by choice. You chose to be a knight, to be a protector, and to have calloused hands. Unfortunately, I never grew up having choices, but after my husband died, for a while I finally did. But now they’ve left me again, and it’s even worse now that I’ve become a lovesick romantic for the idea of free will.” 

You were more than embarrassed by your speech. You had hardly taken breaths throughout it, but miraculously, your words flowed together and you didn’t sound half as nervous as you felt on the inside after finally revealing a pathetic part of yourself. You waited less than patiently for her response as seconds ticked by with just the sounds of feet hitting and leaving the dirt, and the occasional drag of one foot against the ground. 

“So, you’re jealous?” 

You almost laughed. “Of course that’s what you got from that.” 

“And you were a commoner?” 

 You frowned. You were sure that she had heard it from someone else if not by you. And if not by the sword of someone else’s mouth, you assumed that she could spot another commoner from miles away, beneath all the layers of skirt and manners that you forced yourself to keep. “Of course I was, you can’t tell?” 

“Sometimes you use language that isn’t very… noble, but I wouldn’t have guessed that you were a commoner before.” You hummed and nodded to yourself. Your etiquette teachers always told you that your language and the accent that you  so desperately tried to hide would be your downfall. That, and the way you used to stare at hot food in the beginning like you had never seen a slab of meat in your life. “You seem like you’ve adapted nicely.” 

“I had no choice but to,” you said softly. “I was isolated. If I failed as a wife, there was no one that was going to be able to dig me out of the grave.” 

  “How did you meet Lord Mirellis?” You made a displeased sound, one that caught her attention. “You don’t have to answer.” 

“You owe me a backstory,” was all you said before clearing your throat and continuing to walk, staring at the flowers that you tended to while you spoke. “He saw me while I was working on the farm. I was feeding the pigs, I’ll never forget. He didn't really say much the first time he saw me, just watched and loomed over me like a shadow. I didn’t think much of it at the time besides to give him a curtsy because he was a high lord and I was close to nothing, and then I kept doing my work. I was young, I smelled like mud, and I was feeding pigs from my hand. I never thought twice about the way he looked at me, with his narrowed eyes. I assumed he was looking at me in disgust, like most nobles do to commoners. I didn’t think twice.” 

  “I went back into my house, a little brick thing, and there he was. I remember curtsying a second time, and my hands shook because the air between him and my father was so thick. I remember feeling something in my bones, feeling that things were about to go terribly wrong. So there I was, standing on the hay doormat with mud up to my knees and straw in my hair, smelling like pigs. And then he asked my father- no- told my father that he wanted to take me to his home and wed me, and that he would have it no other way. My heart stopped there. He told him no, and for a moment, I believed that he would keep refusing, until the lord started giving offers.  My heart stopped again, and it died when my father gave me one long look, and then looked at the man in front of him, who was much more powerful, much stronger physically, and able to ruin our family with one stroke of a pen. And then, without even talking to my mother, he told him yes.” 

“Oh…” Natasha said, and you nodded your head and sighed, almost like you were recounting another’s boring tale and not your own. 

“It felt like before I could even blink, he took me home, here, and married me. It was quick and expensive and I remember wearing a beautiful dress on that day, probably the prettiest dress I had ever seen at that point. It was everything I wanted as a child, because luxury was my first choice, even though it had gone unanswered and unfulfilled. And then I learned that luxury and the prettiest dresses that came with it didn’t mean anything if I didn’t have the choice to go with it. It was hard for me to learn, but I learned. But I didn’t learn to settle with my husband. I warmed his bed because I had to, I held his hand in front of others because I had to, I mingled with his family because I had to and because he kept me from mine. But I was never his, like it said in the vows. And he was never mine.” 

“Did you want that?” When there were a few beats of seemingly impenetrable silence, Natasha spoke again. “Did you want a relationship like that?” 

You scoffed, but it wasn't mocking, It was a sad sound, a sound that you wished you could have taken back the second it left you. “Not with him,” you scoffed again. “With someone else. As a girl, I always wanted to be married to someone who loved me, and someone I loved just as much. It was my dream, maybe even more than luxury was. I wanted love. Not true love, because everyone knows that doesn’t exist, but I wanted to fall asleep and wake with someone I could actually stand, someone that made me smile. He singlehandedly killed that dream. I don’t think it can ever be revived, but I also didn’t think that it could die a second time in the form of Brock Rumlow.”

“So you don’t like not having a choice, and a part of you is still holding onto the idea that you could find love?” 

“I suppose that I said all that to say what you’ve said in a few words.” You admitted softly, looking at your hands that used to have calluses. “I’m sorry.” 

“Don’t apologize,” Natasha insisted, shaking her head slowly. “I asked for you to tell me. I was honored to get the whole story.” 

You scoffed again, covering your arms with your hands as a gentle breeze blew. “You’re… you’re gentle with me.” 

  “Am I?” 

She was. It was something that you thought about, and also tried not to think about. You often caught yourself watching her wield her sword and exercise and walk into the woods only to return hours later, and claim that she was on some soul searching hunt. The look in her eyes was always hungry, always challenging, always looking for something deeper. But there, in the night with you, she looked just as gentle and delicate as the flowers you were both surrounded by. 

“You’re so fierce during the day, I see it. And I can see it brewing under your eyes, and I can hear it under your words. You’re not typically like this, are you?” 

 She waited a minute before she responded. “Why do you ask?” 

 “Because you’re not like this usually. It’s in your nature to be … harsh. This isn’t you.” 

“It is,” she corrected. “But it’s not the way that most people deserve to see me.” 

Your heart constricted. “And I deserve to see you this way?” 

“I think you deserve a lot of things.” She answered vaguely, and you stopped your walking to take a look at her and her face of indifference. “I think you deserve more kindness than you receive. I think you never got it to begin with.” 

“And you’re trying to make up for lost time?” 

“I’m trying to let you know that the world isn’t out to crush your spirit,” she said, sounding slightly exasperated. “You’re so burnt out that you hardly even know it, you know? You’re so tired with the world and the people in it and the wicked ways of both that you don’t even realize that you only have two more inches of rope. You don’t realize that you’re burning both ends of your candle, and it’s horribly tragic. You could be so much happier, if you would just let yourself.” 

 Your mouth could have been shown shut at that moment. Your eyes were bugging out of your head, and you doubted that they were dry. Her words were nearing desperate, tone past begging. Did she truly care that much? It was so odd. Even odder, was she right? 

  “Both ends of a candle, huh?” You asked, the visual coming to rest in your mind and you nodded, trying your best to keep it together. “And if I was? What would you have me do?” 

  “I would have you go and sit alone by yourself, and find what truly makes you happy. The twins would be glad to help you. You don’t have to burn during the daytime when you’ve got a perfectly good sun working. Two of them.” You let out a small chuckle. 

  She was right. As brutish as she seemed, Natasha was proving herself to be correct over and over again. But your head was starting to pound, and you were close to tears again. You couldn’t let yourself cry in front of her. 

Not yet. 

“I think I’ll retire,” you said softly, voice flowing as gently as the breeze as you watched her nod her head. “Is there… is there anything you want to talk about?” 

“I’ll save my backstory for the next time.” 

“Next time,” you repeated, somehow, the words sounded foreign on your tongue. “Okay. I’ll be counting on it by the day,” you said, your voice a little too heavy to be a lighthearted tease, but she indulged you anyway. 

“I’m sure you’ll hardly even make it to four.” 

§§

Natasha was right, you hadn’t made it to four. Next time came in the form of two nights later, after you had cried your eyes out in your room for two days straight all by yourself, not even allowing Wanda in to come and dress you. Your eyes were puffy and your palms had little crescents indented in them from your nails digging in out of nerves and to distract you from the ache in your chest. The moon had barely finished rising in the sky when you trudged out of your room, gave four knocks on Natasha’s door and hoped that she would take the hint, and then took off towards the gardens. 

 While you waited, you couldn’t help but to watch the flowers sway in the breeze. The weather was constantly warm yet breezy in your region of the kingdom, and it had always been one of your favorite parts of living in Riverstone. The moonlight changed their colors, made them look somewhat eerie in the night as you waited by yourself for a knight that may or may not show.

 “I assumed this was what four knocks were for,” Natasha’s voice mused from behind you, and you didn’t even jump. “I assume you don’t just want to-”

“Can you tell me about yourself?” You interrupted, glancing at her and giving her a dejected look that you didn’t even realize you were wearing. “Please?” 

  “Um, yeah,” Natasha muttered, and then she cleared her throat. Her blue eyes connected to yours while she started to tell her story. “I grew up in the slums, you know that. Near the castle, in the capitol.” You had assumed that much. “I grew up watching knights, and I realized that was what I wanted to be when I was young. And unfortunately for me, I never stop going after the things that I want.” 

“That’s a gift,” you said, and she shook her head. 

“It depends on the things that I want. More times than not, it’s a curse.” Her eyes trailed over to a rose that was working on blooming, and then back to you. “Two other kids I grew up with felt the same way, Steve and James, but he always went by “Bucky”. They’re older than me, but it felt like I was always looking out for them. And I wouldn’t have had it any other way. They’re knights now, they passed their quests.”

 “That’s wonderful,” you said, and she nodded her head. 

“They live together now, out in the country about a hundred leagues west of here.” 

Your eyes nearly bugged out of your head. “They- they live together?” 

Just like that, Natasha’s almost carefree recollection of ehr memories was sliced through with an iron tone and a steely glare as she watched your expression, protecting her lifelong friends that weren’t even there to hear anything you could say. “Something wrong with that?” 

 “They- they could be killed for that,” you whispered, eyes fixated on her despite how mean she looked in the moment. 

“That’s why they live in the country,” she muttered, turning her head away from you, and you could have sworn that she clenched her jaw in what looked like disappointment. “I didn’t think that you were the type to judge that.” 

 You weren’t. You were actually judged, especially after some people in the beginning of your stay at Riverstone started to believe that you were having an affair with Wanda. You weren’t, and Wanda was simply your best friend, but that didn’t stop you from realizing how harsh the world was. Sexuality was never your concern, seeing as you never had choices to act on whichever way your heart swayed anyway. 

 But you couldn't deny that you were getting nervous for the way your fickle little heart acted around Natasha. 

  “I’m not, I promise,” you said, and she gave you a long look. “I just… I just know that people have been hurt because of… the way that they love. It’s not right, but it happens.” 

  “And you?” Natasha asked, and you furrowed your brows. “Who do you love?” You knew that she wasn’t talking about a specific person. She was talking about sexuality. 

Men. I love men. That was what you should have said, something along those lines and something concrete. It should have been something that would have convinced her and yourself that you were in the clear, that you loved the way society wanted you to. But instead, like Natasha always managed to, you opened your mouth and told the truth. “I don't know.” 

You looked away before you could see the pure shock flood her face, and then the mask of understanding that collapsed it. 

“It doesn’t matter who you love,” she said quietly, almost as if anything louder than a whisper would frighten you back into being reserved. “Only how you do it.”

“I’m not sure that priests feel the same way,” you muttered, and she snorted a bit. The sound coming from a woman both shocked you and made you grin. 

  “Those same priests abuse children. It’s safe to say that I have no cares for anything they have to say about me and my lifestyle.” You sucked in a breath at that and looked towards her, eyes wide as you waited for her to say something else so terribly true but all you looked over to find was a knowing smile on her face as she looked right back at you, painstakingly gorgeous. Your breathing stopped for a moment. 

“And you?” You dared to ask, but your boldness was erased by the way that your voice trembled. She gave you a look that attempted to convince you that she knew nothing of what you were talking about, but the glint in her eyes gave her away. “Your… preference.”

“I hope my lack of answer keeps you up all night,” she said, and she turned her back to you abruptly, starting to walk away. You sputtered until you could find words. 

“Wait, what?” You reached out to grab her, warm hand wrapping around the cold skin of her arm, and she turned her head to look at you, face so close that you got nervous. Your eyes drifted downwards, and then back just as quickly. Your heart raced in your chest when you thought about her leaving you behind by yourself in the garden, and then it ached again when you really understood what your panic was about. You didn’t want to be without her, being alone didn’t bother you any other time. “What made you want to be a knight?” You asked out of nowhere, and you saw her face scrunch up. “If it’s not too much to ask to know.” 

  “I… it’s not much. I didn’t see anything heroic or watch anyone be saved. There was no knight that saved me either, no knight that I looked up to. In fact, I was the one out of the three of us who wanted to be a knight first,” she said, and you leaned forward, almost like it would make her point come faster. “I read a story… you know the one about Sir Yuriel and Lady Selene?” 

   You blinked. Of course you did. Everyone knew that story. It was a common one that was read to children right before bed, about a time where the crime for falling in love with someone who wasn’t your intended was punishable by death. “The one where they run away from the people trying to kill him together?” 

“Yes,” Natasha said, and you furrowed your brows. It was hardly a positive story. It was a story drilled into young minds about the dangers of not doing what they were told to do, and what could happen if they chose to carve their own paths. 

“The knight dies at the end,” you pointed out. 

“He dies protecting her,” she corrected, but you just shook your head at her. 

“Regardless, he died. Why would you want to die?” 

“I don’t want to die,” she said, and you waited for the other part of her answer. “I want to do what he did, but better. As bad as I might still seem to you, I’m still a girl. And I want to love someone so much that I would give everything for them, and I want them to love me back enough for them to give up all the riches that Selene did. Just like you.” 

You ignored the pang in your chest at her accuracy, and the knowing look in her deep eyes. “Oh, so you’re a liberator? You save women from unfortunate circumstances?” 

“More like I just hate seeing things that are blatantly wrong, and I like to fix them.” 

“Then you’re in the wrong profession. You should have tried for a king’s associate.” 

“The people who are the true menaces listen to swords, not dried ink.” She patted her hip, right where the hilt of her sword would have been if she was in her armor. “I’m right where I need to be.” 

“In the middle of the garden of a widower, who cries herself to sleep every night after learning that she’s to be wed again?” You asked, and somehow, despite the severity of your words, there was a teasing lilt to your tone. 

 “I think we’re both right where we need to be.” 

“Oh, wouldn’t that be something? If the stars lined up kindly for a change.” You couldn’t hold back your scoff. “I’d get on my knees and pray for the first time in years.” 

Natasha stared at you for a long moment, her eyes calculating something that was completely lost to you as you crossed your arms and looked right back at her, a quiet and tension free challenge hanging in the air between you. “Have you ever even watched the stars to see if they aligned?”

“I don’t have the time or the spirit for that,” you said, a small laugh edging out the hardness in your voice.

 “Interesting.” 

§§

You had a day full of Pietro, an evening just sitting and talking mindlessly with Wanda, and then you got a sharp round of knocks on your door, and though you had never gotten them before, you knew exactly what they meant. 

Natasha was waiting for you, and the sight of her had you nearly choking. She was in a flowy white gown, the material so thin that it could have been a night gown. Her hair that was typically up during the day was down, and the Riverstone breeze was as evident as ever as she stared back at you, either waiting for an action or a few words to come from you. However, the second you opened your mouth, she shook her head. 

“Not a word. We’re stargazing tonight.” 

The part of you that was beaten into being mature was immediately turned off by the idea. Stargazing was something that you hadn’t done since childhood, and being a child never got you anywhere you needed to be. But the other part of you, the one that had been buried in dust just like your hands from that time had been covered in mud, wanted to do it. It both excited you and terrified you, because not even Wanda could make that part of you surface, not like how it was then. 

  You knew, without a doubt, that it had everything to do with Natasha Romanoff. 

You pretended to debate,but on the inside, you were already giving the stars love-eyes. “Let’s do it, then.”

It lasted for hours. Mostly, the two of you were silent, but that hardly meant that the two of you weren’t bonding. Every so often, she would turn her head to look over at you, and you would ignore the electrifying feeling of her blue eyes on the side of the face, vision fluttering all around your face. And then, you would look at her the same way, studying her like your former etiquette teachers would stare at your sewing and your posture. You found that with her being so close, you couldn’t deprive your eyes of watching her.

But when you weren’t looking at her for your own benefit or looking at her watching you, you were watching the stars. You laid under the arch of the gardens with her, a few petals blocking the way of a few distant stars. It felt… right. It felt natural, with the silence and all, and above anything, it just felt peaceful. You forgot everything that was troubling you within minutes of just lying there next to her. Feeling the warmth of her skin and the security of her being near was worth more than a thousand words, and you found that in that moment, sitting in silence with her and looking at the stars that had screwed you over so terribly was one of the best decisions that you had ever made. 

*****

hi guys! hope you liked this installment!! it’s about to be really fluffy and then we’ll get into what i like the most: drama wjjdjjdjdjx

question!!: i have about 13k worth of hades!natasha x persephone!reader in the vault. would you rather me start posting it now or wait for this series to be finished? we’re getting there with this one, ish.

tags! : @teenwonder @procrastinatingsapphictrash @fayhar @8plasma @slut-for-nat @dontmindmejustreading @swords-are-cool @200605chaeng @thescottishavenger @antidaytime @jenny-song @madamevirgo @natasha-danvers @blackxwidowsxwife​

[testudoaubrei-blog]

TL/DR - Catra is a uniquely complex and compelling character who has -so much going on- compared with most characters in any medium. Her character arc is psychologically astute, morally powerful and dramatically compelling, and it pushes the boundaries of the audiences sympathies in ways that are really groundbreaking for a kids show, and her arcs conclusion celebrates love, growth, and the power to change in a way that is all too rare in TV for grown ups.

Content note for mentions of suicidal ideation and self harm.

Well, now that the summary is out of the way, here’s a massive fucking dissertation on why Catra is such a great character.

This is the first of a series of posts outlining things that make She Ra a truly great show, one that stands out even 15 years into a golden age of TV animation for kids. This isn’t going to be a comprehensive account for why the show is great - the real answer is that this show has so many arcs and so many fully realized characters and they are all growing and changing in ways that interact with each other and complement each other so well. But I’m going to highlight some particular standouts, things that this show does better than anything else, things that made me step back and say ‘holy shit they did this in a show pitched at 10 year olds?!’

And so the first of these posts is about Catra. I’ve never seen a character in a kids TV show like Catra before. Depending on the season, she’s an anti-villain, an outright villain and an anti-hero and then, in the end, a hero. Being glib, I describe her in villain mode as a Saturday morning cartoon Supervillain as written by like, Dostoevsky. She’s got the trappings of classic villain camp - long speeches, sneering, over-complicated plans, she’s oddly ineffectual at times etc/ Yet all of this is underlaid and justified by something much deeper - her feelings of rejection, her desire to lash out at everyone around her, at her self-hatred and hatred of everyone and everything else (at least by Season 4. Good God.) And her actions are as dark as her motivations - she nearly destroys reality out of spite, betrays literally everyone who cares about her (often multiple times) and isolates herself so completely that in the season 4 finale she is a solitary, suicidal wreck of a person. Hell, in her last fight with Hordak, I was definitely rooting for Hordak (to say nothing of Glimmer, who is a pretty impressive antiheroine, like if Sparkles had just blasted her into glittery oblivion would we have held it against her?).

Let's start by discussing trauma. It comes up a lot with Catra for obvious and good reasons. But I almost feel like that word is insufficient for what's going on with Catra, or at least, we shouldn't stop with it (I know there are terms like complex trauma, but rather than simply using those I want to explain the difference between Catra’s consistent abuse and a single traumatic event). To use another example from a different show, Korra was also traumatized in season 4. But she was traumatized by a series of an events when she was a young adult. She had something horrible happen to her, and it fucked her up, and then she had exposure therapy with Zaheer and at least starts to get better. Catra...Catra is much more consistently abused. It's not just that shadow weaver traumatized her with the various acts of torture, but that Shadow Weaver taught Catra both an explicit worldview and a series of coping mechanisms that she struggles with through young adulthood. First, Shadow Weaver trained Catra to seek her approval. This is something she is particularly vulnerable to with Shadow Weaver, but also what she does with Hordak and to a extent Double Trouble. Catra's instinct when people mistreat her or show that they aren't trustworthy is to invest further in the relationship, until the breaking point. By contrast, when people treat her well Catra lashes out or takes them for granted. This is uh…a dymamic I am acquainted with among people who have been abused as kids, people whom I love. It is pretty rough.

She also developed a desire to prove herself. This starts off being tied to her drive for approval, but combined with her competitive streak (which is expressed in both healthy and unhealthy ways with Adora) it turns into a desire to beat Shadow Weaver and then Hordak at their own game.

At the same time, Catra learned by always being blamed for everything to evade and deny responsibility, no matter what. I think this form of self reassurance is tied to her self doubt (I think at some level she does think she is worthless) and her self hatred. It is also enabled by Adora’s martyr complex and willingness even act as Catra’s punching bag (as we see in the flashback in Corridors). This is a dynamic that actually repeats in an even worse fashion with Scorpia. Far from being arrogant, her constant evasions, put downs against others and preening speeches sound like the words of a woman who is trying to convince herself most of all. This tendency borders on narcissistic self delusion by season 3-4, which she begins recounting her version of events and possibly believing it even when it is obviously false, and everyone knows it.

When it comes to worldviews, Shadow Weaver taught Catra that love is about control and manipulation. We see this in seasons 1-3 where she congratulates herself for manipulating Adora when all she has done is take advantage of Adora's lingering love for her. Meanwhile, she’s learned that power is her only protection, and that the only way to stay on top is to abuse those beneath her.

The final kind of static tendency in Catra is her identity in the horde and her view of herself as one of the bad guys. This is something she rarely articulates but underlies much of her her decision to stay and not join Adora (at least at first). I think one thing to consider is that even if Catra never believed horde propaganda, it may have made her cynical and unwilling to imagine something better for herself or the world. Another factor is having struggled to belong in the horde for so long, she isn't going to give up now. At first this ties into her desire to win the approval of shadow weaver and Hordak, then it comes from her desire to prove herself better than them. Another factor is her self hatred. She sees herself as someone who hurts people, perhaps as a monster. She sees herself as a bad guy and so team evil is her side.

So yeah, our girl is kinda fucked up.

And yet Catra is never reduced to the sum of her traumas and bad habits. At every step of the way she is shown as a moral agent. She is shaped by shadow Weaver's abuse but she remains aware of and responsible for her actions. This is a double edged sword. She is fully responsible for her actions, but also she is never shown as broken by abuse or mental illness. She’s fully responsible, but by the same token is also redeemable, because she still has a choice.

So with that our of the way, let's go to Catra's arc.

I’m not going to recite everything terrible Catra does because I’m still on my first complete rewatch and I honestly find it hard to list it all. It’s a lot. So let’s talk about her shifting motivations. Early on, we see her desire for approval and recognition motivating her in ways that are so easy to sympathize with - she’s been told she’s worthless for years, and she wants to be worth something. We see how much she’s been scarred by Shadow Weavers abuse and by the ruthlessness and callousness of the Horde, and can sympathize with her desire to survive and advance since her own position is so untenable. We also see how, at first, she wants to be reunited with Adora. Her first huge turn into much darker territory is Promises, when she tries to kill Adora in order to permanently sever her connection with her own life and eliminate a possible rival for advancement (should Adora ever return). She’s told herself that she doesn’t want Adora back, and at least partly means it. Yet we still show her care for Scorpia and Entrapta and even Shadow Weaver in Season 2. It’s when Catra realizes that Shadow Weaver has chosen Adora over her once again that she takes her darkest turn. It’s not just that she destroys reality out of spite, it’s that she rejects her chance for a better and happier life, betrays every friend she has and focuses single-mindedly on hurting Adora (and arguably herself) and then on surviving when her attempt fails. Then Catra spends an entire season both fully inhabiting her role as a villain (and not a sympathetic one - really only our history with her leaves us sympathetic) and being utterly self-destructive and miserable. At the end, as mentioned, she’s a broken, suicidal wreck who has destroyed everything she’s strived for. If this was an HBO drama, we’d roll credits here and she’d go down as another self-destructive antihero. It would perhaps be too much to call her ‘Walter White as a catgirl’, but still. Of course, her story doesn’t end there.

Something that is incredibly dark that is happening in step with this is Catra’s hardening of herself, indeed, her dehumanization of herself. We see her struggle with her natural compassion, her kindness, her need for connection, her desire for happiness, and we see her ignore it all, stamp it down and nearly snuff it out. This is a huge factor in her descent into becoming a real villain (no ‘anti’ qualifiers needed). Every step of her descent is a struggle for Catra - not going with Adora in the second part of ‘The Sword’, trying to kill Adora in ‘Promise’, going back to the Horde, betraying Entrapta, lying about Entrapta, threatening Scorpia, destroying the world - but she always chooses evil. And with every step she becomes more isolated, more callous, and more cruel. Her default reaction becomes not just bravado and mockery and insolence, but threats, bullying and intimidation, until her management style is identical to Hordak’s, and indeed, is quite a bit worse. Catra starts off fighting for Hordak and Shadow Weaver’s approval and struggling to survive, and ends up cackling maniacally at her brutal and murderous conquests. She has very deliberately turned herself into a cruel conqueror, and a tyrant. This self-dehumanization is a huge part of evil in the world, I think, and it’s really powerful to see it so clearly in a kids show.

Meanwhile her insistence on evading all responsibility finally results in a self-serving, self-protective narrative that insulates her from responsibility or self-examination but also cuts her off from reality and other people. It’s always a bit unclear to what extent her various untruths (about Adora leaving her, about Shadow Weaver’s escape and her concealment of it not being her fault, about Entrapta betraying Hordak) are things she believes, lies she is telling to have power over others (mostly Scorpia) or things that she doesn’t quite believe but is trying to convince herself of. It’s probably all of these at various times, and in different degrees for each lie. The end result is that Catra is even more alone, because only she inhabits the safe cocoon of lies she’s built around herself. It also is the key to her and the Horde’s downfall - Catra is so isolated and in such denial that she can’t see how thin her forces are spread, and this crack shows up even in episode 1 of Season 4, with her insistence that the Princess Alliance is in shambles (when, in fact, it’s already rebounding, and proves more resilient than she allows herself to believe, and is led by a woman as ruthless and determined as herself). This part of Catra’s arc brilliantly shows how deception (of yourself and others) can feel protective by keeping shame at bay, but ultimately is destructive and strips someone of so much of the intellectual and moral qualities that we call ‘human.’ It’s also chilling to see since we’ve seen the end game of this mentality play out in US national politics, at the highest level.

I said at the opening that we’ve never seen a sympathetic character like Catra in a kids show. What about Zuko? I would argue that Zuko is never a cruel, or as callous, or as self-destructive as Catra is at her worst. Zuko is motivated by a desire for recognition from his abusive father (much like Catra is initially motivated by desire for recognition from Hordak and Shadow Weaver, and indeed Adora), and perhaps a desire to belong in the Fire Nation. All of this gets wrapped together in his ‘Honor’. He’s a young man with a very weak sense of what he truly believes, instead relying on external guides to what he should do. He’s also incredibly self-involved, and initially indifferent to anyone’s pain but his own and anyone’s needs but his own need to restore his honor. Uncle Iroh is there throughout to push Zuko both to see the needs of others and to become his own person. Zuko’s redemption arc, then, is a twofold quest to recognize other people and to find his own moral center and act from it. This is a pretty powerful coming of age story in that it is about him becoming his own person and throwing off the shackles of his upbringing. Politically, it’s a powerful story of a young man taking responsibility for his own actions in an authoritarian regime and refusing to participate in its imperialism any more and to embrace a new way forward both for himself and his nation. At the same time, in some ways it is easy to sympathize with Zuko because his greatest crimes are those of weakness - he’s not strong enough to stand up to his nation and his family until midway through the last season. Catra though...Catra does what she does, eventually, because she wants to hurt people. She’s cruel, and spiteful, and destructive in ways that are truly scary and which prevent any excuse or mitigation.

Which brings up the other comparison - Azula. But while Azula is (somewhat inconsistently) shown either as a monstrous child sociopath or a traumatized and broken child who can’t help it (and thus, perversely, as not a moral agent but something like a monster), Catra is consistently shown as a moral agent. Catra chooses her own path, every step of the way. She has so many chances to do something else - Adora’s offers to leave together in the two-part series opener, Promises, Scorpia’s suggestion that they dessert the Horde and become desert gang leaders, etc - and until season 5, she turns them all down. While Azula seems destined for evil and madness, with Catra we see a young woman very deliberately walk down the path into unmitigated evil with both eyes open. And then we see it destroy her.

And after she is basically destroyed, we see her build herself back. This process actually starts in Season 4 with the creeping realization that even when she is winning she is miserable and alone. She doesn’t even notice Scorpia is gone for several episodes, then she completely loses it. She spends the entire time when she is at her most triumphant isolated and raging and borderline incoherent, as ineffectual as she accuses Hordak of being. She’s won, and she’s alone, and she’s the most unhappy she has ever been, and I think for the first time she realizes that. And that’s the worst blow to her, even before all the external things come crashing down. She’s already miserable before Double Trouble and Glimmer deal her a triple coup de grace of destroying all her armies*, turning her and Hordak against each other and then Double Trouble’s epic evisceration. By the time Glimmer shows up, Catra is, as mentioned, literally suicidal. But she’s also already begun the process of changing in that she knows that she has a problem (her, and her self/other-destructive tendencies). Moreover, she knows, at some level, that what she really wants isn’t conquest, or to prove herself as the baddest leader of the Horde, but love - and she’s seen how she’s squandered that at every opportunity.

Let’s just pause for a moment to observe how much better Glimmer is at villainous machinations than Catra. In a couple episodes she makes a faustian bargain for unlimited power, kills all her enemies armies, sets her two chief foes at each other’s throats and literally cripples one while rendering the other helpless. And given her ironic non-answer about hurting Catra (‘we’re the good guys, remember?’ and the fact that she’d tried to kill Catra twice before**, she walked into Hordak’s sanctum fully intending to end Catra’s life, one way or another. She does all this through ruthlessness, recklessness and treachery, and she could give like, a TED talk on villainy. Of course it also blows up in her face and is actually way worse than the portal did in Catra’s, endangering the whole universe (I always assumed that the portal only threatened Despondos), dooming Etheria to invasion and all that. Of course, Catra pulled that switch and then fought Adora knowing that the world was ending, while Glimmer was just ignoring warnings from...just about everyone, including Shadow Weaver. So yeah, Glimmer, best kids show antihero since Princess Bubblegum***(unless we’re counting Catra as an antihero, which works for the first half of season 5).

Anyway, at the beginning of Season 5 Catra is adrift. Though some interpretations, like TV tropes, see her as immediately falling back into old habits and casting her lot in with Prime, I see her actions from the end of Season 4 onwards as more ambivalent. She seems to be kind of...going through the motions. She doesn’t have any of the drive or passion in her plotting that she once did, she seems to be maneuvering into Prime’s good graces out of habit. At best she’s back in the survival mode of early season 1, but without the ambition and desire to prove herself that motivated her. Some interpretations put a lot of stock in Prime being someone that can’t be bargained with or appeased, but...I don’t buy it. I take him, to an extent, at his word when he says that he was ‘exalt’ Catra (I am sure it is something awful). Catra actually gets what she wants halfway through “Corridors.” Only it’s not what she wants. She’s done jockeying for advantage, especially in a world where she truly would be alone because all she has is this psychopathic narcissist and his clones for company. She wants connection. She wants to do what is right. She’s suppressed all her humanity (felinitity? Anyway) for years and it’s made her miserable, and now she’s ready to embrace it. At the same time she confronts her own culpability, seeing just how much harm she’s done and admitting it for the first time. Her first lifeline is Glimmer, the only person she can actually talk to, the only other Etherian, the woman whose mother she doomed and who has nearly killed her three times. But Glimmer is also going through her own dark night of the soul - Glimmer and Catra’s character arcs were converging at the same time that Catra’s and Adoras and Glimmer’s and Adora’s were diverging. And they come together on either side of that forcefield, just talking and being people in an environment that is designed to be as dehumanizing as possible. Even this barest lifeline is enough for Catra to hold on to for dear life, and enough to inspire her to not just feel bad about the bad things she’s done, but do something good.

But the first way she does this is a cop out. Her plan, like Shadow Weaver’s in the finale, is to sacrifice/kill herself doing ‘one good thing.’ That way she doesn’t have to figure out how to live with the consequences of her actions, face the possible rejection of the people she loves whom she’s wronged, and do the hard work of building herself back up as a better person. She gets to die a hero rather than live as a villain. That said, unlike Shadow Weaver she does at least get off one apology, and it makes all the difference.

Then Adora fucks Catra’s sacrifice up, in glorious, space operatic, gay AF pulp fiction fashion, by saving the cat. Catra is mind controlled or unconscious for most of this episode, but what she does do is so crucial. When Adora comes for her, she reaches out to her, as soon as she is able. She doesn’t push her away, she takes Adora’s help, and her love, and Adora does the rest in badass fashion. The next few episodes plus the so perfect its canon Don’t Go are my favorite part of Catra’s entire arc.

She nearly falls back into her old habits, at least partly. Now that she has to live with what she’s done rather than just dying for it she just wants to run away again. But when she has to choose between losing Adora all over again and confronting herself and her past, she chooses Adora, and asks her to stay.

Catra then spends the rest of Season 5 slowly easing herself into the very human world of the Princess Alliance - the comaradery, the dedication to others and a cause, the goofiness. I’m going to talk a lot more about her relationship with Adora in my Catradora post, but I do want to highlight three moments.

The first is Catra running away again. This is actually a big change from what she’s done before - she’s not leaving because she’s angry, or bitter, or spiteful, she’s leaving because she doesn’t want to see the woman she loves sacrifice herself yet again (maybe this time for good) after being manipulated by the woman who had abused them both. But then she comes back. And then she confronts her abuser in a way that she has never done before - for the first time in the series, she not only calls Shadow Weaver out but calls her to do the right thing, and doesn’t give up until she does (this is after Adora also calls SW out and cuts her off forever, meaning that her two charges have finally called her on her bullshit and chosen each other over her, more in my Shadow Weaver Rant...and I guess my Catradora rant).

Then, at the end, Catra both stays with Adora through her potentially fatal harnessing of the Heart of Etheria and then her comes in and rescues her by challenging her to do something for Catra and for herself. Not to be with Catra, or to kiss her, or love her, but just stay for her. Needless to say, Adora responds far more enthusiastically than Catra had dared hope. (more on this in my Catradora rant).

Catra starts the show convinced she doesn’t need anyone except Adora, and she’s willing to even push Adora away if she can’t have Adora on her own terms. She goes down that path - ambition, manipulation, treachery, cruelty and isolation - until she has nothing left. She then slowly, painfully, turns around and reaches out and begins to heal the pain in Etheria and the universe rather than causing more. This is a psychological journey in many ways, but even more than that it is a profoundly moral one. It is a story of her accepting responsibility for her actions, facing reality, reaching out to others and making amends. It is in every sense a redemption. And while it works perfectly with Adora’s own development into her own, fuller, happier, healthier person, it works not because of Adora or the power of love, but because of Catra herself. Adora’s companionship, Adora’s rescuing of her and holding her to account, all of these are necessary for Catra to change for the better. But in the end it is Catra herself who chooses the right path, maybe for the first time in her life. And that’s what makes the romance work in turn - Catra is motivated to change not simply by a desire to impress her girlfriend or by Adora’s shining goodness (to the contrary, Adora’s a healthier and less self-sacrificing person at least in the finale...she comes around later than Catra) but by her desire to be true to herself and seek out what she really needs and wants - which is love, and connection, and to do good rather than evil. It’s a gorgeous story that takes an antihero all the way down to hell and then back again, and this makes it a truly unique redemption arc in all of kids TV - not just because of how far Catra falls, but how far she travels overall.

*(I know a lot of fanficcers talk about there being a lot of Horde Soldiers left but like...in the show...they’re nearly all dead, guys. Glimmer and company...okay mostly Mermista... just about killed them all in an afternoon. The cadet Triad survives because they deserted and weren’t there to get drowned/frozen/suffocated by plants when the grand invasion of Brightmoon went sideways)

**Okay, once she was only an accessory to Shadow Weaver’s attempted murder of Catra, the other time she leaves Catra for dead in ‘Pulse’

***I stan PB so hard guys. So hard. Machiavellian genius, mad scientist, god figure, possible Nietzschean Ubermensch? She’s so great. So great.

[tsuraiwrites]

“We slept in the same bed for space reasons but now we’re just waking up and there’s something about your bleary eyes and mussed hair…” for Dorian and anyone else you fancy?

thank you so much for the prompt! for @dadrunkwriting

trying my hand at Anders/Dorian with inquisitor!Anders because this group put the idea in my head and it lodged there.

Fic: At Grey Dawn

When Anders wakes, it’s to the ever-present noise that catches like serrated knives behind his forehead. Justice stirs under his skin, a rumble of discontent that he is only just able to make out over the Calling. Those shrieking notes scratch at the back of his brain relentlessly until Justice presses it down again, smothering most of the tumult down to a dull roar – though one he can never be entirely rid of. Anders sighs lowly, opening his eyes to the tent ceiling as the first grey light of dawn starts seeping through the heavy cloth. His entire body aches, his mana only just recovered enough to finish healing himself last night. His left hand, as always, burns with the tug of the Mark.

Anders shudders, finds his eyes wandering in an effort to distract himself from the pull of the raw Fade in his own hand, and invariably they land on his companion.

Truth be told, Anders hadn’t relished the idea of sharing a tent with anyone. With the mages from Redcliffe trailing along behind them, he’d done his best to see everyone properly outfitted with at least the basics, including any extra tents the Inquisition scouts brought along.

That unfortunately left few to go around. When presented with the choice between sharing with the Seeker who still has to curb her homicidal impulses around him, a Qunari spy, or Varric (who snores like a bellows at the best of times and still can’t always look him in the eye), Dorian Pavus isn’t the worst person to be crammed in with. His only other option had been to sleep out in the open as Solas and some of the scouts had chosen; Anders is used to roughing it but he isn’t a masochist. He likes a nice, warm – if cramped – tent and not waking up covered with dew.

That, and he likes to think he’s built up a rapport with the Tevinter mage over the last days; enough to trust the man not to slit his throat in the night. That horrendous jaunt to the future at least ended with a powerful ally on the Inquisition’s side, and that’s all Anders can really bring himself to say on the matter.

He’s already had to recount those nightmarish events for Pentaghast and the others; no doubt he will have to repeat himself to Josephine, the Nightengale, and Rutherford when they return to Haven.

Pavus will help, certainly. He had filled in some of the blanks for Anders’ companions when Anders couldn’t find the words to explain the horror of their time travel – let alone the technicalities.

One day, Anders will ask him to describe how time magic works… the theory must be complex.

When the man is awake, of course.

The Tevinter is lying on his side with his bedroll tucked tight around him, covering everything but his head, his face cushioned against his pack. As Anders watches, Pavus snuffles, turning his face into his makeshift pillow and rather neatly folding the left side of his mustache in half against his cheek. Anders’ lips twitch up against his will.

Between the disarray of his mustache and the smears of kohl around his eyes, Pavus looks far… softer. Less the haughty Tevinter nobility, and less hunted, too.

Anders recognizes the look of a runaway when he sees one. He doesn’t know Pavus’ story yet, but Anders finds himself wondering, taking in his ruffled appearance, if the man will deign to tell him. Maker knows he could use a few more people to talk to, to take his mind off this forsaken mess if only for a minute.

Anders only realizes he’s been staring when the Mark tugs, hard enough that his hand spasms. He doesn’t hiss but he does shut his eyes, right hand wrapping around his wrist as if he can stave off the pain that way. Touching the Mark itself or trying to heal it only makes the tugging worse, so all he can do is clutch at himself and wait for it to subside.

Justice rumbles again, angry at his inability to do more to help.

It’s fine, he assures the spirit. We’ve both weathered worse.

“Does it hurt?”

Anders nearly jumps out of his bedroll, unable to suppress the surprised noise he lets out as he turns to meet Pavus’ eyes. The smears of kohl around them only add to his bleary look, and Anders desperately stomps down on the part of him that starts going on again about the softening of Pavus’ face by the watery light.

“What?” he asks, the question flying over his head entirely.

“Your hand, does it pain you?” Pavus’ voice is quiet in deference to the early hour and the small space between them, but the words are filled with a concern not entirely in line with what Anders has observed of Pavus so far.

That makes Anders hesitate. Pavus has shown himself to be brash and confident – rightly so, considering his command of time magic and necromancy. The man hasn’t lied to him yet, and he’s also taken up firmly against whoever the “Elder One” is, to the tune of saving Anders’ life. Surely, Anders can afford to let slip a little of his own doubt, if Dorian is willing to hear him out.

“It hasn’t stopped hurting since the Breach opened,” he admits, watching the Tevinter’s eyes widen and flicker down to Anders’ hand. Pavus’ brow wrinkles, and Anders tears his gaze away. “I’m not sure even closing it will make it stop, at this point.” He flexes his fingers and Mark flares, crackling with Fade energy. It also sends a spasm of whire-hot fire through his palm that makes his whole hand convulse.

Dorian hisses between his teeth, and Anders isn’t sure if it’s in sympathy or censure when he asks:

“Should you be doing that? It looks… painful.”

Anders snorts as the spasm subsides, letting the Mark go as dormant as it ever gets.

“True. What would my healer say? Oh, wait...” He raises his eyebrows.

Pavus chuckles, himself already the beneficiary of Anders’ magic after one of the Venatori in the future had gotten a lucky strike.

“Does your spirit healing not work on it?” he continues, evidently unable to hold back the curiosity any longer.

“Not really. As far as Solas and I can figure, it’s a direct link to the Fade. It just sucks up and reflects any magic cast directly on it.” He sighs. “It’s why Josephine and the Nightengale wanted to recruit the mages in the first place.” Pavus’ eyebrow quirks and he explains. “Ah, they’re… advisors? Part of a council, I guess, if we include me.” And he’s not looking forward to the absolute fucking fit Rutherford is going to throw when he hears what happened; how Anders gave the mages a place in the Inquisition as allies.

As if Anders would ever do anything else.

“Anyway, we think with the boost in power it should be able to close the Breach.”

“I see. You have no way of testing this beforehand, I assume?”

“No. But we saw what’s at stake if it doesn’t work.”

They share a look that goes on for moments longer than Anders really means it to.

Pavus breaks their stare, and Anders isn’t sure if he imagines the way that he swallows before sitting up with a stretch.

“Aren’t we both delightful this morning? Shall we change the topic to something less heavy. What’s for breakfast, perhaps?” He sits up as much as he can in the tent’s cramped confines, dragging his pack around to rifle through it.

“Pavus,” Anders says before he can think better of it, and the man’s head whips back around.

“Call me Dorian, if you please. ‘Pavus’ is what I hear right before one of my old Circle peers or instructors descends on me,” he says, a wry smile blooming across his lips, and Anders catches himself staring again.

“Dorian, then. I just wanted to say thank you – for everything that happened in Redcliffe. I wouldn’t have made it out without you and I don’t think I’ve said it, yet.”

Dorian blinks, but the edges of his smile become less sharp, a tension disappearing that Anders notices only in its sudden release.

“You’re very welcome.”

[glitterge1pen]

Walgreens Is Nice At 4am

Iwaizumi Hajime x reader, sfw, word count 1,737

Forever. That's how long it had been. Forever since you got to smother yourself in your friends presence. To sit next to them in the car, piled on top of eachother. To split a plate of fries. To grab at the stary pieces of lint in your friends hair. Tiny pieces of friendship that you had missed more than you knew how to.

Getting drunk was also something that you had missed. Or rather getting drunk outside of your own house. You had spent the entire night out. Going from the diner, to the club, to another club and eventually here. Walgreens. The sun was threatening to come over the horizon. You guys needed reinforcements.

Iwaizumi pulls the car to a stop. Your friend puts their hand on your back, pushing you out of the car. You stand with the door open, everyone throwing their orders out. Your friends ask for vitamin water, an assortment of snacks, and of course some ibuprofen for when you all eventually went to sleep. Oikawa demands a pack of mints as well.

Iwaizumi follows you to the store doors. The bright fluorescents burn at the brim of your eyes. You crinkle your nose in dissatisfaction. But you luck out, besides the two of you, the store is completely empty. You fall into the usual banter. A snide remark about the poor choice of music on the store speakers. You laugh at a terribly made display, feeling bad for whatever employee had to put it together.

“I feel so fucking gross”

Iwaizumi says. You're in the candy aisle trying to find that brand your friend likes. You give him an expression somewhere between confused and playful. Not quite sure what has prompted him to say such a thing.

“What?” 

He gestures to himself, a bit exasperated.

“I am covered in sweat, I’m pretty sure some of Oikawa's throw up is in my hair-”

“Ew,”

You laugh, cutting off his annoyed speech about his hygiene. He does look a bit uncomfortable though. He continues with his tangent.

“We went to two clubs, one club is enough by the way. Do you know how many people I have on me?”

“What, like in spirit?”

You ask in a teasing tone.

“No, in sweat, dead skin cells, spilled drink and hair.”

You give him another glance. He is in rough shape, disheveled.

“Here, follow me”

You take him to the shampoos, hairbrushes and scrunchies. He watches as your eyes dart between the products looking for something. Then your hand grabs a bottle, he doesn't know what. You go another aisle over, his sneakers behind you in pursuit. You snatch a few more things off shelves. You're headed to the front of the store when you turn to him.

“Go wait in the bathroom, I'll be there in a second”

You say it so casually, like it means nothing. He feels a quick warmth spread across his face, his voice hitch up just the slightest.

“What?”

Your back is already to him, walking away. He keeps his gaze on you, only briefly. Iwaizumi runs a hand across his face but pulls it back in disgust when he feels the film of grime on him. He weaves through the aisles. Then he spots the bathroom sign in the back, by the pharmacy. His hand lingers over the door knob. He’s not sure if he’ll be able to keep his cool around you in such proximity.

But he goes in. Because you told him to. And because he's fairly certain he heard your footsteps on the cold aluminum tile. The door has barely shut behind him when you open it. A gust of air crashing into him. You dig into the plastic bag, tossing him a pack of toothbrushes.

“Open that”

He does as he’s told. Hands trembling just a bit. You get out a mini tube of toothpaste, taking the seal off. He feels relieved in a way, that you two are just going to brush your teeth in here. Iwaizumi holds out the toothbrushes as you swab the paste on.

You attempt to ask him something, the bubbling foam in your mouth getting in the way. You see the way his eyes crinkle in a smile and give him a bit of a shove. There is the faint hum of the store's music. It's distant, and as you spit into the sink you ask him what song it is. But he doesn't know either.

He’s washing away the mess in the sink bowl when you order him to sit down. You shut the seat with the bottom of your shoe.

“On the toilet?”

Iwaizumi says with a shocked tone. You roll your eyes and twirl your head to face him.

“If you don't sit there, then I have to sit on the sink. You're too tall”

He grabs a paper towel and wipes off the sink for you. You observe him, entertained. Iwaizumi moves out of the way, motioning for you to take your place. You hop onto the sink, the walgreens bag still on your wrist. Your hand digs around until you find the bottle of dry shampoo.

The rattling sound of the can as you shake it. The flicker of the soft bright light from above the sink. It has Iwaizumi mesmerized.

Neither of you speak as you put your hand on his shoulder, pulling him down to your height. He doesn't have to lean over far, but still he leans. You mist his hair with product. Watching as the white powdery substance falls over him like snowflakes. The silence is chilling. You feel every inch of the quiet, it's in your fingertips as you massage the dry shampoo into his hair, it's in the way he follows your hand, it's in the pit of your stomach as it starts to melt with nerves.

You curl a strand of his hair around your finger. You don't need to. You run your hand through all his hair one more time before reaching back into the bag. Iwaizumi pulls the plastic loops off your wrist, holding it up for you. You mutter a soft thank you.

The crinkle of the face wipe package is the loudest sound you have ever heard. It pains you to hear it cut across the hush of the room. You grab one of the rose scented cloths, bringing it up to his cheekbones. Brushing it along the lines of his face. You pretend to not see how intensely he is focused on you. Your hand shakes as you fold the cloth over and bring it down onto his jaw, under his chin.

You have to turn away. Tossing the wipe aside, grabbing a new one. When you go to face him again you lock eyes. Both of you stare openly. Examining each other like you would be getting tested on the others facial structure. Biting the inside of your cheek, you stroke along the bridge of his nose, careful not to get the cloth in his eyes. As you brush along his eyebrows your hand steadies, and he closes his eyes.  

There isn't anything in your hand as your fingers press into his eyebrows. Brushing the little hairs back with a gentle touch. When you stop his expression is pleading, like he is trying to ask why you stopped. But there is one more item in the bag.

“This is my favorite chapstick, I swear it works the best”

Iwaizumi is locked onto your thumb as it twists the cap off. All he can do is nod in response. It is daring actually, how you swipe the chapstick to his bottom lip and then his top lip. To then just hop down off the sink, brush off your legs and swing open the door.

He follows you in a trance. Dazed by what has transpired between you. His hands are behind his back, holding onto the door knob. Seemingly trying to keep the two of you in the previous moment. Not wanting to leave behind or forget the absolute magnitude of emotions.

You are a few steps ahead. Waiting for him, he's standing at the door, looking down, not moving. There was a shift. Before it felt like you and Iwaizumi had been in the store together. Now it felt like everything else was just around you and Hajime. You had entered a new orbit, a gravitational pull emitting from Iwaizumi.

He regains his composure. Giving you a smile and saying,

“We’re lucky that it wasn't terribly disgusting in there”

You laugh and it breaks up the tension. You're about to throw a retort at Iwaizumi when another voice cuts in.

“There you guys are! It's been like twenty minutes, what have you been doing?”

It's Oikawa. You jump at the appearance of his company. When he sees that Iwaizumi is at the bathroom door he shakes his head.

“Did it take you twenty minutes to shit or were you two fucking in the bathroom?”

He’s trying to be funny, like how he always is. But the glance you share with Iwaizumi and the moment of hesitation before either of you say anything is enough. It's enough to have him embarrass the two of you in front of the cashier, finally purchasing the snacks. Oikawa is giving a full on theatre performance, with his never ending stream of teasing and questions.

Oikawa is all too excited when you get back in the car and join your other friends. Tumbling over words because he’s talking too fast trying to explain what he saw. Iwaizumi pulling out the toothbrush and toothpaste, trying to defend himself. Oikawa asks why it took twenty minutes to brush his teeth then and Iwaizumi can only insult him.

You giggle in hushed whispers in the back seat of the car. Your friends' limbs draping over each other as they try to hear every ounce of your story. Your body still feels as if it's been hooked to jumper cables, your skin crawls with nervous thrill from just recounting what happened.

Iwaizumi is driving. At each red light he looks back at you. Admiring the way you are huddled with your friends. Oikawa is still teasing him, not believing that nothing had occurred. Iwaizumi isn't really listening though. He can't remember the name of the song. The one you asked about, and so so desperately he wants to know.

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

A/N: Second post in a week? Sounds crazy but true? Anyways requests are open :) 

[rivahisu107]

The Unresolved Baby Subplot Chapter 6: Of Marriage and Mikasa- And Maybe Some Chapter 69 Hints as Well

Our story has come to an end, and three years later, the world is recovering from the Rumbling, and the nation of Eldia (Paradis) has risen again as a dangerous power in the battle for survival, only without Titan powers this time. Hizuru is a strong ally, yet as for how all this happened and why Historia made her choice to keep quiet... we may never know. But she does want peace negotiations with the Alliance, so that’s a good sign she didn’t completely agree or side with Eren.

And Historia is married. But if the farmer is the father, why didn't she marry him in the first place? And why isn't he allowed a consistent face? Also on the island is a grieving Mikasa Ackerman, possibly under the protection of Hizuru. It seems that everybody in the Alliance is going back to Paradis to negotiate save for Onyonkopon, Falco, and Gabi- who had few to no ties to the island or are too young- and Levi as well, who is with them for unspecified reasons and in an unidentified region. How does all of this tie into this (conspiracy) theory of an unresolved plotline? And how does this tie back to the most important chapter to Levi and Historia’s characters?

Surprisingly, once again, the key to this all is Mikasa Ackerman.

To review, Mikasa has a scar on her arm that her mother of Azumabito heritage passed on to her as a young girl to keep secret and show to the one whom she will marry and have children with. At the time, this was a mystery, but when Hizuru pays a visit for exploitation of natural resources diplomacy, this is all revealed. 

When Hizuru arrives, there is a nice panel with these words and the two Ackermans together.

Then cut to when Kiyomi is asking if Mikasa recognizes the marking, and then this happens:

Yes. In a scene all about marriage, children, and heritage, guess who appears right next to Historia? Levi, of course! The odd thing about this is that this is the only time Levi shows up in the manga in this scene. Check out the rest of the page if you don’t believe me. He just appears... then disappears. Huh? What was that all about?

Some may criticize me for reading too much into this, but remember, even the smallest of details can turn out to be big. When Eren was talking about the Armored Titan, there was a brief cut to Reiner at the table. It’s very suspicious that this detail here was included. And the anime kept this in but with more shots of Levi watching in the background, next to Historia the whole time.

Afterwards, Historia is even more curious and gets super happy that Mikasa is her “perfect match”. This is reminding me of the whole thing with Reiner and Eren “being the same”. It’s just too bad that neither of these got properly concluded. Anyways, I find it funny that Historia is getting all chummy with the Ackerman with royal blood. 

What’s the story with Mikasa being royal? In the past, the shogun of Hizuru was an ally with the royal family on the island, and his son was friends of the family. But as the story goes after the Great Titan War:

What a tragedy! It’s awful when families are divided up in great worldwide disasters. 

I can’t help but see some of the similarities here between the shogun’s relationship with the royal family and the Ackerman clan’s history with the royal family. Both clans were on close terms with the king but unfortunately, when they spoke out again Karl Fritz’ ideology and could not be mindwiped, they were persecuted heavily and almost driven to die out completely on the island. But then by some miracle descendants of both clans came together to have Mikasa, who would be the one to end Eren. 

Now, after this chapter, Historia is stuck in the worst possible situation due to her royal blood, but she is willing to take on the Beast Titan to save her people... but then her unresolved, frustrating pregnancy happens. And with all these bits and pieces that I have put together, it would seem that Levi would be coming home to be with the woman he has been linked to and his child and marry. Unfortunately, due to the political climate on the island, the Alliance is not welcomed at home, and it has taken Historia to give protection to Jean and Connie’s families to ensure that they are welcome for peace talks. 

You see, dear readers, Mikasa’s heritage may have given us a hidden clue this whole time about why Levi and Historia are where they are. 

1. The Ackerman-Reiss connection. Kenny and Uri became friends by a miracle despite the history of the Reiss family persecuting the Ackerman clan, and despite their rough start, Levi and Historia became close enough to set up an Orphanage, and based on what I have posted here, they seem to have become very close by all evidence. 

2. Great Titan War- The Rumbling was catastrophic with 80% of the human population in the world killed. Things are a total mess outside of Paradis. In all of this, there is no way for the Alliance, including Levi, to get back home. In all of this, he has a child back on the island, just like how the shogun had a child left on the island after the Great Titan War. 

3. Secret Heritage- The child, a little girl, may not know who her true father is. The Jaeger Faction is powerful, and if they find out that the Queen has a child with a traitor who stopped the Rumbling and contributed to wiping out Titan powers, she may as well be killed off, and things in the world could become far, far worse than what they are now. 

...

At this point, you may be scratching your head and frustrated with me and how I can’t just accept that the farmer is the father because Historia is mentioned to be married. Really? Just because she marries the man doesn’t mean he’s the biological father of the child. See above for why Historia may have entered a political marriage with him. After all, he’s a former bully who redeemed himself. He may not be the man she really loves or wants to be with, but he partook in this coverup and still cared for her since the real father is trapped faraway due to the political climate. It’s a real tragedy since this pregnancy was not according to any plan but a complete accident too, so Historia probably had to make some tough decisions. The Jaeger Faction would probably grow suspicious over the puppet Queen, just as much as the MPs, for having a child and not marrying.

Besides, do you really expect me to believe that a man who doesn’t even have a consistent face to count as a character? Image created by @pas-de-deux84​. 

Slightly off topic, but another suspicious thing is that whenever Historia brought up in conversation, it’s always about “Historia and her children”, not “Historia and Jake’s children”. They can’t even name the man? Really? Are they aware of something they aren’t allowed to say out loud? Do they know or think that she got pregnant to save her skin? It’s only been the MPs, a third party, who recount anything about this whole situation directly. 

The royal family on the island has a long history of coverups: the truth about humanity outside the walls, the true king of the Walls, Historia herself at one point. Why is it impossible to believe that Historia has orchestrated a mass coverup for her own and her child’s sake? Again, this is not helped by the fact that we got no real conclusion or answers to her actions. 

And at the end of the manga, we don’t know why Levi is with Onyonkopon, Gabi, and Falco in an unspecified location either. Maybe he’s recovering from his injuries or something in a place where he and the others have been granted immunity for stopping the Rumbling. I highly doubt that it would be realistic that they are traveling the world together for fun three years after a mass genocide happens and world peace is but an idealistic illusion or even opening a tea shop. 

Here’s the best thing somebody else pointed out not related to the ship in the first place: Levi and Historia have the exact same facial expressions. Levi’s is the last one he has in the manga, and Historia’s is from when the pregnancy was revealed. For some context to Levi, to be fair, he is looking up at a plane, which likely reminds him of Hange and his other fallen comrades whom he has given meaning to in their sacrifices. But what exactly is he doing after the Rumbling? We have no idea. Does he have goals? Does he want to get back to his family? 

That’s the frustrating thing for me. Neither of them really had proper depth explicitly given to their final arcs, and neither do they have any moments where they reflect on their actions afterwards. Am I reading too much into this all? I may never know, but it’s the best I can think of. 

...

Now, I want to talk a bit about Chapter 69, the colored chapter that was released with Chapter 139. You know, the chapter where Kenny and Uri reconcile and become friends and also where Levi and Historia have their iconic moments of the punch and becoming the next Ackerman-Reiss pair. Surprisingly, whether these two were meant to be a pair or not, they both had callbacks to moments in Chapter 69. 

Levi is in the same position that Kenny was in when dying against the tree and Kenny gives his whole speech on everyone being a slave to something and how he himself was unfit to be a parent. 

But Levi has “surpassed the father”. Why? Unlike Kenny, he stopped his slavery to being the hero. He gave up on his vow. He gave true meaning to his comrades’ deaths by ending the Rumbling and ending Eren. He may not have his Ackerman strength anymore, but he truly embodied at the end what the Survey Corps stood for. He dedicated all his heart. Oh, and he smiles again.

As for Historia, in Chapter 69, she became the True Queen of the Walls, a member of the real royal family. 

Unfortunately, she has been a puppet queen for some time- until now- when the Jaeger faction has taken over the island, and she must use all her mind, strength, and resources to negotiate peace, or Eldians and the rest of the world are going to fight forever now. 

By the way, Historia isn’t present on the podium when the Jaeger Faction is rallying the support of the crowd. She’s present here, awaiting her old friends to negotiate peace. Tell me what that says about her character.

It’s all these subtle details that just make you wonder. Could Isayama have given us all the answers we need, just in secret? It’s quite the conspiracy if you ask me!

...

Bonus round. I highly recommend reading this post about some features that the child shares with Levi’s side of the Ackerman clan. 

I just love how this one image of Historia being pregnant in the anime with ridiculously long hair makes her resemble Levi’s own mother, Kuchel, who had long hair as well. And Kuchel has dark eyes here.

[warrioreowynofrohan]

The Leithian Reread - Canto VI (Beren in Nargothrond)

While The Leithian-related plot of this canto focuses on Beren in Nargothrond, almost the first half of it is a brief summary of the Silmarillion from Return of the Noldor through to the Dagor Bragollach. Which I love, since those events for the most part aren’t coverered in Tolkien’s other poetic works, and I prefer the poetry structure of the Leithian to Tolkien’s other (non-rhyming, more Rohirric-sounding) pieces of epic poetry.

This is a good place to note, for readers who are new to the poetic Leithian, that some names are different from the Silm (Tolkien started a revised version with Silm-consistent names, but he didn’t get very far with it). The Noldor are referred to as the Gnomes - a rough transliteration of their elvish name into a human language, drawing from the Greek for ‘knowledge’. Tolkien later rejected this on the basis that the word was already too associated with entirely different mental images, but given how transformative his use of ‘elves’ was (typical fantasy elves are now almost all inspired by his ideas of tall, beautiful, long-lived immortals), we might have completely different concepts of ‘gnome’ now if he’s gone ahead with it. 

The second big diiference is that Finrod is referred to exclusively as Felagund - his Dwarven honorific - whereas his father Finarfin is referred to as Finrod. Tolkien had a lot of difficulty with Finarfin’s name and it went through a pile of different iterations. There are also other minor differences, like Finwë being referred to as Finn.

Returning to the poem - it’s hard to pick a favourite part of the summary section; I love so much of it. This is the closest I’m ever going to get to the Noldolantë (Tolkien wrote a couple pages of another poem focusing on the Return of the Noldor, but I don’t like it as much).

The mists were mantled round the towers

of the Elves’ white city by the sea.

There countless torches fitfully

did start and twinkle, as the Gnomes

were gathered to their fading homes

and thronged the wide and winding stair

that led to the wide echoing square.

There Fëanor mourned his jewels divine,

the Silmarils he made. Like wine

his wild and potent words them fill;

a great host hearkens deathly still.

But all he said both wild and wise

half truth and half the fruit of lies

that Morgoth sowed in Valinor

in other songs and other lore

recorded is.

There’s such a wonderful sense of place and of mood in those lines; the Return of the Noldor has always been one of the most compelling parts of the Silmarillion for me. In the same way that Elves have a different sense of time than Men, Valar must have a different sense of it than Elves; they’re acting, but within their own sense of time, and for the Noldor, in the wake of the Darkening, the desire to do something rather than wait around for the Valar (who are looking more deeply fallible than they ever have before) to fix things must be extremely powerful. And Fëanor’s presence and words and fury, brought into that environment, is like fire to oil. To be active and purposeful in the face of disaster, rather than passive and directionless - that’s a powerful force. The poem also acknowledges that Fëanor’s not entirely wrong (“half truth and half the fruit of lies”), however deeply distorted his ideas about both the Valar and the Secondborn are. As I’ve said before, I think that Eru intended for the Elves to be in Middle-earth, not Valinor; the entire Leithian is centred around the value and importance of an elf-human relationship that continues to affect the history of Arda down through the Third Age (and, in its symbolic meaning, even further).

There’s also a line about the Oath: Who calls these names in witness may not break his oath, though earth and heaven shake. The texts on the Oath are somewhat contradictory on its breakability, though they are united on its importance and severity (it is decidedly not just words, or something that can be casually laid aside). The Silmarillion says “so sworn, good or evil, an oath may not be broken, and it shall pursue oathkeeper and oathbreaker to the world’s end”. But that contradicts itself - it it can’t be broken, then there can’t be oathbreakers. Maedhros and Maglor’s final conversation at the end of the Silm is more illuminating to me: it’s not a matter of the Oath being physically or psychologically impossible to break (if it was, how did they go the 400 years of the Siege of Angband without actively attacking Morgoth?), but of fearing the fate they have called down upon themselves (the Everlasting Darkness) if they do break it. (Plus a lot of sunk cost fallacy, by that point.) Which is considerably less sympathetic: murdering innocent people in order to avoid the consequences of your own bad decision is, ultimately, the choice that innocents should bear the cost of your own choices, which is ultimately a form of cowardice. (Not to mention the inherently contradictory nature of saying “I’m going to do evil so that I won’t be damned,” which Maglor eventually realizes.)

(More of my thoughts on the Oath here.)

This is also one of the few texts we have that actually states the Oath (or rather, part of it; the invocations are not included) rather that describing it. I think all the ones we have are in Tolkien’s poetry; there’s no prose version.

The Kinslaying is not mentioned in this Canto; that’s saved for the Duel of Felagund and Sauron in the next one. But this canto does include possibly the only poetic rendition we get of Fingon rescuing Maedhros from Thangorodrim:

Fingon daring alone went forth

and sought for Maidros where he hung;

in torment terrible he swung,

his wrist in band of forgéd steel,

from a sheer precipice where reel

the dizzy senses staring down

from Thangorodrim’s stony crown.

The song of Fingon Elves yet sing,

captain of armies, Gnomish king...

They sing how Maidros free he set,

and stayed the feud that slumbered yet

between the children proud of Finn.

After describing the Siege of Angband and the Long Peace, the narrative moves on to the Dagor Bragollach, and specifically Barahir’s rescue of Felagund. (And in this account, as in the Silm, Orodreth is Felagund’s brother, not his nephew.) From there, it returns to the main story and Beren’s arrival in Nargothrond. It could not be more different than his reception in Menegroth:

When the ring [of Barahir] was seen

they bowed before him, though his plight

was poor and beggarly...

Fair were the words of Narog’s king

to Beren, and his wandering

and all his feuds and bitter wars

recounted soon.

Regarding Felagund’s fulfillment of his Oath to Barahir, and the betrayal by Celegorm and Curufin, and the abandonment by the Elves of Nargothrond, I’ve already written a fair bit in my (much earlier) posts on Finrod & Nargothrond and Celegorm & Curufin. I’ll add a few additional points here.

First, I do not think it was irresponsible of Felagund to leave Nargothrond to go with Beren. If his presence as king of Nargothrond was important (and I think it was; basically all of Nargothrond’s decisions after he leaves are bad, and he’s been the peacemaker and diplomat between different elven and human groups throughout the Silmarillion up to this point) that is all the more reason why Nargothrond is indebted to Barahir and his descendents, since Felagund would already be dead if not for Barahir’s actions.

Secondly - and I’m getting this from Philosopher at Large’s Leithian Script, which emphasizes it very heavily - Felagund, as liege-lord to the Bëorings, has certain obligations to them even outside of his oath, including providing military assistance in times of need. Usual chains of communication have been cut since the Bragollach, so Felagund’s only just now finding out that the Bëorings have, aside from Beren, been basically exterminated; and that Barahir and later Beren spent years fighting a very long-odds guerrilla war without ever asking or recieving assistance, while Nargothrond was safe and largely inactive. This is going to strongly enhance Felagund’s (legitimate) sense of indebtedness to Barahir’s kin.

Thirdly, Celegorm is often treated as something of a meathead (because he acts like one; all his decisions are terrible in both moral and practical terms), but this sequence makes it clear that both he and Curufin inherited their father’s rhetorical abilities; his speech is specifically compared to Fëanor’s speech in Tirion (Many wild and potent words he spoke, and as before in Tûn awoke his father’s voice their hearts to fire, so now dark fear and brooding ire he cast on them...) But ironically, the direction of Curufin’s speech is opposite to Fëanor’s - while Fëanor’s was about rallying the Noldor to fight Morgoth, Curufin’s is about discouraging them from fighting Morgoth, by frightening them, and he does it so effectively that it’s unlikely Nargothrond would have showed up at the Nirnaeth Arnoediad even without the additional motivation of being furious at the brothers. And continuing on that theme, the brothers are setting themselves against the first real attempt anyone has ever made to regain the Silmarils from Morgoth. A mission that resulted in Beren and Lúthien having one Silmaril, and the Fëanorians having the other two, would obviously be better in terms of their goals than all three remaining in Morgoth’s posession, but they don’t appear to even consider it. This is part of a long thread throughout the Silmarillion - every action taken directly in service to the Oath aids Morgoth and harms the Eldar.

The people of Nargothrond, by the way, really do not come off well here - they’re rejecting their king for someone who has just threatened violence against them all (Celegorm’s speech is basically threatening them with another Kinslaying here and now).

And as a final point - what Celegorm and Curufin do here is one of the worst crimes imaginable within their society. The sacredness of the relationship between guests and hosts (and they are guests in Nargothrond, having fled there from the Bragollach) is a major theme in a lot of pre-modern societies. People familiar with A Song of Ice and Fire will remember its importance there; for a more historical source, Dante places ‘traitors to guests and hosts’ in the ninth circle of hell in the Divine Comedy and goes beyond that to state that people who betray their guests or hosts go directly to hell even before they die, while their body becomes inhabited by a demon for the rest of their life. From this betrayal, to the usurpation of Nargothrond, to the attempted rape of Lúthien, to the attempted murder of Lúthien, to Celegorm’s servants leaving Eluréd and Elurín - young children - to die of exposure, everything we see from the brothers from this point on is them committing crimes that are literally unthinkable to elves. Which is to say that the Eldar might have found Dante’s explanation pretty credible.

[writtingrose]

Seth x Reader; Wedding Bliss

Summary; Wedding day. Include; Being forced into a romantic storyline a few years prior as well as wearing a bracelet he bought on their first date. First dance is to ‘Still into You’ by Paramore. Wedding dress is like Becky Lynch’s 2019 HOF look. Beck is also her ‘best man.’ Use of real name; Melissa Mclelland

DISCLAIMER; My family is Southern Baptist. So, I’ve written the wedding as it would happen in my church, to the best of my knowledge. If that bothers you, I'm sorry, but it was the most comfortable and easiest way for me to write it. Also, I'm sure I mixed things up but just go with it.

 Word Count; Not including Lyrics; 1630

 Requested by, my girl @biforbecky2belts

 **************

   As Melissa stood, waiting for the music to start, she couldn't help but think about the events that lead to this moment. A slow smiled spread across her face as she thought about Seth and her relationship. Things hadn't been easy in the beginning. Matter of fact, they hadn't even really gotten along at the start.

Melissa sighed as she walked down the halls of the arena, heading for Hunter and Stephanie's office as she had been asked to do. She tried to shake the nerves as best she could but it wasn't helping. The last time they had called someone into their office at such short notice, it had been to fire them without reason. Being an intern commentator working under Corey Graves, she always worried when the bosses wanted to talk to her.

Reaching the door, she knocked gently. “Mr. and Mrs. McMahon?”

Once they called out a reply she slowly pushed the door open, stepping inside to see Seth Rollins already seated in front of the Mahogany desk. Stephanie smiled at her, standing beside her husband as she gestured for Melissa to sit as well.

”Come on in Melissa.” She smiled. “You're not in trouble or anything.” 

Melissa exhaled and relaxed a bit, making her way over to the vacant chair before sitting down. Seth smiled over at her, shooting her a playful wink as she rolled her eyes.

She had heard all about Seth and his player ways. Shed never admit it to anyone else but she had always had a crush on him. Though, she knew better. Seth has a reputation that preceded him for being a notorious player. It was rare he was photographed with the same woman twice and had started to really tarnish the name of The Shield, let alone WWE.

”I'm glad you could join us Ms. Mclelland.” Hunter smiled up at her and she found herself returning it. “As you can see, this involves Mr. Rollins as well.”

She nodded and waited for them to continue. She already had an idea what this was about, most likely a storyline, but she didn't want to steal their thunder so to speak.

”I'm sure you're aware, Mr. Rollins has quite a reputation with the media. One we need to get a handle on before it ruins his career any further.”

Melissa raised her eyebrow. ”Yes sir, I've seen a few articles about his infidelity. I'm just not sure how I'm needed in this?”

Stephanie exchanged a look with her husband, a slow smile spreading across her face as she turned back to the two in front of them.

”Funny you should mention that Melissa,” she began, smirking at the pair. “we’d like Seth and you to engage in a romantic storyline, just for a few months until the heat dies down.”

If she had been drinking she, most likely, would have spewed it all over the desk as she raised her eyebrow once more. “E-Excuse me?”

”Seth has already agreed to it. We know its not ideal, however it would be very beneficial for the both of you. It could lead to an opportunity for you to gain a permanent place here with WWE and it would give the illusion Seth is cleaning up his act.”

She continued to look at her bosses, to Seth, back to her bosses. To say she was shocked would have been an understatement; she was completely blind sided.

Of course, after some thought and consideration, she had agreed. In the beginning, it had been rather rough. Seth wanted next to nothing to do with her and usually ignored her unless it was part of the storyline. Most of the time, she’d just talk to Dean and Roman who seemed to like her pretty well. No, it wasn’t until about eight months into the storyline that Seth began to change.

It was little things at first, such as his hand lingering on her lower back a little longer after promos and longing glances backstage. By then, the whole reason for the arrangement had worked itself out and there wasn’t a reason to keep it going. However, neither of them could bring themselves to end it.

The arrangement had begun in mid-January and it was in mid-August Seth asked on a first date; one that was because they genuinely liked each other, not because they had been told to do it. Seth had set the whole thing up, taking her to see one of their favorite bands; swaying to the music even though it was a heavier sound, not a care in the world.

Flashing back to the present, she found herself looking down at the Bring Me the Horizon bracelet he had bought her on that very date. It didn’t really match the matte black, deep V-neck, slight fit and flare, with an open quarter sleeve wedding dress she wore but she didn’t care. It would be her somethings old, having gotten it two years prior.

Beside her Becky Lynch, her ‘best man’ smiled reassuringly as the music started.

“Remember lass, count te five and follow me down. Take it slow as ye need, he’ll be waitin.”

Melissa smiled and nodded as Becky quickly hugged her, carful not to disturb the bouquet in her hands, before turning and starting down the aisle; all the guests already standing. As she counted to five and started down herself, her eyes scanned the alter, quickly scanning over Dean and Romans smiling faces before finding Seth. Their eyes locked, tears evident in the corner of his eyes as one rolled down her cheek. Suddenly, her nerves melted away and she wanted to run down the aisle, throw her arms around him, and kiss him. Thankfully, she refrained.

She spent most of the ceremony in a daze, until it came to the vows.

“Now, I believe the bride and groom have prepared their own vows, yes?’” The pastor smiled as he looked between them as they nodded. “Ms. Mclelland, you’ll go first.”

Melissa took a deep breath and exhaled slowly as she looked up at him.

“Seth, it is clear to me now, that everything in my life has led me to you.” She paused and sniffled lightly. “I think back on all of my choices and consider even the bad ones blessed. Only because, if I had done a single thing differently, I might never have met you and gotten the chance to become your wife.”

Seth smiled and lifted his hand quickly to wipe a tear threatening to roll down his face.

“Melissa, I promise to be there for you in cold winter mornings to warm you, on soft springs to watch our love grow, in our summers to play in the light of the sun, and in our autumn to kiss your fingers and say it has been worth it.” He smiled and stared lovingly into her eyes. “Every moment of our love.”

The pastor smiled again before gesturing for the rings, Dean stepping forward and handing them over.

“Melissa Mclelland, do you take Seth Rollins to be your lawfully wedded husband?”

I do.” She smiled as Seth slid the ring onto her finger.

Seth Rollins,” The pastor turned to look at him. “Do you take Melissa Mclelland to be your lawfully wedded wife?”

“I do.” Seth nodded quickly, Melissa sliding the ring onto his finger where it would set for the rest of their lives.

“By the power granted to me, by the state of Iowa, I now pronounce you husband and wife.” The pastor smirked gently. “You may kiss your bride, Mr. Rollins.”

Seth smiled widely before cupping Melissa's cheeks, pressing his lips firmly and passionately to hers as the crowd erupted into cheers and claps.

They quickly made their way back down the aisle, followed by the wedding party, and headed for the reception. Since the ceremony had been inside, they opted for an outdoor reception, the setting sun and fairy lights they had hung lightly the small meadow perfectly. It was everything they envisioned and more as they moved through the light dinner and cake cutting. It wasnt long before it came to be time for the dance.

As Seth led her to the dance floor, an acoustic version of ‘Still into You’ began to play.

 Cant count the years on one hand that

we’ve been together

I need the other one to hold you

Make you feel, make you feel better

Its not a walk in the park to love each

Other

But when our fingers interlock, cant deny,

Cant deny, you’re worth it

 Seth pulled Melissa to him gently, holding one of her hands in his as the other rested on the small of her back, her head resting on his chest as they began to sway.

 Cause after all this time

I’m still into you

I should be over all the butterflies but

I’m into you, I’m into you

And even baby on our worst nights

I’m into you, ‘Im into you

Let ‘em wonder how we got this far,

Cause I don’t really need to wonder at all

Yeah, after all this time

I’m still into you

 “Are you happy Mrs. Rollins?” Seth smiled down at his wife, loving the way her new title rolled off his tongue.

“Happier than I ever could have imagined Mr. Rollins.” She peered up at him and pressed an loving kiss to his lips as other couples joined then little by little on the floor.

 Recount the night that I first met your

Mother

And on the drive back to my house I told

You that, I told you that I loved ya

You felt the weight of the world fall of

Your shoulder

And to your favorite song we sang along.

To the start of forever

 She moved her hands to rest on his chest as both of his rested on the small of her back.

“I don’t think I’ve told you yet how beautiful you look.” He smiled as he rubbed his thumb up and down in the spot it was. “I’m the luckiest man alive.”

“And you,” she beamed. “I’ll never get use to how good you look in a tux. We’ll have to thank Hunter and Stephanie again.”

Seth chuckled low in his throat as he too reflected on what had started their love story for a moment. It was true, he had made a lot of mistakes in his life, as everyone does. However, he no longer regarded them as mistakes, as they had led him to the love of his life. Instead, he thought of them as small blessings, thought he was too blind to see it at the time. Blessings he’d always be grateful for. As would she.

Some things just, some things just make

Sense

And one of those things is you and I

Some things just, some things just make, sense

And even after all this time

I’m still into you

Baby not a day goes by that I’m not into

You

  There ya are lovies! A very sweet, romantic, wedding day Seth fic. This was spelling and grammar checked by Microsoft Word 2016 as are all my fics from here on out. So, please, if you see any mistakes be kind about them. ALL feed back is loved and appreciated; tell me why you loved it or tell me why you hated it.

 Until next time, Rose xx

Tag forever list: @moxleysbaby @darkxhuntress @biforbecky2belts @bethany99stuff-blog @sophiewolfheart-blog

[thecoleopterawithana]

Hi, I just found out your blog, and I really like it! Lots of things about John and Paul. I find their relationship very interesting and intriguing. About LSD, why do you think it took Paul so long to take it with John? I remember reading somewhere that Paul took it in the end of 1965 or in then begging of 1966 with some of his friends from London, but somehow he didnt want to take it with John. Do you think he was afraid?

Hey there, @righimoraes! I’m glad you’re enjoying what you came across so far! And yeah, your choice of words is absolutely perfect; I think it was those very same characteristics that captivated me so much in the first place (besides the utter beauty involved in a creative process of this magnitude).

I must warn you, this got terribly out of hand, so prepare for a proper testament! But I’d love it if you showed the patience to plough through to the end and let me know what you think!

Now, you can’t begin to imagine how happy I was when you brought up the LSD! Because, in my personal opinion, if there is a change in tune in the middle of this whole symphony that can be described as ‘intriguing’ it is that 1st acid trip they took together. For me, it’s only surpassed in terms of sheer mysteriousness by India.  But let’s look at the timeline that preceded it first.

As the story goes, John and George were the first to unwittingly come into contact with the famous lysergic acid diethylamide 25, somewhen between March and April of 1965, in the London home of Dr John Riley, George’s cosmetic dentist. 

The experience, as they describe it, was fantastic and life-changing. 

We’d just sat down and ordered our drinks when suddenly I feel the most incredible feeling come over me. It was something like a very concentrated version of the best feeling I’d ever had in my whole life. It was fantastic. I felt in love, not with anything or anybody in particular, but with everything. Everything was perfect, in a perfect light, and I had an overwhelming desire to go round the club telling everybody how much I loved them – people I’d never seen before.

- George Harrison, Anthology

John too seemed to have a rather good trip, as he fondly recalls all the crazy shenanigans they got up to that night.

George somehow or another managed to drive us home in his Mini. We were going about ten miles an hour, but it seemed like a thousand. And Pattie was saying, ‘Let’s jump out and play football, there’s these big rugby poles’ and things like that. I was getting all this sort of hysterical jokes coming out, like with speed, because I was always on that, too. George was going, ‘Don’t make me laugh!’ Oh God! It was just terrifying. But it was fantastic.

- John Lennon, Lennon Remembers by Jann Wenner

So amazingly reality-shattering was the whole ordeal, that the two Beatles felt it was crucial to share this new-found enlightenment with the rest of the band.

John and I had decided that Paul and Ringo had to have acid, because we couldn’t relate to them any more. Not just on the one level – we couldn’t relate to them on any level, because acid had changed us so much. It was such a mammoth experience that it was unexplainable: it was something that had to be experienced, because you could spend the rest of your life trying to explain what it made you feel and think. It was all too important to John and me. So the plan was that when we got to Hollywood, on our day off we were going to get them to take acid. We got some in New York; it was on sugar cubes wrapped in tinfoil and we’d been carrying these around all through the tour until we got to LA.

- George Harrison, Anthology

And so, on 25 August 1965, while on break from their tour, John and George share the wonders of LSD with Ringo. Roadies Neil Aspinall and Mal Evans respectively partake and stay straight to keep an eye on things. Paul declines.

Curiously, it was a particular encounter in this LA party that inspired John to write ‘She Said She Said’.

He was describing an acid trip he’d been on. We didn’t want to hear about that! We were on an acid trip and the sun was shining and the girls were dancing and the whole thing was beautiful and Sixties, and this guy – who I really didn’t know; he hadn’t made Easy Rider or anything – kept coming over, wearing shades, saying, “I know what it’s like to be dead,” and we kept leaving him because he was so boring! And I used it for the song, but I changed it to 'she'” instead of 'he’. It was scary. You know, a guy… when you’re flying high and [whispers] 'I know what it’s like to be dead, man.’ I remembered the incident. Don’t tell me about it! I don’t want to know what it’s like to be dead!

- John Lennon, All We Are Saying by David Sheff

In the same way Paul is absent from this episode, he is notably not featured in the Revolver track itself.

And so begins the months-long effort (especially on John’s part), to try and pressure Paul into dropping acid with them (him).

Paul felt very out of it 'cause we were all a bit cruel. It’s like, 'We’re taking it and you’re not.' 

- John Lennon, Lennon Remembers by Jann Wenner

As you see, making him feel excluded was one of the prefered methods of manipulation. And it came both in the form as literal exclusions from the song making process (see above) and perhaps more insidious attempts at eliciting jealousy. I think one of the pawns in John’s famous ‘mind games’ ended up being George himself. The latter seemed quite happy to fill the vacancy as the main travel companion, the one with the shared life experiences, and all the closeness that brought.   

After taking acid together, John and I had a very interesting relationship. That I was younger or I was smaller was no longer any kind of embarrassment with John. Paul still says, 'I suppose we looked down on George because he was younger.’ That is an illusion people are under. It’s nothing to do with how many years old you are, or how big your body is. It’s down to what your greater consciousness is and if you can live in harmony with what’s going on in creation. John and I spent a lot of time together from then on and I felt closer to him than all the others, right through until his death. As Yoko came into the picture, I lost a lot of personal contract with John; but on the odd occasion I did see him, just by the look in his eyes I felt we were connected.

- George Harrison, Anthology

Finally, John - his idol, his hero - regarded him as an equal! 

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not trying to belittle John and George’s relationship, because the dynamic was also fascinating, and it was with each other that they could explore the more spiritual questions of their existence, something they couldn’t quite do with the more down-to-earth pair of Paul and Ringo. But that doesn’t invalidate the fact that the person John seemed most desperate to share this incredibly intimate experience with was Paul. 

On his part, Paul was, as you correctly supposed, rather afraid. We must remember that he was always the most cautious out of all the four. As he put it:

John – he’s got movement. He’s a very fast mover. He sees new things happening and he’s away. Me – I’m conservative. I feel I need to check things. I was last to try pot and LSD and floral clothes. I’m slower than John, the least likely to succeed in class.

- Paul McCartney, The Beatles by Hunter Davies

In the Anthology, he spells it out quite clearly.

But I really was… frightened of that kind of stuff. Cus it’s what you’re taught when you’re younger! ‘Hey! Watch out for them devil drugs!’. So… so when acid came ‘round, we’d heard you’re never the same. It alters your life and you’ll never be the same again. And I think John was rather excited by that prospect; I think I was rather frightened by that prospect! [huffs] Just what I need! You know? To have some funny little thing where I never get back… home again! You know? Oh, jeez, you know? May not be the greatest move… So I delayed. And I was seen to sort of stall a little bit, I think, within the group. Cus a lot of peer pressure- I mean, talk about peer pressure! The Beatles?

Paul McCartney, Anthology

It must have been a rough few months of resisting for Paul, as he recounts multiple times how straining it was to be the one on the side while your band, your closest family, continues to increase the rift between you in an effort to make you jump. 

Thoroughly worn down, Paul finally capitulates on 13 December 1965. That night, John and Paul had returned to the Scotch of St James nightclub, where on the previous day the Beatles had their end of tour celebrations. There they met  The Who’s John Entwistle and the Pretty Things’ former drummer Viv Prince, but most importantly Nicky Browne, Tara Browne’s wife, who invites them all back to their London home on Eaton Row. Paul and some others accept the offer. John declines.

This time, when Tara Brown suggests they drop acid, Paul relents.

I was more ready for the drink or a little bit of pot or something. I’d not wanted to do it, I’d held off like a lot of people were trying to, but there was massive peer pressure. And within a band, it’s more than peer pressure, it’s fear pressure. It becomes trebled, more than just your mates, it’s, 'Hey, man, this whole band’s had acid, why are you holding out? What’s the reason, what is it about you?’ So I knew I would have to out of peer pressure alone. And that night I thought, well, this is as good a time as any, so I said, 'Go on then, fine.’ So we all did it.

- Paul McCartney, Many Years From Now by Barry Miles

Of that first trip itself, Paul had this to say:

It was such a mind-expanding thing. I saw paisley shapes and weird things, and for a guy who wasn’t that keen on getting that weird, there was a disturbing element to it. I remember looking at my shirtsleeves and seeing they were dirty and not being too pleased with that, whereas normally you wouldn’t even notice. But you noticed and you heard. Everything was supersensitive.

- Paul McCartney, Many Years From Now by Barry Miles

You’ll notice that contrary to the other Beatles’ recounts of their experiences while on LSD, Paul’s are often described with more negative words, with ‘disturbing’ being a recurring adjective. 

Now, if you are wondering why Paul took LSD with a group of acquaintances but not with his own band (or rather John), that’s when we enter the realm of speculation. Might it have been a matter of pride, a small victory in the way of ‘okay, I saw what it was all about, but on my terms, not because you pushed me into doing it with you’? Might have. 

But again, here (as in most places) I find that the most likely motivator was fear. There was, after all, a lot more at stake in a life-changingly intimate experience with your best friend and partner – the same partner with whom you’re not entirely sure just how intimate you want/should/can be – than with a bunch of strangers. So Paul probably would rather sacrifice the heavy significance John was sure to place on ‘first times’, in order to more cautiously scout the whole affair. If this is the motivation behind these events, then it should be seen as a sign of just how important his relationship with John was to him, that he was so careful not to screw it up. (What a pity then that John himself seemed to require big bold moves, entire leaps of faith, as a declaration of true affection…)

Meanwhile, John had become increasingly enthralled with the escapism offered by acid and used it regularly. As his at the time wife, Cynthia - for whom the intimacy suggested by the chemical felt false and manufactured - recounts:

When John was tripping I felt as if I was living with a stranger. He would be distant, so spaced-out that he couldn’t talk to me coherently. I hated that, and I hated the fact that LSD was pulling him away from me. I wouldn’t take it with him so he found others who would. Within weeks of his first trip, John was taking LSD daily and I became more and more worried. I couldn’t reach him when he was tripping, but when the effects wore off he would be normal until he took it again.

- Cynthia Lennon, John

For Paul, however, his experiences with LSD seemed not to have freed him of his doubts, for it would only be on 21 March 1967, more than a year later, that he would finally choose to take acid with his songwriting partner, in the well-known episode.

While recording the song ‘Getting Better’ for Sgt Pepper, John mistakenly took and LSD pill instead of a stimulant.

I thought I was taking some uppers, and I was not in a state of handling it. I can’t remember what album it was but I took it and then [whispers] I just noticed all of a sudden I got so scared on the mike. I said, 'What was it?’ I thought I felt ill. I thought I was going cracked. Then I said, 'I must get some air.’ They all took me upstairs on the roof, and George Martin was looking at me funny. And then it dawned on me. I must have taken acid. And I said, 'Well, I can’t go on, I have to go.’ So I just said, 'You’ll have to do it and I’ll just stay and watch.’ I just [became] very nervous and just watching all of a sudden. 'Is it alright?’ and they were saying, 'Yeah.’ They were all being very kind. They said, 'Yes, it’s alright.’ And I said, 'Are you sure it’s alright?’ They carried on making the record.

- John Lennon, Lennon Remembers by Jann Wenner

In this particular instance, John is misremembering, for the session did not proceed when the others realised what was happening. As George Martin recalls it:

We stood there for a minute or two, with John swaying gently against my arm. ‘I’m feeling better,’ he announced. Then he looked up at the stars. 'Wow..’ he intoned. 'Look at that! Isn’t that amazing?“. I followed his gaze. The stars did look good but they didn’t look that good. It was very unlike John to be over the top in that way. I stared at him. He was wired-pin-sharp and quivering, resonating away like a human tuning fork.No sooner had John uttered his immortal words about the stars than George and Paul came bursting out on the roof. They had come tearing up from the studio as soon as they found out where we were.They knew why John was feeling unwell. Maybe everyone else did, too - everyone except for father-figure George Martin here!It was very simple. John was tripping on LSD. He had taken it by mistake, they said - he had meant to take an amphetamine tablet. That hardly made any difference, frankly; the fact was that John was only too likely to imagine he could fly, and launch himself off the low parapet that ran around the roof. They had been absolutely terrified that he might do so. I spoke to Paul about this night many years later, and he confirmed that he and George had been shaken rigid when they found out we were up on the roof. They knew John was having a what you might call a bad trip. John didn’t go back to Weybridge that night; Paul took him home to his place, in nearby Cavendish Road. They were intensely close, remember, and Paul would do almost anything for John. So, once they were safe inside, Paul took a tablet of LSD for the first time, 'So I could get with John’ as he put it- be with him in his misery and fear.What about that for friendship?

- George Martin, Anthology

He seemed especially fond of Paul’s attitude, for he reiterates the point in his own memoir.

Paul’s thoughtfulness in going home with John was typical of one of the best sides of his character.

- George Martin, All You Need Is Years

And so Paul drove both of them back to his home in Cavendish, where the moment had finally presented itself for him to go on a little journey with John.

I thought, ‘Maybe this is the moment where I should take a trip with him. It’s been coming for a long time. It’s often the best way, without thinking about it too much, just slip into it. John’s on it already, so I’ll sort of catch up.’ It was my first trip with John, or with any of the guys. We stayed up all night, sat around and hallucinated a lot.

Me and John, we’d known each other for a long time. Along with George and Ringo, we were best mates. And we looked into each other’s eyes, the eye contact thing we used to do, which is fairly mind-boggling. You dissolve into each other. But that’s what we did, round about that time, that’s what we did a lot. And it was amazing. You’re looking into each other’s eyes and you would want to look away, but you wouldn’t, and you could see yourself in the other person. It was a very freaky experience and I was totally blown away.

There’s something disturbing about it. You ask yourself, 'How do you come back from it? How do you then lead a normal life after that?’ And the answer is, you don’t. After that you’ve got to get trepanned or you’ve got to meditate for the rest of your life. You’ve got to make a decision which way you’re going to go.

I would walk out into the garden – 'Oh no, I’ve got to go back in.’ It was very tiring, walking made me very tired, wasted me, always wasted me. But 'I’ve got to do it, for my well-being.’ In the meantime John had been sitting around very enigmatically and I had a big vision of him as a king, the absolute Emperor of Eternity. It was a good trip. It was great but I wanted to go to bed after a while.

I’d just had enough after about four or five hours. John was quite amazed that it had struck me in that way. John said, 'Go to bed? You won’t sleep!’ 'I know that, I’ve still got to go to bed.’ I thought, now that’s enough fun and partying, now … It’s like with drink. That’s enough. That was a lot of fun, now I gotta go and sleep this off. But of course you don’t just sleep off an acid trip so I went to bed and hallucinated a lot in bed. I remember Mal coming up and checking that I was all right. 'Yeah, I think so.’ I mean, I could feel every inch of the house, and John seemed like some sort of emperor in control of it all. It was quite strange. Of course he was just sitting there, very inscrutably.

- Paul McCartney, Many Years From Now by Barry Miles

There it is then. The main event. And it was just as profoundly intimate as they’d hoped/feared. 

I urge you, again, not to get lost on the fantastically romantic imagery of eye contact to the point of merging, but to notice the slightly uneasy light in which Paul paints the entire episode, with the resurgence of ’disturbing’. And so my tag for the whole LSD scene is born: “How do you come back from it?”

Because these two got to the point of losing their own identities in the other, they truly became One, and they were not ready for it. It was everything John wanted and everything Paul was trying to avoid, and I think it started to destroy them.

And even if John thought this was the level of closeness he ought to be at with Paul (for reasons that I tried to express in the first posted opinion of mine), even he reckoned later that the LSD induced smashing of his ego was more detrimental to his mental and emotional health than beneficial.

I had many [bad trips]. Jesus Christ. I stopped taking it 'cause of that. I mean I just couldn’t stand it. I dropped it for I don’t know how long. Then I started taking it just before I met Yoko. I got a message on acid that you should destroy your ego, and I did. I was reading that stupid book of Leary’s and all that shit. We were going through a whole game that everybody went through. And I destroyed meself. I was slowly putting meself together after Maharishi, bit by bit, over a two-year period. And then I destroyed me ego and I didn’t believe I could do anything. I let Paul do what he wanted and say, them all just do what they wanted. And I just was nothing, I was shit. And then Derek [Taylor] tripped me out at his house after he’d got back from LA. He said, 'You’re alright.’ And he pointed out which songs I’d written, and said, 'You wrote this, and you said this, and you are intelligent, don’t be frightened.’ The next week I went down with Yoko and we tripped out again, and she freed me completely, to realise that I was me and it’s alright. And that was it. I started fighting again and being a loud-mouth again and saying, 'Well, I can do this,’ and 'Fuck you, and this is what I want,’ and 'Don’t put me down. I did this.’

- John Lennon, Lennon Remembers by Jann Wenner

Paul’s overall opinion on acid was as follows:

Sometimes it was a very very deeply emotional experience, making you want to cry, sometimes seeing God or sensing all the majesty and emotional depth of everything. And sometimes you were just plain knackered, because it would be like sitting up all night in a train station, and by the morning you’ve grown very stiff and it’s not a party any more. It’s like the end of an all-nighter but you haven’t danced. You just sat. So your bum might be sore, just from sitting. I was often quite wiped out by it all but I always thought, Well, you know, everybody’s doing it.

The thing I didn’t like about acid was it lasted too long. It always wore me out. But they were great people to be around, a wacky crowd. My main problem was just the stamina you had to have. I never attempted to work on acid, I couldn’t. What’s the point of trying, love?

- Paul McCartney, Many Years From Now by Barry Miles

On 17 June 1967, the whole ‘Paul admits to taking LSD’ debacle happens, and though he defends his statement and his position to the press, by then the bands interested in the substance had started to wane, when some of the disillusionment over the whole drug-cult started settling in. 

By 26 August 1967, the Beatles had publicly renounced drugs and started looking for the answers to life’s big questions with Maharishi Mahesh Yogi and his system of Transcendental Meditation. 

(But we know how similarly those endeavours ended, with bitter disillusionment and an even greater rift within the band and John and Paul themselves. That, though, is another story.)

And in the end (for those brave few that endured this far), I too see this whole LSD dabbling as exactly what they thought it would be: life-changing. It was a definite turning point (so much so that I chronologically tag it as the Bridge of the piece) in their relationship. They had reached total togetherness. But something there, maybe the restrictions they imposed unto themselves of what is socially acceptable, maybe something even more crucial in human nature that repels us from totally losing a concept of self (despite how much escapism we sometimes desire), made it so they couldn’t handle that. And if this startling realization didn’t start, it definitely enlargened the fractures in the partnership.

But what do you guys think? I’d love to hear your opinions. Especially considering their ‘67 seemingly happy communal living. Maybe India was the true turning point. Maybe it was sooner, when they stopped touring and ‘living in each other’s pockets’. Please let me know your thoughts, and once again, thank you so much for this ask!

[unetherealfeelings]

Mahanati: Savitri Garu/Amma

 Where do I start with this one? I don't have many words to describe this film, this remarkable biopic of a woman whose story baffled, awed and tore up audiences across states? A woman whose skills and personality was light years ahead of her time, a woman whose talent seemed boundless? A woman regarded so highly among the likes of famous actors ANR and NTR? A woman whose natural ability to perform turned out to be her greatest downfall? How does one begin to talk about the greatest actress of South India; Savitri Garu? 

 She may have died three decades ago, but her life is recreated this decade, where her story and love of acting is brought alive by Director Nag Ashwin, his talented crew and the brilliant star cast of Mahanati/ Nadigaiyar Thilagam.

Mahanati truly pays homage and is a delightful yet nostalgic tribute to the legendary actress Savitri. The film focuses on the tiniest details of her life, bringing forth her most endearing moments and unpleasant habits, it focuses on the hardships that shaped Savitri’s life; from her childhood to her last breathing moments. Her long-lived quest for the truth about her father, the need to put a face to the memories that she lent from the imaginations of her mother’s stories. Having no choice but to finally find a match to that description, first in the statue of the god (vighraham) near the temple, then in her uncle who accepts her as his daughter many years later.  Then. finally in  Gemini Ganesan when he takes her in and shows her the bond between a  father and child and how fathers build a child’s perception of the world around them. Perhaps that was what she liked most in him, the comfort and shelter a father provides his child from the evil in the world and the insightful wisdom that he imparts his child with. Mahanati leaves you with a sense of despair that such a tragedy could befall such a lovely human being, yet deep admiration for the way she lived her life; honour, love and humility till her last moments.

The direction and cinematography of Mahanati are phenomenal, the vision of Nag Ashwin’s story has bled into each and every frame and scene, each scene was handled with such delicacy and care. Since the story was set in the 1940s-1980s the appropriate camera filters were used, every time a flashback to Savitri’s childhood there would be a light orange/yellow hue, the camera styles used were also a nod to the golden era. With blurred out focus or vintage frames, they shaded the visuals in pastels hues. The scenery and the backdrop of the village Savitri called her home in her formative years were exceptionally beautiful, the sunset, the greenery and the still water all looked so flawless like as if they hadn't been touched by modern civilisation and its careless tendency to destroy nature. 

Moving on to the cast that makes up this beautiful film, Keerthy Suresh plays the titular character Savitri and oh boy does she pull it off. Her look, feel, the presence that she filled the frame with was awe-inspiring. I truly had no idea that she would be so lifelike and pronounced. After a while, you can even imagine her as Savitri alive and smiling in front of your eyes. Her Telugu accent is almost perfect and you can almost believe her talking like a native Telugu ammayi (girl). The grace that she oozes playing this character is so uncanny to the actress she portrays, even when you see her unravelling and falling from her prime,  she does it with grace. Although, I mean I still have some hesitation to completely fall in love with this film, due to the fact that an actual Native Telugu speaking actress could have done as good a job. Since this film does focus on Savitri"s life and the impression she had left on the Telugu states rather than Tamil Nadu.

And then there is Dulquer Salmaan, I honestly haven't expressed this enough, but Dulquer is trying a phenomenal actor and he really truly is not living under his father's shadow. I usually believe that actors that are introduced to the industry via their famous parents turn out either having no talent in acting or having shitty attitudes. Dulquer is neither o and you can clearly see from the effort he puts in each and every screen. He even went the extra mile to learn Telugu and that makes my heart so full. I'll be the first one to admit though his Telugu is not completely fluent and proficient, it does not need to be since Gemini Ganesan was a native Tamilian and so it is very natural for his speech to have a rough edge and be leaning slightly more towards a Tamil accent. However, even then Dulquer did a fantastic job, all of the walk, the arrogance that Gemini had, the smirk. The charming part he had it down pat. Even towards the end as his negative streak is laid bear you can clearly see the love and affection he had for Savitri who he perhaps shared the greatest love story with. The affectionate way he calls his beau "Ammadi", I'm pretty sure many in the audience swooned over. 

Coming to the rest of the cast and the crew, I genuinely believed everyone was truly natural and authentic. Samantha Akkineni and Vijay Devarakonda both are skilled and refined actors who agreed to take on smaller roles because they believed it was too great a story to not bring to the masses. Though their roles were small, they portrayed a curious and dedicated journalist and shy yet talented photographer Madhuravani and Vijay Antony smoothly.  Through the process of finding out the truth of Savitri find the strength to love and stand by each other. 

Not forgetting Rajendra Prasad who plays K.V Chowdary, Savitri's paternal uncle, he is so good in his role. it is where he really shines, playing a poor and frustrated yet ambitious uncle, forced to take in his wife's widowed sister and daughter. Unable to afford a living for all of them, he has to look for creative ways to earn a living and that is where his niece comes into play. He forces Savitri to learn dance which later evolves into performing theatre where Savitri hones her acting and where she first gets her big break. All of the cameos by the actors were really good, natural and lived in, like Naga Chaitanya as ANR, Shalini's Susheela, Prakash Raj as Aluri Chakrapani, Malavika Nair ad Alamelu, Mohan Babu as S.V Ranga Rao, Manobala as P. Pullaiah and so many more.

Encompassing this masterpiece are the incredible and soothing soundtracks by Mickey J. Meyer that showcase what may be Savitri’s most memorable and outstanding moments in her life. My personal favourites are Sada Nannu and Chivaraku Migiledi, the former for the beautiful and hopeful promises and made by one’s lover and the happy time spent with them. Chivaraku Migiledi because of the haunting way, the lyrics portray the end. Chivaraku Migeledi; “Whatever is left at the end” all that was and had been, reduced to tears and the lonely solace of addiction. It is here that we see and truly believe that the end is coming near, where the happiness and success that she once tasted are ripped away from her once again, at this point the audience truly see her at her worst, a shell of a woman she was, a girl yet again wrecked by the thunderous waves of her mistakes and her unfortunate fate. 

The truth really is that this film was a mere visual adaptation of what was one of our most famous actress’s life. Yes, there were some exaggerations and cinematic misrepresentations and maybe it may have defended Savitri’s actions a few times but at its core, it did a splendid job of narrating Savitri’s life. Her fans and audience may have known of her as a superstar and those who disliked may have seen her as a bad role model, a self-destructive human being or a homewrecker. This film, for the most part, showed her as a human being someone who was just like us, someone was only as flawed as we are human. Someone who tried her best to achieve better with the circumstances life gave her, she made multiple mistakes, took some decisions that ended up costing her career and later her life but it showed how vulnerable she was. A human being, someone who may have been considered as indestructible, incapable of empathy or emotions because she was famous and an actor. The film recounted how she lived her life, the way she wanted to and she lived it fully and loved with her whole being. She was a presence that demanded attention and though it has been more than 40 years since she passed, she's still known and acknowledged not just in industry but in the regions that she captivated with her eyes and voice. Life may have moved on normally since she left this world, but thanks to the talented minds behind Mahanati, there will be a remembrance of an enchanting and extraordinary woman who shook the South Indian Film Industries with her acting. May she live forever in the hearts of the people she etched her unique mark on. Rest in peace, Ma’am you can finally breathe now. 

[nofearofwaves]

O’er Golden Halls

A lokaneweek fic

Prompts: First, Fake Dating, Marriage of Convenience, Family

FF.net link

Ao3 link

Arms flailing like jellyfish tentacles, Jane wiggled out of her cocktail dress and pulled on her pajamas. Her feet sang with aching pain, marks from her sandal straps etched in red lines across her ankles. When she collapsed on the bed, it heaved around her like a ship at sea. Maybe that was just her punch-drunk head.

The bachelorette party had been fun. Darcy didn't need to twist her arm to get Jane to admit that. Even though she would have preferred something quieter, like a board game extravaganza, she had to admit that Darcy's idea of sampling every brand of Norwegian vodka in the liquor store—along with some questionable mixers—had led to a lot of fun at the karaoke bar later.

She certainly would never forget the sight of Pepper Potts, CEO of Stark Industries, brandishing her pumps in one hand and a microphone in the other, crooning You're So Vain while Natasha streamed it directly to Tony's cellphone.

Good times.

Despite it all though, Jane knew she would be happy when the wedding was over. Of course she was excited to marry Loki, but the bustle and fuss around the affair had been exhausting. Never one to imagine her hypothetical wedding in any detail—who wanted to think about dresses or party favors when the stars beckoned?—Jane had found the sheer number of details waiting her personal approval to be a constant stream of mild to moderate irritants.

Eventually, she left most of the planning to Darcy, who not only knew her personality and interests, but had much more definite ideas of how a wedding should be than Jane did.

See above: bachelorette party.

But Loki had had some strong preferences too. He insisted upon the ceremony being held on Friday, and the venue had been his exclusive choice. Though surprised that he'd want a destination wedding, Jane couldn't fault it; there was a rugged magnificence to the cliffs overlooking the fjord, and a clear purity in the air that made her feel as though each breath was the first one she'd ever taken.

Also, being so far from civilization meant the stargazing was fantastic.

Not that she could take advantage of it now. Clouds had bloomed thick in the sky every day they'd been there, and Jane suspected she would be looking at the view through the plastic windows of an event tent. Rain was in the forecast, because of course it was.

Groaning, she shook her head. The weather, like her wedding, like her headache, was out of her control. Everything was doubled and fuzzy; Jane closed her eyes and wished for only one thing:

That she wouldn't have a hangover tomorrow.

She dreamed. Fantastic visions floated across the hazy dark field of her sleeping mind, gone before she could grasp them. Explosions of color exploded from the black—a nebula, maybe?—but she passed through in a blink.

Then she was standing in a field, tall with sweet-smelling grass. Loamy dirt was a soft carpet beneath her bare feet. Summer was heavy in the air, the atmosphere itself verdant and blooming. She tilted her head back and enjoyed a touch of hot sunlight and a breath of gentle wind on her face.

A hall rose before her, dazzling in the sunlight. Its vaulted beams were thick as cathedral pillars, carved in intricate patterns from single, colossal trees. Its doors could have welcomed a stampede of giants, who would have marveled to see the intricate whorls of wrought iron that decorated them. But the roof was the hall's crowning glory, thatched magnificently with beaten shields of soft, yielding gold. Each shield had its own crest; Jane could see animals, ciphers, writing, plants, even what looked like mathematical equations. No two were the same.

She shook her head. Something about this place struck a spark in her memory, but she couldn't think what that meant.

Her feet moved of their own volition, winding her down a footpath towards the hall.

The great doors opened as she approached, a bare sliver providing enough room for Jane to sneak through. As she did, a raucous chorus of joyous voices spilled out into the air. Moving into the smokey hall was like jumping into the middle of a carnival.

Long tables, so long they faded beyond Jane's sight, seated thousands, tens of thousands, hundreds of thousands of...well, some were people, but others...

Jane knew half a dozen alien species; the number here exceeded that by a factor of ten. None of them took special note of her as she inched up an aisle between tables, darting a glance at a face here and there. She didn't know why she was being timid. This was just a dream. A hell of a dream, but just—

"Welcome, Jane Foster. Daughter of Michael and Helen Foster. Astrophysicist. Savior of my sons."

She gaped, shaking her head as though to clear the sight of Lady Frigga from her eyes. The vision didn't fade. "Your majesty," she gasped, dipping her head, "I—what—you're," too many questions. "Where are we?"

"Ah, yes," the queen smiled, good humor beaming from her face, "I forgot. Welcome to Valhalla."

"Val—" she ran out of breath. "Am I dead?"

"By no means," Frigga held out her hand and drew her down the hall. "No, I hope and believe you have many years of life left before you. You must forgive me; when I heard news of your engagement to my son, I knew I had to speak with you. Even in death, I am a sorcerer of no mean ability. I have brought your soul here; your body remains on Midgard."

"Oh," she managed, faintly. Suddenly Frigga's arm under hers was a necessary support. Again, questions crowded her, but she couldn't decide which one should have priority. So she let Frigga continue.

"I admit, I was very surprised to hear of your connection with Loki. I can remember no women who, once beloved of Thor, spared a thought for him."

"Oh," she swallowed. "Um. I realize how it must seem, your Majesty, but Thor and I broke up—ended our relationship—as good friends. Loki and I had more in common, and the more we worked together, the more we realized it," when Frigga only smiled in reply, Jane went on, "I really want you to know that I love Loki for who he is, not because he's a prince or anything like that. I didn't like Thor for that either, but I know how it looks and I don't want you to think that I'm some kind of—"

"You needn't defend yourself to me, Jane. Your loving Loki is enough of a recommendation to be, even had I not known and liked you before. I did not bring you here to dispute your marriage. I only wanted to talk of Loki a little. He is so hard to know."

Jane couldn't argue that.

They continued down the hall in silence, any possibility of conversation drowned by loud voices on either side. Understanding now that this was Valhalla, Jane knew that everyone there must have arrived by virtue of a glorious death in battle. Many seemed to be recounting these deaths, telling ever-taller tales of desperate last stands, innocents saved, or cataclysms averted. Not the way she'd like to spend eternity, but she couldn't help but be glad, wholly glad, that there was some recompense for bravery after death.

If knowledge of the Norse gods hadn't yet shaken Earth's foundations, this definitely would.

Frigga took her into a quiet alcove, hung with tapestries of Asgard and the surrounding stars. There was nothing else there but a cask of mead, golden goblets, a rough wooden table, and a few three-legged stools. Did anyone sleep in the afterlife?

Frigga poured them both a drink and motioned Jane to a seat.

"Tell me," her eyes sparkled with warm interest, "how did it happen?"

Her tongue loosened by the strong mead, Jane launched into a description of her and Loki's staggering courtship. In retrospect, the story was tangled as a skein of yarn, with as many knots and twists as smooth, unbroken string. Jane mostly talked about their firsts: first date, first kiss, first declaration of love. Each one had its own...colorful history.

More than once Frigga laughed aloud at her descriptions of their missteps on the road to happiness. More than once, her eyes shone with tears.

"Thank you for this, Jane," she said, as Jane finished, "Hearing this has made me very happy. I would apologize for some of my son's mistrust and misdeeds, but..." her lips drew together, troubled by painful memories. "I know Loki has changed—you never knew him when he was a child—but I suppose he was always this way. Growing up under the great shadow of Odin, and the lesser one of Thor, Loki found little sunlight for himself. I favored him, as he had talents I understood, but I was only his mother."

"I know that my childhood wasn't anything like his," Jane replied, choosing her words with care, "but I understand being ignored and humiliated by the world. In a way, our shared sense of injustice brought us together. Maybe that seems petty, but...discovering that sense in another person was cathartic, in a way."

"I understand. A lifetime of slights is no easy thing to overcome," she sighed, "I only wished I had seen those slights for what they were: poisoned arrows in his heart. If I had, I might have," she shook her head, "but such thoughts do no good, now."

"Loki knew that you loved him," Jane reached out a hand to where Frigga's knotted together. "He loved—loves—loved you too. I'm sorry," she eyed her empty goblet, "I don't know...you're still alive, aren't you? I don't really know what tense to use."

Frigga smiled. "Is not love always present, even if the object of it is gone?"

Jane swallowed. Dream, vision-quest, whatever, this was way too much wisdom to process when she was getting progressively more drunk. The only solution she saw was to have more mead, and pray Frigga didn't want an answer.

But the queen's head raised, distracted. "At last," she stood, "I was wondering when he would get to bed. He was always such a night owl."

"Who?"

"Your groom," she smiled. "I will go fetch him. Please," from thin air, she plucked a wooden tray of salt bread, smoked fish, and sliced cheese and laid it on the table, "help yourself."

Jane picked off a sliver of cheese and almost groaned aloud at its creamy texture and sharp flavor. Everything in Valhalla felt, if anything, more true to its own nature than things on Earth. How could that be possible in an afterlife? Shouldn't any afterlife, by definition, be less real than real life?

Her more elevated mind wanted a debate, with rational answers. Her monkey brain thought food good and stuck with that. By the time Frigga returned, she'd eaten half a loaf of bread, two smoked herrings, and a small wheel of cheese.

Loki looked as stunned as she had, finding himself face-to-face with Frigga. Jane smiled at the childlike vulnerability and openness in his face. Wrinkles were gone from his forehead, tension from his jaw. It was as though long years of bitterness had melted away, allowing room for hope—hope for love, for redemption, for family—to revive in his heart. His fingers were interlaced with Frigga's, and though he nodded to Jane, he sat next to his mother rather than her.

She didn't resent it. How could she? He looked so peaceful.

"Your bride has been telling me of your relationship," Frigga said, pouring Loki some mead. "I cannot tell you how pleased I am that the two of you found each other."

"Yes," for the first time, Loki really looked at Jane. The smile he gave her was heartbreaking in its artless simplicity. "I never thought it possible to love someone in this way."

Her throat seized up. Jane knew his difficulties with emotional honesty, but it shook her to her core to hear so openly sentiments she only rarely heard from him.

Frigga nodded, radiating joy and contentment like the goddess she was. "There are gifts I would like to give you. If I may?"

They both nodded.

"A tradition among our people, Jane, is to braid the hair of a bride. May I do that with you?"

"Of course," she nodded, hoping that her hair hadn't knotted too badly from any drunken tossing and turning. Frigga moved to her side and drew Jane's hair between clever, nimble fingers. As she wove, she talked with Loki. Gave advice. Shared sorrows. Lanced painful sores from the past.

Jane kept silent. She knew Frigga was speaking so personally to Loki in her presence for her benefit, but it was still a conversation that deserved a veil of privacy. She listened, heart aching, as Loki—almost in a trance—confessed his insecurities, his jealousies, his faults.

Frigga would not allow him to descend into self-recrimination. As only a mother could, she helped shift blame's burden where it belonged to be. Yet she also agreed when Loki touched on truth.

Nor was the conversation solely about fault or blame. Jane laughed aloud as they recalled old jokes, well-worn stories, family history that didn't rest on pain or secrets. In a half-hour, in a year, in however long they lingered in that dreamlike hall, Jane learned more about Loki—his past, his hopes, his ambitions—than she'd learned in their five years together.

At last, Frigga placed the last pin in her hair.

"Beautiful," she said, surveying Jane up and down.

"Yes," Loki agreed, wide-eyed.

Jane blushed. "Can I see it?"

"Best wait until tomorrow," Frigga said, adjusting a curl where it lay over her forehead. "It is not finished yet."

She stood, turning to the wall. From an alcove Jane hadn't noticed—maybe it hadn't even been there—she drew a crown woven of golden straw, jeweled with fragrant violet flowers.

"My own bridal crown was lost with Asgard," she said, "so I cannot give it to you. This one is a poor substitute, but I hope you will accept it."

Jane couldn't speak, her throat so tight it felt like a fist constricting it. Tears stung her eyes and burned her nose. She didn't answer. She stood and threw her arms around Frigga, hugging her as she had longed to hug her own mother, the night before her wedding. Silent sobs shook her; Frigga stood firm.

She whispered. "Be well, Jane Foster."

Jane woke, jerking upright in bed, sheets slithering to the floor. Loki snoozed beside her, expression lax and calm with sleep. The bedroom was so familiar and mundane that, for a wild moment, Jane really believed she'd dreamed it all. Then she caught sight of her reflection in the mirror next to the bed.

A crown suited her well.

Lost in her reflection, she didn't hear Loki wake until he touched her wrist.

"Mother sent another gift," he said, nodding towards the window.

Puzzled, she followed his gaze.

Golden sunlight, heavy with pollen and summer heat, poured across the floor. It promised to be a beautiful day.

[unofferable-fic]

The Flower & The Serpent (Arthur Morgan x OFC)

Chapter 8 - A Blight for the Ages

Summary: In the early 1890s, the Van der Linde Gang were truly at their finest. Experts at stealing from the rich and giving to the poor, they’ve made a name for themselves across the West. Two of their newest recruits, a pair of rebellious Irish siblings with an unknown past, slowly find their footing and settle into their new lives as outlaws. And yet, as they grow older, threats from all sides begin to appear. A strained relationship with Colm O'Driscoll spells disaster for the gang, and no matter how far they roam across America, the world continues to change around them. If they want to survive, difficult choices must be made. No one is as they seem and the impending arrival of law and order threatens to tear the siblings, and everything they hold dear, apart. Is it too late for anyone to find a happy ending?

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Pairing: Arthur Morgan x OFC

Warnings: Language, fluff.

Word Count: 5,728

Previous Chapter    Next Chapter

Playlist: “Little Lies” — Fleetwood Mac, “My Sweet Love Ain’t Around”— Hank Williams, “Where Did You Sleep Last Night” — Nirvana

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A/N: Also available on AO3.

5th September, 1893, outside Winterset, Iowa

A couple of days have passed since Maebh, William, and I headed into Saint Charles to get information for the train, and a couple days since they bumped into an old friend. I enquired after Mícheál (and how to spell his name) this morning over coffee. According to Maebh, they met him on the ship that brought them to America. His land was bought out by the British and he was given the choice to either leave or be shot dead. It’s not like he had much of an option. After meeting on the ship, he bought a new farm not far from their own, meaning that they saw him regularly growing up. Now he owns a farm a couple miles outside town and invited them over for tea whenever they wanted to see a familiar face and catch up. It would probably be good for them to do just that — maybe speaking their own language and reliving fond memories with an old friend would be a welcome break from stealing and shooting.

Today, we got plans. Trelawny is due to swing by after being away for a while. Apparently he was contacted once Marston and Dutch has settled on a plan of action for the heist. I suppose we’ll have to wait and see how that goes. I also have to leave tomorrow to pay Eliza and Isaac a visit before we take on the train. It’s going to be a busy few days…

* * *

Josiah Trelawny’s arrival was always something that brought with it a flamboyant and grandiose flair. He could disappear for months on end and still somehow have everyone happy to see him upon his return. He was also the only one in camp who got away with this manner of living. Arthur supposed it was because he always brought useful leads and ideas with him. That, and he was a great connection for them to have. They wouldn’t have been able to do many of their heists without his intel and input.

So, when the luxurious man rode into camp, Arthur shouldn’t have been surprised to see him carrying a large sack of what he presumed to be helpful contents.

“Good to see you, Arthur!” Trelawny greeted him as he strolled up to Dutch’s tent. “And you as well, Dutch.”

“Josiah,” Arthur nodded in return. “It’s been a while.”

“I suppose it has.”

“A while or not,” Dutch began, offering the newcomer a cigar. “You’re always welcome, my friend.”

Trelawny accepted the cigar with a grin and proceeded to light it. “Such hospitality from a band of filthy degenerates!”

Dutch chuckled. “We may be filthy, but we ain’t degenerates.” He was quick to call John, Maebh, and William over to join them.

When the trio approached, Trelawny greeted them with enthusiasm. “My, you three have gotten so big since I last saw you.”

John was quick to defend them. “We ain’t kids.”

Josiah only offered sarcasm in return. “A pleasure as always, Mr Marston. I am merely stating that you were all smaller the last time I saw you.”

“It’s only been a few months,” William responded, though he greeted the man with a firm handshake. “Relax yourself.”

“Young William! Good to see you!”

“Took your time gettin’ back to us,” Maebh teased him. “Welcome back.”

“And Miss Maebh,” he said, taking her hand. “It is good to see you, dear.”

When he placed a kiss on her knuckles, the young woman only laughed. “Relax with the charm for a sec — you only just got back.”

“Why’d you call us over here anyhow?” John asked with a frown. “To flirt?”

William gestured to his shirt collar. “If you’re dyin’ for Trelawny's attention, you’ll have to undo some of those buttons first.”

“For clothes, son,” Dutch replied. “New clothes for the four a’you.”

“Wait,” William cut in, smiling slightly. “Are they new clothes for the heist?”

“As sharp as a nail, my good man,” Trelawny said before shrugging the large sack off his shoulder. “Dutch sent for me in Des Moines a few days ago once he and John had agreed on a rough plan for your upcoming heist. Knowing you would be going in disguises, I picked up outfits for you all.”

Arthur couldn’t help but smirk as William stood up straight, visibly excitable at the concept. Within the sack was four smaller bags. Trelawny had a peak inside each before he handed them out. “That is for… Arthur. And this is young William… Miss Maebh… And Mr Marston.”

Arthur peered into his bag and looked through the contents. It appeared to contain a simple but expensive looking outfit. He noted black pants, a grey shotgun coat, a waistcoat that matched, a white dress shirt, and a black dress tie. He noticed that it was expensive, but nothing too ostentatious that would draw unwanted attention or make them stick out in a crowd of wealthy travellers.

“What the hell is this?” John asked, pulling out a worn-looking black vest and white shirt.

“You’re going as an employee, of course,” Trelawny replied, smoking his cigar casually. “Dutch told me you would need one, so I contacted a friend who owed me a favour.”

Arthur noticed Maebh trying to hide an amused smirk before he too was pursing his lips together.

“Well, yeah,” John stuttered before shoving the clothes back into the bag. “But I thought you’d give ’em to Hennigan, or somethin’…”

“William? Preposterous! We thought it would suit you better.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Well, you know…” Trelawny waved a hand up and down John’s frame dismissively before quickly continuing on. “Now, I also have covers for you to use if you find yourselves in conversation that requires it. John will simply be one of the train workers. William, you will be a young salesman travelling alone across states for business, and Maebh and Arthur shall be a newlywed couple looking to buy livestock in the next state over.”

The revelation had Arthur grinning. It was always good to know that he would have someone he could trust watching his back on such an important heist. He looked at Maebh to see her already smiling at him. “Lookin’ forward to it, husband.”

“I ain’t husband material,” he admitted with a laugh. “But I’ll try my best.”

“‘Ain’t husband material’,” she repeated with a look of disbelief. “Don’t make me laugh.”

“I do love a good backstory,” William said as he studied a grey crusher hat he pulled from his bag. “It gives me somethin’ to work with so I can get into character.”

“You and Arthur will also need to trim those beards,” Josiah added, gesturing to their furry chins. “But we can wait until the day to have that done.”

Arthur let out a grumble, but said nothing when Dutch gave him a disapproving look. “It’ll grow back, Arthur.”

“Never come between a fella and his facial hair, Dutch,” Maebh joked, noting Arthur’s sour expression. “Especially not these two.”

“Here are their tickets,” Josiah announced and handed them on to Dutch for safe keeping. “You will all be seated in the carriage closest to the front of the train, and John should have the ability to move freely between most areas. That should be everything you’ll need.”

“Thank you, Josiah,” Dutch said earnestly as he placed the tickets beside his cot. “We wouldn’t be able to do this without ya and I’ll have you reimbursed for the clothes.”

“Are you goin’ t’stay for a bit?” Maebh asked curiously.

“But of course, my dear!” Trelawny replied with gusto and offered her his arm. “I have much to tell you and your brother about my travels.”

“I was hopin’ you learned more magic tricks while you were away.”

“Trust me, this magician has much to show.”

William was quick to take his sisters bag as she accepted Josiah’s arm. Arthur simply chuckled and shook his head as his old friend began a rambling tale of his apparent adventures. Once he had dropped off his own clothes in his tent, he joined the rest of them by the campfire where he continued to recount embellished stories that were probably mostly waffle. Regardless, the gang spent most of the evening around the fire, drinking and allowing Trelawny most of the floor in-between bouts of singing and music led by a happy and drunk Uncle.

Arthur was merely cheerful knowing that their plans for the train were thankfully moving swiftly and positively. The confidence within the gang was growing with each successful move — this take was going to be big.

* * *

Maebh sat on her bedroll, unable to keep her eyes from leaving her book and focusing on a busy figure not far away — Arthur.

The older man was packing a small bag with clothes and food, much like he did every few months before he dipped out for weeks on end. In that time, she had no idea where he went or what he was doing, but she couldn’t help but be inquisitive.

“Good book?” her brother asked, announcing himself as he returned from a hunting trip. He plopped himself down on the bedroll beside her. “You still on Othello? How long does it take you to bleedin’ read?”

“You ever wonder where Arthur goes on his trips?” she asked, completely ignoring his question.

William followed her stare before he offered a reply. “Uh, not particularly? I never put much thought into it.”

“I have,” she admitted, watching intently as Dutch came to offer Arthur some form of a goodbye. She got the feeling that most people in camp knew where he went on these trips. “I’m kinda curious ’bout it.”

“Why?”

“I mean, why not? What does he do in the time he’s away from camp? Is he visitin’ someone? Doin’ jobs on the side? Bounty hunter work? Oh! Or maybe he’s secretly a stage performer?”

He blinked, eyes narrowing slightly at the thought. “Okay, so maybe the possibilities are a little interestin’...”

“See? Now you’re speakin’ my language.”

As she shut her book and got to her feet, her younger brother frowned. “You goin’ to harass him?”

“Jesus, I’m only goin’ to say bye, alright? You comin’?”

He shook his head. “I already had a chat with him earlier and I promised to help Pearson with the deer I brought in. I’ll leave you to it.”

Maebh was quick to exit the tent, stretching as she stood. She ventured over to where Arthur was attaching his bag to Boadicea’s saddle. Copper the dog sniffed around nearby, circling his owner inquisitively. She grinned as Arthur gently patted the mare’s neck, cooing kind words that made the horse bob her head in delight. “You off again, Mr Morgan?”

He offered her a polite smile. “I am indeed, Miss Hennigan.”

“Will you be back in time for the train?” she asked, gently rubbing Boadicea’s muzzle.

“O’course. I’m only goin’ for a couple days this time so I’ll be back beforehand.”

She nodded before pointing to the dog. “Is he goin’ too?”

“He usually would be, but considerin’ I’m goin’ for a shorter trip, ain’t much point in bringin’ him along before leavin’ again.”

“Myself and William can keep an eye on him if you want?”

“You sure?” he asked as Maebh called the dog over. “I don’t want him to be a bother.”

“He’s no bother at all,” she assured him, reaching down to scratch Copper’s floppy ears. “I know we’re not as good company, but you’ll be alright with us, won’t ya, boy?”

She could see Arthur’s eyes flitting between them both, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Thank you. At least now I know he’ll be in good hands:”

Maebh watched as Arthur reached into his satchel and pulled out a small piece of dried meat. Copper’s ears perked up at this development and he immediately sat down obediently.

“This’ll keep you busy, boy,” Arthur cooed, handing the treat to his pet. Copper took it gently between his teeth and quickly trotted off to enjoy his gift. “He won’t bother ya much, I promise.”

“Again, he’s no bother, Arthur,” she replied with a scoff. “He’s a lovely dog so I don’t mind it.”

Even still, Arthur expressed gratitude again before mounting up and grasping the reigns in his large hands. He carefully placed his gambler hat on his head and then sighed. “I think I’m good to go...”

“Got everythin’ you need?” she asked, blocking the sunshine with her hand as she looked up at him.

“Sure do. I’ll see you in ’bout a week, Miss Hennigan. You take care o’that brother o’yours.”

“I’ll try my best.”

She stood back and gave him a wave as Arthur lead Boadicea out of camp and out of her company for a week’s time. Even still, she couldn’t ease the curiosity welling in her gut. She never asked where he was off to, mostly because she knew he wouldn’t tell her regardless. She was certain that anyone who was part of the gang before her arrival knew, but anyone after definitely did not. They all just eventually gave up asking when they never got an answer. Either way, she wondered where Arthur was going for months at a time and whether she would ever find out.

In the days after their first trip to Saint Charles, both Maebh and William had been back on a few occasions, most of which involved scouting the area down south where the robbery would be taking place. There were still details they had to sort here and there, but Dutch seemed quite happy with how things had been so far. They had time yet to get a handle on the finishing details, like more details around who they would be on the train. Or in William’s words, ‘what parts we’re playin’’. It seemed that Trelawny’s original proposals had sent William off on a tangent.

Deciding that it was best to be productive that morning despite Arthur’s absence, Maebh approached Mr Pearson as he stood over the massive stew pot. William stood nearby, skinning a deer. “Mornin’, Mr Pearson.”

“Good mornin’ to you, Miss Hennigan,” he offered in return. “What can I do you for?”

“I’m just wonderin’ if you’ve any jobs that need doin’.”

Pearson paused at his work before clicking his fingers and grabbing a small piece of paper on his table. “I have a list of supplies that need buyin’ if you’d like to take that on?”

“Might as well,” she replied and took the list he offered with a smile. “Cheers. I’ll head over to Winterset and pick them up now.”

“I’d take the wagon with ya — it’s a fair amount.”

As she strolled towards the gang’s supply wagon, she called for her sibling. “William! Tar anseo, le do thoil!”

He was quick to approach once the deer was taken care of, and asked curiously. “Where you off to?”

“Town. Pearson needs some more supplies from the general shop. You want’a come?”

“Yeah, gewon. I’ll join you. Just let me wash my hands.”

“Best bring Copper too actually. I told Arthur we’d keep an eye out for him.”

At that, William quickly cleaned his hands in a bucket of water and then whistled for the dog, who came running over. He was rewarded with scratches behind the ear and pats on the head from the young man. It didn’t take much for his tail to begin wagging enthusiastically.

Maebh was just about to climb into the front seat of the wagon when Bessie approached. “Where are you two off to?”

“A supply run for Pearson,” she replied. “We’re headin’ into Winterset to grab what he needs.”

“Mind if I join you? I have to pick up some things myself.”

“Sure!” Maebh offered her a smile before adding. “You feelin’ up for it?”

“I’m certainly feelin’ better than what I was,” Bessie explained. “I may be old, Miss Hennigan, but I ain’t dead yet.”

“It takes a lot to knock you down, Mrs Matthews. Hop on.”

“You take the front seat with Maebh,” William insisted as he offered Bessie a hand up. “I’ll hop in the back with Copper.”

“Such a polite young man,” the older woman teased as she climbed into the seat with his assistance. “When you ain’t holdin’ up a bank.”

He shrugged at the joke and cracked a small smile. “What can I say? I’m a man of many talents.”

“And endless charm to boot.”

“Ya see? This is why you’re one of my favourite people.”

At that moment, Uncle came towards the wagon and directed a question to her brother. “Did I hear y’all say you’re goin’ into town?”

“Sure did, old man,” William replied, patting Copper’s head. “Why?”

“Think you could pick me up some booze?”

Maebh rolled her eyes while William shrugged. “Sure, if you gimme the money.”

“I’ll give it to ya when you get back.”

“Ye will in your hole,” William scoffed. “I’m not buyin’ you drink with my own money, Uncle.”

“You ever hear of respectin’ your elders, kid?” Uncle retorted in an offended tone.

“You ever hear of not bein’ a scab?”

There was brief stare down before Uncle grumbled and reached into his pocket. He tossed the younger man a couple of coins before speaking again. “I think Arthur is havin’ a bad influence on you, Willy.”

“You’re lucky I’m even pickin’ this up for you at all,” the blonde replied before waving Uncle off. “Now geway before I change my mind ’bout doin’ you a favour.”

Once William was sitting on the back of the wagon with Copper safely beside him, Maebh slowly lead them out of camp. Upon reaching the main road, she urged the shire horses into a steady trot. The rolling hills of Madison county were some of Maebh’s favourite landscapes to travel through. She found something oddly relaxing about the gentle undulations of the land and the cool morning breeze. The wagon’s wheels cut through the soggy ground, moistened by a rainy night, so she was careful to take bends in the road with ease.

“What’re you pickin’ up then?” Maebh asked after a few moments of silence.

“Nosey girl,” Bessie replied with a smirk. “Some provisions mostly, and bait that Hosea needs for one of his huntin’ trips.”

“He plannin’ to go off for a few days?”

“Mm hmm. Said there’s a big buck been spotted a few counties over, so we plan on investigatin’ once the train job is outta the way.”

Maebh nodded in understanding and quickly cracked the reigns in her hands. “That’s good. We’ll be missin’ Arthur ’round camp so we could do without you and Hosea goin’ now too.”

“Arthur is always missed,” Bessie agreed a shake of her head. “I know everyone pulls their weight, but I feel like he sometimes carries the load of two men.”

Letting out a small huff, Maebh couldn’t help but agree. “He does an awful lot, I’ll give him that. He deserves the break, in all honesty.” She paused momentarily before pressing on. “At least, I think he’s takin’ a break. What’s he doin’ anywho? Huntin’? Fishin’?”

She hoped her attempt to learn some more about Arthur hadn’t come off as pushy or nosey. If she was, Bessie certainly wouldn’t have an issue warning her of the fact.

“He runs some errands,” she replied, not giving much away. “Pays some visits — the usual.”

Bessie didn’t leave much room for asking more questions about it, something Maebh figured to be intentional. Unwilling to push her luck, she simply nodded her head slightly and focused on the road ahead.

Despite the silence, Bessie continued. “What Arthur does is Arthur’s business.”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“I didn’t mean that you should apologise,” she hushed her gently. “All I’m sayin’ is that Arthur’s errands are personal and if and when he’s ready to tell you ’bout them, that’s his place, not mine. Much like how you two came to Hosea and I the other night. We weren’t gonna force you to say anythin’, even if we had suspicions.”

Her words were, as always, laced with a kindness and wisdom that only she and Hosea seemed to embody. Maebh appreciated the non-answer because it was certainly better than a lie or a scolding. “Noted, keep my mouth shut. Got it.”

“It ain’t that, not exactly. I’m sure when he’s ready to tell you he will.”

“I just hope it’s not ’cause he doesn’t trust me,” she explained, releasing a sigh. “He’s a good man, y’know? So I can’t help but value his opinion.”

“I do know. How ’bout you tell him that he’s a good man and maybe he’ll start believin’ it himself.”

“It’s not for lack of tryin’, I promise.”

Bessie was quick to place a comforting hand on her arm. “I know, I know. It ain’t a trust issue. You can tell Arthur is fond of the two of you.”

“For the record,” William called from his seat at the back of the wagon. “I love that big grumpy bastard too.”

“Oh I know, Mr Hennigan,” Bessie answered, brushing some greying hair out of her eyes. “There ain’t no doubt in my mind about that. You can see the mutual respect between the three of you. But don’t be puttin’ any pressure on him to talk, alright?”

“We won’t,” Maebh assured her. “The last thing I’d want to do is make him feel under pressure.”

William spoke up again. “You have our word on that, Mrs Matthews.”

Their short trip continued with some casual conversation on lighter subjects before they eventually arrived in Winterset. At the general store, they put the owner to good use, giving him the list and waiting outside as he brought everything to them one by one (including bourbon for Uncle). Together, Maebh and William loaded it all into the supply wagon while Copper watched on inquisitively, quickly sniffing the boxes and bags if he got the chance.

“Is that everythin’ I can help y’all with today?” the shop owner asked, slightly out of breath from all the heavy lifting.

“I’ve a list of my own,” Bessie said before quickly adding. “But don’t worry, it ain’t that long.”

“Well ain’t that a relief!”

Maebh quickly handed him over the pay before he and Bessie headed back inside to pick up what she needed. While they waited, she took a seat on the shop steps with William, who tossed a stick for a happy and playful Copper.

“He seems okay even though Arthur isn’t ’round,” he noted, accepting the stick once the dog returned it to him. “I thought he’d be a bit more down considerin’ he usually goes with him.”

She watched as he threw the stick again and the dog went running. “Guess it helps that he’s got good company.”

“That must be it.”

“You seem in better form lately,” she noted, turning to look at him. “Less... on edge, or somethin’.”

“The lack of events at camp have helped with that.”

“Ah. You talkin’ ’bout your watch?”

He nodded slowly with his lips pursed. “There’s been no sign of whoever that fucker was, so hopefully he stays away from us unless he fancies me stranglin’ him…”

“Hopefully it was just some idiot playin’ a dumb joke.”

“It’s an awful lot of trouble to go to just for a joke.”

“Yeah well, some people are stupid, William…”

“Whether it’s some idiot or not, as long as he stays away from camp I’ll be happy out.”

They weren’t waiting too long for Bessie to return with her goods and soon the four of them were once more riding the wagon back to camp. The journey was a pleasant one as Bessie requested they sing a song of Irish heritage, and a happy singsong ensued with everyone becoming involved. The process of unloading all the supplies was completed swiftly with Pearson’s help and the siblings were happy to help him pack it all away for future use. With little else to do, they helped him prepare lunch by chopping some vegetables and cleaning cutlery and bowls in the late morning sun. With their assistance, Mr Pearson fixed the gang some venison chilli con carne that seemed to go down quite well. After her surprisingly pleasant meal, Maebh sat by the campfire making split point bullets, meticulously carving x’s into her ammo over and over with a hunting knife. Copper lay next to her on the ground, his attention focused on a bone she’d given him earlier. She had gotten through a fair number of bullets when she heard her name being called. Looking up, she saw Dutch standing over her.

“Any chance you’d join me for a walk, Miss Maebh?” he asked, offering her his hand.

Quickly shoving the bullets into her satchel, she accepted his hand and got to her feet. “Sure. Where you off to?”

“I’m gonna go collect some ginseng for Hosea,” he explained. “Cedar Lake ain’t too far away and we should be able to find some up there. I already promised I’d help him find some, considerin’ he’s still worried ’bout Mrs Matthews. Figured you could bring Copper along.”

Upon hearing his name, the dogs ears perked up curiously.

Maebh offered Dutch a smile. “Sure, we’ll come along. You fancy a walk, boy?”

Copper’s affirmative bark was enough to go by, and the pair strolled out of camp arm in arm, the dog running alongside them with a perpetually wagging tail. It had been a while since Maebh had spent any time one-on-one with Dutch, so his characteristic advice and theoretical ramblings about the work of Evelyn Miller were a welcome change of pace. The walk was a pleasant one, and it was nice to get out of camp on foot instead of riding horseback for once. Upon arriving at the lake, they passed by the odd fisherman here and there who offered them polite hellos from a distance. One of them even pointed in the direction of a spot where ginseng usually grew. They both found what they were looking for with relative ease, as the plant was quite common to the area.

After collecting any American Ginseng they could find, they carried it all in a small bag and then headed back towards camp.

“How’s your brother been lately?” the older man asked. “I’ve noticed how he’s been somewhat on edge since the whole escapade with his pocket watch, not that I blame him.”

“He’s a bit better,” she confirmed with confidence. “I mean, he hopes he gets to squeeze the life out of whoever caused all that mischief, but I think he’s calmed down a bit since there’s been no more sightings.”

“Honestly I’d fear for anyone who suffers his wrath,” he admitted with a slight laugh. “That boy can be so eerily calm one minute before he loses all reason and sees red.”

“He can be ruthless alright. Arthur said a similar thing to me before.”

“I know that Arthur thinks quite highly of William. I would say that so do I, as do the rest of the gang, but I know that perhaps we know him a little better havin’ known him for longer. And you two grew up together, so o’course you would know him inside out.”

“I understand.” Maebh frowned and watched Copper as he happily trotted along the dirt path. “I think sometimes people can be a little afraid of William when they don’t know him. He can be very standoffish with people he doesn’t know, and has no qualms with fighting his way out of something if he’s no choice, but he would also lay down his life for those he holds closest to his heart.”

“I see what you mean,” Dutch agreed. “I think that’s why Arthur is also so fond of the boy. He sees a lot of himself in ’im, and I feel that Arthur could’ve been a lot different had Hosea and I not taken him in. The same could be said for John… I think that you two were in a similar place when we first met you in Wisconsin. Ain’t somethin’ that’s a certainty, but I like to think that we’ve been a good influence on you two.”

Maebh contemplated his words for a moment. While she had discussed ‘what could have been’ with her brother many times, openly admitting their possible downfall to the gang leader was something yet to be done. He knew a bit more about their past than Arthur did, but since meeting with Hosea and Bessie a few nights ago, they were the only ones to know of their skeletons in the closet. There were plenty of occasions where she found her thoughts drifting when lying on her bedroll at night, conjuring up vivid images of where she and William could have been had things not played out as they did. The thoughts of what they would have done to survive had the Van der Linde Boys not also tried to rob that stage caused her stomach to twist. Dutch was, by all accounts, an intelligent and honourable man. He held contempt for the rich who refused to help those suffering, and decided that someone had to bloody well do it. He invited lost souls into the fold; into his family. If he openly expressed worry for what William might have become had things been different, there was probably some truth to it. If she was honest with herself, her brother was one of the only things in this life she worried about.  He was all she had left of her old life and the urge to protect him from any outside threats had only grown over the years. She was foolish to think that them growing into young adults would make her feel less determined about keeping him safe. Now, it seemed perpetual. Even still, she refused to have William be anything other than his best, which was something she took great pleasure in witnessing.

As long as he was happy in life, she would find her own joy in seeing him so content.

“Dutch, I really don’t know where William and I would be if it wasn’t for this gang. God knows how things would’ve turned out.”

“I wouldn’t worry yourself with those thoughts, my dear,” he reassured her in his usual assertive manner. “Ain’t no point in spendin’ time worryin’ ’bout what can’t be no more. No matter what might’ve happened to you and William back then don’t matter, because you’re with us now. Loyalty, Maebh. It’s what keeps us together, keeps us strong. We’re a family, and family will always have your back. I know I always say it, but the reason why we are strong is because we have faith. Faith in each other, faith in this land, faith in this life — not the one these Pinkertons say we gotta live. Ain’t nothin’ quite like a close gang like ours with unshakeable faith and the urge to do what’s right. Whatever might have been for you and for William — or even Arthur and John — don’t matter no more. What matters is that while we walk through this land of degenerates and government pets and immoral men, we walk together. Each step takes us further away from the other lives we might’a lived had we not been so lucky… It won’t be easier neither, but if we stick together, why we can create our own paradise in this land on our own terms. We do what’s right, and we do it together. Remember that, my friend. You have a good head on your shoulders, and this life can be whatever you want if you keep it that way. Don’t let the past spoil what you have now.

“I don’t want you worryin’ unnecessarily. If you ever feel your concerns with anythin’ gettin’ the better of ya, you can always come and talk to me or Hosea ’bout it. Understand?”

She had to be honest, she really did appreciate these talks with Dutch. He had a habit of always managing to get rid of any doubts she had tucked away in her mind.

“I understand, Dutch,” she replied firmly. “I have to keep my head up and my eyes forward.”

“That’s what I like to hear.” He gave her arm a squeeze. “You ain’t got nothin’ to worry about, Miss Hennigan. Not when we’re here to look out for each other.”

The comforting silence of their walk was cut short at those words. From behind a tree a large figure came barrelling from the woods, wrapped in a large, brown leather coat and hiding the lower half his face behind a bandana. Maebh’s eyes fixed on the rifle he carried, now pointed directly at them. As soon as he appeared, Dutch brought her to a steady halt.

“Right, you know how this plays out,” he grumbled with a slight slur. “Gimme your money!”

His tone was not lost of Copper who began to growl deep from his furry chest. Maebh was quick to release Dutch to grab at the hound’s scruff, uncertain whether this man would hesitate in shooting the animal. His morals seemed as far receded as his hairline. The last thing she needed was to tell Arthur she got his dog shot the very day he left her alone with him.

“You shut that dumb animal up ’fore I put a bullet in ’im!” the robber snarled, visibly losing patience. “Empty your damn pockets!”

Maebh’s revolver lay holstered on her hip. Had she not been holding Copper, she might have been quick enough to draw on this unsteady man without losing any valuables, but it was becoming apparent to her that this wasn’t an option — she was completely reliant on Dutch, who hadn’t yet said a word.

The barrel of the rifle was set on them both, moving back and forth between its two targets. The thief’s brow shone with a thin layer of perspiration from either the heat of the afternoon sun, or stress of the situation.

Maebh looked to Dutch, a man who always had a plan.

She had not been expecting, however, the only response he offered their masked attacker.

He laughed.

[redwhale]

Ye Olde Flint ‘n Finale Interview Round-Up.

Finale interview round-up post. Whilst there does seem to be some intenional thematic ambiguity to the final Flint/Silver scene, the showrunners also seem to have continually placed an emphasis with specifically bringing Flint to Savannah to set up his Treasure Island fate. Since Thomas’ return is linked to Flint’s fate, I’ve left in quotes regarding him, too. Choice quotes before the cut, and more excerpts/article links underneath the cut. EW: Did you always know you were going to have the Flint-Thomas reunion? Or did that happen organically? Yeah, something like it. I think there was a deliberate choice in season 2 not to show the body which, if I’m an audience member watching a show, I’m always at best suspect and I assume they’re not dead [if there’s no body], no matter how many people tell me otherwise. So we had a vague sense that that was a thing that was going to come back in some shape or another. I think it was sometime during season 3 when this version of it started to materialize and to have an ending that would marry us to the book [Treasure Island]. At the end of the book, it’s recounted by other people that Captain Flint died in Savannah alone, which begs a lot of questions: How did he get there? What was there that was worth retiring from his career? It seemed like that was starting to tick off a lot of boxes, in terms of how to make the transition from show to book make sense.

Lauren Sarner/Inverse:

LS: In your words, what is Flint’s fate?

Jonathan Steinberg: The crew’s understanding of Flint’s fate in Treasure Island is that he dies alone in Savannah in an emotionally not good place. How did he get there? We like the idea of a story about how he was put there as an act of mercy. It turns into loneliness later on, presumably when Thomas dies of old age. That made sense as a way to both acknowledge the book and spin it. To take something that seems like a neutral piece of story about where Flint ends up to be an artifact of this emotionally fraught moment between Flint and Silver. Silver is facing the choice of having to kill him or not. There’s this choice made to create a different story.

LS: But is the story true? After the camera cuts away from Flint and Silver, the men see birds fly up from that area as if Silver does shoot that gun.

Steinberg: There’s a lot of things they could have been reacting to. It was deliberate to have there be no sound to allow for interpretation.

Robert Levine: There’s a choice on Madi’s part about what Silver’s telling her. We wanted to put the audience in the same place of having to make a choice about believing Silver or not.

Do you believe him?

Steinberg: Do we have a sense of what we imagine is happening? Yes, but if I was someone else, I wouldn’t want to watch it with my interpretation coloring it.

TV Insider: Was there really a place in the colonies that rich Brits sent their wayward, i.e. gay, children?

Levine: The founder of the Savannah colony was a reformer who wanted the colony to reshape how the world treated those deemed as dangerous or different. That was a basket we could put Thomas in, and then we had the thread to use for Silver to end Flint’s war without necessarily ending Flint. It also helped Flint find his way back to McGraw [the compassionate man he was before his vengeful turn into Flint.] It’s bittersweet; there’s tragedy in it but renewal as well.

DEADLINE: One of those themes was the one of love and redemption, especially for Toby Stephens’ Flint. After what looked for sure to be his death at the hands of Silver, we see him transported to a reformist penal colony in what is now the state of Georgia and reunited with a kiss and an embrace with Tom Hamilton. Why was that the end for Black Sails’ most dominating character?

STEINBERG: Among the things that we felt from Treasure Island we wanted to respect the cannon and work the show towards was this very specific and very odd mention of the end of Captain Flint, which is only told through hearsay in the book. It explained to be that Flint died alone and in a really rough way in Savannah, and it did feel specific and something that we wanted to try to make some sense of and give some emotional context to.

I also think the idea that we would hear from Thomas again has been around for as long as Thomas has been around. I think we largely subscribe to the idea that if you don’t see a body in a show, it doesn’t matter how many people tell you they’re dead, they’re not dead, and it was just a question of how and when he would return.

DEADLINE: You really mix history and Stevenson’s fiction there…

STEINBERG: Well, there was this historical reality that felt interesting, that Savannah and the Georgia colony began, in some part, as a prison reform exercise. It was a way to create an environment in which prisoners were treated more humanely than they were in England. So, when you add those two things up, the overlap in that Venn diagram starts to look at lot like Thomas Hamilton, and it just felt clean. Especially in a show that has always been about balancing history and this fictional world from Treasure Island that, at the end, they were touching again. That there was a moment in which it felt like both halves of the show had their moment to have a part in Flint’s end and to have a part in sort of putting him in the place that he’d stay until the book starts.

Collider: Do you think that Silver would have eventually come to the same conclusion about what he was going to do with Flint, or was his decision influenced by constantly having people in his ear about it?

STEINBERG: I don’t think it’s a choice he would have made, 10 episodes ago. It feels like it’s a choice that was made only because of the two massively formative relationships that have developed and become that way, in Season 4. A lot of the people who were in his ear were largely manifestations of the voices that he was already hearing in his own head, giving him that internal conflict, whether it’s Billy or Hands or Madi, or whomever. It just felt right, as a way to finish telling his story, that his story ends with him conceiving of this act of mercy. It felt like a way to spin the way you find these characters in Treasure Island, in a way that felt interesting and a little unexpected.

Collider:

How did you come to decide that this is what Flint’s fate would be, and that we would be left questioning whether or not that’s really the truth?

STEINBERG: When you read the book, you’re told that Flint died in a very specific way, and it’s a way that doesn’t immediately suggest story. He died alone, some indeterminate period of time after the exciting stuff happened, and he died in a very lonely, sad place. When we talked about planting flags in the ground of things that we considered to be canon, and you have to account for them, that was one of them. It felt like it was important, and it felt like a challenge to figure out how we could acknowledge that and also make it work for us, and recontextualize it and make it a bit of a mystery. There’s a lot of people telling a lot of stories in Treasure Island, and a lot of people telling stories in this show. If this show is about anything, it’s about the fact that narrative can be a very powerful thing, when used properly. So, it felt right that the ending was steeped in that idea. Deadline:

DEADLINE: Having started Black Sails 20-years before Treasure Island is supposed to start, you brought the series finale right to the brink of the book, was that always the intended ending of the show?

LEVINE: You know, our goal with the ending was to get as close as possible to Treasure Island. It was to try to leave you in a place where you could finish the show and then start at page one of the book, and start reading it, and have it not only make sense in the narrative sense, but also be something of a new story for you. Because now you could fill in a lot between the lines in terms of the characters, and their relationships, and their histories.

I think, in some cases, we wanted it to feel like even if our story was ending properly for the sake of Treasure Island, that for some of them, life goes on.

IGN: IGN: I was surprised that everyone made it out of the series finale alive and, for the most part, with happy endings. What was behind the choice to not load up on the death on your way out? Jonathan Steinberg: I think there was an awareness that when watched in a certain way there was so much tragedy already in the ending. Of all the people who were lost and weren't there anymore, and how close they were to something historically meaningfully that got bargained away, that to then pile that on with even more misery just felt unpleasant. And not true. I think the show's always been a tragedy but I don't think there's ever been a feeling of wanting to wallow in it. And so I think some balance in that sense felt right. And only some of it was really our choice. By the time you get to that point in a story, the characters are talking to you a little bit about where they belong. I think the endings all felt like everyone was where they belonged. We had some say in it, but a lot of it was just letting it all be what it wanted to be at that point. IGN: Over the course of the show, were you always determined to drive everyone up to the doorstep of Treasure Island? Was it the case where if you'd read the book then fine or did you always have the goal of leading us into the novel in specific ways? Levine: I think the latter for sure. That was always the intent. In practice, it wasn't an easy thing to do. The book, when you really start to get granular with it, there are some things that are easily understood and some things that aren't. Obviously, he was just writing his own story and now here we are trying to graft ours onto it. It was certainly the topic of a lot of conversations and a lot of planning, trying to get our ending to a place where it could be as close as possible to the ideal. Which is that you've watched the show and then you pick up the book and can seamlessly continue with the story while also feeling different because you know all these motivations and backstory from our show. It now informs everything there. It was just a matter of grinding it as close as possible as we could get it to be while also making sure we were delivering a satisfying ending for the characters of the show. I feel very happy where we got. We have Billy Bones in a place where it sort of makes sense that he ends up where he ends up in the book. And Silver and Flint. Madi too, I think you can understand her to be the person that's referenced in the book in a way that makes sense. I feel like it's good. I give us a B+. [laughs] IGN: Flint found Thomas, after all these years, but he's also a prisoner now. But is being back with his true love worth it? Is that all that matters to him? Steinberg: I think we spent a lot of time this season exploring that question. Is it enough if you are forced to give up everything but you are given the connection you've been seeking in order to be fulfilled - is that connection enough? I think, in some way, that question is explored a number of times in the last few episodes and we get different answers. And I don't necessarily think that at the end of that finale those answers are fully cooked. I think they're situations that people have chosen for themselves or have been chosen for them, in which they're going to find out. In that moment, it's emotionally effective I think. To see them back together again. And to see Flint in that place. Hollywood Reporter:

HR: How beholden were you to the fates of all the characters in Treasure Island?

It depends on which one, it depends on the details. We tried to have a fair amount of discipline about certain elements of that book and treat them as canon and things we just had to find a way to make sense of. There are some other elements that I think are relayed through unreliable narrators in the book or seemed, to us, to be part of a narrative that was clearly embellished from some history that came before it. Part of the process of trying to land this story into that book was about sorting out the two and figuring out what really is canon. What's Long John Silver's story? It's not necessarily something to be taken at face value. But it was a challenge. That book doesn't contemplate 40 hours of story that come before it.

HR: Did you always know you were going to reunite Flint with Thomas at the end, or did that idea come about later in the writing process?

We had a sense in season two when he died off screen, that any character who dies off screen, you're taking the word of the messenger as to whether or not it actually happened. As someone who watches these stories and reads these stories, it feels unlikely that it actually happened. We knew we weren't finished with him. And then at some point in season three we realized it would be reasonably late in the series when he came back, so in season four it felt right. And it wasn't a choice he would make, it was a choice made for him. TV Insider: TV Insider: The series ended with several characters, including Silver and Flint, sacrificing their revolutionary dreams to be with their true loves. Are you saying that love tops every other purpose—whether fighting for freedom or revenge? Steinberg: Since Season 2, at a basic level, the story has been about the tension between a domestic life and comfort and the desire for meaning and glory and change on a massive scale. A number of the endings are about that choice made by these characters. Or the choice made for them.  TV Insider: Like Silver made for Flint. Why did you decide to reunite Flint and his presumed long dead lover Thomas Hamilton (Rupert Penry-Jones) on a Savannah prison farm?  What do you expect fan reaction to be? Levine: I think fans want Flint to find some measure of peace in this world. The fate of Thomas was always a bullet left in the gun from the time we left his actual death offscreen. The question was when and what would be the most effective way to deploy that plausibly and meaningfully. (There is some really beautiful Silver and Flint discussion across all the finale interviews, and how their relationship can be read, and it’s all very much worth a read. This post was a bit too long already, so I sadly left the excerpts out.)

[theliberaltony]

via Politics – FiveThirtyEight

To a certain extent, complexity is a feature, not a bug, of caucuses. And as hard as the Nevada Democratic Party is trying to make Saturday’s caucuses user-friendly, there will still be that pesky multi-step voting process and three different sets of results to wade through. To help you make sense of it all, here’s our guide to how the Nevada caucuses will work — plus how our primary forecast handles all their quirks, and what that might mean for the race moving forward.

Like in Iowa, participants in the Nevada caucuses will physically align themselves with other supporters of their candidate by going to a designated corner of the room. (Caucusgoers can also join an “uncommitted” group as if “uncommitted” were a candidate on the ballot.)

Caucus organizers will then count up the number of people in each group to produce a candidate’s first alignment vote. (In Nevada, this also includes the first choices of people who voted early. This is the first time Nevada offered this as an option, and nearly 75,000 people took advantage of it — quite impressive when you consider that total turnout in the 2016 Nevada Democratic caucuses was about 84,000.)

This is the first of the three sets of election results that Nevada will put out. Think of this first alignment vote like the raw popular vote that primary states report. It’s also what polls of the Nevada caucuses are measuring.

Next up is the famous realignment process. Any candidate that does not meet a given precinct’s “viability threshold” (usually 15 percent of the first alignment vote1) is deemed nonviable, and his or her supporters can thus “realign.” They can choose to join another candidate’s group, or they can simply go home. If their first-choice candidate was just barely nonviable — say, he received 14 percent of the first alignment vote — they can also try to persuade supporters of other nonviable candidates to join their group, in a last-ditch effort to become viable. Voters in viable candidate groupings are locked in, however, and cannot realign.

Realignment is also where early voters’ full ballots will come into play. (Early voters were asked to rank between three and five candidates from their first choice to their last choice.) Because they are not physically present, early voters’ second-, third-, fourth- and fifth-place picks are used to realign them if their first-choice candidate isn’t still in the running. For instance, if an early voter’s first choice is Sen. Amy Klobuchar, her second choice is Sen. Elizabeth Warren and her third choice is philanthropist Tom Steyer, but both Klobuchar and Warren are not viable at her precinct and Steyer is, that voter would be reassigned to Steyer’s camp.

After this process is finished, we are left with the final alignment vote. Notably, this is what our model simulates when projecting a candidate’s expected share of the vote in caucus states. In other words, when our primary forecast says that Sen. Bernie Sanders is expected to win 35 percent of the vote in Nevada, that’s a projection of his final alignment vote.

You can read the details of how our model simulates the realignment process here, but here are the three most important things to keep in mind:

Other things being equal, the model assumes that larger groups will have an easier time attracting new supporters.

Conversely, just-barely-nonviable groups will have a harder time doing so in an effort to get over the viability hump. In some simulations of the model, these groups are successful at wooing supporters of other nonviable candidates; other times, they fail to do so.

Finally, we use a proximity rating to estimate how close the candidates are to one another along a number of ideological and other dimensions. This is a fairly rough method, so our assumptions are fairly conservative — i.e., if Warren voters are trying to decide whether to realign with Sanders or former Vice President Joe Biden, the model doesn’t assume 100 percent of them will go to Sanders, more like about three-fifths of them — but it’s a way to try and gauge where some supporters might go in the realignment process.

After the final alignment, there is still one more set of results to calculate: the number of county delegates2 a candidate has won. Here’s how that works: Each precinct is worth a fixed number of county delegates based on the number of Democrats registered to vote there, and those delegates are assigned to candidates proportionally based on the final alignment vote totals. All precincts’ county delegate tallies are then added together to produce a statewide total; these are the numbers you’re likely to hear most often in news reports. This is because, before this year, county delegate results were the only results released to the public, and county delegates are still the measure used to select Nevada’s 36 pledged delegates to the Democratic National Convention. (I will mercifully spare you the task of explaining the math of that process, but the masochists among you can geek out about it here.)

In predicting who gets a polling boost from “winning” Nevada, our model puts the most weight on the county delegate results — but it also gives a candidate credit for winning the first alignment and final alignment votes. (Specifically, candidate bounces in the model are based on two factors: (1) a candidate’s vote share and (2) a binary variable that indicates whether he or she won the state. We use county delegate percentages to calculate the vote share bounce and will credit up to three “winners” for the binary variable, giving 80 percent to the candidate who got the most county delegates, 10 percent to the candidate who won the final alignment vote and 10 percent to the candidate who won the first alignment vote.)

Of course, this will only matter if different candidates win the three measures. Here’s what our model is forecasting in Nevada not only for the final alignment vote (the number that is displayed publicly), but also for the first alignment vote as of Friday morning:

How Nevada’s votes could change from one stage to the next

Average FiveThirtyEight model Nevada caucus first alignment and final alignment projections, as of Feb. 21, 2020

Candidate First Alignment Final Alignment Change Bernie Sanders 29.3% 34.6% +5.3 Joe Biden 17.1 17.4 +0.3 Pete Buttigieg 15.4 15.7 +0.2 Elizabeth Warren 13.5 12.1 -1.3 Tom Steyer 11.6 10.1 -1.5 Amy Klobuchar 11.5 9.9 -1.7 Tulsi Gabbard 1.5 0.2 -1.4

The model currently forecasts that Sanders will receive 29 percent of the first alignment vote, 12 points more than Biden in second place. But it expects Sanders to gain more than 5 points in realignment, pushing him to 35 percent of the final alignment vote. This might be too optimistic for Sanders, though. After all, the day before the Iowa caucuses, the model predicted that Sanders would gain 4.5 points from first to final alignment, but his actual increase was just 1.8 points.3 Then again, if there aren’t any big polling surprises in Nevada, Sanders may be the only viable candidate at many precincts, which wasn’t true in Iowa. That would obviously greatly help his final alignment vote.

As for the other candidates, Biden and former South Bend, Indiana, Mayor Pete Buttigieg barely gain any extra support, and, unsurprisingly, the candidates who are projected to get less than 15 percent statewide in the first alignment are expected to lose support in realignment (they will probably be nonviable at many precincts).

The model doesn’t attempt to forecast how final alignment translates into county delegates, but if Sanders has anywhere close to that 17-point lead on final alignment, he should easily win the most county delegates as well. However, the tendency for Sanders voters to be highly concentrated in certain precincts (like college campuses) can be a disadvantage in the votes-to-delegates conversion, given that precincts are capped at a fixed number of county delegates no matter how high turnout in them soars. So in a closer-than-expected race, it is possible that Sanders wins the popular vote — again — but another candidate is named the “official” Nevada winner by virtue of winning the most county delegates.

Democracy!